To Our Readers

Here's to the Typewriter!
Health to her type!
Whether blond or brunette
Or budding or ripe.
If she be the right type
Be she buxom or slight,
When she doesn't type wrong
She is sure to typewrite.

To our Sweethearts and Wives,
The joy of our lives!
May our Wives be our Sweethearts--
Our Sweethearts, our Wives.

We drink your health, O Waiter!
And may you be preserved
From old age, gout, or sudden death!--
At least till supper's served.

Here's to Music,
Joy of joys!
One man's music's
Another man's noise.

To The Publisher! - Drink!
Let his virtue be shown
In the Good Works of others
If not in his own.

1856

You 'll believe me, dear boys, 't is a pleasure to rise,
With a welcome like this in your darling old eyes;
To meet the same smiles and to hear the same tone
Which have greeted me oft in the years that have flown.

Were I gray as the grayest old rat in the wall,
My locks would turn brown at the sight of you all;
If my heart were as dry as the shell on the sand,
It would fill like the goblet I hold in my hand.

There are noontides of autumn when summer returns.
Though the leaves are all garnered and sealed in their urns,
And the bird on his perch, that was silent so long,
Believes the sweet sunshine and breaks into song.

We have caged the young birds of our beautiful June;
Their plumes are still bright and their voices in tune;
One moment ...