Some hapless orphan boy?

When cold despair has gripped a heart still fond,
When there is no young heart that will respond
To it in love, the future is a lie.
If there is none to weep when he is sad,
And share his woe, a man were better dead!--
And so I soon must die.

Give me your pity! often I blaspheme
The sacred name of God. Does it not seem
That I was born in vain?
Why should I bless him? Or why thank Him, since
He might have made me handsome, rich, a prince--
And I am poor and plain?

ETIENNE LOUSTEAU.
September 1836, Chateau d'Anzy.


"And you have written those verses since yesterday?" cried Clagny in a
suspicious tone.

"Dear me, yes, as I was following the game; it is only too evident! I
would gladly have done something better for madame."

"The verses are exquisite!" cried Dinah, casting up her eyes to
heaven.

"They are, alas! the expression of a too genuine feeling," replied