We Are So Very 'umble.

It Being A Remarkable Fact In Theatrical History, But One Long Since Established Beyond Dispute, That It Is A Hopeless Endeavor To Attract People To A Theatre Unless They Can Be First Brought To Believe That They Will Never Get In.

Go Ye, Who Rest So Placidly Upon The Sacred Bard Who Had Been Young, And When He Strung His Harp Was Old, And Had Never Seen The Righteous Forsaken, Or His Seed Begging Their Bread; Go, Teachers Of Content And Honest Pride, Into The Mine, The Mill, The Forge, The Squalid Depths Of Deepest Ignorance, And Uttermost Abyss Of Man's Neglect, And Say Can Any Hopeful Plant Spring Up In Air So Foul That It Extinguishes The Soul's Bright Torch As Fast As It Is Kindled!

"ah, Miss, Hope Is An Excellent Thing For Such As Has The Spirits To Bear It!" Said Mrs Wickam, Shaking Her Head. "my Own Spirits Is Not Equal To It, But I Don't Owe It Any Grudge. I Envys Them That Is So Blest!"

He Was By No Means Opposed To Hard Labour On Principle, For He Would Work Away At A Cricket-match By The Day Together, - Running, And Catching, And Batting, And Bowling, And Revelling In Toil Which Would Exhaust A Galley-slave.

Listlessness To Everything, But Brooding Sorrow, Was The Night That Fell On My Undisciplined Heart. Let Me Look Up From It - As At Last I Did, Thank Heaven! - And From Its Long, Sad, Wretched Dream, To Dawn.