IPS 2377 .M43 L4 Copy 1 '&v#& : WrttiM .>:jK'hi\n[:0. g^SSragnSfi^B ■ m| -lU^, 1 ■y 1 H H 1 r>3 1 r£KjU $»•-;>,' H EAYBS, :tf>,Vf«- kHj*» KMERra $» ^^^H|HHanBMHDHnfl % FflbFS of ©IjongljK sSw V.1 is {| hour V A®. that in i mething that doth li I : 65 West Fourth Str 1868. 75 2.311 M 3 Entered according to Act of Congress, by Mrs. MAKY K. MEAD, In the year 1867, in the Clerk's Office for the District of Louisiana. TO Fi^ends of the deceased Jlzcth THE /< y o llowi f t<- <>t its present as well as its past inhabitants. To he sure, this is not always true of the present population. It may. or it may not be. The living often, out of respect and ven- eration for the dead, tolerate customs and leave undis- turbed old relics of the past, for which they have in heart no especial liking. Besides, it i- not always within their power, nor may it be convenient, for them to remove them. We know this to be the case with many of the quaint old buildings left standing in our midst as memories of the past century. They are c 13 Leaves of Thought. suffered to remain, not because their odd appearance gives particular pleasure to their owners, nor that they are, on that account, in any wise more profitable ; but either because their proprietors are too poor, or the property too much depreciated in value, to bear the expense of alteration ; or else because, in conse- quence of the death of the original owner, the title can not be perfected during the minority of the younger heirs. These, and other causes equally potent, may operate to postpone their removal. The utilizing spirit of the age, however, has carried away many of these old monuments ; while, in their stead, have risen up modern and more pretentious edifices, which con- trast as strangely with those they succeeded, as do the present proprietors or occupants with the staid fore- fathers of the old regime. The march of the world is onward ; not to improvement merely, but also to extravagance. The economic substantiality that pre- vailed in the erection of tenements some fifty or a hundred years ago, has given place to a much more showy, but far less durable, style of structure. The architecture, too, has been greatly changed; though, in all respects, we think the change has not been for the better. True, the flat, smooth slate roof of the present day is preferable to the cumbrous, gutter-like tiles of the past; so are the jaunty doors and inside blinds that u Memory Types of New Orleans. secure the inhabitants of our modern mansions much more elegant and convenient than the heavy, prison- barred doors and window shutters that stand as monu- ments of the olden times. But the wide halls and spacious corridors that serve as entrances to some of the venerable old castles of the luxurious Creole, are much more to our liking, after all, than the narrow, restricted openings to the houses of later date; and the solidity of masonry thai obtains in the one, while being more permanent, gives greater security against the dampness always prevalent in this climate. Be- side-, then* is about these old dwellings an aspect of independence and comfort, quite unrestrained by the ephemera] taste of the age we live in. The inmates appear to enjoy life. too. As we look in through some of these open corridors or gateway.-, we frequently tasty green shrubbery and choice plants of various kinds adorning the yard ; perchance the proud, broad- leaved, but not always yielding, banana tree: while we never mi ing the brick pavement therein nicely cleansed and reddened over with paint pro- duced from its own dust — an observance almost pecu- liar to the Creole, and sustained, apparently, with a religious enthusiasm. In days gone by, perhaps more than at present, we would also see collected around or scampering joyfully and carelessly about these places. 15 Leaves of Thought. groups of little negroes of all ages, sizes, and com- plexions, whose bandy legs and humorous contortions of countenance and body could not otherwise than .amuse the stranger who happened to pass that way. Their immediate wants having been provided for, and .accustomed by this condition to have no yearnings for the morrow, these little larks were among the happiest and most careless of mortals. Occasionally peeping out from between the half-closed, ponderous window shutters, the outside pedestrians would, at times, catch & glimpse, too, of the bright, flashing, dark eyes of the timid, yet beautiful young Creole miss, whose conscious charms scarcely admit of being questioned, but whose timidity precludes, to the disinterested stranger, any- thing more than a momentary glance. A day's ramble through the portion of our city now known as the Second and Third Districts, but which, at the time we speak of, was recognized as the First ;and Third Municipalities, would afford the new comer, oven at this late day, much that would interest him, as well as much that he might speculate upon with profit. He would there still find standing many of the mem- ories of old -departed joys ;" and, as he wound his labyrinthi an way through several streets, dedicated to saints, martyrs, distinguished characters, virtues, affec- tions, and institutions of other days, many of which 16 .Memory Types of New Orleans? preserve their names in the French idiom, and observed the population that exist there in the low, one-story, heavy tile-roofed houses or cabins that abound every- where in these localities, he would be very apt in his wanderings to imagine himself transported to some European city; especially as his unprepared ear was saluted, as it would most certainly be, with a conglom- erate discord of dialects wholly differing, perhaps, from his own. He would find, in those hives of humanity, a strange admixture of the several nations of the earth ; from the most enlightened to the semi-barbarous, all intent upon the place of living nearest suited to their Own tastes and conditions; and yet. in the aggregate. constituting, to a degree, a homogeneous and happy people. By the side of the aristocratic Creole mansion he would occasionally find the humble cabaret, or a depot for the sale of Bois and Gharban, while here and there, it may be in rows of one-story cottages, he would he entertained with a revised edition of the family of men and animals such as are supposed to have gone into Noah's ark. only with this difference, perhaps, there would be a larger sprinkling of the human in this case, possessing a more distinguishable, yet con- fused, variety of countenance and speech. Still, there would be found much that could not fail to please him. The extremely clean appearance of the inside apart- 17 Leaves of Thought. ments of many, even the smallest and least-pretending of these old-fashioned domicils, together with the taste- fully-arranged curtains that hang at both windows and doorway ; the well-to-do looking furniture that appears therein, and the negligent ease and quiet, contented faces of the pretty loungers that are seen there on a hot summer's day ; all contribute to make up a picture of domestic life that, to a wayfaring outsider, would be anything but distasteful. Their floors, when not car- peted or covered with matting, are always nicely scrubbed, and have a peculiar yellowish cast or tinge, imparted to them by the free use of either brickdust or curcuma. The doorsteps and banquettes in front are treated in the same manner. Indeed, this habit of cleanliness, sanctified as it invariably is with brick- dust, is a dominant virtue with nearly all the dwellers in this section, and it is among the first things that attracts the attention of the stranger. A partial hin- drance, however, to one's admiration of the within, is found without in the wretchedly, neglected condition - of some of the streets, and the too often filthy state of the gutters, which are generally poorly graded, and are instinct with the dull, musical croakings of their patron frog. The stores, which are neither numerous nor elegant, are seldom closed on Sundays. Their display of goods 18 Memory Types of New Orleans, and material is not such as would entice the eye of the experienced shopper, though doubtless adequate to supply the wants of the immediate neighborhood. Yet one occasionally stumbles upon a store even there, where the richest and choicest manufactures of the Parisian market may be had. And as for wines, French comestibles of all kinds, and nicknacks gener- ally, no shopkeeper outside of Bordeaux or Marseilles can excel them. From this particular section of our city have emanated, too, the major portion of all the "marchands," or Btreet merchants, who are found at all hours peddling about the city every conceivable notion that nature produces or human ingenuity can invent, to meet the want- or gratify the appetites and tastes of our citizens. Some of these, especially the flower merchants, are institutions of this city; and they claim, as they very generally receive, some atten- tion of the stranger. The South is a garden of flowers, and nowhere, that we know of, this side of Paris, is the custom of selling flowers so well maintained as here; and surely, nowhere can a richer or more profuse variety be had so cheap. In our earlier days, these flower merchants were almost exclusively of the slave population ; and it was interesting to see them, of evenings especially, seated at the corners of the prin- cipal streets and around the doors of our hotels and 19 Leaves of Thought. places of amusement, behind baskets of tempting, choice flowers, all neatly banded together and taste- fully assorted, doubtless by the delicate hands of their fair young mistresses. There was a remarkable con- trast, too, that made it none the less pleasing, between these beautiful bright flowers so white and so pure, and the coal-black, fat, shining, happy faces of the lusty "marchands." But times are changed. Oar original flower merchants, like their flowers, have passed away, or they have taken to other pursuits. We do not now see them as we did then. Their places are supplied, in a manner, by oTd and young disciples of Teutonic origin ; but their faces are new and strange to us, and their flowers neither smell so fragrant nor look as bright and cheerful as they used to. Turning from these, however, let us glance a moment at the quaint, old-style houses of worship one finds frowning about in this locality, the outside appearance of which reminds the observer of petrified relics of at least two centuries ago. Their grandeur is obsolete ; at least, it is not of our time. It came of other days, and it is venerated on that account. On entering these edifices, one exists in the past ; his mind is carried far beyond the reach of the present, and his soul or spirit. if such he has, communes with the long departed. Memory Types of Mew Orleans. The solemn stillness that pervades their cold atmos- phere is deepened even by the crude pictures and im- ages that line the walls ; while the sombre-shaded light that is permitted to steal into these buildings through the heavy, stained-glass windows, throws a depressive gloom over the sensibilities, and ^carries the mind, in funeral -like meditations, to the unfolded mysteries of another world. Here arc assembled the rich and the poor, the high and the low. the master and the servant, all on one common level. None appear to feel their superiority : all are alike dependent en the one Benefi- cent Hand that supplies their common wants, and before whom they prostrate themselves in apparent sincerity of heart, to supplicate his much-needed favor and protection. Yet there is distinguishable an amount of seeming irreverence in the way that many of them enter and depart from these sanctuaries. But we must leave them, and pass on to other scenes. There are other spots contiguous, whereon are written, in the decaying marks of time, interesting memoranda of the history of our novel, Americanized-French city. 21 Leaves of Thought. ii. iHEEE is an unwritten record concerning sev- eral of the old buildings that we have passed, which would be interesting to give if we were permitted to do so. Those loop-holed fronts and stoutly iron-barred windows, that denote a period of watch- fulness and distrust, when men fortified their dwelling places and stood sentry over their own households, could tell a strangely-sounding tale to the parlor war- riors of the present day. were the vail lifted that long has covered their slumbering dead. But we have neither the space nor the ability to do so at this time. Our intention now is merely to take an outside, pass- ing look at them, leaving to others, who are more disposed and better fitted than ourselves, to stir the remembrances connected with their eventful history. We will reverently cherish in memory such as are gone, as well as those that remain as monuments of their once active owners, who now quietly sleep in the several cemeteries of our city. To these last stopping places on Life's journey, let the stranger, if he feels disposed, in his reflective moments, repair, and he will Memory Types of Neiu Orleans. there read on the cold, unfeeling marble, the names of many, once heroes like himself, who, having acted out their parts on "Life's fitful stage,'" have passed away, and left to posterity the task of completing the record. Peace to their ashes ! Let them undisturbedly repose in the narrow beds where their friends have laid them. They left much undone; still they did a great deal, for which we. their children, are exceedingly ungrateful. Thi> is Esplanade Street. <>nc of the former bounda- ries of the "old city." a dividing line between what were once the First and Third Municipalities. The center grass plat, studded with trees, was •• neutral ground.'' To the right, a few squares back, is a sim- ilar avenue or street, called Rampart, running at right angles with this, which also was a dividing line that separated the "old city " from its adjacent faubourgs. Canal Street, laid off somewhat in the same manner, was the remaining boundary, and separated "old town" on the First Municipality, from what was afterward known as the Second Municipality, but is now called the First District. To the left of us. near the river bank, like a laborer when his days work is done, stands the old United States Mint. It is, at present, holding a holi- day, a respite from its labors of former years. Its once-substantial, much-used issue of gold and silver coin has been supplanted by the lighter, portable, pic- 23 Leaves of Thought. ture-paper promises of its owner. We shall, therefore, leave it to enjoy its nap in the lap of " our uncle," who has become rather fretful and petulant of late. On this street are still to be seen several respectable look- ing old buildings, once the mirthful habitation of rich, hospitable French and Spanish noblemen, who, years ago, surrendered all their titles, rights, and privileges in earthly possessions, to their younger, but less staid inheritors. This street, or avenue, as we prefer to call it, is well laid out, and pretty throughout its entire length. The lining of shade trees along its middle or "neutral ground," gives it a pleasing appearance, and makes also a delightful sunshade in a summer eve- ning's promenade. It has always been a favorite resort, if not the pride, of our Creole people. The original projectors, however, would be startled we think, were they permitted to see the uses now made of it by our pleasure-purchasing gentry, who are con- stantly being whirled over the disregarded ground in the pert, encroaching "city cars" of the last decade; yet, their objections would carry little weight among a people so progressive as we, and so widely differing in manners and tastes from them. We will turn into this narrow, Prenchy lane, formerly called Conde, but now made a continuation of Chartres Street. Why the name was changed — unless it was to make up in Memory Types of New Orleans. length to Chartres Street what it had lost of its for- mer significance — for it was. years ago, the fashionable street of our city — is more than we can tell. We shall leave this matter to be determined by our modernizing legislators. Conde, or, as we must now call it, Chartres Street, has always been among the most stubborn in resisting the onward disposi- tion of the age to improvement. It still glories in a portion of its primeval character, and is, at this day, the claimant of one of the oldest, if not the oldest relic in our midst — the once Ursuline Convent. This build- ing, now devoted to church uses, and made the resi- dence of some of the priesthood, is said to be nearly a century and a half old. It is quite antique, both in outer and inner adornments, and will well repay a visit from such as are fond of musty imaginings and mummy-like faces. The case is old; yet the hearts of its present inmates are warm with young blood, and the visitor will be courteously received. It has not been used as a convent for many years ; another and more commodious structure, lower down the river, having been erected to serve the purposes for which this was built. The antiquarian may smile, perhaps, at our calling even this an old building. It is not as old, certainly, as many in Europe ; nevertheless, it is considered old among us. We are a younger, a newer, 25 Leaves of Thought. a fresher, and a faster people. We live more rapidly here than they do in the Old World ; consequently, we wear out houses and customs faster than they do. Indeed, a structure of any kind will have been com- pleted, served out its intended purpose, and have passed away beyond the wants of our progressive, telegraphic- working people, before one of the kind will have been fairly finished in the older countries. Hence, in one way, we call these buildings old. There is a decrepitude of age noticeable in most of the houses on this street. A walk through it, on a gloomy, rainy day especially, throws a pall over one, very similar to what we receive when pacing the streets or lanes of our burial places. The houses, too, are generally squatty ; but, as the acclimated portion of our people live out of doors mostly during fair weather, what they have of walls and roof is sufficient at least, we presume, to hide them in the night time. And, as a rule, these are thickly tenanted ; at any rate, we judge so by the number of diminutive white faces and "pica- ninny niggers" that throng the cobbled sidewalks or banquettes, and who seem placed there, like so many tenpins in an alley, to be knocked down, or to knock each other down. There is scarcely a signboard in the English language to be seen on this street — all French and German — symptomatic and