Marley Was Dead: To Begin With.

There Is Something In Sickness That Breaks Down The Pride Of Manhood.

Mr. Cruncher... Always Spoke Of The Year Of Our Lord As Anna Dominoes: Apparently Under The Impression That The Christian Era Dated From The Invention Of A Popular Game, By A Lady Who Had Bestowed Her Name Upon It.

The Talker Has Found A Hearer But Not A Listener; And Though He May Talk His Very Best For His Own Sake, You Will Find That His Mental Movements Are Erratic: They Have No Fixed Centre And No Definite Object. His Talk Is Like The Water Of A Canal Whose Banks Have Given Way, Which Rolls Aimlessly Hither And Thither, Without Fulfilling Any Useful Function, Though It Is The Same Water Which Was So Helpful And Serviceable, When It Was Confined Within Clearly Marked Limits By The Restraining Force Of Its Earthy Boundaries.

Spring Is The Time Of Year When It Is Summer In The Sun And Winter In The Shade.

In Fine Weather The Old Gentelman Is Almost Constantly In The Garden; And When It Is Too Wet To Go Into It, He Will Look Out The Window At It, By The Hour Together. He Has Always Something To Do There, And You Will See Him Digging, And Sweeping, And Cutting, And Planting, With Manifest Delight.