You
say that the world is bitter, and full of the Waters of Bitterness.
Love, and so live that you may be loved--the world will turn sweet
for you, and you shall rest like me by the Waters of Paradise.
From "The Play-Actress and the Upper Berth," by F. Marion Crawford.
Copyright, 1896, by G. P. Putnam's Sons.
Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
The Shadows on the Wall
"Henry had words with Edward in the study the night before Edward
died," said Caroline Glynn.
She was elderly, tall, and harshly thin, with a hard colourlessness
of face. She spoke not with acrimony, but with grave severity.
Rebecca Ann Glynn, younger, stouter and rosy of face between her
crinkling puffs of gray hair, gasped, by way of assent. She sat in
a wide flounce of black silk in the corner of the sofa, and rolled
terrified eyes from her sister Caroline to her sister Mrs. Stephen
Brigham, who had been Emma Glynn, the one beauty of the family. She
was beautiful still, with a large, splendid, full-blown beauty; she
filled a great rocking-chair with her superb bulk of femininity,
and swayed gently back and forth, her black silks whispering and
her black frills fluttering.
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