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GLEANINGS 
 
 AMONG 
 
 THE KANSAS SHEAVES 
 
 •AD ASTRA PER ASPERA. 
 
 "Miles and miles of gold and green, 
 Where the sunflowers blow 
 In a solid glow ; " 
 
 Miles and miles of shadow and sheen, 
 Where the sinuous rivers onward flow; 
 ^^ Billows and billows of emerald seas, 
 
 Where the wandering west-wind soughs like a lover. 
 
 And the herds roam free o'er the broad prairies, 
 
 With the azure heavens bending over — 
 
 Kansas the free doth proudly rise, 
 
 Through famines and plagues and unholy wars, 
 
 Out of the deeps to the vaulted skies. 
 
 To shine forever among the stars. 
 
 By dick: DOOSE^NBERRY. 
 
 / 
 
 V 
 
 KANSAS CITY, MO. : 
 
 INTER-STATE PUBLISHING COMPANY. 
 
1 ^ 
 
 C7 
 
 Copyright, 1890: 
 BY LOUIS EDMINISTER CHANEY. 
 
TO THE 
 
 People of Kansas, 
 
 LOYAL TO THE FLAG THEY FOUGHT TO MAINTAIN, DILIGENT IN CULTIVATING THE 
 
 FERTILF. SOIL, AND HAPPY- IN THEIR SELECTIONS OF HOMES 
 
 IN THE GARDEN-SPOT OF THE WORLD, 
 
 This Book is Respectfully Dedicated i 
 
 BY the Author. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. PAGK. 
 
 To Kansas 1 
 
 Tales Told Around the Camp-Fiie. 
 
 Prelude 2 
 
 The Miner's Story, "Little Ah Sin'' 3 
 
 Interlude 6 
 
 The Hunter' s Story, ' ' How Betsy and I Killed the B' ar " 7 
 
 Interlude 10 
 
 The Artist's Story, " Joan of Arc" 10 
 
 Interlude 14 
 
 The Sailor's Story, " The Wild Welsh Coast " 14 
 
 Interlude 16 
 
 The Kansas Farmer's Story. "A Prairie Fire" 17 
 
 Interlude 22 
 
 The Cowboy's Story, "Henry Brown's Raid" 22 
 
 Interlude 27 
 
 The Indian's Story, "Custer" 28 
 
 Interlude 29 
 
 The Illinois Farmer's Story, " The Banditti " 30 
 
 Interlude 32 
 
 The Poet'sStory, "Neptune" 32 
 
 Finale 34 
 
 PART II. 
 
 From Sea to Sea 36 
 
 Jottings by the Way 56 
 
 Pickings and Stealings 70 
 
 Augustus De Browne 94 
 
 The Minister's Wooing 116 
 
 Bill Blivvens ; or, The Adventures of a Handsome Man 124 
 
 Jim Lee 137 
 
 The Mistakes of Moses 143 
 
 How Lige Didn't Boom the Town 149 
 
 Mairie Smythe 154 
 
 The Wreck of the Prairie Schooner 165 
 
 Katie Lee and Billie Gray 168 
 
CONTENTS. VI 
 
 PART III. PAeE. 
 
 Christmas 180 
 
 Bitter-Sweet 182 
 
 Castles 184 
 
 Illusions 185 
 
 Gold 186 
 
 Silver 187 
 
 Dickens 188 
 
 Whittier 189 
 
 Logan 190 
 
 Burns 192 
 
 Then and Now 193 
 
 The .Esthetic Cat's-Tail 195 
 
 Man 197 
 
 The Heart 198 
 
 Childhood's Days 199 
 
 Little Golden Lock's Dream 200 
 
 The Bee and the Wasp 204 
 
 The Good, Old-Fashioned Way 206 
 
 The Musicale..... 208 
 
 A World of Change 209 
 
 Sweet May 210 
 
 The City's Street 211 
 
 The Daughters of the King 212 
 
 A Query 213 
 
 Humanity 214 
 
 Fleur-de-Lis 215 
 
 Gold is King 216 
 
 The Grasshoppers' Ball 217 
 
 Change 219 
 
 The Cricket 221 
 
 The Prairie Dog 223 
 
 Twilight 224 
 
 Love 225 
 
 On the Mummy of an Indian Squaw 227 
 
 The Dream of the Old Oak «. 229 
 
 Grandma's Advice 231 
 
 The Row at O'Flannigan's 233 
 
 The Devil's Tramp 235 
 
 Progression 238 
 
 A Stretch of the Imagination 241 
 
PKEFAOE. 
 
 Neither love of glory nor the expectation of becoming 
 famous induced me to publish this volume. I expect to be 
 severely criticised, but, like Jupiter in the fable, I M^ill say to 
 all critics, "It is time to criticise the M^orks of others when you 
 have done some good thing yourself." So much has been said 
 of American humor, and there are so many different varieties 
 in these Western wilds, that, mine having appeared in this form. 
 I give it to the public for what it is worth. 
 
 The story of '' Bill Blivvens; or. The Adventures of a Hand- 
 some Man,'' is intended as a parody, as this modern Don Juan 
 met with adventures similar to Mazeppa, Robinson Crusoe, 
 John Smith, and Lieutenant Greeley. The "Tales Told Around 
 the Camp-Fire'' are nearly all taken from life, and depict life 
 on the border. If this work falls into the hands of any of the 
 friends or relatives of those who figure in the stories, remember 
 they were written without malice aforethought or intention to 
 injure anyone unable to defend himself. 
 
 As I have been, and no doubt will be, accused of plagiarism, 
 I wish to say in the beginning that I have stolen every word 
 from the American Encyclopedia, a copy of which I keep con- 
 stantly at my elbow for reference, although my work may belie 
 it; and, I also wish the "genteel" reader to expect to find 
 "nothing but leaves,'' and "words, words, words," in this 
 volume. But if I have succeeded in "lassoing " one stray idea, 
 or "cutting out" a good fat thought from the countless herds 
 of " mavericks " which roam over these Western prairies, or 
 stamped with an indelible brand one verse out of the vast flocks 
 which lie within the boundaries of my "pen," and "corraled" 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 a goodly store of the almighty $ as well, then have I not had 
 this "round-up'' of words in vain. 
 
 But, as ''brevity is the soul of wit,'' and "'variety the spice 
 of life," I have endeavored to be witty by being brief and by 
 variety to be spicy. And, as Sammy Weller remarked, ''they 
 may visli there vas more of it, and that's the great secret of 
 writin'." 
 
 I trust that my identity may remain unknown, as my close 
 proximity to the Indians might endanger my scalp. Besides, 
 it may save me a deal of trouble with impecunious creditors, 
 cranks, critics, and correspondents. 1 fear the wrath to come 
 from old maids, bachelors, and widowers; I fear the slings and 
 arrows of outraged antediluvians; I fear the rage of God's 
 chosen servants, the clergy; I do not fear criticisms, as ''they 
 pass me by as the idle wind, which I respect not." 
 
 It is not my intention nor desire to inflict this book upon the 
 public without their full consent, and I hereby warn the 
 free-born citizens of America to not allow my agents to 
 bulldoze them into purchasing it against their wills. That I 
 have built my hopes of eternal salvation upon its prosiness, will 
 appear in the following: 
 
 For if our mutual friend, St. Peter, 
 
 Bars me out for my halting metre, 
 I'll sit me down in a shady nook 
 
 And read him passages from this book, 
 Until, through tiring of my long dissertation, 
 
 He will be forced, through sheer desperation. 
 To open the golden portals wide 
 
 And pass me through to the other side. 
 ''Go, little book, from this my solitude; 
 
 I cast thee on the waters, go thy ways. 
 And if, as I believe, thy vein be good, 
 
 The world will find thee after many days." 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 If in the seething waters of the flood 
 
 You sink through lack of sea-worthy stays, 
 And strewn witli wreckage, weed, and drift-wood 
 
 On the sands your frail craft stranded lays; 
 If by the world thou ne'er art read or understood, 
 
 Nor from its critics reap the smallest meed of praise; 
 If thou art buffeted by minds most rude, 
 
 And cheated of thy rightful laurel wreath and bays — 
 If such thy fate, I'll read thee o'er myseP, 
 
 Thou tender nursling of my wayward fancy, 
 And fondly dream that in thy pages dwell 
 
 A sorcerers necromancy. 
 No, gentle reader, please excuse the chestnut; 
 
 I wish to blot out the two last lines — 
 Would take them back again if I could — but 
 
 Fancy and necromancy suit my jingling rhymes. 
 I had much rather to the world appear conceited 
 
 Than spoil a rhyme and rile my darling muse. 
 Who ere the first page of this volume is completed 
 
 Could throw me over if she choose. 
 Go, little book; come back in shining Williams, 
 
 Not in fierce critiques by soured authors hurled. 
 Trusting thy sales will number millions, 
 
 I leave thee to the mercy of the world. 
 
 Dick Doosenberry, 
 
Gleanings Among the Kansas Sheaves. 
 
 PART I 
 
 TO KANSAS. 
 
 Hail to the banner State, whose loyal throng 
 Wait at her golden gate eighty thousand strong ! 
 O broad land, O blest land, glad land of the free, 
 The hearts of thy children love liberty. 
 
 Sown is the golden grain, planted the maize; 
 Wreathe in thy flowery chain laurel and bays. 
 O fair land, O free land, proud may ye be ! 
 Thy adopted children vote loyally. 
 
 Freedom's glad peans float from the cracked iron throat 
 
 Of the old bell 
 That through the century heralded liberty 
 
 Faithful and well. 
 
 Clanged loud its brazen tongue, when Freedom was young, 
 When homeward from the wars marched Washington; 
 
 Then softer peans chant for the immortal Grant, 
 And Illinois' true son, Abe Lincoln. 
 
 Time's horologe hath struck the full century's chime. 
 Ushering the child of luck out for all time. 
 Ring, all ye joy-bells, ring! sing, all ye glad hearts, sing! 
 Welcome to Washino^ton Chief Harrison. 
 
TALES TOLD AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE. 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 Where lofty mountains tower on either hand, 
 
 A band of travelers pitched their tents at eve, 
 And from their well-worn sandals shook the sand, 
 
 Not loth the barren desert's heat to leave. 
 Afar from distant climes they came, 
 
 To meet together 'neath the Western pines; 
 To gaze upon the mountain-side aflame 
 
 With Autumn's gorgeous train of trailing vines; 
 To wander where the dim Sierras towered 
 
 Above the clouds as if to cleave the sky, 
 Where arrowy needles from the pine-trees showered. 
 
 Low at their feet at noon to lie; 
 And then at eve around the cheerful camp-fire, 
 
 By gray old boulders, under sighing trees. 
 On blazing logs heap pine-cones higher. 
 
 As through the distant canons moaned the breeze; 
 And as the firelight shone and glistened 
 
 On arching pine and cedar overhead, 
 To watch the grim old mountains seem to pause and listen 
 
 And blush from base to crown bright red. 
 'Twas then, when evening's lengthened shadows 
 
 Crept slowly down on valley glen and rocky gorge. 
 And cast their sable pall on fresh green meadows, 
 
 Hill, mountain, rock, till all in one were merged — 
 'Twas then old Luna, in a sea of glory gleaming. 
 
 Sailed gaily out above the mountains tall. 
 Poised on the highest peaks there, seeming 
 
 A golden apple on a silver wall; 
 And one by one bright star-eyes twinkled 
 
 Down through the pine and cedar spires. 
 Like glowing sparks on heaven's blue banner sprinkled, 
 
 Coals dropped by angels kindling heavenly fires. 
 
TALES TOLD AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE. 
 
 'Twas then we drew together yet still nearer, 
 
 As sounded near, now far, the cayote's yell. 
 And mournful hoot of owl rose clearer. 
 
 As through dim mountain-aisles it rose and fell, 
 Till a gray-haired old rover, growing weary 
 
 Of weird and solitary mountain-spell 
 That bound us by a charm gruesome and eerie. 
 
 Proposed a tale to tell. 
 
 THE miner's story. 
 
 We were ten, all told, who were digging for gold 
 
 In the Merced's rocky bed; 
 We had struck it rich, and from sluice and ditch 
 
 The pay-dirt ran dark red, 
 And the click of spade in the gravel made 
 
 A sweeter tune by far 
 Than Handel or Mozart ever played 
 
 Or set in a music bar. 
 Now in Bible lore, in the days of yore, 
 
 They worshiped the golden calf; 
 And you understand, in this heathen land, 
 
 We never did things by half. 
 Our hot blood boiled, as we worked and toiled 
 
 Until far into the night; 
 For golden bricks, with our ready picks, 
 
 We dug with all our might. 
 Among our band was a Chinaman 
 
 By the name of Ah Sin Poo, 
 Who had set his little heathenish heart 
 
 As all of his nation do. 
 And his constant care was the long black hair 
 
 Of his braided Chinese cue. 
 
 True grit, you see, was this little Chinee, 
 
 As any Mellican man; 
 From cork shoe-sole to shiny bald poll 
 
 He proved it time and again. 
 
GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 He would back away in the heat of the fray, 
 
 Rather than lose his cue, 
 And showed more religion any day 
 
 Than many good Christians do. 
 When their day's work was done, the boys, for fun. 
 
 Would plague the little Chinese; 
 From scissors and knife he would run for dear life, 
 
 And behind a big boulder squeeze. 
 Many a time I have liked to die 
 
 .To see his pig-tail fly. 
 And his long blue shirt roll in the dirt, 
 
 As he went kiting by. 
 There was one of the men we called Big Ben, 
 
 Who took Ah Sin Poo's part; 
 When the Chinese war was carried too far 
 
 From his eyes a flame would dart, 
 And "That's enough !" in his voice so gruff, 
 
 Would silence the boldest heart. 
 Big Ben was a tramp who had wandered to camp 
 
 From Michigan's forests of pine. 
 His sinewy arm and stalwart form 
 
 Seemed made to work in a mine. 
 But his heart was soft as a babe's, and oft 
 
 A tear on his brown cheek shone 
 When he talked of his mother waiting for him 
 
 In her vine-clad Northern home. 
 
 Well, we pegged away, day after day, 
 
 And had bagged a deal of dust; 
 Deep underground we stored it away — 
 
 Not for fear it would mould or rust. 
 But in our camp was an idle scamp 
 
 Who'd a heap rather shirk than work; 
 So we left Ah Sin to guard the tin, 
 
 Armed with pistol and dirk. 
 
TALES TOLD AROUND THE CAMP-FiRE. 
 
 I never could see how the busy bee 
 
 Had the heart to kill their drone, 
 To drag from the hive and slay him alive 
 
 For stealing their honeycomb; 
 But the sense of the bee was easy to see 
 
 When the drone was in our home. 
 
 One night, as we lay on our bunks of hay, 
 
 Watching the lightning play 
 In zig-zag streaks round the mountain-peaks, 
 
 Till all was light as day. 
 Ah Sin rushed in, and cried through the din, 
 
 "Mellican men allee washee away! " 
 
 Then every man to the diggins ran. 
 
 Except the drone and Ah Sin, 
 And had just begun to haul up the pan 
 
 We washed our pay-dirt in. 
 When a piercing scream like the lightning's gleam 
 
 Cut through the dark like a knife. 
 A smothered call, a shuffle and fall. 
 
 Then we ran to the tent for dear life. 
 
 By the dim lantern's iiare, what a sight met us there! 
 
 Ah Sin in a heap on the ground. 
 His smart shirt of blue and much cherished cue 
 
 On the bunks lay scattered around. 
 There he groaning lay, on the blood-spattered hay, 
 
 With the death-dew on his brow; 
 Through his yellow skin the soul within 
 
 Shone white as any now. 
 
 "Ah Sin allee die; Mellican man not cry,'' 
 
 Said the brave little Chinaman. 
 "Me fightee the man for me flend Big Ben, 
 
 And strikee allee me can." 
 Didn't we cry when he bid us good-bye ? 
 
 Maybe so; don't ask me, pard. 
 
6 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 We felt mighty bad for the brave Chinese lad, 
 And Big Ben took it oncommon hard. 
 
 With many a groan, in a corner the drone 
 
 In his life's blood lay, weltering there. 
 His face pinched and gray; like a tiger's at bay 
 
 Were his bloodshot eyeballs' glare. 
 All through the tent floor he'd searched o'er and o'er 
 
 For the dust so securely hid; 
 But a strong hemp tie hung him up high and dry. 
 
 Thus to answer for killing the kid. 
 
 Little Ah Sin looked as neat as a pin 
 
 In his snug overcoat of wood. 
 We fixed up his cue, and buried it, too. 
 
 In the best shape we possibly could. 
 Big Ben said a prayer and we sang a church air 
 
 (I think it was "Coronation"), 
 For we thought he'd good right as though he'd been white 
 
 To a show for eternal salvation. 
 
 Big Ben carved a line on the trunk of a pine 
 
 That stood at the head of his grave. 
 With hot iron burnt in, telling how Ah Sin 
 
 Had died our gold to save. 
 
 HIS EPITAPH KEAD: 
 
 '^May his virtues be 
 Like the years in this tree — 
 
 Twined round our heartstrings seen. 
 Like the needles fine 
 Of this grand old pine, 
 
 Lord, keep his memory green." 
 
 INTERLUDE. 
 
 Thus ended the rough miner's tale. 
 But ere the echo of his voice had died 
 A uong the pine-trees' whispering leaves. 
 
TALES TOLD AKOUND THE CAMP-FIKE. 7 
 
 Or melted like the despairing wail 
 
 Of a lost soul upon the breeze, 
 
 A shout arose, as if bj one accord 
 
 The pent-up feelings of the listening band 
 
 Had broken — fused into one word : 
 
 "Hurrah! Hurrah!" through all the shadowy land goes ringing; 
 
 "Hurrah!" the mountains shout; 
 "Hurrah!" the deep-mouthed canons backward flinging 
 
 Their startled echoes out. 
 Some praised the tale, and others better liked the epitaph, 
 
 And blamed the miners for dispatching thus the drone; 
 Yet all pronounced the villain's fate too mild by half, 
 
 For murdering the honest little Chinaman. 
 The trapper's turn came next to tell a story, 
 And surely one with locks so hoary. 
 And brow so furrowed by Time's share, 
 And form so bent by toil or care, 
 Had had adventures worth relating. 
 
 The crowd around the camp-fire held their breath in waiting, 
 While he, in his own quaint vernacular. 
 Told how Betsy and I killed a b'ar. 
 
 THE hunter's story. 
 
 I'm a Kocky Mountain ranger. 
 
 By these deep scars, you see 
 To a grizzly I'm no stranger; 
 
 Nor do I care to be. 
 I shall always hold a grudge 
 
 At the whole of the grizzly tribe. 
 I'll tell you why for. Judge — 
 
 Because of this caved-in side. 
 
 Me and Betsy — I call him Betsy 
 
 Because he was built like a girl; 
 Alius chirk an' chipper an' pert. 
 
 Eyes sky-blue an' hair a-curl. 
 
GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Betsy and me met on the trail 
 
 And clinched right then an' thar, 
 Because of the natural antipathy 
 
 We both had for a b'ar. 
 
 He hadn't no friends; no more had I, 
 
 So we formed a company of two. 
 Our capital stock: an old flint-lock, 
 
 Two hearts that beat most true, 
 One rusty sabre, one huntin'-knife, 
 
 Blankets and tin stew-pan — 
 Many a hopeful man and wife 
 
 To housekeepin' with less began. 
 
 Up and down the Rockies' sides 
 
 Together we climbed and tramped, 
 Now ridin' a-top of flying snow-slides, 
 
 Now in the valley camped. 
 Him and me stuck close as brothers 
 
 Through summer and winter weather; 
 Often with little chuck or covers 
 
 We passed whole months together. 
 
 The b'ars we killed would fill a book 
 
 If I had the larnin' to tell 
 How their hides we took by hook and by crook, 
 
 By river an' mountain an' dell. 
 Never a one escaped us yit 
 
 That we sot out to slay, 
 But one on 'em made me git up and git 
 
 In a mighty provokin' way. 
 We had camped for the night in a mountain swale 
 
 In sight of old Pike's Peak; 
 Betsy had gone with our only pail 
 
 For water from the creek. 
 When I heerd a sort of a crunching sound 
 
 Among the trees at my right; 
 
TALES TOLD AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE. 
 
 So I dropped my pan and turned around, 
 And peered out into the night, 
 
 When what should clasp me to its breast — ■ 
 
 My girl? — Lord bless you, no ! 
 I soon found out it was no joke 
 
 To be hugged by the creetur so. 
 'Twas a b'ar as big as a growed-up man, 
 
 With no love in his steady hug. 
 Imagine my feelings, if you can. 
 
 When his claws through my sidin' dug. 
 Quick as a flash my trusty blade 
 
 Was buried in his side. 
 Then Betsy's sabre began to wade 
 
 Down through his pesky hide. 
 Over and over we rolled in the dirt, 
 
 But he never let go his hold 
 Till Betsy's sabre struck his heart, 
 
 And stretched him stiff an' cold. 
 'Twas months before I got about, 
 
 Thanks to my faithful nurse; 
 When I think of the tangle he raveled out, 
 
 I think it couldn't 'a been worse. 
 But the strangest part of my story is 
 
 That Betsy is now my wife; 
 She ran away from a step-mamma. 
 
 And took to a rover's life. 
 
 But the romance had eenamost wore off 
 
 By the time I found her out; 
 When I told her 'twas girlish for boys to cry. 
 
 She answered with a pout. 
 And if to Denver you come nigh. 
 
 You'll find my Betsy thar; 
 And she can tell you better than I 
 
 How we two killed the b'ar. 
 
10 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 INTERLUDE. 
 
 <'Your story has a pleasant ring," 
 
 The cowboy said; "but do you think it just the thing 
 
 To tramp about as you have done, 
 
 With only Betsy for a chum, 
 
 Before you two became an one ? " 
 
 ''I own," the grizzled trapper sighed, 
 
 "The world would frown my Betsy down; 
 
 But scandal's tongue I have defied. 
 
 Nor could I find a purer bride 
 
 Had I searched over the world wide." 
 
 ''Oh, as to that," the artist said, 
 
 "Joan of Arc an army led 
 
 During the reign of Henry Sixth, 
 
 Armed only with sword and crucifix, 
 
 Dressed in the armor her soldiers wore, 
 
 Riding as peasant girl ne'er rode before, 
 
 Astride a war-horse as pure and white 
 
 As the white banner she bore to the fight. 
 
 Then, too, in our own bloody war. 
 
 Our women followed the battle-car, 
 
 Nor flinched when they stood where minnie-balls flew 
 
 As they mowed the ranks of our brave boys in blue." 
 
 In the village of Dromremy 
 Stands the little church of Remi, 
 Where a peasant maiden, kneeling, 
 Heard in vesper-bells' low pealing 
 Spirit voices whisper ever. 
 That on banks of the Meuse river, 
 In the province of Lorraine, 
 Lived a lowly peasant maiden 
 Whom the hand of God was laid on, 
 That by decree of Heaven, 
 
TALES TOLD AROUND THE CAMP-FIKE. H 
 
 She should go and aid the Dauphin, 
 
 His lost kingdom to regain. 
 
 To her father's oft entreaty 
 
 That in peace she dwell at home, 
 
 Far from turmoil of the city, 
 
 Out of reach of cannon's boom, 
 
 Joan answered, "Nay, nay, father; 
 
 France from England to deliver, 
 
 Go®d St. Michael bids me hasten 
 
 To the City of Orleans." 
 
 With her aged uncle, the village wheelwright, 
 
 Joan journeyed by day and night 
 
 Till she stood Lord Baudicourt before. 
 
 Who sent her on to the seat of war — 
 
 On to the beleaguered city Orleans, 
 
 The citv she rescued in her dreams. 
 
 Lo! a flash of crimson splendor, 
 
 A gleam of burnished steel, 
 Note of bugle low and tender, 
 
 Blast of trumpet, peal on peal. 
 Like the star of hope new risen 
 
 On the sable pall of night. 
 Like a ray of light to prison. 
 
 Came the maid on her charger white. 
 
 Beaver, halberd, and helmet — all the panoply of war; 
 Hauberk, morion, and battle-ax glanced in the ranks afar ; 
 And over all the mail-clad host, above spear and glittering 
 
 lance. 
 Waved their captain's snow-white banner and the lilied flag 
 
 of France. 
 A shout goes up from the city's wall: "The Maid, the 
 
 Maid is come ! " 
 And the sight of her cheering her wai'riors on strikes the 
 
 English soldiers dumb. 
 
12 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Braving the British line of forts, scaling the city's wall — 
 Wherever the maid's white banner waved, the English 
 
 thickest fall. 
 And ever rang her cheering cry, "On, on, my country- 
 men !" 
 Though wounded, falling but to rise and cheer them on 
 
 again. 
 And when at length, the victory won, in princely state at 
 
 Rheims 
 The Dauphin Charles the Seventh was crowned, the Maid 
 
 of Orleans, 
 Bearing her tattered banner, at the monarch's feet knelt 
 
 down. 
 Low at his feet who owed "to her his throne and kingly 
 
 crown. 
 Asking no recompense but to be again a peasant maid, 
 Tending her flocks and herds in peace in the wild hills' 
 
 restful shade. 
 
 Oh, cruel, false, and faithless king ! 
 
 To pet and fete for a day. 
 For one little hour her praises sing. 
 
 Then ruthlessly cast her away. 
 To be sold to the priests for a paltry sum; 
 
 For months in prison to lie. 
 Then, condemned as a witch and evil one, 
 
 The death of a martyr die. 
 
 Better far for the peasant maid 
 
 If 'mong the peaceful hills she had staid; 
 
 Better to lie in the cooling shade, 
 
 Quafling the sparkling home-made wine. 
 
 Than to march to the wars in armor fine; 
 
 Better to listen to busy whirr 
 
 Of wheel as she spun in the open air. 
 
 Than follow the varying fortunes of war; 
 
TALES TOLD AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE 13 
 
 Better to herd the vilhige sheep 
 
 In pleasant vallej or on hillside steep, 
 
 Than march to victory o'er slain knee-deep; 
 
 Better the ring of chapel bell, 
 
 Than clash of sabre or screech of shell, 
 
 Or bugle pealing a funeral knell, 
 
 Down the wavering lines of her soldiers creep; 
 
 Better gather the grain the harvest-field yields, 
 
 Than wield the sickle of death on the battle-fields; 
 
 Sleep 'neath her father's sheltered eaves. 
 
 Than trust to the rest a palace-roof gives; 
 
 Better breathe tlie free air beneath the clear sky, 
 
 Than for freedom of France in prison lie. 
 
 Then, chained to the stake, for her country die. 
 
 Four hundred and fifty-three years ago. 
 
 In the midst of the market-place at Rouen, 
 
 That is choked with weeds and grass-grown now, 
 
 They dragged to the stake the shrieking Joan, 
 
 And burned as a witch, for her visions and dreams. 
 
 Jeanne d'Arc, the Maid of Orleans. 
 
 Her ashes, scattered upon the Seine, 
 
 On the Judgment Day will arise again 
 
 'Gainst the cowardly horde who falsely swore 
 
 That she the badge of heresy bore. 
 
 In Rouen's picturesque Norman streets, 
 
 Upon its grotesque cathedral spires, 
 
 The shadows and sunlight softly meets 
 
 Where once burned bright the monkish fires. 
 
 Now, cold as the hand the funeral pyre laid 
 
 And the faggots lit round the peasant maid, 
 
 A statue stands in the market-place 
 
 Where the martyred maid was sacrificed; 
 
 But little she recks if her ancient race 
 
 Or her deeds too late are canonized. 
 
14 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 INTERLUDE. 
 
 Thus ended the artist's o'er-true tale, 
 
 When, starting from the embers' glowing bed, 
 
 Joan, in glittering coat of mail, 
 
 In our mind's eye arose as from the dead, 
 
 Still holding her crucifix on high. 
 
 Imploring God to hear her dying cry — 
 
 Then vanished in white smoke-wreaths curled, 
 
 As we came back to camp and to the world. 
 
 "Your story is too ghostly for this lonely place," 
 
 The sailor said. "Thank God, the present race 
 
 Of priests and bishops are more fond of roasted beef 
 
 Or goose than witch or heretic. 
 
 I only hope the priest who then was chief 
 
 To-day is roasting with Old Nick. 
 
 Now, if you care to listen, I will tell 
 
 The fate that once upon a time befell 
 
 A ship that cruised along the wild Welsh coast 
 
 And in a gale was wrecked and lost. 
 
 Old Briny being the only theme for me, 
 
 My tale must smack of the salt sea." 
 
 THE sailor's story. 
 
 I was cradled beside the surging sea. 
 
 And Old Briny has ever been dear to me. 
 
 As I strayed on the beach in search of shells. 
 
 And watched by the hour the wheeling gulls. 
 
 Built crumbling castles of shifting sand. 
 
 Or sent frail crafts -out to sea unmanned. 
 
 Then what joy, when a man, to see and feel 
 
 The dash of waves 'gainst the ship's broad keel; 
 
 To watch the opal and golden glow 
 
 Of the limpid waves in the deeps below, 
 
 Or feel the vessel reel and rock 
 
 As she braced for the furious tempest's shock; 
 
TALES TOLD AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE. 15 
 
 Then glide like a sea-gull swiftly past 
 
 The rocks where many a boat is cast; 
 
 In my diving-bell her depths defy, 
 
 As on the shell-strewn floor I lie, 
 
 Or sit 'neath the shade of the coral-tree, 
 
 Branching out heavenward under the sea. 
 
 Oh ! the wild Welsh coast is a sight most grand 
 
 When the angry sea comes dashing home, 
 In unbroken sweep, from Newfoundland, 
 
 And breaks on the rocks with a dreary moan. 
 St. David's head juts grimly forth. 
 
 Catching the waves on his jagged teeth, 
 Spurting in sea-smoke and fleecy froth 
 
 His pent-up rage on the sands beneath. 
 
 Who that strolls on the shingly beach 
 
 In the evening gray, when the tide is low, 
 And lists to the far-off" sea-birds' screech. 
 
 And the lap of the waves as they come and go, 
 Would dream that the spirit of the deep, 
 
 When roused by the Storm King, lightly bounds 
 And far up the rocky barriers leap 
 
 With the agile spring of a pack of hounds ? 
 
 Years ago this rock-bound isle 
 
 All alone in her glory stood. 
 Silent and lone and grim, meanwhile 
 
 Nursing to life her ocean brood. 
 There ancient and moss-grown castle walls 
 
 Gaze out seaward from paneless eyes. 
 Whose broken columns and crumbling halls 
 
 Like ghosts of her former grandeur rise. 
 
 There on the beach the fisherman old, 
 
 Mending their nets this legend told. 
 
 How their grandsires were once to Satan sold; 
 
10 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 How a ship sailed home from the Southern seas, 
 
 Laden with wealth of the fair Indies, 
 
 But was wrecked off the coast by the cruel breeze. 
 
 And they trod the beach when the gale begun, 
 
 Deaf to the boom of the signal gun, 
 
 Nor heeded the rockets that, one by one. 
 
 Shot up from the wave-washed, slippery deck 
 
 By the crew on the storm-tossed, sinking wreck. 
 
 And there on the beach, in the morning gray. 
 
 The crew, 'mid the clinging sea-weed, lay. 
 
 Dead, with never a word to say — 
 
 Not a word of reproach that in sight of home 
 
 Their brothers had heard their signal gun. 
 
 And left them to perish, one by one. 
 
 But where was the ship ? They stared aghast 
 
 As they searched the beach for its spar and mast. 
 
 And stood bewildered, with blanched lip. 
 
 When they saw in the clouds an inverted ship. 
 
 Torn and dismantled, its clinging shrouds 
 
 Like the wraith of a ship, 'mid the fleecy clouds 
 
 It hovered above the beach all day. 
 
 Where its murdered crew that morning lay. 
 
 And often times, when the sky is clear. 
 
 To the islanders it will reappear. 
 
 And the old wives shake their heads so gray, 
 
 "The island is cursed," they sadly say; 
 
 ''For our fathers' sins we will have to pay." 
 
 INTERLUDE. 
 
 ''I fear your story is too true," the Kansan sai...; 
 
 "For I remember having read 
 
 How, in the old days, on the Cardiff coast, 
 
 Full many a ship was wrecked and lost 
 
 Upon the rocks, lured by false lights 
 
 Placed on the shore on stormy nights 
 
 By greedy Welshmen, in whose toils 
 
 The cargo fell as rightful spoils; 
 
TALES TOLD AllOUND THE CAMP-FIKE. 17 
 
 But those old customs passed away 
 
 Long since, and now, tliej say, 
 
 A light-house guides the mariner 
 
 To where the safest harbors are. 
 
 But come ! stir up the smouldering fire, 
 
 And start the pine-cones blazing higher, 
 
 For every one a yarn must spin 
 
 To-night before we turn in." 
 
 Thus sa)dng, on the camp-fire threw 
 
 An extra bough, and then withdrew 
 
 Into the shadow, as if not over bold, 
 
 While he the following story told: 
 
 THE KANSAS FARMEr's STORY. 
 
 My home is sunny Kansas — 
 
 The famous Sunflower State. 
 Among her older sisters 
 
 It's hard to find her mate. 
 I know, for I have lived there 
 
 IsTigh on to thirty years, 
 And I tell you I have stood 
 
 A heep of Injun sheers. 
 
 What with jayhawkers and outlaws. 
 
 And robbers by the score, 
 It seems to me the thirty years 
 
 Would number thirty more. 
 I faced the music like a man 
 
 When QuantrelPs lawless band 
 Came in like a tornado, 
 
 And ravaged our fair land. 
 
 I've been plumb cleaned out, ro t and branch, 
 
 And left without a cent, 
 And dassent raise a finger, 
 
 Though I knew where it all went. 
 
18 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 But I can stand the rebel raids 
 And the Indian's scalping-knife 
 
 With a better grace and bolder face 
 Than the shrill grasshoppers' fife. 
 
 They did me up like a summer coon; 
 
 I swar I -felt right mad, 
 When in one night they eat up 
 
 Every speck of grain I had. 
 Then I sot down in my dugout door, 
 
 And cried like any calf; 
 The trouble I had had before 
 
 Was not so bad by half 
 
 (Except when little Mary, 
 
 Our baby, four year old, 
 Got lost upon the prairie 
 
 And perished with the cold). 
 But I started out to tell you 
 
 How a roaring prairie fire 
 Kun a Western blazer on me, 
 
 Quite to my heart's desire. 
 
 I was a young smart Aleck 
 
 When I first struck the West, 
 And, like all Eastern nabobs, 
 
 Thought I knew what was best. 
 When meddlin' neighbors whispered 
 
 That fire-guards should be plowed, 
 I knew my own business best — 
 
 Would tend it, I allowed; 
 
 So I tinkered round my little farm, 
 
 Fixed up a good sod barn. 
 Plastered my one-roomed dugout 
 
 To make it snug and warm. 
 And, out of sheer contrariness, 
 
 Let the fire-guards go 
 
TALES TOLD ABOUND TUE CAMP-FIKE. l<j 
 
 Till over the level prairies 
 The fall winds 'gan to blow. 
 
 One lovely day, out in the west 
 
 A dark cloud rose to view, 
 At first no bigger than my hand, 
 
 Soon growing big as two. 
 The oxen lowed, and the yearling colt 
 
 Pranced round the wire corral, 
 And the old mooiey cow set up 
 
 The pitifulest bawl. 
 
 I felt a sort of chill creep down 
 
 My marrow-bones, 
 But knew it was too late 
 
 To waste my time with groans; 
 So wide apart I set the gate, 
 
 Undid the strong ox-yoke. 
 Drove out old Mooiey and her calf 
 
 And the yearling colt unbroke; 
 Saddled quick my old gray mare, 
 
 And took my trembling wife 
 Behind me on her faithful back 
 
 To ride the race for life. 
 If you ever saw a prairie fire, 
 
 You know it wastes no time 
 In sending out blazing skirmishers 
 
 All along its Hne. 
 
 I didn't stop to argufy. 
 
 Or time its lightning gait; 
 Allowed it would outrun my nag. 
 
 So didn't care to wait. 
 We had a pressing engagement 
 
 To meet a friend that day; 
 Would find him smiling in his banks 
 
 Just ten long miles away. 
 
20 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 So I tried my best to comfort 
 
 My frightened better-half 
 By assuring her he was most sure 
 
 To honor our first draft. 
 Away we flew at lightning speed 
 
 Before the rising wind; 
 We heard the roaring fire-fiend 
 
 And dassent look behind. 
 Sure Tam O'Shanter and his mare 
 
 No better record made; 
 My wife and I on our gray mare 
 
 Quite laid him in the shade. 
 Now plunging through a buffalo herd 
 
 That bellowed loud with fear, 
 Dashing alongside for a time 
 
 A herd of panting deer, 
 
 Galloping among wild horses, 
 
 Whose startled, frightened neigh 
 Mingled with the cayote yell 
 
 Which blocked our right of way, 
 When through the circling clouds of smoke 
 
 The sheeny river broke. 
 One plunge, and we swim safely o'er 
 
 And reach the further shore. 
 
 There Mooley smiled upon us, 
 
 If ever cow did smile. 
 She and her calf, the colt and steers, 
 
 Marched by us single file. 
 Strange that the brute creation 
 
 Have instinct and can see 
 And feel a sense of danger 
 
 Before humanity. 
 
 The only loss we had that day 
 Was the old gray filly's tail; 
 
TALES TOLD AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE. 21 
 
 It got scorched off, so close the fire 
 
 Was rustling on our trail. 
 Well, things have changed about my place 
 
 Since that eventful day; 
 A fire don't catch me napping now 
 
 In the old-fashioned way. 
 
 And we've picked up again right smart. 
 
 But keep the old dugout 
 In case of a tornado. 
 
 As a sort of strong redoubt. 
 Then it kinder goes agin the grain 
 
 To tear down the old nest 
 That has sheltered us so many years 
 
 From the bitter Kansas blast. 
 
 Our new house looks quite big and grand 
 
 With its overcoat of wood, 
 But when it comes to real worth 
 
 The sod one's just as good. 
 I don't go much on outside show, 
 
 And style, and all that, 
 For I have known a deal of sense 
 
 To be hid under an old hat. 
 
 So there you have my story. 
 
 If you call it by that name; 
 I'm but a plain old farmer, 
 
 More used to sowing grain 
 Than words upon these Western plains. 
 
 As by my tale you see. 
 The seeds of eddication 
 
 Never took root in me. 
 
22 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 INTERLUDE. 
 
 <* Already we have learned tales enough," 
 
 The sailor said; "I'll take timber in the rough 
 
 To furl my top-sail on; and better like a simple meal 
 
 In peace — than the stalled ox and contention therewithal. 
 
 Had story-tellers but the knack of telling tales 
 
 Without unfurling all their sails, 
 
 And steering into foreign ports. 
 
 Unearthing Latin, Hebrew, Greek, and all sorts 
 
 Of dead and long-forgotten languages. 
 
 Until they stagger one's main and mizzen masts, 
 
 And make one's ship heave all ways 
 
 By shipping much too heavy seas, 
 
 'Twould be more pleasant to read nowadays. 
 
 These simple, homespun. Western yarns 
 
 To me are not without their charms. 
 
 Let's have another: I know you burn 
 
 A leaf in your past history to turn. 
 
 You dandy cowboy there; surely a craft 
 
 Kigged as you are, fore and aft. 
 
 Whose hold so heavily is stored 
 
 With war's munitions, and on board 
 
 We find such guns, bowies, pistols, and what-not, 
 
 Some taste of carnage must have got 
 
 In sailing o'er life's troubled seas. 
 
 So then, sail on before the breeze 
 
 Dies down; blood, thunder, love — just any sort; 
 
 I'll steer you safely into port." 
 
 THE cowboy's story. 
 
 Life on the border, at best, is rough 
 As any, I think, in' this earthly vale; 
 
 And many a murderer, thief, and tough 
 You are bound to meet on the trail. 
 
TALES TOLD AKOU.ND THE CAMP-FIKE. 2o 
 
 I have shared mv blankets with Billie the Kid: 
 
 Sheltered a score of desperadoes; 
 At the risk of life have horse-thieves hid — 
 That's the way our Western world goes. 
 
 For a boy named Smith, from the Lone Star State, 
 Who got his deserts, I was sorry, I own. 
 
 He was Ben Wheeler's and Hardin's mate 
 In the famous raid of Henry Brown. 
 
 Brown was marshal of a Kansas town 
 
 Called Caldwell, "Queen of the Border." 
 
 Yice of all kinds he frowned down; 
 His motto was "Law and Order." 
 
 His keen blue eye was hard and cold, 
 
 Ever ready to shoot and fight; 
 If he had the drop, he was fearless and bold; 
 
 In his code, might made right. 
 
 *Twas rumored that once on a time, so they say. 
 
 He had raided with Billie the Kid; 
 Had killed his dozen in his day, 
 
 And to Kansas for safety had fled. 
 
 Billie Smith was a Texas boy. 
 
 With a restless, roving eye; 
 His was a nature silent and coy. 
 
 Modest and quiet and shy. 
 
 Little we thought that this soft, low tone. 
 
 As gentle as a woman's. 
 Covered a heart as hard as a stone. 
 
 And a soul as black as a demon's; 
 
 That his short, brown neck would a necktie wear. 
 
 Sorely against his will, 
 And the end of a rope round a hickory limb 
 
 Would end poor little Bill. 
 
24 GLEANINGS AMONG TPIE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Big Ben Wheeler was Brown's left bower, 
 
 Caldwell's assistant marshal; 
 Together they made the cowboys cower, 
 
 Dealing justice to all, impartial. 
 
 John Wesley Hardin' was indeed a hard un, 
 
 The eagle card of the pack; 
 His record was known in his Texas home 
 
 To be pretty middlin' black. 
 
 From the Border Queen these four set out. 
 
 One peaceful day in May; 
 The prairies along the westward route 
 Keechoed their laughter gay. 
 
 *'Now you see," said Brown, "if you'll listen to me, 
 
 The thing is easily did. 
 We are the James boys over again, 
 
 And Smith is Billie the Kid. 
 
 <'0n Medicine Lodge we'll try our dodge. 
 
 Hurrah for the jolly rangers ! 
 After the banks have succumbed to our pranks, 
 
 We'll try our hand with the grangers. 
 
 "Then, a lawless band, we'll raid the land 
 
 Down through Old Mexico. 
 A terror we'll be, by land and sea, 
 
 As around the world we go. 
 
 "Safely hid to-night, in broad daylight 
 
 We'll quietly take the town. 
 When the bankers are gagged and the gold is bagged, 
 
 We'll have seventy thousand down." 
 
 In wigs disguised, masked to their eyes, 
 
 These gay rough-riders came. 
 In the morning gray of that fatal day, 
 
 Riding on through a drizzling rain. 
 
TALES TOLD AROUND THE CAMP-FillE. 25 
 
 Leaving Smith in the alley, the other three sally 
 
 Boldly into the bank, 
 Brown demanding the tin of the bankers within 
 
 Like an old-time thieving crank. 
 
 But "the best laid schemes of mice and men 
 
 Gang aft aglee," 
 And so it proved the case with them, 
 
 As you very soon will see. 
 
 A strong wire screen rose up between 
 
 Them and the longed-for gold; 
 The bankers were game, and all the same 
 
 Proposed the fort to hold. 
 
 With a startling bang, their pistol shots rang 
 
 Through the empty, silent street, 
 Where soon a crowd, with murmurs loud, 
 
 Came on with trampling feet. 
 
 The robbers staid till the cashier laid 
 
 Dead at the closed vault's door, 
 And the president there reeled from his chair 
 
 And fell on the hard bank's floor. 
 
 Then, with hands dyed red, they mounted and fled 
 
 As fast as horse could fly. 
 While a howling mob sent doses of lead 
 
 By their ears close whizzing by. 
 
 Ben Wheeler's old gray had seen its day, 
 And gave out within sight of the town, 
 
 And the crowd in pursuit continued to shoot 
 As upon them they closely bore down. 
 
 Whiz ! a bullet has hit the gray's bridle bit. 
 
 Bang ! another pierces his side. 
 They halt in dismay and leave the old gray, 
 
 Then on in their mad race ride. 
 
26 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 ■Kide on, boys, and leave me ! Don't you see 
 
 They gain on us?" Wheeler cried. 
 <« We have sworn to each other to stay together," 
 Said Brown, ''until we died." 
 
 But a motley array blocks up the way 
 
 And shuts off the only road; 
 So, changing their course, their jaded horse 
 
 To a fenced-in canon goad. 
 
 Dismounting, they hide in the canon's side, 
 
 Trapped like a fox in his den, 
 In water waist-deep to crawl and creep — 
 
 Alas for the bold, bad men! 
 
 As blazing kerosene lit up the ravine 
 
 Faster yet fell the leaden hail. 
 And the mob still on their capture bent — 
 
 Their courage began to fail. 
 
 Then Henry Brown laid down his gun 
 
 And was first to own up beat. 
 And the others came out, one by one, 
 
 From their insecure retreat. 
 
 Smith was the last to finally cast 
 His gun down at their feet. 
 "Fve come with you, boys, and I'll die with you," 
 Said he, "but life is sweet." 
 
 The Lodge that night was a wild, weird sight, 
 The streets swarming black with men, 
 
 Surging up and down the little town 
 Like wild beasts in their den. 
 
 About ten o'clock, in the caboose lock 
 
 The sheriff turned his key 
 And took a look at the trembling flock 
 
 So soon to butchered be. 
 
TALES TOLD AKOUND THE CAMP-FIRE. 27 
 
 '*The town is full of an angry mob; 
 
 I'm powerless to save you,'' said he. 
 "They are determined the jail to rob. 
 
 Good-bye, boys; don't blame me." 
 
 Even as he spoke a hoarse shout broke 
 
 From the waiting crowd outside; 
 From behind prison bars, 'neath the quiet stars, 
 
 They were dragged and by Judge Lynch tried. 
 
 Ranged in a line, fifty steel barrels shine. 
 
 Full on them in the moonlight bent, 
 And the men's stern faces as they took their places 
 
 Showed that their rage was meant. 
 
 Henry Brown run like a son-of-a-gun. 
 
 Blazing away with a small-sized pop 
 He had hid in his boot, and continued, to shoot 
 
 Until riddled with shell and shot. 
 
