Life is but a winter's day;
A journey to the tomb.

And the vivid description of "Dies Irae":

When shrivelling like a parched scroll
The flaming heavens together roll
And louder yet and yet more dread
Swells the high Trump that wakes the dead.

Great attention was given to my lessons in elocution from the best
instructors then known, and I had the privilege of studying with
William Russell, one of the first exponents of that art. I can still
hear his advice: "Full on the vowels; dwell on the consonants,
especially at the close of sentences; keep voice strong for the close
of an important sentence or paragraph." Next, I took lessons from
Professor Mark Bailey of Yale College; and then in Boston in the
classes of Professor Lewis B. Monroe,--a most interesting, practical
teacher of distinctness, expression, and the way to direct one's voice
to this or that part of a hall. I was given the opportunity also of
hearing an occasional lecture by Graham Bell. Later, I used to read
aloud to father for four or five hours daily--grand practice--such
important books as Lecky's _Rationalism_, Buckle's _Averages_, Sir
William Hamilton's _Metaphysics_ (not one word of which could I
understand), Huxley, Tyndall, Darwin, and Spencer, till my head was
almost too full of that day's "New Thought."

Judge Salmon P. Chase once warned me, when going downstairs to a
dinner party at Edgewood, "For God's sake, Kate, don't quote the
_Atlantic Monthly_ tonight!" I realized then what a bore I had been.