There Seems A Magic In The Very

He Was Drunk Upon The Average Once A Day, And Penitent Upon An Equally Fair Calculation Once A Month; And When He Was Penitent, He Was Invariably In The Very Last Stage Of Maudlin Intoxication. He Was A Ragged, Roving, Roaring Kind Of Fellow, With A Burly Form, A Sharp Wit, And A Ready Head, And Could Turn His Hand To Anything When He Chose To Do It.

By The By, Who Ever Knew A Man Who Never Read Or Wrote Neither Who Hadn't Got Some Small Back Parlour Which He Would Call A Study!

The Sun,--the Bright Sun, That Brings Back, Not Light Alone, But New Life, And Hope, And Freshness To Man--burst Upon The Crowded City In Clear And Radiant Glory. Through Costly-coloured Glass And Paper-mended Window, Through Cathedral Dome And Rotten Crevice, It Shed Its Equal Ray.

What Connexion Can There Be, Between The Place In Lincolnshire, The House In Town, The Mercury In Powder, And The Whereabout Of Jo The Outlaw With The Broom, Who Had That Distant Ray Of Light Upon Him When He Swept The Churchyard-step? What Connexion Can There Have Been Between Many People In The Innumerable Histories Of This World, Who, From Opposite Sides Of Great Gulfs, Have, Nevertheless, Been Very Curiously Brought Together!

You Don't Carry In Your Countenance A Letter Of Recommendation.