A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." By Douglas B. W. Sladen |
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December 28th. |
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 | A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." |  |
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December 28th.
Eight o'clock saw them all arrive
In harness for a rabbit drive,
At the front door, then breakfast o'er
And luncheon packed and to the fore,
Kit with her feet in cowhide laced,
And with her Norfolk jacket's waist
Encircled with a cartridge belt,
And with a slouched man's hat of felt
Pressed down upon her golden hair,
As though quite ignorant how fair,
Was the face hidden underneath.
In harness for a rabbit drive,
At the front door, then breakfast o'er
And luncheon packed and to the fore,
Kit with her feet in cowhide laced,
And with her Norfolk jacket's waist
Encircled with a cartridge belt,
And with a slouched man's hat of felt
Pressed down upon her golden hair,
As though quite ignorant how fair,
Was the face hidden underneath.
Hall had besought that Lachlan Smith
Should somehow be refused a gun,
If only in apparent fun,
After his feats of yesterday.
And Will descried an easy way
By screwing both the nipples out
From his gunlock to save all doubt,
Which Smith did not discover till
He fired both barrels and heard—nil.
Of course all present sympathised,
And search-parties were organised
To find the nipples (safe and sound
In Will's watch-pocket, so not found).
Will to crown everything explained,
That now no other gun remained,
So that, unless they were found out,
Lachlan perforce must go without.
This left seven guns, for Chesterfield
Liked in a modest way to wield
His central fire, and Kit could kill
Almost as certainly as Will,
And Mr Forte came out to-day.
Should somehow be refused a gun,
If only in apparent fun,
After his feats of yesterday.
And Will descried an easy way
By screwing both the nipples out
From his gunlock to save all doubt,
Which Smith did not discover till
He fired both barrels and heard—nil.
Of course all present sympathised,
And search-parties were organised
To find the nipples (safe and sound
In Will's watch-pocket, so not found).
Will to crown everything explained,
That now no other gun remained,
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Lachlan perforce must go without.
This left seven guns, for Chesterfield
Liked in a modest way to wield
His central fire, and Kit could kill
Almost as certainly as Will,
And Mr Forte came out to-day.
The shooting, some ten miles away,
On broken ‘stony rises’ lay,
And as the rabbits were so thick
That one could kill them with a stick
Not seldom, stores of cartridges
Were half the battle, and horses
Were wanted for the men to ride
As ‘stops’ to head the rabbit-tide
Which poured before the guns in flood.
So no one of the party rode.
But Will and Albert Hall and Kit,
Left over from the waggonette
And buggy, took their quarters up
In a spring-waggon full to top
With ammunition, guns, and lunch,
And fodder for the nags to munch.
Kit drove because her favourite grey
Was needed for the shafts to-day,
Will by her ready to assist
In case its mettle tried her wrist,
And Hall in futile search for ease
Among the guns and cartridges.
Phil drove the buggy, Margaret
Being his partner, Maud not yet
Having forgiven the neglect
He'd offered to her self-respect,
And Mr Forte the waggonette,
With Lil and the Professor set
Upon the box-seat, Lil was tasked
To do just what she would have asked,
If she had ventured to, to ride
Her father and his guest beside.
On broken ‘stony rises’ lay,
And as the rabbits were so thick
That one could kill them with a stick
Not seldom, stores of cartridges
Were half the battle, and horses
Were wanted for the men to ride
As ‘stops’ to head the rabbit-tide
Which poured before the guns in flood.
So no one of the party rode.
But Will and Albert Hall and Kit,
Left over from the waggonette
And buggy, took their quarters up
In a spring-waggon full to top
With ammunition, guns, and lunch,
And fodder for the nags to munch.
Kit drove because her favourite grey
Was needed for the shafts to-day,
Will by her ready to assist
In case its mettle tried her wrist,
And Hall in futile search for ease
Among the guns and cartridges.
Phil drove the buggy, Margaret
Being his partner, Maud not yet
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He'd offered to her self-respect,
And Mr Forte the waggonette,
With Lil and the Professor set
Upon the box-seat, Lil was tasked
To do just what she would have asked,
If she had ventured to, to ride
Her father and his guest beside.
Arrived, the ladies took their seat
Beneath some rocks to 'scape the heat,
First looking round to see that they
Had no snake-neighbour in the way,
While Kit and all the gentlemen
Were starting off on their campaign
With horsemen on their left and right
And horsemen in the front to fright
The rabbits back, who broke away.
Kit fired the first shot of the day,
A true one—followed in a breath
By all except poor Lachlan Smith
Who first discovered his ill-luck
When on void blocks his hammers struck.
There is not much variety
In shooting rabbits where they lie
As thick as negroes in the hold
Of a slave-schooner used of old.
