Do Not Fold, Spindle Or Mutilate.

The Man Must Have A Rare Recipe For Melancholy, Who Can Be Dull In Fleet Street.

Returning To Town In The Stage-coach, Which Was Filled With Mr. Gilman's Guests, We Stopped For A Minute Or Two At Kentish Town. A Woman Asked The Coachman, "are You Full Inside?" Upon Which Lamb Put His Head Through The Window And Said, "i Am Quite Full Inside; That Last Piece Of Pudding At Mr. Gilman's Did The Business For Me."

Merit, God Knows, Is Very Little Rewarded.

By Myself Walking, To Myself Talking.

The Vices Of Some Men Are Magnificent.