There Are Books Of Which The Backs

The Habit Of Paying Compliments Kept A Man's Tongue Oiled Without Any Expense.

"o, Mrs. Clennam, Mrs. Clennam," Said Little Dorrit, "angry Feelings And Unforgiving Deeds Are No Comfort And No Guide To You And Me."

Bring In The Bottled Lightning, A Clean Tumbler, And A Corkscrew.

The Bright, Frosty Day Declined As They Walked And Spoke Together. The Sun Dipped In The River Far Behind Them, And The Old City Lay Red Before Them, As Their Walk Drew To A Close. The Moaning Water Cast Its Seaweed Duskily At Their Feet, When They Turned To Leave Its Margin; And The Rooks Hovered Above Them With Hoarse Cries, Darker Splashes In The Darkening Air.

When She Took Her Opposite Place In The Carriage Corner, The Brightness In Her Face Was So Charming To Behold, That On Her Exclaiming, "what Beautiful Stars And What A Glorious Night!" The Secretary Said "yes," But Seemed To Prefer To See The Night And The Stars In The Light Of Her Lovely Little Countenance, To Looking Out Of Window.