>N^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. -PQ/S^¥r. ®]^p> ®ijp^ng|i !f 0, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. Connecticut River Reeds. ^^^^ ^^^ Po£trg of t\)t iFaim anb lolural ILifr Connecticut River REEDS BLOWN BY THE "Peasant Bard''^ "^x BOSTON JOSEPH GEORGE CUPPLES 3Pui)lfsI)er anti General SSooksellcr _ . 250 BOYLSTON STREET ^^ / / •^ Copyright, 18, Made thy young growth her willing care, Nor hid thee when the frosty air Spread winter wide ; Or marks thee blooming rich and rare In flowery pride. Deep in the woodland, wild to view, Flora, lone-straying, planted you ; Mild Vesper wet with gentle dew, The teeming earth. And Phoebus peeped the foliage through To hail thy birth. Near thee, in ever watchful mood, The partridge trains her little brood ; And pussy comes o'er many a rood. With dewy feet. To mingle with her morning food Thy fragrance sweet. 31 32 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS, Sweet little rose ! thou mindest me Of innocence and modesty ; Apart the world, and lone, like thee, They, too, are raised Beneath some cottage-sheltering tree, Unknown, nupraised. Emblem of worth — (alas, how true !) That in retirement, veiled from view, Gives to its poor unnoticed few, A conscience clean ; Then in the spot whereon it grew, It dies unseen ! LINES 0:N the death of little CLARA. r was in the summer time, And the leaves were in their prime And their pride ; It was early in the morn, And a robin sang forlorn When she died. You have seen a budding flower In some sweet, domestic bower — Fair to see ; You have seen a lily white, Pure, and beauteous, and bright; Such was she ! You have seen that cherished flower In some sad untimely hour Leave its tree ; CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. You have seen the lily lost Even when you prized it most ; So was she ! You can see, on looking back O'er life's memorable track, With a sigh. Scenes so sweet they even seem Like the fiction of a dream ; So can I ! As is written in the Word, ' When the candle of the Lord ' O'er you shone ; You renew the past awhile, As you ponder you would smile ; But you groan. For, perhaps, a little child In its innocence has smiled On your knee ; Or has hailed you from the door, When the toils of day were o'er. With its glee. Now in vain those little feet You may watch to hear, and meet, As you come With a slow and sober tread. For your thoughts are on the dead, And their home. And, perhaps, on looking back O'er life's melancholy track, With a sigh, 33 34 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. You can tell the sons of mirth You are getting weaned from earth ; So can I ! W THE BLUE-BIRD. HEN warm rains fall and soft winds sweep Away the wintry drift, When swollen brooks run down the steep, And giay with mist the lift; When through the vale the floods out-pour And crashing icy floes, With swash, and dash, and wild uproar. Trend with the melted snows ; When all the plain with snow-broth swims ' And teams, on half bare road. With swinging heads and cordy limbs. Drag the resistant load ; — A twitter from the tree we hear, Some bars of music sweet, And gloomy thoughts give place to cheer As we the minstrel greet. Sweet little harbinger of Spring, Green fields, and sunbright days ! O, welcome ! with thy azure wing And softly warbled lays. While other songsters loiter still In regions of the sun, I bless thy hardy little will To tell of Winter done, Its dark, cold days and bitter skies, CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 35 Its wild and gusty nights : — Of spring, unfolding to our eyes Her mantle of delights. The farmer hears thee, and he knows Of earth's awaking life ; Tells of thy advent as he goes Homeward, to " weans and wife ; " And eyes grow bright, and smiles steal o'er The sober face of care, And crowded grows the cottage door To catch the vision rare. The swart boy in the sugar-bush, Who loves his gun to try, The crow's discordant croak will hush With ' ' murder-aiming " eye ; But when thy liquid numbers fall On his delighted ear. He welcomes thee with answering call, Nor harms thee, hovering near. Sweet blue-bird, type of winged Hope ! When darkness like the tomb Begirts earth's pilgrims, and they grope In sadness and in gloom ; Hope whispers soft a word of cheer O'er the dismaying scene, Till through the folds of blackness peer Bright skies and living green. 36 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. ON PLANTING AN ELM TREE. LIVE now, for shelter and for shade ! And live thou wilt, I trust, And flourish, when thj^ planter's laid To slumber in the dust. Out from the snow^y north blows high The bleak, pre-warning gale ; And scudding thro' the heavy sky, The 'lated wild fowl sail. All naked are thy infant limbs, Benumbed these hands of mine, And hoarsely sing these wintry hymns Of summer and " lang syne." But all in faith I've digged thy bed, And fixed thee in the soil, For fancy has thy future read, And recompensed my toil. I see aloft thy branchy head, Thy good-time-coming prime, A canopy of verdure spread Wide, beautiful, sublime. And by the dallying summer air Thy breezy harps are played ; The warbling birds are sporting there, And children in thy shade. CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 37 Here may the way-worn pause to rest When beats the sultry noon ; Here come the sleepless care oppress'd, Communing with the moon. And generations shall arise, Live, die, forgotten be, While thou art stretching toward the skies A time-defying tree. So, in the name of God, Amen I I give, bequeath, devise Thee to those generations, when Snccessive they may rise. THE OLD POD-AUGER DAYS. ' saw an aged man at work^ — He turned an auger round ; "And ever and anon he'd pause, And meditate profound. Good morning, friend, quoth I to him, — Art thinking when to raise ? O, no ! said he, I'm thinking on The old ' pod-auger days,' True, by the hardest then we wrought, With little extra aid ; But honor's were the things we bought, And honor's those we made. But now invention stalks abroad. Deception dogs her ways ; 38 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. Things different are from what they were In old ' pod-auger days.' Then homely was the fare we had, And home spun what we wore ; Then scarce a niggard pulled the string Inside his cabin door. Then humbugs didn't fly so thick As half the world to haze ; That sort of bug was scarcely known In old ' pod-auger days.' Then men were strong, and woman fair Was hearty as the doe ; Then few so dreadful ' feeble ' were, They couldn't knit and sew ; Then girls could sing, and they could work, And thrum gridiron lays ; That sort of music took the palm In old ' pod-auger days.' Then men were patriots — rare, indeed, An Arnold or a Burr ; They loved their country, and in turn Were loved and blessed by her. Then Franklin, Sherman, Rittenhouse Earned well the nation's praise ; We've not the Congress that we had In old ' pod-auger days.' Then, ' slow and certain ' was the word ; Now. ' dei'l the hindmost take ; ' Then buyers rattled down the cash ; Now, words must payment make ; CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 39 Then, murder-cloing villians soon Were decked in hempen bays ; We didn't murder in our sleep. In old ' pod-au^er days.' So wags the world ; — 'tis well enough, If Wisdom went by steam ; But in my day she used to drive A plain old-fashioned team ; And Justice with her bandage off Can now see choice in ways ; She used to sit blind-fold and stern In old ' pod auger days.' THE RUINED MILL. I sat upon the broken wall and cast the line and hook Below, within the waters of the half-ob- structed brook ; And looked about, in moody thought, the dwindled surface o'er, Where spread a lakelet's broad expanse, and deep, in days of yore. Behind me leaned the ruined mill, in downhill of decay ; Its timbers bare, and gaping side half-opened to the day; Its leaky flume and useless wheel all green with stagnant slime, The water gurgling underneath with melancholy chime. 40 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. A phebe fearless built lier nest within a leaning brace, The solitary cheerful thing about the cheerless place ; And even she appeared to feel — or 'twas my somber mood, — That poets e'en may overpaint the charms of soli- tude. I thought on Time's mutations and the changes I had seen Since the landscape of life's morning to me was fresh and green ; — " The very fish are changed ! " I cried, and drew a shiner out Where once I took, with boyish pride, a thirty-two ounce trout. Then here was business, here was stir, — the bustle and the whirl. Here came the jolly yeomanry, here came the clown- ish churl ; Here idlers by the winter fire, with checkers or with whist. Quite willing waited while the stones were hum- ming out the grist. Here was the gossip and the wit of all the country side ; Here small official slates were made, and small offi- cials tried ; With coming grain and going meal the frequent teams were seen ; Now, all approaches hitherward are sodded o'er CONNECTICUT RIFER REEDS. 41 Where are the men wlio hither brought the corn to make their bread? I knew them when a little boy ; — they're sleeping with the dead! Like grain they're garnered up within some store- house of the soul, And of the miller long ago hath Death required toll. So 1 thought on Time's mutations, of schemers and their schemes ; How very like, indeed, they are to dreamers and their dreams; And when we contemplate the past, and when we dreams resume. The self -same lamp that lights the one the other doth illume. NOCTUKNE. WHEN I've seen the little infant To bearded manhood grown, With cares of life upon him And children of his own ; When I recollect the sapling My boyish eyes did see, To every breeze a plaything, — Now grown a mighty tree ; 42 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. When I see the forest monarch I well knew in his prime Now lying prone, a victim To the stayless trend of Time ; When I stand and cast about me, Like one lost and alone, And call for old companions, To find they all are gone ; Then I feel like one who searches In vain the ashes o'er To find a spark to kindle A hearth that glows no more. LINES On finding a Dead Young Bird in the Corn-field, while Hoeing. P OOR little bird ! 'tis sad to see Thee lying here so sorrily, Lost from thy native sheltering tree. And leaf -roofed nest. Beside this hill of corn shall be Thv noteless rest. Did wanton school-boy hurl the stone? Or murderous villain aim the gun? Or, yester evening, when the sun Sank down the hill, Did the cold rain-rills round tliee run, To drencli and cliill? CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 43 Now, bright around thee pours the day ; The springhig corn-blades waving play, And all thy sportive mates are gay With tuneful breath. O, do they know that here you stay Songless in death? 