Some Medical Beast Had Revived Tar-water In

At The Great Iron Gate Of The Churchyard He Stopped And Looked In. He Looked Up At The High Tower Spectrally Resisting The Wind, And He Looked Round At The White Tombstones, Like Enough To The Dead In Their Winding-sheets, And He Counted The Nine Tolls Of The Clock-bell.

Blackened Skeleton Arms Of Wood By The Wayside Pointed Upward To The Convent, As If The Ghosts Of Former Travellers, Overwhelmed By The Snow, Haunted The Scene Of Their Distress. Icicle-hung Caves And Cellars Built For Refuges From Sudden Storms, Were Like So Many Whispers Of The Perils Of The Place; Never-resting Wreaths And Mazes Of Mist Wandered About, Hunted By A Moaning Wind; And Snow, The Besetting Danger Of The Mountain, Against Which All Its Defences Were Taken, Drifted Sharply Down.

We Must Leave The Discovery Of This Mystery, Like All Others, To Time, And Accident, And Heaven's Pleasure.

All Other Swindlers Upon Earth Are Nothing To The Self-swindlers, And With Such Pretences Did I Cheat Myself.

Annual Income Twenty Pounds, Annual Expenditure Nineteen Six, Result Happiness. Annual Income Twenty Pounds, Annual Expenditure Twenty Pound Ought And Six, Result Misery.