Let them have windows high above the street, and let them see at least one city tree; windows high-flung so that their eyes may greet the sky and night-time's noble pageantry. Then sister moon can be a precious friend, and stars companions when the shadows fall, and through these lodging-windows prithee send a scented breeze, a blackbird's cheery call. And let them find companionship in stairs that creak a welcome when they mount at night, and in the friendliness of well-used chairs, and all small things, through time, made dear to sight. And let there be a child who'll shyly peep at lonely lodgers as they come and go—a laughing child who nightly falls asleep while mother sings in accents sweet and low. And give them this and this and then still more—a neighbour's friendly word at start of day, a cheery greeting floating through the door, so that they go not lonely on their way.
THE PERFECT GUEST
The perfect guest has named the day when she'll arrive, and by what train. Nor did she then forget to say when she will travel home again; and having named the hour and date she doesn't, whim swayed, change her mind and come too early or too late, for that indeed would be unkind. She doesn't need a lot of aid, nor ask for service that will irk, nor by her presence give the maid unnecessary, increased work. She keeps her room quite spick and span, is always punctual, talks with ease, falls in with every household plan, and does her very best to please. She can amuse herself quite well, she writes her letters, sews or reads, and leaves her hostess for a spell to give her time for her own needs. And at the pleasant visit's end, her host and hostess both agree when speaking of their absent friend, a very perfect guest was she.
JUST GROWING-PAINS
Just growing-pains that made him say that hurtful, bitter thing to-day. He didn't mean to give you pain. 'Twas just a storm that swept his brain and made him argue black was white; and bad was good, and wrong was right, and made him scoff and made him sneer at all the things you hold most dear. He isn't bad, that boy of yours, but just like others, scores and scores. First babyhood, then childhood wanes, and then, there come those growing-pains! Oh! Foolish parents to believe he likes to make you fret and grieve. The minute that the word had leapt from his hot tongue he could have wept, he felt ashamed, too proud, alack! to take the silly statement back. He is a man (and you should know it!) and loves you much, but cannot show it. He has to quote from Bernard Shaw, and rant about life's highest law, and say religion's out of date, and reconstruct the Church and State. Soon will this phase grow weak and wane—it's nothing but a growing-pain.
A MAN
Successful? Yes, through honest work, not through some happy turn of fate. Never has he been known to shirk since he attained to man's estate. Approached each task with buoyant zest, of all life's gifts deemed work the best. But this alone does not portray the man that I would have you see. A zest for work, I hear you say, is not a claim on sympathy. So other virtues I'll outline which well describe this friend of mine. He has that questing type of mind that one associates with youth. T'wards fulsomeness he's deaf and blind; abhors a lie, respects the truth; and honesty is part of him, as much a part as any limb. Quite perfect, then? Oh! no, indeed. Did I not say he was a man? But turn to him when you're in need and he will help you all he can. A loyal, sincere, and upright friend, whom one can trust right to the end.
TO A CHILD BLOWING BUBBLES
Just with a little pipe of clay, a bowl of water and some soap, you find your happiness to-day, releasing fairy worlds of hope. Now watch these iridescent balls sailing so lightly and so high, and some collide with chairs and walls, and then to beauty it's "Good-bye!" You do not weep, but blow and blow until another doth appear, then wave your small hand to and fro—it floats towards the chandelier. I watch your velvet cheeks puff out, your lovely eyes are shining bright. I thrill to hear your happy shout, "This one will reach a star to-night." Dear little child, in later years may you make beauty with such ease; and fashion, out of smiles and tears, rainbows of glowing hope like these. And should one bubble's fate be ill, then, from your pipe of dreams, I pray you'll blow another, laughing still, as you are doing, dear, to-day.