A Man He Was To All The

As For Disappointing Them I Should Not So Much Mind; But I Can't Abide To Disappoint Myself.

O Friendship! Thou Fond Soother Of The Human Breast, To Thee We Fly In Every Calamity; To Thee The Wretched Seek For Succor; On Thee The Care-tired Son Of Misery Fondly Relies; From Thy Kind Assistance The Unfortunate Always Hopes Relief, And May Be Sure Of--disappointment.

Error Is Always Talkative.

The Whitewash'd Wall, The Nicely Sanded Floor, The Varnish'd Clock That Click'd Behind The Door; The Chest, Contriv'd A Double Debt To Pay,- A Bed By Night, A Chest Of Drawers By Day.

Thus Let Me Hold Thee To My Heart, And Every Care Resign: And We Shall Never, Never Part, My Life-my All That's Mine!