There is not even a looking-glass for the voice.

Of course, there is something audible to us when we speak; but that something is not our own voice as it is known to all our acquaintances.

I think, if an image spoke to us in our own tones, we should not know them in the least .-- How pleasant it would be, if in another state of being we could have shapes like our former selves for playthings,--we standing outside or inside of them, as we liked, and they being to us just what we used to be to others! -- I wonder if there will be nothing like what we call "play," after our earthly toys are broken,--said the schoolmistress.
Hush,--said I,--what will the divinity-student say?
[I thought she was hit, that time;--but the shot must have gone over her, or on one side of her; she did not flinch.] Oh,--said the schoolmistress,--he must look out for my sister's heresies; I am afraid he will be too busy with them to take care of mine.
Do you mean to say,--said I,--that it is YOUR SISTER whom that student-- [The young fellow commonly known as John, who had been sitting on the barrel, smoking, jumped off just then, kicked over the barrel, gave it a push with his foot that set it rolling, and stuck his saucy-looking face in at the window so as to cut my question off in the middle; and the schoolmistress leaving the room a few minutes afterwards, I did not have a chance to finish it.
The young fellow came in and sat down in a chair, putting his heels on the top of another.
Pooty girl,--said he.
A fine young lady,--I replied.
Keeps a first-rate school, according to accounts,--said he, -- teaches all sorts of things,--Latin and Italian and music.

Folks rich once,--smashed up.

She went right ahead as smart as if she'd been born to work.