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A JOURNAL IN RHYME.

Its hills, its beach, its winding streams,
Are lovelier than the land of dreams.

All charming things of beauty rare,
Trees, fruits, flowers, waters cluster there;
It seems descended from the skies,
And mamma calls it Paradise.

Auntie, I must say good bye,
But first I'll tell a pleasant thing,
My Canary did not die;

He lives to love me and to sing.
His leg was amputated, then
He was silent many days,

And I was delighted when

He returned to his glad ways.
Dearest Auntie, now adieu,
Though we are so far apart,
Always there's a place for you,
In the tropics of my heart.

NED.

A SKETCH.

LET me describe this charming dog,
And all his fascinating ways—
His eloquent, expressive face
I cannot too much praise.

Sometimes I think a human soul, And human thoughts imprisoned lie Within that graceful form of his, And shine forth from his eye.

He has so much of intellect,

So quickly comprehends one's looks, And all that's said he understands

As if he'd studied books.

There is no need that he should speak;
All the affection he would tell,

Is written on his knowing face
So brightly and so well.

Fastidious is he in his loves,
Yet very faithful and sincere,
And dignified in manner too,
With gentlemanly air.

In character as well as form
He is a dog of beauty rare;
No other dog in all the world

TO JIP.

LISTEN to me, Jip, I pray,
Let me tell you how one day
I was joyfully at play,

When I heard a kitten mew, —
That little kitten, Jip, was you.
I was in a quiet street,

Where the children always meet;
There before the school-room door,
At nine o'clock or just before,
Many of us ran to see

What this mewing sound could be. Lo, before us kittens three!

Little kittens all alone,

Making a most dismal moan

Where had the kittens' mother gone?

That's a mystery yet unknown.
In pity, Jip, I folded you

In my arms so warm and true;
My friend Mary chose your brother,
Little Eugene caught the other:
Home we took the kittens three,

Fearing our mothers might not be
Pleased the little cats to see.
So I rather hesitated,

Thinking that you might be fated
To a bed beneath the wave,

Yet I hoped my pet to save.

In my apron white and fair

Fast asleep you folded were,

And thus I took you to mamma.

She did not send you from her sight,

But praised your charming black and white,

Caressed, and kindly petted you,

Which you acknowledged with a mew;

And said that I might always keep

My darling little playful Jip.