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A LETTER OF ADVICE.

FROM MISS MEDORA TREVILIAN, AT PADUA, TO MISS ARAMINTA

VAVASOUR, IN LONDON.

You tell me you're promised a lover, They wore the red cross on their shoulder, My own Araminta, next week;

They had vanquish'd and pardon'd Why cannot my fancy discover

their foeThe hue of his coat and his cheek? Sweet friend, are you wiser or colder? Alas! if he look like another,

My own Araminta, say "No!". A vicar, a banker, a beau,

You know, when Lord Rigmarole's carBe deaf to your father and mother,

riage My own Araminta, say "No!"

Drove off with your cousin Justine, Miss Lane, at her Temple of Fashion, You wept, dearest girl, at the marriage, Taught us both how to sing and to And whisper'd, “How base she has speak,

been!" And we loved one another with passion, You said you were sure it would kill you, Before we had been there a week:

If ever your husband look'd so; You gave me a ring for a token;

And you will not apostatize—will you? I wear it wherever I go;

My own Araminta, say "No!" I gave you a chain,-is it broken?

When I heard I was going abroad, love, My own Araminta, say "No!"

I thought I was going to die; Oh, think of our favourite cottage, We walk'd arm in arm to the road, love,

And think of our dear “Lalla Rookh !" We look'd arm in arın to the sky; How we shared with the milkmaids their And I said, “When a foreign postillion pottage,

Has hurried me off to the Po, And drank of the stream from the Forget not Medora Trevilian : brook;

My own Araminta, say “No!” How fondly our loving lips falter'd “What further can grandeur bestow?"

We parted! but sympathy's fetters

Reach far over valley and hill; My heart is the same ;-is yours alter'd?

I muse o'er your exquisite letters, My own Araminta, say "No!"

And feel that your heart is mine still; Remember the thrilling romances

And he who would share it with me, love, We read on the bank in the glen;

The richest of treasures below,Remember the suitors our fancies

If he's not what Orlando should be, love, Would picture for both of us then. My own Araminta, say "No!"

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If his lips are not red- If he knows not the language of flowers,

der than roses, My own Araminta, say "No!". If his hands are

He must walk-like a god of old story not whiter than

Come down from the home of his rest; snow,

He must smile-like the sun in his glory If he has not the

On the buds he loves ever the best; model of noses,

And oh! from its ivory portal
My own Araminta,

Like music his soft speech must flow! say “No!"

If he speak, smile, or walk like a mortal,

My own Araminta, say "No!"
If he speaks of a tax
or a duty,

Don't listen to tales of his bounty,
If he does not look Don't hear what they say of his birth,

grand on his Don't look at his seat in the county,
knees,

Don't calculate what he is worth ;
If he's blind to a landscape of beauty, But give him a theme to write verse on,

Hills, valleys, rocks, waters, and trees, And see if he turns out his toe;
If he dotes not on desolate towers, If he's only an excellent person,
If he likes not to hear the blasts blow, My own Araminta, say "No!"

Winthrop M. Praed.

"IF HE KNOWS NOT THE LAN

GUAGE OF FLOWERS."

“BETWIXT THE PATHS A DAINTY BEAUTY STEPT.”

Painted by Maud Humphrey.

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