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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16568-8.txt b/16568-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..795c2e9 --- /dev/null +++ b/16568-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2984 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Point Lace and Diamonds, by George A. Baker, Jr. + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Point Lace and Diamonds + +Author: George A. Baker, Jr. + +Illustrator: Francis Day + +Release Date: August 21, 2005 [EBook #16568] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POINT LACE AND DIAMONDS *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + + + + +POINT LACE AND DIAMONDS +BY +GEORGE A. BAKER, JR. + + + +POINT LACE +AND +DIAMONDS + +BY +GEORGE A. BAKER, JR. +AUTHOR OF +_"The Bad Habits of Good Society," "West Point," etc._ + +NEW AND REVISED EDITION +WITH NUMEROUS NEW POEMS + +[Illustration] + +NEW YORK +FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY +MDCCCXCIII + + + + +Copyrighted in 1875, by F.B. Patterson. + +Copyright, 1886, +By White, Stokes, & Allen. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + +Retrospection 1 +A Rosebud in Lent 4 +A Reformer 5 +In the Record Room, Surrogate's Office 6 +_De Lunatico_ 8 +_Pro Patria et Gloria_ 11 +After the German 15 +An Idyl of the Period 17 +Chivalrie 22 +A Piece of Advice 24 +_Zwei Könige auf Orkadal_ 27 +A Song 28 +Making New Year's Calls 30 +Jack and Me 34 +_Les Enfants Perdus_ 37 +Chinese Lanterns 40 +Thoughts on the Commandments 43 +Marriage _à la Mode_. A Trilogy 45 +The "Stay-at-Home's" Plaint 58 +The "Stay-at-Home's" Pæan 62 +Eight Hours 65 +Sleeping Beauty 68 +Easter Morning 71 +A Legend of St. Valentine 75 +Frost-Bitten 79 +A Song 81 +Old Photographs 83 +"_Le Dernier Jour d'un Condamné_" 85 +Christmas Greens 88 +Lake Mahopac--Saturday Night 91 +Matinal Musings 95 +A Romance of the Sawdust 99 +Pyrotechnic Polyglot 105 +Fishing 108 +_Nocturne_ 111 +_Auto-da-Fé_ 113 +An Afterthought 117 +_Reductio ad Absurdum_ 120 +The Mothers of the Sirens 122 +_Per Aspera ad Astra_ 124 +The Language of Love 126 + + + +Transcriber's Note: Possible typos and irregularities in +indentation and word usage have been left as found in the +original. There are places where punctuation may not have +been correctly picked up by the scanning software; please +consult another source if you require complete accuracy. + + + + + RETROSPECTION. + + + I'd wandered, for a week or more, + Through hills, and dells, and doleful green'ry, + Lodging at any carnal door, + Sustaining life on pork, and scenery. + A weary scribe, I'd just let slip + My collar, for a short vacation, + And started on a walking trip, + That cheapest form of dissipation-- + + And vilest, Oh! confess my pen, + That I, prosaic, rather hate your + "Ode to a Sky-lark" sort of men; + I really am not fond of Nature. + Mad longing for a decent meal + And decent clothing overcame me; + There came a blister on my heel-- + I gave it up; and who can blame me? + + Then wrote my "Pulse of Nature's Heart," + Which I procured some little cash on, + And quickly packed me to depart + In search of "gilded haunts" of fashion, + Which I might puff at column rates, + To please my host and meet my reckoning; + "Base is the slave who"--hesitates + When wealth, and pleasure both are beckoning. + + I sought; I found. Among the swells + I had my share of small successes, + Made languid love to languid belles + And penn'd descriptions of their dresses. + Ah! Millionairess Millicent, + How fair you were! How you adored me! + How many tender hours we spent-- + And, oh, beloved, how you bored me! + APRIL, 1871. + + Is not that fragmentary bit + Of my young verse a perfect prism, + Where worldly knowledge, pleasant wit, + True humor, kindly cynicism, + Refracted by the frolic glass + Of Fancy, play with change incessant? + JUNE, 1874. + + Great Cæsar! What a sweet young ass + I must have been, when adolescent! + AUGUST, 1886. + + + + + A ROSEBUD IN LENT. + + + You saw her last, the ball-room's belle, + A _soufflé_, lace and roses blent; + Your worldly worship moved her then; + She does not know you now, in Lent. + + See her at prayer! Her pleading hands + Bear not one gem of all her store. + Her face is saint-like. Be rebuked + By those pure eyes, and gaze no more + + Turn, turn away! But carry hence + The lesson she has dumbly taught-- + That bright young creature kneeling there + With every feeling, every thought + + Absorbed in high and holy dreams + Of--new Spring dresses truth to say, + To them the time is sanctified + From Shrove-tide until Easter day. + + + + + A REFORMER. + + + You call me trifler, fainéant, + And bid me give my life an aim!-- + You're most unjust, dear. Hear me out, + And own your hastiness to blame. + I live with but a single thought; + My inmost heart and soul are set + On one sole task--a mighty one-- + To simplify our alphabet. + + Five vowel sounds we use in speech; + They're A, and E, I, O, and U: + I mean to cut them down to four. + You "wonder what good _that_ will do." + Why, this cold earth will bloom again, + Eden itself be half re-won, + When breaks the dawn of my success + And U and I at last are one. + + + + + IN THE RECORD ROOM, SURROGATE'S OFFICE. + + + A tomb where legal ghouls grow fat; + Where buried papers, fold on fold, + Crumble to dust, that 'thwart the sun + Floats dim, a pallid ghost of gold. + The day is dying. All about, + Dark, threat'ning shadows lurk; but still + I ponder o'er a dead girl's name + Fast fading from a dead man's will. + + Katrina Harland, fair and sweet, + Sole heiress of your father's land, + Full many a gallant wooer rode + To snare your heart, to win your hand. + And one, perchance--who loved you best, + Feared men might sneer--"he sought her gold"-- + And never spoke, but turned away + Stubborn and proud, to call you cold. + + Cold? Would I knew! Perhaps you loved, + And mourned him all a virgin life. + Perhaps forgot his very name + As happy mother, happy wife. + Unanswered, sad, I turn away-- + "You loved _her_ first, then?" _First_--well--no-- + You little goose, the Harland will + Was proved full sixty years ago. + + But Katrine's lands to-day are known + To lawyers as the Glass House tract; + Who were her heirs, no record shows; + The title's bad, in point of fact, + If she left children, at her death, + I've been retained to clear the title; + And all the questions, raised above, + Are, you'll perceive, extremely vital. + + + + + DE LUNATICO. + + + The squadrons of the sun still hold + The western hills, their armor glances, + Their crimson banners wide unfold, + Low-levelled lie their golden lances. + The shadows lurk along the shore, + Where, as our row-boat lightly passes, + The ripples startled by our oar, + Hide murmuring 'neath the hanging grasses. + + Your eyes are downcast, for the light + Is lingering on your lids--forgetting + How late it is--for one last sight + Of you the sun delays his setting. + One hand droops idly from the boat, + And round the white and swaying fingers, + Like half-blown lilies gone afloat, + The amorous water, toying, lingers. + + I see you smile behind your book, + Your gentle eyes concealing, under + Their drooping lids a laughing look + That's partly fun, and partly wonder + That I, a man of presence grave, + Who fight for bread 'neath Themis' banner + Should all at once begin to rave + In this--I trust--Aldrichian manner. + + They say our lake is--sad, but true-- + The mill-pond of a Yankee village, + Its swelling shores devoted to + The various forms of kitchen tillage; + That you're no more a maiden fair, + And I no lover, young and glowing; + Just an old, sober, married pair, + Who, after tea, have gone out rowing + + Ah, dear, when memories, old and sweet, + Have fooled my reason thus, believe me, + Your eyes can only help the cheat, + Your smile more thoroughly deceive me. + I think it well that men, dear wife, + Are sometimes with such madness smitten, + Else little joy would be in life, + And little poetry be written. + + + + + PRO PATRIA ET GLORIA. + + + The lights blaze high in our brilliant rooms; + Fair are the maidens who throng our halls; + Soft, through the warm and perfumed air, + The languid music swells and falls. + The "Seventh" dances and flirts to-night-- + All we are fit for, so they say, + We fops and weaklings, who masquerade + As soldiers, sometimes, in black and gray. + + We can manage to make a street parade, + But, in a fight, we'd be sure to run. + Defend you! pshaw, the thought's absurd! + How about April, sixty-one? + What was it made your dull blood thrill? + Why did you cheer, and weep, and pray? + Why did each pulse of your hearts mark time + To the tramp of the boys in black and gray? + + You've not forgotten the nation's call + When down in the South the war-cloud burst; + "Troops for the front!" Do you ever think + Who answered, and marched, and got there _first_? + Whose bayonets first scared Maryland? + Whose were the colors that showed the way? + Who set the step for the marching North? + Some holiday soldiers in black and gray. + + "Pretty boys in their pretty suits!" + "Too pretty by far to take under fire!" + A pretty boy in a pretty suit + Lay once in Bethel's bloody mire. + The first to fall in the war's first fight-- + Raise him tenderly. Wash away + The blood and mire from the pretty suit; + For Winthrop died in the black and gray. + + In the shameful days in sixty-three, + When the city fluttered in abject fear, + 'Neath the mob's rude grasp, who ever thought-- + "God! if the Seventh were only here!" + Our drums were heard--the ruffian crew + Grew tired of riot the self-same day-- + By chance of course--you don't suppose + They feared the dandies in black and gray! + + So we dance and flirt in our listless style + While the waltzes dream in the drill-room arch, + What would we do if the order came, + Sudden and sharp--"Let the Seventh march!" + Why, we'd faint, of course; our cheeks would pale; + Our knees would tremble, our fears--but stay, + That order I think has come ere this + To those holiday troops in black and gray. + + "What would we do!" We'd drown our drums + In a storm of cheers, and the drill-room floor + Would ring with rifles. Why, you fools, + We'd do as we've always done before! + Do our duty! Take what comes + With laugh and jest, be it feast or fray-- + But we're dandies--yes, for we'd rather die + Than sully the pride of our black and gray. + + + + + AFTER THE GERMAN. + A SOPHOMORE SOLILOQUY. + + + Blackboard, with ruler and rubber before me, + Chalk loosely held in my hand, + Sun-gilded motes in the air all around me, + Listlessly dreaming I stand. + + What do I care for the problem I've written + In characters gracefully slight, + As the festal-robed beauties whose fairy feet flitted + Through the maze of the German last night! + + What do I care for the lever of friction, + For sine, or co-ordinate plane, + When fairy musicians are playing the "Mabel," + And waltzes each nerve in my brain! + + On my coat's powdered chalk, not the dust of the diamond + That only last night sparkled there, + By the galop's wild whirl shower'd down on my shoulder + From turbulent tresses of hair. + + In my ear is the clatter of chalk against blackboard, + Not music's voluptuous swell; + Alas! this is life,--so pass mortal pleasures, + And,--thank goodness, there goes the bell! + + + + + AN IDYL OF THE PERIOD. + IN TWO PARTS. + PART ONE. + + + "Come right in. How are you, Fred? + Find a chair, and get a light." + "Well, old man, recovered yet + From the Mather's jam last night?" + "Didn't dance. The German's old." + "Didn't you? I had to lead-- + Awful bore! Did you go home?" + "No. Sat out with Molly Meade. + Jolly little girl she is-- + Said she didn't care to dance, + 'D rather sit and talk to me-- + Then she gave me such a glance! + So, when you had cleared the room, + And impounded all the chairs, + Having nowhere else, we two + Took possession of the stairs. + I was on the lower step, + Molly, on the next above, + Gave me her bouquet to hold, + Asked me to undo her glove. + Then, of course, I squeezed her hand, + Talked about my wasted life; + 'Ah! if I could only win + Some true woman for my wife, + How I'd love her--work for her! + Hand in hand through life we'd walk-- + No one ever cared for me--' + Takes a girl--that kind of talk. + Then, you know, I used my eyes-- + She believed me, every word-- + Said I 'mustn't talk so'--Jove! + Such a voice you never heard. + Gave me some symbolic flower,-- + 'Had a meaning, oh, _so_ sweet,'-- + Don't know where it is, I'm sure; + Must have dropped it in the street. + How I spooned!--And she--ha! ha!-- + Well, I know it wasn't right-- + But she pitied me so much + That I--kissed her--pass a light." + + + PART TWO. + + + "Molly Meade, well, I declare! + Who'd have thought of seeing you, + After what occurred last night, + Out here on the Avenue! + Oh, you awful! awful girl! + There, don't blush, I saw it all." + "Saw all what?" "Ahem! last night-- + At the Mather's--in the hall." + "Oh, you horrid--where were you? + Wasn't he the biggest goose! + Most men must be caught, but he + Ran his own neck in the noose. + I was almost dead to dance, + I'd have done it if I could, + But old Grey said I must stop, + And I promised Ma I would. + So I looked up sweet, and said + That I'd rather talk to him; + Hope he didn't see me laugh, + Luckily the lights were dim. + My, how he _did_ squeeze my hand! + And he looked up in my face + With his lovely big brown eyes-- + Really it's a dreadful case. + 'Earnest!'--I should think he was! + Why, I thought I'd have to laugh + When he kissed a flower he took, + Looking, oh! like such a calf. + I suppose he's got it now, + In a wine-glass on his shelves; + It's a mystery to me + Why men _will_ deceive themselves. + 'Saw him kiss me!'--Oh, you wretch; + Well, he begged so hard for one-- + And I thought there'd no one know-- + So I--let him, just for fun. + I know it really wasn't right + To trifle with his feelings, dear, + But men _are_ such stuck-up things; + He'll recover--never fear." + + + + + CHIVALRIE. + + + Under the maple boughs we sat, + Annie Leslie and I together; + She was trimming her sea-side hat + With leaves--we talked about the weather. + + The sun-beams lit her gleaming hair + With rippling waves of golden glory, + And eyes of blue, and ringlets fair, + Suggested many an ancient story + + Of fair-haired, blue-eyed maids of old, + In durance held by grim magicians, + Of knights in armor rough with gold, + Who rescued them from such positions. + + Above, the heavens aglow with light, + Beneath our feet the sleeping ocean, + E'en as the sky my hope was bright, + Deep as the sea was my devotion. + + Her father's voice came through the wood, + He'd made a fortune tanning leather; + I was his clerk; I thought it good + To keep on talking about the weather. + + + + + A PIECE OF ADVICE. + + + So you're going to give up flirtation, my dear, + And lead a life sober and quiet? + There, there, I don't doubt the intention's sincere. + But wait till occasion shall try it.-- + Is Ramsay engaged? + Now, don't look enraged! + You like him, I know--don't deny it! + + What! Give up flirtation? Change dimples for frowns + Why, Nell, what's the use? You're so pretty, + That your beauty all sense of your wickedness drowns + When, some time, in country or city, + Your fate comes at last. + We'll forgive all the past, + And think of you only with pity. + + Indeed!--so "you feel for the woes of my sex!" + "The legions of hearts you've been breaking + Your conscience affright, and your reckoning perplex, + Whene'er an account you've been taking!" + "I'd scarcely believe + How deeply you grieve + At the mischief your eyes have been making!" + + Now, Nellie!--Flirtation's the leaven of life; + It lightens its doughy compactness. + Don't always--the world with deception is rife-- + Construe what men say with exactness! + I pity the girl, + In society's whirl, + Who's troubled with matter-of-factness. + + A pink is a beautiful flower in its way, + But rosebuds and violets are charming, + Men don't wear the same _boutonniére_ every day. + Taste changes.--Flirtation alarming! + If e'er we complain, + You then may refrain, + Your eyes of their arrows disarming. + + Ah, Nellie, be sensible; Pr'ythee, give heed + To counsel a victim advances; + Your eyes, I acknowledge, will make our hearts bleed, + Pierced through by love's magical lances. + But better that fate + Than in darkness to wait; + Unsought by your mischievous glances. + + + + + ZWEI KONIGE AUF ORKADAL. + FROM THE GERMAN. + + + There sat two kings upon Orkadal, + The torches flamed in the pillared hall. + + The minstrel sings, the red wine glows, + The two kings drink with gloomy brows. + + Out spake the one,--"Give me this girl, + With her sea-blue eyes, and brow of pearl." + + The other answered in gloomy scorn, + "She's mine, oh brother!--my oath is sworn." + + No other word spake either king-- + In their golden sheaths the keen swords ring. + + Together they pass from the lighted hall-- + Deep lies the snow by the castle-wall. + + Steel-sparks and torch-sparks in showers fall. + Two kings lie dead upon Orkadal. + + + + + A SONG. + + + I shouldn't like to say, I'm sure, + I shouldn't like to say, + Why I think of you more, and more, and more + As day flits after day. + Nor why I see in the Summer skies + Only the beauty of your sweet eyes, + The power by which you sway + A kingdom of hearts, that little you prize-- + I shouldn't like to say. + + I shouldn't like to say, I'm sure, + I shouldn't like to say + Why I hear your voice, so fresh and pure, + In the dash of the laughing spray. + Nor why the wavelets that all the while, + In many a diamond-glittering file, + With truant sunbeams play, + Should make me remember your rippling smile-- + I shouldn't like to say. + + I shouldn't like to say, I'm sure, + I shouldn't like to say, + Why all the birds should chirp of you, + Who live so far away. + Robin and oriole sing to me + From the leafy depths of our apple-tree, + With trunk so gnarled and gray-- + But why your name should their burden be + I shouldn't like to say. + + + + + MAKING NEW YEAR'S CALLS. + + + Shining patent-leather, + Tie of spotless white; + Through the muddy weather + Rushing 'round till night. + Gutters all o'erflowing, + Like Niagara Falls; + Bless me! this is pleasant, + Making New Year's calls. + + Rushing up the door-step, + Ringing at the bell-- + "Mrs. Jones receive to-day?" + "Yes, sir." "Very well." + Sending in your pasteboard, + Waiting in the halls, + Bless me! this is pleasant, + Making New Year's calls. + + Skipping in the parlour, + Bowing to the floor, + Lady of the house there, + Half a dozen more; + Ladies' dresses gorgeous, + Paniers, waterfalls,-- + Bless me! this is pleasant, + Making New Year's calls. + + "Wish you Happy New Year"-- + "Many thanks, I'm sure." + "Many calls, as usual?" + "No; I think they're fewer." + Staring at the carpet, + Gazing at the walls; + Bless me! this is pleasant, + Making New Year's calls. + + "Really, I must go now, + Wish I had more leisure." + "Wont you have a glass of wine?" + "Ah, thanks!--greatest pleasure." + Try to come the graceful, + Till your wine-glass falls; + Bless me! this is pleasant, + Making New Year's calls. + + Hostess looks delighted-- + Out of doors you rush; + Sit down at the crossing, + In a sea of slush. + Job here for your tailor-- + Herr Von Schneiderthals-- + Bless me! this is pleasant, + Making New Year's calls. + + Pick yourself up slowly + Heart with anguish torn. + Sunday-go-to-meetings + In a state forlorn. + Kick a gibing boot-black, + Gibing boot-black bawls, + Bless me! this is pleasant, + Making New Year's calls. + + Home, and woo the downy, + But your soul doth quake, + At most fearful night-mares-- + Turkey, oysters, cake. + While each leaden horror + That your rest appalls, + Cries, "Dear heart! how pleasant; + Making New Year's calls." + + + + + JACK AND ME. + + + Shine!--All right; here y'are, boss! + Do it for jest five cents. + Get 'em fixed in a minute,-- + That is, 'f nothing perwents. + Set your foot right there, sir. + Mornin's kinder cold,-- + Goes right through a feller, + When his coat's a gittin' old. + Well, yes,--call it a coat, sir, + Though 't aint much more 'n a tear. + Git another!--I can't, boss; + Ain't got the stamps to spare. + "Make as much as most on 'em!" + Yes; but then, yer see, + They've only got one to do for,-- + There's two on us, Jack and me. + Him?--Why, that little feller + With a curus lookin' back, + Sittin' there on the gratin', + Warmin' hisself,--that's Jack. + Used to go round sellin' papers, + The cars there was his lay; + But he got shoved off of the platform + Under the wheels one day. + Fact,--the conductor did it,-- + Gin him a reg'lar throw,-- + He didn't care if he killed him; + Some on 'em is just so. + He's never been all right since, sir, + Sorter quiet and queer; + Him and me goes together, + He's what they call cashier. + Style, that 'ere, for a boot-black,-- + Made the fellers laugh; + Jack and me had to take it, + But we don't mind no chaff. + Trouble!--not much, you bet, boss! + Sometimes, when biz is slack, + I don't know how I'd manage + If 't wa'n't for little Jack. + You jest once orter hear him: + He says we needn't care + How rough luck is down here, sir, + If some day we git up there. + All done now,--how's that, sir? + Shines like a pair of lamps. + Mornin'!--Give it to Jack, sir, + He looks after the stamps. + + + + + LES ENFANTS PERDUS. + + + What has become of the children all? + How have the darlings vanished? + Fashion's pied piper, with magical air, + Has wooed them away, with their flaxen hair + And laughing eyes, we don't know where, + And no one can tell where they're banished. + + "Where are the children?" cries Madam Haut-ton, + "Allow me, my sons and daughters,-- + Fetch them, Annette!" What, madam, those? + Children! such exquisite belles and beaux:-- + True, they're in somewhat shorter clothes + Than the most of Dame Fashion's supporters. + + Good day, Master Eddy! Young man about town,-- + A merchant down in the swamp's son; + In a neat little book he makes neat little bets: + He doesn't believe in the shop cigarettes, + But does his own rolling,--and has for his pets + Miss Markham and Lydia Thompson. + + He and his comrades can drink champagne + Like so many juvenile Comuses; + If you want to insult him, just talk of boys' play,-- + Why, even on billiards he's almost _blasé_, + Drops in at Delmonico's three times a day, + And is known at Jerry Thomas's. + + And here comes Miss Agnes. Good morning! "_Bon jour!_" + Now, isn't that vision alarming? + Silk with panier, and puffs, and lace + Decking a figure of corsetted grace; + Her words are minced, and her spoiled young face + Wears a simper far from charming. + + Thirteen only a month ago,-- + Notice her conversation: + Fashion--that bonnet of Nellie Perroy's-- + And now, in a low, confidential voice, + Of Helena's treatment of Tommy Joyce,-- + Aged twelve,--that's the last flirtation. + + What has become of the children, then? + How can an answer be given? + Folly filling each curly head, + Premature vices, childhood dead, + Blighted blossoms--can it be said + "Of _such_ is the kingdom of heaven?" + + + + + CHINESE LANTERNS. + + + Through the windows on the park + Float the waltzes, weirdly sweet; + In the light, and in the dark, + Rings the chime of dancing feet. + Mid the branches, all a-row, + Fiery jewels gleam and glow; + Dreamingly we walk beneath,-- + Ah, so slow! + + All the air is full of love; + Misty shadows wrap us round; + Light below and dark above, + Filled with softly-surging sound. + See the forehead of the Night + Garlanded with flowers of light, + And her goblet crowned with wine, + Golden bright. + + Ah! those deep, alluring eyes, + Quiet as a haunted lake; + In their depths the passion lies + Half in slumber, half awake. + Lay thy warm, white hand in mine + Let the fingers clasp and twine, + While my eager, panting heart + Beats 'gainst thine. + + Bring thy velvet lips a-near, + Mine are hungry for a kiss, + Gladly will I sate them, dear; + Closer, closer,--this,--and this. + On thy lips love's seal I lay, + Nevermore to pass away;-- + That was all last night, you know, + But to-day-- + + Chinese lanterns hung in strings, + Painted paper, penny dips,-- + Filled with roasted moths and things + Greasy with the tallow drips; + Wet and torn, with rusty wire, + Blackened by the dying fire; + Withered flowers, trampled deep + In the mire. + + Chinese lanterns, Bernstein's band, + Belladonna, lily white, + These made up the fairy-land + Where I wandered all last night; + Ruled in all its rosy glow + By a merry Queen, you know + Jolly, dancing, laughing, witching, + Veuve Cliquot. + + + + + THOUGHTS ON THE COMMANDMENTS. + + + "Love your neighbor as yourself,"-- + So the parson preaches; + That's one-half the Decalogue.-- + So the Prayer-book teaches. + Half my duty I can do + With but little labor, + For with all my heart and soul + I do love my neighbor. + + Mighty little credit, that, + To my self-denial; + Not to love her, though, might be + Something of a trial, + Why, the rosy light, that peeps + Through the glass above her, + Lingers round her lips:--you see + E'en the sunbeams love her. + + So to make my merit more, + I'll go beyond the letter; + Love my neighbor as myself? + Yes, and ten times better. + For she's sweeter than the breath + Of the Spring, that passes + Through the fragrant, budding woods, + O'er the meadow-grasses. + + And I've preached the word I know, + For it was my duty + To convert the stubborn heart + Of the little beauty. + Once again success has crowned + Missionary labor, + For her sweet eyes own that she + Also loves her neighbor. + + + + + MARRIAGE _A LÀ MODE._ + _A Trilogy._ + + + I. + LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. + A.D. 1880. + + + "Thank you--much obliged, old boy, + Yes, it's so; report says true. + I'm engaged to Nell Latine-- + What else could a fellow do? + Governor was getting fierce; + Asked me, with paternal frown, + When I meant to go to work, + Take a wife, and settle down. + Stormed at my extravagance, + Talked of cutting off supplies-- + Fairly bullied me, you know-- + Sort of thing that I despise. + Well, you see, I lost worst way + At the races--Governor raged-- + So, to try and smooth him down, + I went off, and got engaged. + Sort of put-up job, you know-- + All arranged with old Latine-- + Nellie raved about it first, + Said her 'pa was awful mean!' + Now it's done we don't much mind-- + Tell the truth, I'm rather glad; + Looking at it every way, + One must own it isn't bad. + She's good-looking, rather rich,-- + Mother left her quite a pile; + Dances, goes out everywhere; + Fine old family, real good style. + Then she's good, as girls go now, + Some idea of wrong and right, + Don't let every man she meets + Kiss her, on the self-same night. + We don't do affection much, + Nell and I are real good friends, + Call there often, sit and chat, + Take her 'round, and there it ends. + Spooning! Well, I tried it once-- + Acted like an awful calf-- + Said I really loved her. Gad! + You should just have heard her laugh. + Why, she ran me for a month, + Teased me till she made me wince; + 'Mustn't flirt with her,' she said, + So I haven't tried it since. + 'Twould be pleasant to be loved + Like you read about in books-- + Mingling souls, and tender eyes-- + Love, and that, in all their looks; + Thoughts of you, and no one else; + Voice that has a tender ring, + Sacrifices made, and--well-- + You know--all that sort of thing. + That's all worn-out talk, they say, + Don't see any of it now-- + Spooning on your _fiancée_ + Isn't good style, anyhow. + Just suppose that one of us,-- + Nell and me, you know--some day + Got like that on some one else-- + Might be rather awkward--eh! + All in earnest, like the books-- + Wouldn't it be awful rough! + Jove! if I--but pshaw, what bosh! + Nell and I are safe enough.-- + Some time in the Spring, I think; + Be on hand to wish us joy? + Be a groomsman, if you like-- + Lots of wine--good-bye, old boy." + + + II. + UP THE AISLE. + A.D. 1881. + + + Take my cloak--and now fix my veil, Jenny;-- + How silly to cover one's face! + I might as well be an old woman, + But then there's one comfort--it's lace. + Well, what has become of those ushers?-- + Oh, Pa, have you got my bouquet? + I'll freeze standing here in the lobby, + Why doesn't the organist play? + They've started at last--what a bustle! + Stop, Pa!--they're not far enough--wait! + One minute more--now! Do keep step, Pa! + There, drop my trail, Jane!--is it straight? + I hope I look timid, and shrinking! + The church must be perfectly full-- + Good gracious, please don't walk so fast, Pa! + He don't seem to think that trains pull. + The chancel at last--mind the step, Pa!-- + I don't feel embarrassed at all-- + But, my! What's the minister saying? + Oh, I know, that part 'bout Saint Paul. + I hope my position is graceful-- + How awkwardly Nelly Dane stood! + "Not lawfully be joined together, + Now speak"--as if any one would. + Oh, dear, now it's my turn to answer-- + I do wish that Pa would stand still. + "Serve him, love, honor, and keep him"-- + How sweetly he says it--I will. + Where's Pa?--there, I knew he'd forget it + When the time came to give me away-- + "I, Helena, take thee--love--cherish-- + And"--well, I can't help it,--"obey." + Here, Maud, take my bouquet--don't drop it-- + I hope Charley's not lost the ring! + Just like him!--no--goodness, how heavy! + It's really an elegant thing. + It's a shame to kneel down in white satin-- + And the flounce real old lace--but I must-- + I hope that they've got a clean cushion, + They're usually covered with dust. + All over--ah, thanks!--now, don't fuss, Pa!-- + Just throw back my veil, Charley--there! + Oh, bother! Why couldn't he kiss me + Without mussing up all my hair! + Your arm, Charley, there goes the organ-- + Who'd think there would be such a crowd! + Oh, I mustn't look round, I'd forgotten, + See, Charley, who was it that bowed? + Why--it's Nellie Allaire, with her husband-- + She's awfully jealous, I know, + Most all of my things were imported, + And she had a home-made _trousseau_. + And there's Annie Wheeler--Kate Hermon-- + I didn't expect her at all-- + If she's not in that same old blue satin + She wore at the Charity Ball! + Is that Fanny Wade?--Edith Pommeton-- + And Emma, and Jo--all the girls! + I knew they'd not miss my wedding-- + I hope they'll all notice my pearls. + Is the carriage there?--give me my cloak, Jane, + Don't get it all over my veil-- + No! you take the other seat, Charley-- + I need all of this for my trail. + + + III. + DIVORCE. + A.D., 1886. + _The Club Window._ + + + "Yes, I saw her pass with 'that scoundrel'-- + For heaven's sake, old man, keep cool! + No end of the fellows are watching-- + Go easy, don't act like a fool! + 'Parading _your_ shame'!--I don't see it. + It's _hers_ now, alone; for at last + You drove her to give you good reason, + Divorced her, and so it's all passed. + For _you_, I mean; she has to bear it-- + Poor child--the reproach and the shame; + I'm your friend--but come, hang it, old fellow, + I swear you were somewhat to blame. + 'What the deuce do I mean?' Well, I'll tell you, + Though it's none of my business. Here! + Just light a cigar, and keep quiet-- + You _started_ wrong, Charley Leclear. + You weren't in love when you married-- + 'Nor she!'--well, I know, but she tried + To keep it dark. You wouldn't let her, + But laughed at her for it. Her pride + Wouldn't stand that, you know. Did you ever + See a spirited girl in your life, + Who would patiently pose to be pitied + As a 'patient Griselda'-like wife + When her husband neglects her so plainly + As you did?--although, on the whole, + When the wife is the culprit, I've noticed + It's rather the favorite rôle. + So she flirted a little--in public-- + She'd chances enough and to spare, + Ah, _then_ if you'd only turned jealous-- + But you didn't notice nor care. + Then her sickness came--even we fellows + All thought you behaved like a scrub, + Leaving her for the nurse to take care of, + While you spent your time at the club. + She never forgave you. How could she? + If I'd been in her place myself, + By Jove, I'd have _left_ you. She didn't, + But told all her woes to Jack Guelph. + When a girl's lost all love for her husband, + And is cursed with a masculine friend + To confide in, and he is a blackguard, + She isn't far off from the end. + Oh, I'm through--of _course_ nobody blamed you + In the end, when you got your divorce-- + You were right enough there--she'd levanted + With Guelph, and you'd no other course. + What I mean is, if you'd acted squarely, + The row would have never occurred, + And for _you_ to be doing the tragic, + Strikes me as a little absurd. + As it stands, you've the best of the bargain, + And she's got a good deal the worst, + Leave it there, and--just touch the bell, will you? + You're nearest, I'm dying of thirst." + + + IV. + AT AFTERNOON TEA. + + + "'In New York!' Yes, I met her this morning. + I knew her in spite of her paint; + And Guelph, too, poor fellow, was with her; + I felt really nervous, and faint, + When he bowed to me, looking _so_ pleading-- + I cut him, of course. Wouldn't you? + If I meet him alone, I'll explain it; + But knowing _her_, what could I do? + Poor fellow! He looks sadly altered-- + I think it a sin, and a shame, + The way he was wrecked by that _creature_! + I _know_ he was never to blame. + He never suspected. He liked her-- + He'd known her for most of his life-- + And of course, it _was_ quite a temptation + To run off with another man's wife. + At his age, you know--barely thirty-- + So romantic, and makes such a noise + In one's club--why, one _can't_ but excuse him, + Now _can_ one, dear? Boys will be boys. + I've known him so long--why, he'd come here + And talk to me just like a son. + It's my duty--I feel as a mother-- + To save him; the thing can be done + Very easily. First, I must show him + How grossly the woman deceived + And entrapped him.--It made such a scandal + You know, that he _can't_ be received + At all, any more, till he drops her-- + He'll certainly not be so mad + As to hold to her still. Oh, I know him + So well--I'm quite sure he'll be glad + On _any_ excuse, to oblige me + In a matter so trifling indeed. + Then the way will be clear. _We'll_ receive him, + And the rest will soon follow our lead. + We must keep our eyes on him more closely + Hereafter; young men of his wealth + And position are so sorely tempted + To waste time, and fortune, and health + In frivolous pleasures and pastimes, + That there's but one safe-guard in life + For them and their money--we've seen it-- + A really nice girl for a wife. + Too bad you've no daughter! My Mamie + Had influence with him for good + Before this affair--when he comes here + She'll meet him, I'm sure, as she should-- + That is, as if nothing had happened-- + And greet him with sisterly joy; + Between us I know we can _save_ him. + I'll write him to-morrow, poor boy." + + + + + THE "STAY-AT-HOME'S" PLAINT. + + + The Spring has grown to Summer; + The sun is fierce and high; + The city shrinks, and withers + Beneath the burning sky. + Ailantus trees are fragrant, + And thicker shadows cast, + Where berry-girls, with voices shrill, + And watering carts go past. + + In offices like ovens + We sit without our coats; + Our cuffs are moist and shapeless, + No collars binds our throats. + We carry huge umbrellas + On Broad Street and on Wall, + Oh, how thermometers go up! + And, oh, how stocks _do_ fall! + + The nights are full of music, + Melodious Teuton troops + Beguile us, calmly smoking, + On balconies and stoops. + With eyes half-shut, and dreamy, + We watch the fire-flies' spark, + And image far-off faces, + As day dies into dark. + + The avenue is lonely, + The houses choked with dust; + The shutters, barred and bolted, + The bell-knobs all a-rust. + No blossom-like spring dresses, + No faces young and fair, + From "Dickel's" to "The Brunswick," + No promenader there. + + The girls we used to walk with + Are far away, alas! + The feet that kissed its pavement + Are deep in country grass. + Along the scented hedge-rows, + Among the green old trees, + Are blooming city faces + 'Neath rosy-lined pongees. + + They're cottaging at Newport; + They're bathing at Cape May; + In Saratoga's ball-rooms + They dance the hours away. + Their voices through the quiet + Of haunted Catskill break; + Or rouse those dreamy dryads, + The nymphs of Echo Lake. + + The hands we've led through Germans, + And squeezed, perchance, of yore, + Now deftly grasp the bridle, + The mallet, and the oar. + The eyes that wrought our ruin + On other men look down; + We're but the broken play-things + They've left behind in town. + + Oh, happy Gran'dame Nature, + Whose wandering children come + To light with happy faces + The dear old mother-home, + Be tender with our darlings, + Each merry maiden bears + Such love and longing with her-- + Men's lives are wrapped in theirs. + + + + + THE "STAY-AT-HOME'S" PÆAN. + + + The evenings are damper and colder; + The maples and sumacs are red, + The wild Equinoctial is coming, + The flowers in the garden are dead. + The steamers are all overflowing, + The railroads are all loaded down, + And the beauties we've sighed for all Summer + Are hurrying back into town. + + They come from the banks of the Hudson, + From the sands of the Branch, and Cape May, + From the parlors of bright Saratoga, + From the dash of Niagara's spray. + From misty, sea-salt Narragansett, + From Mahopac's magical lake. + They come on their way to new conquests, + They're longing for more hearts to break. + + E'en Newport is dull and deserted-- + Its billowy beaches no more + Made bright with sweet, ocean-kissed faces, + Love's beacon lights set on the shore. + The rugged White Hills of New Hampshire, + The last of their lovers have seen, + The echoes are left to their slumbers, + No dainty feet thread the ravine. + + On West Point's delightful parade ground + Sighs many a hapless cadet, + Who's basked through the long days of Summer + In the smiles of a city coquette; + And now the incipient hero + Beholds his enchantress depart, + With the spoils of her lightly-won triumph, + His buttons, as well as his heart. + + Come, dry your eyes, Grandmother Nature, + They care not a whit for your woe; + The city is calling her daughters-- + We can't spare them longer, they know-- + Our beautiful, tender-voiced darlings, + With the blue of the deep Summer skies, + And the glow of the bright Summer sunshine, + Entrapped in their mischievous eyes. + + We know their expenses are awful, + That horror unspeakable fills + The souls of unfortunate fathers + Who foot up their dressmaker's bills. + That they'd barter their souls for French candy; + That diamonds ruin their peace; + That they rave over middle-aged actors, + And in other respects are--well, geese. + + We laugh at them, boys, but we love them, + For under their nonsense we know + They've hearts that are honest and loving, + And souls that are whiter than snow. + So out with that bottle of Roederer! + Large glasses, boys! Up goes the cork! + All charged? To the belles of creation, + The glorious girls of New York. + + + + + EIGHT HOURS. + + + "Sign the petition!" "Write my name!" + "She said, ask me!"--oh, she's fooling; + Where do you think a girl like me + Could find the time for so much schooling? + Why, I've been here since I was eight or so-- + That's ten years now--and it seems like longer; + The hours are from eight till six--you see + It wears one out--I once was stronger. + "A bad cough!" oh, that's nothing, sir; + It comes from the dust, and bending over. + It hurts me sometimes--no, not now. + "This!" why, a flower, a bit of clover. + I picked it up as I came to work-- + It grew in the grass in some one's airy, + Where it stood, and nodded all alone + Like a little green-cloaked, white-capped fairy. + "Fond of flowers!" I like them--yes-- + Though, goodness knows, I don't see many-- + I'd have to buy them--they cost so much-- + And I never can spare a single penny. + "Go to the park!"--how can I, sir? + The only day that I have is Sunday; + And then there's always so much to do + That before I know it, almost, it's Monday. + Like it sir, like it!--why, when I think + Of the woods, and the brook with the cattle drinking-- + I was country-bred, sir--my heart swells so + That I--there, there, what's the use of thinking! + If I could write, sir--"make a cross, + And let you write my name below it"-- + No, please; I'm ashamed I can't, sometimes,-- + I don't want all the girls to know it. + And what's the use of it, anyway? + They'll just say shortly, with careless faces, + "If you're not suited, you'd better leave"-- + There's plenty of girls to fill our places. + They're kind enough to their own, no doubt-- + Our head just worships his own young daughter, + Just my age, sir--she's gone away + To spend the Summer across the water. + But _us_--oh, well, we're only "hands," + Do you think to please us they'll bear losses? + No, not a cent's worth--ah, you'll see-- + I'm a working girl, sir, and I know bosses. + + + + + SLEEPING BEAUTY. + A PARABLE. + + + You remember the nursery legend-- + We heard in the early days, + Ere we knew of the world's deception + Or walked in its dusty ways, + And dwelt in a land of the fairies + Where the air was golden haze-- + + Of the maid, o'er whom the Summers + Of youth passed, like a swell + Of melody all unbroken, + Till evil wrought its spell, + And dream-embroidered curtains + Of slumber round her fell. + + The wood grew up round her castle, + The centuries o'er it rolled, + Wrapping its slumb'rous turrets + In clinging robes of mould, + And her name became a legend + By Winter fire-sides told. + + Till the Prince came over the mountains + In the morning-glow of youth; + The forest sank before him + Like wrong before the truth, + And he passed the dim old portal, + With its warders so uncouth, + + Woke with a kiss the Princess, + And broke enchantment's chain, + The sleepy old castle wondered, + In its cobweb-cumbered brain, + At the tide of life and pleasure + That poured through each stony vein. + + And so love conquered an evil + Centuries old in might, + Scattering drowsy glamour, + Piercing the murky night, + Leading from thrall and darkness + Beauty, and joy, and light. + + + + + EASTER MORNING. + + + Too early, of course! How provoking! + I told Ma just how it would be. + I might as well have on a wrapper, + For there isn't a soul here to see. + There! Sue Delaplaine's pew is empty,-- + I declare if it isn't too bad! + I know my suit cost more than hers did, + And I wanted to see her look mad. + I do think that sexton's too stupid-- + He's put some one else in our pew-- + And the girl's dress just kills mine completely; + Now what am I going to do? + The psalter, and Sue isn't here yet! + I don't care, I think it's a sin + For people to get late to service, + Just to make a great show coming in. + Perhaps she is sick, and can't get here-- + She said she'd a headache last night. + How mad she'll be after her fussing! + I declare, it would serve her just right. + Oh, you've got here at last, my dear, have you? + Well, I don't think you need be so proud + Of that bonnet, if Virot did make it, + It's horrid fast-looking and loud. + What a dress!