At The Great Iron Gate Of The

Heaven Knows We Need Never Be Ashamed Of Our Tears, For They Are Rain Upon The Blinding Dust Of Earth, Overlying Our Hard Hearts. I Was Better After I Had Cried, Than Before--more Sorry, More Aware Of My Own Ingratitude, More Gentle.

She Writhes Under Her Life. A Woman More Angry, Passionate, Reckless, And Revengeful Never Lived.

"hope, You See, Wal'r," Said The Captain, Sagely, "hope. It's That As Animates You. Hope Is A Buoy, For Which You Overhaul Your Little Warbler, Sentimental Diwision, But Lord, My Lad, Like Any Other Buoy, It Only Floats; It Can't Be Steered Nowhere. Along With The Figure-head Of Hope,' Said The Captain, 'there's A Anchor; But What's The Good Of My Having A Anchor, If I Can't Find No Bottom To Let It Go In?"

An Observer Of Men Who Finds Himself Steadily Repelled By Some Apparently Trifling Thing In A Stranger Is Right To Give It Great Weight. It May Be The Clue To The Whole Mystery. A Hair Or Two Will Show Where A Lion Is Hidden. A Very Little Key Will Open A Very Heavy Door.

"it Is A Sensation Not Experienced By Many Mortals," Said He, "to Be Looking Into A Churchyard On A Wild Windy Night, And To Feel That I No More Hold A Place Among The Living Than These Dead Do, And Even To Know That I Lie Buried Somewhere Else, As They Lie Buried Here. Nothing Uses Me To It. A Spirit That Was Once A Man Could Hardly Feel Stranger Or Lonelier, Going Unrecognized Among Mankind, Than I Feel."