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____ 12. If a firm is in a multidomestic industry, the role of HR department will most likely be more domestic in
structure and orientation.

____ 13. A large home market is one of the key drivers for seeking a new international market.

____ 14. Local HR activities, such as human resource planning and staffing, changes as a foreign subsidiary
matures.

____ 15. The nationality of an employee is not a major factor in determining the person “category” in an
international firm.

____ 16. Human considerations are as important as financial and marketing criteria in making decisions about
multinational ventures.

____ 17. Global mindset is necessary for the success of an international company.

____ 18. The US had 8 companies in the top 30 multinationals ranked by the transnational index.

____ 19. Cross- culture management is examining human behavior within organizations from an international
perspective.

____ 20. The way diversity is managed within a single national context should transfer to a multinational context
without modification.

____ 21. It is a correct assumption that culture is usually used as a synonym for nation or national difference
represents culture differences.

____ 22. The first contributions to cross-cultural management research were made in the late 1930s.

____ 23. Unforeseen conflicts and lower performance in many foreign business enterprises created doubts about
how easily concepts and management research from the English speaking world could be transferred to
other cultures.

____ 24. One of the advantages of cross cultural studies is that there is one, widely accepted definition of the
meaning of culture.

____ 25. Hansen emphasizes culture as the standardization – the consistency of collective behavior.

____ 26. Hofstede the Dutch researcher, famously likens or company’s culture to the “software of the mind”.

____ 27. Schein considers “artefacts” as the invisible and unconscious conventions and perceptions deeply held by
members on a culture.

____ 28. There may be large similarities of the artefact level within the European Union, but values and
assumptions held by members of various nations in the EU may differ significantly.

____ 29. Cross cultural management studies aim to describe and compare the working behavior in various cultures.
____ 30. Hofstede finally distinguished three cultural dimensions: power distance, femininity vs. masculinity and
individualism vs. collectivism.

____ 31. Power Distance refers to the extent to which the members feel threatened by uncertainty, ambiguous or
unstructured situations.

____ 32. According to Hofstede a feminine orientation comprises the pursuit of financial success and a strong
performance management approach.

____ 33. Countries with weaker uncertainty avoidance are more likely to bring about fundamental innovations in
weak processes as they have a greater tolerance for deviant thinking.

____ 34. Collectivist society companies have more informal relationships between supervisors and employees.

____ 35. The Mediterranean culture (France, Italy, Belgium and Spain) are characterized by small power distance
and high collectivism.

____ 36. The German speaking countries such as Germany, Austria and Switzerland are characterized by a strong
tendency of uncertainty avoidance and relatively low power distance.

____ 37. A criticism of Hofstede’s research is that he equates culture to national borders.

____ 38. The Globe study distinguishes between practices (what should be) and values (what is).

____ 39. The participation of 17 scholars from around the world helps to avoid a one-sided, Western focus to the
research project.

____ 40. The Trompenaars and Hampden-Turner study presents three aspects to culture: relationships between
people, concept of time and the concept of nature.

____ 41. Cultural convergence relates to assuming a long-term stability in cultural differences.

____ 42. An export manager is typically the first international HR position in a new international company.

____ 43. Purchasing an international company automatically creates a separate international division of a company.

____ 44. The Inpatriate manager performs a major role in identifying employees who can direct operations in a
foreign subsidiary.

____ 45. International division acting as an independent separate unit cannot be tolerated as the firm’s international
activities become strategically more important.

____ 46. The matrix structure area managers are responsible for the performances of all products within the various
countries that comprise their regions.

____ 47. Less human resources planning and management development are in the matrix structure of operations
than traditional organization.

____ 48. Mixed structures are more complex and harder to explain and implement/control than a matrix structure.
____ 49. Intra-organizational networks comprise the organization’s headquarters and the numerous subsidiaries.

____ 50. The metanational form is described as a global tournament.

____ 51. Centralized HR companies are operated within a matrix structure.

____ 52. Training, performance, appraisals and staff movements are not impacted by the HR structural form.

____ 53. Europeans tend to take a different structural path than the US.

____ 54. Chinese firms have many international operations.

____ 55. European multinational firms are mainly from Germany.

____ 56. Japanese based multinational firms are the only firms to successfully balance operations in all the regional
blocks.

____ 57. Formal structure controls are an international firm’s primary source of control.

____ 58. Training and development, program reward systems and promotion are activities that reinforce company
value systems.

____ 59. Half of the US firms reported that HR functions were unrelated to the nature of the firm’s international
operations.

____ 60. HR departments are emerged in policies and procedures in the early international or export stage.

____ 61. Centralized HR companies are characterized by devolving the HR responsibilities to a small group who
reports to corporate headquarters.

