human
Can you write me a poem about taj mahal?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem about taj mahal:
  The Master's Violin
This edition is issued under arrangement with the publishers
From a drawing by Clara M. Burd. (Page 34)]
This volume, which presents some of the writer's most typical
As the spinner of silk weaves his sunbeams of gold,
Blending sunset and dawn in its silvery fold,
So she wove in the woof of her wonderful words
The soft shimmer of sunshine and music of birds.
With the radiance of moonlight and perfume of flowers,
She lent charm to the springtime and gladdened the hours.
She spoke cheer to the suffering, joy to the sad;
She gave rest to the weary, made the sorrowful glad.
The sweet touch of her sympathy soothed every pain,
And her words in the drouth were like showers of rain.
For she lovingly poured out her blessings in streams
As a fountain of waters--a weaver of dreams.
And her thoughts were as stars giving light to the world;
Her fond dreams were the gems that were woven in gold,
And the fabric she wrought was of value untold.
Every colour of beauty was radiantly bright,
Blending faith, hope, and love in its opaline light.
And she wove in her woof the great wealth of her heart,
For the cord of her life gave the life to each part;
And the beauty she wrought, which gave life to the whole,
Was her spirit made real--she gave of her soul.
So the World built a temple--a glorious shrine--
A Taj Mahal of love to the woman divine.
Editorial note
in some parts of England a light-haired man, or a light-haired,
flat-footed man is preferred. In Durham, this person must bring a
stratagem displayed in outwitting him and arranging to have some
grandmother or serving maid open the door for him.
painful solemnities of the morning were over.
within the year.
evergreen and ribbons, and as they go they sing:
"Wassail, wassail to our town,
The cup is white and the ale is brown,
The cup is made of the ashen tree,
And so is the ale of the good barley.
"Little maid, little maid, turn the pin,
Open the door and let us in;
God be there, God be here;
I wish you all a Happy New Year."
disturbed.
ways--into the past and into the future. In January they offered
ceremonial visits are paid.
In Germany, complimentary visits are exchanged between the merest
At Frankfort-on-the-Main a very pretty custom is observed. On New
The dwellers in Cape Town, South Africa, are an exception to the
One wonders if there may not be some fear in the breasts of these
The refreshments are light in kind--peanuts, watermelon seeds,
At an early hour on New Year's morning, which according to their
Strips of scarlet paper, bearing mottoes, which look like Chinese
worship their household gods.
streets.
Many amusements in the way of theatricals and illumination are
provided for the public.
flowers.
"Of all the sounds, the most solemn and touching is the peal
which rings out the old year. I never hear it without
gathering up in my mind a concentration of all the images
that have been diffused over the past twelve months; all
that I have done or suffered, performed, or neglected, in
that regretted time. I begin to know its worth as when a
person dies. It takes a personal colour, nor was it a
poetical flight in a contemporary, when he exclaimed: 'I saw
the skirts of the departing year!'"
Tread softly, ye throngs with hurrying feet,
Look down, O ye stars, in your flight,
And bid ye farewell to a time that was sweet,
For the year lies a-dying to-night.
In a shroud of pure snow lie the quickly-fled hours--
The children of Time and of Light;
Stoop down, ye fair moon, and scatter sweet flowers,
For the year lies a-dying to-night.
Hush, O ye rivers that sweep to the sea,
From hill and from blue mountain height;
The flood of your song should be sorrow, not glee,
For the year lies a-dying to-night.
Good night, and good-bye, dear, mellow, old year,
The new is beginning to dawn.
But we'll turn and drop on thy white grave a tear,
For the sake of the friend that is gone.
All hail to the New! He is coming with gladness,
From the East, where in light he reposes;
He is bringing a year free from pain and from sadness,
He is bringing a June with her roses.
A burst of sweet music, the listeners hear,
The stars and the angels give warning--
He is coming in beauty, this joyful New Year,
O'er the flower-strewn stairs of the morning.
He is bringing a day with glad pulses beating,
For the sorrow and passion are gone,
And Love and Life have a rapturous meeting
In the rush and the gladness of dawn.
The Old has gone out with a crown that is hoary,
The New in his brightness draws near;
Then let us look up in the light and the glory,
And welcome this royal New Year.
The quaint old steel engraving which shows George and Martha
Washington sitting by a table, while the Custis children stand
At the age of fifteen, like many another schoolboy, Washington
fell in love. The man who was destined to be the Commander of the
"Oh, Ye Gods, why should my Poor Resistless Heart
Stand to oppose thy might and Power,
At last surrender to Cupid's feather'd Dart,
And now lays bleeding every Hour
For her that's Pityless of my grief and Woes,
And will not on me, pity take.
I'll sleep amongst my most inveterate Foes,
And with gladness never wish to wake.
In deluding sleepings let my Eyelids close,
That in an enraptured Dream I may
In a soft lulling sleep and gentle repose
Possess those joys denied by Day."
"From your bright sparkling Eyes I was undone;
Rays, you have, rays more transparent than the Sun
Amidst its glory in the rising Day;
None can you equal in your bright array;
Constant in your calm, unspotted Mind;
Equal to all, but will to none Prove kind,
So knowing, seldom one so young you'll Find.
"Ah, woe's me that I should Love and conceal--
Long have I wished, but never dare reveal,
Even though severely Love's Pains I feel;
Xerxes that great wast not free from Cupid's Dart,
And all the greatest Heroes felt the smart."
"DEAR FRIEND ROBIN: My place of Residence is at present at
His Lordship's where I might, was my heart disengag'd, pass
my time very pleasantly, as there's a very agreeable Young
Lady Lives in the same house (Col. George Fairfax's Wife's
Sister); but as that's only adding fuel to fire, it makes me
the more uneasy, for by often and unavoidably being, in
Company with her revives my former Passion for your Lowland
Beauty; whereas was I to live more retired from young Women
I might in some measure aliviate my sorrows by burying that
chaste and troublesome Passion in the grave of oblivion or
eternal forgetfulness, for as I am very well assured, that's
the only antidote or remedy, that I shall be relieved by, as
I am well convinced, was I ever to ask any question, I
should only get a denial which would be adding grief to
uneasiness."
The "Lowland Beauty" was Miss Mary Bland. Tradition does not say
whether or not she ever knew of Washington's admiration, but she
married Henry Lee.
Commander-in-Chief that he was "first in war, first in peace, and
instance, Lord Fairfax writes to him, saying:
"If a Satterday Night's Rest cannot be sufficient to enable
your coming hither to-morrow the Lady's will try to get
Horses to equip our Chair or attempt their strength on Foot
to Salute you, so desirious are they with loving Speed
to have an occular Demonstration of your being the same
identical Gent--that lately departed to defend his Country's
"After thanking Heaven for your safe return, I must accuse
you of great unkindness in refusing us the pleasure of
seeing you this night. I do assure you nothing but our being
satisfied that our company would be disagreeable, should
prevent us from trying if our Legs would not carry us to
Mount Vernon this night, but if you will not come to us,
to-morrow morning very early we shall be at Mount Vernon.
At the house of his friend, Beverly Robinson, he met Miss Mary
Philipse, and speedily surrendered. She was a beautiful, cultured
Morristown became Washington's headquarters, in 1776--again, how
In the spring of 1758, Washington met his fate. He was riding on
impatient to get to Williamsburg.
Once inside the colonial house, whose hospitable halls breathed
heart, he dashed on to Williamsburg.
She left Mr. Chamberlayne's and went to her home--the "White
engagement ring, two pounds, sixteen shillings."
Then came weary months of service in the field, and they saw each
"We have begun our march for the Ohio, [he wrote]. A courier
is starting for Williamsburg, and I embrace the opportunity
to send a few words to one whose life is now inseparable
from mine.
"Since that happy hour, when we made our pledges to each
other, my thoughts have been continually going to you as to
another self. That an All-powerful Providence may keep us
both in safety is the prayer of your ever faithful and
affectionate Friend,
"20th of July
The bride was attired in heavy brocaded white silk inwoven with a
bridesmaids.
The aristocracy of Virginia was out in full force. One of the
Washington's horse up and down the gravelled path in front of Mr.
All through the troublous times that followed, Washington was the
Confidential, and Official, from General Washington_.
