Modesty Is Policy, No Less

Vanity Is So Constantly Solicitous Of Self, That Even Where Its Own Claims Are Not Interested, It Indirectly Seeks The Aliment Which It Loves, By Showing How Little Is Deserved By Others.

I Know Not That There Is Anything In Nature More Soothing To The Mind Than The Contemplation Of The Moon, Sailing, Like Some Planetary Bark, Amidst A Sea Of Bright Azure. The Subject Is Certainly Hackneyed; The Moon Has Been Sung By Poet And Poetaster. Is There Any Marvel That It Should Be So?

It Is A Bird-flight Of The Soul, When The Heart Declares Itself In Song. The Affections That Clothe Themselves With Wings Are Passions That Have Been Subdued To Virtues.

The Birth Of A Child Is The Imprisonment Of A Soul. The Soul Must Work Its Way Out Of Prison, And, In Doing So, Provide Itself With Wings For A Future Journey. It Is For Each Of Us To Determine Whether Our Wings Shall Be Those Of An Angel Or A Grub!

Vanity May Be Likened To The Smooth-skinned And Velvet-footed Mouse, Nibbling About Forever In Expectation Of A Crumb; While Self-esteem Is Too Apt To Take The Likeness Of The Huge Butcher's Dog, Who Carries Off Your Steaks, And Growls At You As Be Goes.