____ 62. A merger of two companies can be depicted by Company A and Company B form Company C.

____ 63. In an acquisition a new company is formed with a new identity and operation.

____ 64. During most merger and acquisition processes top management retention is very high due to benefits of
operating a foreign company.

____ 65. Identifying and assessing culture issues in an HR activity is the due diligence phase of merger and
acquisition.

____ 66. The strongest HR involvement takes place in the first two phases of the merger and acquisition phases.

____ 67. Company relationships are not considered a resource in an HR function in a merger and acquisition
strategy.

____ 68. A tangible asset is money and people.

____ 69. The command of the partners’ language is mainly a requirement for Eastern managers.
____ 70. Performance related pay is more popular in Germany than the USA.

____ 71. An exchange rate advantage is not a factor in considering a merger and acquisition strategy in a given
country.

____ 72. Parent companies in an international joint venture do not have a separate legal identity.

____ 73. Gaining knowledge of both local business conditions and the research and development capabilities of the
potential joint venture partner is a reason to enter into an international joint venture.

____ 74. SMEs constitute the backbone of the Asia Pacific region.

____ 75. Values shape employee’s priorities and decision making.

____ 76. In the USA more than 80 per cent of total employment is with organizations with less than 20 employees.

____ 77. Less qualified employees are employed by small to medium enterprises because they do not meet
recruitment requirements of large organizations.

____ 78. Financial participation programs are offered to small to medium enterprises to increase the manager
identification with the firm.

____ 79. In small to medium enterprises cross cultural training for expatriates is usually conducted as in-house
training seminars.

____ 80. HR activities can become a significant drain on managerial time and resources in an international small to
medium enterprise.

____ 81. Small to medium firms have as much experience operating in a variety of different countries as large
organizations.
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
May beam the light of cheerfulness.—
And let her feet be brave to fare
The labyrinths of doubt and care,
That, following, my own may find
The path to Heaven God designed.—
O let her come like this to me—
My bride—my bride that is to be.
“RINGWORM FRANK”

Jest Frank Reed’s his real name—though

Boys all calls him “Ringworm Frank,”
’Cause he allus runs round so.—
No man can’t tell where to bank
Frank’ll be,
Next you see
Er hear of him!—Drat his melts!—
That man’s allus somers else!

We’re old pards.—But Frank he jest

Can’t stay still!—Wuz prosper’n’ here,
But lit out on furder West
Somers on a ranch, last year:
Never heard
Nary a word
How he liked it, tel to-day,
Got this card, reads thisaway:—

“Dad-burn climate out here makes

Me homesick all Winter long,
And when Springtime comes, it takes
Two pee-wees to sing one song,—
One sings ‘pee,’
And the other one ‘wee!’
Stay right where you air, old pard,—
Wisht I wuz this postal card!”
 AN EMPTY GLOVE
I

An empty glove—long withering in the grasp

Of Time’s cold palm. I lift it to my lips,—
And lo, once more I thrill beneath its clasp,
In fancy, as with odorous finger-tips
It reaches from the years that used to be
And proffers back love, life and all, to me.

II

Ah! beautiful she was beyond belief:

Her face was fair and lustrous as the moon’s;
Her eyes—too large for small delight or grief,—
The smiles of them were Laughter’s afternoons;
Their tears were April showers, and their love—
All sweetest speech swoons ere it speaks thereof.

III
White-fruited cocoa shown against the shell
Were not so white as was her brow below
The cloven tresses of the hair that fell
Across her neck and shoulders of nude snow;
Her cheeks—chaste pallor, with a crimson stain—
Her mouth was like a red rose rinsed with rain.

IV

And this was she my fancy held as good—

As fair and lovable—in every wise
As peerless in pure worth of womanhood
As was her wondrous beauty in men’s eyes.—
Yet, all alone, I kiss this empty glove—
The poor husk of the hand I loved—and love.
 OUR OWN

They walk here with us, hand-in-hand;

We gossip, knee-by-knee;
They tell us all that they have planned—
Of all their joys to be,—
And, laughing, leave us: And, to-day,
All desolate we cry
Across wide waves of voiceless graves—
Good-bye! Good-bye! Good-bye!
MAKE-BELIEVE AND CHILD-PLAY
THE FROG
Who am I but the Frog—the Frog!
My realm is the dark bayou,
And my throne is the muddy and moss-grown log
That the poison-vine clings to—
And the black-snakes slide in the slimy tide
Where the ghost of the moon looks blue.

What am I but a King—a King!—

For the royal robes I wear—
A sceptre, too, and a signet-ring,
As vassals and serfs declare:
And a voice, god wot, that is equalled not
In the wide world anywhere!

I can talk to the Night—the Night!—

Under her big black wing
She tells me the tale of the world outright,
And the secret of everything;
For she knows you all, from the time you crawl,
To the doom that death will bring.

