HALF-AN-HOUR BEFORE SUPPER.-BRET HARTE.

'So she's here, your unknown Dulcinea-the lady you met on the train;

And you really believe she would know you if you were to meet her again?'

'Of course,' he replied, 'she would know me; there never was womankind yet

Forgot the effect she inspired; she excuses, but does not forget.'

'Then you told her your love?' asked the elder. The younger looked up with a smile :

'I sat by her side half-an-hour; what else was I doing the while?

'What! sit by the side of a woman as fair as the sun in the sky, And look somewhere else lest the dazzle flash back from your own to her eye?

'No; I hold that the speech of the tongue be as frank and as bold as the look,

And I held up herself to herself that was more than she got from her book.'

'Young blood,' laughed the elder; 'no doubt you are voicing the mode of To-day ;

But then we old fogies, at least, gave the lady some chance for delay.

'There's my wife-(you must know)—we first met on the journey from Florence to Rome;

It took me three weeks to discover who was she and where was her home;

6

Three more to be duly presented; three more ere I saw her again;

And a year ere my romance began where yours ended that day on the train.'

'Oh, that was the style of the stage-coach; we travel to-day by

express;

Forty miles to the hour,' he answered, 'won't admit of a passion that's less.'

'But what if you make a mistake?' quoth the elder. The younger half-sighed.

'What happens when signals are wrong or switches misplaced?' he replied.

'Very well, I must bow to your wisdom,' the elder returned, but admit

That your chances of winning this woman your boldness has bettered no whit.

'Why, you do not, at best, know her name. And what if I try your ideal

With something, if not quite so fair, at least more en regle and real?

'Let me find you a partner. Nay, come, I insist-you shall follow-this way.

My dear, will you not add your grace to entreat Mr Rapid to stay?

My wife, Mr Rapid Eh! what? Why, he's gone-yet he said he would come.

How rude! I don't wonder, my dear, you are properly crimson and dumb!'

DAME FREDEGONDE.-SIR THEODORE MARTIN.

When folks, with headstrong passion blind,
To play the fool make up their mind,
They're sure to come, with phrases nice
And modest air, for your advice.
But, as a truth unfailing make it,
They ask, but never mean to take it.
'Tis not advice they want, in fact,
But confirmation in their act.
Now mark what did, in such a case,
A worthy priest who knew the race.

A dame more buxom, blithe, and free
Than Fredegonde you scarce would see.
So smart her dress, so trim her shape,
Ne'er hostess offered juice of grape
Could for her trade wish better sign;
Her looks gave flavour to her wine,
And each guest feels it, as he sips,
Smack of the ruby of her lips.
A smile for all, a welcome glad,
A jovial, coaxing way she had;

And-what was more her fate than blame—
A nine months' widow was our dame.
But toil was hard, for trade was good,
And gallants sometimes will be rude.
'And what can a lone woman do?
The nights are long and eerie too.
Now, Guillot there's a likely man,
None better draws or taps a can;
He's just the man, I think, to suit,
If I could bring my courage to 't.'

With thoughts like these her mind is crossed:

The dame, they say, who doubts, is lost.

'But then the risk? I'll beg a slice

Of Father Raulin's good advice.'

Pranked in her best, with looks demure,
She seeks the priest; and, to be sure,
Asks if he thinks she ought to wed:
'With such a business on my head,

I'm worried off my legs with care,
And need some help to keep things square.
I've thought of Guillot, truth to tell!

He's steady, knows his business well.

What do you think?' When thus he met her:

6

'Oh, take him, dear; you can't do better!'

But then the danger, my good pastor,

If of the man I make the master.

There is no trusting to these men.'

'Well, well, my dear, don't have him, then!' 'But help I must have, there's the curse; I may go farther and fare worse.'

'Why, take him, then!' 'But if he should Turn out a thankless ne'er-do-good—

In drink and riot waste my all,

And rout me out of house and hall?'
'Don't have him, then! But I've a plan
To clear your doubts, if any can.
The bells a peal are ringing--hark !
Go straight, and what they tell you mark.
If they say "Yes!" wed, and be blest;
If "No," why-do as you think best.'

The bells rang out a triple bob:
Oh, how our widow's heart did throb !
And thus she heard their burden go:
'Marry, mar-marry, mar-Guillot!'
Bells were not then left to hang idle :
A week and they rang for her bridal.
But, woe the while, they might as well
Have rung the poor dame's parting knell.
The rosy dimples left her cheek,
She lost her beauty plump and sleek;

For Guillot oftener kicked than kissed,
And backed his orders with his fist;
Proving by deeds, as well as words,
That servants make the worst of lords.

She seeks the priest her ire to wreak,
And speaks as angry women speak,
With tiger looks and bosom swelling,
Cursing the hour she took his telling.
To all his calm reply was this:
'I fear you 've read the bells amiss.
If they have led you wrong in aught,
Your wish, not they, inspired the thought.
Just go, and mark well what they say.'

Off trudged the dame upon her way,

And sure enough the chimes went so :
'Don't have that knave, that knave Guillot !'
'Too true,' she cried, 'there's not a doubt:
What could my ears have been about?'
She had forgot that as fools think

The bell is ever sure to clink.

(From the Bon Gaultier Ballads, by kind permission of the author.)

THAT AUTOGRAPH SALE.-ELMER RUAN COATES.

The papers blew a perfect gale
For a coming autographic sale-
A sale of literary names

Rejoicing in their world-wide fames.
The list was long: the names are such
As lead the English, German, Dutch ;
As have a special charm and rule
In the French, Italian, Spanish school;
As have a hold on this brainy time,
In prose and drama, blank and rhyme.