1 
 
 oems 
 
 : A N C H O H
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 POEM S.
 
 WORK-A-DAY POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 FANCHON 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 REVEIRS BROS., GRAYSTOKE PLACE, 
 
 FETTER LANE, E.C. 
 
 18 95.
 
 LONDON : 
 TRINTED BY GEO. REVEIRS, GRAYSTOKE PLACE, FETTER LANE, 
 
 E.C. i
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 ?R 
 
 Shattered Idols . 
 
 Life 
 
 Aching Hearts 
 
 Life's Heroes. 
 
 A Restless Night . 
 
 Longings 
 
 Love and Duty 
 
 Hereafter 
 
 I Wonder 
 
 Truth 
 
 A Woman's Ideal . 
 
 To Sissie. 
 
 Apples of Sodom . 
 
 A Vision of my Youth 
 
 To my Boys . 
 
 A Maiden's Dream. 
 
 A Woman's Cry 
 
 Hope 
 
 An Open Mind 
 
 To Grannie . 
 
 Human Nature 
 
 Ill-Temper 
 
 To my Dear Father 
 
 To my Mother 
 
 Middle Age . 
 
 To my Friend Belle 
 
 Only a Little Shoe 
 
 Old-Fashioned Stories 
 
 page 
 ii 
 
 12 
 14 
 
 15 
 
 16 
 
 l8 
 
 19 
 20 
 
 21 
 
 23 
 
 24 
 26 
 27 
 29 
 30 
 31 
 
 33 
 34 
 
 35 
 36 
 37 
 3S 
 39 
 41 
 42 
 
 43 
 
 45 
 46
 
 ( 6 ) 
 
 
 page 
 
 Sabbath Peace 
 
 • 47 
 
 Jessie's Boy 
 
 . 49 
 
 A Cultured Mind 
 
 5o 
 
 Thinking 
 
 • 52 
 
 Fond Relics of the Past 
 
 • 53 
 
 A Visit to Ashbridge, Devonshire 
 
 • 54 
 
 Sweet Sleep 
 
 • 56 
 
 The Thames by Night .... 
 
 ■ 57 
 
 Spring 
 
 ■ 53 
 
 Summer 
 
 59 
 
 Autumn . 
 
 60 
 
 Winter ....... 
 
 61 
 
 A E.IVER Trip 
 
 . 62 
 
 The Doctor 
 
 . 64 
 
 A London Street 
 
 ■ 65 
 
 London at Midnight .... 
 
 • 67 
 
 The New Hen 
 
 69 
 
 Old Father Thames .... 
 
 • 70 
 
 River Scenes on the Thames 
 
 • 7i 
 
 On Board the Victory. 
 
 73 
 
 The Cup of Tea 
 
 75 
 
 It's Comforting ..... 
 
 76 
 
 Whiskey Crow 
 
 78 
 
 To a Thrush in a London Street 
 
 80 
 
 The New Husband 
 
 81 
 
 The Flitch of Dunmow. . 
 
 83 
 
 Our Flat 
 
 84 
 
 Jack Frost 
 
 86 
 
 London Sparrows 
 
 87
 
 ( 7 ) 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Bit of Experience .... 
 
 83 
 
 To Ma Mie 
 
 89 
 
 Uncle's Red Letter Days . 
 
 90 
 
 The Old Forest ..... 
 
 91 
 
 The New Woman 
 
 92 
 
 A Penny in the Slot 
 
 93 
 
 The Indian Exhibition .... 
 
 94 
 
 At a Railway Station .... 
 
 96 
 
 Water. 
 
 97 
 
 Little Street Dancers 
 
 98 
 
 What is Coming 
 
 99 
 
 I Love you, Dear 
 
 103 
 
 Dearest 
 
 104 
 
 To my Sweetheart . . . . . 
 
 i°5 
 
 Must we Part, Love? 
 
 106 
 
 A Perfect Chord 
 
 107 
 
 To my Love ....... 
 
 10S 
 
 To my Dear Love 
 
 109 
 
 I Don't know why I Love Him so 
 
 TIO 
 
 Memories 
 
 III 
 
 Sweet Hours of Love .... 
 
 112 
 
 1 want you, Dear 
 
 JI 3 
 
 My Heart's Desire .... 
 
 114 
 
 Love is Love among the Roses . 
 
 "5 
 
 Summer Clouds 
 
 116 
 
 The Old Sun-Bonnet .... 
 
 • 117 
 
 T\t ATrif ^nir *-m-> XTt->t t -» r TV X 
 
 . 118 
 
 AIM lvl.tMU.KY Ur IN h.L.l^x 1V1 ■ . 
 
 Floating Fancies 
 
 . 11S 
 
 The Old Log in the Wood . 
 
 . 119
 
 TO THE 
 
 WORKERS OF THE WORK-A-DAV WORLD 
 
 THIS LITTLE BOOK OF 
 
 POEMS 
 
 IS SYMPATHETICALLY AND EXCLUSIVELY DEDICATED 
 
 BY THE 
 
 AUTHORESS, 
 
 WHO SINCERELY HOPES THEY MAY FIND IN IT 
 
 SOME FEW 
 
 WORDS OF COMFORT AND AMUSEMENT, 
 
 AND ALSO THAT, 
 
 BEING A FIRST EFFORT, 
 
 THEY WILL 
 
 KINDLY OVERLOOK ITS MANY IMPERFECTIONS. 
 
 F. E, S. 
 
 " Angel of Love and of Mercy, 
 
 Come with thy bright wings unfurl'd, 
 Heal them, and bless them, and lift them 
 Out of this work-a-day world." 
 
 —Jessie Moir.
 
 POEMS 
 
 SHATTERED IDOLS. 
 
 Do they come in every lifetime, 
 
 Those sweet enchanting dreams 
 Of noble aspirations, 
 
 Of glorious, lovely scenes ? 
 Of a life well-spent and useful, 
 Of a gentle, loving bride, 
 
 Who knows your heart 
 
 As you know hers, 
 And is ever by your side. 
 Of children sweet and beautiful 
 
 Of loving friends and true, 
 Oh ! tell me ye who read this, 
 
 Have you not dreamt them too ? 
 To many they are realised, 
 
 But many more, alas ! 
 Have only shattered idols, 
 
 Fond illusions of the past. 
 Will there come a time hereafter, 
 
 To those who have felt the pain, 
 Of sweet desires, unsatisfied, 
 
 And longings ever vain ; 
 When all those fond illusions, 
 
 Dreams, fancies of the past, 
 Will be living sweet realities, 
 
 In a fairer land at last ?
 
 ( 12 ) 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 What is life ? How oft that question 
 
 Has been whispered in the air ; 
 What is life ? will still be echoed 
 
 By many sad hearts in despair. 
 What is life ? Ah ! who can tell us ; 
 
 To each it takes a different guise. 
 What is life ? we ask the idler, 
 
 Living in frivolity. 
 What is life ? he answers lightly, 
 
 Life is just society. 
 What is life ? we ask the outcast, 
 
 Tramping sadly on his way. 
 Life is bread, he answers grimly 
 
 To a poor starving wretch, I say. 
 Life is art, exclaims the artist ; 
 
 Life is learning, says the sage ; 
 Life is loving, sighs the lover ; 
 
 Life is fighting, cries the brave ; 
 Life is nothing, yells the madman, 
 
 Rushing blindly to the grave ; 
 Life is laughing, sing the children, 
 
 Blowing bubbles in the air ; 
 Life is sorrow, murmurs sadly 
 
 Many a poor heart in despair ; 
 Life is like a mighty river, 
 
 Sings the poet in the song,
 
 ( >3 ) 
 
 Flowing onward, ever onward, 
 
 Bearing all of us along. 
 Life seems to me a powerful engine, 
 
 Feeding always from above, 
 And the strong force which propels it 
 
 Is the mighty power of love. 
 And this engine, throbbing onward, 
 
 Sometimes wanders off the track, 
 But love's mighty power will teach us 
 
 To direct and guide it back.
 
 ( 14 ) 
 
 ACHING HEARTS. 
 
 Aching hearts, ah ! what can heal them ? 
 
 Nothing but a loving word, 
 That, alas ! too oft is wanting, 
 
 When our angry temper's stirred. 
 
 Ah, how quickly words of anger 
 Spring unheeded to our lips ; 
 
 A word remembered for a lifetime, 
 In a moment from them slips. 
 
 Oh, to live without dissension, 
 
 Happy in each other's love; 
 Better that than any riches, 
 
 All other pleasure far above. 
 
 Hearts are aching, aching, aching, 
 
 Longing for a loving word ; 
 Oh, it's dreadful to be angry, 
 
 And ofttimes foolish and absurd.
 
 ( i5 ) 
 
 LIFE'S HEROES. 
 
 As I sat in the grand old Abbey, 
 
 And heard the organ peal, 
 I felt a flood of sympathy 
 
 Into my bosom steal ; 
 And I wondered if we ever 
 
 Should find a clue to life, 
 And the meaning of the sorrow, 
 
 Perplexities and strife. 
 I gazed upon the statues 
 
 Of the noble and the great, 
 And all the grand old heroes, 
 
 Thus acknowledged by the State ; 
 But my sympathy was not for them, 
 
 Their lives with joys were blent, 
 But for heroes in life's battle, 
 
 Who lived lives inconsequent. 
 Those noble souls who struggled 
 
 Against a cruel fate, 
 Shut out from fame or glory, 
 
 Or perchance it came too late ; 
 No statue to their memory, 
 
 No epitaph is theirs, 
 Save in the hearts they cherished, 
 
 And in their loving prayers. 
 And as I mused on sadly, 
 
 And the organ softly pealed, 
 For a moment the far-off future 
 
 Seemed to my mind revealed ; 
 And I fancied all those heroes 
 
 Were chanting the refrain : 
 " We were conquerors in life's battle, 
 
 And now to joys attain."
 
 ( i6 ) 
 
 A RESTLESS NIGHT. 
 
 I was weary wilh the strain of life, 
 And all the worry, care, and strife, 
 
 Almost wishing life was o'er, 
 
 My heart was heavy, sad, and sore 
 
 And as I lay at night and pondered, 
 Some hours before I slept, 
 
 At last some rays of comfort 
 Into my bosom crept. 
 
 I was thinking how in nature 
 
 What subtle force we see, 
 Transforming all corruptions 
 
 Into power and majesty. 
 
 How nothing's ever wasted, 
 But, by mysterious power, 
 
 Is changing, ever changing, 
 Every week and day and hour. 
 
 How the foulest of corruptions, 
 When they are put into the earth, 
 
 Cause fairest flowers to blossom, 
 And to new joys give birth. 
 
 So in our lives it may be, 
 That same mysterious power 
 
 Is using all the sorrow, 
 To make new joys to flower. 
 
 And as these thoughts came to me, 
 
 At last I calmly slept, 
 And soon some dreams and visions 
 
 To my senses gently crept.
 
 ( *7 ) 
 
 I seemed floating up in cloudland, 
 And round me in the air, 
 
 Came from the earth beneath me 
 Cries of anguish and despair, 
 
 Wrung from poor tortured mortals, 
 Suffering sadly on the earth, 
 
 Shut out from hope or gladness, 
 Or bright scenes of joy and mirth. 
 
