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FlfANCfS OAY
COP''H<&H': '8^1 OY iftLOtfilCW * STOUC:.
POINT LACE
AND
DIAMONDS
By
GEORGE A. BAKER, Jr.
AUTHOR OF " THK BAD HABITS OF GOOD SOCIETY" " WEST POINTS ETC.
With twelve facsimiles of water-color paintings by
ERANCIS DAY
Together with illustrations in black-aiid-white by
various artists
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
MDCCCXCIl
x'^ -\
\
Copyright, 1S91,
By Frederick A. S/o/ccs Company,
New York.
POKTRAIT OK FraNCIS DaY.
.1/ •* *J-
^'
CONTENTS.
An Idyl of the Pkriod .
Retrospection- ....
A Piece of Advk k
A Refor.mer ......
Ix the Recorij Roo.m, Sukkog.aie's Okkic
De Lunatico
After the Ger.man' ....
A Rosebud in Lent ....
Pro Patria et Gloria ....
A Song
Making Xkw Year's Calls
Fishing
Jack and Me
Les Enfants Perdl'S ....
Frost-Bitten
Christmas Greens ....
Chinese Lanterns .....
Thoughts on the Co.mmand.ments
Eight Hours
Old Photographs
Marriage a la Mode. A Trilogy.
• 7
8
■ '3
14
■ "5
■5
. i6
'9
29
30
35
36
37
38
41
42
<"'.
COXTKNTS.
The " Stav-at-IIomk's" Plaint
Sleeping Beauty . . . .
Easter Morning ....
The " Stav-at-Home's" P.kan .
A Song
" Le Dernier J(iur d in Conda.mne'
Pyrotechnic Polyglot
A Legend of St. Valentine .
Matinal Musings ....
An Afterthought . . . .
The Mothers of the Sirens
A Ro.MANCE OF THE SaWDUST .
Nocturne
Lake Mahopac — Saturday Night .
Auto-da-Fe
ZwEi Konige avf Orkada!.
Chiyalrie
Reductio ad Absurdu.m .
Per Aspera ad Astra .
The Language of Love .
PAGE
49
■ 5°
51
• 55
56
• 57
58
. 61
62
. fu
67
. 67
69
• 73
74
. 76
79
• 79
So
. 82
■^^
Point Lace and Diamonds.
AN IDYL OF THE PERIOD.
IN TWO I'ARTS.
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, ' —
r
Pf)INT LACE AND DIAMONDS.
i
Don't know where it is, I'm sure;
Must have dropped it in the street.
How I spooned I — And she — ha! ha I —
Well, I know it wasn't right —
Rut she pitied me so much
That I — kl.ssed her — pass a light."
PART TWO.
"Moll)- 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."
"vSaw all what?" "Ahem! last iiight-
At the Mather's — in the hall."
"Oh, you horrid — where were you?
Wasn't he the biggest goose!
Most men must be cauj^ht, 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
W^ith 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 to(jk,
Looking, oh! like such a calf.
I suppose he's got it now,
In a wnne-glass on his shelves;
It's a mystery to me
Why men ^iv'// 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 a/r such stuck-up things;
He'll recover — never fear."
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 w-eary 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?
KETKOSPECTIOX.
^f'^^'
- X
"I OWE IT UP. AND WHO CAN BI.AMK ME'"
Tlicn wrote my " Pulse of Nature's Heart,
Whieh 1 procured some little cash on,
And quickly packed me to depart
In search of "gilded haunts" of fash-
ion,
Whieh I mii;-ht puff at ecjlumn rates,
To please my host and meet my
reckoning;
" Base is the slave who " — hesitates
When wealth and pleasure both are
beckon in J/-,
I sought ; I found. Among the swells
I had my share of small successes,
^lade languid love to languid belles
And penri'd descriptions of their dresses.
Ah I Millionairess Millicent,
How fair you were! How you adored
me!
'Ah. Millionairess Millicent. how fair you were!
lO POINT LACK AND DIAMONDS.