real. The shop- Memory Types of New Orleans. keepers and attendants in the several " magasins," "cafes," "boulangeries," etc., etc., all appear to be engaged; yet there is very little real business going on. Alas! the scepter of gain has departed from " old town;'' its walls are moldering and crumbling down. Its whilom greatness is among the things of the past. Like a bereaved widow she sits amidst her ruins, while her children arc last joining the ranks of the renowned Anglo-Saxon. Here we are at the old FBEJfCB MARKET. How changed it looks! Always a peculiar feature of our city, and the chief providing mart to its inhab- itants for the material needed to "repair the wastes of nature," and prop the " inner man," this place is shorn of a large proportion of the singularity and strength that characterized it ten or twenty years ago. It is now reduced, not in size, but in the varied extent of its trade, and in the numbers that frequented it; and with few exceptions, indeed, its occupants or salesmen and women are altogether a widely different class from such as presided at its "seats of custom " then. Inno- vations have gradually stolen in upon its ancient methods and manners. War, want, and scarcity, together with the sometime resisted, but sequent adoption of a paper currency, have wrought their 27 Leaves of Thought. fearful changes upon its time -honored customs, as well as upon the profusion of its products. Instead of the invariable "picayune piles" in the vegetable domains of this stomach kingdom, and a flourishing "la gniappe " always thrown in as a "bon marche," we are now treated to lesser "piles" at higher prices, and no " la gniappe; " while some of the newer and more venturesome hucksters have even risked selling by the "wooden measure," as is done in other cities, and in backwood places. We meet, too, with fewer negro "marchands" of the olden date, who were usually acknowledged then to be sharp, but correct and honest dealers. Probably they have been ousted by the inward flux of the heterogeneous itinerants in the coat of many colors, who have migrated hither to usurp their places; and whose torturings of the Eng- lish language, in the disposition and sale of their "eggies," "appleys," and "sweety sugar orangeys," are as discordant on the ear as their stale productions are often offensive to the olfactories of the neighboring bystanders. It is on Sunday morning that we mostly notice the change. Time was when the negroes flocked here by the hundreds on that day, from the surrounding fields and plantations, some on foot, some in "oberseer's" wagon or cart, while others would paddle their way to it by river, in their small canoes. Memory Types of New Orleans. all loaded down with a mixed contribution to the gen- eral stock, in the shape of pecans, oranges, clumps of "tania" root, to be used instead of scrubbing-brushes, and brooms home-made from the leaves of the same plant sirup and sticks of sugar cane, and a bountiful supply of vegetables of their own raising; all of which, in a few hours, were converted into bright, shining silver picayunes and dimes, to be treasured up or expended in ways that made the world seem larger, and its paths pleasanter. On that day, also, of all others, would be seen the many light-hearted, pleasure- seeking visitants from distant homes, wending their way. early in the morning, toward this busy scene, to get their refreshing cup of chocolate or coffee, and feast their hearts, and, perchance, their appetites, too, on the gay panorama of life that was there spread before them. In the outside round, between the vege- table and meat markets, and in the open space imme- diately in the rear of this, would the plantation negroes mainly assemble ; the older and more design- ing ones squatted behind their various stocks in trade, like so many monkeys at a dinner party, while the younger ones, frisking about in all sorts of ways and attitudes in the vacant spaces, presented somewhat the appearance, both in color and noisiness, of a flock of crows in a harvest patch. In the logomacal war that 29 Leaves of Thought. ensued here, there was kept up a constant artillery of laughter, the reverberating thunder of which reached the ears of the entire camp, and left few intervals to the grinning faces to settle down into anything like a business sternness. As in most conversations of this peculiarly-jocund race, their chat had less substance than their heartfelt mirth would lead one to suppose. To the negro, however, there is a point in all that the negro says ; and, whether he catches the drift or not, it is his nature to laugh, and laugh he will at every absurdity of his fellow. Thus it went: "Hi, you look soon, nigger! What you done bring?" "Pshaw! go way wid your wormy corn ; white folks do n't want dat." "Dis way, massa, dis way; here's first-rate pecans, an' a good la gniappe." "Morn in', missus; I know'd you buy somethin' o' de old man dis time; dem's Creole eggs, ma'am, sure ; mighty scarce down our way dis year, for true." "Dis side, ladies, dis side; dem's old pullets ober dar — don't compar' wid dese." "Hush, nigger! I 'se done sold out;" and so on. Interspersed about were also a host of petty white traders, having a sample of almost everything that the world has ever produced ; and these, in their clamor for customers, by their incessant chattering, added to the negroes', made up a din to which, in volubility of sound, and confusion of tongues, the " Tower of 30 Memory Types of Xew Orleans. Babel " was only a faint preamble. A short remove from these, in a herd by themselves, sat. carelessly grouped together, the always-reticent Indians, with their everlasting supplies of sassafras, blow guns, and cane baskets. They are proverbially indifferent traders. They neither entreat customers, nor do they appear to care whether they sell or not. They were rather spectators, and took no part in the fun, frolic, and confosion going on around them. On the con- trary, tlie negro is always loquacious ; but on a theater like tins, where he feels himself to be one of the principal actors, and has, as he conceives, an important part to perform, his exuberant soul Overleaps its natural boundaries, and he becomes an irresistible source of mirth to himself as well as to others. ]3ut we miss them all at the present time. The rollicking, careless, laugh -provoking plantation darkey is seldom seen here now. His little patch of ground no longer contributes to sup- ply our tables, nor his mirth to cheer us. He has laid by " de shobel and de hoe; " or, if he uses these implements at all now, it is in other and more distant fields. What few of his race are seen here at the present day, lack the respectful demeanor, the trust- ing countenance, the joyous laugh, and the hearti- ness of soul and body that were the main supports 31 Leaves of Thought, of the ones we knew in our earlier days. Good bye, Sambo, good bye. Our roads diverge. We may never meet again as we have met in happier days — in the aisles of the old French Market. 32 Memory Types of New Orleans. Ill JACKSON SQUARE. HIS was formerly our "Place d' Armes." Within and around it, daring the sweet times of peace, the military heroes of other days, dressed out in their showy finery, in the pres- ence of a mixed but admiring crowd of white and black — men, women, and children — showed how bat- tles were fought and how "fields were won." Here, too, young urchins, catching the military spirit of their fathers, were wont to meet occasionally to test their prowess in battle, and contribute what they could toward sustaining the name of the place and the mar- tial fame of their ancestors. Many a young hero, now occupying distinguished posts of honor, as well as some who meekly tread the peaceful dales of private life, gave first proof of their fitness and capacity beneath the huge trees that once shaded the parterres of this now beautiful ground. And some of these, doubtless, like ourselves, remember with mingled feel- ings the changes that have come over the old parade 33 Leaves of Thought. ground; which, like our early lives, has been turned from a state of nature and unadorned loveliness into a field for art and fashion to play their stiff pranks upon. Within our recollection, this was a simple, natural grove ; a green, shady spot where one could retire from the noise and bustle of business, and dream away the day's care in cheerful anticipations of the future. It is now a study for the gardener and the florist; and, though the visitant may pleasantly pass an hour here at early morn or at evening sundown, it is not the refreshing meditative place it was at other hours, as it gives little or no protection from the heat of a mid-day sun. The name has been changed, too. It is now called Jackson Square, in honor of that remarkable man to whose memory our citizens erected the truly beautiful equestrian statue that stands in its center. It is well, perhaps, the name was changed, as the pristine glory of the old square departed from it many years ago. When the last nine-o'clock gun was fired here to summon the slave population to their respective abodes, when the woodman's ax severed the stately trees that then lined its walks, and when its time-honored, ever-watchful old guardian laid down his staff and snuffbox to take his last, long sleep of death, then vanished the glory, the simplicity, the character of our much-frequented "Place d' Amies." 34 Memory Types of New Orleans. We have happy remembrances of the spot ; of the blithesome days when we sat beneath its wild, native trees, and took a quiet survey of the ardent couples who here unrestrainedly "told their loves," as the birds did theirs, on a soft summer day's afternoon. We had not then these cold, torturing iron benches to recline upon, nor was the open green lawn hedged about as it is now, saying, "Thus far shall thou go, but no farther." We had our winding pathways, but were not saluted at every turn, afi we have been since, with despotic little signboards, saucily proclaiming to pro- prietary inhabitant- X< touchez pas aux fli UT8;" or, as the anglicising artist literally rendered the prohibit- ing caution on the same boards : " Touch not to the flow- ers." If we threw ourselves carelessly upon the grass, or pulled a sprig from an adjacent limb, we had not then the tear of iron-barred windows before us, nor the dread of the lean hand of the law reaching our pockets. No, we came here to take our ease, to throw aside restraint, and. perchance, to have a moment's friendly chat with the keeper, who always had a pinch of snuff and a kind word for everybody, and who, moreover, was delighted with young children, especially if they spoke his native tongue; and who maintained no greater restriction than was necessary for the preser- vation of the place, nor than which the human laws 85 Leaves of Thought. imposed upon him. But the patriarchal father is gone ; the trees are gone — at least such as should be called trees — while, in their stead, we see hedges, flowering plants, and mocking evergreens, cut in all the various trigonometrical patterns that science can suggest, or which the trees and the gardener are capa- ble of; and placed, as mute watchmen, in the corners of the square, we have marble statues, poetically rep- resenting the year's seasons, but which, as far as prac- tical purposes are served, convey about as much truthfulness of thought on this subject to the majority of visitors who come into this place, as would so many Egyptian mummies or exhumed bodies from the caves of the Caesars. All this is very modern ; it is all very pretty, we dare say ; and, in the eyes of cultivated connoisseurs in this age of art, is a decided improve- ment; yet, in our rusticity of soul, we prefer the una- dorned naturalness and freedom of the past, where we could, as children of nature, look upon our mother earth's face, and pull at her robes if we chose without the dread of punishment. The place, to us, looks stiff and uneasy, very much like some of our modern belles, decked out in their finery for an evening party or a show promenade; while the rows of stylish, prim- faced houses on either side appear like nurses placed there as guardians to keep our belle square from 36 Memory Types of New Orleans. Boiling her pretty garments. It is said we are indebted for all this to the wealthy proprietors of these side mansions, who donated this square to the city on the express condition that it should be made a flower gar- den, as it is. and be kept so: yet. we think it somewhat a pity, on the whole, that such restrictions accompanied the munificent gift, or that some of the changes were made, as it were more appropriate, though less grand, we opine, in a crowded city like ours, to have in so con- venient a situation an open, free breathing spot for its inhabitants, where the poorer ones especially, amid the guardings of nature alone, could romp out the feelings which swell every heart confined, to the cage-like limits of a commercial town. But this is one of the spots created for strangers to visit: and it was judged beet to have it dressed in fine robes for the occasion, in order, as the Baying is. k; to be fit to receive company," though the natural household should be pinched thereby. Behind stands, fronting us in archiepiscopal dignity, the ST. LOUIS CATHEDRAL. This building, with the ground on which it stands, was likewise an offering, we have been told, of the same wealthy lady who presented the above square to 37 Leaves of Thought. the city; or rather, perhaps we should say, of her deceased husband. And we are assured, also, though we will not vouch for the truth of the assertion, that it was given under certain restraints, viz : that the ancient model of the structure should be preserved; that the property should always be retained for church uses, and that it should not pass to other owners. Probably it was in compliance with this agreement that some years ago, when this edifice was tottering and needed partial rebuilding, in making the necessary repairs, but slight and insignificant alterations were made in the former model. It has, nevertheless, been changed somewhat, perhaps modernized as much as the circumstances permitted. The spires have been lengthened and smoothed over with dark slate; its en- tire front face has been renovated, cleansed, and newly stuccoed over in the yellowish-brown style so much in vogue here, and which, we presume, either originated in, or gave birth to, the often ill-regulated, but always faithfully- persevered in, brick-dust system. In the forehead was placed, too, at that time, a handsome, illuminated clock, the dial plate of which was shat- tered recently, in the concussion caused by an explo- sion of gunpowder on board a burning boat in the vicinity, and has been succeeded by the present one, which bears no nearer resemblance to the original, 38 Memory Types of New Orleans. either in usefulness or beauty, than would a glass eye to the natural organ. The interior of the building has enough of oddity and grandeur to attract the curious. The stranger entering it during service hours, espe- cially on one of their great days, will not merely be entertained, but will have his heart improved. Very likely, the first object to call his attention will be the prominent beadle in his red, embroidered coat, sup- porting a huge metal staff entirely disproportioned to hie size and physical aptitude, and who has a sort of omnipresent supervision over the behavior, as well as he often has over the heads, of the worsh iping people. The inside architectural appearance is grave, not grand. The fire! impression may probably be gloomy, but the feeling will be Boftened gradually, as one looks round at the several paintings in fresco and oil, which are seen here. The windows are objectionably small, of stained glass of different hues, arranged in cruci- form patterns, and are insufficient to light the building so as to show it to advantage. The side galleries, which seem to be little used, are broad and cumbersome, and darken materially the space below. The pews are quite ordinary, and not very comfortable : but the full-sounding organ, to- gether with the singing, which is always good, in a great measure enables one to forget the temporary 39 Leaves of Thought. inconvenience of the seats, or the still worse strait he is often reduced to, of standing during the entire ser- vice. The cold, marble-paved floor, although not the most inviting on a winter's day, is usually well covered over by the pewless devotees, who kneel about or sit on benches or stools brought with them for the pur- pose. We can scarcely tell how this building would appear by night if well lighted, as it is rarely used then ; never, indeed, except for weddings, or occasions of that sort, as the Catholics have no night services, unless we excej)t the three nights of 'Tenebrse" at the close of the Lent season. Keligious services are said and sung, of course, in Latin ; but the preaching here is mostly in French. The same apparent equality exists among the worshipers as in other congregations of like faith, though there is, perhaps, more of the aristocratic element here than elsewhere. On either side of this building are equally odd structures, which we will term the TWIN SISTERS. These are now used, and, within memory, have always been used, for municipal and court purposes. They bear the marks of service. On the front of the one to our left is a military escutcheon, which grimly 40 Memory Types of New Orleans. carries one back to the days when fighting was to be done, or when men's minds were preparing for it ; yet these buildings have played no important part in such engagements. In the rear of this one is the State Ar- senal. The ground floor serves for public offices of different kinds, the corner one on the right being reserved as a halting place for public offenders, and known to transgressors as the -old calaboose/' Here comes and departs, at stated intervals, a line of iron- clad omnibuses for the Bpeeial deportation of such passengers as, having arrived during the night, are in waiting to be introduced to their honors, the several magistrates of our city; which coaches received the euphonious names of the "Red and Black Marias." hut whether in honor of patron saints or sinners, is left discretionary with the sympathizing masses. They are modern, close, safe-appearing inventions, and tol- erably well patronized by the sin-loving, sin-degraded, and thereb}' wretched portion of our people. We notice but one of them running of late. These build- ings have sluggishly served the cause of justice for many