They may talk of love in a cottage, And bowers of trellised vine---- Of nature bewitchingly simple, And milkmaids half divine; They may talk of the pleasure of sleeping In the shade of a spreading tree, And a walk in the fields at morning, By the side of a footstep free! But give me a sly flirtation By the light of a chandelier---- With music to play in the pauses, And nobody very near; Or a seat on a silken sofa, With a glass of pure old wine, And mamma too blind to discover The small white hand in mine. Your love in a cottage is hungry, Your vine is a nest for flies---- Your milkmaid shocks the Graces, And simplicity talks of pies! You lie down to your shady slumber And wake with a bug in your ear, And your damsel that walks in the morning Is shod like a mountaineer. True love is at home on a carpet, And mightily likes his ease---- And true love has an eye for a dinner, And starves beneath shady trees. His wing is the fan of a lady, His foot's an invisible thing, And his arrow is tipp'd with a jewel And shot from a silver string. NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS * * * * * A CASE OF CONSCIENCE _Uncle Jack:_ It is very good lemonade, I am sure; but tell me, Bonnie, why do you sell yours for three cents a glass when Charley gets five for his? _Miss Bonnie:_ Well, you mustn't tell anybody, Uncle Jack, but the puppy fell in mine and I thought it ought to be cheaper. A Hingham, Massachusetts, woman is said to have hit upon a happy idea when she was puzzled what to do in order to tell her mince and apple pies apart. She was advised to mark them, and did so, and complacently announced: "This I've marked 'T. M.'--'Tis mince; an' that I've marked 'T. M.'--'Taint mince." Doctor Oliver Wendell Holmes used to be an amateur photographer. When he presented a picture to a friend, he wrote on the back of it, "Taken by O. W. Holmes & Sun." HANS BREITMANN'S PARTY Hans Breitmann gife a barty: Dey had biano-blayin': I felled in lofe mit a 'Merican frau, Her name was Madilda Yane, She hat haar as prown as a pretzel, Her eyes vas himmel-plue, Und ven dey looket indo mine, Dey shplit mine heart in two. Hans Breitmann gife a barty: I vent dere, you'll be pound. I valtzet mit Madilda Yane Und vent shpinnen round and round. De pootiest Fraeulein in de house, She veyed 'pout dwo hoondred pound, Und efery dime she gife a shoomp She make de vindows sound. Hans Breitmann gife a barty: I dells you it cost him dear. Dey rolled in more ash sefen kecks Of foost rate Lager Beer, Und venefer dey knocks de shpicket in De Deutschers gifes a cheer. I dinks dat so vine a barty Nefer coom to a het dis year.