 But as they rose around me, 
 Floating upward in the air, 
 
 I noticed all were changing 
 From sorrow and despair, 
 
 Into bright triumphant gladness, 
 And sounds of joyous mirth : 
 
 They had left behind their sadness, 
 As they rose beyond the earth. 
 
 Earth seemed just like a hot-bed. 
 
 Piled up with cares and woes, 
 Forcing upward lovely flowers, 
 
 From its aching, torturing throes. 
 
 And the keener was the anguish, 
 
 The greater was the joy ; 
 From the crudest wrongs and sorrows 
 
 Rose joys without alloy.
 
 ( i8 ) 
 
 LONGINGS. 
 
 How they come, those fitful longings, 
 
 Will nothing them dispel ? 
 If satisfaction took their place, 
 
 Would all yet be well ? 
 But 'tis longing, longing, longing, 
 
 Longing every day — 
 For something better, sweeter, 
 
 Purer every way. 
 When the daily tasks are over, 
 
 And one sits down to rest, 
 Tis then those fitful longings 
 
 Steal into the breast. 
 Are they weary, useless fancies, 
 
 Those strivings to attain ? 
 To heights of bliss immortal, 
 
 We could not now retain. 
 Or shall we find hereafter 
 
 That they have led us on, 
 To wish and strive for something, 
 
 Found in the world to come ?
 
 ( 19 ) 
 
 LOVE AND DUTY 
 
 Two angels were hovering 
 
 The dark earth above, 
 One was called Duty, 
 
 The other was Love. 
 They each had a mission 
 
 To the earth to fulfil, 
 To govern mankind, 
 
 And keep them from ill. 
 Love was an angel 
 
 Of beauteous light, 
 But Duty was stern, 
 
 And dark as the night. 
 For a long time 'twas Duty 
 
 Who held the most sway, 
 She governed by fear, 
 
 And made men obey 
 Stern laws made by those 
 
 Who held the most sway, 
 For fear of a penalty 
 
 Hereafter to pay. 
 But as men grew wiser 
 
 Light came from above, 
 To show them the beauty 
 
 Of acting from love, 
 Stern laws were less needed, 
 
 For men loved the right, 
 And Duty gave way 
 
 To the angel of light.
 
 ( 20 ) 
 
 HEREAFTER. 
 
 What shall we find hereafter, 
 
 If nothing ever dies ; 
 Shall we find our thoughts and feelings 
 
 In a different guise ? 
 Does every sigh we utter, 
 
 As it floats into the air, 
 Take on a form and semblance 
 
 Of what we wish for here ? 
 Oh ! if we find it is so, 
 
 How thankful we shall be, 
 If we've never harboured unkind thought, 
 
 And listened to the plea 
 Of the poor starving suffering ones, 
 
 That all around we see ; 
 If we have hated all oppression, 
 
 And unjust, cruel laws — 
 Made by man in ignorance 
 
 Of nature's noble cause : 
 If we have loved the fair and beautiful, 
 
 And never wished for more 
 Than a fair share of life's pleasures, 
 
 Whether rich or poor. 
 Oh ! shall we find hereafter, 
 
 That all the heartfelt pain 
 And bitter disappointments 
 
 Have never been in vain ; 
 That not a thought or feeling, 
 
 That's risen in our breast, 
 Has e'er been lost or wasted, 
 
 But led to happiness !
 
 ( 21 ) 
 
 I WONDER. 
 
 As I walk along the streets 
 
 My thoughts are all alive ; 
 
 I watch the struggling masses, 
 
 And all the busy hive 
 
 Of workers, 
 
 And I wonder what comes after, 
 
 If we shall ever know. 
 
 Can we hope when this life's over 
 
 That we shall still live on, 
 
 And the sweet parts will be with us, 
 
 And all the sorrow gone ? 
 
 Shall we see again our lost ones, 
 
 Is there only just a door, 
 
 Gently closing as they leave us, 
 
 With our hearts so sad and sore ? 
 
 What can be all the meaning 
 
 Of the sorrow, strife, and pain ; 
 
 Is there a subtle reason 
 
 For all the cruel strain ? 
 
 How we struggle to make money, 
 
 How we grasp, and strive, and yearn, 
 
 Hoping in this short life of ours 
 
 Some happiness to earn ? 
 
 Can we ever make it better ; 
 
 Will there come a day, in time, 
 
 When this world will be happier, 
 
 And joys will be divine ? 
 
 For in this world there's sweetness, 
 
 And grandeur, glory, power ; 
 
 It must all lead to something 
 
 If we only can endure.
 
 ( « ) 
 
 But, still, 'tis so perplexing 
 To see the best ones fall, 
 And fond hearts separated 
 Which might be all in all. 
 And then, too, one must wonder 
 If in the world to come, 
 There will still be seething masses 
 To help to struggle on. 
 What becomes of all the great ones- 
 Poets, painters, patriots, all, 
 Who in this world found glory ? 
 Surely they can never fall. 
 Think of the hours they studied 
 Their glory to attain, 
 Are they still climbing higher 
 Fresh honours to obtain ? 
 We are told by all the Churches 
 That in the world to come, 
 Glory awaits the chosen ones, 
 But still I wonder on. 
 What becomes of all the millions 
 Who doubt, and strive, and yearn ? 
 Only echo answers sadly, 
 And still I wonder on.
 
 ( 2 3 ) 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 I care not much for ancient lore, 
 
 New discoveries please me more, 
 
 And from me away I cast 
 
 Musty relics of the past. 
 
 I am longing to explore 
 
 Where my ancestors forbore. 
 
 I don't believe in standing still, 
 
 We must our destiny fulfil. 
 
 By old traditions I'm not bound. 
 
 For in them error must be found. 
 
 We want new laws to suit the times, 
 
 Old ones enthral and justice binds. 
 
 The world's advancing, so are we ; 
 
 And new and old do not agree. 
 
 But through all the truth lives still, 
 
 That traditions cannot kill ; 
 
 It pierces through the mighty store 
 
 Of man's old forgotten lore, 
 
 And through the gloom of passing years 
 
 That bright strong ray of light appears, 
 
 Softening hearts, repressing laws, 
 
 Teaching nature's noble cause, 
 
 Piercing through the mighty pile 
 
 Of man's ignorance and guile.
 
 ( M ) 
 
 A WOMAN'S IDEAL. 
 
 What should I choose my lot to be, 
 Were I of maiden fancy free ? 
 How should I choose my life to spend, 
 To keep me happy to the end ? 
 
 First, I should like to store my mind 
 With knowledge of a useful kind ; 
 To make me fit to be a friend 
 To those who on me might depend. 
 
 Then I should like to take a part 
 In science, music, poetry, art ; 
 In one of which I might excel, 
 At least, I could their beauties tell. 
 
 Of money I should like a share, 
 To keep me free from want or care ; 
 But not too much, or it would spoil 
 The pleasure of a little toil. 
 
 Of pretty clothes I like a few, 
 But not enough to make me rue. 
 I'd lost the joy of having new. 
 
 A pretty home, where everything 
 Would to my mind some memory bring ; 
 Some pictures rare, and works of art, 
 And curios, too, from every part.
 
 ( 25 ) 
 
 Of books I'd like a goodly store, 
 Increasing ever more and more ; 
 And flowers, too, of every kind, 
 A quantity I shouldn't mind. 
 
 Then I should like my home to share 
 A man of culture, rich and rare ; 
 A man of noble mind and soul, 
 Who would his household well control. 
 
 Kind friends around us, tried and true ; 
 Dear household pets, sweet children too ; 
 To have the joy of making glad 
 All hearts around us we found sad. 
 Oh, such a life, indeed, I'd spend 
 In sweet contentment to the end.
 
 ( 26 ) 
 
 TO SISSIE. 
 
 Sissie, little daughter, 
 
 Given us for a time, 
 Around your little figure 
 
 Sweetest memories twine. 
 
 Sissie, little daughter, 
 
 Our only little girl, 
 Only memories, darling, 
 
 And a little soft brown curl. 
 
 Oh, Sissie, little daughter, 
 I think 'twas for the best ; 
 
 I know, at least, my darling, 
 
 You are saved from care, and rest.
 
 ( 27 ) 
 
 APPLES OF SODOM. 
 
 In the morning of life, 
 
 When we all long to taste 
 The joys of existence, 
 
 Some gather in haste 
 Tempting apples of Sodom 
 
 Displayed to their view, 
 And sadly and surely 
 
 Most bitterly 'rue. 
 They eagerly snatch 
 
 At the coveted prize, 
 Knowing nothing at all 
 
 Of what inside lies ; 
 Until when they taste them 
 
 They find to their cost 
 Only apples of Sodom, 
 
 And true joys are lost. 
 Bright eager young spirits, 
 
 Untried and untaught, 
 'Tis sad you should suffer 
 
 For what you knew nought. 
 Those apples of Sodom 
 
 Seemed so fair to you, 
 You knew not the ashes 
 
 That they hid from view. 
 'Tis sad that in life 
 
 So few have the chance, 
 When once those false apples 
 
 They have in their grasp,
 
 ( 28 ) 
 
 To cast them side, 
 
 And gather anew 
 Fair apples of life, 
 
 Sound, solid, and true ; 
 But must cling to the ashes, 
 
 And no other joys taste 
 Of those apples of Sodom 
 
 They plucked in such haste. 
 'Tis cruel it should be so, 
 
 For the young seldom know 
 That fair apples of Sodom 
 
 Bring sorrow and woe ; 
 That the first eager impulse 
 
 That bids them to taste 
 Those apples of Sodom 
 
 So oft their lives waste ; 
 For until hearts are tried 
 
 They cannot well know 
 Where the apples of Sodom 
 
 Are likely to grow.
 
 ( 2 9 ) 
 
 A VISION OF MY YOUTH. 
 
 I dreamt how I should see her — 
 
 A vision robed in white, 
 Among the waving cornfields 
 
 She would burst upon my sight. 
 
 I dreamt how I should meet her, 
 Of the words that I should say, 
 
 To tell her all the homage 
 My heart so longed to pay. 
 
 I pictured all her sweetness 
 Of soul, and mind, and form, 
 
 Of the love that I would give her, 
 And joys as yet unborn. 
 
 'Twas always in the cornfields 
 
 I saw my darling stand — 
 A vision robed in white, 
 
 With sweet flowers in her hand. 
 
 Coming gladly on to meet me, 
 
 The mistress of my life, 
 To hold my heart for ever, 
 
 Safely free from care and strife. 
 
 But, alas, the vision's faded, 
 
 No more that form I see 
 Coming, smiling, through the cornfields 
 
 My heart's best love to be.
 
 ( 3° ) 
 
 But perhaps in the far hereafter 
 I shall find my darling there, 
 
 Waiting for me in the cornfield 
 With white lilies in her hair. 
 
 TO MY BOYS. 
 
 As little toddling baby boys, 
 
 You brought your Mother daily joys 
 
 Then as merry little boys 
 
 Your Mother dearly loved your noise. 
 
