If we dare to look closely enough, may we not observe that the moral force of character and the higher intellectual capacities in parents seem often to wear out mysteriously in the course of transmission to children?
In these days of insidious nervous exhaustion and subtly-spreading nervous malady, is it not possible that the same rule may apply, less rarely than we are willing to admit, to the bodily gifts as well?
The mother and daughter slowly descended the stairs together--the first dressed in dark brown, with an Indian shawl thrown over her shoulders; the second more simply attired in black, with a plain collar and cuffs, and a dark orange-colored ribbon over the bosom of her dress.

As they crossed the hall and entered the breakfast-room, Miss Vanstone was full of the all-absorbing subject of the last night's concert.
"I am so sorry, mamma, you were not with us," she said.

"You have been so strong and so well ever since last summer--you have felt so many years younger, as you said yourself--that I am sure the exertion would not have been too much for you." "Perhaps not, my love--but it was as well to keep on the safe side." "Quite as well," remarked Miss Garth, appearing at the breakfast-room door.

"Look at Norah (good-morning, my dear)--look, I say, at Norah.
A perfect wreck; a living proof of your wisdom and mine in staying at home.

The vile gas, the foul air, the late hours--what can you expect?
She's not made of iron, and she suffers accordingly.