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HER Leghorn hat was of the bright gold tint
The setting sunbeams give to autumn clouds;
The riband that encircled it as blue

As spots of sky upon a moonless night,
When stars are keeping revelry in heaven;
A single ringlet of her clustering hair
Fell gracefully beneath her hat, in curls
As dark as down upon the raven's wing;
The kerchief, partly o'er her shoulders flung,
And partly waving in the wind, was woven
Of every color the first rainbow wore,.
When it came smiling in its hues of beauty,
A promise from on high to a lost world.

Her robe seemed of the snow just fallen to earth,
Pure from its home in the far winter clouds,

As white, as stainless; and around her waist

(You might have spanned it with your thumb and


A girdle of the hue of Indian pearls

Was twined, resembling the faint line of water
That follows the swift bark o'er quiet seas.
Her face I saw not: but her shape, her form,
Was one of those with which creating bards
People a world of their own fashioning,

Forms for the heart to love and cherish ever,
The visiting angels of our twilight dreams.
Her foot was loveliest of remembered things,
Small as a fairy's on a moon-lit leaf

Listening the wind-harp's song, and watching by
The wild-thyme pillow of her sleeping queen,
When proud Titania shuns her Oberon.

But 'twas that foot which broke the spell-alas!
Its stocking had a deep, deep tinge of blue-
I turned away in sadness, and passed on.

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The Bard of Eden sings,

Young Love his constant lamp will light,

And wave his purple wings."

But rain-drops from the clouds of care

May bid that lamp be dim,

And the boy Love will pout and swear

"Tis then no place for him.


So mused the lovely Mrs. Dash;
'Tis wrong to mention names;
When for her surly husband's cash
She urged in vain her claims.

"I want a little money, dear,

For Vandervoort and Flandin,

Their bill, which now has run a year,
To-morrow mean to hand in."


"More?" cried the husband, half asleep, "You'll drive me to despair;'

The lady was too proud to weep,
And too polite to swear.

She bit her lip for very spite,

He felt a storm was brewing,

And dreamed of nothing else all night, But brokers, banks, and ruin.


He thought her pretty once, but dreams

Have sure a wondrous power,

For to his eye the lady seems

Quite altered since that hour;

And Love, who on their bridal eve,
Had promised long to stay,

Forgot his promise, took French leave,

And bore his lamp away.

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