"
"Yet stay, my pretty, the stepping-stones
Are a bridge o' my are hands' making.
An ye pay no toll I maun be so bold--
The sweeter a kiss for taking."
"Farewell, ye braw young Highlander.
Tho' first ye sought to mask it:
Unceevil 'tis to steal a kiss.
But muckle waur to ask it."
CHARLES POTTER HINE.
_Yale Literary Magazine_.
~A Foreign Tongue.~
When lovers talk, they talk a foreign tongue,
Their words are not like ours,
But full of meanings like the throb of flowers
Yet in the earth, unborn. I think the snow
Feels the mysterious passage and the flow
Of inarticulate streams that surge below.
And it is easy learning for the young;
When lovers talk, they talk a foreign tongue.
ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH.
_Smith College Monthly_.
~Ye Gold-Headed Cane.~
It stands in the corner yet, stately and tall,
With a top that once shone like the sun.
It whispers of muster-field, playhouse, and ball,
Of gallantries, courtship, and fun.
It is hardly the stick for the dude of to-day,
He would swear it was deucedly plain,
But the halos of memory crown its decay--
My grandfather's gold-headed cane.
It could tell how a face in a circling calash
Grew red as the poppies she wore,
When a dandy stepped up with a swagger and dash.
And escorted her home to her door.
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