--for a girl in her senses + To go on the street in light blue!-- + And those coat-sleeves--they wore them last Summer-- + Don't doubt, though, that she thinks they're new. + Mrs. Gray's polonaise was imported-- + So dreadful!--a minister's wife, + And thinking so much about fashion!-- + A pretty example of life! + The altar's dressed sweetly. I wonder + Who sent those white flowers for the font!-- + Some girl who's gone on the assistant-- + Don't doubt it was Bessie Lamont. + Just look at her now, little humbug!-- + So devout--I suppose she don't know + That she's bending her head too far over, + And the ends of her switches all show. + What a sight Mrs. Ward is this morning! + That woman will kill me some day. + With her horrible lilacs and crimsons; + Why will these old things dress so gay? + And there's Jenny Welles with Fred. Tracy-- + She's engaged to him now--horrid thing! + Dear me! I'd keep on my glove sometimes, + If I did have a solitaire ring! + How can this girl next to me act so-- + The way that she turns round and stares, + And then makes remarks about people; + She'd better be saying her prayers. + Oh dear, what a dreadful long sermon! + He must love to hear himself talk! + And it's after twelve now,--how provoking! + I wanted to have a nice walk. + Through at last. Well it isn't so dreadful + After all, for we don't dine till one; + How can people say church is poky!-- + So wicked!--I think it's real fun. + + + + + A LEGEND OF ST. VALENTINE. + + + Come! Why, halloa, that you, Jack? + How's the world been using you? + Want your pipe? it's in the jar-- + Think I might be looking blue. + Maud's been breaking off with me, + Fact--see here--I've got the ring. + That's the note she sent it in; + Read it--soothing sort of thing. + Jack, you know I write sometimes-- + Must have read some things of mine. + Well, I thought I'd just send Maud + Something for a valentine. + So I ground some verses out + In the softest kind of style, + Full of love, and that, you know-- + Bothered me an awful while; + Quite a heavy piece of work. + So when I had got them done-- + Why, I thought them much too good + Just to waste that way on one. + Jack, I told you, didn't I, + All about that black-eyed girl + Up in Stratford--last July-- + Oh! you know; you saw her curl? + Well, old fellow, she's the one + That this row is all about, + For I sent her--who'd have thought + Maud would ever find it out-- + Those same verses, word for word-- + Hang it, man! you needn't roar-- + "Splendid joke!" well, so I thought-- + No, don't think so any more. + Yesterday, you know it rained, + I'd been up late--at a ball-- + Didn't know what else to do-- + Went up and made Maud a call, + Found some other girl there, too, + They were playing a duet. + "Fred, my cousin, Nelly Deane,"-- + Yes, Jack, there was my brunette; + You should just have seen me, Jack-- + Now, old fellow, please don't laugh, + I feel bad about it--fact-- + And I really can't stand chaff. + Well, I tried to talk to Maud, + There was Nell, though, sitting by; + Every now and then she'd laugh, + Sure I can't imagine why. + Maud would read that beastly poem, + Nell's eyes said in just one glance, + "Wont I make you pay for this, + If I ever get the chance!" + Some one came and rang the bell, + Just a note for Nell, by post. + Jack, I saw my monogram-- + I'd have rather seen a ghost. + Yes--her verses--I suppose + That her folks had sent them down-- + Couldn't get up there, you know-- + Till she'd left and come to town. + Nelly looked them quickly through-- + Laughed--by Jove, I thought she'd choke. + "Maud--he'll kill me--dear! oh, dear!-- + Read that; isn't it a joke?" + Maud glanced through them--sank right down + On the sofa--hid her face-- + "Crying!"--not much--laughing, Jack-- + Don't think she's a hopeless case. + I just grabbed my hat and left-- + Only wish I'd gone before. + How they laughed!--I heard them, Jack-- + Till I got outside the door. + There, confession's done me good, + I can never win her back, + So I'll calmly let her slide-- + Pass the ash-cup, will you, Jack. + + + + + FROST-BITTEN. + + + We were driving home from the "Patriarchs'"-- + Molly Lefévre and I, you know; + The white flakes fluttered about our lamps; + Our wheels were hushed in the sleeping snow. + + Her white arms nestled amid her furs; + Her hands half-held, with languid grace, + Her fading roses; fair to see + Was the dreamy look in her sweet, young face. + + I watched her, saying never a word, + For I would not waken those dreaming eyes. + The breath of the roses filled the air, + And my thoughts were many, and far from wise. + + At last I said to her, bending near, + "Ah, Molly Lefévre, how sweet 'twould be, + To ride on dreaming, all our lives, + Alone with the roses--you and me." + + Her sweet lips faltered, her sweet eyes fell, + And, low as the voice of a Summer rill, + Her answer came. It was--"Yes, perhaps-- + But who would settle our carriage bill?" + + The dying roses breathed their last, + Our wheels rolled loud on the stones just then, + Where the snow had drifted; the subject dropped. + It has never been taken up again. + + + + + A SONG. + + + Spring-time is coming again, my dear; + Sunshine and violets blue, you know; + Crocuses lifting their sleepy heads + Out of their sheets of snow. + And I know a blossom sweeter by far + That violets blue, or crocuses are, + And bright as the sunbeam's glow. + But how can I dare to look in her eyes, + Colored with heaven's own hue? + That wouldn't do at all, my dear, + It really wouldn't do. + + Her hair is a rippling, tossing sea; + In its golden depths the fairies play, + Beckoning, dancing, mocking there, + Luring my heart away. + And her merry lips are the ripest red + That ever addled a poor man's head, + Or led his wits astray. + What wouldn't I give to taste the sweets + Of those rose-leaves wet with dew! + But that wouldn't do at all, my dear, + It really wouldn't do. + + Her voice is gentle, and clear and pure; + It rings like the chime of a silver bell, + And the thought it wakes in my foolish head, + I'm really afraid to tell. + Her little feet kiss the ground below, + And her hand is white as the whitest snow + That e'er from heaven fell. + But I wouldn't dare to take that hand, + Reward for my love to sue; + That wouldn't do at all, my dear, + It really wouldn't do. + + + + + OLD PHOTOGRAPHS. + + + Old lady, put your glasses on, + With polished lenses, mounting golden, + And once again look slowly through + The album olden. + + How the old portraits take you back + To friends who once would 'round you gather-- + All scattered now, like frosted leaves + In blustering weather. + + Why, who is this, the bright coquette? + Her eyes with Love's bright arrows laden-- + "Poor Nell, she's living single yet, + An ancient maiden." + + And this, the fragile poetess? + Whose high soul-yearnings nought can smother-- + "She's stouter far than I am now, + A kind grandmother." + + Who is this girl with flowing curls, + Who on the golden future muses? + "What splendid hair she had!--and now + A 'front' she uses." + + And this? "Why, if it's not my own; + And did I really e'er resemble + That bright young creature? Take the book-- + My old hands tremble. + + "It seems that only yesterday + We all were young; ah, how time passes!" + Old lady, put the album down, + And wipe your glasses. + + + + + "LE DERNIER JOUR D'UN CONDAMNÉ." + + + Old coat, for some three or four seasons + We've been jolly comrades, but now + We part, old companion, forever; + To fate, and the fashion, I bow. + You'd look well enough at a dinner, + I'd wear you with pride at a ball; + But I'm dressing to-night for a wedding-- + My own--and you'd not do at all. + + You've too many wine-stains about you, + You're scented too much with cigars, + When the gas-light shines full on your collar, + It glitters with myriad stars, + That wouldn't look well at my wedding; + They'd seem inappropriate there-- + Nell doesn't use diamond powder, + She tells me it ruins the hair. + + You've been out on Cozzens' piazza + Too late, when the evenings were damp, + When the moon-beams were silvering Cro'nest, + And the lights were all out in the camp. + You've rested on highly-oiled stairways + Too often, when sweet eyes were bright, + And somebody's ball dress--not Nellie's-- + Flowed 'round you in rivers of white. + + There's a reprobate looseness about you; + Should I wear you to-night, I believe, + As I come with my bride from the altar, + You'd laugh in your wicked old sleeve, + When you felt there the tremulous pressure + Of her hand, in its delicate glove, + That is telling me shyly, but proudly, + Her trust is as deep as her love. + + So, go to your grave in the wardrobe, + And furnish a feast for the moth, + Nell's glove shall betray its sweet secrets + To younger, more innocent cloth. + 'Tis time to put on your successor-- + It's made in a fashion that's new; + Old coat, I'm afraid it will never + Sit as easily on me as you. + + + + + CHRISTMAS GREENS. + + + Oh, Lowbury pastor is fair and young, + By far too good for a single life, + And many a maiden, saith gossip's tongue, + Would fain be Lowbury pastor's wife: + So his book-marks are 'broidered in crimson and gold, + And his slippers are, really, a "sight to behold." + + That's Lowbury pastor, sitting there + On the cedar boughs by the chancel rails; + His face is clouded with carking care, + For it's nearly five, the daylight fails-- + The church is silent,--the girls all gone, + And the Christmas wreaths not nearly done. + + Two tiny boots crunch-crunch the snow, + They saucily stamp at the transept door, + And then up to the pillared aisle they go + Pit-pat, click-clack, on the marble floor-- + A lady fair doth that pastor see, + And he saith, "Oh, bother, it isn't she!" + + A lady in seal-skin--eyes of blue, + And tangled tresses of snow-flecked gold-- + She speaks, "Good gracious! can this be you, + Sitting alone in the dark and cold? + The rest all gone! Why it wasn't right; + These texts will never be done to-night." + + She sits her down at her pastor's feet, + And, wreathing evergreen, weaves her wiles, + Heart-piercing glances bright and fleet, + Soft little sighs, and shy little smiles; + But the pastor is solemnly sulky and glum, + And thinketh it strange that "she" doesn't come. + + Then she tells him earnestly, soft and low, + How she'd do her part in this world of strife, + And humbly look to him to know + The path that her feet should tread through life-- + Her pastor yawneth behind his hat, + And wondereth what she is driving at. + + Crunch-crunch again on the snow outside, + The pastor riseth unto his feet, + The vestry door is opened wide, + A dark-eyed maid doth the pastor greet, + And that lady fair can see and hear, + Her pastor kiss her, and call her "dear." + + "Why, Maud!" "Why, Nelly!" those damsels cry; + But lo, what troubles that lady fair? + On Nelly's finger there meets her eye + The glow of a diamond solitaire, + And she thinks, as she sees the glittering ring, + "And so she's got him--the hateful thing!" + + There sit they all 'neath the Christmas tree, + For Maud is determined that she wont go + The pastor is cross as a man can be, + And Nelly would like to pinch her so, + And they go on wreathing the text again-- + It is "Peace on earth and good-will towards men." + + + + + LAKE MAHOPAC--SATURDAY NIGHT. + + + "Yes, I'm here, I suppose you're delighted: + You'd heard I was not coming down! + Why I've been here a week!--'rather early'-- + I know, but it's horrid in town + + A Boston? Most certainly, thank you. + This music is perfectly sweet; + Of course I like dancing in summer; + It's warm, but I don't mind the heat. + + The clumsy thing! Oh! how he hurt me! + I really can't dance any more-- + Let's walk--see, they're forming a Lancers; + These square dances are such a bore. + + My cloak--oh! I really don't need it-- + Well, carry it,--so, in the folds-- + I hate it, but Ma made me bring it; + She's frightened to death about colds. + + This _is_ rather cooler than dancing. + They're lovely piazzas up here; + Those lanterns look sweet in the bushes, + It's lucky the night is so clear. + + I _am_ rather tired--in this corner?-- + Very well, if you like--I don't care-- + But you'll have to sit on the railing-- + You see there is only one chair. + + '_So_ long since you've seen me'--oh, ages!-- + Let's see, why it's ten days ago-- + 'Seems years'--oh! of course--don't look spooney-- + It isn't becoming, you know. + + How bright the stars seem to-night, don't they? + What was it you said about eyes? + How sweet!--why you must be a poet-- + One never can tell till he tries. + + Why can't you be sensible, Harry! + I don't like men's arms on my chair. + Be still! if you don't stop this nonsense + I'll get up and leave you;--so there! + + Oh! please don't--I don't want to hear it-- + A boy like you talking of love. + 'My answer!'--Well, sir, you shall have it-- + Just wait till I get off my glove. + + See that?--Well, you needn't look tragic, + It's only a solitaire ring,-- + Of course I am 'proud of it'--very-- + It's rather an elegant thing. + + Engaged!--yes--why, didn't you know it? + I thought the news must have reached here-- + Why, the wedding will be in October-- + The 'happy man'--Charley Leclear. + + Now don't blame me--I tried to stop you-- + But you _would_ go on like a goose; + I'm sorry it happened--forget it-- + Don't think of it--don't--what's the use? + + There's somebody coming--don't look so-- + Get up on the railing again-- + _Can't_ you seem as if nothing had happened? + I never saw such geese as men! + + Ah, Charley, you've found me! A galop? + The 'Bahn frei?' Yes; take my bouquet-- + And my fan, if you will--now I'm ready-- + You'll excuse me, of course, Mr. Gray." + + + + + MATINAL MUSINGS. + + + Ten o'clock! Well, I'm sure I can't help it! + I'm up--go away from the door! + Now, children, I'll speak to your mother + If you pound there like that any more. + + How tired I do feel?--Where's that cushion?-- + I don't want to move from this chair; + I wish Marie'd make her appearance! + I really _can't_ do my own hair. + + I wish I'd not danced quite so often-- + I knew I'd feel tired! but it's hard + To refuse a magnificent dancer + If you have a place left on your card. + + I was silly to wear that green satin, + It's a shame that I've spotted it so-- + All down the front breadth--it's just ruined-- + No trimming will hide that, I know. + + That's me! Have a costume imported, + And spoil it the very first night!-- + I might make an overskirt of it, + That shade looks so lovely with white. + + How horrid my eyes look! Good gracious! + I hope that I didn't catch cold + Sitting out on the stairs with Will Stacy; + If Ma knew that, wouldn't she scold! + + She says he's so fast--well, who isn't?-- + Dear! where is Marie?--how it rains!-- + I don't care; he's real nice and handsome. + And his talk sounds as if he'd some brains. + + I do wonder what _is_ the reason, + That good men are all like Joe Price, + So poky, and stiff, and conceited, + And fast ones are always so nice.-- + + Just see how Joe acted last evening! + He didn't come near me at all, + Because I danced twice with Will Stacy + That night at the Charity ball. + + I didn't care two pins to do it; + But Joe said I mustn't,--and so-- + I just did--he isn't my master, + Nor sha'n't be, I'd like him to know. + + I don't think he looked at me even, + Though just to please him I wore green,-- + And I'd saved him three elegant dances,-- + _I_ wouldn't have acted so mean. + + The way he went on with Nell Hadley; + Dear me! just as if I would care! + I'd like to see those two get married, + They'd make a congenial pair! + + I'm getting disgusted with parties;-- + I think I shall stop going out; + What's the use of this fussing for people + I don't care the least bit about. + + I _did_ think that Joe had some sense once; + But, my, he's just like all the men! + And the way that I've gone on about him,-- + Just see if I do it again! + + Only wait till the next time I see him, + I'll pay him back; wont I be cool! + I've a good mind to drop him completely-- + I'll--yes I will--go back to school. + + The bell!--who can that be, I wonder!-- + Let's see--I declare! why, it's Joe!-- + How long they are keeping him waiting! + Good gracious! why don't the girl go!-- + + Yes--say I'll be down in a minute-- + Quick, Marie, and do up my hair!-- + Not that bow--the green one--Joe likes it-- + How slow you are!--I'll pin it--there! + + + + + A ROMANCE OF THE SAW-DUST. + + + Suthin' to put in a story! + I couldn't think of a thing, + 'N' it's nigh unto thirty year now + Since fust I went in the ring. + "The life excitin'?" Thunder! + "Variety," did you say? + You must have cur'us notions + 'Bout circuses, anyway. + The things that look so risky + Aint nothin' to us but biz. + "Accidents"--falls and sich like? + Sometimes, in course, there is. + But it's only a slip, or a stumble, + Some feller laid out flat, + It don't take more'n a second; + There aint no story in that. + 'N' like as not, the tumble + Don't do no harm at all: + There's one gal here--I tell yer, + She got an awful fall. + You know her--Ma'am'selle Ida-- + She's Jimmy Barnet's wife, + The prettiest little woman + You ever see in your life. + They was lovers when they was young uns, + No more'n two hands high. + She nussed Jim through a fever once, + When the doctors swore he'd die. + I taught 'em both the motions; + She never know'd no fear, + And they've done the trapeze together + For more'n a couple o' year. + Last Summer we took on a Spaniard, + A mis'rable kind of cuss, + Spry feller--but awful tempered, + Always a-makin' a fuss. + He wanted to marry Ida-- + His chance was pretty slim, + He did his best, but bless yer, + She'd never go back on Jim. + He acted up so foolish, + That Jim, one day, got riled + 'N' guv him a reg'lar whalin'; + That druv the Spaniard wild. + He talked like he was crazy, + 'N' raved around, and swore + He'd kill 'em both; but Jim just laughed-- + He'd heer'd such talk before. + One day, when we was showin' + In a little country town, + Jim mashed his hand with a hatchet, + Drivin' a tent stake down. + He couldn't work that night, nohow, + But the "trap" hed got to be done. + The Spaniard said he'd try it-- + 'N' they had to take him or none. + I knew Jim didn't like it, + 'N' Ide looked scared and white-- + "Look out for me, boys," she whispered, + "I'm goin' to fall to-night;" + Then she looked up with a shiver, + At the trapeze swingin' there, + A couple of bars and a rope or two + Forty feet up in the air. + But up she clumb--he arter-- + Stood up, but how Ide shook, + Then the Spaniard yelled like a devil, + "Now look, Jim Barnet!--look!"-- + With that he jumped 'n' gripped her; + She fought, but he broke her hold, + Grabbed at the rope, 'n' missed it-- + Off of the bar they rolled, + Clinched, 'n' Ide a screamin'; + Thud!--they struck the ground; + I turned all sick and dizzy, + 'N' everything went round. + How still it were for a second!-- + It seemed like an hour--'n' then + The women was all a screechin', + 'N' the ring was full of men. + Poor Jim was stoopin' to lift her, + But flopped right down, 'n' said, + Sez he, "Her lips is movin'! + She's breathin'!--She isn't dead!" + For sure!--he'd fallen under; + It kinder broke her fall; + Except the scare and a broken arm, + She wasn't hurt at all. + "The Spaniard?" Oh, it killed him; + It broke his cussed neck. + But nobody cried their eyes out, + As near as I reckeleck. + She married Jim soon arter, + They're doin' the trapeze still; + So, yer see, as I was sayin', + These falls don't always kill. + 'N' as for things excitin' + To put in a story,--well, + I'd really like to oblige yer, + But then there aint nothin' to tell. + + + + + PYROTECHNIC POLYGLOT. + (MADISON SQUARE, JULY 4.) + + + "Hey, Johnny McGinnis, where are yez? + I've got a place! Arrah, be quick!" + Whiz! Boom! "Hooray, there goes a rocket; + Hi, Johnny, look out for the shtick!" + "Confound it, sir! Those are my feet, sir!" + "Oh, pa, lift me up, I can't see." + "Come down out o' that, yez young blackguards! + Div yez want to be killin' the tree?" + "Hooray! look at that?" "Aint it bully!" + "It's stuck!" "No, it aint." "There she goes!" + "I wish that you'd speak to this man, Fred, + He's standing all over my toes." + "Take down that umbrella in front there!" + "My! aint we afraid of our hat!" + "Me heart's fairly broke wid yez shovin'-- + Have done now--what would yez be at?" + "Jehiel, neow haint this jest orful! + I 'most wish I hedn't a come; + Such actions I never--one would think + Folks left their perliteness to hum." + "Look here, now, you schoost stop dose schovin'." + "By gar, den, get out from ze vay, + You stupide Dootschmans, vilain cochon"-- + "Kreuz!"--"Peste!"--"Donnerwetter!"--"Sacr-r-re!" + "Oh, isn't that cross just too lovely! + So bright, why the light makes me wink!" + "Your eyes, dear, are"--"don't be a goose, Fred; + What do you suppose folks will think?" + Crash! Screech! "Och I'm kilt!"--"Fred, what is it?" + "Branch broken--small boy come to grief." + "Boo, hoo, hoo, hoo! I wants mine muzzer!" + "Look out there!" "Police!" "Hi, stop thief!" + "Well, father, I guess it's all over; + Just help Nelly down off the stool." + + + MORAL. + + SUNG:--"Mellican piecee fire bully!" + CHING:--"Mellican man piecee fool." + + + + + FISHING. + + + "Harry, where have you been all morning?" + "Down at the pool in the meadow-brook." + "Fishing?" "Yes, but the trout were wary, + Couldn't induce them to take a hook." + "Why, look at your coat! You must have fallen, + Your back's just covered with leaves and moss." + How he laughs! Good-natured fellow! + Fisherman's luck makes most men cross. + + "Nellie, the Wrights have called. Where were you?" + "Under the tree, by the meadow-brook + Reading, and oh, it was too lovely; + I never saw such a charming book." + The charming book must have pleased her, truly, + There's a happy light in her bright young eyes + And she hugs the cat with unusual fervor, + To staid old Tabby's intense surprise. + + Reading? yes, but not from a novel. + Fishing! truly, but not with a rod. + The line is idle, the book neglected-- + The water-grasses whisper and nod. + The fisherman bold and the earnest reader + Sit talking--of what? Perhaps the weather. + Perhaps--no matter--whate'er the subject, + It brings them remarkably close together. + + It causes his words to be softly spoken, + With many a lingering pause between, + The while the sunbeams chase the shadows + Over the mosses, gray and green. + Blushes are needful for its discussion, + And soft, shy glances from downcast eyes, + In whose blue depths are lying hidden + Loving gladness, and sweet surprise. + + Trinity Chapel is gay this evening, + Filled with beauty, and flowers, and light, + A captive fisherman stands at the altar, + With Nellie beside him all in white. + + The ring is on, the vows are spoken, + And smiling friends, good fortune wishing, + Tell him his is the fairest prize + Ever brought from a morning's fishing. + + + + + NOCTURNE. + + + Summer is over, and the leaves are falling, + Gold, fire-enamelled in the glowing sun; + The sobbing pinetop, the cicada calling + Chime men to vesper-musing, day is done. + + The fresh, green sod, in dead, dry leaves is hidden; + They rustle very sadly in the breeze; + Some breathing from the past comes, all unbidden, + And in my heart stir withered memories. + + Day fades away; the stars show in the azure, + Bright with the glow of eyes that know not tears, + Unchanged, unchangeable, like God's good pleasure, + They smile and reck not of the weary years. + + Men tell us that the stars it knows are leaving + Our onward rolling globe, and in their place + New constellations rise--is death bereaving + The old earth, too, of each familiar face? + + Our loved ones leave us; so we all grow fonder + Of their world than of ours; for here we seem + Alone in haunted houses, and we wonder + Which is the waking life, and which the dream. + + + + + AUTO-DA-FÉ + + + (HE EXPLAINS.) + + Oh, just burning up some old papers, + They do make a good deal of smoke: + That's right, Dolly, open the window; + They'll blaze if you give them a poke. + I've got a lot more in the closet; + Just look at the dust! What a mess! + Why, read it, of course, if you want to, + It's only a letter, I guess. + + + (SHE READS.) + + Just me, and my pipe, and the fire-light, + Whose mystical circles of red + Protect me alone with the shadows; + The smoke-wreaths engarland my head; + And the strains of a waltz, half forgotten, + The favorite waltz of the year, + Played softly by fairy musicians, + Chime sweetly and low on my ear. + + The smoke-cloud floats thickly around me, + All perfumed and white, till it seems + A bride-veil magicians have woven + To honor the bride of my dreams. + Float on, dreamy waltz, through my fancies, + My thoughts in your harmony twine! + Draw near, phantom face, in your beauty, + Look deep, phantom eyes, into mine. + + Sweet lips--crimson buds half unfolded-- + Give breath to the exquisite voice, + That, waking the strands of my being + To melody, bids me rejoice. + Dream, soul, till the world's dream is ended! + Dream, heart, of your beautiful past! + For dreaming is better than weeping, + And all things but dreams at the last. + + Change rules in the world of the waking-- + Its laughter aye ends in a sigh; + Dreams only are changeless--immortal: + A love-dream alone cannot die. + Toil, fools! Sow your hopes in the furrows, + Rich harvest of failure you'll reap; + Life's riddle is read the most truly + By men who but talk in their sleep. + + + (HE REMONSTRATES.) + + There, stop! That'll do--yes, I own it-- + But, dear, I was young then, you know. + I wrote that before we were married; + Let's see--why, it's ten years ago! + You remember that night, at Drake's party, + When you flirted with Dick all the time? + I left in a state quite pathetic, + And went home to scribble that rhyme. + + What a boy I was then with my dreaming, + And reading the riddle of life! + You gave a good guess at its meaning + The night you said "Yes," little wife. + One kiss for old times' sake, my Dolly-- + That didn't seem much like a dream. + Holloa! something's wrong with the children! + Those young ones do nothing but scream. + + + + + AN AFTERTHOUGHT. + + + Vine leaves rustled, moonbeams shone, + Summer breezes softly sighed; + You and I were all alone + In a kingdom fair and wide + You, a Queen, in all your pride, + I, a vassal, by your side. + + Fairy voices in the leaves + Ceaselessly were whispering: + "'Tis the time to garner sheaves-- + Let your heart its longing sing; + Place upon her hand a ring; + Then our Queen shall know her King." + + E'en the moonbeams seemed to learn + Speech when they had kissed your face, + Passing fair--my lips did yearn + To be moonbeams for a space-- + "Lo, 'tis fitting time and place! + Speak, and courage will find grace." + + But the night wind murmured low, + Softly brushing back your hair, + "Look into her face, and know + That she is a jewel rare, + Worthy of a monarch's heir; + Who are you that you should dare!" + + Hope died like a frost-touched flower; + But through all the coming years, + In that quiet evening hour, + When the flowers are all in tears, + When the heart hath hopes and fears, + When the day-world disappears. + + If the vine leaves rustle low, + If the moon shine on the sea, + If the night wind softly blow,-- + Dreaming of what may not be,-- + Well I know that I shall see + Your sweet eyes look down on me. + + + + + REDUCTIO AD ABSURDUM. + + + I had come from the city early + That Saturday afternoon; + I sat with Beatrix under the trees + In the mossy orchard; the golden bees + Buzzed over clover-tops, pink and pearly; + I was at peace, and inclined to spoon. + + We were stopping awhile with mother, + At the quiet country place + Where first we'd met, one blossomy May, + And fallen in love--so the dreamy day + Brought to my memory many another + In the happy time when I won her grace. + + Days in the bright Spring weather, + When the twisted, rough old tree + Showered down apple-blooms, dainty and sweet, + That swung in her hair, and blushed at her feet; + Sweet was her face as we lingered together, + And dainty the kisses my love gave me. + + "Dear love, are you recalling + The old days, too?" I said. + Her sweet eyes filled, and with tender grace + She turned and rested her blushing face + Against my shoulder; a sunbeam falling + Through the leaves above us crowned her head. + + And so I held her, trusting + That none was by to see; + A sad mistake--for low, but clear, + This feminine comment reached my ear: + "Married for ages--it's just disgusting-- + Such actions--and, Fred, they've got our tree!" + + + + + THE MOTHERS OF THE SIRENS. + + + The débutantes are in force to-night, + Sweet as their roses, pure as truth; + Dreams of beauty in clouds of tulle; + Blushing, fair in their guileless youth. + Flashing bright glances carelessly-- + Carelessly, think you! Wait and see + How their sweetest smile is kept for him + Whom "mother" considers a good _parti_. + + For the matrons watch and guard them well-- + Little for youth or love care they; + The man they seek is the man with gold, + Though his heart be black, and his hair be gray. + "Nellie, how _could_ you treat _him_ so! + You know very well he is Goldmore's heir," + "Jennie, look modest! Glance down and blush,-- + Here comes papa with young Millionaire." + + On a cold, gray rock, in Grecian seas, + The sirens sit, and _their_ glamour try-- + Warm white bosoms press harps of gold, + The while Ulysses' ship sails by. + Fair are the forms the sailors see, + Sweet are the songs the sailors hear + And--cool and wary, shrewd and old, + The sirens' mothers are watching near, + + Whispering counsel--"Fling back your hair, + It hides your shoulder." "Don't sing so fast!" + "Darling, _don't_ look at that fair young man, + Try that old fellow there by the mast, + _His_ arms are jewelled"--let it go! + Too bitter all this for an idle rhyme; + But sirens are kin of the gods, be sure, + And change but little with lapse of time. + + + + + PER ASPERA AD ASTRA. + + + A canvas-back duck, rarely roasted, between us, + A bottle of Chambertin, worthy of praise-- + Less noble a wine at our _age_ would bemean us-- + A salad of celery _en mayonnaise_, + With the oysters we've eaten, fresh, plump, and delicious, + Naught left of them now but a dream and the shells; + No better _souper_ e'en Lucullus could wish us-- + Why, even our waiter regards us as swells. + + Your dress is a marvel, your jewels show finely, + Your friends in the circle all envied your box; + You say Lilli Lehman sang quite too divinely-- + I know I can't lose on that last deal in stocks. + Without waits our footman to call for our carriage-- + Gad, how he must hate us, out there in the cold!-- + We rode in a hack on the day of our marriage, + Number two forty-six--I was rolling in gold, + + For I'd quite fifty dollars; and don't you remember + We drove down to Taylor's, a long cherished dream: + How grandly I ordered--just think, in December!-- + Some cake, and two plates of vanilla ice-cream. + And how we enjoyed it! Your glance was the proudest + Among the proud beauties, your face the most fair; + I'm rather afraid, too, your laugh was the loudest; + I know we shocked every one--we didn't care. + + Now we'd care a great deal--with two sons at college, + And daughters just out, whose sneers make you wince, + We've tasted the fruit of Society's knowledge-- + I don't think we've quite enjoyed anything since. + All through, dear? Now, _don't_ wipe your mouth with the doily! + They're really not careful at all with their wine; + It wasn't half warmed--the salad was oily-- + And I don't think the duck was remarkably fine. + + + + + THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE. + + + Oh! he was a student of mystic lore; + And she was a soulful girl + All nerves and mind, of the cultured kind + The paragon, pride, and pearl. + + They loved with a neo-Concordic love, + Woofed weirdly with wistful woe. + They sat in a glen, remote from men, + Their converse was high and low. + + "What marvellous words of marvellous love, + Speak marvellous souls like these?" + I drew me nigh till their faintest sigh + Was heard with the greatest ease. + + "'Oo's 'ittle white lammy is 'oo?" breathed he; + "'Oors. 'Oo's lovey-dovey is 'oo?" + "'Oors! 'Oors! Would 'oo k'y if dovey should die?" + "No'p!--tause 'ittle lammy'd die too." + + How truthful we poets! The "language of Love" + Is a phrase we employ full oft; + But whenever we do, we prefix thereto, + You've noticed, the adjective "soft." + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +[Illustration: +"WE TWO TOOK POSSESSION OF THE STAIRS." +--_Page 18._] + +[Illustration: +"SEE HER AT PRAYER! HER PLEADING HANDS +BEAR NOT ONE GEM OF ALL HER STORE." +--_Page 4._] + +[Illustration: +"THE SUNBEAMS LIT HER GLEAMING HAIR +WITH RIPPLING WAVES OF GOLDEN GLORY." +--_Page 22._] + +[Illustration: +"WHAT! GIVE UP FLIRTATION? CHANGE DIMPLES FOR FROWNS?" +--_Page 24._] + +[Illustration: +"THE FEET THAT KISSED ITS PAVEMENT +ARE DEEP IN COUNTRY GRASS." +--_Page 59._] + +[Illustration: +"AND THE BEAUTIES WE'VE SIGHED FOR ALL SUMMER +ARE HURRYING BACK TO TOWN." +--_Page 62._] + +[Illustration: +"YES, JACK, THERE WAS MY BRUNETTE." +--_Page 77._] + +[Illustration: +"HOW THE OLD PORTRAITS TAKE YOU BACK." +--_Page 83._] + +[Illustration: +"A LADY IN SEALSKIN--EYES OF BLUE, +AND TANGLED TRESSES OF SNOW-FLECKED GOLD." +--_Page 89._] + +[Illustration: +"BUT YOU'LL HAVE TO SIT ON THE RAILING-- +YOU SEE THERE IS ONLY ONE CHAIR." +--_Page 92._] + +[Illustration: +"READING? YES, BUT NOT FROM A NOVEL; +FISHING! TRULY, BUT NOT WITH A ROD." +--_Page 109._] + +[Illustration: +"THE DÉBUTANTES ARE IN FORCE TO-NIGHT, +SWEET AS THEIR ROSES, PURE AS TRUTH." +--_Page 122._] + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Point Lace and Diamonds, by George A. 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Baker, Jr. + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Point Lace and Diamonds + +Author: George A. Baker, Jr. + +Illustrator: Francis Day + +Release Date: August 21, 2005 [EBook #16568] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POINT LACE AND DIAMONDS *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1>POINT LACE</h1> +<h4>AND</h4> +<h1>DIAMONDS</h1> + + +<h5>BY</h5> +<h2>GEORGE A. BAKER, JR.</h2> +<h5>AUTHOR OF</h5> +<h4><i>"The Bad Habits of Good Society," "West Point," etc.</i></h4> + +<p class="center">NEW AND REVISED EDITION<br /> +<small>WITH NUMEROUS NEW POEMS</small></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/angel.jpg" +alt="title page" title="title page" /> +</div> + +<p class="center"><small>NEW YORK</small><br /> +FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY<br /> +<small>MDCCCXCIII</small> +</p> + + + +<p class="center"><br /><br /><br /><br />Copyrighted in 1875, by F.B. Patterson.</p> + +<p class="center">Copyright, 1886,<br /> +By White, Stokes, & Allen. +</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='right'><span class="smcap">page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#RETROSPECTION">Retrospection</a></td><td align='right'>1</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_ROSEBUD_IN_LENT">A Rosebud in Lent</a></td><td align='right'>4</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_REFORMER">A Reformer</a></td><td align='right'>5</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#IN_THE_RECORD_ROOM_SURROGATES_OFFICE">In the Record Room, Surrogate's Office</a></td><td align='right'>6</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i><a href="#DE_LUNATICO">De Lunatico</a></i></td><td align='right'>8</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i><a href="#PRO_PATRIA_ET_GLORIA">Pro Patria et Gloria</a></i></td><td align='right'>11</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#AFTER_THE_GERMAN">After the German</a></td><td align='right'>15</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#AN_IDYL_OF_THE_PERIOD">An Idyl of the Period</a></td><td align='right'>17</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHIVALRIE">Chivalrie</a></td><td align='right'>22</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_PIECE_OF_ADVICE">A Piece of Advice</a></td><td align='right'>24</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i><a href="#ZWEI_KONIGE_AUF_ORKADAL">Zwei Könige auf Orkadal</a></i></td><td align='right'>27</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_SONG_1">A Song</a></td><td align='right'>28</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MAKING_NEW_YEARS_CALLS">Making New Year's Calls</a></td><td align='right'>30</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#JACK_AND_ME">Jack and Me</a></td><td align='right'>34</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i><a href="#LES_ENFANTS_PERDUS">Les Enfants Perdus</a></i></td><td align='right'>37</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHINESE_LANTERNS">Chinese Lanterns</a></td><td align='right'>40</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THOUGHTS_ON_THE_COMMANDMENTS">Thoughts on the Commandments</a></td><td align='right'>43</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MARRIAGE_A_LA_MODE">Marriage <i>à la Mode</i>. A Trilogy</a></td><td align='right'>45</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_STAY-AT-HOMES_PLAINT">The "Stay-at-Home's" Plaint</a></td><td align='right'>58</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_STAY-AT-HOMES_PAEAN">The "Stay-at-Home's" Pæan</a></td><td align='right'>62</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#EIGHT_HOURS">Eight Hours</a></td><td align='right'>65</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SLEEPING_BEAUTY">Sleeping Beauty</a></td><td align='right'>68</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#EASTER_MORNING">Easter Morning</a></td><td align='right'>71</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_LEGEND_OF_ST_VALENTINE">A Legend of St. Valentine</a></td><td align='right'>75</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#FROST-BITTEN">Frost-Bitten</a></td><td align='right'>79</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_SONG_2">A Song</a></td><td align='right'>81</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#OLD_PHOTOGRAPHS">Old Photographs</a></td><td align='right'>83</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i><a href="#LE_DERNIER_JOUR_DUN_CONDAMNE">"Le Dernier Jour d'un Condamné"</a></i></td><td align='right'>85</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#CHRISTMAS_GREENS">Christmas Greens</a></td><td align='right'>88</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#LAKE_MAHOPAC_SATURDAY_NIGHT">Lake Mahopac—Saturday Night</a></td><td align='right'>91</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MATINAL_MUSINGS">Matinal Musings</a></td><td align='right'>95</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_ROMANCE_OF_THE_SAW-DUST">A Romance of the Sawdust</a></td><td align='right'>99</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#PYROTECHNIC_POLYGLOT">Pyrotechnic Polyglot</a></td><td align='right'>105</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#FISHING">Fishing</a></td><td align='right'>108</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i><a href="#NOCTURNE">Nocturne</a></i></td><td align='right'>111</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i><a href="#AUTO-DA-FE">Auto-da-Fé</a></i></td><td align='right'>113</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#AN_AFTERTHOUGHT">An Afterthought</a></td><td align='right'>117</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i><a href="#REDUCTIO_AD_ABSURDUM">Reductio ad Absurdum</a></i></td><td align='right'>120</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_MOTHERS_OF_THE_SIRENS">The Mothers of the Sirens</a></td><td align='right'>122</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><i><a href="#PER_ASPERA_AD_ASTRA">Per Aspera ad Astra</a></i></td><td align='right'>124</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_LANGUAGE_OF_LOVE">The Language of Love</a></td><td align='right'>126</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><i><small>Transcriber's Note: Possible typos and irregularities in indentation +and word usage have been left as found in the original. There are places +where punctuation may not have been correctly picked up by the scanning software; +please consult another source if you require complete accuracy.</small></i></p> + + + + +<p><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"></a></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="RETROSPECTION" id="RETROSPECTION"></a>RETROSPECTION.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'd wandered, for a week or more,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through hills, and dells, and doleful green'ry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lodging at any carnal door,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sustaining life on pork, and scenery.