years. Within the walls of the lower one were heard, in da} T s gone by, as eloquent appeals as ever went from human lips on behalf of poor, wandering humanity. Especially do we recollect the stirring words of one whose bones now lie moldering on the 41 Leaves of Thought. banks of the Mississippi River, but the echo of whose eloquence lingers around these halls like the sweet sounds of music on the remembering ear. Here estates of great magnitude have been portioned out or frittered away in the tedious routine of law. Here the charged criminal stood waiting his impending fate, and conscious, injured innocence, the restoration of that virtue, its dearest right, which, like a pearl, had nearly been engulfed beneath the slime of malice. Here, too, the fiery young aspirant, with unfledged honors, anxious for renown, under a weight of learn- ing greater than his years, proudly let loose upon an assembled court his long pent-up universe of thought. How liberally spacious are the vestibules and entrances to these buildings, as though desirous of inviting all the outside world to enter! Their grand old staircases winding around, seem admirably adapted to the uses made of them — as roomy and as gradual as the law itself. But there is a coldness within, a chilling damp- ness that benumbs the soul after traversing the holiday grounds in front. Thur* sense of stern reality that creeps over one here, as he lingers to listen to the cold presentments of the law's detail, or, perhaps, the errings of some unfortunate human being who was entrapped on the world's by-paths, is hardly in accord- ance with the glowing humor we may suppose to 4® Memory Types of New Orleans. pervade the stranger's breast on his pleasure tour in quest of the oddities and bright historic places of our city. He seeks sunshine, not shade — amusement, and not the business of sorrow; and if he hangs around old walls, it is rather because of the ivy recollections they bring him than any love he has for the walls themselves. We will, therefore, leave the friend of Blackstone to brush away his own cobwebs, and to nurse his own grievance 43 Leaves of Thought, have before alluded to Chartres Street, that is, to the lower end ; but what may be termed Chartres Street proper is the nar- row extension between Jackson Square and Canal Street. Twenty years have scarcely elapsed since this was the gay fashionable street of our city, and the stern arbitrator and dispenser of taste and fashion. From it went out, as do the smaller limbs and branches from the parent tree, all the many nouvettes and niceties that Dame Paris, the arch modiste, invents to please pretty belles in the w T ay of shawls, dresses, bonnets, laces, ribbons, flowers, and a multitude of other nameless lit- tle articles that women only ought to know about, and which they have an undisputed right to love. Thereby it became the center of attraction to everybody who was anybody at all. Indeed, it was almost the first place visited by the wealthy planters' wives and daugh- ters on coming to the city ; and certainly none went away without perambulating its short length. Within these few squares was concentrated all that disturbed the peace and made up the happiness as well as much 44 Memory Types of New Orleans. of the beauty, of the female portion at least, of three- fifths of the families residing throughout the entire reach of the Mississippi Valley. In short, it became a paradise of a shopping place to the ladies. Hither, too, would the beaux repair to warm their hearts in the radi- ant smiles of the lovely fair ones who, like sunbeams or butterflies, were almost constantly fluttering about from one displayed gayety to another on a bright, sunshiny day. The sidewalks were always thronged; the store- keepers in the best of spirits ; everybody seemed to have a hand, a heart, and an open purse, at work within its limits. But what a change has come over it! Alas, how mutable are earthly possessions ! This street is no longer the mirror of fashion ; nearly all the fine stores are removed oft' it, and its glory has been transferred to its younger, haughty sister, Canal Street. Proud Rue de Chart res now wears a rueful face ; it sits disconsolate in its old clothes, looking more like one of the streets of ancient Damascus. Still, it is remem- bered for its former greatness, and, in common with other ruins, deserves to be recorded among the spots of New Orleans. On it are still standing some of its original buildings. The notable Girod mansion, at the corner of St. Louis Street, is the oldest and finest of these. Upon its dome is to be seen the identical weather-beaten vane that, in other days, told our fore- 45 Leaves of Thought. fathers the varying changes of the wind. The once eccentric, hospitable proprietor heeds not its tales ; he passed away long since, and left his charities and his peculiarities in the memory of others. Several an- tique, rusty-looking old edifices were removed from this street a few years ago, to give place to more mod- ern ones ; whilst the surviving ones are mostly come to base uses. There is one, for example, now made a nest for strange birds and eccentricities of nature gen- erally, that, within the memory of many, was the sacred den of an old hermit who retired in a manner from society, and, as the story goes, subsisted on rats and other similar dainties. He usually kept posted at his door or window, for the benefit of the outside world, mysteriously-written bulletins, which, like the newly-disinterred Egyptian hieroglyphics, doubtless had their significant meanings, .but, unfortunately for the unlearned masses, were too difficult to comprehend. He was only one of a number of human oddities that, from time to time, have acted out Life's farce within this narrow lane, and who were finally folded up and laid away as strange chapters in the journal of our. pathway to the past. These odd links in our history flourished mainly in the primitive days of bowlder pavements, before the novelty of granite blocks was introduced upon this street, and when the noisy, old 46 ' Memory Types of New Orleans. fashioned game of " keno " nightly rang its changes from the different cafes and merry domiciles along its sides. Here also was a favorite rendezvous for the motley, fantastic crew of masked characters that run riot through our city on " Mardi gras," the day imme- diately preceding Lent; which lawless pack, composed, in late years, mostly of rude boys and silly, loose women, in their conceit of a Eoman carnival, have made our streets hideous with their yells, and whose barren exploits consist in dusting flour into unoffending negroes' faces and bandying vulgar expressions at the noticing few. Wars ago, this festival was kept with considerable spirit: the caricatures were numerous and witty. At least they were gotten up at greater ex- pense and displayed more point : besides, the actors appeared to be a better class. At best, however, they were always inferior, both in excellence of humor as well as in costliness of designs to the chaste and ele- gant representations afterward given by the secret order known as the : * Mistick Krewe,'" whose annual turn-outs and tableaux are remembered with pleasure, not merely by the jolly participants, but by all who were present to witness them. The past war threw its chilling influence over the latter, depriving us for a time of this our customary annual treat. Yet, we hope, with the return of brighter days, to welcome their joy- ous, inspiring pastimes among us. 47 Leaves of Thought. COM GO SQUARE. The present proper name of this square is "Place d' Armes." It is more familiarly known, however, by its old appellation, and probably will continue to be, as long as former recollections of it are retained. It is intimately associated with the whilom sports of the holiday-loving negro, to whose benefit it was occasion- ally surrendered under the old regime. This square has not changed in appearance as much as the one from which it derives its new name. There are a few of the old trees still adorning its walks. These latter a few years ago were reconstructed and regraded ; and an attempt made to cement them over, which was only partially successful. The whole interior, in fact, has been generally improved. Outside still linger, as memories of the past, squatty, one-story French cot- tages with primitive dormer-windows, like pigeon houses, on top. To the front is preserved the pictur- esque view of the St. Louis Cathedral in the distance; in the rear, loom up the frowning belfries of the old Parish Prison and the Treme Market ; while to one side are still seen the needle-like masts of small sloops and schooners that lazily wait upon the stale waters of the Old Basin for outward cargoes to remote parts on the borders of our lovely Lake Pontchartrain. The 48 Memory Types of New Orleans. square looks cleanly and inviting. It is a pretty play- ground for children, but we see comparatively few there. The trees have been newly whitewashed, the gates are wide open to admit visitors ; still they do not come ; at any rate they do not come like they used to. In our late visits there, we met but few, and these lacked the apparent cheerfulness of former times. Even the birds seemed to have forsaken the place. The old gun is gone too ; the well-remembered iron monitor that nightl}' told the negro the hour for retiring, whose crazy old wooden carriage has been repaired so often as scarcely to leave any of its original parts, which was the wonder of the place, and over which, in all probability, many a prayer was offered as well as many a marvelous tale told. Yes, the old gun is gone ; perhaps the gunner too. This historic cannon had been bestowed here during the era of change. It stood formerly in Jackson Square, and for a lifetime duly performed its part in the ministrations of government ; but finally was shamefully superseded by the more musical bell in the St. Louis Cathedral, which was adopted as its sub- stitute, to the perplexment and annoyance of many a deluded darkey who, as yet unused to the change, found his way to the calaboose instead of his comfort- able home-quarters, for not minding the injunction. 49 Leaves of Thought. As already hinted, prior to the advent of these changes, Congo Square was devoted, on Sunday afternoons espe- cially, to the unrestricted pleasures of the negroes. They assembled here by hundreds at such times to renew old loves, and to gather new friendships, to talk over affairs of the past week, and lay new plans for enjoyment in the coming ones ; also to spend whatever surplus picayunes and dimes they may have acquired from their honest labors, or which came to them either as incentives or rewards for good conduct ; for they were at this time generally a cared-for, a docile, and contented people. Here likewise were ventilated many of the mischievous, mystical, and often troublesome Voudou arts that ever had hold upon the hearts of this singular race. The negro is naturally supersti- tious, always ready to believe in .ghost stories, dreams, demons, and supernatural manifestation. He clings to the marvelous, indeed, to anything and every thing- mysterious ; and doubts not the ability of certain gifted ones of his own kind to exorcise evil spirits, though the evidence on their part is shown in the lightest and most unsubstantial tricks. They collected here from all parts of the city, some in their e very-day working clothes, others arrayed in the accumulated cast-off finery of their patronizing superiors ; the women usually sporting the stylish 50 .Memory Types of New Orleans. bandana, snugly tied about the back part of the head so as to display that organ advantageously ; while the more independent men, on whom devolved heavier labors, made the best show they could in what they inherited of their masters' toilette, or the state of their finances and the times permitted. Around the square, inside as well as out. in convenient localities, were distributed small booths or stands for the sale of cakes, pies, and pop beer, all which animal supports were well patronized, and. in a great degree, were the fun- damental causes of most of the disputations noise as they were of the hilarity of the place. When a suf- ficient number were assembled, the dancing, an ordi- nary duty of the day. commenced. To this end the company divided off into small squads of a dozen or more at set distances throughout the square. Each squad had its own musician, who measured time and encouraged the dancers, either on a wheezing violin, a tambourine, or a banjo ; or, in the absence of these, upon an approaching instrument of his own construc- tion. A circle or ring was formed, and into it ven- tured a couple at a challenge, when, without further warning, a start was given to "The dancing pair that simply sought renown, By holding out to tire each other down.'' 51 Leaves of Thought. Perhaps the first to lead off would be aspiring profes- sionals who had obtained a knowledge of the art at one of the down-town assemblies, and whose eminent attainments seldom failed of securing them applause ; but these generally gave way, as the work grew warmer, to the less artistic but more sinewy novices who depended upon their ample extremities to supply any deficiency in their education. Occasionally a muscular, broad-shouldered, bow-legged fellow would be compelled to yield the honors to a fragile lass, solely on account of his shoes being too small for his feet or too dilapidated for the service. In our peregrinations that way one afternoon, we remember hearing a party of outsiders applaudingly comment upon the achieve- ments of a chunky little n egress, who was then in the ring, laboring mightily to "break down " the fourth or fifth champion who had incautiously accepted her challenge. She was earnestly at work, and, it seemed to us, with a fair prospect of succeeding. Her ebony companion appeared desirous of procuring a reputa- tion, but his nervous, random hitches at his pantaloons, and loud breathing, gave unmistakable evidence of his threatening failure. "I tell you," said one of the subdued number to a listening bystander, as he wiped the streaming tide of perspiration from his brow, " She 's a dancer ! She 's what you may call a 52 Leaves of Thought. natural dancer — a dancer from the heart." He then went on to relate, as much on his own behalf as hers we thought, his own trial with the redoubtable Ce- leste. We left them still watching her movements with apparent astonishment. Her feet were going with the rapidity of water buckets on the sidewheels of our steamers, but her countenance changed not a feature. Her arms were rigidly set in order to concentrate power upon the lower dependent parts. As we turned to leave, we fancied we detected a smile on her face; whether because of a secret satisfaction she felt of having acquitted herself so well in our presence, or because her tiring antagonist stumbled at a neighbor- ing piece of brick, we are not prepared to say — but we presume it was the latter. The musicians, as well as the music, held a prominent place in the drama. True, their instruments were defective ; but these were dili- gently served, and with a spirit that made them a power within themselves. When a string snapped, it was speedily adjusted with a tie; more rosin was ap- plied, and the pla}^ went on sharper and faster than before. Neither were they restricted to any particular order of sounds; but each dealt these out as his own taste, his ability, and the heat of the dance demanded. There is nothing, probably, outside of eating arrange- 53 Memory Types of New Orleans. ments that has a more controlling influence over the negro than music. His susceptible soul is overcome by its enchantments. He listens attentively to the sweet, pensive, pleasing strains of the organ, the ac- cordeon, and the flute ; the fife and drums recruit his waning strength ; but when he catches the lively tones of the laughing violin, every faculty of his soul and body are at once let loose in accordance with its dis- coursing^. Hence, it may be supposed on occasions like these, where all were left to the unrestrained enjoyment of pastimes of their own selection, they reached the full summit of happiness that their un- tutored minds and hearts were capable of. And, whether believed or not, it is nevertheless true, the negro was happier then, more useful, and better con- tented than he has been since. But his dancing days in Congo Square are over; the banjo and the violin are heard there no more ; the deserted square has be- come a Place d'Armes — a sober retreat for the care- worn citizen — a play -ground for young children — and the once-mirthful slave is having his "break-down" on the "wide, wide world," or within the limits of some distant plantation. May his future days be as happy as they were then ! In all probability many who were actors in these scenes have passed beyond this life's allurements; still, there may be some, 54 Memory Types of New Orleans. busily engaged in its farrows, who quietly sigh at times for a repetition of those happy hours, and who retrospectively cast a longing look back at the days u AVhen dey were in der teens, Down in Lusyanna, in the State ob Orleans." 