_Miss F.B._

"What? leave you to face those fiends alone!" she cried, and slid from
her horse's back;
"Let me die with you--for I love you, CLEM!" Then she gave her steed a
resounding smack,
And he bounded off; "Now Heaven be praised that my school six-shooter
I brought!" said she.
"Four barrels I'll keep for the front-rank foes--and the next for
you--and the last for me!"

_Soc. Chat._ Is it a _comic_ piece she's doing, do you know? Don't
think so, I can see somebody smiling. Sounds rather like SHAKSPEARE,
or DICKENS, or one of those fellahs ... Didn't catch what you said. No
Quite impossible to hear oneself speak, _isn't_ it?

_Miss F.B._

And ever louder the demons yelled for their pale-faced prey--but I
scorned death's pangs,
For I deemed it a doom that was half delight to die by the hand of
LOBELIA BANGS!
Then she whispered low in her dulcet tones, like the crooning coo of
a cushat dove!
(_At the top of her voice_). "Forgive me, CLEM, but I could not bear
any squaw to torture my own true love!"
And she raised the revolver--"crack-crack-crack!"

[_To the infinite chagrin of the Unsophisticated Guest, who
is intensely anxious to hear how Miss BANGS and her lover