A Bachelors Soliloquy   

 

So that was Anna, and her lord and master

I visited today!

There was a time when every pulse throbbed faster

Did either cross my way;--

There was a time when like her faithful “Bruin,”

I followed at her nod;--

A time when there seemed naught but death, or ruin,

In paths by her untrod.

A time when I found all my sweetest pleasure

While gazing in her eyes;--

But oh! Another coveted my treasure

And lo! He won the prize.

 

                        I smile while thinking of the bitter sorrow,

I suffered by the blow,

Nor though I should, some far-away to-morrow,

Be thankful it was so.

And was that plain and weary looking mortal

The one I asked as wife?

For whose dear sake I would have passed the portal

Into another life?

To-day, her hand, with dirty water dripping,

I very lightly shook.

I noticed, too, her worn-out shoes went slipping,

At every step she took.

That Anna?---whom I used to lead to bowers

Of summer’s richest green!

How often I have plucked the sweetest flowers

To crown her Beauty’s queen!

And is that meager, lonely, unkept dwelling

The home I wished to see?---

And that bald-headed baby, always yelling,

“the bud to bloom for me?”

Do women grow so old and plain by marriage?

There’s Anna’s cousin, May,

A beauty still, in face, and form, and carriage,

Not younger by a day.

There was a time they rivaled one another;

And now, should either will,

This Anna could be passed for Manie’s mother;--

But May is single still.

So that was Anna?--that pale, haggard creature!--

The village belle and pride!

And I could scarcely recognize a feature

Of my once promised bride.

Once, only, did her blue eyes beam upon me--

With olden beauty, too!

Another glance, I fear, would have undone me,

Just as it used to do.

Only once! Then the weary look returning,

Spread o’er her haggard face;

And though I watched her, with my lone heart yearning,

No other could I trace

 But ah! I read, as though t’were there by letter,

The question that it threw;--

“O Richard, had this life of mine been better,

Had I kept faith with you?”

Somehow, I cannot quite help thinking---dreaming

Of how it might have been!

Somehow, I’m haunted by the blue eyes beaming,

Though now it is a sin!

But fie!  I have no love to crush and bury;

Nor shall its phantom rise.

I am quite sure that I am thankful, very,

That Charley won the prize---BELLA FRENCH

 

Source: Pages 257-258 of the American Sketch Book.

____________________________________________

 

TRYING TO REFORM A CAT

 

            I had somewhere read a statement made by Dio Lewis to the effect that a person could support himself well for fifty-four and a half cents, or some such an amount, per week, and I resolved to try the experiment.  I did not have the bill of fare, as made out by the Doctor, but I supposed it must consist principally of Graham bread and water, with an occasional sour apple or raw egg to top off with.  I made the change in the mode of my living on a Monday morning, and when I took my early walk to the post office, resolutely passed the baker’s where the hot buns were waiting to be eaten, and did not even stop at the meat market for the usual “five cents worth of meat for the cat.”  I had resolved that my household should not indulge in luxuries which I denied myself;  and as my household consisted of only myself and a cat of the masculine persuasion, I had but to try the work of reform on my feline companion.

            On reaching home, I began the preparation for our breakfast, which did not occupy much time.  Giving a sigh to the memory of fragrant coffee which had always graced my table, I sat down to a slice of Graham bread and cold water, wondering what had become of my appetite.  Tom took his station by my side, and licking his jaws in an expectant way, said “Yow.”  ”Tom,” Answered I, “I have made up my mind to reform.  The way we have been living is an outrage on my pocketbook; (259)  besides, it is slow suicide.  Only cannibals s eat flesh; only murderers deal in poisons.  We are to reform our habits, and spend the money thus saved in improving our minds.  I always give the members of my household as good as I have myself, so I divide my breakfast with you.”

            So saying, I placed a bit of the Graham bread before him.  But that impudent Tom, instead of coinciding with  my plans, looked up  complaisantly and winked one of his green eyes at me.  “Very well,” said I, “you van eat that or starve,” and I turned to my own breakfast.

            A minute later, I glanced at him from under my half closed eyelids. He had lifted the piece of Graham bread with one of his paws, and was playing ball with it.  Such a comical picture as he made, and how delicately he handled it!  I laughed outright.

            Our fare for dinner that day was a slice of Graham bread and a sour apple; but when I placed Tom’s share before him, he walked away in disgust. At supper time, this behavior was repeated.

            Days passed on. Tom grew land, lean and fretful; but I did not relent.  I was growing lank, lean and fretful myself, but would not give up my work of reform.  One cold morning, as I sprang out of bed, I heard Tom’s voice at the door, asking admittance.  Without waiting to dress my feet, I answered his call, when what did that ungrateful chap do but set his teeth into one of my bare toes!  I tore myself away from him with a yell, and the next moment my foot was covered with blood, which was dropping from the wound.  “Now, old fellow, “ said I, “when you get any meat you will know it, I think.  I was just relenting in your favor, but after such an attack as this I’ll see you hanged before you have anything but Graham bread.”  He seemed to understand me, for, when I put his breakfast before him that morning, he nibbled at the bread; but it did not suit his taste, and he spit it out.  The next morning I found myself in double trouble.  My foot was so swollen that I could not get my shoe on, and the cat did not put in an appearance, as usual.  I was hungry, lonesome and in pain; and what was worse, I could not help thinking naughty things about Dio Lewis.  I did not say anything naughty, but I thought it--loud too.  Such a state of affairs as my household presented, and all through him.  The only masculine member of the household was gone--alas! None knew where, myself crippled and my larder as well as my stomach empty!

            This happened two months ago, but Tom has not returned and my toe is not yet well.  I have given up the reform business.  After all it is hard to improve on nature so that the improvement is perceptible in one generation.  I stop at the baker’s and at the meat market now, but Tom is not with me to enjoy my feasts.  If he has committed suicide, or otherwise gone to destruction, or if I am yet obliged to have my toe amputated, that miserable Dio Lewis ought to be held answerable.  Don’t you think so?---BELLA FRENCH

_______________________________________________________

 

TOO LATE

________________

Time seemed so long, I once believed.

Wealth could be won, and then a name;

But ah! I find the first achieved,

Has quite destroyed all hope of fame.

 

For time is short, instead of long;

And he, who once to Mammon kneels,

Has lost the power to break the thong

That binds him to its chariot wheels.

 

Once chained, adieu to poet dreams!

Life’s best emotions crushed and stilled;

Until with restless, grasping schemes,

Each cell of brain and heart is filled.

 

And so, when pierced by vague regret,

That life to me is death, I come

By stealth to vow allegiance yet,

I find the muse, once worshipped, dumb!

 

I find too late that she has fled,

Veiling from me her sacred fire;

And in my heart is left instead,

Only a miser’s gross desire;--

 

A gross desire from day to day

To add more dollars to the pile;--

A business habit I obey,

With heart revolting all the while;--

 

Only miser’s gross desire

To live and grow in wealth. Ah! Fate,

That I should have no motive higher,

Or having it, should have too late.----ALF

 

_________________________________

 

Looking For Flowers

_________

Little maiden in the forest,

Forest gloomy, cold and dark,

Where the weeds were breathing poison,

And the thorns were sharp and rank,

 

Culling, here and there, a flower,

Hid that tangled moss among;

And the air was filled with music

Of the merry song she sung.

 

Happy child!  Oh! It were better,

In this wilderness of ours,

Where the weeds grow rank about us,

If we sought for nought but flowers---BONNIBEL

 

Source: American Sketch Book by Bella French

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