Whatever Evils Either Reason Or Declamation Have

Conversation Enriches The Understanding, But Solitude Is The School Of Genius.

At The Hour Of Midnight The Salerian Gate Was Silently Opened, And The Inhabitants Were Awakened By The Tremendous Sound Of The Gothic Trumpet. Eleven Hundred And Sixty-three Years After The Foundation Of Rome, The Imperial City, Which Had Subdued And Civilised So Considerable A Part Of Mankind, Was Delivered To The Licentious Fury Of The Tribes Of Germany And Scythia.

The Brutal Soldiers Satisfied Their Sensual Appetites Without Consulting Either The Inclination Or The Duties Of Their Female Captives; And A Nice Question Of Casuistry Was Seriously Agitated, Whether Those Tender Victims, Who Had Inflexibly Refused Their Consent To The Violation Which They Sustained, Had Lost, By Their Misfortune, The Glorious Crown Of Virginity. There Were Other Losses Indeed Of A More Substantial Kind And More General Concern.

Genius May Anticipate The Season Of Maturity; But In The Education Of A People, As In That Of An Individual, Memory Must Be Exercised, Before The Powers Of Reason And Fancy Can Be Expanded: Nor May The Artist Hope To Equal Or Surpass, Till He Has Learned To Imitate, The Works Of His Predecessors.

A People Who Still Remembered That Their Ancestors Had Been The Masters Of The World Would Have Applauded, With Conscious Pride, The Representation Of Ancient Freedom, If They Had Not Long Since Been Accustomed To Prefer The Solid Assurance Of Bread To The Unsubstantial Visions Of Liberty And Greatness.