The letter is dated "June 24, 1776," and in part is as follows:
"You have hurt me, I know not how much, by the insinuation
in your last, that my letters to you have been less frequent
because I have felt less concern for you.
"The suspicion is most unjust; may I not add, is most
unkind. Have we lived, now almost a score of years, in the
closest and dearest conjugal intimacy to so little purpose,
that on the appearance only, of inattention to you, and
which you might have accounted for in a thousand ways more
natural and more probable, you should pitch upon that single
motive which is alone injurious to me?
"I have not, I own, wrote so often to you as I wished and as
I ought.
"But think of my situation, and then ask your heart if I be
_without excuse_?
"We are not, my dearest, in circumstances the most favorable
to our happiness; but let us not, I beseech of you, make
them worse by indulging suspicions and apprehensions which
minds in distress are apt to give way to.
"I never was, as you have often told me, even in my better
and more disengaged days, so attentive to the little
punctillios of friendship, as it may be, became me; but my
heart tells me, there never was a moment in my life, since I
first knew you, in which it did not cleave and cling to you
with the warmest affection; and it must cease to beat ere it
can cease to wish for your happiness, above anything on
earth.
"Your faithful and tender husband, G. W."
tenderness.
The Old and the New
Grandmother sat at her spinning wheel
In the dust of the long ago,
And listened, with scarlet dyeing her cheeks,
For the step she had learned to know.
A courtly lover, was he who came,
With frill and ruffle and curl--
They dressed so queerly in the days
When grandmother was a girl!
"Knickerbockers" they called them then,
When they spoke of the things at all--
Grandfather wore them, buckled and trim,
When he sallied forth to call.
Grandmother's eyes were youthful then--
His "guiding stars," he said;
While she demurely watched her wheel
And spun with a shining thread.
Frill, and ruffle, and curl are gone,
But the "knickers" are with us still--
And so is love and the spinning wheel,
But we ride it now--if you will!
In grandfather's "knickers" I sit and watch
For the gleam of a lamp afar;
And my heart still turns, as theirs, methinks,
To my wheel and my guiding star.
American history holds no more beautiful love-story than that of
For instance, at Fairfield, Christmas day, 1762, he wrote to his
friend as follows:
"This very day, to others the day of greatest mirth and
jolity, sees me overwhelmed with more and greater
misfortunes than have befallen a descendant of Adam for
these thousand years past, I am sure; and perhaps, after
excepting Job, since the creation of the world.
"You must know, Dear Page, that I am now in a house
surrounded by enemies, who take counsel together against my
soul; and when I lay me down to rest, they say among
themselves, 'Come let us destroy him.'
"I am sure if there is such a thing as a Devil in this
world, he must have been here last night, and have had some
hand in what happened to me. Do you think the cursed rats
(at his instigation I suppose) did not eat up my pocket
book, which was in my pocket, within an inch of my head? And
not contented with plenty for the present, they carried away
my gemmy worked silk garters, and half a dozen new minuets I
had just got, to serve, I suppose, as provision for the
winter.
"You know it rained last night, or if you do not know it, I
am sure I do. When I went to bed I laid my watch in the
usual place, and going to take her up after I arose this
morning, I found her in the same place, it is true, but all
afloat in water, let in at a leak in the roof of the house,
and as silent, and as still as the rats that had eaten my
pocket book.
"Now, you know if chance had anything to do in this matter,
there were a thousand other spots where it might have
chanced to leak as well as this one which was
perpendicularly over my watch. But I'll tell you, it's my
opinion that the Devil came and bored the hole over it on
purpose.
"Well, as I was saying, my poor watch had lost her speech. I
would not have cared much for this, but something worse
attended it--the subtle particles of water with which the
case was filled had, by their penetration, so overcome the
cohesion of the particles of the paper, of which my dear
picture, and watch patch paper, were composed, that in
attempting to take them out to dry them, my cursed fingers
gave them such a rent as I fear I shall never get over.
"... And now, though her picture be defaced, there is so
lively an image of her imprinted in my mind, that I shall
think of her too often, I fear for my peace of mind; and too
often I am sure to get through old Coke this winter, for I
have not seen him since I packed him up in my trunk in
Williamsburg. Well, Page, I do wish the Devil had old Coke
for I am sure I never was so tired of the dull old scoundrel
"I would fain ask the favor of Miss Bettey Burwell to give
me another watch paper of her own cutting, which I should
esteem much more though it were a plain round one, than the
nicest in the world cut by other hands; however I am afraid
she would think this presumption, after my suffering the
other to get spoiled. If you think you can excuse me to her
for this, I should be glad if you would ask her...."
the consent of her guardian," which at that time was considered
dishonourable, and second, Jefferson's own state of suspense and
uneasiness, since the lady had given him no grounds for hope.
"If I am to succeed [he wrote], the sooner I know it the
less uneasiness I shall have to go through. If I am to meet
with disappointment, the sooner I know it, the more of life
I shall have to wear it off; and if I do meet with one, I
hope and verily believe it will be the last.
"I assure you that I almost envy you your present freedom
and I assure you that if Belinda will not accept of my
heart, it shall never be offered to another."
In his letters he habitually spoke of Miss Burwell as "Belinda,"
afterward--October 7, 1763--he confided in Page:
"In the most melancholy fit that ever a poor soul was, I sit
down to write you. Last night, as merry as agreeable company
and dancing with Belinda could make me, I never could have
thought that the succeeding sun would have seen me so
wretched as I now am!
"I was prepared to say a great deal. I had dressed up in my
own mind, such thoughts as occurred to me, in as moving
language as I knew how, and expected to have performed in a
tolerably creditable manner. But ... when I had an
opportunity of venting them, a few broken sentences, uttered
in great disorder, and interrupted by pauses of uncommon
length were the too visible marks of my strange confusion!
"The whole confab I will tell you, word for word if I can
when I see you which God send, may be soon."
After this, he dates his letters at "Devilsburg," instead of
The death of his sister, his devotion to his books, and his
played the spinet unusually well.
"They left 'The Forest' after a fall of snow, light then,
but increasing in depth as they advanced up the country.
They were finally obliged to quit the carriage and proceed
on horseback. They arrived late at night, the fires were all
out, and the servants had retired to their own houses for
the night. The horrible dreariness of such a house, at the
end of such a journey, I have often heard both relate."
They reared other children besides their own, taking the helpless
One letter is extant which was written to one of the nieces whom
Jefferson so cheerfully supported. It reads as follows:
"I send you, my dear Patsey, the fifteen livres you desired.
You propose this to me as an anticipation of five weeks'
allowance, but do you not see, my dear, how imprudent it is
to lay out in one moment what should accommodate you for
five weeks? This is a departure from that rule which I wish
to see you governed by, thro' your whole life, of never
buying anything which you have not the money in your pocket
to pay for.
"Be sure that it gives much more pain to the mind to be in
debt than to do without any article whatever which we may
seem to want.
"The purchase you have made is one I am always ready to make
for you because it is my wish to see you dressed always
cleanly and a little more than decently; but apply to me
first for the money before making the purchase, if only to
avoid breaking through your rule.
"Learn yourself the habit of adhering vigorously to the
rules you lay down for yourself. I will come for you about
eleven o'clock on Saturday. Hurry the making of your gown,
and also your redingcote. You will go with me some day next
week to dine at the Marquis Fayette. Adieu, my dear
daughter,
"Yours affectionately,
husband, that she could never recover.
"As a nurse no female ever had more tenderness or anxiety.
He nursed my poor mother in turn with Aunt Carr, and her own
sister--sitting up with her and administering her medicines
and drink to the last.
"When at last he left his room, three weeks after my
mother's death, he rode out, and from that time, he was
incessantly on horseback, rambling about the mountain."
She comes along old Ocean's trackless way--
A warrior scenting conflict from afar
And fearing not defeat nor battle-scar
Nor all the might of wind and dashing spray;
Her foaming path to triumph none may stay
For in the East, there shines her morning star;
She feels her strength in every shining spar
As one who grasps his sword and waits for day.
Columbia, Defender! dost thou hear?
The clarion challenge sweeps the sea
And straight toward the lightship doth she steer,
Her steadfast pulses sounding jubilee;
Arise, Defender! for thy way is clear
And all thy country's heart goes out to thee.
