George R. Taylor

“ Poor, stricken, patient ones! not theirs the blame:
Man’s sin, man’s lust of power, wrought evil here,
As ever since the first dire trouble came
That cursed the world.—They justly claim our aid,
Man is man’s debtor: let this debt be paid. ”

“ Pressed to your bosom—
Its rightful place.
Thus, dear, I venture
To whisper this,—
Now that I give you
A whole-heart kiss.
Now that—God helping—
I am to you
Husband more worthy,
Lover more true. ”

“ It was to write, to write, sir, to Mary Horner, and learn the worst or the best. Ah! I can jest upon it now. I wrote. The thermometer stood at twenty. There were blocks of ice in the river like horehound candy; but I let my fire out while at my absorbing task. I wrote. I have a bad habit of spoiling several sheets of paper when I write an important letter. ”