To Buried Merit Rise The Tardy Bust.

In A Time Of War The Nation Is Always Of One Mind, Eager To Hear Something Good Of Themselves And Ill Of The Enemy. At This Time The Task Of The News-writer Is Easy; They Have Nothing To Do But To Tell That A Battle Is Expected, And Afterwards That A Battle Has Been Fought, In Which We And Our Friends, Whether Conquering Or Conquered, Did All, And Our Enemies Did Nothing.

Parents And Children Seldom Act In Concert: Each Child Endeavors To Appropriate The Esteem Or Fondness Of The Parents, And The Parents, With Yet Less Temptation, Betray Each Other To Their Children.

To See Helpless Infancy Stretching Out Her Hands, And Pouring Out Her Cries In Testimony Of Dependence, Without Any Powers To Alarm Jealousy, Or Any Guilt To Alienate Affection, Must Surely Awaken Tenderness In Every Human Mind; And Tenderness Once Excited Will Be Hourly Increased By The Natural Contagion Of Felicity, By The Repercussion Of Communicated Pleasure, By The Consciousness Of Dignity Of Benefaction.

Such Are The Vicissitudes Of The World, Through All Its Parts, That Day And Night, Labor And Rest, Hurry And Retirement, Endear Each Other; Such Are The Changes That Keep The Mind In Action: We Desire, We Pursue, We Obtain, We Are Satiated; We Desire Something Else And Begin A New Pursuit.

Those Writers Who Lie On The Watch For Novelty Can Have Little Hope Of Greatness; For Great Things Cannot Have Escaped Former Observation.