Class.. PH4I6 1 Book_^2jfi . THE} SPEAKERS' LIBRARY THE LATEST AND MOST POPULAR LITERARY GEMS FOR PUBLIC AND PARLOR ENTERTAINMENT. SELECTED BY THE LEADING ELOCUTIONISTS AND READERS OF THE COUNTRY. EDITED BY DARHNE DALE. CT T5Land of the Afternoon 323 < Lovely Scene, A 332 Lulu's Complaint 389 Little Miss Briar 398 My Choice 23 Master Johnnie's NextDoor Neighbor Bret Harte 32 Midshipmite, The Clement Scott 148 Mother's Fool 279 My Neighbor's Baby 303 Maud Muller's Moving 331 Milking-Time Philip Morse 345 Mamma's Kisses 392 Nothing 90 Nearer to Thee /. Edgar Jones 156 Nothin' To Say ./. W. Riley 160 No Sects in Heaven E. H.J. Cleaveland 214 Not Willin' 330 No Kiss Madge Elliott 358 One of the Little Ones Geo. L. Catlin 63 Old Farmer Gray Gets Photographed 184 Old Man Goes to Town, The ./. G. Swinerton 245 CONTENTS. 9 Old Wife's Kiss, The 288 One Day Solitary J. T. Trowbridge 291 * Only a Smile Florence McCurdy 328 i Only Playing 342 Open Door, The 361 One Little Act 380 Off for Slumber-Land..... Caroline Evans 394 * Only a Boy 399 Pilot's Story, The W. D. Howells 53 Praying for Shoes Paul Hamilton Hayne 74 - Pride of Battery B F. H. Gassaway 137 Papa's Letter 164 Paddy's Excelsior 241 Punkin Frost, The B. F.Johnson 298 Procrustes' Bed Carlotta Perry 300 Paddy's Reflection on Cleopatra's Needle Cormac O'Leary 308 Pharisee and Sadducee 325 Polonius to Laertes 325 Persuasive Agent, The 325 Parody, A 343 Parson's Sociable, The 352 Persevere... 387 - Rock of Ages 38 Ride of Jennie McNeal Will Carleton 97 Reason Why, The Katherine H. Terry 143 ^Railroad Crossing, The Hezekiah Strong 307 ^ Recipe for a Modern Novel 334 Rogue, A.. o.. 379 Shadows » 16 Spinning- Wheel Song John Francis Waller 29 • Silver and Gold ..„.,........,....,„ 50 rf. 10 CONTENTS. 'Somebody's Mother 60 Stray Sunbeam, The Frank M. Gilbert 117 Sunday Fishin' Harrison Robertson 139 * Something to Say ...C. N. Hood 161 St. John, The Aged 168 Searching for the Slain 174 Simple Sign, A 332 Saddest Sight, The 354 Similar Case, A 364 September Gale, A Oliver Wendell Holmes 365 Six Years Old 381 Story of an Apple, A Sydney Day re 384 Too Many of We 62 * Trouble in the Amen Corner T. C. Harbaugh 92 Theology in the Quarters 96 Two 145 Tom Constance F. Woolson 195 Tom's Little Star Fannie Foster 207 Tramp, The.. George M. Baker 267 Tommy's Prayer John F. Nichols 310 Thirty-second Day, The S. W. Foss 319 Tale of a Tadpole, The 327 Total Annihilation Mary D. Brine 344 X Three Fiends, The Robt. Burdett 357 Tale of a Nose Chas. F. Adams 359 Thanksgiving Day Lydia Maria Child 396 Unpardonable Sin, The 321 Unsatisfied... Adelaide G. Waters 382 Unfinished Prayer, The 383 Victuals and Drink Mrs, A. D. T. Whitney 346 CONTENTS. 11 What Bessie Saw Carrie W. Bronson 76 * Wounded Soldier ./. W. Watson 77 What Became of a Lie Mrs. M. A. Ridder 120 What Was His Creed? 256 World, The Ella Wheeler Wilcox 315 Waltz- Quadrille, The Ella Wheeler Wilcox 335 Where are Wicked Folks Buried? 334 vWay of the World, The F. E. Weatherly 337 } What is Heaveu? 352 Whistler, The 356 What She Said Sarah De Wolf Gamwell 377 -"Which Loved Best? Foy Allison 387 „ Why the Dog's Nose is Always Cold 393 Youngest Tells Her Story, The M. E. W 391 THE SPEAKER'S LIBRARY "GOOD-NIGHT, PAPA." P^HE words of a blue-eyed child as she kissed her chubby ^ hand and looked down the stairs, " Good-night, papa; Jessie see you in the morning." It came to be a settled thing, and every evening, as the mother slipped the white night-gown over the plump shoulders, the little one stopped on the stairs and sang out, "Good-night, papa," and as the father heard the silvery accents of the child, he came, and taking the cherub in his arms, kissed her tenderly, while the mother's eyes filled, and a swift prayer went up, for, strange to say, this man, who loved his child with all the warmth of his great, noble nature, had one fault to mar his manliness. From his youth he loved the wine cup. Genial in spirit, and with a fascination of manner that won him friends, he could not resist when surrounded by his boon com- 14 "good night, papa." panions. Thus his home was darkened, the heart of his wife bruised and bleeding, the future of his child shadowed. Three years had the winsome prattle of the baby crept into the avenues of the father's heart, keeping him closer to his home, but still the fatal cup was in his hand. Alas for frail humanity, insensible to the calls of love ! With unutterable tenderness God saw there was no other way: this father was dear to Him, the purchase of his Son; He could not see him perish, and, calling a swift messenger, He said, " Speed thee to earth and bring the babe." "Good-night, papa," sounded from the stairs. What was there in the voice ? Was it the echo of the mandate, "Bring me the babe" — a silvery plaintive sound, a linger- ing music that touched the father's heart, as when a cloud crosses the sun ? " Good-night, my darling;" but his lips quivered and his broad brow grew pale. ' ' Is Jessie sick, mother? Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes have a strange light." "Not sick," and the mother stooped to kiss the flushed brow; "she may have played too much. Pet is not sick ? " "Jessie tired, mamma; good-night, papa; Jessie see you in the morning." "That is all, she is only tired," said the mother, as she took the small hand. Another kiss, and the father turned away ; but his heart was not satisfied. Sweet lullabies were sung ; but Jessie was restless and could not sleep. "Tell me a story, mamma"; and the mother told of the blessed babe that Mary cradled, fol- lowing along the story till the child has grown to walk and play. The blue, wide-open eyes filled with a strange "GOOD NIGHT, PAPA." 15 light, as though she saw and comprehended more than the mother knew. That night the father did not visit the saloon ; tossing on his bed, starting from a feverish sleep and bending over the crib, the long, weary hours passed. Morning revealed the truth — Jessie was smitten with the fever. " Keep her quiet," the doctor said ; " a few days of good nursing, and she will be all right." Words easily said ; but the father saw a look on the sweet face such as he had seen before. He knew the message was at the door. Night came. "Jessie is sick; can't say good-night, papa" ; and the little clasping fingers clung to the father's hand. 1 1 O God, spare her ! I cannot, cannot bear it ! " was wrung from his suffering heart. Days passed ; the mother was tireless in her watching. With her babe cradled in her arms her heart was slow to take in the truth, doing her best to solace the father's heart : " A light case ! the doctor says, 'Pet will soon be well.'" Calmly, as one who knows his doom, the father laid his hand upon the hot brow, looked into the eyes even then covered with the film of death, and with all the strength of his manhood cried, "Spare her, O God! spare my child, and I will follow thee." With a last painful effort the parched lips opened : "Jessie's too sick; can't say good-night, papa — in the morning." There was a convulsive shudder, and the clasping fingers relaxed their hold ; the messenger had taken the child. Months have passed. Jessie's crib stands by the side of 16 SHADOWS. her father's couch ; her blue embroidered dress and white hat hang in his closet ; her boots with the print of the feet just as she last worn them, as sacred in his eyes as they are in the mother's. Not dead, but merely risen to a higher life ; while, sounding down from the upper stairs, "Good-night, papa, Jessie see you in the morning," has been the means of winning to a better way one who had shown himself deaf to every former call. SHADOWS. "N>X7 E stood where the snake-like ivy ... ^ Climbed over the meadow bars, And watched as the young night sprinkled The sky with her cream-white stars. The clover was red beneath us, The air had the smell of June, The cricket .chirped in the grasses, And the soft rays of the moon Drew our shadows on the meadow, Distorted and lank and tall ; His shadow was kissing my shadow That was the best of all. My heart leaped up as he whispered "I love you, Margery Lee," For then one arm of his shadow Went round the shadow of me. ■' I love you, Margery darling, Because you are young and fair, For your eyes' bewildering blueness, SHADOWS. 17 And the gold in your curling hair. No queen has hands that are whiter, No lark has a voice so sweet, And your ripe young lips are redder Than the clover at your feet." ' My heart will break with its fullness, Like a cloud o'ercharged with rain; Oh, tell me, Margery darling, How long must we love in vain! With blushes and smiles I answered (I will not tell what); just then I saw that his saucy shadow Was kissing my own again. He promised to love me only — I promised to love but him, Till the moon rose out of the heavens, And the stars with age grew dim, Oh! The strength of man's devotion! Oh! the vows a woman speaks! Tis years since that blush of rapture Broke redly over my cheeks. He found a gold that was brighter Than that in my floating curls, And married a cross-eyed widow, With a dozen grown up girls. And I — did I pine and languish? Did I weep my blue eyes sore? Or break my heart, do you fancy, For a love that was mine no more? 1 stand to-night in the meadows, 2 Where Harry and I stood then, 18 KEEPING HIS WORD. And the moon has drawn two shadows Out over the grass again; And a low voice keeps repeating — So close to my startled ear That the shadows melt together — ' ' I love you, Margery dear. ' "Tis not for your cheeks' rich crimson, And not your eyes so blue, But because your heart is tender And noble and good and true. " The voice is dearer than Harry's, And so I am glad, you see, He married the cross-eyed widow Instead of Margery Lee. KEEPING HIS WORD. "/p^NLY a penny a box," he said, W J But the gentleman turned away his head, As if he shrank from the squalid sight Of the boy who stood in the fading light. "Oh, sir! " he stammered, "you cannot know," And he brushed from his matches the flakes of snow, That the sudden tear might have chance to fall. "Or I think— I think you would take them all. Hungry and cold at our garret pane, Ruby will watch till I come again, Bringing the loaf. The sun has set, And he hasn't a crumb of breakfast yet. One penny, and then I can buy the bread!" KEEPING HIS WORD. 19 The gentleman stopped: "And you?" he said; I? I can put up with them, — hunger and cold But Ruby is only five years old. I promised our mother before she went, — She knew I would do it, and died content, — I promised her, sir, through best, through worst, I always would think of Ruby first. " The gentleman paused at his open door, Such tales he had often heard before; But he fumbled his purse in the twilight drear, "I have nothing less than a shilling here." " Oh, sir, if you'll only take the pack, I'll bring you the change in a moment back, Indeed you may trust me! " "Trust you? — no — But here is the shilling, take it and go." The gentleman lolled in his easy chair, And watched his cigar wreath melt in air, And smiled on his children, and rose to see The baby asleep on its mother's knee. "And now it is nine by the clock," he said, "Time that my darlings were all abed; Kiss me good-night, and each be sure, When you're saying your prayers, remember the poor." Just then came a message, "A boy at the door," But ere it was uttered he stood on the floor, Half breathless, bewildered, and ragged and strange; "I am Ruby, Mike's brother; I've brought you the change. Mike's hurt, sir; 'twas dark, and the snow made him blind, And he didn't take notice the train was behind, Till he slipped on the track; and then it whizzed by; He's home in the garret, I think he will die. Yet nothing would do him, sir, nothing would do, 20 THE DUKITE SNAKE. But out through the storm, I must hurry to you. Of his hurt he was certain you wouldn't have heard, And so you might think he had broken his word." When the garret they hastily entered and saw, Two arms, mangled, helpless, out-stretched from the straw; "You did it, — dear Ruby! — God bless you! " he said, And the boy, gladly smiling, sank back, and was — dead. THE DUKITE SNAKE. "W^^ELL, mate, you've asked me about a fellow 4li You met to-day in a black and yellow Chain-gang suit, with a pedler's pack, Or with some such burden strapped to his back. Did you meet him square ? No, passed you by ? Well, if you had, and had looked in his eye, You'd have felt for your irons then and there; For the light of his eye is a madman's glare. Some eight years back, in the spring of the year, He came from Scotland and settled here. A splendid young fellow he was just then, And one of the bravest and truest of men. In a year his wife came, and he showed her round His sandalwood and his crops in the ground, And spoke of the future; they cried for joy, The husband's arm clasping his wife and boy. Well, friend, if a little of heaven's best bliss Ever comes from the upper world to this, It came into that manly bush man's life, And circled him round with the arms of his wife. THE DUKITE SNAKE. 21 God bless that bright memory ! Even to me, A rough, lonely man, did she seem to be, While living, an angel of God's pure love, And now I could pray to her face above. And David — he loved her as only a man With a heart as large as was his heart, can. I wondered how they could have lived apart, For he was her idol, and she was his heart. Friend, there isn't much more of the tale to tell; I was talking of angels awhile since. Well, Now I'll change to a devil, — ay, to a devil ! You needn't start; if a spirit of evil Ever came to this world its hate to slake On mankind, it came as a dukite snake. Now, mark you, these dukites don't go alone; There's another near when you see but one; And beware you of killing that one you see Without finding the other; for you may be More than twenty miles from the spot that night, When camped, but you're tracked by the lone dukite, That will follow your trail like death or fate, And kill you as sure as you killed its mate. Well, poor Dave Sloane had his young wife here Three months; 'twas just this time of the year. He had teamed some sandalwood to the Vasse, And was homeward bound, when he saw on the grass A long red snake; he had never been told Of the dukite's ways; he jumped to the road, And smashed its flat head with the bullock goad. He was proud of the red skin, so he tied Its tail to the cart, and the snake's blood dyed 22 THE DUKITE SNAKE. The bush on the path he followed that night. He was early home, and the dead dukite Was flung at the door to be skinned next day. At sunrise next morning he started away To hunt up his cattle. A three hours' ride Brought him back; he gazed on his home with pride And joy in his heart; he jumped from his horse And entered — -to look on his young wife's corse, And his dead child clutching its mother's clothes As in fright; and there, as he gazed, arose, From her breast, where 'twas resting, the gleaming head Of the terrible dukite, as if it said, ' ' I've had vengeance, my foe ! you took all I had !" And so had the snake: David Sloane was mad ! I rode to his hut just by chance that night, And there on the threshold the clear moonlight Showed the two snakes dead. I pushed in the door; The dead were stretched on the moonlit floor; The man held the hand of his wife, his pride, His poor life's treasure, and crouched by her side. I touched and called him; he heeded me not; So I dug her grave in a quiet spot, And lifted them both, her boy on her breast And laid them down in the shade to rest. Then I tried to take my poor friend away, But he cried so woefully, "Let me stay Till she comes again !" that I had no heart To try to persuade him then to part From all that was left to him here, — her grave; So I staid by his side that night, and save One heart-cutting cry, he uttered no sound, — MY CHOICE. 23 0, God ! that wail — like the wail of a hound ! 'Tis six long years since I heard that cry, But 'twill ring in my ears till the day I die. Since that fearful night no one has heard Poor David Sloane utter sound or word. You have seen to-day how he always goes ; He's been given that suit of convict's clothes By some prison officer. On his back You noticed a load like a pedler's pack ? Well, that's what he lives for; when reason went, Still memory lived, for his days are spent In searching for dukites; year by year That bundle of skins is growing. 'Tis clear That the Lord out of evil some good still takes; For he's clearing this bush of the dukite snakes. MY CHOICE. ^X7?HICH of the two do you love best? £a£k Was the question that came to me, As robed for the night in snowy white My darlings knelt by me. Which if the Father's hand Were to beckon one away, And the summons be "Thy best beloved," Which of them would you say? And I drew my little ones closer, As I sat in the twilight dim; As I wondered, if He were to ask, ■ What I should answer Him. 24 MY CHOICE. ■ Maude is gentle and loving, With willing hands and feet, With curious thoughts and questions wise, With womanly ways and sweet. And roguish hazel-eyed Minnie The willing baby yet, Though over her head of golden brown Three summers' suns have set. One so serious and thoughtful, With wisdom beyond her years The other like April sunshine, Ready with smiles and tears. Now as they kneel before me, In the suddenly quiet room, While the shadows deepen and darken Into the evening gloom, The childish voices petition As they fold their hands in prayer, The heavenly hand to lead them The heavenly love to care. Then, as they throw around me Their arms, and clasp me tight, The sweet lips murmur, "We love you, Good-night, mamma, good-night." I cannot choose between them, Father ! oh spare the test; Which of my darlings is dearer, Which one I love the best. A LEAK IN THE DIKE. 25 A LEAK IN THE DIKE. (Abridged.) 5^ HE good dame looked from her cottage © At the close of the pleasant day, And cheerily called to her little son Outside the door at play: 1 ' Come, Harold, come ! I want you. to go While there is light to see, To the hut of the blind old man who lives Across the dike, for me; And take these cakes I made for him; They are hot and smoking yet; You have time enough to go and come Before the sun is set." And Harold left the brother, With whom all day he had played, And the sister who had watched their sports. In the willow's tender shade. And now, with his face all glowing, And eyes as bright as the day With the thoughts of his pleasant errand He trudged along the way; And soon the joyous prattle Made glad a lonesome place. Alas ! if only the blind old man Could have seen that happy face ! Yet, he somehow caught the brightness Which that voice and presence lent; And he felt the sunshine come and go As Harold came and went. 26 A LEAK IN THE DIKE. And now, as the day was sinking And the winds began to rise, The mother looked from her door again, Shading her anxious eyes; And saw the shadows deepen, And the birds to their homes come backv But never a sign of Harold Along the level track. But she said: "He will come at morning, So I need not fret or grieve; Though it isn't like my boy at all To stay without my leave. " But where was the child delaying? On the homeward way was he, And across the dike while the sun was up An hour above the sea. He was stopping now to gather some flowers, Now, listening to the sound As the angry waters dashed themselves Against their narrow bound. "Ah ! well for us," said Harold That the gates are good and strong, And my father tends them carefully, Or they would not hold you long! But hark ! Through the noise of waters Comes a low, clear, trickling sound; And the child's face pales with terror, And his blossoms drop to the ground. * He is up the bank in a moment, And, stealing through the sand, He sees a stream not yet as large As his slender, childish hand. A LEAK IN THE DIKE. 27 Tis a leak in the dike ! He is but a boy, Unused to fearful scenes, But, young as he is, he has learned to know The dreadful thing that means. A leak in the dike ! The stoutest heart Grows faint that cry to hear, And the bravest man in all the land Turns white with mortal fear. And the boy ! He has seen the danger, And, shouting a wild alarm, He forces back the weight of the sea With the strength of his single arm. He listens for the joyful sound Of a foot step passing nigh, And lays his ear to the ground to catch The answer to his cry. And he hears the rough winds blowing, And the waters rise and fall, But never an answer comes to him, Save the echo of his call. He sees no hope, no succor His feeble voice is lost; Yet what shall he do but watch and wait, Though he perish at his post? He thinks of his brother and sister, Asleep in their safe, warm bed; He thinks of his father and mother, — Of himself as dying and dead; And of how, when the night is over, They must come and find him at last, But he never thinks he can leave the place Where duty holds him fast. 28 A LEAK IN THE DIKE. The good dame in the cottage Is up and astir with the light, For the thought of her little Harold Has been with her all the night. And now she watches the pathway, As yester-eve she had done; But, what does she see so strange and black Against the rising sun? Her neighbors are bearing between them Something so straight to her door; Her child is coming home, but not As he ever came before! "He is dead!" she cries: "my darling!" And the startled father hears, And comes and looks the way she looks, And fears the thing she fears: Till a glad shout from the bearers Thrills the stricken man and wife; " Give thanks, for your son has saved our land And God has saved his life! " So, there in the morning sunshine They knelt about the boy; And every head was bared and bent In tearful, reverent joy. They have many a valiant hero, Remembered through the years, But never one whose name so oft Is named with loving tears. And his deed shall be sung at the cradle. And told to the child on the knee, So long as the dikes of Holland Divide the land from the sea! THE SPINNING WHEEL SONG. 29 THE SPINNING-WHEEL SONG. k ELLOW the moonlight to shine is beginning; J A'k Close by the window young Eileen is spinning; Bent o'er the fire, her blind grandmother, sitting, Is crooning, and moaning, *and drowsily knitting, — "Eileen, achora, I hear some one tapping." "'Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass flapping." "Eileen, I surely hear somebody sighing." "'Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer-wind dying." Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring; Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, Thrills the sweet song that the young maiden is singing. "What's that noise I hear at the window, I wonder? " "'Tis the little birds chirping the holly bush under." " 'What makes you be shoving and moving your stool on, And singing all wrong that old song of the Coolun' ? " There's a form at the casement — the form of her true love, — And he whispers, with face bent, " I'm waiting for you, love; Get up on the stool, through the lattice step lightly, We'll rove in the grove while the moon's shining brightly. " Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring. Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, Trills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays her fingers. Steals up from her seat — longs to go, and yet lingers; 30 FAILED. A frightened glance turns to her drowsy grandmother, Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel with the other. Lazily , easily swings now the wheel round; Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's sound, Noiseless and light to the lattice above her The maid steps — then leaps to the arms of her lover. Slower — and slower — and slower the wheel swings; Lower — and lower — and lower the reel rings; Ere the reel and the wheel stop their ringing and moving, Through the grove the young lovers by moonlight are roving. FAILED. Y'ES, I'm a ruined man, Kate — everything gone at last; Nothing to show for the trouble and toil of the weary years that are past; Houses and lands and money have taken wings and fled; This very morning I signed away the roof from over my head. I shouldn't care for myself, Kate; I'm used to the world's rough ways; I've dug and delved and plodded along through all my manhood days; But I think of you and the children, and it almost breaks my heart; For I thought so surely to give my boys and girls a splen- did start. So many years on the ladder, I thought I was near the top — FAILED. 31 Only a few days longer, and then I expected to stop, And put the boys in my place, Kate, with an easier life ahead: But now I must give the prospect up; that comforting dream is dead. "I am worth more than my gold, eh?" You're good to look at it so; But a man isn't worth very much, Kate, when his hair is turning to snow. My j^oor little girls, with their soft white hands, and their innocent eyes of blue, Turned adrift in the heartless world — what can and what will they do? "An honest failure?" Indeed it was; dollar for dollar was paid; Never a creditor suffered, whatever people have said. Better are rags and a conscience clear than a palace and flush of shame. One thing I shall leave to my children, Kate; and that is an honest name. What's that? "The boys are not troubled, they are ready now to begin And gain us another fortune, and work through thick and thin? " The noble fellows! already I feel I haven't so much to bear; Their courage has lightened my heavy load of misery and despair. "And the girls are so glad it was honest; they'd rather not dress so fine, And think they did it with money that wasn't honestly mine? " 32 MASTER JOHNNY'S NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR. They're ready to show what they're made of — quick to earn and to save — My blessed, good little daughters! so generous and so brave ! And you think we needn't fret, Kate, while we have each other left, No matter of what possessions our lives may be bereft? You are right. With a quiet conscience, and a wife so good and true, I'll put my hand to the plow again; and I know that we'll pull through. MASTER JOHNNY'S NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR. f T was spring the first time that I saw her, for her papa -L and mamma moved in Next door, just as skating was over and marbles about to begin, For the fence in our back yard was broken, and I saw. as I peeked through the slat, There were Johnny-] ump-ups all around her, and I knew it was spring just by that. I never knew whether she saw me, for she didn't say noth- ing to me, But "Ma! here's a slat in the fence broke, and the boy that is next door can see." But the next day I climbed on our wood-shed, as you know mamma says I've a right, And she calls out, "Well, peekin' is manners!" and I an- swered her, " Sass is perlite." MASTER JOHNNY'S NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR- 83 But I wasn't a bit mad; no, papa, and to prove it, the very next day When she ran past our fence in the morning I happened to get in her way, For you know I am " chunked " and clumsy, as she says are all boys of my size, And she nearly upset me, she did, pa, and laughed till tears came in her eyes. And then we were friends from that moment, for I knew that she told Kitty Sage — And she wasn't a girl that would natter — that she thought' I was tall for my age. And I gave her four apples that evening, and took her to ride on my sled, And — what am I telling you this for? Why, papa, my neighbor is dead! You don't hear one-half I am saying — I really do think it's too bad! Why, you might have seen crape on her door knob, and noticed to-day I've been sad. And they've got her a coffin of rosewood, and they say they have dressed her in white, And I've never once looked through the fence, pa, since she died at eleven last night. And ma says it's decent and proper, as I was her neighbor and friend, That I should go there to the funeral, and she thinks you ought to attend ; But I am so clumsy and awkward, I know I shall be in the way, 3 34 BABIES AND KITTENS. And suppose they should speak, to me, papa, I wouldn't know just what to say. So I think I will get up quite early; I know I sleep late, but I know I'll be sure to wake up if our Bridget pulls the string that I'll tie to my toe, And I'll crawl through the fence, and I'll gather the Johnny-jump-ups" as they grew Round her feet the first day that I saw her, and, papa, I'll give them to you. For you're a big man, and you know, pa, can come and go just where you choose, And you'll take the flowers into her, and surely they'll never refuse; But papa, don't say they're from Johnny. They won't understand, don't you see, But just lay them down on her bosom, and, papa, she'll know they're from me. BABIES AND KITTENS. P^HERE were two kittens, a black and a gray, ^' And grandma said with a frown: "It never will do to keep them both, The black one we had better drown." "Don't cry, my dear," to tiny Bess, "One kitten is enough to keep, Now run to nurse, for 'tis growing late" And time you were fast asleep. the Hindoo's paradise. 35 The morning dawned, and rosy and sweet, Came little Bess from her nap, The nurse said, " Go in mamma's room, And look in grandma's lap. ' ' Come here, ' ' said grandma, with a smile, From the rocking chair, where she sat, "God has sent you two little sisters, What do you think of that? " Bess looked at the babies a moment With their wee heads, yellow and brown, And then to grandma soberly said, "Which one are you going to drown?" THE HINDOO'S PARADISE. Hindoo died; a happy thing to do, I L When twenty years united to a shrew. Released, he hopefully for entrance cries Before the gates of Brahma's paradise. " Hast thou been through purgatory? " Brahma asked, "No, but I've been married," and he hung his head. "Come in, come in, and welcome too, my son, Marriage and purgatory are as one." In bliss extreme he entered heaven's door, And knew the peace he ne'er had known before. But scarce had he entered the garden fair, When another Hindoo asked admission there. 