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and the next entirely lost, do what I will———
—Why, 'tis a strange story! Tristram.
———Alas! Madam, had it been upon some melancholy lecture of the cross—the peace of meekness, or the contentment of resignation—I had not been incommoded: or had I thought of writing it upon the purer abstractions of the soul, and that food of wisdom, and holiness, and contemplation, upon which the spirit of man (when separated from the body) is to subsist for ever—You would have come with a better appetite from it———
———I wish I never had wrote it: but as I never blot any thing out———let ususe