55 Leaves of Thought. Leaves of Thought. TO THE MISSISSIPPI. [ELL me whither, in such haste, thou goest, Ever whirling, boiling, turbid river! Art thou destined, us thou proudly flowest, Always thus to freely flow forever? Strange Mississippi! thou art, at thy source, Clear and pure, controllable in motion ; What kindred streams have urged thee on thy course, To lose thyself so angrily in ocean? Ere man. in his primeval habit, stood And marked the boundaries where thou has strayed Through tangled forests, cane, and cottonwood; Through prairie, mountain pass, and everglade, In undetermined pathways of thy own, Thy course has ever been, as it shall be For ages past, for years to come unknown, As wild, as irresistible, as free. 59 To the Mississippi. Instructive memories of other date Along thy banks, a thousand miles, are cast — Which, to the curious traveler, relate Historic records of the hidden past; Which tell of changes that were slowly wrought By thy destructive, devastating tide ; Which mark the character of human thought, A nation's progress, and a nation's pride. Where now the opulence of man is spread, And art and industry their gifts bestow, The painted savage, numbered with thy dead, Was the sole monarch a few years ago. Where, undisturbed, the sea fowl napped its wings The mariner his canvas has unfurled ; And commerce, to a thrifty people brings, Th' accumulated riches of a world. From the rough hills of the inclement North. As undeterred by distance as by time, Thy swelling mass of waters issue forth To bear earth's bounty to this sunny clime. How often on thy willing bosom borne Full-freighted vessels have I loved to scan, Each on its peaceful mission steering on To cheer the intercourse of man with man. 60 Leaves of Thought. As now along thy southern banks I range. And note the changes that I find in thee, I am reminded of the greater change That surely has and must come over me. Perhaps, for ages, thou wilt onward move. In all thy strength, magnificence, and pride, When separated from the friends I love, I shall be sleeping coldly at thy side. Thy edd'ing stream that whirls in ceaseless strife, The wrecks that on thy shifting sands are seen, Are but a history of human life, Of what my joys, my hopes, my tears have been. But, unlike thee, O may my cares subside Ere the dull grave invites me as its guest! And may my soul in peaceful humor glide Into a haven of eternal rest. 61 Leaves of Thought. SPRING TIME ^OME, let us leave the haunts of busy men, And to the woods and fields awhile repair : I love to ramble in the country, when Enraptured Spring declares that God is there. Now, Winter's torpid reign is at an end, And birds have left their hiding nooks to sing; Sweet orange blossoms and verbenas lend Their grateful odors to the breath of Spring. To those who are pent up in towns like ours, Where nought is seen but heartless forms of trade ; 'Tis a rare treat to stroll among the flowers, And learn by whom and for whom these were made. 'Tis a relief to breathe the country air — To feel, in our just pride, that we are free, As children in their father's house, to share The common blessings of the family. As we look on the face of mother earth, Clad in her mourning robes, new charms appear ; Our hearts rejoice to witness the new birth Of vegetation sent to bless the year. 62 Spring Time, Of man's best works of art the soul will tire. When it has known the most that man can do ; But Nature's gifts the wisest must admire. For these are perfect and are always new. The trees are putting forth their tender leaves, And here and there a flower is peeping out From thickets, where the artful spider weaves His snares to catch the thoughtless flies about. On land, in air, in vast profusion swarms The sprightly insect, full of its young blood ; Which crawl or fly, as suits their varied forms, Like living atoms though the neighborhood. The swollen streamlets now no longer bound. In merry humor wind their crooked way Where, like mock soldiers on a parade ground, The noisy, gabbling geese are seen to stray. Thither the cock, with his full score of wives, A jealous lord, is strutting o'er the plain ; Proud of his honor, as with zeal he strives To lure the cackling gang in search of grain. The farmer in his wide, extended field, Guides his slow team to plow the tufted soil, Or break the clods that in due time will yield A fair abundance to reward his toil. Leaves of Thought. While on the lawn, beneath the widespread oak, Where sheep, and goats, are browsing with the kine. Released from their sore burden of the yoke, The sluggish oxen lazily recline. Yonder sit perched astraddle on a log Two playful urchins riding into town ; Whose laughs encourage their mischievous dog To hunt the harmless ducks and chickens down. Ah, little know the inexperienced pair On their delusive jaunts, by fancy traced, What disappointments will await them there In the romantic realms to which they haste. Back a few paces from the beaten road, Where nestling vines entwine among the trees, Is seen the neatly-painted frame abode Where honest labor finds its hours of ease. And, standing outside of the garden gate, When the descending sun of evening tells, Upon the motions of the milk maid wait The laden milch cows, tinkling their small bells. Blest home of peace, of innocence and health ! Could I escape the coils that round me twine, I gladly would exchange my dreams of wealth For the reality of joys like thine. 64 The Crushed Violet. The remnant of my life I here would spend In contemplation of the world above ; Where each day's march toward my journey's end Would bring me nearer to the G-od I love. THE CRUSHED VIOLET. HERE are events in life that seem, During their brief existence, single; Which, when returning as a dream In after years, appear to mingle. Like those small hands that singly move Around upon our dial faces; But which the hours and minutes prove, Do often blend as one in places. Some years ago, in May or June, As I was through a garden walking With a dear child, one afternoon, Listening to the youngsters talking, I happened carelessly to tread On a small flower, that few surpasses — A violet, that reared its head Among some weeds and common grasses. 65 Leaves of Thought. I stooped to see what harm was done The fair one, on its lonely mission ; And, by its style and fragrance won, Pelt pained to learn its true condition. The weeds and grass I brushed aside, And, drawing up its parts together, I left the crushed one to abide Its chances of the coming weather. A week hence, passing near that way, I sought it out, when I discovered The flower was dead — its body lay Beneath the weeds that o'er it hovered. It was an accident, I know, To a mere plant, yet I regret it ; And subsequent events do show I am not likely to forget it. Since then, my darling boy, Who with me through those grounds was stray- ing, Has also died ; and worms destroy The hands that with that plant were playing. Over his grave the flowers bloom. And fall and die for the same reason ; When strangers' feet around his tomb Tread down those flowers in their season. 66 The Crashed Violet. Death has to me forever hushed A voice, in which my soul delighted ; And thus my footsteps rudely crashed A joy. that by the world was slighted. Like that young fragile flower, my child Had barely tasted of life's pleasures ; Yet, in his death, he sweetly smiled Amidst the wreck of broken treasures. Whene'er I turn toward the sod That screens from me his face mice cheering, To watch the growth of flowers that God, Through our affections, there is rearing — A thought of that lost violet Before me like a shadow courses; To mingle in the deep regret My heart endures for recent losses. Perhaps, if I had fondly nursed In life the plant, which death has cherished, The wound that it received at first Had healed again — it had not perished. Or, if when left thus to decay, It had found elsewhere love to win it. My wounded heart would have to-day One sorrow less enshrined within it. 67 Leaves of Thought. GLIMPSES OF HEAVEN. ^HEEE are moments in life when our measure of bliss Is disturbed by a word that was carelessly spoken, When we shrink from the gloom of a false world like this, Where the ties of the heart are so easily broken. Yet a look may dispel the dark shade that was cast O'er our joys when those wrongs are confessed and forgiven ; And our hearts, thus returned to the loves of the past, Will reflect through their tear drops some glimpses of heaven. There are trials, like clouds, that arise on our way — There are temptations too of gain, pleasure, and beauty, Which, in unguarded moments, would urge us to stray From the straightforward, plain course of honor and duty ; 68 Glimpses of Heaven . Yet we may. like the sun as it sinks in the West Before taking its final departure at even. Break away from these clouds, which are shadows at best. And illumine our pathway with glimpses of heaven. There are times when we look upon what we pose As being part of God's bounty, not wholly our own : And are ready to share with the poor in distress. Who are neglectedly on the world's charities thrown. When the needy to aid. or the sick to restore. In the cause of the Savior this bounty is given. Though the part we extract will have lightened our store. It will give us some beautiful glimpses of heaven. There are those whom their own flesh and blood have denied For offences their accusers themselves are not free. Who are down-trodden outcasts upon the roadside. Without God, without the hope of repentance to see — Whom the Savior would say to: :: Go, sin thou now no more ;" But by man. guilty man. to despair have been driven, Go to such, oh ! my soul, and, if never before. Thou shalt have many distinct and true glimpses of heaven. 69 Leaves of Thought. In the years of the man who has earnestly sought Throughout life's perilous journey his passions to quell, There are seasons of bitter contrition and thought, Over the ways and the times where he stumbled and fell. When, like Peter, though loving his master and Lord, In his weakness, unaided by grace, he has striven To conquer ; but failing, has then turned to his God And obtained some encouraging glimpses of heaven. There 's a time in this world when withdrawn from its strife, In baptismal waters are our past sins washed away. And there 's a night at the close of a good man's life That ushers in the bright morning of infinite day. When assured that our names are recorded above. Our best deeds all remembered, our sins all forgiven, We can rest all our cares on our dear Savior's love, And rely on His promise for glimpses of heaven. 70 The Prism and the Sunbeam. w$& THE PRISM AND THE SUNBEAM. gW^ET fools and statesmen argue, if they please, g§! For independence, in their hours of ease ; Their loose, disjointed logic fails to prove That in society men simply move ; That, while through life our phantoms we pursue, The rich man can without the poor man do. Such chat is idle — nay. 'tis even worse — There's no such freedom in the universe: Absolute independence none have known — It is attribute of God's alone ; All are dependent in a world like this On some one else for their small share of bliss. Man, isolated from mankind, would stand As nearly useless as a grain of sand ; Though, when he mingles wisely with the race, He is of some importance in his place. One summer's morning, after a short rain, A sunbeam, glancing through a window pane, Fell on a prism that was dangling near, Suspended from a stately chandelier ; 71 Leaves of Thought. And, dazzled by the colors there displayed, (Which it presumed, of course, itself had made) In admiration of its charms expressed, Thus to the piece of glass itself addressed : •In thee, my pretty mirror, I can trace Correctly all the features of my face ; That heavenward on thee does brightly shine, As though the luster, true, was simply thine. Free born above in my celestial home, Of my own will to this dark world I come, Dispensing life and joy, which all will own. Are found in me, and spring from me alone. A portion merely of yon purest sun. I act on all, receiving aid from none; Hence, to my plumage of such varied hue, Is this thy borrowed splendor wholly due." To which the offended Prism thus replied : 'I own, vain Sunbeam, I'm to earth allied; And so are you, if you would justly see The common source that lights both you and me. 'Tis true I am but a piece of glass. Through which your subtle soul does freely pass ; Yet half the present elegance you view, To my peculiar form is strictly due ; And, were it not for the pure ambient air, 72 The Prism and the Sunbeam. I doubt if either would appear so fair. By no refracted cause your plumage bright, Indeed, without me. you were merely white; Therefore, my fair one, what you now perceive, Is not your own — you give and you receive/' Just then, a cloud, that passed before the sun, Obscured the whole of what the pair had done; And. as it sent the frightened beam away. In its complaining mood was heard to say: •Since in my presence neither of yon shine, A portion, truly, of this praise is mine; Which, failing to award inc. you Bhall Bee 'Tis of my clemency ye both are fiv The blaze of glory ye have chimed below Is as well witnessed in my misty bow That, in the arch of heaven extended there; Doe< more than with this humble Prism compare. Nay, richer hues than this are amply lent To my wings' tips along the firmament." -Ha! ha!" laughed otit some tiny drops of rain, "We could as well of thee complain. Where, smoky grumbler, would be your bright bow, Did we not with you on your journey go? And where your boasted luster in the sky, Were there no sun nor moon to light you by?" 73 Leaves of Thought. From this, let those who can, the lesson draw. That all created things are, by God's law, For other than a selfish use designed — Made, more or less, dependent on their kind. None stand alone, sequestered from the race ; None occupy a wholly useless place : None are too affluent, none are too poor To give, to need some blessing to secure ; And they are most dependent who are not. In their own sphere contented with their lot. THE AMERICAN INDIAN % WflWHEY had driven him from his early home. And the enemy fast and thick did come, His natural rights invading: His heart had failed him in his search of food And the fallen-spirited Indian stood In thought on his prospects fading. Coldly and loudly the night winds damp Blew over him there in that trackless swamp. The dirge of his race repeating : 74 The American Indian. He never had heeded their mournful tone, But they told him a tale so like his own, He listened to their sad greeting. The decaying leaves that were 'round him east By the approaching winter's deadly blast, A tear to his eye had started; As they went to the earth they served to tell How, one by one. his companions fell. Until the whole were departed. In the midst of war he was brave and bold. Xor fear to his heart did the scene unfold. As he bravely dealt about him ; But the Indian wept for his kindred slain. That, lonely and last, he should now remain, In the dreary world without them. No more will he hear the accustomed sounds Of their mirth borne over his hunting grounds. The frightened deer pursuing; They are gone to a distant, happy home, Where the Great Spirit dwells, where nought can come Of the white man's treacherous doing. Go, take his life — it has nothing to give; The struggle is made, he cares not to live. Again on his arm relying; 75 Leaves of Thought. He has sheath'd his knife, to be drawn no more. For his friends, his babes, and his faithful squaw, Are low in their cold graves lying. "IN THE DEEP FOREST." EOTHEE, let us wander In the deep forest yonder Where the choristers of nature sing all the year round : There the trees grow firmer. And the rivulets murmur O'er rough, shallow places through the fairy-haunted ground. There the wild fowls tarry — There the timid squirrels carry All of what they gather, to accumulate a store ; For in snowy weather The}' have to eat together. And the nuts grow scarcer as the winter pa-- - o'er. 76 In the Deep Forest. " In the spring-time early. When blossoms white and pearly Appear upon the hedges, and the suns bright ray- Make the dew-drops glitter. We will hear the birds twitter Of the harvest-time coming in the long summer day- Those little birds love us ; And in the trees above as We'll hear them tell us o' the places where they mean to build their nests. In the tangled brier ; In the slender poplar spire; And even on the summit of the sycamore cre^t-. Then we will pluck flower-. As we while away the hours. In the grand concert chamber of nature over there: And join in the chorus. With tenor voices o'er us. As they warble God's praises on the still morning air. There are sweet sounds often That tranquilize and soften The throbbings of the heart in the festal halls of mirth ; 77 Leaves of Thought. But though we all love them, E'en the fondest tire of them, Their music has an echo of the emptiness of earth. But in the dense forest, Where Xature is the chorist, Voices of departed ones that harmonize the whole; In the soft winds swaying, On leaves and branches playing, Sing to saddened hearts like ours the music of the soul. Then, brother, we will go Where the water lilies grow, As perfect little sun-shades as fishes ever saw; And watch the speckled trout, As they dart and swim about, As though they were delighted to see us on the shore. Our hearts will grow fonder, In their intercourse yonder, Beneath the silver-leafed maple on the green bank's side ; We will sit down by it In the afternoon quiet, And there revel in the castles of our noonday pride. 78 The Old Gnarled Oak. Or, in the lone wild wood, We can borrow from childhood 3Iany reminiscences we never shall forget : Fancy painted bubbles That bursting in our troubles, Left us vacant spaces that we cherish with regret. THE OLD GNARLED OAK. |£N a stubble field, near the old homestead. Stands an aged oak that has reared its head: Wi nter and summer, through many a storm. That cruelly twisted and scarred its form. For an hundred and fifty years, they say. It has firmly stood, as it stands to-day; 'Tis an old landmark — where the farmers now, For awhile recline, when they come to plow. On its gnarly trunk were some records traced Of our school-day loves, which are now defaced : And a mimic sketch of our teacher's head. Whom the artist regarded with decent dread. 79 Leaves of Thought. Where the old tree stands in that open space, In those early days was a forest place ; A silent retreat, where the sounds were heard Of the chirping squirrel and blue-jay bird. There we truants played on our way to school, And frolicked and romped in its shades so cool : There, in autumn time, when the nuts would fall, We went with the girls to secure them all. But the squirrels and nuts are gone away — For the woodman's ax, in its ruthless sway, Has leveled the neighboring trees that stood Near the grim old oak, in that lone wild wood. Like a sentinel there it stands alone ; Its branches are crooked and scraggy grown ; And its fallen leaves on the rough clods lie, The mere sport of winds that go surging by. Once young tendrils clung to the old oak's side, Like the tender plants of our family pride; But those vines are severed, and long since dead. As the heart strings are of our loved homestead. Ah, my heart grows sad of the thoughts that come. As the mind reverts to my former home: For the marks of time on that lonely tree. xlre voices that tell of its work on me. 80 Lines. The old oak shadows my wrinkled form, The effect of many a winter's storm ; While its leafless boughs, in its dreary age, - ow my fruitless tramp on this trifling stage. What vision- of joy. that I thought would last, Ha^e vanished away as the seasons passed; And what hopes and plans that my youth designed, In traveling on. have been left behind. So have one by one of my kindred day. Parents, brothers, and Bisters, passed away; Until, like that oak. I am left to stand Here, the only one of that happy hand. L 1 N E s Written on seeing a late photograph of Alexander Camp- bell, of Bethany. Virginia. *X separate pathways tending to that bourne, S^tf% Where eacn expects to lay his burden down; Through change of seasons w T e have plodded on, Since starting out to gain our heavenly crown. 