And since, I never dare to write

    As funny as I can.

    When lovely woman wants a favor,

    And finds, too late, that man won't bend,

    What earthly circumstance can save her

    From disappointment in the end?

    The only way to bring him over,

    The last experiment to try,

    Whether a husband or a lover,

    If he have feeling is—to cry.

    Down in the silent hallway

    Scampers the dog about,

    And whines, and barks, and scratches,

    In order to get out.

    Once in the glittering starlight,

    He straightway doth begin

    To set up a doleful howling

    In order to get in.

   At a masked ball given by the Countess Wohenhoffen, in Vienna, during carnival week, a year ago, a man draped in the embroidered silks of a Chinese mandarin, his features entirely concealed by an enormous Chinese head in cardboard, was standing in the Wintergarten, the big, dimly-lighted conservatory, near the door of one of the gilt-and-white reception-rooms, rather a stolid-seeming witness of the multi-coloured romp within, when a voice behind him said, "How do 

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