Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek?--is meeting noses? Kissing with inside lip?--stopping the career Of laughter with a sigh?--(a note infallible Of breaking honesty:)--horsing foot to foot?-- Skulking in corners?--wishing clocks more swift?-- Hours, minutes?--noon, midnight? and all eyes Blind with the pin and web, but theirs,--theirs only, That would unseen be wicked?--is this nothing? Why, then the world, and all that’s in it, is nothing. _Shakspeare._ * * * * * Thou wondrous yellow fiend! Temper an antidote with antimony, And ’tis infectious: Mix jealousy with marriage, It poisons virtue. _Davenport._ * * * * * O jealousy! thou bane of pleasing friendship, Thou worst invader of our tender bosoms; How does thy rancour poison all our softness, And turn our gentle natures into bitterness! _Rowe._ * * * * * Ah! poor unconscious rival maid, How drearily must thou sicken and fade, ’Neath jealousy’s dark Upas shade! _Tupper._ RED ROSE.... _Beauty and Love_. According to ancient fable, the red colour of the Rose may be traced to Venus, whose delicate foot, when she was hastening to the relief of her beloved Adonis, was pierced by a thorn that drew blood, Which on the White Rose being shed, Made it for ever after red. _Herrick._ Miller, the “basket-maker” and poet, gives the following beautiful account of the origin of the Red Rose:--