A

TWICKENHAM FERRY

HOY! and Oho! and it's who's for the ferry?"

(The brier's in bud and the sun going down;) "And I'll row ye so quick and I'll row ye so steady, And 'tis but a penny to Twickenham Town." The ferryman's slim and the ferryman's young, With just a soft tang in the turn of his tongue; And he's fresh as a pippin and brown as a berry, And 'tis but a penny to Twickenham Town.

"Ahoy! and Oho! and it's I'm for the ferry;"
(The brier's in bud and the sun going down;)
"And it's late as it is, and I haven't a penny:

Oh, how can I get me to Twickenham Town?»
She'd a rose in her bonnet, and oh! she looked sweet
As the little pink flower that grows in the wheat,
With her cheeks like a rose and her lips like a cherry —
"And sure, but you're welcome to Twickenham Town."

"Ahoy! and Oho!

>>

You're too late for the ferry; (The brier's in bud and the sun has gone down;) And he's not rowing quick and he's not rowing steady,It seems quite a journey to Twickenham Town. "Ahoy! and Oho!" you may call as you will: The young moon is rising o'er Petersham Hill;

And with Love like a rose in the stern of the wherry, There's danger in crossing to Twickenham Town.

'Tis rumored chocolate creams

Are the fabrics of her dreams-
But enough!

I know beyond a doubt

That she carries them about
In her muff.

With her dimples and her curls
She exasperates the girls
Past belief:

They hint that she's a cat,
And delightful things like that,
In their grief.

It is shocking, I declare!
But what does Dollie care
When the beaux

Come flocking to her feet

Like the bees around a sweet

Little rose!

SAMUEL MINTURN PECK.

DOROTHY

HEY tell me 'tis foolish to prate of love

THEY

In the sweet and olden way:

They say I should sing of loftier things,

For Love has had his day.

But when Dorothy comes

I cannot choose,—

I must follow her

Though the world I lose;

My very soul

Pours forth in song
When dainty Dorothy

Trips along.

It is all very well to say to me

That Browning's noble strain

Rises and swells with the tide of thought
Or throbs with the pulse of pain;

But if Dorothy once

Had crossed his path,

Her radiance such

A witchery hath
That across the world
Would not seem long

To follow Dorothy

With his song.

CHARLES HENRY PHELPS.

RENOUNCEMENT

MUST not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,

I shun the thought that lurks in all delight

The thought of thee-and in the blue heaven's height,

And in the sweetest passage of a song.

Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng

This breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden yet bright; But it must never, never come in sight:

I must stop short of thee the whole day long.

But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,

When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,

Must doff my will as raiment laid away,

With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart.

ALICE MEYNell.

THE WITCH IN THE GLASS

"M

Y MOTHER Says I must not pass
Too near that glass:

She is afraid that I will see

A little witch that looks like me,
With red, red mouth to whisper low
The very thing I should not know!"

"Alack for all your mother's care!
A bird of the air,

A wistful wind, or (I suppose,
Sent by some hapless boy) a rose,

With breath too sweet, will whisper low
The very thing you should not know!"

SARAH M. B. PIATT.

IF I COULD ONLY WRITE

ND will you write a letter for me, padre?” —

AND

"Yes, child. no need to tell me the address!"

"Do you know whom it's for because on that dark

evening

You saw us walking ?" "Yes."

"Pardon! forgive!"—"Oh no, I don't reproach you!
The night, the chance - they tempted you, I know.
Pass me the pen and paper-I will begin, then—»
My own Antonio!

"My own'?».

"Why, yes, I have it written;

But if you like, I'll -»-«Oh no, no, go on!"
How sad I am -"Is that it?" "Yes, of course, sir!"
How sad I am alone!

Now that I'm writing you, I feel so troubled! "How do you know so well?" —

"The secrets of a young girl's heart, my daughter,
The old can always tell."

What is this world alone? A vale of tears, love!
With you -a happy land!

"Be sure you write it plainly, won't you, padre ?
So that he'll understand."

The kiss I gave you on the eve of marching –
«< Why, how did you find out ?>
"Oh, when young people come and go together,
Always-nay, do not pout!"

And if your love can't bring you back here quickly,
'Twill make me suffer-1-

"Suffer! and nothing more? No, no, dear padre, Tell him 'twill make me die!"

"Die! child, do you know that offends our Father?" "But still, padre, write die!»

"I will not write 'die."- "What a man of iron! If I could only try!

"Oh no, it is no use, you dear good padre:
'Twill never perfect be

If in these signs you cannot lay before him
The very heart of me.

"Write him, I pray you, that my soul without him
Would gladly mourn and die,

But that this lonely heartache does not kill me
Because I've learned to cry.

"And that my lips, the roses of my love's breath,
Will never ope again;

That they forget the very art of smiling,

By dint of so much pain.

"And that my eyes he always thought so lovely,—
No longer clear and bright,

Since there is no dear face to mirror in them,-
Forever shun the light.

"And that of all the torments ever suffered,
Parting's most hard to bear;

That like a dream the echo of his voice is ringing
Forever in my ear.

"But since it is for his dear sake I suffer,

My heavy heart grows light;

Goodness! how many things I'd like to tell him
If I could only write!

"But, padre"-"Bravo, Amor! I'll copy and conclude there.
Our learning should be meek.

'Tis clear that one needs for this style of writing
Small Latin and less Greek."

Translation of Ellen Watson.

CAMPOAMOR (Spanish).

LOVE AND YOUTH

wo wingèd genii in the air

Two

I greeted as they passed me by:
The one a bow and quiver bare,
The other shouted joyously.
Both I besought to stay their speed,
But never Love nor Youth had heed
Of my wild cry.

As swift and careless as the wind,

Youth fled, nor ever once looked back;