At which, no doubt, I was much relieved.

She did not offer to kiss again;
I saw her go off with another beau.
She pretended to hold up her ten-inch train,
And whispered low to her new-found swain.
I was eating ice-cream with might and main,--
And that was some seventeen years ago.

I see her to-night on the winding stair,
She replies with a smile to my sober bow;
The palms lean lovingly toward her hair,
And her foot keeps time to a distant air.
I'm afraid she does not recall or care--
She does not offer to kiss me now!

Heigho! What a sad, what a sweet affair,
What a curious mixture life seems to be!
I am fast in the net of love, and there,
With another man on the winding stair,
Is the girl I love,--and I pulled her hair
When she wanted a kiss at the age of three!

GUY WETMORE CARRYL.
_Columbia Spectator._


~A Toast.~

Clink, clink,