O H ! this illicit passion, —
'Tis ardent for a season, yet 'twill waste,
Like a wide-flaring and ill-guarded flame,
By its own vehemence; while real Love,
Like the mysterious bush which Moses saw,
Burns — yet is not consumed!

See while the juggler pleasure smiles
Before our dazzled face,
Enchanted by her various wiles
We watch each sportive grace,
But while the fascinating dame
Holds fixed our wondering eyes,
She robs us of our peace and fame,
The gems we most should prize.

Fier, my Savior, Fier,
Satan's camp a-fire;
Fier believer fier

No more rain fall for wet you, Hallelu, hallelu,
No more rain fall for wet you, Hallelujah.
No more sun shine for burn you...
No more parting in de kingdom...
No more backbiting in de kingdom...
Every day shall be Sunday...

ON HAVING RECEIVED SOME PERFUMES .

Why bribe with fragrant gifts the languid muse?
Cast but a glance — what poet can refuse?
The glorious lustre of your eye prevails,
More than the sweetness of Arabian gales:
Soon will Arabia's od'rous breezes die,
But beams immortal sparkle in your eye.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A DOWAGER AND HER MAID ON THE NIGHT OF
LORD YARMOUTH'S FETE .

" I WANT the Court Guide, " said my lady, " to look
" If the House, Seymour Place, be at 30, or 20. " —
" We 've lost the Court Guide , Ma'am, but here 's the Red Book ,
" Where you 'll find, I dare say, Seymour Places in plenty! "

While stable-boys go thundering by
Slinging dark divots at the sky,
Like a wind-hover he stands still
Beside the sun, late on the hill,
And chin on hands, hands on his crook,
Tegs, shearlings, yoes cons like a book
Or sees them pass slow as a cloud,
Four hundred heads with one prayer bowed.

Two ravens from the summit rise and croak
Sailing in circles over the hill-smoke;
Why do their raucous cries strike on my ear
Less than those motor-horns I cannot hear?

I never noticed, till I saw today
How budding birches stand in their green spray
And bracken like a snake from earth upheaves,
How many in this wood are last year's leaves.

M.F.H.

A flower herself to flowers she went,
Sharer of Beauty's banishment;
She left us winter, but to her
It was the springtime of the year.