Part 15 (1/2)

Yet sweet it were, knit hand in hand, To lead thee through a better land.

Why wish the fleeting years to stay?-- When time for us is flown, There is this garden,--far away, An Eden all our own: And there I'll whisper in thine ear --Ah! what I may not tell thee here!

MR. PLACID'S FLIRTATION.

”Jemima was cross, and I lost my umbrella That day at the tomb of Cecilia Metella.”

_Letters from Rome._

Miss Tristram's _poulet_ ended thus: ”Nota bene, We meet for croquet in the Aldobrandini.”

Says my wife, ”Then I'll drive, and you'll ride with Selina,”

(The fair spouse of Jones, of the Via Sistina).

We started--I'll own that my family deem That I'm soft--but I'm not quite so soft as I seem; As we crossed the stones gently the nursemaids said ”La!

There goes Mrs. Jones with Miss Placid's papa.”

Our friends, some of whom may be mentioned anon, Had made _rendezvous_ at the Gate of St. John: That pa.s.sed, off we spun over turf that's not green there, And soon were all met at the villa--you've been there?

I will try and describe, or I won't, if you please, The cheer that was set for us under the trees: You have read the _menu_, may you read it again, Champagne, perigord, galantine, and--champagne.

Suffice it to say that, by chance, I was thrust 'Twixt Selina and Brown--to the latter's disgust.

Poor Brown, who believes in himself--and, another thing, Whose talk is so bald, but whose cheeks are so--t'other thing.

She sang, her sweet voice filled the gay garden alleys; I jested, but Brown would not smile at my sallies; And Selina remarked that a swell met at Rome, Is not always a swell when one meets him at home.

The luncheon despatched, we adjourned to croquet, A dainty, but difficult sport, in its way.

Thus I counsel the Sage, who to play at it stoops,-- _Belabour thy neighbour, and spoon through thy hoops_.

Then we strolled, and discourse found its softest of tones: ”How charming were solitude and--Mrs. Jones.”

”Indeed, Mr. Placid, I doat on these sheeny And shadowy paths of the Aldobrandini.”

A girl came with violet posies--and two Soft eyes, like her violets, laden with dew; And a kind of an indolent, fine-lady air, As if she by accident found herself there.

I bought one. Selina was pleased to accept it; She gave me a rose-bud to keep--and I've kept it.

Thus the moments flew by, and I think, in my heart, When one vowed one must go, two were loth to depart.

The twilight is near, we no longer can stay; The steeds are remounted, and wheels roll away.

The ladies _condemn_ Mrs. Jones, as the phrase is, But vie with each other in chanting my praises.

”He has so much to say,” cries the fair Mrs. Legge; ”How amusing he was about missing the peg!”

”What a beautiful smile!” says the plainest Miss Gunn.

All echo, ”He's charming! Delightful! What fun!”

This sounds rather nice, and it's perfectly clear it Would have sounded more nice if I'd happened to hear it; The men were less civil, and gave me a rub, So I happened to hear when I went to the Club.