There are few things, - whether in the outward world, or to a certain depth, in the invisible sphere of thought, - few things hidden from the man who… - Nathaniel Hawthorne

When an uninstructed multitude attempts to see with its eyes, it is exceedingly apt to be deceived.

The dell was to be left in solitude among its dark, old trees, which, with their multitudinous tongues, would whisper long of what had passed there, and no mortal be the wiser. And the melancholy brook would add this other tale to the mystery with which its little heart was already overburdened, and whereof it still kept up a murmuring babble, with not a whit more cheerfulness of tone than for ages heretofore.

A few feathery flakes are scattered widely through the air, and hover downward with uncertain flight, now almost alighting on the earth, now whirled again aloft into remote regions of the atmosphere.