“Can fancy paint, can words express; Can aught on earth my woes redress; E’en thy soft smiles can ceaseless prove Thy truth, thy tenderness and love. Once thou couldst every bliss inspire, Transporting JOY, and gay DESIRE: Now cold DESPAIR her banner rears, And PLEASURE flies when she appears; Fond HOPE within my bosom dies, And AGONY her place supplies: O, thou! for whose dear sake I bear, A doom so dreadful, so severe, May happy fates thy footsteps guide, And o’er thy PEACEFUL home preside; Nor let ELIZA’S early tomb Infect thee, with its baleful gloom.” “WITH a good heart she possessed a poetical imagination, and an unbounded thirst for novelty; but these airy talents, not counterpoised with judgement, or perhaps serious reflection, instead of adding to her happiness, were the cause of her ruin.” “I CONCLUDE from your reasoning,” said I, “and it is besides, my own opinion, that many fine girls have been ruined by reading Novels.” “AND I believe,” added Mrs. _Bourn_, “we may trace from hence the causes of spleen in many persons advanced in life.” “YOU mean old maids, Madam,” cries the sagacious Miss, “like my aunt _Deborah_—she calls all men deceitful, and most women, with her, are no better than they should be.” “WELL said!” exclaimed _Worthy_, “the recollection of chagrin and former disappointment, sours one’s temper and mortifies the heart—disappointment will be more or less severe in proportion as we elevate our expectations; for the most _sanguine tempers_ are the soonest discouraged; as the highest building is in the most danger of falling.” “IT appears from what I have said,” resumed Mr. _Holmes_, “that those books which teach us a knowledge of the world are useful to form the minds of females, and ought therefore to be studied.” I MENTIONED _Rochefoucault’s_ maxims.— “DO they not degrade human nature?” enquired my father.