A Volcano May Be Considered As A

Ill Fares The Land, To Hastening Ills A Prey, Where Wealth Accumulates, And Men Decay. Princes And Lords May Flourish Or May Fade,- A Breath Can Make Them, As A Breath Has Made; But A Bold Peasantry, Their Country's Pride, When Once Destroy'd, Can Never Be Supplied.

A French Woman Is A Perfect Architect In Dress: She Never, With Gothic Ignorance, Mixes The Orders; She Never Tricks Out A Snobby Doric Shape With Corinthian Finery; Or, To Speak Without Metaphor, She Conforms To General Fashion Only When It Happens Not To Be Repugnant To Private Beauty.

All The Bloomy Flush Of Life Is Fled.

Silence Is Become His Mother Tongue.

To A Philosopher No Circumstance, However Trifling, Is Too Minute.