 As school boys, too, from day to day, 
 
 You made her heart feel light and gay. 
 
 And now you are to manhood grown, 
 
 With thankful heart she can but own, 
 
 She's thankful for the two dear boys, 
 
 Who to her life have brought such joys.
 
 ( 3i ) 
 
 A MAIDEN'S DREAM. 
 
 I dreamt how I should meet him, 
 
 The hero of my life, 
 His heart with love o'erflowing, 
 
 For me his future wife. 
 
 I dreamt how I should love him, 
 How blessed life would be, 
 
 With two fond hearts united 
 In perfect harmony. 
 
 I dreamt how I should help him 
 
 In all the cares of life, 
 And be his joy and solace, 
 
 His loving, faithful wife. 
 
 I dreamt how he would shelter me, 
 With his manly strength and power, 
 
 From the buffets of the cold world, 
 And dark clouds that might lower. 
 
 I dreamt that little children 
 Would be born to him and me, 
 
 To grow up in our likeness, 
 And cluster round his knee. 
 
 And of fair young men and maidens, 
 
 In the afternoon of life, 
 To be our fond hearts' solace, 
 
 And life with joys make rife.
 
 ( 32 ) 
 
 I dreamt of growing old together 
 In a peaceful country home, 
 
 Our hearts still held in tether, 
 When we cared no more to roam. 
 
 I dreamt in the far hereafter 
 I should see my love again, 
 
 Our fond hearts still united, 
 Our true love still the same.
 
 ( 33 ) 
 
 A WOMAN'S CRY. 
 
 Ah ! could I dare to speak openly, 
 
 To fulfil my destiny ; 
 
 To shake off" for once 
 
 The false bonds of society. 
 
 To care naught for calumny ; 
 
 To act from my heart honestly ; 
 
 And be as God made me, 
 
 The equal and helpmate of men. 
 
 Oh, men would soon see 
 
 How sweet life would be, 
 
 If their helpmates and partners 
 
 Were only set free. 
 
 Love would not pall, 
 
 And so soon turn to gall, 
 
 If women's lives were but grander 
 
 And freer from slander.
 
 ( 34 ) 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 In this life there's something lacking, 
 
 And for ever it will be, 
 For old and young, and all alike, 
 
 Lack sweet security. 
 
 Whatever joys we may have, 
 
 We never can be sure, 
 However sweet they may be, 
 
 That they can long endure. 
 
 It is the note of sadness 
 
 That permeates the earth, 
 That shadows all our gladness, 
 
 And gave to sorrow birth. 
 
 One thing alone has saved us, 
 And given our spirits rest, 
 
 'Tis that hope is ever springing 
 Eternal in the breast. 
 
 No sorrow, loss, or failure, 
 
 Can ever check its flow, 
 'Tis the one true source of happiness 
 
 And comfort we can know.
 
 ( 35 ) 
 
 AN OPEN MIND. 
 
 We are some of us yearning and pining for light, 
 To point out a method to lead our lives right, 
 The way to be happy we all long to find, 
 To further that end— keep open the mind. 
 If we dwell on one subject we all of us know 
 How horribly narrow and selfish we grow. 
 There's always a somebody, all the world knows, 
 Who can talk of nought else but themselves and their 
 
 woes. 
 The way to be happy they never can find, 
 For dwelling on self will not open the mind. 
 If we look at a subject from one point of view, 
 We can little imagine the harm we may do. 
 With the best of intentions, be they ever so kind, 
 So it's far the best way to keep open the mind. 
 Our lives are so different, that what may suit you, 
 Another may try and most bitterly rue. 
 To force our opinions is always unkind ; 
 'Tis far the best way to keep open the mind. 
 Narrow creeds have debarred and lessened in part 
 The power of religion to soften the heart ; 
 But love's mighty magic, we ever shall find, 
 Is the very best wedge to keep open the mind. 
 The sweet breath of heaven blows down from above, 
 .Spreading around us the spirit of love ; 
 In fair open spaces finest flowers we find, 
 To gather fine thoughts — keep open the mind.
 
 ( 36 ) 
 
 TO GRANNIE. 
 
 Dear Grannie, with your silvery curls 
 
 And gentle soft blue eyes, 
 The memory of your sweet old face 
 
 Is a treasure we all prize. 
 
 Dear Grannie, I can picture you 
 
 As when I saw you last, 
 Sitting in the old arm chair, 
 
 While your life was ebbing fast. 
 
 Dear Grannie, with your life well spent 
 Gently passing from our sight, 
 
 With loving thoughts for every one, 
 Praying for us day and night. 
 
 Dear loving, sweet old Grannie, 
 After years of care and trial, 
 
 You always kept your sweetness 
 And your gentle, loving smile. 
 
 Dear Grannie, when you said good-bye 
 You told me, with that smile, 
 
 "I shall see your little Sissie, dear, 
 In a very little while." 
 
 Dear Grannie, are you with her now, 
 In some far-off happy land ? 
 
 Will you come to meet me some day 
 With my darling, hand in hand ?
 
 ( 37 ) 
 
 HUMAN NATURE. 
 
 'Twas in London's busy season, 
 When gay life was at its height, 
 
 That as I lay a sleeping, 
 
 I dreamed a dream one night. 
 
 I wandered on through scenes of fashion, 
 And it always seemed to me, 
 
 A voice was ever whispering : 
 I am stifling, set me free. 
 
 I gazed around me at the faces, 
 Wondering which one it could be, 
 
 That in my ear kept whispering 
 For ever the same plea. 
 
 For I thought in all their faces, 
 Something wanting seemed to be ; 
 
 Yet I tried me ever vainly 
 To see what it could be. 
 
 At last a voice came near me, 
 And whispered, " Can't you see, 
 
 It's poor old human nature 
 
 They are stifling — set me free. :;
 
 ( 38 ) 
 
 ILL-TEMPER. 
 
 What a strain it makes of life, 
 
 To avoid a constant strife, 
 
 Having always to suppress 
 
 The thoughts and feelings of your breast. 
 
 Fearing always to offend, 
 Your character cannot ascend ; 
 You can't be candid, honest, true, 
 For free hereafter you may rue. 
 
 You must plot and plan, and hide 
 To avoid the constant chide, 
 And the angry look and frown, 
 That bear your heart and spirit down. 
 
 You must hide and crush, and smother, 
 All the things that you may bother, 
 Never daring to unbend, 
 For fear the storm on you descend. 
 
 If such people only knew 
 
 What a lot of harm they do, 
 
 By being selfish, jealous, crabby, 
 
 I think they'd see their conduct's shabby ; 
 
 And find out also to their cost, 
 
 What a lot of joy they've lost.
 
 ( 39 ) 
 
 TO MY DEAR FATHER. 
 
 Dearest father, you have left me, 
 Now for many a long, long year, 
 
 Yet your memory ever will be 
 A treasure to my heart most dear. 
 
 I remember, dearest father, 
 
 The long, long talks I had with you, 
 And as years go on I ever 
 
 Prove your words were good and true. 
 
 I have the letters still you wrote me, 
 When I was scarcely in my teens ; 
 
 And as I read them time has faded — 
 Only yesterday it seems. 
 
 How you used to like to hear me 
 Sing the songs I loved to you, 
 
 And I always longed to show you 
 Any new thing I could do. 
 
 I remember, dearest father, 
 
 How we used for many an hour 
 
 To wander round our sweet old garden, 
 To search for some new opening flower. 
 
 How you loved to find in nature 
 Always some new hidden joy, 
 
 And your nature was as artless 
 
 As though you still were quite a b oy.
 
 ( 40 ) 
 
 With all my youthful joys and sorrows 
 You could always sympathise ; 
 
 Oh the memory of your kindness 
 I do most sincerely prize. 
 
 Dear, hard-working, noble father, 
 Taken from us in your prime, 
 
 Your wise words and bright example 
 Will be with us for all time.
 
 ( 41 ) 
 
 TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 Written after Her Visit, August, 1895. 
 
 Dear mother, with your weight of years, 
 More than threescore and ten, 
 Tis wonderful how young you seem, 
 And how well you carry them. 
 
 With your quick, untiring energy, 
 And clever, active ways, 
 Your sons and daughters look at you 
 With wonder and amaze. 
 
 Left a widow in your prime, 
 
 With a family of nine, 
 
 Your troubles, mother, were not few, 
 
 But bravely you have battled through. 
 
 Now in your old age left alone, 
 Your sons and daughters from you flown, 
 With homes and families of their own, 
 Of course, dear, sometimes you feel lone 
 
 But I am counting, let me see, 
 You are grandmamma to thirty-three 
 Laughing, happy, girls and boys, 
 To fill your heart and bring you joys. 
 
 We all admire you, mother dear, 
 With your pretty hair and skin so clear, 
 And for your clever, active ways, 
 We all unite to sing your praise.
 
 ( 42 ) 
 
 MIDDLE AGE. 
 
 It is a sad and pensive time 
 
 To women who have reached their prime, 
 
 While with them the love of youth still lingers, 
 
 To sadly watch time's cruel ringers 
 
 Marking out the passing years, 
 
 Their beauty fades with bitter tears. 
 
 'Tis then a woman most needs love 
 
 And true affection, far above 
 
 The lighter loves of other years, 
 
 To soothe her heart and dry her tears. 
 
 This sadness passes after years, 
 
 But never without bitter tears. 
 
 And a woman settles down once more 
 
 When she feels the love of youth is o'er, 
 
 When sweet contentment takes the place 
 
 Of youthful joy and dainty grace ; 
 
 'Tis then upon the features lies 
 
 The loveliness that never dies.
 
 ( 43 ) 
 
 TO MY FRIEND BELLE. 
 
 Belle, my dear old friend, 
 
 On you I do depend, 
 
 As you may to the end 
 
 On your old friend Fan. 
 
 We were girls together, 
 
 And through fair and stormy weather, 
 
 Our hearts have still kept tether, 
 
 My sweet, true friend. 
 
 We've had some happy times, 
 And round your memory twines 
 The sweetest recollections 
 Of my youth, dear Belle, 
 When you lived next door, 
 How we used to pour 
 All our hopes and fears 
 In each other's ears. 
 
 And then you went away, 
 
 Ah ! how I rue the day, 
 
 And I have had to live without you, 
 
 My dear friend, Belle. 
 
 But I often from you hear, 
 
 And your letters always cheer, 
 
 The heart of, Belle, my dear, 
 
 Your old friend Fan.
 
 ( 44 ) 
 
 And when sometimes we meet, 
 Tis is very, very sweet 
 To pour out all my heart 
 To my dear, tried friend 
 
 So, Belle, my dear old friend, 
 Love me always to the end, 
 As will you, you may depend 
 Your old friend Fan.
 
 ( 45 ) 
 
 ONLY A LITTLE SHOE. 
 
 A mother sat in bitter grief, 
 Her bursting heart found no relief ; 
 Her life was waning with the strain, 
 Naught could relieve the bitter pain. 
 
 They tried in vain to bring the tears, 
 Her husband gently told his fears ; 
 When close beside her on the floor 
 A tiny little shoe she saw. 
 
