There Is Perfect Love In Heaven!

He Is Very Fond Of Me, Almost Too Fond. I Could Do With Less Caressing And More Rationality. I Should Like To Be Less Of A Pet And More Of A Friend, If I Might Choose; But I Won't Complain Of That: I Am Only Afraid His Affection Loses In Depth Where It Gains In Ardour. I Sometimes Liken It To A Fire Of Dry Twigs And Branches Compared With One Of Solid Coal, Very Bright And Hot; But If It Should Burn Itself Out And Leave Nothing But Ashes Behind.

A Little Girl Loves Her Bird--why? Because It Lives And Feels; Because It Is Helpless And Harmless? A Toad, Likewise, Lives And Feels, And Is Equally Helpless And Harmless; But Though She Would Not Hurt A Toad, She Cannot Love It Like The Bird, With Its Graceful Form, Soft Feathers, And Bright, Speaking Eyes.

I See That A Man Cannot Give Himself Up To Drinking Without Being Miserable One Half His Days And Mad The Other.

Life And Hope Must Cease Together.

I Thought Mr. Millward Never Would Cease Telling Us That He Was No Tea-drinker, And That It Was Highly Injurious To Keep Loading The Stomach With Slops To The Exclusion Of More Wholesome Sustenance, And So Give Himself Time To Finish His Fourth Cup.