'Tis thus with selfish man, I know : He sees a fellow mortal go. And, saving when he feels the blow Strike home and near. He little heeds the sufierer's woe, The mourner's tear. Ah, me ! I'd once a birdie sweet, "Whose days, like thine, were winged and fleet ! The angels came ; her little feet Had weary grown, And with them to the blest retreat, Long since, she's flown ! A STORMY NIGHT'S EPISTLE TO "OLD KNICK." THIS stormy night is just the time To spin " Old Knick" a skein of rhyme, A sort of homely thrum ; The spinning won't be finely done, My wheel, once touched, is apt to run Hap-hazard, with a hum. Still, if will wear this thrum of mine, 44 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. It easy might be worse ; There are, who spin too very fine The thread of their discourse. They fabric fine appearing stuff, The work may all be well enough, No knots or kinks therein, It shows in market extra nice, The buyer merely asks the price, And jingles out " the tin." But proving, second thought, 'tis said, The eyes will open full ; He's bought a fine, long pretty thread But precious little wool. I doubt not, this blockading storm Is snowing round your cottage warm, As it begirts my own ; I doubt not, that this very night. All cosy in your sanctum bright. You hear it rage and moan. I ken your heart; a pensive face Tells what to mind is brought. And moves your current pen to trace The humane, tender thought. My cat comes powdered from the byre ; (That dog has no more need of fire, He perished long ago ;) — I ope the door to let puss in : Pufi*! comes the blast with gusty din And white with drifting snow. Avaunt ! and keep the broad outside. Wild riders of the storm ! No blazing fuel, freely plied, Your polar breath can warm ! CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 45 There pussy in the corner sits, And wliile her furry coat emits The freshness of the night, She looks as " meek as Moses " while She perpetrates a feline smile, And purrs in sheer delight. I love kind mercy to extend E'en to a mousing cat ; However much thereof we lend, We're borrowers, at that. Thick frost encrusts the window-panes ; The storm I see not, but its strains Are heard in awful play : The spiteful dash against the glass, The grumbled sough, as off they pass. Hoarse-humming, far away. Where now's that little feathered dot Of life, I saw to-day? Has .she some canny shelter got? Or blown in death away? She flitted, cheeping, round my head, At morn, as I the cattle fed ; Her voice was low and sweet. As if she craved my garnered store ; Poor thing! but for thy coyness, more Thou'd hadst than thou could'st eat, Or did she with prophetic ken This awful night foresee, And call for Summer back again, And her infolding tree? Scarce bigger than my thumb was she ; A crumb a loaf for her would be ; She flitted and was gone ; 46 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. Yet that bird haunts my thoughts to-night May He, who notes the sparrows, light For her a cheerful dawn ! And thus all breathing life is spent, See-sawing, like the boy; See., ' winter of our discontent ; ' Saw, summer-time of joy. The clock has threatened to strike ten : Retiring hour for honest men ; For rogues an o'er late one ; I'll slip the band from off the wheel, Tell off the thread upon the reel. And even call it done. And quite a lusty skein I've got ! You think so — don't you — sort o'? — If forty threads compose a " knot," Here's two knots and a quarter. THE THRESHER AND THE RAT. 9 ^T~i WAS when the bridge the frost had made, I Had robbed the Charon of his trade ; -^ When slipping sleighs and jingling bells Supplied the place of rattling wheels ; When sidelong looked the southing sun, And labor out-of-door was done, — A farmer to his barn did go To thresh, as he was wont to do. He was as strong a man as ever Beneath the bowlders thrust a lever ; As brave a man as aught of those Who faced on Bunker-Hill their foes ; CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. As honest as the man who sweat For forty years to pay a debt ; A patriot, and no truer one Tecumseh was, or Washington ; — He was, to make description short, A yeoman of the model sort. The wheaten sheaves he spread and pounded ; The echoes to his flail resounded ; The ox looked wise at what he saw, And tasted daintily the straw ; The fowls came craking round the door For seeds that flew beyond the floor ; And loudly in the thresher's ear Sang old time-keeping Chanticleer. But moodily the thresher wrought, And thinking, (for he must have thought,) While he the bearded grain was threshing. Of men who needed such a dressing. The seventh shock he'd just begun — (He chalked the number, one by one,) — But scarce had he a dozen thumped, When forth a rat, confounded, jumped ! THRESHER. Stop thief ! here, Jowler, come and shake him ! Here, pussy, pussy? quick, and take him ! These blasted rats have torn my sheaves, Like old ' Aunt Lizzy's' bible leaves. No candidate, in search of Sunday, E'er owned a horse one-half so hungry. His words with speech inspired the rat ; He turned, and on his haunches sat: 47 48 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. RAT. I pray thee, goodman, stop thy grieving That I, poor body, get a living ; And, rather pity, when I tell ye You've pounded me almost to jelly. THRESHER. High words, indeed, for rats to speak ! I thought at most they could but squeak. You must be leader of the throng That's troubled me so much and long. By night I hear you, on my bed, Chase one another overhead, And rattle up and down the wall Some plunder to your dens to haul ; And in my barns the live-long day. You waste my precious grain away. You've little charity, I see, For such a needy wretch as me. I taste your grain a little, true ; 'Tis quite as good for me as you ; And it's the fashion now-days, neighbor. To get a living without labor. THRESHER. You have more brass, conceited knave. In your old phiz, than thieves should have; Think you I'll harvest corn and wheat For miserable rats to eat ? CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 49 Look at the ant, that toils and strives, And on her own exertion lives ; Look at the bees, wee, busy things. That make a food that's fit for kings ; Look at your cousin in the bushes. He is content with grass and rushes ; The prowling fox, that now and then Comes to my yard and steals a hen, Would say you were of rogues the chief ; The skunk would spurn you for a thief. Look here ! if preaching is your object, I'll show you more important subject : !Now did it never strike your mind That there are rats among mankind? The rat of human-kind, you see. In form is different from me ; He stands six feet, or less, or more ; Walks on two feet, instead of four ; Wears a fine coat with pendent tail, yi\t\i pockets in it, — where I fail; Has hands whose single grasp can seize More than my twelve-month's bread and cheese : And, to crown all, his Maker kind. Gives him a shrewd, discerning mind, All his base life on earth to find Bye-paths through which to seek his leaven, And dream of rat-holes, too, in heaven. Now, sir, your eyes are oped, I wis ; ' Look on that picture, and on this ; ' And, on the whole, you must opine His breed is worse, by far, than mine. 50 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS, THRESHER. All true, old rat! thou speakest sense? Fill ouce thy maw, and get thee hence ; For since thy wit has cooled my choler, I would not harm thee for a dollar. RAT. Nay, goodman, hear me till I've done, Then, if you're willing, I will run. Some human rats, of whom I speak. The garner of your nation seek ; They talk about the public good, As those who gull the public should ; Line well their nest with ' Biddle's rags,' Filch from the people's money-bags. And then, to hide the thefts they've made, With law and logic make parade ; Call a sham court : put in the chair Some ancient rat of presence rare, Whose views of justice and intention Are past all common comprehension ; Whose verdicts, ninety in a hundred, Are to the public never rendered. Or some old rat, benignly feeling, To give the rest more chance for stealing, Slips quietly among some cargo That puts to sea without embargo, And on a foreign shore arrives, With spoils to last him while he lives. In short, they live so free and easy That thoughts of envy often tease me. For when, like me, in theft detected. They sneak aside and live respected, CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. ^^ I would proceed and tell you more : How at the sanctuary door These precious rats sometimes go in With pious horror feigned for sin, And there for hapless sinners groan, Whom they've dissected to the bone. I could dilate for full an hour To tell you how they get at power ; How, scrambling o'er the backs of fools, They use the willing dupes for tools, And dig their way through virtuous worth And trample genius in the earth. Till puffed Avith spoils and damned with fame, True rats in every thing but name. I'd tell you all but this must do, For I perceive I'm hindering you; But when at night you hear us run, Think of the gang at Washington, And rack your poAvers of invention For traps to hold them in detention ; And when for us you'd call the cat, Call Sootie for the human rat. The rat, no more with speech inspired, Now turned, and suddenly retired. 