 A little shoe that bore the form 
 
 The little foot in life had worn ; 
 
 In a moment it had opened 
 
 The fountain of her tears, 
 
 And from her husband's heart was lifted 
 
 The burden of his fears. 
 
 Only a little shoe, down-trodden 
 
 By a little toddling form ; 
 
 But it saved a mother's life, and comfort 
 
 To a husband's heart was borne.
 
 ( 46) 
 
 OLD-FASHIONED STORIES. 
 
 In the twilight little children 
 Like to cluster round your knee, 
 
 And the pretty, eager voices 
 All echo the same plea : 
 
 Tell us a pretty story, 
 
 Tell us a little tale, 
 And the sweet, old-fashioned stories 
 
 To them are never stale. 
 
 How eagerly they've listened, 
 And with rapt attention stood, 
 
 While we have told again the story 
 Of dear Red Riding Hood. 
 
 What an eager, bright expression 
 Some pretty wee face wears, 
 
 As we tell the thrilling story 
 Of the wonderful Three Bears. 
 
 How the boys love Jack the Beanstalk, 
 
 And the Giant Killer too, 
 Those old, old-fashioned stories 
 
 To them are always new. 
 
 These days we have modern stories 
 
 And fairy tales galore ; 
 But the old, old-fashioned stories 
 
 Please the little children more. 
 
 Old nursery rhymes and stories 
 Come back in after years, 
 
 With sweet, fond recollections, 
 That fill our eyes with tears.
 
 ( 47 ) 
 
 SABBATH PEACE. 
 
 Softly peal the church bells 
 Through the balmy air ; 
 
 All around the face of Nature 
 Seems a Sabbath calm to wear. 
 
 Gently through the church door 
 Steals the soft, warm breeze, 
 
 Bringing with it perfume 
 And the sound of leaves. 
 
 Softly sweet birds twitter 
 
 Without in the grand old trees, 
 The branches waving softly, 
 
 Touched by the morning breeze. 
 
 Brightly shine the sunbeams 
 On the old church walls, 
 
 Slanting o'er the pulpit 
 And the old oak stalls. 
 
 Soon the sound of voices 
 Is floating through the air, 
 
 As the choristers are chanting 
 The hymn for morning prayer. 
 
 Sweet Sabbath peace is stealing 
 
 Upon my weary brain, 
 Tired with the city's turmoil 
 
 And all the ceaseless strain.
 
 ( 48 ) 
 
 But in this lovely village, 
 
 On this peaceful Sabbath morn, 
 Steals contentment to my spirit, 
 
 And to life new joys are born. 
 
 Would that every busy toiler 
 In this weary world of ours, 
 
 Could enjoy the sweet refreshment 
 Of these country Sabbath hours.
 
 ( 49 ) 
 
 JESSIE'S BOY. 
 
 Ah ! he is a thing of joy, 
 That sweet darling, Jessie's boy ; 
 Fair and fresh and bright is he — 
 Laughing, happy, full of glee. 
 Peeping round, he looks at you, 
 With his sweet eyes bright and blue : 
 And to see his pretty smile 
 I would gladly walk a mile. 
 He is full of saucy tricks, 
 Cleverly he builds his bricks ; 
 Dearly, too, he loves his " Dad," 
 That bright, laughing little lad. 
 Now he is his parent's joy, 
 The dear "chappie," Jessie's boy ; 
 Sweetest gift from Heaven above, 
 Crowning blessing of their love. 

 
 (5° ) 
 
 A CULTURED MIND. 
 
 If we want true joy to find, 
 We must culture well our mind ; 
 For Nature hides her wonders deep, 
 Where ignorance can't get a peep. 
 
 In cultured lands fair flowers we find ; 
 Tis just the same thing with the mind — 
 If we study Nature's store, 
 Joys will blossom more and more. 
 
 What interest and joy untold 
 
 One science only can enfold ; 
 
 When once our mind has found the key 
 
 New wonders every day we see. 
 
 Minds alone on pleasure bent 
 Will always harbour discontent ; 
 We must work, our minds to store, 
 And joys will blossom more and more. 
 
 Think what joy an artist feels 
 When he a gem from Nature steals, 
 On his canvas to pourtray, 
 Where it will live for many a day. 
 
 And a sculptor, when with life 
 His glorious works are full and rife, 
 What intense joy he must find 
 To show his grund works to mankind.
 
 ( 5i ) 
 
 And musicians, when their mind 
 The sweetest notes in nature find, 
 What intense and thrilling joy 
 A grand composer must enjoy. 
 
 To hear those notes and tones float on, 
 Flooding all around with song. 
 Oh, the purest earthly joy 
 Must be theirs without alloy. 
 
 And the scientific mind 
 Also grandest joy can find 
 Diving into Nature's store, 
 Finding wonders more and more. 
 
 Oh, it is an endless theme — 
 
 The wonders that in Nature teem ; 
 
 And intensest joy to find 
 
 We must culture well the mind.
 
 ( 5^ ) 
 
 THINKING. 
 
 Thinking, always thinking ; 
 
 Thinking of the past, 
 Thinking of the future, 
 
 And joys which never last. 
 
 Thinking of the troubles 
 That crowd my daily life ; 
 
 Thinking what it might be 
 If with joy 'twere full and rife. 
 
 Oh ! what's the good of thinking, 
 
 Thinking every day ; 
 Trying to solve the problem, 
 
 Which it seems we never may. 
 
 -But still I go on thinking, 
 Morning, noon, and night ; 
 
 So, perhaps, with all my thinking, 
 I may at last see light.
 
 ( 53 ) 
 
 FOND RELICS OF THE PAST. 
 
 I have a few dear relics 
 
 Of my early boyhood's days, 
 And the ready tears rush to my eyes, 
 
 As on them I fondly gaze. 
 The stick my father carried, 
 
 The studs he often wore, 
 Bring back many a memory 
 
 Of the days now past and o'er. 
 
 I can see him standing as he stood 
 On many a Sabbath morn, 
 
 With his kindly smile and happy face, 
 And noble port and firm. 
 
 Dear honoured friend and father, 
 Though twenty years have passed, 
 
 Your memory is still fresh to me, 
 And will be to the last. 
 
 But most treasured of my relics 
 
 Above all else beside, 
 Is the pocket my dear mother wore 
 
 Until the time she died. 
 'Tis just as then she left it, 
 
 And o'er it my tears fall fast, 
 
 As I press it softly to my lips, 
 Thinking sadly of the past. 
 
 Dear patient, loving mother, 
 My friend in youth and prime, 
 
 Your wise words and noble counsels 
 Will be with me for all time.
 
 ( 54 ) 
 
 A VISIT TO ASHRIDGE, DEVONSHIRE. 
 
 My heart was light within me, 
 
 I felt the joy of life, 
 All around the face of Nature 
 
 With lovely scenes was rife. 
 
 As I listened to the lark's sweet song, 
 
 And smelt the balmy air, 
 On this lovely bright spring morning, 
 
 I felt that life was fair. 
 
 To watch the golden sunrise, 
 
 Near the pretty rustic stile, 
 Through which the winding path was peeping, 
 
 I lingered for a while. 
 
 Then I wandered to the lovely woods, 
 And stood upon the bridge, 
 
 And gazed upon the spot I love, 
 Fair, beautiful Ashridge. 
 
 The wind was moaning through the pines, 
 
 And to my ears it bore 
 A strange and weird resemblance 
 
 To the city's mighty roar.
 
 ( 55 ) 
 
 I stood in God's own temple, 
 Listening to the moaning pines, 
 
 With the sweet works of Nature, 
 Of his great love the signs. 
 
 Alone with head uncovered, 
 
 I felt a reverent awe, 
 As the force and strength of Nature 
 
 Struck me more and more. 
 
 Fair, lovely, peaceful Ashridge, 
 
 No spot I love so well, 
 Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, 
 
 In each I've felt your spell.
 
 ( 56) 
 
 SWEET SLEEP. 
 
 Sweet sleep, the crowning blessing 
 Sent to mortals on the earth ; 
 
 Sweet sleep, our greatest solace, 
 From the first hour of our birth. 
 
 Sweet sleep, and calm forgetfulness 
 
 Of all our pains and ills, 
 As it falls upon our eyelids, 
 
 Calm peace our bosom fills. 
 
 Oh ! lovely, peaceful, balmy sleep, 
 Foretaste of joys in store, 
 
 When the trials and perplexities 
 Of life shall be no more. 
 
 " He giveth His beloved sleep," 
 Sweet message from above, 
 
 Filling our hearts with happiness, 
 And joy, and peace, and love.
 
 ( 57 ) 
 
 THE THAMES BY NIGHT. 
 
 What a grand majestic sight 
 It is to see the Thames by night, 
 To watch the lights of London glow, 
 And glitter as the waters flow. 
 
 How silently they seem to creep, 
 The waters so profoundly deep, 
 How dark and long the shadows seem, 
 And with fantastic fancies teem. 
 
 And on the vessels one by one 
 Lights seem like twinkling stars to come 
 In the dark blue sky appearing 
 When the shades of night are nearing. 
 
 The bridges are a fairy sight, 
 Glowing with electric light, 
 Shining softly on the river, 
 Making there their outlines glimmer. 
 
 How weirdly sounds the splash of oars, 
 Echoing faintly from the shores, 
 Quite a different sound by night 
 From in the morning fair and bright. 
 
 And when beyond the city's glow, 
 Still farther with the tide they go ; 
 Oh, how lonely, dark, and drear 
 The silent river does appear. 
 
 How it fills the mind with awe 
 As darkness deepens more and more, 
 While above the night bird cries, 
 And around the pale mists rise.
 
 ( 58 ) 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 I can hear the sweet birds singing 
 As they are pairing in the trees, 
 
 I can see the wee buds coming 
 Closely o'er the branching trees. 
 
 I can see the primrose peeping 
 
 In the hollow of the dell, 
 And the lovely violet hiding 
 
 By the side of bonnie bell. 
 
 And the hedges budding shyly, 
 Like a maiden in her teens, 
 
 All creation brimming over, 
 
 With the joy of young life seems. 
 
 Sweetly green the grass is looking, 
 Comforting the weary eyes; 
 
 Tired of Winter's sombre colour, 
 They the joy of Springtime prize. 
 
 Bonnie, budding Springtime, 
 
 With joy on you we gaze, 
 Bringing to our hearts fresh gladness, 
 
 And the thoughts of Summer days.
 
 ( 59 ) 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 All the earth is overflowing 
 With the joy of summer days ; 
 
 Every hill, and plain, and valley 
 With fullest beauty is ablaze. 
 
 All the trees full leaf are showing, 
 Flowers in fairest beauty growing, 
 
 Birds are warbling the refrain — 
 Sweet summer's with us once again. 
 
 Rivers sparkle in the sunshine, 
 
 Brooks are babbling the sweet song, 
 
 Winter's cruel frosts are over, 
 
 Here's the joy we wished for long. 
 
 And by the sea the waves are lapping 
 A gentle murmur to the breeze, 
 
 As their sparkling, dancing waters 
 Eagerly the sunshine seize. 
 
