Too Young For Woe, Though Not For

Rising Genius Always Shoots Forth Its Rays From Among Clouds And Vapours, But These Will Gradually Roll Away And Disappear, As It Ascends To Its Steady And Meridian Lustre.

All These, However, Were Mere Terrors Of The Night, Phantoms Of The Mind That Walk In Darkness; And Though He Had Seen Many Spectres In His Time, And Been More Than Once Beset By Satan In Divers Shapes, In His Lonely Pre-ambulations, Yet Daylight Put An End To All These Evils; And He Would Have Passed A Pleasent Life Of It, In Despite Of The Devil And All His Works, If His Path Had Not Been Crossed By A Being That Causes More Perplexity To Mortal Man Than Ghosts, Goblins, And The Whole Race Of Witches Put Together, And That Was - A Woman.

A Woman's Whole Life Is A History Of The Affections. The Heart Is Her World: It Is There Her Ambition Strives For Empire; It Is There Her Avarice Seeks For Hidden Treasures. She Sends Forth Her Sympathies On Adventure; She Embarks Her Whole Soul On The Traffic Of Affection; And If Shipwrecked, Her Case Is Hopeless — For It Is A Bankruptcy Of The Heart.

Every Desire Bears Its Death In Its Very Gratification. Curiosity Languishes Under Repeated Stimulants, And Novelties Cease To Excite And Surprise, Until At Length We Cannot Wonder Even At A Miracle.

Nature Seems To Delight In Disappointing The Assuduities Of Art, With Which It Would Rear Dulness To Maturity, And To Glory In The Vigor And Luxuriance Of Her Chance Productions. She Scatters The Seeds Of Genius To The Winds, And Though Some May Perish Among The Stony Places Of The World, And Some May Be Choked By The Thorns And Brambles Of Early Adversity, Yet Others Will Now And Then Strike Root Even In The Clefts Of The Rock, Struggle Bravely Up Into Sunshine, And Spread Over Their Sterile Birthplace All The Beauties Of Vegetation.