My Life Is One Demd Horrid Grind.

The Persons On Whom I Have Bestowed My Dearest Love Lie Deep In Their Graves; But, Although The Happiness And Delight Of My Life Lie Buried There Too, I Have Not Made A Coffin Of My Heart, And Sealed It Up For Ever On My Best Affections. Deep Affliction Has Only Made Them Stronger; It Ought, I Think, For It Should Refine Our Nature.

Never, Never, Before Heaven, Have I Thought Of You But As The Single, Bright, Pure, Blessed Recollection Of My Boyhood And My Youth. Never Have I From The First, And Never Shall I To The Last, Regard Your Part In My Life, But As Something Sacred, Never To Be Lightly Thought Of, Never To Be Esteemed Enough, Never, Until Death, To Be Forgotten.

When Men Are About To Commit, Or Sanction The Commission Of Some Injustice, It Is Not Uncommon For Them To Express Pity For The Object Either Of That Or Some Parallel Proceeding, And To Feel Themselves, At The Time, Quite Virtuous And Moral, And Immensely Superior To Those Who Express No Pity At All. This Is A Kind Of Upholding Of Faith Above Works, And Is Very Comfortable.

And When It Has Got In; As One Not Finding What It Seeks, Whatever That May Be, It Wails And Howls To Issue Forth Again: And Not Content With Stalking Through The Aisles, And Gliding Round And Round The Pillars, And Tempting The Deep Organ, Soars Up To The Roof, And Strives To Rend The Rafters: Then Flings Itself Despairingly Upon The Stones Below, And Passes, Muttering, Into The Vaults.

The Leprosy Of Unreality Disfigured Every Human Creature In Attendance.