He That Climbs A Ladder

He Hath A Share Of Man's Intelligence, But No Share Of Man's Falsehood.

Cats Are A Mysterious Kind Of Folk.

And Love Is Loveliest When Embalm'd In Tears.

Never Was Flattery Lost On A Poet's Ear; A Simple Race, They Waste Their Toil For The Vain Tribute Of A Smile.

You Will, I Trust, Resemble A Forest Plant, Which Has Indeed, By Some Accident, Been Brought Up In The Greenhouse, And Thus Rendered Delicate And Effeminate, But Which Regains Its Native Firmness And Tenacity, When Exposed For A Season To The Winter Air.