"Love your neighbor as yourself,"--
So the parson preaches;
That's one-half the Decalogue.--
So the Prayer-book teaches.
Half my duty I can do
With but little labor,
For with all my heart and soul
I do love my neighbor.
Mighty little credit, that,
To my self-denial;
Not to love her, though, might be
Something of a trial,
Why, the rosy light, that peeps
Through the glass above her,
Lingers round her lips:--you see
E'en the sunbeams love her.
So to make my merit more,
I'll go beyond the letter;
Love my neighbor as myself?
Yes, and ten times better.
For she's sweeter than the breath
Of the Spring, that passes
Through the fragrant, budding woods,
O'er the meadow-grasses.
And I've preached the word I know,
For it was my duty
To convert the stubborn heart
Of the little beauty.
Once again success has crowned
Missionary labor,
For her sweet eyes own that she
Also loves her neighbor.
MARRIAGE _A LÀ MODE._
_A Trilogy._
I.
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM.
A.D. 1880.
"Thank you--much obliged, old boy,
Yes, it's so; report says true.
I'm engaged to Nell Latine--
What else could a fellow do?
Governor was getting fierce;
Asked me, with paternal frown,
When I meant to go to work,
Take a wife, and settle down.
Stormed at my extravagance,
Talked of cutting off supplies--
Fairly bullied me, you know--
Sort of thing that I despise.
Well, you see, I lost worst way
At the races--Governor raged--
So, to try and smooth him down,
I went off, and got engaged.
Sort of put-up job, you know--
All arranged with old Latine--
Nellie raved about it first,
Said her 'pa was awful mean!'
Now it's done we don't much mind--
Tell the truth, I'm rather glad;
Looking at it every way,
One must own it isn't bad.
She's good-looking, rather rich,--
Mother left her quite a pile;
Dances, goes out everywhere;
Fine old family, real good style.
Then she's good, as girls go now,
Some idea of wrong and right,
Don't let every man she meets
Kiss her, on the self-same night.
We don't do affection much,
Nell and I are real good friends,
Call there often, sit and chat,
Take her 'round, and there it ends.
Spooning! Well, I tried it once--
Acted like an awful calf--
Said I really loved her. Gad!
You should just have heard her laugh.
Why, she ran me for a month,
Teased me till she made me wince;
'Mustn't flirt with her,' she said,
So I haven't tried it since.
'Twould be pleasant to be loved
Like you read about in books--
Mingling souls, and tender eyes--
Love, and that, in all their looks;
Thoughts of you, and no one else;
Voice that has a tender ring,
Sacrifices made, and--well--
You know--all that sort of thing.
That's all worn-out talk, they say,
Don't see any of it now--
Spooning on your _fiancée_
Isn't good style, anyhow.
Just suppose that one of us,--
Nell and me, you know--some day
Got like that on some one else--
Might be rather awkward--eh!
All in earnest, like the books--
Wouldn't it be awful rough!
Jove! if I--but pshaw, what bosh!
Nell and I are safe enough.--
Some time in the Spring, I think;
Be on hand to wish us joy?
Be a groomsman, if you like--
Lots of wine--good-bye, old boy."
II.
UP THE AISLE.
A.D. 1881.
Take my cloak--and now fix my veil, Jenny;--
How silly to cover one's face!
I might as well be an old woman,
But then there's one comfort--it's lace.
Well, what has become of those ushers?--
Oh, Pa, have you got my bouquet?
I'll freeze standing here in the lobby,
Why doesn't the organist play?
They've started at last--what a bustle!
Stop, Pa!--they're not far enough--wait!
One minute more--now! Do keep step, Pa!
There, drop my trail, Jane!--is it straight?
I hope I look timid, and shrinking!
The church must be perfectly full--
Good gracious, please don't walk so fast, Pa!
He don't seem to think that trains pull.
The chancel at last--mind the step, Pa!--
I don't feel embarrassed at all--
But, my! What's the minister saying?
Oh, I know, that part 'bout Saint Paul.
I hope my position is graceful--
How awkwardly Nelly Dane stood!
"Not lawfully be joined together,
Now speak"--as if any one would.
Oh, dear, now it's my turn to answer--
I do wish that Pa would stand still.
"Serve him, love, honor, and keep him"--
How sweetly he says it--I will.
Where's Pa?--there, I knew he'd forget it
When the time came to give me away--
"I, Helena, take thee--love--cherish--
And"--well, I can't help it,--"obey."
Here, Maud, take my bouquet--don't drop it--
I hope Charley's not lost the ring!
Just like him!--no--goodness, how heavy!
It's really an elegant thing.
It's a shame to kneel down in white satin--
And the flounce real old lace--but I must--
I hope that they've got a clean cushion,
They're usually covered with dust.
All over--ah, thanks!--now, don't fuss, Pa!--
Just throw back my veil, Charley--there!
Oh, bother! Why couldn't he kiss me
Without mussing up all my hair!
Your arm, Charley, there goes the organ--
Who'd think there would be such a crowd!
Oh, I mustn't look round, I'd forgotten,
See, Charley, who was it that bowed?
Why--it's Nellie Allaire, with her husband--
She's awfully jealous, I know,
Most all of my things were imported,
And she had a home-made _trousseau_.
And there's Annie Wheeler--Kate Hermon--
I didn't expect her at all--
If she's not in that same old blue satin
She wore at the Charity Ball!
Is that Fanny Wade?--Edith Pommeton--
And Emma, and Jo--all the girls!
I knew they'd not miss my wedding--
I hope they'll all notice my pearls.
Is the carriage there?--give me my cloak, Jane,
Don't get it all over my veil--
No! you take the other seat, Charley--
I need all of this for my trail.
III.
DIVORCE.
A.D., 1886.
_The Club Window._
"Yes, I saw her pass with 'that scoundrel'--
For heaven's sake, old man, keep cool!
No end of the fellows are watching--
Go easy, don't act like a fool!
'Parading _your_ shame'!--I don't see it.
It's _hers_ now, alone; for at last
You drove her to 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."