DOLLY had a silken fan,

Crimson, with a feather border,

And she—Oh! so airily—

Used to sway it from and toward her.

Dolly, seated in her pew,

Many wondering eyes were scanning;

Tilting up her dainty chin

Toward the parson, softly fanning.

Every little girl in church,

—Pity 'tis to tell such folly—

While the parson preached and prayed,

Tried to fan herself like Dolly!

A PORTRAIT

WHO is that young and gentle dame who

stands in yonder gilded frame,

Clad in a simple muslin gown whose 'broi-

dered frills hang limply down,

Blue ribbons in her yellow

curls, around her neck a string of pearls—

Her

eyes

blue stars in

ancient gloom, a-seeking you all o'er the room,

As if to call sweet memories to her?—

My grandmother, before I knew her.