(Fairies clever Never, never Grow in visage older; And the fairy, All unwary, Leant upon his shoulder!) Bishop grieved him, Disbelieved him; GEORGE the point grew warm on; Changed religion, Like a pigeon, {233} And became a Mormon! THE WAY OF WOOING. A MAIDEN sat at her window wide, Pretty enough for a Prince’s bride, Yet nobody came to claim her. She sat like a beautiful picture there, With pretty bluebells and roses fair, And jasmine-leaves to frame her. And why she sat there nobody knows; But this she sang as she plucked a rose, The leaves around her strewing: “I’ve time to lose and power to choose; ’T is not so much the gallant who woos, But the gallant’s _way_ of wooing!” A lover came riding by awhile, A wealthy lover was he, whose smile Some maids would value greatly— A formal lover, who bowed and bent, With many a high-flown compliment, And cold demeanour stately, “You’ve still,” said she to her suitor stern, “The ’prentice-work of your craft to learn, If thus you come a-cooing. I’ve time to lose and power to choose; ’T is not so much the gallant who woos, As the gallant’s _way_ of wooing!” A second lover came ambling by— A timid lad with a frightened eye And a colour mantling highly. He muttered the errand on which he’d come, Then only chuckled and bit his thumb, And simpered, simpered shyly. “No,” said the maiden, “go your way; You dare but think what a man would say, Yet dare to come a-suing! I’ve time to lose and power to choose; ’T is not so much the gallant who woos, As the gallant’s _way_ of wooing!” A third rode up at a startling pace— A suitor poor, with a homely face— No doubts appeared to bind him. He kissed her lips and he pressed her waist, And off he rode with the maiden, placed On a pillion safe behind him. And she heard the suitor bold confide This golden hint to the priest who tied The knot there’s no undoing; “With pretty young maidens who can choose, ’T is not so much the gallant who woos, As the gallant’s _way_ of wooing!” HONGREE AND MAHRY. A RECOLLECTION OF A SURREY MELODRAMA. THE sun was setting in its wonted west, When HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores, Met MAHRY DAUBIGNY, the Village Rose, Under the Wizard’s Oak—old trysting-place Of those who loved in rosy Aquitaine. They thought themselves unwatched, but they were not; For HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores, Found in LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JOOLES DUBOSC A rival, envious and unscrupulous, Who thought it not foul scorn to dodge his steps, And listen, unperceived, to all that passed Between the simple little Village Rose And HONGREE, Sub-Lieutenant of Chassoores.