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 Copyright N°. 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 Poets sing of life at the lees 
 
 In tender verses and delicate: 
 Of tears and manifold agonies — 
 
 Little they know of what they prate. 
 Out of this silence, passionate 
 
 Sounds a deeper, a wilder chord. 
 If a song be heard through the close-barred gate. 
 
 Have pity on these my comrades, Lord ! 
 
 Hard Labor. 
 
 By X107 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 HALL'S BOOK SHOP 
 
 1916 
 
<''~K^^ 
 
 Copyright 1916, by 
 LORIN F. D ELAND 
 
 JUL -3 IBiS 
 
 ;)CI.A4.']3573 
 
s^ 
 
 To 
 
 A. H. 
 
 in recognition. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Foreword 9 
 
 IN PRISON : 
 
 An Evening Prayer 13 
 
 The Dream 15 
 
 Consolation 17 
 
 The Contrast 20 
 
 The Devh^'s Own Time 22 
 
 The Word for the Deed .... 24 
 
 Postponed 25 
 
 Romance and Reality 26 
 
 Conscience 27 
 
 To You, Pierette 30 
 
 To My Friend 31 
 
 You AND I 32 
 
 April Weather 34 
 
 The Blazed Trail 35 
 
 Lest I Fall 36 
 
 To My Mother 37 
 
ON PAROLE: 
 
 Spring in the City 41 
 
 The Two Loves 43 
 
 Forgive 44 
 
 My Song 45 
 
 If Such Love Came 46 
 
 Love's Token 47 
 
 Why? 48 
 
 FREEDOM : 
 
 Letters 51 
 
 The Song of the Fuse 65 
 
FOREWORD 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 These verses are the cry of a soul jailed in its 
 body. 
 
 The Body, X107, knew the barred door, the 
 prison dress, the physical humiliations of the cell, 
 the rage against a society forced thus to protect 
 itself. 
 
 But the Soul, looking through the eyes of its 
 jailer, the Body, saw the stars; it felt the winds 
 blowing over fields of blossoming grass; it heard 
 the lap of moon-led waters, and the laughter of 
 little children. 
 
 Which was the real woman — the Body or the 
 Soul; the Body, which found its level in the gutter, 
 or the Soul, rejoicing in beauty and goodness? 
 Who can say! 
 
 But there is one thing we can say, — we who feel 
 the tragic contradiction of the singer and her song. 
 We can confess that our way of punishing the body 
 
may, and often does, destroy the souL In this 
 little book the soul of XI 07, in spite of us and our 
 blunders and cruelties, is yet alive, and sings. 
 
 These verses are published as they were written, 
 without any attempt at editing. The brief extracts 
 from letters, chosen at random, are included with 
 the consent of the author. They give a glimpse of 
 later life and personality. 
 
 LoRiN F. Deland. 
 
IN PRISON 
 
 These are pawns that the hand of Fate 
 Careless sweeps from the checkerboard. 
 
 Thou that know'st if the game be straight. 
 Have pity on these my comrades, Lord! 
 
 Hard Labor. 
 
AN EVENING PRAYER 
 
 DEAR God, another day is done, 
 And I have seen the golden sun 
 Swing in the arch from east to west. 
 And sink behind the pines to rest. 
 Now night comes creeping, velvet-shod. 
 And I would give Thee thanks, dear God, 
 That Thou hast been with me today. 
 And helped me o'er the stony way. 
 I thank Thee that Thou gavest me 
 The power of sight; that I may see 
 The tinted glories of thy skies. 
 An earthly glimpse of Paradise: 
 The power to hear the evening breeze 
 Swelling in organ harmonies: 
 The power to feel the tender grasp 
 Of loving hands in friendship's clasp: 
 The power to breathe the sweet perfume 
 Of dainty tea rose in its bloom: 
 To taste the fruit, which Thou didst bless, 
 Like manna in the Wilderness. 
 I thank Thee for these gifts to me, 
 
14 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 But one thing more I ask of Thee: 
 From out thy bounteous, gracious hand, 
 Give me the power to understand, 
 To understand — to sympathize — 
 To note the pain in others' eyes ; 
 To have the power to rightly read 
 The kindly motive of each deed. 
 And this I humbly ask of Thee, 
 Because I know Thou lovest me. 
 
THE DREAM 
 
 WHILE on my pillow Care did brood, 
 I, friendless, laid me down and dreamed 
 That where the pale cold moonlight streamed 
 A spirit in my chamber stood. 
 
 Her face was pure, divine and mild. 
 With that sweet look, surpassing fair, 
 Such as all true born mothers wear 
 When gazing at a well-loved child. 
 
 She glided by and from my shelf 
 Took down my Uttle book of rhyme 
 Wherein I tried from time to time 
 To bring to Ufe my hidden self. 
 
 And at her touch it seemed to me. 
 
 The thoughts that my poor words concealed, 
 
 Sprang into life, and stood revealed 
 
 As I had meant that thev should be. 
 
16 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 She closed the book. In ecstasy 
 I felt her eyes upon me turn ; 
 And for her touch my heart did yearn ; 
 The spirit's name was Sympathy. 
 
 I woke. Dull care was still with me, 
 "Go search" he said, "in other lands. 
 And find the heart that understands, 
 And there you'll find sweet Sympathy." 
 
