The Bashful Virgin's Sidelong Looks Of Love.

The Malicious Sneer Is Improperly Called Laughter.

O Friendship! Thou Fond Soother Of The Human Breast, To Thee We Fly In Every Calamity; To Thee The Wretched Seek For Succor; On Thee The Care-tired Son Of Misery Fondly Relies; From Thy Kind Assistance The Unfortunate Always Hopes Relief, And May Be Sure Of--disappointment.

Popular Glory Is A Perfect Coquette; Her Lovers Must Toil, Feel Every Inquietude, Indulge Every Caprice, And Perhaps At Last Be Jilted Into The Bargain. True Glory, On The Other Hand, Resembles A Woman Of Sense; Her Admirers Must Play No Tricks. They Feel No Great Anxiety, For They Are Sure In The End Of Being Rewarded In Proportion To Their Merit.

Death When Unmasked Shows Us A Friendly Face And Is A Terror Only At A Distance.

Age, That Lessens The Enjoyment Of Life, Increases Our Desire Of Living