There Is A Wisdom Of The Head,

I Think It Must Somewhere Be Written That The Virtues Of Mothers Shall Be Visited On Their Children, As Well As The Sins Of Their Fathers.

... When He Saw Her Sitting There All Alone, So Young, And Good, And Beautiful, And Kind To Him; And Heard Her Thrilling Voice, So Natural And Sweet, And Such A Golden Link Between Him And All His Life's Love And Happiness, Rising Out Of The Silence; He Turned His Face Away, And Hid His Tears.

When Death Strikes Down The Innocent And Young, For Every Fragile Form From Which He Lets The Panting Spirit Free, A Hundred Virtues Rise, In Shapes Of Mercy, Charity, And Love, To Walk The World And Bless It. Of Every Tear That Sorrowing Mortals Shed On Such Green Graves, Some Good Is Born, Some Gentler Nature Comes.

I Was So Humiliated, Hurt, Spurned, Offended, Angry, Sorry--i Cannot Hit Upon The Right Name For The Smart--god Knows What Its Name Was--that Tears Started To My Eyes.

In Fine Weather The Old Gentelman Is Almost Constantly In The Garden; And When It Is Too Wet To Go Into It, He Will Look Out The Window At It, By The Hour Together. He Has Always Something To Do There, And You Will See Him Digging, And Sweeping, And Cutting, And Planting, With Manifest Delight.