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m--i- -m i«^np|piPiiiB^!ip 
 
 W^ 
 
 I — 
 
 Romance and the 
 
 — <y 
 
 West 
 
 
 and 
 
 
 
 Falling Petal; 
 
 s 
 
 ■By 
 
 i 
 
 JOHN PR ESI 
 
 ON 
 
 -3 
 
 'M: 
 
 •ft 
 
Romance and the West 
 
 Falling Petals 
 
u 
 
 W 
 
Romance and the West 
 
 Falling Petals 
 
 By 
 JOHN IM<I-:STO\ 
 
 THE CORNHILL COMPANY 
 BOSTON 
 
■HHP" 
 
 Copyright 1918 
 By The Cornhill Company 
 
 AUrigh's rtifrttd 
 
 
 -/ 72, 
 
 JAN 5 ^^^ 
 
FAL-.ING PETALS 
 
 (^ MEMOIR OF ACADIA) 
 
i 
 
FALLING PETALS 
 
 (J MEMOIR OF .tC.IDI.I) 
 
 Let scent of lilac bushes 
 
 Surcharge the air around, 
 While morn, like maiden, blushes 
 
 That in her face is found 
 Such glory; and my dreaming 
 
 Persuade me that I lie 
 Where sun of June is beaming 
 
 From an Acadian sky. 
 Let morning mists arise, 
 
 As if from Fundy driven, 
 Then fail before my eyes, 
 
 Like dreams at dawning riven; 
 The odors of the sea, 
 
 Commingling with the pine. 
 Come heavily to me, 
 
 O'er flower, grass and vine: 
 Perfumes of the breath 
 
 Of Nature where she's fairest — 
 
 [I] 
 
And where long wandereth 
 Dreams of mine the rarest. 
 
 From unrestrained bosoms 
 Of robins o'er my head, 
 Half hidden in the blossoms 
 
 Which, fall'n, have carpeted 
 The grass, comes blithest singing, 
 A gladness round me flinging, 
 And yet a sadness bringing. 
 Which will not be gainsaid. 
 
 My hammock slowly swaying 
 
 Two apple-trees between, 
 My vision now is playing 
 
 Upon a patch of green 
 This side the wooded valley, 
 
 And now upon the scene 
 Immediately around me: 
 A spot the Fairies found me, 
 
 A weary mood to rally. 
 
 [2] 
 
Yet, what a Fairy bringeth 
 
 He hath the power to take ; 
 The sweetest fancy wingeth, 
 And wishes will forsake: 
 The robin in his bower 
 Sends down a wilted shower 
 Of petals, while he singeth 
 And striveth joy to make. 
 
 But not alone for pleasure 
 
 Of this enchantment here 
 Have I attained such leisure; 
 But that when she appear. 
 Whom I have been expecting, 
 She find me thus neglecting 
 Whatever task may be. 
 Since she is honoring me. 
 
 I wait in mood uncertain. 
 For well I know her pride; 
 
 But presently the curtain 
 Of foliage beside 
 
 [3] 
 
1 
 
 The gate is gently parted. 
 And none too steady-hearted 
 I rise and call her name, 
 And then regret the same. 
 
 She halts not at the gateway. 
 But coldly smiles, and straightway 
 Goes round the kitchen walk; 
 And then I hear the talk 
 And laughter of the hostess. 
 Until the side-door closes. 
 
 The thought that I am slighted 
 
 Has put me on my mettle; 
 I watch a falling petal 
 
 Until the same has lighted; 
 I say : " 'Tis sweeter duty 
 To study here the beauty 
 Of Nature, in reflection. 
 Than watch a maiden's action.'' 
 But still, at every sound 
 1 turn and look around. 
 
 \4] 
 
Thus, trying to forget her. 
 
 Because she passed me by, 
 I think of when I met her, 
 
 And how she was so shy; 
 I think of what she told me. 
 Bashfully yet boldly. 
 
 And not that she might mold 
 me — 
 
 And how I wished to die! 
 For it was she who cured me 
 
 Of an illusion deep, 
 The first that ever lured me. 
 
 Or caused me, shamed, to jp ; 
 A blind and youthful passion. 
 
 Of which I would not tell ; 
 One not of love's persuasion. 
 
 As I should learn from Belle. 
 
 I watch the petals falling 
 In merry circles round. 
 
