'Tis a mystical potation That exceeds in warmth of glow And divine exhilaration All the drugs of long ago-- All of old magicians' potions-- Of Medea's filtered spells-- Or of fabled isles and oceans Where the Lotos-eater dwells! Though I've reveled o'er late lunches With _blase_ dramatic stars, And absorbed their wit and punches And the fumes of their cigars-- Drank in the latest story, With a cock-tail either end,-- I have drained a deeper glory In a cup of tea, my friend. Green, Black, Moyune, Formosa, Congou, Amboy, Pingsuey-- No odds the name it knows--ah! Fill a cup of it for me! And, as I clink my china Against your goblet's brim, My tea in steam shall twine a Fragrant laurel round its rim. JUDITH. O her eyes are amber-fine-- Dark and deep as wells of wine, While her smile is like the noon Splendor of a day of June. If she sorrow--lo! her face It is like a flowery space In bright meadows, overlaid With light clouds and lulled with shade If she laugh--it is the trill Of the wayward whippoorwill Over upland pastures, heard Echoed by the mocking-bird In dim thickets dense with bloom And blurred cloyings of perfume. If she sigh--a zephyr swells Over odorous asphodels And wan lilies in lush plots Of moon-drown'd forget-me-nots. Then, the soft touch of her hand-- Takes all breath to understand What to liken it thereto!-- Never roseleaf rinsed with dew Might slip soother-suave than slips Her slow palm, the while her lips Swoon through mine, with kiss on kiss Sweet as heated honey is. THE ARTEMUS OF MICHIGAN. Grand Haven is in Michigan, and in possession, too, Of as many rare attractions as our party ever knew:-- The fine hotel, the landlord, and the lordly bill of fare, And the dainty-neat completeness of the pretty waiters there; The touch on the piano in the parlor, and the trill Of the exquisite soprano, in our fancy singing still; Our cozy room, its comfort, and our thousand grateful tho'ts, And at our door the gentle face Of H. Y. Potts! His artless observations, and his drollery of style, Bewildered with that sorrowful serenity of smile-- The eye's elusive twinkle, and the twitching of the lid, Like he didn't go to say it and was sorry that he did. O Artemus of Michigan! so worthy of the name, Our manager indorses it, and Bill Nye does the same-- You tickled our affection in so many tender spots That even Recollection laughs At H. Y. Potts!