What was I thinking last?--slowly I rise
On downy pinions; dreaming, I fly, I soar;--
Through the clouds my way I'm winging,
Angels to their harps are singing,
Strains of unearthly sweetness lull me,
And thrilling harmonies----"Yelp! Bow-wow-wow!"
"Get out!"--"The dog has got me by the leg!"
"Stave him off! Will you? See, he's rent my pants,
My newest plaid!--Kick him!"--"Yow, yow!"--"This house
I'll never serenade again!--A dog
Should know musicians from suspicious chaps,
And gentlemen from rowdies, even at night!"
"Beat him again!" "No, no! Perhaps 't is HERS!
A _lady's pet!_ Methinks the curtain moves!
She's looking out! Let's sing once more! Just once!"
"Not I.--I'll sing no more to-night!" and steps
Limping unequally, and grumbling voice,
Pass round the corner, and are heard no more.




TO THE NEAR-SIGHTED.


Purblind and short-sighted friends! You will listen to me,--_you_ will
sympathize with me; for you know by painful experience what I mean
when I say that we near-sighted people do not receive from our
hawk-eyed neighbors that sympathy and consideration to which we are
justly entitled. If we were blind, we should be abundantly pitied, but