Suspicion Is Most Often Useless Pain.

No Place Affords A More Striking Conviction Of The Vanity Of Human Hopes Than A Public Library; For Who Can See The Wall Crowded On Every Side By Mighty Volumes, The Works Of Laborious Meditations And Accurate Inquiry, Now Scarcely Known But By The Catalogue.

Every Man Thinks Meanly Of Himself For Not Having Been A Soldier, Or Not Having Been At Sea.

Our Aspirations Are Our Possibilities.

Falsehood Always Endeavors To Copy The Mien And Attitude Of Truth.

An Italian Philosopher Said That "time Was His Estate"; An Estate Indeed Which Will Produce Nothing Without Cultivation, But Will Always Abundantly Repay The Labors Of Industry, And Generally Satisfy The Most Extensive Desires, If No Part Of It Be Suffered To Lie In Waste By Negligence, To Be Overrun With Noxious Plants, Or Laid Out For Show Rather Than For Use.