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.
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 drinking--
I was country-bred, sir--my heart swells so
That I--there, there, what's the use of thinking!
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'll 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'll bear losses?
No, not a cent's worth--ah, you'll see--
I'm a working girl, sir, and I know bosses.




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,
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,

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.




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 hers did,
And I wanted to see her look mad.
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'll 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
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 Lamont.
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,
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.




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.
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--
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 duet.
"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.
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,
"Wont 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.
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'll calmly let her slide--
Pass the ash-cup, will you, Jack.




FROST-BITTEN.


We were driving home from the "Patriarchs'"--
Molly Lefévre and I, you know;
The white flakes fluttered about our lamps;
Our wheels were hushed in the sleeping snow.

Her white arms nestled amid her furs;
Her hands half-held, with languid grace,
Her fading roses; fair to see
Was the dreamy look in her sweet, young face.

I watched her, saying never a word,
For I would not waken those dreaming eyes.
The breath of the roses filled the air,
And my thoughts were many, and far from wise.

At last I said to her, bending near,
"Ah, Molly Lefévre, how sweet 'twould be,
To ride on dreaming, all our lives,
Alone with the roses--you and me."

Her sweet lips faltered, her sweet eyes fell,
And, low as the voice of a Summer rill,
Her answer came. It was--"Yes, perhaps--
But who would settle our carriage bill?"

The dying roses breathed their last,
Our wheels rolled loud on the stones just then,
Where the snow had drifted; the subject dropped.
It has never been taken up again.




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
That violets blue, or crocuses are,
And bright as the sunbeam's 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.

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.
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.




OLD PHOTOGRAPHS.


Old lady, put your glasses on,
With polished lenses, mounting golden,
And once again look slowly through
The 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.

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-yearnings nought can smother--
"She's stouter far than I am now,
A kind grandmother."

Who is this girl with flowing curls,
Who on the golden future muses?
"What splendid hair she had!--and now
A 'front' she uses."

And this? "Why, if it's not my own;
And did I really e'er resemble
That bright young creature? Take the book--
My old hands tremble.

"It seems that only yesterday
We all were young; ah, how time passes!"
Old lady, put the album down,
And wipe your glasses.




"LE DERNIER JOUR D'UN CONDAMNÉ."


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.

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't 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 Cozzens' 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 stairways
Too often, when sweet eyes were bright,
And somebody's ball dress--not Nellie's--
Flowed 'round you in rivers of white.

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 wardrobe,
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
Sit as easily on me as you.




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.

Two tiny boots crunch-crunch the snow,
They saucily stamp at the transept door,
And then up to the pillared aisle they go
Pit-pat, click-clack, on the marble floor--
A lady fair doth that pastor see,
And he saith, "Oh, bother, it isn't she!"

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,
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."

"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 wont 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."




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.

The clumsy thing! Oh! how he hurt me!
I really can't dance any more--
Let's walk--see, they're forming a Lancers;
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.

I _am_ rather tired--in this corner?--
Very well, if you like--I don't care--
But you'll 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.

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'll 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.

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 so--
Get up on the railing again--
_Can't_ you seem as if nothing had happened?
I never saw such geese as men!

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."




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'll 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 _can't_ do my own hair.

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.

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.--

Just see how Joe acted last evening!
He didn't come near me at all,
Because I danced twice with Will Stacy
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 sha'n'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,--
_I_ wouldn't have acted so mean.

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!

Only wait till the next time I see him,
I'll pay him back; wont I be cool!
I've a good mind to drop him completely--
I'll--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'll 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'll pin it--there!




A ROMANCE OF THE SAW-DUST.


Suthin' to put in a story!
I couldn't think of a thing,
'N' it's nigh unto thirty year now
Since fust I went in 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.
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.