* I slept like an angel of God,' she said, and she had not the heart to waken me.
I woke of myself, opened my eyes, had quite forgotten that Auntie was here in the house, but soon remembered it, and remembered my toothache apparition. Dream and reality were mixed up together.
1 You have written nothing last night, after we said Good-night ?' she asked ; ' I would like if you had ! You are my poet, and that you will remain ! '
I thought that she smiled so cunningly. I knew not if it was the real Auntie Milly who loved me, or the terrible one I had made a promise to in the night.
1 Have you composed, sweet child ? '
' No, no ! ' I cried ; ' you are really Auntie Milly ? '
1 Who else ? ' said she, and it was Auntie Milly; she kissed me, got into a cab, and drove home.
I wrote down what is written here. It is not in verse and shall never be printed. . . .
Here the manuscript stopped.
My young friend, the future grocer's assistant, could not discover the rest; it had gone out into the world as paper for smoked herring, butter, and green soap. It had fulfilled its destiny.
The brewer is dead, Auntie is dead, the student is dead, he from whom the sparks of thought came into the barrel : that is the end of the story—the story of Auntie Toothache.
A PICTURE-BOOK WITHOUT PICTURES
It is a strange thing, that when I feel most fervently and most deeply, my hands and my tongue seem alike tied, so that I cannot rightly describe or accurately portray the thoughts that are rising within me ; and yet I am a painter: my eye tells me as much as that, and all my friends who have seen my sketches and fancies say the same.
I am a poor lad, and live in one of the narrowest of lanes ; but I do not want for light, as my room is high up in