 The sky its brightest blue is showing, 
 And the soft, white summer clouds 
 
 Glisten like great rocks of silver 
 Or form fantastic, floating shrouds. 
 
 Lovely, blooming, sparkling summer, 
 
 We welcome you again ; 
 While your sunny days are with us 
 
 Sweetest joys with us remain.
 
 ( 60 ) 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 Softly o'er the landscape, 
 
 As the sunbeams glint, 
 We can see there's stealing, 
 
 The rich, warm autumn tint. 
 
 Soon the lovely verdure 
 
 Of summer will be past, 
 And o'er the face of nature 
 
 Creep the beauty that comes last. 
 
 All the leaves are changing 
 To brown and golden red ; 
 
 Each shade most sweetly blended, 
 O'er all the landscape spread. 
 
 The swallows are preparing 
 
 To seek another clime ; 
 All Nature's to us showing 
 
 It's no longer summer time. 
 
 Soon the wind will scatter 
 The leaves upon the ground ; 
 
 And not a glimpse of summer 
 Will anywhere be found. 
 
 Oh ! lovely, golden autumn, 
 We love you while you last ; 
 
 But through your beauty stealing, 
 We feel stern winter's blast.
 
 ( 6i ) 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 Closely in its icy grip 
 
 Sweet Nature winter binds, 
 
 And only very little scope 
 To give us joy she finds. 
 
 But to do her very best, 
 
 With all her might she tries, 
 
 She sends the lovely floating snow, 
 Which all things beautifies. 
 
 Covering with its mantle 
 The poor cold frozen earth, 
 
 And protecting all her treasures, 
 Which to spring joys give birth. 
 
 She brings us Christmas roses, 
 Our longing hearts to cheer, 
 
 And evergreens and hollies, 
 All through the winter sere. 
 
 But though she is held in bondage, 
 It makes us love her more, 
 
 When in the happy springtime 
 She is free again once more.
 
 ( 62 ) 
 A RIVER TRIP. 
 
 IN MEMORY OF SHEPPERTON. 
 
 Starting off four of us, 
 
 On a fine morn, 
 With the eatables packed 
 
 In a hamper in form. 
 Stepping in the boat warily, 
 Off we go cheerily, 
 Pulling on steadily 
 For the first mile or so. 
 Then as the day goes on. 
 
 The sun getting hotter, 
 Just for a little time 
 
 Quietly we potter 
 Under the shady trees, 
 
 Fanning the fresh, cool breeze, 
 Happily, lazily, 
 
 Just for a little time. 
 Then we feel hungry, 
 Longing to plunder 
 The contents of the hamper ; 
 So quickly we scamper, 
 Getting the lunch in time, 
 Then on the bank recline, 
 Cosily, drowsily, 
 Just a sweet hour or two.
 
 ( 63 ) 
 
 Then as the day declines 
 Off we start homeward. 
 
 Soon the moon softly shines 
 As we glide onward. 
 
 Pulling on steadily, 
 
 Singing so merrily, 
 
 Soon arrive at the landing stage, 
 
 Happy day's over.
 
 ( 64 ) 
 
 THE DOCTOR. 
 During Influenza, 1895. 
 
 Rushing to the Doctor's door 
 
 All day the people go — 
 
 Will the Doctor please to go at once 
 
 To Mrs. So-and-So ? 
 
 And Mrs. Someone in the square 
 
 Is very, very bad — 
 
 Will the Doctor please to send at once 
 
 The medicine by the lad. 
 
 He scarce has time to eat his meals, 
 
 For all day long the bell still peals. 
 
 The people round are all so bad, 
 
 It's enough to drive the poor man mad. 
 
 Still calmly on from day to day 
 
 He plods along his useful way ; 
 
 Spending all his time and skill 
 
 To restore the weak and ill ; 
 
 Carrying comfort in his train — 
 
 The product of his busy brain. 
 
 With a kindly word and smile for all, 
 
 No matter when on him they call ; 
 
 To all around, from far and near, 
 
 The Doctor's face is very dear.
 
 ( 6 
 
 j 
 
 A LONDON STREET. 
 
 If we want a place to find 
 With subject for a thoughtful mind, 
 With interest and life replete, 
 Is a busy London street. 
 
 If we watch the passers by, 
 As on their busy way they hie, 
 With almost every form of life 
 We see the streets of London rife. 
 
 Young and old, and rich and poor, 
 Passing ever on they pour, 
 Some with happiness aglow, 
 Others full of grief and woe. 
 
 Busy, bustling city men ; 
 Writers, living by their pen ; 
 Schoolboys whistling on their way ; 
 Maidens shopping, bright and gay. 
 
 Foreigners from every part 
 Flocking to the central mart, 
 Some on business seem intent, 
 Others more for pleasure bent. 
 
 Merchandise and works of art, 
 Gathered here from every part, 
 In the London shops we find 
 In every form, and shape, and kind.
 
 ( 66) 
 
 Curios from foreign climes 
 Of ancient and of modern times, 
 Rarest books and prints galore, 
 Here we find a goodly store. 
 
 Flowers of beauty rich and rare 
 In the shops are crowded there ; 
 Fruits from every part and clime 
 Brightly in the windows shine. 
 
 With all the forms of human passion, 
 With all the styles of life and fashion, 
 With every phase of modern life 
 Are the streets of London rife.
 
 ( 67 ) 
 
 LONDON AT MIDNIGHT. 
 
 A glorious sight is London, 
 
 In the midnight hours ; 
 With its myriads of twinkling lights, 
 
 Like gold and silver showers. 
 
 With the seamy side all hidden 
 By the moonlight's tender rays ; 
 
 The splendour of the City then 
 Fills travellers with amaze. 
 
 The streets all lined with carriages, 
 
 Magnificent and grand, 
 For the Opera or Theatre, 
 
 In or round the Strand. 
 
 In the middle of the season, 
 
 Take a stroll around ; 
 Such scenes of wealth and grandeur 
 
 Can nowhere else be found. 
 
 From Operas, Balls, and Theatres, 
 Gay crowds soon quickly press, 
 
 Hastening to their carriages, 
 In brilliant evening dress. 
 
 Soon they smoothly bowl along, 
 Carrying off the splendid throng ; 
 
 Cabs and 'buses homeward hie, 
 And soon the sounds of traffic die.
 
 ( 68 ) 
 
 The grand old streets are silent then, 
 From the sound and tread of men ; 
 
 Wander onwards to the river ; 
 See the myriad gaslights quiver. 
 
 Walk along the grand Embankment, 
 Where remains now scarce a fragment 
 
 Of the Ancient City's pile ; 
 All is now in splendid style. 
 
 View it all by moonlight, 
 
 This glorous London City ; 
 When the seamy side is hidden, 
 
 To miss 'twould be a pity.
 
 ( 69 ) 
 
 THE NEW HEN. 
 Willi apologies lo "Punch™ 
 
 A new hen was strutting about in a yard, 
 When an old cock, considered a bit of a card, 
 Of the old school, began with her to discuss, 
 The various topics then making a fusr. 
 
 " Oh ! " said the new hen, addressing the cock, 
 
 " Times have much altered since you have grown up, 
 
 And all for the better, I'd have you to know ; 
 
 Time was, and not such a long time ago, 
 
 That hens were expected to lay eggs and breed chicks, 
 
 It's distinctly degrading, our sex at its kicks." 
 
 The cock was about a few words to say, 
 When he noticed the housewife approaching that way; 
 She caught up the new hen, and wringing her neck, 
 Remarked to herself, " You have eaten your peck ; 
 And as you're too proud to lay eggs or breed chicks, 
 It's best for the universe you should be nix."
 
 ( 7° ) 
 
 OLD FATHER THAMES. 
 
 Slowly down the river with the tide they go, 
 Gigantic floating masses of mingled ice and snow, 
 Circling round the vessels which in ice are bound, 
 Pushing all before them that adrift is found. 
 While hovering above the hungry sea-gulls fly, 
 Watching for any scraps of food thrown down by 
 
 ■ passers-by. 
 They screech and peck and hustle each other as they 
 
 fly, 
 
 And alight on frozen masses as slowly they pass by ; 
 And mingling with their screeches and all the city's 
 
 roar, 
 Is a strange melodious hissing as the masses onward 
 
 pour. 
 The people stand and watch them, 
 As through the bridge they go, 
 Gazing on in wonder, 
 As they hustle to and fro. 
 Boats and unmoored barges 
 Wandering on alone, 
 Recovered by their owners, p'raps, 
 Far away from home. 
 Oh ! P'ather Thames, I ne'er before 
 Have seen you in such plight ; 
 You are now a frozen monster, 
 With all your power and might, 
 And you'll have to struggle bravely 
 And make a desperate fight 
 Before again your mighty waters 
 Are free, and swift, and bright. 
 
 Sunday, February 10///, 1S95.
 
 ( 7< ) 
 
 RIVER SCENES ON THE THAMES. 
 
 What a scene of fun and life, 
 With keenest sense of pleasure rife, 
 It is to see of boats a block, 
 Up the river in a lock. 
 
 What a buzz of talk and laughter, 
 As boat by boat they follow after, 
 Holding closely to the sides, 
 As up or down the water glides. 
 
 'f 
 
 Every one on pleasure bent, 
 All are eager and intent, 
 To get through the narrow lock, 
 Without any hitch or block. 
 
 Soon the gates begin to move, 
 Then the first boat gives a shove, 
 Others follow in the rear, 
 Until the lock becomes quite clear. 
 
 Then they hasten, some to row, 
 Others with a rope to tow ; 
 Or if the wind's their way inclined, 
 Some few better sailing find. 
 
 Men in boating flannels bright, 
 Girls in dresses cream or white, 
 All in holiday array, 
 Smiling, happy, bright, and gay.
 
 ( 12 ) 
 
 The crews have mostly brought their hamper, 
 And on the shore we see them scamper, 
 And eagerly about explore, 
 Some cosy corner to ensure, 
 Where they can at leisure dine, 
 And after on the bank recline. 
 
 Oh, what laughter, fun, and flirting, 
 As along the banks we're skirting, 
 We hear behind the shady trees, 
 Floating to us on the breeze. 
 
 Boats of every sort and kind, 
 Going swiftly on we find, 
 Canoeing, sailing, rowing, towing, 
 All with happiness are glowing. 
 
 Soon upon the listening ear, 
 Bursts the screeching whistle clear, 
 Of the steam launch making motion, 
 Like the heaving of the ocean. 
 
 Big barges, too, we often see, 
 
 With smaller craft don't quite agree ; 
 
 The bargemen call with lusty shout, 
 
 To pleasure boats, " Look out ! look out ! " 
 
 Then we see a bright array 
 Of houseboats with sweet flowers gay, 
 Anchored in some pretty spot : 
 Their owners have a happy lot. 
 
 Sometimes we hear a banjo strumming, 
 Others songs are gently humming, 
 All are full of life and joy, 
 As they shout gaily " Lock ahoy ! "
 
 ( 73 ) 
 
 ON BOARD THE VICTORY. 
 
 I stood on board the Victory, 
 
 And gazed upon the spot 
 Where lay the gallant hero Nelson, 
 
 When dying from the shot. 
 