The Story of a Daughter's Love
daughter, Theodosia.
One must remember that before Burr was two years old, his father,
Revolution, bravely and well.
sentries.
In spite of these difficulties, however, Burr managed to make two
sons, and was ten years older than her husband. Her health was
For instance:
"This morning came your truly welcome letter of Monday
evening," he wrote her at one time. "Where did it loiter so
long?
"Nothing in my absence is so flattering to me as your health
and cheerfulness. I then contemplate nothing so eagerly as
my return, amuse myself with ideas of my own happiness, and
dwell upon the sweet domestic joys which I fancy prepared
for me.
"Nothing is so unfriendly to every species of enjoyment as
melancholy. Gloom, however dressed, however caused, is
incompatible with friendship. They cannot have place in the
mind at the same time. It is the secret, the malignant foe
of sentiment and love."
He always wrote fondly of the children:
"My love to the smiling little girl," he said in one letter.
"I continually plan my return with childish impatience, and
fancy a thousand incidents which are most interesting."
After five years of married life the wife wrote him as follows:
"Your letters always afford me a singular satisfaction, a
sensation entirely my own. This was peculiarly so. It
wrought strangely upon my mind and spirits. My Aaron, it was
replete with tenderness and with the most lively affection.
I read and re-read till afraid I should get it by rote, and
mingle it with common ideas."
Between those two, there was ever the fullest confidence, never
"Your dear little Theodosia cannot hear you spoken of
without an apparent melancholy; insomuch, that her nurse is
obliged to exert her invention to divert her, and myself
avoid the mention of you in her presence. She was one whole
day indifferent to everything but your name. Her attachment
is not of a common nature."
And again:
"Your dear little daughter seeks you twenty times a day,
calls you to your meals, and will not suffer your chair to
be filled by any of the family."
The child was educated as if she had been a boy. She learned to
regularly, and did not allow one of her letters to wait a day for
She grew into a beautiful girl. Her features were much like her
father's. She was petite, graceful, plump, rosy, dignified, and
gracious. In her manner, there was a calm assurance--the air of
When she was eighteen years of age, she married Joseph Alston of
For three years after her marriage, Theodosia was blissfully
happy. A boy was born to her, and was named Aaron Burr Alston.
himself had taught her.
She had parted from him with no other pain in her heart than the
absolute faith, so that all the world might see.
separation. Early in June they parted, little dreaming that they
should see each other no more.
Public opinion showed no signs of relenting, and his evil genius
followed him across the sea. He was expelled from England, and in
"I witness your extraordinary fortitude with new wonder at
every misfortune. Often, after reflecting on this subject,
you appear to me so superior, so elevated above other men--I
contemplate you with such a strange mixture of humility,
admiration, reverence, love, and pride, that a very little
superstition would be necessary to make me worship you as a
superior being, such enthusiasm does your character excite
in me.
"When I afterward revert to myself, how insignificant do my
best qualities appear! My own vanity would be greater if I
had not been placed so near you, and yet, my pride is in our
relationship. I had rather not live than not to be the
daughter of such a man."
She wrote to Mrs. Madison and asked her to intercede with the
"Let my father see my son, sometimes," she had written. "Do
not be unkind to him whom I have loved so much, I beseech of
you. Burn all my papers except my father's letters, which I
beg you to return to him."
daughter, and always believing that the next ship would bring her
For out within those waters, cruel, changeless,
She sleeps, beyond all rage of earth or sea;
And I--I hear the sea-voice calling me.
Beyond the sands I hear the sea-voice calling
With passion all but human in its pain,
While from my eyes the bitter tears are falling,
And all the summer land seems blind with rain;
For out within those waters, cruel, changeless,
She sleeps, beyond all rage of earth or sea,
And I--I hear the sea-voice calling me.
The tide comes in. The moonlight flood and glory
Of that unresting surge thrill earth with bliss,
And I can hear the passionate sweet story
Of waves that waited round her for her kiss.
Sweetheart, they love you; silent and unseeing,
Old Ocean holds his court around you there,
And while I reach out through the dark to find you
His fingers twine the sea-weed in your hair.
The tide goes out and in the dawn's new splendour
The dreams of dark first fade, then pass away,
And I awake from visions soft and tender
To face the shuddering agony of day
For out within those waters, cruel, changeless,
She sleeps, beyond all rage of earth or sea;
And I--I hear the sea-voice calling me.
The Mystery of Randolph's
It is said that in order to know a man, one must begin with his
His contemporaries have told us what manner of man he was--fiery,
bitterness, obstinate, revengeful, and extremely sensitive.
"I have been all my life," he says, "the creature of impulse, the
suffered from extreme sensitiveness.
"There is no accounting for thinness of skins in different
animals, human, or brute [he once said]. Mine, I believe to
be more tender than many infants of a month old. Indeed I
have remarked in myself, from my earliest recollection, a
delicacy or effeminacy of complexion, which but for a spice
of the devil in my temper would have consigned me to the
distaff or the needle."
restored to consciousness with difficulty.
His most striking feature was his eyes. They were deep, dark, and
The voice of this great statesman was a rare gift:
"One might live a hundred years [says one,] and never hear
another like it. The wonder was why the sweet tone of a
woman was so harmoniously blended with that of a man. His
very whisper could be distinguished above the ordinary tones
of other men. His voice was so singularly clear, distinct,
and melodious that it was a positive pleasure to hear him
articulate anything."
generation.
Tradition tells us of the unusual beauty of the mother--
"the high expanded forehead, the smooth arched brow; the
brilliant dark eyes; the well defined nose; the full round
laughing lips; the tall graceful figure, the beautiful dark
hair; an open cheerful countenance--suffused with that deep,
rich Oriental tint which never seems to fade, all of which
made her the most beautiful and attractive woman of her
She was a wife at sixteen, and at twenty-six a widow. Three years
John Randolph was seven years old, and little Maria Ward had just
"Our poor brother Richard was born in 1770. He would have
been fifty-six years old the ninth of this month. I can no
more.
night, he was so changed that no one dared to speak to him.
"One I loved better than my own soul, or Him who created it.
My apathy is not natural, but superinduced. There was a
volcano under my ice, but it burnt out, and a face of
desolation has come on, not to be rectified in ages, could
my life be prolonged to patriarchal longevity.
"The necessity of loving and being loved was never felt by
the imaginary beings of Rousseau and Byron's creation, more
imperiously than by myself. My heart was offered with a
devotion that knew no reserve. Long an object of
proscription and treachery, I have at last, more mortifying
to the pride of man, become an object of utter
indifference."
"Love to god-son Randolph and respectful compliments to Mrs.
R. She is indeed a fine woman, one for whom I have felt a
true regard, unmixed with the foible of another passion.
"Fortunately or unfortunately for me, when I knew her, I
bore a charmed heart. Nothing else could have preserved me
from the full force of her attractions."
appearance!"
She was sitting alone in her room in the dead of winter, when a
In a letter written sometime after she died, he said, strangely
nothing more.
In October of 1788, a little company of immigrants arrived in
A married daughter and her husband lived with her, but it was
The dangers of the frontier were but minor incidents in his
"Sir," said the boy, "I am a prisoner of war, and I claim to be
treated as such!"
Donelson's when Jackson went there to board.
In the following autumn there was a rumour that Captain Robards
intended to return to Tennessee and take his wife to Kentucky, at
It is difficult to excuse Jackson for marrying the woman without
Jackson," never "Andrew" nor "General."
When she was buried at the foot of a slope in the garden of "The
In that one night he had grown old. He looked like a man stricken
sympathy, he could make no response.
He was never the same again, though his strength of will and his
He declined the sarcophagus fit for an emperor, that he might be
buried like a simple citizen, in the garden by her side.
The Bachelor President's Loyalty
The fifteenth President was remarkable among the men of his time
for his lifelong fidelity to one woman, for since the days of
"Considering her limited opportunities in early life [he
writes], my mother was a remarkable woman. The daughter of a
country farmer, engaged in household employment from early
life until after my father's death, she yet found time to
read much, and to reflect deeply on what she read.
"She had a great fondness for poetry, and could repeat with
ease all the passages in her favorite authors which struck
her fancy. These were Milton, Pope, Young, Cowper, and
"I do not think, at least until a late period in life, she
had ever read a criticism on any one of these authors, and
yet such was the correctness of her natural taste, that she
had selected for herself, and could repeat, every passage
in them which has been admired....
