Rightly It Is Said Of Utter, Utter

No Progressive Knowledge Will Ever Medicine That Dread Misgiving Of A Mysterious And Pathless Power Given To Words Of A Certain Import.

So, Then, Oxford Street, Stonyhearted Stepmother, Thou That Listenest To The Sighs Of Orphans, And Drinkest The Tears Of Children, At Length I Was Dismissed From Thee.

If Once A Man Indulges Himself In Murder, Very Soon He Comes To Think Little Of Robbing; And From Robbing He Comes Next To Drinking And Sabbath-breaking, And From That To Incivility And Procrastination.

Books, We Are Told, Propose To Instruct Or To Amuse. Indeed! A True Antithesis To Knowledge, In This Case, Is Not Pleasure, But Power. All That Is Literature Seeks To Communicate Power; All That Is Not Literature, To Communicate Knowledge.

Call For The Grandest Of All Earthly Spectacles, What Is That? It Is The Sun Going To His Rest.