The Light That Lies In Woman's Eyes.

To Sigh, Yet Feel No Pain; To Weep, Yet Scarce Know Why; To Sport An Hour With Beauty's Chain, Then Throw It Idly By.

Cards Are War, In Disguise Of A Sport.

Who Has Not Felt How Sadly Sweet The Dream Of Home, The Dream Of Home, Steals O'er The Heart, Too Soon To Fleet, When Far O'er Sea Or Land We Roam?

He Has Left Off Reading Altogether, To The Great Improvement Of His Originality.

His Voice Was The Most Obnoxious Squeak I Ever Was Tormented With.