TOMMIE'S GIRL.

"She is cheerful, wărm-hearted ănd true,
Ånd is kind to her father ånd mother;
She studies how much shě căn dō

For her sweet little sister ånd brother.

"If you want ǎ companion för life,
To comfort, ěnlivěn, ănd blēss,
She is just the right sōrt of ǎ wife,
Mỹ girl with ǎ calico dress."

A SURPRISE.

'I met her strōlling on the street,
We walked together up the hill,
She was ǎ maiděn vērš neat,

Who made my heart stånd still,
When in ǎ mānnĕr hārd to beat

Shě shyly said, 'I know you're sweet.'

"Such words I knew not how to meet,
She was not wōnt to talk that way,
But happiness I fōund was fleēt

For very soon I heard her say,

'I think it faces toward the streēt.’
And then I knew shě měant mỹ suite.".

IN COLLEGE CAP AND GOWN.

“Mỹ sweetheart is å stūdĕnt în ă fâmoùs fémăle cōllège, And thōugh I do not think she'll win părticular renōwn In any special stūdỹ, ōr bě nōtěd fōr her knowledge, .

I'm certain that she's charming in her collège cap and gōwn. That the costume's fascinating there's no reason fōr concealing, I think my lōve most beautiful when în ît shẽ ăppēars, But when I steal ǎ kiss from hēr, how fūnnỹ is the feeling When the edges of the mōrtăr bōard åre tickling mỹ ears.”

REESE

LIBRARY

OF THE

UNIVERSITY

OF CALIFORNIA

OF THE VARIOUS KINDS OF POETRY.

Jennie kissed mě when wě mēt,

Jumping from the chair she sat in ; Time, you thief, who lōve to get Secrets into your list, put thāt in.

Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,

Say that health and wealth have missed me ;

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Say I'm growing öld, but add

Jennie kissed mě.

Leigh Hunt.

Thế lāw locks up the mān or womăn
Who steals ǎ goōse from ōff the cōmmòn ;
But lets the greater villiăn loose,

Who steals the common from the goōse.

When first in Celia's ear I poured

A yet unpracticed prayer,

Mỹ trembling tongue sincere ignored
The aids of "sweet" and "fair."

I only said, ǎs in mě lāy,

I'd strive her "wōrth" to reach ;

She frowned and turned her eyes ǎway-
So much for truth in speech.

Then Deliǎ came. I changed my plān;
I praised her to her face;

I praised her features,—prāised her fān,
Her lap-dog and her lāce;

I swore that nōt till Time were dead
Mỹ pāssion should děcāy ;

Shě, smiling, gāve her hand, and said

'Twill last, then, för ǎ Day.

E. Elliott.

Austin Dobson-" A Love Song."

You sleep upōn your mōther's breast.
Your race begun,

Ă welcome, lōng å wished-for Guēst,
Whose age is Ōne.

Ă baby-bōy, you wonder why
You cannot run;

You try to talk-how hard you try!
You're only One.

Ere long you won't bě sūch ǎ dunce;
You'll eat your būn,

And fly your kite, like fōlk, who ōnce
Wĕre only One.

You'll rhyme ănd woō, ånd fight ånd jõke,
Perhaps you'll pun!

Such feats are never dōne by fölk
Before they're Ōne.

Some day, too, yoũ măy hāve your jōy,

And envỹ nōne;

Yes, you, yourself, măy ōwn ǎ Bōy,

Who isn't One.

Frederick Locker-" A Rhyme of One."

A MEAN LOVER.

“ † love to make mỹ Māběl cry,
By jealous tāunts and jeērs.
For then I get a chance to try
And kiss ǎway her tears.”

LEGAL WHISKERS.

"Ås o'er their wine and walnuts sāt,
Talking of this and then of that,
Two wights well learned in the law-
That is, well skilled to find ǎ flaw-
Săid ōne compāniŏn tō thě ōther,
'How is it, most respected brōther,
That you have shāvěn ǎway

Those whiskers which for many ǎ day
Have ōrnămēntěd much your cheek?
Sure, 'twas an idle, silly freak.'

To whom the other answer gave,

With look half mĕrry and hålf grāve,
'Though others bē by whiskers grāced,
Å lawyer can't be toō bărefaced.'"

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CONCLUSION.

And now we bring to a close a subject full of never-ending interest to the student of general literature- poetry, the art divine. Endeavoring to make its study practical, we have followed it step by step, exemplifying its measures by quotations from our great authors. It is a theme inexhaustible, and yet one may become familiar with its elements and science.

Were you to ask how to excel, the answer would be: if nature has endowed you with the natural gift, cultivate it by a careful study of authors whose works are preeminent. Longfellow, Lowell, Holmes, Whittier, and Bryant are a galaxy of names that will ever adorn American literature, and whose works should be read and thoroughly analyzed by every student of literature and art. England and Scotland have had a long line of poets whose works are gems of rare art.

Every one would commend the works of Tennyson and Burns. They were poets who possessed the faculty divine. The world acknowledges them as two of the grandest of any age. Yet there are those of our own time who are living, toiling, struggling writers for fame, present as well as future, that are models of excellence and elegance. Dobson, Lang, Gosse, and Swinburne may be cited. Read, and you may find yourself in touch with some one or all of them. Of our present-day American authors, Stedman, Aldrich, Riley, Harte, Hay, Carleton, and Stoddard, have each

earned a well-deserved fame. But be not mere imitators, read and study the works of great authors, and then mold and fashion your talent after a style of your own. There is a peculiar something in the writings of our poets that has a distinctiveness of its own plainly perceptible. Spontaneity in writing may be, and often is, genius assisting her own true children on and on, to nobler and greater deeds, giving them clearer vision a direct insight. But let it not be supposed that genius alone makes men great. The lives of the best authors reveal the fact that men of genius are men who are untiring workers. Great poems are not mere accidents of genius. The great beehive of poetry is not inhabited by drones. The honey gathered from every flower is the result of their toil and industry. Care, precision, and painstaking methods are the royal roads to success. How beautifully William Cullen Bryant has expressed in these lines the poet's art :

The secret wouldst thou know

To touch the heart or fire the blood ǎt will?
Lět thine own eyes o'erflow;

Let thy lips quiver with the passionǎte thrill;
Seize the great thought, ĕre yet its power bĕ past,
Ånd bind, în wōrds, the fleet ĕmōtion fāst.

"The Poet."