I Cannot Get Him To Write Or

I Would Rather Have Your Friendship Than The Love Of Any Other Woman In The World.

I Still Preserve Those Relics Of Past Sufferings And Experience, Like Pillars Of Witness Set Up In Travelling Through The Valve Of Life, To Mark Particular Occurrences. The Footsteps Are Obliterated Now; The Face Of The Country May Be Changed; But The Pillar Is Still There, To Remind Me How All Things Were When It Was Reared.

I Cannot Get Him To Write Or Speak In Real, Solid Earnest. I Don't Much Mind It Now, But If It Be Always So, What Shall I Do With The Serious Part Of Myself?

Life And Hope Must Cease Together.

What A Fool You Must Be," Said My Head To My Heart, Or My Sterner To My Softer Self.