and the little human heart is inconsolable for half an hour. In half a
day, when asked to tell her greatest grief, she will relate an accident
to her doll, forgetting the poor kitten yet waiting for burial! How
could those lips and cheeks retain their delicate tints if the wet
seasons of grief set in with tropical intensity? Lord Lytton, often, in
his highly colored writings, cries out "O youth! O youth!" and there is
a world of regret in the exclamation. "O the joy of young ideas," sighs
Hannah Moore, "painted on the mind, in the warm, glowing colors which
fancy spreads on objects not yet known, when all is new and all is
lovely!"