CM O EXCHANGE from LIFE DISASTER ! I ; O ^ # j/flw is joy for a man * When love rules over the heart s domains, But it isn t always the safest plan To kiss a girl when she holds the reins. from "LIFE" , PAGE & CO. IC}O2 Copyright, 1902, by LIFE PUBLISHING COMPANY Registered at Stationers Hall, London, England All Rights Reserved Printed in the United States The Tro-M Print, New York 387598 CONTENTS Disaster, Frontispiece To Clorinda, I A Ballade of Modern Love-Letters, . . Jennie Betts Hartswick, . z March 17, 3 A Household Hint, 4 A Hopeless Case, . Oliver Her ford, ... 5 Marjorie s Choice, . Dixie ITolcott, ... 8 A Woman s Club, . T. D. Beas/ey, . . . 10 Dorothy, 10 To Nikola Tesla, i i Where ? i i Love s Express, . . Lucy J. Miller, ...13 But ! Montrose J. Moses, . .14 August, . . . . M. E. W., .... 15 His Home-Brought Luggage, 1 6 Cupid s Picnic, . . James S. Metcalfe, . . 17 The Sleeping-Car Show, . . . L. A. C. IT., . . . 1 8 Ballade of the Old- Time Valentine, . Jennie Betts Hartswick, \ 9 Opportunity, . . habelle H. Ferry, . .22 ix Hello ! . . . . Love s Calendar, Two Hearts, To Belinda, . . The Fatal Rhyme, . Apres Coup, The Third Proposi tion, .... The Sign of the Mistletoe, Astronomy, Cupid s Defense, . Hiawatha Up-to- Date, .... The Raglan Coat, . Set Free, The American Girl Loq, .... The Quarrel, My Lady s Slippers, A New Year s Gift, A Numerical Love Tragedy, . The Blot on Polly s Bonnet, . The Truth that Lines to a Gray Sis ter, Page -23 R ufus Cyrene Ma c Don a Id, 23 Mont rose J. Moses, . . 24 25 Oliver Herford, . . . 26 Richard Plantagenet, . 3 1 Madeline Bridges, . . 32 Edwin L. Sabin, . . . 33 Oliver Herford, ... 35 Paul West, . . . . 35 W. C. Smith, ... 36 Willis Leonard Clanahan, 41 Henry Chapman, . . . 42 43 Oliver Herford, ... 44 R. D. W., . . . . 46 Madeline Bridges, . . 46 Tom Mas son, . . . . 47 John R. R a thorn, . . 51 Dick Law. 53 Looking tor a Girl, Love s Art, . . . The Right Side and the Wrong Side of the Bed, . . . Ballade to this Year s Buds, .... Love and Memory, The Bridges of Shell, Happiness A Rec ipe, .... Percy s Breach of Promise Suit, . Commiseration, . Supreme at That, . The Old Hat, . . Those Easter Belles, A Valentine, The Cost, . The Facts in the Case of Bluebeard, . The Same Old Game, Cross and Crown, . Ballade of the Straw berry Blonde, Vale, Winter, . . Love s Way, Sunday P.M., . Page Joseph Bolton Lougbr^, . 54 55 Paul West, . . . . 57 Henry G. Chapman, . . 58 Emma Carle ton, ... 59 Lay ton Brewer, . . .60 60 7. H. Holliday, . . . 6 1 Edward Salisbury Field, . 64 65 J iimcs Barrett Kirk, . 67 Madeline Bridges, . . 67 68 68 Guy Wet more Carry I, . 69 Willis B. Hawkins, . . 75 May Waring, . . . 76 77 78 M. E. W., . . . . 79 A Bourgeois Ballade, Ballade of Casual Kisses, Sylvia, .... Bertha, . . . . Remodeled Woman, Cinderella, . A Demain, . The Summer Girl, . Inverse Ratio, . A Gift for Prue, A Prank of Fate, The King s Jester, . A Ballade of Wealth, An Old Bachelor, . Enigma, .... The Twentieth Cen tury Spring, . The When " Poems, Behind the Scenes, . Lucy, .... Kdition de Luxe, The Girl Across the Way, .... My Chiffonier, . Itemized, To the Sister of My Soul, . Page J. H. Holliday, . . . 8 1 Tbeodosia Garrison, . . 86 Clinton Scollard, . . . 87 89 Elliott Flower, ... 89 Guy Wetmore Carry!, . 90 Henry Graf ton Chap?nan, 92 C. R. Bacon, .... 93 93 Tbeodosia Garrison, . . 94 Jennie Betts Hartswick, . 95 Joseph H. Gregory, . . 96 Geraldine Meyrick, . . 97 Tudor Jenks, . . . . 98 Tbeodosia Garrison, . .100 Carolyn Wells, . . . 101 Joe Cone, 104 Truman Roberts Andrews, \ o 5 106 Lucy J. Miller, . . .106 108 Edward W. Barnard, . 108 Edwin L. Sabin, . . .109 Ernest Neal Lyon t . .no Pa K e Above and Be low, ill A Ballade in Blue China, . . Aibin Peddecord Ingram, . 112 The Stuck-Up Doll, . . . Edwin L. Sabin, . . . . i 1 3 The Other Fel low, . . . William Wallace Wbitelock, \ \ 9 To Celestine, 117 Made in Ger many, . . Annulet Andrews, . . .118 The Spider and the Fly, . . Aloysius Coll, 119 Cherchez la Femme, . . William Wallace Whit clock, \ 20 His Wife, . . Tbeodosia Garrison, . . .122 In Any Garb, . Madeline Bridges, . . . 1 24 A Lost Hour is Lost Happi ness,". . . Henry Chapman, . . . .124 The Gourmet of the Table D Hote, . . Wilton Lackaye, . . . .125 Daphne s Kisses, Grace MacG wan Cooke, . 127 Egypt, 1900, . Isabelle H. Ferry, . . .128 When Bessie Climbed Over the Wall, . . Winifred Sackville-Stoner, . 129 To a Poet, . . Carolyn Wells, . . . .130 To Polly, 131 xiii Page The Unconquerable, M. W. Pool, . . . .132 A Christmas Hint, . Truman Roberts Andrews, 133 Ballade of the Golf ing Bore, . . . Clinton Scollard, . . .134 A Ballade of Red- Heeled Shoes, . Charlotte Becker, . .135 At Matins, 136 In Snow Time, . . Frank R. Batchelder, . 137 Beside the Gas Log, Kate Master son, . . .138 Now Lent is Done, Tbeodosia Garrison, . .139 Pro Bono Publico, . Paul West, . . . .140 Three B s, . . . Paul West, . . . .140 In Cherubtown, . . Kate Masterson, . . .141 The Useless Quest, . Madeline Bridges, . .141 To Marion, . . . E. C. M., . . . .142 Transposition, 142 The Horse(less) Show .... Edwin L. Sabin, . . .144 A Ballade of Easter, Jennie Betts Hartswick, . 145 When Dorothy Goes Out, 146 xiv -- \ TO CLORINDA TjMREWELL the world ! Tis Lent, my dear. 1 Let s fly the crowd, and I ll discover Some pious place, where, without fear, I ll court you, sweetheart, under cover. i A BALLADE OF MODERN LOVE-LETTEI I CARE no longer to indite, In tender terms, a note to Mary, For she s grown critical and quite (Like her namesake of" old) contrary. She tells me I m unliterary. My manner, she declares, is bad, And all because imaginary Love-letters have become a fad. She dubs my fondest phrases trite, All my endearments I must vary ; I ll read up Meredith to-night To quote, she says, is customary ; I must indulge in raptures airy ; My thoughts must be obscurely clad ; A novel style is arbitrary. Love-letters have become a fad. The missives that I used to write In love s well-worn vocabulary She read and treasured with delight, And rhetoric and dictionary Were both alike unnecessary ; A plain " I love you " made her glad. But ah, that bliss was temporary. Love-letters have become a fad. L ENVOI. Sweetheart, the Art epistolary, I fear, is like to drive me mad, Since these most extraordinary Love-letters have become a fad. "Jennie Betts Hartszuick. MARCH 17 w HISHT, but the town is in a stir ! The fifes and bugles play, The flags are flying down the street To keep St. Patrick s Day, And where s the Irish lad that hears "The Wearin o the Green," Widout he turns a tender thought To some dear-loved colleen ? Oh, when I m marching to the band Across the noisy square, Where every echo wakes and sings The blithe Old Country air, Maybe I wouldn t give the world Wid all its pomp and pride, To slip along the quiet lanes Once more by Norah s side. I mind me how she came and stood Foreninst the stile as gay As e er a bird upon the bough (And me to leave the day !) While trifling wid her hair the wind Crept in from off the sea That lay below us, glistening like The glance she stole at me. 3 For twas a roguish eye she had, And let her smile at you, Although your heart was like to break, It s you d be smiling too ! Yes, laughing looks and careless words, Sure, thim was all that passed Betwixt the two of us the time We spoke together last. Yet now, Mavourneen, when they play "The Wearin o the Green," The March wind blows and mocking still Across the stile you lean. But gazing down into your eyes, I m dreaming, Norah, dear, The light that shines and sparkles there Is now was then a tear. M. E. W A HOUSEHOLD HINT SHE practices, my jealous wife, A cruelty refined ; A sorcery by which she keeps Me exiled from my kind. If, evenings, I attend the club, My fellow-men will flee ; If at a soiree I appear, No girl will sit by me. I pray, but to her face so mild Of look -it only calls A siren smile. She keeps my clothes Done up in naphtha-balls. 4 A HOPELESS CASE HER sisters shunned her half in fear And half in pity. " Tis too bad She is not made as \ve, poor dear." (Four leaves instead of three she had.) Said Doctor Bee: "Her case is rare And due to influence prenatal, To amputate I would not dare, The operation might be fatal. " With rest and care and simple food She may outlive both you and me. A change of air might do her good." (One bag of honey was his fee.) 6 " Take me ! take me ! " the clovers cry To the maid bending wistful eyed. With gentle hand she puts them by Till all but one are passed aside. Before her sisters wondering eyes Her leaves are kissed and counted over. " You ve brought me hope," the maiden cries, " God bless you, little tour-leaved clover." Oliver HerfinL MARJORIE S CHOICE MARJORIE stole to my study And whispered low in my ear, "I d like to select my present This Christmas. Can t I, dear? To make me perfectly happy There s but one thing I lack, So to-morrow I d like you to give me Permission to marry Jack." I ve often invested at Christmas In diamonds and pictures galore, But never a single present Was half so dear before ; More than the rarest jewels This cost me, I confess, Though twas only a scrap of paper On which I had written " Yes." Dixie Wolcott. A WOMAN S CLUB CHAIR installed, "Order! "called; Hurried meetings, Whispered greetings. Minutes read " What was said?" " Move, repeated !" " Please be seated !" " Reports, if any ? " < Some ! " How many ? " Twenty -five." ("Sakes alive!") "What s your will?" "Defer em still!" " That petition?" " Same condition As before." ("What a bore!") " Power to build?" " Action killed In committee." ("What a pity!") " Business, new ?" " Yes; a few ! Ten resigned Thirty fined." " Causes, state ?" "Can t !" "Too late!" " Reasons, pray ? " < The matinee ! " Club dismissed !" Rivals kissed. Business done : Simply none ! T. D. Be as ley. DOROTHY DOROTHY doing crewel work, Ah, what a charming sight ! Needle that glances in and out, Eyes with a glance as bright. Finished the work and thrown aside, Alas, for my heart so true ! Needle and glance have pierced alike, Dorothy s eyes do cruel work too ! r TO NIKOLA TESLA YOU tell us you alone have found The way to reach the stars ; But Venus, years and years ago, Got messages from Mars ! WHERE? WHERE is the man who can bravely say, "I have loved her, all my life Since I took her hand on the wedding-day I have only loved my wife? " Would we not praise him long and well With the warmest praise that is, The man who could boldly, firmly tell, And stick to a lie like this? LOVE S EXPRESS COME, all ye lads and lassies, Come, every sighing swain, All aboard tor Blissful City This is the lovers train ! Dan Cupid is conductor, Old Story the engine takes, Young Hope is an able fireman, With Reason at the brakes. Love-at-first-sight gives you passes That take you through the gate, And Mutual LJnderstandingville Is a pleasant place to wait. When nearing Rival Junction Throw all the switches wide Well sanded, on Proposal Bridge The engine wheels won t slide. Fire up at Lovers Quarrel, The signal s a word or less; Side-track at Slender Income For Worldly-wise Express. To stop at What-is-prudent Tis hazardous to try; Go slow at Parental Blessing, And wave a last good-bye. One ring at Engagement Crossing, The conductor calls out soon : " Change cars for Paradise Limited, First stop is Honeymoon !" Lucy J. Milter. 