CONSTANCY AND COQUETRY,

done in a style to defy any imitation in mezzotint,

GOOD COUNSEL AND EVIL COUNSEL,

DRESS THE MAKER AND DRESS THE WEARER

* * * * *

[Illustration]

THE VALENTINES.

  The fires of February lit the hearth,
  And shone with welcome lustre on the brows
  Of two most lovely maidens, as they sat
  Expecting, in their heart of hearts, the notes
  Called “Valentines,” that February brings
  Upon its fourteenth day, to tell, in rhyme,
  All fair and gentle ladies whether they
  Have made new conquests, or have kept the old
  As fresh as new-blown roses in the hearts
  Of their admiring slaves.  One of the girls
  (Laughing and lovely was she), ever won
  High hearts to do her bidding, dreaming it
  No sin that all should yield her love and homage,
  Yet was no trifling, passionless coquette. 
  Her winning beauty was the standing toast
  Of the wide neighborhood, and serenades
  From many a gallant woke the sleeping echoes
  Beneath her window, and her name was like
  The silvery pealing of a tinkling bell;
  (Perhaps ’tis yours, fair reader,) “Clairinelle.”

  May sat beside her with a graver air,
  Something more matronly controlled her mien;
  Yet was she not a sighing “sentimentalist,”
  But, like her cousin Cary, could be gay: 
  Two Valentines had come for these fair girls,
  Which made the dimpled smiles show teeth like pearls
  Pray, read those tender missives—­here they are—­

CLAIRINELLE’S VALENTINE.

  The maiden I love is the fairest on earth,
  Her laugh is the clear, joyous music of mirth;
  I think of the angels whenever she sings—­
  She’s a seraph from Heaven, but folding her wings. 
  The least little act that she doeth is kind;
  Her goodness all springs from a beautiful mind. 
  I love her much more than I know how to tell;
  Let her do what she will, it is always done well: 
  Her voice is the murmur the mild zephyr makes
  As it steals through the forest and ruffles the lakes: 
  Her eyes are so gentle, so calm, and so blue,
  That I’m sure that she’s constant, and trusting, and true: 
  Her features are delicate, classic, and pure: 
  Her hair is light chestnut, and I’m almost sure
  That the sunbeams that bathe it can’t set themselves free: 
  Her teeth are like pearls from the depths of the sea. 
  A bee in a frolic once stung her red lip,
  And left there the honey he hastened to sip: 
  Let her go where she will, she is always the belle,
  And her name, her sweet name, is the fair Clairinelle.

MAY’S VALENTINE.