Gloomy Reflections
Did you ever stop to think as the hearse rolls by,
That sooner or later both you and I
Will travel along in the selfsame hack,
With never a worry about coming back?
They’ll lift you out and they’ll lower you down,
The men with their shovels will stand around;
They’ll throw in some dirt and they’ll throw in some rocks,
And it will fall with a thump on your old pine box.
The worms crawl out and the worms crawl in,
They’ll crawl all over your mouth and chin;
They’ll call in their friends and their friends’ friends, too,
And you’ll look like hell when they’re through with you.
Such Is Life
By JANE GAITES
I am happily married. My wife is as good as she is beautiful. Following is a brief description of her:
Her hair ripples into alluring little golden ringlets about her rosy cheeks. Her eyes are large and brown and are fringed with exquisitely long eyelashes. Her lips are almost perfectly formed and she has the sweetest smile in all the world.
I love to fondle and amuse her. I kiss the white neck, her lips, her hands—and I dream. Why shouldn’t I dream—does not every happily married man live in fancy? My dream, good God, brings to me a terrible realization!
Before me is not my wife, but her sister, a girl of eighteen years, who is said to be her living image. Their features are almost identical.
The girl’s lips, however, are delicately perfect. Her eyes, if possible, are even more expressive than those of the other woman, and are larger. Her hair, when opened out, tumbles like a great waterfall down her back.
When with her, I am contented, absolutely so. When away from her, I grow morose; her image haunts me. I see her at the head of my table, by my fireside; then, as I try to gather her in my arms, just as I need her most, she vanishes. When I kiss her, I know that before me is the one woman in the world—the only one! And she understands—perhaps. She calls me “dear brother Jack,” but when alone with me, her lips cry: “Jack dearest!”
I am ten years her senior. My love for her far surpasses that of an ordinary brother-in-law.
My wife is older than I, and perhaps understands me less than she dares realize. When our lips meet, I try hard to convince myself that I have all in life—nothing remains to long for. Suddenly I think I hear a girlish voice call “Jack!” I seem to see the other woman before me. I crush her to me and kiss her long and passionately. Even then I am not satisfied! I hold her closer in my arms and cry, “Mine—only mine!” She smiles that tantalizing, adorable smile. “I love you!” I exult! Her smile fades into a pout. “Stop!” she cries, “how you have mussed me; now I shall be obliged to arrange my hair again before dinner. I suppose that ‘home-brew’ has once more been affecting you! Jack, there is such a thing as overdoing it!”
It is not the little girl of my dreams, but my wife—bah!
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