S.

1.

If thou wilt not at grief repine
Nor yield to dark despair,
A brighter day may yet be thine,
And joy thou still may'st share;
Thy shattered hopes thou may'st retrieve,
And gain a sure relief,

If thou no more dost sadly grieve,
But triumph o'er thy grief.

2

G.-If I had a prophet's eye to see
The length of thy future way,

I might not whisper thy destiny,
Nor reveal what thy fate on earth may be,
For oft shall thy footsteps stray;

But yet around thee shall joys be thrown,
And flowers strewn in thy way.

L.-To watch, perhaps, a wild and wandering heart,
To chain by love the rover; to beguile

His wayward mood, when tears are fit to start,
With soft persuasive eloquence; to smile,
E'en while the heart is breaking-is the lot,
Of woman's life, alike in palace or in cot!

To grieve-ah! not to chide him—that his love
Esteems her peace so lightly; but to twine
Her arms round his, nor by a look reprove;
To lay her heart before him, as the shrine

S.

That it was sworn to worship; to win back

The wanderer's erring feet to Virtue's peaceful track.

These, and a thousand cares like these beside,
Make up the lot of woman; all the hours
Of her life are not sunshine; to provide,

While summer lasts, against those wintry showers,
That love must sometimes know, should be her care,
If e'er she hopes on earth one peaceful hour to
share.

3.

The gods take pleasure oft, when haughty mortals
On their own pride erect a mighty fabric,
By slightest means to lay their towering schemes
Low in the dust, and teach them they are nothing.
Thomson.

4.

Your wish is very moderate,

But little can you need;

Go on, there's nothing in the way,
You surely will succeed.

5.

Desire it not, for time will show

The gain would be but small,

For thou wouldst get but small reward,
And give perhaps thine all.

S.

6.

G.-Flatter and praise, extol her every grace,
Though ne'er so black, call hers an angel's face;
That man that hath a tongue I say is no man,
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.

L.-When of a man he asks a question,

Shakspeare.

He wants for answer "Yes" or "No;"
He's not content with that evasion,
That half refusal, "May be so."

He always doubts the friendly meaning

Of" Well," "Perhaps," "I do not know;"
When for a favor he is suing,

แ

He'd rather have the answer "No!"

And when he asks that trembling question,
"Will you be mine, my dearest miss ?"
He'll wish you, without hesitation,

To say distinctly, "Yes sir, yes!"

7.

Affection can withstand very severe storms of rigor, but

not a long polar frost of downright indifference.

Sir W. Scott.

G-You came too late!-Neglect had tried

Her constancy too long;

Her love had yielded to her pride,
And the deep sense of wrong;

S.

She scorned the offering of a heart
Which lingered on its way
Till it could no delight impart,
Nor spread one cheering ray.

You came too late!—At once you felt.
That all your power was o'er,
Indifference in her calm smile dwelt,
She thought of you no more;
Anger and grief had passed away,

Her heart and thoughts were free;
She met you, and her words were gay,
No spell had memory.

You came too late!-The subtle chords
Of love were all unbound;

Not by offence of spoken words,

But by the slights that wound.
She knew that life held nothing now
That could the past repay,

Yet she disdained your tardy vow,
And coldly turned away.

You came too late!-Her countless dreams

Of love had long since flown;

No charms dwelt in your chosen themes,
Nor in your whispered tone;

And when with word and smile you tried
Affection still to prove,

She nerved her heart with woman's pride,

And spurned your fickle love.

Miss E. Bogart.

S.

L.-'Tis difficult to see another,

The passing stranger of a day,

Who never hath been friend or brother,
Pluck with a look your heart away;
'Tis difficult at once to crush

The rebel mourner in the breast,
To press the heart to earth, and hush
Its bitter jealousy to rest;

And difficult-the eye gets dim

The lip wants power-to smile on him!

Willis.

8.

G. Of her pride-all attempts to explain which defies, That with so little food it should reach such a size.

L.-Cash! cash! for this he'll strive and toil,
At morning, noon, and night,

He'd plough the sea, or till the soil,
He'd practice Coke and likewise Hoyle,

On politics he'd write;

For well he knows who cuts a dash

Must have his pockets filled with cash.

9.

G.-Sometimes sweet, and sometimes sour,
Frowns to awe, and smiles to please,

Varying with the varying hour,

Changing with the changing breeze.