I think for my part one half of the nation is mad - and the other not very sound.

The capital is become an overgrown monster; which, like a dropsical head, will in time leave the body and extremities without nourishment and support.

Glory is the child of peril.

The Highlanders regale themselves with whisky. They find it an excellent preservation against the winter cold. It is given with great success to the infants in the confluent smallpox.

The bread I eat in London, is a deleterious paste, mixed up with chalk, alum, and bone ashes: insipid to the taste, and destructive to the constitution.

Of this diversion the Scots are so fond, that, when the weather will permit, you may see a multitude of all ranks, from the senator of justice to the lowest tradesman, mingled together, in their shirts, and following the balls with utmost eagerness.

False as the fowler's artful snare.