P s 3565 noon TMffl PJH ffiggggi uaJ BBB m mmmmm jj •', • | U '■) • ', > ■', j ' ' ' gJ ' \ • \ U ; ■ • .'* ' '; f i ' . ' ' ' f ' : S . (' I ■ J • IMKiCtf M fKMQOOOtBEoQE TTf^riiH nHnnnnnTinTfnn n nr iilinll W WIiHiiiWyW WWIJW JnOr ■'••i 888888888888S88 8 8 8 B885»8Si HOC I IlilMl ilfMlIM Class "P S SSIQ. 51 Book ,hlS ?-So^ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT mi A Ro*E§ FRANK CHAFFEE DRAWINGS BY ROBERT HARTLEY PERDUE CLEVELAND M C M I V | LIBRARY of CONGRESS, Two Copies Hecdved OCT, 27 1904 Copyrurm tntry | CUSS <*" XAC Nui copy bT^ Copyright 1904 by Jos. Leon Gobeille. One hundred seven copies privately printed by Jos. Leon Gobeille and numbered con- secutively. This is No Salute. Smoke. Smoke Rings. The Robber Song. Miss Wortherspoon's Portrait. Benedictine. The Black Tulip. The Fickle Rose. Teresita Mia. Bien Chaussee. Good Night. } SALUTE. Fillip keen to dreams you lend Smoke wreaths and Roses equal blend. Roses, tenderest flowers o' love, Smoke as vague as skies above. Thus it runs, Life's little day, Smoke and Roses mark the way. Smoke wreaths of our dear desires; Roses, Love's insatiate fires. Fading Roses, gone Love's light, Smoke wreaths vanished into night. Does it matter anyway Smoke wreaths or Roses, grave or gay? 13 SMOKE. A charming woman, A cigarette, Is anything better in life? And yet — Oh radiant woman, A tender kiss, Sure greater joy does not exist Than this. A sweet old pipe, Good strong tobac, Sans kiss — sans woman — Nothing lack. 14 SMOKE RINGS. Once on a time, there was a wedding on the shores of the Baltic. A wonderful, clear-headed amber-cavalier wedded a bride who was born of the sea foam, and her name was Meerschaum. They jour- neyed far away across land and sea, into a strange new country, and the new coun- try they liked so well that they made it their home. Their lines fell in very pleasant places, for a young College Man took such a fancy to them that he took them to live with him in his beautiful quarters at the great University. Here they had a fine little home of their own, built of embossed leather, and inside it was all perfumed velvet. For four years they were happy indeed, and all that time they were fed only upon an Arcadian mixture, which was a fare that they dearly loved. Then it came to pass is Smoke Rings and Roses at the end of the four years that the young College Man went out into the great world to seek his fortune, and he put aside all boyish things, and tried to forget many things 'twas best not to remember. But he had grown to love his meerschaum and amber friends, because they were so connected with all his moods and had shared all his thoughts, and really they knew more about him than did any one else, and so he said : "I will take you with me into the world, and you shall live with me and share my joys, and comfort me in my sorrows;" and they went forth to- gether and took up their abode in a great busy city. Here they were very contented for a time, until one summer day the College Man, who was now a Man of the World, went away to spend a Sunday by the sea, and there he met another man who had also gone down to look at the sea, and immediately they became great friends. And as time went on these two became more and more to each other, and friend- ship assumed a new meaning in their lives. By and by, the one-time College Man wanted to make unto his friend a gift — something that should personify his affection for him Smoke Rings and Roses — and he cast about in his mind for the most suitable article; and nothing seemed quite to realize his idea until he thought of his amber and meerschaum treasure, and he brought it and gave it to his friend, to whom it said silently, as a gift from man to man has a way of saying: "Dear fellow, I am sent to be with you always, to tell you of one who cares so much for you that he has sent me, his greatest comfort, to comfort you instead." And the friend understood all that, and much more which the amber and meer- schaum could not say, and he took the gift gladly, even as he had taken the giver into his heart. 