May Is A Pious Fraud Of The

The Time Is Ripe, And Rotten-ripe, For Change.

Humbleness Is Always Grace; Always Dignity

Literature, Properly So Called, Draws Its Sap From The Deep Soil Of Human Nature's Common And Everlasting Sympathies, The Gathered Leaf-mound Of Countless Generations, And Not From Any Top Dressing Capriciously Scattered Over The Surface.

This Goin' Ware Glory Waits Ye Haint One Agreeable Feetur.

Things Always Seem Fairer When We Look Back At Them, And It Is Out Of That Inaccessible Tower Of The Past That Longing Leans And Beckons.