Those Who Are Well Assured Of Their

A Mother Is The Truest Friend We Have, When Trials Heavy And Sudden Fall Upon Us; When Adversity Takes The Place Of Prosperity; When Friends Desert Us; When Trouble Thickens Around Us, Still Will She Cling To Us, And Endeavor By Her Kind Precepts And Counsels To Dissipate The Clouds Of Darkness, And Cause Peace To Return To Our Hearts.

It Is Not Poverty So Much As Pretense That Harasses A Ruined Man.

Oh The Grave!--the Grave!--it Buries Every Error--covers Every Defect--extinguishes Every Resentment! From Its Peaceful Bosom Spring None But Fond Regrets And Tender Recollections. Who Can Look Down Upon The Grave Even Of An Enemy, And Not Feel A Compunctious Throb, That He Should Ever Have Warred With The Poor Handful Of Earth That Lies Mouldering Before Him!

Some Minds Corrode And Grow Inactive Under The Loss Of Personal Liberty; Others Grow Morbid And Irritable; But It Is The Nature Of The Poet To Become Tender And Imaginitive In The Loneliness Of Confinement. He Banquets Upon The Honey Of His Own Thoughts, And, Like The Captive Bird, Pours Forth His Soul In Melody.

There Is In Every True Woman's Heart, A Spark Of Heavenly Fire, Which Lies Dormant In The Broad Daylight Of Prosperity, But Which Kindles Up And Beams And Blazes In The Dark Hour Of Adversity.