For love, however true and deep it is, is still a tumultous sea; it has
its high tides, and its low ones, its whirlpools, and its calms.

He loves me a good deal better some days than he does others; I see it
in his mean. And mark you! mark it well, female reader, these days are
the ones that I cook up sights and sights of good food, and with a
cheerful countenance and clean apron, set it before him in a bright
room, on a snowy table-cloth!

Great--great is the mystery of men's love.

I have often and often repeated this simple fact and truth that
underlies married life, and believe me, dear married sisters, too much
cannot be said about it, by those whose hearts beat for the good of
female and male humanity--and it _cannot_ be too closely followed up and
practised by female pardners.

But I am a-eppisodin'; and to resoom.

Wall, Lodema Trumble arrove the next mornin' bright and early--I mean
the mornin' wuz bright, not Lodema--oh no, fur from it; Lodema is never
bright and cheerful--she is the opposite and reverse always.

She is a old maiden. I do think it sounds so much more respectful to
call 'em so rather than "old maid" (but I had to tutor Josiah dretful
sharp before I could get him into it).

I guess Lodema is one of the regular sort. There is different kinds of
old maidens, some that could marry if they would, and some that
would but couldn't. And I ruther mistrust she is one of the