13 BUT! apologies to M. Edmond Rostand.") THE MAN. I do not love, but LOVE. In truth he does not love, But every time my lady passes him, His soul is all aflame, his blood aglow With life, his mind a mass of" hair And laughing eyes, and curves and swerves Of every movement. Oh, no he does not love, But when you speak of hate, his soul revolts To find a thorn upon the rose s stem ; He plucks a flower for itself alone. Love oh, no ! But when he hears her voice Sift with its silv ry notes into the air, And feels its freedom ; when he learns that she And that one flower that she wears at night A snowy puff within a coil of gold, Are one with Nature in her gift of life He gleans the good of being ! Love? Why, no! But ah ! that But the doubt of Love ! He loves not but there comes the passion-throb That bursts its bounds, that lends the universe A tongue that speaks of her, that gives the eye The will to find her in the evening star And ear to hear her in the whisp ring wind. He does not love but when he feels himself Beyond himself, he calls on me to speak For him, his friend Oh, no ! he does not love ! Montr os e J. Moses. I AUGUST HER sunshade ! O, her sunshade ! There s not a summer s day But what it comes a-flaunting Along the dusty way. An aureole, a banner, A flame of rosy red Behind her slender shoulder, Above her shining head. 15 The passing wind blows over, And faith, tis set aswing Like some new-opened poppy, An airy, fairy thing ! A tiny, tiny sunshade, You d scarcely say would do For one and yet Clarissa s Are always meant for two ! What wonder that my fancy Goes wandering a-dream Beneath that dainty shelter By many a babbling stream, O er many a sunlit meadow Beside her, and so near That careless as her heart beats Tis all the sound I hear. The echo wakes. She s coming. She s here she hesitates. She glances at my window. It is for me che waits ! O sunshade, little sunshade, Above us two unfurled, Your narrow arch shuts in for me A whole enchanted world ! M. E. W. HIS HOME-BROUGHT LUGGAGE ITEM : A battered dressing case. Items : A game bag and a gun. Item: A girl s bright pictured face. Item : One dollar and only one. 16 CUPID S PICNIC CUPID pcnic gave Once of a summer s day, And invited all the other loves To join him in his play. There was Big Love and Little Love, And The Love that Flies Away, And Naughty Love and Haughty Love, And The Love that Loves Alway. And Long Love and Strong Love, And Love for the Happy Hour, And Love that Loves for Love Alone, And Love with the Visage Sour. Yet the picnic proved a failure, For the best loves stayed away The Constant Love and The Tender Love, And The Love that Ne er says Nay. James 5. Metcalfe. 17 THE SLEEPING-CAR SHOW all funny sights that you and I know, Is there aught that can rival the sleeping-cai show ? Blue and green curtains close hung in a row Red velvet straps silver numbers all show ; Silence pervades all, until here and there Peeps out a foot, or it may be a pair ; White stockings, black stockings, big feet and small. Under the curtains we look at them all. Here comes a fat leg here comes a thin, Rapidly thrusting their trousers within. Out bulge the curtains, early birds smile, Solid obstructions are packed in the aisle. Out peeps a face the coast, is it clear ? Ladies, go that way ; gentlemen here. Collarless, coatless, with tumbled-down hair, Tall men and short to the washroom repair ; Tumbled and anxious in wrapper and skirt, Each woman rivals the knight of the shirt ; Sex has no standing, they re equally frights As they make up a part of the sleeping-car sights. Yet hold ! There is one great discrimination For which Pullman and Wagner give no explanation : The washrooms for ladies have partial seclusion, And a curtain and door prevent undue intrusion ; But the washbowls for men are out in full view, And the public in passing can see what they do. Oh, tell me! of all funny sights that you know, Is there aught that can rival the sleeping-car show ? L. A. C. W. B time TTKRE S to the tranquil yesterday -1 * When Folk had time to dream and woo. And men found leisure, so they say, To turn a mot and tie a queue. Ah, then was heard with much ado The postman s knock a- down the Row fl That brought to Peg and Pris and Prue The Valentine of long ago. Then in the good old-fashioned way Did love-lorn lad coy rhyme pursue, That he his passion might convey In "Lines " to Sylvia or Sue. Pale dawn the casement glimmered through, And oft the candle flickered low, While from that lover s fancy grew The Valentine of long ago. To damosel in quaint array, Though February breezes blew, Came softly as the breath of May That subtly-scented billet-doux 21 That neath her curls and love-knot blue, Set both her pretty cheeks a-glovv, With rhymes of " Thee" and " Thou" and " You " The Valentine of long ago. ENVOI. Cupid, your skillful aim, and true, Your vaunted shafts, your boasted bow Are futile when compared unto The Valentine of long ago. Jennie Belts Hartswick. OPPORTUNITY \X7ERE human wisdom wise enough * * To warn us, e er belated, Life s one best chance would ne er be lost Because too long we waited. Or even if poor human wit Were keen enough or stronger, Twould urge a quest for second best, Instead of dallying longer. But wit and wisdom oft delay ; And thus full many a mortal Ne er gains the temple of success, Though standing at its portal. Labelle H. Ferry. 22 SHE knows him well to speak to, But doesn t know him by sight. And if you guess she s a telephone girl, I guess that you ll be right. LOVE S CALENDAR Sunday. \/T V lover comes to woo ; L J- A day of passion and kisses. Monday. I find naught else to do But revel in my recent blisses. Tuesday. I ponder on my sin, Half-cherishing, half-regretting ; Wednesday. I promise to begin To cast out passion and its fretting. Thursday. The hours pass slowly by, I feel a doubting, restless yearning; Friday. I think that I should die, Should aught prevent my love s returning. Saturday. With vague alarms, And mingled thrills of joy and sorrow, I dream of love-encircling arms And long, unceasing, for the mor row. Rufus Cyrene MacDonald. 23 TWO HEARTS THERE is a heart Of" fragile clay tis made, And art Has laid, In lines Twining vines And violets everywhere Upon its surface; it is fair They call it Dresden, and "Take care * Is placed upon it ; bonbonniere They call it too, and those who come to see, Take it up so carefully Lest they make A slip, and it should break. There is a heart Of fragile clay tis made, And from the start, Life has laid The ebb and flow And glow Of Love upon it ; it is fair We call it human Oh, take care Lest bitterness should jar it, And mar it And let us touch it gently, lest we make A slip, and it should break. Montr ose J. Moses, TO BELINDA > I MS Lent, Belinda. Thou must hie * To cloistered walls where shadows lie, And undisturbed in thy domain Plan all thy conquests o er again! 25 THE FATAL RHYME THERE was a man upon a time Who could not speak except in rhyme. He could not voice his smallest wish. He could not order soup or fish. He could not hail a passing car. He could not ask for a cigar, And let a rhymeless sentence mar His speech. He could not vent despair, Anger or rage he could not swear. He could not even have his say On common topics of the day, The dreadful cold the awful heat, The rise in coal, the fall in wheat. He could not rise to give his seat 26 In crowded car to maiden sweet, Or buy a paper in the street Except in measured rhyming feet. " He must have been a man of means ! In this, the age of magazines ! " I hear you say. Ah, reader, wait Till you have heard his awful fate. You will not then expatiate Upon his fortune Well, one night A burglar came, and at the sight, The rhymster took a fearful fright. The only avenue tor flight Was up the chimney ; here he climbed Until he stuck and then he rhymed As follows : * Goodness gracious me ! Fm stuck as tight as tight can be ! Oh, dear, V m in an awful plight. I cannot budge to left or right, Or up or down this awful chimney ! * art Then he was stuck had he said " Jimm ny ! " It would have saved him many a pang. But, no ! he could not stoop to slang. In vain he writhed and racked his brain For rhymes to chimney. It was plain 29 He bad to rhyme for should he cease He must forever hold his peace. He tried to shout, he tried to call. The truth fell on him like a pall. There isn t any rhyme at all To chimney. When they searched the room They found it silent as a tomb. For years they advertised in vain. They never heard from him again. Oliver Herford. 30 APRES COUP T F some poetic lyre were mine, A And I could sweep the mellow strings And usher into life divine The rhapsody on wayward wings Meandering through my brain to-night Think you my melody would be Of her whose sylph-like form in white Leans from this leaf-hid balcony? Of her whose eyes to mine have burned The love despairing Sappho wrote, Whose eyes away from mine have turned To watch some dreamy star remote, Whose cheek rests pensive on an arm Circled with gems and white as snow, Half-hid within whose tresses warm The queenly sapphires are aglow? Ah, no ! World-taught I know too well The part my charming lady plays That down the wild, melodious swell Of music and the ballroom s blaze Too soon the lace-robed fay will flit, And those dear eyes that kindle here Will sparkle at the vapid wit Of some insipid cavalier. Her blushing rose so vain for naught, Spurned in an hour, forgot is blest ; But in the drear, near afterthought My name may be recalled in jest. And so, if Praed s own lyre to-night Were mine, my song would hardly be Of her whose glorious form in white Leans from this dusky balcony. Richard Plantagenet. THE THIRD PROPOSITION IF I were thine, I d fail not of endeavor The loftiest, To make thy daily life, now and forever, Supremely blest I d watch thy moods, I d toil and wait, with yearning, Incessant incense at thy dear shrine burning, If I were thine. If thou wert mine, quite changed would be these features. Then, I suspect, Thou would st the humblest prove of loving creatures, And not object To do the very things I am declaring I d undertake for tbee, with selfless daring, If thou wert mine. If we were ours? And now, here comes the riddle ! How would that work ? I m sure you d never stoop to second fiddle, And I might shirk The part of serf. And, likewise, each might neither Be willing slave or servitor of either, If we were ours ! Madeline Bridges. 32 THE SIGN OF THE MISTLETOE F.RE is the Sign of the Mistletoe? Out in the hall where the light burns low. There in the shade of the Christmas tree. Here with nobody near to see. r What is the Sign of the Mistletoe ? A sprig of green and some berries ? No ! Two red lips and a tilted nose ; Two bright eyes and two cheeks of rose. What are the rates at the Mistletoe ? For him who is given ad mittance oh, Tis only a matter (they say) of trade Twixt lips of a man and the lips of a maid. Edwin L. Sabin. 33 ASTRONOMY THE moon let down her silver hair In ripples on the sea She loosed each diamond pin with care And stuck it carefully In the dark pincushion of the sky. " Ah ! now," I said, " I know the why And wherefore of the stars. I always used to think at night, To see them shine, they were the light Of Seraphim s cigars. Now I have learned, and none too soon, They are the hairpins of the moon." Oliver Herford. CUPID S DEFENSE THEY call me a poacher, an outlaw. I hunt out of season, they say. But I note, just the same, Though I caution my game, That it seldom gets out of my way. They say I am cruel to maidens For planting my shafts in their hearts. That so? Well, it s strange That they will get in range, So many fair breasts, of my darts. They cry that my arrows are cruel, Productive of exquisite pain. Then it s queer, what a lot Of poor hearts, one time shot, Hover round me again and again ! Paul West. 35 WATHA TO DATE IAWATHA, wandering westward, In the land they call Dakota, Came upon a lovely maiden Floating down stream in a boat-a In a boat afloating down stream. Long he gazed upon the maiden, Wondering that she should have strayed in To the forest, deep and gloomy By herself, into the forest. And he watched her as she paddled Mong the bushes, out and in-nie. Wished she d look in his direction Coughed, and called out : " Ha-ha-Minnie ! And the maiden, nothing daunted, Cast her eyes across the water Looked, and saw her future master Waved, and cried " Oh, hello Arthur ! " Thus the two became acquainted Quite a thrilling story, ain t it ? 