That Sort Of Half Sigh, Which, Accompanied

Fog Everywhere. Fog Up The River Where It Flows Among Green Airs And Meadows; Fog Down The River, Where It Rolls Defiled Among The Tiers Of Shipping, And The Waterside Pollutions Of A Great (and Dirty) City.... Chance People On The Bridges Peeping Over The Parapets Into A Nether Sky Of Fog, With Fog All Round Them, As If They Were Up In A Balloon And Hanging In The Misty Clouds.

... Natural Affections And Instincts, My Dear Sir, Are The Most Beautiful Of The Almighty's Works, But Like Other Beautiful Works Of His, They Must Be Reared And Fostered, Or It Is As Natural That They Should Be Wholly Obscured, And That New Feelings Should Usurp Their Place, As It Is That The Sweetest Productions Of The Earth, Left Untended, Should Be Choked With Weeds And Briers.

I Have Always Thought Of Christmas Time... As A Good Time; A Kind, Forgiving, Charitable, Pleasant Time.

The Flowers That Sleep By Night, Opened Their Gentle Eyes And Turned Them To The Day. The Light, Creation's Mind, Was Everywhere, And All Things Owned Its Power.

I Think The Romans Must Have Aggravated One Another Very Much, With Their Noses. Perhaps, They Became The Restless People They Were, In Consequence.