A Teacher Should Be Sparing Of His

I Pity Bashful Men, Who Feel The Pain Of Fancied Scorn And Undeserved Disdain, And Bear The Marks Upon A Blushing Face, Of Needless Shame, And Self-impos'd Disgrace.

O Solitude, Where Are The Charms That Sages Have Seen In Thy Face? Better Dwell In The Midst Of Alarms, Than Reign In This Horrible Place.

The Cares Of Today Are Seldom Those Of Tomorrow.

Spring Hangs Her Infant Blossoms On The Trees, Rock'd In The Cradle Of The Western Breeze.

True Modesty Is A Discerning Grace And Only Blushes In The Proper Place; But Counterfeit Is Blind, And Skulks Through Fear, Where 'tis A Shame To Be Asham'd T' Appear: Humility The Parent Of The First, The Last By Vanity Produc'd And Nurs'd.