.

Though she's a matron sage,
Yet I have kept the gage;
While, as I pen this page,
Still comes a goddess,
Her eldest daughter, fair,
With the same eyes and hair;
Happy the arm I swear,

That clasps her bodice.

Heaven grant her fate be bright,
And her step ever light
As it will be to-night,

First in the dances.

Why did her mother prove
False when I dared to love?

Zounds! I shall burn the glove!

This my romance is.

H. Savile Clarke

O

IF

H, if the world were mine, Love,
I'd give the world for thee!
Alas! there is no sign, Love,

Of that contingency.

Were I a king-which isn't

To be considered now,A diadem had glistened Upon thy lovely brow.

Had fame with laurels crowned me,—
She hasn't up to date,-

Nor time nor change had found me
To love and thee ingrate.

If death threw down his gage, Love,
Though Life is dear to me,
I'd die, e'en of old age, Love,
To win a smile from thee.

But being poor we part, Dear,

And love, sweet love, must die,Thou wilt not break thy heart, Dear;

No more, I think, shall I.

DON'T

James Jeffrey Roche.

OUR eyes were made for laughter,
Sorrow befits them not;

You

Would you be blithe hereafter,
Avoid the lover's lot.

The rose and lily blended
Possess your cheeks so fair;
Care never was intended

To leave his furrows there.

Your heart was not created
To fret itself away,
Being unduly mated

To common human clay.

But hearts were made for loving,-
Confound philosophy!

Forget what I've been proving,
Sweet Phyllis, and love me.

James Jeffrey Roche.

ON REREADING TÉLÉMAQUE

"Calypso could not console herself"

PLACE thee back upon the shelf,

O Fénelon, how scant thy knowledge, Who seemed as Solomon himself To me, a callow youth at college!

No need to say thou wert a priest;

No need to own that I am human; Mine this advantage is at least

I've learned the alphabet of Woman.

And yet but half the truth is told:

I do thee wrong, sagacious Mentor,Calypso could not be consoled

Until another man was sent her!

James Jeffrey Roche.

G

VALENTINE

REAT Antony, I drink to thee,
The Roman lover bold,

Who knew the worth of love and earth And gave the dross for gold.

Rich Antony, I envy thee,

Who hadst a world to stake,

And, win or lose, didst bravely choose
To risk it for Her sake.

Poor Antony, I pity thee,

So small a world was thine, I'd scorn to lay the prize to-day Before my Valentine!

James Jeffrey Roche.

BIFTEK AUX CHAMPIGNONS

M

IMI, do you remember

Don't get behind your fanThat morning in September On the cliffs of Grand Manan, Where to the shock of Fundy

The topmost harebells sway (Campanula rotundi— folia: cf. Gray)?

On the pastures high and level,
That overlook the sea,

Where I wondered what the devil
Those little things could be
That Mimi stooped to gather,
As she strolled across the down,
And held her dress skirt rather-
Oh, now, you needn't frown.

For you know the dew was heavy,
And your boots, I know, were thin;
So a little extra brevi-

ty in skirts was sure, no sin.
Besides, who minds a cousin?
First, second, even third,-
I've kissed 'em by the dozen,
And they never once demurred.

"If one's allowed to ask it,"
Quoth I, "Ma belle cousine,
What have you in your basket?"
Those baskets white and green
The brave Passamaquoddies
Weave out of scented grass,
And sell to tourist bodies
Who through Mt. Desert pass.

You answered, slightly frowning,
"Put down your stupid book-
That everlasting Browning!-
And come and help me look,