Any thing was preferable to his levity; and, as I had warned him of the
possible effect of the poem he solicited, I could not be accused of want
of consideration in reciting it. Besides, he deserved the lesson, the
stern lesson that it taught.

As this could in no way be understood by such of my readers as are
unacquainted with this little gem, I venture to give it here--exquisite,
passionate utterance that it is, though little known to fame, at least
at this writing:

"'How shall I woo her? I will stand
Beside her when she sings,
And watch her fine and fairy hand
Flit o'er the quivering strings!
But shall I tell her I have heard,
Though sweet her song may be,
A voice where every whispered word
_Was more than song to me_?

"'How shall I woo her? I will gaze,
In sad and silent trance,
On those blue eyes whose liquid rays
Look love in every glance.
But shall I tell her eyes more bright,
Though bright her own may beam,
Will fling a deeper spell to-night
_Upon me in my dream_?'"

I hesitated. "Let me stop here, Major Favraud, I counsel you," I