A Contented Spirit Is The Sweetness Of

The Evening Wind Made Such A Disturbance Just Now, Among Some Tall Old Elm-trees At The Bottom Of The Garden, That Neither My Mother Nor Miss Betsey Could Forbear Glancing That Way. As The Elms Bent To One Another, Like Giants Who Were Whispering Secrets, And After A Few Seconds Of Such Repose, Fell Into A Violent Flurry, Tossing Their Wild Arms About, As If Their Late Confidences Were Really Too Wicked For Their Peace Of Mind.

An Evening Wind Uprose Too, And The Slighter Branches Cracked And Rattled As They Moved, In Skeleton Dances, To Its Moaning Music.

Good Never Come Of Such Evil, A Happier End Was Not In Nature To So Unhappy A Beginning.

The Sergeant Was Describing A Military Life. It Was All Drinking, He Said, Except That There Were Frequent Intervals Of Eating And Love Making.

If A Pig Could Give His Mind To Anything, He Would Not Be A Pig.