"oh!" Said My Aunt, "i

I Loved You Madly; In The Distasteful Work Of The Day, In The Wakeful Misery Of The Night, Girded By Sordid Realities, Or Wandering Through Paradises And Hells Of Visions Into Which I Rushed, Carrying Your Image In My Arms, I Loved You Madly.

Mr. Tulkinghorn, Sitting In The Twilight By The Open Window, Enjoys His Wine. As If It Whispered To Him Of Its Fifty Years Of Silence And Seclusion, It Shuts Him Up The Closer. More Impenetrable Than Ever, He Sits, And Drinks, And Mellows As It Were In Secrecy, Pondering At That Twilight Hour On All The Mysteries He Knows.

The Evening Wind Made Such A Disturbance Just Now, Among Some Tall Old Elm-trees At The Bottom Of The Garden, That Neither My Mother Nor Miss Betsey Could Forbear Glancing That Way. As The Elms Bent To One Another, Like Giants Who Were Whispering Secrets, And After A Few Seconds Of Such Repose, Fell Into A Violent Flurry, Tossing Their Wild Arms About, As If Their Late Confidences Were Really Too Wicked For Their Peace Of Mind.

There Is Not A Manufacturer Or Tradesman In Existence, Who Would Not Employ A Man Who Takes A Reasonable Degree Of Pride In The Appearance Of Himself And Those About Him, In Preference To A Sullen, Slovenly Fellow, Who Works Doggedly On, Regardless Of His Own Clothing And That Of His Wife And Children, And Seeming To Take Pleasure Or Pride In Nothing.

All I Would Say Is, That I Can Go Abroad Without Your Family Coming Forward To Favour Me, - In Short, With A Parting Shove Of Their Cold Shoulders; And That, Upon The Whole, I Would Rather Leave England With Such Impetus As I Possess, Than Derive Any Acceleration Of It From That Quarter.