\\ - NSx THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES 4_X/vV Copyrighted in 1875, by F. B. Patterson. Press of KILBOUHNB TOMPKINS, 16 Cedar St., New York. TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGB. AFFER THE GERMAN, . , . . . . . " 5 AN IDYL OF THE PERIOD, . . . , . . . . 7 CHIVALRIE, . . ,".-,-. . . .16 A PIECE OF ADVICE, . . . ..... 18 ZWEI KCNIGE AUF ORKADAL, 24 A SONG, . . . . . . . . 26 MAKING NEW YEAR'S CALLS, 28 JACK AND ME, . . . . . . . . 33 LES ENFANTS PERDUS, ...... . . -37 CHINESE LANTERNS, . . . ... . 41 THOUGHTS ON THE COMMANDMENTS, .... 45 LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM, . ... ... . 48 UP THE AISLE NELL LATINE'S WEDDING, . . -57 THE " STAY-AT-HOME'S " PLAINT, . . . 66 THE " STAY-AT-HOME'S " P/EAN, 71 TEN HOURS A DAY, . . . . . , . 75 602243 TABLE OF CONTENTS. SLEEPING BEAUTY A PARABLE, 78 EASTER MORNING, 83 A LEGEND OF ST. VALENTINE 88 FROST-BITTEN, 93 A SONG, 95 OLD PHOTOGRAPHS, 98 "LE DERNIER JOUR D'UN CONDAMNE," . . . . 101 CHRISTMAS GREENS, 104 LAKE MAHOPAC SATURDAY NIGHT, .... 108 MATIN AL MUSINGS, 116 A ROMANCE OF THE SAWDUST, 124 PYROTECHNIC POLYGLOT, 131 FISHING, 134 NOCTURNE, 139 AUTO-DA-FE, . . 141 AN AFTERTHOUGHT, 148 REDUCTIO AD ABSURDUM, 151 AFTER THE GERMAN. A SOPHOMORE SOLILOQUY. BLACKBOARD, with ruler and rubber before me, Chalk loosely held in my hand, Sun-gilded motes in the air all around me, Listlessly dreaming I stand. What do I care for the problem I 've written In characters gracefully slight, As the festal-robed beauties whose fairy feet flitted Through the maze of the German last night ! AFTER THE GERMAN. What do I care for the lever of friction, For sine, or co-ordinate plane, When fairy musicians are playing the "Mabel,"' And waltzes each nerve in my brain ! On my coat 's powdered chalk, not the dust of the diamond That only last night sparkled there, By the galop's wild whirl powdered down on my shoulder From turbulent tresses of hair. In my ear is the clatter of calk against blackboard, Not music's voluptuous swell ; Alas ! this is life, so pass mortal pleasures, And, thank goodness, there goes the bell ! JANUARY, 1867. 6 AN IDYL OF THE PERIOD. IN TWO PARTS. X PART ONE. 'COME right in. How are you, Fred ? Find a chair, and get a light." ' Well, old man, recovered yet From the Mather's jam last night ? ' ' Didn't dance. The German 's old. " "Didn't you ? I had to lead Awful bore ! Did you go home ? " "No. Sat out with Molly Meade. AN IDYL OF 7 HE PERIOD. Jolly little girl she is Said she didn't care to dance, 'D rather sit and talk to me Then she gave me such a glance ! So, when you had cleared the room, And impounded all the chairs, Having nowhere else, we two Took possession of the stairs. I was on the lower step, Molly, on the next above, Gave me her bouquet to hold, Asked me to undo her glove. Then, of course, I squeezed her hand, Talked about my wasted life ; AN IDYL OF THE PERIOD. : Ah ! if I could only win Some true woman for my wife, How I 'd love her worl for her ! Hand in hand through life we 'd walk- No one ever cared for me ' Takes a girl that kind of talk. Then, you know, I used my eyes She believed me, every word Said I 'mustn't talk so' Jove ! Such a voice you never heard. Gave me some symbolic flower, ' Had a meaning, oh, so sweet, ' Don't know where it is, I 'm sure ; Must have dropped it in the street. AN IDYL OF THE PERIOD. How I spooned ! And she ha ! ha !- Well, I know it wasn't right But she pitied tne so much That I kissed her pass a light. " PART TWO. ' Molly Meade, well I declare ! Who 'd have thought of seeing you, After what occurred last night, Out here on the Avenue ! Oh, you awful ! awful girl ! There, don't blush, I saw it all." AN IDYL OF THE PERIOD. 'Saw all what?" "Ahem! last night- At the Mather's in the hall." ' Oh, you horrid where were you ? Wasn't he the biggest goose ! Most men must be caught, but he Ran his own neck in the noose. ' I was almost dead to dance, I 'd have done it if I could, But old Grey said I must stop, And I promised Ma I would. So I looked up sweet, and said That I 'd rather talk to him ; Hope he didn't see me laugh, Luckily the lights were dim. AN IDYL OF THE PERIOD. My, how he did squeeze my hand ! And he looked up in my face With his lovely big brown eyes Really it 's a dreadful case. ' Earnest ! ' I should think he was ! Why, I thought I 'd have to laugh When he kissed a flower he took, Looking, oh ! like such a calf. I suppose he 's got it now, In a wine-glass on his shelves ; It 's a mystery to me Why men will deceive themselves. 'Saw him kiss me ! ' Oh, you wretch ; Well, he begged so hard for one AN IDYL OF THE PERIOD. And I thought there 'd no one know So I let him, just for fun. I know it really wasn't right To trifle with his feelings, dear, But men are such stuck-up things ; He '11 recover never fear. AUGUST, 1870. CH1VALRIE. UNDER the maple boughs we sat, Annie Leslie and I together ; She was trimming her sea-side hat With leaves we talked about the weather. The sun-beams lit her gleaming hair With rippling waves of golden glory, And eyes of blue, and ringlets fair, Suggested many an ancient story 16 CH1VALKIE. Of fair-haired, blue-eyed maids of old, In durance held by grim magicians, Of knights in armor rough with gold, Who rescued them from such positions. Above, the heavens aglow with light, Beneath our feet the sleeping ocean, E'en as the sky my hope was bright, Deep as the sea was my devotion. Her father's voice came through the wood, He 'd made a fortune tanning leather ; I was his clerk ; I thought it good To keep on talking about the weather. JULY, 1866. A PIECE OF ADVICE. So YOU 'RE going to give up flirtation, my dear, And lead a life sober and quiet ? There, there, I don't doubt the intention 's sincei But wait till occasion shall try it. Is Ramsay engaged ? Now, don't look enraged ! You like him, I know don't deny it ! iS A PIECE OF ADVICE. What, give up flirtation ? Change dimples for frowns ! Why, Nell, what 's the use ? You 're so pretty, That your beauty all sense of your wickedness drowns. When, some time, in country or city, Your fate comes at last, We '11 forgive all the past, And think of you only with pity. Indeed ! so "you feel for the woes of my sex !" "The legions of hearts you 've been breaking Your conscience affright, and your reckoning perplex, Whene'er an account you 've been taking ! " " I 'd scarcely believe How deeply you grieve At the mischief your eyes have been making ! " A PIECE OF ADVICE. Now, Nellie ! Flirtation 's the leaven of life ; It lightens its doughy compactness. Don't always the world with deception is rife- Construe what men say with exactness ! I pity the girl, In society's whirl, Who 's troubled with matter-of-factness. A pink is a beautiful flower in its way, But rosebuds and violets are charming, Men don't wear the same boutonniere every day, Taste changes. Flirtation alarming ! If e'er we complain, You then may refrain, Your eyes of their arrows disarming. A PIECE OF ADVICE. Ah, Nellie, be sensible ! Pr'ythee, give heed To counsel a victim advances ; Your eyes, I acknowledge, will make our hearts bleed, Pierced through by love's magical lances, But better that fate Than in darkness to wait, Unsought by your mischievous glances. NOVEMBER, 1871. ZWEI