The Fearless Make Their Own Way.

Farewell's A Bitter Word To Say.

It Merely Shews, After All, That Affection Is A Habit.

A Blossom Full Of Promise Is Life's Joy, That Never Comes To Fruit. Hope, For A Time, Suns The Young Floweret In Its Gladsome Light, And It Looks Flourishing--a Little While-- 't Is Pass'd, We Know Not Whither, But 't Is Gone.

Marriage Is Like Money - Seem To Want It, And You Never Get It.

In Came ... A Baby, Eloquent As Infancy Usually Is, And Like Most Youthful Orators, More Easily Heard Than Understood.