36 Long he woo d the gentle Minnie, Though she was not stout, but skinny! Wishing that his arms were stronger So that he might hug her longer Hug her close, and hug her longer ! 37 And he won the fair young Minnie Took her to his home and mother, Took her East to live in Harlem In a little flat to smother Work for him, and slowly smother ! Then began a year of trouble ! No more smiles and no more laughter- Minnie longed for Western freedom He, the land of the Hereafter For the land of the Hereafter ! Once again we see our hero Hiawatha, rushing westward To the State they call Dakota To the land of rest and freedom ! 39 Can you guess what for ? Of cour-se, Gone to get a quick divor-ce From the girl now grown more skinny ! Such is life ! Well, ta-ta, Minnie ! ! W^ C. Smith. FINIS. 40 THE RAGLAN COAT WHEN people wrote upon the rocks, In Nature s rude environment, Before they learned the use of locks, Or even knew what iron meant, In age we call the pliocene Or was it known as miocene? A million years remote, Some monkey -man arboreal Conceived the weird sartorial Design we call a Raglan coat. Before the sky was rounded out, When earth was in the plastic stage It was, beyond a single doubt, A very loose, elastic age Some husky old pre-Adamite, Who ne er of pity had a mite, That ever he might gloat O er all his fellows foolishly, Sat down to think, and ghoulishly Designed for them the Raglan coat. They wore it in the days of Rome. Old Cassius, who affected it, So stingy was he drank the foam, Nor ever once neglected it. When Brutus stabbed that friend of his, To serve a selfish end of his, And seized him by the throat, The savage, gleaming knife he used, Which, taking Caesar s life, he used, He carried in his Raglan coat. In all the ages ever since We heard the very first of it Its wicked deeds have made us wince, And we have got the worst of it. When Nero burned his city down, And sent a rattling ditty down From where he sat to gloat, His inspiration fiery He set down in his diary His wife had bought a Raglan coat. Willis Leonard Clanahan. SET FREE OEETNG my life so full of love and you, ^ That little else finds charity, you dared Sweetly to ask me, dearest, how I fared Before you came ! I ll answer you as true As you were bold : I did not live so ill ; For if my daily food was scanty fare I took it uncomplaining, as my share Of this world s happiness and grief; until You laid your hand upon the barred-up door That gives on Heaven, and set it open. Then I found my liberty, and knew at last My dwelling was a prison-house before You came, my sky the ceiling of a den, And my best feast a bread-and-water fast. Henry Chapman. 42 \ CORONET S no proper hat, And ermine on robes sug- Lk gests cat. i * I don t like his frills, And papa hates his bills, But a peer is a peer for all that. 43 THE QUARREL THE Laurel started the affair- He called the Rose a vain coquette. The Rose replied, " She did not care What people thought outside her set ! " " Faith ! you speak true ! " the Laurel cried. " The Rose and Laurel only meet When on the Hero s head we ride, And you are tossed beneath his feet." The Rose retorted : "I recall More than one Hero who threw down His laurel wreath, his honor, all For one red rose from Beauty s crown." The Laurel frowned : " Tis as you say, And yet it cannot he gainsayed Their laurels are undimmed to-day Save by the folly of that trade ! " 44 " Your reasoning s false," exclaimed the Rose. " Your premises are falser yet ; Your sentiment is all a pose. Besides, you are not in my set ! " UNMORAL. Twixt Duty, here below, and Love, Alas ! we see a great gulf fixed. Perchance they* re introduced above. / In Heaven, society is mixed. " * 45 MY LADY S SLIPPERS TWO bits of satin deftly cut, and sewn To humbler leather of the length and span Titania might have chosen for her own ; Two curving arches fashioned on the plan A King has lent his name to, lifting high Her dainty feet above all earthly things, While lighting each its way a brilliant flings Its rays to guide her as she passes by. Oh, fairy wonders of the craftsman s art, What elfin trick is this that you have played That you should thus misguide a trusting maid ! You ve led her, wandering, straight into my heart. R. D. W. D A NEW YEAR S GIFT (To THE GIRL WE ALL KNOW.) EAR, if I might, I d give no gems, Nor fabrics fair, Nor roses on long royal stems, Nor pictures rare ; Not even books, to make you wise, Were there such need But I would give a grander prize, Greater, indeed, Than the most high accomplishment Your wish could crave The grace, sweetheart, to be content With what you have ! Madeline Bridges. 46 A NUMERICAL LOVE TRAGEDY WHEN first I saw sweet Josephine, I loved her madly all the day, And all the other maids I d seen Grew dim they faded quite away. 47 Her classic face, her sweet voice low, And also divers things she said, Were quite too much for me, and so I lost my heart (but not my head). And when I met demure Suzanne, What else, I pray, was there to do? With girls like these, for every man There s much excuse for loving two. 48 And so I fell in love with her, A passion true, I must confess, And tho some critics may demur, I loved not Josephine the less. In love with two It isn t right. By some it may be thought absurd, Yet when fair Julia caught my sight, I ll swear to you I loved a third ! 49 Alas ! Poor sinner, once I gazed On Janet s face (one to be kissed As you can see) 1 was quite fazed. A fourth ! I could not well resist. But now my heart is put to rout, For they have all rejected me, Because, forsooth, each one found out How much I loved the other three ! Tom Masson. 50 H THE BLOT ON POLLY S BONNET "OW many causes intertwine To make a perfect whole ! What wondrous power, what vast design, Must pay its little toll ! No earth attainment now we see But bears some tribute on it From ev ry human industry ; For instance, Polly s bonnet. She calls it a "creation," small And simple as can be, And sees no miracle at all In its simplicity ; But when 1 try to figure out The things that helped to make it, So fast the pictures crowd about 1 hate to undertake it. The tip, that little tip that shakes So saucily on high, Was plucked one day, far, far away, Beneath an Afric sky. I see a lordly ostrich stand And lay its off ring down, To help to make, for Polly s sake, The prettiest hat in town. A little valley next appears, And on the screen I see Dull peasants toiling through the years, And trees of mulberry ; Tis France, where silkworms live and spin And yield for loom and mat The shining threads that tremble in This simple, little hat. 51 Next, wondrous fields of rustling gold Upon my mem ry come, The horses tugging through the mold, The reapers busy hum ; And skillful hands are plaiting straw, And mystic patterns gleam To make a dainty framework for What Polly calls her "dream." But what is this, with azure wing Upon the sunshine borne ? A little bird, a beauteous thing, Trills gayly to the morn ; I w^atch him bend his graceful head, As flitting blithely by, He darts away in merry play Beneath the summer sky. A shot rings out ; the leaden rain Sheds darkness all around, And writhing in its cruel pain, The bird lies on the ground ; A stream of blood its body yields, It quivers and is still ; And murder stains the yellow fields, And fashion pays the bill. So, suddenly my fancy stays, No beauty can I see ; Gone all the charming daintiness, The sham simplicity ; And Polly s face seems grown less fair Beneath her dainty bonnet, For a little mangled body there Has set death s seal upon it. John R. R a thorn. 52 THE TRUTH THAT HURTS WISDOM hath she beyond all other women Who for a husband the lover indifferent chooseth, She kno\veth well that love of indifference born Is better than love to indifference grown. Foolish is she in her own generation Who, when she hath wedded her lover, cries, broken hearted, " Tis not the man I have loved ! Tis another !" Hath not love ever played mortals these tricks ? So, fair one, tarry and worry no longer In choosing whom you shall marry. These teachings remember : Love ever deceiveth ; and, choose whom you may, You will find you have wedded a stranger. Helen Hannah Clifford. LINES TO A GRAY SISTER IXT HEN lovely woman touches forty, * * And finds, too soon, her hair is gray. What charm can make her blithe and sporty ~ And hide the fact that she s passe? There s but one way to make her pleasing And bring back gladness to her eye, So, fast the horns of Taurus seizing, Her only refuge is to dye ! Dick Law. 53 LOOKING FOR A GIRL I WAS standing on the corner Of a very busy street ; Passing time while I was waiting For a friend I wished to meet. I had waited twenty minutes And my brain was in a whirl : I was looking for a girl. Tall girls, short girls, girls of middle height ; Stout girls, thin girls, girls of brawn and might ; Young girls, old girls, girls of every age ; And the dreamy matinee girl from the fashion paper s page. I maintained my careful vigil Though my eyes were growing weak ; I was just a trifle dizzy And a flush was in my cheek. I had waited forty minutes And my brain was in a whirl : I was waiting for a girl. Prim girls, trim girls, girls of every size; Fair girls, rare girls, girls with angel eyes ; Prude girls, rude girls, bashful girls and shy ; And the girl of comic opera with the naughty little eye. I grew faint, and weak, and thirsty, And my back was bent with pain ; 1 felt a strange sensation At the bottom of my brain. 1 had waited sixty minutes, With my luckless brain awhirl : Just waiting for a girl. Pale girls, frail girls, girls of slender waist ; Blonde girls, dark girls, girls of paint and paste ; Gibson girls, Christie girls, girls both mild and rash ; And the supple-limbed athletic girl who always cuts a dash." Beware my fate, kind reader, Should you chance upon these lines ; A little ten by seven now My wasted self confines. They tell me that I m harmless, That my brain is in a whirl : All through looking for a girl. Celt girls, svelte girls, girls cut a la mode ; Quiet girls, riot girls, girls who ve "seen the road" ; Bright girls, slight girls, all make a phantom new That passes through my mind in vague kaleidoscopic view. Joseph Eolton Lougbry. 55 LOVE S ART LOVE came in glee with poised dart (He chose the lightest in his quiver), And sought to speed it to her heart She turned and fled with frown and shiver. His bold steps flew in swift pursuit (Firm purpose in his tense bow brooded), Once more his arrow aimed to shoot : Once more the angry maid eluded. He followed softly on her way (His suit now turned to accents tender), What word Love s art could prompt to say Was sworn in his vain quest to bend her. But soon he fled her cruel glance (With crippled wing and arrow broken), Till on his path one day by chance Her footsteps turn. Then all unspoken His sore plight smites upon her heart (There swift once more Love s arrow presses); And his maimed pinion s every smart Js healed with pitying caresses. L ENVOI. Though proof to moods ( tis woman s hest) Of boldness, poesy, or laughter When pity s leak springs in her breast Love s dart will follow swiftly after. THE RIGHT SIDE AND THE WRONG SIDE OF THE BED , Johnny Jones s bed is a very funny bed. On one side the sun shines ever bright, And the birds all sweetly sing, and it s gay as every thing, But the other side is dark and drear as night. And when Johnny Jones awakes he must care which side he takes, As the rising bell is calling, merrily. If the wrong side out he gets, all the day he fumes and frets, And is generally sent to bed without his tea. But if he jumps, instead, out the right side of the bed, Where the merry sun is beaming, bright and hot, He ll be happy all the day, at his books or at his play, And his mamma 11 give him candy, like as not ! Paul ITest. 