Our tastes agree.

I dote upon

Frail jars, turquoise and celadon,
The "Wedding March" of Mendelssohn,

And Penseroso.

When sorely tempted to purloin
Your pietà of Marc Antoine,
Fair Virtue doth fair play enjoin,
Fair Virtuoso!

At times an Ariel, cruel-kind,

Will kiss my lips, and stir your blind,
And whisper low, "She hides behind;
Thou art not lonely."

The tricksy sprite did erst assist
At hushed Verona's moonlight tryst;
Sweet Capulet! thou wert not kissed
By light winds only.

I miss the simple days of yore,
When two long braids of hair you wore,
And chat botté was wondered o'er,

In corner cosy.

But gaze not back for tales like those:
It's all in order, I suppose,

The Bud is now a blooming ROSE-
A rosy posy!

Indeed, farewell to bygone years;
How wonderful the change appears,
For curates now and cavaliers

In turn perplex you:

The last are birds of feather gay,
Who swear the first are birds of prey;
I'd scare them all had I my way,
But that might vex you.

At times I've envied, it is true,
That hero blithe, of twenty-two,
Who sent bouquets and billets-doux,

And wore a sabre.

The rogue! how close his arm he wound
About her waist who never frowned.
He loves you, child. Now, is he bound
To love my neighbor?

The bells are ringing. As is meet,
White favors fascinate the street,
Sweet faces greet me, rueful-sweet

'Twixt tears and laughter:
They crowd the door to see her go.
The bliss of one brings many woe;
Oh, kiss the bride, and I will throw
The old shoe after.

What change in one short afternoon-
My Charming Neighbor gone-so soon!
Is yon pale orb her honey-moon
Slow rising hither?

O lady, wan and marvellous,
How often have we communed thus;
Sweet memory shall dwell with us,
And joy go with her!

THE OLD CRADLE.

AND this was your Cradle? Why surely, my Jenny,

Such slender dimensions go clearly to show You were an exceedingly small picaninny

Some nineteen or twenty short summers ago.

553

But doubt soon fled those daisy eyes"He could not wish to vex me, could he?"

The brightest eyes are often sad,

But your fair cheek, so lightly swayed, Could ripple into dimples glad,

For O my stars, what mirth we made! The brightest tears are soonest dried,

But your young love and dole were stable; You wept when dear old Rover died,

You wept-and dressed your dolls in sable.

As year succeeds to year, the more
Imperfect life's fruition seems,
Our dreams, as baseless as of yore,

Are not the same enchanting dreams.
The girls I love now vote me slow-

How dull the boys who once seemed witty! Perhaps I'm getting old-I know

I'm still romantic-more's the pity!

Ah, vain regret! to few, perchance, Unknown, and profitless to all; The wisely-gay, as years advance, Are gaily-wise. Whate'er befall, We'll laugh at folly, whether seen

Beneath a chimney or a steeple; At yours, at mine-our own, I mean, As well as that of other people.

They cannot be complete in aught Who are not humorously prone— A man without a merry thought Can hardly have a funny-bone. hate your dismal men

To say

Might be esteemed a strong assertion; If I've blue devils now and then,

I make them dance for my diversion.

And here's your letter debonair!

"My friend, my dear old friend of yore," And is this curl your daughter's hair ? I've seen the Titian tint before. Are we the pair that used to pass

Long days beneath the chestnut shady? You then were such a pretty lass!

I'm told you're now as fair a lady.

I've laughed to hide the tear I shed,
As when the Jester's bosom swells,
And mournfully he shakes his head,
We hear the jingle of his bells.
A jesting vein your poet vexed,

And this poor rhyme, the Fates determine, Without a parson or a text,

Has proved a rather prosy sermon.

THE BEAR-PIT.

AT THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS.

WE liked the bear's serio-comical face,
As he lolled with a lazy, a lumbering grace;
Said Slyboots to me (just as if she had none),
"Papa, let's give Bruin a bit of your bun."

Says I, "A plum bun might please wistful old
Bruin,

He can't eat the stone that the cruel boy threw in;

Stick yours on the point of mamma's parasol, And perhaps he will climb to the top of the pole.

"Some bears have got two legs, and some have got more,

Be good to old bears if they've no legs or four;
Of duty to age you should never be careless,
My dear, I am bald, and I soon may be hairless!

"The gravest aversion exists among bears For rude forward persons who give themselves airs,

We know how some graceless young people they mauled

Just for plaguing a prophet, and calling him bald.

"Strange ursine devotion! Their dancing-days ended,

Bears die to remove' what, in life, they defended:

They succored the Prophet, and since that af

fair

The bald have a painful regard for the bear."

My Moral-small people may read it, and run (The child has my moral, the bear has my bun), Does it argue that Bruin never had peace 'Twixt bald men in Bethel, and wise men in grease?

THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD.

THE characters of great and small

Come ready made (we can't bespeak one); Their sides are many, too-and all

(Except ourselves) have got a weak one. Some sanguine people love for life,

Some love their hobby till it flings themHow many love a pretty wife

For love of the éclat she brings them!

In order to relieve my mind

I've thrown off this disjointed chatter, And much because I'm disinclined

To venture on a painful matter:

I once was bashful; I'll allow

I've blushed for words untimely spoken,

I still am rather shy, and now

And now the ice is fairly broken.

We all have secrets: you have one

Which may n't be quite your charming spouse's;

We all lock up a skeleton

In some grim chamber of our houses;
Familiars who exhaust their days

And nights in plaguing fops and fogies,
And who, excepting spiteful ways,
Are blameless, unassuming bogies.

We hug the phantom we detest,
We rarely let it cross our portals:
It is a most exacting guest,

Now are we not afflicted mortals? Your neighbor Gay, that jovial wight, As Dives rich, and bold as Hector, Poor Gay steals twenty times a night, On shaking knees, to see his spectre.