You’re a lady. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. With the same inducements we should all do the same thing. "Shall I never see that sweet face again,—never feel the pressure of those kind hands more—nor listen to that gentle voice! Ah! yes, we shall meet again in Heaven, where I shall speedily join you. This was done, and Austin returned with a crest-fallen look to the table. "And there you're right, you may dipind, marm," observed Terence. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone.
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