57 BALLADE TO THIS YEAR S BUDS ( With Acknowledgments to Villon & Swinburne. ) TELL me, I pray, in what countree Ts Minnie, our Egyptian dame ? And Berthe and lovely Leonie, Jennie and Bessie, who could claim A beauty that s beyond our aim, On floor or links, to-day, I fear? Alas! Are they themselves to blame? Where are the buds of" yester-year ? Where is the learned Amelie, Who loved her beauty less than fame? Or Consuelo, fair and free ; Mabel and Mary ? What became Of Isabel? All! All the same ! All fled away, and left us here ! All in pursuit of higher game ! Where are the buds of yester-year? And tell me where the Muses be? Of old New York creme de la creme; That in the M. A. M. we see Each hanging, in a dusty frame ! The Bouncers, too, that none could tame, But laughed at Mrs. Grundy s sneer! Gone ! What a pity ! What a shame ! Where are the buds of yester-year ? ENVOI. Sweet roses ! Sweet by any name ; That first with this year s snows appear, Just smile, if some old fool exclaim, Where are the buds of yester-year? Henry G. Chapman. 53 LOVE S such a fool ! He ll grow and thrive On just the simplest fare alive ; A glance, a word, a trifling touch, Will feed his system much too much. Love s such a fool ! When all is o er, And Fate hath clanged her leaden door When Hope no shred of sustenance gives, On ghosts of joy the blockhead lives. Emma Carleton. 59 THE BRIDGES OF SHELL ACROSS the swirling torrent of her hair Three tortoise bridges stretch. Their arches guide In tiny currents that rebellious tide Of chestnut brown, that else flowed everywhere. The sun throws red and gold reflections there, The winds a silken spray are flinging wide, While fragrance blows such odors as abide In choicest teas the chests of Asia bear. The breeze more ardent, warmer kisses plies ; More eager for disorder ripples rise. The bridges sway and swing the turmoil hides Their forms they fall ! Flee, flee, my fellows ! Save Your hearts ere they are swept away. Love rides In search of wreckage on that tossing wave. Layto?i Brewer. HAPPINESS-A RECIPE TO make it: Take a hall, dim lit; A pair of stairs where two may sit ; Of music soft, a bar or so ; Two spoons of just two spoons, you know ; Of little love pats, one or two, Or one squeezed hand instead will do ; A waist the size to be embraced ; And two ripe lips, rose red to taste ; And if the lips are soft and sweet, You ll find your happiness complete. 60 PERCY S BREACH OF PROMISE SUIT LOVELY Phyllis loved a lawyer, Percy Algernon McPhee, Who was waiting for a practice, Waiting long and patiently. (Also, tho she proudly scorned him, She d a slave in Reuben Lee.) Slowly passed the ling ring seasons Like a long-protracted dream, Till the legal mind of Percy Hit upon a novel scheme. " Phyllis, dear," he said one evening, When the gas was turned down low, Far from me be all complaining, But I find the law is slow. " So, to hasten on our wedding, I ve evolved a little plan. Now, don t start, dear, but just listen ; You must love some other man ! " (And, I don t mind hinting, dearest, I d select rich Reuben Lee.) Lead him on till he proposes, Then accept him gracefully. 61 " Treat him gently till you feel he s Firmly fixed upon the hook, Then just play him as the angler Plays the troutlet in the brook ! " Make him prance and make him grovel, So that, weary of his life, He declares, in anguished accents, You shall never be his wife. " Then, his billets-doux collecting, Come and call on your McPhee, Who s been waiting at a distance Calmly, but expectantly. " And together we ll consider, And together institute Just a little twenty-thousand- Dollar breach of promise suit ! " Phyllis, tho at first reluctant, Was, at last, completely won; And the pact was sealed with kisses As the clock was striking one. 62 Two weeks later Percy chuckled, As he read his Morning Bee, At the news of the betrothal Of his love to Reuben Lee. All that day he spent in Harlem, Vainly searching for a flat, Which would hold a small piano And his darling s theatre hat. But that night when tired Percy Opened his hall-bedroom door, Here s the note he found from Phyllis, Lying blankly on the floor : " Dearest Perce " (it ran), "I m sorry That our plans have fallen through But when a man s in such a hurry, Pray, what can a poor girl do ? 63 " So, reluctantly, I write you, That this afternoon at three, At the church around the corner, I was wed to Reuben Lee. P. S. When the honeymoon is ended Come and have a cup of tea ! " J. H. Holliday. COMMISERATION I see a little boy Dressed up like a young Lord Fauntleroy, With ruffles, and ribbons, and rings, and curls, And things that are only fit for girls, I m as sorry for him as I can be; And I pity him, too, for I know that he Is either the namby-pamby kind, Or his mother is a well, never mind. Edward Salisbury Field. 64 SUPREME AT THAT e > cs that a ^ half-blinded By girlish thoughts that flit, She reads the latest novel Enough to talk of it. Yet, deem her not constructed Upon a shallow plan. Her specialty lies higher, For she can read a man ! 65 THE OLD HAT. 66 THE OLD HAT VX7HEN Dolly dons her Easter hat ** A wondrous thing and peerless She makes a proclamation that I find depressing, cheerless. The hat is pretty, that is sure ; And pretty, too, is Dolly ; But beauty s magic fails to lure Away my melancholy. For very stern she grows, whereat I m present bliss dismissing When Dolly dons her Easter hat The edict is, ** No kissing !" James Barrett Kirk. THOSE EASTER BELLES THOSE Easter belles, those Easter belles, Full half of them are wicked sells That never hear, nor heed the chime Of church bell save at Easter time. Those howling swells, those howling swells, Now turning out, in swift pell mells, Are hastening, bent on nothing else But flirting with those Easter belles. Those Easter belles ! Those Easter belles ! How many a lie the poet tells Who his reluctant muse compels To sing your praises Easter belles ! Madeline Bridges. 67 A VALENTINE IF YOU LOVE ME, ETHEL, DEAR, THIS IS HOW I SHALL APPEAR. IF YOU DO NOT, ETHEL, LOVE, I SHALL FEEL LIKE THE ABOVE. THE COST ERE you take ship for Land o Dreams Inspect your ticket well ; it seems In that fair realm no gold is spent But oh your heart must pay the rent. 68 THE FACTS IN THE CASE OF BLUE BEARD A MAIDEN from the Bosphorus, with eyes as bright as phosphorus, Once wed the wealthy bailiff of the caliph of Kelat. Though diligent and zealous, he became a slave to jealousy : Considering her beauty twas his duty to be that. When business would necessitate a journey he would hesitate, But, fearing to disgust her, he would trust her with his keys, Remarking to her prayerfully: "I beg you ll use them carefully. Don t look what I deposit in that closet, if you please ! It may be mentioned casually that blue as lapis lazuli He dyed his hair, his lashes, his moustaches and his beard, And just because he did it, he aroused his wife s timidity ; Her terror she dissembled, but she trembled when he neared. This feeling insalubrious soon made her most lugu brious, And bitterly she missed her elder sister Mary Anne ; She asked if she might write her to come down and spend a night or two. Her husband answered rightly and politely : " Yes, you can ! " Blue-beard the Monday following, his jealous feeling swallowing, Stowed all his clothes together in a leather-bound valise, And, feigning reprehensibly, he started out ostensibly, By traveling to learn a bit of Smyrna and of Greece. His wife made but a cursory inspection of the nursery, The kitchen and the airy little dairy were a bore, As well as big or scanty rooms, and billiard, bath and anterooms, But not that interdicted and restricted little door. For, all her curiosity awakened by the closet he So carefully had hidden and forbidden her to see, This damsel disobedient did something inexpedient, And in the keyhole tiny turned the shiny little key, Then started back impulsively, and shrieked aloud convulsively : Ten heads of girls he d wedded and beheaded met her eye ! And turning round, much terrified, her darkest fears were verified, For Blue-beard stood behind her, come to find her on the sly. Perceiving she was fated to be soon decapitated, too, She telegraphed her brothers and some others what she feared, And Sister Anne looked out for them, in readiness to shout for them, Whenever in the distance with assistance they appeared. But only from her battlement she saw some dust that cattle meant. The ordinary story isn t gory, but a jest : 70 But here s the truth unqualified. The husband wasn t mollified. Her head is in his bloody little study with the rest ! THE MORAL : Wives, we must allow, Who to their husbands will not bow, A stern and dreadful lesson learn When, as you ve read, they re cut in turn. Guy Wetmore Carry/. THE SAME OLD GAME THEY played the game in Asia, Eight thousand years agone. The same old game that folks play now The game of knight and pawn. The headman sat in judgment. The soldiers will controlled The mass of folks who wrought for bread And did as thev were told. They played the game in Egypt For many thousand years. The strong got what they thought was good, The weak made good their fears. The toilers built the pyramids To hold the bones of kings. Behold them, standing still to mark The constancy of things. 72 III. In Greece they liked the stren uous life And led it, all who could, While Helots did the tiresome work, As Helots always should. They loved the beautiful and good, They slicked their skins with oil. Greece was an ideal land for folks Who didn t have to toil. 73 The Romans were a lordly crew And domineered the Earth. The best was good enough for them, Naught less their pains was worth. Great folk were they who did their job So thoroughly, that still Earth s face is scored by marks that speak The vigor of their will. All are gone. O er Babylon The lion prowls by night. Egyptian, Argive, Roman where Is now their rule of might ? All gone ! On rolls the patient orb, While Saxon asks of Slav, If Earth is big enough for both, And what share each shall have. 74 CROSS AND CROWN PRETTY MAIDEN, come with mc> -t Let us cross the ocean s foam, And forever happy be In my dear old London home." " What s your title, gentle sir? Do you wear a ducal crown ? Can I make a social stir As your bride in London town ? " " Nay, I am a simple knight ; Tis with love I sue to thee. Let us our betrothal plight And together cross the sea." But the maiden turned away, Gave her head a flippant toss, And the Briton heard her say : "No, siree ; no crown no cross." B. Hawkins. 75 BALLADE OF THE STRAWBERRY BLONDE U /CARROTS" they called it when we were V>< young, In deep disdain for the copper hue ; " Red-head ! " But now that it s praised and sung, Erstwhile scoffers know their cue : " Titian loved it ! " and Titian knew How the yellow and brown and the red respond To the sun s rich ray ; and they say tis true Cleopatra, too, was a strawberry blonde ! Catherine of Russia had hair of flame ; Aspasia, Maintenon, Helen of Troy, Diana of Poitiers owned the same. (None with loud laughter dared them annoy !) Madame Recamier, France s joy, Anne of Austria, fair and fond, (To bronze their locks did they art employ ?) Cleopatra, too, was a strawberry blonde. Eyes that were jewels of blue or green, Or gray or brown, these dames possessed ; Rose-tinted flesh with a satin sheen. In a thousand changing colors dressed, Long lines of ladies, all russet-tressed, Appear at the wave of Tradition s wand, And fair and stranger than all the rest, Cleopatra, too, was a strawberry blonde ! ENVOI. Flavia, Queen, with the auburn locks, Take this for answer, duly conned, Thy flaming hair when the rude world mocks : " Cleopatra, too, was a strawberry blonde ! " May Waring. 76 VALE, WINTER GOOD BY, O Winter. Fare thee well ! Farewell to all thy ills, To plumbers and pneumonia And grip and huge coal bills. 