And now Cathartic hellebore should be A cure for imbecility. GRANT. Now holly-berries have begun To blush for Women That Have Done. ARTHUR. The farmer sticks his stuffy goose! MÆCENAS. Come, come, you grow a little loose; That's Michaelmas; you must remember That Michaelmas is in September! ARTHUR. Northward the swallow sweeps his wing. MÆCENAS. No, no! the bird arrives in spring! ARTHUR. Such knowledge fits the country clown; We've better things to note in town. What's Nature's lore compared with women's? JOHN. For this enigma go to S-m-ns; He is the---- ARTHUR. Yes, I am, I know, The devil of a Romeo! JOHN. Hark! hark! the waits, the precious waits! Their music beats at Heaven's gates. MÆCENAS. What Bodley wight will sing a stave To match their strumming? I would have The manly bass of Hobbes's voice; But Unwin's house is Hobbes's choice. George! you've a baritone at need. GEORGE. Alas! my famous _Keynotes_ lead To _Discords_. JOHN. I've a little thing _Of Resurrection_. Shall I sing? ARTHUR. Please do; but _à propos_ of what? JOHN. I cannot say, unless _de bottes_. [_Proceeds to sing a Ballad of Resurrection._ A letter-card from my dear love! O folded page of blessed blue! She burst her many-buttoned glove, And ripped the perforation through. "My love, to-night, about eleven, With never a priest or passing-bell, We die! and meet, with luck, in Heaven, But anyhow at least in Hell!" Her courage very nearly failed, In fact she swooned along the floor; But curiosity prevailed, She came again and read some more. "There is no way but this to choose; My people fain would have us wed; But you and I have later views, And scorn the vulgar marriage-bed. "Far be it from me to dictate How best to break the mortal bond, But personally I may state That I shall use the village pond. "Be punctual, love, and let us meet For weal or woe! This line has lost a pair of feet; The post is now about to go." Ay, ay, she thought, to meet were well, But if we found each other out? You, say, in Heaven, I in Hell, Or else the other way about! Nay, there be heavy odds, she said, One fate shall save us both or damn; We surely shall be bracketed! She ceased and sent a telegram. To Guy le Preux de Balthazar-- Here followed his address, and then This pregnant message--"Right you are!" She wrote it with the office pen.