The Happiness Of London Is Not To

Books Are Faithful Repositories, Which May Be Awhile Neglected Or Forgotten; But When They Are Opened Again, Will Again Impart Their Instruction: Memory, Once Interrupted, Is Not To Be Recalled. Written Learning Is A Fixed Luminary, Which, After The Cloud That Had Hidden It Has Passed Away, Is Again Bright In Its Proper Station. Tradition Is But A Meteor, Which, If Once It Falls, Cannot Be Rekindled.

Censure Is Willingly Indulged, Because It Always Implies Some Superiority: Men Please Themselves With Imagining That They Have Made A Deeper Search, Or Wider Survey Than Others, And Detected Faults And Follies Which Escape Vulgar Observation.

Ladies, Stock And Tend Your Hive, Trifle Not At Thirty-five; For, Howe'er We Boast And Strive, Life Declines From Thirty-five; He That Ever Hopes To Thrive Must Begin By Thirty-five.

Life Admits Not Of Delays; When Pleasure Can Be Had, It Is Fit To Catch It. Every Hour Takes Away Part Of The Things That Please Us, And Perhaps Part Of Our Disposition To Be Pleased.

The Coquette Has Companions, Indeed, But No Lovers,--for Love Is Respectful And Timorous; And Where Among Her Followers Will She Find A Husband?