The Slanders Of The Pen Pierce To

And If Unhappy In Her Love, Her Heart Is Like Some Fortress That Has Been Captured, And Sacked, And Abandoned, And Left Desolate.

For What Is History, But... Huge Libel On Human Nature, To Which We Industriously Add Page After Page, Volume After Volume, As If We Were Holding Up A Monument To The Honor, Rather Than The Infamy Of Our Species.

There Are Certain Half-dreaming Moods Of Mind In Which We Naturally Steal Away From Noise And Glare, And Seek Some Quiet Haunt Where We May Indulge Our Reveries And Build Our Air Castles Undisturbed.

A Father May Turn His Back On His Child, Brothers And Sisters May Become Inveterate Enemies, Husbands May Desert Their Wives, Wives Their Husbands. But A Mother's Love Endures Through All.

Oh The Grave!--the Grave!--it Buries Every Error--covers Every Defect--extinguishes Every Resentment! From Its Peaceful Bosom Spring None But Fond Regrets And Tender Recollections. Who Can Look Down Upon The Grave Even Of An Enemy, And Not Feel A Compunctious Throb, That He Should Ever Have Warred With The Poor Handful Of Earth That Lies Mouldering Before Him!