KONIGE AUF ORKADAL. FROM THE GERMAN". THERE sat two kings upon Orkadal, The torches flamed in the pillared hall. The minstrel sings, the red wine glows, The two kings drink with gloomy brows. Out spake the one, "Give me this girl, With her sea-blue eyes, and brow of pearl. ZWEI KONIGE AUF ORKADAL. The other answered in gloomy scorn, "She 's mine, oh brother ! my oath is sworn.' No other word spake either king In their golden sheaths the keen swords ring. Together they pass from the lighted hall Deep lies the snow by the castle-wall. Steel-sparks and torch-sparks in showers fall, Two kings lie dead upon Orkadal. NOVEMBER, 1869. A SONG. I SHOULDN'T like to say, I 'm sure I shouldn't like to say Why I think of you more, and more, and more, As day flits after day. Nor why I see in the Summer skies Only the beauty of your sweet eyes, The power by which you sway A kingdom of hearts, that little you prize I shouldn't like to say. I shouldn't like to say, I 'm sure, I shouldn't like to say 26 A SONG. Why I hear your voice, so fresh and pure, In the dash of the laughing spray. Nor why the wavelets that all the while, In many a diamond-glittering file, With truant sun-beams play, Should make me remember your rippling smile- I shouldn't like to say. I shouldn't like to say, I 'm sure, I shouldn't like to say, Why all the birds should chirp of you, Who live so far away. Robin and oriole sing to me From the leafy depths of our apple tree, With trunk so gnarled and grey But why your name should their burden be I shouldn't like to say. JULY, 1870. 27 MAKING NEW YEAR'S CALLS. SHINING patent-leather, Tie of spotless white ; Through the muddy weather, Rushing round till night. Gutters all o'erflowing, Like Niagara falls ; Bless me ! this is pleasant, Making New Year's calls. 28 MAKING NEW YEAR'S CALLS. Rushing up the door-step, Ringing at the bell ' ' Mrs. Jones receive to-day ? " "Yes, sir." "Very well." Sending in your pasteboard, Waiting in the halls, Bless me ! this is pleasant, Making New Year's calls. Skipping in the parlor, Bowing to the floor, Lady of the house there, Half-a-dozen more ; Ladies' dresses gorgeous, Paniers, waterfalls, Bless me ! this is pleasant, Making New Year's calls. MAKING NEW YEAR'S CALLS. ' ' Wish you Happy New Year " "Many thanks, I 'm sure." ' ' Many calls, as usual ? " " No ; I think they 're fewer. " Staring at the carpet, Gazing at the walls ; Bless me, this is pleasant, Making New Year's calls. "Really, I must go now, Wish I had more leisure." ' ' Won't you have a glass of wine ? " ' ' Ah, thanks ! greatest pleasure. Try to come the graceful, Till your wine-glass falls ; Bless me ! this is pleasant, Making New Year's calls. MAKING NEW YEAR'S CALLS. Hostess looks delighted Out of doors you rush ; Sit down at the crossing, In a sea of slush. Job here for your tailor Herr Von Schneiderthals Bless me ! this is pleasant, Making New Year's calls. Pick yourself up slowly, Heart with anguish torn, Sunday-go-to-meetings In a state forlorn. Kick a gibing boot-black, Gibing boot-black bawls, Bless me ! this is pleasant, Making New Year's calls. MAKING NEW YEAR'S CALL*. Home, and woo the downy, But your soul doth quake, At most fearful night-mares Turkey, oysters, cake. While each leaden horror That your rest appals, Cries, "Dear heart! how pleasant Making New Year's calls." JANUARY a, 1870. JACK AND ME. SHINE ? All right ; here y' are, boss ! Do it for jest five cents. Get 'em fixed in a minute, That is, 'f nothin' perwents. Set your foot right there, sir. Mornin 's kinder cold, Goes right through a feller, When his coat 's a gittin' old. Well, yes, call it a coat, sir, Though 't aint much more 'n a tear. Git another ! I can't, boss ; Ain't got the stamps to spare. 33 JACK AND ME. ' Make as much as most on 'em ! ' Yes ; but then, yer see, They 've only got one to do for, There 's two on us, Jack and me. Him ? Why, that little feller With a curus lookin' back, Sittin' there on the gratin', Warmin' hisself, that's Jack. Used to go round sellin' papers, The cars there was his lay ; But he got shoved off of the platform Under the wheels one day. 34 JACK AND ME. Fact, the conductor did it, Gin him a reg'lar throw, He didn't care if he killed him Some on 'em is just so. He 's never been all right since, sir, Sorter quiet and queer ; Him and me goes together, He 's what they call cashier. Style, that 'ere, for a boot-black, Made the fellers laugh ; Jack and me had to take it, But we don't mind no chaff. 35 JACK AND ME. Trouble ! not much, you bet, boss ! Sometimes, when biz is slack, I don't know how I 'd manage If 't wa'nt for little Jack. You jest once orter hear him : He says we needn't care How rough luck is down here, sir, If some day we git up there. All done now, how's that, sir? Shines like a pair of lamps. Mornin' ! Give it to Jack, sir, He looks after the stamps. FEBRUARY, 1871. LES ENFANTS PERDUS. WHAT has become of the children all ? How have the darlings vanished ? Fashion's pied piper, with magical air, Has wooed them away, with their flaxen hair And laughing eyes, we don't know where, And no one can tell where they 're banished. 'Where are the children ?" cries Madam Haut-ton, "Allow me, my sons and daughters, Fetch them, Annette ! " What, madam, those ? Children ! such exquisite belles and beaux : True, they 're in somewhat shorter clothes Than the most of Dame Fashion's supporters. 37 LES ENFANTS PERDUS. Good day, Master Eddy ! Young man about town, A merchant down in the swamp's son ; In a neat little book he makes neat little bets : He doesn't believe in the shop cigarettes, But does his own rolling, and has for his pets Miss Markham and Lydia Thompson. He and his comrades can drink champagne Like so many juvenile Comuses ; If you want to insult him, just talk of boys' play, Why, even on billiards he 's almost blase, Drops in at Delmonico's three times a day, And is known at Jerry Thomas's. LES ENFANTS PERDUS. And here comes Miss Agnes. Good morning ! "Bon jour!" Now, isn't that vision alarming ? Silk with panier, and puffs and lace, Decking a figure of corsetted grace ; Her words are minced, and her spoiled young face Wears a simper far from charming. Thirteen only a month ago, Notice her conversation : Fashion that bonnet of Nelly Perroy's And now, in a low, confidential voice, Of Helena's treatment of Tommy Joyce, Aged twelve, that's the last flirtation. 39 LES ENFANTS PERDUS. What has become of the children, then ? How can an answer be given ? Folly filling each curly head, Premature vices, childhood dead, Blighted blossoms, can it be said ' Of such is the kingdom of Heaven ? ' MAY, 1870. CHINESE LANTERNS. THROUGH the windows on the park Float the waltzes, weirdly sweet ; In the light, and in the dark, Rings the chime of dancing feet. Mid the branches, all a-row, Fiery jewels gleam and glow ; Dreamingly we walk beneath, Ah, so slow ! CHINESE LANTERNS. All the air is full of love ; Misty shadows wrap us round ; Light below and dark above, Filled with softly-surging sound. See the forehead of the Night Garlanded with flowers of light, And her goblet crowned with wine, Golden bright. Ah ! those deep, alluring eyes, Quiet as a haunted lake ; In their depths the passion lies Half in slumber, half awake. Lay thy warm, white hand in mine, Let the fingers clasp and twine, While my eager, panting heart Beats 'gainst thine. CHINESE LANTERNS. Bring thy velvet lips a-near, Mine are hungry for a kiss. Gladly will I sate them, dear ; Closer, closer, this, and this. On thy lips love's seal I lay, Nevermore to pass away ; That was all last night, you know, But to-day Chinese lanterns hung in strings, Painted paper, penny dips, Filled with roasted moths and things, Greasy with the tallow drips ; Wet and torn, with rusty wire, Blackened by the dying fire ; Withered flowers, trampled deep In the mire. CHINESE LANTERNS. Chinese lanterns ; Bernstein's band ; Belladonna; lily white ; These made up the fairy-land Where I wandered all last night; Ruled in all its rosy glow By a merry Queen, you know : Jolly, dancing, laughing, witching, Veuve Cliquot. JULY 7, 1870. THOUGHTS ON THE COMMANDMENTS. 