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A weary scribe, I'd just let slip<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My collar, for a short vacation,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And started on a walking trip,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That cheapest form of dissipation—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And vilest, Oh! confess my pen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I, prosaic, rather hate your<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Ode to a Sky-lark" sort of men;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I really am not fond of Nature.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mad longing for a decent meal<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And decent clothing overcame me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There came a blister on my heel—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I gave it up; and who can blame me?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2"></a>Then wrote my "Pulse of Nature's Heart,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which I procured some little cash on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And quickly packed me to depart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In search of "gilded haunts" of fashion,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which I might puff at column rates,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To please my host and meet my reckoning;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Base is the slave who"—hesitates<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When wealth, and pleasure both are beckoning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I sought; I found. Among the swells<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I had my share of small successes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made languid love to languid belles<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And penn'd descriptions of their dresses.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! Millionairess Millicent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How fair you were! How you adored me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How many tender hours we spent—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, oh, beloved, how you bored me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0 smcap"><small>April, 1871.</small><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is not that fragmentary bit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of my young verse a perfect prism,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a>Where worldly knowledge, pleasant wit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">True humor, kindly cynicism,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Refracted by the frolic glass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Fancy, play with change incessant?<br /></span> +<span class="i0 smcap"><small>June, 1874.</small><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Great Cæsar! What a sweet young ass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I must have been, when adolescent!<br /></span> +<span class="i0 smcap"><small>August, 1886.</small><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></a></p> +<h2><a name="A_ROSEBUD_IN_LENT" id="A_ROSEBUD_IN_LENT"></a>A ROSEBUD IN LENT.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You saw her last, the ball-room's belle,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A <i>soufflé</i>, lace and roses blent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your worldly worship moved her then;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She does not know you now, in Lent.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">See her at prayer! Her pleading hands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bear not one gem of all her store.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her face is saint-like. Be rebuked<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By those pure eyes, and gaze no more<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Turn, turn away! But carry hence<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lesson she has dumbly taught—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bright young creature kneeling there<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With every feeling, every thought<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Absorbed in high and holy dreams<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of—new Spring dresses truth to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To them the time is sanctified<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From Shrove-tide until Easter day.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="center"> +<img src="images/illo_004.jpg" +alt=""SEE HER AT PRAYER! HER PLEADING HANDS BEAR NOT ONE GEM OF ALL HER STORE."—Page 4." +title=""SEE HER AT PRAYER! HER PLEADING HANDS BEAR NOT ONE GEM OF ALL HER STORE."—Page 4." /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><small>"SEE HER AT PRAYER! HER PLEADING HANDS</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>BEAR NOT ONE GEM OF ALL HER STORE."</small> —<i>Page 4.</i></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a></p> +<h2><a name="A_REFORMER" id="A_REFORMER"></a>A REFORMER.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You call me trifler, fainéant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bid me give my life an aim!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You're most unjust, dear. Hear me out,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And own your hastiness to blame.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I live with but a single thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My inmost heart and soul are set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On one sole task—a mighty one—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To simplify our alphabet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Five vowel sounds we use in speech;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They're A, and E, I, O, and U:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I mean to cut them down to four.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You "wonder what good <i>that</i> will do."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, this cold earth will bloom again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Eden itself be half re-won,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When breaks the dawn of my success<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And U and I at last are one.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a></p> +<h2><a name="IN_THE_RECORD_ROOM_SURROGATES_OFFICE" id="IN_THE_RECORD_ROOM_SURROGATES_OFFICE"></a>IN THE RECORD ROOM, SURROGATE'S OFFICE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A tomb where legal ghouls grow fat;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where buried papers, fold on fold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crumble to dust, that 'thwart the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Floats dim, a pallid ghost of gold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The day is dying. All about,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dark, threat'ning shadows lurk; but still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I ponder o'er a dead girl's name<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fast fading from a dead man's will.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Katrina Harland, fair and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sole heiress of your father's land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full many a gallant wooer rode<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To snare your heart, to win your hand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one, perchance—who loved you best,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Feared men might sneer—"he sought her gold"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a>And never spoke, but turned away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stubborn and proud, to call you cold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cold? Would I knew! Perhaps you loved,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And mourned him all a virgin life.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps forgot his very name<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As happy mother, happy wife.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unanswered, sad, I turn away—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"You loved <i>her</i> first, then?" <i>First</i>—well—no—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You little goose, the Harland will<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was proved full sixty years ago.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But Katrine's lands to-day are known<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To lawyers as the Glass House tract;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who were her heirs, no record shows;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The title's bad, in point of fact,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If she left children, at her death,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I've been retained to clear the title;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the questions, raised above,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are, you'll perceive, extremely vital.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a></p> +<h2><a name="DE_LUNATICO" id="DE_LUNATICO"></a>DE LUNATICO.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The squadrons of the sun still hold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The western hills, their armor glances,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their crimson banners wide unfold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Low-levelled lie their golden lances.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shadows lurk along the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where, as our row-boat lightly passes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ripples startled by our oar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hide murmuring 'neath the hanging grasses.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your eyes are downcast, for the light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is lingering on your lids—forgetting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How late it is—for one last sight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of you the sun delays his setting.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One hand droops idly from the boat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a>And round the white and swaying fingers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like half-blown lilies gone afloat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The amorous water, toying, lingers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I see you smile behind your book,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your gentle eyes concealing, under<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their drooping lids a laughing look<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That's partly fun, and partly wonder<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I, a man of presence grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who fight for bread 'neath Themis' banner<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should all at once begin to rave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In this—I trust—Aldrichian manner.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say our lake is—sad, but true—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mill-pond of a Yankee village,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its swelling shores devoted to<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The various forms of kitchen tillage;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That you're no more a maiden fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I no lover, young and glowing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just an old, sober, married pair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who, after tea, have gone out rowing<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a>Ah, dear, when memories, old and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have fooled my reason thus, believe me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your eyes can only help the cheat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your smile more thoroughly deceive me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I think it well that men, dear wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are sometimes with such madness smitten,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Else little joy would be in life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And little poetry be written.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a></p> +<h2><a name="PRO_PATRIA_ET_GLORIA" id="PRO_PATRIA_ET_GLORIA"></a>PRO PATRIA ET GLORIA.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The lights blaze high in our brilliant rooms;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fair are the maidens who throng our halls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft, through the warm and perfumed air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The languid music swells and falls.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The "Seventh" dances and flirts to-night—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All we are fit for, so they say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We fops and weaklings, who masquerade<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As soldiers, sometimes, in black and gray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We can manage to make a street parade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But, in a fight, we'd be sure to run.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Defend you! pshaw, the thought's absurd!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How about April, sixty-one?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What was it made your dull blood thrill?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why did you cheer, and weep, and pray?<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a>Why did each pulse of your hearts mark time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the tramp of the boys in black and gray?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You've not forgotten the nation's call<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When down in the South the war-cloud burst;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Troops for the front!" Do you ever think<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who answered, and marched, and got there <i>first</i>?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose bayonets first scared Maryland?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose were the colors that showed the way?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who set the step for the marching North?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some holiday soldiers in black and gray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Pretty boys in their pretty suits!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Too pretty by far to take under fire!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pretty boy in a pretty suit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lay once in Bethel's bloody mire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first to fall in the war's first fight—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Raise him tenderly. Wash away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blood and mire from the pretty suit;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For Winthrop died in the black and gray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a> +<span class="i0">In the shameful days in sixty-three,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the city fluttered in abject fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Neath the mob's rude grasp, who ever thought—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"God! if the Seventh were only here!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our drums were heard—the ruffian crew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grew tired of riot the self-same day—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By chance of course—you don't suppose<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They feared the dandies in black and gray!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So we dance and flirt in our listless style<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While the waltzes dream in the drill-room arch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What would we do if the order came,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sudden and sharp—"Let the Seventh march!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, we'd faint, of course; our cheeks would pale;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our knees would tremble, our fears—but stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That order I think has come ere this<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To those holiday troops in black and gray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What would we do!" We'd drown our drums<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a storm of cheers, and the drill-room floor<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a>Would ring with rifles. Why, you fools,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We'd do as we've always done before!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do our duty! Take what comes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With laugh and jest, be it feast or fray—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But we're dandies—yes, for we'd rather die<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than sully the pride of our black and gray.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a></p> +<h2><a name="AFTER_THE_GERMAN" id="AFTER_THE_GERMAN"></a>AFTER THE GERMAN.</h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">a sophomore soliloquy.</span></h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blackboard, with ruler and rubber before me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Chalk loosely held in my hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sun-gilded motes in the air all around me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Listlessly dreaming I stand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What do I care for the problem I've written<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In characters gracefully slight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the festal-robed beauties whose fairy feet flitted<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the maze of the German last night!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What do I care for the lever of friction,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For sine, or co-ordinate plane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When fairy musicians are playing the "Mabel,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And waltzes each nerve in my brain!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a> +<span class="i0">On my coat's powdered chalk, not the dust of the diamond<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That only last night sparkled there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the galop's wild whirl shower'd down on my shoulder<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From turbulent tresses of hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In my ear is the clatter of chalk against blackboard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not music's voluptuous swell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! this is life,—so pass mortal pleasures,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And,—thank goodness, there goes the bell!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a></p> +<h2><a name="AN_IDYL_OF_THE_PERIOD" id="AN_IDYL_OF_THE_PERIOD"></a>AN IDYL OF THE PERIOD.</h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">in two parts.</span></h3> +<h3><span class="smcap">part one.</span></h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Come right in. How are you, Fred?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Find a chair, and get a light."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Well, old man, recovered yet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the Mather's jam last night?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Didn't dance. The German's old."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Didn't you? I had to lead—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awful bore! Did you go home?"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"No. Sat out with Molly Meade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jolly little girl she is—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Said she didn't care to dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'D rather sit and talk to me—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then she gave me such a glance!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a>So, when you had cleared the room,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And impounded all the chairs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Having nowhere else, we two<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Took possession of the stairs.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was on the lower step,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Molly, on the next above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave me her bouquet to hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Asked me to undo her glove.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, of course, I squeezed her hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Talked about my wasted life;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Ah! if I could only win<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some true woman for my wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How I'd love her—work for her!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hand in hand through life we'd walk—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No one ever cared for me—'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Takes a girl—that kind of talk.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, you know, I used my eyes—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She believed me, every word—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a>Said I 'mustn't talk so'—Jove!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such a voice you never heard.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave me some symbolic flower,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Had a meaning, oh, <i>so</i> sweet,'—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't know where it is, I'm sure;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must have dropped it in the street.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How I spooned!—And she—ha! ha!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Well, I know it wasn't right—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But she pitied me so much<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I—kissed her—pass a light."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="center" > +<img src="images/illo_018.jpg" +alt=""we two took possession of the stairs."—Page 18." +title=""we two took possession of the stairs."—Page 18." /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><small>"WE TWO TOOK POSSESSION OF THE STAIRS."</small> —<i>Page 18.</i></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<h3><span class="smcap">part two.</span></h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Molly Meade, well, I declare!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who'd have thought of seeing you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">After what occurred last night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out here on the Avenue!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a>Oh, you awful! awful girl!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There, don't blush, I saw it all."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Saw all what?" "Ahem! last night—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the Mather's—in the hall."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Oh, you horrid—where were you?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wasn't he the biggest goose!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most men must be caught, but he<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ran his own neck in the noose.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was almost dead to dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd have done it if I could,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But old Grey said I must stop,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I promised Ma I would.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I looked up sweet, and said<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I'd rather talk to him;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hope he didn't see me laugh,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Luckily the lights were dim.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My, how he <i>did</i> squeeze my hand!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And he looked up in my face<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a>With his lovely big brown eyes—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Really it's a dreadful case.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Earnest!'—I should think he was!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why, I thought I'd have to laugh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he kissed a flower he took,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Looking, oh! like such a calf.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I suppose he's got it now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a wine-glass on his shelves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's a mystery to me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why men <i>will</i> deceive themselves.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Saw him kiss me!'—Oh, you wretch;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Well, he begged so hard for one—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I thought there'd no one know—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So I—let him, just for fun.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know it really wasn't right<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To trifle with his feelings, dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But men <i>are</i> such stuck-up things;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'll recover—never fear."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHIVALRIE" id="CHIVALRIE"></a>CHIVALRIE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Under the maple boughs we sat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Annie Leslie and I together;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was trimming her sea-side hat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With leaves—we talked about the weather.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sun-beams lit her gleaming hair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With rippling waves of golden glory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And eyes of blue, and ringlets fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Suggested many an ancient story<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of fair-haired, blue-eyed maids of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In durance held by grim magicians,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of knights in armor rough with gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who rescued them from such positions.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Above, the heavens aglow with light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath our feet the sleeping ocean,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a>E'en as the sky my hope was bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Deep as the sea was my devotion.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her father's voice came through the wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'd made a fortune tanning leather;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was his clerk; I thought it good<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To keep on talking about the weather.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="center"> +<img src="images/illo_022.jpg" +alt=""THE SUNBEAMS LIT HER GLEAMING HAIR WITH RIPPLING WAVES OF GOLDEN GLORY."—Page 22." +title=""THE SUNBEAMS LIT HER GLEAMING HAIR WITH RIPPLING WAVES OF GOLDEN GLORY."—Page 22." /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><small>"THE SUNBEAMS LIT HER GLEAMING HAIR</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>WITH RIPPLING WAVES OF GOLDEN GLORY."</small> —<i>Page 22.</i></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a></p> +<h2><a name="A_PIECE_OF_ADVICE" id="A_PIECE_OF_ADVICE"></a>A PIECE OF ADVICE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So you're going to give up flirtation, my dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lead a life sober and quiet?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There, there, I don't doubt the intention's sincere.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But wait till occasion shall try it.—<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Is Ramsay engaged?<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Now, don't look enraged!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You like him, I know—don't deny it!<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What! Give up flirtation? Change dimples for frowns<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why, Nell, what's the use? You're so pretty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That your beauty all sense of your wickedness drowns<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When, some time, in country or city,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Your fate comes at last.<br /></span> +<span class="i5">We'll forgive all the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And think of you only with pity.<br /></span> +<a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Indeed!—so "you feel for the woes of my sex!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"The legions of hearts you've been breaking<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your conscience affright, and your reckoning perplex,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whene'er an account you've been taking!"<br /></span> +<span class="i5">"I'd scarcely believe<br /></span> +<span class="i5">How deeply you grieve<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the mischief your eyes have been making!"<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now, Nellie!—Flirtation's the leaven of life;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It lightens its doughy compactness.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't always—the world with deception is rife—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Construe what men say with exactness!<br /></span> +<span class="i5">I pity the girl,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">In society's whirl,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who's troubled with matter-of-factness.<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A pink is a beautiful flower in its way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But rosebuds and violets are charming,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men don't wear the same <i>boutonniére</i> every day.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Taste changes.—Flirtation alarming!<br /></span> +<span class="i5">If e'er we complain,<br /></span><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a> +<span class="i5">You then may refrain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your eyes of their arrows disarming.<br /></span> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, Nellie, be sensible; Pr'ythee, give heed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To counsel a victim advances;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your eyes, I acknowledge, will make our hearts bleed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pierced through by love's magical lances.<br /></span> +<span class="i5">But better that fate<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Than in darkness to wait;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unsought by your mischievous glances.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="center"> +<img src="images/illo_024.jpg" +alt=""WHAT! GIVE UP FLIRTATION? CHANGE DIMPLES FOR FROWNS?"—Page 24." +title=""WHAT! GIVE UP FLIRTATION? CHANGE DIMPLES FOR FROWNS?"—Page 24." /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><small>"WHAT! GIVE UP FLIRTATION? CHANGE DIMPLES FOR FROWNS?"</small> —<i>Page 24.</i></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a></p> +<h2><a name="ZWEI_KONIGE_AUF_ORKADAL" id="ZWEI_KONIGE_AUF_ORKADAL"></a>ZWEI KONIGE AUF ORKADAL.</h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">from the german.</span></h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There sat two kings upon Orkadal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The torches flamed in the pillared hall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The minstrel sings, the red wine glows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The two kings drink with gloomy brows.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Out spake the one,—"Give me this girl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her sea-blue eyes, and brow of pearl."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The other answered in gloomy scorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"She's mine, oh brother!—my oath is sworn."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No other word spake either king—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In their golden sheaths the keen swords ring.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Together they pass from the lighted hall—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep lies the snow by the castle-wall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Steel-sparks and torch-sparks in showers fall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two kings lie dead upon Orkadal.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a></p> +<h2><a name="A_SONG_1" id="A_SONG_1"></a>A SONG.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I shouldn't like to say, I'm sure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I shouldn't like to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why I think of you more, and more, and more<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As day flits after day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor why I see in the Summer skies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only the beauty of your sweet eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The power by which you sway<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A kingdom of hearts, that little you prize—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I shouldn't like to say.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I shouldn't like to say, I'm sure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I shouldn't like to say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why I hear your voice, so fresh and pure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the dash of the laughing spray.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor why the wavelets that all the while,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a>In many a diamond-glittering file,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With truant sunbeams play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should make me remember your rippling smile—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I shouldn't like to say.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I shouldn't like to say, I'm sure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I shouldn't like to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why all the birds should chirp of you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who live so far away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Robin and oriole sing to me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the leafy depths of our apple-tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With trunk so gnarled and gray—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But why your name should their burden be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I shouldn't like to say.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a></p> +<h2><a name="MAKING_NEW_YEARS_CALLS" id="MAKING_NEW_YEARS_CALLS"></a>MAKING NEW YEAR'S CALLS.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Shining patent-leather,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tie of spotless white;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the muddy weather<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rushing 'round till night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gutters all o'erflowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like Niagara Falls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless me! this is pleasant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Making New Year's calls.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rushing up the door-step,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ringing at the bell—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Mrs. Jones receive to-day?"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Yes, sir." "Very well."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sending in your pasteboard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Waiting in the halls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless me! this is pleasant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Making New Year's calls.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a> +<span class="i0">Skipping in the parlour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bowing to the floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lady of the house there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Half a dozen more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ladies' dresses gorgeous,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Paniers, waterfalls,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless me! this is pleasant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Making New Year's calls.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Wish you Happy New Year"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Many thanks, I'm sure."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Many calls, as usual?"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"No; I think they're fewer."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Staring at the carpet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gazing at the walls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless me! this is pleasant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Making New Year's calls.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Really, I must go now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wish I had more leisure."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Wont you have a glass of wine?"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Ah, thanks!—greatest pleasure."<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a>Try to come the graceful,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till your wine-glass falls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless me! this is pleasant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Making New Year's calls.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hostess looks delighted—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of doors you rush;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sit down at the crossing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a sea of slush.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Job here for your tailor—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Herr Von Schneiderthals—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless me! this is pleasant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Making New Year's calls.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pick yourself up slowly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heart with anguish torn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sunday-go-to-meetings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a state forlorn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kick a gibing boot-black,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gibing boot-black bawls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bless me! this is pleasant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Making New Year's calls.