[i]n The Gloomy Month Of February.... The

It Was, As I Have Said, A Fine Autumnal Day; The Sky Was Clear And Serene, And Nature Wore That Rich And Golden Livery Which We Always Associate With The Idea Of Abundance. The Forests Had Put On Their Sober Brown And Yellow, While Some Trees Of The Tendered Kind Had Been Nipped By The Frosts Into Brilliant Dyes Of Orange, Purple, And Scarlet.

The Love Of A Mother Is Never Exhausted. It Never Changes - It Never Tires - It Endures Through All; In Good Repute, In Bad Repute. In The Face Of The World's Condemnation, A Mother's Love Still Lives On.

There Is A Certain Relief In Change, Even Though It Be From Bad To Worse.

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.

The Slanders Of The Pen Pierce To The Heart; They Rankle Longest In The Noblest Spirits; They Dwell Ever Present In The Mind And Render It Morbidly Sensitive To The Most Trifling Collision.