The chief of the excitement lay
In watching columns break away
In desperation, closely packed,
Between the horsemen though they cracked
Their stock-whips loud as musket-shots,
And covered all the likely spots,
Or when a serpent's angry hiss
Caused some one in a start to miss
Only to turn upon his foe
And end him with a shot or blow.
Serpents were too abundant far,
As on the ‘Rises’ oft they are,
Mostly not large but venomous.
One of them was so curious
(Quite six feet long and rather thin,
With bright canary-coloured skin),
That Mr Forte when it was dead,
Fixing it just behind the head,
In cleft-stick, gave it to a man
To carry back to the spring-van,
Meaning to send it up to town
To the museum. ‘Black’ and ‘Brown’
‘Tiger’ and ‘whip’ and ‘copperhead’
‘Carpet’ and ‘Diamond,’ the dread
‘Death-Adder's’ self he'd chanced to spy
In some part of the colony
At one time or another—none
Of the same colour as this one.
Beneath some rocks to 'scape the heat,
First looking round to see that they
Had no snake-neighbour in the way,
While Kit and all the gentlemen
Were starting off on their campaign
With horsemen on their left and right
And horsemen in the front to fright
The rabbits back, who broke away.
Kit fired the first shot of the day,
A true one—followed in a breath
By all except poor Lachlan Smith
Who first discovered his ill-luck
When on void blocks his hammers struck.
There is not much variety
In shooting rabbits where they lie
As thick as negroes in the hold
Of a slave-schooner used of old.
The chief of the excitement lay
In watching columns break away
In desperation, closely packed,
Between the horsemen though they cracked
Their stock-whips loud as musket-shots,
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Or when a serpent's angry hiss
Caused some one in a start to miss
Only to turn upon his foe
And end him with a shot or blow.
Serpents were too abundant far,
As on the ‘Rises’ oft they are,
Mostly not large but venomous.
One of them was so curious
(Quite six feet long and rather thin,
With bright canary-coloured skin),
That Mr Forte when it was dead,
Fixing it just behind the head,
In cleft-stick, gave it to a man
To carry back to the spring-van,
Meaning to send it up to town
To the museum. ‘Black’ and ‘Brown’
‘Tiger’ and ‘whip’ and ‘copperhead’
‘Carpet’ and ‘Diamond,’ the dread
‘Death-Adder's’ self he'd chanced to spy
In some part of the colony
At one time or another—none
Of the same colour as this one.
A battue in an English wood
Of pheasants trained to take their food
From Keeper's hands has less excuse
Than rabbit-drives, which have their use.
For rabbits are as dire a foe
As the wolves stamped out long ago,
And battues are as merciful
As arsenic or traps which pull
Their limbs off but don't kill outright.
Of pheasants trained to take their food
From Keeper's hands has less excuse
Than rabbit-drives, which have their use.
For rabbits are as dire a foe
As the wolves stamped out long ago,
And battues are as merciful
As arsenic or traps which pull
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A rabbit drive presents a sight
Which those who in the dear old land
Shoot only, scarce can understand.
When once the line begins to drive
The ground seems verily alive
And one incessant roar of guns
Tells how the tale of slaughter runs.
Now your gunbarrel follows fast
A rabbit as in frantic haste
Along the jutting rocks he flies
Which bound and break the distant rise,
And now you hunch your back to bring
Your fire upon them as they spring
Right at your feet, now wheel sharp round
On one which short reprieve had found
By lying close till you had passed
Now right, now left, until at last
Your cartridges away you've shot
Or find your barrels grown too hot
To hold with comfort. You let lie
Your rabbits just where they may die.
No one would for a minute stop
To pick the mangled vermin up
But leave them for the hawks and ‘cats’
And ants that haunt their habitats,—
So vast a difference it makes
When the supply demand o'ertakes.
Which those who in the dear old land
Shoot only, scarce can understand.
When once the line begins to drive
The ground seems verily alive
And one incessant roar of guns
Tells how the tale of slaughter runs.
Now your gunbarrel follows fast
A rabbit as in frantic haste
Along the jutting rocks he flies
Which bound and break the distant rise,
And now you hunch your back to bring
Your fire upon them as they spring
Right at your feet, now wheel sharp round
On one which short reprieve had found
By lying close till you had passed
Now right, now left, until at last
Your cartridges away you've shot
Or find your barrels grown too hot
To hold with comfort. You let lie
Your rabbits just where they may die.
No one would for a minute stop
To pick the mangled vermin up
But leave them for the hawks and ‘cats’
And ants that haunt their habitats,—
So vast a difference it makes
When the supply demand o'ertakes.
Luncheon suggested, none demurred
But hailed it as a welcome word.
The sun was hot, the ground was rough
The tussocks plentiful and tough,
And they had had three hours or more
Of walking without rest. Will bore
The palm for shooting. Chesterfield
Least deftly did his weapon wield.
