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The Coquette.

'Tis but a languishing look she bestows on that adorer, a triumphant smile on this; that tender sigh is for another; something very like a blush is the guerdon of a fourth who is pouring soft flatteries into her ear. But even while she listens to his praises, her eyes are wandering afar, she arches her slender throat and glances over her snowy shoulder; the loadstone of that look attracts another admirer to her side; and the glance is repeated, again and again, with victorious result. An indefinable instinct, the fifth sense which belongs to coquetry, invariably warns her whenever a possible captive comes within reach of her enthralment.

What wondrous power lies concealed within the witching depths of those eyes of hers! We have watched their play, while her dewy lips mutely kissed each other, and the most impassioned words would have been less eloquent than the unspoken language telegraphed from those human windows. Now they are uplifted with saint-like expression, now musingly half-closed, now the clear orbs dance and flash, now gaze dreamily through liquid lustre; suddenly the sweeping lashes drop in confusion over the blooming cheek, then are rapidly raised in glad surprise. No need of utterance to convey her real or simulated emotions, with such eyes to say more than lips could fitly syllable.

But do not imagine that she is always thus silent; far from it; and her voice imparts a charm to the

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