52 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. THE SHAD-FISHERS. Introductory Note — Turners' s Falls are situated on Connecticut River, between the towns of Gill and Moutaffue, in Franklin county, Massachusetts. The scenery at the falls is beautiful, and delightfully varied, and the Fall itself is one of the most remarkable in New Enj2;land ; and at high water is indeed a Niagara in minature. The locality, which, in ad- dition to the natural attractions, is storied in Indian memo- ries, is becoming quite a place of resort for ruralists from town, and tourists in search of health and sight seeing. It was here that the poor " orphans of Providence " founded one of their few abiding homes, on account of the inexhaustible supply of the finest fish, for their subsistence. It was here that Capt. TURNBR cut them olf in his memorable fight, May 18th, 1676. Within the circuit of three-fourths of a mile, on the Gill side, are found those most remarkable specimens of fossil foot-prints in the sand-stone, so noted in the geological world. To those uninformed on the subject, the multitude of fish represented in the text may seem an apochryphal accouuc, but it is nevertheless no exaggeration —no fiction. In all the " Old Thirteen." perhaps not in all the United States Territory, has there been known such a successful fisliing place as was Turner's Falls in the olden time. Witness me! shades of Elisha Tiloen, Josiah Burnham, James Ewers. Ezekiel Foster, Phillip Ballard, and all the old •' Fishers of shad and not of men! " A LL in the merry montli of May, When snowy shad-trees blossomed gay, To tell the fisherman the time, When tish were plentiful and prime : CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. All in the merry month of May, Where Turner's pouring waters play, And lash, and dash, and roar, and bray, Were wont to gather, there and then. All in the merry month of May, Back many years on Time's highway, Fishers of shad, and not of men. Upon old-time "Election Day," I've heard gray -headed worthies say. Not only fishermen, so wet With sweeping seine and scooping net. But other folk would muster there As now they gather at a Fair. From all the region round about They came, the gentleman and lout ; The yeoman, whose spring-work was done, Resolved to have one day of fun ; The peddler with his gew-gaws flue. And ballads, dog'rel, not divine; The bully of the country-side In all the swell of hero pride ; The gamester who was skilled to know The science of a lucky throw ; The loafer, whose " chief end of man," Was, Go it, cripples ! while you can ; The verdant youth from hill side green, Come down to see what might be seen. And treat the doUe whom he led To penny-cake and gingerbread ; — A motley crowd of beings, wishing To see each other and the fishing. Now, ye who read these truthful rhymes, And live in these noise-making times, 53 54 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. When dams, and mills, and paddle-boats And other craft the water floats. With all their din and clickmaclaver Scare off the red-fins from the river, — Can scarce conceive what schools of shad Made our old fisher fathers glad. Their numbers did exceed almost The rapt one's countless heavenly host. Upon the bottom of the river Their fins like leaves were seen to quiver : And leaping salmon, tho'less plenty, Were grand as royal One-and-Twenty. A single haul would bring ashore Some forty, fifty, sixty score; The fisher who the scoop would duck Would get St. Peter's sacred luck ; A few hours' toil, and you might heed Shad piled like hay-cocks in a mead. Then, some facetious ones have said That folk so much on fish were fed, One scarce could draw his shirt o'er head ; His skin with fish bones bristly grew, And held the garment as he drew. They must have been most scaly persons, Themselves, to venture such assertions ; And all of us would now be glad To " make no bones," had we the shad. Ye who with rod, and line, and hook. Stray luckless by some well-tried brook. And feel with joy constrained to shout When you have hooked a span-long trout ; And deem a dozen will repay Your drenching on a drizzling day ; — CONNECTICUT EIFER REEDS. ^^ Ye who will sit beside the stream Which gives my piscatory theme, Perched like a crane on flood-wood roots, A Job in patience in your boots, But unlike Jonah fain to quibble About some mighty, whale-like nibble. When all your spoils at last are seen A fly-blown string of shiners mean ; Waiting for luck there was no need of In these departed days you read of ; Fishing was then not only sport, But labor of the earnest sort. Those fishers were a race of men Whose like we ne'er shall see again. Creative Wisdom seems to give Men for the times in which they live. Born in the days of " hoddin gray " When Fashion's walks were far away ; Bred in the days when hardest toil Was needful to subdue the soil ; Their school-house was the broad, green sod ; Experience with her rule and rod Taught them the lessons Science spurned ; But Science claims not all the learned. — Strong, brave and forceful ; earnest hearted ; With them the rope drew, or 'twas parted ; Wb'en unofi'ended, very clever ; But wrath aroused, was wrath forever. They loved their day and generation ; They loved the creature, and creation ; They loved life's cheer, they bore its burden, And all have traveled over Jordan, And low away at rest were laid Long while before my pen was made. 56 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. All in the merry month of May, Where Turner's pouring waters play, The scenes of old "Election day," — Oft heard of scenes — crowd fast upon me : There mystified and mystic Johnny * Was seen with hazel rod in hand, His stature small, his bearing grand, Revealing to a gaping crowd In piping tones of treble loud Hints of the treasures he had found. The place, the what, a secret sound; That all his care was just to heed them, For reason that he didn't need them, — Forever poor with all his riches ; Forever plagued by sport of witches Who filled with various pains his body, To ease which kept him soaked with toddy ; And fastened tightly round his head Imaginary bands of lead ; When had he told t'was filled inside, Few such a fact might have denied. There she who bore a witch's fame ; f (The rhyme thereof were truer name ;) Misguided and misguiding creature, With virtue weak, and strong ill-nature. Among the crowd she reeled and staggered, Or with the bottle-drainers swaggered, Till overcome beside the fence With aught but sleep of innocence. * N@te — John B n, a noted man in the region, a cotem- porary of the shad fishers. He was a singular •• genins," con - tinually experimenting with divining rods, and charms, in search of mineral wealth, Kidd's money, etc. His hinted success was great, altho' the oocular demonstrations were never forth-coming. CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 57 There, hidden by a noisy ring, Two wrestlers-vgrappled for a fling : The one a lithe and nimble fellow, And pursy one with human tallow. Now swaying round, their feet displaying. And now the sudden twitch essaying ; Each looked as if he apprehended An empire's fate on him depended ; While frequent shots of country wit Stung this or that, as aimed to hit. Some on the grand result were betting ; They heard wh o at arm's-length were sweat- ing, As wages never made them sweat, And fiercer strove each for the bet ; The stout man on his strength relying, The lean one, nimble tripping trying ; The stout man looking flushed and blown. Unmindful of the buttons gone ; — His waistband loosened by the tripping, Low " by the stern" was slowly slipping, — The lean man looking pale and solemn. Bent like a bow his spinal column ; His feet, whene'er the other twitched, With funny, sideway motion hitched, Just like a strutting Bantam when Pie shuffles sidelong round a hen. When, lo ! at last, when nearly gone, The patience of each looker-on, The wrestle in a flurry ended ; Legs, feet, and arms were twirling blended. t Note — Another notable character of the place aiid the times, with whom went down the fag-end of the Salem witch- craft Buperstition in the falls region. 58 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. Who was prevailing there was doubt, Till rose at length the boisterous shout That drowned the roaring waters' tone ; The shout proclaimed the lubber thrown ; While with an air that seemed to say, ♦' Just tell that to posterity ! " The pallid hero strode away. So while these scenes were going on, The scoops were plied, the nets were drawn. Swift shot the row-boat from the shore, As lively played the flashing oar ; And as it darted circling round. By skillful hands the net was drown'd. Next came the pulling, long and strong, Like sailors warping ship along ; The low, but animated cheer, — (Fishers aye deem the flsh will hear ;) Till landward as the meshes drew, The prisoned fish appeared to view. And now grown conscious of their trouble, Made the f enc'd water boil and bubble. Just so, 'tis said, mankind will let Themselves be snared in evil net, And make no effort for exemption Till in their case there's no redemption. Next, by the father of all flsh ! To have been there you well might wish. When, for some two-and-seventy pence, You might have drawn a cart-load thence Of just the flnest shad that ever Swam this, or any other river. Shrouded in spray, our side the flood, A ragged, rocky island stood ; CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 59 And still it stands, and stand it may Till Advent madmen bring the day. Just oft this island, — Jack would say, ♦' Off thie port bow " a little way, — Fixed in sub-aqueous ledges fast, Tlie dizzy waters whirling past, Was seen a rock, since drowned from sight By the curb'd water's refluent height, This rock was fisher Burnham's claim ; Floods may not wash away his name, Tho' rock and master both went under, The rock out there; he — where? I wonder. Time's changes have again laid bare The rock, but there's no fisher there ! There Burnham with his hardy few, A daring, danger-loving crew. Were wont their long-armed scoops to ply For the fine salmon springing by ; — Those Salmon ! of all fish most precious ; When dished, of flavor most delicious. Ah, gray -haired dames of other days ! How often have I heard you praise. As thought restored, those princely fish, And tell the serving of the dish ! Yonr language, truthful, apt, and glowing. As if you told what jou were knowing, So plain before my eyes has placed it, That I, " by taking thought," could taste it I But that grim King whom all men fear, Whose court is everywhere, was here : A treacherous slip ; a sudden shock While standing on the slippery rock ; 60 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. The snapping of an oar in twain ; Too mucli of extrait de la grain, Would " turn the tables" and the dishes, And give the fisher to the fishes. A few, whom nothing could appall, Braved the wild terrors of the fall : 'Twas '* old Elisha," going o'er, — A namesake of the seer of yore. But f or a " mantle " had, I'm thinking, A wretched habit of hard drinking — Who shouted *' Gallows ! claim your right ! " Just as he vanished down the height ; And altho' drown'd awhile from view Where the foam broke and spoon-drift flew, By some strange chance the whirls he passed, And came out safe below at last, Better confirmed in local fame Than was the gallows of its claim. And there was one, a fisher bold, Of whom an " ower true tale " is told, How vengeful anger 'gainst a foe Led both where none would dare to go, • ' Lord ! what is man " when anger makes him Reckless, and reason cool forsakes him? Spirits of Wine, of Love, of Hate, — How all alike intoxicate. And prompt to deeds of daring high The calm, cold-blooded never try ! One day this fisher was afloat With him he hated, in a boat, — A neighbor who had done him wrong, And he had harbored vengeance long. CONNECTICUT RIVEll REEDS. 