I Am Not Old, But My Young

I Mean A Man Whose Hopes And Aims May Sometimes Lie (as Most Men's Sometimes Do, I Dare Say) Above The Ordinary Level, But To Whom The Ordinary Level Will Be High Enough After All If It Should Prove To Be A Way Of Usefulness And Good Service Leading To No Other. All Generous Spirits Are Ambitious, I Suppose, But The Ambition That Calmly Trusts Itself To Such A Road, Instead Of Spasmodically Trying To Fly Over It, Is Of The Kind I Care For.

This Reminds Me, Godmother, To Ask You A Serious Question. You Are As Wise As Wise Can Be (having Been Brought Up By The Fairies), And You Can Tell Me This: Is It Better To Have Had A Good Thing And Lost It, Or Never To Have Had It?

We Spent As Much Money As We Could And Got As Little For It As People Could Make Up Their Minds To Give Us. We Were Always More Or Less Miserable, And Most Of Our Acquaintance Were In The Same Condition. There Was A Gay Fiction Among Us That We Were Constantly Enjoying Ourselves, And A Skeleton Truth That We Never Did. To The Best Of My Belief, Our Case Was In The Last Aspect A Rather Common One.

Many Merry Christmases, Many Happy New Years. Unbroken Friendships, Great Accumulations Of Cheerful Recollections And Affections On Earth, And Heaven For Us All.

... When The Locked Door Opens, And There Comes In A Young Woman, Deadly Pale, And With Long Fair Hair, Who Glides To The Fire, And Sits Down In The Chair We Have Left There, Wringing Her Hands.