Our Wanton Accidents Take Root,

Are Gods More Ruthless Than Mortals? Have They No Mercy For Youth? No Love For The Souls Who Have Loved Them?

Beauty Is God's Handwriting — A Wayside Sacrament; Welcome It In Every Fair Face, Every Fair Sky, Every Fair Flower, And Thank For It Him.

Now, To Tell My Story--if Not As It Ought To Be Told, At Least As I Can Tell It,--i Must Go Back Sixteen Years, To The Days When Whitbury Boasted Of Forty Coaches Per Diem, Instead Of One Railway, And Set Forth How In Its Southern Suburb, There Stood Two Pleasant House Side By Side, With Their Gardens Sloping Down To The Whit, And Parted From Each Other Only By The High Brick Fruit-wall, Through Which There Used To Be A Door Of Communication; For The Two Occupiers Were Fast Friends.

We Have Used The Bible As If It Was A Mere Special Constable's Handbook — An Opium-dose For Keeping Beasts Of Burden Patient While They Were Being Overloaded — A Mere Book To Keep The Poor In Order.

Mathematical Knowledge Is Not-as All Cambridge Men Are Surely Aware-the Result Of Any Special Gift. It Is Merely The Development Of Those Conceptions Of Form And Number Which Every Human Being Possesses; And Any Person Of Average Intellect Can Make Himself A Fair Mathematician If He Will Only Pay Continuous Attention; In Plain English, Think Enough About The Subject.