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fault, it is an unpleasant one-both for them-
selves and for their friends. With much sympathy
for both, I dedicate these few suggestions to my
known and unknown friends who are passing
through it.

OXFORD, April 4, 1893.

L. H. M. SOULSBY.

PREFACE TO NEW EDITION

IN bringing out a new edition, the book has been
enlarged by adding papers on "Making Plans,"
"Conversation," "Get up, M. le Comte!" "Sun-
day," and "A good Time;" "Coming out" has
been omitted, and "Friendship and Love" some-
what altered. The present form has been adopted
in order to make it match the other volumes of
"Stray Thoughts."

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L. H. M. SOULSBY.

BRONDESBURY, Nov. 23, 1903.

'The Sweet, Sweet Love of Daughter,

"I have discovered a thing very little known, which is, that in one's whole life one can never have more than a single mother. You may think this obvious and (what you call) a trite observation. You are a green gosling! I was at the same age (very near) as wise as you, and yet I never discovered this (with full evidence and conviction, I mean) till it was too late."-Gray's Letters.

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"I desired to make her my wife, knowing that she would be a counsellor of good things, and a comfort in cares and grief. For her conversation hath no bitterness; and to live with her hath no sorrow, but mirth and joy."—Wisdom of Solomon.

LINES

WRITTEN ON BEING TOLD THAT A LADY WAS "PLAIN AND COMMONPLACE."

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When I look at the thought for others

That is written on her brow.

The eyes are not fine, I own,

She has not a well-cut nose,
But a smile for others' pleasures
And a sigh for others' woes :

Quick to perceive a want,
Quicker to set it right,
Quickest in overlooking
Injury, wrong, or slight.

Nothing to say for herself,

That is the fault you find!
Hark to her words to the children,
Cheery and bright and kind.

Hark to her words to the sick,
Look at her patient ways;
Every word she utters

Speaks to the speaker's praise.

"Nothing to say for herself,"

Yes! right, most right, you are,
But plenty to say for others,
And that is better by far.

B

Purity, truth, and love,

Are they such common things?
If hers were a common nature,
Women would all have wings.

Talent she may not have,
Beauty, nor wit, nor grace,
But, until she's among the angels,
She cannot be commonplace.

Arthur Heathcote.

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