A Bitter Reflection.
Oh why so sad, my lady fair?
What pales thy cheek and dims thy eye?
Thy drooping face is mark'd with care,
Thy heaving breast betrays a sigh.
What lacks thy lot to make it sweet?
What joy is there that is not thine?
What makes that heart in sorrow beat
And gives of happiness no sign?
"Ah, woe is me! I loved a youth,
Handsome in face, and brave and strong.
The paths of honor and of truth
Were his, for he could do no wrong.
Two years ago he sailed away
To seek his fortune o'er the seas,
And I've been yearning every day
That he'd return his love to please.
"But ah! I've waited long in vain
For my old sweetheart to return;
No message came across the main
From him for whom my soul did yearn.
Until to-day, when I am told
His ship is due to come in port;
He comes back worth a pile of gold,
At least, so says the last report."
Then why repine, sweet maid? You should
Be overjoyed to hear the news;
You soon will wed a husband good,
How can you, then, this grief excuse?
The lady answer'd. "Would you know
Why tear drops from my eyes now fall?
To tell the true cause of my woe,
I—married—some—one—else—last—Fall."
John S. Grey.
The buckwheat crop this year takes the cake over all former seasons. It wins by a mere scratch, however.—Philadelphia Press. Some door jambs look as though there had been a good deal of scratching in former years.
C. A. M.
The man who is given to sober reflection seldom gets into a tight place.
—Boston Courier.
The owner first breaks the race-horse; then the race-horse proceeds to break the owner.
—Washington Capital.
Dr. Brown-Sequard's new elixir of life is made from dogs, probably some infusion of bark.
—Toronto Globe.