I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. My natural parents both died a very long time ago and I have been on my own for a great deal of my existence. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. “I’ll be hanged if I do. I step on my neighbour's feet, return and apologize because my acquired conscience orders me to do so; whereas you might pass on without caring if your neighbour hopped about on one foot. She followed the official back into his room.
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