Ten Thousand Casks, Forever Dribbling Out Their

No Tree In All The Grove But Has Its Charms, Though Each Its Hue Peculiar.

But Poverty, With Most Who Whimper Forth Their Long Complaints, Is Self-inflicted Woe; The Effect Of Laziness, Or Sottish Write.

Religion! What Treasure Untold Resides In That Heavenly Word!

The Parable Of The Prodigal Son, The Most Beautiful Fiction That Ever Was Invented; Our Saviour's Speech To His Disciples, With Which He Closed His Earthly Ministrations, Full Of The Sublimest Dignity And Tenderest Affection, Surpass Everything That I Ever Read; And Like The Spirit By Which They Were Dictated, Fly Directly To The Heart.

Truth Is The Golden Girdle Of The Globe.