” “Well,” Mrs. "To those who, like me, have never been able to get out of the dark and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a refuge, and the sooner they reach it the better. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. “Very well,” she would say, “then I must go. For you know that I have made up my mind to dig a little way into life single-handed. I suppose if one were to love some one, one would feel doubtful. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. I would like to have to tell it so. They are the only happy women in the Orient.
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