Ah! grief is a curious passion;
And yours, I am sorely afraid,
The very next phase of the fashion
Will find it beginning to fade.
Though dark are the shadows of grief,
The morning will follow the night,
Half-tints will betoken relief,

Till joy shall be symboled in white!

Ah well! it were idle to quarrel
With Fashion, or aught she may do;
And so I conclude with a moral
And metaphor-warranted new-
When measles come handsomely out,
The patient is safest, they say;
And the sorrow is mildest, no doubt,
That works in a similar way!

HANS BREITMANN'S PARTY.

C. G. LELAND.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty,

Dey had biano-blayin';

I felled in love mit a Merican frau,
Her name vas Matilda Yane.
She hat haar as prown ash a bretzel,
Her eyes vas himmel-plue,

Und ven dey looket indo mine,
Dey shplit mine heart in two.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty,

I vent dere you'll pe pound;
I valtzed mit Matilda Yane

Und vent shpinning round und round.
De pootiest fraulein in de house,

She vayed 'pout dwo hoondred pound,
Und efery dime she gife a shoomp
She make de vindows sound.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty,

I dells you it cost him dear;

Dey rolled in more ash sefen kecks
Of foost-rate lager beer.

Und venever dey knocks de shpicket in
The Deutschers gifes a cheer:

I dinks so vine a barty,

Nefer coom to a het dis year.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty;
Dere all was Souse and Brouse,
Ven de sooper comed in, de gompany
Did make demselfs to house;
Dey ate das brot und Gensy broost,
De Bratwurst and Braten fine.
Und vash der Abendessen down
Mit four parrels of Neckarwein.

Hans Breitmann gife a barty—
Where ish dat barty now?
Where ish de lofely golden cloud

Dat float on the mountain's prow?
Where ish de himmelstrahlende Stern-
De shtar of de shpirit's light?

All goned afay mit de lager beer-
Afay in de ewighkeit !

GRANDPA'S SOLILOQUY.

It wasn't so when I was young

We used plain language then;

We didn't speak of "them galoots,"

When meaning boys or men.

When speaking of the nice hand write
Of Joe, or Tom, or Bill,

We did it plain-we didn't say

"He swings a nasty quill."

An' when we seed a gal we liked,
Who never failed to please,
We called her pretty, neat, and good,
But not "about the cheese."

Well, when we met a good old friend
We hadn't lately seen,
We greeted him—but didn't say,
'Hello, you old sardine."

The boys sometimes got mad and fit;
We spoke of kicks and blows;
But now they "whack him in the snoot,”
And "paste him on the nose."

Once, when a youth was turned away
From her he loved most dear,
He walked off on his feet-but now
He "crawls off on his ear."

We used to dance when I was young,
And used to call it so;

But now they don't—they only "sling
The light fantastic toe."

Of death we spake in language plain,
That no one will perplex;

But in these days one doesn't die-
He passes in his "checks."

We praised the man of common sense;
His judgment's good, we said;

But now they say, "Well, that old plum

Has got a level head."

It's rather sad the children now

Are learning all such talk;

They've learned to "chin" instead of chat,

And "waltz" instead of walk.

To little Harry, yesterday

My grandchild, aged two

I said, "You love grandpa ?" said he,
"You bet your boots I do."

The children bowed to strangers once→→→→
It is no longer so→→

The little girls, as well as boys,

Now greet you with "Hello!"

Oh, give me back the good old days,
When both the old and young
Conversed in plain old fashioned words,
And slang was never "slung."

"THE PENNY YE MEAN TO GIE.”

H. H.

There's a funny tale of a stingy man,

Who was none too good, but might have been worse, Who went to his church on a Sunday night

And carried along his well filled purse.

When the sexton came with the begging plate
The church was but dim with the candle's light;
The stingy man fumbled all thro' his purse,
And chose a coin by touch and not by sight.

It's an odd thing now that guineas should be
So like unto pennies in shape and size.
"I'll gie a penny," the stingy man said;
"The poor must not gifts of pennies despise."

The penny fell down with a clatter and ring!

And back in his seat leaned the stingy man; "The world is so full of the poor," he thought,

"I can't help them all-I give what I can."

Ha ha! how the sexton smiled, to be sure,

To see the gold guinea fall in the plate;
Ha! ha! how the stingy man's heart was wrung,
Perceiving his blunder-but just too late!

"No matter," he said; "in the Lord's account
That guinea of gold is set down to me-
They lend to Him who give to the poor :
It will not so bad an investment be."

Na, na, mon," the chuckling sexton cried out, "The Lord is na cheated-He kens thee well;" He knew it was only by accident

That out o' thy finger the guinea fell!

"He keeps an account, na doubt, for the puir;
But in that account he'll set down to thee
Na mair o' that golden guinea, my mon,
Than the one bare penny ye mean to gie!"

There's a comfort, too, in the little tale-
A serious side as well as a joke-
A comfort for all the generous poor

In the comical words the sexton spoke:

A comfort to think that the good Lord knows
How generous we really desire to be,

And will give us credit in His account
For all the pennies we long "to gie."

CHICKENS.

ROSE TERRY COOKE.

"I didn't!" says Chip. "You did!" says Peep
"How do you know? you were fast asleep."
"I was under mammy's wing,

Stretching my legs like anything,

When all of a sudden I turned around,

For close beside me I heard a sound