Our tastes agree.
I dote upon
Frail jars, turquoise, and celadon,

The Wedding March of Mendelssohn,
And Penseroso.

When sorely tempted to purloin
Your Pietà of Marc Antoine,
Fair virtue doth fair play enjoin,
Fair Virtuoso!

At times an Ariel, cruel-kind,

Will kiss my lips, and stir your blind, And whisper low, "She hides behind; Thou art not lonely."

The tricksy sprite would erst assist At hush'd Verona's moonlight

tryst ;

Sweet Capulet, thou wert not kiss'd By light winds only.

I miss the simple days of yore,

When two long braids of hair you wore,

And Chat Botté was wonder'd o'er,

In corner cosy.
But gaze not back for tales like those:
It's all in order, I suppose;

The Bud is now a blooming ROSE,-
A rosy-posy!

Indeed, farewell to bygone years;
How wonderful the change appears;
For curates now, and cavaliers,

In turn perplex you:

The last are birds of feather gay,

Who swear the first are birds of prey;I'd scare them all had I my way,

But that might vex you. Sometimes I've envied, it is true, That Hero, joyous twenty-two,

Who sent bouquets and billets doux,

And wore a sabre.

The Rogue! how close his arm he wound.
About Her waist, who never frown'd.
He loves you, Child. Now, is he bound
To love my Neighbour?

The bells are ringing. As is meet,
White favours fascinate the street,

"THE BUD IS NOW A BLOOMING ROSE."

Sweet faces greet me, rueful-sweet

'Twixt tears and laughter: They crowd the door to see her go, The bliss of one brings many woe;Ay, kiss the Bride, and I will throw The Old Shoe after.

What change in one short afternoon;
My own dear Neighbour gone,-so soon!
Is yon pale orb her honey-moon

Slow rising hither?

Oh, lady, wan and marvellous!
How often have we communed thus!
Sweet memory shall dwell with us,
And joy go with her.

Frederick Locker.