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Life is made up of vanities—so small, So mean, the common history of the day,— That mockery seems the sole philosophy. Then some stern truth starts up—cold, sudden, strange; And we are taught what life is by despair:— The toys, the trifles, and the petty cares, Melt into nothingness—we know their worth; The heart avenges every careless thought, And makes us feel that fate is terrible.

the many mirrors called into requisition by Lady Townshend's fête, not one gave back a lovelier likeness than that which reflected the face and form of Lady Marchmont. She was dressed after a picture which had impressed