Atlanta Georgian. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939, 1913-03-22


clips that curve deliciously, wildly car
mine, hiding Hogarths four line of beauty:
challenging, imperious, tender; eyes that are
tender, tawny, shadowy, tigerish, one moment
the eyes of Artemis of the Arcadians, and
the next those of the brooding Juno of the
Romans, sometimes dangerously alert, some
times indolently museful, quiescently sorrow
full, yet opaescent always, with dormant and
dangerous fires: hair that is golden, heavy,
luxuriant, like that of Homers Helen; neck
like the daughter of Diana, supple, full
throated, towerlike; brow rather low and
broad, not unlike Venus of Milo with the
coldness of the classic profile, endeared and
humanized by a womanish dimple; TALL in
truth, tall a daughter of the gods tall
enough to have delighted one OF those old
Greeks who left their broken dreams Of
beauty in the Parthenon of the Athenian
Acropolis; tempestuous, subdued, affectionate,
tyrannica loving homogeneous inscrutable-
the last strange gift of the gods-a lovely
woman!"
So he wrote of her, and of course she married
him. What woman would not wed a man who
declared himself upon such a platform as that?
They were married and lived happily, for a
year or two; might have lived happily ever after
But Mr.. Stringer would write Their first quarrel
occurred because of line she discovered in his
manuscript. She had glanced at it to see that
nothing was amiss in her lords spelling or pune
tuation when she encountered this:
ugly women make the best matches The
beauty attracts the sort of man who marries
actresses or snow BlTlS, JDe KIND VINO likes
to display his matrimonial spoils"
my DEAR" reports of that first quarrel have
it, Mrs. Stringer said, looking at him with eyes
that "tawny, shadowy, tigerish, the eyes
of Artemis of the Arcadans," whom have you
quoted here?"
The author, looking up from the pipe INSOFAR
able from his work, responded, ""From your lord
and master, my dear"
"But in your apostrophe of me- written before
our marriage, you declared a lovely is the
last great gift of the gods. Which do you mean"
It must be said, unromantic climax to their WOO
ing that it was, that the poet first chucked, then,
settling into big chair by the fire, fell into
Indifferent but loud slumber.
Mrs Stringer played an emotional role, pass
ing from tears to rage Could her sleeping spouse
have seen her he would have acknowledged that
he wrote the truth when he said her eyes are
"tigerish." But brief is the storm in early mar
ried life, and Mrs. Stringer forgot, or seemed
to forget. No woman ever does forget.
Like most poets Arthur Stringer could make
love as though he were born to it. And he did
question do you still love me?" he would answer:
81 will adore you until the last drop of blood has
passed from my heart" in phrase equally
poetical and impossible.
Yet there would stare at his wife from page
OF a magazine in an article signed by her liege
the traitorous sentiment
mo woman should plume herself a
poets love. To him she is merely the key
that unocks his imagination"
With finger on the telltale page and tawny
eyes flashing the authors wife would say: DO
Won mean this?" And he elusive one. would re-
ply, with smile designed to be engaging: Dear
est, does not "a man always mean what ne
writes?"
D,ould demand Again she received the unsatis-
fving response of a chuckle followed by a snore.
When she wore handsome new Paris crea-
ton" he would say: my darling, l love you