The Love Of A Mother Is The

That Agony Returns; And Till My Ghastly Tale Is Told, This Heart Within Me Burns.

Some Men Are Like Musical Glasses; To Produce Their Finest Tones You Must Keep Them Wet.

It Is A Flat'ning Thought, That The More We Have Seen, The Less We Have To Say.

We Ne'er Can Be Made Happy By Compulsion.

You See How This House Of Commons Has Begun To Verify All The Ill Prophecies That Were Made Of It - Low, Vulgar, Meddling With Everything, Assuming Universal Competency, And Flattering Every Base Passion - And Sneering At Everything Noble Refined And Truly National. The Direct Tyranny Will Come On By And By, After It Shall Have Gratified The Multitude With The Spoil And Ruin Of The Old Institutions Of The Land.