It Is As Bad As Bad Can

Cruel With Guilt, And Daring With Despair, The Midnight Murderer Bursts The Faithless Bar; Invades The Sacred Hour Of Silent Rest And Leaves, Unseen, A Dagger In Your Breast.

But It Is Evident, That These Bursts Of Universal Distress Are More Dreaded Than Felt; Thousands And Ten Thousands Flourish In Youth, And Wither In Age, Without The Knowledge Of Any Other Than Domestic Evils, And Share The Same Pleasures And Vexa­tions, Whether Their Kings Are Mild Or Cruel, Whether The Armies Of Their Country Pursue Their Enemies Or Retreat Before Them.

He Who Endeavors To Please Must Appear Pleased.

He That Compares What He Has Done With What He Has Left Undone, Will Feel The Effect Which Must Always Follow The Comparison Of Imagination With Reality; He Will Look With Contempt On His Own Unimportance, And Wonder To What Purpose He Came Into The World; He Will Repine That He Shall Leave Behind Him No Evidence Of His Having Been, That He Has Added Nothing To The System Of Life, But Has Glided From Youth To Age Among The Crowd, Without Any Effort For Distinction.

Glory, The Casual Gift Of Thoughtless Crowds! Glory, The Bribe Of Avaricious Virtue!