"For her sons, as they grew up successively, she was a
delightful and instructive companion.... She was a woman of
great firmness of character, and bore the afflictions of her
later life with Christian philosophy.... It was chiefly to
her influence, that her sons were indebted for a liberal
education. Under Providence I attribute any little
distinction which I may have acquired in the world to the
blessing which He conferred upon me in granting me such a
There was no explanation forthcoming, and it was not until long
Though she was too proud to admit it, there was evidence that the
"You have lost a child, a dear, dear child. I have lost the
only earthly object of my affections, without whom, life now
presents to me a dreary blank. My prospects are all cut off,
and I feel that my happiness will be buried with her in her
grave.
"It is now no time for explanation, but the time will come
when you will discover that she, as well as I, has been
greatly abused. God forgive the authors of it! My feelings
of resentment against them, whoever they may be, are buried
in the dust.
"I have now one request to make, and for the love of God,
and of your dear departed daughter, whom I loved infinitely
more than any human being could love, deny me not. Afford me
the melancholy pleasure of seeing her body before its
interment. I would not, for the world, be denied this
request.
"I might make another, but from the misrepresentations that
have been made to you, I am almost afraid. I would like to
follow her remains, to the grave as a mourner. I would like
to convince the world, I hope yet to convince you, that she
was infinitely dearer to me than life.
"I may sustain the shock of her death, but I feel that
happiness has fled from me forever. The prayer which I make
to God without ceasing is, that I yet may be able to show my
veneration for the memory of my dear, departed saint, by my
respect and attachment for her surviving friends.
"May Heaven bless you and enable you to bear the shock with
the fortitude of a Christian.
"I am forever, your sincere and grateful friend,
For such a meeting as that there are no words but Edwin Arnold's:
"But he--who loved her too well to dread
The sweet, the stately, the beautiful dead--
He lit his lamp, and took the key,
And turn'd it!--alone again--he and she!"
"Departed this life, on Thursday morning last, in the
twenty-third year of her age, while on a visit to friends in
the city of Philadelphia, Miss Anne C. Coleman, daughter of
Robert Coleman, Esquire of this city.
"It rarely falls to our lot to shed a tear over the remains
of one so much and so deservedly beloved as was the
deceased. She was everything which the fondest parent, or
the fondest friend could have wished her to be.
"Although she was young and beautiful and accomplished, and
the smiles of fortune shone upon her, yet her native modesty
and worth made her unconscious of her own attractions. Her
heart was the seat of all the softer virtues which ennoble
and dignify the character of woman.
"She has now gone to a world, where, in the bosom of her
God, she will be happy with congenial spirits. May the
memory of her virtues be ever green in the hearts of her
surviving friends. May her mild spirit, which on earth still
breathes peace and good will, be their guardian angel to
preserve them from the faults to which she was ever a
stranger.
"The spider's most attenuated thread
Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie
On earthly bliss--it breaks at every breeze."
How deeply he felt her death is shown by extracts from a letter
written to him by a friend in the latter part of December:
"I am writing, I know not why, and perhaps had better not. I
write only to speak of the awful visitation of Providence
that has fallen upon you, and how deeply I feel it.... I
trust to your philosophy and courage, and to the elasticity
of spirits natural to most young men....
"The sun will shine again, though a man enveloped in gloom
always thinks the darkness is to be eternal. Do you remember
the Spanish anecdote?
"A lady who had lost a favorite child remained for months
sunk in sullen sorrow and despair. Her confessor, one
morning visited her, and found her, as usual immersed in
gloom and grief. 'What,' said he, 'Have you not forgiven God
"She rose, exerted herself, joined the world again, and
became useful to herself and her friends."
pathetic request would also have been burned.
Through all his life he remained true to Anne's memory. Under the
his nature affectionate and steadfast, yet it was owing to his
prospects and plans were all changed by a most sad event, which
A beautiful side of his character is shown in his devotion to his
"I believe you say truly that nothing would have induced you
to leave me, in good or evil fortune, if I had wished you to
remain with me.
"Such a wish on my part would be very selfish. You have long
known my desire that you should marry whenever a suitor
worthy of you should offer. Indeed, it has been my strong
desire to see you settled in the world before my death. You
have now made your own unbiased choice; and from the
character of Mr. Johnston, I anticipate for you a happy
marriage, because I believe from your own good sense, you
will conform to your conductor, and make him a good and
loving wife."
The days passed in retirement at Wheatland were filled with quiet
The trees bow their heads in sorrow,
While their giant branches wave,
With the requiems of the forest,
To the dead in a soldier's grave.
The pitying rain falls softly,
In grief for a nation's brave,
Who died 'neath the scourge of treason
And rest in a lonely grave.
So, under the willow and cypress
We lay our dead away,
And cover their graves with blossoms,
But the debt we never can pay.
All nature is bathed in tears,
On our sad Memorial day,
When we crown the valour of heroes
With flowers from the garments of May.
By the slow passing of years humanity attains what is called the
There is no record for Lincoln's earlier years of the boyish love
In October of 1833, Lincoln met Miss Mary Owens, and admired her
husband, Abe."
"MARY:--I have been sick ever since my arrival, or I should
have written sooner. It is but little difference, however,
as I have very little even yet to write. And more, the
longer I can avoid the mortification of looking in the
post-office for your letter, and not finding it, the better.
You see I am mad about that old letter yet. I don't like
very well to risk you again. I'll try you once more,
In another letter written the following year he says to her:
"I am often thinking about what we said of your coming to
live at Springfield. I am afraid you would not be satisfied.
There is a great deal of flourishing about in carriages
here, which it would be your doom to see without sharing it.
You would have to be poor without the means of hiding your
poverty. Do you believe you could bear that patiently?
"Whatever woman may cast her lot with mine, should any ever
do so, it is my intention to do all in my power to make her
happy and contented; and there is nothing I can imagine that
would make me more unhappy than to fail in the effort.
"I know I should be much happier with you than the way I am,
provided I saw no signs of discontent in you. What you have
said to me may have been in the way of jest, or I may have
misunderstood it.
"If so, then let it be forgotten; if otherwise I much wish
you would think seriously before you decide. For my part, I
have already decided.
"What I have said I will most positively abide by, provided
you wish it. My opinion is that you would better not do it.
You have not been accustomed to hardship, and it may be more
severe than you now imagine.
"I know you are capable of thinking correctly upon any
subject and if you deliberate maturely upon this before you
decide, then I am willing to abide by your decision."
Matters went on in this way for about three months; then they met
"If you feel yourself in any degree bound to me [he said], I
am now willing to release you, provided you wish it; while,
on the other hand, I am willing and even anxious, to bind
you faster, if I can be convinced that it will in any
considerable degree add to your happiness. This, indeed, is
the whole question with me. Nothing would make me more
miserable than to believe you miserable--nothing more happy
than to know you were so."
"I finally was forced to give it up [he wrote] at which I
very unexpectedly found myself mortified almost beyond
endurance.
"I was mortified it seemed to me in a hundred different
ways. My vanity was deeply wounded by the reflection that I
had so long been too stupid to discover her intentions, and
at the same time never doubting that I understood them
perfectly; and also, that she, whom I had taught myself to
believe nobody else would have, had actually rejected me,
with all my fancied greatness.
"And then to cap the whole, I then, for the first time,
began to suspect that I was really a little in love with
her. But let it all go. I'll try and outlive it. Others have
been made fools of by the girls; but this can never with
truth be said of me. I most emphatically in this instance
made a fool of myself. I have now come to the conclusion
never again to think of marrying, and for this reason I can
never be satisfied with any one who would be blockhead
enough to have me!"
well-rounded face, rich dark brown hair, and bluish grey eyes. No
was strong, proud, passionate, gifted with a keen sense of the
Lincoln was attracted at once, and strangely enough, Stephen A.
His friend, Speed, thus describes the conclusion of this episode.
"What else did you say?"
This story, however, has no foundation; in fact, most competent
challenge and chose "cavalry broadswords" as the weapons, but the
countrymen forever serene and calm, while his memory lingers like
She is standing alone by the window--
A woman, faded and old,
But the wrinkled face was lovely once,
And the silvered hair was gold.
