The Gayety Of Life, Like The Beauty

Tea Had Come As A Deliverer To A Land That Called For Deliverance; A Land Of Beef And Ale, Of Heavy Eating And Abundant Drunkenness; Of Gray Skies And Harsh Winds; Of Strong-nerved, Stout-purposed, Slow-thinking Men And Women. Above All, A Land Of Sheltered Homes And Warm Firesides - Firesides That Were Waiting - Waiting For The Bubbling Kettle And The Fragrant Breath Of Tea.

If We Go To Church We Are Confronted With A System Of Begging So Complicated And So Resolute That All Other Demands Sink Into Insignificance By Its Side.

Why Do So Many Ingenious Theorists Give Fresh Reasons Every Year For The Decline Of Letter Writing, And Why Do They Assume, In Derision Of Suffering Humanity, That It Has Declined? They Lament The Lack Of Leisure, The Lack Of Sentiment ... They Talk Of Telegrams, And Telephones, And Postal Cards, As If Any Discovery Of Science, Any Device Of Civilization, Could Eradicate From The Human Heart That Passion For Self-expression Which Is The Impelling Force Of Letters.

Whatever Has "wit Enough To Keep It Sweet" Defies Corruption And Outlasts All Time; But The Wit Must Be Of That Outward And Visible Order Which Needs No Introduction Or Demonstration At Our Hands.

Guests Are The Delight Of Leisure, And The Solace Of Ennui.