LINES SUGGESTED BY THE 14th OF FEB.

And the hour suggests eloping

Fly my thoughts to you again.

May my dreams be granted never?

Must I aye endure affliction

Rarely realised, if ever,

In our wildest works of fiction?

Madly Romeo loved his Juliet ;

Copperfield began to pine

When he hadn't been to school yet-
But their loves were cold to mine.

Give me hope, the least, the dimmest,

Ere I drain the poisoned cup:

Tell me I may tell the chymist

Nor to make that arsenic up!

Else, this heart shall soon cease throbbing; And when, musing o'er my bones,

Travellers ask, "Who killed Cock Robin ?"

They'll be told, "Miss Sarah J—s.”

25

A, B, C.

A is an Angel of blushing eighteen:

B is the Ball where the Angel was seen:

C is her Chaperone, who cheated at cards:

D is the Deuxtemps, with Frank of the Guards :

E is the Eye which those dark lashes cover:

F is the Fan it peeped wickedly over:

G is the Glove of superlative kid:

H is the Hand which it spitefully hid:

I

J

is the Ice which spent nature demanded:

is the Juvenile who hurried to hand it:

K is the Kerchief, a rare work of art:

L is the Lace which composed the chief part. M's the old Maid who watch'd the girls dance : N is the Nose she turned up at each glance:

O is the Olga (just then in its prime):

P is the Partner who wouldn't keep time:
Q 's a Quadrille, put instead of the Lancers:
R the Remonstrances made by the dancers:
S is the Supper, where all went in pairs:
T is the Twaddle they talked on the stairs:
U is the Uncle who 'thought we'd be going':
V is the Voice which his niece replied 'No' in:
W is the Waiter, who sat up till eight:
X is his Exit, not rigidly straight:

Y is a Yawning fit caused by the Ball:
Z stands for Zero, or nothing at all.

TO MRS. GOODCHILD.

THE night wind's shriek is pitiless and hollow, The boding bat flits by on sullen wing,

And I sit desolate, like that "one swallow"

Who found (with horror) that he'd not brought spring:

Lonely as he who erst with venturous thumb Drew from its pie-y lair the solitary plum.

And to my gaze the phantoms of the Past, The cherished fictions of my boyhood, rise:

I see Red Ridinghood observe, aghast,

The fixed expression of her grandam's eyes; I hear the fiendish chattering and chuckling

Which those misguided fowls raised at the Ugly Duckling.

The House that Jack built-and the Malt that lay Within the House-the Rat that ate the Malt— The Cat, that in that sanguinary way

Punished the poor thing for its venial faultThe Worrier-Dog-the Cow with crumpled hornAnd then-ah yes! and then-the Maiden all forlorn!

Oh Mrs. Gurton-(may I call thee Gammer?)Thou more than mother to my infant mind! I loved thee better than I loved my grammar— I used to wonder why the Mice were blind, And who was gardener to Mistress Mary,

And what-I don't know still-was meant by

"quite contrary?"

"Tota contraria," an "Arundo Cami"

Has phrased it-which is possibly explicit,

Ingenious certainly-but all the same I

Still ask, when coming on the word, 'What is

it ?'