✠
On a tombstone in New Jersey:
Reader, pass on!—don't waste your time
On bad biography and bitter rhyme;
For what I am, this crumbling clay insures,
And what I was, is no affair of yours!
✠
From Portland, Oregon:
Beneath this stone our baby lies,
It neither cries nor hollers,
It lived but one and twenty days,
And cost us forty dollars.
✠
This world is a prison in every respect,
Whose walls are the heavens in common;
The jailor is sin, and the prisoners men;
And the fetters are nothing but women.