81 Leaves of Thought. Eventful years with care and sorrow fraught, Whose record now I scarcely can retrace. Have passed since we last met, and time has wrought Its ruthless changes on that manly face. Those lengthened locks that are become so gray. Which reverently tell of life's decline. Are well-meant monitors that point the way To where he shortly must earth's cares resign. They cluster 'round his brow, and sweep his breast, As did the patriarch's long years ago ; And, like those lasting snows on Alpine crest. Denote a distance from the world below. Which elevated peaks, above the range Of what does on earth's lower surface dwell. Are not disturbed by straggling winds that change Their currents often in the noisy dell. Those whitened hairs that have rich honors worn. The luster of his well-sj)ent life display: As mountain tops reflect the setting sun That lingers "round them at the close of day. Those eyes now dim. that once with reason's fire Were lighted up in the young march of life, Are turned to teach his spirit to aspire To a much nobler and a higher strife ; 82 , Lines. To watch its progress on the heavenly road ; To nurse the flowers of thought that else might fade; To catch new glimpses of that blest abode, Which lies beyond our misty ev'ning's shade. Those failing limbs, which further tend to prove The crash of time, by gradual decay, Unfitted in life's busy mart to move, In parent dust will soon be laid away. But not until his spirit has been borne Beyond the reach of human wrongs and pain ; There they shall rest, too, till that coming morn, Where all will rise to consciousness again. That voice in former years BO eloquent, Whose tones once thrilled us and whose sweetness charmed. By age enfeebled, hath its forces spent, Though not of wisdom or of truth disarmed. It still proclaims the ways of God to man, While hills and vales its sounds reverberate; And younger hearts through which its echoes ran, To younger list'ners will its truths relate. All whom will bless him on that narrow road Which leads to God, to happiness, and love ; Where having laid aside its mortal load, His spirit freely soars in realms above. 83 Leaves of Thought. A RAINY DAY IN TOWN. I NOTHER, yes, another rainy day ! ^vAnd here, within the narrow walls of home, f*& We are house prisoners, compelled to stay ; But not to dream the hours of life away. Nor nurse unpleasant thoughts of what may come. There 's work enough for little hands to do — And little feet need not here idly stand. While all these drops of rain are busy too. Descending to the earth to work for you. To cleanse the streets and fertilize the land. Look out a moment through the window pane. And see them pattering through the neighborhood ; They, falling on the pavement, rise again. And dance, and jump, and sing their merry strain, And bubble on the kennel's dirty flood. All have important errands to fulfill ; Some will remain to quench the thirst of earth, While others down in streamlets run. to fill The rivers and the ocean, whence they will Return in clouds to save us from a dearth. 84 A Rainy Bay in Town. Those pretty bubbles you see floating by Are nothing more than little drops of rain, That, coming hither from the distant sky, Are lifted up, apparently to try To get back to those airy realms again. See those young truants paddling in that pool ! It seems to me their parents act amiss ; It were far better, as a gen'ral rule. To keep such tender youngsters home from school On such a "gloomy, rainy day as this. And there 's a child of want I Ye seen before. Facing this pitiless, autumnal storm : Tyrant Necessity, that knows no law. Has driven her out to beg, from door to door. A day's subsistence in that humble form. And here conies, dripping wet. a woman, and Pity 'tis her skirts were not made shorter, With rickety umbrella in her hand ; She looks as if she previously had planned To get her full share of mud and water. The boys and men are in a better plight. As they can freely skip about alone; Though there is one in pantaloons of white, Who now presents a melancholy sight, For stepping rashly on a tilted stone. 85 Leaves of Thought. Here, hang my hat and coat upon the rack ; Bring out the table, and the books arrange; Draw up the curtains, push the shutters back, And hand me down my favorite almanac, That I may learn the hour the moon will change. Those morning journals carefully read o'er. That are as useless lumber thither cast, Gather up and place them in the drawer ; They gave us pleasure and may give us more Some future day, referring to the past. Turn on the gas — do let us have some light ! In room as dark as this one scarce can move, Though owls and bats, and cats and kittens might ; Good friends, I think you '11 find that I was right — This is no shower, as the day will prove. THE SEA GULLS. V^n$ HEEE, pray, noisy sea gulls, tell me, ^||||>On our stricken planet dwell ye? Come ye from the poles together Prating of a change of weather? 86 The Sea Gulls. Or, from secret, dark eaves yonder. Merely to annoy and plunder? Are ye from above, or from the Lower regions; pray, whence come ye? Roving like the winds that bear ye. To nought else would I compare ye Than a set of mad-cap devils Out on their mischievous revels: Soon to leave, we know not whither. With the storms that bring you hither. Prythee, mariners, can you tell Where these noisy sea gulls dwell? Birds they are of evil omen — Harbingers of good to no one ; By the storm clouds madly driven. Neither of the earth nor heaven. Never resting, always flying — To each others* shrieks replying : Rioting in wild commotion. Like the fretted waves of ocean. In the broad expanse above us Floating like the forms that love us ; Then in giddy whirls descending. To the river's surface tending: Of its muddy waters sipping ; 87 Leaves of Thought. In its stirred-np channels dipping ; Thus frolicking away in strife Their barren troubled dream of life. Foolish sea gulls! ye remind me Of earth scenes that often blind me; When my soul, vexed with displeasure, Loses sight of its best treasure. Truth and Love, and Joy and Eeason, Faintly glimmer for a season ; And my sinful passions riot Where before were peace and quiet. Thus, when moral darkness lowers Eound us in tempestuous hours, Our poor hearts, in gross confusion, Led on by some strange delusion, Turn away from God, as fearless, To scenes stormy, void and cheerless; Turn from our best friends and heaven, Unloved, unloving, unforgiven. 88 Growing Richer.*' -GROWING RICHER/' 0, love, we are not poorer grown, Despite our remitted labors ; True, we've no lands to call our own, Like many of our wealthier neighbors. Still we are not as poor as some Who live in more exalted places ; Xor rich as those poor souls who come To bless us with their happy faces. The world believes us that we are poor, And it does well, perhaps, to shun us ; For we have nothing, I am sure, To make the syren smile upon us. The fickle goddess loves her own, Who dearly pay for all her favors ; But all her false embraces shown Could not from heart-ills ever save us. Our earthly stores may waste away, And insincere friends may forsake us; Yet we grow richer ev'ry day That disappointments overtake us. 89 Leaves of Thought. If, rising from the mist and gloom. That hovers o'er the present merely. Like Mary at the Savior's tomb, We seek the Lord we love sincerely. Yes, we grow richer ev'ry day As something useful we are learning: While each day's progress on our way Makes brighter the next sun returning. Though fears occasionally come, Through grace we see our pathway clearer As journeying onward toward home The nightfall brings us one day nearer. Though often in this world denied The joys expected of its hours. Upon our pilgrimage we tried To strew each other" s way with flowers. And, released from the day's concern. Our troubles for the time forgetting. At ev'ning's dusky shade we'd turn To where our sun of life was setting. The lovers of this world may scoff At those who bow not to its pleasures ; But the rich mans the poorest off Whose tinsel is his only treasure. 90 Growing Richer." And those who its vain shows approve — Who listen to its wrong instructions, Are moths that near the candle move To bring about their own destruction. Along the shady side of life, Since starting out on it together, We both have toiled amid the strife A needful competence to gather. But now our limbs need some repose, The frosted locks of age remind us ; And drawing near our journey's close, We soon shall leave this world behind us. Our portion that appears so slim Will satisfy our present hunger; So, leaving future wants to Him Who was our stay when we were younger- We, leaning on his arm in prayer, Will jog along with those who love us, Toward that better country, where The skies are alwa}^s bright above us. 91 Leaves of Thought. OUR WOODEN CLOCK. UE good old wooden clock, dear wife, whose Wk ^ hands ir ^ W ere seldom known to move too fast or slow, Upon the bed-room mantle-piece still stands, Just as it did near twenty years ago. Its face is older grown ; its case, like ours. Appears somewhat the worse, 'tis true, for wear : But still we lov'd it for the joyful hours It has recorded since we placed it there. A well-tried, faithful servant it has been, Though frequently subjected to abuse; Within its walls were always to be seen Some trine stowed away for future use. Thus served it as a hiding place or cell For thimbles, buttons, and sometimes a vial : While outwardly it only seemed to tell The time of day like any other dial. I sit and gaze upon its time-bronzed face, Which has so oft our fleeting moments told And which the while it did those moments trace, Has like ourselves, been surely growing old. 92 Our Wooden Clock. It brings up recollections of the past, When you and I were young, and slightly heeded Life's passing hours, which we thought would last — Or be by other brighter ones succeeded. It chides me for the hours I idly spent, The many precious moments I neglected ; Our murmurings at providences sent In mercy to us where we least expected. I never hear it strike the hour of ten — Though there has intervened some seven summers — But painful thoughts arise of the night, when Our youngest born, dear wife, was taken from us. I recollect when I first brought it home, Your curiosity to know its donor ; And how our friends of evenings would come, With cheerful words, to greet you as its owner. And well I mind, with how much secret pride, The doubtful question we debated, whether It were, on Life's long road, to be our guide, So long as we should travel it together. Where are those young friends now? Ah! where are they ? They do not come as they were wont to meet us ; Xot one of them, dear wife, is here to-day, 98 Leaves of Thought. As they were then, with a loud laugh to greet us. Some live in distant homes ; while some repose Beneath the sod, beside their sainted mothers — Where we shall join them at the evening's close, And leave our good old wooden clock to others. ? THE MOTHER'S DREAM. ^LONE a mother knelt g Beside the couch whereon her dead child lay Cold, ghastly pale and motionless. She felt That with its spirit all had passed away ; That her best hopes lay crushed and blighted there, As she thus bowed herself in secret prayer. All was dark before her ; A dismal void — till, nature overcome, Sleep kindly drew its charmed mantle o'er her. And closed awhile the dreariness of home — Bringing sweet visions of her child at rest, Life-like as when it lay upon her breast. The mother dreamt she heard Its joyous laugh, as on the air it came; The Mother's Dream. At which her wounded heart was deeply stirred. And, rushing forward, calling it by name. She caught the fair one fondly by the hand, And was conducted through the heavenly land. Where all those she met, Like her blest child, with love were animate ; Whose social converse caused her to forget The recent sorrows of her former state : All were so happy : all so bright, so fair ! The wand"ring stranger wished to linger there. On a far distant shore, (A deep abyss between themselves and her,) From whence she looked, she thought she dimly saw. Of old and young — with whom none may confer — A multitude, that aimlessly did roam Friendless mid friends, and houseless evn at home. Among the rest was one. Delicately formed like hers, but older ; A fond, yet erring mother s only son, Whose past history the angels told her. He, lost to virtue, on the earth had died, By God. by man. by heaven and earth denied. When thus she spake — u My own, My loved, my lost one found, when thou did'st leave 95 Leaves of Thought. Earth's joys for these, as then to me unknown, No untried heart can tell how mine did grieve ; But, ah, how short my love ! that thee I see From sin, from sorrow, and from death set free." To which the child replied : "It is not death that gives us greatest pain; For when for all of us the Savior died He conquered death that we might live again; Lonely without me, mother, you are shown To be without G-od is to be alone.' 5 The bright illusion past — To consciousness and earth again returned, As on that lifeless form her eyes were cast, The mother for her kindred spirit yearned ; Yet more than earthly peace to her was given, Of those few moments which she spent in heaven. 96 Our Soldiers' Graves. OUR SOLDIERS' GRAVES. (JR dead are not forgotten ! The cold earth }il%^ That claims of their poor bodies all it gave Of its own perishable substance — dust — Shall shed a living verdure o'er their graves. Young, fresh, and beautiful when spring returns: And woman's hand will set mementoes there. In tender recollections of her love, On All-Saints' Day; winds plaintively will chant Their requiems ; while setting suns shall throw Around the hallowed spot a peaceful smile Calm as theirs at parting. Bring flowers then, Seasonable, delicate, bright flowers — Fit emblems of our gay but short-lived hopes, And strew them here ; here on these new-made mounds ; Where sleep our worn-out soldiers at their posts, Forgetful of the battles they have fought. No mother's voice was near them when they died; No loving sister, wife, and children dear; 97 Leaves of Thought. But distantly removed from ev'ry tie. Except the common tie of human kind. They quietly surrendered to that foe Which must o'er come us all — their arms to earth, Their spirits to their God. Let them sleep on. Beneath the velvet drap'ry of gray moss. That hangs in dreamy sorrow o'er their beds. Until the final reveille. Mother, We placed no wreath above thy darling boy To court the statesman's homage ; he needs none A more enduring wreath is on his brow ; But we strewed roses — sweet-scented roses — Our chosen oiferings to one so young Which, for a time, gave promise of new life, And dying left their sweet perfume behind. Sister, thy brother often spoke to us Of thee, of all thy many kindnesses, That nestled in his dreams of thee at home ; Which ^natural expressions came and went. Like spirit music o'er a troubled lake, Prom his wrung heart to ours. 98 Invocation to Peace. And thou, fond wile, And helpless little ones, so sad, so soon Devoted to a weary orphanage : How much of thee made up his dying hours! Our kin, our country thine, our claims are one: Thy loss our loss, thy griefs we will share, Together bound by this last stroke of death. INVOCATION TO PEACE. COME, gentle Peace ! come again to our bor- i^SSk ders. Come back as thou went from us, lovely and true : Our day dreams, without thee, no longer afford us The realized hopes that we formerly knew. Come with the olive to unite and to cheer us ; Come with thy bright smiles, we are weary of woe; Our hearts and our hearthstones are lonely and drear, as The desolate waste in the paths of the foe. 99 Leaves of Thought. In thy absence our kindred, loved ones of our child- hood, Our fathers, our brothers, in whom was our trust. Have fallen, as autumn leaves do in the wild wood, To perish and molder away into dust. And on their damp graves, their brave comrades around them, Fatigued with their battles, have fallen asleep ; While morning has dawned on their slumbers and found them Still left by the side of their heroes to weep. Our hearts sighed for thee when the reveille sounded; For thee, too, we wept at the evening prayer, When, bent o'er the beds of the sick and the wounded, We knew they were dying, and thou wert not there. We were told thou would'st come as the summer passed on, E'en cold frosts and want should appear at our door; But the seasons have changed since, and winter is gone, Yet thou art not present to comfort the poor. Then we thought thou wouldst certainly come in the spring, When birds from their winter recesses did flee ; But these birds have returned to our gardens to sing Without any solacing tidings of thee. 100 Silent Sorrows. Our vision grows dim as we watch thy returning ; The months seem as years while we anxiously wait; At midnight, at noonday, at ev ning and morning. In vain have we sought for thee early and late. Come back, there is little now left to estrange us; Come, for our children's sake, and leave us no more; Thy presence and counsels are needed to change us — We ve foes to forgive, we ve friends to restore. O. God of our Fathers! whom daily we pray to — In whom are the hidden resources of lite — We ask Thee, in mercy, to open some way to Determine this frantic, unnatural strife. SILENT SORROWS ^IfKl ^ densely-populated cities found? Think not that all are daily passing 'round From door to door, Craving employment, often vainly sought. To gain a pittance for the day's support. 