X" "^ ■■" '-' y-^^^ lL---^S, -x: ;;I1l*. -ijf"./ ^s-'"-\: it^V m '^V^:; LiBRARY OF CONGRESS. )op5t§]^n|ij UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. ' «tt 1 .^ 3 "»»-.* lii. \ ^S. ^^^% 'mmmM:m§t ^ -1-^^ A4'/f -'Mr*^. K'1^' :\ -^^i Am'wmr^ \,--- ^cwf^i^s :>-ev!>/»j MOSS AGATES. P TO MY COMRADES OF THE GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC AND TO MY BROTHER MEMBERS OF THE WYOMING BAR THIS LITTLE VOLUME OF POEMS IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY y^ Wesley Philemon Carroll. 1890. DAILY SUN BOOK AND JOB ROOMS. CHEYENNE, WYO. TS a4o CtM^ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1890, by WESLEY PHILEMON CARROLL, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C. ^y , A-fC^ ?^* '#^V WES1.EY PHILEMON CARROLL, CONTENTS. PAGE. Engraving^ — The Author 5 Preface 13 Crossing The Prairie 15 Little Ida 16 Engraving (I>ittle Ida) 17 A Future Roll Call. 20 Ellen Searle Carter 28 Engraving (Ellen Searle Carter) 29 Death of George H. Sawyer , 33 The Stone at The Corner 36 To The Pennsy Ivanians 38 Follow Me 41 The Carnival Carol 43 The Girl Guards 59 Little Eva 63 Mansfield's Last Ride 65 Hand In Hand 70 O CONTENTS. The Angel Who Came, Etc 72 Clasp Hands Alike With Blue and Gray 76 The Union Pacific 79 The B. & M 81 Little Walt 82 Not a Final Adjovn-nment 84 Bojs, Don't Call Me a Cripple To-Night 88 We Welcome You 92 The Few For The Many 98 Almost At The Top 102 The Hoodlum's Saturday Night 107 Where Is My Wandering Girl, Etc 109 Around The Camp Fire 112 The Twin Sisters 113 Dead Heroes 118 Midnight in The Voiceless City 121 The Corner Stone 1 26 Our Little Frankie 127 Gathering Flowers 130 Patriot Soldiers 133 Beyond The Twilight 137 The Old Pipe 139 The Old Commander 144 The Old Church 147 Newark Street 153 The Great Spirit's Face is Dark 155 CONTENTS. 9 Little Mac 156 The Dear Old Cradle 157 The Contingent Fund 163 In The Soup 167 Emancipation Day 168 Goodbj^e, Old Town 170 Come To The Bal Masque 171 A Hymn... 175 Not Gone Forever 177 The Old American House 180 The Retrospect 186 Coming Home From School 191 The Cheyenne & Northern R. R 195 Bethlehem's Martjr 197 Mamma Was Tired and Went to Sleep 200 The Round-Up Foreman 204 Helen C. Knight 207 Moshier's Lament 209 To a Young Lady 214 Bunny „ 216 Cherokee Bob's Battle 218 Little Ray 220 Miss Wyoming To Uncle Sam 222 Uncle Johnnie ^ 226 Isle Seventeen 227 Memories of the Past 229 lO CONTENTS. Nellie At The Gate 232 Grover and Frances 234 Marion (iray 240 The Children 243 The Cheyenne S/oi 244 Baby Towse 245 Two Little Boys 246 Custer and The Three Hundred 247 A New Year's Vision 252 PREFACE. The author^of this little volume of poems has only to say regarding them that thev contain "more truth than poetry." Not professing to be a poet, he has nevertheless from time to time hastily composed the productions con- tained in this book; but this has been a mere incidental matter with him. Very many of the poems herein con- tained have been prepared by request and for some par- ticular occasion. Others were composed impromptu, and' in this category are "The Old Pipe;" "Goodbye, Old Town;" "Don't Call Me a Cripple," "A New Year's Vision," Etc., Etc. Several of these poems'were written at a time when the author was so nearly blind that he was unable to read his own manuscript, and the result has been that their construction is unsatisfactory even to the author himself. Quite a number of poems heretofore [published have necessarily been ommitted, the author finding when too 14 PREFACE. late that space was too limited to contain them. Of these there are some obituary poems — one of which relates to a member of the author's own family, now dead and gone. The poems are not arranged in the order in which thev were written, some of the first being among the last in the book and vice versa. No attempt is made in these productions at anything profound or witty, and nothing in the way of blank verse even has found a place in this book — simple in language and construction, yet all based upon something tangible, these poems are given to the public with hesitation and diffidence by The Author. ACROSS THE PRAIRIE. ACROSS the prairie, years ago Through the sloiig-hs and over the snow Side by side and friends for a day, T\vo were journeying on the way. Across the prairie still they go Through the sloughs and over the snow ; One to the east — to the west the other — Over the prairie of life forever. Across the prairie — 'tis a journey long — Sorrow e'er mingled with mirth and song, Where " hopes and fears alternate blend — " Life the journey and death the end. 1 6 MOSS AGATES. LITTLE IDA. [Ida Riner.] A QUERY. LITTLE one sweet, from whence did you come? Tell me truly now, where is your home? Here on the earth, or is it afar. Way up in yon sky where the cherubs are? Are you from a home where nymyhs of light E'er dwell and sing with the angels bright? How could they spare you, sweet little one — Are they not lonesome while you are gone? Where is your papa, and mamma, too? Are they up there — do they live with you? Pray, sweet one, tell me whence did you come — Tell me truly, now, where is your home? Here on the earth, or away up there Beyond the sky, with the angels fair? LITTLE IDA (Ida Riner.) LITTLE IDA. LITTLE Ida's answer. I turn 'ite from home, and my mamma Is dest as dood as the angels are. They is her sisters — I dess I know. Dod's my mamma's papa — she told me so. And ffiy papa is the bestest man — I love him dest as hard as I can. He'd hate you awfully if he knew What you said to me, I dest tell you. Where my home is it is dest as sweet As where most all of the angels meet — My home where papa and mamma is livin', I dess — well, I dess 'tis a part of Heaven. 20 MOSS AGATES, A FUTURE ROLL CALL. [Read Decoration Day, 1887.] THERE is a life that men may live, Which to posterity shall give An heritage of priceless worth, More noble than a royal birth. There is a death which men may die. When loud rings Freedom's battle cry ; Where unseen hands write " Honer, fame, To these are due," above each name. Men have not lived nor died in vain Who at their country's call awoke, And marched to fall on crimson plain; Whose souls went up through battle smoke When Liberty imperiled stood With thearful eye, where heroes fell To save her, pouring out their blood In war and death's dread carnival. A FUTURE ROLL CALL. 21 Ere this a monument has been Dedicated by you, to men Who bravely fought, and periled life In that long, fratricidal strife. They died, and on yon hill repose, Unmindful now of friends and foes. And may that monument of stone E'er rise, through the long interlude, From now till time shall totter on The staffs of gray discrepitude. But monuments we build in air. In honor of our heroes dead. May crumble, and no vestige there Be left around, or overhead. To mark the spot " where sleep the brave," Who perished for a nation's life; Who all that men can give^ they gave On red, historic fields of strife. What tribute cmi a nation give To those who for their country die? Though gone, still in the heart they live. While years, and decades swift roll by. 7 his record none can e'er efface; Nor shall the flight of time corrode 2 2 MOSS AGATES. The monuments which men may i^lace In memory o'er their last abode. As comrades of those who are mustVing o'er, 'Neath the pahn tree shade on the twihght shore, Who, reaching the outposts, one by one. True countersigns gave to the picket wan — And I think now I hear it — their echoless tramp, As thev cross o'er the bridge to the mystery camp. We have gathered tonight, though a broken band Of veterans, who fought to preserve the land. In spirit to pause by each little mound. Where the dust of a comrade lies 'neath the ground. Pansies, from nature's ample breast, We scatter where the heroes rest; Emblems of an unchanging love. Which, b©rn on earth, reaches above. Their mem'ries we perpetuate. And lay this tribute at their shrine Each year, 'til Father Time shall date Ou7' muster on the mystic line. Where Johnson sleeps we listless stand ; Pause by the side of Van De Sande. From Poulton's mound we silent draw 'Round Bryant's grave, by Ollerenshaw; A FUTURE ROLL CALL. 23 Where Lynot, Fritz and Ryan lay, Creegan and Roberts, until day wShall dawn, and where Russell, Leffler, Smith and Whipple sleep, and Taylor, And all the rest; we strew each grave With flowers for the slumb'ring brave. Sometimes futurity's thin veil Is lifted, like the ocean mists When on its bosom sweeps the gale, And men behold what ne'er exists. So we to-night may look beyond — E'en list to roll calls yet uncalled; And countermarch upon the ground Where souls from dust are disenthralled, And naught but ashes, lowly laid. Rest 'neath the soil whereon we tread. The fleeting years speed fast away; Yet on each Decoration Day I see you marching, stein and slow; Out there upon the hill you go In silence and with measured tread. To pay this tribute to the dead. How fast they fly! And now a score Of years have passed, yet on the shore 24 MOSS AGATES. Of time, here lingering, you stand. I see you there, a little band Of gray-haired men, fast growing old- — For waves of time have o'er you rolled — Responding there to the roll call ; But no — some answer, yet not all. Two score, at length, of fleeting years Have come and gone 'mid smiles and tears. A feeble band. I see you now, With furrowed cheek and wrinkled brow; Though steps uncertain, still you tramp Up to that silent, voiceless camp. Roll call again; but heard are few Responses now from men in blue. Three score years — but not the ten Roll by; and on that hill shall then A lone, old man be seen to stand — With whitened locks, and staff in hand. Through winter's storm and summer's heat, A century wave rolls at his feet. He peers, while tottering o'er the ground. At the headstone by ev'ry mound. He speaks: "Yes, yes; I knew him well. With faltering voice, "and when those shell A FUTURE ROLL CALL. 25 Came thick and fast on Shiloh's field, He swore we not an inch must yield If ^ve died there. But who is this I see? 'Twas in the Wilderness This one fought bravely by my side. 'Tis thirty years now since he died." Yes, three score years, but not the ten. Shall one by one roll by ; and then Will called and caller both be one, With life's long march so nearly done; While glistens in his eye a tear. That lone old man will answer " here." All else shall but his voice be still At that last roll call on the hill. But here I pause — there's something yet — Born of the sword and bayonet, For Freedom, adamantine throned, Each error of the past atoned. Sits on a rock-ribbed mountain height^ • And 'tis of this I speak to-night. That, w^hile time tov/ard the future runs. The valor of Columbia's sons — These of the North, those of the South — Who fell when belched the cannons mouth 26 MOSS AGATES. With furnace flame, and shot and shell Which shrieked and moaned as heroes fell, By us forgotten ne'er shall be Through time, nor in eternity. What, though the cause of one was right. The other wrong — yet in the light Our foeman had they thought 'twas good. And for it freely shed their blood. 'Tis over now. Brothers again. In North and vSouth patriot men Clasp hands above the silent dead. On fields wherein their blood was shed ; And up beyond the vision's sweep. Where death's pale reaper ne'er shall reap. Where flowers blush in immortal bloom, On fields where contests never come; There, side by side, they march to-day. True heroes, robed in blue and gray. These of the North, those of the South, Who perished at the cannon's mouth When dawning the tnte natal morn. Freedom, thrice purified, was born. Yes, blue and gray, these still in life With those who fell in battle strife, A FUTURE ROI.T. CAI.T.. 27 Have not in Liberty's domain For or against it fought in vain. Antl may the valor of the bhie And gray, e'er be to me and you One stanza in our freedom song, Which sung shall keep the Union strong. And to-night on the shore by the mystery ever- glade. Where the shadowy legions are forming in line, And the w^an guidon rides on the flank of the cav- alcade. They are waving a signal — a mystical sign. And like that which spoke downward from Ken- saw's gray summit To Corse when he fought the encircling host. It bids us in all the life storms which we buffet, Be steadfast in purpose and true to each trust. Yes, there's a life that men may live. Which to posterity shall give An heritage of priceless worth — More noble than a royal birth. And there's a death which men may die. When sounds tneir country's battle cry, Where unseen hands write "Honor, fame. To these are due," above each name. 28 MOSS AGATES. ELLEN SEARLE CARTER. [The lady whose name appear^ above, and whose por- trait is here given, died more than twenty years ago, at Augusta, Wisconsin. Her life was a most beautiful one, and when the author visited Augusta shortly after her death, he discovered that a sentiment akin to reverence was prevalent among the people regarding her. Even old lumbermen, with tears in their eyes, declared that no per- son equal in puritj' of life, character and example to Ellen Searle had ever lived in the State of Wisconsin. Less than a year prior to her death she was married to Ira Carter, Esq., (now of Nevada). Her daughter, who was but a few days old when her mother died, (Mrs. S. Pog- nette, nee Miss Edith V. Carter), resides but a short dis- tance from Augusta, as does also her half sister. Miss Nellie Carter, for the husband of Ellen Searle married a second time, and his second wife dying also he went to the Pacific coast years ago and has never since been back to his old home.] 1SAW tlicc not, yet of thy life I heard, And unto mine some potent thoughts it gave ELLEN SEARLE CARTER. ELLEN SEARLE CARTER. 