What Wild Imaginations One Forms Where Dear

We Are All Fools In Love.

She Is Loveliness Itself.

Money Can Only Give Happiness Where There Is Nothing Else To Give It.

She Went, However, And They Sauntered About Together Many A Half Hour In Mr. Grant's Shrubbery, The Weather Being Unusually Mild For The Time Of Year, And Venturing Sometimes Even To Sit Down On One Of The Benches Now Comparatively Unsheltered, Remaining There Perhaps Till, In The Midst Of Some Tender Ejaculation Of Fanny's On The Sweets Of So Protracted An Autumn, They Were Forced By The Sudden Swell Of A Cold Gust Shaking Down The Last Few Yellow Leaves About Them, To Jump Up And Walk For Warmth.

Upon The Whole, Therefore, She Found What Had Been Sometimes Found Before, That An Event To Which She Had Looked Forward With Impatient Desire, Did Not, In Taking Place, Bring All The Satisfaction She Had Promised Herself.