30| 3|C 3J€ SfC Sp And that, friend Carlos, is the true story of the pipe you gave me not so many moons ago. You little knew what you were doing. To you it is only a pipe — a dear pipe, 'tis true, and associated with many pleasant hours in your past — but had you known how the witchery of the amber and the subtle delicacy of the meer- schaum would prove a key to unlock for me all the pages of that past of yours, would you have given it to me just the same? 17 Smoke Rings and Roses You know, amber has strange, weird qualities, and in some countries it is worn to charm away witches and save the wearer from all manner of unpleasant complica- tions. When amber is wedded to meer- schaum in the form of a beautiful pipe, it proves a combination irresistible to most men. Our pipes have such opportunities of get- ting at our true selves — you see, when we are worried we light a pipe and sit down to think a way out of the trouble, and when something pleasant has come to us and our hearts are glad, again we light our pipe and puff great clouds of odorous smoke, through which the pleas- ant something looks thrice as pleasant. Our pipes are with us thus, in glad times and in sad, when we are foolish and when we are wise, when we are vicious and when we come back to our better selves and the smoke-rings roll up and circle com- fortingly and caressingly about us, or draw themselves away and float out from us in silent condemnation, and the amber and the meerschaum know all about it. And so you see, Carlos, it is a very dangerous thing to give your pipe to an- other man, unless, indeed, you are ready 18 Smoke Rings and Roses to trust that other with the entire truth about yourself. It is like giving him your journal to read, only you would never have been as honest with your journal as you have been with your pipe; for it is impos- sible to write down thoughts however per- sonal, without a sort of inner conscious- ness that they may be read by some one. A pipe is such a gossip, too — it so loves to "reminisce." I am smoking your pipe now as I write, and it is fairly chuckling as it thinks of some of the things it has told me about you, and laughing in its amber sleeve at the memory of others yet to be told. It has told me about those first days at the University when you were a freshman; and, oh ! Carlos, how very fresh you were, and how you went in for everything with such boyish vigor and animal spirits ! That was when all your illusions were still with you, and college life seemed the corridor down which you must pass to find at its end the open door of life — life, with op- portunity and success only waiting your coming. Ah, me! would that we were freshmen always, old chap, and that we might keep the illusions ! Smoke Rings and Roses Then the pipe goes on in its whisperings and tells me of that wild set into which you drifted, and in which, with your exuberant spirits and lax purse strings, you speedily became a leader — and then, oh! Carlos, it is telling me something now that we will not record; but you were not bad, only thoughtless — only foolish — and yet there is no limit to folly's harm. I wonder if tEe bad things a good man does are placed to his debit? Yes, I fear so, else the good deeds of the bad man would not count for his credit, and that would be indeed un- fair. You were always very good to fellows in hard luck, Carlos, the pipe tells me; and that is a good thing, for there is all too little of practical sympathy in the world. We are a selfish lot, and too intent on our own progress or pleasure, to step one side often to help one weaker or less fortunate. Dear me ! Here is a long story about your gambling. That was very stupid, old chap, for you never had fun enough to compensate, and it is always stupid to pay a high price to your fiddler unless the dancing be very good. The pipe had a hard time those days. How furiously you smoked while you wondered how you Smoke Rings and Roses would get the money to pay those debts so misnamed "debts of honor!" And then it was so humiliating to confess to your father and ask for the money! After all, perhaps the lesson was a good one, and you will not forget it. Then come some months with good rec- ords, hard work, and progress made — a clean and wholesome period when you stood squarely on your feet and looked the whole world in the face with honest eyes. What a silly time you had with that bull pup, Carlos ! The pipe has told me all about it. What inadequate results for all the trouble you took — what fictitious val- ues things assume in college days to be sure! And speaking of fictitious values, the pipe tells me a little tale of an affair of the heart that ran its little course and went upon the shelf of experience. What col- lege man but has this shelf well filled? For, to garble a well known epigram, "ex- perience is the name which a college man gives to his mistakes." Ah, me! but it was all very real to you for a time, was it not, my Carlos? And the pipe shared the excitement and unrest and lost some of its Smoke Rings and Roses color; that was all before you had learned the difference between loving and "being in love." Some one has said that "being in love" is like indigestion; with an active liver it is improbable. But to love — ah, me! that is a matter of ethics and meta- physics, magnetism and spirituality, and in comment even the pipe is silent. The pipe has much to say about your merry-hearted chum, whose genial