The Beggarly Last Doit.

How Shall I Speak Thee, Or Thy Power Address Thou God Of Our Idolatry, The Press. . . . . Like Eden's Dead Probationary Tree, Knowledge Of Good And Evil Is From Thee.

The Only Amaranthine Flower On Earth Is Virtue; The Only Lasting Treasure, Truth.

Absence Of Proof Is Not Proof Of Absence.

How Sweet, How Passing Sweet, Is Solitude! But Grant Me Still A Friend In My Retreat, Whom I May Whisper, Solitude Is Sweet.

Forced From Home, And All Its Pleasures, Afric Coast I Left Forlorn; To Increase A Stranger's Treasures, O The Raging Billows Borne. Men From England Bought And Sold Me, Paid My Price In Paltry Gold; But, Though Theirs They Have Enroll'd Me, Minds Are Never To Be Sold.