... Treachery Don't Come Natural To Beaming

Your Tale Is Of The Longest," Observed Monks, Moving Restlessly In His Chair. It Is A True Tale Of Grief And Trial, And Sorrow, Young Man," Returned Mr. Brownlow, "and Such Tales Usually Are; If It Were One Of Unmixed Joy And Happiness, It Would Be Very Brief.

Thus, Cases Of Injustice, And Oppression, And Tyranny, And The Most Extravagant Bigotry, Are In Constant Occurrence Among Us Every Day. It Is The Custom To Trumpet Forth Much Wonder And Astonishment At The Chief Actors Therein Setting At Defiance So Completely The Opinion Of The World; But There Is No Greater Fallacy; It Is Precisely Because They Do Consult The Opinion Of Their Own Little World That Such Things Take Place At All, And Strike The Great World Dumb With Amazement.

Most Men Unconsciously Judge The World From Themselves, And It Will Be Very Generally Found That Those Who Sneer Habitually At Human Nature, And Affect To Despise It, Are Among Its Worst And Least Pleasant Samples.

The Persons On Whom I Have Bestowed My Dearest Love Lie Deep In Their Graves; But, Although The Happiness And Delight Of My Life Lie Buried There Too, I Have Not Made A Coffin Of My Heart, And Sealed It Up For Ever On My Best Affections. Deep Affliction Has Only Made Them Stronger; It Ought, I Think, For It Should Refine Our Nature.

Day Was Breaking At Plashwater Weir Mill Lock. Stars Were Yet Visible, But There Was Dull Light In The East That Was Not The Light Of Night. The Moon Had Gone Down, And A Mist Crept Along The Banks Of The River, Seen Through Which The Trees Were The Ghosts Of Trees, And The Water Was The Ghost Of Water. This Earth Looked Spectral, And So Did The Pale Stars: While The Cold Eastern Glare, Expressionless As To Heat Or Colour, With The Eye Of The Firmament Quenched, Might Have Been Likened To The Stare Of The Dead.