George Augustus Baker, Jr.

        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,...

        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 sincere.
            But wait till occasion shall try it.
                    Is Ramsay engaged?
                    Now, don't look enraged!
            You like him, I know don't deny it!

        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'll forgive all the past,
            And think of you only with pity.

        Indeed! so "you feel for the woes of my sex!"
 ...

        You call me trifler, fainéant,
            And bid me give my life an aim!
        You're most unjust, dear. Hear me out,
            And own your hastiness to blame.
        I live with but a single thought;
            My inmost heart and soul are set
        On one sole task a mighty one
            To simplify our alphabet.

        Five vowel sounds we use in speech;
            They're A, and E, I, O, and U:
        I mean to cut them down to four.
            You "wonder what good that will do."
        Why, this cold earth will bloom again,
            Eden itself be half re-won,
        When breaks the dawn of my success
            And U and I at last are one.

        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,
      ...

        You saw her last, the ball-room's belle,
            A soufflé, lace and roses blent;
        Your worldly worship moved her then;
            She does not know you now, in Lent.

        See her at prayer! Her pleading hands
            Bear not one gem of all her store.
        Her face is saint-like. Be rebuked
            By those pure eyes, and gaze no more

        Turn, turn away! But carry hence
            The lesson she has dumbly taught
        That bright young creature kneeling there
            With every feeling, every thought

        Absorbed in high and holy dreams
            Of new Spring dresses truth to say,
        To them the time is sanctified
            From Shrove-tide until Easter day.

        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
        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 sunbeams play,
        Should make me remember your rippling smile
            I shou...

        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...

        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:
        "'Tis the time to garner sheaves
            Let your heart its longing sing;
            Place upon her hand a ring;
            Then our Queen shall know her King."

        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, 'tis fitting time and place!
            Speak, and courage will fin...

        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.
        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,

        (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'll 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.


        (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,
     ...

        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

        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 fath...

        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
...

        The squadrons of the sun still hold
            The western hills, their armor glances,
        Their crimson banners wide unfold,
            Low-levelled lie their golden lances.
        The shadows lurk along the shore,
            Where, as our row-boat lightly passes,
        The ripples startled by our oar,
            Hide murmuring 'neath the hanging grasses.

        Your eyes are downcast, for the light
            Is lingering on your lids forgetting
        How late it is for one last sight
            Of you the sun delays his setting.
        One hand droops idly from the boat,
            And round the white and swaying fingers,
        Like half-blown lilies gone afloat,
            The amorous water, toying, lingers.

       ...

        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 ...

        "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.
        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-cl...

        "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.

        "Nellie, the Wrights have called. Where were you?"
            "Under the tree, 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...

        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,
          ...

        A tomb where legal ghouls grow fat;
            Where buried papers, fold on fold,
        Crumble to dust, that 'thwart the sun
            Floats dim, a pallid ghost of gold.
        The day is dying. All about,
            Dark, threat'ning shadows lurk; but still
        I ponder o'er a dead girl's name
            Fast fading from a dead man's will.

        Katrina Harland, fair and sweet,
            Sole heiress of your father's land,
        Full many a gallant wooer rode
            To snare your heart, to win your hand.
        And one, perchance who loved you best,
            Feared men might sneer "he sought her gold"
        And never spoke, but turned away
            Stubborn and proud, to call you cold.

        Cold? Would ...