Letters to My Friends 
 
 i 3537 
 185 L4 
 J15 
 
 >py 1 
 
 By SARAH L. SNYDER 
 
Letters to My Friends 
 
 BY 
 
 SARAH L. SNYDER 
 

 Dedicated to My Daughters — November, 1915 
 (Copyright) 
 
 CI,A4IS243 
 
 QEC 2^ I'3I5 
 
TO MY FIRST-BORN ON HER BIRTHDAY. 
 
 . Would I could give thee some beautiful gift, 
 
 ^ Something to enrich and something to please, 
 
 ^ Something to aid, to shield and surround thee, 
 
 -r Something to keep and to view at thy ease. 
 
 ^ Would I could gather the choicest of friends 
 '^ To guide thee through life, and aid thee in need, 
 v* Comfort in sorrow and drive away fears, 
 PY For surely, such would be true friends indeed. 
 
 S' Would I could get thee earth's treasures of gold. 
 And purchase the rarest "music" below 
 To learn the melodies sung to our God; 
 
 Thus, make thee welcome where'er thou might go. 
 
 , Would I could see thee, and tell thee my wish, 
 I'd fill thy heart with emotions of bliss; 
 Lavish upon thee Heavenly blessings 
 And end by giving a motherly kiss. 
 
 Tell of my happiest hour in life 
 
 On first beholding the eyes of my babe. 
 
 So round, so black and so charmingly bright, 
 A picture more lovely than art e'er made. 
 
 The little round head with heavy black hair, 
 Fat dimpled cheek, and still heavier chin; 
 
 Cherub, too lovely for mortals to own, 
 And yet not ready for Heaven to win. 
 
 I'd tell of the love grown, year after year. 
 
 Deeper and stronger through watching and care, 
 
 Till all the years of girlhood have passed 
 
 And my wee one has reached maidenhood fair. 
 
 This, and far more, on thy birthday I'd do 
 To make it divine till eve should draw nigh; 
 
 Good wishes and blessings throughout the whole day 
 Remembering with thanks our Father on high. 
 
Enclosed find a gift, accept it, though small, 
 And purchase a trifle, a sign to be 
 
 Of thy mother's love, this first day of June, 
 Thy anniversary in ninety-three. 
 
 TO E. M. S.— BIRTHDAY GREETING. 
 
 To thee, my child, best wishes come 
 
 On this, thy natal day; 
 Best wishes for thy future good, 
 
 Success in every way. 
 
 Best wishes for returning health 
 
 And strength for further work; 
 That thou may'st see thy duty plain 
 
 And never from it shirk. 
 
 Whatever thy skillful hands must do 
 
 Pursue with all thy might; 
 Success is sure awaiting thee. 
 
 Strive ever for the right. 
 
 Seek the pearl of true enjoyment 
 
 And never from it stray ; 
 From the friends that may surround thee 
 
 Select the best alway. 
 
 A BIRTHDAY— TO V. E. S. 
 
 Twenty-four years this day doth make 
 
 Since first I called thee mine, 
 And felt the charm of mother-love 
 
 Make my existence thine. 
 Twenty-four years since first I gazed 
 
 Upon thy sacred form 
 And felt thy warm breath on my cheek 
 
 And thought myself new-born. 
 
 4 
 
Twenty-four years! blessed be the time 
 
 Since first I held thy hand; 
 Such velvet softness I ne'er knew, — 
 
 Choice gift from Fairyland. 
 Twenty-four years the first of June, 
 
 Naught can from time erase. 
 I took thy tiny hand in mine 
 
 And did thy future trace. 
 
 Twenty-four years have quickly sped 
 
 Since first my arms embraced 
 The form, which since has dearer grown 
 
 With lines of beauty graced. 
 Twenty-four years through toil and strife 
 
 That thou*dst successful be. 
 In thy dear life I lost my own 
 
 And lived and breathed for thee. 
 
 Twenty-four years of mutual love 
 
 Enshrines thy heart in mold, 
 With ties that strengthen with the years 
 
 And bonds that ne'er grow cold. 
 Twenty-four years ago today. 
 
 Thanks be to God above! 
 Foi" brighter seems its memory 
 
 As deeper grows my love. 
 
 Twenty-four years of favored life 
 
 With happiness in store 
 Health, wealth and choicest friends surround 
 
 For thee I ask, and more. 
 Twenty-four years be added still 
 
 To make thy life replete 
 With kindest deeds of wondrous skill 
 
 Thy hands already mete. 
 
 And if thou ask, I yet would pray 
 
 Another score be added 
 That thou couldst reap a rich reward 
 
 With all thy labors ended. 
 
 5 
 
Upon this sacred day of days 
 
 I long to clasp thy hand , 
 Embrace thy form, imprint a kiss, 
 
 Reseal love's time-worn band. 
 
 Let each birthday find added grace I 
 
 Thy loving deeds increase ; 
 Heaven's highest attribute be thine 
 
 When all thy labors cease. 
 
 HEALTH AND SUCCESS. 
 
 That they may come, I humbly pray, 
 And to my God I go each day. 
 To lay before Him at His shrine 
 The longings of these two of mine. 
 
 He'll surely grant, if we implore 
 
 As did our sires in days of yore. 
 
 When, upon independence bent. 
 
 They prayed for health, freedom and strength. 
 
 They asked, and never sought in vain. 
 But freedom and new homes did gain; 
 Success was theirs on every hand, 
 It shall be yours, a studious band. 
 
 More zealous, true, with purer aim 
 One seldom finds. Strive to attain 
 The highest goal to mankind given. 
 It easier makes the way to Heaven. 
 September 24, 1894. 
 
 NOT TIME TO WRITE? 
 
 "Not time to write" thee! can that be 
 When all my thoughts are turned toward thee? 
 Through all the day and all the night 
 I wish thy form could come in sight. 
 
Thy face I'd scan, and long would gaze 
 Into thy eyes, until their rays 
 Should penetrate my inmost thought, 
 Oh! then, I'd write thee as I ought. 
 
 Thy sister, too! to her, in turn, — 
 Would I could view her queenly form. 
 I'd give her health, what she most asks. 
 To lighten all her school-day tasks. 
 
 Her prospects then, we might commend 
 And watch with pleasure to the end. 
 I'd promise these, and keep it too. 
 To write to both, and each of you. 
 
 TO O. A. H. 
 
 Just nineteen years of wedded life 
 
 This day I count for thee ; 
 It seems but days, so swift the flight 
 
 Since first thou called on me. 
 
 My infant in the cradle lay. 
 
 Scarce two months had she seen ; 
 
 But now, she has her full size grown 
 A lady true, I ween. 
 
 For many months your child she's been, 
 
 And many more she'll be; 
 Until she closes her schoolwork 
 
 And home returns to me. 
 
 Your pride for her exceeds my own. 
 Your kindness equals mine; 
 
 May she have health to you repay 
 And promptly come to time. 
 
 7 
 
To wish for you a future term 
 Of years, some nineteen more 
 
 Of wedlock true, with health and strength 
 To labor as before. 
 
 And now accept this wish from one, 
 
 Who has your sister been 
 Through trials, and through happiness, 
 
 And will be still, I ken. 
 
 A wish of long and joyous life. 
 
 Prosperity and health; 
 Your share of good things here below, 
 
 And not a little wealth. 
 
 And when old age comes creeping on 
 
 A pleasant face to wear; 
 That all the ills of life had been 
 
 Not more than you could bear. 
 
 So cheer up, brother, sister dear. 
 
 And look life in the face: 
 Go, strive your Heavenly place to win 
 
 And take a higher place. 
 
 YES, TIME TO WRITE. 
 
 Of course, a letter I've time to write, 
 And sure enough, I'll begin tonight; 
 And better still, it shall be in rhyme 
 For kindly waiting so long a time, — 
 A long letter too, quite full of news. 
 For not writing before, here's the 'xcuse, 
 And simple it is, I'd not much to say 
 To my littlest girl so far away. 
 No news at all, our place was quiet. 
 Until some thieves thought best to try at 
 
 8 
 
Opening the store of Cogswell Bros., 
 Taking goods they could sell to others 
 And leaving the store all upside down, 
 News of which soon spread through the town. 
 The sheriff came; but nothing could do 
 For the goods were gone, and the rascals too. 
 Your aunt D. and I. Monday did ride 
 To your uncle's house, and Ell's beside; 
 For D. is making a carpet new 
 And getting ready for Christmas, too. 
 Friday found us again on the way 
 To claim the premiums due us that day. 
 So I thought best while waiting for her 
 To step in and have my teeth out there. 
 Doc probed the roots, and drew 'em all out 
 
 While I screamed and "took on" the best I could. 
 Thinking he knew what he was about 
 
 He heeded me not; 'though I tried to be good. 
 Now teeth are gone, I'm happy's a bird 
 And suffer the rest without a word. 
 
 B's letter came, a birthday rhyme too. 
 Telling me what they're going to do 
 When "hungry," they come to eat "the calf* 
 Which is now fattened, not over half. 
 Sister wrote not, but I'll remind her. 
 And Tuesday morn will surely find her 
 Reading a letter and rhyme from me 
 To let her know I'm fifty-three. 
 Papa forgot! 'twas enough for me 
 To know I'd been remembered by thee. 
 A present, too, from my littlest girl ! 
 This nearly set my head in a whirl 
 Two letters, a rhyme and present too. 
 Accept my thanks, each and all of you. 
 Excusez-moi, I've done my letter 
 Go read it now for worse or better. 
 Vraiment votre amie et mere. 
 
 9 
 
OCTOBER 13. 
 
 To thee dear child, — My eldest one, 
 
 I wish to have these few lines come; 
 
 I've written rhyme, of letters two, 
 
 And now I owe a debt to you. 
 
 I've waited thus to send the choice: — 
 
 In choosing, if you'd had your voice. 
 
 You wouldn't've asked the other two 
 
 But sure have said, "write one anew." 
 
 Now read it through with lenient thought; 
 
 Votre mere's not done as well's she ought. 
 
 Her time is brief, her talent weak. 
 
 She would not write if she could speak. 
 
