, the animal, whose frank, doggy nature has beenwarped by the unnatural treatment he has received, responds to yourovertures of friendship by viciously snapping at you, your cause islost forever.
"If Fido won't take to any one," the father has thoughtfully remarkedbeforehand, "I say that man is not to be trusted. You know, Maria,how often I have said that. Ah! he knows, bless him."Drat him!
And to think that the surly brute was once an innocent puppy, all legsand head, full of fun and play, and burning with ambition to become abig, good dog and bark like mother.
Ah me! life sadly changes us all. The world seems a vast horriblegrinding machine, into which what is fresh and bright and pure ispushed at one end, to come out old and crabbed and wrinkled at theother.
Look even at Pussy Sobersides,Nike KD 7 Męskie, with her dull, sleepy glance, hergrave, slow walk, and dignified, prudish airs; who could ever thinkthat once she was the blue-eyed, whirling, scampering,head-over-heels, mad little firework that we call a kitten?
What marvelous vitality a kitten has. It is really something verybeautiful the way life bubbles over in the little creatures. Theyrush about, and mew,Kyle Okposo Tröjor, and spring; dance on their hind legs, embraceeverything with their front ones,Sergei Bobrovsky Tröjor, roll over and over,Ron Duguay Tröjor, lie on theirbacks and kick. They don't know what to do with themselves,Menn Moncler Edward, they areso full of life.
Can you remember,Dame Moncler Yaroy, reader,Travis Dermott Tröjor, when you and I felt something of the samesort of thing? Can you remember those glorious days of fresh youngmanhood--how, when coming home along the moonlit road, we felt toofull of life for sober walking, and had to spring and skip, and waveour arms, and shout till belated farmers' wives thought--and with goodreason, too--that we were mad, and kept close to the hedge,CG Menn Woolford Strøk, while westood and laughed aloud to see them scuttle off so fast and made theirblood run cold with a wild parting whoop,Brent Burns Tröjor, and the tears came,Patrick Roy Tröjor, we knewnot why? Oh, that magnificent young LIFE! that crowned us kings ofthe earth; that rushed through every tingling vein till we seemed towalk on air; that thrilled through our throbbing brains and told us togo forth and conquer the whole world; that welled up in our younghearts till we longed to stretch out our arms and gather all thetoiling men and women and the little children to our breast and lovethem all--all. Ah! they were grand days, those deep,Milan Lucic Tröjor, full days, whenour coming life, like an unseen organ, pealed strange, yearnful musicin our ears, and our young blood cried out like a war-horse for thebattle. Ah, our pulse beats slow and steady now, and our old jointsare rheumatic, and we love our easy-chair and pipe and sneer at boys'
enthusiasm. But oh for one brief moment of that god-like life again!
ON BEING SHY
All great literary men are shy. I am myself,Ralph Lauren Big Pony Polos, though I am told it ishardly noticeable.
I am glad it is not. It used to be extremely prominent at one time,and was the cause of much misery to myself and discomfort to every oneabout me--my lady friends especially complained most bitterly aboutit.
A shy man's
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