What he said:—
This kiss upon your fan I press—
Ah! Sainte Nitouche, you don't refuse it!
And may it from its soft recess—
This kiss upon your fan I press—
Be blown to you, a shy caress,
By this white down, whene'er you use it.
This kiss upon your fan I press,—
Ah, Sainte Nitouche, you don't refuse it!

What she thought:—
To kiss a fan!
What a poky poet!
The stupid man
To kiss a fan
When he knows—that—he—can—
Or ought to know it—
To kiss a fan!
What a poky poet!

Harrison Robertson [1856-