 Again October's golden day 
 
 Does bid me think of those away; 
 
 I fain would call them home to dine 
 
 Upon this sacred day of mine. 
 
 I long to see, — can hardly wait, 
 
 I'd haste to meet them at the gate, — 
 
 But thou art near the deep, deep sea 
 
 And I can only think of thee. 
 The autumn leaves are falling thick. 
 
 The wind sings mournfully 
 Upon this chill October day 
 Which makes me fifty-three. 
 
 The vine that clings to the outside wall 
 
 Sings a weird tune as its tendrils fall. 
 
 And more solemn still is the silence here 
 
 As I write, and long for the absent ones dear. 
 
 The low breezes, too, have a mournful tone 
 
 To the listener here, as she sits alone 
 
 With solemn thought of the birthdays gone. 
 
 And the fewer still that are to come. 
 
 Would thou wert here, thou couldst charm the spell ; 
 
 What thou art to me words cannot tell. — 
 
 No other voice could pierce the maze 
 
 Or 'rouse in memory those by-gone days. 
 
 10 
 
Another milestone I've now passed, 
 
 Old age has really caught me quite, — 
 With oldish ladies I am classed 
 
 In spite of all my fiendish fight. 
 Another birthday's counted me, 
 
 Another one will come, too soon. 
 And give me more than I now have 
 
 In years I do not like to own. 
 The signs of age do hold me fast 
 
 E'en though I will be young and free; 
 Old Time hath stamped me with his cast 
 And made me all of fifty-three. 
 My heavy brow doth tell of me, 
 
 My failing sight tells too; 
 The wrinkles on my face you'll see 
 Are not the thing for you. 
 I know my hair has turned quite gray. 
 My wrinkles, they increase each day; 
 Yet why it is, I cannot see, 
 I am called old at fifty-three. 
 When this last milestone I did trace 
 And Old Age stared me in the face 
 I would not bow to dark despair, 
 For loftier thought, I raised a prayer — 
 Away with every flimsy sign 
 
 What passport do they take from me? 
 The pleasures of the young are mine 
 
 And shall be, e'en through fifty-three. 
 The longing for my absent one 
 
 Doth kindle in a mother's heart 
 That deep affection, known to none 
 
 But dearest friends when forced apart. 
 When cruel Fate shall make me old 
 
 By his immutable decree. 
 Then, with a firmer grip I'll hold 
 And pray to keep just fifty-three. 
 
 11 
 
Til break the fetters put on me 
 And from Old Age I'll try to flee 
 
 For he and I can ne'er agree. 
 I am no more than fifty-three. 
 
 I 
 
 TO AN INVALID FRIEND. 
 
 Oh, Adelaide, dear Adelaide! 
 
 Thy photo came to me 
 Almost upon the very day 
 
 That made me fifty-three. 
 *Tis true as life, and truer too. 
 
 For 'twill unchanging be, 
 I prize it for the giver's sake. 
 
 And thanks return to thee. 
 
 Whene'er I take a peep at it 
 
 'Twill quicken memory's flow, 
 And take me back where first we met 
 
 Some thirty years ago. 
 When our acquaintance then began, 
 
 And since has riper grown; 
 Until we more like old friends seem 
 
 Nearing our future home. 
 
 And now, my friend, I pray that thou 
 With future health be blest. 
 
 Remember Him who chastens all 
 "He doeth all things best." 
 
 TO A COUSIN. 
 
 My Dear Pauline, what do you mean 
 
 By telling daughter so? 
 You say that I do pass you by 
 
 Whene'er to town I go. 
 
 12 
 
I have not been, as you well know, 
 Outside our town of late; 
 
 I cannot leave, howe'er you grieve. 
 You see, I'm doomed by Fate. 
 
 I'd gladly come, and hope to soon, 
 
 But don't you, for me, wait. 
 Just come to see and visit me; 
 
 I'd like if I could paint, 
 I wish I could, how soon I would 
 
 Make pictures for my wall; 
 But they would be too much like me 
 
 And wouldn't do at all. 
 
 It is so strange that you will rave 
 
 Around about me thus. 
 And stay away from day to day 
 
 Then make an awful fuss. 
 Now, come! just do, and see if you 
 
 Will ever sorry be; 
 And stay one week, then you will speak 
 
 A better word for me. 
 
 I sent for you some time ago, 
 
 And hoped you'd come up here 
 To go with me, the things to see 
 
 At our great village fair. 
 I wonder yet, you did not get 
 
 Your things all packed and come 
 And stay with me six days or three. 
 
 Then I would take you home. 
 
 Now try anew, your friends to view 
 
 And make the promised stay: 
 You will regret, if you forget 
 
 And come at a late day. 
 I am alone and stay at home. 
 
 So a good time we'll have; 
 For you I'll look, and hope to book. 
 
 Come! thus your credit save. 
 
 13 
 
For daughter's sake, do try to make 
 
 The talked-of visit now, 
 And have it o'er forevermore ; 
 
 I shall look, anyhov/. 
 Your sewing get, your paints, you bet 
 
 You may need, if forgot, — 
 Your copies true and brushes too. 
 
 I've teased you all I ought. 
 
 It is to you that I now do 
 
 Look for a visit fine. 
 You surely will get up the hill 
 
 And stop with me and mine. 
 
 QUERY, 1894. 
 
 Say, what shall I do to get well 'thout you? 
 
 My rheumatics are troubling me sore; 
 Ev'ry day, I see, they're gaining on me 
 
 And I fear they'll be covering me o'er. 
 My side and my back with pains do not lack — 
 
 My remedies all work as naught, 
 My shoulder and lung, my neck, not my tongue, 
 
 I doctor them all as I ought. 
 
 For some cause unknown the pains have all gone 
 
 From my face that used to ache so; 
 My phalanx too, I owe this to you! 
 
 For at once the pains from them did go. 
 Now do try again and free me from pain, 
 
 They say "rhumatiz cannot be cured." 
 Your ways, 'tis true, like magic you know 
 
 Worked a charm, after all I'd endured. 
 
 I ask a new 'script, and don't you forget, 
 
 The one you did give has been lost ; 
 I need the cure, I'll look for it sure 
 
 And shall hope to receive a la poste. 
 
 Votre mere. 
 
 14 
 
p. s. 
 
 While waiting to see if worse I should be 
 
 My rheumatiz left me entire; 
 I cannot account, I go in and out 
 
 And seldom sit near the fire. 
 And yet should you see, you'd sure laugh at me 
 
 And say that I, your remedies had; 
 Perhaps you well meant, or, really have sent 
 
 Your 'script, and I wont be so bad. 
 I hope it is so, for I do hate to grow 
 
 As clumsy as I was before; 
 But if I get worse, I'll fill up my purse 
 
 And write for your cure as before. 
 
 TO E. M. S. 
 
 Where, yes where's my daughter today. 
 
 What's become of her letter? 
 Has something happened my wee one, say, 
 
 Or finds she work she likes better? 
 
 Surely she's not her parents forgot. 
 
 What has become of her letter? 
 Why don't she write to us as she might, 
 
 Thus break the worrisome fetter? 
 
 What can we do all the day through. 
 
 What has become of her letter? 
 But watch and wait although doomed by Fate 
 
 Until the mail tells us about her? 
 
 The days seem long, in spite of my song, 
 
 What has become of her letter? 
 Can some one tell if lately befell 
 
 Any mishap to my daughter? 
 
 15 
 
THOUGHTS ON CHRISTMAS REUNION— 1894. 
 
 Love bids thee welcome ! hasten home 
 And further have no wish to roam. 
 The folks at home have waited long 
 And'll gladly greet this much-loved throng. 
 
 Home ye're coming our hearts to cheer, 
 To close with us the long old year, 
 A Merry Christmas may it be. 
 Joyful and bright to all of thee. 
 
 Cheerful and gay from morn till night, 
 In all thy talks have great delight; 
 I wish for each this joyous day 
 That nothing sad come in the way. 
 
 New thoughts, new hopes, new pledges make 
 Through all the day great pleasure take. 
 And as ye gather 'round the hearth 
 May each report a day of mirth. 
 
 DEPARTED FRIENDS. 
 "Do our Departed Friends continue to love us?" 
 
 I bring thee signs from the "Shadowy Land," 
 
 From her thou hast loved so dear. 
 That she watches and guards thee through the hours 
 
 When least thou thinkest this near. 
 
 Yea, guards and guides with tenderest care 
 
 The thoughts of her darling true, 
 And blessings she showers most lavishly 
 
 On her child with eyes of blue. 
 
 *Tis her presence cheers when thy heart is sad, 
 
 'Though myraids of miles away, 
 And her tender voice is with thee still. 
 
 Pouring forth its sweetest lay. 
 
 16 
 
Listen! she lovingly urges thee on, 
 Crowning thy life-work with cheer, 
 
 Until thou shaltVe reached the highest goal 
 Allotted mankind here. 
 
 Then courage renew ! and success achieve, 
 
 For thy faithful guide she'll be 
 True's thou to thy sainted mother hast been, 
 
 She'll be more true to thee. 
 
 AFTER VACATION. 
 
 My birds have flown 
 
 I'm now alone 
 The nest is bare and dreary ; 
 
 I scarce can think 
 
 Nor wish to speak 
 And of myself I weary. 
 
 I first look out 
 
 Then walk about 
 And wonder where the dears are; 
 
 I try to read 
 
 But take no heed 
 Then loose the falling tear. 
 
 My family 
 
 Makes Heaven for me, 
 I wish them ever near me; 
 
 I pray that they, 
 
 Though scattered, may 
 Soon write, for that would cheer me. 
 
 I go to see 
 
 If it can be 
 That they've forgot to write home ; 
 
 I need some news 
 
 To light the fuse 
 Which does so much to bright one. 
 
 17 
 
The letters they 
 Make short the day 
 
 When coming quick and often, 
 I haste to read 
 And then with speed 
 
 Do all my hard thoughts soften. 
 
 OLD CARL. 
 
 For thirteen years Old Carl has been 
 The truest friend you've had; 
 
 His watchful kindness, cunning tricks 
 Were known to many a lad. 
 
