Jasper County Democrat, Volume 8, Number 11, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 June 1905 — MUSE AND MATRIMONY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

MUSE AND MATRIMONY

By T. SHERWOOD BOYD

“Do you know,** remarked Gerald GoodseD, “I think I shall take to writing poerty." Nettle Ainsworth gave a little laugh as she settled herself more comfortably in the big chair. “Who ever heard of a poet with a waist line larger than his chest measurement?” she teased. “I say,” lie cried, “I’iu not to blama because I’m—er—plump—am I?” “You're not to blame, Gerry," she laughed, “but you cannot have indigestion and the fires of genius within you at the same time." "But I have a splendid digestion,” he persisted. “Four meals a day never feaze me.” “Poets,” counseled Nettle, “never have regular meals. When they lead regular lives they cease to become geniuses.” "But that’s all tom my rot,” be declared loftily. “I can be a genius and have the comforts of life, can’t I?” "If you are a very great geulus, Gerry, you may be able to live those band!-

caps dowu, but few men write good checks and good verse at the same time." “Well,” he said stubbornly, “I don’t think my checks would be protested, and I write verse. Bob Thompson said they were first rate. I read nlm some the other night.” "So that Is what he meant," mused Miss Ainsworth. “What’s what who meant?” demanded Gerald. "Why, Bob said be had been to see yon the other evening and had had one of the best laughs be has enjoyed in a long time," she explained. "He told me they were good." "No,” explained Nettle. “I think yon Will find that be said they were great” “It’s the same thing." “ ‘Great* is a word capable of a wider latitude of definition,” she reminded him. "Bead me some of the verses.” • Ton'll laugh,” b# contended. “No," aha promised; Til be very food and quiet” "Here's one I thought op last night,”

“My lady's eyes are blue and kind, Her charms are charms of face and mind, Her equal would be hard to find; 'Tls she I love most dearly. My lady's face Is pure and sweet. My lady's hair Is dainty, neat. And trim her tiny little feet, And she's an angel—nearly.” "I think that last line needs a little polishing,’’ said Miss Ainsworth gravely. “The lady of the lines might object to being called a near angel.” “I say,” cried Gerald In—shocked tones, “you don’t suppose I meant that, do you ? That’s poetic license—to make the rhyme, you know.” “Suppose you make It, ‘And she’s an angel, clearly?’” suggested Nettle. “That would be more polite.” Gerry’s face brightened. “It’s awfully good of you to suggest that,” he said. "It’s a whole lot better.” “Is there a second verse Nettle. "Not yet,” admitted Gerry, coloring. “You see, the different verses should be alike In meter. Now, when I start a second verse it sounds different. I had a second verse to this. It goes: "I never loved another girl With half the tender passion That keeps my head all In a whirl In this unusual fashion. If she would only give her love To one who loves her dearly, I*d think the stars In heaven above Like her eyes shone more clearly.” Ho paused expectantly. Mias Ainsworth admitted that the verses were scarcely of the aame metrical measurement. “I think,” observed Gerry, “that I’ll have the verse done In a booklet where there la only one verse to every other page and the rest of the paper Is covered with pictures. Then, you see, It would not matter so much.” “You should be an Inventor, Gerry,” counseled Miss Ainsworth. “I think you are more Ingenious than poetical." "But I want to be a poet,” he protested. “I’ve got such a lot of things that I dare not say to the girl herself. It’s the only way to let them come out.” Nettie smiled. “Now It all comes out.” she declared. “Who Is the lady, Gerry?" "I cannot tell you," said Goodsell, his face crimsoning. "You see. if I could get up the nerve to toll you her unme I wouldn’t have to write this stuff.” “Why don’t you write her a proposal in rhyme?" “Didn't 1 try?” he groaned. “I put In three weeks before St. Valentine's trying to find a rhyme for her name." “Now,” announced Miss Ainsworth triumphantly, “I know where one of my valentines came from.” “Rotten, wasn’t It?” he asked despairingly. "Well,” she admitted, "you might have fouud a better rhyme for my name than ‘let he.' ” “I worked four hours to get that," he asserted. “You try It and see how hard It Is.” She went to the table aud scribbled ou the tly leaf of a book. Then she brought It to him. Your name might be Eva or Grace Or Agnes or Annie or Letty, But It's not, and I'll make a brave race For the love of the fair lady Nettle. “See how easy It la?" she demanded as be looked up. “I can do It myself now,” he announced as be tu turn moved toward the table. Presently he returned to the fireplace. “Read this, please," he said as he handed her the sheet. On the other side of the paper she read: Her hair may be blond, black or red, Her name may be Hettie or Letty, But the girl I am anxious to wed Is a brunette, ahd her name 1* Nettle. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say to you for most two years,” he went on earnestly. “It may be bad verse, but I think I’ll make a better husband than I will a poet. Say ‘Yes,’ dear," he urged.

AntT Nettie said, "Yes, dear,” so softly that he bad Jo kneel beside her, with bis arms about her, to catch the whispered words.

"THAT'S WHAT I’VE BEEN TRYING TO SAY TO YOU FOR TWO YEARS."