Mediocrity Knows Nothing Higher Than Itself, But

It Was An Ideal Spring Day, A Light Blue Sky, Flecked With Little Fleecy White Clouds Drifting Across From West To East. The Sun Was Shining Very Brightly, And Yet There Was An Exhilarating Nip In The Air, Which Set An Edge To A Man's Energy.

To His Eyes All Seemed Beautiful, But To Me A Tinge Of Melancholy Lay Upon The Countryside, Which Bore So Clearly The Mark Of The Waning Year, Yellow Leaves Carpeted The Lanes And Fluttered Down Upon Us As We Passed, The Rattle Of Our Wheels Died Away As We Drove Through Drifts Of Rotting Vegetation--sad Gifts, As It Seemed To Me, For Nature To Throw Before The Carriage Of The Returning Heir Of The Baskervilles.

Steel True, Blade Straight.

He Burst Into One Of His Rare Fits Of Laughter As He Turned Away From The Picture. I Have Not Heard Him Laugh Often, And It Has Always Boded Ill To Somebody.

The Weak Man Becomes Strong When He Has Nothing, For Then Only Can He Feel The Wild, Mad Thrill Of Despair.