Which to prevent, she still increased her store;
Laid up, and spared, that she might give the more.

Dryden.

Her Educational Instinct.

Children are what the mothers are.
No fondest father's fondest care
Can fashion so the infant heart
As those creative beams that dart,
With all their hopes and fears, upon
The cradle of a sleeping son.

His startled eyes with wonder see
A father near him on his knee,
Who wishes all the while to trace
The mother in his future face;
But 'tis to her alone, uprise

His wakening arms; to her, those eyes

Open with joy and not surprise.

Landor.

Her best Qualities improved by Education.

I have those hopes of her good, that her Education promises : her disposition she inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind carries virtuous Qualities, there, commendations go with pity, they are Virtues and Traitors too, in her, they are better for their simpleness: she derives her Honesty, and achieves her Goodness.

Shakespeare.

Her Silent Eloquence.

A maiden hath no tongue-but thought.

Shakespeare.

Her Empire.

The empire of woman is an empire of softness, of address, of complacency. Her commands are caresses, her menaces are tears.

Rousseau.

Of England.

May my song soften, as thy daughters, I
Britannia, hail! for beauty is their own,
The feeling heart, simplicity of life,
And elegance, and taste; the faultless form,
Shaped by the hand of harmony; the cheek,

Where the live crimson, through the native white
Soft-shooting, o'er the face diffuses bloom,

And every nameless grace; the parted lip,
Like the red rose-bud moist with morning dew,
Breathing delight; and, under flowing jet,
Or sunny ringlets, or of circling brown,

The neck slight-shaded, and the swelling breast;
The look resistless, piercing to the soul,

And by the soul inform'd, when dress'd in love
She sits high-smiling in the conscious eye.

Thomson.

Standard of Excellence.

Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like thee;
Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move;
And if so fair, from vanity as free;

As firm in friendship, and as fond in love.

Mason.

Her Loving Expectancy.

The tidings spread, and gathering grows the crowd:
The hum of voices, and the laughter loud,

And woman's gentler anxious tone is heard-
Friends'-husbands'-lovers' names in each dear word.

"Oh! are they safe?" we ask not of success

'But shall we see them? will their accents bless ?"From where the battle roars-the billows chafe"They doubtless boldly did-but who are safe?— "Here let them haste to gladden and surprise, "And kiss the doubt from these delighted eyes!"

Byron.

But are ye sure the news is true?

And are ye sure he's weel?
Is this a time to think o' wark?

Ye jauds, fling by your wheel.

There is nae luck about the house,
There is nae luck at a',

There is nae luck about the house,

When our gudeman's awa'.

Is this a time to think o' wark,
When Colin 's at the door?

Rax down my cloak-I'll to the quay,
And see him come ashore.

Rise up and mak a clean fireside,
Put on the mickle pat;

Gie little Kate her cotton goun,
And Jock his Sunday's hat.

And mak their shoon as black as slaes,
Their stockings white as snaw;
It's a' to pleasure our gudeman—
He likes to see them braw.

There are twa hens into the crib,
Hae fed this month and mair,

Mak haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare.

Bring down to me my bigonet,
My bishop's satin goun,

For I maun tell the bailie's wife
That Colin's come to toun.

My Turkey slippers I'll put on,
My stockings pearly blue—
It's a' to pleasure our gudeman,
For he's baith leal and true.

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his tongue; His breath's like caller air;

His very fit has music in't

As he comes up the stair.

And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak?

I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought:

In troth, I'm like to greet.

Her eyes were orbs of thought that on him burn'd,

Fervent as Hesper in the brow of Eve.

Massey.

Her eyes of violet-grey were colour'd rich
With gloom of tender thought, and mirror'd large
Within them starry futures swam and shone.

Ibid.

Such mystic lore was in her eyes,

And light of other worlds than ours,
She look'd as she had gather'd flowers

With little maids of Paradise.

Ibid.