1895
My dear little sweetheart, fond and true,
Thinking of laddie so far away,
For laddie is all this world to you—
Your dream by night and your hope by day.
What though your swain be of humble birth;
The love in your heart his praise will sing.
Dear little brown eyes, you know his worth;
Affection enthrones him as your king.
Brave little lassie, whose soft words cheer
When the world is dark and skins o'ercast,
Making the future seem bright and clear—
The heaven of joy looms up at last.
Laddie, fold close to your loyal breast
This dear little woman, fond and true.
Her creed is simple and soon confest
In a sweet and tender "I love you!"
—J. T. B. in Boston Traveller.
Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts
Friday, September 5, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
They Were Just Too Mean
1895
This Was the Trouble About Jim and Myra and the Gloomy Girl In Red.
"The world is hollow," remarked the girl in red.
"It is," gloomily assented the girl whose new gown does not fit, "but I don't see how you ever found it out."
"By accident, dear. It happened the day after the cards were sent out. I had a note from Dan saying that he must see me once more before I was Jim's wife. Of course I didn't really care for Dan, but it is soothing to one's vanity to know that the best man is dying of envy of the bridegroom, who has no idea of it."
"So you said you would see him?"
"I did. I felt that it would do Jim no harm if Dan did tell me once more that life was a blank without me, and it was really my last chance too. Still I didn't dare to let him come to the house."
"But where else could you see him?"
"At Myra's. She is to be maid of honor, you know, and Jim used to be quite devoted to her, so I knew she'd never dare to tell on me lest people would think her jealous."
"When I want advice, I shall know where to come for it."
"Very well, do. Well, I didn't send her word that I was coming, for I didn't want anything down on paper. As luck would have it, just as I was starting Jim sent up a box of roses and a melancholy note saying that a business engagement he couldn't shirk would prevent him from coming up that evening."
"You were in luck."
"So I thought. Well, I just throw myself on Myra's mercy. She wasn't a bit pleased, as I could see, but she submitted with the best grace she could. She said she would keep everybody out of the library so we could have a long, quiet evening, and not to worry about her, as she would probably have company."
"That was nice of her."
"Oh, very nice. Dan came early, and we had a perfectly lovely time. He begged me to elope the day before the wedding, recited two poems about his despair and hinted at suicide. Oh, it was splendid! I cried myself almost to a jelly. At about half past 10 I really couldn't stand it any longer, so I told Dan that we must go in and speak to Myra, for the front parlor was so quiet that her caller had evidently failed to come. So, after another eternal farewell, we went in."
"Well?"
"It wasn't well — it was ill! Myra's caller was there. He was Jim. He was holding her hand and bidding her goodby forever! Oh, was ever a poor girl so cruelly deceived as I?" — Chicago Tribune.
This Was the Trouble About Jim and Myra and the Gloomy Girl In Red.
"The world is hollow," remarked the girl in red.
"It is," gloomily assented the girl whose new gown does not fit, "but I don't see how you ever found it out."
"By accident, dear. It happened the day after the cards were sent out. I had a note from Dan saying that he must see me once more before I was Jim's wife. Of course I didn't really care for Dan, but it is soothing to one's vanity to know that the best man is dying of envy of the bridegroom, who has no idea of it."
"So you said you would see him?"
"I did. I felt that it would do Jim no harm if Dan did tell me once more that life was a blank without me, and it was really my last chance too. Still I didn't dare to let him come to the house."
"But where else could you see him?"
"At Myra's. She is to be maid of honor, you know, and Jim used to be quite devoted to her, so I knew she'd never dare to tell on me lest people would think her jealous."
"When I want advice, I shall know where to come for it."
"Very well, do. Well, I didn't send her word that I was coming, for I didn't want anything down on paper. As luck would have it, just as I was starting Jim sent up a box of roses and a melancholy note saying that a business engagement he couldn't shirk would prevent him from coming up that evening."
"You were in luck."
"So I thought. Well, I just throw myself on Myra's mercy. She wasn't a bit pleased, as I could see, but she submitted with the best grace she could. She said she would keep everybody out of the library so we could have a long, quiet evening, and not to worry about her, as she would probably have company."
"That was nice of her."
"Oh, very nice. Dan came early, and we had a perfectly lovely time. He begged me to elope the day before the wedding, recited two poems about his despair and hinted at suicide. Oh, it was splendid! I cried myself almost to a jelly. At about half past 10 I really couldn't stand it any longer, so I told Dan that we must go in and speak to Myra, for the front parlor was so quiet that her caller had evidently failed to come. So, after another eternal farewell, we went in."
"Well?"
"It wasn't well — it was ill! Myra's caller was there. He was Jim. He was holding her hand and bidding her goodby forever! Oh, was ever a poor girl so cruelly deceived as I?" — Chicago Tribune.
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