'LovE your neighbor as yourself/ So the parson preaches ; That's one half the Decalogue. - So the Prayer-book teaches. Half my duty I can do With but little labor, For with all my heart and soul I do love my neighbor. 45 THOUGHTS ON THE COMMANDMENTS. Mighty little credit, that, To my self-denial ; Not to love her, though, might be Something of a trial. Why, the rosy light, that peeps Through the glass above her, Lingers round her lips : you see E'en the sunbeams love her. So to make my merit more, I '11 go beyond the letter ; Love my neighbor as myself? Yes, and ten times better. For she 's sweeter than the breath Of the Spring, that passes Through the fragrant, budding woods, O'er the meadow-grasses. THOUGHTS ON THE COMMANDMENTS. And I Ve preached the word I know, For it was my duty To convert the stubborn heart Of the little beauty. Once again success has crowned Missionary labor, For her sweet eyes own that she Also loves her neighbor. 47 LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. 'THANK you much obliged, old boy. Yes, it 's so ; report says true. I 'm engaged to Nell La tine What else could a fellow do ? Governor was getting fierce ; Asked me, with paternal frown, When I meant to go to work, Take a wife, and settle down. Stormed at my extravagance, Talked of cutting off supplies Fairly bullied me, you know Sort of thing that I despise. LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. Well, you see, I lost worst way At the races Governor raged So, to try and smooth him down, I went off and got engaged. Sort of put up thing, you know All arranged with old Latine Nelly raved about it first, Said her ' pa was awful mean ! ' Now it 's done we don't much mind- Tell the truth, I 'm rather glad ; Looking at it every way, One must own it isn't bad. She 's good-looking, rather rich, Mother left her quite a pile ; LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. Dances, goes out everywhere ; Fine old family, real good style. Then she 's good, as girls go now, Some idea of wrong and right, Don't let every man she meets Kiss her, on the self-same night. We don't do affection much, Nell and I are real good friends, Call there often, sit and chat, Take her 'round, and there it ends. Spooning ! Well, I tried it once Acted like an awful calf Said I really loved her. Gad ! You should just have heard her laugh. LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. Why, she ran me for a month, Teased me till she made me wince 'Mustn't flirt with her,' she said, So I haven't tried it since. 'T would be pleasant to be loved Like you read about in books Mingling souls, and tender eyes Love, and that, in all their looks ; Thoughts of you, and no one else ; Voice that has a tender ring, Sacrifices made, and well You know all that sort of thing. That 's all worn-out talk, they say, Don't see any of it now 53 LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. Spooning on your fiancee Isn't good style, anyhow. Just suppose that one of us, Nell and me, you know some day Got like that on some one else Might be rather awkward eh ! All in earnest, like the books Wouldn't it be awful rough ! Jove ! if I but pshaw, what bosh ! Nell and I are safe enough. Some time in the Spring, I guess ; Be on hand to wish us joy ? Be a groomsman, if you like Lots of wine good-bye, old boy." DECEMBER, 1870. 54 UP THE AISLE. (NELL LATINE'S WEDDING.) TAKE my cloak and now fix my veil, Jenny How silly to cover one's face ! I might as well be an old woman, But then there 's one comfort it 's lace. Well, what has become of those ushers ? Oh, Pa, have you got my bouquet ? I '11 freeze standing here in the lobby, Why doesn't the organist play ? They 've started at last what a bustle ! Stop, Pa ! they 're not far enough wait ! 57 UP THE AISLE. One minute more now ! Do keep step, Pa ! There, drop my trail, Jane ! is it straight? I hope I look timid, and shrinking ! The church must be perfectly full Good gracious, please don't walk so fast, Pa ! He don't seem to think that trains pull. The chancel at last mind the step, Pa ! I don't feel, embarrassed at all But, my ! What 's the minister saying ? Oh, I know, that part 'bout Saint Paul. I hope my position is graceful How awkwardly Nelly Dane stood ! 'Not lawfully be joined together, Now speak " as if any one would. Oh, dear, now it 's my turn to answer I do wish that Pa would stand still. UP THE AISLE. 'Serve him, love, honor, and keep him" How sweetly he says it I will. Where 's Pa ? there, I knew he 'd forget it When the time came to give me away 'I, Helena, take thee love cherish And" well, I can't help it, "obey." Here, Maud, take my bouquet don't drop it I hope Charley 's not lost the ring ! Just like him ! no goodness, how heavy ! It 's really an elegant thing. It 's a shame to kneel down in white satin And the flounce real old lace but I must I hope that they 've got a clean cushion, They 're usually covered with dust. All over ah, thanks! now, don't fuss, Pa! Just throw back my veil, Charley there ! 61 UP THE AISLE. Oh, bother ! Why couldn't he kiss me Without mussing up all my hair ! Your arm, Charley, there goes the organ Who 'd think there would be such a crowd ! Oh, I mustn't look round, I 'd forgotten, See, Charley, who was it that bowed ? Why it 's Nelly Allaire, with her husband- She 's awfully jealous, I know, 'Most all of my things were imported, And she had a home-made trousseau. And there 's Annie Wheeler Kate Hermon I didn't expect her at all If she 's not in that same old blue satin She wore at the Charity Ball ! Is that Fanny Wade ? Edith Pommeton And Emma, and Jo all the girls ! 62 UP THE AISLE. I knew that they 'd not miss my wedding I hope they '11 all notice my pearls. Is the carriage there ? give me my cloak, Jane, Don't get it all over my veil No ! you take the other seat, Charley I need all of this for my trail. JULY, 1871. THE "STAY AT HOME'S" PLAINT THE Spring has grown to Summer ; The sun is fierce and high ; The city shrinks, and withers Beneath the burning sky. Ailanthus trees are fragrant, And thicker shadows cast, Where berry-girls, with voices shrill. And watering carts go past. 66 THE " STA Y AT HOME'S" PLAINT. In offices like ovens We sit without our coats ; Our cuffs are moist and shapeless, No collars bind our throats. We carry huge umbrellas On Broad Street and on Wall, Oh, how thermometers go up 1 And, oh, how stocks do fall ! The nights are full of music, Melodious Teuton troops Beguile us, calmly smoking, On balconies and stoops. With eyes half-shut, and dreamy, We watch the fire-flies' spark, And image far-off faces, As day dies into dark. THE "STAY AT HOME'S" PLAINT. The avenue is lonely, The houses choked with dust ; The shutters, barred and bolted, The bell-knobs all a-rust. No blossom-like spring dresses. No faces young and fair, From "Dickels" to "The Brunswick, No promenader there. The girls we used to walk with Are far away, alas ! The feet that kissed its pavement Are deep in country grass. Along the scented hedge-rows, Among the green old trees. Are blooming city faces 'Neath rosy-lined pongees. 