Please Your Eye And Plague Your Heart.

You May Twist The Word Freedom As Long As You Please, But At Last It Comes To Quiet Enjoyment Of Your Own Property, Or It Comes To Nothing. Why Do Men Want Any Of Those Things That Are Called Political Rights And Privileges? Why Do They, For Instance, Want To Vote At Elections For Members Of Parliament? Oh! Because They Shall Then Have An Influence Over The Conduct Of Those Members. And Of What Use Is That? Oh! Then They Will Prevent The Members From Doing Wrong.

Having Still In My Recollection So Many Excellent Men, To Whose Grandfathers, Upon The Same Spots, My Grandfather Had Yielded Cheerful Obedience And Reverence, It Is Not Without Sincere Sorrow That I Have Beheld Many Of The Sons Of These Men Driven From Their Fathers' Mansions, Or Holding Them As Little Better Than Tenants Or Stewards, While The Swarms Of Placemen, Pensioners, Contractors, And Nabobs... Have Usurped A Large Part Of The Soil.

But I Do Not Remember Ever Having Seen A Newspaper In The House; And, Most Certainly, That Privation Did Not Render Us Less Industrious, Happy, Or Free.

When, From The Top Of Any High Hill, One Looks Round The Country, And Sees The Multitude Of Regularly Distributed Spires, One Not Only Ceases To Wonder That Order And Religion Are Maintained, But One Is Astonished That Any Such Thing As Disaffection Or Irreligion Should Prevail.

The Very Hirelings Of The Press, Whose Trade It Is To Buoy Up The Spirits Of The People... Have Uttered Falsehoods So Long, They Have Played Off So Many Tricks, That Their Budget Seems, At Last, To Be Quite Empty.