Falsehood and Truth " upon a time,"
One day in June's delicious weather
('T was in a distant age and clime),
Like sisters, took a walk together.
On, on their pretty way they took

Through fragrant wood and verdant meadow,
To where a beech beside a brook

Invited rest beneath its shadow.
There, sitting in the pleasant shade

Upon the margin's grassy matting
(A velvet cushion ready made),

The young companions fell to chatting.
Now, while in voluble discourse

On this and that their tongues were running,
As habit bids each speak - perforce,

The one is frank, the other cunning;
Falsehood, at length, impatient grown
With scandals of her own creation,
Said, "Since we two are quite alone,
And nicely screened from observation,
Suppose in this delightful rill,

While all around is so propitious,
We take a bath?" Said Truth, "I will
A bath, I'm sure, will be delicious!"
At this her robe she cast aside,

And in the stream that ran before her
She plunged-like Ocean's happy bride-
As naked as her mother bore her!
Falsehood at leisure now undressed,

Put off the robes her limbs that hamper,
And having donned Truth's snow-white vest,
Ran off as fast as she could scamper.
Since then the subtle maid, in sooth,

Expert in lies and shrewd evasions,
Has borne the honest name of Truth,
And wears her clothes on all occasions.
While Truth, disdaining to appear

In Falsehood's petticoat and bodice,
Still braves all eyes from year to year
As naked as a marble goddess.

IF YOU WANT A KISS, WHY, TAKE IT.

THERE's a jolly Saxon proverb

That is pretty much like this, -
That a man is half in heaven
If he has a woman's kiss.
There is danger in delaying,
For the sweetness may forsake it;

So I tell you, bashful lover,

If you want a kiss, why, take it.

Never let another fellow
Steal a march on you in this;
Never let a laughing maiden
See you spoiling for a kiss.
There's a royal way to kissing,
And the jolly ones who make it
Have a motto that is winning,

If you want a kiss, why, take it.

Any fool may face a cannon,
Anybody wear a crown,
But a man must win a woman

If he'd have her for his own.
Would you have the golden apple,
You must find the tree and shake it;
If the thing is worth the having,

And you want a kiss, why, take it.

Who would burn upon a desert
With a forest smiling by?

Who would change his sunny summer
For a bleak and wintry sky?

Oh, I tell you there is magic,

And you cannot, cannot break it;

For the sweetest part of loving

Is to want a kiss, and take it.

TWO MEN I KNOW.

I KNOW a duke; well, let him pass
I may not call his grace an ass;
Though if I did I'd do no wrong,
Save to the asses and my song.

The duke is neither wise nor good;

He gambles, drinks, scorns womanhood,

And at the age of twenty-four

Was worn and battered as threescore.

I know a waiter in Pall Mall

Who works, and waits, and reasons well; Is gentle, courteous, and refined,

And has a magnet in his mind.

What is it makes his graceless grace

So like a jockey out of place?

What makes the waiter - tell who can —

So very like a gentleman ?

Perhaps their mothers - God is great! —
Perhaps 't is accident, or fate!
Perhaps because - hold not my pen

We can breed horses but not men.

English Newspaper.

DARWINISM IN THE KITCHEN.

I WAS takin' off my bonnet
One arternoon at three,
When a hinseck jumped upon it
As proved to be a flea.

Then I takes it to the grate,
Between the bars to stick it,
But I had n't long to wait
Ere it changed into a cricket.

Says I, "Surelie my senses
Ís a-gettin' in a fog!"
So to drown it I commences,
When it halters to a frog.

Here my heart began to thump,
And no wonder I felt funky;
For the frog, with one big jump,
Leaped hisself into a monkey.

Then I opened wide my eyes,
His features for to scan,
And observed, with great surprise,
That that monkey was a man.

But he vanished from my sight,

And I sunk upon the floor,

Just as missus with a light

Come inside the kitching door.

Then, beginnin' to abuse me,

She says, "Sarah, you 've been drinkin'!” I says, "No, mum, you'll excuse me,

But I've merely been a-thinkin'.

"But as sure as I'm a cinder,

That party what you see

A-gettin' out the winder

Have developed from a flea!"

NINETY-NINE IN THE SHADE.

OH for a lodge in a garden of cucumbers!
Oh for an iceberg or two at control!
Oh for a vale that at mid-day the dew cumbers!
Oh for a pleasure-trip up to the pole !

Oh for a little one-story thermometer

With nothing but zeroes all ranged in a row! Oh for a big double-barrelled hygrometer,

To measure the moisture that rolls from my brow!

Oh that this cold world were twenty times colder!
(That's irony red hot, it seemeth to me.)
Oh for a turn of its dreaded cold shoulder !
Oh what a comfort an ague would be!

Oh for a grotto frost-lined and rill-riven,
Scooped in the rock under cataract vast!
Oh for a winter of discontent even!

Oh for wet blankets judiciously cast!

Oh for a soda-fount spouting up boldly

From every hot lamp-post against the hot sky!

Oh for a maiden to look on me coldly,

Freezing my soul with a glance from her eye!

Then oh for a draught from the cup of cold pizen,
And oh, for a through ticket via Coldgrave
To the baths of the Styx where a thick shadow lies on,
And deepens the chill of its dark running wave !

ROSSITER JOHNSON.

A COCKNEY WAIL.

THE great Pacific journey I have done,

In many a town and tent I've found a lodgment,

I think I've travelled to the setting sun,

And very nearly reached the day of judgment.

Like Launcelot in quest of Holy Grail,

From western Beersheba to Yankee Dan

I've been a seeker, yet I sadly fail

To find the genuine type American.

Where is this object of my youthful wonder,
Who met me in the pages of Sam Slick,-
Who opened every sentence with "By thunder ! "
And whittled always on a bit of stick?

The more the crowd of friends around me thickens,
The less my chance to meet him seems to be;
Why did he freely show himself to Dickens,

To Dixon, Sala, Trollope, not to me?

No one accosts me with the words, "Wa'al, stranger! Greets me as" Festive cuss," or shouts "Old hoss !" No grim six-shooter threatens me with danger,

If I don't "quickly pass the butter, boss.' Round friendly boards no "cocktail

ever passes,

No "brandy smash" my morning hour besets; And petticoats are worn by all the lasses,

And the pianos don't wear pantalettes.

The ladies, when you offer chicken salad,
Don't say, "I'm pretty crowded now, I guess ;"
They don't sing Mrs. Barney Williams' ballad
Of "Bobbing Round," nor add "sir-ee" to yes.
I, too, have sat, like every other fellow,

In many a railway, omnibus, street car;
No girl has spiked ME with a fierce umbrella,
And said, "You git, I mean to sit right thar."
Gone are the Yankees of my early reading!
Faded the Yankee land of eager quest!
I meet with culture, courtesy, good-breeding,
Art, letters, men and women of the best.
Oh, fellow Britons, all my hopes are undone !
Take counsel of a disappointed man:

Don't come out here, but stay at home in London,
And seek in books the true American.

I WUD KNOT DYE IN WINTUR.

I WUD knot dye in wintur,
When whiski punchez flo;
When pooty galls air skatin'
O'er fealds ov ice an' sno;
When sassidge-meet is phrying,
And hickrie knuts is thick;
Owe! who kud think of dighing,
Or even gettin' sick?

I wud knot dye in springtime,
And miss the turnup greens,

And the pooty song ov the leetle fraugs,

And the ski-lark's airly screams.

When burds begin thare wobbling,

And taters 'gin to sprout,

When turkies go a-gobblering,

I wud knot then peg.out.