How man)' tender hours we spent — Refracted by the frolic glass
And, oh, beloved, how you bored me I Of Fancy, play with change incessant?
APRU,. IS7I. JL;M.;, ,874.
Is not that fragmentar_v bit
Of my )-oung verse a perfect prism.
Where worldly knowledge, pleasant wit,
True humor, kindly cynicism, Aicust, 1S86,
Great Caesar I "What a sweet young ass
I must have been, when adolescent!
"WHAT! GIVE UP FLIRTATION? CHANGE DIMPLES
FOR FROWNS?"
Painted by Francis Day.
F R A tN c.t s O AY
^
A PIECE OF ADVICE.
So you're going to give up flirtation, my What! Give up flirtation? Change dim-
dear, pies for frowns?
And lead alife sober and quiet? Why, Nell, what's the use? You're so pretty,
There, there, I don't doubt the intention's That your beauty all sense of your wicked-
sincere, ness drowns.
"The mischief your eyes have been making!'
But wait till occasion shall try it. —
Is Ramsay engaged?
Now, don't look enraged!
You like him, I know — don't deny it!
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.
14
POINT LACK AM) DIAMnxDS.
Irdeed I — so " you feel for the woes of my
sex! "
'The legions of hearts ycni've been
breaking
Yonr conscience affright, and your reckon-
ing peq)lex
Whene'er an accoinit you've been tak-
ing!"
" I'd scarcely believe
How deeply you grieve
At the mischief your eyes have been
making! "
Xow, 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,
^len don't wear the same Iwiitoiiniire 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.
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, tliis 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, SURROGATES OFFICE.
A TiiMi: where lejjal ghouls yrow 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 — "besought
her gold " —
And never spoke, but turned away.
Stubborn and proud, to call you cold.
Cold ? Would I knew 1 Perliaps you
loved,
And mourned him all a virgin life.
Perhaps forgot his ver\- 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.
'Th
HE shadows! f.r-
URK ALONG I '.
HE SHORE.' «1 .
16
I'OINT l.ACl-; AMI DIA.NKJMIS.
One hand droops idly from the boat,
And round the white and swaying;-
fini,^ers,
Like half-blown lilies yone afloat,
The ainorons water, toyini^', lin^-ers.
I see you smile liehind vour book,
Your gentle eyes eoneealiny, nnder
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'
l)anner
vShonld 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 nair,
Who, after tea, have gone out rowing.
Ah, dear, when memories, old and sweet.
Have fooled m_v 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,
Klse little joy would be in life,
And little poetr\' be written.
AFTER THE GERMAN.
A SOPHO.MORE SOLILOQUY.
Blackboard, with ruler and rubber before When fairy musicians are playing the
me, "Mabel,"
Chalk loosely held in my hand. And waltzes each nerve in ni}- lirain!
Sun-gilded motes in the air all around
me.
Listlessly dreaming I stand.
That only last night sparkled there.
What do I care for the problem I've By the galop's wild whirl shower'd down
written on my shoulder
In characters gracefully slight. From turbulent tresses of hair.
As the festal -robed beauties whose fairy
On my coat's powdered chalk, not the dust
of the diamond
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
In my car is the clatter of chalk against
blackboard.
Not music's voluptuous swell ;
Alas I this is life, — so pass mortal plea.snres.
And, — thank goodness, there goes the
bell'
"SEE HER AT PRAYER. HER PLEADING HANDS
BEAR NOT ONE GEM OF ALL HER STORE."
Painted bv Francis Da v.
Lif fHLZiLH.Zr, A SIO/-
A ROSEBUD m LF.NT.
You saw her last, the ball-room's belle,
A soiifflf, lace and roses blent ;
Your worldly worship moved her then ;
She does not know von now, in Lent.
Turn, turn away! But carry hence
The lesson she has dumbly taught —
That briufht yoimg creature kneeling there
With every feeling, every thought
r-
1
"YOU SAW HKK LAST, THE BAU,-R00M'S BELLE.'