 Old Carl, that dear old pet, has gone, 
 That dog of dogs, the best, — 
 
 His time had come, his work was done, 
 And now he's laid at rest. 
 February 9, 1895. 
 
 THE PHOTO. 
 
 Thy photograph did come to me 
 
 Just when my thoughts were turned toward thee 
 So like thyself! methought I heard 
 Some kindly uttered cheering word. 
 
 I'd set me down awhile to rest 
 
 So sick was I ; I felt oppressed 
 
 Until our maid the mail brought in, 
 Then I'd no thought to brood o'er pain. 
 
 Right suddenly I loosed the cord 
 And saw, 'twas enough ! without a word 
 Our friend had kept his promise true 
 And sent us what we'd hoped to view. 
 
 18 
 
In scanning it, I jewels found; 
 
 Priceless diamonds did abound 
 
 Within that brow, so frank and free 
 That called forth highest praise from me. 
 
 That thou mayst ever keep them bright, 
 And walk in manhood's paths aright. 
 Is the true wish my heart would make 
 When thanking for thy two friends' sake. 
 February 28, 1895. 
 
 TO M. E. H.— 1895. 
 
 To thee, dear niece, on leaving home 
 I wish to have great pleasures come. 
 Around thy pathway I'd entwine 
 The choicest laurels from love's shrine. 
 I'd make for thee a home of ease. 
 With husband, children, sure to please; 
 Enough of wealth for comforts rare 
 And, for the needy, some to spare. 
 
 I'd give to thee quick hands to work 
 For home and friends, — that never shirk 
 From duty that thou'lt daily find 
 Leaving all cares and ills behind. 
 For thee I wish all mortals have. 
 And more, I'd ask, — if it would save 
 Thee ills of life, and burdens shed ; 
 My dear niece. May, the first to wed. 
 
 TO A FOUR-YEAR-OLD COUSIN. 
 
 A tiny letter 
 
 By a tiny hand. 
 So full of good news 
 
 From a far-off land. 
 
 19 
 
A tiny letter 
 
 From a tiny friend; 
 No greater surprise 
 
 Could ever she send. 
 
 That tiny letter, 
 
 Read o'er and o'er, 
 Always has something 
 
 Not read before. 
 
 That tiny letter! 
 
 What pleasure it brought 
 On its four pages 
 
 The tiny one wrought. 
 
 That tiny letter, 
 
 The first from our dear, 
 Seemed teeming with love 
 
 And o'erflowing with cheer. 
 
 That tiny letter. 
 
 How much it did tell 
 Of Xmas and all, 
 
 And things that befell 
 
 The tiny writer 
 
 Of Mich., Pontiac, 
 Who went 'way off west 
 
 And never came back. 
 
 That tiny writer 
 
 Has this in reply. 
 We'll look for another 
 
 To us bye and bye. 
 
 
 TO A BOARDING-SCHOOL PUPIL. 
 
 A letter again you ask of me 
 I've already sent you two or three; 
 And to have this come in rhyme, 
 'Twill be very brief for lack of time. 
 
 20 
 
December's here and cold weather, too, 
 But the snow is gone and not a few 
 Murmur and wonder if Christmas mofn 
 They'll wake to find the beautiful gone. 
 I need not ask, I know you're better, 
 I note the tone of every letter. 
 Remember now, my lad, your failing 
 And don't let girls "set good ways sailing." 
 'Tis bad enough when the heart woes wrong 
 But to turn the head and the eyes along 
 With the bashful ways and love of girl 
 Would surely set a man awhirl. 
 Your plight is sad, do make redress 
 And to yourself your ways confess 
 And promise, in the future, you 
 Bid girls and drives a long adieu. 
 Unless you mend your ways right here 
 You'll see your course another year; 
 And then, what will become of him 
 Who last year was so good and prim? 
 And bid so fair to turn out well. 
 But now, is "turned" by every belle. 
 I mourn for you, you naughty boy 
 You ought to fill our hearts with joy. 
 
 I've writ your letter and hope you'll be 
 A better boy and soon write me. 
 Be mindful of all herein I've said 
 And no more let girls turn eyes or head. 
 
 TO MY NEPHEW E. P. 
 
 Old Santa Claus to me was good. 
 And served me better than he would 
 If he had known I did not make 
 A single present for his sake. 
 
 21 
 
Among my gifts of five or six 
 I found a basket for burnt sticks, 
 Which I placed high upon the shelf 
 That none might reach it but myself. 
 
 I see it every turn I make 
 
 And like it for the giver's sake ; 
 
 I wish to thank him, although late, 
 
 And ask him if he'll kindly wait 
 
 'Till IVe more time at my command 
 When I can make something by hand 
 And send it to the giver kind 
 For keeping me, his aunt, in mind. 
 
 TO E. M. S. 
 
 One year has closed ! successful too, I ween, 
 (Long months since I my pet have seen !) 
 For truly, thou, thy mission hath fulfilled 
 By practicing what thou'st learned from those more 
 skilled. 
 
 Thy youthful plans, by thee, so well were laid. 
 Thy arduous efforts now are well repaid, 
 And daily tasks a burden will not seem. 
 But life will pass as in a lovely dream. 
 
 Responsibilities that grow each day 
 
 Will find from weariness an easy way. 
 
 Till thou at last'll have reached the topmost round 
 
 Of life's great ladder and with honor crowned. 
 
 One year! eventful thought its been to thee. 
 Has lessons taught, and shaped thy destiny; 
 The trials, great at times, will lesser grow, 
 The good it's wrought, thy later life will show. 
 
 22 
 
TO V. E. S. 
 
 'Twas Thursday in June warm and bright, 
 The opening of summer, you know, 
 
 A fairy, bewitching and bright, 
 Crept into our family of two. 
 
 We clothed her, admired her and fed; 
 
 And christened her, "Veda, our own," 
 We watched her, and tended and said, 
 
 "We'd a prize when a woman she'd grown. 
 
 We guided, with tenderest care, 
 Each childish desire she expressed, 
 
 Till fully rewarded were we 
 
 In thinking our lives doubly blessed. 
 
 Years passed, so to school she must go; 
 
 Then too, she was ever alert, 
 And soon, to our greatest delight, 
 
 Developed herself an expert. 
 
 The years came and went, as years will, 
 Until to the Normal she went, — 
 
 And more than fulfilled our desire. 
 On earnest endeavor so bent. 
 
 While books and her mates she held dear, 
 Her time was most valued of all; 
 
 With not a brief moment to spare 
 She fully obeyed duty's call. 
 
 And now, mor'n rewarded are we 
 To know she's a love for Cornell, 
 
 And onward and upward aspires 
 To be a true college belle. 
 
 So here's our heart and our hand. 
 Our sympathy deep may inspire. 
 
 The blessing of Heaven attend 
 
 To 'chieve the great founder's desire. 
 
 23 
 
TO MY NEPHEWS. 
 
 For fear you'll get no valentine 
 
 This page is sent to you; 
 So read and laugh as well you may, 
 
 For see! the words are few. 
 
 Though few, they much of love do bring, 
 Good tidings, friendship, too; 
 
 And ever and anon they'll ring 
 With kindest thoughts for you. 
 
 With wishes for continued joys. 
 
 As up the hill you climb. 
 And make true men, of mother's boys. 
 
 While paving paths for time. 
 
 Now boys, be earnest, frank and kind 
 
 As you have been, I hear, 
 'Twill make your pathway golden-lined 
 
 As wise men all aver. 
 
 TO E. M. S. 
 
 This is to be your valentine 
 
 Upon the "fourteenth" day; 
 Old Feb. has brought about the time. 
 
 Now smile! he hopes you may. 
 
 So good you've been, you should have one 
 
 With verses all so neat. 
 And pictures too, though not o'erdone. 
 
 With lines and forms complete. 
 
 Accept this little valentine 
 From one whose love is true; 
 
 From one who never counts the time 
 She spends in loving you. 
 
 24 
 
And read it o'er, and thank the saint 
 To whom you owe this rhyme ; 
 
 Then he will ne'er your wants forget 
 But send a beaut' next time. 
 
 TO COUSIN E. E. M. 
 
 Write, dear coz! the letters bring me 
 More of joy than you can know; 
 
 For the forms of whom you're writing 
 Seems to speak to me through you. 
 
 Seem to come and tarry with me 
 Gossipping the hours away. 
 
 Leaving me with pleasant mem'ries 
 Of the loved ones far away. 
 
 And, by writing, you get comfort 
 From the effort you put forth. 
 
 Haste, and mail me one long missive. 
 Well you know, I'll count its worth. 
 
 Wait no longer for your answer, 
 
 But consider this the one 
 You've been looking for and wond'ring 
 
 "Why on earth" it didn't come. 
 
 Put your faith in our long friendship ; 
 
 Trusting makes one's faith sublime, 
 And surrounds one with the blessings 
 
 Of a greater life divine. 
 
 So I'll look in ev'ry mail now 
 For the news you'll surely send, 
 
 Hoping that you will not mention 
 How you wish my ways I'd mend. 
 
 Such forgiveness as I ask for 
 You will freely give in time, 
 
 If I promptly write in future, 
 Sending prose instead of rhyme. 
 
 25 
 
Since you left my house last autumn 
 I've had cousins from, — let's see! 
 
 Boston, Varna and Elmira, 
 Come to visit mine and me. 
 
 Of your family, questions asked they, 
 Leaving their regards to each; 
 
 You, they recognized in photo. 
 
 Wishing time your home to reach. 
 
 But the snow was getting thinner, 
 And their wishes were in vain; 
 
 They must hasten home with Ellen 
 So's to take the morning train. 
 
 Oft we think and speak of you, Lib, 
 Wondering what you find to do, 
 
 (Sewing, earning, reading, resting?) 
 These long days of winter through. 
 
 "Visit" us in dead of winter? 
 
 That's just what you ought to do 
 For the hurrying of the hay-field 
 
 Is a thing unheard of now. 
 
 Pack your grip with work and pieces 
 As you have been wont to do ; 
 
 And 'twixt meals and washing dishes, 
 Visit, rest and sew some, too. 
 
 THE MEETING. 
 
