One Should Never Be Ashamed To Cry.

But The Sun Itself, However Beneficent, Generally, Was Less Kind To Coketown Than Hard Frost, And Rarely Looked Intently Into Any Of Its Closer Regions Without Engendering More Death Than Life. So Does The Eye Of Heaven Itself Become An Evil Eye, When Incapable Or Sordid Hands Are Interposed Between It And The Thing It Looks Upon To Bless.

The Men Who Learn Endurance, Are They Who Call The Whole World, Brother.

If They Would Rather Die, . . . They Had Better Do It, And Decrease The Surplus Population.

Christmas Was Close At Hand, In All His Bluff And Hearty Honesty; It Was The Season Of Hospitality, Merriment, And Open-heartedness; The Old Year Was Preparing, Like An Ancient Philosopher, To Call His Friends Around Him, And Amidst The Sound Of Feasting And Revelry To Pass Gently And Calmly Away.

And When It Has Got In; As One Not Finding What It Seeks, Whatever That May Be, It Wails And Howls To Issue Forth Again: And Not Content With Stalking Through The Aisles, And Gliding Round And Round The Pillars, And Tempting The Deep Organ, Soars Up To The Roof, And Strives To Rend The Rafters: Then Flings Itself Despairingly Upon The Stones Below, And Passes, Muttering, Into The Vaults.