I saw a great Newfoundland dog the other day sitting in front of a mirror at the entrance to a shop in Regent's Circus, and examining himself with an amount of smug satisfaction that I have never seen equaled elsewhere outside a vestry meeting.

But who wants to be foretold the weather? It is bad enough when it comes, without our having the misery of knowing about it beforehand.

Oh, give me back the good old days of fifty years ago,“ has been the cry ever since Adam's fifty-first birthday.

I should never make anything of a fisherman. I had not got sufficient imagination

What the eye does not see, the stomach does not get upset over

It is well we cannot see into the future. There are few boys of fourteen who would not feel ashamed of themselves at forty.

Fox-terriers are born with about four times as much original sin in them as other dogs.