E.

L.-The feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only

As the mist resembles rain,

Longfellow.

12.

G. You are not in danger of doing a wise thing; less of doing a cunning thing; and least of all of doing a generous thing.

L.-You think it very nice, indeed,

To have a gay flirtation;

But oh, beware! it often brings

An old maid's chilly station.

13.

There are some evils so frightful, and some misfortunes so terrible, that we dare not think of them; the very prospect makes us tremble;—but if they chance to fall on us, we find more relief than we could imagine; we arm ourselves against fortune that is perverse, and do better than we hoped for.

14.

A country life, without the strife
And noise, and din of town,
'Tis all you need, then take no heed
Of splendor or renown;

E.

And when you die, you then shall lie
Where trees above you wave,

While flowers shall bloom around your tomb,
A quiet country grave.

15.

Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds,
And though a late, a sure reward succeeds.

What matters it?- -a few years more
Life's surge, so restless heretofore,
Shall break upon the unknown shore.

In that far land shall disappear
The shadows which we follow here,
The mist-wreaths of our atmosphere.

Yet, if the spirit, gazing through
The vista of the past, can view
One deed to Heaven and virtue true;

Congreve.

If through the wreck of wasted powers,
Of garlands wreathed from Folly's bowers,
Of idle aims, and misspent hours,

The eye can note one sacred spot,
By pride and self profanèd not,
A green place in the waste of thought,

Better than Glory's pomp will be
That green and blessed spot to thee,
A landmark in Eternity!

16.

J. G. Whittier.

Perhaps it may-but in that wish you'll find
Life's every hope and joy are all enshrined-
And ne'er before to mortal wish was given
So much of happiness this side of heaven.

17.

Go, gather a wreath from the garden bowers,
And tell the wish of thy heart in flowers.

Percival.

18.

G.-She's thinking now that at the time
When first your arm stole round her,
You little dreamed how long your soul
In golden chains had bound her;
And apropos of chains, she thinks
Of one she saw last week

For sale,-the sweetest love-so rich,

So tasteful-so unique;

The workmanship was quite superb,

The gold most fine, and pure,—
She's longing now to see that chain
Suspend your miniature!

E..

You'll purchase the exquisite thing?
"Twill suit her taste completely;
Above the heart that loves you then
"Twill rise and fall so sweetly!

Grace Greenwood.

L.-Die of a broken heart-on paper!

P. J. Bailey.

19.

G.-Rememberest thou a little word,
A thoughtless word, in anger spoken?
A word that pierced a gentle heart,
And left upon her cheek its toker.

G.-You stand beside her when she sings
The songs of other days,

And whisper in love's thrilling tones
The words of heartfelt praise;
And often in her eyes you look

Some answering love to see

In vain! you there can only read
The faith of memory.

You little know what thoughts awake

With every gentle word;

Y. G. P.

How by your looks and tones the founts
Of tenderness are stirred:

E.

The visions of her youth return,

Joys far too bright to last;

And while you speak of future bliss,
She thinks but of the past.

Like lamps in eastern sepulchres—
Amid her heart's deep gloom,
Affection sheds its holiest light
Upon her husband's tomb;

And as those lamps, if brought once more

To upper air, grow dim,

So her soul's love is cold and dead,

Unless it glow for him.

Mrs. Embury.

L.-Cold he is not-though brighter eyes

May beam with sparkling fire;

He'll not forget thee, though fair forms

May cause him to admire;

Within his bosom beats a heart

From sin and folly free,

And in the bloom of youthful hope,

Most fond of pleasure-whose delusive powers Oft steal the heart from wisdom's brightest hours.

21.

G.-Sweet promptings unto kindly deeds

Are in her very

look;