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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
A Last Token 
 
 E. J. NYENHOUSE 
 
 JOHN P. MORTON & COMPANY 
 
 INCORPORATED 
 
 LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY 
 
 1910 
 
-■\ 
 
 
 Copyright, IQiO, 
 
 BY 
 
 E. J. NYENHOUSE 
 
 ©CLA2781i9 
 
'V 
 
 TO MY MOTHER, 
 
 Remembered after death, 
 
 These Tales and Sonnets are inscribed, 
 
 As a Last Token of esteem and love. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 Adolphus Salamander 7 
 
 The Widow Cloverdale 21 
 
 The Diary of Ada Brown 37 
 
 The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 55 
 
 The North Woods 75 
 
 Estanaula 77 
 
 Vesperis 80 
 
 A Memory 84 
 
 Lilies of the Cross 85 
 
 The Girl Who Took the Veil J. 87 
 
 Our Lizzie 88 
 
 Her Cousin German 89 
 
 The Chaff Hunters 90 
 
 The Sceptre and the Lance 94 
 
 A Sonnet to the Moon 96 
 
 A Sonnet to the Cash Register 97 
 
 The Warfare of the Wild 98 
 
 The Building of a Star 104 
 
 The Wreck of the Pelican 109 
 
 'Tis a-Coming 115 
 
 The Shadowland 116 
 
A Last Token 
 
 Adolphus Salamander 
 
 The evening sun was sinking low; 
 The western sky was all aglow; 
 And colored bright the Ohio 
 From bank to bank at Louisville; 
 Long iron bridges spanned the stream; 
 Homewards the darky drove his team; 
 And far off, fading like a dream, 
 Stretched a long line of ridgy hill; 
 While smoke, both thick and dark of hue, 
 Eose to the sky and marred the view. 
 Yet it was still a lovely scene, 
 A hint what long ago had been; 
 When the red forester retained 
 Control and nature through him gained. 
 
 A fellow sitting on the bluff, 
 Who claimed to be a workingman. 
 Whose thoughts far more on travel ran, 
 Viewed it disdainfully enough. 
 The charms of country scenery, 
 Contrasting with the smoky blight, — 
 A cloud of smoke hung on the height: — 
 Eose up within his memory. 
 He held a paper in his hand: 
 The 'Courier Journal,' which he thought, 
 Was worth a nickel when he bought: — 
 A leading journal in the land. 
 
 Tied to the bank a shanty boat 
 His idle fancy kept afloat; 
 There were two shanty boats in fact; 
 The first one was a traveling boat. 
 New and repainted with a coat 
 Of tar and gravel on the roof; 
 
A Last Token 
 
 The inmates watched him in the act 
 Of reading, and a man came forth, 
 Also a dog who held aloof, 
 The man advancing on the sport. 
 
 ^Evening/ the Captain of the craft 
 Mentioned the fact he had arrived; 
 In turn the Salamander dived 
 Down deep and made the water aft: 
 'Fine evening': and the bitter truth 
 Flashed on the Captain it was so; 
 
 The Captain made another show 
 
 Of hands, and straight this question put: 
 
 'From here to Cairo now how far?' 
 
 Searching the heavens for a star, 
 
 The Salamander calmly said: 
 
 'Three thousand furlongs up to date.' 
 
 This was a poser; and the wind 
 
 And weather of the shanty tar. 
 
 Were mixed and hopelessly at war: 
 
 Therefore the talk came to an end; 
 
 The Captain tumbled from the bluff 
 
 And joined the dog: he had enough. 
 
 His wife and daughter both below, 
 
 Waved their sun bonnets at the bow; 
 
 Whether they waved them at the dog. 
 
 At him, or at the humorous rogue, 
 
 Cannot with certainty be said; 
 
 They might be wild to go ahead; 
 
 Though it is certain that the boat 
 
 Stayed through the night: her lights it showed. 
 
 Still undisturbed, another page 
 The Salamander brought in sight: 
 Here was the heading of a fight; 
 How Bob Fitzsiramons graced the stage; 
 How he beat Sharkey in the ring; 
 Then came the usual questioning: 
 Was it a fake or was it fair? 
 The editor opined with rare 
 Discernment through his sporting blood: 
 That it was fair, and there it stood. 
 All this he followed with the tense 
 Attention of his graver sense. 
 
Adolphus Salamander 
 
 But local talent in the ring 
 Was also mentioned on the page; 
 And Marvin Hart, then quite the rage, 
 With a long record, checked the king, 
 Or beat the bishop of the game 
 With ease: a man of local fame. 
 Further: the pugs at Billy Smith's 
 Were quite proficient with the mitts. 
 
 He dropped the paper, — while the glow 
 Of sunset settled on his brow. 
 He had some pugilistic skill, 
 And a stout heart to back it with; 
 He had engaged in many a mill; 
 With the bare knuckles not with mitt 
 He fought, and many a burly brute 
 Felt small when ended the dispute. 
 
 Taking the paper up again. 
 
 He read, nor did he read in vain. 
 
 On the same page, the sporting man 
 
 Played ball, and 'twas a grand display; 
 
 Being something of a baseball fan, 
 
 And a good umpire in his way. 
 
 He followed scores, and touched the plate 
 
 With the persistency of Fate. 
 
 The great unpardonable sin, 
 
 Was to decide a doubtful play. 
 
 Against the chasers of the ball 
 
 From home, and this, this covered all. 
 
 Just then the second shanty boat: — 
 Where a strong able bodied man, 
 Acted as watchman now and then; 
 Where barges laid; and many a load 
 Of diamonds from the Pittsburg mines 
 Were stowed away in city lines: — 
 Perceived a floater going by, 
 A dead man with a dead man's eye: 
 And pleading for a burial place. 
 All was commotion on the scene. 
 The Lifeboat Station could be seen, 
 Preparing for a furious race; 
 Into the chute and on the falls, 
 Where whirling with the waters wild, 
 
10 A Last Token 
 
 The dead man's movements them beguiled; 
 With measured stroke and murmured calls. 
 They ventured and pursued the chasej 
 And after, resting on their oars, 
 Amidst excitement on the shores, 
 They caught the floater; and in tow, 
 Anchored the derelict below. 
 In waiting till the coroner gave 
 Permission and it found a grave. 
 
 Like the philosopher he was. 
 The Salamander never moved; 
 Though his humanity approved 
 The chase, he calmly let it pass; 
 And turning to the page again, 
 Found something in a different vein. 
 
 Always some robbery occurs, 
 
 Some hold up, or a cutting scrape, 
 
 And Rubes from somewhere all agape, 
 
 Eager to win their maiden spurs. 
 
 Come dropping down from various points. 
 
 Ripe for the sickle of the Joints. 
 
 The Rube that he was reading of, 
 
 Had wandered into Grayson Street, 
 
 Sandals of gold upon his feet. 
 
 This was a portion of the town, 
 
 That is more generally known. 
 
 Because its people are so tough. 
 
 *I like this street, the Rube was saying: 
 
 It looks quite pleasant after haying.' 
 
 And colored damsels by the score, 
 
 After surveying him o'er and o'er 
 
 Then offered for a fancy flight 
 
 Of cash to board him for the night. 
 
 Next morning, when the sun arose, 
 A countryman in ragged clothes 
 Found the policeman on the beat; 
 His watch and money both were gone. 
 He had been generally done: 
 And he denounced all Grayson Street. 
 
 Hurry to jail with patrol wagon. 
 Give 'Little Africa' a naggin': 
 But you will rarely find a watch 
 Or purse in any negro catch. 
 
Adolphus Salamander il 
 
 The Gait House was a great hotel, 
 And seemed to suit all Louisville; 
 Here General Nelson had been shot, 
 A tragedy not yet forgot; 
 And every traveler of renown, 
 Who ever visited the town 
 Seemed to have visited the same, 
 Leaving his memory and fame. 
 A hundred forms of social life, 
 From debutante to the wife: 
 To preparations for a ball, 
 Its memoranda could recall. 
 
 It could recall the Civil War; 
 It honors still the Southern Star; 
 Yovl drink your liquor from its bar. 
 And feel a gentleman all over, 
 Whether a President or Lover. 
 
 'This — said the Salamander, now: 
 This puts a fellow in a glow. ' 
 
 Ten 'moonshine' fellows in the jail, 
 
 Ten mountaineers awaiting bail: 
 
 Each drinking whisky from a pail, 
 
 Just as he made it in the still. 
 
 Ten riflemen with wish to kill 
 
 The men and bloodhounds on their track. 
 
 And lay each dead upon his back. 
 
 And this is not a Scottish clan. 
 Nor is it any Danish man: 
 This is Kentucky in its health 
 And strength and plenitude of wealth. 
 'G'wan, the Salamander thought: 
 Keep to your subject as you ought.' 
 
 The Courier Journal in its range 
 
 Of subjects traveled very far: 
 
 'Twas reminiscent of the War, 
 
 And turned Confederate for a change. 
 
 Sponsors and Maids — Confederate maids; 
 
 The bold John Morgan and his raids: 
 
 The Monument in lower town; 
 
 In this it took a fierce delight. 
 
12 A Last Token 
 
 On these its fancy took a flight: 
 As in a heaven of renown. 
 'Ah well! the Salamander thought: 
 This too was paid for as it ought.' 
 
 'And did Eliza cross the stream: 
 Or was the episode a dream?' 
 'Fiction, the Editor replied: 
 Should not be totally denied; 
 So we believe she crossed the stream: 
 Nor was the episode a dream.' 
 
 Then followed an escape from jail; 
 
 The Frankfort Penitentiary, 
 
 Had lost a beneficiary: 
 
 And men and dogs were on his trail; 
 
 The sheriff had a hope, that night 
 
 To get the fugitive in sight. 
 
 The Salamander heaved a sigh, 
 
 And smiled and slightly shook his head; 
 
 Across the river, fiery red, 
 
 The sun just sinking to his bed. 
 
 The Hoosier prison towered high: 
 
 Its walls all guarded by a guard 
 
 Well armed; all ready to defy 
 
 Efforts of liberty or death; 
 
 A rain of bullets would have met 
 
 The boldest break, or slyest trend 
 
 That way with every bullet meant. 
 
 There is the case of Eobin Hood 
 Who made his boast of freedom good; 
 But then old Spartacus, whom Rome 
 Had such a tussle with at home, 
 Got the cold shoulder from the gods 
 And felt at last the lictor's rods. 
 Beaten by Gracchus in the end. 
 Not even Plutarch was his friend; 
 For the society of Greece 
 And Rome that writer had to please. 
 
 Disasters happening on land. 
 Of violence through robber band, 
 Or the particulars of wreck: 
 Mingled with stories of the sea, 
 
Adolphus Salamander 13 
 
 Marine intelligence, that he 
 Followed like schooner on a tack. 
 
 He might be called a temperate man 
 This member of the roving clan; 
 A little whisky now and then, 
 A whiff tobacco in between, 
 Still kept his noble memory green, 
 When an allusion to his name 
 Was made by men of lesser fame. 
 
 Distilleries and Bluegrass belles, 
 Eace horses and the gambling hells. 
 Mixed with the Breathitt county feuds: 
 With girls in literary moods, — 
 On all these points the paper touched, 
 And all were positively judged. 
 
 The Salamander wiped his nose 
 And yawned a little as he rose; 
 Then with his appetite restored 
 For reading plunged into the hoard. 
 
 Just for a change he happened on 
 The market column, and the sun 
 Of his remembrance being a farm, 
 The price of butter made him warm: 
 The eggs put ginger in his blood. 
 And he felt generally good. 
 
 The business column caught him next; 
 
 Like a forgotten Bible text. 
 
 It nailed him as the Prodigal Son; 
 
 Pig iron long he dwelt upon; 
 
 Amalgamated copper mines, 
 
 Dared him to come within its lines: 
 
 And stocks and bonds and bank reports, 
 
 Left him depressed and out of sorts. 
 
 *If any politics are worse 
 Than those that Louisville do curse, 
 They have not been discovered yet.' 
 The Salamander's teeth were set; 
 The perspiration from his brow, 
 Fell to the river road below. 
 In his amazement at the proud 
 Distinction that the sheet avowed. 
 
14 A Last Token 
 
 'Back taxes, and a general raid 
 On banks and property and trade.' 
 'Is this a fiction of the brain, 
 Or is it truth?' I'll read again. 
 'Back taxes, and a general raid 
 On banks and property and trade.' 
 'I see it now; 'tis merely meant 
 For editorial comment.' 
 The Salamander turned the page, 
 And lit on Vaudeville and stage. 
 
 Macauley, bold Confederate, 
 
 A Colonel also in the State: 
 
 Led the amusements in the town; 
 
 Another Colonel widely known 
 
 As Hopkins, and in Vaudeville: 
 
 Confronted him in Louisville. 
 
 Thus there was rivalry galore 
 
 'Tween them, and half a dozen more. 
 
 There was the Music Festival, 
 
 Not yet a feature of the past. 
 
 For which the Chorus had been cast; 
 
 Before the Auditorium fell: 
 
 Full many an anxious fluttering belle, 
 
 Sat dreaming in her box or stall. 
 
 Her face, her form, her shimmering dress 
 
 And voice lost in a wilderness: 
 
 Would it be thus? or would her charm 
 
 So mightily the critic warm: 
 
 He'd single out her pretty self, 
 
 And speak a word in her behalf? 
 
 The Salamander thought he might. 
 
 And hoped to hear her on that night. 
 
 The Salamander loved a horse; 
 And the horse editor in shape, 
 Almost committed there a rape 
 On language in his flying course: 
 For then the 'Derby' had been run; 
 'His Eminence' had nobly won; 
 And twenty thousand gallant men 
 And women sure were present then. 
 Picture of 'Churchill Downs' in glowing 
 Colors that made a brilliant showing; 
 Pictured the beauty on the stand; 
 
Adolphus Salamander 15 
 
 Pictured the music of the band; 
 How e 'er the running had begun, 
 A rabbit started on a run; 
 And how that mascot of the place, 
 Was cornered, captured in disgrace. 
 
 Then the horse editor cut loose 
 
 And visited the betting shed; 
 
 He had put water on his head: 
 
 His temples burning with the news. 
 
 Described the surging of the crowd; 
 
 Described the various betting booths; 
 
 And smacked his lips when various goods, 
 
 All liquid, fluttered from his pen: 
 
 Drank them in memory o'er again: 
 
 And praised the management throughout. 
 
 Then the horse editor went forth 
 
 Where fine equipages were ranged; 
 
 Where lovely dames his thoughts deranged; 
 
 And Colonels hailed him as a sport; 
 
 Where children romped upon the green; 
 
 And dogs took interest in the scene. 
 
 Surely! Van Meter and his horse. 
 
 He must have met them in his course? 
 
 He did. And with the pedigree 
 
 Nailed as the colors to the mast 
 
 Are nailed, when the last die is cast. 
 
 He fought all rivals for the crown 
 
 Of eminence and put them down. 
 
 Pardon! he may have been too free. 
 
 Then the horse editor with one 
 
 Last effort and a gasp was done. 
 
 A negro with a string of fish. 
 He had been fishing on the dam. 
 Asked for a match, and given this. 
 Rolled up a cigarette and placed 
 It lighted in the gap that graced 
 His visage and went forward then. 
 
 Parochial schools, and public schools, 
 And colleges of higher class: 
 Before the editor did pass. 
 The Manual Training with its tools; 
 The Normal where the teachers are; 
 
16 A Last Token 
 
 Famous Academies, that star 
 
 The pages of the magazines: 
 
 Proud of their educatioual means; 
 
 School of Reform for boys and girls; 
 
 Invective that the editor hurls 
 
 At some deficiency or form: — 
 
 Made this, this page with coloring warm. 
 
 The 'Star Eyed Goddess of Reform' 
 
 May dwell in heart of Louisville, 
 
 And Henry Watterson may will 
 
 To make her leader in a storm: 
 
 But the perversity of man 
 
 Will interfere with such a plan. 
 
 The Polytechnic Library, 
 
 Where sixty thousand books are stored: 
 
 An offer had from Carnegie, 
 
 The steel magnate and building man; 
 
 A picturesque Briton on the run, 
 
 Chasing the dollar with a gun: 
 
 His whiskers waving now and then. 
 
 Was it not so, he could afford 
 
 A hundred thousand dollar check? 
 
 In truth a mere financial speck. 
 
 The 'Courier Journal' critic here 
 Rose to a height not reached before; 
 He locked and double locked the door; 
 Then he kept whacking at his brow. 
 His eyeballs staring and aglow, 
 Knowing that something must appear. 
 It did; it rose within the room: 
 A building, looking like a boom 
 In Oklahoma, when a rush 
 Is made for homesteads in the brush; 
 
 This was the bran new Library, 
 That for a thousand years might stand; 
 A building worthy of the land: 
 And partly due to Carnegie. 
 This caused the staring of his eyes; 
 This caused the whacking of his brow; 
 He rose, and brushing off the flies. 
 Unlocked the door and went below. 
 
 Without a library, a town 
 Would go to blazes be it known: 
 
Adolphus Salamander 17 
 
 Or so tlie Salamander tliought; 
 Though wild he was a thoughtful man 
 And instantly his mind began 
 To mark the future with a nought. 
 
 'The Polytechnic haunts me still; 
 The Polytechnic ever will 
 Be cherished as a memory, 
 Nor yield to Andrew Carnegie. ' 
 
 The Salamander loved a book; 
 Through hot and drowsy summer days, 
 Finding some sweet familiar place, 
 Near to some hill or murmuring brook. 
 Where birds made music in a glade. 
 Always protected by the shade: 
 There he would lie extended then 
 Some book to finish or begin. 
 
 Was anything abnormal seen 
 
 In face, in form or general mien, 
 
 That forest glades his name supplied, 
 
 And probability defied? 
 
 Dark through exposure, vigorous limbed, 
 
 With clothing rough and hair untrimmed: 
 
 Such his appearance when he found 
 
 His restless feet on country ground; 
 
 With slight improvements in the same. 
 
 When towns were shying at his name. 
 
 All heroes of the ancient wars; 
 All actors — notably the stars; 
 All noble gentlemen and kings: 
 Are lovers of a masquerade, 
 Have in a sense their devoirs paid: 
 And meddled with mysterious things— 
 
 The Salamander had a home. 
 
 And he had also family ties; 
 
 He loved to ramble and to roam. 
 
 Some girl with dark and dreamy eyes. 
 
 With blushes mantling her cheeks: 
 
 Had been tormenting him for weeks. 
 
 'I've learned, the Salamander said: 
 Some portion of the printer's trade; 
 
18 A Last Token 
 
 I'm used to handling a plow. 
 Born on a farm, my moistened brow 
 Dampened so many handkerchiefs, 
 Led to so many family griefs: 
 That I determined to depart, 
 And make an independent start.' 
 
 *Holy Smoke! my aching heart: 
 Must I from Louisville depart? 
 Better brace up and go to work. 
 The ideal faculties may lurk 
 And seethe below: but pretty Grace 
 Is leading in this Derby race.' 
 
 A steamboat whistled with the weird 
 And wild repeat of western boats; 
 There was some music in the notes; 
 And far below and far above 
 The penetrating sound was heard. 
 An eagle flying, headlong dove. 
 Making as though to strike the boat: 
 Then he considered, and afloat 
 In airy circles moved around: — 
 A half a mile above the ground. 
 
 The Salamander watched the bird — 
 Admiring; and without a word 
 Folded the paper up and rose, 
 Bringing his reading to a close. 
 
 'Grace, said the hero of this tale, 
 Is like a peach or southern gale; 
 The perfume of her dainty skirts 
 E'en with the steamboat landing flirts: 
 I seem to smell them here; my nose 
 Is buried deeply in her clothes. 
 But I am wrong, I know I am; 
 I'm smelling nothing but a ham; 
 I'll make for Hackman's restaurant; 
 Supper is nearly at an end. 
 But something will remain, and then 
 I'll mingle with the rest of men.' 
 
 He had a furnished room in town, 
 Where to the lady he was known 
 As an engraver out of work; 
 
Adolphiis Salamander 19 
 
 He willingly all work would shirk, 
 Such was his lust for travel and 
 For reading anything at hand. 
 
