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The One Thought vanished ; all my mind was torn to rags : —— nay ! nay ! my head was mashed into wood pulp, and thereon the Daily Newspaper was printed.

Thus wrote I, since my One Love was torn from me. I cannot work : I cannot think : I seek distraction here : I seek distraction there : but this is all my truth, that I who love have lost ; and how may I regain ?

I must have money to get to America.

O Mage ! Sage ! Gauge thy Wage, or in the Page of Thine Age is written Rage !

O my darling ! We should not have spent Ninety Pounds in that Three Weeks in Paris ! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Slash the Breaks on thine arm with a poleaxe !