Poor child! The dark shadow that closely pursues her
Means menacing Terror; she sues for a shield,
And how shall the strong AEgis-bearer refuse her?
The bondage of caste to calm justice must yield.
We dare not be deaf to the voice of the pleader
For freedom and purity, nature and right;
Let Wisdom, high-throned as controller and leader,
Meet cruelty's steel with the shield of calm might!
* * * * *
MY MOTHER BIDS ME DYE MY HAIR.
[Auburn is said to be the present fashionable colour in hair.]
[Illustration: The Hazard of the Dye.]
My Mother bids me dye my hair
A lovely auburn hue,
She says I ought to be aware
It's quite the thing to do.
"Why sit," she cries, "without a smile,
Whilst others dance instead?"
Alas! no partners ask me while
My tresses are not red.
When no one else at all is near,
And I am quite alone,
I sadly shed a bitter tear
To think the Season's gone.
But when the time again draws nigh,
The time when maidens wed,
I'm quite resolved to "do _and_ dye"--
My tresses _shall_ be red!
* * * * *
TO ENGELBERG AND BACK.
_BEING A FEW NOTES TAKEN EN ROUTE IN SEARCH OF A PERFECT CURE._
I don't exactly know how I got mixed up with it, but I found myself
somehow "fixed," as our American cousins would say, to join a party
who were going to see Old JEPHSON (the Q.
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