THE CHAPEL OF TWO SAINTS.

N a famous Tuscan city

IN

Stands a chapel snug and small;

Some old penitent's oblation,

With a double dedication,

To St. Peter and St. Paul.

To a soul so stoutly guarded
What of evil could befall?
When was ever plan completer
Without robbery of Peter,
Paying thus his due to Paul?

There it was I saw a lady,

Very round and ripe and tall; Surely never face was sweeter Than she turned upon St. Peter, After bowing to St. Paul.

Long and ardently I worshipped, —
Not the Saints, nor yet their Master,
But my feminine ideal;

Mea culpa! she was real

Flesh and blood, and they were plaster!

Good St. Anthony was tempted,
Though a frigid old divine
(Showing saints are only human),
But he never saw a woman

Half so beautiful as mine!

Pardon then my bad behavior,

(Thus upon the twain I call,) As if you were in my case, And were asking special grace

Of St. Peter and St. Paul!

THE LITTLE MAID AND THE LAWYER

THE

A SONG.

I.

HEY say, little maid, quoth Lawyer Brown,
I'm the cleverest man in all the town.

Heigh-ho! says she,

What's that to me?

But they say, little maid, quoth Lawyer Brown,
You 're the prettiest girl in all the town!
Says she, If they do,

What's that to you?

II.

They say, little maid, quoth Lawyer Brown,
I'm the richest man in all the town.

Heigh-ho! says she,

What's that to me?

But they say, little maid, quoth Lawyer Brown,
You ought to be dressed in a finer gown!

Says she, If they do,

What's that to you?

III.

They say, little maid, quoth Lawyer Brown,

That Johnny Hodge is an awkward clown.

But they say, little maid, the lawyer said,
That you and Johnny are going to wed!
Says she, If we do,
What's that to you?

I'

'VE been drinking-I've been drinking

To intoxication's edge;

Do not chide me, for the tipple
Was n't mentioned in the pledge!

Nay, believe me, 't was not Brandy
Wrought the roses that you see;
One may get a finer crimson

From a purer eau-de-vie.

(That were something over-weak);

There's a vastly better vintage

For the painting of a cheek.

By Loyola's children pressed From the Andalusian clusters

Ripened in the Golden West;

229

Not Madeira, Hock, nor Sherry;

No, indeed, 't is none of these Makes me giddy in the forehead, Makes me tremble in the knees.

No; 't is not the Gallic "Widow "
That has turned my foolish brain,
Nor the wine of any vineyard
Found in Germany or Spain.

Nay

I own it! 't is the nectar
That a favored lover sips,
(All unheeding of the danger!)
From a maiden's pulpy lips!

This it is that I 've been drinking
To intoxication's edge;

Till I marvel that the tipple

Is n't mentioned in the pledge!

For the taste is so enchanting
'T is impossible to see,
Should it grow into a habit,
What the consequence may be.

Well

I'll heed the sage's lesson,

(Pleasant though it prove in vain,) And by drinking very largely

Try to sober me again!

EGO ET ECHO.

A FANTASY.

I.

I ASKED of Echo, 't other day,

(Whose words are few and often funny,) What to a novice she could say

Of courtship, love, and matrimony?

Quoth Echo, plainly: “Matter-o'-money!"

II.

Whom should I marry?— should it be
A dashing damsel, gay and pert,

A pattern of inconstancy;

Or selfish, mercenary flirt?

Quoth Echo, sharply: "Nary flirt!"

That long has lured the dear deceiver-
She promise to amend her life,

And sin no more, can I believe her?
Quoth Echo, very promptly: "Leave her!"

IV.

But if some maiden with a heart,
On me should venture to bestow it:
Pray, should I act the wiser part
To take the treasure, or forego it?
Quoth Echo, with decision: "Go it!"