eard a sparrow pertly cry,
She smelt the new-mown hay,
She felt the sunshine in the sky,
As lightly she went skipping by,
A-down the sunny way--
'Twas like a holiday,
The keen, expectant sparkle in her eye.

And Cupid's wings were on her feet,
As nimbly she ran down;
And Cupid's wings were on her feet:
For pretty Polly went to meet
Her lover in the town.
She wore that lilac gown
That made him say--oh, nothing to repeat!

CHARLES W. SHOPE.
_Harvard Advocate_.

~Under the Rose.~

Last night the blush rose clustered,--
To-day the rough wind blows
In showers her broken petals;
Last night,--yet no one knows,--
I kissed thee, sweetheart, sweetheart,
Under the rose!

Last night my fond hope blossomed,--
To-day December snows
Drift deep and cold above it;
To-day,--ah! no one knows,--
My heart breaks, sweetheart, sweetheart,
Under the rose!

CATHERINE Y. GLEN.
_Mount Holyoke._

[Illustration: MT. HOLYOKE GIRL.]

~A Bit of Human Nature.~

'Tis only a pair of woman's eyes,
So long-lashed, soft, and brown,
Half hiding the light that in them lies,
As dreamily looking down.

'Tis only the dainty curve of a lip,
Half full, half clear defined,
And the shell-like pink of a finger-tip,
And a figure half reclined.

'Tis only a coil of rich, dark hair,
With sunlight sifted through,
And a truant curl just here and there,
And a knot of ribbon blue.

'Tis only the wave of a feather fan,
That ruffles the creamy lace,
Loose gathered about the bosom fair,
By rhinestones held in place.

'Tis only the toe of a high-heeled shoe,
With the glimpse of a color above--
A stocking tinted a faint sky-blue,
The shade that lovers love.

'Tis only a woman--a woman, that's all,
And, as only a woman can,
Bringing a heart to her beck and call
By waving her feather fan.

'Tis only a woman, and I--'twere best
To forget that waving fan.
She only a woman--you know the rest?
But I am only a man.

CHARLES WASHINGTON COLEMAN.
_Virginia University Magazine._

~Her Little Glove.~

Her little glove, I dare aver,
Would set your pulses all astir;
It hides a something safe from sight
So soft and warm, so small and white,
A cynic would turn flatterer!

Could Pegasus have better spur?
'Twould almost cause a saint to err--
A Puritan to grow polite--
Her little glove.

'Twill satisfy a connoisseur,
This dainty thing of lavender;
A