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Young, loving, and beloved—these are brief words; And yet they touch on all the finer chords, Whose music is our happiness; the tone May die away, and be no longer known, In the sad changes brought by darker years, When the heart has to treasure up its tears, And life looks mournful on an altered scene— Still it is much to think that it has been.

was yet bathing her eyes with elderflowers, preparatory to going, when her departure was again delayed by another visitor. "Tell her," exclaimed she, "that I am just going to a dying friend—ask if she will see my grandmother."