sit down and weep. There is cause and to spare for all the tears our glands can secrete, but let us watch a poor goose-quill twitch, and we shall wake again in our exile with some measure of gladness and hope to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem, which mere tears can never build.

FAREWELL TO FISHING.

Dear Scaly Muse, of weedy hair
And eye confessed basilisky,
My love, my wisdom, my despair,
My more than whisky!

How oft with fat mephitic worm,
Or gentle, highly assafætid,
I've wooed with vain endearing term,
Till stiff and wetted.

I've flung thee flies, I've proffered spoons
Whole heart and gut and constant graces,
And lines, for nine revolving moons,

In pleasant places.

The reeds have whispered sweet respond,

What choirs of birds and winds sang carmensTheir form of psalm-and wavelets fond Lapped out the Amens!

Dear refuge for the half forgot,

Balm for the bruised and disappointed,
I live, with thee; to thee am not

Half disanointed.

Dear silent Muse! no chideress!
Nor too aloof for mortal fingers,
Take this my last, my sad caress,

While daylight lingers.

Three months we part, three months of pain,
Three months of unremittent fever.

Farewell! Three months, three months again
Sound like for ever.

These alders will be thick and green,
This sodden bank a lair of grasses,
And thou wilt be what thou hast been
As each month passes.

But I, grey-headed, dearest Muse,

Most homely, and most gentle Mistress !
Must leave thee soon, I cannot choose
But leave in distress.

Maybe old age will touch my arm,
Or doctors think me too rheumatic
To lose thy silvern girdle's charm
For joys ecstatic.

Then place my bones by placid Ile,

And lay the green-heart rod beside 'em. I'll see thee on the Coachman smile

Or Gnat-I've tried 'em.

Here in these weeds an hermit lies,

Who never pouched the coarse world's baiting. He laughed at paste, and spoons, and flies, But fished-while waiting!

FINIS.

Q

Index.