























FLORA’S ALBUM. 
Sorrel. 
WIT. 
In her bower a widow dwelt, 
At her feet three lovers knelt ; 
Fach adored the widow much, 
Each essayed her heart to touch, ? 
One had wit, and one had gold; — 
One was cast in beawty’s mould : 
Guess which was it won the prize, — 
Tongue, or purse, or handsome eyes ? 
First began the handsome man ; 
Peeping proudly o’er her fan : 
Red his lips, and white his skin, — 
Could such beauty fail to win ? 
Then stepped forth the man of gold 5 
Cash he counted, coin he told ; 
Wealth the burden of the tale, — 
Could such golden projects fail ? 
Then the man of wit and sense 
‘Wooed her with his eloquence ; 
Now she heard him with a sigh, — 









Then she blushed, scarce knowing why, — 
Then she smiled to hear him speak, — 
Then a tear was on her cheek: 
Beauty, vanish, — Gold, depart ! 
‘Wir hath won the widow’s heart. 




T, H, BAYLY. 









