It's quite the thing to do.

"Why sit," she cries, "without a smile,
Whilst others dance instead?"
Alas! no partners ask me while
My tresses are not red.

When no one else at all is near,
And I am quite alone,
I sadly shed a bitter tear
To think the Season's gone.

But when the time again draws nigh,
The time when maidens wed,
I'm quite resolved to "do _and_ dye"--
My tresses _shall_ be red!

* * * * *

TO ENGELBERG AND BACK.

_BEING A FEW NOTES TAKEN EN ROUTE IN SEARCH OF A PERFECT CURE._

I don't exactly know how I got mixed up with it, but I found myself
somehow "fixed," as our American cousins would say, to join a party
who were going to see Old JEPHSON (the Q.C.), who had broken "down,"
or broken "up," or had gone through some mental and physical smashing
process or other, that necessitated an immediate recourse to mountain
air,--to where he could get it of the right sort and quality with
as little strain or tax on his somewhat shattered nerves as might be