61 The neighbor rowed, the other steered, When sudden toward the fall they sheered, The rower, noticing the veering, Inquired in terror, " Whither steering ! " " Straight o'er the fall with you to hell. Unless you'll crave my pardon well ! Down on your knees ! — a moment lost And God have mercy on your ghost ! " The frighted man forgiveness craved At their last moment to be saved ! Their course was changed, the oars wei plied ; Swift drew th' accelerating tide ; Long was the struggle, and appalling. Between man's strength and water falling ; The victor and the vanquished, too. Both did the utmost they could do ; The ashen blades made furious strife, — O, it was rowing for dear life ! The boat in spite of all their rowing, Kept slowly, surely, downward going; Then hung, as if 'twere anchored fast; Then, inch — by — inch, it crawled at last Slow upward out of danger's path. Thankful was one : appeased one's wrath ; And when anon they reached the shore. They joined hands, friends forever more. Shall I digress and tell the tale Of Lucy, " Lily of the Vale," And Luman. who upon the river? For manly feats a match had never? Then ye who read my running diction, May call it truth veneered with fiction. 62 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. Lucy was lovely, modest, mild ; Liimau was headstrong, brave, and wild. Lucy was sober-minded, steady ; Lumau was ever '* rough and ready ; " But by that charm, that curious feature, You'll often see in human nature, Which, so to speak, in bonds of love Unites the eagle with the dove, — The two did in each other see Perfection of humanity ; And bound in Hymen's silken tether Essayed the march of life together. There's many a march that's short and pleasant. Both to the soldier and the peasant, That ends in fierce and sudden strife Or quick extinguishment of life. In war, in peace, in arms, at rest. Who knows if he be doomed, or blest? A twelve-month passed in happiness ; Twelve fleeting moons of wedded bliss. Their cottage nigh the water stood; Before it, ran the gleaming flood ; Behind it, pines, dark-green and high, Wrought ' ' conic sections " on the sky. A morning-glory at the door Was trained to climb the clapboards o'er ; Beside it spread a garden neat Where quaint, old-fashioned pansies sweet Showed pretty Lucy's willing care, And painted peaceful gladness there. Here Luman ploughed his farm and planted ; Or lent a helping hand when wanted CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 63 In any deed requiring skill, A strong arm, and a ready -will ; And, well acquainted with the flood, Oft at the helm as pilot stood, And steered the batteaux of the stranger Through channels wild and blind with danger. Each social scene, each husking-bee, The first and foremost aye was he ; At raisings, readiest and spryest, Could lift the most, and climb the highest ; And though among his fellows, rude. To Lucy ever kind and good. The charm that first to her did win him, Sufficed to tame the wildness in him. Such were the twain, and such their home. One may to the conclusion come. If e'er were happy, man and woman, They were our Lucy and her Luman. 'Twas early dawn, the last of May; The birds were waking up the day ; The robin poured his dulcet strain, The blue-bird warbled home again, While chiming in were heard to clink The key notes of the bob-o-link ; And pearls hung thick on every spray, — Night's parting offering to the day. When Lucy, starting with affright, Waked from her visions of the night ; Her mind full of foreboding fears ; Her wonted smile displaced by tears. Her vision seemed a solemn warning. And gloomed the brightness of the morning 64 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. " O, Luraan ! do not fish to-day ! Stay from yon dismal falls away ! Their sound my spirit fills with gloom, Like warning voices from the tomb. I dreamed that on the shore I stood, And saw you drowning in the flood ; Nor was it wholly like a dream, So strangely real did it seem. ^T was death, all painfully exact! May God in mercy spare the fact ! " Poor Luman heard, but heeded not; But laughing, left his pleasant cot. With promise early to return. That she to disregard might learn Such dreams and superstitious fears ; — But Lucy smiled adieu through tears. The day wore on ; the day declined. Lucy was oft in Luman's mind, And to his comrades on the stream Made frequent mention of her dream ; While they as oft remarked a shade Of sadness o'er his features played, — That sort of harbingei ideal. Foreshadow of the gloomy real. " See, boys ! there winks the sleepy sun ! Just one throw more, and I have done. Lucy is watching at the door. Anxious to hear my homeward oar; — Now for a salmon for a crowner, A real eight-and-twenty pounder ! " He spoke ; and through the channel swift Swept the long scoop, and tugged to lift. CONNECTICUT JilFER REEDS. 65 Its weight snapped short the treacherous wood, And plunged hnn headlong in the flood. Then rose a cry of wild despair From those who could not aid him there ! Swept in an instant from the rock, He rose, and rallying from the shock, Struck boldly out for life's dear sake, And swam, the island point to make. O, 'twas an awful sight to see The brave heart struggling manfully ! The boldest fisher held his breath Those moments short 'twixt life and death ; And each with fixed, unblinking eye, Looked on to see him live, or — die. Alas ! that it should prove the last ! The maddened waters bore him past The island point, and down the steep ; With them he took the wildering leap ; The whirls, more dreadful, caught their prey. And swept him round in dizzy play ; Till as the vortex wild he neared. Its force upright the victim reared, And he, all conscious to the last, Despite the terrors closing fast, Waved with his hand a sad adieu. And sank the hissing helix through ! On shore was running to and fro ; The fishers' boats put off" below, And to the middle hour of night Their torches gleamed with lurid light ; Now here, now there, they, seeking, steered: But Luman never more appeared. 66 OONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. I may not, cannot paint her grief Whose unfeigned part was mourner chief ; But with a song wUl end the tale, And to the dwellers in the Vale Commend the air called *' Lily Dale." THE SONG. 9^T~^"WAS the last of May, and the bright spring I ^^^ -^ Was wearin g into June, And the spray waved light with its blossoms bright, And the birds were all in tune. 0, Lucy r poor Lucy ! " Lily of the Vale ! " What a pity it should be Such a mournful day to thee ! For thy fate shall the sad harp wail. By the pleasant shore, never, nevermore Could joy for thee be found. For its grave was made where the torrent played The death song of the drowned. O, Lucy ! poor Lucy ! thy grief who'll chide? For thy bosom grew as cold As the river-flood that roll'd To the deep, with thy love and thy pride. CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 67 nz. Oft at stilly night, when the stars were bright And the moon had sunk away, Could the boatman hear music soft and clear, And wild as a banshee's lay. Voice of Lucy ! poor Lucy ! life's light had fled ; By the shore she used to stray, And the melancholy lay Was her plaintive lament for the dead. rv. Ere the shad-trees gay bloomed again in May, Poor Lucy passed the test ; And they dug her grave where the pine trees wave And whisper o'er her rest. O, Lucy ! poor Lucy ! hopeful we feel That you dried the bitter tear Of your tribulation here In the beautiful *' land o' the leal." " Change " is the word we write on all : And change is writen at the Fall ; For man with mighty beams of wood Has tamed old Turner's tumbling flood ; And where was once a furious race Of torrents down a rocky place, Where madness fretted into suds The rushing, roaring, raving floods, The sheet unbroken now descends, — The mill-dam with the torrent blends. No more those dreadful whirls below, Where once 'twas death for man to go ; 68 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. Where sticks which one might rightly call Masts for the stately " Admiral," Were turned and withed about like willows, Till sucked beneath the twisting billows. The fisher's fire is out ashore ; The bellying seine is drawn no more ; No more appears, when hauled to land, The silver winrow on the sand ; No more at drowning death they mock On Burnham's danger-girted rock, Where once the salmon fine were found That kicked the beam at thirty pound ; No more the merry May-days bring The jolly old-time gathering ; For all is changed ; old scenes are past, And fading from man's memory fast. Since Art and Commerce rule our river. Gone are our finny stores forever ; Untrammel'd Nature brings no more This bounty to our storied shore. In vain ye look, ye watchful wishers ! Gone, and for aye, are fish and fishers ! CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS, 69 A NIGHT IN A COUNTRY INN. '« Ay free aff-han' your story tell." IT was drip, drip, all day, very well I remember, Back along in the forties, and month of Novem- ber, The highways were heavy, ray nag worn and weary, The scenery blinked at most dismally dreary. For the Green Mountain range, to my grim contem- plation, Seemed the fag-end of all out-of-doors and crea- tion. For hours not a soul had I seen on my way. If 'twere ever man-haunted, it wasn't that day ; And with the exception, in one or two cases, Of rain-shedding hovels in out of way places. With a phiz at the panes like to that of a woman, I had counted myself there the only thing human. Tho' the " hills were a thousand," my vision could scan, The Lord had no ' cattle ' there, neither had man ; Unless I except one forlorn looking cow. That man must have owned, — not the Lord, any how. As she stood by the side of a ramshackle shed, Her feet in a half -bushel measure could tread ; Her caudal curl'd under her ribs and her bones, As plain to be seen as the big bowlder stones, 70 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. With a sort of hysterical grin on her face, That moved me to laughter, tho' sad was my case ; That face was a tableau, most striking, thought I, Of Job's wife's, when she told him to " curse God and die ! " Down a gorge led my road, and my horse carried me On a path that the mid summer sun couldn't see, For the hemlocks so shady, so solemn, so thick ; And night then came down ' like a thousand of brick.' I mean it fell heavy and dead, like a log ; The rain holding up for a down-falling fog, — Such a fog ! — Metaphysics ! no scholar of thine Was ever more /wisrtfied, reader of mine. My horse, in the cloud, hung his head and crawled down; I thinking if Tartarus bottomed the town. Could only imagine what Ms thoughts could be, — His progress was more than