The orchard fruits so lusciously bright
Glow in the sunset's mellowing light,
While purple mists are gathering round,

And farther the long shadows streak the ground.
Croquet

Is so pleasant to play,

When the deep golden sunset is closing the day.

Slow falls the dusky twilight's veil,

The stillness of evening tells its tale:

Il faut partir!-with some the bidding good night Seems hard to achieve in the failing light.

Croquet

Is so pleasant to play,

When ladies are chatty and toilettes are gay.

CHIAREZZA.

DIED AT JAMAICA DECEMBER 19, 1874.

Here and There.

Tears to her memory!

Here, ours are falling;
All her heart's goodness
And sunshine recalling.

"Sunshine" we named her!

Bright and so pleasant.
Sunshine played round us

When she was present!

Adored by her husband.

Among friends so many,

Never a harsh word

Had she for any.

Shall I say to him?

Steeped now in sorrow

Many pleasant hours we have passed together:
In the silver lamp light, heedless of the weather,
When from arduous duty loosened was the tether
Tendit Apollo.

Jolliest of parties at the Plymouth races:

Strolling down an avenue of fascinating faces,

Whose smiling looks make Devonshire the pleasantest

of places.

Ludit imago.

Fathomless blue eyes beside a violet ocean,

Looking o'er the hyaline with a charmed emotion,
You at least appreciate such beauty I've a notion.

Dulce loquentem.

Dark Devonian maidens exquisitely lissom;

Lips of moistened coral-seen through love's gay prism; Glorious blooming cheeks-how the warm sun loved to

kiss 'em!

Juppiter urgens.

Very pleasant truly was that same regatta ;
Bands of choicest music, liveliest of chatter,
Popping of champagne corks, and amid the clatter

Jocus et Amor.

Clever are the criticisms from thy pen imperial,
Pointing out the best of all readable material;
Nowise over praising a chaff-choked silly serial:
Auctor triformis.

Handsome in appearance, firm but ferocious,
Good in classic scholarship, ripe grown not precocious;
Equally at home with Rabelais or Grotius,

Et decus omne.

Charming verse you give us in magazine or paper;
Never indicating smell of midnight taper:

Elegantly light is thy muse's choric caper;

Hinc tibi plausus.

Thank you for the Idylls, their music sweet is ringing With delicious cadences of later summer singing; Around the reader's heart with more sweet desire clinging Carpere flores.

Fancy paints thee flower crowned, robed as youthful

Teian

With golden lute reclining, while some fair Cytheræan Steers thy classic prow o'er the purple waved Ægæan, Astra refulgens.

Non nobis solum.*

Lion of Paddockhurst! loyal and true,
Noble of heart and none sincerer !

We saw him restored to health that day,

As we watched the light from the Yule log play
On the gold of the old Madeira !

Large of heart and lavish of hand,

A princely income nobly spending; A Duke's domain where the woodlands deep And curving downs to the sea are bending. A stone built mansion of Tudor style,

Its site on a hill-side well selected:

A scroll at the entrance in latin says

*Not alone for us were these halls erected".

Reception rooms superbly wrought,

Enriched from floor to embellished ceiling. Paintings of every kind, and books,

All telling of true æsthetic feeling.

Horses for hunting, and game galore!

Plenty of woodcock and snipe and pheasants, And a jovial Horkey every year

To scores of retainers and sturdy peasants.
Royal in gifts to church and schools,
Righteous charity freely bestowing;
For joy to many a poor man's home
From his generous soul is ever flowing.

Old English Gentleman! loyal and true,
Noble of heart and none sincerer !

May we drink his good health for many a day,
Whether the flames on the Yule log play
Or the sun gilds the old Madeira.

1874.

EFFINGHAM.

GERM SHADOWS.

Little Mabel, five and a half!
Meets me not with a merry laugh;
Her childish smile, au serieux,
Seems to say, "I love only you."

Beams a sunny light on her face;
There a placid content we trace:
So very happy seems she now.
Have not known her a month, I vow!

Little Mabel leads me about

As if I were hers beyond all doubt;
Proudly erect she walks in glee:
Who so merry as Mabel with me!

We choose the pathway Mabel loves;
We coax and fondle her own pet doves;
We feed the peacock; and take our stand
By big dog Cæsar, who licks my hand.
At the lawn party crowded and gay,
Mabel with no one else would stay;
Under the red-striped awnings there
Little fingers played with my hair.
"Come to the fernery," Mabel said,
Holding my hand-the young child led :
By the tank's marge where shade was sweet
Little Mabel stood at my feet.

On a gnarled root I take my place

As Mabel bids me; with upturned face Clasping my knees, "Come see," quoth she, "Where the lightning has killed the tree."

Grouped with others we sit reclined,
Round my shoulder her small arms twined:
Some one says, with a jesting smile,
""Tis with love powder you beguile."

Little Mabel, when I am dead,

And many a summer's leaves are shed,

Time will have taught you—maiden or wife

These are germ shadows of after life.