Why Then We Should Drop Into Poetry.

Morning Drew On Apace. The Air Became More Sharp And Piercing, As Its First Dull Hue: The Death Of Night, Rather Than The Birth Of Day: Glimmered Faintly In The Sky. The Objects Which Had Looked Dim And Terrible In The Darkness, Grew More And More Defined, And Gradually Resolved Into Their Familiar Shapes. The Rain Came Down, Thick And Fast; And Pattered, Noisily, Among The Leafless Bushes.

The Northern Onslaught Upon Slavery Was No More Than A Piece Of Specious Humbug Designed To Conceal Its Desire For Economic Control Of The Southern States.

United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin And Crumpet Baking And Punctual Delivery Company.

All I Would Say Is, That I Can Go Abroad Without Your Family Coming Forward To Favour Me, - In Short, With A Parting Shove Of Their Cold Shoulders; And That, Upon The Whole, I Would Rather Leave England With Such Impetus As I Possess, Than Derive Any Acceleration Of It From That Quarter.

Are You Thankful For Not Being Young?' 'yes, Sir. If I Was Young, It Would All Have To Be Gone Through Again, And The End Would Be A Weary Way Off, Don't You See?