Then and Now!

Auckland Star, Volume VI, Issue 1621, 24 April 1875, Page 6 (Supplement)

Then and Now!

The Idyll of Gawge Agtjstus and Claka Angelina.

I saw two beings in the hues of Youth, Gawge Augustus and Clara Angelina, s ting upon a grassy mound in Central Park. They were far apart from the rude throng of common, vulgar-minded humanity. Oh! wasn't Gawge Augustus handsome; such a lovely part to his back hair ; his moustache so delicate, expressive and tender; and such eyes! And then, what a sweet dresser he was —he didn't pitch his clothes on with a pitch-fork—aot much. As the ladies all said ' lie was simply splendid !'

And as for Clara Angelina—she was an angel—all except the wings. Her magnificent golden hair, ornamented only with a single rose—of the-last-rose-of-summer-left-blooming-alone variety ; her entrancing complexion, alabaster neck, superbly moulded arms, bewitching blue eyes, from which the love-light seemed to float out into bewildering expression through a hasy mist of languor—ah ! how beautiful were they !

Gawge Augustus and Clara Angelina, her hand resting in his, his tenderly clasps ing, pressing hers, while her head rested gently against the throbbing lappel of his manly coat.

They were castle-building—she and he. He had been an architect in that line for many years. Only for the past three months had he been building them for her.

They were engaged ! and in the soft palace of fairy future and

Description fails to paint the home to which, could his love have fulfilled its prayers, or raised enough ducats, his hand would lead her.

Engaged—how sweet! He gazed down into her dear eyes, and quivered. She returned his fond glances, and her soul seemed wafting itself to paradise. What an ecstacy of happiness !

Who wouldn't be engaged and be going ;o get ' married ?'

What dreams of bliss, of joy, hope, and blessad promise; poundcake, little love suppers, long walks by moonlight; billing and cooing all the long days, he toying with her lovely silken locks, she with her gaze lingering long and fondly upon his glorious moustache, and the budding mutton-chop whiskers which were just beginning to cast their shadows upon his finely-modelled ears.

So then we see them, guileless innocents, sitting upon that knoll.

What cared they for the rough jests of unseemly, vulgar boys, with their cry— ' Oh! isn't he spoony ?' They were building cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces. Gawge—all style*; of the greenest of the green-blooded aristocracy, and so wealthy—millions behind him ; and Clara Angelina—delicate, high-toned, refined— as tender as a South-down chicken—why shouldn't they build. ?

'Dear Clara, how my soul is lifted to realms of ecstatic joy ; how it expands as it laves itself in the sensuous glory of thy love. Soon, dearest—yet it seems so far off—soon we will be united—our hearts throb in unison—and then '

' Oh, Gawge ! isn't it sweet ?' ' Clara, my own, my beautiful!' ' Gawge, see those nasty boys making faces at us !'

' Never heed them, dearest, they are so far beneath us that ' ' Oh, Gawge !' ' What, Clara ?" * I'm so happy.' • Dear darling, let me enfold you in these protecting arms. ' For ever !'

' Yes, for ever and a day, until our hearts crumble to ruin aud moulder in the dust away !'

A lapse of three months is supposed to occur for refreshments, incidental to the wedding of Gawge and Clara. They were married!

Another lapse—twelve months. A change has come o'er the spirit of their dreams.

Gawge is not wealthy. After marriage he confided to Clara the fact that he was only a down-town counter-jumper, price £2 a week.

Clara fainted—and came to. switched off, changed cars, and accepted the situation. The palaces crumbled. The castles melted into the thinnest air. A scene at midnight !—let us lift the veil. Histe the curtain ; sling in the music; Only a short twelve months ! Clara and Gawge in a mean vulgar tenement-house flat. Gawge is an" awful wretch. Clara is no cook, don't mend her stockings, and the golden locks are at Simpson's. They have an offspring. It is—what there is of it—a boy. A bouncer, all lungs and mouth, and as ugly as sin. Time, miduight. Gawge has been out late, attending a protracted meeting of the Pc nuckle club in a neighbouring beer saloon.

He is aweary, and hies him to blissful repose beside his own Clara Angelina. Weather colder than a frozen clam. Fire out in the stove. No kindling in.

Gawge plunges into bed, and slides off into the' sound dreamless sleep of innocence smoothed by labor.

Presently comes a yell as of the Warm Spring Indians when they get upon the trail to a whiskey vat.

' vv ho-wa-wa-blow that young ' v exclaimed Gawge,

' Gawge,' says Clara, ' get up quick ' dear little tootsy-wopsy biddy-chicky; wicky boy, what makes 'urn cry cry.' ' Pins V growls Gawge, turning round for another nap.

' Gawge, get up, wake up, I tell yeu. Popsy's croupy, I know he is. You're a big brute, that's what you are. Poor little boy—Gawge, get up quick.' Gawge does get up, lights the candle, and grabs up the squalling popsy. The young man's soul is full of unexpressed swear—enough of it if materialised to smash out of existence all the babies on the face of the earth.

And don't he anathematize the hour he was donkey enougn to get married. He shivers and swears,, and douses ipicac into popsy's mouth, and finally is permitted to return the popsy to the snowwhite arms—red at the elbows —of his no longer angelic Clara Angolina.

Then the ipicac operates. Then he is pinched up again. And so till daylight doth appear does the wretched victim of misplaced matrimony browse up and down and around and about that room, and then, finally Clara, lovely Clara, gets up, her eyes like two burnt holes in a blanket, and opens with a morning lecture.

Gawge down town with a head-ache and no breakfast.

And such is life ; such is now, and such was iben ! Beware, young man !