Now, the other day I was reading Burns, and I couldn't describe what exaltation all at once possessed me in the thought that a ploughman had so glorified a servant-girl that together they shine in the highest heaven, far above all the monarchs of earth.
This came upon me with a rush--a very rare emotion.

Wasn't that democratic ?' He inquired dubiously, and Earwaker for a moment had no reply but his familiar 'M--m--m!' 'No, it was not democratic,' the journalist decided at length; 'it was pride of intellect.' 'Think so?
Then look here.

If it happens that a whining wretch stops me in the street to beg, what do you suppose is my feeling?
I am ashamed in the sense of my own prosperity.

I can't look him in the face.

If I yielded to my natural impulse, I should cry out, "Strike me! spit at me! show you hate me!--anything but that terrible humiliation of yourself before me!" That's how I feel.