So Much Alarmed That She Is Quite

Oh, Nature's Noblest Gift, My Grey Goose Quill, Slave Of My Thoughts, Obedient To My Will, Torn From The Parent Bird To Form A Pen, That Mighty Instrument Of Little Men.

I Am Surrounded Here By Parsons And Methodists, But As You Will See, Not Infested With The Mania.

A Man Of Eighty Has Outlived Probably Three New Schools Of Painting, Two Of Architecture And Poetry And A Hundred In Dress.

Farewell! If Ever Fondest Prayer For Other's Weal Avail'd On High, Mine Will Not All Be Lost In Air, But Waft Thy Name Beyond The Sky.

By Heaven! It Is A Splendid Sight To See For One Who Hath No Friend, No Brother There.