From his "Garden of Girls."
Dear friend, you will find in your "garden of girls"
That not "rosebuds" alone may be seen,
There the blue-bell of Scotland her petals unfurls,
And the shamrock her trefoil of green.
And when through your garden in spirit you roam,
While the sun in the West slowly pales,
Soft music will steal on your ear from the home
Of the murmuring wind-harp of Wales.
And the song of the harp is the voice of the flowers
In grateful devotion expressed,
For a thousand weeks spent to provide them with hours
With mirth, joy and happiness blest.
[THE RULES OF SOCIETY.]
By LADY WILLIAM LENNOX.
PART I.
The following remarks upon the "Rules of Society" are made for the benefit of those who from one cause or another feel a little uncertain with respect to the small observances which, although not to be counted among the weightier matters in life, yet hold no unimportant place therein, if our daily comfort and well-being are to be considered; but are, indeed, like oil on the wheels, not absolutely essential to movement, but making all the difference as regards smoothness or the reverse.
Life would go on certainly though we were all as rude and uncultivated as could be—sitting on the ground and tearing our food with our hands preparatory to gnawing the bones, and speaking the most terrible home truths to each other without any veil whatever—but it would not be so pleasant. And as civilisation has progressed, so by degrees a sort of code of rules—unwritten in some particulars, but none the less binding—has been evolved very much to the advantage of us all in the way of preventing roughness in manner and making the great machine called Society—which is but another name for an assemblage of human beings—run easily and without friction.