Chapter 136

"I say—just a word! I want to know—You are not married?""I?""Nor ever were?""Never! Why?""Oh, then—never mind! Go on!I had a reason for the question.""Come,—You could not be the young man?""No, indeed!Certainly—if you never married her!""That I did not: and there 's the curse, you 'll see!Nay, all of it 's one curse, my life's mistakeWhich nourished with manure that 's warrantedTo make the plant bear wisdom, blew out fullIn folly beyond fieldflower-foolishness!The lies I used to tell my womankind!Knowing they disbelieved me all the timeThough they required my lies, their decent due,This woman—not so much believed, I 'll say,As just anticipated from my mouth:Since being true, devoted, constant—sheFound constancy, devotion, truth, the plainAnd easy commonplace of character.No mock-heroics but seemed naturalTo her who underneath the face, I knewWas fairness' self, possessed a heart, I judgedMust correspond in folly just as farBeyond the common,—and a mind to match,—Not made to puzzle conjurers like meWho, therein, proved the fool who fronts you, Sir,And begs leave to cut short the ugly rest!'Trust me!' I said: she trusted. 'Marry me!'Or rather, 'We are married: when, the rite?'That brought on the collector's next-day qualmAt counting acquisition's cost. There layMy marvel, there my purse more light by muchBecause of its late lie-expenditure:Ill-judged such moment to make fresh demand—To cage as well as catch my rarity!So, I began explaining. At first wordOutbroke the horror. 'Then, my truths were lies!'I tell you, such an outbreak, such new strangeAll-unsuspected revelation—soulAs supernaturally grand as faceWas fair beyond example—that at onceEither I lost—or, if it please you, foundMy senses,—stammered somehow—'Jest! and now,Earnest! Forget all else but—heart has loved,Does love, shall love you ever! take the hand!'Not she! no marriage for superb disdain,Contempt incarnate!""Yes, it 's different,—It 's only like in being four years since.I see now!""Well, what did disdain do next,Think you?""That's past me: did not marry you!—-That 's the main thing I care for, I suppose.Turned nun, or what?""Why, married in a monthSome parson, some smug crop-haired smooth-chinned sortOf curate-creature, I suspect,—dived down,Down, deeper still, and came up somewhere else—I don't know where—I 've not tried much to know,—In short, she 's happy: what the clodpoles call'Countrified' with a vengeance! leads the lifeRespectable and all that drives you mad:Still—where, I don't know, and that 's best for both.""Well, that she did not like you, I conceive.But why should you hate her, I want to know?""My good young friend,—because or her or elseMalicious Providence I have to hate.For, what I tell you proved the turning-pointOf my whole life and fortune toward successOr failure. If I drown, I lay the faultMuch on myself who caught at reed not rope,But more on reed which, with a packthread's pith,Had buoyed me till the minute's cramp could thawAnd I strike out afresh and so be saved.It 's easy saying—I had sunk before,Disqualified myself by idle daysAnd busy nights, long since, from holding hardOn cable, even, had fate cast me such!You boys don't know how many times men failPerforce o' the little to succeed i' the large,Husband their strength, let slip the petty prey,Collect the whole power for the final pounce!My fault was the mistaking man's main prizeFor intermediate boy's diversion; clapOf boyish hands here frightened game awayWhich, once gone, goes forever. Oh, at firstI took the anger easily, nor muchMinded the anguish—having learned that stormsSubside, and teapot-tempests are akin.Time would arrange things, mend whate'er might beSomewhat amiss; precipitation, eh?Reason and rhyme prompt—reparation! TiffsEnd properly in marriage and a dance!I said 'We 'll marry, make the past a blank'—And never was such damnable mistake!That interview, that laying bare my soul,As it was first, so was it last chance—oneAnd only. Did I write? Back letter cameUnopened as it went. InexorableShe fled, I don't know where, consoled herselfWith the smug curate-creature: chop and change!Sure am I, when she told her shaveling allHis Magdalen's adventure, tears were shed,Forgiveness evangelically shown,'Loose hair and lifted eye,'—as some one says.And now, he 's worshipped for his pains, the sneak!""Well, but your turning-point of life,—what 's hereTo hinder you contesting FinsburyWith Orton, next election? I don't see" ..."Not you! ButIsee. Slowly, surely, creepsDay by day o'er me the conviction—hereWas life's prize grasped at, gained, and then let go!—That with her—maybe, for her—I had feltIce in me melt, grow steam, drive to effectAny or all the fancies sluggish hereI' the head that needs the hand she would not takeAnd I shall never lift now, Lo, your wood—Its turnings which I likened life to! Well,—There she stands, ending every avenue,Her visionary presence on each goalI might have gained had we kept side by side!Still string nerve and strike foot? Her frown forbids:The steam congeals once more: I 'm old again!Therefore I hate myself—but how much worseDo not I hate who would not understand,Let me repair things—no, but sent a-slideMy folly falteringly, stumblinglyDown, down, and deeper down until I dropUpon—the need of your ten thousand poundsAnd consequently loss of mine! I loseCharacter, cash, nay, common-sense itselfRecounting such a lengthy cock-and-bullAdventure, lose my temper in the act" ..."And lose beside,—if I may supplementThe list of losses,—train and ten-o'clock!Hark, pant and puff, there travels the swart sign!So much the better! You 're my captive now!I 'm glad you trust a fellow: friends grow thickThis way—that 's twice said; we were thickish, though,Even last night, and, ere night comes again,I prophesy good luck to both of us!For see now!—back to 'balmy eminence'Or 'calm acclivity' or what 's the word!Bestow you there an hour, concoct at easeA sonnet for the Album, while I putBold face on, best foot forward, make for house,March in to aunt and niece, and tell the truth—(Even white-lying goes against my tasteAfter your little story.) Oh, the nieceIs rationality itself! The aunt—If she 's amenable to reason too—Why, you stopped short to pay her due respect,And let the Duke wait (I 'll work well the Duke).If she grows gracious, I return for you;If thunder 's in the air, why—bear your doom,Dine on rump-steaks and port, and shake the dustOf aunty from your shoes as off you goBy evening-train, nor give the thing a thoughtHow you shall pay me—that 's as sure as fate.Old fellow! Off with you, face left about!Yonder 's the path I have to pad. You see,I 'm in good spirits, God knows why! PerhapsBecause the woman did not marry you—Who look so hard at me,—and have the right,One must be fair and own."The two stand stillUnder an oak."Look here!" resumes the youth."I never quite knew how I came to likeYou—so much—whom I ought not court at all:Nor how you had a leaning just to meWho am assuredly not worth your pains.For there must needs be plenty such as youSomewhere about,—although I can't say where,—Able and willing to teach all you know;While—how can you have missed a score like meWith money and no wit, precisely eachA pupil for your purpose, were it—easeFool's poke of tutor'shonorarium-fee?And yet, howe'er it came about, I feltAt once my master: you as prompt descriedYour man, warrant, so was bargain struck.Now, these same lines of liking, loving, runSometimes so close together they converge—Life's great adventures—you know what I mean—In people. Do you know, as you advanced,It got to be uncommonly like factWe two had fallen in with—liked and lovedJust the same woman in our different ways?I began life—poor groundling as I prove—and ambitious to fly high: why not?There 's something in 'Don Quixote' to the point,My shrewd old father used to quote and praise—'Am I born man?' asks Sancho; 'being man,By possibility I may be Pope!'So, Pope I meant to make myself, by stepAnd step, whereof the first should be to findA perfect woman; and I tell you this—If what I fixed on, in the order dueOf undertakings, as next step, had firstOf all disposed itself to suit my tread,And I had been, the day I came of age,Returned at head of poll for Westminster—Nay, and moreover summoned by the QueenAt week's end, when my maiden-speech bore fruit,To form and head a Tory ministry—It would not have seemed stranger, no, nor beenMore strange to me, as now I estimate,Than what did happen—sober truth, no dream.I saw my wonder of a woman,—laugh,I'm past that!—in Commemoration-week.A plenty have I seen since, fair and foul,—With eyes, too, helped by your sagacious wink;But one to match that marvel—no least trace,Least touch of kinship and community!The end was—I did somehow state the fact,Did, with no matter what imperfect words,One way or other give to understandThat woman, soul and body were her slaveWould she but take, but try them—any testOf will, and some poor test of power beside:So did the strings within my brain grow tenseAnd capable of ... hang similitudes!She answered kindly but beyond appeal.'No sort of hope for me, who came too late.She was another's. Love went—mine to her,Hers just as loyally to some one else.'Of course! I might expect it! Nature's law—Given the peerless woman, certainlySomewhere shall be the peerless man to match!I acquiesced at once, submitted meIn something of a stupor, went my way.I fancy there had been some talk beforeOf somebody—her father or the like—To coach me in the holidays,—that's howI came to get the sight and speech of her,—But I had sense enough to break off sharp,Save both of us the pain.""Quite right there!""Eh?Quite wrong, it happens! Now comes worst of all!Yes, I did sulk aloof and let aloneThe lovers—Idisturb the angel-mates?""Seraph paired off with cherub!""Thank you! WhileI never plucked up courage to inquireWho he was, even,—certain-sure of this,That nobody I knew of had blue wingsAnd wore a star-crown as he needs must do,—Some little lady,—plainish, pock-marked girl,—Finds out my secret in my woeful face,Comes up to me at the Apollo Ball,And pityingly pours her wine and oilThis way into the wound: 'Dear f-f-friend,Why waste affection thus on—must I say,A somewhat worthless object? Who's her choice—Irrevocable as deliberate—Out of the wide world? I shall name no names—But there's a person in society,Who, blessed with rank and talent, has grown grayIn idleness and sin of every sortExcept hypocrisy: he's thrice her age,A byword for 'successes with the sex'As the French say—and, as we ought to say.Consummately a liar and a rogue,Since—show me where's the woman won withoutThe help of this one lie which she believes—That—never mind how things have come to pass,And let who loves have loved a thousand times—All the same he now loves her only, lovesHer ever! if by 'won' you just mean 'sold,'That's quite another compact. Well, this scamp,Continuing descent from bad to worse,Must leave his fine and fashionable prey(Who—fathered, brothered, husbanded,—are hedgedAbout with thorny danger) and applyHis arts to this poor country ignoranceWho sees forthwith in the first rag of manHer model hero! Why continue wasteOn such a woman treasures of a heartWould yet find solace,—yes, my f-f-friend—In some congenial—fiddle-diddle-dee?'""Pray, is the pleasant gentleman describedExact the portrait which my 'f-f-friends'Recognize as so like? 'Tis evidentYou half surmised the sweet originalCould be no other than myself, just now!Your stop and start were flattering!""Of courseCaricature's allowed for in a sketch!The longish nose becomes a foot in length,The swarthy cheek gets copper-colored,—still,Prominent beak and dark-hued skin are facts:And 'parson's daughter'—'young man coachable'—'Elderly party'—'four years since'—were factsTo fasten on, a moment! Marriage, though—That made the difference, I hope.""All right!I never married; wish I had—and thenUnwish it: people kill their wives, sometimes!I hate my mistress, but I'm murder-free.In your case, where's the grievance? You came last,The earlier bird picked up the worm. SupposeYou, in the glory of your twenty-one,Had happened to precede myself! 'tis oddsBut this gigantic juvenility,This offering of a big arm's bony hand—I'd rather shake than feel shake me, I know—Had movedmydainty mistress to admireAn altogether new Ideal—deemIdolatry less due to life's declineProductive of experience, powers matureBy dint of usage, the made man—no boyThat's all to make! I was the earlier bird—And what I found, I let fall; what you missed,Who is the fool that blames you for?""Myself—For nothing, everything! For finding outShe, whom I worshipped, was a worshipperIn turn of ... but why stir up settled mud?She married him—the fifty-years-old rake—How you have teased the talk from me! At lastMy secret's told you. I inquired no more,Nay, stopped ears when informants unshut mouth;Enough that she and he live, deuce take where,Married and happy, or else miserable—It's 'Cut-the-pack;' she turned up ace or knave,And I left Oxford, England, dug my holeOut in Dalmatia, till you drew me thenceBadger-like,—'Back to London' was the word—'Do things, a many, there, you fancy hard,I'll undertake are easy!'