3 1 Which have e'er since my heart and bosom stirred, And they shall linger with me 'till I reach the grave. Thou wast a bride, and then the bride of death; That life, which had such power to move the heart. Went out; and at its last expiring breath Another came, of thine to be the counterpart. By fair Augusta's peaceful Sylvan shade, Where e'en Beauty's Goddess might forever dwell, Thy grave, thy final earthly home was made, And on that mound so sacred tears unnumbered fell. Well might they weep, all that knew or heard of thee — Thy life to them was e'er a guiding star. E'en paled before thy presence in eternity Were angel lives which met thee at the "gates ajar." And like Him who died in Calv'ry's holy strife, Thy work while here was done in peace and love; 32 MOSS AGATES. And the sweet, pathetic beauty of thy b"fe Whispers to us of higher, better things above. Sleep ! Sleep on ! by fair Augusta's fields of green ; Nor shall these earthly cares thy slumber break. Thou canst not sleep forever all unseen — The morn w^ill come w^hen thou once more .to us shall wake. DEATH OF GEO. H. SAWYER. (ieo .H. Sawjer, a young man well and favorably known liere in Chej'enne, died recently in Seattle, W. T., being at the time of his death business manager of one of the papers published in that city. While here deceased became acquainted with Miss Eva B. Morrow, a most estimable lady and devoted Christian, and knowing that she was at Vhatcom, loo miles north of Seattle, he, in his brief ill- ness, kept calling for her to come. His friends wrote to her and she answered by telegraph that she would come, but on the way down the bay that night the steamer on which Miss Morrow was a passenger ran upon a sandbar and was detained several hours. When she reached Seattle the next day young vSawyer was dead. Deceased has a mother and sister in the east. The following lines were dedicated to the members of the Seattle Typograph- ical Union, who cared for him during his last illness. I A At COMIXtJ 'ER fair Seattle the night hung low, And the glin-imering lights on the street were dim While a stranger lay d\ ing, and to and fro By his bedside stalked the harvester grim. 2 34 MOSS AGATES. He had drifted afar from the homestead old ; A wanderer out in a stranger land, No mother could come e'er the heart grew cold And no sister could clasp that thin, white hand. But there was one who might take their place; He had called her name and they bade her come For in days that vycre passed, to the Throne of Grace This one had guided the wanderer home. 'Twas a brief dispatch : " I am commg," it read, 'Twas received as the sun sank into the west. " I will come on the first south boat," she said. And the words brought comfort and peace and rest. l>ut stranded tiiat night (lie steamer la}- Wherc breakers were, heard by the leeward shore, On the sandbars up in the Whatcom Bay, That baflle the skill and tlic pilots lore. And the looked for angel of peace and light, So fain to haste to the stranger's side, ITer yigil kept through the sleepless night. Till the boat swung: loose with the rising tide. 'Tvyas a voyage in vain, for the reaper pale DliATH OF GEO. H. SAWYER. 35 His victim claimed e'er the''boal came in. And his spirit had entered the twiUght vale Emancipated from pain and sin; And she who came on the mission^of peace Could only for him shed the silent tear, Not alone for the soul that had found release, But for absent ones w^hom his heart held dear. There 's a home far off on the mystic lea. Where mother and sister and friend shall meet With him who has sailed o'er the tideless sea, And is waiting to-day, their coming to greet; And no bark this side ever stranded lay, Nor are breakers e'er heard by the leeward shore, And the pilot that sails in the Whatcom Bay Here never would need his skill and lore. 7,6 MOSS AGATES, THE STONE AT THE CORNER. [New Episcopal Church, Cheyenne.] MEN cannot build enduring blocks That shall withstand the cyclone shocks Of time, as they relentlessly beat Agfainst their walls and 'round their feet. Though century vigils they may keep While generations smile and weep, Yet an unseen corroding breath E'en unto these shall whisper, death. What are the grandest works of men, Which, m the ages past, have been Reared 'neath the vault of Heaven's blue arch, And thickly dot the centuries' march. They e'er have been, and still shall be Those temples, where God's peoele see The Heavenward way, where oft they raise The voice in chants of sacred praise. THE STONE AT THE CORNER. 37 This stone, in part, shall testify That this proud structure, builded high Here on this sacred virgin sod Shall dedicated be to God. Here wisdom's words shall oft be spoke, And oft the ^' bread of life'' be broke; vSemi-angelic voices sing The glories of the prince and king; And mourners here shall bow the head In sorrow, for their cherished dead; While bride and groom here, hand in hand, vShall bv its chancel window stand. Roll, decades, roll in ceaseless train, While centuries come and go agam. But cast not down, as mouldering dust. This temple we to you entrust. May it withstand the storms and wind Which from the clouds of Heaven decend, 'Til time from age walks slow the way, Its ample locks grown thin and gray. 38 MOSS AGATES. TO THE PENNSYLVANIANS. [At the Cheyenne Opera House, July .1886.] E welcome you here at the mountains' gate, And extend unto each the fraternal hand, Fair daughters, brave sons of the Keystone state As westward you speed to the golden strand. Though away out here on this alkali plain And have gathered from every clime and shore, We with you in spirit recall again Proud records, that live forever more. And we think of the men who marched in the van. From the land where the glistening Schuylkill flows. Heroes and patriots, every man Who, at the first call, to arms arose; And our hearts still throb with emotion strong For your noble women and men of God, For no Union soldier, in four years long, Ever hungry tramped south from the Keystone sod. TO THE PENNSYLVANIANS. 39 Pennsylvania men npon every field Freely shed their blood for this country's life, And stood round its altar a living shield, Ne'er faltering once in the gloomy strife; And her gallant sons, Beaver, Hartranft, Ord, And others who march in the van to-day. Each wielded and won with a chivalric sword, When patriots in blue battled foes in gray. And when the red tide of rebellion crept Clear up through the vales to the border slopes. As fierce against Gettysburg's heights it swept, 'Twas broken, and shattered were all its hopes — Pennsj'lvania stood there like a granite wall, With her heroes immortal, Reynolds, Hancock, Meade, And "ITnited we stand, divided we fall," Was the watchword, batt'e-cry, motto and creed. But where are they now, those heroes immortal? Brave Meade, and Reynolds and Hancock true, Who e'er through the smoke and strife of battle Would lead and not follow "the boys in bhie'"' They ride down the line of a phantom legion Far over the surf, on a shadowless lea. And pitched are their tents in that mysterv region At the wan hero camp of eternity. 40 MOSS AGATES. Yes, we welcome you here at the mountains' gate And extend unto each the fraternal hand, Fair daughters, brave sons of the Keystone state. As w^estwai'd you speed to the golden strand ; May heroic deeds of the trodden past E'er inspire when the simoon of warefare blows And may liberty's spirit forever cling fast To that land where the old vSusqnehanna Hows. FOLLOW ME. [The following verses were written by request on the death of Mrs. Cynthia Franklin, mother of Mrs. W. W. Corlett, and are respectfully inscribed to her and other children of the deceased, now residents of Kansas. The deceased lady was an exemplary Christian all her life time, and was well known to many in Cheyenne, where she spent much of her time with her daughter.] UNDER the sod she's cahnly sleeping, Earthly cares and sorrows o'er; "Beyond the smiling and the weeping," Here upon the drift-wood shore. Xe'er again, as when in childhood, Will be heard her kindly voice, Calling where you gladly followed. Yet weep not, but e'er rejoice. Though gone, there'll be a joyous meeting Where hfe's river laves the land, When you meet and at the greeting- Clasp again her cherished hand. 42 MOSS AGATES. For to-day up in a mansion, Just inside the jasper gates — Just inside, that you her vision May sooner greet, a mother waits. Softly when the zephyr whispers, Seems a voice to come again — Yes, 't is her's — a sainted mother's; May your hear it, not in vain. f have passed through death's dark portal To the realms of mystery; 1 have found a life immortal, Oh! my children, follow me. THE CARNIVAL CAROL. [Read at the Great Presbyterian Carnival, in October, 1889.] THE stoney way, the stoney way, Covertly follow day by day, You'd fail to find if you should tn- A better place to groceries buy. Stone & Covert. Have you heard of that fellow Kirkland? More skillful than any out West; And the pictures you get at his photograph stand. Are always the cheapest and best. There is a place than all more Fair, Fred Clary and "Our Kel" are there, With Charley Rohm and Johnny true, And pretty Miss McGregor too; Here everything heart could desire Is kept, and prices please the buyer. 44 MOSS AGATES. Doug and Dick, Doug and Dick, The hardest pair in town to lick, Or beat in the drugs they sell. If your are sick, if you are sick, Call on them quick, this Doug and Dick, Buy their ^Irugs and vou '11 get well. Ev'ry stranger who comes to town inquires For the dry goods house of William Myers, For there is no place in the border land. Where such elegant goods are kept on hand. Me keepee all kinds fine thmgs for sellee. Me never get dlunk and whoopee up hellee, But I likee get heepee good thing, If I can, And makee asignee like Melican man. Lok Don. I'd like to be an angel, but don't think I am able, For my wings have scarcely yet begun to sprout. But, brothers, let me tell you, I've the finest livery stable. In the town, if you but hear my gentle shout. J. C. Abney. THE CARNTVAI. CAROL. 45 Where the clematis climbs on the window pane, And the woodbines grow by the garden wall, Yon may look and ponder, }et look in yain, Xo flower will yon miss for 1 grow^ them all. Mrs Chaffin. N^ndomc, ^>ndome, the boarders' home. If yon want something wholesome to eat. Just hie you there, and sample the fare. You will find it on Eighteenth street. If you want the best of painting, or some paper for the wall, Hunt up McCormick straightaway — give him a friendly call; He can do all kinds of painting, but there's one thing should be said, McCormick never yet was known to paint the pre- cmct red. Come, give us a call, give us a call. Come stout and short, come lean and tall, Our hardware stock is the finest and best To be found out here in the growing West. Wyoming Hardware Co. Feed and provisions, coffee and tea. And the best in the grecery line. 46 MOSS AGATES. This is our motto, so just come and see, For we've got the "biz" down pretty fine. Bryant & Bonfilp. Jeweller Brown, Jeweller Brown, As handsome a man as there is in the town. And if you want jewels and want the best. Call and see him — he'll tell you the rest. Alexander McGregor meanders in. And the hair on the top of his head is thin, And had he but married some woman I know. What little there's left w^ould very soon go; But he merely came in for a moment to say That the pioneer grocery house will stay. We will speak of one now, but we do not lament That he of the council is president, Ho will sell you pure drugs — not claiming that pills, Will e'en round the corner, cure all sorts of ills. W N. Hunt. "From grocerie to grocerie," In former days was all the cry. But now people ask for but one. Kept by two brothers, named Johnston. THE CARNIVAL CAROL. 47 Though this old tirm is Underwood, Yet be it surely understood, Their goods are best — don't ask nic whether This firm will e'er he caught "under the weath- er.'^ If you want to dress up and look nobby, Give Smith & Harrington a call, For they make it a special hob])y,^ To keep suits well suited to all. Just lake a walk with the Walkers' At the old stand we all known well ; Though too busy too be great talkers, Their goods will the story tell. Walker Bios. First in the field it paved the way. For prosperous times we have to-day. For solid financing the leaven, Down through the years since sixty-seven. First National Bank. Stockgrowing is ever our motto. Inside and outside our bank, And in the financial procession, We are e'er in the foremost rank. Stockgro Arers National Bank. 48 MOSS AGATES. We have Collins and Morgan, Hulbert and Beard, And a premium upon our stock, No collapse or assignment need ever be feared, For our basis is firm as a rock. Cheyenne National Bank. Have you heard of Frank Meanea, the saddler? I tell you he's surely a rattler, And pays strict attention to "biz;" Saddles fit for the cowboy or jockey, At his place you will find nothing rocky, Now just make a big note of this. Wesley Hammond and Henry Arp, Though the envious world may grumble and carp. Are the leading hardware men of the West, As has oft been proved, when put to the test. The pioneer millinery house to-day. Is foremost in every line, they say; Yes, the taste in stitching is unexcelled. And with buyers her store is always filled. Mrs. E. Walker. Where the "Rockies" rise in grrandeur. Proudly in their old domains. The Cheyenne Daily Leade?- Had its birth, and still maintains THE CARNIVAL CAROL.. 49 Its place among the journals, Fn-st and foremost ih the West; Though oft have would-be rivals "■'Closed their forms" and gone to rest, In the lead of the live stock interests, Sinew and bone of the land, Marches Mercer ahead of the column, ^ With the Stock yoiirnal in his hand. Not a man in Cheyenne ever scolds at Skolds, For when he takes "Photos" the truth unfolds. That a scolding by Skolds is the easiest way To get the best photograph going to-da\-. Find Bristol and Knabe — they have taken the cup. If you want good printing or books put up. Or a more complete blank than you'll find in the town. See them, for they'll do the job up prettv brown. "Here is your coal," the cold wind sings. Brought all the way from far Rock Springs, From the bosom of nature — that bounteous giver? Lay in a supply or you surely will shiver. Riner & Johnson. 50 MOSS AGATES. To these elegant rooms of beauty and fashion, Come" matron and maiden and newly made bride, Where fairer than gems or pearls of the oeean. You'll find that which pleases your fancy and pride. Mrs. Robinson. Come one and come all to the millinery store, Of that ladv well known — Mrs. Brown; Though the goods with the fashions keep up ever- more. Yet the prices forever keep down. Not here in the Magic City, Nor anywhere else in the West, Will you find' where its not conceeded That their dressmakmg is the best. The Misses Walker. F. Schweickert's will sell you the hardware. Though the best, he will sell it so cheap. That from this time on you will never dare To suggest that the prices are steep. We don't do washee, we wash by steam, And never a break in the fold or seam. Will you find in the clothing we wash for you; Just try and this saying you'll find is true. Cheyenne Steam Laundry. THE CARNIVAL CAROL. 5 I With them merchant, kings and princes, There the governor and the man. Fit to guide the star of statehood, In the march, to lead the van; wShapcott, Tuttle, Smith, Miss Shulte, At the emporium e'er on hand. See their stock of goods, 'tis mammoth, And magnificently grand. Warren Mercantile Co. Repath appears well made — its only a sham. For you must agree with me, he's a shorthand man ; His typewriting, too, proves his dishonest intent. For he's no more or less than a light fingered gent. I suppose that you have heard that the C. C. C, Means Cheyenne Commercial Company, Grocery house, feed store, meat market and all, The hest thing to do is to give them a call. Dont think you'll e'er intrude. But come business man and dude. We've the finest stock, come in and of us buy, Be you tall or lean or stout. We can always fit you out With something which will always please vour e3^e. Geo. H. Truckev. 