Christmas Time! That Man Must Be A

"but Even If He Has Been Wicked," Pursued Rose, "think How Young He Is; Think That He May Never Have Known A Mother's Love, Or The Comfort Of A Home; That Ill-usage And Blows, Or The Want Of Bread, May Have Driven Him To Herd With Men Who Have Forced Him To Guilt. Aunt, Dear Aunt, For Mercy's Sake, Think Of This, Before You Let Them Drag This Sick Child To A Prison, Which In Any Case Must Be The Grave Of All His Chances Of Amendment."

There Is Not A Manufacturer Or Tradesman In Existence, Who Would Not Employ A Man Who Takes A Reasonable Degree Of Pride In The Appearance Of Himself And Those About Him, In Preference To A Sullen, Slovenly Fellow, Who Works Doggedly On, Regardless Of His Own Clothing And That Of His Wife And Children, And Seeming To Take Pleasure Or Pride In Nothing.

For Though We Are Perpetually Bragging Of It As Our Safety, It Is Nothing But A Poor Fringe On The Mantle Of The Upper.

Morning Drew On Apace. The Air Became More Sharp And Piercing, As Its First Dull Hue: The Death Of Night, Rather Than The Birth Of Day: Glimmered Faintly In The Sky. The Objects Which Had Looked Dim And Terrible In The Darkness, Grew More And More Defined, And Gradually Resolved Into Their Familiar Shapes. The Rain Came Down, Thick And Fast; And Pattered, Noisily, Among The Leafless Bushes.

Change Begets Change.