No Man Is So Methodical As A

The Love Of A Mother Is Never Exhausted. It Never Changes - It Never Tires - It Endures Through All; In Good Repute, In Bad Repute. In The Face Of The World's Condemnation, A Mother's Love Still Lives On.

History Fades Into Fable; Fact Becomes Clouded With Doubt And Controversy; The Inscription Molders From The Tablet: The Statue Falls From The Pedestal. Columns, Arches, Pyramids, What Are They But Heaps Of Sand; And Their Epitaphs, But Characters Written In The Dust?

One Point Is Certain, That Truth Is One And Immutable; Until The Jurors All Agree, They Cannot All Be Right.

All These, However, Were Mere Terrors Of The Night, Phantoms Of The Mind That Walk In Darkness; And Though He Had Seen Many Spectres In His Time, And Been More Than Once Beset By Satan In Divers Shapes, In His Lonely Pre-ambulations, Yet Daylight Put An End To All These Evils; And He Would Have Passed A Pleasent Life Of It, In Despite Of The Devil And All His Works, If His Path Had Not Been Crossed By A Being That Causes More Perplexity To Mortal Man Than Ghosts, Goblins, And The Whole Race Of Witches Put Together, And That Was - A Woman.

An Inexhaustible Good Nature Is One Of The Most Precious Gifts Of Heaven, Spreading Itself Like Oil Over The Troubled Sea Of Thought, And Keeping The Mind Smooth And Equable In The Roughest Weather.