owever time may have furrowed his cheek, or
silvered his brow, who can yet recall, with a softened heart, the fond
devotion or the gentle chidings of the best friend that God ever gives
us.--BOVEE.

All that I am, my mother made me.--J.Q. ADAMS.

MOURNING.--He mourns the dead who lives as they desire.--YOUNG.

Of permanent mourning there is none; no cloud remains fixed. The sun
will shine to-morrow.--RICHTER.

Excess of grief for the deceased is madness; for it is an injury to
the living, and the dead know it not.--XENOPHON.

The true way to mourn the dead is to take care of the living who
belong to them.--BURKE.

No longer mourn for me when I am dead,
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled.
--SHAKESPEARE.

MUSIC.--Music is the medicine of an afflicted mind, a sweet sad
measure is the balm of a wounded spirit; and joy is heightened by
exultant strains.--HENRY GILES.

Sweet music! sacred tongue of God.--CHARLES G. LELAND.

Music is the fourth great material want of our natures,--first food,
then raiment, then shelter, then music.--BOVEE.

When griping grief the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then music, with her silver sound,
With speedy help doth lend redress.
--SHAKESPEARE.

Some of the fathers went so far as to esteem the love of music a sign
of predestination; as a thing divine, and reserved for the felicities
of heaven itself.--SIR W. TEMPLE.

I think sometimes could I only have music on my own terms; could I
live in a great city, and know where I could go whenever I wished the
ablution and inundation of musical waves, that were a bath and a
medicine.--EMERSON.

Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast,
To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.
--CONGREVE.

There's music in the sighing of a reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if men had ears.
--BYRON.

The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils.
--SHAKESPEARE.

O, pleasant is the welcome kiss
When day's dull round is o'er;
And sweet the music of the step
That meets us at the door.
--J.R. DRAKE.

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