For I recalled the last time you gave me a book--the year before I came here.

That book, my friend, was "Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia." I began it with deep respect for you.

I finished with a profound distrust of all Abyssinians and an overwhelming grief for the untimely demise of Mrs.Johnson--for you had told me that the good doctor wrote this book to get money to bury her.

How the circle of mourners for that estimable woman must have widened as Rasselas made its way out into the world! Oh, Grandad, if only they had been able to keep her going some way until he needn't have done it! If only she could have been spared until her son got in a little money from the Dictionary or something! All of which is why I viewed with unfriendly distrust your latest gift, the Analogy of Joseph Butler, late Lord Bishop of Durham.

But, honestly, old man, did you know how funny it was when you sent it?
It's funnier than any of the books of Moses, without being bloody.