—the advice.I took it, had my twelvemonth's fling with you—(Little hand holding large hand pretty tightFor all its delicacy—eh, my lord?)Until when, t'other day, I got a turnSomehow and gave up tired: and 'Rest!' bade you,'Marry your cousin, double your estate,And take your ease by all means!' So, I lollOn this the springy sofa, mine next month—Or should loll, but that you must needs beat roughThe very down you spread me out so smooth.I wish this confidence were still to make!Ten thousand pounds? You owe me twice the sumFor stirring up the black depths! There's reposeOr, at least, silence when misfortune seemsAll that one has to bear; but folly—yes,Folly, it all was! Fool to be so meek,So humble,—such a coward rather say!Fool, to adore the adorer of a fool!Not to have faced him, tried (a useful hint)My big and bony, here, against the bunchOf lily-colored five with signet-ring,Most like, for little-finger's sole defence—Much as you flaunt the blazon there! I grindMy teeth, that bite my very heart, to think—To know I might have made that woman mineBut for the folly of the coward—know—Or what's the good of my apprenticeshipThis twelvemonth to a master in the art?Mine—had she been mine—just one moment mineFor honor, for dishonor—anyhow,So that my life, instead of stagnant ... Well,You've poked and proved stagnation is not sleep—Hang you!""Hangyoufor an ungrateful goose!All this means—I who since I knew you firstHave helped you to conceit yourself this cockO' the dunghill with all hens to pick and choose—Ought to have helped you when shell first was chippedBy chick that wanted prompting 'Use the spur!'While I was elsewhere putting mine to use.As well might I blame you who kept aloof,Seeing you could not guess I was alive,Never advised me 'Do as I have done—Reverence such a jewel as your luckHas scratched up to enrich unworthiness!'As your behavior was, should mine have been,—Faults which we both, too late, are sorry for:Opposite ages, each with its mistake:'If youth but would—if age but could,' you know.Don't let us quarrel! Come, we're—young and old—Neither so badly off. Go you your way,Cut to the Cousin! I'll to Inn, awaitThe issue of diplomacy with Aunt,And wait my hour on 'calm acclivity'In rumination manifold—perhapsAbout ten thousand pounds I have to pay!"IIINow, as the elder lights the fresh cigarConducive to resource, and saunteringlyBetakes him to the left-hand backward path,—While, much sedate, the younger strides awayTo right and makes for—islanded in lawnAnd edged with shrubbery—the brilliant bitOf Barry's building that's the Place,—a pairOf women, at this nick of time, one young,One very young, are ushered with due pompInto the same Inn-parlor—"disengagedEntirely now!" the obsequious landlord smiles,"Since the late occupants—whereof but oneWas quite a stranger"—(smile enforced by bow)"Left, a full two hours since, to catch the train,Probably for the stranger's sake!" (Bow, smile,And backing out from door soft-closed behind.)Woman and girl, the two, alone inside,Begin their talk: the girl, with sparkling eyes—"Oh, I forewent him purposely! but you,Who joined at—journeyed from the Junction here—I wonder how he failed your notice. FewStop at our station: fellow-passengersAssuredly you were—I saw indeedHis servant, therefore he arrived all right.I wanted, you know why, to have you safeInside here first of all, so dodged aboutThe dark end of the platform; that's his way—To swing from station straight to avenueAnd stride the half a mile for exercise.I fancied you might notice the huge boy.He soon gets o'er the distance; at the houseHe'll hear I went to meet him and have missed;He'll wait. No minute of the hour's too muchMeantime for our preliminary talk:First word of which must be—oh, good beyondExpression of all goodness—you to come!"The elder, the superb one, answers slow."There was no helping that. You called for me,Cried, rather: and my old heart answered you.Still, thank me! since the effort breaks a vow—At least, a promise to myself.""I know!How selfish get you happy folk to be!If I should love my husband, must I needsSacrifice straightway all the world to him,As you do? Must I never dare leave houseOn this dread Arctic expedition, outAnd in again, six mortal hours, though you,You even, my own friend forevermore,Adjure me—fast your friend till rude love pushedPoor friendship from her vantage—just to grantThe quarter of a whole day's companyAnd counsel? This makes counsel so much moreNeed and necessity. For here's my blockOf stumbling: in the face of happinessSo absolute, fear chills me. If such changeIn heart be but love's easy consequence,Do I love? If to marry mean—let goAll I now live for, should my marriage be?"The other never once has ceased to gazeOn the great elm-tree in the open, posedPlacidly full in front, smooth bole, broad branch,And leafage, one green plenitude of May.The gathered thought runs into speech at last."O you exceeding beauty, bosomfulOf lights and shades, murmurs and silences,Sun-warmth, dew-coolness,—squirrel, bee and bird,High, higher, highest, till the blue proclaims'Leave earth, there's nothing better till next stepHeavenward!'—so, off flies what has wings to help!"And henceforth they alternate. Says the girl—"That's saved then: marriage spares the early taste.""Four years now, since my eye took note of tree!""If I had seen no other tree but thisMy life long, while yourself came straight, you said,From tree which overstretched you and was justOne fairy tent with pitcher-leaves that heldWine, and a flowery wealth of suns and moons,And magic fruits whereon the angels feed—I looking out of window on a treeLike yonder—otherwise well-known, much-liked,Yet just an English ordinary elm—What marvel if you cured me of conceitMy elm's bird-bee-and-squirrel tenantryWas quite the proud possession I supposed?And there is evidence you tell me true.The fairy marriage-tree reports itselfGood guardian of the perfect face and form,Fruits of four years' protection! Married friend,You are more beautiful than ever!""Yes:I think that likely. I could well dispenseWith all thought fair in feature, mine or no,Leave but enough of face to know me by—With all found fresh in youth except such strengthAs lets a life-long labor earn reposeDeath sells at just that price, they say; and so,Possibly, what I care not for, I keep.""How you must know he loves you! Chill, before,Fear sinks to freezing. Could I sacrifice—Assured my lover simply loves my soul—One nose-breadth of fair feature? No, indeed!Your own love" ..."The preliminary hour—Don't waste it!""But I can't begin at once!The angel's self that comes to hear me speakDrives away all the care about the speech.What an angelic mystery you are—Now—that is certain! when I knew you first,No break of halo and no bud of wing!I thought I knew you, saw you, round and through,Like a glass ball; suddenly, four years since,You vanished, how and whither? Mystery!Wherefore? No mystery at all: you loved,Were loved again, and left the world of course:Who would not? Lapped four years in fairyland,Out comes, by no less wonderful a chance,The changeling, touched athwart her trellised blissOf blush-rose bower by just the old friend's voiceThat's now struck dumb at her own potency.Italk of my small fortunes? Tell me yoursRather! The fool I ever was—I am,You see that: the true friend you ever had,You have, you also recognize. Perhaps,Giving you all the love of all my heart,Nature, that's niggard in me, has deniedThe after-birth of love there 's some one claims,—This huge boy, swinging up the avenue;And I want counsel: is defect in me,Or him who has no right to raise the love?My cousin asks my hand: he's young enough,Handsome,—my maid thinks,—manly's more the word:He asked my leave to 'drop' the elm-tree there,Some morning before breakfast. GentlenessGoes with the strength, of course. He's honest too,Limpidly truthful. For ability—All's in the rough yet. His first taste of lifeSeems to have somehow gone against the tongue:He travelled, tried things—came back, tried still more—He says he 's sick of all. He 's fond of meAfter a certain careless-earnest wayI like: the iron 's crude,—no polished steelSomebody forged before me. I am rich—That 's not the reason, he 's far richer: no,Nor is it that he thinks me pretty,—frankUndoubtedly on that point! He saw onceThe pink of face-perfection—oh, not you—Content yourself, my beauty!—for she provedSo thoroughly a cheat, his charmer ... nay,He runs into extremes, I 'll say at once,Lest you say! Well, I understand he wantsSome one to serve, something to do: and bothRequisites so abound in me and mineThat here 's the obstacle which stops consent—The smoothness is too smooth, and I mistrustThe unseen cat beneath the counterpane.Therefore I thought—'Would she but judge for me,Who, judging for herself succeeded so!'Do I love him, does he love me, do bothMistake for knowledge—easy ignorance?Appeal to its proficient in each art!I got rough-smooth through a piano-piece,Rattled away last week till tutor came,Heard me to end, then grunted 'Ach, mein Gott!Sagen Sie "easy"? Every note is wrong!All thumped mit wrist—we 'll trouble fingers now.The Fräulein will please roll up Raff againAnd exercise at Czerny for one month!'Am I to roll up cousin, exerciseAt Trollope's novels for one month? Pronounce!""Now, place each in the right position first,Adviser and advised one! I perhapsAm three—nay, four years older; am, beside,A wife: advantages—to balance which,You have a full fresh joyous sense of lifeThat finds you out life's fit food everywhere,Detects enjoyment where I, slow and dull,Fumble at fault. Already, these four years,Your merest glimpses at the world withoutHave shown you more than ever met my gaze;And now, by joyance you inspire joy,—learnWhile you profess to teach, and teach, althoughAvowedly a learner. I am dazedLike any owl by sunshine which just setsThe sparrow preening plumage! Here 's to spy—Your cousin! You have scanned him all your life,Little or much; I never saw his face.You have determined on a marriage—usedDeliberation therefore—I 'll believeNo otherwise, with opportunityFor judgment so abounding! Here stand I—Summoned to give my sentence, for a whim,(Well, at first cloud-fleck thrown athwart your blue,)Judge what is strangeness' self to me,—say 'Wed!'Or 'Wed not!' whom you promise I shall judgePresently, at propitious lunch-time, justWhile he carves chicken! Sends he leg for wing?That revelation into characterAnd conduct must suffice me! Quite as wellConsult with yonder solitary crowThat eyes us from your elm-top!""Still the same!Do you remember, at the libraryWe saw together somewhere, those two booksSomebody said were notice-worthy? OneLay wide on table, sprawled its painted leavesFor all the world's inspection; shut on shelfReclined the other volume, closed, clasped, locked—Clear to be let alone. Which page had wePreferred the turning over of? You were,Are, ever will be the locked lady, holdInside you secrets written,—soul absorbed,My ink upon your blotting-paper.I—What trace of you have I to show in turn?Delicate secrets! No one juvenileEver essayed at croquet and performedSuperiorly but I confided youThe sort of hat he wore and hair it held.While you? One day a calm note comes by post—'I am just married, you may like to hear.'Most men would hate you, or they ought; we loveWhat we fear,—Ido! 'Cold' I shall expectMy cousin calls you. I—dislike not him,But (if I comprehend what loving means)Love you immeasurably more—more—moreThan even he who, loving you his wife,Would turn up nose at who impertinent,Frivolous, forward—lovesthat excellenceOf all the earth he bows in worship to!And who 's this paragon of privilege?Simply a country parson: his the charmThat worked the miracle! Oh, too absurd—But that you stand before me as you stand!Such beauty does prove something, everything!Beauty 's the prize-flower which dispenses eyeFrom peering into what has nourished root—Dew or manure: the plant best knows its place.Enough, from teaching youth and tending ageAnd hearing sermons,—haply writing tracts,—From such strange love-besprinkled compost, lo,Out blows this triumph! Therefore love 's the soilPlants find or fail of. You, with wit to find,Exercise wit on the old friend's behalf,Keep me from failure! Scan and scrutinizeThis cousin! Surely he 's as worth your painsTo study as my elm-tree, crow and all,You still keep staring at. I read your thoughts.""At last?""At first! 'Would, tree, a-top of theeI wingèd were, like crow perched moveless there,And so could straightway soar, escape this bore,Back to my nest where broods whom I love best—The parson o'er his parish—garish—rarish,'—Oh, I could bring the rhyme in if I tried:The Album here inspires me! Quite apartFrom lyrical expression, have I readThe stare aright, and sings not soul just so?""Or ratherso?'Cool comfortable elmThat men make coffins out of,—none for meAt thy expense, so thou permit I glideUnder thy ferny feet, and there sleep, sleep,Nor dread awaking though in heaven itself!'"The younger looks with face struck sudden white.The elder answers its inquiry."Dear,You are a guesser, not a 'clairvoyante.'I 'll so far open you the locked and shelvedVolume, my soul, that you desire to see,As let you profit by the title-page"—"Paradise Lost?""Inferno!—All which comesOf tempting me to break my vow. Stop here!Friend, whom I love the best in the whole world,Come at your call, be sure that I will doAll your requirement—see and say my mind.It may be that by sad apprenticeshipI have a keener sense: I 'll task the same.Only indulge me,—here let sight and speechHappen,—this Inn is neutral ground, you know!I cannot visit the old house and home,Encounter the old socialityAbjured forever. Peril quite enoughIn even this first—last, I pray it prove—Renunciation of my solitude!Back, you, to house and cousin! Leave me here,Who want no entertainment, carry stillMy occupation with me. While I watchThe shadow inching round those ferny feet,Tell him 'A school-friend wants a word with meUp at the inn: time, tide, and train won't wait:I must go see her—on and off again—You 'll keep me company?' Ten minutes' talk,With you in presence, ten more afterwardWith who, alone, convoys me station-bound,And I see clearly—and say honestlyTo-morrow: pen shall play tongue's part, you know.Go—quick! for I have made our hand-in-handReturn impossible. So scared you look,—If cousin does not greet you with 'What ghostHas crossed your path?' I set him down obtuse."