See her at praj-er! 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.
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.
PRO PATRIA ET GLORIA.
TnK Hi,dits blaze hioh in our brilliant
rooms ;
Fair arc 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 I" 1 )o you ever think
Who answered, and marched, and got
there first 1
Whose bayonets first scared Maryland?
Whtjse were the colors that showed the
way ?
Who .set the .step for the marching North?
S(ime holiday soldiers in black and
gray.
" Pretty boys in their pretty suits I "
" Too pretty by far to take imder fire I "
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 awa}-
The blood and mire from the pretty suit ;
For Winthrop died in the black and
gray.
In the shameftil days in sixty-three.
When the city fluttered in abject fear,
'Neath the mob's rude grasp, who ever
thought —
"God I if the Seventh were only here I"
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.
PRO PATRIA ET GLORIA.
2 1
What would we do if the order came,
Sudden and sharp — " Let the vSeventh
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 je.st, be it feast or fray — ■
But we're dandies — yes, for we'd rather die
Than sully the pride of our black and gray.
A SONG.
I sHdri.nx'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 y(nu-
sweet eyes.
The power by which you swa}-
A kingdom of hearts, that little you prize —
T 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 fre.sh and piire.
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 sliould 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 GALLS.
Shixino 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." "\'ery well."
.Sending in your pasteboard.
Waiting in the halls.
Bless me! this is pleasant.
^Making New Year's calls.
Skipping in the parlor.
Bowing to the floor.
Lady of the house there
Half a dozen more ;
Ladies" dresses gorgeous,
I'aniers, waterfalls, —
Bless me! this is plea.sant,
Makintr New Year's calls.
MARINd NEW YEAR S CALLS.
23
" 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 Xew 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 yuuv wine-glass falls;
Bless me I 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 —
Hcrr 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 niel this is pleasant,
JIaking New Year's calls.
Home, and woo the downy.
But your soul doth quake.
At most fearful night-marcs —
Turkey, oysters, cake.
While each leaden horror
That your rest appalls.
Cries, "Dear heart! how pleasant.
Making New Year's calls."
"READING? YF.S, BUT NOT FROM A NOVFX.
FISHING! TRULY, BUT NOT WITH A ROD."
Painted bv Francis Daw
mJiir..
f «
FISHING.
Over the mosses, gray and green.
n
" H.^RRv, where have you been all morn- It causes his words to be softly spoken,
ing? " With many a lingering jDaiise between,
"Down at the pool in the meadow- The while the sunbeam, chase the shad-
brook." ows
"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 I
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? j-es, 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 fi.sherman bold and the earnest reader
Sit talking — of what ? Perhaps the
weather.
Perhaps — no matter — whate'er the subject,
It brings them remarkably close to-
gether.
'The fairest prize ever brought from a
morning's fishing."
Blushes are needful for its discussion,
And soft, shy glances from downca.st
eyes.
In whose blue depths are lying hidden
Loving gladness, and sweet surprise.
28
I'OINT LACIi AM) DIAMONDS.
Trinil}- Chaj)!.'! is sray this evcninj;', The rinj,^ is on, the vows are spoken,
l-'illed with beauty, and flowers, and And sniilini^- friends, '^nnd fortune
li(;-ht, wishing-,
A cajHivc fisherman stands at the altar. Tell liim his is the fairest prize
With Nellie beside him all in white. Ever brought from a morning's fishing.
lACK AND MK.
Shine! — All right; here y'are, boss!
Do it for jest five eents.
Get 'em fixed in a minute, —
That is, 'f nothing perwents.
Set your foot right there, sir.
Morniii's kinder eold, —
Goes right through a feller,
When his coat's a-gittin' old.
Well, yes, — eall it a eoat, sir.
Though 'taint much more'n a tear;
(iit another! — I can't, bo.ss;
Aint 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,
vSittin' 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 dav.
