Well, give my love to Crittenden, to Clardy and O'Neill, To Jasper Burke and Colonel Jones, and tell 'em how I feel; My compliments to Cockrill, Munford, Switzler, Hasbrook, Vest, Bill Nelson, J. West Goodwin, Jedge Broadhead and the rest; Bid them be steadfast in the faith and pay no heed at all To Joe McCullagh's badinage or Chauncy Filley's gall; And urge them to retaliate for what I'm suffering here By cinching all the alien class that wants its Sunday beer. THE BIBLIOMANIAC'S BRIDE. The women folk are like to books-- Most pleasing to the eye, Whereon if anybody looks He feels disposed to buy. I hear that many are for sale-- Those that record no dates, And such editions as regale The view with colored plates. Of every quality and grade And size they may be found-- Quite often beautifully made, As often poorly bound. Now, as for me, had I my choice, I'd choose no folio tall, But some octavo to rejoice My sight and heart withal. As plump and pudgy as a snipe-- Well worth her weight in gold, Of honest, clean, conspicuous type, And just the size to hold! With such a volume for my wife, How should I keep and con? How like a dream should speed my life Unto its colophon! Her frontispiece should be more fair Than any colored plate; Blooming with health she would not care To extra-illustrate. And in her pages there should be A wealth of prose and verse, With now and then a jeu d'esprit-- But nothing ever worse! Prose for me when I wished for prose, Verse, when to verse inclined-- Forever bringing sweet repose To body, heart, and mind. Oh, I should bind this priceless prize In bindings full and fine, And keep her where no human eyes Should see her charms, but mine! With such a fair unique as this, What happiness abounds! Who--who could paint my rapturous bliss, My joy unknown to Lowndes! EZRA J. M'MANUS TO A SOUBRETTE. 'Tis years, soubrette, since last we met, And yet, ah yet, how swift and tender My thoughts go back in Time's dull track To you, sweet pink of female gender! I shall not say--though others may-- That time all human joy enhances; But the same old thrill comes to me still With memories of your songs and dances. Soubrettish ways these latter days Invite my praise, but never get it; I still am true to yours and you-- My record's made--I'll not upset it! The pranks they play, the things they say-- I'd blush to put the like on paper; And I'll avow they don't know how To dance, so awkwardly they caper! I used to sit down in the pit And see you flit like elf or fairy Across the stage, and I'll engage No moonbeam sprite were half so airy. Lo! everywhere about me there Were rivals reeking with pomatum, And if perchance they caught a glance In song or dance, how did I hate 'em!