quotes him to the beau Across a cup of Russian tea; They know him and they do not know. I know him. In the nascent years Men's eyes shall see him as one crowned; His voice shall gather in their ears With each new age prophetic sound; And you and I and all the rest, Whose brows to-day are laurel-bound, Shall be but plumes upon his crest. A year ago this man was poor,— This Alfred whom the nations praise; He stood a beggar at my door For one mere word to help him raise From fainting limbs and shoulders bent The burden of the weary days; And I withheld it—and he went. I knew him then, as I know now, Our largest heart, our loftiest mind; Yet for the curls upon his brow And for his lisp, I could not find The helping word, the cheering touch. Ah, to be just, as well as kind,— It costs so little and so much! It seemed unmanly in my sight That he, whose spirit was so strong To lead the blind world to the light, Should look so like the mincing throng Who advertise the tailor's art. It angered me—I did him wrong— I grudged my groat and shut my heart. I might have been the prophet's friend, Helped him who is to help the world! Now, when the striving is at end, The reek-stained battle-banners furled, And the age hears its muster-call, Then I, because his hair was curled, I shall have lost my chance—that's all. 

THE TWO BOBBIES.

 Bobbie Burns and Bobbie Browning, They're the boys I'd like to see. Though I'm not the boy for Bobbie, Bobbie is the boy for me! Bobbie Browning was the good boy; Turned the language inside out, Wrote his plays and had his days, Died—and held his peace, no doubt. Poor North Bobbie was the bad boy,— Bad, bad, bad, bad Bobbie Burns! Loved and made the world his lover, Kissed and barleycomed by turns. London's dweller, child of wisdom, Kept his counsel, took his toll; Ayrshire's vagrant paid the piper, Lost the game—God save his soul! Bobbie Burns and Bobbie Browning, What's the difference, you see? Bob the lover, Bob the lawyer; Bobbie is the boy for me! 

A TOAST.

 Here's a health to thee, Roberts, And here's a health to me; And here's to all the pretty girls From Denver to the sea! Here's to mine and here's to thine! Now's the time to clink it! Here's a flagon of old wine, And here are we to drink it. Wine that maketh glad the heart Of the bully boy! Here's the toast that we love most, "Love and song and joy!"  Song that is the flower of love, And joy that is the fruit! Here's the love of woman, lad, And here's our love to boot! You and I are far too wise Not to fill our glasses. Here's to me and here's to thee, And here's to all the lasses! 

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