Every Day Travels Toward Death; The Last

Death, Which We Are Accustomed To Consider An Evil, Really Acts For Us The Friendliest Part, And Takes Away The Commonplace Of Existence.

Everything Is Sweetened By Risk.

Pride's Chickens Have Bonny Feathers, But They Are An Expensive Brood To Rear. They Eat Up Everything, And Are Always Lean When Brought To Market.

The Pleased Sea On A White-breasted Shore-- A Shore That Wears On Her Alluring Brows Rare Shells, Far Brought, The Love-gifts Of The Sea, That Blushed A Tell-tale.

The Pale Child, Eve, Leading Her Mother, Night.