I Wish I Had Never Been Born--there

Done Because We Are Too Many.

And Yet To Every Bad There Is A Worse.

Christmas Eve, And Twelve Of The Clock. "now They Are All On Their Knees," An Elder Said As We Sat In A Flock By The Embers In Hearth-side Ease. We Pictured The Meek Mild Creatures Where They Dwelt In Their Strawy Pen, Nor Did It Occur To One Of Us There To Doubt They Were Kneeling Then. So Fair A Fancy Few Would Weave In These Years! Yet, I Feel If Someone Said On Christmas Eve, "come; See The Oxen Kneel, In The Lonely Barton By Yonder Coomb Our Childhood Used To Know," I Should Go With Him In The Gloom, Hoping It Might Be So.

- The Ethereal, Fine-nerved, Sensitive Girl, Quite Unfitted By Temperament And Instinct To Fulfil The Conditions Of The Matrimonial Relation With Phillotson, Possibly With Scarce Any Man.

By Experience", Says Roger Ascham, "we Find Out A Short Way By A Long Wandering." Not Seldom That Long Wandering Unfits Us For Further Travel, And Of What Use Is Our Experience To Us Then?