The Pathetic Almost Always Consists In The

The Single Combats Of The Heroes Of History Or Fable Amuse Our Fancy And Engage Our Affections: The Skillful Evolutions Of War May Inform The Mind, And Improve A Necessary, Though Pernicious, Science. But In The Uniform And Odious Pictures Of A General Assault, All Is Blood, And Horror, And Confusion . . .

It Is Impossible To Reduce, Or, At Least, To Hold A Distant Country Against The Wishes And Efforts Of Its Inhabitants.

Both Moscow And [kiev], The Modern And The Ancient Capitals, Were Reduced To Ashes [by The Tartars]; A Temporary Ruin, Less Fatal Than The Deep, And Perhaps Indelible, Mark, Which A Servitude Of Two Hundred Years Has Imprinted On The Character Of The Russians.

Women [in Ancient Rome] Were Condemned To The Perpetual Tutelage Of Parents, Husbands, Or Guardians; A Sex Created To Please And Obey Was Never Supposed To Have Attained The Age Of Reason And Experience. Such, At Least, Was The Stern And Haughty Spirit Of The Ancient Law . . .

The Voice Of History Is Often Little More Than The Organ Of Hatred Or Flattery.