Munhall, to save my soul you brave… Although, to save my soul, I can’… ‘Tis naught to you, to me however… Why, bless it! you might save a mi… Yet lose your own; for still the ’…

An 'actors’ cemetery’! Sure The devil never tires Of planning places to procure The sticks to feed his fires.

What! Pixley, must I hear you cal… Of all the vices that infest your… Was’t not enough that lately you d… Your money-worship in the ears of… Still must you crack your brazen c…

Saint Peter, standing at the Gate… A soul whose body Death had latel… A pleasant soul as ever was, he se… His step was joyous and his visage… ‘Good morning, Peter.’ There was…

Nay, Peter Robertson, 'tis not fo… To blubber o’er Max Taubles for h… By Heaven! my hearty, if you only… How better is a grave-worm in the… Than brains like yours-how far mor…

Welcome, good friend; as you have… And found the joy of crime to be a… I hope you’ll hold your present fa… And not again be open to convictio… Your sins, though scarlet once, ar…

Of a person known as Peters I wil… An unusual adventure into narrativ… Mr. William Perry Peters, of the… A public educator and an orator as… Mr. Peters had a weakness which,…

Once on a time, so ancient poets s… There reigned in Godknowswhere a… So great a monarch ne’er before wa… He was a hero, even to his queen, In whose respect he held so high a…

A conqueror as provident as brave, He robbed the cradle to supply the… His reign laid quantities of human… He fell upon the just and the unju…

Cheeta Raibama Chunder Sen, The wisest and the best of men, Betook him to the place where sat With folded feet upon a mat Of precious stones beneath a palm,

Come, Stanford, let us sit at eas… And talk as old friends do. You talk of anything you please, And I will talk of you. You recently have said, I hear,

Well, Mr. Kemble, you are called,… A great divine, and I’m a great p… You as a Congregationalist blink Some certain truths that I esteem… And dropp them in the coffers of m…

In Bacon see the culminating prim… Of Anglo-Saxon intellect and crim… He dies and Nature, settling his… Parts his endowments among us, his… To every one a pinch of brain for…

Unbeautiful is the Piute! Howe’er bedecked with bravery, His person is unsavory Of soap he’s destitute. He multiplies upon the earth

I muse upon the distant town In many a dreamy mood. Above my head the sunbeams crown The graveyard’s giant rood. The lupin blooms among the tombs.