It was my evil star above, Not my sweet lute, that wrought me wrong; It was not song that taught me love, But it was love that taught me song. - Letitia Elizabeth Landon

The poor child, as Charles Lamb so touchingly expresses it, is not brought, but "dragged out," and if the wits are sharpened, so, too, is the soft, round cheek. The crippled limb and broken constitution attest the effects of the over-early struggle with penury; but the child of rich parents suffers, though in another way; there is the heart that is crippled, by the selfishness of indulgence and the habit of relying upon others. It takes years of harsh contact with the realities of life to undo the enervating work of a spoilt and over aided childhood. We cannot too soon learn the strong and useful lessons of exertion and self-dependance.

But as old tradition tells,
There are other, deeper, spells
In the lone and mystic wells —
Spells of strange wild augury
Few have had the heart to try. —

My spell is done, my prize is won ;
True love! thou hast equal none;
True love ! who could choose for thee
Gold or gems or vanity ?
Where is the spell whose charm will prove,
Like the spell of thy charm, true love ?