Part 23 (1/2)

And, as sure as I'm a sinner, right on through that endless dinner Did she talk of moral science, of politics and law, Of natural selection, of Free Trade and Protection, Till I came to look upon her with a sort of solemn awe.

Just to hear the lovely woman, looking more divine than human, Talk with such discrimination of Ingersoll and Cook, With such a childish, sweet smile, quoting Huxley, Mill, and Carlyle-- It was quite a revelation--it was better than a book.

Chemistry and mathematics, agriculture and chromatics, Music, painting, sculpture--she knew all the tricks of speech; Bas-relief and chiaroscuro, and at last the Indian Bureau-- She discussed it quite serenely, as she trifled with a peach.

I have seen some dreadful creatures, with vinegary features, With their fearful store of learning set me sadly in eclipse; But I'm ready quite to swear if I have ever heard the Tariff Or the Eastern Question settled by such a pair of lips.

Never saw I a dainty maiden so remarkably o'erladen From lip to tip of finger with the love of books and men; Quite in confidence I say it, and I trust you'll not betray it, But I pray to gracious heaven that I never may again.

--_Chicago Tribune._

THE BALLAD OF Ca.s.sANDRA BROWN.

BY HELEN GRAY CONE.

Though I met her in the summer, when one's heart lies 'round at ease, As it were in tennis costume, and a man's not hard to please; Yet I think at any season to have met her was to love, While her tones, unspoiled, unstudied, had the softness of the dove.

At request she read us poems, in a nook among the pines, And her artless voice lent music to the least melodious lines; Though she lowered her shadowing lashes, in an earnest reader's wise, Yet we caught blue gracious glimpses of the heavens that were her eyes.

As in Paradise I listened. Ah, I did not understand That a little cloud, no larger than the average human hand, Might, as stated oft in fiction, spread into a sable pall, When she said that she should study elocution in the fall.

I admit her earliest efforts were not in the Ercles vein: She began with ”Lit-tle Maaybel, with her faayce against the paayne, And the beacon-light a-trrremble--” which, although it made me wince, Is a thing of cheerful nature to the things she's rendered since.

Having learned the Soulful Quiver, she acquired the Melting Mo-o-an, And the way she gave ”Young Grayhead” would have liquefied a stone; Then the Sanguinary Tragic did her energies employ, And she tore my taste to tatters when she slew ”The Polish Boy.”

It's not pleasant for a fellow when the jewel of his soul Wades through slaughter on the carpet, while her orbs in frenzy roll: What was I that I should murmur? Yet it gave me grievous pain When she rose in social gatherings and searched among the slain.

I was forced to look upon her, in my desperation dumb-- Knowing well that when her awful opportunity was come She would give us battle, murder, sudden death at very least-- As a skeleton of warning, and a blight upon the feast.

Once, ah! once I fell a-dreaming; some one played a polonaise I a.s.sociated strongly with those happier August days; And I mused, ”I'll speak this evening,” recent pangs forgotten quite.

Sudden shrilled a scream of anguish: ”Curfew SHALL not ring to-night!”

Ah, that sound was as a curfew, quenching rosy warm romance!

Were it safe to wed a woman one so oft would wish in France?

Oh, as she ”cull-imbed!” that ladder, swift my mounting hope came down.

I am still a single cynic; she is still Ca.s.sandra Brown!

THE TENDER HEART.

BY HELEN GRAY CONE.

She gazed upon the burnished brace Of plump, ruffed grouse he showed with pride, Angelic grief was in her face: ”How _could_ you do it, dear?” she sighed.

”The poor, pathetic moveless wings!”

The songs all hushed--”Oh, cruel shame!”

Said he, ”The partridge never sings,”

Said she, ”The sin is quite the same.”

”You men are savage, through and through, A boy is always bringing in Some string of birds' eggs, white and blue, Or b.u.t.terfly upon a pin.

The angle-worm in anguish dies, Impaled, the pretty trout to tease--”

”My own, we fish for trout with flies--”

”Don't wander from the question, please.”

She quoted Burns's ”Wounded Hare,”