Renunciation Remains Sorrow, Though A Sorrow Borne

Discipline Must Be Maintained.

Poetry's Unnat'ral; No Man Ever Talked Poetry 'cept A Beadle On Boxin' Day, Or Warren's Blackin' Or Rowland's Oil, Or Some O' Them Low Fellows; Never You Let Yourself Down To Talk Poetry, My Boy.

An Unfinished Coffin On Black Tressels, Which Stood In The Middle Of The Shop, Looked So Gloomy And Death-like That A Cold Tremble Came Over Him, Every Time His Eyes Wandered In The Direction Of The Dismal Object: From Which He Almost Expected To See Some Frightful Form Slowly Rear Its Head, To Drive Him Mad With Terror.

Then Tell Wind And Fire Where To Stop," Returned Madame; "but Don't Tell Me.

In A Utilitarian Age, Of All Other Times, It Is A Matter Of Grave Importance That Fairy Tales Should Be Respected.