an watch you going in and out of your 'marble halls;' and you will
almost pass my door as you take the car. In view of this pleasing
prospect (now, alas! somewhat distant), I send you a scrap of newspaper
verse which prophesies my sentiments. It is signed 'M. E. W.,' and Tom
Mills says whoever wrote it knows you."

WHEN POLLY GOES BY.

'T is but poorly I 'm lodged in a little side-street,
Which is seldom disturbed by the hurry of feet,
For the flood-tide of life long ago ebbed away
From its homely old houses, rain-beaten and gray;
And I sit with my pipe in the window, and sigh
At the buffets of fortune--till Polly goes by.

There 's a flaunting of ribbons, a flurry of lace,
And a rose in the bonnet above a bright face,
A glance from two eyes so deliriously blue
The midsummer seas scarcely rival their hue;
And once in a while, if the wind 's blowing high,
The sound of soft laughter as Polly goes by.

Then up jumps my heart and begins to beat fast.
"She 's coming!" it whispers. "She 's here!
She has passed!"
While I throw up the sash and lean breathlessly down
To catch the last glimpse of her vanishing gown,
Excited, delighted, yet wondering why
My senses desert me if Polly goes by.

Ah! she must be a witch, and the magical spell
She has woven about me has done its work well,
For the morning grows brighter, and gayer the air
That my landlady sings as she sweeps down the stair;
And my poor lonely garret, up close to the sky,
Seems something like heaven when Polly goes by.

"P. S. Tony has returned to the university. He asked after the health
of the 'sunset-haired goddess' yesterday. You 'd better hurry back and
take care of me! No, joking aside, don't worry about me, little
missionary; I 've outgrown Tony, and I hope I don't need to be reformed
oftener than once a year.

"Yours ever, EDGAR.

"P. S. No. II. I saw you twice after--you know--and I was dumb on both
occasions. Of all people in the world I ought to have been able to say
something helpful to you in your trouble, I, who lived with you and
your dear mother through all those happy months before she left us. It
will be just the same when I see you again: I shall never be able to
speak, partly, I suppose, because I am a man, or on the road to
becoming one. I know this is making you cry; I can see the tears in
your eyes across all the distance; but it is better even tha