It Was Very Dark; But In The

"we Will Wait," Answered Little Alice, Taking Nettie's Hand In Hers, And Looking Up To The Sky, "we Will Wait - Ever Constant And True - Till The Times Have Got So Changed As That Everything Helps Us Out, And Nothing Makes Us Ridiculous, And The Fairies Have Come Back. We Will Wait - Ever Constant And True - Till We Are Eighty, Ninety, Or One Hundred. And Then The Fairies Will Send Us Children, And We Will Help Them Out, Poor Pretty Little Creatures, If They Pretend Ever So Much."

Stranger, Pause And Ask Thyself The Question, Canst Thou Do Likewise? If Not, With A Blush Retire.

Nature Gives To Every Time And Season Some Beauties Of Its Own.

Huge Knots Of Sea-weed Hung Upon The Jagged And Pointed Stones, Trembling In Every Breath Of Wind; And The Green Ivy Clung Mournfully Round The Dark And Ruined Battlements. Behind It Rose The Ancient Castle, Its Towers Roofless, And Its Massive Walls Crumbling Away, But Telling Us Proudly Of Its Own Might And Strength, As When, Seven Hundred Years Ago, It Rang With The Clash Of Arms, Or Resounded With The Noise Of Feasting And Revelry.

Miss Mills Replied, On General Principles, That The Cottage Of Content Was Better Than The Palace Of Cold Splendour, And That Where Love Was, All Was.