"What would you?" twittered in the wren;
"These are the reckless ways of men.
I watched them bill and coo as though
They thought the sign of spring was snow;
If men but timed their loves as we,
'Twould save this inconsistency."
"Nay, gossip," chirped the robin, "nay;
I like their unreflective way.
Besides, I heard enough to show
Their love is proof against the snow:—
'Why wait,' he said, 'why wait for May,
When love can warm a winter's day?'"
MENTAL PHOTOGRAPHS
[Sidenote: Mark Twain]
I have received from the publishers, New York, a neatly-printed page of questions, with blanks for answers, and am requested to fill those blanks. These questions are so arranged as to ferret out the most secret points of a man's nature without his ever noticing what the idea is until it is all done, and his "character" gone for ever. A number of these sheets are bound together and called a Mental Photograph Album. Nothing could induce me to fill those blanks but the asseveration of my pastor, that it will benefit my race by enabling young people to see what I am, and giving them an opportunity to become like somebody else. This overcomes my scruples. I have but little character, but what I have I am willing to part with for the public good. I do not boast of this character, further than that I built it up by myself, at odd hours, during the last thirty years, and without other educational aid than I was able to pick up in the ordinary schools and colleges. I have filled the blanks as follows:
What is your favourite…
Colour?—Anything but dun.
Tree?—Any that bears forbidden fruit.
Hour in the Day?—The leisure hour.
Perfume?—Cent, per cent.
Style of Beauty?—The Subscriber's.