A Difference in Style.

Sweet Phyllis sat upon a stile, With love and me beside her, Her red lips in a pouting smile. A pout? Her eyes belied her.

My thoughts were merry as the day,— And though the joke was shocking,— I shouted quick, and turned away: "A spider's on your stocking!"

The fun, of course, I did not see, But heard an exclamation That sounded much like "Gracious me!" And guessed the consternation.

Then Phyllis sat upon the style Of men who would deride her; But she no longer sits the while With love and me beside her.