And now, good gentlefolks, I go To join mamma, and see the show; So, bidding you adieu, I curtsey, like a pretty miss, And if you’ll blow to me a kiss, I’ll blow a kiss to you. _Blows a kiss, and exit._ From _Rejected Addresses_, by Horace & James Smith. (London: John Miller. 1812.) ―――― THE PET LAMB. The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; I heard a voice; it said, “Drink, pretty creature, drink!” And looking o’er the hedge, before me I espied A snow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden at its side. No other sheep were near, the lamb was all alone, And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone; With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel, While to that mountain lamb she gave its evening meal. * * * * * WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. ―――― RINK, PRETTY CREATURE, RINK. The dusk was falling fast, the lamps began to blink, I heard a voice, it said, “Rink, pretty creature, rink.” And looking o’er the edge, close by me I espied A gentle youth on wheels, with a maiden at his side. No other folk were near, and they were quite alone, I saw the maiden sit upon a friendly stone.―― With one knee on the ground the gentle youth did kneel, And stooping down, her skates he tenderly did feel, I saw, when in his hand her little foot he took, He seem’d with joy o’ercome, with sweet emotion shook, “Rink, pretty creature, rink,” he cried in such a tone, I saw that he had ta’en her heart into his own. A handsome youth was he, while she had beauty rare, I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair; Now, hand in hand, again, I saw them start away, And as they passed me by, methought I heard him say: “What ails thee, dear one? What? Why pull so at my hand? Are not thy skates yet firm? dost feel thou canst not stand? Ere long upon thy skates thou wilt be quite at home, And fly across the ground like any fairy gnome. “Art tired, sweet, or hot? See here a cosy nook, Where we can sit and rest, and nobody can look; Or would’st thou skate alone, then start in all thy pride? One whistle and thou know’st that I am at thy side. “Thou need’st not fear a fall when I am by thy side, My arm will hold thee up, as round and round we glide; Asphalte, I know, is hard, so it will always be, But if you feel you must fall, dearest, fall on me.” I could not listen more, I had no time to stay But ponder’d o’er the scene as home I took my way; Methought the servant-maid who oped the door did shrink, For all I muttered was, “Rink, pretty creature, rink.” A. W. MACKENZIE (Author of _Idyls of the Rink_). From _Mirth_. May, 1887. ――――:o:―――― MY HEART LEAPS UP.