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diff --git a/16568.txt b/16568.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6fede93 --- /dev/null +++ b/16568.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: 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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