A DIALOGUE FROM PLATO

"Le temps le mieux employé est celui qu'on perd."

-Claude Tillier.

"D"read" three hours. Both notes and text

Were fast a mist becoming;

In bounced a vagrant bee, perplexed,

And filled the room with humming,

Then out.

The casement's leafage sways,

And, parted light, discloses

Miss Di., with hat and book,—a maze

Of muslin mixed with roses.

"You're reading Greek?" "I am—and you?'

"O, mine's a mere romancer!"

"So Plato is." "Then read him-do;

And I'll read mine in answer."

I read. "My Plato (Plato, too,—

That wisdom thus should harden!) Declares 'blue eyes look doubly blue Beneath a Dolly Varden.'"

She smiled. "My book in turn avers
(No author's name is stated)
That sometimes those Philosophers
Are sadly mis-translated."

"But hear, the next's in stronger style:

The Cynic School asserted

That two red lips which part and smile
May not be controverted!"

She smiled once more- 66 My book, I find,
Observes some modern doctors
Would make the Cynics out a kind
Of album-verse concoctors."

Then I-"Why not? 'Ephesian law,
No less than time's tradition,
Enjoined fair speech on all who saw
DIANA'S apparition.'"

She blushed-this time. "If Plato's page

No wiser precept teaches,

Then I'd renounce that doubtful sage,
And walk to Burnham-beeches."

"Agreed," I said. "For Socrates
(I find he too is talking)

Thinks Learning can't remain at ease
While Beauty goes a-walking."

She read no more. I leapt the sill:
The sequel's scarce essential—
Nay, more than this, I hold it still
Profoundly confidential.

LOVE IN WINTER

BETWEEN the berried holly-bush

The Blackbird whistled to the Thrush:

"Which way did bright-eyed Bella go?
Look, Speckle-breast, across the snow,—
Are those her dainty tracks I see,
That wind beside the shrubbery?"

The Throstle pecked the berries still.
No need for looking, Yellow-bill;
Young Frank was there an hour ago,
Half frozen, waiting in the snow;

His callow beard was white with rime,-
'Tchuck,-'tis a merry pairing-time!"

"What would you?" twittered in the Wren; "These are the reckless ways of men.

I watched them bill and coo as though
They thought the sign of Spring was snow;
If men but timed their loves as we,
'Twould save this inconsistency."

"Nay, Gossip," chirped the Robin, “nay ; I like their unreflective way.

Besides, I heard enough to show

Their love is proof against the snow :'Why wait,' he said, 'why wait for May, When love can warm a winter's day?'" 1871.