Human life is so full of pain, that once past the youthful delusion that a sad countenance is interesting, and an incurable woe the most delightful thing possible, the mind instinctively turns where it can get rest, and cheer and sunshine. And the friend who can bring to it the largest portion of these is, of a natural necessity, the most useful, the most welcome, and the most dear.

We never discover the value of things till we have lost them.

There is no sorrow under heaven which is, or ought to be, endless. To believe or to make it so, is an insult to Heaven itself.

One only "right" we have to assert in common with mankind--and that is as much in our hands as theirs--is the right of having something to do.

To-morrow is ah, whose?

Now, I have nothing to say against uncles in general. They are usually very excellent people, and very convenient to little boys and girls.

Not perhaps until later life, until the follies, passions, and selfishness of youth have died out, do we . . . recognize the the inestimable blessing, the responsibility awful as sweet, of possessing or of being a friend.