 I pictured to myself the scene 
 Where the dying hero lay ; 
 
 And so vivid was the fancy 
 That I could hear him say — 
 
 " Kiss me, Hardy, I am dying ; " 
 And ask him, with faltering breath, 
 
 To take care of Lady Hamilton, 
 As he passed to the arms of death. 
 
 Gallant Nelson, noble hero ! 
 
 Then England's hope and pride ; 
 'Tis sad that this, your last request, 
 
 Your country should deride. 
 
 Poor, lovely Lady Hamilton 
 
 Died in poverty, alone — 
 A wrong to you your country 
 
 Can never now atone. 
 
 She helped you and inspired you — 
 You for your country bled. 
 
 And not to be forgotten are 
 The generous words you said :
 
 ( 74 ) 
 
 That if more Lady Hamiltons, 
 More Nelsons there would be ; 
 
 And yet at last cruel England 
 Failed to listen to ycur plea. 
 
 Are your fond hearts now united, 
 As in life they wished to he ? 
 
 And does such love continue 
 Through all eternity ?
 
 ( 75 ) 
 
 THE CUP OF TEA. 
 
 When the day is long 
 
 And the weather dreary, 
 
 There's nothing makes one feel so cheery 
 
 As a cosy cup of tea. 
 
 How sweet it is to meet a friend, 
 Some pleasant hours with her to spend, 
 And have together at the end 
 A cosy cup of tea. 
 
 When one's ill and cannot sleep, 
 How slowly by the hours do creep, 
 Waiting for morning, when we see 
 That ever welcome cup of tea. 
 
 When one's worried, out of sorts, 
 Tired out, whate'er may be, 
 Nothing's ever half so nice 
 As a fragrant cup of tea. 
 
 Dear cup of tea, 
 You've been to me 
 Much comfort in the past, 
 And I shall always cling to thee 
 As long as life shall last.
 
 ( 76) 
 
 IT'S COMFORTING. 
 
 When one feels ill and weary, 
 With pains one can't explain, 
 
 It's comforting to meet a friend, 
 Whose feelings are the same. 
 
 It's really very cheering, 
 And one thinks, never mind, 
 
 It's not so bad, for someone else 
 Feels just the same, I find. 
 
 In all one's little weaknesses, 
 
 It comforts one to find, 
 We're no worse than other people, 
 
 It's the same with all mankind. 
 
 Too apt we are our friends to blame, 
 For talking of their woes, 
 
 It's comforting at any rate, 
 That everybody knows. 
 
 Then if we buy a pretty thing, 
 One's always glad to find, 
 
 A friend who will admire it too, 
 We think them very kind. 
 
 And if we make mistakes in life, 
 
 It's comforting to know, 
 There are many others in the world, 
 
 Who reap just as they sow.
 
 ( 77 ) 
 
 And if we try to do our best, 
 
 It comforts one to hear, 
 A friend say, "Come, now that's well done," 
 
 And give you hearty cheer. 
 
 We don't want our friends to suffer, 
 
 But it's comforting to feel 
 That they understand our sorrows, 
 
 And give sympathy to heal. 
 
 The need of all is sympathy, 
 
 It's comforting and nice, 
 And just the little flavour, 
 
 That gives to life some spice.
 
 ( 7S ) 
 
 WHISKEY CROW. 
 
 'Twas in this winter of '95, 
 
 When the cold was so great, 
 We could scarce keep alive, 
 
 There befel an adventure, 
 I want you to know, 
 
 To a wonderful bird 
 We will call " Whiskey Crow." 
 
 Near the Hautboy at Ockham, 
 A short time ago, 
 
 A gentleman picked up 
 A very fine crow, 
 
 And as gently he raised it, 
 Exclaimed with a cry, 
 
 "This bird is not dead, 
 He is winking his eye." 
 
 To the Hautboy at Ockham 
 At once they did go, 
 
 Determined to save 
 This most wonderful crow. 
 
 Mr. Sprague gave him whiskey 
 Out of a spoon, 
 
 And he very soon rallied 
 From out of his swoon, 
 
 Began to look round him, 
 To peck, and to show 
 
 He considered himself 
 A very line crow.
 
 K 79 ) 
 
 This bird's now the wonder 
 Of all far and near, 
 
 For he shows not 
 The faintest small atom of fear, 
 
 But lives with the family 
 On most friendly terms, 
 
 And a greater repute 
 From day to day earns. 
 
 He still loves his whiskey, 
 For no doubt he knows 
 
 What a fine thing it is 
 To restore life to crows.
 
 ( So ) 
 
 TO A THRUSH IN A LONDON STREET. 
 
 Sweet little captive songster, 
 
 In this dark London street, 
 When waking in the morning, 
 
 My ears your sweet notes greet. 
 
 And as I lie half dozing 
 
 And listen to your song, 
 I wander to the country, 
 
 Far from London's busy throng. 
 
 Dear little bright-eyed captive, 
 
 I thank you for the treat 
 You give me every morning 
 
 In this gloomy London street. 
 
 And also for the lesson 
 
 Your sweet notes bring to mind, 
 
 How dark lives can be brightened 
 By loving works and kind.
 
 ( Si ) 
 
 THE NEW HUSBAND. 
 
 " Fanny," he said, with a nervous air, 
 
 As his better half for the City began to prepare, 
 
 " Fanny, dear, do you think you could spare me, I say, 
 
 The money I want for expenses to-day ? " 
 
 His wife, looking at him impatiently, said, 
 
 " What, again, Fred ! I think you're a great deal too 
 
 bad ; 
 I think 'twas last Thursday you had, let me see, 
 The money for housekeeping, &c., from me. 
 Some of you men seem really to think 
 That we women of money are made, I do think." 
 " My dear, you forget," he remarked, with a sigh, 
 " I've two pairs of boots for the children to buy, 
 Besides the girl's wages ; now don't be irate, 
 For you know there is also the last water rate." 
 " Now, Fred, I am sure you'd the money for that." 
 " No, dear," he replied, " 'twas for Freddy's new hat ; 
 And you know I have scarcely a rag to my back, 
 And I bought, don't be angry, at a sale yesterday, 
 A cheap pair of trousers, for which I'd to pay." 
 "That's always your cry, Fred," she replied, with a 
 
 frown, 
 "Your extravagance really quite weighs me down ; 
 It's a pity you haven't the money to earn, 
 Then, perhaps, you'd be able it's value to learn. 
 Here, take this, and mind that with it you pay 
 Some household bills owing, and not throw it away." 
 
 F
 
 (82 ) 
 
 " There's a dear, darling wife," he exclaimed, with 
 
 great joy, 
 " I am sorry that I should my Fanny annoy ; 
 And, darling, what time shall I see you to-night ? " 
 She replied, " I am sure I can't tell you quite, 
 For I have a lot to attend to at the office to-day, 
 So what time to expect me I really can't say." 
 " Oh, that will be nice, for to-day I shall try 
 The things in the wash to get nicely dry, 
 And to put up clean curtains the maids I shall aid. 
 But, good-bye, dear ! your 'bus you will miss, I'm 
 
 afraid." 
 The breadwinner dashed off after the 'bus, 
 While Fred ran upstairs quite in a fuss, 
 For bathing the children it was getting late, 
 And his poor little darlings were having to wait.
 
 ( 8 3 ) 
 
 THE FLITCH OF DUNMOW. 
 
 There's a custom, my readers, 
 I daresay you know, 
 In the county of Essex, 
 At a place called Dunmow, 
 Where couples who live for a year and a day 
 Without contradiction and angry words, may 
 Win a fine flitch of bacon, and to add to the show, 
 Carried round in a chair they afterwards go. 
 To an old couple entering the previous year 
 . The flitch was awarded with many a cheer. 
 They'd got out their bag, their hearts all aglow, 
 Contented they'd won the Flitch of Dunmow. 
 When the wife took the bacon, and exclaimed with a 
 
 bawl, 
 " Before starting I told you this bag was too small, 
 You said it was not, you see I am right," 
 They both got quite angry and ready to fight. 
 The judge overhearing, exclaimed, " Cease your bawl, 
 It matters not now if too large or too small, 
 The flitch is not yours, you have just made the slip 
 That happens too oft 'twixt the cup and the lip." 
 The old couple departed, their hearts full of woe ; 
 Don't blame them, my readers, 
 Too well we all know 
 'Tis a hard thing to win the Flitch of Dunmow.
 
 ( 8 4 ) 
 
 OUR FLAT. 
 
 Oh, my good Mr. Drew, 
 
 We most bitterly rue 
 
 The day we consented 
 
 Existence to mew 
 
 In this dreary back flat 
 
 We are renting from you. 
 
 The chimneys are smoky ; 
 
 The paint's very poor ; 
 
 The handles and locks 
 
 Are loose on each door ; 
 
 The smuts from the chimneys 
 
 From the houses around, 
 
 Nicely besprinkled, 
 
 Are everywhere found. 
 
 Not one ray of sunshine 
 
 Can we in this flat find, 
 
 For we can't go to the window 
 
 To pull up a blind, 
 
 Or else a few yards off 
 
 From the houses we see 
 
 Dirty heads looking in 
 
 With evident glee. 
 
 The place is so narrow 
 
 We can scarce swing a cat ; 
 
 And it's out of the question 
 
 To shake carpet or mat. 
 
 And each day to the basement, 
 
 Which is very tiring,
 
 ( 3 5 ) 
 
 Our servant must go 
 
 To fetch up the firing. 
 
 And as for the street, 
 
 From morning till night 
 
 There's the brawling of children, 
 
 Street rows, or a fight. 
 
 So, my good Mr. Drew, 
 
 It's clearly a do 
 
 To pay the high rent 
 
 Which we do to you ; 
 
 And so when the year's out 
 
 We shall hunt till we find 
 
 A place for less money 
 
 And more to our mind.
 
 ( 86 ) 
 
 JACK FROST. 
 
 Oh ! the howling and cursing, 
 
 The pipes are all bursting, 
 
 The water's cut off at the main ; 
 
 The boilers exploding, 
 
 Oh, how incommoding, 
 
 Householders are going insane. 
 
 Oh ! you villain, Jack Frost, 
 
 The pounds we have lost, 
 
 In this horrible year '95, 
 
 By your wicked pranks, 
 
 With pipes, cisterns, and tanks, 
 
 You must with the plumbers connive. 
 
 We can't keep ourselves clean ; 
 
 Don't you call yourself mean, 
 
 To make such a very long stay ? 
 
 You have pinched, chapped, and nipped us, 
 
 But what most has hipped us, 
 
 Is taking our comforts away. 
 
 Now you're gone, old Jack Frost, 
 
 We have found to our cost, 
 
 You had made a long enough stay ; 
 
 The pleasures of skating 
 
 Had long been abating, 
 
 Since we found we'd the devil to pay.
 
 (8 7 ) 
 
 LONDON SPARROWS. 
 
 In Hyde Park on a day in June, 
 Or any sunny afternoon, 
 Tis sweet to watch the sparrows fed 
 By the men who toss them bread. 
 
