Charles Dickens

Called me wessel, Sammy--a wessel of wrath.

Called me wessel, Sammy--a wessel of wrath.

Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green,
That creepeth o'er ruins old!
Of right choice food read more

Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green,
That creepeth o'er ruins old!
Of right choice food are his meals I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.
. . . .
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the ivy green.

"Wery good power o' suction, Sammy," said Mr. Weller the
elder. . . . "You'd ha' made an uncommon read more

"Wery good power o' suction, Sammy," said Mr. Weller the
elder. . . . "You'd ha' made an uncommon fine oyster, Sammy, if
you'd been born in that station o' life."

If the parks be "the lungs of London" we wonder what Greenwich
Fair is--a periodical breaking out, we suppose--a read more

If the parks be "the lungs of London" we wonder what Greenwich
Fair is--a periodical breaking out, we suppose--a sort of spring
rash.

The Bearings of this observation lays in the application on it.

The Bearings of this observation lays in the application on it.