* * * * * TO FANNY H***. BY MRS. SEBA SMITH. Careless maiden, careless smiling, Tossing back thy raven hair, Guileless thou, though all beguiling, Scarcely conscious thou art fair. Playful words with music ringing Lightly falling from thy tongue— Snatches of old minstrels singing, Telling that thy heart is young— Flashing now thy radiant eyes Liquid with the light of youth, Stealing gladness from the skies Only known to souls of truth— Maiden, on thy heart hereafter Will a holier spell be wrought, That shall mellow down thy laughter, Deepen every inmost thought. Then thine eye shall droop in sadness, Shielding thus the fount within— Hope, now speaking in its gladness, Then shall be to rear akin. And a spell shall be around thee— Love thy spirit shall control— Yet rejoice when it hath bound thee— Love creates for thee a Soul. * * * * * BEN BLOWER’S STORY; OR HOW TO RELISH A JULEP. BY C. F. HOFFMAN. “Are you sure that’s The Flame over by the shore?” “Cer_ting_, manny! I could tell her pipes acrost the Mazoura.”[1] “And you will overhaul her?” “Won’t we though! I tell ye, Stranger, so sure as my name’s Ben Blower, that that last tar bar’l I hove in the furnace has put jist the smart chance of go-ahead into us to cut off The Flame from yonder pint, or send our boat to kingdom come.” “The devil!” exclaimed a bystander who, intensely interested in the race, was leaning the while against the partitions of the boiler-room, “I’ve chosen a nice place to see the fun near this infernal powder barrel!” “Not so bad as if you were in it!” coolly observed Ben, as the other walked rapidly away. “As if he were in it! in what? in the boiler?” “Cer_ting_! Don’t folks sometimes go into bilers, manny?” “I should think there’d be other parts of the boat more comfortable.” “That’s right; poking fun at me at once’t; but wait till we get through this brush with the old Flame and I’ll tell ye of a regular fixin scrape that a man may get into. It’s true, too, every word of it—as sure as my name’s Ben Blower.” • • • • • •