36 GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY. The self-same question, Brahma asked, " Hast thou been through purgatory? " ♦'No, what then? " "Thou canst not enter," Did the god reply. " Why, he that went in first was there no more than I." " All that is true, but he has married been, And so on earth, had suffered from all sin." "Married; 'tis well; I've been married twice." " Begone, we'll have no fools in paradise." GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY. l^HE stood at the bar of justice, ^ A creature wan and wild, In form too small for a woman, In features too old for a child; For a look so worn and pathetic Was stamped on her pale young face, It seemed long years of suffering Must have left that silent trace. "Your name," said the judge, as he eyed her With a kindly look, yet keen; "Is Mary McGuire, if you please, sir." "And your age? " "I'm turned fifteen." "Well, Mary," — and then from a paper He slowly and gravely read. "You are charged here — I'm sorry to say it — With stealing three loaves of bread. "You look not like an offender, And I hope that you can show GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY. 37 The charge to be false. Now, tell me Are you guilty of this, or no? " A passionate burst of weeping Was at first her sole reply, But she dried her eyes in a moment And looked in the judge's eye. "I will tell you just how it was, sir; My father and mother are dead, And my little brother and sisters Were hungry, and asked me for bread. At first I earned it for them By working hard all day, But somehow times were bad, sir, And the work all fell away. "I could get no more employment; The weather was bitter cold; The young ones cried and shivered — Little Johnny's but four years old; So, what was I to do, sir? I am guilty, but do not condemn, I took — oh, was it stealing? — The bread to give to them." Every man in the court rooni- Graybeard and thoughtless youth — Knew, as he looked upon her, That the prisoner told the truth. Out of their pockets brought 'kerchiefs, Out from their eyes sprung tears, And out from old, faded wallets Treasures hoarded for years 38 ROCK OP AGES. The judge's face was a study, The strangest you ever saw, As he cleared his throat and murmured Something about the laAv; For one so learned in such matters So wise in dealing with men, He seemed on a simple question Sorely puzzled just then. But no one blamed him, or wondered, When at last these words they heard "The sentence of this young prisoner Is, for the present, deferred." And no one blamed him, or wondered When he went to her and smiled, And tenderly led from the court room Himself, the " guilty " child. "ROCK OF AGES." fipOCK of Ages, cleft for me," ^ Thoughtlessly the maiden sung. Fell the words unconsciously, From her girlish, gleeful tongue Sang as little children sing; Sang as sing the birds in June, Fell the words like light leaves down On the current of the tune — " Rock of Ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee." ROCK OF AGES. 39 ' Let me hide niyself in Thee," Felt her soul no need to hide. Sweet the song as song could he — And she had no thought beside; All the words unheedingly Fell from lips untouched by care, Dreaming not they each might be On some other lips a prayer — "Rock of Ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee." "Rock of Ages, cleft for me" — 'Twas a woman sang them now. Rose the song as storm-tossed bird Beats with weary wing the air, Every note with sorrow stirred — Every syllable a prayer — "Rock of Ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee." "Rock of Ages, cleft for me" — Lips grown aged sung the hymn Trustingly and tenderly — Voice grown weak and eyes grown dim. "Let me hide myself in Thee." Trembling though the voice and low, Ran the sweet strain peacefully, Like a river in its flow, Sung as only they can sing Who life's thorny paths have pressed; Sung as only they can sing "Who behold the promised rest — 40 THE CLOWN S BABY. "Rock of Ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee." "Rock of Ages, cleft for me." Sang above a coffin lid; Underneath, all restfully, All life's joys and sorrows hid. Nevermore, O storm-tossed sonl! Nevermore from wind or tide, Nevermore from billows' roll, Wilt thou need to hide. Could the sightless, sunken eyes, Closed beneath the soft gray hair, Could the mute and stiffened lips Move again in pleading prayer Still, aye, still the words would be, "Let me hide myself in Thee." THE CLOWN'S BABY. |j T was out on the western frontier, & The miners, rugged and brown, Were gathered around the posters; The circus had come to towm! The great tent shone in the darkness, Like a wonderful palace of light, And rough men crowded the entrance: Shows didn't come every night. Not a woman's face among them, Many a face that was bad, THE CLOWNS BABY. 41 And some that were very vacant, And some that were very sad. And behind a canvas curtain, In a corner of the place, The clown, w T ith chalk and vermillion, Was "making up" his face. A weary-looking woman, With a smile that still was sweet, Sewed on a little garment, With a cradle at her feet. Pantaloon stood ready and waiting; It was time for the going on, But the clown in vain searched wildly, The "property baby" was gone. He murmured, impatiently hunting, "It's strange that I cannot find; There! I've looked in every corner; It must have been left behind!" The miners were stamping and shouting, They were not patient men; The clown bent over the cradle; " I must take you, little Ben." The mother started and shivered, But trouble and want were near, She lifted her baby gently; "You'll be very careful, dear?" "Careful? You foolish darling!" How tenderly it w T as said! What a smile shone through tha chalk and paint! "I love each hair of his head!" =»» 42 the clown's baby. The noise rose unto an uproar, Misrule for a time was king; The clown with a foolish chuckle, Bolted into the ring. But, as with a squeak and nourish, The fiddles closed their tune, "You'll hold him as if he w T as made of glass?" Said the clown to the pantaloon. The jovial fellow nodded, "I've a couple myself," he said, "I know how to handle 'em, bless you! Old fellow, go ahead!" The fun grew fast and furious, And not one of all the crowd Had guessed that the baby was alive, When he suddenly laughed aloud. Oh, that baby laugh! it was echoed From the benches with a ring, And the roughest customer there sprang up With "Boys, it's the real thing!" The ring was jammed in a minute, Not a man that did not strive For " a shot at holding the baby," The baby that was "alive!" He was thronged by kneeling suitors In the midst of the dusty ring, And he held his court right royally The fair little baby king, Till one of the shouting courtiers A man with a bold, hard face, THE BEACON LIGHT. 43 The talk, for miles, of the country, And terror of the place, Raised the little king to his shoulder, And chuckled, "Look at that!" As the chubby fingers clutched his hair; Then, "Boys, hand round the hat!" There never was such a hatful Of silver and gold and notes; People are not always penniless Because they don't wear coats! And then, "Three cheers for the baby!' I tell you those cheers were meant, And the way in which they were given Was enough to raise the tent. And then there was sudden silence, And a gruff old miner said, "Come, boys, enough of this rumpus; It is time it was put to bed. ' ' So, looking a little sheepish, But with faces strangely bright, The audience somewhat lingering, Flocked out into the night And the bold-faced leader chuckled, "He wasn't a bit afraid! He's as game as he is good-looking; Boys, that was a show that paid." THE BEACON LIGHT. VHO seaward, son, and bear a light! ' w& "[Jp spoke the sailor's wife; 44 THE BEACON LIGHT. "Thy father sails this stormy night In peril of his life! * ' His ship that sailed to foreign lands This hour may heave in sight. O, should it wreck upon the sands! Go, son, and bear a light! " He lights a torch, and seaward goes; Naught boots the deed, I doubt. The rain it rains, the wind it blows; And soon the light goes out. The boy comes back: " O, mother dear, Bid me not go again; No torch can live, 'tis very clear, Before the wind and rain! " "No sailor's blood hast thou, I trow To fear the stormy night Let rains descend, let tempests roar, Go, son, and bear a light! " Once more he lights the torch, and goes Toward the foaming main. The rain it rains, the wind it blows; Out goes the torch again! The boy comes back: " O, mother dear, The storm puts out the light The night is drear, and much I fear The woman dressed in white! " "No sailor's blood hast thou. I trow, To tremble thus before A mermaid's face. Take heart of grace, And seek again the shore! " THE BEST OF HUSBAXDS 45 The boy comes back: " O, mother dear, Go thou unto the strand; My father's voice I sure did hear In tones of stern command! " And now, the mother lights the torch, And, see! the kindling rays Have caught the thatch! from roof to porch The hut is all ablaze! "What hast thou done? the urchin cries, " O piteous sight to see! Cold is the night. O wretched plight! Nor house nor home have we! " "No sailor's blood hast thou, I wis When torches fail to burn A blazing hovel — such as this — May serve as good a turn! " Joy to the sailor! see! he clears The shoals on either hand, Thanks to the light! and now he steers In safety to the land! THE BEST OF HUSBANDS. \ I have a man as good as can be, Jf No woman could wish for better than he. Sometimes, indeed, he may chance to be wrong But his love for me is uncommonly strong. He has one little fault that makes me fret, He has ever less money, by far, than debt; 46 THE KING AND THE PEASANT. Moreover, he thrashes me now and then; But excepting that, he's the best of men! I own he is dreadfully given to drink, Besides, he is rather too fond, I think, Of playing cards and dice; but then, Excepting that, he's the best of men! He loves to chat with the girls, I know ('Tis the way with the men; they are always so) But what care I for his flirting when, Excepting that, he's the best of men! When he's lots of rum, he is hardly polite, But knocks the crockery left and right, And pulls my hair, and growls again; But excepting that, he's the best of men! I can't but say I think he's rash To pawn my pewter, and spend the cash, But I haven't the heart to scold him, when, Excepting that, he's the best of men! What joy to think he is all my own! The best of husbands that ever was known; As good, indeed, as a man can be; And who could wish for a better than he? THE KING AND THE PEASANT. T^ 1 HERE lived a man who from his youth, > - / Was known to all as "Peasant Truth," Because 'twas said he'd sooner die Than tell or hint the smallest lie. THE KING AND THE PEASANT. 47 Now, when it happened that the king Had heard, at last, this wondrous thing, He bade the peasant come and keep The royal flock of goats and sheep, To wit — one goat, a little lamb, A fine bell wether, and a ram. And once a week he went to court To see the king, and make report How fared the flock, and truly tell If each and all were ill or well. Whereat the king was well content, And home the happy peasant went. At last a wicked courtier — struck With envy at his neighbor's luck — Essayed to put him in disgrace, And gain himself the peasant's place. "Think you, good sire, in very sooth, He never lies — this Peasant Truth? He'll lie next Saturday," he said "Or, for a forfeit, take my head!" "So be it! and I'll lose my own," The king replied, "if it be shown, With all the arts that you may try, That Peasant Truth can tell a lie!" And now a wicked courtier fain Some trick would try his end to gain. But still he failed to find a plan To catch at fault the honest man, Until at last, in sheer despair, He told his wife (a lady fair As one in all the world could find, 48 THE KING AND THE PEASANT. And cunning, like all womankind) About the wager he had made, And all the case before her laid. ' ' And is that all ? " the woman said, Tossing in scorn her handsome head; "Leave all to me, and never doubt That what you wish I'll bring about! " Next day the crafty dame was seen, Appareled like a very queen, And on her brow a diamond star, That like a meteor blazed afar. Approaching where the peasant stood Among his flock, "Now, by the Rood!" He cried, amazed, "but she is fair And beautiful beyond compare." Then bowing to the earth, quoth he, "What may your highness want with me? Whate'er you ask I swear to grant! " "Ah!" sighed the lady, " much I want Some roasted wether, else shall I (Such is my longing!) surely die! " " Alas!"he said, "just this one thing I cannot do. I serve the king, Who owns the wether that you see, And if I kill him, woe is me!" Alack the day for Peasant Truth! His tender soul was moved to ruth; For weeping much, and saying still That she should die, she had her will, And of roast wether took her fill! " Ah! " sighed the man when she was gone, THE KING AND THE PEASANT. 49 "Alas! the deed that I have done! To kill the sheep! What shall I say When I am asked, next Saturday, 'How fares the wether? ' I will tell His majesty the sheep is well. No, that won't do! I'll even say A thief has stolen him away. No, that won't answer. I will feign Some prowling wolf the sheep has slain. No, that won't do! Ah! how can I Look into his face and tell a lie?" Now when the peasant came to court On Saturday, to make report, As was his wont, the king began His questioning; and thus it ran; " How is my goat? I prithee tell! " "The goat, your majesty, is well! " "And how's my ram?" "Good sire, The ram is well and frisky. ' ' "How's my lamb?" "He's well and beautiful, in sooth." "And how's my wether, Peasant Truth?" Whereat he answered, " Oh, my king, I hate a lie like — anything. When on the mountain side afar I saw a lady with the star, My soul was dazzled with her beauty And I forgot my loyal duty, And when she asked for wether's meat, I killed the sheep, that she might eat. ' ' "Good! " said the king, "my wager's won! This grievous wrong that you have done, 50 SILVER AtfD GOLD. My truthful peasant, I forgive; In health and wealth long may you live! While this your enemy, instead, Shall justly lose his foolish head." SILVER AND GOLD. ^ ARE WELL, my little sweetheart, -» Now fare you well and free. I claim from you no promise, You claim no vows from me. The reason why? — the reason Right well we can uphold — I have too much of silver, And you too much of gold! A puzzle, this, to worldlings, Whose love to lucre flies, Who think that gold to silver Should count as mutual prize! But I am not avaricious, And you're not sordid-souled; I have too much of silver, And you've too much of gold. Upon our heads the reason Too plainly can be seen; I am the winter's bond-slave, You are the summer's queen; Too few the years you number Too many I have told; I have too much of silver And you've too much of gold. EVERY YEAR. $1 You have the rose for token, I have dry leaf and rime; I have the sobbing vesper, You, morning bells at chime. I would that I were younger, And you grew never old, Would I had less of silver But you no less of gold. EVERY YEAR. ^iHE spring has less of brightness, ^ Every year; And the snow a ghastlier whiteness, Every year. Nor do summer flowers quicken, Nor the autumn fruitage thicken, As they once did, for they sicken, Every year. It is growing darker, colder, Every year; As the heart and soul grow older, Every year. I care not for dancing, Or for eyes with passion glancing, Love is less and less entrancing Every year. Of the loves and sorrows blended, Every year; Of the charms of friendship ended, Every year; 52 EVERY YEAR. Of the ties that still might bind me, Until time to death resign me My infirmities remind me, Every year. Ah! how sad to look before us, Every year; AVhile the clouds grow darker o'er us, Every year; When we see the blossoms faded, That to bloom we might have aided, And immortal garlands braided, Every year. To the past go more dead faces, Every year; As the loved leave vacant places, Every year; Everywhere the sad eyes meet us, In the evening's dust they greet us, And to come to them entreat us, Every year. "You are growing old," they tell us, Every year; You are more alone, they tell us, Every year; You can win no new affection; You have only recollection, Deeper sorrow and dejection, Every year. Yes, the shores of life are shifting, Every year; THE PILOT'S STORY. And we are seaward drifting, Every year; Old places, changing, fret us, The living more forget us, There are fewer to regret us, Every year. But the truer life draws nigher Every year; And the morning star climbs higher Every year; Earth's hold on us grows slighter, And the heavy burden lighter, And the dawn immortal brighter, Every year. 53 THE PILOT'S STORY. {Abridged.) (i'T was the pilot's story: — "They both came abroad A there at Cairo, From a New Orleans boat, and took passage with us for St. Louis. She was a beautiful woman, with just enough blood from her mother, Darkening her eyes and her hair, to make her race known to a trader. You would have thought she was white. The man that was with her — you see such — Weakly good-natured and kind, and weakly good-natured and vicious, 54 . THE pilot's story. Slender of body and soul, fit neither for loving nor hating. I was a youngster then, and only learning the river, Not over-fond of the wheel. I used to watch them at monte, Down in the cabin at night, and learned to know all of the gamblers. So when I saw this weak one staking his money against them, Betting upon the turn of the cards, I knew what was • coming; They never left their pigeons a single feather to fly with. Next day I saw them together, the stranger and one of the gamblers; Picturesque rascal he was, with long black hair and mustaches, Black slouch hat drawn down to his eyes from his villain- ous forehead. On together they moved, still earnestly talking in whispers, On toward the forecastle, where sat the woman alone by the gangway. Roused by the fall of feet, she turned, and beholding her master, * Greeted him with a smile that was more like a wife's than another's; Rose to meet him fondly, and then, with the dread ap- prehension Always haunting the slave, fell her eye on the face of the gambler, Dark and lustful and fierce and full of merciless cunning. Something was spoken so low that I could not hear what the words were; THE pilot's story. 55 Only the woman started, and looked from one to the other, With imploring eyes, bewildered hands and a tremor All through her frame; I saw her from where I was stand- ing, she shook so, 1 Say, is it so?' she cried. On the weak white lips of her master Died a sickly smile, and he said, 'Louise, I have sold you.' God is my judge! May I never see such a look of des- pairing, Desolate anguish, as that which the woman cast on her master, Griping her breast with her little hands, as if he had stabbed her, Standing in silence a space, as fixed as an Indian woman, Carved out of wood, on the pilot-house of the old Poca- hontas! Then, with a gurgling moan, like the sound in the throat of the dying, Came back her voice, that, rising, fluttered, through wild incoherence, Into a terrible shriek that stopped my heart while she answered: 'Sold me? sold me? sold — And you promised to give me my freedom, Promised me for the sake of our little boy in St. Louis? What will you say to our God? Ah, you have been jok- ing, I see it! No? God! God! He shall hear it, and all of the angels in Heaven! 56 THE pilot's story. Even the devils in Hell! And none will believe when they hear it! Sold me!" — Fell her voice in a thrilling wail, and in silence Down she sank on the deck, and covered her face with her fingers. ' * In his story a moment the pilot paused, while we listened To the salute of a boat, that, rounding the point of an island, Flamed toward us with fires that seemed to burn from the waters, Stately and vast and swift, and borne on the heart of the current. Then, with the mighty voice of a giant challenged to battle, Rose the responsive whistle, and all the echoes of island, Swamp-land, glade and brake replied with a myriad clamor, Like wild birds that are suddenly startled from slumber at midnight; Then were at peace once more, and we heard the harsh cries of the peacocks Perched on a tree by a cabin door, where the white-headed settler's White-headed children stood to look at the boat as it • passed them, Passed them so near that we heard their happy talk and their laughter. Softly the sunset had faded, and now on the eastern horizon Hung, like a tear in the sky, the beautiful star of the evening. THE pilot's story. 57 Still with his back to us standing, the pilot went on with his story: — ■ ' Instantly, all the people, with looks of reproach and com- passion, Flocked round the prostrate woman. The children cried, and their mothers Hugged them tight to their breast; but the gambler said to the captain: ' Put me off there at the town that lies around the bend of the river. Here, you, rise at once, and be ready now to go with me. ' Roughly he seized the woman's arms and strove to uplift her. She — she seemed not to heed him, but rose like one that is dreaming, Slid from his grasp, and fleetly mounted the steps of the gangway, Up to the hurricane deck, in silence, without lamentation. Straight to the stern of the boat, where the wheel was, she ran, and the people Followed her fast till she turned and stood at bay for a moment, Looking them in the face and in the face of the gambler. Not one to save her, — not one of all the compassionate people! Not one to save her, of all the pitying angels in heaven! Not one bolt of God to strike him dead there before her! Wildly she waved him back: we waited in silence and horror. Over the swarthy face of the gambler a pallor of passion Passed, like a gleam of lightning over the west in the night-time. 58 THE GRAY SWAN. White, she stood, and mute, till he put forth his hand to secure her; Then she turned and leaped, — in mid-air fluttered a moment, — Down there, whirling, fell, like a broken-winged bird from a tree top, Down on the cruel wheel, that caught her, and hurled her, and crushed her, And in the foaming water plunged her, and hid her for- ever. ' ' THE GRAY SWAN. '/f\H, tell me, sailor, tell me true, " Is my little lad, my Eiihu, A-sailing with your ship ? ' ' The sailor's eyes were dim with dew — " Your little lad, your Elihu ? " He said with trembling lip — < < What little lad ? What ship ? ' ' " What little lad ! as if there could be Another such a one as he ! What little lad, do you say? Why, Elihu, that to the sea The moment I put him off my knee! It was just the other day The Gray Swan sailed away." "The other day! " the sailor's eyes Stood open with a great surprise, — "The other day! the Swan! " THE GRAY SWAN. 59 His heart began in his throat to rise. "Ay, ay, sir; here in the cupboard lies The jacket he had on." ' ' And so your lad is gone ? ' ' ' ' Gone with the Swan, " " And did she Stand with her anchor clutching hold of the sand, For a month, and never stir ? ' ' "Why to be sure! I've seen from the land, Like a lover kissing his lady's hand, The wild sea kissing her, A sight to remember, sir. ' ' "But, my good mother, do you know All this was twenty years ago ? I stood on the Gray Swan's deck, And to that lad I saw you throw, Taking it off, as it might be, so, The kerchief from your neck." "Ay, and he'll bring it back ! " "And did the little lawless lad That has made you sick and made you sad, Sail with the Gray Swan's crew ? " " Lawless ! the man is going mad ! The best boy ever mother had — Be sure he sailed with the crew ! What would you have him do ? " 1 ' And he has never written line, Nor sent you word, nor made you sign To say he was alive ? ' ' 60 somebody's mother. " Hold ! if 'twas wrong the wrong is mine Besides, he may be in the brine, And could he write from the grave ? Tut, man; what would you have ? " " Gone twenty years — a long, long cruise, 'Twas wicked thus your love to abuse; But if the lad still live, And come back home, think you, you can for- give ? ' ' 'Miserable man; you're as mad as the sea — you rave — What have I to forgive ? ' ' The sailor twitched his shirt so blue, And from within his bosom drew The kerchief. She was wild. 1 ' My God ! my father ! is it true ! My little lad, my Elihu ! My blessed boy, my child! My dead — my living child ! " SOMEBODY'S MOTHER. ^UHE woman was old and ragged and gray, W) And bent with the chill of the winter's day. The street was wet with the recent snow, And the woman's feet were aged and slow. She stood at the crossing and waited long, Alone, uncared-for, amid the throng. Of human beings who passed her by, Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye. somebody's mother. 61 Down the street with laughter and shout, Glad in the freedom of school "let out," Came the boys like a flock of sheep, Hailing the snow piled white and deep. Past the woman so old and gray Hastened the children on their way, Nor offered a helping hand to her, So meek, so timid, afraid to stir, Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet Should crowd her down in the slippery street. At last came one of the merry troop — The gayest laddie of all the group; He paused beside her and whispered low, "I'll help you across if you wish to go." Her aged hand on his strong young arm She placed, and so without hurt or harm, He guides her trembling feet along, Proud that his own were firm and strong. Then back again to his friends he went, His young heart happy and wel]* content. 11 She's somebody's mother, boys, you know, For all she's aged and poor and slow; ( ' And I hope some fellow will lend a hand To help my mother, you understand, "If ever she's poor and old and gray, When her own dear boy is far away. ' ' 62 TOO MANY OP We. And " somebody's mother " bowed low her head, In her home that night, and the prayer she said Was, " God be kind to the noble boy, Who is somebody's son and pride and joy." TOO MANY OF WE. "MfAMMA, is there too many of we? " XML The little girl asked with a sigh. " Perhaps you wouldn't be tired, you see, If a few of your childs should die." She was only three years old — the one Who spoke in that strange, sad way, As she saw her mother's impatient frown At the children's boisterous play. There were half a dozen who round her stood, And the mother was sick and poor, Worn out with the care of the noisy brood, And the fight with the wolf at the door. For a smile or a kiss, no time, no place; For the little one, least of all; And the shadow that darkened the mother's face O'er the young life seemed to fall. More thoughtful than any, she felt more care, And pondered in childish way How to lighten the burden she could not share, Growing heavier every day. Only a week, and the little Clare In her tiny white trundle bed Lay with blue eyes closed, and the sunny hair Cut close from the golden head. ONE OF THE LITTLE ONES. 63 "Don't cry," she said — and the words were low, Feeling tears that she could not see — "You won't have to work and be so tired When there ain't so many of we." But the dear little daughter who went away From the home that for once was stilled, Showed the mother's heart from that dreary day What a place she had always filled. ONE OF THE LITTLE ONES. ;;^WAS a crowded street, and a cry of joy ^3) Came from a ragged, barefoot boy — A cry of eager and glad surprise, And he opened wide his great black eyes As he held before him a coin of gold He had found in a heap of rubbish old By the curb stone there. The passers-by Paused at hearing that joyous cry, As if 'twere a heavenly chime that rung, Or a note from some angel song had been sung. There, in the midst of the hurry and din That raged the city's heart within, And they wondered to hear that song of grace Sung in such strange, unusual place. As ofttimes into a dungeon deep Some ray of sunlight perchance will creep, So did that innocent childish cry Break on the musings of passers-by, 64 ONE OP THE LITTLE ONES. Bidding them all at once forget Stocks, quotations, and tare and tret, And the thousand cares with which are rife The daily rounds of a business life. "How it sparkles! " the youngster cried, As the golden piece he eagerly eyed; "Oh, see it shine!" and he laughed aloud; Little heeding the curious crowd That gathered around, < < Hurrah ! " said he, "How glad my poor old mother will be! I'll buy her a brand-new Sunday hat, And a pair of shoes for Nell, at that, And baby sister shall have a dress — There'll be enough for all, I guess; And then I'll — " "Here," said a surly voice, ' ' That money's mine. You can take your choice Of giving it up or going to jail." The youngster trembled, and then turned pale As he looked and saw before him stand A burly drayman with outstretched hand; Rough and uncouth was the fellow's face, And without a single line or trace Of the goodness that makes the world akin. "Come, be quick! or I'll take you in," Said he. " For shame! " said the listening crowd. The ruffian seemed for a moment cowed. " The money's mine," he blustered out; " I lost it yesterday hereabout. ONE OF THE LITTLE OXES. 65 I don't want nothin' but what's my own, And I am going to have it." The lad alone Was silent. A tear stood in his eye, And he brushed it away; he would not cry. "Here, mister," he answered, "take it, then; If it's yours, it's yours; if it hadn't been " A sob told all he would have said, Of the hope so suddenly raised, now dead; And then with a sigh, which volumes told, He dropped the glittering piece of gold Into the other's hand. Once more He sighed — and his dream of wealth was o'er. But no! Humanity hath a heart Always ready to take the part Of childish sorrow, whenever found. "Let's make up a purse" — the word went round Through the kindly crowd, and the hat was passed, And the coins came falling thick and fast. "Here, sonny, take this," said they. Behold, Full twice as much as the piece of gold He had given up was in the hand Of the urchin. He could not understand It all. The tears came thick and fast, And his grateful heart found voice at last. But, lo! when he spoke, the crowd had gone — Left him, in gratitude, there alone. Who'll say there is not some sweet good-will And kindness left in this cold world still? 66 BRIER- ROSE. BRIER-ROSE. [ By Hjalmar Hjorth Boyeson; from St. Nicholas.] I. AID Brier-Rose's mother to the naughty Brier-Rose: we have many accidents here, sir? — * Well, no! but of one I could tell, If you wouldn't mind hearing the story; I have cause to remember it well! You see how the drawbridge swings open When the vessels come in from the bay, When the lightning express comes along, sir, That bridge must be shut right away! You see how it's worked by the windlass, A child, sir, could manage it well; My brave little chap used to do it, But that's part of the tale I must tell. It is two years ago come the autumn, I shall never forget it, I'm sure; I was sitting at work in the house here, And the boy played just outside the door. 122 THE BRIDGE KEEPER'S STORY. You must know, that the wages I'm getting For the w T ork on the line are not great, So I picked up a little shoemaking, And I manage to live at that rate. I was pounding away on my lapstone, And singing as blithe as could be! Keeping time with the tap of my hammer On the work that I held at my knee. And Willie, my golden-haired darling, Was tying a tail on his kite; His cheeks all aglow with excitement, And his blue eyes lit up with delight. When the telegraph bell at the station Rang out the express on its way; "All right father"! shouted my Willie, "Remember, I'm pointsman to-day!" I heard the wheel turn at the windlass, I heard the bridge swing on its way, And then came a cry from my darling That filled my poor heart with dismay. " Help, father! oh, help me! " he shouted. I sprang through the door with a scream; His clothes had got caught in the windlass. There he hung o'er the swift, rushing stream. And there, like a speck in the distance, I saw the fleet, on coming train; And the bridge that I thought safely fastened, Unclosed and swung backward again, THE BRIDGE KEEPER'S STORY. 123 I rushed to my boy; ere I reached him, He fell in the river below. I saw his bright curls on the water, Borne away by the current's swift flow. I sprang to the edge of the river, But there was the on rushing train; And hundreds of lives were in peril, Till that bridge was refastened again. I heard a loud shriek just behind me, I turned, and his mother stood there, Looking just like a statue of marble, With her hands clasped in agonized prayer. Should I leap in the swift-flowing torrent While the train went headlong to its fate Or stop to refasten the drawbridge, And go to his rescue too late? I looked at my wife, and she whispered, With choking sobs stopping her breath, " Do your duty, and Heaven will help you To save our own darling from death!" Quick as thought, then, I flew to the windlass, And fastened the bridge with a crash, Then, just as the train rushed across it, I leaped in the stream with a splash. How I fought with the swift-rushing water! How I battled till hope almost fled, But just as I thought I had lost him, Up floated his bright, golden head, 124 THE BRIDGE KEEPER'S STORY. How I eagerly seized on his girdle, As a miser would clutch at his gold, But the snap of his belt came unfastened, And the swift stream unloosened my hold. He sank once again, but I followed, And caught at his bright, clustering hair, And biting my lip till the blood came, I swam with the strength of despair! We had got to the bend of the river, Where the water leaps down with a dash; I held my boy tighter than ever, And steeled all my nerves for the crash. The foaming and thundering whirlpool Engulfed as; I struggled for breath, Then caught on a crag in the current, Just saved, for a moment, from death! And there, on the bank, stood his mother, And some sailors were flinging a rope; It reached us at last, and I caught it, For I knew 't was our very last hope! And right up the steep rock they dragged us; I cannot forget, to this day, How I clung to the rope, while my darling In my arms like a dead baby lay. And down on the greensward I laid him Till the color came back to his face; And, oh! how my heart beat with rapture As I felt his warm, loving embrace. CONVICT JOE. 125 There, sir! that's my story, a true one, Though it's far more exciting than some, It has taught me a lesson, and that is, " Do your duty, whatever may come! " CONVICT JOE. 1^/Z? I know Convict Joe? Yes, I knew him, JlJ And i ne'er knew an honester lad, Till he took head and heart to the bottle, And went with a rush to the bad. Ah, Joe's was a pitiful case, sirs, And shows, you'll allow it, I think, That granting his part in the business, Joe was less in the blame than the drink. Was he married f He was; and the thought o't Brings tears of distress to the eyes; 'Twas awful — the murderous sequel! And to Joe a blood-curdling surprise; For he didn't know what he was doing, Held in thrall by a fierce, mocking curse; One drink-maddened blow! — and the end o't — Felon chains and eternal remorse! But the story f Well, Joe was a shipwright, And a powerful chap, you may depend; Could throw any man in a wrestle, But the drink worsted him in the end. Taking "bouts" at the dram, he grew fond o't, And his wife — just the best you could find — Wept tears when the drink fit was on him, As like to go out of her mind. 126 CONVICT JOE. For Joe, once her love and her idol, On whom she still doted with pride, Was bringing disgrace on that dear wife, And the sweet child that clung to her side. The household that was once his pleasure No longer commanded his heart; Strong drink was the one god he worshiped, Whose signboard is ruin's black chart. Well, one night, as I said, he came home, sirs, Just as bad with the drink as could be; He'd been " off work " and "clubbing" with others. Having out what is called a "rare spree." It was late, and his poor wife sat lonely, Awaiting his wished-for return; But he scolded her out of his presence, And bunked on the floor till the morn. Till the morn did he sleep ? No; the madness That larks the hot brandy within Wrought hell in his brain, and thence doomed him, Ere dawn, to a terrible sin! He was mad! he was frenzied with horror! Fiends stung him with venomous hiss! 1 Te grappled with phantoms that dragged him Toward suicide's gaping abyss! They were clasping and clinging unto him, They were tearing the flesh from his heart, They were on him! around him! within him! And would not for God's sake depart! In his hot hands he buried his eyesight, And held, horror-stricken, his breath, CONVICT JOE. 127 But still the brain phantoms were around him. Were dragging him downward to death! "Wife, wife!" in his horror, he shouted And toward his presence she flew; 'Joe, dearest! my husband!" "No, woman! Back, horrible monster! not you ! " His brain hot with fury, he clutched at A hatchet! — one terrible blow! Next moment, death's presence stood by him With a forefinger pointing at — woe ! He had killed her! but didn't know of it, Had thought her no wife, but a fiend Come to torture his soul in her semblance, From which his eyes could not be screened. So, full of wild rage, he had smote her, And laughed o'er her corpse where it lay; Then flung himself down alongside her, And slept till the dawning of day. He slept f Aye, and dreamt of his dead wife ! — A peaceful and beautiful dream; He saw her once more in her beauty, Set about with love's heavenly beam; On his breast, crowned with smiles she was leaning, As his dear wife beloved and caressed; For the bottle was broken forever, And Joe was a man with the best. But 't was only a dream — yes, a dream, sirs; — His poor wife lay dead by his side; The warm blood still clammily oozing From a wound on her head, gaping wide ! 