And so the Summer went on, and the two correspondents chatted silently from window to window, hid from sight of all the world below by the friendly cornice. And they looked out over the roof, and saw the green of Tompkins Square grow darker and dustier as the months went on. [Illustration] Mr. Smith was given to Sunday trips into the suburbs, and he never came back without a bunch of daisies or black–eyed Susans or, later, asters or golden–rod for the little seamstress. Sometimes, with a sagacity rare in his sex, he brought her a whole plant, with fresh loam for potting. He gave her also a reel in a bottle, which, he wrote, he had “_maid_” himself, and some coral, and a dried flying–fish, that was somewhat fearful to look upon, with its sword–like fins and its hollow eyes. At first, she could not go to sleep with that flying–fish hanging on the wall. But he surprised the little seamstress very much one cool September evening, when he shoved this letter along the cornice: [Illustration: HANDWRITING Respected and Honored Madam: Having long and vainly sought an opportunity to convey to you the expression of my sentiments, I now avail myself of the privilege of epistolary communication to acquaint you with the fact that the Emotions, which you have raised in my breast, are those which should point to Connubial Love and Affection rather than to simple Friendship. In short, Madam, I have the Honor to approach you with a Proposal, the acceptance of which will fill me with ecstatic Gratitude, and enable me to extend to you those Protecting Cares, which the Matrimonial Bond makes at once the Duty and the Privilege of him, who would, at no distant date, lead to the Hymeneal Altar one whose charms and virtues should suffice to kindle its Flames, without extraneous Aid I remain, Dear Madam, Your Humble Servant and Ardent Adorer, J. Smith.] [Illustration] The little seamstress gazed at this letter a long time. Perhaps she was wondering in what Ready Letter–Writer of the last century Mr. Smith had found his form. Perhaps she was amazed at the results of his first attempt at punctuation. Perhaps she was thinking of something else, for there were tears in her eyes and a smile on her small mouth. But it must have been a long time, and Mr. Smith must have grown nervous, for presently another communication came along the line where the top of the cornice was worn smooth. It read: _If not understood will you mary me_ The little seamstress seized a piece of paper and wrote: _If I say Yes, will you speak to me?_ Then she rose and passed it out to him, leaning out of the window, and their faces met. [Illustration] ZENOBIA’S INFIDELITY. [Illustration: “_’That there elephant’s been like my own child,’ groaned the keeper._”] ZENOBIA’S INFIDELITY. [Illustration]