6S THE "STAY AT HOME'S" PLAINT. They 're cottaging at Newport ; They 're bathing at Cape May ; In Saratoga's ball-rooms They dance the hours away. Their voices through the quiet Of haunted Catskill break ; Or rouse those dreamy dryads, The nymphs of Echo Lake. The hands we 've led through Germans, And squeezed, perchance, of yore, Now deftly grasp the bridle, The mallet, and the oar. The eyes that wrought our ruin On other men look down ; We 're but the broken play-things They 've left behind in town. r, 9 THE "STAY AT HOME'S" PLAINT. Oh, happy Gran'dame Nature, Whose wandering children come y^ N To light with happy faces The dear old mother-home, Be tender with our darlings, Each merry maiden bears Such love and longing with her Men's lives are wrapped in theirs. JULY, 1870. 70 THE "STAY AT HOME'S" THE evenings are damper and colder ; The maples and sumacs are red, The wild Equinoctial is coming, The flowers in the garden are dead. The steamers are all overflowing, The railroads are all loaded down, And the beauties we Ve sighed for all Summer Are hurrying back into town. THE "STAY AT HOME'S" They- come from the banks of the Hudson, From the sands of the Branch, and Cape May, From the parlors of bright Saratoga, From the dash of Niagara's spray. From misty, sea-salt Narragansett, From Mahopac's magical lake, They come on their way to new conquests, They 're longing for more hearts to break. E'en Newport is dull and deserted Its billowy beaches no more Made bright with sweet ocean-kissed faces, Love's beacon-lights set on the shore. The rugged White Hills of New Hampshire, The last of their lovers have seen, The echoes are left to their slumbers, No dainty feet thread the ravine. 72 THE STAY AT HOME'S On West Point's delightful parade-ground Sighs many a hapless cadet, Who 's basked through the long days of Summer In the smiles of a city coquette ; And now the incipient hero Beholds his enchantress depart, With the spoils of her lightly-won triumph, His buttons, as well as his heart. Come, dry your eyes, Grandmother Nature, They care not a whit for your woe ; The city is calling her daughters We can't spare them longer, they know Our beautiful, tender-voiced darlings, With the blue of the deep Summer skies, And the glow of the bright Summer sunshine, Entrapped in their mischievous eyes. 73 THE " STA Y AT HOME'S" P&AN. We know their expenses are awful, That horror unspeakable fills The souls of unfortunate fathers Who foot up their dress-maker's bills. That they 'd barter their souls for French candy ; That diamonds ruin their peace ; That they rave over middle-aged actors, And in other respects are well, geese. We laugh at them, boys, but we love them, For under their nonsense we know They Ve hearts that are honest and loving, And souls that are whiter than snow. So out with that bottle of Roederer ! Large glasses, boys ! Up goes the cork ! All charged ? To the belles of creation, The glorious girls of New York. OCTOBER, 1870. 74 TEN HOURS A DAY. 'SiGN the petition ! ' 'Write my name ! ' ' She said, ask me ! ' oh, she 's fooling ; Where do you think a girl like me Could find the time for so much schooling ? Why, I 've been here since I was eight or so That 's ten years now and it seems like longer ; The hours are from eight till six you see It wears one out I once was stronger. ' A bad cough ! ' oh, that 's nothing, sir ; It comes from the dust, and bending over. It hurts me sometimes no, not now. 'This ! ' why, a flower, a bit of clover. 75 TEN HOURS A DA Y. I picked it up as I came to work It grew in the grass in some one's airy, Where it stood, and nodded all alone Like a little green-cloaked, white-capped fairy. ' Fond of flowers ! ' I like them yes Though, goodness knows, I don't see many I 'd have to buy them they cost so much And I never can spare a single penny. ' Go to the park ! ' how can I, sir ? The only day that I have is Sunday ; And then there 's always so much to do That before I know it, almost, it 's Monday. Like it, sir, like it ! why, when I think Of the woods, and the brook with the cattle drinkim I was country-bred, sir my heart swells so That I there, there, what 's the use of thinking ! TEN HOURS A DAY. If I could write, sir 'make a cross, And let you write my name below it ' No, please; I 'm ashamed I can't, sometimes, I don't want all the girls to know it. And what 's the use of it, anyway ? They '11 just say shortly, with careless faces, ' If you 're not suited, you 'd better leave ' There 's plenty of girls to fill our places. They 're kind enough to their own, no doubt Our head just worships his own young daughter, Just my age, sir she 's gone away To spend the Summer across the water. But us oh, well, we're only 'hands,' Do you think to please us they '11 bear losses ? No, not a cent's worth ah, you '11 see I 'm a working girl, sir, and I know bosses. JUNE. 1873. 77 SLEEPING BEAUTY. A PARABLE. You remember the nursery-legend We heard in the early days, Ere we knew of the world's deception Or walked in its dusty ways, And dwelt in a land of the fairies Where the air was golden haze Of the maid, o'er whom the Summers Of youth passed, like a swell Of melody all unbroken, SLEEPING BEAUTY. Till evil wrought its spell, And dream-embroidered curtains Of slumber round her fell. The wood grew up round her castle, The centuries o'er it rolled, Wrapping its slumb'rous turrets In clinging robes of mould, And her name became a legend By Winter fire-sides told. Till the Prince came over the mountains, In the morning-glow of youth ; The forest sank before him Like wrong before the truth, And he passed the dim old portal, With its warders so uncouth, 79 SLEEPING BEAUTY. Woke with a kiss the Princess, And broke enchantment's chain, The sleepy old castle wondered, In its cobweb-cumbered brain, At the tide of life and pleasure That poured through each stony vein. And so love conquered an evil Centuries old in might, Scattering drowsy glamour, Piercing the murky night, Leading from thrall and darkness Beauty, and joy, and light. AUGUST, 1870. So EASTER MORNING. Too early, of course ! How provoking ! I told Ma just how it would be. I might as well have on a wrapper, For there isn't a soul here to see. There ! Sue Delaplaine's pew is empty, I declare if it isn't too bad ! I know my suit cost more than her's did, And I wanted to see her look mad. EASTER MORNING. I do think that sexton 's too stupid He 's put some one else in our pew And the girl's dress just kills mine completely; Now what am I going to do ? The psalter, and Sue isn't here yet ! I don't care, I think it 's a sin For people to get late to service, Just