For where is a color that can compare With the blush of a buxom lass; Or where such warmth as of the hair Of the genuine white horse class? And, lo! reflected within this cup Of cheery Bordeaux I see What inspiration girdeth me up,-- Yes, red is the color for me! Through acres and acres of art I've strayed In Italy, Germany, France; On many a picture a master has made I've squandered a passing glance: Marines I hate, madonnas and Those Dutch freaks I detest; But the peerless daubs of my native land,-- They're red, and I like them best. 'Tis little I care how folk deride,-- I'm backed by the West, at least; And we are free to say that we can't abide The tastes that obtain down East; And we're mighty proud to have it said That here in the versatile West Most any color, so long as it's red, Is the color that suits us best. JEWISH LULLABY. MY harp is on the willow-tree, Else would I sing, O love, to thee A song of long ago,-- Perchance the song that Miriam sung Ere yet Judæa's heart was wrung By centuries of woe. The shadow of those centuries lies Deep in thy dark and mournful eyes; But, hush! and close them now, And in the dreams that thou shalt dream The light of other days shall seem To glorify thy brow. I ate my crust in tears to-day, As, scourged, I went upon my way, And yet my darling smiled,-- Ay, beating at my breast, he laughed; My anguish curdled not the draught, 'Twas sweet with love, my child. Our harp is on the willow-tree: I have no song to sing to thee, As shadows round us roll; But, hush! and sleep, and thou shalt hear Jehovah's voice that speaks to cheer Judæa's fainting soul. AT CHEYENNE. YOUNG Lochinvar came in from the west, With fringe on his trousers and fur on his vest; The width of his hat brim could nowhere be beat, His No. 10 brogans were chock full of feet, His girdle was horrent with pistols and things, And he nourished a handful of aces on kings. The fair Mariana sate watching a star, When who should turn up but the young Lochinvar! Her pulchritude gave him a pectoral glow, And he reined up his hoss with stentorian "Whoa!" Then turned on the maiden a rapturous grin, And modestly asked if he mightn't step in.