'do You Spell It With A 'v'

Love Is Not A Feeling To Pass Away Like The Balmy Breath Of A Summer's Day....... Love Is Not A Passion Of Earthly Mould As A Thirst For Honour, Or Fame, Or Gold

It Being A Part Of Mrs. Pipchin's System Not To Encourage A Child's Mind To Develop And Expand Itself Like A Young Flower, But To Open It By Force Like An Oyster.

Be Guided, Only By The Healer Of The Sick, The Raiser Of The Dead, The Friend Of All Who Were Afflicted And Forlorn, The Patient Master Who Shed Tears Of Compassion For Our Infirmities. We Cannot But Be Right If We Put All The Rest Away, And Do Everything In Remembrance Of Him. There Is No Vengeance And No Infliction Of Suffering In His Life, I Am Sure. There Can Be No Confusion In Following Him, And Seeking For No Other Footsteps, I Am Certain!

Surely There Had Been No Figure Leaning On The Back Of His Chair; No Face Looking Over It. It Is Certain That No Gliding Footstep Touched The Floor, As He Lifted Up His Head, With A Start, And Spoke. And Yet There Was No Mirror In The Room On Whose Surface His Own Form Could Have Cast Its Shadow For A Moment; And, Something Had Passed Darkly And Gone!

A Brisk, Bright, Blue-eyed Fellow, A Very Neat Figure And Rather Under The Middle Size, Never Out Of The Way And Never In It.