his master could see. I could hear his feet fall, and could feel a slight jog, But it seemed like a treadmill revolved in the fog, Or more like a horse-boat a-f errying o'er, For a swelled mountain stream tilled my ears with its roar ; And Fancy began my location to fix : Old Charon a horse-boat over the styx. Perhaps "Pomp " was thinking, if horses e'er think, His master knew best where was provant and drink, And trusted his rider's superior skill. As men often trust to a demagogue's will, CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 71 And think that their leader knows what he's about, When his course is too blind for their eyes to make out. An hour, more or less, of monotonous tread. Horse turned a right angle, I lifted my head. And high in the air hung a beacon of light, Thrice large as old Jupiter on a clear night, But whether of heaven or earth, I knew not, Till Pomp pricked his ears and broke into a trot, And with three minutes trotting, mayhap little more. Brought me up to the " Green Mountain Coffee House " door. Who wouldn't rejoice, after journey like mine, To get where his features could soften and shine? Tho' rough be his welcome, — his company be Bar-room haunting idlers, of every degree, He knows he can learn, if he isn't a fool. Something new in each class of humanity's school. The host I judged Dutch, or of Dutch-land de- scent. For he smoked when he sat, and he smoked when he went ; Descended, perhaps, from some lofty old Van, But shook- down and dumpy descended the man, Shut into himself like a telescope slide, And longitude covered by latitude wide. Kind-hearted he seemed, and appeared to aspire To make his guests happy, and keep a good fire. That fire ! it was one of the old-fashioned kind, Like those in the back-wooded country we find ; By those that were lit by our sires on the liearth, The focus of comfort, good cheer and of mirth. 72 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. That fire as it flickered and blazed up the flue, Lit scenes that Will Mount with his easel should view ; For the rain of the day and the night's foggy- weather Set the " birds of a feather "to flocking together. The wit of the hamlet, o'er lazy for work ; The rough mountain hind talked of taters and pork ; The blacksmith talked learned in things of his line ; The miller, all " tight " as a hard knot in twine ; The doctor, who managed, by hook or by crook, To be pretty well ''smashed," and yet dignified look; The greenliorn as gawky as gawky could be, — Not green as he thought, but oh ! verdant was he ; And a certain old fellow they called " Uncle Mose," Very queer in his countenance, queer in his clothes, Who sat in one corner, his feet on the jamb, And listened to all, but kept mum as a clam. A hot iron poker lay red in the coals, Suggestive of flip and of rollicking souls, And I made up my mind by an inference fair, That the law made in Maine never troubled them there. Well settled among them, I listened to each ; . The question, the answer, the jest, or the speech. Till the greenhorn, whose "organ of language" was great. Led out by one posted, began to narrate His travels, perhaps for the fiftieth time, But new to the stranger who jotted in rhyme. Now, man may be green, like myself, I opine. And yet not exhibit its every sign ; CONNECTICUT RI VER REEDS. 73 But if the great showman this " species " could get, The tide of his fortunes might flood again yet. His figure was outre; his making-up wrong; His body quite short, and his legs very long. Loose-jointed and crooked ; in fine he seem'd made Of remnants, left o'er from the man-making trade. With eyes like a frog's, near the top of his skull. The color of pewter, and that very dull, They fix'd upon this and on that with a stare. His jaw dropping down with the vacantest air; In short, he was just, both in looks and condition. Illustrated verdure, a live definition ! His voice was a sort of asthmatical jet. The blurt and the wheeze of a crack'd clarionet. Imagine, O reader, the looks of the ''cretur," While I shall attempt his narration in metre : — THE GREENHORN'S ACCOUNT OF HIS VISIT TO THE CITY. YOU'VE heard 'em tell of " walks in life"? horn com- Well, 1 have heard 'em too ; mences his ^^^ ^^^ greatest walk I ever had Btory in a ^ ^ ^,,, scientific ^ g'^^^ss 1 11 tell to yon ; manner. About it you may wish to hear. Because it's awful true. I went the city once to see, Never had ^'^ heard so much about been an (A dozen miles from home before extensive I never had been out) ; traveller, j ^^^^.^ ^ ^^.^ ^^ ^^^ sheep's gray. And cow-hides thick and stout. 74 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. How he happened to town. You see, that year my dad and I Rais'd '■'• notions " more'n a plenty, And he had promised me a share, to go. 'Cause I was one-and-twenty ; So he to market with a load Out to North Elver sent me. I hitch'd old Dobbin to a post, Nigh where I'd stopped to trade. How he get ^^^ ^^^^^ aboard a steamboat there To see how it was made. First thing I knew, we were half-way To York, the captain said. I felt a little down at first, Till we the town could spj'' ; Deter- My pockets, tho', were full of rocks That I'd been laying by ; Methought, since most young fellows " train," So now for once will I. Up what they called Broadway I walked ; — (A fellow told me 'twas. Sagely ex- But I have reason now to think poses a lie. He lied to me, because It wasn't wider than the lane That leads to miller Shaw's.) About the third man that I met A gold watch offered me ; Buys a j^ ^^^^g r^ splendid looking thing gold watch. . T Tj ^ As ever I did see ; I gave him for't my silver watch, And dollars thirty-three. mines " go it. CONNECTICUT EI [ ER MEEDS. lb I felt, as you may well suppose, Finda that Elated with my trade, all is not Till afterwards a jeweller ^^^!^.... !'^^^ A little reek'ning made, And called a bushel of them worth Less mouey than I paid. shines. A crowd was rushing up and down, Some meetings sure were nigh ; Acts very And so I thought I'd wait until discreetly. r^YiQ " heft " of them got by ; And thro' a w indow look at prints That just then struck my eye. I stood the pictures viewing there But don't For half an hour or more, accomplish But faith! the crowd was just as hia object. great. Or greater than before ; And some that pushed and jostled me, About a greenhorn swore. Well, on I went ; but soon perceived Makes an My coat behind felt queer, alarming And on examination found discovery. ,rp^^^g ^^^ ^^^ u gji^k and clear ! " Thinks I, am I a-dreaming now. Or what means all this 'ere ? You see, my pocket-book was gone, Sundry And '' bran'-new " handkerchief, valuables And half a card of gingerbread, missing. ^jj^j ^ij^ ,^ig jj^y hQMat, — For now I've reason so to think, — Were taken by a thief. 76 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. Thinks I, I'll cross to t'other side, The coast there looks more clear ; Meets with A carriage struck my pantaloons, a slight dis- ^j^j tore them in the rear ; ^^'^^'* I said that half the road was mine, — The driver didn't hear. Well, soon I met a lady fine, — She must have been a belle, — Ts SiCCO steel by an un- ^^® smiled, and spoke to me, and seemed known fair. To know me very well ; But who she was I couldn't think, And now I cannot tell. She asked me if my friends were well, Feels flat- j^^^ seemed to pity me ; ^^'^uts htr^ Invited me to walk with her, best foot And stop with her to tea ; foremost. You may believe I honored felt. And tried polite to be. 1 first apologized to her Is sud- YoY all my damaged plight, . , '^^J And for her invitations kind taken from " the evil to Thanked her with bows polite ; come." But scraping back a step or two, I vanished from her sight. For through a scuttle in the walk Mysterious ^ ^^11 like SO much lead ; disappear- And for a little season then ance. Ob- The light of reason fled ; livion; and ^^^ when my sense returned I spoke quotation. These lines of Watts I'd read : — " Down to the regions of the dead. With endless curses on his head." CONNECTICUT RI I ER REEDS. 7 7 But while attempting to escape, A servant came for coal, Is unjustly ^^'ho gave an outcry and alarm, accuseti. To find me in the hole ; Then people came and took me out. And asked me what I stole. That night the 5^ locked me in a cell, With scamps of every grade ; An event I " hollered " murder half the night, ful night. Tj^e other half I prayed. I've reason now to think my hair That night turned gray a shade. At morn they took me -fore a judge — Thinks the A righteous judge was he ! — judge pi- jjg heard my story with a smile, ""osed ^ ' ""' ^^^ straightway set me free ; And made a pious speech about Uncommon verdancy. The next walk that I took was just To walk straight to the boat, home '^re- ^^^ ^^^" ^ Passage pawned my boots ception. And remnant of my coat. When I got home my father said He'd swap me for a shoat. T HE laugh that followed when he ended. With jibes and squibs of satire blended, Was such as idlers only hear, — Rich music to a loafer's ear. The greenhorn turned his grinning phi/, And gasped out something like to this. 78 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. Which caught my ear, disjointed, blent With the uprousing merriment : — "Laugh — ef you want to — but, I swow, It's a fact — truth, — I tell you now ! " Soon conversation changed to play Upon the topics of the day; News, stale enough in distant town, Just in the " Hollow " ushered down ; Murder and rapine, loss by fire. Steamboat exiDlosions, extra dire ; — Till last at politics they went, And much of breath and speech were spent On measures for their country's good ; — For, reader, be it understood. It was the time, one year in four, We dread and joy to see well o'er, When politicians drive their trade, And some man President is made. The doctor, with an effort big To speak, defined himself " a Whig" ; The farmer and the blacksmith, both Said they wore Democratic cloth ; The miller, biting off a quid, Said he thought "just as doctor did '* ; Old " Mose " would not define at all ; The wit, lean'd back against the wall. His chair uplifted on two legs, Shaving a pine stick into pegs. Said, not much difference he could see *Twixt tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee (Original with him, no doubt, But since then quoted all about). CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 79 You're right, my friend, the stranger said, I've little wisdom in my head, And yet abroad have seen some things Your speech to recollection brings ; And I will tell a little story About the road to fame and glory. THE STRANGER'S TALE. THE WAY IT IS DONE. — WITH A MORAL. J'T'^WAS early one morn, in a log-cabin land, \^ Where the tallest air-castles, however, are planned. Where swagger is often mistaken for sense, AnA faith is a thing of no small consequence. 