Class Book "PSi4>sr^ ^,-^1^ BUGLES AND BELLS; OR, STORIES TOLD AGAIN. INCLUDING The Story of the Ninety-First Ohio Volunteer Infantry. REUNION POEMS AND SOCIAL TRIBUTES. BY E. E. EWING. f CINCINNATI : Press of Curts & Jennings. 1899. PS I G s'-f- UfeftAftY OF CONGRESS RECEIVED FEB 6 1930 DOCUMENTS DIVISION ( "N BUGLES "A thousand glorious actions that might claim Triumphant laurels and immortal fame, Confused in cro^vds of glorious actions lie, And troops of heroes undistinguished dieJ' — Addison, PREFACE. " BUGI.KS AND BEI.I.S " have been ringing in my ears for many years. They have furnished music for me, and occasionally their sounds have overleaped the bounds of my own consciousness, and others have heard, and have had the kindness to commend and to express pleasure in the overflow. Those nearest me have suggested that they be per- petuated, and I have listened to the kind suggestion until I am at last constrained to do that which may be the delight of my enemy — "write a book." It has been written, and it only remains to gather it together, and to breathe into it such life as may be possible by doing what every one does who writes a book — asking everybody's pardon for the pre- sumption which prompted its publication. No one need feel compelled to read a word herein contained. If life is too short for him to enter upon the perusal of a single page, in view of the priceless value of time, let him close the book at once. The author never wrote a word of it with a view of prolonging its life beyond the occasion that called it forth. There never was the vision of a solitary dollar between him and his labor of love, for such is every line this book contains. When compensation has sometimes been received, it has 5 6 PREFACE. come as a surprise, but to him as sweet as the breath of Spring. If I were to dedicate this volume, it would be first to my army comrades, and then to my friends who have kindly commended, and so often asked why I have not gathered together my little brood, '* even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings." A busy life has not favored me in literary work. Almost everj^ word has been written at times that should have been devoted to rest. Much of it has been committed to paper in quiet hours of the night, when sleep, " Nature's sweet restorer," should have claimed me for repairs; while the rail- road car has frequently been my workshop, thereby relieving the tedium of travel, and giving play to the thoughts that haunted my fancy, or claimed the warmth of my heart for the friends in whose behalf the " Bells" swung to and fro, or my fancy ran the gamut of the " Bugles," whose echoes came to me from what is now the land of " Long Ago." I greet you, kind reader, with the love that has prompted every effort this volume contains. San Francisco, 1899. CONTENTS. PAGE. Tun Story of the Ninety-first Rkgiment O. V. I., 15 To My Esteemed Comrade and Friend, Captain L. A. Atkinson, 56 Give the Boys Some Message from Me, 60 " The Torn Fi.ag " at Worcester, Mass., 64 The Death of Sheridan, 67 After Many Days, 68 Reunion Army of West Virginia, Ironton, O., Sep- tember 20, 1883. Honor the Dead and Cherish the Living, .... 79 Decoration-day Poem, Ironton, O., May 30, 1888. Reunion Poem, 93 Ninety-first Regiment O. V. I., at Gallipolis, O., 1893. " AT Peace," Reunion Poem, 102 The Army of West Virginia at Cumberland, Md., September 2, 1884. As 'T WAS T01.D TO Me ; or, The Story of the Fifty-sixth Regiment O. V. I., 114 As recited by Miss Edith G. Jones at the Reunion of the Fifty-sixth Regiment O. V. I., at Ports- mouth, O., September 18, 1890. 7 8 CONTENTS. PAGE. Dedication Poem, 122 Memorial Hall, Ironton, O., 1892. ON1.Y A Story — A Prose Sketch, 124 The Seventieth Birthday of Mrs. John G. PEEBIvES, 143 After Fifty Years, 144 Read on the occasion of the Golden Wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Wells, March 2, 1888. Reunion of the Riggs Famii^y, 153 The G01.DEN Wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Jacob H. RiCKER, May 5, 1880, 158 Goi,DEN Chimes, 165 Read on the occasion of the Fiftieth Anniversary of the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. John Waller, July 26, 1887. My Country, 'tis of Thee, 171 Trumps, the Prevaii^ing Fad, 173 Washington's Birthday, 175 The Royai, Three, 178 The Just Shai^i, Live by Faith, 182 On the Occasion of the Sii^ver \^edding of Dr. Ei,bert R. Dii^i^e and Wife, 183 The Goi^den Wedding of Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Long- bon. May 27, 1899 192 The Reunion of the Fifty-sixth Regiment O. V. I., 197 Congratui^ations upon the Birth of a Son, . . . 