Surely Happiness Is Reflective, Like The Light

As The Vine Which Has Long Twined Its Graceful Foliage About The Oak And Been Lifted By It Into Sunshine, Will, When The Hardy Plant Is Rifted By The Thunderbolt, Cling Round It With Its Caressing Tendrils And Bind Up Its Shattered Boughs, So Is It Beautifully Ordered By Providence That Woman, Who Is The Mere Dependent And Ornament Of Man In His Happier Hours, Should Be His Stay And Solace When Smitten With Sudden Calamity, Winding Herself Into The Rugged Recesses Of His Nature, Tenderly Supporting The Drooping Head, And Binding Up The Broken Heart.

A Mother Is The Truest Friend We Have When Trials, Heavy And Sudden, Fall Upon Us; When Adversity Takes The Place Of Prosperity.

Sweet Is The Memory Of Distant Friends! Like The Mellow Rays Of The Departing Sun, It Falls Tenderly, Yet Sadly, On The Heart.

After All, It Is The Divinity Within That Makes The Divinity Without; And I Have Been More Fascinated By A Woman Of Talent And Intelligence, Though Deficient In Personal Charms, Than I Have Been By The Most Regular Beauty.

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.