sunny influence is still 'round about you, though years and a whole continent separate you — and just here the pipe and I stop to rever- ize a bit on the question of influence. So often an influence either good or bad is exerted unconsciously — we cannot come into intimate relations with any one with- out both influencing and being influenced; and that is an argument in favor of choos- ing our friends wisely. And that starts another thought as if any one ever chose his friends — why, it is as much a matter of ethics, magnetism, and all that, as is love; in fact, the love that lasts is only a superstructure with friendship for its base. It is all as subtle and intangible as the smoke rings, as clear as the amber, and should deepen and strengthen with time as the color deepens and beautifies the meer- Smoke Rings and Roses schaum — and further on this topic the pipe is silent. Do you remember how you went in for athletics, how madly enthusiastic you were on the subject, and how you were ready to offer up anything as a sacrifice to it! and when your father stepped in and said, "Pull up, young man, and get back to your studies," how brutal you thought the edict then, how wise you know it was, now? And the pipe chatters on about all the merry doings of college life and some of the wild ones, tells me of the many kindly things, you did, and of some — Oh, Carlos, we are sorry, you and I, for those others, and to regret is the first step toward re- trieving; and your pipe interpolates just here, that you never did a wrong thing without trying to do a right one to balance it, and that you never did a mean thing, any way. I am glad of that, for I can par- don a bit of manly wrong doing, but a mean act is unmanly and contemptible. I hear of midnight suppers, of fish din- ners at the beach, of practical jokes, of theatrical episodes, of a chorus girl affair, of suspension and penalties, of achieve- ment and reward. Well, Carlos, we fancy, the pipe and I, that these are all elements 33 Smoke Rings and Roses in one's education. One has got to live in the world; and without this education in the matter of mistakes, called experiences, we should be but badly equipped, and the soil that will grow a good lively crop of wild oats will, under changed tillage, gen- erally produce good wheat. Our meerschaum friend has a poetic streak, too, and tells me of boating parties down the bay in the moonlight, and flirta- tions with pretty maids, and of a sunrise game of football, and of strolls under the great trees on the campus in the twilight; and it grows pensive and almost sad as it whispers of the beauties of Class Day, of the planting of the class tree, of the ball, and then of the sorriest event of all col- lege life, the severing of the ties formed by affection, or perhaps only by associa- tion — the farewells to the friends, to the atmosphere, and, alas and alas ! to happy dependent, sheltered boyhood. The four years have gone, vanishing like the smoke- rings from the pipe, and yet leaving their mark for all time, as have the smoke- rings upon the meerschaum. And so you see, Carlos, it is a serious thing to give a friend your pipe, for it gives him your past, and it leaves with you Smoke Rings and Roses the necessity for justifying that past by creating a future; and remember, my friend, we are watching you and talking of you always, the pipe and I. THE ROBBER SONG. The sun is a Robber bold, And steals from the rolling sea; The sea doth for ransom hold The shore in its trembling lea. The gay bee rifles the flower, A bloom on vine or tree; The black bear watches the hour That he may rob the bee. They are Brigands every one, Sun and sea and all, But man is the wickedest 'neath the sun Ever since Adam's fall. MISS WORTHERSPOON'S POR- TRAIT. The portrait was painted by Fabrizi, when Miss Wortherspoon was not yet twenty. In the set in which the Worther- spoons moved, it was at that time almost a necessity to have one's portrait painted by Fabrizi, and old John Wortherspoon was not the man to allow himself or his fam- ily to be distanced in anything. Thus it came to pass that Fabrizi received an order to paint as fine a portrait as could possibly be painted, with the beautiful daughter of the house of Wortherspoon as its original. The result was not only an almost speaking likeness but an exqui- site work of art as well, for whatever one might think of the morals and manners of Fabrizi, his skill with the brush was unde- niable. Before the portrait was complete, in fact quite early in the process of its evolution, something had happened. It was Smoke Rings and Roses a happening not at all remarkable in itself, and not at all unusual in cases where a young girl with much heart and a passion for the artistic, is thrown