His Cold Politeness, His Ceremonious Grace, Were

Sir Walter Elliot, Of Kellynch-hall, In Somersetshire, Was A Man Who, For His Own Amusement, Never Took Up Any Book But The Barontage; There He Found Occupation For An Idle Hour, And Consolation In A Distressed One; . . .

Personal Size And Mental Sorrow Have Certainly No Necessary Proportions. A Large Bulky Figure Has A Good A Right To Be In Deep Affliction, As The Most Graceful Set Of Limbs In The World. But, Fair Or Not Fair, There Are Unbecoming Conjunctions, Which Reason Will Pa Tronize In Vain,--which Taste Cannot Tolerate,--which Ridicule Will Seize.

Follies And Nonsense, Whims And Inconsistencies Do Divert Me, I Own, And I Laugh At Them Whenever I Can.

It Taught Me To Hope, As I Had Scarcely Ever Allowed Myself To Hope Before.

If I Could But Know His Heart, Everything Would Become Easy.