52 MOSS AGATES. No odds how you lie on a Shingle, The work will be surely Caldwell, Though yarns and good news often mingle. Charge it up to the Lurid L. L.; Vet, wdien there's a cause to sustain that's right, The Eveniiig Tribune will make the fight. For all that is good, our market will take, A part of the bak'ry as well as the cake. Though you whistle a canine call complete, Our sausage won't follow you into the street. Phoenix Market. Did you hear how Jim Jenkins and Gus, In Cheyenne have kicked up a great fuss. And all about shoes understand? They have knocked all the prices way down. And yet they, of all in the town, Have the nobbiest outfit on hand. Call round and shake hands with Sam Wilcox, If you are hungry and want to buy bread; At all competition he's dealing hard knocks, ^ And his place is the best, it is said. Have you ever been out on the Inman line? Not the one stretching from shore to shore. But the line of pianos, guitars and harps, Which you find at his music store. THE CARNIVAL CAROL. 53 I have heard of that isle in the waveless sea, Bright with amethyst, pearl and gold. But it isn't so bright, nor as fair can be, As the palace of gems untold. Which you find at the Zehner & Buechner stand, Where they glitter and dazzle the eye, And their wonderous beauty on ever}- hand, W^ill induce you at once to buy. The boots were not done, but the bill was made out, You have heard of this doubtless before; But now has the programme been changed about. And this is the way we do: We are keeping the best, either shoe or boot, People pay cash and no bills are made out. S. Bon. There's one thing sure, My drugs are pure And if you doubt, just come and see, And then of course you'll buy of me. B. B. David. Not sweeter the flower of Sandolphon, The mythical angel of prayer. Which he cast through the gates of the city, Diffusing their incense there, 54 MOSS AGATES. Than those in ni}^ Eden floral, With the immortelles e'er in bloom, Where to jDliick them at morn and evening Bride, sweetheart and mourners come. Mrs. V. Glafcke. x\i the popular stand of Commissioner Hoyt Von'll not fail to be suited with all that you see. The best stock in town and no trouble to show it Call there and purchase — you'll satisfied be. Are you looking for a good book r If so then just take a look In Holt's establishment by the P. O. In the corners and nooks, And e'en hanging on hooks. You'll see them wherever you go. The cowboys, the cowboys, are making a raid, And all others are joining the throng. Where the finest of saddles and harness are made; "Long live Morrison," always the song. J. S. Collins. The first half of my name is for those in compe- tition. And the last half indicates tlie way I deal THE CARNIVAL CAROL. 55 With my customers, so many who belong to every nation, And want clothing — now that's just the way I feel. Hellman. Come into the Palace Barber Shop, Put off your coat and make a stop We'll give you a shave and your hair trim down Far better than anyone else in town. Ashford. Come smoke a pure Cheyenne cigar, F. Boehm's the manufacturer Discard those " Early Yorks " you get, For his cigars are the best ones yet. If you get hungry and want to eat. Our grocery store is just your beat. Take it, you'll find our prices low, Best stock — no odds where you go. G lis wold & Co. They say that Pm lean and lanky. And sometimes they call me cranky, But there's one thing Pd like very much to say: In my business Pm a stayer. And of rogues I am a flayer, And my clothing house is crowded every day. Henry Harrington. 56 MOSS AGATES. wSvvect candy, sweet bread and sweet cake, Is what you'll e'er find at my place, P^or the best of each one I can make, And the premium take in each case, E'en the Nevv Orleans Lottery bowed with a will. To the excellent cream we with Ellis distill. I'll make you a bet and I'll back it, That if you'll call around at the Racket, You'll get the best bargains for all that you buy. Than elsewhere, than elsewhere, no odds where you try. Where, oh where is Pete Bergerson? Two to one that he's out with a gun. For he keeps the best ones to be found in the West, This very same fellow, Pete Bergersoii. Just call in at Kellner's if you want to feast your eyes On the finest dry goods stock you ever saw. And that's not all you'll purchase of him, if voii are inside; For his prices will the custom always draw. Hunt up that fellow who growls and barks, And pilot him round to Maier Marks, WHio is running that mammoth clothing stand. And gives the best bargains in all the land. THE CARNIVAL CAROL. :>/ Now ho\s \ou\l just as well, vStrike the Normaiulie hotel, If \ oil want to lind a good one in Cheyenne; For Tve oft heard them declare That for prices and g^ood fare, It will meet all claims - e'en of thc^ Upper Ten." Tuttle, sa}' Tuttle, what are 3011 about? \'ou must not think you can run all the rest out, Vour paper and i^aint may be best, we all know, ^'et Tuttle, Jim Tuttle, give each one a show. There's ^lerrill and Callantl, i: prett\- strong pair, Thev are dealing in lumber, and deal on the square. On a sound business basis, substantial, complete, And al\va>'s are friendh- with those who com- pete. As tirm as a rock, as solid as steel. Is the well known Mercantile, And the grocery house which the company runs Alight well be described by the term "Great Guns," For with Nagle and Whipple and Robins in charge, Their business we know has become yery large; 58 MOSS AGATES. They can sell their goods cheap, (for between you and I) They well can afford it — they know how to buy. Call up Mr. Jack Murray, Tell him he must hurry. And get ready for the coming crop of ice; But tell him not to worry, This same Mr. Jack Murray, For there'll surely be no hitch about the price. Contractor Keefe, whom we often call "Mose," Will perhaps build a bridge to the moon; But if he can't do it, as every one knows. The bridge wont be built very soon. To my kindergarten the children come, And while learning to read with care, The tenderness of the childhood home. Transplanted — they find it there. The Carnival Carroll, with the double L., Now makes his bow and thinks 'tis well You survived while they read what he tried to write. Good night one and all, good night, good night. THE GIRL GUARDS. jWiiUcii bv icqucbL of lady friends of the company and respectfully dedicated by the writer to its twentv- four meujberb.J HAVE you seen our "Girl Guards," known as Company K? With their miniature muskets and caps of gray! Heave you heard the tramp of their delicate feet Keeping perfect step to a cadence sweet? Enchantingly sweeping in fitful air The kaleidoscope march of these maidens fair; Who forth from a land of Elysian bloom" To pass in review only seem to have come. O, what can compare with their beauty and worth But the Diety's smile on the bosom of earth ! Just heard, did you say? Then I'll tell you more, Concerning each one of this bright tvventv-four. wStand here close by me where the footlights burn. Where Company K makes many a turn; 6o MOSS AGATES. To the right or to left, as the case may be, Not as they respond to the reveille Will you see them, but each in her proper place In line, when they move with such charming- grace. And as they appear by the tactical grade In the practice drill or a grand parade. Gallant Colonel vStitzer is m command. You have heard of him oft — stay, the girls are at hand ; First Emma O'Brien and Kate Kelly too. Brighter, nobler girls Cheyenne never knew; Mary Davidson, handsome— -in girlhood a queen, The intellect flash in her eye to be seen ; With fair Gertrude Morgan make up the full set. Yet no; I inean the first Girl Guard quartette. Next come Lulu Maxw^ell and Alvenie Gloye, And then Gertrude Ellis and sweet Mamie Hor- rie, As charming a four you will scarce ever see— These are second in line in K Company ; Handsome Eva Smalley with wx'alth of dark hair. With lona Davis, both winsome and fair. And then Edna Wilseck and Carrie Ingram, Two bright, charming misses, in unison come. THE GIRL GUARDS. 6 1 Three fours now have passed us— just one-half in all— As they now countermarch through the well Hghted hall. Look! look you again! as the column sweeps on! Here come Ada Johnston and Clara Newman, Two ai> pretty young misbcs as cwi n uu'li see, While the fair Isabel Montgomery And sweet Bessie Vreeland, excelling in song, With steps of perfection, come marching along. Then Jessie Lee, a bright, fair-haired lass, Ora Cowhick, a beauty, quick near us pass; Then Mina McGregor, both pretty and bright. And Mamie Geotz, charming, with footsteps light; Next comes Gracie Chaffin, sweet-voiced and fair. And then Florence Bradley with queenly air; While Jessie Newman, a pretty young girl. With Effie Vreeland, in beauty a pearl, Sweep past in the march on the waxened floor; The're last, but not least of the fair twenty-four. All honor then give to our Company K ; But the story I've told, and further will say While specially mentioning few at this time I'm obliged to do this if the story's in rhyme, 62 MOSS AGATES. And I've hoped as I witnessed their marcliing to- night That the future to each one may e'er seem as bright And be but the reflex of what now appears As they march down the aisles of the untrodden years ; May to these gems m girlhood a bountiful share Be vouchsafed of Divine and Omnipotent care: For by such to this life there is graciously given A beauteous charm earth has borrowed from Heaven. LITTLE EVA. [Written by request of friends of the familj- and re- spectfully inscribed to Mr. and Mrs. L. H. Woodmansee on the death of their little daughter Eva | LITTLE Eva, they say, is dead; That now of hfe she has no share; Low laid within the earth damp bed Bcantiftil one with golden hair. Long da3^s of sadness come and go Now tliat your darling's voice is still; But imknown nmrmiirs, soft and low, Tell you this was the P'ather's will. And in the sorrowed, breaking heart vSomcthing Avhispers, though woes abide, Vou arc, perchance, not far apart From the beautiful one that died. No, little Eva is not dead; Only — only has gone to rest. E'en now has left that earth cold bed To be with Him who "knoweth best." 64 MOSS AGATES. Not dead, but lives forevermore Angel Eva, more bright and fair Than w^hen she dwelt here on earth's shore A little child with golden hair. You will cross to the velvet strand Some day, to share its joy and bliss; She'll meet you there, reach out her hand And greet you with her childish kiss. MANSFIELD'S LAST RIDE, WERE you there that day on Antietam's field Where death missies made such a fata^ search ? Where Hooker, outnumbered, swore never to yield. And Smith charged in by the Dunkir church? Did you hear the shriek of those shrapnel shell Just out throug-h the cornfield adown the plain? Were you there in the fight where Richardson fell. And Hancock rallied the lines again? Those shouts — did you hear — down there by the ridge Beyond the position where Porter lay When Burnside pushed over the old stone bridge And hurled his columns into the frav? (i6 MOSS AGATES. Were you there when that Hne swept into the fight Which "Stonewall" Jackson could ne'er com- hat— That grand left wheel on the Union right? No charge in his'try e'er equalled that; Did you see that hero, old Mansfield, ride? I can see him yet with his thin white hair, Exclaiming, while pointing the way to guide: "Go on, hoys! go on, we will meet them there!" Heavens, those shouts and the musketry's crash! Yet through all the battle's swift-rolling dun, 'Mid sheets of fierce flame and cannon's red flash. Undaunted and fearles he still rode on. Though carnage swept wide with a simoon's breath, He was riding stright in until lost to view^ Right into the midst of that maelstrom death Which swallowed its thousands of "men in blue." (rleaming war blades high uplifted; Flash and clash with bayonet; Squadrons reel and brigades waver In that deadly, fierce onset, Mansfield's last ride. 67 Darker grows the mantling war cloud O'er iVntietam's crimsoned slopes; While the foeman strike for vict'ry^ — Here in columns, there in groups, Lies beside the dying Northmen Brother foeman on the sod — Upward flit their souls together To the martial court of God. Yet, O where is that grim horseman, Mansfield? Does he still ride there Pointing, while the winds of tumult Toss and drift his whitened hair? But hark, what is that, as the foe recede? Faint heard in the battle's diminished roar: "Mansfield has fallen — shot dead from his steed!" The grand old hero will ride no more. His spirit went up to the cloud land field ; Life given a sacrifice for the land He fought to vindicate, save and shield. And fell while he gave us that last command. O the day that was fraught with a nation's fate At Sharpsburg — they call it Antietam now — Whose thunders were heard at the capital's gate When Lincoln recorded that solemn vow To emancipate if a victory came In that fight where we lost more men in blue. 68 MOSS AGATES. Who fell for their country and not for fame, Than Wellington lost at Waterloo. Yet not for home, nor our country's weal, Died there a hero more true and brave Than grand old Mansfield with mould of steel, Who reached at Antietam a soldier's grave. Peace smiles to-day on the Maryland shore, * For strife's dread tumult is heard no more. Gone now, are the blue and the gray alike And no troopers ride on the Hagerstown pike. No longer is crimsoned the river's flow And the Sharpsburg cornfields untrampled grow; In peace thoroughfares throng the foemen of old. For wars saturnalia long^ since grew cold. Old Sharpsburg village to-day appears Much the same as it did in the bygone years. A stroll through the town and you'll see again The old time half shattered window pane. If by night you wander from street to street. You scarce a villager e'er will meet. Naught heard in the stillness encompassing all Save the whippoorwill notes and the night hawk's call. And closely around the old hearth stone fire The villagers gather, from child to sire. Mansfield's last ride. 69 Each night with voices subdued and low They talk of the times in the years ago; Of the great battle fought near the quaint old town — Of the thousands who fell ere the sun went down ; And oft when the children have gone to sleep, And older ones uncanny vigils keep — When 'tis thought that no skeptical ones are near — They a story relate to the listening ear. Half whispered, they tell of a horseman still Who at midnight rides on the Sharpsburg hill. And sometmaes they see by the moonlight dim The features of Mansfield — pale and ghm; Unseen though a battle line, legion or troop. He still points the way down the clover grown slope. Though he utters no word, yet he seems to say As w hen riding the lines on that fatal day. While the night wmds play through his thin, white hair: "Go on, boys I go on, we will meet them there!" 