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a>Home, and woo the downy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But your soul doth quake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At most fearful night-mares—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Turkey, oysters, cake.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While each leaden horror<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That your rest appalls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cries, "Dear heart! how pleasant;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Making New Year's calls."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a></p> +<h2><a name="JACK_AND_ME" id="JACK_AND_ME"></a>JACK AND ME.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Shine!—All right; here y'are, boss!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Do it for jest five cents.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Get 'em fixed in a minute,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That is, 'f nothing perwents.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set your foot right there, sir.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mornin's kinder cold,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes right through a feller,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When his coat's a gittin' old.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, yes,—call it a coat, sir,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though 't aint much more 'n a tear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Git another!—I can't, boss;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ain't got the stamps to spare.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Make as much as most on 'em!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yes; but then, yer see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They've only got one to do for,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a>There's two on us, Jack and me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him?—Why, that little feller<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a curus lookin' back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sittin' there on the gratin',<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Warmin' hisself,—that's Jack.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Used to go round sellin' papers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cars there was his lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he got shoved off of the platform<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the wheels one day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fact,—the conductor did it,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gin him a reg'lar throw,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He didn't care if he killed him;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some on 'em is just so.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's never been all right since, sir,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sorter quiet and queer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Him and me goes together,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He's what they call cashier.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Style, that 'ere, for a boot-black,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Made the fellers laugh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jack and me had to take it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a>But we don't mind no chaff.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trouble!—not much, you bet, boss!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sometimes, when biz is slack,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I don't know how I'd manage<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If 't wa'n't for little Jack.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You jest once orter hear him:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He says we needn't care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How rough luck is down here, sir,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If some day we git up there.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All done now,—how's that, sir?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shines like a pair of lamps.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mornin'!—Give it to Jack, sir,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He looks after the stamps.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a></p> +<h2><a name="LES_ENFANTS_PERDUS" id="LES_ENFANTS_PERDUS"></a>LES ENFANTS PERDUS.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What has become of the children all?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How have the darlings vanished?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fashion's pied piper, with magical air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has wooed them away, with their flaxen hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And laughing eyes, we don't know where,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And no one can tell where they're banished.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Where are the children?" cries Madam Haut-ton,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Allow me, my sons and daughters,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fetch them, Annette!" What, madam, those?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Children! such exquisite belles and beaux:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True, they're in somewhat shorter clothes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than the most of Dame Fashion's supporters.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Good day, Master Eddy! Young man about town,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A merchant down in the swamp's son;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a neat little book he makes neat little bets:<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a>He doesn't believe in the shop cigarettes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But does his own rolling,—and has for his pets<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Miss Markham and Lydia Thompson.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He and his comrades can drink champagne<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like so many juvenile Comuses;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If you want to insult him, just talk of boys' play,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, even on billiards he's almost <i>blasé</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drops in at Delmonico's three times a day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And is known at Jerry Thomas's.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And here comes Miss Agnes. Good morning! "<i>Bon jour!</i>"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now, isn't that vision alarming?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silk with panier, and puffs, and lace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Decking a figure of corsetted grace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her words are minced, and her spoiled young face<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wears a simper far from charming.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thirteen only a month ago,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Notice her conversation:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fashion—that bonnet of Nellie Perroy's—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a>And now, in a low, confidential voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Helena's treatment of Tommy Joyce,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aged twelve,—that's the last flirtation.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What has become of the children, then?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How can an answer be given?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Folly filling each curly head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Premature vices, childhood dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blighted blossoms—can it be said<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Of <i>such</i> is the kingdom of heaven?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHINESE_LANTERNS" id="CHINESE_LANTERNS"></a>CHINESE LANTERNS.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through the windows on the park<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Float the waltzes, weirdly sweet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the light, and in the dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rings the chime of dancing feet.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Mid the branches, all a-row,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fiery jewels gleam and glow;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dreamingly we walk beneath,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ah, so slow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All the air is full of love;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Misty shadows wrap us round;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light below and dark above,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Filled with softly-surging sound.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">See the forehead of the Night<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Garlanded with flowers of light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And her goblet crowned with wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Golden bright.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a>Ah! those deep, alluring eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Quiet as a haunted lake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In their depths the passion lies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Half in slumber, half awake.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lay thy warm, white hand in mine<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Let the fingers clasp and twine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While my eager, panting heart<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Beats 'gainst thine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bring thy velvet lips a-near,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mine are hungry for a kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gladly will I sate them, dear;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Closer, closer,—this,—and this.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On thy lips love's seal I lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nevermore to pass away;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That was all last night, you know,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But to-day—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Chinese lanterns hung in strings,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Painted paper, penny dips,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Filled with roasted moths and things<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Greasy with the tallow drips;<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a>Wet and torn, with rusty wire,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Blackened by the dying fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Withered flowers, trampled deep<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the mire.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Chinese lanterns, Bernstein's band,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Belladonna, lily white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These made up the fairy-land<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where I wandered all last night;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ruled in all its rosy glow<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By a merry Queen, you know<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Jolly, dancing, laughing, witching,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Veuve Cliquot.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a></p> +<h2><a name="THOUGHTS_ON_THE_COMMANDMENTS" id="THOUGHTS_ON_THE_COMMANDMENTS"></a>THOUGHTS ON THE COMMANDMENTS.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Love your neighbor as yourself,"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So the parson preaches;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That's one-half the Decalogue.—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So the Prayer-book teaches.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half my duty I can do<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With but little labor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For with all my heart and soul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I do love my neighbor.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mighty little credit, that,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To my self-denial;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not to love her, though, might be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Something of a trial,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, the rosy light, that peeps<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through the glass above her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lingers round her lips:—you see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">E'en the sunbeams love her.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a>So to make my merit more,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'll go beyond the letter;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love my neighbor as myself?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yes, and ten times better.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For she's sweeter than the breath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the Spring, that passes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the fragrant, budding woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er the meadow-grasses.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I've preached the word I know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For it was my duty<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To convert the stubborn heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the little beauty.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once again success has crowned<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Missionary labor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For her sweet eyes own that she<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Also loves her neighbor.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a></p> +<h2><a name="MARRIAGE_A_LA_MODE" id="MARRIAGE_A_LA_MODE"></a>MARRIAGE <i>A LÀ MODE.</i></h2> +<h3><i>A Trilogy.</i></h3> + +<h3>I.</h3> +<h3><span class="smcap">love's young dream.</span></h3> +<h3><span class="smcap">a.d.</span> 1880.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Thank you—much obliged, old boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yes, it's so; report says true.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm engaged to Nell Latine—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What else could a fellow do?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Governor was getting fierce;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Asked me, with paternal frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I meant to go to work,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Take a wife, and settle down.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stormed at my extravagance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Talked of cutting off supplies—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fairly bullied me, you know—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sort of thing that I despise.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a>Well, you see, I lost worst way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the races—Governor raged—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, to try and smooth him down,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I went off, and got engaged.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sort of put-up job, you know—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All arranged with old Latine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nellie raved about it first,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Said her 'pa was awful mean!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now it's done we don't much mind—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tell the truth, I'm rather glad;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looking at it every way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One must own it isn't bad.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's good-looking, rather rich,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mother left her quite a pile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dances, goes out everywhere;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fine old family, real good style.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then she's good, as girls go now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some idea of wrong and right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't let every man she meets<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kiss her, on the self-same night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a>We don't do affection much,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nell and I are real good friends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Call there often, sit and chat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Take her 'round, and there it ends.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spooning! Well, I tried it once—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Acted like an awful calf—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said I really loved her. Gad!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You should just have heard her laugh.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, she ran me for a month,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Teased me till she made me wince;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mustn't flirt with her,' she said,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So I haven't tried it since.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twould be pleasant to be loved<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like you read about in books—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mingling souls, and tender eyes—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love, and that, in all their looks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thoughts of you, and no one else;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Voice that has a tender ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sacrifices made, and—well—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You know—all that sort of thing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a>That's all worn-out talk, they say,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Don't see any of it now—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spooning on your <i>fiancée</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Isn't good style, anyhow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just suppose that one of us,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nell and me, you know—some day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Got like that on some one else—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Might be rather awkward—eh!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All in earnest, like the books—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wouldn't it be awful rough!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jove! if I—but pshaw, what bosh!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nell and I are safe enough.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some time in the Spring, I think;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be on hand to wish us joy?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be a groomsman, if you like—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lots of wine—good-bye, old boy."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>II.</h3> +<h3><span class="smcap">up the aisle.</span></h3> +<h3><span class="smcap">a.d.</span> 1881.</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Take my cloak—and now fix my veil, Jenny;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How silly to cover one's face!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a>I might as well be an old woman,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But then there's one comfort—it's lace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, what has become of those ushers?—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, Pa, have you got my bouquet?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll freeze standing here in the lobby,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why doesn't the organist play?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They've started at last—what a bustle!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stop, Pa!—they're not far enough—wait!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One minute more—now! Do keep step, Pa!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There, drop my trail, Jane!—is it straight?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hope I look timid, and shrinking!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The church must be perfectly full—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Good gracious, please don't walk so fast, Pa!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He don't seem to think that trains pull.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chancel at last—mind the step, Pa!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I don't feel embarrassed at all—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, my! What's the minister saying?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, I know, that part 'bout Saint Paul.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hope my position is graceful—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How awkwardly Nelly Dane stood!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a>"Not lawfully be joined together,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now speak"—as if any one would.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, dear, now it's my turn to answer—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I do wish that Pa would stand still.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Serve him, love, honor, and keep him"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How sweetly he says it—I will.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where's Pa?—there, I knew he'd forget it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the time came to give me away—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I, Helena, take thee—love—cherish—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And"—well, I can't help it,—"obey."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here, Maud, take my bouquet—don't drop it—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I hope Charley's not lost the ring!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just like him!—no—goodness, how heavy!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's really an elegant thing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's a shame to kneel down in white satin—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the flounce real old lace—but I must—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hope that they've got a clean cushion,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They're usually covered with dust.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All over—ah, thanks!—now, don't fuss, Pa!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just throw back my veil, Charley—there!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a>Oh, bother! Why couldn't he kiss me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Without mussing up all my hair!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your arm, Charley, there goes the organ—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who'd think there would be such a crowd!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, I mustn't look round, I'd forgotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">See, Charley, who was it that bowed?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why—it's Nellie Allaire, with her husband—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She's awfully jealous, I know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most all of my things were imported,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And she had a home-made <i>trousseau</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there's Annie Wheeler—Kate Hermon—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I didn't expect her at all—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If she's not in that same old blue satin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She wore at the Charity Ball!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is that Fanny Wade?—Edith Pommeton—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Emma, and Jo—all the girls!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knew they'd not miss my wedding—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I hope they'll all notice my pearls.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the carriage there?—give me my cloak, Jane,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Don't get it all over my veil—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a>No! you take the other seat, Charley—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I need all of this for my trail.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>III.</h3> +<h3><span class="smcap">divorce.</span></h3> +<h3><span class="smcap">a.d.,</span> 1886.</h3> +<h3><i>The Club Window.</i></h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Yes, I saw her pass with 'that scoundrel'—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For heaven's sake, old man, keep cool!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No end of the fellows are watching—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Go easy, don't act like a fool!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Parading <i>your</i> shame'!—I don't see it.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's <i>hers</i> now, alone; for at last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You drove her to give you good reason,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Divorced her, and so it's all passed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For <i>you</i>, I mean; she has to bear it—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Poor child—the reproach and the shame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm your friend—but come, hang it, old fellow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I swear you were somewhat to blame.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'What the deuce do I mean?' Well, I'll tell you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though it's none of my business. Here!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a>Just light a cigar, and keep quiet—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You <i>started</i> wrong, Charley Leclear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You weren't in love when you married—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Nor she!'—well, I know, but she tried<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To keep it dark. You wouldn't let her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But laughed at her for it. Her pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wouldn't stand that, you know. Did you ever<br /></span> +<span class="i2">See a spirited girl in your life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who would patiently pose to be pitied<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As a 'patient Griselda'-like wife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When her husband neglects her so plainly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As you did?—although, on the whole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the wife is the culprit, I've noticed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's rather the favorite rôle.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So she flirted a little—in public—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She'd chances enough and to spare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, <i>then</i> if you'd only turned jealous—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But you didn't notice nor care.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then her sickness came—even we fellows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All thought you behaved like a scrub,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a>Leaving her for the nurse to take care of,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While you spent your time at the club.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She never forgave you. How could she?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If I'd been in her place myself,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Jove, I'd have <i>left</i> you. She didn't,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But told all her woes to Jack Guelph.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When a girl's lost all love for her husband,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And is cursed with a masculine friend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To confide in, and he is a blackguard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She isn't far off from the end.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, I'm through—of <i>course</i> nobody blamed you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the end, when you got your divorce—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You were right enough there—she'd levanted<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With Guelph, and you'd no other course.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What I mean is, if you'd acted squarely,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The row would have never occurred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for <i>you</i> to be doing the tragic,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Strikes me as a little absurd.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As it stands, you've the best of the bargain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And she's got a good deal the worst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a>Leave it there, and—just touch the bell, will you?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You're nearest, I'm dying of thirst."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>IV.</h3> +<h3><span class="smcap">at afternoon tea.</span></h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'In New York!' Yes, I met her this morning.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I knew her in spite of her paint;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And Guelph, too, poor fellow, was with her;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I felt really nervous, and faint,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">When he bowed to me, looking <i>so</i> pleading—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I cut him, of course. Wouldn't you?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If I meet him alone, I'll explain it;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But knowing <i>her</i>, what could I do?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Poor fellow! He looks sadly altered—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I think it a sin, and a shame,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The way he was wrecked by that <i>creature</i>!</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I <i>know</i> he was never to blame.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">He never suspected. He liked her—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He'd known her for most of his life—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And of course, it <i>was</i> quite a temptation</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To run off with another man's wife.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">At his age, you know—barely thirty—</span><br /> +<a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a> +<span class="i2">So romantic, and makes such a noise</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In one's club—why, one <i>can't</i> but excuse him,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Now <i>can</i> one, dear? Boys will be boys.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">I've known him so long—why, he'd come here</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And talk to me just like a son.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">It's my duty—I feel as a mother—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To save him; the thing can be done</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Very easily. First, I must show him</span><br /> +<span class="i2">How grossly the woman deceived</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And entrapped him.—It made such a scandal</span><br /> +<span class="i2">You know, that he <i>can't</i> be received</span><br /> +<span class="i0">At all, any more, till he drops her—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">He'll certainly not be so mad</span><br /> +<span class="i0">As to hold to her still. Oh, I know him</span><br /> +<span class="i2">So well—I'm quite sure he'll be glad</span><br /> +<span class="i0">On <i>any</i> excuse, to oblige me</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In a matter so trifling indeed.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Then the way will be clear. <i>We'll</i> receive him,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And the rest will soon follow our lead.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We must keep our eyes on him more closely</span><br /><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a> +<span class="i2">Hereafter; young men of his wealth</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And position are so sorely tempted</span><br /> +<span class="i2">To waste time, and fortune, and health</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In frivolous pleasures and pastimes,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That there's but one safe-guard in life</span><br /> +<span class="i0">For them and their money—we've seen it—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">A really nice girl for a wife.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Too bad you've no daughter! My Mamie</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Had influence with him for good</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Before this affair—when he comes here</span><br /> +<span class="i2">She'll meet him, I'm sure, as she should—</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That is, as if nothing had happened—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And greet him with sisterly joy;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Between us I know we can <i>save</i> him.</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I'll write him to-morrow, poor boy."</span><br /> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a></p> +<h2><a name="THE_STAY-AT-HOMES_PLAINT" id="THE_STAY-AT-HOMES_PLAINT"></a>THE "STAY-AT-HOME'S" PLAINT.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Spring has grown to Summer;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The sun is fierce and high;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The city shrinks, and withers</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Beneath the burning sky.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Ailantus trees are fragrant,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And thicker shadows cast,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Where berry-girls, with voices shrill,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And watering carts go past.</span><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In offices like ovens</span><br /> +<span class="i2">We sit without our coats;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Our cuffs are moist and shapeless,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">No collars binds our throats.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We carry huge umbrellas</span><br /> +<span class="i2">On Broad Street and on Wall,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Oh, how thermometers go up!</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And, oh, how stocks <i>do</i> fall!</span><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The nights are full of music,</span><br /><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a> +<span class="i2">Melodious Teuton troops</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Beguile us, calmly smoking,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">On balconies and stoops.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">With eyes half-shut, and dreamy,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">We watch the fire-flies' spark,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And image far-off faces,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As day dies into dark.</span><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The avenue is lonely,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The houses choked with dust;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The shutters, barred and bolted,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The bell-knobs all a-rust.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">No blossom-like spring dresses,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">No faces young and fair,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">From "Dickel's" to "The Brunswick,"</span><br /> +<span class="i2">No promenader there.</span><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The girls we used to walk with</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Are far away, alas!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The feet that kissed its pavement</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Are deep in country grass.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Along the scented hedge-rows,</span><br /><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a> +<span class="i2">Among the green old trees,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Are blooming city faces</span><br /> +<span class="i2">'Neath rosy-lined pongees.</span><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They're cottaging at Newport;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">They're bathing at Cape May;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In Saratoga's ball-rooms</span><br /> +<span class="i2">They dance the hours away.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Their voices through the quiet</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Of haunted Catskill break;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Or rouse those dreamy dryads,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The nymphs of Echo Lake.</span><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hands we've led through Germans,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And squeezed, perchance, of yore,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Now deftly grasp the bridle,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The mallet, and the oar.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">The eyes that wrought our ruin</span><br /> +<span class="i2">On other men look down;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">We're but the broken play-things</span><br /> +<span class="i2">They've left behind in town.</span><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, happy Gran'dame Nature,</span><br /><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a> +<span class="i2">Whose wandering children come</span><br /> +<span class="i0">To light with happy faces</span><br /> +<span class="i2">The dear old mother-home,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Be tender with our darlings,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Each merry maiden bears</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Such love and longing with her—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Men's lives are wrapped in theirs.</span><br /> +</div></div> + +<div class="center"> +<img src="images/illo_059.jpg" +alt=""THE FEET THAT KISSED ITS PAVEMENT ARE DEEP IN COUNTRY GRASS."—Page 59." +title=""THE FEET THAT KISSED ITS PAVEMENT ARE DEEP IN COUNTRY GRASS." —Page 59." /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><small>"THE FEET THAT KISSED ITS PAVEMENT</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>ARE DEEP IN COUNTRY GRASS."</small> —<i>Page 59.