and fragrance--floods of it, too!
Gold, did I say? Nay, gold's mere dross!

_Gold Hair._

She had
A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed: she liked whate'er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
* * * * *
'Twas all one! My favour at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her,--all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush at least ...
... Who'd stoop to blame
This sort of trifling?

_My Last Duchess._

W. M. THACKERAY.

To be doing good for some one else, is the life of most good women.
They are exuberant of kindness, as it were, and must impart it to
some one.--_Henry Esmond._

Who ever accused women of being just? They are always sacrificing
themselves or somebody for somebody else's sake.--_Pendennis._

I think it is not national prejudice which makes me believe that a
high-bred English lady is the most complete of all Heaven's
subjects in this world. In whom else do you see so much grace, and
so much virtue; so much faith, and so much tenderness; with such a
perfect refinement and chastity? And by high-bred ladies I don't
mean duchesses and countesses. Be they ever so high in station,
they can be but ladies, and no more. But almost every man who lives
in the world has the happiness, let us hope, of counting a few such
persons amongst his circle of acquaintance,--women, in whose
angelical natures there is something awful, as well as beautiful,
to contemplate; at whose feet the wildest and fiercest of us must
fall down and humble ourselves, in admiration of that adorable
purity which never seems to do or to think wrong.--_Pendennis._

What kind-hearted woman, young or old, does not love
match-making?--_The Newcomes._

Who does not know how ruthlessly women will tyrannize when they are
let to domineer? And who does not know how useless advice is?... A
man gets his own experience about women, and will take nobody's
hearsay; nor, indeed, is the young fellow worth a fig that
would.--_Henry Esmond._

Stupid! Why not? Some women ought to be stupid. What you call
dullness I call repose. Give