(In a mocking falsetto.) "Where Gods can be mistaken, Mere Poets must be more,—

BAD POETS must be more."

SCENE. A Salon with blue and white Panels. Outside, Persons pass and re-pass upon a Terrace.

HORTENSE. ARMANDE. MONSIEUR LOYAL.

HORTENSE (behind her fan).

NOT young, I think.

ARMANDE (raising her eye-glass).

And faded, too!

Quite faded! Monsieur, what say you?

M. LOYAL.

Nay, I defer to you. In truth,
To me she seems all grace and youth.

HORTENSE.

Graceful? You think it? What, with hands
That hang like this (with a gesture).

ARMANDE.

And how she stands

M. LOYAL.

Nay,-I am wrong again. I thought
Her air delightfully untaught!

HORTENSE.

But you amuse me

M. LOYAL.

Still her dress,

Her dress at least, you must confess

ARMANDE.

Is odious simply! JACOTOT

Did not supply that lace, I know;
And where, I ask, has mortal seen
A hat unfeathered!

M. LOYAL.

"Myrtilla (lest a Scandal rise

The Lady's Name I thus disguise),
Dying of Ennui, once decided,—

Much on Resource herself she prided,-
To choose a Hat. Forthwith she flies
On that momentous Enterprise.
Whether to Petit or Legros,

I know not: only this I know;—
Head-dresses then, of any Fashion,
Bore Names of Quality or Passion.
Myrtilla tried them, almost all:
'Prudence,' she felt, was somewhat small;
'Retirement' seemed the Eyes to hide;
'Content' at once she cast aside.

'Simplicity,'-'twas out of place;
'Devotion,' for an older face;
Briefly, Selection smaller grew,
"Vexatious! odious!'-none would do!

Then, on a sudden, she espied

One that she thought she had not tried:

Becoming, rather,-edged with green,' —

Roses in yellow, Thorns between.

"Quick! Bring me that!' 'Tis brought. Complete, Divine, Enchanting, Tasteful, Neat,'

In all the Tones. And this you call-?' "ILL-NATURE," Madame. It fits all.'

F

HORTENSE.

A thousand thanks! So naïvely turned !

ARMANDE.

So useful too. . . to those concerned!

'Tis yours?

M. LOYAL.

Ah no,-some cynic wit's ;

And called (I think)—

(Placing his hat upon his breast),

"The Cap that Fits."