His poem, however, is meetly enough entituled—Christ Crucified! But the Rev. William Ellis Wall is worse than [Pontius] Pilate. That wretch, as this miserable calls the Roman governor, was careful to wash his hands of all guilt in the transaction; but the Rev. William Ellis Wall holds forth triumphantly his two unhallowed and incarnadine maniples of reeking digits, boasting of the infamous achievement in a most egregious preface.

A fresh young Germany must be planted here and there across the seas. We shall befruit it... with the outcome of our toils and struggles, beget and bring up noblest children, children like unto the gods.

He had been sentenced to imprisonment, but without the imposition of hard labour, and he had purchased his post of yardsman in the division allotted to those prisoners, equally with himself, exempt from labour—a class which, at that period, passed their time in utter idleness.

The way you make cow-lip tea is you get the toadstools and a little dried cow patty and grind em up in the sifter. You can't use no fresh green cow patty...