And At Home By The Fire, Whenever

War Makes Good History But Peace Is Poor Reading.

So Each Had A Private Little Sun For Her Soul To Bask In; Some Dream, Some Affection, Some Hobby, Or At Least Some Remote And Distant Hope.

Dialect Words Are Those Terrible Marks Of The Beast To The Truly Genteel.

If An Offense Come Out Of The Truth, Better Is It That The Offense Come Than That The Truth Be Concealed.

To Be Loved To Madness--such Was Her Great Desire. Love Was To Her The One Cordial Which Could Drive Away The Eating Loneliness Of Her Days. And She Seemed To Long For The Abstraction Called Passionate Love More Than For Any Particular Lover.