So long as a man-of-war exists, it must ever remain a picture of much that is tyrannical and repelling in human nature.

Prayer draws us near to our own souls.

Let us only hate hatred; and once give love a play, we will fall in love with a unicorn.

What man who carries a heavenly soul in him, has not groaned to perceive, that unless he committed a sort of suicide as to the practical things of this world, he never can hope to regulate his earthly conduct by that same heavenly soul?

Doesn't the devil live forever; who ever heard that the devil was dead? Did you ever see any person wearing mourning for the devil?

To anybody who can hold the Present at its worth without being inappreciative of the Past, it may be forgiven, if to such an one the solitary old hulk at Portsmouth, Nelson's Victory, seems to float there, not alone as the decaying monument of a fame incorruptible, but also as a poetic approach, softened by its picturesqueness, to the Monitors and yet mightier hulls of the European ironclads.

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