I Mean To Be Too Rich To

Too Many Cooks Spoil The Broth

Her Pleasure In The Walk Must Arise From The Exercise And The Day, From The View Of The Last Smiles Of The Year Upon The Tawny Leaves And Withered Hedges, And From Repeating To Herself Some Few Of The Thousand Poetical Descriptions Extant Of Autumn-that Season Of Peculiar And Inexhaustible Influence On The Mind Of Taste And Tenderness-that Season Which Has Drawn From Every Poet Worthy Of Being Read Some Attempt At Description, Or Some Lines Of Feeling.

Why Not Seize The Pleasure At Once? -- How Often Is Happiness Destroyed By Preparation, Foolish Preparation!

Where The Wound Had Been Given, There Must The Cure Be Found, If Any Where.

Another Stupid Party . . . With Six People To Look On, And Talk Nonsense To Each Other.