The Majority Of A Society Is The

In Misery's Darkest Cavern Known, His Useful Care Was Ever Nigh Where Hopeless Anguish Pour'd His Groan, And Lonely Want Retir'd To Die.

Nothing Detains The Reader's Attention More Powerfully Than Deep Involutions Of Distress, Or Sudden Vicissitudes Of Fortune; And These Might Be Abundantly Afforded By Memoirs Of The Sons Of Literature. They Are Entangled By Contracts Which They Know Not How To Fulfill, And Obliged To Write On Subjects Which They Do Not Understand. Every Publication Is A New Period Of Time, From Which Some Increase Or Declension Of Fame Is To Be Reckoned. The Gradations Of A Hero's Life Are From Battle To Battle, And Of An Author's From Book To Book.

Their Origin Is Commonly Unknown; For The Practice Often Continues When The Cause Has Ceased, And Concerning Superstitious Ceremonies It Is In Vain To Conjecture; For What Reason Did Not Dictate, Reason Cannot Explain.

Labor's Face Is Wrinkled With The Wind, And Swarthy With The Sun.

On Sir Joshua Reynolds's Observing That The Real Character Of A Man Was Found Out By His Amusements. Yes, Sir, No Man Is A Hypocrite In His Pleasures.