128 CONVICT JOE. While he still lay there, all unconscious Of the terrible crime he had wrought, Till the dawn, looking in on that night's work, Avenging discovery brought! Was it only a nightmare f Ah, no, sirs; — Rough hands on Joe's shoulders were laid, And voices all harsh, took his hearing, As he started, and stared, half afraid. God! what could it mean — the crowd 'round him- Thus to wake in the hands of the law? Ah, that form stretched all stirless before him! Surrounded by horror and awe! A woman f Yes, only a woman! No! surely it was n't his wife? She seemed dead! and he wrestled for freedom, As a doomed man will struggle for life. "It is she! gracious God! Is she dying? Or dead, sirs? — say, tell if you can? Unhand me! who murdered my poor wife?" And a voice answered — thou art the man ! There was silence and heart- thrilling horror! Joe's breath went and came with a gasp; The neighbors had entered and found him — The hatchet blood-stained in his grasp! "My poor wife! my poor wife! oh, heaven! Who loved me, alas, sirs, too well — 'Twas the brandy that wrought all the mischief!" And they dragged him away to the cell Why lengthen a heart-moving story? The law took its just-handed course; THE ELF-CHILD. 129 Joe, escaping the terrible gallows, Was doomed to eternal remorse — A lifetime of penal exactments, Felon-chains, with their soul-searing chime. But if tears are accepted in heaven, Joe has wept out all trace of his crime. THE ELF-CHILD, tf ITTLE Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, — * An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away, An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep, An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board an' keep; An' all us other children, when the supper things is done, We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun A-list'nin' to the witch tales 'at Annie tells about, An' the gobble-uns 'at gits you Ef you Don't Watch Out! Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his pray'rs — An' when he went to bed at night, away upstairs, His mammy heerd him holler, an' his daddy heard him bawl, An' when they turn the kivvers down he wasn't there at all! An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press, 130 THE ELF-CHILD. An' seeked him up the chimbly-nue, an' everywhere^, I guess, But all they ever found was this, his pants an' round- about: — - An' the gobble-uns'll git you Ef you Don't Watch Out! An' one time a little girl 'ud alius laugh an' grin, An' make fun of ever' one an' all her blood-an-kin. An' onc't, when they was "company," an' old folks was there, She mocked 'em, an' shocked 'em, arf' said she didn't care! An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide! They was two great Big Black things a-standin' by her side, Ad' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed Avhat she's about! An' the gobble-uns'll git you Ef you Don't Watch Out! An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, An' the lampwick sputters, an' the wind goes Woo-oo! An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray, An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away — You better mind yer parents, an' yer teachers fond an' dear,* An' churish them 'at loves you, and dry the orphant's tear, 131 An' he'p the po' an' needy ones, 'at clusters all about, Er the gobble-uns'll git you. Ef you Don't Watch Out! CANDOR. " ({ know what you're going to say," she said, 41 And she stood up, looking uncommonly tall; 1 < You are going to speak of the hectic fall And say you're sorry the summer's dead, And no other summer was like it, you know, And I can imagine what made it so. Now aren't you, honestly?" " Yes," I said. "I know what you're going to say," she said; " You're going to ask if I forget That day in June when the woods were wet, And you carried me" — here she dropped her he ad " Over the creek; you are going to say, Do I remember that horrid day? Now aren't you, honestly?" " Yes, " I said. "I know what you're going to say," she said; " You are going to say that since that time You have rather tended to run to rhyme. And" her clear glance fell, and her cheek grew red- ' ' And have I noticed your tone was queer, Why, everbodyhas seen it here! Now aren't you, honestly? " " Yes," I said. 132 THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDER. "I know what you're going to say," I said; You are going to say you've been much annoyed, And I'm short of tact — you will say devoid — And I'm clumsy, and awkward, and call me Ted, And I'll bear abuse like a dear old lamb, And you'll have me, any way, just as I am. Now aren't you, honestly?" " Ye — es," she said. THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDER. ^|f^AY by day the Organ-builder in his lonely chamber Ms& wrought; Day by day the soft air trembled to the music of his thought; Till at last the work was ended, and no organ voice so grand Ever yet had soared responsive to the master's magic hand. Ay, so rarely was it builded that whenever groom and bride Who in God's sight were well pleasing in the church stood side by side, Without touch or breath the organ of itself began to play, And the very airs of heaven through the soft gloom seemed to stray. He was young, the Organ-builder, and o'er all the land his fame Ran with fleet and eager footsteps, like a swiftly rushing flame. THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDER. 133 All the maidens heard the story; all the maidens blushed and smiled, By his youth and wondrous beauty and his great renown beguiled. So he sought and won the fairest, and the wedding day was set: Happy day — the brightest jewel in the glad year's coronet! But when they then portal entered, he forget his lovely bride — Forgot his love, forgot his God, and his heart swelled high with pride. " Ah! " thought he, "how great a master am I! When the organ plays, How the vast cathedral arches will re-echo with my praise! " Up the aisle the gay procession moved. The altar shone afar, With its every candle gleaming through soft shadows, like a star. But he listened, listened, listened, with no thought of love or prayer, For the swelling notes of triumph from his organ standing there. All was silent. Nothing heard he save the priest's low monotone, And the bride's robe trailing softly o'er the floor of fretted stone. 134 THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDER. Then his lips grew white with anger. Surely God was pleased with him Who had built the wondrous organ for His temple vast and dim? Whose the fault, then? Hers — the maiden standing meekly at his side! Flamed his jealous rage, maintaining she was false to him — his bride. Vain were all her protestations, vain her innocence and truth; On that very night he left her to her anguish and her ruth. Far he wandered to a country wherein no man knew his name, For ten weary years he dwelt there, nursing still his wrath and shame. Then his haughty heart grew softer, and he thought by night and day Of the bride he had deserted, till he hardly dared to pray— Thought of her, a spotless maiden, fair and beautiful and good; Thought of his relentless anger that had cursed her woman- hood; Till his yearning grief and penitence at last were all com- plete, THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDEli. 135 And he longed with bitter longing, just to fall down at her feet. Ah! how throbbed his heart when, after many a weary day and night, Rose his native towers before him, with the sunset glow alight! Through the gates into the city on he pressed with eager tread; There he met a long procession — mourners following the dead. "Now why weep ye so, good people? and whom bury ye to-day? Why do yonder sorrowing maidens scatter flowers along the way? "Has some saint gone up to heaven?" "Yes," they answered, weeping sore; For the Organ-builder's saintly Wife our eyes shall see no more ; '' And because her days were given to the service of God's poor, From His church we mean to bury her See ! yonder is the door." No one knew him; no one wondered when he cried out, white with pain; No one questioned when with pallid lips, he poured his tears like rain, 136 THE LEGEND OP THE ORGAN -BUILDER. "'Tis some one whom she has comforted who mourns with us," they said, As he made his made his way unchallenged, and bore the coffin's head. Bore it through the open portal, bore it up the echoing aisle, Let it down before the altar, where the lights burned clear the while. When, oh, hark! the wondrous organ of itself began to play Strains of rare, unearthly sweetness, never heard until that day. All the vaulted arches rang with music, sweet and clear; All the air was filled with glory, as of angels hovering near; And ere yet the strain was ended, he who bore the coffin's head, With the smile of one forgiven, gently sank beside it — dead. They who raised the body knew him, and they laid him by his bride; Down the aisle and o'er the threshold they were carried, side by side; While the organ played a dirge that no man ever heard before. And then softly sank to silence — silence kept for ever- more. THE PRIDE OF BATTERY B. 137 THE PRIDE OF BATTERY B. * OUTH MOUNTAIN towered upon our right, far off ^ the river lay, And over on the wooded height we held their lines at bay, AtTast the muttering guns were still; the tlay died slow and wan; At last the gunners' pipes did fill, the sergeant's yarns began; When, as the wind a moment blew aside the fragrant flood Our brierwoods raised, within our view a little maiden stood, A tiny tot of six or seven, from fireside fresh she seemed, (Of such a little one in heaven one soldier often dreamed). And as we stared, one little hand went to her curly head In grave salute. " And who are you? " at length the ser- geant said. "And where's your home?" he growled again. She lisped out, "Who is me? Why, don't you know? I'm little Ja*ne, the pride of Bat- tery B. My home? Why that was burned away, and pa and ma are dead, And so I ride the guns all day along with Sergeant Ned. And I've a drum that's not a toy, a cap with feathers too, And I march beside the drummer boy on Sundays at review. But now our 'bacca's all give out, the men can't have their smoke, And so they're cross; why even Ned won't play with me and joke. 138 THE PRIDE OP BATTERY B. And the big colonel said to-day — I hate to hear him swear — He'd give a leg for a good pipe like the Yanks had over there. And so I thought when beat the drum, and the big guns were still, I'd creep beneath the tent and come out here across the hill, And beg, good Mister Yankee men, you'd give me some Lone Jack; Please do! When we get some again I'll surely bring it back. Indeed I will, for Ned, says he, if I do what I say, I'll be a general yet, maybe, and ride a prancing bay. " We brimmed her tiny apron o'er. You should have heard her laugh, As each man from his scanty store shook out a generous half. To kiss the little mouth stooped down a score of grimy men, Until the sergeant's husky voice said "'Tention, squad!" and then We gave her escort, till good night the pretty waif Ave bid, And watched her toddle out of sight, — Or else 'twas tears that hid Her tiny form, — nor turned about a man, nor spoke a word. Till after awhile, a far hoarse shout upon the wind we heard. We sent it back, and cast sad eyes upon the scene around, A baby's hand had touched the tie that brothers once hail bound. That's all; save when the dawn awoke again the work of hell, SUNDAY FISHIX'. 139 And through the sullen clouds of smoke the screaming missiles fell, (Jar general often rubbed his glass and marveled much to see Xot a single shell that whole day fell in the camp of Bat- tery B. SUNDAY FISHIN'. 1_T EYO! you niggers, dan, I like ter know - J 4 Wut dat you up to yere! Well, toe by sho! Ef you ain't fishin' on de good Lawd's day, Des like you done gone clah forgit de way Up to de meetin'-'ouse! Yere, come erlong Er me, en I'll show you de place you b'long. I tells you wut, boys, dis yere chile is had Speunce er Sunday fishin', en he glad Dat he's alive! De las' time dat I broke De Sabbaf-day dis way, it wa'n't no joke — You heered me now! Dat wuz de time, you know, I ketched de debble, en I thought fer sho, Dat he'd ketch me! You see dis yere de way It wuz: I tuk my pole one Sabbaf-day En went down to de river, at de place Wut I kep' baited, up above de race. Dey use ter be a little dogwood-tree Up on de bank, des big ernough fer me To set en fish in; en I use ter clime Into it alluz in high-water time; It growed right on the steep bank's aidge, en lent 'Way out above de water. 140 SUNDAY FISHIN'. Wen I went Up dah dat day de muddy river den Had riz en overflowed 'bout nine or ten Feet f urn de bank, en so I tuck en roll My breeches up, en waded wid my pole Out to de tree, en clime into de fawk, En 'gin ter fish. 'Twa'n't long befo' my cawk Duckt down clean outer sight, en den I felt De pole jerkt mos' away. I lay I helt On to dat pole, but 'twa'n't no mortal use — Dat fish wuz bound to make sumpm come loose, I had a monst'ous strong big cat-fish line, En so I tuk en fix my legs entwine Erround dat tree, en froze on to de pole, 'Termint to swing 'twell sump'n los' der hoi'. But Laws-a-massy! 'twa'n't no yethly use: Fo' long I felt dat tree a-givin' loose; En treckly down she come, sho' nough, kerflop, Into de b'ilin water, me on top, Yes, sir, right in the river; den dat thing Wut I done ketched hit give a suddint swing, En' way hit tuck straight down de stream, wid me, Er follern atter, settin' on de tree! Sakes, how we trabbled! en'z we rolled along, Hit struck me all to wunst sump'n 'uz wrong Erbout dat fish! He was a pow'ful sight Too peart. En den I seed a jay-bird light, En keep a-lightin' 'long de bank in front ; En den a mush-rat swosh aroun' en grunt, SUNDAY FISHIN*. 141 En tu'n a water-snake aloose, en den De snake swum wid his head up stream 'twell w'en He got in front er me, den tuck en dive Straight down ; en atter dat — good saints alive! — A she king fisher up an squawk, en sail Across, en drap a feather f um her tail. Good Lawd! I knowed it waVt no use denine De debble got a holt dat hook en line, Headin' wi' me fer home, en strikin out A-clippin' by de shortes' water route! Dat's wut / got by go in' dat Sabbaf-day A-fishin'. 'Twas a caution, folks, de way We shot dat river, makin' down it straight Fer Cooper's dam, right todes de "Debbie's Gate," Dey calls dat suck whah all dat wunst goes in Ain't never seed, dey say, to rise agin. De fus' thing wut I thought I better do Wuz tu'n aloose dat pole; but, thinks I, "Shoo! I couldn't fool him dat away, en he Mout tu'n loose too, en grab aholt er me." En den I 'gin to pray, en prayed en prayed — Law love you, chillun! reck'n I fa'ly made De woods howl, 'seechin' dat de throne er grace Fergimme fer backslidin', en make 'as'e Ter git me out dat scrape; en w'iles I prayed I helt de pole wid one han' en I laid Holt of my galluses wid t'er, en to'e Um off; en den I tied de pole befo' Me to de tree, so es to make Ole Nick Still b'lieve I helt on to it. 142 SUNDAY FISHIN'. Putty quick I seed out in de river, right ahead, Joe Taylor's fish-trap, and de good Lawd led Us 'long up side it, en you mighty right I jumpt on to it mighty free en light! En Mr. Smarty Nick, wid his ole tree, Sailed on, a-thinkin' still he haulm' me! Dat's wut de matter! Niggers, dat de way I quit dis fishing' on de Sabbaf-aay. Dah ain't no pole ermong yo' all /Vtech; En if you ain't a-hankerin' to ketch Sump'n you didn't barg'n fer, I lay You better put dem hooks en lines away. Fer members uv de church, dis yere gits me! Uv all the owdacious doin's I ever see, Dis tak'n' de Sabbaf-day in vain's de wuss Fer mortifyin' de morals uv — You Gus\ Look at dat bite you got! Law bless de Lam; He's a joedahter! Look out dah, doe jam Dat pole up dah! You trine, peahs like to me, To knock de fish fum off dat 'simmon tree; Now look Doe jerk dat way Law love my soul, You gwiner lose 'im! Yere, gimme dat pole; I'll show you how to Ian' 'im! Stiddy, now — Pulls like a cat-fish. Hit's de boss, I swow! Des wait a minute; one mo' pull is boun' To git 'im. Dah he is, safe on de groun', Hain't he a whopper, dough! Hoo — wee! I lay Y'all dat ah fish dis blessid day 'ull weigh THE REASON WHY. 143 5 Bout forty — Laws-a-massy! ef I ain't Done broke de Sabbaf 'fo I knowed it! 'Tain't No use to laugh, you reckon I wuz gwrhe Ter let dat fish take off dis pole en line? But 'tain't too late, I'll fix it mighty quick. Yere, Gus, gimme dat fish — you neenter kick; I's guine, fer sho, ter pitch it right away Back in de water. Yere, leggo, I say! You'll peck de wrong June-bug, you biggity goose! Fo' God, now, nigger, ef you doe tu'n loose Dis fish, I'll chuck you in de river! Dah! Hit's in. En now my conshus is mb' clah. THE REASON WHY. jjT isn't that I've got a thing agin' you, Parson Peak, <* Nor agin' the many "tried and true " I've met there every week, It's not for this I've stayed away so many Sabba' days From the cherished little meetin'-house where oft I've joined in praise. But listen — if you care to know — and I will tell you all. I think 'twas about two year ago — or was it three, last fall? The wealthy members voted that they'd have the seats made free, And most of us was willin' with the notion to agree. Perhaps the meanin' of the word I didn't quite understand; For the Sunday after, walkin' 'long with Elsie hand in hand 144 THE REASON WHY. (You know the little blue-eyed girl — her mother now is dead, And I am Elsie's grandpa; but let me go ahead). Well, thinkin' o' the Master and how homelike it would be To take a seat just anywhere, now that the seats was free, I walked in at the open door, and up the center aisle, And sat down tired, but happy in the light of Elsie's smile. I listened to your preachin' with an " amen" in my heart, And when the hymns was given out, I tried to do my part; And my love seemed newly kindled for the one great power above. And something seemed to answer back: " For love I give thee love." But when the benediction came, and we was passin' out, A whispered sentence, with my name, caused me to turn about. 'Twas not exactly words like this, but words that meant it all. "It's strange that paupers never know their place is by the wall." It wasn't 'bout myself I cared for what the speaker said, But the little blossom at my side, with pretty upturned head; And lookin' down at Elsie, there, I thought of Elsie's mother, • And thoughts my better nature scorned, I tried in vain to smother. two. 145 I've been to meetin' twice since then and set down by the wall, But kept a thinkin' — thinkin' — till my thoughts was turned to gall; And when the old familiar hymns was given out to sing, One look at Elsie's shinin' curls would choke my utterin'. And so I thought it best awhile to stay at home and praise, Or take a walk in field or wood, and there trace out His ways. "It's better so", my old heart said, "than gather with the throng, And let your feelin's rankle with a real or fancied wrong. " But I'm pray in', parson, all the time (and wish you'd help me pray), When one and all are gathered home in the great comin' day; When men are weighed by honest deeds and love to fellow-men, I won't be thought a pauper in the light I'm seen in then. TWO. |?N the bitter gloom of a winter's morn -* A babe was born. The snow piled high against wall and door, On the mighty oak boughs the frost lay hoar: But the warmth and light shrined the happy face, So softly pillowed with down and lace. 146 two. The bells clashed oat from the reeling spire, The night was reddened by many a fire: The cottage smiled for joy at the hall, As the poor man answered the rich man's call, And his lot for a day was less forlorn, Because a little child was born. In the bitter gloom of a winter's morn A babe was born. The snow piled high in the narrow street, Trodden and stained by hurrying feet; On the hearth the embers lay cold and dead, And the woman who crouched on the damp straw bed Muttered a curse as the drunken sport Swelled up to her lair from the crowded court. Riot without and squalor within, To welcome a waif to a world of sin, And a pitiful life was the more forlorn, Because a little child was born. In a smiling home amid sun and flowers, A child grew up, Calm, and beauty, and culture and wealth, To give power to life and grace to health; Gentle influence, thought and care, To train the darling to love and prayer* The stately heirlooms of place and blood, To crown the flower of maidenhood, With childhood's pearly innocence kept On the folded leaves where the sunshine slept. So sweetly and richly formed the cup Life held, where the happy girl grew up. two. 147 Where "home" was a vague and empty word A child grew up. Where oath and blow were the only law, And ugly misery all she saw; Where want and sin drew hand in hand, Round the haunts that disgrace our Christian land; A loveless, hopeless, joyless life Of crime and wretchedness, struggle and strife! Never a glimpse of the sweet spring skies, To soften the flash in the wild young eyes; Or a drop of peace in the poisoned cup Life held, where the reckless girl grew up. On a summer eve as the low sun set, A woman died. At the close of a long and tranquil life, Honored and guarded, mother and wife, With gentle hands whose work was done, And gentle head whose crown was won, With children's children at her knee, And friends who watched her reverently; Knowing her memory would remain, Treasured by grief, that scarce was pain, With her heart's dearest at her side, Blessing and blessed, the woman died. On a summer eve as the low sun set, A woman died. She had. fought the failing fight so long, But time was cruel, and hard, and strong. Without a faith, without a prayer, With none to aid and none to care; 148 THE MIDSHIPMITE. Without a trace upon the page, From desperate youth to loathsome age, But sin and sorrow, wrong and chance, And bitter blank of ignorance ; With not a hand to help or save, Without a hope beyond the grave, Tossed in the black stream's rushing tide, Unmourned, unmissed, the woman died, And we are all akin, runs the kindly creed. Oh, the riddle of life is hard to read! THE MIDSHIPMITE. 5C7 ELL! that's a woman I pity; :&«! Q e i ou t of your easy chair — Look out of the window, — that woman in black, With glory of red-gold hair, Why does she carry a primrose cross? And what has her misery been? She has lost her only child, my lad, And is walking to Kensal Green. We prate of our little troubles, We men of muscle and brain, We curse if our pipe of peace don't draw, And howl at the wind and rain; And those of our band who scribble a bit, Are instantly down in luck If they're stabbed in the back by an ignorant fool Who hasn't a grain of pluck. THE MLDSHIPMITE. 149 'Tis grim to feel you're honest, no doubt, Possessing a soul to save, When editors bribe some desolate cad To hound you as cheat or knave. 'Tis God will winnow the false and true, Who knows what our sins have been, But think of poor innocent Margaret Gray Who is walking to Kensal Green. What is her story? Well, light your pipe And sit you down in your chair Two chapters — the one is headed of love, The other is marked despair. I've seen some joy, but the park at Knowle Was never in spring so gay As when Margaret Welsh in Seven Oaks church Was married to Bernard Gray. 'Twas a runaway match, in the weald of Kent. That was blessed by the parson prim. His life was given to art — the stage — And hers was given to him. Never a man have I known so pure, Never a woman so brave, As was married that day in Seven Oaks church When the primroses covered the grave. They talk of love in an empty way; But this was the pride of life, When Bernard seemed in a happy dream And thrilled at the touch of his wife. Whenever they kissed, their eyes for love Were brimming with tears of joy. 150 THE MIDSHIPMITE. And the prize of happiness came next spring By the birth of their baby boy. What have they done to deserve God's wrath? In his old mysterious way Death stretched his finger out and touched The heart of Bernard Gray. Life was too happy for him, poor lad; He had been fading for years, they said, And the mother and child were asleep one night When Bernard Gray lay dead. Down like an avalanche swept despair O'er the house where love had smiled, » Crushing the innocent mother there By the side of her only child. "As you make your bed, you must tumble down," Is the rule of this worldly life; And there wasn't a soul to pity the fate Of the destitute actor's wife. For six long years, — as I live 'tis true — In the midst of the city din; She slaved and starved for her baby boy And her soul was free from sin. When at last, they said, for the actor's child They had luckily found a part, So she said, " The gift that an artist gave I will dedicate* pure to art." They took him away from his mother's side, And her heart was sick and sore, Though her baby boy was the life and soul Of ".Her Majesty's Pinafore." THE MIDSHIPMITE 151 Whenever the theater rang with cheers, And echoed with wild delight, A heart in the gallery shook with fear For the fate of the midshipmite. For the boy was odd, old-fashioned, And over clever; 'twas said He had the strangest fancies, And complained of an aching head. And one day, half in earnest, Possibly half in fnn, He said, "Who will keep us, mother, When Pinafore's ceased to run? " 'Twas the close of a heartless winter That changed to a cheerless spring, With wind in the east, that caught with a chill The child in a drafty wing, — When the mother found to her horror The boy was too ill to sup, And he said in his curious manner, "The Pinafore run is up. " Give me a kiss, my mother, And put me away to bed; For my limbs are weak — I tremble— I've pains in my throbbing head. I feel to-night so weary — " When out of his tuneful store He muttered in a childlike way Of her Majesty's Pinafore. " O! say that you love me, darling," She murmured, pale with fears; 152 CHICKENS COME HOME TO ROOST. But he answered, " Hardly ever," As she wiped away her tears. And then as the nightmare vision The mind of the sleeper haunts, He said, " You'll be kind — to my — sisters, And my cousins, and my aunts." On the ship that had been his playground He sailed to his rest at last, With a cheer for his baby comrades As he clung to the yielding mast. And he moaned out, racked with torture As the sand in the hour glass ran, "Well, in spite of all temptation, Your boy is an Englishman." They buried the little fellow Quite close to his father's side, Just seven years from the joyful day His mother was made a bride. So there's the story of that which is, (God knows what might have been! ) And this is the reason why Margaret Gray Is walking to Kensal Green. CHICKENS COME HOME TO ROOST. ^ytOTJ may take the world as it comes and goes, y[ And you will be sure to find That fate will square the account she owes, Whoever comes out behind; And all things bad that a man has done, By whatsoever induced, Return at last to him, one by one, As the chickens come home to roost, CHICKENS COME HOME TO ROOST. 153 You may scrape and toil and pinch and save, While your hoarded wealth expands, Till the cold, dark shadow of the grave Is nearing your life's last sands; You will have your balance struck some night, And you'll find your hoard reduced; You'll view your life in another light When the chickens come home to roost. You can stint your soul and starve your heart With the husks of a barren creed, But Christ will know if you play a part, — Will know in your hour of need; And then as you wait for death to come What hope can there be deduced From creed alone? You will lie there dumb While your chickens come home to roos.t. Sow as you will, there's a time to reap, For the good and bad as well, And conscience, whether we wake or sleep, Is either a Heaven or Hell. And every wrong will find its place, And every passion loosed Drifts back and meets you face to face — When the chickens come home to roost. Whether you're over or under the sod The result will be the same; You cannot escape the hand of God, You must bear your sin or shame. No matter what's carved on a marble slab, When the items are all produced You'll find that St. Peter was keeping "tab " And that chickens come home to roost. 154 THE LITTLE WHITE HEARSE. T\. S the little white hearse went glimmering by- 3r\ The man on the coal cart jerked his lines, And smutted the lid of either eye, And turned and stared at the business signs; And the street-car driver stopped and beat His hands on his shoulders and gazed up street Till his eye on the long track reached the sky — As the little white hearse went glimmering by. As the little white hearse went glimmering by — A stranger petted a ragged child In the crowded walk, and she knew not why, But he gave her a coin for the way she smiled; And a bootblack thrilled with a pleasure strange As a customer put back his change With a kindly hand and a grateful sigh — As the little white hearse went glimmering by. As the little white hearse went glimmering by — A man looked out of a window dim, And his cheeks were wet and his heart was dry — For a dead child even were dear to him! And he thought of his empty life and saidj "Loveless alive, and loveless dead, Nor wife nor child in earth or sky !" — As the little white hearse went glimmering by. BACK WHERE THEY USED TO BE, 'AP'S got his patent right and rich as all creation; But where's the peace and comfort that we all had before? BACK WHERE THEY USED TO BE. 155 Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's station — Back where we used to be so happy and so pore! The likes of us a-livin' here! It's jest a mortal pity To see us in this great big house, with cyarpets on the stairs, And the pump right in the kitchen; and the city ! city ! city!— And nothing but the city all around us every wheres! Climb clean above the roof and look from the steeple, And never see a robin, nor a beech or ellum tree! And right here in earshot of at least a thousan' people, And none that neighbors with us, or we want to go and see! Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's station — Back where the latch-string 's a-hangin' from the door, And every neighbor 'round the place is dear as a relation — Back where we used to be so happy and so pore ! I want to see the Wiggenses, the whole kit and bilin' A drivin' up from Shallow Ford to stay the Sunday through, And I want to see 'em hitchin' at their son-in-law's, and pilin' Out there at Lizy Ellen's, like they used to do ! I want to see the piece-quilts the Jones girls is niakin', And I want to pester Laury 'bout their freckled hired hand, And joke her 'bout the widower she come purt' nigh a- takin', Till her pap got his pension 'lowed in time to save his land. 156 NEARER TO THEE. Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's station — Back where they's nothin' aggervatin' any more, Shet away safe in the wood around the old location — Back where we used to be so happy and so pore! I want to see Marindy and he'p her with her sewin', And hear her talk so lovin' of her man that's dead and gone, And stand up with Emanual to show me how he's growin', And smile as I have saw her 'fore she put her mournin' on. And I want to see the Samples on the old lower Eighty, Where John, our oldest boy, he was took and buried, for His own sake and Katy's, — and I want to cry with Katy As she reads all his letters over, writ from the war. What's in all this grand life and high situation, And nary pink nor hollyhaw*k bloomm* at the door? Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's station — Back where we used to be so happy and so pore! NEARER TO THEE. / (A PEARER, my God, to Thee," rose on the air, - j ^ Each note an ecstasy, joyous and rare, Tones that were triumph peals shrined in a song, Breathing of victory gained over wrong; Out on the listening air, mocking at fear, Ringing its clarion cry, fearless and clear, Up from a soul redeemed, noble and free, "Nearer my God to thee, nearer to Thee." NEARER TO THEE. 157 " Nearer, my God, to Thee," thrilled on the air, Each note an agony, linked with a prayer, Out on a sinking shij), land out of sight, Borne by the wailing winds into the night; White-maned and angry waves howling in scorn, Wild shrieks of helpless hearts over them borne; Still rang one trusting voice high o'er the sea, "Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee." "Nearer, my God, to Thee," thrilled on the breeze, Far in a heathen land, 'neath the palm trees, Rising in soulful notes, earnest and calm, Trust and tranquillity winging the psalm; Fierce faces round about, fever and death Mixed with the tropic flowers' balm-laden breath; One lonely child of God bending the knee, Saying with uplifted face, "Nearer to Thee." "Nearer, my God, to Thee," echoed a street Worn by the night tread of murderer's feet, Up from a cellar, dark, noisome with slime, Out o'er a motley crowd hideous with crime; Curses and oaths obscene fouling the ear, Still rose the trusting notes, trembling but clear; Poverty, suffering, singing their plea, "Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee." "Nearer, my God, to Thee," rose from a room Where a man, old and blind, sat in the gloom, While his poor hands caressed, there on the bed, One who was once his bride, silent and dead. Worn were the wrinkled hands folded in sleep ; Closed were the patient eyes, slumbering deep. 158 artie's "amen." "Called to her home," he said, "waiting for me: Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee." "Nearer, my God, to Thee," triumph or prayer, Winging its way every hour on the air, O'er the whole world from a numberless throng, Blending their smiles and their sighs in its song; Priceless the memories, sweet and profound, Linked like a chaplet of pearls by its sound. Grant its petition till all the world be "Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee." ARTIE'S "AMEN." 7^ HEY were Methodist twain of the ancient school ^ Who always followed the wholesome rule That whenever the preacher in meeting said Aught that was good for the heart or head His hearers should pour their feelings out In a loud " Amen, " or a godly shout. Three children had they, all honest boys, Whose youthful sorrows and youthful joys They shared as your loving parents will, While tending them ever through good and ill. One day — 'twas a bleak, cold Sabbath morn, When the sky was dark, and the earth forlorn — These boys with a caution not to roam,* Were left by the elder folk at home. But scarce had they gone when the wooden frame Was seen by the tall stove pipe aflame: And out of ther reach high, high and higher, Rose the red coils of the serpent fire. ARTIE'S "AMEN." 159 With startled sight for awhile they gazed, As the pipe grew hot and the woodwork blazed; Then up, though his heart beat wild with dread, The eldest climbed to a shelf o'erhead, And soon with a sputter and hiss of steam, The flame died out like an angry dream. When the father and mother came back that day — They had gone to a neighboring church to pray — Each looked, but with half averted eye, On the awful doom which had just passed by. And then the father began to praise His boys with a tender and sweet amaze. " Why, how did you manage, Tom, to climb And quench the threatening flames in time To save your brothers, and save yourself? " " Well, father, I mounted the strong oak shelf By the help of the table standing nigh." "And what," quoth the father, suddenly, Turning to Jemmy the next in age. "Did you do to quiet the fiery rage?" "I brought the pail and dipper, too, And so it was that the water flew All over the flames arid quenched them quite." A mist came over the father's sight, A mist of pride and of righteous joy, As he turned at last to his youngest boy — A gleeful urchin scarce three years old, With his dimpling cheeks and hair of gold. "Come, Artie, I'm sure you weren't afraid: Now tell me in What way you tried to aid 160 kothin' to sat. This fight with the fire." " Too .small am I," Artie replied with a half drawn-sigh, "To fetch like Jemmie, and work like Tom; So I stood just here for a minute, dumb, Because, papa, I was frightened some; But I prayed ' Our Father'; and then — and then I shouted as loud as I could, ' Amen! ' " NOTHIN' TO SAY. |OTHIN' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to ^ say!— Girls that's in love, I've noticed, ginerally have their way! Yer mother did afore you, when her folks objected to me — Yit here I am, and here you air! and yer mother — where is she? You looks lots like your mother. Purty much the same in size; And about the same complected; and favor about the eyes. Like her, too, about livin' here, because she couldn't stay; It'll most seem like you was dead like her! — but I hain't got nothin' to say! She left you her little Bible — writ yer name acrost the page— And left her ear-bobs for you, if ever you come of age. I've alius kep' 'em and gyuarded 'em, but ef yer goin' away — Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say! You don't rickollect her, I reckon? No, you wasn't a year old then, somethik' to say. 161 And now yer — how old air yer? Why, child, not twenty, when? And yer nex' birthday's in April? And you want to get married that day? I wisht yer mother was livin' ! — but — I hain't got nothin' to say! Twenty year! and as good a gyrl as parent ever found! There's a straw ketched on ter yer dress there — I'll bresh it off — turn round. (Her mother was jest twenty when us two run away!) Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say! SOMETHIN' TO SAY. SOMETHIN' to say, my daughter? Well, you bet I've ^ somethin' to say! Some fathers might let things take their course, but your dad ain't built that way. Yer see, I work for a livin' now, and I earn enough for two; But I'll be gol-darned if I'm goin' to feed another along with you. If you wanted to marry a decent man, who was earnin' decent pay, Most likely I'd tell you to go ahead, and hurry and set the day; But I know the wuthless dude you want, and I know his little lay, Somethin' to say, my daughter? Well, you bet I've some- thin' to say! 162 I wouldn't, —WOULD YOU? Now, don't be cryin', daughter, and don't feel hard at me — You know you'd better be single, if only you could see, But to think of your marryin' such a man as lazy young Dandy Jim, Though if he knew enough to earn his salt, don't know's I'd object to him. It isn't him at all, you say; but the old man millionaire? — Why, child, you make your father proud; just let me kiss you — there! And you want me to add my blessing, and come to the house and stay? Well, I guess you can manage your own machine, and I ain't got nothin' to say. I WOULDN'T,— WOULD YOU? WHEN a lady is seen at a party or ball — ~^* Her eyes vainly turned in her fits of conceit, As she peers at the gentlemen, fancying all Are enchained by her charms, and would kneel at her feet — With each partner coquetting — to nobody true — I wouldn't give much for her chances — would you? When an upstart is seen on the flags strutting out, With his hat cocked aslant, and a glass in his eye, And thick clouds of foul smoke he stands puffing about, As he inwardly says: "What a stunner am I," While he twists his moustache, for the ladies to view, I wouldn't give much for his senses — would you? I wouldn't, — WOULD you? 163 When a wife runs about at her neighbors to pry, Leaving children at home, unprotected, to play; Till she starts back in haste at the sound of their cry, And finds they've been fighting while mother's away. Sugar eaten, panes broken, the wind blowing through; I wouldn't give much for her comfort — would you? When a husband is idle, neglecting his work, In the public house snarling with quarrelsome knaves, When he gambles with simpletons, drinks like a Turk, While his good wife at home, for the poor children slaves, And that home is quite destitute — painful to view — I wouldn't give much for his morals — would you? When a boy at his school, lounging over his seat, Sits rubbing his head, and neglecting his book, While he fumbles his pockets for something to eat, Yet pretendeth to read when his master may look, Though he boasts to his parents how much he can do, I wouldn't give much for his progress — would you? When a husband and wife keep their secrets apart, Not a word to "my spouse " about this or on that; When a trifle may banish the pledge of their heart, And he naggles — she naggles — both contradict flat; Though unequaled their love when its first blossoms blew, I wouldn't give much for their quiet — would you? When a man who has lived here for none but himself, Feels laid on his strong frame the cold hand of death, When all fade away — wife, home, pleasure and pelf, And he yields back to God both his soul and his breath, As up to the Judgment that naked soul flew — I wouldn't give much for his Heaven — would you? 164 papa's letter. PAPA'S LETTER. | WAS sitting in my study, "-* Writing letters when I heard, " Please, dear mamma, Mary told me Mamma mustn't be 'isturbed; " But I's tired of the kitty, Want some ozzer fing to do! Witing letters, is 'on, mamma? Tan't I wi'te a letter, too? " "Not now, darling, mamma's busy; Run and play with kitty, now." "No, no, mamma, me wite letter — Tan if 'on will show me how." I would paint my darling's portrait As his sweet eyes searched my face- Hair of gold and eyes of azure, Form of childish, witching orace. k O &' But the eager face was clouded, As I slowly shook my head, Till I said, "Til make a letter Of you, darling boy, instead." So I parted back the tresses From his forehead high and white, And a stamp in sport I pasted 'Mid its waves of golden light. Then I said, "Now, little letter, Go aAvay, and bear good news." And I smiled as down the staircase Clattered loud the little shoes. papa's letter. 165 Leaving me, the darling hurried Down to Mary in his glee: " Mamma's witing lots of letters; I's a letter, Mary — see ? " No one heard the little prattler As once more he climbed the stair, Reached his little cap and tippet, Standing on the entry chair. No one heard the front door open, No one saw the golden hair As it floated o'er his shoulders In the crisp October air. Down the street the baby hastened Till he reached the office door. ► " I's a letter, Mr. Postman, Is there room for any more? " Cause dis letter's doin' to papa: Papa lives with God, 'on know. Mamma sent me for a letter; Does 'ou fink 'at I tan go? " But the clerk in wonder answered "Not to-day, my little man." " Den I'll find anuzzer office, 'Cause I must go if I tan." Fain the clerk would have detained him, But the pleading face was gone, And the little feet were hastening — By the busy crowd swept on. 166 EVENING AT THE FARM. Suddenly the crowd was parted, People fled to left and right As a pair of maddened horses At the moment dashed in sight. No one saw the baby figure — No one saw the golden hair, Till a voice of frightened sweetness Rang out on the autumn air. 'Twas too late — a moment only Stood the beauteous vision there, Then the little face lay lifeless, Covered o'er with golden hair. Reverently they raised my darling, Brushed away the curls of gold, Saw the stamp upon the forehead, Growing now so icy cold. Not a mark the face disfigured, Showing where a hoof had trod; But the little life was ended — < ' Papa's letter " was with God. EVENING AT THE FARM. (H\VER the hill the farm-boy goes, v- ' His shadow lengthens along the land, A giant staff in a giant hand; In the poplar-tree, about the spring, The katydid begins to sing; The early dews are falling; Into the stone heap darts the mink; The swallows skim the river's brink: EVENING AT THE FARM. 167 And home to the woodland fly the crows, When over the hill the farrn-boy goes, Cheerily calling, " Co', boss! co', Boss! co'! co'! co'!" Farther, farther, over the hill, Faintly calling, calling still, "Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! " Into the yard the farmer goes, With grateful heart, at the close of day; Harness and chain are hung away; In the wagon-shed stand yoke and plow; The straw's in the stack, the hay in the mow, The cooling dews are falling; The friendly sheep his welcome bleat, The pigs come grunting to his feet, The whinnying mare her master knows, When into the yard the farmer goes, His cattle calling! "Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'! " While still the cow-boy far away, Goes seeking those that have gone astray — " Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'!" Now to her task the milkmaid goes, The cattle come crowding through the gate, Lowing, pushing, little and great; About the trough, by the farm-yard pump, The frolicsome yearlings frisk and jump, While the pleasant dews are falling; The new milch heifer is quick and shy, But the old cow waits with tranquil eye, 168 ST. JOHN THE AGED. And the white stream into the bright pail flows, When to her task the milkmaid goes, Soothingly calling, "So, boss! so boss! so! so! so!" The cheerful milkmaid takes her stool, And sits and milks in the twilight cool, Saying, " So! so, boss! so! so! " To supper at last the farmer goes, The apples are pared, the paper read, The stories are told, then all to bed. Without, the cricket's ceaseless song Makes shrill the silence all night long; The heavy dews are falling. The housewife's hand has turned the lock; Drowsily ticks the kitchen clock; The household sinks to deep repose, But still in sleep the farm-boy goes Singing, calling — "Co', boss! co', boss! co'! co'! co'!" And oft the milkmaid in her dreams, Drums in the pail with the flashing streams, Murmuring, " So, boss! so." ST. JOHN THE AGED. ff #M growing very old. This weary head *-* That hath so often leaned on Jesus' breast, In days long past that seem almost a dream, Is bent and hoary with its weight of years. These limbs that followed Him, my Master, oft, From Galilee to Judah; yea, that stood ST. JOHN THE AGED. 169 Beneath the cross and trembled with his groans, Refuse to bear me even through the streets To preach unto my children, E'en my lips Refuse to form the words my heart sends forth. My ears are dull; they scarcely hear the sobs Of my dear children gathered 'round my couch; My eyes so dim, they cannot see their tears. God lays his hand upon me, — yea, his hand, And not his rod — the gentle hand that I Felt, those three years, so often pressed in mind, In friendship such as passeth woman's love. I'm old, so old! I cannot recollect The faces of my friends, and I forget The words and deeds that make up daily life; But that dear face, and every word He spoke, Grow more distinct as others fade away, So that I live with Him and th' holy dead More than with living. Some seventy years ago I was a fisher by the sacred sea. It was at sunset. How the tranquil tide Bathed dreamily the pebbles! How the light Crept up the distant hills, and in its wake Soft purple shadows wrapped the dewy fields! And then He came and called me. Then I gazed For the first time on that sweet face. Those eves From out of which, as from a window, shone Divinity, looked on my inmost soul, And lighted it forever. Then His words Broke on the silence of my heart, and made 170 ST. JOHN THE AGED. The whole world musical. Incarnate Love Took hold of me and claimed me for its own; I followed in the twilight, holding fast His mantle. Oh! what holy walks we had, Thro' harvest fields, and desolate, dreary wastes; And oftentimes He leaned upon my arm, Wearied and way-worn. I was young and strong, And so upbore Him. Lord! now /am weak, And old and feeble. Let me rest on Thee! So, put Thine arm around me. Closer still! How strong Thou art! The twilight draws apace; Come, let us leave these noisy streets and take The path to Bethany; for Mary's smile Awaits us at the gate, and Martha's hands Have long prepared the cheerful evening meal. Come, James, the Master waits, and Peter, see, Has gone some steps before. AVhat say you, friends? That this is Ephesus, and Christ has gone Back to His kingdom? Ay, 'tis so, 't is so I know it all; and yet, just now, I seemed To stand once more upon my native hills And touch my Master! Oh! how oft I've seen The touching of His garments bring back strength To palsied limbs! I feel it has to mine. Up! bear me once more to my church — once more! There let me tell them of a Saviour's love; For, by the sweetness of my Master's voice Just now, I think He must be very near — ST. JOHN THE AGED. 171 Coming, I trust, to break the veil which time Has worn so thin that I can see beyond, And watch His footsteps. So, raise up my head. How dark it is! I cannot seem to see The faces of my flock. Is that the sea That murmurs so, or is it weeping? Hush! My little children! God so loved the world He gave His Son; so love ye one another; Love God and man, Amen. Now bear me back. My legacy unto an angry world is this, I feel my work is finished. Are the streets so full? What call the folks my name? " The holy John? " Nay, write me rather, Jesus Christ's beloved, And lover of my children. Lay me down Once more upon my couch, and open wide The eastern window. See! there comes a light Like that which broke upon my soul at eve. When, in the dreary Isle of Patmos, Gabriel came And touched me on the shoulder. See! it grows As when we mounted toward the pearly gates. I know the way! I trod it once before! And hark! it is the song the ransomed sang Of glory to the Lamb! How loud it sounds! And that unwritten one! Methinks my soul Can join it now. But who are these who crowd The shining way? O joy! it is the eleven! With Peter first, how eagerly he looks! How bright the smiles are beaming on James' face. 172 I VASH SO GLAD I VASH HERE. I am the last. Once more- we are complete To gather 'round the Paschal feast. My place Is next my Master. O my Lord! my Lord! How bright thou art, and yet the very same I loved in Galilee! 'Tis worth the hundred year To feel this bliss! So lift me up, dear Lord, Unto thy bosom, full of perfect peace. There shall I abide. I VASH SO GLAD I VASH HERE. /^NE who does not believe in immersion for baptism ^-^ was holding a protracted meeting, and one night preached on the subject of baptism. In the course of his remarks he said that some believed it necessary to go down into the water, and come up out of it, to be bap- tized. But this he claimed to be fallacy, for the preposi- tion " into " of the Scriptures should be rendered differ- ently, as it does not mean into at all times. " Moses," he said, "we are told, went up into the mountain; and the Saviour was taken up into a high mountain, etc. Now we do not suppose either went into a mountain, but went unto it. So with going down into the water; it means simply going down close by or near to the water, and being bap- tized in the ordinary way, by sprinkling or pouring. " He carried this idea out fully, and in due season closed his discourse, when an invitation was given for any one so dis- posed to rise and express his thoughts. Quite a number of his brethren arose and said they were glad they had been present on this occasion, that they were well pleased with the sound sermon they had just heard, and felt their souls greatly blessed. Finally, a corpulent gentle- I VASH SO GLAD I VASH HERE. 173 man of Teutonic extraction, a stranger to all, arose and broke the silence that was almost painful, as follows: " Mister Breacher, I is so glad I vash here to-night, for I has had explained to my mint some dings dat I neffer could pelief before. Oh, I is so glad dat into does not mean into at all, but shust close by or near to, for now I can pelief many dings vot I could not pelief. pefore. We reat, Mr. Breacher, dat Taniel vosh cast into de ten of lions, and came out alife. Now, I neffer could pelief dat, for wilet beasts would shust eat him right off; but now it is f ery clear to my mint. He vash shust close py or near to, and tid not git into de ten at all. Oh, I ish so glad I vash here to-night. Again we reat dat de Heprew children vash cast into de firish furnace; and dat always look like a peeg story, too, for they would have been purnt up; but it ish all blain to my mint now, for dey was shust cast py or close to de firish furnace. Oh, I vash so glat I vash here to-night. And den, Mr. Breacher, it ish said dat Jonah vash cast into de sea, and taken into de whale's pelly. Now, I neffer could pelief dat, It alwish seem to me to be a peeg fish story, but it ish all blain to my mint now. He vash not into de whale's pelly at all, but shump onto his pack and rode ashore. Oh, I vash so glad I vash here to-night. "And now, Mister Breacher, if you will shust exblain two more bassages of Scriptures, I shall be, oh, so happy dot I vash here to-night! One of dem ish vhere it saish de vicked shall be cast into a lake dat barns mit fire and primstone alwish. Oh, Mister Breacher, shall I be cast into dat lake if I am vicked, or shust close py or near to — shust near enough to be comfortable ? O ! I hope you tell me I shall be cast only shust by a good veys off, and I vill pe so glad I vash here -to-night. De oder bassage is 174 SEARCHING FOR THE SLAIN. dat vich saish, blessed are dey who do dese command- ments, dat dey may have right to de dree of life, and enter in droo de gates of de city, and not shust close py or near to — shust near enough to see vat I have lost — and I shall pe so glad I vash here to-night." SEARCHING FOR THE SLAIN. l_|?OLD the lantern aside, and shudder not so; J i* There's more blood to see than this stain on the snow; There are pools of it, lakes of it, just over there, And fixed faces all streaked, and crimson-soaked hair. Did you think when you came, you and I, out to-night To search for our dead, yon would be a fair sight? You're his wife; you love him — you think so; and I Am only his mother; my boy shall not lie In a ditch with the rest, while my arms can bear His form to a grave that mine own may soon share. So, if your strength fails, best go sit by the hearth, While his mother alone seeks his bed on the earth. You will go! Then no faintings! Give me the light, And follow my footsteps, — my heart will lead right. Ah, God! what is here? a great heap of the slain, All mangled and gory! — what horrible pain These beings have died in! Dear mothers, ye weep, Ye weep, oh, ye weep o'er this terrible sleep. More! more! Ah! I thought I could never more know Grief, horror or pity for aught here below, SEARCHING FOR THE SLAIN. 175 Since I stood in the porch and heard his chief teli How brave was my son, how he gallantly fell. Did they think I cared then to see officers stand Before my great sorrow, each hat in each hand? Why, girl, do you feel neither reverence nor fright, That your red hands turn over toward this dim light These dead men that stare so? Ah, if you had kept Your senses this morning ere his comrades had left, You had heard that his place was worst of them all, — Not 'mid the stragglers, — where he fought he would fall. There's the moon thro' the clouds: O Christ, what a scene ! Dost Thou from Thy heavens o'er such visions lean, And still call this cursed world a footstool of thine ? Hark, a groan! there another, — here in this line Piled close on each other! Ah! here is the flag, Torn, dripping with gore; — bah! they died for this rag. Here's the voice that we seek: poor soul do not start; We're women, not ghosts. What a gash o'er the heart ! Is there aught we can do? A message to give To any beloved one? I swear, if I live, To take it for sake of the words my boy said, " Home," " mother," "wife," ere he reeled down 'mong the dead. But, first, can you tell where his regiment stood? Speak, speak, man, or point; 'twas the Ninth. Oh, the blood 176 SEARCHING FOE, THE SLAIN. Is choking his voice! What a look of despair! There, lean on my knee, while I put back the hair From eyes so fast glazing. Oh, my darling, my own, My hands were both idle when you died alone. He's dying — he's dead! Close his lids, let us go. God's peace on his soul! If we only could know Where our own dear one lies! — my soul has turned sick; Must we crawl o'er these bodies that lie here so thick? I cannot! I cannot! How eager you are! One might think you were nursed on the red lap of War. He's not here, — and not here. What wild hopes flash through My thoughts, as foot-deep I stand in this dread dew, And cast up a prayer to the blue, quiet sky! Was it you, girl, that shrieked? Ah! what face doth lie Upturned toward me there; so rigid and white? O God, my brain reels! 'Tis a dream. My old sight Is dimmed with these horrors. My son! oh, my son! Would I had died for thee, my own, only one! There lift off your arms; let him come to the breast Where first he was lulled, with my soul's hymn, to rest. Your heart never thrilled to your lover's fond kiss As mine to his baby-touch; was it for this? He was yours, too; he loved you? Yes, yes, you are right. Forgive me, my daughter, I'm maddened to-night. Don't moan so, dear child; you're young, and your years May still hold fair hopes; but the old die of tears. The brakeman goes to church. 177 Yes, take him again; — ah! don't lay your face there; See, the blood from his wound has stained your loose hair. How quiet you are! Has she fainted? — her cheek Is cold as his own. Say a word to me, — speak! Am I crazed? Is she dead? Has her heart broke first? Her trouble was bittter, but sure mine is worst. I'm afraid, I'm afraid, all alone with these dead; Those corpses are stirring; God help my poor head! I'll sit by my children until the men come To bury the others, and then we'll go home. Why, the slain are all dancing! Dearest, don't move. Keep away from my boy; he's guarded by love. Lullaby, lullaby; sleep, sweet darling, sleep! God and thy mother will watch o'er thee keep. THE BRAKEMAN GOES TO CHURCH. ^N the road once more, with Lebanon fading away in -^ the distance, the fat passenger drumming idly on the window pane, the cross passenger sound asleep, and the tall, thin passenger reading " Gen. Grant's Tour around The World," and wondering why " Green's August Flower" should be printed above the doors of a " Buddhist Temple at Benares." To me comes the brakeman, and, seating himself on the arm of the seat, says: "I went to church yesterday." "Yes," I said, with that interested inflection that asks for more: " And what church did you attend? " 178 THE BRAKEMAN GOES TO CHURCH. " Which do you guess?" he asked. " Some union mission church? " I hazarded. "Naw," he said; " I don't like to run on these branch roads very much. I don't often go to church, and when I do, I want to run on the main line, where your run is reg- ular and you go on schedule time, and don't have to wait on connections. I don't like to run on a branch. Good enough, but I don't like it." " Episcopal? " I guessed. " Limited express," he said, "all palace cars and $2 extra for a seat; fast time and only stop at the big stations. Nice line, but too exhaustive for a brakeman. All train- men in uniform; conductor's punch and lantern silver- plated and no train-boys allowed. Then the passengers are allowed to talk back at the conductor, and it makes them too free and easy. No, I couldn't stand the palace car. Rich road, though. Don't often hear of a receiver being appointed for that line. Some mighty nice people travel on it, too." " Universalist? " I suggested. "Broad gauge," said the brakeman, "does too much complimentary business. Everybody travels on a pass. Conductor doesn't get a fare once in fifty miles. Stops at all flag stations, and won't run into anything but a union depot. No smoking car on the train. Train orders are rather vague, though, and the train men don't get along- well with the passengers. No, I didn't go to the Univer- salist, though I know some awfully good men who run on that road." "Presbyterian? " I asked. "Narrow gauge, eh?" said the brakeman, "pretty track, straight as a rule; tunnel right through a mountain THE BRAKEMAX GOES TO CHURCH. 179 rather than go around it; spirit-level grade; passengers have to show their tickets before they get on the train. Mighty strict road, but the cars are a little narrow; have to sit one in a seat and no room in the aisle to dance. Then there's no stop-over tickets allowed; got to go straight through to the station you're ticketed for, or you can't get on at all. When the car's full, no extra coaches; cars built at the shops to hold just so many, and nobody else allowed on. But you don't hear of an accident on that road; it's run right up to the rules." "Maybe you joined the Free Thinkers? " I said. "Scrub road," said the brakeman; % ' dirt road-bed, and no ballast; no time-card and no train dispatcher. All trains run wild, and every engineer makes his own time just as he pleases. Smoke if you want to; kind of go-as-you-please road. Too many side tracks, and every switch wide open all the time, with the switchman sound asleep, and the target-lamp dead out. Get on as you please, and get off when you want to. Don't have to show your tickets, and the conductor isn't expected to do anything but amuse the passengers. No, sir; I was offered a pass, but I don't like the line. I don't like to travel on a road that has no terminus. Do you know, sir, I asked a Division Superin- tendent where that road run to, and he said he hoped to die if he knew. I asked him if the General Superintend- ent could tell me, and he said he didn't believe they had a General Superintendent, and if they had, he didn't know anything more about the road than the passengers. I asked him who he reported to, and he said ' nobody. ' I asked a conductor who he got his orders from, and he said he didn't take orders from any living man or dead ghost. And when I asked the engineer whom he got his orders 180 THE BRAKE MAN GOES TO CHURCH. from, he said he'd like to see anybody give him orders; he'd run that train to suit himself, or he'd run it into the ditch. Now, you see, sir, I'm a railroad man, and I don't care to run on a road that has no time, makes no connections, runs nowhere, and has no Superintendent. It may be all right, but I've railroaded too long to understand it." " Did you try the Methodist?" I said. "Now you're shouting," he said with some enthusiasm, "Nice road, eh? Fast time and plenty of passengers. Engines carry a power of steam, and don't you forget it; steam-gauge shows 100, and enough all the time. Lively road; when the conductor shouts " All aboard! " you can hear him at the next station. Every train lamp shines like a headlight. Stop-over checks given on all through tickets; passenger can drop off the train as often as he likes, do the stations two or three days, and hop on the next revival train that comes thundering along. Good, whole-souled, companionable conductors; ain't any road in the country where the passengers feel more at home. No passes; every passenger pays full traffic rates for his ticket. Wesleyanhouse air-brakes on all trains, too; pretty safe road, but I didn't ride over it yesterday." ".Maybe you went to the Congregational church," I said. " Popular road," said the brakeman; " an old road, too; one of the very oldest in the country. Good road-bed and comfortable cars. Well-managed road, too; Directors don't interfere with Division Superintendents and train orders. Road's mighty popular, but it's pretty independ- ent, too. See, didn't one of the Division Superintendents down East discontinue one of the oldest stations on the line two or three years ago? But it's a mighty pleasant THE BKAKEMAN GOES TO CHURCH. 