Pass I 
 Book J 
 
 <r^ ^ PI 
 
Glass. 
 Book- 
 
OLYMPIAN '-^^ 
 
 LEAVES. 
 
 NEW BRIGHTON, 
 
 1881. 
 

 f^-fc-S 
 
 2/b i 1<4 / 
 
A TRANSATLANTIC EPISODE. 
 
 Her eyes were brown, her hair was dark — 
 You can see her daily in Central Park. 
 She was nothing- remarkable in figure or face, 
 Only cheerfully bright, and wore beautiful lace. 
 
 She had many " winning wiles" 
 And countless " sunny smiles" 
 
 In reserve. 
 She was a discriminating coquette, 
 And by no means cared to cast her net 
 
 In every one's preserve. 
 
 He had a frank and trusting nature — 
 He came from the land of sugar-canes. 
 
 They were different in every feature; 
 And 3'et they were both Americans. 
 
 He never had flirted — he never could ; 
 She always had flirted- — and always would. 
 He thought she was perfect — he loved an ideal ; 
 How little he knew what her heart could feel ! 
 
4 A TRANSATLANTIC EPISODE. 
 
 Venice was the town they met in, 
 
 'Twas in the lovely month of June ; 
 
 They listened to the rhythmic tune , 
 
 Of the song of the gondolier ; 
 They took some long and winding walks, 
 And had those sweetly whispered talks 
 
 Which to him had grown daily more dear. 
 
 Their gondola floated gently, gently. 
 The dying sun tinged all with gold ; 
 The deep rich tints grew fainter, fainter, 
 Till sombre dusk would all enfold. 
 
 Said he, " Have you no love,- no life to give me 
 After all these weeks of hope and pain ? 
 Is it 'cause you yourself are heartless, 
 That you another's heart enchain?" 
 
 She said, " I do not understand you quite. 
 This setting sun is just a perfect sight; 
 Just see that beautiful deep-tinted light 
 On yonder castle of the Nun, 
 And look, how gradually the waters bright 
 Are touched by rays from the sinking sun." 
 
A TRANSATLANTIC EPISODE. / 
 
 " My friend, where is your cherished, long-loved 
 moral code? 
 
 Are you sure you never flirted?" he sighed. 
 
 " Oh ! yes — I never would," she cried ; 
 " Yet I love a transatlantic episode." 
 
 The sunlight from his heart and Venice fled 
 As he looked up and simply said, 
 "Farewell." 
 
THE PLEASURES AND ADVANTAGES OF 
 SINGLE BLESSEDNESS. 
 
 I AM what is generally termed an old maid ; that is to 
 say, fifteen or sixteen years have passed over my head 
 since I reached the marriageable age. 
 
 I am an old maid from choice, not from necessity. 
 An}^ one can tell you who knew me in my youth (I may 
 say it now without vanity) that 1 was quite handsome, 
 not stupid, and rich enough to make my good qualities of 
 some effect. No, indeed, it was not for want of asking 
 that I never married. Why, there was young Noodle- 
 dums, who declared he would drown himself if I refused 
 him ; but I told him that if he was so weak-minded as that 
 he had better do so, for I certainly did not want a husband 
 who would drown himself on the slightest provocation. 
 He didn't do it, however, but I don't think his present 
 wife would have been sorry if he had. 
 
 Then there was Bobby Peachum, who had plenty of 
 money, carriage and horses, and was always ready for a 
 
Single Blessedness" — Bobby Peachum. 
 
i 
 
 } 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
SINGLE BLESSEDNESS. I 3 
 
 spree. But he was so fond of his dinner, and he did talk 
 such slang. Actually when he proposed these were his 
 words : " I say, you're a bully little girl ; now just hitch 
 on and come along with me. I'll feed you on candy to 
 keep you sweet, and you can have all the busting fine 
 dresses you want." I thanked him kindly, but declined 
 to hitch on. I heard afterwards that he remarked, " There 
 are as good fish in the sea as ever were caught." 
 
 Then there were several good but uninteresting youths 
 who would have made most exemplary husbands, but I 
 should have been bored to death before five months had'' 
 passed. / 
 
 Then there was a young clergyman, who if he had 
 been anything else I might have married, though it is 
 doubtful. But I did not think I was calculated for poor- 
 visiting, sewing societies, Bible classes, etc., and I told 
 him so, though it hurt me to see him feel so badly. I am 
 afraid if I continued the list you might think I was draw- 
 ing on my imagination. But I just wanted to show you 
 that I have had as many offers as most girls. 
 