1 mean not that faith which is taught in the Bible, — The backwoods professor would sue for a libel ; The faith of the Book sees a mansion in heaven. But this sees a town where a stake is just driven. 'Twas early one morn ; 'twas the Fourth of July ; Some time must elapse ere the sun lit the sky ; And, thinking o'er-night of the glorious day, 'Twas natural my dreams, too, should wander that way. So I dreamed, as a Yankee boy frequently will, Of Lexington, Concord, and old Bunker Hill ; Saw the redcoated column uj) Bunker arise; Heard old Putnam's speech 'bout the "white of their eyes." They neared the redoubt, and the guns bristled o'er; But just as the Yankees their volley would pour. 80 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. Martial sounds 'gan to rise. And I opened my eyes, And thought 'twas a part of the dream gone before. But I listened, so still ; It was not Bunker Hill, But without in the street they were making up- roar; While a man with a fife Squealed as if for his life, And a drum put in shakes Ole Bull might adore. Sleep fled past a doubt ; so I dress'd and went out ; Had j-^ou seen what I saw, you'd have laughed with a shout : The offspring of Orpheus, blowing the fife. By the '' cut of his jib," wasn't long for this life ; For five feet and five I should judge the utmost Longitudinal metre his person could boast ; But Nature, kind dame, had made up, it would seem. Deficit in length, by the " breadth of his beam." His hat was " caved in " — had of brim scarce a bit ; He wore a short jacket, too small for a fit ; And a ludicrous thought flitted over my mind, That the fifer was yery full breasted behind. The drummer, beside him, personified Saul ; As gaunt as a greyhound, and bony, and tall. But ever I can Describe you this man, I'll state the condition of both — that is all : Though scarcely 'twas morn. They'd both had their corn^ Were so drunk, that to stand, they must lean on the wall ; CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 81 The din and devotion Inspired them with motion, At March! they would go; but at Halt: they would sprawl. Were I good with the charcoal, my tale I'd adorn With a sketch of the drummer that auspicious morn. A view of his figure — a side view — to me Looked, more than aught else, like a bad figure 3 ; His hat, which had suffered^ was cocked on one side ; His breeks were too short, by a foot, and too wide ; On the toe of his left foot, and heel of his right, He hitched to the tune of the " Soldier's Delight." His aspect was fierce, with a sprinkling of woe. His eyes dead ahead, and his arms akimbo ; The poor fifer, I fear, When he staggered too near. Received from his elbows a cruel side blow ; A pause would occur, A trill or a slm\ But the roll of the drum was unbroken, I know ; For the sticks down would come On the head of the drum. And the way rub-a-dub rattled out wasn't slow. The rabble behind them were trundling a gun, About a ten-pounder, I judged such an one ; But foremost, and leading the glorious van. Marched a man, 'tis my plan to ban if I can. In his gait, in his dress, in his dignified air, With his "brethren in arms" like a prince he'd compare ; He'd striven for ofiice, he'd striven for fame. He longed for a deed to emblazon his name. 82 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. The law was his hobby, at least by pretence ; He was great on a ease without need of defence ; And his talents, beside, most decidedly were. For the use of his countrymen, la militaire. How he lived, the Lord knows; but 'twas my cal- culation, It was partly on faith, partly on speculation. He appeared to feel grand; yea, he felt rather bigger Than the man who had seen Gen'ral Washington's "■nigger! " But I'll prove him full soon, if my proof doesn't fail, A " creature of circumstance " ; so to our tale. I joined in the march, with an inkling of fun ; The music roll'd on, and they trundled the gun. They came to a spot, A square vacant lot. Called after the name of the great Washington. The gun was now tried, The match was applied. And forth belched the thunder to herald the sun. It looked like a fight, For overcome quite The martial musicians lay stretched like the done. Bang! bang! went the gun, till there wanted but one More shot, and the job for the sunrise was done ; 'Twas likely to fail, for I heard a man swear That nothing to serve for a wadding was there. To fail in completion the shame would be great, Amounting almost to the shame of defeat. No ! that wouldn't do ; they must give the last shot, But ^vhere was a w^adding at hand to be got? CONNECTICUT JUJ-T^H REEDS. 83 Om- hero stood near, iu contemplative mood, Ivuraiuating a speech, as a cow does her cud ; But, sudden a thouglit ! His pocket he sought And drew forth a handkerchief dirty as mud. "Here! take that! my lad, And use it, egad ! The gun shall not fail for the want of a wad ! " Soon the gun roared anew, Into shreds the rag flew ; — "There goes my best handkerchief— silk one — by — " A drizzle set in ; and the gun was now housed ; But fame, for our hero, was fully aroused. Her echoing trump was at once to her mouth ; All over the district, east, west, north, and south, His name spread abroad ; and, spreading, the story Gathered in bulk, while it gathered him glory ; Till, by the time that the story had back again got, In the "last war" he'd killed twenty men atone shot! The next thing we see in the " People's Gazette " ; Our hero for Congress his visage has set. The editor, there, Mr. Butcher's-meat's-m, Comes out with a column of something like this : " It is time for the people to rouse from their sleep ! The wolves are abroad in the clothing of sheep ; But give the pull long. The pull very strong. The pull altogether. — Oh ! pull while you weep ! 'Tis our duty to sow. Though our readers must know, No person:! 1 benefit hoping to reap. 84 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. Come, bards, tune your lays To our caudidate's praise. And we to the music our eyeballs will keep. Our man is a patriot, true as the sun ; Familiarly known as the ' Son-of-a-gun ! ' For what man but he, on that glorious day When patriots gather, as patriots may ; When likely to fail was the national round. And brave men e'en wept when no wadding was found ; Save he who would suffer, unanswered, we say, His own private wardrobe to be shot away ? Let his name, like the clouds, o'er Columbia scud! Let his name brightly gleam in the annals of blood ! Let this deed of his fame be embalmed with the tale Of Putnam's bold feat, or the hanging of Hale ! " Success seemed more sure, as election drew nigher ; But one " circumstance" more knocked his fat in the fire; For lo ! there was one That morn, by the gun. Who did not exactly belong to the squire ; So merely for sport He spread the report, The candidate w^as as profane as a liar ; That he stood on the spot When the 'kerchief was shot, And the squire swore so bad he was forced to retire ! Enough ; — for the other side sought out this man ; A dollar in hand, and a swig at the can; Deposition was made 'fore a magistrate lawful ; The man on his oath said the swearing was awful ; CONNECTICUT RIVER REKDS. 85 And next day appeared in the "' Voice of the People " A yarn half as long as a meeting-house steeple. Therein 'twas shown clear as the light of the sun, 'i'hat they should not vote for the Son-of-a-gun. They called on the people to rally anew And vote for their candidate, called the ''True Blue." lie had all the other man's patriot pride ; Was rather inclined to be pious, beside ; ►Sure, slander pursued him, but still 'twasn't true He once was indicted for stealing an ewe ; He held to equality when people meet, — Been seen shaking hands with a "nig" in the street ; And as for his courage, why blest be his name, He had entered a house that was roaring on flame. And saved, at the imminent risk of his life, A print representing John Rogers and wife ; Then hurrah for True Blue ! for he only can save Our country from Ruin's oblivious grave! The contest grew fiercer each following day. The young and the old of both sides joined the fray ; Some voters were bought, Some duels were fought ; One man had a part of his thigh shot away; Both editors wrote. The people would quote. The candidates mounted the stump for display ; While some Oberlin men. To the number of ten. Bethought it a matter for which they should pray. 86 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. The day came at last, the ballots were east, And both parties' colors were nailed to the mast ; But the Oberlin men, To the number of ten. Struck the friends of Son-of-a-gun all aghast! For neither they knew The " Gun " or "- True Blue," But thought it the safest to vote for the last. And this, as their reasons for voting, they gave : A man who would greet A poor nig in the street. Must certainly be a good friend of the slave ; And a man who would swear. As profane as the " 'square," Must certainly be an ungodly old knave. ^^ " True Blue '" was returned by majority ten. And those were the votes of the Oberlin men. MORAL. Let every " constituent " coming to call. Who's seen an election, and lived through it all, AVith blush of conviction acknowledge, forsooth, That the tale I have told isn't far from the truth. When a President's up, or lower the grade Of seekers for office, a hubbub is made ; A green one, perusing the prints at such times. Would deem they'd selected a man for his crimes. And though we can't say but a '^ 8on-of-a-guu,'' Or another " True Blue," too often is run, 'Twould be better by far To have less wordy war, Less blazonry, billingsgate, twitting, and pun ; For it all ends in self, The pickings and pelf, — Division takes place when the battle is won ; CONNECTICUT niVER REEDS. 