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¡¡¡¡Of sorrow or care or gloom; ¡¡¡¡And anxious thoughts may be swept away, ¡¡¡¡As we bravely wield a broom. ¡¡¡¡I am glad a task to me is given, ¡¡¡¡To labour at day by day; ¡¡¡¡For it brings me health and strength and hope, ¡¡¡¡And I cheerfully learn to say, - ¡¡¡¡`Head, you may think, Heart, you may feel, ¡¡¡¡But, Hand, you shall work alway!' ¡¡¡¡Dear Mother - There is only room for me to send my love and some pressed pansies from the root I have been keeping
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safe in the house for Father to see. I read every morning, try to be good all day, and sing myself to sleep with Father's tune. I can't sing `Land of the Leal' now; it makes me cry. Everyone is very kind, and we are as happy as we can be without you. Amy wants the rest of the page, so I must stop. I didn't forget to cover the holders, and I wind the clock and air the rooms every day. ¡¡¡¡Kiss dear Father on the cheek he calls mine. Oh, do come soon to your loving ¡¡¡¡Little Beth.

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put on the one nice light glove, and carried one soiled one, and all pronounced the effect `quite easy and fine'. Meg's high-heeled slippers were very tight, and hurt her, though she would not own it, and Jo's nineteen hairpins all seemed stuck straight into her head, which was not exactly comfortable; but, dear me, let us be elegant or die! ¡¡¡¡`Have a good time, dearies!' said Mrs. March, as the sisters went daintily down the walk. `Don't eat much supper, and come
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away at eleven, when I send Hannah for you.' As the gate clashed behind them, a voice cried from a window: ¡¡¡¡`Girls, girls! have you both got nice pocket-handkerchiefs?' ¡¡¡¡`Yes, yes, spandy nice, and Meg has cologne on hers,' cried Jo, adding with a laugh, as they we nt on, `I do believe Marmee would ask that if we were all running away - from an earthquake.' ¡¡¡¡`It is one of her aristocratic tastes, and quite proper, for a real lady is always known by neat boots, gloves, and handkerchief,' replied Meg, who had a good many little `aristocratic tastes' of her own.

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nature abstract painting
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To the aesthetic, sensuous, pagan pleasure in natural life and lush womanhood which his son Angel had lately been experiencing in Var Vale, his temper would have been antipathetic in a high degree, had he either by inquiry or imagination been able to apprehend it. Once upon a time Angel had been so unlucky as to say to his father, in a moment of irritation, that it might have resulted far better for mankind if Greece had been the source of the religion of modern civilization, and not Palestine; and his father's grief was of that blank description which could not realize that there might lurk a thousandth part of a truth, much less a half truth or a whole truth, in such a proposition. He had simply preached austerely at Angel for some time after. But the kindness of his heart was such that he never resented anything for long, and welcomed his son to-day with a smile which was as candidly sweet as a child's. ¡¡¡¡Angel sat down, and the place felt like home; yet he did not so much as formerly feel himself one of the family gathered there. Every time that he returned hither he was conscious of this divergence, and since he had last shared in the Vicarage life it had grown even more distinctly foreign to his own than usual. Its transcendental aspirations - still unconsciously based on the geocentric view of things, a zenithal paradise, a nadiral hell - were as foreign to his own as if they had been the dreams of people on another planet. Latterly he had seen only Life, felt only the great passionate pulse of existence, unwarped, uncontorted, untrammelled by those creeds which futilely attempt to check what wisdom would be content to regulate.