 ■ Ben Wheeler tried his best to hide 
 Under cover of the night. 
 But before he had got a rod from the spot 
 A ball put an end to his flight. 
 
 Despite his entreaty for succor or pity, 
 
 The three were hung on one limb, 
 High as Haman of old; and 'twas thus that the bold 
 
 Free-booters paid a just penalty 
 For their dastardly crime; and this right hand of mine 
 
 Helped to string them up to the tree. 
 
 INTERLrDE. 
 
 " ' The mills of the gods grind slow, 
 But they grind exceeding small.' 
 'On him who lays his brother low 
 The vengence of heaven shall fall.' 
 
23 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 How true these sayings are,'^ the poet said. 
 
 "Then too I have somewhere read, 
 
 ' Woe, woe to him who spills life's sacred stream.' 
 
 But little did those robbers dream 
 
 How for their bloody work that day 
 
 A penalty they'd swiftly pay. 
 
 Judge Lynch is oftentimes condemned, 
 
 And to their last account oft send 
 
 Good, honest men. And yet, 
 
 I think that rogues more often get 
 
 Their just deserts that way." 
 
 Then next in order came the Indian's turn to tell a story 
 
 "Come, John," they all cried in one breath, 
 
 ' Give us a tale of Indian warfare and foray; ^ 
 
 Like ghouls we dote on crime and death." 
 
 THE Indian's story. 
 
 Softly the light of a mild June day 
 
 Glinted the snow-capped mountain's crest; 
 
 In veil of mist the Big Horn lay 
 
 Like a bride for her wedding dressed. 
 
 To the mountain's shadow, an Indian band 
 
 Crept like a hunted stag. 
 For the white man followed them through the land 
 
 With a zeal that would not flag. 
 
 Hark! what sound falls on the ear 
 
 Of the watchful Indian scout ? 
 Was it scream of eagle from her eyrie near, 
 
 Or cry of hungry cayote ? 
 
 On the crest of the hill, lo! a wall of flame 
 
 Appears to his eagle eye; 
 Down into the valley the soldiers came. 
 
 And the hills echo back their cry. 
 
TALES TOLD AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE. 2) 
 
 Into the midst of the Indian camp 
 
 The forces of Custer swept; 
 On n unbroken line and orderly tramp 
 
 His handful of soldiers kept. 
 
 Then loud and clear rang a war-whoop shrill; 
 
 Through the air poisoned arrows quivered; 
 And the voice of the paleface is hushed and still 
 
 As the red men their columns shivered. 
 
 Of all the heroes that day sacrificed 
 
 On the banks of Reno's water, 
 But only one the battle survived 
 
 To tell of his comrades' slaughter. 
 
 Sadly at eve the mountains throw 
 
 Their shadows on hill and plain; 
 All white and cold as the mountain's brow 
 
 Are the faces of the heaped-up slain. 
 
 Ten times since then have the leaves in spring 
 
 Hung out their leafy muster, 
 Yet each succeeding spring shall bring 
 
 To mind brave, gallant Custer. 
 
 INTERLUDE. 
 
 When spirit land had been discussed, 
 And Indian John among the rest 
 Had given his views of spirit signs 
 From friends in happy hunting-ground, 
 Till in the whispers of the pines 
 We heard a weird and ghostly sound, 
 And as we hovered thus between 
 The real world and the unseen, 
 The farmer, in an interval of rest, 
 Began his simple story thus: 
 
30 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 THE ILLINOIS FARMEr's STORY. 
 
 To the broad and untrodden prairies of Northern Illinois 
 My father lent his complement of seven sturdy boys. 
 
 In the valley of Kock River we built our cabin home; 
 Overland from old Virginia to this new country come. 
 
 I was the youngest of the seven, at that time turning nine; 
 And to young eyes most any land called home seems superfine. 
 
 In looking back, I see again the wavy, billowy plain, 
 
 The herds of sleek, swift-footed deer, in my mind's eye again; 
 
 The trains of prairie schooners, slow drifting with the tide 
 Out on the boundless prairies, home-seeking far and wide; 
 
 The dim old forests where I roamed the' shady by-paths o'er, 
 Dividing with the squirrels their plenteous winter's store; 
 
 And seems to me there never was so grand a place for boys 
 As those vast, trackless prairies of old-time Illinois. 
 
 But, like all border countries adjoining Western lands, 
 The country was infested with thieving outlaw bands. 
 
 Extending through the Western States in an unbroken line, 
 From Texas' lower borders to Northern Wisconsin, 
 
 These thieving desperadoes were feared by honest men 
 Far more than ever were the crafty Indian. 
 
 We built a strong oak stable, whose heavy puncheon door 
 Was fastened by a huge log-chain, reaching from roof to floor. 
 
 Those were dark days indeed, for honest frontiersmen; 
 
 Not for wealth of all the Indies would I live them o'er again. 
 
 The settler dare not venture out without his knife and gun; 
 The bravest knew not which was best, to stand their ground 
 or run. 
 
 The reign of terror lasted for three long weary years; 
 Three years of anxious watching, alternate hopes and fears. 
 
TALES TOLD AROUND THE CAMP-FIKE. 31 
 
 Until a band of regulators was organized in forty-one, 
 And measures to rid the country of the outlaws were begun. 
 
 To our neighbor, one John Campbell, an honest, hardy Scot, 
 To be leader of the regulators, and captain, fell the lot. 
 
 Accordingly two hundred determined, fearless men 
 Marched to South Grove and bearded the lion in his den. 
 
 All those who were suspected were driven from the State; 
 But their leader, Driscoll, begged so hard to be allowed to wait 
 
 Until he could his business settle, and be prepared to leave, 
 That from the regulators he gained a short reprieve. 
 
 June twenty-seventh, in the year of eighteen forty-one, 
 David and Taylor Driscoll, just at the set of sun. 
 
 Securely hid in hazel copse at Campbell's barn-yard gate, 
 Armed to the teeth, on mischief bent, for the captain lay in wait. 
 
 As, all unarmed, their victim came, and passed out through 
 
 the gate. 
 Dave Driscoll rose from his hiding-place, where long he'd lain 
 
 in wait. 
 
 And, placing his murderous weapon at the honest captain's head. 
 And sent him to his last account with a double dose of lead. 
 
 Like wild-fire spread the news that Campbell had been killed, 
 And the outlaws' threats of vengeance on Campbell were ful 
 filled. 
 
 But when the settlers gathered to lay the dead away. 
 
 Their indignation knew no bounds; and ere the close of day. 
 
 Five hundred stern, determined men marched to the Driscoll 
 
 farm. 
 Determined to place the outlaws where they could do no harm. 
 
 David and Taylor Driscoll, meantime, had left the State, 
 And left William and their father alone to meet their fate. 
 
 It came to each, in shape of fifty well-aimed balls. 
 
 To uncofiined in one grave be rolled, to wait till Gabriel calls. 
 
32 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 INTERLUDE. 
 
 ''I thought, before your tale began, 
 
 The Kansan said, "to hear the tale of Stillman's run 
 
 From Black Hawk; or the legend old 
 
 Of Starved Rock; or you might liave told 
 
 A tale of Indian massacre and crime 
 
 That happened in the olden time. 
 
 When through the now peaceful Rock River valley 
 
 Resounded the wild Indian's fierce sally. 
 
 But as our border life and stories at the best are rough, 
 
 And for one night we've had bloodshed enough, 
 
 I move the last shall be less wild 
 
 And wicked. Come poet, give us something mild." 
 
 As from his pack the poet drew 
 
 A dainty volume bound in blue, 
 
 "The story that I'll read to you," said he, 
 
 "Came to me while cruising in the Adriatic Sea: 
 
 And in it I've revived again 
 
 Gods, fairies, sprites, and little men, 
 
 That our forefathers thought to be 
 
 Inhabitants of earth and sea." 
 
 NEPTUNE. 
 
 High on a woody mountain, 'neath a tropic sun, 
 On Samos sunny isle, where Trojans fought and won. 
 Majestic, grim, sat Neptune, ocean's angry god, 
 Watching the green earth darken with the Samian blood. 
 
 He rose — earth trembled as with fearful stride he crossed 
 And reached his palace in the midst of the blue sea; 
 
 His chariot wheels in foamy waves were lost 
 
 As o'er the troubled waters his light bark sped free. 
 
 On Amphitrite his amorous glance was bent; 
 The dolphin wise upon his love-quest sent; 
 Among the stars, in constellation now is seen 
 The dolphin's form, in honor of his queen. 
 
TALES TOLD A HOUND THE CAMP-FIRE. 33 
 
 In shell of marvelous form, with golden crest, 
 Drawn by white sea-horses, sat the goddess fair, 
 
 With Palemon, her young son, upon her breast; 
 A coronal of pearls and sea-weed in her hair. 
 
 Dolphins with scales of blue and gold 
 
 Sported and swam about the chariot wheels; 
 
 Tritons whose weird music ne'er grows old, 
 
 From curved shells their faint, low music steals. 
 
 Stern JEolus in their midst appeared 
 
 With threatening voice and eye of gloomy fire, 
 
 Driving the clouds back till the sky was cleared, 
 Silencing the fierce wind by touch of lyre. 
 
 Nymphs swam in shoals behind the car. 
 
 Small Zephyrs breathed and fanned the purple sail; 
 
 From grotto deep, from near and far. 
 In haste came sea-monster and whale. 
 
 A mermaiden sat among the rocks. 
 
 And combed with a shell her golden locks. 
 
 "Burn incense for me, O mariner bold. 
 
 Or soon 'neath the coral reefs you'll lie still and cold. 
 
 Come down to my palace, 
 
 Come down to my halls, 
 Like a white lily's chalice 
 
 Are its pure coral walls. 
 Shining shells, richest pearls, 
 
 Lie waiting for you 
 'Neath my low castle walls, 
 
 In the sea's depths so blue. 
 
 To a mermaiden there you shall wedded be; 
 Many beautiful groves lie under the sea." 
 A merman crooned with voice soft and low 
 As the ebbing tide in its ceaseless flow; 
 His song floating out on the still night air. 
 Charming the mermaidens gathered there. 
 
34 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 At eventide, by the silent seas, 
 
 Glide the green-haired Nereides. 
 
 In rocky caves, by bright spars strewn. 
 
 In grottoes deep, is their ocean home. 
 
 They wheel and skim o'er the briny spray, 
 
 And dance on the billows at close of day; 
 
 But a blast from Triton's silver shell 
 
 Sends them back to the caves where the seagods dwell. 
 
 They hide in shadow of lonely rock, 
 
 The discordant laugh of Satyrs mock; 
 
 In forests' gloom with Dryads dwell, 
 Or with Oread roam the woody dell; 
 With Hamadryad in her native tree, 
 Are found airy sprites of earth and sea. 
 
 The Arcadian shepherds in fancy heard 
 
 Soft whispering voices of sprite or bird; 
 
 In shady grove the fluttering leaf 
 
 Seemed the glancing feet of retreating nymph. 
 
 Then come to my wave-washed home with me, 
 
 In the depths of the boundless, billowy sea. 
 
 As the last strain fell on the listening air, 
 Out of ocean's depths from near and far 
 Came a blast as clear as a silver bell. 
 As each ocean sprite blew a blast on his shell. 
 
 FINALE. 
 
 The wee sma' hours were drawing nigh. 
 
 Their voices ceased, the fire burned low, 
 And mournfully the night-bird's cry, 
 
 The wail of wind, and water's flow 
 
 Came from the canon far below. 
 The moon through rent cloud-curtain peered. 
 
 As if to warn them that the night was waning; 
 
TALES TOLD AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE. 35 
 
 The sombre pines, 'gainst midnight sky upreared, 
 
 Swayed to and fro in ceaseless, sad complaining; 
 And knowing that with the sun they must be up and doing, 
 
 ^Before the camp-fire in their blankets rolled, 
 Were soon their separate phantoms in the land of dreams 
 
 pursuing. 
 When morning mists were upward curled 
 
 Before the fiery god of day. 
 They parted, promising in the other world 
 
 To meet, if not again in this, passed on their way, 
 Not dreaming that in foreign land. 
 
 Upon the banks of the blue castled Rhine 
 Would meet, one day, the little band 
 
 Who parted 'neath the Western pine; 
 And that the friendship here begun 
 
 Would be renewed beyond the sea, 
 And better stories would be spun 
 
 Beneath the palm and cocoa tree. 
 
PART II, 
 
 FROM SEA TO SEA. 
 
 They may sing of the East, with its bright flowering vines, 
 
 Where the sky's ever blue and the sun ever shines. 
 
 Where the plumage of birds with the rainbow's tints vie, 
 
 And the lazy palm-trees flaunt their plumes to the sky; 
 
 Its rock-girded shore by a summer sea washed, 
 
 Or by rude wintry winds to a mad fury lashed; 
 
 But no land can compare to "my ain countrie," 
 
 The home of the brave and the land of the free. 
 
 Of thee will I sing, loved land of my birth! 
 
 No country more fertile nor fair on the earth. 
 
 With thy broad, boundless prairies, whose green billows be 
 
 A true counterpart of its great sister sea, 
 
 Where the bufl'alo thundered and startled deer fled, 
 
 Pursued by their slayers, the white man and red; 
 
 Thy tree-fringed rivers, that sinuous creep 
 
 Across thy broad bosom till lost in the deep; 
 
 Thy mountains, whose hearts hold the purest of gold; 
 
 Thy tillable lands, bearing treasures untold; 
 
 And thy blest boon of freedom, endearing to thee 
 
 Thy adopted children who love liberty. 
 
 II. 
 'Twas in the merry month of June, 
 
 When Nature flaunts her greenest banners; 
 When birds and bees and brooks attune 
 
 Their voice in jubilant hosannas; 
 
 (36) 
 
FROM SEA TO SEA. 37 
 
 The time when Earth gay garlands bring 
 To crown the welcome goddess, Spring; 
 When life and hope and joy and love 
 
 Run riot in the youthful breast 
 Like prisoned sap in budding grove, 
 
 And death's a most unwelcome guest — 
 E'en so the grim despoiler came 
 And felled the scion of a noble name. 
 The faithful partner of his joy and care 
 Not long survived him, leaving as sole heir 
 An only son, who inherited their fortune great. 
 Together with the old ancestral hall and broad estate. 
 
 III. 
 A quiet, unassuming boy was he, 
 Unlearned in the world's lore 
 
 Save through his cherished books, 
 O'er which he constantly was wont to pore 
 Until in Fancy's realm he did explore 
 
 The world's remotest nooks. 
 A worshiper of nature he, whose inmost being 
 
 Thrilled to the music of her birds and trees. 
 In simplest leaf and plant and blossom seeing 
 
 The hidden beauties only a true child of Nature sees, 
 And this, together with his knowledge gleaned from books, 
 
 Imbued him with the spirit in which our poets sing 
 Of "tongues in trees, books in running brooks. 
 
 Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 
 The dome of heaven, with all its gleaming constellations. 
 
 Its blazing suns and constant wheeling worlds, 
 The immensity of space, its myriad glittering creations. 
 
 Before his eyes the scroll of heaven unfurls. 
 And when, by aid of telescope, he saw revealed 
 
 The nebulse of the milky way dissolved to stars, 
 And the dark abyss by them concealed 
 
 Flecked by its sixty million diamond-pointed bars, 
 
38 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 He felt still more the awful infinitude 
 
 Of the endless system of revolving worlds that intersperse 
 The realms of space, the matchless magnitude 
 
 And boundlessness of God's vast universe. 
 Born in lap of luxury, born to joy and pleasance, 
 
 And, like the lilies, to neither toil nor spin, 
 Possessed of health, wealth, youth, hope, and innocence, 
 
 A soul unsullied and unsoiled by sin. 
 Reared within sight of the blue and misty Kaatskills, 
 
 Learned in the Sleepy Hollow legendary lore, 
 Enthused with the drowsy, dreamy influence whicli thrills 
 
 The dwellers on the romantic Hudson's rugged shore, 
 Inspired with love of country by visiting Mt. Yernon, 
 
 Where rests the honored bones of Washington, 
 He who ranks among our heroes as the foremost one, 
 
 First in peace and war, first in the hearts of his countrymen. 
 Yea, while the starry flag still floats 
 
 Above the glorious land of the free, 
 Or soul-inspiring-bugle-notes 
 
 Peal forth their clarion notes for Liberty, 
 While patriotism fires the freemen's breasts, 
 
 The name of loyal Washington 
 Shall be emblazoned on the crests 
 
 Of all America's true sons; 
 The hero dead, yet living still. 
 
 Our country's father, the immortal George; 
 He of Herculean strength and iron will. 
 
 Who with his army shared privations hard at Yalley Forge; 
 He who, through cold and hunger, sickness, poverty. 
 
 Stood by his soldiers to the last; 
 Who founded the republic of America, 
 
 With Freedom's banner floating at her mast. 
 Inspired, I say, by example such as his, • 
 
 To love and patriotism for America, 
 He wished to see the sights in this, 
 
 Before he sought the lands beyond the sea. 
 
FROM SEA TO SEA. 39 
 
 IV. 
 
 Upon the Rock at Plymouth stood, and saw in his mind's eye 
 The gallant Mayflower's mast loom up betwixt the sea and sky, 
 And the laughing waves lap merrily the sands beneath his feet. 
 Their old refrain, time and again, seemed to him to repeat: 
 ^' God sifted a whole nation, that to this wilderness 
 He might send out his choicest grain the new old world to bless." 
 And oh, what hopeful, happy hearts 
 
 That good ship outward bore 
 From merry England's peaceful homes 
 
 Unto this alien shore! 
 'Twas here the wise Priscilla stepped 
 
 When first she pressed the sod; 
 'Twas here the Pilgrims prayed and wept, 
 
 Kneeling to worship God; 
 'Twas here Miles Standish proudly strode 
 
 Forth with his trusty band. 
 To search through all the forests broad 
 For prowling Indian. 
 
 V. 
 
 On Boston Common's undulating slope there stands 
 
 A marble shaft to sacred, sweet, and deathless memory 
 Of tried and true Americans 
 
 Upreared, who fought, and fighting fell, to maintain liberty. 
 They made themselves a lasting monument 
 
 Out of their wrecked lives and desolated homes. 
 From stern Oppression's brow the veil they rent, 
 
 And left on hard-won fields their bleaching bones. 
 In Concord, Lexington, and on Bunker Hill, 
 
 New York, Boston, and along New England's coasts, 
 The battle raged with matchless courage and undaunted will; 
 
 They fought and conquered and dispersed old England's hosts. 
 What though ten thousand throats shall voice their praise, 
 
 What though a nation's knees in homage bow, 
 What though ten thousand thousand eyes shall gaze 
 
 With pride upon that column, they unheed it now; 
 
40 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 What though fair Liberty's exhaustless torch 
 
 Shall flash her beacon-light far o'er the main, 
 What though from sea to sea the forward march 
 
 Of Freedom's van reached o'er the plain; 
 They have fought the good fight, they have finished their work; 
 
 In Death's camping-ground meet for final review 
 The old Continentals in ragged regimentals 
 
 Side by side with the boys wearing gray and true blue. 
 Stretch forth thy hand, O Liberty, and throw 
 
 Thy ardent flame across the sea; 
 Touch with a lingering ray fair France's brow. 
 
 Twine in her lilied wreath the stars of Liberty; 
 Clasp hands, America, with loyal sister on the other side — 
 
 To her we owe the statue and the freedom won. 
 And that the peace we now enjoy with her abide, 
 
 Should be the wish of every true American. 
 Fit warder of the sea and land, 
 
 A tower of strength to storm-tossed mariners, 
 In state upon thy ocean throne ye stand, 
 
 A brazen image to commemorate our warsl 
 
 VI. 
 
 From Sumter's bristling fortress once again in fancy 
 He saw the fiery shells from belching caauon hurled. 
 
 And heard again, as if by necromancy, 
 
 The dull reverberation of the shot which shook the world. 
 
 VII. 
 
 He stood where once the murderous tide of battle 
 
 Rolled like an avalanche adown the mountain-side^ 
 And to the front, where bullets thickest rattle. 
 
 In fancy he saw fearless Logan ride; 
 Amid the clash of arms, the bugle hoarsely braying, 
 
 The deafening thunder of the cannonade, 
 The startled steeds' shrill frightened neighing. 
 
 He rode bareheaded, fearless, undismayed. 
 
FROM SEA TO SEA. 41 
 
 Brave boys, who heard their leader calling, 
 
 E'en to the cannon's mouth were led. 
 Whose wavering lines, in ghastly windrows falling, 
 
 Stained the green mountain-side dark red. 
 Beside the Cumberland and Tennessee, 
 
 Along the Merrimac and Rappahannock, 
 He passed, across the track of Sherman^s march down to the 
 sea. 
 
 To far Savannah from the blue Potomac. 
 i3ound by a dreamless slumber deep. 
 Brave hearts there sleep their last long sleep, 
 >Vho answered to their country's call. 
 
 Brother 'gainst brother fought, father 'gainst son, 
 Yet whose the victory after all 
 
 The battles fought and won ? 
 •'Death's!" moans the pine-trees on the mountain-side; 
 
 ''Death's!" sings the river, rushing to the sea; 
 ''Death's!" soughs the wind, sweeping o'er prairies wide; 
 
 Death claims the palm of victory. 
 Ah, yes ! the victory was all thine, O Death. 
 
 Do they heed victorious cries, who lowly lie; 
 Or prize the dear-bought laurel wreath. 
 
 Who turn their pale, cold faces to the sky 
 
 And. see life's daylight die? 
 Yet deepest furrows plowed by cannon balls 
 
 In time will sink quite out of sight, 
 And only broken trees and torn, dismantled walls 
 
 Will tell where raged the old disastrous fight. 
 Kind Mother Nature to us doth a lesson teach 
 
 By healing her torn breast, despoiled by war; 
 So may her children heal the yawning breach. 
 
 Although deep wounds ne'er close without a scar. 
 Did Earth enfold the boys in blue 
 
 More tenderly than those who wore the gray; 
 Her carpet green more thickly strew 
 
 Above the ones who won the dav? 
 
42 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Ah, no! the boys in blue and gray, the black and white, 
 
 Kepose in peace beneath the selfsame sod 
 They fought for, each believing he upheld the right, 
 
 And passed together 'neath the chastening rod. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 They talk of clasping hands across the gaping chasm; 
 
 Of burying bloody shirts; of friendship, love, fraternity; 
 When well they know too many bloody shirts lie buried 
 
 Along the Chickamauga and the Tennessee; 
 Too many uncles, cousins, fathers, brothers, 
 
 Lie in the gloomy trenches on the battle-field; 
 Too many minnie-balls sped home to hearts of waiting mothers; 
 
 Too many lovers' eyes in death were sealed. 
 From golden California to Maine's hills, pine-crested, 
 
 From old Virginia's shores to far New Mexico, 
 From sunny south-lands, where the ringdove nested, 
 
 To Michigan's dim forests, where the eaglets grow, 
 The bursting shells, unearthly screeching. 
 
 The blazing battery's fiery missiles thrown, 
 The cannon and the minnie-balls, far-reaching, 
 
 Struck down the pride of many a happy home. 
 Above the chasm hand clasps hand, but coldly. 
 
 When boys in blue and gray do chance to meet. 
 For though the veteran wears the laurel boldly. 
 
 He knows that victory meant dire defeat; 
 And though there doth exist a seeming friendly relation. 
 
 Still, while on widow's cheek the tear is wet. 
 And while the heirs still live of the old generation. 
 
 They may forgive, but never can forget. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then through the sweet and sunny South he wandered, 
 
 Plucking the fragrant blooms of orange and magnolia 
 groves, 
 Trod along the coast of Flower-land where Old Briny thun- 
 dered. 
 And pressed far inland where the crocodile and heron roves ; 
 
FROM SEA TO SEA. 43 
 
 The land of flowering vines and rich bananas, 
 
 Of corn and cane and cotton-fields and juicy yams, 
 Of dusky faces crowned with red bandanas, 
 
 The land of passion-flowers and broadly spreading palms. 
 Anon he passed into the famous blue-grass country, 
 
 Where whiskies pure as mountain streams abound, 
 And thoroughbreds with family-trees like English gentry, 
 
 Fair women, and brave men are found; 
 A land which teems with rare Aladdin wonders 
 
 Of mammoth caves whose glittering stony trees, 
 Grottoes, sparkling groves, and rock-beds rent asunder 
 
 Have been the work of countless centuries. 
 No more amid the cotton and the cane are singing 
 
 The happy darky band who sang of yore; 
 No more the bursting shells and minnie-balls are winging 
 
 Their deadly way from Texas to Virginia's shore; 
 Still, in the mounded earth the traveler reads a lesson, 
 
 Bequeathed by bleediilg rebel sire to son. 
 To bury in the ashes of their homes the vile secession 
 
 That well-nigh their fair Southern land undone. 
 
 X. 
 
 There deep in the heart of old Kentucky, hidden 
 By fields of golden maize and sheltering wood, 
 
 All intercourse with the outer w^orld to them forbidden. 
 In sweet seclusion dwelt the silent brotherhood. 
 
 On everything within its sacred precincts 
 
 Silence like dove with folded pinions brood; 
 Even the bird-notes softened, as if by instinct 
 
 The Trappist's vow of silence by them was understood. 
 
 Fit spot for penitence and meditation, 
 
 Beneath the pious-looking Benedictine trees; 
 To rear an altar to the soul's salvation 
 
 In Nature's solitudes like these. 
 
4:4: GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Here dwelt a solemn band of holy brothers, 
 
 Pledged to a life of abnegation self-imposed, 
 Dead to their sisters, brothers, fathers, mothers,. 
 
 Dead to the world as convent gate behind them closed; 
 
 To plow and sow and reap and mow in silence. 
 
 In silence gather the harvest home; 
 For every idle word abjectly kneel in penance 
 
 Upon the convent floor's unfeeling stone; 
 
 For years to work and dwell together. 
 
 Without that blessed boon, companionship, 
 Allowing the sweet speech unuttered 
 
 To fall back on the tongue and lip. 
 
 All this enduring, that in the great hereafter 
 
 They'll live eternally; 
 Then stretched upon the cross of blessed straw and cinders, 
 
 To kneel and uncomplaining die. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Our hero paused beneath the ancient elm-trees 
 
 Shading the abbey's wide domains. 
 Bound by the spell, solemn, mysterious. 
 
 Which wrapped its fertile fields, dim woods, and shady lanes. 
 
 On wooded knolls the sun's last rays were falling, 
 
 Pale cross and spire anon melt into the sky; 
 In mellow tones across the shadowy landscape calling, 
 
 The monastery bell's vibrations fall and die. 
 
 All dark within, save low red cresset ever burning. 
 
 Before the altar sheds its solitary ray 
 On dark-robed figures going and returning. 
 
 As to the stalls along the nave they take their way. 
 
 Upon the stilly night their chant is ringing: 
 "Cantus plenus gravitate," solemn and slow; 
 
 The same sad cadences the monks were singing 
 In far-off" Normandy a century ago. 
 
FROM SEA TO SEA. 45 
 
 Tlie singing hushed, from ghostly line of white-robed figures 
 A monk steps forth, where swinging bell-rope hangs, 
 
 And rings the bell till gray, cold arches quiver 
 With weird and melancholy clangs. 
 
 The scene, once seen, will be forgotten never; 
 
 The bowed and moveless forms in brown and white. 
 The tapering shadows on the polished floor aquiver, 
 
 Of varied shade and light; 
 
 The ghastly, suffering form upon the cross suspended, 
 Made strangely luminous by tall wax candles' gUire; 
 
 The wooden image of saint and Madonna blended, 
 Seemed floating in the dim and palpitating air; 
 
 The all-pervasive hush of gloom and mystery begotten — 
 All made the^ convent seem a living tomb to be. 
 
 The world forgetting, by the world forgotten. 
 
 So live and die the old-world monks at Gethsemane. 
 
 XII. 
 
 On grassy mounds along the Mississippi's side, 
 
 Extending to the shores of Lake Superior, 
 Are gnarled old trees whose branches wide 
 
 Are said to be the growth of their eight-hundredth year. 
 Kude ornaments of silver and of precious stones. 
 
 Copper implements, and pottery are found. 
 Together with the builders' crumbling bones, 
 
 Hidden within their lowly burial-mound. 
 But history or tradition of this mysterious race 
 
 Long since hath perished, and to-day 
 Naught doth remain by which to trace 
 
 The first inhabitants of America. 
 Who knows but there were giants in those days. 
 
 Who waged a fierce vendetta 'gainst their brother-man? 
 Who knows but that across the broad prairies 
 
 Roamed wild and free the mammoth mastodon? 
 
46 GLKAN'INGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 We only know tliej lived, loved, died — and then 
 
 Their graves were desecrated by the curious American. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Now on the placid bosom of the Mississippi drifting, 
 
 Borne by the current unresistingly along. 
 To him there came, in dripping oar and tuneful voice uplifting. 
 These lines inwoven in the boatman's soug: 
 Hestless monarch, Mississippi, 
 Father of all Waters named; 
 With a serpent's writhing doth he 
 
 Fret and roar like beast untaiued. 
 Lovingly his children presses 
 
 To his bosom deep and wide; 
 The pure Kock no more caresses 
 
 Than Missouri's murky tide. ^ 
 
 Seetliing, frothing, raging, rushing 
 
 Dreadfnl in his overflow, 
 Through the dikes all madly crushing, 
 As his waters seaward go. 
 
 Flow proudly on, O mighty stream; 
 
 Majestic flow, as should the king of rivers! 
 Thy banks with busy commerce teem, 
 
 On thee gay pennon quivers. 
 Above thy tide full many a raft 
 
 All madly went careering, 
 When hardy Northmen plied their craft, 
 
 The mammoth pine-trees steering. 
 Couldst thou in other language speak, 
 
 Save thy low murmurous gurgle, 
 Thou'dst tell how fiercely Greek met Greek 
 
 In early settlers' struggle; 
 How once the proud DeSoto's fleet 
 
 Cut through your yeasty surges, 
 And on thy shore the Frenchmen's feet 
 
 Stepped gaily from their barges; 
 
FROM SEA TO SEA. 47 
 
 How Black Hawk's chieftains' life-blood flowed, 
 
 Thj tide dull crimson staining, 
 When horse and rider with his load 
 
 Went down, not one remaining; 
 How loud-mouthed cannon belched their ire 
 
 Along thj wastes of water. 
 And busy gun-boats lent their fire 
 
 To aid the murderous slaughter. 
 Thy cane-brakes now resound no more 
 
 To thirsty bloodhounds' baying, 
 Who tracked the blacks along thy shore, 
 
 Through swamp and ba^^ou straying. 
 Peace rides triumphant on thy wave, 
 
 And rests along thy populous shore; 
 Peace twines her wreath for soldier's grave 
 
 And crowns our country evermore. 
 Flow on, thou river, glad and free; 
 
 Call home thy sons and daughters, 
 So untold nations yet to be 
 
 May bless thy boundless waters. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 To stand where once the old primeval forest stood, 
 
 And mark the inroads made by man therein; 
 To view the varying changeful courses of the flood. 
 
 And trace where beds of giant rivers once hath been. 
 Amid the highways and the byways of the world; 
 
 To gaze on modern structures dotting hill and vale; 
 To hear the reapers' song and see the smoke from thresher 
 curled 
 
 Above the fields where erst -the sickles glanced and farmers' 
 flail 
 Resounded — all this attests man's advancement, power, 
 
 And strength increasing more with each succeeding year; 
 And though an hundred souls were born each hour. 
 
 There's room for thousands more strong laborers here. 
 
48 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 How wonderful the works of God, and wonderful indeed 
 
 The works of man, His creature in his own image created! 
 What various appliances for the human need 
 
 Devising, although full many rare inventions are to dark 
 oblivion fated! 
 What though in stony ground the seed 
 Is fallen, it is sure to spring to life some day, 
 As Freedom sprang to arms of young America; 
 And as these broad and fertile lands 
 Were rescued from the prowling Indian bands. 
 So swiftly on the track of advancing civilization 
 Sprang up as if by magic this prosperous, peerless nation. 
 
 XV. 
 
 River which by devious ways descends 
 
 Adown the heart of the vast continent, 
 Camera obscura reflecting without lens 
 
 The heavens' inverted false presentment, 
 Entwined with festoons of the graceful vine 
 
 Down-drooping to the river's brink. 
 Wherein the herds of mild-eyed kine 
 
 Stand knee-deep in the pool to drink; 
 Trees gnarled and ivy-crowned bend o'er 
 
 Or 'gainst a sombre background stand all boldly out. 
 Flecked here and there with red-bud's store 
 
 Of pale pink blossoms, where gay birds shout 
 Their cries, "Right here ! right here! " among the glistening 
 leaves; 
 
 Or where the mocking-birds the echoes put to rout 
 Amid the shadows where the ring-dove sadly grieves, 
 So, dimpling to the breeze's play. 
 Thou wanderest on, O fair Chickaskia. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Out of the noisesome world, far to the South-lands lying, 
 Silent and sad and lone stretches the plain away 
 
 To that sun-bright land for which men are sighing, 
 The long-promised land of Oklahoma lay. 
 
FROM SEA TO SEA. 
 
 49 
 
 Never a sound of life save pipe of quail or plover, 
 Never a reaper's song nor plowboj's whistled tune, 
 
 *Neyer a whirring wheel with mill-race tumbling over. 
 Mingles forever and aje with rivers rhythmic rune. 
 
 Never a sickle's gleam through waving prairie grasses, 
 Never a hand to pluck the daisies bj the way, 
 
 Naught but bleaching bones and dank and dark morasses. 
 And faint mirage flickering and fading far away. 
 
 Where over the liills and plains the bugle-notes are sounding 
 
 That herald the birth of Oklahoma State, 
 Then will an eager throng, with huzza far resounding. 
 
 Spur their panting steeds through the ample western gate; 
 
 Then will the reapers sing and joyous plowboy whistle. 
 Then will the mill wheels toss the restless waves to foam. 
 
 Then will the sun- go down, where now the plovers nestle, 
 On fruitful fields and prosperous, happy homes. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 By the lonely grave where a woman lies 
 
 He paused as the sun went down, 
 And its golden flood of amber dyes 
 
 In rivers streamed around. 
 Where on beetling crags the cliff-flowers blow, 
 
 And eagles nurse their brood. 
 Enshrouded in perpetual snow, 
 
 In death-like solitude 
 Kests one whose feet all worthily 
 
 On fame's far heights hath roved, 
 And, dying, wished to buried be 
 
 On the mountain she so loved. 
 And the youth, recalling old-time lays 
 
 Of the singer cold and mute. 
 Of her wanderings in pleasant ways, 
 
 Of her broken, tuneless lute, 
 
 4 
 
50 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Dropped a tear to the memory 
 
 Of the deathless voice now dumb, , 
 
 And alas for the old-time melody 
 
 And "the songs she never smig"! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Then pressing on o'er rocky ranges, aptly named 
 
 "Alps of America " throughout Colorado, 
 Viewed he the "Garden of the Gods," far-famed, 
 
 Clothed in the hues of the gay bow of promise, 
 Furrowed and scarred by aeons of years 
 
 Which Time's fingers leave in deep imprints upon us, 
 Crowned with the ermine their royal realm wears. 
 Castles builded of chiseled stone, 
 Peopled with beings of thine own. 
 No Knight shall scale thy lofty turrets' height. 
 And bear away his chosen lady bright. 
 Thy churches' clustering spires shall pierce heaven's sapphire 
 
 dome 
 Only to catch the glintings of the sun. 
 No echoing bells' vibrating tone. 
 Nor organ's peal, shall through its aisles resound. 
 Thy battlements shall scaled be by only sun and storms; 
 Through staring loop-holes gleam no bristling arms; 
 And mammoth beasts shall hang, still poised in air. 
 Nor ever wish to seek their mountain lair. 
 A tower of strength thouMst build, and leaning slant 
 To prove God's works are firm as adamant. 
 Huge rocks shall narrow pivots grace 
 Which evermore shall be their strong abiding place; 
 And so the Master chiseled, carved and wrought. 
 Embodying many a famous sculptor's thought; 
 And as the veil of years aside he drew 
 He had builded higher than he knew. 
 Then quafied he healthful waters found at Manitou; 
 
FROM SEA TO SEA. 51 
 
 Gazed on the snowy cross set in the eternal hills, 
 
 The boiling geysers of the Yellowstone, 
 The smelters, mining shafts and mills, 
 
 The Mormon Tabernacle's gleaming dome. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Adown the vale where the Moncho wanders, 
 
 Close to the pulsing Rockies' heart, 
 Traces of prehistoric wonders 
 
 Out of the new old world doth start. 
 Castled halls, embattled towers, 
 
 Hewn and carved from solid stone. 
 Where a race remote from ours 
 
 Made their cloud-built, airy home. 
 From huge rocks swung high in air. 
 
 From the sheer cliff's bristling brow, 
 Speaking stony eyes ask, "Where, 
 
 Where abide my people now ? " 
 "Ask of the winds," a soft voice whispers. 
 
 East Wind, West Wind, breathing low, 
 Tell us in your nightly vespers 
 
 Where's the vanished Pueblo. 
 Question the fierce gray eagles, nesting 
 
 'Mid their decayed and shattered shrines; 
 Ask the sun they worshiped, resting 
 
 Whitely pale on garish pines; 
 Question the wild beasts, lordly stalking 
 
 From their aerial rocky lairs; 
 Ask the moonbeams, like ghosts walking — 
 
 "Whence or whither, where, oh where's 
 The nameless graves ^f a race forgotten. 
 
 Whose deeds, whose words, whose fate are one 
 With the mist long ages past begotten 
 
 Of the sun?" 
 
52 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Swiftly across the barren, level plains 
 
 The steel-shod iron horse did bear him on, 
 Past unused trails where once long wagon-trains 
 
 Of emigrants toiled slow and painfully along. 
 The bleaching bones of horse and rider lie on every hand, 
 
 Amid the sand and sage-brush by the way. 
 Fallen from ranks of emigrants who traveled overland 
 
 To California's gold-fields in the early day. 
 Past windy prairies, plains all lone and drear. 
 
 O'er winding rivers lined with thriving towns. 
 Past kingly mountains that through all the year 
 
 Wear on their regal heads their snowy crowns. 
 Through deep-mouthed canons echoing back the song of steam. 
 
 Scaling the shaggy mountain-side again. 
 Shooting through darksome tunnel with unearthly scream, 
 
 He sped along on fleetest railroad train. 
 Yerily the world doth move along, 
 
 And man moves with it at alarming pace; 
 So doth our rushing trains, borne by their engines strong, 
 
 Eclipse the old-time wagon-train's slow pace. 
 Blest be the tie the gleaming rails doth bind! 
 
 Blest be the song the iron monster sings. 
 Of mankind's powerful and unrivaled mind 
 
 O'er the insentient and material things! 
 
 SONG OF STEAM. 
 
 Away, away, on my glittering track, 
 
 Like a wild, mad thing I reel; 
 Sending a snort of defiance back. 
 
 As I roll on my track of steel. 
 I bind into one all 'neath the sun, 
 
 I'm a power on the earth and sea; 
 When at the helm, I'm king of the realm — 
 
 Right-of-way is given to me. 
 
FROM SEA TO SEA. 53 
 
 The ship's broad sail and the farmer's flail 
 
 Are relics now of the past; 
 I turn the mill and the factory wheel, 
 
 The smelter's ore I cast. 
 I am monarch to-day of all I survey, 
 
 I am sovereign of ocean and stream; 
 'Neath my coat of mail I make men quail; 
 
 I'm the magic force called Steam. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Fair California, much hast thou been praised 
 
 Since the mad days of '^ forty-nine," 
 When men rushed to thy shores as if half crazed, 
 
 To seek their fortunes in the uncertain mine. 
 Thy mammoth trees and fragrant orange groves, 
 
 Thy smiling valley of Yosemite, 
 Thy vine-clad hills and sheltered ocean coves. 
 
 Thy golden-gated city sitting by the sea. 
 Have been the theme of worthier songs than mine; 
 
 To them leave I the adulation of thy tropic clime. 
 On Tahoe's placid bosom let us drift and dream, 
 
 And watch the changeful pictures mirrored there; 
 Float on the Sacramento's winding stream. 
 
 And climb the dim Sierra's rocky stair; 
 Sail on Tulare and windy Monterey; 
 
 Roam mid the forests' shady bowers, 
 And through the city of Lost Angels stray, 
 
 Set in a wilderness of flowers; 
 And sailing through thy ample western gate, 
 
 Waft fond farewell back to the golden State. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Behold the mansion of the proud bonanza king, 
 
 The sole survivor of the immortal four 
 Who stooped to snatch the widow's offering 
 
 And line their pockets with the orphan's dower. 
 
54 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 In castled halls and London mansion shine 
 
 These glaring rushlights of mushroom aristocracy, 
 
 While in their attic homes their subjects pine, 
 Swindled to make an English holiday. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Behold the sister cities' walls recede from sight, 
 The broad Pacific fades to line of deepest blue, 
 
 The golden gateway glows with amber light 
 From setting sun's transcendent hue. 
 
 As on its dying splendor now the pilgrim looked hi<^ last, 
 And, waving it a long farewell, he homeward passed. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Afar on piny breath of north wind winging, 
 
 Amid the mighty torrent of Niagara poured, 
 He fancied in the shrill cica la's low singing 
 This fitful song he heard: 
 "So I breathe forth from my mystic deeps 
 A thought that is all a sigh; 
 Wave springing to meet the wave which creeps 
 
 To its arms with a joyous cry, 
 For my waters voice the thunderous roll 
 
 Of the organ's deep baritone; 
 Wave calleth wave, deep calleth deep. 
 
 Welcoming wanderers home. 
 I speak a varied language. 
 
 But ye understand it not. 
 For ocean and noisy cataract 
 
 A wordless rune hath caught; 
 So in my babblings I speak a foreign tongue. 
 
 Wave kissing wave, mist meeting mist. 
 Then back to my white arms flung. 
 A tender thought I breathe afar, 
 As down of thistle light, 
 
 Sweet as the scent of roses are, 
 Or lilies' breath at night. 
 
FROM SEA TO SEA. 65 
 
 A whispered word, a thought, a breath, a soulful sigh, 
 A thunderous tone, a rainbow arch — - 
 Then all is mystery." 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Now, as our hero neared his journey's end. 
 
 Before his mind's eye passed in quick succession 
 All he had seen, with the enchantments which distance lend 
 
 To pictures when reviewed in retrospection: 
 The glorious panoply of mountain walls. 
 
 Hill, forest, valley, plain, and rolling prairie; 
 The rivers, lakes, and tumbling waterfalls, 
 
 That gem the bosom of our fair Columbia; 
 The quiet hamlets nestling 'mong the hills, 
 
 The silent cities where the dead abide; 
 The workshops, manufactories, and mills. 
 
 The palace, hall, and council-chamber wide; 
 The busy looms, and whirring factory wheels. 
 
 The trade and traffic of the shipping wharves, 
 The city's mart, the farmer's fruitful fields; 
 
 The blazing foundry fires and clanging forge. 
 The peaceful chime of church and cloister bells; 
 
 The courts, the prison-pen, the gallows-tree; 
 The gloomy mines where grimy miners delve; 
 
 The glory and the shame, the wealth and poverty; 
 And as the shifting scenes disclosed to view 
 
 His own loved mountains, lake and river. 
 He cried, as homeward fast his footsteps drew, 
 
 "God bless and keep my native land forever!" 
 
56 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 JOTTINGS BY THE AVAY. 
 
 Two radiant angels sat upon a cloud — 
 
 They were the guardian angels we have read about — 
 
 Engaged in fashioning an airy shroud, 
 
 Fringed with a sheer-white cloudlet raveled out; 
 
 Shot with pale bars of sunlight here and there, 
 
 As mist}^ and transparent as the rainbows are. 
 
 And as they wove a sparkling star in sheeny fold, 
 
 And looped it gracefully with clear moon-stone. 
 
 The older shade — but angels ne'er grow old — 
 
 (The one who had been born ten thousand years, I ween,) 
 
 Spake to the fairer and the younger one, 
 
 Whose summers numbered scarce sixteen. 
 
 Who'd wept incessantly since the task begun: 
 
 "Hail, shade!" — the angels always greet each other with 
 
 hail — 
 "Why do ye weep for those within the vale? 
 Long ages since, when I for grief would weep, 
 In Lethe's stream my senses I did steep." 
 "I weep," replied the other, "for my other self, 
 The loved and lost one of my vanished youth; 
 In Lethe's stream fain would I drown myself. 
 If I for moment should forget that soul of truth." 
 "Set not your heart on earthly things," tlie shade replied. 
 "Hath he not taken to himself another bride — - 
 She whom this very robe is destined for'^ 
 (There, by your leave, I'll add another star.) 
 How long for you did he the willow wear ? 
 O'er your neglected grave how often shed a tear? 
 Did he not banish your best picture to the attic ? 
 (Oh dear! this lower air gives me a twinge rheumatic") 
 
 I 
 
JOTTINGS BY IHE WAY. 57 
 
 "But I cannot forget that he once grieved sincerely," 
 
 Returned the other. "Nor that he paid the sexton yearly, 
 
 To keep my grave as green as it could be; 
 
 Indeed, it had no fellow in the cemetery. 
 
 Although 'tis sunken now, and fallen is the stone. 
 
 And weeds and brambles have the lily-beds o'ergrown. 
 
 Long years have intervened since that sad day and this; 
 
 My very soul has changed, why should not his? 
 
 The love of mortals fades e'en to the faintest memory; 
 
 The angels' love is lasting as eternity, 
 
 As fadeless as the stars, true as the great sun. 
 
 There," shaking out the garment, "now 'tis done. 
 
 But must I be the one to. deal the blow ? 
 
 sister, pray you, to that darkened chamber go; 
 
 1 cannot wring his loyal he^rt again, 
 
 I, who for sixteen years have been his spirit guardian." 
 
 '^Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth, 
 
 And scourgeth every one whom He receiveth. 
 
 The edict hath gone forth from the Almighty One: 
 
 The babe and she must die at set of sun. 
 
 And look where night draws up her blanket gray, 
 
 And on the dim horizon's cheek the sun's last roses lay; 
 
 Call up Azrael and Charon and let us speed away — 
 
 The Lord hath spoken and we must obey. 
 
