And if he should happen to get the chance,
For saying how heartily sorry he is

For having been false to me he loves true,
I won't hear a word that he says, would you?

What you'd better do, Jennie Marsh.
Break your heart for Archie Dean?
Jennie Marsh! Jennie Marsh!

Not a bit.

'Tis the very thing he's after.
He would say to Kittie Carrol,
With careless, mocking laughter,
Here's a pretty little chick,
Who has died for love of me,
"Tis a pity.

But what is a man to do

When the girls beset him so?
If he gives a nosegay here,
If he calls another dear,
If he warbles to a third
A love ditty,

Why, the darling little innocents
Take it all to heart.
Alack-a-day!

Ah! she was a pretty maiden,
A little too fond-hearted,
Eyes a little too love-laden,
But really, when we parted-
Well, she died for love of me,
Kittie Carrol. Don't you see
You are giving him to Kittie
Just as sure as sure can be.

Tis the way he takes to woo her,

By slyly showing to her,

What a dashing, slashing beau is at her feet.

And of all the pretty pratings

About a woman's deathless loving

And her ever faithful proving,

And her womanly devotion,

I've a very wicked notion

That to carry off the one

That Mary here is sighing for,
And Fanny there is dying for,
Is more than half the happiness,
And nearly all the fun.

Now if I were a man,

Jennie Marsh! Jennie Marsh!

If I only were a man

For a day

I'm a maiden, so I can't

Always do just what I want,
But if I were a man, I'd say,
Archie Dean, Go to Thunder!
What's the use of sighs, I wonder,
Your oaths and vows and mutterings
Are awfully profane.

Hie away to Kittie Carrol,
Your loss is but a gain.

Aren't there fishes still a-swimming,
Just as luscious every way
As those that hissed and sputtered
In the sauce-pan yesterday?
But Jennie, charming Jennie,
You're a tender little woman,
And I expect you'll say that is
So shockingly inhuman;
And beside you'll never dare,
You little witch, to swear!
But, when you're at the fair,
Don't flirt too far with bonny lads,
Because, perhaps, you'll rue it;
And do not dance too merrily,
Because he may see through it;
And don't put on an air as if
You're mortally offended;
You'll be a feather in his cap,
And then your game is ended.
And if, with Kittie on his arm,
You meet him on the green,
Don't agonize your pretty mouth
With Mr. Arthur Dean;
But every throb of pride or love
Be sure to stifle,

As if your intercourse with him

Were but the merest trifle;

And make believe, with all your might, You'd not care a feather

For all the Carrols in the world,

And Archie Dean together.

Take this advice, and get him back,

My darling, if you can;

But if you can't, why, right-about,
And take another man.

What I did.

I went to the fair with Charlie-
With handsome Charlie Green,
Who has loved me many a year,
And vowed his loving with a tear-
A tear of the heart, I mean.

But I never gave a smile to him
Until to-night,

When full in sight

Of Kittie Carrol and Archie Dean.
Now, Archie knows that Charlie has
A deal of money, and has lands,
And his wealth is little to him
Without my heart and hand.
So I smiled on Charlie,
And I danced with Charlie,
When I knew that Archie's eyes
Were fixed on me as in a trance.
I once caught them in the dance,
And I could have fallen at his feet,
Dear Archie Dean!

But there were Kittie Carrol and Charlie Green,
And when Archie came to me,

As I was sure he would,

And with softest tone and glance,

Do you think I dropped my eyes,
With a glad surprise?

No, no, indeed!

That would not do.

Straight I looked into his face,
With no broken-hearted grace.
Oh! he could not see my pain-
And I told him he must wait
A little while

Till I had danced with Charlie Green;
Then I cast a smile

On Harry Hill and Walter Brown.
Oh, the look he cast on me
As his eyes fell sadly down!
He said he something had to say,
But I laughed and turned away,
For my sight was growing dim,
Saying, I would not forget

That I was to dance with him.
He did not go to Kittie Carrol,
Who was sitting all alone,
Watching us with flashing eyes,
But he slowly turned away
To a corner in the dark.
There he waited patiently,
And, he said, most wearily,
For the dancing to be done;

And although my heart was aching,

And very nigh to breaking,

It was quite a bit of fun

Just to see him standing there

Watching me. Oh, Archie Dean,
What a picture of despair;
Why not hie to Kittie Carrol!
She has money, so they say,
And has held it out for lovers
Many and many a weary day.
She is rather plain, I know-
Crooked nose and reddish hair,
And her years are more than yours.
Archie Dean! Archie Dean!

(He is not rich, like Charlie Green.)
What does love for beauty care?
Hie away to Kittie Carrol;

Ask her out to dance with you,
Or she'll think that you are fickle
And your vows of love untrue,
And maybe you'll get the mitten,
Then, ah then, what will you do?

Well, he sighed at me and I laughed at him
As we danced away together.

He pressed my hand but I heeded not,
And whirled off like a feather.

He whispered something about the past,
But I did not heed at all,

For my heart was throbbing loud and fast,
And the tears began to fall.

He led me out beneath the stars,

I told him it was vain

For him to vow. I had no faith

To pledge with him again.

His voice was sad and thrilling and deep,

And my pride flew away,

And left me to weep,

And when he said he loved me most true,

And ever should love me,

"Yes, love only you," he said,

I could not help trusting Archie,-
Say, could you?

WHO IS TO BLAME?

66

Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?
Wherever is found a true tongue to proclaim,
Sound boldly the question of Who is to blame?"
When women grow bitter in toiling for bread,
And wish that their children were happily dead;

When men forget manhood, and duty, and love,
And give to the devil what Christ would approve,-
Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?

Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?
Wherever is found a true tongue to proclaim,
Sound boldly the question of "Who is to blame?"
When age has no comforts and childhood no grace,
When passion and innocence meet face to face,
When murder, unmasked, shows the dye of its hand,
And moves like a citizen free in the land,

Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?

Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?

Whether spoken or thought it is ever the same,
The question of questions, oh, who is to blame?
When the bright of our nation, like stars out of place,
Sink down and are lost in that blackness of space,
When the feet of the toil-worn are tempted astray,
And the heat of the cup drowns the heat of the day,—
Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?

Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?
Whether silent or not, the guilt is the same,
And the question lives on, of " Who is to blame?"
Oh, Government, standing alone in thy pride,
Who saith to thy people, "No rights are denied,"
Thou hast freed but one slave, the other's in chains;
The guilt lies with thee-oh, thou art to blame!

Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?
Wilt thou answer to-day in humanity's name,
This blackest of questions: "Say, who is to blame?"
Wilt thou free-not as Pilate-thy soul of this blood,
Wilt thou thyself rescue the pure and the good,
Wilt thou lift up white hands without tarnish or stain,
And answer, "Thank God, there is no one to blame!"

CANVASSING UNDER DISADVANTAGES.—M. QUAD.

He smiled blandly as he halted for a moment in front of the City Hall. He looked like a man who could palm off almost anything on the public at 100 per cent. profit, and yet leave each customer in a grateful mood. He had a tin trunk in his hand, and as he sailed down La Fayette avenue the boys wondered whether the trunk contained tax receipts or horse liniment. The stranger halted in front of a resi