Wicked Companions Invite Us To Hell.

Wine Is A Turncoat; First A Friend And Then An Enemy.

The Raillery Which Is Consistent With Good-breeding Is A Gentle Animadversion Of Some Foible, Which, While It Raises The Laugh In The Rest Of The Company, Doth Not Put The Person Rallied Out Of Countenance, Or Expose Him To Shame Or Contempt. On The Contrary, The Jest Should Be So Delicate That The Object Of It Should Be Capable Of Joining In The Mirth It Occasions.

Contempt Of Others Is The Truest Symptom Of A Base And Bad Heart,--while It Suggests Itself To The Mean And The Vile, And Tickles There Little Fancy On Every Occasion, It Never Enters The Great And Good Mind But On The Strongest Motives; Nor Is It Then A Welcome Guest,--affording Only An Uneasy Sensation, And Bringing Always With It A Mixture Of Concern And Compassion.

What Is Commonly Called Love, Namely The Desire Of Satisfying A Voracious Appetite With A Certain Quantity Of Delicate White Human Flesh.

When Mighty Roast Beef Was The Englishman's Food It Ennobled Our Hearts And Enriched Our Blood-- Our Soldiers Were Brave And Our Courtiers Were Good. Oh! The Roast Beef Of England. And Old England's Roast Beef.