From the Connecticut Mirror.
{"newspaper_name": "The Litchfield County post.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 877, "word_count": 152, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9172000288963318], "ccnet_perplexity": [883.2999877929688], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
It rains. What lady loves rainy day? Not she who puts prunella on her foot, Zephyrs around her neck, and silken socks Upon graceful ancle-nor yet she Who sports her tasserd parasol along The walks, beau-crowded, on some sunny

 noon, Or trips in muslin, in winters night On cold sleigh-ride--to distant ball. She loves rainy day who sweeps the hearth, And threads the busy needle, or applies The scissors to the torn or thread-bare sleeve; Who blesses God that she has friends and

 home; Who in the polling of the storm, will think Of some poor neighbor that she can befriend; Who trims the lamp at night and reads aloud To young brother, tales he loves to hear, Or ventures cheerfully abroad to watch The bedside of some sick and suffering

 friend,

 Administering that best Of medicine. Kindness, and tender care, and cheering

 hope,-

 Such are not sad, cen on rainy day.