Facts Alone Are Wanted In Life. Plant

There Seems A Magic In The Very Name Of Christmas.

All Is Going On As It Was Wont. The Waves Are Hoarse With Repetition Of Their Mystery; The Dust Lies Piled Upon The Shore; The Sea-birds Soar And Hover; The Winds And Clouds Go Forth Upon Their Trackless Flight; The White Arms Beckon, In The Moonlight, To The Invisible Country Far Away.

Recollections Of The Past And Visions Of The Present Come To Bear Me Company; The Meanest Man To Whom I Have Ever Given Alms Appears, To Add His Mite Of Peace And Comfort To My Stock; And Whenever The Fire Within Me Shall Grow Cold, To Light My Path Upon This Earth No More, I Pray That It May Be At Such An Hour As This, And When I Love The World As Well As I Do Now.

Then Tell Wind And Fire Where To Stop," Returned Madame; "but Don't Tell Me.

It Is The Fate Of Most Men Who Mingle With The World, And Attain Even The Prime Of Life, To Make Many Real Friends, And Lose Them In The Course Of Nature. It Is The Fate Of All Authors Or Chroniclers To Create Imaginary Friends, And Lose Them In The Course Of Art. Nor Is This The Full Extent Of Their Misfortunes; For They Are Required To Furnish An Account Of Them Besides.