The American Woman Is A Monstrosity.

All Through It, I Have Known Myself To Be Quite Undeserving. And Yet I Have Had The Weakness, And Have Still The Weakness, To Wish You To Know With What A Sudden Mastery You Kindled Me, Heap Of Ashes That I Am, Into Fire- A Fire, However, Inseparable In Its Nature From Myself, Quickening Nothing, Lighting Nothing, Doing No Service, Idly Burning Away.

Come In, -- Come In! And Know Me Better, Man! I Am The Ghost Of Christmas Present. Look Upon Me! You Have Never Seen The Like Of Me Before!

Her Heart-is Given Him, With All Its Love And Truth. She Would Joyfully Die With Him, Or, Better Than That, Die For Him. She Knows He Has Failings, But She Thinks They Have Grown Up Through His Being Like One Cast Away, For The Want Of Something To Trust In, And Care For, And Think Well Of.

There Is A Wisdom Of The Head, And A Wisdom Of The Heart.

Detestation Of The High Is The Involuntary Homage Of The Low.