TO MELENDA.

(A Repentance in Triolets.)

I SWORE to you, dear, there was mistletoe there,
Though I knew all the time there was none.
As I stole a sweet kiss from you out on the stair
I swore to you, dear, there was mistletoe there.
I have plenty of sins on my soul, dear, to bear,
But at least I've confessed now to one.
I swore to you, dear, there was mistletoe there
Though I knew all the time there was none.

I am sorry. I never will do it again,
And please am I fully forgiven?

In the future from falsehood I mean to refrain.
I am sorry. I never will do it again,

But look at yourself in your glass to explain
Why to mistletoe tale I was driven.

I am sorry. I never will do it again,

And please am I fully forgiven?

There's an answer you'll send if you're thoroughly kind,
That will make me feel free from all blame.
I hope you'll be glad, dear MELENDA, to find
There's an answer you 'll send if you're thoroughly kind.
It's this, "Though the mistletoe was but a blind,
Still with none I'd have done just the same."
There's the answer you'll send if you're thoroughly kind
That will make me feel free from all blame.

"Ha! ha! I don't go to 'a Westminster Play for nothing! quoth the Baron; "though," he added, sotto voce," I do, as I'm a guest."

FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

GENOA in November. It is summer time. Put on thin suit, drink my café au lait by open window, and stroll out into beautiful Genoa, basking in the sunshine. Déjeuner in the garden of a restaurant, among the old palaces. Sit in the shade, without my hat. Think of all the poor people in

London. Wonder if anyone is having a frugal lunch at the funny little open-air restaurant in Hyde Park. Lemonade and a bath bun in a fog. Should imagine not.

Charming place, Genoa. Hardly any Germans. Can at last hear people talking Italian. In Venice there are so many Germans that one might as well be in Germany. Sitting out on the Piazza, one hears incessantly their monotonous, guttural chatter, always in the same tone of voice, without inflections, without emotion, and, worst of all, without end. Watched at the hotel table d'hôte a German lady sitting between two German gentlemen. One man talked loudly without ceasing, mouth full or mouth empty, from soup to dessert. The other man, rather older and feebler, also talked without ceasing, but he could not equal

the other's noise; he only added to it. As for the lady, her lips moved all the time; one could imagine the ja wohl, the ach, so? the ja, ja, ja, but one could not hear a word. At Florence, at Milan, on the Lakes it is the same. If by chance one hears a Frenchman speak, his charming language sounds more vivacious and melodious than ever before. So it is good to be in Genoa, where even the best hotel is kept by Italians. Apparently every other good hotel in Italy is kept by Herr SCHMIDT, or Herr WEBER, or Herr SOMETHINGOROTHER, and all the servants are German also. There is one hotel in Genoa kept by a German. It faces the harbour. All night long there are whistles, screams, bangs, rumblings, bumps, roars, and other sounds from trains, ships, and tramways. All day long there is the same noise, only more of it. But the Germans do not mind; they talk just the same, and they make each other hear through it all.

Charming place, Genoa, with a town hall that is the gayest imaginable. Marble staircases, vestibules adorned with palms, beautiful little gardens, at all sorts of levels, outside the windows of the various offices. Everywhere flowers. If the town rates in Genoa are paid at the Town Hall, the paying of them must be almost pleasant. One would go with that horrible demand note, if that is used also in Italy, and fancy that one was arriving at a ball. The palm-decorated entrance looks just like it. It only needs a lady rate collector, such as one hears of in England, and one surely, in whatever manner the Italians may say it, would beg the charming signora to give one the honour and pleasure of a dance, and scribble her name on the programme-I mean the demand note. And no doubt, the Italian officials being leisurely and the space being ample, one could find time for a waltz in the intervals of rate paying, or at least sit it out in one of the delightful little gardens of this ideal Palazzo Municipale.

And so farewell to sunny Genoa, and off to Turin. German hotel again, German proprietor, German servants. Solitary German visitor drinking his morning coffee. The hotels of Turin are not crowded; he and I are alone. What will the poor man do? He must talk his awful language to someone. He shan't talk it to me, for I will pretend I do not understand even one word. The waiter has left the room. Must the poor man be silent? Thunder weather, ah no! Happily wise he is saved. The considerate proprietor, thoughtful of his countryman's needs, enters; he stands by the visitor's table, and the talk begins. When it ends I cannot say, for I leave them, well started and in good voice, and hear, as I think, their sweetly melodious phrases for the last time in Italy. The train carries me away. There is not much more of Italy now, for here is the Mont Cenis tunnel. Farewell, beautiful country, beautiful pictures, beautiful language! There is someone leaning out of the next carriage window. No doubt he is also saddened; he is speaking to others inside, his voice is cheerful, he is evidently trying not to give way to despair. Now I hear what he says, 66 Da werde ich ein Glas Bier trinken, ja, ja, ja!" A FIRST IMPRESSIONIST.

WANTED! a Perfect Cure for the incompatibility of Judges' sentences.

PREHISTORIC PEEPS. DURING A CONSIDERABLE PORTION OF THE YEAR THE SKATING WAS EXCELLENT, AND WAS MUCH ENJOYED BY ALL CLASSES.