The ring-tailed monkeys sported around,

And the speckled snakes squirmed over the ground;
The crocodile paused in his wild career,

When he heard their low-toned voices near.

Ominous hour! sad to relate!

A cocoanut dropped on Jean Jacque Knyfe's pate:
It doubled him up, - she gave a yell,

And down a cold corpus Jean Jacque fell!

Bo Peep she shrieked for a glass of rum,
And an ounce of a kind of native gum,
Which the generous neighbors, quick as flash,
Kindly supplied her with-for cash.

She mixed them together, and every speck
She-drank, and fell on her Jean Jacque's neck;
Then smoothed her hair, and laid by his side,
And, bidding farewell to Bo-Peep, died.

They buried them under the Ginkgo-tree,
Jean Jacque Knyfe and Kitty Bo P.;
And around the foot of the Ginkgo's trunk
The mourners, I'm sorry to say, got drunk.

And over Jean Jacque's and Bo Peep's grave
The winds and the bald-faced monkeys rave:
This for a trysting-place they choose,
The aforesaid monkeys and kangaroos.

Stranger! if ever you pass that way,
Remember the lovers of Panama Bay;
Find the Ginkgo-tree under which they sleep,
Where the gay gorillas their vigils keep.

THE PADDOCK. ELMS.

THE belated wayfarer, whose steps led him to the vicinity of the granary burying-ground on a certain night, would, had he chanced to be of an observant nature, have seen a group of

persons under one of the largest Paddock elms. He would have noticed that they were men considerably past the middle age, with marvellously weak hams, infirm of body, and rapidly entering into the lean-and-slippered-pantaloon period of life. They all had old-fashioned gingham umbrellas with brass nozzles and buck-horn handles, and were well muffled in comforters. One or two had long, heavy worsted stockings over their boots, and all had handkerchiefs tied over their hats and ears. They were wheezing and coughing piteously, and one or two of them seemed as though they would give up the ghost in some of the paroxysms of sneezing under which they occasionally suffered. The rain dripped from the ribs of their upraised umbrellas, which, when an occasional breath of air took them underneath, rendered their holders so unsteady as to give rise to the fear that the poor old gentlemen would be overturned. One of them, an amiable-looking fat person, with a round, baby face, smoothly shaven, and a pair of silver spectacles astride his nose, carried a tin lantern full of holes, like a nutmeg grater, in which a number-six tallow-candle flickered, emitting a sickly and spasmodic light. Had this same wayfarer concealed himself in a favorable spot, he would have heard this old gentleman, after a preliminary wheeze and a throatclearing cough, deliver himself to the following effect, in a shrill and piping voice:

"We are convened here, gentlemen, to give vent to our indignation against those villains who would counsel the removal of the Paddock elms."

A snuffle of approval was given by his listeners; and one in particular drooled with so much enthusiasm that he nearly went into a fit, and had to be thumped violently in the back with the handle of an umbrella before he could be brought to his senses again.

"Gentlemen," continued the first speaker, "upon us, the oldest inhabitants, devolves the duty of preserving these relics of the past from the hand of the destroyer, and I take upon myself the duty of calling the meeting to order upon the steps of Park-street Church."

Here an old gentleman began to sob, and to cluck like a hen; but he was soothed by one of his companions, who told him with much feeling not to be afraid, for the elms should not be removed, whereupon the entire party adjourned to the steps of Park-street Church, and held an indignation meeting.

"I call Brother Behindhand to the floor," crooned the gentleman with the lantern; whereat the party addressed held on by the railings, and delivered himself as follows:

"Brethren, we are met in one of the holiest of causes, the preservation of the Paddock elms. We played beneath them when we were children, and our parents played beneath them when they were children; and now, because some people have gone to work and built the city up to them, so that they are no longer in the country, it is proposed to remove them. Is it the fault of the trees that they are in the city? Did they ask anybody to cover the fields which once surrounded them with houses? Then, why should they be blamed because they are in the way? But they are not in the way. It is the streets and houses that are in the way. These trees, then, must remain at any cost." Here the speaker trembled with emotion, and the tears rolled down his aged cheeks. He essayed to speak again, but found himself unable to do so on account of shortness of breath, and the sobs which choked his utterance. severe fit of coughing attacked him also; and he felt suddenly obliged to sit down on the steps, where the warmth of his body presently melted a desirable spot in the snow, in which he could repose in comfort. A murmur of approval greeted him, and the oldest gentleman present proposed three cheers for the speaker. These were given at once, and with a vehemence that overturned two or three of the performers. The chairman then said :

A

"We would like to hear a few remarks from Brother Standstill."