181 road to travel on. Always has such a splendid class of passengers." "Perhaps you tried the Baptist?" I guessed once more. "Ah, ha! " said the brakeman, " she's a daisy, isn't she? River road; beautiful curves; sweep around anything to keep close to the river, but it's all steel-rail and rock ballast, single track all the way and not a side track from the round-house to the terminus. Takes a heap of water to run it, though; double tanks at every station, and there isn't an engine in the shops that can pull a pound or run a mile with less than two gauges. But it runs through a lovely country — these river roads always do; river on one side and hills on the other, and its a steady climb up the grade all the way till the run ends where the fountain- head of the river begins. Yes, sir, I'll take the river road every time for a lovely trip, sure connections and a good time, and no prairie dust blowing in at the windows. And yesterday, when the conductor came round for the tickets with a little basket punch, I didn't ask him to pass me, but I paid my fare like a little man — 25 cents for an hour's run, and a little concert by the passengers throwed in. I tell you, Pilgrim, you take the river road when you want " But just here the -long whistle from the engine announced a station, and the brakeman hurried to the door, shouting: "Zionsville! This train makes no stops between here and Indianapolis! " 182 HOW MICKEY GOT KILT IN THE WAR. HOW MICKEY GOT KILT IN THE WAR. pinsion-claim agent! Will, then, sor, ^ You're the mon that I'm wanting to see! I've a claim for a pinsion that's due me, And I want yez to get it for me. Will, no! sor, I never was wounded, For the fact is I didn't inlist; Though I would have been off to the army, Had I not had a boil on me fist. But me b'y, me poor Mickey, was kilt, sor; An', when poets the story shall tell, Sure, the counthry will then be erectin' A monument there where he fell. He was not cut in two wid a sabre, Nor struck wid a big cannon ball; But he lepped from a four-story windy, An', bedad! he got kilt in the fall. Yis, it was a rash le'p to be making; But, in faith, thin, he had to, I'm sure; For he heard them a-shlamming an' banging, An' a thrying to break in the dure, They were going to capture poor Mickey; An' to kape from their clutches, poor b'y, He had to le'p out of the windy, An', indeed, it was four stories high. HOW MICKEY GOT KILT IN THE WAR. 183 No, it was not the fall, sor, that kilt him; It was stopping so sudden, you see, Whin he got to the bottom it jarred him, An' that kilt him as dead as could be. Och! he loved the owld nag, did brave Mickey, An' he died for his counthry, although He was not killed in battle exactly; He was lepping the bounties, you know. 'Twas the marshal was after him — yis, sor; An', in fact, he was right at the dure, When he made the le'p out of the windy, An' he never lepped bounties no more. So, av course, I'm intitled to a pinsion An' the owld woman, too, is, because We were both, sor, depindent on Micky, The darlin', brave b'y that he was. Av course, ye'll not 'av any trouble, So go on wid yez now, sor, an' fill Out a lot of thim blank affidavits, An' I'll swear to thim all, so I will. It's swate, yis, to die for wan's counthry; But, bedad! I can't help but abhor Thim battles where people got hurted, Since Mickey got kilt in the war. 184 OLD PARMER GRAY GETS PHOTOGRAPHED. OLD FARMER GRAY GETS PHOTOGRAPHED. j WANT you to take a picter o* me and my old woman *"■* here, Jest as we be, if you please, sir, — wrinkles, gray hairs, and all; We never was vain at our best, and we're going on eighty year, But we've got some boys to be proud of, — straight, an' handsome, and tall. They are coming home this summer, the nineteenth day of July, Tom wrote me (Tom's a lawyer in Boston, since forty- eight) ; So we're going to try and surprise em, my old wife and I, — Tom, Harry, Zay, and Elisha, and the two girls, Jennie and Kate. I guess you've hearnof Elisha; he preaches in Middletown. I'm a Methody, myself, but he's 'Piscopal, he says. Don't s'pose it makes much difference, only he wears a gown; An' I couldn't abide (bein' old and set) what / call them Popish ways; But he's good, for / brought him up; and the others — Harry 'n' Zay, — They're merchants down to the city, an' don't forget mother 'n' me. They'd give us the fat of the land, if we'd only come that way. And Jennie and Kate are hearty off, for they married rich, you see. OLD FARMER GRAY GETS PHOTOGRAPHED. 185 Well, hid, that's a cur'us fix, sir! Do you screw it into the head? I've hearn o' this photography, and I reckon its scary work. Do you take the picters by lightin'? — La, yes; so the neighbors said: It's the sun that does it, old woman; 'n' he never was known to shirk. Wall, yes, I'll be readin' the Bible: old woman, what'll you do? Jest sit on the other side 'o me, 'n' I'll take hold 'o your hand. That's the way we courted, mister, if it's all the same to you; And that's the way we're goin', please God, to the light o' the better land. I never could look that thing in the face, if my eyes was as good as gold. 'Taint over? Do say! What, the work is done? Old woman, that beats the Dutch. Jest think! we've got our picters took; and Ave nigh eighty year old: There ain't many couples in our town, of our age, that can say as much. You see, on the nineteenth of next July our Golden Wed- ding comes on, — For fifty year in the sun and rain we've pulled at the same old cart; 186 A DESERTER. We've never had any trouble to speak of, only our poor son John Went wrong, an' I drove him off; 'n' it about broke the old woman's heart. There's a drop of bitter in every sweet. And my old wo- man and me Will think of John when the rest come home. Would I forgive him, young sir? He was only a boy; and I was a fool for bein' so hard, you see: If I could jist git him atween these arms, I'd stick to him like a burr. And what's to pay for the sunshine that's painted my gray old phiz? Nothin' ! That's cur'us! You don't work for the pleasure of working, hey? Old woman, look here! there's Tom in that face — I'm blest if the chin isn't his! — Good God! she knows him — It's our son John, the boy that we drove away. A DESERTER. rmOESERTER!" Well, Captain, the word's about U right, And its uncommon queer I should run from a fight, Or the chance of a fight; I, raised in a land Where boys, you may say, are born rifle in hand, And who've fought all my life for the right of my ranch. With the wily Apache and the cruel Comanche. A DESERTER. 187 But it's true, and I'll own it, I did run away. " Drunk? " No, sir; I'd not tasted a drop all day; But — smile if you will — I'd a dream in the night, And I woke in a fever of sorrow and fright And went for my horse; 'twas up and away; And I rode like the wind, till the break of the day. u What was it I dreamt? " I dreamed of my wife — The true little woman that's better than life — I dreamt of my boys — I have three — one is ten, The youngest is four — all brave little men — Of my one baby girl, my pretty white dove, The star of my home, the rose of its love. I saw the log house on the clear San Antoine, And I knew that around it the grass had been mown, For I felt in my dream, the sweet breath of the hay, I was there, for I lifted a jessamine spray; And the dog that I loved heard my whispered command, And whimpered and put his big head in my hand. The place was so still; all the boys were at rest; And the mother lay dreaming, the babe at her breast. I saw the fair scene for a moment; then stood In a circle of flame, amid shrieking and blood. The Comanche had the place — Captain spare me the rest; You know what that means, for you come from the West. I woke Avith a shout, and I had but one aim — To save or revenge them — my head was aflame, 188 LITTLE GRAVES. And my heart had stood still; I was inad, I dare say, For my horse fell dead at the dawn of the day; Then I knew what I'd done, and with heart-broken breath, When the boys found me out, I was praying for death. " A pardon? " No, Captain, I did run away, And the wrong to the nag it is right I should pay With my life. It's not hard to be brave When one's children and wife have gone to the grave. Boys, take a good aim! When I turn to the west Put a ball through my heart; it's kindest and best. * # * * * -* * * * He lifted his hat to the flag — bent his head, And the prayer of his childhood solemnly said — Shouted, "Comrades, adieu! " — spread his arms to the west — And a rifle ball instantly granted him rest, But o'er that sad grave by the Mexican sea, Wives and mothers, have planted a blossoming tree. And maidens bring roses, and tenderly say: " It was love — sweetest love — led the soldier away." LITTLE GRAVES. p^HE winds stir idly by this knoll of bloom. How faintly ^ the golden daisies scent the warm air coming up from silent dells and deep, still waters. Here a tender creeping vine, next a slim, white lily; two roses, gold and salmon, a cluster of heart's-ease, the border forget-me-nots, delicate myosotis, and beyond is myrtle, done blossoming, about LITTLE GRAVES. 189 the marble crosses. Is there not a strange, sad comfort in planting and tear-watering such sweetness above little graves? Always when you drop the spade mutely, im- agining it a profanation of the j)lace, and, kneeling down, you, with your hands, turn the warm earth back, as with your own hands you'd ever turn and smooth the cradle coverlets at the wee one's bedtime — always then, come back the old and oft-remembered fancies! Two little green and bloomy mounds! Here lies the boy, and here the tinier girl: Edmond and Eloise — Eddie and Elsie. This lit- tle fellow that slumbers here was greater in your mind than monarch or poet. You recall naught but beauty, and the bravery and manliness of his five years' sojourn with you. There are no little stings of his ill-conduct — perhaps you were not always as gentle as he deserved! Ah, no, 'tis only a passing fancy. You lived so much in his antici- pated future; his education was already begun, a home education; even his profession/ prospected and conversed upon. You felt so safe and sure of him; now, you wonder how a moment could have been spent at ease away from the little man; then, you could leave him hours at a time, if it so happened. He had toys and pretty books; how proud you were, you and his father both, that this little " General " (as his uncle dubbed him) should read as he did, at four years old! You never urged him on; he spe.d swiftly ahead, gaining knowledge; his uncle almost wished to restrain him, saying it seemed perilous. You laughed at brother Charles; you felt so safe and sure of Eddie. Ay! until the time came. No wonder if you seemed stunned. Why, you stood all day long in one place there in the parlor with the windows open, the cur- 190 LITTLE GRAVES. tain fluttering in the soft summer, breeze. Then you went out stealthily through the great hall door to the porch that you might know for yourself if it were true or false; to feel no soft white streamers on the bell-knob, and so be assured it was not true. Alas! they were there! A white ague shook you, and shone in your face; then you, re- turning, stood in the hall alone, with the sunshine filtered by the green stained glass above the door, ghastly on your face; stood holding out your aching hands in the pallor of that light, repeating aloud over their ghastly hue, " Am I not dead? Am I not dead? " After the funeral, you had odd ways and notions; you were constantly frightened about the year-old baby; she seemed too fragile to keep longer with you. In the night you lay awake and suffered, even when she was not ill, but fresh and ruddy; terrible dreams besieged you, an awful desire to save her crowded constantly upon your brain; and so worn for weeks, you at last gave way to a low, contagious fever, raving day and night about death and your babies; both were alive to you, and both in danger; your hot hands clinched the air, you tossed in a fever spasm. After awhile came calm sleep, convalescence, finally recovery. The first words upon your lips were that your baby might be brought you; kept so long from your arms, the baby for whose kisses and lisp- ings you were starving. They deceived you; they said it would not yet be safe. They deceived you, they could not bring your baby, she lay asleep " under the daisies " by little Eddie! They could not tell you this until you were stronger; too strong to swoon or fall back in relapse and die. They waited until you were strong enough to hear the news, broken by the most loving — the baby's LITTLE GRAVES. 191 father — till you were just strong enough to shriek at them all for letting your baby die, wot yoic; for letting the little dimpled face slip out of your sight forever, and the tiny hands and lips for whose touch you were so hungry; to shriek that they could have kept her from the contagion, could have sent her away; to shriek until your husband, pale-faced, newly gray-haired with trouble, struck hand to brow, and rushed desperately out, crying: "My God! I cannot stand it! " Then you stopped; you had scarcely thought of him before; all his suffering, care and sorrow. You thought at last of duty, your duty to him, and you wept softly, yet with passion. After this you began to comfort him, and the sorrow grew less poignant. In the autumn you dressed the little mounds yourself, for the first time, with the most beautiful leaves, and late blossoms. Hours you sat, silently watching the place where the little ones slumbered. Yonder the flaming asters grew, and here the mild blue gentians. On this hillock you heard the waters murmur dreamily through the after day. Then you arose, and softly sought your home. It is summer again; you wondered late in November, how you could ever endure the snow, the cold snow on those little graves; but when it really fell, flake after flake, you forgot the coldness in its mild and gentle purity; and so winter came and went. Sunset now; you gather up your garden tools to come away; then kneeling once more you lay a tender hand caressingly on either mound — on one little cross and on the other — "Eddie, Elsie, good-bye, my precious babies! " So many little graves in the world! So many hopes and ambitions smothered and laid away; al- ways remembered as what you had vainly dreamed of, 192 "dead! name unknown." but now have wholly relinquished to a hill-side, hedged about with golden daisies, to the bright sunshine, the silence, and to God's will. "DEAD! NAME UNKNOWN." (((( ^j[OME charity, for Christ's sake! " At the door "^ Of princely mansion, timidly she stood; Her scanty garments scarce concealed her poor And shivering form. " Kind sir, a little food! I have a dying child — no fire, no wood! 'Tis hard to beg, but ah! I cannot see Her suffer ; for she worked long as she could ; Some charity for Christ's sake ! Let it be Alone bestowed on her ; think not of me. " "Begone, I say ! How dare you enter here ? For Christ's Sake! Bah ! that is a tale, indeed ! How chilly! Ugh ! I shall be sick, I fear — Jane, shut the door ; and after this take heed, Pay no attention to such folks in need ; Disturb me not beside my blazing grate, With calls like this, to hear a beggar plead — True, there's the theater ! 'Tis almost eight ; Come, Julia dear, I fear we shall be late." The curtain rose. It was "The Beggar Girl Of Warsaw." Ne'er had acting seemed so well ; Scene after scene, that made the lip to curl In scorn, or sentimental sigh to swell, Or tear to fall, held as with magic spell "dead! name unknown." 193 The breathless hundreds ; and when plaintive cry — "Some charity for Christ's sake!" — thrilling — fell, It seemed an echo coming from the sky, To which the actress raised her pleading eye. Absorbed in the romance, a millionaire Sat in his private box with lordly mien, While by his side there sat a lady fair And fascinating, jeweled lite a queen — 'Twas plain they sat so that they might be seen; From fiction's fancied woes what would they learn? 'Tis he, the same we saw at early e'en ! What pleasure in the false can those discern Who heartlessly from real sufferings turn ? The play went on. Great city scenes Were so Portrayed in grim midwinter night, they seemed As real ; bleak, deserted streets ; the glow Of countless lamps, that on the vision beamed So cold, and in the wildering distance gleamed Like stars; palatial homes, from which the sound Of music floated out and radiance streamed ; While o'er the way, in icy slumbers bound, Some frozen wretch at early morn was found. The proud man turned to find fair Julia's face Just then concealed with dainty, jeweled hand, That pressed a snowy bank of costly lace Close to her swimming eyes. ' l That acting' s grand, " Said he, c ' more elevating than to stand With beggar face to face. 'Tis strange, somehow, That woman used those same expressions, and They seem to haunt me — why should I allow Such fancies ? Come, the play is ended now. 194 "dead! name unknown." " 'Tis well we only have a square to go, These heavy furs just suit' such bitter night — Look here, my boy, pray tell me if you know The meaning of that crowd upon the right, Just passing there within that crimson light From yonder window? " " Oh, sir, they have caught A thief ; and she's in such a dreadful fright ! She stole a loaf of bread, sir ! Like as not She'll go to jail!" The answer was — "She ought." "Just come along\ " 'Twas a policeman spoke- " I've heard that tale more than a hundred times ; So hungry — sick — at home — Well, that's a joke ! Who can be hungry with the Christinas chimes Proclaiming plenty all around them ? Crimes Are serious things, good woman. Help, you say? No help for you unless you have the dimes ; The hungry wretch who steals a loaf, to-day, Is caught. The wealthy thief is helped away." The Court is called. Forth from their grated cells, The prisoners are brought for hearing dread, While each patrolman in rotation tells His tale. The last indictment that was read Told how a woman stole a loaf of bread ; "Where is she? " asked the Court in hasty tone ; The watch replied — "Your honor, she is dead ! " Last night, I locked her in a cell alone, And she was dead this morning — name unknown.'''' " Have morning paper, sir ? It tells you all About the frozen girl ; " the newsboy cried ; TOM. 195 "Death in the lockup — all about the ball Last night ; tells how some feasted, how some died: And when the great defaulter will be tried ; Two cents, sir." " So that woman's tale was true For once, " the great man coldly said aside ; "'Tis well ; I'm glad my act is out of view — Both dead! What would the world say, if it knew? " What can this false sensation do for man, In splendid theaters applauded deep By fashion's throng, who comfortably scan Fictitious wretches starve and freeze and weep — Price —fifty cents'*. Such charity is cheap! True, like our millionaire, some choose to pay Much greater prices, mostly done to keep Above the common herd. So goes the play — Cheap tears at night and icy hearts all day! TOM. 'ES, Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew. Just listen to this: When the old mill took fire, and the flooring fell through, And I with it, helpless there, full in my view What do you think my eyes saw through the fire, That crept along, crept along, nigher and nigher, But Robin, my baby-boy, laughing to see The shining? He must have come there after me, Toddled along from the cottage without 190 TOM. Any one's missing him. Then, what a shont — Oh! how I shouted, (i For Heaven's sake, men, Save little Robin! " Again and again They tried, but the fire held them back like a wall. I could hear them go at it, and at it, and call, " Never mind, baby, sit still like a man! We're coming to get you as fast as we can." They could not see him, but I could. He sat Still on a beam, his little straw hat Carefully placed by his side; and his eyes Stared at the flame with a baby's surprise, Calm and unconscious, as nearer it crept. The roar of the fire up above must have kept The sound of his mother's voice shrieking his name From reaching the child. But I heard it. It came Again and again. O God, what a cry! The axes went faster: I saw the sparks fly Where the men worked like tigers, nor minded the heat That scorched them, — when, suddenly, there at their feet, The great beams leaned in — they saw him — then, crash, Down came the wall! The men made a dash, — Jumped to get out of the way, — and I thought, "All's up with poor little Robin! " and brought Slowly the arm that was least hurt to hide The sight of the child there, — when swift at my side, JUSTICE IN LEADVILLE. 197 Some one rushed by, and went right through the flame, Straight as a dart — caught the child — and then came Back with him, choking and crying, but — saved! Saved safe and sound! Oh, how the men raved, Shouted, and cried, and hurrahed! Then they all Rushed at the work again, lest the back wall, Where I was lying, away from the fire, Should fall in and bury me. Oh! you'd admire To see Robin now; he's as bright as a dime, Deep in some mischief, too, most of the time. Tom, it was, saved him. Now, isn't it true Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew? There's Robin now! See, he's as strong as a log! And there comes Tom, too — Yes, Tom is our dog. JUSTICE IN LEADVILLE. 'ES, law is a great thing, mister, but justice comes in ahead When a lie makes a fiend not guilty, and the neighbor he shot is dead. Leadville would follow the fashion, have regular courts of law ; I take no stock in lawyers, don't gamble upon their jaw. 198 JUSTICE IN LEADVILLE. But the judge, lie said Gueldo undoubtedly did for Blake, And be ougbt to give biru a trial just for appearance' sake ; Tbat Texas chap can't clear bim, tbe lead's too rich to hide, And the black neck of the Spaniard on the air-line's bound to ride. So I tried to believe in the woman ' ' with the bandage upon her eyes, " Though one side's as likely as t'other to drop from the beam, or rise If a nugget should tip the balance or a false tongue cry the weight ; But I thought I'd see if a trial was "the regular thing " for Kate; So I went to her pretty cottage ; the widow's a tidy thing, Great mournful eyes, and a head of hair as brown as a heron's wing. Her husband's murder was cruel ; Antonio, fierce and sly, Had sworn revenge for a trifle when some of the boys were nigh. She had tripped to her bed of pansies, for Blake was going away ; While he bent to embrace their baby she gathered a love bouquet ; She heard a voice — Gueldo's — a shot— and she ran to Jim; But the babe's white dress was scarlet, and the father's eyes were dim. You've heard the cry of a bittern? — it was just that sort of a noise ; It brought us there in a hurry, the women and half the boys. JUSTICE IN LEADVILLE. 199 She tried to tell us the story, her white lips only stirred; She seemed to slip quite out of life, and couldn't utter a word. She told us at last in writing, only a name, — and then Six derringers found his level, his guard was a dozen men. She didn't take on, seemed frozen, — but Lord! what a ghastly face! With slow, sad steps, like the shade of joy, she crept round the wof ul place, And when we lifted the coffin she knelt with her little child, Just whispered to Jim and kissed him ; we said> "She is going wild. " Ah, deep things yield no token, and she wa'n't surface gold ; 'Twas a gloomy job prospecting 'round a claim Jim couldn't hold, But I found her rocking the baby, her chin in the dainty palm, White as the shaver's pillow, tearless and dreadful calm. I told her about the trial; she shuddered, her great black eyes Flashed out such a danger signal, — or may be it was sur- prise. "They never can clear Gueldo; he cannot escape, for I Can swear to his hissing Spanish, — that I saw him turn and fly!" "No, never." I said, " His ticket is good for the under- ground, He's due this time to-morrow where he won't find Blake around. " 200 JUSTICE -IN LEADVILLE. The judge held court in the wood-house, and Bagget had stripped his store Of barrel and box ; I never set eyes on such a crowd before. I dropped on a keg of ciscos, the judge on a box of soap ; Gaeldo and his attorney found seats on a coil of rope. Then Kate came, with her baby like a rosebud in the snow, Its pink cheek 'gainst the mother's, pallid and pinched with woe. Jim's blue eyes, as I live, sir! there were his very curls ; They set us miners to sobbing like a corral of silly girls. She looked so thankful on us, colored, and when she met The snake eyes of Gueldo, the braids on her brow were wet ; And if the hell of the preachers had yawned on our gentle Kate, She couldn't have glared such horror or woman's deadly hate. So they went on with the trial ; an alibi, it was claimed, Would be urged for the wolf defendant; the judge — well, he looked ashamed When ten of the hardest rascals, the cruelest, meanest lot, Swore, black and blue, Gueldo was four miles from the spot With them a-hunting the grizzly; then the Texan plead his case, Till the judge turned pale as ashes, couldn't look in an honest face. " Your verdict, my men of the jury, must be grounded, I suppose, On the weight of the testimony; if you have any faith in those JUSTICE IN LEADVILLE. 201 Reliable fellows from Gouger; the prisoner wasn't thar." And his honor growled upon him like a vexed and hungry b'ar. I've noticed the newest convert prays loudest of all the camp, And that mutton-headed jury declared for the cussed scamp. For nothing Kate's truthful story; the evidence went, you see, To disprove the facts; Gueldo by the law was acquitted free. "You can go," said the judge, "but likely the climate won't suit you here." Antonio rose defiant, then Kate spoke low and clear (Clasping her babe and rising): "Are you done with the prisoner, sir? " As a marble statue might ask it. His honor bowed to her. " Heaven knows I'm sorry; I am, child." " because," she replied, ' < I'm not. " A flash from her eyes and pistol — the Mexican devil was shot. The smoke made a little halo 'round the laughing baby's head, Then I knew the terrible promise she whispered her hus- husband, dead. Gueldo staggered, falling, his swart face scared and grim, Dead, gentlemen of the jury! Decision reversed for him! "And justice? " we heard her murmur, though she wasn't the talking kind, And she hadn't the least allusion to that female pictured blind- 202 THE DEAD DOLL. Trembling she turned upon us the eyes of a wounded doe; "Amen! "from the weeping neighbors; "God help you," the judge said; "go!" THE DEAD DOLL. %f OJJ needn't be trying to comfort me — I tell .you my \ dolly is dead! There's no use in saying she isn't with a crack like that in her head; It's just like you said it wouldn't hurt much to have my tooth out, that day, And then, when the man 'most pulled my head off, you hadn't a word to say. And I guess you must think I'm a baby, when you say you can mend it with glue, As if I didn't know better than that! Why, just suppose it was you; You might make her look all mended — but what do I care for looks? Why, glue's for chairs and tables, and toys and the backs of books! My dolly! My own little daughter! Oh, but it's the awfulest crack! It just makes me sick to think of the sound when her poor head went whack Against that horrible brass thing that holds up the little shelf. Now, nursey, what makes you remind me? I know that I did it myself. THE DEAD DOLL. 203 I think you must be crazy — you'll get her another head! What good would forty heads do her? I tell you my dolly is dead! And to think I hadn't quite finished her elegant new spring hat! And I took a sweet ribbon of hers last night to tie on that horrid cat! When my mamma gave me that ribbon — I was playing out in the yard — She said to me, most expressly, "Here's a ribbon for Hildegarde." And I went and put it on Tabby, and Hildegarde saw me do it; But I said to myself, "Oh, never mind, I don't believe she knew it." But I know that she knew it now, and I just believe, I do, That her poor little heart was broken, and so her head broke too. Oh, my baby! My little baby! I wish my head had been hit! For I've hit it over and over, and it hasn't cracked a bit. But since the darling is dead, she'll want to be buried, of course; We will take my little wagon, nurse, and you shall be the horse; And I'll walk behind and cry; and we'll put her in this, you see — This dear little box — and we'll bury her there out under the maple tree. 204 CHRIST AND THE LITTLE ONES. And papa will make me a tombstone, like the one he made for my bird; And he'll put what I tell him on it — yes, every single word! I shall say, " Here lies Hildegarde, a beautiful doll who is dead: She died of a broken heart, and a dreadful crack in her head." CHRIST AND THE LITTLE ONES. " jp^HE Master has come over Jordan," "-' Said Hannah, the mother, one day; "He is healing the people who throng Him, With a touch of His finger, they say. ' < And now I shall carry the children, Little Rachel, and Samuel, and John; I shall carry the baby Esther For the Lord to look upon." The father looked at her kindly, But he shook his head and smiled; "Now who but a doting mother Would think of a thing so wild? " If the children were tortured by demons, Or dying of fever, 'twere well; Or had they the taint" of the leper, Like many in Israel." CHRIST AND THE LITTLE ONES. 205 "Nay, do not hinder me, Nathan, I feel such a burden of care; If I carry it to the Master, Perhaps I shall leave it there. "If He lay His hand on the children, My heart will beat lighter, I know; For a blessing for ever and ever Will follow them as they go." So over the hills of Judah, Along the vine rows green, With Esther asleep on her bosom, And Rachel her brothers, between — 'Mong the people who hang on His teaching, Or waiting His touch or His word, Through the row of proud Pharisees, listening, She pressed to the feet of her Lord. "Now, why shouidst thou hinder the Master," Said Peter, " with children like these? " Seest not how from morning to evening He teacheth, and healeth disease? " Then Christ said, " Forbid not the children! Permit them to come unto me." And he took in his arms little Esther, And Rachel He set on His knee. And the heavy heart of the mother Was lifted all earth-care above, As He laid His hands on the brothers And blessed them with tenderest love: 206 HANNAH BINDING SHOES. As He said of the babes in His bosom, " Of such is the kingdon of heaven." And strength for all duty and trial, That hour to her spirit was given! HANNAH BINDING SHOES. ^OOR lone Hannah, ^* Sitting at the window, binding shoes! Faded, wrinkled, Sitting, stitching, in a mournful muse. Bright-eyed beauty once was she, When the bloom was on the tree; — Spring and winter, Hannah's at the window binding shoes. Not a neighbor Passing, nod or answer will refuse To her whisper: u Is there from the fishers any news? " Oh, her heart's adrift with one On an endless voyage gone; — Night and morning, Hannah's at the window binding shoes, Fair young Hannah, Ben, the sunburnt fisher, gaily wooes; Hale and clever, For a willing heart and hand he sues. May-day skies are all aglow, And the waves are lauo;hino; so! For her wedding Hannah leaves her window and her shoes. tom's little stak. 207 May is passing; 'Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon cooes; Hannah shudders, For the mild southwester mischief brews. Round the rocks of Marblehead, Outward bound, a schooner sped; Silent, lonesome, Hannah's at the window binding shoes. 