It Is Not Begging But The Beggar,

History Is Not Written In The Interests Of Morality.

If We Could Make Up Our Minds To Spare Our Friends All Details Of Ill Health, Of Money Losses, Of Domestic Annoyances, Of Altercations, Of Committee Work, Of Grievances, Provocations, And Anxieties, We Should Sin Less Against The World's Good-humor. It May Not Be Given Us To Add To The Treasury Of Mirth; But There Is Considerable Merit In Not Robbing It.

Our Belief In Education Is Unbounded, Our Reverence For It Is Unfaltering, Our Loyalty To It Is Unshaken By Reverses. Our Passionate Desire, Not So Much To Acquire It As To Bestow It, Is The Most Animated Of American Traits.

We Have But The Memories Of Past Good Cheer, We Have But The Echoes Of Departed Laughter. In Vain We Look And Listen For The Mirth That Has Died Away. In Vain We Seek To Question The Gray Ghosts Of Old-time Revelers.

Erudition, Like A Bloodhound, Is A Charming Thing When Held Firmly In Leash, But It Is Not So Attractive When Turned Loose Upon A Defenseless And Unerudite Public.