 The while I am recalling 
 The meaning and the sound 
 
 I 5] 
 
Of " Belle" — it stands for beauty, 
 And I surmise, as well, 
 
 Implies a love of duty, 
 In love vv^ith which is Belle. 
 
 At last has she been driven 
 
 Beneath the apple-trees, 
 And, blushing, is forgiven. 
 
 My melancholy flees. 
 Her eyes, a trifle slanting. 
 
 As though of some lost race. 
 With naught of brilliance want- 
 ing, 
 
 Illumine all her face; 
 
 Yet with a subtle glory. 
 
 Not often sung in story, 
 
 A warm though timid grace. 
 
 I cannot scan each feature 
 
 Of this uncommon creature, 
 
 Describe its separate art. 
 
 As though it stood apart; 
 
 [6] 
 
I only see the sweetness 
 Of all, and the completeness 
 Of harmony achieved — 
 For so was Belle received. 
 
 We speak about the weather, 
 And view the scene together, 
 Until she finds me smiling 
 At pastime so beguiling. 
 She deigns to lay aside 
 
 Her pretty sailor hat, 
 And I would pleasure hide. 
 
 Because so pleased, at that. 
 r take it as a sign 
 
 That none of affectation — 
 So little. Belle, was thine! — 
 
 Shall mar the day's relation. 
 
 And then in graceful stride, 
 For none was half so graceful 
 
 As she, do we divide 
 The world, at arms or peaceful ; 
 
We march upon it bravely — 
 Myself, perhaps, o'ergravely 
 Denouncing all its ill, 
 
 Prescribing for its woes; 
 
 And far young vision goes, 
 And deep young spirits thrill. 
 O Life, give back those hours! 
 Belle, bring me back those 
 powers ! 
 
 I follow her, delighted, 
 My faculties excited : 
 But Twenty never knows 
 How far such pleasure goes 
 Beyond the limitation, 
 
 The sobering years will set. 
 Of more mature elation 
 
 Of spirit. . . . Oh, but let 
 My vision keep forgetting 
 
 The petals in the air, 
 So softly, gently settling 
 
 Upon her golden hair! 
 
 [8] 
 
I think, as Twenty thinketh. 
 
 That my companion now, 
 Jo whom my being drinkcth 
 
 The draught the gods aUow, 
 This girl of wondVing eyes, 
 With whom I sail the skies. 
 Will be with me forever, 
 That Time will steal her never. 
 Or, if our ways shall part, 
 
 (I treat the matter lightly) 
 Some other kindred heart. 
 
 Some other form as sightly — 
 Nay, many such, mayhap. 
 Will come to fill the gap! 
 Not that I fail to see 
 
 Unusual things aplenty 
 In her, but \ anity 
 
 Pertains to foolish Twenty. 
 The world, the world is wide, 
 And life is at the tide! 
 
 In looking back to thee, 
 At thought of womankind, 
 
 fo] 
 
 id 
 
Instruction, a degree 
 
 Of mystery, I find 
 In this : That we enjoyed 
 Friendship so unalloyed; 
 That I so solemn born 
 Should have escaped thy scorn — 
 Thou who so loved a measure 
 Of gay and careless pleasure! 
 But stranger still, perhaps, 
 
 That I should have been given 
 
 So much, scarce having striven 
 For aught. Only the lapse 
 Of time, and intermingling 
 
 With others of thy sex. 
 Has set my thoughts to singling 
 That young adventure out: 
 
 I see its bright reflex 
 When tempted now to doubt 
 That clever women e'er 
 Are generous ; the fair 
 Disposed to rise above 
 Self-glory and self-love; 
 
 [ID] 
 
That such can ever feel 
 
 A stirring of the spirit, 
 The sting of an ideal, 
 
 With courage not to fear it. 
 
 Being spirituelle, 
 
 So aptly christened Belle, 
 
 1 cannot now but wonder. 
 This fancied shade-tree under. 
 If thou art dreamer still! 
 Hath Time purloined the will 
 
 To paint thine earth like heaven? 
 Art thou, perchance, still given 
 To fairy castle-making? 
 Or findest thou an aching 
 Within thee at the thought 
 Of what was — and is not? 
 Can<^' u, when memory's call- 
 
 And loved ghosts come round. 
 See wilted petals falling 
 And whitening the ground? 
 
 [II] 
 
Yet, sweet as is thy sadness, 
 Thou e'er must envy me : 
 
 For mine is all the gladness, 
 Since I remember thee! 
 
