Ostler Joe.

Waikato Times, Volume XXII, Issue 1851, 17 May 1884, Page 2 (Supplement)

Ostler Joe.

By 0. R Sims.

I Moon afc evo, as the sun went down, by a grave where a woman lias, Who lured nion's souls to tha bliovos of sin with the light of her wanton eye=s, Who sang the song that the Siren sang on the treacherous Lurley height, Whose face was as fair as a summer day, and whose heart was as black as night. Yet a blossom I fain would pluck to-day from the garden above her dust ; Not the languorous lily of soulless sin nor the blood-red rose of lust ; But a sweet white blossom of holy love that grew in the one green spot In the arid desert of Phryne's life, where all was parched and hot. * * ♦ ♦ ♦ In the summer, when the meadows were aglow with blue and red, Joe, the ostler of the Magpie, and fair Annie Smith were wed. Plump was Annie, plump and pretty, with a cheek as white as snow ; He wa3 anything but handsome, was the Magpie's ostler, Joe. But he won the winsome la«sie. They'd a cottage and a cow, ! And her matronhood sat lightly on the village j beauty'j brow. Sped the months, and came a baby — such a J blue-eyed baby boy I ! Joe was working in the stables when they told him of his joy. He was rubbing down the horses, and he gave | them then and theie i All a special feed of clover, just in honor of j the hek ; i It had been his great ambition, and he told I the horses so, I That the Fates would send a baby who might bear the name of Joe. Little Joe the child was christened, and, like babies, grew apace ; i He'd his mother's eyes of azure, and his father's honest face. Swift the happy years went over, years of blue and cloudless sky ; Love was lord of that small cottage, and the tempests passed them by. Passed them by for years, then swiftly burst in fury o'er their home. Down the lane by Annie's cottage chanced a gentleman to roam ; Thrice he came and saw her sitting by the window with her child, And he nodded to the baby, and the baby laughed ahd smiled. So at last it grew to know him — little Joe was nearly four ; He would call the " pretty gemplun " as he passed the open, door ; And one day ho ran and caught him, and in child's play pulled him in, And the baby Joe had prayed for brought about the mother's sin. 'Twas the same old wretched story that for ages bards have sung : 'Twas a woman weak and wanton and a villain's tempting tongue ; 'Twas a picture deftly painted for a silly creature's eyes Of the Babylonian wonders and the joy that in them lies. Annie listened and was tempted ; she was tempted and she fell, As the angels fell from heaven to the blackest depths of hell ; She was promised wealth and splendour and a life of guilty sloth, Yellow gold for child and husband, — and the woman left them both. Home one eve came Joe the Ostler with a cheery cry of " Wife I " Finding that which blurred for ever all the story of his life. She had left a silly letter, — through the cruel scrawl he spelt ; Then he sought the lonely bedroom, joined his horny hands and knelt. " Now, 0 Lord, 0 God, forgive her, for she ain't to blame ! " he cried ; " For I owt t'a seen her trouble, and 'a gone away and died. Why, a wench like her — God bless her !—! — 'twasn't likely as herd rest With that bonny head for ever on a ostler's ragged vest. "It was kind o' her to bear me all this long and happy time, So for my sake please to blesd her, though You count her deed a crime ; If so be I don't pray proper, Lord, forgive me, for You see I can talk all right to 'osses, but I'm nervous like with Thee." Ne'er a line came to the cottage from the woman who had flown ; Joe the baby died that winter, and the man was left aloae. Ne'er a bitter word he uttered, but in silence kissed the rod, Saving what he told his horses, saving what he told his God. Far away in mighty London rose the woman into fame, For her beauty won men's homage, and she prospered in her shame ; Quick from lord to lord she flitted, higher still each prize she won, And her rivals paled beside her as the stars beside the sun. Next she made the stage her market, and she dragged Art's temple down To the level of a show place for the outcasts of the town. And the kisses she had given to poor Ostler Joe for nought With their gold and costly jewels rich and titled lovers bought. Went the years with flying footsteps while her star was at its height ; Then the darkness came on swiftly, and the gloaming turned to nigK. Shattered strength and faded beauty tore the laurels from her brow ; Of the thousands who had worshipped never one came near her now. Broken down in health and fortune, men forgot her very name, Till the news that she was dying woke the echoes of her fame ; And the papers in their gossip mentioned how an " actress " lay Sick to death in humble lodgings, growing weaker every day. One there was who read the story in a far-off country place, And that night the dying woman woke and looked upon his face. Once again the strong arms clasped her that had clasped her long ago, And the weary head lay pillowed on the breast of Ostler Joe. All the past had he forgotten, all the sorrow and the shame, He had found her sick and lonely, and his wife he now could claim. Since the grand folks who had known her one and all had slunk away, He could clasp his long-lost darling, and no man would say him nay. In his arms death found her lying, in his arms -her spirit fled ; And his tears came down in torrents as he knelt beside her dead. Never once his love had faltered through her base unhallowed life ; And the stone above her ashes bears the honoured name of wife. ♦ * * ♦ That's the blossom I fain would pluck to-day from the garden above her dust ; Not the languorous lily of soulless sin nor the blood- red rose of lust ; But a sweet white blossom of holy love that grew in the one green spot In the arid desert of Phryne's life, where all was parched and hot.

