Women Accept Their Destiny More Readily Than

The First Cause Worked Automatically Like A Somnambulist, And Not Reflectively Like A Sage.

Did You Say The Stars Were Worlds, Tess?" "yes." "all Like Ours?" "i Don't Know, But I Think So. They Sometimes Seem To Be Like The Apples On Our Stubbard-tree. Most Of Them Splendid And Sound - A Few Blighted." "which Do We Live On - A Splendid One Or A Blighted One?" "a Blighted One.

Bless Thy Simplicity, Tess

You Could Sometimes See Her Twelfth Year In Her Cheeks, Or Her Ninth Sparkling From Her Eyes; And Even Her Fifth Would Flit Over The Curves Of Her Mouth Now And Then.

When Yellow Lights Struggle With Blue Shades In Hairlike Lines.