'Tis November: Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews, From Newfoundland Not a sail returning will she lose, Whispering, hoarsely, "Fishermen, Have you — have you heard of Ben?" Old with watching, Hannah's at the window binding shoes. Twenty winters Bleach and drear the ragged shores she views, Twenty seasons, Never one has brought her any news. Still her dim eyes silently Chase the white sails o'er the sea; — Hopeless, faithful, Hannah's at the window binding: shoes. TOM'S LITTLE STAR. ^UVEET Mary, pledged to Tom, was fair ^ And graceful, young and slim. Tom loved her truly, and one dare Be sworn that she loved him; TOM'S LITTLE STAR. For, twisting bashfully the ring That sealed the happy fiat, She cooed, " When married in the spring, Dear Tom, let's live so quiet! " Let's have our pleasant little place, Our books, a friend or two; No noise, no crowd, but just your face For me, and mine for you. Won't that be nice?" " It is my own Idea," said Tom, "so chary, So deep and true, my love has grown, I worship you, my Mary." She was a tender, nestling thing, A girl that loved her home, A sort of dove with folded wing, A bird not made to roam, But gently rest her little claw (The simile to carry) Within a husband's stronger paw — The very girl to marry. Their courtship was a summer sea, So smooth, so bright, so calm, Till one day Mary restlessly Endured Tom's circling arm, And looked as if she thought or planned; Her satin forehead wrinkled, She beat a tattoo on his hand, Her eyes were strange, and twinkled. tom's little star. 209 She never heard Tom's fond remarks, His " sweety-tweety dear," Or noticed once the little larks He played to make her hear. "What ails," he begged, "my petsy pet? What ails my love, I wonder? " "Do not be trifling, Tom; I've met Professor Shakespeare Thunder." Thunder!" said Tom, "and who is he?" "You goose, why don't you know? " 1 I don't. She never frowned at me, Or called me * goose .' And though," Thought Tom, "it may be playfulness, It racks my constitution." c Why, Thunder teaches with success Dramatic elocution." he was intended to be; As bad a state, surely, as one need to see. How they hopped, how they limped, how they hobbled about, 302 PROCRUSTES* BED. The man who was lopped and the fellow stretched out. Procrustes looked on, and he said: ""Without doubt, 'Tis bad; but my height is just right to a thread, And the man is all wrong who don't fit on that bed. Since that's beyond question, it isn't my fault If it makes them all crippled and crooked and halt. " How long he'd have kept at this work I don't know, But, at last, he encountered a powerful foe, Who cleverly gave him his long-deserved blow. He met Theseus, of Athens, one day, and they fought; And Procrustes went down in the dust, as he ought; For Theseus most boldly and openly said He didn't acknowledge the right of the bed As a standard for him. He declared, quite at ease: ' < I've a right to be tall or be short, as I please. Procrustes may grow to be tall as a tree, But why should that make any difference to me? He has made a most needless and murderous bother; His stature is good for himself, and none other; Besides, while he's mangled and maimed at his pleasure, He has not brought one of them all to his measure. Every man his own fashion of growing must keep on, And the bed that fits him is the bed he must sleep on." I do not insist that this happened just so; It may be a fiction; but this much I know: That, if but a tale of a dead long ago A neat little truth lies hidden behind it, And I think, if you look, you will certainly find it. MY neighbor's baby. 308 MY NEIGHBOR'S BABY. Y: CROSS in my neighbor's window, with its drapings - -* of satin and lace, I see, 'neath its flowing ringlets, a baby's innocent face. His feet, in crimson slippers, are tapping the polished glass; And the crowd in the street look upward, and nod and smile as they pass. Just here in my cottage window, catching flies in the sun, With a patched and faded apron, stands my own little one. His face is as pure and handsome as the baby's over the way, And he keeps my heart from breaking, at my toiling every day. Sometimes when the day is ended, and I sit in the dusk to rest, With the face of my sleeping darling hugged close to my lonely breast, I pray that my neighbor's baby may not catch heaven's roses all, But that some may crown the forehead of my loved one as they fall. And when I draw the stockings from his little weary feet, And kiss the rosy dimples in his limbs so round and sweet, I think of the dainty garments some little children wear, And that my God withholds them from mine, so pure and fair. May God forgive my envy— I know not what I said! 304 FOREIGN VIEWS OF THE STATUE. My heart is crushed and troubled, — my neighbor's boy is dead! I saw the little coffin as they carried it out to-day: A mother's heart is breaking in the mansion over the way. The light is fair in my window, the flowers bloom at my door, My boy is chasing the sunbeams that dance on the cottage floor. The roses of health are blooming on my darling's cheek to-day; But the baby is gone from the window of the mansion over ^he way. FOREIGN VIEWS OF THE STATUE. (F\N tne deck of a steamer that came up the bay, Some garrulous foreigners gathered one day, To vent their opinions on matters and things On this side the Atlantic, In language pedantic Twas much the same gathering that any ship brings. "Ah, look!" said the Frenchman, with pride his lips curled; "See ze Liberte Statue enlighten ze world! Ze grandest colossal zat evair vas known! Thus Bartholdi, he speak: Vive la France — Amerique! La belle France make ze statue, and God make ze stone! " Said the Scotchman: " Na need o' yer speakin' sae free! The thing is na sma', sir, that we canna see. FOREIGN VIEWS OP THE STATUE. 305 Do ye thinK that wi'oot ye the folk couldna tell? Sin' 'tis Liberty's Statye, I ken na why that ye Did na keep it at hame to enlighten yoursel ! " The Englishman gazed through his watch-crystal eye: " 'Pon 'onor, by Jove, it is too beastly high! A monstwosity, weally, too lawge to be seen! In pwoportion, I say, Its too lawge faw the bay. So much lawger than one we've at 'ome of the Queen! " An Italian next joined the colloquial scrimmage: "Idress-a my monkey just like-a de image, I call-a ' Bartholdi ' Frenchman got-a spunky — Call-a me * Macaroni,' Lose-a me plenty moany! He break-a my organ and keel-a my monkey! "My-a broder a feesherman; here-a what he say: No more-a he catch-a de feesh in de bay. He drop-a de seine — he no get-a de weesh. When he mak-a de grab-a, Only catch-a de crab-a, De big-a French image scare away all de feesh! " " By the home rule! " said Pat: "and is that Libertee? She's the biggest ould woman that iver I see! Phy don't she sit down? 'Tis a shame she's to stand. But the truth is, Oi'm twold, That the shtone is too cowld. Would ye moind the shillalah she howlds in her hand! " 306 FOREIGN VIEWS OP THE STATUE. Said the Cornishman: "Thaat's no a 'shillalah,' ye scaamp! Looaks to I like Diogenes 'ere wi' 'is laamp, Searchin' haard fur a 'onest maan." "Faith, that is true," Muttered Pat, "phat ye say, Fur he's lookin' moi way, And by the same favor don't recognize you! " Shust vait, und I dolt you," said Hans, "vat's der matter; It vas von uf dem mermaits coomed ouwd fun der vatter: Unt she hat noddings on; unt der vintry vint plows, Unt fur shame, unt fur pidy, She vent to der cidy, Unt buyed her a suit fun der reaty-mate clo's." " Me no sabee you foleners; too muchee talkee; You no likee Idol, you heap takee walkee! Him allee same Chinaman velly big Joshee. Him Unclee Sam gal-ee; Catch um lain, no umblallee! Heap vellee big shirtee — me no likee washee! " "Oh! "cried Sambo, amazed: " Dat's de cullud man's Lor' ! He's cum back to de earf; sumun' he's lookin' for. Alius knowed by de halo surroundin' he's brow; Jess you looken dat crown! Jess you looken dat gown! Lor' 'a' massy, I knows I's a gone nigga' now! " Said the Yankee: "I've heard ye discussin' her figger; And I reckon you strangers hain't seen nothin' bigger. THE RAILROAD CROSSING. 307 Wall, I hain't much on boastin', but I'll go my pile: When you furreners cum, You'll \fi?id her to hum ! Dew I mean what I say? Wall somewhat — I should smile!" THE RAILROAD CROSSING. jj CAN'T tell you much about the thing, 'twas done so -* powerful quick; But 'pears to me I got a most outlandish heavy lick: It broke my leg, and tore my skulp, and jerked my arm most out. But take a seat: I'll try and tell just how it kem about. You see, I'd started down to town, with that 'ere team of mine, A-haulin' down a load o' corn to Ebenezer Kline, And drivin' slow; for, just about a day or tw T o before, The off horse run a splinter in his foot, and made it sore. You know the railroad cuts across the road at Martin's Hole; Well, thar I seed a great big sign, raised high upon a pole; I thought I'd stop and read the thing, and find out what it said, And so I stopped the hosses on the railroad-track, and read. I ain't no scholar, rekollect, and so I had to spell, I started kinder cautious like, with R-A-I- and L; And that spelt "rail" as clear as mud; R-O-A-D was "road." I lumped 'em: "railroad " was the word, and that 'ere much I knowed. 308 PADDYS REFLECTIONS ON CLEOPATRA'S NEEDLE. C-R-0 and double S, with I-N-G to boot, Made "crossing" just a plain as Noah Webster dared to do't. Railroad crossing" — good enough! L double O-K, "look;" , And I was lookin' all the time, and spellin' like a book. O-U-T spelt " out " jest right; and there it was, "look out," I's kinder cur'us, like, to know jest what 'twas all about; FOR and T-H-E; 'twas then "look out for the—" And then I tried the next word; it commenced with E-N-G. I'd got that fur, when suddintly there came an awful whack; A thousand fiery thunderbolts just scooped me off the track; The bosses went to Davy Jones, the wagon went to smash, And I was histed seven yards above the tallest ash. I didn't come to life ag'in fur 'bout a day or two; But, though I'm crippled up a heap, I sorter struggled through; It ain't the pain, nor 'tain't the loss o' that 'ere team of mine; But, stranger, how I'd like to know the rest of that 'ere sign! PADDY'S REFLECTIONS ON CLEOPATRA'S NEEDLE. 15" O that's Cleopathera's Needle, bedad; ^ An' a quare lookin' needle it is, I'll be bound; What a powerful muscle the queen must have had That could grasp such a weapon an' wind it around! PADDYS REFLECTIONS ON CLEOPATRA' S NEEDLE. 309 Imagine her sittin' there stitchin' like mad With a needle like that in her hand! I declare It's as big as the Round Tower of Slane, an', bedad, It would pass for a round tower, only it's square! The taste of her, ordherin' a needle of granite! Begorra, the sight of it sthrikes me quite dumb! An' look at the quare sort of figures upan it; I wondher can these be the thracks of her thumb? I once was astonished to hear of the f aste Cleopathera made upon pearls; but now I declare, I would not be surprised in the laste If ye told me the woman had swallowed a cow! It's aisy to see why bould Caesar should quail In her presence an' meekly submit to her rule; Wid a weapon like that in her fist I'll go bail She could frighten the sowl out of big Finn MacCool! But, Lord, what poor pigmies the women are now, Compared with the monsthers they must have been then! Whin the darlin's in those days woujd kick up a row, Holy smoke, but it must have been hot for the men! Just think how a chap that goes courtin' would start If his girl was to prod him wid that in the shins! I have often seen needles, but bouldly assart That the needle in front of me there takes the pins! O, sweet Cleopathera! I'm sorry you're dead; An' whin lavin this wonderful needle behind Had ye thought of bequathin' a spool of your thread An' yer thimble an' scissors, it would have been kind. 310 tommy's prayer. But pace to your ashes, ye plague of great men, Yer strenth is departed, yei* glory is past; Ye' 11 niver wield scepter or needle again, An' a poor little asp did the bizness at last: TOMMY'S PRAYER. If N a dark and dismal alley where the sunshine never «-* came, Dwelt a little lad named Tommy, sickly, delicate and lame; He had never yet been healthy, but had lain since he was born, Dragging out his weak existence well nigh hopeless and forlorn. He was six, was little Tommy, 'twas just five years ago Since his drunken mother dropped him, and the babe was crippled so. He had never known the comfort of a mother's tender care, But her cruel blows and curses made his pain still worse to bear. There he lay within the cellar from the morning till the night, Starved, neglected, cursed, ill-treated, naught to make his dull life bright; Not a single friend to love him, not a living thing to love — For he knew not of a Saviour, or a heaven up above. 'Twas a quiet, summer evening; and the alley, too, was still; Tommy's little heart was sinking, and he felt so lonely, till, tommy's prayer. 311 Floating up the quiet alley, wafted inwards from the street, Came the sound of some one singing, sounding, oh! so clear and sweet. Eagerly did Tommy listen as the singing nearer came — Oh! that he could see the singer! How he wished he wasn't lame. , Then he called and shouted loudly, till the singer heard the sound, And on noting whence it issued, soon the little cripple cripple found. 'Twas a maiden rough and rugged, hair unkempt, and naked feet, All her garments torn and ragged, her appearance far from neat; "So yer called me," said the maiden, " wonder wot yer wants o' me; Most folks call me Singing Jessie; wot may your name chance to be? " "My name's Tommy; I'm a cripple, and I want to hear you sing, For it makes me feel so happy — sing me something, any- thing. " . Jessie laughed, and answered, smiling, " I can't stay here very long, But I'll sing a hymn to please you, wot I calls the ' Glory song.'" Then she sang to him of Heaven, pearly gates, and streets of gold, Where the happy angel children are not starved or nipped with cold; 312 tommy's prayer. But where happiness and gladness never can decrease or end, And where kind and loving Jesus is their Sovereign and their Friend. Oh! how Tommy's eyes did glisten as he drank in every word As it fell from " Singing Jessie " — was it true, what he had heard? And so anxiously he asked her: "Is there really such a place?" And a tear began to trickle down his pallid little face. "Tommy, you're a little heathen; why, it's up beyond the sky, And if yer will love the Saviour, yer shall go there when yer die." "Then," said Tommy; " tell me, Jessie, how can I the Saviour love, When I'm down in this 'ere cellar, and he's up in Heaven above? " So the little ragged maiden who had heard at Sunday school All about the way to Heaven, and the Christian's golden rule, Taught the little cripple Tommy how to love, and how to pray, Then she sang a "Song of Jesus," kissed his cheek and went away. Tommy lay within the cellar which had grown so dark and cold, Thinking all about the children in the streets of shining gold; tommy's prayer. 313 And lie heeded not the darkness of that damp and chilly room, For the joy in Tommy's bosom could disperse the deepest gloom. "Oh! if I could only see it," thought the cripple, as he lay. <■ < Jessie said that Jesus listens and I think I'll try and pray"; So he put his hands together, and he closed his little eyes, And in accents weak, yet earnest, sent this message to the skies: " Gentle Jesus, please forgive me, as I didn't know afore, That yer cared for little cripples who is weak and very poor, And I never heard of Heaven till that Jessie came to-day And told me all about it, so I wants to try and pray You can see me, can't yer Jesus? Jessie told me that yer could, And I somehow must believe it, for it seems so prime and good; And she told me if I loved you, I should see yer when I die, In the bright and happy heaven that is up beyond the sky. "Lord, I'm only just a cripple, and I'm no use here below, For I heard my mother whisper she'd be glad if I could go; And I'm cold and hungry sometimes; and I feel so lonely, too, Can't yer take me, gentle Jesus, up to Heaven along o' you? 314 tommy's prayer. " Oh! I'd be so good and patient, and I'd never cry or fret; And your kindness to me, Jesus, I would surely not forget; I would love you all I know of, and would never make a noise — Can't you find me just a corner, where I'll watch the other boys? "Oh! I think yer'll do it, Jesus, something seems to tell me so, For I feel so glad and happy, and I do so want to go; How I long to see yer, Jesus, and the children all so bright! Come and fetch me, won't yer, Jesus? Come and fetch me home to-night! " Tommy ceased his supplication, he had told his soul's desire, And he waited for the answer till his head began to tire; Then he turned towards his corner, and lay huddled in a heap, Closed his little eyes so gently, and was quickly fast asleep. Oh, I wish that every scoffer could have seen his little face As he lay there in the corner, in that damp and noisome place; For his countenance was shining like an angel's, fair and bright, And it seemed to fill the cellar with a holy, heavenly light. He had only heard of Jesus from a ragged singing girl, He might well have wondered, pondered, till his brain began to whirl; THE WORLD. 815 But he took it as she told it, and believed it then and there, Simply trusting in the Saviour, and his kind and tender care. In the morning, when the mother came to wake her crip- pled boy, She discovered that his features wore a look of sweetest And she shook him somewhat roughly, but the cripple's face was cold — He had gone to join the children in the streets of shining gold. Tommy's prayer had soon been answered, and the Angel Death had come To remove him from his cellar, to his bright and heavenly home Where sweet comfort, joy and gladness never can decrease or end, And where Jesus reigns eternally, his Sovereign and his Friend. THE WORLD. pHE world is a queer old fellow; w As you journey along by his side You had better conceal any trouble you feel, If you want to tickle his pride. No matter how heavy your burden — Don't tell about it, pray; He will only grow colder and shrug his shoulder And hurriedly walk away. 316 THE WORLD. But carefully cover your sorrow, And the world will be your friend. If only you'll bury your woes and be merry He'll cling to you close to the end. Don't ask him to lift one finger To lighten your burden, because He never will share it; but silently bear it, And he will be loud with applause. The world is a vain old fellow; You must laugh at his sallies of wit. No matter how brutal, remonstrance is futile, And frowns will not change him one whit. And since you must journey together Down paths where all mortal feet go, Why, life holds more savor to keep in his favor For he's an unmerciful foe. EflCO^E. ENCORE. THE THIRTY-SECOND DAY. ^N the thirty-second day of the thirteenth month of the eighth day of the week, On the twenty-fifth hour of the sixty-first minute we'll find all things that we seek. They are there in the limbo of Lollipop land — a cloud isl- and resting in air, On the Nowhere side of the Mountain of Mist in the Val- ley of Overthere. On the Nowhere side of the Mountain of Mist in the Val- ley of Overthere, On a solid vapor foundation of cloud are palaces grand and fair, And there is where our dreams will come true, and the seeds of our hope will grow On the thitherward side of the Hills of Hope, in the Ham- let of Hocus Po. On the thitherward side of the Hills of Hope, in the Ham- let of Hocus Po, We shall see all the things that we want to see, and know all we care to know; 320 EXPECTING TO GET EVEN. For there the old men will never lament, the babies they never will squeak, In the Cross-Road Corners of Chaosville, in the County of Hideangoseek, In the Cross-Road Corners of Chaosville, in the County of Hideangoseek, On the thirty-second day of the thirteenth month of the eighth day of the week, "We shall do all the things that we please to do, and accom- plish whatever we try On the sunset shore of Sometimeoruther, by the beautiful Bay of Bimeby. EXPECTING TO GET EVEN. OW, Joe's a splendid fellow, but I do Abominate his chasing after Lou! It's miserable nonsense, if not crime, To hang around a woman all the time! I've called on her a dozen times a day, And each occasion found him there. I say He ought to have some business. I found Him there this afternoon when I called 'round. I wanted to inquire if Lou would go With me this evening to see Boucicault. I rather think his errand was the same, But he had not proposed it when I came, And neither of us, somehow, seemed to care To ask her, with the other sitting there. And so we chatted half an hour or so, And finally, together, rose to go; THE UNPARDONABLE SIN. 321 Made our farewells, and left. Up street he went, While down the avenue my steps I bent. Around the corner, turned and waited quite Ten minutes, to let Joe get out of sight. Then back to Lou, proceeded I to go, And right before her mansion I met Joe. We said: "Hallo! " Each muttered a deep oath, 'Twas, for a bit, embarrassing for both. I spoke: "What, Joe! The man I wished to see! After we parted it occurred to me That we might take a theater in, and so I hastened back to see if you would go; Now come along, old fellow! Don't say nay, We'll have some fun, to pass the time away." Said he: "Extraordinary! I turned back To make that very proposition, Jack!" Each knew the other lied, but it is quite As well to smooth these matters, as to fight. Pretending to believe, we went, laughed, joked, Had a good time, and neither seemed provoked. Indeed, we are the best of friends! But still! If either can get square, you bet he will! THE UNPARDONABLE SIN. ( CAHN'T endure the stoopid, wude, -* Unculchawed chap, — the vulgar boah, Who weahs in the morning the same pair of twousers He woah the day befoah. It makes me mad and vewy cwoss; With pain and grief I almost woah, To see the next morning the same pair of twousers He woah the day befoah! 322 THE BORES. And when I mingle with the thwong, Down to the club or on the stweet, It makes me fwantic that a man Can be so doocid indiscweet, So wough and weckless, .and so wude, I weally want to spill his goah, When he weahs in the morning the same pair of twousers He woah the day befoah! Now there are deeds I can excuse, And wongs I can forgive; But such a cwiminal as this Shouldn't be allowed to live! Why, the ideah! the monstwous wetch With wage and fuwy makes me woah, Who weahs in the morning the same pair of twousers He woah the day befoah! 55 THE BORES. ^ HERE'S the man who lets you shake his limpy hand — He's a bore. And the man who leans against you when you stand — Get his gore. There's the man who has a fear That the world is, year by year, Growing worse — perhaps he's near! Bolt the door. There's the fellow with conundrums quite antique — He's a bore. And the man who asks you " What?" whene'er you speak. Though you roar. LAND OF THE AFTERNOON. 323 There's the man who slaps your back With a button-bursting whack — If you think he's on your track, Bolt the door. There's the punster with his everlasting pun — He's a bore. And the man who makes alliterative "fun" — Worse and more! There's the man who tells the tale That a year ago was stale — Like as not he's out of jail, Bolt the door. LAND OF THE AFTERNOON. r\\ N old man sits in his garden chair, ^ ** Watching the sunlit western sky. What sees he in the blue depths there, Where only the Isles of Memory lie? There are princely towers and castles high, There are gardens fairer than human ken, There are happy children thronging by, Radiant women and stately men, Singing with voices of sweet attune The songs of the Land of the Afternoon. The old man watches a form of cloud That floats where the azure islands are, And he sees a homestead gray and loved, And a hand that beckons him afar. 324 PHARISEE AND SADDUCEE. O cheek of rose and hair of gold! O eyes of Heaven's divinest blue! Long have ye lain in the graveyard mold — But love is infinite, love is true; He will find her — yes — it must be soon; They will meet in the Land of the Afternoon. The sky has changed, and a wreck of cloud Is driving athwart its troubled face; The golden mist is a trailing shroud; It is cold and bleak in the garden-place. The old man smiles and droops his head, The thin hair droops from his wrinkled brow, The sunset radiance has spread O'er every wasted feature now; One sigh exhales like a breath in June — He has found the Land of the Afternoon. PHARISEE AND SADDUCEE. ^OGETHER to the church they went, ^ Both doubtless on devotion bent, The parson preached with fluent ease On Pharisees and Sadducees. And as they homeward slowly walked, The lovers on the sermon talked. And he — he dearly loved the maid — In soft and tender accents said, Darling, do you think that we Are Phariseee and Sadducee? She flashed on him her dark brown eyes With one swift look of vexed surprise, POLONIUS TO LAERTES. 325 And as he hastened to aver He was her constant worshiper, " But darling," I insist, said he, " That you are very Phar-i-see; I don't think you care much for me, That makes me so Sadd-u-cee." POLONIUS TO LAERTES. ^5 HAKE Y, take a fader's plessing, ^ Take it, for you get it sheap. Go in hot for magin' money, Go in und mage a heap. Don' you do no tings vot's grooked, Don' you do no tings vot's mean — Aber, rake right in dot boodle, Qviet, calm und all serene. Don' you lend your gash to no von — Not for less dan den per cend; Don' you make no vild oxpenses, Dot's de vay de money vent; Und I tells you, leedle Shakey, Putdis varning in your ear: Be a man of pizness honor, Never vale but tvice a year. THE PERSUASIVE AGENT. E drifted in, in a quiet way, And he softly said what he had to say, And we all sat still; 326 THE PERSUASIVE AGENT. For his manner was bland, and his voice was mild; He seemed like an innocent, trusting child, How could we kill A visitor who came in like that, Who didn't forget to take off his hat, Or wipe his feet: Who talked in a gentle, modest way, And softly said what he had to say In a tone discreet? He told of the wares he had to sell, But so gently he told what he had to tell That we still sat still, For he was so quiet and so polite That none of us, somehow, could make it seem right To try to fill The circumambient air with him, Or to dislocate him limb from limb, As we used to do When agents called, and bothered us so That we really sometimes didn't know Just what we had done, till it was all O- Ver, and we'd got through. So he mildly sold us scissors and knives, And matches, and hair oil, neckties and lives Of the Presidents, Elastics, and buttons, and needles, and thread, And shoe strings, and pencils with movable lead, (For thirty cents) And when he went out, in his quiet way, After bidding us all a soft " Good day! " THE TALE OF A TADPOLE. 327 With a lightened load, We all looked blankly at what we'd bought, And we all exclaimed with a common thought: "Well, I'll be Mowed! " THE TALE OF A TADPOLE. Jj\ TADPOLE sat on a cold gray stone, And sadly thought of his life. "Alas! must I live all alone?" said he, " Or shall I espouse me a wife? " A wise old frog on the brink of the stream, Leaned over, and said with a sigh: " Oh, wait till you're older, my dear young friend, You'll have better taste, by-and-by? " Girls change, you know, and the pollywog slim, That takes your fancy to-day, May not be the Polly at all you'd choose When the summer has passed away." But the tadpole rash thought he better knew, And married a pollywog fair; And, before the summer was over, he sat On the brink of that stream in despair. For would you believe it? his fair young bride Proved to be but a stupid frog, With never a trace of the beauty and grace Of young Miss Pollywog. And although the tadpole himself had grown Quite stout and stupid, too, He only sees the faults of his wife (As others sometimes do). 328 AGNES, I LOVE THEE. — ONLY A SMILE. To all young tadpoles my moral is this: Before you settle in life, Be sure you know, without any doubt, What you want in the way of a wife. AGNES, I LOVE THEE. | STOOD upon the ocean's briny shore, «* And with a fragile reed I traced upon the sand: "Agnes, I love thee." The mad waves rolled by and blotted out the fair impres- sion. Frail reed! Cruel wave! Treacherous sand! I'll trust ye no more! But with a giant hand, I'll pluck from Norway's frozen shore her tallest pine, And dip its top into the crater of Mt. Vesuvius, And on the high and burnished heavens I'll write: "Agnes, I love thee." And I would like to see any doggoned wave wash that out. ONLY A SMILE. ' $p WAS only a smile that was given w* From a friend that I chanced to meet, With a face as bright as a sunbeam, In the busy walks of the street. My soul was in darkness and sorrow, And my heart all burdened with pain; And tears to my eyelids came welling. And I strove to stay them in vain. THE BALLAD OF A BUTCHER AND THE DEAR LITTLE CHILDREN. 329 'Twas only a smile that was given, And the donor went on her way; Yet it brought to my heart a sweetness Through the whole of that livelong day. 'Twas a glance so tender and hopeful, So sweet and so loving and true, That my troubles — I quite forgot them, And I found myself smiling, too. THE BALLAD OF A BUTCHER AND THE DEAR LITTLE CHILDREN. T was a gruesome butcher, With a countenance saturnine; He stood at the door of his little shop; It was the hour of nine. The children going by to school Looked in at the open door; They loved to see the sausage machine, And hear its awful roar. The butcher he looked out and in, Then horribly he swore. Next yawned, then smiling, he licked his chops, Quoth he, " Life's an awful bore! "Now here's allthese dear little children, Some on 'em might live to be sixty; Why shouldn't I save 'em the trouble to wunst And chop 'em up slipperty licksty?" 330 NOT willin'. So tie winked to the children and beckoned them in: "Oh, don't ye's want some candy? But ye see ye'll have to come into the shop, For out here it isn't handy! " He 'ticed them into the little shop, The machine went round and round; And when those poor babes came out again, They fetched ten cents a pound. NOT WILLIN' ^ AYS bould Barney Milligan, @ To Biddy McSnilligan, "Och, faith! it's mesilf wud be loikin' a kiss." Cries Biddy McSnilligan, 1 i Ye'd betther be still agin, Oi'll not be endoorin' sich tratement as this. " "Arrah! Dearest Biddy Be aisy, be stiddy, Indade, it's no use to be actin' loike this; Och! Scratch a man's nose off, An' tear all his clo'es off, It's a bit uv a row to be gittin a kiss. " "Go 'way, Mr. Barney, No more of your blarney, Or instid uv a kiss ye'll be gettin' a kick. Ould red-headed Barney, Yer wastin' yer blarney, For here comes the misses! Ach! Barney, be quick!" MAUD MULLER'S MOVING. 331 MAUD MULLER'S MOVING. lyTf AUD MULLER, on a wild March day, JLa^ Vowed she would move, the first of May. Not but the house she occupied With modern improvements was supplied, But when on the paper her eyes she set And saw the advertisements "To let," Her comfort died, and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast. A longing that well nigh drove her mad, For a nicer house than the one she had, Larger, cheaper, in better repair; Five minutes' walk from everywhere. A basement-kitchen without a flaw, A room for her husband's mother-in-law, A parlor 18 x23, And a sunny, airy nursery. She rented a house, by no means bad, Yet not near so nice as the one she had. And hunting, packing and moving day Were enough, she said, to turn her gray. And as on an upturned tub she sat, In the new house, dusty, desolate, And heard the truckman, not " with care," Dump a basket of crockery ware, She mourned like one of all hoj)e bereft, For the cosy dwelling she had left, 332 A SIMPLE SIGN. — A LOVELY SCENE. And to herself in accents saddened, Whispered softly, "I wish I hadn't." Then to boss the truckman she turned her way, Sighing, "I'll move again next May." Alas for Muller! Alas for Maud! For chipped veneering and shattered gaud. Heaven pity them both, and pity us all Whose wives to questing houses fall; For of all sad words ever written yet, The saddest are these: "This house to let." A SIMPLE SIGN. (jT was in a grocer's window -* That she saw a simple sign. And she stopped and slowly read it While her blue eyes seemed to shine. Then with scornful lips she murmured, As she tossed her pretty hat, " How I wish that men were labeled With a good plain sign, like that." So when she had passed, I ventured Near that favored grocer's shop, And espied this simple legend: "This Corn Warranted to Pop." A LOVELY SCENE. ^C$E stood at the bars as the sun went down ®»^ Behind the hills on a summer day, Her eyes were tender, and big and brown. Her breath as sweet as the new-mown hay. BAD PRAYERS. 333 Far from the west the faint sunshine Glanced sparkling off her golden hair, Those calm, deep eyes were turned toward mine, And a look of contentment rested there. I see her bathed in the sunlight flood, I see her standing peacefully now; Peacefully standing and chewing her cud, As I rubbed her ears, — that Jersey cow. BAD PRAYERS. f DO not like to hear him pray ^ On bended knees about an hour, For grace to spend aright the day, Who knows his neighbor has no flour. I'd rather see him go to mill And buy the luckless brother bread, And see his children eat their fill And laugh beneath their humble shed I do not like to hear him pray, "Let blessings on the widow be," Who never seeks her home, to say, "If want o'ertake you, come to me." I hate the prayer so loud and long That's offered for the orphan's weal, By him who sees him crushed by wrong, And only with his lips doth feel. I do not like to hear her pray With jeweled ear and silken dress, Whose washerwoman toils all day, And then is asked to work for less. 334 RECIPE FOR A MODERN NOVEL. Such pious shavers I desjDise; With folded hands and face demure, They lift to heaven their" angel eyes," And steal the earnings of the poor. I do not like such soulless prayers; If wrong, I hope to be forgiven — No angel wing them upward bears: They're lost a million miles from eaven. RECIPE FOR A MODERN NOVEL. ^TIR in a fool to make us laugh; ^ Two heavy villains and a half; A heroine with sheeny hair, And half a dozen beaux to spare; A mystery upon the shore; Some bloody foot-prints on a floor; A shrewd detective chap, who mates Those foot-prints with the hero's eights, And makes it squally for that gent, Till he is proven innocent; A brown stone front; a dingle dell; Spice it with scandal; stir it well; Serve it up hot; — and the book will sell. WHERE ARE WICKED FOLKS BURIED? (l(l T^ELL me, gray-headed sexton," I said, w "Where in this field are the wicked folks laid? I have wandered the quiet old graveyard through, And studied the epitaphs, old and new; A WALTZ QUADRILLE. 