The Truant Fancy Was A Wanderer Ever.

All, All Are Gone, The Old Familiar Faces.

All People Have Their Blind Side-their Superstitions.

Go Where Glory Waits Thee! But While Fame Elates Thee, Oh, Still Remember Me!

I Hate A Man Who Swallows [his Food], Affecting Not To Know What He Is Eating. I Suspect His Taste In Higher Matters.

The Teller Of A Mirthful Tale Has Latitude Allowed Him. We Are Content With Less Than Absolute Truth.