 My thoughts all day have wandered far. 
 Going through the ether blue. 
 
 To concentrate them was in vain. 
 So inclined to be with you. 
 
 26 
 
Just what you've done and of what you've talked 
 
 I should really like to know, 
 And how it seemed to meet each other 
 
 Since the parting months ago. 
 
 True when my daughters launched their boat 
 
 Upon life's storm-tossed sea, 
 My heart was full of anxious thoughts 
 
 For them, as well as me. 
 
 But as they're sailing o'er the worst 
 
 And getting near the shore, 
 Fulfilling childhood's promises 
 
 By getting wisdom's lore, 
 
 And making for themselves a place 
 
 With learned ones of the day. 
 My aching heart has lost it pain. 
 
 My burden's rolled away. 
 
 For when they launched their little barque, 
 
 Their life work'd just begun; 
 And now, my crowning happiness 
 
 Is to know they've victory won. 
 
 TO ABSENT DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Though many weeks have intervened 
 
 Since last your eyes did meet. 
 And many miles the distance's spanned, 
 
 The meeting's just as sweet. 
 Though Time's relentless hand has left 
 
 His imprint on the face 
 Each will forget to note the same 
 
 As girl and girl embrace. 
 
 Each hath a sister, bright and fair, 
 With ties both firm and true; 
 
 As only kindred ones can have 
 With like pursuits in view. 
 
 27 
 
Each to the other should be true 
 
 Confiding, loving, kind; 
 There is on earth no other tie 
 
 That doth so closely bind. 
 
 Thus will this visit prove to both 
 
 A luxury divine, — 
 Each word a pearl, set 'round with love, 
 
 Bright link in memory's line. 
 And when these days seem "olden times." 
 
 And girls have older grown, — 
 Refer with pride to these same hours 
 
 And reap the love you've sown. 
 
 TO LITTLE HELEN— 1897. 
 
 Perhaps you'd get no Easter egg 
 
 Unless I sent you this. 
 And so you see I brushed it o'er 
 
 With pictures and a kiss. 
 
 Old Goose sends love and blessings, too, 
 And hopes you don't forget 
 
 How hard she worked on this great egg 
 To finish for our pet. 
 
 ODE TO "OLD CATHERINE." 
 
 Poor Catherine's quite ill and likely to die, 
 Refuses to eat and we can't tell why; 
 Not long she'll hold out in this down-hill way 
 For thinner and weaker she grows each day. 
 
 Her cough breaks forth ev'ry motion she makes, 
 More strength and more life each effort takes 
 'Till soon she'll lie down and close her brown eyes 
 And go to her home prepared "in the skies." 
 
 28 
 
On the following day : 
 Good bye to Catherine, her work's been well done. 
 She's entertained us with all kinds of fun. 
 Sixteen full years she's dwelt under our roof 
 And ne'er showed a sign of needing reproof. 
 
 The sports and the tricks she daily employed, 
 The old and young, alike, have enjoyed, 
 Lie buried with her 'neath the grape-vine tree. 
 The finale of pets, and many there be. 
 
 TO E. M. S. 
 
 A pair of mitts! and meant for me? 
 My eyes grew dim, I could not see. 
 I tried them on, they fitted well. 
 But what to think I could not tell. 
 
 I viewed again, the knitting sure. 
 Was just what I had seen before; 
 The shells, the thumb, the taper, too. 
 Were so like those I'd helped thee do. 
 
 And though determined not to be 
 So valentined, entire, by thee, 
 I laid them down, as if too dear 
 To claim for mine while still in fear. 
 
 I almost thought them meant for me 
 A valentine, direct from thee; 
 Brimful o£ love and kindly thought 
 For which I'd given merely naught. 
 
 Although I'd wondered, o'er and o'er. 
 What I would send in rythmic lore 
 That might thy full acceptance meet 
 And be a valentine complete. 
 
 29 
 
I herewith pen these lines this day 
 T' express my gratitude and say 
 I've wished and wished I thine had knit, 
 Ere Christmas came, whate'er the fit. 
 
 So do, I pray, forgive me now. 
 Although quite late, to make a vow, 
 When thine have seen their better days 
 I'll knit and knit and — mend my ways. 
 
 Send thee the new and take the old. 
 Thus keep thy hands from being cold, 
 Assured be thou that this'll be true. 
 Although no mitts are now in view. 
 
 
 TO A COUSIN ABOUT TO LEAVE FOR 
 PORTO RICO. 
 
 Good bye my old sweetheart. 
 
 Good bye, my dear Lill, 
 'Though going far from me 
 
 You'll be the same still. 
 When crossing the ocean 
 
 You'll think of me, Lill, 
 And daily, yea, hourly, 
 
 I'll sing with a will: 
 
 Chorus — Good bye my old sweetheart, 
 Good bye, my dear Lill, 
 The deep waters 'tween us. 
 Such 'vowed love can't chill. 
 
 In far away Ponce 
 
 Be true to me, Lill, 
 And ever remember 
 
 I'm digging to kill. 
 And when the war's ended 
 
 Come home to me, Lill, 
 My arms shall embrace you 
 
 With loving good will. 
 
 30 
 
Yes, when the war's over 
 
 At once do return 
 And all men's approaches 
 
 Be ready to spurn. 
 Then come to me quickly 
 
 That I may prove true 
 My earnest devotion 
 
 By waiting for you. 
 
 Chorus — Good bye, my old sweetheart, 
 Good bye, my dear Lill, 
 The briny deep 'tween us 
 Our true love can't kill. 
 
 CHRISTMAS GREETING. 
 To V. and E.— 1898. 
 
 Coming home? Sure, home you must come! 
 
 Fill the old farmhouse with cheer, 
 Bid your friends and mates adieu now, 
 
 As the holidays draw near. 
 
 Coming home? That's what you must do! 
 
 Lay aside opposing fear, 
 Make your plans and come to see them 
 
 Who are fading year by year. 
 
 Coming home? They're looking for you, 
 
 Counting hourly every day 
 To the time when they shall greet you, 
 
 Who have been so long away. 
 
 Coming home? Yes, home you're coming! 
 
 What would be a Christmas day 
 For the parents 'round the hearthstone 
 
 When their children stay away? 
 
 31 
 
To exchange the Christmas greeting 
 Many years we thus have met; 
 
 Sometimes one and sometimes many 
 Have away from us been kept. 
 
 And the few who've "crossed the River' 
 Seem more dear as comes this day ; 
 
 How this gathering brings them nearer 
 Tho' we know they're far away. 
 
 Waiting now, how oft they beckon 
 Us to cross the waters o'er. 
 
 List! we almost hear the dipping 
 Of the sturdy boatsman's oar. 
 
 Coming home ! Sure all are coming, 
 And we're hastening on the way 
 
 Where we then shall join the loved ones 
 Who have seen eternal day. 
 
 AN EASTER NOTE— 1899. 
 
 That you may get some Easter mail 
 I haste to send this note by rail ; 
 'Tis full of love, yes, running o'er 
 With wishes kind, and furthermore. 
 Regards of Prince and Dandy, too. 
 As well as Carl, who sure loves you. 
 
 Thomas, Cath'rine and Tilda bow 
 And ask to be remembered now 
 To our dear friends, so far away, 
 Of whom we think and talk each day. 
 So here's the letter I write to you. 
 Dear little friends of long ago. 
 
 Z2 
 
TO E. E. M.— 1899. 
 
 Where, oh ! where's my city cousin 
 Who's made me look more times'n a dozen 
 For the visit she planned some weeks ago? 
 Why, oh! why does she stay in town so? 
 
 April has come and Easter is passed, 
 Spring is gliding away from us fast; 
 Summer, with its hard work, soon will be here 
 When visiting days'U vanish, I fear. 
 
 Our time, you know, is early in spring 
 For visit, gossip and all that thing. 
 With resting, sewing and riding some; — 
 So why not pack tomorrow and come? 
 
 CHRISTMAS SALUTATIONS— 1899. 
 
 Christmas time brings forth this mandate, 
 "Gather all, around my board. 
 
 Old and young, both large and small ones, 
 Come, this festive day to laud." 
 
 All the year I've hoped to meet thus. 
 Brothers, sisters and their own ; 
 
 Kindly now I haste to greet you, 
 Welcome! all — within my home. 
 
 During these long days of absence 
 I have reckoned on this day. 
 
 And I'm happy to be able 
 To have found so few away. 
 
 Of these gatherings there've been many 
 
 During all these years agone. 
 One would scarce believe the reckoning. 
 
 Though they're surely twenty-one. 
 
 33 
 
Some have come, and some have left us 
 
 Never to return again, 
 Yet the love for them we cherish 
 
 Grows the deeper with the pain. 
 
 Let us thank the greatest Giver 
 For his kind and watchful care 
 
 And forget not, in this pleasure, 
 What His tender mercies are. 
 
 And through all this day endeavor 
 
 To atone for errors past, 
 And with hurried reparation 
 
 Each enjoy good will at last. 
 
 For this annual reunion 
 
 I have chosen this brief song ; 
 
 And I now repeat my welcome, 
 Merry Christmas! all day long. 
 
 TO G. M. M.— 1899. 
 
 The greatest surprise that ever was known 
 Old Santa sent me, to be all my own; 
 And, coming by mail, so lifelike and true 
 It carried me back to years, not a few. 
 I laughed and I talked and nearly went wild 
 Rehearsing the past to husband and child, — 
 Until they declared me a lun'tic true. 
 As praises and thanks were flowing toward you. 
 For making Old Santa think it his biz 
 To send me the long-since forgotten phiz : 
 
 Which shows me the collar, part of which I 
 Helped cousin embroider ere dawn was nigh. 
 Arrays her in style we now deem so queer. 
 With full-skirted dress and heavy head-gear; 
 And renders her modest, calm and so prim, 
 Yea, just as she was, though brimful of vim, 
 
 34 
 
And brings the love of childhood so great, 
 Which 'tween us has ne'er had cause to abate. 
 Accept these few lines, so hastily penned. 
 With love and best wishes. Ever your friend. 
 
 TO DEAR MOTHER— 1900. 
 
