ThesightofLondonwarmedmyheartwithvariousemotions，suchasacordialmanmustdrawfromtheheartofallhumanity。Heretherearequickwaysandmanners，andtherapidsenseofknowledge，andthepowerofunderstanding，ereawordbespoken。WhereasatOare，youmustsayathingthreetimes，veryslowly，beforeitgetsinsidetheskullofthegoodmanyouareaddressing。Andyetwearefarmoreclevertherethaninanyparishforfifteenmiles。

　　Butwhatmovedmemost，whenIsawagainthenobleoilandtallowoftheLondonlights，andthedrippingtorchesatalmosteverycorner，andthehandsomesignboards，wasthethoughtthatheremyLornalived，andwalked，andtooktheair，andperhapsthoughtnowandthenoftheolddaysinthegoodfarm-house。

　　AlthoughIwouldmakenoapproachtoher，anymorethanshehaddonetomeuponwhichgriefIhavenotdwelt，forfearofseemingselfish，yettheremustbesomelargechance，orthelittlechancemightbeenlarged，offallinginwiththemaidensomehow，andlearninghowhermindwasset。Ifagainstme，allshouldbeover。

　　Iwasnotthemantosighandcryforlove，likeaRomeo：noneshouldevenguessmygrief，exceptmysisterAnnie。

　　ButifLornalovedmestill——asinmyheartofheartsI

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