My dame should dress in cheap attire;
    (Good, heavy silks are never dear;)—­
  I own perhaps I might desire
        Some shawls of true cashmere,—­
  Some marrowy crapes of China silk,
  Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk.

  I would not have the horse I drive
    So fast that folks must stop and stare;
  An easy gait—­two, forty-five—­
        Suits me; I do not care;—­
  Perhaps, for just a single spurt,
  Some seconds less would do no hurt.

  Of pictures, I should like to own
    Titians and Raphaels three or four,—­
  I love so much their style and tone,—­
        One Turner, and no more
  (A landscape,—­foreground golden dirt;
  The sunshine painted with a squirt).

  Of books but few,—­some fifty score
    For daily use, and bound for wear;
  The rest upon an upper floor;—­
        Some little luxury there
  Of red morocco’s gilded gleam,
  And vellum rich as country cream.

  Busts, cameos, gems,—­such things as these,
    Which others often show for pride,
  I value for their power to please,
        And selfish churls deride;—­
  One Stradivarius, I confess,
  Two Meerschaums, I would fain possess.

  Wealth’s wasteful tricks I will not learn,
    Nor ape the glittering upstart fool;—­
  Shall not carved tables serve my turn,
        But all must be of buhl? 
  Give grasping pomp its double share,—­
  I ask but one recumbent chair.

  Thus humble let me live and die,
    Nor long for Midas’ golden touch;
  If Heaven more generous gifts deny,
        I shall not miss them much.—­
  Too grateful for the blessing lent
  Of simple tastes and mind content!

MY LAST WALK WITH THE SCHOOLMISTRESS.

(A Parenthesis.)

I can’t say just how many walks she and I had taken together before this one.  I found the effect of going out every morning was decidedly favorable on her health.  Two pleasing dimples, the places for which were just marked when she came, played, shadowy, in her freshening cheeks when she smiled and nodded good-morning to me from the schoolhouse-steps.

I am afraid I did the greater part of the talking.  At any rate, if I should try to report all that I said during the first half-dozen walks we took together, I fear that I might receive a gentle hint from my friends the publishers, that a separate volume, at my own risk and expense, would be the proper method of bringing them before the public.