Them Which Is Of Other Naturs Thinks

The Evening Wind Made Such A Disturbance Just Now, Among Some Tall Old Elm-trees At The Bottom Of The Garden, That Neither My Mother Nor Miss Betsey Could Forbear Glancing That Way. As The Elms Bent To One Another, Like Giants Who Were Whispering Secrets, And After A Few Seconds Of Such Repose, Fell Into A Violent Flurry, Tossing Their Wild Arms About, As If Their Late Confidences Were Really Too Wicked For Their Peace Of Mind.

We Must Meet Reverses Boldly, And Not Suffer Them To Frighten Us, My Dear. We Must Learn To Act The Play Out. We Must Live Misfortune Down, Trot!

And Could I Look Upon Her Without Compassion, Seeing Her Punishment In The Ruin She Was, In Her Profound Unfitness For This Earth On Which She Was Placed, In The Vanity Of Sorrow Which Had Become A Master Mania, Like The Vanity Of Penitence, The Vanity Of Remorse, The Vanity Of Unworthiness, And Other Monstrous Vanities That Have Been Curses In This World?

All Is Going On As It Was Wont. The Waves Are Hoarse With Repetition Of Their Mystery; The Dust Lies Piled Upon The Shore; The Sea-birds Soar And Hover; The Winds And Clouds Go Forth Upon Their Trackless Flight; The White Arms Beckon, In The Moonlight, To The Invisible Country Far Away.

Up The Two Terrace Flights Of Steps The Rain Ran Wildly, And Beat At The Great Door, Like A Swift Messenger Rousing Those Within;.