I Remember, I Remember, The

There Are Three Things Which The Public Will Always Clamour For, Sooner Or Later; Namely: Novelty, Novelty, Novelty.

Boughs Are Daily Rifled By The Gusty Thieves, And The Book Of Nature Getteth Short Of Leaves.

She Stood Breast-high Amid The Corn Clasp'd By The Golden Light Of Morn, Like The Sweetheart Of The Sun, Who Many A Glowing Kiss Had Won.

Apothegms Form A Short Cut To Much Knowledge.

Mother Of Light! How Fairly Dost Thou Go Over Those Hoary Crests, Divinely Led! Art Thou That Huntress Of The Silver Bow Fabled Of Old? Or Rather Dost Thou Tread Those Cloudy Summits Thence To Gaze Below, Like The Wild Chamois From Her Alpine Snow, Where Hunters Never Climbed--secure From Dread?