London Is A Modern Babylon.

The Right Honourable Gentleman Caught The Whigs Bathing, And Walked Away With Their Clothes. He Has Left Them In The Full Enjoyment Of Their Liberal Positions, And He Is Himself A Strict Conservative Of Their Garments.

A Man's Fate Is His Own Temper.

And It Is A Singular Truth That, Though A Man May Shake Off National Habits, Accent, Manner Of Thinking, Style Of Dress,--though He May Become Perfectly Identified With Another Nation, And Speak Its Language Well, Perhaps Better Than His Own,--yet Never Can He Succeed In Changing His Handwriting To A Foreign Style.

Without Tact You Can Learn Nothing. Tact Teaches You When To Be Silent. Inquirers Who Are Always Questioning Never Learn Anything.

No Conjunction Can Possibly Occur, However Fearful, However Tremendous It May Appear, From Which A Man By His Own Energy May Not Extricate Himself, As A Mariner By The Rattling Of His Cannon Can Dissipate The Impending Waterspout.