After all, it is because of the losses, the sadnesses, that the world is so infinitely sweet to us.

The thought is in Cory's Mimnernus in Church: All beauteous things for which we live By laws of time and space decay.
But oh, the very reason why I clasp them is because they die.
From this sadness in Bath I went to a greater in Wells, where I had not been for ten years, and timing my visit so as to have a Sunday service at the cathedral of beautiful memories, I went on a Saturday to Shepton Mallet.

A small, squalid town, a "manufacturing town" the guide-book calls it.

Well, yes; it manufactures Anglo-Bavarian beer in a gigantic brewery which looks bigger than all the other buildings together, the church and a dozen or twenty public-houses included.

To get some food I went to the only eating-house in the place, and saw a pleasant-looking woman, plump and high-coloured, with black hair, with an expression of good humour and goodness of every description in her comely countenance.
She promised to have a chop ready by the time I had finished looking at the church, and I said I would have it with a small Guinness.