A transmigrated BALAAM'S self you _may_ be, But still I bar your method of progression; For while I sit, as helpless as a baby, And scale each precipice in steep succession, You scorn the mule-track, and pursue the edge Of ev'ry ledge. How can I scan with rapt enthusiasm These Alpine heights, when balanced _a la_ BLONDIN, While you survey with bird's-eye view each chasm? I cry _Eyupp! Avanti!_--_you_ respond in Attempts straightway to improvise a "chute" For me, you brute! _Basta! per Bacco!_ I'll no longer straddle (With cramp in each adductor and extensor) This seat of torture that they call a saddle! _Va via!_ in plain English, get thee hence, or---- On second thoughts, to leave unsaid the rest, I think, were best! * * * * * TO MAUDE. (_In and Out of Church._) A little saint! At church I see you pray, As if a worldly thought would make you faint, Serenely walking on your heavenly way, A little saint. And yet--although I would make no complaint.-- You quickly doff the grave to don the gay. Your cheeks aren't wholly innocent of paint, You flirt outrageously the livelong day. Colloquially, dear MAUDE, in fact you ain't I'm thoroughly rejoiced to say A little saint. * * * * * LOVE AND LAW. (_A Fragment from a Modern Romance._) ["It would be distinctly an advantage to girls to serve as clerks in a lawyer's office before they launched forth on the world."--_Weekly Paper._ EDWIN was sad indeed, for all had gone against him. He had lost everything. Even the furniture in the house he occupied was scarcely his--for all he knew, at any moment it might be seized in execution. "What shall I do?" he asked again, wringing his hands and tearing his hair. "Cheer up," was the reply, spoken in a soft voice and by a sweet-faced girl. It was ANGELINA. "And you have come to me in my distress--after I have treated you so badly?" he said, with a flush of shame colouring his hitherto pale face. "No, darling," returned the golden-haired maiden, looking into his brown eyes with optics of an azure hue. "Do not say that you have behaved badly to me. You wrong yourself; you do, indeed." "Have I not deserted you?" he asked in a tone of bitter sorrow. "But only after you had written me letters upon which I could base an action for breach of promise," murmured the forgiving girl. "But do you propose to proceed upon them?" he asked earnestly. "Yes, my own. To quote that touching song you so frequently sang to me in the gilded days of the golden past, 'it will be the best for you and best for me.' I shall certainly ask for substantial damages." "And is there no way to avoid this crushing, this final disaster?" asked the young man, in deep distress.