 But, like the robin gay, 
 
 Rejoicing in his bower, 
 E'en tiius I shake away 
 
 The petals from the flower; 
 I see them downward sifting 
 Among the jagged leaves, 
 And as I watch them dr'fting 
 
 My spirit somewhere grieves. 
 I think of how the years, 
 These cares and wasted tears, 
 Are losing me thy laughter 
 And all it followed after — 
 Thy w it and joy and smiles. 
 Thy pretty girlish wiles. 
 So many a little token 
 Of friendship, looked or spoken. 
 Is shaken from the tree, 
 
 [ 12] 
 
Each year, of memory; 
 A petal frail is blown, 
 And sinks, forever, down! 
 
 Still, friend of old, be sure, 
 
 Some petals e'er shall cling, 
 Through rain a d wind endure; 
 
 The robin long shall sing 
 High in his apple-tree, 
 And thou shalt come to me, 
 Ott when the dull day closes. 
 Like scent of sweet wild-rf)scs. 
 Which I have plucked with thcc; 
 And then it will be morning, 
 And life shall we be scorning, 
 Our castles building high 
 As thine Acadian skv. 
 
 What matter though we find 
 Earth-ties to hold and bind? 
 'Tis said of highest Heaven : 
 
 [13] 
 
To none the right is given 
 Up there, to bind the spirit- 
 And we lived very near it. 
 
 i 
 
 That day so bright, so fair. 
 Is gone, I know not where, 
 No more than I can tell 
 How thou did'st vanish, Belle! 
 For years will e'er be going 
 Onward, silent flowing 
 Far, far beyond our knowing, 
 Though we would have them 
 stay; 
 Life's flowers ever blowing, 
 And blown, their petals snow- 
 ing— 
 What truths, what purpose show- 
 ing? 
 Who — who shall dare to say? 
 
 [I4 1 
 
 ^2 
 
ROMANCE AND THE WEST 
 
 (A MONTANA BALLAD) 
 
 ^ 
 
i 
 
ROMANCE and the WEST 
 
 {A MONT.tNA B.ILL.ID) 
 
 Let no man say Romance is dead 
 
 Or e'en that she is sleeping, 
 But let him read this tale, instead. 
 
 And then, his counsel keeping. 
 Set forth, as men must ever do, 
 
 Upon his great adventure. 
 Regardless of the bugaboo 
 
 Of others' smiles or censure! 
 
 'Twas in Montana (this, I think, 
 Is how the poets do it). 
 
 And I was hard upon the brink 
 (And everybody knew it) 
 
 Of bacherlorhood. A friend had I 
 And he was also stranded 
 
 Upon that barren shore where lie 
 
 The hopeless, who have ceased to 
 
 try, 
 
 BH 
 
And as they live expect to die, 
 Nor ever understand it. 
 
 We had an office, each of us, 
 
 And daily wore white collars, 
 Nor was the problem serious, 
 With us, of getting dollars. 
 We knew no pinch of poverty, 
 And prospects did not 
 frighten — 
 Except the one. Alone were we! 
 Though with each other con- 
 stantly 
 Alone we were! And hourly 
 Our heartstrings seemed to 
 tighten. 
 
 3 
 
 At first my friend was reticent 
 Upon the awful matter. 
 
 And circling round the edge we 
 went 
 In superficial chatter; 
 
 [i8J 
 
i 
 
 But then at last a word came out. 
 
 By force of feeling goaded, 
 Which put hypocrisy to rout — 
 
 And both of us exploded. 
 
 The confidences we exchanged, 
 Had ever they been printed, 
 Our patrons might have well es- 
 tranged. 
 For truth was scarcely stinted ; 
 We swore we loved Montana air. 
 
 And everything about it, 
 And that its women folks were 
 
 fair, 
 That is, such women as there 
 
 were; 
 In short, we thought them very 
 rare — 
 Yes, very. Who shall doubt it? 
 
 "The only girls I've met," said 
 Sol, 
 
 I 19 1 
 
(Now, Sol had been to college) 
 "Whom I could ever love at all, 
 
 Within my certain knowledge. 
 Were married — married — dead 
 and gone — 
 
 1 wonder why — I wonder?" 
 We dropped our heads and dwelt 
 
 upon 
 This problem. Suddenly the dawn 
 Of two ideas, one by one. 
 
