Take A Little Timecount Five-and-twenty,tattycoram.

The Law Is An Ass, An Idiot.

Loves And Cupids Took To Flight Afraid, And Martyrdom Had No Such Torment In Its Painted History Of Suffering.

The Boy Was Lying, Fast Asleep, On A Rude Bed Upon The Floor; So Pale With Anxiety, And Sadness, And The Closeness Of His Prison, That He Looked Like Death; Not Death As It Shews In Shroud And Coffin, But In The Guise It Wears When Life Has Just Departed; When A Young And Gentle Spirit Has, But An Instant, Fled To Heaven: And The Gross Air Of The World Has Not Had Time To Breathe Upon The Changing Dust It Hallowed.

Then Idiots Talk....of Energy. If There Is A Word In The Dictionary Under Any Letter From A To Z That I Abominate, It Is Energy. It Is Such A Conventional Superstition, Such Parrot Gabble! What The Deuce!....but Show Me A Good Opportunity, Show Me Something Really Worth Being Energetic About, And I'll Show You Energy.

One Disagreeable Result Of Whispering Is That It Seems To Evoke An Atmosphere Of Silence, Haunted By The Ghosts Of Sound - Strange Cracks And Tickings, The Rustling Of Garments That Have No Substance In Them, And The Tread Of Dreadful Feet That Would Leave No Mark On The Sea-sand Or The Winter Snow.