Our wedding day is coming, love,
Our married course is clear.
Then, pretty JANE, if poorish JANE,
Ah, never look so shy;
But meet me, meet me at the Altar,
When the price of wheat rules high!
* * * * *
[Illustration: TAKEN ON TRUST.
_Viscount Conamorey_ (_whose recollections of the antique are somewhat
hazy_). "AW--A--WHAT BEAUTIFUL ARMS AND HANDS YOU'VE GOT, MRS.
BOUNDER! THEY REMIND ME OF THE VENUS OF MILO'S!"
_Mrs. B._ (_who has never even seen the Venus of Milo_). "_OH_! YOU
_FLATTERER_!"]
* * * * *
AN INVOCATION.
(_BY A TOWN MOUSE._)
[Illustration]
Come back to Town! Why wander where
The snow-clad peaks arise?
Our English sunsets are as fair,
With red September skies.
Soft is the matutinal mist
Through which the trees loom brown;
Come back, if only to be kist,--
Come back to Town!
For evermore, in days like these,
When musing on your face,
My sad imagination sees
Another in my place.
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