A Man Who Leaves Home To Mend

For Just Experience Tells, In Every Soil, That Those That Think Must Govern Those That Toil.

We Had No Revolutions To Fear, Nor Fatigues To Undergo; All Our Adventures Were By The Fireside, And All Our Migrations From The Blue Bed To The Brown.

The Volume Of Nature Is The Book Of Knowledge.

A French Woman Is A Perfect Architect In Dress: She Never, With Gothic Ignorance, Mixes The Orders; She Never Tricks Out A Snobby Doric Shape With Corinthian Finery; Or, To Speak Without Metaphor, She Conforms To General Fashion Only When It Happens Not To Be Repugnant To Private Beauty.

The Watch-dog's Voice That Bay'd The Whispering Wind, And The Loud Laugh That Spoke The Vacant Mind.