CONSOLATION 
 
 WHEN the heart was young and the 
 eyes were bright, 
 She gazed at the starry dome of night 
 And said, "This world is a beautiful place 
 And God is the King of a noble race. 
 And I know some day I shall see His face," 
 For the heart was young, and the eyes were 
 bright. 
 
 When the heart was young, and the blood 
 
 was red, 
 The tempter came and softly said: 
 "Oh! come with me, where the gay lights 
 
 swing, 
 There are none of us born, but must have our 
 
 fling," 
 And youth at its best is a fleeting thing, 
 When the heart is young, and the blood is red. 
 
18 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 When the heart was young, and the blood 
 
 ran fast, 
 The throb of the city lured at last. 
 Where they sin by night, and they sin by day, 
 And the golden idols turn to clay, 
 And a battered soul is the price they pay, 
 When the heart is young, and the blood runs 
 
 fast. 
 
 And the heart was scarred, and the eyes were 
 
 dim. 
 And soul and body grew sick with sin. 
 And her eyes were scorched with the bitter 
 
 tears 
 She shed for the sinful waste of years. 
 And the hopes ran low, through doubts and 
 
 fears. 
 When the heart was scarred, and the eyes 
 
 were dim. 
 
 And the heart grew cold, and the way seemed 
 
 drear, 
 When there came a voice to her Ustening ear: 
 "Although my mandates you have denied, 
 'Twas for such as you that I lived and died, 
 'Twas for such as you I was crucified 
 When hearts were cold, and the way seemed 
 
 drear." 
 
CONSOLATION 19 
 
 And the heart was calmed, and the way grew 
 
 fair 
 And she breathed a humble penitent prayer, 
 And back from their sinful sleeping spell 
 Came the same ideals in her heart to dwell 
 That had drawn her back from the mouth of 
 
 hell, 
 And the heart was calm and the way grew fair. 
 
 And the heart grew young, and the eyes grew 
 
 bright, 
 When again she gazed at the dome of night. 
 And said, "Oh world! I have known disgrace, 
 Still up beyond I may find a place. 
 For the penitent thief saw the Master's face : " 
 And the heart was young and the eyes were 
 
 bright. 
 
20 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 THE CONTRAST 
 
 Then — 
 
 THE God of a Christian people 
 Looked down on a Christian land, 
 And saw in a prison court-yard 
 A cowering woman stand. 
 The whip, from the hand of the jailer, 
 Fell with a sickening thud 
 Across the back of the victim, 
 Dyed red with her crimson blood. 
 
 And the Watcher's heart was troubled. 
 His eyes o'ershadowed with pain. 
 And he murmured "Oh my Father, 
 Have I suffered for such in vain.?" 
 Then he bade his garden angel 
 Pluck souls, just ready for birth. 
 And filling them with his pity, 
 Sent them down here to the earth. 
 
THE CONTRAST 21 
 
 Now — 
 
 The God of a Christian people 
 Looked down on a Christian land, 
 And there in a fair green country 
 Saw another Prison stand. 
 'Twas ruled by the hand of mercy, 
 And soothed was the heart's unrest. 
 And body and soul were cared for 
 While search was made for the best. 
 
 They breathed the air of the heavens, 
 They worshipped, they worked, they played, 
 And hands were eager to guide them, 
 Lest from Christ's pathway they strayed. 
 And the Watcher's heart grew joyful. 
 Sweet peace illumined his face. 
 For souls he had plucked in Heaven 
 Had each found its rightful place. 
 
 And oft on a summer's evening 
 Praises are flung to the breeze. 
 Sung by His wayward children. 
 Under the mulberry trees. 
 
22 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 THE DEVIL'S OWN TIME 
 
 THERE was laughter gay, as they rode 
 away 
 From the place where they wined and dined ; 
 And the car held four, but there rode one more 
 For the devil was perched behind. 
 And the road they took had an eerie look 
 As it wound by the cliff's tall height, 
 And below like ink, curled the river's brink 
 Like a wriggling snake in the night. 
 
 And one was a girl, whom the city's whirl 
 
 Had changed to a woman so bold, 
 
 And one bore the trace of a lovely face. 
 
 And a heart with the greed of gold. 
 
 And the men were two of the men who view 
 
 Every woman with vulture's eyes; 
 
 They were men of ease, and in such as these 
 
 Finds the devil his best disguise. 
 
THE DEVIL'S OWN TIME 23 
 
 And the moon shone cold on a flask of gold, 
 
 As they passed it from hand to hand; 
 
 And they took warm sips from each other's lips, 
 
 When the wine their passion had fanned. 
 
 They sang a song, but the words went wrong, 
 
 So they sang of the skies above, 
 
 And they sang of the charms of a lover's arms. 
 
 And they sang of their wanton love. 
 
 And it seemed a joke when the skid-chain 
 
 broke. 
 And the car did a drunken reel ; 
 And they laughed with glee for they could not 
 
 see 
 The devil was guiding the wheel. 
 Then out in the night rang a cry of fright. 
 And the car like a thing possessed 
 Leaped over the edge of the clifif's high ledge 
 And sank in the black river's breast. 
 
 And the moonlight flashed, and the water 
 
 dashed 
 Its spray 'gainst the cliff's grey stone. 
 And down with the dead, in the river's bed. 
 The devil was counting his own. 
 And a farmer's lad, (folks say he was mad) 
 WTio passed in the early morn, 
 Heard the weirdest noise, where the curlews 
 
 poise, 
 'Twas the devil tooting the horn. 
 