101 Leaves of Thought. Nor yet alone In those receptacles of sick'ning scents — Dilapidated, cheerless tenements Of wood or stone ; Nor in almshouses reared at public charge, Nor lodged upon humanity at large. Though we may call Such of God's creatures poor — for poor they are. And objects of our sympathy and care — These are not all ; A gentler, purer sorrow earth conceals Which Heaven only to its few reveals. Who loves his race, And is desirous of doing good. May find, perhaps, in his own neighborhood — In ev'ry place — Want unobtrusive, hearts more sore distrest That must be sought out ere they can be blest. Whose hands like thine In other days were wont to bless the poor: Ere spectral poverty beset their door ; Whose wounds incline To shrink from public gaze in honest pride, And gild appearances they can not hide. 102 Boyhood Sports. Once happy hearts ! Once plenty smiled where now a fagot burns Now want to their unshielded bosom turns Its cruel darts : Alas, that e'er the frosts of life should come To chill the ti reside of such a home ! Go gently there: As a soft summer's morning sunbeam go ; Breathe not to an unfeeling world a woe It can not share : Go like the angels go, whose deeds of love Are sounded only in the courts above. BOYHOOD SPORTS. U/yty HEN we were careless schoolboys, Tom, *^S=§i ^ l ^ Q ev ry other one. Our heads, our hearts and our hands were full Of mischief and of fun. The studies of the day dismissed. Of little else we thought, Than how to make the intervals Contribute to our sport. 103 Leaves of Thought. We had our seasons for our games, Our municipal code To rule us in the choice of these As well as in the mode ; And when the time expired for one The next, in turn, began, As each one drifted on the means To carry out the plan. The spring and summer brought to us Our marbles, tops, and kites ; And sundry ways to take from birds A portion of their rights. But later in the autumn time, When nuts began to fall, We roamed through woods in quest of these, Or played the game of ball. In winter when the snowllakes fell Upon the village slopes, Our sleds, adorned with heroes' names. Were drawn up by the ropes, And, taking on a freight of boys To tow the dead weight back, We slid down like a train of cars Upon the beaten track. 104 Boyhood Sports. Ah ! those were happy days to us We never can recall ; Though dream-like shadows of them come To hover o'er us all. We re getting on in years, dear Tom — Our locks are turning gray — And needs must leave our toys behind. And jog along our way. But as one looks back on his home When sailing out to sea. So turns my heart to scenes like these. That still are dear to me; And, like when that loved land recedes. It gives me little joy To know I'm further off from them Than when I was a boy. For what are we in man's estate But boys of larger growth ? Each have their sports, their games of chance, And play alike at both ; The one, in his desire for gain, With smooth, delusive words, Prepares a net to catch grown men, The other catches birds. 105 Leaves of Thought. So, too, in a commercial breeze, The merchant flies his u kites' 1 — Mere paper ones, like those we flew At even greater hights; And thousands find out late, as they In their reverses slide, They have been hauling sleds up hill For other men to ride. DIPPING IN THE SPRING/' you remember, Tom, the time, When seated by the spring, We made a cup of plantain leaves, And tied to it a string; With which, from that pure fountain, Tom. As luscious draughts we drew, As ever Nature's noblemen In their proud fancy knew? Our cup was a frail, tiny one, But princes fain would sip 106 Dipping in the Spring" Of joys such as it brought to us, At each successive dip. Those crystal drops were sparkling gems That glistened in our eyes. .More precious than those costl} r stones That half the world surprise. The days were shorter then, dear Tom, Or gray-beard Time, forsooth, Keeps stricter reckoning with us now Than he did in our youth. We seldom then grew tired, Tom : Bat when the day was done. We had our pleasant dreams at night To cap the morning's fun. And no doubt you remember, Tom. With what impatient glee, I snatched the cup that you withheld In sportiveness from me, And reaching down to make a dip With the dissevered string, I lost my foothold on the bank. And tumbled in the spring. Ah, Tom, my boy, it was not long The laugh was on your side ; For toddling onward toward home, 107 Leaves of Thought. As lustily you cried, Through fear lest mother, in her haste, Would lay the blame on you ; And you should share of the mishap Its consequences too. But sorrows thus were trifles, Tom. And soon were lost in tears ; Mere unsubstantial morning mists. That vanished with our fears ; From which we soon emerged, dear Tom, Prospectively to trace The rainbow and promises That shone on mother's face. We scarcely knew what mother meant When fingering our curls, She kissed us both and called us then Her "pretty string of pearls." But now the clasp is broken, Tom, And sev'ral pearls are lost, We know the meaning of those words, But knoAV them to our cost. Many a poorer spring, dear Tom, In other fields we 've found ; Where silver cups of pleasure went Less joyfully around. 108 My Gentle Monitor. And many a ducking I have got In other springs since then, For making cups of plantain leaves, To dip with older men. MY GENTLE MONITOR. morning-glory seed, by chance let fall, Or which the playful winds had there directed, Sprang into life upon an old stone wall, Where had, in course of time, some earth col- lected, It seemed so like a good returning thought In our dark hours, when all looks lost forever, On those bleak ruins into being brought, I felt disposed to watch its weak endeavor. Commercially, the plant, in others' eyes, Was of no value — a green thing uncared for ; But being found there made it a surprise, To say the least, I was quite unprepared for. 109 Leaves of Thought. With few or no advantges for good, It hopeful seemed, while my own heart was fearful ; And, in its way, was doing what it could To make the ruins and the roadside cheerful. The sterile spot that gave the stranger birth Was a mere flaw that through the wall extended. And held about a handful of good earth, On which, for sustenance, the roots depended. Yet in this scanty bed it daily grew, And slowly gained in size as well as power ; When one bright morning, wet with spangled dew, I found upon its slender stem a flower. This new discovery was quite as great As was the first; I really felt delighted To see the vine in such a forward state ; And more because I thought it had been slighted. That is, from man it had received no care, And 't were as well, perhaps, he did neglect it ; For God, who placed the little creature there, Was surely far more able to protect it. During the time I stood there, I suppose. An hundred thoughts as many things presented: Joy, hopes and fears, then sharp reproofs arose Because I were so often discontented. 110 My Gentle Monitor. I felt ashamed to think that I had gained So little in the past with my resources; And had, through life, as frequently complained Of what were truly providential losses. I said if God thus graciously has smiled Upon a work so small as this before me, As an indulgent father to his child, He will, I'm sure, as carefully watch o'er me. He knows my weaknesses; He knows these must Sometimes prevail to cloud my sunlight hours, But if I place in him a heartfelt trust, He'll guard me as He doth the tender flowers. But can I, a more highly favored one, Thus turn toward Him, at the close of even. And say, with this small vine, I have well done All that I could for others and for heaven ? When we are judged alike of Him, I fear I shall not dare to say, in my position, I did as well with my own portion here As this poor outcast on its lonely mission. 3Iore blest than it, I have not always tried To rightly use the means He kindly gave me ; Xor with unerring constancy relied Upon His faithful promises to save me. Ill Leaves of Thought. I've not yet learned to receive as I ought Affliction in the way His mercy meant it; Nor like this pretty morning-glory sought To thank Him for the dew-drops timely sent it. "GOD WATCHES OVER ME." ^WhEN" night comes and my eyelids close ^05§ ^" n swee t unconscious sleep, Guarding angels near me then Their willing watches keep. And in the morning when I wake, The angels still are there, To waft my humble thanks to God For His protective care. I know God watches over me When day begins to dawn, For new-born thoughts and hopes of life Are mine when night is gone : And tangled silver threads of light Are strown upon the floor, Drawn by the angel's finger through A crevice in my door. 112 God watches over Me.' I know God watches over me At sunrise, for the skies Are lighted then with golden smiles; And joyful anthems rise From hills and vales and running streams That make creation ring, Which notes of praise a heart like mine Should be the first to sing. I know God watches over me At noonday, while I strive Amidst the heat, the dust, the toil, My purposes to thrive ; For I am sure when I recount My source of happiness, Had He not all my plans controlled My portion would be less. I know God watches over me In the dull afternoons, When, burdened with increase of cares My tired spirit swoons ; For 'tis in waning hours like these I listen to His call, When, backward from my setting sun The lengthened shadows fall. 113 Leaves of Thought. I know God watches over me In dusky twilight shades, When, like the mem'ry of the past The distant landscape fades. For there I needs must grope my way Slowly, for want of light; And feel dependent as I walk By faith, and not by sight. 1 know God watches over me Throughout the entire day; For He has often sought me out When I had lost my way. His chastisements, I blindly thought, Inflicted needless pain ; But now, as I look back, I see They were not dealt in vain. I know God watches over me, And I will trust in Him; Though there are moments when my hopes Appear so very dim. Since He to youth to manhood's prime, So many blessing gave, I'll trust Him in my feeble age, To lead me to the grave. 114 After the Battle. AFTER THE BATTLE fZm ;y\ X these bights and plains, a few months ago, b In the fervor of hate stood foe to foe, Mid the storm of shot and the clash of steel, Or their own or their country's wrongs to heal; The future to make, and the past to hide, As the surge of war should their fate decide; And so tierce that day was the sulphurous fight, E'en the brute tribes shrank from the scene with fright. Now nature as peacefully slumbers here, And flowers and grasses again appear; The birds have returned to the groves to sing, As they used to do in the months of spring; And the lab'rer goes to his daily toil With no present concern for the past turmoil ; For all is forgotten, the strife is o'er, And the world moves on as it did before. The dead to their final retreats are borne ; The passionate combatants homeward gone, And the molded shot on the green sward cast, Are all that is left of the dangerous past. 115 Leaves of Thought. To tell of the many that here repose, Like unnumbered leaves at the season's close ; While, carelessly over their unknown beds, The occasional thoughtless tourist treads. From the far-off sea, when the storm is o'er, Come murmuring waves to the beaten shore; There are sorrowing shells on the beach that tell Of the mariners lost in the ocean's swell; But naught, save the changeful winds that sigh, And the useless missiles that round us lie, Eeminds us of those whom their comrades left, Of all but the soldier's honor bereft. The surviving few to their homes have turned, In quest of the quiet for which they yearned ; Disheartened and weary of earth's discords, And the human rust on their blood-stained swords. The victors from fields they have dearly bought; The vanquished deprived of the good they sought; But ah, few can tell, and as few will care, If their friends still lived to receive them there ! Full many a brave young soldier that stood Defiant that day in this sheltered wood ; Who escaped unscathed from the dreadful scene, Has gone to a dwelling where death has been. Yea, many a sentinel since has found 116 Watching o'er the Dead. That while he kept guard on the picket ground, Others watched at home, but with hopes more dim, The corpse of his wife or his child for him. Full many a destitute sun -burnt one, In his worn-out garb when the fight was done, On his tramp from here, but the way has traced To an emberless hearth and home laid waste. And the empty plaudits that always come To welcome the soldier's return to home, May have soothed his heart but could not repair The loss that he felt w T hen he entered there. WATCHING O'ER THE DEAD. ^AKTH'S tired laborers have lain down to sleep; The night's dark mantle o'er the world is thrown ; The stars above their noiseless vigils keep, And I am left here to my griefs alone. My thoughts are wandering to the unknown. Through shade, through mist, to devious path- ways led ; 117 Leaves of ThoiCght. My parched-up soul refuses now to weep, Lest it should, in those tears, its sorrows shed, As I look on the face of my loved dead. No stir, nor sound my weary senses greet, Save the small clock that ticks behind the door, Or when the watchman in the quiet street, Taps his sharp signals on its stony floor. His heavy footsteps partially restore My fevered brain, that else my soul would fright, And slack my pulses in their hurried beat. During the long, dull watches of the night, To lead me on to a less painful flight. List! the clock strikes. The old cathedral bell Is ringing out its record of the hour ; Its solemn, slow, deep-toned monitions dwell In midnight air, as an unearthly power To warn me, while I'm waiting here, that our Frail hold on life is that much frailer grown ; That, ere the time returns this hour to tell, My summons may be served to stand alone Within thy courts, O Death! Ah yes, my own. How slowly wane the tedious hours away As here, between Time and Eternity, I sit and watch beside the lifeless clay Of my lost friend, whose spirit is set free ! 118 Watching 'o'er the Dead. Whose withered remnant death has left to me So cold, so marred, in what was once so fair ; So unlike what it was but yesterday; Yea, so unlovely now, I can not bear To look upon it as 't is lying there. Sheer cowards we. when drawn toward the brink Of that dread precipice which all must pass; In hours like these, the stoutest heart will shrink With utter weakness from itself: alas ! As from some frightful image in a glass ; And fearing death, when it seems drawing njgh, AVill stand aghast, not trust itself to think It is a natural act in man to die. When he but lays an useless garment by. Yet, in the flow of health, we heedless go On our fierce rounds of pleasure and of pain, Nor stop to ask, nor even care to know At what dread goal we next may meet again. Till stript. at last, of what we thought to gain From vain amusements in our mad career ; We fall, and leave posterity to show, Inscribed on stone, or written in a tear, The sum of our acquired fortunes here. 119 Leaves of Thought. Aye, such there are in the ignoble crowd Who press along earth's noisy avenues, Learned and unlearned, both profligate and proud, In search of something that will them amuse ; But which, if gained, they soon again must lose; Hence, on comes death, at intervals between, An overshadowing yet friendly cloud, To wake us from our dreams, to shift the scene, That nobler purposes may intervene. Were there no checks to cause us to return To the realities of our abode ; No halls like these where the unwise would learn To struggle under an increasing load ; No stopping places on our toilsome road, Where failing strength could its weak powers recruit ; Ah, then, our earth-tied souls would simply yearn For what does merely with the present suit, And mankind were no better than the brute. Was there for us no other dwelling sphere — Xo undefined hereafter to explore, When done with this, then we had naught to fear, When our short exercise on earth is o'er; Deprived of hope, we could do nothing more Than feast on what does most convenient lie no The Two Friends. Within the grasp of our mere senses here — Eat, drink, and sleep, contend awhile, then die, As the swift seasons in their course went by. But this is not the whole of life we see; Nor are we, as brute beasts, so loosely made ; Though wither bound, whence come, and what we are Are unsolved questions without higher aid ; Still, these are questions we can not evade. In the stern hours of lawlessness and care, When our poor, unrequited souls would nee Beyond the bounds to unknown places, where Are things and scenes far more mysterious there. THE TWO FRIENDS. * v rJpS I strolled through the ''Garden District," A^fi To muse in its silent retreats, ~***>~*& In front of an elegant mansion, On one of its principal streets, Two bright-eyed, affectionate children. At their innocent pastimes played ; Whom one might have fancied were angels That hither from heaven had strayed. mi Leaves of Thought. They were both of them choice young spirits, Of nearly or quite the same age ; Who, through with, perhaps, their third summer, Were out the fourth one to engage. Intent on a wild romp together, They bounded away at a glance, As light-footed, too, as the fairies, That by night on the moonbeams dance. One was costly attired ; his ribbons Went gracefully out on the breeze ; The other had on a mere slip, that Extended just down to her knees. Of this neither made a distinction, But both just as happily smiled ; Though the one was a rich man's darling, And the other a poor man's child. Like all other little new-comers, They were not acquainted with earth ; Its etiquette, follies, and fashions, Had nothing to do with their mirth. They were in pursuit of life's pleasures, Apart from its vices and pains ; As bees, to extract from the flower The sweets that its calyx contains. 122 The Tito Friends'. There carafe from the mansion before me With a haughty, disdainful air, One, either the natural mother, Or the nurse, of the rich man's heir; Whose eold and unfriendly behavior, And indignant flirt of the gown. Said plainly, she dreaded the poor one She drove from her gate with a frown. 1 have not forgotten their faces, How loth were the young ones to part; For I felt an additional sorrow That moment had entered my heart. Ah! why should one needlessly sever The hopes of a friendship sincere? Earth has not a surplus of pleasure To give to mortality here. Now, out on the skirts of our city, In the damp of the cypress shade, There are two little graves — and in them Are two frail little bodies laid. O'er one are some rich decorations — O'er the other the grass grows wild ; In the one sleeps the rich man's darling — In the other the poor man's child. 