in the company of a man with little soul and an artistic temperament. Miss Wortherspoon fell in love with Fabrizi, and that artistic person though but little touched in heart, was pleased with the knowledge, and had a full appreciation of the dramatic and com- mercial possibilities involved. He knew perfectly well that Wortherspoon pere would never consent to his daughter wed- ding an artist, even though he be the fash- ionable portrait painter of the year. Miss Wortherspoon knew even better the prob- abilities at the hands of her father; she therefore with a fine romantic disregard of filial considerations and practical demands, proposed that they dispense with the par- ental blessing, and depart without even asking it. Fabrizi being more level headed and having lived in the world somewhat longer, suggested that they wait awhile, then approach the father gradually and note the effect; while he greatly admired the millionaire's daughter he could not dis- associate her in his mind from the idea of a commercial investment. Thus Fabrizi Smoke Rings and Roses painted and as Miss Wortherspoon looked at him with her whole soul in her glorious eyes, and the flush of happiness in her cheeks, is it any wonder that the portrait was a triumph of art? The portrait fin- ished, Fabrizi accepted from Mr. Worther- spoon the very liberal check which had been the price placed upon his handiwork. It grated a trifle upon Miss Worther- spoon's sensibilities when she learned that her lover had taken money for immortaliz- ing her beauty; but Fabrizi explained that had he refused, it would have excited sus- picion. After the delivery of the portrait, the artist called frequently upon the lady, and all went smoothly enough until one day Mr. Wortherspoon came home from his office and found the pair cosily drinking tea in the back drawing room. The old banker had not been bred to the amenities of life, and he was sometimes a trifle brusque and immediate in dealing with conditions. On this occasion he looked at the artist with distinct surprise for a mo- ment, then said, "What's the matter, any- thing wrong with your check?" Fabrizi murmured something indistinctly, made a hasty adieu and left the house. Old Worth- erspoon turned to his daughter saying, 39 Smoke Rings and Roses "These confounded foreigners, give them an inch and they'll take a whole city block. I suppose this chap thinks he's on calling terms here, because I've paid him an absurd price for painting your portrait." Miss Wortherspoon — remember she was not yet twenty — burst into tears and left the room, going slowly up the great stairs to her own rooms. Her father looked after her in astonishment, then said em- phatically, "By gad ! I won't have any business of that kind going on." A little later Miss Wortherspoon plainly dressed and closely veiled left the house, she went directly to Fabrizi's studio, he received her almost coldly, told her it was impos- sible for them to think of marrying without her father's consent, that, evidently was unattainable, and therefore he could see nothing for them to do. Miss Worther- spoon listened to his cool calculating voice, and she seemed suddenly to see what man- ner of man this was to whom she thought she had given her heart. She answered him in a few words of quiet scorn and left him. She walked hurriedly home and straight into her father's library, where she calmly told him the whole story, con- cluding by saying, "Now I want you to Smoke Rings and Roses send him back that portrait and tell him never to let us see it or him again." The old gentleman protested that the fellow should not have his daughter's pic- ture. The lady insisted that he should, that it was his work, and she would neither destroy it, nor have it anywhere about, besides it was not her portrait, she should never look in the least like that again. She had her way and the next day Fabrizi received the portrait, com- panioned by a letter from Mr. Worther- spoon which caused him to think it desir- able to presently betake himself across the Atlantic to his London quarters. The one item to be placed to the credit of Fabrizi is that he never told anyone of the visit of Miss Wortherspoon to his studio. After Fabrizi's departure, Miss Worther- spoon blossomed from a charming girl into a beautiful woman. She was quiet, a little cynical in tone, a little haughty in man- ner, but withal very charming, and she made her father's house very popular with her faultless entertainments. Of course many suitors came her way, but the years went by and nearly ten had passed and she was still Miss Worther- spoon. 