24 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 {To , on her Birthday.) 
 
 THE WORD FOR THE DEED 
 
 DEAR lady, on thy natal day, 
 Amid your gifts so grand and gay, 
 Pray listen to this roundelay 
 From me, a sad bad poet. 
 
 I would that I could dedicate 
 
 To you, a poem, oh so great. 
 
 That Shakespeare would seem second rate; 
 
 And all the world should know it. 
 
 But woe is me! My Muse has flown 
 And left me, poemless, alone. 
 She went to regions quite unknown, 
 As fast as she could go it. 
 
 Nor can I buy you candy sweet. 
 Nor purchase a swell opera seat, 
 I cannot buy you fruit to eat. 
 And I am sadly harassed. 
 
 I cannot buy sweet flowers of spring 
 I cannot buy a blessed thing! 
 I am, like all the bards who sing. 
 Financially embarrassed! 
 
POSTPONED 
 
 (With apologies to G. K. Chesterton.) 
 
 I PLANNED from off my window ledge 
 To leap to death, and be no more ; 
 But it has just occurred to me 
 That I live on the cold first floor. 
 Postponed must be my suicide, 
 And I must seek another way ; 
 Then, too, there is a show tonight! 
 I shall not kill myself today. 
 
 I hear the story that for months 
 
 I've followed in a magazine, 
 
 In the next number quickly ends. 
 
 To miss it would be quite too mean. 
 
 They say some day, — in fact next week, 
 
 Our board will festive be and gay : 
 
 The sun feels good — I've changed my mind; 
 
 I shall not kill myself today. 
 
26 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY 
 
 DAPHNE, let us hand in hand, 
 Visit that enchanted land 
 Where the Nile in grandeur flows, 
 Where the stately palm tree grows; 
 Where the maids of old Japan 
 Flirt behind a painted fan; 
 Where Niagara throws her veil 
 Diamond decked, the sun to hail; 
 Where they dance, 'mid merry scenes, 
 To the sound of tambourines; 
 
 Daphne, let us Rhymes are tame ! 
 
 What say to the movies, Mame? 
 
CONSCIENCE 
 
 WHEN the owlet hoots, and the black 
 night creeps, 
 And the great house, wrapped in its shadow, 
 
 sleeps; 
 When the bell tolls two in a muffled chime, 
 As it counts the steps of the flight of Time, 
 The rich man wakes, and he seems to feel 
 An icy breath, through his chamber steal, 
 And sees, in the depths of his easy chair, 
 His nightly visitor seated there. 
 
 The head's proud poise, and the turn of the 
 
 arm. 
 And the look in the face that bodes him harm. 
 As familiar seem, in the shadows dim, 
 As his mirrored face, when it smiles at him. 
 But his brain is numbed, 'neath the night's 
 
 dark spell. 
 And the phantom's name he cannot tell. 
 
28 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 Yet it casts on him an unearthly stare, 
 
 As it calmly lolls in his easy chair, 
 
 Till the rich man's brow is wet with dew, 
 
 And he hoarsely whispers, "Who are you?" 
 
 Then the phantom laughs, "What, awake 
 
 at last? 
 I have been with you for an hour past. 
 If you look again, you will plainly see 
 That I am the one that vou used to be. 
 
 "I know in your heart that you thought me 
 
 dead: 
 But I walk with you, quite unseen, instead: 
 And I watch you read, where the poet sings, 
 How a man can step to the highest things: 
 And you seem to think you can do the same, 
 So you lead a life, that is dull and tame; 
 But I think, my friend, 'tis a wild sweet 
 
 dream. 
 For you left me out of your little scheme. 
 So lest you forget, and should count me dead, 
 I shall come each night to your lonely bed, 
 When the owlet hoots, and the clock strikes 
 
 two. 
 And tell you the things that you used to do. 
 
 "How your love for gold made you mean as 
 
 dirt, 
 How you never cared for another's hurt. 
 
CONSCIENCE 29 
 
 How you ploughed your way, just to gain 
 
 your ends, 
 O'er the bleeding hearts of your dearest 
 
 friends, 
 How you told a maid you would love for aye 
 Then you cast her off, when you had your way : 
 And lest cold remorse in your soul should sink, 
 You filled your veins with the demon Drink! 
 You robbed the needy, you cursed the poor, 
 And you drove the hungry from out your door. 
 And these are the things, I shall tell to you. 
 When the black night creeps, and the clock 
 
 strikes two. 
 
 "I shall come at night and shall have my way, 
 For I am a part of the price you pay : 
 You will toss and turn, you will sigh and groan. 
 And send up prayers to the Great White 
 
 Throne ; 
 And blush in the dark, though none can see, 
 When you think of the thing that you used 
 
 to be." 
 
 When the owlet hoots, and the black night 
 
 creeps 
 And the great house, wrapped in its shadow, 
 
 sleeps. 
 The rich man wakes at the hour of two, 
 To hear of the things that he used to do. 
 
30 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 TO YOU, PIERETTE 
 
 FAREWELL, Pierette, 
 The fleeting hours 
 I spent with you, 
 Are faded flowers. 
 No more you dance 
 To lilting lay 
 Of silver pipes 
 Till break of day. 
 You leave the throng, 
 I linger yet, 
 Neath ash of death 
 I smile, Pierette! 
 Across the stretch 
 Of Memory's lands, 
 My eyes seek yours, 
 And hands seek hands. 
 I smile, because 
 I must not weep. 
 I wear the mask, 
 I sow, I reap. 
 
