A Woman's Whole Life Is A History

To One Given To Day-dreaming, And Fond Of Losing Himself In Reveries, A Sea-voyage Is Full Of Subjects For Meditation; But Then They Are The Wonders Of The Deep And Of The Air, And Rather Tend To Abstract The Mind From Worldly Themes.

Sometimes The Table Was Graced With Immense Apple-pies, Or Saucers Full Of Preserved Peaches And Pears; But It Was Always Sure To Boast An Enormous Dish Of Balls Of Sweetened Dough, Fried In Hog's Fat, And Called Doughnuts, Or Olykoeks - A Delicious Kind Of Cake, At Present Scarce Known In This City, Except In Genuine Dutch Families.

History Fades Into Fable; Fact Becomes Clouded With Doubt And Controversy; The Inscription Molders From The Tablet: The Statue Falls From The Pedestal. Columns, Arches, Pyramids, What Are They But Heaps Of Sand; And Their Epitaphs, But Characters Written In The Dust?

Acting Provides The Fulfillment Of Never Being Fulfilled. You're Never As Good As You'd Like To Be. So There's Always Something To Hope For.

There Rise Authors Now And Then, Who Seem Proof Against The Mutability Of Language, Because They Have Rooted Themselves In The Unchanging Principles Of Human Nature. They Are Like Gigantic Trees That We Sometimes See On The Banks Of A Stream; Which, By Their Vast And Deep Roots, Penetrating Through The Mere Surface, And Laying Hold On The Very Foundations Of The Earth, Preserve The Soil Around Them From Being Swept Away By The Ever-flowing Current, And Hold Up Many A Neighboring Plant, And Perhaps Worthless Weed, To Perpetuity.