"Charge, Chester, charge! on, Stanley, on!" Were the last words of Marmion.

I was born a Scotsman and a bare one. Therefore I was born to fight my way in the world.

And better had they ne'er been born, Who read to doubt, or read to scorn.

I will tear this folly from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away!

O woman! in our hours of ease Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!

He who indulges his sense in any excesses renders himself obnoxious to his own reason; and, to gratify the brute in him, displeases the man, and sets his two natures at variance.

Hurry no man's cattle; you may come to own a donkey yourself