The Youthful Freshness Of A Blameless Heart.

True Love Will Not Brook Reserve; It Feels Undervalued And Outraged, When Even The Sorrows Of Those It Loves Are Concealed From It.

Men Are Always Doomed To Be Duped, Not So Much By The Arts Of The Other As By Their Own Imagination. They Are Always Wooing Goddesses, And Marrying Mere Mortals.

I Have Never Found, In Anything Outside Of The Four Walls Of My Study, An Enjoyment Equal To Sitting At My Writing Desk With A Clean Page, A New Theme, And A Mind Awake.

A Father May Turn His Back On His Child, Brothers And Sisters May Become Inveterate Enemies, Husbands May Desert Their Wives, Wives Their Husbands. But A Mother's Love Endures Through All; In Good Repute, In Bad Repute, In The Face Of The World's Condemnation, A Mother Still Loves On, And Still Hopes That Her Child May Turn From His Evil Ways, And Repent; Still She Remembers The Infant Smiles That Once Filled Her Bosom With Rapture, The Merry Laugh, The Joyful Shout Of His Childhood, The Opening Promise Of His Youth; And She Can Never Be Brought To Think Him All Unworthy.

The Dance, Like Most Dances After Supper, Was A Merry One; Some Of The Older Folks Joined In It, And The Squire Himself Figured Down Several Couple With A Partner, With Whom He Affirmed He Had Danced At Every Christmas For Nearly Half A Century.