Kiss me softly, and speak to me low, Envy, too, has a watchful ear; What if Envy should chance to hear? Kiss me dear! Kiss me softly, and speak to me low. Kiss me softly, and speak to me low; Trust me, darling, the time is near, When we may love with never a fear. Kiss me, dear! Kiss me softly, and speak to me low. In the spring of 1888 it was asserted of Congressman Lewis E. McComas, of Maryland, that he was the king of baby-kissers, having reduced baby-kissing to a fine art. The proceeding was something like this: First of all, Mr. McComas stands over the baby, and beams on it with his large, tender, hazel eyes. Then, as if moved by a sudden and irresistible impulse of affection, he snatches the little one to his bosom with all the fervor of the deserted stage mother. After pressing it for a moment with head bowed in emotion, he holds it in front of him in a horizontal position, beams once more on the little face; then his head slowly descends, there is an agonizing pause before the big moustache reaches the little lips, the angels hovering about suspend the flapping of their wings, a long-drawn sigh of joy proceeds from the Congressman’s breast, a low, sweet, lingering, honey-suggesting smack is heard—and the deed is done. There used to be a minstrel ballad describing the wedding of our simian ancestor. It was said: The monkey married the baboon’s sister, Smacked his lips, and then he kissed her— Kissed so hard he raised a blister— After which, the chronicler asserts: She set up a howl. There is the kiss after marriage. A story is told of a wife who was scolding her husband because he had found fault with certain conduct of their daughter. The old gentleman lost all patience, finally. “Now, see here, old woman,” said he, kindly, but firmly; “if you don’t hush your nonsense and dry up, I’ll tell Matilda’s beaux not to be caught swinging on the gate with her at night, and I’ll tell ’em why.” “You will, hey?” “Yes, I will; because when I was a courting young man, I was swinging on the gate with a young woman, one night, and Sam Solomon happened to pass by just as she gave me a good-night kiss.” She commenced feeling around for something. “It was the most unlucky kiss I ever got, for Sam gave up trying after that, and as soon as he got out of the way, it was me or nobody.” It was lucky he got over the fence and around the corner as quick as he did, or the surgeon wouldn’t have had such an easy job of it. You will find, my dear boy, that the dearly-prized kiss, Which with rapture you snatched from the half willing miss, Is sweeter by far than the legalized kisses You give the same girl when you’ve made her a Mrs.