Satire often proceeds less from ill-nature than from the desire of displaying wit. STYLE. To praise the style of an author more than his thoughts, is like commending a woman for her dress more than for her person. Style, like dress, should be appropriate, and not detract attention from what it was meant to adorn. DECLAIMERS AGAINST THE WORLD. They declaim most against the world who have most sinned against it; as people generally abuse those whom they have injured. ROUGH MEN. Rough men have all their seams on the outside; and they rub against and incommode those who come in contact with them. FAITH. We are more prone to persecute others for their faith than to make sacrifices to prove our own. REASON. Reason dissipates the illusions of life, but does not console us for their departure. SORROW. Sorrow is to youth what experience is to maturity. REVOLUTIONS. Revolutions are like earthquakes: if they overturn much that is faulty, they destroy also much that is good. DESTINY. Destiny is a phantom of our own creation, like the monsters children first imagine, and then fear. PHILOSOPHY. Socrates termed philosophy the preparation for death; but should it not rather be styled the patient endurance of life? BON MOTS. It was said of ——, that his conversation was a tissue of bon mots: “Yes,” said ——, “but remember, it has nothing but bon mots, and though a few spangles may ornament a dress, a garment wholly covered with them is fatiguing to the eye.” VIRTUE. The virtue that repels by its severity, makes few converts; but that which attracts by its charity, incites all to esteem, if not to follow its precepts. KINGS AND BEAUTIES. Kings never hear the voice of truth until they are dethroned; nor beauties, until they have abdicated their charms. FLOWERS. Flowers are the bright remembrancers of youth: They waft back with their bland and odorous breath The joyous hours that only young life knows, Ere we have learned that this fair earth hides graves. They bring the cheek that’s mouldering in the dust Again before us, tinged with health’s own rose; They bring the voices we shall hear no more, Whose tones were sweetest music to our ears; They bring the hopes that faded one by one, Till nought was left to light our path but faith, That we too, like the flowers, should spring to life, But not, like them again, e’er fade or die. AGE.