While each comrade to friendship is passing the bowl.
With his nodding plume, and his manners so free,
A soldier—a soldier’s the lad for me.
Philadelphia, December 20, 1840.
THE BLIND GIRL.
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BY MRS. C. DURANG.
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“Can nothing induce you to give up the idea of going to the ball to-night, my dear Maria?” said the anxious Mr. Worthington, “our dear little one seems quite unwell, and surely the loss, or rather the exchange of one pleasure for another, can not be so distressing, particularly when the one is of so evanescent a nature as a rout.”