She Was But A Transient Impression, Half

Like The British Constitution, She Owes Her Success In Practice To Her Inconsistencies In Principle.

So Do Flux And Reflux--the Rhythm Of Change--alternate And Persist In Everything Under The Sky.

In The Ill-judged Execution Of The Well-judged Plan Of Things The Call Seldom Produces The Comer, The Man To Love Rarely Coincides With The Hour For Loving

He Looked And Smelt Like Autumn's Very Brother, His Face Being Sunburnt To Wheat-colour, His Eyes Blue As Corn-flowers, His Sleeves And Leggings Dyed With Fruit-stains, His Hands Clammy With The Sweet Juice Of Apples, His Hat Sprinkled With Pips, And Everywhere About Him The Sweet Atmosphere Of Cider Which At Its First Return Each Season Has Such An Indescribable Fascination For Those Who Have Been Born And Bred Among The Orchards.

To Be Loved To Madness--such Was Her Great Desire. Love Was To Her The One Cordial Which Could Drive Away The Eating Loneliness Of Her Days. And She Seemed To Long For The Abstraction Called Passionate Love More Than For Any Particular Lover.