There is scarcely a blow in after life comparable to that first sad intimation (perhaps in early youth), that human nature is not what we thought it, not the thing of our dreams; little else than a tissue of frailties woven together.
Shakespeare's "Rosalind" is not very dissimilar to the best type of the much-maligned American girl. She is full of "frolic parley," self-reliant, tender, womanly.
"Old hushed Egypt." Put down that golden phrase, along with many another, to Leigh Hunt. When a delightsome author threatens to be forgotten, credit him at least with what he has added to the soul of literature, and let him be buried "with all his travelling glories round him."
The French language is eau sucré; the German "A cup o' thy small beer, sweet hostess."
If I have a friend, though absent many years, I hold a true treasure with fear and trembling, knowing that whatever losses come, I have been blessed beyond measure with the wealth no chance can take away.