to make a great show coming in. Perhaps she is sick, and can't get here She said she 'd a headache last night. How mad she '11 be after her fussing ! I declare it would serve her just right. Oh, you 've got here at last, my dear, have you ? Well, I don't think you need be so proud EASTER MORNING. Of that bonnet, if Virot did make it, It 's horrid fast-looking and loud. What a dress ! for a girl in her senses To go on the street in light blue ! And those coat-sleeves they wore them last Summer- Don't doubt, though, that she thinks they 're new. Mrs. Gray's polonaise was imported So dreadful ! a minister's wife, And thinking so much about fashion ! A pretty example of life ! The altar 's dressed sweetly I wonder Who sent those white flowers for the font ! Some girl who 's gone on the assistant Don't doubt it was Bessie Lament. EASTER MORNING. Just look at her now, little humbug ! So devout I suppose she don't know That she 's bending her head too far over, And the ends of her switches all show. What a sight Mrs. Ward is this morning ! That woman will kill me some day, With her horrible lilacs and crimsons ; Why will these old things dress so gay ? And there 's Jenny Welles with Fred Tracy She 's engaged to him now horrid thing ! Dear me ! I 'd keep on my glove sometimes, If I did have a solitaire ring ! How can this girl next to me act so The way that she turns round and stares, 86 EASTER MORNING. And then makes remarks about people ; She 'd better be saying her prayers. Oh dear, what a dreadful long sermon ! He must love to hear himself talk ! And it 's after twelve now, how provoking I wanted to have a nice walk. Through at last. Well, it isn't so dreadful After all, for we don't dine till one ; How can people say church is poky ! So wicked ! I think it 's real fun. JULY, 1874. A LEGEND OF ST. VALENTINE. COME ! Why, halloa, that you, Jack ? How 's the world been using you ? Want your pipe ? it 's in the jar Think I might be looking blue. Maud 's been breaking off with me, Fact see here I 've got the ring. That 's the note she sent it in ; Read it soothing sort of thing. Jack, you know I write sometimes Must have read some things of mine. Well, I thought I 'd just send Maud Something for a Valentine. A LEGEND OF ST. VALENTINE. So I ground some verses out In the softest kind of style, Full of love, and that, you know Bothered me an awful while ; Quite a heavy piece of work. So, when I had got them done Why, I thought them much too good Just to waste that way on one. Jack, I told you, didn't I ? All about that black-eyed girl Up in Stratford last July Oh ! you know ; you saw her curl. Well, old fellow, she 's the one That this row is all about, For I sent her who 'd have thought Maud would ever find it out 8 9 A LEGEND OF ST. VALENTINE. Those same verses, word for word. Hang it, man ! you needn't roar 'Splendid joke!' well, so I thought No, don't think so any more. Yesterday, you know it rained, I 'd been up late at a ball Didn't know what else to do Went up and made Maud a call, Found some other girl there, too, They were playing a duett 'Fred, my cousin, Nelly Deane," Yes, Jack, there was my brunette ; You should just have seen me, Jack Now, old fellow, please don't laugh, I feel bad about it fact And I really can't stand chaff. A LEGEND OF ST. VALENTINE. Well, I tried to talk to Maud, There was Nell, though, sitting by ; Every now and then she 'd laugh, Sure I can't imagine why. Maud would read that beastly poem, Nell's eyes said, in just one glance, ' Won't I make you pay for this, If I ever get the chance. ' Some one came and rang the bell, Just a note for Nell, by post. Jack, I saw my monogram I 'd have rather seen a ghost. Yes her verses I suppose That her folks had sent them down- Couldn't get up there, you know Till she 'd left and come to town. A LEGEND OF ST. VALENTINE. Nelly looked them quickly through Laughed by Jove, I thought she 'd choke. "Maud he'll kill me dear ! oh, dear ! Read that ; isn't it a joke ? " Maud glanced through them sank right down On the sofa hid her face ' Crying ! ' not much laughing, Jack Don't think she 's a hopeless case. I just grabbed my hat and left Only wish I 'd gone before. How they laughed ! I heard them, Jack Till I got outside the door. There, confession 's done me good, I can never win her back, So I '11 calmly let her slide- Pass the ash-cup, will you, Jack. " FEBRUARY 14, 1871. 9 2 FROST-BITTEN. WE were riding home from the Carroll's ball Nelly Sansargent and I, you know ; The white flakes fluttered about our lamps, And our noisy wheels were hushed in the snow. Her white arms nestled along her lap, Her hands half-holding, with languid grace, Her fading violets ; fair to see Was the dreamy look in her sweet, young face. I watched her, saying never a word, For I would not waken those dreaming eyes ; The breath of the violets filled the air, And my thoughts were many, and far from wise. 93 FROST-BITTEN. At last I said to her, bending near, Ah, Nelly Sansargent, sweet 't would be, To ride on dreaming all our lives, Alone with the violets you and me. Her fair face reddened, her sweet eyes fell, And, low as the murmur of Summer rills, Her answer came. It was "Yes, perhaps -But who would settle our carriage bills ?" The tremulous violets breathed their last, Our wheels rolled hard on the stones just then, Where the snow had drifted ; the subject dropped. It has never been taken up again. DECEMBER, 1873. 94 A SONG. SPRING time is coming again, my dear, Sunshine and violets blue, you know Crocuses lifting their sleepy heads Out of their sheets of snow. And I know a blossom sweeter by far Than violets blue, or crocuses are, And bright as the sunbeams glow. But how can I dare to look in her eyes, Colored with heaven's own hue. That wouldn't do at all, my dear, It really wouldn't do. 95 A SONG. Her hair is a rippling, tossing sea ; In its golden depths the fairies play, Beckoning, dancing, mocking there, Luring my heart away. And her merry lips are the ripest red That ever addled a poor man's head, Or led his wits astray. What wouldn't I give to taste the sweets Of those rose leaves wet with dew ! But that wouldn't do at all, my dear, It really wouldn't do. Her voice is gentle, and clear and pure ; It rings like the chime of a silver bell, And the thought it wakes in my foolish head, I 'm really afraid to tell. A SONG. Her little feet kiss the ground below, And her hand is white as the whitest snow That e'er from heaven fell. But I wouldn't dare to take that hand, Reward for my love to sue ; That wouldn't do at all, my dear, It really wouldn't do. JULY, 1870. 97 OLD PHOTOGRAPHS. IN A PHOTOGRAPH ALBUM. OLD lady, put your glasses on, With polished lenses, mounting golden, And once again look slowly through This album olden. How the old portraits take you back To friends who once would round you gather All scattered now, like frosted leaves In blustering weather. OLD PHOTOGRAPHS. Why, who is this, the bright coquette, Her eyes with Love's bright arrows laden ! Poor Nell, she 's living single yet An ancient maiden." And this, the fragile poetess, Whose high soul-yearings nought can smother? 