It Is... A Just Political Maxim, That

Delicacy Of Taste Has The Same Effect As Delicacy Of Passion; It Enlarges The Sphere Both Of Our Happiness And Our Misery.

It Is A Great Mortification To The Vanity Of Man, That His Utmost Art And Industry Can Never Equal The Meanest Of Nature's Productions, Either For Beauty Or Value. Art Is Only The Under-workman, And Is Employed To Give A Few Strokes Of Embellishment To Those Pieces, Which Come From The Hand Of The Master.

The Heights Of Popularity And Patriotism Are Still The Beaten Road To Power And Tyranny; Flattery To Treachery; Standing Armies To Arbitrary Government; And The Glory Of God To The Temporal Interest Of The Clergy.

Heroism, Or Military Glory, Is Much Admired By The Generality Of Mankind. They Consider It As The Most Sublime Kind Of Merit. Menof Cool Reflection Are Not So Sanguine In Their Praises Of It.

There Is An Universal Tendency Among Mankind To Conceive All Beings Like Themselves, And To Transfer To Every Object, Those Qualities, With Which They Are Familiarly Acquainted, And Of Which They Are Intimately Conscious. We Find Human Faces In The Moon, Armies In The Clouds; And By A Natural Propensity, If Not Corrected By Experience And Reflection, Ascribe Malice Or Good-will To Every Thing, That Hurts Or Pleases Us.