—Romeo and Juliet.
This morn, no more I love her.
Go where I will, soft eyes and lips
I know I shall discover.
I’m called untrue, and fickle, too:
Injustice! ... I remember
I loved one girl three solid weeks,
And that, but last December.
My passion but the fiercer burns
Because it burns the quicker.
No wonder that a flame will last,
If it just feebly flicker.
So, love I many while I may,
For youth won’t always tarry.
At thirty-seven—Marry! . . .
George Allan England.
I sit in my room and read, and read, and read; I learn that we are all degenerate brutes, that our society is wholly bad, and that the world is rotten to its heart and I believe it all, for here it is in books, set down, facts, tables, figures, proof on proof.
Then I go out into the street, or, riding over yonder to the city, stand outside in the keen lashing wind as we go posting over the long clean bridge, and I see strong, fine, virile men and healthy pretty women with red blood in them, on foot, on horse, driving or wheeling by, all sweeping past as in a panorama. Then my blood too beats red within me; I cry exultingly, "It is a lie!” and I forget the carping, canting books that I have read.
“I was porter in Holyoke.” said old Michael, “whin thet Mishter Blaikies was livin’ there. Oi’ll tell yer ’story 'bout thim. They wuz great b’ys, Oi till yer, thim fellers—shporty kinder, but clean lookin’ and free-handed. One night in Feb’ry they as’t me up to hilp’m out ’n little mather of theirs, they said; so Oi wint up. The room was full of shtudints—pale-faced, hard-wurrkin’ shtudints with rid vists, an’ canes that they pounded on the desk with. The furn’cher was piled ’round to sit on, an’ there wuz shtandin’ room only.
“There chanced to be no procther in the buildin’ at that toime an’ there wa’n’t no danger of thim gitt’n’ caught in their little matter of business. They had a couple of covered cages in opp’site corners an’ in each cage, as the older Misther Blaikie showed me, a fight’n’ cock.
" ‘Moike,’ says the younger Misther Blaikie, ‘d’ ye see thim birrds?’
“ ‘Oi do thot.’ says Oi, ‘Oi do.’
“ ‘Take ’em out, Moike,’ says he.
“Oi did so, an’ a divil of a toime Oi had holdin’ em, too.
“ ‘Gintlemin,’ says he, git’n' upon a box, ‘are the bets all made?’
“ ‘They are,’ says the elder Mr. Blaikie.
“ ‘Are the combitints ready?’ says the other.
“ ‘They are. sir,’ says I; ‘more than ready.’
“ ‘Thin let thim go,’ says he, ‘an’ may the best birrd win.’
‘‘Will, sir, there was a foight ter make ye wape, sir—ac’chally wape. It lasted about foive minutes. Whin it was all over, Oi discrately withdrew.
“About tin o’clock Oi heard Mr. Blaikie, the younger, yell. ‘Moike, O Moike.’
“ ‘Yis, says Oi.’
“ ‘Come up.’ says he. ‘We’ve got a partic’l’arly fine brand of beer,’ says he, ‘an’ we don’t want ye ter let it go ter waste, Moike.’
“ ‘An’ Oi did not.’ ”