The Storm swoops down, and he blows—and blows,—

While I drum on his swollen cheek,
And croak in his angered eye that glows
With the lurid lightning’s streak;
While the rushes drown in the watery frown
That his bursting passions leak.

And I can see through the sky—the sky—

As clear as a piece of glass;
And I can tell you the how and why
Of the things that come to pass—
And whether the dead are there instead,
Or under the graveyard grass.

To your Sovereign lord all hail—all hail!—

 To your Prince on his throne so grim!
Let the moon swing low, and the high stars trail
Their heads in the dust to him;
And the wide world sing: Long live the King,
And grace to his royal whim!
 “TWIGGS AND TUDENS”
If my old school-chum and room-mate John Skinner is alive to-day
—and no doubt he is alive, and quite so, being, when last heard
from, the very alert and effective Train Dispatcher at Butler, Indiana,
—he will not have forgotten a certain night in early June (the 8th) of
1870, in “Old Number ’Leven” of the Dunbar House, Greenfield,
when he and I sat the long night through, getting ready a famous
issue of our old school-paper, “The Criterion.” And he will remember,
too, the queer old man who occupied, but that one night, the room
just opposite our own, Number 13. For reasons wholly aside from
any superstitious dread connected with the numerals, 13 was not a
desirable room; its locality was alien to all accommodations, and its
comforts, like its furnishings, were extremely meagre. In fact, it was
the room usually assigned to the tramp-printer, who, in those days,
was an institution; or again, it was the local habitation of the oft-
recurring transient customer who was too incapacitated to select a
room himself when he retired—or rather, when he was personally
retired by “the hostler,” as the gentlemanly night-clerk of that era
was habitually designated.
As both Skinner and myself—between fitful terms of school—had
respectively served as “printer’s devil” in the two rival newspaper
offices of the town, it was natural for us to find a ready interest in
anything pertaining to the newspaper business; and so it was,
perhaps, that we had been selected, by our own approval and that
of our fellow-students of The Graded Schools, to fill the rather
exalted office of editing “The Criterion.” Certain it is that the rather
abrupt rise from the lowly duties of the “roller” to the editorial
management of a paper of our own (even if issued in handwriting)
we accepted as a natural right; and, vested in our new power of
office, we were largely “shaping the whisper of the throne” about
our way.
 And upon this particular evening it was, as John and I had fairly
squared ourselves for the work of the night, that we heard the
clatter and shuffle of feet on the side-stairs, and, an instant later, the
hostler establishing some poor unfortunate in 13, just across the
hall.
“Listen!” said John, as we heard an old man’s voice through the
open transom of our door,—“listen at that!”
It was an utterance peculiarly refined, in language as well as
intonation. A low, mild, rather apologetic voice, gently assuring the
hostler that “everything was very snug and comfortable indeed—so
far as the compartment was concerned—but would not the
attendant kindly supply a better light, together with pen-and-ink—
and just a sheet or two of paper,—if he would be so very good as to
find a pardon for so very troublesome a guest.”
“Hain’t no writin’-paper,” said the hostler, briefly,—“and the big
lamps is all in use. These fellers here in ’Leven might let you have
some paper and—Hain’t you got a lead-pencil?”
“Oh, no matter!” came the impatient yet kindly answer of the old
voice—“no matter at all, my good fellow!—Good night—good night!”
We waited till the sullen, clumpy footsteps down the hall and stair
had died away.
Then Skinner, with a handful of foolscap, opened our door; and,
with an indorsing smile from me, crossed the hall and tapped at 13
—was admitted—entered, and very quietly closed the door behind
him, evidently that I might not be disturbed.
I wrote on in silence for quite a time. It was, in fact, a full half-
hour before John had returned,—and with a face and eye absolutely
blazing with delight.
“An old printer,” whispered John, answering my look,—“and we’re
in luck:—He’s a genius, ’y God! and an Englishman, and knows
Dickens personally—used to write races with him, and’s got a
manuscript of his in his ‘portmanteau,’ as he calls an old oil-cloth
knapsack with one lung clean gone. Excuse this extra light.—Old
man’s lamp’s like a sore eye, and he’s going to touch up the Dickens
sketch for us! Hear?—For us—for ‘The Criterion.’ Says he can’t sleep
—he’s in distress—has a presentiment—some dear friend is dying—
or dead now—and he must write—write!”
This is, in briefest outline, the curious history of the subjoined
sketch, especially curious for the reason that the following morning’s
cablegram announced that the great novelist, Charles Dickens, had
been stricken suddenly and seriously the night previous. On the day
of this announcement—even as “The Criterion” was being read to
perfunctorily interested visitors of The Greenfield Graded Schools—
came the further announcement of Mr. Dickens’s death. The old
printer’s manuscript, here reproduced, is, as originally, captioned—

