A MODERN COURTSHIP.

Why turn from me thus with such petulant pride,

When I ask thee, sweet Edith, to be my bride;

When I offer the gift of heart fond and true,

And with loyalty seek thy young love to woo?

With patience I've waited from week unto week,

And at length I must openly, candidly speak.

But why dost thou watch me in doubting surprise,

Why thus dost thou raise thy dark, deep, melting eyes?

Can'st thou wonder I love thee, when for the last year

We have whispered and flirted — told each hope and fear;

When I've lavished on thee presents costly and gay,

And kissed thy fair hands at least six times each day?

What! Do I hear right? So those long sunny hours

Spent wand'ring in woods or whispering in bowers,

Our love-making ardent in prose and in rhyme,

Was just only a method of passing the time!

A harmless flirtation — the fashion just now,

To be closed, by a smile, or a jest, or a bow!

Ah, believe me, fair Edith, with me‘ twas not so,

And I would I had known this but six months ago;

I would not have wasted on false, luring smiles,

On graces coquettish and cold, studied wiles,

True love that would give thee a life for thy life,

And guarded and prized thee, a fond, worshipped wife.

Oh I thou'rt pleased now to whisper my manners are good,

And my smiles such as maiden's heart rarely withstood,

My age just the thing — nor too young nor too old —

My character faultless, naught lacking but gold,

And to-day might I claim e'en thy beauty so rare

If good Uncle John would but make me his heir.

Many thanks, my best Edith! I now understand

For what thou art willing, to barter thy hand:

A palace-like mansion with front of brown stone,

In some splendid quarter to fashion well known,

Sèvres china, conservatory, furniture rare,

Unlimited pin-money, phaeton and pair.

It is well, gentle lady! The price is not high

With a figure like thine, such a hand, such an eye,

Most brilliant accomplishments, statuesque face,

Manners, carriage distingué and queenlike in grace,—

Nothing wanting whatever, save only a heart,

But, instead, double portions of cunning and art.

Ah! well for me, lady, I have learned in good time

To save myself misery — you, sordid crime.

I will garner the love that so lately was thine

For one who can give me a love true as mine;

But learn ere we part, Edith, peerless and fair,

Uncle John has just died and has left me his heir!