"I say—just a word! I want to know—You are not married?"

"I say—just a word! I want to know—

You are not married?"

"I?"

"Nor ever were?"

"Never! Why?"

"Oh, then—never mind! Go on!I had a reason for the question."

"Oh, then—never mind! Go on!

I had a reason for the question."

"Come,—You could not be the young man?"

"Come,—

You could not be the young man?"

"No, indeed!Certainly—if you never married her!"

"No, indeed!

Certainly—if you never married her!"

"That I did not: and there 's the curse, you 'll see!Nay, all of it 's one curse, my life's mistakeWhich nourished with manure that 's warrantedTo make the plant bear wisdom, blew out fullIn folly beyond fieldflower-foolishness!The lies I used to tell my womankind!Knowing they disbelieved me all the timeThough they required my lies, their decent due,This woman—not so much believed, I 'll say,As just anticipated from my mouth:Since being true, devoted, constant—sheFound constancy, devotion, truth, the plainAnd easy commonplace of character.No mock-heroics but seemed naturalTo her who underneath the face, I knewWas fairness' self, possessed a heart, I judgedMust correspond in folly just as farBeyond the common,—and a mind to match,—Not made to puzzle conjurers like meWho, therein, proved the fool who fronts you, Sir,And begs leave to cut short the ugly rest!'Trust me!' I said: she trusted. 'Marry me!'Or rather, 'We are married: when, the rite?'That brought on the collector's next-day qualmAt counting acquisition's cost. There layMy marvel, there my purse more light by muchBecause of its late lie-expenditure:Ill-judged such moment to make fresh demand—To cage as well as catch my rarity!So, I began explaining. At first wordOutbroke the horror. 'Then, my truths were lies!'I tell you, such an outbreak, such new strangeAll-unsuspected revelation—soulAs supernaturally grand as faceWas fair beyond example—that at onceEither I lost—or, if it please you, foundMy senses,—stammered somehow—'Jest! and now,Earnest! Forget all else but—heart has loved,Does love, shall love you ever! take the hand!'Not she! no marriage for superb disdain,Contempt incarnate!"

"That I did not: and there 's the curse, you 'll see!

Nay, all of it 's one curse, my life's mistake

Which nourished with manure that 's warranted

To make the plant bear wisdom, blew out full

In folly beyond fieldflower-foolishness!

The lies I used to tell my womankind!

Knowing they disbelieved me all the time

Though they required my lies, their decent due,

This woman—not so much believed, I 'll say,

As just anticipated from my mouth:

Since being true, devoted, constant—she

Found constancy, devotion, truth, the plain

And easy commonplace of character.

No mock-heroics but seemed natural

To her who underneath the face, I knew

Was fairness' self, possessed a heart, I judged

Must correspond in folly just as far

Beyond the common,—and a mind to match,—

Not made to puzzle conjurers like me

Who, therein, proved the fool who fronts you, Sir,

And begs leave to cut short the ugly rest!

'Trust me!' I said: she trusted. 'Marry me!'

Or rather, 'We are married: when, the rite?'

That brought on the collector's next-day qualm

At counting acquisition's cost. There lay

My marvel, there my purse more light by much

Because of its late lie-expenditure:

Ill-judged such moment to make fresh demand—

To cage as well as catch my rarity!

So, I began explaining. At first word

Outbroke the horror. 'Then, my truths were lies!'

I tell you, such an outbreak, such new strange

All-unsuspected revelation—soul

As supernaturally grand as face

Was fair beyond example—that at once

Either I lost—or, if it please you, found

My senses,—stammered somehow—'Jest! and now,

Earnest! Forget all else but—heart has loved,

Does love, shall love you ever! take the hand!'

