

THE BOUQUET. 
EE 































CATCHELY. 
SILENE PENNSYLVANICA. 
Artifice, or pretended Love. 
O, I did love her dearly, 
And gave her toys and rings, 
And thought she meant sincerely, 
When she took my pretty things: 
But her heart has grown as icy 
As a fountain in the fall ; 
And her love, that was so spicy, 
It did not last at all. 
Before the gates of fashion 
I daily bent my knee; 
But I sought the shrine of passion, 
And I found my idol — thee. 
Though never love intenser 
Had bowed a soul before it, 
Thine eye was on the censer, 
And not the hand that bore it. 
O. W. HouMgs. 
KOTO 


