’Tis thy caress, my blessed one! The hopes in thee bound up, That bid my thanks ascend to Heaven O’er sorrow’s bitter cup. And shall thy noble soul expand To manhood’s ripened years? And will a mother’s sorrow _then_, Have power to move thy tears? Then come——and whilst I fold thee here, My widowed heart is blest; Nor would I for a fortune sell The “jewel” on my breast. * * * * * FLIRTATION. BY EMMA C. EMBURY. “Thy words, whate’er their flattering spell, Could scarce have thus deceived, But eyes that acted truth so well, Were sure to be believed. ’Tis only on thy changeful heart The blame of falsehood lies. Love lives in every other part, But there, alas! he dies.” “My dear Rosa, how could you be so imprudent as to waltz with young Sabretash last night?—Colonel Middleton looked excessively annoyed:” said Mrs. Crafts to her beautiful daughter, as they sat together over their late breakfast. “I acknowledge the imprudence of the act, mamma; but, really, I could not help it. I am heartily wearied of this perpetual restraint,” was the reply. “I thought you were too well practised in flirtation, Rosa, to find any character too difficult for you to play.” “Oh, it is easy enough to suit the taste of everybody, but terribly fatiguing to be obliged to play propriety and prudery so long. However, seven thousand a year is worth some trouble.” “So, then, you count the lover as nothing?” “I beg your pardon, mamma; the Colonel is handsome and gentlemanly—_un peu passé_, it is true, but still a very good-looking appendage to a fine house and a rich equipage.” “Well, make the most of your time, Rosa; I told you I could only afford three winters in town, and this is the last, you know.” “Don’t be alarmed, mamma; I will never return to our dull country village again. I will marry anybody before I will bury myself for life in a stupid country place, and I think Colonel Middleton is rapidly approaching _Proposition Point_.” “He may steer another course, if you are not more cautious than you were last evening. I saw him in close conversation with your cousin Grace while you were dancing.” “And so you want to make me jealous of poor cousin Grace! Ha, ha, ha! that would be too ridiculous—a little pale-faced thing, too timid to speak above her breath, and with manners as unformed as a school-girl’s! No, no, mamma, the Colonel is welcome to talk to her as much as he likes; I am not afraid.” “But you know his taste for poetry and painting—suppose he should discover her talents for both?”