Kit was astonished much to see
How steadily and sturdily
Cobham strode on (But Will told her
That as a rule the English were
Great walkers—better walkers far
Than average Australians are),
And what fine shots he sometimes made
Though he missed often. She displayed
Some skill herself and Mr Forte
Still shot well and enjoyed the sport.
But hailed it as a welcome word.
The sun was hot, the ground was rough
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And they had had three hours or more
Of walking without rest. Will bore
The palm for shooting. Chesterfield
Least deftly did his weapon wield.
Kit was astonished much to see
How steadily and sturdily
Cobham strode on (But Will told her
That as a rule the English were
Great walkers—better walkers far
Than average Australians are),
And what fine shots he sometimes made
Though he missed often. She displayed
Some skill herself and Mr Forte
Still shot well and enjoyed the sport.
At lunch the shooters quenched their thirst
With various liquors. Beer was first
In favour, claret next. But Will
And Mr Forte prepared to fill
With oatmeal-water, which they said
Was the best drink for health and head
When one was hot. While Phil endured
Water with only whiskey cured.
With various liquors. Beer was first
In favour, claret next. But Will
And Mr Forte prepared to fill
With oatmeal-water, which they said
Was the best drink for health and head
When one was hot. While Phil endured
Water with only whiskey cured.
Lunch over, the Professor went
To chat with Lil, with whom he spent
The smoking hour, soon joined by Kit,
Who feared an amatory fit
From Phil and sought to give redress
For her enforced obtrusiveness
By telling Lil how good a shot
And how enduring and what not
Her friend had proved, while Phil blew forth
In gusty puffs of smoke his wrath.
To chat with Lil, with whom he spent
The smoking hour, soon joined by Kit,
Who feared an amatory fit
From Phil and sought to give redress
For her enforced obtrusiveness
By telling Lil how good a shot
And how enduring and what not
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In gusty puffs of smoke his wrath.
That night two fresh deserters joined
The two who had at first declined,
The lawyer and Maud Morrison,
Maud, maybe, if the truth were known,
For Phil, and Lachlan Smith for her.
Success was with the barrister.
For Phil and Hall had sauntered out
To-night again to smoke about.
The two who had at first declined,
The lawyer and Maud Morrison,
Maud, maybe, if the truth were known,
For Phil, and Lachlan Smith for her.
Success was with the barrister.
For Phil and Hall had sauntered out
To-night again to smoke about.
Ida's suggestion, that three men,
Before the ladies chose again
Should choose a subject, pleasing most
Will was selected for the post,
Who for the evening's story chose
Life in an English manor-house.
Before the ladies chose again
Should choose a subject, pleasing most
Will was selected for the post,
Who for the evening's story chose
Life in an English manor-house.
When he some minutes had delayed
To ponder, the Professor said
The tale is one I heard at home
From Fred Rowe, my old college chum.
So he shall tell you, word for word
Where I remember, what I heard.
To ponder, the Professor said
The tale is one I heard at home
From Fred Rowe, my old college chum.
So he shall tell you, word for word
Where I remember, what I heard.
ETHEL.
Katie is a pretty shrew;Isabel a little blue;
Maud as proud as Lucifer;
Christobel a sonneteer;
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Eleanor hath auburn hair;
Margaret is masculine;
I don't care for Adeline;
Beatrix is very sweet;
And hath many at her feet;
Nothing hath she ever harm'd,
But an iceberg's sooner warmed;
She's so dully temperate
That she cannot even hate;
All her useful life is spent
In the tedious content
That in story-books befalls
Angels and good animals.
Mary is a peacemaker,
All the people round love her,
And I love her passively,
But she is too good for me.
Daring Ethel is a queen,
Most majestic in her mien
And most royal in her ways;
All the men her beauty praise,
Not before her royal face
If they dread condign disgrace.
Admiration in your eyes
Is her look'd-for, lawful prize;
Admiration in your speech
Is a statutable breach
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No one ever waltz'd or rode,
Shot an arrow or a glance,
With more finish'd elegance;
Neither is she over-bold,
Callous, feelingless, nor cold.
If she sees a rough young squire
Reeling backwards from the fire
Of a merciless coquette
For his uncouth etiquette,
She will cross a crowded room
To alleviate his doom,
Make him come and sit by her,
Be a smiling listener
To the ‘bag’ of yesterday,
Where the warmest corners lay
In the Earl of Foxshire's woods:
How his blood-mare swam the floods,
Of the row with Farmer Scroggs,
And the names of all the dogs.
And if talk-about is true
Ethel can be tender too.
Who remembers Dick Duval,
Once the favourite of all?
Honest, hearty, handsome Dick,
Brave, and generous, and quick,
But there was no runagate
Ever so unfortunate.
