The Spring Is Already Here With Her

Christmas Is A Season Of Such Infinite Labour, As Well As Expense In The Shopping And Present-making Line, That Almost Every Woman I Know Is Good For Nothing In Purse And Person For A Month Afterwards, Done Up Physically, And Broken Down Financially.

Carols Of Gladness Ring From Every Tree.

I Want To Do Everything In The World That Can Be Done.

[on John Brown:] The Poor Wretch Is Hanged, But From His Grave A Root Of Bitterness Will Spring, The Fruit Of Which At No Distant Day May Be Disunion And Civil War.

Cultivate In Young Minds An Equal Love Of The Good, The Beautiful And The Absurd; Most People's Lives Are Too Lead-colored To Lose The Smallest Twinkle Of Light From A Flash Of Nonsense.