70 MOSS AGATES. HAND IN HAND. [Marriage of Mr. Frank PiiLstlv and Miss Eva Morrow.] ^.JTE shall sail far out on the blue sea of life; \\ We shall drift on its tide waves together; And the two names so sacred — of husband and wife — Shall be ours; yes, forever, forever. Though surf mists and storms we shall meet on the way, Yet with the Great Pilot's hand guiding. Our bark shall float safely on, onward each day, Ev'ry tempest outriding, outriding. Though we leave it true ones stand and watch from the shore As we're out towaid the harbor bar sailing. And their friendship goes with us to-day — ever- more, A friendship, unfailing, unfailing. Beyond lie the isles in perennial spring, And the orient zephyrs are blowing HAND IN HAND. 7 1 Where the love plumaged nightingales carol and sing, Sweet cadence bestowing, bestowing. Though at last we shall drift by the earth evening strand Where the leafless gray willows are waving, Just beyond lie the shores of the whisperless land, Which life's w^aters are laving, are laving. Then, as now, the names sacred — of husband and wife. Shall be ours — naught e'en death can us sever; Hand in hand e'er in this and the mystery life. We will journey together, together. ^ 72 MOSS AGATES, THE ANGEL WHO CAME THAT NIGHT. ' nH mamma, Fm weary and hiingr\-, (J And I wish we had something to eat; I do not mean pie or some turkey - Onlv bread and a small bit of meat. "T know yoifve no money to Iniy it We're so poor since dear papa w ent To that land which they tell us is starlit; Where no sorrow to any is sent. "But, mamma, to-day and with Charlie Tve wandered to see if we could Earn somehow a small sum of money With which we could buy us some food. "And we saw some pies in a window That we passed as we went down the street, And my poor heart was filled up with sorrow When I thought we had«nothincr to eat. THE ANGEL WHO CAME THAT NIGHT. 73 "And, ma, don't you think that if papa Could know we are hungry to-night. He would come from that land of the future — The land which they say is so bright? "Yes, surely, mamma, I know that he would, And get for us something to eat; Though not what the rich folks would call very good, But some bread and a small piece of meat. "Oh, mammal Oh, mamma! I am sorry, don't cry, For some friend may possibly come. And I know that to-night you're as hungry as I x\s we sit in our little cold room." "My child 1 have praved to Our Father to-day And have asked him to give us some food. And unto poor children who faint on the wav - I know He will ever be good. "And it may be, my child, that an angel of His To-night may come in at our door. And perhaps when he comes from the fair land of bliss He may bring us some bread, if no more." 74 MOSS AGATES. Just then at the door came softly a rapping-, And a stranger, uncouth apd unshorn, Came into the room at their bidding To the Httle room cold and forlorn. "See yere— I 'spose you know me? But they calls me Old Jimmie for short. Sit down^ — well, yas, for a minit, maybe; But I don't know per'aps as I ort. "I come in to say I just heerd tliat [)uor Tom Is aslcepin' up thar on the hill; And T 'spose you're not quite as well fixed as some, And in course of wealth none has our fill. "Ye see, once way up thar on the Spearfish Tom came to my rescue one day; When the Injuns piled out of the sage brush, And with me that they'd git away. "But me and poor Tom we just gin em A game that the scamps didn't like, And I tell ye, again for the sage brush, mam, Those devils they made a big strike. THE ANGEL WHO CAME THAT NIGHT. 75 'And I tell you poor Tom's little fam'lv Aint a goin' to go hungry nor drv; Here's a five and a ten and a twenty; Just take 'em— Oh mam, don't ye cry ' "And you just bet yer life that Old Jimniie — For you, and the little ones too — Will allers come down with his money ; x\nd I tell you I'll see ye all through." When the children knelt by their bed that night To engage in their short little prayer. They did not forget the good angel of light W^ho came, but with unshorn hair. And away in that land of the future, Which we all are fast journeying toward ; Where the rich than the poor are no richer, Old Jimmie will get his reward. 76 MOSS AGATES. CLASP HANDS ALIKE WITH BLUE AND GRAY. [Read at an Emancipation Celebration.] N Southern lands long years ago, A race drank deep the dregs of woe In slavery's chains e'er welded fast — That race had walked for centuries past. No light illumed the gloomy way Where bondmen toiled from day to day ; To rescue from this living grave No arm reached forth to free the slave. But hark! the guns at Sumpter roar And shake the old Palmetto shore. The call "To arms!" sounds through the land, O'er mountain plain and ocean strand. Patriots fall, the Union rocks, While loud resound the battle shocks. Forth from a mighty northern cam.p To meet the foe great armies tramp. CLASP HANDS WITH BLUE AND GRAY. 77 'Twas then Abraham Lincohi spoke In words which all the world awoke, Proclaiming slaves should e'er be free — Immortal voice of liberty. " Freedom to all," was the watchword. While Grant and Sherman wield the sword, Till not a child of enforced toil Remained upon Colum^bia's soil. This glorious day through coming time Shall be observed in every clime. Wherever men are just and true To rights of all — not of the few — Abraham Lincoln's name shall live While God to man shall memory give; With U. S. Grant's, that hero grand, Who triumphed and preserved our land. 'Tis over now, that race to-day Clasp hands alike with blue and gray ; No more to mourn, no more to weep In woes of bondage, dire and deep. And where, at Charleston, first was heard That gun which loyal hearts so stirred. All colored men to-day turn back In sorrow to that earthquake's track ; 78 MOSS AGATES. And freely send their little mite To sufferers there, both black and white, With prayers that tumults come no more To that old-tjme Palmetto shore. THE UNION PACIFIC. [Read at the Great Carnival, October, 1889, by General John Charles.] THERE was a time some years ago When progress in Cheyenne was slow. Throned on the treeless foot-hill slope The Magic City saw no hope. Buc stay — that word — our ears attend; Cheyenne has still a steadfast friend, Union Pacific railroad men Those true words spoke — they spoke and then New life appeared on ev'ry side; Hope rose again and then the pride Of our fair city rose on high — "That depot" towards the clear hlue sky. Shops came in time, and now we feel That the "U. P." was true as steel To us — when there was little left, And we of hope almost bereft. 8o MOSS AGATES. And over these plains and mountains May its railroad unrivalled run, 'Till the bright reflex of its glorv Out travels the setting sun. And here in this Magic City We will cherish its name with pride, 'Till we go on our last excursion O'er the crest of the Great Divide. THE B. & M WHAT is that which we see to the eastward Pushing over tlie alkah plain, While its puffs of black smoke rolling upward, Form a vast anaconda like train Stretching downi the long slope toward the border Of our neighbors — that prosperous state, Historic, undaunted Nebraska, Standing proud by the '^ Border Land'' gate. 'Tis the long looked for B. & M. "Mogul—" We have watched for its coming for 3xars. Wave the flag, fire the gun, sound the bugle And let's us greet it with thundering cheers; For, boys, dawns there a new morning Since the Burlington engine has come. And to-night let the song of rejoicing Resound in each Cheyenneite's home. 82 MOSS AGATfiS. LITTLE WALT. [On the Death of Walter Dyer.] E sit in the gloom and shade to-night And think of the days gone bv, When our household seemed like the morning light And bright as the summer sky. But our hearts are sad as we sit and think Of a cradle we used to have E'er our darling passed to the river's brink And crossed o'er the darksome wave. ^'es, Little Walter has gone afar, And we walk amid shades and gloom ; Vet he passed through the gates that are left ajar, Where flowers eternally bloom. LITTLE WALT. 83 We shall some day pass to the river's side And cross to the distant shore; To the peaceful land far over the tide, Where partings shall come no more. And a tiny form in a little bark Will come from the opposite strand As we shrink to pass through the waters dark To the beach of the twilight land. And a cherished voice will break on the ear As the boat in the mist comes to view ; " Papa and Mamma, don't have any fear, Little Walter is coming for you." Yes, you'll cross the dark tide with your own little boy And with him shall walk on the lea; To bask in the brightness and sunlight of joy In a home by the summer land sea. 84 MOSS AGATES. NOT A FINAL ADJOURNMENT. [Inscribed to Hon. David Miller and the other mem- bers of the late House of Representatives of 1884.] "^OME, boys, for the gavel has fallen J And the House has adjourned sine die. Unto us is the privilege given Of a union in song — you and I. Our labors of state are all ended And we scatter from hence far and near Ere we part let our voices be blended In a song to our memories dear. Form a circle around in the center Of the hall which we are soon to leave, And let each take the hand of his neighbor; Let our, parting a token recei\-e. NOT A FINAL ADJOURNMENT. 85 Of the brotherhood ties that now bind us; Ma}' it be thus as here hand in hand, While Hfe's billows break and roll o'er us We may e'er be an unbroken band. We've debated and fought through the session For constituents we represent, x\nd oft have we called a " division," When to carry our point we were bent. But now that our contests are finished And suspended all rules of restraint, Our friendship is still undiminished; Firm, constant and free from all taint. Now let us while here all united Sing a song dear to your hearts and mme — Fit for princes, the poor and benighted — That grand old historic Lang Syne. Then fall in Teschemacher and Downey, Jones, the speaker; Craig, Quealy and Goad, Schwartz, Nickerson, Allen and Dudley, Grant, Kennedy, Bussard and Ford. Come also Deloney and Jackson, Groesbeck, also W^eaver, Cahill, Smith, Snider with positive Seaton, And " Dave" Miller the quorum will fill. 86 MOSS AGATES. Though perhaps not again legislators, We will all do the best that we can; To those instincts w^e ne'er will prove traitors — Those instincts which make the true man. Then when comes roll call o'er the river And we in the last house appear, Whose sessions shall last— last forever, ^^ay each one, may all answer "here." When introduced are our bills there eternal To be heard in our Father's great house, May their titles when read from the journal No sneers from the " lobby " arouse. May they "pass" there when they've been com- mitted To the "whole house" way up by the throne, To the " general file " be remitted With never a " rider" tacked on. When our bills have all passed the " third read- ing" And are put on their "passage" on high^ May no voice there be heard as dissenting — May there be one unanimous "aye." NOT A FINAL ADJOURNMENT. 87 Wlien enrolled and our bills are presented, Be our Great Master's signature lent To "approve" of our "acts" unamended And in no case a " veto " be sent. Yes, fall in Teschcmacher and Downey, Jones, Quealy, Craig, Coad and the rest. Side by side we will march in life's journey Through these foothills way out in the west. 88 MOSS AGATES. BOYS, DON'T CALL ME A CRIPPLE TO-NIGHT. [The incident upon which the following verses were written occurred at Warm Springs, VT'yo., (now Saratoga) and w^ere composed immediately after listening to the story of a crippled war veteran.] NO, boys, don't call nie a cripple to-night ^ While passing your jokes around, For something is dimming my failing sight And it falls with a grating sound. I'm a cripple, of course you all well know, And a wreck and a ruin for life; And yet perhaps 'twould not have been so But for the recent rebellion's strife. Yes, the wound that made of me a cripple I received in the Petersburg charge Where thousands fell in the struggle— Our loss was unusually large. DON T CALL ME A CRIRPLE TO-NIGHT. 89 Though I drag to-night on a desolate shore With my prospects in Hfe all gone, 1 think of the days which will come no more As I journey through life alone. .\nd in fancy my heart goes back again To a cot by the woodland dense, Where the clematis climbed on the window pane And the heliotrope grew by the garden fence. .\nd a mother dear and a gray haired sire I see, as in spirit I journev back, vSitting again at the hearthstone fire. By Its friendly glow and its cheerful crack. And little Jimmie, 1 see him too. And Fannie with ringlets of g-olden hair. They are smiling again and their eyes of blue Are just as wondrously bright and fair. In mem'ry once more b}^ the little brook We w^ander again there hand in hand, Into ev'ry sly little corner and nook, 'Mid flowers there by the golden sand. But death will come and it came to them- — Peacefully now they're all at rest, Sweetly asleep by the murmuring stream. Close by the dear old homestead nest. 90 MOSS AGATES. There's another whose name I never speak, Who said she would ever be true; And boys perhaps you will call me weak As I tell this story to you. When I came from the war all crippled and lame She became as a stranger to me — With myself and her it was not the same And it never again will be. Since then, perhaps, I have drank too much; But I've done the best that I could; But a fellow like me, and I'll say all such, Will never do just as they should. I shall walk again, but it will not be 'Till I cross to the mystic shore. Where the ransomed stand on the golden lea; Where troubles will come no more. And then once more with Fannie and "Jim," O'er the meadows forever in bloom. We shall walk where the crystal waters gleam. In that far away, peaceful home. And a mother dear and gray haired sire Will stand by my side again. Where white robed angels with harp and lyre Will chant a beautiful strain. DON T CALL ME A CRIPPLE TO-NIGHT. 9I As I sit here to-night in the twilight gray These thoughts come back to my mind, As they have not come for many a day, Though crippled, weary and almost blind. Yes, while passing your jokes on ev'ry hand Something is dimming my failing sight. For sadly I'm roaming on memory's strand — Oh, boys! don't call mc a cripple to-night. 