The Noblest Prospect Which A Scotchman Ever

Nature Never Gives Everything At Once.

What Is Written Without Effort Is In General Read Without Pleasure.

It Is Not Possible To Be Regarded With Tenderness, Except By A Few. That Merit Which Gives Greatness And Renown Diffuses Its Influence To A Wide Compass, But Acts Weakly On Every Single Breast; It Is Placed At A Distance From Common Spectators, And Shines Like One Of The Remote Stars, Of Which The Light Reaches Us, But Not The Heat.

Genius Now And Then Produces A Lucky Trifle. We Still Read The Dove Of Anacreon, And Sparrow Of Catullus; And A Writer Naturally Pleases Himself With A Performance Which Owes Nothing To The Subject.

Timidity Is A Disease Of The Mind, Obstinate And Fatal; For A Man Once Persuaded That Any Impediment Is Insuperable Has Given It, With Respect To Himself, That Strength And Weight Which It Had Not Before.