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The lady who has been absent during the farewell month of summer may return to the scene of her laughs and joys, and find the street, the house, the chamber, the same; the circle of friends unbroken by a death or a sorrow; trace, in the teeming life around her, of time's changes. But that evidence will meet the eye in the flower garden. The weeds that have thickened in the alley have choked the choicest flower. The moss tufts have withered with the heat of August. The lily waves its graceful leaf faintly over its fellows. The dahlia, which her "sweet and cunning hand" had reared, and cherished with affection, has fallen beneath the deep shades of the growing vine that has frowned away its life and its radiant colors. The place is more changed than any other. It is beautiful but for its treasured memories still beautiful, though clothed in the drooping fall robes of the year; but clear it is, that

"Time's effacing fingers

Have swept the lines where beauty lingers."

Here, then, where delicate taste directed the culture in May; where soft hands caressed the June rosebud, and brushed away the early dew; a soothing picture of melancholy rises in the view. The maiden laugh is suppressed. But why should it be? What though

"The shadows of departed hours
Hang dim upon her early flowers!"

They, in their day, smiled and blossomed; and so should she, who represents the delicacy of the flowers, the modesty of its unfolding petals, its bloom, and its purity.

Flowers contain the language and sentiments of the heart, thus: The fair lily is an image of holy innocence; the purple rose a figure of unfelt love; faith is represented to us in the blue passion flower; hope beams forth from the evergreen; peace from the olive branch; immortality from immortelle; the cares of life are represented by the rosemary; the victory of the spirit by the palm; modesty by the blue, fragrant violet; compassion by the ivy; tenderness by the myrtle; affectionate reminiscence by the forget-me-not; natural honesty and fidelity by the oak leaf; unassumingness by the corn flower; and the auricula, "how friendly they look upon us with their childlike eyes!" Even the dispositions of the human soul are expressed by flowers. Thus silent grief is portrayed by the weeping willow; sadness by the angelica; shuddering by the aspen; melancholy by the cypress; desire of meeting again by the starwort; the night rocket is a figure of life, as it stands on the frontier between light and darkness. Thus Nature, by these flowers, seems to betoken her loving sympathy with us; and whom hath she not often more consoled than heartless and voiceless men are able to do?

ANON.

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A bachelor
May thrive by observation on a little;
A single life's no burden; but to draw
In yokes is chargeable, and will require
A double maintenance.

How uneasy is his life

Who is troubled with a wife!
Be she ne'er so fair or comely,
Be she foul or be she homely,
Be she blithe or melancholy,
Have she wit or have she folly,
Be she prudent, be she squandering,
Be she staid or be she wandering,

JOHN FORD.

What! I love! I sue! I seek a wife!
A woman that is like a German clock,
Still a-repairing; ever out of frame,
And never going aright, being a watch,
But being watched that it may still go right.

SHAKSPEARE.

Yet uneasy is his life

Who is married to a wife.

COTTON.

BALM.

Melissa.

LANGUAGE-SYMPATHY.

HAST thou one heart that loves thee,
In this dark world of care,
Whose gentle smile approves thee?
Yield not to dark despair!
One rose, whose fragrant blossom
Blooms but for thee alone -
One fond, confiding bosom,

Whose thoughts are all thine own?

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Till the kind voice that blessed thee
All mute in death doth lie,
And the fount that oft refreshed thee
To thee is ever dry,-

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I CANNOT, will not longer brook

Thy cold delay, thy prudent look.
Dost love me? Share at once my fate,
Be it bright or desolate!

I will abide no half-way love,
Nor wait for prudence ere I move :
One more repulse, and I depart !
Come, now or never, to my heart.

ANON.

Life of my life, at once my fate decree;
I wait my death, or more than life, from thee!
I have no arts nor powers thy soul to move,
But doting constancy and boundless love;
This is my all had I the world to give,
Thine were its throne; now bid me die or live.

CRABBE.

O, how impatience gains upon the soul,
When the long-promised hour of joy draws near!
How slow the tardy moments seem to roll!

MRS. TIGIIE.

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