92 MOSS AGATES. WE WELCOME YOU [The following- poem was recited by t^e author at the reception tendered to the members of the Colorado Sj nod at the Presbyterian Church in Chejenne, the Synod being composed of pastors and delegates not only from Colorado and Wyoming but from New Mexico and Ari- zona as well.] WE welcome yoii, we welcome you, God's votaries steadfast and true; We proffer you the kindly hand, Though not as strangers, from a land To us e'er whisperless and afar. Across the vision's harbor bar. What though you claim a distant home, Or from the snowy range lands come; We greet you here, as brothers, friends, For fellowship m God extends Beyond the distant rocky steep Around whose base the centuries sleep; In faith and spirit, side by side. The gre^at divide can ne'er divide. WE WELCOME YOU. 93 What means this gathering here to-night? These men of God, what brings them herer Prayers ancT petitions io indict In perfect faith and Godly fear; 'Tis that in union here may Im A work performed for all mankind; A glorious work in harmony, Born of the Godlike heart and mind. What are the grandest work of men? Where are they wrought, by whom and when? Ask not of him who boasts his worth And gropes in intellectual dearth ; Nor yet of he whose God is fame, And manhood barters for a name. These, these ne'er know, nor understand Life's mystery and problem grand. Call back to life the living dead; The arm outstretched lost men to save. Point out where faith's bright halos shed Their beams on pathways to the grave ; Mens' griefs and sorrows e'er assuage, In hope triumphant lead the van; This now, has been in every age. The grandest, noblest work of man. 94 MOSS AGATES. Down through the aisles of slumbering time, In every age, in every clime, Where e'er was seen, where e'er has been, A grander host of Godlike men Than those true ones of iron mould. Who, in the martyr days of old Stood firm around the blood stained cross And counted life and fame but dross; When in the cause of holiness Their all was cast, mankind to bless. The Presbyterian faith and creed And banner of the church unfurled. Of righteousness have been the seed , Its fruit, the leaven of a world. Sown deep among old Scotland's hills And nurtured where her thistle grows. It spread untU its influence fills That old world where its star arose. Flashing o'er the waste of waters Through the surf mists of the tide. From the old land to the new one, Came that halo sanctified; And its radiance transcendent. O'er the western world has cast Pure beams of light — ^the reflex Of its splendor in the past. WE WELCOME YOU. Q5 church I whose creed the world shall light I With whom John Calvin walks to-night, A nation claims your history; Made in that cause of liberty, When slavery sat securely throned, And millions for their freedom moaned. In this fair land long years ago, A race drank deep the dregs of woe; A sombre gloom enshrouded all — Hung o'er them like a funeral pall ; But hark — give heed — what sound is that? Fron'i where your great assembly sat; Though years have fled, "three score and ten," 1 seem to hear it, and as when The bondman heard, and lifted high His voice in praise when came that crv, The first of church, or yet of state, "The slave, the slave emancipate." And yet, to-night, the welded chains Of that dark slaverv of the soul Are clanking, clanking, and remains Sin's bondage; while its muster roll Shows countless millions doomed to die; Yet, from the Imperial throne on high g6 MOSS AGATES. The Master calls and bids, yozi go Among his children, high and low And with redemption's sledge the key, Break loose their bonds and set them free. When the shades of life's gray twilight Gather 'round the troubled way Of this earth's uncertain journey And you near its closing day. Then whispering through the shadows There, encompassing the tomb. By faith you'll hear these cheering words; "• 'Tis naught but going home;" For the Master's Great Assembly And his synod, up on high. Where the pure in heart are gath'ring. Will convene there, bye and bye; And amid that blc>om eternal On the far-off mystic shore. You'll receive the Christian's welcome To a rest forevermore. Yes, here to-night, we welcome you, God's votaries steadfast and true; We proffer you the friendly hand, Though not as strangers from a land WE WELCOME YOU. To us e'er whisperless and far Across the vision's harbor bar; What though you claim a distant home Or from the snowy range lands come; We greet you here as brothers, friends, For fellowship in God extends Beyond the distant rocky steep Around whose base the centuries sleep; Ever in spirit, side by side, E'en death's divide can ne'er divide. 97 98 MOSS AGATES. THE FEW FOR THE MANY. THEY may talk about life and its pleasures And the blessings which bounti'fly come From the storehouse of Heavenly treasures To the mansion, the cot and the home; • But there's often a weary one here to-day Struggling along through the journey- Faint and hungry and blind on the way — One of few who must fall for the many. It is said, and we tind it in scripture, That tares were sown all through the wheat That mankind could see in the future As they might with uncertainties meet; That those who walk upright and noble All the way fain to do and to dare, Might learn to be true from the humble By beholding the shriveled up tare, THE FEW FOR THE MANY. 99 Go stand where the martyrs are lying asleep — They who fought for their country and home; Where the angel of rest shall a long vigil keep By the side of the blossom robed tomb. x\nd the question then ask, if these soldiers who fell- Brave men and noble and true; Where the boom of the gun was their funeral knell- Did they die for the many — tliese few? Saunter into the gay halls of fashion, Where society's votaries tread, As they from the palace and mansion Pass by you with uplifted head. See beautiful daughters of opulence In their satins and silks of snow ; How fair in their maidenhood's radience — The purest of pure here below. Come with me to the darksome valley, Where no flickering lamp lights glow^ And a gloom like the shade of death's valley Encompass w^herever you go. Peer in at that narrow entrance, See that withered, bent form sitting in there. lOO MOSS AGATES. Weary and cold and hungry, perchance In rags and with uncombed hair. She was once as bright and beautiful As any that walk on the earth; She was faithful, true and dutiful. Up to womanhood's years from birth. But she fell — and perJiaps her exampl"! Kept many a maiden true. Who shall say that the lives of the many Are not saved by the fall of the few? See that shabby inebriate there on the street On the trail for his whiskey, of course; Uncertain his gait — unsteady his feet — In his face what a look of remorse. No matter what drove him away down the grade Of misfortune — affliction was born; His record for life and the future is made — To him points the finger of scorn. How many perchance in the hurrying throng, As they pass the poor outcast by, Who, but for the example he sets, e'er long They too might be ready to die.'' THE FEW FOR THE MANY. lOI Don't treat h'm with scorn when you meet him to-day, For his fate is a warning to you ; You prosper in life as you travel your way Through the ruin and wreck of the few. Far back in the times long ago come and gone Lived one known as the Son of God, Who walked on this earth His way alone, And endured for us the chastening rod. At Him was pointed the finger of scorn As he died on the crest of Calv'ry ; On His brow a crown of thorns was worn And His death was but one for the many. As you journey through life then remember Those who fall that the many may live; Though they seem but the earth to encumber, Yet Our Father will bountifully give And will surely make ample provision ' For the noble, the pure and the true; But the gates that lead up to his mansion He will open and call in the few. i02 MOSS AGATES. ALMOST AT THE TOP/' [Composed for and recited by Miss Leontine Abney at commencement exercise^, 188.15.] ^^^E must charge them again! go forward and steadily !" Said the general commanding at South Moun- tain's front, And the wi;vering lines that had struggled so gal- lanty Rallied once more for the battle's fierce brunt. "Boys, we must charge to the crest of the moun- tain! Be ready to move at the tap of the drum ! But stay," said the leader — he spoke as if doubt- ing— "Where's the drummers? did one on the battle field come? ALMOST AT THE TOP. IO3 " I'm here," clear and strong rang the voice of a boy drummer, While fearlessly flashing his resolute eye; "I'll beat the drum and if need be all summer, Clear up to the top of the mountain, or die!" "All right, my brave lad! sound the long roll for forward," vSaid the general, admiring the drummer boy's grit; "But mind you," said he, "as the column climbs upward, Be careful my hero and do not get hit." At the word of command the snare drum was beaten — With a shout to the charge swept the long bat- tle line. Though with canister, shrapnel and musketrv riven , Right upward it followed the drummer boy's sign. Great Heavens, that sound! Hear the musketry crashing! The roar of the guns and bursting of shells! See the smoke roll and the ibcessant flashing! Oh hear the loud shouts and demoniac vel's! I04 MOSS AGATES. And list — through the tumult and fierce storm of battle, What faint sound is that near the grim moun- tain's head? 'Tis the drummer boy still, 'tis the snare drum's sharp rattle. Way up 'mid the fighting, the wounded and dead. Angles in Heaven drop the thick curtain down ward And hide from our vision the tragical sight. For the last final onset the host surges upward Through the smoke shroud now dark as the gloomiest night. Hark! Hark! that shout 'way up on the mountain craig; Look! look! something flutters against the dark sky — 'Tis the stars and stripes waving — our glorious old Union flag — 'Tis our banner in victory floating on high. But where is the boy? for the snare drum is voice- less; Not there, he had fallen, his battles were o'er; ALMOST AT THE TOP. IO5 In the death dealing leaden storm, pitiless, relent- less. He fell, and will mingle in conflict no more. By a rock on the side of the mountain they found him. While the life current flowed from a wound in the breast. Pale was his face, his blue eyes grown strangely dim. But smiling he spoke ere he sank to his rest: '^ Almost at the top when the minie ball struck me," He said, while they essayed the current to stop; And then, as his soul fled away mto mystery, Whispered but faintly, *' Almost at the top." They made him a grave on that blood -baptized mountain side And hallowed the spot with their unbidden tears ; But his spirit went o'er where the whisperless waters glide By the orient gates through eternity's years. Io6 MOSS AGATES. Sleep! sleep drummer boy, where the song of the whippoorwill By thy last resting place shall your requiem be; But "almost at the top," we in visions can see him still, Where phantom braves muster, far over the sea. Yes, o'er the dark tide on the dim mystic ever- glade. We can see him once more — hear the boy drum- mer's sign Sounding down the whole length of the legion and cavalcade While the host surges forward along the whole line. As vot'ries of learning working upward and on- ward. Let us press toward the goal and ne'er waver nor stop. May we not like the drummer, while still toiling upward. Grow weary and fall when " almost at the top." THE HOODLUM'S SATURDAY NIGHT. T HAVE looked for the quarter I thought I had, J But have failed to bring it to light; And the fact is making me somewhat sad. For I'm terrible hungry to-night. No one perhaps would care to know My thoughts as I sit and dream By the flickering lamp's uncertain glow With its faint and feeble gleam. But the Saturday night I'm passing through Is filled with many a thought, When life seemed all that is good and true And never with trouble fraught. It matters not that I may have done What many would scorn to do. For I travel the trail Of life alone And shall 'till the journey's through. I08 MOSS AGATES. The dilemma here it affects not now — That quarter I cannot find, Perhaps on account of this aching brow, Or I may be partiatly bh'nd. I will let it go and sing a song That I learned upon childhood's shore, When I was merry the whole day long. In the happy old days of yore. We shall all cross over the great divide To the prairie forever in bloom. And pitch our tents on the further side And make it our endless home. But it may not be that the weary here Are barred from its bloom and light. Though walking alone amid foliage sear On the hoodlum's Saturday night. WHERE IS MY WANDERING GIRL TO-NIGHT? [The incident upon which these lines were based oc- curred at Denver, Colo., during the tiremens' tournament in 1880.] 0" "^^^ ' ire is my wandering girl to-night?' I a gray haired matron who kne! pray As shade supplanted the fading light, " Oh where is my wandering May." Oh God! I would meet her to-night once more, Though gone from my household — I know not where — My child as pure as she was of yore, With her sparkling eyes and auburn hair. wShe went from my home at a stranger's bid And never since then have I heard of her — From me since then she has e'er been hid — She may be far or she may be near. no MOSS AGATES. The tears well up in my failing eyes As I look at the cradle we rocked her in. 'Tis because of a love that never dies, Though she may be leading a life of sin. I am tottering down on my gloomy way And the world recedes from my troubled sight; But I ask, Oh God, as I kneel and pray, Bring me my wandering girl to-night. Friends came in haste and for her to go — 'Twas only a block from the mother's door — To a refuge sad of sin and woe Into which so many had gone before. Stretched there on a couch unconscious and cold Was her lost one, her own little May, And the poor stricken mother with sorrows un- told Knelt by her dead daughter to pray. But e'er scarce began was her fervent prayer. And while bowed low was her silvered head The death angel came and stood by her there — When they raised her the weary one too was dead. MY WANDERING GIRL. II [ And over the tide on the unseen shore With its bloom immortal, where all is light, In the home where sorrows shall come no more. She found her wandering girl that night. 112 MOSS AGATES. AROUND THE CAMP FIRE. [Read at Campfire January 7, 1886.] COME comrades, sit up in the camp fire's gleam Let us talk of old times to-night, Old stories we'll tell and ponder and dream 'Till the gray of the morning light. But hark ! what's that — did you hear that sound, So familiar to your ears and mine? Let's fall in — the foe must be hovering around 'Way out on the picket line. But no, I forget — 'tis a dream sure enough, For we sit by the camp fire of peace. And the service is now not so weary and rough, Nor so chilling the midnight breeze. But as we have gathered, our thoughts go back And in spirit we march once more O'er the muddy roads and the mountain track By the river and hill and shore. AROUND THE CAMP FIRE. II3 And we think of the times when we used to get Little missives which cheered our Hfe — Mothers, perhaps — or more welcome yet, From a loving, devoted wife; Or perchance from the girl with an angel face And a smile that was pure and sweet, Whose picture we carried from place to place And would wear through the battle's heat. Side by side we again at Shiloh Quick rally and save the day, While on Vicksburg's hills the defiant foe Succumb as we march that way. We are sweeping once more from i\tlanta All the way to the distant sea Our flag o'er historic Savannah Proudly waves while the foemen flee. The " Seven Day's Battles" we fight again And on Gettsburg's heights we form ; We wheel into line on Antietam's plain And charge through the leaden storm. , We are fighting again in the wilderness. Where full thirty thousand fell, Their requiem naught but the minie's hiss And shriek of the shrapnel shell. 