TWIGGS AND TUDENS

“Now who’d want a more cosier little home than me and Tude’s
got here?” asked Mr. Twiggs, as his twinkling eyes swept caressingly
around the cheery little room in which he, alone, stood one chill
December evening as the great St. Paul’s was drawling six.
“This ain’t no princely hall with all its gorgeous paraphanaly, as the
play-bills says; but it’s what I calls a’ ‘interior,’ which for meller
comfort and cheerful surroundin’s ain’t to be ekalled by no other
‘flat’ on the boundless, never-endin’ stage of this existence!” And as
the exuberant Mr. Twiggs rendered this observation, he felt called
upon to smile and bow most graciously to an invisible audience,
whose wild approval he in turn interpreted by an enthusiastic
clapping of his hands and the cry of “Ongcore!” in a dozen different
keys—this strange acclamation being made the more grotesque by a
great green parrot perched upon the mantel, which, in a voice less
musical than penetrating, chimed in with “Hooray for Twiggs and
Tudens!” a very great number of times.
“Tude’s a queer girl,” said Mr. Twiggs, subsiding into a reflective
calm, broken only by the puffing of his pipe, and the occasional
articulation of a thought, as it loitered through his mind. “Tude’s a
queer girl!—a werry queer girl!” repeated Mr. Twiggs, pausing again,
with a long whiff at his pipe, and marking the graceful swoop the
smoke made as it dipped and disappeared up the wide, black-
throated chimney; and then, as though dropping into confidence
with the great fat kettle on the coals, that steamed and bubbled with
some inner paroxysm, he added, “And queer and nothink short, is
the lines for Tude, eh?
“Now s’posin’,” he continued, leaning forward and speaking in a
tone whose careful intonation might have suggested a more than
ordinary depth of wisdom and sagacity,—“s’posin’ a pore chap like
me, as ain’t no property only this-’ere ‘little crooked house,’ as Tude
calls it, and some o’ the properties I ’andles at the Drury—as I was
a-sayin’,—s’posin’ now a’ old rough chap like me was jest to tell her
all about herself, and who she is and all, and not no kith or kin o’
mine, let alone a daughter, as she thinks—What do you reckon now
’ud be the upshot, eh?” And as Mr. Twiggs propounded this
mysterious query he jabbed the poker prankishly in the short-ribs of
the grate, at which the pot, as though humoring a joke it failed to
comprehend wholly, set up a chuckling of such asthmatic violence
that its smothered cachinnations tilted its copper lid till Mr. Twiggs
was obliged to dash a cup of water in its face.
“And Tude’s a-comin’ of a’ age, too,” continued Mr. Twiggs, “when
a more tenderer pertecter than a father, so to speak, wouldn’t be out
o’ keepin’ with the nat’ral order o’ things, seein’ as how she’s sorto’
startin’ for herself-like now. And it’s a question in my mind, if it ain’t
my bounden duty as her father—or ruther, who has been a father to
her all her life—to kindo’ tell her jest how things is, and all—and how
I am, and everythink,—and how I feel as though I ort’o stand by her,
as I allus have, and allus have had her welfare in view, and kindo’
feel as how I allus—ort’o kindo’—ort’o kindo’”—and here Mr. Twiggs’s
voice fell into silence so abruptly that the drowsy parrot started from
its trance-like quiet and cried “Ortokindo! Ortokindo!” with such a
strength of seeming mockery that it was brushed violently to the
floor by the angry hand of Mr. Twiggs and went backing awkwardly
beneath the table.
“Blow me,” said Mr. Twiggs, “if the knowin’ impidence of that-’ere
bird ain’t astonishin’!” And then, after a serious controversy with the
draught of his pipe, he went on with his deliberations.
“Lor! it were jest scrumptious to see Tude in ‘The Iron Chest’ last
night! Now, I ain’t no actur myself,—I’ve been on, of course, a
thousand times as ‘fillin’,’ ‘sogers’ and ‘peasants’ and the like, where
I never had no lines, on’y in the ‘choruses’; but if I don’t know
nothin’ but ‘All hail!—All hail!’ I’ve had the experience of bein’ under
the baleful hinfluence of the hoppery-glass, and I’m free to say it air
a ticklish position and no mistake. But Tude! w’y, bless you, she
warn’t the first bit flustered, was she? ’Peared-like she jest felt
perfectly at home-like—like her mother afore her! And I’m dashed if
I didn’t feel the cold chills a-creepin’ and a-crawlin’ when she was a-
singin’ ‘Down by the river there grows a green willer and a-weepin’
all night with the bank for her piller’; and when she come to the part
about wantin’ to be buried there ’while the winds was a-blowin’ close
by the stream where her tears was a-flowin’, and over her corpse to
keep the green willers growin’,’ I’m d—d if I didn’t blubber right out!”
And as the highly sympathetic Mr. Twiggs delivered this
acknowledgment, he stroked the inner corners of his eyes, and
rubbed his thumb and finger on his trousers.
“It were a tryin’ thing, though,” he went on, his mellow features
settling into a look not at all in keeping with his shiny complexion
—“it were a tryin’ thing, and it air a tryin’ thing to see them lovely
arms o’ hern a-twinin’ so lovin’-like around that-’ere Stanley’s neck
and a-kissin’ of him—as she’s obleeged to do, of course—as the
‘properties’ of the play demands; but I’m blowed if she wouldn’t do it
quite so nat’ral-like I’d feel easier. Blow me!” he broke off savagely,
starting up and flinging his pipe in the ashes, “I’m about a-comin’ to
the conclusion I ain’t got no more courage’n a blasted school-boy!
Here I am old enough to be her father—mighty nigh it—and yet I’m
