Gilbert Put His Arm About Them. 'oh,

All Pioneers Are Considered To Be Afflicted With Moonstruck Madness.

You're Never Safe From Being Surprised Until You're Dead.

Hark, I Hear A Robin Calling! List, The Wind Is From The South! And The Orchard-bloom Is Falling Sweet As Kisses On The Mouth. In The Dreamy Vale Of Beeches Fair And Faint Is Woven Mist, And The River's Orient Reaches Are The Palest Amethyst. Every Limpid Brook Is Singing Of The Lure Of April Days; Every Piney Glen Is Ringing With The Maddest Roundelays. Come And Let Us Seek Together Springtime Lore Of Daffodils, Giving To The Golden Weather Greeting On The Sun-warm Hills.

…i'm Sorry, And A Little Dissatisfied As Well. Miss Stacy Told Me Long Ago That By The Time I Was Twenty My Character Would Be Formed, For Good Or Evil. I Don't Feel That It's What It Should Be. It's Full Of Flaws.' 'so's Everybody's,' Said Aunt Jamesina Cheerfully. 'mine's Cracked In A Hundred Places. Your Miss Stacy Likely Meant That When You Are Twenty Your Character Would Have Got Its Permanent Bent In One Direction Or 'tother, And Would Go On Developing In That Line.

Heretics Are Wicked, But They're Mighty Int'resting. It's Jest That They've Got Sorter Lost Looking For God, Being Under The Impression That He's Hard To Find - Which He Ain't Never.