She read no more. I leapt the sill:

The sequel's scarce essential— Nay, more than this, I hold it still Profoundly confidential.

Austin Dobson.

DORA VERSUS ROSE

"The case is proceeding."

FROM the tragic-est novels at Mudie's-
At least, on a practical plan-
To the tales of mere Hodges and Judys,
One love is enough for a man.

But no case that I ever yet met is

Like mine: I am equally fond

Of Rose, who a charming brunette is,

And Dora, a blonde.

Each rivals the other in powers

Each waltzes, each warbles, each paints-
Miss Rose, chiefly tumble-down towers;
Miss Do., perpendicular saints.

In short, to distinguish is folly;

"Twixt the pair I am come to the pass Of Macheath, between Lucy and Polly,Or Buridan's ass.

If it happens that Rosa I've singled
For a soft celebration in rhyme,
Then the ringlets of Dora get mingled
Somehow with the tune and the time;
Or I painfully pen me a sonnet
To an eyebrow intended for Do.'s,
And behold I am writing upon it

The legend, "To Rose."

Or I try to draw Dora (my blotter
Is all overscrawled with her head),
If I fancy at last that I've got her,
It turns to her rival instead;

Dora Versus Rose

Or I find myself placidly adding

To the rapturous tresses of Rose

Miss Dora's bud-mouth, and her madding

Ineffable nose.

Was there ever so sad a dilemma?

For Rose I would perish (pro tem.);
For Dora I'd willingly stem a-
(Whatever might offer to stem);

But to make the invidious election,-
To declare that on either one's side
I've a scruple,-a grain, more affection,
I cannot decide.

And, as either so hopelessly nice is,
My sole and my final resource
Is to wait some indefinite crisis,-
Some feat of molecular force,
To solve me this riddle conducive
By no means to peace or repose,
Since the issue can scarce be inclusive

Of Dora and Rose.

(Afterthought)

But, perhaps, if a third (say a Nora),
Not quite so delightful as Rose,-
Not wholly so charming as Dora,-

Should appear, is it wrong to suppose,-
As the claims of the others are equal,-
And flight-in the main-is the best,-

That I might . . . But no matter,-the sequel
Is easily guessed.

145

Austin Dobson.

TU QUOQUE

AN IDYLL IN THE CONSERVATORY

NELLIE

If I were you, when ladies at the play, Sir,
Beckon and nod, a melodrama through,
I would not turn abstractedly away, Sir,
If I were you!

FRANK

If I were you, when persons I affected,

Wait for three hours to take me down to Kew, I would at least pretend I recollected,

If I were you!

NELLIE

If I were you, when ladies are so lavish,
Sir, as to keep me every waltz but two,

I would not dance with odious Miss M'Tavish,
If I were you!

FRANK

If I were you, who vow you cannot suffer

Whiff of the best,-the mildest "honey dew,"
I would not dance with smoke-consuming Puffer,
If I were you!

NELLIE

If I were you, I would not, Sir, be bitter,
Even to write the "Cynical Review";-

FRANK

No, I should doubtless find flirtation fitter,

If I were you!

NELLIE

Really! You would? Why, Frank, you're quite delightful,—

Hot as Othello, and as black of hue;

Borrow my fan. I would not look so frightful,

If I were you!

Tu Quoque

FRANK

"It is the cause." I mean your chaperon is
Bringing some well-curled juvenile. Adieu!
I shall retire. I'd spare that poor Adonis,-
If I were you!

NELLIE

Go, if you will. At once! And by express, Sir!
Where shall it be? To China-or Peru?
Go. I should leave inquirers my address, Sir,
If I were you!

FRANK

No-I remain. To stay and fight a duel

Seems, on the whole, the proper thing to doAh, you are strong, I would not then be cruel, If I were you!

NELLIE

One does not like one's feelings to be doubted,—

FRANK

One does not like one's friends to misconstrue,

NELLIE

If I confess that I a wee-bit pouted?

FRANK

I should admit that I was piqué, too.

NELLIE

Ask me to dance. I'd say no more about it,

If I were you!

147

[Waltz-Exeunt.]

Austin Dobson.

NOTHING TO WEAR

MISS FLORA MCFLIMSEY, of Madison Square,

Has made three separate journeys to Paris;

And her father assures me, each time she was there,
That she and her friend Mrs. Harris

(Not the lady whose name is so famous in history,
But plain Mrs. H., without romance or mystery)
Spent six consecutive weeks without stopping,
In one continuous round of shopping;—
Shopping alone, and shopping together,

At all hours of the day, and in all sorts of weather:
For all manner of things that a woman can put
On the crown of her head or the sole of her foot,
Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist,
Or that can be sewed on, or pinned on, or laced,

Or tied on with a string, or stitched on with a bow,
In front or behind, above or below;

For bonnets, mantillas, capes, collars, and shawls;
Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls;
Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in,
Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in;
Dresses in which to do nothing at all;
Dresses for winter, spring, summer, and fall,-
All of them different in color and pattern,
Silk, muslin, and lace, crape, velvet, and satin,
Brocade, and broadcloth, and other material
Quite as expensive and much more ethereal:
In short, for all things that could ever be thought of,
Or milliner, modiste, or tradesman be bought of,
From ten-thousand-francs robes to twenty-sous frills;
In all quarters of Paris, and to every store:

While McFlimsey in vain stormed, scolded, and swore. They footed the streets, and he footed the bills.

The last trip, their goods shipped by the steamer Argo
Formed, McFlimsey declares, the bulk of her cargo,
Not to mention a quantity kept from the rest,
Sufficient to fill the largest-sized chest,
Which did not appear on the ship's manifest,