Journeys Through Bookland Volume Vi Part 54

THE MODERN BELLE

_By_ STARK

She sits in a fashionable parlor, And rocks in her easy chair; She is clad in silks and satins, And jewels are in her hair; She winks and giggles and simpers, And simpers and giggles and winks; And though she talks but little, 'Tis a good deal more than she thinks.

She lies abed in the morning Till nearly the hour of noon, Then comes down snapping and snarling Because she was called so soon; Her hair is still in papers, Her cheeks still fresh with paint,-- Remains of her last night's blushes, Before she intended to faint.

She dotes upon men unshaven, And men with "flowing hair;"

She's eloquent over mustaches, They give such a foreign air.

She talks of Italian music, And falls in love with the moon; And, if a mouse were to meet her, She would sink away in a swoon.

Her feet are so very little, Her hands are so very white, Her jewels so very heavy, And her head so very light; Her color is made of cosmetics (Though this she will never own), Her body is made mostly of cotton, Her heart is made wholly of stone.

She falls in love with a fellow Who swells with a foreign air; He marries her for her money, She marries him for his hair!

One of the very best matches,-- Both are well mated in life; _She's got a fool for a husband, He's got a fool for a wife_!

WIDOW MACHREE

_By_ SAMUEL LOVER

Widow machree, it's no wonder you frown,-- Och hone! widow machree; Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown,-- Och hone! widow machree.

How altered your air, With that close cap you wear,-- 'Tis destroying your hair, Which should be flowing free; Be no longer a churl Of its black silken curl,-- Och hone! widow machree!

Widow machree, now the summer is come,-- Och hone! widow machree, When everything smiles, should a beauty look glum?

Och hone! widow machree!

See the birds go in pairs, And the rabbits and hares; Why, even the bears Now in couples agree; And the mute little fish, Though they can't spake, they wish,-- Och hone! widow machree.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FAITH, I WISH YOU'D TAKE ME!]

Widow machree, and when winter comes in,-- Och hone! widow machree,-- To be poking the fire all alone is a sin, Och hone! widow machree.

Sure the shovel and tongs To each other belongs, And the kettle sings songs Full of family glee; While alone with your cup Like a hermit you sup, Och hone! widow machree.

And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld,-- Och hone! widow machree,-- But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld, Och hone! widow machree!

With such sins on your head, Sure your peace would be fled; Could you sleep in your bed Without thinking to see Some ghost or some sprite, That would wake you each night, Crying "Och hone! widow machree!"

Then take my advice, darling widow machree,-- Och hone! widow machree,-- And with my advice, Faith, I wish you'd take me, Och hone! widow machree!

You'd have me to desire Then to stir up the fire; And sure hope is no liar In whispering to me, That the ghosts would depart When you'd me near your heart,-- Och hone! widow machree!

LIMESTONE BROTH

_By_ GERALD GRIFFIN

"My father went once upon a time about the country, in the idle season, seeing if he could make a penny at all by cutting hair or setting rashurs or pen-knives, or any other job that would fall in his way.

Weel an' good--he was one day walking alone in the mountains of Kerry, without a ha'p'ny in his pocket (for though he traveled afoot, it cost him more than he earned), an' knowing there was but little love for a County Limerick man in the place where he was, an' being half perished with the hunger, an' evening drawing nigh, he didn't know well what to do with himself till morning.

Very good--he went along the wild road; an' if he did, he soon sees a farmhouse at a little distance o' one side--a snug-looking place, with the smoke curling up out of the chimney, an' all tokens of good living inside. Well, some people would live where a fox would starve.

What do you think did my father do? He wouldn't beg (a thing one of our people never done yet, thank heaven!) an' he hadn't the money to buy a thing, so what does he do? He takes up a couple o' the big limestones that were lying in the road, in his two hands, an' away with him to the house.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HE SOON SEES A FARMHOUSE AT A LITTLE DISTANCE]

'Lord save all here!' says he, walking in the door.

'And you kindly,' says they.

'I'm come to you,' says he, this way, looking at the two limestones, 'to know would ye let me make a little limestone broth over your fire, until I'll make my dinner?'

'Limestone broth!' says they to him again: 'what's that, _aroo_?'

'Broth made of limestone,' says he; 'what else?'

'We never heard of such a thing,' says they.

'Why, then, you may hear it now,' says he, 'an' see it also, if you'll gi' me a pot an' a couple o' quarts o' soft water.'

'You can have it an' welcome,' says they.

So they put down the pot an' the water, an' my father went over an' tuk a chair hard by the pleasant fire for himself, an' put down his two limestones to boil, an' kept stirrin' them round like stir-about.

Very good--well, by-an'-by, when the wather began to boil--''Tis thickening finely,' says my father; 'now if it had a grain o' salt at all, 'twould be a great improvement to it.'

'Raich down the salt-box, Nell,' says the man o' the house to his wife.

So she did.

'Oh, that's the very thing, just,' says my father, shaking some of it into the pot. So he stirred it again a while, looking as sober as a minister. By-an'-by he takes the spoon he had stirring it an' tastes it.

'It is very good now,' says he, 'altho' it wants something yet.'

'What is it?' says they.

'Oyeh, wisha nothin',' says he; 'maybe 't is only fancy o' me.'

'If it's anything we can give you,' says they, 'you're welcome to it.'

''Tis very good as it is,' says he; 'but when I'm at home, I find it gives it a fine flavor just to boil a little knuckle o' bacon, or mutton trotters, or anything that way along with it.'