Your Honour, Unless Your Honour, Without A

I Revere The Memory Of Mr. F. As An Estimable Man And Most Indulgent Husband, Only Necessary To Mention Asparagus And It Appeared Or To Hint At Any Little Delicate Thing To Drink And It Came Like Magic In A Pint Bottle; It Was Not Ecstasy But It Was Comfort.

I Don't Remember Forms Or Faces Now, But I Know The Girl Was Beautiful. I Know She Was; For In The Bright Moonlight Nights, When I Start From My Sleep, And All Is Quiet About Me, I See, Standing Still And Motionless In One Corner Of This Cell, A Slight And Wasted Figure With Long Black Hair, Which Streaming Down Her Back, Stirs With No Earthly Wind, And Eyes That Fix Their Gaze On Me, And Never Wink Or Close.

It Was One Of Those March Days When The Sun Shines Hot And The Wind Blows Cold: When It Is Summer In The Light, And Winter In The Shade.

We Need Be Careful How We Deal With Those About Us, When Every Death Carries To Some Small Circle Of Survivors, Thoughts Of So Much Omitted, And So Little Done- Of So Many Things Forgotten, And So Many More Which Might Have Been Repaired! There Is No Remorse So Deep As That Which Is Unavailing; If We Would Be Spared Its Tortures, Let Us Remember This, In Time.

In This Way They Went On, And On, And On-in The Language Of The Story-books-until At Last The Village Lights Appeared Before Them, And The Church Spire Cast A Long Reflection On The Graveyard Grass; As If It Were A Dial (alas, The Truest In The World!) Marking, Whatever Light Shone Out Of Heaven, The Flight Of Days And Weeks And Years, By Some New Shadow On That Solemn Ground.