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THE LOVER'S FRIEND.

The birds make music when she speaks,

And vanquished by her voice, despair.

The bending flags that kiss the stream

Move not more gracefully than she;

A vision in a summer's dream,

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She wakes all nature's jubilee."

Pretty far gone, is n't he? He is spending a small fortune on expressage and postage-stamps, and every day gives me a little treat of this sort. Some of the most sublime poets have sung of the lover's woes; I think some one had better sing of the woes of the lover's intimate friend.

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