Cultivate Simplicity, Coleridge.

Time Partially Reconciles Us To Anything. I Gradually Became Content--doggedly Contented, As Wild Animals In Cages.

Gone Before To That Unknown And Silent Shore.

Man, While He Loves, Is Never Quite Depraved.

You Do Not Play Then At Whist, Sir? Alas, What A Sad Old Age You Are Preparing For Yourself!

We Are Ashamed At The Sight Of A Monkey--somehow As We Are Shy Of Poor Relations.