Lehigh University
The Vault at PfaffsAn Archive of Art and Literature by the Bohemians of Antebellum New York
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Text for Page 212 [06-05-1853]

              unhappy girl.            She had her child brought to her, at, I
half think, a strong suggestion of mine.   It cried to  be
restored to arms of its Irish nurse; � she put it back
with a phrase of hate!             �Tis almost a stranger to her,
and I am sure loves its nurse more than its mother.   Poor
child, and wretched mother!         Now Whytal does love his
child, little ill-looking, common place-speaking well meaning
clay as he is.           But she � how can woman�s heart
and feelings be stirred within her, � how one sincere thought 
produced?      �Tis writing on the sand,    the next wave of 
circumstance blurs and swamps all.       By turns impressive,
flippant, reckless, � every thing wrong by turns, and naught
lasting.        She told me of Dod, the small Dod,
whom I fancied dozed by her face.     She shared the
moonshine � fancied she � pah � �loved him!� � till he
proved unworthy, would have been feebly dishonorable, or
somewhat; � that she�d seen him that night somewhere
with his arm round a girls waist, � that she�d seek
her out � tell what he was � pah!
  I told her what all this was worth, as gently as I could.
But �twas of little use.   �She was so!� �It was her nature,
she couldn�t help it!�             
She�ll go her own road, self tormenting, despite               
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