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What Shakspeare said of lovers, might apply To all the world—"'Tis well they do not see The pretty follies that themselves commit." Could we but turn upon ourselves the eyes With which we look on others, life would pass In one perpetual blush and smile. The smile, how bitter!—for 'tis scorn's worst task To scorn ourselves; and yet we could not choose But mock our actions, all we say or do, If we but saw them as we others see. Life's best repose is blindness to itself.

,—So, at last, I have met poor Ethel's rival; and, as is always the case when one forms an idea to one's self, she is as different as possible from what I anticipated. Pale, and delicate almost to