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As a schoolboy, from a scrape;
Dick was never in a brawl
But he came off worst of all;
He, whose share was often least,
Bore the blame of all the rest.
Dick at last—it ne'er appear'd
Why or wherefore—was cashier'd,
Driven from his father's hall,
Scowl'd upon and shunn'd by all.
Dick to queenly Ethel came:
Ethel had no word of blame,
Did not turn away or frown,
Ask'd no explanation,
Wrung his slack hand heartily,
And, looking at him earnestly,
In a sweet firm whisper said:
“I can trust you, Dick; you did
Nothing base, or mean, or low;
What you did I do not know.
Do not tell me—only say
That you would not turn away
From a man who did the same
As from one whose touch was shame.”
While a tear splash'd in the dust,
“Bless you, Ethel, for your trust,”
Was the broken-voic'd reply;
“Never such a thing did I.
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I am going to the East,
Under Osman to enlist,
From my name to wipe the stain,
And retrieve fair fame again.”
“Dick, I will not bid you stay,
Go and wipe the stain away;
One thing promise me, that you
Nothing in despair will do;
Try to come safe home again,
You have one who will remain
E'er your firm and faithful friend;
Promise, Dick, and try to mend,
No more getting into scrapes,
No more hazardous escapes,
Saving when you face the foe,
But then do as brave men do;
Wait until the battle—then
Give your gallant heart the rein;
And, if you have time to write,
Send the story of a fight
Bravely fought and bravely won,
How you are, and what you've done;
Saying when, your penance o'er,
You are coming home once more,
And where letters will reach you.”
“Who will write them, if I do?”
“I myself, Dick.” “You will?” “Yes,
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“And can you, who are so fair,
Coveted by all men, care—
Stoop to correspond with me?”
“Correspond? Yes, certainly.
Dick I place you far before
All the faultless fools who bore
One to death with etiquette;
Who have nothing to regret,
Not because no ill they've wrought,
But because they've not done aught
Saving sleep, and drink, and eat,
And I hold the manly heat
That lands you in scrape and stain
Far above the force of brain
That leads some men to apply
Lifetimes to philosophy,
In contempt of common things—
Births, and loves, and buryings.
You've been hearty to excess,
But I like you none the less.”
“Hear me, Ethel, I am mad,
But I am not wholly bad;
I am mad, but going away
For long months, perhaps for aye;
Hear me, Ethel, long have I
Loved you most devotedly,
In the days when I was heir
124
Which are mine no longer now,
In the bright days of my youth
And wild days of later growth.
But you ever seem'd too good,
Of too queenly womanhood,
And too wonderful to be
For a simple man like me.
Hear me, Ethel, ere I go,—
Hear me,—I would have you know
That I love you as none can
But a passion-ridden man.
Hear me; if I live to come,
With refurbish'd honour, home,
And you e'er should need my aid,
If in life-blood it were paid,
I would shed it every drop
To give you a minute's hope.
But if I should never come,
Try to clear my name at home.
I will write you all the tale
Of this last scrape while I sail.
Good-bye, Ethel: do you weep?
Tears for worthier sorrows keep;
I'm not worth a single tear
From your lashes. Ethel dear,
Darling Ethel, do not cry.”
“Wait, Dick, do not say good-bye,
125
Wish to marry me, I will
Wish to marry you, love.” “No,
Not when I have sunk so low;
You who seemed too good for me
In my old prosperity.
Darling, you would stoop too far,
Fair and noble as you are.
I am, do I what I can,
A dishonourable man.”
“Not dishonourable, Dick:
Ills have fallen fast and thick
On your wild, unlucky head,
But I know you truly said
You've not done since you were born
What would make you shrink in scorn
From a man who'd done the same,
As from one whose touch was shame.
Dick, you shall not leave me thus.”
“You are over-generous.”
“If I may not be your wife
I'll be single all my life;
But I will not bid you stay
Till the stain is wip'd away
By good service bravely done
On the field of action;
But when you come home again
I'll be yours if you are fain.”
126
“Ethel, is this charity—
Just your nobleness of heart,
Seeing all my friends depart
But yourself—or is it true?”
“True: I always have loved you;
But if you had come to me
In your wild prosperity
Then I should have answer'd, No,
Not until you've learn'd to show
What good stuff you're moulded of.
When you've proven this, enough,
I will gladly be your wife.
But while all you do is rife
With outrage and escapade,
I would sooner be a maid.
Now, you do not need advice,
But the light of loving eyes.”
“Sweet, this generosity
Too heroic is for me;
I can't be so generous
As to once again refuse
Such a crown of love as this.
Darling Ethel, let me kiss
Your kind hand before I go.”
