Pity and friendship are two passions incompatible with each other.

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay.

A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year.

Even children follow'd with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile.

We may affirm of Mr. Buffon, that which has been said of the chemists of old; though he may have failed in attaining his principal aim, of establishing a theory, yet he has brought together such a multitude of facts relative to the history of the earth, and the nature of its fossil productions, that curiosity finds ample compensation, even while it feels the want of conviction.

As for murmurs, mother, we grumble a little now and then, to be sure; but there's no love lost between us.

Where wealth accumulates, men decay.