Point Lace and Diamonds | Page 8

give you good reason,

Divorced her, and so it's all passed.
For you, I mean; she has to bear
it--
Poor child--the reproach and the shame;
I'm your friend--but
come, hang it, old fellow,
I swear you were somewhat to blame.

'What the deuce do I mean?' Well, I'll tell you,
Though it's none of
my business. Here!
Just light a cigar, and keep quiet--
You started
wrong, Charley Leclear.
You weren't in love when you married--

'Nor she!'--well, I know, but she tried
To keep it dark. You wouldn't
let her,
But laughed at her for it. Her pride
Wouldn't stand that, you
know. Did you ever
See a spirited girl in your life,
Who would
patiently pose to be pitied
As a 'patient Griselda'-like wife
When
her husband neglects her so plainly
As you did?--although, on the
whole,
When the wife is the culprit, I've noticed
It's rather the
favorite rôle.
So she flirted a little--in public--
She'd chances
enough and to spare,
Ah, then if you'd only turned jealous--
But you
didn't notice nor care.
Then her sickness came--even we fellows
All
thought you behaved like a scrub,
Leaving her for the nurse to take
care of,
While you spent your time at the club.
She never forgave
you. How could she?

If I'd been in her place myself,
By Jove, I'd
have left you. She didn't,
But told all her woes to Jack Guelph.

When a girl's lost all love for her husband,
And is cursed with a
masculine friend
To confide in, and he is a blackguard,
She isn't far
off from the end.
Oh, I'm through--of course nobody blamed you
In
the end, when you got your divorce--
You were right enough
there--she'd levanted
With Guelph, and you'd no other course.
What
I mean is, if you'd acted squarely,
The row would have never
occurred,
And for you to be doing the tragic,
Strikes me as a little
absurd.
As it stands, you've the best of the bargain,
And she's got a
good deal the worst,
Leave it there, and--just touch the bell, will you?

You're nearest, I'm dying of thirst."

IV.
AT AFTERNOON TEA.
"'In New York!' Yes, I met her this morning.
I knew her in spite of
her paint;
And Guelph, too, poor fellow, was with her;
I felt really
nervous, and faint,
When he bowed to me, looking so pleading--
I
cut him, of course. Wouldn't you?
If I meet him alone, I'll explain it;

But knowing her, what could I do?
Poor fellow! He looks sadly
altered--
I think it a sin, and a shame,
The way he was wrecked by
that creature!
I know he was never to blame.
He never suspected.
He liked her--
He'd known her for most of his life--
And of course,
it was quite a temptation
To run off with another man's wife.
At his
age, you know--barely thirty--
So romantic, and makes such a noise

In one's club--why, one can't but excuse him,
Now can one, dear?
Boys will be boys.
I've known him so long--why, he'd come here

And talk to me just like a son.
It's my duty--I feel as a mother--
To
save him; the thing can be done
Very easily. First, I must show him

How grossly the woman deceived
And entrapped him.--It made such
a scandal
You know, that he can't be received
At all, any more, till
he drops her--
He'll certainly not be so mad
As to hold to her still.
Oh, I know him
So well--I'm quite sure he'll be glad
On any excuse,
to oblige me

In a matter so trifling indeed.
Then the way will be
clear. We'll receive him,
And the rest will soon follow our lead.
We
must keep our eyes on him more closely
Hereafter; young men of his
wealth
And position are so sorely tempted
To waste time, and
fortune, and health
In frivolous pleasures and pastimes,
That there's
but one safe-guard in life
For them and their money--we've seen it--

A really nice girl for a wife.
Too bad you've no daughter! My
Mamie
Had influence with him for good
Before this affair--when
he comes here
She'll meet him, I'm sure, as she should--
That is, as
if nothing had happened--
And greet him with sisterly joy;
Between
us I know we can save him.
I'll write him to-morrow, poor boy."
THE "STAY-AT-HOME'S" PLAINT.

The Spring has grown to Summer;
The sun is fierce and high;
The
city shrinks, and withers
Beneath the burning sky.
Ailantus trees are
fragrant,
And thicker shadows cast,
Where berry-girls, with voices
shrill,
And watering carts go past.
In offices like ovens
We sit without our coats;
Our cuffs are moist
and shapeless,
No collars binds our throats.
We carry huge
umbrellas
On Broad Street and on Wall,
Oh, how thermometers go
up!
And, oh, how stocks do fall!
The nights are full of music,
Melodious Teuton troops
Beguile us,
calmly smoking,
On balconies and stoops.
With eyes half-shut, and
dreamy,
We watch the fire-flies' spark,
And image far-off faces,

As day dies into dark.
The avenue is lonely,
The houses choked with dust;
The shutters,
barred and bolted,
The bell-knobs all a-rust.
No blossom-like spring
dresses,
No faces young and fair,
From "Dickel's" to "The
Brunswick,"
No promenader there.
The girls we used to walk with
Are far away, alas!
The feet that
kissed its pavement
Are deep in country grass.
Along the scented
hedge-rows,
Among the green old trees,
Are blooming city faces

'Neath rosy-lined pongees.
They're cottaging at Newport;
They're bathing at Cape May;
In
Saratoga's ball-rooms
They dance the