It Was The Best Of Times, It

Whether I Shall Turn Out To Be The Hero Of My Own Life, Or Whether That Station Will Be Held By Anybody Else, These Pages Must Show.

They Enter, Locking Themselves In, Descend The Rugged Steps, And Are Down In The Crypt. The Lantern Is Not Wanted, For The Moonlight Strikes In At The Groined Windows, Bare Of Glass, The Broken Frames For Which Cast Patterns On The Ground. The Heavy Pillars Which Support The Roof Engender Masses Of Black Shade, But Between Them There Are Lanes Of Light.

Circumstances May Accumulate So Strongly Even Against An Innocent Man, That Directed, Sharpened, And Pointed, They May Slay Him.

It Is A Far, Far Better Thing That I Do, Than I Have Ever Done; It Is A Far, Far Better Rest That I Go To, Than I Have Ever Known.

The Sun,--the Bright Sun, That Brings Back, Not Light Alone, But New Life, And Hope, And Freshness To Man--burst Upon The Crowded City In Clear And Radiant Glory. Through Costly-coloured Glass And Paper-mended Window, Through Cathedral Dome And Rotten Crevice, It Shed Its Equal Ray.