NOT A MISTAKE.

OUR neighbor over the way, passes for a woman who has

failed in her career, because she is an old maid. People wag solemn heads of pity, and say that she made so great a mistake in not marrying the brilliant and famous man who was for long years her suitor. It is clear that no orange flower will ever bloom for her. The young people think of her solitary hours of bitter regret, and please their imaginations with fancying her hard struggle with the conviction that she has lost all that makes life beautiful. But this old maid who is thus pitied for a secret sorrow, is a woman whose nature is a tropic, in which the sun shines, the birds sing, the flowers bloom forever. There are no regrets, no doubts and half wishes, but a calm sweetness, a transparent peace. I saw her blush when her old lover passed by, or paused to speak to her, but it was only the sign of delicate feminine consciousness. She knew his love, and honored it, although she could not understand it, nor return it. Although all the world had exclaimed at her indifference to such homage, and had declared it was astonishing she should lose so fine a match, she would only say simply and quietly, "If the highest Ideal of manly nobleness, intellect, and worth, loved me, and I did not love, how could I marry?"

G. W. Curtis.

JEAN PAUL'S QUESTIONS.

HOW, my girls, is your heart so little worth that you cut it,

like old clothes, after any fashion, to fit any breast? and does it wax or shrink, then, like a Chinese ball, to fit itself into the ball-mould and marriage ring-case of any male heart whatever?

HEY are never alone who are accompanied with noble

THEY thoughts.

ONE can always stoop, and pick up nothing.

Sir Philip Sydney.

Old Proverb.

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ET to say truth, she is never alone, but is still accompanied with old songs, honest thoughts and prayers, but short

ones.

Sir Thomas Overbury.

To rejoice in the prosperity of another is to partake of it.

William Austin.

OLD MAIDS.

OLD maids, old maids, I love old maids, though snarling

cynics say,

That wrinkles, spleen, and coquetry have claimed them for

their prey;

When scribbling rhymers rail at them and show self-lack of

sense,

Shame on the bard that would not raise a pen in their defence!

In youth, when woman's opening charms attract the gazer's

eye,

And woman's snowy bosom heaves with passion's tender sigh; How oft the bright pure fountain of her rich affection flowing, Is like a sea-ward streamlet to waste and ruin going!

Some fop, perchance, hath trifled with the heart he could not

prize,

Or cold beneath the churchyard turf a blighted lover lies,
And maiden truth and constancy enshrined within her breast,
Are made the poetaster's theme to point a stupid jest!

Her life in deeds of charity and kindness glides away,
And often wedlock's saddened victims are by her made gay;
The wife that's left to pine or die in solitude or grief,
Oft turns to maiden tenderness for solace and relief.

Then tell us not of married dames excelling single ladies;
This matrimony now-a-days with most a scheming trade is,
To "multiply by two," oft means to multiply with nought,
And fortune-seeking man and wife are often sadly caught.
They are some nuisances surpassing bachelors or maids,
Viz. noosed and rhyming Benedicts who once were roaring
blades;

Who, like the fabled fox that lost his tail, would recommend
Their own sad plight to each unfettered male and female friend.

United States Gazette.

SONG OF CASSANDRA.

THEY say, "Tis time, go, marry, go!"
But I will have no husband; no!

I'd rather live serene and still

Upon a solitary hill,

Than bend me to a husband's will;
No! I will have no husband; no!

So, mother, think not I shall wed,
And through a tiresome life be led;

The man has not been born, I ween,
Who as my husband shall be seen;
For I will live all carelessly,

And never ask, nor anxious be,

Of wedded weal or woe;

In vain you say, "Go, marry, go!"

For I will have no husband; no!

From a Dramatic Eclogue, by Gil Vicente.

ONE

NE thing thou must not long for, if thou love a life serene: A woman for thy wife, though she were a crowned queen.

From the Persian.

SOLILOQUY OF A BACHELOR.

I DO much wonder that one man, seeing how much another

man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to love, will become the argument of his own scorn by falling in love. One woman is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace!

Shakespeare.

The tree

Sucks kindlier nature from a soil enriched
By its own fallen leaves; and man is made
In heart and spirit from deciduous hopes
And things that seem to perish.

Henry Taylor.

H! shallow and mean heart! dost thou conceive so little of

OH!

love as not to know that it sacrifices all-love itself—for the happiness of the one it loves?

H1

ER lot is on you-to be found untired
Watching the stars out by the bed of pain;
With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired,
And a true heart of hope, though hope be in vain,
Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer decay,
And oh! to love through all things-therefore pray.

Felicia Hemans.

A REMONSTRANCE,

Addressed to a Friend who complained of being Alone in the World.

OH! say not thou art all alone

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Upon this wide, cold-hearted earth;
Sigh not o'er joys forever flown—

The vacant chair, the silent hearth;
Why should the world's unholy mirth
Upon thy quiet dreams intrude,
To scare those shapes of heavenly birth
That people oft thy solitude?

Though many a fervent hope of youth
Hath passed and scarcely left a trace;
Though earth-born love, its tears and truth,
No longer in thy heart have place;