"PITY THE POOR ARTIST!"
Reading edition
SITTING OUT.
In throbbing silence my glances stray O'er her unreciprocal face, And I haven't a notion what to say Now I've finished with commonplace. How I hate the slope of that cheerless chin, And the stare of those vacant eyes, That take the commonest objects in With placid and cool surprise. And I sit in a calm that she will not break, A desert that is not peace, And ever and ever the windows shake To a dance that will never cease. I cannot join the rout again, I am far too weary and warm. So I needs must suffer this speechless pain, In a draught, on the red baize form. There is one remark—it has proved a key Already to one long chat, Of course—I'll start it, for even she Must answer awhile to that. But horror! my agonised fingers curl, Did I say it to her? I think It must have been to that other girl In the delicate shrimp-sauce pink. Shall I chance it again! I must! I will! With a stammer I've half begun— Saved! saved! the music at last is still. Thank goodness, the dance is done.
A CASE OF SELF-SACRIFICE.
Mrs. Grimes. "No, Sir, Mr. Smith ain't a-bin in 'is Chambers not for a Week, Sir."
Mr. Broom. "Oh! You're sure now you know the Gentleman I Mean—Mr. Meldon Smith?"
Mrs. Grimes. "Hi knows 'im right enough. Wy, I does all 'is Washin' and Mendin' for 'im!"