A COLORED MAN'S LOVE-LETTER.

A colored man living in Detroit had long admired a colored widow in a neighboring street, but being afraid to reveal his passion, went to a white man and asked him to write the lady a letter asking her hand in marriage. The friend wrote, telling the woman in a few brief lines that the size of her feet was the talk of the neighborhood, and asking her if she couldn't pare them down a little. The name of the colored man was signed, and he was to call on her for an answer. Subsequently the writer of the letter met the negro limping along the street, and asked him what the widow said. The man showed him a bloodshot eye, a scratched nose, a lame leg, and a spot on the scalp where a handful of wool had been violently jerked out; and he answered in solemn tones: "She didn't say nuffin, an' I didn't stay dar mor'n a minute!"

UNPUBLISHED VERSES OF THOMAS MOORE.

Bright leaf, when storms thy bloom shall wither,
Oh, fly for calm and shelter hither;

And I will prize thy tints as truly

As when in Spring they blossom newly.

Bright leaf, when storms thy blooms shall wither,
Oh, fly for calm and shelter hither.

Sweet maid, while hope and rapture cheer thee,

"Tis not for me to linger near thee;

But when joys fade and hope deceives thee,

When all that soothes and flatters leaves thee

Oh, then, how sweet in one forsaken,
Fresh hopes and joys again to waken!

EGYPTIAN SERENADE.

Sing again the song you sung
When we were together young-
When there were but you and I
Underneath the summer sky.
Sing the song, and sing it o'er,
Though I know that nevermore
Will it seem the song you sung
When we were together young.

PETITIONS.

THE MAIDS AND WIDOWS.

The following petition, signed by sixteen maids of Charleston, South Carolina, was presented to the Governor of that province in March, 1733, "the day of the feast":

TO HIS EXCELLENCY GOVERNOR JOHNSON.

The humble petition of all the Maids whose names are underwritten: Whereas, We the humble petitioners are at present in a very melancholy disposition of mind, considering how all the bachelors are blindly captivated by widows, and our more youthful charms thereby neglected: the consequence of this our request is, that your Excellency will for the future order that no widow shall presume to marry any young man till the maids are provided for; or else to pay each of them a fine for satisfaction, for invading our liberties; and likewise a fine to be laid on all such bachelors as shall be married to widows. The great disadvantage it is to us maids, is, that the widows, by their forward carriages, do snap up the young men; and have the vanity to think their merits beyond ours, which is a great imposition upon us who ought to have the preference.

This is humbly recommended to your Excellency's consideration, and hope you will prevent any farther insults. And we poor Maids as in duty bound will ever pray.

P. S.-I, being the oldest maid, and therefore most concerned, do think it proper to be the messenger to your Excellency in behalf of my fellow subscribers.

A MALADROIT PETITION.

An autograph of Madame de Maintenon has recently been discovered at Chateau-Guinon, the history of which is curious. A worthy priest of Cuiseaux, a small Commune of La Brasse, desiring to repair his church, which was becoming dilapidated, had the happy idea of addressing himself to Madame de Maintenon, whose charitable bounty was upon every tongue. Not

being in the habit of corresponding with the great, the style of his supplication cost him much thought, but at last he produced a memorial commencing as follows:

"Madame:-You enjoy the reputation, which I doubt not is well founded, of according your favors to all who solicit them. I therefore venture to appeal to your bounty in behalf of the church of Cuiseaux," etc.

The exalted lady had no sooner cast her eyes upon the poor priest's unlucky exordium, than she flew into a rage, and had him thrown into prison, whence it was with great difficulty that his friends procured a release. The story seems apocryphal, but the memorial bears the following indorsement in the handwriting of Madame de Maintenon:-The lieutenant of police is ordered to issue a lettre-de-cachet against the signer of this petition.

Sonnets.

WRITING A SONNET.

