As I look from the isle, o’er its… To the billows of foam-crested blu… Yon bark, that afar in the distanc… Half dreaming, my eyes will pursue… Now dark in the shadow, she scatte…

As Clemence! when I saw thee last Trip down the Rue de Seine, And turning, when thy form had pas… I said, ‘We meet again,’— I dreamed not in that idle glance

‘How many have gone?’ was the ques… Ere Time our bright ring of its j… Alas! for too often the death-bell… And the question we ask is, ‘How… Bright sparkled the wine; there we…

ANGEL of Death! extend thy sile… Stretch thy dark sceptre o’er this… No sable car along the winding roa… Has borne to earth its unresisting… No sudden mound has risen yet to s…

January 14, 1880 CHICAGO sounds rough to the mak… One comfort we have—Cincinnati so… If we only were licensed to say C… But Worcester and Webster won’t l…

THE curtain rose; in thunders lon… The galleries rung; the veteran ac… In flaming line the telltales of t… Showed on his brow the autograph o… Pale, hueless waves amid his clust…

IT was not many centuries since, When, gathered on the moonlit gree… Beneath the Tree of Liberty, A ring of weeping sprites was seen… The freshman’s lamp had long been…

BY THE PROFESSOR EME… PHI BETA KAPPA.—CAMBRIDG… You bid me sing,—can I forget The classic ode of days gone by,— How belle Fifine and jeune Lisett…

Breakfast at the Century Club, N… SUCH kindness! the scowl of a cy… His pulse beat its way to some elo… Alas! my poor accents have echoed… Like that Pinafore music you’ve s…

YES, write, if you want to, there… Who knows what a treasure your cas… I’ll show you that rhyming’s as ea… If you’ll listen to me while the a… Here’s a book full of words; one c…

LITTLE I ask; my wants are few; I only wish a hut of stone, (A very plain brown stone will do,… That I may call my own; And close at hand is such a one,

GRANDMOTHER’s mother: her ag… Thirteen summers, or something les… Girlish bust, but womanly air; Smooth, square forehead with uprol… Lips that lover has never kissed;

I PRAY thee by the soul of her t… By thine own sister’s spirit I im… Deal gently with the leaves that l… For Iris had no mother to infold… Nor ever leaned upon a sister’s sh…

Is it a weanling’s weakness for th… That in the stormy, rebel-breeding… Swept clean of relics by the level… Still keeps our gray old chapel’s… Still to its outworn symbols fondl…

The Comet! He is on his way, And singing as he flies; The whizzing planets shrink before The spectre of the skies; Ah! well may regal orbs burn blue,