He That Easily Believes Rumors Has The

Happiness Is A Sunbeam Which May Pass Through A Thousand Bosoms Without Losing A Particle Of Its Original Ray; Nay, When It Strikes On A Kindred Heart, Like The Converged Light On A Mirror, It Reflects Itself With Redoubled Brightness. It Is Not Perfected Till It Is Shared.

True Virtue, When She Errs, Needs Not The Eyes Of Men To Excite Her Blushes; She Is Confounded At Her Own Presence, And Covered With Confusion Of Face.

Any Base Heart Can Devise Means Of Vileness, And Affix The Ugly Shapings Of Its Own Fancy To The Actions Of Those Around Him; But It Requires Loftiness Of Mind, And The Heaven-born Spirit Of Virtue, To Imagine Greatness Where It Is Not, And To Deck The Sordid Objects Of Nature In The Beautiful Robes Of Loveliness And Light.

In The Career Of Female Fame, There Are Few Prizes To Tie Obtained Which Can Vie With The Obscure State Of A Beloved Wife Or A Happy Mother.

We All Know That A Lie Needs No Other Grounds, Than The Invention Of The Liar; And To Take For Granted As Truth, All That Is Alleged Against The Fame Of Others, Is A Species Of Credulity, That Men Would Blush At On Any Other Subject.