As out in the darkness, the snow-flakes
Are falling so softly and slow,
Her thoughts fly back to the summer of life,
And the scenes of long ago.
Before the dim eyes, a picture comes,
She has seen it again and again;
The tears steal over the faded cheeks,
And the lips that quiver with pain,
For she hears once more the trumpet call
And sees the battle array
As they march to the hills with gleaming swords--
Can she ever forget that day?
She has given her boy to the land she loves,
How hard it had been to part!
And to-night she stands at the window alone,
With a new-made grave in her heart.
And yet, it's the day of Thanksgiving--
But her child, her darling was slain
By the shot and shell of the rebel guns--
Can she ever be thankful again?
She thinks once more of his fair young face,
And the cannon's murderous roll,
While hatred springs in her passionate heart,
And bitterness into her soul.
Then out of the death-like stillness
There comes a battle-cry--
The song that led those marching feet
To conquer, or to die.
"Yes, rally round the flag, boys!"
With tears she hears the song,
And her thoughts go back to the boys in blue,
That army, brave and strong--
Then Peace creeps in amid the pain.
The dead are as dear as the living,
And back of the song is the silence,
And back of the silence--Thanksgiving.
amounting to a small fortune.
Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, pearls, and opals--these
A French writer claims that if it be true that the oyster can be
history than this.
having ground up a costly Eastern pearl the Englishman coolly
swallowed it.
It was given by Don Pedro to the Black Prince, and half a century
"She showed me a fair ruby like a great racket ball," he says. "I
The story goes that the opal was discovered at the same time that
shepherdess who stood near him, he let her take it from his lips
with hers, as the hands of neither of them were clean.
The Orloff is perhaps the most brilliant of all the famous group.
The Real Paragon was in 1861 the property of the Rajah of Mattan.
however, had suspected treachery, and brought an imitation of the
"Bring it here," said Lawrence, and the servant produced it.
"Now," said his master, "open it and see what it contains."
It was worth a million and a half of francs when Prince Paul
Demidoff wore it in his hat at a great fancy ball given in honour
during the ball! Everybody was wild with excitement when the loss
After more than two centuries, "the Regent is," as Saint-Simon
described it in 1717, "a brilliant, inestimable and unique." Its
density is rather higher than that of the usual diamond, and it
merchant for five thousand dollars.
bushels of fine pearls.
Much more interesting and beautiful, however, is another canopied
The entire piece is decorated inside and out with a branching
crowns and others furnished by command of the Queen.
forty-eight diamonds.
A gem is said to represent "condensed wealth," and it is also
Straight to the sunrise my ship's sails are leaning,
Brave at the masthead her new colours fly;
Down on the shore, her lips trembling with meaning,
Love waits, but unanswering, I heed not her cry.
The gold of the East shall be mine in full measure,
My ship shall come home overflowing with treasure,
And love is not need, but only a pleasure,
So I wait for my ship to come in.
Silent, half troubled, I wait in the shadow,
No sail do I see between me and the dawn;
Out in the blue and measureless meadow,
My ship wanders widely, but Love has not gone.
"My arms await thee," she cries in her pleading,
"Why wait for its coming, when I am thy needing?"
I pass by in stillness, all else unheeding,
And wait for my ship to come in.
See, in the East, surrounded by splendour,
My sail glimmers whitely in crimson and blue;
I turn back to Love, my heart growing tender,
"Now I have gold and leisure for you.
Measures of gold beyond a queen's scorning"--
To-night I shall rest--joy comes in the morning,
So I wait for my ship to come in.
Remembering waters beat cold on the shore,
And the grey sea in sadness grows old;
I listen in vain for Love's pleading once more,
While my ship comes with spices and gold.
The sea birds cry hoarsely, for this is their songing,
On masthead and colours their white wings are thronging,
But my soul throbs deep with love and with longing,
And I wait for my ship to come in.
to manhood, with children of his own, would laugh at the yellowed
It is written in books and papers that some unhappy mortals are
through their hands. When a skyscraper is a postal district in
husband.
Circulars addressed mechanically, at so much a thousand, never
deceive the postman, though the recipient often opens them with
pleasurable sensations, which immediately sink to zero. And the
inkling of their contents to the man who delivers them.
When the same bill comes to the same house for a long and regular
"All the world loves a lover," and even the busy postman takes a
When the bugle sounds the charge, and dimly through the flash and
From the trunk comes a musty fragrance--lavender, sweet clover,
Bits of rosemary and geranium, lemon verbena, tuberose, and
heliotrope, fragile and whitened, but still sweet, fall from the
opened letters and rustle softly as they fall.
Down the street the postman passes, bearing his burden of joy and
No wonder, then, that there is a stir in the house, that eyes
I sit on the shore of the deep blue sea
As the tide comes rolling in,
And wonder, as roaming in sunlit dreams,
The cause of the breakers' din.
For each of the foam-crowned billows
Has a wonderful story to tell,
And the surge's mystical music
Seems wrought by a fairy spell.
I wander through memory's portals,
Through mansions dim and vast,
And gaze at the beautiful pictures
That hang in the halls of the past.
And dream-faces gather around me,
With voices soft and low,
To draw me back to the pleasures
Of the lands of long ago.
There are visions of beauty and splendour,
And a fame that I never can win--
Far out on the deep they are sailing--
My ships that will never come in.
"Yep, I can sell 'em now, sure!"
Out of the crowd on the opposite corner came a tiny, dark-skinned
seamed and wrinkled and old, with the dark pathetic eyes of sunny
I sail through the realms of the long ago,
Wafted by fancy and visions frail,
On the river Time with its gentle flow,
In a silver boat with a golden sail.
My dreams, in the silence are hurrying by
On the brooklet of Thought where I let them flow,
And the "lilies nod to the sound of the stream"
As I sail through the realms of the long ago.
On the shores of life's deep-flowing stream
Are my countless sorrows and heartaches, too,
And the hills of hope are but dimly seen,
Far in the distance, near heaven's blue.
I find that my childish thoughts and dreams
Lie strewn on the sands by the cruel blast
That scattered my hopes on the restless streams
That flow through the mystic realms of the past.
In the first place, gentlemen, we must admit that you do keep us
telling you.
careful.
If you are going to say things that you don't mean, try to stamp
Keeping the love-letters and the offers of marriage from any
special occasions.
cowardice at the crucial point in life.
Every man, except yourself, dear reader, is conceited. And one
"forgive me" when you have been wrong.
How often do you suppose the brave woman who loves you has been
Do you ever think of these things? Do you ever think of the days
before you were sure of her, when you treasured every line of her
I am thy Pleasure. See, my face is fair--
With silken strands of joy I twine thee round;
Life has enough of stress--forget with me!
Wilt thou not stay? Then go, thou art not bound.
I am thy Pastime. Let me be to thee
A daily refuge from the haunting fears
That bind thee, choke thee, fill thy soul with woe.
Seek thou my hand, let me assuage thy tears.
I am thy Habit. Nay, start not, thy will
Is yet supreme, for art thou not a man?
Then draw me close to thee, for life is brief--
A little space to pass as best one can.
I am thy Passion. Thou shalt cling to me
Through all the years to come. The silken cord
Of Pleasure has become a stronger bond,
Not to be cleft, nor loosened at a word.
I am thy Master. Thou shalt crush for me
The grapes of truth for wine of sacrifice;
My clanking chains were forged for such as thee,
I am thy Master--yea, I am thy vice!
No woman in her senses wishes to be merely the female of man. She
made clothing of its skin, necklaces and bracelets of its teeth,
If a woman mends men's socks, should he not darn her lisle-thread
Some one will say: "But he supports her. It is her duty."
repaired his clothes--yes, and blacked his boots! Doubtless for a
By such gold-brick methods, dear friends, do men get good service
Our short-sightedness, our weakness for kind words, our graceful
And yet, let us hug to our weary hearts, in our most discouraged
themselves.
In every field of woman's work outside the house, the same
mushroom; if you die, it's a toadstool!
A sigh for the spring, full flowered, promised spring,
Laid on the tender earth, and those dear days
When apple blossoms gleamed against the blue!
Ah, how the world of joyous robins sang:
"I love but you, Sweetheart, I love but you!"
