Circumstances Beyond My Individual Control.

Father Time Is Not Always A Hard Parent And Though He Tarries For None Of His Children, Often Lays His Hand Lightly Upon Those Who Have Used Him Well; Making Them Old Men And Women Inexorably Enough, But Leaving Their Hearts And Spirits Young And In Full Vigor. With Such People The Gray Head Is But The Impression Of The Old Fellow's Hand In Giving Them His Blessing, And Every Wrinkle But A Notch In The Quiet Calendar Of A Well-spent Life.

After Tea, We Discussed A Variety Of Topics Before The Fire; And Mrs. Micawber Was Good Enough To Sing Us (in A Small, Thin, Flat Voice, Which I Remembered To Have Considered, When I First Knew Her, The Very Table-beer Of Acoustics) The Favourite Ballads Of "the Dashing White Sergeant", And "little Tafflin".

I Don't Remember Who Was There, Except Dora. I Have Not The Least Idea What We Had For Dinner, Besides Dora. My Impression Is, That I Dined Off Dora, Entirely, And Sent Away Half-a-dozen Plates Untouched. I Sat Next To Her. I Talked To Her. She Had The Most Delightful Little Voice, The Gayest Little Laugh, The Pleasantest And Most Fascinating Little Ways, That Ever Led A Lost Youth Into Hopeless Slavery. She Was Rather Diminutive Altogether. So Much The More Precious, I Thought.

I Can Never Close My Lips Where I Have Opened My Heart

Of All Bad Listeners, The Worst And Most Terrible To Encounter Is The Man Who Is So Fond Of Listening That He Wishes To Hear, Not Only Your Conversation, But That Of Every Other Person In The Room.