“Let you kiss my hand, Dick! No:
Kiss my lips; they're not too good
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And spare life whene'er you may,
Strike home on a doubtful day;
If you can write to me, try;
Good-bye, dear old Dick, good-bye!”
This is Ethel's mystery,
No one knows it all but me.
Ethel bearded Squire Duval
In his study at the hall,
Told him Dick was not to blame,
But his answer was the same.
“Dick's disgraced an ancient line,
He's no longer son of mine.”
But there's nought he will not do,
If Queen Ethel asks him to,
Saving this; and on a day,
After Ethel's gone away,
He will say, with almost joy,
“She did not desert my boy.”
When you look upon her face,
In her beauty you can trace
Something wistful now and then;
Then she turns and smiles again
On her waiting worshippers:
They know not this spur of hers
Press'd against her noble heart,
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Mutter slanders of coquette.
I myself should not know yet
Were it not that Dick and I
Were school-cronies formerly,
Shared a study and a crib,
Had a fight: I broke his rib,
He made music in my head.
When he went away, he said:
“Ethel, I've told all to Fred;
He and I are limb and limb,
Make a confidant of him
When you want to talk of me.”
This is how I came to be
Privy to her sacrifice.
Often, with her grave sweet eyes,
Fasten'd on me, she will ask
Me of every trick and task
Of his scapegoat schoolboy life.
He is worthy such a wife;
Try your best, you will not find
Better fellow of his kind.
He'd have been a famous knight
In the bright enchanted night
Of Provencal chivalry.
Modern-times reality,
Like a dull unwelcome day,
Drove the magic night away
129
When I look upon her face,
Making Dick a schoolboy Cid,
Rubbing up the feats he did,
And her grateful fluent eyes
Give me eloquent replies,
Oft I wish that I might plead
Someone else's cause instead.
But I have a pet as well,
Lovely, laughing, light-heart Nell.
We don't talk of love, but play
At it all and every day:
I steal kisses and she laughs,
Swear they're earnest, and she chaffs.
Once, when I contrived to go
Underneath the misletoe,
Saying she'd a score to pay,
She kiss'd me and tripp'd away,
Not too quickly to be caught,
And with well-feign'd struggles brought
Underneath the bough once more.
We've had quarrels o'er and o'er,
But we always make it up,
Neither cares to sulk or mope.
Lovely, laughing, light-heart Nell.
We don't talk of love, but play
At it all and every day:
I steal kisses and she laughs,
Swear they're earnest, and she chaffs.
Once, when I contrived to go
Underneath the misletoe,
Saying she'd a score to pay,
She kiss'd me and tripp'd away,
Not too quickly to be caught,
And with well-feign'd struggles brought
Underneath the bough once more.
We've had quarrels o'er and o'er,
But we always make it up,
Neither cares to sulk or mope.
If my sisters hint that I
Feel for Nellie tenderly,
I'm indignant, and retort,
From a well-assur'd report,
Of Sir This, and Captain That,
Giving tits for every tat.
Feel for Nellie tenderly,
I'm indignant, and retort,
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Of Sir This, and Captain That,
Giving tits for every tat.
If her cousin, Bertie Bell,
Whispers spitefully to Nell,
“Nellie, you're in love with Fred,”
She will toss her pretty head,
And, with mock humility,
Drop a curtsey and reply,
“Well, and if your charge were true,
Better far with Fred than you.”
All the same one's fidgety
When the other is not by.
We engage at ev'ry ball
For the waltzes one and all:
Waltzing's too divine a dance
To be left to common chance:
You should only waltz with one
In such perfect unison
With you, as you cannot get
Save you often practise it:
Squares we always give away.
When it's supper time, we stay
Till the extras all are done,
Then we go and sup alone,
Make the mottoes vehicles
For the truths one never tells
Without such occasion.
Whispering we linger on
Until we away are sent
Or slip into sentiment:
Then we go and waltz again
Feeling fire in ev'ry vein:
Nellie shuts a blithe blue eye
In delicious ecstasy,
As we float (we hate to haste),
And I clasp her slender waist
With a more expressive arm:
Sweet abandon is her charm:
Nellie looks her loveliest
When the sunny elf-locks, press'd
In the heavy plaits behind,
Play the truant in the wind,
And the errand-blushes stay
And don't hurry straight away
Soon as they have said their say.
Ev'ry Christmas here we meet
Whispers spitefully to Nell,
“Nellie, you're in love with Fred,”
She will toss her pretty head,
And, with mock humility,
Drop a curtsey and reply,
“Well, and if your charge were true,
Better far with Fred than you.”
All the same one's fidgety
When the other is not by.
We engage at ev'ry ball
For the waltzes one and all:
Waltzing's too divine a dance
To be left to common chance:
You should only waltz with one
In such perfect unison
With you, as you cannot get
Save you often practise it:
Squares we always give away.
