flora’s dial. 91 
July 2. 
XANTIIIUM. — Rudeness. 
Away! away! You ’re all the same, 
A fluttering, smiling, jilting throng 
Upon my soul I burn with shame, 
To think I’ve been your slave so long! 
Still panting o’er a crowd to reign; 
More joy it gives to woman’s breast, 
To make ten frigid coxcombs vain, 
Than one true, manly lover blest. Moore. 
July 3. 
WOOD-SORREL. — Joy. 
Tranquilly, tranquilly, even thus I live, 
While everything around me, doth a fragrance give; 
In everything there’s joy for me, 
In the land and in the sea, 
In the boundless sky ; 
In each little smiling flower, 
Peering from its shady bower, 
Doth a beauty lie. 
Anon. 
