HELEN.

Then here we'll stay, please. Once for all,
I bar all artists,—great and small!
From now until we go in June

I shall hear nothing but this tune:—
Whether I like Long's "Vashti," or
Like Leslie's "Naughty Kitty" more;
With all that critics, right or wrong,
Have said of Leslie and of Long
No. If you value my esteem,
I beg you'll take another theme;
Paint me some pictures, if you will,
But spare me these, for good and ill

HUGH.

"Paint you some pictures!" Come, that's kind! You know I'm nearly colour-blind.

HELEN.

Paint then, in words. You did before;

Here is the first. An antique Hall
(Like Chanticlere) with panelled wall.
A boy, or rather lad.
A girl,

Laughing with all her rows of pearl
Before a portrait in a ruff.

It wants "verve, "brio," "breadth, "design," . Besides, it's English. I decline.

HUGH.

This is the next. 'Tis finer far:
A foaming torrent (say Braemar).
A pony grazing by a boulder,
Then the same pair, a little older,
Left by some lucky chance together.
He begs her for a sprig of heather

HELEN.

"Which she accords with smile seraphic.' I know it, it was in the "Graphic."

Declined.

HUGH.

Once more, and I forego

All hopes of hanging, high or low:
Behold the hero of the scene,

In bungalow and palankeen

HELEN.

What!-all at once! But that's absurd ;Unless he's Sir Boyle Roche's bird!

HUGH.

Permit me 'Tis a Panorama,
In which the person of the drama,
Mid orientals dusk and tawny,
Mid warriors drinking brandy pawnee,
Mid scorpions, dowagers, and griffins,
In morning rides, at noonday tiffins,
In every kind of place and weather,
Is solaced . . . by a sprig of heather.
(More seriously.)

He puts that faded scrap before
The "Rajah," or the "Koh-i-noor"

...

He would not barter it for all

Benares, or the Taj-Mahal. .

It guides,-directs his every act,

And word, and thought-In short—in fact—

I mean

(Too late!

...

(Opening his locket.)

Look, Helen, that's the heather! Here come both Aunts together.)

HELEN.

What heather, Sir?

(After a pause.)

And why . . .

"too late?"

-Aunt Dora, how you've made us wait!

Don't you agree that it's a pity

Portraits are hung by the Committee?

THE LAST DESPATCH

HURRAH! the Season's past at last;

At length we've "done" our pleasure

Dear "Pater," if you only knew

How much I've longed for home and you,— Our own green lawn and leisure!

And then the pets! One half forgets
The dear dumb friends-in Babel.

I hope my special fish is fed ;

I long to see poor Nigra's head
Pushed at me from the stable!

I long to see the cob and "Rob,”—
Old Bevis and the Collie;

And won't we read in "Traveller's Rest"!
Home readings after all are best ;-

None else seem half so "jolly!"

One misses your dear kindly store
Of fancies quaint and funny;

One misses, too, your kind bon-mot;—
The Mayfair wit I mostly know

Has more of gall than honey!