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 s(mie day we git up there.
All clone 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 clarlin;^'s vanished ?
Fashion's pied piper, with ma.t;ical air,
Has wooed them away, witli their flaxen
hair
And lauyhintf eyes, we don't know where.
And no one can tell where they're ban-
ished.
"Where are the children?" cries Madam
Haut-ton,
"Allow me, my sons and dans^hters, —
Fetch them, Annette!" What, madam,
those?
Children! such exquisite belles and beaux:
True, tliey're in somewhat shorter clothes
Than the most of Dame Fashion's sup-
porters.
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 cijjarettes.
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 bhue.
Drops in at Delmonico's three times a daj',
And is known at Jerry Thomas's.
And here comes Miss Agnes. Good morn-
ing I " Bon jour .' "
Xow, 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
yoimg 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,
I'OINT I.All', AMI niAMiiNUS.
Of Helena's treatment of Tommy Joyce— Folly fillingf each curly head,
Aged twelve — that's the last flirtation. Premature vices, childhood dead,
'That ronnkt of Nf.i.i.ie Pl'rroy's."
What has become of the children, then?
How can an answer be ^;iven?
Blighted blossoms — can it be said
"Of siii/i is the kintidom of heaven?'
FROST-BITTEN.
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.
Wk. were driving home from the " Patri- I watched her, saying never a word,
archs' " — For I would not waken those dreaming
Molly Lcfevre and I, you know; eyes.
1-RUST- BITTEN. 31
The breath of the roses filled the air, And, low as the voice of a Summer
And my thoughts were many, and far rill,
from wise. Her answer came. It was — "Yes, per-
haps —
At last I said to her, bendiny near. But who would settle our carriage bill? "
" Ah, Molly Lef^vre, how sweet 'twould
be The dying roses breathed their last,
To ride on dreaming, all our lives, Our wheels rolled loud on the stones
Alone with the roses — you and me. ' just then.
Where the snow had drifted; the subject
Her sweet lips faltered, her sweet ej-es dropped.
fell, It has never been taken up again.
"A LADY IN SEALSKIN— EYES OF BLUE,
AND TANGLED TRESSES OF SNOW-FLECKED GOLD."
Painted by Francis Daw
-'%»■»»
CHRISTMAS GREENS.
So h
And
( III. LM\vhur\' pastor is
fair and young-,
By far too good for a
single lite,
And many a maiden,
\l saith gossip's tongue.
Would fain be Low-
bury pastor's wife:
is book-marks are 'broidered in crim-
son and gold,
his slipjjers are, reall_\% a " sight to
behold. "
That's Lowbury pastor sitting there
On the cedar boughs b\- 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.
A lady in seal-skin — eyes of blue,
And tangled tresses of snow-flecked
gold-
She speaks, " Good gracious I 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 licr part in tliis 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.
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 I "
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."
I'OINT J.ACI-; AND DIAMONDS.
"Why, Maud!" "AVhy, Nelly
damsels cry ;
But lo, what troubles that lady fair?
On Nelly's fintjer there meets her eye
The glow of a diamond solitaire,
And she thinks, as she sees the glittcrin;.
rin.o-,
those There sit they all 'neath the Christmas-
tree,
For ]\Iaud is determined that she wont
K" ;
The pastor is cross as a man can be.
And Nelly would like to pinch her so ;
And thev eo on wreathintr the text again —
"And so she's
thine ! "
jt him — the hatefr.l It is
Peace on earth and good-will
towards men."
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!
Ah I 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.
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 brieht.
Bring thy velvet lips a-near,
Mine are himgrj- 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-dav
THOUGHTS 0.\ THE COMMANDMENTS.
17
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 mj' self-denial ;
Not to love her, though, might be
Something of a trial.
Why, the rosj' 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-gra.sses.
'■ For \vn II all .mv heart and soul
I DO LOVE MY NEIGHBOR."
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.
Kir.HT HOURS.
