Guilt Is A Spiritual Rubicon.

Lachrymal Counsellors, With One Foot In The Cave Of Despair, And The Other Invading The Peace Of Their Friends, Are The Paralyzers Of Action, The Pests Of Society, And The Subtlest Homicides In The World; They Poison With A Tear; And Convey A Dagger To The Heart While They Press You To Their Bosoms.

Beauty Of Form Affects The Mind, But Then It Must Be Understood That It Is Not The Mere Shell That We Admire; We Are Attracted By The Idea That This Shell Is Only A Beautiful Case Adjusted To The Shape And Value Of A Still More Beautiful Pearl Within. The Perfection Of Outward Loveliness Is The Soul Shining Through Its Crystalline Covering.

Virtue, Without The Graces, Is Like A Rich Diamond Unpolished--it Hardly Looks Better Than A Common Pebble; But When The Hand Of The Master Rubs Off The Roughness, And Forms The Sides Into A Thousand Brilliant Surfaces, It Is Then That We Acknowledge Its Worth, Admire Its Beauty, And Long To Wear It In Our Bosoms.

True Virtue, When She Errs, Needs Not The Eyes Of Men To Excite Her Blushes; She Is Confounded At Her Own Presence, And Covered With Confusion Of Face.

But The Most Annoying Of All Public Reformers Is The Personal Satirist. Though He May Be Considered By Some Few As A Useful Member Of Society, Yet He Is Only Ranked With The Hangman, Whom We Tolerate Because He Executes The Judgment We Abhor To Do Ourselves, And Avoid With A Natural Detestation Of His Office. The Pen Of The One And The Cord Of The Other Are Inseparable In Our Minds.