"No friend like the mother, for the babby knows no other." "And that's true," rejoined Mrs.Sheppard; "for if I had _not_ been a mother, I would not have survived the day on which I became a widow." "You mustn't think of that, Mrs.Sheppard," said Wood in a soothing tone.
"I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow.

"I can never get poor Tom's last look out of my head, as he stood in the Stone-Hall at Newgate, after his irons had been knocked off, unless I manage to stupify myself somehow.

The dismal tolling of St.Sepulchre's bell is for ever ringing in my ears--oh!" "If that's the case," observed Wood, "I'm surprised you should like to have such a frightful picture constantly in view as that over the chimney-piece." "I'd good reasons for placing it there, Sir; but don't question me about them now, or you'll drive me mad," returned Mrs.Sheppard wildly.
"Well, well, we'll say no more about it," replied Wood; "and, by way of changing the subject, let me advise you on no account to fly to strong waters for consolation, Joan.

One nail drives out another, it's true; but the worst nail you can employ is a coffin-nail.

Gin Lane's the nearest road to the churchyard." "It may be; but if it shortens the distance and lightens the journey, I care not," retorted the widow, who seemed by this reproach to be roused into sudden eloquence.