Point Lace and Diamonds | Page 9

her lightly-won triumph,?His buttons, as well as his heart.
Come, dry your eyes, Grandmother Nature,?They care not a whit for your woe;?The city is calling her daughters--?We can't spare them longer, they know--?Our beautiful, tender-voiced darlings,?With the blue of the deep Summer skies,?And the glow of the bright Summer sunshine,?Entrapped in their mischievous eyes.
We know their expenses are awful,?That horror unspeakable fills?The souls of unfortunate fathers?Who foot up their dressmaker's bills.?That they'd barter their souls for French candy;?That diamonds ruin their peace;?That they rave over middle-aged actors,?And in other respects are--well, geese.
We laugh at them, boys, but we love them,?For under their nonsense we know?They've hearts that are honest and loving,?And souls that are whiter than snow.?So out with that bottle of Roederer!?Large glasses, boys! Up goes the cork!?All charged? To the belles of creation,?The glorious girls of New York.
EIGHT HOURS.
"Sign the petition!" "Write my name!"?"She said, ask me!"--oh, she's fooling;?Where do you think a girl like me?Could find the time for so much schooling??Why, I've been here since I was eight or so--?That's ten years now--and it seems like longer;?The hours are from eight till six--you see?It wears one out--I once was stronger.?"A bad cough!" oh, that's nothing, sir;?It comes from the dust, and bending over.?It hurts me sometimes--no, not now.?"This!" why, a flower, a bit of clover.?I picked it up as I came to work--?It grew in the grass in some one's airy,?Where it stood, and nodded all alone?Like a little green-cloaked, white-capped fairy.?"Fond of flowers!" I like them--yes--?Though, goodness knows, I don't see many--?I'd have to buy them--they cost so much--?And I never can spare a single penny.?"Go to the park!"--how can I, sir??The only day that I have is Sunday;?And then there's always so much to do?That before I know it, almost, it's Monday.?Like it sir, like it!--why, when I think?Of the woods, and the brook with the cattle drinking-- I was country-bred, sir--my heart swells so?That I--there, there, what's the use of thinking!?If I could write, sir--"make a cross,?And let you write my name below it"--?No, please; I'm ashamed I can't, sometimes,--?I don't want all the girls to know it.?And what's the use of it, anyway??They'll just say shortly, with careless faces,?"If you're not suited, you'd better leave"--?There's plenty of girls to fill our places.?They're kind enough to their own, no doubt--?Our head just worships his own young daughter,?Just my age, sir--she's gone away?To spend the Summer across the water.?But us--oh, well, we're only "hands,"?Do you think to please us they'll bear losses??No, not a cent's worth--ah, you'll see--?I'm a working girl, sir, and I know bosses.
SLEEPING BEAUTY.?A PARABLE.
You remember the nursery legend--?We heard in the early days,?Ere we knew of the world's deception?Or walked in its dusty ways,?And dwelt in a land of the fairies?Where the air was golden haze--
Of the maid, o'er whom the Summers?Of youth passed, like a swell?Of melody all unbroken,?Till evil wrought its spell,?And dream-embroidered curtains?Of slumber round her fell.
The wood grew up round her castle,?The centuries o'er it rolled,?Wrapping its slumb'rous turrets?In clinging robes of mould,?And her name became a legend?By Winter fire-sides told.
Till the Prince came over the mountains?In the morning-glow of youth;?The forest sank before him?Like wrong before the truth,?And he passed the dim old portal,?With its warders so uncouth,
Woke with a kiss the Princess,?And broke enchantment's chain,?The sleepy old castle wondered,?In its cobweb-cumbered brain,?At the tide of life and pleasure?That poured through each stony vein.
And so love conquered an evil?Centuries old in might,?Scattering drowsy glamour,?Piercing the murky night,?Leading from thrall and darkness?Beauty, and joy, and light.
EASTER MORNING.
Too early, of course! How provoking!?I told Ma just how it would be.?I might as well have on a wrapper,?For there isn't a soul here to see.?There! Sue Delaplaine's pew is empty,--?I declare if it isn't too bad!?I know my suit cost more than hers did,?And I wanted to see her look mad.?I do think that sexton's too stupid--?He's put some one else in our pew--?And the girl's dress just kills mine completely;?Now what am I going to do??The psalter, and Sue isn't here yet!?I don't care, I think it's a sin?For people to get late to service,?Just to make a great show coming in.?Perhaps she is sick, and can't get here--?She said she'd a headache last night.?How mad she'll be after her fussing!?I declare, it would serve her just right.?Oh, you've got here at last, my dear, have you??Well, I don't think you need be so proud?Of that bonnet, if Virot did make it,?It's horrid fast-looking and loud.?What a dress!--for a girl in her senses?To go on the street in light blue!--?And those coat-sleeves--they wore them last Summer--?Don't doubt, though, that she thinks they're new.?Mrs. Gray's polonaise was imported--?So dreadful!--a minister's wife,?And thinking so much about fashion!--?A pretty example of life!?The altar's dressed sweetly. I wonder?Who sent those white flowers