Labor Humanizes, Exalts.

Every Sin Provokes Its Punishment.

The History Of Books Shows The Humblest Origin Of Some Of The Most Valued, Wrought As These Were Out Of Obscure Materials By Persons Whose Names Thereafter Became Illustrious. The Thumbed Volumes, Now So Precious To Thousands, Were Compiled From Personal Experiences And Owe Their Interest To Touches Of Inspiration Of Which The Writer Was Less Author Than Amanuensis, Himself The Voiced Word Of Life For All Times.

The Fable Runs That The Gods Mix Our Pains And Pleasure In One Cup, And Thus Mingle For Us The Adulterate Immortality Which We Alone Are Permitted Here To Enjoy. Voluptuous Raptures, Could We Prolong These At Pleasure, Would Dissipate And Dissolve Us. A Sip Is The Most That Mortals Are Permitted From Any Goblet Of Delight.

Our Friends Interpret The World And Ourselves To Us, If We Take Them Tenderly And Truly.

Truth Is Sensitive And Jealous Of The Least Encroachment Upon Its Sacredness.