May I Tell You Why It Seems

"why, I Don't Exactly Know About Perjury, My Dear Sir," Replied The Little Gentleman. "harsh Word, My Dear Sir, Very Harsh Word Indeed. It's A Legal Fiction, My Dear Sir, Nothing More."

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.

The Cloud Of Caring For Nothing, Which Overshadowed Him With Such A Fatal Darkness, Was Very Rarely Pierced By The Light Within Him.

All Other Swindlers Upon Earth Are Nothing To The Self-swindlers, And With Such Pretences Did I Cheat Myself. Surely A Curious Thing. That I Should Innocently Take A Bad Half-crown Of Somebody Else's Manufacture, Is Reasonable Enough; But That I Should Knowingly Reckon The Spurious Coin Of My Own Make, As Good Money!

You Should Keep Dogs-fine Animals-sagacious.