Wit Is As Infinite As Love, And

Life Is So Full Of Miseries, Minor And Major; They Press So Close Upon Us At Every Step Of The Way, That It Is Hardly Worthwhile To Call One Another's Attention To Their Presence.

Like Simplicity And Candor, And Other Much-commented Qualities, Enthusiasm Is Charming Until We Meet It Face To Face, And Cannot Escape From Its Charm.

Anyone, However, Who Has Had Dealings With Dates Knows That They Are Worse Than Elusive, They Are Perverse. Events Do Not Happen At The Right Time, Nor In Their Proper Sequence. That Sense Of Harmony With Place And Season Which Is So Strong In The Historian--if He Be A Readable Historian--is Lamentably Lacking In History, Which Takes No Pains To Verify His Most Convincing Statements.

There Is A Vast Deal Of Make-believe In The Carefully Nurtured Sentiment For Country Life, And The Barefoot Boy, And The Mountain Girl.

A Dead Grief Is Easier To Bear Than A Live Trouble.