HORTENSE.  ARMANDE.  MONSIEUR LOYAL

HORTENSE (behind her fan)
Not young, I think.

ARMANDE (raising her eye-glass)
And faded, too!—­
Quite faded!  Monsieur, what say you?

M. LOYAL
Nay,—­I defer to you.  In truth,
To me she seems all grace and youth.

HORTENSE
Graceful?  You think it?  What, with hands
That hang like this? (with a gesture).

ARMANDE
And how she stands!

M. LOYAL
Nay,—­I am wrong again.  I thought
Her air delightfully untaught!

HORTENSE
But you amuse me—­

M. LOYAL
Still her dress,—­
Her dress at least, you must confess—­

ARMANDE
Is odious simply!  Jacotot
Did not supply that lace, I know;
And where, I ask, has mortal seen
A hat unfeathered?

HORTENSE
Edged with green!!

M. LOYAL
The words remind me.  Let me say
A Fable that I heard to-day. 
Have I permission?

BOTH (with enthusiasm)
Monsieur, pray!

M. LOYAL
“Myrtilla (lest a scandal rise
The lady’s name I thus disguise),
Dying of ennui, once decided—­
Much on resource herself she prided—­
To choose a hat.  Forthwith she flies
On that momentous enterprise. 
Whether to Petit or Logros,
I know not:  only this I know;—­
Headdresses then, of any fashion,
Bore names of quality, or passion. 
Myrtilla tried them, almost all: 
‘Prudence,’ she felt, was somewhat small;
‘Retirement’ seemed the eyes to hide;
‘Content,’ at once, she cast aside. 
’Simplicity,’—­’twas out of place;
‘Devotion’ for an older face;
Briefly, selection smaller grew,
’Vexatious! odious!’—­none would do! 
Then, on a sudden, she espied
One that she thought she had not tried: 
Becoming, rather,—­’edged with green,’—­
Roses in yellow, thorns between. 
‘Quick!  Bring me that!’ ’Tis brought.  ’Complete,
Superb, enchanting, tasteful, neat,’
In all the tones.  ‘And this you call—?’
‘"Ill-Nature,” Madame.  It fits all.’”

HORTENSE

A thousand thanks!  So naively turned!

ARMANDE

So useful too ... to those concerned! 
’Tis yours?

M. LOYAL
Ah no,—­some cynic wits;
And called (I think)—­
(Placing his hat upon his breast),
“The Cap that Fits.”

ENIGMA
[Sidenote:  Mark Twain]

Not wishing to be outdone in literary enterprise by those magazines which have attractions especially designed for the pleasing of the fancy and the strengthening of the intellect of youth, we have contrived and builded the following enigma, at great expense of time and labour: 

I am a word of 13 letters.

My 7, 9, 4, 4 is a village in Europe.

My 7, 14, 5, 7 is a kind of dog.