 That you may get some Easter mail 
 I haste to send this note by mail; 
 'Tis full of love, yes, running o'er, 
 As many have been heretofore. 
 With wishes kind, and good will, too, 
 To ever be in store for you. 
 
 Now aged, you have proved it true 
 That industry will youth renew; 
 That health and strength were meant for you 
 Who can with pride your life review, — 
 Thus call to mind old friends, so dear. 
 Who seem to grow each day more near; 
 And prove to all the blessing given 
 That "life" on earth "fits us" for Heaven. 
 
 Although these days may lonely seem 
 And sadness border every dream. 
 The shadows soon will break away 
 And show to us eternal day, 
 Where we shall meet those gone before. 
 The loved ones on the other shore, — 
 Who're waiting now our souls to greet 
 And render happiness complete. 
 
 A BIRTHDAY— 1900. 
 
 This day to thee may oft have brought 
 Old scenes to mind, which once were fraught 
 With boyish pranks, so rough and rude, 
 Tho' sure thou wert they never would 
 Displease thy mother. 
 
 35 
 
Of all the days throughout the year, 
 To bring the past and future near 
 With memories or plans so dear, 
 This one hath proved to thee most clear 
 The love of mother. 
 
 It takes thee back to childhood's day 
 And, with reflection, paves the way 
 For nobler manhood in thy prime. 
 And makes thee realize the time 
 To cherish mother. 
 
 This day, most prized of all the year, 
 Bedewed with hope as well as fear 
 And aspirations for all time, 
 Has surely made thee thirty-nine 
 
 With thoughts from mother. 
 
 Yea, thoughts from her thou hold'st so dear, 
 And 'mong thy kindred seems most near; 
 So, on this anniversary day, 
 Send kindly greeting to repay 
 That loving mother. 
 
 Who never from her thought and care 
 Lets pass one hour she does not share 
 With thee, though absent from her view. 
 That faithful mother. 
 
 COMING HOME— 1900. 
 
 Soon home they'll come our hearts to cheer 
 And thus will end a long, sad year; 
 Through good and ill we've plodded on. 
 And oft have wished the "children home." 
 
 Through winter's cold and snowy days 
 With springtime's everchanging ways, 
 'Tis true! these weeks so long have been 
 And dreary, too, with sickness in. 
 
 36 
 
But summer's come! and health we find 
 With pains and ailments all behind; 
 We hope to keep them in this place 
 And naught of ills in future trace. 
 
 With powders, pills and drugs aside, 
 We now can such ill fate deride: 
 And oft as we resolve to win. 
 So oft shall we more strength retain. 
 Until we find we've reached the goal, — 
 The one desire of every soul. 
 
 Then hasten home ! more life to give 
 That with one purpose we'll all live;- 
 Enjoy full peace, and love renew. 
 With health and youth alone in view. 
 
 TO MY NEPHEW— 1901. 
 
 A more pleasant surprise, sure, you could not have sent 
 Than your mother's late photo last week: 
 
 It brought quickly to mind many scenes of the past 
 Though not one single word did it speak. 
 
 The expression, so lifelike, seemed ready to say, 
 "Here's a cheery good morning to you!" 
 
 As it oft had in childhood at peep of the morn, 
 That same love keeping up the day through. 
 
 So familiar the voice, I'd never forget, — - 
 
 Mem'ry's chain grows the stronger each day: 
 
 And as comes the remembrance, so comes the blithe form 
 Bearing kindness and love in its sway. 
 
 As I studied the face, the eyes and hair, 
 I perceived much of the old in the new. 
 
 The features the same, spite life's cares and life's strife, 
 Fraught with womanly tenderness, true. 
 
 37 
 
Of the many dear faces since childhood I've met, 
 
 Not one wakens reflection like this ; 
 The scenes of one's childhood are never too old, — 
 
 And the telling is never amiss. 
 
 Oh! that swift running brook, where in girlhood we 
 played 
 
 And passed many a happy hour by. 
 What, with dollies and dishes, the comfort we took! 
 
 She remembers as well as do I. 
 
 For this gift, I would thank you, my dear O. H. P., 
 With emotions and pleasure and pride, 
 
 For the boy who is proud of his mother deserves 
 A good name, whatever else may betide. 
 
 TWO LITTLE GIRLS— 1901. 
 
 Those little girls, those jolly girls! 
 
 We wonder oft how much you've grown 
 And what you do, and what you say 
 
 When those two girls from Brooklyn come. 
 
 Of course, you oversee their sewing 
 And help them all you can, I know 
 
 For when they're far from mother's planning 
 They need much help to cut and sew. 
 
 They may be quarrelsome quite often. 
 
 And need their mother's chastening o'er 'em; 
 
 But with two maids to watch and punish. 
 They may behave with great decorum. 
 
 Your hands'll be full, your hearts o'erflowing 
 Sure, if you try to mend their way; 
 
 But work with courage and with patience 
 You'll conquer quite ere Easter day. 
 
 38 
 
I pray you now, do let me know soon 
 Just how they do deport with you; 
 
 You know they're many miles from mother 
 And need some telling what to do. 
 
 TO E. E. M.— 1901. 
 
 Long have I waited 
 
 And many times wondered 
 What had become of my dear Cousin Lib ; — 
 Oft have I stated, 
 
 And frequently thundered. 
 If she didn't write, I surely should "scrib." 
 
 Much have I hunted 
 
 The mail night and morning, 
 Only to be disappointed again; 
 Just as I felt that 
 
 I'd surely find, lurking. 
 That, which I'd looked for so often in vain. 
 
 Months have I waited, 
 No letter forthcoming : 
 Nothing from her who had gone on to Mich. 
 Ne'er was I fated 
 
 Or forced to such drumming, . 
 Some message of love to get as I'd wish. 
 
 Few have I written 
 
 Since from me she's parted; 
 Few and still fewer cor'spondents become. 
 Thus am I smitten; 
 
 And clear broken-hearted, — 
 Waiting the hour when she returns home. 
 
 39 
 
When shall I claim her 
 As cousin and visitor, 
 Health and her buoyancy quite well renewed? 
 Ne'er shall I blame her 
 Or be an inquisitor 
 Only receiving with kindness imbued. 
 
 Date have I chosen? 
 
 The day of my marriage. 
 Years that have passed seem only as days, 
 Yet they're three dozen. 
 Time's flight I disparage 
 And wonder that I show so greatly of age. 
 
 TO COUSIN G. M. M.— 1902. 
 
 A letter some day I intended to write 
 
 So now I am seated I'll do it tonight. 
 
 And hope it may please you, tho' naught may be 
 found 
 
 Within its smooth folds but a rythmical sound. 
 Your promise you kept by thus mailing to me 
 The books which afford a remembrance of thee ; 
 Their volumns I've scanned and enjoyed much the same 
 While page after page more int'resting became. 
 
 The "Annual Meeting" was more than twice read. 
 
 And each time pronounced "the best," as you said ; 
 
 The "Freedman" reminds one how much has been 
 done 
 
 Till by diligent work the "great end" was won. 
 The "Indian," also, a number complete. 
 With facts and reports entirely replete. 
 How much I enjoyed them no pen can quite tell 
 Or how the lone hours they helped me dispel. 
 
 40 
 
So now, let me thank you, I've oft looked them 
 through 
 
 And each time with kindly remembrance of you; 
 
 That visit! so pleasant, I ne'er shall forget 
 
 How every turn seemed with some kindness met. 
 Now daily, yes hourly, come fresh to my mind 
 The visits, the dinner, the callers so kind, 
 The earnest endeavors of daughters to make 
 The programme so changed that we'd more pleasure take. 
 
 And how to repay them 'tis hard to decide 
 So many the favors. Each the other outvied 
 In striving to do something better yet, still. 
 Till everything, really, was tried *'on the bill." 
 If ever again the trip we should make. 
 No tongue could express the pleasure we'd take 
 In doing for others what they did for us 
 Returning each deed, not with feathers and fuss. 
 But really and heartily doing our best 
 Till we were convinced we had worked with much 
 zest 
 
 And balanced the game which so one-sided seems 
 Till all should exclaim we'd expended our means. 
 Of course, you'll think this a queer jumbling note 
 And wonder and wonder how it ever "got wrote." 
 Just here, let me tell you, the pen is to blame, 
 So I'll be forgiven if I sign not my name. 
 
 THE POVERTY SOCIAL— 1902. 
 
 Our lodge at its regular meeting decreed. 
 
 In order to force the new sexton to heed 
 
 The rules and suggestions the members might make, 
 
 Who, with power or without, their chances they'd take 
 
 41 
 
Concerning the heating and lighting the hall 
 And keeping it so as to to gratify all, — 
 A salary be fixed; the money must come; 
 The janitor be paid, or his work'd be undone. 
 
 The hall should be cared for, and well-lighted, too, 
 
 The lamps and the floor and all things in view 
 
 Be polished, and put into apple-pie shape 
 
 So that in it each member'd great pleasure take. 
 
 Then why not unite, and in one evening raise 
 
 The sum of ten dollars which, the janitor, pays? 
 
 Accordingly three were appointed to make 
 
 Some plans for the 'casion this great debt to break. 
 
 Suggestions, which always attend 
 
 The efforts that meet with success in the end, 
 
 Were theirs, and theirs only, as ail could forswear, 
 
 Until they decided on "old clothes" to wear, — 
 
 And fines, they'd impose on each one who'd dare 
 
 Rich raiment or ornaments wear: 
 
 A fine of five cents should be levied, and kept 
 
 To lessen the sum of the P. of I. debt. 
 
 To 'liven the 'casion some speakers were named 
 
 Who, 'thout having been drilled, should not now be 
 
 blamed. 
 For whatever's lacking'll be made up in intent 
 To please the majority, who on pleasure are bent. 
 We beg you'll accept all with kindness of heart 
 And 'predate their efforts, though lacking in part. 
 The time was too short, too busy the days. 
 The distance too great to practice for plays. 
 
 A few recitations, selections and song, 
 
 A good social time the whole evening long. 
 
 With singing all are asked to take part 
 
 And join in the chorus with voice and with heart. 
 