123 Leaves of Thought. And there, undisturbed by earth's follies, As friends they together repose ; In Death's cold embrace reunited. That no inequality knows. They were not intended for mortals, Their hearts were too tender and pure At home in the playgrounds of heaven,- Their love shall forever endure. OUR FAMILY PHYSICIAN SHE old man's work is done. I knew him well, And often did his nauseous potions take; We, youngsters, used to think that he could tell The cause of every ailment, pain, and ache. When any faltered, in his gig he came, Graver and wiser than a judge or parson ; O'er nature his supremacy to claim, Or do his part to carry the grim farce on. 124 Our Family Physician. I dearly loved to meet him on the road, And exchange a smile, or pass the word of day, But had a dread of him at our abode, That subsided only when he went away. Professionally, he was somewhat queer ; Yet, when drawn aside to groups of healthy men, He had some qualities that made him dear To jovial-hearted persons present then. A rigid graduate of the old school, He would not tolerate a change of practice ; Nor deviate from the established rule Laid down in standard works, to which, the fact is He owed the greater part of all his skill ; While nostrums of all kinds he did ignore them; But, like a horse in an old-fashioned mill, He trod the beaten track that lay before him. On entering a house for the first time, He would slyly glance toward its furniture; A habit he contracted in his prime, And which small infirmity he did not cure. This may have been a nervousness of sight, Occasioned partly by the strange location ; A weakness of the optic nerves, that might Apply to more engaged in his vocation. 125 Leaves of Thought. His spectacles arranged upon his nose, With all due formality he took his seat, And gently moved the cov'ring to disclose The affected portion, and the patient's heat ; He felt the pulse, the tongue examined too ; Remained for a few moments very quiet, Then asked some questions, and, when this was through, Insisted on a thorough change of diet. Next, taking from the pocket of his coat, A sort of wallet covered with brown satin ; He, on a scrap of paper, stiffly wrote Some hi'roglyphics, mixed with mongrel Latin ; Intended merely to be understood, In common parlance, as a wise prescription, But which, like ordinary nostrums, would Lose half its virtue by a plain description. How often was I forced, while others slept. To take to be compounded these life -throttles, To a small shop or store a lean man kept, Whose windows w T ere adorned with colored bottles : One of those side roads to eternity, Seen ev'ry where except upon our prairies ; And patronized by the fraternity, Under the modern name, apothecaries. 126 The Orphan's Lament. Now that the doctor 's gone to his reward, We freely can forgive his wedded notions ; The benefits he did to earth afford, Will compensate for all his bitter potions. Nor marble monument on his behalf, Need any in the lonely churchyard raise him ; As his diploma is his epitaph, On which the living, not the dead, must praise him. THE ORPHAN'S LAMENT. fY mother, sir, is dead ; she lies ^f Near the Atlantic shore, In the same grave where father's corpse Was laid the year before. I recollect the lonely spot, So dreary and so wild, But know not when they laid her there, For I was but a child. 127 Leaves of Thought. Upon a narrow neck of land That stretched toward the sea, I spent the first years of my life, Which are a blank to me ; Those other hearts less warm than hers, Instructed me to tread The sterile paths of honest toil, In which I gain my bread. It soundeth strange and weird to me, As through the world I roam, To hear men lisp a mother's name, And call a place their home; So long, so long ago 't is, since My wanderings begun, It seems a tangled dream to me That ever I had one. In the still hours of solitude, AVhen I am left alone To contemplate a wreck of joys That I may call my own ; These names that have such charms for some, Are sounds that merely start A sense of want and loneliness Within my troubled heart. 128 The Orphan's Lament. I have stood for hours on the beach, Beside the moaning sea, And watched the waves that, homeward bound, Were flowing thence to me ; There seemed a fellowship in them, As they came murm'ring o'er The wide expanse, to lay themselves Upon the whitened shore. I've often wished that I, like them, When tired of the strife With angry winds, could thus return To a more peaceful life ; Could find a home, a quiet spot, Upon a mother's breast, Where I might all my cares repose, ^ And be a while at rest ; Where I could gain the strength I need To bear the heavy load That weighs me down so frequently On Life's uneven road ; Where, at the close of clay, I might, Like other hearts repair, To share the genial warmth of love That is kept burning there. 129 Leaves of Thought. But no such lodge in store for me, The sorrows childhood gave, Incline my heart to make its home Within my mother's grave. Alone, along Life's busy way I wearily must pace, A human soul, with wants like thine, Dependent on the race. "CHEER UP, NEIGHBOR." pIIS world is not the miserable place That cynics tell us — though they do n't be- lieve it; Else there were not so many of our race, However circumstanced, so loth to leave it. At all events, we generally find, Our discontented and complaining brother, Who has so great a burden on his mind, Prefers, at least, this world to any other. 130 Cheer up, Neighbor. Enough of trouble surely comes to all, Or rich or poor, or high or low their station ; And unforeseen calamities befall The best disposed in ev'iy situation. But : tis not wise nor prudent to betray A lack of trust, a hopelessness in sorrow; The sun that hides his face from us to-day, May all the brighter shine on us to-morrow. The tender plant may by a careless tread Be injured, but ere long again it rises; The housewife may destroy the spider's thread, Yet it will reconstruct some new surprises; The bee that labors all the summer through So diligently for its own subsistence, Though plundered often, docs as oft renew Its earnest efforts without our assistance. What though disasters do sometimes attend Our honest and well-regulated labors, A gloomy countenance will never mend Our intercourse and dealings with our neighbors. The better way, in adverse states like these, When unavoidable, is not to mind them ; Work out Life's problem steady at your ease, And laugh at the world's changes as you find them. 131 Leaves of Thought* No one engaged in any enterprise, Whate'er its nature ever yet succeeded, Who looked beyond himself for the supplies Of strength and patience that the trial needed ; Or who, on finding that he looked in vain, Would hesitate at ev'iy silly rumor, And censure those who having less to gain, Were not exactly in the helping humor. Men often slip when going up a hill — They sometimes stumble even on a level; And they such mishaps, failures, want of skill, As their misdeeds, attribute to the devil; When, perhaps, if they honestly would scan Their acts, their hearts, their needs, and their resources, In their own mirrors they would find the man Who, more than all, occasioned them their losses. Who delves for diamonds hidden in the earth Expects to have some dross to cast behind him; But to secure those gems of real worth, He works away as though he meant to find them. The tourist to the Alps or Appenines, Full of the thoughts of what his flight may gain him, 13$ My Singing Bird. Like the poor slave who digs within the mines, Has but his hopes and prospects to sustain him. When once upon the slipp'ry steeps of fame Tread firmly, though you fail in the endeavor; The modest merit of a noble name Is worth the toil it costs — it lasts forever. Wealth and power let those disposed achieve; But honest virtue, with its kindly graces, Is the best legacy that we can leave To those who come to fill our vacant places. MY SINGING BIRD. pretty little bird is dead, That did for years so sweetly sing ; And friends had made for him a bed Where flowers early come in spring; And there the empty, painted cage, Neglected, hangs against the wall, Eeminding me that on Life's stage Such changes must come to us all. 133 Leaves of Thought. Over the minstrel's tiny bed They planted a forget-me-not — A tribute that affection gave To simply designate the spot. . Yet, when the snows of winter fall, And cold bleak winds go soughing by, The bird that now is mourned by all Will in the earth forgotten lie. If he had merely flown away, In quest of more than here he knew, I do not think I should to-day Have felt the loss as now I do. Escaped from prison bars, among His mates he might have wandered free ; And there to other ears have sung The songs he daily sang to me. At times, emotions of regret, That my dear pet is gone, arise; Which time must teach me to forget, As coming years the want supplies; For other birds will doubtless come, From places now to me unknown. To occupy this cage; and some Will sing as sweetly as my own. 134 My Singing Bird. In a few years at most, I know, My released spirit shall go free, And leave its prison house below — This world which is a cage to me. I may be missed, too, like my bird. Flowers may deck my grave above ; Yet other voices will be heard Which you will all as dearly love. As blossoms ripe before the storm Wither and die and mil away. That the rich fruit, in its due form, May Heaven's providence display. So may we all, in Life's decline. When Deaths approaching storm appears. Our places and our deeds resign To those who come in after years. 135 Leaves of Thought. THE CRAZED WOMAN. 'OW few there are who love And feel at heart for those who, in distress, Do meekly bear the trials, we confess, Are sent them from above ! How few to Providential ills resigned, Though never called to suffer all they may, As is this woman of disordered mind, Who, in our crowded streets, we daily find Wending her gloomy, solitary way. In her dark, dreamy state Of joyless life, no human heart can share. She has, with withered flowers decked her hair. Sadly appropriate ; And thus, lone, friendless, yet unmurmuring. Hither and thither she goes wandering on, In shapeless robes that to her loosely cling ; Fearless and careless too, of every thing ; For her best portion in this world is gone. Her blank, unwritten mind Heeds not the present, future, or the past; But, like a stray leaf on the roadside cast, 136 The Crazed Woman She moves among her kind The victim of some hidden, earthly wrong, Which death alone can well obliterate; And, disregarded by the busy throng, Which like the winds of autumn sweep along, Is left to dream but not to contemplate. Though vacantly awhile She turns, perchance, to objects passing by, No friendly word, or nod, or look, or sigh, Nor recognizing smile Gives she to those who at her strangely gaze; Or such as would relieve her if they could ; Not ev'n to children at their simple plays, Whose noisy laughs bring back our childish days, And make us feel our common brotherhood. She thus, on life's stage thrown. Like some poor actor who has lost his part, Must, unremembered, from its scenes depart, Or tread its boards alone ; ^lust hence, through life, deprived of Reason's guide, Amidst its din, its strife, its joys and pain, Act out her farce with unenlightened pride, Or drift a bauble on its outward tide, In search of what on earth she ne'er may gain. 187 Leaves of Thought. Do not harshly treat her, Kind-hearted strangers, citizens, and friends, To whom God daily His richest blessings sends; But oh, when you meet her, Pity the creature in whom God has shown, For some wise purpose we may never learn How sad it were to go through life alone, Without companions we could call our own, Whose hearts to ours responsively would turn. SUNSET DREAMS. jOWAED the close of a warm summer's day, As I sat looking o'er Lake Pontchartrain. Watching the small sail vessels steer away To neighb'ring worlds, allured by hopes of gain : And noticing the setting sunbeams play With the coquettish waves that flirting rose. In imitation of the distant main — I gradually lapsed into a dream or doze, And sped on Fancy's wings to where thought only knows. 138 Sunset Dreams. Th' unwilling sun was slowly going down, And, glancing back upon the radiant scene, It lingered on the housetops of the town, The trees, and all things else where it had been, Imparting a rich tint of golden brown, And beautifully tinged the fleecy clouds, In which were queer wrought wonders to be seen — Castles in ruins, half-formed animals in crowds, And human -looking giants dressed in long white shrouds. And, scattered over the pale Held of blue, Loose-drifted snowflakes lay along the route ; And pencil streaks of a soft crimson hue, And gold and orange plumes were strewn about: There were volcanic-burning mountains, too, Wherein the fire slumbered as a live coal ; While round their rear parts, where the fire died out, The heavy sombre shades did mix, and curl, and roll, Giving a majesty and glory to the whole. How long, I know not, in those realms I spent The fleeting moments, wandering through thin air : Or, from one object to another went; In the vain hope a lost one's love to share; Some earthly tie that death from me had rent 139 Leaves of Thought. At early day-dawn or approaching eve, And left its shadowy image floating there, Where it could look down on those here whom it did leave In solitary shaded haunts to sit and grieve. Then, mentally, I followed in the track Of those frail vessels speeding from the shore ; Whose snowy -white sails fluttered on the tack, In seeming boastfulness of what they bore. I wondered whether they would e'er come back To those from whom they parted with such pride ; Or tossed about by adverse winds in store, They should sink low beneath the deep oblivious tide, As our hearts often do when faith has failed to guide. Far off were some in the horizon low, That looked like specks upon the western sky; As motionless, as void of life, as slow Of change as were the clouds that swam on high. Which did through ether on their journeys go; Still these moved on, though they seemed fixed to me, For other nearer craft went sailing by, And as I watched them closely I could plainly see At times they changed position in a slight degree. 140 Sunset Dreams. Within those transitory shells, I fear Too loosely on these treach'rous waters thrown, Were all, perhaps, on earth that makes life dear, To hearts that beat as warmly as my own — And these small waves that come rejoicing here, Crested with diadems of the sun's light, May to those waiting hearts that sit alone In their poor, miserable cabins, some dark night, Bring tales of loss and woe that will their senses fright. From these sad thoughts I gladly turned away, To look again upon the painted sky; But all had faded to a dingy gray, Leaving no semblance of the first surprise — Save an occasional electric ray, That flashed a mere instant like a fire-brand. But which was not as pleasing to my eyes As one bright star that, in the far off west did stand, Like an angel sentinel in the spirit land. 141 Leaves of Thought. THE STARS. 'OW joyously those stars above Look down on us and those we love ! Forever sparkling with delight As they illuminate the night. From every part of Heaven's dome, In glittering array, they come On their long marches to appear At their appointed time of year. Like lustrous lamps arranged on high To guide the angels through the sky. Who come to this dark world of ours, To guard us in our sleeping hours ; Or spots that brightly glow at even, Footprints on the floor of heaven, To tell us whence the spirits fled Of cherished ones among our dead. Through yonder realms of space untold For countless years those orbs have rolled Harmonious, each in its sphere, Whilst all is wild disorder here; 142 The Stars. And still, as luminous, as pure, As permanent they will endure, When our poor tenements of clay In kindred dust are laid away. Those heavenly bodies do not know All that we suffer here below, Or they would not so brightly shine On hearts as sad as yours and mine. It can not be that they do share Our disappointments and our care, The sorrows and unreal mirth Which they behold upon this earth. Yet all those planets from afar. Innumerable as they are, Important witnesses will be To charge us with inconstancy. When the great family of Man Doth, in accordance with God's plan, In solemn, final judgment stand Collected in from ev'ry land. US Leaves of Thought. LILLIE LEE. [OMEWHEKE there is a fairy form That I would like to see ; A playful, winsome, wee young girl, Whose name is Lillie Lee. She stole my heart some months ago, And, should the youngster, too, Come tripping in your way, I fear She '11 do the same to you. Lillie Lee, Lillie Lee, If she comes tripping in your way, Will steal your heart from you. Like the blithesome birds in springtime That soar away from earth, Her heart is always bounding with Intensity of mirth ; But the merry strains of laughter That light her childish glee, Are charms that you must guard against When you meet Lillie Lee. Lillie Lee, Lillie Lee — Are charms that you must guard against When you meet Lillie Lee. m Lillie Lee. Her young thoughts are like the fire-flies Upon a summer's chase ; They flash and sparkle when they will In smiles upon her face ; And her dark brown hair in ringlets, But lures the eye to see The rosy tint upon the cheeks Of artless Lillie Lee. Lillie Lee, Lillie Lee ; The rosy tint upon the cheeks Of artless Lillie Lee. There are dew drops on the prairies, And jewels in the mine, There are twinkling stars above us That may as brightly shine; But there are no stars nor dew drops, Nor pearls beneath the sea, Of half the value of the eyes Of bonnie Lillie Lee. Lillie Lee, Lillie Lee ; So soft and precious are the eyes Of bonnie Lillie Lee. 145 Leaves of Thought. THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. [HE has gone to her rest ! the sad conflict is o'er, And the nation's young heart is responsively swelling, For the shaft that was aimed at the hero in war Has severed the tenderest tie of his dwelling. He will hear of her death 'mid the battle's red glare, Where the loud cannons roar, and the musketry rattle ; But the prayer that she breathed for her country's welfare Will nerve his strong arm in the heat of the battle. He had sacrificed all that his country might earn The proud name among nations for which it con- tended ; He had earnestly hoped for his speedy return To the wife and the home he so bravely defended. But her spirit is gone to the realms of bliss, Where the friendships and love, which death only could sever, Of the pure and the true and the gentle of this, Shall again be renewed, and renewed there forever. 