 But something was required, for Grace 
 Had drawn him with her handsome face, 
 And a Bohemian, idle life 
 111 suited with a future wife. 
 So he would go to work, and hope 
 That Fortune throwing him a rope 
 Would yank him up a step or two, 
 And make him wealthy ere he knew. 
 
 Epilogue 
 
 The Courier Journal building caught 
 Afire one night and nearly burned; 
 It might some enmity have earned, 
 For its great Editor had fought 
 For Dixie's land, and evil men 
 Might think about it now and then. 
 
 The Salamander stood before 
 
 The blackened pile so widely known; 
 
 'This is my namesake in the town. 
 
 He thought, while peering through the door: 
 
 Water be-drenched, dilapidated, 
 
 I almost think we are related.^ 
 
 The hero of our tale was washed 
 
 And shaved and also neatly dressed; 
 
 He had been working, and was blessed — 
 
 He never wholly was abashed — 
 
 With a sufficiency of coin 
 
 The Fourth Street promenade to join. 
 
 'Cities, the Salamander thought, 
 Burn up, at least may partly burn; 
 Our very Court House had a turn. 
 
20 A Last Token 
 
 Just think the havoc that was wrought.* 
 He passed the Courier Building, now 
 With lights aglearn and made a bow. 
 
 Another fire, the Times caught on; 
 And Jean Bruce Hathaway a maid 
 Still in her teens, her head upon 
 The snow white of her pillow laid. 
 
 ' This, thought the maiden, this is , 
 
 Oh Lord! do stop it for a spell.' 
 
 Now it so happened that the girl 
 
 The Salamander loved so well, 
 
 Had graduated where the swell 
 
 Young maids their thunderbolts do hurl: 
 
 When dressed in white and graduating, 
 
 Bryn Mawr with thought was palpitating. 
 
 Hence lovely Jean and modest Grace 
 Were chums, and walking arm in arm; 
 Why here is nothing to alarm! 
 The Salamander took his place 
 Between them, till observant Jean 
 Caught on and vanished from the scene. 
 
 'Through me, the lady Grace began, 
 You have survived your evil past; 
 You even from your family ran.' 
 He furtive glances at her cast. 
 Through which the Captain of the boat 
 That Cairo sought all smiling showed. 
 
 And did we hear his name aright. 
 And did she call him Theodore; 
 His prospects certainly were bright, 
 With Beauty knocking at the door; 
 The lizard of the desert might 
 Be on the point of taking flight. 
 
The Widow Clover dale 
 
 'Madame! said Colonel Applegate, 
 The proudest moment of my life 
 Waits on your answer — be my wife; 
 You are a widow, and the weight 
 Of worth is surely on your side: 
 But an old veteran of Lee 's 
 Grand Army, — may his memory be 
 Forever blessed! — has also pride.' 
 
 The Colonel sitting on his horse, 
 The picture of a man at ease, 
 Delivered this with courteous force. 
 She seemed quite difficult to please: — 
 This was the widow Cloverdale. 
 *I thank you Colonel Applegate, 
 In silvery accents Maida said, 
 
 I thank you truly: but the tale 
 
 Of love sounds coarsely to my ears. 
 
 We are unsuitable in years. 
 
 And I may never wed again, 
 
 Yet I am loath to give you pain; 
 
 Let us be friends as heretofore: 
 
 Colonel! go home and think it o'er.' 
 
 The Colonel never said a word, 
 He bowed, he raised his old grey felt: 
 Then in the distance disappeared; 
 The hoofbeats of his horse were heard, 
 And Silence offered him its wealth. 
 
 The Colonel was a kindly man; 
 Horses were neighing as he ncared 
 The rambling mansion that he called 
 His home, and pickaninnies bawled; 
 A dozen pickaninnies ran. 
 Grabbed for the stirrups and the reins: 
 Reckless of shins and even brains: 
 For the good horse was all afoam, 
 And fairly crazy to be home. 
 
22 A Last Token 
 
 Commotion in the mansion house; 
 
 Rumor, a traveler in sport, 
 
 Gave to the Colonel through rej)ort 
 
 The widow Clover dale as spouse. 
 
 Sharp were the eyes that watched him then 
 
 And the condition of his horse; 
 
 The headlong running of his course, 
 
 Proved to them all he did not win. 
 
 The Colonel vanished; and aunt Jane, 
 Having sole charge of all affairs. 
 Stood at the bottom of the stairs 
 In thought, and wondered o'er again 
 Why Maida, beauty though she was: 
 One of the belles of Lexington: 
 Slightly beclouded though her sun 
 Might be, could let the Colonel pass. 
 
 Making some audible comment 
 
 On this condition of affairs. 
 
 Aunt Jane was going up the stairs, 
 
 "When Toxey's voice the silence rent. 
 
 ^Miss Jane, the colored damsel said, 
 
 Hit am dat Ches, I'm sure hit am.' 
 
 Aunt Jane a cautious finger laid 
 
 On lips; and Toxey like the clam 
 
 Eenowned inhabiting the ba}^. 
 
 Shut up, had nothing more to say. 
 
 Also a beauty of the past, 
 
 Aunt Jane still lingered on the shore; 
 
 A Juno worthy of the cast. 
 
 Her charms contrasting all the more 
 
 Through dusky damosels, and stout 
 
 Black matrons everywhere about. 
 
 This majesty of mind and mien 
 Was a protection to the house; 
 Frowning on license and carouse, 
 No immorality was seen. 
 Her Presbyterian prayer book, 
 Frowned on delinquents with a look 
 Of scorn when Sunday came around. 
 Woe to the nigger or the hound, 
 The horse unruly in his stall: 
 Aunt Jane was equal to them all. 
 
The Widow Cloverdale 23 
 
 And yet with qualities so grand 
 
 As these, aunt Jane could still command 
 
 Something of love; at least a show 
 
 Of love was offered her below. 
 
 Cousin of Colonel Applegate 
 
 She ruled both him and the estate. 
 
 In Lexington's environment 
 
 Of country towns and pretty homes, 
 
 The bluegrass miracle that went J 
 
 So smoothly on: that daily foams 
 
 With milk, none better in the land; 
 
 That offers honey to the hand 
 
 In inexhaustible demand; 
 
 And horses thoroughbred and fast; 
 
 Hemp and tobacco of the best: — 
 
 This country paradise aunt Jane 
 
 Surveyed with Toxey by her side. 
 
 Wonder at Maida once again 
 
 Eose up; the Colonel's headlong ride, 
 
 Left not a glimmer of a doubt 
 
 Of this, that Maida snuffed him out. 
 
 'Miss Jane, said Toxey: Marse Ed 
 Am a done goner wif dat gal; 
 An Ches, he am a hidin war 
 Dem mountain feudists born and bred 
 Dar de police an doubly dar; 
 Dar mout be restin fer a spell. 
 Shall I take somefing on a tray. 
 Miss Jane fer Marse right away?' 
 
 Aunt Jane considered for awhile; 
 The glimmer of a thoughtful smile 
 Appeared and lighted up her face. 
 Then she consented with the grace 
 That Toxey knew and understood: 
 A grace inherent in her blood. 
 
 Before proceeding with our tale 
 It will be proper to avail 
 Ourselves of author's privilege: 
 The glancing backwards at the past, 
 And why our heroine had cast 
 
24 A Last Token 
 
 Contempt and even sacrilege 
 
 At the good Colonel and his farm: — 
 
 Eobbing religion of its charm. 
 
 ^Maida, said Colonel Castlewood, 
 Being in a fine imperious mood, 
 That moonshine fellow of the hills: 
 Why do you tolerate that man? 
 His father, mother, and the clan 
 He mingles with delight in stills, 
 As we delight in thoroughbreds. — 
 His reputation's torn to shreds.' 
 
 The girl but answered 'yes and no,' 
 Her cheeks being also in a glow 
 When her imperious father stopped. 
 Said Colonel Castlewood again: 
 'There's Cloverdale, a man though plain 
 In his appearance, never robbed 
 The Government through secret still, 
 Nor tried a 'Eevenue' to kill.' 
 
 That the young woman heaved a sigh, 
 That she attempted tear to dry 
 May be conceived, and so it was. 
 Her father also had a farm. 
 Where thoroughbred and bluegrass charm 
 Distinguished papa from the mass; 
 While a neat house in Lexington, 
 Enabled business to be done. 
 
 This Lexington is quite a town, 
 
 With a distinction of its own, 
 
 Though dealing largely in the horse; 
 
 It has a cemetery fine 
 
 As any that you can define: 
 
 And a society of course, 
 
 Which in the course of nature will 
 
 The cemetery further fill. 
 
 Eeligion in the soul and heart 
 
 Of Maida, bore a larger part 
 
 Than it will generally do; 
 
 Her father was a widower. 
 
 And had remaining only her: 
 
 Hence his pronounced despotic view; 
 
 And being a fiery Southern man, 
 
 Acting as Providence in plan. 
 
The Widow Clover dale 25 
 
 Though it may not appear to be, 
 Yet 'tis a fact — and naturally — 
 That saints are cognizant of facts; 
 For they are Dreams that roam around, 
 And are familiar with the ground 
 Whereon are happening the acts. 
 And thus may old Kentucky State 
 Be ruled and visited by Fate, 
 
 'Dear mother whom I never knew 
 Wailed Maida, when her spirit flew 
 Towards the inhabitants of light: 
 Why are you absent from my side? 
 Why must I figure as a bride 
 Unwillingly or take to flight? 
 You also were a suffering saint 
 That has to purity attained. ' 
 
 The sun was fast declining south, 
 Some signs of autumn were about, — 
 Persimmons ripened on the tree; 
 Yellow and scarlet leaves at morn 
 Seemed in their beaiity newly born. 
 And birds of song were rare to see. 
 And rabbit's foot in darky's hand 
 Foretold disturbance in the land. 
 
 Item: and then we'll cut this out; 
 Father, and sternly: 'Take this girl 
 Partner of mine and marry her; ' — 
 'Twas thus this item came about; 
 Obedient daughter in a whirl 
 Of wild emotion and of fear. 
 There was her lover Chester Ames, 
 Might he not shoot the guy on sight: 
 A mix up and a general fight. 
 The family mansion red in flames? 
 
 Like as the lightning were her thoughts, 
 Flashing from point to point, as this 
 Or that in ever wilder guess 
 Weighed in the balance all the odds. 
 But she obeyed; and as the tale 
 Was told was wed to Cloverdale. 
 
25 A Last To ken 
 
 As is well known, the atmosphere 
 
 Affects a lover and a maid; 
 
 For even when the vows are said, 
 
 And hopes upon the altar laid, 
 
 A storm may suddenly appear; 
 
 A raging matrimonial sea 
 
 Will then develop, and a lee 
 
 Of shore will threaten with a wreck. 
 
 Maida being dutiful and good, 
 
 Her new position understood: — 
 
 Her conscience keeping to the track. 
 
 Her father's house was still her home; 
 'Twas there that Cloverdale did come, 
 Renting his dwelling in the town; 
 He was a business man and shrewd. 
 His hobby horses: and imbued 
 With a desire to hold his own. 
 In this quiet manner passed a year. 
 Nor did the mountaineer appear. 
 
 Pearl Waters, Maida 's servant maid, 
 A colored damsel with a shade 
 Of color blindness in her soul, 
 Could not forget the mountaineer. 
 He did so picturesque appear. 
 And filled so well the lover's role. 
 That when he suddenly appeared 
 In town her caution disappeared. 
 
 There also was an after fact: 
 
 Maida a mother had become, 
 
 A baby girl had reached the home. 
 
 And instinct of the racing man, 
 
 With colts and fillies in his head. 
 
 Some curious speculation bred. 
 
 The Handicapper entered then — 
 
 Let us consider Cloverdale 
 
 As such and Owner in the tale: — 
 
 His infant daughter in a race; 
 
 Entered her as a two year old; 
 
 Of course she was a thoroughbred. 
 
 And was a wonder to behold. 
 
 Hopeful he was she 'd get the place. 
 
 But in the stretch she leaped out from 
 
 The bunch and galloped winner home. 
 
The Widow CI over dale 27 
 
 Full of approval of the act 
 
 He made his will, and settled all 
 
 He had on both beyond recall. 
 
 Both Castlewood and he were men 
 Who mingled with the upper ten 
 Of the fair town of Lexington; 
 Being owners of the thoroughbred, 
 Their stable lesser stables led 
 In races and in purses won. 
 Hence they were held in high esteem, 
 And were a conversational theme. 
 
 The Stable had returned; and now 
 The trainer, jockey, and the low 
 Contingent of the stable boys, 
 Could sit around the door and smoke: 
 Or from the farm the newly broke 
 Young colts and fillies, like the toys 
 Of future sport, bring forth to view. 
 And ask each Owner would they do. 
 
 Though it was Christmas week, the air 
 Was balmy as a County Fair: — 
 It drew all people out of doors; 
 And Maida and her servant girl, 
 In other words the precious Pearl, 
 Were also gazing at the stores. 
 'Twas good they left the baby home. 
 For trouble surely had to come. 
 
 'I wonder if the baby cries, 
 Or is she still asleep?' for wise 
 Were both the women on that point; 
 'Oh! ' cried the maid, and staggered back: 
 For there appearing in their track 
 Was Ches, from intercourse enjoined; 
 And Pearl kept smiling at him so. 
 That he appeared as loath to go. 
 
 Just at that moment Cloverdale, 
 Came with a horse he had for sale 
 Around the corner on the group; 
 With butt end of the whip a swoop 
 He made, and aimed a fearful blow 
 At Ches that might have laid him low; 
 
28 A Last Token 
 
 But his agility of foot 
 
 Stood in good stead the hapless youth. 
 
 He grappled with the 'iron man' 
 As Cloverdale was better known, 
 And a fierce struggle then began; 
 That hero tried to run him down 
 And showered blows, but all in vain: 
 Bold Chester was himself again; 
 And the hard pavement of the town 
 Welcomed the iron man when down. 
 
 Mistress and maid stood trembling by, 
 Wholly unable while the fight 
 Progressed to either help or fly. 
 The conflict was a bloody sight; 
 And Chester with a yell leaped on 
 The horse and in a flash was gone. 
 
 The crowd picked up the 'iron man' 
 While some opined his neck was broke, 
 Then with an effort Maida spoke: 
 'Oh take him home to me;' and ran 
 More swiftly than the bearers could 
 Before to meet her father's mood: 
 For though all innocent of guile 
 The girl yet blame pursued awhile. 
 
 He was not seriously hurt; 
 
 The hammering he had incurred 
 
 Had drawn some blood and made him swoon. 
 
 Nor, when he fully understood 
 
 From Pearl how matters really stood: 
 
 Did he go crazy as a loon, 
 
 Merely because some foolish boy 
 
 Had ouce tried Maida to enjoy. 
 
 His wife went with him to complain 
 About the arrogant and vain 
 Demeanor of the mountain man; 
 The riding of the horse away 
 After the ending of the fray, 
 Placed the young fellow under ban — 
 For it was stealing, and the law 
 Would not its enmity withdraw. 
 
The Widow Clover dale 29 
 
 But Fayette's Sheriff had a task 
 Before him, and a * moonshine' flask 
 Might be required to help him through; 
 For with a warrant in his hand 
 To go into that mountain land, 
 Was really more than he could do; 
 So leaning on the Law's delay, 
 'Twas best to file his case away. 
 
 Another year went speeding by, 
 Nor rainbow promise in the sky 
 That life more rosier would grow; 
 The snow and ice appeared again. 
 And racing horses was in vain 
 As all of Lexington did know; 
 So they sat smoking pipes around 
 The door and spitting on the ground. 
 
 ' Daughter, said Colonel Castlewood, 
 When Maida with her baby stood 
 Looking at winter out of doors: 
 I have a fine new Bible here. 
 Wherein your daughter may appear 
 As a full settlement of scores; 
 For I am rather harsh at times. 
 Though innocent of greater crimes.' 
 
 Though it may not appear to be. 
 Yet 'tis a fact — and naturally — 
 That saints are cognizant of facts; 
 For they are Dreams that roam around. 
 And are familiar with the ground 
 Whereon are happening the acts. 
 And this is surely true, for know 
 That Cloverdale was dying now. 
 
 The Monument to Henry Clay 
 Saw thither coming on a day 
 When it was frosty as the Pole, 
 The finest hearse in Lexington, 
 To bury there a favorite son — 
 The Cemetery being the goal. 
 And all the horsemen of the town 
 Gave Cloverdale a fair renown. 
 
30 A Last Token 
 
 Unconsciously e'en to herself 
 Affection^ subtle little elf, 
 Had entered in her married life; 
 And she regarded burial place 
 Of Cloverdale with pious gaze, 
 And felt as should a widowed wife. 
 This was consoling, and her maid 
 Pearl Waters Hhank you' for it said. 
 
 A monument now marks the spot 
 Where Cloverdale lies in the lot 
 He bought while still a living man; 
 While Castlewood and Maida with 
 The baby on a bench would sit, 
 While neither had a future plan. 
 Said Castlewood: 'I'll race alone 
 Awhile. ' And Maida stayed at home. 
 
 In course of time young gentlemen, 
 And the fair girls of Lexington 
 Made calls on Colonel Castlewood; 
 And Maida, smiling once again. 
 Played hostess to the gay and vain. 
 And met approval for her mood; 
 And also gradually laid 
 Her mourning off or changed a shade. 
 
 'Twas then that Colonel Applegate 
 Made his proposal at the gate. 
 And offered her his heart and hand. 
 She hugged her Mary Margaret 
 To bosom as the Colonel sped 
 On horseback to his farming land; 
 Watching his figure disappear 
 With marriage offer in her ear. 
 
 We are now able to resume 
 
 Our narrative from starting point; 
 
 A nook or corner to illume 
 
 Of Lexington nor disappoint; 
 
 The Bluegrass and the thoroughbred 
 
 Being overweighted for the lead. 
 
 Wonder of wonders! Lexington 
 Had a sensation in a way 
 But dreamt of in a comic play: 
 
The Widow Clover dale 31 
 
 For Colonel Applegate had done 
 
 The proper thing, had wooed aunt Jane: 
 
 Haltered his neck with silken chain, 
 
 And posing as a Benedict 
 
 Was too sublime to e'en depict. 
 
 A colt and filly on the farm 
 Were named in honor of the two; 
 And Maida, smiling at the charm, 
 Yet somehow lighter hearted grew: 
 For Castlewood and Applegate 
 Were friends and much together late. 
 
 The pike was crowded with the teams 
 That glittered in the sunset beams, 
 And bound for dancing at the farm. 
 The chicken coops had suffered some, 
 When uncle Daniel toted home 
 The rooster keeping him from harm: 
 For he might strike his spurs into 
 A horse, or bite a limb in two. 
 
 Imagine it and let it go. 
 Was Maida also at the show? 
 Aye sir! that melancholy dame 
 Had brought her father to the farm; 
 Pearl and the baby keeping warm 
 In kitchen annex, where the flame 
 Made shadows on the wall, when cook 
 Did pans or kettles overlook. 
 
 The air was frosty, though the Spring 
 Was hard at work endeavoring 
 To start the sap within the trees; 
 And a red cardinal or two 
 Eose high in air for better view — 
 When morning came — of bumble bees. 
 Yet winter lingered, and a fall 
 Of snow was possible with all. 
 
 But let the weather go; 'tis night, 
 And the whole house is full of light 
 And music and of merriment; 
 They danced, they also ate and drank; 
 And Colonel Castlewood would clank 
 With Colonel Applegate his friend: 
 
32 A Last Token 
 
 Emptied their glasses o'er again, — 
 The Lord knows! — counting is in vain. 
 
 Drinking brought on the * moonshine ' stills, 
 Contemptuous reference to hills, 
 And finally brought on Chester Ames. 
 
 * Colonel, said Colonel Applegate, 
 What is the use of bearing hate? 
 
