A little narrow-chested ninny!
Into Pound's pond I'll go and jump!

Yet no, Miss MIGGS and he might chuckle,
I know a trick worth two of that;
I'll up and take that fool, BOB BUCKLE,
I hate him, but his farm is fat.

When rustic woman stoops to folly,
And finds e'en Curates can betray,
What act can aggravate the "dolly"
Whose wealth has won his heart away?

The only art her grief to cover,
Enable her to lift her head,
And show her false white-chokered lover
_She_ won't sing "_Willow_," is--to wed!

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

There is one line in our Mr. DU MAURIER's fascinating and fantastic
novel, _Peter Ibbetson_, which every author should frame and hang up
before his eyes in his study. 'Tis this, and 'tis to be found at page
217, Vol. ii.:--

"Write anyhow! Write for the greatest need and the greatest
number."