146 The Wounded at Home. In the sanctified shade of that rural retreat, With the loved ones of earth who are sleeping be- side her. Where her friends laid her wearied form down may she meet That repose which her poor stricken country denied her. And in other yet brighter and happier days. When our country resplendently shines in its glory. Our sons and our daughters will speak in her praise, And repeat to the sensitive stranger her story. THE WOUNDED AT HOME. [, I wish it were so. when our battles are fought, And the combatants tell of their probable gain. That the lists which they give were a truthful re- port Of the whole of the missing, the wounded and slain. Although painfully large does their estimate show, Of sick, mangled, and killed in this terrible war, 147 Leaves of Tliowght. It were surely relief if we only did know That the worst had been told when the fighting is o'er. But half is not known — there are victims at home. On the altars that love and affection will rear. When the news of a fight to their dwellings shall come. And the whisper of slaughter is breathed in the ear. There are wounds then received that no surgeon can cure. From keen death-dealing shafts, which we can not evade ; There are griefs that the heart must a lifetime en- dure, But no mention of these by our rulers is made. In the stillness of night when the stars overhead Light the soldier's detail in the track of the slain. Where the friend and the foe. the near dying and dead, As a harvest of spoils to the reapers remain. From those chambers of death to the soldier will come A sure glimpse of the losses we dimly discern. When he thinks of the ties that are severed at home. Of the loved ones to whom he may never return. 148 The Wounded at Home. When the mother, the gentle, affectionate wife, The fond sister, the father, the friends who have all That they love, or they live for and cherish in lite, In the combat, shall hear of their patriot's fall, Oh, believe me, their hearts, thus exposed in their grief. Though remote from the scene, will its painfullness share : For the missile that gives to the soldier relief Will have lodged in the breasts of a thousand else- where. There are hopes that are bright ere the battles commence. When the soldier appears in his martial array, That will fade into fears as we wait in suspense For the final, decisive result of the fray ; There are hearts that will ache when the struggle begins, As doubts and surmises alternate prevail, For the chances of death to the hero that wins Are as chaff to the wheat neath the stroke of the flail. There are wounded at home when the battle is won, And our banners are floating in triumph on high; When the crippled, the absent, and the disabled one 149 Leaves of Thought. Are returned to our hearths but to linger and die. In our pride we may boast of the nation's success, We may cheer for our flags that are streaming in air ; Yet our hearts will be stirred with the deepest dis- tress As we look on the forms that have lifted them there. There are wounded at home where the fatherless weep In their want of the bread which the world has de- nied, "When the friend who sustained them doth quietly sleep In the rude, narrow trench that his country supplied. To the cots of the poor comes a desolate woe, 'Mid the ruin, the waste, the disasters of war ; But none heed them, none care, and few ever will know Whether poorer made since they were richer before. There are wounded at home when the mother's ad- vice Is unheeded and lost 'mid the glimmer of fame ; When her idol, profaned in the temples of vice, But returns from the conquest with trophies of shame. 150 Death. It were well for that man had the steel of the foe Been previously stained with his blood to the hilt, And he proudly died, ere the mother should know That the spirit she trained was thus tarnished with guilt. DEATH. thou dread certainty, man's portion, Death ! Before whom prostrate fall, of young and old, The fairest even of Goers creatures here, Tell us, animate or inanimate, Sin-born, of earth or hell, whence comest thou? Is there no limit that thou mayst not reach ; No prayer, no boon the wounded heart can give To stay the awful, unrelenting waste ? Upon thy altars in profusion piled, Are chosen victims, from earth's sev'ral realms Of animal and vegetable birth. Offensive, rank, returning to vile dust ; Still thou clemandest more. How long, how long Must weak mortality thee tribute pay? 151 Leaves of Thought. Must all of what connects us to life here Be thine to claim, to threaten, to destroy ; Or, in thy slow, correct analysis, To be resolved to primary simple parts? How long ! alas, how long ! In thy sure grasp, Untimely fallen like a broken bud, Lies the sweet babe of scarce a summer's growth, That slept unconscious on its mother's breast — It knows thee not — it never did a wrong; There, cold it lies ! The pray'rful mother, too, Who, in the deep devotion of her love, Eeleased her hold on life to save her young; She with her struggling infant paid the bond Thou dost exact of all thy subjects here ; Ere her new-born had learned to lisp her name; Or lisped, it froze upon its tiny lips At thy bare touch. The timid orphan girl, Who trembling stood beside her parent's bed At thy command, the dire event to know When she should tread the walks of life alone, Lies slumbering there, unknown, unnoticed. Here molder in thy urns the plighted pair Who, trusting in the ardor of their youth, Set out together on Life's hopeful march; 152 Death. While all around in heaps rough-strewn along, By thee cut down in thy mad carnival In myriad numbers, as an army slain. Are fathers, brothers, sisters, kinsmen, friends — All, all are thine; they sleep in thy embrace, Forgotten, or remembered by a name That soon will fade. Strange is t that thinking man, Within whose breast are written private griefs, Should lightly skip and whirl amid the maze Of empty folly in this stricken world; Should breathe luxuriously its foul air, That's tainted with the dust of his own kind, Without a seeming thought of what's to come; 'Tis strange; ah, strange indeed! 'Tis sad, 'tis hard To watch thee at thy slow and bloody work, Grinning at sorrow; but 'tis harder still Without one moment's warning, to be told Where thou hast been. I had a sister once — An orphan like myself, whom thou did'st make Dependent on the warmth of stranger hearts, Whose life's necessities had torn from me — A lovely, tender, delicate young girl; She, through kind messengers, made a request 153 Leaves of Thought. To see me in her sick, declining hours ; I went — no, I delayed, unwillingly By obligation of stern duty held; Delayed ah, why was it? till called again, I reached her couch too late — she lay there dead! Oh, God! it was too late! she lay there dead! Dead ! dead ! The sister I had loved so well Was lifeless as the ground on which I stood! Yet scarcely more so than my own poor heart. That in thy presence, Death, refused me speech. Gone ! forever gone from me ! Forever ? Nay, not forever. Father! I thank Thee. That in Christ Jesus we shall meet again, Where death is but the entrance into life. 154 The Iron Rule. THE IRON RULE. JlTY 'tis that in this world of ours We can not naturally act with ease; And wear such garments as our means allow us, Without offending some whom we would please. When we are growing poorer by degrees, It were, as the French say, quite apropos — In the weak state of our financial powers, To wear our plain old hats and coats, you know. Until we can afford to let them go. But not a tithe of all the human race Have strength of mind and heart enough to try To look misfortune fairly in the face ; Still fewer have the courage to deny Themselves the luxuries they can not buy Without a strain they sadly must endure; And which may in the end lead to disgrace — A moral death, which is far worse, I'm sure, Than honestly to own that they are poor. It is enough to make the angels smile, To see how mortals let their fellows drum them ; Some moneyed dupes will start a certain style, When straightway all the balance copy from them, 155 Leaves of Thought. Whether or not the novelties become them. Hence, not a third evince a decent taste, And all the rest are laughing stocks the while ; Mere ambulating monuments of waste, Got up by modern craftsmen in their haste. Linked as we are, by interest or by fate, Or something else as arbitrary quite, The poor in their extremes, must imitate Their wealthy neighbors — either wrong or right; For none may disregard a rich man's slight. Thence comes the lame extravagance we view; Of some who hold a tottering estate ; To stand in grace or keep from falling through, They are constrained to do as others do. In our worse straits the eyes of other men Like winter sun -rays feebly slant upon us ; They closely study our appearance then, And with the freaks of fortune own or shun us ; Unless, perchance, they have excuse to dun us; Or need us, as a workman does a tool, To shape their private fortunes for them, when They graciously permit us, as a rule, To act the part of a good natured fool. Turn where we will, from home into the street, These gilded fashionable forms abound; 156 The Iron Rule. At ev'ry step we lovely women meet With costly dresses trailing on the ground, Gathering up the trash that there is found ; Thus lending aid to that which they condemn, That they may with the general crowd compete, And hold a place among the best of them, Who, like themselves, can not the current stem. Birds fly the easier when their wings are grown And in full feather, it is said ; but those Whose plumage is the brightest are alone Sought after by the many, we suppose To love them as they love us, for our clothes ; Once tarnish these, from us they turn away, Lest on their charities we should be thrown ; And in the gradual progress of decay Be left a burden on our kindred clay. Wealth advertised in any man will bear Him smoothly over Life's tempestuous sea No matter what he may elect to wear, 111 or well looking, it is sure to be Set down at once to eccentricity; Whereas, an empty purse our neighbors dread; And he who has no surplus cash to spare Will feel like one alive among the dead, With all his cumbrous learning in his head, 157 Leaves of Thought. DEACON WORLDLY. [OT far from here — less than a thousand miles — Lived Deacon Worldly — well, so goes the rumor ; One of those saints, whose cool, complacent smiles Have served to keep the world in a good humor. With scarce enough of earth in him to laugh Above the note musicians term piano ; His features were, like his own photograph, Always composed in a becoming manner. Though not remarkably renowned without, Yet, within the church, from whence he courted praise, He had the name of being quite devout, With those who loved his sanctimonious ways. Whether in this the flock were wrong or right. Of a truth, I know that he was always there, In rain or shine, at morning and at night, Where he made the loudest and the longest prayer. He was not known to sit within a pew, Though often there were vacant ones around him, But, perched in front among the faithful few, Beside the preachers desk one always found him. 158 Beacon Worldly. Into the church, it may be said, he brought More than earth's share of sanctity about him ; So that the simple-hearted sisters thought The service could not well go on without him. On Sundays and on holidays, he wore Usually a plain suit of genteel black; Brought out and brushed the evening before. And, on the next day. a8 carefully put back. But go>sip> (over knowing ones) did say. That his religion, resting in this cover. Was folded lip in it. and put away Into his arinoir when the day was over. One thing I know well, that throughout the week. He east about where gold was to be gained : While, on the Lord's day. he was very meek — By nature or by art. or both restrained. Toward the outside world of busy men. He was full as sharp and smart as any one: And freely mixed with unbelievers, when The prospect showed fair for trading to be done. Two spirits seemed to govern all his ways, Alternate, wavering 'twixt earth and heaven ; The one received the whole of his six days. The other got but one out of the seven. 159 Leaves of Thought. Thus, when the suit of black was on, he strove -To lure the world by prayer and praise at meeting; But, when the clothes were off, he briskly drove A trade, that drifted sometimes into cheating. At charitable fairs he took the lead, Giving directions to their means of finance ; And liberally, to the poor in need, He gave advice, instead of alms in silence. While ever watchful as a parent-bird, Of converts on the narrow road advancing, He pruned the young of every idle word, And set his face, like flint, against all dancing. These arduous duties, which became his pride, Brought him, at last, to the grave-digger's level ; For. nature failing, on a day he died. And went, as some Bay, straightway to the devil ; Leaving his clothes a legacy to all Whom they might fit. of his surviving brothers; And, in his exit, let his mantle fall. With all his honors, on some favored others. 160 Our Candidate. OUR CANDIDATE. ,N the pine districts of a certain state, Where health is the result of each day's labor; And intellect is les- esteemed than weight, And strength of nerve and muscle in a neighbor ; There used to live a man. who. by the way, bore The reputation of a good physician : Whose practice getting rather short, they state. Concluded to become a politician. it he could thereby gain a good position. Debating o'er the matter with some friends, Who found he had the means to pay expense^. They nominated him. for >eltish ends, As •• viewer of the country roads and fences;" And set about at once to take the census Of all the voters, which the}' did at random — Stating their predilections, crooks and bends — Whom he could not, and whom he could depend on, And those they thought it best for him to spend on. Thus posted and equipped he started out To view the roads, the fences and their breaches ; Or rather, I should say, to go about 161 Leaves of Thought. Securing votes, by making public speeches. As heretofore have done our ablest teachers. He put himself to it with his best graces, Praising the crops and men, without a doubt, And kissing all the children's dirty faces — The women's too, in out-of-the-way places. He talked of "rights," of taxes, public debt, Of roads, and fences, and the constitution ; Problems of which he said the people yet Had never had before a fair solution, Nor knew the nearness of their dissolution. But whether he meant the body corporal, Or corporate, was left for them to get; Which I'm inclined to think they could not tell, As their previous thoughts were all of calomel. Our aspirant upon the road to fame. From the politician's plagues was not exempt; Against him charges, sprung like mushrooms, came Of some deeds and things of which he never dreamt; While even the lowest scrubs, with hair unkempt, Their stale jokes and taunts, and sneers at him did cast; So that his moral character became Like a poor moth-eaten garment of the past. And an unsolved riddle to himself at last. 162 To Election day, when things seemed going right, A drunken crowd around the polls collected; Disputes arose, which ended in a fight, In which, somehow, the man that we selected Became involved, and failed of being elected. Though we never knew just how the fight began, It was all finished up some time that night ; When, counting his gains and losses as they ran, Our bruis'd candidate went home a wiser man. TO do not ask me to resign, The slender hold I have on pleasure ; Moments like these are seldom mine — I dare not count upon the treasure. In hours of sadness I will sing The songs to which your heart would listen ; When sorrow to my eyes shall bring Such pearls as in your own do glisten. At present, leave me to my dreams, Till something more substantial wakes me; To rear my castles where the gleams Of silver moonshine overtake me. 163 Leaves of Thought. I know they will come tumbling down, Whenever day dawns on my folly ; But rather this, than with a frown, To tune my harp to melancholy. Think not because you see me smile, That I am always happy, dearest; For cares, like clouds, come all the while, And often when the sky is clearest. Think not, because I 'm cheerful now, That life to me no pain discloses, That shadows lightly touch my brow, As showers do the summer roses. The night comes when the day is gone, To darken all our dwelling places ; The gayest flowers conceal a thorn That lurks behind their smiling faces. Our sorrows, too, outlive the hours Of our few joys, on coming hither ; As thorns survive the sweetest flowers When left upon the ground to wither. It may be, I have not yet seen My share of trials summed together, Though life to me has always been A fickle scene of April weather. 164 To If I am happier than some Who permit trifles to annoy them, It is because, when chances come To gather sunshine, I enjoy them. The linnet and the lark ascend At early morn to catch its breezes; The lightsome butterfly does spend Its seasons in the way it pleases; Then should not our hearts filled with love To God, for many blessings given, Be just as free to soar above. Where they will be much nearer heaven? In autumn, when the leaves would fall, I've wandered to the forest often, To note the changing tints on all Those leaves that winds began to soften ; Some, in their gradual decay, Had sad, but beautiful bronzed faces ; While others on the ground would lay. And hunt about for hiding places. Again, in spring, returning there, I found those trees as green as ever; With blossoms on them, bright and fair, As though the frosts were gone forever; 165 Leaves of Thought. Ah, I thought then, through coming years, Whene'er my heart was bathed in sorrow, I would look upward through my tears To God, for brighter scenes to-morrow. ^ THE MOCKING BIRD. I passed by the side of a cottage that stood In the shade of a blooming magnolia tree. A young mocking bird woo'd. In his happiest mood, The still evening air with his wild melody ; And his mimicking chorus was pleasing to me. It was one of our beautiful, bright sunny days : And, doubtless, the sunset invited his song; But the anthems of praise, That the minstrel did raise In his fullness of joy, were all lost on the throng Of his occupied hearers, who hurried along. Some were deeply absorbed in the prospect of gain; Others in ways of expending their treasure; While the most, it is plain, 166 The Mocking Bird. Had no ear for the strain — No heart to devote to his musical measure ; Yet the little bird sang — sang for his own pleasure. Then I wondered that man, in the image of Him Who created us both, and inspired the bird As he stood on that limb, And thus warbled his hymn, Could so heedlessly pass, and his soul be not stirred By the rapturous notes I delightfully heard. 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