"Farewell, ye braw young Highlander.
Tho' first ye sought to mask it:
Unceevil 'tis to steal a kiss.
But muckle waur to ask it."

CHARLES POTTER HINE.
_Yale Literary Magazine_.


~A Foreign Tongue.~

When lovers talk, they talk a foreign tongue,
Their words are not like ours,
But full of meanings like the throb of flowers
Yet in the earth, unborn. I think the snow
Feels the mysterious passage and the flow
Of inarticulate streams that surge below.
And it is easy learning for the young;
When lovers talk, they talk a foreign tongue.

ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH.
_Smith College Monthly_.


~Ye Gold-Headed Cane.~

It stands in the corner yet, stately and tall,
With a top that once shone like the sun.
It whispers of muster-field, playhouse, and ball,
Of gallantries, courtship, and fun.