Sure My Love Is All Crostlike A

The Neck On Which Diamonds Might Have Worthily Sparkled, Will Look Less Tempting When The Biting Winter Has Hung Icicles There For Gems.

When Once The Itch Of Literature Comes Over A Man, Nothing Can Cure It But The Scratching Of A Pen. But If You Have Not A Pen, I Suppose You Must Scratch Any Way You Can.

Where's The Snow That Fell The Year That's Fled--where's The Snow?

My Hearing Has Suffered Seriously; Just Now I Am Obliged To Have The Assistance Of An Ear Trumpet. Think Of That, My Beauty! - There 's A State For Your Old Lover To Be In! - No More Tender Whisperings! Imagine Sweet Confessions To Be Made Through An Ear Trumpet!

Reproof On Her Lip, But A Smile In Her Eye.