 42 
 
The list has been chosen with this point in view, 
 To get those, as yet, who've had nothing to do. 
 So Hsten, we pray you, a brief space of time ; 
 You surely will want the worth of your dime. 
 
 But if you find naught for the money youVe paid 
 
 Perhaps you'll assist us in making a raid 
 
 On her, or on him, who has outdone all the rest 
 
 By dressing uniquely, though not in his best, 
 
 Full time'll given to collect the small sum 
 
 Of five cents from all, who have from home come 
 
 With show unbecoming this poverty crowd, 
 
 Assembled for fun and the money they've vowed. 
 
 Our coffee and cake are good, but so plain. 
 If they fail to suit, why, just come again, — 
 We'll often invite you to see us down here, 
 Come then, in full garb! yea, dress without fear. 
 And when you this hall and this company leave. 
 Take with you our thanks, for your presence this eve. 
 
 TO MOTHER— EASTER DAY, 1902. 
 
 Full four score years and ten have been 
 
 For life allotted thee; 
 'Tis more than most receive, by far. 
 
 Age, health and strength, all three. 
 And with these three have added been 
 
 A mind well-filled with lore. 
 Experience gotten from the years. 
 
 And wisdom great in store. 
 
 The trials of these years have left 
 
 Their imprint on thy brow; 
 Thy form once so erect and strong, 
 
 Is weak and bending now. 
 Thy cares of life quite heavy've been. 
 
 And children, six, were there: 
 Life's ups and downs seemed oft too great 
 
 For womankind to bear. 
 
 43 
 
How oft despaired and lonely, too, 
 
 Thy heart seemed nearly broke, — 
 When through the deepened gloom of grief 
 
 Some joy thy soul awoke; 
 And waking thus, thou'st felt relief 
 
 And started up anew, — 
 To toil as faithfully to the end 
 
 As had'st thou done life through. 
 
 Thy work's nigh done. And now is heard 
 
 Thy oft-repeated prayer. 
 That through the never-ending time 
 
 Thou mightest His presence share, . 
 And win from Him, who ruleth all. 
 
 The "Crown of Life" to wear. 
 
 And in thy strife to labor on 
 
 Thy Heavenly Father blessed; 
 And He, who "doeth all things well," 
 
 Will soon call thee to rest. 
 Then he, whom thou hast mourned so long 
 
 Upon the "Other Shore," 
 Will welcome when thy summons comes, 
 
 For stands "ajar the door." 
 
 Now as thy sorrows seem to crowd 
 
 In loneliness around. 
 Cast all thy burdens yet on Him 
 
 Whom, true, thou'st always found. 
 And as today "the Lord is risen" 
 
 So let our thoughts ascend. 
 Inspiring us with holiness; 
 
 Faith, Hope and Love thus blend. 
 
 TO TWO SISTERS— 1902. 
 
 Full many a day we've talked of you 
 And thought we'd write a letter; 
 
 But various things have claimed our time 
 And seemed our hands to fetter 
 
 44 
 
Until this eve, when all at once 
 1 grasped my pen and paper, 
 
 To tell you how our dog and cat 
 My loving kindness pay for. 
 
 'Tis first a mouse, and then a bird, 
 
 Sir Thomas brings me daily. 
 And lays beside the door 
 
 Then rubs and purrs so gayly. 
 His cake-walk you would laugh to see 
 
 When urging me to take it; 
 He says, "'Tis grand, do taste and you, 
 
 Like me, will never care to bake it." 
 
 The birds he calls his "chicken-pie," 
 
 And says the wings will hasten 
 His flying high in trees to catch 
 
 And, in his big claws, fasten: 
 So every day he eats a whole one. 
 
 Head and wings and body; 
 Warm milk he takes instead of beer 
 
 And calls it "lemon toddy." 
 
 He's signed the pledge, and keeps it too. 
 
 And from his board has banished 
 Both tea and coffee, and strong drinks 
 
 Till want for them has vanished. 
 His temperate habits show us all 
 
 The beauty of plain living; 
 Instead of eating all he sees. 
 
 He's happiest when he's giving. 
 
 Sir Carl, your friend, he's coaxed us all 
 
 To taste his cunning squirrel, 
 "'Tis better far," he says, "than mice," 
 
 And brings it with a whirl. 
 And shakes, and bites and tosses it 
 
 Then grins and lies beside it; 
 And, if we don't attempt to touch. 
 
 He lugs it off to hide it. 
 
 45 
 
For buried meat, he thinks, improves 
 
 With every day 'tis hidden; 
 He covers deep but brings it forth 
 
 Whene'er he thinks he's bidden. 
 He guards the house, and minds the cows 
 
 And brings them night and morning ; 
 And does his work, as all dogs should, 
 
 With neither whip or warning. 
 
 But glides so quickly to the field 
 
 We scarce have time to miss him. 
 Then, when he comes with all the cows 
 
 Sir Thomas goes to kiss him; 
 He rubs and purrs and seems to say, 
 
 "Come, now, let's down and over, 
 Our work is done, we've time to play 
 
 And all this walk we'll cover. 
 
 "For sure, we saw the little girls 
 
 And feared they'd take a tumble; 
 But on they ran and reached the gate 
 
 And heeded not our jumble." 
 The fun we had no pen can write 
 
 Or pencil seem t'xpress it. 
 E'en though in glowing terms we tell 
 
 And in bright colors dress it. 
 
 'Tis nine o'clock! and Carlo lies 
 
 With Thomas in his arm 
 Upon the rug, as if to say, 
 
 "I'll keep him from all harm." 
 With both asleep what can I do 
 
 But smile and close this letter? 
 For if I wait I ne'er can find 
 
 An hour that suits me better. 
 
 So now I'll end this curious tale 
 And to my own room hasten; 
 
 Remember you in evening prayer 
 And hope you'll kindly chasten 
 
 46 
 
Both Carl and Thomas for the way 
 They've 'lowed me here to 'scribe 'em; 
 
 When master should have written some, 
 E'en though I'd have to bribe him. 
 
 GREETING. 
 
 Once again we'er glad to meet you 
 
 On this merry festive eve; 
 And with pleasure do we greet you 
 
 Till the time of taking leave. 
 
 By your presence we'er encouraged 
 
 And aroused to greater zeal; 
 Now, we'll work with new endeavor 
 
 Until canvassed is the field, — 
 And our numbers each night gaining 
 
 Till you all are gathered in: 
 Then, we'll quickly claim the plaudit 
 
 Of, — "The Banner Lodge doth win." 
 
 One great motive for this meeting 
 
 V\^as to furnish our new hall; 
 Hence we issued invitations 
 
 To our friends and neighbors all. 
 But, if we should disappoint you 
 
 By our efforts vainly made. 
 We would beg your kind indulgence 
 
 For we different plans had laid. 
 
 By so many, courage failing 
 
 As the 'pointed eve drew nigh, 
 We were forced to enroll others 
 
 With the promise, "I can try." 
 And thus trying, sure, they're reaping 
 
 Untold harvests of their own: — 
 Helping out our sad dilemma. 
 
 Gathering in the honors won. 
 
 47 
 
Yes, we hail your presence gladly, 
 And we hope you'll not regret 
 
 Having visited our order, 
 And its many members met. 
 
 Now we hope that we'll convince you 
 
 That, within these walls of ours 
 Is the place for self-improvement 
 
 And expanding all one's powers; 
 For advancing education, — 
 
 And promoting deeper thought, — 
 Thus creating love for others, 
 
 And one's neighbors as we ought. 
 
 You have added to our pleasure. 
 
 And our object, helped us win; 
 Let us thank you, very kindly, 
 
 And invite you here again. 
 All your names we'd gladly enroll 
 
 On our list of membership; 
 For you know, we are the "Banner 
 
 Lodge of Tompkins County" yet. 
 
 When so many failed to aid us. 
 And our burden seemed so great, — 
 
 Then the oyster spictng up boldly. 
 Shouting, "I will help you, wait." 
 
 So we ask that you all purchase 
 
 Tickets for the supper, soon, — 
 Which consists of cake and biscuit 
 
 Bi-valves raw, — and soup well done; 
 Pickles, slaw and cups of coffee. 
 
 With rich cream and sugar, too. 
 All of which we hope may please you. 
 
 Tell the waiter if't don't do! 
 
 48 
 
One thing more we ask of you, friends, 
 That you leave your name tonight. 
 
 And in future be a member 
 
 Of our "Banner Lodge." That's right! 
 P. of I., February 3, 1903. 
 
 TO H. S.— 1904. 
 
 A valentine, I see, you 'spect 
 
 And though you've had your share, 
 
 A written one I'll send to you 
 While I've the time to spare. 
 
 'Tis cupid makes the valentine 
 
 Just what it ought to be; 
 Brim full of love in every line 
 
 And pictures bright with glee. 
 
 You'll find this one is quite as full 
 
 Of wishes kind and true, 
 As those they sell from out the store 
 
 With lace and fringe in view. 
 
 On this you'll find the words so plain 
 Mean all they're meant to mean; 
 
 They're filled with love and brimming o'er 
 Like rivers with full stream. 
 
 There's many a lad about the town 
 Who'd gladly these lines greet, 
 
 Instead of taking from the post 
 A gay and flowery sheet. 
 
 A sheet that means but half it says 
 With blank 'tween every line; 
 
 Oh! sure, he'd see, at once, the worth 
 Of this plain valentine. 
 
 49 
 4 
 
Let Cupid do the best he can 
 To shower your pathway o'er 
 
 With blessings, you would daily choose, 
 And honors by the score. 
 
 Tho' late to send a valentine, 
 
 You'll pardon the intent 
 When once you learn that only good 
 
 And kindest thoughts are meant. 
 
 TO E. M. S.— 1904. 
 
 To thee, my child, best wishes come 
 
 On this, thy natal day; 
 Best wishes for thy future good 
 
 Success in every way. 
 
 Best wishes for returning health 
 And strength for further work; 
 
 That thou may'st see thy duty plain 
 And never from it shirk. 
 
 Let all thy motives be sincere, 
 
 Thy aspirations right, 
 Whate'er thy skillful hands must do 
 
 Pursue with all thy might. 
 
