A Life Of Ease Is A Difficult

I Am Out Of Humanity's Reach.

Books Are Not Seldom Talismans And Spells.

I Pity Them Greatly, But I Must Be Mum, For How Could We Do Without Sugar And Rum?

Mansions Once Knew Their Own Masters, And Laborious Hinds, That Had Surviv'd The Father, Serv'd The Son. Now The Legitimate And Rightful Lord Is But A Transient Guest, Newly Arrived, And Soon To Be Supplanted. He That Saw His Patrimonial Timber Cast Its Leaf, Sells The Last Scantling, And Transfers The Price To Some Shrewd Sharper Ere It Buds Again. Estates Are Landscapes, Gazed Upon Awhile, Then Advertised And Auctioneer'd Away.

The Beggarly Last Doit.