31 Smoke Rings and Roses In London, time had brought fame and money to Fabrizi, he had a great studio which was something of a show place and he still painted many portraits. One day one of his patrons brought a friend to the studio to see a portrait that was in progress. The friend was the Marquis of Lorington, a magnificent speci- men of the best kind of an Englishman. Lord Lorington looked about the studio while his friend was talking to the artist; presently he discovered a small canvas standing in a corner, which seemed to be the portrait of a beautiful girl. He picked it up, took it to the light, wiped the dust carefully from it and gazed long into the lovely eyes, then he turned to Fabrizi and said, "Is this a portrait?" The artist started a little when he saw the picture, then said, "Yes, it is a Miss Wortherspoon, of New York. I kept it as one of the best specimens of my work." "I will buy it," said Lord Lorington and when Fabrizi added the enormous price which his Lordship paid to him unto the original price of the portrait, he smiled a disagreeable little smile as he said, "Well she was not such a bad investment after all." Smoke Rings and Roses Lord Lorington was thirty-three, a bachelor and very rich, he had never been really in love, but very much desired to be, and now it would appear that he was fall- ing in love with a portrait. One day he sailed for New York and in his luggage very carefully wrapped was Miss Worther- spoon's portrait. Arrived in America, Lord Lorington made judicious inquiries and ere long was one afternoon taken by a friend to call upon Miss Wortherspoon. It must be remembered, that the Englishman did not know of the years that had elapsed be- tween the painting of the portrait and its coming into his possession. When he was ushered into the drawing room of the Wortherspoon mansion he expected to meet the fresh girlish original of the por- trait with the love light in the eyes. In- stead he was presented to a stately, grac- iously beautiful woman, unmistakably like the portrait, only it was the blossom not the bud, and in the woman's eyes was only a pleasant friendliness but nothing of the light of the portrait. Lord Lorington was at first inclined to regret the girl, but as he grew to know the woman he lost sight of all else, and 33 Smoke Rings and Roses presently what he had long desired came to pass, and he was very much in love. He was very honest and straightforward in his lovemaking, with a hearty genuine- ness that appealed very strongly to Miss Wortherspoon, so that when he finally put his love into words, and asked her to make him happy by becoming Lady Lorington, she was quite prepared and she said "yes" as genuinely and as happily as any lover could wish. As Lord Lorington stood gaz- ing at her with joy in his possession, she lifted her eyes to his suddenly, with a look that made him exclaim, "Oh, my darling, now you are like the portrait, this is what I have longed for." Miss Wortherspoon looked puzzled as she said "What portrait do you mean?" And he told her of the purchase from Fabrizi. Miss Wortherspoon was silent for some moments then she said, "I must tell you the story of that portrait," and she did so. When she had finished, Lord Loring- ton said, "The man is a cad, of course, but we must keep the portrait, for without it I might never have found you" — and he put his arms around her and gave her a good American kiss. 34 Smoke Rings and Roses Somewhere in the London house of the Marquis of Lorington there is a portrait by the famous Fabrizi. It is of a young girl, somewhat resembling Lady Loring- ton, though incomparably less beautiful. It is generally supposed to be a young rela- tive of her Ladyship, though Lord Loring- ton when interrogated only laughs and says, "That? Oh, that is Miss Worther- spoon's portrait." 35 BENEDICTINE. A votre sante, fair madame, In Benedictine golden; It brings to mind the story told Of saints in times so olden. How weary, hungry, lonely, worn, A monk lay, life near ended. A sweet saint passing heard his cry, And quick his wants attended. "Give me to drink," the old monk moaned. The saint reached grape hung vine; The sweet juice, forced in amber cup, Produced the magic wine. The sufferer quick the chalice drained, New life his being thrilled; The saint departing left the cup, With wine 'tis ever filled. Smoke Rings and Roses And so the Benedictines claim, This nectar, Heaven descended, 'Tis liquid sunshine, perfumed rare, All charms in it are blended. A votre sante, fair madame, In Benedictine golden; Its perfume rare, and your sweet saint air, Bring back the story olden. 