Molly Trefusis.

"Now the Graces are four and the Vénuses two,
And ten is the number of Muses;

For a Muse and a Grace and a Venus are you
My dear little Molly Trefusis!"

he wrote, the old bard of an "old

magazine:"

As a study it not without use is,

If we wonder a moment who she may have been,

This same "little Molly Trefusis!"

She was Cornish. We know that at once by the "Tre;"

Then of guessing it scarce an abuse is

If we say that where Bude bellows back to the sea

Was the birthplace of Molly Trefusis.

And she lived in the era of patches and bows,

Not knowing what rouge or ceruse is ;

For they needed (I trust) but her natural rose,

The lilies of Molly Trefusis.

And I somehow connect her (I frankly admit
That the evidence hard to produce is)

With BATH in its hey-day of Fashion and Wit,—
This dangerous Molly Trefusis.

I fancy her, radiant in ribbon and knot,

(How charming that old-fashioned puce is!) All blooming in laces, fal-lals and what not, At the PUMP Rooм,—Miss Molly Trefusis.

I fancy her reigning, a Beauty, a Toast,
Where BLADUD's medicinal cruse is ;

And we know that at least of one Bard it could boast,—
The Court of Queen Molly Trefusis.