When hearts are trumps Part 8

A precious dilemma, This letter from Emma!

A Choice not Necessary.

Here is a rose, Here is a kiss; Which do you choose?

One rhymes with prose; One rhymes with bliss.

Ah, you amuse.

You hesitate, You blush, you sigh.

What! are you loath?

'Tis getting late; Be quick-- Fool, take them both!

That Boston Girl.

Her voice is sweet, Her style is neat; She'd move the world with but a pen.

Her mind is clear; Her sight, though near, Is long enough to capture men.

What matters it her learning, then?

The Hero.

He looked so handsome, proud, and brave, As he stood there, straight and tall, With his steadfast eyes, so gray, so grave, The beau of the Hunt Club ball.

Ah me, full many a white breast sighed For the favor of his hand,-- For the love of a heart so true, so tried, For life, you understand.

He looked a hero; he was more, A martyr, too, perchance; For he went to the oldest girl on the floor, And led her out to dance.

The Sweet Summer Girl.

She has hair that is fluffy, straight, banged, or half curled; Has a parasol, oft by her deft fingers twirled.

She has eyes either brown or black, gray or true blue; Has a neat fitting glove and a still neater shoe.

She has cheeks that make bitter the envious rose; She has trunks upon trunks of the costliest clothes; She has jewels that s.h.i.+ne as the stars do at night; And she dances as Ariel dances--or might.

She knows nothing much, but she's great on the smile; Her profession is love, and she flirts all the while; She's accustomed to sitting on rocks in the glen; She is also accustomed to sitting on men.

Her Fan.

A dainty thing of silk and lace, Of feathers, and of paint, Held often to her laughing face When I a.s.sume the saint.

Too dainty far to mix with these Old pipes, cigars, and books Of bachelordom,--rare life of ease,-- Rare friends, rare wines, rare cooks.

'Twill smell of stale tobacco smoke Ere many days I fear, And hear full many a rattling joke, And feel, perhaps, a tear.

Why is it here? Alas for me!

I broke it at a ball.

"Apologize--repair it" See?

Five dollars gone,--that's all.

Certainty.

Phyllis, love may be for you, But it is not for me; For fortune comes between us two, And says it must not be.

Another fellow's fortune, too; A million, as I know.

You ask me how I found it out?

Your mater told me so.

Caught.

When Phyllis turned her eyes on me I blushed and hesitated; For though on terms familiar, we Were not at all related.

I felt her mild, reproachful glance, And knew her words would rankle.

To tell the truth, I had, by chance, Been looking at her ankle.

An Important Distinction.

She said, without a single sigh, And hardly hesitation, That she would be my sister, aye, Or any fond relation.

I answered cunningly, "Ah me, I've sisters by the dozen; Please make it in the next degree, For one may wed a cousin."

Two Kinds.

Oh, her eyes, her beautiful eyes!

How they melt when she sobs or she sighs!