Brother Standstill came forward, but found himself suffering from a weakness in the knees, and was permitted to address the chair in a sitting posture.

66

'Brothers,” he whimpered in a weak treble voice, “I am, as you all know, adverse to any proposition for the removal of these trees. Already has the vandalism of the age introduced gas into houses, laid on water-mains, invented the telegraph, done away with mail coaches, and tolerated steam railroads. That is quite enough to submit to, and it is time that the advance of innovation was stayed. Tallow candles have nearly disappeared, and sperm-oil lamps have also Does your blood not boil at these outrages? have weakly submitted to them, but they are as nothing compared to the new one that is proposed, one that would

gone.

You

cover the age with infamy: I allude to the removal of these beloved elms. Let all go but these! Save these, and you may well echo the words of Julius Cæsar, or Rufus Choate, or Charles I., I forget who now: All is gone but honor.' In the year 1794, when I was a boy, I remember riding from Roxbury to Long Wharf on a hay-wagon. Could I do that now? No! Emphatically no! I used to pick cherries from a tree on the corner of School Street. Can I do that now? No! It is well said by the poet, a bird in the hand — no, it was Æsop; is worth two no it was Alexander the Great! no; I"The speaker grew confused; and, to render his discomfiture greater, he began to cough, and lost his false teeth. The meeting was interrupted while the other old gentlemen began to hunt in the snow for them. The chairman opening the door of the lantern to give light, a gust of wind blew the candle out, and left them in the dark, whereupon there was a great consternation, in the midst of which the meeting adjourned. We hope, however, that these, the real advocates for the preservation of the Paddock elms, will not be discouraged, but will continue to exert themselves in favor of their cherished landmarks. B. E. Woolf.

THE BOBOLINK.

ONCE, on a golden afternoon,

With radiant faces and hearts in tune,
Two fond lovers, in dreaming mood,
Threaded a rural solitude.

Wholly happy, they only knew

That the earth was bright and the sky was blue,
That light and beauty and joy and song
Charmed the way as they passed along :
The air was fragrant with woodland scents;
The squirrel frisked on the roadside fence;
And hovering near them, "Chee, chee, chink?"
Queried the curious bobolink,

Pausing and peering with sidelong head,

As saucily questioning all they said;

While the ox-eye danced on its slender stem,

And all glad nature rejoiced with them.

Over the odorous fields were strewn
Wilting winrows of grass new mown,
And rosy billows of clover bloom

Surged in the sunshine and breathed perfume. Swinging low on a slender limb,

The sparrow warbled his wedding hymn,
And balancing on a blackberry brier,

The bobolink sung with his heart on fire, -
"Chink? If you wish to kiss her, do!
Do it, do it! You coward, you!

Kiss her! kiss, kiss her!

Who will see?

Only we three! we three! we three!"

Tender garlands of drooping vines,

Through dim vistas of sweet-breathed pines,
Past wide meadow-fields, lately mowed,
Wandered the indolent country road.
The lovers followed it, listening still,
And loitering slowly, as lovers will,

Entered a gray-roofed bridge that lay
Dusk and cool, in their pleasant way.
Under its arch a smooth, brown stream,
Silently glided with glint and gleam,

Shaded by graceful elms which spread
Their verdurous canopy overhead -
The stream so narrow, the bough so wide,
They met and mingled across the tide.
Alders loved it, and seemed to keep
Patient watch as it lay asleep,
Mirroring clearly the trees and sky,
And the flitting form of the dragon-fly,
Save where the swift-winged swallow played
In and out in the sun and shade,

And darting and circling in merry chase,
Dipped and dimpled its clear, dark face.

Fluttering lightly from brink to brink,
Followed the garrulous bobolink,

Rallying loudly with mirthful din,
The pair who lingered unseen within.
And when from the friendly bridge at last
Into the road beyond they passed,

Again beside them the tempter went,
Keeping the thread of his argument.