Let Other Pens Dwell On Guilt And

Her Form, Though Not So Correct As Her Sister's, In Having The Advantage Of Height, Was More Striking; And Her Face Was So Lovely, That When In The Common Cant Of Praise She Was Called A Beautiful Girl, Truth Was Less Violently Outraged Than Usually Happens.

I . . . Am Always Half Afraid Of Finding A Clever Novel Too Clever--& Of Finding My Own Story & My Own People All Forestalled.

A Report Of A Most Alarming Nature Reached Me Two Days Ago.

Teach Us Almighty Father, To Consider This Solemn Truth, As We Should Do, That We May Feel The Importance Of Every Day, And Every Hour As It Passes.

Too Many Cooks Spoil The Broth