Lord Byron, who drank of every cup that earth could give him,
and who had all the ministries of earth around him, with an
intellectual and physical nature that could dive down into
deepest depths and could soar to the highest heights, whose
wings when spread could touch either pole, just before he died,
sitting in a gay company, was meditative and moody. They looked
at him and said, “Byron, what are you thinking so seriously
about?” “Oh,” he said, “I was sitting here counting up the
number of happy days I have had in this world. I can count but
eleven, and I was wondering if I would ever make up the dozen
in this world of tears and pangs and sorrows.” (Text.)--“Famous
Stories of Sam P. Jones.”
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