There Is Something Good In

It Was A Cold Hard Easterly Morning When He Latched The Garden Gate And Turned Away. The Light Snowfall Which Had Feathered His Schoolroom Windows On The Thursday, Still Lingered In The Air, And Was Falling White, While The Wind Blew Black.

Is It Better To Have Had A Good Thing And Lost It, Or Never To Have Had It?

As The Gloom And Shadow Thickened Behind Him, In That Place Where It Had Been Gathering So Darkly, It Took, By Slow Degrees, - Or Out Of It There Came, By Some Unreal, Unsubstantial Process - Not To Be Traced By Any Human Sense, - An Awful Likeness Of Himself!

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

You Are Part Of My Existence, Part Of Myself. You Have Been In Every Line I Have Ever Read, Since I First Came Here, The Rough Common Boy Whose Poor Heart You Wounded Even Then. You Have Been In Every Prospect I Have Ever Seen Since-on The River, On The Sails Of The Ships, On The Marshes, In The Clouds, In The Light, In The Darkness, In The Wind, In The Woods, In The Sea, In The Streets. You Have Been The Embodiment Of Every Graceful Fancy That My Mind Has Ever Become Acquainted With.