Go contemplate this lovely sign! Haste thee away to reason’s shrine, And listen to her voice; No more illusive shades pursue, To happiness this gives the clue, Make but a prudent choice. ’Till Adam had a partner given, Much as fair Eden bloom’d like heaven, His bliss was incomplete; No social friend those joys to share, Gave the gay scene a vacant air! She came--’twas all replete. And could not genuine Paradise, The most extensive wish suffice, Its guiltless lord possest? No--not without a kindred mate; How then in this degen’rate state, Can man, alone be blest? But now the Muse withdraws her aid; Enough, thy folly to upbraid; Enough to make thee wise: No more of pensive hours complain, No more, that all life’s joys are vain, If thou this hint despise. Feb. 13, 182--. _A Friend._ “Well now, this is capital!” exclaimed the laughing lass. “After _such_ a Valentine, you _must_ take the hint, my dear sir, it’s really a shame that so good-natured a man should remain a bachelor. I recollect, that when I could only just run about, you used to be _so_ kind to me; besides, how you dandled and played with me! and since then, how you have read to me and instructed me till I grew up! Such a man is the very man to be married: you are every way domestic, and it’s _settled_; you _must_ get married.”--“Well, then, will _you_ have me?” he inquired, with a cheerful laugh. “_I_ have you? No! Why, you are too old; but not too old to find a wife: there are many ladies whom we know, of your age, wholly disengaged; but you don’t pay them any _particular_ attention.” Her father interposed; and the gentleman she addressed playfully said, “It is a little hard, indeed, that I should have these fine compliments and severe reproaches at the same time: however,” taking her by the hand, “you will understand, that it _is_ possible I _may_ have paid _particular_ attention to a lady at an age when the affections are warmer; I did; and I reconciled myself to rejection by courting my books and the pleasures of solitude-- Hast thou been ever waking From slumbers soft and light, And heard sweet music breaking The stillness of the night; When all thy soul was blending With that delightful strain, And night her silence lending To rivet fancy’s chain; Then on a sudden pausing, Those strains have ceas’d to play A painful absence causing Of bliss that died away! So from my soul has vanish’d The dream of youthful days; So Hope and Love are banish’d, And _Truth_ her pow’r displays.” * * * * * The origin of so pleasant a day, the first pleasant day in the year, whether its season be regarded, or the mode of its celebration, requires some little investigation; nor must some of its past and present usages be unrecorded here. _St. Valentine’s Morning._