</i></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a></p> +<h2><a name="THE_STAY-AT-HOMES_PAEAN" id="THE_STAY-AT-HOMES_PAEAN"></a>THE "STAY-AT-HOME'S" PÆAN.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The evenings are damper and colder;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The maples and sumacs are red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild Equinoctial is coming,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The flowers in the garden are dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The steamers are all overflowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The railroads are all loaded down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the beauties we've sighed for all Summer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are hurrying back into town.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They come from the banks of the Hudson,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the sands of the Branch, and Cape May,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the parlors of bright Saratoga,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the dash of Niagara's spray.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From misty, sea-salt Narragansett,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From Mahopac's magical lake.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They come on their way to new conquests,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They're longing for more hearts to break.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a>E'en Newport is dull and deserted—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its billowy beaches no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made bright with sweet, ocean-kissed faces,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love's beacon lights set on the shore.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rugged White Hills of New Hampshire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The last of their lovers have seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The echoes are left to their slumbers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No dainty feet thread the ravine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On West Point's delightful parade ground<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sighs many a hapless cadet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who's basked through the long days of Summer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the smiles of a city coquette;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now the incipient hero<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beholds his enchantress depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the spoils of her lightly-won triumph,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His buttons, as well as his heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, dry your eyes, Grandmother Nature,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They care not a whit for your woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The city is calling her daughters—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We can't spare them longer, they know—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a>Our beautiful, tender-voiced darlings,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the blue of the deep Summer skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the glow of the bright Summer sunshine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Entrapped in their mischievous eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We know their expenses are awful,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That horror unspeakable fills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The souls of unfortunate fathers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who foot up their dressmaker's bills.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That they'd barter their souls for French candy;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That diamonds ruin their peace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That they rave over middle-aged actors,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in other respects are—well, geese.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We laugh at them, boys, but we love them,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For under their nonsense we know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They've hearts that are honest and loving,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And souls that are whiter than snow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So out with that bottle of Roederer!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Large glasses, boys! Up goes the cork!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All charged? To the belles of creation,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The glorious girls of New York.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="center"> +<img src="images/illo_062.jpg" +alt=""AND THE BEAUTIES WE'VE SIGHED FOR ALL SUMMER ARE HURRYING BACK TO TOWN."—Page 62." +title=""AND THE BEAUTIES WE'VE SIGHED FOR ALL SUMMER ARE HURRYING BACK TO TOWN."—Page 62." /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><small>"AND THE BEAUTIES WE'VE SIGHED FOR ALL SUMMER</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>ARE HURRYING BACK TO TOWN."</small> —<i>Page 62.</i></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a></p> +<h2><a name="EIGHT_HOURS" id="EIGHT_HOURS"></a>EIGHT HOURS.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Sign the petition!" "Write my name!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"She said, ask me!"—oh, she's fooling;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where do you think a girl like me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Could find the time for so much schooling?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, I've been here since I was eight or so—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That's ten years now—and it seems like longer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hours are from eight till six—you see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It wears one out—I once was stronger.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"A bad cough!" oh, that's nothing, sir;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It comes from the dust, and bending over.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It hurts me sometimes—no, not now.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"This!" why, a flower, a bit of clover.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I picked it up as I came to work—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It grew in the grass in some one's airy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where it stood, and nodded all alone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like a little green-cloaked, white-capped fairy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a>"Fond of flowers!" I like them—yes—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though, goodness knows, I don't see many—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd have to buy them—they cost so much—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I never can spare a single penny.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Go to the park!"—how can I, sir?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The only day that I have is Sunday;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then there's always so much to do<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That before I know it, almost, it's Monday.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like it sir, like it!—why, when I think<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the woods, and the brook with the cattle drinking—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was country-bred, sir—my heart swells so<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I—there, there, what's the use of thinking!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I could write, sir—"make a cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And let you write my name below it"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No, please; I'm ashamed I can't, sometimes,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I don't want all the girls to know it.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what's the use of it, anyway?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They'll just say shortly, with careless faces,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"If you're not suited, you'd better leave"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There's plenty of girls to fill our places.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a>They're kind enough to their own, no doubt—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our head just worships his own young daughter,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just my age, sir—she's gone away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To spend the Summer across the water.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But <i>us</i>—oh, well, we're only "hands,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Do you think to please us they'll bear losses?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No, not a cent's worth—ah, you'll see—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'm a working girl, sir, and I know bosses.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a></p> +<h2><a name="SLEEPING_BEAUTY" id="SLEEPING_BEAUTY"></a>SLEEPING BEAUTY.</h2> +<h3><span class="smcap">a parable.</span></h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You remember the nursery legend—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We heard in the early days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere we knew of the world's deception<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or walked in its dusty ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dwelt in a land of the fairies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where the air was golden haze—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of the maid, o'er whom the Summers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of youth passed, like a swell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of melody all unbroken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till evil wrought its spell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dream-embroidered curtains<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of slumber round her fell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wood grew up round her castle,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The centuries o'er it rolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a>Wrapping its slumb'rous turrets<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In clinging robes of mould,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her name became a legend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By Winter fire-sides told.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Till the Prince came over the mountains<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the morning-glow of youth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The forest sank before him<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like wrong before the truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he passed the dim old portal,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With its warders so uncouth,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Woke with a kiss the Princess,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And broke enchantment's chain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sleepy old castle wondered,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In its cobweb-cumbered brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the tide of life and pleasure<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That poured through each stony vein.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so love conquered an evil<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Centuries old in might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a>Scattering drowsy glamour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Piercing the murky night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leading from thrall and darkness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beauty, and joy, and light.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a></p> +<h2><a name="EASTER_MORNING" id="EASTER_MORNING"></a>EASTER MORNING.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Too early, of course! How provoking!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I told Ma just how it would be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I might as well have on a wrapper,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For there isn't a soul here to see.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There! Sue Delaplaine's pew is empty,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I declare if it isn't too bad!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know my suit cost more than hers did,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I wanted to see her look mad.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I do think that sexton's too stupid—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He's put some one else in our pew—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the girl's dress just kills mine completely;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now what am I going to do?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The psalter, and Sue isn't here yet!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I don't care, I think it's a sin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For people to get late to service,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just to make a great show coming in.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a>Perhaps she is sick, and can't get here—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She said she'd a headache last night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How mad she'll be after her fussing!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I declare, it would serve her just right.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, you've got here at last, my dear, have you?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Well, I don't think you need be so proud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that bonnet, if Virot did make it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's horrid fast-looking and loud.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What a dress!—for a girl in her senses<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To go on the street in light blue!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And those coat-sleeves—they wore them last Summer—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Don't doubt, though, that she thinks they're new.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mrs. Gray's polonaise was imported—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So dreadful!—a minister's wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thinking so much about fashion!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A pretty example of life!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The altar's dressed sweetly. I wonder<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who sent those white flowers for the font!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some girl who's gone on the assistant—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Don't doubt it was Bessie Lamont.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a>Just look at her now, little humbug!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So devout—I suppose she don't know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That she's bending her head too far over,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the ends of her switches all show.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What a sight Mrs. Ward is this morning!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That woman will kill me some day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her horrible lilacs and crimsons;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why will these old things dress so gay?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there's Jenny Welles with Fred. Tracy—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She's engaged to him now—horrid thing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear me! I'd keep on my glove sometimes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If I did have a solitaire ring!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How can this girl next to me act so—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The way that she turns round and stares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then makes remarks about people;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She'd better be saying her prayers.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh dear, what a dreadful long sermon!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He must love to hear himself talk!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it's after twelve now,—how provoking!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I wanted to have a nice walk.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a>Through at last. Well it isn't so dreadful<br /></span> +<span class="i2">After all, for we don't dine till one;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How can people say church is poky!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So wicked!—I think it's real fun.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a></p> +<h2><a name="A_LEGEND_OF_ST_VALENTINE" id="A_LEGEND_OF_ST_VALENTINE"></a>A LEGEND OF ST. VALENTINE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come! Why, halloa, that you, Jack?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How's the world been using you?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Want your pipe? it's in the jar—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Think I might be looking blue.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maud's been breaking off with me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fact—see here—I've got the ring.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That's the note she sent it in;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Read it—soothing sort of thing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jack, you know I write sometimes—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must have read some things of mine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, I thought I'd just send Maud<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Something for a valentine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I ground some verses out<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the softest kind of style,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full of love, and that, you know—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bothered me an awful while;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a>Quite a heavy piece of work.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So when I had got them done—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, I thought them much too good<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just to waste that way on one.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jack, I told you, didn't I,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All about that black-eyed girl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up in Stratford—last July—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! you know; you saw her curl?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, old fellow, she's the one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That this row is all about,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I sent her—who'd have thought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Maud would ever find it out—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those same verses, word for word—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hang it, man! you needn't roar—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Splendid joke!" well, so I thought—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No, don't think so any more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yesterday, you know it rained,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd been up late—at a ball—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Didn't know what else to do—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Went up and made Maud a call,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a>Found some other girl there, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They were playing a duet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Fred, my cousin, Nelly Deane,"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yes, Jack, there was my brunette;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You should just have seen me, Jack—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now, old fellow, please don't laugh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I feel bad about it—fact—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I really can't stand chaff.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, I tried to talk to Maud,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There was Nell, though, sitting by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Every now and then she'd laugh,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sure I can't imagine why.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maud would read that beastly poem,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nell's eyes said in just one glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Wont I make you pay for this,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If I ever get the chance!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some one came and rang the bell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just a note for Nell, by post.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jack, I saw my monogram—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd have rather seen a ghost.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"></a>Yes—her verses—I suppose<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That her folks had sent them down—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Couldn't get up there, you know—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till she'd left and come to town.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nelly looked them quickly through—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Laughed—by Jove, I thought she'd choke.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Maud—he'll kill me—dear! oh, dear!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Read that; isn't it a joke?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maud glanced through them—sank right down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the sofa—hid her face—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Crying!"—not much—laughing, Jack—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Don't think she's a hopeless case.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I just grabbed my hat and left—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Only wish I'd gone before.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How they laughed!—I heard them, Jack—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till I got outside the door.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There, confession's done me good,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I can never win her back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I'll calmly let her slide—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pass the ash-cup, will you, Jack.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="center"> +<img src="images/illo_077.jpg" +alt=""YES, JACK, THERE WAS MY BRUNETTE."—Page 77." +title=""YES, JACK, THERE WAS MY BRUNETTE."—Page 77." /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><small>"YES, JACK, THERE WAS MY BRUNETTE."</small> —<i>Page 77.</i></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a></p> +<h2><a name="FROST-BITTEN" id="FROST-BITTEN"></a>FROST-BITTEN.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We were driving home from the "Patriarchs'"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Molly Lefévre and I, you know;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The white flakes fluttered about our lamps;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our wheels were hushed in the sleeping snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her white arms nestled amid her furs;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her hands half-held, with languid grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her fading roses; fair to see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was the dreamy look in her sweet, young face.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I watched her, saying never a word,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For I would not waken those dreaming eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The breath of the roses filled the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And my thoughts were many, and far from wise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At last I said to her, bending near,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Ah, Molly Lefévre, how sweet 'twould be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a>To ride on dreaming, all our lives,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alone with the roses—you and me."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her sweet lips faltered, her sweet eyes fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, low as the voice of a Summer rill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her answer came. It was—"Yes, perhaps—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But who would settle our carriage bill?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dying roses breathed their last,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our wheels rolled loud on the stones just then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the snow had drifted; the subject dropped.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It has never been taken up again.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a></p> +<h2><a name="A_SONG_2" id="A_SONG_2"></a>A SONG.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Spring-time is coming again, my dear;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Sunshine and violets blue, you know;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Crocuses lifting their sleepy heads</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Out of their sheets of snow.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And I know a blossom sweeter by far</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That violets blue, or crocuses are,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">And bright as the sunbeam's glow.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But how can I dare to look in her eyes,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Colored with heaven's own hue?</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That wouldn't do at all, my dear,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">It really wouldn't do.</span><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her hair is a rippling, tossing sea;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In its golden depths the fairies play,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Beckoning, dancing, mocking there,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Luring my heart away.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And her merry lips are the ripest red</span><br /><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a> +<span class="i0">That ever addled a poor man's head,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Or led his wits astray.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">What wouldn't I give to taste the sweets</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Of those rose-leaves wet with dew!</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But that wouldn't do at all, my dear,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">It really wouldn't do.</span><br /> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her voice is gentle, and clear and pure;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">It rings like the chime of a silver bell,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And the thought it wakes in my foolish head,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I'm really afraid to tell.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Her little feet kiss the ground below,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">And her hand is white as the whitest snow</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That e'er from heaven fell.</span><br /> +<span class="i0">But I wouldn't dare to take that hand,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Reward for my love to sue;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">That wouldn't do at all, my dear,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">It really wouldn't do.</span><br /> +</div></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a></p> +<h2><a name="OLD_PHOTOGRAPHS" id="OLD_PHOTOGRAPHS"></a>OLD PHOTOGRAPHS.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old lady, put your glasses on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With polished lenses, mounting golden,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And once again look slowly through<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The album olden.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How the old portraits take you back<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To friends who once would 'round you gather—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All scattered now, like frosted leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In blustering weather.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why, who is this, the bright coquette?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her eyes with Love's bright arrows laden—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Poor Nell, she's living single yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An ancient maiden."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And this, the fragile poetess?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose high soul-yearnings nought can smother—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a>"She's stouter far than I am now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A kind grandmother."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who is this girl with flowing curls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who on the golden future muses?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"What splendid hair she had!—and now<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A 'front' she uses."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And this? "Why, if it's not my own;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And did I really e'er resemble<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bright young creature? Take the book—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My old hands tremble.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"It seems that only yesterday<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We all were young; ah, how time passes!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old lady, put the album down,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wipe your glasses.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="center"> +<img src="images/illo_083.jpg" +alt=""HOW THE OLD PORTRAITS TAKE YOU BACK."—Page 83." +title=""HOW THE OLD PORTRAITS TAKE YOU BACK."—Page 83." /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><small>"HOW THE OLD PORTRAITS TAKE YOU BACK."</small> —<i>Page 83.</i></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a></p> +<h2><a name="LE_DERNIER_JOUR_DUN_CONDAMNE" id="LE_DERNIER_JOUR_DUN_CONDAMNE"></a>"LE DERNIER JOUR D'UN CONDAMNÉ."</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old coat, for some three or four seasons<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We've been jolly comrades, but now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We part, old companion, forever;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To fate, and the fashion, I bow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You'd look well enough at a dinner,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd wear you with pride at a ball;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I'm dressing to-night for a wedding—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My own—and you'd not do at all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You've too many wine-stains about you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You're scented too much with cigars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the gas-light shines full on your collar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It glitters with myriad stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wouldn't look well at my wedding;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They'd seem inappropriate there—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nell doesn't use diamond powder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She tells me it ruins the hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a>You've been out on Cozzens' piazza<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Too late, when the evenings were damp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the moon-beams were silvering Cro'nest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the lights were all out in the camp.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You've rested on highly-oiled stairways<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Too often, when sweet eyes were bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And somebody's ball dress—not Nellie's—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Flowed 'round you in rivers of white.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's a reprobate looseness about you;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should I wear you to-night, I believe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I come with my bride from the altar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You'd laugh in your wicked old sleeve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you felt there the tremulous pressure<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of her hand, in its delicate glove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That is telling me shyly, but proudly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her trust is as deep as her love.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So, go to your grave in the wardrobe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And furnish a feast for the moth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nell's glove shall betray its sweet secrets<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To younger, more innocent cloth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a>'Tis time to put on your successor—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's made in a fashion that's new;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old coat, I'm afraid it will never<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sit as easily on me as you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a></p> +<h2><a name="CHRISTMAS_GREENS" id="CHRISTMAS_GREENS"></a>CHRISTMAS GREENS.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, Lowbury pastor is fair and young,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By far too good for a single life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a maiden, saith gossip's tongue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would fain be Lowbury pastor's wife:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So his book-marks are 'broidered in crimson and gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his slippers are, really, a "sight to behold."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That's Lowbury pastor, sitting there<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the cedar boughs by the chancel rails;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His face is clouded with carking care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For it's nearly five, the daylight fails—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The church is silent,—the girls all gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Christmas wreaths not nearly done.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Two tiny boots crunch-crunch the snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They saucily stamp at the transept door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></a>And then up to the pillared aisle they go<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pit-pat, click-clack, on the marble floor—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lady fair doth that pastor see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he saith, "Oh, bother, it isn't she!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A lady in seal-skin—eyes of blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tangled tresses of snow-flecked gold—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She speaks, "Good gracious! can this be you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sitting alone in the dark and cold?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rest all gone! Why it wasn't right;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These texts will never be done to-night."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She sits her down at her pastor's feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, wreathing evergreen, weaves her wiles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heart-piercing glances bright and fleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soft little sighs, and shy little smiles;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the pastor is solemnly sulky and glum,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thinketh it strange that "she" doesn't come.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then she tells him earnestly, soft and low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How she'd do her part in this world of strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And humbly look to him to know<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The path that her feet should tread through life—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></a>Her pastor yawneth behind his hat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wondereth what she is driving at.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Crunch-crunch again on the snow outside,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pastor riseth unto his feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vestry door is opened wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A dark-eyed maid doth the pastor greet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that lady fair can see and hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her pastor kiss her, and call her "dear."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Why, Maud!" "Why, Nelly!" those damsels cry;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But lo, what troubles that lady fair?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Nelly's finger there meets her eye<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The glow of a diamond solitaire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she thinks, as she sees the glittering ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"And so she's got him—the hateful thing!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There sit they all 'neath the Christmas tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For Maud is determined that she wont go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pastor is cross as a man can be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Nelly would like to pinch her so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they go on wreathing the text again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is "Peace on earth and good-will towards men."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="center"> +<img src="images/illo_089.jpg" +alt=""A LADY IN SEALSKIN—EYES OF BLUE, AND TANGLED TRESSES OF SNOW-FLECKED GOLD."—Page 89." +title=""A LADY IN SEALSKIN—EYES OF BLUE, AND TANGLED TRESSES OF SNOW-FLECKED GOLD."—Page 89." /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><small>"A LADY IN SEALSKIN—EYES OF BLUE,</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>AND TANGLED TRESSES OF SNOW-FLECKED GOLD."</small> —<i>Page 89.</i></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a></p> +<h2><a name="LAKE_MAHOPAC_SATURDAY_NIGHT" id="LAKE_MAHOPAC_SATURDAY_NIGHT"></a>LAKE MAHOPAC—SATURDAY NIGHT.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Yes, I'm here, I suppose you're delighted:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You'd heard I was not coming down!