Not she! no marriage for superb disdain,

Contempt incarnate!"

"Yes, it 's different,—It 's only like in being four years since.I see now!"

"Yes, it 's different,—

It 's only like in being four years since.

I see now!"

"Well, what did disdain do next,Think you?"

"Well, what did disdain do next,

Think you?"

"That's past me: did not marry you!—-That 's the main thing I care for, I suppose.Turned nun, or what?"

"That's past me: did not marry you!—-

That 's the main thing I care for, I suppose.

Turned nun, or what?"

"Why, married in a monthSome parson, some smug crop-haired smooth-chinned sortOf curate-creature, I suspect,—dived down,Down, deeper still, and came up somewhere else—I don't know where—I 've not tried much to know,—In short, she 's happy: what the clodpoles call'Countrified' with a vengeance! leads the lifeRespectable and all that drives you mad:Still—where, I don't know, and that 's best for both."

"Why, married in a month

Some parson, some smug crop-haired smooth-chinned sort

Of curate-creature, I suspect,—dived down,

Down, deeper still, and came up somewhere else—

I don't know where—I 've not tried much to know,—

In short, she 's happy: what the clodpoles call

'Countrified' with a vengeance! leads the life

Respectable and all that drives you mad:

Still—where, I don't know, and that 's best for both."

"Well, that she did not like you, I conceive.But why should you hate her, I want to know?"

"Well, that she did not like you, I conceive.

But why should you hate her, I want to know?"

"My good young friend,—because or her or elseMalicious Providence I have to hate.For, what I tell you proved the turning-pointOf my whole life and fortune toward successOr failure. If I drown, I lay the faultMuch on myself who caught at reed not rope,But more on reed which, with a packthread's pith,Had buoyed me till the minute's cramp could thawAnd I strike out afresh and so be saved.It 's easy saying—I had sunk before,Disqualified myself by idle daysAnd busy nights, long since, from holding hardOn cable, even, had fate cast me such!You boys don't know how many times men failPerforce o' the little to succeed i' the large,Husband their strength, let slip the petty prey,Collect the whole power for the final pounce!My fault was the mistaking man's main prizeFor intermediate boy's diversion; clapOf boyish hands here frightened game awayWhich, once gone, goes forever. Oh, at firstI took the anger easily, nor muchMinded the anguish—having learned that stormsSubside, and teapot-tempests are akin.Time would arrange things, mend whate'er might beSomewhat amiss; precipitation, eh?Reason and rhyme prompt—reparation! TiffsEnd properly in marriage and a dance!I said 'We 'll marry, make the past a blank'—And never was such damnable mistake!That interview, that laying bare my soul,As it was first, so was it last chance—oneAnd only. Did I write? Back letter cameUnopened as it went. InexorableShe fled, I don't know where, consoled herselfWith the smug curate-creature: chop and change!Sure am I, when she told her shaveling allHis Magdalen's adventure, tears were shed,Forgiveness evangelically shown,'Loose hair and lifted eye,'—as some one says.And now, he 's worshipped for his pains, the sneak!"

"My good young friend,—because or her or else

Malicious Providence I have to hate.

For, what I tell you proved the turning-point

Of my whole life and fortune toward success

Or failure. If I drown, I lay the fault

Much on myself who caught at reed not rope,

But more on reed which, with a packthread's pith,

Had buoyed me till the minute's cramp could thaw

And I strike out afresh and so be saved.

It 's easy saying—I had sunk before,

Disqualified myself by idle days

And busy nights, long since, from holding hard

On cable, even, had fate cast me such!

You boys don't know how many times men fail

Perforce o' the little to succeed i' the large,

Husband their strength, let slip the petty prey,

Collect the whole power for the final pounce!

My fault was the mistaking man's main prize

For intermediate boy's diversion; clap

Of boyish hands here frightened game away

Which, once gone, goes forever. Oh, at first

I took the anger easily, nor much

Minded the anguish—having learned that storms

Subside, and teapot-tempests are akin.

Time would arrange things, mend whate'er might be

Somewhat amiss; precipitation, eh?

Reason and rhyme prompt—reparation! Tiffs

End properly in marriage and a dance!

I said 'We 'll marry, make the past a blank'—

And never was such damnable mistake!

That interview, that laying bare my soul,

As it was first, so was it last chance—one

And only. Did I write? Back letter came

Unopened as it went. Inexorable

She fled, I don't know where, consoled herself

With the smug curate-creature: chop and change!

Sure am I, when she told her shaveling all

His Magdalen's adventure, tears were shed,

Forgiveness evangelically shown,

'Loose hair and lifted eye,'—as some one says.

And now, he 's worshipped for his pains, the sneak!"

"Well, but your turning-point of life,—what 's hereTo hinder you contesting FinsburyWith Orton, next election? I don't see" ...

"Well, but your turning-point of life,—what 's here

To hinder you contesting Finsbury

With Orton, next election? I don't see" ...

"Not you! ButIsee. Slowly, surely, creepsDay by day o'er me the conviction—hereWas life's prize grasped at, gained, and then let go!—That with her—maybe, for her—I had feltIce in me melt, grow steam, drive to effectAny or all the fancies sluggish hereI' the head that needs the hand she would not takeAnd I shall never lift now, Lo, your wood—Its turnings which I likened life to! Well,—There she stands, ending every avenue,Her visionary presence on each goalI might have gained had we kept side by side!Still string nerve and strike foot? Her frown forbids:The steam congeals once more: I 'm old again!Therefore I hate myself—but how much worseDo not I hate who would not understand,Let me repair things—no, but sent a-slideMy folly falteringly, stumblinglyDown, down, and deeper down until I dropUpon—the need of your ten thousand poundsAnd consequently loss of mine! I loseCharacter, cash, nay, common-sense itselfRecounting such a lengthy cock-and-bullAdventure, lose my temper in the act" ...

"Not you! ButIsee. Slowly, surely, creeps

Day by day o'er me the conviction—here

Was life's prize grasped at, gained, and then let go!

—That with her—maybe, for her—I had felt

Ice in me melt, grow steam, drive to effect

Any or all the fancies sluggish here

I' the head that needs the hand she would not take

And I shall never lift now, Lo, your wood—

Its turnings which I likened life to! Well,—

There she stands, ending every avenue,

Her visionary presence on each goal

I might have gained had we kept side by side!

Still string nerve and strike foot? Her frown forbids:

The steam congeals once more: I 'm old again!

Therefore I hate myself—but how much worse

Do not I hate who would not understand,

Let me repair things—no, but sent a-slide

My folly falteringly, stumblingly

Down, down, and deeper down until I drop

Upon—the need of your ten thousand pounds

And consequently loss of mine! I lose

Character, cash, nay, common-sense itself

Recounting such a lengthy cock-and-bull

Adventure, lose my temper in the act" ...

"And lose beside,—if I may supplementThe list of losses,—train and ten-o'clock!Hark, pant and puff, there travels the swart sign!So much the better! You 're my captive now!I 'm glad you trust a fellow: friends grow thickThis way—that 's twice said; we were thickish, though,Even last night, and, ere night comes again,I prophesy good luck to both of us!For see now!—back to 'balmy eminence'Or 'calm acclivity' or what 's the word!Bestow you there an hour, concoct at easeA sonnet for the Album, while I putBold face on, best foot forward, make for house,March in to aunt and niece, and tell the truth—(Even white-lying goes against my tasteAfter your little story.) Oh, the nieceIs rationality itself! The aunt—If she 's amenable to reason too—Why, you stopped short to pay her due respect,And let the Duke wait (I 'll work well the Duke).If she grows gracious, I return for you;If thunder 's in the air, why—bear your doom,Dine on rump-steaks and port, and shake the dustOf aunty from your shoes as off you goBy evening-train, nor give the thing a thoughtHow you shall pay me—that 's as sure as fate.Old fellow! Off with you, face left about!Yonder 's the path I have to pad. You see,I 'm in good spirits, God knows why! PerhapsBecause the woman did not marry you—Who look so hard at me,—and have the right,One must be fair and own."

"And lose beside,—if I may supplement

The list of losses,—train and ten-o'clock!

Hark, pant and puff, there travels the swart sign!

So much the better! You 're my captive now!

I 'm glad you trust a fellow: friends grow thick

This way—that 's twice said; we were thickish, though,

Even last night, and, ere night comes again,

I prophesy good luck to both of us!

For see now!—back to 'balmy eminence'

Or 'calm acclivity' or what 's the word!

Bestow you there an hour, concoct at ease

A sonnet for the Album, while I put

Bold face on, best foot forward, make for house,

March in to aunt and niece, and tell the truth—

(Even white-lying goes against my taste

After your little story.) Oh, the niece

Is rationality itself! The aunt—

If she 's amenable to reason too—

Why, you stopped short to pay her due respect,

And let the Duke wait (I 'll work well the Duke).

If she grows gracious, I return for you;

If thunder 's in the air, why—bear your doom,

Dine on rump-steaks and port, and shake the dust

Of aunty from your shoes as off you go

By evening-train, nor give the thing a thought

How you shall pay me—that 's as sure as fate.

Old fellow! Off with you, face left about!

Yonder 's the path I have to pad. You see,

I 'm in good spirits, God knows why! Perhaps

Because the woman did not marry you

—Who look so hard at me,—and have the right,

One must be fair and own."

The two stand stillUnder an oak.

The two stand still

Under an oak.

"Look here!" resumes the youth."I never quite knew how I came to likeYou—so much—whom I ought not court at all:Nor how you had a leaning just to meWho am assuredly not worth your pains.For there must needs be plenty such as youSomewhere about,—although I can't say where,—Able and willing to teach all you know;While—how can you have missed a score like meWith money and no wit, precisely eachA pupil for your purpose, were it—easeFool's poke of tutor'shonorarium-fee?And yet, howe'er it came about, I feltAt once my master: you as prompt descriedYour man, warrant, so was bargain struck.Now, these same lines of liking, loving, runSometimes so close together they converge—Life's great adventures—you know what I mean—In people. Do you know, as you advanced,It got to be uncommonly like factWe two had fallen in with—liked and lovedJust the same woman in our different ways?I began life—poor groundling as I prove—and ambitious to fly high: why not?There 's something in 'Don Quixote' to the point,My shrewd old father used to quote and praise—'Am I born man?' asks Sancho; 'being man,By possibility I may be Pope!'So, Pope I meant to make myself, by stepAnd step, whereof the first should be to findA perfect woman; and I tell you this—If what I fixed on, in the order dueOf undertakings, as next step, had firstOf all disposed itself to suit my tread,And I had been, the day I came of age,Returned at head of poll for Westminster—Nay, and moreover summoned by the QueenAt week's end, when my maiden-speech bore fruit,To form and head a Tory ministry—It would not have seemed stranger, no, nor beenMore strange to me, as now I estimate,Than what did happen—sober truth, no dream.I saw my wonder of a woman,—laugh,I'm past that!—in Commemoration-week.A plenty have I seen since, fair and foul,—With eyes, too, helped by your sagacious wink;But one to match that marvel—no least trace,Least touch of kinship and community!The end was—I did somehow state the fact,Did, with no matter what imperfect words,One way or other give to understandThat woman, soul and body were her slaveWould she but take, but try them—any testOf will, and some poor test of power beside:So did the strings within my brain grow tenseAnd capable of ... hang similitudes!She answered kindly but beyond appeal.'No sort of hope for me, who came too late.She was another's. Love went—mine to her,Hers just as loyally to some one else.'Of course! I might expect it! Nature's law—Given the peerless woman, certainlySomewhere shall be the peerless man to match!I acquiesced at once, submitted meIn something of a stupor, went my way.I fancy there had been some talk beforeOf somebody—her father or the like—To coach me in the holidays,—that's howI came to get the sight and speech of her,—But I had sense enough to break off sharp,Save both of us the pain."

"Look here!" resumes the youth.

"I never quite knew how I came to like

You—so much—whom I ought not court at all:

Nor how you had a leaning just to me

Who am assuredly not worth your pains.

For there must needs be plenty such as you

Somewhere about,—although I can't say where,—

Able and willing to teach all you know;

While—how can you have missed a score like me

With money and no wit, precisely each

A pupil for your purpose, were it—ease

Fool's poke of tutor'shonorarium-fee?

And yet, howe'er it came about, I felt

At once my master: you as prompt descried

Your man, warrant, so was bargain struck.

Now, these same lines of liking, loving, run

Sometimes so close together they converge—

Life's great adventures—you know what I mean—

In people. Do you know, as you advanced,

It got to be uncommonly like fact

We two had fallen in with—liked and loved

Just the same woman in our different ways?

I began life—poor groundling as I prove—

and ambitious to fly high: why not?

There 's something in 'Don Quixote' to the point,

My shrewd old father used to quote and praise—

'Am I born man?' asks Sancho; 'being man,

By possibility I may be Pope!'

So, Pope I meant to make myself, by step

And step, whereof the first should be to find

A perfect woman; and I tell you this—

If what I fixed on, in the order due

Of undertakings, as next step, had first

Of all disposed itself to suit my tread,

And I had been, the day I came of age,

Returned at head of poll for Westminster

—Nay, and moreover summoned by the Queen

At week's end, when my maiden-speech bore fruit,

To form and head a Tory ministry—

It would not have seemed stranger, no, nor been

More strange to me, as now I estimate,

Than what did happen—sober truth, no dream.

I saw my wonder of a woman,—laugh,

I'm past that!—in Commemoration-week.

A plenty have I seen since, fair and foul,—

With eyes, too, helped by your sagacious wink;

But one to match that marvel—no least trace,

Least touch of kinship and community!

The end was—I did somehow state the fact,

Did, with no matter what imperfect words,

One way or other give to understand

That woman, soul and body were her slave

Would she but take, but try them—any test

Of will, and some poor test of power beside:

So did the strings within my brain grow tense

And capable of ... hang similitudes!

She answered kindly but beyond appeal.

'No sort of hope for me, who came too late.

She was another's. Love went—mine to her,

Hers just as loyally to some one else.'

Of course! I might expect it! Nature's law—

Given the peerless woman, certainly

Somewhere shall be the peerless man to match!

I acquiesced at once, submitted me

In something of a stupor, went my way.

I fancy there had been some talk before

Of somebody—her father or the like—

To coach me in the holidays,—that's how

I came to get the sight and speech of her,—

But I had sense enough to break off sharp,

Save both of us the pain."

"Quite right there!"

"Eh?Quite wrong, it happens! Now comes worst of all!Yes, I did sulk aloof and let aloneThe lovers—Idisturb the angel-mates?"

"Eh?

Quite wrong, it happens! Now comes worst of all!

Yes, I did sulk aloof and let alone

The lovers—Idisturb the angel-mates?"

"Seraph paired off with cherub!"

"Thank you! WhileI never plucked up courage to inquireWho he was, even,—certain-sure of this,That nobody I knew of had blue wingsAnd wore a star-crown as he needs must do,—Some little lady,—plainish, pock-marked girl,—Finds out my secret in my woeful face,Comes up to me at the Apollo Ball,And pityingly pours her wine and oilThis way into the wound: 'Dear f-f-friend,Why waste affection thus on—must I say,A somewhat worthless object? Who's her choice—Irrevocable as deliberate—Out of the wide world? I shall name no names—But there's a person in society,Who, blessed with rank and talent, has grown grayIn idleness and sin of every sortExcept hypocrisy: he's thrice her age,A byword for 'successes with the sex'As the French say—and, as we ought to say.Consummately a liar and a rogue,Since—show me where's the woman won withoutThe help of this one lie which she believes—That—never mind how things have come to pass,And let who loves have loved a thousand times—All the same he now loves her only, lovesHer ever! if by 'won' you just mean 'sold,'That's quite another compact. Well, this scamp,Continuing descent from bad to worse,Must leave his fine and fashionable prey(Who—fathered, brothered, husbanded,—are hedgedAbout with thorny danger) and applyHis arts to this poor country ignoranceWho sees forthwith in the first rag of manHer model hero! Why continue wasteOn such a woman treasures of a heartWould yet find solace,—yes, my f-f-friend—In some congenial—fiddle-diddle-dee?'"

"Thank you! While

I never plucked up courage to inquire

Who he was, even,—certain-sure of this,

That nobody I knew of had blue wings

And wore a star-crown as he needs must do,—

Some little lady,—plainish, pock-marked girl,—

Finds out my secret in my woeful face,

Comes up to me at the Apollo Ball,

And pityingly pours her wine and oil

This way into the wound: 'Dear f-f-friend,

Why waste affection thus on—must I say,

A somewhat worthless object? Who's her choice—

Irrevocable as deliberate—

Out of the wide world? I shall name no names—

But there's a person in society,

Who, blessed with rank and talent, has grown gray

In idleness and sin of every sort

Except hypocrisy: he's thrice her age,

A byword for 'successes with the sex'

As the French say—and, as we ought to say.

Consummately a liar and a rogue,

Since—show me where's the woman won without

The help of this one lie which she believes—

That—never mind how things have come to pass,

And let who loves have loved a thousand times—

All the same he now loves her only, loves

Her ever! if by 'won' you just mean 'sold,'

That's quite another compact. Well, this scamp,

Continuing descent from bad to worse,

Must leave his fine and fashionable prey

(Who—fathered, brothered, husbanded,—are hedged

About with thorny danger) and apply

His arts to this poor country ignorance

Who sees forthwith in the first rag of man

Her model hero! Why continue waste

On such a woman treasures of a heart

Would yet find solace,—yes, my f-f-friend—

In some congenial—fiddle-diddle-dee?'"

"Pray, is the pleasant gentleman describedExact the portrait which my 'f-f-friends'Recognize as so like? 'Tis evidentYou half surmised the sweet originalCould be no other than myself, just now!Your stop and start were flattering!"

"Pray, is the pleasant gentleman described

Exact the portrait which my 'f-f-friends'

Recognize as so like? 'Tis evident

You half surmised the sweet original

Could be no other than myself, just now!

Your stop and start were flattering!"

"Of courseCaricature's allowed for in a sketch!The longish nose becomes a foot in length,The swarthy cheek gets copper-colored,—still,Prominent beak and dark-hued skin are facts:And 'parson's daughter'—'young man coachable'—'Elderly party'—'four years since'—were factsTo fasten on, a moment! Marriage, though—That made the difference, I hope."

"Of course

Caricature's allowed for in a sketch!

The longish nose becomes a foot in length,

The swarthy cheek gets copper-colored,—still,

Prominent beak and dark-hued skin are facts:

And 'parson's daughter'—'young man coachable'—

'Elderly party'—'four years since'—were facts

To fasten on, a moment! Marriage, though—

That made the difference, I hope."

"All right!I never married; wish I had—and thenUnwish it: people kill their wives, sometimes!I hate my mistress, but I'm murder-free.In your case, where's the grievance? You came last,The earlier bird picked up the worm. SupposeYou, in the glory of your twenty-one,Had happened to precede myself! 'tis oddsBut this gigantic juvenility,This offering of a big arm's bony hand—I'd rather shake than feel shake me, I know—Had movedmydainty mistress to admireAn altogether new Ideal—deemIdolatry less due to life's declineProductive of experience, powers matureBy dint of usage, the made man—no boyThat's all to make! I was the earlier bird—And what I found, I let fall; what you missed,Who is the fool that blames you for?"

"All right!

I never married; wish I had—and then

Unwish it: people kill their wives, sometimes!

I hate my mistress, but I'm murder-free.

In your case, where's the grievance? You came last,

The earlier bird picked up the worm. Suppose

You, in the glory of your twenty-one,

Had happened to precede myself! 'tis odds

But this gigantic juvenility,

This offering of a big arm's bony hand—

I'd rather shake than feel shake me, I know—

Had movedmydainty mistress to admire

An altogether new Ideal—deem

Idolatry less due to life's decline

Productive of experience, powers mature

By dint of usage, the made man—no boy

That's all to make! I was the earlier bird—

And what I found, I let fall; what you missed,

Who is the fool that blames you for?"

"Myself—For nothing, everything! For finding outShe, whom I worshipped, was a worshipperIn turn of ... but why stir up settled mud?She married him—the fifty-years-old rake—How you have teased the talk from me! At lastMy secret's told you. I inquired no more,Nay, stopped ears when informants unshut mouth;Enough that she and he live, deuce take where,Married and happy, or else miserable—It's 'Cut-the-pack;' she turned up ace or knave,And I left Oxford, England, dug my holeOut in Dalmatia, till you drew me thenceBadger-like,—'Back to London' was the word—'Do things, a many, there, you fancy hard,I'll undertake are easy!'—the advice.I took it, had my twelvemonth's fling with you—(Little hand holding large hand pretty tightFor all its delicacy—eh, my lord?)Until when, t'other day, I got a turnSomehow and gave up tired: and 'Rest!' bade you,'Marry your cousin, double your estate,And take your ease by all means!' So, I lollOn this the springy sofa, mine next month—Or should loll, but that you must needs beat roughThe very down you spread me out so smooth.I wish this confidence were still to make!Ten thousand pounds? You owe me twice the sumFor stirring up the black depths! There's reposeOr, at least, silence when misfortune seemsAll that one has to bear; but folly—yes,Folly, it all was! Fool to be so meek,So humble,—such a coward rather say!Fool, to adore the adorer of a fool!Not to have faced him, tried (a useful hint)My big and bony, here, against the bunchOf lily-colored five with signet-ring,Most like, for little-finger's sole defence—Much as you flaunt the blazon there! I grindMy teeth, that bite my very heart, to think—To know I might have made that woman mineBut for the folly of the coward—know—Or what's the good of my apprenticeshipThis twelvemonth to a master in the art?Mine—had she been mine—just one moment mineFor honor, for dishonor—anyhow,So that my life, instead of stagnant ... Well,You've poked and proved stagnation is not sleep—Hang you!"

"Myself—

For nothing, everything! For finding out

She, whom I worshipped, was a worshipper

In turn of ... but why stir up settled mud?

She married him—the fifty-years-old rake—

How you have teased the talk from me! At last

My secret's told you. I inquired no more,

Nay, stopped ears when informants unshut mouth;

Enough that she and he live, deuce take where,

Married and happy, or else miserable—

It's 'Cut-the-pack;' she turned up ace or knave,

And I left Oxford, England, dug my hole

Out in Dalmatia, till you drew me thence

Badger-like,—'Back to London' was the word—

'Do things, a many, there, you fancy hard,

I'll undertake are easy!'—the advice.

I took it, had my twelvemonth's fling with you—

(Little hand holding large hand pretty tight

For all its delicacy—eh, my lord?)

Until when, t'other day, I got a turn

Somehow and gave up tired: and 'Rest!' bade you,

'Marry your cousin, double your estate,

And take your ease by all means!' So, I loll

On this the springy sofa, mine next month—

Or should loll, but that you must needs beat rough

The very down you spread me out so smooth.

I wish this confidence were still to make!

Ten thousand pounds? You owe me twice the sum

For stirring up the black depths! There's repose

Or, at least, silence when misfortune seems

All that one has to bear; but folly—yes,

Folly, it all was! Fool to be so meek,

So humble,—such a coward rather say!

Fool, to adore the adorer of a fool!

Not to have faced him, tried (a useful hint)

My big and bony, here, against the bunch

Of lily-colored five with signet-ring,

Most like, for little-finger's sole defence—

Much as you flaunt the blazon there! I grind

My teeth, that bite my very heart, to think—

To know I might have made that woman mine

But for the folly of the coward—know—

Or what's the good of my apprenticeship

This twelvemonth to a master in the art?

Mine—had she been mine—just one moment mine

For honor, for dishonor—anyhow,

So that my life, instead of stagnant ... Well,

You've poked and proved stagnation is not sleep—

Hang you!"

"Hangyoufor an ungrateful goose!All this means—I who since I knew you firstHave helped you to conceit yourself this cockO' the dunghill with all hens to pick and choose—Ought to have helped you when shell first was chippedBy chick that wanted prompting 'Use the spur!'While I was elsewhere putting mine to use.As well might I blame you who kept aloof,Seeing you could not guess I was alive,Never advised me 'Do as I have done—Reverence such a jewel as your luckHas scratched up to enrich unworthiness!'As your behavior was, should mine have been,—Faults which we both, too late, are sorry for:Opposite ages, each with its mistake:'If youth but would—if age but could,' you know.Don't let us quarrel! Come, we're—young and old—Neither so badly off. Go you your way,Cut to the Cousin! I'll to Inn, awaitThe issue of diplomacy with Aunt,And wait my hour on 'calm acclivity'In rumination manifold—perhapsAbout ten thousand pounds I have to pay!"

"Hangyoufor an ungrateful goose!

All this means—I who since I knew you first

Have helped you to conceit yourself this cock

O' the dunghill with all hens to pick and choose—

Ought to have helped you when shell first was chipped

By chick that wanted prompting 'Use the spur!'

While I was elsewhere putting mine to use.

As well might I blame you who kept aloof,

Seeing you could not guess I was alive,

Never advised me 'Do as I have done—

Reverence such a jewel as your luck

Has scratched up to enrich unworthiness!'

As your behavior was, should mine have been,

—Faults which we both, too late, are sorry for:

Opposite ages, each with its mistake:

'If youth but would—if age but could,' you know.

Don't let us quarrel! Come, we're—young and old—

Neither so badly off. Go you your way,

Cut to the Cousin! I'll to Inn, await

The issue of diplomacy with Aunt,

And wait my hour on 'calm acclivity'

In rumination manifold—perhaps

About ten thousand pounds I have to pay!"

III

Now, as the elder lights the fresh cigarConducive to resource, and saunteringlyBetakes him to the left-hand backward path,—While, much sedate, the younger strides awayTo right and makes for—islanded in lawnAnd edged with shrubbery—the brilliant bitOf Barry's building that's the Place,—a pairOf women, at this nick of time, one young,One very young, are ushered with due pompInto the same Inn-parlor—"disengagedEntirely now!" the obsequious landlord smiles,"Since the late occupants—whereof but oneWas quite a stranger"—(smile enforced by bow)"Left, a full two hours since, to catch the train,Probably for the stranger's sake!" (Bow, smile,And backing out from door soft-closed behind.)

Now, as the elder lights the fresh cigar

Conducive to resource, and saunteringly

Betakes him to the left-hand backward path,—

While, much sedate, the younger strides away

To right and makes for—islanded in lawn

And edged with shrubbery—the brilliant bit

Of Barry's building that's the Place,—a pair

Of women, at this nick of time, one young,

One very young, are ushered with due pomp

Into the same Inn-parlor—"disengaged

Entirely now!" the obsequious landlord smiles,

"Since the late occupants—whereof but one

Was quite a stranger"—(smile enforced by bow)

"Left, a full two hours since, to catch the train,

Probably for the stranger's sake!" (Bow, smile,

And backing out from door soft-closed behind.)

Woman and girl, the two, alone inside,Begin their talk: the girl, with sparkling eyes—"Oh, I forewent him purposely! but you,Who joined at—journeyed from the Junction here—I wonder how he failed your notice. FewStop at our station: fellow-passengersAssuredly you were—I saw indeedHis servant, therefore he arrived all right.I wanted, you know why, to have you safeInside here first of all, so dodged aboutThe dark end of the platform; that's his way—To swing from station straight to avenueAnd stride the half a mile for exercise.I fancied you might notice the huge boy.He soon gets o'er the distance; at the houseHe'll hear I went to meet him and have missed;He'll wait. No minute of the hour's too muchMeantime for our preliminary talk:First word of which must be—oh, good beyondExpression of all goodness—you to come!"

Woman and girl, the two, alone inside,

Begin their talk: the girl, with sparkling eyes—

"Oh, I forewent him purposely! but you,

Who joined at—journeyed from the Junction here—

I wonder how he failed your notice. Few

Stop at our station: fellow-passengers

Assuredly you were—I saw indeed

His servant, therefore he arrived all right.

I wanted, you know why, to have you safe

Inside here first of all, so dodged about

The dark end of the platform; that's his way—

To swing from station straight to avenue

And stride the half a mile for exercise.

I fancied you might notice the huge boy.

He soon gets o'er the distance; at the house

He'll hear I went to meet him and have missed;

He'll wait. No minute of the hour's too much

Meantime for our preliminary talk:

First word of which must be—oh, good beyond

Expression of all goodness—you to come!"

The elder, the superb one, answers slow.

"There was no helping that. You called for me,Cried, rather: and my old heart answered you.Still, thank me! since the effort breaks a vow—At least, a promise to myself."

"There was no helping that. You called for me,

Cried, rather: and my old heart answered you.

Still, thank me! since the effort breaks a vow—

At least, a promise to myself."

"I know!How selfish get you happy folk to be!If I should love my husband, must I needsSacrifice straightway all the world to him,As you do? Must I never dare leave houseOn this dread Arctic expedition, outAnd in again, six mortal hours, though you,You even, my own friend forevermore,Adjure me—fast your friend till rude love pushedPoor friendship from her vantage—just to grantThe quarter of a whole day's companyAnd counsel? This makes counsel so much moreNeed and necessity. For here's my blockOf stumbling: in the face of happinessSo absolute, fear chills me. If such changeIn heart be but love's easy consequence,Do I love? If to marry mean—let goAll I now live for, should my marriage be?"

"I know!

How selfish get you happy folk to be!

If I should love my husband, must I needs

Sacrifice straightway all the world to him,

As you do? Must I never dare leave house

On this dread Arctic expedition, out

And in again, six mortal hours, though you,

You even, my own friend forevermore,

Adjure me—fast your friend till rude love pushed

Poor friendship from her vantage—just to grant

The quarter of a whole day's company

And counsel? This makes counsel so much more

Need and necessity. For here's my block

Of stumbling: in the face of happiness

So absolute, fear chills me. If such change

In heart be but love's easy consequence,

Do I love? If to marry mean—let go

All I now live for, should my marriage be?"

The other never once has ceased to gazeOn the great elm-tree in the open, posedPlacidly full in front, smooth bole, broad branch,And leafage, one green plenitude of May.The gathered thought runs into speech at last.

The other never once has ceased to gaze

On the great elm-tree in the open, posed

Placidly full in front, smooth bole, broad branch,

And leafage, one green plenitude of May.

The gathered thought runs into speech at last.

"O you exceeding beauty, bosomfulOf lights and shades, murmurs and silences,Sun-warmth, dew-coolness,—squirrel, bee and bird,High, higher, highest, till the blue proclaims'Leave earth, there's nothing better till next stepHeavenward!'—so, off flies what has wings to help!"

"O you exceeding beauty, bosomful

Of lights and shades, murmurs and silences,

Sun-warmth, dew-coolness,—squirrel, bee and bird,

High, higher, highest, till the blue proclaims

'Leave earth, there's nothing better till next step

Heavenward!'—so, off flies what has wings to help!"

And henceforth they alternate. Says the girl—

"That's saved then: marriage spares the early taste."

"Four years now, since my eye took note of tree!"

"If I had seen no other tree but thisMy life long, while yourself came straight, you said,From tree which overstretched you and was justOne fairy tent with pitcher-leaves that heldWine, and a flowery wealth of suns and moons,And magic fruits whereon the angels feed—I looking out of window on a treeLike yonder—otherwise well-known, much-liked,Yet just an English ordinary elm—What marvel if you cured me of conceitMy elm's bird-bee-and-squirrel tenantryWas quite the proud possession I supposed?And there is evidence you tell me true.The fairy marriage-tree reports itselfGood guardian of the perfect face and form,Fruits of four years' protection! Married friend,You are more beautiful than ever!"

"If I had seen no other tree but this

My life long, while yourself came straight, you said,

From tree which overstretched you and was just

One fairy tent with pitcher-leaves that held

Wine, and a flowery wealth of suns and moons,

And magic fruits whereon the angels feed—

I looking out of window on a tree

Like yonder—otherwise well-known, much-liked,

Yet just an English ordinary elm—

What marvel if you cured me of conceit

My elm's bird-bee-and-squirrel tenantry

Was quite the proud possession I supposed?

And there is evidence you tell me true.

The fairy marriage-tree reports itself

Good guardian of the perfect face and form,

Fruits of four years' protection! Married friend,

You are more beautiful than ever!"

"Yes:I think that likely. I could well dispenseWith all thought fair in feature, mine or no,Leave but enough of face to know me by—With all found fresh in youth except such strengthAs lets a life-long labor earn reposeDeath sells at just that price, they say; and so,Possibly, what I care not for, I keep."

"Yes:

I think that likely. I could well dispense

With all thought fair in feature, mine or no,

Leave but enough of face to know me by—

With all found fresh in youth except such strength

As lets a life-long labor earn repose

Death sells at just that price, they say; and so,

Possibly, what I care not for, I keep."

"How you must know he loves you! Chill, before,Fear sinks to freezing. Could I sacrifice—Assured my lover simply loves my soul—One nose-breadth of fair feature? No, indeed!Your own love" ...

"How you must know he loves you! Chill, before,

Fear sinks to freezing. Could I sacrifice—

Assured my lover simply loves my soul—

One nose-breadth of fair feature? No, indeed!

Your own love" ...

"The preliminary hour—Don't waste it!"

"The preliminary hour—

Don't waste it!"

"But I can't begin at once!The angel's self that comes to hear me speakDrives away all the care about the speech.What an angelic mystery you are—Now—that is certain! when I knew you first,No break of halo and no bud of wing!I thought I knew you, saw you, round and through,Like a glass ball; suddenly, four years since,You vanished, how and whither? Mystery!Wherefore? No mystery at all: you loved,Were loved again, and left the world of course:Who would not? Lapped four years in fairyland,Out comes, by no less wonderful a chance,The changeling, touched athwart her trellised blissOf blush-rose bower by just the old friend's voiceThat's now struck dumb at her own potency.Italk of my small fortunes? Tell me yoursRather! The fool I ever was—I am,You see that: the true friend you ever had,You have, you also recognize. Perhaps,Giving you all the love of all my heart,Nature, that's niggard in me, has deniedThe after-birth of love there 's some one claims,—This huge boy, swinging up the avenue;And I want counsel: is defect in me,Or him who has no right to raise the love?My cousin asks my hand: he's young enough,Handsome,—my maid thinks,—manly's more the word:He asked my leave to 'drop' the elm-tree there,Some morning before breakfast. GentlenessGoes with the strength, of course. He's honest too,Limpidly truthful. For ability—All's in the rough yet. His first taste of lifeSeems to have somehow gone against the tongue:He travelled, tried things—came back, tried still more—He says he 's sick of all. He 's fond of meAfter a certain careless-earnest wayI like: the iron 's crude,—no polished steelSomebody forged before me. I am rich—That 's not the reason, he 's far richer: no,Nor is it that he thinks me pretty,—frankUndoubtedly on that point! He saw onceThe pink of face-perfection—oh, not you—Content yourself, my beauty!—for she provedSo thoroughly a cheat, his charmer ... nay,He runs into extremes, I 'll say at once,Lest you say! Well, I understand he wantsSome one to serve, something to do: and bothRequisites so abound in me and mineThat here 's the obstacle which stops consent—The smoothness is too smooth, and I mistrustThe unseen cat beneath the counterpane.Therefore I thought—'Would she but judge for me,Who, judging for herself succeeded so!'Do I love him, does he love me, do bothMistake for knowledge—easy ignorance?Appeal to its proficient in each art!I got rough-smooth through a piano-piece,Rattled away last week till tutor came,Heard me to end, then grunted 'Ach, mein Gott!Sagen Sie "easy"? Every note is wrong!All thumped mit wrist—we 'll trouble fingers now.The Fräulein will please roll up Raff againAnd exercise at Czerny for one month!'Am I to roll up cousin, exerciseAt Trollope's novels for one month? Pronounce!"

"But I can't begin at once!

The angel's self that comes to hear me speak

Drives away all the care about the speech.

What an angelic mystery you are—

Now—that is certain! when I knew you first,

No break of halo and no bud of wing!

I thought I knew you, saw you, round and through,

Like a glass ball; suddenly, four years since,

You vanished, how and whither? Mystery!

Wherefore? No mystery at all: you loved,

Were loved again, and left the world of course:

Who would not? Lapped four years in fairyland,

Out comes, by no less wonderful a chance,

The changeling, touched athwart her trellised bliss

Of blush-rose bower by just the old friend's voice

That's now struck dumb at her own potency.

Italk of my small fortunes? Tell me yours

Rather! The fool I ever was—I am,

You see that: the true friend you ever had,

You have, you also recognize. Perhaps,

Giving you all the love of all my heart,

Nature, that's niggard in me, has denied

The after-birth of love there 's some one claims,

—This huge boy, swinging up the avenue;

And I want counsel: is defect in me,

Or him who has no right to raise the love?

My cousin asks my hand: he's young enough,

Handsome,—my maid thinks,—manly's more the word:

He asked my leave to 'drop' the elm-tree there,

Some morning before breakfast. Gentleness

Goes with the strength, of course. He's honest too,

Limpidly truthful. For ability—

All's in the rough yet. His first taste of life

Seems to have somehow gone against the tongue:

He travelled, tried things—came back, tried still more—

He says he 's sick of all. He 's fond of me

After a certain careless-earnest way

I like: the iron 's crude,—no polished steel

Somebody forged before me. I am rich—

That 's not the reason, he 's far richer: no,

Nor is it that he thinks me pretty,—frank

Undoubtedly on that point! He saw once

The pink of face-perfection—oh, not you—

Content yourself, my beauty!—for she proved

So thoroughly a cheat, his charmer ... nay,

He runs into extremes, I 'll say at once,

Lest you say! Well, I understand he wants

Some one to serve, something to do: and both

Requisites so abound in me and mine

That here 's the obstacle which stops consent—

The smoothness is too smooth, and I mistrust

The unseen cat beneath the counterpane.

Therefore I thought—'Would she but judge for me,

Who, judging for herself succeeded so!'

Do I love him, does he love me, do both

Mistake for knowledge—easy ignorance?

Appeal to its proficient in each art!

I got rough-smooth through a piano-piece,

Rattled away last week till tutor came,

Heard me to end, then grunted 'Ach, mein Gott!

Sagen Sie "easy"? Every note is wrong!

All thumped mit wrist—we 'll trouble fingers now.

The Fräulein will please roll up Raff again

And exercise at Czerny for one month!'

Am I to roll up cousin, exercise

At Trollope's novels for one month? Pronounce!"

"Now, place each in the right position first,Adviser and advised one! I perhapsAm three—nay, four years older; am, beside,A wife: advantages—to balance which,You have a full fresh joyous sense of lifeThat finds you out life's fit food everywhere,Detects enjoyment where I, slow and dull,Fumble at fault. Already, these four years,Your merest glimpses at the world withoutHave shown you more than ever met my gaze;And now, by joyance you inspire joy,—learnWhile you profess to teach, and teach, althoughAvowedly a learner. I am dazedLike any owl by sunshine which just setsThe sparrow preening plumage! Here 's to spy—Your cousin! You have scanned him all your life,Little or much; I never saw his face.You have determined on a marriage—usedDeliberation therefore—I 'll believeNo otherwise, with opportunityFor judgment so abounding! Here stand I—Summoned to give my sentence, for a whim,(Well, at first cloud-fleck thrown athwart your blue,)Judge what is strangeness' self to me,—say 'Wed!'Or 'Wed not!' whom you promise I shall judgePresently, at propitious lunch-time, justWhile he carves chicken! Sends he leg for wing?That revelation into characterAnd conduct must suffice me! Quite as wellConsult with yonder solitary crowThat eyes us from your elm-top!"

"Now, place each in the right position first,

Adviser and advised one! I perhaps

Am three—nay, four years older; am, beside,

A wife: advantages—to balance which,

You have a full fresh joyous sense of life

That finds you out life's fit food everywhere,

Detects enjoyment where I, slow and dull,

Fumble at fault. Already, these four years,

Your merest glimpses at the world without

Have shown you more than ever met my gaze;

And now, by joyance you inspire joy,—learn

While you profess to teach, and teach, although

Avowedly a learner. I am dazed

Like any owl by sunshine which just sets

The sparrow preening plumage! Here 's to spy

—Your cousin! You have scanned him all your life,

Little or much; I never saw his face.

You have determined on a marriage—used

Deliberation therefore—I 'll believe

No otherwise, with opportunity

For judgment so abounding! Here stand I—

Summoned to give my sentence, for a whim,

(Well, at first cloud-fleck thrown athwart your blue,)

Judge what is strangeness' self to me,—say 'Wed!'

Or 'Wed not!' whom you promise I shall judge

Presently, at propitious lunch-time, just

While he carves chicken! Sends he leg for wing?

That revelation into character

And conduct must suffice me! Quite as well

Consult with yonder solitary crow

That eyes us from your elm-top!"

"Still the same!Do you remember, at the libraryWe saw together somewhere, those two booksSomebody said were notice-worthy? OneLay wide on table, sprawled its painted leavesFor all the world's inspection; shut on shelfReclined the other volume, closed, clasped, locked—Clear to be let alone. Which page had wePreferred the turning over of? You were,Are, ever will be the locked lady, holdInside you secrets written,—soul absorbed,My ink upon your blotting-paper.I—What trace of you have I to show in turn?Delicate secrets! No one juvenileEver essayed at croquet and performedSuperiorly but I confided youThe sort of hat he wore and hair it held.While you? One day a calm note comes by post—'I am just married, you may like to hear.'Most men would hate you, or they ought; we loveWhat we fear,—Ido! 'Cold' I shall expectMy cousin calls you. I—dislike not him,But (if I comprehend what loving means)Love you immeasurably more—more—moreThan even he who, loving you his wife,Would turn up nose at who impertinent,Frivolous, forward—lovesthat excellenceOf all the earth he bows in worship to!And who 's this paragon of privilege?Simply a country parson: his the charmThat worked the miracle! Oh, too absurd—But that you stand before me as you stand!Such beauty does prove something, everything!Beauty 's the prize-flower which dispenses eyeFrom peering into what has nourished root—Dew or manure: the plant best knows its place.Enough, from teaching youth and tending ageAnd hearing sermons,—haply writing tracts,—From such strange love-besprinkled compost, lo,Out blows this triumph! Therefore love 's the soilPlants find or fail of. You, with wit to find,Exercise wit on the old friend's behalf,Keep me from failure! Scan and scrutinizeThis cousin! Surely he 's as worth your painsTo study as my elm-tree, crow and all,You still keep staring at. I read your thoughts."

"Still the same!

Do you remember, at the library

We saw together somewhere, those two books

Somebody said were notice-worthy? One

Lay wide on table, sprawled its painted leaves

For all the world's inspection; shut on shelf

Reclined the other volume, closed, clasped, locked—

Clear to be let alone. Which page had we

Preferred the turning over of? You were,

Are, ever will be the locked lady, hold

Inside you secrets written,—soul absorbed,

My ink upon your blotting-paper.I—

What trace of you have I to show in turn?

Delicate secrets! No one juvenile

Ever essayed at croquet and performed

Superiorly but I confided you

The sort of hat he wore and hair it held.

While you? One day a calm note comes by post—

'I am just married, you may like to hear.'

Most men would hate you, or they ought; we love

What we fear,—Ido! 'Cold' I shall expect

My cousin calls you. I—dislike not him,

But (if I comprehend what loving means)

Love you immeasurably more—more—more

Than even he who, loving you his wife,

Would turn up nose at who impertinent,

Frivolous, forward—lovesthat excellence

Of all the earth he bows in worship to!

And who 's this paragon of privilege?

Simply a country parson: his the charm

That worked the miracle! Oh, too absurd—

But that you stand before me as you stand!

Such beauty does prove something, everything!

Beauty 's the prize-flower which dispenses eye

From peering into what has nourished root—

Dew or manure: the plant best knows its place.

Enough, from teaching youth and tending age

And hearing sermons,—haply writing tracts,—

From such strange love-besprinkled compost, lo,

Out blows this triumph! Therefore love 's the soil

Plants find or fail of. You, with wit to find,

Exercise wit on the old friend's behalf,

Keep me from failure! Scan and scrutinize

This cousin! Surely he 's as worth your pains

To study as my elm-tree, crow and all,

You still keep staring at. I read your thoughts."

"At last?"

"At first! 'Would, tree, a-top of theeI wingèd were, like crow perched moveless there,And so could straightway soar, escape this bore,Back to my nest where broods whom I love best—The parson o'er his parish—garish—rarish,'—Oh, I could bring the rhyme in if I tried:The Album here inspires me! Quite apartFrom lyrical expression, have I readThe stare aright, and sings not soul just so?"

"At first! 'Would, tree, a-top of thee

I wingèd were, like crow perched moveless there,

And so could straightway soar, escape this bore,

Back to my nest where broods whom I love best—

The parson o'er his parish—garish—rarish,'—

Oh, I could bring the rhyme in if I tried:

The Album here inspires me! Quite apart

From lyrical expression, have I read

The stare aright, and sings not soul just so?"

"Or ratherso?'Cool comfortable elmThat men make coffins out of,—none for meAt thy expense, so thou permit I glideUnder thy ferny feet, and there sleep, sleep,Nor dread awaking though in heaven itself!'"

"Or ratherso?'Cool comfortable elm

That men make coffins out of,—none for me

At thy expense, so thou permit I glide

Under thy ferny feet, and there sleep, sleep,

Nor dread awaking though in heaven itself!'"

The younger looks with face struck sudden white.The elder answers its inquiry.

The younger looks with face struck sudden white.

The elder answers its inquiry.

"Dear,You are a guesser, not a 'clairvoyante.'I 'll so far open you the locked and shelvedVolume, my soul, that you desire to see,As let you profit by the title-page"—

"Dear,

You are a guesser, not a 'clairvoyante.'

I 'll so far open you the locked and shelved

Volume, my soul, that you desire to see,

As let you profit by the title-page"—

"Paradise Lost?"

"Inferno!—All which comesOf tempting me to break my vow. Stop here!Friend, whom I love the best in the whole world,Come at your call, be sure that I will doAll your requirement—see and say my mind.It may be that by sad apprenticeshipI have a keener sense: I 'll task the same.Only indulge me,—here let sight and speechHappen,—this Inn is neutral ground, you know!I cannot visit the old house and home,Encounter the old socialityAbjured forever. Peril quite enoughIn even this first—last, I pray it prove—Renunciation of my solitude!Back, you, to house and cousin! Leave me here,Who want no entertainment, carry stillMy occupation with me. While I watchThe shadow inching round those ferny feet,Tell him 'A school-friend wants a word with meUp at the inn: time, tide, and train won't wait:I must go see her—on and off again—You 'll keep me company?' Ten minutes' talk,With you in presence, ten more afterwardWith who, alone, convoys me station-bound,And I see clearly—and say honestlyTo-morrow: pen shall play tongue's part, you know.Go—quick! for I have made our hand-in-handReturn impossible. So scared you look,—If cousin does not greet you with 'What ghostHas crossed your path?' I set him down obtuse."

"Inferno!—All which comes

Of tempting me to break my vow. Stop here!

Friend, whom I love the best in the whole world,

Come at your call, be sure that I will do

All your requirement—see and say my mind.

It may be that by sad apprenticeship

I have a keener sense: I 'll task the same.

Only indulge me,—here let sight and speech

Happen,—this Inn is neutral ground, you know!

I cannot visit the old house and home,

Encounter the old sociality

Abjured forever. Peril quite enough

In even this first—last, I pray it prove—

Renunciation of my solitude!

Back, you, to house and cousin! Leave me here,

Who want no entertainment, carry still

My occupation with me. While I watch

The shadow inching round those ferny feet,

Tell him 'A school-friend wants a word with me

Up at the inn: time, tide, and train won't wait:

I must go see her—on and off again—

You 'll keep me company?' Ten minutes' talk,

With you in presence, ten more afterward

With who, alone, convoys me station-bound,

And I see clearly—and say honestly

To-morrow: pen shall play tongue's part, you know.

Go—quick! for I have made our hand-in-hand

Return impossible. So scared you look,—

If cousin does not greet you with 'What ghost

Has crossed your path?' I set him down obtuse."

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