actually afeard to speak up and tell her jest how things is, and all,
and how I feel like I—like I—ort’o—ort’o—”
“Ortokindo! Ortokindo!” shrieked the parrot, clinging in a reversed
position to the under-round of a chair.—“Ortokindo! Ortokindo!
Tude’s come home!—Tude’s come home!” And as though in happy
proof of this latter assertion, the gentle Mr. Twiggs found his chubby
neck encircled by a pair of rosy arms, and felt upon his cheek the
sudden pressure of a pair of lips that thrilled his old heart to the
core. And then the noisy bird dropped from its perch and marched
pompously from its place of concealment, trailing its rusty wings and
shrieking, “Tude’s come home!” at the top of its brazen voice.
“Shet up!” screamed Mr. Twiggs, with a pretended gust of rage,
kicking lamely at the feathered oracle; “I’ll ‘Tude’s-come-home’ ye!
W’y, a feller can’t hear his ears for your infernal squawkin’!” And
then, turning toward the serious eyes that peered rebukingly into his
own, his voice fell gentle as a woman’s: “Well, there, Tudens, I beg
parding; I do indeed. Don’t look at me thataway. I know I’m a great,
rough, good-for—”But a warm, swift kiss cut short the utterance;
and as the girl drew back, still holding the bright old face between
her tender palms, he said simply, “You’re a queer girl, Tudens; a
queer girl.”
“Ha! am I?” said the girl, in quite evident heroics and quotation,
starting back with a theatrical flourish and falling into a fantastic
attitude.—“‘Troth, I am sorry for it; me poor father’s heart is bursting
with gratichude, and he would fain ease it by pouring out his thanks
to his benefactor.’”
“Werry good! Werry good, indeed!” said Mr. Twiggs, gazing
wistfully upon the graceful figure of the girl. “You’re a-growin’ more
wonderful’ clever in your ‘presence’ every day, Tude. You don’t think
o’ nothink else but your actin’, do ye, now?” And, as Mr. Twiggs
concluded his observations, a something very like a sigh came
faltering from his lips.
 “Why, listen there! Ah-ha!” laughed Tude, clapping her hands and
dancing gayly around his chair.—“Why, you old melancholy Dane,
you! are you actually sighing?” Then, dropping into a tragic air of
deep contrition, she continued: “‘But, believe me, I would not
question you, but to console you, Wilford. I would scorn to pry into
any one’s grief, much more yours, Wilford, to satisfy a busy
curiosity.’”
“Oh, don’t, Tude; don’t rehearse like that at me!—I can’t a-bear
it.” And the serious Mr. Twiggs held out his hand as though warding
off a blow. At this appeal the girl’s demeanor changed to one of
tenderest solicitude.
“Why, Pop’m,” she said, laying her hand on his shoulder, “I did not
mean to vex you—forgive me. I was only trying to be happy, as I
ought, although my own heart is this very minute heavy—very heavy
—very.—No, no; I don’t mean that—but, Father, Father, I have not
been dutiful.”
“W’y, yes, you have,” broke in Mr. Twiggs, smothering the heavy
exclamation in his handkerchief. “You ain’t been ondutiful, nor
nothink else. You’re jest all and everythink that heart could wish. It’s
all my own fault, Tudens; it’s all my fault. You see, I git to thinkin’
sometimes like I was a-goin’ to lose you; and now that you are a-
comin’ on in years, and gittin’ such a fine start, and all, and position
and everythink.—Yes-sir! position, ’cause everybody likes you,
Tudens. You know that; and I’m that proud of you and all, and that
selfish, that it’s onpossible I could ever, ever give you up;—never,
never, ever give you up!” And Mr. Twiggs again stifled his voice in his
handkerchief and blew his nose with prolonged violence.
It may have been the melancholy ticking of the clock, as it grated
on the silence following, it may have been the gathering darkness of
the room, or the plaintive sighing of the rising wind without, that
caused the girl to shudder as she stooped to kiss the kind old face
bent forward in the shadows, and turned with feigned gayety to the
simple task of arranging supper. But when, a few minutes later, she
announced that Twiggs and Tudens’s tea was waiting, the two
smilingly sat down, Mr. Twiggs remarking that if he only knew a
blessing, he’d ask it upon that occasion most certainly.
“—For on’y look at these-’ere ’am and eggs,” he said, admiringly:
“I’d like to know if the Queen herself could cook ’em to a nicer turn,
or serve ’em up more tantaliz’in’er to the palate. And this-’ere soup,
—or whatever it is, is rich as gravy; and these boughten rolls ain’t a
bad thing either, split in two and toasted as you do ’em, air they,
Tude?” And as Mr. Twiggs glanced inquiringly at his companion, he
found her staring vacantly at her plate. “I was jest a-sayin’, Tudens
—” he went on, pretending to blow his tea and glancing cautiously
across his saucer.
“Yes, Pop’m, I heard you;—we really ought to have a blessing, by
all means.”
Mr. Twiggs put down his tea without tasting it. “Tudens,” he said,
after a long pause, in which he carefully buttered a piece of toast for
the second time,—“Tudens, I’m ’most afeard you didn’t grasp that
last remark of mine: I was a-sayin’—”
“Well—” said Tudens, attentively.
“I was a-sayin’,” said Mr. Twiggs, averting his face and staring
stoically at his toast—“I was a-sayin’ that you was a-gittin’ now to be
quite a young woman.”
“Oh, so you were,” said Tudens, with charming naïveté.
“Well,” said Mr. Twiggs, repentantly, but with a humorous twinkle,
“if I wasn’t a-sayin’ of it, I was a-thinkin’ it.”—And then, running
along hurriedly, “And I’ve been a-thinkin’ it for days and days—ever
