A BRIEF HISTORY, IN THREE PARTS, WITH A SEQUEL.

A GLANCE—a thought—a blow—
It stings him to the core.
A question—will it lay him low?
Or will time heal it o'er?

He kindles at the name—
He sits and thinks apart;
Time blows and blows it to a flame,
Burning within his heart.

He loves it though it burns,
And nurses it with care;
He feels the blissful pain by turns
With hope, and with despair.