No Coward Soul Is Mine.

He Might As Well Plant An Oak In A Flowerpot, And Expect It To Thrive, As Imagine He Can Restore Her To Vigour In The Soil Of His Shallow Cares!

But You Might As Well Bid A Man Struggling In The Water, Rest Within Arm's Length Of The Shore! I Must Reach It First, And Then I'll Rest.

The Lord Help Us!' He Soliloquised In An Undertone Of Peevish Displeasure, While Relieving Me Of My Horse: Looking, Meantime, In My Face So Sourly That I Charitably Conjectured He Must Have Need Of Divine Aid To Digest His Dinner, And His Pious Ejaculation Had No Reference To My Unexpected Advent.

Good Words," I Replied. "but Deeds Must Prove It Also; And After He Is Well, Remember You Don't Forget Resolutions Formed In The Hour Of Fear.

Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of, His And Mine Are The Same.