Women Accept Their Destiny More Readily Than

Teach Me To Live, That I May Dread The Grave As Little As My Bed. Teach Me To Die.

The Sudden Disappointment Of A Hope Leaves A Scar Which The Ultimate Fulfillment Of That Hope Never Entirely Removes.

Christmas Eve, And Twelve Of The Clock. "now They Are All On Their Knees," An Elder Said As We Sat In A Flock By The Embers In Hearth-side Ease. We Pictured The Meek Mild Creatures Where They Dwelt In Their Strawy Pen, Nor Did It Occur To One Of Us There To Doubt They Were Kneeling Then. So Fair A Fancy Few Would Weave In These Years! Yet, I Feel If Someone Said On Christmas Eve, "come; See The Oxen Kneel, In The Lonely Barton By Yonder Coomb Our Childhood Used To Know," I Should Go With Him In The Gloom, Hoping It Might Be So.

And Yet To Every Bad There Is A Worse.

Tis Because We Be On A Blighted Star, And Not A Sound One, Isn't It Tess?