Little Would Be Wanting To The Happiness

Here Lies Our Good Edmund, Whose Genius Was Such, We Scarcely Can Praise It Or Blame It Too Much; Who, Born For The Universe, Narrowed His Mind, And To Party Gave Up What Was Meant For Mankind.

The Wise Man Applauds He Who He Thinks Most Virtuous; The Rest Of The World Applauds The Wealthy.

In General Those Parents Have The Most Reverence Who Most Deserve It; For He That Lives Well Cannot Be Despised.

He That Would Travel For The Entertainment Of Others, Should Remember That The Great Object Of Remark Is Human Life. Every Nation Has Something Peculiar In Its Manufactures, Its Works Of Genius, Its Medicines, Its Agriculture, Its Customs, And Its Policy. He Only Is A Useful Traveller, Who Brings Home Something By Which His Country May Be Benefited; Who Procures Some Supply Of Want, Or Some Mitigation Of Evil, Which May Enable His Readers To Compare Their Condition With That Of Others, To Improve It Whenever It Is Worse, And Whenever It Is Better To Enjoy It.

Many Leave The Labours Of Half Their Life To Their Executors And To Chance, Because They Will Not Send Them Abroad Unfinished, And Are Unable To Finish Them, Having Prescribed To Themselves Such A Degree Of Exactness As Human Diligence Can Scarcely Ontain.