THE SONG OUT OF SEASON.

"Point de culte sans mystère."

SCENE.-A Corridor in a Château, with Busts and Venice chandeliers.

MONSIEUR L'ÉTOILE.

TWO VOICES.

M. L'ÉTOILE (carrying a Rose).

HIS is the place. MUTINE said here.

THI

"Through the Mancini room, and near

The fifth Venetian chandelier.

The fifth ?-She knew there were but four ;

Still, here's the busto of the Moor.

(Humming.)

Tra-la, tra-la! If BIJOU wake,

She'll bark, no doubt, and spoil my shake!

I'll tap, I think. One can't mistake;

This surely is the door.

(Sings softly.)

"When Jove, the Skies' Director,

First saw you sleep of yore,

He cried aloud for Nectar,

"The Nectar quickly pour,-
The Nectar, Hebe, pour!""

(No sound. I'll tap once more.)

"And urchin Cupid after
Beside the Pillow curled,
He whispered you with Laughter,
'Awake and witch the World,-

O Venus, witch the World!""

(Now comes the last. 'Tis scarcely worse, I think, than Monsieur l'ABBÉ's verse.)

"So waken, waken, waken,

O You, whom we adore!
Where Gods can be mistaken,
Mere Mortals must be more,-
Poor Mortals must be more!"

(That merits an encore!)

"So waken, waken, waken!

O YOU whom we adore!"

(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'nt 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.

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