When The Evening Was Over, Anne Could

You Are Too Generous To Trifle With Me. If Your Feelings Are Still What They Were Last April, Tell Me So At Once. My Affections And Wishes Are Unchanged; But One Word From You Will Silence Me On This Subject For Ever.

With Women, The Heart Argues, Not The Mind.

Her Pleasure In The Walk Must Arise From The Exercise And The Day, From The View Of The Last Smiles Of The Year Upon The Tawny Leaves And Withered Hedges, And From Repeating To Herself Some Few Of The Thousand Poetical Descriptions Extant Of Autumn-that Season Of Peculiar And Inexhaustible Influence On The Mind Of Taste And Tenderness-that Season Which Has Drawn From Every Poet Worthy Of Being Read Some Attempt At Description, Or Some Lines Of Feeling.

Full Many A Flower Is Born To Blush Unseen, And Waste Its Fragrance On The Desert Air.

It Is Indolence... Indolence And Love Of Ease; A Want Of All Laudable Ambition, Of Taste For Good Company, Or Of Inclination To Take The Trouble Of Being Agreeable, Which Make Men Clergymen. A Clergyman Has Nothing To Do But Be Slovenly And Selfish; Read The Newspaper, Watch The Weather, And Quarrel With His Wife. His Curate Does All The Work And The Business Of His Own Life Is To Dine.