Never Sign A Valentine With Your Own

It Was A Good Thing To Have A Couple Of Thousand People All Rigid And Frozen Together, In The Palm Of One's Hand.

They Don't Mind It: Its A Reg'lar Holiday To Them - All Porter And Skittles.

God Bless Us Every One! Said Tiny Tim, The Last Of All.

He Lived In Chambers That Had Once Belonged To His Deceased Partner. They Were A Gloomy Suite Of Rooms, In A Lowering Pile Of Building Up A Yard, Where It Had So Little Business To Be, That One Could Scarcely Help Fancying It Must Have Run There When It Was A Young House, Playing At Hide-and-seek With Other Houses, And Forgotten The Way Out Again.

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.