I drain the dregs, and they are now alloy.

A STOLEN KISS.

The day had passed as other days do pass,
With record made of all the deeds
Performed by one, or two, or a whole mass,--
It matters not, for all concedes.

The sun in turn had lit the eastern sky,
Performed his circuit to the west,
Diffusing light and heat below and high,
And there had sunk his golden crest.

Monotony had likewise marked my course--
By that I mean that nothing rare
Had happened at all, to cause recourse
To friendly joy or cold despair.

A pleasant ramble by the ocean side--
May be it was the company
That added joy when I did watch the tide
Roll on the shore of the great sea.

This o'er, thought turned to urge a night's repose--
An old, though ever new, retreat--
To rest the weary body, and to close
The mind awhile in tranquils sweet.

But, prior to this, I thought it might be well
To store some food into the mind,
And on the wonders of the day to dwell,
There fitting nourishment to find.

The comic thoughts of famous "Punch" were read,
Then something dry, but suited more
As wholesome food--so some old fogies said--
"The Daily News," let none deplore.

For comfort's sake--which people always mind,
Excepting ladies, when the book
Of modes another pleasing style can find,
And then they think more how they look.

An instance take of chignon (dead folk's hair)--
A lady, I know well, remarked,
"I wish I was not forced those things to wear,
But fashion must be always marked."

Again I say, for comfort's sake alone
The couch I sought, and thought it best
Awhile to rest my weary body on;
The weary always seek for rest.

The chronicle of news a time was used,
At first with understanding clear;
It gave instruction, and sometimes amused,
(A mixture there for any seer.)

A nod then came, and soon I winged my flight
Away into the land of Nod;
All earthly things were lost to sense and sight;
A fairy land my footsteps trod.

The distance might have been an inch, a mile,
Or thousands,--ten, for what I know;
It seemed a pleasant place, for still a smile
Was on my face; I liked it so.

Wrapt in those fairy dreams of pleasant lands,
A gentle pressure on my lips,
Of softest touch, like that of fairy hands,
And sweet as though with honey tips,

Saluted me, and such a silvery sound