(...) The Tree Forsakes Not The Flower:

His Fair Landlady Was In Despair. She Would Most Willingly Have Made M. D'artagnan Her Husband--such A Handsome Man, And Such A Fierce Mustache!

Youth Is A Blossom Whose Fruit Is Love; Happy Is He Who Plucks It After Watching It Slowly Ripen.

The Custom And Fashion Of Today Will Be The Awkwardness And Outrage Of Tomorrow - So Arbitrary Are These Transient Laws.

For The Happy Man Prayer Is Only A Jumble Of Words, Until The Day When Sorrow Comes To Explain To Him The Sublime Language By Means Of Which He Speaks To God.

Starvation!" Exclaimed The Abbe, Springing From His Seat. "why, The Vilest Animals Are Not Suffered To Die By Such A Death As That. The Very Dogs That Wander Houseless And Homeless In The Streets Find Some Pitying Hand To Cast Them A Mouthful Of Bread; And That A Man, A Christian, Should Be Allowed To Perish Of Hunger In The Midst Of Other Men Who Call Themselves Christians, Is Too Horrible For Belief. Oh, It Is Impossible - Utterly Impossible!