Thy soft-breathed hopes with magic might

How hushed and still are earth and air, How lanquid 'neath the sun's firece ray- Drooping and faint flowers fair, On this hot, sultry, summer day!

...the wild flowers blooming in hushed solitude Start not at the whispering, 'tis but the breeze

Vermouth always makes me brilliant unless it makes me idiotic, but we'll hope for the best.

It may be we shall know in the hereafter Why we, begetting hopes, give birth to fears, And why the world's too beautiful for laughter, Too gross for tears.

I hope they all go out like Kilkenny cats...

You cannot hope to bribe or twist, thank God! the British journalist.But, seeing what the man will do unbribed, there's