In this way they went on, and on, and on-in the language of the story-books-until at last the village lights appeared before them, and the church spire cast a long reflection on the graveyard grass; as if it were a dial (alas, the truest in the world!) marking, whatever light shone out of Heaven, the flight of days and weeks and years, by some new shadow on that solemn ground.

What is peace? Is it war? No. Is it strife? No. Is it lovely, and gentle, and beautiful, and pleasant, and serene, and joyful? O yes!

He thought of the number of girls and women she had seen marry, how many homes with children in them she had seen grow up around her, how she had contentedly pursued her own lone quite path-for him. ~ Stephen speaking of Rachael

Tongue; well that's a wery good thing when it an't a woman.

I do not know the American gentleman, God forgive me for putting two such words together.

There was something very comfortable in having plenty of stationery.

And I am quite serious when I say that I do not believe there are, on the whole earth besides, so many intensified bores as in these United States.