Every Mile Was Redolent Of Associations, Which

In All Disappointments Sympathy Is A Great Balm.

Those Who Are Happy And Successful Themselves Are Too Apt To Make Light Of The Misfortunes Of Others.

But Margaret Was At An Age When Any Apprehension, Not Absolutely Based On A Knowledge Of Facts, Is Easily Banished For A Time By A Bright Sunny Day, Or Some Happy Outward Circumstance. And When The Brilliant Fourteen Fine Days Of October Came On, Her Cares Were All Blown Away As Lightly As Thistledown, And She Thought Of Nothing But The Glories Of The Forest.

The Question Always Is, Has Everything Been Done To Make The Sufferings Of These Exceptions As Small As Possible? Or, In The Triumph Of The Crowded Procession, Have The Helpless Been Trampled On, Instead Of Being Gently Lifted Aside Out Of The Roadway Of The Conqueror, Whom They Have No Power To Accompany On His March?

He Shook Hands With Margaret. He Knew It Was The First Time Their Hands Had Met, Though She Was Perfectly Unconscious Of The Fact.