flora’s dial. 123 
September 12. 
JONQUIL. — Longings. 
Dark mournful spirits sadly throng the arena 
Of life ; a wild and bloody sea of waves, 
Fatal to hope and faith, is beating madly 
’Gainst the faint spirit. 
Lull me to rest then, with thy gentle murmurs, 
Like mother-music heard in balmy slumber, — 
That I may know the life, serene and glorious, 
Of the first human spirit ! 
Heydtnreich . J. 17. H. 
September 13. 
LOVE IN A SNARL. — Embarrassment. 
Heigho ! for a husband ! heigho ! 
There ’s danger in longer delay ! 
Shall I never again have a beau ? 
Will nobody many me, pray ? 
I begin to feel strange, I declare ! 
With beauty my prospects will fade, — 
I ’d give myself up to despair 
If I thought I should die an old maid. 
Morris. 
