What Is Peace? Is It War? No.

It Was A Cold Hard Easterly Morning When He Latched The Garden Gate And Turned Away. The Light Snowfall Which Had Feathered His Schoolroom Windows On The Thursday, Still Lingered In The Air, And Was Falling White, While The Wind Blew Black.

"i Go So Far As To Say, Miss, Morehover," Proceeded Mr. Cruncher, With A Most Alarming Tendency To Hold Forth As From A Pulpit-"and Let My Words Be Took Down And Took To Mrs. Cruncher Through Yourself-that Wot My Opinions Respectin' Flopping Has Undergone A Change, And That Wot I Only Hope With All My Heart As Mrs. Cruncher May Be A Flopping At The Present Time."

"ghost Of The Future," He Exclaimed, "i Fear You More Than Any Spectre I Have Seen. But As I Know Your Purpose Is To Do Me Good, And As I Hope To Live To Be Another Man From What I Was, I Am Prepared To Bear You Company, And Do It With A Thankful Heart. Will You Not Speak To Me?"

All Is Going On As It Was Wont. The Waves Are Hoarse With Repetition Of Their Mystery; The Dust Lies Piled Upon The Shore; The Sea-birds Soar And Hover; The Winds And Clouds Go Forth Upon Their Trackless Flight; The White Arms Beckon, In The Moonlight, To The Invisible Country Far Away.

Veels Vithin Veels, A Prison In A Prison.