From Miss Blanche Goose to Mr. Fox

The FARMYARD, Friday afternoon.

Dear Mr. Fox, it seems so soon, You almost take my breath away! To-morrow? Three?—what shall I say? Nothing could charm me more—but, no— Alas! I fear I cannot go. Don’t think that I resent, I pray, Your hastiness of yesterday.

It is not that. But if I went, Without my dear Mama’s consent, And she should somehow chance to hear, She would be dreadfully severe; And so, oh, dear! it is no use!

Believe me,

Sadly yours, BLANCHE GOOSE.

P. S.—On second thoughts, dear Fox, I’ll meet you by the hollyhocks, For if Mama but knew how kind You are, I’m sure she would not mind, To-morrow, then—we’ll meet at three; Don’t fail to be there. Yours,