Is It Better To Have Had A

Not Only Is The Day Waning, But The Year. The Low Sun Is Fiery And Yet Cold Behind The Monastery Ruin, And The Virginia Creeper On The Cathedral Wall Has Showered Half Its Deep-red Leaves Down On The Pavement. There Has Been Rain This Afternoon, And A Wintry Shudder Goes Among The Little Pools On The Cracked, Uneven Flag-stones, And Through The Giant Elm-trees As They Shed A Gust Of Tears.

Vengeance And Retribution Require A Long Time; It Is The Rule.

Their Demeanor Is Invariably Morose, Sullen, Clownish And Repulsive. I Should Think There Is Not, On The Face Of The Earth, A People So Entirely Destitute Of Humor, Vivacity, Or The Capacity For Enjoyment.

The Evening Wind Made Such A Disturbance Just Now, Among Some Tall Old Elm-trees At The Bottom Of The Garden, That Neither My Mother Nor Miss Betsey Could Forbear Glancing That Way. As The Elms Bent To One Another, Like Giants Who Were Whispering Secrets, And After A Few Seconds Of Such Repose, Fell Into A Violent Flurry, Tossing Their Wild Arms About, As If Their Late Confidences Were Really Too Wicked For Their Peace Of Mind.

How Many Young Men, In All Previous Times Of Unprecedented Steadiness, Had Turned Suddenly Wild And Wicked For The Same Reason, And, In An Ecstasy Of Unrequited Love, Taken To Wrench Off Door-knockers, And Invert The Boxes Of Rheumatic Watchmen!