And Children Know, Instinctive Taught, The Friend

Soldier, Rest! Thy Warfare O'er, Sleep The Sleep That Knows Not Breaking, Dream Of Battled Fields No More. Days Of Danger, Nights Of Waking.

Where Shall The Lover Rest, Whom The Fates Sever From His True Maiden's Breast, Parted For Ever? Where, Through Groves Deep And High, Sounds The Far Billow, Where Early Violets Die, Under The Willow.

The Pith Of Conversation Does Not Consist In Exhibiting Your Own Superior Knowledge On Matters Of Small Consequence, But In Enlarging, Improving And Correcting The Information You Possess By The Authority Of Others.

In The Name Of God!" Said Gurth, "how Came They Prisoners? And To Whom?" "our Master Was Too Ready To Fight," Said The Jester, "and Athelstane Was Not Ready Enough, And No Other Person Was Ready At All.

Alas!... What Is It, Valiant Knight, Save An Offering Of Sacrifice To A Demon Of Vain Glory, And A Passing Through The Fire Of Moloch? What Remains To You As A Prize Of All The Blood You Have Spilled, Of All The Travail And Pain You Have Endured, Of All The Tears Which Your Deeds Have Caused, When Death Hath Broken The Strong Man's Spear, And Overtaken The Speed Of His War-horse?