A sigh for summer fled. In warm, sweet air
Her thousand singers sped on shining wing;
And all the inward life of budding grain
Throbbed with a thousand pulses, while I cling
To you, my Sweet, with passion near to pain.
A sigh for autumn past. The garnered fields
Lie desolate to-day. My heart is chill
As with a sense of dread, and on the shore
The waves beat grey and cold, and seem to say:
"No more, oh, waiting soul, oh nevermore!"
A sigh for winter come. No singing bird,
Nor harvest field, is near the path I tread;
An empty husk is all I have to keep.
The largess of my giving left me bare,
And I ask God but for His Lethe--sleep.
The average man _thinks_ that he is a born genius at love-making.
"Effie, ye ken there are some men ha' a power o'er women....
They're what ye might call 'dead shots.' Ye canna deny,
Effie, that I'm one o' those men!"
Even though a man may be obliged to admit, in strict confidence
between himself and his mirror, that he is not at all handsome,
The real man is conceited. Of course you are not, dear masculine
strongly.
I dreamt I saw an angel in the night,
And she held forth Love's book, limned o'er with gold,
That I might read of days of chivalry
And how men's hearts were wont to thrill of old.
Half wondering, I turned the musty leaves,
For Love's book counts out centuries as years,
And here and there a page shone out undimmed,
And here and there a page was blurred with tears.
I read of Grief, Doubt, Silence unexplained--
Of many-featured Wrong, Distrust, and Blame,
Renunciation--bitterest of all--
And yet I wandered not beyond Love's name.
At last I cried to her who held the book,
So fair and calm she stood, I see her yet;
"Why write these things within this book of Love?
Why may we not pass onward and forget?"
Her voice was tender when she answered me:
"Half child, half woman, earthy as thou art,
How should'st thou dream that Love is never Love
Unless these things beat vainly on the heart?"
sometimes in the very suburbs of our modern civilisation. He is,
however, coming to the front rather slowly, to be sure, but
nevertheless he is coming.
offered for her keeping.
wrinkled, and grey, or young and charming, likes to be loved.
God bless the ideal man and hasten his coming in greater numbers.
Good-night, Sweetheart; the winged hours have flown;
I have forgotten all the world but thee.
Across the moon-lit deep, where stars have shone,
The surge sounds softly from the sleeping sea.
Thy heart at last hath opened to Love's key;
Remembered Aprils, glorious blooms have sown,
And now there comes the questing honey bee.
Good-night, Sweetheart; the winged hours have flown.
My singing soul makes music in thine own,
Thy hand upon my harp makes melody;
So close the theme and harmony have grown
I have forsaken all the world for thee.
Before thy whiteness do I bend the knee;
Thou art a queen upon a stainless throne,
Like Dian making royal jubilee,
Across the vaulted dark where stars are blown.
Within my heart thy face shines out alone,
Ah, dearest! Say for once thou lovest me!
A whisper, even, like the undertone
The surge sings slowly from the rhythmic sea.
Thy downcast eyes make answer to my plea;
A crimson mantle o'er thy cheek is thrown
Assurance more than this, there need not be,
For thus, within the silence, love is known.
Good-night, Sweetheart.
All of us, though we may profess to be realists, are at heart
If men were not such strangely inconsistent beings, the world
would lose half its charm. Each sex rails at the other for its
inconsistency, when the real truth is that nowhere exists much of
But humanity must learn with Emerson to seek other things than
consistency, and to look upon the lightning play of thought and
feeling as an index of mental and moral growth.
For those who possess the happy faculty of "making the best of
She must, first of all, be beautiful. No man, even in his wildest
He has read Swinburne and Tennyson and is very sure he won't have
imperfections.
Just like the most of them after all, isn't he?
The year goes round and Mr. Ideal goes away on a summer vacation.
A merry laugh reaches his ear, and he turns around. The tall
brother is chasing her through the bushes, and she waves a letter
introduce Mr. Ideal.
Days pass, and Mr. Ideal and Miss Practical are much together. He
advocate of "woman" in every available sphere.
In due course of time, he plans to return to the city, and to the
But she neglects neither her books nor her housekeeping, and her
Ruskin says: "No man ever lived a right life who has not been
She is not fair to other eyes--
No poet's dream is she,
Nor artist's inspiration, yet
I would not have her be.
She wanders not through princely halls,
A crown upon her hair;
Her heart awaits a single king
Because she is not fair.
Dear lips, your half-shy tenderness
Seems far too much to win!
Yet, has your heart a tiny door
Where I may peep within?
That voiceless chamber, dim and sweet,
I pray may be my own.
Dear little Love, may I come in
And make you mine alone?
She is not fair to other eyes--
I would not have it so;
She needs no further charm or grace
Or aught wealth may bestow;
For when the love light shines and makes
Her dear face glorified--
Ah Sweetheart! queens may come and go
And all the world beside.
The Fin-de-Siecle Woman
The world has fought step by step the elevation of woman from
inferiority to equality, but at last she is being recognised as a
conclusively that these statements are not trustworthy.
It is true that some prefer the society of women who know just
enough to appreciate their compliments--women who deprecate their
She may be a good housekeeper, even if she does write for the
The _fin-de-siecle_ woman is literary in one sense, if not in
The devoted admirer of Browning is not liable to quote him in
a promiscuous company and though a lady may be familiar with
Shakespeare, it does not follow that she will discuss _Hamlet_
in social gatherings.
children in the truest sense of the words.
nevertheless, be contented and happy.
Whether she lives in a modest cottage, or in a fashionable home,
she may be the same sweet woman, with cheerful face and pleasant
Be she princess, or Cinderella, she may be still her husband's
There's a wondrous land of misty gold
Beyond the sunset's bars.
There's a silver boat on a sea of blue,
And the tips of its waves are stars.
And idly rocking to and fro,
Her cloud robes floating by,
There's a maiden fair, with sunny hair,
The queen of the dreamy sky.
Her Son's Wife
The venerable mother-in-law joke appears in the comic papers with
procession.
Moreover, it is to the daughter's interest to cement a friendship
"A son's a son till he gets him a wife,
But a daughter's a daughter all the days of her life."
Thus the old saying runs, and there is a measure of truth in it,
Since women know women so well, perhaps it is only natural for a
clearly see her relation to the man they both love. Blinded by
In no sense are wife and mother rivals, nor can they ever be so.
A woman need only ask herself if she would like to be the mother
of her husband--to exchange the love which she now has for filial
So, between wife and mother there is no second place, and it is
She wore an engagement ring, so he must have cared for her, but
mothers meet.
When a woman marries, she has a right to expect the love of her
consequences, if she is pushed too far.
On the other hand, the mother who bore him still has proprietary
Marriage brings to a girl certain freedom, but it gives her no
superiority to her husband's family. A chain is as strong as its
weakest link, and the members of a family do not rise above the
general level. Every one of them is as good as the man she has
family to an outsider stamps her as a traitor, who deserves a
traitor's punishment.
moment's hesitation.
In quiet talks in the twilight, she teaches him to be gentle and
With never a thought, the girl takes it all as her due. She would
familiar talk, because his wife either comes with him, or expects
The poor heart-hungry mother, who stands by with brimming eyes,
fearful that the joy of her life may be taken from her, will be
sincerity and wells of tenderness: "Mother--Come!"
Sleep, baby, sleep,
The twilight breezes blow,
The flower bells are ringing,
The birds are twittering low,
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Sleep, baby, sleep,
The whippoorwill is calling,
The stars are twinkling faintly,
The dew is softly falling,
Sleep, baby, sleep.
Sleep, baby, sleep,
Upon your pillow lying,
The rushes whisper to the stream,
The summer day is dying,
Sleep, baby, sleep.
dressing-sack?
flannel negligee of the blessed shade of green consecrated to the
It looks as well as many things which are commonly welded into
dressing-sacks; then why this invidious distinction?
eiderdown environment, he would appreciate his mercies as never
before.
vertebra is literally the backbone of a woman's self-respect.
Would the iceman or the janitor hesitate to "talk back" to the
uncorseted lady in a pink dressing-sack?--Hardly!
The iceman and the grocery boy see more dressing-sacks than most
others, for they are privileged to approach the back doors of
residences, and to hold conversations with the lady of the house,
"Fifty pounds for the red dressing-sack," says the iceman to his
helper, "and a hundred for the blue. Step lively now!"
