T.

She'll leave him within his hell,

And soar to some heaven apart,

Forget him well as her bridal bell
Tolls o'er his buried heart.

L.-They are sincere-those only felt

By sympathizing minds that flow,
As sunbeams into sunbeams melt,

To warm a frozen world below.

13.

G.-Once she loved-her love was slighted,
This she hath in silence borne;
Love is quelled when unrequited,
By the rising pulse of scorn.

L.-No rapture glows in his tranquil gaze
The tremulous thought revealing;

V

You may look for the hope of your soul in his face,
And find not a ray o'er it stealing.

14.

G.-What do we reck on a dreary way,

Though lonely and benighted,

If we know there are lips that will chide our stay
And eyes that will beam love-lighted!

What is the worth of your diamond ray,
To the glance that flashes pleasure,
When the words that welcome back betray
We form a heart's chief treasure?

G.

T.

Oh, joyfully dear is our homeward track,
If we are but sure of a welcome back..

L.-Why do you ask? you wished to part,
And bade him, once for all, adieu;

And he will never break his heart,
For such a simpleton as you.

15.

G.-Humility, that low sweet root,

E. Cook.

From which all heavenly virtues shoot.

L.-His ruling passion is to read the news,
But never deigns his Bible to peruse.

16.

Various, that her desultory mind,

Studious of change, and pleased with novelty,
May be indulged.

L. He feeds his flocks, and tills his lands,
And makes an honest living;

And has a penny, too, to spare
For spending, or for giving.
An active thriving man is he,

No lordling need deride him,
For he knows how to use his hands,
And wit he has to guide him.
Then hail the farmer! hail!

Let none on earth deride him.

Moore.

T.

17.

A plenty of Love-'tis a flower

That lucre pollutes by its touch;
It withers and fades from the bower,
If pampered by fortune too much.

18.

book,

G. She liveth by the valley brook,
Away from care and wrong,
Her heart a pure and open
Her lip a mellow song.
A mother meek and old is all
The kindred that she knows,
And so they are the waterfall,
flower that grows.

And

every

She smileth when the earth is spread

With green, and spring has come;
And weepeth when the flowers are dead,
And her sweet brook is dumb.

And thus the gentle maiden's life
Steals quietly away,

Without a shade of pain or strife
To cloud its summer day.

C. G. Eastman.

L.-You've ridiculed, time and again,
The very man you'll marry ;
But if you are a prudent wife,

He'll make you happy-very.

T.

19.

At the still, twilight hour,

Whose mantle is the drapery of dreams,
And which has ever been, in poetry,

Life's holy time; the hour that's wont to steal
On us with noiseless sandals made of dew.

Willis.

20.

G.--Ah, never! you'll wander in sorrow alone,
Through the wearisome journey of life,

Ere

you find out your folly, too late to atone, You'll suffer in silence, unknowing, unknown, And all for the want of a wife.

L.-The charms of all you'll fairly scan,
You'll weigh their merits well;
But which shall be the happy man,

You'll never have to tell.

21.

Spare that you may spend; fast that you may feast;

Riches are oft by guilt and baseness earned,
Or dealt by chance to shield a lucky knave,
Or throw a cruel sunshine on a fool.

But for one end, one much neglected use,
Are riches worth your care; (for nature's wants
Are few, and without opulence supplied).

This noble end is, to produce the soul;

T.

To show the virtues in their fairest light;

To make humanity the minister

Of bounteous Providence; and teach the breast

The generous luxury the gods enjoy.

Armstrong.

22.

G.-Go forth at duty's stern command,
Earth has enough for thee to do-
Discharge it with a zealous hand,
And to thy trust be ever true.
Burdens well borne will soon be light,
And ills well met will disappear,
In sorrow's deepest, darkest night
Trust still that brighter days are near;
Faint not, for Heaven is over all,
And if thou faint thy strength is small.

L.-Scorn not the slightest word or deed,

There's fruit in each wind-wafted seed
Waiting its natal hour.

A whispered word may touch the heart,

And call it back to life;

A look of love bid sin depart,

And still unholy strife.

No act falls fruitless; none can tell
How vast its power may be;

Nor what results enfolded dwell
Within it silently.