114 MOSS AGATES. Yes, and again through the gates of Richmond The old flag is in victory borne, An emblem of peace to the free and bond Though its folds were tattered and torn. iVppomattox — but why tell the story, The grand story of that great day, For now o'er the chasm gory Clasped hands are "The Blue and the Gray." THE TWIN SISTERS [At a Banquet in 1884 J HEX the white robes of peace o'espread our fair land And all men in true brotherhood live, The press on the picket line watchfully stand And the warning of danger will give. And swift lines of commerce that stream o'er the sea And intricate interests of state, With all that is dear unto you and to me, We'll protect from our post at the gate. From these mountains "■ turned up by the plough- share of God " To the shore of the ocean afar. Our voice shall be heard here on liberty's sod, That no perils our peacefulness mar. Il6 MOSS AGATES. When our country's horizon is darkened with storm And our foes gather thick on the line, Then in trumpet-like tones we will give the alarm And it shall be ho uncertain sign. Then, as in the times past, when the old Union flag Was imperiled and treated with scorn, The soldier, whose firm ardor never shall lag. Will not see it tarnished nor torn. They will muster again from the river and shore And march to the uncertain fray, Where the grim cannon's rattle and musketry's roar Are heard and resound all the dav. You shall conquer again and the victory win For your country, your flag and your home; And when no more is heard the fierce battle's dm. As now may a reunion come. THE TWIN SISTERS. 117 Yes, the press and the soldiers, by land and by tide. Must united and true ever be ; And prove that they are, as they stand side by side, Twin sisters on liberty's lea. Il8 MOSS AGATES. DEAD HEROES. [At the Cheyenne Cemetery, Decoration Day, 1886.] IN a stately pageant we've marched to-day To this whisperless city where heroes rest, 'Neath whose cactus-crowned turf their moldering clay That men are mortal on earth attest. But we came not to call up the silent dead, Nor disturb their peaceful and dreamless sleep, For oblivious shade o'er their lowly bed With its phantom wings shall a vigil keep. But garlands of pansies and white immortelles In profusion we strew where the dead repose; And these of our sorrow the story tells — That sorrow which only the soldier knows And feels for comrades passed on before In the march toward the far away mystic camp That \ves o'er the surf, on the further shore — Where through its approaches no foemen tramp. iDEAD HEROES. I I9 Who are they — the dead — whom these comrades mourn And around whose graves we are gathered here? They were patriots, and children yet unborn Shall jewel these mounds with the falling tear. When peril hung grim for our country's cause And freedom's fabric was ready to fall, To protect the flag and enforce the laws These men went forth at their country's call. Yes, the old Union flag, on many a field Was upborne at the cost of human blood And many a time, ere the foe would yield, Dipped its silken folds in the crimson flood. But heroes fought under it — carried it through — 'Till untorn, without tarnish or stain, 'Twas lifted by men in the patriot blue And unchallenged it floats again. These sleeping heroes fought under that flag From the bbrders clear down to the sea. And ne'er in the strife did their ardor lag 'Gainst a foe never known to flee. And shoulder to shoulder by Richmond's gates Thev battled and won at last, I20 MOSS AGATES. While Confederate valor succumbed to the fates In the forces of Union cast. Now the angel of peace hovers over our land And the foemen of old are side by side; Some are wading the ford to the distant strand — That field far over the foaming tide — And when the last one shall have mustered there And they talk of the battles and dangers braved, They shall all unite in one common prayer, 'Twill be: " Thank God for a Union saved." Yes, in a stately pageant we've marched to-day To this whisperless city where heroes rest, 'Neath whose cactus-crowned turf their moulder- ing clay That men are mortal on earth attest. While these mountains up turned by the plowshare of God Shall rise o'er the plain and point up to the sky, May the memory of heroes here under this sod Be revered and honored and never die. MIDNIGHT IN THE VOICELESS CITY. [The following was composed and noted down on stray slips of paper by the author while passing the night in the Cheyenne City cemetery several years ago. The circumstances will be remembered by many Cheyenne people.] IN a city still and voiceless Where no dwellers throng the street, Where the rich, the poor and lowly Constantly in silence meet; In the stillness of the midnight Lone and pensively I roam. Pausing only for a moment By the grave or at the tomb. Midnight in this voiceless city, In this precinct of the dead. While the earth is wrapped in slumber And the stars shine overhead : 122 MOSS AGATES. Sweetly thoughts come o'er me stealing Of the future and the past, Yet I know we all must slumber Here within these gates at last. Here the devotees of fashion, Men of wealth and men of fame Slumber with the unknown beggar — He who never had a name. For the grave knows no distinction 'Twixt the princely and the poor; In a cold embrace it holds them Until time shall be no more. Sleeping here in bridal costume Lies at rest the new made bride, Blooming at the radient morning. Lowly laid at even'tide. Here the old, the fair haired children And the little unclaimed waif. From all fears and cares carroding Emancipated here and safe. Like a silent sent'nel standing. Phantom wings outstretched and pale, Watches here the grim death angel Over all ''within the vale." THE VOICELESS CITY. 1 23 Here the shades of cold obHvion Fall around this sleeping dust; And forever, yes, forever, Here shall keep its sullen trust. Here within this voiceless city All save one beneath the sod. Marring not this place of resting Where at midnight none e'er trod. Sad and aimlessly I wander By each monumental stone. Musing over life's great myst'ry As I walk these streets alone. Do these sleepers ever waken? Are no spectres ever seen ? Flitting through this voicelss city, 'Mid its foliage of green. Speak not voices oft at midnight From the portals of the tomb? Are there sounds, deep and sepulchral, Ever heard or do they come ? No! these dead do never waken; Walk they on this earth no more ; Walk they with cherubic legions On the far off palm tree shore. 124 MOSS AGATES. 'Tis but whims of purest fancy Or the sigh of summer winds, Or perchance may be the outgrowth Of disturbed or weary minds. There's a city of the Hving — And its ghmmering lights I see- — Near this still and voiceless city With its gloom and mystery. In this city of the living, All is gayety and joy ; Known is now to all its den'zens Peace and hope without alloy. Yet, as musing 'mong these sleepers In this city on the hill, Thinking of the past and future And while all around is still ; Looking at this living city — After many years are gone Shall not then this silent city And its sister both be one? Midnight in this voiceless city As with falt'ring steps and slow, These thoughts are whispering to me As I wander to and fro. THE VOICELESS CITY. 1 25 And something seems to tell me, To my thrice reluctant ear, Many from that living city May ere long be resting here. In a city still and voiceless Where no dwellers throng the street, Where the rich, the poor and lowly Constantly in silence meet; In the stillness of the midnight I am w^and'ring here alone. Pausing only for a moment At each monumental stone. 126 MOSS AGATES. THIS CORNER STONE. I Placed in the Corner Stone of the Union Pacific Depot, 1886.] MAY he who displaces this corner stone, By dynamite bomb or by vandal's hand, Be consigned to a dungeon dreary and lone Or the "lock step" keep in a felons' band; For the structure raised over this granite block A monument grand shall ever be To the worth, as solid as e'en this rock, Of the Union Pacific Company. While the cycling years roll swiftly by Shall this coming structure tower on high; Though a century pass may it yet rise here Unmarred by the storms of each fleeting year. May it never crumble, decay or fall Until shall be heard the last trumpet's call, Proclaiming on continent, sea and shore That time forever shall be no more. OUR LITTLE FRANKIE. [Written bv request of friends and inscribed to Mr. and Mrs. John Shingle on the death of their little son.] PAUSE by the side of the little white casket, With its immortelle anchor and floral dis- play, But disturb not a flower nor a single green leaflet; Think a moment of hearts that are bleeding to- day. Gaze on the face of the little j^ale sleeper With its beautiful calmness and angelic smile, Though the spirit has gone to the arms of its maker, It fled uncorroded unsullied by guile. They tell you the flower is withered and faded iVnd the bloom has gone out of the soft little cheek. 128 MOSS AGATES. That the pride and the hope of your Hfe is o'er shadowed By a sorrow that tongue cannot murmer or speak. But no! though removed to the dim land of mys- t'ry That Hes far away on the untrodden shore, 'Tis only a fleeing from time to eternity; Little Frankie now lives where death is no more. Where angelic choristers stand by the river And cherubic legions in unison sing, He has found a sweet home in the golden for- ever, A gem in the crown of our Father and King. When the twilight of life shall o'ercast the hori- zon And your feet totter down where the gray wil- lows wave, When at last you shall reach the dark foaming Rubicon, Do not be appalled at the gloom of the grave. OUR LITTLE FRANKIE. 129 For Frankie will come from over the billows — Come to you there from the opposite side — And pilot you o'er from the shore of the willows To that city which stands where the life waters glide. Once more, in a home where death ne'er shall enter, You shall dwell w^ith him in a sorrowless land Where the flowers ever bloom in perennial sum- mer — In a mansion prepared by our Father's own hand. 130 MOSS AGATES. GATHERING FLOWERS AT THE PICNIC. To Miss Florence Hurlbut. [The following was based on an incident occurring at Johnson's Island, Colorado, and was written several years ago, when the now Mrs. John F. Carroll was a little girl, and was dedicated to her:] '^n COME with nie," the little maid said, (J " Where the lillies grow and the roses red; Wreathes we'll entwine of ever}- hue, And one shall be mine and one for you." [ looked at the face of the little maid fair Just shaded with tresses of golden hair — Bright was her smile and her laughing eyes Glistened like stars in the evening skies. Taking the proffered hand in mme, Under the shade of the oak and pine Side by side we wandered afar, Where the violets bloom and the roses are. GATHERING FLOWERS. I3I Flowers we plucked that grew by the stream And sparkle with dew in the morning's beam ; And the heart of that little maid was gay While gathering beautiful flowers that day. "O, why should it be that the flowers will fade ?" With a pensive voice the little maid said. " If beautiful always they would bloom I never should know when the winters come."'"' Again in the face of the little maid fair I loeked, but a shadow was resting there ; And she twirled the flowers in her tiny hand And scattered their leaflets o'er the sand. 'Twas only a moment the shadow stayed; Then happy again was the little maid, But I thouo^ht and mused as thoug-h in a dream, While wandering on by the marge of the stream Gathering flowers through a trackless wild; Down to the grave from a little child. To some they bloom and yever decav ; To others thev fade and wither awav. 132 MOSS AGATES. 'Tis thus we journey and thus we go, Some in happiness others in woe; For many the flo^wers shall always bloom ; To more shall the dreary winters come. When the winters come with their frosts and shade, Secure from their blasts be that little maid; Though I shall roam on a storm beat shore. For her mav the flowers bloom evermore. PATRIOT SOLDIERS. [Composed expressly for and recited by the author at the great camp fire held by the John F. Reynolds Post at Keefe hall on the evening of January 6, 1887, and at the Encampment of the Department of Colorado and Wyoming, 1887. ROLL back the tide of centuries past! Behold proud kingdoms rise and fall I See empires wane and sink at last At time's deep-toned insatiate call, The throne cast down, the ruined shrine — Mark how they dot the century line. So should it be; whate'r's unjust To man, shall mingle with the dust Which gathers in time's lengthened span Where man hath tyrannized o'er man: 134 MOSS AGATES. Yet from the ages rolled away A beacon light to guide the free Springs up where ignorance held sway As coral isles rise from the sea. Thus hath it been; in wisdom gained From lands where man hath been enchained In Old World's bondage, dire and dread, That sepulcher of living dead, Our Fathers builded wise and well A temple strong 'mid dangers fell And founded on this western shore A country grand forevermiore. Moving on like spectral phantoms Nations pass in solemn line Through the vista of the centuries. Guided by a Power Devine. In this panoramic pageant Past the gloom of kmgdoms wrecked, Grandly moves our own republic, Peace endowed and glory decked. O'er the stifliing mists of darkness, O'ei the fallen tyrant's tomb Shines the unsullied light of liberty — Vanished superstition's gloom; PATRIOT SOLDIERS. 1 35 O'er our land and grlorious Union Fredom's radiant flag unfurled, Still our country stands, the asylum For the oppressed of all the world. Patriot soldiers of Columbia, You who led the Union van — You who wore the proud insignia Of liberty to every man — You vvho placed a grand inscription On the banners which you bore And with bright, unstained escutcheon, Periled life in Freedom's war. Do you see the sword uplifted Aiming at your countries life? See our land dismembered — rifted— Torn by fratricidal strife. vSee you this in dark retrospect As backward down the n2" I winged my glad pilgrimage all the day long. But those days are long past and can never return, Yet the thoughts of those vears in m^- memory burn. Had I heeded the counsel a loved mother ga\ c When I clasped her thin hand on the verge of the grave, Or a father's advice often given to me Ere he entered the shadows of death's mystery, This stern retribution would not ha\e been mine. Here waiting the vig'lante hangman's grim sign. 212 MOSS AGATES. Bv the devious path I have made in this hfe Tve faUered too oft in the uncertain strife — Admonitions unheeded with scorn I haAC spurned, And the dictates of conscience I never have learned. Poison ivy and thorns have grown up on the way — I've been held in their meshes for many a day. jNIy moments are few — Fm approaching the last When my sorrow'll be over, my agony past jMy clay will soon lie 'neath the cactus crowned turf And my soul speed -dwny o'er the fathomless surf. I expect'not an angel as guide to be given. And in vain I shall look for an entrance to Heaven. No funeral cortage — no tolling of bells — Xo chaplet of roses or white immortelles Will be laid by kind hands npon my lifeless breast When thev carry me hence to oblivious rest. Tlicre'U be none to follow, no friends will be near, And the sod o'er my head moistened not \\ ith a tear. Hear that crash, and those shots! oh, my God, here the}' are I And r curse them because they have not come before— MOSHIER S LAMENT. 