As with all those who owe their education to their own efforts, so his mind, noble in itself, fell under the influence of disturbing emotions, the saddest of which was distrust.

Sad is the plot, sad the catastrophe.

Sad, sad was the sight sadder, in a certain sense, than the smoke-wreaths of the Tuscarora and Alabama ploughing the broad ocean with their keels.

After z also, the poets sometimes drop the s: as, "Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Shiraz' walls I bent my way.

Yet, strangely, in that money-haunted head, The sad, gemmed crucifix and incense blue Is childhood once again.

Sad are the sounds that are breaking forth From the women and men of the brave old North!

Sad was the fun'ral wail that rose From that infected hall; Nought could the different forms define, But Fashion's slimpsey pall.

Sad was that picture, melancholy was the destiny then of the Roman people.

Sad and weary was his countenance, as he stood, at the close of the day, looking into the forest, as if he expected that it would speak and reveal what it knew of his beloved partner, who was somewhere concealed within its gloomy depths.

Sad were those eyes always, but with a vague, uncommunicable sadness; soft they were in times of quiet; beautiful and terrible they could be, with live gleams of suddenly awakened passion.

Sad indeed for them was the change from the ease and abundance of the bachelor's-hall, where slavery meant little more than a happy exemption from care, to their present condition, in which it meant hopeless submission to the power of a capricious and cruel mistress.

Sad has been that love to thee, my Rebecca!

Who is so buoyant, free, and proud, As we home-travellers are? But sad, but sad is every lad That day on which we come, That last last day on which away We all come from our home.

Sad is the lot of children born in such a place.

OLD BEN Sad is old Ben Tristlewaite, Now his day is done, And all his children Far away are gone.

Sad and sorrowful was his soul, and his brow, at other times so smooth and clear, was now dark and clouded.

In looking over the foregoing pages, I feel that sad indeed have been my wanderings in the shady paths of life.

"Sad is thy birth, and stormy is thy cradle, Offspring of sorrow!

Sad are the sights for human eyes, In fireless homes, 'neath wintry skies; Where wrinkles gather on childhood's skin, And youth's "clemm'd" cheek is pallid and thin; Where the good, the honestunclothed, unfed, Child, mother, and father, are craving for bread!

"Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form!

Sad are the sights for human eyes, In fireless homes, 'neath wintry skies; Where wrinkles gather on childhood's skin, And youth's "clemm'd" cheek is pallid and thin; Where the good, the honestunclothed, unfed, Child, mother, and father, are craving for bread!

Sad is the vague and tender dream Of dead love's lingering kisses, To crushed hearts haloed by the gleam Of unreturning blisses; Deep mourns the soul in anguished pride For the pitiless death that won them, But the saddest wail is for lips that died With the virgin dew upon them.

Sad was the plight in which matters were found.

Sad were the feelings that filled our young hearts, as we went forth from the dear place, with which was associated all the earliest recollections of life, and the endearing ideas of home.

* Tom, Tom, of Islington, Married a wife on Sunday; Brought her home on Monday; Hired a house on Tuesday; Fed her well on Wednesday; Sick was she on Thursday; Dead was she on Friday; Sad was Tom on Saturday, To bury his wife on Sunday.