 Into my head did blunder. 
 
 f 
 
 ■5 
 
 "Sol, Sol," said I, illuminate, 
 
 "I have it, boy, I have it! 
 You cannot blame a hostile Fate — 
 
 Just make your affidavit! 
 The truth is obviously this : 
 
 The fancied ones you met there 
 Received some other fellow's kiss 
 
 Before yourself could get there! 
 By Jove, 1 think I see a fact: 
 
 [20] 
 
1 
 
 3 
 
 3 
 -J 
 
 i 
 
 For since we both have met 
 them. 
 These creatures who can so attract. 
 
 Although we never get them, 
 The circumstance that they exist 
 
 Should give us, I declare it, 
 A hope to find some one who's 
 missed — 
 And by young Eros swear it!" 
 
 "Yo, ho!" he laughed, "A jolly 
 joke — 
 From you especially coming." 
 He grinned behind a cloud of 
 smoke, 
 And sat his fingers drumming. 
 This sally, I am free to say, 
 Annoyed me not a trifle ; 
 But I would pay him back some 
 day — 
 Meanwhile annoyance stifle. 
 
 [21] 
 
The upshot of my pardner's thrust 
 
 Was that our conversation 
 For several days was dry as dust 
 
 And bored was our relation. 
 Then, as 1 sat one night alone. 
 
 In newspapers half buried. 
 My eyes, my brain were set upon. 
 
 My heart unduly flurried. 
 1 read that in an eastern State 
 
 Were thirty thousand women 
 Who there could never find a 
 mate . . . 
 
 1 took it as an omen. 
 
 Forgetting, then, the slight that 
 Sol 
 Had put upon me lately, 
 I went to him excited, all 
 
 Aflame, withal sedately. 
 And showed him here in black 
 and white 
 The thing I had discovered; 
 
 [22\ 
 
But Sol was in a wretched plight 
 Of pessimism, out of sight 
 Had sunk in it; and black as night 
 The ravens round him hovered. 
 
 "Well, what of that?'' he croaked 
 at last. 
 
 I swallowed, disconcerted. 
 "Come, Sol," I said, "forget the 
 past. 
 
 Our lives have been diverted. 
 We cannot sit here, lazy toads. 
 
 And wait for our bluebottle. 
 Packing round these heavy loads 
 
 That so our spirits throttle. 
 If we are men, it seems to me, 
 
 We should resort to action." 
 He stared so idiotically 
 I trembled for his sanity -- 
 But suddenly his vanity 
 
 From silence brought reaction. 
 
 [23 1 
 
"If such a thing you contemplate, 
 
 My boy," he uttered coldly, 
 "As finding me a diflf'rent state 
 
 By venturing so boldly 
 Upon a chase of goslings wild 
 
 In far-of¥ Massachusetts, 
 Reflect that I am not a child. 
 
 Your fiction's like de Musset's! 
 Why, think of how the town 
 would laugh 
 
 If you and I went wiving? 
 Besides, the chances are, by half. 
 
 The crazy trip surviving. 
 We'd come back less contented 
 
 than 
 The chase of visions we began." 
 
 "Knight errant!" I exclaimed. 
 "Brave knight! 
 What matter that the maiden's 
 part 
 Compels her, till her hair is white, 
 
 [24] 
 
To wait, with dully paining 
 heart? 
 What matter that she cannot speak 
 
 Because the men have spoken, 
 Nor go like them a mate to seek — 
 
 Until her youth is broken!" 
 
 "I will admit you argue well," 
 
 Quoth Sol, with some contri- 
 tion, 
 "But all one's faculties rebel 
 
 At thought of such a mission. 
 It seems to me that we must wait, 
 
 No matter how we feel ; 
 And some day, maybe, soon or 
 late, 
 
 Will come the one ideal." 
 
 I laughed — I laughed until I 
 cried, 
 For surely Sol was funny. 
 "Yes, doubtless, when we both 
 have died — 
 
 [25] 
 
Sol, have you any money 
 To wager that, in seven years, 
 
 In view of our location, 
 A single eligible appears — 
 
 Say, comes here on vacation? 
 Computing chanccb that will be 
 
 By those we know were bootless 
 These seven years past — come, 
 wager me 
 
 Your hope will not be fruit- 
 less?" 
 
 He parried, and he smiled and 
 sighed, 
 And his position shifted. 
 And "How could such a thing be 
 tried, 
 By one with reason gifted? 
 For, looking at the brightest side, 
 And granting Fate's assistance. 
 How many futile days might 
 glide, 
 
 [26] 
 
 tfi 
 
 yt^^nrvKumtm , 
 
With Her still in the distance? 
 What town — what city — how 
 
 and where — 
 The business here— the people 
 
 there — " 
 
 "Look here," said I, "is not a wife. 
 
