“The next time I looked into the garden The rascal was walking with her.” Now, will you not take these lines and these ideas and finish the poem?[1] I shall never be able to do it. _Guest._ Ah! Those Sibylline leaves should have blown into the hands of a Dobson. But we’ll try at restoring the lost passages. _Host._ The experiment may lead to great things. I almost think I see a new volume, with the title, “Collaborative Verses,” etc. And now choose whether you will go for a drive to Green Village or to the Black Meadows. _A Gentle Voice of Deprecation._ Oh! don’t take her to Green Village! There isn’t anything remarkable there. She will like the Black Meadows much more. [Illustration: VIEW FROM A WINDOW IN THE TOWER.] _Guest._ Yes, there might be adventures in such a region. And I want to put in a plea to be taken to that sylvan road where you saw the original sign of the Squirrel Inn. _Host._ Well, it shall be to the Black Meadows, and so, on! * * * * * [1] MISS JANE, SIR CUPID, AND I. _A Collaborative Poem by E. M. T. and F. R. S._ We walked in a garden of roses, Miss Jane, Sir Cupid, and I-- Nay, rather, she walked by herself, And never would answer me why. The more I besought her, still farther And farther she flitted ahead, Laughing and scattering roses-- Roses, the white and the red. At last she gave me her “reason;” Surely I “ought to have known”-- “Sir Cupid”--and--“Three are too many,” She’d walk with me, if alone! So, lost in the maze of the roses, Forever she flitted before; And I said, with a sigh, to Sir Cupid: “I’ll follow the truant no more!” The next time I drew near to the roses, I listened; I heard a faint stir, And when I looked into the garden The rascal was walking with her! Then softly I crept in, and caught her; She blushed, but would not be free. By keeping Sir Cupid between us There was room in those alleys for three. “INCURABLE” A GHETTO TRAGEDY BY I. ZANGWILL, Author of “Children of the Ghetto.” [Illustration] “Cast off among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave. Whom thou rememberest no more, and they are cut off from thy hand. Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit, in dark places, in the deeps. Thy wrath lieth hard upon me, and thou hast afflicted me with all thy waves. Thou hast put mine acquaintance far from me; thou hast made me an abomination unto them; I am shut up, and I cannot come forth. Mine eye wasteth away by reason of affliction. I have called daily upon thee, O Lord, I have spread forth my hands unto thee.”--_Eighty-eighth Psalm._