202 CONTENTS. 9 PAGE. To Mr. O. N. Gui,di.in, 203 On account of a Conditional Promise to bestow certain Pictures. Thk Ai,l,-round Man, 205 An OIvD Man's Musings, 207 My DEiyTA Tau DEI.TA Badgk, 209 How I Earned a Doi,i,ar for the Missionary Cause, 211 I Tei.1. Fortunes, • 215 Between the Years 1895-1896, 218 We '1.1. Know as Soon as We Die, 220 The F1.1GHT OF Years, 221 My Mother's Smii.e, 225 Growing Oi.d, 227 O1.D Orchard, 229 NEGIvECTED, 230 Acquiescence, 234 An incident in the life of Hon. H. S. Bundy. Our One-year-oIvD Man, 236 Passing Down, 239 The IvITTIvE Mischief, 243 A Letter to Mr. T. r. Parker, 245 After the Banquet, 248 The Coming of the Morning, 249 lO CONTENTS. THE READING CLUB. PAGE. OivD-TiME Fun, 253 Mephitis Americana, a Minnesota Legend, . . . 257 The Texas Drummer and the Mississippi Mer- chant ; OR, Progressive Happiness, 259 W11.1. Carleton, 262 Moses Ai.i.en's Prayer, 265 Why He Went to the Show, 270 An incident in the life of Dr. Gabriel McNeal. A Phantom Quest; or, The Bachelors' Banquet, . 275 Farewei.Iv to Mr. TowelIv, 280 The Unaccompi^ished Task, 285 The Baffled Prophecy 292 The Fifteenth Anniversary of the Portsmouth Reading Club, 297 Life's Promise and Prospect, 304 Departed Comrades, 307 On Receiving a Bouquet of Flowers, 309 A Word in Season, 310 James Whitcomb Riley, 312 We Hold Our Aprons, 3^4 The Death of General Hayes, 3^9 Greeting and Farewell, 320 PROLOGUE. T T OW many years have fled since closed ^ ^ This bloody conflict ! Interposed Have many scenes enacted been That move to pity. We begin To look behind us ; for before Seems little cheer for us in store, Unless we look beyond the line Dividing life and death. Resign We must the hopes we long maintained For happiness, since unobtained. It took us long to understand How hard to build as we had planned. Our plans were good enough ; our zeal Was strong; but most have had to feel That Caution may be lulled to sleep. And Care her vigils cease to keep ; And so have learned that every stream A current has, and though our dream Lay hold on scenes where Beauty paints Her bright conceptions, there are plaints That rise among the rippling waves That tell of rocks and hidden caves We could not think had lined the way Till o'er us fell the warning spray That leaped from shoals before unseen, II 12 BUGLES AND BELLS. We little thought could intervene 'Twixt us and our most cherished goal Whose prospect had entranced the soul. I do but tell how it has been Since Time began ; for all would win What none have found, or so it seems, — The guerdon of our youthful dreams. At times we rise above the tide ; Our vision reaches far and wide, And not a sail is spread to view That does not seem for me or you. Our ships are coming home. They ride The waves with bounding pride ; Their prows are pointing toward our shore, To bear to us their precious store. A night may come and intervene Between us and th' enchanted scene; The ships are turned toward the sea And Hope has changed Despair to be. In tropes and figures we 're inclined To give expression to the mind ; And as the 3^ears still fly apace We keep us girded for life's race. Not only on the battle-field May we succeed, or have to yield ; Contentious are the throes of Life, — Nor Peace alone nor yet all Strife. PROLOGUE. 13 Content to entertain the one, And bid the other to be gone, May just as well engage our thought That lyife's best mission may be wrought. I take whatever proffered cup That to my lips may be held up ; I quaff whatever seems the best, And leave results to meet the test That stamps us pure or only base, And brings us each and all to face The estimate the world has placed On us which will not be effaced. How oft we have desired to trace The backward way, and find the place, Where two divergent roads had been, And there our way anew begin ! 