A oabefuii observer writes to the London Times : "I find little article 'the 1 occurs two hundred times in the first column of the

Times— for sake of average, say one thousand times on every page, making sixteen thousand for the entire copy, equal to forty-eight thousand letters. Now, if we reckon that every line in a column numbers forty letters — taking leading article type a3 example — and that a column is made up of one hundred and fifty linen, then we learn how six thousand letters aro consumed. And so we come to ascertain that an ordinary copy of the Tunes devotes eight columns of letter-pvuab to article 1 the.' Smoly thi3 little verbal parasite might with advantage be stamped out."

Red Hair. An admirer of red hair, who has it himself, glorifies that style thus : " Throughout creation nature appears to de ighfc in red. It predominates in the pleasure of the imagination, for whatever is beautiful, agreeable, or sublime, partakes of red. The rainbow, the rose, and the charming lip and cheek of beauty's self, the sun, the source of heat and light, are all red ; as is also the fire, the mighty autocrat of the universe. The most brilliant flowers, the most delicious fruits, the orange, the apple, and the peach, are red. Through the animal kingdom red predominates, as in the lung of beasts, the lion. But go further : Adam, the first of mankind, was red. The greatest of Grecians, Jupiter, Apollo, and Vulcan, were crimson. Samson, whose strength -was gigantic, derived his power from his red hair, and the destiny of the empire of Athens depended on the red hair of Nissus. Queen Elizabeth had red hair ; so had Spencer and Shakespeare. Milton is another instance of the proof of my proposition. Also Defoe, the authpr of that world -renowned story, " Eobinson Crusoe." Lafayette had red hair ; Bonaparte's hair was of this colour. Artemus Ward had red hair ; so have Bed Indians."

Wearing a Slat in Court. Nearly seven hundred years ago (says the "Antiquarian Magazine and Biographer ") Philip 11. of France summoned King John of England either to trial or to mortal combat for the murder of Prince Arthur. As the latter cared for neither, a gallant soldier, De Courcey, then laguishing in prison, was set free, that he might undertake the combat, not for the king's, but for his country's sake. The fight, however, never took place, for Philip's champion, afraid of the gigantic De Courcey, preferred to sacrifice honour to risking his life. Being urged by John and Philip, who had come to witness the expected encounter, to give them an exhibition of his strength, De Courcey placed his helmet upon a post, and cleaving it with terrific force, drove his sword so firmly into the wood that none but the striker could remove it. "Never," said King John — " never unveil thy bonnet, man, again before king or subject." Thus the privilege of wearing the hat in the presence of the sovereign came to be enjoyed solely by the De Courceys, Earls of Kinsdale. They asserted their privilege by wearing their hat for a moment, and then uncovering. The De Courcey of George lll.'s time, not thinking this assertion sufficient, on one occasion wore his court hat all the time he was in the presence of the king ; but the king crushed his pride by remarkiug, " The gentleman ha" a right to be covered before me, but even King John could give him no right to be covered before ladies."

It is not to be doubted that men and women who are and have been exclusively devoted to one pursuit, or limited to a single line of thought, are narrower in mind and more circumscribed in powers than those who have had a broader field of vision and a larger culture. They may be able to do a single thing perhaps better than it has ever been done before ; but this special excellence hag been bought at a heavy expense of full, rich, and rounded manhood or womanhood.

Never let your honest conviction be laughed down. You can no more exercise your reason if you live in constant dread of ridicule than you can enjoy life if you live in constant fear of death. If you think it right to differ from the times, and make a point of morals, do it — not for insolence, but seriously and gravely, as if a man carried a big soul of his own in his bosom, and did not wait until it was breathed into him by the breath of fashion. Be true to your conviction, and in the end you will not only be respected by the world, but have the approval of your own conscience.

LimuitY bracelets are adopted by studious Transatlantic belles. The bangle consists of twelve tiny gold books linked together, with the name of some favoiite author enamelled on the back of each book.