A Light Wind Swept Over The Corn,

If Ever I Am A Mother I Will Zealously Strive Against This Crime Of Over- Indulgence. I Can Hardly Give It A Milder Name When I Think Of The Evils It Brings.

She Left Me, Offended At My Want Of Sympathy, And Thinking, No Doubt, That I Envied Her. I Did Not - At Least, I Firmly Believed I Did Not.

His Heart Was Like A Sensitive Plant, That Opens For A Moment In The Sunshine, But Curls Up And Shrinks Into Itself At The Slightest Touch Of The Finger, Or The Lightest Breath Of Wind.

The End Of Religion Is Not To Teach Us How To Die, But How To Live.

I Am Truly Miserable - More So Than I Like To Acknowledge To Myself. Pride Refuses To Aid Me. It Has Brought Me Into The Scrape, And Will Not Help Me Out Of It.