James Lane Allen

“ A man's conversation may be his own; his
conduct may vibrate with the extinct movements of his ancestors.
Georgiana's behavior then was merely the forerunner of larger marvels.
For next morning I wrote a futile drastic treatise on Woman's inability
to understand Man and Man's inability to understand Himself, and set it
under her window. It made such a roll of paper that the goldfinch's
nest looked as though it were distent with a sort of misshapen ostrich
egg. All day I waited with a heart as silent as a great clock run
down; my system of philosophy swung dead in the air. ”

“ Nature is
very stringent here, very guarded, truly universal. Invariably the
young men of my day grow lavish in the use of unguents when they are
preparing for natural selection; and I flatter myself that even my own
garments—in their superficial aspects at least, and during my long
pursuit of Georgiana—have not been very far from somewhat slightly
ingratiating.
This pursuit is now drawing to a close. It is nearly the last of June.
She has given me her word that she will marry me early in September.
Two months for her to get the bridal feathers ready; two for me to
prepare the nest. ”

“ I have set the pole under Georgiana's window several times within the
last two or three days, It looks like a little dip-net, high and dry in
the air; but so far as I can see with my unaided eye, it has caught
nothing so large as a gnat. It has attracted no end of attention from
the birds of the neighborhood, however, who never saw a goldfinch's
nest swung to the end of a leafless pole and placed where it could be
so exactly reached by the human hand. ”

“ Georgiana soon returned and
dropped down to me a piece of writing-paper.
"Sylvia wrote it before she began to think about the boys."
"It must be a very early poem."
"It is; and this is the only copy; please don't lose it."
"Then I think you ought to take it back at once. Let me beg of you not
to risk it—" But she was gone; and I turned to my arbor and sat down
to read Sylvia's poem, which I found to be inscribed to "The Potato,"
and to run as follows:
"What on this wide earth
That is made or does by nature grow
Is more homely yet more beautiful
Than the useful Potato? ”

“ I tapped it.
"Only three persons know of your misbehavior last night," I said. "If
you ever breathe it to a soul that you soiled that child by your touch,
the next time I get hold of you it will not be your nose: it will be
your neck!" ”

“ This proof of her high-mindedness and the enchanting glimpses of her
face that she has vouchsafed me since, goaded me yesterday morning to
despatch a reckless note: "Will you come to the arbor for a little
while tonight? I have never dared ask this before, but you know how I
have desired it. It is so much more private there. Write on the back
of this paper one word, 'Yes.' There is a pencil in the nest."
The shutters were nearly closed, but I caught sight of the curve of a
shoulder and the movement of a busy hand. As I pushed the note up I
said:
"Read it at once. ”

“ To-day the sewing-girl thrust out spiteful faces at me several times.
She is the one that helped Georgiana last year when she was making her
wedding-clothes to marry the West Point cousin. God keep him safely in
the distance, or guide him firmly to the van of war! How does a woman
feel when she is making her wedding-clothes for the second time and for
another man? I know very well how the other man feels. Upon my urging
Georgiana to marry me at once—nature does not recognize engagements;
they are a device of civilization—she protested:
"But I must get ready! ”

“ Georgiana was well aware that she slipped the note into the nest when
they were looking and I was not; but women—all women—now and then
hold a man responsible for what they have done themselves. Sylvia, for
instance. ”

“ Wherever we may go,
We are always glad to welcome
The sound Potato." [*]
[*] The elder Miss Cobb was wrong in thinking this poem Sylvia's. It
was extant at the time over the signature of another writer, whose
authorship is not known to have been questioned. Miss Sylvia perhaps
copied it out of admiration, or as a model for her own use.
J.L.A.
In the afternoon I was cutting stakes at the wood-pile for my
butterbeans, and a bright idea struck me. During my engagement to
Georgiana I cannot always be darting in and out of Mrs. Cobb's front
door like a swallow through a barn. ”