 And as we journey, cheer up and be gay; ^ 
 
 Dost know a mortal's heart is calloused when he's gray? 
 
 He will go wooing ere this poor soul's cold; 
 
 A widower's a gay Lothario, especially when old." 
 
 The angel, thus encouraged, led to where the dying mother l;i\. 
 
 And bore her spirit and the new-born babe's away. 
 
 A portly shade, with snow-white, curly hair, 
 Perched on the rim of rainbow swung mid air. 
 His deep, resonant tones re-echoing far away: 
 "Lastly," and, "Amen. Brothers, let us pray." 
 
58 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Then rose a mighty rustling, as of folding wings; 
 
 A gentle flutter, as when the south wind sings 
 
 Amid the leafy tree-top, on calm summer's eve; 
 
 Or warning, such as far-oflf" partridge gives 
 
 When rising, with its strange, peculiar whirr— r—r; 
 
 Or, like an arrow whizzing through the air, 
 
 Close to one's ear. Or, like a prisoned bee, 
 
 In lily-bell or morning-glory; or, still better simile, 
 
 Thoughts striking silent chords of memory. 
 
 Then Beecher's ricli, magnetic voice fell faintly on the ear, 
 
 The saints and angels bending low to hear, 
 
 Until the heavens' remotest spaces 
 
 Were filled with radiant angel faces. 
 
 "The ruling passion's strong, e'en after death, with him," 
 
 A spirit whispered to a cherubim. 
 
 On earth he held his audience spell-bound, as he does here. 
 
 In Brooklyn he is said to have no peer. 
 
 But then, such men as Henry Ward 
 
 In heaven and earth, alike, are surely heard. 
 
 As through the valley roamed a wandering soul, 
 
 Upon a grim old mountain's sleek, bald poll 
 
 He spied an archangel, radiantly bright. 
 
 And close beside him swiftly did alight; 
 
 And as the angel plumed his ruffled crest, 
 
 And pulled down his befeathered vest, 
 
 The stranger, in a voice supernatu rally thin. 
 
 With fear and trembling, thus did question him: 
 
 "Are you the Angel Gabriel, my dear sir? 
 
 Smooth down that rumpled feather on your off ear. 
 
 There, you ai»e sleek as any bird 
 
 I ever saw; you are, upon my word." 
 
 But when the angel turned on him his all-seeing eye, 
 
 He felt how vain his feeble flattery. 
 
 And wished that he had taken a difi"erent tack; 
 
 Indeed, he felt like subject on the torturer's rack. 
 
JOTTINGS BY THE WAY. 69 
 
 ''TIlis fellow's insight beats the very Jews. 
 
 He reads me through and through, down to my very shoes, 
 
 And sees and knows more tlian he'll tell. 
 
 Why is it greatness makes one so uncomfortable ? " 
 
 He muttered to himself, below his breath. 
 
 ^'He is as silent as the Angel Death; 
 
 But I will still another question to him put, 
 
 And find out if he has a grain of wit: 
 
 Who is yon speck, afar-oflP in the sky ? 
 
 I never dreamed that angels flew so high." 
 
 ''O, that's Maria Mitchell, the astronomer," 
 
 The angel said. "She's got her eye on still another star. 
 
 Since she's been here she has discovered fifty million stars 
 
 More than earth's great astronomers 
 
 Show on their very latest charts. 
 
 And now she's ofi" again to foreign parts, 
 
 A woman never knows enough to stop; 
 
 She never will, until her pinions drop." 
 
 " I take it you're a man, from the adverse opinion 
 
 You hold regarding this adventurous woman. 
 
 Beg pardon, but this Mother Hubbard style of robe you wear. 
 
 Although convenient in the upper air, 
 
 Is used on earth to designate the fairer sex, 
 
 And much the wearing of them doth their lords perplex.'' 
 
 "This Mother Hubbard style of dress a woman's! 
 
 Why, man, the ancient Greeks and Romans — 
 
 Julius Caesar, Cicero and Socrates, 
 
 Plato, Cato, Aristotle, and Demosthenes, 
 
 As well as all the ancients, gods, fairies and peri, 
 
 From Adam's time down to the Christian era. 
 
 Wore flowing robes and togas similar to these. 
 
 Strange that the devil turned out such a dunce 
 
 As you. Go back and learn a thing or two at once." 
 
 With that the archangel soared away to Mars, 
 
 To hold a consultation with the god" of wars, 
 
60 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 And left the stranger to his melancholy meditations, 
 
 To cogitate upon his heavenly relations. 
 
 "Alas! the stronger rule the weaker spirits here, 
 
 Just as they do within the earthly sphere," 
 
 He mused. ''Twas ever thus, and so 'twill be, 
 
 That 'Might niakcs right,' eternally. 
 
 Alas ! why did I not, ere I committed suicide, 
 
 Discover if the spirits with our bodies died. 
 
 I am undone, and fain would cry. 
 
 Had not my fount of tears run dry. 
 
 But ah ! what means that faint and far-off cheer — 
 
 What heavenly magnate have w^e here? 
 
 Aurora, goddess of the morning, as I am alive; 
 
 See how the angels swarm, like bees from hive. 
 
 Around her flaming chariot- wheels. 
 
 Ye gods ! how that bright star upon her forehead steals 
 
 The shadows from the midnight sky. 
 
 'Tis well worth while for one to die. 
 
 To see such gorgeous sights as these, 
 
 And fathom heaven's mysteries. 
 
 At her approach the stars fade quite away; 
 
 Those rosy clouds are heralds of the day." 
 
 Then, as the gorgeous pageant passed from sight, 
 
 A shadow fell, as dense as dark midnight 
 
 Unbroken by a single star's most feeble ray. 
 
 And as a spirit felt his way. 
 
 As through the gloom he strove to grope. 
 
 Like changing of views in the kaleidoscope, 
 
 A beauteous vision burst upon his view, 
 
 Toward which at once he instinctively drew. 
 
 Set in a wilderness of living green. 
 
 Through which there flashed the silvery sheen 
 
 Of myriad fountains, rose a mansion, grand and tall. 
 
 With massive portals and bright, golden wall. 
 
JOTTINGS BY THE WAY. Q^ 
 
 A band of merry children sportive played, 
 Or by the fountains rented, 'neath umbrageous shade 
 Of never-ending vistas of its groves and parks, 
 Made musical by songs of nightingales and larks. 
 "This must be God's very headquarters," 
 The spirit thought, as up the winding stairs 
 He passed and stood before a throne of gorgeous state, 
 ' In which there sat a mighty potentate. 
 
 Who rose, upon his entrance, and,- with smile benign and sweet, 
 And stately bow, requested him to take his seat. 
 "And whom have I the honor to address?" he asked. 
 Whereat the shade, who hitherto had masked 
 His face within a hangman's cap of black, 
 Tore off his mask, resolved to take the rack, 
 Or thumb-screw, iron mask, or knout, 
 Rather than to be again turned out. 
 
 "I was a citizen of the United States, named Charles Guiteau, 
 Before I died," he said. " You doubtless saw 
 My name in print, for I was famous once, 
 Before that thieving, lying, villainous dunce. 
 That spawn of Satan, limb of evil, 
 That fawning, perjured, impish devil, 
 That fiend incarnate, that wretch called Corkhill, 
 Whose lying tongue did work this ill. 
 Can you direct me to the lowest purgatory ? 
 I'll wreak my vengeance on him. I've a story 
 To tell the devil, that will cause his eyes to shine. 
 And every separate hair to stand on end, like quills upon the 
 
 fretful porcupine. 
 Upon his precious head. So help me God, I'll kill, 
 I'll slay, burn, scorch, flay, ruin him, I will ! 
 Don't smile in that incredulous way. 
 I tell you, Corkhill's had his day." 
 Then came a fearful knocking at the door, 
 And Asmodeus appeared, and on his shoulders bore 
 
62 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 The most ethereal wraith eye ever rested on. 
 
 Transparent as the mist before the rising sun; 
 
 Thin as skimmed milk turned to whey, and thinner; 
 
 Thin as a half-starved hound before he's had his dinner; 
 
 Thin as the ante-bellum scrip of the Confederacy; 
 
 Thin as the free trade, or the Democracy. 
 
 So Satan thought, and muttered to his guest, aside, 
 
 '^That is the thinnest soul that ever died. 
 
 I am constrained to think the' fellow is a myth; 
 
 I have been fooled before with Junius Brutus and John Smith — 
 
 The Smith of Pocahontas fame,- of whom you've doubtless 
 
 heard." 
 Then (turning to the shade, who had been staring hard, 
 But who, as yet, had not uttered a word,) 
 He bent with his best Chesterfieldian bow, 
 Begging the stranger to, by his leave, allow ~ 
 Him to inquire from whence he came, 
 And likewise give his lineage and name. 
 Then, like a filled balloon, did the shade expand; 
 Or like a bed of embers by the bellows fanned 
 To flame. Then, issued a small voice, as from a sepulcher; 
 Or like the mingled growl and whine of angry cur ; 
 Or cold December wind, which down the chimney blew; 
 Or like the melancholy blast of tic-douloureux: 
 ''I am the English Californian; 
 
 The scape-goat used to pack the Democratic downfall on. 
 My name, kind sir, is Murchison, 
 Sent here by Grover Cleveland's order. 
 And long have I been hovering on the Stygian border." 
 "I told you so," said Satan, with a wink. 
 But ere they could even stop to think. 
 The air was filled with densest clouds of smoke; 
 And all the echoes in the place awoke 
 With shouts of, "I have been their dupe; 
 Cleveland's in the soup." 
 
JOTTIN(,S BY THE WAY. 53 
 
 « 
 
 And though they searched him everywhere, 
 
 They knew that Miirchison liad vanished into air; 
 
 "Ha, ha!" And Satan lauglied right merrily; 
 
 "I'm so amused at the caricatures made of me 
 
 By poor deluded mortals in the vale. 
 
 Why, do you know they picture me with horns, and hoofs, and 
 
 forked tail? 
 How's this? (with that he drew aside his broadcloth cutaway,) 
 Will I not hold my own with mortals any day ? 
 That I have power to assume a pleasing shape, is very true, 
 But one thing they have never given me — that's my due; 
 They call me Devil, Satan, Prince of Darkness, and Lucifer, 
 While here at home I'm dubbed, 'The dear professor.' 
 But come and see the lovely school 
 In which your humble servant is the principal." 
 Then, through a seeming endless corridor. 
 And up a marble winding stair. 
 
 He led liim to a room, where, in soft reclining chairs, 
 Hammocks and cradles, lolled the blooming heirs 
 Of half a million worldlings, who supposed their bairns 
 Reposed all safely in their Savior's arms. 
 "Stand up my pretties, in an even row. 
 And make your curtsey to our friend, Guiteau," * 
 Said Satan. Whereupon, the airy, dainty darlings 
 All gracefully arose, with rustling of wings. 
 And ranged themselves in even row. 
 Greeting him with their most graceful bow. 
 "Now tell our mutual friend, Guiteau, 
 What is the root of all that's evil down below?" 
 Then in one voice, as uttered in one breath. 
 Came their unwavering answer: "Idleness." 
 "What is their ruling passion? " Now, from all the class: 
 "Man's ruling passion's greed and avarice." 
 "Now tell us what is woman's ruling passion down below?" 
 "Dancing, flirting, love of dress and show." 
 
64 GLEANINGS AMON(} THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 "How old are you, my pretty dears?" 
 
 All together, once again, "Just four years." 
 
 "And are you happy here as 'mong the heavenly throng?" 
 
 "We are as happy as the day is long." 
 
 "This is my infant class, taught by Miss Charity; 
 
 But come with me, and other wonders see." 
 
 With that he knocked upon a ponderous oaken door, 
 
 Which, in gold letters, this inscription bore: 
 
 "The School of Scandal, by Miss Patience taught." 
 
 "But here," quoth Satan, "is the murderers row, which ought 
 
 To please you best; so I will introduce you there. 
 
 And leave you to Faith's tender care. 
 
 You see before you earth's most dangerous characters, 
 
 All healed, through Faith, of blemishes and scars. 
 
 Our medicines are education and association. 
 
 Which work out, faithfully, our rare schemes of progression, 
 
 Which we instil, by all the rules 
 
 Established and begun in earthly schools." 
 
 Then, at a sign from Satan, all through murderer's row 
 
 Ran friendliest greetings to Sir Charles Guiteau. 
 
 "And this is Satan, and this, purgatory," 
 
 Thought he; "Ha, ha! a devilish likely story." 
 
 But, as his roving eye caught sight of Maxwell and Wilkes Booth, 
 
 He felt convinced the Devil spoke the truth. 
 
 "Ah, me!" he groaned; "I fear I never will 
 
 Have power to wreak my vengeance on that villain, CorkhilL' 
 
 A furious clamor down below was heard. 
 
 And Gabriel flew by, his pinions flinging 
 Back the million brilliant tints of tropic bird; 
 
 And in his wake a band of angels, singing. 
 Bore in their midst a torn, bedraggled rag. 
 Which, on close inspection, proved to be a flag; 
 And, muffled in its folds, and shivering with the cold. 
 Peered out a face all withered, pinched and old. 
 " Hi ! Halt I and give the countersign," a sharp voice cried. 
 
JOTTINGS BY THE WAY. C5 
 
 "Art thou the demon I so long have dreaded? 
 Or has another witch at Salem died ? 
 
 Was't burnt, shot, hung, or, better still, beheaded^' 
 " Hold ! " said a shadow, wearing tawdry crown; 
 
 "Leave to your betters, if you please, all such pahivcr; 
 And shall a king^ who once sat on a throne 
 
 Give precedence to men like Cotton Mather. 
 My subjects number seventy thousand strong; 
 Now take your puny stake and move along. 
 1^1 take in tow this scare-crow and his flag. 
 Although his banner's little better than a rag; 
 But stay, friend Mather, can it be 
 
 That he's ex-president of the Confederacy ? 
 He is ! Ah, surely, then, we three 
 
 Henceforth will figure as the second trinity." 
 "Hi, JefF! Ho, Jeff! give us a rebel yell. 
 
 You gray old wretch, but you have aged grown 
 Since Grant whipped Lee, and Richmond fell; 
 
 But come and we will show you round. 
 Dost like our climate? Yes; we're healthy here, 
 
 Though Jack Frost often doth our fingers nip; 
 And though our people little clothing wear, 
 
 Few sufi'er with attacks of grippe. 
 You're orthodox, I take it. Do I rightly guess 'i 
 
 And when on earth the Bible often read ? 
 'Tis luck} for the old sinner he said, 'yes,' 
 
 Or off goes his rascally gray head." 
 '•I'll gladly join you," said the artful Jeff, 
 
 ^' After a conference with General Eobert Lee. 
 On earth, when he was General-in-Chief, 
 
 You know I trusted him implicitly." 
 "You'll find him hovering 'twixt two worlds, I think," said Rex; 
 
 "He's quite unsettled here, and prates of blood and family; 
 But they say the speeches of the Kansas Senators do vex 
 
 Him more than Sherman's death-blow to the Confederacy 
 * King Henry VIII. 
 
66 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 With me he'll scarcely deign to associate — 
 
 I, England's first Protestant king — Henry the VIII." 
 
 "Ah, well!" quoth Jeff, "one can't blame General Lee, 
 
 He's such a thoroughbred F. F. V." 
 
 O earth, so full of dreary noises, 
 
 men, with wailing in your voices," 
 A solemn spirit murmured low; 
 
 '• How do I know that this is so ? 
 
 1 have but lately come from there, 
 
 And know that the world is full of care; 
 
 I know whereof I speak, you see; 
 
 The earth is full of misery. 
 
 What do they there? A hopeless task 
 
 You set me who that question ask. 
 
 Some press their ear close to the pulsing earth, 
 
 To hearken to the growing vegetation; 
 And some there are who boast of royal birth, 
 
 That rail at God, and curse the whole creation. 
 Forth from the portals of the palace of the souls 
 
 Of some,- reason from tottering throne doth blindly grope; 
 Or, mid the cobwebbed rafters of the ruin, seek to gain control 
 
 Of man's last, only, stronghold — faithful hope. 
 A few there are, among the restless millions, 
 
 Who scan the heavens in search of truant stars; 
 Some claim they number thousands, other trillions, 
 
 And many do discuss the war-like planet Mars; 
 And thousands are imploring God to save their Queen, 
 
 As if he meant to doom her to eternal torments. 
 There, in a little island clothed in emerald green. 
 
 The landlords buzz about, like angry hornets. 
 And there is much loud talk about eviction; 
 That Ireland's poor are much oppressed is my most firm con- 
 viction. 
 But, in the north of Europe, there's a class of Russians, 
 
 For whom I mean to ask our Savior's intercession; \ 
 
JOTTINGS^ BY THE WAY. 67 
 
 They are descendants of the Danes and Prussians, 
 
 And are transported by the Czar of Russia in immense 
 processions. 
 Such misery as tliey endure should make the angels weep; 
 
 Such hopeless faces — perfect pictures of despair — 
 Would, I believe, if he could see them, cause him to lose h\^ 
 sleep, 
 
 And, even more, the hard heart of the Czar. 
 But, Oh ! my friends, there is no other country half so free. 
 
 Upon the face of the terrestial ball. 
 As that great country called America — 
 
 In my opinion, she outvies them all. 
 But I must hasten on with my report; 
 They tell me that the Supreme Court 
 Is now in session; so, an revoir. 
 Some other time I'll tell you more 
 Of what I've seen and heard below; 
 But 'tis a vain and fleeting show." 
 And muttering to herself, the spirit wandered on, 
 And soon showed like a dark speck 'gainst the sun. 
 
 A shade went wandering by, with long, luxuriant hair. 
 
 Laden with restoratives prepared by Dr. Ayer. 
 
 Behind him, Lydia Pinkham marched with air profound. 
 
 Distributing her favorite prescriptions of vegetable compound. 
 
 Behind her came a host all labeled with illustrious names — 
 
 Hostetter's, Hood's, McLane's and Dr. Jayne's. 
 
 How true it is old dogs cannot be taught new tricks: 
 
 There goes a fellow who resembles Irl R. Hicks. 
 
 "The leopard cannot change its spots beyond the river Styx," 
 
 So thought a troubled spirit to himself, aside. 
 
 "Alas! I thought to 'scape these advertising dodges when I 
 
 died; 
 Pm blessed if I should have been so well content to die 
 If I had known we still pursued our earthly avocations here 
 
 on high. 
 
68 
 
 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 But, ever before us, in Paradise 
 
 The phantom of pleasure forever flies. 
 
 False and frail as Hope's fair wraith, 
 
 That lures us on to the shores of death, 
 
 And even now, through the fields of air, 
 
 I hear, in the chant of the heavenly choir, 
 
 Her rustling pinions astir again, 
 
 In peace on earth, good will towards men." 
 
 As in a dream, 
 Down a slant beam 
 
 Of filtered sunlight golden, 
 A spirit gay 
 Sped on his way 
 
 To earth from highest heaven. 
 
 Upon a bank 
 
 Of wild thyme rank, 
 
 With myrtle vines o'ergrown, 
 He spied a soul 
 In churchyard stole, 
 
 Who sadly did make moan; 
 
 ''Whither away, 
 
 O spirit gay ? " 
 Inquired the somber shadow; 
 
 ''And tell me pray 
 
 Which is the way 
 That leads to Eldorado ? " 
 
 "Over the mountains 
 
 Of the moon, 
 Down the valley of the shadow, 
 
 Kide, boldly ride," 
 
 The shade replied, 
 " If you seek for Eldorado ! 
 
JOTTINGS BY THE WAY. QQ 
 
 *' But come with me 
 If you would see 
 That fairy liaunted region; 
 In fair Cathay 
 And Arcadia 
 We'll wander for a season." 
 Then through the shoreless shadow-land, 
 
 In spite of wind and weathei-. 
 And down the stretch of border land 
 
 They journeyed on together. 
 Adown the surf-tormented shore 
 
 Of ocean's windy reaches, 
 Witliin the dead waves' sepulcher 
 Along the white sand stretches; 
 Then diving to the Ocean's floor, 
 With colored shells bespangled, 
 'Mong grottoes deep, whose precious store 
 
 Of gems, mid seaweed tangled. 
 Lay on the white sand, scattered o'er 
 With spars of huge ships mangled; 
 Where sirens and the sea nymphs danced. 
 
 With genii, gnomes and peris. 
 Through coral groves where lightly glanced 
 
 The airy forms of houris, 
 Or where in wildwood glen there chanced 
 To roam the flitting fairies; 
 
 So through the shoreless shadow-land, 
 
 In spite of wind or weather, 
 And down the stretch of border-land, 
 They journeyed on together. 
 But as the wanderers neared the Northern Star, 
 They heard a prolonged shout which rent the air, 
 Like melancholy wind-harp's mournful wail. 
 Or buzzing sound like fiery comet's tail,* 
 
70 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Cleaving the vast and boundless fields of space, 
 
 Or like the bay of hounds in heat of chase. 
 
 ^' There must be trouble brewing in the States," 
 
 Thought they; "but why that crowd about the heavenly gates ? " 
 
 And as they neared the restless, surging ocean 
 
 Of shades, they heard through the commotion 
 
 The hoarse and panting voice of Azrael, 
 
 Inquiring of St. Peter, "Who's this Eobert Ingersoll?" 
 
 "Ye gods," cried Peter, jingling loud his keys, 
 
 "You who have wandered o'er the earth for centuries, 
 
 Inquire of me who is this Kobert Ingersoll ? 
 
 Is't possible you know so little after all ? 
 
 He is the lawyer who conducted the Star Poute Trial." 
 
 "Come now," cried Michael; "What's this fuss about?" 
 
 "The Devil's dead! The Devil's dead !" the couriers shout. 
 
 " The Devil dead? This surely is a libel." " 
 
 "Oh, no ! Bob Ingersoll has killed him with the Bible." 
 
 Then from the heavenly hosts a wild wail rent the air. 
 
 "They've slain our dainty, dear professor!" 
 
 Ten million million voices mingling in tumultous swell, 
 
 The thunder rolled; the lightning flashed; the heavens fell; 
 
 In showers, the water down the sleeper's back flowed in a 
 
 stream; 
 Then he awoke, and lo ! 'twas all a dream. 
 
 PICKINGS AND STEALINGS. 
 
 "Who steals my purse steals trash;" 
 
 'Tis empty as an idiot's brain, 
 And save the stains of hard earned cash. 
 
 Naught but a button-hook doth it contain. 
 "Thou shalt not steal," the Bible teaches; 
 
 "Thou shalt not lie, nor bear false witness 'gainst thy 
 neighbor." 
 
PICKINGS AND STEALINGS. 7l 
 
 But if man only practiced what he preaclies 
 
 'Twould save a deal of breath and labor. 
 ''Thou shalt not bear false witness 'gainst thy neighb)!-;"' 
 that is, 
 
 Thou shalt not elope with his wife nor daughter, 
 Kill his fatted calf or anything that is his, 
 
 For only patriarchs were allowed to slaughter. 
 The boy who stole a pin, in McGuffie's old school reader, 
 
 A bright and shining light along my path has been; 
 Then take this maxim as a faithful leader : 
 
 Steal nothing small as postage stamp or pin. 
 The thief who cooly pockets one-half million 
 
 All happily may live (in Canada) forever after; 
 The one who steals a horse not worth a dollar William 
 
 May suffer elongation of the neck from beam or rafter. 
 Then turn insurance agent or collector, 
 
 Uashier or president of bank ( considered most genteel ), 
 Loan agent, missionary or relief fund solicitor, 
 
 And be respected and respectable ( if you must steal ). 
 "To cheat, be cheated and to die" — what next ^ 
 
 Who knows? Do you, kind reader? (Readers are invari- 
 ably kind 
 For reading prosy verses which our tired brain, vexed 
 
 After we had borrowed every idea we could find 
 In author's story or poet's vivid tale. 
 
 And adding an occasional interjection or conjunction, 
 Endeavored to pass it off as original, 
 
 Without a shadow of compunction.) 
 But, to return to death, that ghastly spectre, 
 
 Methinks even now I see his stony eyeballs gleam, 
 Remembering all are doomed who quaff life's crystal nectar, 
 
 "To die, to sleep, no more — perchance to dream." 
 "Aye, there's the rub" — the dreams that may come after. 
 
 Although, I must confess, small hope I glean 
 Of dreaming dreams or hearing mirthful laughter 
 
72 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 From brainless heads and palsied tongues of mortals 
 Who long have dwelt behind death's dusty portals. 
 
 "And dreams in their development have breath, 
 And tears and torture, and the touch of joy," 
 
 And dreamers oftentimes have suffered death 
 An hundred times, and entire household did annoy 
 
 By falling into wells or from high mourwtain walls, 
 
 And woke up none the worse for their imaginary falls. 
 
 Yes, dreams in their development have breath and carking 
 care, 
 
 Espseially when they end with the nightmare. 
 Oh ! that a man might know the end of this day's busine:^s 
 ere it come. 
 
 But, pshaw! The knowing would not stop our speculation. 
 Besides, 'twould strike the priests and clergy dumb, 
 
 Who'd be at sea without their creed annihilation. 
 That we'll ascend to cloud-land I conjecture, 
 
 Twelve pounds being so small matter. 
 Which is all w'e're allowed by physiologists in our texture, 
 
 Wet up with tv^elve good gallons of (soft) water, 
 And so, by all the established laws of nature. 
 
 It will be seen our tendency is upward. 
 We're sure to mix and mingle with the elements hereafter, 
 
 But that we may descend again in rain seems ab>urrl. 
 Who knows but in our daily draughts we quatf off some 
 relation. 
 
 So far removed we cannot recognize her; 
 Who knows but that the engine, tooting at the station. 
 
 May guided be by the spirits of the air? 
 We know not now, and may not ever know, 
 But well we know, that mortals love to blow , 
 Our bodies are machines wound up and set in motion. 
 
 Warranted to not run down for seventy years — 
 Just seventy drops in Time's unresting ocean, 
 
 Beginning and ending in totterings and tears — 
 
 i 
 
PICKINGS AND STEALINGS. 73 
 
 A tear-wet eye in j^outh from fancied grievance, 
 
 A weeping eye in age from worn-out ducts, 
 The lachrymal fluid flowing still with all the easance 
 
 Of youthful tears which no strong dam obstructs. 
 My theme is man, and woman, too, God bless her ! 
 
 God bless us all with showers of grain in bins and rii^ks. 
 Sh(>\vers of the greatest blessings he can confer — 
 
 Quails, manna, gold and silver bricks; 
 We'll thankful be for smallest favors, 
 
 Large ones in proportion; and if it please 
 His Highness to also bless our neighbors 
 
 And their wives, we covet none of these, 
 (Their wives I mean), for are we not commanded 
 
 To covet nothing that our neighbor has. 
 Neither his man nor maid servant, (or, as David did, 
 
 His wife), nor cattle, ox, nor ass, 
 And we, as law-abiding people, should 
 
 Follow the laws laid down, even to the letter. 
 But then the people in America are good — 
 
 Go, search the world o'er, you will find no better. 
 But they are ghouls, and dote on blood and carnage, 
 Hull thuds of strangled men and even a dead language, 
 And that's the very reason why I 
 Throw in a line of Ltitin occasionally. 
 
 I glean my Latin sentences from the dictionary, 
 
 For truth to tell, (and truth should not be spoken at all tim<^s,) 
 1 wish to pass as learned — very; 
 
 And Greek and Latin help out senseless ryhmes. 
 This filching habit's got to be an epidemic. 
 
 Who set the fashion? It's Luna, d'ye think? 
 The sun is known to have many a thieving trick; 
 
 The stars are thieves, too: I can see them wink; 
 Time steals on apace; night steals the day; 
 And death comes in at last and steals our breath away. 
 
74 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Dame Nature's laboratory is furnished with a kit of to.ns 
 
 Outlasting all the other chemists in the whole creation, 
 And, working strictly by her 1 aid-down rules, 
 
 She brings mind and matter into close relation 
 By first transformhig properties of earth and air 
 
 Into a living, breathing, sentient being, 
 Bringing her wondrous chemical to bear 
 
 Upon the heterogeneous mass, the particles so perfectly 
 agreeing 
 That close inspector of the human frame detects 
 
 No trace of iron, or salt, or mineral therein, 
 Nor can he understand the wonderfully complex 
 
 Inner workings of the vast machine. 
 Truly, man's a strange animal, and seldom realizes 
 
 How fearfully and wonderfully he's made. 
 The beasts of burden which he doth mentally despise 
 
 May be related to him, although occupying lower grade. 
 Mark how the gnat and midget assume greater shape; 
 
 The butterfly from caterpillar is evolved; 
 The frog from tadpole; man from ape; 
 
 The ape from dust created back to dust resolved; 
 And so, reviewing our relations, you and I, 
 
 My friend, when feeling big and upper-crusted, 
 Remember that from worm evolves the butterfly: 
 
 One day our gilt may have been over-dusted. 
 ''Where is the dust that has not been alive? 
 
 The spade, the ■|>low, disturbs our ancestors," 
 And, as the grains and vegetation most do thrive 
 
 In richest soil, the human mold the fuller harvest bears; 
 So we, in plucking gorgeous flowers, my brothers, 
 May all unwittingly be beheading our great, great grand- 
 mothers. 
 ' ' Imperial Caesar, dead and turned to clay. 
 Might stop a hole to keep the wind away." 
 
PICKINGS AND STEALINGS. 75 
 
 ''From out eternal silence do we come 
 
 Into eternal silence do we go." 
 Tlie time will surely come when mortal ears are dumb 
 
 To sounding brass and tinkling symbol of life's fleeting show: 
 Into the eternal silence of eternity our spirit goes 
 To be again or not to be — who knows? 
 '' Who thinks ere long that man shall wholly die 
 
 Is dead already; naught but brute remains;" 
 Who thinks that spirits through the heavens fly 
 
 Is blessed with strong imagination and but little brains. 
 '' Still seems it strange that thou shouldst live forever, 
 
 Is it less strange that thou shouldst live at all? " 
 And shall we never change beyond the river, 
 
 Nov age and wrinkles like a worn garment from us fall ? 
 
 Blessed thought that God is love. 
 
 If we never change above, 
 
 Won't we be a motley crew. 
 
 Fluttering through the ether blue ? 
 
 Angels fat and angels lean. 
 
 Angels wearing of the green, 
 
 Angels bearing Briton's lion. 
 
 Eagles, lilies, badge of Zion; 
 
 Angels young and angels old. 
 
 Angels bashful, angels bold. 
 
 Angel babes, whose wondering eyes 
 
 Opened first in paradise; 
 
 Angels dressed in kilts and smocks, 
 
 Angels wearing woolsey frocks. 
 
 Humps upon old angels' backs. 
 
 Caused by hawking peddlers' packs; 
 
 Priests with gowns and beads and cowls, 
 
 Sages wise and grim as owls. 
 
 Fitful Fashion's butterflies, 
 
 Angels thick as August flies; 
 
76 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Human bees of angel kind, 
 
 Wasps that leave their sting behind, 
 
 Angel coo-coo's tricky elves, 
 
 Always talking of themselves; 
 
 Angels with the face of pugs, 
 
 Angels hugging whisky jugs, 
 
 Angels silly, angels wise. 
 
 Locking wings in paradise. 
 "Lulled in the countless chambors of the brain, 
 Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain; 
 Awake but one, and lo ! what myriads rise. 
 Each stamps its image as the other flies." 
 To single cracker in the bunch a match ignite, 
 Snap, crack, fizz, bang, the rest alight. 
 Arouse but one idea in tlie brain, and lo! 
 A train of thought awakens, sure but slow. 
 Thoughts like troubles, or like griefs and sin. 
 Ne'er come singly — thought was born a twin. 
 As closely joined as were the Siamese 
 By ligaments of perfect harmonies; 
 Twin eyes, ears, hands, feet and limbs have we; 
 Twin souls — the evil one to perish, the good to live eternally; 
 One brain, in which the crude ideas caught 
 Its twin, arranged to hatch the sober second thought; 
 Twin senses have we likewise, nonsense and common sense; 
 Twin feelings, superficial, surface and strongly intense; 
 Twin lives we live, the real and the ideal. 
 And curiously the ideal life preys on the real. 
 "With curious art the brain too finely wrought 
 Preys on itself and is destroyed by thought;" 
 And strange, yea, passing strange, that it can be, 
 Too often man's his own worst enemy. 
 "As on the smooth expanse of crystal lakes 
 The sinking stone at first a circle makes, 
 The trembling surface, by the motion stirr'd, 
 
PICKINGS AND STEALINGS. 77 
 
 Spreads in a second circle, then a third; 
 
 Wide, and more wide, the floatin^^ rin^^s advance, 
 
 Fill all the watery plain, and to the margin dance;" 
 
 So doth the solar system in wide circles move. 
 
 Each planet working in its own allotted groove — 
 
 Suns, moons and stars in one electric circle bound, 
 
 And all, as if by one consent, created round. 
 
 From drop of dew on rose or poppy leaf 
 
 To tiny seed or grain of wheat in sheaf; 
 
 From raindrop, snow flake, cloudlets rounded form 
 
 To kernel on the rounded ear o£ corn; 
 
 From curving shells on beds of crystal sand. 
 
 Each grain as rounded as the shelving land; 
 
 From sea waves dashing on the winding shore 
 
 To chiming rills the mill wheels tumbling o'er; 
 
 From every bird that wings the upper air 
 
 In still repeated circles wheeling everywhere; 
 
 From rounded wheel that turns the laboring mill 
 
 To curling pipes that form the whisky still; 
 
 From hands that glide around the gilded dial's face 
 
 To smallest molecule that infects the human race; 
 
 From loom at which the busy weaver weaves 
 
 To rounded tree trunk hid 'mong circling leaves; 
 
 In arching cataract and rainbow's gaudy arch, 
 
 To tides' and tradewinds' back-and-forward march; 
 
 In tongue and sides of every bell that tolls, 
 
 To chaling oceans in their rounded earthen bowls; 
 
 In rounded age which childhood's days repeats, 
 
 To human hearts' unceasing round of beats; 
 
 In clustering stars which form the milky way. 
 
 Surrounded by a circular group of nebulae, 
 
 In circular system of the universe which proves to all 
 
 United we shall stand, divided fall; 
 
 By powerful workings of the human mind. 
 
 Progressing as the cycling seasons rolled, 
 Man chained the rushing stream, the lightning and the wind. 
 
 Forced them to do his bidding, be by him controlled. 
 
78 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Within the storehouse of his mighty brain 
 
 Laid up the truths gleaned through the slumbering ages, 
 Dug up the petrifactions which had lain 
 
 For centuries concealed in rock-bound cages. 
 The ancient Greeks and the Egyptians to us 
 
 Unrolled the starry heavens like a scroll; 
 And after them came Galileo, Kelper and Copernicus, 
 
 Sweeping the infinite universe from pole to pole. 
 Truths which it took ages to discover regarding the terrestial 
 
 ball, 
 May in a twinkling be understood by all. 
 ''We are such stuff as dreams are made on, 
 And our little life is rounded with a sleep" — 
 And is this life or is it vegetation ? 
 
 To eat, drink, sleep, rise, work and sleep again; 
 To walk, ride, run, and dance for variation; 
 
 To win for so much labor such small meed of gain : 
 This is the life of which mad fools are prating. 
 
 Is this the life called "high" — or is it "low?" 
 That creature yonder peering at it through a grating 
 
 Mavhap considers it a vain and fleeting show. 
 That dandy yonder from behind a counter leering 
 
 Enjoys high life when he gets fou and unco happy. 
 Mayhap he owes the tailor for the clothes he's wearing 
 
 And is a wondrous, empty-pated chappie; 
 Still we should bear in mind, as through the world we go, 
 There's nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so. 
 "Well, well; the world must turn upon its axis, 
 
 And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails. 
 And live and die, make love and pay our taxes, 
 
 And, as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails; 
 The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us, 
 
 The priest instructs us, and so our life exhales — 
 A little breath: love, wine, ambition, fame. 
 Fighting, devotion, dust — perhaps a name." 
 
PICKINGS AND STEALINGS. 79 
 
 "The world is full of curious wit 
 
 Which those that father never writ." 
 
 "There^s nothing new beneath the sun; 
 
 Sons but continue what their sires begun. 
 
 At learning's fountain it is sweet to drink, 
 
 But 'tis a nobler privilege to think; 
 
 'Tiswell to borrow from the good and great; 
 
 'Tis wise to learn, 'tis God-like to create." 
 
 "Some write confined by physic; some by debt, 
 
 Some for 'tis Sunday, some because 'tis wet, 
 
 Another writes because his father writ, 
 
 And proves himself a bastard by his wit." 
 
 "Then o'er his books his eyes began to roll 
 
 In pleasing memory of all he stole. 
 
 How here he sipped, how there he plundered snug, 
 
 And sucked o'er all like an industrious bug," 
 
 Or bee, or humming bird which, through the summer hours, 
 
 Extracts the sweets from honey laden flowers. 
 
 All things created are for others' use; 
 
 "See man for mine," cries the o'er-pampered goose; 
 
 "See clothes for mine," cries man, supremely wise; 
 
 "See rags for mine," the paper manufacturer cries; 
 
 " See paper for my use," the printing press replies; 
 
 ' 'And books for mine, " the author cries, from which to plagiarize. 
 
 "Oh, Time! Why dost not pause? Thy scythe, so dirty 
 
 With rust, should surely cease to hack and hew. 
 
 He-set it; shave more smoothly, also slower. 
 
 If but to keep thy credit as a mower." 
 
 Oh, Time! and tide, for neither man or woman waiting! 
 Oh, Time! who hath so many hard knots tied. 
 
 Thou hast all seasons for thine own in mating; 
 The tide weds every day her willing bride: 
 
 With noiseless footfall Time doth hasten on. 
 " Time flies in fly-time." ( I mean to borrow nearly all this page 
 
 'Twill save time; besides, 'twill give my friends, when I am 
 dead and gone 
 
so GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 An opportunity to vent on me their splenic rage.) 
 
 " Where is the world ? " cried young at eighty; "Where 
 The world in which a man was born? " Alas! 
 
 Where is the world of eight years past ? 'Twas here, 
 'Tis gone! ah, me! so swiftly did the season pass. 
 I took no note of time, and now the gaunt old sinner 
 Knocks at the door, informing me 'tis time for dinner. 
 What, noon already! Fie upon you, Time; 
 And can my line of life have touched the meridian line ? 
 I had not dreamed the dial pointed to the number ten; 
 How very short life's morning hours have been! 
 Alas! what would the scribblers do without thee, and the time 
 
 to be? 
 What, do without trees, bees, seas, time, tide and eternity ? 
 "We see Time's furrows on another's brow. 
 
 And death intrenched, preparing his assault. 
 How few themselves in that just mirror see!" 
 
 But could they, many a fresh spring chicken that I wot of 
 would begin to moult; 
 Or could we be a mouse, behind the wainscot hid, 
 
 And hear the criticisms of our bosom crony 
 On everything we said or did, 
 
 Would love and friendship seem so very funny? 
 Could we but see ourselves through other's eyes. 
 
 Would our proud bosoms swell with satisfaction ? 
 Ah, no! in that event, I fear our natural size 
 
 Would be reduced a fraction of a fraction. 
 In our own eyes we all are beauties, heroes, wits; 
 
 No one would care to change into some other fellow; 
 Though crabbed age hard on his bald poll sits, 
 
 And in the upper story he's considered mellow, 
 Man still insists the world's gone mad, 
 
 That he's not deaf, though in his ear you fairly bellow; 
 What in another is a glaring sin, in liim's not bad; 
 
 His parchment skin is buff, instead of yellow. 
 
PICKINGS AND ISTP:AL1NGS. 81 
 
 He'll nod, and wink, and chuckle, at a brother's downfall; 
 'Twas nothing more than he expected after all. 
 And had jou heard? They do " say so-and-so! 
 Strange how some men straight to the devil go." 
 
 "Nature fits all her children with something to do, 
 
 He who would write and can't write, surely can review." 
 
 The man, likewise, who would paint if he could 
 
 Aspires to criticise a picture as if he understood 
 
 The teclmicalities of the art, and sure 
 
 You'll find no freer spoken critique and art connoissieur. 
 
 I've known a patron of the arts to call in 
 
 His uncles, aunts and cousins, and their neighbors. 
 To criticise a portrait representing him, 
 
 Which had for months engrossed the artist's labors. 
 One suggested that the eyes be changed to deeper blue; 
 
 One thought the* ear too highly toned; 
 Another said the chin would never do; 
 
 ''My goodness gracious! that's not you!" another groaned; 
 A maiden aunt all wisely shook her head. 
 
 Looking the volumes she could wish to speak; 
 "The hair's too light," another member said; 
 
 The seventh one gave his rosy nose a tweak; 
 Grandma was called on next to render her decision 
 
 Which she delivered in her wavering, quavering tones. 
 Squinting through borrowed eyes, lips pursed up with precision, 
 
 "That pictur' is the very likeness of old Dr. Jones." 
 Then to his lofty attic studio, 
 
 Enraged and furious at the art critique, 
 I've watched the seedy artist sadly go. 
 
 Muttering Dhuovt-miuool — "^^loo (N. B.I^^This is Greek.) 
 
 The woods are full of critics, great and small — 
 Self-made men and women, who know a thing or two, 
 (In their own minds,) literary, artistic, musical. 
 Wearing blue stockings and a splotch of Prussian blue 
 
82 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 (On ear) to show the common herd that they paint a little, 
 
 Work clay or crazy quilts, or carve and whittle, 
 
 Pound brass (and fingers), or work green dogs on mats, 
 
 So fierce and bloodthirsty that they scare the cats. 
 
 The woods are full of critics, I repeat — 
 
 (Something which Shakespeare never did. 
 
 But I'll not blot it out, and spoil the sheet.) 
 
 The ink from out my full pen slid: 
 
 The tongue and pen are blamed for slips, I think, 
 
 Which by rights should be attributed to flowing ink. 
 
 And what a power that same ink is! 
 
 With it the printer runs his press, the lovers press their suits, 
 
 The suits are followed by it to the scratch, that is 
 
 (In cards) and oft a little scratch the germs of love uproots. 
 
 Oft germs of love take root in merest scratch: 
 
 Ink makes and breaks full many a match. 
 
 A single drop hath oft made countless millions think, 
 
 And not a few consider it a toothsome drink; 
 
 But drinking ink comes under head of vices, 
 
 A subject which I'll never tackle while I'm young. 
 Let graybeards roll the vices and advices . 
 
 Like sweetest morsels underneath their tongue. 
 Drink, game, smoke, chew and swear, ye male ones; 
 
 Lie, cheat, steal, carouse until daylight; 
 Chew gum, rub snuff", smoke cigarettes, ye frail ones; 
 
 Dress, gossip, tattle and back-bite. 
 Use absinthe, morphine, arsenic and belladonna 
 
 To put a sapolio polish on your eyes; 
 Pose as a fashion plate, a saint or a Madonna, 
 
 Steep your white souls in crime and vice. 
 The Holy Book says, ''Every tub must stand on its own bottom." 
 
 When tubs are empty, they perforce must go to staves. 
 We all are heirs of Christ, of sinful man begotten; 
 
 Your soul's your own, and lucky he who his soul saves. 
 
PICKINGS AND STEALINGS. 33 
 
 Oil, no ! I'll never mention sin or vice: cowards fear to fight. 
 
 Mum is the word; like clam or oyster shell, my lips are closed 
 up tight. 
 Be merry, and if yon must carouse, 
 
 Remember there's a day of reckoning in store. 
 ''Who does the best his circumstance allows 
 
 Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more." 
 Be pretty as you may, for, with all the enameler's toucli, 
 Bandoline, paint, powder and what-not, you don't pretty ovei- 
 
 much. 
 Your beauty's in your mind, and sure as fate, 
 You are a perfect fright at thirty-eight. 
 Unless you cultivate your brain, my dear. 
 You're nothing but a cipher in your fortieth year. 
 ''Be wise with speed; 
 A fool at forty is a fool indeed." 
 
 And yet, "there swims no goose so gray but, soon or late. 
 She finds some honest gander for her mate." 
 Then tired Cupid rests beside the well. 
 Where Truth (the rog.ue) is thought to dwell. 
 But, pshaw! fie on a tiresome matrimonial Cupid. 
 The honeymoon well over, he is stale and stupid; 
 And oftentimes he has been known to go 
 To greener fields e'en, for a gouty toe, 
 A corn, or bunion is his pet aversion. 
 In Lethe's stream he plunges to immersion 
 A love that hath been flourishing a year, 
 All thro' a foolish aching in the ear. 
 
 That there is always, two sides to a story, 
 
 'The courts decided, years and years ago. 
 And war attested since, by battle fields all gory, 
 
 And lawyers swear to, who by right should know. 
 I've heard old hunters famous tales recounting. 
 
 Which gained new sides at each recital, 
 And could the game they slew on plain and mountain 
 
 But tell their tale, 'twould doubtless right all. 
 
84 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 That stories gain by recapitulation, 
 
 Is proven by the tale of the black crow; 
 But then we follow nature, who, from the first creation, 
 
 Made mighty things from small beginnings grow. 
 Humanity as a rule are all two sided, 
 
 And show like butterflies their mealy wings but to the sun; 
 But when their sky^s o'ercast and clouded. 
 
 They fly as from a pestilence, from friend undone. 
 For instance, take a baby (you may hold it for me), 
 
 Clean, chubby, sweet, cooing by angelic rule; 
 Shouting, showing teeth in exuberance of baby glee; 
 
 No trace of croup, cramps or infant drool; 
 Then presto, change! the chubby face distorted. 
 
 The midnight air resounding to its screams and howls. 
 The mere smd pere armed with chest of medicines assorted, 
 
 Wet towels, mustard draughts, hot bowls 
 Of catnip tea and pennyroyal's. 
 
 Striving with their might to its pains allay, 
 But seldom bringing ease to its tortured bowels 
 
 Or sleep to their own eyelids, until the close of day; 
 And so he plays his part, immersed in paregoric, 
 
 Dying a thousand deaths from infant ails. 
 Perhaps to one day figure in the ranks heroic. 
 
