gloriously spanning the beclouded welkin of life. An hour afterwards I look again—half the arch is gone, and the rest is faded. Still later, the stem sky denies that it ever wore so benign a symbol of hope."
"Well, Mr. Moore, you should contend against these changeful humours: they are your besetting sin. One never knows where to have you."
"Miss Keeldar, I had once—for two years—a pupil who grew very dear to me. Henry is dear, but she was dearer. Henry never gives me trouble; she—well—she did. I think she vexed me twenty-three hours out of the twenty-four"
"She was never with you above three hours, or at the most six at a time."
"She sometimes spilled the draught from my cup, and stole the food from my plate; and when she had kept me unfed for a day (and that did not suit me, for I am a man accustomed to take my meals with reasonable relish, and to ascribe due importance to the rational enjoyment of creature comforts)"
"I know you do. I can tell what sort of dinners you like best—perfectly well. I know precisely the dishes you prefer"
"She robbed these dishes of flavour, and made a fool of me besides. I like to sleep well. In my quiet days, when I was my own man, I never quarrelled with the night for being long, nor cursed my bed for its thorns. She changed all this."
"Mr. Moore"