And how should madame know that her order for a steak, a peck of
potatoes, and two lemons, is registered in the grocery boy's book
"I won't dress," she thinks, "until I get ready to go out." After
Friends come in, perhaps, and say: "Oh, how comfortable you look!
As the habit creeps upon its victim, she loses sight of the fact
This type of woman always boards, _if she can_, or has plenty of
servants at her command, and, in either case, her mind is free to
dressing-sack!
Nothing is done in a negligee of this sort which cannot be done
equally well in a shirt-waist, crisp and clean, with a collar and
There is a popular delusion to the effect that household tasks
The flowers bow their dainty heads,
And see in the shining stream
A vision of sky and silver clouds,
As bright as a fairy's dream.
The great trees nod their sleepy boughs,
The song birds come and go,
And all day long, to the waving ferns
The south wind whispers low.
All day among the blossoms sweet,
The laughing sunbeams play,
And down the stream, in rose-leaf boats
The fairies sail away.
One Woman's Solution of the
household, and direct my domestic affairs, there are long periods
enormous pile of dishes to be washed in the morning. There are,
however, some advantages connected with the situation. We have a
laundress besides the maid; we have a twelve-o'clock breakfast on
After keeping us on tenter-hooks for two weeks, she sent for her
Offset to this was a furious temper, an atmosphere of gloom and
depression which permeated the house and made us feel funereal,
impertinence of a quality difficult to endure, and the callous,
morning.
flowers almost pathetic.
smiling maid, a perfectly cooked and nicely served meal, and an
I noticed each time a vast pride in the fact that she had been so
The crucial test of her qualities came when I entered upon a long
turned away from my inhospitable door.
"I know I don't," I laughed, "but I like to do it."
"You don't have to do dat," she repeated. "Ay like to do de
housekeeping."
At that she took it, offering me a rough wet hand, which I took
didn't like the idea, but I recognised her well-defined right.
I knew she would have to go some time before she settled down to
I do not think she loves us yet, but I believe in time she will.
The day the new girl came, I happened to overhear a much valued
enjoyed the dinner, or to have him go into the kitchen sometimes,
When her work goes wrong, as of course it sometimes does, though
The airy contempt of the tone is quite impossible to describe.
"Doesn't Mrs. M. do that?" queried my neighbour, lightly.
Strange and unreasonable, but true.
Ordinarily, she is free for the evening at half-past seven or a
quarter of eight--always by eight. Her evenings are hers, not
When I am not expecting guests, I can leave the house immediately
brilliantly illuminated house.
The morose countenance of my ugly maid has subtly changed. It
What flights of years have gone to fashion thee,
My violin! What centuries have wrought
Thy sounding fibres! What dead fingers taught
Thy music to awake in ecstasy
Beyond our human dreams? Thy melody
Is resurrection. Every buried thought
Of singing bird, or stream, or south wind, fraught
With tender message, or of sobbing sea,
Lives once again. The tempest's solemn roll
Is in thy passion sleeping, till the king
Whose touch is mastery shall sound thy soul.
The organ tones of ocean shalt thou bring,
The crashing chords of thunder, and the whole
Vast harmony of God. Ah, Spirit, sing!
eccentric on account of her oneness.
A girl said the other day: "It's no use to say that a woman can't
single-heartedness in the service of humanity?
But to return to the "superfluous woman,"--although we cannot
usefulness. She isn't the type our newspaper brethren delight to
recognised.
calls a happy smile to the faded face.
Or, perhaps, it is the old, sad story of a faithless lover, or a
The bachelor girl and the bachelor man are much on the increase.
scarcely knoweth what her right doeth, and the record of her good
The Spinster's Rubaiyat
Wake! For the hour of hope will soon take flight
And on your form and features leave a blight;
Since Time, who heals full many an open wound,
More oft than not is impolite.
Before my relatives began to chide,
Methought the voice of conscience said inside:
"Why should you want a husband, when you have
A cat who seldom will at home abide?"
And, when the evening breeze comes in the door,
The lamp smokes like a chimney, only more;
And yet the deacon of the church
Is telling every one my parrot swore.
Behold, my aunt into my years inquires,
Then swiftly with my parents she conspires,
And in the family record changes dates--
In that same book that says all men are liars.
Come, fill the cup and let the kettle sing!
What though upon my finger gleams no ring,
Save that cheap turquoise that I bought myself?
The coming years a gladsome change may bring.
Here, minion, fill the steaming cup that clears
The skin I will not have exposed to jeers,
And rub this wrinkle vigorously until
The maddening crow's-foot wholly disappears.
And let me don some artificial bloom,
And turn the lamps down low, and make a gloom
That spreads from library to hall and stair;
Thus do I look my best--but ah, for whom?
We hear a great deal about the "rights of men" and still more,
Even on the coolest days, the barbarous muzzle will fret a
"dog-catcher" is ever on the look-out for blue-blooded victims.
The average dog is a gentleman and does not attack people for the
"He is very imprudent, a dog is," said Jerome K. Jerome. "He
never makes it his business to inquire whether you are in
the right or wrong--never bothers as to whether you are
going up or down life's ladder--never asks whether you are
rich or poor, silly or wise, saint or sinner. You are his
pal. That is enough for him, and come luck or misfortune,
good repute or bad, honour or shame, he is going to stick to
you, to comfort you, guard you, and give his life for you,
if need be--foolish, brainless, soulless dog!
"Ah! staunch old friend, with your deep, clear eyes, and
bright quick glances that take in all one has to say, before
one has time to speak it, do you know you are only an animal
and have no mind?
"Do you know that dull-eyed, gin-sodden lout leaning against
the post out there is immeasurably your intellectual
superior? Do you know that every little-minded selfish
scoundrel, who never had a thought that was not mean and
base--whose every action is a fraud and whose every
utterance is a lie; do you know that these are as much
superior to you as the sun is to the rush-light, you
honourable, brave-hearted, unselfish brute?
"They are men, you know, and men are the greatest, noblest,
wisest, and best beings in the universe. Any man will tell
you that."
Are the men whom we elect to public office our masters or our
The birds were hushed into silence,
The clouds had sunk from sight,
And the great trees bowed to the summer breeze
That kissed the flowers good-night.
The stars came out in the cool still air,
From the mansions of the blest,
And softly, over the dim blue hills,
Night came to the world with rest.
Women's Clothes in Men's Books
When asked why women wrote better novels than men, Mr. Richard Le
marry.
Happily there is no segregation in literature, and masculine and
If we accept Zola's dictum to the effect that art is nature seen
respectable journals circulate.
problem, and one only--woman's clothes!
cotton shirt-waist represents financial ease, and a silk waist of
One listens with wicked delight to men's discourse upon woman's
further international gaiety.
_bouffant_ draperies. One does not get the impression that _The_
The feminine reader immediately hides Mr. Davis' mistake with the
The jacket was possibly a coat of tan covert cloth with strapped
ones were gathered together the parrot garniture was not without
significance. But an owl's face, with its glaring glassy eyes, is
wear it at the back without conveying an unpleasant impression
of two-facedness, if the coined word be permissible.
Still the owl is no worse than the trimming suggested by a funny
"The cloth skirt came to her ankles, which were covered with
yarn stockings, and her feet were encased in shoes that gave
him the shivers, the soles being as thick as his own and
the leather as tough.
"Her blouse was of grey flannel, belted to the waist by a
cotton saddle-girth, white and red, and as broad as her
hand. The tam-o-shanter was coarse and rough, evidently
home-made, and not at all like McFudd's, which was as soft
as the back of a kitten and without a seam."
outrageous costume truly, even for wheeling.
As if recognising his error, and, with veritable masculine
In _The Master_, Mr. Zangwill describes Eleanor Wyndwood as "the
"She floated in before Reppellier, buoyant, smiling, like a
breath of open morning itself, a confusion of mellow
autumnal colours in her wine-coloured gown, and a hat of
roses and mottled leaves.
"Before she had as much as drawn off her gloves--and they
were always the most spotless of white gloves--she glanced
about in mock dismay, and saw that the last of the righting
up had already been done."
Later, we read that the artist pinned an American Beauty upon her
Listen to the inspired description of Miss Sallie's gown!
