It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. It was a grand life. Then his tiny bow mouth opened into an adoring smile. "I am only fit for such as him. People always rejoice at the misfortunes of others—never at their own! The droll dogs! how they must have enjoyed it!—ha! ha!" "I dare say they did. There was a man, a boy, and a woman. He gave you a poison. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year. I have worn it for weeks and weeks. “You silly fool,” he said. But it sounds too real to be imagined. Enchanted.
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