77 Farewell to all the hothouse things For which we ve had to pay ; To deadly dinners and cold feet, And opera and play. Farewell ! And let s rejoice to feel. That, with thy vanished snows, We still may keep in debt to buy My lady s new spring clothes. LOVE S WAY will love go? When thou shalt weave a bower of young rose shoots, His table spread of cherished wines and foods, Con songs to sing to him, purse thy lips to flutes, And run with eager tendance on his moods, Crying, "Abide with me, rest ever so ! " Then will love go. When will love stay ? When thou shalt say, << Go, death comes in thy track ; God, reason, right, decree that we must part. Go, flee the world s damnation, look not back ; There is no room for thee within my heart." When this to him thy anguished soul shall say, Then will love stay. not a Sunday afternoon But finds him stepping down Just at the corner, when the car Comes jingling out from town ; And nudging, nodding, whispering, The gossips watch him go To knock once more at her dear door Jt is Belinda s beau. " He s on the way, he s on the way ! " Her heart begins to beat At eager footsteps hurrying Along the frozen street : " He s here, he s here ! " it sings for joy At sight of him, and lo, For all it s winter, roses bloom To greet Belinda s beau. If it should chance the weather s fine, Beneath her dimpled chin Her bonnet s tied, a monstrous muff She slips her fingers in, To tread with him her well-worn paths Across the sparkling snow That take into a fairy- land Belinda and her beau. Then home they turn when early dusk Creeps on, a starlit haze, To stir the embers on the hearth Into a fitful blaze ; 79 While very near, although apart, Before the ruddy glow They sit, in secret silences Belinda and her beau. O trembling, timid, happy time, When love that dyes the cheek And shines in sorry stolen glance Still hesitates to speak ! They part without a word, and yet, Without a word, they know Next Sunday when it comes around Will bring Belinda s beau ! M. E. W. A BOURGEOIS BALLADE This is but a simple jangle, Telling bow one free from guile Got into a fearful tangle Thro* a skipping-rope and smile. DORIS was a butcher s daughter, Slender, tall, and fair to see, With a smile her mother taught her In her tender infancy. Philip s father was a pieman, Famous for his buns and cakes, But a rusty, crusty Timon Such as Nature seldom bakes. Philip with some pies was tripping On an errand, when he first Saw the smiling Doris skipping Rope with links of wiener-wurst. Faster flew her feet, and faster, Philip s heart beat pitapat, (Love, the trickster ; Love, the master, Was responsible for that. ) From that day throughout the seasons Philip husbanded his pay ; (But, for sentimental reasons, Versified his time away. ) Till, when he had safely gathered Twenty nickels in his store, He reflected that his father d Better know ere he did more. 81 "I ve some news to tell you, Papa," Bashful Philip meekly said ; " For T think it only proper You should know I mean to wed." Loudly jeered the cruel parent, Sneering " Pish ! " and likewise " Tush !" Why, you ne er-do-well, you daren t ; Who ll supply your milk and mush ? " Simply answering his sire, "Never fear, I ve funds to burn," Philip left him ere his ire Took a more abusive turn. 82 Left him and proceeded straightway To the burly butcher s store, Found him leaning in the gate-way, With his apron steeped in gore. Well, my little man, what is it ? Cutlets, ruffled grouse, or lamb? Whence the pleasure of this visit ? Sweetbreads, leber-wurst y or ham?" " Sir, I come to find your daughter ; Come to find and make her mine Feeling if I once besought her, She could ne er my love decline." Harshly laughed the sanguinary Villain worthy of the stage, Till a sudden fancy merry Dissipated quite his rage. 83 " Step within and see my daughter, Suitor blithe and debonair, Speak the message you have brought her, You ll receive her answer there." Joyfully, our Philip entered, (Simple soul, devoid of guile !) Thinking that creation centered In the charming maiden s smile. " Lovely fairy," cried he loudly, " Take a trusting pieboy s heart,, I will guard you, O so proudly ! Let us never, never part ! 84 But the while our hero s cup is Running o er with rapture sweet " Let him join the other puppies," Smiled his Doris ; "it is meet ! " Then the rash, tempestuous tyrant (Never was a man so mean !) Thrust the overbold aspirant In his sausage-meat machine. * * * Philip s gone yes, gone before us, And his soul s at rest, I hope ; Tho the ever-smiling Doris Has a brand-new skipping-rope ! J. H. Holliday. 85 BALLADE OF CASUAL KISSES NOT carefully are these bestowed These be the little coins we throw As largess to a beggar s woe Or drop unheeded on the road. These may not pay for pleasures owed ; We scorn to hold them miservvise ; Too small to spend by law or code The kisses that we do not prize. These be the food of love, no doubt, Yet not for palates overnice ; Poor food, devoid of salt or spice, An epicure would do without. Food guaranteed to give no gout ; A Barmecidal feast that lies Spread for the many thronged about The kisses that we do not prize. On infant, relative and friend, E en on the sycophantic foe ; On those we think we know we know, When friendships start, when friendships end, These be the empty ones we send In envelopes to please the eyes ; Yea, blissful as a kiss that s penned The kisses that we do not prize. L ENVOI. True Lovers, make ye no ado ; With gold thrice tried we pay your sighs. God wot they re not for such as you The kisses that we do not prize. Tbeodosia Garrison. 86 SYLVIA OYLVIA fettered me with smiles; ^ Chained me with an hundred wiles ; Held me close, in captive guise, With the magic of her eyes. Yesterday the bonds she broke ; Granted freedom from the yoke ; Gave me back my liberty ; Sylvia, what is that to me ? Soothly, even to the grave, I would rather be a slave ! Clinton Scollard. 87 BERTHA. 88 BERTHA BERTHA never seems to know Just the time I ought to go. Bertha loves me that I m sure. Bertha s coy and immature. Some day she will learn, no doubt, It s the time to put me out (May that be a distant day !) When I m longing most to stay ! REMODELED WOMAN I CANNOT guess the inwardness Of Fashion s strange decrees, For I should think they d make a dress To fit the form with ease. The waist should be, it seems to me, Where er by Nature placed, But study woman, and you ll see She has a sliding waist. For now the gown at least in town Ne er fits the damsel fair ; The waist-line is now up, now down, Diagonal or square. You can t evade the truth displayed To Art her form she owes ; And every year she is remade To fit the latest clothes. Elliott Flower. 89 CINDERELLA (A GRIMM TALE MADE GAY) THE vainest girls in forty states Were Gwendolyn and Gladys Gates They warbled, slightly off the air, Romantic German songs, And each of them upon her hair Employed the curling tongs ; And each with ardor most intense Her buxom figure laced, Until her willful want of sense Procured a woeful w r aist, For bound to marry titled mates Were Gwendolyn and Gladys Gates. But, truth to tell, the swains were few Of Gwendolyn, and Gladys, too. So morning, afternoon, and night, Upon their sister they Were wont to vent their selfish spite, And in the rudest way ; For, though her name was Leonore, That s neither there nor here, They called her Cinderella, for The kitchen was her sphere, Save when the hair she had to do Of Gwendolyn, and Gladys, too ! Each night to dances and to fetes Went Gwendolyn and Gladys Gates : With aching heart she watched them go, In silks and satins clad. 90 (A prince invited them, and so They put on all they had !) But one fine night, as, all alone, She watched the flames leap higher, A bent and wrinkled fairy crone Stepped nimbly from the fire, Who cried : " The pride upon me grates Of Gwendolyn and Gladys Gates!" " I ll now," she added, with a frown, Call Gwendolyn and Gladys down ! " And ere your fingers you could snap There stood before the door No paltry hired horse and trap ; No, no ! A coach and four ! And Cinderella, fitted out Regardless of expense, Made both her sisters look about Like thirty-seven cents. The prince, with one look at her gown, Turned Gwendolyn and Gladys down ! Wall-flowers, when thus compared with her, Both Gwendolyn and Gladys were. The prince but gave them glances hard, No gracious word he said ; He scratched their dances off his card, And wrote her name instead : While where he would bestow his hand He showed them in a trice, By handing her the kisses, and To each of them an ice ! In sudden need of fire and fur Both Gwendolyn and Gladys were ! At ten o clock, most malcontent, Both Gwendolyn and Gladys went. Their sister stayed till after two, And, with a smile sincere, The prince obtained her crystal shoe, By way of souvenir. " Upon the bridal path," he cried, " We ll reign together ! Since I love you, you must be my bride ! " He was no slouch, that prince ! And into sudden languishment Both Gwendolyn and Gladys went. THE MORAL : Many girls on earth Exaggerate their proper worth. They think the very shoes they wear Are worth the average millionaire, Whereas few pairs in any town Can be half-sold for half a crown. Guy Wetmore CarryL A DEMAIN DEAREST, to-morrow day, As hoping children say, Will see me on my way In any weather And in the realm that we Rule in eternity, I and my love shall be Angels together. Henry Grafton Chapman. THE SUMMER GIRL NOW the Summer Girl she packs her ducks, (It s beautiful weather tor them !) And puts on a skirt with a thousand tucks, Three hundred ruffles and eighty pucks, Some darts and gores and a hem. She loadeth her trunks on the hotel trucks All light with the ruffles and lace, And dreameth of fluttering, gay, young bucks, Of the golf and the surf, and she doesn t care shucks For the tan on her beautiful face. She engageth herself to a man or two, Anyone, short or tall She doesn t care whether they re old or new, Rich or poor and neither would YOU, If you knew twould be off in the fall ! C. R. Bacon. INVERSE RATIO MAN S inhumanity to man is hard, In fact, tis scarce in line with aught that s human. And yet tis quite angelic, as compared With woman s inhumanity to woman. 93 A GIFT FOR PRUE EASY to choose a gift for Prue The dear girl likes such hosts of things ; Bracelets and brooches, clasps and rings ; Easy to choose a gift for Prue Rare bits of pottery that grew Beneath some ancient master s hand ; A hall-marked silver jug ; a new, Strange jewel from an Orient land Easy to choose a gift for Prue. There re scores of things that one could name Roquewood, she tells me, she adores ; Or say a fan of Pompadour s ; There re scores of things that one could name A fluffy Persian cat that came In pomp and state from over sea ; A rug from Ispahan a tame Huge bull pup with a pedigree - There re scores of things that one could name. Oh, passing well, her tastes 1 know That doesn t puzzle me at all ; Why, any one of these would call Her rapt appreciation so. Prince, read the reason of my woe. I have, to squander on these things Herein the puzzle lies, I trow Precisely what my timepiece brings. And passing well her tastes I know. Theodosia Garrison. * *. A PRANK OF FATE IS that the bell ? A note from Nell ? I think, though, it was Isabel, Who said that she might send for me To join her on the links at three. But 1 dare say the note s from May We quarreled badly yesterday Tis true, but yet, she " feels And will forgive if I ll forget 95 regret, I can foretell those missives well ; When Love s light fingers touch the bell, Some wire apart, by Cupid s art Completes a circuit in my heart. But, yes, I own I might have known That thrill was Mabel s right alone , She s back in town " Oh, Mrs. Brown, It s you well, put your basket down." Jennie Betts Hartswick. THE KING S JESTER ARTH is the great King s kitchen, wide and vast Where each of us, a laboring cook, doth try To bake for him some dainty unsurpassed To win his regal favor each doth vie. For tis to him who cooks the daintiest fare A boon, that he shall leave his humble place And gladly mount the great King s marble stair, To swagger in his halls in gold and lace. CHANCE is a jolly jester, wand ring through, Who, bent on mischief, casts his eyes around To find another scurvy trick or two That to his far-famed foolship may redound. He spies a pasty baking merrily, And quickly, ere the busy cook can know, With finger pokes it, swelling airily And lo ! our daintiest cake is turned to dough ! Joseph H. Gregory 96 A BALLADE OF WEALTH SAW her first in youth, a vision fair, Who whispered of strange pleasures she could give ; Like rubies were her lips, spun gold her hair ; She said : Without me, wherefore shouldst thou live?" Quoth I : " And may I hope thy grace to gain ? " "Yea," answered she; "though long thy toil, rejoice ; Art thou but faithful, toil shall not be vain ; This do withhold thy pen, nor lift thy voice ; " Toil on in silence mid the dust of earth ; Observe nor moon nor star ; see not the sun ; Forget all loveliness ! forsake all mirth ; Know neither right nor wrong. So am I won.