'T is better to forget the past ; Discomfiture may not outlast The time allotted to us yet Before the sun of life be set. We talk of beacons on the sea, But wreckage has not ceased to be. We talk of life-lines being cast While death is perched upon the mast. But soon 't will be as is a dream ; We 11 realize that as a stream Our lives have been, and so shall be Till merged into eternity. THE STORY OF THK NINETY-FIRST REGIMENT, OHIO VOLUNTEER INFANTRY. FIRST REUNION, APRIL 8, 1868. OUR BOND OF UNION. /^UR Bond of Union is to me ^-^ A pleasing theme, and so must be To every comrade here to-night, — A very well-spring of delight. A few short years ago and few Who gather here each other knew. And when we met we little thought Such bonds between us should be wrought. We may have stood apart awhile To study each peculiar wile The other had, and sought to find Afl&nity in soul and mind. As time passed on we little knew How strong attachments formed and grew Until each other's joys and woes Were shared by all. In all arose A feeling strong, sincere, and deep Which never can be lulled to sleep, 15 1 6 BUGLES AND BELLS. That danger shared in duty done, Cements our fellowship in one ; Then who will ask at whose behest Our willing feet have hither pressed? Or why to-night we gather here? What mystic tie that we revere? For every heart responds anew To those strong ties that erstwhile grew A threefold cord 'twixt man and man, And God himself approved the plan. Such is our faith. We do not deem It sacrilege to make our theme The sanctioned of the Soul Divine, — The essence of his wise design. We fought that shackles should no more Bind down our fellow-men. Before High Heaven's list'ning ear we said, "Our brother shall be free indeed." And so we 've hastened to renew Our friendship thus grown strong and true, Our fellowship through those dark 3^ears Of grief and wrong, and blood and tears. Three years ! and Memory is still Uniting webs with subtile skill, Whose warp and woof are crimson dyed, And flecked with sunshine's glint beside. Could we so meet and still forget The scenes through which we passed and let No thoughts intrude, that bring no tears, Enhance our joys nor calm our fears?. THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 1 7 'T would call for pity, and the thought Would be a burden sadly fraught, Then here 's the pledge that we renew A friendship ardent, lasting, true. Three years of peace have sped away Since we returned from the array And pomp of war, and its distress And its attending balefulness. Like waves that sweep up from the sea And lave the shore, then peacefully Recede and mingle with the deep Wide ocean, and be lulled to sleep; So have we come from out the strife Upon the scenes of peaceful life. To dig and delve, our part to bear. Whatever be its need or care. For had not Treason o'er the land Obtained almost supreme command? Were not our brothers driven back Leaving blood in every track? Was plighted faith not oft betrayed That should the gory tide have stayed? Did not the traitor on yon shore Bring menace to your very door? THE CALL. Did not the haughty monarch smile And mock us, and rejoice the while That Freedom's flag was rent and torn And made the subject of his scorn? BUGLES AND BELLS. Did he not point and say "Undone" Our Motto was, "In many, one?" Did not our blood reach fervent heat? Did not our hearts more quickly beat? Did we not hear above the roar The call, ''Six hundred thousand moref Could lyincoln speak and we not hear? Could we be awed by any fear? His call the lightning seized and sped To bear it forth. The Nation's head Must be obeyed, and so we cast Our lives into the balance vast. We trusted that the right would win, We knew to hesitate were sin, We knew to do, and even die If need be, we should not deny. Six hundred thousand heard the call, The cadence scarce had time to fall, That bore the message on its wing To waiting heroes lingering. TO ARMS. They sprung to arms, for well they knew Their services were still their due; No thought of weariness and toils Nor yet of pay or Warfare's spoils. The plow was left amid the field, Nor yet was panoply or shield Familiar to the Spartan band Who rallied forth to save the land. THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 19 The student cast his books aside; His thirst for lore was thus denied, For higher, greater duties pressed Him forth the storm of war to breast. THE CAMP. The tradesman left the crowded mart, Bade hopes of gain from him depart Till proudly he might come again When wiped away the treason stain. By