Of All Things Upon Earth That Bleed

The Little Done Doth Vanish To The Mind Which Forward Sees How Much Remains To Do.

There Is Nothing Like The Sight Of An Old Enemy Down On His Luck.

Much Effort, Much Prosperity.

The Childless Escape Much Misery.

Happy Is It To Place A Daughter; Yet It Pains A Father's Heart When He Delivers To Another's House A Child, The Object Of His Tender Care.