False Taste Is Always Busy To Mislead

To Strive With Difficulties, And To Conquer Them, Is The Highest Human Felicity; The Next Is, To Strive, And Deserve To Conquer: But He Whose Life Has Passed Without A Contest, And Who Can Boast Neither Success Nor Merit, Can Survey Himself Only As A Useless Filler Of Existence; Ad If He Is Content With His Own Character, Must Owe His Satisfaction To Insensibility.

Merit Rather Enforces Respect Than Attracts Fondness.

Order Is A Lovely Nymph, The Child Of Beauty And Wisdom; Her Attendants Are Comfort, Neatness, And Activity; Her Abode Is The Valley Of Happiness: She Is Always To Be Found When Sought For, And Never Appears So Lovely As When Contrasted With Her Opponent, Disorder.

Silence Propagates Itself, And The Longer Talk Has Been Suspended, The More Difficult It Is To Find Anything To Say.

In A Time Of War The Nation Is Always Of One Mind, Eager To Hear Something Good Of Themselves And Ill Of The Enemy. At This Time The Task Of The News-writer Is Easy; They Have Nothing To Do But To Tell That A Battle Is Expected, And Afterwards That A Battle Has Been Fought, In Which We And Our Friends, Whether Conquering Or Conquered, Did All, And Our Enemies Did Nothing.