[Illustration]

So, too, while the infant chariot with its slow motion of treble
wheels advances obedient to the hand of the wimpled maid who from
the rear directs its ambiguous progress, the dozing occupant may not
always understand, but, hearing, cannot fail to be moved to tears by
the simple tale of JOANNA crossed in all her depth and scope of free
vigorous life by him that should have stood her friend. For the man
had wedded her. Of that there can be no doubt, since the chronicles
have handed down the date of it. Wedded her with the fatal "yes" that
binds a trusting soul in the world's chains. A man, too. A reckless,
mutton-munching, beer-swilling animal! And yet a man. A dear,
brave, human heart, as it should have been; capable, it may be,
of unselfishness and devotion; but, alas! how sadly twisted to the
devil's purposes on earth, an image of perpetual chatter, like the
putty-faced street-pictures of morning soapsuds. His names stand in
full in the verse. JOHN, shortened familiarly, but not without a hint
of contempt, to JACK, stares at you in all the bravery of a Christian
name. And SPRATT follows with a breath of musty antiquity. SPRATT
that is indeed a SPRATT, sunk in the oil of a slothful imagination
and bearing no impress of the sirname that should raise its owner to
cloudy peaks of despotic magnificence.

But of the lady's names no hint is given. We may conjecture SPRATT
to have been hers too, poor young soul that should have been dancing
instead of fastened to a table in front of an eternal platter. And of
all names to precede it the fittest surely is JOANNA. For what is that
but the glorification with many feminine thrills of the unromantic
chawbacon JOHN masticating at home in semi-privacy the husks of
contentment, the lean scrapings of the divine dish which is offered