Andrew Learmont Spedon

Summary

Andrew Learmont Spedon The Black-Sealed Letter

The insidious bee that fluttered around the flowers of my once happy affections has left its sting-wound within my heart."
"But love is its own physician. It alone can cure the ills it makes."
"But where there is no mutual love in the heart the wound is incurable."
"Why, Fred! do you for a moment doubt the veracity of Clara's love for you?"
"She has fooled me," he exclaimed. "She has forsaken me. She has made me reckless and desperate. I have ceased to love. I hate society. I even despise my very self. I shall seek for happiness in foreign lands as a substitute for what I have lost.
Source: Gutenberg

Andrew Learmont Spedon The Black-Sealed Letter

If so, I shall have to shorten my visit."
"Well, Fred, consider the matter judiciously, and you will not think me unreasonable in my accusations," replied Clara.
"Pooh, pooh," retorted Fred, "never allow your imagination to soar higher than your reason; curb down the irritable nerves of your temper; turn the dark side of life's picture towards the past, and keep always the bright side uppermost."
"It is easier said than done," she replied. "Had you rendered me the assistance in reality instead of broken promises, I might have been looking to-day upon the bright side of life."
Source: Gutenberg

Andrew Learmont Spedon The Black-Sealed Letter

No man is a confirmed drunkard at once. It is by degrees that men generally become inebriates. "Take but a glass," says the recruiting sergeant of Bacchus, "it will do you no harm." But one glass is but the starting point. It is the magnet that attracts material akin to itself. What a world of degradation has been generated by this nucleus of intemperance.
Intoxicating liquor is indeed the most prolific source of wretchedness and crime. It has been and still is the greatest curse to humanity. It is the curse of curses. The grave is filled with its wrecks. The fire of hell is fed by its fuel.
Source: Gutenberg

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