 On with the dance! 
 I would forget 
 I am Pierot, 
 You were Pierette. 
 
M 
 
 TO MY FRIEND 
 
 Y soul was sick with bitter strife, 
 I hated man and hated life. 
 
 I feared to think of coming years, 
 
 The world was gray through mists of tears. 
 
 I cried aloud, I was bereft; 
 I knew that only God was left. 
 
 I cried to Him, "Oh succour me!" 
 And then, dear friend, He sent me thee. 
 
 II 
 
 I crept to my room, and I closed my door, 
 And I fell on my knees by the narrow bed. 
 And I lifted my face to God and said, 
 "You have sent me a friend, I can ask no 
 more." 
 
32 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 {Written to another prisoner on her birthday.) 
 
 YOU AND I 
 
 WE have met, you and I, 
 Like stray birds in the night, 
 Whose wings gently touch 
 In their wind-driven flight. 
 So together we drift 
 Till the morning's first rays 
 Show to each her own path. 
 And the parting of ways. 
 
 We must part, you and I, 
 When our course is made clear. 
 Though the time has been brief, 
 The companionship dear. 
 Though new voices I hear 
 And new faces I see, 
 They shall never erase 
 Fond rememibrance of thee. 
 
YOU AND I 33 
 
 Shall we meet, you and I, 
 Ere our life's sands are run ? 
 We must leave that to Him, 
 The Omnipotent One. 
 All I ask, all I pray, 
 In the darkness of night. 
 He will guide you and me 
 In the path that is right. 
 
34 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 APRIL WEATHER 
 
 I SAID, in the night, I shall smile no more, 
 For my grief seemed deep, and my heart 
 was sore; 
 But I woke when the sun caressed my lips, 
 And I tingled down to my finger tips. 
 So I sang, instead, a lilting lay 
 To an April sky on an April day. 
 
THE BLAZED TRAIL 
 
 HOW fast the years swing round, my 
 friend, 
 How fast the years swing round! 
 Accomplished hopes and conquered fears, 
 Unkept resolves and bitter tears, 
 Are blazed along the trail of years ; 
 How fast the years swing round! 
 
 How brief from birth to death, my friend, 
 
 How brief from birth to death! 
 
 Like some strange dream, now sad, now 
 
 sweet. 
 Wherein the bad and good compete, 
 We taste of joy, we know defeat ; 
 How brief from birth to death! 
 
 Oh, may your years be sweet, my friend, 
 Oh, may your years be sweet! 
 The trail you blaze, a marking place 
 Of victories won in Life's hard race, 
 And then — at last — the Savior's face. 
 Oh, may your years be sweet! 
 
36 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 LEST I FALL 
 
 WHEN heavy rests Thy hand on me, 
 When sorrow doth my brow enwreath, 
 Oh, let me not forget, dear God, 
 
 Thy stronger hand rests underneath 
 
TO MY MOTHER 
 
 DAUGHTER of men who left the snug 
 harbors, 
 To court wild adventure and conquer the 
 
 waves; 
 Whose Bible and chart were their sure guide 
 
 to heaven, 
 Who smilingly went to their sea-weed decked 
 graves. 
 
 You have your compass. The Bible your 
 
 chart is; 
 Snug is your harbor; you watch from the 
 
 shore 
 Another one, sailing on Life's stormy ocean, 
 Asteep with adventure, athirsty for lore. 
 
 Would that my course could be laid as you 
 
 wish it ; 
 Would that your harbor could bring both 
 
 content ; 
 Mine is a craft that was fashioned for waters 
 Where circles the whirlpool on treachery bent. 
 
38 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 Grieve not, I beg you, though still I am 
 
 drifting. 
 Blame not yourself for a strange craft like 
 
 mine. 
 Drawn were the plans of it back in the ages, 
 Yet all of the good, dear, within it is thine. 
 
ON PAROLE 
 
 As I leap forth 
 Into a strange, kind world, a moment halt 
 My footsteps; and the chance which makes my worth 
 I weigh with that mischance they call my fault. 
 
 Hard Labor. 
 
SPRING IN THE CITY 
 
 OH! Spring in the city! It sets my heart 
 beating! 
 It goes to my head like the tang of the sea! 
 When down the wet pavements, young March 
 
 flings her greeting, 
 With wild, whistled songs full of hoydenish 
 glee. 
 
 Oh blue is her bonnet, with plumes soft and 
 
 cloudy! 
 And gray is her gown with a silvery sheen, 
 And through the long rent, where she tore it, 
 
 the rowdy, 
 Peeps out her bright petticoat, emerald green. 
 
 She skips through the Common, the winds 
 
 follow after, 
 Now coaxing, beguiling, wherever she goes : 
 And up to the bishop she dances with laughter, 
 And knocks his staid head-gear atilt on his 
 
 nose. 
 
42 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 Her cry-baby sister has loaned her the flowers 
 That drop from her gown in her wild, merry 
 
 race; 
 The violet and crocus, from April's own 
 
 bowers. 
 She saucily tosses in mother Earth's face. 
 
 Oh! Spring in the city! It sets my heart 
 
 beating! 
 It goes to my head like a draught of old wine : 
 Stay, March, I implore you! Oh, be not sc 
 
 fleeting. 
 For, witch that you are, you are wholly 
 
 divine! 
 
