The Hesperian / (Lincoln, Neb.) 1885-1899, June 09, 1894, Page 5, Image 5

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    THE HESPERIAN
PHANTASMATA THEIA.
Sweetie, Mamma, the Lieutenant and the Pony.
"I have felt their shadows at banquet boards,
In the Dark outside the Door,
I have seen them fall in the lighted hall
On the sheen of the polished floor.
And this I know, when the stars are dim
And the trees are windless, then
The old Gods rise from their marble sleep
And slip to the haunts of men."
I was late at the opera that night for two
reasons, partially because I had started to
appease my conscience a little by reading
a little of the divine Plato and had not come
away until I had given it up as a bad job,
and partially because I was rather ashamed
of myself for having even a lurking desire to
see Sweetie Corinne again. There was no
reason why I should want to see her, she
had no voice whatever except that one on
the bill boards, of art she was utterly inno
cent and she was not even pretty. I could
never decide just what was the matter with
her, but I think it came from a superabund
ance of teeth, or from their taking the wrong
directions or something." Then, while she is
V)
not too plump now, one has only to look at
her mamma to see and shudder at the future.
Yes, it is easy to convince one's self intel
lectually that Sweetie is not lovely. How
ever, Corinne and even Mrs. Jennie Kimball
are very much more entertaining than Plato,
so I found myself in my box just before the
curtain fell on the last act, but in time to see
Sweetie sail out of port as the gallant Hen
drick Hudson.
When the curtain was down the airy cos
tumed, tragic muse upon the canvass caused
me a moment's remorse. In those days, I
would have gone a block out of my way to
avoid anything that had the faintest sugges
tion of Greece about it. I had been cutting
my lectures frightfully and I was sorry for
it, for I had always rather liked Greek when
I had time for it. I had been very enthusi
astic over it ages ago when I was a Fresh
man, aod I remember writing several very
bad sonnets upon Homer for which ho was
doubtless duly grateful. It always hurts, to
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