Oft A Little Morning Rain Foretells A

Flattery Would Be Worse Than Vain; There Is No Consolation In Flattery.

Youth Has Its Romance, And Maturity Its Wisdom, As Morning And Spring Have Their Freshness, Noon And Summer Their Power, Night And Winter Their Repose. Each Attribute Is Good In Its Own Season.

Nature Seemed To Me Benign And Good; I Thought She Loved Me, Outcast As I Was; And I, Who From Man Could Anticipate Only Mistrust, Rejection, Insult, Clung To Her With Filial Fondness. To-night At Least, I Would Be Her Guest-as I Was Her Child; My Mother Would Lodge Me Without Money And Without Price.

Que Me Voulez-vous?' Said He In A Growl Of Which The Music Was Wholly Confined To His Chest And Throat, For He Kept His Teeth Clenched, And Seemed Registering To Himself An Inward Vow That Nothing Earthly Should Wring From Him A Smile. My Answer Commenced Uncompromisingly: - 'monsieur,' I Said, Je Veux L'impossible, Des Choses Inouïes.

I Do Not Think, Sir, You Have Any Right To Command Me, Merely Because You Are Older Than I, Or Because You Have Seen More Of The World Than I Have; Your Claim To Superiority Depends On The Use You Have Made Of Your Time And Experience.