Though amid all the smoking horror and diabolism of a sea-fight, sharks will be seen longingly gazing up to the ship's decks, like hungry dogs round a table where red meat is being carved, ready to bolt down every killed man that is tossed to them.

Tis no dishonor when he who would dishonor you, only dishonors himself.

For all his tattooings he was on the whole a clean, comely looking cannibal.

One would like to know, what were foes made for except to be used?

A good laugh is a mighty good thing, and rather too scarce a good thing.

We cannot live for ourselves alone.

Passion, and passion in its profoundest, is not a thing demanding a palatial stage whereon to play its part. Down among the groundlings, among the beggars and rakers of the garbage, profound passion is enacted. And the circumstances that provoke it, however trivial or mean, are no measure of its power. In the present instance the stage is a scrubbed gun deck, and one of the external provocations a man-of-war's-man's spilled soup.