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Anonymous

"The Best American Humorous Short Stories"

And in many houses I
thought to see angels, nymphs, or at least, women, and could only find
broomsticks, mops, or kettles, hurrying about, rattling, tinkling, in
a state of shrill activity. I made calls upon elegant ladies, and
after I had enjoyed the gloss of silk and the delicacy of lace, and
the flash of jewels, I slipped on my spectacles, and saw a peacock's
feather, flounced and furbelowed and fluttering; or an iron rod, thin,
sharp, and hard; nor could I possibly mistake the movement of the
drapery for any flexibility of the thing draped,--or, mysteriously
chilled, I saw a statue of perfect form, or flowing movement, it might
be alabaster, or bronze, or marble,--but sadly often it was ice; and I
knew that after it had shone a little, and frozen a few eyes with its
despairing perfection, it could not be put away in the niches of
palaces for ornament and proud family tradition, like the alabaster,
or bronze, or marble statues, but would melt, and shrink, and fall
coldly away in colorless and useless water, be absorbed in the earth
and utterly forgotten.
"But the true sadness was rather in seeing those who, not having the
spectacles, thought that the iron rod was flexible, and the ice statue
warm.


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