For who could urge the timidest of suits,
Conscious of such indifferent clothes and boots?

You think me quite as good as other men;
Nay, more, I think you think me vastly better;
Your candid glances seem to ask me when
I'll seek to bind you in a willing fetter.
Is this presumption? Not from friend to friend,
Whose souls unite like clasping hands of lovers;
Yet can I breathe no word of love, to end
The delicate doubt that o'er the unspoken hovers.
If I were hopeless that you loved me not,
My hopeless love, confess'd, myself would flatter,
But should the blissful dream be true, I wot
That love confess'd the joy of love would shatter.
My Queen, indeed as king I'd love to lord it;
I cannot tell you that I can't afford it.

* * * * *

POSSIBLE EXPLANATION:--"For many months nothing has been heard of
Lieutenant IVANITCH," was the remark of our leading journal _à propos_
of Russian disappearances. Is it not probable that IVANITCH, unable to
find a post to suit him, has gone on tour with a "scratch company"?

* * * * *

THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.

NO XVII.