A Good Thing Can't Be

He Was Consious Of A Thousand Odours Floating In The Air, Each One Connected With A Thousand Thoughts, And Hopes, And Joys, And Cares, Long, Long, Forgotten.

There Might Be Some Credit In Being Jolly.

Life Is Made Of Ever So Many Partings Welded Together.

The Sky Was Dark And Gloomy, The Air Was Damp And Raw, The Streets Were Wet And Sloppy. The Smoke Hung Sluggishly Above The Chimney-tops As If It Lacked The Courage To Rise, And The Rain Came Slowly And Doggedly Down, As If It Had Not Even The Spirit To Pour.

Nothing Of What Is Nobly Done Is Ever Lost.