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R.

Your cares would wake no more emotion,
Were you to your lot but resigned,
Than pebbles flung into the ocean,

That leave scarce a ripple behind.

25.

G. P. Morris.

G.-You are most in danger when love is the tale,
That love over reason in you will prevail.
Mrs. Osgood.

L.-Beware of flattery and flatterers. Guard against confiding in those who lack high moral principle, and lurk in your path only to betray and destroy. Magoon.

26.

G.-Oh! happy it were could the deeds that disgraced
Your life the past year be forever effaced;
But this year shall see you, before it is past,

Humbled low in the dust for the sins of the last.

L.-This year your life's eventful tide,

Its days and months shall silent glide;
Devoid of joys or fears,

Your fleeting hours shall henceforth bear,
Division between humble prayer;

And retrospection's tears.

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.

Shakspeare.

66

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

"No!"

He'd rather have the answer

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
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,

felt.

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

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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.

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