May Not The Complaint, That Common People

Poor Mr. Pickwick! ... If He Played A Wrong Card, Miss Bolo Looked A Small Armoury Of Daggers; If He Stopped To Consider Which Was The Right One, Lady Snuphanuph Would Throw Herself Back In Her Chair, And Smile With A Mingled Glance Of Impatience And Pity To Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, At Which Mrs. Colonel Wugsby Would Shrug Up Her Shoulders, And Cough, As Much As To Say She Wondered Whether He Ever Would Begin.

His Wardrobe Was Extensive-very Extensive-not Strictly Classical Perhaps, Not Quite New, Nor Did It Contain Any One Garment Made Precisely After The Fashion Of Any Age Or Time, But Everything Was More Or Less Spangled; And What Can Be Prettier Than Spangles!

"but Even If He Has Been Wicked," Pursued Rose, "think How Young He Is; Think That He May Never Have Known A Mother's Love, Or The Comfort Of A Home; That Ill-usage And Blows, Or The Want Of Bread, May Have Driven Him To Herd With Men Who Have Forced Him To Guilt. Aunt, Dear Aunt, For Mercy's Sake, Think Of This, Before You Let Them Drag This Sick Child To A Prison, Which In Any Case Must Be The Grave Of All His Chances Of Amendment."

There Is No Substitute For Thoroughgoing, Ardent, And Sincere Earnestness.

Love, Though Said To Be Afflicted With Blindness, Is A Vigilant Watchman.