"I mustn't forget to add that Bleiman, who brought out my 'Rough Rider's Romance,' was the same man who dismissed me as an usher at the Herald Square."
LOVE.
A SONNET FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being an Ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise;
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith;
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Chops the Dwarf.
By CHARLES DICKENS.