37 sxno THE BLACK TULIP. It was at the time of the "tu- lip craze" in Holland. All the land was devoting itself to the growing of this brilliant flower, and each new variety was hailed with joy. To have achieved a new color was greater than to have taken a kingdom. Fortunes were squandered, friends became enemies, lovers were separated and families were estranged in the wild competition; a sort of flower madness was abroad in the land. Now there were two young gallants, both brave and both high spirited, who were dwellers in this tulip-mad land, and their estates lay one on either side of the estate of the young Countess of Barnveldt. The Countess was a widow and passing fair. Being sweet and lovely as well, she was loved by many men, but to none did she show much favor save to these two Smoke Rings and Roses who were her neighbors and right eager wooers. The beautiful young Countess was as tulip daft as the rest of her compatriots, and her gardeners and farmer men led anything but an easy life. Now tulips had been bred of almost every conceivable color and variation save a very dark shade of crimson, called by the flower growers "black red," and which they still hoped to achieve. And it was toward the produc- tion of this color that all resources of the Barnveldt gardens were turned. The Countess dreamed of the subject by night and by day, thought and worked toward the attainment of this object, which in the glow of popular enthusiasm had acquired such a fictitious value. The two gallant lovers were also flower growers of no mean distinction, and many a new blossom had they each contributed to the collection of the Countess, and bitter was the rivalry of effort toward winning the gracious thanks that came for such a flower. Finally, there came a day when the lovers declared that they could no longer stand the uncertainty; the Countess must choose between them. The Countess was annoyed, for she was almost sure that she loved them both, but 39 Smoke Rings and Roses they were firm in their demands and the lady was becoming quite perplexed, when a happy thought came to her relief and she said : "My friends, you know my desire to have in my garden the first black tulip grown in Holland. You shall have access to my grounds at all times, and the one of you who first shows me the longed-for blossom, him will I marry." The lovers were sad, for they had long tried to accomplish this very object, but they vowed to do their best and went away to commence the task. Time went on apace and each gallant watched over a plot in the gardens of Barnveldt. In their struggle for a woman's favor they had grown from the dearest of chums to being very bad friends indeed, and they scarcely spoke to each other as they met in the walks be- tween the tulip beds. One day the flowers of which they each had the greatest hopes burst into bloom, and those upon one side of the walk were a fine, dark red, though still far from the longed-for color, but alack and alack! the flowers grown by the other cavalier were all of pure spotless white. As this latter was gazing upon the flowers with face almost as white as their Smoke Rings and Roses petals, his rival approached and with a harsh laugh taunted him with the hopeless- ness of his efforts. Hot words followed, swords were drawn and the flower-scented air was rilled with the sound of clashing steel. It was but a short contest, and pres- ently the grower of the white tulips fell in the midst of his blossoms, his rival's sword run quite through his heart. As he fell, his life's blood gushed forth and bathed the pallid blooms in its own rich color. The Countess, summoned by her fright- ened gardeners, when she reached the scene found one lover dead, and all about him tulips of the most wonderful dusky crim- son, the very color she had so longed for. The other lover, appalled by the awful thing he had done, cursed the spot, de- nounced the Countess and disappeared to return no more. The Countess became very sad, and cared not at all for the tulips, but only for the lover who was dead, which is the way of woman, and until this day in the gardens of Barnveldt, is a certain plot within which, plant what you will, naught ever grows save always a riotous profusion of wonder- ful black-red tulips — tulips glowing with 41 Smoke Rings and Roses the color which cost one lover his life and another his happiness, and which cost the Countess — what do such things cost a pretty woman? THE FICKLE ROSE. You gave me a rose one night in May Sweeter than any other, And it said to me, "I love you, dear, As I never can love another." But alas! ere many a day had gone, In some sorry way or other, The rose that was mine was telling its love, With its petals pink to another. Now my rose is gone and its fragrance sweet Lies deep in the heart of that other. I'll have lilies fair and violets rare, But of roses never another. 