In Perseverance, In Self Command, In Forethought,

At Present, The Novels Which We Owe To English Ladies Form No Small Part Of The Literary Glory Of Our Country. No Class Of Works Is More Honorably Distinguished For Fine Observation, By Grace, By Delicate Wit, By Pure Moral Feeling.

We Are Free, We Are Civilised, To Little Purpose, If We Grudge To Any Portion Of The Human Race An Equal Measure Of Freedom And Civilisation.

In The Modern Languages There Was Not, Six Hundred Years Ago, A Single Volume Which Is Now Read. The Library Of Our Profound Scholar Must Have Consisted Entirely Of Latin Books.

From The Poetry Of Lord Byron They Drew A System Of Ethics Compounded Of Misanthropy And Voluptuousness,-a System In Which The Two Great Commandments Were To Hate Your Neighbour And To Love Your Neighbour's Wife.

But The Time Will Come When New England Will Be As Thickly Peopled As Old England. Wages Will Be As Low, And Will Fluctuate As Much With You As With Us. You Will Have Your Manchesters And Birminghams; And, In Those Manchesters And Birminghams, Hundreds Of Thousands Of Artisans Will Assuredly Be Sometimes Out Of Work. Then Your Institutions Will Be Fairly Brought To The Test.