I Have But Nine-pence In Ready Money,

There Is Nothing In Which Men More Deceive Themselves Than In What They Call Zeal.

Soon As The Evening Shades Prevail, The Moon Takes Up The Wondrous Tale, And Nightly To The Listening Earth Repeats The Story Of Her Birth.

Though We Seem Grieved At The Shortness Of Life In General, We Are Wishing Every Period Of It At An End. The Minor Longs To Be At Age, Then To Be A Man Of Business, Then To Make Up An Estate, Then To Arrive At Honors, Then To Retire.

There Is A Sort Of Economy In Providence That One Shall Excel Where Another Is Defective, In Order To Make Men More Useful To Each Other, And Mix Them In Society.

Is It Not Wonderful, That The Love Of The Parent Should Be So Violent While It Lasts And That It Should Last No Longer Than Is Necessary For The Preservation Of The Young?