SORROW'S crown of sorrow is remembering happier things. 
Tennyson. 
LIFE, O death, O world, O time, 
^ O grave, where all things flow, 
'Tis yours to make our lot sublime 
With your great weight of woe. 
Though sharpest anguish hearts may wring, 
Though bosoms torn may be. 
Yet suffering is a holy thing; 
Without it what were we? 
Richard C Trench. 
p. A VENDER-—ptSTF^UST. 
@0 you think you love me, do you? 
cr Well, it may be so; 
But there are many ways of loving, 
I have learnt to know : 
Many ways, and but one true way, 
Which is very rare; 
And the counterfeits look brightest. 
Though they will not wear. 
