in the newspaper profession. Because of specials I was

and the words came quite clear, though they were like the croak of a

frog, or the wail of a bird. "A grave! dig me a grave!"

The mist was cold and damp, her hands and face were moist and

clammy with horror, a heavy weight again seized her and clung to

her, her mind became clear for thoughts that had never before been

In these northern regions, a beech-wood often buds in a single

night and appears in the morning sunlight in its full glory of

youthful green. So, in a single instant, can the consciousness of