And here comes Miss Agnes.  Good morning! “Bon jour!”
      Now, isn’t that vision alarming? 
    Silk with panier, and puffs, and lace
    Decking a figure of corsetted grace;
    Her words are minced, and her spoiled young face
      Wears a simper far from charming.

    Thirteen only a month ago,—­
      Notice her conversation: 
    Fashion—­that bonnet of Nellie Perroy’s—­
    And now, in a low, confidential voice,
    Of Helena’s treatment of Tommy Joyce,—­
      Aged twelve,—­that’s the last flirtation.

    What has become of the children, then? 
      How can an answer be given? 
    Folly filling each curly head,
    Premature vices, childhood dead,
    Blighted blossoms—­can it be said
      “Of such is the kingdom of heaven?”

    CHINESE LANTERNS.

    Through the windows on the park
      Float the waltzes, weirdly sweet;
    In the light, and in the dark,
      Rings the chime of dancing feet. 
        Mid the branches, all a-row,
        Fiery jewels gleam and glow;
      Dreamingly we walk beneath,—­
        Ah, so slow!

    All the air is full of love;
      Misty shadows wrap us round;
    Light below and dark above,
      Filled with softly-surging sound. 
        See the forehead of the Night
        Garlanded with flowers of light,
      And her goblet crowned with wine,
        Golden bright.

    Ah! those deep, alluring eyes,
      Quiet as a haunted lake;
    In their depths the passion lies
      Half in slumber, half awake. 
        Lay thy warm, white hand in mine
        Let the fingers clasp and twine,
      While my eager, panting heart
        Beats ’gainst thine.

    Bring thy velvet lips a-near,
      Mine are hungry for a kiss,
    Gladly will I sate them, dear;
      Closer, closer,—­this,—­and this. 
        On thy lips love’s seal I lay,
        Nevermore to pass away;—­
      That was all last night, you know,
        But to-day—­

    Chinese lanterns hung in strings,
      Painted paper, penny dips,—­
    Filled with roasted moths and things
      Greasy with the tallow drips;
        Wet and torn, with rusty wire,
        Blackened by the dying fire;
      Withered flowers, trampled deep
        In the mire.

    Chinese lanterns, Bernstein’s band,
      Belladonna, lily white,
    These made up the fairy-land
      Where I wandered all last night;
        Ruled in all its rosy glow
        By a merry Queen, you know
      Jolly, dancing, laughing, witching,
        Veuve Cliquot.

    THOUGHTS ON THE COMMANDMENTS.

    “Love your neighbor as yourself,”—­
      So the parson preaches;
    That’s one-half the Decalogue.—­
      So the Prayer-book teaches. 
    Half my duty I can do
      With but little labor,
    For with all my heart and soul
      I do love my neighbor.