" Sign the petition ! " " Write my name : "
"She said, ask me I" — «h, she's fooliny;
Where do yoii think a oirl like me
Could find the time for so much school-
ing?
Why, I've been here sinec 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 coughl " 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, gcjodness knows, I don't see
many —
I'd have to buy them — they cost so much —
And I never can spare a single penny.
" (io to the park! " — how can I, sir?
The only day that I have is vSunday ;
And then there's always so much to do
That before I know it, almost, it's Mon-
day.
Like it, sir, like it I — why, when I tliink
( )f 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 u.se of
thinking!
If I could write, sir — "make a cross.
And let you Avrite my name below
it"—
No, please; I'm ashamed I can't, some-
tiiTies —
I don't want all the girls to know it.
And what's the use of it, anyway?
They'll just say .shorth", 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 jvist worships his own )'oung
daughter,
Just my age, sir — she's gone away
To spend the vSummer across the water.
But us — oh, well, we're only "hands,"
Do you think to please us they'll bear
losses?
Xo, not a cent's worth — ah, you'll see —
I'm a working girl, sir, and I know
bosses.
"HOW THE OLD PORTRAITS TAKE YOU BACK."
Painted bv Francis Daw
I
UP
f^r!
'.-*! 1691 8V FREDEftlCH A STOi-
OLD PHOTOGRAPHS.
Old lady, put your glasses on,
With polished lenses, mounting golden,
And once again look slowly through
The album olden.
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. "
How the old portraits take you back
To friends who once would 'round you
gather —
All .scattered now, like frosted leaves
In blusterinjr weather.
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 tuture muses?
" What splendid hair she had I — 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
passes! "
Old lady, put the album down,
And wipe your glasses.
time
MARRIAGE A LA MODE.
A TRILOGY.
I.
love's young dream. — a. d. iSSo.
"Thank you — much obliged, old hoy,
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 extra-
vagance.
Talked of cutting
off supplies —
Fairly bullied me,
you know —
Sort of thing that
I despise.
Well, you see, I lost
worst Avay
At the races — Gov-
ernor raged —
So, to try and smooth
him down,
I went off, and got engaged.
Sort of jnit-up job, you know —
All arranged with old Latine-
Nellie raved about it first,
Said her 'pa was awful mean!
J-^^.
C'Al.l. -1 lIKkK (Il-'IKN, SIT .■\NIi CH.VV
Now it's done we don't much mind —
Tell the truth. I'm rather glad;
Looking at it every way.
One inust 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
1^^ Kiss her, on the
^ A self-same night.
We don't do aft'ection
much,
Nell and I are real
good friends,
Call there often, sit
and chat.
Take her 'round,
and there it ends.
Spooning I Well, I
tried it once —
Acted like an awful
calf—
Said I really loved her. Gad!
You should just ha\-e heard her laugh.
Why, slie ran me for a month,
Teased me till she made me wince;
'Mustn't flirt with her,' she said.
MARRIAGE A LA MODE.
43
So I haven't tried it since.
'Twould be pleasant to be loved
Like )-ou read about in book.s —
Minnling- souls, and tender eyes —
Love, and that, in all their looks;
Thoughts of you, and no one else ;
Voice that has a tender rinjj.
Sacrifices made, and — well —
You know — all that sort of thing.
That's all worn-out talk, they sa)-,
Don't see any of it now —
Spooning on yonr Jiana'c
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 b<;y."
II.
UP THF. AISI.K. A. I). I 88 1.
Takf. 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, plea.se don't walk .so fa.st,
Pa!
He don't seem to think that trains pull.
The chancel at la.st — 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 — bu: I
must —
I hope that they've got a clean cushion,
They're usually covered with dust.
44
POINT LACK AM) I iIA.Mi >.\T)S.
All over — ah, thanks! — now, don't fuss,
Pa :—
Just throw back my veil, Charley —
there !
Oh, bother! Why couldn't he kiss nic
Without niussinti' up all my hair!
Your arm, Charley, there ;