 And now I should like to show you some few of the 
 advantages of my present condition. In the first place, I 
 am my own mistress. When I want to do anything there 
 is no one to say, " My dear, I'd rather you wouldn't" 
 (meaning "you can't"). No one to say, if anything goes a 
 little wrong, " My dear wife, I wish you could manage 
 
"Single Blessedness — The Young Clergyman." 
 
SINGLE BLESSEDNESS. 1 7 
 
 things a little better." I speak from what I have seen of 
 my sister's wedded experience ; yet she has what is called 
 a model husband. If I had to have a man following after 
 me wherever I went, giving me advice on all occasions, 
 who would rather I shouldn't do this, that, or the other, 
 I should soon go round as a lunatic, and imagine the 
 keeper was my husband. The best of them expect you 
 not to lift a finger without their gracious permission. 
 The mere fact of having some one to tyrannize over com- 
 pletely makes them tyrants. 
 
 I do love children, — but my sister's children are all-suf- 
 ficient for me. Fancy the responsibility^ of half a dozen of 
 your own ; to see that they are properly fed, washed, 
 and clothed ; to attend to their coughs and colds ; to tie 
 up bloody fingers, plaster broken heads, see them through 
 measles, whooping-cough, scarlet-fever, and other neces- 
 sary plagues! I am content to enjoy other people's 
 children without the responsibility. 
 
 1 know two young married women with little babies 
 who think marriage the finest thing in the world. But 
 they, poor things, married so young that they never knew 
 the delights of freedom, and consequently do not miss 
 their independence. 
 
 Then there are some women of such soft and chnging 
 dispositions that a state of dependence is an absolute 
 necessity. They require some one to advise them in 
 
"Single Blessedness" — Young Noodlums. 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
"Single Blessedness" — Young Noodlums. 
 
"Single Blessedness" — My Advice. 
 
SINGLE BLESSEDNESS. 23 
 
 everything, to tell them just what to do, or they would 
 never do anything. Let such get married, by all means. 
 
 But to women of independent character, not of a 
 domestic turn of mind, and who are capable of managing 
 their own affairs, my advice is to join the noble army of 
 old maids and fly the banner of freedom and independ- 
 ence. 
 
 <i 
 
THE GERMAN. 
 
 My dress is on the bed, — a cloud of blue and white, — my 
 maid is arranging my hair in a most becoming manner, 
 and yet I am anything but happy, and if it were not for 
 the fear of spoiling my eyes, would have a good cry. 
 Alas! I have no partner for the german. Oh, the horror 
 of the thing ! Will I have to sit alone, or will some one 
 take pity on me? These questions have been revolving 
 in my mind ever since the invitations for Carrie's party 
 have been given out. 
 
 My famil}' are tired of hearing the same cry, and Fred 
 said to me at dinner, " For heaven's sake, stop that tune 
 of 'german'! It seems to me, any way, it is about time 
 for you to give up going out." 
 
 Time for me to give up going out, indeed ! Brothers 
 are so rude ! And to make it worse, mamma does noth- 
 ing but tell how when she was a girl that slie never went 
 to a party without having nine or ten offers for the " ger- 
 man," and always two bouquets ! 
 
26 THE GERMAN. 
 
 Hush ! there is the bell ! 
 
 I thought perhaps Dick Moffat might write and ask me 
 to dance. 
 
 " A note for me, Mar}^ ?" 
 
 What a nice hand he writes ! Yes, here it is : " May I 
 have the pleasure of " — but there is something familiar 
 about this paper — I hear a laugh, and catch sight of 
 Fred's laughing face behind the door. "Very clever!" I 
 cry out. " Dick is the last person I should expect to ask 
 me, so I am not at all fooled." Nevertheless I could cry 
 from disappointment as Fred saunters away delighted 
 with the success of his joke. 
 
 I don't see why boys are so cruel. 
 
 We are in the dressing-room at last, where I am sur- 
 rounded by the girls with the same cr}', " Have you a 
 partner for the german ?" 
 
 " None of us have," whispered Mamie Anderson, my 
 dearest friend, " except Nina, and she is going to dance 
 with Mr. Black — so mean in her ! You know he used to 
 be devoted to me, and she ran after him until she got him 
 for herself. He has sent her the loveliest flowers ! O 
 Nina, are you going down now ?" And off they go arm 
 in arm ! 
 
