For One Thing, I Know Every Book

For The Man Sound Of Body And Serene Of Mind There Is No Such Thing As Bad Weather; Every Day Has Its Beauty, And Storms Which Whip The Blood Do But Make It Pulse More Vigorously.

Honest Winter, Snow Clad And With The Frosted Beard, I Can Welcome Not Uncordially; But That Long Deferment Of The Calendar's Promise, That Weeping Loom Of March And April, That Bitter Blast Outraging The Honor Of May - How Often Has It Robbed Me Of Heart And Hope.

I Know Every Book Of Mine By Its Smell, And I Have But To Put My Nose Between The Pages To Be Reminded Of All Sorts Of Things.

It Is Our Duty Never To Speak Ill Of Others, You Know; Least Of All When We Know That To Do So Will Be The Cause Of Much Pain And Trouble.

In Nothing More Is The English Genius For Domesticity More Notably Declared Than In The Institution Of This Festival-almost One May Call It-of Afternoon Tea...the Mere Chink Of Cups And Saucers Tunes The Mind To Happy Repose.