There Is Not A Manufacturer Or Tradesman

Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness, And Some People Do The Same By Their Religion.

The Meagre Lighthouse All In White, Haunting The Seaboard, As If It Were The Ghost Of An Edifice That Had Once Had Colour And Rotundity, Dripped Melancholy Tears After Its Late Buffeting By The Waves.

The Aphorism "whatever Is, Is Right," Would Be As Final As It Is Lazy, Did It Not Include The Troublesome Consequence That Nothing That Ever Was, Was Wrong.

The First Diabolical Character Who Intruded Himself On My Peaceful Youth (as I Called To Mind That Day At Dullborough), Was A Certain Captain Murderer. This Wretch Must Have Been An Off-shoot Of The Blue Beard Family, But I Had No Suspicion Of The Consanguinity In Those Times. His Warning Name Would Seem To Have Awakened No General Prejudice Against Him, For He Was Admitted Into The Best Society And Possessed Immense Wealth. Captain Murderer's Mission Was Matrimony, And The Gratification Of A Cannibal Appetite With Tender Brides.

The White Face Of The Winter Day Came Sluggishly On, Veiled In A Frosty Mist; And The Shadowy Ships In The River Slowly Changed To Black Substances; And The Sun, Blood-red On The Eastern Marshes Behind Dark Masts And Yards, Seemed Filled With The Ruins Of A Forest It Had Set On Fire.