Kind, kind, gentle is she,

Kind is my Mary;

The sweetest blossom on the tree

Can not compare with Mary!

MY SWEET AND DELICATE MARIE.

Y sweet and delicate Marie,

MY

I used to call you Mary!

By either name you were to me

A most undoubted fairy;

But as you grew in years and stature,
You changed alike in name and nature.

I used to think your eyes of blue,
Your almost perfect features,
Were beauty's models, and that you
The rarest of earth's creatures,

Eclipsed in every situation

The best effects of decoration.

But now your gentle tone is changed
To me it is a war-song-

And we so far apart have ranged

That we might play "Divorcons,'

In fact we get along as badly
As if I once had loved you madly.

Alone you pick your airy way

Among your "Rose de Barry,"
Faience, Satsuma, Cloisonné,

And vow you ne'er will marry,
While I about the bookstores wander
And over old editions ponder.

My sweet and delicate Marie

Whom I admired as Mary,

Love can not stay with such as we
Whose tastes so widely vary.

You say that my pursuits are mussy
And I am sure that yours are fussy.

EDWARD Willett.

THE EMPIRE OF THE MIND, MARY.

the eye of tender blue,

N° Though Mary, 'twere the tint of thine;

Or breathing lip of glowing hue,
Might bid the opening bud repine

Had long enthralled my mind, Mary.

Nor tint with tint, alternate aiding,
That o'er the dimpled tablet flow,

The vermeil to the lily fading!

Nor ringlet bright, with orient glow,
a tendril twined, Mary.

In

many

The breathing tint, the beamy ray
The lineal harmony divine,

That o'er the form of beauty play,

Might warm a colder heart than mine,
But not forever bind, Mary.

But when to radiant form and feature
Internal worth and feeling join;
With temper mild and gay good nature,
Around the willing heart they twine
The Empire of the mind, Mary.

N°

PRETTY MARY, O!

years,

O more with tears I count the When sorrow wooed me long ago: Though hearts must bleed when they have need,

And friend may wound you worse than foe. Smiles come at last, when grief goes past; But oh! our thoughts did vary so; When I sat back, with head bowed down, And you stood up before the town, A-marrying pretty Mary, O!

O! fairest maid, through sun and shade
And storm and darkness brooding so;

She was my star, that smiled afar,

The only light I cared to know.

You soared on high and from the sky
My pretty star bore swiftly, Joe:
And then to say, "God bless you both,"

It tore me like a cruel oath,

When you had wed my Mary, O!

O! time has wings that bring sweet things,
To hide the wounds that rend us so;
A winsome touch, that thrills me much
Is now upon my shoulder, Joe!
And gentle eyes, whose light I prize

More than all dreams I used to know,

Look into mine, and we renew

And send the thankful love of two,

To Joe and pretty Mary, O!

BENJAMIN S. PARKER.

I

A' FOR MARY.

KEN a wud whaur the breezes sing
Tae nicht frae mornin' early,

Whaur ilka bird on flutt' rin' wing,

Joins in the chorus rarely;

An' aye my fancy forms the sang-
Hooe'er its notes may vary,

Tae this, the chief a' themes amang,
"The warl' an a' for Mary."

I ken a water, dancin' licht
At simmer morn an' gloamin',
Adoon the rocks like siller bricht,

An, then o'er meadows roamin'.
It has a liltin', joyous note,
Saft as sang o' fairy

And this is aye the burden o't,
'The warl' an a' for Mary."

I ken a heart, nae sayin' whaur,
That lo'es this wordless tunin'

That hears nae soon' frae stream or scaur,

But love is aye communin';

It has nae wish itsel' tae free

Frae fancy's wild vagary,

An' weel I ken that heart wud gie

"The warl' an a' for Mary."

WILLIAM Lyle.

MARION MOORE.

·ONE art thou, Marion, Marion Moore!

Gone like the bird in the autumn that singeth, Gone like the flower by the wayside that springeth, Gone like the leaf of the ivy that clingeth

Round the lone rock on a storm beaten shore,