ANNIE L. MEARKLE. TO MY LADYE LOVE. Downe I sat, I sat downe Where Flora had bestowed her graces. Greene it was, It was greene, Far passing other places; For art and nature did combine With sights to witch the gasers eine. There I sat, I sat there, Viewing of this pride of places. Straight I saw, I saw straight The sweetest faire of all faces: Such a face as did containe, Heaven’s shine in every raine? I did looke, Looke did I, And there I saw Apollo’s wyres: Bright they were, They were bright; With them Aurora’s head he tires; But this I wondered, how that now, That shadowed in Cassander’s bow. Still I gazde, I gazde still, Spying Luna’s milke white glasse: Commixt fine, Fine commixt With the morning’s ruddy blase; This white and red their seating seekes, Upon Cassandraes smiling cheeks. RONSARD. SIDE TALKS WITH THE PHILISTINES: BEING SOUL EASEMENT AND WISDOM INCIDENTALLY. The report that Miss Jeannette Gilder has been engaged as Editor of the PHILISTINE is entirely unfounded. No such arrangement has been thought of. * * * * * It’s getting so that ’tis harder to find a gentleman than a genius. * * * * * “What did you do when the contralto flew into a passion and berated you for choosing your own hymns?” asked the Fledgling of the Wise Pastor. “What did I do? why, I did nothing—simply sat there and watched her grow old.” * * * * * Florence Turner fires at me A Deduction and A Query, thus: All animals having the cloven hoof chew a cud. The Devil has the cloven hoof, ergo—he chews a cud. Is it the cud of sweet and bitter fancy? Heaven bless me! how do I know? But still I have no doubt but that he chews—probably “Tin Tag.” * * * * * Verily, in the midst of life we are in debt. * * * * *