There Are Books Of Which The Backs

In This Way They Went On, And On, And On-in The Language Of The Story-books-until At Last The Village Lights Appeared Before Them, And The Church Spire Cast A Long Reflection On The Graveyard Grass; As If It Were A Dial (alas, The Truest In The World!) Marking, Whatever Light Shone Out Of Heaven, The Flight Of Days And Weeks And Years, By Some New Shadow On That Solemn Ground.

The New Year, Like An Infant Heir To The Whole World, Was Waited For, With Welcomes, Presents, And Rejoicings.

You Will Profit By The Failure, And Will Avoid It Another Time. I Have Done A Similar Thing Myself, In Construction, Often. Every Failure Teaches A Man Something, If He Will Learn.

She Was Too Intent Upon Her Work, And Too Earnest In What She Said, And Too Composed And Quiet Altogether, To Be On The Watch For Any Look He Might Direct Towards Her In Reply; So The Shaft Of His Ungrateful Glance Fell Harmless, And Did Not Wound Her.

Ah, Miss Harriet, It Would Do Us No Harm To Remember Oftener Than We Do, That Vices Are Sometimes Only Virtues Carried To Excess!