Let Us Be Moral. Let Us Contemplate

It Was A Very Aged, Ghostly Place; The Church Had Been Built Many Hundreds Of Years Ago, And Had Once Had A Convent Or Monastery Attached; For Arches In Ruins, Remains Of Oriel Windows, And Fragments Of Blackened Walls, Were Yet Standing-, While Other Portions Of The Old Building, Which Had Crumbled Away And Fallen Down, Were Mingled With The Churchyard Earth And Overgrown With Grass, As If They Too Claimed A Burying-place And Sought To Mix Their Ashes With The Dust Of Men.

She Was More Than Human To Me. She Was A Fairy, A Sylph. I Don't Know What She Was, Anything That No One Ever Saw, And Everything That Everybody Ever Wanted. I Was Swallowed Up In An Abyss Of Love In An Instant. There Was No Pausing On The Brink, No Looking Down, Or Looking Back. I Was Gone, Headlong, Before I Had Sense To Say A Word To Her.

It Is, As Mr. Rokesmith Says, A Matter Of Feeling, But Lor How Many Matters Are Matters Of Feeling!

The Wide Stare Stared Itself Out For One While; The Sun Went Down In A Red, Green, Golden Glory; The Stars Came Out In The Heavens, And The Fire-flies Mimicked Them In The Lower Air, As Men May Feebly Imitate The Goodness Of A Better Order Of Beings; The Long Dusty Roads And The Interminable Plains Were In Repose-and So Deep A Hush Was On The Sea, That It Scarcely Whispered Of The Time When It Shall Give Up Its Dead.

One Thing About This Face Was Very Strange And Startling. You Could Not Look Upon It In Its Most Cheerful Mood Without Feeling That It Had Some Extraordinary Capacity Of Expressing Terror. It Was Not On The Surface. It Was In No One Feature That It Lingered. You Could Not Take The Eyes Or Mouth, Or Lines Upon The Cheek, And Say, If This Or That Were Otherwise, It Would Not Be So. Yet There It Always Lurked-something For Ever Dimly Seen, But Ever There, And Never Absent For A Moment.