And should life’s sky be overcast, And gathering clouds around thee close, Should fortune frown and false friends flee, Would that heart still cling close to thee? Who knows—who knows? Or is she, can she ever be, As fickle as the wind that blows, And veers as if it were at play, Trifling with all who own her sway? Who knows—who knows? But why a prey to doubt remain? Why halt ’twixt hope and fear?—propose. She may be waiting till you dare, To crown with love that beauty rare. Who knows—who knows? JOHN NAPIER. * * * * * Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. * * * * * _All Rights Reserved._ * * * * * [Transcriber’s note—the following changes have been made to this text. Page 676: du to de la—“l’ami de la famille”.]