 Your daughter mingles with my dames: 
 She is a peach; look, how her cheeks 
 Are fairly glowing when she speaks. ' 
 
 *My friend, said Colonel Castlewood, 
 His usual high imperious mood 
 Toned down, and mellowed by the drink: 
 I bear no enmity to Ches; 
 But he ain't fairly in my class — 
 You understand. I can not think 
 Why Maida in her foolish heart 
 Should wish from Lexington to part. ' 
 
 * She '11 never leave you Castlewood; 
 Here is your brand of whisky — good! 
 I'll fill your glass and fill my own. 
 But I was saying, let it end; 
 
 This mountain fellow will descend: 
 Become a citizen of town.' 
 'I feel, said Castlewood again, 
 A little foggy in my brain. ' 
 
 The guests had eaten, danced, and drankj 
 And quiet over the mansion sank 
 When Colonel Castlewood retired. 
 But Colonel Applegate remained, 
 Also his wife, and Toxey trained 
 To do as Madame her desired. 
 Thus passed the remnant of the night: 
 Bringing both Colonels into sight. 
 
 The breeding mares and stallions fine, 
 Their own and others in that line, 
 Were glanced at with a reverend awe. 
 They spoke of Domino and sighed; 
 While Imp was almost deified, 
 A mare without a single flaw. 
 'Here uncle Daniel;' Castlewood 
 Held forth a coin, in liberal mood. 
 
The Widow Clover dale 33 
 
 And Colonel Applegate went home, 
 Followed by Madame and her maid; 
 Then finger on her lips she laid 
 And bade Pearl Waters to her come. 
 *And this is what you heard last night?' 
 * Yes, said the maid. ' * Well go you now 
 And find out something; find out how 
 My ill used lover viewed his plight.' 
 With purse in pocket Pearl departed: 
 Her doleful Mistress lighter hearted. 
 
 After you leave the Bluegrass plain 
 The mountains come in view again: — 
 Virginia, Georgia, Tennessee; 
 The Carolinas also rise; 
 And altogether they comprise 
 A rocky prospect, wild of tree: 
 With rivers of romantic touch, 
 And all not peopled overmuch. 
 
 Mention was made that to the hills 
 Pearl Waters, Maida's servant maid, 
 Had lately there a visit paid; 
 And as that damsel had the frills 
 Of a poetic intellect, 
 To give her story more effect: 
 We as the simpler character, 
 Will put her story down for her. 
 
 Passing through Danville, and returned 
 She said by way of Winchester, 
 She had been gone — we follow her — 
 A week and had her money earned. 
 
 Ches was a-hunting for a bear 
 That had just issued from its lair. 
 And he was trailing through the woods; 
 The echoes of his hounds were heard 
 Around the compass she averred, 
 And were disturbing in their moods: 
 For though she had a mountain guide 
 She couldn't come near him for a sight. 
 
 ^Better come in my cabin girl, 
 The guide made offering to Pearl: 
 For it is useless trailing him.' 
 
34 A Last Token 
 
 He killed the bear and brought it home; 
 And Pearl was eating of it some, 
 Though it was moderately slim: 
 For as she poured in Maida's ear 
 The tale, the bear had slept a year. 
 
 'And did you ask him if the horse 
 
 Had been returned?' Said Pearl: 'Of course, 
 
 I asked him that the first of all, 
 
 And mentioned Colonel Applegate; 
 
 And Ches said, 'Yes;' and further said 
 
 He 'd make that genelman a call, 
 
 For I jest hinted that no harm 
 
 Would come, his friendship being so warm.' 
 
 Women are liberal of mind 
 In love and matters of that kind. 
 Though e'er suspicious of the man. 
 Said Maida: 'Did you let him know 
 'Twas me that sent you, did you now?' 
 ' No, said the girl, the b 'ar jest ran 
 Into my head, and when he shot 
 The b'ar I 'clare I clear forgot.' 
 
 Pearl was a friend, and Maida knew 
 The story of the girl was true: 
 So she expected Ches in town; 
 Though but a mountaineer, his dress 
 Was gentlemanly nevertheless. 
 When he took notion running down; 
 And his fine qualities of mind 
 Would make him mingle with her kind. 
 
 The characters are few, in this 
 Our little tale that ends in bliss, 
 For the two lovers came together; 
 Aunt Jane and Toxey hurried thither; 
 The Colonels rode through Lexington 
 As though the Derby had been won; 
 And all the matrons of the town, 
 With debutantes of renown. 
 Were waiting for the wedding day, 
 And wished to give the bride away. 
 
 The month of June seems more in tune 
 With loves and doves and wedding rings, 
 
The Widow Clover dale 35 
 
 Than half the continent that brings 
 Fair April to the front: or sings 
 About the charm of harvest moon. 
 
 One Sunday morn the church was packed, 
 
 The gossips of the town all clacked 
 
 In unison like breeding hens; 
 
 Some half a dozen hands seized pens, 
 
 Or pencil stubs, and wrote it off: 
 
 The women eloquent enough. 
 
 From the appearance of the bride, 
 They to the mountaineer did glide: 
 With a rehearsal of his case, 
 And settlement of his disgrace. 
 
 Imagine it and let it go; 
 The hilltops people in a glow; 
 While uncle Daniel to and fro, 
 Captured the chicken in the coop; 
 And fried or boiled it into soup; 
 With watermillion from the souf 
 As dessert also in his mouf. 
 
 Eeader! if e'er you've felt at heart 
 The stirrings of a lover's dream, 
 The forward leaping when a gleam 
 Of hope or promise took your part: 
 Then you can sympathize with these 
 Two lovers, as a gentleman 
 Finds pleasure when another man 
 Succeeds; though nothing to increase 
 His record in the fortune line 
 May meet him but this part divine. 
 
 The mountaineer may love a horse. 
 But he is not a racing man; 
 This statement would remain in force. 
 E'en though the handicapper ran 
 His distance and his weight to suit. 
 And gave him money yet to boot. 
 
 They raced in Spring, they raced in Fall 
 At Lexington or Churchill Downs; 
 And any person can recall 
 Who Zienap or Sir Huon owns. 
 While Castlewood, in ha])py mood 
 Amongst the foremost owners stood. 
 
36 A Last Token 
 
 Now Maida througli environment, 
 And through heredity as well, 
 Has, I believe, a natural bent 
 Towards the ringing of the bell. 
 Or trumpet to the paddock blowing: 
 Meaning they're off and still agoing. 
 
 There are some corners of the earth 
 Where racing is considered sport; 
 But speaking for myself 'tis worth 
 A handful less than gun's report. 
 I care not for the racing game, 
 Nor want connection with the same. 
 
 The mountaineer who lately had 
 Indulged in marrying the Widow, 
 His heart still going pit-a-pat. 
 Compared her to a blooming meadow: 
 Where horses and the cattle browse 
 In sight of colonnaded house. 
 
 'Come here you Mary Margaret 
 And let me dandle you awhile.' 
 *No, said the child, I'd like to sit 
 Upon a horse and ride a mile.' 
 A diminutive Bluegrass belle. 
 Enchanted through prevailing spell. 
 
 The mountain scenery though rough. 
 The lonely cabin rudely built, 
 The lightning striking near the bluff. 
 And bear or two he lately killed: 
 Were all remembered with a sigh 
 And brought some moisture to his eye. 
 
 The proud young fellow Chester Ames 
 Was homesick surely for awhile. 
 'Come here,' said Maida, blessed names 
 Of saints appearing in her smile. 
 She yielded to her lover's wish. 
 And settled matters with a kiss. 
 
 When Maida understood they left 
 For the rude cabin right away. 
 The maid called Pearl could make a shift- 
 So she averred and pass a day. 
 'We're coming back again, the wife 
 And mother called, if we're alive.' 
 
The Diary of Ada Brown 
 
 The mountaineers came rushing down, 
 A torrent on a peaceful town: 
 They yelled for Taylor to a man; 
 Their guns were loaded, and their plan 
 Was through a show of threatening force 
 To hail him Governor of course. 
 
 Were he but Governor in name, 
 
 Their threatened rush would be a shame: 
 
 But he was Governor in fact; 
 
 All the hill counties helped elect 
 
 This man, and neither Goebel should — 
 
 Nor Beckham thwart them in their mood. 
 
 Here was a feud with all the prime 
 Accessories a feud required. 
 Making with all the speed desired 
 A perfect tragedy on time. 
 
 The time was winter, and the ground 
 In snowy mantle had been wound: 
 The birthday of Our Lord was passed; 
 The hills and rivers all were classed 
 With peace on earth, good will to man: 
 When this wild deviltry began. 
 
 It is a curious fact that one, 
 
 A fair young woman should alone 
 
 Take strenuous interest in these scenes: 
 
 Her sympathy to Goebel leans; 
 
 For her old father fought with Lee; 
 
 And cherishing his memory, 
 
 The old Confederate life received 
 
 Her praise: — was loyally believed. 
 
 'I recollect how Murril Brown — 
 
 She wrote: was honored in this town.' 
 
 It was the Civil War again 
 In mimicry upon the plain 
 That honored Frankfort as a town; 
 Like as when noble Lincoln fell. 
 So sounded now the funeral bell 
 For Goebel, fair Kentucky's own. 
 
38 A Last Token 
 
 We quote this passage from the book, 
 That Ada such delight in took. 
 
 With no acknowledged leadership, 
 
 The hill contingent with a hip 
 
 And wild hurrah had entered town; 
 
 The greatest courtesy was shown: 
 
 Taylor was seated in his chair 
 
 Of State but with a troubled air: 
 
 For Hazelrigg, his enemy. 
 
 As the Supreme Court Judge you see 
 
 Denounced the act and called him down; 
 
 Ordered his friends to leave the town; 
 
 And with a fine judicial air, 
 
 Did of the 'Goebel Law' declare: 
 
 That it was passed and dominant; 
 
 And illustrated the intent 
 
 Of dominant Democracy. 
 
 The mountains in conspiracy 
 
 Have entered town; and I declare — 
 
 Said the great Judge, that Taylor's share 
 
 As leader of this villainy. 
 
 Looks badly for his liberty. 
 
 The Court, its dignity and aim 
 Inclined towards the Goebel claim. 
 
 The colonnaded Capitol, 
 
 Where Marshall's eloquence did roll 
 
 In fiery sentences around; 
 
 Where Clay and Breckinridge were found: 
 
 Bramlette and Eobinson as well; 
 
 Familiar with the Eebel yell 
 
 From field where Zollicoffer fell; 
 
 With Rousseau and with General Buell: — 
 
 Was now a wild political school; 
 
 With all its dignity and name 
 
 But echoes of a former fame. 
 
 We'll quote again from Ada's book, 
 As being entitled to a look. 
 
 The Executive Mansion bore 
 The imprint of a hostile hand. 
 Looked something like a foreign land 
 With soldiers standing at the door: 
 
The Diary of Ada Brown 39 
 
 Armed to the teeth and with a loud 
 Imperious challenge to the crowd. 
 
 Disconsolately she her head 
 That night upon th*"* pillow laid, 
 And slept and had a fearful dream: 
 Goebel was murdered was the theme; 
 And Taylor with his mountain men 
 Viewed the remains and drew him in. 
 
 In wild alarm when Ada woke 
 She rose, and gazed upon the street; 
 Listened for sounds and hurrying feet: 
 But not a sound the silence broke. 
 The State House Square, the State House stoop 
 Were wholly vacant; not a group 
 Warmed up the wintry landscape scene: 
 Nothing whatever to be seen. 
 
 Only some mountaineers in rough 
 Attire — though picturesque enough. 
 Were further down: their noisy talk 
 Beaching her hearing in their walk. 
 These though an object of alarm. 
 More in the nature of a charm 
 Appeared; they looked so harmless then; — 
 And Ada quietly went in. 
 
 She had her breakfast, combed her hair, 
 And looked again upon the Square. 
 
 *As I was sitting in my room 
 And looking towards Lewis Street, 
 I saw Jack Chinn about to meet 
 With Goebel — going to his doom. 
 The pair were walking slowly on. 
 When suddenly a shot rang out: 
 Hardly a soul was then about; 
 And Goebel, staggering, fell upon 
 The solitary walk; his blood 
 Staining his garments and the mud. 
 
 As Chinn stood looking at his friend — 
 Seeming as dazed — a helpless man, 
 Some dozen men towards them ran 
 Shouting, and willing to befriend. 
 
40 A Last Token 
 
 They carried Goebel in between 
 
 Them all to Kagin's restaurant; 
 
 He tried to make them understand 
 
 How it occurred; but here the scene 
 
 Of course was visible no more, 
 
 As the whole crowd went through the door. 
 
 'Then came a mob of mountain men, 
 One with a pistol in his hand, 
 A most unsympathizing band: 
 Swearing and laughing now and then. 
 I heard myself a wretch declare 
 That God and Politics were there; 
 He said it in a jeering tone, 
 Lingered a moment and was gone. ' 
 
 From Kagin's restaurant the crowd 
 Bore Goebel to the Capitol, 
 Where Hazelrigg — good loyal soul! 
 Him as the Governor avowed. 
 Handed a Bible to the man. 
 Whose darkened eyes could scarcely scan 
 What he was holding in his hand: — 
 And Goebel vanished from the land. 
 
 After the verdict from the Court, 
 The mountain men had left in part: 
 Their own affairs compelled a start; 
 Although a few of wilder sort 
 Still toted pistols through the town. 
 And viewed proceedings with a frown. 
 
 After the funeral was o'er 
 
 A day — perhaps a little more, 
 
 A tall and bearded mountaineer: 
 
 The very figure for a feud. 
 
 His oath to Taylor then renewed. 
 
 Why he should do so is not clear; 
 
 He calmly viewed the State House Square 
 
 And vanished, going anywhere. 
 
 Thus perished Goebel in his prime; 
 The greatest statesman of his time 
 In the Kentucky Commonwealth. 
 His taking off was widely felt. 
 Denounced — defended — as the state 
 
The Diary of Ada Brown 41 
 
 Of mind inclined to love or hate, 
 
 It penetrated every home 
 
 And heart like Ca?sar's death at Eome. 
 
 The Montagues and Capulets, 
 
 Mixed Vi\} with pretty Juliets, 
 
 Caused a commotion in their day; 
 
 Here was a similar array 
 
 Of family feuds and border feuds, 
 
 That echoed through the mournful woods: 
 
 Filling innumerable graves 
 
 With dead, the resting place of braves. 
 
 Beckham, the gentlemanly youth 
 Whom Ada took an interest in, 
 Began his elegant pursuit 
 Of politics as next of kin: 
 He was the heir. And Hazelrigg, 
 With a fresh hold upon his wig. 
 Gave him his title to the name 
 Of Governor and future fame. 
 
 The next thing was the Fuqua girl. 
 Which put all Frankfort in a whirl; 
 To Owensboro for a bride 
 Did the young Beckham homewards ride. 
 A Bluegrass filly, thoroughbred: 
 With a long pedigree that led 
 Back to the mother of us all 
 Called Eve, and most divinely tall. 
 
 'Our best society to her took, 
 
 Ada imagined in her book. 
 
 Like whisky aged for family use; 
 
 More piquant than a mountain ruse, 
 
 When ambuscading forces lie 
 
 In wait and someone has to die.' 
 
 Though half in mourning was her heart. 
 
 And half in doubt remained her mind, 
 
 Ada resolved to play her part, 
 
 And left the bride not far behind. 
 
 At the Eeception Ada shone 
 
 Almost as well as anyone. 
 
 She was presented to the Bride. 
 
42 A Last Token 
 
 Her mother's sentimental side 
 Was also gratified as well, 
 When Beckham talking to her fell; 
 And with an almost filial air 
 Drew eyes and honors to her chair. 
 
 The Ball! a crowd from Louisville, 
 The Pennyroyal and the hill 
 Was present in the happy town: 
 Frankfort the scene of great renown. 
 All through the night the music blared; 
 The lights continuously glared; 
 Perfumes from dresses and from flowers, 
 Suggested Oriental bowers; 
 And Beckham, dancing with his bride. 
 Prom none his happiness could hide. 
 He also danced with Ada when 
 The dawn came nearly peeping in. 
 
 And summing up the general view 
 That the fair writer from it drew: 
 * Omit the dresses and the flowers, 
 Omit the passing of the hours. 
 Still Washington at social height 
 Couldn 't outdo Frankfort on that night. ' 
 
 'Tis not the Ehine, and yet the river 
 Called the Kentucky may deliver 
 Some most romantic scenery; 
 From Cincinnati on a boat, 
 Or Louisville in auto coat 
 Are pretty hills and greenery; 
 You travel through a purer air 
 Than the smoke ridden cities bear. 
 
 Frankfort is not unpicturesque, 
 There are some hills around the town; 
 Nor is the city overgrown. 
 Nor is its commerce very brisk. 
 What it was built for is the grand 
 And noble right to rule the land. 
 For what with Lincoln as a son 
 Of old Kaintuck in Washington; 
 And Davis also from the State 
 The South 's affairs to regulate: 
 The glamour of these mighty names 
 
The Diary of Ada Brown 43 
 
 Causes confusion in its aims. 
 The Goebel Law and Taylor's guns 
 Combine to educate its sons. 
 
 The whims and vagaries of mind 
 And lapses of the memory, 
 The birthright of a fair lady: 
 Leave man, her equal, far behind. 
 
 And Ada's mother had been born 
 In Breathitt county of a morn: 
 And feuds were at her fingers' tips. 
 And names of outlaws on her lips. 
 
 The Strongs were on the Federal side 
 When Civil War did State divide; 
 While the bold Amys helped the South, 
 Though in the end were beaten out. 
 The Hargis and the Callahan, 
 And many another fighting man. 
 And many a fight and bloody feud 
 She knew and told when in the mood. 
 
 The mountain country knew her name. 
 And did respect this Southern dame: 
 For it could trust her in a feud; 
 She mediated in pursuit; 
 And offered money or advice — 
 The man who sought her in disguise. 
 
 The Hatfields and McCoys had seen 
 Her acting as a go between; 
 Also the French and Eversole 
 Petitioned that the worthy soul 
 Would sit in judgment on their feuds: 
 Like as a Portia of the woods. 
 
 Eest ye ye mountain fighting men! 
 And still remember that akin 
 You are to people on the plain; 
 You may be peaceable again. 
 You may develop yet the height. 
 That like a flower in the light 
 Will be admired for beauty, where 
 Of late but rifles flashed in air. 
 
44 A Last Token 
 
 As for the Fugitive abroad, 
 
 How fared he with his heavy load? 
 
 Taylor on Indiana ground, 
 
 Was recognized by Governor Mound. 
 
 Jim Howard, Youtsey and a score 
 Of other gentlemen — or more: 
 Were either hiding in the hills. 
 Or busy with their various wills: 
 Not knowing but the sheriff might 
 Cut loose, and hang them on a night; 
 While Caleb Powers raised his hand 
 To heaven and pardon did demand. 
 
 Of course the winter now was gone; 
 The hills more beautiful and blue. 
 Looked charming from a distant view: 
 Themselves would fascinate alone. 
 
 Parties from Louisville came up 
 To Frankfort on a boating trip; 
 And the great plain with finest farms, 
 A rolling country with its charms: 
 Home of the famous thoroughbred; 
 The negro with his woolly head; 
 The man with domineering mind, 
 And woman fairest of her kind. 
 
 And this is Paradise you say? 
 Nonsense! here storms have also sway; 
 Eead but the record of some proud 
 Old family with wealth endowed: 
 And melancholy traits appear 
 Of troubles and the hidden tear. 
 In Ada's glimpses of the town 
 You'll find it gently written down. 
 
 A fine appearing robust man. 
 With an immensity of plan 
 For betterment of human life: 
 One day in Frankfort did arrive. 
 And Ada in her Diary wrote: 
 *0h! for possession of a vote; 
 I am a Democrat and can 
 Not sympathize with other men.' 
 
The Diary of Ada Brown 45 
 
 'Twas William Jennings Bryan, clad 
 In rustic joy and oratory; 
 He captured Frankfort witli a story: 
 And Beckham with the silver fad. 
 
 That elegant young gentleman, 
 
 Was fascinated with the plan 
 
 The silver orator proposed: 
 
 To lay at last the Taylor ghost. 
 
 ' 'Tis victory or death to me, 
 
 And you can't ignore it you see.' 
 
 And it is true at any rate: — 
 
 Bryan and Beckham swept the State. 
 
 'We went to Breathitt 'tother day. 
 Writes Ada in a genial way: — 
 To Jackson where my uncle lives; 
 My ma in family believes. 
 And uncle Bennett also fought 
 With the Confederates as he ought. 
 
