"walter," She Said, Looking Full Upon Him

Whether I Shall Turn Out To Be The Hero Of My Own Life, Or Whether That Station Will Be Held By Anybody Else, These Pages Must Show.

Keep Out Of Chancery. It's Being Ground To Bits In A Slow Mill; It's Being Roasted At A Slow Fire; It's Being Stung To Death By Single Bees; It's Being Drowned By Drops; It's Going Mad By Grains.

One Thing About This Face Was Very Strange And Startling. You Could Not Look Upon It In Its Most Cheerful Mood Without Feeling That It Had Some Extraordinary Capacity Of Expressing Terror. It Was Not On The Surface. It Was In No One Feature That It Lingered. You Could Not Take The Eyes Or Mouth, Or Lines Upon The Cheek, And Say, If This Or That Were Otherwise, It Would Not Be So. Yet There It Always Lurked-something For Ever Dimly Seen, But Ever There, And Never Absent For A Moment.

It Is A Most Miserable Thing To Feel Ashamed Of Home.

'do You Spell It With A 'v' Or A 'w'?' Inquired The Judge. 'that Depends Upon The Taste And Fancy Of The Speller, My Lord'.