Do we, mad as we all are after riches, hear often enough from the pulpit the spirit of those words in which Dean Swift, in his epitaph on the affluent and profligate Colonel Chartres, announces the small esteem of wealth in the eyes of God, from the fact of His thus lavishing it upon the meanest and basest of His creatures?

A writer who attempts to live on the manufacture of his imagination is continually coquetting with starvation.

Pretension is nothing; power is everything.

Humor, warm and all-embracing as the sunshine, bathes its objects in a genial and abiding light.

There is a natural disposition with us to judge an author's personal character by the character of his works. We find it difficult to understand the common antithesis of a good writer and a bad man.

In activity we must find our joy as well as glory; and labor, like everything else that is good, is its own reward.

Of the three prerequisites of genius; the first is soul; the second is soul; and the third is soul.