Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/47

36 patiently to force. What is the use resisting force? She turned her head away, and her long eyelashes drooped sweetly. Gerard lost nothing by his promise. Words were not needed here: and silence was more eloquent. Nature was in that day what she is in ours; but manners were somewhat freer. Then, as now, virgins drew back alarmed at the first words of love; but of prudery and artificial coquetry there was little, and the young soon read one another’s hearts. Everything was in Gerard’s favour: his good looks, her belief in his goodness, her gratitude; and, at the Duke’s banquet this mellow summer eve, all things disposed the female nature to tenderness; the avenues to the heart lay open; the senses were so soothed and subdued with lovely colours, gentle sounds, and delicate odours; the sun gently sinking, the warm air, the green canopy, the cool music of the now violet fountain.

Gerard and Margaret sat hand in hand in silence: and Gerard’s eyes sought hers lovingly; and hers now and then turned on him timidly and imploringly: and two sweet unreasonable tears rolled down her cheeks, and she smiled deliciously ere they were dry.

And the sun declined; and the air cooled; and the fountain plashed more gently; and the pair throbbed in unison, and silence, and this weary world was heaven to them.

So they’ve sent you a card, my Adonis, For the Countess’s ball of to-night; You fancy no fate like your own is, No future so charmingly bright.

It costs half-a-crown for a Hansom To go to that beautiful ball, Though shortly a duchess’s ransom You’d give to have not gone at all.

For you dance with some lovely young creature With a winning soft grace and a smile; And you dwell on each look and each feature As if Paradise opened the while:

You clasp her slight waist in the “Dewdrop,” Though you feel that your touch is profane, And think that fair burthen ere you’d drop You would die to the cornet’s wild strain.

The cornet blows louder and brisker, She grows more confiding and weak, Her soft tresses tickle your whisker, Her soft breath is warm on your cheek;

And in the excitement grown bolder, You murmur soft words in her ear, And in blushes quite low on your shoulder She replies what Mamma must not hear;