 When they softly call they come, 
 And catch it quickly one by one ; 
 They have not the slightest fear, 
 And to the men they come quite near. 
 
 Swooping round and round they go, 
 And catch it always as they throw, 
 And then off again they fly 
 In the twinkling of an eye. 
 
 All the while they softly twitter, 
 And not a crumb about them litter ; 
 Little dark brown balls they look, 
 Covered with the City's soot.
 
 ( ss ) 
 
 A BIT OF EXPERIENCE. 
 
 If your life is sad and weary, 
 
 And anything but gay, 
 Cheer up and make the best of it, 
 
 It is the only way. 
 
 Don't fret too much or worry, 
 
 Be your troubles what they may; 
 
 Cheer up and make the best of things, 
 It is the only way. 
 
 If any little pleasure comes, 
 
 Enjoy it while you may ; 
 Cheer up and make the best of it, 
 
 It is the only way. 
 
 It's seldom we can alter things, 
 I have tried so, I can say ; 
 
 Cheer up and make the best of them, 
 It is the only way. 
 
 Don't think too much about the past, 
 For the future come what may ; 
 
 Cheer up and make the best of things, 
 It is the only way.
 
 ( s 9 ) 
 
 TO MA MIE. 
 
 In Memory of Friday, 23RD August, 1895. 
 
 I'm thinking of the past, ma mie, 
 And in my mind's eye I can see 
 Red Letter Days — the dates, ma mie, 
 All appertaining unto thee. 
 
 The first Red Letter shows to me 
 The blest day of your birth, ma mie ; 
 The next, my dear one, is the day 
 When first I saw your face so gay. 
 
 Then comes the day you promised me 
 My loving faithful wife to be ; 
 The next — oh day of Reddest Red, 
 That one, ma mie, when we were wed. 
 
 Long years have passed and gone, ma mie, 
 But treasured in my memory 
 Are these Red Letter Days, ma mie, 
 Belonging all to love and thee !
 
 ( <P ) 
 
 UNCLE'S RED LETTER DAYS. 
 In Memory of Friday, 23RD August, 1895. 
 
 I have a dear old uncle, 
 
 And I'm sure you'll sing his praise, 
 When I tell you what he said to me 
 
 About Red Letter Days. 
 
 I said I thought Red Letter Days 
 
 Were only those of joy, 
 Events of life which happening 
 
 Brought peace without alloy. 
 
 He said, no, no, Letter Days 
 
 Should tell of sorrow too, 
 For often useful lessons 
 
 Were brought that way to you. 
 
 The day that I went deaf, he said, 
 
 Is Red Letter'd in my mind, 
 Because, you see, I'm thankful no.v 
 
 That I'm not also blind. 
 
 Ah, would we all could emulate 
 
 Dear uncle's frame of mind, 
 And make of trials Red Letter Days, 
 
 And in them lessons find.
 
 ( 9i ) 
 
 THE OLD FOREST. 
 
 I stood in the grand old forest, 
 
 And gazed upon the trees, 
 
 As they waved and fluttered softly 
 
 Touched by the evening breeze. 
 
 And as I looked around me, 
 
 It came into my mind, 
 
 That every type of human life 
 
 Among the trees we find. 
 
 Some are tall and stately, 
 
 Untouched by any storm, 
 
 And some by all the winds of life 
 
 Are bent, and scarred, and worn, 
 
 Some wave hither, thither, 
 
 Swayed by every wind ; 
 
 Some sheltered by the breath of love 
 
 Just gently are inclined. 
 
 Some try to lean on others, 
 Some stand bravely all alone, 
 And fiercely by the storms of life, 
 Are tossed, and torn, and blown. 
 Blow gently, winds from Heaven, 
 Waft o'er us from above 
 The sweet, warm breath of happiness, 
 And joy, and peace, and love.
 
 ( 92 ) 
 
 THE NEW WOMAN. 
 
 On the subject of new women 
 
 A great deal has been said ; 
 But years ago George Eliot 
 
 Hit the right nail on the head. 
 In the words of Mrs. Poyser, 
 
 She quoted to us then, 
 That God Almighty made them, 
 
 To exactly match the men.
 
 ( 93 ) 
 
 A PENNY IN THE SLOT. 
 
 To see the wonders of our lot, 
 Put a penny in the slot, 
 Automatics in the land 
 Number now a goodly band. 
 
 Gas bills no longer bother me, 
 I have a meter you can see, 
 I put a penny in the slot, 
 And twenty feet of gas I've got. 
 
 If you have a wish to see 
 The power of electricity, 
 Put a penny in the slot, 
 And new marvels you have got. 
 
 If you want a penny stamp, 
 After dark you need not tramp, 
 Put a penny in the slot, 
 And a stamp at once you've got. 
 
 Cigarettes and scent and matches, 
 Anything the public catches, 
 By a penny in the slot, 
 All round London can be got. 
 
 Shops in future may not be 
 Such a dire necessity, 
 For such a lot of things are got 
 By a penny in the slot.
 
 ( 94) 
 
 THE INDIAN EXHIBITION. 
 
 If you want to see a show, 
 To the Indian Exhibition go, 
 They do the thing in splendid style ; 
 You will find it worth your while. 
 
 You can fancy you might be 
 In India, if you could not see 
 The advertisements upon the walls 
 And hear the showman's awful bawls. 
 
 "Walk up, walk up, this way, to see 
 The wonderful menagerie ! " 
 This way for this, this way for that — 
 I was nearly deafened where I sat. 
 
 It ruins all the splendid show • 
 The people see which way to go 
 Without those showman's awful cries : 
 Everybody's nerves he tries. 
 
 The Indian village much pleased me ; 
 Natives all around you see, 
 Working quietly at their trade, 
 In the shops, with wares arrayed. 
 
 Elephants and camels stand, 
 Waiting quietly in a band, 
 To take the people for a ride — 
 Off they go with stately stride.
 
 ( 95 ) 
 
 And the pretty bullock carts, 
 Which gladden little children's hearts, 
 Led by natives round the show ; 
 With joy the little faces glow. 
 
 At night it is a glorious sight, 
 Glimmering with electric light, 
 The water and the white walls gleam, 
 And make it like a fairy scene. 
 
 With every phase of Indian life 
 This splendid show is full and rife.
 
 ( 96 ) 
 
 AT A RAILWAY STATION. 
 
 Standing waiting round each carriage, 
 Friends are saying last good-byes ; 
 Hopes and fears and parting tears, 
 Smiles and laughter, sobs and sighs. 
 
 Some come early, some come late, 
 Some till the last second wait, 
 And fly up then in breathless heat, 
 For fear they will not find a seat. 
 
 Porters shouting, " By your leave!" 
 Or else a push you will receive, 
 As they quickly wheel along 
 Trucks of luggage through the throng. 
 
 Hurrying to their seats they pass, 
 First and third and second class ; 
 Young and old, and rich and poor, 
 Down the platform on they pour. 
 
 Sometimes we see a fair young bride, 
 
 Standing by her husband's side ; 
 
 As he slyly tips the guard, 
 
 For fear their pleasure should be marred. 
 
 Schoolboys starting off for school, 
 Pretending they are brave and cool ; 
 To conceal a tearful eye 
 They very often vainly try.
 
 ( 97 ) 
 
 Sailors going off to sea, 
 Soldiers sometimes, too, we see, 
 Saying sadly last good-byes 
 To their friends with many sio-fis. 
 
 Convicts with their handcuffs on, 
 Pushing through the crowded thron 
 Thieves endeavouring to escape, 
 To the railway station make. 
 
 Forms of life of every kind 
 At a station we may find, 
 And it is a taking sight 
 To see a starting train at night. 
 
 a • 
 
 WATER. 
 
 Sparkling water, clear and cold, 
 You bring us blessings manifold ; 
 You are a treasure to the earth, 
 And every day we prove your worth. 
 Cleansing, sweetening, purifying, 
 Your strong power there is no denying; 
 If without you for a time, 
 Quickly we should fade and pine. 
 Most useful treasure of the earth, 
 We gladly own your power and worth.
 
 ( 93 ) 
 
 LITTLE STREET DANCERS. 
 
 In the streets of London 
 I love to stand and see 
 The little children dancing 
 Round the organs with such glee. 
 
 In many a quiet corner, 
 
 As the shades of evening fall, 
 
 You can stand and watch the little ones 
 
 At their impromptu bail. 
 
 With battered, worn-out slippers, 
 On their little trembling feet, 
 They pirouette and do their steps 
 With accuracy neat. 
 
 Pretty little grimy faces 
 
 Lit up with wild delight, 
 
 With their dirty, worn-out garments, 
 
 They are a touching sight. 
 
 Faster goes the music, 
 
 And faster go their feet, 
 
 And the people standing watching, 
 
 Enjoy a real treat. 
 
 In fact, it's so infectious, 
 That older girls and boys, 
 And often men and women, 
 Join the children in their joys. 
 
 With little London children 
 
 Dancing seems a part 
 
 Of their very nature, 
 
 And with them 'tis quite an art.
 
 (99 ) 
 
 WHAT IS COMING. 
 
 Are the mists clearing, 
 Is the time nearing 
 When we shall know more 
 Of a world yet to come ? 
 
 We have heard of new wonders, 
 And there may be some blunders 
 In the orthodox faith 
 Of a world yet to come. 
 
 We have spirit photography, 
 We may yet have geography, 
 To teach us about 
 A world yet to come. 
 
 We can't shut our eyes 
 To what it implies, 
 When a man in a trance 
 For a week or more lies. 
 
 We may yet see more wonders 
 To point out our blunders, 
 And show some more light 
 To a world yet to come. 
 
 There are some very big isms, 
 Will, perhaps, act as prisms, 
 To reflect us the light 
 Of a world yet to come.
 
 LOVE SONGS
 
 LOVE SONGS. 
 
 I LOVE YOU DEAR. 
 
 I love you, dear, I love you ! 
 
 You are always in my mind ; 
 My every thought and feeling 
 
 Around you are entwined. 
 
 You are like the powerful magnet, 
 
 I the needle weak ; 
 You draw me always to your side, 
 
 I love to hear you speak. 
 
 What would life be without you ? 
 
 I cannot bear to think ; 
 'Twould be like evening, when the sun 
 
 From the sky begins to sink. 
 
 Some fading rays of sweetness 
 
 Would linger for a time, 
 But soon the sun of happiness 
 
 Would seek another clime. 
 
 Shall we see it again together, 
 
 Rising in the dawn, 
 In greater power and sweetness, 
 
 With all the sorrow gone ? 
 
 Do all the loves of this life 
 Sink like the sun at eve, 
 To rise again in fuller glory 
 Than we can now conceive ?
 
 ( i©4 ) 
 
 DEAREST. 
 
 I love to touch my dearest, 
 
 To sit beside his chair, 
 To steal my arm around his neck, 
 
 Play softly with his hair. 
 
 To draw his face towards me, 
 And feel his lips meet mine 
 
 In a sweet lingering kiss of love, 
 An ecstacy divine. 
 
 I would be always with him, 
 
 Be ever at his side, 
 And mould my life to his desires, 
 
 Let him my footsteps guide. 
 