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why I've been here a week!—'rather early'—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I know, but it's horrid in town<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A Boston? Most certainly, thank you.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This music is perfectly sweet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of course I like dancing in summer;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's warm, but I don't mind the heat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The clumsy thing! Oh! how he hurt me!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I really can't dance any more—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let's walk—see, they're forming a Lancers;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These square dances are such a bore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My cloak—oh! I really don't need it—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Well, carry it,—so, in the folds—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a>I hate it, but Ma made me bring it;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She's frightened to death about colds.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This <i>is</i> rather cooler than dancing.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They're lovely piazzas up here;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those lanterns look sweet in the bushes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's lucky the night is so clear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I <i>am</i> rather tired—in this corner?—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Very well, if you like—I don't care—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But you'll have to sit on the railing—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You see there is only one chair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'<i>So</i> long since you've seen me'—oh, ages!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let's see, why it's ten days ago—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Seems years'—oh! of course—don't look spooney—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It isn't becoming, you know.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How bright the stars seem to-night, don't they?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What was it you said about eyes?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How sweet!—why you must be a poet—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One never can tell till he tries.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></a>Why can't you be sensible, Harry!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I don't like men's arms on my chair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be still! if you don't stop this nonsense<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'll get up and leave you;—so there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! please don't—I don't want to hear it—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A boy like you talking of love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'My answer!'—Well, sir, you shall have it—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just wait till I get off my glove.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">See that?—Well, you needn't look tragic,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's only a solitaire ring,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of course I am 'proud of it'—very—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's rather an elegant thing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Engaged!—yes—why, didn't you know it?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I thought the news must have reached here—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, the wedding will be in October—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The 'happy man'—Charley Leclear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now don't blame me—I tried to stop you—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But you <i>would</i> go on like a goose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a>I'm sorry it happened—forget it—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Don't think of it—don't—what's the use?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's somebody coming—don't look so—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Get up on the railing again—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Can't</i> you seem as if nothing had happened?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I never saw such geese as men!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, Charley, you've found me! A galop?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The 'Bahn frei?' Yes; take my bouquet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my fan, if you will—now I'm ready—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You'll excuse me, of course, Mr. Gray."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="center"> +<img src="images/illo_092.jpg" +alt=""BUT YOU'LL HAVE TO SIT ON THE RAILING—YOU SEE THERE IS ONLY ONE CHAIR."—Page 92." +title=""BUT YOU'LL HAVE TO SIT ON THE RAILING—YOU SEE THERE IS ONLY ONE CHAIR."—Page 92." /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><small>"BUT YOU'LL HAVE TO SIT ON THE RAILING—</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>YOU SEE THERE IS ONLY ONE CHAIR."</small> —<i>Page 92.</i></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a></p> +<h2><a name="MATINAL_MUSINGS" id="MATINAL_MUSINGS"></a>MATINAL MUSINGS.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ten o'clock! Well, I'm sure I can't help it!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'm up—go away from the door!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, children, I'll speak to your mother<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If you pound there like that any more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How tired I do feel?—Where's that cushion?—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I don't want to move from this chair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wish Marie'd make her appearance!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I really <i>can't</i> do my own hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wish I'd not danced quite so often—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I knew I'd feel tired! but it's hard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To refuse a magnificent dancer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If you have a place left on your card.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I was silly to wear that green satin,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's a shame that I've spotted it so—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a>All down the front breadth—it's just ruined—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No trimming will hide that, I know.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That's me! Have a costume imported,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And spoil it the very first night!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I might make an overskirt of it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That shade looks so lovely with white.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How horrid my eyes look! Good gracious!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I hope that I didn't catch cold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sitting out on the stairs with Will Stacy;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If Ma knew that, wouldn't she scold!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She says he's so fast—well, who isn't?—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dear! where is Marie?—how it rains!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I don't care; he's real nice and handsome.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And his talk sounds as if he'd some brains.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I do wonder what <i>is</i> the reason,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That good men are all like Joe Price,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So poky, and stiff, and conceited,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fast ones are always so nice.—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a>Just see how Joe acted last evening!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He didn't come near me at all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because I danced twice with Will Stacy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That night at the Charity ball.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I didn't care two pins to do it;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But Joe said I mustn't,—and so—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I just did—he isn't my master,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor sha'n't be, I'd like him to know.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I don't think he looked at me even,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though just to please him I wore green,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I'd saved him three elegant dances,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>I</i> wouldn't have acted so mean.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The way he went on with Nell Hadley;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dear me! just as if I would care!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd like to see those two get married,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They'd make a congenial pair!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'm getting disgusted with parties;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I think I shall stop going out;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a>What's the use of this fussing for people<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I don't care the least bit about.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I <i>did</i> think that Joe had some sense once;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But, my, he's just like all the men!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the way that I've gone on about him,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just see if I do it again!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Only wait till the next time I see him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'll pay him back; wont I be cool!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've a good mind to drop him completely—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'll—yes I will—go back to school.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The bell!—who can that be, I wonder!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let's see—I declare! why, it's Joe!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How long they are keeping him waiting!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Good gracious! why don't the girl go!—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes—say I'll be down in a minute—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Quick, Marie, and do up my hair!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not that bow—the green one—Joe likes it—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How slow you are!—I'll pin it—there!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a></p> +<h2><a name="A_ROMANCE_OF_THE_SAW-DUST" id="A_ROMANCE_OF_THE_SAW-DUST"></a>A ROMANCE OF THE SAW-DUST.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Suthin' to put in a story!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I couldn't think of a thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'N' it's nigh unto thirty year now<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since fust I went in the ring.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The life excitin'?" Thunder!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Variety," did you say?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You must have cur'us notions<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Bout circuses, anyway.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The things that look so risky<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aint nothin' to us but biz.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Accidents"—falls and sich like?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sometimes, in course, there is.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But it's only a slip, or a stumble,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some feller laid out flat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It don't take more'n a second;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There aint no story in that.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a>'N' like as not, the tumble<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Don't do no harm at all:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's one gal here—I tell yer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She got an awful fall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You know her—Ma'am'selle Ida—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She's Jimmy Barnet's wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The prettiest little woman<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You ever see in your life.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They was lovers when they was young uns,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No more'n two hands high.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She nussed Jim through a fever once,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the doctors swore he'd die.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I taught 'em both the motions;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She never know'd no fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they've done the trapeze together<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For more'n a couple o' year.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Last Summer we took on a Spaniard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A mis'rable kind of cuss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spry feller—but awful tempered,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Always a-makin' a fuss.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a>He wanted to marry Ida—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His chance was pretty slim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He did his best, but bless yer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She'd never go back on Jim.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He acted up so foolish,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That Jim, one day, got riled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'N' guv him a reg'lar whalin';<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That druv the Spaniard wild.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He talked like he was crazy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'N' raved around, and swore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'd kill 'em both; but Jim just laughed—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He'd heer'd such talk before.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One day, when we was showin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a little country town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jim mashed his hand with a hatchet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Drivin' a tent stake down.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He couldn't work that night, nohow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the "trap" hed got to be done.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Spaniard said he'd try it—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'N' they had to take him or none.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a>I knew Jim didn't like it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'N' Ide looked scared and white—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Look out for me, boys," she whispered,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"I'm goin' to fall to-night;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then she looked up with a shiver,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the trapeze swingin' there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A couple of bars and a rope or two<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forty feet up in the air.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But up she clumb—he arter—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stood up, but how Ide shook,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the Spaniard yelled like a devil,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Now look, Jim Barnet!—look!"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With that he jumped 'n' gripped her;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She fought, but he broke her hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grabbed at the rope, 'n' missed it—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Off of the bar they rolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clinched, 'n' Ide a screamin';<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thud!—they struck the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I turned all sick and dizzy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'N' everything went round.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a>How still it were for a second!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It seemed like an hour—'n' then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The women was all a screechin',<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'N' the ring was full of men.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor Jim was stoopin' to lift her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But flopped right down, 'n' said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sez he, "Her lips is movin'!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She's breathin'!—She isn't dead!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For sure!—he'd fallen under;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It kinder broke her fall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Except the scare and a broken arm,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She wasn't hurt at all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The Spaniard?" Oh, it killed him;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It broke his cussed neck.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But nobody cried their eyes out,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As near as I reckeleck.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She married Jim soon arter,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They're doin' the trapeze still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, yer see, as I was sayin',<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These falls don't always kill.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a>'N' as for things excitin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To put in a story,—well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd really like to oblige yer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But then there aint nothin' to tell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a></p> +<h2><a name="PYROTECHNIC_POLYGLOT" id="PYROTECHNIC_POLYGLOT"></a>PYROTECHNIC POLYGLOT.</h2> +<h3>(<span class="smcap">Madison Square, July 4.</span>)</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Hey, Johnny McGinnis, where are yez?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I've got a place! Arrah, be quick!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whiz! Boom! "Hooray, there goes a rocket;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hi, Johnny, look out for the shtick!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Confound it, sir! Those are my feet, sir!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Oh, pa, lift me up, I can't see."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Come down out o' that, yez young blackguards!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Div yez want to be killin' the tree?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Hooray! look at that?" "Aint it bully!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"It's stuck!" "No, it aint." "There she goes!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I wish that you'd speak to this man, Fred,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He's standing all over my toes."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Take down that umbrella in front there!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"My! aint we afraid of our hat!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a>"Me heart's fairly broke wid yez shovin'—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have done now—what would yez be at?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Jehiel, neow haint this jest orful!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I 'most wish I hedn't a come;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such actions I never—one would think<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Folks left their perliteness to hum."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Look here, now, you schoost stop dose schovin'."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"By gar, den, get out from ze vay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You stupide Dootschmans, vilain cochon"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Kreuz!"—"Peste!"—"Donnerwetter!"—"Sacr-r-re!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Oh, isn't that cross just too lovely!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So bright, why the light makes me wink!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Your eyes, dear, are"—"don't be a goose, Fred;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What do you suppose folks will think?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crash! Screech! "Och I'm kilt!"—"Fred, what is it?"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Branch broken—small boy come to grief."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Boo, hoo, hoo, hoo! I wants mine muzzer!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Look out there!" "Police!" "Hi, stop thief!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a>"Well, father, I guess it's all over;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just help Nelly down off the stool."<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">moral.</span></h3> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sung</span>:—"Mellican piecee fire bully!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Ching</span>:—"Mellican man piecee fool."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a></p> +<h2><a name="FISHING" id="FISHING"></a>FISHING.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Harry, where have you been all morning?"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Down at the pool in the meadow-brook."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Fishing?" "Yes, but the trout were wary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Couldn't induce them to take a hook."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Why, look at your coat! You must have fallen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your back's just covered with leaves and moss."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How he laughs! Good-natured fellow!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fisherman's luck makes most men cross.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Nellie, the Wrights have called. Where were you?"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Under the tree, by the meadow-brook<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reading, and oh, it was too lovely;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I never saw such a charming book."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The charming book must have pleased her, truly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There's a happy light in her bright young eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a>And she hugs the cat with unusual fervor,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To staid old Tabby's intense surprise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Reading? yes, but not from a novel.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fishing! truly, but not with a rod.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The line is idle, the book neglected—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The water-grasses whisper and nod.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fisherman bold and the earnest reader<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sit talking—of what? Perhaps the weather.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps—no matter—whate'er the subject,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It brings them remarkably close together.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It causes his words to be softly spoken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With many a lingering pause between,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The while the sunbeams chase the shadows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Over the mosses, gray and green.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blushes are needful for its discussion,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And soft, shy glances from downcast eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In whose blue depths are lying hidden<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Loving gladness, and sweet surprise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a>Trinity Chapel is gay this evening,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Filled with beauty, and flowers, and light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A captive fisherman stands at the altar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With Nellie beside him all in white.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The ring is on, the vows are spoken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And smiling friends, good fortune wishing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell him his is the fairest prize<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ever brought from a morning's fishing.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="center"> +<img src="images/illo_109.jpg" +alt=""READING? YES, BUT NOT FROM A NOVEL; FISHING! TRULY, BUT NOT WITH A ROD."—Page 109." +title=""READING? YES, BUT NOT FROM A NOVEL; FISHING! TRULY, BUT NOT WITH A ROD."—Page 109." /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><small>"READING? YES, BUT NOT FROM A NOVEL;</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>FISHING! TRULY, BUT NOT WITH A ROD."</small> —<i>Page 109.</i></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a></p> +<h2><a name="NOCTURNE" id="NOCTURNE"></a>NOCTURNE.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Summer is over, and the leaves are falling,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gold, fire-enamelled in the glowing sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sobbing pinetop, the cicada calling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Chime men to vesper-musing, day is done.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The fresh, green sod, in dead, dry leaves is hidden;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They rustle very sadly in the breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some breathing from the past comes, all unbidden,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in my heart stir withered memories.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Day fades away; the stars show in the azure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bright with the glow of eyes that know not tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unchanged, unchangeable, like God's good pleasure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They smile and reck not of the weary years.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Men tell us that the stars it knows are leaving<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our onward rolling globe, and in their place<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a>New constellations rise—is death bereaving<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The old earth, too, of each familiar face?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our loved ones leave us; so we all grow fonder<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of their world than of ours; for here we seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone in haunted houses, and we wonder<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which is the waking life, and which the dream.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></a></p> +<h2><a name="AUTO-DA-FE" id="AUTO-DA-FE"></a>AUTO-DA-FÉ</h2> + +<h3>(<span class="smcap">he explains.</span>)<br /></h3> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">Oh, just burning up some old papers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They do make a good deal of smoke:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That's right, Dolly, open the window;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They'll blaze if you give them a poke.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've got a lot more in the closet;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just look at the dust! What a mess!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, read it, of course, if you want to,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's only a letter, I guess.<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3>(<span class="smcap">she reads.</span>)</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Just me, and my pipe, and the fire-light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose mystical circles of red<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Protect me alone with the shadows;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The smoke-wreaths engarland my head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></a>And the strains of a waltz, half forgotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The favorite waltz of the year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Played softly by fairy musicians,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Chime sweetly and low on my ear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The smoke-cloud floats thickly around me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All perfumed and white, till it seems<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A bride-veil magicians have woven<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To honor the bride of my dreams.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Float on, dreamy waltz, through my fancies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My thoughts in your harmony twine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Draw near, phantom face, in your beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Look deep, phantom eyes, into mine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet lips—crimson buds half unfolded—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Give breath to the exquisite voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, waking the strands of my being<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To melody, bids me rejoice.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dream, soul, till the world's dream is ended!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dream, heart, of your beautiful past!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For dreaming is better than weeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all things but dreams at the last.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a>Change rules in the world of the waking—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its laughter aye ends in a sigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dreams only are changeless—immortal:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A love-dream alone cannot die.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Toil, fools! Sow your hopes in the furrows,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rich harvest of failure you'll reap;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life's riddle is read the most truly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By men who but talk in their sleep.<br /></span> +<h3>(<span class="smcap">he remonstrates.</span>)</h3> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There, stop! That'll do—yes, I own it—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But, dear, I was young then, you know.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wrote that before we were married;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let's see—why, it's ten years ago!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You remember that night, at Drake's party,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When you flirted with Dick all the time?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I left in a state quite pathetic,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And went home to scribble that rhyme.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What a boy I was then with my dreaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And reading the riddle of life!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a>You gave a good guess at its meaning<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The night you said "Yes," little wife.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One kiss for old times' sake, my Dolly—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That didn't seem much like a dream.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holloa! something's wrong with the children!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those young ones do nothing but scream.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a></p> +<h2><a name="AN_AFTERTHOUGHT" id="AN_AFTERTHOUGHT"></a>AN AFTERTHOUGHT.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Vine leaves rustled, moonbeams shone,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Summer breezes softly sighed;</span><br /> +<span class="i0">You and I were all alone</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In a kingdom fair and wide</span><br /> +<span class="i2">You, a Queen, in all your pride,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I, a vassal, by your side.</span><br /> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fairy voices in the leaves</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Ceaselessly were whispering:</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"'Tis the time to garner sheaves—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Let your heart its longing sing;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Place upon her hand a ring;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Then our Queen shall know her King."</span><br /> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">E'en the moonbeams seemed to learn</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Speech when they had kissed your face,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">Passing fair—my lips did yearn</span><br /><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a> +<span class="i2">To be moonbeams for a space—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">"Lo, 'tis fitting time and place!</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Speak, and courage will find grace."</span><br /> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the night wind murmured low,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Softly brushing back your hair,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">"Look into her face, and know</span><br /> +<span class="i2">That she is a jewel rare,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Worthy of a monarch's heir;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Who are you that you should dare!"</span><br /> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hope died like a frost-touched flower;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But through all the coming years,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">In that quiet evening hour,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When the flowers are all in tears,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When the heart hath hopes and fears,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When the day-world disappears.</span><br /> + +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If the vine leaves rustle low,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">If the moon shine on the sea,</span><br /> +<span class="i0">If the night wind softly blow,—</span><br /><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></a> +<span class="i2">Dreaming of what may not be,—</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Well I know that I shall see</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Your sweet eyes look down on me.</span><br /> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a></p> +<h2><a name="REDUCTIO_AD_ABSURDUM" id="REDUCTIO_AD_ABSURDUM"></a>REDUCTIO AD ABSURDUM.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I had come from the city early<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That Saturday afternoon;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I sat with Beatrix under the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the mossy orchard; the golden bees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Buzzed over clover-tops, pink and pearly;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I was at peace, and inclined to spoon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We were stopping awhile with mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">At the quiet country place<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where first we'd met, one blossomy May,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fallen in love—so the dreamy day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brought to my memory many another<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the happy time when I won her grace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Days in the bright Spring weather,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When the twisted, rough old tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a>Showered down apple-blooms, dainty and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That swung in her hair, and blushed at her feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet was her face as we lingered together,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And dainty the kisses my love gave me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Dear love, are you recalling<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The old days, too?" I said.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her sweet eyes filled, and with tender grace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She turned and rested her blushing face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against my shoulder; a sunbeam falling<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Through the leaves above us crowned her head.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so I held her, trusting<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That none was by to see;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A sad mistake—for low, but clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This feminine comment reached my ear:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Married for ages—it's just disgusting—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Such actions—and, Fred, they've got our tree!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a></p> +<h2><a name="THE_MOTHERS_OF_THE_SIRENS" id="THE_MOTHERS_OF_THE_SIRENS"></a>THE MOTHERS OF THE SIRENS.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The débutantes are in force to-night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet as their roses, pure as truth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dreams of beauty in clouds of tulle;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blushing, fair in their guileless youth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flashing bright glances carelessly—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Carelessly, think you! Wait and see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How their sweetest smile is kept for him<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whom "mother" considers a good <i>parti</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For the matrons watch and guard them well—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Little for youth or love care they;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man they seek is the man with gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though his heart be black, and his hair be gray.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Nellie, how <i>could</i> you treat <i>him</i> so!