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Updated: May 23, 2025
The hard-heartedness of fathers is a fine theme for romance writers, a sure and moving topic; but is there not something untender, to say no more of it, in the hurry which a beloved child is sometimes in to tear herself from the parental stock, and commit herself to strange graftings? The case is heightened where the lady, as in the present instance, happens to be an only child.
"There is a fine chandelier in that holland bag," I said coaxingly. She sniffed and was raising an untender hand, when I checked her. "Forbear, ma'am," I cried with authority, "I prefer to believe in that bag. How much to be pitied, ma'am, are those who have lost faith in everything."
Few impartially reprove and warn them of their sin and danger; but, upon the other hand, many professed Presbyterians, by their untender and unchristian walk and conversation, or by their lukewarmness and indifferency in Christ's matters, now called moderation, and by their walking contrary to covenant engagements, do exceedingly harden them in their evil way, and scandalize them at their duty.
To that young woman the sheriff repeated his unanswered question in the form of a statement. "I'm waiting to learn that better reason, ma'am." She was possessed of that spice of effrontery more to be desired than beauty. "Shall we say that you had no wish to injure your friends?" "My friends?" Her untender eyes mocked his astonishment.
Not that his usual attitude was one of benediction. He stood straight up in his austere pure-mindedness, tall, slender, pale, sharp of voice, keen of glance, stern in judgment, aggressive in debate, and fixedly untender everywhere, except but always except in the sick chamber.
Haven't you thought that somebody looks always very pleased when you read or talk, and sits very quiet when you've nothing to say, and always says good-night to you so prettily? 'Mother, mother, don't speak like that! I've thought nothing of the kind. Put that out of your head; never speak of it again. His voice was not untender, but very grave. The lines of his face hardened. Mrs.
Hard was that daughter in every way; you would have counted her age in winters, not in summers, so obviously untender were her years. An iron plait of hair lay for about six inches down her spine; her feet and ankles made the campstool on which she sat, looking pathetically ethereal.
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