When it's supper time, we stay
Till the extras all are done,
Then we go and sup alone,
Make the mottoes vehicles
For the truths one never tells
Without such occasion.
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Until we away are sent
Or slip into sentiment:
Then we go and waltz again
Feeling fire in ev'ry vein:
Nellie shuts a blithe blue eye
In delicious ecstasy,
As we float (we hate to haste),
And I clasp her slender waist
With a more expressive arm:
Sweet abandon is her charm:
Nellie looks her loveliest
When the sunny elf-locks, press'd
In the heavy plaits behind,
Play the truant in the wind,
And the errand-blushes stay
And don't hurry straight away
Soon as they have said their say.
At my father's country seat,
Staying for a month or more:
Ev'ry Christmas, when it's o'er,
Many wish it would begin
And think breaking-up a sin.
Nell and I are worst of all,
We'd like Christmas day to fall
Once a month: and now I find
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For we clearly can't go on
In the way we've always done;
Nellie will be eighteen soon,
I was twenty-one in June.
'Twas windy, and so when he ceased
All hasted in, Kit first, ill-pleased
At the unconquered Ethel's fall
Which seemed almost prophetical.
All hasted in, Kit first, ill-pleased
At the unconquered Ethel's fall
Which seemed almost prophetical.
I would have said all went but Lil,
Who braved discomfort and the chill,
To steal a tête-à-tête, and said,
“Is Ethel Kit?” He shook his head.
“For many reasons, no. Firstly,
'Twould be gross personality;
And secondly, while Ethel loved
Her beauty's due, Miss Johnstone's moved
By no such female weaknesses;
And thirdly, she affects the dress
Of gentlemen and manly sports,
While Ethel's foibles and fortes
Were feminine. No Amazon
Professed was she, but merely one
Of those proud high-bred English dames
Of families with ancient names
And great estates, who scorn to stoop
In marriage, but whose eyes look up
To some high union which time
Has in his hand for them, sublime
In their ambitions. They are right;
Why should a girl, at first invite,
Haste to throw heart and hand away,
The one trump-card she has to play?”
“But who was Nellie? Are all girls
Who don't aspire to dukes and earls
And premiers and millionaires
So easy in their love affairs
As Nell!” asked Lil, who thought, if so,
That her wings were a little slow,
And England certainly must be
A country of the brave and free,
And recollecting how she had,
While they were still a child and lad,
Enjoyed a romp of kiss and pet
With Ted, Kit's brother, fancied yet
That if such romps were etiquette
They might sometimes be very nice.
He answered with this sage advice
For one in the near neighbourhood
Of a fair girl with southern blood
And rosy lips and yielding mien,
That “Nells could not be often seen
Even in England, where Mammas
And Mrs Grundy and papas
Shut off the naughty and the nice
From girls with barriers of ice,
That romps at home as well as school
Were the exception not the rule,
But there were boys who would be boys
And girls who looked for other joys
Than church and fancy work and tea,
That Nells there were and needs must be
In every age, in every clime,
As long as there is space or time,
Nells who rejoice to cull the flower
Which grows on every passing hour.”
And then he pulled her on his knee
And kissed her, asking her if she
Had not been treated thus before,
And, she not struggling, gave her more
And added in a whisper “Lil,
Will you?” when she replied “I will”
And put her little hands in his
And held her lips up for a kiss.
Who braved discomfort and the chill,
To steal a tête-à-tête, and said,
“Is Ethel Kit?” He shook his head.
“For many reasons, no. Firstly,
'Twould be gross personality;
And secondly, while Ethel loved
Her beauty's due, Miss Johnstone's moved
By no such female weaknesses;
And thirdly, she affects the dress
Of gentlemen and manly sports,
While Ethel's foibles and fortes
Were feminine. No Amazon
Professed was she, but merely one
Of those proud high-bred English dames
Of families with ancient names
And great estates, who scorn to stoop
In marriage, but whose eyes look up
To some high union which time
Has in his hand for them, sublime
133
Why should a girl, at first invite,
Haste to throw heart and hand away,
The one trump-card she has to play?”
“But who was Nellie? Are all girls
Who don't aspire to dukes and earls
And premiers and millionaires
So easy in their love affairs
As Nell!” asked Lil, who thought, if so,
That her wings were a little slow,
And England certainly must be
A country of the brave and free,
And recollecting how she had,
While they were still a child and lad,
Enjoyed a romp of kiss and pet
With Ted, Kit's brother, fancied yet
That if such romps were etiquette
They might sometimes be very nice.
