IV.
at afternoon tea.
"'In New York!' Yes, I met her this morning.
I knew her in spite of her paint;
And Guelph, too, poor fellow, was with her;
I felt really nervous, and faint,
When he bowed to me, looking so pleading—
I cut him, of course. Wouldn't you?
If I meet him alone, I'll explain it;
But knowing her, what could I do?
Poor fellow! He looks sadly altered—
I think it a sin, and a shame,
The way he was wrecked by that creature!
I know he was never to blame.
He never suspected. He liked her—
He'd known her for most of his life—
And of course, it was quite a temptation
To run off with another man's wife.
At his age, you know—barely thirty—
So romantic, and makes such a noise
In one's club—why, one can't but excuse him,
Now can one, dear? Boys will be boys.
I've known him so long—why, he'd come here
And talk to me just like a son.
It's my duty—I feel as a mother—
To save him; the thing can be done
Very easily. First, I must show him
How grossly the woman deceived
And entrapped him.—It made such a scandal
You know, that he can't be received
At all, any more, till he drops her—
He'll certainly not be so mad
As to hold to her still. Oh, I know him
So well—I'm quite sure he'll be glad
On any excuse, to oblige me
In a matter so trifling indeed.
Then the way will be clear. We'll receive him,
And the rest will soon follow our lead.
We must keep our eyes on him more closely
Hereafter; young men of his wealth
And position are so sorely tempted
To waste time, and fortune, and health
In frivolous pleasures and pastimes,
That there's but one safe-guard in life
For them and their money—we've seen it—
A really nice girl for a wife.
Too bad you've no daughter! My Mamie
Had influence with him for good
Before this affair—when he comes here
She'll meet him, I'm sure, as she should—
That is, as if nothing had happened—
And greet him with sisterly joy;
Between us I know we can save him.
I'll write him to-morrow, poor boy."
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.
Ailantus trees are fragrant,
And thicker shadows cast,
Where berry-girls, with voices shrill,
And watering carts go past.
In offices like ovens
We sit without our coats;
Our cuffs are moist and shapeless,
No collars binds our throats.
We carry huge umbrellas
On Broad Street and on Wall,
Oh, how thermometers go up!
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 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 "Dickel's" to "The Brunswick,"
No promenader there.