The coin […] bore what I at first thought was a woman's face—a woman crowned, neither young nor old, but silent and perfect in the citrine metal.
It [the steamboat City of Fayetteville] was launched not far from the Clarendon bridge, and it has been related that some one having prophesied that it would turn turtle when it reached the water, the architect boldly rode in its bow, as it slipped off its ways and the event justified his faith in his work.
Orthodoxy is my doxy; heterodoxy is another man's doxy.
I'll slip beneath these sheets and shiver here awhile / I find this happening more frequently these days
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