THE TWO LOVES 
 
 NIGHT dew falling —Night birds calling- 
 Mr. Jack O'Lantern Moon a'hanging in 
 a tree: 
 Breezes vagrant — Odors fragrant — 
 Come out, little lady love, and meet the night 
 with me. 
 
 Violets sleeping — Sharp eyes peeping — 
 
 Eyes of little living things that love the night 
 hours well: 
 
 Birds are mating — I am waiting 
 
 Underneath your window, dear, my Spring- 
 time love to tell. 
 
 Green buds blowing — Bright stars glowing — 
 Do not think me iickle when I say that I 
 
 love two: 
 Life is rounded — Joy unbounded — 
 When 'neath open skies, I greet sweet Lady 
 
 Spring and you. 
 
44 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 FORGIVE 
 
 DID 'ST see me on the yesterday, 
 When meadoward we took our way, 
 Strike at the hand that Ufted up 
 To my parched lips, life's brimming cup? 
 Did'st see me then I say? 
 
 And seeing, did'st thou veil thine eyes, 
 Filled with a saddened, pained surprise? 
 Or was it planned that such as I 
 Must know a thousand deaths? Then die 
 Ere I have grasped the prize? 
 
 Did'st see me on the yesternight 
 When sickened soul was black with blight ? 
 Dread quivers of despairing shame 
 Scorched my poor body like a flame. 
 Did'st see me then — at night? 
 
 Upon my heart a little ring 
 Of whitened scars, that burn and sting, 
 Remind me that I struck the hand 
 That led me to a promised land. 
 How long doth Memory cUng? 
 
MY SONG 
 
 I CANNOT help but sing, I said, 
 For joy hath lately found me! 
 When friendly stars shine overhead, 
 I cannot help but sing, I said : 
 Would 'st have me weep? The past is dead, 
 And kindly friends surround me. 
 I cannot help but sing, I said, 
 For joy hath lately found me! 
 
46 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 IF SUCH LOVE CAME 
 
 IF Love should come to me some day, 
 And I should sadly to him say, 
 Before he pressed his first warm kiss, 
 I have done this, and this, and this, 
 Confessing sins of human clay; 
 And he should coldly turn away: — 
 I would not sigh, nor weep, nor moan, 
 Nor worship Grief on purple throne; 
 But rather would I softly say. 
 If Love should come to me, some day, — 
 " 'Tis better so. Adieu, — we part ! 
 This thing you nurtured in your heart 
 Was never Love; for Love forgives, 
 And understands, forbears, and lives!" 
 And gladly would I go my way. 
 If such Love came to me some day. 
 
LOVE'S TOKEN 
 
 I BURIED Love, and softly laid 
 My hopes away, 'neath sylvan shade, 
 For I was sore beset. 
 
 I watered it with bitter tears 
 
 That flowed from thoughts of other years 
 
 That I would fain forget. 
 
 But when there dawned another day, 
 From where my Love neglected lay, 
 There sprang a violet. 
 
48 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 WHY? 
 
 SWEPT in by the tide, and cast on Life's 
 bosom, 
 Unwanted, uncalled for, an atom of chance; 
 Groping and cursed by the sins of another. 
 Hopelessly watching the grey years advance. 
 
 Swept on by the tide, in its merciless surging, 
 Battered and lashed by black Poverty's wave 
 A plaything of Fate, by Fate ill-begotten, 
 Wind driven derelict, marked for the grave. 
 
 Swept out by the tide to the land of surmises; 
 Questions unanswered, naught learned but 
 
 a cry; 
 Crushed by the strife of an unsought existence; 
 Back to the Nowhere, murmuring "Why?" 
 
FREEDOM 
 
 Free, I said, free! 
 And fate comes behind and scourges me. 
 
 Hard Labor. 
 
EXTRACTS 
 FROM LETTERS 
 
 I went to the new situation last night at 
 
 the Besides the work of cashier, 
 
 I am to do all the bookkeeping, keep the 
 registry, attend to sixty-five mail boxes, do 
 the post ofi&ce business, and take care of three 
 public telephones. Although the work was 
 intricate, I handled it all right. I was told 
 that there was no time allowed for dinner 
 during the eight hours' work, but that in place 
 of dinner the boy would give me an egg drink 
 from the soda fountain. I am to work also 
 on Sundays and holidays — without extra pay 
 of course. I don't mind the hard work, but, 
 frankly, the atmosphere of the whole place 
 was not at all to my liking. By the time I 
 had my cash balanced it was nearly one o'clock 
 in the morning. The proprietor's father, a 
 dissolute -looking old man, with baggy eyes, 
 and who looked like pictures of General 
 Butler, winked at me every time his son's 
 back was turned, and even gave my arm a 
 very fatherly pressure when he let me out of 
 the side door after work. Pleasant, wasn't it? 
 
 I have to use my own instincts about these 
 
52 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 places, I suppose; but don't for a moment 
 think that I am afraid of the hard work when 
 I say that I would rather not stay here. Do 
 you think that I am rash, and am throwing 
 away a possible chance? You know I think a 
 good deal of your opinion on the subject. 
 
