I Am Always At A Loss At

Poetry Is Evidently A Contagious Complaint.

The Tongue Is The Only Instrument That Gets Sharper With Use.

Christmas Is A Season For Kindling The Fire For Hospitality In The Hall, The Genial Flame Of Charity In The Heart.

There's Nothing Like Being In Fashion. A Man That Has Once Got His Character Up For A Wit Is Always Sure Of A Laugh, Say What He May. He May Utter As Much Nonsense As He Pleases, And All Will Pass Current. No One Stops To Question The Coin Of A Rich Man; But A Poor Devil Cannot Pass Off Either A Joke Or A Guinea Without Its Being Examined On Both Sides. Wit And Coin Are Always Doubted With A Threadbare Coat.

A Mother Is The Truest Friend We Have When Trials, Heavy And Sudden, Fall Upon Us; When Adversity Takes The Place Of Prosperity.