But chiefly after five, when I was free, I’d rattle off whole reams of poetry— Ten—fifteen folios ere I went to bed— FALK. I see—you gave your Pegasus his head, And off he tore— STIVER. On stamped or unstamped paper— ’Twas all the same to him—he’d prance and caper— FALK. The spring of poetry flowed no less flush? But how, pray, did you teach it first to gush? STIVER. By aid of love’s divining-rod, my friend! Miss Jay it was that taught me where to bore, My _fiancée_—she became so in the end— For then she was— FALK. Your love and nothing more. STIVER [_continuing_]. ’Twas a strange time; I could not read a bit; I tuned my pen instead of pointing it; And when along the foolscap sheet it raced, It twangled music to the words I traced;— At last by letter I declared my flame To her—to her— FALK. Whose _fiancé_ you became. STIVER. In course of post her answer came to hand— The motion granted—judgment in my favour! FALK. And you felt bigger, as you wrote, and braver, To find you’d brought your venture safe to land! STIVER. Of course. FALK. And then you bade the Muse farewell? STIVER. I’ve felt no lyric impulse, truth to tell, From that day forth. My vein appeared to peter Entirely out; and now, if I essay To turn a verse or two for New Year’s Day, I make the veriest hash of rhyme and metre, And—I’ve no notion what the cause can be— It turns to law and not to poetry. GULDSTAD [_clinks glasses with him_]. And, trust me, you’re no whit the worse for that! [_To_ FALK.