?
What bessage dost thou brig to be,
Fair Lady of by dreabs--
Dost whisper of the babblig brook
Ad fishig poles ad streabs?

Those happy days have cub agaid,
The sweetest of the year,
Whed bad cad raise ad appetite
Ad wholesub thirst for beer.
I've often thought id wudder, Sprig,
Of how the lily grows,
But the thig that's botherig be dow
Is how to sprig dew clothes.

Sprig, Sprig--Oh lovely Sprig!
By thoughts are all of you
I saw a robid yesterday--
How strange it seebs--ad dew!
I've got a dreadful cold, Fair Sprig,
Or else I'd sig to thee
Ad air frob Beddelssohd, perhaps,
Or "The Shade of the Old Apple Tree."

THE HOT WEATHER FIEND.

Ah, somewhere in another world
There is a warmer spot,
Where the fire is burning always.
And always it is hot;
And always fiends are shouting,
And always flames are blue,
And always Satan's asking:
"IS IT HOT ENOUGH FOR YOU?"

WHEN THE LID WAS ON.

They were seated there in silence
Each one busy with a frown,
It was midnight in the city,
And the lid was on the town.
They had all been playing poker
'Mid the rattle of the chink,
When a gloom fell o'er the party,
For they couldn't buy a drink,
But a little fellow whispered
As he held a poker hand,
"Can't we get as drunk on water
As we can upon the land?"
Then we kicked the little rascal,
And we spoke without a frown,
And we anchored safe in harbor
When the lid was on the town.

THE DOODLE BUG.

Why that's a doodle bug, my child
Who lives alone, remote and wild.
His domicile's a hole in the ground
And when at home he's easily found.
The only plan allowed by law
Is to lure him forth upon a straw,
For the doodle bug is a misanthrope
And otherwise is sure to elope.

GRIT.

I hate the fellow who sits around
And knocks the livelong day--
Who tells of the work he might have done;
If things had come his way.
But I love the fellow who pushes ahead
And smiles at his work or play--
You can wager when things do come around,
They will come his way--and stay.

THE NEXT MORNING.

What a difference in the morning
When you try to raise your head;
Whe