Love Makes Its Record In

What Seems To Us But Dim Funeral Tapers May Be Heaven's Distant Lamps.

A Solid Man Of Boston; A Comfortable Man With Dividends, And The First Salmon And The First Green Peas.

Ah Me! What Wonder-working, Occult Science Can From The Ashes In Our Hearts Once More The Rose Of Youth Restore? What Craft Of Alchemy Can Bid Defiance To Time And Change, And For A Single Hour Renew This Phantom-flower?

Every Man Is In Some Sort A Failure To Himself. No One Ever Reaches The Heights To Which He Aspires.

Let Us, Then, Be What We Are; Speak What We Think; And In All Things Keep Ourselves Loyal To Truth.