87 But the government stands Though it changes its hands, And keeps forward march, as it ever has done. The story ended, and the flip Went circling round from hand to lip ; The stranger paid the shot, you see, Because they'd listened patiently. Then conversation grew more gay ; Most had some funny thing say. Till by degrees their stories grew Warped sadly from the truth askew. The Farmer told a mighty fib About the virtues of his rib ; What webs she wove; how long they wore — Never wore out and never tore. The very breeches he had on Got hitch'd a white-oak stump upon One day, while ploughing ; he held fast And cheered his oxen, till at last Stump, root and all, broke from the ground. But left his breeches whole and sound. The Blacksmith said, when he could see Better than now, repeatedly Cast iron he had wielded well ; And tho' the thing seem'd strange to tell, All that was needed, on the whole, Was gumption and right kind of coal. The Wit said that his mother's brother, Or great-grandfather — one or t'other — Scud in a dreadful gale at sea That blew straight to eternity, 88 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. Ninety-six knots an hour, with all The masts gone o'erboard in the squall, And nothing but one scupper nail Stuck in the deck in place of sail ; While o'er it stood one of the crew To drive it in, if worse it blew ! The Miller's turn came next to try. And he essaj^ed a foolish lie About the rats, or one great rat That in his mill lived sleek and fat ; Watch'd him in all he had to do, Was tame, and very knowing, too. He said the rat, time and again, Had sat and watched the grinding grain, Perched on the hopper ; and if he Forgot to take toll properly. The rat would squeak and fidget round, Until the toll dish it had found ; Select the right one, and would bring it If small ; if large, the rat would fling it. The Doctor, still tremendous "blue," Had no doubt that the tale was true ; He now knew why, when he sent grain. So little flour came back again ; He wouldn't say the miller stole it, — The rat had made him double toll it. 'Tvvas a strange rat, continued he, — Strange fact in nat'ral history ; But he a yellow dog once had That cast his ratship in the shade. In his young days he played the flute ; The music charm 'd the knowing brute. Who'd sit for hours and hear him do it. And whine a sort of second to it. A CONNECTICUT niVER REEDS. 89 At last, the dog of yellow hairs Attempted whining several airs, And practised " Yanliee Doodle.^'''' till The tiute knocked under to his skill. The dog at last essayed to play. Or whine out " Hail Columbia.'''' He practised long, with patience rare, And nearly perfect got the air; Still cZo<7gedly resolved to mend it, — The trouble was he couldn't end it., But the last strains would keep re-whining, Till painful 'twas to hear him trying. And so for days the poor dog tried. Grew thin upon it, sick and died; A clear case of a broken heart, A martyr to the tuneful art. A great dog, that ! — continued he, — And brought his hand down forcibly, — Hundreds, with lib'ral offers, sought him, But, faith ! no money could have bought him. Such is a sample of things told By those blue wortliies ; and if old MuNCHAUSEX had himself been there. He'd found his peers, and rivals fair. " Come, Uncle Mose ! '' at last cried they, " Let's hear what you have got to say." But Uncle Mose, in accents slow, Said he'd no wond'rous things to show. " But we know better," they replied ; " You've been all o'er the country-side Have been a soldier, and in strife. And led a most eventful life : 90 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. So to hear somethiug now, we mean, That you have done, or heard, or seen." "Well, gentlemen," quoth Uncle Mose, Brushing pipe-ashes from his clothes, — " I've no great things to tell, indeed ; But if you're willing to give heed, A little simple thing I'll show, That happened many years ago." UNCLE MOSE'S STORY. THE little thing I tell about Happened, you see, ^^ hen I was out In the last war. I used to do My duty, like a soldier true, And all my company were brave Men as e'er saw a standard w^ave. Our courage was so noted grown That through the army we were known, From what, in many a bloody fight. We'd " gi'n and took," as "Death's Delight.' I say the men were all true blue ; Each one some feat of prowess knew, And rough and readj^, aye, to show — Except myself, of course, you know. At last a little thing took place — A chance for honor or disgrace — Made some impression on my mind ; Tho', after all, 'twa'n't much, you'll find. We then were stationed near the line. This " true blue " company of mine ; CONNECTICUT ItlVEIl REEDS. 91 The enemy just o'er the border Were camp'd in scientific order ; And frequently our scouts were sent To reconnoitre their intent. One morn myself and others three Were sent to see what we could see, And w\arily we kept our tramp Some two, three miles outside our camp, Each man of us determined he Some new thing to report would see ; And, faith ! we saw, too late to hit one, Three Indians scouting for the Briton. They just from out the bush broke cover, Pop ! bang ! and laid my comrades over. It was a serious time for me. Thus left a lone minority, And so, thought I, here gives leg bail. Or who'll be left to tell the tale? So, gentlemen, you see I run. Believe me, more for life than fun. And being then young, strong, and fleet. Grass did not grow beneath my feet. Over my shoulder I could see The three red devils after me ; And after running till I felt That I should into soap-grease melt. On looking back, I saw that one Redskin the others had outrun, And with his hatchet poised to throw, Was just preparing for the blow. I wheeled with desperate intent, My eye along the barrel bent And let its direful contents fly, And hlow\l him to eternity. 92 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. Then swift as ever on I run, Reloading, as I ran, my gun, Kicking off this, and then that shoe, — Hard followed by the vengeful tw^o ! I ran till at the point of death ; My heart throb'd hard, I gasped for breath But looking back, could see that one Redskin the other had outrun. And w^ith his hatchet poised to throw, Was just i)reparing for the blow. I wheeled with desperate Intent, My eye along the barrel bent, And let its direful contents fly, And blow'd Mm to eternity ! Then on again 1 led the race ; Short seem'd to me my day of grace ; 'Twas yet a good mile to the camp, 'Twixt it and me a miry swamp. Where 'twere impossible to run ; But T reloaded my good gun While running like a panting deer With bloodhounds gaping in his rear. Just as I neared the swamp, I knew The game was o'er, the race was through ; The sweat was steaming thro' my coat, My heart seem'd right here, in ni}^ throat, My knees felt weak, my eyes grew dim, All things around appeared to swim ; But still resolved was I to make One effort more, for life's dear sake ; So turning round, I yet could see The Redskin no great way from me, And with his hatchet poised to throw, Was just preparing for the blow. CONNECTICUT RIVER nEEDS. 93 I wheeled with desperate intent, My eye aloui^ the barrel bent, Aud — " Hang it, Uncle Mose ! " cried one, " You bio wed him, also ; — do have done ! " Xo, gentlemen, drawled Uncle Mose, As with a quiet air he rose To go ; no, gentlemen, said he. That fellow, — d-a-a-mn him ! he killed me ! 9): * 4= ;ic * St: " Landlord," quoth I, " the clock says morn. Give Uncle Mose an extra horn ; The others have done fairly well. But we'll allow he bears the bell." SONGS. MARY, MAVOURNIN, ACUSHLA MA CREE.* THE world it is wide, and the world it is cold, And dear to the worldling are silver and gold. But dearer by far is my Mary to me, My Mary, mavournin, acushla ma cree I The city may boast of its mansions so fair, I care not, tlio' beauty in splendor is there ; In a lone, quiet nook a brown cottage I see, — There's Mary, mavournin, acushla ma cree I * Mary, darling, blood of my heart. 94 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. Bright gems, such as sparkle in royalty's crown. May deck with their lustre the belles of the to\\u. But the light of thine eye is a jew^el to me, My Mary, mavournin, acushla ma cree ! Abroad have I roved like a bird from its nest. And viewed Nature's charms from the east to the west. But her charms — dearest charms — sw^eetly centre for me In Mary, mavournin, acushla ma cree ! THE WINDS THAT FROM MONADNOCK BLOW. T HE winds that from Monadnock blow. When April caps his head with snow. Are not so cutting, not so chill. As woman can be when she will. Yet, after all, an April snow Is but a transient thing, we know. The blessed breeze that round us plays In summer's horrid, torrid days. Is not with kindliness so fraught As woman can be when she ought. So be she kind, or be she chill, delightful woman still. p CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS 95 JOSIE, JOSEPHINE. iRETTY maiden, picking berries In tlie i)astures green ; Cheeks like roses, lips like cherries, — Josie, Josephine ! Joy is in thy features glowing, Gladness dwells with thee ; Rose of June ! so sweetly blowing. Rose of June to me. Rich the rural setting round thee. But the GEM art thou ; Sure if Love had never bound me. He will hold me now. Half so winning, half so clever Ne'er was Gallia's queen ; Empress in this bosom ever, Josie, Josephine ! WHAT TIME THE KINE CAME DOWN THE BRAE. W 7" HAT time the kine came down the brae. And Vesper showed her light, I held across the fields my way. To iDass a happy night. Oh ! there is nothing on the earth. Beneath the sky above. That brighten can the heart of man, Like Woman, with her love. 96 CONNECTICUT lilVER BE EDS. A robin carolled, sweet and clear, A hymn to parting day ; I would have lingered, him to hear, If love had let me stay. Oh I there is nothing on the earth, etc. I saw her at the cottage door. Beneath a climbing vine. And thought, with worlds I should be poor. If she were never mine. Oh ! there is nothing on the earth, etc. How sweet the welcome that I sought I How sparkling, yet sincere ! Her speaking eye, that told the thought She would not let me hear ! Oh ! there is nothing on the earth, etc. The cock was crowing for the day, When homeward I returned ; How cold the dewdrops round my way ! How warm my bosom burned ! Oh ! there is nothing on the earth. Beneath the sky above. That brighten can the heart of man. Like Woman, with her love. w WASHIISTG BY THE BROOK. HERE the alders girt a grassy. Leaf-embowered nook. There I spied a cottage lassie Washing by the brook. CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 97 Bright the wavelets glanced beside her, Brighter was the look That she gave to him who spied her Washing by the brook. Sweet the songs of birds around her, — Songs from Nature's book ; Sweeter hers to him who found her Washing by the brook. Heaven bless her! heaven watch her! Pride may overlook, But for graces never match her, Washing by the brook. THE OLD FARMER'S ELEGY. ON a green, grassy knoll by the banks of the brook That so long and so often has watered his flock. The old farmer rests in his long and last sleep. While the waters a low, lapsing lullaby keep. He has ploughed his last furrow, has reaped his last grain. No morn shall awake him to labor again. The bluebird sings sweet on the gay maple bough ; Its warblings oft cheered him while holding the plough. 