Honour Sinks Where Commerce Long Prevails.

Our Bounty, Like A Drop Of Water, Disappears, When Diffus'd Too Widely

Aromatic Plants Bestow No Spicy Fragrance While They Grow; But Crush'd Or Trodden To The Ground, Diffuse Their Balmy Sweets Around.

One Writer, For Instance, Excels At A Plan Or A Title Page, Another Works Away At The Body Of The Book, And A Third Is A Dab At An Index.

Our Chief Comforts Often Produce Our Greatest Anxieties, And The Increase In Our Possessions Is But An Inlet To New Disquietudes.

I Fancy The Character Of A Poet Is In Every Country The Same,--fond Of Enjoying The Present, Careless Of The Future; His Conversation That Of A Man Of Sense, His Actions Those Of A Fool.