If I were sure of being dead next morning, before their threat of cutting off that water or that gas could by any possibility be carried out, before that judgment summons they are bragging about could be made returnable, I might--I don't say I should--be amused, thinking how I was going to dish them.

The wife of a very wicked man visited him one evening in prison, and found him enjoying a supper of toasted cheese.
"How foolish of you, Edward," argued the fond lady, "to be eating toasted cheese for supper.

You know it always affects your liver.

All day long to-morrow you will be complaining." "No, I shan't," interrupted Edward; "not so foolish as you think me.

They are going to hang me to-morrow--early." There is a passage in Marcus Aurelius that used to puzzle me until I hit upon the solution.