"My dear girl," said BOB, leading his fair visitor into the room, "I'm delighted to see you. The shutters are up, the gas is lit, and I'm prepared to do the sentimental. Oh-um-m--Lubin's Extracts!" ejaculated Mr. BOB PETERS. For he had kissed her. "There, dear ROBERT, don't be so absurd. You know you are going to leave us to-night, and I have brought you--" here LIBBY blushed with that exquisitely ingenuous emotion which is excited by the consciousness of benefiting one we love--"I have brought you some things that may be of use on your journey. You won't be angry with me for it, will you, dear BOB? There's a smoking cap, and a pair of crochet slippers, and some drawing pencils, and a volume of TUPPER." "My darling LIBBY!" remarked the deeply affected ROBERT, alighting on those tempting lips once more. "But did you think, love--did you think to put a quart of ice-cream and a few hair-pins in the package?" "Why, no." "Ah, well," said Mr. BOB PETERS, abstractedly, "I suppose I can buy them on the road." Silence, disturbed only by the beating of those two hearts, reigned for a few seconds, then-- "BOB," said LIBBY, looking shyly up to him, "we shall be very happy when we are married and live North?" "Yes, indeed," said BOB. "We'll live in such a beautiful house on Fifth Avenue, dear, and have such nice things. Because, you know, you can make so much money by your writings." "Millions! my love," said Mr. BOB PETERS, with sudden and wonderful quietude of tone. "When I left New York prose was bringing two dollars for seven pounds in the heavy dailies, and philosophical poetry quoted at six shillings a yard, and no hexameters allowed except for EMERSON and HOMER. Ah!" said Mr. PETERS, his melancholy deepening rapidly to bitterness, "my last poem sickened me. It was called 'Dirge: addressed to a lady after witnessing the Drama of the "Toodles,"' and commenced in this way: 'Not all the artist's pow'r can limn, Nor poet's grander verse disclose, The plaintive charm that ev'ning dim, Imparts unto the dying rose.'" "How pretty!" said LIBBY. "Yes, my dear," responded Mr. PETERS, somewhat gloomily; "but because I used 'dim' to rhyme with 'limn,' all the papers credited it to GENERAL MORRIS." Recollections of this flagrant piece of injustice so affected Mr. BOB PETERS, that he smote his breast and called himself a miserable man. "I really don't know but I'd better stay here and be hung like a respectable patriot," murmured the desolated young man. "How absurd!" exclaimed the young lady, "you will be glad enough to get away to-night. Remember, now, you are to start down stairs at quarter-past Twelve, precisely, and JOCKO will open the front door for you. Then go straight to the bridge, where you will find my brother, who will get you by the guard." "That reminds me," observed Mr. PETERS, "what time is it? I must set my repeater."