I said. 'Fred Ruyter.'

'Nap and Fanny,' I whispered; Fred smiled invisibly.

And Bertha? Oh, you know, of course, that she's Bertha Ruyter, and that
Fred is her husband, just home from six months in Rio, and exactly a
year from his wedding night! Oh, Lionardo! what mellow, transparent,
flowing shades drowned us all that night!

'Harry,' I said, the next morning, before I went down town, as I lounged
over her sofa, 'you have my emerald?'

'Yes!' and her bright face turned up to mine.

'You will keep it, and take me also, dear?'

'_Ma foi! oui_,' was the sweet, smiling reply.

'I'm not quite ugly enough for a Vulcan, I know; but after a while, if
you are patient, who knows? What sayest thou, Venus?'

'I will try you, _bon camarade_.'

'Your hand upon it, Harry.'

She gave it; I kissed the gold hair that waved against my lips. Fanny
rushed impetuously upon us, with half-opened eyes, and stifled us with
caresses.

'Such a proposal,' said she musingly, after she had returned to her
wools and beads, '14 deg. above zero!'

'And the Polyphemus, Fanny?'

'Is for Nap,' and Fanny blushed and laughed. She was wondering if that
great event, an 'engagement,' always came about in so prosaic a way. But
looking at Bertha, I caught the bright, long, gravely humorous gleam
from her dark eyes, and walked upon it all the way down to Exchange
Place.

Adieu, little Beatrice; my story hath at last an ending. Keep the little
hands and little heart warm for somebody brave by and by. Go shining
about and dancing, and smiling, Hummingbird; may sweetest flowers always
bloom around you; may you dwell in a fragrant rose garden of your own,
_mignonne_! Adieu.

ETHEL.

FITZ FASHION'S WIFE.

Take the diamonds from my forehead--their chill weight but frets my brow!
How they glitter! radiant, faultless--but they give no pleasure now.

Once they might have saved a Poet, o'er whose bed the violet waves:
Now their lustre chills my spirit, like the light from new-made graves.

Quick! unbind the braided tresses of my coroneted hair!
Let it fall in single ringlets such as I was wont to wear.

Take that wreath of dewy violets, twine it round their golden flow;
Let the perfumed purple blossoms fall upon my brow of snow!

Simple flowers, ye gently lead me back into the sunny years,
Ere I wore proud chains of diamonds, forged of bitter, frozen tears!

Bring the silver mirror to me! I am changed since those