 The kind that we are seeking, 
 The most important thing in life?" 
 
 (He looked a trifle sneaking.) 
 "Sol, I propose to spend a year, 
 
 And all I have if need be; 
 And if I fail — the ranchers here 
 
 Won't ever have to feed me. 
 But never fear: the price I set 
 
 Upon my blessed being 
 Is doubtless quite sufficient; yet 
 
 An equal I am seeing 
 In more than one lost little girl 
 
 Whose vision comes to haunt 
 me — 
 Some atom in the city's swirl, 
 
 \27] 
 
In need enough to want me! 
 This thing of fancying, old boy, 
 
 That one and one girl only 
 Can bring the common share of 
 
 joy 
 
 To stray old stags, as lonely 
 As we — or any other man, 
 
 Shows ignorance of earth. 
 Of woman, since the world began, 
 
 Of such superior worth '/' 
 
 Sol turned an eagle eye on me: 
 "Then marriage is a farce! 
 
 You kill its ideality 
 And make a human scarce 
 
 Less guided in his choice of love 
 
 Than cattle that the prairies 
 
 rove 
 
 »> 
 
 "You almost spoke a truth, I 
 swear," 
 I tantalized old Sol, 
 
 f 28 I 
 
"For if wc turn to Nature, there 
 
 We find a law for all. 
 And who are you and who am I 
 
 That we should be neglecting 
 The inner pang, the unhushed cry 
 
 A mate to be selecting? 
 And what is there, in heaven's 
 name, 
 
 Of this selfsame selection, 
 In sitting down, in pride and 
 shame 
 
 And impotent dejection?" 
 
 At that we parted; later, when 
 
 I started on my journey. 
 He came, in better spirits then. 
 
 To say, as my attorney, 
 That if I needed his advice 
 
 Upon my quest fantastic, 
 Or found I could not pay the price 
 
 Of Someone's whims elastic, 
 He hoped that I would not forget 
 He loved me like a brother yet! 
 [29] 
 
ROMANCE and the WEST 
 
 (./ MnxT.lX.l B ILL ID) 
 PART I! 
 
 I never shall forget that day 
 
 Upon the Boston Common, 
 The beauty, as Bostonians say, 
 
 All TOLind about me "swawm- 
 \n . 
 I stood like some one in a trance. 
 
 Amid the merry whirl. 
 Imploring Guardian Circum- 
 stance 
 
 To point me out the girl. 
 It seemed to me that any one 
 
 Of all the Unescorted 
 Would most emphatically have 
 done, 
 
 However loosely sorted. 
 I wondered how I ever lived 
 
 So long on plains of sand 
 
 I :.3 ] 
 
Where bachelors so seldom wived, 
 Since wives were not at hand. 
 
 I thought about my pardner, too, 
 
 Inclined to telegraph; 
 But, knowing well what he would 
 do, 
 
 Recalling, too, his laugh. 
 Decided not to even write, 
 But leave him to his foolish fight. 
 Perhaps when I should victor be, 
 
 And that would not be long, 
 He might receive a word from me, 
 
 In accent clear and strong, 
 Descriptive of celibacy: 
 
 But meanwhile, life — the 
 throng! 
 My first impression lasted through 
 
 An active week, or more; 
 The buildings and the streets I 
 knew; 
 
 And many a marble door, 
 
 [34] 
 
Or corner, knew my figure well, 
 For there I loved to stand 
 
 And watch the crowds of people 
 swell 
 Like waves upon the sand. 
 
 Oh, many a face that pa; ed me by 
 
 Did yet in passing cast 
 A curious glance that brought a 
 sigh 
 
 And made my heart go fast; 
 For some were queerly sad, I 
 thought, 
 
 As if they wished to find 
 A friend above the common lot. 
 
 More constant or more kind; 
 As if they knew the world too well 
 
 To quite believe in men. 
 They came, they glanced, and in 
 the swell 
 
 Of life were lost again. 
 
