Any Nose May Ravage With Impunity A

Lose Who May-i Still Can Say, Those Who Win Heaven, Blest Are They!

Look Not Down But Up!

Dear, Dead Women, With Such Hair, Too--what's Become Of All The Gold Used To Hang And Brush Their Bosoms?

Go In Thy Native Innocence, Rely On What Thou Hast Of Virtue, Summon All, For God Towards Thee Hath Done His Part, Do Thine.

Again The Cousin's Whistle! Go, My Love.