43 TERESITA MIA. It was long ago in my hard working days in Florence. I was painting away for dear life, and it was a hard struggle. I had a shab- by little studio away up in an old palazzo. It had one big window looking away to the north, and a wide win- dow ledge where doves would perch waiting for the few crumbs I could spare them. Many flights of old, worn stone stairs led up to my studio, and often up these stairs came Teresita. She was only a hired model, a girl of the people, yet endowed with a certain patrician grace of beauty that caused one's imagination to wander afield in pondering her ancestry. I had painted her again and again, and ever as I painted would she tell me little bits of her home life. She was but a child of nature, and quite frankly would she chatter of the home privations; of the dear mother, and of the father, who was kind Smoke Rings and Roses save when he was in drink, and then only was it that he was harsh with the mother, and would beat young Beppo, and some- times he would even strike Teresita her- self. And then she would shake off the memory of these sad doings, and, with a happy light in her eyes, tell me how it would all be so soon changed, for was it not just at the Easter-time that she would wed with Giuseppe, the handsome, brown lad, who came each market day across the plain with his donkey load of wares to sell. Ah, only to think of it ! she would go quite away to the country, to the house of Giuseppe's father, for, indeed, it was his mother who was dead, and they had much need of a woman to care for them. As the days went on, my interest grew in the simple affairs of this Teresita mia, and I often asked, "What of the handsome lad, and how prospered the love affair?" Thus time passed, until I noticed that Teresita did not respond as happily to my talk of Giuseppe. And then there came a day when the little maid climbed my stairs slowly, and the doorway framed a wan looking little figure with a tear-stained face, and she came in and threw herself all in a little heap on the couch and sobbed out her 45 Smoke Rings and Roses sorrowful tale : "Ah, but Giuseppe was after all but a faithless one; had he not given Annette a fine blue ribbon? And also he had taken her to the fete. Ah, life, was it not hard? Would the Signore like Teresita to pose to-day ?" "But no," I said, "the Signore will only have thee to go home, lit- tle one, and try to mend thy grief." And I gave her the little fee and she went away. Then, for many days she came not at all to the studio, until one morning, when she looked at me with great, sad eyes, and about her was a pitiful little attempt at dig- nity as she said: "We will talk of him no more; he is to me nothing." I painted her that day, and I have the sketch by me now, and the atmosphere of hopeless sadness is still about it. After that I was busy with many things, and as the days went by I only found time to wonder why the Teresita mia came not any more. It was the time of the Easter fetes, and I was strolling by the Arno, when I came upon a group of boatmen gathered about something on the bank. I asked of one what it might be, and he turned toward me a rough face, as he said, with a shrug of his shoulders: "Tis but another fool 46 Smoke Rings and Roses girl, Signore." And then I leaned forward and caught a glimpse of the pallid face and the tangle of dusky hair, and I could only say: "Alas, indeed, little one, life is hard; may death prove kinder, poor Teresita mia." 47 BIEN CHAUSSEE. Sing I shoes of all the ages, To charm the gods and win the sages. Alas ! To work such havoc, shocking, A dainty shoe with glimpse of stocking. Fair Hypatia's sandals slender, Classic grace to footsteps lend her. Bebe's tiny sabots clatter, Keeping time with merry chatter, Or Louis Quinze of modern flirt, Peeping forth 'neath lace frilled skirt. Hypatia, Bebe, Gretchen, all, Mabel, Prudence, Diane tall. Smoke Rings and Roses Bien chaussee in fashion's mart, No comfort 'tis to heal the smart. Sing I shoes of all the ages, To charm the gods and win the sages, And work the ruin of modern man, As naught but shoes and stockings can. GOOD NIGHT. Good night, my love — Nay, nay, not yet, The night is young, Too young to let Go from us with a sad good night. Good night, my love, good night, good night ! Good night, my love — Go not I pray, Oh, dearest one, I'd have you stay A little ere we bid good night. Good night, my love, good night, good night ! Smoke Rings and Roses Good night, my love — Now thou art gone, And I in grief, All, all alone — I cry through space, my love, good night. Good night, my love, good night, good night ! Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 PreservationTechnologie* A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATIOI 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 «8tt8awJ8$ 111111 Mi mmF mm LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 012 242 388 8 MX