"Pardon me, O, god of the realm of darkness," implored the miserable shade. "I am an ante-election prophecy, and am only trying to hide myself away and be forgotten forever more!"
"Poor thing, go and sin no more!" replied the king of shadows with a great pity in his voice. "Thy punishment is, indeed, deserved!" And he strode away to stir up the animals in another quarter of his dominions.
Little Sermons.
The thankfulness of some people stops in saying grace at the table before meals.
It isn't always the front seats that are occupied by His humblest children, when the collection plate gets busy.
The religion that is so brief as to last only a few hours on Sunday can be at home in a place too warm to cut ice in the great hereafter.