"Read that," said he, "and I think you'll have no great trouble in understanding why I felt as I did;--an' indeed, Hycy, to tell you the truth, I never had the same opinion of you since." Hycy, to his utter amazement, read as follows: "My Dear Miss Cavanagh:-- "Will you permit little Cupid, the god of Love, to enrol the name of Hycy Burke on the long list of your adorers?
And if you could corrupt the little stone-blind divinity to blot out every name on it but my own, I should think that a very handsome anticipation of the joys of Paradise could be realized by that delightful fact.

I say anticipation--for my creed is, that the actual joys of Paradise exist no where, but within the celestial circle of your ambrosial arms.

That is the Paradise which I propose to win; and you may rest assured that I shall bring the most flaming zeal, the most fervent devotion, and all the genuine piety of a true worshipper, to the task of attaining it.

I shall carry, for instance, a little Bible of Love in my pocket--for I am already a divinity student or a young collegian under little Cupid aforesaid--and I will have it all dogeared with refreshing texts for my edification.
I should state, however, that I am, as every good Christian is, awfully exclusive in my creed; and will suffer no one, if I can prevent it, to approach the Paradise I speak of but myself.

In fact I am as jealous as the very Deuce--whoever that personage may be--quite an Othello in my way--a perfect raw-head-and-bloody-bones--with a sharp appetite and teeth like a Walrus, ready to bolt my rivals in dozens.