Prolonged endurance tames the bold.

It is very iniquitous to make me pay my debts - you have no idea of the pain it gives one.

But 'why then publish?' There are no rewards Of fame or profit when the world grows weary. I ask in turn why do you play at cards? Why drink? Why read? To make some hour less dreary. It occupies me to turn back regards On what I've seen or pondered, sad or cheery, And what I write I cast upon the stream To swim or sink. I have had at least my dream.

This is the patent-age of new inventions For killing bodies, and for saving souls, All propagated with the best intentions; Sir Humphrey Davy's lantern, by which coals Are safely mined for in the mode he mentions, Tombuctoo travels, voyages to the Poles, Are ways to benefit mankind, as true, Perhaps, as shooting them at Waterloo.

No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe.

I am surrounded here by parsons and methodists, but as you will see, not infested with the mania.

To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.