I Want To Escape From Myself. For

I Was A Blacksmith's Boy But Yesterday; I Am - What Shall I Say I Am Today?

And This Is The Eternal Law. For, Evil Often Stops Short At Istelf And Dies With The Doer Of It! But Good, Never.

I Don't Quite Recollect How Many Tumblers Of Whiskey Toddy Each Man Drank After Supper; But This I Know, That About One O'clock In The Morning, The Baillie's Grown-up Son Became Insensible While Attempting The First Verse Of 'willie Brewed A Peck O' Maut'; And He Having Been, For Half An Hour Before, The Only Other Man Visible Above The Mahogany, It Occurred To My Uncle That It Was Almost Time To Think About Going.

The Night Was Dark, And A Cold Wind Blew, Driving The Clouds, Furiously And Fast, Before It. There Was One Black, Gloomy Mass That Seemed To Follow Him: Not Hurrying In The Wild Chase With The Others, But Lingering Sullenly Behind, And Gliding Darkly And Stealthily On. He Often Looked Back At This, And, More Than Once, Stopped To Let It Pass Over; But, Somehow, When He Went Forward Again, It Was Still Behind Him, Coming Mournfully And Slowly Up, Like A Shadowy Funeral Train.

If You Can't Get To Be Oncommon Through Going Straight, You'll Never Get To Do It Through Going Crooked. So Don't Tell No More On 'em, Pip, And Live Well And Die Happy.