The Bird That Flutters Least Is Longest

My Soul Is Sick With Every Day's Report Of Wrong And Outrage With Which Earth Is Filled.

But Poverty, With Most Who Whimper Forth Their Long Complaints, Is Self-inflicted Woe; The Effect Of Laziness, Or Sottish Write.

His Wit Invites You By His Looks To Come, But When You Knock, It Never Is At Home.

Men Deal With Life As Children With Their Play, Who First Misuse, Then Cast Their Toys Away.

A Story, In Which Native Humour Reigns, Is Often Useful, Always Entertains; A Graver Fact, Enlisted On Your Side, May Furnish Illustration, Well Applied; But Sedentary Weavers Of Long Tales Give Me The Fidgets, And My Patience Fails.