My grandfather's gold-headed cane.

FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES.
_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._


~Hours.~

Matchless, melting eyes of brown,
This is but a cheerless town;
You should beam 'neath warmer skies,
Matchless, melting, dark brown eyes.

Yours should be a land of flowers,
Perfumed air and sunny hours;
Eastern fires within you rise,
Matchless, melting, dark brown eyes.

Eyes of beauty, eyes of light,
Burning mystically bright,
Prithee here no longer stay,
You will burn my heart away.

W.
_Hamilton Literary Monthly_.


~A Fickle Heart.~

A fickle heart! Let subtler poets sing