There Is A Sacredness In Tears. They

Villainy Wears Many Masks; None So Dangerous As The Mask Of Virtue.

The Paternal Hearth, The Rallying-place Of The Affections.

History Fades Into Fable; Fact Becomes Clouded With Doubt And Controversy; The Inscription Molders From The Tablet: The Statue Falls From The Pedestal. Columns, Arches, Pyramids, What Are They But Heaps Of Sand; And Their Epitaphs, But Characters Written In The Dust?

By A Kind Of Fashionable Discipline, The Eye Is Taught To Brighten, The Lip To Smile, And The Whole Countenance To Emanate With The Semblance Of Friendly Welcome, While The Bosom Is Unwarmed By A Single Spark Of Genuine Kindness And Good-will.

It Is Worthy To Note, That The Early Popularity Of Washington Was Not The Result Of Brilliant Achievement Nor Signal Success; On The Contrary, It Rose Among Trials And Reverses, And May Almost Be Said To Have Been The Fruit Of Defeat.