‘Twas a weary-looking mortal, and… Of the melancholy City of the Dis… He was pale and worn exceeding and… As if it could not matter what he… ’Sacred stranger’-I addressed him…

The sullen church-bell’s intermitt… The dirge’s melancholy monotone, The measured march, the drooping f… A great man’s progress to his plac… Along broad avenues himself decree…

As in a dream, strange epitaphs I… Inscribed on yet unquarried stone, Where wither flowers yet unstrown The Campo Santo of the time to be…

As sweet as the look of a lover Saluting the eyes of a maid That blossom to blue as the maid Is ablush to the glances above her… The sunshine is gilding the glade

'Why, Goldenson, you’re looking v… Said Death as, strolling through… He entered that serene assassin’s… And hung his hat and coat upon a n… ‘I think that life in this seclude…

Tut-tut! give back the flags - how… You veterans and heroes? Why should you at a kind intention… Like twenty Neros? Suppose the act was not so overwis…

When Dr. Bill Bartlett stepped o… Of Mammon’s distracting and weari… To stand and deliver a lecture on… Conditions of Intellectual Life,’ I cursed the offender who gave him…

I Slept, and, waking in the years… Heard voices, and approaching when… Listened indifferently where a key Had lately been removed. An ancie… Said to her daughter: ‘Go to yond…

Mahomet Stanford, with covetous s… Gazed on a vision surpassingly fai… Far on the desert’s remote extreme A mountain of gold with a mellow g… Reared its high pinnacles into the…

A bear, having spread him a notabl… Invited a famishing fox to the pla… 'I’ve killed me,' quoth he, ‘an ed… As ever distended the girdle of pr… With ’spread of religion,' or ‘inw…

The flabby wine-skin of his brain Yields to some pathologic strain, And voids from its unstored abysm The driblet of an aphorism.

As oft it happens in the youth of… That mists obscure the sun’s imper… Who, as he’s mounting to the dome’… Smites and dispels them with a ste… So you the vapors that begirt your…

Dies irae! dies ilia! Solvet saeclum in favilla Teste David cum Sibylla. Quantus tremor est futurus, Quando Judex est venturus.

What! photograph in colors? 'Tis… And he who dreams it is not overwi… If colors are vibration they but s… And have no being. But if Tyndall… Why, come, then-photograph my lady…

Great Joseph D. Redding-illustri… Considered a fish-horn the trumpet… That goddess was angry, and what d… Her trumpet she filled with a gall… And all through the Press, with a…