I Love The Silent Hour Of Night,

Life And Hope Must Cease Together.

I See That A Man Cannot Give Himself Up To Drinking Without Being Miserable One Half His Days And Mad The Other.

What Business Had I To Think So Much Of One That Never Thought Of Me?

The Bud, Though Plucked, Would Not Be Withered, Only Transplanted To A Fitter Soil To Ripen And Blow Beneath A Brighter Sun; And Though I Might Not Cherish And Watch My Child's Unfolding Intellect, He Would Be Snatched Away From All The Suffering And Sins Of Earth; And My Understanding Tells Me This Would Be No Great Evil; But My Heart Shrinks From The Contemplation Of Such A Possibility, And Whispers I Could Not Bear To See Him Die.

I Was Not Really Angry: I Felt For Him All The Time, And Longed To Be Reconciled; But I Determined He Should Make The First Advances, Or At Least Show Some Signs Of An Humble And Contrite Spirit, First; For, If I Began, It Would Only Minister To His Self-conceit, Increase His Arrogance, And Quite Destroy The Lesson I Wanted To Give Him.