Of the Salesman who sits next him, nothing need be said except that he is good-looking, rosy, well-dressed, and of very polite manners, only a little more brisk than the approved style of carriage permits, as one in the habit of springing with a certain alacrity at the call of a customer. You would like to see, I don't doubt, how we sit at the table, and I will help you by means of a diagram which shows the present arrangement of our seats. 4 3 2 1 14 13 --------------------------------- | O O O O O O | | | 5 | O Breakfast-Table O |12 | | | O O O O O O | --------------------------------- 6 7 8 9 10 11 1. The Poet. 2. The Master Of Arts. 3. The Young Girl (Scheherezade). 4. The Lady. 5. The Landlady. 6. Dr. B. Franklin. 7. That Boy. 8. The Astronomer. 9. The Member of the Haouse. 10. The Register of Deeds. 11. The Salesman. 12. The Capitalist. 13. The Man of Letters(?). 14. The Scarabee. Our young Scheherezade varies her prose stories now and then, as I told you, with compositions in verse, one or two of which she has let me look over. Here is one of them, which she allowed me to copy. It is from a story of hers, “The Sun-Worshipper's Daughter,” which you may find in the periodical before mentioned, to which she is a contributor, if your can lay your hand upon a file of it. I think our Scheherezade has never had a lover in human shape, or she would not play so lightly with the firebrands of the great passion. FANTASIA. Kiss mine eyelids, beauteous Morn, Blushing into life new-born! Lend me violets for my hair, And thy russet robe to wear, And thy ring of rosiest hue Set in drops of diamond dew! Kiss my cheek, thou noontide ray, From my Love so far away! Let thy splendor streaming down Turn its pallid lilies brown, Till its darkening shades reveal Where his passion pressed its seal! Kiss my lips, thou Lord of light, Kiss my lips a soft good night! Westward sinks thy golden car; Leave me but the evening star, And my solace that shall be, Borrowing all its light from thee! III