'Mind and matter,' said the lady in the wig, 'glide swift into the vortex if immensity. Howls the sublime, and softly sleeps the calm Ideal, in the whispering chambers of Imagination.'

If her eyes had no expression, it was probably because they had nothing to express. If she had few wrinkles, it was because her mind had never traced its name or any other inscription on her face.

My dear young lady, crime, like death, is not confined to the old and withered alone. The youngest and fairest are too often its chosen victims.

Dumb as a drum vith a hole in it, sir.

A new heart for a New Year, always!

But injustice breeds injustice; the fighting with shadows and being defeated by them necessitates the setting up of substances to combat.

We know, Mr. Weller - we, who are men of the world - that a good uniform must work its way with the women, sooner or later.