Conscience Is Its Own Readiest Accuser.

This Is The Essential Evil Of Vice: It Debases A Man.

The Sluices Of The Grog-shop Are Fed From The Wine-glasses In The Parlor, And There Is A Lineal Descent From The Gentleman Who Hiccoughs At His Elegant Dinner-table To The Sot Who Makes A Bed Of The Gutter.

Through Every Rift Of Discovery Some Seeming Anomaly Drops Out Of The Darkness, And Falls, As A Golden Link Into The Great Chain Of Order.

Can You Conceive Of Anything That So Represents The Glory, And Truth, And Marvelousness Of God's Nature As The Idea Of Peace?

Some Souls Are Ennobled And Elevated By Seeming Misfortunes, Which Then Become Blessings In Disguise.