I Could Wish There Were A God,

Every Mile Was Redolent Of Associations, Which She Would Not Have Missed For The World, But Each Of Which Made Her Cry Upon 'the Days That Are No More' With Ineffable Longing.

Again, Stepping Nearer, He Besought Her With Another Tremulous Eager Call Upon Her Name. 'margaret!' Still Lower Went The Head; More Closely Hidden Was The Face, Almost Resting On The Table Before Her. He Came Close To Her. He Knelt By Her Side, To Bring His Face To A Level With Her Ear; And Whispered-panted Out The Words: — 'take Care. — If You Do Not Speak — I Shall Claim You As My Own In Some Strange Presumptuous Way.

Oh, I Can't Describe My Home. It Is Home, And I Can't Put Its Charm Into Words

He Could Remember All About It Now; The Pitiful Figure He Must Have Cut; The Absurd Way In Which He Had Gone And Done The Very Thing He Had So Often Agreed With Himself In Thinking Would Be The Most Foolish Thing In The World; And Had Met With Exactly The Consequences Which, In These Wise Moods, He Had Always Foretold Were Certain To Follow, If He Ever Did Make Such A Fool Of Himself.

I Never Did Write A Biography, And I Don't Exactly Know How To Set About It; You See I Have To Be Accurate And Keep To The Facts, A Most Difficult Thing For A Writer Of Fiction.