Oh England Is A Pleasant Place For

Life Is Too Short For Mean Anxieties.

If You Wish To Be Miserable, Think About Yourself, About What You Want, What You Like, What Respect People Ought To Pay You, What People Think Of You; And Then To You Nothing Will Be Pure. You Will Spoil Everything You Touch; You Will Make Sin And Misery For Yourself Out Of Everything God Sends You; You Will Be As Wretched As You Choose.

Now, To Tell My Story--if Not As It Ought To Be Told, At Least As I Can Tell It,--i Must Go Back Sixteen Years, To The Days When Whitbury Boasted Of Forty Coaches Per Diem, Instead Of One Railway, And Set Forth How In Its Southern Suburb, There Stood Two Pleasant House Side By Side, With Their Gardens Sloping Down To The Whit, And Parted From Each Other Only By The High Brick Fruit-wall, Through Which There Used To Be A Door Of Communication; For The Two Occupiers Were Fast Friends.

You Must Not Talk About 'ain't And Can't' When You Speak Of This Great Wonderful World Round You, Of Which The Wisest Man Knows Only The Very Smallest Corner, And Is, As The Great Sir Isaac Newton Said, Only A Child Picking Up Pebbles On The Shore Of A Boundless Ocean.

A Fine Lady; By Which Term I Wish To Express The Result Of That Perfect Education In Taste And Manner, Down To Every Gesture, Which Heaven Forbid That I, Professing To Be A Poet, Should Undervalue. It Is Beautiful, And Therefore I Welcome It In The Name Of The Author Of All Beauty. I Value It So Highly That I Would Fain See It Extend Not Merely From Belgravia To The Tradesman's Villa, But Thence, As I Believe It One Day Will, To The Laborer's Hovel And The Needlewoman's Garret.