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PROMISES was the ready money that was first coined, and made current by the law of Nature, to support that society and commerce that was necessary for the comfort and security of mankind; and they who have adulterated this pure and legitimate metal with an alloy of distinctions and subtle evasions, have introduced a counterfeit and pernicious coin, that destroys all the simplicity and integrity of human conversation. For what obligations can ever be the earnest of faith and truth, if promises may be violated ? The superinduction of others for the corroboration and maintenance of government had been much less necessary, if promises had still preserved their primitive vigour and reputation ; nor can any thing be said for the non-performance of a promise, which may not as reasonably be applied to the non-observance of an oath ; and in truth, men have not been observed to be much restrained by their oaths, who have not been punctual in their promises, the same sincerity of nature being requisite to both.



HOPE is the fawning traitor of the mind,
Which, while it cozens with a colour'd friendship,
Robs us of our best virtue, Resolution.


CONSCIENCE is but the pulse of reason.


EVER and anon of griefs subdued
There comes a token like a scorpion's sting,
Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued ;
And slight withal may be the things which bring
Back on the heart the weight which it would fling
Aside for ever; it may be a sound-
A tone of music,-summer's eve—or spring,
A flower—the wind—the ocean which shall wound,
Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly


And how and why we know not, nor can trace
Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind,
But feel the shock renewed, nor can efface
The blight and blackening which it leaves behind,
Which out of things familiar, undesign'd,
When least we deem of such, calls up to view
The spectres whom no exorcism can bind,
The cold—the changed--perchance the dead, anew,
The mourn'd, the lov'd, the lost, too many, yet how

few !


There is a necessity in Fate, Why still the bold, brave man is fortunate; He keeps his object ever full in sight, And that assurance holds him firm and right: True 'tis a narrow way that leads to bliss, But right before there is no precipice,-Fear makes men look aside, and so their footing miss.


The progress of a private conversation betwixt two persons of different sexes, is often decisive of their fate, and gives it a turn very distinct perhaps from what they themselves anticipated. Gallantry becomes mingled with conversation, and affection and passion come gradually to mix with gallantry. Nobles, as well as shepherd swains, will, in such a trying moment, say more than they intended; and queens, like village maidens, will listen longer than they should.


He who contends for freedom
Can ne'er be justly deem'd his sovereign's foe :
No, 'tis the wretch that tempts him to subvert it;
The soothing slave, the traitor in the bosom,
Who best deserves that name.


Wine is like Anger; for it makes us strong,
Blind, and impatient, and it leads us wrong ;
The strength is quickly lost, we feel the error long.


HUMAN wisdom makes as ill use of her talent, when she exercises it in rescinding from the number and sweetness of those pleasures, that are naturally our due, as she employs it favourably and well, in artificially disguising and tricking out the ills of life, to alleviate the sense of them.


TRUE tender love one even tenor keeps;
'Tis reason's flame, and burns when passion sleeps.
The charm connubial, like a stream that glides
Through life's fair vale, with no unequal tides,
With many a plant along its genial side,
With many a flower that blows in beauteous pride,
With many a shade, where peace in rapturous rest,
Holds sweet affiance to her fearless breast;
Pure in its source, and temperate in its way,
Still flows the same, nor finds its urn decay.



Give me but Something whereunto I may bind my heart; Something to love, to rest upon, to clasp Affection's tendrils round.


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