I love to sing their ancient rhymes, to hear their legends told:

But, Heaven be thanked, I lived not in those blessed times of old!

NINETY-NINE IN THE SHADE.

ROSSITER JOHNSON.

Он, for a lodge in a garden of cucumbers!
Oh, for an iceberg or two at control!
Oh, for a vale which at mid-day the dew cumbers!
Oh, for a pleasure trip up to the pole!

Oh, for a little one-story thermometer,

With nothing but zeros all ranged in a row! Oh, for a big double-barrelled hygrometer,

To measure the moisture that rolls from my brow!

Oh, that this cold world was twenty times colder! — (That's irony red-hot, it seemeth to me);

Oh, for a turn of its dreadful cold shoulder;
Oh, what a comfort an ague would be!

Oh, for a grotto to typify heaven,

Scooped in the rock, under cataract waste!
Oh, for a Winter of discontent, even;
Oh, for wet blankets judiciously cast!

Oh, for a soda-fount spouting up boldly,

From every hot lamp-post against the hot sky! Oh, for a proud maiden to look on me coldly, Freezing my soul with a glance of her eye!

Oh, for a draught from a cup of cold pizen

And oh, for a resting-place in the cold grave,

With a bath in the Styx where the deep shadow lies on And deepens the chill of its dark-running wave!

EQUALITY AT HOME.

ANONYMOUS.

"ANTOINE," said Mirabeau, returning gay From the Assembly, "on and from this day Nobility's abolished, men are men,

No title henceforth used but Citizen!

A new thrice-glorious era dawns for France!
And now, my bath." "Yes, Citizen." A glance
Of flame the huge man at his servant shot;

66

Then, wallowing sea-god-like, " Antoine! more hot,"
He growls. "Here, Citizen."
Here, Citizen." A hand of wrath
Gripped Antoine's head, and soused it in the bath; —
He spluttering, dripping, trembling, -"Rascal! know,"
His master thundered, as he let him go,
"With you I still remain Count Mirabeau!"

THE SINGING LESSON.

JEAN INGELOW.

A NIGHTINGALE made a mistake;
She sang a few notes out of tune;
Her heart was ready to break,

And she hid away from the moon.

She wrung her claws, poor thing!
But was far too proud to weep;
She tucked her head under her wing,
And pretended to be asleep.

A lark arm in arm with a thrush,
Came sauntering up to the place;
The nightingale felt herself blush,
Though feathers hid her face.
She knew they had heard her song,

She felt them snicker and sneer; She thought this life was too long, And wished she could skip a year.

"Oh, Nightingale," cooed a dove-
"Oh, Nightingale, what's the use?
You bird of beauty and love,
Why behave like a goose?
Don't skulk away from our sight,
Like common, contemptible fowl;

You bird of joy and delight,
Why behave like an owl?

"Only think of all you have done,
Only think of all you can do;
A false note is really fun

From such a bird as you.

Lift up your proud little crest,

Open your musical beak;

Other birds have to do their best

You need only to speak."

The nightingale shyly took

Her head from under her wing,
And, giving the dove a look,

Straightway began to sing.
There was never a bird could pass;
The night was divinely calm,
And the people stood on the grass
To hear that wonderful psalm.

The nightingale did not care;
She only sang to the skies;
Her song ascended there,

And there she fixed her eyes.
The people that stood below
She knew but little about;
And this story's a moral, I know,
If you'll try to find it out.

BALLADE OF BLUE CHINA.

ANDREW LANG.

THERE'S a joy without canker or cark;
There's a pleasure eternally new:
'Tis to gloat on the glaze and the mark
Of china that's ancient and blue;
Unchipped all the centuries through
It has passed since the chime of it rang,
And they fashioned it, figure and hue,
In the reign of the Emperor Hwang.

These dragons (their tails, you remark,
Into bunches of gillyflower grew) —
When Noah came out of the ark,

Did these lie in wait for his crew?

They snorted, they snapped, and they slew, They were mighty of fin and of fang, And their portraits Celestials drew In the reign of the Emperor Hwang.

Here's a pot, with a cot in a park,

In a park where the peach-blossoms blew, Where the lovers eloped in the dark,

And died, and were changed into two Bright birds, that eternally flew Through the boughs of the May, as they sang; 'Tis a tale was undoubtedly true. In the reign of the Emperor Hwang.

Envoy.

Come, snarl at my ecstasies, do,

Kind critic, your tongue has no fang;

But a sage never minded a shrew,

In the days of the Emperor Hwang.

PADDY BLAKE'S ECHO.

SAMUEL LOver.

IN the gap of Dunlo

There's an echo, or so,

And some of them echoes is very surprisin';