A Name, It Has More Than Nominal

Whoe'er Has Gone Thro' London Street, Has Seen A Butcher Gazing At His Meat, And How He Keeps Gloating Upon A Sheep's Or Bullock's Personals, As If His Own; How He Admires His Halves And Quarters--and His Calves, As If In Truth Upon His Own Legs Grown.

Experience Enables Me To Depose To The Comfort And Blessing That Literature Can Prove In Seasons Of Sickness And Sorrow.

Extremes Meet', As The Whiting Said With Its Tail In Its Mouth.

I Saw Old Autumn In The Misty Morn Stand Shadowless Like Silence, Listening To Silence.

While The Steeples Are Loud In Their Joy, To The Tune Of The Bells' Ring-a-ding, Let Us Chime In A Peal, One And All, For We All Should Be Able To Sing Hullah Baloo.