My Heart Is Its Own Grave!

Surprises Are Like Misfortunes Or Herrings - They Rarely Come Single.

Sneering Springs Out Of The Wish To Deny; And Wretched Must That State Of Mind Be That Wishes To Take Refuge In Doubt.

A Blossom Full Of Promise Is Life's Joy, That Never Comes To Fruit. Hope, For A Time, Suns The Young Floweret In Its Gladsome Light, And It Looks Flourishing--a Little While-- 't Is Pass'd, We Know Not Whither, But 't Is Gone.

In Sad Truth, Half Our Forebodings Of Our Neighbors Are But Our Own Wishes, Which We Are Ashamed To Utter In Any Other Form.

In Came ... A Baby, Eloquent As Infancy Usually Is, And Like Most Youthful Orators, More Easily Heard Than Understood.