* Lo, even as she bade me have 1 toiled ; Refrained from song, nor looked toward the sky ; Weary and worn at last, and all assoiled, Unfit for fair companionship am I. 97 Yet Wealth had kept her word and come to me, Owning me master ; yea, and she is fair ; But oh, a very dreary guard hath she, Who leaves her never. This is crabbed Care. Was it for this I toiled, and stifled song ? Wealth whispers, with low laughter : "I have come, And 1 am thine: but both of us belong To crabbed Care." Moreover, 1 am dumb! Geraldtne Meyrick. AN OLD BACHELOR raw, and chill, and cold outside, With a boisterous wind untamed, But I was sitting snug within, Where my good log-fire flamed. As my clock ticked, My cat purred, And my kettle sang. I read me a tale of war and love, Brave knights and their ladies fair ; And 1 brewed a brew of stiff hot-scotch To drive away dull care. As my clock ticked, My cat purred, And my kettle sang. At last the candles sputtered out, But the embers still were bright, When I turned my tumbler upside down, An bade m self g night ! As th ket l t-hic-ked, The clock purred, And the cat (hie) sang! Tudor Jenks. 98 To crabbed Care. but both of us belong 99 ENIGMA WE go to church on Christmas day, Mary and I, sedately, My sweetheart softly gowned in gray With quiet step and stately ; She will not smile at what I say Her lashes veil her cheek What saint devout e er knelt to pray With face more calm and meek? I would not dare to touch her hand, Of very smiles I m chary ; Some things no man may understand, But this is this is Mary. We go to Martin s Christmas night, Molly and I, for dinner ; Whose smile so quick, whose eyes so bright As those of my sweet sinner ? We chat, we laugh, we toast, we quite Lose sight of the hereafter, I and my darling heart s delight Aglow with fun and laughter. Beneath the cloth I press her hand, My chum, so sweet and jolly ; Some things no man may understand, But this is this is Molly. Tbeodosia Garrison. 100 THE TWENTIETH "CENTUkV" SPRING evening when twas very Near the end of February, To Father Time Old Winter came and sighed ; "I m nearly over, "said he, "And I hope that Spring is ready." "I will send for her this min ute," Time replied. "Bring me Spring!" he then demanded, But his warder, empty- handed, Entered trembling, with a scared and awe-struck face ; "This new century," said the warder, " Isn t yet in working order, And I cannot find a Spring about the place." " Zounds ! " cried Time, " It is no wonder I am nearly crazy under The work that this new century must bring ; And for half a hundred reasons I forgot to make the seasons, But I ll hurry now and improvise a Spring." "Bring me sunshine," he directed, As some choice clouds he selected, " And a roll of blue sky-paper, if you please ; Bring some grass that s young and tender, Devvdrops of a sparkling splendor, And half-a-dozen different kinds of breeze. " Bring me pitter-patter showers, And some timid, early flowers A few in bloom, but most of them in bud ; Bring me birds that warble gladly, And some dust that whirls up madly, And don t forget to bring a little mud." Then Old Time, the clever artist, Went to work and made the smartest, The prettiest, and very latest thing In Springs. She was exquisite ! Then tor her maiden visit He sent to Earth the Twentieth Century Spring. Carolyn Wells. THE "WHEN" POEMS TT 7HEN searching press or magazine ^ * To catch a moment s bliss, You re sure to find some poem there Which reads about like this : " When Mabel Trips Across the Street," "When Mollie Mounts Her Wheel," << When Susie Seats Herself to Play," " When Stella Starts to Squeal." " When Celia Comes Upon the Stage," "When Helen Has a Beau," " When Sophie Skates Upon the Ice," "When Sallie Starts to Sew." "When Mother Makes a Johnnycake," " When Polly Pours the Tea," " When Father Shaves His Stubbly Face," "When Susie Smiles at Me." " When Grandma Winds Her Ball of Yarn," " When Patience Packs Her Trunk," " When Sammy Spins His Brand New Top," "When Father Slays a Skunk." " When Ezra Eats Pie With a Fork," "When Charlotte Chews Her Gum," " When Gertrude Strikes Her Golfing Ball," " When Baby Sucks His Thumb." "When Rachel Rakes the Meadow Hay," "When Betsey Bumps Her Crown," "When Willie Wears His Trousers First," " When Reuben Comes to Town." 104 And so ic goes from day to day, No matter which you read, The daily press or magazine, " When" poems take the lead. Joe Cone. BEHIND THE SCENES THE Cynic gazed on a pictured face ; Then hid it away from sight ; And, taking his role of the narrow soul, He sang to the shadowy night : In the perilous land of Wedded Life A mythical treasure lies; And tools afire with a vain desire Give search for the hidden prize. " They hunt in couples ; man and maid ; They hunt through a lifetime s round; Their minds a-teem with a sickly dream ; Yet none hath the treasure found. Wild Will o th f Wisp is their trusted guide; Such sport ne er comes amiss; And he laughs, < Ho ! Ho ! as the search doth go, Tis for Matrimonial Bliss! " And the Wise, who worship the great god, Sense, Tvvixt pity and scorn divide Of the mortals weak who have gone to seek Where the Devil hath been to hide." The Cynic finished his song, then pressed On the pictured face a kiss ; And swore, " I can find, an the maid be kind, This Matrimonial Bliss ! " Truman Roberts Andrews. 105 LUCY THOUGH beauty is only skin-deep, As carpers would have us believe, There s enough of it still up the sleeve Of Lucy to rob me of sleep. So learn, by the state that I m in Neglecting my meals, and all that That the heart s not protected by fat, Nor are looks the less fatal, though thin. EDITION DE LUXE PRISCILLA is a poem sweet, As anyone may see, Of perfect lines and rhythmic feet And bound for life to me. Her brow, a frontispiece so rare, Contains no smallest line, But eyes speak volumes, and declare The whole edition mine. About her mouth a winsome smile Of rapture gives a hint ; Sweetheart, I d travel many a mile For one unpublished print. But lest I lose my treasure trove, Desired, though undeserved, I ll mark you " Copyright," my love, And add " All rights reserved." Lucy J. Miller. 106 LUCY. 107 THE GIRL ACROSS THE WAY H ER voice throughout the atmosphere With never-ceasing ca dence rings. The latest songs, tis true, I hear, And yet my soul s removed from cheer. Yea, I am sad dest when she sings. MY CHIFFONIER JV/TY chiffonier, so dear to me -L -* In bachelor days, won Dorothy : " This cubby-hole will take my hat, The small drawer at the top why, that Is just the place for gloves ! " said she. " You do not mind? I may? Merci ! Down here I ll keep my lingerie; Veils here " and so she schemed it at My chiffonier. At first I owned a corner wee For "rings and things," but latterly My trunk s my wardrobe s habitat. It holds not even a cravat, Yet it is still (by courtesy) My chiffonier. Edward W. Barnard. 108 ITEMIZED THREE nights spent in scheming What is best to do. Ditto filled with dreaming Dreams of pink and blue, Sixteen trips about it, Searching right and left - Coming back without it, Weary and bereft. Nine short days exploring Fashion s lexicon ; Blissfully adoring, Pricing, trying on. Fourteen hours ot flurry, Trimming it aright. Countless hours of worry Lest it prove a fright. Poignant fears of blunder Feelings simply numb ! Half a day of wonder Why it doesn t come. Frenzied declaration All is done amiss. Moments of vexation Over that and this. Ribbons, wires, and roses (Nature s counterparts). Sundry tilted noses. Sundry yearning hearts. 109 Last, a terse indictment (Twenty dollars, flat !). Out of the excitement Just an Easter hat ! Edwin L. Sabin. A : TO THE SISTER OF MY SOUL H, Little Sister of my Soul, For whom my songs were sung, Your eyes demanded daily toll Of my poor rhyming tongue ! I looked within their depths of brown To see the love-light shine. I braved the laughter of the town To be your valentine. How foolish now our quarrel seems ! ( Twas all my fault, I know,) But lovers cannot dine on dreams, And poets are so slow. * # * And are you really older grown? Your curls are silver now ? Your voice has a sedater tone ? A slander, I ll avow ! Your face is printed on my heart, Where only one may see, And hourly, as I dream apart, It dearer seems to me ! I hold you in my heart s control Forever fair and young, Ah, Little Sister of my Soul, For whom my songs are sung ! Ernest Neal Lyon. ABOVE AND BELOW SHE lives in the square below me there. Ah me ! If she d only love me ! She lives in the square below me there, But moves in a circle above me. in A BALLADE IN BLUE CHINA ( IVitb apologies to Andrew Lang. ) NOW isn t it really curious; And doesn t it show the futility Of" warning against the injurious Effects of mixed sociability, When a girl who, with greatest facility, Could have captured and wed a much finer man, And ended her days in tranquillity, Expresses her love for a Chinaman? What makes me so terribly furious Provokes me almost to scurrility- Is noting that foreigner s spurious Imitations of social civility. I do not deny his utility Nor wilfully would I malign a man, Till a lady with crass imbecility Expresses her love for a Chinaman. She says that his grace is luxurious ; But it s only an air of servility, Like that of a common usurious Dispenser of loans to nobility ; He s wholly devoid of virility. To prison I d gladly consign a man When a girl with such facile docility Expresses her love for a Chinaman. L ENVOI. So I curse in my weak puerility Dresden potters who could so design a man, That my lady with great volubility Expresses her love for a china man. Alb in Peddecord Ingram. 112 np\VAS a doll who wore, in -1 Christmas store, The laurels that fall to tew ; With lips of crimson, and locks galore, And eyes of a china blue. Her neighbor near was a monkey queer, Tied fast to a painted stick (But paint a mother with never a fear Might allow her child to lick). This doll, I swear ( tis a case not rare), Was sillily, blankly vain Her basis clothes, and the wavy hair That covered her sawdust brain ! And she made a mock of the humble stock Surrounding her shining niche ; She smoothed and flaunted her silken frock With many a haughty twitch. While the monkey sighed (he was lacking pride), And hated his fuzzy paw, And out of his beady eyes he tried To gaze at the doll with awe. For of course it s seen that a monkey mean At eighteen cents, ah me, Is only dirt to a \vaxen queen At a dollar and seventy-three. 