The best of friends fall out, and so his teeth had done some years ago.

How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!

A moment's thinking is an hour in words.

Bells are musics laughter.

And ye, who have met with Adversity's blast, And been bow'd to the earth by its fury; To whom the Twelve Months, that have recently pass'd Were as harsh as a prejudiced jury - Still, fill to the Future! and join in our chime, The regrets of remembrance to cozen, And having obtained a New Trial of Time, Shout in hopes of a kindlier dozen.

But evil is wrought by want of thought, As well as want of heart!

The Quaker loves an ample brim, A hat that bows to no salaam; And dear the beaver is to him As if it never made a dam.