Lives Of Great Men Oft

Extremes Meet', As The Whiting Said With Its Tail In Its Mouth.

Fuss Is The Froth Of Business.

Spontaneously To God Should Turn The Soul, Like The Magnetic Needle To The Pole; But What Were That Intrinsic Virtue Worth, Suppose Some Fellow, With More Zeal Than Knowledge, Fresh From St. Andrew's College, Should Nail The Conscious Needle To The North?

No Sun, No Moon, No Morn, No Noon, No Dawn, No Dusk, No Proper Time Of Day, . . . . . . No Road, No Street, No T' Other Side The Way, . . . . . . No Shade, No Shine, No Butterflies, No Bees, No Fruits, No Flowers, No Leaves, No Buds.

A Man That's Fond Precociously Of Stirring , :;:; Must Be A Spoon.