Summary

Various The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16…

It must be a lonesome, foreboding moment to any timid woman starting alone at night on a long journey, with the possible death waiting for her in every throb of the engine or coupling of the cars: so it was no wonder that the poor "natural," rushing thus into a world that opened suddenly wider and darker before her, "Joe," her one clear point, going back, back, out of sight, and withal a childish, unspeakable terror at the shrieking, fire-belching engine, should have cowered down on her seat, afraid to move or speak. So the night passed. "I was afraid to cry," said Ellen.
Source: Gutenberg

Various The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16…

She is brilliant, and admired by plenty of people,—such as they are. And yet do you know that I question whether, at times, when she sits alone in that boudoir, and thinks how her old friend Mrs. Grundy gives her the cut direct, how the companions of her innocent youth all look coldly and sternly on her, how that costly mirror tells her that her beauty is beginning to fade, the thought of the future does not come over her like the rasp of an old saw under her white bosom? and whether she does not ask herself if the play is worth the price of those real wax candles?
Source: Gutenberg

Various The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16…

Youth, too, is nearer to those celestial fountains of existence whence inspiration pours into the heart and light streams into the brain. Indeed, all the qualities which constitute the life of the soul, and which preserve in vigor and health even the practical faculties of the mind,—freshness, ardor, generosity, love, hope, faith, courage, cheer,—all these youth feels stirring and burning in its own breast, and aches to see fulfilled in the common experience of the race.
Source: Gutenberg

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