The life of the husbandman,-a life fed by the bounty of earth and sweetened by the airs of heaven.

The best thing I know between France and England is the sea.

Some people are so fond of ill-luck that they run half-way to meet it.

That fellow would vulgarize the day of judgment.

Maud Muller, on a summer's day, Raked the meadows sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health.

The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening paradise.

Oh, for the simple life, For tents and starry skies!