...so Let Us Welcome Peaceful Evening In.

I Venerate The Man Whose Heart Is Warm, Whose Hands Are Pure, Whose Doctrine And Whose Life, Coincident, Exhibit Lucid Proof That He Is Honest In The Sacred Cause.

No Wisdom That She May Gain By Experience And Reflection Hereafter, Will Compensate The Loss Of Her Present Hilarity.

All Flesh Is Grass. And All Its Glory Fades Like The Fair Flower Dishevell'd In The Wind; Riches Have Wings, And Grandeur Is A Dream; The Man We Celebrate Must Find A Tomb, And We That Worship Him, Ignoble Graves.

The Man That Dares Traduce, Because He Can With Safety To Himself, Is Not A Man.

Just Knows, And Knows No More, Her Bible True,- A Truth The Brilliant Frenchman Never Knew.