So near are the boundaries of panegyric and invective, that a worn-out sinner is sometimes found to make the best declaimer against sin. The same high-seasoned descriptions which in his unregenerate state served to inflame his appetites, in his new province of a moralist will serve him (a little turned) to expose the enormity of those appetites in other men.

Science has succeeded to poetry, no less in the little walks of children than with men. Is there no possibility of averting this sore evil?

My only books Were woman's looks,- And folly 's all they 've taught me.

Oh for a tongue to curse the slave Whose treason, like a deadly blight, Comes o'er the councils of the brave, And blasts them in their hour of might!

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

I conceive disgust at these impertinent and misbecoming familiarities inscribed upon your ordinary tombstone.

Damn the age. I'll write for antiquity.