IN THE EVENING. From the Italian of Countess Lara.

I SIT alone and watch the cinders glare, Or hear the pine-logs crackling sharp and low. I wait him still; he went not long ago, Humming a tune, his cigarette aflare. He was called out by some most grave affair; His friends, on cards intent, would have it so; Or some new singer’s style he fain would know, Who with false graces mars a grand old air. And for such things as these he stays away, Till midnight passes, and, at one, the bell Booms from the neighbouring church its single flight; Then gaily he returns, and half in play Kisses me lightly, asks if I am well, And never dreams that I have wept all night. G. A. Greene.