A HYMN OF LOVE.

"Toiling lover, loose your pack,
All your sighs and tears unbind;
Care's a ware may break a back,
May not bend a maiden's mind.

"Loose, and follow to a land
Where the tyrant's only fee
Is the kissing of a hand
And the bending of a knee.

"In that State a man shall need
Neither priest nor lawgiver:
Those same slips that are his creed
Shall confess their worshipper.

"All the laws he must obey,
Now in force and now repealed,
Shift in eyes that shift as they--

"'Shift as they,' 'shift as they,'" mused Mr. Moggridge. "Let me
see--"

'Till alike with kisses sealed.'

"That was it. With another verse, and a little polishing, I will take
it to Geraldine and ask her--"

At this point the poet glanced down the street, and, to his surprise,
beheld Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys advancing towards him.

"Good-morning," she nodded with a charming smile, "I was coming to
look for you. I have a favour to ask."

"A favour? Is it _the_--?"

"Well, it's rather prosaic for _the_--" she laughed. "In fact, it's
_tea_."

"Tea?"

"Yes. It's rather a long story; but it comes to this. You see, Fred
is very particular about the tea he drinks."

"Indeed?"

"It's a fact, I assure you. Well, when we were travelling in the
states, Fred happened to come across some tea he liked particularly,
at Chicago. And the funny thing about this tea is that it is
compressed. It is called 'Wapshotts' Patent Compressed Tea;' now I
daresay," added Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys demurely, "that you wouldn't
think it possible for compressed tea to be good."

"To tell you the truth," said Mr. Moggridge, "I have never given the
subject a thought."

"No, of course; being a poet, you wouldn't. But it's very good, all
the same: you buy it in cakes, and have to be very particular that
'Wapshott and Sons' is written on each cake: of course it isn't
_really_ written--"

"Of course not; but you'll excuse me if I don't yet see--"

"To be sure you don't until I have explained. Well, you see, men are
so particular about what they eat and drink, and are always thinking
about it--I don't mean poets, of course. I suppose you, for
instance, only think about gossamer and things."

"I don't know that I think much about gossamer," said Mr. Moggridge.

"Well, moonbeams, then. But Fred is different. Ever since he left
Chicago he has been talki