A Writer Only Begins A Book. A

Philosophers There Are Who Try To Make Themselves Believe That This Life Is Happy; But They Believe It Only While They Are Saying It, And Never Yet Produced Conviction In A Single Mind.

There Ambush Here Relentless Ruffians Lay, And Here The Fell Attorney Prowls For Prey.

The World Will Never Be Long Without Some Good Reason To Hate The Unhappy; Their Real Faults Are Immediately Detected; And If Those Are Not Sufficient To Sink Them Into Infamy, An Individual Weight Of Calumny Will Be Super-added.

Books, Says Lord Bacon, Can Never Teach Us The Use Of Books; The Student Must Learn By Commerce With Mankind To Reduce His Speculations To Practice. No Man Should Think So Highly Of Himself As To Think He Can Receive But Little Light From Books; No One So Meanly, As To Believe He Can Discover Nothing But What Is To Be Learned From Them.

The Faults Of A Writer Of Acknowledged Excellence Are More Dangerous, Because The Influence Of His Example Is More Extensive; And The Interest Of Learning Requires That They Should Be Discovered And Stigmatized, Before They Have The Sanction Of Antiquity Conferred Upon Them, And Become Precedents Of Indisputable Authority.