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"No," he replied, "my heart was sad; I did not count the days. Since I left, the berries have grown and ripened." "Very well, then: we will make the attempt," says he, gayly. "'Nothing venture, nothing have.'" "It is true," she says, sadly. "I spoke in haste because my heart is sore for my country, and I fear for what we may yet live to see. But of course I could not expect you to feel with me.".
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"Yes,—in her own estimation," says the duchess, somewhat severely, whose crowning horror is a frisky matron, to which title little Mrs. Lennox may safely lay claim. "Pray do not give yourselves so much trouble on my account," says Lady Rodney, with intense but subdued indignation. There was once a man who loved his wife dearly. After they had been married for a time they had a little boy. Some time after that the woman grew sick and did not get well. She was sick for a long time. The young man loved his wife so much that he did not wish to take a second woman. The woman grew worse and worse. Doctoring did not seem to do her any good. At last she died. "Why, they can't help it," explains he. "They are sent half the time.".
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