It Is Not Possible To Know How

The Men Who Learn Endurance, Are They Who Call The Whole World, Brother.

Skewered Through And Through With Office-pens, And Bound Hand And Foot With Red Tape.

"it Wasn't The Wine," Murmured Mr. Snodgrass, In A Broken Voice. "it Was The Salmon."

He Would Make A Lovely Corpse.

Time Was With Most Of Us, When Christmas Day, Encircling All Our Limited World Like A Magic Ring, Left Nothing Out For Us To Miss Or Seek; Bound Together All Our Home Enjoyments, Affections, And Hopes; Grouped Everything And Everyone Round The Christmas Fire, And Make The Little Picture Shining In Our Bright Young Eyes, Complete.