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You know very well he is Goldmore's heir,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Jennie, look modest! Glance down and blush,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here comes papa with young Millionaire."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a>On a cold, gray rock, in Grecian seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sirens sit, and <i>their</i> glamour try—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warm white bosoms press harps of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The while Ulysses' ship sails by.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair are the forms the sailors see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet are the songs the sailors hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And—cool and wary, shrewd and old,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sirens' mothers are watching near,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whispering counsel—"Fling back your hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It hides your shoulder." "Don't sing so fast!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Darling, <i>don't</i> look at that fair young man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Try that old fellow there by the mast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>His</i> arms are jewelled"—let it go!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Too bitter all this for an idle rhyme;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But sirens are kin of the gods, be sure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And change but little with lapse of time.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="center"> +<img src="images/illo_122.jpg" +alt=""THE DÉBUTANTES ARE IN FORCE TO-NIGHT, SWEET AS THEIR ROSES, PURE AS TRUTH."—Page 122." +title=""THE DÉBUTANTES ARE IN FORCE TO-NIGHT, SWEET AS THEIR ROSES, PURE AS TRUTH."—Page 122." /> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="caption"> +<tr><td align='left'><small>"THE DÉBUTANTES ARE IN FORCE TO-NIGHT,</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><small>SWEET AS THEIR ROSES, PURE AS TRUTH."</small> —<i>Page 122.</i></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a></p> +<h2><a name="PER_ASPERA_AD_ASTRA" id="PER_ASPERA_AD_ASTRA"></a>PER ASPERA AD ASTRA.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A canvas-back duck, rarely roasted, between us,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A bottle of Chambertin, worthy of praise—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Less noble a wine at our <i>age</i> would bemean us—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A salad of celery <i>en mayonnaise</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the oysters we've eaten, fresh, plump, and delicious,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Naught left of them now but a dream and the shells;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No better <i>souper</i> e'en Lucullus could wish us—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why, even our waiter regards us as swells.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your dress is a marvel, your jewels show finely,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your friends in the circle all envied your box;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You say Lilli Lehman sang quite too divinely—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I know I can't lose on that last deal in stocks.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without waits our footman to call for our carriage—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gad, how he must hate us, out there in the cold!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></a>We rode in a hack on the day of our marriage,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Number two forty-six—I was rolling in gold,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For I'd quite fifty dollars; and don't you remember<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We drove down to Taylor's, a long cherished dream:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How grandly I ordered—just think, in December!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some cake, and two plates of vanilla ice-cream.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how we enjoyed it! Your glance was the proudest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Among the proud beauties, your face the most fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm rather afraid, too, your laugh was the loudest;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I know we shocked every one—we didn't care.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now we'd care a great deal—with two sons at college,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And daughters just out, whose sneers make you wince,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We've tasted the fruit of Society's knowledge—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I don't think we've quite enjoyed anything since.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All through, dear? Now, <i>don't</i> wipe your mouth with the doily!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They're really not careful at all with their wine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It wasn't half warmed—the salad was oily—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I don't think the duck was remarkably fine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></a></p> +<h2><a name="THE_LANGUAGE_OF_LOVE" id="THE_LANGUAGE_OF_LOVE"></a>THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! he was a student of mystic lore;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And she was a soulful girl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All nerves and mind, of the cultured kind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The paragon, pride, and pearl.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">They loved with a neo-Concordic love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Woofed weirdly with wistful woe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They sat in a glen, remote from men,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their converse was high and low.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"What marvellous words of marvellous love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Speak marvellous souls like these?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I drew me nigh till their faintest sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was heard with the greatest ease.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"'Oo's 'ittle white lammy is 'oo?" breathed he;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"'Oors. 'Oo's lovey-dovey is 'oo?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Oors! 'Oors! Would 'oo k'y if dovey should die?"<br /></span><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a> +<span class="i2">"No'p!—tause 'ittle lammy'd die too."<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">How truthful we poets! The "language of Love"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is a phrase we employ full oft;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But whenever we do, we prefix thereto,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You've noticed, the adjective "soft."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Point Lace and Diamonds, by George A. 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Baker, Jr. + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Point Lace and Diamonds + +Author: George A. Baker, Jr. + +Illustrator: Francis Day + +Release Date: August 21, 2005 [EBook #16568] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POINT LACE AND DIAMONDS *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. + + + + + +POINT LACE AND DIAMONDS +BY +GEORGE A. BAKER, JR. + + + +POINT LACE +AND +DIAMONDS + +BY +GEORGE A. BAKER, JR. +AUTHOR OF +_"The Bad Habits of Good Society," "West Point," etc._ + +NEW AND REVISED EDITION +WITH NUMEROUS NEW POEMS + +[Illustration] + +NEW YORK +FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY +MDCCCXCIII + + + + +Copyrighted in 1875, by F.B. Patterson. + +Copyright, 1886, +By White, Stokes, & Allen. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + +Retrospection 1 +A Rosebud in Lent 4 +A Reformer 5 +In the Record Room, Surrogate's Office 6 +_De Lunatico_ 8 +_Pro Patria et Gloria_ 11 +After the German 15 +An Idyl of the Period 17 +Chivalrie 22 +A Piece of Advice 24 +_Zwei Koenige auf Orkadal_ 27 +A Song 28 +Making New Year's Calls 30 +Jack and Me 34 +_Les Enfants Perdus_ 37 +Chinese Lanterns 40 +Thoughts on the Commandments 43 +Marriage _a la Mode_. A Trilogy 45 +The "Stay-at-Home's" Plaint 58 +The "Stay-at-Home's" Paean 62 +Eight Hours 65 +Sleeping Beauty 68 +Easter Morning 71 +A Legend of St. Valentine 75 +Frost-Bitten 79 +A Song 81 +Old Photographs 83 +"_Le Dernier Jour d'un Condamne_" 85 +Christmas Greens 88 +Lake Mahopac--Saturday Night 91 +Matinal Musings 95 +A Romance of the Sawdust 99 +Pyrotechnic Polyglot 105 +Fishing 108 +_Nocturne_ 111 +_Auto-da-Fe_ 113 +An Afterthought 117 +_Reductio ad Absurdum_ 120 +The Mothers of the Sirens 122 +_Per Aspera ad Astra_ 124 +The Language of Love 126 + + + +Transcriber's Note: Possible typos and irregularities in +indentation and word usage have been left as found in the +original. There are places where punctuation may not have +been correctly picked up by the scanning software; please +consult another source if you require complete accuracy. + + + + + RETROSPECTION. + + + I'd wandered, for a week or more, + Through hills, and dells, and doleful green'ry, + Lodging at any carnal door, + Sustaining life on pork, and scenery. + A weary scribe, I'd just let slip + My collar, for a short vacation, + And started on a walking trip, + That cheapest form of dissipation-- + + And vilest, Oh! confess my pen, + That I, prosaic, rather hate your + "Ode to a Sky-lark" sort of men; + I really am not fond of Nature. + Mad longing for a decent meal + And decent clothing overcame me; + There came a blister on my heel-- + I gave it up; and who can blame me? + + Then wrote my "Pulse of Nature's Heart," + Which I procured some little cash on, + And quickly packed me to depart + In search of "gilded haunts" of fashion, + Which I might puff at column rates, + To please my host and meet my reckoning; + "Base is the slave who"--hesitates + When wealth, and pleasure both are beckoning. + + I sought; I found. Among the swells + I had my share of small successes, + Made languid love to languid belles + And penn'd descriptions of their dresses. + Ah! Millionairess Millicent, + How fair you were! How you adored me! + How many tender hours we spent-- + And, oh, beloved, how you bored me! + APRIL, 1871. + + Is not that fragmentary bit + Of my young verse a perfect prism, + Where worldly knowledge, pleasant wit, + True humor, kindly cynicism, + Refracted by the frolic glass + Of Fancy, play with change incessant? + JUNE, 1874. + + Great Caesar! What a sweet young ass + I must have been, when adolescent! + AUGUST, 1886. + + + + + A ROSEBUD IN LENT. + + + You saw her last, the ball-room's belle, + A _souffle_, lace and roses blent; + Your worldly worship moved her then; + She does not know you now, in Lent. + + See her at prayer! Her pleading hands + Bear not one gem of all her store. + Her face is saint-like. Be rebuked + By those pure eyes, and gaze no more + + Turn, turn away! But carry hence + The lesson she has dumbly taught-- + That bright young creature kneeling there + With every feeling, every thought + + Absorbed in high and holy dreams + Of--new Spring dresses truth to say, + To them the time is sanctified + From Shrove-tide until Easter day. + + + + + A REFORMER. + + + You call me trifler, faineant, + And bid me give my life an aim!-- + You're most unjust, dear. Hear me out, + And own your hastiness to blame. + I live with but a single thought; + My inmost heart and soul are set + On one sole task--a mighty one-- + To simplify our alphabet. + + Five vowel sounds we use in speech; + They're A, and E, I, O, and U: + I mean to cut them down to four. + You "wonder what good _that_ will do." + Why, this cold earth will bloom again, + Eden itself be half re-won, + When breaks the dawn of my success + And U and I at last are one. + + + + + IN THE RECORD ROOM, SURROGATE'S OFFICE. + + + A tomb where legal ghouls grow fat; + Where buried papers, fold on fold, + Crumble to dust, that 'thwart the sun + Floats dim, a pallid ghost of gold. + The day is dying. All about, + Dark, threat'ning shadows lurk; but still + I ponder o'er a dead girl's name + Fast fading from a dead man's will. + + Katrina Harland, fair and sweet, + Sole heiress of your father's land, + Full many a gallant wooer rode + To snare your heart, to win your hand. + And one, perchance--who loved you best, + Feared men might sneer--"he sought her gold"-- + And never spoke, but turned away + Stubborn and proud, to call you cold. + + Cold? Would I knew! Perhaps you loved, + And mourned him all a virgin life. + Perhaps forgot his very name + As happy mother, happy wife. + Unanswered, sad, I turn away-- + "You loved _her_ first, then?" _First_--well--no-- + You little goose, the Harland will + Was proved full sixty years ago. + + But Katrine's lands to-day are known + To lawyers as the Glass House tract; + Who were her heirs, no record shows; + The title's bad, in point of fact, + If she left children, at her death, + I've been retained to clear the title; + And all the questions, raised above, + Are, you'll perceive, extremely vital. + + + + + DE LUNATICO. + + + The squadrons of the sun still hold + The western hills, their armor glances, + Their crimson banners wide unfold, + Low-levelled lie their golden lances. + The shadows lurk along the shore, + Where, as our row-boat lightly passes, + The ripples startled by our oar, + Hide murmuring 'neath the hanging grasses. + + Your eyes are downcast, for the light + Is lingering on your lids--forgetting + How late it is--for one last sight + Of you the sun delays his setting. + One hand droops idly from the boat, + And round the white and swaying fingers, + Like half-blown lilies gone afloat, + The amorous water, toying, lingers. + + I see you smile behind your book, + Your gentle eyes concealing, under + Their drooping lids a laughing look + That's partly fun, and partly wonder + That I, a man of presence grave, + Who fight for bread 'neath Themis' banner + Should all at once begin to rave + In this--I trust--Aldrichian manner. + + They say our lake is--sad, but true-- + The mill-pond of a Yankee village, + Its swelling shores devoted to + The various forms of kitchen tillage; + That you're no more a maiden fair, + And I no lover, young and glowing; + Just an old, sober, married pair, + Who, after tea, have gone out rowing + + Ah, dear, when memories, old and sweet, + Have fooled my reason thus, believe me, + Your eyes can only help the cheat, + Your smile more thoroughly deceive me. + I think it well that men, dear wife, + Are sometimes with such madness smitten, + Else little joy would be in life, + And little poetry be written. + + + + + PRO PATRIA ET GLORIA. + + + The lights blaze high in our brilliant rooms; + Fair are the maidens who throng our halls; + Soft, through the warm and perfumed air, + The languid music swells and falls. + The "Seventh" dances and flirts to-night-- + All we are fit for, so they say, + We fops and weaklings, who masquerade + As soldiers, sometimes, in black and gray. + + We can manage to make a street parade, + But, in a fight, we'd be sure to run. + Defend you! pshaw, the thought's absurd! + How about April, sixty-one? + What was it made your dull blood thrill? + Why did you cheer, and weep, and pray? + Why did each pulse of your hearts mark time + To the tramp of the boys in black and gray? + + You've not forgotten the nation's call + When down in the South the war-cloud burst; + "Troops for the front!" Do you ever think + Who answered, and marched, and got there _first_? + Whose bayonets first scared Maryland? + Whose were the colors that showed the way? + Who set the step for the marching North? + Some holiday soldiers in black and gray. + + "Pretty boys in their pretty suits!" + "Too pretty by far to take under fire!" + A pretty boy in a pretty suit + Lay once in Bethel's bloody mire. + The first to fall in the war's first fight-- + Raise him tenderly. Wash away + The blood and mire from the pretty suit; + For Winthrop died in the black and gray. + + In the shameful days in sixty-three, + When the city fluttered in abject fear, + 'Neath the mob's rude grasp, who ever thought-- + "God! if the Seventh were only here!" + Our drums were heard--the ruffian crew + Grew tired of riot the self-same day-- + By chance of course--you don't suppose + They feared the dandies in black and gray! + + So we dance and flirt in our listless style + While the waltzes dream in the drill-room arch, + What would we do if the order came, + Sudden and sharp--"Let the Seventh march!" + Why, we'd faint, of course; our cheeks would pale; + Our knees would tremble, our fears--but stay, + That order I think has come ere this + To those holiday troops in black and gray. + + "What would we do!" We'd drown our drums + In a storm of cheers, and the drill-room floor + Would ring with rifles. Why, you fools, + We'd do as we've always done before! + Do our duty! Take what comes + With laugh and jest, be it feast or fray-- + But we're dandies--yes, for we'd rather die + Than sully the pride of our black and gray. + + + + + AFTER THE GERMAN. + A SOPHOMORE SOLILOQUY. + + + Blackboard, with ruler and rubber before me, + Chalk loosely held in my hand, + Sun-gilded motes in the air all around me, + Listlessly dreaming I stand. + + What do I care for the problem I've written + In characters gracefully slight, + As the festal-robed beauties whose fairy feet flitted + Through the maze of the German last night! + + What do I care for the lever of friction, + For sine, or co-ordinate plane, + When fairy musicians are playing the "Mabel," + And waltzes each nerve in my brain! + + On my coat's powdered chalk, not the dust of the diamond + That only last night sparkled there, + By the galop's wild whirl shower'd down on my shoulder + From turbulent tresses of hair. + + In my ear is the clatter of chalk against blackboard, + Not music's voluptuous swell; + Alas! this is life,--so pass mortal pleasures, + And,--thank goodness, there goes the bell! + + + + + AN IDYL OF THE PERIOD. + IN TWO PARTS. + PART ONE. + + + "Come right in. How are you, Fred? + Find a chair, and get a light." + "Well, old man, recovered yet + From the Mather's jam last night?" + "Didn't dance. The German's old." + "Didn't you? I had to lead-- + Awful bore! Did you go home?" + "No. Sat out with Molly Meade. + Jolly little girl she is-- + Said she didn't care to dance, + 'D rather sit and talk to me-- + Then she gave me such a glance! + So, when you had cleared the room, + And impounded all the chairs, + Having nowhere else, we two + Took possession of the stairs. + I was on the lower step, + Molly, on the next above, + Gave me her bouquet to hold, + Asked me to undo her glove. + Then, of course, I squeezed her hand, + Talked about my wasted life; + 'Ah! if I could only win + Some true woman for my wife, + How I'd love her--work for her! + Hand in hand through life we'd walk-- + No one ever cared for me--' + Takes a girl--that kind of talk. + Then, you know, I used my eyes-- + She believed me, every word-- + Said I 'mustn't talk so'--Jove! + Such a voice you never heard. + Gave me some symbolic flower,-- + 'Had a meaning, oh, _so_ sweet,'-- + Don't know where it is, I'm sure; + Must have dropped it in the street. + How I spooned!--And she--ha! ha!-- + Well, I know it wasn't right-- + But she pitied me so much + That I--kissed her--pass a light." + + + PART TWO. + + + "Molly Meade, well, I declare! + Who'd have thought of seeing you, + After what occurred last night, + Out here on the Avenue! + Oh, you awful! awful girl! + There, don't blush, I saw it all." + "Saw all what?" "Ahem! last night-- + At the Mather's--in the hall." + "Oh, you horrid--where were you? + Wasn't he the biggest goose! + Most men must be caught, but he + Ran his own neck in the noose. + I was almost dead to dance, + I'd have done it if I could, + But old Grey said I must stop, + And I promised Ma I would. + So I looked up sweet, and said + That I'd rather talk to him; + Hope he didn't see me laugh, + Luckily the lights were dim. + My, how he _did_ squeeze my hand! + And he looked up in my face + With his lovely big brown eyes-- + Really it's a dreadful case. + 'Earnest!'--I should think he was! + Why, I thought I'd have to laugh + When he kissed a flower he took, + Looking, oh! like such a calf. + I suppose he's got it now, + In a wine-glass on his shelves; + It's a mystery to me + Why men _will_ deceive themselves. + 'Saw him kiss me!'--Oh, you wretch; + Well, he begged so hard for one-- + And I thought there'd no one know-- + So I--let him, just for fun. + I know it really wasn't right + To trifle with his feelings, dear, + But men _are_ such stuck-up things; + He'll recover--never fear." + + + + + CHIVALRIE. + + + Under the maple boughs we sat, + Annie Leslie and I together; + She was trimming her sea-side hat + With leaves--we talked about the weather. + + The sun-beams lit her gleaming hair + With rippling waves of golden glory, + And eyes of blue, and ringlets fair, + Suggested many an ancient story + + Of fair-haired, blue-eyed maids of old, + In durance held by grim magicians, + Of knights in armor rough with gold, + Who rescued them from such positions. + + Above, the heavens aglow with light, + Beneath our feet the sleeping ocean, + E'en as the sky my hope was bright, + Deep as the sea was my devotion. + + Her father's voice came through the wood, + He'd made a fortune tanning leather; + I was his clerk; I thought it good + To keep on talking about the weather. + + + + + A PIECE OF ADVICE. + + + So you're going to give up flirtation, my dear, + And lead a life sober and quiet? + There, there, I don't doubt the intention's sincere. + But wait till occasion shall try it.-- + Is Ramsay engaged? + Now, don't look enraged! + You like him, I know--don't deny it! + + What! Give up flirtation? Change dimples for frowns + Why, Nell, what's the use? You're so pretty, + That your beauty all sense of your wickedness drowns + When, some time, in country or city, + Your fate comes at last. + We'll forgive all the past, + And think of you only with pity. + + Indeed!--so "you feel for the woes of my sex!" + "The legions of hearts you've been breaking + Your conscience affright, and your reckoning perplex, + Whene'er an account you've been taking!" + "I'd scarcely believe + How deeply you grieve + At the mischief your eyes have been making!" + + Now, Nellie!--Flirtation's the leaven of life; + It lightens its doughy compactness. + Don't always--the world with deception is rife-- + Construe what men say with exactness! + I pity the girl, + In society's whirl, + Who's troubled with matter-of-factness. + + A pink is a beautiful flower in its way, + But rosebuds and violets are charming, + Men don't wear the same _boutonniere_ every day. + Taste changes.--Flirtation alarming! + If e'er we complain, + You then may refrain, + Your eyes of their arrows disarming. + + Ah, Nellie, be sensible; Pr'ythee, give heed + To counsel a victim advances; + Your eyes, I acknowledge, will make our hearts bleed, + Pierced through by love's magical lances. + But better that fate + Than in darkness to wait; + Unsought by your mischievous glances. + + + + + ZWEI KONIGE AUF ORKADAL. + FROM THE GERMAN. + + + There sat two kings upon Orkadal, + The torches flamed in the pillared hall. + + The minstrel sings, the red wine glows, + The two kings drink with gloomy brows. + + Out spake the one,--"Give me this girl, + With her sea-blue eyes, and brow of pearl." + + The other answered in gloomy scorn, + "She's mine, oh brother!--my oath is sworn." + + No other word spake either king-- + In their golden sheaths the keen swords ring. + + Together they pass from the lighted hall-- + Deep lies the snow by the castle-wall. + + Steel-sparks and torch-sparks in showers fall. + Two kings lie dead upon Orkadal. + + + + + A SONG. + + + I shouldn't like to say, I'm sure, + I shouldn't like to say, + Why I think of you more, and more, and more + As day flits after day. + Nor why I see in the Summer skies + Only the beauty of your sweet eyes, + The power by which you sway + A kingdom of hearts, that little you prize-- + I shouldn't like to say. + + I shouldn't like to say, I'm sure, + I shouldn't like to say + Why I hear your voice, so fresh and pure, + In the dash of the laughing spray. + Nor why the wavelets that all the while, + In many a diamond-glittering file, + With truant sunbeams play, + Should make me remember your rippling smile-- + I shouldn't like to say. + + I shouldn't like to say, I'm sure, + I shouldn't like to say, + Why all the birds should chirp of you, + Who live so far away. + Robin and oriole sing to me + From the leafy depths of our apple-tree, + With trunk so gnarled and gray-- + But why your name should their burden be + I shouldn't like to say. + + + + + MAKING NEW YEAR'S CALLS. + + + Shining patent-leather, + Tie of spotless white; + Through the muddy weather + Rushing 'round till night. + Gutters all o'erflowing, + Like Niagara Falls; + Bless me! this is pleasant, + Making New Year's calls. + + Rushing up the door-step, + Ringing at the bell-- + "Mrs. Jones receive to-day?" + "Yes, sir." "Very well." + Sending in your pasteboard, + Waiting in the halls, + Bless me! this is pleasant, + Making New Year's calls. + + Skipping in the parlour, + Bowing to the floor, + Lady of the house there, + Half a dozen more; + Ladies' dresses gorgeous, + Paniers, waterfalls,-- + Bless me! this is pleasant, + Making New Year's calls. + + "Wish you Happy New Year"-- + "Many thanks, I'm sure." + "Many calls, as usual?" + "No; I think they're fewer." + Staring at the carpet, + Gazing at the walls; + Bless me! this is pleasant, + Making New Year's calls. + + "Really, I must go now, + Wish I had more leisure." + "Wont you have a glass of wine?" + "Ah, thanks!--greatest pleasure." + Try to come the graceful, + Till your wine-glass falls; + Bless me! this is pleasant, + Making New Year's calls. + + Hostess looks delighted-- + Out of doors you rush; + Sit down at the crossing, + In a sea of slush. + Job here for your tailor-- + Herr Von Schneiderthals-- + Bless me! this is pleasant, + Making New Year's calls. + + Pick yourself up slowly + Heart with anguish torn. + Sunday-go-to-meetings + In a state forlorn. + Kick a gibing boot-black, + Gibing boot-black bawls, + Bless me! this is pleasant, + Making New Year's calls. + + Home, and woo the downy, + But your soul doth quake, + At most fearful night-mares-- + Turkey, oysters, cake. + While each leaden horror + That your rest appalls, + Cries, "Dear heart! how pleasant; + Making New Year's calls." + + + + + JACK AND ME. + + + Shine!--All right; here y'are, boss! + Do it for jest five cents. + Get 'em fixed in a minute,-- + That is, 'f nothing perwents. + Set your foot right there, sir. + Mornin's kinder cold,-- + Goes right through a feller, + When his coat's a gittin' old. + Well, yes,--call it a coat, sir, + Though 't aint much more 'n a tear. + Git another!--I can't, boss; + Ain't got the stamps to spare. + "Make as much as most on 'em!" + Yes; but then, yer see, + They've only got one to do for,-- + There's two on us, Jack and me. + Him?--Why, that little feller + With a curus lookin' back, + Sittin' there on the gratin', + Warmin' hisself,--that's Jack. + Used to go round sellin' papers, + The cars there was his lay; + But he got shoved off of the platform + Under the wheels one day. + Fact,--the conductor did it,-- + Gin him a reg'lar throw,-- + He didn't care if he killed him; + Some on 'em is just so. + He's never been all right since, sir, + Sorter quiet and queer; + Him and me goes together, + He's what they call cashier. + Style, that 'ere, for a boot-black,-- + Made the fellers laugh; + Jack and me had to take it, + But we don't mind no chaff. + Trouble!--not much, you bet, boss! + Sometimes, when biz is slack, + I don't know how I'd manage + If 't wa'n't for little Jack. + You jest once orter hear him: + He says we needn't care + How rough luck is down here, sir, + If some day we git up there. + All done now,--how's that, sir? + Shines like a pair of lamps. + Mornin'!--Give it to Jack, sir, + He looks after the stamps. + + + + + LES ENFANTS PERDUS. + + + What has become of the children all? + How have the darlings vanished? + Fashion's pied piper, with magical air, + Has wooed them away, with their flaxen hair + And laughing eyes, we don't know where, + And no one can tell where they're banished. + + "Where are the children?" cries Madam Haut-ton, + "Allow me, my sons and daughters,-- + Fetch them, Annette!" What, madam, those? + Children! such exquisite belles and beaux:-- + True, they're in somewhat shorter clothes + Than the most of Dame Fashion's supporters. + + Good day, Master Eddy! Young man about town,-- + A merchant down in the swamp's son; + In a neat little book he makes neat little bets: + He doesn't believe in the shop cigarettes, + But does his own rolling,--and has for his pets + Miss Markham and Lydia Thompson. + + He and his comrades can drink champagne + Like so many juvenile Comuses; + If you want to insult him, just talk of boys' play,-- + Why, even on billiards he's almost _blase_, + Drops in at Delmonico's three times a day, + And is known at Jerry Thomas's. + + And here comes Miss Agnes. Good morning! "_Bon jour!_" + Now, isn't that vision alarming? + Silk with panier, and puffs, and lace + Decking a figure of corsetted grace; + Her words are minced, and her spoiled young face + Wears a simper far from charming. + + Thirteen only a month ago,-- + Notice her conversation: + Fashion--that bonnet of Nellie Perroy's-- + And now, in a low, confidential voice, + Of Helena's treatment of Tommy Joyce,-- + Aged twelve,--that's the last flirtation. + + What has become of the children, then? + How can an answer be given? + Folly filling each curly head, + Premature vices, childhood dead, + Blighted blossoms--can it be said + "Of _such_ is the kingdom of heaven?" + + + + + CHINESE LANTERNS. + + + Through the windows on the park + Float the waltzes, weirdly sweet; + In the light, and in the dark, + Rings the chime of dancing feet. + Mid the branches, all a-row, + Fiery jewels gleam and glow; + Dreamingly we walk beneath,-- + Ah, so slow! + + All the air is full of love; + Misty shadows wrap us round; + Light below and dark above, + Filled with softly-surging sound. + See the forehead of the Night + Garlanded with flowers of light, + And her goblet crowned with wine, + Golden bright. + + Ah! those deep, alluring eyes, + Quiet as a haunted lake; + In their depths the passion lies + Half in slumber, half awake. + Lay thy warm, white hand in mine + Let the fingers clasp and twine, + While my eager, panting heart + Beats 'gainst thine. + + Bring thy velvet lips a-near, + Mine are hungry for a kiss, + Gladly will I sate them, dear; + Closer, closer,--this,--and this. + On thy lips love's seal I lay, + Nevermore to pass away;-- + That was all last night, you know, + But to-day-- + + Chinese lanterns hung in strings, + Painted paper, penny dips,-- + Filled with roasted moths and things + Greasy with the tallow drips; + Wet and torn, with rusty wire, + Blackened by the dying fire; + Withered flowers, trampled deep + In the mire. + + Chinese lanterns, Bernstein's band, + Belladonna, lily white, + These made up the fairy-land + Where I wandered all last night; + Ruled in all its rosy glow + By a merry Queen, you know + Jolly, dancing, laughing, witching, + Veuve Cliquot. + + + + + THOUGHTS ON THE COMMANDMENTS. + + + "Love your neighbor as yourself,"-- + So the parson preaches; + That's one-half the Decalogue.-- + So the Prayer-book teaches. + Half my duty I can do + With but little labor, + For with all my heart and soul + I do love my neighbor. + + Mighty little credit, that, + To my self-denial; + Not to love her, though, might be + Something of a trial, + Why, the rosy light, that peeps + Through the glass above her, + Lingers round her lips:--you see + E'en the sunbeams love her. + + So to make my merit more, + I'll go beyond the letter; + Love my neighbor as myself? + Yes, and ten times better. + For she's sweeter than the breath + Of the Spring, that passes + Through the fragrant, budding woods, + O'er the meadow-grasses. + + And I've preached the word I know, + For it was my duty + To convert the stubborn heart + Of the little beauty. + Once again success has crowned + Missionary labor, + For her sweet eyes own that she + Also loves her neighbor. + + + + + MARRIAGE _A LA MODE._ + _A Trilogy._ + + + I. + LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. + A.D. 1880. + + + "Thank you--much obliged, old boy, + Yes, it's so; report says true. + I'm engaged to Nell Latine-- + What else could a fellow do? + Governor was getting fierce; + Asked me, with paternal frown, + When I meant to go to work, + Take a wife, and settle down. + Stormed at my extravagance, + Talked of cutting off supplies-- + Fairly bullied me, you know-- + Sort of thing that I despise. + Well, you see, I lost worst way + At the races--Governor raged-- + So, to try and smooth him down, + I went off, and got engaged. + Sort of put-up job, you know-- + All arranged with old Latine-- + Nellie raved about it first, + Said her 'pa was awful mean!' + Now it's done we don't much mind-- + Tell the truth, I'm rather glad; + Looking at it every way, + One must own it isn't bad. + She's good-looking, rather rich,-- + Mother left her quite a pile; + Dances, goes out everywhere; + Fine old family, real good style. + Then she's good, as girls go now, + Some idea of wrong and right, + Don't let every man she meets + Kiss her, on the self-same night. + We don't do affection much, + Nell and I are real good friends, + Call there often, sit and chat, + Take her 'round, and there it ends. + Spooning! Well, I tried it once-- + Acted like an awful calf-- + Said I really loved her. Gad! + You should just have heard her laugh. + Why, she ran me for a month, + Teased me till she made me wince; + 'Mustn't flirt with her,' she said, + So I haven't tried it since. + 'Twould be pleasant to be loved + Like you read about in books-- + Mingling souls, and tender eyes-- + Love, and that, in all their looks; + Thoughts of you, and no one else; + Voice that has a tender ring, + Sacrifices made, and--well-- + You know--all that sort of thing. + That's all worn-out talk, they say, + Don't see any of it now-- + Spooning on your _fiancee_ + Isn't good style, anyhow. + Just suppose that one of us,-- + Nell and me, you know--some day + Got like that on some one else-- + Might be rather awkward--eh! + All in earnest, like the books-- + Wouldn't it be awful rough! + Jove! if I--but pshaw, what bosh! + Nell and I are safe enough.-- + Some time in the Spring, I think; + Be on hand to wish us joy? + Be a groomsman, if you like-- + Lots of wine--good-bye, old boy." + + + II. + UP THE AISLE. + A.D. 1881. + + + Take my cloak--and now fix my veil, Jenny;-- + How silly to cover one's face! + I might as well be an old woman, + But then there's one comfort--it's lace. + Well, what has become of those ushers?-- + Oh, Pa, have you got my bouquet? + I'll freeze standing here in the lobby, + Why doesn't the organist play? + They've started at last--what a bustle! + Stop, Pa!--they're not far enough--wait! + One minute more--now! Do keep step, Pa! + There, drop my trail, Jane!--is it straight? + I hope I look timid, and shrinking! + The church must be perfectly full-- + Good gracious, please don't walk so fast, Pa! + He don't seem to think that trains pull. + The chancel at last--mind the step, Pa!-- + I don't feel embarrassed at all-- + But, my! What's the minister saying? + Oh, I know, that part 'bout Saint Paul. + I hope my position is graceful-- + How awkwardly Nelly Dane stood! + "Not lawfully be joined together, + Now speak"--as if any one would. + Oh, dear, now it's my turn to answer-- + I do wish that Pa would stand still. + "Serve him, love, honor, and keep him"-- + How sweetly he says it--I will. + Where's Pa?--there, I knew he'd forget it + When the time came to give me away-- + "I, Helena, take thee--love--cherish-- + And"--well, I can't help it,--"obey." + Here, Maud, take my bouquet--don't drop it-- + I hope Charley's not lost the ring! + Just like him!--no--goodness, how heavy! + It's really an elegant thing. + It's a shame to kneel down in white satin-- + And the flounce real old lace--but I must-- + I hope that they've got a clean cushion, + They're usually covered with dust. + All over--ah, thanks!--now, don't fuss, Pa!-- + Just throw back my veil, Charley--there! + Oh, bother! Why couldn't he kiss me + Without mussing up all my hair! + Your arm, Charley, there goes the organ-- + Who'd think there would be such a crowd! + Oh, I mustn't look round, I'd forgotten, + See, Charley, who was it that bowed? + Why--it's Nellie Allaire, with her husband-- + She's awfully jealous, I know, + Most all of my things were imported, + And she had a home-made _trousseau_. + And there's Annie Wheeler--Kate Hermon-- + I didn't expect her at all-- + If she's not in that same old blue satin + She wore at the Charity Ball! + Is that Fanny Wade?--Edith Pommeton-- + And Emma, and Jo--all the girls! + I knew they'd not miss my wedding-- + I hope they'll all notice my pearls. + Is the carriage there?--give me my cloak, Jane, + Don't get it all over my veil-- + No! you take the other seat, Charley-- + I need all of this for my trail. + + + III. + DIVORCE. + A.D., 1886. + _The Club Window._ + + + "Yes, I saw her pass with 'that scoundrel'-- + For heaven's sake, old man, keep cool! + No end of the fellows are watching-- + Go easy, don't act like a fool! + 'Parading _your_ shame'!--I don't see it. + It's _hers_ now, alone; for at last + You drove her to give you good reason, + Divorced her, and so it's all passed. + For _you_, I mean; she has to bear it-- + Poor child--the reproach and the shame; + I'm your friend--but come, hang it, old fellow, + I swear you were somewhat to blame. + 'What the deuce do I mean?' Well, I'll tell you, + Though it's none of my business. Here! + Just light a cigar, and keep quiet-- + You _started_ wrong, Charley Leclear. + You weren't in love when you married-- + 'Nor she!'--well, I know, but she tried + To keep it dark. You wouldn't let her, + But laughed at her for it. Her pride + Wouldn't stand that, you know. Did you ever + See a spirited girl in your life, + Who would patiently pose to be pitied + As a 'patient Griselda'-like wife + When her husband neglects her so plainly + As you did?--although, on the whole, + When the wife is the culprit, I've noticed + It's rather the favorite role. + So she flirted a little--in public-- + She'd chances enough and to spare, + Ah, _then_ if you'd only turned jealous-- + But you didn't notice nor care. + Then her sickness came--even we fellows + All thought you behaved like a scrub, + Leaving her for the nurse to take care of, + While you spent your time at the club. + She never forgave you. How could she? + If I'd been in her place myself, + By Jove, I'd have _left_ you. She didn't, + But told all her woes to Jack Guelph. + When a girl's lost all love for her husband, + And is cursed with a masculine friend + To confide in, and he is a blackguard, + She isn't far off from the end. + Oh, I'm through--of _course_ nobody blamed you + In the end, when you got your divorce-- + You were right enough there--she'd levanted + With Guelph, and you'd no other course. + What I mean is, if you'd acted squarely, + The row would have never occurred, + And for _you_ to be doing the tragic, + Strikes me as a little absurd. + As it stands, you've the best of the bargain, + And she's got a good deal the worst, + Leave it there, and--just touch the bell, will you? + You're nearest, I'm dying of thirst." + + + IV. + AT AFTERNOON TEA. + + + "'In New York!' Yes, I met her this morning. + I knew her in spite of her paint; + And Guelph, too, poor fellow, was with her; + I felt really nervous, and faint, + When he bowed to me, looking _so_ pleading-- + I cut him, of course. Wouldn't you? + If I meet him alone, I'll explain it; + But knowing _her_, what could I do? + Poor fellow! He looks sadly altered-- + I think it a sin, and a shame, + The way he was wrecked by that _creature_! + I _know_ he was never to blame. + He never suspected. He liked her-- + He'd known her for most of his life-- + And of course, it _was_ quite a temptation + To run off with another man's wife. + At his age, you know--barely thirty-- + So romantic, and makes such a noise + In one's club--why, one _can't_ but excuse him, + Now _can_ one, dear? Boys will be boys. + I've known him so long--why, he'd come here + And talk to me just like a son. + It's my duty--I feel as a mother-- + To save him; the thing can be done + Very easily. First, I must show him + How grossly the woman deceived + And entrapped him.