Error Is Ever Talkative.

Life At The Greatest And Best Is But A Froward Child, That Must Be Humored And Coaxed A Little Till It Falls Asleep, And Then All The Care Is Over.

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.

Wealth Accumulates, And Men Decay.

Every Want That Stimulates The Breast Becomes A Source Of Pleasure When Redressed.

There Is One Way By Which A Strolling Player May Be Ever Secure Of Success; That Is, In Our Theatrical Way Of Expressing It, To Make A Great Deal Of The Character. To Speak And Act As In Common Life Is Not Playing, Nor Is It What People Come To See; Natural Speaking, Like Sweet Wine, Runs Glibly Over The Palate And Scarcely Leaves Any Taste Behind It; But Being High In A Part Resembles Vinegar, Which Grates Upon The Taste, And One Feels It While He Is Drinking.