He loved the soothing hour, when the last tints of light die away; when the stars, one by one, tremble through æther, and are reflected on the dark mirror of the waters; that hour, which, of all others, inspires the mind with pensive tenderness, and often elevates it to sublime contemplation.

There is no accounting for tastes.

It is dismal coming home, when there is nobody to welcome one!

How despicable is that humanity, which can be contented to pity, where it might assuage!

When the mind has once begun to yield to the weakness of superstition, trifles impress it with the force of conviction.

To a generous mind few circumstances are more afflicting than a discovery of perfidy in those whom we have trusted.

There is something in the ardour and ingenousness of youth, which is particularly pleasing to the contemplation of an old man, if his feelings have not been entirely corroded by the world.