box
Between the acts, "What beastly weather!
How like a parrot the lover talks--
And the lady is tame, and the villain stalks--
I hope they finally die together."

He thought--"_You are fair as the dawn's first ray_;
_I know the angels keep guard above you_.
_And so I chatter of weather_, _and play_,
_While all the time I am mad to say_,
_I love you_, _love you_, _love you_."

He said--"The season is almost run;
How glad we are, when the whirl is over!
For the toil of pleasure is more than its fun,
And what is it all, when all is done,
But the stick of a rocket that has descended?"

He thought--"_Oh God_! _to be off somewhere_
_Afar with you_, _from this scene of fashion_;
_To know you were mine_, _and to have you care_,
_And to lose myself in the crimson snare_
_Of your lips_, _in a kiss of passion_."

He said--"You are going abroad, no doubt,
This land of Liberty coldly scorning.
I too shall journey a bit about,
From Wall Street up by the L. Road out
To Harlem, and down each morning."

He thought--"_It must follow on land or sea_,
_This pent-up_, _passionate_, _dumb devotion_,
_Till the cry of a rapture that may not be_
_Shall reach your heart from the heart of me_
_And stir you with strange emotion_."

WANTED--A LITTLE GIRL

Where have they gone to--the little girls
With natural manners and natural curls;
Who love their dollies and like their toys,
And talk of something besides the boys?

Little old women in plenty I find,
Mature in manners and old of mind;
Little old flirts who talk of their "beaux,"
And vie with each other in stylish clothes.

Little old belles who, at nine and ten,
Are sick of pleasure and tired of men;
Weary of travel, of balls, of fun,
And find no new thing under the sun.

Once, in the beautiful long ago,
Some dear little children I used to know;
Girls who were merry as lambs at play,
And laughed and rollicked the livelong day.

They thought not at all of the "style" of their clothes,
They never imagined that boys were "beaux"--
"Other girls' brothers" and "mates" were they,
Splendid fellows to help them play.

Where have they gone to? If you see
One of them anywhere send her to me.
I would give a medal of purest gold
To one of those dear little girls of old,
With an innocent heart and an open smile,
Who knows not the meaning of "flirt" or "style."

THE SUICIDE

Vast was the wealth I carried in life's pack--
Youth, health, ambition, hope an