LAY OF THE DESERTED INFLUENZAED

Doe, doe!

I shall dever see her bore!

Dever bore our feet shall rove The beadows as of yore!

Dever bore with byrtle boughs Her tresses shall I twide-- Dever bore her bellow voice Bake bellody with bide!

Dever shall we lidger bore, Abid the flow'rs at dood, Dever shall we gaze at dight Upon the tedtder bood!

Ho, doe, doe!

Those berry tibes have flowd, Ad I shall dever see her bore, By beautiful! by owd!

Ho, doe, doe!

I shall dever see her bore, She will forget be id a bonth, (Bost probably before)-- She will forget the byrtle boughs, The flow'rs we plucked at dood, Our beetigs by the tedtder stars.

Our gazigs at the bood.

Ad I shall dever see agaid The Lily and the Rose; The dabask cheek! the sdowy brow!

The perfect bouth ad dose!

Ho, doe, doe!

Those berry tibes have flowd-- Ad I shall dever see her bore, By beautiful! by owd!!

_H. Cholmondeley-Pennell._

BELAGCHOLLY DAYS

Chilly Dovebber with his boadigg blast Dow cubs add strips the beddow add the lawd, Eved October's suddy days are past-- Add Subber's gawd!

I kdow dot what it is to which I cligg That stirs to sogg add sorrow, yet I trust That still I sigg, but as the liddets sigg-- Because I bust.

Add dow, farewell to roses add to birds, To larded fields and tigkligg streablets eke; Farewell to all articulated words I faid would speak.

Farewell, by cherished strolliggs od the sward, Greed glades add forest shades, farewell to you; With sorrowing heart I, wretched add forlord, Bid you--achew!!!

_Unknown._

RHYME OF THE RAIL

Singing through the forests, Rattling over ridges, Shooting under arches, Rumbling over bridges, Whizzing through the mountains, Buzzing o'er the vale-- Bless me! this is pleasant, Riding on the Rail!

Men of different "stations"

In the eye of Fame Here are very quickly Coming to the same.

High and lowly people, Birds of every feather, On a common level Travelling together.

Gentleman in shorts, Looming very tall; Gentleman at large, Talking very small; Gentleman in tights, With a loose-ish mien; Gentleman in grey, Looking rather green;

Gentleman quite old, Asking for the news; Gentleman in black, In a fit of blues; Gentleman in claret, Sober as a vicar; Gentleman in tweed, Dreadfully in liquor!

Stranger on the right, Looking very sunny, Obviously reading Something very funny.

Now the smiles are thicker, Wonder what they mean?

Faith, he's got the |Knicker- Bocker| Magazine!

Stranger on the left, Closing up his peepers; Now he snores again, Like the Seven Sleepers; At his feet a volume Gives the explanation, How the man grew stupid From "a.s.sociation."

Ancient maiden lady Anxiously remarks, That there must be peril 'Mong so many sparks; Roguish-looking fellow, Turning to the stranger, Says it's his opinion _She_ is out of danger!

Woman with her baby, Sitting _vis-a-vis_, Baby keeps a-squalling, Woman looks at me; Asks about the distance, Says it's tiresome talking, Noises of the cars Are so very shocking!

Market-woman, careful Of the precious casket, Knowing eggs are eggs, Tightly holds her basket; Feeling that a smash, If it came, would surely Send her eggs to pot Rather prematurely.

Singing through the forests, Rattling over ridges, Shooting under arches, Rumbling over bridges, Whizzing through the mountains, Buzzing o'er the vale; Bless me! this is pleasant, Riding on the Rail!

_John G. Saxe._

ECHO

I asked of Echo, t'other day (Whose words are often few and funny), What to a novice she could say Of courtship, love, and matrimony.

Quoth Echo plainly,--"Matter-o'-money!"

Whom should I marry? Should it be A dashing damsel, gay and pert, A pattern of inconstancy; Or selfish, mercenary flirt?

Quoth Echo, sharply,--"Nary flirt!"

What if, aweary of the strife That long has lured the dear deceiver, She promise to amend her life, And sin no more; can I believe her?

Quoth Echo, very promptly,--"Leave her!"

But if some maiden with a heart On me should venture to bestow it, Pray, should I act the wiser part To take the treasure or forego it?

Quoth Echo, with decision,--"Go it!"

But what if, seemingly afraid To bind her fate in Hymen's fetter, She vow she means to die a maid, In answer to my loving letter?

Quoth Echo, rather coolly,--"Let her!"

What if, in spite of her disdain, I find my heart intwined about With Cupid's dear delicious chain So closely that I can't get out?

Quoth Echo, laughingly,--"Get out!"

But if some maid with beauty blest, As pure and fair as Heaven can make her, Will share my labor and my rest Till envious Death shall overtake her?

Quoth Echo (sotto voce),--"Take her!"

_John G. Saxe._