Sweet Is Revenge-especially To Women.

Poetry Should Only Occupy The Idle.

Come What May, I Have Been Blest.

And Then He Danced,-all Foreigners Excel The Serious Angels In The Eloquence Of Pantomime;-he Danced, I Say, Right Well, With Emphasis, And A'so With Good Sense-a Thing In Footing Indispensable: He Danced Without Theatrical Pretence, Not Like A Ballet-master In The Van Of His Drill'd Nymphs, But Like A Gentleman.

This Quiet Sail Is As A Noiseless Wing To Waft Me From Distraction.

What's Drinking? A Mere Pause From Thinking!