213 Yes, Vm ready to go; but stay until dawn. In regard to poor Wcnsel, I'll write it all down; Grant more time, I praj-, for this last fatal step That mv fate I may meet with unquivering li]). You refuse me — yet fain would I trv to atone For all the dark deeds which in life I have done. Xo respite is granted; 'tis well; yes, 'tis well — Launch me into the red seething cauldron of hell. Your threats, ye avengers, I hear all in vain, For Mosbrier no more will be heard to complain. I will go, yes; I'll go to the dread, fatal spot. Don't handle me roughly; oh! boys, drag me not. Here at last, to the place of my death I have come. Oh I do not delay; send me swift to m}- doom. Grim angel of death, dismal, ghastly and pale, Draw 'round my dim vision, the sepulchre's veil. Good bve, all the friends of this life that I've met; And my crimes, if you can, please forgive and for- get. My wife! oh! my wife! you have ever been true; A farewell eternal I breathe unto you. I remember you still, to my last dying breath — Ilave mercy! my God! this is death! oh! 'tis death ! 2 14 MOSS AGATES. TO A YOUNG LADY. TIIK purest gifts that e'er came from tlie hand Devine Have been vouchsafed to thee and they are thine, In form and feature enchanting as an Houri fair. And eyes that scintillate with beauty rare. ^'ct all the girlhood charms that nature did im- part. Rival not the worth and graces of the heart And mind, that halo-like seem to encompass thee An(] crown thee with a maiden's truest dignity. vSince thou art here Can nature e'er again bestow Gifts like thine to any here below ? lUit why should I these simple lines to thee in- dict ? Yet stay, there's naught in any line or word I write To A YOUNG LADY. 21 To indicate the l^eautious gem I mean Than whom no nobler one will e'er be seen. Thy voice oft have I heard sweet as the Night nigaie; But for such as me, 'twould be of no avail To even thnik — a crime thy name to give — Higher thy sphere than that in which I live. 2l6 MOSS AGATES. BUNNY. [Little Irene Cald.vei'.] BLACK-EYED, roguish little "Ihinny; None e'er yet so cute and funny; Happy, happy all the clay, With her studies or at play — I can only, only say: Black cved, roeuish little Bunnv. vSvveetest little face has Ijunny, Always smiling-, always sunny. When we meet, without demand (yives me e'er her little hand; "Tis not hard to understand Black-eyed, roguish little Bunnv. Oft disputes I have with liunny. Just pretended - 'tis so funny; BUXNY 217 I say: '•'•"'tis, sirl"' '•'•Ikiu"' says: "no!' I'hcn she tells me: "that don't go,'' And her little puns l)esto\v- Black-eycd, roguish little Bunny. vSweet to me is little Bunny. Lose her friendship.^ not for money; Happy, happy all the day With her studies or at play-^ I can only, onl}- say : Blnck-eved, roguish little Bunn\ . 1 8 MOSS AGATES, CHEROKEE BOB S BATTLE. HE fought the Iiulians long and well. He conquered, but Dem-i-jon fell From gallons three to less than one, And then around that Dem-i-jon A war of words both hot and strong Ensued; 'twas said "this is all wrong; Why are we in this way bereft? There should have been more- -water left To slake our thirst — the fight is o'er And we of Indians killed a score." Said Bobbie: '"'tis a shame, 1 know; 1 don't see h.ou it could be so. fust as the fight was comming on I took and hid that Dem-i-jon And watched it closelv through the fight. 1 wanted it preserved all right; And boys, I'll tell you on the square, 1 dicT sonie awful fij:cbting there. CHEROKEE ROB S I5ATTLE 219 "•To keep these Injins back, I tit - That Dem-I-jon they tried to git; But I staid with it all the while And I tell you I killed a pile Of Injins — I should say about A hundred, without any doubt. I didn't stop to take their bar; Why, boys, just see them la}'in' thar."* But no dead Indians there were seen Where Bol)''s great fight had hardest been. They searched the place some distance round. But not a redskin dead was found. Alas, alas, it was too true, x\s all instinctively well kne\\' ; Indians with whom Bob fought and won All came from that old Dem-i-jon. 2 20 MOSS AGATES, LITTLE RAY [Dedicated to Thomas F. and llattie A. Durbin, on the death of their son, Raymond E. Durbin, aged six years and twenty days, \yliose death occurred October 9, 188S.] WHERE the winds blow soft on the distant slope And whisper of time and the fleeting years, \W^ laid him at rest as a faded hope And jeweled his grave with out falling tears. Our bright eyed darling— our little Ray; Oh, why was he called from our^arms so soon? We asked when the sim went down that day And the twilight shadows were coming on. But in dreams that night, lo! an angel came, And pausing he stood on the door-way sill; With a gesture he spoke our loved one's name, And said, as he glanced toward the distant hill: LITTLE RAY. 121 '^ Weep not I weep not I for I took him home As the Master wanted him by His side, And he's waiting up there until you shall come; Your own little Ray that you thought had died." And we thmk now we see him — our little Rav, And oft — so oft, while our darling waits, He comes to the entrance each night and dav ^Vnd beckons to us through the jasper gates. 2 22 Moss AGATES. MISS WYOMING TO UNCLE SAM. Tune — Wc arc Coming Father Abraham, etc. [Written by request, in anticipation of immediate state- hood. TTNCLE SAMUEL, Fm coming- Miss Wyom- U is my name; Though the youngest in your household, I am not unknown to fame. By the mountains and the foothills out in the bor- der land, Some twenty )ears ago, or more, you bade vim take my stand. Yet faithful child and dutiful Fve been- -this is my claim ; Uncle Samuel, Fm coming -Miss W^voming is my name. Yet faithful child and dutiful Fve been - this is my claim; Uncle Samuel, Fm coming — ^Sliss AV^voming is mv name. MISS WYOMIX(; TO INCLE SAM. 223 I come not empty handed, for my wealth can ne'er be told Of flocks and herds and products, wealth of siher and of gold. r\e the grandest constitution — woman's right to vote is mine- All these I brin.g and offer at the Union's cherished shrine. Vet the chapletof ni}' statehood I havesought- wiio shall me blame r Uncle Samuel, I'm coming — Miss Wyoming is my name. Yet the chaplet of my statehood 1 have sought — who shall me blame? Uncle Samuel, I'm coming--OvIiss Wyoming is m\' name. Should my older sisters peevish get and some- times seem untrue. To me 'twould make no difference. Uncle Sam — - I'll stick by 3-ou. If faint and sick and weary when the cares of state betide, A vigil through the gloomy night I'll e'er keep b\- your side. 24 MOSS AGATES. Through sunshine and through sorrow I \vill ever he the saine; I'nclc Samuel, I'm coming ?^Iiss Wyoming is my namiC Through sunshine and through sorrow I wiU ever be the same; Uncle vSamuel, I'm coming — Miss Wyoming is mv name. I forget — 'tis consummated; in the Union's sistei - hood I'm standing and have passed the gates where once outside I stood. Carey, Baker, Struble led the way -revered their names shall be. () christen me "The Vidette State," star number forty-three, And ne'er shall you have cause to rue the dav when first I came; Sisters all extend a greeting — ]Miss Wyoming is my name. And ne'er shall }Ou have cause to rue the dav when ihst I came - Uncle Sam, give me your welcome — Miss ^V'\•- oming is mv name. MISS WYOMING TO UNCLE SAM. 225 To noble senators who fought and voted for my bill I wish to say to one and all, I thank you with a will; And to President Harrison: I truly say to you, You are a worthy grandson of old-time Tippe- canoe. To flag nor to our country will I ever bring a shame — Sisters all, I come to greet you — Miss Wyoming is my name. To flag nor to our country will 1 ever bring a shame ; Uncle Sam, with you forever — Miss Wyoming is my name. 226 MOSS AGATES. UNCLE JOHNNIE. (John Eaines.) [Inscribed to the Pioneers of Wyoming.] MARCH slowly to-day, each old pioneer, As we follow the hearse to the hill; The pale round-up foreman again was here, For he's riding the ranges still ; And called away by the foreman grim, A pioneer true and tried; And one of our number has gone with him — "Uncle Johnnie" has crossed the divide. And a "dobie" that's fashioned by angel hands. With a cottage and mansion too. Where the palm trees wave and the Master stands To welcome the good and true, They gave Uncle Johnnie when he came home Down the slopes of the further side; And they opened the gates when they saw him come To that city just o'er the divide. ISLE SEVENTEEN. [Read at a party given in honor of Miss Helen Furness on her seventeenth birthday :] SLOWLY on Time's river breast are they borne, The halcyon years of this life's early morn, 'Mid bloom efflorescent, enchanting and sweet, Where beauty and youth in their gracefulness meet. There's an isle in the midst of the river's blue tide Where maidens entranced half reluctant abide— For a season to bask in Elysian bowers To rival in beauty its radient flowers. And there is a name that is known to the years. Ere the maidens shall meet with life's smiling- and tears. Which I'll give to this isle with its foliage green: And the name I'll give it is "Sweet Seventeen." 228 MOSS AGATES. On this isle of the years, with its halo of light, Our young friend is listlessly standing to-night; And the charm and the grace of her presence and smile A new glorv gives to this beautiful isle. Unceasingly onward shall Time's river glide, iVnd its waters at last shall be merged with the tide Of the ocean that reaches the arbutus strand And kisses the shore of the shadowless land. May to her, as the tide of this river sweeps on. Each isle be as beautious and fair as this one — As radient with flowers and foliage green As the isle reached to-day, christened "Sweet Sev- enteen." , ^ /IV MEMORIES OF THE PAST. AS I wander to-night in the moonlight pale No rock in the desert I seem to see, Yet I cannot lift up futurity's veil And I cannot tell what is yet to be. But visions and dreams of the trodden past Unbidden are rising upon my sight, And forms that have vanished are crowding fast From the tomb of the buried years to- night. I can see a cottage with open door As it stood by the hillside long ago, And around it still as in days of yore The snow bells bloom and the sumachs grow. I can hear the tones of a voice that's still, And a mothers hand in mv own I hold 230 MOSS AGATES. i\s I cross in spirit the olden sill At the open door as in davs of old. Ah, yes; and a brother — I meet him too — - In that quaint old cottage I see him there With his sunny smile and his eyes of blue, His rosy cheeks and his golden hair. And out again through the woodland's maze, 'Neath the droopmg cedars and spruce trees tall We wander and list as in boyhood days To the cuckoo's song and the robins call. But those olden days full of peace and joy With these two faces will come no more. As when in the past I was yet a boy. And saw them both at that open door. For a boat came o'er with a boatman grim, By the shore of the river he waved his hand. And they both sailed over the surf with him To the fadeless bloom of the summer land. And a father too — I can see him now Lingering there on the homestead old - His step is feeble and on his brow Are furrows that come from cares untold. MEMORIES OF THE PAST. 23 I And the mem'ry still of a sweet child form I saw in the years that have long since fled, Is haunting me yet, while my heart grows warm, And fain from the grave w^ould I call the dead. Yes, I wander to-night with abstracted glance While the moonlight falls in a lambent ray, And I hear the sounds of the brilliant dance And roll of the music just o'er the way. But I heed them not while wandering ori For I roam to-night on memory's lea. And out of the 3'ears that are* past and gone These forms 'and faces come back to me. I shall journey still where the bleak winds rave Over the sands of a desert drear. Till I see at last when I reach the wave The boatman grim with his boat draw near. And the winds that whisper a mournful dirge For the vanished faces which come no more, Shall waft me then o'er the foaming surge To meet them again on the mystic shore. 232 MOSS AGATES. NELLIE AT THE GATE. THE day was cold — the wind was high, O'ercast with clouds the autumn sky— As slowly I, with spirits gay, Rode o'er the rough uneven way Which led me to that old estate Where Nellie met me at the gate. No nymph or houri e'er so fair — With soul lit eyes and auburn hair. As Nellie who with footsteps light Came with a smile than morn more bright It warms my heart e'en to relate How Nellie met me at the gate. Ne'er had I seen or met e'er this That fair enchanting lovely miss — Though stranger in a distant land She reached to me her little hand — NELLIE AT THE GATE. 233 111 mem'ry ever fixed the date When NelHe met me at the gate. Why say this world is dark and cold Where beauty grace and worth untold Are found; there's many a precious gem We see if we but look for them, And such I saw in regal state When Nellie met me at the gate. O, let the breath of winters sigh, The winds blow cold as they go by; Let wild blasts o'er the pra'rie sweep. Yet fain would I a vigil keep; Storms all unheeded I would wait Till Xellie meets me at the gate. 234 MOSS AGATES. GROVER AND FRANCES. ONCE, ill far-famed old Buffalo, ('Twas only a few years ago), Dwelt Grover there, a lawyer staid. Who had no reputation made Beyond his own not o'er large place- Which with the w^orld keeps even pace- Grover himself was slow to own That he was equal to Blackstone. Yet, in a quiet, plodding way Grover worked on day after day ; Not num'rous were his clients then, But they were all good paying men ; And Grover did what's fair to all Who in those days gave him a call — Were claims collected large or spare His clients got — the biggest share. GROVER AND FRANCES. 235 In those calm days of which I write Dwelt there a maiden sweet and bright; Frances, or "Frankie " was her name — The fairest girl, as all will claim, That ever lived in Buffalo. She then was but a school-girl there, With beautious eyes and auburn hair; And with her school mates by her side Her books with ribbons deftlv tied Up in a package cute and small. She day by day attended school, This fairest girl in Buffalo. Day after day, along the street Where Grover had his law retreat. Passed Frances by the open door Of that law shop, where on the floor Oft could be seen tobacco quids. Law papers scattered with old duds. And sometimes 'mid the general gloom Lay Grover's shoes — if there was room. Soon 'twas, as Frances oft passed bv. Her beauty rare caught Grover's eye; And in some way that's unexplained He of her name a knowledge gained. 236 MOSS AGATES. And often at their school-time walk The girls with fair Frances would talk, And ask: "Who's that old fellow there Who sits and smokes with quizzing stare; He's impudent- — the mean old thing; Can't we him to his senses bring?" Of this Frances expressed some doubt, But saw no way to find it out. Oft times they said, the girl to tease: "He's smitten sure with you, Frances; Just think of it, Frankie, will you? We've heard that he is forty-two! And you fourteen ! " Replied no word 'Cept " Shut up, girls; why, how absurd!" Time sped— with Grover plodding on The same as he had always done — Still past his door at morn of day The fair Frances walked on her way. In time a slight acquaintance sprung From force of circumstances wrung; And if Grover " good morning " said, She slightly bowed her pretty head. But I must haste — it will not do To tell of all that passed to you. GROVER AND FRANCES. 237 Suffice to say, as now appears, Grover became ere many years, (In the correct sense of the word), A friend; and e'en his heart was moved, For from the first had Grover loved The queenly girl ; to him I'm sure She partial felt, if nothing more — Though now eighteen, he forty-six — For age with love don't always mix. Van Winkle like I take a sleep, Not twenty years — yet still I keep In mind what happened in the past. Though time is flying here o'er fast I close my eyes and shut the book. And in the meantime take no look Abroad to see the world move on. And pay no heed to what is done. I wake from out this semi-dream And minofle with the rollinor stream Of life ; and on its wave I speed From West to East — though odd, indeed— My travels bring me, ere they're done, To our capital, Washington. 238 MOSS AGATES. 'Tis gay and gorgeous everywhere, And with the throng that swaying there Toward the White House I took my way- For this was on re'ception day. Senators, gov'nors in the throng With office-seekers pushed along Anxious to meet the President, As some on schemes for place were bent. I passed within the open door And walked along the White House floor; Within the " Blue Room " soon I stand Close to the ruler of our land. But see! behold! what meant all this? For there stood Grover and Frances; He president and she his bride, There in the White House, side by side. Transfixed there to the spot I stood — A nation passed and bowed its head. Grover now foremost in the land; Frances, than w^hom the Divine hand Ne'er fashioned one of truer worth *And sent that one to dwell on earth, Were there, amid the loud acclaim Which from this whole great nation came. GROVER AND FRANCES. 230 O ! tell me not that love of power Supremely rules and sways the hour. What men may think or men have said Cannot displace the mystic thread ; Grover and Frances side by side In the White House as husband, bride, First met in spirit years ago, When on that street in Buffalo Past Grover's oft wide open door. At his law place with unswept floor Frances passed by, and constant there Saw Grover in his big arm chair, Until a strong attachment grew And ripened there between the two — They loved at last — 'tw^as only this That wedded Grover and Frances. 240 MOSS AGATES. MARION GRAY. [The original production bearing the above title was composed for, inscribed to, and recited bj Miss Bessie McMahon, (now Mrs. E. A. Carter, of Fort Washakie, Wyo.,) one of Cheyenne's brightest and fairest daughters, and used by her at the opera house on the occasion of the competitive recitations in the winter of 1886-87; but having been mislaid the author was compelled to impro- vise something to take its place. Marion Gray (as her name was understood to be) was a Confederate girl who prior to and during the war resided in the vicinity of the Bull Run battle ground, and the author feels that he ought to make some mention of her in this little volume, for the incident here alluded to is a true one, and had it not been for her the productions herein contained would probably never have been written:] pAN yon ride to the slopes beyond the stream? \j 'Tis the enemy or I am in a dream," The captain said; "and tell me sure Whether Moseby's men are over there." MARION GRAY. 24I He addressed his words to a soldier lad In the uniform of the Northmen clad. '•■Yes, yes; I'll go,''^ was the quick reply, "And find Old Moseby — at least I'll try." He rode swift away, but all too soon Found Mosby's men by the old Bull Run And beat a retreat toward an open wood — They fired, but ne'er was their' aiming good. Into the woods while the foe came on He rode, but ere half a mile had gone Two Confed'rate c^otains were met on the way, And with them rode black-eyed Marion Gray. Complete surprise— in that sudden rush — They met in a clump of underbrush ; A pistol aimed direct at his head Is fired — but the fugitive is not dead. It was just in time that Marion Gray With her own hand turned the shot away. At risk of her life she caught the arm Raised there to inflict the fatal harm. In a moment the Union scout was gone, For pursuers had still been riding on; 242 MOSS AGATES. He escaped, and pointed his captain where He could find Old Moseb}^ "just over there." There on that hill where the soldier rode Was in war time Marion Gray's abode; But in exile at last from war's hot breath She fled farther south, where she sank in death. When the war was o'er — 'twas her last request — They brought her back ; she was laid at rest There on the hill by her childhood home To sleep 'til the morning of life shall come. And in visions and dreams There's a horseman still Who sometimes rides on that far off hill — Should he ever be met on his listless way 'Twill be by the grave of Marion Gray. THE CHILDREN. OTAKE the children to your heart — These Uttle ones who play their part In giving to this life its bright, Enduring ray of summer light. As sunbeams come with morn of day And drive the mist and clouds away, So come the children sweet and fair To scatter blessings everywhere. And while the old with wasted years Are but His own unwilling tears Which tend but to enrich the sod, Yet children are the smiles of God. 244 ^<^SS AGATES. THE CHEYENNE SUN. IT shines on river, hill and plain — Its rays extend e'en to the main ; And in the ways of justice, truth — The paths that lead to solid worth — 'Twill ever the whole column lead And hope inspire when hope is dead. It has a mission to fulfill, And principles to e'er instill Into the oft unwilling mind Of people; and to look and find The best way to do this or that, Or learn what men are driving at — This is a work that's being done Faithfully by The Cheyenne Si^n, BABY TOWSE. TO see sweet, handsome Baby Towse I called at the parental house. Said I : " Dear little one, with you I called to have an interview." W^HAT BABY SAID. Pm dest a 'ittle baby, And pitty tute, you know. Lez ze, wat ist a tal! me — W'y, 'ittle Baby "Flo." Tha say I'se dest as petty As ever I tan be. Pa sez in all 'e sitty Ain't a baby 'ike as me. He 'inks I 'ook 'ike 'im, he sez, But I dess I no w'y ; 'Tis dest tos I am pitty is He 'inks he 'ooks 'ike I. 246 MOSS AGATES. G TWO LITTLE BOYS. GLOVER CARROLL. LOVER CARROLL, a fine young boy- His father's pride, his mother's joy- Is here, and sheds a beam of Hght In the little home that e'er was bright; While John F. Carroll, the father, says People will have to mend their ways — "Don't call me Johnnie; for, mind you, sir, I'm Father Carroll, the editor." LITTLE MARK CHAPMAN. T ITTLE MARK oftimes will come 1j And visit me in my court-room. He asks if soon, or if not, when Theie's going to be with me "much men 55 He's happy and we chat away — We have what might be termed a "lark," Me and my "partner," Little Mark. CUSTER AND THE THREE HUN- DRED. GALLANTLY, gallantly rode the Three Hun- dred That day on the trail of the treacherous foe ; Far o'er the wide plain their swift tramping thun- dered And their carbines gleamed bright in the morn- ing sun's glow. Caring they naught for the red man's ambuscade, Forward they swept to the shrill bugle's sign; Custer to lead them and each trooper undismayed, On toward the foe went the grim battle line. Onward, like clouds by the hurricane sundered When it darkens and shadows the horizon's bar, Gallantly, gallantly rode the three hundred — Out through the air broke their ringing huzzah. 248 MOSS AGATES. Sec! they are nearing the haunts of the enemy; Clamoring, thundering onward and grand Ride the Three Hundred with brave Custer, gal- lantly Down on the foes of the wide Border Land. Smitten, the front of the red devil foemen Now cowers and shrinks from their terrible dash — Galloping onward and shouting like madmen, Right over great groups of the warriors they crash. But the hosts of the enemy gather to battle And fierce are the blows that are given and sent. O! list to the yells and the musketry's rattle — For demons their rage to the conflict have lent. Bravely they battle — that noble Three Hundred — Nor falter nor shrink from the terrible fray. Little they care whether sombody blundered — 'Tis vict'ry or death shall the penalty pay. Now by the hosts of the red men enshrouded The gallant Three Hundred are battling for life; No arm to the rescue, nor succor afforded As victims thev fall to the bullet and knife. CUSTER AND THE THREE HUNDRED. 249 "Strike on, my brave boys!" cries the voice of their leader; "Strike the red demons! be brave in the fight! Though we fall in this far distant land of the bor- der Our nanus shall survive us, unclouded and bright." Rallied again at the voice of their leader 'Mid the shrieks of the foemen so piercing and shrill. They strike — but alas falls the brave, Gallant Cus- ter — The voice of the hero forever is still. Angels in Heaven the curtain drop downv^ard And hide from our vision the tragical end ; No more shall the gallant Three Hundred ride on- ward For death to each hero its arrow shall send. Fainter the sounds and the musketry's murmur. Like the dash of the waves on a surf beaten shore — Mingled in death lie the horseman and charger — The last one has fallen, the battle is o'er. O, glory and fame at the Pass of Thermopylae, Or where the " Six Hundred " rode onward in vain. 250 MOSS AGATES. Thy unfading chaplet was purchased, and val- iently— Honor, both monuments raised to the slain. Still grander the deeds of the noble Three Hun- dred Who rode that day onward so bravely and well; Who fell where the roar of the battle storm thun- dered And died on the field where the brave Custer fell. Back from the field that was crimson and battle-lit Rides there no horseman, nor trooper or knight. Sound not the bugle, they never shall hear it; This is their last sleep, ne'er again shall they fight. Brave, gallant "Old Seventh," long tried and heroic ; How shattered your ranks that have stood on the field In fame's broad arena, immortal, historic, Our country and flag from rebellion to shield. Survivors! you fain would have rode to the rescue. That gallant Three Hundred to succor and save, CUSTER AND THE THREE HUNDRED. 25 I Though death's trying wave might enshroud and roll o'er you^ — * Though all might have slept in the gloom of the grave. To her who in sadness shall weep for the hero And mourns the companion who comes not again : To-day and with you does the whole nation sorrow And weep o'er the fate of the brave Custer slain. He dies — but 'tis rest while the bleak winds are raving Here on the lea with its willows and sands — Unbroken the peace where the waters are laving The bright river shores in the Orient lands. Ye slumbering martyrs, sleep ! Sleep on forever! The sweep of the winds shall your requiem sigh. Forgotten by us be the story? No, never! The record shall live though the hero may die. Yet oft in our dreams we a phantom Three Hun- dred Can see on the shore that is over the tide; And there and as when the loud battle storm thun- dered. Right onward, still onward, forever to ride. 252 MOSS AGATES. A NEW YEAR'S VISION. T FOLLOWED the hearse of " Eighty-three" [ To the vale where dashes the stream of Time? Down to the shore of the waveless sea That Hes between us and the sunny clime. Its corroded casket was laid away In God's receptacle — slumbering past — To come no more for a single day, Faded and dead and gone at last. I journeyed back on its beaten trail In visions that rose on my troubled view, While wandering on through the willowed vale Where the withered flowers of hope once grew. Deserted homesteads and ruined shrines — Ruined by Time's relentless hand — Were there, and its progress was marked by lines In its stately march to the far off land. A NEW YEAR S VISION. 253 And scattered along in its pathway wide Were the graves of victims to man's untruth; The friend, the companion, the 'fair young bride. The tottering old and the blooming youth. And the tomb of the mother with silvered hair, Who wept o'er the fate of her wayward boy 'Til the grim, pale harvester met her there. Whispering, " Rest," which the saints enjoy. And a desolate mound by the path I see Where no roses bloom and no willows wave; He fell in the simoon of Eighty-three — This neglected spot is the drunkard's grave. In the march of the year now past and gone Millions I saw that had gone before. Gathered to mystery one by one To mingle with us on this earth no more. The hopes that were bright in the times gone by Lay scattered around by a pois'nous breath That darkened the light of a sunny sky, And to mem'ry naught but a living death. But peaceful pictures of prosp'rous days And the glad fruition of hopes fulfilled, 254 MOSS AGATES. Lighted the gloom with a cheerful blaze And the sombre cloud wore a golden gild. I stand by the cradle of Eighty-four, The cradle that just begins to rock, And look far away from this twilight shore ■ And list to the ticking of Time's old clock. And I see on its-storm beat dial plate The fingers of Time as they slowly move Toward eternity's silent, unventured gate, Circling past each section, groove. And a murmuring sound falls on my ear While a numberless throng goes surging by. Beginning the march of the coming year, The curtained future again to try. The young look forward, the old look back. While they silently pass as in review; Leaving behind the well-worn track, They pass from the old to the untried new. Though flowers shall bloom by the path of some. Yet Inany shall falter to march no more. And gather to rest in their final home In Eighteen Hundred and Eighty-four. ERRATA. Page 139, in the second line of the third verse, read "while then" instead of "when these," and the word "when" in third line of same verse should be omitted. On page 186 read "Sanders" instead of " Saiich- crs." On page 213 in tenth line from top of page read "Moshier" instead of " Mosbrier." Other errors exist for which the author assumes all the blame. 2^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 785 546 3