 Six tall young fellows shook my hand, 
 All cousins of the mountain brand; 
 While Lucy — whom I met before, 
 Kissed me a dozen times or more. 
 Mother and Mary — uncle 's wife, 
 Kept the whole neighborhood alive 
 With talk: — vay mother likes to talk; 
 While I indulged in country walk. 
 
 This Jackson was the County seat. 
 And in appearance was as neat 
 As Frankfort: and I was surprised. 
 Nor did I notice any man 
 Who fighting on the streets began, 
 Nor other deviltry devised; 
 Both men and women frankly took 
 My hand, and heartily it shook. 
 
 Not many negroes in the place; 
 There's small encouragement for race 
 Of woolly heads in mountain land. 
 The cattle climb the steepest hill; 
 The apples go to cider mill: — 
 Light duties for the native hand; 
 While here and there a school is seen, 
 Or picturesque church within the green.' 
 
46 A Last Toke n 
 
 Old fashioned was the Frankfort home, 
 Where often visitors would come, 
 Where Ada and her mother dwelt; 
 Both mother and the daughter were 
 Not lacking in the worldly share 
 Of what is called in German 'gelt': 
 A modest little fortune — true. 
 But yet enough the pair to do. 
 
 The touches of refinement given 
 To rooms, when by the fury driven 
 That fills a woman in a home; 
 Also the dresses of the girl, 
 Her own, — the Singer in a whirl: — 
 Kept the old lady in a foam. 
 Though Ada with a helping hand 
 Might truly have the fairy's wand. 
 
 'Our servant girl is just a duck: 
 Ada commented on their luck 
 In that delightful book of hers; 
 Amantus of the woolly locks. 
 A perfect Samson with my frocks 
 And skirts when washing day occurs. 
 I'm filled with pity for the man 
 Who'll marry Manty — if he can.' 
 
 It was a gloomy day, for rain 
 
 Was drenching Frankfort once again, 
 
 When tinkle tinkle went the bell; 
 
 Amantus rested for a spell, 
 
 Walked to the door with ponderous step 
 
 And asked the visitor: 'What's upf 
 
 'Tis Elmer Strong, I know his voice: 
 Has he been fighting with the boys?' 
 And the old lady left the room. 
 In a few seconds more the gloom 
 Was deepened more, when all returned 
 To where in grate a coal fire burned. 
 
 The Breathitt county mountaineer, 
 To more advantage did appear 
 When he was sitting in a chair; 
 Though he was big he had the air 
 Of being intelligent and bright: 
 
The Diary of Ada Brown 47 
 
 The figure for a legal fight; 
 And such undoubtedly he was: 
 A lawyer of the better class. 
 
 *And did I bring the rain along, 
 
 And memories of feud and wrong 
 
 Miss Ada, to your pretty town? 
 
 Also the memories of war. 
 
 And paling of your Southern star: 
 
 By both our fathers written down? 
 
 I knew your father Ada; sure! 
 
 I knew him well through mountain tour. ^ 
 
 'And you were on the Federal side, — 
 At least your family: replied 
 Ada's fair mother at this point; 
 And you will doubtless think it wrong 
 Our singing even Dixie's song: 
 And your fine feelings disappoint. 
 Sing 'Dixie' Ada: sing it good 
 And loud and warm his Federal blood. ' 
 
 And it was done. Harmonious sound 
 From the piano rolled around: 
 With the soprano of the maid. 
 Amantus with her deeper tones 
 Suggested banjo and the bones: — 
 Her offering in kitchen paid; 
 While the old lady's voice in clear 
 Loud tones in chorus did appear. 
 
 'I've turned your music for you, said 
 
 The mountain man to rebel maid, 
 
 And I demand a kiss as toll. ' 
 
 'Aye, and will you 'prison me in gaol, 
 
 Ada with mischief in her eyes 
 
 Enquired: for saying I despise 
 
 Your offered aid in such a case, 
 
 And wish you absent from the place?' 
 
 Seizing his hat he walked before 
 Mother and daughter to the door; 
 'I'll see you later Mrs. Brown 
 When I am settled in this town. ' 
 And pointing to the girl, he gave 
 His hand a kiss with parting wave: 
 
48 A Last Token 
 
 'Let her remain Confederate 
 
 I am sufficient for the State.' 
 
 And passing through the door, the rain 
 
 And gloom took hold of him again. 
 
 The whims and vagaries of mind 
 And lapses of the memory, 
 The birthright of a fair lady. 
 Leave man her equal far behind. 
 
 'I may yet marry him, who knows?' 
 She was preparing for repose; 
 And with her shoes and stockings off 
 And slippers on, found time enough 
 To seize her pen and write it down. 
 She looked quite pretty in her gown 
 Of white, becoming when the light 
 Is doused and Slumber rules the night. 
 
 Being a religious minded maid, 
 Her evening prayers were duly said; 
 And she might dream of love and law, 
 And all objections to'm withdraw. 
 
 The lawyer, settled in the town. 
 And popular and widely known, 
 Made calls on Ada, and the which 
 The cook's vocabulary did enrich. 
 
 *Dat man 'as got de biggest feet. 
 An' biggest head an' shiniest teeth: 
 Oh Lawd! an' he's Ada's beau; 
 Dar is dat nigger Dick, he'll go 
 Out ov his way wif dat ar hack 
 He drives to funerals wid, and pack 
 Dat mountain feller to his rooms. 
 Somfing afoh dat nigger looms.' 
 
 The heart of woman and her soul! 
 What mortal, eager to control 
 Her love and her religious side, 
 Can here so evenly divide, 
 As to allow her freest range 
 Of will and not himself estrange. 
 
The Diary of Ada Brown 49 
 
 'And so, Ts^rote Ada in her book, 
 My future wears a rosy look 
 For I am promised as a wife; 
 I have been taken to his heart 
 Like as it were a mountain part. 
 That is to lead to future strife: 
 When bullets and the ambuscade 
 Are lurking in the forest shade.' 
 
 Her mother taking her in hand, 
 The outfit of the girl was planned: 
 With wedding dress of mousseline; 
 With orange blossoms in her hair. 
 And roses in her hand — as fair: 
 And day as fine as e'er was seen. 
 Not even Beckham in his pride 
 Of heart led forth a fairer bride. 
 
 'And we were married in the church. 
 Elmer is sitting on the perch 
 Of fame already in this town: 
 For Daughters of Confederacy, 
 Took it to heart that General Lee 
 Might have his picture taken down; 
 At least my bridesmaid, Mable Cross, 
 Whispered her fear of such a loss.' 
 
 The fears of Daughters of the South, 
 Of a Eepublican breaking out. 
 And closing of their Chapter's doors: 
 Surpassed the golf and tennis scores — 
 And hunting of the wily fox. 
 Even the hand that cradle rocks. 
 Trembled indignantly at thought 
 That such a mischief might be wrought. 
 
 The mountain man with simple plan 
 For living peacefully in town: 
 Settled with Ada's mother down. 
 And a new household life began. 
 
 'Here am yo's pictur in de Times 
 Miss Ada wif de Gov'ner's wife; 
 Hit don't look nuffin like de life. 
 Dat ar reporter feller climbs 
 Up fom de waist to reach yo'r head, 
 And makes yo look like mountin bred.' 
 
50 A Last Token 
 
 *I told Amantus: never mind; 
 That Louisville was far behind 
 Our Bluegrass artists in that line; 
 Even the Mountains reached to fine 
 And picturesque effects that way, 
 Not to be caught so far away.' 
 
 'Manty, writes Ada in her book, 
 
 Is a most estimable cook, 
 
 And she is mother's helping hand; 
 
 But she don't like the mountain land; 
 
 I must conciliate a bit 
 
 Or household peace will take a flit.' 
 
 After her marriage to the man 
 
 Of law, his family did plan 
 
 To pay a visit to the town; 
 
 And Breathitt 's character make known, 
 
 When something in the wind appeared 
 
 Like this, as nothing to be feared. 
 
 With all the dignity of mien 
 That may in Southern dames be seen, 
 The Hill contingent was received. 
 And social triumph was achieved. 
 
 Both Ada and her mother wrang 
 More hands, and dark Amantus sang 
 More Dixies in that day or two. 
 Than writer of the verses knew. 
 
 Imagine Elmer 's father tall 
 And strong, delighted with it all, 
 And dancing animated jig; 
 While the old lady near as big, 
 Walloped some pickaninnies sound. 
 Who open mouthed hung around. 
 
 At last the clan, or family 
 Eeturned again, and did agree 
 That Frankfort was a pretty town. 
 But mountain scenes were better known. 
 Hang up the fiddle and the bow 
 Old gent and vanish with the show. 
 Thus closed this dreaded interview 
 Almost before the town it knew. 
 
The Diary of Ada Brown 51 
 
 Blessed is the woman with a man 
 
 Who so appreciate her can 
 
 That he is tolerant of whim: 
 
 Who views her with a humor grim 
 
 When she departs from train of thought 
 
 And act that sets his will at nought. 
 
 * Birth of my baby now is near, 
 
 Writes Ada in the following year: 
 
 I have a feeling that a joy 
 
 Is coming; will it be a boy? 
 
 Or will a daughter with her charms 
 
 Linger forever in my arms. ' 
 
 Between her mother and her maid, 
 The hand of Fortune on her laid 
 The task of caring for a boy; 
 The finer feelings we enjoy 
 Were now entangled with the life 
 Of the young mother and the wife. 
 
 The lawyer took a practical view 
 Of the event, as was his due. 
 'The Federal and Confederate lies 
 So long repeated by the wise, 
 About the valor of the South, 
 And North that snuffed its candle out. 
 Are here refuted: for this son 
 Of mine his journey has begun.' 
 
 Now came the naming of the boy, 
 A thing the household did enjoy, 
 For Mountain and the Bluegrass plain 
 Were fighting battles o'er again. 
 
 Amantus, ever in the front, 
 Was for postponing it a month; 
 But finally they wrote it down 
 In book as Harold Jason Brown. 
 'The name, writes Ada, was allowed, 
 And later in the church avowed.' 
 
 The Strongs were thorough Lincoln men, 
 Fought when the Civil War began, 
 Favored McKinley and the North: 
 Nor much resorting to a court 
 Settled their quarrels with the gun, — 
 Being typical of mountain men. 
 
52 A Last Token 
 
 Another episode was near 
 That in the annals would appear 
 Of a long standing mountain feud: 
 When Marcum at the Court House door 
 Of Jackson settled for the score 
 Of others, dying where he stood. 
 The bullet from an ambuscade 
 Another mountain widow made. 
 
 Passiag from Jackson to the town 
 Of Frankfort, where it soon was known, 
 Elmer indulged in game of guess 
 With the old lady on the dark 
 Assassin aiming at his mark: 
 'This was a feud of business.' 
 
 Ada to sentiment inclined; 
 While the old lady bore in mind 
 That Marcum being Republican, 
 Might be the target for a man 
 Who worsted in the voting booth 
 Made him the object of a feud. 
 
 Then Elmer from his knowledge gave 
 A leap towards the hidden knave: 
 'Was it Curt Jett or was it White? 
 Come now — he argued with the night, 
 Pacing the chamber to and fro: 
 One or the other is I know.' 
 And almost leaping in his coat 
 Seemed as if making for the road. 
 But Ada gently took her spouse 
 By arm and kept him in the house. 
 
 'And we all know that Curtis Jett — 
 Ada her writing didn't forget, — 
 Had guilty knowledge of the crime, 
 Though he kept hidden for a time. 
 And that imprisonment for life 
 Was given him for bullet's drive. 
 
 'And I am sorry writing this. 
 
 For my own mother cousin is 
 
 To Jett's own mother: and the chills 
 
 Come over me at thought of hills.' 
 
The Diary of Ada Brown 53 
 
 The curtain of the future rose 
 Not on Kentucky and her woes; 
 Nor would the glamour of the day 
 Show forth till troubles were away. 
 
 The Fugitive was still abroad; 
 His wife had died: and added load 
 Was added to his sorrows where 
 He breathed Indiana air. 
 
 Frankfort familiar with the life 
 Of Taylor and his gentle wife, 
 Pictured the dark appearing man, 
 With Finley, brooding over plan 
 Of a restoring of their power: 
 That might yet happen any hour. 
 
 What with McKinley in the land, 
 And Eoosevelt posing for the stand: 
 The sleep of Ada lighter grew 
 And horizon took darker hue. 
 
 She had a place for Taylor's wife. 
 Her picture in the Album showed; 
 McKinley also was allowed; 
 But nothing further might survive 
 In Ada's fiery Southern heart 
 Than this, this merely social part. 
 
 Epilogue 
 
 A brother lawyer in the town 
 
 That Elmer was acquainted with, 
 
 A man of national renown: 
 
 'This gentleman, he thought, may flit 
 
 From bar to Executive chair. 
 
 And pardon those who now despair.' 
 
 His views were all Eepublican; 
 
 From Justice Harlan whom the State 
 
 Kegarded as a leading man, 
 
 To Willson as a candidate: 
 
 Did Elmer Strong review the field, 
 
 And knew the Democrats must yield. 
 
54 A Last Token 
 
 The legal structure of his mind 
 Delighted in a reign of law, 
 Wherein the weaker were to find 
 Protection and without a flaw; 
 And it is to the credit of 
 Kentucky that it tries enough. 
 
 And with this sequel to the tale, 
 The gentle reader may bewail 
 Or find a pleasure in the acts; 
 Lumping the fiction with the facts: 
 For surely all these incidents 
 Were known to Frankfort's residents. 
 
The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 
 
 In an old house in Louisville, 
 Not very far from where the boats 
 Take on the freight that comes in loads, 
 A soldier may be living still, 
 A soldier of the Civil War: 
 Whose past, romantic in so far 
 As it concerned his inner man, 
 Often the gossips starting 'gan. 
 
 Old furniture and odds and ends: 
 His mother's or departed friends; 
 Old books and journals that he kept, 
 Into his very being crept; 
 For he delighted in the past, 
 And held it tolerably fast. 
 
 When you are living in a town, 
 
 And to the people of it known; 
 
 Some of the people, like the clown 
 
 Of Dudley ville or Dudleytown: 
 
 You feel relieved. Your name is classed 
 
 With the giraffe; nor wholly passed 
 
 E'en when the whole menagerie roars; 
 
 There's recognition at the doors 
 
 For your cognomen, though the hand 
 
 May pound out bravos to the band. 
 
 Having thus introduced the man 
 Whose memoranda serves our tale, 
 We'll weigh the items in the scale, 
 And make them useful for the plan. 
 
 He was already growing old; 
 His mother had the sweetest heart, — 
 When he considered her apart, — 
 That a selection from the fold 
 Of saints in Paradise could name. 
 And Fate and Fortune were to blame 
 That sorrows wrung that gentle heart. 
 And losses pierced it with a dart. 
 
 The city was in gala dress: 
 For the Grand Army of the North, 
 Held an Encampment of the sort 
 That was an annual business. 
 
56 A Last Token 
 
 There might be sentiment at heart; 
 There might be stretching of the hand 
 Towards inferiors in the land: 
 But it was straining on their part; 
 And Johnson, though a soldier, stood 
 Apart in criticising mood. 
 
 Like Boswell following the Pride 
 Of Britain in his own despite, 
 And watchful of his slightest act; 
 Making him partner to the pact, 
 That he should suffer for his deeds 
 In life and serve the public needs: — 
 Our imitative narrative 
 May also stand a chance to live. 
 
 With his old mother by his side, 
 
 Johnson was swallowed by the tide 
 
 Of restless people on the streets; 
 
 Broadway looked like a county fair, 
 
 With booths and bunting everywhere, 
 
 And rows of elevated seats. 
 
 Here the procession was to march. 
 
 Though burning sun their throats should parch. 
 
 On a hot clear September day. 
 The city generally gay. 
 The Army filed into the town; 
 No longer armed for drill or fight. 
 Merely a picture to the sight: 
 As 'Posts' more generally known. 
 
 Behold reviewing stands put up; 
 Behold the banner of the free 
 Waving from steeple and from tree: 
 From houses and from everywhere. 
 Pictures of heroes of the war. 
 Great names that glittered like a star, 
 And signs of gladness all were there: 
 With 'Welcome' rising to the top. 
 
 Vast was the throng that gathered there; 
 They came from city homes, from towns 
 Far to the souch of Churchill Downs: 
 Across the river — anywhere. 
 And Johnson and his mother gazed 
 Till full, and equally amazed. 
 
The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 57 
 
 All was prepared; a million feet 
 
 Seemed to be treading Broadway's street: — 
 
 A Boulevard of great extent; 
 
 And on a section of it passed 
 
 The Posts, that had for hours been massed, 
 
 A feat that nothing could prevent: 
 
 For the 'Grand Army' like the soul 
 
 Of old John Brown had answered roll. 
 
 On with a hundred bands they came, 
 
 The strong the feeble and the lame, 
 
 And marched some fifty thousand men 
 
 In warlike panoply again; 
 
 Their tattered banners borne aloft, 
 
 Their step as martial as of yore: 
 
 While cheers went up and hats were doffed 
 
 And Welcome waved from every door. 
 
 Perhaps a half a million souls 
 
 Were lined in Broadway on that day; 
 
 So famed those honorable rolls 
 
 Of names, so gallant the display. 
 
 Then Colonel Bluegrass threw his doors 
 Wide open to the Yankee hosts; 
 Laying the old Confederate ghosts 
 To rest on mountains and on moors. 
 His purse was open, cellar full; 
 And every soldier had a pull: 
 Shaking his hospitable hand 
 Like as a comrade of the band. 
 
 As was the Colonel so his wife. 
 Forgetful of the civil strife; 
 The Gait House, famous hostelry, 
 Was alive with social gayety; 
 And handsome maids and comely dames 
 Made musical the Yankee names. 
 Wearing at balls their finest dresses, 
 Doing in natty shapes their tresses: 
 And in a lively feminine way 
 Making successful the display. 
 
 Shall we not pay attention to 
 
 The Legion boys, who perished through 
 
 A military accident? 
 
 Five hearses winding through the streets; 
 
58 
 
 A Last Token 
 
 Five homes where melancholy meets 
 The near relation or the friend. 
 Thus ended through a tragic fate 
 The great Encampment in the State. 
 
 *As a religious spectacle, 
 Said Johnson's mother to her son: 
 After the veterans were gone, 
 'Twas not a bit commendable; 
 For not a Bible nor a Cross 
 Was visible the lines across.' 
 
 *Well but dear mother, said her son, 
 Can you expect a warlike hand 
 To spread religion through the land 
 When daily handling a gun? 
 Bibles and Crosses rarely save 
 A soldier from a soldier's grave.' 
 
 Then the old lady knelt before 
 A little shrine she had at home; 
 Keligion, j)atterned after Rome, 
 She had abundantly in store. 
 There was the Virgin clad in white; 
 Jesus and Margaret in sight: 
 And holy water in a glass. 
 The candlestick with Easter palm; 
 The rosary for evening calm, 
 And prayer book for requiem mass. 
 And lifting up her soul to God, 
 Sank in a manner to the sod. 
 
 One Sunday after church was o'er: — 
 'Mother, said Johnson at the door, 
 Will you go with me to the Park, 
 Or stay at home till after dark?' 
 And the old lady gently said 
 She'd stay at home, not being afraid. 
 
 Almost as fine as Gettysburg — 
 Top of the Hill in Jacob's Park; 
 The hills all forest clad — a mark; 
 The valleys deep between — a curve: 
 The climber needs a steady nerve. 
 And the grand view is all around. 
 Follow the horizon and bound 
 Your topography of the burg. 
 
The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 59 
 
 The landscape artist has his light 
 Hid under bushel, out of sight: 
 For the rough mass of Kenwood hill 
 Looks better in its natural state, — 
 Perhaps he follows it of late, — 
 Than when subjected to his skill. 
 
 Then Johnson rambled to the north, 
 Where gazing downwards on the plain, 
 His eyes saw Louisville again: 
 A picture of a different sort. 
 
 'You look so large and look so fine, 
 That I must rub these eyes of mine: — 
 Johnson turned westwards to the sun: 
 Your march from winter has begun, 
 Hence this effect; for spring is now 
 Painting the hills and plain below.' 
 
 Johnson had brought along a friend, 
 And brought his talking to an end; 
 And ere preparing to descend. 
 Hearkened a moment to the sound 
 Of music from below; the pound 
 Of horses' hoofs upon the road; — 
 The auto also was abroad; — 
 And then the homewards ride began 
 Of Johnson and the other man. 
 
 About this time the Spanish war. 
 Threatened before McKinley rose; 
 Though he as all the country knows 
 Was followed as its guiding star; 
 As such upon the sea began, 
 And it attracted many a man. 
 
 Said the old lady to her son, 
 'Don't you go bothering me none: 
 I care not for the Si)anish War. 
 This country is all Protestant; 
 This country has no sentiment. 
 Or none that's visible so far. 
 Stay you at home and help support 
 Your mother with your Catholic sword.' 
 
60 A Last Token 
 
 Thus when the Spanish War began, 
 Like many another veteran 
 Survivor of the Civil War: 
 Johnson remembered family; 
 And neither fought on land nor sea, 
 Eeligious scruples being a bar. 
 
 But he was working for his bread, 
 And had a notion in his head 
 That he was helping Government; 
 For with sagacity of mind 
 He saw the animus behind 
 The purpose of the war — its end: 
 The grabbing for material goods 
 By Statesmen in commercial moods. 
 
 Johnson was working in a place 
 Where something like a thousand men 
 Enjoyed the pleasures of the chase; 
 It was for instance to begin. 
 
 They chased the dinner pail when full, 
 They chased it when 'twas empty quite: 
 And when a millionaire in sight 
 Appeared they chased him like a bull. 
 
 The Firm — machinery and steel — 
 Being eager to extend its trade, 
 Its future preparations made, 
 To keep upon an even keel 
 Its credit and its bank account; 
 The tax and wages that amount 
 To a great sum within the year: 
 Whereof few workingmen do hear. 
 
 This Labor Union brotherhood, 
 Thought Johnson to himself, looks good; 
 To me a worker is a brother; 
 I'll join and after tell my mother. 
 
 When the Committee at his bench 
 Appeared, it simply had a cinch. 
 
 < Brother, said Braeme, the glorious cause 
 For which our Union's going to strike, 
 Is to establish Union laws. 
 
The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 61 
 
 And to drive home a Union spike. 
 Brother, the Union and the laws 
 Prevail, come on and join our cause.' 
 
 .Johnson said 'Yes;' and marched along, 
 Making the strike a thousand strong. 
 
 Johnson went home and told his motherj 
 And the old lady took another 
 Eeligious kneeling at the shrine, 
 For she believed in help Divine. 
 
 'Preserve your independent spirit, 
 Said the old lady to her son: 
 'Tis not by fighting with the gun, _ 
 Nor stuffing with the gold that merit 
 Obtains a footing in this land, 
 But rather through the moral stand.' 
 
 The strike endured for half a year; 
 And when called off the Firm had lost 
 A half a million, counting cost: 
 While half the men did disappear. 
 
 Nor while the strike was going on 
 Did Johnson sever his connection; 
 No charge against him of defection 
 The brotherhood could gaze upon. 
 But he retired when over with, 
 Enduring, suffering a bit. 
 
 Fortunes and sentiments all change 
 With time as night succeeds the day, 
 Or rather as another range 
 Is seen in mountains far away: 
 Which when the traveler draws near, 
 Stand forth all rugged, vast and clear. 
 
 The Spanish War had reached an end; 
 Only the Philippines kept on. 
 Where Aguinaldo fought the trend 
 Of things McKinley had begun. 
 
 Cuba might also have a dream 
 Of freedom in her mountain heart, 
 Where Gomez lingered, and the art 
 
62 A Last Token 
 
 Of war stood chances to redeem: 
 But these disturbances abroad 
 Were little felt, so light the load. 
 
 More and more millionaires were born, 
 Less and less money Johnson had; 
 The poor house with its views forlorn 
 Kose up whene'er he went to bed; 
 Still Johnson was a lively man. 
 And he felt happy now and then. 
 
 Invited by the Southern maids 
 
 And matrons domiciled in town, 
 
 The soldiers of the South made known 
 
 Their purpose, acting through their Aides 
 
 Connected with the South, and half 
 
 Inclined to fighting in behalf 
 
 Of Davis in the Civil War: 
 
 Thus Louisville appeared from far. 
 
 Hence were its sympathies in line 
 
 With this, too brief account of mine. 
 
 The 'Daughters of the Confederacy' 
 Washed off the Monument, and then 
 Went visiting commercial men; 
 Expressed their sentiments in verse, — 
 Could Henry Watterson do worse? — 
 And waited in expectancy. 
 
 Confederate flags began to fly. 
 The bands played 'Dixie' day and night: 
 The John Hunt Morgan men were spry 
 As when they put the foe to flight; 
 And Bragg might lead an army now, 
 And Lee wear laurels on his brow. 
 
 When the first suit of butternut. 
 And soft felt hat remembered well, 
 In county its appearance put: 
 All Louisville was under spell; 
 They went to meeting with a band 
 The man and shook him by the hand. 
 
 The great 'Confederate Hall' had been 
 
 Erected on the river's bank; 
 
 The sights that from the bluff were seen 
 
The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 63 
 
 In many a simple soldier sank. 
 Like the Macgregor with his foot 
 On native heath, the soldier stood 
 And looked at Indiana's shore; 
 The earmarks of the Hoosier bore 
 The parent mark from Washington, 
 And the Confederate wanted none. 
 
 I recollect, wrote Johnson when 
 He found some leisure for his pen, 
 And used it to a good effect: 
 How the Confederates did elect 
 Their officers for coming year. 
 An old Confederate Brigadier, 
 With hair and beard as white as snow, 
 Keviewed the war, with fiery glow 
 Of language; which a limping gait 
 Caused through a wound did further aid. 
 Talk about Lost, no Cause that lived 
 A more tumultuous cheer received. 
 
 The taj) of drum and bugle sound 
 Sometimes did through the Hall resound; 
 While Sponsors and their Maids in white 
 Like brides to be, a pleasing sight, 
 Smiled at the pictures on the walls, 
 Carried Confederate flags to balls, 
 And in a thousand charming ways 
 Gave the Lost Cause in hearts a place. 
 
 Rain spoiled our beautiful parade, 
 Casting Our Section in the shade. 
 Remarked a lady from the South; 
 They barbecued and told the talc, 
 They also drank the beer and ale. 
 Though not a drunkard was about. 
 
 There always is a sequel to 
 
 A tale, at least there ought to be. 
 
 And the Confederates later — see 
 
 Returned and when the skies were blue. 
 
 When Grainger, Mayor of the town, 
 
 And Beckham, Governor, both known 
 
 As being Confederate sympathizers: 
 
 Acted thereof as supervisors, 
 
 And made that great Reunion known 
 
 Almost as well as is the town. 
 
64 A Last Token 
 
 With his old mother on his arm, 
 Johnson went looking at the sights; 
 The rain was warm, and dazzling lights 
 Had rainbows added to their charm. 
 "With Louisville in gala dress 
 You'd think that business 'd be suspended; 
 But no, from Commerce it descended, 
 And it could be nor more nor less. 
 The town is in its glory seen 
 At such a time and such a scene. 
 
 'Mother, said Johnson, when a calm 
 
 Had settled like a healing balm 
 
 Upon the great Confederate Hall: 
 
 My father was a soldier tall 
 
 And fighting on the Federal side; 
 
 An Orderly, when Sheridan's Ride 
 
 The country intimation gave, 
 
 That this great soldier of the war 
 
 Was worthy of a General's star: — 
 
 A perfect leader of the brave. 
 
 A bullet on the battlefield 
 
 Laid low my father, and revealed 
 
 How insignificant and low 
 
 A private soldier's grave does show. 
 
 Whoever heard of father's name, 
 
 And who's concerned about his fame?' 
 
 'Your father was a cavalry man. 
 And you yourself an infantry man. 
 Replied his mother, and the Lord 
 Frowned I suppose upon his sword. 
 War never is a blessing, though 
 'Tis natural to fight a foe; 
 And speaking of the family. 
 Both parties were its enemy; 
 The Lord permitting your return 
 Is about all that I can learn.' 
 
 He nodded with his head and walked 
 To window while his mother talked. 
 
 'The pension that I draw, began 
 The dear old lady to the man 
 Who gloried in the being her son, 
 Is about all the war has won; 
 Only to-day I paid my rent. 
 
The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 65 
 
 And slyly glancing at the tall 
 Old man who did her mother call: 
 You sometimes fail to make a cent; 
 You are so busy with your books 
 That you forget how money looks.' 
 
 With due humility of mind 
 
 Did he submit, and fall behind 
 
 His mother in the argument. 
 
 'I'll make for you a many a cent, 
 
 Said the old soldier; but I'm now 
 
 So busy with the afterglow 
 
 Of this Confederate event, 
 
 That I can't bother with the cent.' 
 
 The lamp stood on the table — lit; 
 The evening paper had on dit 
 All of the late society news, 
 Contributory to the blues: 
 Which the old lady never read. 
 Nor even glanced at be it said. 
 
 And yet she had a social bent 
 
 As strong as any seen in print, 
 
 When from her church some callers came 
 
 Without announcement of a name; 
 
 For never had her open door 
 
 Harbored a maid to call them o'er. 
 
 'There comes the Cincinnati boat,' 
 Said the old lady, as the note 
 Of the long whistle pierced the street: 
 Bringing the people to their feet. 
 
 A crowd of people going by, 
 With negro porters in between. 
 Making an animated scene: 
 The moon low hanging in the sky. 
 
 'This is enough, I'll go to bed.' 
 And the old lady laid her head 
 Upon the pillow; leaving John 
 Her soldier son the house to run. 
 
 From warlike memories recalled 
 To civil life, the Templar hauled 
 
66 A Last Token 
 
 From dusty nooks his sword and plume, 
 
 And all importance did assume. 
 
 A Conclave of the Templar men 
 
 Had been arranged for Louisville; 
 
 Prizes were offered for the drill, 
 
 A spur to all its upper ten; 
 
 And Coontown with the wildest glee 
 
 Was bound that spectacle to see. 
 
 There are ten thousand negro men 
 And women in this Southern town, 
 Not counting pickaninnies in; 
 And Bonaparte McCready known 
 All over town, as leading man, 
 When dance or funeral began, 
 For he was leader of the band: 
 Was now in natural command. 
 
 The Crusades are some distance off 
 And have been written of enough, 
 But the Knight Templar of to-day, 
 In his regalia display. 
 Is still an echo of the past, 
 An actor of the tragic cast. 
 
 Saint Bernard orator of France, 
 And Eichard charging with his lance; 
 The Moslem fighting on the plain, 
 Taking Jerusalem again; 
 And the long list of warlike Popes, 
 Blessing the Pilgrim and his hopes: 
 All these the Templar represented, 
 With many others not presented, 
 Shedding a lustre on his name 
 Amounting to a durable fame. 
 
 The Arch with Templar bedight, 
 A brilliant spectacle at night. 
 And rosy in the setting sun: 
 Was centre of the great Parade, 
 That almost threw into the shade 
 What Louisville had gazed upon: 
 When the Grand Army of the North, 
 And the Confederates marched forth. 
 
The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 67 
 
 What could the beauty of the town — 
 
 Tie dames of social renown; 
 
 And pretty girls who work by day 
 
 In store or factory for pay — 
 
 Do but observe a holiday; 
 
 And make the loveliest display 
 
 Of charms beneath the August sun, 
 
 And dresses long ago begun. 
 
 A scene whereof the Templar man 
 
 Took note before the march began. 
 
 Do not forget the colored belle, 
 Awalking with the negro swell; 
 As proud appearing in their mien. 
 As interested in the scene; 
 McCready and his colored band, 
 Were also famous in the land; 
 This was the general sentiment. 
 Among the negro element. 
 
 Eight where the City Hospital 
 
 And Public School together meet, 
 
 Did Johnson's mother find a seat; 
 
 While the old soldier 'pearing tall 
 
 Upon the sidewalk, overlooked 
 
 The street whereon the march was booked. 
 
 The gleaming swords and waving plumes, 
 And airs the Templar assumes 
 When he is marching with a band: 
 Made deep impression on the crowd. 
 Who pleasure in the sight avowed, 
 And said the spectacle was grand. 
 
 There might have been a hundred bands. 
 And some were from the foreign lands; 
 'My Old Kentucky Home' seemed played 
 A thousand times ere route was made; 
 The highest compliment this town 
 Of Southern birth has ever known. 
 
 What's this acoming? clear the way! 
 The Colored Band in full array 
 Of instruments was going by; 
 And with a shako on his head 
 Did Bonaparte McCready lead: 
 His stafC a-twirling to the sky. 
 
68 A Last Token 
 
 This was the climax and the end; 
 And Johnson's mother did descend, 
 And took a last and lingering look. 
 Nor do we speak of banners here, 
 Though hundreds of them did appear: 
 Nor will we say who prizes took. 
 These features will be better found 
 Described in Memoirs that abound. 
 
 A lighter heart, a home return, 
 
 A cooling drink, and more to learn. 
 
 *My Old Kentucky Home' how sweet 
 
 And clear it sounds upon the street. 
 
 Or lingers as a last adieu; 
 
 The words and music of the song, 
 
 Carry the memory along 
 
 To homes and people that you knew. 
 
 Thus mistily did Templar fade 
 
 From Louisville into the shade. 
 
 From Shawnee Park to Cherokee, 
 The length of Louisville you'll see 
 With its variety of life; 
 The river front is left behind, 
 The Silver Plills are borne in mind, 
 With flower bed and pleasant drive. 
 
 Johnson delighted in a stroll; 
 He loved the beeches and the roll 
 Of grassy land in Eastern Park. 
 And he would tell his mother how 
 The moon and evening star would glow, 
 When home returning after dark. 
 
 'Mother, said Johnson when the town 
 
 Was once more working, settled down: 
 
 There is a showy burial place 
 
 In town, where people come to gaze 
 
 And ramble round as in a park. 
 
 Cave Hill is prominent, a mark 
 
 For the religious sentiment. 
 
 Inherent in our element. 
 
 I entered with a crowd, and took 
 
 A long and satisfying look.' 
 
The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 69 
 
 ' 'Tis a fine cemetery sure, 
 Said the old lady, and the pure 
 Delight of looking at the land, 
 With a bit flower in the hand,- 
 Seems to be womanly and deep 
 Enough for prejudice to sleep. ' 
 
 Then she as hastily returned 
 
 To Catholic subjects; and she yearned 
 
 For approbation in that line. 
 
 As coming nearer the divine. 
 
 ' Our own Saint Louis cemetery 
 Is far above the ordinary, 
 A burial place and park as well. 
 I'm sure there's rolling of the land. 
 And trees, all adding to its grand 
 Appearance like the funeral bell. 
 And being our family's burying place 
 Should move you to a double grace.' 
 
 'And there's Saint Michael's, said her son. 
 Where Beargrass creek winds hin and yon; 
 And the wild patch of berry ground, 
 Where apples also can be found.' 
 
 But the old lady shook her head. 
 Her soul and heart were with the dead; 
 She cared not for the apples, nor 
 For Beargrass creek or berries store. 
 
 'Of course Saint Michael's, said his mother, 
 That's where they bury Christian Brother, 
 And Sister of the church, and Priest: 
 There must be hundreds there at least. 
 And once a year there's preaching there 
 From pulpit in the open air; 
 The place is crowded with the names 
 Of those who had religious aims.' 
 
 With deep respect did Johnson gaze 
 Upon his mother's pleasant face. 
 And he stooped over kissing her. 
 'Don't you go kissing me, she said, 
 I'll call the Virgin to my aid;' 
 Nor did she long her prayers defer. 
 
70 A Last Token 
 
 While the old soldier went below 
 To where the river boats, and tow 
 Of barges filled with coal were tied: 
 And overhead the trains did glide. 
 
 But there were rumors in the air 
 Of something fine acoming there. 
 
 The gallant General Carnahan, 
 Who must have been an Irishman, 
 Though we're not sure upon that point: 
 Brought on the Pythian Brotherhood 
 To Louisville in happy mood, 
 From open revelry enjoined; 
 For like the soldier in his camp 
 Discipline marked them with its stamp. 
 
 With Damon's head upon the block, 
 And Pythias glancing at the clock 
 The town was now in Syracuse; 
 Sicilian was the general T,ir 
 It bore, it met you everywhere: 
 And to think other was no use. 
 And there were country people there 
 Who fancied Greeks were everywhere. 
 
 In Shawnee Park the camp was pitched, 
 The horses to the trees were hitched, 
 And drills were order of the day. 
 There also were the meals, and cook 
 Was mentioned in the order book, 
 With pots and kettles in array; 
 For even Pythians must eat, 
 Though smart appearing on the street. 
 
 Given a river and a park. 
 There's something doing after dark 
 Through Cupid and his little bow; 
 And half the maidens of the town 
 Were so engaged, familiar grown 
 With tents and boats and Pythian vow. 
 This was delightful, and no man 
 With heart in bosom blame them can. 
 
 The calliope was blowing hard; 
 The river organist by heart 
 Could play that noted instrument; 
 
The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 71 
 
 It even reached to Sliawnee Park, 
 Where some opined a giant lark 
 To the wild notes was giving vent; 
 While others thcught the Island Queen 
 Was due, and curtsied to scene. 
 
 The river bends near Crescent Hill, 
 
 And boats require a pilot's skill 
 
 Before descending to the Falls. 
 
 A lonely fisherman or two 
 
 May heave in sight, and answer who 
 
 Is there to any whistle calls. 
 
 Of course some houses near the banks 
 
 Appear, and boats with gangway planks. 
 
 The gaudy Knights of Khorassan 
 
 Shook off the calliope, and ran 
 
 To join the Pythian parade; 
 
 They marched awhile, and then the crowd 
 
 Bore down, as Carnahan avowed: 
 
 Their route of march not wholly made. 
 
 This might be thought an accident, 
 
 Or't might be called a compliment. 
 
 Of course the bands and decorations 
 Were in harmonious relations 
 To summer time and pleasant scene; 
 While Bonaparte McCready took 
 His band around, till welkin shook 
 With plaudits at his lofty mien. 
 Break camp in Shawnee Park ye men 
 Of Pythian fame and come again. 
 
 We'll write no more of showy things. 
 That should be rather sport of kings 
 Than of a Democratic town; 
 For the events we here relate. 
 Took ten years happening in State, 
 And gave the town a great renown. 
 
 *The Board of Trade — Commercial Club, 
 Wrote Johnson figuring it up, 
 Were both responsible for this; 
 Grand Army and Confederate, 
 The Templar cleaving to his faith, 
 And Pythian winning with a kiss. 
 Aye! Louisville is sure a town 
 Entitled to a fair renown.' 
 
72 A Last Token 
 
 A. ride on ear to Shawnee Park, 
 
 And home returning after dark 
 
 Displayed the city as before. 
 
 'The Pythians to their homes have gone.' 
 
 Said Johnson in a gentle tone: 
 
 His mother watchful as of yore. 
 
 The autumn passed, the winter came, 
 The aspect of his home the same: 
 His mother praying at the shrine; 
 She went to church a hundred times, 
 Delighting in the joyous chimes, 
 And in their melody divine. 
 
 'My husband and my children are — 
 Said the old lady, not so far 
 Away from me when I am there. 
 Nor is my father, and the life 
 I recollect before the wife 
 Had swallowed up a maiden fair.' 
 
 Johnson submitted, for he loved 
 His mother and was deeply moved. 
 
 But he was now to bear a loss 
 That like the rearing of the cross 
 On Calvary would bring him down; 
 This was his honored mother's death; 
 Nor noticed he her parting breath, 
 So gently had her spirit flown. 
 He gave her burial as son 
 Should do when so depended on. 
 
 With melancholy in his heart 
 Too deep to others to impart, 
 Johnson kept working at his trade 
 And a fair amount of money made. 
 
 Later in life the government 
 Him with a pension did present. 
 'Pensions, said Johnson to the moon, 
 May be or may not be a boon; 
 But I must keep this little home. 
 Where friendly visitors can come; 
 Also a little niece of mine 
 Who with my mother used to dine. 
 
The Memoirs of Colonel Johnson 73 
 
 His fondness for the Library 
 Came through his love of History; 
 And he resolved his Memoirs should 
 Be added for the general good. 
 
 Though old, thought Johnson to himself, 
 
 I'm still no figure for the shelf; 
 
 The fighting force is in my blood. 
 
 I may yet grapple with a Hood, 
 
 Or bring some Jackson to his knees, 
 
 Fighting beneath the forest trees. 
 
 'Twill be no matter for surprise 
 
 If I should to a Colonel rise.' 
 
 Epilogue 
 
 The tragic death of Paul C. Barth 
 Had just occurred; and broken heart 
 Brought Captain Schneider to the end 
 Of life through grieving for his friend. 
 
 And the Saint Louis cemetery 
 Was stirred beyond the ordinary, 
 When Johnson, visiting his graves, 
 Saw like the rushing of the waves 
 On ocean shore, how people came 
 To view these gentlemen of fame. 
 
 The graves of both were visible, 
 
 Or we may say invisible, 
 
 Such the profusion and the wealth 
 
 Of flowers that almost could be felt. 
 
 The perfume of the flowers embraced 
 The August sun and all amazed. 
 Such on a Sunday afternoon. 
 In fact till rising of the moon. 
 Did mournful heart or curious eyes 
 Contribute tear or bold disguise: 
 Till from the hill of Castlewood — 
 At foot of which he also stood — 
 
74 A Last Token 
 
 The melanclioly hoot of owl, 
 Or watchdog warning with a growl, 
 Came deeper shadows of the night. 
 Blotting all objects from the sight. 
 
 When Johnson reached his home he penned 
 
 This item also, with intent 
 
 That it should close his Memories. 
 
 * 'Tis not a spectacle to please, 
 
 For it displays a furious state 
 
 Of politics and party hate; 
 
 But it has happened, and I'll write 
 
 It down ere bidding you good night.' 
 
 Thus through the lapsing of a year 
 Or two this final does appear 
 
The North Woods 
 
 Alone within the vastness of the woods, 
 Where but the hunter surly in his moods, 
 Or hardy chopper logging in his camp 
 The mighty stillness deeper seem to stamp: 
 Alone indeed for rarely are they seen, 
 And miles on miles of forest grow between. 
 The city man who dares to penetrate 
 Alone this vastness surely tempts his fate; 
 But with a hunter guide he is secure. 
 And roughly clad may venture on a tour. 
 
 He feels amazed and also feels oppressed. 
 The world seems rude in such a garment dressed; 
 Nothing but trees; no road nor house are seen. 
 And bits of blue above and branches green. 
 Perhaps some pine attracts his wandering eye 
 Dwarfing the host of others growing nigh; 
 Millions of cones and needles strew the ground. 
 And balsam airs abundantly abound. 
 Maples of fairest form, the massive oak 
 And birches silver white some praise evoke; 
 Varied and vast: — he starts with wild alarm. 
 Grasping his grim protector by the arm; 
 When harshly screams the eagle from its nest 
 While boldly gazing at the reddening west. 
 By night he 's grown familiar with the scene. 
 And wants to know what various objects mean. 
 
 Softly the twilight lingers in the sky, 
 And light seems loath to leave and color die; 
 The owl begins to hoot: 'tis really night, 
 And gloom and terror seem to reach their height. 
 
 The hunter is prepared: his camp is pitched 
 Near to some mossy spring and water fetched; 
 The novice in the woods has gathered fuel 
 To cook by, and because the nights are cool; 
 The fallen leaves are wisely scraped away. 
 Giving the fire full liberty to play. 
 The pine tree branches, resinous and dry 
 Are used and soon the blaze is leaping high. 
 
76 A Last Token 
 
 His stomach craves, he's hungry as a bear, 
 
 And almost could the raw material tear; 
 
 The hunter's rifle, aided by his own 
 
 Brought while they rambled various creatures down. 
 
 He notes the skill with which the hunter cooks 
 
 Their evening meal, and trembling round him looks. 
 
 The flaring fire fantastic shadows throws 
 
 That flicker in and out among the boughs; 
 
 And giant trunks and undergrowth appear 
 
 In weird and lurid light with darkness near: 
 
 All is suggestive of a lurking foe 
 
 Eeady to spring unseen and strike a blow. 
 
 The hunter tells him panthers sometimes creep 
 
 On men in camp and kill them when asleep; 
 
 And bears and wolves and snakes go prowling round, 
 
 Making the woods one mighty burial ground. 
 
 But though a tenderfoot and wholly strange 
 
 To forest life he undergoes a change; 
 
 He is no coward though he acts like one: — 
 
 And with a last hard look his fears are gone. 
 
 When he has supped he feels a different man: 
 
 He laughs and jokes and helps the hunter plan; 
 
 He smokes his pipe, a calumet indeed, 
 
 For fears and terrors now no longer breed; 
 
 The weird and giant shadows of the pines 
 
 Grow less fantastic as the fire declines; 
 
 And heaps of leaves well guarded from the fire 
 
 Supply a bed and both the men retire. 
 
Estanaula 
 
 The lightning's flash, the thunder's roar, 
 
 The wind's strong volume and the pour 
 
 Of water from the laden clouds, 
 
 Are Nature 's methods, and the way 
 
 She drives impurities away: 
 
 Though Death stands ready with the shrouds. 
 
 And thus a parallel is found 
 
 In Nature for the battle ground: 
 
 The selfsame energies are rife, 
 
 The selfsame eagerness for strife: 
 
 When armies meet and cannons roar, 
 
 The storm is simply acted o'er. 
 
 Twice have we been to Gettysburg 
 And viewed the field where thousands died: 
 Where Union men were sorely tried, 
 While panic reigned in Harrisburg. 
 
 The peaceful nature of the scene. 
 The grandeur of the mountain heights. 
 The sinking sun, the gleaming lights, 
 All mingled pleasantly between. 
 
 But these are not its history, 
 These varied features of the land. 
 But men determined on a stand. 
 And struggle for the mastery. 
 And shall a regiment that fought 
 There long and well forget the spot, 
 The furious charges and the shot. 
 The ground so honorably bought? 
 
 The morning that the fight began. 
 In the beginning of July, 
 Then Edwin atanton heaved a sigh, 
 Knowing the character of man; 
 The soldiers of the blue and gray 
 By thousands were to die that day. 
 
 What matters it where Army Corps, 
 Division or Brigade were placed? 
 
78 A Last Token 
 
 The lines still faintly can be traced, 
 With Nature smiling as of yore. 
 
 A hundred miles could see the smoke 
 Of the great battle when it broke 
 So high is Cemetery Hill; 
 And echoes from artillery 
 Were multiplied by hill and tree, 
 Enough the universe to thrill; 
 Added to which the Rebel yell 
 And Yankee shout in potent spell. 
 
 With courage planted in the heart 
 By the Almighty, every part 
 Of land and ocean felt its boon; 
 And Pickett on the Southern side, 
 Or Reynolds as the Federal's pride 
 May not forgotten be so soon. 
 
 Three days of fighting to and fro, 
 Three nights of gazing down below. 
 Where blazing in the fields and woods 
 The fires revealed the stacks of arms 
 In readiness for night alarms, 
 And wounded still in warlike moods. 
 
 Like as a storm we once beheld. 
 The clouds were to the east impelled 
 While in the west the sun appeared; 
 The war was centered in the east. 
 And Gettysburg was not the least 
 To be remembered till it cleared. 
 
 How sank the hearts of Southern men, 
 
 When seizing with despair the pen 
 
 The Muse of History wrote down: 
 
 'Like Waterloo or Marathon, 
 
 The Federal troops their battle won. 
 
 And this is equal in renown; 
 
 The Federal troops were unsubdued 
 
 Nor may the battle be renewed. ' 
 
 We 've stood on Round Top with its guns, 
 We've sat on Cemetery Hill; 
 And were we with the best of will 
 To paint them as their history runs, 
 
Estanaula 79 
 
 The Monuments and Tablets round 
 Would still more eloquent expound. 
 
 Historic spots in Gettysburg 
 Are many and employ the pen, 
 And with them is the Devil's Den, 
 Held by the Federal fighting men 
 When Lee went towards Chambersburg; 
 Confessing failure in his bold 
 Attempt so new and yet so old. 
 
 There was a Colonel, Fox his name, 
 Who studied out the fighting fame 
 Of full three hundred regiments; 
 But General Meade who led the fight 
 Went further, and he hit it right, 
 He sent them all his compliments. 
 
Vesperis 
 
 With all the care that loving hands 
 
 Could give and on her grave bestow, 
 
 A gentle spirit lies below, 
 
 A heart that piety expands; 
 
 Still living though her dust lies there, 
 
 Her name and memory remain; 
 
 Nor have her virtues been in vain, 
 
 Nor need one mortal soul despair. 
 
 When he returned, the western town 
 Wherein his mother made her home. 
 Was almost blighted by the frown 
 Of the then monarch on the throne: 
 For it was winter, and the cold 
 Had on the town a deadly hold. 
 
 He was a long, long time from home; 
 His father's picture on the wall 
 Eecalled his death; and ancient tome 
 He did at leisure overhaul. 
 Contained the record and the date 
 Of marriage in a foreign land. 
 
 She had been sick, and holy church 
 Had blessed her with the sacrament; 
 But not as yet the funeral dirge. 
 Her health returned; and provident 
 As it appeared, her only son 
 Surviving had to lean upon. 
 
 The church, her membership whereof 
 Was never questioned in her life. 
 Stands forth an object bold enough, 
 And favors motherhood and wife; 
 And also keeps in view the end 
 Of life and its religious trend. 
 
 In course of time the Spring came on, 
 In course of time the flowers appeared; 
 And when the Summer had begun. 
 And Nature with its fullness cheered, 
 The simple duties of the house 
 And home her energies did rouse. 
 
Vesperis 81 
 
 Her son observing that she had 
 
 A pile of German Magazines, 
 
 'Mother, he said: I'm very glad 
 
 Your mind to literature leans.' 
 
 *0h! she remarked, but these are books 
 
 That are deceiving in their looks. 
 
 'These books are all religious ones; 
 The lives of saints and holy days; 
 The church as mentor to its sons: 
 All treated of in various ways. 
 Your books, she said — he* also read — 
 More towards worldly matters lead.' 
 
 Now the old lady once was youug 
 And wore short dresses when a girl. 
 And she recalled her braids as long 
 And dark and innocent of curl; 
 And her dark eyes looked down a well, 
 Once on a time, too deep to tell. 
 
 The tick-tack of the mantel clock, 
 
 And glimmer of the evening lamp; 
 
 The dames inhabiting the block. 
 
 Or forlorn figure of a tramp: 
 
 These little incidents of day 
 
 And night helped pass the time away. 
 
 Come in, come in you merry boy 
 And chubby featured little maid, 
 The little mother finds a joy 
 And comfort also in your aid, 
 When some far distant living friend 
 The sunshine of her presence lent. 
 
 The gliding onwards of the days. 
 The years accumulating slow, 
 Were most perceptible in ways 
 Affecting life, for evening's glow 
 Was seen in feebleness of step, 
 Whene 'er abroad she took a trip. 
 
 One Sunday, when the evening came, 
 She gave her son a parting kiss; 
 Calling him fondly by his name, 
 And hoping for his future bliss; 
 
82 A Last Token 
 
 And unassisted on the bed 
 
 Laid down, where soon her spirit fled. 
 
 Wash her ye women of the church 
 And robe her in her habit brown, 
 You may not in your furthest search 
 Find one more worthy of renown; 
 And the Third Order book she left 
 Place at her feet, of use bereft. 
 
 The veneration in his heart 
 
 He for his mother always felt, 
 
 Made him indifferent to the part 
 
 That others played who sought her wealth; 
 
 His grief, like fountain bubbling up, 
 
 Filled more and more the dismal cup. 
 
 Approaching with a reverent air 
 He kissed her forehead and her feet; 
 Then a young woman entered there, 
 Also a child: and both the sweet 
 Appearance of the countenance 
 Perceived at once, nor was it chance. 
 
 For it is certain that in death 
 The heart obtains the upper hand; 
 'Tis not affected by the breath 
 Departing for a foreign land; 
 All that is in it must remain 
 On view for all to see it plain. 
 
 Now tolled the bells, the mournful bells 
 That meant a funeral that morn; 
 Being but a step to church, by spells 
 The bearers bore it to the bourne; 
 And the whole empty funeral train 
 Did at the church's doors remain. 
 
 Like Vesperis the evening star 
 
 So does religion guide the soul; 
 
 An object visible afar 
 
 Pointing and leading to the goal; 
 
 Draw but the curtains of the night — 
 
 Of death, and Faith will see the light. 
 
yesperis 83 
 
 Before Saint Martin's altar rail 
 The friendly bearers placed the bier; 
 And the last judgment like a wail 
 Of death or blessing to the ear, 
 Was in the mass, the Requiem mass, 
 Perceptible as in a glass. 
 
 Then the good Father did his part 
 And blessed the coffin and the dead; 
 The sunbeams on the floor that dart 
 The painted windows through, may lead 
 With organ's dirge and children's choir, 
 The sad procession to the door. 
 
 In the Saint Louis cemetery 
 
 Another Father blessed the grave; 
 
 Another soul with Jesu-Mary; 
 
 The man in charge the signal gave: 
 
 The grave was filled, the crowd dispersed, 
 
 And grief might secretly be nursed. 
 
 The grave with all its vanity 
 Of pomp and monument around. 
 Where sweetened by a memory 
 This bit of consecrated ground 
 He may behold, he visits oft: 
 Sending a prayer as well aloft. 
 
 Time softens grief and melancholy. 
 And coming with a bit of holly 
 To lay upon his mother's grave. 
 The universal sentiment 
 Though but in marble finding vent. 
 Another view to burial gave. 
 
 'On Jordan's stormy banks I stand,' 
 While the Crematory at hand 
 Scatters your ashes to the wind; 
 The spirit on the other shore. 
 When the weird ceremony 's o 'er, 
 Must feel like cotton that is ginned. 
 
 'The simple mound of green for me. 
 Where something of the dead I see;' 
 And passing through the gate he stood 
 Awaiting car in thoughtful mood. 
 
A Memory 
 
 My lady going to the mass 
 On Christmas morn, awakened was 
 At four, at five she was in church; 
 Arrayed with holly, pine and birch, 
 With rare exotics — fairest flowers, 
 The altar in the middle towers: 
 Lit by a hundred gleaming lights, 
 It made the prettiest of sights. 
 
 The crib wherein the Babe was laid 
 
 Was also prettily arrayed; 
 
 The shepherds guided by the star 
 
 Were present, coming from afar; 
 
 And figures of the ox and ass. 
 
 Breathed the incense of the mass 
 
 On Joseph and his lovely spouse; 
 
 On where the woolly lamb did browse; 
 
 On lights half visible above — 
 
 Eyes like the watchfulness of love; 
 
 Nothing omitted from the scene 
 
 To keep its vivid memory green: — 
 
 'Twas thus St. Martin's church looked gay 
 
 In Louisville on Christmas day. 
 
 With a devotion in her heart 
 
 That only Jesus could impart. 
 
 And love for Mary and the church: 
 
 Her conscience made a thorough search 
 
 Of her connections with them all, 
 
 And found but trifles to recall. 
 
 Three masses in succession were 
 
 Delivered to the people there 
 
 In token of the Trinity; 
 
 And crowded to the altar rail 
 
 Were worshippers, when drawn the veil 
 
 Away from high divinity: 
 
 When bells were tolling, and the host 
 
 Revealed the coming Pentecost. 
 
 The straggling rays of day came in 
 
 Before my lady did begin 
 
 To turn her thoughts towards her home; 
 
 The congregation drifted out, 
 
 A brother snuffed the candles out. 
 
 And all, or nearly all were gone: 
 
 Only some children lingered near 
 
 The Crib, and lingered without fear. 
 
Lilies of the Cross 
 
 The sun shone through, — 
 
 A glorious view, — 
 
 The painted windows of the church; 
 
 The organ 's swell 
 
 In cadence fell, 
 
 Triumphant now and now a dirge. 
 
 The altar high, 
 
 Was lighted by 
 
 Electric lights and candles too; 
 
 And lilies fair, 
 
 And roses rare 
 
 Perfumed the air and charmed the view. 
 
 The organ pealed, 
 
 The people kneeled. 
 
 The Bishop celebrated Mass; 
 
 The incense rose 
 
 And veiled the Cross, 
 
 And rolled in volume to the glass. 
 
 The Host was raised. 
 
 The Lord was praised, 
 
 The bell rang sweetly — sounding three; 
 
 The altar boy 
 
 Or found employ. 
 
 Or still attended on his knee. 
 
 Now marched they forth 
 
 As Heaven's court, 
 
 All children from the smallest up; 
 
 A Brother led 
 
 With Cross ahead: 
 
 The Bishop bearing Host and cup. 
 
 All dressed in white. 
 
 Each maiden bright, 
 
 With wreath of flowers around her head, 
 
 Well matched with boy, 
 
 With face of joy: 
 
 All marching on with solemn tread. 
 
86 A Last Token 
 
 The organ pealed, 
 
 The people kneeled 
 
 As through the aisles the cortege moved; 
 
 And lilies fair, 
 
 And roses rare 
 
 Perfumed the air and all aj)proved. 
 
 It ended nigh 
 
 The altar high; 
 
 The Bishop benediction gave. 
 
 And still the sun 
 
 As when begun, 
 
 Illumed each window like a wave. 
 
The Girl Who Took the Veil 
 
 As finely formed as woman can 
 Be formed and with a handsome face, 
 Modest and with an inborn grace 
 Not to be pictured by the pen, 
 The cloister took her, and the veil 
 Eendered her charms of no avail. 
 
 The spirit of her lover came 
 To Mary on a summer's night; 
 He died a soldier, and his fame 
 Or glory vanished from the sight; 
 Buried on battlefield in old 
 Virginia, such the tale as told. 
 
 Her parents also passed away; 
 Deeply religious in her heart. 
 She went to church to kneel and pray; 
 Nor was she mistress of the art 
 To smile upon the busy crowd. 
 And tell her miseries out loud. 
 
 The girl, the beauty that was hers 
 
 Might have been wooed a hundred times; 
 
 But spirit wisdom rarely errs; 
 
 And soon the music of the chimes. 
 
 And countless pictures of the saints. 
 
 Soothed her sorrows and complaints. 
 
 There is a sisterhood of faith, 
 
 Thore is a sisterhood of works: 
 
 Their hands are joined; and Heaven aids 
 
 The saint in whom no evil lurks. 
 
 Thus was her name upon the roll 
 
 Of honor through her mind and soul. 
 
 Often you meet upon the street 
 A woman, clothed in the garb 
 Of sanctity whereof we treat; 
 And though the infidel may carp. 
 Her feet are treading in the path 
 That leads away from Heaven's wrath. 
 
 Between the hospital and school, 
 The chapel and the convent cell. 
 There was no time for faith to cool. 
 Nor much historical to tell. 
 And spirit of her lover might 
 Still come and visit her of night. 
 
Our Lizzie 
 
 There is a little maid, 
 
 An orphan be it said, 
 
 Who is living on Long Island near Jamaica O; 
 
 She was her mother's pet, 
 
 And she loves her father yet, 
 
 And she's keeping house together with her grandma O. 
 
 The beach at Eockaway, 
 
 Is not many miles away. 
 
 And she likes to hear the breakers in the morning 0; 
 
 Her eyes are merry blue. 
 
 And she twinkles them at you, 
 
 As she plunges for a dip in the ocean O. 
 
 Her mind is fully stored, 
 
 I hope she'll get a lord, 
 
 And have a heap of comfort in the future O; 
 
 But if she never does. 
 
 There is little use to fuss: — 
 
 There are gentlemen enough in this country 0. 
 
 She has a feeling heart. 
 
 Is ready to depart 
 
 And take a turn at sitting by the bedside O; 
 
 And yet upon the street. 
 
 The handsomest you'll meet. 
 
 Will never look more charming than this lady 0. 
 
 Alas, the Suffragette! 
 
 For fair Elizabeth 
 
 Looks better when she's singing than a million Oj 
 
 And will she take a trip 
 
 To Boston in a ship. 
 
 And train her voice in music for a lecture O. 
 
Her Cousin German 
 
 In far off Ozone Park, 
 
 Where the music of the lark 
 
 Adds a charm and a beauty to the landscape: 
 
 A girl was sitting down, 
 
 And some pretty airs were blown 
 
 From an organ at her mouth in a grand shape. 
 
 The fields were full of flowers, 
 
 And the churchbells in the towers 
 
 Were a-ringing and a-pealing come to worship; 
 
 But the little girl kept on. 
 
 And she cared not for the sun, 
 
 So delightful seemed the calls of her heirship. 
 
 The whistle of the train 
 
 Sounding shrill across the main. 
 
 Was a charm to the sailor then a-going; 
 
 So the music of the sound 
 
 Lingered sweetly all around: 
 
 Would in hearts far away still be blowing. 
 
 Who can be this pretty girl, 
 
 That so careless to the whirl 
 
 Of the world sits there playing like Handel? 
 
 If Our Lizzie came along, 
 
 'Cousin Ett, would be her song: 
 
 Would you to please to kneel and tie my loosened sandal.' 
 
The Chaff Hunters 
 
 When Helen, Queen of Sparta, ran 
 Away from home and went to Troy, 
 And a long chase for her began: 
 Venus, who studied to annoy 
 The Greeks and help the Trojans on. 
 Furthered some work she had begun. 
 
 They had been fighting for awhile, 
 
 And the Greek galleys on the shore 
 
 Were keej)ing house in royal style; 
 
 The camp a genial aspect bore; 
 
 Each galley had the local booze 
 
 On tap, and drank whene'er it choose. 
 
 One evening, when a harder fight 
 Than usual with a Trojan corps, 
 Had led Achilles out of sight: 
 Ajax was standing in the door 
 Of his own cabin on his ship. 
 Waiting to take a social nip. 
 
 With him were Menelaus and shrewd 
 
 Ulysses and bold Diomede; 
 
 All four were feeling very good; 
 
 And all were heartily agreed 
 
 On a good system bracer, then 
 
 As now the balm of fighting men. 
 
 So they had several rounds of drinks, 
 And a comparison of notes; 
 Ajax opined with sundry winks, 
 That in a camp composed of boats, 
 Discipline not so very strict 
 Might go, at least he 'd venture it. 
 
 Being as he was the Chief in charge 
 Through a whole day, or day and night: 
 Ajax was feeling pretty large; 
 He might not equal in his height 
 Mount Ida, but he felt as though 
 That mountain height was pretty low. 
 
The Chaff Hunters 91 
 
 Darkness was hanging over Troy; 
 The challenge of the sentinels 
 Was heard; and orders to employ 
 In worship only muffled bells, 
 That the Palladium might not leave 
 The town: so Priam gave his Chief. 
 
 Helen and Paris arm in arm, 
 Were on the ramparts looking down; 
 Hector had made it pretty warm 
 For Greece; the Myrmidons all blown, 
 Had tapered off in various shades 
 Of drunken rest, like jovial blades. 
 
 The stars shone softly on the scene; 
 The moon was luminous and bright; 
 And the twin rivers in between 
 The hostile camps, were all alight 
 With the soft glimmer of a host 
 Of lightning bugs, like spirits lost. 
 
 Now it so happened that the Queen 
 Of Love and Beauty, all alone. 
 Was fast approaching to the scene; 
 A visit paid to sad (Enone 
 The nymph, on Ida's mountain side: 
 Her thoughts with travel did divide. 
 
 The lightning bugs, who knew her well, 
 Came in a cloud and darted here: — 
 Their movements difficult to tell; 
 Their love being evident and clear; 
 And the long veil of Venus swept 
 The ground, and measure with her kept. 
 
 'Drink on ye Grecian Myrmidons, 
 Let jovial Bacchus be your god; 
 Storms and alarms or moons and suns 
 May rise, be heard, or raise the rod: 
 But the remembrance of the hours 
 We have enjoyed will still be ours! ' 
 
 Thus Ajax Telamon addressed 
 His three companions of the camp; 
 They were below as might be guessed; 
 The fitful flicker of a lamp. 
 Revealed the others in a bunk 
 Stretched out, and gloriously drunk. 
 
92 A Last Token 
 
 Ajax was drunk, no doubt of it; 
 Though as the Officer in charge, 
 He still retained sufficient wit 
 To know the mountain from the barge: 
 Though even that, as events proved. 
 Might be endangered and removed. 
 
 The Greeks were falling on the decks 
 Like hail, and Bacchus smiled on them; 
 He had a mortgage on their necks: 
 What did it matter, pray! to him. 
 Whether the Trojans took them off 
 Or drink? he had them sure enough. 
 
 Venus was coming in a cloud 
 
 Of lightning bugs towards the camp; 
 
 This glorious vision drew him out; 
 
 Ajax imagined that the lamp 
 
 Each insect carried in its womb. 
 
 Was Jove's own weapon and his doom. 
 
 So he defied the lightning bug: 
 
 ^Conie on! he shouted, with a roar 
 
 That gained its volume from the jug: 
 
 Come on! and damn you o'er and o'er!' 
 
 His spear, magnificent and grand 
 
 He hurled, and — grazed her dimpled hand. 
 
 Then there was uproar sure enough: 
 All Troy came flying to the scene; 
 Helen, the wounded Queen of Love 
 And Beauty drooping in her mien. 
 Had borne within the Pergamus, 
 Amidst a whirl ot noise and fuss. 
 
 The Trojans did not care to fight, 
 So they went back within their walls: 
 But the Greek camp was in a fright; 
 The clang of armor and the calls, 
 Brought Menelaus and Diomede 
 And shrewd Ulysses to their feet. 
 
 As the whole camp came rushing out, 
 Ajax was soon surrounded by 
 A drunken and vociferous crowd; 
 Lances and swords were waved on high; 
 And Troy's fast disappearing host 
 Was menaced, threatened with a roast. 
 
The Chaff Hunters 93 
 
 Said Agamemnon: 'How is this?' 
 He was the only royal Greek 
 Still sober, and he knew his biz; 
 Ajax explained the lightning trick: 
 Said Agamemnon: 'Lightning hell! 
 Look at the moon.' This broke the spell; 
 
 But not the story. For it went 
 From Troy to Greece, and traveled o'er 
 The world, with every regiment 
 That Grecian culture onwards bore; 
 In fact the Trojan war is all 
 A myth, a myth beyond recall. 
 
 Epilogue 
 
 There has arisen in the land 
 A school of higher criticism. 
 And there being evident demand 
 For such a school — of skepticism, 
 We have endeavored in this lay 
 To also blow the chaff away. 
 
 Carefully walk George Washington, 
 Nor come too close Columbus lad: 
 Yorktown may never have been won, 
 And Isabella was she mad? 
 There are historic doubts and we 
 May in a month be chasing Lee. 
 
 'Tis nice to be a higher critic; 
 You sit with spectacles on nose, 
 When some celebrity gets sick, 
 And make a dive into your clothes. 
 Bead the Britannica on Rome, 
 And see his Worship going some. 
 
 ^The graphophone and phonograph, 
 Observed the amiable ass — 
 'Tis the Professor, do not laugh: — 
 These instruments of art will class 
 Amongst the triumphs of the age, 
 And do away with written page. 
 
The Sceptre and the Lance 
 
 When Shakespeare lived, the German States, 
 And also France, were happy mates 
 Upon Europa's continent; 
 They fought each other when they went 
 To market, and at church they glared 
 Upon each other, and prepared 
 To fight when service should be o'er. 
 Fighters they were but something more: 
 They were good actors, and when wine 
 Had braced their faculties in line. 
 They played a thousand merry pranks: 
 They robbed the wicked Jewish banks. 
 And tweaked the burgher's saucy nose, 
 And stripped the women of their clothes, 
 And made the country and the street 
 They lived in beat a quick retreat. 
 
 This play of course was understood 
 By all Europa; but the blood 
 Of England's Queen Elizabeth 
 Was stirred, and she refused to let 
 Her people see them any more: 
 Placing a servant at the door. 
 With orders not to let a Gaul 
 Or Teuton come within the hall. 
 
 Then she sat thinking for awhile. 
 Her doubts resolving in a smile; 
 This was no case for ships or men 
 To fight, but did require a pen. 
 So she went visiting and found 
 A man already on the ground: 
 A dramatist, a social lance, 
 Against whom Europe stood no chance. 
 
 Shakespeare felt honored when the Queen 
 
 Came in; his wife felt just as proud; 
 
 And both their loyalty avowed; 
 
 And all were equal to the scene. 
 
 So he attacked them through the play, 
 
 The social weapon of the day; 
 
 Where under characters disguised 
 
 But real all Europe was comprised. 
 
The Sceptre and the Lance 95 
 
 The passions, powerful and strong, 
 
 Portrayed in counterpoise with love, 
 
 In ways of good or deeds of wrong: — 
 
 These in a thousand forms he wove 
 
 Together, and the world to-day 
 
 Still stares in wonder at the play; 
 
 While England's realm and England's Queen, 
 
 Were always gleaming in between. 
 
 This was the work that Shakespeare did 
 
 For England in her hour of need. 
 
 Later, the French and Germans felt 
 The scornful blows that had been dealt, 
 And answered England in the way 
 Of bold defence and through the play, 
 Goethe, and the dramatists of France, 
 Their social forces did advance. 
 And struck some hard and heavy blows: 
 Disturbing in its quiet repose 
 The social peace that England won 
 When Queen Elizabeth was on. 
 
 With less of nature and of art. 
 
 But more of learning and of law, 
 
 The Gaul and Teuton boldly draw 
 
 The veil and take a different part; 
 
 The Briton, writing from the heart, 
 
 Could have no sympathy with them; 
 
 Nor, we believe, unless a whim 
 
 Of fashion changes the decree. 
 
 Will future ages live to see 
 
 The laurels of the mimic stage 
 
 Transferred, to crown the German sage. 
 
A Sonnet to the Moon 
 
 'Tis not the moon so much as 'tis the man 
 Inhabiting the same who is my theme; 
 He came to life through something like a dream, 
 Nor are we certain when his birth began. 
 
 His smile is all benignity and peace; 
 His touch is like the fingers of a woman; 
 Thus he has sympathy with efforts human, 
 And puts the world below him at its ease. 
 
 Hail to you man with lantern in your hand! 
 'Tis a rough road we're traveling through space, 
 Spite of the easy going of our pace, 
 And we are glad to have you in command. 
 Thus on a winter's night in Seymour town 
 We saw the moon while curtain pulling down. 
 
A Sonnet to the Cash Register 
 
 A ringing up of bell, and bouncing forth 
 Of a big number showing what you bought, 
 That is the way your purchase has been caught 
 And collared and immortalized on earth. 
 
 It is a sign of honesty in man; 
 Should the cashier forget to ring you up, 
 And absent minded in his pocket drop 
 Your honest coin, you place him under ban. 
 
 Your moral nature rises in revolt: 
 He is a rogue. But happily this state 
 Of things is not too popular of late, 
 And the cashier may credit what he sold. 
 It is a great invention, and you feel 
 That it is so when turning on your heel. 
 
The Warfare of the Wild 
 
 The eight of May in Nineteen Hundred and Two, 
 Eeckoning time from Jesus and his birth, 
 There was a great disturbance of the earth 
 In Martinique that many thousands slew: 
 For on that day the beautiful Saint Pierre 
 Did in a moment almost disappear. 
 
 Beauty and wealth and fashion of the town; 
 Merchants of France with others of renown; 
 Sisters of Charity, who taught the rules 
 Of grammar and religion in the schools; 
 Innocent babes; the dying whom the priest 
 Had still in mind when his own labors ceased; 
 The Market Place, where gayety of heart 
 Did to the town a character impart; 
 Buildings and books and records of the past: 
 Were all wiped out and in oblivion cast. 
 
 There was a Giant in the pit below 
 
 Imprisoned since Atlantis disappeared; 
 
 And no one thought about him or him feared, 
 
 Though he was almost daily in a glow. 
 
 The little spiteful jets of gas or fire 
 
 Did in the town but merriment inspire; 
 
 So they went camping on the mountain's side 
 
 And viewed the sea below in all its pride. 
 
 Although at last a glimmer of the truth 
 
 Flashed on the town, as when the ashes poured: — 
 
 Covered the plain and all the sun obscured; 
 
 Yet even then it ended in dispute: 
 
 For it was pointed out the mountain had 
 
 No record of being violently mad; 
 
 And the good Jesus and His Mother would 
 
 Stand by Saint Pierre and people for their good. 
 
 Then there came bursting forth a deadly gas 
 That was the cause of almost instant death; 
 It was the Giant fanning with his breath 
 The chemicals within the fiery mass. 
 A yellow cloud came rushing from the side 
 Of the great mountain with a bullet's speed; 
 
The Warfare of the W ild 99 
 
 It reached the town and every creature dierl: 
 And 't touched the sea and made it boil indeed. 
 Even some ships then lying off the shore 
 Were overcome and burned and seen no nure. 
 
 The smoke was seen as far as Mexico; 
 Enormous stones fell on the plain below: 
 And clouds of ashes drifted out to sea. 
 Even the derelict of forest tree 
 Torn from the land by former hurricane, 
 Seemed to be drifting in an ashen plain; 
 This with the mud and boiling water heaved 
 Into the air, the horrible achieved. 
 
 Whether the soul be one in any town 
 Or many thousands is not surely known. 
 A solitary man alone survived — 
 So it is said — and in the Fort arrived. 
 Some thirty thousand of its people lay 
 In death below awaiting Judgment Day. 
 
 A Captain in the Fort had had a dream 
 The night before — the Giant being its theme, 
 That he survived Deucalion and the Flood: 
 That he was thirsting for the people's blood: 
 Because the evil spirit of his wife 
 Was kept in cavern with the mermaid life; 
 And she was burning with a fierce desire 
 That he should free her through volcanic fire. 
 
 The Captain was a Frenchman and he waved 
 His sword on high and Monsieur Giant braved: 
 'I still survive; my Country and Mon Dieu 
 They both survive:" We'll fight you, Sacre Bleu! 
 And Madame, said the Captain with a smile: 
 Will have to wait; aye! wait a little while. 
 I kiss my hand to Madame and to You; — ' 
 And here the dream went fading from the view. 
 
 When ships from France and other countries came, 
 
 The warfare of the wild another claim 
 
 Made on the Captain of the Gallic post; 
 
 He dreamt again — but backwards — of a ghost; 
 
 And young Mam'selle — his daughter — wrote it off: 
 
 A dreamy thing though plausible enough. 
 
100 A Last Token 
 
 There have been great catastroiDhes before, 
 When Sodom sank to fascinate no more: 
 And fair Gomorrah — also in disgrace — 
 Embraced her sister with averted face. 
 
 Always some Giant with an intellect 
 That you must treat with eminent respect, 
 Lambasts some city or some little town 
 Because it meets with merriment his frown: 
 And we suspect these cities of the plain 
 Did thus their bad pre-eminence obtain. 
 
 'When a new Government comes into power, 
 Look for disturbances at any hour: 
 Like as when Rome was tottering to decay: — 
 When Pompeii — Herculaneum passed away. 
 
 Tell me what harm had either city done, 
 That the volcano from its fiery cone 
 Should pour out lava by the thousand tons 
 To 'whelm them both? — as Plinj^'s story runs.' 
 
 'The Giant has his partisans of course; 
 The Giant is an intellectual force: 
 And he denounces people and their land, 
 And wages war with military band. 
 
 All Giants are alike in general form, 
 
 And people flock towards them in a storm: 
 
 For the}^ well know the Giant is a good 
 
 And able being when in a righteous mood; 
 
 But the infirmities of human life 
 
 Are in them all, and few this fact survive.' 
 
 'The disembodied Giant as a dream 
 May so appear, or be a sunset gleam: 
 Or he may flash as lightning in the sky. 
 The zephyr winds that in the forest sigh 
 May be his breath: or riding on the storm 
 Work as a cloud immensity of harm.' 
 
 'The rocks of mountains and the ocean waves. 
 May hold a multitude of dreamy knaves: 
 As may the chambers of the 'prisoned fires. 
 Even our food repugnancy inspires, 
 For we may take a Giant in our mouth 
 And not be able e'en to spit him out.' 
 
The Warfare of the JVild loi 
 
 The Captain's dream came to a sudden end: 
 He leaped from bed his stomach to defend. 
 'I must have had that Giant in my mouth, 
 The Captain thought: so fearful is the drouth; 
 A bottle of champagne or claret will — 
 With a cold terrapin — the hole up fill.' 
 
 Between Saint Pierre and town of Moulin Eouge, 
 Or the Eed Mill to give it English touch: 
 Lies the Egyptian darkness of the tomb; 
 Below is Pelee with its fiery womb: 
 Though its tremendous cone — four thousand feet, — 
 Rises in air the traveler's gaze to meet. 
 
 The Fort de France is miles on miles away; 
 
 And the French Empress elegant and gay — 
 
 The lovely Josephine, in every palm 
 
 And fern and flower so dominates the calm: 
 
 That the remembrance of the hurricane, 
 
 Or the volcano active on the plain, 
 
 Is half forgotten in the fairer being 
 
 Who here was born and dreamt of wedding ring. 
 
 The Convent clinging to the mountain's side, 
 Ere Pelee 's flame it blotted from the sight, 
 Held the sweet Sisters of the Catholic Church; 
 And we believe no Devil will besmirch 
 The reputation of these women, though 
 Their charred remains are buried down below. 
 
 The light and gay, the beautiful and free 
 Were in Saint Pierre as beauty on the sea; 
 But the old Giant in the pit below, 
 A^iewed with a frown upon his furrowed brow 
 The dancing and the doings in the town. 
 And one more martyr with a martyr's crown 
 Clomb on a pillared cloud of flame to heaven. 
 There to be washed and robed and be forgiven. 
 
 'And will you dream no more? Marie inquired 
 As days went by and nothing had transpired. 
 
 'I'll dream no more my elegant Marie, — 
 Mam'selle of France: for Giants do you see 
 Are an exhausting subject to a man. 
 I'll place all future Giants under ban: 
 
102 A Last Token 
 
 Their wives and interesting families: 
 Their zephyr sighs beneath the forest trees; 
 And gazing on your beauty and your smiles 
 Forget the dangers in these ocean isles.' 
 
 *And my new lingerie and dresses have 
 
 Just come from France: escaping from the wave 
 
 To meet their fate in the volcanic fire. 
 
 Is ttis the end of elegant desire, 
 
 That ruthless hands will from a woman tear 
 
 Her very dress, as happened over there?' 
 
 The Captain chucked his daughter under chin, 
 Shrugged up his shoulders with a Gallic grin 
 And drew his sword and kissed its shining blade. 
 Another vow would surely have been made, 
 When said Mam'selle: 'It is the Blessed Book 
 And rosary and Virgin in the nook, 
 Who must combine to give these islands peace — 
 Before the warfare of the wild will cease.' 
 
 Her father drank a glass of claret down, 
 Walked to a window overlooking town, 
 And called his charming daughter to his side; 
 Then in a minute more he thus replied. 
 
 'We may compare, but one thing will remain: 
 That there are Giants in the fiery deep 
 Who may remain a million years asleep. 
 Yet in the end the bursting of their chain 
 Makes them resemble Pelee in its wrath: 
 Makes then resemble cyclones in their path; 
 And though but little known and partly seen. 
 They mark the epochs of the world between. ' 
 
 And as a final and a wind up take 
 
 The Captain's word for brave Napoleon's sake. 
 
 'The sun has power, the moon has also power; 
 And every planet in malignant hour, 
 Euffles its fur or feathers when some act 
 Of slight or wrong its notice does attract: 
 For it is probable that Monsieur Mars 
 Has imitators also 'mong the stars.' 
 
7he Warfare of the Wild i03 
 
 Then the young woman known as Sweet Marie, 
 Mam'selle of France and Virgin of the Sea: 
 Made this last entry in her little book 
 Ere she to sewing for diversion took. 
 
 'There may be spooks or giants as they say, 
 Who differ from the people in my way, 
 Like for example soldiers in the Fort: 
 But do I care for learning of that sortf 
 Non! non. Oh Blessed Mother of the sky. 
 Keep me forever near you till I die.' 
 
 She stroked the cat; she picked her needle up; 
 
 Poured tea into a little china cup: 
 
 And having lunched in such a simple style, 
 
 Watched a young soldier sentinel awhile. 
 
 He may yet be an officer, she thought, 
 
 Should war occur: and wars are sometimes fought;- 
 
 Laid on the snowy whiteness of her breast 
 
 A passion flower, while fancy did the rest. 
 
The Building of a Star 
 
 When the Great Spirit, ruler of the stars, 
 Who fills the void we commonly call Space; 
 When this renowned and potent character 
 Gets an impression on His august mind 
 That there is something lacking in the void, 
 He forms a Congress wholly of Himself, 
 And passes laws defining what He wants. 
 This is the first preliminary step. 
 
 n 
 
 Then the Great Spirit notified a Dream 
 That he should bring the leading Architect, 
 And the Contractor doer of the work. 
 Immense excitement in the universe; 
 The molecules microbes and the bacilli, 
 And the invisible atoms in the void: 
 These, through some form of high intelligence. 
 Had it impressed upon their infant minds 
 That a new star was coming into being; 
 A new abode, where warfare of the wild 
 Might give them all their full development. 
 
 They might be genii in the coming star; 
 
 They might be pigmies fighting with the gnomes; 
 
 Bits of intelligence in animal form. 
 
 Or some fantastic thing in forest wild: 
 
 But it was life. And sensitive to life 
 
 Whether in sun or planetary form. 
 
 Their eagerness and longing for the same 
 
 Made them all rush towards the Spirit 's Throne. 
 
 Then the Great Spirit sitting on His Throne, 
 And where He met the leading Architect, 
 Said turning to the monster of a Dream, 
 And pointing to the surging atom waves: 
 ' Keep them in hand, and when We build the star 
 We'll make selections proper for the same.' 
 
The Building of a Star 105 
 
 Then the Great Spirit took the Architect 
 Into iiis sanctum where the plans were madej 
 And the Contractor with a crowd 
 Of his subordinates coming into view: 
 The doors were closed; the wireless telegraph 
 Was disconnected from its poles in space; 
 The waiting Dream was ordered to appease 
 The injured feelings of the molecule world; 
 The confab ceased; the balance was restored; 
 And the new star was fairly under way. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Doubtless the universe holds many a Dream 
 That is the counterpart of Eockefeller: 
 A Dream with speculative tendencies, 
 With inborn love for the material. 
 When such a Dream assumes material shape 
 It still retains its former predilections, 
 And't overreaches all the smaller Dreams. 
 With one enormous hand it grabs the earth, 
 And with the other justifies the act. 
 
 We are not dealing with the rights of things 
 As Milton did or Dante in his poems: 
 For it is well that glimpses of the truth 
 As to the building of a sister star 
 Should be advanced on independent lines. 
 A Dream was busy with the author's mind; 
 And the Great Spirit sitting on His Throne 
 May be regarded as a millionaire: — 
 Master of many suns and countless moons. 
 
 The ether waves being pregnant with the fire 
 That might be called the principle of life, 
 Now moved towards their darker opposites; 
 The cold embosomed in these darker waves 
 Was of the kind abounding at the Poles: — 
 The two embraced and Life and Death were born. 
 
 The Architect was busy with his work; 
 And the Contractor gathered in his hand 
 The molecules microbes and the bacilli. 
 And the invisible atoms in the void: 
 These he kept dealing out to lesser Dreams, 
 Till he was satisfied there was enough. 
 
106 A Last Token 
 
 Then the Great Spirit called before His Throne 
 
 The new born pair, so widely ditferent, 
 
 And called one Life and called the other Death. 
 
 'Now, said the Spirit in a fatherly tone, 
 
 You two are partners in this business 
 
 And you must work together on this star; 
 
 This star will be supreme in intellect; 
 
 It will not have the power of control 
 
 As has a sun: — 'twill be of planet form, 
 
 But it will have the sflory of a sun.' 
 
 'And what my Lord, said Life, will be its sex?' 
 
 *Aye! said the grisly Spectre at his side. 
 
 What is the sex to be of this affair?' 
 
 'I have not yet decided on the sex. 
 Said the Great Spirit in a musing tone: 
 I am a male Myself and like a girl; 
 But the fair Spirit on the other side 
 Wno is my wife may take a different view.' 
 
 'Olympia, My Darling! said the Lord 
 Of the whole universe that night in bed: 
 This star, what shall it be, a pretty girH' 
 'No, said the Lady, let it be a boy.' 
 Thus in a jift'y was this knotty point 
 Decided; and the wisdom of the Lord, 
 As the Great Spirit sitting on His Throne, 
 Was not impeached by any lesser lord. 
 
 IV 
 
 In an erratic orbit of its own. 
 
 And with a tail a million miles in length. 
 
 There soon appeared a comet in the sky; 
 
 It was of gauzy texture for the eye 
 
 Could pierce it through, or very nearly through. 
 
 But the Great Spirit and the Architect, 
 And the Contractor with his helping hands, 
 Who had been working on this pulpy thing. 
 Were near at hand and watchful of its course; 
 While Life and Death were dominant within. 
 
 'I must attach this fellow to some sun,' 
 Said the Great Spirit to Olympia. 
 
The Building of a star 107 
 
 'Yes, said the Royal Lady in assent: 
 Bit wait awhile.' 'Of course, the Spirit said; 
 His babyhood is so apparent now 
 That he would suffer by comparison.' 
 
 Astronomers were figuring on him, 
 
 And the cartoons were busy with his tail. 
 
 And all the merry children on the earth 
 
 Kept him in mind and looked for him at night. 
 
 His photograph was easily obtained; 
 
 But the Great Spirit's sitting on His Throne 
 
 Was not obtainable at any price. 
 
 None of the Dreams or Spirits of the world 
 
 That are invisible to human eyes 
 
 Came into view through photographic art. 
 
 The comet grew, its tail diminishing; 
 
 Its oibit lessened; and its pulpy state 
 
 "Was also less apparent to the eye. 
 
 In course of time the comet disappeared; 
 
 And the astronomers in doleful tones 
 
 Announced the fact and w^ondered w^here it went. 
 
 But the Great Spirit sitting on His Throne 
 Had held a consultation with His Wife, 
 And had inquired: 'Olympia my dear, 
 Shall I attach this fellow to some sun 
 Or let him make his individual choice?' 
 'Find him a place,' the Lady had replied. 
 
 Once in a while discovery is made 
 
 That some new planet, never known before, 
 
 Has made its first appearance near some sun. 
 
 All the big telescopes are trained towards 
 
 The stranger star; a name is given it; 
 
 And the Bertillon system as applied 
 
 To human beings for human measurements, 
 
 Is misdirected also to the star. 
 
 Lombroso, ganger of the faculties 
 
 Of the depraved — degenerate on earth. 
 
 May be appealed to as a gentleman 
 
 To take an upward flight and gauge the star: — 
 
 All things are possible on mother earth. 
 
108 A Last Token 
 
 The star was built^ its orbit was secure; 
 
 And Life and Death still partners as of yore, 
 
 Still subject to the Spirit on the Throne: 
 
 Woke up the Genii when their parts came on; 
 
 Stood by when fought the pigmies and the gnomes; 
 
 Wrangled about intelligence in beasts: 
 
 And fell apart — repelled — in forest wilds. 
 
 And the fantastic vaudeville of life: 
 Imagination in a riot cast, 
 Or cool exultant Eeason on its throne, 
 This, ere the fervent spirit of its youth 
 Had given place to mellowness of age, 
 May be conceived as present on its stage. 
 
 The star should also have its working hours. 
 'Lord! said a Dream, — it might be Rockefeller's — 
 Could I obtain the body of the sun, 
 Which in my humble judgment is a mass 
 Of fine, magnetic, solid iron ore: 
 With mines of coal contained within its bowels. 
 And all on fire, thus giving us the light — 
 And heat required to brave the winter's cold: 
 I'd pile a fortune up that e'en the wealth 
 Of the Great Spirit sitting on His Throne, 
 Master of many suns and countless moons. 
 Could not surpass. — At least a little bit.' 
 
 'Well! said a Dream, — but of a different kind — 
 I'd rather have the power of the Spirit:^ 
 For He is ruler of the universe. 
 Than the fair Dream, who is my spirit wife, 
 Would not be filled with envy that Olympia 
 Should far outrank her in the universe.' 
 
 We are content with building of the star. 
 Later some Bard with dreamy faculties 
 May seize his pen with confidence, and write: 
 'As it began so surely will it end; 
 The Dreams so potent in its infancy 
 May reappear when dissolution comes.' 
 
 The Bard may tip his hat to future Dreams; 
 And being informed as to the general facts 
 Produce a play, with scenery effects, 
 Of the dramatic ending of the star. 
 
The Wreck of the Pelican 
 
 *Well, said the Ghost, when he recovered breath, 
 
 Having been roughly hustled to his death: 
 
 Where is the Isle I started from of late?' 
 
 He seemed to be a roving sort of blade, 
 
 For he kept going for a hundred miles; 
 
 He rode the clouds in all the various styles 
 
 That the best rider in a circus may 
 
 Be thought to do, with nothing in his v/ay. 
 
 He seemed so pleased with riding on a cloud, 
 
 That he expressed his sentiments aloud; 
 
 And catching in a megaphonic way 
 
 Some of his bold adventures through a day, 
 
 We'll write them down; not vouching for the same. 
 
 Though we'll declare that Pringle is his name. 
 
 There are peculiar phases that at death 
 Are wholly independent of the breath, 
 When the departed spirit as a dream 
 May still survive; and mingle with the stream 
 And the deep current of humanity: 
 Able to hear, to travel and to see. 
 
 As he was passing by a coral reef 
 He heard a voice, and recognized a chief 
 Of the Rebellion in America; 
 There are rebellions southwards every day, 
 But this particular one was in the north. 
 Where law is more important than the sword: 
 So Pringle paused. 'What are you doing here, 
 Pringle was shouting hoarsely in his ear: 
 Are you not Farragut of Mobile fame?' 
 *Yes sir, I am; the answer to him came; 
 My fleet is here imprisoned in this reef — 
 I must remain: I'm waiting for relief.' 
 
 Like as a stormy petrel on the lee 
 
 Of a big ship, so Pringle skimmed the sea, 
 
 And he sat down upon the coral reef. 
 
 'Let us play cards while waiting for relief;' 
 
 *No, said the Admiral, I'll play you chess.' 
 
110 A Last Token 
 
 He vtas the better player we confess, 
 
 He won the game: he won a hundred times. 
 
 'What is that noise, said Pringle, are they chimes?' 
 
 * Eight bells,' said Farragut; and threw the board 
 
 Into the sea while flourishing his sword. 
 
 'You are a Southern traitor in disguise: 
 
 You keep me here; get back into the skies.' 
 
 And Pringle leaping nimbly on a cloud 
 
 Yelled in his wrath, 'I'll furnish you a shroud;' 
 
 The cloud became a giant waterspout 
 
 Blotting the coral reef completely out; 
 
 But still the voice of Farragut was heard 
 
 D — ning his eyes, with punishment deferred. 
 
 An eagle flew o'er Popocatepetl, 
 And the great bird no bigger than a beetle 
 V\''as long admired by Pringle and the sun. 
 'He need not fear an Indian's wanton gun. 
 Said Pringle to himself, he's safe up there; 
 He is indeed the monarch of the air; 
 Aye! he descends, he's tiring of the snow; 
 Doubtless his nest and mate are there below.' 
 And with this glimpse of Montezuma's land, 
 Pringle went down to where the air was bland. 
 
 'Is this a dream or am I dreaming here?' 
 A lovely little island did appear. 
 That has no name nor place on any chart, 
 Though it is dear to every human heart, 
 For it is called: The Island of the Blessed. 
 Here little children all in white were dressed. 
 And romped and played; while lovers arm in arm 
 Added another beauty to its charm. 
 
 'I will descend, said Pringle, and enjoy 
 
 This scene awhile; I also was a boy.' 
 
 But a great jaguar glowered in a cage, 
 
 And shook the bars with fury in its rage. 
 
 'This place is for the living, said a girl, 
 
 And you are dead. There came a wilder whirl 
 
 From the great beast and open flew the door. 
 
 'I can not laud, said Pringle o'er and o'er; 
 
 But am I dead? I do not think I am; 
 
 Aye! I believe this island is a sham; 
 
 I'll find its latitude and longitude 
 
 When I get home and settle with that brute.' 
 
The Wreck of the Pelican \\\ 
 
 The next he saw was General Washington 
 Walking around the country with his gun, 
 lie also had a hatchet in his belt. 
 'Vv^hat is he up to now?' and Pringle felt 
 The clouds a-slipping from him to the sea; 
 He rose again, and saw a cherry tree; 
 At the same moment Washington espied 
 The laden tree and Pringle 's ghost defied. 
 'Come but a furlong nearer and you die.' 
 'Why should I die? said Pringle in reply, 
 I am a spirit now; but what are you?' 
 Thus back and forth their challenges they flew. 
 
 'I want some cherries and I'll have them, come! 
 Said Pringle 's ghost, stand by, and give me some.' 
 Bang! went the gun, and Pringle flew away. 
 The blue Caribbean faded into gray — 
 He rose so high; and when he looked again. 
 He saw Mount Vernon outlined on the plain, 
 And on the grave of Washington a log 
 Of cherry wood, with figure of a dog. 
 
 'Forecastle men, said Pringle to himself, 
 As he caught glimpses of the Mexican gulf. 
 May be considered liars from their birth; 
 Yet the salt sea finds washable their dirt — 
 It floats away; and nothing but our bones 
 All white and clean are found by Davy Jones.' 
 
 The air was getting warmer, and he caught 
 A cirrhus cloud, a little one he thought. 
 And fanned himself serenely on a cloud. 
 The isle of Martinique was there about, 
 And he looked down on Pelee from above. 
 The mountain smoked, in ashes was the grove, 
 And ruin and desolation were beneath; 
 There was not visible a single street: 
 Ashes were there and lava by the mile; 
 While underneath, all waiting for the smile 
 Of Providence, were thirty thousand men 
 And women waiting to be born again. 
 
 'Are there no spirits of the dead about? 
 Thought Pringle 's ghost, I'll try and find this out;* 
 So he crept nearer to the crater's mouth 
 And peered within, and saw a pirate crew: 
 The Spanish main came also into view. 
 
112 A Last Token 
 
 Full of excitement Pringle's ghost did bawl: 
 'Blaekbeard! Lafitte! I recognize them all; 
 What is the use their logs to overhaul? 
 The Pirate's Book has a catalogue of names, 
 And here they are all dancing in the flames. 
 Sharks of the sea! ' — here Pringle gave a gasp 
 And sought in vain the mountain's sides to grasp; 
 'This must be hell, I think;' and down he sank 
 And of the ocean's salty water drank. 
 
 When he regained his wind and looked about, 
 All Martinique was covered with a cloud: 
 Even Fort de France was hidden from the view. 
 'What has become of Kidd?' and thither flew 
 The ghost of Pringle for another look; 
 But it is not recorded in the book — 
 Or rather log, that Pringle as a ghost 
 Kept in his head about this dangerous coast. 
 That he succeeded in his wild attempt; 
 The sea of fire successfully he stemmed; 
 But the more deadly volume of the gas 
 He found by far more difficult to pass. 
 Hence we surmise that Pringle never saw 
 The Captain any more but did withdraw. 
 
 Some ships of war were hovering around; 
 Whether for Panama or Eio bound, 
 Or merely watchful that the Spanish Main 
 Should not return to piracy again: 
 The log of Pringle is uncertain here. 
 Something of more importance does appear. 
 
 The giant headland where the wreckage laid, 
 
 So he supposed, was running in his head. 
 
 'I think there's something chasing me,' he said. 
 
 He turned around and looked towards the land; 
 
 The air was sugar laden and was bland. 
 
 'There are the niggers working in the fields; 
 
 This is no land for chivalry and shields. 
 
 This is Jamaica, ain't it, am I right?' 
 
 He rose a mile or two for better sight. 
 
 When a hot Something touched him on the arm, 
 
 Adding new terrors to his first alarm. 
 
 'The Devil! aye, the Devil!' and a yell 
 Burst from his lips; while sounding of a bell 
 Ascended from below and drew him down. 
 
The Wreck of the Pelican 113 
 
 *I am a Spirit ocean born to drown;' 
 
 But his Satanic Majesty refused 
 
 To give him leave and him of crime accused. 
 
 Up in the air a battle then ensued, 
 And Pringle's ghost with energy endued, 
 Now leaped aside, now flew towards the land. 
 Now made a gallant and determined stand: 
 Till he fell down; and striking on the deck 
 Of his own ship there laid a helpless wreck. 
 
 'This is Jamaica where the wreck occurred, 
 And here is where the hurricane we heard; 
 We drove ashore; we caught the ragged edge 
 Of the big blow and landed on a ledge; 
 I had a tumble for I struck the deck 
 Like as a flail.' And feeling for his neck 
 The ghostly hand of Pringle touched a cloud. 
 'This one is dark and heavy like a shroud — 
 I'll dress myself and find the Pelican.' 
 Upon the instant searching he began, 
 Till a low funnel and a jury-mast 
 Rewarded Pringle 's eft'orts at the last. 
 
 He next appeared as lying in a bunk. 
 More like a spar or useless piece of junk 
 Than the renowned and celebrated Ghost 
 Who had been doing duty on that coast. 
 
 The Captain's daughter handed him a mug. 
 The Captain's steward lifted up a jug — 
 There was a gurgle and a heavy sigh. 
 'My man, said captain Biddle, don't you die; 
 Brace up a bit; here, take another sniif.' 
 The steward lit his pipe and took a whiff; 
 The Captain's daughter picking up a book 
 At the young sailor shyly took a look; 
 While growls, proceeding from the deck above. 
 Showed that some tar an argument would prove. 
 He 1 ow was doing well, as doctors say 
 Whe they are sure of patient and of pay. 
 
 The damage to the ship had been repaired; 
 The steam was up; the atmosphere had cleared. 
 And it was balmy as a day in June. 
 
114 A Last Token 
 
 'May, said the steward, he'll be better soou; 
 
 His skull you see is tolerably thick 
 
 And that's M^hat saved the breaking of his neck. 
 
 We are not in the confidence of May, 
 
 And of her thoughts have nothing here to say, 
 Bnt she went down below, and brought a mug 
 Full to the brim to Pringle from the jug. 
 
'Tis a-Coming 
 
 Judgment Day is near at hand, 
 For the signs we understand; 
 Wrongs committed, penance done, 
 Conscience ruling, sparing none. 
 
 Nations still unknown will rise 
 To eminence through enterprise; 
 Language changing; Nations old 
 At rest — all easily foretold. 
 
 Cities eminent and famed 
 Will either disappear, or tamed, 
 8ee others rising where the ground 
 Was forest once or funeral mound. 
 
 Three upheavals of a Power, 
 Still a Fourth must have its hour; 
 Government like human life 
 Making efforts to survive. 
 
 Doubt not but the glorious sun 
 Will still retain its hold upon 
 This little planet, when the sword 
 Is sheathed through the coming Lord. 
 
The Shadow Land 
 
 The question rises what is death? 
 We know 'tis parting with the breath; 
 We know that dissolution comes, 
 And that it paralyzes homes. 
 
 The gross material envelope 
 
 Of this our spirit, favors hope 
 
 Of a renewal of the same, 
 
 When purified through endless flame. 
 
 The Lord, our leader in the land, 
 Will help us with a guiding hand; 
 His nature being the same as ours, 
 Only sujjerior in powers. 
 
 This is a comfort to the soul, 
 And argues family control; 
 Each spirit atom at the end 
 Being sure of meeting with a friend. 
 
 The insignificance of life 
 Is proof itself it will survive. 
 For the wild slaughter of the field 
 Of war the evidence does yield. 
 
 The evidence is in; and breath 
 May be a spirit after death; 
 But as for cause and origin 
 That is beyond the ken of men. 
 
DEC to 1910 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div.