Volume 102 — A LATTERDAY VALENTINE.

Valentines plebeian Cannot fix an Earl— I'm as you may see, an Ardent Yankee girl. Nothing "soft" you'll find here, No old-fashioned lay; Say then, you'll be mine, dear, In the modern way. You (we haven't met as Yet I must record) Figure in Debrett as Out-and-out a Lord: Ancestors, a thousand, Dignities, a score— Hear my bashful vows, and Think this matter o'er. I don't in for Pa go; Pa despised New York; Porpa in Chicago Cultivated pork: Ma was born a Gerald; Birth was Morma's pride— As the New York Herald Mentioned when she died. Well, my pile's a million, That's a fact, you bet: I'm in our cotillon Quite the Broadway Pet: I can sing like PATTI; And to win I went For the Cincinnati Tennis Tournament. I've a lovely right hand; For my face I've sat By electric light—and Elegant at that! I enclose the photo, Just for you to see, But deny in toto That it flatters me. You, I've read, are rather "Up the Spout" for cash, Owing to your father Having been so splash: I from debt could free you, And in Politics Calculate to see you Bagging all the tricks. Any Earl who marries ANASTASIA JAY Will (except in Paris) Get his little way, Fear no interference; Relatives remain,— But their disappearance Beats me to explain. THOMAS, I adore thee!— "THOMAS" is thy name, Isn't it?—the more the Scandal and the shame! All I ask you, TOM, is Just one loving line, One type-written promise Publishing you mine. Matrimony's heart is Houselike, "half-detached," Seldom save at parties Or in papers matched— Answer "Yes," or break'll This poor heart of mine. Be my Fin-de-Siècle, Be my Valentine!

'O, cursed spite That ever I was born to set it right.'