113 But the doll, all shorn, and her trappings torn, In a corner lies for days, While a dainty maid, in careless scorn, With some other trinkets plays. And 1 know a boy with a single toy (A poor little, lame little wight) The monkey, battered and loved, with joy He hugs to his breast all night ! Edwin L. Sab in. 114 THE OTHER FELLOW OF all who dwell upon the earth There s none I wish to harm, There s none who, seeing me approach Need feel the least alarm ; My heart is filled with love for all, Save one whom I detest But, oh, the way I hate that man Makes up for all the rest ! I will not write his name, lest he Should chance to read my rhyme, And learning of his danger, flit To some far distant clime ; But just to show how he has used Me like a canine yellow, I ll give some reasons why I hate That horrid "other fellow." My trouble with him first began When we were boys at school, He always won the prizes, and Made me appear the fool ; And then at college later on, When reached the years more mellow, I found the scholarships all went To him, the " other fellow." When college days were o er, and I To find a job set out, To my disgust 1 learned that he Knew what I was about ; "5 He d managed to obtain the start By telephone came, Hello ! We re awfully sorry, but we ve just Engaged the other fellow. And then oh crudest blow of all ! When love had pierced my heart, And I went begging Annie Bell To take away the smart, When I implored her to be mine Much gold she had and yellow- She let me know, oh, wretched girl ! She loved the " other fellow." Now, tell me, don t you think that I Have cause to hate this man, Who lies in wait at every turn To harm me if he can ? If he should fall into my hands I d make him howl and bellow I wouldn t do a thing to him ! Confound that " other fellow ! " William Wallace Wbitelock. 116 TO CELESTINE YO U ask me if forever I will be true to you. In all the world there s never A lover who s more true ! And yet there s one condition My constancy to mar That you, my dear patrician, Must stay just as you are ! 117 MADE IN GERMANY FAIR GRETCHEN keeps a toy shop Of woolly lambs and things, That roll about or wildly pop Forth on their agile springs. And when she chooses to display Her well-made store to me, She says in quite a haughty way, " Yah ! made in Germany." She thinks that I might like a doll. Have I a little girl? " See dot sweet leetle pet ; look, all Her hair vas real " A curl Has strayed forth from sweet Gretchen s cap, The one real curl to me. What are the other curls that hap To come from Germany? A wooden horse, all painted brown, Just like Von Waldersee s, Quite meekly in this China town Supports some dolls Chinese. I d quickly buy this charger fine, If Gretchen would but be A fellow-traveler of mine, And flee to Germany. Ah ! rosy Gretchen, can t you see Tis not your wares I seek? What though they be from Germany, They cannot love or speak. 118 Tis your sweet self, for love has laid His fairy wand on me; I want the maiden who was made In wise old Germany. Annulet Andrews. THE SPIDER AND THE FLY (SUMMER VERSION.) THE oriole hangs in the apple His cradle of gauze and down, And rallies a song of sunshine Out of the country and town ; But lighter than note of the ruby throat Is the song Miranda sings When out in her cool, green hammock She gracefully rocks and swings. The spider has stretched his hammock Of soft and delicate skein To tangle the trysting fire-fly That blunders upon the scene ; But on her veranda the coy Miranda Swinging and singing I spy Ah ! she is the cunning spider, And I am the tangled fly ! Her music has lured me to prison ; Her beauty has made me stay, And snared, and meshed, and tangled, I never shall get away From moonlit veranda and dreamy Miranda No matter, for love I die ; My sweetheart s the cunning spider, And I am the tangled fly ! Aloysius Coll. 119 CHERCHEZ LA FEMME LIFE yields in all its varied round, Of mysteries not a few, Nor can a spot on earth be found That knows not one or two ; 120 This fact is true of New York town, And doubtless of Siam, But everywhere the wise declare, Cbercbez la femme. Does some pale youth, whose merry laugh Once cheered the listener s heart, Begin to mope, like moon-struck calf, And play a Hamlet s part ; Or does a man of ancient mien Sport like a playful lamb, And lose his sense and competence ? Cbercbez la femme. The secrets of the Cabinet Appear, we ll say, in print; Some scandal of the upper set Is told by smile and hint ; Our enemies have learned, we find, The strength of Uncle Sam, The proper way to win the fray Cbercbez la femme. And so, my son, cbercbez la femme Whenever you re in doubt, Be not content with saying " Damn ! " But find the culprit out ; With steady brain, untroubled eye, Dissect each show and sham, But waste no time on simple man Cbercbez la femme. William Wallace Wbitelock. 121 HIS WIFE SOMEHOW I never seem to mind the men They look a minute, then they look away But it s the women that I mind most; they Whisper and lift their eyes and stare again, And I stare back as though I didn t care, Care, while my throat chokes and my eyes are dim. It s not for me, but oh, to think they dare To laugh at Jim my Jim. Perhaps I shouldn t mind I ought to be Used to their sneers and grins by now, God knows, And yet how this train stops and backs and slows And waits for more to look at him, and me. " Only a little glass or two," he said, Oh, my poor boy, how gay he looked and trim ! I used to think I d rather see him dead, But oh, it s Jim, my Jim. I wonder if those staring women think I envy them their husbands sitting there Prim and sedate ! The fools, I d rather bear With everything, the pain, the shame, the drink, And be his wife, his wife to help him so, His wife to love him and to comfort him. How proud I used to be, how proud, and oh, To think it s Jim my Jim. Tbeodosia Garrison. 122 IN ANY GARB TN olden times, when a girl grew up, A They tied her with ropes of gems. They shackled her ankles and wrists with ore, And they crowned her with diadems. They soaked her tresses in perfumed oil, They rubbed her with pastes and things, Then brought her forth, as a queen, befit To rivet the gazes of kings. But now a dip in the tumbling weaves, With a rest on the sands between, A linen skirt, and a sailor hat And she s just as much of a queen ! Madeline Bridges. A LOST HOUR IS LOST HAPPINESS one, but many, if my will has weight To guide the shuttles of her life and mine, Shall be the hours when an obedient fate Our threads of life shall closely intertwine. For, as a gambler who has lost a score Sends after it a hundred, so shall I Send after this lost hour a hundred more, Well knowing it is gone, for good and aye. Yet can I never count it wholly lost, For what we lose, we value. Now I know Such hours are priceless, know it to my cost, And swear that she, as well, shall hold them so. Henry Chapman. 124 THE GOURMET OF THE TABLE D HOTE W r HEN the Res August* make you dine For fifty cents including wine, Rail not at Fortune, curse not Fate. Let Laughter on Diges tion wait. Assist your appetite and note The gourmet of the table d hote. Items : a full dress satin tie, A polished shirt, a silker high, A heavily-embroidered vest (It s sweller if it s double-breast), A just-marked-down Tuxedo coat, The gourmet of the table d hote. His haughty vis-a-vis, Miss Brown, Model at Itsky s, 7 Down Town, By day in Itsky s cloaks arrayed, But only for the wholesale trade, Out-Gibson s all " Life s " girls. (I quote The gourmet of the table d hote.) She thinks him " elegint," refined; His charms of feature, form and mind Make all the other down-town gents Like mutilated thirty cents. To make him President she d vote The gourmet of the table d hote. 125 From old Chianti s chicken soup That never knew contents of coop, To " demytass o cafFynore," He goes the limit, often more, With gusto of suburban goat, The gourmet of the table d hote. He sighs and sniffs Chianti s ink, Then smacks his lips and says, "I think That glass o wine is very fair That is, for plain Vang Ordinair." He feels the joys that Omar wrote, The gourmet of the table d hote. God bless you, though, dear little cad, You made me laugh when I was sad * -x- -x- * Quaint gourmet of the table d hote. Wilton Lackaye,. 126 DAPHNE S KISSES OH, Daphne refreshes like waters And Daphne gives life, like the air. The most captious of Eve s captious daughters Could scarcely deny she is fair. She is free with her love, with her laughter, Free with sympathy s tears that come after, And gossip malignantly hisses That Daphne is free with her kisses. That one should too generous be with His wealth, is a fault, yet a grace ; The things in life s list to be free with, And yet hope for mercy, we place In one class, and for others all vainly Indulgence is begged. Tis marked plainly By our system of crosses and crisses That Daphne must not with her kisses. And yet if earth s blindness shall leave us Clear-eyed at the Goal of Desire, We may find that one fault, although grievous Did not blot out her virtues entire. We may see, far above and beyond, This sweet soul that was faulty and fond In the place that some Pharisee misses Poor Daphne, who s free with her kisses. Grace MacGowan Cooke 127 NARROW streets and turbaned Arabs Peddling royal Pharaoh scarabs, Where Mohammedans religious Beg and pray with zeal prodigious. That s Egypt ! Mighty pyramids, tremendous, Monuments of toil stupendous ; Obelisks and wizened mummies, Monarchs once, now poor, dry dummies. That s Egypt ! Ruined temples so gigantic As to thrill the mind pedantic ; Sphinxes, marred and mutilated, Rameses statue, broken pated. That s Egypt ! Donkey boys, alert and smiling, All one s ready cash begui/ing; Every soul for backsheesh pleading, Tourists wisely little heeding. That s Egypt! Villages of mud, poor hovels, Quaintest water-wheels, queer shovels, Everything, in fact, so curious One feels either fond or furious. That s Egypt ! 128 O er the fields the Nile s vast network, On the mosques the Moorish fretwork ; Domes and minarets abounding, Oft the call to prayer resounding. That s Egypt! Hieroglyphics, strange inscriptions, Written by those old Egyptians, Telling of their god Osiris, Or, perchance, of Ra or Isis. That s Egypt ! Power and greatness long since vanished, Progress from its borders banished ; Just enough of ancient glory Left there still to tell its story. That s Egypt ! Labelle H. Ferry. WHEN BESSIE CLIMBED OVER THE WALL WHEN Bessie climbed over the wall Not a word could I utter, For my heart was a flutter At a sight not permitted at all, Of most delicate laces And an ankle, Ye Graces, When Bessie climbed over the wall. The fleeting blood rushes To her forehead in blushes. The sweet picture I love to recall, But I can t see the reason (I suppose this is treason) Why Bessie climbed over the wall. Winifred Sackville-Stoner. 129 TO A POET FROM DULCINEA POET, although you ve been extremely kind, The time has come when I must speak my mind. I think it is absurd for you to write My " lips are like twin cherries," what a sight I d be if such a silly thing were true ! Do cherries really look like lips to you ? Then, shell-like ears ! " To the marines, pray tell, My ear is like a hard and slimy shell ! " With eyes like stars ! " Indeed, sir, even at night, My eyes are not two yellow dots of light. And I confess it gives me quite a twinge Just to imagine " lids with jetty fringe." " Hair like a raven s wing ! " Fancy a maid With short, stiff quills that wouldn t coil or braid! And I would be the most distressed of girls Were my teeth small and spherical "like pearls." As to my neck, you really should be told Tis not "like alabaster," hard and cold. Then, arms like ivory ! " Candid, I must own ! Why don t you say they re nothing but a bone? O, prithee, Poet, if you think me fair, With better things than these my charms compare ! Carolyn Wells. 