Scattered Wits Take A Long Time In

....that The Mounds Of Ices, And The Bowls Of Mint-julep And Sherry Cobbler They Make In These Latitudes, Are Refreshments Never To Be Thought Of Afterwards, In Summer, By Those Who Would Preserve Contented Minds.

"she's A Very Charming And Delightful Creature," Quoth Mr. Robert Sawyer, In Reply; "and Has Only One Fault That I Know Of, Ben. It Happens, Unfortunately, That That Single Blemish Is A Want Of Taste. She Don't Like Me."

Old Marley Was As Dead As A Doornail. Mind! I Don't Mean To Say That, Of My Own Knowledge, What There Is Particularly Dead About A Doornail. I Might Have Been Inclined, Myself, To Regard A Coffin-nail As The Deadest Piece Of Ironmongery In The Trade. But The Wisdom Of Our Ancestors Is In The Simile; And My Unhallowed Hands Shall Not Disturb It, Or The Country's Done For. You Will Therefore Permit Me To Repeat, Emphatically, That Marley Was As Dead As A Doornail.

... When The Locked Door Opens, And There Comes In A Young Woman, Deadly Pale, And With Long Fair Hair, Who Glides To The Fire, And Sits Down In The Chair We Have Left There, Wringing Her Hands.

She Was Truest To Them In The Season Of Trial, As All The Quietly Loyal And Good Will Always Be.