A man must serve his time to ev’ry trade,
     Save censure; critics all are ready-made.

Cunning.—­In a great business there is nothing so fatal as cunning management.—­Junius.

Cunning leads to knavery; it is but a step from one to the other, and that very slippery; lying only makes the difference; add that to cunning, and it is knavery.—­La Bruyere.

Cunning is the art of concealing our own defects, and discovering other people’s weaknesses.—­Hazlitt.

A cunning man overreaches no one half as much as himself.—­Beecher.

The animals to whom nature has given the faculty we call cunning know always when to use it, and use it wisely; but when man descends to cunning, he blunders and betrays.—­Thomas Paine.

The most sure method of subjecting yourself to be deceived, is to consider yourself more cunning than others.—­La ROCHEFOUCAULD.

Death.—­God’s finger touch’d him, and he slept.—­Tennyson.

But no! that look is not the last;
We yet may meet where seraphs dwell,
Where love no more deplores the past,
Nor breathes that withering word—­Farewell! 
—­Peabody.

How beautiful it is for a man to die on the walls of Zion! to be called like a watch-worn and weary sentinel, to put his armor off, and rest in heaven.—­N.P.  Willis.

I looked, and behold a pale horse; and his name that sat on him was Death.—­Revelation 6:8.

When we see our enemies and friends gliding away before us, let us not forget that we are subject to the general law of mortality, and shall soon be where our doom will be fixed forever.—­Dr. Johnson.

I have seen those who have arrived at a fearless contemplation of the future, from faith in the doctrine which our religion teaches.  Such men were not only calm and supported, but cheerful in the hour of death; and I never quitted such a sick chamber without a hope that my last end might be like theirs.—­Sir Henry Halford.

One may live as a conqueror, a king or a magistrate; but he must die as a man.  The bed of death brings every human being to his pure individuality; to the intense contemplation of that deepest and most solemn of all relations, the relation between the creature and his Creator.  Here it is that fame and renown cannot assist us; that all external things must fail to aid us; that even friends, affection and human love and devotedness cannot succor us.—­Webster.

There is no death.  The thing that we call death
Is but another, sadder name for life. 
—­Stoddard.

                          To die,—­to sleep,—­

No more;—­and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. 

          
                          —­Shakespeare.