Shall we never never get rid of this Past? ... It lies upon the Present like a giant's dead body. - Nathaniel Hawthorne

"Heaven! What have I done?" exclaimed he. "The vapor, the influence of that brute force,—it has bewildered me and obscured my perception. I have made the very stroke—the fatal stroke—that I have dreaded from the first. It is all over—the toil of months, the object of my life. I am ruined!"
And there he sat, in strange despair, until his lamp flickered in the socket and left the Artist of the Beautiful in darkness.

Life, within doors, has few pleasanter prospects than a neatly-arranged and well-provisioned breakfast-table.

It may serve, let us hope, to symbolise some sweet moral blossom that may be found along the track, or relieve the darkening close of a tale of human frailty and sorrow.