Where Lives The Man That Has Not

My Foot Is On My Native Heath, And My Name Is Macgregor.

You Will, I Trust, Resemble A Forest Plant, Which Has Indeed, By Some Accident, Been Brought Up In The Greenhouse, And Thus Rendered Delicate And Effeminate, But Which Regains Its Native Firmness And Tenacity, When Exposed For A Season To The Winter Air.

Credit Is Like A Looking-glass, Which When Once Sullied By A Breath, May Be Wiped Clear Again; But If Once Cracked Can Never Be Repaired.

But With Morning Cool Repentance Came.

Without Courage There Cannot Be Truth, And Without Truth There Can Be No Other Virtue.