For through the South the custom still commands The gentleman to kiss the lady's hands.

There is pleasure in the pathless woods.

In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.

And gentle winds and waters near, make music to the lonely ear.

We have fools in all sects, and impostors in most; why should I believe mysteries no one can understand, because written by men who chose to mistake madness for inspiration and style themselves Evangelicals?

Talent may be in time forgiven, but genius never

Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.