Note 1 — REAL CONVERSATIONS.—III. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN FRANK R. STOCKTON AND EDITH M. THOMAS.

We walked in a garden of roses, Miss Jane, Sir Cupid, and I— Nay, rather, she walked by herself, And never would answer me why. The more I besought her, still farther And farther she flitted ahead, Laughing and scattering roses— Roses, the white and the red. At last she gave me her “reason;” Surely I “ought to have known”— “Sir Cupid”—and—“Three are too many,” She’d walk with me, if alone! So, lost in the maze of the roses, Forever she flitted before; And I said, with a sigh, to Sir Cupid: “I’ll follow the truant no more!” The next time I drew near to the roses, I listened; I heard a faint stir, And when I looked into the garden The rascal was walking with her! Then softly I crept in, and caught her; She blushed, but would not be free. By keeping Sir Cupid between us There was room in those alleys for three.