335 But on monument, obelisk, pillar or stone I read of no evil that men have clone." The old sexton stood by a grave newly made, With his chin on his hand, and his hand on a spade; I knew by the gleam of his eloquent eye That his heart was instructing his lips to reply: " Who is to judge when the soul takes its flight? Who is to judge 'twixt the wrong and the right? Which of us mortals shall dare to say That our neighbor was wicked who died to-day? "In our journey through life, the farther we speed The better we learn that humanity's need Is charity's spirit, that prompts us to find Rather virtue than vice in the lives of our kind. "Therefore, good deeds we record on these stones; The evil men do, let it die with their bones. I have labored as sexton this many a year, But I never have buried a bad man here." A WALTZ QUADRILLE. Yy HE band was playing a waltz quadrille; I felt as light as a wind-blown feather, As we floated away at the caller's will Through the intricate mazy dances together. Like a mimic army our lines were meeting, Slowly advancing, and then retreating, All decked in their bright array; And back and forth to the music's rhyme We moved together, and all the time I knew you were going away. 6 A WALTZ QUADRILLE. The fold of your strong arm sent a thrill From heart to brain as we gently glided, Like leaves on the waves of that waltz quadrille; Parted, met, and again divided. You drifted one way and I another, Then suddenly turning and facing each other; Then off in the blithe chassee; Then airily back to our places swaying, While every beat of the music seemed saymg, That you were going away. I said in heart, ''Let us take our fill Of mirth and pleasure, and love and laughter. For it all must end with this waltz quadrille, And life will ne'er be the same life after. O! that the caller might go on calling — O! that the music might go on falling Like a shower of silvery spray — While w r e whirled on with the vast forever, Where no hearts break and no ties sever, And no one goes away." A clamor, a crash, and the band was still. 'Twas the end of the dream and the end of the measure The last low notes of that waltz quadrille Seemed like a dirge o'er the death of pleasure. You said good night, and the spell was over — Too warm for a friend and too cold for a lover — There was nothing more to say; But the lights looked dim and the dancers weary. And the music was sad and the hall was dreary After you went away. THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 337 THE WAY OF THE WORLD. p^HERE sate a crow on a lofty tree, ^ Watching the world go by; He saw a throng that swept along With a laughter loud and high. ' ' In and out through the motley rout " Pale ghosts stole on unseen; Their hearts were longing for one sweet word Of the love that once had been, But never a lip there spoke their names Never a tear was shed; The crow looked down from his lofty tree, " 'Tis the way of the world," he said. A singer stood in the market-place. Singing a tender lay. But no one heeded his sorrowful face, No one had time to stay. He turned away; he sang no more; How could he sing in vain? And then the world came to his door, Bidding him sing again, But he recked not whether they came or went, He in his garret dead. The crow looked down from his lofty tree, 11 'Tis the way of the world," he said. There sate a Queen by a cottage bed, Spoke to the widow there: Did she not know the same hard blow The peasant had to bear? 838 IN ANSWER. And she kissed the humble peasant's brow, And then she bent her knee: " God of the widow help her now, As Thou hast helped me," "Now, God, be thanked," said the old, old crow, As he sped from his lofty bough; "The times are ill, but there's much good still In the way of the world, I trow." IN ANSWER. ft'fTWPADAM, we miss the train at B- «3»a!L "But can't you make it, sir?" she gasped. " Impossible; it leaves at three, And we are due a quarter past." "Is there no way? Oh, tell me then, Are you a Christian? " "I am not." "And are there none among the men Who run the train? " "No — I forgot — I think this fellow over here, Oiling the engine claims to be." She threw upon the engineer A fair face white with agony. "Are you a Christian? " "Yes, I am." " Then, O sir, won't you pray with me, All the long way, that God will stay, That God will hold the train at B ? " " 'Twill do no good, it's due at three And " " Yes, but God can hold the train; My dying child is calling me, And I must see her face again. IN ANSWER. 339 Oh, won't you pray? " "I will," a nod Emphatic, as he takes his place. When Christians grasp the arm of God They grasp the power that rules the rod. Out from the station swept the train, On time, swept on past wood and lea; The engineer, with cheeks aflame, Prayed, "O Lord, hold the train at B ," Then flung the throttle wide, and like Some giant monster of the plain, With panting sides and mighty stride, Past hill and valley swept the train. A half, a minute, two are gained; Along those burnished lines of steel, His glances leap, each nerve is strained, And still he prays with fervent zeal. Heart, hand and brain, with one accord, Work while his prayer ascends to heaven, Just hold the train eight minutes, Lord, u And I'll make up the other seven." With rush and roar through meadow lands, Past cottage homes and green hillsides, The panting thing obeys his hands, And speeds along with giant strides. They say an accident delayed The train a little while; but He Who listened while his children prayed, In answer held the train at B . 340 IN THE CATACOMBS. IN THE CATACOMBS. "FT EVER lived a Yankee yet, a ^ But was ready to bet On the U. S. A. If you speak of Italy's sunny clime, < 'Maine kin beat it every time! " If you tell of ^Etna's fount of fire, You rouse his ire. In an injured way He'll probably say, " I don't think much of a smokin' hill, We've got a moderate little rill Kin make yer old volcaner still; Pour old Niagery down the crater, 'N I guess 'twill cool her fiery nater." You have doubtless heard of those ancient lies, Manufactured for a prize: The reputation of each rose higher, As he proved himself the bigger liar. Said an Englishman: " Only t'other day, Sailing from Dover to Calais, I saw a man without float or oar, Swimming across from the English shore, Manfully breasting the angry sea — "Friend," said the Yankee, "that was me." Mindful of all these thrice-told tales, Whenever a Yankee to Europe sails, The boys try every sort of plan To rouse his astonishment, if they can. IN THE CATACOMBS. 341 Sam Brown was a fellow from way down east Who never was < e staggered " in the least. No tale of marvelous beast or bird Could match the stories he had heard. No curious place or wondrous view " Was ekil to Podunk, I tell yu. " They showed him a room where a queen had slept; " 'TwaVt up to the tavern daddy kept." They showed him Lucerne, But he had drunk From the beautiful Mollichunkamunk. They took him at last to ancient Rome, And inveigled him into a catacomb. Here they plied him with draughts of ^vine (Though he vowed old cider was twice as fine,) Till the fumes of Falernian filled his head, And he slept as sound as the silent dead; They removed a mummy to make him room, And laid him at length in the rocky tomb. They piled old skeletons 'round the stone, Set a "dip" in a candlestick of bone, And left him to slumber there alone. Then watched from a distance the taper's gleam, Waiting to jeer at his frightened scream, When he should awake from his drunken dream. After a time the Yankee woke, But instantly saw through the flimsy joke; So never a cry or a shout he uttered, But solemnly rose and slowly muttered: "I see how it is. It's the judgment day, We've all been dead and stowed away; 342 ONLY PLAYING. All these stone f urreners sleepin' yet, An' I'm the first one up, you bet! Can't none o' you Romans start, I wonder? United States is ahead, by thunder! " ONLY PLAYING. LITTLE old woman before me, ^ Went slowly down the street, Walking as if aweary Were her feeble, tottering feet. From under her old poke-bonnet I caught a gleam of snow, And her waving cap strings floated, Like a pennon, to and fro. In the folds of her rusty mantle Sudden her footstep caught, And I sprang to keep her from falling, With a touch as quick as thought. When, under the old poke-bonnet, I saw a winsome face, Framed with the flaxen ringlets Of my wee daughter Grace. Mantle and cap together Dropped off at my very feet; And there stood the little fairy, Beautiful, flushing, sweet! Will it be like this, I wonder, When at last we come to stand A PARODY. 343 On the golden ringing pavement Of the blessed heavenly land? Losing the rusty garments We wore in the years of time, Will our better selves spring backward, Serene in a youth sublime? Instead of the shape that hid us, And made us old and gray, Shall we get our child hearts back again, With a brightness that shall stay? I thought — but my little daughter Slipped her dimpled hand in mine, "I was only playing," she whispered, "That I was ninety-nine." A PARODY. P^HE boy stood on the back-yard fence, whence all but © him had fled; The flames that lit his father's barn shone just above the shed. One bunch of crackers in his hand, two others in his hat, With piteous accents loud he cried, "I never thought of that!" A bunch of crackers to the tail of one small dog he'd tied; The dog in anguish sought the barn, ana 'mid its ruins died. The sparks flew wide, and red and hot, they lit upon that brat; They fired the crackers in his hand, and e'en those in his hat ? 344 TOTAL ANNIHILATION. Then came a burst of rattling sound — the boy! Where was he gone? Ask of the winds that far around strewed bits of meat and bone: And scraps of clothes, and balls, and tops, and nails, and hooks, and yarn — The relics of that dreadful boy that burnt his father's barn. TOTAL ANNIHILATION. (f^H! he was a Bowery bootblack bold, ^ And his years they numbered nine; Rough and unpolished was he, albeit He constantly aimed to shine. As proud as a king on his box he sat, Munching an apple red, While the boys of his set looked wistfully on. And "Give us a bite! " they said. But the bootblack smiled a lordly smile: " No free bites here! " he cried. Then the boys they sadly walked away, Save one who stood at his side. •'Bill, give us the core," he whispered low. That bootblack smiled once more, And a mischievous dimple grew in his cheek — "There ain't goin' to be no core!" MILKING-TIME. 345 MILKING-TIME. ' | TELL you, Kate, that Lovejoy cow — * Is worth her weight in gold; She gives a good eight quarts o' milk, And isn't yet five year old. " I see young White a-comin' now; He wants her, I know that. Be careful, girl, you're spillin' it! An' save some for the cat. " Good evenin', Richard, step right in." " I guess I couldn't, sir, I've just come down — " " I know it, Dick, You've took a shine to her. "She's kind an' gentle as a lamb, Jest where I go she f oilers; And though it's cheap, I'll let her go; She's your'n for thirty dollars. " You'll know her clear across the farm, By them two milk-white stars; You needn't drive her home at night, But jest le' down the bars. ' * Then, when you've owned her, say a month, And learnt her, as it were, I'll bet — why, what's the matter, Dick? " "Taint her I want — it's her!" "What? not the girl! well, I'll be blessed! — There, Kate, don't drop that pan. You've took me mightily aback, But then, a man's a man. 346 VICTUALS AND DBINK. "She's your'n, my boy, but one word more: Kate's gentle as a dove; She'll f oiler you the whole world round, For nothin' else but love. "But never try to drive the lass; Her natur's like her ma's. I've alius found it worked the best To jest le' down the bars." VICTUALS AND DRINK. p^HERE once was a woman, and what do you think, ^ She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink; Victuals and drink were the chief of her diet, And yet this poor woman could never be quiet. And were you so foolish as really to think That all she could want was her victuals and drink? And that while she was furnished with that sort of diet The feeling and fancy would starve and be quiet? Mother Goose knew far better, but thought it sufficient To give a mere hint that the fare was deficient; For I do not believe she could ever have meant To imply there was reason for being content. Yet the mass of mankind is uncommonly slow, To acknowledge the fact it behooves them to know, Or to learn that a woman is not like a mouse, Needing nothing but cheese and the walls of a house. But just take a man — shut him up for one day — Get his hat and his cane, put them snugly away, FATE. 347 Give him stockings to mend and three sumptuous meals, And then ask him at night — if you dare — how he feels. Do you think he will quietly stick to his stocking, While you read the news — and "Don't care about talking?" Oh! many a woman goes starving, I ween, Who lives in a palace and fares like a queen, Till the famishing heart and the feverish brain Have spelled out to life's end the long lesson of pain. Yet stay; to my mind an uneasy suggestion Comes up that there may be two sides to the question. That while here and there proving inflicted privation, The Verdict must often be ' < Willful starvation " — Since there are men and women would force one to think They choose to live only on victuals and drink. Oh! restless and craving and unsatisfied hearts! Whence never the vulture of hunger departs! How long on the husks of our life will ye feed, Ignoring the soul and her famishing need? Bethink you, when lulled in your shallow content, 'Twasto Lazarus only the angels were sent? And 'tis he to whose lips but earth's ashes are given For whom the full banquet is gathered in Heaven. FATE. titlW^HE sky is clouded, the rocks are bare, w The spray of the tempest is white in air, The winds are out with the waves at play, And I shall not tempt the sea to-day. " The trail is narrow, the wood is dim, The panther clings to the arching limb, 348 ain't he cute? And the lion's whelps are abroad at play, And I shall not join in the chase to-day." But the ship sailed safely over the sea, And the hunters came from the chase in glee, And the town that was builded upon a rock Was swallowed up in the earthquake shock. AIN'T HE CUTE? 7~V RRAYED in snow-white pants and vest ^ ** And other raiment fair to view, I stood before my sweetheart Sue, — The charming creature I love best. "Tell me, and does my costume suit?" I asked that apple of my eye, And then the charmer made reply — "Oh, yes, you do look awful cute! " Although I frequently had heard My sweetheart vent her pleasure so, I must confess I did not know. The meaning of that favorite word. But presently at window side We stood, and watched the passing throng, And soon a donkey passed along, With ears like sails extending wide. And gazing at the doleful brute My sweetheart gave a merry cry, — I quote her language with a sigh, — " O Charlie, ain't he awful cute? " AFTER THE THEATER. 349 AN ORIGINAL LOVE STORY. E struggled to kiss her; she struggled the same To prevent him, so bold and undaunted; But as smitten by lightning, he heard her exclaim: " Avaunt, sir! " And off he avaunted. But when he returned, with a wild, fiendish laugh, Showing clearly that he was affronted, And threatened by main force to carry her off, She cried: "Don't" And the poor fellow donted. When he meekly approached, and got down at her feet, Praying loud as before he had ranted, That she would forgive him, and try to be sweet, And said, "Can't you?" — the dear girl recanted. Then soYtly he whispered: " How could you do so? I certainly thought I was jilted; But come thou with me, to the parson we'll go, Say, wilt thou, my dear?" And she wilted. Then gayly he took her to see her new home, — A cabin by no means enchanted. " See! Here we can live with no longing to roam," He said: " Shan't we, my dear?" So they shantied. AFTER THE THEATER. 7^ EN dollars. Quite a sum to pay ^ For one who earns but four a day, For just a single evening's fun, — It seems so, now the thing is done. Three for the carriage, for you know I never could ask her to go 350 THE FIRST CLOUD. With that swell dress — the shade ecru, And train strung out a yard or two — In a plain horse car. And so nice She looked I do not grudge the price. Three more for seats; down center aisle, And four rows back, — just right for style. The curtain rose. How time will pass While gazing through an opera-glass. The curtain fell. Once more we stood Outside, and then the thought of food Itself presented. She said, yes, She felt quite hungry. You can guess That what we ate, with just a bit Of rosy wine to season it, Used up that other four. Time sped. I took her home. Good-night was said Then to my own home came I straight, And here I sit and meditate. The cash I had four hours ago Is gone. I've naught for it to show. Have I regrets for it? Not one. 'Twas folly, but, by Jove, 'twas fun! THE FIRST CLOUD. p^HEY stood at the altar one short year ago; ^ He vowed from the troubles of life to defend her, To have her and hold her for weal or for woe — She spoke the responses in accents most tender. FROM HAND TO MOUTH. 351 To-night, in the gloom they are sitting apart; Oh! has all her wifely devotion been wasted? She mopes there in silence, a pain at her heart; The lamps are unlighted his supper untasted. Their sky, erst all cloudless, is now overcast, For joy there is sorrow, for gladness dejection; The serpent has entered their Eden at last, And left its dark trail on the flowers of affection. Oh, well may there be m her bosom a pain. A grief that she vainly endeavors to smother; To-night he has told her in language quite plain, She can't cook his meals half as well as his mother! FROM HAND TO MOUTH. " $^ROM hand to mouth," he gaily said, — fc And pressed her dainty finger tips, Which salutation quickly led To one upon her perfect lips, As fair as roses in the South, "From hand to mouth." So she was won, and so was he. 'Twas something like a year ago, And now they both are one, you see, Although which one I hardly know. They're living somewhere in the South From hand to mouth. 352 WHAT IS HEAVEN? THE PARSON' S SOCIABLE WHAT IS HEAVEN? M"%l|raAT is Heaven? " I asked a little child, Ji£k a All joy/ " and in her innocence she smiled. I asked the aged, with her care oppressed: "All suffering o'er, Oh! Heaven, at last, is rest! " I asked the maiden, meek and tender-eyed, " It must be love! " she modestly replied. i I asked the artist, who adored his art; "Heaven is all beauty! " spoke his raptured heart. I asked the poet, with his soul afire; " 'Tis glory — glory! " and he struck his lyre. I asked the Christian, waiting her release; A halo 'round her, low she murmured: "Peace!" So all may look with hopeful eyes above, ' Tis beauty, glory, joy, rest, peace and love! THE PARSON'S SOCIABLE. p^HEY carried the pie to the parson's house ^ And scattered the floor with crumbs, And marked the leaves of his choicest books With the prints of their greasy thumbs. They piled his dishes high and thick With a lot of unhealthful cake, While they gobbled the buttered toast and rolls Which the parson's wife did make. BUGLE SONG. 353 They hung around Clytie's classic neck Their apple-parings, for sport, And every one laughed when a clumsy lout Spilt his tea in the piano-forte. Next day the parson went down on his knees With his wife — but not to pray; Oh no; 'twas to scrape the grease and dirt From the carpet and stairs away! BUGLE SONG. 5^HE splendor falls on castle walls N -*' And snowy summits old in story; The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying; Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. Oh hark, oh hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, further going; Oh sweet and far, from cliff and scar, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying; Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. Oh love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river* Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 354 THE SADDEST SIGHT. HE NEVER TOLD A LIE. THE SADDEST SIGHT. ^WHEN a woman her home would decorate, u&k g^g gt p g no t at obstacles small or great; But the funniest sight her trials afford Is when madam essays to saw a board. With her knee on a plank, and the plank on a chair, She poises her saw with a knowing air, Makes several wild rasps at the penciled line, And is off with a whizz the reverse of fine. With lips compressed she gets down to work, And crosses the timbers, jerkity-jerk; She can't keep to the line, her knee slips askew; But she keeps to the work till the board splits in two. She has damaged the chair, she has ruined the saw, Her back is aching, her hands are raw, And she finds, when she tries to fit her prize, It's an inch too short of the requisite size. HE NEVER TOLD A LIE. If SAW him standing in the crowd — -* A comely youth and fair! There was a brightness in his eye, A glory in his hair! I saw his comrades gaze on him — His comrades standing by. I heard them whisper each to each, " He never told a lie! " HE NEVER TOLD A LIE. 355 I looked in wonder on that boy, As he stood there so young: To think that never an untruth Was uttered by his tongue. I thought of all the boys I'd known — Myself among the fry, — And knew of none that one could say, "He never told a lie! " I gazed upon that youth with awe That did enchain me long: I had not seen a boy before So perfect and so strong. And with something of regret I wished that he was I, So they might look at me and say, "He never told a lie! " I thought of questions very hard For boys to answer right: " How did you tear those pantaloons? " "My son! what caused the fight? " " Who left the gate ajar last night? " "Who bit the pumpkin pie? " What boy could answer all of these, And never tell a lie? I proudly took him by the hand — My words with praise were rife; I blessed that boy who never told A falsehood in his lifet 356 THE WHISTLER. I told him I was proud of him — A fellow standing by, Informed me that that boy was dumb Who never told a lie! THE WHISTLER. " ^f^OU have heard," said a youth to his sweetheart who H stood While he sat on a corn-sheaf, at daylight's decline, — "You have heard of the Danish boy's whistle of wood: I wish that the Danish boy's whistle were mine. ' "And what would you do with it? Tell me," she said, While an arch smile played over her beautiful face. " I would blow it," he answered, " and then my fair maid Would fly to my side and would there take her place." " Is that all you wish for? Why, that may be yours Without any magic! " the fair maiden cried. " A favor so slight one's good nature secures "; And she playfully seated herself by his side. "I would blow it again," said the youth; " and the charm Would work so that not even modesty's check Would be able to keep from my neck your white arm. " She smiled and she laid her white arm round his neck. " Yet once more I would blow; and the music divine Would bring me a third time an exquisite bliss, — You would lay your fair cheek to this brown one of mine; And your lips stealing past it would give me a kiss." THE THREE FIELDS. 35 ; The maiden laughed out in her innocent glee, — "What a fool of yourself with the whistle you'd make! For only consider how silly 'twould be To sit there and whistle for what you might take." THE THREE FIENDS. T^HERE were three demons came out of the deep- Fiends that blighted the eyes to see; That frightened the dreamer out of his sleep, And chilled the heart with a sudden leap, And numbed the brain with their stealthy creep — A ghastly, terrible, horrible three. " War" was one, and his sable plume Shadowed a face that was cruel as hate; He awakened the dawn with the sullen boom Of murderous guns; like a pall of gloom Hung the smoke of his breath, and pitiless doom His mailed hands hold like a soulless fate. Life was his meat, and his drink was gore; Red to his knees he walked in blood; Laughed as he raged down the carmine shore, Raising his voice in the horrible roar And shrieks of his victims, as more and more They swelled the ghastly flood. And " Rum " was another one, grisly and grim; Crueler ten times told than you'd think; Misery poisoned its beaker's brim, Death eternal, and hate and sin, Want and woe; he poured them in, And gave to the world to drink. 358 no kiss. The victims were numberless as the sands — Maiden and youth and hoary age; The wisdom and courage of many lands, Hearts of manhood and dimpled hands — They came to his death-feast, ghostly bands — Weak fools and the strong-minded sage. And the third he came with a goblin smile, Gentle and kind he seemed to be; But the heart of the fiend was full of guile, In his merriest moments all the while His thoughts were cruel, his plans were vile; He was the worst of the three. At feast and wedding he sat elate, With luscious lips he kissed the bride; He petted the little, he pleased the great, AYhile he wrecked the home and destroyed the state With a sway like the rule of an iron fate, That you couldn't resist if you tried. O woe was the home that he entered in! He darkened the hearthstone that he stood by: And pale face, and wan, and thin, Looked up in fear at his mocking grin, And the victims knew, as they scooped him in, They were hopeless slaves of the demon "Pie.' NO KISS. " I^PISS me, Will," sang Marguerite, \ To a pretty little little tune, Holding up her dainty mouth, Sweet as roses born in June. A TALE OF A NOSE. 359 Will was ten years old that day, And lie pulled her golden cu^s Teasingly, and answer made: 4 'I'm too old — I don't kiss girls." Ten years pass, and Marguerite Smiles as Will kneels at her feet, Gazing fondly in her eyes, Praying, "Won't you kiss me, sweet?" 'Rite is seventeen to-day; With her birthday ring she toys For a moment, then replies: "I'm too old — I don't kiss boys!" A TALE OF A NOSE. I/^WAS a hard case that which happened in Lynn! w ' Haven't heard of it, eh? Well, then, to begin, There's a Jew down there whom they call "Old Mose, : Who travels about and buys old clothes. Now Mose — which the same is short for Moses — Had one of the biggest kind of noses; It had a sort of an instep in it, And he fed it with snuff about once a minute. One day he got in a bit of a row With a German chap who had kissed his frau, And trying to punch him, a la Mace, Had his nose cut off close up to his face. He picked it up from off the ground And quickly back in its place 'twas bound, Keeping the bandage upon his face Until it had fairly healed in place. 360 AT THE GARDEN GATE. Alas for Mose! 'Twas a sad mistake Which he in his haste that' day did make; For, to add still more to his bitter cup, He found he had placed it wrong side up. "There's no great loss without some gain," And Moses says, in a jocular vein, He arranged it so for taking snuff, As he never before could get enough. One thing, by the way, he forgets to add, Which makes the arrangement rather bad,- Al though he can take his snuff with ease, He has to stand on his head to sneeze. AT THE GARDEN GATE. jp^HEY lingered at the garden gate, ^ The moon was full above; He took her darling hand in his, The trembling little dove, And pressed it to his fervent lips, And softly told his love. About her waist he placed his arm, He called her all his own; His heart, he said, it ever beat For her, and her alone; And he was happier than a king Upon a golden throne. " Come weal, come woe," in ardent tones This youth continued he, THE OPEN DOOR. 361 "As is the needle to the pole, So I will constant be; No power on earth shall tear thee, love, Away, I swear, from me! " From out the chamber window popped A grizzly night-capped head; A hoarse voice yelled: "You, Susan Jane, Come in and go to bed! " And that was all, — it was enough; The young man wildly fled. THE OPEN DOOR. , «^ITHIN a town of Holland once *L4l a widow dwelt, 'tis said, So poor, alas! her children asked One night in vain, for bread. But this poor woman loved the Lord, And knew that He was good; So, with her little ones around, She prayed to Him for food. When prayer was done, her oldest child — A boy of eight years old — Said softly, "In the Holy Book, Dear mother, we are told How God, with food by ravens brought, Supplied the prophet's need." "Yes," answered she, "but that, my son, Was long ago, indeed," THE OPEN DOOR. ' < But, mother, God may do again What He has done before; And so to let the birds fly in, I will unclose the door." Then little Dirk, in simple faith, Threw ope the door full wide, So that the radiance of their lamp Fell on the path outside. Ere long the burgomaster passed, And, noticing the light, Paused to inquire why the door Was open so at night. c My little Dirk has done it, sir," The widow, smiling, said, "That ravens might fly in to bring My hungry children bread." "Indeed! " the burgomaster cried, "Then here's a raven, lad; Come to my home, and you shall see Where bread may soon be had." Along the street to his own house He quickly led the boy, And sent him back with food that filled His humble home with joy. The supper ended, little Dirk Went to the open door, Looked up, said, "Many thanks, good Lord;' Then shut it fast once more. DERMOT O'DOWD. 363 For, though no bird had entered in, He knew that God on high Had harkened to his mother's prayer, And sent this full supply. DERMOT O'DOWD. WHEN Dermot O'Dowd coorted Molly M'Can They were sweet as the honey and soft as the down; But when they were wed they began to find out That Dermot could storm, and that Molly could frown. They would neither give in, so the neighbors gave out — Both were hot till a coldness came over the two; And Molly would flusther, and Dermot would blusther, Stamp holes in the flure, and cry out, " Wirrasthru! murther! I'm married, 1 wish I had tarried; I'm sleepless and speechless — no word can I say. My bed is no use; I'll give back to the goose The feathers I plucked on last Michaelmas day." "Ah!" says Molly, "you once used to call me a bird," "Faix, you're ready enough to fly out," says he. "You said then my eyes were as bright as the skies, And my lips like the rose — now no longer like me. " Says Dermot, " Your eyes are as bright as the morn, But your brow is as black as a big thunder-cloud. If your lip is a rose, sure your tongue is a thorn That sticks in the heart of poor Dermot O'Dowd." Says Molly," "You once said my voice was a thrush; But now it's a rusty old hinge with a creak." 364 A SIMILAR CASE. Says Dermot, "You called me a duck when I coorted, But now I'm a goose every day in the week. But all husbands are geese, though our pride it may shock. From the first 'twas ordained so by nature, I fear. Ould Adam himself was the first of the flock, And Eve, with her apple-sauce, cooked him, my dear." A SIMILAR CASE. J'ACK, I hear you've gone and done it, J Yes, I know; most fellows will; Went and tried it once myself, sir, Though you see I'm single still. And you met her, did you tell me? Down at Brighton, last July, And resolved to ask the question At a soiree? So did I. I suppose you left the ball room With its music and its- light; For they say love's flame is brightest In the darkness of the night. Well, you walked along together, Overhead the starlit sky; And I'll bet — old man, confess it — You were frightened. So was I. So you strolled along the terrace, Saw the summer moonlight pour All its radiance on the waters As they rippled on the shore; THE SEPTEMBER GALE. S65 Till at length you gathered courage, When you saw that none were nigh; Did you draw her close and tell her That you loved her? So did I. Well, I needn't ask you further, And I'm sure I wish you joy, Think I'll wander down and see you When you're married— eh, my boy? When the honeymoon is over, And you're settled down, we'll try — What? The deuce, you say? Rejected? You rejected? So was I! THE SEPTEMBER GALE. 'M not a chicken; I have seen Full many a chill September; And though I was a youngster then, That gale I well remember. The day before my kite-string snapped, And, I my kite pursuing, The wind whisked off my palm leaf hat; For me two storms were brewing. It came as quarrels sometimes do, When married folks get clashing; There was a heavy sigh or two Before the fire was flashing; A little stir among the clouds Before they rent asunder; A little rocking of the trees, And then came on the thunder. THE SEPTEMBER GALE. Lord! how the ponds and. rivers boiled! They seemed like bursting craters! And oaks lay scattered on the ground As if they were p'taters; And all above Was in a howl, And all below a clatter, — The earth was like a frying-pan, Or some such hissing matter. It chanced to be our washing-day, And all our things were drying; The storm came roaring through the lines, And sent them all a-flying; I saw the shirts and petticoats Go riding off like witches; I lost, ah! bitterly I wept, — I lost my Sunday breeches! I saw them straddling through the air, Alas! too late to win them; I saw them chase the clouds as if The Devil had been in them. They were my darlings and my pride, My boyhood's only riches, — " Farewell, farewell," I faintly cried, " My breeches! Oh, my breeches! " That night I saw them in my dreams; How changed from what I knew them! The dews had steeped their faded threads, The wind had whistled through them; HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE. 367 I saw the wide and ghastly rents Where demon claws had torn them; A hole was in their amplest parts, As if an imp had worn them. I have had many happy years, And tailors kind and clever; But those young pantaloons have gone Forever, and forever! And not till time has cut the last Of all my earthly stitches, This aching heart shall cease to mourn My loved, my long-lost breeches. IIORATTUS AT THE BRIDGE. 