A Contented Spirit Is The Sweetness Of

I Am At The Moment Deaf In The Ears, Hoarse In The Throat, Red In The Nose, Green In The Gills, Damp In The Eyes, Twitchy In The Joints And Fractious In Temper From A Most Intolerable And Oppressive Cold.

For Your Popular Rumour, Unlike The Rolling Stone Of The Proverb, Is One Which Gathers A Deal Of Moss In Its Wanderings Up And Down.

If The Parks Be "the Lungs Of London" We Wonder What Greenwich Fair Is--a Periodical Breaking Out, We Suppose--a Sort Of Spring Rash.

I Confess I Have Yet To Learn That A Lesson Of The Purest Good May Not Be Drawn From The Vilest Evil.

The Boy Was Lying, Fast Asleep, On A Rude Bed Upon The Floor; So Pale With Anxiety, And Sadness, And The Closeness Of His Prison, That He Looked Like Death; Not Death As It Shews In Shroud And Coffin, But In The Guise It Wears When Life Has Just Departed; When A Young And Gentle Spirit Has, But An Instant, Fled To Heaven: And The Gross Air Of The World Has Not Had Time To Breathe Upon The Changing Dust It Hallowed.