 Seek the pearl of true enjoyment 
 
 Then never let it stray; 
 From the many friends around thee 
 
 Select the best alway. 
 
 ROBERT'S WISH. 
 
 I want to see old Santa, 
 I want to make my bow, 
 
 I wish I had a sweater, 
 I'd put it on right nov/. 
 
 50 
 
I wish I had a jack-knife, 
 I wish I had a drum ; 
 
 If old Santa Claus forgets me, 
 I'll wish I hadn't come. 
 
 TO V. E. S.— 1908. 
 
 At once pleasant and sad are 
 
 the mem'ries that roam 
 Through my brain on this morn in 
 
 my dear Brookland home; 
 And in spite of myself, my 
 
 thoughts get away 
 To the first day of June and 
 
 the last days of May. 
 When in to our home a 
 
 bright tiny tot came 
 To gladden our hearts and 
 
 perpetuate our name. 
 
 Many months, indeed years, have 
 
 elapsed since that date. 
 Yet old Time has been lenient 
 
 yet not seeming to wait 
 To prepare us for changes 
 
 we'd surely expect. 
 And have realized fully 
 
 with double effect. 
 Much of sadness and pleasure, 
 
 yea, both have come here 
 With so much to be thankful 
 
 for year after year. 
 
 That we can but rejoice o'er 
 the birth on that day 
 
 Of the dear little daughter 
 
 who came here to stay. 
 
 51 
 
 4a 
 
And e*en now, as I muse on 
 
 the time that has sped, 
 In my fancy I hear the 
 
 voice of the dead; 
 For of them that were here and 
 
 did welcome you then, 
 I, alone, am the one who 
 
 remains of the se'en. 
 
 Just to bring to your mind the 
 
 return of this day 
 I have painted a picture, 
 
 though small, I hope may 
 Be accepted until upon 
 
 some future time 
 I can send you another 
 
 without any rhyme. 
 
 THE GIRL'S LETTER. 
 
 The very best medicine that ever was bought 
 Was Addie's last letter, she sent as she ought. 
 
 Though not looked for then, he was pleased as he 
 read, 
 
 I knew by his looks and the nod of his head. 
 He read and reread, as you'd hardly believe, — 
 I watched and wondered and laughed in my sleeve 
 
 To see Mr. S. so enamored just then 
 
 With only a missive from a little girl's pen. 
 It really made him forgetful of self, — 
 His illness and ailments were laid on the shelf, 
 
 And doctor's prescriptions considered as naught 
 
 Compared with a letter from his tiny "daught." 
 He laughed till he cried with the pleasure it gave 
 And wished he had more, for much money he'd save 
 
 For powders and pills are 'xpensive, you know! 
 
 So urge her to write ere the winter shall go 
 
 52 
 
Another as good and as newsy as this. 
 
 He kept all her love, and every kiss — 
 
 I'd taken one kiss had I known it were right, — 
 But, ha ; it's so late, I must bid you good night. 
 
 TO E. E. M.~1908. 
 
 I've put this half-written letter 
 
 Aside many times, as I see. 
 To finish with news that I'd gather 
 
 Of interest, more pleasing to thee. 
 
 Forgive! I pray thee forgive, — 
 
 For right has been my intent; 
 I only could tell thee past deeds 
 
 While I was on later news bent. 
 
 The things that had happened each day here 
 Would ne'er be of interest to thee. 
 
 So I've worried and studied and waited, 
 And feared thou'dst at once ignore me. 
 
 Nay, nay! I beseech anger not; 
 
 Forgive, as thou'dst be forgiven. 
 Be patient, once more, I pray thee 
 
 And willing to meet me in heaven. 
 
 Sure, soon will come a brief missive 
 To prove you've not been forgot; 
 
 May be only a substitute letter 
 
 But, — filled with love from my heart. 
 
 Although this thou'lt consider no answer 
 To what thou'st sent kindly of late ; 
 
 Remember I've thought of thee oftener 
 Than though each letter'd a mate. 
 
 53 
 
Come, now! say thou'st forgiven, 
 Forgotten as well; and begun 
 
 Anew the friendship of old days 
 And let it continue to run. 
 
 TO E. M. S.— 1909. 
 
 My heart was light 
 When, on a summer morn, 
 
 I found myself 
 Possessed of one, thus born; 
 
 For whom I felt 
 At once, a love most fond 
 
 That sure would last 
 Through this, and life beyond. 
 
 And though life's been 
 With joys and sorrows filled. 
 
 It has been blessed 
 With all our Father willed 
 
 Of this world's gifts 
 To make our life complete; 
 
 Yea, all that God 
 In wisdom felt toward us to mete. 
 
 So on this day 
 Give thanks to Him that gave 
 
 Both date and birth 
 Our childhood's ranks to save. 
 
 Ah, blessed day! 
 That then, to us wert given, 
 
 A gift we held 
 A link, 'twixt earth and heaven. 
 
 TO COUSIN NAN. 
 
 A birthday! sure, dear Nan, your own 
 For seventy years have come and gone 
 Not long, as once we thought they'd seem. 
 But brief, today. Life's not a dream. 
 
 54 
 
To wish you more such days, 'twould be 
 A pleasant task, you know, for me. 
 True, birthdays come but once a year 
 But sure they are to bring good cheer. 
 
 In looking backward o'er these years 
 We loved ones miss ; but through our tears 
 We seem to see them as of old 
 And dearer, too, than gems of gold. 
 
 So let us live, that, when we're done 
 With all life's work we've here begun. 
 We'll onward press with that great band 
 That's changed this for a better land. 
 But many years we hope to see 
 Ere we'll be called to eternity. 
 
 Seventy years! how soon they've sped, 
 With joy and sorrow o'er thy head; 
 Many more I wish for thee 
 Years just two 'twixt you and me. 
 November 16, 1909. 
 
 TURKEY HILL. 
 
 Old Turkey Hill! that good old place. 
 That hill of hills,— -the best. 
 
 I loved it once, I love it yet. 
 Best place on earth to rest. 
 
 "Mt. Pleasant" may to some seem fine 
 
 And stylish, too, perhaps. 
 But give to me the old, old name 
 
 Without the frills and flaps. 
 
 'Twas here I learned the beauty of 
 
 The early morning sun; 
 'Twas here I gathered flowers rare 
 
 When my school-work was done. 
 
 55 
 
'Twas here I found the friendship of 
 True friends, and not a few, 
 
 But every one that this hill owned 
 I found both tried and true. 
 
 And now I wish to tell you all 
 There is no place on earth 
 
 That's quite as good as Turkey Hill, 
 I love it for its worth. 
 
 Just forty-eight! the years, 'tis true, 
 
 Have very quickly sped: 
 But every house has yielded up 
 
 And laid away its dead. 
 
 A BIRTHDAY GREETING— FEBRUARY 5, 1910. 
 
 Around this board have gathered here 
 Friends of both homes, who with good cheer 
 Have come to greet this happy man 
 Whose life doth twenty-eight years span. 
 
 All had agreed upon this day 
 To celebrate. We hope he may 
 Be spared to meet on many more 
 These guests again, as years roll o'er. 
 
 Unto this home have come today 
 The relatives, who wish he may 
 In honor, health and wealth abound 
 As twenty-eight years more roll 'round. 
 
 We wish him all that earth can give 
 That he in happiness may live 
 With every comfort in his home, — 
 For twenty-eight years more to come. 
 
 56 
 
All that's in manhood be his share, 
 With fortune's smile found everywhere; 
 So that he may, as age creeps on. 
 Review his past, and hear, "well done." 
 
 "Thy faithfulness hath made thee great, 
 "Praise and honor do thee await, 
 "Thy life's been one of varied strife, 
 "With pure and manly ways 'twas rife. 
 
 "And for thy faithfulness thou'lt be 
 "Now from earth's cares and sorrows free." 
 And as his soul with joy doth thrill, 
 He'll wish for twenty-eight years still. 
 
 Three years of wedded life alone 
 Have found with him a pleasant home, 
 So may his be, where'er he roam, 
 A haven of rest when age comes on. 
 
 And when he's called to lay aside 
 The ills and worries this world betide. 
 His friends may feel that he has gone 
 To wear the crown of Heaven he's won. 
 
 TO ELVI-~1911. 
 
 In Memoriam, November 9, 1860. 
 
 Of all the girls beneath the sun 
 Whom I once knew, there yet is one 
 Who, sure, has lost this very date 
 But who'll recall her one-time mate 
 And send a note, if e'en one line. 
 In cognizance "November nine." 
 Now, Vi, tell me the reason, do. 
 You did forget the promise true. 
 To write to each a kindly note 
 As oft as came the date, in rote. 
 
 57 
 
November nine, one year ago 
 
 There came from Mary, Will and Lew, 
 
 A letter, same as that of old, 
 
 And 'tween each line were love and gold. 
 
 Now, why can't you, as well as they 
 
 Resolve anew, at once obey 
 
 The mandate which today's renewed 
 
 And wish to all, as once you used? 
 
 One year again has rolled around 
 And Death has claimed another mound, 
 Beneath which lies our much-loved friend, 
 Whose life did all man's virtues blend. 
 His fame was known, here and abroad. 
 He talents had which all did laud; 
 And when disease had claimed his life 
 By dint of will, prolonged the strife 
 Until at last, his strength all gone, 
 He heard the call "Come home," "Well done!" 
 'Twas Willie, dear, you knew him well 
 And can recall, I need not tell. 
 The promise of his youthful days, when. 
 We thought he'd cope with learned men. 
 Now, friend of old! do as I ask 
 And write to all. It's no great task. 
 When once you know you ought to write 
 You'll get at it with all your might. 
 And tell us things we want to know 
 Of our dear friend of long ago. 
 The years, just fifty-one! you see 
 Have sped, since chestnutting were we 
 Upon the hill, near Benton place: 
 Sure, Time and dates have run a race. 
 
 58 
 
TO A. N. N. C— FEBRUARY 21, 1912. 
 
 A constant thinking since thee I met ; 
 
 With new ideas my life's beset : — 
 
 The "future is holding so much in store" 
 
 To reap as the years of my life run o'er. 
 
