Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright And Yellow,

Experience Enables Me To Depose To The Comfort And Blessing That Literature Can Prove In Seasons Of Sickness And Sorrow.

Comfort And Indolence Are Cronies.

Well, Something Must Be Done For May, The Time Is Drawing Nigh-- To Figure In The Catalogue, And Woo The Public Eye. Something I Must Invent And Paint; But Oh My Wit Is Not Like One Of Those Kind Substantives That Answer Who And What?

What Is Mind? No Matter. What Is Matter? Never Mind. What Is The Soul? It Is Immaterial.

Apothegms Form A Short Cut To Much Knowledge.