Doris, the fair, a sonnet needs must have;
I ne'er was so put to 't before;-a Sonnet!
Why fourteen verses must be spent upon it;
'Tis good howe'er to have conquered the first stave,
Yet I shall ne'er find rhymes enough by half,

Said I, and found myself i' th' midst o' the second.
If twice four verses were but fairly reckoned

I should turn back on th' hardest part and laugh.
Thus far with good success I think I've scribbled,
And of the twice seven lines have clean got o'er ten.
Courage! another 'll finish the first triplet,

Thanks to thee, Muse, my work begins to shorten,
There's thirteen lines got through driblet by driblet:
'Tis done! count how you will I warrant there's fourteen.

IN A FASHIONABLE CHURCH.

The air is faint, yet still the crowds press in;
With stir of silks and under-flow of talk

That falls from lips of ladies as they walk,

Ere yet the dainty service doth begin:
Ah me! the very organ's glorious din

Is tuned to pliant trimness in its place.
And over all a sweet melodious grace

Floats with the incense-stream good souls to win!
O God, that spak'st of old from Sinai's brow!
And Thou that laid'st the tempest with a word!
Is this Thy worship? Come amongst us now
With all Thy thunders, if Thou wouldst be heard.
So tyrannous is this weight of pageantry,
Almost, we cry, "Give back Gethsemane!"

THE PROXY SAINT.

Each for himself must do his Master's work,
Or at his peril leave it all undone;
Witness the fate of one who sought to shirk
The Sanctuary service yet would shun
The penalty. A man of earthly aims

(So runs the apologue,) whose pious spouse Would oft remind him of the Church's claims,

Still answered thus, "Go, thou, and pay our vows
For thee and me!" Now, when at Peter's gate
The twain together had arrived at last,
He let the woman in; then to her mate,

Shutting the door, "Thou hast already passed
By proxy," said the Saint-"just in the way
That thou on earth was wont to fast and pray."

ABOUT A NOSE.

'Tis very odd that poets should suppose There is no poetry about a nose,

When plain as is the nose upon your face,

A noseless face would lack poetic grace.

Noses have sympathy: a lover knows

Noses are always touched when lips are kissing:
And who would care to kiss where nose was missing?

Why, what would be the fragrance of a rose,

And where would be our mortal means of telling

Whether a vile or wholesome odour flows

Around us, if we owned no sense of smelling?

I know a nose, a nose no other knows,

'Neath starry eyes, o'er ruby lips it grows; Beauty is in its form and music in its blows.

DYSPEPSIA.

Ah, me! what mischiefs from the stomach rise!
What fatal ills, beyond all doubt or question!

How many a deed of high and bold emprise
Has been prevented by a bad digestion!
I ween the savory crust of filthy pies

Hath made full many a man to quake and tremble, Filling his stomach with dyspeptic sighs,

Until a huge balloon it doth resemble.

Thus do our lower parts impede the upper,

And much the brain's good works molest and hinder.

We gorge our cerebellum with hot supper,

And burn, with drams, our viscera to a cinder,
Choosing our arrows from Disease's quiver,
Till man in misery lives to loathe his liver.

HUMILITY.

Fair, soft Humility, so seldom seen,
So oft despised upon this little earth,
Counted by men as dross of nothing worth,
Though in the sight of Mightiness supreme
'Tis hailed and welcomed as a glorious birth,
Offspring of greatness, beauty perfected,
And yet of such fragility extreme,
That if we call it ours, 'tis forfeited;
Named, it escapes us, thus we need beware,
When with the Publican we plead the prayer,
"A sinner, Lord, be merciful to me!"
Our hearts do not say softly, "I thank Thee,
O Lord, for this sweet grace, Humility,
Which I possess, unlike the Pharisee."

AVE MARIA.

Ave Maria! 'tis the evening hymn

Of many pilgrims on the land and sea.
Soon as the day withdraws, and two or three
Faint stars are burning, all whose eyes are dim
With tears or watching, all of weary limb

Or troubled spirit, yield the bended knee,
And find, O Virgin! life's repose in thee.
I, too, at nightfall, when the new-born rim
Of the young moon is first beheld above,
Tune my fond thoughts to their devoutest key,
And from all bondage-save remembrance-free
Glad of my liberty as Noah's dove,

Seek the Madonna most adored by me,
And say mine "Ave Marias" to my love.