It Is Not Poverty So Much As

The Tie Which Links Mother And Child Is Of Such Pure And Immaculate Strength As To Be Never Violated.

A Tart Temper Never Mellows With Age, And A Sharp Tongue Is The Only Edged Tool That Grows Keener With Constant Use.

The Paternal Hearth, The Rallying-place Of The Affections.

There Are Moments Of Mingled Sorrow And Tenderness, Which Hallow The Caresses Of Affection.

By A Kind Of Fashionable Discipline, The Eye Is Taught To Brighten, The Lip To Smile, And The Whole Countenance To Emanate With The Semblance Of Friendly Welcome, While The Bosom Is Unwarmed By A Single Spark Of Genuine Kindness And Good-will.