THE MUSE AND THE MAID.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXX, Issue 3416, 6 January 1912, Page 3

THE MUSE AND THE MAID.

THE STORY OF A LEAP YEAR PROPOSAL-

(Specially Written for the “Gisborne Times” by P.L.A.)

“ ‘Hoiv sweet is mortal Sovran ty, ’ think some; Others, ‘How blest the Paradise to come!’ Air, take the cash in hand and waive tire Rest; Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!’” Thus quoted Tom, who is so thoroughly soaked! in our mutual friend. Omar Khayyam, that he even masticates his food in a manner that leads one to believe he is trying to keep time with tire metre of the Persian poet’s song. Sometimes he is harmless, but at other times he is extremely dangerous and liable, on the slightest provocation, to launch into an incantation lasting any timei up to an hour. “Well, what about ten-night?” I asked, being anxious to divert the stream of his thoughts into some less romantic channel. “Yes, I’ll come,” he answered, and I was surprised. We had been invited to a card party, and Tom has long made profession that lie does not incline to such “frivolity.” Hence my surprise. His reference to “cash in hand” implied that lie expected to indulge in something more interesting than Patience, and 1 I accordingly burdened myself with- nUuch silver when I went forth. /Vs events turned out, my preparations were uncalled for, the party being of quite a different nature to that which I had anticipated. We wiled away the evening at euchre, with an occasional song to relieve the monotony of the proceedings. About 11 o’clock I became suddenly aware that Tom had vanished as unostentatiously as the morning mist. Now, Term is my junior, and I have lived long eno'ugh to know what two vacant seats and an open French window signify. Strolling out on to the verandah, I lighted a cigar and proceeded to investigate, moving with outward unconcern: towards the summer house. Yes. it was Tom’s warning cough that greeted nue, and I am sure he must have: heard me return the compliment as I walked on into the shadows of the garden. At all. events, Tom and a pretty, fairhaired 1 girl came on to the verandah about- fifteen minutes later, and I scran liad an opportunity of communing with the former alone. He is twenty-two- years of age, and, as already indicated, is loaded to bursting point with poetry, so I felt it incumbent upon me to take- care of him. In the interests of science (that pleases him) I exhorted him to treatthe fair girl warily, adding by way of enlisting his sympathy, that I could not, however, fail to appreciate his wonderful discernment. “But,” I urged, “you had better not make any appointment, as your time must be given wholly to study if you are to get- through your exam- next month.” . Even, when normal. Tom is a tricky colt to lead, but to-night he seemed to be- fired with all the playfulness of his age. Slowly closing one eve. he focussed the other on me and said: “Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument About it and About-, but evermore Came out by the same Door as in I went.”" Seeing that further parley would be useless, I surrendered for the time hein cr. That night Torn sat on the edge of my bed longer than was his wont. He told me—but that wouldn’t be fair, as he stipulated that it should he treated as a confidence. If I understand Tom as well as I imagine I do, I should say that he knows well enough that he lias not yet reached what is considered the matrimonial age in his circle of friends, hutlie is in love and is capable of all the eccentricities of that stateThe girl, too, seems to be suffering from a- similar malady, despite her herculean efforts to disguise) the fact. This was as I thought on the evening of Monday, December 25th, but now I know that Tom and the fair-haired girl are sailing away out over the horizon on that mysterious sea of longing whence they will return as man and woman to! the places which were, hut a while ago l , occupied by a boy a nd a girl. It happened in this manner. On New Year’s Eve Tom took up several songs as he made hie prepa rations for departure from our bachelors abode, and I guessed well enough whence lie was bound. He loves and revels in poetry—when lie is himself the reciter—but he hates it when it flows from my lips. Tliis opportunity was. however, more than I could resist, -and lie was adjusting his necktie with the* aid of the overmantel when I commanded sonorously: “Waste not your hours, nor in the vain pursuit Of This and That endeavour and dispute ; Better lie merry with the fruitful grape Than sadden - after none, or bitter, Fruit.” “If that is the sum total of yOur observations just now, I. will bid you a very good evening,” he said with unusual -acerbity, and the door closed swiftly behind him. The small hand of the clock pointed to two when Tom alighted on the: doorstep with a, spring that carried him through the open doorway and linlf way along our hall. Smiling with entire self-satisfaction, he suspended his 1 hat on th-e chandelier and made himself comfortable in my armchair. I 'had retired, but was reading, and, knowing! that he could not remain silent if he had anything of importance in his mind, I waited/ “You’re ai pitiably lonely old dog, lie remarked leisurely after a time. This was toe much, even from Tom. With a jerk I achieved an upright position and-, when I had satisfied- myself that Toni had not been celebrating the coming of the Ne-iv Year, I enquired, “Were you-by any remote chance addressing me?” “Yea., verily, ’t-was no, good sage, he commenced, but broke down in bis oratorical ascent and , concluded I Jl tell you about it.” In ’more or less glowing language- he told 1 me the story. He alone had been) permitted to enjoy the fail* girl’s incomparable presence that evening. The need of- the hour was that t-liev should fiee the hoary .Old Year out and usher the New in. Sitting on the verandah of her parents’ home, they had found infinite pleasure, and time had fairly galloped l on until it required but a quarter of an hour to midnight* He related how, on the approach of the fateful hour, ho had became impatient and had fretted, as most of us do when something for which av© have been' waiting is about to be enacted. “My spirit was chaotic and 1 the vtoice of the Muse welled up in me.” ho said, and) continued, saying l : '“The Muse

