I must e'en jog on with my old comrades, and in my old ways; till I jog into the noose hempen or--melancholy alternative!--the noose matrimonial." "This is mere folly," said Clifford, from whose nervous and masculine mind habits were easily shaken.

"We have not for so many years discarded all the servile laws of others, to be the abject slaves of our own weaknesses.

Come, my dear fellow, rouse yourself.

Heaven knows, were I to succumb to the feebleness of my own heart, I should be lost indeed.
And perhaps, wrestle I ever so stoutly, I do not wrestle away that which clings within me, and will kill me, though by inches.

But let us not be cravens, and suffer fate to drown us rather than swim.