Puslapio vaizdai
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Go, if

NELLIE.

you will. At once! And by express, sir! Where shall it be? To China-or Peru? Go. I should leave inquirers my address, sir, If I were you!

No, I remain.

FRANK.

To stay and fight a duel Seems, on the whole, the proper thing to do ;Ah, you are strong,-I would not then be cruel, If I were you!

NELLIE.

One does not like one's feelings to be doubted,—

FRANK.

One does not like one's friends to misconstrue,—

NELLIE.

If I confess that I a wee-bit pouted ?—

FRANK.

I should admit that I was piqué, too.

NELLIE.

Ask me to dance! I'd say no more about it,

If I were you!

[Waltz-Exeunt.

A DIALOGUE FROM PLATO

A DIALOGUE FROM PLATO

"Le temps le mieux employé est celui qu'on perd.” -CLAUDE TILLIER.

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

I'D

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

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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.

THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE

THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE

POOR Rose! I lift you from the street—

Far better I should own you,

Than you should lie for random feet,

Where careless hands have thrown you!

Poor pinky petals, crushed and torn!
Did heartless Mayfair use you,
Then cast you forth to lie forlorn,
For chariot wheels to bruise you?

I saw you last in Edith's hair.

Rose, you would scarce discover That I she passed upon the stair Was Edith's favoured lover,

A month "a little month "-ago-
O theme for moral writer !-
'Twixt you and me, my Rose, you know,
She might have been politer;

But let that pass. She gave you then—

Behind the oleander

To one, perhaps, of all the men,

Who best could understand her,

Cyril that, duly flattered, took,
As only Cyril's able,

With just the same Arcadian look
He used, last night, for Mabel;

Then, having waltzed till every star
Had paled away in morning,

Lit up his cynical cigar,

And tossed you downward, scorning.

Kismet, my Rose!

Revenge is sweet,

She made my heart-strings quiver ; And yet you sha'n't lie in the street, I'll drop you in the River.

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