I’ve just been learning the lesson of life, The sad, sad lesson of loving, And all of its powers, of pleasure or pain, Been slowly and sadly proving; And all that’s left of the bright, bright dream, With its thousand brilliant phases, Is a handful of dust, in a coffin hid, A coffin under the daisies. The beautiful, beautiful daisies, The snowy, snowy daisies. And thus, forever, throughout the wide world Is love a sorrow proving; There are still many sorrowful things in life, But the saddest of all is loving. The life of some is worse than death, For fate a high wall oft raises, And far better with two hearts estranged, Is a low grave starred with daisies. The beautiful, beautiful daisies, The snowy, snowy daisies. And so ’tis better we lived as we did, The summer of love together, And that one of us tired, and laid down to rest, Ere the coming of wintry weather. For the saddest of love is love grown cold, And ’tis one of its surest phases, So I bless my lot, though with breaking heart, For that grave enstarred with daisies. The beautiful, beautiful daisies. The snowy, snowy daisies. “There was no difficulty made in exhibiting the upper portion of the dorsal connection, and it was done without any infringement of modesty.”--_Liverpool Mercury._ “All who met Millie Christine yesterday must have felt interested in her fortunes, and well disposed to meet her again.”--_Liverpool Daily Post._ “The two-headed girl would be a good juror--she could look at both sides of the case at the same time.”--_Cincinnati Enquirer._ “Their reception at the Masonic Temple has been attended by thousands of our best citizens.”--_Baltimore American._ MOTHER WOULD COMFORT ME. _Words and Music by C. C. Sawyer._ Wounded and sorrowful, far from my home, Sick among strangers, uncared for, unknown, Even the birds, that used sweetly to sing, Are silent, and swiftly have taken the wing. No one but mother can cheer me to-day, No one for me could so fervently pray. None to console me, no kind friend is near; Mother would comfort me if she were here. CHORUS. Gently her hand o’er my forehead she’d press, Trying to free me from pain and distress; Kindly she’d say to me, “Be of good cheer, Mother will comfort you; mother is here.” If she were with me, I soon would forget My pain and my sorrow; no more would I fret; One kiss from her lips, or one look from her eye, Would make me contented, and willing to die! Gently her hand o’er my forehead she’d press, Trying to free me from pain and distress; Kindly she’d say to me, “Be of good cheer; Mother will comfort you, mother is here!” CHORUS.--Gently her hand, &c.