Und I gits so fool of lof und goot cheer,
Dot religion comes on top of mine peer;—
Und I lof mine brooder so goot dot day,
I gifs to him all mine moneys avay.

Und I lofs his children und schweet frau too,
Fur dot leetle saucy flies, she would shoo
Fon mine peer glass, und alvays my nose,
Und den I calt her mine Vaterland rose.

I hat all der times mine arm rount her vaste Und I keest her, which vas schweet to my taste; Und on dot vat did we do und propose?

Vhy! we trink some more peer! vhat you suppose?

"EXIMPT."

O'KELLY he swore, and bejabers he did,
That the head of a family he was,
And the buggy he owned, bejabers he said
Was ontoirly eximpt at the laws.

Fur the raison was clear, bejabers it was,

That he hauled therein the stuff he ate,

And whisky he drank, when he plead at the laws, And rode in, fur the paple to chate.

O'Kelly a farmer, bejabers he was,

Who leased out his sole acre on shares, To the big bugs, and the grasshoppers and craws, And hauled home therein, bejabers, — the tares.

And a granger he was, bejabers he said,
Before whom he now plead his own cause,
And fur the above raisons, and other ones hid,
This buggy, it was eximpt at the laws.

THE LOANED BOOK.

I LOANED her a book, 'twas a beautiful psalm, The sweet and quaint poem of Omar Khayyam.

From my own hand she took this treasure of mine,

This story of Life, and read line upon line.

What was dark as a dream in figure of speech, Clear marginal notes the true meaning did teach.

And pure as a brook that runs bright over sand, And sparkling with truth, was this book from my hand.

Alas! not by the hand in which it was placed,
Like some Orient gem her fingers had graced;

But by far other hand the book was returned,
As tho' the hand favored, the favor had spurned.

ALONE.

WHAT Sounds of sorrow from the dark inane
Come to the soul that feels itself alone!-
Its only self to hear the lonely groan,
For its lost self, weeping o'er friendships slain,
And flitting faiths that ne'er will come again.
It is the storm at sea, whose thunder tone
Dies in the misty cloud or billows' moan,
Weeping its fitful self away in rain.
And I have seen a lone, forsaken bird,

Whose wonted mate was dead, droop his tired wing,

And wait the call that should no more be heard,-
Until the storms of Winter past, and Spring
Had budded forth again, some warbled word
Of love attuned again his heart to sing.

THE ENCHANTED GARDEN.

THERE is a garden where I love to dwell,

There no rude winds do blow, nor scorching sun
Shines in upon the work ere it is done;
Nor anything there done too sad to tell;
For there all life is an enchanted spell.

It is a place where crystal waters run,
Gurgling through flowery mead which charm-

eth one

Like the soft chimings of a distant bell.
Within this garden grows the tree which yields
To man the measure of its fruitful joys;
And in its mighty top and branches shields

The charméd inmates that it there decoys; There all the blushing flowers of virtue start,— It is the garden of a lovely heart.