'She's stouter far than I am now, A kind grandmother." Who is girl with flowing hair, Who on the golden future muses? What splendid hair she had, and now A ' front ' she uses. " 99 OLD PHOTOGRAPHS. And this ? " Why, if it 's not my own ; And did I really e'er resemble That bright young creature ! Take the book My old hands tremble. ' ' It seems like only yesterday We all were young ; ah, how time passes. " Old lady, put the album down, And wipe your glasses. JUNE, 1870. LE DERNIER JOUR D'UN CONDAMNE.' OLD coat, for some three or four seasons We 've been jolly comrades, but now We part, old companion, forever ; To fate, and the fashion, I bow. You 'd look well enough at a dinner, I 'd wear you with pride at a ball, But I 'm dressing to-night for a wedding - My own, and you'd not do at all. "LE DERNIER JOUR D'OW CONDAMNE." You 've too many wine-stains about you, You 're scented too much with cigars, When the gas-light shines full on your collar, It glitters with myriad stars, That wouldn'nt look well at my wedding ; They 'd seem inappropriate there Nell doesn't use diamond powder, She tells me it ruins the hair. You've been out on Cozzen's piazza Too late, when the evenings were damp, When the moon-beams were silvering Cro'nest, And the lights were all out in the camp. You 've rested on highly-oiled stair-ways Too often, when sweet eyes were bright, And somebody's ball dress not Nellie's Flowed round you in rivers of white. "LE DERNIER JOUR D'UN CONDAMNE." There 's a reprobate looseness about you ; Should I wear you to-night, I believe, As I come with my bride from the altar, You 'd laugh in your wicked old sleeve, When you felt there the tremulous pressure Of her hand, in its delicate glove, That is telling me, shyly but proudly, Her trust is as deep as her love. So, go to your grave in the ward-robe, And furnish a feast for the moth, Nell's glove shall betray its sweet secrets To younger, more innocent cloth. 'Tis time to put on your successor It 's made in a fashion that 's new ; Old coat, I 'm afraid it will never Set as easily on me as you. MARCH n, 1875. 103 CHRISTMAS GREENS. OH, Lowbury pastor is fair and young, By far too good for a single life, And many a maiden, saith Gossip's tongue, Would fain be Lowbury pastor's wife, So his book marks are 'broidered in crimson and gold, And his slippers are, really, "a sight to behold." That 's Lowbury pastor, sitting there On the cedar boughs by the chancel rails ; His face is clouded with carking care, For it 's nearly five, the daylight fails The church is silent, the girls all gone, And the Christmas wreaths not nearly done. 104 CHRISTMAS GREENS. Two tiny boots crunch-crunch the snow, They saucily stamp at the transept door, And then up the pillared aisle they go Pit-pat, click-clack, on the marble floor A lady fair doth that pastor see, And he saith, "Oh, bother, it isn't she ! " A lady in seal-skin eyes of blue, And tangled tresses of snow-flecked gold She speaks, " Good gracious ! can this be you, Sitting alone in the dark and cold ? The rest all gone ! Why, it wasn't right ; These texts will never be done to-night." She sits her down at her pastor's feet, And, wreathing evergreen, weaves her wiles, Heart-piercing glances bright and fleet, CHRISTMAS GREENS. Soft little sighs, and shy little smiles ; But the pastor is solemnly sulky and glum, And thinketh it strange that "she'' doesn't come. Then she tells him earnestly, soft and low, How she 'd do her part in this world of strife, And humbly look to him to know The path that her feet should tread through life- Her pastor yawneth behind his hat, And wondereth what she is driving at. Crunch-crunch again on the snow outside, The pastor riseth unto his feet, The vestry door is opened wide, A dark-eyed maid doth the pastor greet, And that lady fair can see and hear, Her pastor kiss her, and call her "dear." 106 CHRISTMAS GREENS. "Why Maud ! " "Why Nelly ! " those damsels cry But lo, what troubles that lady fair ? On Nelly's finger there meets her eye The glow of a diamond solitaire, And she thinks, as she sees the glittering ring, "And so she 's got him the hateful thing ! " There sit they all 'neath the Christmas tree, For Maud is determined that she won't go, The pastor is cross as a man can be, And Nelly would like to pinch her so, And they go on wreathing the text again It is "Peace on earth and good-will towards men." DECEMBER 24, 1870. 107 LAKE MAHOPAC SATURDAY NIGHT. YES, I 'm here, I suppose you 're delighted : You 'd heard I was not coming down ! Why I 've been here a week ! ' rather early' I know, but it 's horrid in town. A Boston ? Most certainly, thank you. This music is perfectly sweet ; Of course I like dancing in summer ; It 's warm, but I don't mind the heat- 108 LAKE MAHOPAC SATURDAY XIGHT. The clumsy thing ! Oh, how he hurt me ! I really can't dance any more- Let 's walk see, they 're forming a Lanciers These square dances are such a bore. My cloak oh ! I really don't need it- Well, carry it, so, in the folds I hate it, but Ma made me bring it ; She 's frightened to death about colds. This is rather cooler than dancing, They 're lovely piazzas up here ; Those lanterns look sweet in the bushes, It 's lucky the night is so clear. 109 LAKE MAHOPAC SATURDAY NIGHT. I am rather tired in this corner? Very well, if you like I don't care But you '11 have to sit on the railing You see there is only one chair. So long since you 've seen me ' oh, ages ! Let 's see, why it 's ten days ago Seems years ' oh ! of course don't look spooney. It isn't becoming, you know. How bright the stars seem to-night, don't they? What was it you said about eyes ? How sweet ! why you must be a poet One never can tell till he tries. LAKE MAHOPAC SATURDAY NIGHT. Why can't you be sensible, Harry ! I don't like men's arms on my chair. Be still ! if you don't stop this nonsense I '11 get up and leave you ; so there ! Oh ! please don't I don't want to hear it- A boy like you talking of love. ' My answer ! ' Well, sir, you shall have it- Just wait till I get off my glove. See that ? Well, you needn't look tragic, It 's only a solitaire ring, Of course I am ' proud of it ' very It 's rather an elegant thing. LAKE MAHOPACSATURDA Y NIGHT. Engaged ! yes why, didn't you know it ? I thought the news must have reached here Why, the wedding will be in October The ' happy man ? ' Charley Leclear. Now don't blame me I tried to stop you But you would go on like a goose ; I 'm sorry it happened forget it Don't think of it don't what 's the use ? There 's somebody coming don't look Get up on the railing again Cant you seem as if nothing had happened ? I never saw such geese as men ! LAKE MAHOPAC SATURDAY NIGHT. Ah, Charley, you 've found me ! A galop ? The 'Bahn frei?' Yes ; take my bouquet- And my fan, if you will now I 'm ready You'll excuse me, of course, Mr. Gray." OCTOBER, 1872. MATINAL MUSINGS. TEN o'clock ! Well, I 'm sure I can't help it ! I 'm up go away from the door ! Now, children, I '11 speak to your mother If you pound there like that any more. How tired I do feel ! Where 's that cushion ?- I don't want to move from this chair ; I wish Marie 'd make her appearance ! I really cant do my own hair. 116 MATIN AL MUSINGS. I wish I 'd not danced quite so often I knew I 'd feel tired ! but it 's hard To refuse a magnificent dancer If you have a place left on your card. I was silly to wear that green satin. It 's a shame that I 've spotted it so All down the front breadth it 's just ruined- No trimming will hide that, I know. That 's me ! Have a costume imported, And spoil it the very first night ! I might make an overskirt of it, That shade looks so lovely with white. 