NELLIE.

Go, if you will. At once! And by express, sir!
Where shall it be? To China-or Peru?
Go. I should leave inquirers my address, sir,
If I were you!

FRANK.

No, I remain. To stay and fight a duel

Seems, on the whole, the proper thing to doAh, you are strong,-I would not then be cruel, If I were you!

NELLIE.

One does not like one's feelings to be doubted,—

FRANK.

One does not like one's friends to misconstrue,——

NELLIE.

If I confess that I a wee-bit pouted?—

FRANK.

I should admit that I was piqué, too.

Ask me to dance.

If I were you!

NELLIE.

I'd say no more about it,

[Waltz-Exeunt.

A DIALOGUE FROM PLATÓ.

"Le temps le mieux employé est celui qu'on perd."

I'

CLAUDE TILLIER.

"D"read" three hours. Both notes and text

Were fast a mist becoming;

In bounced a vagrant bee, perplexed,

And filled the room with humming,

Then out.

The casement's leafage sways,

And, parted light, discloses

Miss Di., with hat and book,

-a maze

Of muslin mixed with roses.

"You're reading Greek?" "I am-and you?"

"O, mine's a mere romancer!"

"So Plato is." "Then read him-do;

And I'll read mine in answer."

I read. "My Plato (Plato, too,—
That wisdom thus should harden!)
Declares 'blue eyes look doubly blue
Beneath a Dolly Varden.'"

She smiled. "My book in turn avers

(No author's name is stated) That sometimes those Philosophers

Are sadly mis-translated."

"But hear,-the next 's in stronger style:

The Cynic School asserted

That two red lips which part and smile
May not be controverted!"

She smiled once more-" My book, I find,
Observes some modern doctors
Would make the Cynics out a kind
Of album-verse concoctors."

Then I-" Why not? Ephesian law,

No less than time's tradition,

Enjoined fair speech on all who saw
DIANA'S apparition.'”

She blushed-this time.

"If Plato's page

No wiser precept teaches,

Then I'd renounce that doubtful sage,

And walk to Burnham-beeches."

66 Agreed," I said.

"For Socrates

(I find he too is talking)

Thinks Learning can't remain at ease While Beauty goes a-walking."

She read no more. I leapt the sill: The sequel's scarce essentialNay, more than this, I hold it still Profoundly confidential.

THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE.

POOR

OOR Rose! I lift you from the street-
Far better I should own you,

Than you should lie for random feet,

Where careless hands have thrown you!

Poor pinky petals, crushed and torn !
Did heartless Mayfair use you,
Then cast you forth to lie forlorn,
For chariot wheels to bruise you?

I saw you last in Edith's hair.

Rose, you would scarce discover That I she passed upon the stair Was Edith's favoured lover,

A month-" a little month "-ago—
O theme for moral writer !--
'Twixt you and me, my Rose, you know,
She might have been politer;

But let that pass. She gave you then-
Behind the oleander-