Critics, Like The Rest Of Mankind, Are

When A Man Marries A Widow His Jealousies Revert To The Past: No Man Is As Good As His Wife Says Her First Husband Was

In Lapidary Inscriptions A Man Is Not Upon Oath.

Want Of Tenderness Is Want Of Parts, And Is No Less A Proof Of Stupidity Than Depravity.

Hunger Is Never Delicate.

When A Poet Mentions The Spring, We Know That The Zephyrs Are About To Whisper, That The Groves Are To Recover Their Verdure, The Linnets To Warble Forth Their Notes Of Love, And The Flocks And Herds To Frisk Over Vales Painted With Flowers: Yet, Who Is There So Insensible Of The Beauties Of Nature, So Little Delighted With The Renovation Of The World, As Not To Feel His Heart Bound At The Mention Of The Spring?