 When I think sometimes that my identity 
 may be discovered, I turn sick with fear. It 
 
 is a dreadful secret to carry around. R , 
 
 whom I knew five years ago, wonders at the 
 improvement in me, in speech as well as looks, 
 and is so interested in my verses that I am 
 immensely flattered. Anyhow, thanks to 
 you, I find myself picking much wiser asso- 
 ciates, and I think they will be my salvation. 
 I am still out of work, but I am helping out 
 in a lunch room from eleven to half past three, 
 which keeps the proverbial wolf from coming 
 to life. This is only temporary, but I think 
 I am lucky, for it means one square meal a 
 day at least. 
 
 Oh, such a crowded, lonesome city! It is 
 a very dangerous thing to be unemployed 
 where there are lights and laughter and music, 
 and one is alone. It has given me a good 
 idea for a magazine story, but it is so hot in 
 my "two by four" that I can't write. I will 
 
EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS 53 
 
 get along somehow, and if looking will bring 
 me work, I shall get it surely. 
 
 I am reading Science and Health, and find 
 the principle very fine. One must believe 
 in the principle, and not in the personaHty 
 of anyone connected with it. Were it not 
 so, I would have nothing to do with it. It is 
 really helping me. 
 
 I read in the paper that has been 
 
 arrested for shop-lifting. That poor, foolish 
 girl! Only twenty-one years old, to ruin her- 
 self again for the sake of pretty clothes! I 
 love pretty clothes, too, and hate to look as if 
 I came out of the ark, as badly as anyone I 
 know of; and I know it must have been a 
 great temptation. But, oh, what a price she 
 paid for them! 
 
 I am very joyous this evening. I have had 
 
 a great treat in the form of a letter from 
 
 Her letter is always like a 
 
 little white posy to me. For the last three 
 years I have saved them very carefully, until 
 now I have a beautiful boquet. Her kindness 
 in writing to me is one of the bright spots in 
 this navy blue life. It makes me think of a 
 day when I had been in prison only a few 
 weeks, and I was down on my knees scrubbing 
 
54 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 my part of a long hall. I had been locked 
 for some time in a cell with a dark window, 
 and so any occupation was welcome. We 
 were not allowed to look up at any one who 
 passed through the hall, and an officer stood 
 at the end of the corridor watching us. My 
 back was aching, my wrists were sore, my 
 knees throbbed from the unaccustomed posi- 
 tion, and I was so filled with rage at my humili- 
 ation that I longed to knock the bucket of 
 dirty water over, and then roll in it and scream 
 and yell for sheer relief, — when some one 
 tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up with 
 fear, for I thought I was going to be repri- 
 manded, but instead a woman bent over me 
 and handed me one small flower; and when she 
 smiled I could have kissed her feet, and I felt 
 all the anger die away, and my throat ached, 
 it was so full. It was as if I had stepped into 
 a sanctuary, but could not pray. That woman 
 
 was and I worshipped her from 
 
 that moment. When they locked me in 
 again, I took the flower from my dress, and 
 forgot where I was; the flood gates were 
 loosed, and I was given — one of the few 
 things they can't take away from us, — sleep! 
 That is the curious part of it. We suffer all 
 the untold agonies of mind, and then we sleep, 
 and sometimes dream of daisy fields. But 
 now the situation is reversed. I sleep and 
 
EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS 55 
 
 dream that I am back again, and trying to get 
 out. I wake myself up trying to scream, and 
 in those few moments I live all over again the 
 past horror and hopelessness. The very sight 
 of a cot bed turns me sick, — its shape and 
 width suggest so much. 
 
 I believe I said I was joyous. This does not 
 sound much like it. Still I am. 
 
 Am so glad to have Henley's book to 
 browse over at odd moments. 
 
 Thanks for the little Brownie photograph. 
 To think that I have been acquainted with 
 myself so long, and didn't really know until 
 now just how I looked! I shall take your 
 ad\dce and send it to my mother. If any- 
 thing serious happens, please take the blame. 
 You must not pay any attention to what I say 
 in this letter, for I have soared so high today, 
 that I have ridden on the tip end of a cloud; 
 and such a sunset! A blood red sun in an 
 opal sky, and all reflected in a still river of 
 molten silver. No artist could ever paint it. 
 What an artist God must be! No two sunsets 
 alike, infinite variety, each succeeding night 
 more beautiful than the last! I love it, and 
 revel in it, but find words too common and 
 gross to express the beauty of it all. 
 
56 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 I am glad that you are satisfied with my 
 work. I have never spoken of being tired of 
 late. I am hardening up, and then the work is 
 divided more evenly. I want to do the best 
 I can here, and I think you believe me. They 
 seem to understand me better, and we are on 
 a much more pleasant footing. I am now 
 more my natural self with them, and they 
 laugh with me, and not at me, which is, of 
 course, very nice of them. 
 
 Now about your letters. They give me a 
 great brace; they help me every time. It is 
 a very wonderful thing to understand. What 
 
 you said of Mr was perfectly right; 
 
 a good, helpful comrade is what he has always 
 been, clear sighted, clean minded, and a fine 
 man all round. I am proud to call him a 
 friend. 
 
 What you say in reference to my mother I 
 know to be perfectly true. I thank you for 
 putting it so plainly, for I needed to hear it 
 in just such words. I am glad, too, that you 
 like my verses; hut if you didn't know the 
 circumstances, would you still like them^ I 
 know they are not wonderful, by any means. 
 If I thought I should some day actually see 
 them in print, in a little house all their own, 
 I would stretch up on my intellectual tiptoes 
 until I did something worth while. When 
 you find me faulty in my grammar, I wish 
 
EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS 57 
 
 you would speak of it. Don't let me cut my 
 verbs, like ''I'm going", or "I'd rather". 
 I try very hard about that. 
 
