And come he slow, or come he fast,

A good play for nothing, you know, as work for nothing

Heap on more wood! the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still.

Come he slow or come he fast. It is but death who comes at last.

If you have no friends to share or rejoice in your success in life -- if you cannot look back to those whom you owe gratitude, or forward to those to whom you ought to afford protection, still it is no less incumbent on you to move steadily in the path of duty; for your active excretions are due not only to society; but in humble gratitude to the Being who made you a member of it, with powers to save yourself and others.

I like a Highland friend who will stand by me, not only when I am in the right, but when I am a little in the wrong

The consequences of our crimes long survive their commission, and, like the ghosts of the murdered, forever haunt the steps of the malefactor

And the brute crowd, whose envious zeal Huzzas each turn of fortune's wheel, And loudest shouts when lowest lie Exalted worth and station high

Death - the last sleep? No, it is the final awakening

Pride and jealousy there was in his eye, for his life had been spent in asserting rights which were constantly liable to invasion; and the prompt, fiery, and resolute disposition of the man, had been kept constantly upon the alert by the circumstances of his situation.