Any Of Us Would Kill A Cow

Year Chases Year, Decay Pursues Decay, Still Drops Some Joy From With'ring Life Away; New Forms Arise, And Diff'rent Views Engage

See Nations Slowly Wise, And Meanly Just, To Buried Merit Raise The Tardy Bust.

The Great End Of Prudence Is To Give Cheerfulness To Those Hours Which Splendour Cannot Gild, And Acclamation Cannot Exhilarate; Those Soft Intervals Of Unbended Amusement, In Which A Man Shrinks To His Natural Dimensions, And Throws Aside The Ornaments Or Disguises Which He Feels In Privacy To Be Useless Incumbrances, And To Lose All Effect When They Become Familiar. To Be Happy At Home Is The Ultimate Result Of All Ambition, The End To Which Every Enterprise And Labour Tends, And Of Which Every Desire Prompts The Prosecution.

New Things Are Made Familiar, And Familiar Things Are Made New.

The Finest Landscape In The World Is Improved By A Good Inn In The Foreground.