_Columbia Spectator_
~The Difference.~
All in the days of long ago,
When Grandfather a-wooing went,
He looked a gallant, dashing beau,
And with his looks was well content
He rode beside My Lady's chair
With gracious salutation,
He vowed she was divinely fair
And told his adoration.
But now, alas, poor Grandfather
Would stand but sorry chances
Of passionately telling her
His bosom's sweetest fancies.
For since a wheel My Lady rides,
The bravest, gayest courtier
Would lose her, if he weren't besides
A fairly rapid scorcher.
H.K. WEBSTER.
_Hamilton Literary Monthly._
~The Lenten Maid.~
Her wonted smiles are turned to frowns,
Her laugh a sigh,
Sackcloth and ashes for ball gowns--
Ah, luckless I.
While worldly thought! away are gone,--
Her Lenten part,--
Does Cupid blunt his darts upon
A stony heart?
Ah, though her mirth and jollities
She puts aside,
The silent laughter of her eyes
She cannot hide.
S. R. KENNEDY.
_Yale Record_.
~Wealth.~
I like pretty maids flushed with joy,
With glad hair blowing free.
They smile right kind on many a boy,
But only one on me.
But I have a penny, a fiddle, and Joan,
And my sweet Joan has me.
Meadow and flock, the wise folk said,
It never were right to miss,
But my maid Joan has a kirtle red
And a merry mouth to kiss.
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