Part 29 (1/2)

It was the middle of the night: The sea upon the garden leapt, And my son's wife in quiet slept, And I, his mother, waked and wept, When lo! there came a sudden light.

And there he stood! His seaman's dress All wet and dripping seemed to be; The pale blue fires of the sea Dripped from his garments constantly,-- I could not speak through cowardness.

”I come through night and storm,” he said.

”Through storm and night and death,” said he, ”To kiss my wife, if it so be That strife still holds 'twixt her and me, For all beyond is peace,” he said.

”The sea is His, and He who sent The wind and wave can soothe their strife And brief and foolish is our life.”

He stooped and kissed his sleeping wife, Then sighed, and like a dream he went.

Now, when my darling kissed not me, But her--his wife--who did not wake, My heart within me seemed to break; I swore a vow, nor thenceforth spake Of what my clearer eyes did see.

And when the slow weeks brought him not, Somehow we spake of aught beside: For she--her hope upheld her pride; And I--in me all hope had died, And my son pa.s.sed as if forgot.

It was about the next springtide: She pined and faded where she stood, Yet spake no word of ill or good; She had the hard, cold Edwards' blood In all her veins--and so she died.

One time I thought, before she pa.s.sed, To give her peace; but ere I spake Methought, ”HE will be first to break The news in heaven,” and for his sake I held mine back until the last.

And here I sit, nor care to roam; I only wait to hear his call.

I doubt not that this day next fall Shall see me safe in port, where all And every s.h.i.+p at last comes home.

And you have sailed the Spanish Main, And knew my Jacob?... Eh! Mercy!

Ah! G.o.d of wisdom! hath the sea Yielded its dead to humble me?

My boy!... My Jacob!... Turn again!

GUILD'S SIGNAL

[William Guild was engineer of the train which on the 19th of April, 1813, plunged into Meadow Brook, on the line of the Stonington and Providence Railroad. It was his custom, as often as he pa.s.sed his home, to whistle an ”All's well” to his wife. He was found, after the disaster, dead, with his hand on the throttle-valve of his engine.]

Two low whistles, quaint and clear: That was the signal the engineer-- That was the signal that Guild, 'tis said-- Gave to his wife at Providence, As through the sleeping town, and thence, Out in the night, On to the light, Down past the farms, lying white, he sped!

As a husband's greeting, scant, no doubt, Yet to the woman looking out, Watching and waiting, no serenade, Love-song, or midnight roundelay Said what that whistle seemed to say: ”To my trust true, So, love, to you!

Working or waiting, good-night!” it said.

Brisk young bagmen, tourists fine, Old commuters along the line, Brakemen and porters glanced ahead, Smiled as the signal, sharp, intense, Pierced through the shadows of Providence: ”Nothing amiss-- Nothing!--it is Only Guild calling his wife,” they said.

Summer and winter the old refrain Rang o'er the billows of ripening grain, Pierced through the budding boughs o'erhead, Flew down the track when the red leaves burned Like living coals from the engine spurned; Sang as it flew, ”To our trust true, First of all, duty. Good-night!” it said.

And then, one night, it was heard no more From Stonington over Rhode Island sh.o.r.e, And the folk in Providence smiled and said As they turned in their beds, ”The engineer Has once forgotten his midnight cheer.”

ONE only knew, To his trust true, Guild lay under his engine, dead.

ASPIRING MISS DE LAINE

(A CHEMICAL NARRATIVE)

Certain facts which serve to explain The physical charms of Miss Addie De Laine, Who, as the common reports obtain, Surpa.s.sed in complexion the lily and rose; With a very sweet mouth and a retrousse nose; A figure like Hebe's, or that which revolves In a milliner's window, and partially solves That question which mentor and moralist pains, If grace may exist minus feeling or brains.

Of course the young lady had beaux by the score, All that she wanted,--what girl could ask more?

Lovers that sighed and lovers that swore, Lovers that danced and lovers that played, Men of profession, of leisure, and trade; But one, who was destined to take the high part Of holding that mythical treasure, her heart,-- This lover, the wonder and envy of town, Was a practicing chemist, a fellow called Brown.

I might here remark that 'twas doubted by many, In regard to the heart, if Miss Addie had any; But no one could look in that eloquent face, With its exquisite outline and features of grace, And mark, through the transparent skin, how the tide Ebbed and flowed at the impulse of pa.s.sion or pride,-- None could look, who believed in the blood's circulation As argued by Harvey, but saw confirmation That here, at least, Nature had triumphed o'er art, And as far as complexion went she had a heart.

But this par parenthesis. Brown was the man Preferred of all others to carry her fan, Hook her glove, drape her shawl, and do all that a belle May demand of the lover she wants to treat well.