When A Man Is Tried Of London,

The Synonyme Of Usury Is Ruin.

Spring Is The Season Of Gaiety, And Winter Of Terror; In Spring The Heart Of Tranquility Dances To The Melody Of The Groves, And The Eye Of Benevolence Sparkles At The Sight Of Happiness And Plenty: In Winter, Compassion Melts At Universal Calamity, And The Tear Of Softness Starts At The Wailing Of Hunger And The Cries Of The Creation In Distress

I Should As Soon Think Of Contradicting A Bishop

To Tell Your Own Secrets Is Generally Folly, But That Folly Is Without Guilt; To Communicate Those With Which We Are Intrusted Is Always Treachery, And Treachery For The Most Part Combined With Folly.

A Certain Amount Of Distrust Is Wholesome, But Not So Much Of Others As Of Ourselves; Neither Vanity Not Conceit Can Exist In The Same Atmosphere With It.