Part 6 (1/2)

Well, it soon became known that I recited (one must have _some_ little vices, you know, just to show up one's virtues). I received an invitation from Lady Midas for a musical evening last Friday, and in a postscript, ”We hope you will favor us with a recitation.” Very flattering, wasn't it?

I went there fully primed with three pieces--”The Lifeboat,” by Sims, ”The Lost Soul,” and Calverley's ”Waiting.” I thought that I had hit on a perfectly original selection; but I was soon undeceived. There were a great many people at Lady Midas', quite fifty, I should think, or perhaps two hundred; but I'm very bad at guessing numbers. We had a lot of music. A young man, with red hair and little twinkling light eyes, sang a song by De Lara, but it did not sound as well as when I heard the composer sing it.

Then two girls played a banjo duet; then--no, we had another song first, then a girl with big eyes and an ugly dress--brown nun's veiling with yellow lace, and beads, and ribbons, and sham flowers and all sorts of horrid things, so ugly, I'm sure it was made at home. Well--where was I?

Oh, yes!--she stood up and recited, what do you think? Why, ”Calverley's Waiting!” Oh! I was so cross when it came to the last verses; you remember how they go (_imitating_)--

”'Hus.h.!.+ hark! I see a hovering form!

From the dim distance slowly rolled; It rocks like lilies in a storm, And oh! its hues are green and gold.

'It comes, it comes! Ah! rest is sweet, And there is rest, my babe, for us!'

She ceased, as at her very feet Stopped the St. John's Wood omnibus.”

Well, when I heard that I felt inclined to cry. Just imagine how provoking; one of the pieces I had been practicing for weeks past. Oh, it _was_ annoying! After that there was a violin solo, then another--no, then I had an ice, such a nice young man, just up from Aldershot, _very_ young, but _so_ amusing, and so full of somebody of ”ours” who had won something, or lost something, I could not quite make out which.

Then we came back to the drawing-room, and an elderly spinster, with curls, sang, ”Oh that we two were Maying,” and the young man from Aldershot said, ”Thank goodness we aren't.”

Afterward I had another ice, not because I wanted it, not a bit, but the young man from Aldershot said he was _so_ thirsty.

Then I saw a youth with long hair and badly-fitting clothes. I thought he was going to sing, but he wasn't; oh no! much worse! he recited. When I heard the first words I thought I should faint (_imitating_):

”Been out in the lifeboat often? Aye, aye, sir, oft enough.

When it's rougher than this? Lor' bless you, this ain't what _we_ calls rough.”

How well I knew the lines! Wasn't it cruel? However, I had one hope left--my ”Lost Soul,” a beautiful poem, serious and sentimental. The aesthetic youth was so tedious that the young man from Aldershot asked me to come into the conservatory, and really I was so vexed and disappointed that I think I would have gone into the coal-cellar if he had asked me.

We went into the conservatory and had a nice long talk, all about----well, it would take too long to tell you now, and besides it would not interest _you_.

All at once mamma came in, and I felt rather frightened at first (I don't know why), but she was laughing and smiling. ”O, Mary,” she said, ”that aesthetic young man has been so funny; they encored 'The Lifeboat,' so he recited a very comic piece of poetry, that sent us all into fits of laughter, it was called 'The Fried Sole,' a parody on 'The Lost Soul' that you used to recite.”

Alas! my last hope was wrecked; I could not read after that! I believe I burst into tears. Anyhow, mamma hurried me off in a cab, and I cried all the way home and--and--I forgot to say good-night to the young man from Aldershot. Wasn't it a pity?

And you see that's why I don't like to recite anything to-night. (_Some one from the audience comes up and whispers to her_). No! really, have I? How stupid! I'm told that I've been reciting all this time. I am so sorry; will you ever forgive me? I do beg pardon; I'll never do it again! (_Runs out._)

NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP.

[Found in the Knapsack of a Soldier of the Civil War After He Had Been Slain in Battle.]

Near the camp-fire's flickering light, In my blanket bed I lie, Gazing through the shades of night And the twinkling stars on high; O'er me spirits in the air Silent vigils seem to keep, As I breathe my childhood's prayer, ”Now I lay me down to sleep.”

Sadly sings the whip-poor-will In the boughs of yonder tree; Laughingly the dancing rill Swells the midnight melody.

Foemen may be lurking near, In the canon dark and deep; Low I breathe in Jesus' ear: ”I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep.”

'Mid those stars one face I see-- One the Saviour turned away-- Mother, who in infancy Taught my baby lips to pray; Her sweet spirit hovers near In this lonely mountain-brake.

Take me to her Saviour dear ”If I should die before I wake.”