Although I Am An Old Man, Night

Dumb As A Drum Vith A Hole In It, Sir.

But The Sun Itself, However Beneficent, Generally, Was Less Kind To Coketown Than Hard Frost, And Rarely Looked Intently Into Any Of Its Closer Regions Without Engendering More Death Than Life. So Does The Eye Of Heaven Itself Become An Evil Eye, When Incapable Or Sordid Hands Are Interposed Between It And The Thing It Looks Upon To Bless.

Great Men Are Seldom Over-scrupulous In The Arrangement Of Their Attire.

The Weathercocks On Spires And Housetops Were Mysterious With Hints Of Stormy Wind, And Pointed, Like So Many Ghostly Fingers, Out To Dangerous Seas, Where Fragments Of Great Wrecks Were Drifting, Perhaps, And Helpless Men Were Rocked Upon Them Into A Sleep As Deep As The Unfathomable Waters.

In Truth, No Men On Earth Can Cheer Like Englishmen, Who Do So Rally One Another's Blood And Spirit When They Cheer In Earnest, That The Stir Is Like The Rush Of Their Whole History, With All Its Standards Waving At Once, From Saxon Alfred's Downwards.