"lawyers Are": By Law's Dark By-ways He

With Awe, Around These Silent Walks I Tread; These Are The Lasting Mansions Of The Dead.

The Game Is Never Lost Till Won.

Feed The Musician, And He's Out Of Tune.

Old Peter Grimes Made Fishing His Employ; His Wife He Cabined With Him And His Boy, And Seemed That Life Laborious To Enjoy.

But Jest Apart--what Virtue Canst Thou Trace In That Broad Trim That Hides Thy Sober Face? Does That Long-skirted Drab, That Over-nice And Formal Clothing, Prove A Scorn Of Vice? Then For Thine Accent--what In Sound Can Be So Void Of Grace As Dull Monotony?