And we hope you are proud of your work."
They are Five, by W. E. G. (David Bogue), London.
THE SONG OF THE FLIRT.
(Hood's Own—for Somebody Else.)
IN the loudest things that are worn,
With her cheek a peculiar red,
A maiden sat, in a gentleman's vest,—
This one idea in her head:
To be stitched, stitched, stitched,