I also wonder. In looking over the returned brief just now, however, I certainly did not come across the "Opinion," manufactured by FIBBINS himself, of which that learned Counsel spoke. And I have no second chance of examining it, as he is careful to take "all the documents in the case" (a phrase of the Impressive Clerk's) home with him, for what he calls re-perusal. The conviction that it _was_ my Opinion, and mine alone, which FIBBINS dispatched, probably out of sheer laziness, to ROGERS & CO., Solicitors, Chancery Lane, is one that I still retain. But it is FIBBINS who retains the fee! * * * * * AT THE CLOSE OF THE SUMMER. (_By one who idled. To his Lady-help._) I am back at my work, which is far from exciting After nothing to do for a month at a time, So I am not astonished to find myself writing To you, dear MELENDA, and writing in rhyme. In my rooms very often the scent of the heather Brings back with it sweet recollections, and so I think of the days when we idled together, Far away in the country a fortnight ago. Yes, the two afternoons when, although we were sorry That it rained, we went out as to do we had vowed, And the wonderful echo we found in a quarry That took what we whispered and said it aloud. Whilst we wandered through fern-laden hedges and talked, it So happened a dragon-fly flew by your side. You remember, I'm sure, how you laughed as I stalked it, And how it seemed hurt, as it finally died. Then I think of our pic-nic. The sunshine came glinting, And we thought that the summer had come--come to stay. We did not walk too fast, you were constantly hinting You were really afraid we were losing our way. I seemed to be catching two glimpses of heaven, As I gazed at the sky and kept looking at you; For the party that started by being just seven Had a curious habit of shrinking to two. Why, that's quite sentimental. It isn't the fashion To write of such things in so high flown a style. Yet maybe I'm entitled to so much of passion As to say that you won me outright with your smile. Though a merciless fate may not let it befall so, For we know not at all what there may be in store, Yet next year, if you're down there--and I am there also, Shall we do what we did in the summer before? * * * * *