119 MA TIXAL MUSINGS. How horrid my eyes look ! Good gracious ! I hope that I didn't catch cold Sitting out on the stairs with Will Stacy ; If Ma knew that, wouldn't she scold ! She says he 's so fast well, who isn't ? Dear ! where is Marie ? how it rains ! I don't care ; he 's real nice and handsome. And his talk sounds as if he 'd some brains. I do wonder what is the reason, That good men are all like Joe Price, So poky, and stiff, and conceited, And fast ones are always so nice. 120 MATINAL MUSINGS. Just see how Joe acted last evening ! He didn't come near me at all, Because I danced twice with Will S^acy I That night at the Charity ball. I didn't care two pins to do it ; But Joe said I mustn't, and so I just did he isn't my master, Nor shan't be, I 'd like him to know. I don't think he looked at me even, Though just to please him I wore green, - And I 'd saved him three elegant dances, /wouldn't have acted so mean. MATINAL MUSINGS. The way he went on with Nell Hadley Dear me ! just as if I would care ! I 'd like to see those two get married, % They 'd make a congenial pair ! I 'm getting disgusted with parties ; I think I shall stop going out ; What 's the use of this fussing for people I don't care the least bit about. I did think that Joe had some sense once ; But, my, he 's just like all the men ! And the way that I Ve gone on about him, Just see if I do it again ! MATIN AL MUSINGS. Only wait till the next time I see him, I '11 pay him back ; won't I be cool ? I Ve a good mind to drop him completely- I '11 yes I will go back to school. The bell ! who can that be, I wonder ! Let 's see I declare ! why, it 's Joe ! How long they are keeping him waiting ! Good gracious ! why don't the girl go ! Yes say I '11 be down in a minute Quick, Marie, and do up my hair ! Not that bow the green one Joe likes it- How slow you are ! I '11 pin it there ! APRIL, 1873. 123 A ROMANCE OF THE SAW-DUST. SUTHIN' to put in a story I I couldn't think of a thing, 'N' it 's nigh unto thirty year now Since fust I went into the ring. 'The life excitin'?' Thunder ! 'Variety/ did you say? You must have cur'us notions 'Bout circuses, anyway. The things that look so risky Aint nothin' to us but biz. Accidents' falls and sich like? Sometimes, in course, there is. 124 A ROMANCE OF THE SAW-DUST. But it 's only a slip, or a stumble, Some feller laid out flat, It don't take more 'n a second ; There aint no story in that. 'N' like as not, the tumble Don't do no harm at all : There 's one gal here I tell yer, She got an awful fall. You know her Ma'am'selle Ida She 's Jimmy Barnet's wife, The prettiest little woman. You ever see in yer life. They was lovers when they was young uns, No more 'n two hands high. She nussed Jim through a fever once, When the doctors swore he 'd die. 125 A ROMANCE OF THE SAW-DUST. I taught 'em both the motions ; She never know'd no fear, And they 've done the trapeze together For more 'n a couple o' year. Last summer we took on a Spaniard, A mis'rable kind of a cuss, Spry feller but awful tempered, Always a-makin' a fuss. He wanted to marry Ida His chance was pretty slim, He did his best, but bless yer, She 'd never go back on Jim. He acted up so foolish, That Jim, one day, got riled 'N' guv him a reg'lar whalin'; That druv the Spaniard wild. 126 A ROMANCE OF THE SA W-DUST. He talked like he was crazy, 'N' raved around, and swore He 'd kill 'em both; but Jim just laughed- He 'd heer'd such talk before. One day, when we was showin' In a little country town, Jim mashed his hand with a hatchet, Drivin' a tent stake down. He couldn't work that night, nohow, But the ' trap ' hed got to be done. The Spaniard said he 'd try it 'N' they had to take him or none. I knew Jim didn't like it, 'N' Ide looked scared and white 'Look out for me, boys," she whispered, "I 'm goin' to fall to-night ;" 127 A ROMANCE OF 7 HE SAW-DUST. Then she looked up with a shiver, At the trapeze swingin' there, A couple of bars and a rope or two Forty feet up in the air. But up she dumb he arter Stood up, but how Ide shook, Then the Spaniard yelled like a devil, "Now look, Jim Barnet ! look !" With that he jumped 'n' gripped her ; She fought, but he broke her hold, Grabbed at the rope, 'n' missed it Off of the bar they rolled, Clinched, 'n' Ide a screamin' ; Thud ! they struck the ground ; I turned all sick and dizzy, 'N' everything went round. 128 A ROMANCE OF THE SAW-DUST. How still it were for a second ! It seemed like an hour V then The women was all a screechin', 'N' the ring was full of men. Poor Jim was stoopin' to lift her, But flopped right down, 'n' said, Sez he, " Her lips is movin' ! She 's breathin' ! She isn't dead ! " For sure ! he 'd fallen under ; It kinder broke her fall ; Except the scare, and a broken arm, She wasn't hurt at all. 1 The Spaniard ? ' Oh, it killed him ; It broke his cussed neck, But nobody cried their eyes out, As near as I reckeleck. 129 A ROMANCE OF THE SAW-DUST. She married Jim soon arter, There 're doin' the trapeze still ; So, yer see, as I was sayin', These falls don't always kill. 'N' as for things excitin' To put in a story, well, I 'd really like to oblige yer, But then there aint nothin' to tell. JUNK, 1873. 130 PYROTECHNIC POLYGLOT. (MADISON SQUARE, JULY 4, 1871.) 'HEY, Johny McGinnis, where are yez? I Ve got a place ! Arrah, be quick ! " Whiz ! Boom ! "Hooray, there goes a rocket ; Hi, Johny, look out for the shtick !" 'Confound it, sir ! Those are my feet, sir ! " "Oh, pa, lift me up, I can't see." 'Come down out o' that, yez young blackguards ! Div yez want to be killin' the tree ? " ' Hooray ! look at that ! " " Aint it bully. ? " " It 's stuck ! " " No, it aint. " ' ' There she goes PYROTECHNIC POLYGLOT. I wish that you 'd speak to this man, Fred, He 's standing all over my toes. " ' Take down that umbrella in front there ! " "My ! aint we afraid of our hat ! " ' Me heart 's fairly broke wid yez shovin' Have done now what wud yez be at ? " 'Jehiel, neow haint this jest orful ! I 'most wish I hedn't a come ; Such actions I never one would think Folks left their perliteness to hum." ' Look here, now, you schoost stop dose schovin' ' ' By gar, den, get out from ze vay, You stupide Dootschmans, vilain cochon " " Kreuz ! " " Peste ! " " Donnerwetter ! " ' ' Sac-r-re ! " 132 PYROTECHNIC POLYGLOT. "Oh, isn't that cross just too lovely ! So bright, why the light makes me wink ! " "Your eyes, dear, are" don't be a goose, Fred; What do you suppose folks will think ? " Crash ! Screech ! "Och I 'm kilt ! " "Fred, what is it ? "Branch broken small boy come to grief." "Boo, hoo, hoo, hoo ! I wants mine muzzer !" "Look out there !" "Police!" "Hi, stop thief !" "Well, father, I guess it's all over; Just help Nelly down off the stool." MORAL. SUNG: "Mellican piecee fire bully !" CHING: "Mellican man piecee fool." JUNB, 1872. 133 FISHING. ' HARRY, where have you been all morning ?" "Down at the pool in the meadow-brook." : Fishing?" "Yes, but the trout were wary, Couldn't induce them to take a hook." Why, look at your coat ! You must have fallen, Your back 's just covered with leaves and moss/ How he laughs ! Good-natured fellow ! Fisherman's luck makes most men cross. 