sence you left the ‘balley’ and went in ‘chambermaids,’ and last in
leadin’ rôles. Maybe you ain’t noticed it, but I’ve had my eyes on you
from the ‘flies’ and the ‘wings’; and jest betwixt us, Tudens, and not
for me as ort to know better, and does know better, to go a-flatterin’,
at my time o’—or to go a-flatterin’ anybody, as I said, after you’re a-
gittin’ to be a young woman—and what’s more, a werry ’andsome
young woman!”
 “Why, Pop’m!” exclaimed Tudens, blushing.
“Yes, you are, Tudens, and I mean it, every word of it; and as I
was a-goin’ on to say, I’ve been a-watchin’ of you, and a-layin’ off a
long time jest to tell you summat that will make your eyes open
wider ’an that! What I mean,” said Mr. Twiggs, coughing vehemently
and pushing his chair back from the table—“what I mean is, you’ll
soon be old enough to be a-settin’ up for yourself-like, and a-
marry’—W’y, Tudens, what ails you?” The girl had risen to her feet,
and, with a face dead white and lips all tremulous, stood clinging to
her chair for support. “What ails you, Tudens?” repeated Mr. Twiggs,
rising to his feet and gazing on her with a curious expression of
alarm and tenderness.
“Nothing serious, dear Pop’m,” said Tudens, with a flighty little
laugh,—“only it just flashed on me all at once that I’d clean
forgotten poor ‘Dick’s’ supper.” And as she turned abruptly to the
parrot, cooing and clucking to him playfully,—up, up from some
hitherto undreamed-of depth within the yearning heart of Mr. Twiggs
mutely welled the old utterance, “Tude’s a queer girl!”
“Whatever made you think of such a thing, Father?” called Tudens,
gayly; and then, without waiting for an answer, went on cooing to
the parrot,—“Hey, old dicky-bird! do you think Tudens is a handsome
young woman? and do you think Tudens is old enough to marry,
eh?” This query delivered, she broke into a fit of merriment which so
wrought upon the susceptibilities of the bird that he was heard
repeatedly to declare and affirm, in most positive and unequivocal
terms, that Tude had actually come home.
“Yes—sir, Tudens!” broke in Mr. Twiggs at last, lighting a fresh
churchwarden and settling into his old position at the grate; “have
your laugh out over it now, but it’s a werry serious fact, for all that.”
“I know it, Father,” said the girl, recovering her gravity, turning her
large eyes lovingly upon him and speaking very tenderly. “I know it
—oh, I know it; and many, many times when I have thought of it,
and then again of your old kindly faith; all the warm wealth of your
love; and our old home here, and all the happiness it ever held for
me and you alike—oh, I have tried hard—indeed, indeed I have—to
put all other thought away and live for you alone! But, Pop’m! dear
old Pop’m—”And even as the great strong breast made shelter for
her own, the woman’s heart within her flowed away in mists of
gracious tears.
“Couldn’t live without old Pop’m, could her?” half cried and
laughed the happy Mr. Twiggs, tangling his clumsy fingers in the long
dark hair that fell across his arm, and bending till his glad face
touched her own.—“Couldn’t live without old Pop’m?”
“Never! never!” sobbed the girl, lifting her brimming eyes and
gazing in the kind old face. “Oh, may I always live with you, Pop’m?
Always?—Forever?—”
“—And a day!” said Mr. Twiggs, emphatically.
“Even after I’m—” and she hid her face again.
“Even after—what, Tudens?”
“After I’m—after I’m—married?” murmured Tudens, with a longing
pressure.
“Nothink short!” said Mr. Twiggs;—“perwidin’,” he added, releasing
one hand and smoothing back his scanty hair—“perwidin’, of course,
that your man is a’ honest, straitforrerd feller, as ain’t no lordly
notions nor nothink o’ that sort.”
“Nor rich?”
“Well, I ain’t so p’ticklar about his bein’ pore, adzackly.—Say a
feller as works for his livin’, and knows how to ’usband his earnin’s
thrifty-like, and allus ’as a hextry crown or two laid up against a
rainy day—and a good perwider, of course,” said Mr. Twiggs, with a
comfortable glance around the room.—“’Ll blow me if I didn’t see a
face there a-peerin’ in the winder!”
“Oh, no, you didn’t,” said the girl, without raising her head. “Go on
—‘and a good provider—’”
 “—A good perwider,” continued Mr. Twiggs; “and a feller, of course,
as has a’ eye out for the substantials of this life, and ain’t afeard o’
work—that’s the idear! that’s the idear!” said Mr. Twiggs, by way of
sweeping conclusion.
“And that’s all old Pop’m asks, after all?” queried the girl, with her
radiant face wistful as his own.
“W’y, certainly!” said Mr. Twiggs, with heartiness. “Ain’t that all and
everythink to make home happy?”—catching her face between his
great brown hands and kissing her triumphantly.
“Hooray for Twiggs-and Twiggs-and Twiggs-and—” cootered the
drowsy bird, disjointedly.
The girl had risen.—“And you’ll forgive me for marrying such a
man?”
“Won’t I?” said Mr. Twiggs, with a rapturous twinkle.
As he spoke, she flung her arms about his neck and pressed her
lips close, close against his cheek, her own glad face now fronting
the little window.... She heard the clicking of the latch, the opening
of the door, and the step of the intruder ere she loosed her hold.
“God bless you, Pop’m, and forgive me!—This is my husband.”
The newcomer, Mr. Stanley, reached and grasped the hand of Mr.
Twiggs, eagerly, fervidly, albeit the face he looked on then will haunt
him to the hour of his death.—Yet haply, some day, when the Master
takes the selfsame hand within his own and whispers, “Tude’s come
home,” the old smile will return.
 DOLORES

