The world is a looking glass and gives back to every man the reflection of his own face.

Pray, dear madam, another glass; it is Christmas time, it will do you no harm.

Alas! we are the sport of destiny.

It is an awful thing to get a glimpse, as one sometimes does, when the time is past, of some little, little wheel which works the whole mighty machinery of fate, and see how our destinies turn on a minute's delay or advance.

Kindnesses are easily forgotten; but injuries! what worthy man does not keep those in mind?

If fathers are sometimes sulky at the appearance of the destined son-in-law, is it not a fact that mothers become sentimental and, as it were, love their own loves over again.

To our betters eve can reconcile ourselves, if you please--respecting them sincerely, laughing at their jokes, making allowance for their stupidities, meekly suffering their insolence; but we can't pardon our equals going beyond us.