There Is Very Little Real Liberty In

Some Books Are So Familiar That Reading Them Is Like Being Home Again.

[she Was] Kept There In The Sort Of Embrace A Man Gives To The Dearest Creature The World Holds For Him.

The Young People Were Playing That Still More Absorbing Game In Which Hearts Are Always Trumps.

The Female Population Exceeds The Male, You Know, Especially In New England, Which Accounts For The High State Of Culture We Are In, Perhaps.

For With Eyes Made Clear By Many Tears, And A Heart Softened By The Tenderest Sorrow, She Recognized The Beauty Of Her Sister's Life—uneventful, Unambitious, Yet Full Of The Genuine Virtues Which 'smell Sweet, And Blossom In The Dust', The Self-forgetfulness That Makes The Humblest On Earth Remembered Soonest In Heaven, The True Success Which Is Possible To All.