Little Helen—list awhile, And I’ll strive to wake a smile On thy pure and dimpled cheek, As I tell thee of a freak That thy dainty spirit played, Dreaming not ’twould be betrayed. Little one—when thou to-day, Cradled in sweet slumber lay, To a very distant goal, Lo! thy truant spirit stole. To my study, love, it came; And I hope thou wilt not blame, That with eager, wild delight, Greeted I a guest so bright! With a sweetly joyous shout, First it gayly skipped about, Chanting forth a song of glee, That awhile it might be free! Then it nestled at my side, Welcomed there with love and pride, When it touched my silent lute, Asking why its chords were mute? And with eyes upraised to mine, Pleaded for a Valentine! Little Helen—not in vain Did thy spirit seek the strain; Not in vain, love, did it stray From its native haunts away; For I roused my lyre again, Singing to a soft refrain Prayers and wishes, warm and fond, For thy Future—Helen Bond! And such prayers are and will be Gushing from my soul for thee Every day and every hour, Rare and lovely little flower! Long may they who guard thy bloom Live thy life-path to illume; And may hearts as true respond E’er to thine, sweet Helen Bond! Where thy fairy feet fall lightly Ever may _their_ eyes beam brightly, And those voices meet thine own, Cherishing its faintest tone. So will Love and Happiness, Spirits bright, that reign to bless, O’er thee wave their magic wand, Darling little Helen Bond! Here are two Valentines written upon the same sheet of paper—not for economy’s sake, gentle reader, but to convey an idea that the parties addressed are as they profess to be—one in spirit. The first is inscribed to Mabel Wilmot, and the following is its language. Mable, dear Mable! pray beware, Or else you’ll fall into a snare; Laid down, I’m very much afraid For you—a volunteer—old-maid! _He_ waits but till you’re free from school, To take you ’neath his lordly rule; For then he hopes to hear you say, You’ll “love and honor and obey!” ’Tis naught to you, though wealth and _merit_ Beyond a doubt he does inherit; You’re bound to live and die a maid, Demure, respectable and staid. So, Mable, darling, _do_ beware Of that gay sportsman’s cunning snare, And as your hand and heart’s his mark. Just bid your heart _emit the spark_! Upon the opposite page are traced the ensuing lines to Fanny Gordon.