am executed. If I should not prove to be quite the phoenix which might
vie with so miraculous so unique a sister, I must then be contented to
take shame to myself. But till then I should suppose the thoughts of a
sister might as well be inclined to paint me white as black. After all,
I cannot conclude without repeating that I believe the whole world
cannot equal the lovely, the divine Anna St. Ives: and, whatever else
you may say or think of me, do not lead her to imagine I am unjust to
her supreme beauty, and charms. An insinuation of that kind I would
never forgive--Never!




LETTER XXVI

_Sir Arthur St. Ives to Abimelech Henley_

_Paris, Hotel d'Espagne, Rue Guenegaude_,

_Fauxbourg St. Germain_

You cannot imagine, honest Aby, the surprise I am in. Is this their
famous France? Is this the finest country in the whole world? Why, Aby,
from Boulogne to Paris, at least from Montreuil, I am certain I did not
see a single hedge! All one dead flat; with an eternal row of trees,
without beginning, middle, or end. I sincerely believe, Aby, I shall
never love a straight row of trees again. And the wearisome right lined
road, that you never lose sight of; not for a moment, Aby! No lucky
turning. No intervening hill.