--It made such a scandal + You know, that he _can't_ be received + At all, any more, till he drops her-- + He'll certainly not be so mad + As to hold to her still. Oh, I know him + So well--I'm quite sure he'll be glad + On _any_ excuse, to oblige me + In a matter so trifling indeed. + Then the way will be clear. _We'll_ receive him, + And the rest will soon follow our lead. + We must keep our eyes on him more closely + Hereafter; young men of his wealth + And position are so sorely tempted + To waste time, and fortune, and health + In frivolous pleasures and pastimes, + That there's but one safe-guard in life + For them and their money--we've seen it-- + A really nice girl for a wife. + Too bad you've no daughter! My Mamie + Had influence with him for good + Before this affair--when he comes here + She'll meet him, I'm sure, as she should-- + That is, as if nothing had happened-- + And greet him with sisterly joy; + Between us I know we can _save_ him. + I'll write him to-morrow, poor boy." + + + + + THE "STAY-AT-HOME'S" PLAINT. + + + The Spring has grown to Summer; + The sun is fierce and high; + The city shrinks, and withers + Beneath the burning sky. + Ailantus trees are fragrant, + And thicker shadows cast, + Where berry-girls, with voices shrill, + And watering carts go past. + + In offices like ovens + We sit without our coats; + Our cuffs are moist and shapeless, + No collars binds our throats. + We carry huge umbrellas + On Broad Street and on Wall, + Oh, how thermometers go up! + And, oh, how stocks _do_ fall! + + The nights are full of music, + Melodious Teuton troops + Beguile us, calmly smoking, + On balconies and stoops. + With eyes half-shut, and dreamy, + We watch the fire-flies' spark, + And image far-off faces, + As day dies into dark. + + The avenue is lonely, + The houses choked with dust; + The shutters, barred and bolted, + The bell-knobs all a-rust. + No blossom-like spring dresses, + No faces young and fair, + From "Dickel's" to "The Brunswick," + No promenader there. + + The girls we used to walk with + Are far away, alas! + The feet that kissed its pavement + Are deep in country grass. + Along the scented hedge-rows, + Among the green old trees, + Are blooming city faces + 'Neath rosy-lined pongees. + + They're cottaging at Newport; + They're bathing at Cape May; + In Saratoga's ball-rooms + They dance the hours away. + Their voices through the quiet + Of haunted Catskill break; + Or rouse those dreamy dryads, + The nymphs of Echo Lake. + + The hands we've led through Germans, + And squeezed, perchance, of yore, + Now deftly grasp the bridle, + The mallet, and the oar. + The eyes that wrought our ruin + On other men look down; + We're but the broken play-things + They've left behind in town. + + Oh, happy Gran'dame Nature, + Whose wandering children come + To light with happy faces + The dear old mother-home, + Be tender with our darlings, + Each merry maiden bears + Such love and longing with her-- + Men's lives are wrapped in theirs. + + + + + THE "STAY-AT-HOME'S" PAEAN. + + + The evenings are damper and colder; + The maples and sumacs are red, + The wild Equinoctial is coming, + The flowers in the garden are dead. + The steamers are all overflowing, + The railroads are all loaded down, + And the beauties we've sighed for all Summer + Are hurrying back into town. + + They come from the banks of the Hudson, + From the sands of the Branch, and Cape May, + From the parlors of bright Saratoga, + From the dash of Niagara's spray. + From misty, sea-salt Narragansett, + From Mahopac's magical lake. + They come on their way to new conquests, + They're longing for more hearts to break. + + E'en Newport is dull and deserted-- + Its billowy beaches no more + Made bright with sweet, ocean-kissed faces, + Love's beacon lights set on the shore. + The rugged White Hills of New Hampshire, + The last of their lovers have seen, + The echoes are left to their slumbers, + No dainty feet thread the ravine. + + On West Point's delightful parade ground + Sighs many a hapless cadet, + Who's basked through the long days of Summer + In the smiles of a city coquette; + And now the incipient hero + Beholds his enchantress depart, + With the spoils of her lightly-won triumph, + His buttons, as well as his heart. + + Come, dry your eyes, Grandmother Nature, + They care not a whit for your woe; + The city is calling her daughters-- + We can't spare them longer, they know-- + Our beautiful, tender-voiced darlings, + With the blue of the deep Summer skies, + And the glow of the bright Summer sunshine, + Entrapped in their mischievous eyes. + + We know their expenses are awful, + That horror unspeakable fills + The souls of unfortunate fathers + Who foot up their dressmaker's bills. + That they'd barter their souls for French candy; + That diamonds ruin their peace; + That they rave over middle-aged actors, + And in other respects are--well, geese. + + We laugh at them, boys, but we love them, + For under their nonsense we know + They've hearts that are honest and loving, + And souls that are whiter than snow. + So out with that bottle of Roederer! + Large glasses, boys! Up goes the cork! + All charged? To the belles of creation, + The glorious girls of New York. + + + + + EIGHT HOURS. + + + "Sign the petition!" "Write my name!" + "She said, ask me!"--oh, she's fooling; + Where do you think a girl like me + Could find the time for so much schooling? + Why, I've been here since I was eight or so-- + That's ten years now--and it seems like longer; + The hours are from eight till six--you see + It wears one out--I once was stronger. + "A bad cough!" oh, that's nothing, sir; + It comes from the dust, and bending over. + It hurts me sometimes--no, not now. + "This!" why, a flower, a bit of clover. + I picked it up as I came to work-- + It grew in the grass in some one's airy, + Where it stood, and nodded all alone + Like a little green-cloaked, white-capped fairy. + "Fond of flowers!" I like them--yes-- + Though, goodness knows, I don't see many-- + I'd have to buy them--they cost so much-- + And I never can spare a single penny. + "Go to the park!"--how can I, sir? + The only day that I have is Sunday; + And then there's always so much to do + That before I know it, almost, it's Monday. + Like it sir, like it!--why, when I think + Of the woods, and the brook with the cattle drinking-- + I was country-bred, sir--my heart swells so + That I--there, there, what's the use of thinking! + If I could write, sir--"make a cross, + And let you write my name below it"-- + No, please; I'm ashamed I can't, sometimes,-- + I don't want all the girls to know it. + And what's the use of it, anyway? + They'll just say shortly, with careless faces, + "If you're not suited, you'd better leave"-- + There's plenty of girls to fill our places. + They're kind enough to their own, no doubt-- + Our head just worships his own young daughter, + Just my age, sir--she's gone away + To spend the Summer across the water. + But _us_--oh, well, we're only "hands," + Do you think to please us they'll bear losses? + No, not a cent's worth--ah, you'll see-- + I'm a working girl, sir, and I know bosses. + + + + + SLEEPING BEAUTY. + A PARABLE. + + + You remember the nursery legend-- + We heard in the early days, + Ere we knew of the world's deception + Or walked in its dusty ways, + And dwelt in a land of the fairies + Where the air was golden haze-- + + Of the maid, o'er whom the Summers + Of youth passed, like a swell + Of melody all unbroken, + Till evil wrought its spell, + And dream-embroidered curtains + Of slumber round her fell. + + The wood grew up round her castle, + The centuries o'er it rolled, + Wrapping its slumb'rous turrets + In clinging robes of mould, + And her name became a legend + By Winter fire-sides told. + + Till the Prince came over the mountains + In the morning-glow of youth; + The forest sank before him + Like wrong before the truth, + And he passed the dim old portal, + With its warders so uncouth, + + Woke with a kiss the Princess, + And broke enchantment's chain, + The sleepy old castle wondered, + In its cobweb-cumbered brain, + At the tide of life and pleasure + That poured through each stony vein. + + And so love conquered an evil + Centuries old in might, + Scattering drowsy glamour, + Piercing the murky night, + Leading from thrall and darkness + Beauty, and joy, and light. + + + + + EASTER MORNING. + + + Too early, of course! How provoking! + I told Ma just how it would be. + I might as well have on a wrapper, + For there isn't a soul here to see. + There! Sue Delaplaine's pew is empty,-- + I declare if it isn't too bad! + I know my suit cost more than hers did, + And I wanted to see her look mad. + I do think that sexton's too stupid-- + He's put some one else in our pew-- + And the girl's dress just kills mine completely; + Now what am I going to do? + The psalter, and Sue isn't here yet! + I don't care, I think it's a sin + For people to get late to service, + Just to make a great show coming in. + Perhaps she is sick, and can't get here-- + She said she'd a headache last night. + How mad she'll be after her fussing! + I declare, it would serve her just right. + Oh, you've got here at last, my dear, have you? + Well, I don't think you need be so proud + Of that bonnet, if Virot did make it, + It's horrid fast-looking and loud. + What a dress!--for a girl in her senses + To go on the street in light blue!-- + And those coat-sleeves--they wore them last Summer-- + Don't doubt, though, that she thinks they're new. + Mrs. Gray's polonaise was imported-- + So dreadful!--a minister's wife, + And thinking so much about fashion!-- + A pretty example of life! + The altar's dressed sweetly. I wonder + Who sent those white flowers for the font!-- + Some girl who's gone on the assistant-- + Don't doubt it was Bessie Lamont. + Just look at her now, little humbug!-- + So devout--I suppose she don't know + That she's bending her head too far over, + And the ends of her switches all show. + What a sight Mrs. Ward is this morning! + That woman will kill me some day. + With her horrible lilacs and crimsons; + Why will these old things dress so gay? + And there's Jenny Welles with Fred. Tracy-- + She's engaged to him now--horrid thing! + Dear me! I'd keep on my glove sometimes, + If I did have a solitaire ring! + How can this girl next to me act so-- + The way that she turns round and stares, + And then makes remarks about people; + She'd better be saying her prayers. + Oh dear, what a dreadful long sermon! + He must love to hear himself talk! + And it's after twelve now,--how provoking! + I wanted to have a nice walk. + Through at last. Well it isn't so dreadful + After all, for we don't dine till one; + How can people say church is poky!-- + So wicked!--I think it's real fun. + + + + + A LEGEND OF ST. VALENTINE. + + + Come! Why, halloa, that you, Jack? + How's the world been using you? + Want your pipe? it's in the jar-- + Think I might be looking blue. + Maud's been breaking off with me, + Fact--see here--I've got the ring. + That's the note she sent it in; + Read it--soothing sort of thing. + Jack, you know I write sometimes-- + Must have read some things of mine. + Well, I thought I'd just send Maud + Something for a valentine. + So I ground some verses out + In the softest kind of style, + Full of love, and that, you know-- + Bothered me an awful while; + Quite a heavy piece of work. + So when I had got them done-- + Why, I thought them much too good + Just to waste that way on one. + Jack, I told you, didn't I, + All about that black-eyed girl + Up in Stratford--last July-- + Oh! you know; you saw her curl? + Well, old fellow, she's the one + That this row is all about, + For I sent her--who'd have thought + Maud would ever find it out-- + Those same verses, word for word-- + Hang it, man! you needn't roar-- + "Splendid joke!" well, so I thought-- + No, don't think so any more. + Yesterday, you know it rained, + I'd been up late--at a ball-- + Didn't know what else to do-- + Went up and made Maud a call, + Found some other girl there, too, + They were playing a duet. + "Fred, my cousin, Nelly Deane,"-- + Yes, Jack, there was my brunette; + You should just have seen me, Jack-- + Now, old fellow, please don't laugh, + I feel bad about it--fact-- + And I really can't stand chaff. + Well, I tried to talk to Maud, + There was Nell, though, sitting by; + Every now and then she'd laugh, + Sure I can't imagine why. + Maud would read that beastly poem, + Nell's eyes said in just one glance, + "Wont I make you pay for this, + If I ever get the chance!" + Some one came and rang the bell, + Just a note for Nell, by post. + Jack, I saw my monogram-- + I'd have rather seen a ghost. + Yes--her verses--I suppose + That her folks had sent them down-- + Couldn't get up there, you know-- + Till she'd left and come to town. + Nelly looked them quickly through-- + Laughed--by Jove, I thought she'd choke. + "Maud--he'll kill me--dear! oh, dear!-- + Read that; isn't it a joke?" + Maud glanced through them--sank right down + On the sofa--hid her face-- + "Crying!"--not much--laughing, Jack-- + Don't think she's a hopeless case. + I just grabbed my hat and left-- + Only wish I'd gone before. + How they laughed!--I heard them, Jack-- + Till I got outside the door. + There, confession's done me good, + I can never win her back, + So I'll calmly let her slide-- + Pass the ash-cup, will you, Jack. + + + + + FROST-BITTEN. + + + We were driving home from the "Patriarchs'"-- + Molly Lefevre and I, you know; + The white flakes fluttered about our lamps; + Our wheels were hushed in the sleeping snow. + + Her white arms nestled amid her furs; + Her hands half-held, with languid grace, + Her fading roses; fair to see + Was the dreamy look in her sweet, young face. + + I watched her, saying never a word, + For I would not waken those dreaming eyes. + The breath of the roses filled the air, + And my thoughts were many, and far from wise. + + At last I said to her, bending near, + "Ah, Molly Lefevre, how sweet 'twould be, + To ride on dreaming, all our lives, + Alone with the roses--you and me." + + Her sweet lips faltered, her sweet eyes fell, + And, low as the voice of a Summer rill, + Her answer came. It was--"Yes, perhaps-- + But who would settle our carriage bill?" + + The dying roses breathed their last, + Our wheels rolled loud on the stones just then, + Where the snow had drifted; the subject dropped. + It has never been taken up again. + + + + + A SONG. + + + Spring-time is coming again, my dear; + Sunshine and violets blue, you know; + Crocuses lifting their sleepy heads + Out of their sheets of snow. + And I know a blossom sweeter by far + That violets blue, or crocuses are, + And bright as the sunbeam's glow. + But how can I dare to look in her eyes, + Colored with heaven's own hue? + That wouldn't do at all, my dear, + It really wouldn't do. + + Her hair is a rippling, tossing sea; + In its golden depths the fairies play, + Beckoning, dancing, mocking there, + Luring my heart away. + And her merry lips are the ripest red + That ever addled a poor man's head, + Or led his wits astray. + What wouldn't I give to taste the sweets + Of those rose-leaves wet with dew! + But that wouldn't do at all, my dear, + It really wouldn't do. + + Her voice is gentle, and clear and pure; + It rings like the chime of a silver bell, + And the thought it wakes in my foolish head, + I'm really afraid to tell. + Her little feet kiss the ground below, + And her hand is white as the whitest snow + That e'er from heaven fell. + But I wouldn't dare to take that hand, + Reward for my love to sue; + That wouldn't do at all, my dear, + It really wouldn't do. + + + + + OLD PHOTOGRAPHS. + + + Old lady, put your glasses on, + With polished lenses, mounting golden, + And once again look slowly through + The album olden. + + How the old portraits take you back + To friends who once would 'round you gather-- + All scattered now, like frosted leaves + In blustering weather. + + Why, who is this, the bright coquette? + Her eyes with Love's bright arrows laden-- + "Poor Nell, she's living single yet, + An ancient maiden." + + And this, the fragile poetess? + Whose high soul-yearnings nought can smother-- + "She's stouter far than I am now, + A kind grandmother." + + Who is this girl with flowing curls, + Who on the golden future muses? + "What splendid hair she had!--and now + A 'front' she uses." + + And this? "Why, if it's not my own; + And did I really e'er resemble + That bright young creature? Take the book-- + My old hands tremble. + + "It seems that only yesterday + We all were young; ah, how time passes!" + Old lady, put the album down, + And wipe your glasses. + + + + + "LE DERNIER JOUR D'UN CONDAMNE." + + + Old coat, for some three or four seasons + We've been jolly comrades, but now + We part, old companion, forever; + To fate, and the fashion, I bow. + You'd look well enough at a dinner, + I'd wear you with pride at a ball; + But I'm dressing to-night for a wedding-- + My own--and you'd not do at all. + + You've too many wine-stains about you, + You're scented too much with cigars, + When the gas-light shines full on your collar, + It glitters with myriad stars, + That wouldn't look well at my wedding; + They'd seem inappropriate there-- + Nell doesn't use diamond powder, + She tells me it ruins the hair. + + You've been out on Cozzens' piazza + Too late, when the evenings were damp, + When the moon-beams were silvering Cro'nest, + And the lights were all out in the camp. + You've rested on highly-oiled stairways + Too often, when sweet eyes were bright, + And somebody's ball dress--not Nellie's-- + Flowed 'round you in rivers of white. + + There's a reprobate looseness about you; + Should I wear you to-night, I believe, + As I come with my bride from the altar, + You'd laugh in your wicked old sleeve, + When you felt there the tremulous pressure + Of her hand, in its delicate glove, + That is telling me shyly, but proudly, + Her trust is as deep as her love. + + So, go to your grave in the wardrobe, + And furnish a feast for the moth, + Nell's glove shall betray its sweet secrets + To younger, more innocent cloth. + 'Tis time to put on your successor-- + It's made in a fashion that's new; + Old coat, I'm afraid it will never + Sit as easily on me as you. + + + + + CHRISTMAS GREENS. + + + Oh, Lowbury pastor is fair and young, + By far too good for a single life, + And many a maiden, saith gossip's tongue, + Would fain be Lowbury pastor's wife: + So his book-marks are 'broidered in crimson and gold, + And his slippers are, really, a "sight to behold." + + That's Lowbury pastor, sitting there + On the cedar boughs by the chancel rails; + His face is clouded with carking care, + For it's nearly five, the daylight fails-- + The church is silent,--the girls all gone, + And the Christmas wreaths not nearly done. + + Two tiny boots crunch-crunch the snow, + They saucily stamp at the transept door, + And then up to the pillared aisle they go + Pit-pat, click-clack, on the marble floor-- + A lady fair doth that pastor see, + And he saith, "Oh, bother, it isn't she!" + + A lady in seal-skin--eyes of blue, + And tangled tresses of snow-flecked gold-- + She speaks, "Good gracious! can this be you, + Sitting alone in the dark and cold? + The rest all gone! Why it wasn't right; + These texts will never be done to-night." + + She sits her down at her pastor's feet, + And, wreathing evergreen, weaves her wiles, + Heart-piercing glances bright and fleet, + Soft little sighs, and shy little smiles; + But the pastor is solemnly sulky and glum, + And thinketh it strange that "she" doesn't come. + + Then she tells him earnestly, soft and low, + How she'd do her part in this world of strife, + And humbly look to him to know + The path that her feet should tread through life-- + Her pastor yawneth behind his hat, + And wondereth what she is driving at. + + Crunch-crunch again on the snow outside, + The pastor riseth unto his feet, + The vestry door is opened wide, + A dark-eyed maid doth the pastor greet, + And that lady fair can see and hear, + Her pastor kiss her, and call her "dear." + + "Why, Maud!" "Why, Nelly!" those damsels cry; + But lo, what troubles that lady fair? + On Nelly's finger there meets her eye + The glow of a diamond solitaire, + And she thinks, as she sees the glittering ring, + "And so she's got him--the hateful thing!" + + There sit they all 'neath the Christmas tree, + For Maud is determined that she wont go + The pastor is cross as a man can be, + And Nelly would like to pinch her so, + And they go on wreathing the text again-- + It is "Peace on earth and good-will towards men." + + + + + LAKE MAHOPAC--SATURDAY NIGHT. + + + "Yes, I'm here, I suppose you're delighted: + You'd heard I was not coming down! + Why I've been here a week!--'rather early'-- + I know, but it's horrid in town + + A Boston? Most certainly, thank you. + This music is perfectly sweet; + Of course I like dancing in summer; + It's warm, but I don't mind the heat. + + The clumsy thing! Oh! how he hurt me! + I really can't dance any more-- + Let's walk--see, they're forming a Lancers; + These square dances are such a bore. + + My cloak--oh! I really don't need it-- + Well, carry it,--so, in the folds-- + I hate it, but Ma made me bring it; + She's frightened to death about colds. + + This _is_ rather cooler than dancing. + They're lovely piazzas up here; + Those lanterns look sweet in the bushes, + It's lucky the night is so clear. + + I _am_ rather tired--in this corner?-- + Very well, if you like--I don't care-- + But you'll have to sit on the railing-- + You see there is only one chair. + + '_So_ long since you've seen me'--oh, ages!-- + Let's see, why it's ten days ago-- + 'Seems years'--oh! of course--don't look spooney-- + It isn't becoming, you know. + + How bright the stars seem to-night, don't they? + What was it you said about eyes? + How sweet!--why you must be a poet-- + One never can tell till he tries. + + Why can't you be sensible, Harry! + I don't like men's arms on my chair. + Be still! if you don't stop this nonsense + I'll get up and leave you;--so there! + + Oh! please don't--I don't want to hear it-- + A boy like you talking of love. + 'My answer!'--Well, sir, you shall have it-- + Just wait till I get off my glove. + + See that?--Well, you needn't look tragic, + It's only a solitaire ring,-- + Of course I am 'proud of it'--very-- + It's rather an elegant thing. + + Engaged!--yes--why, didn't you know it? + I thought the news must have reached here-- + Why, the wedding will be in October-- + The 'happy man'--Charley Leclear. + + Now don't blame me--I tried to stop you-- + But you _would_ go on like a goose; + I'm sorry it happened--forget it-- + Don't think of it--don't--what's the use? + + There's somebody coming--don't look so-- + Get up on the railing again-- + _Can't_ you seem as if nothing had happened? + I never saw such geese as men! + + Ah, Charley, you've found me! A galop? + The 'Bahn frei?' Yes; take my bouquet-- + And my fan, if you will--now I'm ready-- + You'll excuse me, of course, Mr. Gray." + + + + + MATINAL MUSINGS. + + + Ten o'clock! Well, I'm sure I can't help it! + I'm up--go away from the door! + Now, children, I'll speak to your mother + If you pound there like that any more. + + How tired I do feel?--Where's that cushion?-- + I don't want to move from this chair; + I wish Marie'd make her appearance! + I really _can't_ do my own hair. + + I wish I'd not danced quite so often-- + I knew I'd feel tired! but it's hard + To refuse a magnificent dancer + If you have a place left on your card. + + I was silly to wear that green satin, + It's a shame that I've spotted it so-- + All down the front breadth--it's just ruined-- + No trimming will hide that, I know. + + That's me! Have a costume imported, + And spoil it the very first night!-- + I might make an overskirt of it, + That shade looks so lovely with white. + + How horrid my eyes look! Good gracious! + I hope that I didn't catch cold + Sitting out on the stairs with Will Stacy; + If Ma knew that, wouldn't she scold! + + She says he's so fast--well, who isn't?-- + Dear! where is Marie?--how it rains!-- + I don't care; he's real nice and handsome. + And his talk sounds as if he'd some brains. + + I do wonder what _is_ the reason, + That good men are all like Joe Price, + So poky, and stiff, and conceited, + And fast ones are always so nice.-- + + Just see how Joe acted last evening! + He didn't come near me at all, + Because I danced twice with Will Stacy + That night at the Charity ball. + + I didn't care two pins to do it; + But Joe said I mustn't,--and so-- + I just did--he isn't my master, + Nor sha'n't be, I'd like him to know. + + I don't think he looked at me even, + Though just to please him I wore green,-- + And I'd saved him three elegant dances,-- + _I_ wouldn't have acted so mean. + + The way he went on with Nell Hadley; + Dear me! just as if I would care! + I'd like to see those two get married, + They'd make a congenial pair! + + I'm getting disgusted with parties;-- + I think I shall stop going out; + What's the use of this fussing for people + I don't care the least bit about. + + I _did_ think that Joe had some sense once; + But, my, he's just like all the men! + And the way that I've gone on about him,-- + Just see if I do it again! + + Only wait till the next time I see him, + I'll pay him back; wont I be cool! + I've a good mind to drop him completely-- + I'll--yes I will--go back to school. + + The bell!--who can that be, I wonder!-- + Let's see--I declare! why, it's Joe!-- + How long they are keeping him waiting! + Good gracious! why don't the girl go!-- + + Yes--say I'll be down in a minute-- + Quick, Marie, and do up my hair!-- + Not that bow--the green one--Joe likes it-- + How slow you are!--I'll pin it--there! + + + + + A ROMANCE OF THE SAW-DUST. + + + Suthin' to put in a story! + I couldn't think of a thing, + 'N' it's nigh unto thirty year now + Since fust I went in the ring. + "The life excitin'?" Thunder! + "Variety," did you say? + You must have cur'us notions + 'Bout circuses, anyway. + The things that look so risky + Aint nothin' to us but biz. + "Accidents"--falls and sich like? + Sometimes, in course, there is. + But it's only a slip, or a stumble, + Some feller laid out flat, + It don't take more'n a second; + There aint no story in that. + 'N' like as not, the tumble + Don't do no harm at all: + There's one gal here--I tell yer, + She got an awful fall. + You know her--Ma'am'selle Ida-- + She's Jimmy Barnet's wife, + The prettiest little woman + You ever see in your life. + They was lovers when they was young uns, + No more'n two hands high. + She nussed Jim through a fever once, + When the doctors swore he'd die. + I taught 'em both the motions; + She never know'd no fear, + And they've done the trapeze together + For more'n a couple o' year. + Last Summer we took on a Spaniard, + A mis'rable kind of cuss, + Spry feller--but awful tempered, + Always a-makin' a fuss. + He wanted to marry Ida-- + His chance was pretty slim, + He did his best, but bless yer, + She'd never go back on Jim. + He acted up so foolish, + That Jim, one day, got riled + 'N' guv him a reg'lar whalin'; + That druv the Spaniard wild. + He talked like he was crazy, + 'N' raved around, and swore + He'd kill 'em both; but Jim just laughed-- + He'd heer'd such talk before. + One day, when we was showin' + In a little country town, + Jim mashed his hand with a hatchet, + Drivin' a tent stake down. + He couldn't work that night, nohow, + But the "trap" hed got to be done. + The Spaniard said he'd try it-- + 'N' they had to take him or none. + I knew Jim didn't like it, + 'N' Ide looked scared and white-- + "Look out for me, boys," she whispered, + "I'm goin' to fall to-night;" + Then she looked up with a shiver, + At the trapeze swingin' there, + A couple of bars and a rope or two + Forty feet up in the air. + But up she clumb--he arter-- + Stood up, but how Ide shook, + Then the Spaniard yelled like a devil, + "Now look, Jim Barnet!--look!"-- + With that he jumped 'n' gripped her; + She fought, but he broke her hold, + Grabbed at the rope, 'n' missed it-- + Off of the bar they rolled, + Clinched, 'n' Ide a screamin'; + Thud!--they struck the ground; + I turned all sick and dizzy, + 'N' everything went round. + How still it were for a second!-- + It seemed like an hour--'n' then + The women was all a screechin', + 'N' the ring was full of men. + Poor Jim was stoopin' to lift her, + But flopped right down, 'n' said, + Sez he, "Her lips is movin'! + She's breathin'!--She isn't dead!" + For sure!--he'd fallen under; + It kinder broke her fall; + Except the scare and a broken arm, + She wasn't hurt at all. + "The Spaniard?" Oh, it killed him; + It broke his cussed neck. + But nobody cried their eyes out, + As near as I reckeleck. + She married Jim soon arter, + They're doin' the trapeze still; + So, yer see, as I was sayin', + These falls don't always kill. + 'N' as for things excitin' + To put in a story,--well, + I'd really like to oblige yer, + But then there aint nothin' to tell. + + + + + PYROTECHNIC POLYGLOT. + (MADISON SQUARE, JULY 4.) + + + "Hey, Johnny McGinnis, where are yez? + I've got a place! Arrah, be quick!" + Whiz! Boom! "Hooray, there goes a rocket; + Hi, Johnny, look out for the shtick!" + "Confound it, sir! Those are my feet, sir!" + "Oh, pa, lift me up, I can't see." + "Come down out o' that, yez young blackguards! + Div yez want to be killin' the tree?" + "Hooray! look at that?" "Aint it bully!" + "It's stuck!" "No, it aint." "There she goes!" + "I wish that you'd speak to this man, Fred, + He's standing all over my toes." + "Take down that umbrella in front there!" + "My! aint we afraid of our hat!" + "Me heart's fairly broke wid yez shovin'-- + Have done now--what would yez be at?" + "Jehiel, neow haint this jest orful! + I 'most wish I hedn't a come; + Such actions I never--one would think + Folks left their perliteness to hum." + "Look here, now, you schoost stop dose schovin'." + "By gar, den, get out from ze vay, + You stupide Dootschmans, vilain cochon"-- + "Kreuz!"--"Peste!"--"Donnerwetter!"--"Sacr-r-re!" + "Oh, isn't that cross just too lovely! + So bright, why the light makes me wink!" + "Your eyes, dear, are"--"don't be a goose, Fred; + What do you suppose folks will think?" + Crash! Screech! "Och I'm kilt!"--"Fred, what is it?" + "Branch broken--small boy come to grief." + "Boo, hoo, hoo, hoo! I wants mine muzzer!" + "Look out there!" "Police!" "Hi, stop thief!" + "Well, father, I guess it's all over; + Just help Nelly down off the stool." + + + MORAL. + + SUNG:--"Mellican piecee fire bully!" + CHING:--"Mellican man piecee fool." + + + + + FISHING. + + + "Harry, where have you been all morning?" + "Down at the pool in the meadow-brook." + "Fishing?" "Yes, but the trout were wary, + Couldn't induce them to take a hook." + "Why, look at your coat! You must have fallen, + Your back's just covered with leaves and moss." + How he laughs! Good-natured fellow! + Fisherman's luck makes most men cross. + + "Nellie, the Wrights have called. Where were you?" + "Under the tree, by the meadow-brook + Reading, and oh, it was too lovely; + I never saw such a charming book." + The charming book must have pleased her, truly, + There's a happy light in her bright young eyes + And she hugs the cat with unusual fervor, + To staid old Tabby's intense surprise. + + Reading? yes, but not from a novel. + Fishing! truly, but not with a rod. + The line is idle, the book neglected-- + The water-grasses whisper and nod. + The fisherman bold and the earnest reader + Sit talking--of what? Perhaps the weather. + Perhaps--no matter--whate'er the subject, + It brings them remarkably close together. + + It causes his words to be softly spoken, + With many a lingering pause between, + The while the sunbeams chase the shadows + Over the mosses, gray and green. + Blushes are needful for its discussion, + And soft, shy glances from downcast eyes, + In whose blue depths are lying hidden + Loving gladness, and sweet surprise. + + Trinity Chapel is gay this evening, + Filled with beauty, and flowers, and light, + A captive fisherman stands at the altar, + With Nellie beside him all in white. + + The ring is on, the vows are spoken, + And smiling friends, good fortune wishing, + Tell him his is the fairest prize + Ever brought from a morning's fishing. + + + + + NOCTURNE. + + + Summer is over, and the leaves are falling, + Gold, fire-enamelled in the glowing sun; + The sobbing pinetop, the cicada calling + Chime men to vesper-musing, day is done. + + The fresh, green sod, in dead, dry leaves is hidden; + They rustle very sadly in the breeze; + Some breathing from the past comes, all unbidden, + And in my heart stir withered memories. + + Day fades away; the stars show in the azure, + Bright with the glow of eyes that know not tears, + Unchanged, unchangeable, like God's good pleasure, + They smile and reck not of the weary years. + + Men tell us that the stars it knows are leaving + Our onward rolling globe, and in their place + New constellations rise--is death bereaving + The old earth, too, of each familiar face? + + Our loved ones leave us; so we all grow fonder + Of their world than of ours; for here we seem + Alone in haunted houses, and we wonder + Which is the waking life, and which the dream. + + + + + AUTO-DA-FE + + + (HE EXPLAINS.) + + Oh, just burning up some old papers, + They do make a good deal of smoke: + That's right, Dolly, open the window; + They'll blaze if you give them a poke. + I've got a lot more in the closet; + Just look at the dust! What a mess! + Why, read it, of course, if you want to, + It's only a letter, I guess. + + + (SHE READS.) + + Just me, and my pipe, and the fire-light, + Whose mystical circles of red + Protect me alone with the shadows; + The smoke-wreaths engarland my head; + And the strains of a waltz, half forgotten, + The favorite waltz of the year, + Played softly by fairy musicians, + Chime sweetly and low on my ear. + + The smoke-cloud floats thickly around me, + All perfumed and white, till it seems + A bride-veil magicians have woven + To honor the bride of my dreams. + Float on, dreamy waltz, through my fancies, + My thoughts in your harmony twine! + Draw near, phantom face, in your beauty, + Look deep, phantom eyes, into mine. + + Sweet lips--crimson buds half unfolded-- + Give breath to the exquisite voice, + That, waking the strands of my being + To melody, bids me rejoice. + Dream, soul, till the world's dream is ended! + Dream, heart, of your beautiful past! + For dreaming is better than weeping, + And all things but dreams at the last. + + Change rules in the world of the waking-- + Its laughter aye ends in a sigh; + Dreams only are changeless--immortal: + A love-dream alone cannot die. + Toil, fools! Sow your hopes in the furrows, + Rich harvest of failure you'll reap; + Life's riddle is read the most truly + By men who but talk in their sleep. + + + (HE REMONSTRATES.) + + There, stop! That'll do--yes, I own it-- + But, dear, I was young then, you know. + I wrote that before we were married; + Let's see--why, it's ten years ago! + You remember that night, at Drake's party, + When you flirted with Dick all the time? + I left in a state quite pathetic, + And went home to scribble that rhyme. + + What a boy I was then with my dreaming, + And reading the riddle of life! + You gave a good guess at its meaning + The night you said "Yes," little wife. + One kiss for old times' sake, my Dolly-- + That didn't seem much like a dream. + Holloa! something's wrong with the children! + Those young ones do nothing but scream. + + + + + AN AFTERTHOUGHT. + + + Vine leaves rustled, moonbeams shone, + Summer breezes softly sighed; + You and I were all alone + In a kingdom fair and wide + You, a Queen, in all your pride, + I, a vassal, by your side. + + Fairy voices in the leaves + Ceaselessly were whispering: + "'Tis the time to garner sheaves-- + Let your heart its longing sing; + Place upon her hand a ring; + Then our Queen shall know her King." + + E'en the moonbeams seemed to learn + Speech when they had kissed your face, + Passing fair--my lips did yearn + To be moonbeams for a space-- + "Lo, 'tis fitting time and place! + Speak, and courage will find grace." + + But the night wind murmured low, + Softly brushing back your hair, + "Look into her face, and know + That she is a jewel rare, + Worthy of a monarch's heir; + Who are you that you should dare!" + + Hope died like a frost-touched flower; + But through all the coming years, + In that quiet evening hour, + When the flowers are all in tears, + When the heart hath hopes and fears, + When the day-world disappears. + + If the vine leaves rustle low, + If the moon shine on the sea, + If the night wind softly blow,-- + Dreaming of what may not be,-- + Well I know that I shall see + Your sweet eyes look down on me. + + + + + REDUCTIO AD ABSURDUM. + + + I had come from the city early + That Saturday afternoon; + I sat with Beatrix under the trees + In the mossy orchard; the golden bees + Buzzed over clover-tops, pink and pearly; + I was at peace, and inclined to spoon. + + We were stopping awhile with mother, + At the quiet country place + Where first we'd met, one blossomy May, + And fallen in love--so the dreamy day + Brought to my memory many another + In the happy time when I won her grace. + + Days in the bright Spring weather, + When the twisted, rough old tree + Showered down apple-blooms, dainty and sweet, + That swung in her hair, and blushed at her feet; + Sweet was her face as we lingered together, + And dainty the kisses my love gave me. + + "Dear love, are you recalling + The old days, too?" I said. + Her sweet eyes filled, and with tender grace + She turned and rested her blushing face + Against my shoulder; a sunbeam falling + Through the leaves above us crowned her head. + + And so I held her, trusting + That none was by to see; + A sad mistake--for low, but clear, + This feminine comment reached my ear: + "Married for ages--it's just disgusting-- + Such actions--and, Fred, they've got our tree!" + + + + + THE MOTHERS OF THE SIRENS. + + + The debutantes are in force to-night, + Sweet as their roses, pure as truth; + Dreams of beauty in clouds of tulle; + Blushing, fair in their guileless youth. + Flashing bright glances carelessly-- + Carelessly, think you! Wait and see + How their sweetest smile is kept for him + Whom "mother" considers a good _parti_. + + For the matrons watch and guard them well-- + Little for youth or love care they; + The man they seek is the man with gold, + Though his heart be black, and his hair be gray. + "Nellie, how _could_ you treat _him_ so! + You know very well he is Goldmore's heir," + "Jennie, look modest! Glance down and blush,-- + Here comes papa with young Millionaire." + + On a cold, gray rock, in Grecian seas, + The sirens sit, and _their_ glamour try-- + Warm white bosoms press harps of gold, + The while Ulysses' ship sails by. + Fair are the forms the sailors see, + Sweet are the songs the sailors hear + And--cool and wary, shrewd and old, + The sirens' mothers are watching near, + + Whispering counsel--"Fling back your hair, + It hides your shoulder." "Don't sing so fast!" + "Darling, _don't_ look at that fair young man, + Try that old fellow there by the mast, + _His_ arms are jewelled"--let it go! + Too bitter all this for an idle rhyme; + But sirens are kin of the gods, be sure, + And change but little with lapse of time. + + + + + PER ASPERA AD ASTRA. + + + A canvas-back duck, rarely roasted, between us, + A bottle of Chambertin, worthy of praise-- + Less noble a wine at our _age_ would bemean us-- + A salad of celery _en mayonnaise_, + With the oysters we've eaten, fresh, plump, and delicious, + Naught left of them now but a dream and the shells; + No better _souper_ e'en Lucullus could wish us-- + Why, even our waiter regards us as swells. + + Your dress is a marvel, your jewels show finely, + Your friends in the circle all envied your box; + You say Lilli Lehman sang quite too divinely-- + I know I can't lose on that last deal in stocks. + Without waits our footman to call for our carriage-- + Gad, how he must hate us, out there in the cold!-- + We rode in a hack on the day of our marriage, + Number two forty-six--I was rolling in gold, + + For I'd quite fifty dollars; and don't you remember + We drove down to Taylor's, a long cherished dream: + How grandly I ordered--just think, in December!-- + Some cake, and two plates of vanilla ice-cream. + And how we enjoyed it! Your glance was the proudest + Among the proud beauties, your face the most fair; + I'm rather afraid, too, your laugh was the loudest; + I know we shocked every one--we didn't care. + + Now we'd care a great deal--with two sons at college, + And daughters just out, whose sneers make you wince, + We've tasted the fruit of Society's knowledge-- + I don't think we've quite enjoyed anything since. + All through, dear? Now, _don't_ wipe your mouth with the doily! + They're really not careful at all with their wine; + It wasn't half warmed--the salad was oily-- + And I don't think the duck was remarkably fine. + + + + + THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE. + + + Oh! he was a student of mystic lore; + And she was a soulful girl + All nerves and mind, of the cultured kind + The paragon, pride, and pearl. + + They loved with a neo-Concordic love, + Woofed weirdly with wistful woe. + They sat in a glen, remote from men, + Their converse was high and low. + + "What marvellous words of marvellous love, + Speak marvellous souls like these?" + I drew me nigh till their faintest sigh + Was heard with the greatest ease. + + "'Oo's 'ittle white lammy is 'oo?" breathed he; + "'Oors. 'Oo's lovey-dovey is 'oo?" + "'Oors! 'Oors! Would 'oo k'y if dovey should die?" + "No'p!--tause 'ittle lammy'd die too." + + How truthful we poets! The "language of Love" + Is a phrase we employ full oft; + But whenever we do, we prefix thereto, + You've noticed, the adjective "soft." + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +[Illustration: +"WE TWO TOOK POSSESSION OF THE STAIRS." +--_Page 18._] + +[Illustration: +"SEE HER AT PRAYER! HER PLEADING HANDS +BEAR NOT ONE GEM OF ALL HER STORE." +--_Page 4._] + +[Illustration: +"THE SUNBEAMS LIT HER GLEAMING HAIR +WITH RIPPLING WAVES OF GOLDEN GLORY." +--_Page 22._] + +[Illustration: +"WHAT! GIVE UP FLIRTATION? CHANGE DIMPLES FOR FROWNS?" +--_Page 24._] + +[Illustration: +"THE FEET THAT KISSED ITS PAVEMENT +ARE DEEP IN COUNTRY GRASS." +--_Page 59._] + +[Illustration: +"AND THE BEAUTIES WE'VE SIGHED FOR ALL SUMMER +ARE HURRYING BACK TO TOWN." +--_Page 62._] + +[Illustration: +"YES, JACK, THERE WAS MY BRUNETTE." +--_Page 77._] + +[Illustration: +"HOW THE OLD PORTRAITS TAKE YOU BACK." +--_Page 83._] + +[Illustration: +"A LADY IN SEALSKIN--EYES OF BLUE, +AND TANGLED TRESSES OF SNOW-FLECKED GOLD." +--_Page 89._] + +[Illustration: +"BUT YOU'LL HAVE TO SIT ON THE RAILING-- +YOU SEE THERE IS ONLY ONE CHAIR." +--_Page 92._] + +[Illustration: +"READING? YES, BUT NOT FROM A NOVEL; +FISHING! TRULY, BUT NOT WITH A ROD." +--_Page 109._] + +[Illustration: +"THE DEBUTANTES ARE IN FORCE TO-NIGHT, +SWEET AS THEIR ROSES, PURE AS TRUTH." +--_Page 122._] + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Point Lace and Diamonds, by George A. 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