 For I love him, oh ; so dearly ; 
 
 When I'm with him I'm at rest. 
 Oh ! if my life with him be spent, 
 
 It will, indeed, be blest !
 
 ( io 5 ) 
 
 TO MY SWEETHEART. 
 
 Sweetheart, when I love you best 
 
 My heart o'erflows with happiness, 
 
 For when we love it is the time 
 
 That life approaches the sublime. 
 
 Then, sweetheart, hold, enfold, enthrall me ! 
 
 Teach me always to adore thee ! 
 
 Around us both let love entwine, 
 
 And it will make our lives divine. 
 
 My sweetheart ! may we always feel 
 
 Love's sweetness o'er our spirits steal ; 
 
 For this life contains no bliss 
 
 Like the rapture of a kiss. 
 
 When we love life seems all gay 
 
 And happy, smiling like the May ; 
 
 And should sometimes a cloud pass o'er, 
 
 It makes us love each other more. 
 
 My sweetheart ! I do hope and pray 
 
 That there will never come a day 
 
 When from our lives shall pass away 
 
 The magic power of love.
 
 ( io6 ) 
 
 MUST WE PART, LOVE ? 
 
 Must we part, love, you and I, love ? 
 
 Must we never meet again? 
 Is it better that we sever 
 
 All the ties that bind us twain ? 
 
 Must we, dearest, in the future, 
 Bear the aching, torturing pain 
 
 Of two fond hearts separated, 
 Never more to meet again ? 
 
 Ah ! no, no, love ; hold me closer ! 
 
 Resolutions are in vain ; 
 Come what may, for weal or woe, love, 
 
 Take me to your heart again !
 
 ( io 7 ) 
 
 A PERFECT CHORD. 
 
 Dearest, my life with thee would be, 
 
 A chord of purest harmony ; 
 
 No harsh, discordant sounds would e'er, 
 
 With its perfect sweetness interfere ; 
 
 The notes and tones would all agree, 
 
 And form a lovely melody. 
 
 Sometimes, as sadness comes to all, 
 
 It would into the minor fall ; 
 
 But howe'er mournful it might be, 
 
 'Twould still be perfect harmony. 
 
 Our notes together we would strike ; 
 
 Our tastes and feelings are alike ; 
 
 And the sweet mingling strains would blend, 
 
 In sweetest music to the end.
 
 ( io8 ) 
 
 TO MY LOVE. 
 
 Come to me soon, my heart's love ; 
 
 I feel so desolate ! 
 My heart pines always for you, 
 
 As the ring dove for its mate. 
 
 Come quickly to me, dear one, 
 Fold your loving hands in mine ; 
 
 Tell me once more that you love me, 
 That your warm, true heart is mine. 
 
 Sweet flower of my heart ! how fondly 
 Round you my hopes entwine, 
 
 Like the ivy round the oak tree, 
 And the sweet wild columbine.
 
 ( io9 ) 
 
 TO MY DEAR LOVE. 
 
 My dear, dear love, it is such bliss 
 
 To have from you a daily kiss ; 
 
 And many times I bless the day 
 
 We came across each other's way. 
 
 For since then many and many an hour 
 
 Has been charmed for us by Love's sweet power 
 
 Oh ! if my life with thee be spent 
 
 'Twill be one loving, sweet content ; 
 
 And joys upon our flowery way 
 
 Will blossom gaily day by day. 
 
 And when at last this life is o'er, 
 
 And we are nearing that blest shore 
 
 Where comes no parting, 
 
 Then take me, love, and hold me close 
 
 In thy dear arms.
 
 ( no) 
 
 I DON'T KNOW WHY I LOVE HIM SO. 
 
 I don't know why I love him so, 
 Or wherefore he loves me, 
 I only know I love him now, 
 And I am quite sure he loves me. 
 
 I only know when he's away 
 An hour seems almost like a clay ; 
 And could he ever with me stay, 
 My heart would aye be light and gay. 
 
 I only know he pleases me, 
 And that in all things we agree ; 
 That our fond love no cross words mar, 
 And of my life he is the star. 
 
 I never, never want to part, 
 He is the true heart of my heart ; 
 And my dear love he will be, 
 I trust for all eternity.
 
 ( III ) 
 
 MEMORIES. 
 
 Dearest love, your sweet words linger 
 
 Fondly in my mind, 
 And I love to murmur softly 
 
 Your loving words and kind ; 
 
 And to live again the moment 
 When on my lips you pressed 
 
 That last, long, lingering kiss of love 
 While you clasped me to your breast. 
 
 Darling, I am never lonely, 
 For my thoughts all fly to thee, 
 
 But Fm longing for the moment 
 When again thy face I see. 
 
 All my life is filled with gladness 
 
 I never, never felt before, 
 And I always pray, my dearest, 
 
 That our fond love may endure.
 
 ( H2 ) 
 
 SWEET HOURS OF LOVE. 
 
 Sweet hours of love, so quickly flying ; 
 Tender memories, never dying ; 
 Aching hearts alone are sighing 
 Come back to us again. 
 
 Sweet hours of love, with fond hearts thrilling ; 
 Loving words, like sweet birds trilling; 
 With love and joy our bosoms filling — 
 Come back to us again. 
 
 Sweet hours of love, so quickly flying — 
 Oh, would that there were some relying, 
 For fond hearts ever lonely sighing, 
 That they'd come back again.
 
 ( H3 ) 
 
 I WANT YOU, DEAR. 
 
 I want you, dear ; I want you, 
 
 More than I can say ; 
 I long to have you near me 
 
 More and more each day. 
 
 Life without you is disjointed ; 
 
 It seems to lack the spring 
 Which to me your presence 
 
 Always seems to bring. 
 
 I wonder why it is so ; 
 
 What is the strange, sweet spell 
 That around us, when you are near me, 
 
 Always seems to dwell. 
 
 It comforts me, my dearest, 
 
 To pour out all my heart ; 
 Oh, darling! darling! darling! 
 
 I could not from you part. 
 
 I want you, dear ; I want you, 
 
 Each day more and more, 
 To be my love — mine only — 
 
 Until my life is o'er. 
 
 II
 
 ( "4 ) 
 
 MY HEART'S DESIRE. 
 
 Dearest love, my heart is beating, 
 
 Beating ever the same tune, 
 Life without you is so lonely, 
 
 I must hasten to you soon. 
 
 Everything in life that claims me, 
 Each sight and sound that I find fair, 
 
 Every beauty that surrounds me, 
 I long and long with you to share. 
 
 If I listen to sweet music, 
 
 The strains seem blent with thoughts of thee, 
 Or gaze upon some lovely landscape, 
 
 Your loved form always I can see. 
 
 If I like some book or passage, 
 
 I long for you to share it too, 
 There's nothing interests or strikes me, 
 
 But I wish to share with you. 
 
 I like to tell you joys or sorrows, 
 To make my mind an open book, 
 
 For your dear eyes alone to gaze on, 
 And understand each word and look. 
 
 To be with you in thought and feeling, 
 
 Truly and entirely one, 
 To have in my life not one small corner, 
 
 That your presence cannot come. 
 
 To know whate'er my moods and fancies 
 
 You would always sympathise, 
 To feel that naught could ever sever 
 
 The love we both so dearly prize.
 
 ( "5 ) 
 
 LOVE IS LOVE AMONG THE ROSES. 
 
 Far awa) from noisy cities, 
 
 In a peaceful country lane, 
 
 Heard I once a maiden singing 
 
 Sweetly, softly, this refrain : 
 
 " Love is love among the roses, 
 
 But away from them, I ween, 
 
 Love in love's own rarest beauty 
 
 Is to maidens but a dream." 
 
 "Ah," I answered, "pretty maiden, 
 
 What is lovelier than a dream ? 
 
 Roses fade, my dainty maiden, 
 
 And things are not what they seem.*' 
 
 Toss'd her head, that pretty maiden, 
 Singing sweetly all the same, 
 
 " Love is love among the roses, 
 
 And for me 'twill e'er remain."
 
 ( ii6 ) 
 
 SUMMER CLOUDS. 
 
 Floating on the soft clouds go, 
 Tinted with the sunset's glow, 
 Floating onward out of sight, 
 Until the sky is clear and bright. 
 
 Floating whither, summer clouds, 
 Forming soft white feathery shrouds: 
 Is it to cover some bright Gtar, 
 Ye wander from my sight so far ? 
 
 Tell me what is life on high, 
 Far, far above the bright blue sky : 
 Are our lost ones living there, 
 Free and safe from every care ? 
 
 Ye clouds that come to earth again, 
 In summer showers and heavy rain, 
 Tell me, shall I be the same, 
 And dying, come to earth again ?
 
 ( "7 ) 
 
 THE OLD SUN-BONNET. 
 
 Comes my little daughter, 
 
 With her winsome face, 
 Framed in an old sun-bonnet, 
 
 She wears with childish grace. 
 
 Back to the past goes memory ; 
 
 I see her Mother's face — 
 Blushing sweetly 'neath that bonnet, 
 
 As I praised her dainty grace. 
 
 Sweet mother and fair daughter, 
 Dear treasures of my heart ; 
 
 , "With that dear old worn sun-bonnet 
 I will never, never part. 
 
 For the love of my heart came to mc, 
 When I saw that winsome face, 
 
 Framed in the old sun-bonnet, 
 She wore with dainty grace.
 
 ( n8 ) 
 
 IN MEMORY OF NELLY M . 
 
 Darling little Nelly, 
 
 With your pretty winsome face, 
 And charming, simple manners, 
 
 And dainty girlish grace. 
 
 Dear loving little Nelly, 
 We miss you, dear one, yet, 
 
 The memory of your sweetness 
 We never can forget. 
 
 Where are you now, dear Nelly? 
 
 Are you only gone before ? 
 In the time that comes hereafter 
 
 Shall we see you, dear, once more. 
 
 FLOATING FANCIES. 
 
 Floating fancies through the brain 
 Fly and ne'er come back again ; 
 Lovely dreams which come at night 
 Fade away with morning light ; 
 Strains of music which in vain 
 When lost we try to find again. 
 Whither go those lovely fancies 
 Giving to us bright, brief glances 
 Of joy, and peace, and love untold ? 
 Oh, would we could the spell unfold, 
 To teach us how to find again 
 The wandering fancies of the brain.
 
 ( H9 ) 
 
 THE OLD LOG IN THE WOOD. 
 
 There in the wood the old log lies, 
 Touched by the sunset golden, 
 
 Where you and I in days gone by 
 To tell our love have stolen. 
 
 There are the letters still we carved 
 The day our troth we plighted ; 
 
 But, sweetheart mine, we do not pine 
 For true love unrequited. 
 
 There in our hearts the love lives still, 
 The hours are just as golden 
 
 As when to the old log in the wood 
 To keep our tryst we'd stolen.
 
 Ready in October. Croum 8vo, cloth, 6s. 
 
 D! 
 
 TH 
 
 BY 
 
 ARNOLD GOLSWORTHY, 
 
 Author of " Other People's Business," &°r. 
 
 REVEIRS BROS., Graystoke Place, Fetter Lane, 
 London, E.C.
 
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