Since all the maids are good and lovable, from whence come the bad wives?

You look wise, pray correct that error.

I give thee all,-I can no more, Though poor the off'ring be; My heart and lute are all the store That I can bring to thee.

Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And multiply each through endless years,- One minute of heaven is worth them all.

I like you and your book, ingenious Hone! In whose capacious all-embracing leaves The very marrow of tradition 's shown; And all that history, much that fiction weaves.

To be thankful for what we grasp exceeding our proportion is to add hypocrisy to injustice.

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."