 " Well, I have done my best to get you a partner," says 
 a large mamma on my right to her daughter as she pulls 
 out her dress. " I have told your brother to try and get 
 
THE GERMAN. 27 
 
 some one to dance with you," and they disappeared down 
 the stairs. 
 
 At last we enter the room. Most of the men stand 
 about the door ; one or two have had courage to launch 
 themselves on the sea of petticoats. 
 
 I see Dick Moffat at the door. I call up my prettiest 
 smile and cast a glance at him that would melt a stone, 
 but to no purpose. The time glides by. I have no part- 
 ner. By looking around the room you can tell pretty 
 much who has and who has not. When you see a girl 
 move her fan with a quick, impatient movement, and her 
 eyes go roving around the room, you may know that she 
 is partnerless ; but let the magic word be spoken, and she 
 becomes calm at once, leans back in her chair, and sur- 
 veys the world with a smile. 
 
 I have wasted half an hour on the stairs talking to Mr. 
 Robinson, and just as I think I've got him up to the point, 
 and am about to be rewarded for my pains, I find he is 
 engaged for the "german"! T hurry back to the ball- 
 room in time to meet Mamie Anderson on Dick Moffat's 
 arm. She has captured him then for the " german" ! It 
 is too much ! And I had told her I hoped he would ask 
 me ! Horrid thing ! My eyes fill with tears. 
 
 The music starts up and the german is about to begin. 
 Is it a wonder we New York girls look old before our 
 time, when we have to go through such moments as 
 
28 THE GERMAN. 
 
 these ? But hope springs within my breast as Carrie 
 comes towards me with a man, a very young man — in my 
 heart I know he cannot be twenty — but I meet him with 
 a smile, and at last I have a partner for the german ! As 
 we go through the crowd I catch sight of the mamma 
 whom I met in the dressing-room. Her daughter is 
 standing near and still partnerless, though her brothers 
 have done their best, judging from the very warm appear- 
 ance of two young men who are trying to soothe her. I 
 pass on, no pity in my breast. I have grown hardened to 
 such sights in the service of the world. 
 
 As I lean my tired head back in the dark corner of the 
 carriage, and pull my torn dress from under Fred's heels, 
 I wonder if there are germans in heaven, and if there are 
 men enough to go around ! ! 
 
H\ biossoos laSev^, 
 wa.Tvi:Jer yeud) cihd "malcien, 
 as -Bu/eerty 5Lvip, 
 Dommo ■for Uielr 'blea&'ja 
 at Lei lore, 
 
 i\y IS Deavmno, 
 
 sky IS be 
 Svntiplit stxemnt'yic 
 Dourer above. 
 
 or (heir- deafwv/ng , 
 "or U\e\r eajovmp 
 
 o^ rfie'i- /ove - 
 
 Love's Springtide. 
 
A LEGEND. 
 
 I WAS told in the days of my childhood 
 
 As I stood at my nurse's knee, 
 That over the dark blue ocean 
 
 A ship was sailing to me. 
 
 It would come from some beautiful country, 
 From the realm of some mighty king, 
 
 Whose subjects were rich from the cradle 
 And never had need of a thing. 
 
 It was laden with jewels and treasures, 
 With pearls and diamonds and gold; 
 
 And whatever my heart could desire 
 This vessel would have in its hold. 
 
 But none could tell when it was coming. 
 If its trip should be long or short, 
 
 Or the date of its shipping its cargo 
 To sail from that beautiful port. 
 
A Legend. 
 
A LEGEND. 35 
 
 But some day, sooner or later, 
 
 The ship would certainly sail, 
 And so I must watch for it always 
 
 And not let my patience fail. 
 
 * 
 
 As a child I believed the legend, 
 And oft while at play on the sand 
 
 I would stop and look over the ocean 
 To discover that beautiful land. 
 
 And when far away in the offing 
 
 I would see a gallant mast, 
 With childish jo}'^ I would fancy 
 
 That my ship had come home at last. 
 
 And oft in the summer evenings 
 
 When the fishing-smacks came home, 
 
 I'd go down to the beach and watch them 
 Come in o'er the sparkling foam. 
 
 And I'd ask the kind old fishermen 
 
 If in sailing far out at sea 
 They had seen a beautiful vessel 
 
 Laden with treasures for me ; 
 
36 A LEGEND. 
 
 A noble, splendid vessel 
 
 With flags and pennants gay. 
 
 But, alas ! they had never seen it. 
 And sadly I'd turn away. 
 
