I Do Not Want Merely To Possess

Now, To Tell My Story--if Not As It Ought To Be Told, At Least As I Can Tell It,--i Must Go Back Sixteen Years, To The Days When Whitbury Boasted Of Forty Coaches Per Diem, Instead Of One Railway, And Set Forth How In Its Southern Suburb, There Stood Two Pleasant House Side By Side, With Their Gardens Sloping Down To The Whit, And Parted From Each Other Only By The High Brick Fruit-wall, Through Which There Used To Be A Door Of Communication; For The Two Occupiers Were Fast Friends.

And How High Is Christ's Cross? As High As The Highest Heaven, And The Throne Of God, And The Bosom Of The Father That Bosom Out Of Which Forever Proceed All Created Things. Ay, As High As The Highest Heaven! For If You Will Receive It When Christ Hung Upon The Cross, Heaven Came Down On Earth, And Earth Ascended Into Heaven.

Our Wanton Accidents Take Root, And Grow To Vaunt Themselves God's Laws.

The Loveliest Fairy In The World; And Her Name Is Mrs Do As You Would Bed One By.

Therefore, Let Us Be Patient, Patient; And Let God Our Father Teach His Own Lesson, His Own Way. Let Us Try To Learn It Well And Quickly; But Do Not Let Us Fancy That He Will Ring The School-bell, And Send Us To Play Before Our Lesson Is Learnt.