The Habit Of Pleasing By Flattery Makes

The Happiest Of Pillows Is Not That Which Love First Presses! It Is That Which Death Has Frowned On And Passed Over.

No Good Writer Was Ever Long Neglected; No Great Man Overlooked By Men Equally Great. Impatience Is A Proof Of Inferior Strength, And A Destroyer Of What Little There May Be.

Nations, Like Individuals, Interest Us In Their Growth.

But I Have Sinuous Shells Of Pearly Hue Within, And They That Lustre Have Imbibed In The Sun's Palace-porch, Where When Unyoked Chariot-wheel Stands Midway In The Wave: Shake One, And It Awakens; Then Apply Its Polisht Lips To Your Attentive Ear, And It Remembers Its August Abodes, And Murmurs As The Ocean Murmurs There.

To My Ninth Decade I Have Totter'd On, And No Soft Arm Bends Now My Steps To Steady; She, Who Once Led Me Where She Would, Is Gone, So When He Calls Me, Death Shall Find Me Ready.