 Perhaps to languish in the county jails. 
 The dude comes next, but pray pay no attention 
 
 To one so fearfully and wonderfully made up: 
 Cigarette, glass eye, bouquet, not to mention 
 
 His corset, spotted neck-tie, cane and brindle pup. 
 Then watch him dodging down a dark back alley 
 
 In order to escape his tailor's bills; 
 To meet his landlord see him all his forces rally 
 
 And with what promises to pay the Chinaman he fills. 
 Next comes the bread-and-butter miss, arrayed in height of 
 fashion, 
 
 Simpers, giggles, paint and powder, hoop, complete, 
 Bent on chewing gum, flirting and mashin' 
 
 ^orne youth whom she may inveigle into an ice cream treat. 
 
PICKINGS AND STEALINGS. 85 
 
 Then, with the sun and me, peep into her boudoir. 
 
 Where, slouching in a Mother Hubbard, she lazily reclines — 
 Hair up in papers, room in dire disorder, 
 
 Persuing Zola, Wanda, or other novels bought for dimes. 
 The next age shifts into the lean and slippered pantaloon. 
 
 Which I propose to skip for sweet charity's own sake. 
 The dial's pointing now to my brief hour of noon; 
 
 Pray, coming poet, no advantage take 
 Of my decrepitude. So I will leave these heirs of better days 
 
 To spin their oft-told tale, and nod and mumble, 
 Recall the joys and sorrows of their happy Mays, 
 
 To work, and scold, and rail and grumble; 
 To grasp the straw, religion, as they near the eddy 
 
 Into which all voyagers on life's stream are whirled; 
 So dear old folks -who stand on feet unsteady, 
 
 I would not hurt your feelings for the world. 
 I would not hurt the feelings of a darling baby — 
 
 The Lord's already chastened them enough; 
 I would not hurt the feelings of a lady — 
 
 They're holy terrors when they're in a huif. 
 Upon the racillating, false, foppish and effeminate 
 
 Dude alone I vent my hate. 
 " Go, let thy less than woman's hand 
 
 Assume the distaff — not the brand." 
 
 "What's in a name? " is the momentous question 
 
 That's agitating more than one uneasy bosom. 
 What's in a name ? There's certainly progression 
 
 When Peter graduates at Peterson, 
 And there are names which use up many a letter, 
 
 Such as Tobeczarofrussia'smightyrisky; 
 Or the following which we consider better: 
 
 Rumromanismrebellionandpoorwhiskey. 
 These Russian names are almost unpronounceable. 
 
 So intricate and full of aspirates they are. 
 The reason's obvious that they multiply the syllable — 
 
 To keep their minds from dwelling on the Czar. 
 
86 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Such names as DeSuarrow designate a son of Britain, 
 
 Or John Johnsonsonson's, an Irishman — 
 We know their nationality as soon as written. 
 
 Who would not know at once Muldoon is German ? 
 If there is nothing in a name, pray tell 
 
 Why did Leander swim the Hellespont? 
 Why did the notion strike Queen Isabel 
 To send Columbus out to find this continent ? 
 Or why did Ole Bull play on a single string, 
 Pareppa, Kosa, Jenny Lind or Patti sing? 
 Napoleon cross the Alps, Grant the Potomac, 
 Or Cleveland give poor Sackville West the sack? 
 Or why did Abraham strive to slay his ^ William goat 
 As sacrifice, or old Jeff Davis don the petticoat? 
 Why did Barbara Freitchie flaunt the flag. 
 Or Paul Kevere ride down his trusty nag? 
 But, pshaw ! Like Tennyson's old brook, I might go on for- 
 
 evermore: 
 Some other time we'll talk this matter o'er. 
 
 ''What's in a name?" 
 
 Why, if the owner wins it, 
 There may be fame 
 
 And millions in it. 
 <'Get money; still get money, boy; 
 No matter by what means;" 
 So says Ben Jonson, and so say I; 
 
 So said a friend I once knew in the dear dead past, 
 Who held what to me then seemed cranky notions. 
 
 But time brings home the truth to all at last. 
 And forces us to swallow bitter potions. 
 ''I have not loved the world, nor the world me," thus quoted 
 
 she; 
 "I have not been to its old bores as sweet as I could be, 
 Nor flattered all who courted and wished for flattery; 
 
 ♦ Poetic license. 
 
PICKINGS AND STEALINGS. 87 
 
 I have not loved as many an one has done, 
 
 Nor squandered my affections on any single one. 
 
 With love my heart's not weighted down until it weighs a ton, 
 
 Neither has my wealth nor time been wasted on a temperance 
 
 society: 
 Of other females' good work the world has a satiety. 
 Before I see the beam in others' eyes, I extract my own mote, 
 
 And you'll never hear me howling to be allowed to vote; 
 Neither have I been gulled with tales of a veritable devil 
 
 Wallung boldly o'er the earth, workmg all men evil; 
 No coal-black imp comes to me, with horns and hoofs and tail, 
 
 Disturbing my peaceful sleep at night, causing me to quail. 
 I do believe in something or some one I have never met — 
 
 I don't believe in anything I've seen. 
 I do believe our just deserts we'll get — 
 
 That is, at our daily meals, I mean. 
 I don't believe in creatures wearing wings, 
 
 Clothed in a cloud and a sweet smile, 
 Discoursing music on pure golden strings 
 
 Of harps, as golden as the heavenly city's tile. 
 I don't believe that God allowed poor Lucifer 
 
 To fall below into that brimstone well; 
 I cannot swallow it if you do, sir — 
 
 We get a foretaste here on earth of shoel. 
 I do believe our friends are true as steel — 
 
 That is, while from us they are stealing; 
 That Christians are sincere the while they kneel — 
 
 At least, they think of God while kneeling; 
 I do believe that 'familiarity breeds contempt;' 
 
 That we are all good when we're fast asleep. 
 Nor that the just from trouble is exempt: 
 
 Not always as we sow so shall we reap — • 
 The grain hath often rotted in the sheaf: 
 
 I've known a score of honest men to come to grief. 
 
88 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 "Men are the sport of circumstances when 
 
 The circumstances seem the sport of men." 
 I do believe a good fat pocket-book 
 
 Will stick more closely to one than a brother; 
 I mean to get the bulge on mine, bj hook or crook, 
 
 By pickings, stealings, or some way or other. 
 Let parents place but small dependence on their children 
 
 To be the staff of their declining years; 
 Ingratitude of children hath too often 
 
 Bedewed their parents' pillows with most bitter tears. 
 I've seen a loving son prop his old mother 
 
 Until she toppled out of the home nest; 
 I've watched a loving daughter brace her father 
 
 Until he gladly sank into his grave to rest. 
 Since Adam shook the tree of life in Eden's garden, 
 
 And Jacob stole his brother's blessing and birthright, 
 And God allowed the heavenly warden 
 
 To suffer Lucifer to fall to endless night. 
 Since Cain, the first-born, slew his only brother, 
 
 And Jesus died at hands of his own countrymen, 
 A brother's hand hath oft been raised against another, 
 
 And will be often times again. 
 So if you wish a trusty friend, as through the world you jog, 
 
 Beg, borrow, earn, or steal a portly wallet and a dog." 
 And so she rattled on as women will, 
 
 The while I listened with the unbelief of youth, 
 Until experience — the greatest teacher still — 
 
 Hath taught me that she spoke the truth. 
 Still we are prone to think that "blood will tell," 
 
 Which sages have averred and proven without doubt, 
 Else why do Christians on the blood of Jesus dwell 
 
 As having power to cleanse; or why does blood cry out 
 For vengeance when 'tis falsely spilled. 
 
 Had not a higher power so willed? 
 So if our blood is either blue or bad. 
 
 We'll thankful be, for it's the best we ever had; 
 
PICKINGS AND STEALINGS. 89 
 
 And in the language of old England's dude, 
 
 We send a friendly hail across the sea; 
 For strains of thy blue blood accept our gratitude: 
 
 ''Ah, there! England, thanks — awfully." 
 
 "God save the Queen," the burly Britons shout. 
 
 Why not ask God to save old England's mothers too, as well ? 
 Or, why make all this fuss about 
 
 One woman, when they've thousands more as good, pray tell i 
 W"hy not ask God to save the daughters of the old world and 
 the new? 
 
 Old England's girls from daughters of our millionaire 
 Americans, 
 New England's girls from bankrupt English lords, who 
 
 Seek to wed them for their rolling stocks and lands. 
 I say, God save the women all the wide world over, 
 
 (Preserve them well in salt, like Mrs. Lot, if need be;) 
 And may good angels round about them hover. 
 
 From now, henceforth, forever and eternally. 
 Save them by grace alone, by faith or by good works, 
 
 Religion, suffering, or the convent's cloister; 
 Save them from harems of the ignoble Turks — 
 
 Those eastern ladies have no more backbone than an oyster: 
 Save them from Utah's temples and bee-hives. 
 
 Save them from joining the Salvation Army's ranks; 
 God bless and save our mothers, sister*, sweethearts, wives; 
 
 And last, not least, save them from wedding cranks. 
 And finally, to end this long drawn out petition, 
 
 I pray that when we are resolved to dust again. 
 That God will either let us rest, or better our condition, 
 
 For sake of womankind as well as all kind men. 
 
 "Some glory in their birth, some in their skill. 
 Some in their wealth, some in their body's force. 
 
 Some in their garments, though new f angled ill. 
 
 Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;" 
 
90 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Some glory in their love of God, 
 
 And others in their love of man; 
 Some that to belching cannon's mouth they bravely trod, 
 
 Others that when the light began they cut and ran; 
 Some glory in their truth and honesty, 
 
 Others in their cunning knack of stealing; 
 Some glory that their hearts are hard as flint can be, 
 
 While others make a wondrous show of feeling; 
 Some glory in the Latest patterns for patchwork quilts, 
 
 A carpet made of rags, a faultless kitchen, 
 Some hang entranced above each flower that wilts. 
 
 And suffer spasms over ferns and lichen. 
 How true it is "mankind's an unco squad," 
 
 And womankind still more "unco" are; 
 And still more true that they who bend beneath the hod. 
 
 And they who flgure in the ranks of war, 
 And they who lovingly the cradles rock. 
 
 And they who spread the word of God, 
 And they who at the doors of learning knock. 
 
 From high to low, from crazy poet, sculptor, statesman, to 
 hero famed in story, 
 All have sought, and worked, and dreamed of fame and glory. 
 
 "They who marry doeth well; they who marry not do better." 
 
 So said St. Paul, and practiced as he preached to the letter. 
 
 And should the mated ones a truthful tale tell, 
 
 TheyM sing the following, to old fashioned meter: 
 
 She: "A house to keep I have, a man to gratify, 
 
 A score of hungry mouths to fill with bread and cake and pie. 
 
 Help me to scrub and wash, and bake and broil and fry; 
 
 This nursing is a thankless task; O Lord, please let me die." 
 
 He: "A farm to tend I have, a crop to cultivate; 
 
 Year in, year out, I'm doomed to slave, my. heirs to educate. 
 
 Help me to plow and sow, my harvest reap and mow. 
 
 All, wife, how foolish was the dream we dreamed so long ago!" 
 
PICKINGS AND STEALINGS. 91 
 
 A few there are who love their lords 
 So ardently they have no words, 
 But live in peace through all their lives. 
 So say some (made to order) wives; 
 But we know better, don't we now ? 
 A man and wife are bound to row, 
 Unless one is an arrant fool, 
 Content to let the other rule. 
 They may not bandy single words — 
 Words come in flocks, as do the birds. 
 Come, tell the truth and shame old Nick- 
 If you don't fight, you're dead or sick. 
 
 "O ye stars, the poetry of heaven!" 
 
 Thou'rt sent to beautify the dim, mysterious night; 
 As yeast to bread thou art the filmy leaven. 
 
 Piercing the sodden universe with points of light. 
 And thou, chaste moon, they say the de'il is in ye — 
 
 Some say the de'il, others claim 'tis man — 
 Some call thee queen of night, a regal wanton she. 
 
 As changeable and fickle as a woman. 
 Between man and the moon I see but this anomaly: 
 
 Both rise and set, wax, wane and borrow lights, 
 Quarter'^, halve, shinef, get full, (excuse the homily), 
 
 Roll about the polls and stay out late o' nights. 
 Both men and moons affect the tides and tied, 
 
 And both are by their neighbors much affected; 
 To both the appellation "Luny's" been applied. 
 
 And from the face of each a silvery glow's reflected. 
 The moon is said to be burnt out by inward fires; 
 
 Some men are said to be consumed with whisky, 
 And summing up the two my muse inquires 
 
 If settling either one is not considered risky. 
 
 *Piucha. t Boots. 
 
92 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 The night has a thousand eyes, the day but one; 
 
 Father of brilliant dyes, shine out, O sun! 
 Shine, sixty million stars; moon, lend your light; 
 
 Paling before the bars of sunshine bright. 
 All nature seeks repose, sinking to sleep; 
 
 Thine eye no slumber knows, eternal vigils keep. 
 Yes, night brings out the stars and snores, 
 
 But day brings out the bars and bores. 
 O ye stars that gem the dome of heaven, 
 
 Twinkling afar in yon pure azure height, 
 Thou art a blessed boon to mortals given 
 
 To guard and guide the traveler aright. 
 O lucky stars, ye shine not on my pathway; 
 
 Why art thy cheering rays to others given, 
 When I, perchance, as deserving as are they, 
 
 Am cheated of thy light though for it I have striven? 
 O ye stars, whose feet behind the footlights 
 
 Twinkle before the wrapt, admiring throng, 
 Thy light shines brightest in the dusky midnight, 
 
 Thy magnitude determined when thy sister stars among. 
 O ye stars, I see ye swiftly dancing 
 
 Before my eyes as prone I lie; '^ 
 
 While other skaters' feet are gaily glancing 
 
 Across the ice, star-gazing here am I. 
 Ye stars, ■^^* which swim before the reader's vision, 
 
 What depths of thought ye often-times do span, 
 What dark abysses of the mind hide from the world's derision' 
 ''What author dares to write as funny as he can?" 
 
 "Inspiring bold John Barleycorn, 
 
 What dangers thou canst make us scorn." 
 
 "'Tis pity wine should be so deleterious, 
 
 For tea and coffee leave us much more serious." 
 
 And yet there is a potent charm in cup of tea. 
 
 Which sets the ancient spinsters all a spinning 
 Yarns of their past beauty, wealth and popularity. 
 
 And beaux they captivated by their airs and graces winning. 
 
PICKINGS AND STEALINGS. 9;> 
 
 Bot with the older crones the magic draught 
 Sets all at once their bald pates wagging, 
 And ere a second cup they've quaffed. 
 
 Their dearest friend unmercifully they're nagging; 
 And so, this keen dissection of a neighbor, 
 Gives to the Oolong or Bohea, an extra flavor. 
 Strange, that in a harmless cup of tea, 
 So oft is drowned a sister's chastity. 
 But, thanks to the Chinese and the Japanese, 
 The old and young Americans have gossiped o'er their teas. 
 Since the bold Bostonians brewed the biggest cup of tea 
 That has been handed down to posterity. 
 
 ''But give him strong drink until he wink, 
 
 That's sinking in despair, 
 An' liquor guid to fire his bluid, 
 
 That's pressed wi' grief and care; 
 
 There let him bouse and deep carouse, 
 
 Wi' bumpers flowing o'er, 
 Tillhe forgets his loves or debts. 
 
 An' minds his griefs no more." 
 Speaking of bousing makes me think 
 It's nearly time to stop, and let you take a drink. 
 This drinking habit is so fashionable. 
 Even the babies at the bottle take a pull. 
 St. Paul did counsel us "some wine to take 
 For our oft infirmities and our stomach's sake." 
 The sun's as thirsty as a landed fish. 
 And sucks up oceans in his airy dish. 
 The greedy earth drinks in the showers, 
 As well thirsty trees, and grass and flowers; 
 Then, why not you and I take a slight nip — 
 Ale, porter, beer and hock were brewed to sip. 
 But, pshaw! to you this lengthy dissertation dry is; 
 I make my bow profound and say adios. 
 All plays must end when once began; 
 The curtain falls; go out and see a man. 
 
94 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 AUGUSTUS DE BROWNE. 
 I. 
 
 onus rise and set, moons wax and wane, 
 
 But to rise all renewed and resplendent again. 
 
 Years come and go, stars fall and fade; 
 
 Day follows night, as' light follows shade. 
 
 And as stars disappearing from their accustomed ken 
 
 Are missed but a moment, so the children of men. 
 
 Fainting, do fall by the wayside to die. 
 
 Of their millions of fellows a few heave a sigh 
 
 O'er their graves. Then in the mad whirlpool and strife 
 
 Of the world, mix and forget them. Of such is life: 
 
 A breath wafted afar from blest Araby, 
 
 Cradled, cuddled, and crooned to in soft lullaby. 
 
 A dream of sharp molars and incisors most through, 
 
 A doctor's keen lancet, a baby's boo-hoo ! 
 
 A bruised or cut finger by mamma's kiss healed, 
 
 A tussle with croup, baby's fate is most sealed, 
 
 The long drawn out whoop of the oft fatal cough; 
 
 Mumps, small-pox and measles, bah ! such nasty stuff 
 
 The baby must take or an angel he'll be. 
 
 Nose held in a vise, spoonful of nice tea 
 
 Pressed far down his throat. My ! what lungs for a baby. 
 
 Then a draught of elixir from nature's first fount. 
 
 A, B, C, 1, 2, 3 of the infant's first count — 
 
 Was there ever another so bright as this boy? 
 
 Surely a thing of beauty's forever a joy. 
 
 A pair of small trousers and high red-topped boots; 
 
 An alder pop-gun, whose potato wad shoots 
 
 Out the eye of a hop-toad, or robbin or linnet. 
 
 A race to the creek, sure the rascal will win it. 
 
 A ball, knife and fish-hook, with mixed broken dishes 
 
 In his ample soiled pocket, some bait to catch fishes. 
 
AUGUSTUS 1)E BROWNE. 
 
 An innocent, care-free, boy's toothless grin 
 
 Showing from under a tattered hat-brim. 
 
 Then college, and boating, aiid youth's first love story; 
 
 Sea of wrapt, upturned faces — a long valedictory: 
 
 His school days are over, life's battle begins. 
 
 Gird on his armor; he fights well who wins. 
 
 Trials, intrigues, temptations and scheming; 
 
 No time for leisure or aimless dreaming. 
 
 Cheat and be cheated, lose, then win again, 
 
 "Play out his hand in life's chequered game 
 
 And sadly admits, when his time comes to die, 
 
 That earth is a desert and life is a lie. 
 
 II. 
 
 The full tide of love, so famed poets sing, 
 
 Floods the soft heart of youth at the coming of spring. 
 
 Then a livelier iris doth change on the dove, 
 
 Then lightly young fancies and thoughts turn to love; 
 
 As courses the sap through awakened trees. 
 
 As earth springs to life at kiss of south breeze 
 
 And warm sunshine, so in youth's guileless heart 
 
 Hopes, loves, aspirations, irrepressibly start. 
 
 The springtime was ripe when Augustus De Browne 
 
 Left his fair country home to seek fame and renown 
 
 Far-away, as many before him have done, 
 
 Who in turn have succeeded and in turn been undone 
 
 In life's battle where, unless they bear lives charmed. 
 
 Few retire from the contest entirely unharmed. 
 
 Not more pure nor more fair the blooms on the tree 
 
 Than the face of the girl who had promised to be 
 
 His helpmeet through the sorrows and joys of this life; 
 
 In short, his young sweetheart and long-promised wife. 
 
 They had loved and been plighted from earliest youth, - 
 
 Grown up side by side, sliared one cradle in truth. 
 
 For their fathers owned farms adjoining each other. 
 
 And in turn they'd been cudg'eled and nursed by each mother 
 
 05 
 
96 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 To school he had carried her basket for years; 
 With his dirty 'kerchief had staunched her first tears; 
 They'd quarreled, made up, sang, laughed, wept together, 
 And breasted the wildest and roughest of weather — 
 No wonder they wished to tread through life's vale, 
 Closely locked up for life in bonds matrimonial. 
 
 III. • 
 
 Who has not wandered through star-lighted eve 
 With the hand he loves best lying light on his sleeve, \ 
 
 And hath wished that the night birds might sing on forever, 
 And the dim, silvery moonlight might lie on the river, 
 As it did that blest eve, forever and ever; 
 That the dull, droning insects might keep up their song, 
 The cricket and tree toad and myriad throng 
 Of fire-flies and star eyes, which gleamed far away, 
 Might gleam, glance and glitter forever and aye; 
 So thought and so wished Augustus De Browne, 
 Half regretting his prospective journey to town. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Could we glance down the years and see what they will bring, 
 
 Could we know what life holds as its best offering. 
 
 Could we see what mischance to our share would befall, 
 
 Would we care to live out our poor life after all? 
 
 Could we fathom the depths of our dearest friend's heart, 
 
 And know to a certainty how small a part 
 
 We hold in their nearest and dearest affections. 
 
 Would we hope to live eternally in their recollections? 
 
 Could our real future joys from their graves be exhumed. 
 
 And we know to what joylessness our lives were doomed. 
 
 Would we not, in a mad fit of passion and pain. 
 
 Lie down in the dust to ne'er rise again? 
 
 But happily we're blind the dark mystery 
 
 Enshrouding the inexplicable future to-be. 
 
 So he kissed her good-bye 'neath the old trysting tree, 
 
 Each vowing to each to ever true be. 
 
AUGUSTUS DE BROWNE. 97 
 
 V. 
 
 This world is a depot where, parting and meeting, 
 
 One train moves in with loud noisy greeting 
 
 As another glides out on the perilous track, 
 
 Perhaps as a wreck to be roughly towed back. 
 
 Toward and backward the engines are going, 
 
 Pausing here, passing there, booked for that station, 
 
 Puffing and blowing as though ruling the whole creation. 
 
 Moving on, moving ever — till some luckless day 
 
 A trestle breaks down or a stone blocks the way, 
 
 A rotten tie snaps, or through careless agent, 
 
 Crash, bang, down plunging away the whole train went 
 
 To death and destruction in river or ditch. 
 
 Car piled upon car — tell us now which is which. 
 
 VI. 
 
 'Neath the dim, quiet stars, on a broncho astride, 
 
 Kound and round a bunched herd of wild Texans to ride, 
 
 Never pausing for hours in unceasing round. 
 
 Silent all save the low moo of cattle — or sound 
 
 Of far off cayote, whose wild, woeful wail 
 
 Creeps down the night wind like wail of lost soul, 
 
 His duty»to turn all wanderers back; 
 
 To ride on and on 'neath the night's starry rack; 
 
 To keep in the saddle perhaps night and day, 
 
 And lie down to sleep 'neath the sky's canopy; 
 
 To use as a pillow his rough, hardened boot, 
 
 A blanket for covering, the owl's mournful hoot 
 
 His cradle song, is what we'd call hard luck, 
 
 With nothing but pork, beans and biscuit for chuck. 
 
 Think of it, gents, when you sit down to dine; 
 
 Think of it, millionaire, sipping your wine; 
 
 Think of it, lady, so dainty and fine. 
 
 And thinking it over ne'er cowboy malign. 
 
 And if to your town he should come once a year, 
 
 Drink whisky, champagne, ale, wine and beer. 
 
98 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Stride through the streets with huge spurs on his boots, 
 Dressed in sombrero and leggings, and recklessly shoots 
 Through a door or glass window or into the air. 
 Which in our western parlance is styled devil-may-care, 
 Chide him not too severely for the spirit he shows : 
 Dam up a swift river, it surely o'er flows. 
 His heart's in the right place, purse ever open 
 To a friend who's in need or who meets with misfortune. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Take a trip now with me through the plains of the West, 
 
 Not when the green prairie is looking its best — 
 
 When the billows of grass roll in a vast sea. 
 
 And the south wind is crooning its soft lullaby — 
 
 But come when the roughest of winter winds beat, 
 
 And the rain as it falls turns into sharp sleet. 
 
 And the big guns of thunder sound their loud cannonade, 
 
 And the lightning's sharp zig-zags long winrows hath made 
 
 In the ground at our feet, and glances and sings 
 
 Round our affrighted ears until our head rings; 
 
 And one's eyes blinded are by the electric stars 
 
 That shoot round about them from the element's wars — 
 
 When out of the northland the dark blizzard swoops 
 
 As the hawk to its prey quick wheeling stoops. 
 
 As the eagle falls on the helpless young fawn. 
 
 White-winged and terrible, the blizzard comes down. 
 
 Frost, hail, sleet, and snow cut through the thin skin; 
 
 Through the cold, frosty air white particles swim. 
 
 Till the air is alive with death's harbingers — 
 
 Little good doth thick clothing or warmest of furs. 
 
 Think what the cowboys for years have endured. 
 
 And to what trials and hardships inured; 
 
 Ponder it well, all you who supposes. 
 
 That the plains in the West are a garden of roses. 
 
AUGUSTUS DE BROWNE. 99 
 
 VIII. 
 Augustus played cowboy for two years or more, 
 The life of the plainsman uncomplainingly bore; 
 The next he tried clerking in large dry goods store; 
 Heaped the counter with goods to be hauled o'er and o'er, 
 And at woman's perversity within his sleeve swore. 
 Till he wondered if they were really human, 
 This bundle of vanity and vexation called woman. 
 The next move he made was a trip further west. 
 For a rich diamond field or gold mine in quest. 
 His horse giving out, he swapped for another. 
 With a cowboy with whom he was traveling together. 
 Then as he rode all gaily along, 
 Humming a snatch of a popular song, 
 A band of masked men blocked up the way. 
 Who gagged, blinded and bound him, and led him away, 
 To a tree in a gulch standing conveniently near. 
 Beneath which they placed him, all quaking with fear. 
 Then removing the gag that he might regain breath. 
 The foreman informed him that he stood facing death, 
 For the theft of the horse found in his possession. 
 And that they all wished him to make a confession. 
 
 IX. 
 
 "Men, hardened and rough, I will still call you brothers, 
 
 For you may have, like me, been reared by good mothers. 
 
 You all have been boys — may have boys of your own 
 
 Who with pride or with shame will welcome you home. 
 
 If you hang me to-night you'll lie under the ban 
 
 That in cold blood you've murdered an innocent man. 
 
 I repeat it; but this morning I swapped for the horse, 
 
 With a man I o'ertook on the road in the course 
 
 Of my journey — do you think I would jog on in this careless 
 
 way, 
 If I'd stolen the horse? Oh, listen, I pray! 
 
1 00 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Do you think as I see my last day's eclipse, 
 
 I would die with a lie scarcely dead on my lips?" 
 
 "Cheese that racket, young man," said a coarse, burly man; 
 
 "Appearances are agin' ye, nor convince us ye can, 
 
 If you talk on all night in yer high flyin' strain. 
 
 We'll make sure you'll never steal hosses again. 
 
 Make your peace with your God and prepare fer to die, 
 
 For higher than Haaman we'll string you up high. 
 
 Pray, and be quick; we're hard pressed fer time." 
 
 Then over a limb he tossed a clothes line. 
 
 Made the end fast about the culprit's white throat, 
 
 By a notch in the tree did another death note. 
 
 X. 
 
 Touching and simple the short prayer he made: 
 
 "God of my fathers, I stand unafraid, 
 
 In Thy presence, Thou who hast numbered the hairs of my head: 
 
 Thou who takest care of the living and dead, 
 
 Hearken this day to my despairing cry; 
 
 Offered up as a sacrifice must I thus die? 
 
 Have mercy upon these bloodthirsty men, 
 
 Who take innocent lives they can never return; 
 
 Pity, forgive, and finally take 
 
 Them all to Thy bosom, for Jesus Christ's sake. 
 
 Amen ! " 
 
 "Amen! and Amen!" cried a man in the crowd, 
 
 ''Amen! and Amen!" they all cry aloud. 
 
 "A tooth for a tooth, and an eye for an eye, 
 
 A neck for a boss, so shall all horsethieves die. 
 
 In the West we deal on the chain-lightning plan. 
 
 Mete more mercy to murderers than horsethieves, my man; 
 
 Down thieving, up justice, we're the true vigilantes. 
 
 With a rope round his neck, how the bold horsethief antes." 
 
 One pull on the rope, one wild, wailing cry. 
 
 And Augustus swung out 'twixt the earth and the sky; 
 
 Then the band galloped off, with a fierce parting yell. 
 
 And their hoof-beats struck out his final death knell. 
 
AUGUSTUS DE BliOWNE. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Od the old gallows tree hung Augustus De Browne, 
 And the pale moon all pityingly seemed to look down, 
 And the breeze breathed a sigh for the spirit that fares 
 And wings with the wind its swift way to the stars, 
 And it fanned his pale cheek with its amorous breath, 
 Changed the red rose of life to the white rose of death 
 On that cheek; and staring and glassy, those eyes 
 Turned pitifully up to the pitiless skies. 
 
 XII. 
 
 "Dead with his boots on," muttered a man, 
 
 Pausing hard by who had stopped near to scan 
 
 The limp, lifeless fruit that the gallows tree bore. 
 
 But which oft had been found on its limbs heretofore. 
 
 Just then a deep groan his attention arrested, 
 
 He leaped from his horse, the rope hard and twisted, 
 
 He cut, and down, with a thud to the ground, 
 
 Dropped the limp, lifeless form of Augustus De Browne. 
 
 XITI. 
 
 The round, watchful moon, majestic and slow, 
 
 Sailed across the calm sky, deeply, beautifully blue; 
 
 Then behind ragged cloud-curtains, peering from under, 
 
 Above the old tree paused as if in wonder. 
 
 Then hid its shamed face in the cloudlets, from white, 
 
 As if to shut out the horrible sight. 
 
 The pure star of love kept its vigil alone. 
 
 Till on night's dark cheek crept up the gray dawn, 
 
 And the dull landscape changed by the sun's rosy sheen. 
 
 To nature's pet colors of blue, gold and green. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 'Tis a terrible thing to come back from the dead 
 And resume once again life's broken thread; 
 
102 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 A drowning man suffers death's agonies o'er 
 A thousand times over when they seek to restore 
 The spent breath into his quivering frame 
 And recall the freed spirit to dull claj again. 
 
 XV. 
 
 If I had a choice of the seasons to die in, 
 
 I'd say let me live through the glad months of spring; 
 
 There's too much to live for to be lowly lying 
 
 When nature's dressed up and begins blossoming. 
 
 The summer is charming, too, although so torrid; 
 
 I think that to die in the summer is horrid. 
 
 The autumn's so sweet, and so peaceful and restful, 
 
 Oh, let me live through the golden-brown fall. 
 
 Ugh! winter's too cold to be placed in the ground, 
 
 Frozen clods on a coffin hath too mournful a sound. 
 
 So in choosing 'twixt spring, summer, winter and fall, 
 
 I think if you please, I'll not die at all. 
 
 So Augustus thought as he rose to his feet. 
 
 Life never before seemed half so sweet 
 
 As it did when he realized his swift transition 
 
 From death to life, and that his position 
 
 Had changed since he last looked on earth. 
 
 Then in a moment changed his sadness to mirth. 
 
 And he laughed loud and long till his laughter gave birth 
 
 To an echo that through the ravine 
 
 Ke-echoed again and again, till the green 
 
 Leaves on the tree shook as if with laughter. 
 
 "JS'ot often a man who's been hung laughs after 
 
 The hanging," he thought, as he took a last look 
 
 At the tree and the rope, then hastily shook 
 
 The dust of the place from his feet, nor paused to look back 
 
 To see if the bloodhounds had scented his track. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 "There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip," 
 By dropping the 1 — by the slip we have sip. 
 
AUGUSTUS 1)E BROWNE. 203 
 
 Though the b eaker of life holdeth better draughts oft, 
 
 Yet down to the dregs we would fain quaff" it off. 
 
 Thanks for the sip 'twixt the cup and the lip, 
 
 As on hot summer's day in the cool shade we sit, 
 
 With long-drawn-out beer glass of amber and gold, 
 
 Cool, foamy beer drink, all we can hold — 
 
 Many's the sip 'twixt the cup and the lip. 
 
 Bourbon, smooth as the glass encircling it, 
 
 In thee lurks a serpent. O spirit of wine! 
 
 Round the vitals of man doth that serpent entwine, 
 
 And although it is said, look not on the wine, 
 
 I will drink a deep health to this sweet life of mine; 
 
 To Atropos, Lachesis and Clotho I drink — 
 
 The fates who spill life's rosy wine ere we think 
 
 The spun thread of life is but halfway worn through; 
 
 They turn the swift wheel, cut the fine thread in two; 
 
 The pitcher is broken, sweet life adieu. 
 
 Then, as there's many a sip 'twixt the cup and the lip. 
 
 Here's to health, wealth and long life, with good wine to sip, 
 
 I drink once again to the unalterable fates, 
 
 May they lengthen my life to the eighty and eights; 
 
 "Old Hundred," indeed, is a popular tune, 
 
 If I die at old hundred I die all too soon. 
 
 Let me live till my back is bent like a bow, 
 
 Till my brow is all crossed by the feet of the crow; 
 
 Their footprints are showing too plainly e'en now, 
 
 Till my nose has gone down and my chin has gone up, 
 
 And stopped at the half-way house to dine and to sup. 
 
 Here Augustus tossed off* a bumper of beer. 
 
 'Twas the season for bock, and it made him feel queer 
 
 And weak kneed, so he sat down a moment to think, 
 
 Wondering why men should brew such poisonous drink. 
 
 'Tis a fact worth recording that these same bock beers 
 
 Cause strong men to stagger and shed frequent tears, , 
 
 And as he dropped on a beer keg to steady his fall. 
 
 Like Niobe, he wept for nothing at all. 
 
104 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 When liquor is in, good sense is out; 
 
 A man in his cups don't know what he's about. 
 
 Strange, that into his mouth he an enemy puts 
 
 That will steal in a trice every grain of his wits; 
 
 The weeping stage over, if standing upright. 
 
 His brain is a panic, he wishes to fight. 
 
 A fight lay in wait for him just outside the door; 
 
 He squared off", hit his man, sprawled out on the floor. 
 
 The hurry-up wagon hard on him bore down, 
 
 And off to the lock-up went luckless De Browne. 
 
 There let him rest until over his spree, 
 
 A look at his sweetheart come take now with me. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 When Augustus first left his sweetheart alone, 
 
 To the old trysting tree she nightly would come, 
 
 To gaze on the moon in love-lorn melancholy, 
 
 And list to the whippoorwill's pipe in the valley. 
 
 A neighboring youth kept a sharp eye upon her. 
 
 Who long had regretted that De Browne had won her, 
 
 And ofttimes by chance would pass the lone tree, 
 
 Where, on bright moonlight nights, she was most sure to be. 
 
 Then he tried to console her in his boyish way — 
 
 He pitied her so, and pity, they say, 
 
 Is akin to love, and through pity her love 
 
 Began from the old, to the newer love rove. 
 
 The ways they are winding in love's tangled mazes, 
 
 The present eye ever the present object praises; 
 
 And ere autumn her russet brown dress was wearing. 
 
 Her love for De Browne, was dead as a herring; 
 
 And when winter her snowy white robe had put on 
 
 The two were cemented by Hymen in one. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 As the cloud's rosy tints herald the dawn. 
 
 And the mists of the morning give way to the sun; 
 
AUGUSTUS DE BROWNE. 105 
 
 As the breaker's forerunners are of the waves, 
 
 Which sink back to sleep in dim ocean caves; 
 
 As the mists on the mountain, all airy and dim, 
 
 Serve a veil to enshroud their ugliness in; 
 
 E'en so thoughts and fancies creep through the brain 
 
 Which lose all their beauty repeated again. 
 
 Our fancies outvie the verses we write, 
 
 Poesy loses its charm when in plain black and white. 
 
 So as mists on the mountain throw a glamor around. 
 
 And the murmurous sea hath inexplicable sound, 
 
 So poesy strikes a strange chord in the breast 
 
 Which never has been or will be expressed. 
 
 A thought strikes the fancy, I seize the swift pen 
 
 And jot down a line — thought resumes again 
 
 Its old routine, and flies on in its goal-less race. 
 
 Can the pursuant pen with one's thoughts keep pace? 
 
 Sleep comes; low press the down drooping lids — 
 
 Sleep, Morpheus-encompassed by bright poppy beds, 
 
 But thought's busy train in sleep still keep on, 
 
 In dreams we live, die, fight, and struggle till dawn. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The earth opens wide the seas to engulf. 
 
 The tidal wave sweeps with rush fierce and rough. 
 
 Dashing the cities that sit by the sea 
 
 Down the watery wastes to eternity. 
 
 A mad, seething ocean of lava rolled o'er 
 
 The cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum of -yore, 
 
 Surprising the revelers there at the feast, 
 
 Nor spared in its revel the brightest and best; 
 
 Stopped terror-struck crowds in the midst of retreat, 
 
 Struck down the pedestrian in city's street; 
 
 And the mountains of lava rolled sullenly down 
 
 And buried from sight the defenceless town. 
 
 Deep down in its depths were palaces hid. 
 
 Ashes and dust served a rough coffin lid. 
 
106. GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 In mansion and hall, in the streets everywhere, 
 
 Were traces of wealth and treasures most rare — 
 
 Jewels, and gems and pottery old, 
 
 Pitchers of silver, and vessels of gold — 
 
 But skeletons sat at their feasts in the hall, 
 
 Skeletons there in their door-ways did fall, 
 
 Grasping their treasures and jewels to fly; 
 
 Overtaken, had fallen to despair and die. 
 
 Buried for years, unremembered, unknown. 
 
 Till with pick-ax and spade the workmen undone 
 
 The vast sepulcher, raised up the thick lid, 
 
 And unearthed its secrets for centuries hid. 
 
 In probing down into the heart's inmost depths, 
 
 Under the ashes and dust of dead hopes. 
 
 Lie treasures and jewels and bric-a-brac rare; 
 
 In our heart's secret chambers richest memories are. 
 
 But skeletons are lying about everywhere, 
 
 Dead loves and dead hopes, remorse and despair, 
 
 All grasping the golden promise of youth, 
 
 O'erwhelmed by the fiercest of tidal waves, truth. 
 
 Each man hath a skeleton, ghastly and grim, 
 
 Who without knocking, enters and sits down by him — 
 
 No matter how oft he would drive it away 
 
 It brings its own baggage, determined to stay. 
 
 ''Men call me conscience," it seems to repeat, 
 
 "I'll stand close beside you at the great judgment seat. 
 
 You are a murderer, you are a thief, 
 
 Your heart it is vile, you're full of deceit, 
 
 You are a hypocrite — don't deny it to me; 
 
 I've the sharp eye of Argus; your black soul i see. 
 
 Go to! you're no saint, though to church you do go, 
 
 Put cash in the hat, sit in the front row, 
 
 Your religion's a cloak, you have mammon in view, 
 
 Let all men beware who have dealings with you. 
 
 Oh! you're a church worker! what sin of your youth 
 
 Are you hiding beneath that thin mask of truth '^: 
 
AUGUSTUS DE BROWNE. 107 
 
 Do jou love the poor heathen that you labor so, 
 
 Or is it to line your own pockets that you begging go ? 
 
 Ye temperance people, if you are sincere. 
 
 There's a broad field of labor lying open here. 
 
 But be not a worker for the sake of the credit 
 
 The world's people give you. You're cloak is a habit 
 
 To be put on or laid off, dropped down if it please you; 
 
 If your heart is not right, may satan's hosts seize you. 
 
 Down on the counter you rattle and ring. 
 
 You're counterfeit, you false, shiny thing," 
 
 It remarks; "you may go on fer years circulating about, 
 
 But sooner or later you'll be found out. 
 
 You may bear on your face the genuine stamp 
 
 And pass by the light of a kerosene lamp, 
 
 But the broad light of day will reveal your true colors, 
 
 And you'll be filed away with the spurious dollars." 
 
 There at your elbow it constantly sits. 
 
 "Cursed with a curse are the false hypocrites,'* 
 
 It remarks in its sepulchral tones, 
 
 Rattling and clanking the dryest of bones. 
 
 XX. 
 
 So Augustus' conscience would often reproach him — 
 
 "You hard-hearted wretch, you should have written 
 
 To the girl you left pining, to languish alone. 
 
 As an honest and honorable man would have done." 
 
 He could see in his mind's eye her pale, tear-stained face. 
 
 In her step, dejection and sadness could trace. 
 
 And imagined her sitting on star-lighted eves 
 
 'Neath the tree where bright star-eyes peered down through ihc 
 
 leaves. 
 "There all these years she is waiting for me, 
 Silent, dejected and tearful," thought he. 
 Men forget that love has the lives of a cat 
 Which, dropped from a third-story window, rises at scat. 
 
108 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 And away like a flash it dashes and springs 
 
 As though its soft fur concealed hidden wings. 
 
 Trample, abuse, love will still rise and shine, 
 
 Though it may be bestowed at another man's shrine; 
 
 'Tis the same love that you once hugged to your breast, 
 
 Though in different fashion it may be dressed. 
 
 And while he was engrossed by these strange speculations 
 
 His sweetheart had assumed new obligations. 
 
 Had a mother become, nay not once, but thrice, 
 
 And had married the man of her second choice; • 
 
 And neither did pine, nor at all' wear the willow, 
 
 For so sadly delinquent and backward a fellow. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 'Tis a fact, strange but true, that men deem themselves 
 
 By far the best share of the marital halves. 
 
 And believe no lady could resist their charms. 
 
 All would fly to their hearts, should they open their arms. 
 
 They may go on, day after day. 
 
 Breaking bits off" their hearts but to throw them away. 
 
 Make love nine hundred and ninety-nine times by the clock. 
 
 'Tis different with women; such conduct would shock 
 
 A well-disciplined man — order must be maintained; 
 
 God's first law was order, before it chaos reigned. 
 
 'Tis well some ladies assert their rights — 
 
 Wed once, twice, or thrice; turn days into nights, 
 
 And night into day; drink champagne and hock, 
 
 By drinking and smoking, men's vices mock. 
 
 Whenever I see ladies imitate men. 
 
 In the depths of my heart I glory in them. 
 
 But glory so softly no mortal can hear. 
 
 Lest Dame Grundy murmurs, "You're quite depraved, dear." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 In regular meshes without slbj flaws 
 
 The spider weaves webs of flimsiest gauze, 
 
AUGUSTUS DE BROWNE. IQj) 
 
 To entrap and capture the unwary flj; 
 
 Woe! woe! to the blue bottle if he comes nigh. 
 
 When caught, the bold robber begins to spin, 
 
 Weaving a shroud to prison him in. 
 
 And seems to gloat over his prisoner's pain, 
 
 And attempts to regain his freedom again. 
 
 Sharp human spiders are setting their traps. 
 
 Daily enticing poor flies to their nets. 
 
 And, when they are prisoned fast in their toils, 
 
 Twining about them their false, snakey coils. 
 
 Into the spider's sleek parlor, O fly. 
 
 Enter not, for but to enter's to die; 
 
 Enter not dens where they bet, drink and game; 
 
 Enter not into the houses of shame; 
 
 All that degrades and lowers you despise. 
 
 Food for the spiders are venturesome flies. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Fishers there are; yea, fishers of men. 
 
 Who, unlike the whale, ne'er eject them again. 
 
 So, Augustus was caught in a low gambling den. 
 
 Tried for theft, found guilty and sent to the pen. 
 
 Peep through the bars and see the long rows 
 
 Of cold, cheerless cells; see the convicts' striped clothes; 
 
 See the sad, hopeless look on his crime-hardened face, 
 
 Where the years of confinement leaves indelible trace; 
 
 Branded for life with the dark brand of Cain; 
 
 Doomed forever and aye to bear tarnished name; 
 
 Dead, and yet living, most sad death in life; 
 
 Dead to father and mother, to sweetheart and wife. 
 
 Graves are there thickly bestrewing life's way. 
 
 In which lost manhood and womanhood lay; 
 
 Graves grass-grown and sunken, unmarked by a stone; 
 
 Graves o'er grown with brambles and weeds, thicklj^ sown, 
 
 That the friends of the dead are ashamed to own. 
 
110 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 When man shall arise from his last narrow bed, 
 
 When the earth and the sea shall give up their dead, 
 
 When uncloses earth's tombs and unlocks Davy Jones, 
 
 What a rattling there'll be of dead and dried bones. 
 
 Shall eyes gleam in sockets where erst they did shine? 
 
 Shall I claim that another's limbs once were mine ? 
 
 Shall an army of skeletons lost limbs bewail, 
 
 And each one in turn their sad story tell? 
 
 " Where is the arm I lost at Shiloh?" 
 
 "Without my crutch or lost leg not a step can I go." 
 
 "I lost my head at Antietam the day 
 
 That you lost your arms." '^ Ah, there, comrade ! Say; 
 
 Have you found your old body that shell scattered so ? 
 
 Stand up there in line, resurrection's no go 
 
 Unless a man finds his old bones all intact. 
 
 Toot louder still, Gabriel, some members we lack." 
 
 What sad, ghostly shivers will rack a ghost's frame 
 
 If his friends turn their backs, whispering, "He tarnished his 
 
 name 
 When on earth; let us cut his acquaintance above." 
 Let us hope earthly memories hereafter may prove 
 To be of our good deeds committed on earth, 
 Or else a hereafter were of little worth. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Ten years rolled their slow-gliding cycles away. 
 Marked with a black stone by Augustus were they. 
 Then with joy and with gladness his tired heart leaped, 
 As out into God's sunshine a free man he stepped. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 When one gambler wins, another is cheated; 
 When one army's victorious, another's defeated; 
 Monarchs step down, while other kings reign; 
 So, through life, one's loss is another man's gain. 
 
AUGUSTUS DE BROWN. HJ 
 
 In the fight the dog who's on top is applauded, 
 
 The one who gets whipped slinks off unlaiided. 
 
 The winning horse in the race bears off the blue ribbon, 
 
 The one who is beaten is lashed, spurred and cliidden. 
 
 The man who's overtaken by want and misfortune 
 
 Is kicked into the gutter and left to his doom; 
 
 The one who succeeds is boosted up higher, 
 
 His soul is for sale and the world is the buyer. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Our thoughts are like shuttlecocks — back and forth going 
 Through the frayed warp and woof of life's carpet, sowing 
 II] weeds or wild oats here, there a rich rose. 
 Will the fabric bear turning to the light, d'ye suppose ? 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 In the game, Augustus had been pushed from the board, 
 But his friends of his ill luck knew not a word. 
 Must he proclaim from the house-tops how badly defeated 
 He'd been, and how of his birth-right of joy he'd been cheated? 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Thanks to an alias, in jail he'd been Thomson; 
 
 Besides for good conduct a reprieve he'd won; 
 
 So he resolved that, straight as the crow flies, he'd go home 
 
 After tarrying in Jericho till his beard was grown. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Swallows come back to build 'neath the eaves 
 
 When the south wind returns, and aimlessly grieves; 
 
 Squadrons of wild geese fly clanking forth 
 
 At change of the seasons, from south to the north; 
 
 Martins return on fleetest of wing 
 
 To again in wee houses set up housekeeping; 
 
 And the mocking bird, that true Jenny Lind of birds, 
 
 Sings all night to his mate sweetest song without words. 
 
112 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 And as, storm-tossed, the dove flew home to the ark, 
 Into port from the storm rides the mariner's bark, 
 For the sea the shells of the ocean make moan, 
 So the heart of the wanderer turns to his home. 
 As the prodigal son to his own father's house. 
 So Augustus came back, poor as any church mouse. 
 He had fed upon husks, and lived with the swine; 
 Would thej kill the fat calf and ask him to dine ? 
 Would his father see him afar off and cry, 
 ''This is my lost son! " and to meet him fly, 
 Fall on his neck and weep there for joy. 
 And welcome his wandering, prodigal boy? 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The birds of the air a nesting place hath 
 
 To fly to, and 'scape from the elements' wrath; 
 
 The foxes hath holes, and the beast hath his lair, 
 
 But the son of man knoweth no rest anywhere. 
 
 On, moving on, to the far, frozen North, 
 
 Back with the birds to the sweet, sunny South, 
 
 Then pitches his tent in the heart of the East, 
 
 Still longing for change moves on to the West, 
 
 Too much of freedom our countrymen hath; 
 
 Like to the red man upon the war-path, 
 
 He starts out equipped to slay poverty, 
 
 And comes home well scalped for his little by-play. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Like to ray of swift sunlight that fitfully glowed 
 
 On a cloud-darkened landscape through rift in the cloud. 
 
 He viewed the old home where he first saw the light, 
 
 Begirt by a halo supernaturally bright. 
 
 He saw the bowed forms of his father and mother 
 
 Sitting there on the door-stone, with heads bent together 
 
 Over the Bible, that worn, well-thumbed tome. 
 
 Perusing the tale of the Prodigal Son. 
 
AUGUSTUS DE BROWN. Hy 
 
 How they fell on his neck and wept, need I tell? 
 How their prayers, benedictions and tears o'er him fell? 
 How in lieu of the fat calf they slew the fat hen, 
 Then petted and feasted him o'er again? 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 The stone that is rolling gathers no moss; 
 By enriching the eye the purse sustains loss. 
 The permanent stone may be mouldy and rusted, 
 Yet with layers of moss it is thickly encrusted. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 He found his old sweetheart fat, rosy and jolly, 
 
 With no visible trace of the somber melancholy 
 
 He'd fancied and hoped her youthful face bore. 
 
 Alas! and alas! twenty years had passed o'er 
 
 That face since her boy lover gazed upon it, 
 
 A.nd although he assured her she had not changed a bit, 
 
 He knew in his heart he told an untruth — 
 
 Not a vestige remained of her beauteous youth. 
 
 Three sons blessed the unions in which she'd been bound. 
 
 By her two husbands' deaths full many a pound 
 
 To her full coffers fell; and, as to her size. 
 
 She'd increased eighty pounds in avoirdupois. 
 
 But men as a rule, or, at least, are supposed. 
 
 Toward lean womankind to be unfavorably disposed. 
 
 And invariably fancy the fat adipose 
 
 Of a widow of forty with unpointed nose. 
 
 A consolable widow, fat, rosy and jolly. 
 
 Is sure cure for the bluest of blue melancholy. 
 
 That he prospered again in his second wooing 
 
 We doubt not, for the man has the advantage when sueing 
 
 For the hand of a woman who once loved him; in sooth, 
 
 Naught can dispel the glamour of youth. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 So we'll leave them alone, 'neath the old trysting tree, 
 The widow and her mate No. 3, that's to be, 
 
 8— 
 
114 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 For the mosquitoes to sing to and present their bills 
 As they list to the plaint of the lone whippoorwills. 
 Don't sit in the dew and catch your death cold, 
 Lovers can't spoon in the moonlight when old. 
 Go seek your couch and catch needed rest; 
 We know love is sweet, but sleep is the best. 
 Adieu, and may ye be blest with joy galore; 
 "There's luck in odd numbers," said Rory O'Moore. 
 
THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 115 
 
 THE MINISTER'S WOOHSTG. 
 
 Up rose the sim from behind the crimson and purple cloud 
 curtain, 
 
 Dispersing the shadows which had lain through the night 
 time 
 
 Across the snowy carpet that covered mother earth's bosom, 
 
 Lighting the drifts and the hedge rows which skirted the high- 
 way 
 
 Until they sent forth a million bright scintillations, 
 
 Changing the low-drooping boughs of the hemlock and cedar 
 
 Into the brilliant iridescent hues of the rainbow; 
 
 Over the crisp, sparkling snow to the church in the village. 
 
 Thronged the farmers and villagers gossiping together, 
 
 Like flock of chirruping, chattering snowbirds. 
 
 Down the long aisle stalked the beardless and pompous young 
 preacher. 
 
 Fresh from the school where most do congregate freshmen, 
 
 Glib-tongued, complacent, self-righteous, supercilious, 
 
 Till the very atmosphere round about him 
 
 Seenied impregnated with conceit and wisdom. 
 
 Now through the church rolls the organ's deep reverberations. 
 
 Reverently bow the heads of the devout congregation, 
 
 While from the carved massive pulpit the opening prayer as- 
 cended ^ 
 
 To the all merciful Father who cares for his children, 
 
 Who numbers the hairs of their heads, 
 
 Marks the fall of the sparrow. 
 
 Tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, 
 
 Clothes the lilies of the field in purity's garments. 
 
 In the front pew sat good Deacon B. and his daughter. 
 
 One of the church's most ancient supporters, the Deacon; 
 
 In every sense of the word a true, faithful Christian, 
 
116 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 As solid and staunch as one of the old church's broad, granite 
 
 pillars. 
 Fair as the morning sun was the pure, cliildish face of his 
 
 daughter, 
 Modest, devout, demurely scanning her prayer book, *. 
 A meek, lowly spirit, easy of subjugation; 
 So mused the love-smitten preacher. 
 As he repeated the text with slow, deliberate utterance: 
 ''For the man is not of the woman, but the woman of the 
 
 man; 
 Neither was the man created for the woman, but the woman 
 
 for the man." 
 Then from the pages of holy writ he attempted to prove that 
 
 the woman 
 Was created expressly for man's use, convenience and service, 
 For hath not the Apostles said, " 'Wives subject yourself to 
 
 your husbands, 
 For the husband is head of the household, as Christ is the 
 
 head of the churches ? ' 
 Adam was created first, the Lord, meantime, discovering 
 It was not good for man to be alone, created the woman. 
 Out of man's rib was woman, his servant, created; 
 Tempted was she of the serpent; did eat of the fruit for- 
 bidden; 
 Feloniously and with malice aforethought tempted she Adam, 
 Who also partook and was banished witli Eve from the garden. 
 Cursed with a curse was mankind for the sin of .the woman. 
 And the Lord said: 'In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat 
 
 bread, 
 And thou shalt eat of the herbs of the field all the days of thy 
 
 life.'" 
 All through the sermon he preached subjugation of woman, 
 Unheeding the shadow that passed over the face of the good 
 
 Deacon's daughter. 
 As he attempted to prove the inequality of the sexes. 
 
THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 117 
 
 Swayed by her feelings, as is the field that is ripe for the 
 
 reaper, 
 Tossed back and forth in wave-like undulations, 
 Now showing rich shades of umber, now golden ocher, 
 As the brisk breeze bends the bearded stalks over, 
 So o'er her face passed the sunshine and shadow. 
 And he, all unconsciously, deeming the way paved to 
 A declaration, dispatched the following love letter to her: 
 
 "Dear and Most Estimable Sister B.: 
 Impressed with a deep sense of my un worthiness, I come 
 
 In humbleness and humility 
 (As God has said it is not good for man to be alone) 
 
 To offer my hand and heart to thee. 
 From Sunday's sermon you can judge what part 
 
 I deem a woman plays in the economy of nature; 
 And I sincerely hope, with all my heart, 
 . To find you a sweet, viney, clinging creature, 
 Believing the possession of meekness and submission 
 
 Requisite to perfect a gentle, yielding wife. 
 I leave to your own wise volition 
 
 To be or not to be the day star of my life. 
 Trusting that you possess the meek and lowly spirit 
 
 Of Mary of the olden time, 
 And in your humble servant will find some little merit, 
 
 1 am forever truly thine, 
 
 Bkotheb G. 
 
 Which she, after mature and due deliberation, 
 Proceeded to answer in this wise: 
 "Dear and most admirable Brother C. : 
 
 Your declaration received, and duly- considered; 
 Forgive me if uncharitable I seem to be 
 
 When I inform you it to me seems absurd, 
 And in my heart finds little reciprocity. 
 
 I cannot be a gentle, clinging vine. 
 
113 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Supported by the strong and sturdy tree, 
 
 And neither are the Christian graces mine 
 Which in your blindness you ascribe to me. 
 
 More like to Martha than to Mary I, 
 A busy bee who hates the idle drone, 
 
 Who, if her wings were stronger, would aspire to fly 
 Far from the quiet circle of her home. 
 
 A household drudge and slave and underling 
 Is what you wish embodied in a wife, 
 
 Which you from life of freedom would to bondage bring, 
 Yoked to a tyrant for her natural life." 
 
 Upon the receipt of which he sent her the following answer: 
 ''A woman's greatest charm is clinging like the vine 
 
 To the strong, sturdy oaks (the men) at whose feet she springs 
 Alas! I fear like Martha, O young friend of mine, 
 
 You, too, are troubled about many things. 
 Would that, like Mary, you could be content 
 
 In sweet humility to sit at Jesus' feet; 
 A meek and lowly spirit is sufficient adornment — 
 
 A woman's safeguard and most sure retreat. 
 The Bible plainly teaches that her true position 
 
 Is secondary and inferior to man; 
 But men, in seeking to ameliorate her condition, 
 
 Have much advanced her since the world began. 
 I hold that the pernicious views cranks are advancing. 
 
 Concerning the equality of the sexes, 
 Are but a few bold, bad females' idle romancing 
 
 Which honest-hearted and clear-headed men perplexes. 
 God made the man first; out of him created woman. 
 
 To bear him company, be his help-meet, comforter; 
 To love her for her weakness and dependence is but human 
 
 In man, acknowledged from the beginning her superior. 
 When God sought to redeem mankind. 
 
 He took upon himself the form of man. 
 And in the histories of the world we find 
 
 Men have been foremost since the world began. 
 
THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 119 
 
 In generalship, invention, finance, traffic, trade, 
 
 As presidents and actors, poets, priests and scribes. 
 Teachers, astronomers and philosophers, men have made 
 
 Efficient leaders and most able guides. 
 Where are your Franklins, Morses, Edisons, 
 
 Websters, Lincolns, Grants orWashingtons? 
 Can mind of woman grapple with Edison's inventions 
 
 Or match the generalship of Napoleon ? 
 
 "Are women equal opponents of men 
 
 In controversy, argument, debate, 
 And can she wield alike the mighty pen 
 
 And sword, or manage the affairs of state? 
 
 ''My constant prayer is that God may give you light 
 
 To see the pitfalls that beset your path; 
 For, Oh ! revilers find but little favor in His sight. 
 
 Beware, lest you awake his awful wrath." 
 
 Her final answer: 
 
 "I know full well that men prize useless drones 
 
 More highly than the busy bees within the human hive. 
 But Marthas are a necessary evil in the homes, 
 
 To keep the Marys and the inner-man alive. 
 We often see the order of the oak and vine reversed, 
 
 And weak, frail woman yi^ld the man support 
 Who is with taste for spirituous liquors cursed. 
 
 And to the bar-room daily pays his court. 
 How often in the busy highways of the world, 
 
 Amid the throngs that swell life's sea, 
 We see within the seething maelstrom hurled 
 
 A burnt-out atom of humanity. 
 Who, like the reeling, burnt-out moon, 
 
 Drifts on through space, all aimlessly; 
 Whom fate seems evermore to doom 
 
 To thus roll on eternally! 
 
120 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 A dead yet seemingly alive nonenity, 
 
 Whose darkened soul shines with a borrowed light, 
 And yet who is, O unsolved mystery, 
 
 Held to his orbit by some satellite — 
 Mayhap a loving, patient, faithful wife. 
 
 Bound like Ixion to his chariot wheels. 
 Forced by a sense of duty to share his aimless life, 
 
 Who vainly strives to hide the grief she feels. 
 
 ''Some natures are like rivers, broad and deep, 
 Far-reaching, flowing full and free. 
 
 Reflecting on their surface clear the endless sweep 
 Of cloud-land's vast immensity; 
 
 While others roll a sullen, murky tide. 
 Soiling the pure streams with which they intermingle. 
 
 The muddy volume of whose waters hide 
 The pearly shells, strewn on their golden-sanded shingle. 
 
 A few have all the attributes of the mighty deep. 
 Fathomless, boundless and sublime. 
 
 Within whose hearts warm Gulf Streams creep. 
 Cheering and brightening with the glad sunshine 
 
 Of their presence, the barren wastes that lie 
 Within the boundaries of their ministry. 
 
 Forgive me if in any wise your true worth I disparage. 
 By likening you unto a shallow, babbling brook, whose part 
 
 In nature is so small that it prohibits intermarriage 
 With broader streams, and finally, as selfish, narrow-minded 
 men oft do, 
 
 For lack of force and sense and will, they babble on 
 Until they sink into oblivion within some brackish slough: 
 
 So sink full many a promising and hopeful mother's son. 
 
 "I do assure you it was not my intention 
 
 To argue with you on the rights and wrongs of women. 
 But as I deem the Bible partly man's invention. 
 
 Am not averse to speaking of the women mentioned therein. 
 
THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 121 
 
 So if in controversy on the subject now engage we must, 
 
 At the true beginning let us first begin. 
 God made the beasts first, then from dust 
 
 Created Adam in his image, without sin. 
 The earth being too coarse substance then by far 
 
 For the finer uses for which Eve was designed, 
 Adam's perfect form God thought it best to mar. 
 
 So took his rib, to make a being more refined. 
 So little of the material element did He use. 
 
 More of the spirit was required, the better to perfect 
 The being from whose progeny should spring King of the Jews. 
 
 Christ Jesus — the Messiah — the Elect. 
 The serpent was God's chosen instrument • 
 
 To work out His foreordained design, 
 To her, because possessed of the most spiritual nature, sent, 
 
 His mission sanctioned by the God divine. 
 Can we blame Eve for eating of the fruit 
 
 Placed in the garden purposely to tempt her? 
 Besides, the heavenly tree had knowledge for its root; 
 
 That fact alone should of all blame exempt her. 
 
 "The curse pronounced upon both Adam and his wife 
 
 Was but the doubtful one of labor, 
 Without which what would be this life? 
 
 And little good could do a single Saviour; 
 Only the pure nature of woman could cooperate 
 
 With the divinity in that great transaction. 
 And the world's first histories do but date 
 
 From Eve's and Adam's field of action. 
 True, when God sought to redeem mankind, 
 
 He took upon himself the form of man. 
 But if we search the scriptures we will find 
 
 He clothed himself in the humility of woman. 
 Woman received the Christ from God and gave him to the world, 
 
 Strengthened, believed in; and wept over him, 
 
122 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 And sought to stay the flood of unbelief man at the Christ- 
 child hurled. 
 
 Cradled in the rude manger at Bethlehem, 
 And when forsaken and betrayed by men, 
 
 Stretched on the cross in mortal agony, 
 When crowned with tliorns and crucified at Jerusalem, 
 
 Last at the cross, first at the tomb, was she. 
 I firmly do believe the Divine intention 
 
 Was protection for women, and not persecution. 
 Taking the Bible's literal meaning leads to much dissension: 
 
 With clearer understandings we might reach the right solution. 
 I hold what you would designate pernicious views, 
 
 Kegarding the eqilality of the sexes, 
 And render unto Csesar only Caesar's dues, 
 
 Although such rendering large-souled mankind vexes. 
 The car of progress grinds beneath its wheels, 
 
 The old time notions of our subjugation, 
 And marks a newer era opening broader fields 
 
 Of labor for the coming generation. 
 A woman's masterful and powerful voice 
 
 Aroused the slumbering patriotism of a nation; 
 'Twixt slavery and freedom had mankind a choice 
 
 After Harriet Beecher's divine revelation? 
 And in the ranks of all America's proud sons 
 
 Is there an intellect surpassing Anna Dickinson's? 
 Nor in the great book shall the recording angel fail 
 
 To write the names of Clara Burton, and Florence Nightingale? 
 England has prospered under Queen Victoria's reign; 
 
 To battle Jean De Arc led her victorious hosts; 
 While the fame of the heroic Grace Darling, 
 
 Shall flame like beacon light along our sea-beat coasts. 
 True, men have shaped the race's destiny. 
 
 But mothers shaped for destiny our country's ablest sons, 
 And were it not for woman's gentle ministry, 
 
 We'd have no Lincolns, Grants or Washingtons. 
 
THE MINISTER'S WOOING. 123 
 
 The milk of human kindness in his breast is frozen 
 
 Who underrates his precious mother, 
 Much less the wife his heart hath chosen, 
 
 Or deems a sister lower than a brother. 
 Full meed of praise I give to Edison, 
 
 Morse, Singer, Grant, Logan, Lincoln, or any other 
 Inventor, hero, or general; but remember every one 
 
 Of these great, wise, good men had a loving mother. 
 But let us end this bootless controversy. 
 
 I wave the flag of truce, retracting nothing I have said; 
 If, having wounded you, I humbly ask your mercy. 
 
 Leaving the dead to bury their own dead." 
 
124: - GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 BILL BLIVVENS. 
 
 OR THE ADVENTURES OF A HANDSOME MAN. 
 
 "What shadows we are, what shadows we pursued." 
 
 My hero's name is Bill: 
 
 A very unromantic cognomen, I own. 
 His mates and teachers called him Will, 
 
 Which lengthened into William when to manhood grown. 
 To doting mamma, he her Willie was; 
 
 His bar-room cronies called him an "unsettled Bill;" 
 By not a few he was "Sweet William" dubbed, 
 But that was when he was dressed up to kill. 
 His sweetheart called him — well, no matter 
 
 What. A woman when in love's too soft for any use — 
 Disposed to cajole, pet and flatter 
 
 A man, until he is a perfect goose. 
 In face and form, he was a second Apollo; 
 
 Hyperion curls adorned his matchless brow. 
 Which many of his friends declared was hollow — 
 
 It really seemed to be so, I'll allow. 
 Here, gentle reader, and still more gentle purchaser, I would 
 whisper 
 In your ear, sotto voce^ aside, 
 A curly-headed man is apt to be a lisper 
 
 Of empty nothings, and in the weaker sex confide 
 To his undoing; not that I mean to infer 
 
 That all curly heads are empty quite of brains. 
 But beauty in either sex is made to answer 
 For wit, and in the end too often gains. 
 Well, we'll pass over our hero's childhood; 
 
 It passed as many an one has done before: 
 His home spun breeches the paternal cudgels withstood; 
 The teacher's ferule with a martyr's fortitude he bore; 
 
BILL BLIVVENS. 125 
 
 He figured through subtraction, mastered common fractions. 
 
 Conjugated "I love," "you love," "I love you;" 
 Learned all that astronomers knew of the heavenly bodies' 
 actions; 
 
 Swapped knives, fish-hooks, marbles, as all boys do. 
 In neighboring orchards, when the moon was waning. 
 
 Pie practiced the subtraction he had learned at school, 
 The half of their sweet winter pippins claiming, 
 
 Dividing by the long-division rule. 
 With only blood of squirrel, bird and rabbit 
 
 Our hero's hands at t^venty were imbued. 
 To read the Bible was his daily habit; 
 
 In fact, his morals were exceeding good. 
 He was like prisoned bird in cage, long pining. 
 
 With only glimpses of the great world outside. 
 To him the clouds as yet showed but the silver lining — 
 
 He longed above them now to spread his wings out wide. 
 So bidding farewell to his loving mother. 
 
 He souglit a city not unknown to fame. 
 Dreaming fond dreams, like many another, 
 
 Of fame and fortune, and perhaps a name. 
 As he, the very pink of neatness. 
 
 Slowly meandered through the city's street, 
 Gazing admiringly, with glance of sweetness, 
 
 At every pretty girl he chanced to meet, 
 A friendly hand was placed upon his shoulder, 
 
 A jovial voice inquired how he did. 
 Remarking that he looked not a day older 
 
 Than ten years since, when he was but a kid. 
 To pass the night at his new friend's lodgings, 
 
 In his simplicity seemed just the thing; 
 Besides, his hospitality there was no way of dodging: 
 
 There was in it suck an e-iirnest, hearty ring. 
 The stylish rooms to wiiioh he was conducted 
 
 Convinced him that ke was a man of taste. 
 The groaning board, with costly viands spread. 
 
 Seemed in his rustic eyes but useless waste. 
 
126 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 He freely drank of whisky, wine and brandy; 
 
 In fact, too freely, for when time came to retire, 
 He thanked his stars the couch was handy, 
 
 He could not if he would in this world get higher. 
 Next morn when he awoke, his genial friend was "non est/' 
 
 So was his well-filled purse and pin and watch; 
 No longer he figured as the much honored guest. 
 
 Nor deemed himself for city rogues a match. 
 Next day he left the city far behind him; 
 
 At night found shelter in rough mining camps; 
 And journeying thus, one eve in valley far below him 
 
 He spied a city's thousand gleaming lamps. 
 Into a Mormon elder's home he was admitted, 
 
 For to Salt Lake City he had strayed. 
 And by his beauty being for a Mormon elder fitted, 
 
 To his two blooming daughters his addresses paid. 
 
 William's intentions when he started out were good. 
 
 What matter? 'tis said, ''With good intentions hell is paved.' 
 But in the beginning, I wish it understood 
 
 That he was a youth not naturally depraved. 
 His chums at home with but one wife 
 
 With all his heart he pitied, in his youthful days; 
 But that was when he little knew of life, 
 
 Or the wide world and all its wicked ways. 
 Then, too, "circumstances alter cases," and they 
 
 In Rome should do as the Romans do. 
 The saying holds good in Utah, and when there one may 
 
 Wed even more than one or two. 
 In courting both at once, our hero 
 
 Time by the very forelock took; 
 His firm should be Bill Blivvens, Wife & Co., 
 
 As he intended one for parlor furniture, the other cook. 
 O Co. ! the bane of all Americans. 
 
 Co. plays the silent partner's part till merchants fail; 
 Co. holds a mortgage on their stock and lands. 
 
 And sucks in little fishes like a greedy whale. 
 
BILL BLIVYENS. 127 
 
 Co. stares us in the face where' er we go, 
 
 From modern structure and from building old and hoary, 
 The real foundation of our nation's Co. 
 
 Co. — -but never mind, here's to my story : 
 Their happiness to William's keeping these fair ones tender, 
 
 A more than willing ear lent to his suit;' 
 Their's was to be an unconditional surrender 
 
 Of hearts and hands, and worldly goods to boot. 
 The worldly goods was the fish for which he angled, 
 
 Catch it he must by hook or crook; 
 He knew that many a finny prize in golden net entangled 
 
 Oft fell an easy prey to wary fisher's hook. 
 So following the prevailing American fashion, 
 
 He bragged of his ancestral halls and broad estates, 
 Of bonds and stocks he soon would get the cash on; 
 
 In short, he threw out many golden baits. 
 Their courtship passed, as happy courtships do, 
 
 The hours lagged slowly when apart; flew when together; 
 The clouds show silver linings when men come to woo; 
 
 'Tis marriage that brings out the stormy weather. 
 The day set for their double nuptials came at last; 
 
 The groom in broadcloth was attired; the brides in satin, 
 A Mormon elder in the bonds of wedlock tied them fast 
 
 By saying o'er a rigamarole in Greek or Latin. 
 
 Alas! the course of true love never did run smooth 
 
 Since Eve and Adam were turned out of Eden, 
 Which to the present generation goes to prove 
 
 The tree of knowledge grows the fruit forbidden. 
 If this be true, "then ignorance is bliss," 
 
 In blissful ignorance why could we not remain? 
 It surely was a happier state than this; 
 
 But let us return to our luckless swain. 
 Sad to relate, they had no more than to housekeeping settled 
 
 Than Martha 'gainst the idle Mary made complaint. 
 Which the hitherto unrufiied spirit of our hero nettled 
 
 As he considered Mary quite a saint. 
 
128 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 He forthwith undertook to settle 
 
 The portion of his firm he designated Co., 
 But found his Martha, when on her mettle, 
 
 At fencing with the broomstick wasn't slow. 
 Her woman's prerogative she wielded 
 
 Until the handle o'er his noddle broke; 
 Behind the cupboard door his form he shielded 
 
 And thus evaded many a telling stroke; 
 And, added to the bedlam of the second, 
 
 Wife No. 1 appeared upon the scene. 
 Upon her aid had reckless William reckoned — • 
 
 No match for both at once was he I ween. 
 Although with fire-wood, tongs and poker 
 
 He got in a few quite telling blows, 
 He found his Martha's fist no '^ little joker" 
 
 When played regardless on his precious nose. 
 Like conquered general, he soon retired, defeated, 
 
 Packing from the battle-field his dead. 
 Discovering meantime that he had not been cheated. 
 
 For in the melee he had gained — a head. 
 He felt like Atlas, with the w^orld from off" his slioulders 
 slipping, 
 
 His household lares and penates fallen low, 
 With drops of gore from nose and battered forehead dripping. 
 
 Houseless and homeless no where could he go. 
 Along the Salt Lake's shore he plodded, 
 
 A lonely exile he who late a kingdom swayed. 
 Upon the uncertainties of life he sadly brooded, 
 
 Sighing, alas! how swiftly earthly glories fade. 
 
 But hark! What meant that hoarse, deep murmur, 
 
 Borne to his ears upon the evening breeze? 
 It came again, nearer yet and clearer; 
 
 Then dropping down and crawling on his hands and knees 
 He reached a wood hard by and climbed a tree. 
 
 But not like Zaccheus, his Lord to see. 
 
BILL BLIVYENS. 129 
 
 A band of angry Mormons, bent on vengeance, 
 
 Was what had caused our hero's flight; 
 On, on they came, their torches in the distance, 
 Casting on all around a lurid light. 
 
 They searched the forest o'er and o'er, 
 
 Discovered tracks along the shore; 
 
 Then in the tree his form espied, 
 
 Where he had thought to safely hide. 
 
 And with a wild, exultant yell 
 
 As though a band of fiends from — well. 
 
 They dragged from oft' his lofty perch 
 
 The trembling object of their search. 
 
 "Down with the wretch! Down with the churl 
 
 Who dare assault my precious girl ! " 
 
 Martha's indignant father cried. 
 
 "We'll treat him to a horseback ride. 
 
 Bring forth the horse!" The horse was brought, 
 
 A bony brute but lately caught 
 
 From a herd of horses, wild and free 
 
 As is the restless, billowy sea. 
 
 Upon his back, securely bound. 
 
 By cords and rope wrapped round and round, 
 They loosed him with a fiendish cry 
 
 And left him to be borne away 
 
 Across the plains and mountains high, 
 
 Which skirt the lonely way. 
 
 The hazy landscape by him reeled — 
 
 Hill, mountain, lake and wood and field — 
 
 Like views in the kaleidoscope. 
 
 In quick succession close and ope. 
 
 Ah, better far the torturer's rack 
 
 Than riding on this courser's back. 
 
 No need of spur, nor bit, nor lash 
 
 To urge or guide him. On they dash, 
 
 O'er plain and mountain; lake and stream, 
 
 Glide swiftly by him like a dream. 
 
130 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 All night he heard the pattering feet 
 Of wolves upon the dead leaves beat, 
 With blood-shot eyes and lolling tongue, 
 Steal noiselessly the trees among. 
 He felt their hot breath on his cheek; 
 And his tired courser pant and reek. 
 His senses reeled, the race gave o'er, 
 Of his mad race he knew no more 
 Till just at dying of the day. 
 Close at his side a horse's neigh 
 Awoke him from his deadly swoon. 
 
 And lying, stretched upon the ground, 
 Beneath the glowing harvest moon. 
 
 To find himself by Indians bound. 
 He watched the Indians reel and swing 
 And high in air their war clubs fling; 
 In hideous war paint dancing round 
 The stake where he would soon be bound. 
 He knew to what their war dance led — 
 That soon he'd number with the dead; 
 When suddenly a step draws near, 
 A gentle whisper greets his ear: 
 " Fly, white man, fly ! In the gulch below 
 A pony waits you; take it; go." 
 She cut the thongs from feet and wrists, 
 Pauses a moment, stops and lists; 
 Then leads him back across the sands 
 To where an Indian pony stands. 
 But on his lonely, lonely ride 
 O'er desert lone and vast and wide, 
 A curtain let us draw. Enough to know 
 
 That on Paciflc's rugged coast 
 He found a good ship eastward bound 
 
 And shipped on board. In gale was lost, 
 And none survived the awful gale, 
 gave only he, to tell the tale, 
 
BILL BLIVVENS. 131 
 
 How, when the life boat had put off 
 
 From vessel's side, she lurched and sank 
 
 With all on board — that the life boat rode 
 
 The waves alone until the crew had perished one by one. 
 
 Alone he drifted, day after day, 
 
 Until he sighted land, put in the bay, 
 
 And found that to the Isle of Juan Fernandes 
 
 He had been drifted by the restless seas. 
 
 A straw-thatched hut, its only habitation, 
 
 By one tall, graceful palm tree shaded. 
 Crusoe's very goat, or a near relation. 
 
 Along the wreck-strewn sea beach waded; 
 The very foot prints in the sand that Robinson discovered; 
 
 The same oppressive silence everywhere; 
 The screaming gulls about him tamely hovered; 
 
 The beasts came stalking harmless from their lair; 
 And, as if to prove still more conclusively, 
 
 The stories told by Robinson were true, 
 A native closely resembling Friday 
 
 From a group of palm trees just then came to view. 
 Our hero greeted him with lusty hello. 
 
 The native in his turn sent back a friendly shout. 
 Or rather a deep guttural bellow 
 
 Which brought all the beasts upon the Island out. 
 
 O links connecting! O ye shades 
 
 Of Darwin, has it come to this ? 
 And studying the uncivilized negro persuades 
 
 Me that your theory is not amiss. 
 
 But I digress, as story writers say; 
 
 I do so love to ape the story writers' fashion; 
 But if I pause or loiter by the way. 
 
 It puts my little muse in such a passion. 
 
132 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 But Pegasus stubbornly refuses to be guided 
 
 By such a stripling as my infant muse, 
 Although from wandering from the beaten track I've chided 
 
 And lashed him back, again, his own way will he choose. 
 And having cantered into Eden's bowers, 
 
 He longs for other chestnuts yet to crack; 
 So leaving Eden and its heavenly flowers, 
 
 Wishes to put Darwin on the rack. 
 Are we descendants of old Father Adam ? 
 
 Is his query — or did we evolve from a lower race 
 By slow degrees till we attained the human 
 
 Form divine, and beauteous, faultless face? 
 That is, some do, while others closely resemble 
 
 The apes that Darwin claims our forefathers were. 
 Just here Pegasus, into deep water stumbling, fell, 
 
 And Muse, disgusted with the subject, will no further stir. 
 So by your leave we'll leave the monkey 
 
 To climb to heights that we can never hope to scale; 
 Whether we descended from them or the donkey 
 
 'Tis naught to me; here's to my tale: : 
 
 A year passed by upon the isle where Crusoe 
 
 So long with his man Friday lived; 
 As he did, William continued to do so. 
 
 And of the same food ate and thrived 
 As did his famous predecessor, 
 
 Until one day a whale ship anchored in the bay. 
 He bade farewell to Friday and his island home forever, 
 
 And far to the north-land sailed away. 
 
 One day while hunting on the mainland 
 
 From the hunting party William stole 
 Away, and on his wanderings far inland. 
 
 Discovered what he supposed to be the pole. 
 
 William had braved the stormy ocean's billow. 
 Made in desert wastes, the sand, his nightly pillow; 
 
BILL BLIVYENS. 133 
 
 Had traveled weary hours alone and friendless, 
 Lost in the mazes of lonely wildernesses; 
 Had climbed the Kockies' highest peaks 
 
 And watched in fear and wonder 
 The forked lightning play 
 
 And heard the deep-voiced thunder, 
 Nor felt one-half the loneliness that o'er him stole, 
 As he surveyed the sea of ice around the pole. 
 What good, quoth he, has been the fuss and bother 
 Of sending expeditions the north pole to discover. 
 What useless waste of time, and life and treasure. 
 Privations, starving, freezing, trouble without measure, 
 This pole has caused. The lives of Franklin, Greeley, Kane^ 
 And all their men, were sacrificed in vain. 
 In search of this small, useless pole, which to me 
 Seems not an inch taller than the pole of liberty 
 We furl our flag upon at home. 
 
 In my opinion, it's the height of foolishness to come 
 To this dull, dreary land of snow and ice, 
 And thus their lives and ships to sacrifice. 
 As he soliloquized in this strain, walking about the pole, 
 He slipped and fell into an enormous hole 
 Which had escaped his eye till down he fell, 
 As he supposed, into a hidden well. 
 Down, down he slid, and when at length he -stopped, 
 He found that in a pot of blubber he had dropped; 
 And as he struggled in its depths half drownded, 
 He found himself by grinning Esquimaux surrounded. 
 A sperm-oil lamp in corner dimly glimmered. 
 And on a fire hard by, a porpoise slowly simmered; 
 And as he ruefully surveyed his greasy breeches, 
 To which the blubber clung and hung like leeches, 
 A native motioned, and our hero followed 
 Into another room, beneath a snow-bank hollowed; 
 And soon like native-born began to feel, 
 Arrayed in bear-skin coat, and pants of seal. 
 
134 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Then with the natives on their bear-skin rugs reclining, 
 
 Off fish, and soup, and roasted porpoise dining, 
 
 The while he masticated a tough fish's fin, 
 
 The rude interior of the hut took in; 
 
 And, lo! the name of Franklin caught his eye 
 
 Carved on a beam upon the ceiling high. 
 
 Then springing to his feet began to peer about, 
 
 Amazed, perplexed, beset by fear and doubt. 
 
 "This house is but the cabin of a ship," quoth he, 
 
 "The pole its main or mizzen mast must be." 
 
 And as he gazed about him, lost in wonder. 
 
 He spied a native (whether man or maid he could not tell, 
 Their dress being the same), eyeing him furtively from under 
 
 A seal-skin robe which to her boot-tops fell, 
 And being aware of his rare attractions 
 
 Surmised at once — manlike — she was love-struck. 
 Emboldened by her gestures, glances and friendly actions, 
 
 Once more at courtship thought to try his luck. 
 Love's shafts pierce sealskin easy as merino, 
 
 JS'o mantle's proof 'gainst his unerring aim. 
 Right through the seal-skin dolman of Nocena 
 
 (That was her name), his well-aimed arrow came. 
 O Cupid! thou untiring, fleet-footed rambler. 
 
 Inspiring all where'er you go with love, 
 Known to be professional tramp and tricky gambler 
 ^ In town and country, court, and camp, and grove, 
 Yet courted, feted, nursed and petted 
 
 In temperate, torrid, frigid zone alike, 
 Thy coming welcomed, departure regrettea, 
 
 Though 'mong the heart-strings your barbed arrows strike. 
 If Lapland's cold makes us poor mortals shiver, 
 
 No wonder you prefer the tropic clime to it; 
 Yet many a northern maid has felt your arrow's quiver 
 
 And rankle in her heart, as on your rounds you flit. 
 
BILL BLIVVENS. 135 
 
 But why dwell on their love and marriage ? 
 
 They loved, were wed, lived happily together. 
 She wished for neither houses, horse nor carriage; 
 
 The only dress she asked for was of leather; 
 Besides she could not speak his language 
 
 And luckily escaped his curtain lectures. 
 The changing fashions which so busily engage 
 
 The ladies of our clime were all unknown to hers. 
 Think of it, ye lords of the creation, 
 
 No milliner or mantua-makers bills to pay; 
 No aping styles of so-called civilization; 
 
 A wife who could not say her say; 
 No back-talk, scolding nor upbraiding; 
 
 No threats to go back home to pa; 
 No rouged cheeks nor false eyebrows shading, 
 
 No tortured- instruments do-ra-mi-fa; 
 No monstrous annual bills to settle — 
 
 Just one continuous dream of peace. 
 His only duty was to keep the household kettle 
 
 Filled with a goodly store of grease. 
 Behind fleet-footed reindeer, on strong sledges sliding, 
 
 Mile after mile along the glittering track, 
 He felt the old life from his memory gliding. 
 
 And to it seldom, if ever, wished himself back. 
 Three years passed by, of unalloyed pleasure — 
 
 Three years of peace, such as few mortals know; 
 Such happy, care-free days and months of leisure 
 
 As seldom falls to lot of many here below. 
 In spring-time of the fourth he joined an expedition 
 
 To hunt and fish in Baffin's Bay. 
 So, promising Nocena a bran new sealskin, 
 
 Upon his snow sled was he borne away. 
 Two months passed by, and still no message 
 
 Came to Nocena from her wandering lord. 
 Another came and went, and still he came not — 
 
 Her heart was sick with hope deferred. 
 
136 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Meantime, how fared the hunting party ? 
 
 Their sleds were loaded down with furs and oil; 
 All hands were happy, well and hearty, 
 
 And well repaid for months of weary toil. 
 The night before they all intended starting homeward, 
 
 As William's eye roved o'er the icy glare, 
 Upon a monstrous iceberg he discovered 
 
 A large, white polar bear. 
 Bang ! went his gun, and there upon the iceberg 
 
 Bruin lay dead as bear could be. 
 He sprang upon the berg, and thus dislodged it, 
 
 And ere he was aware had floated out to sea. 
 Again adrift upon the lonely ocean, 
 
 No food save flesh of the dead polar bear, 
 Dizzy and faint from the iceberg's rolling motion, 
 
 Drifting far out to sea, he knew not where. 
 His elk-skin coat proved ample covering; 
 
 The melting ice served to allay his thirst; 
 But 5'er his head, he felt Death's angel hovering. 
 
 Alternately he prayed, and wept, and cursed. 
 But just when on the eve of plunging in the ocean 
 
 And ending thus his misery, 
 All suddenly he changed his notion, 
 
 As he discerned a sail far out at sea. 
 It proved to be a ship bound for New York harbor. 
 
 Which sailed alongside his huge ice car. 
 Upon its deck he soon was hoisted 
 
 By steady hands of many a jolly tar. 
 The captain proved to be his long lost brother. 
 
 And they together sought their childhood's home; 
 Were warmly welcomed by their aged mother. 
 
 And never more desired to roam. 
 
 moral: 
 Never love; never rove; 
 *' Home-keeping hearts are happiest; 
 To stay at home is best." 
 
JIM LEE. 13Y 
 
 JIM LEE. 
 
 "We climbed the rock-built breasts of earth; 
 
 We saw the snowy mountains rolled 
 Like mighty billows ; saw the birth 
 
 Of sudden dawn ; beheld the gold 
 Of awful sunsets; saw the face 
 Of God, and named it boundless space,** 
 
 I. 
 
 In the wild and lonely West-land — 
 By its people thought the best land — 
 In a city that's called Denver, 
 
 Or ''Queen City of the Plain," 
 Lived a Chinese youth named Jim Lee, 
 Who had earned by washee-washee 
 Enough cash to make him wealthy 
 
 In his home across the main. 
 So he called his friends together, 
 All his friends with skins like leather — 
 East Lung, West Lung, Sim Kee, Hong Kee, 
 
 Wong Ho, Woo Chung and Wung Kee — • 
 And he told them he was going 
 Where the rice and tea were growing; 
 There to no more washee-washee — 
 
 In his home across the sea. 
 Then up spoke a heathen Chinee, 
 The buff rascal they called »Hong Kee: 
 ''Why not travel through this country? 
 
 Why go home so soon ? " said he. 
 "Through the mountains I would wander; 
 Climb those high peaks over yonder." 
 
 "So I will," replied Jim Lee. 
 
 II. 
 
 In his baggy Sunday breeches. 
 That bespoke the wearer's riches; 
 Cork shoe soles, blue polonaise. 
 
138 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 With a look of great dejection, 
 Added to a bad complexion, 
 Thus he took his holiday. 
 
 III. 
 
 Starting forth at 6arly morning, 
 The fleet-footed railway scorning, 
 Tramping where the farmers' ditches 
 
 Their fine farms had cut in two. 
 Over fields of green alfalfa, 
 
 With its blooms of deepest blue, 
 Till he reached the rolling foothills. 
 
 And the mountains came to view; 
 Climbed he to old Pike's Peak summit, 
 Saw the sun sink like a plummet 
 Down below the distant prairie 
 On the wold's dim boundary; 
 Felt he like a homeless stranger 
 Mid the rock-ribbed mountain's grandeur, 
 Defying storms of countless ages, 
 
 Lasting as eternity; 
 Through deep canons, dark and gruesome. 
 Into chasms, dim and lonesome. 
 Plunged he where the echoes answering call; 
 On whose sides hang monstrous boulders, 
 Rounded smooth by nature's moulders, 
 
 Threatening at a breath to toppling downward fall, 
 And the waters o'er them singing, 
 Nature's symphonies are flinging 
 Upward to the great Jehovah, 
 
 Who keeps watch and ward o'er all 
 High o'er head great eagles flying. 
 Brightest sun rays' glare defying. 
 
 Symbolizing liberty. 
 And as musingly he wandered 
 Where a mountain torrent thundered, 
 
JIM LEE. 139 
 
 Gazed he upward to an opening 
 
 In the rocks above his head. 
 Hearing sound of picks and hammers 
 Guessed he'd struck a band of miners, 
 
 Climbing, followed where it led. 
 But the moment thej beheld him, 
 In a body fell they on him, p 
 
 Pelting him with sand and gravel, 
 Beating him with spade and shovel, 
 
 Shouting: "Pull your freight "" " Get off the dunr >! '* 
 *'Down with Chinese cheap labor!" 
 ''We no Chinamen will harbor." 
 
 '' Skip, you rascal! " " Git up and hump! " 
 Through the gloomy opening crawling, 
 Oftimes on the hard floor falling, 
 (Followed by the grimy miners. 
 Armed with pick-axes and hammers,) 
 Crept the battered, bruised Chinee; 
 And they heard him sadly murmur. 
 As he dodged a flying hammer, 
 "Dlam Amelica! Chinaman's no flee." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Next he met an Irish laddie 
 On the narrow, winding walk; 
 
 Swinging from his big shellalah 
 Hung his pack upon his back. 
 "Clear the track," cried tramping Paddy; 
 "Out on a hay thin Chinese laddie. 
 
 I'd much laver meet a naygar 
 
 Than a yellow haythin blackgur'd." 
 
 Sadly sighed poor tired Lee, 
 "Irishee no like Chinee." 
 
 V. 
 
 Next he met a band of Germans — 
 
 Shakes unt Shons, Hendreiks unt Hermans - 
 Led by brawny, sun-burnt Hantz. 
 
140 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 ''Gott in Himmel! See dot voman 
 In blue boljnaise a coomin'. 
 Put your shirt indo your pants," said Herman. 
 
 ^'Plock oap der vay oap there," cried Hantz; 
 
 "Now, told us. vy for you vos gommin' 
 Dressed in clodings like a voman 
 To imbose Shineese sheap labor 
 On us honest mountaineers. 
 Go right pack unt go to vashing 
 Or your het vill get some mashin*." 
 Backward turned poor hunted Lee, 
 Muttering, ''Dutchee no likee ploor Chinet ' 
 
 VI. 
 
 Next he passed a son of Briton, 
 
 Sitting by the noisy brook, 
 Busily engaged in fittin' 
 
 Gaudy flies upon his hook. 
 <*He will surely kill me; 
 Muchee fightee Englishee," 
 Thought the frightened little Chinee 
 
 As he backward cast a look. 
 But he simply looked and grunted. 
 
 Otherwise no notice took, 
 And as though no such game he hunted, 
 
 Kept on angling in the brook. 
 Muttering, onward trudged Jim Lee, 
 "Muchee lazee Englishee." 
 
 VII. 
 
 Passed he then where stately mountains 
 
 Point to heaven with snowy fingers 
 From cloud mists, like spray of fountains, 
 
 That about their rough base lingers. 
 
 Lulled by murmur of the pine trees 
 
 Chanting in low monody, 
 
 Secrets of the cicalas, 
 
JIM LEE. 141 
 
 Whose shrill tones are never gay; 
 Charmed by wild birds' gentle warble 
 
 Nature's own free minstrelsy, 
 Mountain torrents' soothing gurgle, 
 
 Flowing onward ceaselessly; 
 Underneath a giant pine tree, 
 Fast asleep fell tired Lee. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But his dreams were rudely broken 
 
 Ere he long asleep had been, 
 By hearing his own name spoken 
 
 By a dainty fairy queen, 
 Perched mid branches of the pine tree, 
 
 Dressed in palest emerald green, 
 Hurling sharp pine-needles at him, 
 
 Sat the angry fairy queen. 
 Crying, ''Ne'er was fairy realm polluted. 
 
 By a rat-eating Chinee." 
 At him hosts of fairies hooted. 
 
 Grouped about her in the tree. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Fairy forms on blue bells swinging, 
 
 Perched on graceful fern leaves there. 
 Filled the glen with wildest singing, 
 
 Hovered, floating in the air, 
 Till he rose and fled afli-ighted. 
 
 Wondering where in peace might be 
 The persecuted and benighted. 
 
 Abused son of a Chinee. 
 
 X. 
 
 So Jim Lee, disgusted, weary, 
 
 Pressed on toward the setting sun. 
 
 Thinking, traveling, not too merry, 
 For a heathen Chinaman, 
 
142 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 O'er steep mountain ranges climbing, 
 Past the rock-ribbed crested Buttes, 
 
 Waterfall and ditch for mining, 
 'Till he struck a band of Utes. 
 
 XI. 
 
 "He yah, hi yah, he yah, hi yah," 
 
 Howled the fierce, blood-thirsty gang 
 Which encompassed trembling Jim Lee, 
 
 And in reeling war dance sprang. 
 From his head they cut his pigtail, 
 
 Took his shoes from off his feet, 
 Signifying by a wild wail, 
 
 He was good enough to eat; 
 But he bounded from their circle 
 
 With a cat-like, agile spring, 
 Hidden where the pine trees darkle. 
 
 Still pursued his wandering. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Now from ridge-pole of their tepee 
 Hangs the pigtail of Jim Lee; 
 While he washing waits in Denver, 
 Until he's grown another, 
 And to saffron-colored brothers, 
 As they sip their tea together, 
 He remarks: " Amelica is flee, 
 To all but the Chinee." 
 
THE MISTAKES OF MOSES. 143 
 
 THE MISTAKES OF MOSES. 
 
 'Twas on a balmy day in May, 
 That Moses hitched up his piebald bay, 
 And all by himself rode away, 
 Leaving his good wife Hannah at home 
 To mind the fariii while he was gone. 
 <'Fer," said he, ''there never did no good come 
 Of women a galivantin' around; 
 The place fer them is tu hum — 
 I believe in keepin 'em pretty well down. 
 Or they'd soon be running the country and town, 
 And thinkin' themselves the only one, 
 When we men think, at least I du. 
 That we air very distinctly two." 
 
 II. 
 
 The day so deliciously bright and warm 
 Acted on Moses like a charm, 
 
 Till he felt what he called "meller." . 
 The palpitating, perfumed air. 
 The flowers blooming everywhere. 
 And most of all the gait of the mare. 
 
 Seemed to renew a feller. 
 So Moses thought, as he braced back. 
 As his two-wheeled cart flew o'er the track, 
 Declaring, "There warn't in the kentry, near nor far, 
 A match in speed fer thet thar mar. 
 
 And he'd never, never sell her. 
 
 III. 
 "Nor there aint another to equal my farm; 
 My house is the biggest; so's my barn; 
 My stock air of the very purest breed; 
 In everything I take the lead. 
 Throughout the entire kentry." 
 
14i GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 But here he thought of his whitening hair, 
 And murmured: "Ef I only hed an heir 
 To leave it all to when I die, 
 'Twould my heart entirely satisfy, 
 And I'd be at the head of the gentry. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But why can't I git a divorce ?" 
 Here he touched with the whip his cherished horse, 
 To give full vent to his feelings. 
 << Besides, sech things have been done, 
 Fer didn't the famous Napoleon 
 Divorce his good wife Josephine, 
 Because she failed to bear a son, 
 Altho' it did look all-fired mean, 
 And warn't much better 'n stealing. 
 
 V. 
 
 "Old Brigham Young had wives to spare, 
 And the Lord only knows how many an heir 
 They bore him, while here I be. 
 Chipper and spry at seventy-three, 
 With nary a chick to bless me. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Them Bible fellers in olden times 
 Had dozens of wives an' concubines; 
 When tired of one, they'd put her away, 
 And marry another the self-same day, 
 
 In the cheekiest sort o' manner. 
 My wife is crippled with rheumatiz. 
 Has wrinkles all over her homely pliiz, 
 And grows more cranky as she grows old, 
 While her love for me has long been cold. 
 And they do say, when wimen git 
 To a certain age, that tliey forgit, 
 
THE MISTAKES OF MOSES. 145 
 
 An' doze, an' lose their eje-sight, hearin', an' sense, 
 And leave oft jest where they commence; 
 So I think I will part with Hanner. 
 
 VII. 
 
 *'I know she has been a good wife to me, 
 And earned her share of the property, 
 Yet some liow we never did quite agree; 
 And when my mind was fairly sot 
 On plantin' wheat in a certain lot, 
 She would object as like as not; 
 An' when I reflect, I think she was right 
 
 jN^ine times out of ten, 
 And knew a blamed sight 
 
 Mor'n most women; 
 An' cook! I du believe that she 
 Can out-cook ary woman I ever see; 
 At least her cooking seems to me 
 
 Kemarkable oncommon. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 *'But we must part; I need a young 
 And handsome woman as much as Brigham, 
 Or David, or Jacob, or Solomon, 
 And as the Bible is our guide, 
 I'll ask the parson to decide 
 Jest what to do with Hanner. 
 I'll have to say she's lost her mind, 
 Is gittin' fractious, deaf and blind; 
 My lawyer'll set the pot to bilin', 
 And when it's settled to my mind, 
 And all the papers duly signed, 
 We'll chuck her into the 'sylum. 
 
 IX. 
 
 So said, so done; 
 
 For as Moses said, «'He wasn't the one 
 
 To back out when he'd once begun, 
 
 — 10 
 
146 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Nor change his mind when heM a notion got, 
 For when he was sot, he was pow'ful sot." 
 The lawyer, with a goodly fee in view. 
 Undertook with a zest to undo 
 The Gordian knot which bound them fast, 
 And before a single week had passed. 
 
 He had set the pot to bilin'; 
 And together with Moses' barefaced lies, 
 And his own monstrous villainies, 
 
 They'd ''chucked her in the asylum." 
 
 X 
 
 But somehow, when Moses came back home. 
 He found the old house cold and lone, 
 
 And he felt "all over in spots," as he expressed it. 
 The cat mewed low and plaintively. 
 And his faithful dog, who was wont to be 
 The first to greet him joyously, 
 Tucked 'twixt his legs his wag-less tail. 
 And slunk away with a mournful wail, 
 
 So that Moses inwardly cussed it. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The lawyer agreed to find him a wife. 
 But signally failed. For his very life 
 He couldn't induce a girl in the town, 
 Nor anywhere in the country round, 
 
 To wed him for all his obvious wealth; 
 And Moses thought, "Miles Standish and I agree. 
 Fer he was fixed about like me, 
 
 When he said ' Ef you want a thing well done, 
 jest do it yourself.'" 
 
 So oO a, itii-oti town where he wasn't known, 
 Moses went and brought back a stylish blonde 
 
 To mistress be of his house and home, 
 On whom he settled ten thousand pound. 
 
THE MISTAKES OF MOSES. I4.7 
 
 Altlioiigli she could not keep house nor cook, 
 She could dress like a perfect fashion book, 
 And her beauty by storm his bleared eje took. 
 
 xin. 
 All went well for a week or two, 
 
 But love cannot thrive on half-baked dough 
 And butter scalded a sickly hue; 
 
 So Moses, at his wits' ends what to do, 
 Began to feel a trifle blue, 
 
 Till he asked one day in a rage, "If she thought she knew 
 Enough to boil well water through " — 
 An insult she never could forgive. 
 And declared with him to no longer live. 
 Though he begged her pardon on bended knees, 
 And wept in a dozen different keys, 
 She accepted no apologies. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And when at dinner he turned his back. 
 She doped his coffee with ipecac, 
 Till he thought he was surely poisoned. 
 Finding he could neither stand nor sit, 
 He hopped and squirmed like a cat in a fit. 
 
 Crying, "I'm paralyzin'!" 
 Uttering unearthly moans and sighs, 
 Mingled with fearful groans and cries. 
 
 Of paralyze and pizen. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Off for the doctor posts the maid. 
 And the fair bride, sorely dismayed 
 
 At the turn her joke had taken, 
 Fled with poor Moses' pocketbook. 
 Likewise the fifty thousand took, 
 
 Nor ever was o'ertaken. 
 
148 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 XYI. 
 Shut in from glaring light of day, 
 For three long weeks he groaning lay 
 
 Within his darkened room; 
 Then death decided to let him see 
 What a fool a gray old fool can be, 
 And nature asserted supremacy, 
 
 And he rose as from the tomb. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 There sat Hannah in her old arm chair 
 The firelight glinting her soft gray hair, 
 With the look of peace that angels wear 
 (In pictures), not unmixed with care. 
 
 On her wrinkled face. Then Moses thought of 
 thepizen; 
 And as he gazed he stifled a sigh. 
 And a childish, unmanly desire to cry, 
 That shook his feeble, fevered frame, 
 Till he hid his head 'neath the counterpane. 
 
 And sobbed in a way surprisin'. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 <'01d wine is best," mused thoughtful Mose, 
 ''And 'pears to me when I reflect on 
 The awful fix I've been in, 
 There's more in age than men suppose, 
 And my experience with young ones shows 
 That age improves the women." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 So every cloud has linings bright. 
 And after darkness cometh light 
 To make the brighter cheer. 
 ''Into each life some rain must fall," 
 For sorrow is the fate of all; 
 
 But storms make clear the atmosphere. 
 And God is over all. 
 
now IJGE DIDN'T BOOM ^1 HE TOWN. 149 
 
 HOW LIGE DIDN'T BOOM THE TOWN. 
 
 I. 
 
 His head was bald, and smooth as a jug, 
 
 Except a scattering gray fringe at the base; 
 A mouth and chin like an English pug 
 
 Gave a comical look to his wrinkled face; 
 A nose as sharp as the beak of a bird, 
 Made him look as he was, both tight and hard, 
 And he gazed on the world through two ferrety eyes 
 That peered to the depths of its falsities. 
 
 n. 
 
 That Elijah was close, or a little near, 
 His friends avowed, and a trifle queer, 
 But in sharpness and shrewdness he had no peer 
 
 In the town, ,nor anywhere in the country round. 
 And he grasped his wealth with a death-like grip. 
 For fear a penny or two might slip 
 Through his bony fingers, for, said he, with a laugh, 
 "I'm too old a bird to be caught by the chaff 
 
 That's floatin' in this yer kentry town. 
 I've been nigh onto sixty year, 
 Gatherin' the heft o' my worldly gear; 
 Money's hard to git, but harder to hold; 
 A man is valeyed for his gold, 
 
 And to keep mine I am bound. 
 
 III. 
 
 So he worked at his desk, both early and late, 
 
 Nor wrote down a customer's name on the slate. 
 "Pay's you go, is my motto," said he, 
 
 And he wrote on the wall, so all men could see, 
 "To trust is to bust, to bust is sheol; 
 
 No trust, no bust; no bust, no — L" 
 
15 ) GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Said he: ''I reckon that han'-wrltin' on the wall 
 Will the hearts of my customers appall, 
 As much so as tliet God writ on the day of the feast, 
 Fer the gentry who wer' dinin', away down east." 
 
 IV. 
 
 He was wont to remark : " Men air like sheep: 
 
 If one jumps the fence, one by one they all leap 
 
 Arter him, till the hull herd's gone, 
 
 A blattin' an' follerin' the foremost one. 
 
 Jest as some men injy fires, funerals, an' fights, 
 
 An' go rushin' away with all their mights, 
 
 Helter skelter, pell mell, to the midst of the frays, 
 
 Fairly carried away by a fust class blaze." 
 
 V. 
 
 When they consulted him about booming the town, 
 
 On his desk, with a bang, he brought his fist down. 
 
 Remarking: "My friends, you can count me out; 
 
 Bumes air disastrous without a shadder o' doubt, 
 
 An' whenever I see a crowd o' men, 
 
 A chargin', cavortin', an' raisin' a heilabelew, 
 
 As boomers of towns most ginnenily do, 
 
 I allers stan' ofi* a leetle to one side, 
 
 An' gently drift down with the tide, 
 
 Fearin', if I didn't backward lag, 
 
 More'n likely I'd run agin a snag. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "The schule ov ixperience is a mighty dear schule. 
 An' turns out many a wilted fule; 
 Never meddle at all with a sharp-edged tule," 
 Said Lige with a cunning, foxy grin. 
 "Bumes an' mortgages air of cancerous growth, 
 A eatin' up princerpul an' interest both 
 In time as clean an' slick as a pin. 
 
HOW LIGE DIDN'T BoOM THE TOWN. 151 
 
 VII. 
 
 *'I believe in takin' things middlin' cule, 
 
 An' livin' up to my 'golden rule,' 
 *Doin' precisely as you're done by.' 
 
 Rome wasn't built in a single day, 
 
 Ner villages grow to cities that-a-way; 
 
 It's doin' things too much on the fly; 
 ' Go slow an' learn to peddle,' say I." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But all the same they started the boom, 
 
 And came in a body, one afternoon. 
 
 Towards a new opera house asking him to subscribe. 
 ''Subscribe! Ad-zactly," he replied; 
 "Neow I reckon that you mean di-vide. 
 
 Community o' goods! Whack up! G^. y^j... 
 
 Haw! haw! pass on, fur I don't giieiso 
 
 I keer to invest in opery's, 
 
 Nor I don't hope you'll make the raise." 
 
 IX. 
 
 They next presented the street-car fund. 
 
 Hoping he'd liberally respond. 
 ''Haw! haw! respond's a good word," said he; 
 "I don't allow to respond too liberally; 
 
 As it is, you've all gone far beyond 
 Your means, and soon will be 
 
 Utterly ruined financially. 
 
 Shank's horses are good enough for me. 
 
 When my legs give out, I'll look about. 
 
 An' a pair from basswood whittle out." 
 
 X. 
 
 Next came the craze for electric lights, 
 Which bright as day would make the nights. 
 The agent came to talk him o'er, 
 But was politely bowed out at the door, 
 
152 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 With the assurance that, ''He considered moonshine 
 All that was required in the lighting line; 
 Leastways it heretofore had-a-been; 
 But what's the matter with kerosene?" 
 
 XI. 
 
 But when they proposed to buy him out, 
 
 He hemmed and hawed and fidgeted about, 
 "Reckoned he might sell on a pinch. 
 
 His price was one thousand dollars an inch. 
 
 Low figgers at that for a corner lot; 
 
 He warn't partickerlar whether he sold er not. 
 
 You'll take it, jan' all the balluns of my property? Du tell. 
 
 Draw up the papers then, if I must sell," 
 
 Said he, smiling in a curious, knowing way; 
 "I don't carkerlate to invest agin' to-day. 
 'When the sun shines is the best time to make hay,' 
 'Never leave off till to-morrow what you can do to-day.' " 
 
 xn. 
 Then, as he said, he stood aside, 
 And gently drifted with the tide. 
 Repeating poor Richard's saying o'er, 
 "Yessels large may venture more, 
 But little boats should keep near shore." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The time came when a wild-eyed throng 
 
 Ceased to jostle each other along 
 
 Through the crowded streets, and the awful gloom 
 
 That always follows a busted boom 
 
 Settled down on the ruined town. 
 
 xrv. 
 Then sad-faced, bloated millionaires. 
 And ruined bankrupt bulls and bears, 
 Crept in a panic to their lairs, 
 
HOW LIGE DIDN'T BOOM THE TOWN. 153 
 
 With ruin staring them in the face; 
 No visible means with which to keep pace 
 With the hydra-headed monster, Interest, 
 Eating its way to the snug home nest. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The opera house's wide, staring eyes 
 
 Served as reminders of mortgages, 
 
 Interest, loans, and securities; 
 
 And mammoth buildings just begun, 
 
 Others completed and empty, others half done, 
 
 Confronted the boomers on every hand. 
 
 Till they well nigh the stoutest hearts unmanned. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Then, like Phoenix, from the city's ashes rose 
 
 Elijah the Prophet, remarking, '' Air those 
 
 Unfinished bnildin's yender fur sale, 
 
 Or, air ye waitin' fer a western gale. 
 
 To boom 'em down Salt Kiver on ? 
 
 I'm afeard they'll land in the slough o' despond." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And added, with owlish aspect grave, 
 
 ^It's pretty nigh time to begin to shave." 
 
 And shave he did, with a vengeance, too. 
 
 Four per cent, per month was the best he could do; 
 
 •Money was tight they very well knew, 
 
 Hard to earn, but harder to save." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 When chided for his greed and avarice, 
 
 He remarked, " 'The cat in gloves catches no mice;' 
 
 The sleeping fox no poultry catches,' 
 
 Some one will bleed those booming wretches, 
 
 And why not I? They wouldn't take a fool's advice; 
 
 Let them pay for their cuteness a heavy price. 
 
 I find it true as I go along 
 
 The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong. 
 
 In travelin' through life, take an easy gait — 
 
 'All things come round to them that wait.'" 
 
154: GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 MAIRIE SMYTHE; 
 
 OR A TALE OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, 
 
 " For every worm beneath the moon 
 Draws different threads and, late and soon, 
 Spins, toiling out its own cocoon." 
 
 — Tennyson. 
 
 "Once on a time," some twenty years ago or more, 
 
 In a rude Western town now known to fame, 
 There lived a man named Smith, whose only store 
 
 Of wealth consisted of his wife and daughter Mary Jane. 
 A shoemaker by trade was he, and daily 
 
 At his low bench he pierced unfeeling soles, 
 Or patched with plaster 
 
 Huge holes in worn-out shoes, singing as gaily 
 As though he owned the wealth of Gould or Astor. 
 
 His wife had keener wit and loftier ambition, 
 Which she imparted to her daughter Mary Jane; 
 
 Together they deplored their lowly lot and false position. 
 And sought to reach a higher plane. 
 
 Her name of Mary Smith she changed to Mairie Smythe, 
 And put the old man to his pegs to pay her bill's. 
 
 Their awful magnitude caused him to fairly writhe, 
 Depleting quite his ill-filled tills; 
 
 Her mamma taught her that marriage was the end and aim 
 of her existence. 
 And wealth the only key to happiness below; 
 
 That working daily for a bare subsistence 
 To lofty minds like her's was base and low. 
 
 She taught her to wear abbreviated dresses at the ball; 
 In fact, appear in public half undressed. 
 
 To spin for hours around a crowded hall, 
 Close to the bosom of a swell dude pressed. 
 
 To weave and glide, float, gush, and titter, 
 Cast sidelong glances, flirt with handkerchief and fan; 
 
 To promenade beneath the gaslight's glitter, 
 And try a thousand arts to catch a naughty man. 
 
MAIRIE SMYTHE. 15r> 
 
 In order to succeed she must look pretty, 
 If not created so, use art's assistants. 
 
 A woman need be neither wise nor witty — • 
 'Gainst beauty's charm man cannot make resistance. 
 
 ''Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
 The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; " 
 
 Full many a tow-head owes to bandoline 
 The glorious luster of its golden hair; 
 
 Full many an eye shines with a borrowed light 
 By poisonous belladonna lent; 
 
 Full many a brow would be less pure and white 
 Bereft of the enameler's adornment; 
 
 And yet who blames the pretty dears? Not I, 
 (Especially those who have a torpid liver,) 
 
 For seeking their fair forms to beautify, 
 Knowing full well "a thing of beauty is a joy forever." 
 
 'Tis said that Cleopatra, Egypt's ill-starred queen, 
 At forty still preserved her beauty, 
 
 But history does not state whether by use of massage or 
 Magnolia Cream; 
 At least, she caused Csesar and Antony to forget their duty. 
 
 The Turkish ladies of the olden time 
 Were much addiclod to the use of massage. 
 
 But then, they say, the people of the torrid clime 
 But seldom dine on pork chops and bologna sausage; 
 
 And we Americans as good livers are proverbial — 
 Good things in this good country doth abound, 
 
 And though its people are carniverous withal. 
 And their complexions bad, their hearts and heads are sound. 
 
 But to return: At one of those masqued batteries called a 
 ball, 
 
 Where Mairie reigned belle and general favorite there, 
 
 She struck the fancy of the greatest beau of all. 
 
 The season's catch, Sam Jones the millionaire. 
 
156 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Jones was not handsome — that I will concede — 
 Built, as he was, on the broad-gauge plan; 
 
 His forehead from his eyebrows did recede 
 Till he resembled monkey more than man. 
 
 Twin ears like porticos beneath a gothic roof 
 Flapped like a donkey's when he rode or walked, 
 
 Their size and color being ample proof 
 That he descended from the good old lop-eared stock. 
 
 A pair of drum sticks served as underpinning, 
 For body similar to Sanclio Panza's; 
 
 A full moon mouth, apt as an ape's at grinning, 
 Summed up this antiquated rich bonanza. 
 
 Another mark of beauty which I forgot to mention 
 Was an excressence on the tip end of his nose, 
 
 Which" gave tliat rubicund member an unnatural extension, 
 Blooming the w^hile like fresh and full-blown rose. 
 
 Fair, fat, and forty, and a self-made man — 
 That was his boast; likewise so well and hearty. 
 
 "The date of my prosperity began — 
 Well, let me see; I believe it was in forty. 
 
 Yes, speculation did it, don't you see. 
 Bought barrel pork; to pork I owe my rise." 
 
 The while oblivious that he 
 Looked like a porker in his neighbors' eyes. 
 
 The height of his ambition was to own 
 The finest house in town; likewise the prettiest woman. 
 
 Nor was he in his aspirations quite alone — - 
 To crave the best is only human. 
 
 In order to accomplish his desires 
 He mingled with the rabble called society. 
 
 In this wild West its general make-up requires 
 A motley crew, which may be denominated variety. 
 
 That Mairie was above the common herd 
 A single glance sufficed to show him; 
 
 That she would be Mrs. Sam Jones the third 
 He doubted not — that is, if she did but know him. 
 
MAIRIE SMYTHE. 157 
 
 'Tis true the thought: ''I'm bald and middle-aged, 
 But I'll pass muster with the rest; 
 
 I'll try mj luck if she is unengaged, 
 And leave my bank account to manage all the rest." 
 
 A million-dollar bait don't go a-begging 
 When thrown out in humanity's great sea; 
 
 You see the big and little fishes for it legging, 
 Each striving the favored one to be. 
 
 The settlement's agreeable to the chosen one's reUitions, 
 Next thing in order 's wedding favors, 
 
 Presents given grudgingly — congratulations, 
 Then a general hauling o'er the coals by vicious neighbors. 
 
 Mairiebore up, during the trying ordeal, with Spartan courage. 
 Wearing a look of resignation pitiful to see. 
 
 Accepting so-called friends' congratulations on her marriage, 
 Knowing them all to be a hollow mockery. 
 
 She joined the church in which Jones was pillar. 
 Pursuing church work with a zeal that knew no flagging, 
 
 Dispensing charity with Jones' long-hoarded siller, 
 Attending sociables, lotteries, and grab-bagging. 
 
 So sanctified and holy her expression. 
 She seemed a counterpart of Raphael's Madonna 
 
 For sinners asking Jesus' intercession — 
 Her eyes aglow with Faith and — belladonna; 
 
 Communing with the saints as natural and easy 
 As if to the manner born and bred; 
 
 Eschewing novels she was wont to thumb till greasy. 
 The Bible now was all the book she read; 
 
 The better to display her new, imported dresses. 
 The front pew was by her selected; 
 
 So like a halo were her golden tresses, 
 She felt to saintship she was certainly elected. 
 
 That "new brooms sweep clean" is an o'er-true saying. 
 It all did very well while her wardrobe was new. 
 
 She soon grew weary of long sermons and praying 
 As other worldlings very often do. 
 
158 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Then Sister Brown felt it her bounden dutj 
 To reprove her for dressing so becomingly; 
 
 Then Sister Plain-face gave a hit at beauty — 
 In her no beauty could another sister see; 
 
 The parson preached 'gainst "hoarding filthy lucre," 
 And advocated lending all to the Lord. 
 
 She opined that with Jones he wished to play a game of 
 euchre, 
 Altliough he clinched it all with scraps of Holy Word, 
 
 Repeating the ancient threadbare Scriptural qu. station 
 About the camel and the needle's eye, 
 
 Referring to the poor man Lazarus' sad condition 
 Left at the rich man's gate to die. 
 
 His favorite text was, ''Mene, Mene, tekel, upharsin," 
 Aiming his discourse straight at Mairie's pew. 
 
 The very gesture of the too zealous parson 
 Seemed saying to her, ''Thou art wanting, too." 
 
 She very naturally began to be less zealous, 
 And gradually ceased church work altogether, 
 
 As other of God's pet lambs often do 
 Stray from the fold by slipping from their tether, 
 
 II. 
 
 We all have hobbies of some sort or other — 
 
 One collects rare china and antique bric-a-brac; 
 One dotes on books, on rich furniture another; 
 
 One's ballads have power the ear to rack; 
 One's fad is paintings by old masters; 
 
 Another chases butterflies and bugs; 
 Some hypochondriacs affect lotions and plasters; 
 
 Another's heart is altogether set on rugs; 
 Some housewives' kitchens are their hobbies, 
 
 Their zeal in scrubbings painful to behold; 
 Some politicians daily haunt the lobbies; 
 
 Some miserly old sinners count their gold: 
 
MAIRIE SMYTHE. 15U 
 
 All chase some ignis fatum of their fancy, 
 
 Either wealth, love, fame or glory, 
 Religion, art, science or philosophy — 
 
 At this stage of fads we find the heroine of onr story. 
 
 III. 
 
 The cause of temperance next claimed Mairie's attention, 
 
 To which she turned with all the energy 
 A woman enters a new field, with the intention 
 
 Of winning for herself a crown of immortality. 
 She could not boast of lying in the gutter. 
 
 As other members of the Temperance Union did, 
 But 'mongst the gentlemen she caused a most unusual flutter, 
 
 Who sanctioned everything she did or said. 
 So much doth beauteous face and fine apparel 
 
 Weigh in the balances of those who judge mankind; 
 To wealth and beauty's side the scales of justice fall 
 
 When balanced against plainness and intelligence combined. 
 She studied Gough's best lectures on temperance. 
 
 And borrowed ideas from each book' she read, 
 Delivering her speech with low, melodious utterance — 
 
 An excellent thing in woman, so 'tis said. 
 But temperance people as well as others (more's the pity), 
 
 When met together of times disagree; 
 The members of each and every society 
 
 Wage constant warfare for su])remacy. 
 They tire of the old stereotyped confessions 
 
 Of drunkenness, and crime, and man's depravity, 
 The vitiated tastes and evil passions 
 
 That constantly beset him wheresoe'er he be. 
 And so the weaker vessels tire, and 'tis no wonder, 
 
 Of pointing out the straight and narrow way 
 To lords of the creation, and when we ponder 
 
 On their superiority to us, we may 
 
1(10 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Deem it an all too presumptuous folly 
 
 To tamper with the finest clay that Kature mixed, 
 Or seek to win him from his boon compauions jolly, 
 
 And dropping him should take up politics. 
 But if we take the Bible as a true criterion to go by, 
 
 We know a house divided 'gainst itself can never stand; 
 And so the different political views of every party 
 
 Caused this, as well as other, temperance unions to disband. 
 Meanwhile Mairie's heart had warmed toward an 
 
 Eloquent temperance convert, 
 A curly-pated Christian scientist. 
 
 Who at love's shrine bowed, and to her dared pay court, 
 Although he was professional chiropodist. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Time heals all wounds, either of mind or body, 
 
 Brings thieves and murderers to justice, rights all wrongs, 
 Discriminates betwixt true worth and shoddy. 
 
 Opes prison doors, breaks captives' thongs. 
 The rich, the poor, high, low, prince, peasant, king. 
 
 Time, the great tomb builder, levels to one level; 
 The choicest offerings Death to his altars bring, 
 
 Exalts to heaven, or sends them to the devil. 
 Love has been since the world began. 
 
 And will be as long as the world endures. 
 To part with uncongenial husbands is the fashion, 
 
 Thus to mismated wives some happiness secures. 
 "To err is human," and we poor earth-born creatures 
 
 Are born to lionor or dishonor, so the Scriptures say. 
 The fault, according to the Bible, lies in our early teachers, 
 
 For hath not the potter power o'er the clay, 
 To mould the vessels to his liking? So Mairie mused, and 
 musing wondered 
 
 If her maternal relative was not unkind, 
 Thus her divine right of motherhood abusing 
 
 By mating her with one so little to her mind. 
 
MAIKIE SMYTHE. 161 
 
 V. 
 
 'Tis a fearful and an awful thing to be in love, 
 
 Especially the frisky sort so aptly termed the puppy stage; 
 Such billing and cooing's only equaled by the dove. 
 
 Aye, there's the respect that makes cahiraity of old age, 
 For who would live to grow old, crabbed and soured, 
 
 To scoff at love — that sweet delusion of our callow youth — 
 Had we not been from our cradles dowered 
 
 With fear of death that gruesome mask of truth. 
 The changeful earth imparts its spirit to its creatures, 
 
 Who seek incessantly for constant change. 
 Mairie dreamed that the world required more scientific 
 preachers, 
 
 And longed to seek a wider range, 
 And, O choice morsel for Dame Grundy's delectation, 
 
 Sweeter by far than dearest friends had hoped, 
 The news soon heralded a fresh sensation — 
 
 Mairie Jones and Fitz Poodle had eloped I 
 'Tis sad indeed to see our idols fall 
 
 From lofty pedestal where we've placed 'em 
 Above earth, and things earthly know them lost beyond recall, 
 
 And that their fall has evermore disgraced 'em. 
 No wonder Jones, in frenzy's awful rage. 
 
 Prompted no doubt, by the powers of evil, 
 Pursued them, vowing war to wage 
 
 And surfeit with the infernal revel; 
 And as the lovers strolled upon the shingly beach, 
 
 Oblivious in love's raptures to all else beside, 
 He bounded from behind a rock, with fiendish screech 
 
 Stabbed, shot, and drowned them, then committed suicide. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Who knows but that their souls went sailing on to God, 
 
 With all the glory of a blazing rocket. 
 ''The good die young," so said some senseless clod, 
 
 "But they whose hearts are dry as summer's dust burn to 
 the socket." 
 
 —11 
 
162 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 The sentiment is pretty, but the sense is wrong, 
 
 As they who search the country's records well will find 
 The name is legion of the gray-haired throng 
 
 Of good, who at the age of eighty live to bless mankind. 
 But we will leave their judgment to a higher power 
 
 Knowing that he who pardoned thieves upon the cross 
 Will crown their misspent lives with mercy's dower 
 
 And sift the gold within their souls from dross. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Mairie's dear lady friends declared they always knew 
 
 That she was not what she professed to be; 
 Her depravity had been the theme of not a few 
 
 Who merely tolerated her in society. 
 I've often noticed when a herd stampedes, 
 
 If by mischance one 'neath his fellow's feet is hurled, 
 They backward fly with impetus of bent reeds 
 
 And stamp his life out — even so with the world. 
 Let foul suspicion's blight fall on a mate. 
 
 The wild-eyed bellowing herd styled "just" 
 Cry, '^down him!" their voice with joy elate, 
 
 The while they trample his bruised body in the dust. 
 The coroner sat long on Jones' remains 
 
 And finally arrived at this most sage decision: 
 That he came to his death by foul means 
 
 Caused by his life's blood flowing from a slight incision 
 Produced by a stilletto thrust through his bowels, 
 
 And then by turn through lungs and liver; 
 His soul, then borrowing an eagle's pinion 
 
 (Or some other fowl's) had winged its way up to its give 
 
 - - ^ . r 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The verdict of the jury was unanimous 
 
 That dead as a dead mackerel was he, 
 The twelve wise men, with air lofty and magnanimous, 
 
 Rendered a final- verdict of «' Felo-de-se. " 
 
MAIKIE SMYTHE. 163 
 
 Which, when translated, means suicide — 
 
 But coroners must speak dead languages o'er the dead; 
 Even though they know but little else beside. 
 
 Yet to the world they must appear well read. 
 The other subjects required more consideration: 
 
 There was a precious pair thrice killed, 
 '^Stabbed, shot, and drowned, doubtless doomed to anni^^'^*^ 
 tioi.," 
 
 These were the verdicts with which they were billed, 
 Labeled, and passed on to the undertaker — 
 
 That woeful, somber-visaged man. 
 Who hurried them away to God's green acre 
 
 With neatness and dispatch, as only undertakers can. 
 The dark, caparisoned steeds, with gilded harness, 
 
 The endless line of cabs with mourners hired, 
 The lumbering hearses, with their sable dresses, 
 
 All made the display one to be admired. 
 There, in the silent city where the dead abide, 
 
 Within the hearing of the Sabbath bell. 
 In peace the three lie side by side; 
 
 "After life's fitful fever," they sleep well. 
 
 IX. 
 
 So ends my tale of bloodshed, crime, and woe. 
 
 I pause because, in vulgar parlance, I am "out of soap." 
 One word, kind reader, ere I go : 
 
 Your appetite for gore is sated now, I hope ; 
 And, O ye maidens fair and sweet. 
 
 Who seek to win a true, congenial mate, 
 Beware lest bloated millionaire ye meet, 
 
 And you, too, share poor Mairie's fate. 
 Ye maidens old, the lords style "cranks," 
 
 Mourn not that ye must sigh a-lass ! 
 Think of the shattered matrimonial ranks, 
 
 The widows yearly gone to grass; 
 
164 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Think of the howling, hungry brood 
 
 Who hourly hound their mas for bread; 
 Think of the cares of motherhood 
 
 And keep your maiden state instead. 
 And you, ye gouty widowers. 
 
 Who children wed — scarce in their teens; 
 Who love your titles, '« Lords and Sirs," 
 
 But little know what wedlock means — 
 Let Samuel Jones' untimely end 
 
 Example be, and warning take 
 Lest hated rival to his last account you send, 
 
 And like him end your sorrows in the lake. 
 
 X. 
 
 "Adieu, dear, amiable throng 
 
 Who do peruse my faltering verse. 
 Should you pronounce my language strong, 
 Thank God the sentiment's no worse. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Adieu once more, a kind adieu. 
 
 I pause because my page is full. 
 This tale's instructive — something new — 
 
 Besides it has a useful moral. 
 
THE WRECK OF THE PKAIUIE SCHOONER. l(J5 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE PRAIRIE SCHOONER. 
 
 It was a prairie schooner, all on a summer's day, 
 Set sail from old Missouri for Kansas, so far away, 
 .Manned by an aged farmer-man and his entire family. 
 
 ''Crack went the whip, round went the wheels; 
 Were ever folks so glad ? " 
 To-day that aged farmer feels 
 
 That naught could make him sad. 
 
 Right merrily they sailed along, 
 
 Across the prairies wide. 
 Which, far as ever eye could reach, 
 
 Stretched out on either side. 
 
 But ere a single week passed by, 
 
 The bob-tailed ox went lame, 
 And from the threatening northern sky. 
 
 An angry blizzard came. 
 
 The lightning flashed, the thunder rolled, 
 
 Lord, how the rain came down! 
 The icy hailstones, hard and cold. 
 
 Rained down in showers around. 
 
 The mule took fright, reared up behind, 
 And splintered the schooner's dash. 
 
 The bob-tailed ox, though broke to mind, 
 In spite of spur or lash, 
 
 Broke from the aged farmer-man. 
 
 And then the race began. 
 
 The brindle cow did loudly moo. 
 The mate she screamed with fear, 
 
 The frightened biddies cackling flew. 
 Loud crew the chanticleer. 
 
166 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 The gale blew on, the schooner reeled, 
 
 As on they madly dash; 
 To them the lightning's flash revealed 
 
 The off wheel gone to smash. 
 
 Then spake the aged farmer-man 
 
 Unto his second mate: 
 *' I've feared me sore since the gale began 
 
 We're lost in spite of fate. 
 
 ** Lighten the load! lighten! I say, • 
 
 Oh, save the storm tossed ship; 
 Lighten her up while yet ye may, 
 
 Ah, see her lurch and dip." 
 
 Then overboard they tossed the lamp, the lantern, and the ax. 
 One empty barrel, looking glass, a match, a box of tacks; 
 A sack of clothes-pins, rolling pin, a Bible and same tracts, 
 A box of Warner's liver pills, a stove pipe, iron pan, 
 A dozen unpaid doctor's bills, but on the mad mule ran. 
 
 "Ho! pilot, heave the cookstove out; 
 
 Ho! watchman, reef the sail; 
 Steer the rickety craft about, 
 
 The ladies' cabin bail. 
 
 " Cling to the hurricane deck, my men. 
 
 And let the halyards swing; 
 Close up the hatchways snug again, 
 
 More taut the mainstays bring. 
 
 " She lurches to, is sinking now; 
 
 Ah, mate, one last embrace; 
 There, Johnnie, anchor the brindle cow 
 
 And fasten the mule's nigh trace." 
 
 The crew clung to the schooner's deck, 
 
 Whence all but them had flown, 
 Until the craft, a total wreck. 
 
 Was smashed entirely down. 
 
THE WRECK OF THE PRAIRIE SCHOONER. 1G7 
 
 Now the wind has hushed its screeching sound, 
 
 But the captain, where is he ? 
 Ask of the cayotes that around 
 
 The wreck howl mournfully. 
 
 And where the bruised second mate, 
 
 Oh, where! Oh, where is she? 
 Far, far beyond that farmyard gate 
 
 The mate is up a tree. 
 
 In stovepipe there beneath the wreck 
 
 The squalling baby lay. 
 Yet every soul came up on deck 
 
 At the close of that awful day. 
 
 But "a bad beginning makes a good ending," 
 
 As some wise people say, 
 And that farmer-man his farm is tending 
 
 On good Kansas soil to-day. 
 
1G8 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANbAS SllEAYES. 
 
 e:atie lee and bilue gray. 
 
 A TALB OF TEUE LOVE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 I. 
 
 In these weak, piping times of peace 
 
 Upon the pen devolves the double duty 
 Of hacking with the sword's amazing ease, 
 
 And writing poems of exceeding grace and beanty. 
 He who believed that pens were mightier than swords 
 Had wondrous confidence in power of words. 
 
 II. 
 But warfare has been figured down so fine, 
 
 Since that much-quoted sentiment was writ, 
 A single shot could cut down an entire line 
 
 Of soldiers ere they realized that they were hit, 
 And knock the standing army out of time 
 
 Into eternity, while I am telling it. 
 There is no end to what Edison and electricity 
 And freedom yet may do for young America. 
 
 III. 
 Thanks to a kite, brass key, a string and bottle, 
 
 An idle, thinking man, and to a falling apple. 
 We conquer distance through an engine's throttle, 
 
 And conquer worlds drawn up in line of battle. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Since printing is no longer one of the lost arts. 
 And Gillott's steel pens, have a knack of stealing 
 
 Across the page with greater ease and with less blots and 
 spurts, 
 Than ancient goose-quills, quaint ungraceful reeling, 
 
KATIE LEE AND BILLIE GRAY. 109 
 
 The world hath greater variety of literature from which to 
 
 choose 
 Than when the man of letters plucked the silly goose. 
 But, it is said, more words of wisdom still 
 Have emanated from the point of gray goose-quill, 
 Than has been written on the most voluminous pages 
 Of authors of the bronze and iron ages. 
 
 V. 
 
 The obvious reason for their lack of rhyme and reason 
 
 Is spreading o'er a thousand pages what they might con- 
 dense 
 Within a dozen, if they would talk less foolishness and treason 
 
 And more good solid and sound common sense. 
 Besides, the field admits of broader scope to-day 
 
 Than when the world was bounded by the blue horizon's 
 rim, 
 And no one dreamed that other worlds beyond it lay. 
 
 Nor that a hundred million spanned the heavens dim. 
 Before the telescope revealed the mysteries of the milky way. 
 
 And laid its inmost secrets bare to him, 
 Man supposed the world was flat and stationary, and that the 
 
 sun. 
 Moon and stars for lack of exercise about it run. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I want a hero, as Lord Byron did when he began 
 
 The first line of the first canto of his immortal story 
 
 (Or, rather, his immoral tale) of Don Juan; 
 
 And though I've searched for one from Adam's time on 
 
 Down to the days of the rude savage, in still rudei- dory, 
 
 I cannot find one anywhere amid the highways, or the by-ways 
 
 They are so scarce in these degenerate days. 
 
170 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 VII. 
 So I will take a heroine instead for lack of timber 
 To build an upright, downright hero from. 
 Our veteran heroes are no longer limber, 
 Besides, already they've had so long a run 
 In fiction, that of late they've grown quite common. 
 So I prefer, for change, a changeful woman. 
 A grizzled hero with a gouty toe, 
 A bullet in his lung, right arm entirely gone, 
 A. furrow in his cheek, such as swift minnies plow, 
 Sufficient ails to draw a goodly pension on. 
 Will never do to figure in this poem. 
 I must have youth and beauty to begin on — 
 They lose their charms full soon if new in the beginning, 
 Then lose their loves when on the eve of winning. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 She lived — no matter when, or how, or where; 
 
 In palace, dug-out, sod, stone, log, or wooden dwelling; 
 
 Or whether she had carroty, black, gold, red, or auburn hair, 
 
 I'll never spend my breath or ink in telling. 
 
 Too much already under that same head 
 
 By other authors has been said. 
 
 Enough to know that she's alive and well to-day. 
 
 And that her little knob of hair is coarse and gray. 
 
 IX. 
 
 ^o doubt she willingly would prose for hours 
 
 Upon her life's past perfect tense 
 
 If to her kindly you would lend your ears, 
 
 And suffer boredom most intense. 
 
 Undoubtedly she'd inform you that she had enjoyed poor health 
 
 Since — through that dreadful war — poor papa lost his wealth. 
 
 The old are truly said to live in the dead past; 
 
 The youth contented are with present joys — if they but last. 
 
KATIE LEE AND BILLIE GRAY. 171 
 
 X. 
 
 What's that yon say? — A perfect bore I'ra getting. 
 
 That's what I am — a wretched Kansas bore. 
 
 Like photographers, I require a momentary sitting. 
 
 Down goes the curtain. There, I've got you ! What ! wanting 
 
 to sit o'er 
 Again ? Pshaw ! Now, what is wanting in the picture ? 
 I call that negative exactly true to nature, 
 E'en to the wart upon your precious nose, 
 Each wrinkle, and hitherto unnoticed freckle on your phiz; 
 Ah! then, it is the wrinkles in your clothes 
 You so dislike? And may you sit again? Oh, yes! 
 There are more bores in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
 Than has been dreamed of in your philosophy. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Speaking of bores reminds me of the Kansas chigger; 
 
 Ah! reader, didst thou ever feel his piercing fangs, 
 
 And find that scratching with renewed vigor 
 
 Served to increase instead of to alleviate your pangs? 
 
 Then didst thou not in haste to some secluded alley bolt 
 
 And pour on his defenceless head a bath of salt ? 
 
 Salt, sugar, and saltpetre, the second trinity of save-iors, as it 
 
 were; 
 At any rate, considered best for every day (save Sunday) use, 
 By Kansas farmers, cattlemen, and merchants who are 
 Addicted to the use of salt on calf or goose. 
 There has been wondrous saving qualities in salt, they say. 
 Since Lot's wife was preserved that way. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Who knows but that her beds of salt saved Kansas after all; 
 The wh e we honor Grant and Sherman for ending what John 
 
 Brown began. 
 Who knows but that the ballot-box was salted when they called 
 
 the roll 
 Just eighty-two thousand majority for Harrison. 
 
If 2 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But to mj story: No neater, sweeter, or completer 
 
 Mother's darling ever graced a family tree, 
 Or ever proved the theme of flowing meter, 
 
 Than my wee heroine, sweet Katie Lee, 
 The only daughter of an only son 
 
 Whose grandsire hob-a-nobbed with General Washington. 
 To watch her trip away to school each morn, 
 
 Trigged out in dress of turkey-red and ruffled pinafore, 
 Would make a graybeard think he had been born 
 
 Too soon by at least some threescore years or more. 
 Of course, she had a lover (who has not at 7?) 
 
 ^s brave a lad as ever drowned a cat or pup, 
 A neighbor boy he was — just turning 11 — 
 
 Who vowed to wed her when they both "growed up." 
 She loved his dog as dearly as her own pet kitten; 
 
 He loved all three, and strove his love to prove; 
 At singing school or spelling he never got the mitten — 
 
 The course of their true love did run so smooth. 
 He always bought her stock of striped-weed stick candy 
 
 And helped to make and plant her playhouse garden. 
 About their small playhouse he helpful was and handy. 
 
 And never spoilt her mud pies ere they began to harden. 
 He alway fought her battles like a little soldier, 
 
 And never called her ''nothing but a girl," 
 Nor vowed "he didn't care to play with her until she had 
 grown older," 
 
 As I have often heard another boyish churl. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 O youth and love! O milk and maple syrup! 
 
 O childhood's joys! O caromels and cream! 
 O bees and butterflies to chase! and nesting birds to chirrup! 
 
 O youth and innocence! O love's young dream! 
 
KATIE LEE AND BILLIE GRAY. 173 
 
 I love to pass a dish of author's hash — 
 
 Trees, bees, breeze, seas, sunshine mixed with shade — 
 And hear in my mind's ear the angry gnash 
 
 Of teeth that don't fit quite so well as the last set he made. 
 I love to hear the pattering of the rain upon the shingles, 
 
 (It has been pattering since Columbus landed,) 
 With which the gentle southern breeze so musically mingles. 
 
 Flung in gratuitously by authors free, off-handed. 
 We surely should have gully sloshers by this time, 
 Judging by the efibrts of the unwearied nine; 
 And then to listen to the north wind soughing round the eaves, 
 
 And wild waves madly dashing on the sea-beat shore, 
 And mark the annual falling of the leaves. 
 
 With which the poet doth the public annually bore. 
 Besides, their changelings, strawberry marks and lost estates, 
 And villains lodged behind the prison gates. 
 And hark, methinks I hear the throstle sing. 
 
 "Summer is coming, I know it," as 't were leafy June 
 Instead of sad September, when our song birds wing 
 
 Their flights to climes where roses and the myrtles bloom. 
 Ah, poor old British bard, you needs must write something, 
 
 Even though your songs are sadl v out of tune, 
 To earn the filthy lucre that your verses bring; 
 
 And so you set the throstle singing like a loon. 
 
 XV. 
 
 "Amo, amas, amat," the scholar conjugates 
 
 To prove his knowledge of the language dead. 
 "I love, you love, they love," the author states, 
 
 And ends his story when the lovers wed. 
 Would it not seem more true to life 
 
 If he'd decline his "hie, haec, hoe's" instead, 
 And in the final chapter tell how man and wife 
 
 Banged with the poker at each other's head. 
 
174 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 " Amo, amas, amat," ''hie, hsec, hoc:" what visions do you 
 bring 
 
 Of long, low, rambling schoolroom where did congregate 
 A band of thoughtless girls, who made the rafters ring 
 
 When they the verb "Amo" did conjugate. 
 I seem to hear them now declining "hie, hsec, hoe," 
 
 "Hujus, hujus, hujus," "hoc, hsec, hoc," and hiss, 
 The final "his, his, his," in tones so fierce to shock, 
 
 If possible, the grim, be-speetacled old miss 
 Who taught our young Latin ideas how to shoot, 
 And dug up for our delectation many a knotty root. 
 I wonder if there's one of those gay girls to-day 
 
 Who conjugate rego in the plural number, active voice. 
 Or do they passively submit and give their lords full sway. 
 
 Allowing regor (I am ruled) to be their lot through choice. 
 I wonder if the bells are jangling still at Forest Hill, 
 
 The class-rooms cold and cheerless as of old; 
 If Biaisdell, Smith, and Dorr, and Anna Sill 
 
 Are watching still with eagle eye their lawless fold; 
 I wonder — But, pshaw! what is the use 
 
 Of wondering, or wandering from the subject, as I do? 
 The fault lies in my wayward, giddy muse; 
 
 Who's always sighing for green fields and pastures new. 
 And while we have been wandering far away 
 
 Time has not lingered with our hero and heroine. 
 They both have reached their majority to-day, 
 
 At such swift pace has time been rolling on. 
 They're kneeling at the altar rails e'en as I write; 
 
 The church packed full of their back-biting friends; 
 The bride arrayed in flimsy bridal white; 
 
 The groom in conventional black broadcloth suit, which tends 
 To make him feel stiff and uncomfortable. 
 
 And likewise furnish ^naterial for the reporting fiends 
 To fill an entire column full. 
 
KATIE LEE AND BILLIE GRAY. 175 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Love comes as natural to youth and innocence 
 As purr to cat, or bark to simple cur, 
 
 Or light to pierce the telescopic lens; 
 As tongue to gossip, scandalize and slur; 
 
 As sure and certain as one's eye-teeth to come; 
 As earth to rotate on its axis; 
 
 As fly to buzz, or bee to hum; 
 As sure as either death or taxes. 
 These lovers, even after they were wed, upon each other dotcvl. 
 
 I mean to keep them green and soft forever. 
 As heretofore, doubtless you have noted 
 
 I've never introduced a perfect swain or lover. 
 I mean to reel off several lines as well 
 
 Upon that worn-out theme. Religion; 
 •And then, in hopes the work may the better sell, 
 
 I'll keep this lover cooing like a silly pigeon. 
 I write expressly the almighty dollar to corral — • 
 
 For it I seek the bauble, reputation, even at the cannon's 
 mouth. 
 I strive to dash off something that will sell, 
 
 And to that end I always speak the truth. 
 Still scarcely hoping to be popular as Ward or M. Deland, 
 I toss my widow's mite in free off-hand. 
 But time steals on apace, and while engaged in this digression 
 
 To them an heir is born, to both their hearts' delight; 
 A bouncing 10-pound boy, with face void of expression, 
 
 And blinking eyes that fear to face the light. 
 The mother's doing as well as could be expected. 
 
 The father setting up cigars to everyone he meets. 
 The youngster screaming lustily as though he'd just detected 
 
 The world was full of liars, rogues, and cheats. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 'Tis sweet to hear at midnight, when tired and dead for sleep. 
 The hoarse and guttural sound of smothered whoop; 
 
 To see your wife spring out of bed with startled leap, 
 Crying ''Run for the doctor ! Baby's got the croup !" 
 
176 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 'Tis sweet to shivering stand above a sputtering fire, 
 
 Thawing the sweet-oil bottle till it bursts and spills; 
 Or hang above the cradle till the babe expires 
 
 In spite of mustard draughts, hot vinegar and squills; 
 And doubly sweet to settle doctors' bills 
 For twelve more blooming heirs, as this fond father did 
 Ere two-score years and ten had ambled o'er his head. 
 But I anticipate. This youngster isn't dead; 
 He lived, thanks to his loving mother's care. 
 Through all the ails to which the infant flesh is heir, 
 And heads the baker's dozen which, I remarked before. 
 This amiable and decidedly old-fashioned mother bore. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Jwelve daughters ! Holy Mother Mary, pray deliver ! 
 St. Michael ! Jesu ! and the saints defend us. 
 What showers of blessings doth the Almighty Giver 
 In His amazing kindness ofttimes send us. 
 Twelve girls to 'broider pillowshams and crazy pillows; 
 Twelve girls to burn the midnight kerosene; 
 Twelve girls to dress in foamy billows 
 Of lace, fine linen, dimity, and crinoline. 
 Twelve women living in one house together! 
 What could a father do who owned six pair. 
 When in this age of fuss and feathers 
 One daughter is sufficient to break up a millionaire ? 
 Not so these damsels, as I propose to show; 
 Although their home was in Chicago (not this State), 
 And o"er their monstrous size St. Louis worries so, 
 Their feet were not considered great; 
 In fact, they all wore Douglas' shoes, 
 E last, hand-sewed. No. 2s. 
 Besides, they everyone adopted a profession 
 Instead of indulging in the grande passion, 
 Methinks I hear some one exclaim : '' Ah, me ! 
 What a long rest for the divorce courts that would be." 
 
KATIE LEE AND BILLIE GRAY. 177 
 
 Ah, reader ! Is it not appalling 
 
 To think of all the tender ties unknit 
 
 By courts of justice; or, rather, men whose calling 
 
 Is to within the seats of justice sit? 
 
 If men are prone to drunkenness and mauling 
 
 Of their wives, 'tis best to cancel it. 
 
 Or if the wives are given to falling, 
 
 One cannot blame their halves a bit 
 
 For seeking to undo the knot that binds them fast, 
 
 And severing ties that could not last. 
 
 Speaking of falling reminds me of Adam 
 
 And Eve, and that delightful garden, Eden, 
 
 And all those golden apples, which, if we only had 'em 
 
 In these days, we'd never, never eat 'em, 
 
 Nor listen to the tempter's voice at all. 
 
 Or even peep above the garden wall. 
 
 A falling apple led to Adam's fall; 
 
 An apple falling on Sir Isaac Newton's head 
 
 Convinced him that the earth was shaped like a ball, 
 
 And by a fall of quails the Israelites were fed; 
 
 A fallen angel turned into the devil: 
 
 So falling caused both good and evil. 
 
 If quails and manna fell in showers. 
 
 As round the starving Israelitish camps. 
 
 And milk and honey flowed through this fair land of ours, 
 
 'Twould be a paradise for Kansas tramps. 
 
 But days of miracles are past and gone 
 
 Since Captain Joshua stopped the sun. 
 
 'Tis lucky nowadays that no one dares 
 
 To meddle with the hosts of heaven, 
 
 As it is claimed by our astronomers 
 
 That if the sun stopped for a moment even. 
 
 The planets would all be hurled away through space 
 
 Into infinity, at an alarming rapid pace, 
 
 And earth would be resolved into a monster water drop 
 
178 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 If, for an instant, it should chance to stop. 
 
 So we will hope and trust she will keep rolling on — 
 
 We find no use just now, for so much vapor. 
 
 There's something startling in the thought of spontaneous 
 
 combustion. 
 As well as in those awful deluges of water. 
 Arks, and floods, and miracles have had their day. 
 Yet manna is still falling in the wilderness, they say. 
 Still, to a fall of quails we would not be averse, 
 If from it God would kindly avert his curse. 
 But pray, O Lord, we Kansans beg 
 You will reserve your locust plague. 
 But to resume again my prosy narrative, 
 Lest on mj readers' stock of patience I presume. 
 And in my wanderings 1 seem to grow don't-care-ative 
 And neglectful of my twelve virgin heroines. I resume: 
 
 The first inclined toward metaphysics; 
 
 The second's mind was bent on philosophy; 
 The third cared for naught but physics; 
 
 The fourth one doted on philology; , 
 
 The fifth one made a study of photography; 
 
 The sixth one turned to sculpture and the fine arts; 
 The seventh devoted all her time to telegraphy; 
 
 The eighth one taught our language in foreign parts; 
 The ninth one learned the art of lithography; 
 
 The tenth one practiced law; 
 The eleventh one taught astronomy; 
 
 The twelfth one's forte appeared to be to draw; 
 And every one grew up (or so I've understood) 
 A perfect type of noble womanhood. 
 But where is he, the only son and heir 
 Of this exemplary and devoted pair ? 
 He, like the busy bee, improved each shining hour, 
 And, at the present writing, is the family flower; 
 
KATIE LEE AND BILLIE GKAY. 170 
 
 For he devoted himself assiduously 
 
 To the study of electricity; 
 
 And so, by following his mind's bent, 
 
 A wonderful motor he did invent, 
 
 That will rock, and nurse, and spank the baby; 
 
 Wash, and dress, and comb the lady; 
 
 Turn the crank of washing machine; 
 
 Whip into butter the frothy cream; 
 
 Sweep up the kitchen, set back the chairs; 
 
 Relieve the housewife of daily cares. 
 
 And now he is engaged on a monster engine, 
 
 Which will run by electricity instead of steam, 
 
 And in twenty-four hours will safely go 
 
 From 'New York harbor to San Francisco. 
 
 That he will succeed all will surely see 
 
 Who live to the two thousandth century. 
 
 P. S. — The lovers are living and loving still, 
 Content to the Scriptural command fulfill; 
 True to their God, each other and friends, 
 And so, with love and peace, this story ends. 
 
PART III. 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 O Christmas, blessed time of peace! 
 
 Wlien heaven has dropped its snowy fleece 
 
 In fluffy hillocks, mounds, and drifts 
 
 In earth's deep pockets everywhere; 
 
 A snowy mantel round her sifts 
 
 Down through the frosty winter air, 
 
 And 'neath its folds of ermine fine 
 
 The world has sunk, and left no sign. 
 
 To our dazed eyes the landscape seems 
 
 Wrapped in the mystic land of dreams. 
 
 'Tis then the merry Christmas chime 
 
 Rings to our fireside absent friends 
 
 We loved in days of Auld Lang Syne — 
 
 An added charm to Christmas lends. 
 
 Then, justice done to skillful cook, 
 
 Around the cheerful grate we drew. 
 
 On childhood's days a backward look 
 
 We cast, and talked of those we knew 
 
 In years now passed a score, 
 
 And lived again our childhood o'er. 
 
 Again we trod the country road, 
 
 Flayed 'mong the ricks of hay new-mowed. 
 
 Behind the crooked fence of rails 
 
 Surprised the brooding mother-quails; 
 
 Again plucked berries, bitter, sweet, 
 
 As blue eyed violets at our feet 
 
 Looked shyly up from tangled grass 
 
 To nod us welcome as we pass; 
 
 Or, loitering by the clear brook side, 
 
 Watch circling eddies farther glide 
 
 (180) 
 
CHRISTMAS. 
 
 By pebbles in the water tossed 
 Till on the waves in ripples lost. 
 Again the old school house in fancy see, 
 Shaded by bee-haunted locust tree; 
 Once more the old-time playground trod, 
 Played marbles on the smooth, green sod, 
 
 Eecalled the games we used to play 
 
 Duck, Kings-land, gonl, and pull-away; 
 
 With clover wreatn re-crowned our queen, 
 
 Enthroned on oaken leaves of green, 
 
 Or marched in line, with paper hat, 
 
 To kettle-drum's loud tat-a-t.it. 
 
 Ah, me! I wonder if to-niaht 
 
 Those soldiers' hearts are free and light 
 
 As on that balmy day in May 
 
 With martial tread they marched away? 
 
 If from the battlefield of life 
 
 Unscathed to-day they gaily come, 
 
 With beating drum and clarion fife 
 
 Marching victorious home? 
 
 We only knew our household band, 
 
 Unbroken by death's ruthless hand, 
 
 Were left once more to gather here. 
 
 Partaking of our Christmas cheer. 
 
 There brown-eyed Hover, in his chair, 
 
 Sat upright as iceberg in floe. 
 
 Or solemn, snow-white polar bear, 
 
 Or dainty, fur-clad Esquimaux 
 
 In his far Greenland home. 
 
 When morning breaks the snow-birds come — - 
 
 Drab-coated winter kings are they — 
 
 Picking up stray Christmas crumbs, 
 
 But, startled, they soon wheel away; 
 
 All fluttering now they gaily go 
 
 Across the glittering fields of snow. 
 
 Then, joyous Christmas bells, ring on! 
 
 Eing home the loved and absent oqe! 
 
 So all the earth shall ring again 
 
 With '^Peace on earth, good will toward men!" 
 
 181 
 
1^-2 GLEA.N1NGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 BITTER-SWEET. 
 
 Shyly hiding 'neath the leaflets 
 
 Through the summer's tropic heat, 
 
 Mid the shadows by the brookside 
 Thou art waiting, Bitter-Sweet. 
 
 Only waitihg till the frost king 
 
 Shall unlock thy prison bars, 
 Thy green berries then transforming 
 
 Into glowing crimson stars. 
 Clarion north-winds lightly tosses 
 
 Heaps of dead leaves at thy feet, 
 Over beds of gray-green- mosses 
 
 Forest patriarchs bend to meet, 
 And clasp hands where twine and crosses 
 
 Thy frail tendrils, Bitter-Sweet. 
 
 From the North-land stalks King Winter, 
 
 Clothed in ermine soft and light; 
 On his gorgeous, glittering ice-car 
 
 Jack Frost comes with mail bedight — ■ 
 O'er the landscape brown and dreary, 
 
 O'er the woodland and the lake, 
 Lofty palace, castles airy 
 
 Shine resplendent in his wake. 
 
 Winter's couriers, with the eagles. 
 
 Cleave the ether coldly bright, 
 Blowing blasts on elfin bugles. 
 
 Heralding the snowflakes white; 
 From their icy fingers hurling 
 
 Javelins sharp of snow and sleet. 
 Light fantastic snow-wreaths curling 
 
 Kound thy berries, Bitter-Sweet. 
 
BITTER-SWEET. 133 
 
 Yet, unscathed by storms and bluster, 
 
 Clinging to thy leafless stem, 
 Losing nothing of thy luster 
 
 Till the blossoms come again, 
 Thou art but a wordless preacher, 
 
 Blooming early, blooming late. 
 Teaching to the lowliest creature : 
 
 Keep a heart for any fate. 
 
 May thy earnest, steadfast purpose — 
 Winter's storms to bravely meet — 
 
 Be a lasting lesson to us, 
 
 To take life's bitter with the sweet. 
 
18-1 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 CASTLES. 
 
 We are building castles, building ever, 
 
 Building on earth and in the air; 
 But to these airy castles never 
 
 Come the gaunt spectres, Worry and Care. 
 
 A gleaming dome, a golden portal, 
 
 Strong outer wall, draw-bridge and moat. 
 
 To the dim eyes of world-weary mortal 
 Ever in cloud-laud glance and float. 
 
 Hovering, lingering, vanishing, fleeting, 
 Always eluding the grasp of hand, 
 
 Till the dark clouds of adversity meeting, 
 Crumble away like ropes of sand. 
 
 Castle of blocks in childhood appearing, 
 To melt at a breath, then topple and fall; 
 
 Castles of stone in after life rearing — 
 
 But Time's ruthless fingers crumble them all. 
 
 Building castles, building ever, 
 Castles of wood, which fall again. 
 
 Castles of stone, but inhabit never 
 Our beautiful, airy castles in Spain. 
 
ILLUSIONS. 185 
 
 ILLUSIONS. 
 
 Treasure a withered violet, 
 Or knot of ribbon blue, 
 Or curl of auburn, gold, or jet, 
 Left by faithless love to you; 
 "Weep o'er a spray of pine 
 Or scentless mignonette; 
 Continue, O wives, to waste your time 
 
 In vain, unavailing regret. 
 Ee-kindle a burnt-out flame; 
 
 Imagine your life is blighted; 
 Be wife to the man only in name, 
 
 To whom your vows are plighted. 
 Set love on a pedestal high, 
 
 Far above all things earthly; 
 Over a worthless lover sigh, 
 
 Perhaps to a thought unworthy. 
 Dream that love exists, 
 
 Ye who follow its phantom; 
 They who on its truth insists 
 
 Their delusions I freely grant 'em. 
 But I think it the better plan 
 For the coming generation, 
 After a maid has chosen a man, 
 
 And entered the marriage relation, 
 To build a funeral pyre 
 
 Of love-knots and old love-letters. 
 Of flames that glowed but to expire, 
 
 And thus 'scaped the galling fetters; 
 And as they light the pile 
 
 That tender memories woke. 
 Instead of sighing they gaily smile, 
 As the past goes up in smoke. 
 
180 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 GOLD. 
 
 Gold in the sun-kissed lining 
 
 Of fleecy, floating cloud; 
 Golden grasses in meadow shining, 
 
 Yellow with golden-rod; 
 Gold in the daisy's heart; 
 
 Gold in the sunset's glow; 
 Gold in the busy mart; 
 
 Gold above and below. 
 
 Golden stubble after the reaper 
 
 Has gathered the golden grain, 
 And the golden corn-ear's wrapper 
 
 Is tinged with a golden stain; 
 Gold in the bed of river, 
 
 Where golden fishes shine — 
 The world is brimming over, 
 
 One vast and mighty mine. 
 
 Golden pumpkins among the corn rows, 
 
 Hid mid the golden sheaves; 
 And the tawny ghost of Autumn throws 
 Gold dust on the fresh, green leaves; 
 Golden velvet on bumble-bee; 
 Gold leaves on the maple tree; 
 Golden the wayside hedge; 
 Gold in the rocky ledge; 
 Golden the song bird's crest; 
 Gold in the darkening west; 
 Gold turns the wheels of our nation. 
 Gold rules the whole creation; 
 From north to south, from west to east, 
 We rise with a golden yeast. 
 
SILVER. 187 
 
 SILVER. 
 
 After the gold is melted in the crucible of Time, 
 
 And dark, and cold, and gray with mold is tree and flowering 
 
 vine, 
 Then comes the peaceful silver time, supplanting gaudy gold — 
 From gay to gray, Time strange tricks plays upon the old. 
 Silver mist veiling the mountain tops rising old and hoar; 
 Silver spray dashing o'er time-scarred rocks along the rugged 
 
 shore; 
 Silver crowns above the brows aged by toil and strife, 
 Soft as the moonlight, silvering o'er the evening time of life; 
 Silvery, restful eve after day's golden light; 
 Silvery moonbeams gently falling through the gray and dusky 
 
 night; 
 Silvery heavens studded by a million silver stars, 
 Vanishing ere the silvery twilight day's golden gate unbars. 
 
188 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 DICKENS. 
 
 Ye who have heard the cricket's chirp 
 
 On the hearthstone merrily singing, 
 And on your ears have fallen the chimes 
 
 In fancy airily swinging; 
 Ye who have listened to Christmas bells 
 
 For Scrooge's first Christmas ringing, 
 To the glad New Year caroling clear, 
 
 A charm round the old year flinging; • 
 
 Ye who have trod with little Nell 
 
 Through daisied lowland meadows, 
 And see through Dora's angel eyes 
 
 God's glory in the shadows; 
 Or felt the crutch of Tiny Tim 
 
 Strike dully on your heart strings — 
 Have ye not felt again, with him, 
 
 What good cheer Christmas brings? 
 
 Ye who have rode with Carrier John, 
 
 Or laughed with Pegotty, 
 And watched her sew the buttons on 
 
 In the boat-house by the sea, 
 Or heard the sad-voiced sea waves tell to dying little Paul 
 Of great Creator's voice within who marked the sparrow's fall; 
 From Tom-all-alones with Joe "moved on 
 
 To that 'ere buryin' ground," 
 Or wept with David Copperfield o'er 
 
 Steerforth's grassy mound; 
 
 If with Dick Swiveler you have shunned 
 
 In turn each marked-out street. 
 Heard Fagin praise the Dodger's way 
 
 Of " fakin' wipes so neat;" 
 In Sammy Weller's walentine 
 
 Found the good word " circumwent," 
 
 Or waited with Micawber for luck to pay his rent; 
 And summing up these characters, 
 
 Portrayed as can no other, 
 Have ye not wondered in your heart 
 
 When comes %uch another? 
 
WHITTIER. 189 
 
 WHITTIER. 
 
 In simplest flower, and shrub, and tree. 
 
 In stately pine and fir, 
 We beauties new in nature see, 
 
 Portrayed by Whittier. 
 
 And soft and low as south winds blow, 
 
 His gentle airs drift back, 
 As under laurel blooms we row, 
 
 Adown the Merrimac. 
 
 Snow-bound among New England's hills 
 
 Who would not gladly be? 
 How through a trembling nation thrills 
 
 His shouts for libertyl 
 
190 GLEANlNGJs AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAV^ES. 
 
 LOGAK 
 
 Ring out, O sad-voiced Christmas bells, 
 
 Soft and low! 
 For a patriot soldier lies, 
 Death's film o'er his fading eyes, 
 
 Breathing faint and slow. 
 
 Toll mournfully and solemnly, 
 
 O Christmas bells! 
 Voice the nation's grief 
 For our fallen chief. 
 
 Ring out, mournful knells, 
 From sea to sea. 
 
 Drift down silently 
 
 O winter's snow! 
 Too soon to shroud our dear immortal dead. 
 Weave pure white coverlet for his lowly bed. 
 
 Logan lieth low! ^ 
 
 Moan, wintry wind, nor cease your soughing! 
 
 Grieve, northern pine, chant ye a requiem I 
 Swiftly on the wings of the old year flying, 
 
 Passeth the freed spirit of nature's nobleman. 
 Logan is dying ! 
 
 Tenderly to thy well-earned rest they bear thee, 
 
 Statesman, soldier, brother. 
 When from the ranks of nations yet to be 
 
 Shall come such another? 
 
 Above the clouds that o'er t)ur nation lowered 
 
 He soared on eagle flights of song; 
 Brave, lion-hearted king of men, empowered 
 
 With supernatural strength to lead the throng. 
 
LOGAN. 191 
 
 Facing the belching cannon's mouth undaunted, 
 
 Fixed and steadfast in his purpose as the northern star, 
 
 O'er all the land his praise is chanted, 
 Glorious in peace, magnificent in war ! 
 
 Dead, with all his honors thick upon him ; 
 
 Dead, ere he reached the zenith of his fame ; 
 Falling with the fallen leaf in his life's autumn, 
 
 Leaving as a heritage an unsullied name. 
 
 Deaf to the strains of the soul-stirring bugle, 
 
 Throbbing of war-drum, and war's rude alarums, 
 
 'No more to protect America's eagle, 
 
 Will the clarion trumpet arouse him to arms. 
 
 He sleeps 'neath the sod he so nobly defended, 
 'Neath the folds of the glorious flag of the free. 
 
 To the conquerer Death his arms are surrendered, 
 For him has been sounded a last reveille. 
 
 In the great camping-ground, far away from life's battles, 
 One by one new recruits are fast mustering in ; 
 
 Soldier and leader who faced the fierce cannon's rattle 
 March steadily on to Death's halls, dark and dim. 
 
 Bring the choicest of flowers for earth's nobleman, 
 
 Strew his grave with the tokens that kind nature gave ; 
 
 'Neath the stars and the bars of blue heaven we'll leave him, 
 His requiem chanted by wind and wave. 
 
102 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHE WES. 
 
 BURNS. 
 
 My wandering fancy backward turns 
 
 To the sweet songs of Robert Burns, 
 
 That through the summer and winter weather 
 
 Breathe of the Scottish gorse and heather; 
 
 And for his sleekit cowerin' mousie 
 
 In its snug winter's nest, 
 
 Turned out by plowshare from its housie, 
 
 Profoundest pity fills my breast. 
 
 I love his braes o' bonnie Doon, 
 
 His bonnie HighhT^nd Mary, 
 
 And still within my heart there's room 
 
 For the "Twa Dogs" story. 
 
THEN AND NOW. 103 
 
 THEN AND NOW. 
 
 THEN. 
 
 Then our skies were bright and radiant 
 
 With a soft and roseate hue; 
 Then the clouds upon the zenith 
 
 Ne'er could hide the heavenly blue; 
 Then we roamed the woodlands over 
 
 For the first spring violet, 
 And plucked the ox-eyed daisy 
 
 While the grass with dew was wet. 
 A fairyland we thought the earth 
 
 And we its elflin clan! 
 Built in air the grandest castles 
 
 Peopled by the coming man. 
 Then the language of the flowers, 
 
 And the twitterings of the bird, 
 Were to us the sweetest music 
 
 Mortal ears had ever heard; 
 Then all was gold that glittered 
 
 To our untried, childish eyes. 
 And our dreams were sweet imaginings 
 
 Of life's untroubled joys; 
 Then our little world was bounded 
 
 By the dim horizon's rim. 
 Peace and joy without measure 
 
 Filled our small hearts to the brim; 
 Then care and heart-ache to the four winds 
 
 With a careless hand we flung, 
 Our paths seemed strewn with roses 
 
 When we were young. 
 
 —13 
 
X94 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 NOW. 
 
 Now I sit and gaze full sadly 
 
 At the lowering, leaden sky; 
 Yainly strive to catch the sunshine 
 
 As the clouds go hurrying by. 
 Kosy tints have well-nigh vanished, 
 
 Giving place to sober gray; 
 Life's bright spring-time and its gladness 
 
 Have forever passed away. 
 Now my days are in the shadow 
 
 Of the sere and yellow leaf; 
 On the shady side of sixty, 
 
 Life to me seems all too brief. 
 Now my aching bones remind me 
 
 By slight twinges of the gout. 
 Though, I own, I scarce believe it, 
 
 Youth's forever crowded out. 
 Ne'er again will wild-wood echo 
 
 To my merry, childish feet; 
 Ne'er again in dewy meadow 
 
 Shall 1 pluck the wild rose sweet. 
 Backward now my thoughts are turning 
 
 To the gay and happy past. 
 When the dreams my fancy conjured 
 
 Were too fanciful to last. 
 Now to me the tinsel's glitter 
 
 Is unlike pure gold; 
 Hope is dead and love quite banished 
 Now I'm old. 
 
THE ESTHETIC CAT'S-TAIL. 195 
 
 THE ESTHETIC CAT'S-TAIL. 
 
 One day in Indian summer 
 
 A burly, brown cat's-tail 
 Fell to quarreling with a cowslip 
 
 That grew within a swale.' 
 
 "I'm all the rage!" the cat's-tail said, 
 
 ''The very latest craze!" 
 Said the cowslip: "Your conceit and brag 
 
 A cowslip would amaze. 
 
 "You're tall and straight, my lanky friend, 
 
 To that I will concede, 
 But as to grace or beauty 
 
 You're lacking there indeed." 
 
 Said the cat's-tail: "ISTo one expects 
 
 One of your yellow hue 
 To appreciate one so very much 
 
 Superior to you. 
 
 "From the color of your face 
 
 I judge you both bilious and dyspeptic. 
 While I am called by every one 
 
 Decidedly aesthetic. 
 
 "The ladies seek me far and wide 
 
 Their parlors to adorn; 
 In Kensington and Applique 
 
 I'm worked both night and morn. 
 
 "On china placques, and screens, and scrolls, 
 
 In oil I'm done up brown; 
 A right to claims of precedence now, 
 
 Miss Cowslip, you will own." 
 
196 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 ''You may be popular and sestlietic, 
 
 By foolish folk the rage, 
 But fashion is a fickle jade, 
 
 She'll scorn you in your age. 
 
 ''I am content to live and die, 
 
 Unnoticed and unsought, 
 Kissed by the breeze, the birds and bees, 
 
 Then die and be forgot." 
 
 Even as she spoke a maiden passed 
 
 Close by the sedgy bank; 
 In basket soon they l^oth were placed, 
 
 Along with mosses dank. 
 
 ''Why are you here?" the cat's-tail said, 
 "I can't see what this means!" 
 
 Modestly the cowslip then replied: 
 "Perhaps its just for greens." 
 
MAN. 197 
 
 MAN. 
 
 Since Time and Poesy were young, 
 
 In flowing verse have poets sung 
 
 Of women in their varying moods and tenses, 
 
 Her quibbles, quirks, her sense, and lack of senses. 
 
 Since from the point of goose-quill freely flowed 
 
 The sable ink on virgin page in ode 
 
 To woman, lovely woman, frail and fair — 
 
 The sharer of our every joy and care — 
 
 The faults and frailties of wife, mother, maid, 
 
 Have all by him been faithfully portrayed. 
 
 O Man! The greatest being yet created. 
 Perfect in all things, thou art illy mated. 
 Why, when in Eden's bowers the Great Creator 
 Pronounced thee good, and then created later 
 A being who should have been perfect. 
 If practice makes one so — why did He not select 
 The best of Adam's ribs for Eve's construction. 
 Instead of leaving her to her own destruction? 
 
 Say, lords of creation — who, from the beginning. 
 Blamed weak, frail woman for your early sinning — 
 When on the sea of gossip, spite, and slander 
 You swim and breast the waves like old Leander; 
 When you all list to what your teacher teaches. 
 And every mother's son will practice as he preaches; 
 When you all cease to gossip, lie and tattle. 
 Then will we listen to your gentle prattle. 
 When in your ranks, with equal chances, 
 To battle with the world we stand. 
 And no foe falls beneath our lances, 
 Then will we yield to you the palm. 
 
 If you'll discard those skin-tight breeches, 
 
 That walking stick and dudish hat, 
 We will agree to take less stitches 
 
 In tatting, rick-rack, and all that. 
 When on your cheek the bloom of youth glows 
 
 Expect the weaker sex to wear the cream; 
 When for the lords the ruddy wine flows 
 
 Small beer for ladies quite too small will seem. 
 
198 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 THE HEART. 
 
 Tic-tac, tic-tac, 
 
 Forward and back, 
 Swing, pendulum, swing; 
 
 Tic-tac, forward and back, 
 Life to the tired heart bring. 
 Swing, pendulum, swing 
 
 In your old seventy-year clock, 
 From heart to brain. 
 Then back again, 
 
 Reeling heart restlessly rock, 
 Like a mad, frightened thing. 
 
 Swing, pendulum, swing, 
 
 Forward and back. 
 Warm life's blood fling; 
 One hundred thousand beats in a day. 
 Flung back and forth in the same dizzy way; 
 Madness but makes thee the faster go. 
 Sleep doth not stop thy ceaseless flow. 
 The angel of life winds it up for aye. 
 And the angel of death holds the mystic key. 
 Tic-tac, forward and back, 
 
 Swing, pendulum, swing; 
 Tic-tac, forward and back, 
 Rest to the tired heart bring. 
 
CHILDHOOD'S DAYS. ^99 
 
 CHILDHOOD'S DAYS. 
 
 Who that reviews in retrospection, 
 
 And their innocent childhood's days recall, 
 
 But will confess after due reflection 
 
 That those were the happiest days of all. 
 
 After all, when we're great big grown-up people, 
 What pleasure compares to a game of blocks 
 
 We could build to the sky in a tall church-steeple. 
 Or play keep-house in a dry -goods box ? 
 
 Then the cupboard, filled with broken dishes, 
 What rare old china with it compares, 
 
 Bedecked with landscapes, flowers and fishes. 
 That our costly grown-up sideboard bears ? 
 
 No more than does the rare exotic 
 
 To dainty prairie fiower so fair, 
 Mingling their blooms in mass chaotic 
 
 Born in the clear, fresh country air. 
 
 How we planted weeds in our play-house garden 
 That withered beneath the noonday sun, 
 
 Or set mud pies in the sun to harden 
 That always proved over or under-done. 
 
 How we bought fine corn silk and long pine needles 
 
 Of every wandering peddler man, 
 Or drove in pairs great clumsy beetles. 
 
 Or marched to music of old tin pan. 
 
 How we wept o'er the grave of a dear dead kitten 
 
 Buried within tall pine trees' shade. 
 What food for thought had we but re-written 
 
 The prayers and sermons above it made. 
 
 A grave bestrewn with fragrant clover 
 
 We made when the green was on the trees, 
 
 A shingle coffin, with flower decked cover. 
 Made our pet goslin's last obsequies. 
 
 And when Time his seal on our smooth brow presses. 
 At the door of our hearts kind Memory knocks. 
 
 She will find enshrined in its deep recesses * 
 
 The time we kept house in a dry-goods box. 
 
200 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 LITTLE GOLDEN LOCK'S DKEAM. 
 
 Little Golden Locks while straying 
 Among the gorgeous garden bowers, 
 
 Weary and tired out with playing, 
 Fell asleep among the flowers. 
 
 And, sleeping, dreamed the flowers had faces, 
 Deep hidden in their golden hearts, 
 
 And, dressed in purest silks and laces. 
 
 Each one in flowerland played their parts. 
 
 She dreamed the sun from his bed uprising 
 
 Shook his mane of tawny locks. 
 So that the sleeping flowers started. 
 
 And, waking, trembled on their stalks — 
 
 Unclosed the folded morning glory. 
 And the drooping, drowsy hollyhocks, 
 
 Waking, stared in perfect wonder 
 At sleepy little Golden Locks. 
 
 ''I must brace up," said the calla lily, 
 " And look my very prettiest, 
 For to-morrow night in yonder villa 
 I'm to grace a marriage feast. 
 
 <' I'm to be the central figure 
 In a monster wedding bell; 
 So you see my fair flower sisters, 
 It behooves me to look well." 
 
 " And I shall be there too," said moss rose 
 "Placed in a circle next to you. 
 Sister tuberose you're to come next. 
 Cheer up and don't look so blue. 
 
LITTLE GOLDEN LOCK'S DREAM. 2Ui 
 
 ''Smilax, you are green with envy, 
 Fear not, were it not for you 
 We would cut a sorry figure 
 With our pale and sickly hue. 
 
 ''I'm so glad I'm late in blooming. 
 For my elder sisters lie 
 Wreathed about a sable coffin 
 Hidden in the cemetery. 
 
 «'But we flowers have no objection 
 To be twined in funeral wreath; 
 Knowing well that soon or later 
 All who live must suffer death. 
 
 " And though funeral occasions 
 
 The glad cheer of weddings lacks, 
 Yet in funeral wreath more often 
 We may be preserved in wax." 
 
 Then the blush rose, who'd been weeping 
 
 Purest tears of pearly dew. 
 Spoke up in a husky whisper, 
 ''White rose, how I envy you. 
 
 "Here I stand forlorn, forgotten. 
 Seeing naught of life nor death. 
 For my hateful color banished 
 
 From marriage bell or funeral wreath." 
 
 "I, too, am by man forsaken," 
 
 Said the sad-faced yellow rose. 
 "Never from my bush I'm taken, 
 
 For my color I suppose. 
 
 ' ' Shaded am I by this ancient 
 And old-fashioned hollyhock, 
 Who, regardless of my anger, 
 Stands unblushing on his stalk. 
 
202 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 "Madam poppy's always sleepy 
 And seems disinclined to talk. 
 Tansy and old-man and spearmint 
 Quite choke up the garden walk. 
 
 ''Four-o'clocks, cockscombs and larkspurs 
 Stand about me in stiff rows, 
 While a coarse, wild dandelion is growing, 
 As it were, beneath my nose. 
 
 " In the next bed drooping pansies 
 Hang shame-facedly their heads, 
 And Miss Mignonette's strong odors, 
 Quite disgrace the garden beds. 
 
 " Outside the hedge-row a wild rose 
 Blushes that a queen should be 
 Surrounded as I am in a garden 
 By uncultured company. 
 
 ''I'm disgusted, and I tell you 
 
 Unless something happens I shall die. 
 Ugh! " The rose bush shook with anger, 
 "See that dandelion fly." 
 
 Scarcely had the rose ceased speaking 
 Ere a humming bird flew down. 
 
 And extracted sweetest honey 
 
 From each flower that grew around. 
 
 Next a bumble bee came buzzing 
 
 To the stately hollyhocks. 
 Plunged in, their honey rifled, 
 
 Then awoke the Golden Locks. 
 
 Underneath the rose tree spied she 
 
 Dandelion's lengthy stem. 
 Plucked and curled it, and then wore it, 
 
 In her ear as precious gem. 
 
LITTLE GOLDEN LOCK'S DREAM. 203 
 
 Stooped she to the modest pansy, 
 
 Looked its knowing face upon, 
 Kissed it, called it "darling pansy, 
 
 Her own precious little one." 
 
 Handfuls of old-man and spearmint gathered, 
 
 Passed to four-o'clock's low bed, 
 With sweet mignonette and daisies 
 
 Wreathed her dainty golden head. 
 
 Then an artist, easel laden. 
 
 Sauntered down the garden walk, 
 Drew the poppy on a panel, 
 
 And the ancient hollyhock. 
 
 Then the rose, in Goldie's fancy. 
 
 Hung her yellow head for shame. 
 Whispering to her nearest neighbor, 
 
 ''After all, what's in a name?" 
 
204 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 THE BEE AND THE WASP. 
 
 Said an old black wasp to a bumble bee, 
 
 As they met in a lily bell: 
 '*For the life of me I cannot see 
 
 How you gather honey so well. 
 Were I as heavy and portly as you 
 
 I should never attempt to fly; 
 Instead of honey, I'd sip the dew; 
 
 I'd take anti-fat or die." 
 "Oh, ho!" said the bee; ''You are jealous of me; 
 
 I see green in your eyes; 
 The plump, round form of the bumble bee 
 
 Eclipses your shrunken thighs. 
 Your thin, spare form and waspish waist, 
 
 Must have been done up in stays. 
 My form was never by corset laced. 
 
 Nor deformed by fashion's ways." 
 Said the angry wasp: "Your tastes are low; 
 
 Your dugout is coarse, black dirt. 
 While my house is of paper, mixed with tow; 
 
 In the tree-top I nod and flirt 
 With the leaves and birds and hurrying clouds. 
 
 While your home a perpetual gloom enshrouds." 
 "Ah, well," said the bee, "everyone to his taste; 
 
 Your taste runs to flies and bugs; 
 No honey-bag hangs to your tapering waist. 
 
 While the bee his full honey-sack hugs. 
 Though perverted your taste in the eating line. 
 
 You build 'neath the summer skies. 
 On honey and bread and pollen I dine, 
 
 My home in the dark mould lies. 
 
THE BEE AND THE WASP. *2o5 
 
 Who that hears my mellow bass 
 
 But blesses the day I was born; 
 In the hearts of flowers I hide my face, 
 
 And sing as I rifle the corn. 
 Your piping treble is sharp and harsh, 
 
 You're a blot on this fair earth; 
 You hover above the low, wet marsh, 
 
 To the world you are nothing worth. 
 Did bard e'er sing or poet rave 
 
 O'er the fierce, sharp, 'vengeful wasp? 
 Did you ever see a line in your praise 
 
 'Twixt the covers of sheep embossed? 
 They sing of the bee and the roses of June, 
 
 Dwell lovingly on my hum; 
 A source of delight is my cheerful tune 
 
 As I beat with my wings on my dram. 
 Oh, yes! I sting, if I'm hard pressed, 
 
 Or a plough share my nest invades; 
 Then, like other bankrupts, I go west, 
 
 And give free bee serenades." 
 Said the wasp to the bee: "Too precious my time 
 
 To stand idly gossiping here. 
 Your ways and your voice differ widely from mine. 
 
 As well as the garb that you wear. 
 If you are content to grovel on earth, 
 
 I'm sure I have nothing to say; 
 More lofty am I, by breeding and birth — 
 
 I wish you a friendly good-day." 
 
 MOKAL. 
 
 A lesson is taught, to you and to me, 
 
 By this tale of the wasp and the bee, 
 That when workers and drones fail to agree, 
 
 It is best to part company. 
 
206 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 THE GOOD, OLD-FASHIONED WAY. 
 
 Farmer Granger was a gentleman 
 
 Of the good, old-fashioned school; 
 His line of life in the same groove ran 
 
 That his father's did, and he lived bj the rule 
 That governed his grandsire's day; 
 
 So he farmed, and throve, and hoped, and lived, 
 And strove his debts to pay, 
 
 And worked, and dressed, and prayed, and loved 
 In the good, old-fashioned way. 
 
 He wore his mat of long, gray hair, 
 
 Done up in antique cue; 
 Knee-breeches and stock did he also wear, 
 
 And silver buckled shoe. 
 His plow was little better than sharpened stick; 
 
 With sickle he cut his grain, 
 And stacked it in an old-fashioned rick. 
 
 Well roofed to shed the rain. 
 With flail he threshed on the granary floor, 
 
 In bins stored it away; 
 The grist to mill on horseback bore, 
 
 In the good old-fashioned way. 
 
 His good wife spun and wove and knit, 
 
 Wore a linsey-woolsey gown; 
 Before the fire-place, on a spit. 
 
 She did her roasts up brown; 
 Within the ashes hoe-cake baked, 
 
 Nor deigned to use a stove. 
 Yet, strange to say, on coarse hoe-cake 
 
 This thrifty couple throve. 
 The Bible was their only book, 
 
 And seldom they read that. 
 And, as no newspapers they took, 
 
 Supposed the world was flat. 
 
THE GOOD, OLD-FASHIONED WAY. 201 
 
 Contentedly this Darby and Joan, 
 
 In chimney corner snug, 
 Smoked and recalled days long gone, 
 
 And sipped from cider mug. 
 For they were made of different stuff 
 
 From people of to-day, 
 And dozed and gossiped, and took snuff. 
 
 In the old-fashioned way. 
 
 To raisin's, huskin's and parties, 
 
 About the country side, 
 To log roUin's, quiltin's and parin' bees 
 
 Both on one horse would ride. 
 And when the youngsters formed a set, 
 
 With air gallant and gay, 
 They'd tread the stately minuet. 
 
 In the old-fashioned way. 
 
 And so this antiquated pair 
 
 Lived on for many a day, 
 With nothing to their comfort mar. 
 
 As blithe as birds in May. 
 And much I doubt if people are 
 
 As free from care to-day 
 As was old Farmer Granger, 
 
 In his old-fashioned way. 
 
208 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 THE MUSICAL CONVENTION. 
 
 'Twas whispered abroad, one sweet day in spring, 
 
 That a musical convention would be held in a grove, 
 And each insect and bird in turn there should sing — ■ 
 
 Thus their right to a claim of precedence prove. 
 Master Crow, with a "caw," called the meeting to order; 
 
 King Eagle sat musing on his throne in a tree; 
 Owl, Bat and Mole as judges presided — 
 
 To judge and judge fairly, one should not see. 
 Whippoorwill sang his song that was loudly applauded; 
 
 All the birds clapped their wings in the wildest of glee, 
 But, at a glance from stern Eagle, were at once gently folded, 
 
 As arose on the air the clear hum of the Bee. 
 Clerk Wren called next, in his stateliest manner, — 
 
 By remarks the judges might prejudiced be — 
 To the front, with a bow, came a bright Yellow-Hammer, 
 
 Who warbled in turn his tweedle-de-dee. 
 The Cricket sang next his song, loud and long. 
 
 Of the luck he would bring to the lowliest hearth. 
 And was joined by the whole of the gay insect throng, 
 
 Who chimed in a chorus to his innocent mirth. 
 Then Cat Bird, and Martin, and Blue Bird, and Swallow, 
 The Bain Crow, Bob White, and sweet Meadow Lark, 
 The Robin, and Wren, and Pe-dee strove to follow. 
 
 And kept up the concert till long after dark. 
 The Mocking Bird rose, at the close of the meeting, 
 
 And begged as a favor his friends would allow 
 Him the privilege of each insect and bird's note repeating. 
 And bore off the prize, with his stateliest bow. 
 
A WOKLD OF CHANGE. 200 
 
 A WORLD OF CHANGE. 
 
 A fleet of clouds, with sail-like pennons flying, 
 
 Changed into misty veils of gossamer. 
 Then formed a ruin old, in broken columns lying, 
 
 Ere to the canvas I could their forms transfer. 
 
 1 launched my boat upon the restless ocean. 
 Whose waves with gentle murmurs spurned 
 
 The sands with peaceful, gliding motion; 
 But ere I could set sail, the tide had turned. 
 
 A gorgeous rainbow spanned the dome of heaven, 
 Resplendent with the many hues that rainbows wear. 
 
 But ere I counted e'en its colors seven, 
 
 It melted quite away and vanished in thin air. 
 
 I cried, " O changing cloud, and tide, and rainbow, 
 And winds which o'er the changeful earth so widdy 
 range. 
 
 Change and decay are on all below; 
 This is indeed a world of change.'' 
 
 —14 
 
210 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 SWEET MAY. 
 
 Pressed in the fold of school-book old, 
 
 This faded, yellow leaf 
 Kecalls sweet Mays of other days, 
 
 In life's bright spring-time brief. 
 
 It calls to mind the teacher kind, 
 
 Who soothed our childish woes 
 With fragrant spray of sweetest May 
 
 That e'er in garden grows. 
 
 The rows of stiff-backed benches there, 
 The blackboard's chalky showing. 
 
 The crops of tangled flaxen hair 
 That plainly needed mowing. 
 
 The daily plunge of Thomas Y — ng's, 
 
 Into his A — er B — er, 
 With shuffling feet, sent to his seat, 
 
 To study long on — er. 
 
 Then Emmy Jones' pathetic tones, 
 
 Thick as a winter's fog. 
 Telling how "at the red man's heelths, 
 
 Still hawked the white manth's dawg." 
 
 Or Sophie Lawson's broken speech, 
 
 Warning "der lettla mousa 
 To fly beyond Tietta kot's reach, 
 
 Who searched her tro' de housa." 
 
 Mischievous Minn's cute, knowing grins 
 • Plainly before me rise, 
 Informing the school, from the dunce's stool, 
 That she loathed dried apple pies. 
 
 There "Barbara Fritchie's" virtues shone; 
 
 There "Kosciusko" rose and fell; 
 With the ''Gladiator's" dying groan 
 
 Mingled Moore's "Evening Bell." 
 
 And through the mists of vanished years. 
 
 Gome back my last school day; 
 Its memory to my heart endears 
 
 This withered leaf of May. 
 
THE CITY'S STREET. 211 
 
 THE CITY'S STREET. 
 
 Walking along through the crowded street, 
 
 Motley's the wear of the people you meet. 
 Here comes a barouche, dashing along, 
 
 The gay liveried coachman humming a song; 
 Pompously inside sits swell millionaire, 
 
 Home from a meeting, horse race or fair. 
 Here a sleek dandy, in smart English fly, 
 
 Driving two-forty, comes dashing by. 
 Now comes a phaeton, with young girl so sweet, 
 
 Under a new bonnet, natty and neat; 
 Mater beside her, looking out well 
 
 A mate for her daughter in rich Broadway swell. 
 Then there's the dog-cart, with two blooming girls; 
 
 How the fresh bandoline shines on their curls. 
 In two-wheeled red cart, on shady by-street. 
 
 Two precious children and burro we meet. 
 Here comes the street car, with sharp, jingling bell — 
 
 Out of the way ! they are coming, pell-mell. 
 Out of the way with that peanut cart ! 
 
 Look out! that dray horse is going to start. 
 Heavy truck wagon, lumbering 'bus. 
 
 Everywhere noise, rush, rustle and fuss. 
 Clear the track! slow and steady, hush laughter and curse. 
 
 Make room for that dark-plumed, slow-going hearse. 
 Here's an old woman with fresh vegetables. 
 
 Here a young farmer has brought in his culls, 
 Here's a young girl with basket of flowers, 
 
 Standing alone on the corner for hours. 
 «' Black yer boots! Shine 'em up!" 
 
 Shouts the ragged small boy. 
 <' Here's yer Times ^ Daily News! 
 
 Who will buy ? " newsboys cry. 
 t'Pity the poor blind man," 
 
 Cries the blind organ-man. 
 "Here's your milk! fresh milk!" 
 
 Shouts the man with his can. 
 Shouting, jostling, hurrying along, 
 
 Pushed liere and there by the careless throng, 
 Everyone on his own business intent. 
 
 Elbowing our way through the city we went. 
 
212 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 THE DAUGHTEKS OF THE KING. 
 
 Look forward and not back, 
 
 Look out and not in, 
 Look up and not down, 
 
 Lend a hand — 
 Mottoes are of the Daughters of the King. 
 
 Look forward to the time, 
 
 When men shall clearly see 
 Woman's weak, inferior mind 
 
 By use can strengthened be. 
 
 Look out on the broad fields 
 Which awaits the fearless band, 
 
 With love emblazoned on their shields, 
 Not afraid to lend a hand. 
 
 Look upward to the skies. 
 
 Where dark oppression's clouds 
 
 Before the car of progress flies, 
 Which our sun of glory shrouds. 
 
 Onward, upward, downward never, 
 Shout the Daughters of the King. 
 
 In His name we triumph ever. 
 In Hie name bring ofiering. 
 
 Let the pride and pomp of power 
 
 By true love supplanted be. 
 And our united sisters' dower 
 
 Be friendship, love, fraternity. 
 
 Sail on, mighty car of progress. 
 Let truth guide aright thy helm. 
 
 Manned by faith, and love, and friendship, 
 Nothing can our bark o'erwhelm. 
 
 Into ports of peace and pleasure, 
 
 Thee the winds of heaven will bring, 
 
 Who are sailing 'neath the colors 
 Of the Daughters of the King. 
 
A QUERY. 213 
 
 A QUERY. 
 
 Tell me, gaudy sunflower, 
 
 Where your gold mint lies. 
 And what cunning artist's hand 
 
 Mixed your amber dyes! 
 Have you hidden forces, 
 
 Working under ground ? 
 What in heart of mother earth 
 
 Cherished secrets found ? 
 
 Spake the yellow sunflowers, 
 
 Hanging heavy heads: 
 ''Deep in Kansas' bosom hid. 
 
 Lie rich, undiscovered beds; 
 Beds of salt and mineral, 
 
 Beds of purest anthracite, 
 Hidden under beds of slate, 
 
 Waiting for the light. 
 Beds of richest mineral, 
 
 Silver, gold, and iron, and lead, 
 Lying within the reach of all. 
 
 Safely hid in rocky bed." 
 
 Tell me, plumey golden rod, 
 
 Where you got your gold 
 That above the Kansas sod 
 
 Feathery plumes unfold! 
 Tell me, what famed artist's hand 
 
 Tints thy gorgeous hue, 
 That throughout the sun-bright land 
 
 There be none like you! 
 
 Spake the plumey golden rod, 
 
 Gleaming in the sun, 
 *'He who hath turned Kansas sod, 
 
 Golden harvests won. 
 Well doth she deserve her name, 
 
 'Golden Sunflower State.' 
 In her heart or in her sod, 
 
 Lieth treasures great." 
 
214 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 HUMANITY 
 
 Restlessly with the reeling world we're rolling, 
 Never at rest until our funeral bells are tolling. 
 
 Changing ever, 
 
 Quiet never. 
 
 Surging like the sea, 
 
 We poor mortals be. 
 
 Grasping yet a little more, reaching out still further, 
 Though our coffers full of shining dollars, grasping yet 
 another. 
 
 In search of wealth, 
 
 Shatter health, 
 
 Cheat a mother, 
 
 Rob a brother. 
 
 Such are we. 
 
 Poor humanity. 
 
 Looking forward to the time 
 When we will be contented. 
 Letting present pleasures glide by us unlamented. 
 
 Living in the past. 
 
 Looking to the future 
 
 For joys that never last — 
 
 Poor human nature. 
 
 Filling the big, wide world, 
 In our own estimations. 
 For our birth laying God 
 Under lasting obligations. 
 
 Pass away, 
 
 Forgotten in a day. 
 
 Planted 'neath the sod, 
 
 Perhaps go to God. 
 
FLEUll-DE-LiS. 21 
 
 FLEUR-DE-LIS. 
 
 Why dost thou hide in reedy pool, 
 
 In untrod meadow ways, 
 When in the garden, sweet and cool, 
 
 Your scepter you might raise. 
 
 ' Neath shady bank, mid rushes tall, 
 Thy feet the soft waves kiss, 
 
 Your realm's a kingdom, free to all, 
 O fair, blue Fleur-de-lis. 
 
 Did Flora, goddess of the flowers, 
 Seek out the loneliest glen, 
 
 And banish thee from garden bowers, 
 Far from the haunts of men? 
 
 Was it for real or fancied sin, 
 That thou wast doomed to dwell 
 
 In somber shade of woodland dim, 
 And quiet, lonely dell? 
 
 No, little modest flower of blue. 
 Your heart holds purest gold; 
 
 I'll ne'er believe a thought untrue 
 Your pure, blue petals hold. 
 
216 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 GOLD IS KING. 
 
 Gold is king! Gold is king! 
 
 We eagerly list to its welcome ring. 
 Tliey may prate of love and passion ever, 
 
 But the love of gold outweighs all other. 
 
 See the miser gloat o'er his golden store, 
 
 Counting his treasure o'er and o'er, 
 Till the light in his eye is hard and cold, 
 
 And his heart's as hard as his heaps of gold. 
 
 And the dream of the bloated millionaire 
 Is to gain for himself the lion's share; 
 
 To his glittering hordes still adding more, 
 
 Though widow and orphan are turned from his door. 
 
 How we chase its phantom till youth is spent. 
 Till with age our forms are worn and bent, 
 
 Nor pause in the race as we grow old. 
 In pursuit of the ignis fatims^ gold. 
 
 Gold is king! Gold is king! 
 
 Outlasting love, passion, everything. 
 The dream of youth, the staff of the old, 
 
 ''Hard food for Midas," glittering gold. 
 
THE GRASSHOPPERS' BALL. 217 
 
 THE GRASSHOPPERS' BALL. 
 
 Did you ever, on an antumn eve, 
 
 When the moon was at its full. 
 By a kind little fairy be granted leave 
 
 To attend a grasshoppers' ball? 
 
 Shall I tell how mosquitoes in pairs, 
 
 All humming the latest airs, 
 Come out 'neath the trees in nature's ball room, 
 
 To dance by the light of the moon? 
 
 How anxious mammas bring their girls. 
 
 Bedecked in old laces and pearls, 
 For the hearts and hands of big bugs to sue, 
 
 At the ball to make their debut. 
 
 The beetles have sewed for weeks, 
 
 Until wasted and hollow their cheeks, 
 
 But they must be there, broken wings to sew. 
 And to sprinkle the floor with dew. 
 
 Cricket, katy-did, and bumble bee 
 
 All played until red in the face. 
 And an old green frog, with a "jug-jug-jug," 
 
 Came in with a sounding bass. 
 
 Shall I tell of the chagrin and spite 
 Of the little bugs there that night? 
 
 How they buzzed together, with angry frown, 
 At katy-did's new green gown? 
 
218 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SIIEAVLS. 
 
 And called Miss Fly a sad flirt, 
 
 And spider meaner than dirt, 
 And of big bugs ' doings, ah, well. 
 
 They knew more than they cared to tell. 
 
 Of the loves and moonlight strolls. 
 
 In glens, over grassy knolls, 
 Now 'neath fern in conservatory, 
 
 Was told over the old, old story. 
 
 How daddy long-legs and spider, his pet. 
 
 On a leaf danced a minuet. 
 How a merry old frog to his bosom hugged 
 
 The toad, as they danced a clog? 
 
 Must I tell how a bright butterfly 
 l^lew into the glow-worm's light. 
 
 And singed her wings till she must die, 
 Which broke up the ball that night? 
 
CHANGE. 219 
 
 CHANGE. 
 
 What shall my theme be — lov6 and its blandishments, 
 
 The nut-brown hair and Cell-blue eyes 
 Of love-lorn maids, at ivied casements, 
 
 Heaving the same old love-laden sighs? 
 
 Shall I unearth a dead and gone passion, 
 Rattle the dead bones of a long buried love, 
 
 Sigh, moan, and groan, in poetic fashion. 
 
 Till my grief would the heart of a nether-stone move ? 
 
 Love is exhausted, worn quite threadbare; 
 
 Pine trees and rivers are rubbish and stuff; 
 Pastoral landscape, meadow lark, field-fare. 
 
 Blue skies and apple blooms have figured enough. 
 
 Then ring down the curtain on love and its glamour; 
 
 Give domestic unhappiness a show. 
 Family jars, and children's loud clamor; 
 
 Show up the ports where courtships go. 
 
 Love in a. cottage looks pretty on paper; 
 
 Cash is the oil that keeps the flame bright; 
 Set love burning the midnight taper 
 
 For daily bread, then extinguished its light. 
 
 Look where love flies out at the window. 
 When poverty knocks at the cottage door. 
 
 At its approach, away loves and doves go — 
 Love seldom is found in the huts of the poor. 
 
 Love cannot live without cash to back it; 
 
 Cash rules the court, the camp and the grove; 
 Unhappy the wedded pair who lack it; 
 
 Cash cements firmly true conjugal love. 
 
220 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 What the world needs is a new set of subjects; 
 
 A bee that can buzz in a different key; 
 Not that discordant notes ye worldlings detects 
 
 In the cheerful bass voice of the old bumble bee. 
 
 But change is the basis on which we are living, 
 Change, constant change, in all nature we see; 
 
 Change is the object for which we are striving — ■ 
 I move for a change in the authors' stale bee. 
 
 Change in the plot and style of their stories, 
 Change in their heroes' and heroines' fates. 
 
 Not changed in the cradle, nor strangled by Tories, 
 Nor wrangling forever o'er lost estates. 
 
 Ivy-hung castles are glutting the market, 
 Beauty seldom is seen outside of a book. 
 
 That author, I think, would make a rare hit. 
 
 Who'd give us a heroine who knew how to cook. 
 
 A natural woman, instead of an iceberg, 
 Conversing on subjects by woman tabooed. 
 
 Hurling all manner of ologies at you. 
 
 Not even by the authors themselves understood. 
 
 Then ring on the changes, let fall the drop-curtain, 
 Present to the public a play that is new. 
 
 A change in the base will come sure and certain 
 To all who are wearing the stockings of blue. 
 
THE CRICKET. 221 
 
 THE CRICKET. 
 
 The kettle sings on the polished hoD; 
 
 Right merrily chirps the cricket; 
 The fire log to the andirons nod, 
 
 As the farmer closes the wicket. 
 The housewife bustles out and in, 
 Adding her voice to the merry din 
 Preparing the dainty evening meal 
 Of cranberry sauce and leg of veal; 
 Preserve of juicy pear and quince, 
 Flakey cruller and pie of mince. 
 The firelight glancing over all, 
 Casting shadows along the wall, 
 Then back o'er the grimy rafters did creep 
 To farthest corner, where cheep! cheep! cheep! 
 Chirruped the noisy cricket. 
 
 "Bless the cricket," the farmer cries; 
 
 "111 luck to the hearth where a cricket dies! 
 
 For I've often read and heard it said, 
 
 That ' The luckiest thing in all the earth 
 
 Is a cricket on the hearth.' " 
 
 "I hold it sacred," said his wife, 
 
 " I will never take a cricket's life; 
 
 So cheerful and joyous its roundelay. 
 
 It drives from our hearth dull care away. 
 
 How can cold, heartless creatures say 
 
 To the world they are nothing worth ?" 
 
 Spring has come, and the farmer goes 
 Up and down the green corn rows, 
 Heaping the furrows around the corn. 
 Busy and cheerful, both night and morn. 
 The orchard and pasture lot must be plowed 
 The millet and wheat and oats be sowed. 
 "But what has dulled this sharp scythe so? 
 This pitchfork handle is eaten through! 
 My coat is eaten by crickets, too. 
 Drat the pesky crickets! 
 
222 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 I'd kill them all if I had the pluck, 
 But fear if I did I'd have bad luck." 
 
 'Tis then the housewife's task begins, 
 
 Sorting the apples in all the bins; 
 
 Armed all day with broom and mop, 
 
 Cleaning the house from bottom to top. 
 
 But what has invaded the strong clothes-press, 
 
 And eaten holes in her Sunday dress ? 
 
 The carpet, too, is a sight to see. 
 
 ''I'll lay that cricket out," said she; 
 
 " Confound a squeaking cricket." 
 
 When darkness o'er the brown earth steals 
 The farmer leaves his thrifty fields 
 
 And seeks his happy home; 
 But as he crossed the threshold o'er 
 A sadness he ne'er felt before 
 
 His feelings overcome. 
 A small black form lay on the hearth, 
 Where once its voice in joyous mirth 
 
 The farmer's dwelling filled. 
 'Mong gray, cold ashes, there it lay. 
 Forever hushed its roundelay; 
 
 The cricket's voice was stilled. 
 
 That year the corn was a poor crop; 
 The wheat failed in the pasture lot; 
 A blight fell on the oats and rye, 
 The millet came up but to die; 
 And oft that sad-faced farmer sighed, 
 "Alas for the day the cricket died." 
 This life of ours is mostly prose; 
 The poetry in it we " suppose." 
 Good luck may come to me or you. 
 But with it crickets have naught to do. 
 
 If farmers searched the lieavens for signs 
 They'd know which way their luck incline^ 
 On Jupiter their crop depends, 
 For lucky showers he yearly sends. 
 
THE PRAIRIE DOG. 2 1^3 
 
 THE PKAIRIE DOG. 
 
 Erect and alert all the summer day, 
 Near his dug-out the prairie dog sits; 
 
 If a stranger comes nigh he skurries away, 
 Nearly frightened out of his wits. 
 
 Into the ground he goes with a bound, 
 
 A ki-yi and a lurch, 
 Startling the snake till his rattles sound 
 
 And the owl falls oflp his perch. 
 
 Like a picket guard, quick to give alarms, 
 
 Is this little brown wary granger. 
 In a pitiful way he holds up his arms. 
 
 Saying plain as dog could, a * 'Truce, stranger." 
 
 'Tis the Red Man he fears, as he stealthily nears 
 
 His adobe village so peaceful; 
 Ere he is aware he's caught in a snare, 
 
 Or lariat thrown easy and graceful. 
 
 I wonder are these underground villagers rife 
 
 With gossip and spite and slander i 
 Is the head-ruler there afraid of his life i 
 
 Have they civil or lynch law, I wonder ? 
 
 Are the ladies of dog town on a strife 
 Over who is the sleekest or youngest ? 
 
 Are they all jealous there of the mayor's wife 
 Or the one whose bark is the strongest ? 
 
 If no petty strife mars the prairie dog's life, 
 If peace and content rules their dwelling. 
 
 The brutes are above the rest of creation: 
 To yield them the palm I am willing. 
 
224 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 A rustic bridge, whose rafters old and gray, 
 Eeflected, lie upon the water far below; 
 
 Low, drooping boughs shut out the light of day, 
 From glen where dripping waters murmur low. 
 
 Along the bank brown cat's-tails sway 
 
 And bend their heads as evening zephyrs pass; 
 
 On swaying bough a brown thrush chants her lay, 
 And shy quails hide amid the tall, rank grass. 
 
 From leafy shade a twitter, low and sweet, 
 
 Creeps out upon the quiet night; 
 In fold secure the sheep for lambkins bleat, 
 
 And echo answers back a pert bob-white. 
 
 Across the fields comes scent of new mown hay; 
 
 The kine moo gently at the pasture bars; 
 The tired farmer homeward wends his way. 
 
 As one by one shine out the twinkling stars. 
 
 As falls the night, the cuckoo's voice is heard; 
 
 The river shines a silver thread beneath the moon; 
 Along the hedge rows chirp the nesting birds. 
 
 And night shuts out the twilight all too soon. 
 
LOVE. 225 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 What is love, my darling? 
 
 Come, sit here on my knee 
 The while I am explaining 
 
 Its mysteries to thee. 
 Love is a subtle essence, 
 
 Absorbed by heart and brain 
 Much as the fertile, fruitful earth 
 
 Absorbs the healing rain — 
 A fairy realm of fancy 
 
 Wherein the blind god roams; 
 A towering, cloud-built city, 
 
 Begirt with gleaming domes; 
 A fair and fragrant garden. 
 
 Exhaling sweet perfume 
 From countless beds of flowers 
 
 That in its borders bloom. 
 Upon the smoking funeral pyre 
 
 The faithful martyrs trod, 
 And placed their hands in scorching fire, 
 
 Inspired by love of God. 
 O'er bleeding, wounded comrades, 
 
 The reckless soldiers tread 
 Up to the belching cannon's mouth 
 
 By love of country led. 
 The sculptor's chisel carves in stone 
 
 For him a deathless name- 
 With life the artist's canvas glows. 
 
 All through his love of fame. , ^ 
 
 The poet's pen, the conqueror's sword. 
 
 Alike wage ceaseless wars. 
 To carve and write their names with love, 
 
 Among the fadeless stars. 
 
226 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Love is the powerful lever 
 
 Which moves the reeling earth. 
 All love compared to mother's love 
 
 You'll find but little worth. 
 Fair spoken words of lovers' vows, 
 
 The love of sisters, brothers, fathers, 
 Compare as darkness unto day 
 
 When balanced 'gainst a mother's. 
 Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, 
 
 Through love hath angels fell. 
 Beware, my daughter, lest thou love 
 
 !Not wisely but too well. 
 
ON THE MUMMY OF AN INDIAN SQUAW. 227 
 
 ON THE MUMMY OF AN INDIAN SQUAAY. 
 
 IN THE MUSEUM AT DENVER. 
 
 Dainty maiden, of nut brown hue, 
 
 Reclining tliere in your case of glass, 
 From whence or whither camest thou? 
 
 And where from this world didst thou pass? 
 What was your tribe? either Creek or Choctaw, 
 
 Pequod, Powhattan, or Shawnee, 
 Apache, Blackfoot, or Chippewa, 
 
 Arapahoe, Iroquois or Cherokee? 
 Tiny moccasins, beaded fine. 
 
 Cling to your shriveled, blackened feet. 
 Did they furnish instead golden slippers to climb, 
 
 And to walk with the blest the golden street? 
 Did you 'broider your deer-skin leggins with beads ? 
 
 The leather looks wondrously fresh and new; 
 While their owner, from being so very long dead, 
 
 Looks like an old sunburnt leather shoe. 
 Or did some ingenious Yankee whittle you out 
 
 Of wood or leather, and leave you rough, 
 And paint you brown within and without, 
 
 And pass you off as genuine stufi"? 
 No, I believe you to be of pure quill, 
 
 A genuine Indian maiden mummy; 
 The paint is red on your warped cheek still; 
 
 To think that a woman should paint — how funny! 
 Maj^be you married a famous chief — 
 
 Massasoit, Iroquois or Tecumseh, 
 Rain-in-the-Face, Uncas or Wamsutta, 
 
 King Phillip, Black Hawk or Shabbona. 
 How many ponies and buffalo hides, 
 
 Besides dozens of hatchets and arrows, mayhap 
 Deer skins and wampum and beads and knives, 
 
 For you did the chief to your shrewd pa swap ? 
 
228 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Perhaps you strapped your papoose to a board, 
 
 And carried the round eyed elf on your back; 
 Or paddled your birch tree canoe well stored 
 
 With warrior and tepee, a goodly pack. 
 Did you die, believing the great spirit had power 
 
 To bear you to the happy hunting ground? 
 Come, tell me truly, did your freed spirit soar 
 
 To the Isles of the Blest where angels abound? 
 Or did it return with your form to the earth, 
 
 To mingle with dust and darkness for aye. 
 I'd give ten of the best years of my life, 
 
 To know that our spirits are not made of clay. 
 Speak up! and tell us the secrets that be 
 
 In herbs, by your cunning medicine man found. 
 Explain the inexplicable mystery 
 
 Encompassing your happy hunting ground. 
 You may have nob-a-nobbed with Columbus or Penn, 
 
 Sighted the Mayflower or DeSoto's fleet; 
 Or may have scalped French and Englishmen 
 
 And cherished their scalp-lock as trophy sweet. 
 Silent as sphynx you still sit there, 
 
 Answering naught that I question you; 
 Hands idly folded, your long, raven hair 
 
 Fallen like veil down over you. 
 Bright eyed deer and bufl'alo gaze 
 
 At you from wall where their stufi'ed heads hang; 
 What a commotion among them you'd raise 
 
 Should you as of yore your bow string twang. 
 Hard by you a parrot his gibberish talks. 
 
 An elk stands near, his horned head raised high, 
 While many caged birds by their glad songs mocks 
 
 The dead, resurrected and exposed to our eye. 
 Adieu! dusky maid, I shall oft dream of thee; 
 
 Imagine thee, satan, bereft of his wings. 
 And shudderingly think of thy lack-lustre 'ee 
 
 Thou link to immortal, intangible things. 
 And when I die shall request to be placed in the ground, 
 
 Instead of like you to dry up in a tree; 
 And may no curious sight-seers gather around 
 
 A glass case, and shudderingly gaze upon me. 
 
THE DREAM OF THE OLD OAK. 229 
 
 THE DREAM OF THE OLD OAK. 
 
 In forest old, near the coast of the sea, 
 
 Stood an ancient oak tree old; 
 Its years numbered three hundred and sixty-three, 
 
 As its innermost circles told. 
 It held up its head as the soft Spring showers 
 
 Pattered down through its bursting leaves, 
 And drank in the heat of the long Summer hours 
 
 And the dew of Autumn eves. 
 Butterflies ciame on warm da3^s in May, 
 
 Dancing about in the balmy air; 
 The midgets that live but a single day 
 
 In the sunshine and shade sported there. 
 Good-night, sang the storms in its branches high; 
 
 Leaf by leaf to the brown earth dropped; 
 While its leafless boughs against the sky 
 
 Stood like sentinels, gnarled and lopped. 
 I will rock you to sleep in sweet lullaby, 
 
 'Tis your three hundred and sixty- third night; 
 I will make your crooked twigs crack for joy, 
 
 Wrap your feet in snow coverlet light. 
 And the tired old oak tree slept and dreamed 
 
 All through the long winter hours. 
 Above the clouds his high crown seemed 
 
 To tower above trees and flowers. 
 Like great white swans, clouds sailed by; 
 
 Each leaf was with sight endowed; 
 Mild and clear as a child's glowed the bright star eyes; 
 
 Birds of passage floated by on the cloud. 
 In festive pageant by him passed 
 
 All he had experienced for years: 
 Bold knights, with falcons on their wrists; 
 
 Hostile warriors, with shining spears; 
 
230 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 Noble dames, prancing steeds and nodding plumes, 
 
 In swift procession swept. 
 Again, as of jore, watch fires illumined; 
 
 'Neath his shade men sang and slept; 
 Again loving couples met near his trunk; 
 
 In his bark their initials cut. 
 Again to his branches came crows and rooks; 
 
 In his summit the wood pigeon sat. 
 Again he dreamed it was Christmas time. 
 
 And he heard festive Christmas bells; 
 Fresh and green as in spring was a neighboring lime, 
 
 And warm sunbeams lit up the dells. 
 Ah! brave old Oak, 'tis your last earthly dream! 
 
 You may well awake with a start! 
 Instead of a knife a sharp axe gleams. 
 
 That cuts to your very heart. 
 On a stately ship you will plow the main, 
 
 To rest on earth nevermore; 
 The friends of your youth to ne'er see again 
 
 On your own loved native shore. 
 
GRANDMA'S ADVICE. 231 
 
 GRANDMA'S ADVICE. 
 
 I fear to see thee try thy tender wings 
 
 And seek to fly away from the home nest. 
 
 Much as the mother-bird^ fears for her young fledglings 
 
 When they aspire to soar and plume their tiny crest, 
 
 And chirp and flutter, anxious, yet afraid to try, 
 
 Sol, like the fond mother-bird, warn thee — fly not too high — 
 
 For oh, the world is full of birds of prey, my child; 
 
 The human vultures daily strike down harmless doves, 
 
 And she who treads its mazes pure and undefiled 
 
 The very pink of virtue proves. 
 
 The days of chivalry are past and gone. 
 
 Men of to-day more wicked are, weaker, and I doubt me if so 
 
 wise. 
 As they were fifty years ago. So then, my untried little one. 
 Take as a parting gift thy old grandma's advice: 
 "Be wise to-day, 'tis madness to defer;" 
 Be wise, but not too wise in your imagining; 
 Drink deep of knowledge fountains clear, 
 "A little learning is a dangerous thing; " 
 And as you journey on through life 
 Some chosen work pursue, 
 "For Satan finds some mischief still, 
 For idle hands to do." 
 
 As stillest tongue makes wisest head and gossip ruins many, 
 "Still keep a little to yourself you'd scarcely tell to any;" 
 And though the apparel oft proclaims the man, 
 Judge not by outside show; 
 "And speech is silver, silence gold," 
 To speak your mind be slow. 
 Still bear in mind this glaring truth 
 Which I impart to thee: 
 
232 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 "Be thou chaste as ice and pure as snow 
 
 Thou'Pt 'scape not calumny." 
 
 "You'll find mankind an unco squad, * 
 
 And niuckle will they grieve ye;" 
 
 " But ever place your trust in God, 
 
 Nor let appearances deceive ye." 
 
 Be true to others, little one, as to thyself thou'rt true, 
 
 And if thou wilt from pleasures fly they'll sure follow you; 
 
 Wear not your heart upon your sleove, and look before you 
 leap; 
 
 Be sure you're right, then go ahead; "plow deep while slug- 
 gards sleep;" 
 
 "To catch Dame Fortune's every smile assiduous wait upon 
 her," 
 
 "And gather gear by every wile that's justified by honor. " 
 
THE ROW AT O'FLANNIGAN'S. 
 
 THE ROW AT O'FLANNIGAN'S. 
 
 Come in, Mliister John; sit }e doon in jon cheer, 
 
 And I'll be afther relatin' the row we had here. 
 
 'Twas the eve of St. Patrick's, when me sorrow to dhrown 
 
 For the loss of me bys — the best bys in the town 
 
 Was Patsey an' Mike. Ah, bad luck to the day 
 
 That death took me darlints foriver away. 
 
 As I was a sayin': I thought to invite 
 
 A wee bit o' company to cheer me that noight. 
 
 There was Mary Ann Huges, an' Widdy McCune, 
 
 An' big Mike Foggerty, wot kapes a saloon; 
 
 There was Finnegan's bye, that dhrives a dhray, 
 
 An' Flatherty's uncle from over the way, 
 
 The same gosson that carries the hod; 
 
 No foiner lads on thop o' the sod 
 
 Than gathered at the wake of O'Flannigan's. 
 
 Yez see, it happened in this sort o' way: 
 
 Me two byes took suddinly sick wan dhay, 
 
 An' no sooner had the docthor pronounced it shmall pox 
 
 Than that botherin' ould dhray man, wid durthy black box, 
 
 Druv up to the dure, an' before me two eyes, 
 
 To the hospittle ward took me two pricious byes. 
 
 Where, pace to their sowls, they both died that dhay, 
 
 Widout mass, wake, nor candle to light up their way. 
 
 That's why, on the eve of St. Patrick's day 
 
 Had githered togither this chise company. 
 
 Mike — that's me ould mon — bein' wakely an' sick, 
 
 I set funnisnt the corthner arrummed wid a sthick. 
 
 Out of harrums way, in case the fisky 
 
 Made the illegant comphany a thrifle too frisky. 
 
 An' a beautiful toime, Mr. John, sure we had 
 
 Till Foggerty's jokes made Finnegan mad, 
 
234 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 When he iip''s wid a griddhle from the sthove biirnin' red, 
 
 And sthruck poor old Foggertj whack on de head; 
 
 Phot wid pokers loike birds on the wing 
 
 Flyin' out in the crowd wid a whisk, bang, cer-ching, 
 
 Was eno' to disthract an' waken the dead; 
 
 Ochone, the thought makes me hyart feel like lead. 
 
 i^ot a wurrud did I say till the murtherin spalpeens 
 
 Had smashed intho bits me two best tureens; 
 
 Me platther went nixt, that Misthress McCaj 
 
 Gave Michael an' me on our weddin' dhay; 
 
 Then crash wint me taypot, full of st'amin' hot tay; 
 
 Holy Virgin! but me blood biled up at Tommy McGee. 
 
 An' I up wid a tay kittle full to de brim, 
 
 An' scalded the backs av each divil's limb 
 
 Who had kicked up the row, end as sure as the Lord, 
 
 They all lift the shanty wid niver a wurred. 
 
 I'm sure shud I live to the age fifty 
 
 The loikes o' that wake I nivver shall see. 
 
THE DEVIL'S TRAMP. go 5 
 
 THE DEVIL'S TRAMP. 
 
 The Devil was tired to death of his den, 
 
 So he thought he would take a walk; 
 So long had he listened to groaning men 
 
 And his minions' impish talk 
 That he struck out boldly with his cloven foot, 
 
 And switched his forked tail, 
 And shook from his shoulder the sulphurous soot, 
 
 And reached for his roughest flail. 
 
 Quoth he: "I will go up above my reserves, 
 
 Among the United States, 
 Although it is said he also serves 
 
 Who only stands and waits. 
 I can better serve my subjects now 
 
 If I keep my eyes open early and late." 
 So he pulled his mask down over his brow, 
 
 And assumed his meekest gait. 
 
 He found a zephyr idly straying 
 
 Among the ferns in a glen; 
 Quoth he: "There is work as well as playing, 
 
 For breeze as well as men." 
 So he fanned with bellows and struck with flail, 
 
 'Till it swelled to a hurricane. 
 All that was left by wind and hail 
 
 He washed away with the rain. 
 Then he chuckled and grinned with impish glee, 
 
 When he heard loud lamentations; 
 In a devilish good humor it made him to see 
 
 It level whole plantations. 
 
236 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVEJS. 
 
 He met a huge ship leaving the dock, 
 
 Loaded down with a merry crew. 
 *'I'll temper the winds to that gay flock," 
 
 Thought he; "here is work to do." 
 He walked on the sea and a wind arose 
 
 That engulfed the stately craft; 
 It tore from the ship its mast and bow 
 
 And split it fore and aft. 
 As the struggling crew in the pitiless waves 
 
 Were sinking one by one, 
 He hovered above their watery graves 
 
 Till the work of death was done. 
 
 The next thing that gladdened the devil's eyes 
 
 Was a field of dying grain. 
 Day after day did the bright sun rise 
 
 With no cloud surcharged with rain. 
 "A drouth," thought he, "is all T lack; 
 
 I will go home well satisfied 
 When the fields of wheat have been burned black 
 
 And the last ear of corn has died." 
 
 He turned on the wind from the sunny south, 
 
 That blew loud and clear as a bell. 
 And said, as he scorched and burned them with drouth, 
 
 "I'll give 'em a foretaste of shoel." 
 Loud was his mirth as a tongue of flame 
 
 Shot up from a noble pile. 
 "'Tis God," quoth he, "who burnt oflFerings claims; 
 
 I'll stop and fan it awhile." 
 
 In the course of his tramp the Devil stopped 
 
 Where the fire of a smelter shone; 
 In a transport of joy his black wings flopped, 
 
 It seemed to him so like home. 
 
THE DEVIL'S TRAMP. 237 
 
 From beneath a shining track of steel 
 
 He slipped a wooden tie, 
 And laughed in his sleeve as the engine reeled 
 
 Down an embankment high. 
 
 On Wall Street he heard the bulls and bears 
 
 Snarl like imps in his own dominion. 
 ''If this is the waj they fight over shares 
 
 They beat me," was his private opinion. 
 So the Devil curled his tail in scorn 
 
 As he flew in a rage to his forge; 
 Now tire, smoke and lava on the country foi'lorn, 
 
 His smoke stacks, the craters, disgorge. 
 
2.^8 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 PROGRESSION. 
 
 This IS indeed an age of Progression. 
 
 P>om the mechanic up to the highest profession, 
 
 All aim to invent something new to their day. 
 
 In law, physics, metaphysics, science, philosophy, 
 
 Literature and fashion, the styles ever change; 
 
 Large minds seek a broader and wider range. 
 
 Here's saw-bones, well armed with choice ansesthetics, 
 
 Whom to place mangled bones will painlessly fix. 
 
 Here's a new-fangled contrivance for dental operations. 
 
 Who says that this age is not one of progression ? 
 
 Since Beecher dispensed with a literal hell, 
 
 Each parson has tried a new' story to tell. 
 
 From Talmage's elevation to Sam Jones' low level, 
 
 The cry has been "up with" or "down with" the devil. 
 
 If the saying holds good, " every dog has his day," 
 
 We hope his satanic majesty may 
 
 Ne'er again show his horns, hoofs and tail, 
 
 And walk boldly forth in his black coat of mail. 
 
 So if there's a way to reach heaven with ease. 
 
 Come, long-visaged parson, pass it round, if you please. 
 
 Now in these later days, by artful device, 
 
 Authors would fain do away with the Christ, 
 
 And try ruling the earth by natural laws, 
 
 And leave drowning men to clutch the few straws 
 
 Of comfort that float down their way, 
 
 Still hoping the devil has had his day. 
 
 Another new writer slays chastity, 
 
 Vide Passion novels by fair Amelia. 
 
 One author sees visions, others dream dreams. 
 
 One never finds out what another one means. 
 
 Another sings low of Calvary's cross. 
 
 And sifts out the gold, unsullied by dross. 
 
PROGRESSION. 239 
 
 Had we more books to-day with the tone of Ben Hur, 
 
 The wicked old world would be better by far. 
 
 The evil men do lives long after them; 
 
 The evil women do is never forgotten. 
 
 The good is not always interred with the bones; 
 
 Then leave not behind you vile, sensual tomes, 
 
 For out of the dust are we poor creatures created — 
 
 To return to the dust we're eventually fated. 
 
 As the planets affect and influence each other, 
 
 Their certain conjunctions causing fair or foul weather, 
 
 So men revolving round their fixed orbits together 
 
 For evil or good influence one another; 
 
 They interchange bullets, swap lies or cross swords, 
 
 Fight bloodless battles with wild war of words, 
 
 Making here random hits, there aimless passes. 
 
 How one earnest speaker affects the masses. 
 
 Sowing seeds of dissension, which take root and grows, 
 
 Sowing the seeds of a strong, manly purpose; 
 
 So may evil and vile associations 
 
 Corrupt the pure heart of the grandest of nations. 
 
 What dire commotions our next neighbors cause 
 
 With the poor little earth; yet it follows fixed laws 
 
 And rolls on regardless of wind, hail or rain, 
 
 Fire, flood and blizzard, or fierce hurricane. 
 
 After all we're but creatures of luck and chance. 
 
 Swayed by unseen forces of chance and mischance; 
 
 So one stroke of luck may our fortunes enhance. 
 
 To be followed by direst of dire disaster. 
 
 No man can affirm of my fate I am master, 
 
 Good luck comes and goes to you and to me 
 
 All through our lives alternately. 
 
 I predict that the probable future portents. 
 
 If one comes back to earth one hundred years hence, 
 
 Will be to find love and prudence gone a Maying; 
 
 Faith, hope and charity will be swaying 
 
240 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SUEAVES. 
 
 On the ti2>top of hope's highest hill, 
 
 'Twixt earth and heaven hovering still; 
 
 Truth will have fled home to his well; 
 
 Friendship will have a sad story to tell; 
 
 Honor will only be found among thieves; 
 
 Purity done up in Time's last year's sheaves; 
 
 Youth leading out in a will-o'-wisp dance; 
 
 Everything coming and going by cliance; 
 
 There a poor wretch with toes on his hand, 
 
 With the feet of a duck on which to stand, 
 
 Ears on his forehead and eyes in his chin, 
 
 A broad, smiling mouth where his nose sliould have been. 
 
 Think of a creature created by chance; 
 
 Think of a world in a mad, wheeling dance, 
 
 Reeling down through the impalpable air, 
 
 Down to a bottomless, endless nowhere; 
 
 Bumping and grinding against helpless stars, 
 
 Knocking a corner oflT Yen us or Mars; 
 
 Whirling and wheeling in wildest witch dance, 
 
 Thus would our world be if ruled by chance. 
 
A ISTKETCn OF THE IMAGINATION. 241 
 
 A STRETCH OF THE IMAGINATION 
 
 Imagine a rich, unincumbered estate, 
 
 Imagine a crowd begging alms at the gate — 
 
 The halt, lame and blind, with organ and crutch, 
 
 All crying, " Give ! give !" like unto the horse leech; 
 
 Some ragged and tattered, others shabby genteel, 
 
 But all, as it were, down at the heel. 
 
 Imagine a park and smooth-shaven lawn, 
 
 Dog-kennels and stables which rich gentlemen own. 
 
 That you've all heard described a thousand times o'er, 
 
 So by repetition I'll not again bore 
 
 A long-suffering public by descriptions of trees, 
 
 Gray, mottled cloud, flecked, blue canopies, 
 
 Dim, purple hills, and green, sloping lawns. 
 
 Crimson gold sunsets and cool, misty dawns. 
 
 The only breeze blowing was of the conjugal sort, 
 
 Which, from her lord's remarks and the lady's retort, 
 
 I fear, ere we reach the end of the tale. 
 
 If the wind doesn't change, will swell to a gale. 
 
 He: "In my mind, that word benevolence 
 
 Is a misnomer; its true meaning's nonsense. 
 
 'Share with us your wealth,' the poor ever cries, 
 
 Give and keep giving. Your constant supplies 
 
 But fosters a spirit of idleness in 'em, 
 
 Which induces them to beg, and beg once again. 
 
 'Of your broad acres, give us a share.' 
 
 Bloated bondholder and rich millionaire 
 
 Are cursed for their greed in daring to own 
 
 One acre more than their neighbor, whose home 
 
 Is straw-thatched and cheerless, and always will be, 
 
 Because a natural-born pauper is he. 
 
 Talk of the parents' sins re-visiting the son 
 
 To the third and fourth generations. What have the sons done 
 
243 GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 To avert the curse or turn it aside ? 
 
 On his head it falls because not denied 
 
 Nor averted, nor would he stave it off 
 
 If he could, but spends strength mainly to scoff 
 
 At the man on the ladder one round above him. 
 
 And expects those below to constantly shove him. 
 
 Do. this and do that for sweet charity's sake, 
 
 Then see the wry faces they at your back make, 
 
 Because you do^not the lion's share give them 
 
 And retain for yourself barely enough to live on. 
 
 Your poor little gifts they coarsely deride; 
 
 'Step down from your horse and let beggars ride.' 
 
 If you set him on horseback, he rides to the devil; 
 
 So, in helping the poor, you do them an evil. 
 
 Let tliem wait until earning a fair competence — 
 
 Until girls reach the age of discretion and sense 
 
 Before they set sail in the frail craft of courtship 
 
 Or embark in the unseaworthy matrimonial ship. 
 
 Let them marry girls who know how to work. 
 
 Lei: them cease to haunt bar-rooms and all daty shirk, 
 
 Let them wait until able to mirry, I say, 
 
 Ere they bring into the world, to endure misery, 
 
 A brood of half c othed, half-starved innocents, 
 
 Whose birthright is poverty and ignorance. 
 
 If I had the making of our country's laws, 
 
 I'd insert a strenuous and strict marriage clause ; 
 
 I'd make it an offence, to be settled in court, 
 
 To marry without visible means of support ; 
 
 I'd put a stop to poverty's rags. 
 
 Waving and flaunting of anarchists' flags, 
 
 Clean out the scum and rebel rag-tag 
 
 Who cry for their rights, and vauntingly brag 
 
 That bloated bondholder and rich millionaire 
 
 Shall eventually whack up and with them share ; 
 
A STRETCH OF THE IMAGINATION. 243 
 
 I'd stop immigration — must we open our arms 
 
 To the rabble of Europe and give them all farms, 
 
 Provide them with sustenance, let them set their own price 
 
 On their labor? This low foreign element's entirely too nice 
 
 And high-minded, wants too many rights in country and town. 
 
 When in their own country they're always kept down. 
 
 Trod under foot, trampled low in the dirt — 
 
 Must' they rise from the mire with this sudden spurt 
 
 And abuse the privileges our free country offers? 
 
 Must they fill their lean purses from our generous coffers? 
 
 I'm willing to give each and all a chance, 
 
 Be they from England or Germany, Ireland or France, 
 
 Be they heathen or Christian, Gentile or Jew, 
 
 Let each take his turn, as our countrymen do. 
 
 There's work here in plenty for willing hands, 
 
 In factories and workshops — there's broad, fertile lands 
 
 To be had for the spending of brawn and muscle — 
 
 No man need go under who's willing to tussle 
 
 With the enemy poverty; so ask me no more 
 
 To 'aid the suffering and deserving poor.'" 
 
 She: ''If I recollect rightly, your views have changed much. 
 
 Before we were wed, you held that the rich 
 
 Should lend helping hands to the poor in their midst. 
 
 Thought the little we gave would never be missed, 
 
 Thought the poor missionaries should be encouraged. 
 
 But that was, my dear, when we were engaged. 
 
 'Circumstances alter cases,' as positions change. 
 
 Then you knew that your parse strings were out of my ran,ge. 
 
 Now I'm your wife — marriage alters one's views. 
 
 A man is quite different when he sues. 
 
 From the staid benedict he becomes when encumbered 
 
 With a wife — then his bank notes are numbered, 
 
 And the poor eagles scream on his dollars and dimes, 
 
 With the grip that he holds them through fear of hard times. 
 
24 J: GLEANINGS AMONG THE KANSAS SHEAVES. 
 
 'What! wanting more money?' he dismally groans, 
 
 Pleading hard times in lugubrious tones, 
 
 You thought me perfection when you married me." 
 
 He: "Well, for once, my dear wife, on one point we agree, 
 
 I thought you an angel, I did, 'pon my word; 
 
 How preposterously silly, foolish, absurd, 
 
 A man who's in love with a woman can be — 
 
 Now your sharp claws through the soft fur I see." 
 
 She: "So, I've got claws underneath my soft fur? 
 
 Don't speak so; don't you dare to, sir." 
 
 He: "Tut, tut, little woman; come, listen to reason. 
 
 Here's a five pound, let it heal up the breach for a season; 
 
 I'll not stroke wrong way of the fur soon again. 
 
 You know that the Good Book says the lion and lamb 
 
 Shall in peace live together — and like Grant, I'm for peace. 
 
 But take care the heathen don't get the lambs' fleece. 
 
 Now, I propose to keep your poor in my eye; 
 
 I'll sit on the fence and see you go by 
 
 On your merciful mission. My purse strings are loose; 
 
 Go, make of yourself a delectable goose. 
 
 Here comes a parson who'll pluck your last feather, 
 
 He looks seedy, I vow, and the worse for the weather; 
 
 I'll hide in this closet and leave you together; 
 
 He begs for the heathen I know — au revoir." 
 Enter the parson who, with profoundest salaam, 
 And smile supercilious, at once began: 
 
 "I've grown old, as you- see, in my Master's service, 
 But I work in his vineyard without money or price. 
 
 'For what doth it profit a man, after all, 
 
 If he gain the whole world and lose his own soul* ' 
 
 If I reap for my labor a small meed of gain, 
 
 I shall die well content that I've not lived in vain. 
 
 Could you give me a trifle for the heathen Chinese, 
 
 Or the cannibals dwelling within the South Seas?" 
 
A STRETCH OF THE IMAGINATION. 245 
 
 Just then a poor woman knocked at the door, 
 
 Clothed in old garments, shabby and poor; 
 
 "I'm starving, and so are my children," she said, 
 
 "My home, it is mortgaged, my husband is dead; 
 
 Whatever you give to my children and me 
 
 Will to us all most acceptable be." 
 
 A boy and two girls came begging next. 
 
 All with the problem of earning a living perplexed. 
 
 To the widow she gave a fat Christmas goose. 
 
 To the parson a pound for the cannibals' use, 
 
 To the boy she gave a pair of new boots. 
 
 To the two little girls warm mittens and hoods; 
 
 And felt for her charities amply repaid 
 
 By the numerous blessings they rained on her head. 
 
 But her liege lord crept out when the beggars were gone. 
 
 And close at their heels still following on, 
 
 Unobserved, listened to all that they said. 
 
 And waited to see what the good parson did. 
 
 The widow, to whom she had given the goose, 
 
 Heaped on her head all sorts of abuse, 
 
 Declaring before the day was done 
 
 She'd euchre a turkey out of some one. 
 
 The boy with the boots wanted a hat; 
 
 The girls wished they each a new dress had got; 
 
 The parson loud curses and imprecations did mutter, 
 
 As dead drunk he lay prone in the gutter. 
 
 "xlfter all," thought he, "'tis more blessed to give 
 
 To these poor, thankless wretches than 'tis to receive." 
 
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