The Poet.
Upborne and surrounded as we are by this all-creating nature, soft and fluid as a cloud or the air, why should we be such hard pedants and magnify a few forms?—History.
Virtue runs before the Muse,
And defies her skill;
She is rapt, and doth refuse
To wait a painters will.
Loss and Gain.
Wise, cultivated, genial conversation is the last flower of civilization, and the best result which life has to offer us,—a cup for gods, which has no repentance. Conversation is our account of ourselves.—Woman.