so I have been told,
Though never yet have I confessed it;
But you, sir, seem so very bold
That I--well, I admit you've guessed it.
Alas! 'tis true I'm heartless; yes,
They're right, but only right in part;
The reason, dear, is--can't you guess?
Because--because you have my heart.

JOHN ALAN HAMILTON.
_Cornell Magazine._

~Clarissa Laughs.~

Clarissa laughs. I plead in vain,
She hears my suit with sweet disdain,
When I remind her--speaking low--
That once she did not flout me so,
She asks me--do I think 'twill rain?
Then when in anger I am fain
To leave her, swear I've naught to gain
By staying, save th'increase of woe,
Clarissa laughs.

Yet when I beg of her to deign
To answer, give it joy or pain,
She smiles. So then I cannot go,
For with her smiles my love doth grow.
Yet when I press my suit again,
Clarissa laughs.

RUTH PARSONS MILNE.
_Smith College Monthly_.

~'Mid the Roses.~

'Mid the roses she is standing,
In her garden, waiting there;
Roses all about her glowing,
Roses shining in her hair.

May I, dare I, ask the question
Which my heart has asked before?
Then I falter, "Can you love me,
Darling?" I can say no more.

Now the petals fall more slowly:
One has lodged upon her dress;
Now her eyes she raises gently;
Meeting mine, they answer "Yes."

F.T. GEROULD.
_Dartmouth Literary Monthly_.

~A Society Martyr.~

Rustling billows of silk 'neath the foam of old lace,
A half-languid smile upon each listless face,--
A dreaming of roses and rose-leaf shades,--
A medley of modern and Grecian maids.
Such clatter and clink
One scarcely can think
Till he spies a shy nook where he lonely can sink,--
For how can a bachelor be at his ease
With such chatter and gossip at afternoon teas?

Fair Phyllis's gold lashes demurely cast down,
Her face in sweet doubt 'twixt a smile and a frown,--
A venturesome rosebud o'ertopping the rest
Now lies all a-quiver upon her white breast,
The curves of her neck
Man's vow often wreck,--
She has the whole world at her call and her beck.
So how can a bachelor be at his ease
With such variant emotions at afternoon teas?

Behind sheltering palms, safe from gossips' sharp gaze,
Is acted in mime one of life's dearest plays,--
Sweet Bessie's brown eyes raised beseechingly up,
Her lips just released from the kiss of her cup,
And Fred, I much fear,
From small sounds that I hear,
Is as bold as the rim o