Never Sign A Valentine With Your Own

If The Law Supposes That,' Said Mr Bumble...' The Law Is An Ass - An Idiot.

There Is No Substitute For Thoroughgoing, Ardent, And Sincere Earnestness.

To Be Shelterless And Alone In The Open Country, Hearing The Wind Moan And Watching For Day Through The Whole Long Weary Night; To Listen To The Falling Rain, And Crouch For Warmth Beneath The Lee Of Some Old Barn Or Rick, Or In The Hollow Of A Tree; Are Dismal Things - But Not So Dismal As The Wandering Up And Down Where Shelter Is, And Beds And Sleepers Are By Thousands; A Houseless Rejected Creature.

The Memories Which Peaceful Country Scenes Call Up, Are Not Of This World, Nor Of Its Thoughts And Hopes. Their Gentle Influence May Teach Us How To Weave Fresh Garlands For The Graves Of Those We Loved: May Purify Our Thoughts, And Bear Down Before It Old Enmity And Hatred; But Beneath All This, There Lingers, In The Least Reflective Mind, A Vague And Half-formed Consciousness Of Having Held Such Feelings Long Before, In Some Remote And Distant Time, Which Calls Up Solemn Thoughts Of Distant Times To Come, And Bends Down Pride And Worldliness Beneath It.

Why, Mrs. Piper Has A Good Deal To Say, Chiefly In Parentheses And Without Punctuation, But Not Much To Tell.