98 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. And the robins above him hop light on the mould, For he fed them with crumbs when the season was cold. You tree that with fragrance is filling the air, So rich with its biossoms, so thrifty and fair. By his own hand was planted, and well did he say It would live when its planter had mouldered away. cold, With its wet, dripi^ing bucket so mossy and old, No more from its depths by the patriarch drawn, For the " pitcher is broken," the old man is gone. 'Twas a gloom-giving day when the old farmer died. The stout-hearted mourued, the affectionate cried, And the prayers of the just for his rest did ascend. For they all lost a brother, a man, and a friend. For upright and honest the old farmer was, His God he revered, he respected His laws; Though tameless he lived, he has gone where his worth Will outshine like the gold all the dross of this earth. He has ploughed his last furrow, has reaped his last grain, No morn shall awake him to labor again. CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 99 A FEW LIXES TO THE DEVIL, AND A WORD TO THE READER. JUSTLY abhorred as thou shouldst be, Yet sometimes it appears to me The long, black list ascribed to thee Is hardly fair; Still granting thee, as all agree. The lion's share. How oft thy attributes are taken By men with gusts of temper shaken, Men riotous, men God-forsaken, Who never think How you some day will smoke their bacon Black as this ink ! A loafer's bowels give him pain, — " Ache like the devil," hell complain ; Whatever's sad, or bad, or vain — All " like the devil '' ; Thou hast been, and wilt aye remain The old All Evil. Thou'rt made most strangely to compare To what is foul and what is fair; To heat, to cold, to what is rare As crows not black ; To what is thick as is the hair On Bose's back. Art thou a spirit or a body? Dost water drink, or purchase toddy? Dost of State Agent buy? O Lo'ddy I They say I must ; * Our towns grow thirsty as old Roddy Mac Dry-as-dust. * Rejoicing In the honor of being just appointed Town Agent. 1 00 CONyECTICUT RIVER REEDS. If thou'rt a body, I don't see How comes thy great ubiquity. E'en if a spirit, how can be Thy mighty sway ? A higher Power is over thee All must obey. But I will waive all speculation And take the old received narration That you " still live" and have a station Deep down below, And where I pray, in contemplation, Never to go. Your title Mammon, God of Gold, Is fittest name of all yon hold ; It gives a clew, so we unfold To light of day The secret of your powers untold And general sway. My observation this discloses : — A man may be as " meek as Moses,'' As sweet with virtues as the roses In bonnie June, Yet people pass him with their noses Like the new moon. He may a humble follower be Of Him who died on Calvary, And yet his brethren may agree. With " sweet accord," He's no " great shakes " to them, you see, But to the Lord. And would you know the reason why? You know it better now than I ; i CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 101 But some this letter may espy AVho're no such scholars. To them four words will make replj' : He lacks the dollars. But while men feign great consequence, Great virtue, philanthropic sense, I think you never make pretence To aught but evil, Or to be else than the intense And downright Devil. That's candid, surely ; and if ever Mankind would grow more good and clever, They must their oitm deceit dissever, And look within ; And at thy door, in future, never Lay every sin. Don't take the trouble to replj^ To this epistle. Know that I Have not Job's patience, but should die With best of nursing. And fear that potsherd come to try, There might be cursing. Yet one can't tell what he might do ; Surprise themselves and others, too ; Folks will sometimes — that's very true — For once be clever ! liCt me alone and I will you. Henceforth forever. And thou who read'st, don't think me wrong To beat this diabolic gong ; 102 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. I know it is no polished song Where dactyls gleam ; The language, too, is something strong, But how's the theme? TO THE VIOLIN. INSCRIBED TO R. D. HAWLEY, HARTFORD, OWNER OF " KING JOSEPH," CALLED THE FINEST OLD VIOLIN IN THE WORLD. CHERISH "King Joseph ! " ^Vho may tell What sweet, enchanting numbers dwell Within that time-stained, trembling shell? I fain would hear A master hand, with magic spell, Bid them appear. Sweet solace of a lonely hour, All gratefully I own thy dower To recreate, — when cares devour Life's peace, life's rest. My spirit thy reviving power Seeks, and is blest. What genius first invented thee ? The pages of chronology We scan in vain his name to see; He's lost to fame, But sweet Euterpe's Gem shall be Thy titled name. CONNECTICUT Rl VER REEDS. 1 Oi More like thy infant state was rude ; Like some wikl floweret of the wood, Untrained, yet giving hkelihood Of richness vast, That cultivation, skilled and good, Brings forth at last. Once did a good old grandame say Thou wert a wicked thing and gay; But since, " beyond the bourne," away With Paganini, She's heard tliat mnster spirit play, — What say you, granny? I'm thinking had King David known Tliee, and the skill in handling shown That he displayed in slinging stone. It's safe in saying That Saul the spear had never thrown To stop his playing. And furthermore, compared with you, That harp, which makes so much ado. Was a dull bird, according to My observation; Or else we moderns don't renew Its fabrication. When prospects dismally are blue ; When straight-sent projects slant askew ; When wants are great and ways are few, 'Tis then, old shell. Thou canst exorcise and eschew The evil spell. When thoughts, a sad and gloomy train, Parade upon the mental plain. 104 CONNECTICUT RIVER REKD^. And reason's strongest force is vain To clear the field, Thy cheerful, animating strain Will make them yield. Princes and poets, priests and kings, Have drawn the music of thy strings ; Statesmen have given airy wings To cares of state, To dwell upon the beauteous things Thou canst create. Some homeless wanderer, maybe, Far from his own nativity'. Who's lived his household gods to see Spread to the blast. Halts feebly on, but unto thee Clings to the last. Such are thy charms, I do not wonder That he who forged our July thunder,* Which woke the land to rend asunder Our British chains. Should daily o'er thee love to ponder And wake thy strains. When soft on Bernard sleeps the dew. And over Powsic's bosky blue The yellow moon climbs into view. Calm and serene, How dear communion is with you! How sweet the scene ! * President Jefferson, author of the Declaration of Tnde. pendence, was a skilful performer on the violin, and devoted two hours daily to its practice. CONNECTICUT lllVICn i:h:KI)S. lOo Gone then the labors of the day ; Flown Care's ill-omened birds of prey ; Thy gliding sweetness brings a ray Of hope so clear, That clouds and darkness lift away And disappear ! THE DESERTED SCHOOL-HOUSE. I. J " I ^WAS a desolate spot on a drear, lonely lot, Jl^ Where the wild winter winds blew amain. And the summer suns beat with a tropical heat On the sands that reflected again, — There the old school-house stood, all a ruin and rude, With mosses o'erstrewed and o'erlain. II. O'er its roof rose a pine leaning off an incline From its line, perpendicular base, With a hole in its side where a bonfire had died. And the bark warping wide from its face ; And its arms gaunt and bare, sprawled aloft in the air Like the spectre of Care, o'er the place. III. O'er the threshold I stept, and a harvest I reapt Of thoughts, as I swept with my eye The walls, grim and old, with the stain and the mould, And the carvings untold, and O, fie ! 106 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. And the sketchings in coal of some fanciful soul Long ago o'er the goal of Good-by. IV. For I thought how of yore on the ruinous floor Ranged the half-score, or more, of the "class,' To be catechised well, or to read, or to spell, On the grammar to dwell, and to " pass " ; The grown and the stout, the woman, about. The little, the lout, and the lass; Of the "master" severe, with his pen o'er his ear, And the eye piercing clear through and through ; With his ferule in hand, and the word of com- mand That was sore to withstand, I tell you ; Of the awe that was felt when with culprits he dealt, The outcry, the welt black and blue. VI. Of the " schoolma'am " so kind, so obligingly blind As never to mind little failings ; Of her love for her care ; of no learning to spare, But of heart prompt to share in their ailings ; Of the "last day " so sad, when, in holiday clad. Her last tokens were had with loud wailings. VII. They are gone ! all are gone ; and the ruin is lone, And the wind with a moan whistles through. And the voice of the Past I detect in the blast — O dreamer ! at last, so with you ! CONNECTICUT JIIVER REEDS. 107 What is life but a school? Tlie great Master gives rule ; Act the wise, shun the fool, and be true. B RHEUMATISM. TTRNS had the toothache,— but, O cracky! D'ye ever have a '"'■crick in the back,"' eh? Or sweet sciatic' to attack ye, Boring your hip? Or rheumatism sharp to rack ye With twisting grip? Toothache, forsooth, is bad enough, But there's a remedy, tho' rough ; Step to the dentist in a huff. Be prompt and bold ; Sit down, and cry, *' Come on, Macduff," With iron cold ! One gentle wrench ! and all is done ; 'Tis finished, even while begun. And tho' you thought earth, moon, and sun Had smashed together. You know that you've the victory won, And all's fair weather. But mark the man who, hale and strong. Would willing drive his work along, For work drives him ; a whistle, song, His toil beguiles ; His cattle fear not gad or thong, — Their master smiles. i08 CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. But, all at once, ascends a howl ! He looks as solemn as an owl ; His smiles depart ; a painful scowl Steals o'er his phiz ; Perhaps his language isn't foul, — Perhaps it is. What can have wrought a change so quick. And turned the well man to the sick. His spine into a rigid stick That breaks to bend ? He's stricken with the woful '^ crick" The Furies send. With awful dignity, and slow, He seeks the crib his cattle know ; Unyokes them ; harshly bids them, Go ! — Thwack I there — go faster ; While in-doors, grappling with the foe, Ketu-es the master. First, brandy out of apples fried, Hot with red pepper, is applied; ''Mustang," "Pain-killer" next is tried. Without avail ; Some old-wives' salve, hot shovel dried, — In turn to fail. O, see him, whom no thing could frighten, Proud as a drover safe at Brighton ! Now, best of markets could not lighten His aggravations ; His back scored like the rock at Dighton, By " apiDlications." He rises slowly from his chair. Remains half bent a moment ; — there ! CONNECTICUT RIVER REEDS. 109 Novvcoines the pinch, — take care ! — t