The dear little ballroom deceiver Doesn't offer to know you again.

Can it be you have flirted together? Now she on her hack canters by,

A stranger animal," cries one, "Sure never lived beneath the sun : A lizard's body, lean and long,

A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,

Its tooth with triple claw disjoined;

So high, at last, the contest rose,
From words they almost came to blows,
When luckily came by a third;
To him the question they referred,
And begged he'd tell them, if he knew,
Whether the thing was green or blue.

"Sirs," said the umpire, " cease your pother;
The creature's neither one nor t'other.
I caught the animal last night,
And viewed it o'er by candlelight;
I marked it well: 'twas black as jet.
You stare, but, sirs, I've got it yet,

And can produce it."-" Pray, sir, do; I'll lay my life the thing is blue.""And I'll be sworn that when you've seen The reptile you'll pronounce him green.". "Well, then, at once to end the doubt," Replies the man, "I'll turn him out; And when before your eyes I've set him, If you don't find him black, I'll eat him." He said, then full before their sight

Produced the beast, and, lo! 'twas white!

Lay mouldering on the bare ground,

And the knight rushed in, but saw not a trace

Of a friend as he gazed around.

He flew to the grove where his mistress late Had charmed him with love's sweet tone, But 'twas desolate now, and the strings were mute,

And she he adored was gone.

The wreaths were all dead in Rosalie's bower And Rosalie's dove was lost,

And the winter's wind had withered each flower

On the myrtle she valued most.

But a cypress grew where the myrtle's bloom
Once scented the morning air,

And under its shade was a marble tomb,
And Rosalie's home was there.

ANONYMOUS.

THROUGH DEATH TO LIFE.

That grows in the sunny clime,
How every one of its thousand flowers,

As they drop in the blooming-time,
Is an infant plant, that fastens its roots
In the place where it falls on the
ground,

And, fast as they drop from the dying

stem,

Grow lively and lovely around? By dying it liveth a thousand fold

In the young that spring from the death of the old.

Have you heard the tale of the pelican-
The Arab's Gimel el Bahr-

That lives in the African solitudes,

Where the birds that live lonely are? Have you heard how it loves its tender young,

And cares and toils for their good? It brings them water from fountains afar, And fishes the seas for their food. In famine it feeds them-what love can devise!

The blood of its bosom, and, feeding them, dies.

plant,

Away in the sunny clime?

By humble growth of a hundred years
It reaches its blooming-time,

And then a wondrous bud at its crown.

Breaks into a thousand flowers: This floral queen, in its blooming seen, Is the pride of the tropical bowers, But the plant to the flower is a sacrifice, For it blooms but once, and in blooming dies.

swan,

The snow-white bird of the lake?
It noiselessly floats on the silvery wave,

It silently sits in the brake;

For it saves its song till the end of life,
And then, in the soft, still even,
'Mid the golden light of the setting sun,

It sings as it soars into heaven,

And the blessed notes fall back from the

skies;

'Tis its only song, for in singing it dies.