,
He couldn't say the airy things that other men rehearse,
While his waltzing was so rusty that he didn't dare reverse.
The beauties whom he sighed for were most frigidly polite,
So perforce he came and sat beside the little girl in white.

She soon forgot her envy of the glittering _beau monde_,
For their common love of horses proved a sympathetic bond.
She told him all about the farm, and how she came to town,
And showed the honest little heart beneath the home-made gown.
A humble tale, you say,--and yet he blesses now the night
When first he came and sat beside the little girl in white.

JULIET W. TOMPKINS.
_Vassar Miscellany_.

~Mendicants.~

"Foot-sore, weary, o'er the hills
To your friendly door I come.
I'm a mother; in my breast
I have wrapped my only son.
Lady, blessed of the Three,
Give us shelter for a night.
Pure and wise they say thou art,
Pity one by fate bedight."

Calm and grave the maiden stood;
Eyed that weary mother long,
Drooping form, despairing face,
Eyes pathetic with great wrong.
"Enter," gently then she spake,
"Peace be thine from skies above,
Only I have closed my door,
Closed and barred it fast from Love."

By the hearthstone warm and bright
Sits the mother crooning low;
Ah! an arrow's silver gleam,
Flashes of a golden bow!
Soft she sways a dimpled child
Winged with down, and innocent;
"Hush thee, Eros,--sleep, my son,"
Sings her voice in glad content.

M. E. H. EVERETT.
_Madisonensis_.

~With My Cigar.~

With my cigar I sit alone,
Alone in twilight's undertone,
With wav'ring shadows growing deep,
While long-forgotten faces peep
Midst curling mists of smoke, now blown
Into a frame that doth enthrone
A face that from my heart hath grown.
Sweet mem'ries o'er my being creep,
With my cigar.

Those hazel eyes on me have shone,
Those roguish lips have pressed my own,
And this the harvest that I reap!
And this the sweetness that I keep,
To wake, to find the vision flown
With my cigar!

JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY.
_Brunonian_.

~To Waltz with Thee.~

To waltz with thee, my pretty belle,
To silver music's magic spell,
Was such a strange unmixed delight
That I had wished the merry night
Into eternity might swell.

* * * *

Terpsichore ne'er danced so well!
Can all the Graces in thee dwell?
My soul was raised to such a height
To waltz with thee.

Enchanting strains now ro