MY UNSENTIMENTAL COUSIN:—­
  The moon was half bewildered by the vexing clouds
    That did beset her in her path serene,
  Veiling her beauty with their envious shrouds,
    Hiding her glorious, most majestic mien. 
  There was a depth of silence in the night—­
    A mist of melancholy in the air—­
  And the capricious beams of Dian’s light
    Gave something mystic to the scene most fair. 
  I gave my cousin Dante’s divine “Inferno,”
  Imploring her to read il primo canto. 
  “Lo giorno s’andava,” she drawled; but, tired of plodding,
  Directly fell asleep, and pretty soon—­was nodding!! 
  “Cousin, sweet cousin,” cried I out, “awake! 
  I long for sympathy—­compassion on me take: 
  They say yon stars are worlds—­dost think ’tis so?”
  “Really, my—­dear (a yawn), I—­don’t exactly know.” 
  “Cousin,” said I, “upon a night like this,
  Back to the heart steal distant memories
  From out the vista of the waning past”—­
  “Harry, I’ve caught the horrid fly at last!”
  Shades of the angry Muses! worse and worse! 
  She disappears!—­is gone!—­to knit a crochet purse!! 
  “Cousin, come back again!” in vain I cried;
  Echo (the mocking-bird!) alone replied.

CARA.

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CORNERS FOR POCKET HANDKERCHIEFS.

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BIRTHDAY OF THE YEAR

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