He Had Kept The Whiteness Of His

In General I Do Not Draw Well With Literary Men -- Not That I Dislike Them But I Never Know What To Say To Them After I Have Praised Their Last Publication.

Perhaps The Early Grave Which Men Weep Over May Be Meant To Save.

Tis Sweet To Listen As The Night Winds Creep From Leaf To Leaf.

'tis Very Certain The Desire Of Life Prolongs It.

Tis Not On Youth's Smooth Cheek The Blush Alone, Which Fades So Fast, But The Tender Bloom Of Heart Is Gone, Ere Youth Itself Be Past.