VI. Ah me! the facts 'twould just let fly, Of fun'rals-where it peeped to get It knows the inside-out o' folks- I'd write a book, if I could coax VII. Still straight as any gun it stan's An' slowly waves its solemn han's I venerate some clocks I've seen, An' when you come to take the pains The figurative fact remains, That all the clocks can speak. WILL CARLETON. -Ladies' Home Journal, September, 1889. PASSPORT TO PARADISE. To Lucullus, the Patron Saint of Cooks, who was wise enough to feed his Singers on Nightingales' Tongues. "I never expect any sense worth listening to from a man who never dares talk nonsense." -COLERIDGE. My blessed wife! (and may her kind increase) Hypocrisy will count not, nor loud vaunts. Is next to godliness-one must be clean to cook Body and mind and soul! the very trinity of man! To banish taint, impurity, untidiness and pride; But to make clean without, keep the soul free from stain, Embue the mind with purity, a constant guard mantain 'Gainst all polluting influences of body, mind and soul! Sin is a moral filthiness! thou'rt right, cleanse well the whole; Saint, preacher, missionary, sure art thou; Would not be perfect; ope again thy book; I will go back to earth, and there will cook moods Are needless; has he not freely shared with thee He said: "The names of those who best do serve All that thou art, and did? Why, then, he's free the Lord. Deeds, and not words, the Heavenly Master wants: To enter Paradise! read in this book: 'Safe is the man who's wife's the best of cooks.'" PROF. SAMUEL R. PERCY, M. D. SPRING'S IMMORTALITY. THE buds awake, at touch of Spring, By yonder mossy stream. The cuckoo's voice, from copse and vale, The music of the nightingale The nightingale, whom solitude Has kept for ever young; Unaltered, since in studious mood, Calm Milton mused and sung. Ah, strange it is, mine own, to know Spring's gladsome mystery Was always in the long ago Most sweet to such as we. The fresh new leaves, the meek wild flowers Bloomed when the South wind came; And, while Spring's hand carressed the bowers, The throstle sang the same. So, when relentless years ere long Have stilled our love in death; Unchanged will be the throstle's song, Unchanged Spring's answering breath. H. T. MACKEnzie Bell. SUNSET ON PUGET SOUND. BROAD wave on wave of scarlet, fleck'd with gold, Outstretched beneath an opalescent sky, Wherein pale tints with glowing colors vie; From their birthplace within the sea are rolled Sweet perfumes by the sea-breeze, strong and cold. There white sails gleam, and soft cloudshadows lie, And isles are kissed by winds that wanton by, Or rocked by gales, in unchecked passion bold. Locked in by swelling, fir-clad hills, it liesOne stretch of purpling, heaving gold; serene, It laughs and dimples under sunset skies, Toward which the chaste Olympics, snow-girt, lean, And, bathing in that flood of glory, make -Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, Aug. 10,1889. And care is sowing my locks with white, As I wend through the fevered mart. I'm tired of the world, with its pride and pomp I'd barter it all for one day's romp, Swinging in the grapevine swing, Laughing where the wild birds singI would I were away From the world to-day, Swinging in the grapevine swing. SAMUEL MINTURN PECK. -New Orleans Times-Democrat. SUMMER NIGHT. ON all the outer world, a holy hush, A soul-entrancing stillness, steeped in light From pallid morn to evening's fevered flush, In outline clear against the star-lit sky The high-roofed barn stands dark—the silent trees HELEN FAIRBAIRN. -The Week, September 13, 1889. UNCALENDARED. ONLY a year have thou and I been friends, "With God, one day is as a thousand years:" -The Century, September, 1889. POETRY. PRIZE QUATRAINS. FIRST PRIZE. I. She comes like the husht beauty of the night, Her touch is a vibration and a light SECOND PRIZE. 2. Oh, we who know thee know we know thee not, Thou Soul of Beauty, thou Essential Grace! Yet undeterr'd by baffled speech and thought, The heart stakes all upon thy hidden face. THIRD PRIZE. 3. God placed a solid rock man's path across, And bade him climb; but that it might not be Too rough, He wrapped it o'er with tender moss: The rock was Truth, the moss was Poetry. SPECIAL MENTION. 4. 'Tis the celestial body, in which bideth The risen Truth-the form most fair and fit, Which doth reveal the soul, and nothing hideth, And the pure spirit doth illumine it. 5. Paean of peace and ancient battle-song, Love-lyric and pastoral voice thy varied art; Man and the universe to thee belong, Interpreter of Nature and the heart. 6. When Eden's gate was barred, one winged wind Stole out, with the forbidden sweetness fraught; In Poetry it whispers to the mind And is the fragrance and the flower of Thought. 7. Vision, to see in all created things The imprisoned soul thereof that stirs its wings I am the great Amen, the Flower of Life, The moon's spell on the wistful deep- |