 And now my hair is silver 
 That once was a ruddy gold, 
 
 And the happy days of childhood 
 Have become a tale that is told. 
 
 And the dear old childish legend, 
 That once seemed to me so true, 
 
 Gives place to a sweet reality 
 That out of the legend grew. 
 
 For is not m}^ vessel the future, 
 That daily comes nearer to me, 
 
 And the beautiful heaven beyond it 
 That far-away land o'er the sea ? 
 
 Ah yes ! and my vessel sails surely, 
 Each day makes the voyage more short, 
 
 And soon will I anchor forever 
 
 Safe at home in that heavenly port. 
 
A FIRESIDE REVERIE. 
 
 The fire is brightly burning in the old grate, before 
 which so many nights now I have sat and dreamed of 
 days gone by. 
 
 I was young once. It seems queer to say so now, but 
 I really was. Many's the time this old hearth has been 
 surrounded by my dear friends, but somehow I always 
 liked it best when they were all gone and left me alone, 
 or with my dearest of all friends, who could sympathize 
 with and see in the glowing coals just the pictures I saw, 
 and experienced the same pleasure in them that I did. 
 But he is gone now these many years, and I always sit 
 in the evening here alone, for people don't think much of 
 an old woman's society at an}^ time, and what do they care 
 about my fire-pictures? Gracious me! What a trouble 
 one's eye-glasses are ! how many times they get blurred 
 while I am looking down into that bright red hole in the 
 very centre of the grate. But then my eyes lately have 
 had a great fashion of crying when I really don't know 
 they are. Rather nonsensical, isn't it? Brighten up, old 
 eyes, there's my favorite picture. 
 
38 A FIRESIDE REVERIE. 
 
 An old house stands on the side of a hill. Leading up to 
 it is a broad carriage-road, shaded by solemn-looking old 
 trees through which the light shines in bright patches on 
 the road. It is early spring ; the tender young leaves 
 glisten with a soft pale green, the birds are singing in the 
 boughs overhead, and going along the road is a maiden 
 beside whom a tall young man is walking and saying 
 something which evidently pleases her, for there is a 
 happy smile in her eyes as she looks shyly up at him from 
 under her long black lashes. 
 
 Bless me! What a start that lump of coal gave me! 
 It has broken in two. There's an end of that picture, and 
 I can't bring it back again to save myself. Oh! but this is 
 nice ; I see another, and how lovely everything and every 
 one in it is looking ! 
 
 A large hall filled with a gay, rapidly moving throng. 
 On one side is a staircase; now every one's eyes are di- 
 rected towards it, for on the turning, just passing the old 
 clock, is the same girl whom I just saw walking in the 
 garden, and by her side the same cavalier.- But where are 
 they going to, and why are they dressed so gorgeously? 
 Down they come, her long dress of white gleaming bright- 
 ly as they pass the window on the stairs, and again she lifts 
 her eyes to his and smiles brightly as they pass through 
 the hall and into a large room beyond, where stands an 
 elderly man in flowing white garments who turns toward 
 
A Fireside Reverie. 
 
A FIRESIDE REVERIE. 4 1 
 
 them and — Oh, pshaw ! Why don't lovely things last 
 longer in this world ! If I could only have seen the rest 
 of that picture ! That fire needs a poke, or else I know I 
 shan't be able to see another. Yes, I thought that would 
 bring it. How quiet everything is, and what a pretty bed- 
 room. There is a fire in it beside which stands a pretty 
 wooden cradle with delicate lace curtains, and a sweet- 
 faced woman looks from it to the clock ; the clock hands 
 are almost on the hour ; there, now they are quite. The 
 door is softly opened and a young man enters ; surely 
 I have seen his face before, and hers too. They are the 
 very same couple I just saw coming down the stairs. 
 
 That picture has gone too now, but it has left another in 
 its place. The tears come into my eyes again as I look, 
 and those tiresome glasses have to be wiped once more. 
 
 A middle-aged woman stands in the centre of a room, 
 bending over the still white face of a man. Three work- 
 men are in the corner by the door, their hats in their 
 hands, and eyes riveted on the floor as if they were fairly 
 looking through it. Suddenly the tall figure of the woman 
 sways a little, and finally falls forward with a low cry 
 across the body of the man. The workmen open the door 
 softly and walk out ; a ray of sunlight streams in through 
 the window on the stairs in the hall, and I am startled 
 again to find they are the same as in all the other pictures. 
 
