Pity And Friendship Are Two Passions Incompatible

The Polite Of Every Country Seem To Have But One Character. A Gentleman Of Sweden Differs But Little, Except In Trifles, From One Of Any Other Country. It Is Among The Vulgar We Are To Find Those Distinctions Which Characterize A People.

You Will Always Find That Those Are Most Apt To Boast Of National Merit, Who Have Little Or Not Merit Of Their Own To Depend On . . .

Both Wit And Understanding Are Trifles Without Integrity.

Near Yonder Copse, Where Once The Garden Smil'd, And Still Where Many A Garden Flower Grows Wild, There, Where A Few Torn Shrubs The Place Disclose, The Village Preacher's Modest Mansion Rose. A Man He Was To All The Country Dear, And Passing Rich With Forty Pounds A Year; Remote From Town's He Ran His Godly Race, Nor E'er Had Chang'd Nor Wish'd To Change His Place; Unskilful He To Fawn, Or Seek For Power, By Doctrines Fashion'd To The Varying Hour; Far Other Aims His Heart Had Learn'd To Prize. More Bent To Raise The Wretched Than To Rise.

Eternal Blessings Crown My Earliest Friend, And Round His Dwelling Guardian Saints Attend.