 I would I could tell thee the brightness of thought 
 
 The fire thou hast kindled, may it never go out! 
 
 The flame, thus existing, my pulses will thrill 
 
 Until thoughts, beyond measure shall come at my will. 
 
 WHY ONE PAINTS. 
 
 There are loves of which we know not; 
 
 There are dreams we cannot trace; 
 There are smiles through which we see not ; 
 
 There are beauties in the face. 
 
 But the joy of painting pictures, 
 
 Putting colors on the board. 
 Tracing the outlines and features 
 
 Far exceeds the enchantress' hoard. 
 
 There are scenes, around about us. 
 
 Though we're prone to pass them by; 
 
 But, when copied on the canvas 
 Pause we there to fix the eye. 
 
 Then enchanted we behold them 
 Proving thus what art can do; 
 
 First we love, and then adore them. 
 Knowing they're to nature true. 
 
 A SURPRISE PARTY. 
 
 Forty-six years ago tonight, 
 The hostess, here, first saw the light 
 And pleased with it, declared she'd stay 
 Upon this mundane sphere alway. 
 
 59 
 
And so she has. Forty-six years, 
 
 Though fraught with hopes as well as fears, 
 
 Have plainly many lessons taught 
 
 That crown her brow with pearls unbought. 
 
 The husband, who doth ever bless. 
 The children with their fond caress. 
 The friends, assembled at this time, — 
 Will join with me in simple rhyme 
 To laud the graces she has won 
 By doing well whate'er she's done. 
 
 A willing hand, with clever deed; 
 A cheerful giver where there's need; 
 A leader, sure, in all works good! 
 What more'd we have, if ask we would? 
 
 Then true, these forty-six years of life, 
 Though mingled oft with unwished strife, 
 • Have proven a boon, that all could take 
 Who would a like endeavor make. 
 
 Forty-six years! how soon they've sped 
 When looking backward. Then ahead 
 A roseate crown we'd ask for thee, 
 The gloaming of life but rest to be. 
 
 Here's forty-six years well rounded up 
 With forty-six yet to fill life's cup 
 Ere's heard the Master's kindly tone 
 When He shall say "Well done, come home.' 
 
 TO V. E. S.— JUNE 1, 1912. 
 
 A birthday remembrance I now mail to you 
 With greetings and wishes in every tie through ; 
 The pleasure there's been in doing this net 
 I hope you'll, in using, a thousand times get. 
 
 60 
 
Many have the kind thoughts been 
 Tho' they're not in song; 
 
 Netting's been a pleasant task 
 All the way along. 
 
 Now it's up to you to use, 
 So make the most of it; 
 
 Keep it ev'ry day in sight, — 
 There's love in ev'ry net. 
 
 BEAUTIFUL BISCAYNE BAY. 
 
 In the gloam, last eve, of the moonlight's glare, 
 
 As it sank on the water below, 
 Methought it pictured the phases of life. 
 
 While it swayed with the ebb and the flow. 
 
 Once and again did its motion entrance. 
 
 And the visions, so strange and so rare, 
 Filled me with wonder and praise as I gazed 
 
 Upon secrets the bay sure held there. 
 
 It seemed there was naught that Biscayne could then do 
 
 But dissemble her deeply-laid plots. 
 And tell the moonbeams her fairyland tales 
 
 Of the lovers and trips on her yachts. 
 
 Unwilling to leave, spell-bound did I stand 
 
 Till I found that waiting was vain. 
 The moonbeams dispersed; the secret was this, 
 
 I had fallen in love with Biscayne. 
 March, 1913. 
 
 ON A BIRTHDAY— JUNE 1, 1913. 
 
 May this tiny token wake 
 
 Some memory of me ; 
 For only loving words and deeds 
 
 Hold I today for thee. 
 
 61 
 
As fragrance doth the flower improve 
 So doth thy kindness strengthen love; 
 Thus may this fan blow to the wind 
 All feeling 'cept the tenderest kind. 
 
 TO A. N. N. C. 
 
 I wish for thee bliss unalloyed, 
 
 A life of length and pleasure too, 
 
 With friends most dear at every turn 
 To cheer the whole of thy life through. 
 
 That well-earned blessings crown thy head 
 
 And flowers strew thy pathway o'er; 
 Thy rounded-life be jewel crowned 
 
 When Heaven shall ope its pearly door. 
 June 16, 1913. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM— "NOVEMBER 9, I860.' 
 
 Date of "Old Days" again has come. 
 Reminding us a year more's gone : 
 And with it Age comes creeping on 
 And lays his claim to every one. 
 
 'Tween school-days' fun and womanhood 
 We'd sure o'ercome it, if we could 
 And never own "four score and two," 
 But choose our girlhood days again. 
 
 Strive as we may to ward off signs 
 We're forced t' admit the dif in times. 
 In school-day years no tho't had we 
 Of getting old, or that we'd be 
 
 62 
 
So scattered, as we are today 
 With only two, who, by the way, 
 Are living in old "Cortlandville" 
 To greet us when we go there still. 
 
 In every clime, 'tis just the same, 
 "Old Time" works wonders at his game. 
 Whate'er we think, whate'er we do 
 We ne'er can change his plans, although 
 He sometimes keeps us young when old, 
 But oftener the reverse is told. 
 
 Now, tell me, Vi, if this be true. 
 You're writing me while I write you. 
 I'm wondering if you're holding me 
 As I am you, — in memory. 
 And lovingly. 
 November 9, 1913. 
 
 TO MRS. C. 
 
 Beauteous be thy future years 
 Free from care and pain and tears ; 
 Blessings from above be thine 
 Until thy brow doth radiant shine. 
 December 25, 1913. 
 
 TO V. E. S.— 1914. 
 
 No poem have I this year to send 
 But, for lack of my muse, I'll make amend 
 By mailing to you this bit of lace 
 Which I hope very oft your neck will grace. 
 
 The threads I have counted o'er and o'er 
 As the shuttle flew quickly to and fro, 
 
 The scenes of the past resolved in my mind 
 Leaving me chained to the dear long ago. 
 
 63 
 
Your birthday, my dear, don't think I forgot, 
 Though busy I've been, I've found time to tat; 
 With tears in my eyes and joy in my heart 
 I send this memento, this bit of my art. 
 
 THAT "NEW YORK WOMAN." 
 
 A letter to you I've tried to write 
 
 To tell just how, with all my might, 
 
 I've endeavored to change her views of the city 
 
 For those of the country, but oh! the pity. 
 
 Her ways are so fixed I cannot erase 
 
 A thought she's long held, or even keep pace 
 
 With the plans she lays out, and will execute 
 
 In spite of my protest, so I just keep mute. 
 
 I'd like to, one time, have a way of my own. 
 But when I displease her she cries, "I'll go home.' 
 When doing the dishes, the garden or flowers. 
 She'll tell me I waste the dear precious hours, 
 And force me to feel I'm totally unfit, — 
 So great is my sorrow I meekly submit. 
 
 Each day I resolve to be my own boss 
 And conquer her, e'en though great be my loss ; 
 But try as I may, I cannot succeed 
 In making a farmer of one city-bred. 
 
 She fondles the chicks, the ducks and the hens, 
 She laughs at the antics of pigs in their pens, 
 She worships the dog and pets the old cat. 
 And half the time I can't say what she's at ; 
 But if I attempt to give a rebuke, 
 Or even tell how to be a farm-crook. 
 She angers at once, and takes to "the woods" 
 With half her belongings and citified moods. 
 
 64 
 
Poor soul! it is vain. She never can be 
 A rough country one, or farmer like me: 
 Ere long she'll return her ways to resume 
 In Brooklyn, at Nostrand, her dear city home, 
 Then, oh me ! when alone, whatever I may do 
 How much I shall miss her all the house through. 
 
 CALABASH TREE. 
 
 Give ! oh give of the calabash tree 
 
 A leaf, a twig, or a gourd for me. 
 
 That I may ne'er its beauty forget 
 
 But cherish its memory through ages yet. 
 
 Give! oh give to keep evermore 
 Of the tree that's known from shore to shore ; 
 Then T. M., the poet, whose home was so near 
 Will be linked with its history year after year. 
 
 TO E.—JULY, 1915. 
 
 Once more, dear one, we hail the day 
 
 That gave thee birth 
 And wish for thee the brightest ray 
 
 That beams on earth. 
 
 The 15th day of July brings 
 
 Kind thoughts to thee 
 That Cupid bears upon his wings 
 
 From sister 'nd me. 
 
 Such pride as only mothers hold 
 
 For children dear. 
 Is borne to thee, same as of old 
 
 From year to year. 
 
 Each date of thine recalls the hour 
 
 Which made thee mine; 
 Bestowed on thee great skill and power 
 
 To last through time. 
 
 65 
 
IN MEMORIAM— "NOVEMBER 9, 1860." 
 
 Full fifty years from this very date 
 We climbed the hill to Benton gate; 
 Right merry a band as ere was known 
 Was our eleven at the farm place home. 
 
 But of the number, just six, I fear. 
 
 Are left to think of the date this year, — 
 
 Lew, Willie and Orson, Jule, Mary and I. 
 
 Can it be? So swiftly the years have rolled by. 
 
 And now those who've crossed to the opposite shore 
 
 Seem waiting to welcome the rest of us o'er. 
 
 1914. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM, '60—1915. 
 
 November ninth, 
 
 Blessed be that date! 
 
 It sealed our friendship. 
 E'en though Fate 
 
 Did change our future home and friends; 
 And now, to make amends. 
 Doth spare, e'en though there be 
 Of olden times, from eleven, just three. 
 
 In years gone by. 
 So oft would we 
 On a reunion count 
 At Cortlandville, 
 The old school town 
 Whose fame, renown, 
 
 Scholastic skill 
 Were known for miles around. 
 
 Bereft of mates. 
 Time only waits 
 
 To give allotted years. 
 How much we long 
 
 66 
 
To join in song 
 
 As once we did in youth; 
 But plainly we 
 Do daily see 
 
 We're aged, in truth, 
 And soon there'll be 
 But you and me 
 
 To deck the graves with tears. 
 
 67 
 
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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