Opinion is a flitting thing
But truth outlasts the sun,
If then we cannot own them both,
Possess the oldest one.
And this one:
When we have ceased to crave
The gift is given
For which we gave the earth
And mortgaged heaven,
But so declined in worth—
'Tis ignominy now to look upon.
Life had for her an infinite and increasing fascination. "Are you sure we are making the most of it?" she wrote on a slip of paper and sent over by hand just because she was quick with the thrill of another day. Again she sent the following:
Dear Sue—
A fresh morning of life and its impregnable chances and the dew for you!
Other quotations from the same articles show her response to every appeal.
To the faithful absence is condensed presence. To the others,—but there are no others.
So busy missing you I have not tasted Spring. Should there be other Aprils we will perhaps dine.
I must wait a few days before seeing you. You are too momentous,—but remember dear, it is idolatry, not indifference.
Her notes to the three children were their keen delight, and preserved by them beyond all their other treasures. No one but their Aunt Emily could have written, "Emily knows a man who drives a coach like a thimble and turns the wheel all day with his heel.
