I Made A Compact With Myself That

Poetry's Unnat'ral; No Man Ever Talked Poetry 'cept A Beadle On Boxin' Day.

There Was A Piece Of Ornamental Water Immediately Below The Parapet, On The Other Side, Into Which Mr. James Harthouse Had A Very Strong Inclination To Pitch Mr. Thomas Gradgrind Junior.

I Can See Others In The Sunlight; I Can See Our Boats' Crews And Our Athletic Young Men On The Glistening Water, Or Speckled With The Moving Lights Of Sunlit Leaves; But I Myself Am Always In The Shadow Looking On. Not Unsympathetically, - God Forbid! - But Looking On Alone, Much As I Looked At Sylvia From The Shadows Of The Ruined House, Or Looked At The Red Gleam Shining Through The Farmer's Windows, And Listened To The Fall Of Dancing Feet, When All The Ruin Was Dark That Night In The Quadrangle.

... Waiter! Raw Beef-steak For The Gentleman's Eye,-nothing Like Raw Beef-steak For A Bruise, Sir; Cold Lamp-post Very Good, But Lamp-post Inconvenient-damned Odd Standing In The Open Street Half-an-hour, With Your Eye Against A Lamp.

"do Not Repine, My Friends," Said Mr. Pecksniff, Tenderly. "do Not Weep For Me. It Is Chronic."