When you come to the end of a perfect day
And you sit alone with your thought
While the chimes ring out with a carol gay
For the joy that the day has brought,
Do you think what the end of a perfect day
Can mean to a tired heart?
When the sun goes down with a flaming ray
And the dear friends have to part?
Well, this is the end of a perfect day,
Near the end of a journey, too;
But it leaves a thought that is big and strong,
With a wish that is kind and true;
For mem'ry has painted this perfect day
With colors that never fade,
And we find, at the end of a perfect day,
The soul of a friend we've made.
_Carrie Jacobs Bond._
_Kate Ketchem_
Kate Ketchem on a winter's night
Went to a party dressed in white.
Her chignon in a net of gold,
Was about as large as they ever sold.
Gayly she went, because her "pap"
Was supposed to be a rich old chap.
But when by chance her glances fell
On a friend who had lately married well,
Her spirits sunk, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast--
A wish she wouldn't have had made known,
To have an establishment of her own.
Tom Fudge came slowly through the throng,
With chestnut hair, worn pretty long.
He saw Kate Ketchem in the crowd,
And knowing her slightly, stopped and bowed;
Then asked her to give him a single flower,
Saying he'd think it a priceless dower.
Out from those with which she was decked,
She took the poorest she could select.
And blushed as she gave it, looking down
To call attention to her gown.
"Thanks," said Fudge, and he thought how dear
Flowers must be at that time of year.
Then several charming remarks he made,
Asked if she sang, or danced, or played;
And being exhausted, inquired whether
She thought it was going to be pleasant weather.
And Kate displayed her "jewelry,"
And dropped her lashes becomingly;
And listened, with no attempt to disguise
The admiration in her eyes.
At last, like one who has nothing to say,
He turned around and walked away.
Kate Ketchem smiled, and said, "You bet.
I'll catch that Fudge and his money yet.
He's rich enough to keep me in clothes,
And I think I could manage him as I chose.
He could aid my father as well as not,
And buy my brother a splendid yacht.
My mother for money should never fret,
And all it cried for the baby should get;
And after that, with what he could spare,
I'd make a show at a charity fair."
Tom Fudge looked back as he crossed the sill,
And saw Kate Ketchem standing still.
"A girl more suited to my mind
It isn't an easy thing to find;
And every thing that she has to wear
Proves her as rich as she is fair.
Would she were mine, and I to-day
Had the old man's cash my debts to pay!
No creditors with a long account,
No tradesmen wanting 'that little amount';
But all my scores paid up when due
By a father-in-law as rich as a Jew!"
But he thought of her brother, not worth a straw,
And her mother, that would be his, in law;
So, undecided, he walked along,
And Kate was left alone in the throng.
But a lawyer smiled, whom he sought by stealth,
To ascertain old Ketchem's wealth;
And as for Kate, she schemed and planned
Till one of the dancers claimed her hand.
He married her for her father's cash;
She married him to cut a dash,
But as to paying his debts, do you know,
The father couldn't see it so;
And at hints for help, Kate's hazel eyes
Looked out in their innocent surprise.
And when Tom thought of the way he had wed
He longed for a single life instead,
And closed his eyes in a sulky mood,
Regretting the days of his bachelorhood;
And said, in a sort of reckless vein,
"I'd like to see her catch me again,
If I were free, as on that night
When I saw Kate Ketchem dressed in white!"
She wedded him to be rich and gay;
But husband and children didn't pay,
He wasn't the prize she hoped to draw,
And wouldn't live with his mother-in-law.
And oft when she had to coax and pout
In order to get him to take her out,
She thought how very attentive and bright
He seemed at the party that winter's night;
Of his laugh, as soft as a breeze of the south,
('Twas now on the other side of his mouth);
How he praised her dress and gems in his talk,
As he took a careful account of stock.
Sometimes she hated the very walls--
Hated her friends, her dinners, and calls;
Till her weak affection, to hatred turned,
Like a dying tallow-candle burned.
And for him who sat there, her peace to mar,
Smoking his everlasting cigar--
He wasn't the man she thought she saw,
And grief was duty, and hate was law.
So she took up her burden with a groan,
Saying only, "I might have known!"
Alas for Kate! and alas for Fudge!
Though I do not owe them any grudge;
And alas for any who find to their shame
That two can play at their little game!
For of all hard things to bear and grin,
The hardest is knowing you're taken in.
Ah, well! as a general thing, we fret
About the one we didn't get;
But I think we needn't make a fuss,
If the one we don't want didn't get us.
_Phoebe Cary._