"I know How far high failure overtops the bounds Of low successes.

Only suffering draws The inner heart of song, and can elicit The perfumes of the soul." Epic of Hades.
Next week, Lawrence went off like a hero to the war; and my friend--also I think like a hero--stayed on at Bath, enduring as best he could the worst form of loneliness; for undoubtedly there is no loneliness so frightful as constant companionship with an uncongenial person.

He had, however, one consolation: the Major's health steadily improved, under the joint influence of total abstinence and Bath water, and, with the improvement, his temper became a little better.
But one Saturday, when I had run down to Bath without writing beforehand, I suddenly found a different state of things.

In Orange Grove I met Dr.Mackrill, the Major's medical man; he used now and then to play whist with us on Saturday nights, and I stopped to speak to him.
"Oh! you've come down again.

That's all right!" he said.