The Temple Of Silence And Reconciliation.

There Was, It Is Said, A Criminal In Italy Who Was Suffered To Make His Choice Between Guicciardini And The Galleys. He Chose The History. But The War Of Pisa Was Too Much For Him; He Changed His Mind, And Went To The Oars.

We Hardly Know An Instance Of The Strength And Weakness Of Human Nature So Striking And So Grotesque As The Character Of This Haughty, Vigilant, Resolute, Sagacious Blue-stocking, Half Mithridates And Half Trissotin, Bearing Up Against A World In Arms, With An Ounce Of Poison In One Pocket And A Quire Of Bad Verses In The Other.

The Real Security Of Christianity Is To Be Found In Its Benevolent Morality, In Its Exquisite Adaptation To The Human Heart, In The Facility With Which Its Scheme Accommodates Itself To The Capacity Of Every Human Intellect, In The Consolation Which It Bears To The House Of Mourning, In The Light With Which It Brightens The Great Mystery Of The Grave.

The Highest Intellects, Like The Tops Of Mountains, Are The First To Catch And To Reflect The Dawn.

It Is, I Believe, No Exaggeration To Say That All The Historical Information Which Has Been Collected In The Sanskrit Language Is Less Valuable Than What May Be Found In The Paltry Abridgements Used At Preparatory Schools In England.