 [35l 
 
 -7i >ss5 ■?■*;- iSSr'»*r'-*M» 
 
The weeks moved on, as did the 
 throng, 
 
 And 1 began to see 
 That something had gone 
 strangely wrong 
 
 Within the heart of me. 
 For I could now no longer yearn 
 
 To care for one alone. 
 So many seemed to me to turn 
 
 For help! And, too, w^as gone 
 Concern about myself; indeed 
 
 It seemed a selfish thing, 
 Amid this universal need, 
 
 This silent suffering. 
 
 At times, in thinking now of lives 
 
 Outside my petty own, 
 And how a human custom drives 
 
 Man's soul to folly dow.., 
 I wondered why these women here 
 
 Submitted to their lot. 
 With silent sigh, suppressed tear, 
 
 [36] 
 
When what their beings souglit 
 Existed in a world far less 
 
 Extensive than we think, 
 Where there are wells of iiappi- 
 ncss 
 
 Whereof we all may drink. 
 Or most of us, if but we dare 
 
 To let not vanity, 
 The serf of custom, tell us where 
 
 To go, and what to be! 
 
 Yet, might they not be slaves of 
 Gold, 
 
 The thought occurred to me, 
 As well as custom; growing old 
 
 That ')thers might be free 
 To revel in the joys of youth — 
 Devoid of justice as of ruth? 
 Perhaps it was the memory 
 
 Of freedom of the prairie 
 That brought the bondage home 
 to me 
 
 (3/ I 
 
Of this life sedentary, 
 This life of waiting, hidden from 
 
 The very thing desired — 
 Expecting, praying it will come, 
 
 Until at last too tired. 
 
 It seemed to me that I must try 
 
 My hand at the invention 
 Of some new system ; nay, defy 
 
 The world and its convention ; 
 That I must bring the prairies east 
 
 And take the cities west ; 
 And make man happy as the beast, 
 
 And women quite as blest. 
 
 But when I walked the streets 
 again, 
 Among the busy masses, 
 Among those mighty, heartless 
 men, 
 And pretty, helpless lasses, 
 
 [38] 
 
I knew the world would laugh at 
 
 me, 
 
 And cheat me, being stronger; 
 And so, discouraged, presently 
 
 I thought of lives no longer, 
 But only of my little scheme, 
 
 Of how I mjght be finding 
 The creature of my former dream, 
 
 In streets so wide and winding. 
 
 Accordingly I laid a plan. 
 
 And marshalled all my forces, 
 As well becometh any man 
 
 Who hand of Fate coerces. 
 I'd make a tour of every store 
 
 Of size, and there were many — 
 But Fate threw something in my 
 eyes, 
 
 And tossed a magic penny 1 
 
 I saw Her run to catch a car. 
 But stumble on the curbing; 
 
 [39] 
 
And I was not so very far 
 
 Away, oh, thoui^ht perturbing;! 
 But that I managed to assist 
 
 A suitcase in preventing 
 Collision with the thing she 
 missed — 
 
 A block of sound cementing. 
 She thanked me hurriedly, her 
 eyes 
 
 Into my spirit burning, 
 But ere my brain could realize 
 
 That here the point of turning 
 In all my life had come at length, 
 
 Another car had taken 
 'i'his girl, my heart, my thoughts, 
 my strength — 
 
 And I stood there, forsaken! 
 
 What matter that the city raged 
 About me in its passion, 
 
 That every minute here was staged 
 A drama, olu of fashion 
 
 [40] 
 
As life itself ; that here were hearts 
 
 As painful in their beatitig, 
 As full of a^^onies ami smarts 
 
 As mine, their paiii;s repeatini;? 
 1 saw no face upon the street, 
 
 I heard no city clamor: 
 llpon my palms I saw the sweat, 
 
 WithMi ! i.eard a hammer. 
 
 So went the days, and then the 
 weeks — 
 A suitcase — a vacation. 
 A lover to his shadow speaks: 
 
 "By her pronunciation, 
 I know she was a Boston girl." 
 And then would come the llout- 
 ing 
 Of fears; and hopes; the madden- 
 ing swirl 
 Of wishes; and the doubting. 
 
 My appetite forsook me quite, 
 I lost in weight and color, 
 
 [41I 
 
 'ffw^^^asfr^- 
 
I hated day and dreaded night. 
 
 And life became a dolor. 
 Then when the watching palled on 
 
 me, 
 
 The waiting and the hoping, 
 I took a cottage by the sea, 
 
 And sat there, lifeless, moping. 
 But this was even worse, me- 
 thought, 
 
 Than scanning passing faces, 
 And so I left my lonely cot 
 
 And sought familiar places; 
 The corners and the office doors 
 
 And parks again frequented. 
 Like some lost spirit on the moors 
 
 Of life, outcast, demented. 
 
