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J. H. HASSETT OF RUMFORD FALLS.

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HAD the swee((~st little postal fl'om my gil'l the othel' day; She was summerhlg-m~' girl was--(]own in Boothbay Harbor wa;\'; She hreathed sentiments upon it that made my heal't beat twice as hard AmI I hlessed the mills np river that tnrn out the postal-card.

It began-I can't l'epeat it-it was so Vel'Y, very sweet, Suffice-it brought me visions of her figure, trim and neat, r\nd he)' \HUten WOI'(ls seemed vocal-D, how lovingly she calls! Till I blessed the papel'-ma.k el's, way nIl there in Rnmford Falls.

"Swt"Ctheart"-l'm almost foolish, when I write this tender word, And I follow it with sentiments, perhaps you'd think absurd; Bnt 1'(1 do it oft alUl plenty and I'll do it yet again, AmI thus pay tribute to frieml Hassett and the paper-ma.k ing men. He'S the "super," International, and he runs a modern mill, He's an Elk; he goes a-fishing and he autos at his will; But the best thing he is doing is for Cupid and the dove, . \Vhen he makes these little postals, as my messengers of love. So! here goes to swell t.he business-to the girl, down by the sh"t'e I'll write all of them I want to and then I'll write some more, For, this fact I want to tell you-in yonI' mind to firmly fix That the "sweetheart" I'm a-writing, is my little girl of six.

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