What Is Man? and Other Essays

While he was thus hesitating, the following incident occurred.

This gives it too much distinction, too much prominence, too much credit. It is only the LAST link in a very long chain of turning-points commissioned to produce the cardinal result; it is not any more important than the humblest of its ten thousand predecessors.

The turning-point of my life
I

? Now Jean is in her grave!

were together; WE WERE A FAMILY! the dream had come true—oh, precisely true, contentedly, true, satisfyingly true! and remained true two whole days.

DECEMBER 26TH. The dog came to see me at eight o'clock this morning. He was very affectionate, poor orphan! My room will be his quarters hereafter.

From my windows I saw the hearse and the carriages wind along the road and gradually grow vague and spectral in the falling snow, and presently disappear. Jean was gone out of my life, and would not come back any more.

Then he played the Intermezzo; that was for Susy; then he played the Largo; that was for their mother. He did this at my request

As they lifted the casket, Paine began playing on the orchestrelle Schubert's "Impromptu," which was Jean's favorite.

hey told me the first mourner to come was the dog

CHRISTMAS NIGHT.—This afternoon they took her away from her room

At last she ran out of money, and would not use mine

I will keep them. Her hand has touched them—it is an accolade—they are noble, now.

He has wonderful eyes—big, and kind, and eloquent. He can talk with them

yet must be sought,

dumb sense that something has been lost that will never be found again

They cannot heal the hurt, but they take away some of the pain.

She never allowed her Italian, French, and German to get rusty through neglect.

She thought all letters deserved the courtesy of an answer. Her mother brought her up in that kindly error.

There was never a kinder heart than Jean's.