Today Is The Blocks With Which We

O Little Souls! As Pure As White And Crystalline As Rays Of Light Direct From Heaven, Their Source Divine; Refracted Through The Mist Of Years, How Red My Setting Sun Appears, How Lurid Looks This Soul Of Mine!

Critics Are Sentinels In The Grand Army Of Letters, Stationed At The Corners Of Newspapers And Reviews, To Challenge Every New Author.

Fame Comes Only When Deserved, And Then Is As Inevitable As Destiny, For It Is Destiny.

Races, Better Than We, Have Leaned On Her Wavering Promise, Having Naught Else But Hope.

The Market-place, The Eager Love Of Gain, Whose Aim Is Vanity, And Whose End Is Pain!