Lithe-armed, and with satin-soft shoulders

As white as the cream-crested wave;
With a gaze dazing every beholder’s,
She holds every gazer a slave:
Her hair, a fair haze, is outfloated
And flared in the air like a flame;
Bare-breasted, bare-browed and bare-throated—
Too smooth for the soothliest name.

She wiles you with wine, and wrings for you

Ripe juices of citron and grape;
She lifts up her lute and sings for you
Till the soul of you seeks no escape;
And you revel and reel with mad laughter,
And fall at her feet, at her beck,
And the scar of her sandal thereafter
You wear like a gyve round your neck.
 WHEN I DO MOCK

When I do mock the blackness of the night

With my despair—outweep the very dews
And wash my wan cheeks stark of all delight,
Denying every counsel of dear use
In mine embittered state; with infinite
Perversity, mine eyes drink in no sight
Of pleasance that nor moon nor stars refuse
In silver largess and gold twinklings bright;—
I question me what mannered brain is mine
That it doth trick me of the very food
It panteth for—the very meat and wine
That yet should plump my starved soul with good
And comfortable plethora of ease,
That I might drowse away such rhymes as these.
MY MARY
My Mary, O my Mary!
The simmer skies are blue:
The dawnin’ brings the dazzle,
An’ the gloamin’ brings the dew,—
The mirk o’ nicht the glory
O’ the moon, an’ kindles, too,
The stars that shift aboon the lift.—
But naething brings me you!

Where is it, O my Mary,

Ye are biding a’ the while?
I ha’ wended by your window—
I ha’ waited by the stile,
An’ up an’ down the river
I ha’ won for mony a mile,
Yet never found, adrift or drown’d,
Your lang-belated smile.

Is it forgot, my Mary,
How glad we used to be?—
The simmer-time when bonny bloomed
The auld trysting-tree,—
How there I carved the name for you,
An’ you the name for me;
An’ the gloamin’ kenned it only
When we kissed sae tenderly.

