Novelties Please Less Than They Impress.

Everything That Mr Smallweed's Grandfather Ever Put Away In His Mind Was A Grub At First, And Is A Grub At Last. In All His Life He Has Never Bred A Single Butterfly.

... When The Locked Door Opens, And There Comes In A Young Woman, Deadly Pale, And With Long Fair Hair, Who Glides To The Fire, And Sits Down In The Chair We Have Left There, Wringing Her Hands.

That Glorious Vision Of Doing Good Is So Often The Sanguine Mirage Of So Many Good Minds.

What Lawsuits Grow Out Of The Graves Of Rich Men, Every Day; Sowing Perjury, Hatred, And Lies Among Near Kindred, Where There Should Be Nothing But Love!

The Word Of A Gentleman Is As Good As His Bond — Sometimes Better; As In The Present Case, Where His Bond Might Prove But A Doubtful Sort Of Security.