 I am somewhat low-spirited tonight. I 
 wish I had a home of my own to go to, so that 
 I would not have to give you all this bother. 
 
 This is written Sunday evening upon my 
 
 return from where I was a guest 
 
 at a Biblical play given in the woods; beautiful 
 indeed, but given Hterally. It was very won- 
 derful to see the children and young people so 
 entirely free from self-consciousness. 
 
 At last I have found a place. I am to start 
 work this afternoon at 2.30, and work until 10 
 o'clock tonight at the munitions factory. This 
 is the place I spoke of to you, and although 
 it is a dump, it will help a great deal at the 
 present time. I cannot sit down like Mr. 
 Micawber, and wait for something to turn up. 
 I only hope that I may be able to stand it. 
 It is horribly dirty, I am told, but the money 
 is clean. It is a place of nations, for all sorts 
 of foreigners are working there. It is like 
 having one's soul hit with a knout to have to 
 go to such a dreary place, away from the 
 sunshine, but we cannot have all we like in 
 this Hfe, and I doubt if it would be good for 
 us if we did. 
 
58 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 I took lunch Friday with and we 
 
 talked over some sketches. I am very keen 
 about them, and shall go ahead, for I have 
 my mornings free, and am on my first one. 
 I am inclined to write it story style, which I 
 wish I could change. It does not seem true 
 enough, written that way. 
 
 Well, I'm off to help blow up the Germans — 
 if I don't get blown up myself first. Are you 
 still of the same mind about the poems. f' I 
 hope so — oh, so much! 
 
 I wish I could thank you in the way I wish. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ :): 
 
 Here I am again. This time I simply had 
 to write to you to tell you what I am up against. 
 Before I went to the new job, which is making 
 shells for the British Government, I heard 
 reports that the plant was threatened, and 
 that it was to be demolished sometime this 
 week. I couldn't make up my mind which 
 was the worse; being blown up by dynamite, 
 or being blown up by an irate landlady! 
 
 But I went in at half past two. Ye gods! 
 What a place! No brains are necessary, just 
 brawn. We work seven and a half hours, 
 with fifteen minutes for lunch! . . . Every 
 moment, at some unexpected noise, the girls 
 will scream, and all lights outside are kept 
 
EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS 59 
 
 burning, and an extra force of guards patrols 
 the building. The war never seemed so real. 
 It is like working on the top of a rumbling 
 volcano. 
 
 The accommodations for the women are 
 indescribable, and this in cultured Massa- 
 chusetts. The firm holds back three days 
 from my pay, which is another bad feature. 
 The only good feature about the whole affair, 
 is that if I do get blown up, my remains will 
 be so scattered that my loving family will be 
 spared the expense of my burial. 
 
 Our clothes are intermingled in an unkempt 
 mass and the odors are something weird. 
 However, one must live, and as long as there 
 are no other places for girls, some one is ever 
 ready to take the risk, like 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 . . . I shall be all right after pay day 
 next Wednesday, I think, and can struggle 
 along till then. 
 
 My new room is a thing of beauty, and let 
 us hope it will be a joy forever. I know that 
 I shall appreciate it more with a full stomach. 
 Science has yet to discover how one can live 
 on sixty-two cents for a week, and still be 
 optimistic and retain their sense of humor. 
 
60 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 Some day I shall look back on this experience 
 as a huge joke, but at the present time there 
 is nothing humorous about it. 
 
 We were told in the shop last night that we 
 could go home at eight o'clock, as there was 
 no work. But I stayed and wore the varnish 
 off the firm's chair, for thirty- two cents is 
 not to be sneezed at. I'm off now for a 
 good square meal. 
 
 The girl next to me, who is quite a character, 
 tells me that the reason she has no "steady", 
 is because the one she would have won't have 
 her, and the one that would have her the 
 devil wouldn't have. Concise, isn't it.'' 
 
 . . . The munition work goes merrily 
 on, and each night I discover some new noise 
 to add to the torture. All the sins I ever 
 committed really should be washed from the 
 slate, for this work is penance. When you 
 step into that filthy place, reeking of lard 
 oil, and the bell rings that starts that long 
 line all working together like a machine, I 
 feel like hammering on the closed door, and 
 getting out somehow; but then the hot wave 
 of anger gradually dies when you wonder 
 how long it would be before you found another 
 place, and you feel rather ashamed that you 
 
EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS 01 
 
 have rebelled even inwardly at conditions that 
 seem to your co-workers perfectly satisfactory. 
 
 Ah, the man that wrote "Where ignorance 
 is bliss" knew human nature, didn't he? 
 The girl next to me had half a chicken for her 
 lunch yesterday, and she confided in me, say- 
 ing that "the guy-she- was-keeping-company- 
 
 with knew the chef at the Hotel, who 
 
 swiped half a broiled chicken for him every 
 once in a while, and her steady passed it 
 along to her." That poor chicken! What 
 travels! Where he might have been served 
 on a silver platter to some fastidious guest, 
 he is instead toted around in the "steady's" 
 pocket, to end ignominiously as the piece de 
 resistance of a cold lunch in a Munitions 
 Factory. That chicken must have led a very 
 sinful life, brief as it was, to have to suffer 
 such a fate. 
 
