And The Violet Lay Dead While The

If You Will Comply With My Conditions, I Will Leave Them And You At Peace; But If You Refuse, I Will Glut The Maw Of Death, Until It Be Satiated With The Blood Of Your Remaining Friends.

The Sentiment Of Immediate Loss In Some Sort Decayed, While That Of Utter, Irremediable Loneliness Grew On Me With Time.

You Will Rejoice To Hear That No Disaster Has Accompanied The Commencement Of An Enterprise Which You Have Regarded With Such Evil Forebodings.

Our Feelings Probably Are Not Less Strong At Fifty Than They Were Ten Or Fifteen Years Before; But They Have Changed Their Objects, And Dwell On Far Different Prospects. At Five-and-thirty A Man Thinks Of What His Own Existence Is; When The Maturity Of Age Has Grown Into Its Autumn, He Is Wrapt Up In That Of Others. The Loss Of Wife Or Child Then Becomes More Deplorable, As Being Impossible To Repair; For No Fresh Connection Can Give Us Back The Companion Of Our Earlier Years, Nor A "new-sprung Race" Compensate For That, Whose Career We Hoped To See Run.

...if I See But One Smile On Your Lips When We Meet, Occasioned By This Or Any Other Exertion Of Mine, I Shall Need No Other Happiness.