42 A FIRESIDE REVERIE. 
 
 My eyes refuse to see more ; besides it is late ; and I 
 jump up and meet my own face in the mirror over the fire- 
 place. It is that of the woman I have seen in all my fire- 
 pictures, only now it looks much older and is alone, and I 
 may look in vain to see the other loving face beside it. • 
 
COULEUR DE ROSE. 
 
 They had wandered away from the farm-house 
 
 That happy afternoon, 
 Up on the hill to the orchard, 
 
 That was covered now with bloom ; 
 
 Where the trees were bowing and bending. 
 With their clusters of rosy white, 
 
 And below the moss-grown carpet 
 Was strewn with the petals light. 
 
 But climbing the hill was tiring, 
 And the day was warm for a walk. 
 
 So under the bright May blossoms 
 They would rest awhile and talk. 
 
 Below them the little valley 
 
 Lay clothed in its robes of green, 
 And the softly winding river 
 
 Like a silver streak was seen. 
 
44 COULEUR DR ROSE. 
 
 Was it the smell of the blossoms 
 That made the air so sweet ? 
 
 Or the perfume of orchard violets 
 That clustered around their feet? 
 
 Was it the bee's dull humming, 
 
 Overhead in the trees, 
 That sounded so like music 
 
 Borne on the summer breeze ? 
 
 Why was the distance so charming, 
 
 The sky above so blue? 
 Why the whole earth so lovely 
 
 That afternoon to those two ? 
 
 Was it the words he uttered 
 
 As he looked in her eyes so brown ? 
 
 Was it the answer she gave him 
 
 From those same eyes looking down ? 
 
 We will not ask the question 
 
 From the story as it goes, 
 But perhaps we can guess the reason 
 
 Why the world was " couleur de rose." 
 
Coui.EUR DE Rose. 
 
THE ENCHANTED MOSQUITO. 
 
 Once a fairy and two imps named Green Eyes and 
 Long- Chin were rocking in a water-lily, and after they 
 had enjoyed the gentle motion for a while they wanted 
 something more exciting. 
 
 " What shall we do ?" said the fairy. " Suppose we 
 change a frog into a beautiful maiden !" 
 
 "Pooh!" exclaimed Green Eyes, "that's too old; let's 
 do something fresh." 
 
 " All right," said Long Chin ; " let's glide down the 
 stream and cheat those boys fishing on the bank." 
 
 " Nonsense !" said Green Eyes scornfully ; " any crab 
 can do that. Oh, I say, here's fun ! Here comes a mos- 
 quito ; let's enchant him." 
 
 " Done !" cried Long Chin. (You couldn't have heard 
 him, but it made the lily tremble all over.) " That's some- 
 thing like." 
 
 " Don't change him into a boy," cried the fairy, who 
 was tender-hearted and thought that mosquitoes were bad 
 enough already. The imps did not reply, for just then the 
 mosquito hovered over their heads. 
 
c 
 
 48 THE ENCHANTED MOSQUITO. 
 
 " Squirr-rum-boob-da-fa-teesh !" muttered Long Chin, 
 which magic word meant, " Monster, be thy song doubly 
 shrill, and thy bill sharpened and lengthened, until thou 
 becomest a terror to all the inhabitants of the earth !" 
 
 " Squiss-mug-wizz !" hissed Green Eyes, meaning, " Man- 
 kind shall be helpless before thee. Thou shalt live for- 
 ever !" 
 
 The fairy just had time to wave her wand and say, 
 " But thou and thy sons and thy sons' sons shall not 
 sting," and off flew the enchanted mosquito. 
 
 " You've spoilt everything !" cried the imps angrily. 
 But the fairy laughed so sweetly and looked so bright 
 and airy as she sat there then that they begged her par- 
 don instantly. Wonderful to say, never since that summer 
 has any male mosquito attempted to sting. The fairy's 
 spell is upon them all. They may feed upon flowers and 
 such things, but human fiesh Jtez'er ! Look out for Ma- 
 dame Mosquito though ! She lives upon blood and grows 
 fiercer and fiercer every year. And if any one ever meets 
 the Enchanted Mosquito himself, with his queer body and 
 long bill and tremendous song, what good is there in 
 being at all alarmed ? He is perfectly harmless, so don't 
 attempt to kill him, for it is useless to overcome that terri- 
 ble " Squiss-mug-wizz! ! !" 
 
 J^BAp'2, 
 
 V^