'f ARS Porsena of Clusium, by the Nine Gods he swore ™_A That the great house of Tarquin should suffer wrong no more. By the Nine Gods he swore it, and named a trysting day, And bade his messengers ride forth, to summon his array. East and west and south and north the messengers ride fast. And tower and town and cottage have heard the trumpet's blast. Shame on the false Eutruscan who lingers in his home When Porsena of Clusium is on the march for Rome. The horsemen and the footmen are pouring in amain, From many a stately market-place; from many a fruitful plain; 368 HORATITJS AT THE BRIDGE. From many a lonely hamlet, which, hid by beech and pine, Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest of purple Ap- ennine. The harvests of Arretium, this year, old men shall reap; This year, young boys in Umbro shall plunge the strug- gling sheep; And in the vats of Luna, this year, the must shall foam Round the white feet of laughing girls, whose sires have marched to Rome. And now hath every city sent up her tale of men; The foot are fourscore thousand, and the horse are thou- sands ten. Before the gates of Sutrium is met the great array. A proud man was Lars Porsena upon the trysting day. But by the yellow Tiber was tumult and affright: From all the spacious champaign to Rome men took their flight. A mile around the city, the throng stopped up the ways; A fearful sight it was to see through two long nights and days. Now from the rock Tarpeian, could the wan burghers spy The line of blazing villages red in the midnight sky. The Fathers of the City, they sat all night and day, For every hour some horseman came with tidings of dis- may. I wis, in all the Senate, there was no heart so bold, But sore it ached, and fast it beat, when that ill news was told. HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE. 369 Forthwith up rose the Consul, up rose the Fathers all; In haste they girded up their gowns, and hied them to the wall. They held a council standing before the River Gate; Short time was there, ye well may guess, for musing or debate. Out spake the Consul roundly: "The bridge must straight go down; For, since Janiculum is lost, naught else can save the town." Just then a scout came flying, all wild with haste and fear: "To arms! to arms! Sir Consul; Lars Porsena is here." On the low hills to westward the Consul fixed his eye. And saw the swarthy storm of dust rise fast along the sky. But the Consul's brow was sad, and the Consul's speech was low, And darkly looked he at the wall, and darkly at the foe. "Their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down; And if they once may win the bridge, what hope to save the town?" Then out spoke brave Horatius, the captain of the gate: "To every man upon this earth death cometh, soon or late. And how can man die better than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods. Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may; I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play. In yon straight path a thousand may well be stopped by three. Now who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge with me? "24 370 HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE. Then out spake Spurius Lartius, — a Ramnian proud was he, — "Lo, I will stand on thy right hand, and keep the bridge with thee." And out spake strong Herminius, — of Titian blood was he, — "I will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with thee." "Horatius," quoth the Consul, "as thou sayest, so let it be." And straight against that great array, forth went the daunt- less three. For Romans in Rome's quarrel spared neither land nor gold, Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, in the brave days of old. Now while the three were tightening their harness on their backs, The Consul was the foremost man to take in hand an ax; And Fathers, mixed with Commons, seized hatchet, bar, and crow, And smote upon the planks above, and loosed the props below. The three stood calm and silent, and looked upon the foes, And a great shout of laughter from all the vanguard rose; And forth three chiefs came spurring before that deep array ; To earth they sprang, their swords they drew to win the narrow way. HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE. 371 Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus into the stream beneath; Herminius struck at Seius, and clove him to the teeth; At Picus brave Horatius darted one fiery thrust; And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms clashed in the bloody dust. • But all Etruria's noblest felt their hearts sink to see On the earth the bloody corpses, in the path the dauntless three. And from the ghastly entrance, where those bold Romans stood, The bravest shrank like boys who rouse an old bear in the wood. • But meanwhile ax and lever have manfully been plied, And now the bridge hangs tottering above the boiling tide. "Come back, come back, Horatius!" loud cried the Fathers all: "Back, Lartius! back, Herminius! back, ere the ruin fall! " "Back darted Spurius Lartius; Herminius darted back; And, as they passed, beneath their feet they felt the tim- bers crack; But when they turned their faces, and on the farther shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone, they would have crossed once more. But, with a crash like thunder, fell every loosened beam, And, like a dam, the mighty wreck lay right athwart the stream; And a long shout of triumph rose from the walls of Rome, As to the highest turret-tops was splashed the yellow foam. 372 HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE. And, like a horse unbroken when first he feels the rein, The furious river struggled hard, and tossed his tawny mane, And burst the curb, and bounded, rejoicing to be free, And battlement, and plank, and pier whirled headlong to the sea. Alone stood brave Horatius, but constant still in mind; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind. "Down with him! " cried false Sextus, with a smile on his pale face. "Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, " now yield thee to our grace." Round turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see; Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus naught spake he; But he saw on Palatinus the white porch of his home, And he spake to the noble river that rolls by the towers of Rome. " O Tiber! father Tiber! to whom the Romans pray, A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, take thou in charge this day!" So he spake, and speaking, sheathed the good sword by his side, And, with his harness on his back, plunged headlong in the tide. No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank; But friends and foes, in dumb surprise, stood gazing where he sank; FORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE. 373 And when above the surges they saw his crest appear, Rome shouted, and e'en Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer. But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain; And fast his blood was flowing; and he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armor, and spent with changing blows, And oft they thought him sinking, but still again he rose. Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case, Struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing place; But his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within, And our good father Tiber bare bravely up his chin. "Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus; "will not the villain drown? But for this stay, ere close of day we should have sacked the town! " "Heaven help him! " quoth Lars Porsena, " and bring him safe to shore; For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before. " And now he feels the bottom; — now on dry earth he stands; Now round him throng the Fathers to press his gory hands. And, now with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping loud, He enters through the River Gate, borne by the joyous crowd. They gave him of the corn-land that was of public right As much as two strong oxen could plough from morn till night; 374 HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE. And they made a molten image, and set it up on high, And there it stands unto this day to witness if I lie. It stands in the Comitium, plain for all folks to see; Horatius in his harness, halting upon one knee: And underneath is written, in letters all of gold, How valiantly he kept the bridge in the brave days of old. JOVEfllliES. JUVENILES, WHAT SHE SAID. jpHE told me sumfin' defful! ^ It almost made me cry! I never will believe it, It mus' be all a lie! I mean she mus' be 'staken. I know she b'oke my heart; I never can forgive her! That horrid Maggie Start. Tuesdays, she does her bakin's! An' so I fought, you see, I'd make some fimble cookies For Arabella's tea. An' so I took my dollies An' set 'em in a row, Where they could oversee me When I mixed up my dough. An' when I'd wolled an' mixed it Free minutes, or an hour, Somehow I dwopped my woller, An' spilt a lot of flour. 378 WHAT SHE SAID. An' I was defful firsty, An' fought I'd help myself To jes' a little dwop of milk Off from the pantry shelf. So I weached up on tip-toe, But, quicker than a flash, The horrid pan turned over, An' down it came ker-splash! O then you should have seen her Rush f rough that pantry door! " An' this is where you be ! " she said, " O what a lookin' floor! "You, an' your dolls — I'll shake you all. I'll shake you black 'n blue! " 1 ' You shall not touch us, Miss," I cried, "We're jes as good as you! An' I will tell my mofer, The minute she gets home, An' I will tell ole Santa Claus, An' I'll tell every one." O then you should have heard her laugh! "Tell Santa Claus, indeed! I'd like to have you find him first, The humbug never lived! " " What do you mean, you Maggie Start, Is dear old Santa dead?" "Old Santa never lived," she cried, And that is what she said. A ROGUE. GRANDPAPA'S SPECTACLES. 379 A ROGUE. /f^RANDMA was nodding, I rather think; w4 Harry was sly and quick as a wink; He climbed in the back of her great arm-chair, And nestled himself very snugly there; Grandma's dark locks were mingled with white, And quick this fact came to his sight; A sharp twinge soon she felt at her hair, And woke with a start, to find Harry there. "Why, what are you doing, my child?" she said, He answered, "Pse pulling a basting fread! " GRANDPAPA'S SPECTACLES. (Pi RANDPAPA'S spectacles cannot be found; ^* He has searched all the rooms, high and low, 'round and 'round; Now he calls to the young ones, and what does he say? "Ten cents for the child who will find them to-day." Then Henry and Nelly and Edward all ran, And a most thorough hunt for the glasses began, And dear little Nell, in her generous way, Said: "I'll look for them, grandpa, without any pay." All through the big Bible she searches with care That lies on the table by grandpapa's chair; They feel in his pockets, they peep in his hat, They pull out the sofa, they shake out the mat. Then down on all fours, like two good-natured bears, Go Harry and Ned under tables and chairs, 380 ONE LITTLE ACT. Till, quite out of breath, Ned is heard to declare, He believes that those glasses are- not anywhere. But Nelly, who, leaning on grandpapa's knee, Was thinking most earnestly where they could be, Looked suddenly up in the kind, faded eyes, And her own shining brown ones grew big with surprise. She slapped both her hands — all her dimples came out — She turned to the boys with a bright, roguish shout: "You may leave off your looking, both Harry and Ned, For there are the glasses on grandpapa's head!" ONE LITTLE- ACT. SAW a man, with tottering steps, -* Come down a graveled walk one day; The honored frost of many years Upon his scattered thin locks lay. With trembling hands he strove to raise The latch that held the little gate, When rosy lips looked up and smiled, — A silvery child- voice said, "Please wait." A little girl oped wide the gate, And held it .till he passed quite through, Then closed it, raising to his face Her modest eyes of winsome blue. "May Heaven bless you, little one," The old man said, with tear-wet eyes; " Such deeds of kindness to the old Will be rewarded in the skies." SIX YEARS OLD. 381 'Twas such a little thing to do — A moment's time it took — no more; And then the dancing, graceful feet Had vanished through the school-room door. And yet I'm sure the angels smiled, And penned it down in words of gold; 'Tis such a blessed thing to see The young so thoughtful of the old. SIX TEARS OLD. SUN ! so far up in the blue sky, ^ f) O, clover! so white and so sweet, O, little brook! shining like silver, And running so fast past my feet, — You don't know what strange things have happened Since sunset and starlight last night; Since the four-o'clocks closed their red petals, To wake up so early and bright. Say! what will you think when I tell you What my dear mamma whispered to me, When she kissed me on each cheek twice over? You don't know what a man you may see. O, yes! I am big and I'm heavy; I have grown, since last night, very old, And I'm stretched out as tall as a ladder; Mamma says I'm too large to hold. Sweet clover, stand still; do not blow so; I shall whisper 'way down in your ear, I was six years old early this morning. Would you think so to see me, my dear? 382 UNSATISFIED. Do you notice my pants and two pockets? I'm so old I must dress like a man; I must learn to read books and write letters, And I'll write one to you when I can. My pretty gold butterflies flying, Little bird and my busy brown bee, I shall never be too old to love you, And I hope you'll always love me. UNSATISFIED. p 7 " 1 HERE was a little chicken that was shut up in a shell, w He thought to himself, " I'm sure I cannot tell What I am walled in here for — a shocking coop I find, Unfitted for a chicken with an enterprising mind." He went out in the barnyard one lovely morn in May, Each hen he found spring-cleaning in the only proper way; " This yard is much too narrow — a shocking coop I find, Unfitted for a chicken with an enterprising mind." He crept up to the gateway and slipped betwixt a crack, The world stretched wide before him, and just as widely back; " This world is much too narrow — a shocking coop I find, Unfitted for a chicken with an enterprising mind." " I should like to have ideals, I should like to tread the stars, To get the unattainable, and free my soul from bars; I should like to leave this dark earth, and some other dwelling find, More fitted for a chicken with an enterprising mind. THE UNFINISHED PRAYER. 383 "There's a place where ducks and pleasure boats go sail- ing to and fro, There's one world on the surface and another world be- low." The little waves crept nearer and, on the brink inclined, They swallowed up the chicken with an enterprising mind. THE UNFINISHED PRAYER. WMOW I lay"— say it, darling; - "Lay me," lisp'd the tiny lips Of my daughter, kneeling, bending O'er her folded finger tips. "Down to sleep" — "to sleep," she murmured, And the curly head dropped low; " I pray the Lord " — I gently added, You can say it all, I know." " Pray the Lord" — the words came faintly. Fainter still — "my soul to keep"; When the tired head fairly nodded, And the child was fast asleep. But the dewy eyes half opened, When I clasped her to my breast, And the dear voice softly whispered, ' ' Mamma, God knows all the rest. " 384 A STORY OP AN APPLE. A STORY OF AN APPLE f ITTLE Tommy and Peter and Archy and Bob v"**a Were walking one day, when they found An apple; 'twas mellow and rosy and red, And lying alone on the ground. Said Tommy: " I'll have it." Said Peter: " 'Tis mine." Said Archy: " I've got it; so there! " Said Bobby: "Now let us divide in four parts, And each of us boys have a share." " No, no! " shouted Tommy, "I'll have it myself." Said Peter: " I want it, I say." Said Archy: "I've got it, and I'll have it all; I won't give a morsel away." Then Tommy, he snatched it, and Peter, he fought, ('Tis sad and distressing to tell!) And Archy held on with his might and his main, Till out of his fingers it fell. Away from the quarrelsome urchins it flew, And then, down a green little hill That apple it rolled, and it rolled, and it rolled As if it would never be still. A lazy old brindle was nipping the grass And switching her tail at the flies, When all of a sudden the apple rolled down And stopped just in front of her eyes; She gave but a bite and a swallow or two — That apple was seen nevermore! "I wish," whimpered Archy and Peter and Tom, "We'd kept it and cut it in four." THE DEAD KITTEN. 385 THE DEAD KITTEN. Ip^ON'T talk to me of parties, Nan, I really cannot go; — * When folks are in affliction they don't go out, you know. I have a new brown sash, too, it seems a pity — eh? That such a dreadful trial should have come just yesterday! The play-house blinds are all pulled down as dark as it can be; It looks so very solemn, and so proper, don't you see? And I have a piece of crape pinned on every dolly's hat; Tom says it is ridiculous for only just a cat — But boys are all so horrid! They always, every one, Delight in teasing little girls and kitties, "just for fun." The way he used to pull her tail — it makes me angry now — And scat her up the cherry tree, to make the darling < ' meow ! ' ' I've had her all the summer. One day away last spring, I heard a frightful barking, and I saw the little thing In the corner of the fence; 'twould have made you laugh outright To see how every hair stood out, and how she tried to fight. I shooed the dog away, and she jumped upon my arm; The pretty creature knew I wouldn't do her any harm. I hugged her close, and carried her to mamma, and she said She should be my own wee kitty, if I'd see that she was fed. 25 386 THE BIGGEST PIECE OF PIE. A cunning little dot she was, with silky, soft gray fur: She'd lie for hours on my lap, and I could hear her purr; And then she'd frolic after when I pulled a string about, Or try to catch her tail, or roll a marble in and out. Such a comfort she has been to me, I'm sure no one could tell, Unless some other little girl who loves her pussy well. I've heard about a Maltese cross, but my dear little kit Was always sweet and amiable, and never cross a bit! But oh, last week I missed her! I hunted all around. My darling little pussy-cat was nowhere to be found. I knelt and whispered softly, when nobody could see: "Take care of little kitty, please, and bring her back to me!" I found her lying, yesterday, behind the lower shed; I thought my heart was broken when I found that she was dead. Tom promised me another one, but even he can see No other kitty ever will be just the same to me! I can't go to your party, Nannie. — Maccaroons, you say? And ice cream? — I know I ought to try and not give 'way; And I feel it would be doing wrong to disappoint you so! — Well — if I'm equal to it by to-morrow — I may go! THE BIGGEST PIECE OF PIE. ^NCE when I was a little boy, I sat me down to cry, Because my little brother had The biggest piece of pie. PERSEVERE. — WHICH LOVED BEST. 387 They said I was a naughty boy, Bat I have since seen men Behave themselves as foolishly As I behaved then. For we are often thankless for Rich blessings, when we sigh To think some neighbor has A " bigger piece " of pie. PERSEVERE. 5^3 HE fisher who draws in his net too soon ^ Won't have any fish to sell; The child who shuts up his book too soon Won't learn any lessons well. For if you would have your learning stay, Be patient, don't learn too fast; The man who travels a mile each day Will get 'round the world at last. WHICH LOVED BEST. (((( | LOVE you, mother," said little Ben, -* Then forgetting his work, his cap went on, And he was off to the garden swing, And left her the water and wood to bring. * ' I love you, mother, ' ' said rosy Nell — "I love you better than tongue can tell"; Then she teased and pouted full half the day, Till her mother rejoiced when she went to play. 388 gkandpapa's spectacles. "I love you, mother," said little Fan, "To-day I'll help you all I can; How glad I am school doesn't keep "; So she rocked the babe till it fell asleep. Then, stepping softly, she fetched the broom, And swept the floor and tidied the room; Busy and happy all day was she, Helpful and happy as child could be. "I love you, mother," again they said, Three little children going to bed; How do you think that mother guessed Which of them really loved her best? GRANDPAPA'S SPECTACLES. MAMMA, what will grandpapa do! )) He's gone away to Heaven, Without the silver spectacles That Uncle John has given? How can he read the paper there, Or find his hickory staff? He'll put his coat on wrong side out, And make the people laugh. And when he takes the Bible down, And wipes the dusty lid, He'll never find his spectacles • Within its covers hid. There won't be any little girl He likes so well as me, To run and hunt them up for him, — And put them on his knee. lulu's complaint. 389 O, dear! he'll never find the place About the " wicked flee," And how the bears ate children up, (That used to frighten me) ! So, mamma, if you'll dress me up Just like an angel bright, I'll fix our ladder 'gainst the sky, And take them up to-night. LULU'S COMPLAINT. [? 'SE a poor ' ittle sorrowful baby, -* For Bidget is 'way down stairs; My titten has scatched my fin'er, And Dolly won't say her p'ayers. I hain't seen my bootif ul mamma Since ever so long ado; An' I ain't her tunninest baby No londer, for Bidget says so. Mamma dot anoder new baby, Dod dived it — he did — yes'erday; An' itkies, it kies — oh, so defful! I wis' He would take it away. I don't want no " sweet 'ittle sister"; I want my dood mamma, I do; I want her to tiss me, and tiss me, An' tall me her p'ecious Lulu. I dess my dear papa will bin' me A 'ittle dood titten some day; Here's nurse wid my mamma's new baby; I wis' she would tate it away. 390 johnny's opinion of grandmothers. Oh, oh! what timnin red fiu'ers! It sees me 'ite out of its eyes; I dess we will teep it, and dive it Some can'y whenever it kies. I dess I will dive it my dolly To play wid 'mos' every day; An' I dess, I dess — Say, Bidget, Ask Dod not to tate it away. JOHNNY'S OPINION OF GRANDMOTHERS. GRANDMOTHERS are very nice folks; ^* They beat all the aunts in creation; They let a chap do as he likes And don't worry about education. I'm sure I can't see it at all, What a poor fellow ever could do For apples and pennies and cakes, Without a grandmother or two. Grandmothers speak softly to " rna's" To let a. boy have a good time; Sometimes they will whisper, 'tis true, T'other way when a boy wants to climb. Grandmothers have muffins for tea, And pies, a whole row, in the cellar. And they're apt (if they know it in time) To make chicken-pies for a feller. *THE YOUNGEST TELLS HER STORY. 391 And if he is bad now and then, And makes a great racketing noise, They only look over their specs And say, " Ah, these boys will be boys! "Life is only so short at the best; Let the children be happy to-day." Then they look for awhile at the sky, And the hills that are far, far away. Quite often as twilight comes on, Grandmothers sing hymns very low To themselves, as they rock by the fire, About Heaven, and when they shall go. And then a boy, stopping to think, Will find a hot tear in his eye, To know what must come at the last, For grandmothers all have to die. I wish they could stay here and pray, For a boy needs their prayers every night. Some boys more than others, I s'pos'e ; Such fellers as me need a sight. THE YOUNGEST TELLS HER STORY. YOU think that / can't tell a story — Just wait — no! 'tisn't 'bout Jack Mory; This morning it was early, quite, I saw a little fairy knight, With silver boots and silver shield, A-tramping through the clover field. He held a spear that looked like grass, But 'twas a truly spear of glass; 392 mamma's kisses. A silver bugle at his lips, He played with tiny finger tips; He held a flag o' grass-green silk; A branch of lilies white as milk; He held — "How many hands had he?" You're cruel to make fun of me! No! I won't tell another bit; You've lost the sweetest part of it! MAMMA'S KISSES. KISS when I wake in the morning, A kiss when I go to bed, A kiss when I burn my fingers, A kiss when I bump my head, A kiss when my bath is over, A kiss when my bath begins; My mamma is as full of kisses — As full as nurse is of pins. A kiss when I play with my rattle A kiss when I pull her hair; She covered me over with kisses The day that I fell down stair. A kiss when I give her trouble, A kiss when I give her joy; There's nothing like mamma's kisses To her own little baby boy. WHY THE DOG'S NOSE IS ALWAYS COLD. 393 WHY THE DOG'S NOSE IS ALWAYS COLD." ((Ci*^X%KAT makes the dog's nose always cold?" ~^ I'll try to tell you, curls of gold, If you will good and quiet be, And come and stand by mamma's knee. Well, years, and years, and years ago — How many I don't really know — There came a rain on sea and shore; Its like was never seen before Or since. It fell unceasing down, Till all the world began to drown. But just before it began to pour, An old, old man — his name was Noah — Built him an ark, that he might save His fam'ly from a wat'ry grave; And in it also he designed To shelter two of every kind Of beast. Well, dear, when it was done, And heavy clouds obscured the sun, The Noah folks to it quickly ran, And then the animals began To gravely march along in pairs; The leopards, tigers, wolves and bears, The deer, the hippopotamuses, The rabbits, squirrels, elks, walruses, The camels, goats, cats and donkeys, The tall giraffes, the beavers, monkeys, The rats, the big rhinoceroses, The dromedaries and the horses, The sheep, and mice, the kangaroos, Hyenas, elephants, koodoos. 394 OFF FOR SLUMBERLAND. And hundreds more — 'twould take all day, My dear, so many names to say — And at the very, very end Of the procession, by his friend And master, faithful dog was seen; The livelong time he'd helping been To drive the crowd of creatures in, And now, with loud, exultant bark, He gaily sprang aboard the Ark. Alas! so crowded was the space He could not in it find a place; So, patiently he turned about — Stood half way in and half way out. And those extremely heavy show'rs Decended through nine hundred hours And more; and, darling, at the close, Most frozen was his honest nose; And never could it lose again The dampness of that dreadful rain, And that is what, my curls of gold, Made all the doggies' noses cold! OFF FOR SLUMBERLAND. 'URPLE waves of evening play Upon the western shores of day, While babies sail, so safe and free, Over the mystic Slumber sea. Their little boats are cradles light; The sails are curtains pure and white; The rudders are sweet lullabies; The anchors, soft and sleepy sighs. THE ARITHMETIC LESSON. 395 They're outward bound for Slumberland. Where shining dreams lie on the sand, Like whisp'ring shells that murmur low The pretty fancies babies know. And there among the dream-shells bright The little ones will play all night, Until the sleepy tide turns — then They'll all come sailing home again! THE ARITHMETIC LESSON. !lWO times 'leven are twenty- two; ^© Kitty, don't I wish 'twas you 'Stead of me had this to do! Two times 'leven are twenty-two. Three times 'leven are thirty- three; Robin, in the apple tree, I hear you, do you hear me? Three times 'leven are thirty three. Four times 'leven are forty-four; How the sunbeams speck the floor! Four times 'leven, what a bore! Four times 'leven are forty-four. Five times 'leven are fifty-five ; Swallows! swallows! skim and dive — Making all the air alive — Five times 'leven are fifty-five. Six times 'leven are sixty-six; Tip, for shame, sir! Pretty chicks, Don't you mind his naught tricks ! Six times 'leven are sixty-six. 396 THKNKSGIVING DAY. Seven times 'leven are seventy-seven; There now, Kitty; you can't even Say the first — " once 'leven is 'leven!" Seven times 'leven are seventy-seven. Eight times 'leven are eighty-eight, Some one's pulling at the gate — Hark! 'tis Bessie, sure as fate! Eight times 'leven are eighty-eight. Nine times 'leven are ninety-nine; Coming, Bessie! Ain't it fine — That's the last one in the line! Nine times 'leven are ninety-nine. THANKSGIVING DAY. VER the river, and through the wood, To grandfather's house we go; The horse knows the way To carry the sleigh, Through the white and drifted snow. Over the river, and through the wood; Oh, how the wind does blow! It stings the toes, And bites the nose, As over the ground we go. Over the river, and through the wood, And straight through the barn-yard gate; We seem to go Extremely slow; It is so hard to wait! G00D-NIG3T. 397 Over the river, and through the wood; Now grandmother's cap I spy! Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done? Hurrah for the pumpkin pie! GOOD-NIGHT. fftf/pjOOD night! "said the plow to the weary old horse; ^-"^ And Dobbin responded, "Good night!" Then, with Tom on his back, to the farm-house he turned, With a feeling of quiet delight. "Good-night! " said the ox, with a comical bow, As he turned from the heavy old cart, Which laughed till it shook a round wheel from its side, Then creaked out, " Good-night from my heart ! " " Good-night! " said the hen, when her supper was done, To Fanny, who stood in the door; "Good-night!" answered Fanny; "Come back in the morn, And you and your cMcks shall have more." " Quack, quack! " said the duck; "I wish you all well, Though I cannot tell what is polite." "The will for the deed," answered Benny, the brave; "Good-night, Madam Ducky, good-night!" 398 LITTLE MISS BRIEE. LITTLE MISS BRIER. t ITTLE Miss Brier came out of the ground; ' — ^ She put out her thorns and scratched everything 'round. " I'll just try," said she, ' ' How bad I can be " ; At pricking and scratching there's few can match me." Little Miss Brier was handsome and bright, Her leaves were dark green and her flowers pure white. But all who came nigh her Were so worried by her, They'd dodge out of their way to keep clear of the Brier. Little Miss Brier was looking one day; At her neighbor, the Violet, just over the way; "I wonder," said she, ' ' That no one pets me, While all seem so glad little Violet to see." A sober old Linnet, who sat on a tree, Heard the speech of the Brier, and thus answered he: " 'Tis not that she's fair, For you may compare In beauty with even Miss Violet there. " But Violet is always so pleasant and kind, So gentle in manner, so humble in mind, Even the worms at her feet * She would never ill treat, And to bird, bee and butterfly always is sweet." The gardener's wife just then the pathway came down, And the mischievous Brier caught hold of her gown: ONLY A BOY. 399 "Oh, dear! what a tear! My gown's spoiled, I declare; That troublesome Brier had no business there; Here, John, dig it up; throw it into the fire"; And that was the end of the ill-natured Brier. ONLY A BOY. NLY a boy with his noise and fun, The veriest mystery under the sun; As brimful of mischief and wit and glee, As ever a human frame can be, And as hard to manage — what! ah me! 'Tis hard to tell, Yet we love him well. Only a boy with his fearful tread, Who cannot be driven, must be led! Who troubles the neighbors' dogs and cats, And tears more clothes and spoils more hats, Loses more kites and tops and bats Than would stock a store For a week or more. Only a boy with his wild, strange ways, With his idle hours or his busy days, With his queer remarks and his odd replies, Sometimes foolish and sometimes wise, Often brilliant for one of his size, As a meteor hurled From the planet world. u\o 400 grabie's tempeB. Only a boy, who may be a man If nature goes on with her first great plan — If intemperance or some fatal snare, Conspires not to rob us of this our heir, Our blessing, our trouble, our rest, our care, Our torment, our joy! "Only a boy!" GRACIE'S TEMPER. ,NCE a gentle, snow-white birdie, Came and built its nest, In a spot you'd never dream of, — In a baby's breast. Then how happy, gentle, loving, Grew the baby, Grace; All the smiles and all the dimples Brightened in her face. But a black and ugly raven Came one morn that way; Came and drove the gentle birdie From its nest away. Ah! how frowning and unlovely Was our Gracie then, Until evening brought the white dove To its nest again. Children, this was Grade's raven, This her gentle dove, — In her heart a naughty temper Drove away the love." APR -9*1935 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 021 100 502 6