Take A Little Timecount Five-and-twenty,tattycoram.

It Was The Beginning Of A Day In June; The Deep Blue Sky Unsullied By A Cloud, And Teeming With Brilliant Light. The Streets Were, As Yet, Nearly Free From Passengers, The Houses And Shops Were Closed, And The Healthy Air Of Morning Fell Like Breath From Angels, On The Sleeping Town.

A Contented Spirit Is The Sweetness Of Existence.

I Have A Heart To Be Stabbed In Or Shot In, I Have No Doubt, And, Of Course, If It Ceased To Beat, I Would Cease To Be. But You Know What I Mean. I Have No Softness There, No—sympathy—sentiment—nonsense.

It Always Grieves Me To Contemplate The Initiation Of Children Into The Ways Of Life When They Are Scarcely More Than Infants. It Checks Their Confidence And Simplicity, Two Of The Best Qualities That Heaven Gives Them, And Demands That They Share Our Sorrows Before They Are Capable Of Entering Into Our Enjoyments.

Such Is The Influence Which The Condition Of Our Own Thoughts, Exercises, Even Over The Appearance Of External Objects. Men Who Look On Nature, And Their Fellow-men, And Cry That All Is Dark And Gloomy, Are In The Right; But The Sombre Colours Are Reflections From Their Own Jaundiced Eyes And Hearts. The Real Hues Are Delicate, And Need A Clearer Vision.