He answered with this sage advice
For one in the near neighbourhood
Of a fair girl with southern blood
And rosy lips and yielding mien,
That “Nells could not be often seen
Even in England, where Mammas
And Mrs Grundy and papas
Shut off the naughty and the nice
From girls with barriers of ice,
That romps at home as well as school
Were the exception not the rule,
But there were boys who would be boys
And girls who looked for other joys
134
That Nells there were and needs must be
In every age, in every clime,
As long as there is space or time,
Nells who rejoice to cull the flower
Which grows on every passing hour.”
And then he pulled her on his knee
And kissed her, asking her if she
Had not been treated thus before,
And, she not struggling, gave her more
And added in a whisper “Lil,
Will you?” when she replied “I will”
And put her little hands in his
And held her lips up for a kiss.
Now mark the wit of womankind,
And learn that love is not so blind
As poets picture him to be,
For when Lil sought her bedroom she,
While still the gentlemen sat to
Their glass of water—and Lochdhu,
Called in her mother and confessed,
Entreating her to do her best
To win her father to her choice,
Pleading with that sweet gentle voice
Which won all hearers to her part.
Now Helen had a tender heart,
And her ten yearning years of troth
Tended to make her very loath
Her children's longings to postpone
A single month: and Lil was one
To give her much anxiety.
She was so pretty and so free
From guile as well as self-restraint,
And he would have to be a saint
Who scorned her gentle glowing charms
And shrank from her extended arms.
And learn that love is not so blind
As poets picture him to be,
For when Lil sought her bedroom she,
While still the gentlemen sat to
Their glass of water—and Lochdhu,
Called in her mother and confessed,
Entreating her to do her best
To win her father to her choice,
Pleading with that sweet gentle voice
Which won all hearers to her part.
Now Helen had a tender heart,
And her ten yearning years of troth
Tended to make her very loath
Her children's longings to postpone
A single month: and Lil was one
135
She was so pretty and so free
From guile as well as self-restraint,
And he would have to be a saint
Who scorned her gentle glowing charms
And shrank from her extended arms.
She had been wooed three times before,
And each time thrown the wooer o'er
With much reluctance—souls of make
Like hers love Love for its own sake.
Her other lovers had been men
As much drawn by the hope of gain
In marrying the squatter's child
As by the face which on them smiled;
But the Professor had a clear
Six or eight hundred pounds a year
Of salary, e'en suppose he had
No penny of his own to add,
A sum with which as bachelor
He certainly could do much more,
Than married with as much again.
That he was capable was plain
From his appointment: and his mind
Seemed honourable, broad, and kind:
He was nice-looking in the face,
And gentlemanly in his ways,
And ‘Chesterfield’ had said that he
Came of a good old family.
Then Lily seemed so fond of him,
And, if it was no passing whim
But an absorbing love . . . . . . . (and she
Owned to a sensibility
Herself of the Professor's charm).
Nor was Lil kept in long alarm,
For, when her father came to bed,
The mother for the daughter pled
So winningly that his consent
Was granted her incontinent,
Subject to conversation due
Upon the morrow with the two.
Kind Helen, far too kind to keep
A darling daughter from her sleep
With doubt and trembling on a theme
So near her heart as this would seem,
Stole to her bedroom on tip-toe,
Her prayer's success to let her know.
And each time thrown the wooer o'er
With much reluctance—souls of make
Like hers love Love for its own sake.
Her other lovers had been men
As much drawn by the hope of gain
In marrying the squatter's child
As by the face which on them smiled;
But the Professor had a clear
Six or eight hundred pounds a year
Of salary, e'en suppose he had
No penny of his own to add,
A sum with which as bachelor
He certainly could do much more,
Than married with as much again.
That he was capable was plain
From his appointment: and his mind
Seemed honourable, broad, and kind:
He was nice-looking in the face,
And gentlemanly in his ways,
And ‘Chesterfield’ had said that he
Came of a good old family.
Then Lily seemed so fond of him,
And, if it was no passing whim
But an absorbing love . . . . . . . (and she
136
Herself of the Professor's charm).
Nor was Lil kept in long alarm,
For, when her father came to bed,
The mother for the daughter pled
So winningly that his consent
Was granted her incontinent,
Subject to conversation due
Upon the morrow with the two.
Kind Helen, far too kind to keep
A darling daughter from her sleep
With doubt and trembling on a theme
So near her heart as this would seem,
Stole to her bedroom on tip-toe,
Her prayer's success to let her know.
But reader, be it not supposed
That Lil and her Professor closed
Their interesting interview
So very briefly as I do.
Whatever at the time had been
Her satisfaction at fourteen
When Ted had petted her, she now
Felt to herself inclined to vow
That it was not a patch upon
That which she just had undergone,
And was prepared to undergo
Till further notice—in the glow
Of mutual love oblivious quite
Of the chill roughness of the night,
Which maybe, since it kept the rest
Within the house, was for the best.