 Thanks be that today is Friday, for I detest 
 night work, and I am next door to being 
 broke, which of late seems to be a chronic 
 state with me. 
 
 I figured up last week and found that I 
 spent more for carfares and accessories, than 
 I did for what I ate. If I tide over this 
 week I think I shall be all right. Next 
 Wednesday I shall be able to eat properly. 
 
 Did I thank you for all your trouble? No, 
 I never do. It makes me sort of ache, you 
 
62 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 are so good to me. Why is it? I have often 
 wanted to ask you, but hesitate, for fear it 
 might be as I surmised. 
 
 The employment bureau sent me to 
 
 store. Eight dollars was the sky limit. 
 
 One sixth came out each week for the employ- 
 ment people, which left $6.66; carfares 60 cents, 
 and lunches 60 cents, room rent $3.00, left me 
 $2.46 to eat, dress and pay for laundry. I 
 backed down and went to the shell game in 
 the afternoon. I am afraid it is all up with 
 me there, for I was put on fine work that I 
 could hardly see, the light on the brass was 
 so trying. . . . Forgive this scrawl. 
 After four weeks of factory work, my hand 
 is again like a pig's foot, and I am in an awful 
 mood, for I hate that place so, and its beastly 
 hours. This business is making a first-class 
 cynic of me. When the spirit moves you, 
 remember. 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 writes that she hopes I will 
 
 some day give up concealment, and let my 
 past be known — "face it publicly," she says; 
 
EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS 63 
 
 — and she adds that there is a great buoyancy 
 and strength which comes from it, which kills 
 cheap gossip, and strengthens friendships. 
 
 Very likely she is right. But if I was big 
 enough to face my past, the world isn't big 
 enough to face it, — nor to give me a future. 
 Think how long I would last in a place if 
 my employer knew. Even if the head of a 
 firm knew, and kept me, others would get 
 together and see that I was discharged. Only 
 those who have friends and money behind 
 them, can afford to walk erect — as I wish 
 I could do. 
 
 No matter how short the sentence, your 
 time is never done until your name is erased 
 from the book of Life. You go through the 
 door of the great prison, and you say "I am 
 free." But you He to yourself! For in the 
 sight of man, when he knows, you are two 
 persons, — the person you are today, and the 
 person you were. It doesn't make any differ- 
 ence how honest you may be, — you are not 
 to he trusted. 
 
 And so you find, in time, that you lack con- 
 fidence in yourself. And always at your 
 elbow stalks Fear. You even dream about it. 
 When a prisoner has been told just what to do 
 for nearly two years, when every movement 
 has been directed by an officer, she becomes 
 accustomed to it, and becomes a sort of 
 
64 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 machine, and when she goes out into the 
 world she is left helpless in many ways. She 
 has not been accustomed to take the initiative, 
 and it is a great while before she dares to take 
 that liberty again. 
 
 Then the look! Did I ever tell you that 
 when a person stops in the middle of a con- 
 versation and looks at me steadily, or when I 
 find a person looking at me whom I don't 
 know, I grow cold.^ My brain hammers out, 
 ^^They know," and when an unkind word is 
 said, or someone slights me, the S. 0. S. 
 signals, ^^They know." If it was not for my 
 mother, I would stand up to some of these 
 holier-than-thou people, and say, "Yes, it is 
 so." But my mother is old, and I can't rob 
 her of her dearest possession. Pride. 
 
 How did this all start .^ Oh yes; 's 
 
 letter. Well, you see I am moody tonight. 
 I and myself are sick of each other's company. 
 That wonderful courage you have spoken of 
 is gone. I am sick and tired of everything, 
 and what adds to my grief is the fact that the 
 woman downstairs has departed, and taken 
 her cat with her. And sometimes I felt sure 
 that that cat liked me. 
 
 I bore you. ^ I know it; I bore myself. 
 
THE SONG OF THE FUSE 65 
 
 THE SONG OF THE FUSE 
 
 FASHIONED was I by the hands of a 
 woman; 
 Circumstance willed it, she bore men no ill; 
 Shaped for my work by a hand soft and tender; 
 'My work' you ask me? — my work is to kill. 
 
 I do not wait till I reach the far war field, 
 To start my fell art of the killing of men; 
 But there in the grime and the stench of the 
 
 work shop, 
 I murder the souls of my makers, — and then, 
 
 I fill them with fear and unspeakable horror; 
 For guarded am I as a king's royal head: 
 They risk their lives through the black nights 
 
 of terror, 
 (One cannot choose when the body needs 
 
 bread.) 
 
66 LIFE AT THE LEES 
 
 Young eyes grow bold with an unholy wisdom; 
 Soft lips learn curses, that once breathed a 
 
 prayer: 
 "Merry my work"? — Another has fainted! 
 Fill her place quickly! — In war, all is fair! 
 
 Do ye not know that this hot haste breeds 
 
 wisdom 
 That leads to the devil, the street and the 
 
 cell? 
 Fitting my birth in such poisonous caldron; 
 My work is to kill, and I do my work well! 
 
 Aye, give your aid to the men who in battle 
 Die from my kisses; but leave me those still 
 Who in the workshop die slowly, but surely; 
 Truly, my work is to kill, — and to kill ! 
 
Printed by the Geo. B. Dodge Co., Boston, Massachusetts