And that, I suppose, is the reason

Why I am enjoying, to-day,

What 's called "the height of the season

In rather the loftiest way.

Good by for now I must stop —
To Charley's command I resign,
So I'm his for the regular hop,

But ever most tenderly thine,

CLOE.

THE GREAT MAGICIAN.

ONCE, when a lad, it was my hap

To gain my mother's kind permission

To go and see a foreign chap

Who called himself "The Great Magician"; I recollect his wondrous skill

In divers mystic conjurations,
And how the fellow wrought at will
The most prodigious transformations.

I recollect the nervous man'

Within whose hat the great deceiver Broke eggs, as in a frying-pan,

And took 'em smoking from the beaver! I recollect the lady's shawl

Which the magician rent asunder, And then restored; but, best of all, I recollect the Ribbon-Wonder!

I mean, of course, the funny freak
In which the wizard, at his pleasure,

Spins lots of ribbons from his cheek
(Where he had hid 'em, at his leisure).
Yard after yard, of every hue,

Comes blazing out, and still the fellow
Keeps spinning ribbons, red and blue,

And black, and white, and green, and yellow!

I ne'er shall see another show

To rank with the immortal "Potter's";" He's dead and buried long ago,

And others charm our sons and daughters;

Years

years have fled — alas! how quick,

Since I beheld the Great Magician, And yet I've seen the Ribbon-Trick In many a curious repetition!

Thus, when an author I have read

Who much amazed the world of letters
With gems his fluent pen has shed,

(All nicely pilfered from his betters,)
Presto!'t is done! - and all complete,
As in my youth's enraptured vision,
I've seen again the Ribbon-Feat,
And thought about the Great Magician!

So, when a sermon I have heard

Made up of bits of borrowed learning, Some cheap mosaic which has stirred The wonder of the undiscerning, – Swift as a flash has memory then Recalled the ancient exhibition;

I saw the Ribbon-Trick again,

And thought about the Great Magician!

So when some flippant man-o'-jokes,

Though in himself no dunce was duller,
Has dazzled all the simple folks

With brilliant jests of every color,
I've whispered thus (while fast and thick
The changes flashed across my vision):
"How well he plays the Ribbon-Trick!
By Jove! - he beats the Great Magician!"

I ne'er shall see another show

To rank with the immortal "Potter's";
He's dead and buried long ago,

And others charm our sons and daughters;
Years - years have fled-alas! how quick,
Since I beheld the Great Magician,
And yet I've seen the Ribbon-Trick
In many a curious repetition!

THE BLARNEY STONE.

I.

IN Blarney Castle, on a crumbling tower,

IN

There lies a stone (above your ready reach), Which to the lips imparts, 't is said, the power

Of facile falsehood, and persuasive speech; And hence, of one who talks in such a tone, The peasants say, "He's kissed the Blarney Stone!"

II.

Thus, when I see some flippant tourist swell
With secrets wrested from an Emperor,

And hear him vaunt his bravery, and tell

-

How once he snubbed a Marquis, — I infer

The man came back- - if but the truth were known

By way of Cork, and kissed the Blarney Stone!

III.

So, when I hear a shallow dandy boast

(In the long ear that marks a brother dunce)
What precious favors ladies' lips have lost,
To his advantage; I suspect, at once,

The fellow's lying; that the dog alone
(Enough for him!) has kissed the Blarney Stone !

IV.

When some fine lady, — ready to defame

An absent beauty, with as sweet a grace, With seeming rapture greets a hated name,

And lauds her rival to her wondering face;

E'en Charity herself must freely own

Some women, too, have kissed the Blarney Stone !

V.

When sleek attorneys, whose seductive tongues,
Smooth with the unction of a golden fee,

"Breathe forth huge falsehoods from capacious lungs,” (The words are Juvenal's) 't is plain to see

A lawyer's genius is n't all his own;

The specious rogue has kissed the Blarney Stone!

VI.

When the false pastor, from his fainting flock
Withholds the Bread of Life - the Gospel news
To give them dainty words, lest he should shock
The fragile fabric of the paying pews,

Who but must feel, the man, to Grace unknown,

Has kissed, not Calvary, but the Blarney Stone!

-

* "Immensa cavi spirant mendacia folles."

ODE TO THE PRINCE OF WALES.

INVITING HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS TO A COUNTRY COTTAGE

PRINCE of Wales!

Unless my judgment fails,

You 've found your recent travel rather dreary;
I don't expect an answer to the query,

But are n't you getting weary?

Weary of Bells, and Balls, and grand Addresses? Weary of Military and their messes?

Weary of adulation and caresses?

Weary of shouts from the admiring masses?
Weary of worship from the upper classes?
Weary of horses, may'rs, and asses?

Of course 't was kindly meant, —
But don't you now repent

Your good Mamma's consent

That you should be,

This side the sea,

The "British Lion" which you represent?

Pray leave your city courtiers and their capers,
And come to us: we've no pictorial papers;
And no Reporters to distort your nose;

Or mark the awkward carriage of your toes;
Your style of sneezing, and such things as those;
Or, meaner still, in democratic spite,

Measure your Royal Highness by your height!

Then come to us!

We're not the sort of folk to make a fuss,
E'en for the PRESIDENT, — but then, my boy,