Here Lil disclosed confidingly
(Still nestling on her lover's knee,
While her soft damask cheeks and lips
Frequently underwent eclipse),
What palpitations of dismay
The story of Nausicaa
Had wakened, how she'd nursed a dread
That he would turn out to be wed,
Though it did not at first occur
What difference it made to her;
How she had shuddered at the day
When he would have to go away,
Although he, it was obvious,
Could not be always at their house;
That truly she had never thought
Of marriage with him, but had sought
His company because she found
That days went far more blithely round
In his society, than when
She talked with ordinary men.”
He said, when in due time his lips
Could spare the leisure from their sips,
“Your parents may think my demand
And your surrender of your hand
A trifle premature upon
A four days' introduction.
But four days are enough to show
How pleasantly my life will go
With you as help-mate, and you seem
To know enough of me, to deem
That I shall fairly well fulfil
What you meant when you said ‘I will.’
A stranger in a far-off land
Drifts till he finds a friendly strand
In some fair, gentle girl like you
To moor his wandering bark unto.
Had I the loneliness but known
Of living in strange lands alone,
I should have wedded ere I left
Rather than face it out, bereft
Of father's, brother's, sister's face,
Without a wife's to take their place.
This is my answer to the world.
If it with lip and nostril curled
Hints that my suit was rather short,
Your father's sanction I shall court
With the fair rank I hold in life
And proof that I can give a wife
A decent, comfortable home,
Though small enough to you who come
From one like this. My plea to you
Is that you represent my view
Of gentle, graceful womanhood,
Neither too clever nor too good,
To be caressing when one's tired
And like being petted and admired,
Intelligent enough to take
An interest in plans I make
And what I write and what I do
But not what Frenchmen call ‘a blue.’
Women of genius and those
Who would their own impress impose
On everything a husband does
Should chose a husband like the wife
Whom I invite to share my life
Contented to appreciate,
And seeking not to mould, their fate.
There cannot in one household be
Two-in-command and harmony.
That Lil and her Professor closed
Their interesting interview
So very briefly as I do.
Whatever at the time had been
Her satisfaction at fourteen
When Ted had petted her, she now
Felt to herself inclined to vow
That it was not a patch upon
That which she just had undergone,
And was prepared to undergo
Till further notice—in the glow
Of mutual love oblivious quite
Of the chill roughness of the night,
Which maybe, since it kept the rest
137
Here Lil disclosed confidingly
(Still nestling on her lover's knee,
While her soft damask cheeks and lips
Frequently underwent eclipse),
What palpitations of dismay
The story of Nausicaa
Had wakened, how she'd nursed a dread
That he would turn out to be wed,
Though it did not at first occur
What difference it made to her;
How she had shuddered at the day
When he would have to go away,
Although he, it was obvious,
Could not be always at their house;
That truly she had never thought
Of marriage with him, but had sought
His company because she found
That days went far more blithely round
In his society, than when
She talked with ordinary men.”
He said, when in due time his lips
Could spare the leisure from their sips,
“Your parents may think my demand
And your surrender of your hand
A trifle premature upon
A four days' introduction.
But four days are enough to show
How pleasantly my life will go
With you as help-mate, and you seem
To know enough of me, to deem
138
What you meant when you said ‘I will.’
A stranger in a far-off land
Drifts till he finds a friendly strand
In some fair, gentle girl like you
To moor his wandering bark unto.
Had I the loneliness but known
Of living in strange lands alone,
I should have wedded ere I left
Rather than face it out, bereft
Of father's, brother's, sister's face,
Without a wife's to take their place.
This is my answer to the world.
If it with lip and nostril curled
Hints that my suit was rather short,
Your father's sanction I shall court
With the fair rank I hold in life
And proof that I can give a wife
A decent, comfortable home,
Though small enough to you who come
From one like this. My plea to you
Is that you represent my view
Of gentle, graceful womanhood,
Neither too clever nor too good,
To be caressing when one's tired
And like being petted and admired,
Intelligent enough to take
An interest in plans I make
And what I write and what I do
But not what Frenchmen call ‘a blue.’
Women of genius and those
139
On everything a husband does
Should chose a husband like the wife
Whom I invite to share my life
Contented to appreciate,
And seeking not to mould, their fate.
There cannot in one household be
Two-in-command and harmony.
I have been candid with you, Lil,
And told you how you so fulfil
My beau-ideal of a wife.
You have the merry pride of life,
The beauty that allures the eye
The grace of form and gait, the shy
But never-failing sympathy,
The easy, gracious courtesy,
And tender girlish helplessness,
And more that I can ill express.”
And told you how you so fulfil
My beau-ideal of a wife.
You have the merry pride of life,
The beauty that allures the eye
The grace of form and gait, the shy
But never-failing sympathy,
The easy, gracious courtesy,
And tender girlish helplessness,
And more that I can ill express.”
| A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." | |