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LESSON LXXXVIII.

MY VERY PARTICULAR FRIEND.

The insinuations in the following piece must be pointed out to the pupil that the manner of expressing them may convey their full meaning. Severe remarks are called Satire, but when the expression conveys a neaning different from the more obvious sense of the words, it becomes Irony. Every compliment is censure. The Author of the piece is MISS LOUISA H. SHERIDAN of England.

Are you struck with her figure and face?
How lucky you happen to meet
With none of the gossipping race
Who dwell in this horrible street!
They of slanderous hints never tire,
I love to approve and commend,
And the lady you so much admire,
Is my very particular friend!

How charming she looks-her dark curls
Really flow with a natural air.

And the beads might be taken for pearls
That are twined in that beautiful hair;
Then what tints her fair features o'erspread-
That she uses white paint some pretend;
But believe me, she only wears red-
She's my very particular friend!

Then her writings-her exquisite rhyme
To posterity surely must reach,
(I wonder she finds so much time,
With four little sisters to teach!)
A critic in Blackwood, indeed,
Abused the last poem she penned;
The article made my heart bleed—
She's my very particular friend!

All her chance of a portion is lost,
And I fear she'll be single for life—

Wise people will count up the cost
Of
a gay and extravagant wife.
But 'tis odious to marry for pelf,

(Though the times are not likely to mend,) She's a fortune beside in herself;

She's my very particular friend!

That she's somewhat sarcastic and pert,
It were useless and vain to deny ;
She's a little too much of a flirt,

And a slattern when no one is nigh.
From her servants she constantly parts,
Before they have reached the month's end;
But her heart is the kindest of hearts-
She's my very particular friend!

Oh! never has pencil or pen

A creature more exquisite traced;
That her style does not take with the men,

Proves a sad want of judgement and taste:

And if to the sketch I give now,

Some flattering touches I lend,

Do for partial affection allow-
She's my v-e-r-y particular friend!

LESSON LXXXIX.

CUPID'S ARROW.

Cupid, the fabled god of Love, was the son of Venus, the goddess of beauty, and is usually represented with a bow and arrow aiming at hearts. Hymen, the god of marriage, was represented with a torch. Vulcan was the blacksmith god, who made the armor of the others. An arrow made heavier by some metal affixed to it or concealed in it, is said to be laden, or loaded, and cuts the air with more steadiness and certainty. This satire upon interested love may also be called an Allegory. It was written by Miss E. Cooke.

Young Cupid went storming to Vulcan one day,
And besought him to look at his arrow,

""Tis useless," he cried; "you must mend it, I say; 'Tisn't fit to let fly at a sparrow.

There's something that's wrong in the shaft or the dart, For it flutters quite false to my aim;

"T is an age since it fairly went home to the heart, And the world really jests at my name.

“I have straightened, I've bent, I've tried all, I declare, I've perfumed it with sweetest of sighs;

"Tis feathered with ringlets my mother might wear, And the barb gleams with light from young eyes; But it falls without touching.—I'll break it, I vow, For there's Hymen beginning to pout;

He's complaining his torch burns so dull and so low That Zephyr might puff it right out."

Little Cupid went on with his pitiful tale,

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Till Vulcan the weapon restored,

"There, take it, young sir; try it now—if it fail,

I will ask neither fee nor reward."

The urchin shot out, and rare havoc he made;
The wounded and dead were untold;

But no wonder the rogue had such slaughtering trade,
For the arrow was laden with gold.

LESSON XC.

FLIRTATION.

The following piece was taken from the NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE, but the author was not indicated. The piece should be spoken by an advanced female pupil, and great care must be taken to give full effect to the last of each stanza. Vive l'amour is pronounced Veev lam-oor.

Was I right, or was I not?

The age exact I can not tell,

But 't was some time in teens, I wot,
That I came out a dashing belle.

My mother called me
"hare brained chit,"
But that I heeded ne'er a jot,
For little Miss must flirt a bit.
Was I right, or was I not?

Away I sparkled in the ring,

And soon was known as false and fair. Oh! 'tis a dear delightful thing

When first we make a swain despair. There was young Frederick all on fire, Who vowed and swore- -I know not whatOf course I left him to expire

Was I right, or was I not?

Dear me! I felt a trifle sad,

When all cried out, "what have you done!" For sure enough I loved the lad:

But who'd take up with number one?

So, vive l'amour! I gaily cried.

And he, poor wretch, was soon forgot,
For I'd a hundred sparks beside.
Was I right, or was I not?

Some shook their heads, but I had skill:
Lovers and friends I went on winning.
What will you have? I flirted still,
Because I flirted at beginning.
A long gay train I led away;

Young Cupid sure was in the plot :
I thought the spell would last for aye.
Was I right, or was I not?

But now 'tis come into my head

That I must grow discreet and sage. For there are hints my charms have fled, And I approach "a certain age."

So the next offer-that's my plan-
I'll nail, decisive on the spot;
"Tis time that I'd secured my man.
Am I right, or am I not?

But ah! though gladly I'd say "Yes,"
The looks of all the men say "No."

Who would have thought 'twould come to this?
But mother says, "I told you so!"
Friends, lovers, danglers, now are gone;
Not one is left of all the lot,
And I'm a "maiden all forlorn!"
Is it right, or is it not?

LESSON XCI.

THE FRATERNITY OF MAN.

The following lines were written by HARRIET MARTINEAU of England. They apply more forcibly to her own country than to ours, but even here they have an application by no means creditable to a country claiming to be free from the abuses of the old world.

All men are equal in their birth,

Heirs of the earth and skies;
All men are equal when that earth
Fades from their dying eyes.

All wait alike on Him whose power
Upholds the life He gave;

The sage within his star-lit tower-
The savage in his cave.

their vows

God meets the throngs who pay
In courts their hands have made;
And hears the worshipper who bows
Beneath the plaintain shade.

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