A Preface Is A Species Of Literary

Nothing But Love Can Answer To Love; No Affection, No Kindness, No Care, Can Supply Its Place: It Is Its Own Sweet Want.

We Need To Suffer, That We May Learn To Pity.

I Do Love Violets; They Tell The History Of Woman's Love.

Alas! We Makea Ladder Of Our Thoughts, Where Angels Step,but Sleep Ourselves At The Foot: Our High Resolveslook Down Upon Our Slumbering Acts.

Social Life Is Filled With Doubts And Vain Aspirings; Solitude, When The Imagination Is Dethroned, Is Turned To Weariness And Ennui.