‘A exile from home splendour dazzles in vain, O give you your lowly Preparations again, The birds stuffed so sweetly that can’t be expected to come at your call, Give you these with the peace of mind dearer than all. Home, Home, Home, sweet Home!’
—Be it ever,” added Mr. Wegg in prose as he glanced about the shop, “ever so ghastly, all things considered there’s no place like it.”
“You said you’d like to ask something; but you haven’t asked it,” remarked Venus, very unsympathetic in manner.
“Your peace of mind,” said Wegg, offering condolence, “your peace of mind was in a poor way that night. How’s it going on? is it looking up at all?”
“She does not wish,” replied Mr. Venus with a comical mixture of indignant obstinacy and tender melancholy, “to regard herself,