Great Minds Have Purposes; Others

How Idle A Boast, After All, Is The Immortality Of A Name! Time Is Ever Silently Turning Over His Pages; We Are Too Much Engrossed By The Story Of The Present To Think Of The Character And Anecdotes That Gave Interest To The Past; And Each Age Is A Volume Thrown Aside And Forgotten.

The Tongue Is The Only Instrument That Gets Sharper With Use.

It Was, As I Have Said, A Fine Autumnal Day; The Sky Was Clear And Serene, And Nature Wore That Rich And Golden Livery Which We Always Associate With The Idea Of Abundance. The Forests Had Put On Their Sober Brown And Yellow, While Some Trees Of The Tendered Kind Had Been Nipped By The Frosts Into Brilliant Dyes Of Orange, Purple, And Scarlet.

The Indians With Surprise Found The Mouldering Trees Of Their Forests Suddenly Teeming With Ambrosial Sweet; And Nothing, I Am Told, Can Exceed The Greedy Relish With Which They Banquet For The First Time Upon This Unbought Luxury Of The Wilderness.

One Point Is Certain, That Truth Is One And Immutable; Until The Jurors All Agree, They Cannot All Be Right.