TOUJOURS LES FEMMES.

I

THINK it was a Persian king Who used to say, that evermore In human life each evil thing

Comes of the sex that men adore; In brief, that nothing e'er befell

To harm or grieve our hapless race, But, if you probe the matter well, You'll find a woman in the case!

And then the curious tale is told
How, when upon a certain night
A climbing youngster lost his hold,

And falling from a ladder's height,
Was found, alas! next morning dead,
His Majesty, with solemn face,
As was his wont, demurely said,

“Pray, who's the woman in the case?”

And how a lady of his court,

Who deemed the royal whim absurd, Rebuked him, while she made report

Of the mischance that late occurred; Whereat the king replied in glee,

"I've heard the story, please your Grace, And all the witnesses agree

There was a woman in the case!

"The truth, your Ladyship, is this
(Nor is it marvellous at all),
The chap was climbing for a kiss,
And got, instead, a fatal fall.

Whene'er a man

as I have said

Falls from a ladder, or from grace,

Or breaks his faith, or breaks his head,
There is a woman in the case!"

For such a churlish, carping creed
As that his Majesty professed,
I hold him of unkingly breed,

Unless, in sooth, he spoke in jest.
To me, few things have come to pass
Of good event, but I can trace,
Thanks to the matron or the lass,
Somewhere, a woman in the case.

Yet once, while gayly strolling where
A vast Museum still displays
Its varied wealth of strange and rare,

To charm, or to repel, the gaze, -
I-to a lady (who denied

-

The creed by laughing in my face) – Took up, for once, the Persian's side About a woman in the case.

Discoursing thus, we came upon

A grim Egyptian mummy-dead Some centuries since. ""T is Pharaoh's son Perhaps who knows?"- the lady said. No! on the black sarcophagus

A female name I stooped to trace ;

Toujours les femmes ! — 'T is ever thus, — There was a woman in the case!

GIRLHOOD.

7ITH rosy cheeks, and merry-dancing curls,

WITH

And eyes of tender light,

O, very beautiful are little girls,

And goodly to the sight!

Here comes a group to seek my lonely bower,
Ere waning Autumn dies:

How like the dew-drops on a drooping flower,
Are smiles from gentle eyes!

What beaming gladness lights each fairy face
The while the elves advance,

Now speeding swiftly in a gleesome race,
Now whirling in a dance!

What heavenly pleasure o'er the spirit rolls,
When all the air along

Floats the sweet music of untainted souls,
In bright, unsullied song!

The sacred nymphs that guard this sylvan ground
May sport unseen with these,

And joy to hear their ringing laugh resound
Among the clustering trees!

With rosy cheeks, and merry-dancing curls,
And eyes of tender light,

O, very beautiful are little girls,

And goodly to the sight!

THE COCKNEY.

T was in my foreign travel,

IT

At a famous Flemish inn,
That I met a stoutish person

With a very ruddy skin;
And his hair was something sandy,
And was done in knotty curls,
And was parted in the middle,
In the manner of a girl's.

He was clad in checkered trousers,
And his coat was of a sort
To suggest a scanty pattern,
It was bobbed so very short;
And his cap was very little,
Such as soldiers often use;
And he wore a pair of gaiters,
And extremely heavy shoes.

I addressed the man in English,
And he answered in the same,
Though he spoke it in a fashion
That I thought a little lame;
For the aspirate was missing

Where the latter should have been,

But where'er it was n't wanted,
He was sure to put it in!

When I spoke with admiration
Of St. Peter's mighty dome,

He remarked: ""T is really nothing

To the sights we 'ave at 'ome!" And declared upon his honor,

Though, of course, 't was very queer,

That he doubted if the Romans 'Ad the hart of making beer!

When I named the Colosseum,
He observed, "'T is very fair;
I mean, ye know, it would be,
If they'd put it in repair;
But what progress or himprovement
Can those curst Hitalians 'ope
While they're hunder the dominion
Of that blasted muff, the Pope?"

Then we talked of other countries,
And he said that he had heard
That Hamericans spoke Hinglish,
But he deemed it quite habsurd;
Yet he felt the deepest hinterest
In the missionary work,

And would like to know if Georgia
Was in Boston or New York!

When I left the man-in-gaiters,
He was grumbling, o'er his gin,
At the charges of the hostess
Of that famous Flemish inn;
And he looked a very Briton,
(So, methinks, I see him still)
As he pocketed the candle

That was mentioned in the bill!