The world should remember a canine Has a heart in his breast; If you knew all you never could say mine Was worse than the rest. Then help me to gain the position To which I aspire, And grant this poor dog-gerel petition Of Pete Trone, Esquire!'" "Excellent! excellent!" cried the audience, as Rose finished reading the verses. "I propose we have the hero in person," said Mr. Gay. So Tom went out, and after some delay returned with Mr. P. Trone, who had been hastily attired in his red suit for the occasion, four red pantaloons, a red coat, and little cap with a red feather. He was received with applause, and, after being regaled with macaroons, went through all his tricks, concluding with a slow horn pipe to the tune of "Lochinvar." About midnight the guests took their departure, and the cousins assembled in the parlor for a few moments before going to bed. "I think the sanctum was real fun," said Gem; "but you did not read all the papers, Hugh?" "No; it would have taken too much time," answered Hugh; "what a good thing you made of those hands, Bessie. We must keep the drawings. Why!--where is Sibyl's?" "Mr. Leslie took it away;--he laid a paper over it and put it in his pocket, just as though it belonged to him," said Tom; "but of all the contributions, _I_ liked Mr. Gay's 'Chicago' the best." "And I liked Mr. Leslie's story," said Aunt Faith; "it is singular he never before mentioned his army life." "Oh! he isn't one of the talking kind like Gideon Fish," said Hugh. "Gid is always telling everybody about his 'emotional nature,' and his inner 'consciousness.' He seems to think his mental condition, a subject of public interest, and constantly sends out bulletins for the benefit of anxious friends. His manuscript was poetical, but I took good care to hide it in the bottom of the basket. By the way, Sibyl, how did you like Graham Marr's Lyric? Pretty deep, wasn't it?" Sibyl was arranging the books and music in their proper places. "You know I am not myself poetical," she answered calmly; "but I like Mr. Marr, and therefore I like his verses, Hugh." "Oh, Sibyl! surely not so well as Mr. Leslie's story?" said Bessie earnestly. "Poetry and prose cannot be compared, neither can Mr. Marr and Mr. Leslie be compared," said Sibyl; "they are very different." "I should think they were!" said Hugh. "And tastes are different also," added Sibyl, as she finished her task. "Good-night all." The cousins dispersed, while Aunt Faith turned out the lights. "I almost think she likes that Marr, after all," whispered Hugh to Bessie as they went up the stairs; "she was with him all the evening." "Let me tell you, Hugh Warrington, that if Sibyl likes anybody, it is Mr. Leslie," returned Bessie emphatically. "When did you discover that, Brownie?" "I have always suspected it, but to-night I saw it plainly," replied Bessie. "To-night! Why, she was with Marr all the time!"