One Hates An Author That's All Author.

Bread Has Been Made (indifferent) From Potatoes; And Galvanism Has Set Some Corpses Grinning, But Has Not Answer'd Like The Apparatus Of The Humane Society's Beginning, By Which Men Are Unsuffocated Gratis: What Wondrous New Machines Have Late Been Spinning.

Love Will Find A Way Through Paths Where Wolves Fear To Prey.

Oh That The Desert Were My Dwelling-place, With One Fair Spirit For My Minister

I Had A Dream, Which Was Not At All A Dream.

Father Of Light! Great God Of Heaven! Hear'st Thou The Accents Of Despair? Can Guilt Like Man's Be E'er Forgiven? Can Vice Atone For Crimes By Prayer.