That medical poet who has the joyous art of sending a ripple of mirth across the faces of the Anglo-Saxon world recognizes this fact in a cheerful poem, called "The Morning Visit," and to which I gladly refer any of my readers who would like to know from the lips of Oliver Wendell Holmes what manner of delightful patient he must have been.

Is there no actual piece of nature that he can show the man to his face, as he might show him a tree if they were walking together? Yes, there is one: the man's own thoughts. In fact, if the poet is to speak efficaciously, he must say what is already in his hearer's mind. That, alone, the hearer will believe; that, alone, he will be able to apply intelligently to the facts of life.

Notwithstanding the existence of the matriarchate, and the fact that all ancestral property is vested in the mother, it would be a mistake to suppose that the father is a nobody in the Khasi house.

"Do you think your client will go on with the street car suit?" "Well, my dear young man, in view of what you have shown me, I er I think not. In fact I know not." The lawyer was beaten and he realized it. "And about Mr. DeVere's note?" asked Russ. The lawyer took out his pocketbook. "Here is the note," he muttered. "You have beaten us.

The last thing a Spanish commander will confess is that he is beaten; and I think it likely enough that they will carry on the siege for months, yet, so as to keep up appearances. In fact, committed as they are to it, I don't see how they can give it up, without making themselves the laughingstock of Europe.

In short, the unanimous feminine verdict on her was that she was objectionable. There was no question of taking sides, as the Major had anticipated; in fact, dislike of Mrs.

"Or expect to have any?" interjected Meldrum, insolence in his shifty pig eyes. "No, not looking for any," answered Dingwell amiably. "Fact is, I was prospecting around Lonesome Park and found a gold mine. Looks good, so I thought I'd tell Sweeney about it. . . . Up to me? I've got openers." He pushed chips to the center of the table. Rutherford also pushed chips forward.

The fact is, art is essentially a spiritual thing, and its vision is perpetually turned to Ultimates. It is indefinable as spirit is.

Darlington had about three hundred dollars. When the quarter's bill for rent was paid, she had only a hundred and fifty dollars left. Thus, instead of making any thing by boarders, so far, she had sunk a hundred and fifty dollars. This fact disheartened her dreadfully. Then, the effect upon almost every member of her family had been bad.

I am content to reason upon this matter as if the fact of the existence of a vampyre were thoroughly established, and then to think upon what is best to be done about it." "You are right." "If it should turn out then that there is an error in the fact, well and good we are all the better off; but if otherwise, we are prepared, and armed at all points." "Let it be so, then.