It Has All Been Most Interesting.

Solitude Begets Whimsies.

Nobody Can Deny But Religion Is A Comfort To The Distressed, A Cordial To The Sick, And Sometimes A Restraint On The Wicked.

The Pious Farmer, Who Ne'er Misses Pray'rs, With Patience Suffers Unexpected Rain; He Blesses Heav'n For What Its Bounty Spares, And Sees, Resign'd, A Crop Of Blighted Grain. But, Spite Of Sermons, Farmers Would Blaspheme, If A Star Fell To Set Their Thatch On Flame.

General Notions Are Generally Wrong.

We Are Educated In The Grossest Ignorance, And No Art Omitted To Stifle Our Natural Reason; If Some Few Get Above Their Nurses Instructions, Our Knowledge Must Rest Concealed And Be As Useless To The World As Gold In The Mine.