fought and found expression for the feeling of tlie moment in, l the words: ‘One Moment in Annihilation’s waste, One Moment of the. Well of Lifeito j la'ste.

i he Stars are .setting, and the Caravan Draws to the Dawn of Nothing— Oh, make Haste.!’ ” The fair-haired girl made mo pretence to an. understanding of (poetry, but, it seemed, she understood Tom perfectly. As the bells tolled out the birth of tlie Year of Leaping she, either by accident or design, put tlie concluding line of the verse into effect. “You don’t mean me to make haste, do you?” she asked. ‘‘Well, hardly that,” he said. “I was calling on the Infinite.’^ “Then that’s not me, as it ?” came the further question. “I don’t- know so much about that but I’ll tell you to-morrow,” answered any young friend, but here again the Muse struggled, '.gained the- ascendancy, arid precipitated Toni again into songTry as ho would, lie could not repress it, but lie uttered dolefully: “To-morrow ? Why, To-morrow I. may

be Myself with Yesterday’s Sev’n Thousand Years.”

The fair-haired girl was true to her interpretation, for she grasped his hand in hers, at the same time ejaculating -with an- air of martyred resignation, “Oh, Tom!” “What could a chan do after that but propose?” asked Tom as lie concluded his recital and sett'ed back in the chair to receive my c-omiiment. “But surely you didn’t do that?” I asked incredulously.

“Oh. yes I did, but I’m not sure that she didn’t 'Know she was leading me into it.”

He stood up and exclaimed, “Oh, she’s a dear.”- His- ecstacy then took a violent form.

It was, indeed, fortunate that I was under the bed when Tom landed on it on all fours, otherwise I might have been in capable of congratulating him when he returned to sanity. At length he did :\o, and I then felt safe in emerging from cover. “Well,” I said, “if you behave yourself, I will, report your case favourably to the Dad, and he may, if caught in a very weak moment, be inveigled into giving you a start in this delusion you call matrimony.” “ -'Tie a delusion most men carry a fair way through life,” remarked Tom reflectively, and his parting words brought back the Muse, crying: “Gome, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring Your winter garment of Repentance fling ; Tlie Bird of Time has but a little way To flutter—and the bird is on the wing.” Tom’s a bit of philosopher after all, and if I am as unwary as he I. too, mav be “led” into the. proposal I’ve been waiting for years to find courage to make.