Our people will not stand it--no!
Of Fiction, limp or strong,
Yanks want but little here below,
Nor want that little _long_!
(But oh! our (Saxon) stars one thanks,
Romance is _not_ (yet) ruled by Yanks!)

* * * * *

SONGS OF THE UN-SENTIMENTALIST.

THE TAX-COLLECTOR'S HEART.

I know his step, his ring, his knock,
I hear him, too, explain,
With emphasis my nerves that shock,
That he "won't call again!"
I know that bodes a coming storm--
A summons looms a-head!
I follow his retreating form,
And note his stealthy tread!
Some grace to beg, implore, beseech,
'Twere vain! Let him depart!
I know no human cry can reach
That Tax-Collector's heart!

He kept his word. To claim that rate
He never called again.
An outraged Vestry, loth to wait,
Soon made their purpose plain.