And “Pretty Poll,” repeated I,
The while I stole a merry glance
Across the room all on the sly,
Where some one plied her needle fast,
Demurely by the window sitting;
But I beheld upon her cheek
A multitude of blushes flitting.
“Kiss Pretty Poll,” the parrot coaxed:
“I would, but dare not try,” I said,
And stole another glance to see
How some one drooped her golden head,
And sought for something on the floor
(The loss was only feigned, I knew)—
And still, “Kiss Poll,” the parrot screamed,
The very thing I longed to do.
But some one turned to me at last,
“Please, won’t you keep that parrot still?”
“Why, yes,” said I, “at least—you see
If you will let me, dear, I will.”
And so—well, never mind the rest;
But some one said it was a shame
To take advantage just because
A foolish parrot bore her name.
—_Harper’s Weekly._
THANKSGIVING-DAY (THEN AND NOW).
BY MARY D. BRINE.
Thanksgiving-day, a year ago,
A bachelor was I,
Free as the winds that whirl and blow,
Or clouds that sail on high:
I smoked my meerschaum blissfully,
And tilted back my chair,
And on the mantel placed my feet,
For who would heed or care?
The fellows gathered in my room
For many an hour of fun,
Or I would meet them at the club
For cards, till night was done.
I came or went as pleased me best,
Myself the first and last.
One year ago! Ah, can it be
That freedom’s age is past?
Now, here’s a note just come from Fred:
“Old fellow, will you dine
With me to-day? and meet the boys,
A jolly number—nine?”
Ah, Fred is quite as free to-day
As just a year ago,
And ignorant, happily, I may say,
Of things
I’d like, yes, if the truth were known,
I’d like to join the boys,
But then a Benedick must learn
To cleave to other joys.
So, here’s my answer: “Fred, old chum,
I much regret—oh, pshaw!
To tell the truth, I’ve got to dine
