_Host._ That is true enough, so far as the comedy scenes of the play are concerned. But, as I said before, who is going to set the author the copy for tragedy or love scenes? Occasionally you get oblique views--mere intimations of such scenes. I wish I had had the good fortune to see what a lady of my acquaintance saw a while ago. She is one of the very few who have ever seen a proposal of love and its acceptance, carried on before spectators, exactly as if the contracting parties were alone. The scene took place in a street car between two young persons of foreign tongue, one of whom was about to take a steamer; and the man knew that what he had to say must be said then or never said at all. With the total oblivion of the presence of others these two opened their hearts to each other, the affair proceeded through all its stages, and the compact was sealed. This would have been a rare opportunity for a literary artist. [Illustration: THE DINING-ROOM.] _Guest._ How perverse fate is in this respect! It seems as if there were a conspiracy to show up the most dramatic scenes either just before we come into the audience or just after we have left. But, take it all in all, I suppose the material we are best fitted to make use of is the kind that sooner or later comes in our way. We only take what we can easiest assimilate; the novelist his own proper food, the essayist another sort, the writer of verse the “cud of sweet and bitter fancies,” most likely. Have I asked a great many questions? I want to ask just one more--have you ever written any poetry? It is a pet theory of mine that everybody has, at some time or other, made verses because he couldn’t help it--it’s instinctive! Now for a clean confession. _Host._ Let me see. Yes, now I remember one such effort. I devised a poem, and two lines at the beginning of it and two lines at the end of it came readily into my mind. But I had only written two or three lines when a breeze came up and blew my paper away. _Guest._ Lost, like the Sibylline books! Do you remember what the lines were? _Host._ Only the first two and the last two, which had been in my mind for some time. Those I put on paper are entirely gone. _Guest._ Can you give me the lines and the intervening argument? _Host._ The poem began thus: “We walked in a garden of roses, Miss Jane, Sir Cupid, and I.” The story then proceeded to the effect that Sir Cupid and I walked through the narrow alleys side by side, while Miss Jane always flitted some distance in front, and would never stop that I might overtake her. I entreated her to wait for me, but she always laughed, and declined, hurrying on, sometimes picking a white rose, sometimes a red, and always answering, when she spoke at all, that the paths were not wide enough for three. After a good deal of this fruitless chase I became disheartened, and, with my companion, Sir Cupid, left the garden. The poem concluded thus: