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 April, 18^5. Potomac Series, Quarterly, No, 4. 50 cents 
 
 RHYME RND RER80N 
 
 Entered at Washington, D, C, Post-office, as second-class matter 
 
T^HYME AN© TfEAi'ON 
 
 ^. 
 
 JWj OAii! 
 
 Author of "History of the 33d Iowa. 
 
 Washington, D. C. : 
 
 Potomac Seuies Publishing Company, 
 
 321 Delaware Avenue N. E. 
 
P5 z^^^ 
 
 Copurigllt, 1895, 
 
 BY 
 
 A. F. SPERRY. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 John Jones - - - - - - i 
 
 Fog and Philosophy - - - - 11 
 
 Love's Young Dream - - - - 17 
 
 The Choice 18 
 
 The Old Love in the New - - - - 19 
 
 A Memory ------ 19 
 
 Parting -..._. gO 
 
 A Translation of Virgil's Fourth Eclogue - 21 
 
 The Demon of the Whirlwind - - - 24 
 
 Parting Hymn ----- 26 
 
 The Voice of the One we Love - - - 27 
 
 In an Album ------ 28 
 
 The Lover's Life - - - - - 28 
 
 "Tarn Away Those Strange, Soft Eyes" - 29 
 
 Saturday Night ----- 29 
 
 Love of Wisdom ----- 30 
 
 Loye's Birthplace - - - - - 31 
 
 To Mary ------ 31 
 
 Yearnings ------ 32 
 
 Unsatisfied ------ 33 
 
 To My Soldier Brother. - - - - 34 
 
 What Shall I Wish You? - - - - 35 
 
 My Vision ------ 35 
 
 Call Me Not "Friend" - - _ _ 37 
 
 The Dearest Spot ----- 37 
 
 The Volunteer's Song - - - - 38 
 
 With a Locket Picture - - - - 39 
 
 I Know that Thou art Faithful, Love - - 40 
 
The Coming of the Springtime - - - 41 
 
 Linda, My Darling ----- 42 
 
 The Lost Love ----- 43 
 
 The Angel of the Storm - • - - - 43 
 
 Three Miles to Camp - - - - 45 
 
 Going Home - - - - - 46 
 
 Wake, Wake the Song - - - - 47 
 
 Welcome Song . - ... 47 
 
 Rosalie - - - - - . . 48 
 
 Yankee Doodle's Centennial - - - 49 
 
 Bostonese ------ 50 
 
 In Miss E's Alhum - - - . - - 51 
 
 A Retrospect ------ 52 
 
 Changed - - - - - . - - 53 
 
 Quid Pro Quo ------ 54 
 
 Anniversary . . - - - 56 
 Joseph . . . . . .57 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 John Jones ....-- i 
 
 Fog and Philosophy - - - - 11 
 
 Love's Young Dream - - - - 17 
 
 The Choice ------ 18 
 
 The Old Love in the New - -' - - 19 
 
 A Memory - - _ . - - 19 
 
 Parting ------ 20 
 
 A Translation of Virgil's Fourth Eclogue - 21 
 
 The Demon of the Whirlwind - - - 24 
 
 Parting Hymn ----- 26 
 
 The Voice of the One we Love - - - 27 
 
 In an Album - - - - - - 28 
 
 The Lover's Life - - - - - 28 
 
 "Turn Away Those Strange, Soft Eyes" - 29 
 
 Saturday Night 29 
 
 Love of Wisdom - - - - - 30 
 
 Love's Birthplace ----- 31 
 
 To Mary ------ 31 
 
 Yearnings ------ 32 
 
 Unsatisfied ------ 33 
 
 To My Soldier Brother. - - - - 34 
 
 What Shall I Wish You? - - - - 35 
 
 My Vision - - - - - - 35 
 
 Call Me Not "Friend" . - - - 37 
 
 The Dearest Spot - - - - - 37 
 
 The Volunteer's Song - - - - 38 
 
 With a Locket Picture - - - - 39 
 
 I Know that Thou art Faithful, Love - - 40 
 
JL 
 
 The Coming of the Springtime - - - 41 
 
 Linda, My Darling ----- 42 
 
 The Lost Love ----- 43 
 
 The Angel of the Storm - - - - 43 
 
 Three Miles to Camp - - - - 45 
 
 Going Home ----- 46 
 
 Wake, Wake the Song - - - - 47 
 
 Welcome Song ----- 47 
 
 Rosalie - - - - - - - 48 
 
 Yankee Doodle's Centennial - - - 49 
 
 Bostonese ....-- 50 
 
 In Miss E's Album ----- 51 
 
 A Retrospect - - - - - - 52 
 
 Changed 53 
 
 Quid Pro Quo 54 
 
 Anniversary . . - - - 56 
 
 Joseph ....... 57 
 
JOHN JONES. 
 
 A H, Judge, a fine morning ! Yes, t)ut for a walk too, 
 •^^ And just now was wishing for some one to talk to. 
 Fine lot? You are right; and I safely may say 
 'Twill be doubled in value a year from to-day. 
 For Washington's steadily growing, you know, 
 Even now, though hard times make development slow: 
 But business is bound to recover, and then 
 You'll see the whole city just booming again. 
 It must, for the nation's behind it; and yet 
 It is equally true, as we should not forget- 
 Though a quite paradoxical observation— 
 The city is still behind the nation, 
 And therefore it clearly must advance 
 To its proper place when it gets a chance. 
 
 That lot? You're too late: it was recently sold 
 To a friend of mine here, who proposes to hold 
 Till he's able to build, if he don't lose his place 
 In the Treasury. Oh, -what a shame and disgrace 
 To our nation it is that so good men as he 
 So wholly and always uncertain must be 
 About their positions ! Why, every mere clerk 
 Ought to know that he's safe while he's doing good work. 
 And hundreds, yes, thousands— that's none too large- 
 Would buy property here but for fear of discharge. 
 And so for the spoils system here we do penance 
 By making a city of landlords and tenants, 
 Instead of what otherwise 'twould become, 
 A city where every man owns his home. 
 
JOHN JONES. 
 
 My friend, I believe, is as nearly secure 
 As anyone now is; at least I am sure 
 That if merit can strengthen his tenure, he'll stay 
 Till he wants to resign, or death takes him away. 
 You'd like him, I'm sure, if 3'-ou knew him as I do. 
 For he's one of the very few men 3''ou can tie to. 
 Rare character? Yes, you're felicitous there. 
 He is one of a class so remarkably rare 
 That the newspapers speak of it often as non est, 
 Being thoroughly, conscientiously honest; 
 Not rough, like the commoner "plain, blunt" kind, 
 But polished in manners, in speech relined; 
 And yet a certain unconscious air 
 Bids any who might presume beware 
 Lest quick resentment should make them feel 
 That under the polish is solid steel. 
 
 No, there's nothing uncommon about his life. 
 He once loved a woman who isn't his wife; 
 But that we have most of us done: for it's said 
 That those whom we first love we seldom wed. 
 His name? One that many a common man owns: 
 Euphonious, ample, concise— John Jones. 
 Euphonious? Yes. Anyhow, I imagine it 
 Is fully as much so as Richard Plantagenet, 
 Or Algernon Vavasour Sidney Montgomery, 
 And just as sufficient, without so much flummerj' . 
 Suppose, now. we fancied the name were Italian, 
 And signified merely some tatterdemalion 
 "With organ and monkey and pitiful story— 
 Or, better, some popular pHmo tenore — 
 We'd notice at once, and as if we took pride in it. 
 How smoothly the vowels and consonants glide in it. 
 So, just like the natives, who gave, as one reads. 
 Whole tracts of good land for a few glass beads, 
 We Americans worship whatever seems foreign to us, 
 And treat our own good Saxon names as abhorrent to us. 
 
 But pardon me. Judge; for I didn't intend 
 To rattle on so when I spoke of my friend. 
 A real estate agent, alas! is but human— 
 
JOHN JONES. 
 
 And it does rest one's 'brain so to talk like a woman 1 
 Tell you more about Jolin? Well, please give me a light 
 Can I talk while I smoke? Yes, from morning till night. 
 
 We were horn the same day— some few summers ago. 
 His parents were poor— "poor but pious," you know. 
 They moved to Wisconsin while John was quite small; 
 And he worked on the farm in spring, summer and fall. 
 And in winter attended the public school : 
 For in those days that was the general rule 
 In those pioneer, far-away Western communities; 
 But he made the best use of his scant opportunities. 
 And, beside his mere book-educational gains, 
 Learned one thing still better— to use his own brains ; 
 And though no one can hope to in all things excel, 
 Yet whatever John did he did thoroughly well. 
 At eighteen he was sent to a neighboring town 
 Where a sort of high school, of some local renown, 
 Gave a chance his expenses by labor to pay. 
 'Twas the best he could do: he must make his own way: 
 And he studied and worked ; and whatever he learned 
 Stuck by him the better for being self-earned. 
 
 So two years, or thereabouts, passed, when there came 
 To the town a young lady, Miss Mason by name. 
 Who lived in Detroit, but whose folks sent her there 
 To visit some friends, and breathe pure country air — 
 Ostensibly that, but in fact, I suppose, 
 To get her away from the fast city beaux. 
 She was handsome and lively, just turning nineteen, 
 And a natural nestler. Don't know what I mean? 
 Well, of all the devices of feminine art, 
 The surest to capture a strong man's heart 
 Is this of the nestler, who presses her face 
 To his breast as a safe, fond resting-place. 
 Why, I think, if my landlady even— confound her 1— 
 Should try it on me, my arms would go 'round her 
 Impulsively, yes, and against my will, 
 Though it meant an advance on my next month's bill. 
 And I knew it beforehand. Well, this Miss Mason 
 Knew all of the notes in the whole diapason 
 
JOHN JONES. 
 
 Of flirting, and pla3^ed them with skill and grace : 
 
 And so, with her stj'le and her handsoxae face. 
 
 She turned all the young men's heads, except 
 
 John Jones's; hut he persistentlj' kept 
 
 His mind on his books, and thought, as afar 
 
 He saw her the central social star 
 
 Before which all other stars grew dim, 
 
 Such beauty and grace were not for him. 
 
 He was poor; he couldn't even afford 
 
 To wear good clothes ; and he worked for his board. 
 
 She would not even speak to such as he ; 
 
 So he thought: but how different things may be 
 
 From what we expect ! She saw him one night 
 
 At a party, and noticed, as well she might, 
 
 That he seemed a young man of brains and breeding, 
 
 In looks and in manners far exceeding 
 
 The most of those there who were better dressed; 
 
 And at once to a friend a wish she expressed 
 
 To become acquainted; and so they met, 
 
 By a very strange chance, he thought— and yet 
 
 Since then I have heard him express a doubt 
 
 If in all this world, were the truth found out, 
 
 A single event, no matter how small, 
 
 Ever had any chance about it at all. 
 
 But they met, at any rate. Well, you know 
 How fast acquaintances sometimes grow. 
 In a month or two it began to be noted 
 That Jones and Miss Mason were quite devoted, 
 And "Love at first sight" was frequently quoted. 
 In this case, too, 'twas at least half right. 
 For first love most often is love at first sight. 
 It was John's first attack; and his great sincerity 
 Of character gave it increased severity. 
 He never was one to do things half-way; 
 And so, very naturally, one day 
 When he and Miss Mason returned from a walk. 
 And, just at the proper turn of the talk. 
 And with just the most sweetly artless grace. 
 She nestled up to him and pressed her face 
 
JOHN JONES. 
 
 To his breast, lie gave her a strong embrace, 
 And love's passionate story burst from his tongue 
 Like a torrent. Ah !— Well, we once were young. 
 And we know how it was; but we never knew 
 What we said at the time, for men never do. 
 They remember each word, each look and tone 
 Of the lady, but can't recall their own. 
 
 It's sure enough, though, that John made an end 
 Of his speech by declaring it must depend 
 On her definite answer, there and then. 
 Whether he were most happy or wretched of men. 
 That's the way with first love: life's weal or woe 
 All hung on a woman's yes or no. 
 It's by later experience men are taught 
 There are fish in the sea good as ever were caught; 
 And John never thought of that then. With a sigh 
 He released her, and waited for her reply. 
 
 "Well, really," she said, in the calmest of tones, 
 "You flatter me highly indeed, Mr. Jones. 
 Believe me, I certainly didn't intend 
 Our pleasant acquaintance so quickly to end. 
 You've been very polite and attentive, just such 
 A companion as I always like very much ; 
 But pardon me, please, if your feelings I hurt 
 When I own I have merely been playing the flirt. 
 I like you; indeed, I'm not sure I don't love you; 
 But my station in life has been somewhat above you. 
 My tastes are expensive. You cannot support 
 A wife quite so cheap as a girl you may court. 
 I never could live on mere kisses and honey : 
 If I marry at all, I shall mary for money." 
 
 The blow was a hard one. John sank in a chair. 
 And a moment or two sat silently there 
 With his head in his hands. This world, once so fair, 
 Seemed suddenly black with the gloom of despair. 
 Then he rose to his feet. His face was white. 
 His jaws set hard, and his lips drawn tight. 
 He stepped to the door, took his hat, put it on, 
 
JOHN JONES. 
 
 Said "Good-bye, Miss Mason," bowed, and was gone. 
 
 That was all. But if this had appeared on the stage 
 
 Instead of in life, just imagine what rage. 
 
 What striding around, and gesticulation, 
 
 There'd have been, to "develop the situation!"' 
 
 The stage "holds the mirror to Nature," the}^ saj'; 
 
 But I tell you. Judge, it don't work that way 
 
 As a matter of fact, at least not for us 
 
 Americans. We don't make much fuss. 
 
 We are undemonstrative, silent men 
 
 In trouble or danger. Why, time and again 
 
 I have seen our wounded soldiers lying 
 
 On the field of battle, bleeding, dying 
 
 In agony, helpless though not alone ; 
 
 But I rarely heard one even groan. 
 
 And many a time, in wild Western life, 
 
 I have seen the beginning of deadly strife, 
 
 When, though nerves were at tension and pulses quick. 
 
 All the noise didn't drown the revolvers' click. 
 
 Well, John left the school and went back to the farm. 
 And worked like a man for whom life has no charm. 
 Till the war broke out, when at once he enlisted 
 As a private soldier; and that's where he missed it; 
 For things were then in such a condition 
 That he might just as well have had a commission; 
 But he thought it was duty's call he heeded. 
 And that men v/ith muskets were then most needed. 
 So he went as a private, and saw hard service, 
 Of the kinds that try just what a man's nerve is. 
 Wherever our Regiment went, he was there. 
 And for duty, and always got his share, 
 And did it faithfully, and at last 
 Came home all right when the war was past. 
 Not crippled? No. Don't look so astounded: 
 There are many brave soldiers who never were wounded, 
 I knew a man once who came home from the war, 
 After four years' service, without a scar. 
 Though in thirteen regular battles he'd been; 
 And he died at last from the prick of a pin. 
 
JOHN JONES. 
 
 That's Fate— but let's drop that subject now: 
 We know that it is so, but can't know how. 
 
 No, John wasn't promoted; I can't say why, 
 But perhaps because he never would try 
 To obtain promotion. Remember, then 
 We had something over a million of men 
 As mere private soldiers. There had to be 
 More privates than officers then, you see; 
 And John's not the onlj'^ one I've met 
 Who isn't even a Captain yet. 
 Bat our life in the army was like the stuff 
 The photographers use to develop the rough 
 And fleeting impression the sun has made 
 On the plate, to a picture that will not fade: 
 For some a blessing, for others a curse ; 
 Making some men better and others worse ; 
 But John, like the most, I believe, of those 
 Who returned from the war, whether friends or foes, 
 Is a wiser, better and nobler man 
 Than he was when his soldier life began. 
 
 Well, after the war he went into tirade, 
 And slowly but surely and steadily made 
 His way in the world ; and he met and loved 
 And won a woman who since has proved 
 For him the greatest blessing in life, 
 A loving, faithful and sensible wif e— 
 Not one.of those merely female creatures 
 Consisting entirely of form and features 
 And not knowing enough to go in when it rains, 
 But a whole human being, including the brains — 
 Not handsome, perhaps, but at least good-looking, 
 Plump, healthy and jolly, and skilled in cooking 
 As well as piano -pounding, in fact 
 As able and ready to think and act 
 As her husband is. Yes, such women as she 
 Are as worthy to vote as a man can be, 
 And ought to have equal rights with men 
 In every respect; and they'll have them when 
 The world gets wise enough. Wait till then. 
 
JOHN JONES. 
 
 Well, well ! How I spin ! But there's not much more 
 To t)e told. In the summer of '84 
 Their first and only great trouble came, 
 When they saw all their property- vanish in flame 
 And themselves in an hour from prosperity hurled 
 Out homeless and penniless into the world. 
 And then — but it's hardly worth while to relate 
 How it happened, or rather, was ordered by fate. 
 That while he was looking for permanent work 
 He was offered a place as a Treasury clerk. 
 They have been here since then ; and both he and his wife 
 Think this is the happiest part of their life ; 
 And indeed I believe they have more real pleasure 
 Than some people have whose purses will measure 
 Far more than Johns ; for with ease a cent 
 Is more than a dollar with discontent. 
 
 But what of Miss Mason? Oh, nothing uncommon. 
 She married for monej^ at last, poor woman : 
 And got it, but with it a worthless curse 
 Who was born for a fool but had made himself worse 
 By drinking; and though they were married in st3'le. 
 And lived in high luxurj' too, for a while. 
 Yet soon he began to neglect and ill-treat her, 
 And even, when drunker than common, would beat her. 
 She lost all her beauty, and with it her health, 
 While in spreeing and gambling he squajidered his wealth. 
 Till in less than ten years he had spent it all, 
 And was killed in a low-life drunken brawl; 
 And the widow, with two little girls to be fed. 
 Had to take in washing to earn their bread; 
 But she didn't mourn much when she heard he Avasdead, 
 For she'd thought many times since her troubles began, 
 How much better 'twould be to have married a man. 
 At length, a mere wreck of what once she had been, 
 Grown old prematurely, and haggard and thin. 
 By the kindness of friends whom she formerly knew 
 She was given a Government clerkship too. 
 And drifted here that way, as other wrecks do. 
 
 Has John seen her yet. since she came here? Yes, 
 
JOHN JONES. 
 
 Just once; and he told me lie couldn't guess 
 
 Who the lady might be whom he happened to meet 
 
 One Sunday while strolling along the street, [name 
 
 And who stopped, looked astonished, and called him by 
 
 At first he suspected some confidence game, 
 
 And was coldly polite ; but she seemed to desire 
 
 Just a talk; and, not waiting for him to enquire. 
 
 Told who she once was, and her story related 
 
 In outline and substance as I have just stated. 
 
 Her motive, John said, he could only surmise; 
 
 And indeed he was so overcome with surprise 
 
 That he asked no questions, as she asked none; 
 
 And not till she'd told him good-bye, and passed on. 
 
 And some other person had met him and spoken, 
 
 Was the spell of bewilderment finally broken. 
 
 Then, absurdly enough, to his mind it came 
 
 That she hadn't told him her present name, 
 
 And so he could hardly find her again 
 
 If he wished; and they've never met since then, 
 
 "But had you," I asked him, "no thoughts, no feeling, 
 While she her sad story was thus revealing?" 
 "Thoughts? Yes," he answered, "an endless host; 
 Bat what I seem now to remember most 
 Was a feeling as if I were seeing a ghost." 
 "Bat," said I, "when she mentioned her once-loved name 
 Did it kindle no spark of the former flame?" 
 And he smiled, and for answer asked me to scratch 
 A light for my pipe with a burned-out match 
 That he happened to see. Then he suddenly turned 
 To a serious talk; and I very soon learned 
 There were depths in his nature which never before 
 I had guessed, though for twenty-five years or more 
 We've been intimate friends. But who ever has known 
 The heart of another— or even his own? 
 
 Well, candidly. Judge, I could hardly guess 
 Whether John would consider his life a success 
 Or not. Ambitions he's had, I suppose. 
 As all of us have them; but nobody knows. 
 For he never complains; he just does his best, 
 
10 JOHN JONES. 
 
 And trusts to the Lord for all the rest. 
 
 He thinks, indeed— and so does his wif e— 
 
 That the true intention of human life 
 
 Is self -development, and the test 
 
 Is whether one makes the most and best 
 
 He can of himself; and if this is true. 
 
 They're all right, for that's certainly what they do. 
 
 So, taking this into consideration, 
 
 And knowing that each of us has his station 
 
 In life determined by various causes 
 
 Outside of himself, and that one of Fate's laws is 
 
 That some must be greater and others less, 
 
 I cannot but think his life is a success. 
 
 At any rate, Judge, when the world you scan, 
 
 And reflect how rare is an honest man. 
 
 And how fitly called God's noblest work. 
 
 Though even an unknown Government clerk, 
 
 Or whatever his station in life may be, 
 
 You'll easily pardon to one like me 
 
 The pride and pleasure with which he owns 
 
 The acquaintance and friendship of plain John Jones. 
 
 Ah, thanks for the compliment! Yes, I will; 
 And you'll find that he thoroughly fills the bill. 
 What! Nine already? How time does flj^ ! 
 Well, I hope you've enjoyed it as well as I. 
 And here is your stopping-place? Well, good-bye. 
 
FOG AND PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 FOG AND PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Some years ago, as I have heard related 
 
 By men whose looks and size 
 
 Were such that we young people deemed it wise 
 Never to question anything they stated, 
 
 Upon his own ancestral ground. 
 
 In old Connecticut, close by the Sound, 
 Lived Deacon Gray, 
 
 A soher, upright man. 
 
 After the standard old New England plan 
 Established in an earlier, sterner day. 
 
 He never laughed aloud ; 
 And if at some rare interval a smile 
 
 Lit up his face, like sunshine on a cloud. 
 It lasted but a very little while. 
 
 Utilitarian of the strictest school, 
 
 Hard-headed, shrewd and cool. 
 He was as purely matter-of-fact. 
 Methodical, exact. 
 
 And void of sentiment as a two- foot rule. 
 
 Let me observe right here, 
 
 It always seemed to me a little queer 
 
 That such a very singular circumstance 
 As this which I'm proceeding to relate 
 Should happen in that sober, steady State, 
 
 And by strange chance. 
 Or by still stranger fate, 
 
 To such a man as good old Deacon Gray. 
 
12 FOG AND PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 But be this as it ma}- : 
 Truth even more strange than fiction's said to be ; 
 And I but tell the tale as it was told to me. 
 
 Full fifty years the Deacon's barn had stood, 
 
 Entirely sound and good ; 
 
 For it was built of solid wood, 
 
 With careful skill and honest work, 
 
 Such as in these sad days of sham and shirk 
 
 One seldom sees. 
 
 Its massive beams, hewn from the straightest trees. 
 Looked as if meant to last forevermore : 
 And its great mows and bins held ample store 
 Of hay and grain, while on the central floor 
 
 The farm utensils all found shelter. 
 
 Not stowed in helter-skelter, 
 
 But ranged in order; and outside of all, 
 In the low sheds, each to its proper stall, 
 
 The cattle learned to come at night together, 
 Needing no other call 
 
 Or warning than the stern New England weather. 
 
 So for full fifty years the barn remained, 
 
 Still growing rougher and more weather-stained, 
 
 But needing no repairs, until one day, 
 After a stead 3^ rain for near a week. 
 
 The Deacon found his hay 
 Was wet because the roof had sprung a leak. 
 
 Now this would never do, of course; 
 
 And so he harnessed up his horse 
 And went to town that verj^ da}^ 
 
 And bought the nails and shingles, and at night 
 Made preparations to begin the work 
 
 With the next morning's earliest light. 
 
 This, please to bear in mind, 
 Was long before we had a weather clerk 
 
 To sort out weather just as we're inclined. 
 In those old days. 
 
 Before our Modern Science got a name 
 And won so much self-praise. 
 
FOG AND PHIL080PHX. 
 
 They had to take the weather as it came. 
 But Deacon Gray had read 
 That passage of the Scripture where 'tis said, 
 
 Whoso regards the clouds, he shall not sow; 
 Whoso observes the winds, he shall not reap; 
 
 And he had come to know 
 The hidden wisdom those old maxims keep. 
 
 And so, at morning's earliest dawn, 
 Or rather, it its time for dawning, 
 
 Straight of bed he jumped, without a yawn- 
 He never wasted time in idle yawning— 
 
 And straightway went out-doors 
 
 To do the morning chores. 
 
 And found the fog so dense, 
 
 He couldn't see the nearest fence; 
 
 Indeed, he couldn't even see the ground. 
 
 So thick the fog rolled in from old Long Island Sound. 
 
 Emblem of human life is such a day ! 
 
 We grope about 
 
 With hesitation and in constant doubt 
 Because we cannot see our way. 
 
 Surrounding objects dimly we perceive, 
 
 But nothing of the future. We believe, . 
 Taught by experience, that what has been 
 Will be again ; 
 
 And so. 
 Moment by moment only, we exist, 
 
 While most of what we most desire to know 
 Is shrouded in impenetrable mist. 
 
 But Deacon Gray had no such fancies; 
 
 He saw no poetry this life adorning 
 And with its incidents and circumstances 
 
 Continually mingling; 
 For him it was a very foggy morning, 
 
 And nothing more. It would not stop his shingling. 
 And that was all he thought of then. 
 So, after breakfast, out he went again, 
 
FOG AND PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 And climbed up on the iDarn, and straight began, 
 
 According to his plan, 
 Nailing the new pine shingles, smooth and white, 
 Upon the roof. He worked with all his might. 
 
 And thought of nothing else; and so time passed 
 
 Unnoticed, till at last 
 The first faint gleam of sunshine o'er him hovered, 
 And then he suddenly discovered 
 
 That he had made a very strange mistake- 
 So strange, indeed, that I would hardly make 
 This statement merely on my own authority. 
 
 I only say 
 
 That I have heard it made in just this way 
 By men whose physical superiority 
 
 Compelled restraint 
 From any visible sign of doubt 
 
 When they avowed, by every saint 
 In the most comprehensive catalogue, 
 
 That Deacon Gray had shingled out 
 Fifteen or twenty feet upon the fog ! 
 
 Just here the story always ended, 
 
 Abruptly, I confess, 
 
 Leaving the hearer free to guess 
 Whether the Deacon still remains suspended, 
 Or whether he descended 
 
 Abruptly also. But I've often thought 
 
 That one who looks at matters as he ought 
 Might find occasion 
 Sometimes to use it as an illustration. 
 
 For instance, take a modern craze. 
 
 It has been known since prehistoric days 
 
 That what we call the mind 
 
 Has some strange powers, uncertain, undefined, 
 Beyond its customary sphere ; 
 
 But all that has been written, said or sung 
 
 Since Greece and Rome were 3'oung 
 Has never made this truth one whit more clear; 
 
 And nothing have we gained 
 By all the experiences of human history 
 
FOG AND PHILOSOPHY. 15 
 
 Toward better knowledge of the mystery, 
 
 Or toward the hope of having it explained. 
 'Tis like the fatal Pole 
 For which so many a daring soul 
 
 Has bravely sailed, 
 
 In hope to find it though all others failed, 
 And perished mid eternal ice and snow: 
 We know the Pole is there, and that is all we know. 
 So when my wife, a "mind cure" convert, preaches 
 
 Her new belief, this so-called "Christian Science," 
 
 In which she has just now such firm reliance- 
 Unconscious utterly that what it teaches 
 
 Is merely some old notions with new names— 
 And proves it all by some preposterous yarn, 
 
 Her loving husband tenderly exclaims, 
 "At it again, eh!— shingling off the barn I" 
 
 And Modern Science, too, so called— 
 
 Not Christian science, but the opposite — 
 In Truth's bright sunlight overhauled 
 
 Would often prove this illustration fit: 
 So many of its vain Professors seem 
 
 Extremely anxious to believe 
 Christianity an idle dream, 
 Or merely man-made scheme 
 
 Intended to deceive. 
 Wilfully blind, 
 Persistently determined not to find 
 
 A Great First Cause, 
 
 Author and Arbiter of nature's laws. 
 They yet accept 
 
 With eager, credulous haste 
 Alleged discoveries which they hope may show 
 The Bible records wrongly kept 
 
 And Bible dates erroneously placed. 
 
 Of the Pierian spring they've had a taste; 
 And v/hat they merely think, they think they know. 
 
 So when some self-styled Scientist displays his 
 
 Omniscience in long words and sounding phrases, 
 But takes mere theories and hypotheses 
 
FOG AND PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 For solid facts, I listen, ill at ease 
 
 But humbly silent, to his monologue. 
 And think meanwhile, "Young man, you're shing- 
 ling on the fog."' 
 
 Religion too, alas ! 
 
 Has doctrinaires and dogmatists, who preach 
 Their man-made creeds and forms as God's own law; 
 And the too- credulous mass, 
 
 Impressed by ex-cathedra modes of speech, 
 Listens with undiscriminating awe. 
 
 Yet nevertheless, 
 
 When these self-chosen oracles profess 
 More knowledge of God's purposes and ways 
 
 Than He saw fit 
 In the Apostles' days 
 
 Alike to all men to reveal. 
 
 As now recorded in His Holj'^ Writ, 
 The humblest hearer in the synagogue 
 
 Should know and feel 
 That they are merely shingling on the fog. 
 
 Law too, and medicine, politics, the press, 
 
 And almost every other occupation, 
 Give frequent opportunities to express 
 
 By this brief metaphor the situation. 
 In short, whenever anyone mistakes 
 
 New words and phrases for new information, 
 Or bare assertion for the truth, or makes 
 
 Mere theorizing serve for explanation, 
 Or dogma for religion, or forsakes 
 
 Sound common sense for hare-brained speculation, 
 He seriously errs, in just the way 
 
 That calls to mind, as fitting illustration. 
 The sad predicament of Deacon Gray. 
 
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. 
 
 Love's Young Dream- 
 When first we feel the influence 
 
 Of Love's delicious dream, 
 All Nature's beauties newly dressed 
 
 In brighter colors seem ; 
 The inward joy reflects itself 
 
 On everything around ; 
 Our life is love, and joy and hope 
 
 And happiness abound. 
 
 Like magic glass, our dazzled eyes 
 
 Will magnify each charm 
 Of her we love, and paint them all 
 
 In colors rich and warm. 
 The rosy cheeks, the flowing hair, 
 
 The eyes so bright and clear. 
 Have each a special beauty and 
 
 Enchantment ever dear. 
 
 The winning smile, the joyous glance, 
 
 Those moments pure of bliss 
 When the soul dissolves in ecstacy 
 
 And melts into a kiss— 
 O, with thrilling rapture ever will 
 
 Their memory with us stay. 
 And half supply their places when 
 
 Themselves are far away. 
 
 If this ecstacy be dreaming. 
 
 While illusion is delight 
 Let us cherish and enjoy it, 
 
 Ere it vanish from our sight. 
 Let us revel in its beauty ; 
 
 Let us bid the spell remain. 
 If this ecstacy be dreaming 
 
 Let us never wake again. 
 
THE CHOICE. 
 
 The Choice. 
 
 Waubun, the Sachem, feeling rather grum, 
 One day set out alone the woods to roam ; 
 And toward the Sacred Cave he wandered slow, 
 Where none before had ever dared to go; 
 When lo! a fragrant smoke, out- issuing far, ■ 
 Filled with delicious perfume all the air. 
 It wrapped the Sachem like a f air}^ veil, 
 Stealing his senses ; and to earth he fell. 
 
 When he awoke, 'twas in the Spirit Land; 
 And all around him sat a solemn hand 
 Of ghostlj- braves who'd passed to t'other side 
 Of Charon's ferry. They were all supplied 
 With calumets, and smoked, and showed Wauhun 
 What 'twas they smoked, and how the thing was done. 
 And hade him, when he saw his tribe again. 
 Give this new knowledge to deserving men, 
 And they should find a comforter indeed. 
 To soothe their sorrows, in the fragrant weed. 
 
 Thus from above began tobacco's sway. 
 And when our good forefathers came away 
 From dear old England to this savage shore. 
 Freedom attracted some, tobacco more; 
 And most for this they tilled the fertile soil, 
 And most this harvest recompensed their toil. 
 Yet still full happiness was seldom seen. 
 For wives, alas! were few and far between. 
 Tobacco ruled the market rather high : 
 Why not more wives with their tobacco buj"? 
 Happy the thought ! So easily 'twas done, 
 The next ship brought a wife for every one. 
 
 With me the case is different. Fate decreed 
 That I should lose a wife to save the weed. 
 After she'd promised to be mine till death, 
 
OLD LOVE IN NEW. A MEMORY. 19 
 
 She smelled the fragrant odor in my breath, 
 And straightway on me laid the dread command, 
 "Resign tobacco or resign my hand." 
 Brief was the struggle. 'Tis enough to say, 
 She's a grass-widow, and I smoke to-day. 
 
 The Old Love in the New. 
 
 Yes, when I was young— like some long- vanished vision 
 'It seems as I muse on those memories dear. 
 
 Or like glimpses again of the glories Elysian 
 We knew ere we came to this sorrow- cursed sphere— 
 
 I loved a fair maiden with purest devotion; 
 
 We were pledged to each other till life should be o'er; 
 And when her dear form sank to rest in the ocean, 
 
 I thought my crushed heart could feel pleasure no more 
 
 But years rolled around, and diminished my sorrow- 
 Youth's pains, like its pleasures, pass quickly away— 
 
 And Hope now from Memory magic will borrow. 
 As lost love revives in a new one to-day. 
 
 Yet think me not faithless to Memory's treasures: 
 Our fate and our purposes seldom agree ; 
 
 And love now awakes for me youth's dearest pleasures. 
 Which forever had slept but tor meeting with thee. 
 
 A Memory. 
 
 There will come sometimes, with a magic power, 
 
 A thought of the buried Past ; 
 I remember each rosy, happy hour 
 
 Of a bliss too sweet to last. 
 
 I think of each walk in the lonely grove. 
 
 By the side of the placid stream. 
 With the maiden my young heart learned to love ; 
 
 And they seem to me now as a dream. 
 
PARTING. 
 
 Those plighted vows, tliat mutual kiss, 
 
 That wealth of love divine- 
 Could I wish to live over an hour, 'twere this, 
 
 The hour when I called her mine. 
 
 But life's bitterest draught I have had to drink. 
 
 To the dregs of Its deepest woe ; 
 And so of the silent Past I think. 
 
 And the days of long ago. 
 
 Parting. 
 
 When I am gone, who will regret, 
 
 Or give a passing thought to sorrow? 
 
 Will lips that smile so sadly yet 
 
 But laugh the merrier to-morrow? 
 
 Will he who takes my hand to-day 
 
 With clasp so fond of friendship seeming^ 
 
 To others, thoughtless, turn awa}'^ 
 
 While absent I of him am dreaming? 
 
 And she whose love has been to me 
 
 My little all on earth of heaven- 
 Shrined in her bosom shall I be. 
 
 With love as true as first 'twas given? 
 
 Friends, friends, with streaming eyes I part 
 From your loved circle. Time may sever 
 
 The ties that bind another's heart. 
 But mine is bound to you forever. 
 
VIRGIL'S FOURTH ECLOGUE. 
 
 A Translation of Virgil's Fourth Eclogue. 
 
 A loftier strain, O Pastoral Muse, than thine 
 We sing: not all admire thy humhle line. 
 If rural subjects in our verse appear. 
 They must he worthy of a Consul's ear. 
 
 The final age of Sybil song is found. 
 And Time begins anew his mighty round. 
 The virgin Justice now returns again— 
 The golden age of Saturn's happy reign. 
 Now doth an offspring new from heaven descend, 
 And first with him this barbarous age shall end ; 
 With him, to all that spreads beneath the skies, 
 A glorious age, the golden era, rise. 
 Oh, chaste Lucina, guard the infant child: 
 Thy own Apollo reigns, O goddess undefiled. 
 
 Thou, Pollio, thou this glorious age shalt see 
 Begun while Rome is governed still by thee. 
 The mighty times foretold shall then begin. 
 Even in thy rule ; and all that may remain 
 Of all our errors, every lingering trace 
 Of all the wrongs and evils of our race, 
 Shall fade, and free the world from endless fears. 
 Then thou, O child, shalt live celestial years. 
 See heroes mingling with the friendly gods. 
 And they behold thee in their blest abodes ; 
 Behold thy peaceful realm the world embrace, 
 And thee adorned with all thy father's grace. 
 
 For thee, O child, the grateful earth shall pour 
 The early fruits spontaneously she bore; 
 With wandering ivy, spikenard sweet be seen. 
 Acanthus smiling, and the Egyptian bean; 
 The tender kids with milk the fold shall cheer. 
 
VIR GIL'S FO UR TH ECL G UE. 
 
 And largest lions wake no more their fear; 
 Thy very cradle shall around thee shower 
 Each fragrant herh and every pleasing flower; 
 No more with venom shall the serpent swell, 
 Nor poisonous herb deceitful death distill ; 
 But everywhere instead the graceful shape 
 Shall spring of Syria's aromatic grape; 
 At once the glorious deeds of sire and son, 
 Judging their merits, thou shalt look upon; 
 On barren fields the golden grain shall bend, 
 From brambles rude the blushing grape depend, 
 And from the oak's wide-spreading branches all 
 The dewy drops with honied sweetness fall. 
 
 Yet some few traces of the old disgrace 
 May still remain, which drove our hapless race 
 In hollow ships to tempt the treacherous main. 
 Fence towns with walls or plow the furrowed plain; 
 And from these stains ere yet the world is clear. 
 New Typhys shall, and other Argos, bear 
 Their chosen heroes, other wars destroy. 
 And new Pelides rage before another Troy. 
 
 But when th}^ manhood's years, O child, shall come. 
 The wandering merchantman no more shall roam, 
 Nor naval pine the wares of commerce bring. 
 For everj^where shall earth bear everything; 
 The soil no more the rending plow shall feel. 
 No more the vineyard dread the pruning steel ; 
 The hardy plowman then shall lay aside 
 The oxens yoke; no more the fleece be dyed. 
 But grazing sheep to change their color learn. 
 And purple now or golden 3'ellow turn; 
 Even in the flelds the tender lambs shall know 
 In purest white or red of dazzling hue to grow. 
 
 This age the agreeing Fates, in fixed decree. 
 Have woven in their web of destiny. 
 O, haste, y^ happy times, ye glorious days! 
 The hour has come, the passing moment stays. 
 
VIBQIV8 FOURTH ECLOGUE. 
 
 Receive the mighty honors from above, 
 O loved of gods, O great increase of Jove I 
 Bowed down with shame the guilty world is found. 
 Land, sea and sky, and all the sun goes round; 
 But, freed by thee, then shalt thou all behold 
 Pure and rejoicing in that age of gold. 
 
 Oh, could but length of days enough be mine, 
 Enough of soul to sing thy deeds divine, 
 Not Thracian Orpheus should my strain excel, 
 Not Linus' self should wake the song so well. 
 Though wiih their aid paternal to them given, 
 Apollo, Calliopea, came from heaven; 
 With me contesting even should Pan aspire, 
 E'en he, Arcadia judge, should own his vanquished lyre 
 
 O, glad, sweet boy, thy mother with a smile : 
 For thee her pangs she bore a weary while. 
 O, haste, sweet boy; for whom no parent greets. 
 Him to his board of rich, ambrosial sweets „ 
 No god deems ever worthy to be led. 
 Nor goddess to the honors of her bed. 
 
 Beyond the clouds, beyond all doubt and fear, 
 Even as the pure light of the stars above, 
 
 Not dazzling but serenely bright and clear 
 Forever, fadeless, changeless— thus our love, 
 
 God grant His blessing on our mutual life. 
 
 And make me worthy thee, my own true-hearted wife ! 
 
THE DEMON OF THE WHIBLWIND. 
 
 The Demon of the Whirl-wind. 
 
 The air is strangely still. 
 
 The Sabbath evening sun 
 Sinks slow, as if against his will 
 
 He left the earth alone. 
 
 And lo ! in the darkening west 
 
 A deeper gloom appears. 
 The Prince of the Powers of the Air confessed 
 
 His terrible form uprears. 
 
 His spreading wings unfurled 
 
 A shadowy horror seem. 
 His voice of thunder shakes the world. 
 
 And his eyes in lightnings gleam. 
 
 He mounts on the wings of the wind, 
 While the clouds their torrents pour. 
 
 Gloom, ruin and death he leaves behind, 
 And destruction goes before. 
 
 In horrid glee he sings 
 
 On his throne -cloud rolling black, 
 While his airj- legions flap their wings 
 
 And speed on their terrible track : 
 
 "Ho, ye cities and temples and towers, 
 
 Uplifted in all your pride, 
 Ye shall fall : too long have 3'our vaunted power.s. 
 
 Unpunished, m}^ rule defied. 
 
 "Now, now is j'our daj- of doom ; 
 
 Ye shall feel no feeble gale: 
 The Prince of the Powers of the Air is come. 
 
 And your boasted strength shall fail. 
 
THE DEMON OF THE WHIRL WIND: 25 
 
 "And ye mortals of human race, 
 
 I will scatter ye like the chaff; 
 I will mock at the woe on every face ; 
 
 At your terror will I laugh. 
 
 "Will ye try my realm again? 
 
 Will ye sail my seas of blue? 
 Aye, ye shall; but the living shall weep the slain, 
 
 And their tears shall fall for you. 
 
 "Your halls of pomp and pride 
 
 I will tumble about your heads. 
 See, once where they rose on every side. 
 
 My wrath their ruin spreads. 
 
 "Ha, ha! ye puny things! 
 
 Do I freeze your blood with fear? 
 Do ye cower in the gloom of my sh adowy wings, 
 
 And my voice of thunders hear? 
 
 "Aye, fall on your knees in prayer; 
 
 Remember your Maker now: 
 Even while ye pray your souls are there, 
 
 And before Him in judgment bow." 
 
 Exulting thus he sings, 
 
 A terror in every tone; 
 And at every sweep of his horrid wings 
 
 Is heard a dying groan. 
 
 Thus is his vengeance done ; 
 
 And o'er the frightened plain. 
 As the Demon flies in his fury on. 
 
 Gloom, ruin and death remain. 
 
 "O, Father and God above. 
 
 Give ear to our feeble prayer I 
 Look down on us, in Thy infinite love, 
 
 And help us in our despair ! 
 
PARTING HYMN. 
 
 "Oh, save us from further harm; 
 
 Let our prayers be not in vain 1 
 Make bare, O Father, Thy might}^ arm. 
 
 And the Demon's rage restrain !'' 
 
 Thus to our God we prayed ; 
 
 And His arm deliverance bore : 
 The Demon's awful course was staj^ed, 
 
 And his wrath destroyed no more. 
 
 In trembling notes of jo}', 
 
 To God our praise we sing. 
 Awhile may a demon's rage destroj', 
 
 Bat He will deliverance bring. 
 
 Yet long shall each faithful heart 
 For the dead its vigils keep: 
 
 And oft shall the manly t^ar-drop start, 
 And woman in silence weep. 
 
 And oft shall our children hear 
 
 The tale of horror told, 
 And pray they may never know such fear 
 
 As their fathers felt of old. 
 
 Parting Hymn. 
 
 Brothers, sister.s^ we must part 
 Ere shall come another day. 
 
 Though your converse glads the heart, 
 Duty calls: we must awa3\ 
 
 Pleasant hours we here have known, 
 Closer ties of friendship formed ; 
 
 Round our path fresh flowers have grown, 
 And our souls new fervor warmed. 
 
THE VOICE OF THE ONE WE LOVE. 21 
 
 Soon, these pleasant hours gone hy, 
 Shall our hearts, in secret pain. 
 
 Ask, as memory brings the sigh, 
 "When shall we all meet again?" 
 
 Let us pray, as we go forth. 
 
 Each his way, that grace be given 
 
 So to do our work on earth 
 
 That we all may meet in heaven. 
 
 The Voice of the One we Love. 
 
 O, sweet is the voice of the birds that sing 
 
 As joyous at morn we roam, 
 And sweet is the hum of the wild bee's wing 
 
 As he seeks his flowery home. 
 
 And the viol and lute and the soft guitar 
 
 May tender emotions move ; 
 But there is a music sweeter far: 
 
 'Tis the voice of the one we love. 
 
 At its lightest sound. the lover's heart 
 
 A tender thrill will own; 
 And in words of love when the sweet lips part. 
 
 There is bliss in every tone. 
 
 Then tell me no more of the harp and lute. 
 
 Though sweet their music be : 
 Thy voice, my love, though all else were mute. 
 
 Is music enough for me. 
 
AV AN ALB UM. THE LO VERS LIFE. 
 
 In an Albnm. 
 
 As one who. wandering to some well-known spot, 
 Some sacred place to memorj- ever dear. 
 
 Inscribes his name, which else had been lorgot. 
 As if to say "L.o, I too once was here."" 
 
 And seeks to save his memory by a line 
 
 Of feeble worship at the hallowed shrine. 
 
 So seems he now who, soon, perhaps, to part 
 From one whom he has learned to so esteem, 
 
 Leaves here an humble tribute from the heart. 
 In hope that she for whom he writes may deem 
 
 One thought not ill-bestowed upon his name. 
 
 Who. having this, could wish no better fame. 
 
 The Lover's Life. 
 
 Who can tell the lover's life- 
 Hope to-day, despair to-morow: 
 
 Blissful, torturing, constant strife 
 "Twixt unbounded joA- and sorrow 1 
 
 Then, if love be unreturned, 
 
 All his hopes one cold word dashes. 
 And the heart whose passion burned 
 
 Like a furnace, turns to ashes. 
 
TUEN A WA Y.- SA T UBDA Y NIGHT. 
 
 'Turn Away those Strange, Soft Eyes." 
 
 "Tarn away those strange, soft eyes: 
 Tliey oppress me with th€ir beauty ; 
 
 And the light that in them lies 
 
 Lures me far from right and duty." 
 
 Never eyes so bright as thine 
 
 Shone with such a depth of feeling- 
 Like the diamond in the mine. 
 All its hidden wealth revealing. 
 
 Take away the witching spell 
 
 Those dark eyes have thrown around me t 
 Loving thee alone were well. 
 
 But another's love hath bound me. 
 
 Yet in vain is Duty's call, 
 
 Vain her feeble, fond endeavor: 
 
 Love alike will vanquish all- 
 Dearest, I am thine forever. 
 
 Saturday Night. 
 
 As the miner, down in his living tomb, 
 
 Toils cheerfully day by day. 
 Where the fresh air of heaven ne'er can come. 
 
 Nor ever a sunlight ray. 
 What buoys his spirit up so well 
 
 And keeps his heart so light? 
 Ah, Hope and Memory, yours the spell— 
 
 'Tis the thought of Saturday night, 
 When the dear ones all whom he loves so well 
 
 Shall bless his Saturday night. 
 
LOVE OF WISDOM. 
 
 And so, as I toil the long days through, 
 
 Till their wearisome round is past, 
 There will come the thought of an hour with 5'ou 
 
 That may crown the week at last; 
 And my heart is cheered to the work once more. 
 
 And the star ot Hope grows bright, 
 As I think of the hours that have gone before, 
 
 And then, next Saturday night. 
 When an hour, my darling, with you once more 
 
 May bless my Saturday night. 
 
 Love of Wisdom. 
 
 Wisdom came to me one day, 
 Clad in robe of spotless whiteness; 
 
 Round her head, in radiant play, 
 Dazzling beams of heavenl\' brightness. 
 
 Grace and purity and truth 
 Shone in every glance upon me ; 
 
 Fadeless beauty, endless youth— 
 These the charms by which she won me. 
 
 Yet, though all my soul was thrilled 
 
 With unutterable yearning, 
 Still it seemed in fetters held. 
 
 Still to things of earth returning. 
 
 Oh, this nature, all too base 
 To receive the proffered blessing! 
 
 Wisdom so I can but praise. 
 Loving still, l)ut ne'er i>ossessing. 
 
LOVE'S Bin THPLA CE. TO MAR Y 
 
 Love's Birthplace. 
 
 As, ever constant through all changes, 
 Though oft of other climes it learns, 
 
 Yearly, wherever else it ranges. 
 The bird of passage still returns 
 
 To that clear spot where first the light 
 
 It saw, and first began its flight. 
 
 So turns my soul, or glad or weary. 
 As joys or sorrows rule the hour. 
 
 From scenes of mirth or prospects dreary, 
 To the unchanged, familiar hower 
 
 Where first that highest joy it proved 
 
 Of loving and of being loved. 
 
 To Mary. 
 
 On the Dead Sea's dreary shore, 
 As the lonely traveler, turning, 
 
 Views the waste of desert o'er. 
 
 Nought of life or joy discerning, 
 
 Sudden, with delighted eyes, 
 
 Sees the desert- apple blooming 
 
 Like a flower of Paradise, 
 
 Seeming all the air perfuming. 
 
 Gazing then not long he stands; 
 
 Heedless through the thorns he dashes. 
 Plucks the fruit with eager hands. 
 
 Tastes— and finds but dust and ashes. 
 
32 YEARNINGS. 
 
 Mary, so, when first we met, 
 
 On my waste of life, thy seeming 
 
 Bloomed upon my soul, as yet 
 Little of its future dreaming. 
 
 Now, though still thy form must live 
 Where I once hut joyed to place thee. 
 
 Half my life I'd freely give 
 
 Could I from the rest erase thee. 
 
 Yearnings. 
 
 Filled with the rarer, lighter breath of heaven. 
 
 Sailing majestic through the upper sk3% 
 Yon silken glohe, now to the free winds given, 
 
 Far in the distance dim floats proudly by. 
 
 A thing of conscious life and grace it seems, 
 
 Exulting in existence; such a being 
 As often we have pictured in our dreams, 
 
 When airy visions mock the spirit's seeing. 
 
 Fading in the blue ether, now 'tis passed 
 
 Bej^ond the bounds of sight, and left us 3'earning 
 
 To follow after; for it seems at last 
 
 But to its own bright home above returning. 
 
 And yet 'twas but a little time ago 
 
 When all that seemed but now such J03- and grace. 
 Bound down to earth was held, a vulgar show 
 
 For gaping crowds in yonder market-place. 
 
 Fiercely it struggled then, but all in vain : [ing 
 
 Too strong the cords that checked its upward tend- 
 
 Till, freed by some kind hand, from this dull plain 
 Proudly it rose, to kindred worlds ascending. 
 
 So now the spirit frets against the ties 
 
 That bind its pinions down to earthly things. 
 
 So gladly would it seek its native skies, 
 Might Opportunity but loose its wings. 
 
UNSATISFIED. 
 
 Unsatisfied. 
 
 Tell us, ye wise, why is it that in reading 
 Of what the world's great men have said or known, 
 
 Their thoughts, our own to contemplation leading, 
 Remind us still of what may yet he done? 
 
 Why is it, when with Milton's Satan hovering 
 Between his first bright life and endless doom. 
 
 The soul can never rest, nor cease discovering 
 New realms of light or deeper depths of gloom ? 
 
 Why is it that, in Byron's wild creations 
 Unsatisfied, though thrilling with delight. 
 
 We pause not even at his outer stations, 
 Bat still pursue the far, etherial flight ? 
 
 Why, over Moore's luxurious Eastern story, 
 Filled yet not satiate with its gorgeous bloom. 
 
 Picture we still new worlds of golden glory, 
 Where richer flowers more balmy gales perfume ? 
 
 Why, even when most earnestly admiring 
 All that is great and beautiful and true. 
 
 Mast we be still unsatisfied, aspiring 
 From what is done to what man yet may do ? 
 
 Tell us, ye wise, is not this constant yearning 
 For something better, this desire to rise, 
 
 But Nature's promise of the soul's returning 
 To brighter realms beyond our mortal skies? 
 
 Yes, they are true, those words of sacred story: 
 The Perfect One on earth to save us died. 
 
 Through Him the soul regains its pristine glory ; 
 In Him at last we shall be satisfied. 
 
TO MY SOLDIER BROTHER. 
 
 To My Soldier Brother. 
 
 We are thinking of you to-night, brother, 
 
 We are thinking of you to-aight. 
 As we gather here at home, brother, 
 
 By the hearth -tire's cheerful light. 
 Our mother looks round the circle. 
 
 And the tear-drop dims her eye ; 
 And we ask her not the reason, 
 
 For our own hearts tell us why. 
 
 We speak not, for our thoughts, brother. 
 
 Are busy with the past— 
 That sad yet happy time, brother. 
 
 When you were with us last. 
 And then, in solemn sadness, 
 
 Our father kneels to pray ; 
 And each heart repeats the earnest plea 
 
 For the dear one far away. 
 
 We are thinking of you to-night, brother, 
 
 And not to-night alone; 
 For often a thought of you, brother, 
 
 Is hid by a careless tone ; 
 And oft in the midst of pleasure. 
 
 Or as toil returns again. 
 Will a look of pain o'ercloud the brow— 
 
 We are thinking of you then. 
 
 If the prayers of those at home, brother. 
 
 Can smoothe the soldier's life. 
 Or a loving faith avail, brother. 
 
 In the terrible hour of strife, 
 The assurance still be yours, brother, 
 
 Wherever you may roam, 
 Or whatever the time, while life shall la.st. 
 
 We are thinking of you at home. 
 
WHAT SHALL I WISH YOUr MY VISION. 
 
 What Shall I Wish You? 
 
 What shall I wish you— beauty, wealth or fame'r 
 For many a woman's heart has sighed for these, 
 
 Though beauty fades, and fame is but a name, 
 And wealth too often drives away all ease— 
 And you have now enough of each to please— 
 
 Or alight, gentle spirit? Or a mind 
 
 Solid, yet womanly, and quick to seize 
 
 Each subtile meaning? Or a taste refined? 
 
 These would I wish, and more, had you not all combined 
 
 Yet will I wish— and though the thoughtless heart 
 
 May lightly jest of life's most sacred ties, 
 And deem me acting but the trifler's part, 
 Your judgment is too seriously wise 
 Not to perceive how much the wish implies 
 Of all the purest, deepest joys of life, 
 
 Of peace on earth, and even in Paradise 
 Of added bliss beyond all care and strife- 
 May he who wins your hand be worthy such a wife ! 
 
 My Vision. 
 
 The night was dark; the autumn winds were sighing 
 
 In fitful gusts, and scattering drops of rain. 
 From the low clouds that southward fast were flying. 
 
 Pattered upon the roof; and I, in pain 
 
 And weakness, lay and listened, while each vein ^ 
 Throbbed with a boding sense of coming ill; 
 
 And something I could feel but ne'er explain— 
 A strange, mysterious awe— o'ercame my will, [chill. 
 
 And hushed my fluttering heart, and made my blood run 
 
21 Y VISION. 
 
 The very air seemed full of unseen evil; 
 
 And I could fancy, 'mid the gathering gloom, 
 Each deeper shade was hut a lurking devil 
 
 On dread design intent. Some awful doom 
 
 Seemed just impending. Were the demons come 
 Up from their torments to prepare new woes 
 
 For guilty man? How soon, alas! should some, 
 Unthinking now, ere even this night should close, 
 Deep anguish feel, or seek their long, their last repose ! 
 
 I slept at last, worn out by anxious fears— 
 
 But sudden seemed to waken, with a scream 
 Of piercing horror ringing in mj ears; 
 
 And calling me, too, did its accents seem. 
 
 Then, with the quick transition of a dream, 
 A late-deserted battle-field I trod, 
 
 In search of Mm, while the moon's pitj^ing gleam 
 Cast sickly radiance on the blood-stained sod [God. 
 
 Where thousands, unprepared, had gone to meet their 
 
 At last, 'neath a low willow's drooping shade 
 I found him, my dear, onl}- brother lying 
 
 In a dark pool his own life-blood had made. 
 
 Wildly I called him: "Brother, are you dying?" 
 No answer but the low, convulsive sighing 
 
 And gasp for breath. Oh God 1— And then I tried 
 To rouse him; and at last he too seemed trying; 
 
 And then his strange, wild eyes were opened wide. 
 
 And his stained hand pressed hard upon his bleeding side 
 
 But ere he died he knew me, grasped mj hand, 
 
 And murmured "Brother 1" faintly, sweetly smiled, 
 
 And looked toward Heaven. And in that better land 
 1 hope to meet him, and am reconciled 
 To sorrow here. Say not my vision wild 
 
 Was but a feverish dream ; for soon there came 
 News of a "glorious victor^-'— so 'twas st3-led; 
 
 But I read only my dead brother's name. 
 
 Yet later 5-ears with grief shall mingle pride: 
 My brother nobly for his country died. 
 
CALL ME NOT FRIEND. THE DEAREST SPOT. 37 
 
 Call Me Not "Friend." 
 
 Call me not "friend:" I will not be thy friend. 
 
 Mine must be names that have a deeper meaning; 
 For by thy promise, till thy life shall end, 
 
 Love's is the harvest, Friendship's but tbe gleaning. 
 Give to thy friends all Friendship calls its own, 
 But give me only, love, thyself, thyself alone. 
 
 Call me not "friend;" it is a sacred name; 
 
 But I am more than any friend to thee. 
 To each true friend give all a friend may claim, 
 
 But thou thyself shalt wholly cleave to me. 
 Mine is the feast; when Love is satisfied 
 Let Friendship come ; but thou thyself art mine, my bride 
 
 The Dearest Spot. 
 
 The dearest spot on earth to me 
 Is where my loved one dwells ; 
 
 And still to it my fancy turns, 
 For still my love impels. 
 
 There is no other home for me. 
 
 No other spot so fair 
 As that where lives my darling, for 
 
 My heart is with her there. 
 
 I love the place where she has been. 
 And more than all the rest, 
 
 The spot where first I called her mine 
 And pressed her to my breast ; 
 
THE VOLUNTEER- S SONG. 
 
 But ah ! their living charm is gone ; 
 
 And still the feeling swells, 
 The dearest spot on earth to me 
 
 Is where my loved one dwells. 
 
 When shall I greet her eyes' bright glance, 
 
 Her voice's gentle tone, 
 And feel her dear lips press the kiss 
 
 Of welcome on my own y 
 
 When shall I find that happier place 
 
 Than all the world beside, 
 Where home for me is blest hy her, 
 
 M}^ dearest one, my bride ! 
 
 The Volunteer's Song. 
 
 Brothers, the country is calling, is calling; 
 
 Now is the moment of peril and fear. 
 Haste to the field where our brothers are falling! 
 
 Quick, to the rescue ! Why linger we here? 
 
 Join us, all ye that have courage and spirit ! 
 
 Join us, all ye that can shoulder a gun ! 
 Loud sounds the war-cry; say, do ye not hear it? 
 
 On to the held ! Let our duty be done : 
 
 Now, brothers, ready! May God grant His blessing! 
 
 Sisters, pra}' for us; be hopeful and true. 
 All that on earth would be Avorth your possessing 
 We must defend now. God bless you ! Adieu ! 
 
 Brothers, we come. Stand )'e tirm ; falter never. 
 
 Fast to your aid rush we on to the fight. 
 Forward! The fiag of our countrj' forever! 
 
 On to the battle, and God speed the right ! 
 
WITH A LOCKET PICTURE. 
 
 With a Locket Picture. 
 
 Joy now, thou poor, faint semblance of myself, 
 For thou Shalt rest secure, and dearly cherished 
 With eloquent looks and kisses, where even 1 
 Not now may dare aspire; and mayest thou be 
 An aegis to my loved one ! Would to Heaven 
 Thou might'st have power to ward off every ill ! 
 And as thou hold'st sweet converse with her heart, 
 Tell thou my love, even there upon its throne; 
 And all my life shall make thy promise good. 
 
 Oh, were I but as thou, the toils and sorrows 
 That rise before me now, were then no more; 
 No struggling with the world, no race for fame, 
 No ceaseless, weary toil for daily bread. 
 No longings for the future, then should try me. 
 Thoughtlessly happy, on that bosom ever 
 Would I recline, and this one happiness 
 Should be the world for me. But now, alas ! 
 What weary days and restless nights shall come 
 While time and distance part my love and me 1 
 
 Oh, were I but as thou— but no ; I would not ; 
 For there will come a time when manly love 
 And faith and hope shall have their full reward. 
 When I shall clasp her to my heart, my bride; 
 And that one hour, with its quick, passionate joy, 
 Shall more than balance all life's cares and troubles. 
 Heaven speed the day, and then the calmer bliss 
 Of wedded life prolong in happy years ! 
 
40 I KNO W THA T THO U ART FAITHF UL, LO VE. 
 
 I Know that Thou art Faithful, Love. 
 
 I know that thou art faithful, love; 
 
 But oh ! this constant pain 
 Of absence from thee ! Dearest love, 
 
 When shall we meet again? 
 
 I hope each day is happy, love, 
 
 In thy far home, for thee ; 
 And I would never pain thee, love. 
 
 By one sad thought of me. 
 
 But oh ! my soul is weary, love, 
 
 Of this so long delay, 
 And longing for the coming, love. 
 
 Of that thrice-happy day 
 
 When smiling fate shall witness, love. 
 
 The sacred service done 
 That joins our lives forever, love. 
 
 As now our hearts are one. 
 
 Yet will I trust the future, love, 
 Though dark the present seems ; 
 
 For still beyond the clouds, dear love, 
 The stead}^ starlight gleamvS. 
 
 I know that thou art faithful, love; 
 
 And this the charm shall be 
 To cheer ni}' fainting spirit, love, 
 
 While I must wait for thee. 
 
THE COMING OF THE SPRINGTIME. 
 
 The Coming of the Springtime. 
 
 I am longing for the springtime 
 
 With its bright and happy hours, 
 When the sunshine laugheth merrily 
 
 To greet the opening flowers, 
 And the gentle hreezes fanning us 
 
 With softly rustling wings 
 Stop to listen to the mocking-bird 
 
 In careless glee that sings. 
 
 Now the dark and dreary winter 
 
 Deepens round the cheerless camp, 
 While the chilled and weary sentry 
 
 Breasts the night- winds cold and damp; 
 And our hearts grow taint within us 
 
 As the story comes once more 
 Of our brothers slain by thousands 
 
 On the far Potomac's shore. 
 
 But we trust the God of Nations, 
 
 That ere many days be past 
 He will bring these times of evil 
 
 To the hoped-for end at last; 
 And the coming of the springtime, 
 
 With its. budding trees and flowers, 
 Shall behold a glorious peace in all 
 
 This happy land of ours. 
 
 I am longing, ever longing, 
 
 Dearest, for that happy day; 
 And the thought of it sustains me 
 
 As the long months wear away; 
 For with peace to all 'twill bring to me 
 
 A dearer blessing far, 
 When thy love shall be my crown of joy, 
 
 As now my guiding star. 
 
LINDA, MT DARLING. 
 
 Oh, the coming of the springtime 
 
 Shall be beautifully bright, 
 As the morning comes in glorj- 
 
 After all the gloom of night. 
 Then, when man with earth rejoices 
 
 In its newly-wakened life, 
 Shall our long, dark night of trial 
 
 Have its morn of joy, my wife. 
 
 Linda, My Darling, 
 
 Linda, my darling, long have 1 wandered; 
 
 Many and far have my travels been. 
 Now to the dear old valley I'm coming, 
 
 Weary and worn returning home again. 
 Linda, my darling ! Linda, my darling ! 
 
 Echoing o'er the lake the sounds are flying. 
 
 Ah, if her own dear voice replying 
 Sound but the hunter's joyous welcome home ! 
 
 Often together here we have lingered; 
 
 Oft o'er the lake she has answered my song. 
 Once more the winds from the kind old mountains 
 
 "Waft the old tones of love and hope along. 
 Linda, my darling! Linda, mj^ darling! 
 
 Is it an echo, or the breezes sighing? 
 
 Ah ! 'tis her own dear voice repl}-ing 
 Joj'ous in welcome back to her and home. 
 
TH^E LOST LOVE. ANGEL OF THE STOEM. 43 
 
 The Lost Love. 
 
 You kindly inquire of the grief I conceal; 
 
 You would offer some solace of pain; 
 But my sorrow is one that this earth cannot heal, 
 
 For the dead return never again. 
 
 Ah, how bright were the days of that blest long ago 
 When my love and my life were in bloom ! 
 
 But how gloomy and dark is this long night of woe 
 Since my loved one was laid in the tomb! 
 
 I have wandered for years, till I knew not a home; 
 
 I have tried every means to forget, 
 But in vain; for thoughts of the Past will come. 
 
 And the lost love haunts me yet. 
 
 But the time will come, it may be soon. 
 
 And I only wait till then, 
 When the trials and woes of earth are done. 
 
 And loved ones shall meet again. 
 
 The Angel of the Storm. 
 
 Once, out on the gentle summer sea 
 I took my little boy with me. 
 
 Only the waves' long roll was there; 
 
 And the sky was clear, and the wind was fair. 
 
 No helping hand would I take along; 
 
 For I knew the ways of the sea, and was strong. 
 
 And oft in that little boat before 
 
 I had joyed 'mid the tumbling billows' roar. 
 
THE ANGEL OF THE STORM. 
 
 So lightly now I sailed out to sea 
 Alone, but my little boy witti me. 
 
 Soon I noticed the breeze was growing strong, 
 And was glad, for it sped our boat along. 
 
 Till now from the land, if we could be seen, 
 We showed but a speck on the ocean's green. 
 
 And my boy laughed out, as we ran with the wind, 
 "Oh, Pa, what a wake we leave behind!" 
 
 But a cloud arose, as the wind grew high. 
 And fast it spread o'er the darkening sk}'. 
 
 So, rather from prudence than any fear, 
 I turned, for a landward course to steer. 
 
 But the storm grew fast; the wind was a gale; 
 And I felt my power on the tiller fail. 
 
 Then I moaned, as one in sudden pain. 
 
 And crouched "neath the whirling drifts ot rain. 
 
 And, poorly sheltered beside my knee. 
 My dear little boy spoke wistfully: 
 
 "Oh, Pa, I am wet and cold. Now, come; 
 We have sailed enough: let us hurry home!" 
 
 "My child," I thought— though I said not thus— 
 "These billows are earth's last home for us."' 
 
 And the a, with a sudden awe, not fear. 
 I felt a Spirit presence near. 
 
 He spake : "Our Father rules the storm. 
 "If He wills it so, you are safe from harm." 
 
 He passed. My soul was cheered though awed. 
 And strong with an Angel's trust in God. 
 
 Ere long, through the cloud-banks far in the west 
 Came a sunset gleam, and the storm had ceased. 
 
 Some Power had guided us through the gloom; 
 For we saw the land, and were near our home. 
 
THREE MILES TO CAMP. 45 
 
 Three Miles to Camp. 
 
 Onward marching, ever onward 
 
 Through the forest lone and drear, 
 Now fatigue almost o'ercomes us; 
 
 Scarce our limbs their burden bear. 
 Still the evening shadows deepen. 
 
 But no sign of rest appears 
 Till a horseman comes to hieet us, 
 
 And his glad shout greets our ears: 
 
 'Three miles to camp; Three miles to camp I" 
 
 Now with strength renewed, our footsteps 
 
 Measure off the weary way, 
 Till before us "Rest and supper" 
 
 Camp-fires brightly shining say. 
 Stretched at ease, we now remember 
 
 How the day dragged slowly by, 
 And how quickly changed our feelings 
 
 When we heard that cheering cry. 
 
 So, though gloomy all around us 
 
 Now the war-clouds seem to lower, 
 Peace may not be very distant: 
 
 This may be the darkest hour. 
 If a message from the future 
 
 Could but like that horseman come 
 It might cheer us now with promise 
 
 Soon of greeting Peace and Home. 
 
46 
 
 GOING HOME. 
 
 Going Home. 
 
 Thank God : We're going home ! 
 No more the deep-mouthed cannon's vengeful roar 
 Or the fierce musket's rattling roll shall come- 
 No more, no more 1 
 
 No more the warning crj^ 
 "Halt ! Who comes there'?''— the \^'atchful, straining gaze 
 Shall warm the chilling blood with danger nigh, 
 In coming daj's. 
 
 No more the dull routine 
 Of camp, its wearying drills and toilsome show- 
 Muster, parade, review — affect us now: 
 These all have been. 
 
 No more on scorching sand 
 Or through the gloom}- svramp our course we lay, 
 Where lurks an enemy on every hand, 
 B3' night or da}*. 
 
 No more the dreadful scene 
 Of battle-field or hospital shall come 
 The happy dreams of future da3-s between : 
 There's peace at home. 
 
 War's awful night is past. 
 Oh, who can tell the heart-felt happiness 
 Of this dear morn of Peace that now at last 
 Has come to bless 1 
 
WAK^, WAKE THE SONG! WELCOME SONG. 47 
 
 Wake, Wake, the Song! 
 Wake, wake the song, a song, a song of gladness. 
 
 Loud let us raise our cheerful notes of joy. 
 Yes, now bid adieu, adieu to care and sadness ; 
 Banish every thought that pleasure might alloy. 
 While the gladsome sounds are ringing 
 And the choral strain 
 Re-echoes once again, 
 Since there's no better voice for joy than singing, 
 Why should my tuneful heart from song refrain? 
 
 Welcome to all who love the voice of singing ! 
 
 Oft as the year shall run its course again 
 May scenes like this return, still with them bringing 
 Pleasures ever dear to all who gather then. 
 And when life for us is ended. 
 
 May the songs of earth 
 Have new and higher birth, 
 And with the joyful notes of angels blended 
 Help to sound the endless hallelujahs forth. 
 
 Welcome Song. 
 
 Welcome, welcome to our circle, 
 All whom song has gathered here. 
 
 As with lightsome, joyous music 
 Greet we now the glad New Year. 
 
 (Chorus.) Welcome, welcome, etc. 
 
 Far away be care and sorrow ; 
 
 Joy shall rule the hour to-night; 
 Then sweet dreams; and on the morrow 
 
 Song shall make the day more bright. 
 
 (Chorus.) Welcome, welcome, etc. 
 
ROSALIE. 
 
 And when all life's joys and sorrows 
 
 Shall for us he passed away, 
 As we "gather at the river" 
 
 May we hear the angels say, 
 
 (Chorus.) Welcome, welcome, etc. 
 
 Rosalie. 
 
 Yon little valley's narrow bound, 
 
 Where the huge rocks stand like guardians round, 
 
 Is dearer than all the world to me, 
 
 For there lives Rosalie. 
 Through the valley a brooklet free 
 Ripples in ceaseless melody; 
 Always happy it seems to be. 
 
 Singing for Rosalie. 
 
 Fair are the flowers in that valley Ioav; 
 For lovelier all things there do grow; 
 But fairer than all the flowers is she. 
 
 My darling Rosalie. 
 For her their richest colors bloom ; 
 For her thej' all the vale perfume. 
 And oh, how happy they must be , 
 
 So near my Rosalie ! 
 
 The sun shines there with a softer light. 
 
 And the moon with a tenderer radiance bright, 
 
 For down in the valley there they sje 
 
 My darling Rosalie. 
 And the brightest of all the stars that spread 
 Their glittering splendors overhead 
 A special guardian seems to be 
 
 For darling Rosalie. 
 
YANKEE BOODLE'S CENTENNIAL. 
 
 Down in the valley all day long 
 
 The wild birds sing their sweetest song— 
 
 But what were tbe voice of the birds to me, 
 
 Without my Rosalie? 
 Thoughts of her their sweet notes bring; 
 Still to me they seem to sing, 
 "Oh, how happy, happy are we, 
 
 With darling Rosalie I " 
 
 Soon the happiest day shall come; 
 There in the valley I'll make my home; 
 And the joy and light of my life shall be 
 
 My darling Rosalie. 
 All the sky is bright for me; 
 Brighter still it soon shall be. 
 Oh, the bliss of a life with thee. 
 
 My darling Rosalie ! 
 
 Yankee Doodle's Centennial. 
 
 When Yankee Doodle came to town, 
 
 A hundred years ago, sir, 
 Full heavy was he weighted down 
 
 With care and want and woe, sir. 
 
 'Mid rudest scenes, on roughest fare, 
 
 He passed his early life, sir. 
 While lamentations filled the air 
 
 Through eight long years of strife, sir. 
 
 But faithfully he struggled on, 
 
 For Independence fighting. 
 Till Victory upon him shone. 
 
 With Peace and Hope uniting. 
 
BOSTONESE. 
 
 And then for seventy 3'ears and more 
 He grew and prospered greatl)% 
 
 Enlarged his borders and his store, 
 And came to look quite statel}'. 
 
 His flag of stars throughout the world 
 
 In pride and glory floated, 
 Though on its stripes, where'er unfurled. 
 
 Still one dark stain was noted. 
 
 But since with blood and many tears 
 He washed the stain away, sir, 
 
 The best of all his hundred years 
 We celebrate to-day, sir. 
 
 In all the land each breeze that swells 
 That flag now floating o'er us 
 
 Bears boom of cannon, peal of bells. 
 And music's joyful chorus. 
 
 For Yankee Doodle greets the daj- 
 More glad than e'er before, sir; 
 
 And fervently we hope he maj^ 
 See manj^ a hundred more, sir. 
 
 Bostonese. 
 
 High o'er the Ecmyrean mount 
 
 Where huge Euphrastos plumes his wings, 
 While by the pure Castilian fount 
 
 Ceph all a softly sips and sings. 
 
 There on his huge agetic seat 
 
 Great Atropos his treasure spreads, 
 
 And heeds no more the storms that beat 
 In doubled thunders o"er our heads. 
 
IN MISS E—'S ALBUM. 
 
 Atropos, majestic Name ! 
 
 One boon I crave, one blessing seek: 
 One spark of that celestial flame 
 
 That animates our modern Greek. 
 
 1 kneel, I bow. I know not whence 
 
 The highest intellections flow; 
 But though there may not be a Hence, 
 The present Thisness I would know. 
 
 He heard, and from his torch of light 
 One lambent ray responsive shook, 
 
 Which, darting through the nether bright, 
 A hitherward direction took. 
 
 And on my brow its radiant glow. 
 
 Absorbed, resistant, reigns sublime. 
 
 I thrill with ecstasy; 1 know 
 
 The Thisness of recursive time. 
 
 O joy superm ! O extant bliss ! 
 
 O ye who understand the These 
 And know the Otherness of This, 
 
 I'm one of you: I'm Bostonese ! 
 
 In Miss E — 's Album. 
 
 As Friendship joins with Love and Art 
 
 To make this book a treasure 
 Where care and sadness have no part, 
 So may life's tracings on your heart 
 Be only those of pleasure. 
 
52 A RETROSPECT. 
 
 A Retrospect. 
 
 Ah, Mary, when we both were young, 
 
 A quarter-century ago. 
 What walks we took, what songs were sung, 
 
 What blissful hours we used to know ! 
 
 Yet I would not bring back again 
 
 Those hours, though sweet their memory be; 
 Too far the changing years since then 
 
 Have separated you and me. 
 
 We dwell not far apart; we see 
 
 Such meetings as by chance occur; 
 
 But other lives would different be, 
 
 Had ours been what I thought they were. 
 
 Though in that first sweet dream of love, 
 Those halcyon days of youthful bliss, 
 
 The joy all other joys above 
 I valued was my Marj^'s kiss. 
 
 Since then. I own, I've found in life 
 Some rather more substantial joj's; 
 
 For I"ve a happy, loving wife. 
 And half-a-dozen girls and boys. 
 
 The blossom of our youthful life. 
 
 To fruit more solid later grows ; 
 And truly as I love mj' wife, 
 
 You love your husband. I suppose. 
 
 So when we meet no look is seen, 
 
 No word is said, a thought to show 
 
 Of what we were, or might have been, 
 A quarter- century ago. 
 
 The past is dead, and we grow old; 
 The gray is mingling in our hair; 
 Yet still my heart your form shall hold, 
 My Mary, ever young and fair. 
 
CHANGED. 
 
 Changed. 
 
 We talk about the weather, 
 
 My lady fair and I, 
 And idly wonder whether 
 
 The day will be wet or dry. 
 
 A year ago, a meeting 
 
 Like this was bliss for me ; 
 And the kiss she gave in greeting 
 
 Was a thrill of ecstasy. 
 
 I loved her, oh, so madly 1 
 
 And it almost broke my heart 
 
 When she told me, oh, so sadly. 
 That we for a year must part. 
 
 She sailed across the ocean 
 
 For a European tour; 
 And my letters breathed devotion 
 
 For which words seemed all too poor. 
 
 She returned with new airs and graces, 
 And with manners far more free; 
 
 But though still as fair her face is, 
 She is not the same to me. 
 
 So we talk about the weather, 
 And— paradox of the heart— 
 
 The more we are together, 
 The farther we are- apart. 
 
54 QUID PRO QUO. 
 
 Quid Pro Quo. 
 
 Mrs. J.— I think, my dear, we'll have to give 
 
 A party once or twice this season. 
 You know, we cannot always live 
 
 Just for ourselves; and there's no reason 
 Why we, who go so much, should be— 
 
 Mb. J.— We never go unless invited. 
 She— I know, my dear; but don't you see, 
 
 We may some time he badly slighted 
 
 Unless we give He— O j^es, I know— 
 
 Unless we give the quid pro quo. 
 j He— It's alwaj's so; it's always so; 
 / She— You're quite correct; it's always so; 
 Both— We mustn't forget the quid pro quo. 
 
 He — Well, then, of course we'll have to make 
 
 Some inexpensive preparation ; 
 For instance, say ice-cream and cake. 
 
 She— Why. Charles ! think what a reputation 
 We'd get if, after all we've been 
 
 Where lunch was served in style so splendid. 
 Our own should be so cheap and thin : 
 
 Our social life would soon be ended. 
 He— I guess you're right; in fact, I know 
 It would not be the quidjiro quo. 
 ) She— Youre quite correct; it's alwa3'S so; 
 / He— It's always" so; it's alwa5^s so; 
 BOTH— We mustn't forget the quid pro quo. 
 
 He— Well, have it as you Avish, my dear; 
 
 I'll leave to you the preparations. 
 She— All right; and as the time i.s near 
 
 When we must send the invitations. 
 Let's make a start. He— Well, Elsie Gray: 
 
 You know, she plays and sings so sweetly. 
 She— Oh yes; that's what you used to say 
 
QUIB PRO QUO. 5*- 
 
 When you adored her so completely, 
 But two or three short years ago. 
 Is she what you call quid pro quo? 
 J He— Oh dear! no, no; oh dear! no, no; 
 I She— rd like to know, I'd like to know 
 j He— She's nothing like a quid pro quo. 
 'l She — Just what you mean by quid pro quo. 
 
 She— Now, I would start with Charlie True. 
 
 He— The cad ! Wears paper cuffs and collars ! 
 She — Well, General Brown. He— 'Twould never do : 
 
 I owe him fifteen hundred dollars, 
 And he might think She— Indeed he might. 
 
 How easy some such escapade is ! 
 So let's agree that you invite 
 
 The gentlemen, and I the ladies; 
 And then, you see, each one will know 
 How best to give the quid pro quo. 
 Both— That's just the thing, for each will know 
 How best to give the quid pro quo. 
 
 Both— And so it's settled now, we'll give 
 
 A party once or twice this season. 
 Of course we cannot always live 
 
 Just for ourselves; and there's good reason 
 Why we, who go so much, shoul-d be 
 
 To meet our friends at home delighted, 
 Since now we've taken care to see 
 
 That none has cause for feeling slighted. 
 I think, my dear, we've fixed it so 
 That each shall have the quid pro quo. 
 It should be so; it shall be so; 
 We'll never forget the quid pro quo. 
 
56- ANNIVERSABY. 
 
 Anniversary. 
 Dear wife, when, thirty years ago, 
 
 In promised love we clasped the hand. 
 We did not think and could not know 
 
 How long a time that promise spanned, 
 How Fate should part us soon and far. 
 
 And sickness add its pains and fears, 
 And how the awful storm of war 
 
 With danger fill the lengthened years 
 
 Of separation ; then and there 
 
 We onl}' knew we two were one, 
 And humbly asked God's loving care 
 
 For all the new life thus begun. 
 And in the years of wedded life, 
 
 In ever\^ change of good or ill. 
 You've heen a true and faithful wife, 
 
 And I have tried my part to fill. 
 
 Just as we promised; and perhaps, 
 
 Though when life's records we retrace 
 We see full man}"" a name in caps 
 
 And ours in common lower-case; 
 Though hopes have been full oft denied, 
 
 And all ambitions overthrown, 
 And Fortune's favors turned aside. 
 
 And sorrows man}' we have known, 
 
 It ma}" be, if we could but know 
 
 What might have been, what maj- be yet. 
 We'd own that all is better so, 
 
 And gladness would efface regret. 
 At any rate, still fond and true. 
 
 We'll humbly try to do our best 
 For us, and ours, and others too. 
 
 And trust the Lord for all the rest. 
 
JOSEPH. 
 
 JOSEPH. 
 
 .^ :E=.i5>.:E^^L.:PI3::E^.a.sE. 
 
 Scene \— Jacob's house. Jacob discovered, alone. Enter all 
 
 his sons excejit Joseph. 
 
 Jiidah. Grace to thee, father, and full length of days 1 
 
 Jacob. My blessing on you all ! But where is Joseph, 
 The son of my old age? 
 
 Reuben. We know not, father. 
 
 He was not with us last night, or indeed 
 The night before. He's seldom with us now. 
 I don't know where he is. {Enter Joseph. 
 
 Joseph. Grace to thee, father! 
 
 And you, my brothers, a good day to you 1 
 
 Jacob. A father's blessing on thy head, my son! 
 But wherefore stay est thou not with the rest? 
 They say they have not seen thee for two days. 
 
 Joseph. Indeed, they have been out to feed their flocks. 
 And I have lingered here at home the while. 
 And oh ! I had the strangest dream last night I 
 I dreamed that while we all were binding sheaves, 
 I bound one, and behold ! it rose and stood 
 Upright upon the ground, and all your sheaves 
 Bowed down to mine, to do it reverence. 
 I never had so strange a dream before, [dream ! 
 
 Simeon. Well, now, that must have been a pleasant 
 Thou hast our father's love more than we all; 
 But shall we really all bow down to thee 
 And do thee reverence? No, thou idle boy; 
 Thy foolish dream shall never come to pass. 
 
58 JOSEPH. 
 
 Dream on, for thou hast nothing else to do. 
 But, brothers, we must go unto the fields, 
 And watch our father's flocks with all oar care. 
 While Joseph lingers here at home to dream. 
 
 [Ex^uirt ail bat Jacob ami Joseph. 
 
 Jacob. Joseph, my son, 'twas but an idle dream. 
 Thou should' St have kept it to thyself, thy brother 
 Did scorn thy telling it. Come to me, Joseph. 
 Thou art my latest-born, my flower ol: age. 
 I love my children all, but unto thee 
 My soul doth cleave with love more cherishin j. 
 Wear thou this robe In token of that love. 
 
 {Gives Joseph a colored robe. 
 Yet when thy brothers meet taee, do not boa:>t, 
 Or tell them more than that I gave it thee. 
 
 Joseph. I thank thee, father; and I do believe 
 I love thee more than all my brothers do. 
 I will not go with them to-day. I think 
 They've little love for me, I know not wh}'. 
 I'll stay at home to-day, as Simeon said. 
 They do not want me to go out with them. 
 
 Jacob. God's love be with thee, Joseph, even as mine ! 
 Then, if thou hast His love, no brother's hate, 
 If that should come, nor even the wild beast's tangs, 
 Nor aught thafs harmful, e'er can hurt thee, J()seph. 
 Yea, though thy foes should cast thee in a pit. 
 Or seek thy life, Gtod would deliver thee. 
 And turn their evil to thy greatest good. 
 Ill cannot come to him whom God doth love. 
 
 Joseph. I thank thee, father, for thy holy words. 
 I'll ponder them. 
 
 Jacob. May God watch over thee '. [K.reiint. 
 
 Scene 2 — Jacob' s house. Jacob and Joseph lorjeiher. Enter 
 
 the other soih'i. 
 
 Jacob. Well, my good sons, how fare ye with the flecks? 
 
 Leri. Well, father; but in truth we watch them not 
 AS closely as we have sometimes before, 
 Because we muse upon oar brother's dream. 
 
JOSEPH. 59 
 
 Joseph. Now, good my brothers, be not angry with me. 
 I did but tell a dream. And lo ! last night 
 I dreamed another one; but that I'll keep, 
 Nor wound you more with telling of a dream, [dream? 
 Ban. Come, tell! {Aside.] Why can I never have a 
 Or it" I have, why must it have no meaning. 
 No pleasant one, like his?— Come, now; thy dream ! 
 
 Joseph. Well, be not angry with me then, my brothers ; 
 For it was but a (l.rea.m— [Aside.] Yet two such dreams !- 
 An idle dream, just like the other one. 
 I dreamed that I was in the field again. 
 Bat now alone, and that those self -same sheaves 
 Did as they did before, and then the sun 
 And moon stood out together in the heavens 
 And made obeisance. 'Twas a foolish dream. 
 
 Jacob. "A foolish dream— but was it all a dream? 
 I have had dreams that were not dreams alone; 
 For God sometimes in them, to me, His servant, 
 Hath gracious shown His future workings forth. 
 But what shall two such dreams to thee portend? 
 Shall we, thy father, mother, and thy brothers, 
 All bow to thee, and make obeisance to thee, 
 The youngest of the flock? Shalt thou rule over us? 
 Go to ! 'Twas but a dream. Yet I have dreamed. 
 But doth God manifest HLs will to thee, 
 To thee, my son, my youngest son, my Joseph? 
 Come thou with me. Thou should'st not tell such dreams 
 Yet I will keep them in my heart, and see 
 What fate the Lord may have in store for thee. 
 
 {Exeunt Jacob and Joseph. 
 
 Ban. O. what a dainty dreamer is the boy ! 
 This is because our father gave the robe 
 Of many colors to him. Yesterday 
 His dream meant only we should bow to him; 
 Bat now the rote to works upon his mind 
 That father, mother, all, must kiss the dust 
 Before his lordship. Oh, I see him now 
 Sitting in state, while we, his elder brothers, 
 Poor shepherds as we are, with shame and fear 
 
60 JOSEPH. 
 
 Do come before this favorite of his father 
 And, prostrate in the dust, with bated breath, 
 Do beg our lives of him, and call ourselves 
 His bounden servants if he so may grant. 
 Oh, he's a dreamer! 
 
 Judah. Thou dost chide him, Dan. 
 
 For that wherein there is no blame to him. 
 He did but tell a dream, at our demand— 
 An idle dream born of his idle thoughts, 
 Such as we all have. What is wrong in that? 
 I've often dreamed as idle dreams as this. 
 And told them, and we thought no more of them. 
 
 Simeon. No;" but no one of us has dreamed such dreams 
 As this of Joseph's, and with such a meaning. 
 It shows his thoughts, as plain as words can be. 
 We know our father loves him more than us; 
 What if he should make over all his store 
 To him, and so set him up over us? 
 We are but shepherds; we must tend the flocks; 
 And he, the youngest, may inherit all. 
 But, brothers, if you will but help me now. 
 I have a plan to get him out o' the way. [Enter Jacob. 
 
 Jacob. Why, Levi, Simeon, Dan, why frown ye so? 
 Why go ye not betimes unto 5'our flocks? 
 
 Levi. We did but marvel why it is that Joseph 
 Should always stay at home here and do nothing. 
 He's old enough to help us. 
 
 Jacob. Go to now : 
 
 I told him he should stay at home to-daj^. 
 Where feed ye now? 
 
 Reuben. In the vale of Shechcm, father; 
 
 And 'tis so far, we come not back to-night. 
 
 Jacob. Why, then, to-morrow I will send out Joseph, 
 And ye shall send me word again by him 
 How fare ye all. But treat him well, I charge ye. 
 When he shall come. Now go ye with my blessing. 
 
 \E.XHl. 
 
 Simeon. Aye, .so we will. We'll show him how to dream, 
 And how to tell his dreams. Come, we must go. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
JOSEPH. 
 
 Scene i— A plain. Joseph's bretfiren tending sheep. 
 
 Judah. But, Dan, what reason have we so to slay him? 
 How has he injured us, except in these 
 His idle dreams? 'Tis true, our father loves him 
 More thaa us all; but this is not the way 
 To win our father's love— to slay our brother. 
 I have no cause to love him, more than thou: 
 But still, a brother's blood's a heavy sin. 
 
 Dan. The sin upon my head ! I fear it not. 
 Besides, we do not slay him : we but cast 
 Him in the pit; and then, if 'tis to be 
 That we must serve him yet, as he has dreamed. 
 Why, then so be it: we can't hinder it. 
 
 Jaduh. Well, I am sworn. But be it as thou sayest: 
 The sin upon thy head. [Aside.] Yet were it not 
 That I am sworn, I'd ne'er agree to it. 
 
 Dan. Stand to it all, then. He is coming now. 
 I'll speak to him; the rest keep still, but bind him, 
 Nor let his words or looks undo your purpose. 
 Make haste and hide, and at the word spring on him. 
 [All hide except Dan. Enter Joseph. 
 
 Joseph. Hail to thee, brother! What! Art thou alone? 
 For I have brought ye greeting from our father, 
 And his good blessing. 
 
 Dan. Why, how now, thou dreamer! 
 
 [ All the concealed brothers, except Judah, rush out, seize Jo- 
 seph, tear off his colored robe, and drag him, with tumult, 
 
 across the stage, Dan following. Exeunt omnes. Enter 
 
 Judah alone. 
 
 Judah. The deed is done; and I am sworn to silence. 
 Down, thoughts ! I did not have a hand in it. 
 I will not think of it. I did not do it. 
 [ Murmur of j)erso7is approaching from both sides of stage. 
 
 Enter from one side all the other brethren except Joseph, 
 
 and from the opposite side several Midianite merchants. 
 
 1st Midianite. Well met, shepherds ! Greeting to you ! 
 We spied you as we passed, and came to see if we could 
 buy or sell with you to-day. We go now down again to 
 
62 JOSEPH. 
 
 Egypt, and would rather buy. But it's like we cannot. 
 Sbepherds buy nothing, for lack of money, and sell no- 
 thing because they have nothing to sell. By my beard, 
 were I a shepherd, then should I never bother my poor 
 brains to buy and sell and get gain. What then would it 
 be to me that the market is now down in Egypt, or how 
 then should the quarrels of two kings affect my purse? 
 Verily, w^ar should not trouble me: war meddleth.not 
 with sheep. Egypt might change kings, the world 
 might rise and fall, and I should know it not. What 
 would I have to do with wars, or kings, or nations, or 
 markets, arts, sciences, or sins or virtues? My king, 
 priest, nation, art, science, everything, shoi.l 1 be sheep. 
 If I would be strong, that should be big sheep: if I 
 would be wise, that should be man}- sheep; if I would be 
 wealthy, that should be more sheep. Virtuous I would 
 be, as sheep are virtuous, sinning not, for knowing not 
 how to sin. For what should I murder, but sheep? Or 
 how should I lie, to my sheep? Verily, in my dreams I 
 would cry Baa ! Oh, if a man would only live, let him 
 be a shepherd. If he would have fame, so; if he would 
 have wealth, so; if he would be wise, so: but whj' 
 should a man be famous, or rich, or wise? Yea, why 
 
 \ Enter 2<1 MitJiariUe. 
 should he live? But if he would only live, let him tend 
 
 sheep. What saidst thou. Elikim? Bought a man? 
 
 Bought a man from these shepherds? Brother? These 
 gentle shepherds sold us their own brother? O ye good 
 shepherds, innocent shepherds ! Twenty pieces? Wh}', 
 there's a bargain there— but if he's like them, they've 
 got the bargain. 
 
 2d Mhlianife. We have indeed bought their brother; 
 and he looks a goodly youth. They hate him because of 
 some strange dream about his father's coloi-ed robe, or 
 something of that kind; and they have but just now 
 cast him in the pit over there at the edge of the wood. 
 I went and saw him. poor fellow!— but they will not go 
 near him again, lest he move them by his words. And 
 noAv, if thou art in the humor, thou mayest give these 
 
JOSEPH. 68 
 
 good shepherds thy parting blessing; and then we will 
 pass by the pit, weigh out our purchase, and so go on to 
 Egypt with good hope of gain. 
 
 Ut Midianite. Well, so be it. And now, shepherds, in- 
 nocent shepherds, even as he is innocent whom ye fear 
 and worship and call the devil— I do eat all my words. 
 May all your lord's and master's richest blessings rest 
 upon ye ! But if I had to be either of you, I would take 
 my chances in your brother's place instead of yours, 
 
 [Exeunt Midianites. 
 
 Baih. Oh, if that Midianite had been alone, 
 I would have stopped his railing. But now, brothers, 
 The day is waning; we must home to-night. 
 But how shall we account unto our father 
 For Joseph's absence? Nay, I have it how: 
 We'll kill a kid, and in the blood of it 
 We'll dip the robe, that lies here on the ground, 
 And give the pretty rag another color, 
 And say to-night, we found it, and we think 
 A lion must have met him on the way 
 Before he reached us. Would not this be best? 
 
 Lem. The very thing! Come, let us hold to that. 
 But I will kill the kid: I love to do it; 
 I do delight to see the blood spirt out 
 Its bright red stream; and then the little kid 
 Turns up its pretty eyes so mournfully, 
 I love to see it. Come; I'll kill the kid. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene i—Jocob'x house. Jacob and family discovered; he 
 
 holding the colored robe. 
 
 Jacob. It is his robe; it is my Joseph's robe. 
 The evil beast hath torn my son in pieces. 
 God's will be done ! But oh, my son, my Joseph ! 
 My heart's delight, the flower of my old agel 
 My joy, my comfort! Have I lost thee, Joseph? 
 Must I hear nevermore thy gentle voice 
 Galling me father? Oh, my son, my Joseph, 
 Would I might have laid down my life for thee ! 
 I would have yielded up my withered years 
 
JOSEPH. 
 
 With joy, could I but see thy face, my Joseph. 
 Thy voice would soothe my passage to the tomb 
 Even as an angel's whisper. But, Oh God! 
 Now I must tread the wilderness of life 
 Unto the dreary end, and long for death. 
 And when it comes drop glad into my grave. 
 Oh, it is terrible. The pangs of dying 
 Are ten-fold multiplied by youth and strength: 
 But to be torn by piecemeal, limb from limb, 
 To meet the hungry lion's rage alone. 
 With none to help or hear— Oh, it is terrible. 
 Oh God, in mercy let me also die t 
 
 Adah. Weep not so sorely, father. Hast thou not 
 Thine other sons remaining? And with Joseph 
 Is perfect peace and joy in Paradise. 
 We do but selfishly deplore our loss. 
 Which is the greatest gain for him we mourn. 
 Let us now comfort thee. Thine other sons. 
 Who always have their ready service done. 
 Shall put new duty on, and be more tender 
 In care for thee, and so shall we, thy daughters. 
 Our common loss shall give us better love. 
 And we shall knit us closer to each other. 
 And grow more fond with mutual suffering. 
 Our Joseph's memory shall be our mentor 
 When we would stray from right; and so our life 
 The better for our grief shall pass away, 
 And we shall then meet Joseph, and his voice 
 Shall be our first, glad welcome after death. 
 Oh, 'tis a bitter, bitter grief, my father. 
 But God shall sanctify it to our peace. 
 Even so, His will be done ! 
 
 Reuben. I too, my father. 
 
 Would comfort thee, but that my burdened soul 
 Can find no words meet for its utterance; 
 And I should prove but a poor comforter. 
 Father, I can but share this grief with thee. 
 
 Jiidah. Our father, wilt thou not be comforted? 
 Lo, we thy sons, even a.s our sister Adah 
 
JOSEPH. 65 
 
 Hath said, will t»e more dutiful to thee. 
 We do confess we have not done enough 
 To cheer thy waning years; but we shall all 
 Do better service with more reverence now, 
 Our only care to cheer thy stricken heart 
 And charm away thy grief by showing us 
 So gentle and so dutiful that thou 
 Shalt come to feel thy loss is recompensed 
 In our more love ; so let us comfort thee. 
 
 Jacob. My sons, I thank ye for your kindly words, 
 And thee, my daughter; but have ye the power 
 To banish grief with promise of a future? 
 Ye have a brother's, not a father's, heart; 
 And youth is strong, and promises itself 
 A quick forgefulness of all its sorrows; 
 Bat age shuts out all thoughts of consolation, 
 And mourns a loss as if 'twere loss of all. 
 No, I cannot, will not be comforted. 
 Ye say my Joseph's dead; ye come and tell me 
 My youngest son is eaten by a lion; 
 And then ye say. Be comforted ! I will not. • 
 
 He was your brother only, but to me 
 He was my son, my youngest son, my Joseph. 
 Comfort me not: I'll not be comforted. 
 For forty days and nights I'll sit and weep, 
 In sackcloth and in ashes, for my son. 
 And yet, that dream ! Oh, God of Abraham 
 And of my father Isaac, give me faith. 
 That I may know Thy mercy even when 
 Thy ways are most mysterious ! Thou didst bid 
 An angel stay the hand that would have slain 
 My father Isaac, on the altar bound, 
 Obedient to Thy word. Oh, grant me faith 
 Beyond all doubt, that even in this woe 
 Still I may know Thou doest all things well. 
 
 [Solemn music, 'while curtain slowly falls.. 
 
JOSEPH. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Days have passed; and now behold 
 Joseph into bondage sold. 
 But all along the toilsome way 
 The wondering Midlanites would say 
 His God W2LS with him, for he seemed 
 Sure in faith of what he dreamed, 
 And he showed no sign of hate 
 Of his brothers or his fate, 
 Though to such a depth descended, 
 Instead of what that dream portended. 
 Who now, of all the gay and brave. 
 Would bow to this young Hebrew slave? 
 But there is a Power above 
 Can change oppression into love, 
 And from the common market-place 
 Can take the slave of foreign race 
 And give him een a prince's grace. 
 Who then of us should now despair? 
 The GrOd who worked such wonders th ere 
 Isjust the same to-day as then, 
 And loveth all the sons of men. 
 
 The slave to Egypt's market brought. 
 B}^ wealthy Potiphar is bought, 
 Upon whose mind the Lord has wrought 
 In Joseph's favor. He has heard 
 The Midianites' mysterious Avord 
 That God was with him. They have told 
 Of haps and chances manifold. 
 When Joseph's presence seemed to cheer 
 Their hearts and drive away all fear. 
 And Potiphar, impelled \>y Heaven 
 For greater ends, to him has given 
 The care of all his goods and lands. 
 And at the head of all he stands. 
 
 Some little time ha>: passed awa.v: 
 And Joseph's favor day by day 
 Has grown apace, till now he'.s seen 
 Of manly frame and gentle mien, 
 
JOSEPH. 67 
 
 As one that's born a court to grace 
 With noble form and faultless face. 
 No more a simple shepherd youth, 
 Nor yet a common slave, forsooth, 
 Though still in bondage, he is how 
 One to whom other slaves must bow; 
 But though so strange his fate has been. 
 His heart is pure and true as then. 
 
 Scene b—Poti2ihar's Jiouse; his loife discovered, alone. 
 
 Zillah. Must this be so? Mast this young Hebrew slave, 
 Whom Potiphar bought from the common market 
 And hath so made the ruler of his house- 
 Must he still scorn me? Is it not enough 
 He is my equal, aye, and even more, 
 In Potiphar's esteem and confidence? 
 And shall he scorn me, whom he should obey. 
 When I do offer him myself for love? 
 Even Pharaoh bimself might ask in vain 
 What I do offer to this Hebrew slave. 
 For love of him— and he refuses me. 
 I have tried all my arts to compass him ; 
 I have enticed him with alluring looks, 
 And spoken sweetest words into his ear, 
 Of secrecy and love; and in his sleep 
 I've fondled him and kissed him till he woke 
 And turned away from me. Yet I am young 
 And fair. Why doth he hold himself so high? 
 Am I not good enough? He's but a slave— 
 And yet indeed he is no common slave. 
 With such a history. I pity him ; 
 Yea. more, I love him, who should be his mistress 
 But cannot be, though he doth still obey 
 In everything but this, where he should be 
 Most willing. Yet I own he bears him well. 
 He hath more influence with Potiphar 
 Than I myself; and even I do love him. 
 Who should be jealous of him, and from whom 
 He is too proud to take the highest favor. 
 
JOSEPH. 
 
 But I will either win or humble him. 
 
 Even now he comes— I know that manl}- tread. 
 
 I'll make one last attempt, and if I fail, 
 
 Love turned to hate shall have its quick revenge. 
 
 \_Enfer Joseph, as if to pass by. 
 
 Joseph. Good morrow to thee, my most gentle mistress ! 
 
 Zillah. Good-morrow, slave ! Stay ; I would speak with 
 There's none in sight or hearing; Potiphar [thee. 
 
 Is gone from home; here's opportunity; 
 Come, dearest, come; I die of love for thee. 
 
 \_She seizes Josepih's robe, but hejlees, leaving if behind. 
 Refused and scorned ; scorned by a common slave ! 
 NoAv for revenge ! I'll show him what it is 
 To scorn a woman. Isis, aid me now ! 
 Help! Help! [Enter Zakel and other servants\ 
 
 Ha! Zakel, seest thou this robe? 
 It is that Joseph's robe, that Hebrew slave's, 
 Whom Potiphar hath so raised over you. 
 He came— but he has fled, and left this robe. 
 Hence I Seek and bind him till your lord comes home. 
 And, Zakel, straightway summon Potiphar, 
 From me, to come at once, but say not why. 
 
 [Exeunt servant h. 
 So now, proud Joseph, I will glut myself 
 With sweet revenge at least, since love is lost. 
 I'll show thee now, thou upstart Hebrew slave. 
 That thou art j^et a slave, and I th3' mistress. 
 And that I yet have power with Potiphar 
 Which thou hast not usurped. Ill put thee now 
 In proper place. I've shown thee how a woman 
 May cheapen down herself to nothingness 
 For love, and now I'll show thee what a treasure 
 A woman's favor is, that thou hast scorned. 
 
 [Enter Potiphar. 
 
 Potiphar. Hail, gentle mistress; Wherefore didst thou 
 
 Zillah. Knowest thou this robe? (call? 
 
 Potiphar. Why, yes; 'tis Joseph's robe. 
 
 I gave it to him but the other da_v. 
 For .some good deed, I don't remember what, 
 
JOSEPH. 
 
 Among his many nameless ones. What of it? 
 
 Zillah. It is his robe; and wearing it, he came 
 Into this room while I was here alone 
 Studying some new delight for Potiphar, 
 And tried— Oh, Potiphar !— But I cried out 
 With all my voice, and at the sound he fled; 
 Bat as he went I plucked the robe from him, 
 To show thee, oh, most nohle Potiphar. 
 
 Potiphar. What? Has the slave whom I have favored so 
 Dared to attempt my honor? By the gods ! 
 For this ingratitude he shall rot out 
 His base, unworthy life in Pharaoh's prison. [slave 
 
 Ho, Zakel ! [Enter Zakel. \ Straightway find that Hebrew 
 Called Joseph ; bind him well, and bring him hither. 
 
 {Exit Zakel. 
 The slave ! This, when I have so favored him, 
 And made him ruler over all my house. 
 And given all my store into his hands ! 
 The Hebrew slave ! Zillah, 'tis well for thee 
 Thou didst prevent him ; else this scimetar 
 Had slain ye both. I cannot slay him now: 
 There is not cause under the law of Egypt; 
 Bat he shall lie in prison all his life. 
 And wish for death. Zillah, now get thee hence, 
 And purify thyself from Joseph's touch. 
 
 Zillah. Most noble Potiphar— 
 
 [Enter Zakel and other servants, bringing Joseph, bound. 
 
 Potiphar. Thou Hebrew slave I— 
 
 Bat 1 am Potiphar: I will not speak 
 To thee. 
 
 Joseph. My noble lord — - 
 
 Potiphar. Hence with him straight 
 
 To Pharaoh's deepest dungeon, there to stay 
 Till I shall order otherwise. No words ! 
 
 [Exeunt Zakel and other servants, with Joseph. 
 
 Zillah {aside.) Oh, sweet revenge 1 [Exit Zillah. 
 
 Potiphar. Oh, base Ingratitude, 
 
 This is thy worst ! The slave whom I had made 
 The ruler over all my house, and loved 
 Even as a son, repays my kindness thus I 
 
10 JOSEPH. ' 
 
 ^ I 
 
 Oh, tie is worse than an ungrateful son, 
 
 For I have been more than a father to him. 
 
 Children are bound to us b}^ natural ties, 
 
 And care for them is care but tor our own ; 
 
 But he wa^ naught to me— a common slave, 
 
 Of a strange race— and yet I gave him all 
 
 I could have given' a son— and all tor this '. 
 
 Oh, base ingratitude I And yet in truth 
 
 Until this day he never gave me cause 
 
 For any doubt, but always showed himself 
 
 Worthy still higher trust, as more he gained. 
 
 With prudence aiwaj^s he has watched my store, 
 
 And with sound wisdom often counseled me. 
 
 Until I thought he was the best ol men ; 
 
 But now this damnable ingratitude 
 
 Has blackened him forever in my mind. 
 
 Now will 1 nevermore trust an}' man: 
 
 Joseph w£LS false. Oh, base ingratitude 1 \ExU . 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Falsehood triumphs: bound and gagged, 
 Joseph's now to prison dragged. 
 This the fate of manly beauty; 
 This the fate of pious duty; 
 Now in the dungeon's deepest ward, 
 From ever}' joy or comfort barred. 
 Behold him there who ruled so late 
 A prince's house. Oh, cruel tatel 
 
 But God is with him, now as ever. 
 And soon he wins the keeper's tavor. 
 And sarce a month has waxed and waned 
 Till he such change of state has gained 
 That all within the prison's done 
 On his authority alone. 
 And all but freedom is his own. 
 Yet he is but a prisoner still ; 
 And to a prisoners bounded will 
 E'en pleasures are but sad; the free 
 Alone have joy, with liberty. 
 
JOSEPH. 
 
 Scene &—A hall of the 2irison. 
 Baker. But wby should we, who have both been 
 here now for some time together, both have such 
 strange dreams in the same night? And why should 
 we both dream of threes? I do believe the gods have 
 thus darkly shown us what shall be our fate; but we 
 have here none of the magicians. 
 
 Butler. Then must we be our own interpreters; 
 and therefore do I tell thee thy dream meaneth that 
 thou must be hanged. 
 
 Baker. In good mercy now, butler, do not prophesy 
 evil unto me, for here have we all enough. But is there 
 any among ye, fellow- prisoners, who can interpret 
 dreams? 
 
 1st Prisoner. Thou knowest Joseph, the Hebrew, who 
 now ruleth here in the prison. I think, if any here can 
 show the true meaning of a dream, it must be he, for 
 there is a saying that his God is with him. And indeed 
 I know not how else he could have so won favor with 
 the keeper, who is a very Memnon without the music. 
 
 Butler. Why, yes; I know Joseph, for I have seen him 
 often with the keeper, and when he makes the round of 
 the prison. It must be about the time for a round now; 
 and he may be here soon. We will tell him our dreams; 
 and if his God is with him he can tell us the meanings. 
 
 \Enter Joseph. 
 
 Joseph. Good- morrow to you, fellow- prisoners! 
 Bat wherefore looks our baker so to-day- 
 Even as a man who should be hanged to-morrow? 
 Art thou not ill, or hast thou heard bad news? 
 Can I do anything to help thee, friend? 
 
 BuHer. My lord Joseph, thou art the very man of 
 whom we were speaking as thou didst open the door. 
 This it is with the baker, and with me also, though it 
 troubles me not as it does him: we have dreamed 
 strange dreams, and there is none to interpret them; 
 but m3^ friend here said that if there were any in this 
 prison who could tell the meanings, it must be my lord 
 Joseph. 
 
 Joseph. Interpretations do belong to God, 
 
JOSEPH. 
 
 Not man; but tell thy dream, my friend, I pra3\ 
 And God may give interpretation to me. 
 
 Butler. Well, this is my dream; and may thy God 
 give thee a happ}^ meaning. I dreamed last night that^ 
 there was before me a vine having three branches, and 
 even while Hooked the vine budded and blossomed, and 
 brought forth ripe grapes in clusters. And Pharaoh"s 
 cup was in m}- hand; and I took the grapes and pressed 
 them into the cup, and gave the cup into Pharoah's 
 hand. This is my dream. 
 
 Joseph. The interpretation of thy dream is this : 
 The vine's three branches signify threo days; 
 And in three days shall Pharaoh lift thee up 
 From out this prison, and restore thy place ; 
 And thou shalt give his cup into his hand 
 As butler, even as in former da^-s. 
 But think of me when it is well with thee — 
 That I am still a prisoner, as thou wast-- 
 And speak of me, I pray, to Pnaraoh, 
 That, by thy favor, I may leave this dungeon. 
 For I indeed was stolen away from home, 
 And made a slave; and I have done no wrong 
 For which I should be cast into this prison. 
 
 Butler. Here's a health to thee, my lord Joseph, if I 
 did but have the wine; and when I dream again thou 
 Shalt interpret for me, for thou hast indeed a gift. And 
 now for our friend the baker. Canst thou not cheer 
 him up also? He is very sad to-day. [wills 
 
 Joseph. Tell me thy dream, my friend; and if God 
 I'll show its true intent. What didst thou dream? 
 
 Baker. Thou didst give the butler a happy meaning; 
 and if thou wilt but do the same for me I will be th.v 
 bounden servant when it cometh to pass ; for indeed I 
 am sore troubled in mind, fearing that evil is about to 
 come upon me. Biit this is my dream which I ha.l last 
 night in my cell, even as the butler had his; and may 
 th)"^ God give good of it to thee and me: I dreamed that 
 on my head were three baskets full of holes, one bas- 
 ket upon another; and in the uppermost basket were 
 all mariner of baked meats for Pharaoh; and evil , 
 
JOSEPH. IB 
 
 birds came and ate the meats from the baskets upon 
 my head. 
 
 Joseph. My friend, I can but show thee as it is. 
 It is not I who do interpret it, 
 But God; therefore be thou not angry with me, 
 For I do pity thee. This is thy dream : 
 The baskets on thy head are yet three days; 
 And in three days shall Pharaoh lift thee up 
 And hang thee on a tree ; and evil birds, 
 Vultures and crows, shall eat thy flesh from thee. 
 This is thy doom. May God have mercy on thee ! 
 
 Baker. Go to, now 1 Thou art a false prophet. I will 
 not believe thee. Thou and the butler have conspired 
 to jest with me; and I like it not. Put not on so grave 
 faces. Ye saw that my dream troubled me, and now ye 
 seek to vex me further. But I'll leave ye to your own 
 good spirits. Just now joking suits not with my humor; 
 so I'll go back to my cell. Good- morrow to you. {Exit. 
 
 Joseph. Oh man unfortunate I Would I might save 1 
 Yet God hath so ordained. But I do tarry 
 Too long. Good- morrow, fellow- prisoners. 
 All. Good-morrow. May thy God still be with thee ! 
 {Grouping, as Joseph retires, and curtain falls. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Thus Hope's feeble ray has come 
 To Joseph in the prison's gloom. 
 So doth sunshine cheer the heart 
 When heavy clouds a moment part. 
 But still deeper cold Despair 
 Folds her gloomy mantle where 
 Hope hath pierced it, and doth cover 
 The buried ray more deeply over. 
 
 Now a hope doth Joseph cherish-- 
 Doomed, alas ! to quickly perish- 
 That, free once more, the butler will 
 Keep his prison memory still. 
 
JOSEPH. 
 
 Longing 3-et patient doth he wait ; 
 But disappointment is his fate. 
 Dreams, not bars, he can unfold: 
 Wisdom hath not po~sver like gold. 
 
 Two full 3"ears have passed away. 
 Hope died long since, day b}' day. 
 Still that stern, relentless door 
 Casts its gloomy shadow o'er 
 The prisoner; still within its bound. 
 Drearj^ duties' changeless round. 
 Where now, Joseph, is th}' dream? 
 Did it such a fate foreseem? 
 Shall this prison be thy graye? 
 Dream'st thoa now, E^j-ptian slave? 
 Dreams have sold thee: can the}'^ save? 
 Shall th}" God no more show favor? 
 Shall He now no more deliver? 
 Yes. Despair, in vain thy spell; 
 Faith shall triumph ; all is well ! 
 
 Scene 7— The palace. Pharaoh on his throne; nobles and 
 atteiulants around ; jyriesfs andmagicians in their robes, and 
 with incense and implements of magic apparently Just used. 
 Pharaoh. O wise magicians 1 Have I called ye forth 
 
 Prom all our Egypt thus to no avail? 
 
 Can ye not tell the meaning of a dream? 
 
 Where is 3'our magic? Summon all .vour powers; 
 
 Tr,v all 3'our arts : call every spirit up 
 
 That ever did or may obey your bidding. 
 
 Cannot our sacred priests expound a dream? 
 
 Call on the gods. Ye never prayed before 
 
 For such a cause as this that calls ye now; 
 
 For unto us, or hapl}' to our Egypt, 
 
 I know my dreams do shadow some strange ill. 
 
 Which I would fain avert. Call on the gods. 
 
 Am I not Pharaoh? I do command ye 
 
 That y€ do ftnd the meaning of my dreams. 
 
JOSEPH. 75 
 
 By all the powers of earth or sea or air 
 
 I do adjure ye. Nay, I'll give to him 
 
 The half my kingdom, who doth tell my dreams. 
 
 1st Magician. Most mighty lord, most noble Pharaoh, 
 We cast us in the dust beneath thy feet. 
 Our lives are at thy word; but all our wisdom. 
 And all our prayers and arts, and all our magic, 
 Are powerless to expound great Pharaoh's dream. 
 
 Butler. I do remember me my fault this day. 
 Most noble Pharaoh. When thou wast angry 
 With me, th}' servant, and I was in prison 
 With Hez, the baker, we had each a dream 
 In the same night; and when we cast about 
 To find a man who could interpret dreams. 
 There was then in the prison a young Hebrew 
 Named Joseph, whom the keepei: much did favor. 
 To him we told our dreams, and he explained 
 Their meanings; and th^e future came to pass 
 Just as he said; and there was in the prison 
 A saying that his God was with him and— 
 
 PhQraoh. Cut short thy prating; go and seek this Joseph 
 With all thy speed; and when thou findest him [means, 
 Bring him straight hither. {Exit Butler.] I will try all 
 Since all your arts and prayer;S avail me naught. 
 To find the interpretation of my dreams ; 
 For I do fear they have the same intent. 
 And that of evil. But have ye not left 
 Some c|eeper charm? Leave nothing in j'^our power 
 Untried; and half my kingdom will I give 
 Him who succeeds 
 
 1st Priest. '^ Most noble Pharaoh, 
 Rinos Pilesar, the last Priest of Memnon, 
 Posessed one spell more powerful than all others; 
 And ere he died, with the most scrupulous care 
 In Memnon's sacred statue he concealed it. 
 And bade me, his successor, use it not 
 But on the utmost need; and yesterday. 
 As. I was bowed be:fore the holy statue. 
 The parchment issued thence and came to me 
 Of its own- power. I have it here with me ; 
 
76- JOSEPH. 
 
 But on sucti liard conditions is it based 
 
 That he that useth it doth straightway lose 
 
 All former powers, and thenceforth for three days 
 
 Doth languish, and then die ; and being used 
 
 By any other than a Priest of Memnon, 
 
 Or if another man doth see its use, 
 
 It then doth lose all further potency. 
 
 But at most noble Pharaoh's command 
 
 I'll use the spell, though it shall cost my life. 
 
 \_He makes preparations, and burns incense. The stage 
 grows dark, and then is lighted with red Jire. Weird music is 
 heard at a distance. Various strange shapes appear, as if of 
 summoned spirits. The Priest chants the spell:] 
 Armath beroson, am polusophi ! 
 Al lerosoman, ho, Arobar! 
 
 [Lightning and thunder. The strange music becomes 
 louder, as if approaching. There is an appearance of a man 's 
 head in fre. It vanishes with a terrible crash; and the stage 
 instantly assumes its former appearance.] 
 
 Pharaoh. Why, this indeed was still more terrible 
 Than all the rest; but did it tell my dreams? 
 Speak ! Tell me quick ! 
 
 1st Priest. Most noble Pharaoh ! 
 
 There is no power in all the world of spirits 
 That mortal man may call at thy command, 
 That can expound the meaning of thy dreams. 
 Some mightier Power, unknown, above them all. 
 Above us all, above all other powers. 
 Doth overrule them now. When I go hence, 
 In three daj's more, let my line cease with me. 
 Memnon was great. [Enter Butler, with .Joseph. 
 
 Butler. Most noble Pharaoh, 
 
 This is the Hebrew slave of whom I spake. 
 ( To Joseph.) Bow down to Pharaoh. 
 
 Joseph. I bow myself. 
 
 What would he with meV 
 
 Pnaraoh. Listen now, young Hebrew. 
 
 I, Pharaoh, now sitting on my throne. 
 Last night did dream, but not a common dream, 
 
JOSEPH. 77 
 
 For it holds evident some import deep 
 
 Of hidden ill to me or to my throne ; 
 
 And being troubled much this morning by it, 
 
 I called the Priests, the Wise Men and Magicians, 
 
 Who have tried all their prayers and all their powers, 
 
 And there they stand, and cannot tell my dream. 
 
 But it is said of thee that thou canst show 
 
 The meaning of a dream: therefore I brought thee 
 
 From out the prison; and if thou dost tell 
 
 The meaning of my dream I'll give to thee 
 
 Half of my kingdom. 
 
 Joseph. It is not in me: 
 
 Interpretations do belong to God. 
 But, if it please thee, tell thy dream, my lord, 
 And God shall give thee its interpretation. 
 
 Pharaoh. I in my dream upon the banks of Nile 
 Was standing; and there came up from the river . 
 Seven well- fleshed kine, and fed tbem in a meadow; 
 And after them came up seven other kine, 
 Lean-fleshed and poor, such as I never saw 
 In all the land for badness; and these last 
 Did eat up the first seven well-favored kine, 
 And then remained as lean-fleshed as before. 
 Then I awoke, but fell asleep again 
 At once, and straightway dreamed a second time; 
 And in my dream, behold! seven ears of corn 
 All rank and good, sprang up upon one stalk; 
 And after them, behold! seven other ears, 
 All thin and blasted by the east wind, sprang up; 
 And these last seven devoured the seven good ears. 
 And then appeared no better than before. 
 Now, canst thou show me the interpretation? 
 
 Joseph. Thy dreams are one, my lord; and God doth 
 To Pharaoh what He will surely do. [show 
 
 The seven good kine and seven good ears of corn 
 Are seven good years that shall come aow in Egypt; 
 And the seven lean-fleshed kine and blasted ears 
 Are years of famine that shall follow them. 
 And as the years of plenty shall be such 
 
78 JOSEPH. 
 
 As Egypt never knew, so shall the famine 
 
 Be such as shall blot out their niemor5\ 
 
 And God vouchsafed the dream to Pharaoh 
 
 A second time because He has ordained it 
 
 And it shall shortly come to pass. Now therefore 
 
 Let Pharaoh select a man of wisdom 
 
 And set him over all the land of Egypt, 
 
 That he may gather up the surplus grain, 
 
 Even the fifth part of all that shall he raised 
 
 In the seven plenteous years, and store it up 
 
 In granaries ; and let prudent overseers 
 
 Attend to this in every place, and urge 
 
 The people to lay up yet other store 
 
 Against the famine, for it shall he sore 
 
 In all the land. God hath so spoken it. 
 
 Fharaoh. Now, verily this is the true intent; 
 It doth comport most f ally with my dream. 
 
 1st Priest. It is indeed the true interpretation. 
 
 1st Magician. The Hebrew doth exel us all in wisdom. 
 
 Butler. His God is with him still, O Pharaoh. 
 
 Pharaoh. Now, where shall such another man be found. 
 One whom his God doth favor and give wisdom i 
 Now, therefore, Joseph, since thy God hath given thee 
 More wisdom than is else in all our Egypt, 
 I will do better for thee than I promised 
 Him who should teil my dream: thou shalt be ruler 
 O'er all my house and all the land ot Egypt, 
 And only in the throne shall I be greater, 
 And by thy word shall all the land be ruled. [on him, 
 [7'o affeiula/ifs.] Take ye my robe and chain, and put them 
 And lead him here, and seat him by my side. [They do so. J 
 Now mark ye all 1 This is our royal pleasure : 
 Do ye by him as he were Pharaoh. 
 Sound, heralds: Hail, and bow the knee to Joseph ! 
 
 JlevutdK. Haii: Bow the knee 1 Hail I Bow the knee to 
 
 [Joseph I 
 
 All. {Bowing the kfoee.\ Hail to thee, noble Joseph! Hail, 
 
 [all hail! 
 1 Ciirtaitt fitlh. to tiimnplial inuxic] 
 
JOSEPH. 79 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Dreaming Hebrew youth, and sold 
 By brothers' hands for strangers' gold; 
 Sold into the Egyptian's hands- 
 Ruler over all his lands; 
 Now, falsely blamed, in prison thrown— 
 Now Egypt's all but king alone; 
 Now, thy grace and wisdom proved, 
 Be Egypt's pride, by Egypt loved. 
 Nevermore in trouble be : 
 God shall ever prosper thee. 
 Wisdom and grace to thee are given, 
 Peace on earth, and bliss in Heaven. 
 Now is fulfilled thy youthful dream: 
 O'er a great realm thou art supreme. 
 But shall thy brethren to thee bow? 
 Yes, and thy grace their lives allow; 
 But other duties claim thee now. 
 
 Abundant waves the golden grain 
 While smiling Plenty holds her reign. 
 The surplus of the fruitful years 
 In heaped-up granaries appears. 
 Now Egypt rings with joy and pride 
 When Joseph weds a royal bride. 
 And Potiphar has mourned his fate, 
 In better knowledge, all too late; 
 Bat Joseph's love is still more great 
 Than was his own, and, while he lives. 
 To Potiphar due favor gives. 
 
 The seven years pass; and now, behold I 
 The famine comes, that was foretold. 
 In vain the farmer guides the plow: 
 No harvest sheaves shall cheer him now. 
 But Egypt gives the wisdom praise 
 That warned her of the coming days, 
 For now were all her people dead 
 If Joseph's granaries had not bread. 
 Not here alone is famine found, 
 But dearth in all the country round; 
 
JOSEPH. 
 
 And as it spreads, still spread the more 
 Reports of Egypt's ample store, 
 Until men come from every land 
 To buy them food at Joseph's hand; 
 And strangely thus, as God hath willed, 
 Is Joseph's dream at last fulfilled. 
 
 Scene 8—^ court of the palace. The butler ^ -Joseph's stew- 
 ard and a number of offt,cers, conversing. 
 
 1st Officer. Now, steward, tell us how it is about those 
 Hebrews for whom ray lord doth make so much trouble 
 —he who always doeth only good to all others. There 
 is something very strange about the matter; and thou 
 knowest more about it than we do, so tell us about it, 
 we pray thee. 
 
 Steward. I do believe these Hebrews must be some 
 whom my lord knew before he came into Egypt, and 
 that he has some motive which I know not, else why 
 he should so vex them I cannot understand. But this is 
 what I do know of the matter; and the butler also 
 knows a portion of it: About the time when men first 
 came here to buy corn, these Hebrews came, among 
 others, before my lord. And when he saw them, he 
 spoke roughly to them, so that we who knew him won- 
 dered. "Ye are come as spies," he said, "to discover 
 the nakedness of the land." And thej' answered that 
 they were not spies but true men, all the sons of one 
 father, and that they had left their younger brother 
 behind them when they came. Then my lord grew 
 strangely angry; and he bound them, and kept them 
 for three days, and then had them brought before him 
 again, and told them that they must go and bring their 
 younger brother, and that he should keep one of them 
 bound here for surety. All he said to them was through 
 an interpreter, too; but I noticed that when they talked 
 together among themselves, my lord changed color, and 
 then he went out for a few minutes; and when he re- 
 turned he caused one of them to be bound before their 
 
JOSEPH. 
 
 eyes. Then lie commanded me to fill their sacks with 
 corn, and to put hack each man's money in his sack; 
 and so I did, and sent them away unknowing. 
 
 Butler. Whatl So long ago? There is certainly some- 
 thing strange ahout this matter. My lord Joseph must 
 have some secret motive ; for he is to all men kind and 
 merciful, even as he was with poor Lord Potiphar and 
 his wife, as you all remember. 
 
 'M Officer. Why, yes; I remember that it made great 
 talk at the time; and I knew something of the matter, 
 hut not all. Wert thou not concerned in it in some way? 
 
 Butler. Why, no, not more than indirectly; hut I 
 knew all the facts at the time. 
 
 2d Officer. Tell us, then. It may throw some light on 
 this last subject. 
 
 Butler. I doubt it. But it is a strange story. It was 
 while I was in the prison that my lord Joseph came 
 there, consigned by Lord Potiphar, who would not hear 
 any defense from him. But after the king had brought 
 my lord Joseph to the court to interpret his dream, and 
 my lord had found favor in his eyes, then did the king 
 question him as to his history ; and when my lord told 
 him how he had been sent to the prison, then did the 
 king send for Lord Potiphar and his wife and brought 
 them before him when Joseph was not present. Now 
 my lady Zillah dared not lie to the king, but confessed 
 the truth. Then the king summoned my lord Joseph 
 and commanded him to give judgment; and my lord 
 forgave Lord Potiphar for his unjust haste, and re- 
 membered only his kindness. Moreover my lord said he 
 could not find it in his heart to punish the lady Zillah; 
 but indeed he had no need, for hardly had she seen him 
 when she sank into a swoon and was borne away; and 
 though she lived for two days she was never conscious 
 again. You must all have heard of this, for it was 
 known to all the court. 
 
 2d Officer. Yes, I knew of a part of it ; and I remem- 
 ber that while poor Lord Potiphar lived, my Lord Jo- 
 seph heaped kindness on him. But tell us, steward, 
 
JOSEPH. 
 
 knowest thou nothing further of this matter of the 
 Hebrews? 
 
 Steward. Yes indeed do I ; for now the Hebrews have 
 come again; and this time they brought balm and spi- 
 ces and other presents for my lord, and double money 
 for that which was put back in their sacks; and they 
 brought us also their younger brother, and came and 
 stood before my lord. And when he saw them in the 
 audience room, he bade me make ready for the Hebrews 
 to dine with him to-da}'. But they seemed to be in 
 much trouble ; and they came to me with an interpreter, 
 and told me how they had found the money in their 
 sacks, and had brought it back; and I calmed them, and 
 brought out to them their brother whom mj' lord had 
 kept here as surety. And at the hour I brought them 
 before my lord, with their younger brother and their 
 presents ; and they bowed themselves before m}' lord, 
 and offered their presents through an interpreter. And 
 through him also my lord inquired of them about their 
 welfare, and about their father, and spoke kindly to 
 their younger brother whom they had brought with 
 them as he had commanded. And then he seemed 
 greatW excited in some way, but tried to hide his feel- 
 ings, but could not, and went out from the room. But 
 he soon came in again, and caused a table to be set for 
 them, and another for him bj- himself— for it is an 
 abomination to eat with a Hebrew. 
 
 Butler. I was there then, and waited upon my lord. 
 And he caused the Hebrews to be seated according to 
 their ages, and sent portions from his own table to 
 them ; and to the youngest of them he sent five times as 
 much as to anj'^ of the rest. And the}' ate and drank 
 and grew merry, so that I thought they never before 
 had drank so good wine or so freely. 
 
 Sfewar-d. And afterward my lord commanded me 
 again, and again I filled their sacks with corn, and put 
 their money back into their sacks; and this time, as he 
 commanded me. I took my lord's silver cup from hi.s ta- 
 ble and put it in the mouth of the younger brother's , 
 
JOSEPH. 
 
 sack of corn, and sent them all away again, but a little 
 while ago. And this is all I know of the matter. \_Enter 
 a messenger to the steward.] But my lord sends for me, 
 and I must go now. I'll warrant there is more to do 
 with those Hebrews. [Exit Steward. 
 
 1st Officer. Well, my lord may vex them now, hut it 
 must he for their good, I'd lay my life on it. 
 
 {Curtain falls.] 
 
 Scene 9— Joseph's house. Enter Joseph and the steivard, 
 
 meeting, 
 
 [brews? 
 
 Joseph. Well, steward, how now is it with the He- 
 
 [lord. 
 
 Steivard. Why, even as thou didst seem to wish, my 
 I found them at short distance from the city. 
 And charged upon them as thou didst command; 
 And then they all turned pale with sudden fear, 
 And all declared they knew not of the matter. 
 But said that if the cup were found with them. 
 Then should he die who had it, and the rest 
 Would be thy servants. At their word I took them, 
 And straightway made them open each his sack. 
 And searched them all, from eldest down to youngest. 
 And found the cup where thou didst bid me place it. 
 Then they all rent their clothes in grief and fear. 
 And straightway loaded every man his beast. 
 And came back with me, as thou didst command. 
 Even now they wait without. 
 
 Joseph. Good 1 Bring them hither. 
 
 \Exit steward.] 
 Oh, my dear brothers ! Give me strength, O God, 
 For yet a little further needful trial. 
 My soul yearns for them, though they sold me once. 
 And mocked my dreams ; and I must show them now 
 That Thou didst thus foreshow what was to be. 
 And was and is and shall be. Thou art true. 
 And they shall bow, even as it was foretold; 
 
84 JOSEPH. 
 
 And then— but now they come. 
 
 [Enter steward, ivith Joseph's brethren, ivho boiv before him. 
 
 Steward. My lord, the Hebrews, 
 
 Joseph. What have ye done now, Hebrews? Knew ye 
 That I can speak your language? Knew ye not [not 
 That such a man as I can make a trial? 
 Am I not ruler here? And did ye think 
 That ye could steal my cup from off my table, 
 And then escape my wrath? What, knew ye not 
 That I could tell even your most secret sins. 
 Even to the vilest deed of all your lives? 
 What say ye now? 
 
 Simeon. My lord, what can we say? 
 
 How can we speak? How shall we clear ourselves? 
 God hath found out thy servants' wickedne'='s; 
 And now not only he who had the cup 
 But all the rest of us shall be thy servants. 
 If it shall please thee thus to spare our lives. 
 
 Joseph. No; I will be more merciful to you; 
 But he who had the cup shall be my servant, 
 And all the rest may go again in peace 
 Unto your father. 
 
 Judah. O most gracious lord, 
 
 I pray thee let thy servant speak a word. 
 Mv lord enquired of us, thj' servants, sa3^ing 
 Have ye a father, or another brother? 
 Then answered we my lord: We have a father. 
 And one more brother, son of his old age, 
 Left only of his mother. He is dead 
 Who was his brother; and his father love.? him. 
 Then did m}' lord command thy servants, saying. 
 Bring here your brother, that I may behold him. 
 Then said we to my lord. It cannot be : 
 His father loves him; and if he should leave him. 
 Then would he die of grief. And my lord said. 
 Except your younger brother come with you. 
 Ye see my face no more. And when we came 
 Up to thy servants' father, then we told him 
 Thy words, my lord, and all that had befallen. 
 
JOSEPH. 85 
 
 And when the corn was gone, our father said, 
 Go down again and buy us further food. 
 And we said. We may not go down again. 
 Except our brother Benjamin go with us; 
 For thus the Governor did strictly speak. 
 Then said our father unto us. Ye know 
 I had two sons; and one of them is not; 
 And now if ye do take the other from me, 
 Ye bring me down with sorrow to the grave. 
 Now when ttiy servants come unto our father 
 Without our brother, since our father's life 
 Is bound up in the lad, then will he die, 
 And so thy servants shall bring down our father, 
 In his old age, with sorrow to the grave. 
 And then thy servant made himself a surety 
 Unto our father for our younger brother, 
 Saying, If I bring him not again with me, 
 Then shall I bear the blame to thee forever. 
 And now I pray thee let me be thy bondsman. 
 And let the lad return unto his father. 
 For how shall I go up unto our father 
 Without the lad, and see my father's sorrow? 
 I pray thee let me stead thee for the lad, 
 For I became his surety. 
 
 \ Joseph motions out all the Egyptians. 
 Joseph. Oh, my brothers. 
 
 My brothers 1 1 am Joseph, whom ye sold. 
 My brothers. Oh, my brothers ! Be not grieved 
 Or angry with yourselves that ye did sell me; 
 For God hath sent me for a great deliverance. 
 Be not afraid: I am your brother Joseph. 
 Fear not. There shall no evil come upon you. 
 'Twas God who sent me hither, at your hands, 
 To save your lives: for now two years the famine 
 Hath been, and there shall come yet five years more; 
 And God hath made me ruler of all Egypt, 
 That I might lay up food against this famine. 
 Now therefore ye shall go up to our father, 
 And bring him hither, him and all his house. 
 And ye shall all dwell in the land of Goshen. 
 
86 JOSEPH. 
 
 And I will feed ye ; for in all this Eg)-pt 
 
 Ye know tliat I am even as Pharaoh. 
 
 And I will stahlish ye and all your house 
 
 In Goshen; ye shall tell our father so. 
 
 Do ye not hear me? Am I not not your brother? 
 
 Are ye not glad to see me yet alive, [my brother, 
 
 As one raised from the dead? [To Benjamin.] And thou, 
 
 My mother's son; our father loved us both 
 
 When we were with him ; now, in otber years, 
 
 He'll love us yet again, restored to him. 
 
 Forgive me, brothers, if I served 3'^e hardly: 
 
 'Twas but to make a trial of your truth, 
 
 I do forgive you for the wrong ye did me. 
 
 Let us be brothers once again together. 
 
 [Joseph embraces Benjamin, and the cnrlain falls .] 
 
 Scene \0—The gi^and audience hall of the royal palace. 
 Pharaoh discocered, seated on the throne and surrounded 
 by a vast assetnbfy of lords, nobles and people. 
 
 [Joseph ? 
 
 Pharaoh. The time has come ; why comes not our good 
 
 1st Officer. Most noble Pharaoh, he went to meet 
 His father and his brothers, who have come. 
 At Pharaoh's command, to dwell in Egypt; 
 And even now the}' enter at the court. 
 
 Pharoah. I knew he would be here: he never fails. 
 I thank the gods that sent me such a friend, 
 Discreet above all others, tried and true. 
 While he is with us, Egypt will be safe. [Enter 2d Officer. 
 
 2d Officer. Most noble Pharaoh, I bear a message 
 From mj' lord Joseph, saj'ing that he comes, 
 And asking that he may not be announced. 
 But enter with his father and his brothers. 
 Whom he would now present to Pharaoh. 
 
 Pharaoh. Whatever Joseph wishes shall he done. 
 
JOSEPH. 87 
 
 Give orders now that no salute be made 
 To him until I give the signal for it. 
 
 \ Enter Joseph, supporting his father, and foUoived by Ms 
 brothers. All salute Pharaoh.] 
 
 Joseph. Most noble Pharaoh, at thy command 
 I bring my father and all these my brothers , 
 To do thee honor, and to dwell in Egypt. 
 
 Pharoan. Thou doest well— thou doest all things well. 
 I bid them welcome here; and for thy sake 
 Tne best of Egypt shall be given them. 
 Bat as for thee, come thou unto thy place; 
 For I indeed am Pharaoh, but thou 
 Art ruler. Come. Sound, heralds, Hail to Joseph. 
 
 [(Jrand flourish of trumpets. 
 [Joseph ! 
 
 Heralds. Hail ! Bow the knee ! Hail I Bow the knee to 
 
 All. Hail to thee, noble Joseph ! Hail, all hail ! 
 
 \All botv, including Jacob and his sons; and triumphal mu- 
 sic sounds, while Joseph advances to the foot of the throne.] 
 
 Joseph. Most noble Pharaoh 
 
 Pharaoh. Most noble Joseph, 
 
 Take thou thy place ; and bring thy father up. 
 And seat him and thy brothers by thee here. 
 All Egypt is before thee: settle them 
 Wherever thou shalt choose; and they shall dwell 
 In peace forever. Be it thus recorded. 
 
 {Joseph ascends to seat at right of throne, and sends ushers 
 who bring his father and brothers and seat them near him.] 
 
 Joseph. My lords and nobles, I salute ye all. 
 Ye heard most noble Pharaoh's command. 
 This is my father and these are my brothers; 
 And in the land of Goshen they shall dwSll 
 In peace; and when yet five more famine years 
 Are passed, prosperity shall come again. 
 And they and all our Egypt shall be happy. 
 My lords, ye know the story of my life, 
 And how for this deliverance I was brought 
 To Egypt; and in this my hour of joy 
 
JOSEPH. 
 
 Because my father and my brothers all 
 Are with me, ye will surely join with me 
 In welcome and rejoicing; and in token 
 Of gladness, let there be an order sent 
 Throughout all Egypt that there shall be given 
 From our storehouses unto all who need, 
 One day's provision, and so on this day 
 In each year of the five of famine coming. 
 So shall our people all have cause for joy. 
 And on this day shall everywhere be told 
 The storj' of the dream of Pharaoh, 
 And how God gave him its interpretation. 
 And Egypt thus was saved. 
 
 Pharoah. So shall it be. 
 
 [Joseph salutes Pharaoh, tvho gives a signal, tihei'eupon the 
 assembly 7'ises, ivifh joyful acclamation; music sounds; and 
 the curtain slowly falls. \ 
 
POTOMAC SERIES, NUMBER 1. 
 
 Fofomae Seriefi i.'^ Ihe name of a liille quarlerly issued by the 
 Woman's National Press Associafionjn irhic/iilfrs. II. B. Sperry, 
 a member of 1he Washington society, has an interestbig but iie- 
 eullar s^ory of oj)en vision.— Neiv Church Messenger. 
 
 * Co'i'-aining several readable articles by various an- 
 thirs. ''Invisible In^erveu'ion,'' by Mrs. Spei^ry. is a strange 
 story, founded vjon facts, relating to the life of one ofthenoble 
 men 'vho mo-i^^red th'^ way for o^h^rs in the early settlement of 
 Ashtabula County. Ohio.— Church Watchman. 
 
 Potomac Series, No. l. is a tasiily-gotten-vj) little volume, the 
 first of a series of short sh'^tches. and if its successors come up 
 to the standard established by the tirst volume the series tcill be a 
 val labl'^ addition to the lisf of such publications. The lUtle booTi 
 if! full, of in.ferfisting reading from the initial letter to the scroll 
 thaf dories the last page.— Washington News. 
 
 The first volume of Potomac Series contains two sketches by 
 Mrs. E. S. Cromivell, an accomplished woman; a West Indian ro- 
 mance by MissFoster; one of East India by Mrs. Hort; and Mrs. 
 Sn^rry r/ires a touch of the u,n canny; to say no-^hing of the other 
 sketches. ■'■ * As a collection of Short Stories, this first issue 
 compares favorably tr-ith fhe tictio'n of most of the magazines.— 
 Nefv York Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 Potom.ac Series, No. 1, is the title of a neiv periodical published 
 in Washiugton. It is neat cmi attractive in style.- * * Con- 
 tains seven short sketches, each 'being full of interest and very 
 different in character. Pen pictures, draivn from life, depict 
 s'-^ii^fi in different parts of the Tmited States and in the East and 
 We^rt Indies. * * The litfle volume is ivell tvorthy of notice, 
 an't as th" Potomac Series is the first .short story periodiccd ever 
 P'ddlsh^d in this city ive trust it may m.eet uith encouragement.— 
 Washington Post. 
 
 Potomac Series for July contains a true story of a most re- 
 markable exnerience of the father of the tvriter, Mrs. 11. B. 
 Sperry,of the Woman's National Press Association of Washing- 
 ton:. D. C. Injured near unto death by the fcdling of a limb from 
 a free in the forest, he is led across fields, 'With hand clasping in 
 th" air th"- hand of cm invisible friend, to friends near home, tvho 
 then lake him to his wife, who 'las been unusually anxious during 
 his absflju-e tha,t day concerning him. As soon as he was able to 
 sneak to fri'^ friends in the rorid, though there was a horrible cut 
 in Jiia h'^aih an/l he ivas covered ivith blood, he declared himself 
 peifecilij hajifiy in. tli^ company of friends in the spi)-ifual world, 
 from u^hom h^ uhia reluctant to part except for his u^ifr and child. 
 — The Neu^ Christianity. 
 
POTOMAC SERIES, NUMBER 2. 
 
 Arthur Sperr}', a Washington newspaper boy, has embod- 
 ied his experiences as a police reporter in a small volume. 
 These stories are interesting, and show that their author 
 is a very clever writer, and thoroughly at home in depict- 
 ing scenes which came under his own personal observation 
 in the modern Babylon. The book is published simultane- 
 ously in Washington and London. Mr. Sperry is at present 
 vice-consul of the United States at Swansea, Wales.— i^iw?- 
 ing News, Washington. D. C. 
 
 Washington newspaperdom of five years ago knew Arthur 
 Sperry as one of its own ; to-day the one-time reporter 
 has a reputation on both sides of the Atlantic as a writer 
 of short stories. Some of his efforts are remarkable for 
 their excellence— especially those that deal with the Chi- 
 naman as he is in a great American city. In more than one 
 of the popular English magazines there is alwaj-s a place 
 for a contribution from Mr. Sperry-, sure evidence of real 
 merit, for the Briton is not enthusiastic without good 
 cause over American products of either the material or 
 literary varieties. — Washington Star. 
 
 Sperry Stories is a collection of twelve short stories 
 (some of which are quite thrilling) by Arthur Sperry, son 
 of the founder of the Newf, and published in neat booklet 
 form as No 2., Potomac Series.— Ashfahuf a (Ohio) Xe/rs. 
 
 Mr. Arthur Sperry. nephew of the Hon. E. F. Sperry of 
 Knoxville, and an employe in the consul's office at Swan- 
 sea, Wales, has written a collection of short Chinese sto- 
 ries, the scenes laid in the Chinese portion of Now Y<irk. 
 Young Sperrs' was born in Iowa, and Hawkeye brains in 
 this instance are up to a high standard of literary excel- 
 lence.— /o«-rt Sfafe Hegistev. 
 
 We have just had the pleasure of perusing twelve enter- 
 taining stories contained in book form, and written by Mr. 
 Arthur Sperry. of the American Consulate, Swansea: and 
 we venture to think that the work, at the price of the nim- 
 ble shilling, will lind a roady sale. •• Qiiong T.n," "Hop 
 
Wah, Philosopher," and two or three other stories display 
 an intimate knowledge of the habits of the Chinese in 
 America that could only he obtained by personal relations 
 and close observation. Whilst anything relating to Japan 
 or China is intensely interesting just now, perhaps the 
 special charm of "Sparry Stories" to the local public is the 
 fact that the plot of one of the prettiest of the tales, '• Meg 
 and Ben," is located at Gower.— Cam6?'ia Leader, Swansea, 
 Great Britain. 
 
 Certainly, Mr. Sperry, of the United States Consulate at 
 Swansea, possesses all the essentials of a pleasing story- 
 writer. The book recently published by Messrs. Gay & 
 Bird, 5 Chandos street. Strand, London, consists of a dozen 
 smartly-written tales. Mr. Sperry is particularly happy 
 in those efforts which deal with Chinese life in America. 
 "Quong Tin" and "The Hatchet Society for Fin Tien " 
 are real literary gems, scintillating with the spirit of the 
 century's end. "Saved by a Sphygmogram," and "Hop 
 Wah, Philosopher," are also admirably penned. Anything 
 appertaining to Chinese manners or methods is of interest 
 at the present moment, and Mr. Sperry's revelations are 
 as curious, sometimes even weird, as they are interesting. 
 Distinctly American in tone and treatment are the sketches 
 entitled, "A Failure," " R. A. T. S," " A Woman Who Did 
 Not," and "Oox's Blunder." The author's command of the 
 dramatic element is well shown in "Said the Paretic," 
 "The Inspector's Cat." and "The Jade Snake." There is 
 considerable charm in Mr. Sperry's style. It is very terse 
 and picturesque, the thoughts being just sufficiently dar- 
 ing to keep the reader on the constant qui vive. We must 
 con less to a feeling of dissatisfaction with the only local 
 story included in the book. "Meg and Ben" is located at 
 Pwllddu, and probably the author inserted the legend by 
 way of compliment to the locale of his present sojourn. On 
 this ground is it only excusable. The tale has neither pith 
 nor plot: it even lacks the lightness and vivacity of the 
 writer's other contributions. But as against this lot of 
 paste, the rest of the book may be compared to a string of 
 pearls. Eminently readable, we do not hesitate to advise 
 our readers to purchase a copy and peruse Mr. Sperry's 
 creations for themselves.— ,6'?t'fmsea Gazette. 
 
 This number sent post-paid- for 25 cents, by 
 
 H. B. Sperry. 321 Delaware Ave. N. E., 
 
 Washington. D. C. 
 
POTOMAC SERIES, NUMBER 3. 
 HOLIDAY NUMBER-JANUARY, 1895. 
 
 POTOMAC SERIES, NO. 3. has Poems and Stories by a 
 number of well-known writers, among whom are 
 
 Mrs. E. S. Cromwell, 
 Mrs. L. A. Crandell, 
 Mrs. F. C. Dieudonne. 
 Mrs. Sylvie Sperry Eoerhardt. 
 Mrs. May Whitney Emerson, 
 Miss Mary F. Foster, 
 Mrs. Rosetta L. Gilchrist, 
 Mrs. Emily F. Hort, 
 Mrs. M. D. Lincoln, 
 Mrs. Mary S. Lockwood, 
 •Mrs. Evarts Ewing Munn, 
 Mrs. Mary M. North, 
 Miss Lilian Pike, 
 J, Mrs. H. B. Sperry, 
 
 Miss M. E. Torrence, 
 Mrs. Dora T. Voorh is, 
 Mrs. Eleanor Wright. 
 
 /'(/Tf/MAC SMRIES u' U'fiieif quarterly from i!V> F xtrrtt. 
 Was/iii/f/foti. 1). ('. Rhyme ami RemtojK No. 4, complf^tes f/ie,firsf 
 ytar. irhieh will he funti.ffieif to annual Kxhurribertt for $1.00. 
 Hark ni(inher>< fur niiilieil. poKf fiaid, for Tnerity-fre Ceiify. 
 .\il,lrfx.< isfi /-'.s/zv^/. \Vas/ihi(/fori. I). ('. 
 
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 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS