Reflect Upon Your Present Blessings

All Is Going On As It Was Wont. The Waves Are Hoarse With Repetition Of Their Mystery; The Dust Lies Piled Upon The Shore; The Sea-birds Soar And Hover; The Winds And Clouds Go Forth Upon Their Trackless Flight; The White Arms Beckon, In The Moonlight, To The Invisible Country Far Away.

There Are Hopes, The Bloom Of Whose Beauty Would Be Spoiled By The Trammels Of Description; Too Lovely, Too Delicate, Too Sacred For Words, They Should Only Be Known Through The Sympathy Of Hearts.

After Tea, We Discussed A Variety Of Topics Before The Fire; And Mrs. Micawber Was Good Enough To Sing Us (in A Small, Thin, Flat Voice, Which I Remembered To Have Considered, When I First Knew Her, The Very Table-beer Of Acoustics) The Favourite Ballads Of "the Dashing White Sergeant", And "little Tafflin".

Be Natural My Children. For The Writer That Is Natural Has Fulfilled All The Rules Of Art.

"ah, Miss, Hope Is An Excellent Thing For Such As Has The Spirits To Bear It!" Said Mrs Wickam, Shaking Her Head. "my Own Spirits Is Not Equal To It, But I Don't Owe It Any Grudge. I Envys Them That Is So Blest!"