Grief Should Be The Instructor

No Ear Can Hear Nor Tongue Can Tell The Tortures Of The Inward Hell!

Adversity Is The First Path To Truth.

The Poor Dog, In Life The Firmest Friend. The First To Welcome, Foremost To Defend.

That Prose Is A Verse, And Verse Is A Prose; Convincing All, By Demonstrating Plain – Poetic Souls Delight In Prose Insane

Here Lies Interred In The Eternity Of The Past, From Whence There Is No Resurrection For The Days - Whatever There May Be For The Dust - The Thirty-third Year Of An Ill-spent Life, Which, After A Lingering Disease Of Many Months Sank Into A Lethargy, And Expired, January 22d, 1821, A.d. Leaving A Successor Inconsolable For The Very Loss Which Occasioned Its Existence.