Heaven Suits The Back To The Burden.

Christmas May Not Bring A Single Thing; Still, It Gives Me A Song To Sing.

Your Tale Is Of The Longest," Observed Monks, Moving Restlessly In His Chair. It Is A True Tale Of Grief And Trial, And Sorrow, Young Man," Returned Mr. Brownlow, "and Such Tales Usually Are; If It Were One Of Unmixed Joy And Happiness, It Would Be Very Brief.

Such Is The Influence Which The Condition Of Our Own Thoughts, Exercises, Even Over The Appearance Of External Objects. Men Who Look On Nature, And Their Fellow-men, And Cry That All Is Dark And Gloomy, Are In The Right; But The Sombre Colours Are Reflections From Their Own Jaundiced Eyes And Hearts. The Real Hues Are Delicate, And Need A Clearer Vision.

I Thought It Very Touching To See These Two Women, Coarse And Shabby And Beaten, So United; To See What They Could Be To One Another; To See How They Felt For One Another, How The Heart Of Each To Each Was Softened By The Hard Trials Of Their Lives. I Think The Best Side Of Such People Is Almost Hidden From Us. What The Poor Are To The Poor Is Little Known, Excepting To Themselves And God.

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.