As To The Thoughts, They Are Elfish.

Nature Seemed To Me Benign And Good; I Thought She Loved Me, Outcast As I Was; And I, Who From Man Could Anticipate Only Mistrust, Rejection, Insult, Clung To Her With Filial Fondness. To-night At Least, I Would Be Her Guest-as I Was Her Child; My Mother Would Lodge Me Without Money And Without Price.

It Seems To Me, Monsieur, That There Is Nothing More Galling In Great Physical Misfortunes Than To Be Compelled To Make All Those About Us Share In Our Sufferings. The Ills Of The Soul One Can Hide, But Those Which Attack The Body And Destroy The Faculties Cannot Be Concealed.

Monsieur, Sit Down; Listen To Me. I Am Not A Heathen, I Am Not Hard-hearted, I Am Not Unchristian, I Am Not Dangerous, As They Tell You; I Would Not Trouble Your Faith; You Believe In God And Christ And The Bible, And So Do I.

Such Is The Imperfect Nature Of Man! Such Spots Are There On The Disc Of The Clearest Planet; And Eyes Like Miss Scatcherd's Can Only See Those Minute Defects, And Are Blind To The Full Brightness Of The Orb.

It Is One Of My Faults, That Though My Tongue Is Sometimes Prompt Enough At An Answer, There Are Times When It Sadly Fails Me In Framing An Excuse; And Always The Lapse Occurs At Some Crisis, When A Facile Word Or Plausible Pretext Is Specially Wanted To Get Me Out Of Painful Embarrassment.