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So

In her pavilion (cloth of gold and tissue)
O’erpicturing that Venus, where we see
The fancy out-work nature; on either side her
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
With divers-coloured fans, whose wind did seem
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
And what they undid, did.
Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,
many

mermaids, tended her i' the eyes,
And made their bends adornings; at the helm
A seeming mermaid steers ; the silken tackle
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands,
That yarely frame the office. From the barge
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense
Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast
Her people out upon her; and Antony,
Enthroned in the market-place, did sit alone,
Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy,
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra, too,
And make a gap in nature.

MY OLD HAT.

ANONYMOUS.

I HAD a hat-it was not all a hat,
Part of the brim was gone, yet still I wore
It on, and people wondered as I passed.
Some turned to gaze-others just cast an eye
And soon withdrew it, as 'twere in contempt.
But still my hat, although so fashionless
In compliinent extern, had that within
Surpassing show—my head continued warm;,
Being sheltered from the weather, spite of all
The want (as has been said before) of brim.
A change came o'er the colour of

my

hat. That which was black grew brown-and then men stared

With both their eyes (they stared with one before).
The wonder now was two-fold; and it seemed
Strange that a thing so torn and old should still
Be worn by one who might- -but let that pass !
I had my reasons, which might be revealed
But for some counter-reasons, far more strong,
Which tied my tongue to silence. Time passed on.
Green spring, and flowery summer, autumn brown,
And frosty winter came,--and went and came,
And still through all the seasons of two years,
In park and city, yea, at parties-balls-
The hat was worn and borne. Then folks

grew

wild With curiosity, and whispers rose, And questions passed about-how one so trim In coats, boots, ties, gloves, trousers, could insconce His caput in a covering so vile.

A change came o'er the nature of my hat.
Grease-spots appeared--but still in silence, on
I wore it and then family and friends
Glared madly at each other. There was one
Who said—but hold

no matter what was said ;
A time may come when I-away, away-
Not till the season's ripe can I reveal
Thoughts that do lie too deep for common minds
Till then the world shall not pluck out the heart
Of this my mystery.

When I will, I will !
The hat was now greasy, and old, and torn,
But torn, old, greasy, still I wore it on.

A change came o'er the business of this hat.
Women, and men and children, scowled on me
My company was shunned— I was alone!
None would associate with such a hat-
Friendship itself proved faithless for a hat.
She that I loved, within whose gentle breast
I treasured up my heart, looked cold as death
Love's fires went out-extinguished by a hat.
Of those who knew me best, some turned aside,

And scudded down dark lanes; one man did place
His finger on his nose's side, and jeered ;
Others in horrid mockery laughed outright;
Yea, dogs, deceived by instinct's dubious ray,
Fixing their swart glare on my ragged hat,
Mistook me for a beggar, and they barked.
Thus women, men, friends, strangers, lover, dogs,
One thought pervaded all—it was my hat.

A change, it was the last, came o'er this hat,
For lo! at length the circling months went round:
The period was accomplished—and one day
This tattered, brown, old greasy coverture
(Time had endeared its vileness) was transferred
To the possession of a wandering son
Of Israel's fated race-and friends once more
Greeted my digits with the wonted squeeze :
Once more I went my way, along, along,
And plucked no wondering gaze; the hand of scorn
With its annoying finger, men, and dogs
Once more grew pointless, jokeless, laughless, growl-

less-
And at last, not least of rescued blessings, love !
Love smiled on me again, when I assumed
A bran new chapeau of the Melton build;
And then the laugh was mine, for then out came
The secret of this strangeness—'twas a bet,
A friend had laid me fifty pounds to ten,
Three years I would not wear it—and I did I

THE OLD MAN IN THE WOOD,

ANONYMOUS.
THERE was an old man who liv'd in the wood,
As
you

shall plainly see,
He thought he could do more work in one day

Than his wife could do in three.

“With all my heart," the old woman said, 6 If you

will allow, You shall stay at home to-day,

And I'll go follow the plough.

“ And you must milk the tiny cow,

Lest she should go dry; And

you must feed the little pigs That are within the sty. “ And you must watch the speckled hen,

Lest she should go astray ; Not forgetting the spool of yarn

That I spin every day."

The old woman took her stick in her hand,

And went to follow the plough ; The old man put the pail on his head,

And went to milk the cow.

But Tiny she winc'd, and Tiny she flinch'd,

And Tiny she toss'd her nose,
And Tiny gave him a kick on the shin,

Till the blood ran down to his toes.

And a "ho, Tiny !" and a “lo, Tiny !"

And a "pretty little cow stand still;" And “if ever I'milk you again,” he said,

“ It shall be against my will.”

And then he went to feed the pigs

That were within the sty;
He knocked his nose against the shed,

And made the blood to fly.

And then he watched the speckled hen,

Lest she should go astray;
But he quite forgot the spool of yarn,

, That his wife spun every day.

And when the old woman came home at night,

He said he could plainly see,
That his wife could do more work in a day

Than he could do in three.
And then he said how well she plough’d,

And made the furrows even-
Said his wife could do more work in a day

Than he could do in seven,

THE SANDS OF DEE.
REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY.
Oh, Mary, go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,
Across the sands of Dee."
The western wind was wild and dark with foam,

And all alone went she.
The western tide crept up along the sand,

And o'er and o’er the sand,

And round and round the sand
As far as eye could see.
The rolling mist came down and hid the land:

And never home came she.
“Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair-

A tress of golden hair,

A drowned maiden's hair,
Above the nets at sea ?"
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair

Among the stakes of Dee.
They rowed her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel crawling foam,

The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea. But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, Across the sands of Dee.

(By permission of Messrs. Macmillan.)

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