130 TO POLLY MY dear, your face was meant to kiss, By one, selected for such bliss Just one and I should well, rejoice If you would let me make that choice. THE UNCONQUERABLE HE mercury was falling fast s out u P on tne A youth, who bore, encased in ice, A bag of clubs. He bellowed * - twice, "Fore!" His waistcoat, a red coat beneath, Gleamed like a dahlia in its sheath, And like a brass ten-pounder rung The howl educed from leathern lung, "Fore!" "Try not the links," the keeper bawled, "The snow s so deep you will be stalled; The wind, the ice!" twas all in vain. Shrieked out the youth in high disdain, "Fore!" <( Say hold up there it s time to quit. D ye take me for a snow-plow nit ! " So ran the caddie s last farewell. The only answer was a yell, "Fore!" And, as he wound his matin horn Ere yet the dawn s faint streaks were born, The milkman heard a muffled cry, Broke by a sniff, a sneeze, a sigh, "Fore!" 132 A mound of snow they cleared away And found him, later in the day, Clubs clasped to breast in grip of death, And murmuring with gasping breath, "Fore!" M. W. Pool. A CHRISTMAS HINT OF bits of ribbon, silk and gauze, Sweet Phyllis fashioned hosen For hanging on the Christmas-tree, To hold the gifts she d chosen. And I ? I helped and watched, meanwhile, The long and taper fingers Ah, how each touch of those fair hands Within my memory lingers! I might forever thus have sat In silent adoration ; But Phyllis has a great dislike For such a situation. So, with an air most commonplace Designed to check my pleasure, She said, There, all are done save yours; Now, pray, what shall it measure ? " How should I know? " I, wondering, asked. "Why, thus; the measure of it Should faintly hint to good Saint Nick The gift that you most covet. * I looked sweet Phyllis in the eyes ; I said, " If this be true, dear, Make me the stocking for my gift About as big as you, dear." Truman Roberts Andrews. 133 BALLADE OF THE GOLFING BORE FULL many beastly bores there be Abroad upon this spinning sphere, Who, when afar one fain would flee, Make dire assault upon the ear ; But this beyond all doubt is clear, Albeit they mount to triple score, He is the deadliest and most drear, The unrelenting golfing bore ! He ll start you off upon the " tee," And round the links the course will steer ; Meanwhile the strange trajectory Of balls * pulled, " < sliced, and < topped will blear The circumambient atmosphere Until you can endure no more, And wish him in some nether sphere, The unrelenting golfing bore ! Of much will he discourse with glee, That unto you is nonsense sheer ; At every other game will he Make mockery with flout and fleer ; His aim in life, it would appear, Is just to beat the " Bogey " score, And should he all the town would hear The unrelenting golfing bore ! ENVOY. Peace, though you reckon year on year From the evanished days of yore, Yet will you fail to find his peer, The unrelenting golfing bore ! Clinton S collar d. 134 A BALLADE OF RED-HEELED SHOES THEY flit, a noiseless cavalcade, Through bygone times, in brave array, By many a stately dame displayed Who loved the world of yesterday ; When spinets trilled the plaintive lay Of saraband or pavan slow, They ground a myriad hearts to clay The red-heeled shoes of long ago. Deft fancies summoned to their aid A broidered wreath or ribbon stay ; Perchance a buckle carved of jade Whereon an armored love might pray For lightest whims their charms portray And frailest fashionings bestow, That subtle magic they should sway The red-heeled shoes of long ago. What wonder, then, that undismayed They danced on Cupid s wreaths of bay, And sternest doubters could persuade That life might turn from grave to gay ? US Like faint, sweet promises of May They trod the years, and weal or woe Twas subject to their witching way The red-heeled shoes of long ago. ENVOY. Long gone their wearers where are they ? And only quaint traditions show, In old romances or the play The red-heeled shoes of long ago. Charlotte Becker, AT MATINS PRETTY Miss Piety Sat in her pew, Clothed in sobriety Sable the hue. Eyelids half sleeping, Head held askance, Eyes barely peeping Ripe for a glance. What s the priest saying? How can she tell ? Is she not praying Fervently well ? Do her thoughts wander ? Libel her not ; See ! she doth ponder Her polyglot. Ended the service (Hers to St. Anne ; Ardent her verve is), Amen ! and a man." 136 w IN SNOW TIME HEN Alice and I go sleighing In a cutter that s snug for two, With the chime of the sleigh-hells saying, " She is only for you for you !" I think of the club and its smoker, Where the mercury s seventy-three, And the boys at their tedious poker Well wouldn t they like to be me? A horse that is fleet and steady, A moon at the full in the sky, A road where the snow already Is trampled, and hard, and dry. Then out through the country we jingle, The bearskin tucked under her toes, Our ear-tips beginning to tingle, A tear at the end of my nose ! The snow neath the runners is creaking; The horse to his fast pace demurs ; And then I am conscious of seeking A little hand under the furs. Was anything ever so cosy ? My courage grows suddenly bold, And Alice s cheeks are as rosy As roses perhaps with the cold ! Then home ! when she says she is freezing To lunch, and a fire in the grate; A low-spoken word and a squeezing Of hands as we drive through the gate. 137 I pity the fellows still playing At poker, and toasting their toes, Who haven t a partner for sleighing, Like Alice, my Queen of the Snows. " Frank R. Batchelder. BESIDE THE GAS LOG WHEN the winds are chill and the sky is gray, And a haze is over the earth, somehow There is nothing to do and little to say, Except hats and gowns and such powwow. Then it s oh to browse in the newest book Where heroes swagger with pomp and show, And deep in a chair by the chimney nook To sit and dream in the gas log s glow ! In the dear, dim, distant days of old, Booted and spurred the gallants rode, Giving no thought to the glint of gold, And sword in hand was the only code. Ruffles of lace and cloaks they wore. There was love and hate for friend and foe. Ah, those were the heroes of old-time lore We can see them all in the gas log s glow ! Empty age of the Up-to-date, Loves and wars of the Here and Now, Is there no voice articulate Our rights in romance to allow Makers of plots with mould o er cast? Are we of to-day so beastly slow We must bask in the ashes of the past And scorn the warmth of the gas log s glow? Kate Mastenon. 138 NOW LENT IS DONE NOW Lent is done before your door The world will call you as before With thrill of music, voice of swain, And you will laugh and trip again Its madding measure as before. Ah well, our quiet times are o er The beauty of my days is slain, Our talks, our walks I yearn in vain Now Lent is done. Alas, these may not charm you more Our books, our chats, our teacup lore; Not mine to greet the Easter sun ; My time of fasting is begun Forbid the sweets I hunger for Now Lent is done. Tbeodosia Garrison. 139 PRO BONO PUBLICO ORE knew she had < a call " to be a poet ; ^ She thought she dreamed in nothing else but rhyme. Could she but mount her Pegasus and go it, She felt she d reach her pinnacle in time. But, oh ! like many poets, now and erstwhile, She needed cash," the bugbear of our race And so, to stay her hunger and her thirst while She dreamed in verse, she had to take a " place." Now she s baking, and she s frying, and she s boiling In the kitchen of a flat against her will. Who knows but, while above the range she s toiling, Her soul poetic things is thinking still. Who cares? Not I ! Her cooking does not show it. My dinner in that flat, last night, I took, And I ll swear, although the world has lost a poet, It s gained what s twice as valuable a cook ! Paul West. THREE B S THREE B s there be, three busy B s ! Together go always. Two of them cater to my ease, The third curtails my days. The twain are comrades staunch and true, The other makes me ill. The Bottle and the Bird are two, The third B is the Bill ! Paul West. 140 IN CHERUBTOWN IN Cherubtown it s quite the thing To go a-sprinting on the wing, To gallivant the livelong day And with the other cherubs play; To perch upon a fluffy cloud, And go star-golfing with the crowd. Life there has naught of human ills, No endless chain of horrid bills, No tailors out to make a haul, For cherubs wear no clothes at all, But spend their time in endless flights Through sunlit days and star-crowned nights ; Just to be frivolous they re hired, And, strange to say, they re never tired, Although to rest they can t sit down. They don t do that in Cherubtown ! Kate Masterson. THE USELESS QUEST IF I could find some lonely hill, Some silent rocky shelf, I d hie me there, its space to fill With nothing but myself. If I could come upon a beach Far from man s trodden ways, And also out of woman s reach, My tent I d promptly raise. Alas ! Yet though my quest should stretch Half round the world, what good? I know I d meet some other wretch Seeking for solitude ! Madeline Bridges. 141 TO MARION THE North Land hath her stories Of wood and plain and sea. The North Land hath her glories ; She pours them out for thee. The borealis token She brings to light thy hair. The sheen of snow unbroken To deck thy bosom fair. She loves the hue of roses On cheek and lip to set ; And when thine eyelid closes It hides the violet. The swaying birch rejoices To see its grace in thee. The singing summer voices Fill thine with ecstasy. She takes the white carnation And with deep alchemy, For thy soul-exhalation, Distilleth purity. E. C. M TRANSPOSITION WHEN I proposed I lost my head, Which fact I quickly told her! I didn t mind, for she instead Put her head on my shoulder. 142 MARION. THE HORSE(LESS) SHOW TT ZRE S Molly Fly (she s left the stage) And now most sow his oats. Tis said they ve had a spat ; She leads the man a merry life Jost see her Paris hat ! And \lri. Bra^.ev -Jones- Der_e Divorced, you know, to-day. That gown has cost a :hou. or two Bat not her husband, *.o tis told ! That s he, across the aisle Here * Reginald de Figurehead, Who wears his clothes bat once. And old Mbs Smffe, in hanring red. She s rkh, although a dance. And Trixey Ni-.te that stunning gown Is only plain kati:te. And Roger Wabble-Legi, in brown, With trousers London creased. And Aitor v,:- //:-. h K:-v O - : f -V;.,- ? or ? ^.: r>. ? : ^ She pots in most her time, indeed, Ye*, aUSodet/bhere! What * that? I muted the word. Voo atk for btr:t: . Hash, rny dear, They :; think you quite absurd. Ld"j,in L. Ha kin. 144 A BALLADE OF EASTER THE town s been masked tor many a day In the garb of a pensive penitent A " hooded friar of orders gray " Has kept the gates of imprisonment ; But duty and vow at last relent, The guarded portals are open wide, Penance and last alike are spent. The world is awake in the Easter-tide. Thrice a week in a saintly way, Her serious gaze on the pavement bent, Lest even a single glance should stray, Marjorie, gowned like a Quaker, went To sew for the suffering indigent ; But Marjorie s thimble Is laid aside, And her eyes meet mine with a shy consent. The world is awake in the Easter-tide. Stole and Missal have held their sway. Low, in an attitude reverent, Worldlings many have knelt to pray, While the belfry summoned, " Repent, repent." But in at the window steals the scent Of hyacinths brave in their April pride, And the people know with a glad content The world is awake in the Easter-tide. ENVOI. Conscience, of late so eloquent, Your voice of warning may now subside; You may go to sleep till another Lent. The world is awake in the Easter-tide. Jennie Betts Hartswick. WHEN DOROTHY GOES OUT I D have the sun to warm her, I d wish the breeze to cool, All nature still to charm her From Martinmas to Yule ; I d wish her every comfort With skies too blue for doubt But I d have all crossings muddy When Dorothy goes out. For thus twere well, together To mix a touch of smart With pleasant outing weather, To teach her maiden heart Life should be full of crosses As love is full of doubt I d have <?// crossings muddy When Dorothy goes out. 146 AN INITIAL FINE~~OF 25 PFNT VA 01621 387598 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY