If Only etc. Part 16

I never thought at all of Rose, As Rose and I went through the dell, We fell a talking I suppose, But yet of what I cannot tell.

Pebbles below and mosses over, Rippled a cool and limpid rill; Nature lay sleeping like a lover In the embrace of the woods so still.

Shoes and stockings off she slipped, And with her sweetly innocent air Into the stream her feet she dipped, Yet I never saw her feet were bare.

I only talked, the time beguiling As we wandered, she and I; And sometimes I saw her smiling, But now and then I heard her sigh.

Only her beauty dawned on me When silent woods were left behind, "Never mind that now!" said she And now I shall always mind.

REGRETS.

(AFTER CHARLES ROUSSEAU.)

Let me cherish in my sadness Those fair days of youth and gladness!

Moments of delightful madness Gone, alas, for evermore!

Vain regrets for misspent powers, Wasted chances, faded flowers, Vex my lonely spirit sore.

Had I only known before!

Let me cherish in my sadness Those fair days of youth and gladness!

Moments of delightful madness Gone, alas, for evermore!

TOO LATE.

(PEINE D'AMOUR.)

(AFTER ARMAND SILVESTRE.)

When your hand was laid upon mine 'Twas in painful dread that I grasped it, For some hesitation malign, Made tremble the fingers that clasped it.

When you turned your forehead so near, 'Twas in painful dread that I kissed it, For some cruel prompting of fear Made me timidly seek to resist it.

Ah!--and my life thenceforward approved Sorrow's bitterness had o'ercome me, I only knew how I loved The day that had taken you from me.

IF THERE BE A GARDEN GAY.

(S'IL EST UN CHARMANT GAZON.)

(AFTER VICTOR HUGO.)

If there be a garden gay Man has not molested, Where blaze through the summer day Flowers golden crested, Where tallest lilies grow, And honeysuckles blow There, oh there I fain would go Where thy foot, thy foot has rested!

If there be a rosy dream By true love invested, Where all things delightful seem Close together nested Where soul to soul may tell The joy they know so well 'Tis there, oh there I fain would dwell Where thy heart, thy heart has rested.

THE MESSAGE OF THE ROSES.

(ENVOI DE ROSES.)

(AFTER VICOMTE DE BORELLI.)

Oh, if the fairest of these roses With its red lips to thee shall tell Such things as language knows not of, As in thy bosom it reposes, Then keep it well It is my love!

But if the sweetest of the roses With its red lips shall silent be, And only seek instead the bliss Which thy delightful mouth discloses, Return it me It is my kiss!

LOVE WENT OUT WHEN MONEY WAS INVENTED.

"You're a very foolish man, John," said my sister Ruth. "You're worse than foolish. A man never gets any happiness by marrying out of his station."

"You may be right," I answered, "but after all I have something to offer. I am rich, and Marie is poor. I admit that she is a patrician and that I am a plebeian. But money, after all, counts for something, especially in these days. I don't see how Marie can spend a very happy existence now, but I am determined to make her life a dream of happiness. You will see, my dear Ruth, that my marriage will be a success."

"I think not," replied my sister, "and I therefore give you my warning before it is too late. If you don't heed it and decide on marrying Miss Dalmayne, I shall naturally do any little thing in my power to endeavour to prove that I have been a false prophetess; but, mark my words, John, I shan't succeed. And, to tell you the truth, my dear brother, I tremble for the future."

"You're a sweet little silly goose," I answered. "You let your affection for me run away with your better judgment. Why in heaven's name should I not be happy with Marie? She is beautiful, and I admit that it was her rare beauty that first commended her to me, and she has a sweet nature and character; and after all, goodness of character outweighs even good looks. Then, too, she is very clever and bright, and altogether she is exactly the sort of girl calculated to make a man happy."

"I hope that I may be wrong, and that you may be right, John," said Ruth; "but I don't think that I am wrong, and, of course, time will only show. At present we need say no more. Your mind is evidently made up, and I shall urge nothing further to prevent you from following your own inclinations. But in the time to come, don't forget that your sister warned you." And with that last shaft Ruth left the room.

My name is John Gardner, my age is thirty-six, and I am what is generally known as "a self-made man." But had I really had the making of myself I should have endeavoured to produce a different being. I recollect at the grammar school in Cambridgeshire, where I received a plain education, hearing one of the masters, Mr. Ruddock, mention a Greek proverb, "Know thyself," and advise the boys in his form to act upon the advice given by the Greek sage who p.r.o.nounced these words. I was not, as a rule, struck with much that fell from Mr. Ruddock's lips, for he was a dull, stupid, and pompous man, possessing much more force of manner than of character. But I did take this advice to heart and endeavoured to act up to it, with the result that I know as much about my own uninteresting self as most other human beings know about themselves.

