an angel
From some distant Aidenn.
I arose and brushed off
The knees of my trousers.
"Farewell," I said; "you have ruined my life."
"Nonsense," she replied in the cold, cutting voice
Of a woman who has been used to $100 bills
And a coupe;

"There have been thirty-seven before you, and they
Are all married and happy now.
You see I know all about young men."
"I do not think a young, timid girl
Should 'No' so much," I answered. And going out
(Carefully escorted by the butler, for there was
A better overcoat than mine in the hall),
I left her alone and unloved,--with no one to care for her
Save a couple of dozen servants
And a doting father and mother.

A Midsummer Night's Tempest.

AN EPILOGUE TO HAMLET, PERFORMED BY AMATEURS.

SCENE: _Elsinore--a platform before the castle (on an improvised stage).
Inky darkness. Shade of Hamlet (solus)_.

_Shade of Hamlet_: Oh, did you see him, did you see the knave,
The spindle-shanked, low-browed, and cock-eyed
Clerk to an attorney, play at Hamlet,
Dream-souled Hamlet, wearing an eyeglass?
Oh, it was horrible.

(_Enter Shade of Laertes_.)

_Shade of Laertes_: What's the matter with Hamlet?

_S. of H._: He's not all right.
No, by the fame of Shakespeare, he's all wrong.
A certain convocation of talented amateurs
Are e'en at him.
Your amateur is your only emperor for talent;
There's not a genius in the universe
Who will essay as much.

_S. of L._: Or, who will imitate nature so abominably.
Your head is level, Ham., and I--even I,
Laertes, suffered at the hands of one
Whose fiery hair, parted in the middle
Like a cranberry pie, caused me to believe
That some of nature's journeymen had made a man,
And not made him well, he imitated nature
So abominably.

_S. of H._: Ha' the fair Ophelia!

_(Enter Shade of Ophelia_.)

_S. of O._: Yes, my lord, thine own Ophelia,
Come back to earth with heaviness o' grief
Thy madness ne'er begot, for I have seen
The efforts of a lisping, smirking maid,
As graceful as a bean-pole, and as lean.
Attempt to paint the sorrow of my heart.
Oh, I would get me to a nunnery.

_S of H._: Let me Ophelyour pulse.
Mad--quite mad; and all because
A creature whom these mortals call a Miss,
Quite properly, as her e