A Friend Of Ours, Who Is An

Hair Is The Most Delicate And Lasting Of Our Materials, And Survives Us, Like Love. It Is So Light, So Gentle; So Escaping From The Idea Of Death, That, With A Lock Of Hair Belonging To A Child Or Friend, We May Almost Look Up To Heaven And Compare Notes With The Angelic Nature,--may Almost Say, "i Have A Piece Of Thee Here Not Unworthy Of Thy Being Now.

Occupation Is The Necessary Basis Of All Enjoyment.

Those Who Have Lost An Infant Are Never, As It Were, Without An Infant Child. Their Other Children Grow Up To Manhood And Womanhood, And Suffer All The Changes Of Mortality; But This One Alone Is Rendered An Immortal Child; For Death Has Arrested It With His Kindly Harshness, And Blessed It Into An Eternal Image Of Youth And Innocence.

Affection, Like Melancholy, Magnifies Trifles; But The Magnifying Of The One Is Like Looking Through A Telescope At Heavenly Objects; That Of The Other, Like Enlarging Monsters With A Microscope.

Oh For A Seat In Some Poetic Nook, Just Hid With Trees And Sparkling With A Brook!