It's My Old Girl That Advises. She

Many Merry Christmases, Many Happy New Years. Unbroken Friendships, Great Accumulations Of Cheerful Recollections And Affections On Earth, And Heaven For Us All.

It Was Understood That Nothing Of A Tender Nature Could Possibly Be Confided To Old Barley, By Reason Of His Being Totally Unequal To The Consideration Of Any Subject More Psychological Than Gout, Rum, And Purser's Stores.

Other Sound Than The Owl's Voice There Was None, Save The Falling Of A Fountain Into Its Stone Basin; For, It Was One Of Those Dark Nights That Hold Their Breath By The Hour Together, And Then Heave A Long Low Sigh, And Hold Their Breath Again.

My Faith In The People Governing Is, On The Whole, Infinitesimal; My Faith In The People Governed Is, On The Whole, Illimitable.

Being That Rare Sort Of Old Girl That She Receives Good To Her Arms Without A Hint That It Might Be Better And Catches Light From Any Little Spot Of Darkness Near Her.