polite
To profit by a jest so slight.

M. JOLICOEUR.
Distinctly. Still, I did but glance
At possibilities ... of Chance.

THE LADY.
Which must not serve Monsieur, I fear,
Beyond the little grating here.

M. JOLICOEUR (_aside_).
(She's perfect. One may push too far,
_Piano, sano_.)
(_They reach the gates._)
Here we are.
Permit me, then ...
(_Placing her in the carriage._)
And Madame goes?...
Your coachman?... Can I?...

THE LADY (_smiling_).
Thanks! he knows.
Thanks! Thanks!

M. JOLICOEUR (_insidiously_).
And shall we not renew
Our ... "_Ems_ acquaintanceship?"

THE LADY (_still smiling_).
Adieu!
My thanks instead!

M. JOLICOEUR (_with pathos_).
It is too hard!
(_Laying his hand on the grating._)
To find one's Paradise is barred!!

THE LADY.
Nay.--"Virtue is her own Reward!"
[_Exit._

M. JOLICOEUR (_solus_).
BEAU-_vau_?--BEAU-_vallon_?--BEAU-_manoir_?--
But that's a detail!
(_Waving his hand after the carriage._)
AU REVOIR!

THE CARVER AND THE CALIPH.

(_We lay our story in the East.
Because 'tis Eastern? Not the least.
We place it there because we fear
To bring its parable too near,
And seem to touch with impious hand
Our dear, confiding native land._)

HAROUN ALRASCHID, in the days
He went about his vagrant ways,
And prowled at eve for good or bad
In lanes and alleys of BAGDAD,
Once found, at edge of the bazaar,
E'en where the poorest workers are,
A Carver.

Fair his work and fine
With mysteries of inlaced design,
And shapes of shut significance
To aught but an anointed glance,--
The dreams and visions that grow plain
In darkened chambers of the brain.

And all day busily he wrought
From dawn to eve, but no one bought;--
Save when some Jew with look askant,
Or keen-eyed Greek from the Levant,
Would pause awhile,--depreciate,--
Then buy a month's work by the weight,
Bearing it swiftly over seas
To garnish rich men's treasuries.

And now for long none bought at all,
So lay he sullen in his stall.
Him thus withdrawn the Caliph found,
And smote