Hope, Like The Gleaming Taper

I Chose My Wife, As She Did Her Wedding Gown, For Qualities That Would Wear Well.

Popular Glory Is A Perfect Coquette; Her Lovers Must Toil, Feel Every Inquietude, Indulge Every Caprice, And Perhaps At Last Be Jilted Into The Bargain. True Glory, On The Other Hand, Resembles A Woman Of Sense; Her Admirers Must Play No Tricks. They Feel No Great Anxiety, For They Are Sure In The End Of Being Rewarded In Proportion To Their Merit.

Wit Generally Succeeds More From Being Happily Addressed Than From Its Native Poignancy. A Jest, Calculated To Spread At A Gaming-table, May Be Received With, Perfect Indifference Should It Happen To Drop In A Mackerel-boat.

To Me More Dear, Congenial To My Heart, One Native Charm, Than All The Gloss Of Art.

To What Fortuitous Occurrence Do We Not Owe Every Pleasure And Convenience Of Our Lives.