Speek ance to me, my Mary!—

But whisper in my ear
As light as ony sleeper’s breath,
An’ a’ my soul will hear;
My heart shall stap its beating,
An’ the soughing atmosphere
Be hushed the while I leaning smile
An’ listen to you, dear!
My Mary, O my Mary!
The blossoms bring the bees;
The sunshine brings the blossoms,
An’ the leaves on a’ the trees;
The simmer brings the sunshine
An’ the fragrance o’ the breeze,—
But O wi’out you, Mary,
I care naething for these!

We were sae happy, Mary!

O think how ance we said—
Wad ane o’ us gae fickle,
Or are o’ us lie dead,—
To feel anither’s kisses
We wad feign the auld instead,
An’ ken the ither’s footsteps
In the green grass owerhead.

My Mary, O my Mary!
Are ye dochter o’ the air,
That ye vanish aye before me
As I follow everywhere?—
Or is it ye are only
But a mortal, wan wi’ care,
Sin’ I search through a’ the kirkyird
An’ I dinna find ye there?
 EROS

The storm of love has burst at last

Full on me: All the world, before,
Was like an alien, unknown shore
Along whose verge I laughing passed.—
But now—I laugh not any more,—
Bowed with a silence vast in weight
As that which falls on one who stands
For the first time on ocean sands,
Seeing and feeling all the great
Awe of the waves as they wash the lands
And billow and wallow and undulate.
ORLIE WILDE
A goddess, with a siren’s grace,—
A sun-haired girl on a craggy place
Above a bay where fish-boats lay
Drifting about like birds of prey.

Wrought was she of a painter’s dream,—

Wise only as are artists wise,
My artist-friend, Rolf Herschkelhiem,
With deep sad eyes of oversize,
And face of melancholy guise.

I pressed him that he tell to me

This masterpiece’s history.
He turned—returned—and thus beguiled
Me with the tale of Orlie Wilde:—

“We artists live ideally:

We breed our firmest facts of air;
We make our own reality—
We dream a thing and it is so.
The fairest scenes we ever see
Are mirages of memory;
The sweetest thoughts we ever know
We plagiarize from Long Ago:
And as the girl on canvas there
Is marvellously rare and fair,
’Tis only inasmuch as she
Is dumb and may not speak to me!”
He tapped me with his mahlstick—then
The picture,—and went on again:

“Orlie Wilde, the fisher’s child—

I see her yet, as fair and mild
As ever nursling summer day
Dreamed on the bosom of the bay:
For I was twenty then, and went
 o as t e ty t e , a d e t
Alone and long-haired—all content
With promises of sounding name
And fantasies of future fame,
And thoughts that now my mind discards
As editor a fledgling bard’s.

“At evening once I chanced to go,

With pencil and portfolio,
Adown the street of silver sand
That winds beneath this craggy land,
To make a sketch of some old scurf
Of driftage, nosing through the surf
A splintered mast, with knarl and strand
Of rigging-rope and tattered threads
Of flag and streamer and of sail
That fluttered idly in the gale
Or whipped themselves to sadder shreds.
The while I wrought, half listlessly,
On my dismantled subject, came
A sea-bird, settling on the same
With plaintive moan, as though that he
Had lost his mate upon the sea;
And—with my melancholy trend—
It brought dim dreams half understood—
It wrought upon my morbid mood,—
I thought of my own voyagings
That had no end—that have no end.—
And, like the sea-bird, I made moan
That I was loveless and alone.
And when at last with weary wings
It went upon its wanderings,
With upturned face I watched its flight
Until this picture met my sight:
A goddess, with a siren’s grace,—
A sun-haired girl on a craggy place
Above a bay where fish-boats lay
Drifting about like birds of prey.

“In airy poise she, gazing, stood

A matchless form of womanhood,
That brought a thought that if for me
Such eyes had sought across the sea,
I could have swum the widest tide
That ever mariner defied,
And, at the shore, could on have gone
To that high crag she stood upon,
To there entreat and say, ‘My Sweet,
Behold thy servant at thy feet.’
And to my soul I said: ‘Above,
There stands the idol of thy love!’

“In this rapt, awed, ecstatic state

I gazed—till lo! I was aware
A fisherman had joined her there—
A weary man, with halting gait,
Who toiled beneath a basket’s weight:
Her father, as I guessed, for she
Had run to meet him gleefully
And ta’en his burden to herself,
That perched upon her shoulder’s shelf
So lightly that she, tripping, neared
A jutting crag and disappeared;
But left the echo of a song
That thrills me yet, and will as long
As I have being!...

... “Evenings came

And went,—but each the same—the same:
She watched above, and even so
I stood there watching from below;
Till, grown so bold at last, I sung,—
(What matter now the theme thereof!)—
It brought an answer from her tongue