When Any Anxiety Or Gloom Of The

A Man Who Is Good Enough To Go To Heaven Is Good Enough To Be A Clergyman.

Such Is The State Of Every Age, Every Sex, And Every Condition: All Have Their Cares, Either From Nature Or From Folly; And Whoever, Therefore, Finds Himself Inclined To Envy Another, Should Remember That He Knows Not The Real Condition Which He Desires To Obtain, But Is Certain That By Indulging A Vicious Passion, He Must Lessen That Happiness Which He Thinks Already Too Sparingly Bestowed.

Solitude Is The Surest Nurse Of All Prurient Passions, And A Girl In The Hurry Of Preparation, Or Tumult Of Gaiety, Has Neither Inclination Nor Leisure To Let Tender Expressions Soften Or Sink Into Her Heart. The Ball, The Show, Are Not The Dangerous Places: No, 'tis The Private Friend, The Kind Consoler, The Companion Of The Easy Vacant Hour, Whose Compliance With Her Opinions Can Flatter Her Vanity, And Whose Conversation Can Sooth, Without Ever Stretching Her Mind, That Is The Lover To Be Feared: He Who Buzzes In Her Ear At Court, Or At The Opera, Must Be Contented To Buzz In Vain.

The Labor Of Rising From The Ground Will Be Great, ... But As We Mount Higher, The Earth's Attraction, And The Body's Gravity, Will Be Gradually Diminished Till We Arrive At A Region Where The Man Will Float In The Air Without Any Tendency To Fall.

There Is Nothing More Dreadful To An Author Than Neglect; Compared With Which Reproach, Hatred, And Opposition Are Names Of Happiness; Yet This Worst, This Meanest Fate, Every One Who Dares To Write Has Reason To Fear.