T Is The Divinity That Stirs Within

There Is Nothing Touches Our Imagination So Much As A Beautiful Woman In A Plain Dress.

Soon As The Evening Shades Prevail, The Moon Takes Up The Wondrous Tale, And Nightly To The Listening Earth Repeats The Story Of Her Birth.

When A Woman Comes To Her Class, She Does Not Employ Her Time In Making Herself Look More Advantageously What She Really Is, But Endeavours To Be As Much Another Creature As She Possibly Can. Whether This Happens Because They Stay So Long And Attend Their Work So Diligently That They Forget The Faces And Persons, Which They First Sat Down With, Or Whatever It Is, They Seldom Rise From The Toilet The Same Woman They Appeared When They Began To Dress

What Sunshine Is To Flowers, Smiles Are To Humanity. These Are But Trifles, To Be Sure; But Scattered Along Life's Pathway, The Good They Do Is Inconceivable.

Ladies Are Always Of Great Use To The Party They Espouse, And Never Fail To Win Over Numbers To It. Lovers, According To Sir William Petty's Computation, Make At Least The Third Part Of Sensible Men Of The British Nation; And It Has Been An Uncontroverted Maxim In All Ages, That Though A Husband Is Sometimes A Stubborn Sort Of A Creature, A Lover Is Always At The Devotion Of His Mistress. By This Means, It Lies In The Power Of Every Fine Woman, To Secure At Least Half A Dozen Able-bodied Men To His Majesty's Service.