There Is Not A Passion So Strongly

If I Reprehend Anything In This World, It Is The Use Of My Oracular Tongue, And A Nice Derangement Of Epitaphs!

Justice-august And Pure, The Abstract Idea Of All That Would Be Perfect In The Spirits And The Inspirations Of Men!-where The Mind Rises; Where The Heart Expands; Where The Countenance Is Ever Placid And Benign; Where Her Favorite Attitude Is To Stoop To The Unfortunate; To Hear Their Cry And To Help Them; To Rescue And Relieve; To Succor And Save; Majestic, From Its Mercy; Venerable, From Its Lutility; Uplifted, Without Pride; Firm Without Obduracy; Beneficent In Each Preference; Lovely, Though In Her Frown!

Sheer Necessity,-the Proper Parent Of An Art So Nearly Allied To Invention.

Madam, A Circulating Library In A Town Is As An Evergreen Tree Of Diabolical Knowledge; It Blossoms Through The Year. And Depend On It That They Who Are So Fond Of Handling The Leaves, Will Long For The Fruit At Last.

Here, My Dear Lucy, Hide These Books. Quick, Quick! Fling "peregrine Pickle" Under The Toilette -throw "roderick Random" Into The Closet -put "the Innocent Adultery" Into "the Whole Duty Of Man"; Thrust "lord Aimworth" Under The Sofa! Cram "ovid" Behind The Bolster; There -put "the Man Of Feeling" Into Your Pocket. Now For Them.