134 FISHING. Nelly, the Wrights have called. Where were you ?' ' ' Under the trees by the meadow-brook Reading, and oh, it was too lovely ; I never saw such a charming book." The charming book must have pleased her, truly, There 's a happy light in her bright young eyes, And she hugs the cat with unusual fervor, To staid old Tabby's intense surprise. Reading ? yes, but not from a novel. Fishing ! truly, but not with a rod. The line is idle, the book neglected The water-grasses whisper and nod. The fisherman bold and the earnest reader Sit talking of what? Perhaps the weather. Perhaps no matter what e'er the subject, It brings them remarkably close together. 135 FISHING. It causes his words to be softly spoken, With many a lingering pause between, The while the sun-beams chase the shadows Over the mosses, gray and green. Blushes are needful for its discussion, And soft, shy glances from downcast eyes, In whose blue depths are lying hidden Loving gladness, and sweet surprise. Trinity Chapel is gay this evening, Filled with beauty, and flowers, and light, A captive fisherman stands at the altar, With Nelly beside him all in white. The ring is on, the vows are spoken, And smiling friends, good fortune wishing, Tell him his is the fairest prize Ever brought from a morning's fishing. AUGUST, 1872. 136 NOCTURNE. SUMMER is over, and the leaves are falling, Gold, fire-enameled in the glowing sun; The sobbing pine-top, the cicada calling Chime men to vesper-musing, day is done. The fresh, green sod, in dead, dry leaves is hidden; \They rustle very sadly in the breeze ; Some breathing from the past comes, all unbidden, And in my heart stir withered memories. NOCTURNE. Day fades away ; the stars show in the azure, Bright with the glow of eyes that know not tears, Unchanged, unchangeable, like God's good pleasure, They smile and reck not of the weary years. Men tell us that the stars it knows are leaving Our onward rolling globe, and in their place New constellations rise is death bereaving The old Earth, too, of each familiar face? Our loved ones leave us ; so we all grow fonder Of their world than of ours ; for here we seem Alone in haunted houses, and we wonder Which is the waking life, and which the dream. OCTOBER, 1870. 140 AUTO-DA-FE. (HE EXPLAINS. ) OH, just burning up some old papers, They do make a good deal of smoke ; That 's right, Dolly, open the window; They '11 blaze if you give them a poke. I 've got a lot more in the closet ; Just look at the dust ! What a mess ! Why, read it, of course, if you want to, It 's only a letter, I guess. 141 At'TO-DA-FE. (SHE READS. ) Just me, and my pipe, and the fire-light, Whose mystical circles of red Protect me alone with the shadows; The smoke-wreaths engarland my head; And the strains of a waltz, half forgotten, The favorite waltz of the year, Played softly by fairy musicians, Chime sweetly and low on my ear. The smoke-cloud floats thickly around me, All perfumed and white, till it seems A bride-veil magicians have woven To honor the bride of my dreams. Float on, dreamy waltz, through my fancies, My thoughts in your harmony twine ! 142 AUJO-DA.Fk. Draw near, phantom face, in your beauty, Look deep, phantom eyes, into mine. Sweet lips crimson buds half unfolded Give breath to the exquisite voice, That, waking the strands of my being To melody, bids me rejoice. Dream, soul, till the world's dream is ended Dream heart, of your beautiful past ! For dreaming is better than weeping, And all things but dreams at the last. Change rules in the world of the waking It's laughter aye ends in a sigh ; Dreams only are changeless immortal : A dream-love alone cannot die. 143 AUTO-DA-FE. Toil, fools ! Sow your hopes in the furrows, Rich harvest of failure you '11 reap; Life's riddle is read the most truly By men who but talk in their sleep. (HE REMONSTRATES.) There, stop ! That '11 do yes, I own it But, dear, I was young then, you know. I wrote that before we were married ; Let 's see why it 's ten years ago ! You remember that night, at Drake's party, When you flirted with Dick all the time ? I left in a state quite pathetic, And went home to scribble that rhyme. 144 AUTO-DA-pk. What a boy I was then with my dreaming, And reading the riddle of life ! You gave a good guess at its meaning The night you said 'Yes/ little wife. One kiss for old times' sake, my Dolly That didn't seem much like a dream. Holloa ! something 's wrong with the children ! Those young ones do nothing but scream. MAY, 1872. 147 AN AFTERTHOUGHT. VINE leaves rustled, moonbeams shone, Summer breezes softly sighed ; You and I were all alone In a kingdom fair and wide : You, a Queen, in all your pride, I, a vassal, by your side. Fairy voices in the leaves Ceaselessly were whispering : ' "T is the time to garner sheaves Let your heart its longing sing, Place upon her hand a ring, Then our Queen shall know her King.' 148 AN AFTERTHOUGHT. E'en the moonbeams seemed to learn Speech when they had kissed your face, Passing fair my lips did yearn To be moonbeams for a space ' ' Lo, 't is fitting time and place ! Speak, and courage will find grace. " But the night wind murmured low, Softly brushing back your hair, ; Look into her face, and know That she is a jewel rare, Worthy of a monarch's heir; Who are you, that you should dare ! " Hope died like a frost-touched flower ; But, through all the coming years, In that quiet evening hour, H9 AN AFTERTHOUGHT. When the flowers are all in tears, When the heart hath hopes and fears, When the day world disappears, If the vine leaves rustle low, If the moon shine on the sea, If the night-wind softly blow, Dreaming of what may not be, Well I know that I shall see Your sweet eyes look down on me. SEPTEMBER, 1873. I 5 REDUCTIO AD ABSURDUM. I HAD come from the city early That Saturday afternoon ; I sat with Beatrix under the trees In the mossy orchard ; the golden bees Buzzed over the clover-tops, pink and pearly ; I was at peace, and inclined to spoon. We were stopping awhile with mother, At the quiet country place Where first we 'd met, one blossomy May, And fallen in love so the dreamy day Brought to my memory many another In the happy time when I won her grace. REDUCTIO AD ABSURDUM. Days in the bright Spring weather, When the twisted, rough old tree Showered down apple-blooms, dainty and sweet, That swung in her hair, and blushed at her feet. Sweet was her face as we lingered together, And dainty the kisses my love gave me. 'Dear love, are you recalling The old days too," I said. Her sweet eyes filled, and with tender grace She turned and rested her blushing face Against my shoulder ; a sun-beam falling Through the leaves above us crowned her head. 152 REDUCTIO AD ABSURDUM. And so I held her, trusting That none was by to see ; A sad mistake for low, but clear, This feminine comment reached my ear : 'Married for ages it 's just disgusting Such actions and, Fred, they 've got our tree ! : This book is DUE on the last date stamped below BS? ON MSRC % x x /?/&? '' ^ S" i V * -% REffD LD-Uffl! WJTi 19 198 JUN03200! -V -10,'48(B1040)470 LOS ANGELES FS Baker - 1059 Point lacs and - B168p diamonds. 3 1158 01332 6748 PS 1059 B168p