My dear Mother now growing aged, began to be very desirous to see me established in a married State; daily inculcating to me, That we, in a manner, frustrate the End of our Creation, to live in that uncouth kind of Solitude, in which she thought I too much delighted, and which she believed would grow upon me, when God should take her away: At what Time, I should then have no body to consolate, protect or assist me; urging, That I ought not to pass my Time in idle Dreams on Parnassus, and foolish Romantick Flights, with Icarus; whose waxen Wings fail'd him so as to let him fall into the Sea; which indeed purchas'd him a Name, but became the perpetual Record of his Folly: And such a Name, such a Record, I should be glad, said she, you would avoid, by becoming a good Mistress of a Family; and imploy your Parts in being an obedient Wife, a discreet Governess of your Children and Servants; a friendly Assistant to your Neighbours, Friends, and Acquaintance: This being the Business for which you came into the World, and for the Neglect of this, you must give an Account when you go out of it. These were Truths which Reason would not permit me to oppose; but my Reflections on Bosvil's Baseness, gave me a secret Disgust against Matrimony. However, her often repeated Lectures, call'd for Compliance, especially Fortune seeming at that Time to concur with my Mother's Counsel, in the following manner. Rapid writing will no doubt give rise to inaccuracy 鈥?chiefly because the ear, quick and true as may be its operation, will occasionally break down under pressure, and, before a sentence be closed, will forget the nature of the composition with which it was commenced. A singular nominative will be disgraced by a plural verb, because other pluralities have intervened and have tempted the ear into plural tendencies. Tautologies will occur, because the ear, in demanding fresh emphasis, has forgotten that the desired force has been already expressed. I need not multiply these causes of error, which must have been stumbling-blocks indeed when men wrote in the long sentences of Gibbon, but which Macaulay, with his multiplicity of divisions, has done so much to enable us to avoid. A rapid writer will hardly avoid these errors altogether. Speaking of myself, I am ready to declare that, with much training, I have been unable to avoid them. But the writer for the press is rarely called upon 鈥?a writer of books should never be called upon 鈥?to send his manuscript hot from his hand to the printer. It has been my practice to read everything four times at least 鈥?thrice in manuscript and once in print. Very much of my work I have read twice in print. In spite of this I know that inaccuracies have crept through 鈥?not single spies, but in battalions. From this I gather that the supervision has been insufficient, not that the work itself has been done too fast. I am quite sure that those passages which have been written with the greatest stress of labour, and consequently with the greatest haste, have been the most effective and by no means the most inaccurate. What was unusual in her was the strong and intense realisation of the Other World. Spiritual things to her were absolutely real. That which is unseen was to her as if seen. The love of Christ was more to her than the love of all earthly friends. Paradise was more to her than Earth. It was not that she did not love Earth, but that her love for Heaven was greater. It was not that she could not enter into the bright things of this world, but that she found the things of the Other World brighter still. She could never be satisfied with the present life; because she was always craving for the higher existence, always longing to rise 鈥榥earer鈥攏earer鈥?to God. She was like a caged lark, impatient for freedom. And at last, after all these years of waiting, the time was come. Idly exploring the contents of the secretaire in the drawing-room one day, Martin Disney found the telegraphic message which his wife had written鈥攁nd left unsent鈥攂efore the Hunt Ball. 鈥業鈥檓 a Pagan to-day,鈥?she said, 鈥榓nd so it appears are you. Pan is sitting somewhere in this wood. Did you hear his flute?鈥? 色爱区区域综合网 鈥榃ell, go on; but take care,鈥?he said. ???And live by Methods of our own, 鈥楶.S.鈥擯lease offer my affectionate and grateful remembrances to dear Mrs. French.鈥?