(An energetic VOICE.)

"Tis thou, ANTOINE? Ah, Addle-pate!
Ah, Thief of Valet, always late!
Have I not told thee half-past eight

A thousand times!

(Great agitation.)

But wait, but wait,

M. L'ÉTOILE (stupefied).

Just Skies!

What hideous roar !—

What lungs! The infamous Soubrette!

This is a turn I sha'n't forget :

To make me sing my chansonnette
Before old JOURDAIN's door!

(Retiring slowly.)

And yet, and yet,-it can't be she.
They prompted her. Who can it be?

(A second VOICE.)

IT WAS THE ABBÉ TI--RI—LI !

(In a mocking falsetto.)

"Where Gods can be mistaken,
Mere Poets must be more,-
BAD POETS must be more."

✓ THE CAP THAT FITS

'Qui sème épines n'aille déchaux,”

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

HORTENSE. ARMANDE. MONSIEUR LOYAL.

от

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!

HORTENSE.

Edged with green!!

M. LOYAL.

The words remind me.

Let me say

A Fable that I heard to-day.

Have I permission?

BOTH (with enthusiasm).

Monsieur, pray!

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, Superb, Enchanting, Tasteful, Neat,'

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

HORTENSE.

A thousand thanks! So naïvely turned !

ARMANDE.

?'