Satires of Circumstance No.9

in 15 glimpses

At the Altar Rail

'My bride is not coming, alas!' says the groom,

And the telegram shakes in his hand. 'I own

It was hurried! We met at a dancing-room

When I went to the Cattle-Show alone,

And then, next night, where the Fountain leaps,

And the Street of the Quarter-Circle sweeps.

'Ay, she won me to ask her to be my wife --

'Twas foolish perhaps! -- to forsake the ways

Of the flaring town for a farmer's life.

She agreed. And we fixed it. Now she says:

"It's sweet of you, dear, to prepare me a nest,

But a swift, short, gay life suits me best.

What I really am you have never gleaned;

I had eaten the apple ere you were weaned."'

-o0o-

Satires of Circumstance No.8

in 15 glimpses

In the Study

He enters, and mute on the edge of a chair

Sits a thin-faced lady, a stranger there,

A type of decayed gentility;

And by some small signs he well can guess

That she comes to him almost breakfastless.

'I have called -- I hope I do not err --

I am looking for a purchaser

Of some score volumes of the works

Of eminent divines I own, --

Left by my father -- though it irks

My patience to offer them.' And she smiles

As if necessity were unknown;

'But the truth of it is that oftenwhiles

I have wished, as I am fond of art,

To make my rooms a little smart.'

And lightly still she laughs to him,

As if to sell were a mere gay whim,

And that, to be frank, Life were indeed

To her not vinegar and gall,

But fresh and honey-like; and Need

No household skeleton at all.

-o0o-

Satires of Circumstance No.7

in 15 glimpses

Outside the Window

'My stick!' he says, and turns in the lane

To the house just left, whence a vixen voice

Comes out with the firelight through the pane,

And he sees within that the girl of his choice

Stands rating her mother with eyes aglare

For something said while he was there.

'At last I behold her soul undraped!'

Thinks the man who had loved her more than himself;

'My God! -- 'tis but narrowly I have escaped. --

My precious porcelain proves it delf.'

His face has reddened like one ashamed,

And he steals off; leaving his stick unclaimed.

-o0o-

Satires of Circumstance No.6

in 15 glimpses

In the Cemetery

'You see those mother's squabbling there?'

Remarks the man of the cemetery.

'One says in tears, "'Tis mine lies here!"

Another, "Nay, mine, you Pharisee!"

Another, "How dare you move my flowers

And put your own on this grave of ours!"

But all their children were laid therein

At different times, like sprats in a tin.

'And then the main drain had to cross,

And we moved the lot some nights ago,

And packed them away in the general foss

With hundreds more. But their folks don't know,

And as well cry over a new-laid drain

As anything else, to ease your pain!'

-o0o-

Satires of Circumstance No.5

in 15 glimpses

At a Watering Place

They sit and smoke on the esplanade,

The man and his friend, and regard the bay

Where the far chalk cliffs, to the left displayed,

Smile sallowly in the decline of day.

And saunterer's pass with laugh and jest --

A handsome couple among the rest.

'That smart proud pair,' says the man to his friend,

'Are to marry next week.... How little he thinks

That dozens of days and nights on end

I have stroked her neck, unhooked the links

Of her sleeve to get at her upper arm....

Well, bliss is in ignorance: what's the harm!'

-o0o-

Satires of Circumstance No.4

in 15 glimpses

In the Room of the Bride-Elect

'Would it had been the man of our wish!'

Sighs her mother. To whom with vehemence she

In the wedding-dress -- the wife to be --

'Then why were you so mollyish

As not to insist on him for me!'

The mother, amazed: 'Why, dearest one,

Because you pleaded for this or none!'

'But Father and you should have stood out strong!

Since then, to my cost, I have lived to find

That you were right and that I was wrong;

This man is a dolt to the one declined....

Ah! -- here he comes with his button-hole rose.

Good God -- I must marry him I suppose!'

-o0o-

Satires of Circumstance No.3

in 15 glimpses

By Her Aunt's Grave

'Sixpence a week,' says the girl to her lover,

'Aunt used to bring me, for she could confide

In me alone, she vowed. 'Twas to cover

The cost of her headstone when she died.

And that was a year ago last June;

I've not yet fixed it. But I must soon.

'And where is the money now, my dear?'

'O, snug in my purse... Aunt was so slow

In saving it -- eighty weeks, or near.'...

'Let's spend it,' he hints. 'For she won't know

There's a dance to-night at the Load of Hay.'

She passively nods. And they go that way.

-o0o-