But Rosa Soon Made The Discovery That

"people Can't Die, Along The Coast," Said Mr. Peggotty, "except When The Tide's Pretty Nigh Out. They Can't Be Born, Unless It's Pretty Nigh In - Not Properly Born, Till Flood. He's A Going Out With The Tide. It's Ebb At Half-arter Three, Slack Water Half An Hour. If He Lives Till It Turns, He'll Hold His Own Till Past The Flood, And Go Out With The Next Tide."

If A Pig Could Give His Mind To Anything, He Would Not Be A Pig.

Every Idiot Who Goes About With A 'merry Christmas' On His Lips Should Be Boiled With His Own Pudding, And Buried With A Stake Of Holly Through His Heart.

Yes. He Is Quite A Good Fellow - Nobody's Enemy But His Own.

There Was A Little Plate Of Hothouse Nectarines On The Table, And There Was Another Of Grapes, And Another Of Sponge-cakes, And There Was A Bottle Of Light Wine ... 'this Is My Frugal Breakfast ... Give Me My Peach, My Cup Of Coffee, And My Claret.'