It Is The Privilege Of Tale-tellers To

From My Experience, Not One In Twenty Marries The First Love; We Build Statues Of Snow And Weep To See Them Melt.

What Various Scenes, And O! What Scenes Of Woe, Are Witness'd By That Red And Struggling Beam! The Fever'd Patient, From His Pallet Low, Through Crowded Hospitals Beholds It Stream; The Ruined Maiden Trembles At Its Gleam, The Debtor Wakes To Thought Of Gyve And Jail, The Love-lorn Wretch Starts From Tormenting Dream; The Wakeful Mother, By The Glimmering Pale, Trims Her Sick Infant's Couch, And Soothes His Feeble Wail.

Here Is Neither Want Of Appetite Nor Mouths, Pray Heaven We Be Not Scant Of Meat Or Mirth.

I Did Not Myself Set A High Estimation On Wealth, And Had The Affectation Of Most Young Men Of Lively Imagination, Who Suppose That They Can Better Dispense With The Possession Of Money, Than Resign Their Time And Faculties To The Labour Necessary To Acquire It.

As Long As The Fates Permit, Live Cheerfully.