And Little Eagles Wave Their Wings In

As With Narrow-necked Bottles; The Less They Have In Them, The More Noise They Make In Pouring Out.

Good God! How Often Are We To Die Before We Go Quite Off This Stage? In Every Friend We Lose A Part Of Ourselves, And The Best Part.

To Be Angry Is To Revenge The Faults Of Others On Ourselves.

Pretty Conceptions, Fine Metaphors, Glittering Expressions, And Something Of A Neat Cast Of Verse Are Properly The Dress, Gems, Or Loose Ornaments Of Poetry.

But Those Who Cannot Write, And Those Who Can, All Rhyme, And Scrawl, And Scribble, To A Man.