I Was Ever Of The Opinion, That

To Husband Out Life's Taper At The Close, And Keep The Flames From Wasting By Repose.

Such Dainties To Them, Their Health It Might Hurt; It 's Like Sending Them Ruffles When Wanting A Shirt.

Popular Glory Is A Perfect Coquette; Her Lovers Must Toil, Feel Every Inquietude, Indulge Every Caprice, And Perhaps At Last Be Jilted Into The Bargain. True Glory, On The Other Hand, Resembles A Woman Of Sense; Her Admirers Must Play No Tricks. They Feel No Great Anxiety, For They Are Sure In The End Of Being Rewarded In Proportion To Their Merit.

Creation's Heir, The World, The World Is Mine!

Hope, Like The Gleaming Taper's Light, Adorns And Cheers Our Way; And Still, As Darker Grows The Night, Emits A Brighter Ray.