In Argument, Truth Always Prevails Finally; In

Dignity, In Private Men And In Governments, Has Been Little Else Than A Stately And Stiff Perseverance In Oppression; And Spirit, As It Is Called, Little Else Than The Foam Of Hard-mouthed Insolence.

Ah What Avails The Sceptred Race, Ah What The Form Divine! What Every Virtue, Every Grace! Rose Aylmer, All Were Thine. Rose Aylmer, Whom These Wakeful Eyes May Weep, But Never See, A Night Of Memories And Of Sighs I Consecrate To Thee.

Circumstances Form The Character; But, Like Petrifying Matters, They Harden While They Form.

No Thoroughly Occupied Person Was Ever Found Really Miserable.

And Modesty, Who, When She Goes, Is Gone For Ever.