It Isn't The Thing You

On The Day Long After Childhood When I Suddenly Heard Of His Death, The Sky Grew Dark Above My Head. I Was Walking On A Southern Highway, And A Friend Driving In A Pony Carriage Passed Me, Stopped And Said, "have You Heard That Charles Dickens Is Dead?" It Was As If I Had Been Robbed Of One Of My Dearest Friends.

Our Daughters Are The Most Precious Of Our Treasures, The Dearest Possessions Of Our Homes And The Objects Of Our Most Watchful Love.

Memory Is A Trustworthy Servant As Long As It Is Made To Serve.

In Home Life Contentment Is An Essential To Daily Comfort. One Discontented Person In The House Creates An Atmosphere Fatal To Tranquillity.

I Thank You, God, In Heaven, For Friends.