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A letter comes, just gathered. We
Dote on its tender brilliancy,
Inhale its delicate expressions
Of balm and pea, and its confessions
Made with as sweet a Maiden's Blush
As ever morn bedewed on bush :
(T is in reply to one of ours,
Made of the most convincing flowers.)

Then, after we have kissed its wit
And heart, in water putting it
(To keep its remarks fresh), go round
Our little eloquent plot of ground,
And with enchanted hands compose
Our answer, - all of lily and rose,
Of tuberose and of violet,
And Little Darling (mignonette);

My eyes! how I love you,
You sweet little dove you!
There's no one above you,
Most beautiful Kitty.

So glossy your hair is,
Like a sylph's or a fairy's;
And your neck, I declare, is
Exquisitely pretty!

Quite Grecian your nose is, And your cheeks are like roses, So delicious - O Moses!

Surpassingly sweet!

Not the beauty of tulips,
Nor the taste of mint-juleps,
Can compare with your two lips,
Most beautiful Kate!

Not the black eyes of Juno,
Nor Minerva's of blue, no,
Nor Venus's, you know,

Can equal your own!

O, how my heart prances,
And frolics and dances,
When its radiant glances

Upon me are thrown!

And now, dearest Kitty,
It's not very pretty,
Indeed it's a pity,

To keep me in sorrow!

So, if you 'll but chime in,
We'll have done with our rhymin',
Swap Cupid for Hymen,

And be married to-morrow.
JOHN GODFREY SAXE.

CUPID SWALLOWED.

T' OTHER day, as I was twining
Roses for a crown to dine in,
What, of all things, midst the heap,
Should I light on, fast asleep,

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"Faith!" says Rory, "I'd rather love you than the ground."

"Now, Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go; Sure I dream every night that I'm hating you so!"

"Och!" says Rory, "that same I'm delighted to hear,

For dhrames always go by conthraries, my dear. So, jewel, kape dhraming that same till ye die, And bright morning will give dirty night the black lie!

And 't is plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure?

Since 't is all for good luck," says bold Rory O'More.

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THE LOW-BACKED CAR.
WHEN first I saw sweet Peggy,
'T was on a market day :
A low-backed car she drove, and sat
Upon a truss of hay;

But when that hay was blooming grass,
And decked with flowers of spring,
No flower was there that could compare

With the blooming girl I sing.
As she sat in the low-backed car,
The man at the turnpike bar

Never asked for the toll,
But just rubbed his owld poll,
And looked after the low-backed car.

In battle's wild commotion,

The proud and mighty Mars
With hostile scythes demands his tithes
Of death in warlike cars;
While Peggy, peaceful goddess,
Has darts in her bright eye,

That knock men down in the market town,
As right and left they fly;
While she sits in her low-backed car,
Than battle more dangerous far,
For the doctor's art
Cannot cure the heart
That is hit from that low-backed car.

Sweet Peggy round her car, sir,

Has strings of ducks and geese, But the scores of hearts she slaughters By far outnumber these ;

While she among her poultry sits,

Just like a turtle-dove,
Well worth the cage, I do engage,

Of the blooming god of Love! While she sits in her low-backed car, The lovers come near and far,

And envy the chicken
That Peggy is pickin',

As she sits in her low-backed car.

O, I'd rather own that car, sir,
With Peggy by my side,

Than a coach and four, and gold galore,
And a lady for my bride;

For the lady would sit forninst me,
On a cushion made with taste,
While Peggy would sit beside me,

With my arm around her waist, While we drove in the low-backed car, To be married by Father Mahar ;

O, my heart would beat high At her glance and her sigh, Though it beat in a low-backed car!

SAMUEL LOVER.

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