t Exasperating.

"Sweete maide," ye lovesicke youthe remarked,
"Thou'rt fickle as my star!
By far ye worste I ever sparked,
You are! You really are!

Albeit yt my brains are nil,
I'm gallante as can be;
I'lle be to you whate'er you wille,
If you'lle be more to me."

"Faire youthe," ye maide replied, "I do
Not barter, as a rule,
But I'lle be sister untoe you,--
Be you my Aprille foole."

A Rhyming Reverie.

It was a dainty lady's glove;
A souvenir to rhyme with love.

It was the memory of a kiss,
So called to make it rhyme with bliss.

There was a month at Mt. Desert,
Synonymous and rhymes with flirt.

A pretty girl and lots of style,
Which rhymes with happy for a while.

There came a rival old and bold,
To make him rhyme with gold and sold.

A broken heart there had to be.
Alas, the rhyme just fitted me.

A Sure Winner.

Oh, treat me not with cold disdain,
My pretty maids of fashion;
Look upon the hearts you've slain,
And listen to my passion.

Though I am not so peerly proud
As men of higher station,
So handsome that the madding crowd
Collects in admiration;

And have, perhaps, too great a store
Of sandy hair and freckles,
I've mortgages and bonds galore,
And muchly many shekels.

You yet may journey league or mile
To wed, as you're aware.
Come, cease your longing for mere style,
And take A. MILLIONNAIRE.

Tantalization.

She stands beneath the mistletoe
As though she did not know it.
She looks quite unconcerned, you know,
And pretty, yes,--but, blow it,

I have to turn and walk away;
I'll have revenge anon.
She knows quite well, alack the day,
That my wife is looking on.

His Usual Fate.

All one season
Lost to reason,
Breathing sea air
By the beach, where
Young hearts mingle,
Love was playful
All the day full.
We were single.

Now with mournful
Looks and scornful
Turns he too us;
He is through us,
Worried, harried.
Love is sighing;
Love is dying.
We are married.

On Two Letters from Her.

I wrote her a letter. It took her quite two
To answer it after she'd read it.
My letter contained what perhaps even you