Chemistry is a gibberish of Latin and German; but in Leibig's hands it becomes a powerful language.

Chemistry is a gibberish of Latin and German; but in Leibig's hands it becomes a powerful language.

They were indeed great rascals, and belonged to that class of people who find things before they are lost.

Some men are born to good luck: all they do or try to do comes right—all that falls to them is so much gain—all their geese are swans—all their cards are trumps—toss them which way you will, they will always, like poor puss, alight upon their legs, and only move on so much the faster. The world may very likely not always think of them as they think of themselves, but what care they for the world? what can it know about the matter?

Then up he got with a light heart, free from all his troubles, and walked on till he reached his mother's house, and told her how very easy the road to good luck was.

My mother, she killed me, My father, he ate me, My sister Marlene, Gathered all my bones, Tied them in a silken scarf, Laid them beneath the juniper tree, Tweet, tweet, what a beautiful bird am I.

Skin white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony.