What I Am Looking For Is A

I Can't Sit Still And See Another Man Slaving And Working. I Want To Get Up And Superintend, And Walk Round With My Hands In My Pockets, And Tell Him What To Do. It Is My Energetic Nature. I Can't Help It.

In The Church Is A Memorial To Mrs. Sarah Hill, Who Bequeathed 1 Pound Annually, To Be Divided At Easter, Between Two Boys And Two Girls Who "have Never Been Undutiful To Their Parents; Who Have Never Been Known To Swear Or To Tell Untruths, To Steal, Or To Break Windows." Fancy Giving Up All That For Five Shillings A Year! It Is Not Worth It!

It Is Very Strange, This Domination Of Our Intellect By Our Digestive Organs. We Cannot Work, We Cannot Think, Unless Our Stomach Wills So. It Dictates To Us Our Emotions, Our Passions.... We Are But The Veriest, Sorriest Slaves Of Our Stomach. Reach Not After Morality And Righteousness, My Friends; Watch Vigilantly Your Stomach, And Diet It With Care And Judgment. Then Virtue And Contentment Will Come And Reign Within Your Heart, Unsought By Any Effort Of Your Own; And You Will Be A Good Citizen, A Loving Husband, And A Tender Father—a Noble, Pious Man.

It Is A Curious Fact, But Nobody Ever Is Sea-sick - On Land. At Sea, You Come Across Plenty Of People Very Bad Indeed, Whole Boat-loads Of Them; But I Never Met A Man Yet, On Land, Who Had Ever Known At All What It Was To Be Sea-sick. Where The Thousands Upon Thousands Of Bad Sailors That Swarm In Every Ship Hide Themselves When They Are On Land Is A Mystery.

I Could Not Conjure Up One Melancholy Fancy Upon A Mutton Chop And A Glass Of Champagne.