Poetry Had Breathed Over And Sanctified The

Nature Seems To Delight In Disappointing The Assiduities Of Art, With Which It Would Rear Legitimate Dulness To Maturity; And To Glory In The Vigour And Luxuriance Of Her Chance Productions.

Speculation Is The Romance Of Trade, And Casts Contempt Upon On All Its Sober Realities. It Renders The Stock-jobber A Magician, And The Exchange A Region Of Enchantment.

There Are Moments Of Mingled Sorrow And Tenderness, Which Hallow The Caresses Of Affection.

The Natural Effect Of Sorrow Over The Dead Is To Refine And Elevate The Mind.

Wit, After All, Is A Mighty Tart, Pungent Ingredient, And Much Too Acid For Some Stomachs; But Honest Good Humor Is The Oil And Wine Of A Merry Meeting.