Home Is Like The Ship

"why, I Don't Exactly Know About Perjury, My Dear Sir," Replied The Little Gentleman. "harsh Word, My Dear Sir, Very Harsh Word Indeed. It's A Legal Fiction, My Dear Sir, Nothing More."

Now, What I Want Is, Facts. . . . Facts Alone Are Wanted In Life.

And What An Example Of The Power Of Dress Young Oliver Twist Was! Wrapped In The Blanket Which Had Hitherto Formed His Only Covering, He Might Have Been The Child Of A Nobleman Or A Beggar;—it Would Have Been Hard For The Haughtiest Stranger To Have Fixed His Station In Society. But Now He Was Enveloped In The Old Calico Robes, That Had Grown Yellow In The Same Service; He Was Badged And Ticketed, And Fell Into His Place At Once—a Parish Child—the Orphan Of A Workhouse—the Humble, Half-starved Drudge—to Be Cuffed And Buffeted Through The World, Despised By All, And Pitied By None.

A Silent Look Of Affection And Regard When All Other Eyes Are Turned Coldly Away-the Consciousness That We Possess The Sympathy And Affection Of One Being When All Others Have Deserted Us-is A Hold, A Stay, A Comfort, In The Deepest Affliction, Which No Wealth Could Purchase, Or Power Bestow.

Let Us Be Moral. Let Us Contemplate Existence.