Well, this is how I appear in my own eyes. A strong, healthy man with an active disposition, and capable of, and a lover of hard work. A blunt manner, and with an entire absence of tact in anything in which strict business is not concerned. I know that I am truthful, for, in addition to a natural hatred of lying which I must have inherited from my dear parents, I have always recognised the fact that in business and in everything else the truth always pays the best. During the sixteen years that I have devoted to business I have endeavoured to act squarely and fairly with everyone with whom I have been brought in contact, and I may say without conceit that I have earned a good name in addition to the three hundred thousand pounds that I have been able to save.

I have never got on particularly well with the other s.e.x, partly, I suppose, from my manners, which, to say the least, are not attractive, and partly to the fact that up to the time I met Marie Dalmayne I have never cared for a woman. I came across the girl that I have grown to love so well in this fashion. I am interested in a West Australian mine to the extent of about a hundred thousand pounds, and am one of the three partners who control the concern. One of them is a member of the great City house of Bleichopsheim, and the other is Mr. Ross, a wealthy iron-master. It was at the latter's house in St. James's Square that I met my fate.

I took Miss Dalmayne down to dinner, and I think that my heart went out to her from the first. I found her clever and sensible, and with apparently little of the frivolity which characterises most of the young women with whom I have been brought in contact. Her conversation, if not absolutely brilliant, was at any rate bright and amusing, and possessed a considerable amount of shrewdness.

Miss Dalmayne was about twenty-three, tall and fair,' possessing a perfect figure and the most beautiful and expressive hazel eyes. Her hair was nut brown with a warm reddish sun-kissed glint, and her features were regular and aristocratic. Her smile was delightful. In short, I fell in love.

Next morning I ascertained from Adam Ross full particulars in reference to Miss Dalmayne. She is the only daughter of the Honourable George Dalmayne, and is related to many of the highest English families. Mr.

Dalmayne and his wife are not well off, and the former is very much in debt and has taxed the generosity of my friend Ross to a very considerable extent. The Dalmaynes live in a small house in Eaton Terrace. They have only one other child, and that is a son who is in the Army and is at present with his regiment in India.

There are some people that one feels one can confide in in matters of a delicate nature, and there are others to whom one could never open one's mouth. Now, Ross and I have been friends for ten years, during which time we have never had the least difference. He is a man absolutely to be trusted. I told him during this interview what a deep impression Miss Dalmayne had made upon me. He said that he did not in the least wonder at it, for she was greatly admired, and added that if it were not for her father she would no doubt have made a brilliant marriage already. I told my friend that I cared nothing about her father, that I was not marrying him but his daughter--that is to say, if I were fortunate enough to induce her to become my wife.

"I don't think that there is much fear of a failure," answered Ross, "old Dalmayne is looking out for a rich husband for Marie. Indeed, in a confidential mood one day recently he told me almost as much himself.

And he is not likely in a hurry to find one so rich as yourself."

"Well, I shall call upon him to-morrow," said I, "and ask his permission to speak to his daughter."

"I wish you every success, my dear friend," said Ross, "and I have no doubt as to the result of your interview. And I don't see why you should not be very happy. After all, as you say, you are not marrying the father. You are marrying Marie, who is a very high-principled girl, who is beautiful, who is accomplished, and who would, I am certain, do everything to make her husband happy."

And so it was settled, and next morning I called on Mr. Dalmayne.

Mr. Dalmayne, a tall, aristocratic man of about sixty, received me with great cordiality. Whether Ross, who had dined with him on the previous night, had mentioned anything of my matter to him I don't know, but the old gentleman did not seem to be the least surprised when I told him what the object of my visit was.

"Mr. Dalmayne," said I, "you will doubtless be wondering why I have called to see you"--Mr. Dalmayne's face a.s.sumed a sphinx-like expression--I will not keep you waiting for an explanation. The truth is that I have fallen in love with your daughter. Our mutual friend Adam Ross can tell you all about me, and I don't think that his report would be an unfavourable one. My position is this. I have saved three hundred thousand pounds, which produces an income of about twelve thousand a year. And I am making at least another twenty thousand a year from my share of our mine and other sound enterprises. Should you permit me to address Miss Dalmayne, and should I be happy and fortunate enough to induce her to become my wife, I should propose to settle two hundred thousand pounds upon her for her exclusive use."