And my kisses shall teach thy lips

The love that shall fade no more

Till the sun grows cold,

And the stars are old,

And the leaves of the Judgment Book un

fold!

SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.

BY HENRY CAREY.

Little is known of this English poet and musical composer except that he was born near the end of the seventeenth century-about 1693and that he is supposed to have committed suicide at London in 1743. He wrote several burlesques and farces, but is chiefly noted as the author of "God Save the King" and "Sally in Our Alley."

Of all the girls that are so smart

There's none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
There is no lady in the land.
Is half so sweet as Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

Her father he makes cabbage nets,

And through the streets does cry 'em;

Her mother she sells laces long

To such as please to buy 'em ;

But sure such folks could ne'er beget
So sweet a girl as Sally!

She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

Of all the days that's in the week

I dearly love but one day—

And that's the day that comes betwixt
A Saturday and Monday;

For then I'm drest all in my best
To walk abroad with Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

Edward J. McPhelim, a singer of many sweet songs, became mute in 1896 at an age all too young. For several years he was dramatic and literary critic for "The Tribune," departments in which his rare critical ability and wonderful command of language found full scope. His poems, which have never been collected, contain fancies as poetic and delicate as any in the English tongue. The following, on Lamb and his sister, is significant, considering where McPhelim's last days were spent:

Across the English meadows sweet,
Across the smiling sunset land,
I see them walk with faltering feet,
Brother and sister, hand in hand.

They know the hour of parting nigh,
They pass into the dying day,

And, lo! against the sunset sky

Looms up the madhouse gaunt and gray.

He keeps the lonely lamp aglow,
While old loves whisper in the air
Of unforgotten long ago

Before his heart had known despair.

He waits till she may come once more
From out the darkness to his side,
To share the changeless love of yore
When all the old, old loves have died.

Between me and this gentle book,

Shining with humor rich and quaint,
The sad scene rises, and I look
Upon a jester-or a saint.

I lift my eyes, still brimming o'er

With love and laughter-and there falls.

Across the page forever more,

The shadow of the madhouse walls!

SONG.

BY WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.