"She was dressed in a morning gown of a soft red material,
trimmed with old cream lace. The material of a woman's dress
had never interested him before. He knew calico from silk,
but beyond that he never ventured an opinion. To colour
alone he was responsive. This combination of red and creamy
white, _with the bodice cut low, showing the lines of her
beautiful white shoulders_, and the great mass of dark hair
rising in graceful curves from her full round neck,
heightened her beauty to an extraordinary degree.
"As she walked, the clinging folds of her dress, outlining
her queenly figure, seemed part of her very being, and to be
imbued with her soul. He was dazzled with the new revelation
of her power over him."
elective, for those who wish to learn the trade of novel writing.
After all, it may be just as well, since fashion is transient and
Far out in the ocean, deep and blue,
Where the winds dance wild and free,
In coral caves, dwells a beautiful band--
The maidens of the sea.
There are stories old, of the mystic tide,
And legends strange, of the deep,
How the witching sound of the siren's song
Can lull the tempest to sleep.
When moonlight falls on a crystal sea,
When the clouds have backward rolled,
The mermaids sing their low sweet songs,
And their harp strings are of gold.
The billows come from the vast unknown--
From their far-away unseen home;
The waves bring shells to the sandy bar,
And the fairies dance on the foam.
Besides being the best preparation for the writing of novels,
short-story writing is undoubtedly, at the present time, the best
Description is a thing which is much abused. There is no truer
indication of an inexperienced hand than a story beginning with a
It is a mistake to tell anything yourself which the people in the
snarl, if she is in your story at all.
An element of strength is added also by occasionally referring an
Put yourself in your hero's place and see what you would do under
biography of yourself.
through the mediations of the lovee, much better than by pages of
Observation of things nearest at hand and the sympathetic
mountain, or of society if you have never worn evening dress.
There's a sleepy look in your violet eyes,
So the sails of our ship we'll unfurl,
And turn the prow to the Land of Rest,
My dear little Dorothy girl.
Twilight is coming soon, little one,
The sheep have gone to the fold;
See! where our white sails bend and dip
In the sunset glow of gold.
The roses nod to the sound of the waves,
And the bluebells sweet are ringing;
Do you hear the music, Dorothy dear?
The song that the angels are singing?
The fairies shall weave their drowsy spell
On the shadowy shore of the stream;
Dear little voyager say "good-night,"
For the birds are beginning to dream.
O white little craft, with sails full spread,
My heart goes out with thee;
God keep thee strong with thy precious freight,
My Dorothy--out at sea.
Having written a few small books which have been published by a
I have been considered such for some time among my numerous
"You must read a great deal in order to get all those ideas," is
frequently said to me. I reply that I do read a great deal, being
learning, when this inquiry comes, to smile inscrutably.
Still, there are some who understand that an author cannot write
material.
"Getting material" is supposed to be a secret process, and I am
understanding of a lady from the country.
With infinite pains I told her of the constant study of words,
One ambitious soul once asked me if I would teach her to write. I
absolutely no imagination, and asked me if that would make any
People often inquire what qualities I deem essential to literary
success. Imagination is, of course, the first, observation, the
second, and ambition, perseverance and executive ability are
publishing house, it would be an easy matter for me to get it
I think I must have an unsuspected bit of tact somewhere for I
extricated myself from the situation, and the woman is still my
Once, for the benefit of the literary aspirant, I brought out my
"Yes," I answered wickedly, "but it's all in the dictionary too."
Last week I had a rare treat. I met a woman who had "never seen a
"Yes, I just sit down and do it."
"Do you write any special time?"
"No, mornings, usually; but any time will do."
"What do you write with--a pen or a pencil?"
"Neither, I always use a typewriter."
"Why, can you write on a typewriter?"
"Yes, it's much easier than a pen, and it keeps the ink off your
hands. You can write with both hands at once, you know."
"You have to write it all out with a pencil, first, don't you?"
"No, I just think into the keys."
"No, or I'd do it that way."
"Do you dress any special way when you write?"
"No, only I must be neat and also comfortable. I usually wear a
There was a long silence. The little lady was digesting the
information which she had just received.
"Oh, I go all over it and revise very carefully."
"Why, do you have to go all over it, after it is done?"
"Then it takes you longer than it does most people, doesn't it?"
"I cannot say as to that. Everybody revises."
Innumerable questions followed these, but at last she had her
curiosity partially satisfied and turned away from me. I trust,
however, that I shall some day meet her again, for she too is "a
novelty!"
The mechanical part of a book is a source of great wonder to the
importance that I am not often consulted in relation to the
matter--being merely the poor worm who wrote the book.
ending and it was at once assumed that I had been disappointed in
When my first book came from the press I was pointed out at a
"I can't write it," I said coldly. "Please let me go."
title-page is worth a great deal to any author.
I explained that the percentage royalty basis was really an equal
There may be some authors who have taken nerve tonics and are not
experience, and still less fame. The admirable qualities of the
Now let the eagle flap his wings
And let the cannon roar,
For while the conquering bullet sings
We pledge the commodore.
First battle of a righteous war
Right royally he won,
But here's a health to the jolly tar--
To the man behind the gun!
Now praise be to the flag-ship's spars--
To the captain in command,
And honour to the Stripes and Stars
For whose defence they stand;
And for the pilot at his wheel
Let the streams of red wine run,
But here's a health to the man of steel--
The man behind the gun!
Here's to the man who does not swerve
In the face of any foe;
Here's to the man of iron nerve,
On deck and down below;
Here's to the man whose heart is glad
When the battle has begun;
Here's to the health of that daring lad--
To the man behind the gun!
Now let the Stars and Stripes float high
And let the eagle soar;
Until the echoes make reply
We pledge the commodore.
Here's to the chief and here's to war,
And here's to the fleet that won,
And here's a health to the jolly tar--
To the man behind the gun!
forbids twelve days of celebration, or even two. Paterfamilias
But what is poor Santa Claus to do when the chimney leads to the
pictures of Santa Claus arriving in an automobile, and taking the
any kind of celebration which came in the wake of conquest, and
these ceremonies being engrafted upon Anglo-Saxon customs assumed
The pretty maid who hesitates and blushes beneath the overhanging
below, caught it in the folds of his robe. The bulls were then
In Scandinavian mythology there is a beautiful legend of the
His enemy, Loake, determined to discover the secret of his
Much delighted, Loake went away and gathered mistletoe. Then he
"Why do you not shoot with the arrows at Balder?" asked Loake.
"Alas," replied Heda, "I am blind and have no arms."
country.
Up to the time of Henry VI, and even afterward, the Yule log was
around that kindly light when Christmas came to Oxford!
Snap-dragon was a favourite Christmas sport at this time. Several
Another custom in Devonshire is for the farmer, his family, and
In Devon and Cornwall, a belief is current that, at midnight on
Christmas Eve, the cattle kneel in their stalls in honour of the
Saviour, as legend claims they did in Bethlehem.
The figure is usually accompanied by a party of men and boys
Christmas tree from Germany, where the custom is ancient and very
In Poland, the Christmas gifts are hidden, and the members of the
But it is back to Old England, after all, that we look for the
The English are said to "take their pleasures sadly," but in the
Geese, capons, pheasants, carps' tongues, frumenty, and mince, or
license.
"Any man or woman ... that can give any knowledge, or tell
any tidings of an old, very old, grey haired gentleman
called Christmas, who was wont to be a very familiar ghest,
and visit all sorts of people both pore and rich, and used
to appear in glittering gold, silk and silver in the court,
and in all shapes in the theatre in Whitehall, and had
singing, feasts and jolitie in all places, both citie and
countrie for his coming--whosoever can tel what is become of
him, or where he may be found, let them bring him back again
into England."
Cathedral spire and lofty architrave,
Nor priestly rite and humble reverence,
Nor costly fires of myrrh and frankincense
May give the consecration that we crave;
Upon the shore where tides forever lave
With grateful coolness on the fevered sense;
Where passion grows to silence, rapt, intense,
There waits the chrismal fountain of the wave.
By rock-hewn altars where is said no word,
Save by the deep that calleth unto deep,
While organ tones of sea resound above;
The truth of truths our inmost souls have heard,
And in our hearts communion wine we keep,
For He Himself hath said it--"God is Love!"