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MATTY RAINES.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

MATTY RAINES.

On that corner you look at a pawnbroker's sign,
On this at a palace of gin;
Convenient conjunction, though somewhat malign—
Want and Sin.
And both do a fine, thriving business there,
And each helps the other to gains,
And she is a customer good to the pair—
Matty Raines.
'Tis Poverty avenue this, though it bears
Another less terrible name;
But penury suffers and misery glares
All the same.
Looking there where the tumble-down tenements lean,
As though they intended to fall,
Where the children in rags, and unkempt and unclean,
Fight and squall;
Where men, or those made in the image of man,
Though the pattern be somewhat awry,
Having lowered their manhood as much as they can,
Stagger by;

651

Yon slatternly dame, with an ill-natured scowl,
And elbows akimbo, stands there,
Using words of abuse that will suit with the foul,
Murky air.
Some hastily pass her; some stand there and scoff
At the passion that thrills her; and one
Indignantly tells the old crone to be off,
Or be done.
Poor old Matty! her voice sinks in rage to a hiss—
Who, forty years since, would have thought
The gay-hearted girl to a thing vile as this
Could be brought?
She was pet of the village when I was a boy,
And so I remember her well;
Her frowns would bring woe, and her smiles scatter joy
Where they fell.
Eyes of sapphire, long ringlets of gold, pearly skin,
Cheeks flushed with a delicate red—
The proudest such beauty might glory to win,
So they said.
All idle each tread of her story to seek;
'Tis the same wretched tale that of old,
Where man had no scruple and woman was weak,
Has been told.
Few know of her now in the place of her birth;
A mere dim tradition remains
That once in rare beauty there lived upon earth
Matty Raines.

652

And he who betrayed her? Respected by all,
Almost worshipped by kinsman and friend,
He placidly waits for the heavenly call
To his end.
A good man? Of course, for if language could paint
A picture with coloring free
Of a husband, a father, a patriot, a saint,
'Twould be he.
There is Matty; and there is the pawnbroker's sign,
And there is the palace of gin;
But he has escaped from those demons malign,
Want and Sin.
He waits for his rest from a duty well done;
He forgets about Matty, and yet
I feel in some doubt if the Pitying One
Will forget.