 One day, when, as it seemed to 
 me, 
 
 I could not thus forever 
 Go on, I wept — wept bitterly. 
 
 My mind upon the river. 
 
 [42] 
 
But this was well; it made me 
 pause, 
 
 And not a little shamed me: 
 Should I give up the fight because 
 
 Old Fate had somewhat lamed 
 
 me? 
 No, let me wait, and fight, and 
 
 wait, 
 Remain and find vocation, 
 That if she come, however late, 
 She find me at my station! 
 
 Along the streets, encased in ice. 
 The wind swept wet and shiv- 
 ery; 
 I turned into the Post Office 
 And passed by "General De- 
 livery." 
 I had a letter in my hand 
 
 To Sol, the first since summer, 
 Requesting him to sell my land 
 And books to some newcomer. 
 
 [43l 
 
■!■■ 
 
 But now I halted ; might not he 
 
 Have answered that first letter? 
 The mail-clerk grinned on hand- 
 ing me 
 
 A wire. "This is better." 
 And when I saw it was not old 
 
 I felt a child's contrition: 
 Perhaps the tales of fairies told 
 
 Were not all superstition! 
 
 js- 
 
 "Come home at once, t 
 sage ran, 
 "If you should get this wire; 
 
 I want you, Billy, for best man- 
 Have found my One Desire." 
 
 1 laughed— but not from any joy ; 
 
 I hiughed instead of weeping. 
 "Will try to get there, Sol, old 
 boy," 
 
 I wired, my courage keeping. 
 
 [44l 
 
;SW9»» «• 
 
 Twere better; I had thus excuse 
 To straighten my affairs; 
 
 And having tully gotten loose 
 Would come back— to gray 
 hairs! 
 
 And now my pen unsteady falls 
 Upon the guileless sheet, 
 
 And life alarms, and love appalls; 
 But yet the task is sweet. 
 
 He met me at the depot, he 
 Who once had looked so glum, 
 
 His face a happy mystery. 
 
 "I knew — I knew you'd come!" 
 
 Perhaps he saw that I had 
 changed. 
 In fact, I know he saw; 
 But naught was dear old Sol es- 
 tranged — 
 As stable he as Law. 
 
 I 45] 
 
I felt his hand upon my back. 
 
 His blue eyes holding mine: 
 "Let's wander down the railway 
 track, 
 
 For appetite to dine." 
 
 We walked along, as we had 
 strolled 
 
 So often there together, 
 And I was full of thoughts of old, 
 
 In this Montana weather. 
 
 Then suddenly he pressed my 
 arm, 
 And bruised it in the process; 
 "Billy," said he, "a new school- 
 marm 
 Did come to Stolen Hosses, 
 And when I went, on business 
 bent, 
 Of course I had to meet her; 
 
 [46] 
 
And by this old prairie scent 
 
 There lives no woman 
 sweeter! . . . 
 And so for me. But now for you— 
 
 You ought to see" — He halted. 
 "Oh, pawdon, Bill ; I see, I do, 
 
 Old Boston has you salted!" 
 
 He spoke of business matters then, 
 And snow and wheat and 
 clover ; 
 
 But I was busy wondering when 
 The wedding would be over. 
 
 The steps with which I turned 
 with him 
 Toward a bungalow, 
 Where lights were bright and 
 hearth was dim, 
 A deep and welcome glow, 
 Was weary as the step I took 
 Back from a vanished car 
 
 [47] 
 
That morning of the steady look 
 From eyes that went so far. 
 
 He left me seated by the hearth, 
 
 The embers to explore, 
 And I was rambling o'er the 
 earth, 
 And eastern cities o'er, 
 When someone passed behind my 
 
 chair; 
 1 felt her presence in the air; 
 Before I turned I knew that there 
 
 Was She, the one, the One! 
 "I beg your pardon," she began — 
 And then — "Why, you — why 
 
 you're the man — 
 The day I left to visit Nan — " 
 
 Sol entered, on the run. 
 "Say, Helen, where's your sister 
 gone? — 
 
 [48] 
 
 ■. 
 
 BB 
 
Oh, by the way, meet Billy 
 
 Vaughn — 
 Down town? — I'll sec you two 
 
 ?) 
 
 anon — 
 With which the tale is done. 
 
 [49l