It Being A Part Of Mrs. Pipchin's

The Town Was Glad With Morning Light; Places That Had Shown Ugly And Distrustful All Night Long, Now Wore A Smile; And Sparkling Sunbeams Dancing On Chamber Windows, And Twinkling Through Blind And Curtain Before Sleepers’ Eyes, Shed Light Even Into Dreams, And Chased Away The Shadows Of The Night.

I Revere The Memory Of Mr. F. As An Estimable Man And Most Indulgent Husband, Only Necessary To Mention Asparagus And It Appeared Or To Hint At Any Little Delicate Thing To Drink And It Came Like Magic In A Pint Bottle; It Was Not Ecstasy But It Was Comfort.

He Lowered The Window, And Looked Out At The Rising Sun. There Was A Ridge Of Ploughed Land, With A Plough Upon It Where It Had Been Left Last Night When The Horses Were Unyoked; Beyond, A Quiet Coppice-wood, In Which Many Leaves Of Burning Red And Golden Yellow Still Remained Upon The Trees. Though The Earth Was Cold And Wet, The Sky Was Clear, And The Sun Rose Bright, Placid, And Beautiful.

Sadly, Sadly, The Sun Rose; It Rose Upon No Sadder Sight Than The Man Of Good Abilities And Good Emotions, Incapable Of Their Directed Exercise, Incapable Of His Own Help And His Own Happiness, Sensible Of The Blight On Him, And Resigning Himself To Let It Eat Him Away.

Never Sign A Valentine With Your Own Name.