So Will, my lad, you beg that I'll
Concoct you a charade;
Well, dear, here goes: My first is first
Your favorite little maid;
The hearts of roses too are it,
And vine-blooms under which I sit;
And childhood's dreams, and sinless thoughts,
And tones attuned to love,
"The uses of adversity,"
The cooings of the dove,
And Lilly's eyes, and Kitty's lips,
And Tommy's 'lassed finger-tips.
My second was the royal name
Of England's conquering foe.
Who set his foot on Saxon necks
Eight hundred years ago;
The name too of a poet-king,
Who still rules many a land;
No soldier he, but a knightlier soul
Did ne'er shake spear or brand.
My whole is no exotic rare,
A common flower found everywhere;
In form 't is somewhat like the pink,
But its scent is finer, I declare,
Than musk, or your patchouli.
You 've guessed it now, I really think,
So I'll refrain from wasting ink.
Sweet Will, I am
Yours truly,
GRACE GREENWOOD.
THE TWO GEORGES.
A TRAGEDY.
The summer that I was eight years old I went to school, at our little brown country schoolhouse, alone; my elder sister going to a select school in the village, where she actually studied grammar and wrote compositions! Our school-mistress was Miss Grey, quite a pretty young lady, but folks said not a good teacher. They said she had "no government," and certainly we had a very easy time of it. She was what is called "absent-minded," and often forgot to hear some of our lessons, and we thought it would n't be polite to remind her of them. She had a soft and mournful voice, and a droopy sort of a look, especially about her hair. She dressed a little queer sometimes, and played on the accordion, so it was whispered about that she wrote poetry. I know she read it a good deal, and novels too. She had in her desk a very long romance, called "The Children of the Abbey," which she used to read at noontime and recess. She read it through, and then she appeared to read it backward, for it lasted nearly all summer. It seemed to me that the story went on and on, till it came to the last page of the book, then turned round and went the other way.
I said I went to school alone; yet after a while I had company, which no one else would have thought of much account, but which was quite a comfort to me. One day I made a purchase with my own money. It was only a little pocket-handkerchief, but such a handkerchief! On it was printed, in bright blue, a picture of General George Washington, in full regimentals, with his sword in his hand, flanked by the Ten Commandments, and with a scroll labelled "Constitution" for his base.
At first I looked upon that stern face, with its strong, tight mouth, like a steel-trap just sprung, with a good deal of reverence; but as I grew familiar with him I became fond of him, and part of the time treated him as a doll; indeed, he seemed to me more real than any doll I ever had, and far dearer. I folded him carefully every morning and laid him in my dinner-basket, over my rations, grieving that I was obliged from limited space to fold under his legs, giving them an amputated look. But I laid him out at full length in my desk, and often lifted the cover to take an admiring look at him, during the day. At night, I laid him in one of my dolls' beds, and actually "tucked in" the "Father of his Country," calling him "George, my boy," and telling him to be good, and not to get up in the morning and go to hacking away at cherry-trees, with that sword of his.
He was two in one,—George I. and II. He was little George, or the great General, just as the occasion demanded. On the Fourth of July, I remember, he appeared in all his glory to deliver an oration to "a large and appreciative audience" of dolls and kittens. He spoke in this wise: "Fellow-Citizens, and your wives and daughters, I 'm a warrior, not an orator. I only want to say—to say—to tell you that if it had n't been for me you would n't have had any Fourth of July the year round, nor any parades, nor rockets, nor squibs, nor star-spangled banners, nor pumpkin-pies, nor ginger-pop. We should all have been British, or Irish, and worn red coats, and ate blood-puddings, and drank ale, and hurrahed for King George forevermore. This is the truth, fellow-citizens, for I cannot tell a lie,—you know I cannot tell a lie. But I don't want to brag over you, and if you will still be good Yankee Christians, brave and industrious, I will still be the father of your country, world without end, Amen! Band, please strike up 'Hail Columbia!'"