nd honeysuckles are
in full blow,--as we used to think in eighteen hundred and never mention
it.

On such a balcony or "stoop," one evening, I walked with Iris. We were
on pretty good terms now, and I had coaxed her arm under mine,--my left
arm, of course. That leaves one's right arm free to defend the lovely
creature, if the rival--odious wretch! attempt, to ravish her from your
side. Likewise if one's heart should happen to beat a little, its mute
language will not be without its meaning, as you will perceive when the
arm you hold begins to tremble, a circumstance like to occur, if you
happen to be a good-looking young fellow, and you two have the "stoop" to
yourselves.

We had it to ourselves that evening. The Koh-inoor, as we called him,
was in a corner with our landlady's daughter. The young fellow John was
smoking out in the yard. The gendarme was afraid of the evening air, and
kept inside, The young Marylander came to the door, looked out and saw us
walking together, gave his hat a pull over his forehead and stalked off.
I felt a slight spasm, as it were, in the arm I held, and saw the girl's
head turn over her shoulder for a second. What a kind creature this is!
She has no special interest in this youth, but she does not like to see a
young fellow going off because he feels as if he were not wanted.

She had her locked drawing-book under her arm.--Let me take it,--I said.

She gave it to me to carry.

This is full of caricatures of all of us, I am sure,--said I.

She laughed, and said,--No,--not all of you.

I was there, of course?

Why, no,--she had never taken so much pains with me.

Then she would let me see the inside of it?

She would think of it.

Just as we parted, she took a little key from her pocket and handed it to
me. This unlocks my naughty book,--she said,--you shall see it. I am
not afraid of you.

I don't know whether the last words exactly pleased me. At any rate, I
took the book and hurried with it to my room. I opened it, and saw, in a
few glances, that I held the heart of Iris in my hand.

--I have no verses for you this month, except these few lines suggested
by the season.

MIDSUMMER.

Here! sweep these foolish leaves away,
I will not crush my brains to-day!
Look! are the southern curtains drawn?
Fetch me a fan, and so begone!

Not that,--the palm-tree's rustling leaf
Brought from a parching coral-reef!
It