The Higher Life Begins For

In Travelling I Shape Myself Betimes To Idleness And Take Fools' Pleasure

The Happiest Women, Like The Happiest Nations, Have No History.

After All, The True Seeing Is Within.

To An Old Memory Like Mine The Present Days Are But As A Little Water Poured On The Deep.

In The Days When The Spinning Wheels Hummed Busily In The Farmhouses--and Even Great Ladies, Clothed In Silk And Thread Lace, Had Their Toy Spinning Wheels Of Polished Oak--there Might Be Seen, In Districts Far Away Among The Lanes, Or Deep In The Bosom Of The Hills, Certain Palled Undersized Men Who, By The Side Of The Brawny Country-folk, Looked Like The Remnants Of A Disinherited Race.