Then I falter, "Can you love me,
Darling?" I can say no more.

Now the petals fall more slowly:
One has lodged upon her dress;
Now her eyes she raises gently;
Meeting mine, they answer "Yes."

F.T. GEROULD.
_Dartmouth Literary Monthly_.


~A Society Martyr.~

Rustling billows of silk 'neath the foam of old lace,
A half-languid smile upon each listless face,--
A dreaming of roses and rose-leaf shades,--
A medley of modern and Grecian maids.
Such clatter and clink
One scarcely can think
Till he spies a shy nook where he lonely can sink,--
For how can a bachelor be at his ease
With such chatter and gossip at afternoon teas?

Fair Phyllis's gold lashes demurely cast down,
Her face in sweet doubt 'twixt a smile and a frown,--
A venturesome rosebud o'ertopping the rest
Now lies all a-quiver upon her white breast,
The curves of her neck
Man's vow often wreck,--