'i Believe, Mr. Snitchey,' Said Alfred, 'there

It Is An Exquisite And Beautiful Thing In Our Nature, That, When The Heart Is Touched And Softened By Some Tranquil Happiness Or Affectionate Feeling, The Memory Of The Dead Comes Over It Most Powerfully And Irresistibly. It Would Seem Almost As Though Our Better Thoughts And Sympathies Were Charms, In Virtue Of Which The Soul Is Enabled To Hold Some Vague And Mysterious Intercourse With The Spirits Of Those Whom We Loved In Life. Alas! How Often And How Long May These Patient Angels Hover Around Us, Watching For The Spell Which Is So Soon Forgotten!

Thus, It Comes To Pass, That A Certain Room In A Certain Old Hall, Where A Certain Bad Lord, Baronet, Knight, Or Gentleman, Shot Himself, Has Certain Planks In The Floor From Which The Blood Will Not Be Taken Out. You May Scrape And Scrape, As The Present Owner Has Done, Or Plane And Plane, As His Father Did, Or Scrub And Scrub, As His Grandfather Did, Or Burn And Burn With Strong Acids, As His Great-grandfather Did, But, There The Blood Will Still Be - No Redder And No Paler - No More And No Less - Always Just The Same.

We Lawyers Are Always Curious, Always Inquisitive, Always Picking Up Odds And Ends For Our Patchwork Minds, Since There Is No Knowing When And Where They May Fit Into Some Corner.

That Glorious Vision Of Doing Good Is So Often The Sanguine Mirage Of So Many Good Minds.

I Would Like To Be Going All Over The Kingdom...and Acting Everywhere. There's Nothing In The World Equal To Seeing The House Rise At You, One Sea Of Delightful Faces, One Hurrah Of Applause!