Page:Ethel Churchill 2.pdf/11

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Life's smallest miseries are, perhaps, its worst: Great sufferings have great strength: there is a pride In the bold energy that braves the worst, And bears proud in the bearing; but the heart Consumes with those small sorrows, and small shames, Which crave, yet cannot ask for sympathy. They blush that they exist, and yet how keen The pang that they inflict!

was one of those bright days in spring, which are very spendthrifts of sunshine, when the darkest alley in London wins a golden glimpse, and the eternal mist around St. Paul's turns to a glittering haze: but the young man who was hurrying along some of the crowded streets, seemed insensible of the genial atmosphere; he would have been equally insensible of the reverse.