all the camp was quickly sought That transformation might be wrought ; From citizen to soldier passed, For weal or woe the die was cast. To catch the step and learn to dress By right or left in readiness, Were lessons learned for future need. But irksome quite, by all agreed. THE DRILL. The guns at length came on the field ; The Springfield, if you please ; to wield Required a giant's strength, and when We fired them off, where were we then? We learned to ground our arms, and take The same ; and then we learned to quake ; When practicing to punish foe Our weapons wrought our overthrow. Our knapsacks strapped we on our back. For strength we thought we did not lack. Well filled with clothes a change or two, And books and pictures not a few. 20 BUGLES AND BELLS. PREPARATION. A housewife filled with pins and thread And scissors, thimbles and a shred Of calico alike some dress That seemed to you all loveliness, Since she had worn it whose bright eyes Could challenge e'en the vaulted skies To show a more cerulean hue Than shown in constancy for you. The knapsack soon began to shrink, Away went books and paper, ink ; Away went clothes, the extra lot, But just one thing departed not. DISCRIMINATION. The picture of the girl you left Behind you; you were not bereft; That crept away beneath your vest. And sent back home was all the rest. In spite of loves that filled each breast, And idol each had cherished best, Upon the altar left to burn Was patriotic zeal alone. Who now shall be the first to reach The falt'ring ranks and fill the breach ? We little knew of warlike art; We only knew that mind and heart And strength and will impelled us on To deeds of valor yet undone ; No boastful spirit dared find rest Or glory vain in any breast. THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 21 For well we knew our foeman's steel : If ours were worthj^, it were well. I need not lead your mem'ry back, Or mention now your first attack; Hard-tack it was, you can 't forget. Its flavor lingers wdth you yet. Our next was made on beans and pork, •A good digestion did the work. THE MARCH. But passing now these early scenes Of soldier life, our march begins ; Now came the testing of the blood. For w^ar means more than drink and food, And that these last were secondary Became apparent, early, very. Some for fight were almost spoiling. And so despised the daily toiling Involved in all the kinds of drilling In which was nothing near so thrilling As the sight of foe advancing. The thought of whom was so entrancing. THE SIFTING. It takes a shot or two to tell Who stands his ground or ill or well; And he who longs to see a fight, Finds just a glimpse sufiicient quite To satisfy his thirsting soul. And henceforth keep within control His hostile spirit, and the day Of further conflict far away. 22 BUGLES And bells. And should such conflict come again, Our hero will his ire restrain And wish to witness from afar, When loosened are the dogs of war. THE FOE. For once when twenty miles or so We 'd marched and come to Buffalo, And with our weapons had begun Before the rising of the sun To drive the rebel pickets in With frantic yell and clanging din, How soon had some ambitions ceased And longed from strife to be released ! For while they shot with random aim. The well-directed volleys came From arms that spoke on other fields. Impelled bj^ breasts that wore no shields. THE SKIRMISH. They bared them to our proffered darts, Sustained, undaunted by strong hearts; For he who underestimates a foe May suffer more beneath the blow. 'Twas thus that some were brought to test- The worst was winnowed from the best — The best a recognition gained For valor on the field maintained. 'Twas but a skirmish, but it served To mark the men who stood or swerved; And future fields were won by men Who stood their ground and conquered then. THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 23 EXPLANATION. What strange excuses men will give That other men will not believe ! ** Cut off," were some far in the rear, Though trembled in their breasts no fear ; While some by shells' concussion felled, Were long unconscious, and withheld From rushing headlong into fight, Whose conflict would have been delight. 'T was thus that heroes lost a chance To keep their courage in advance, But future fields beheld the same Sad havoc overtake their fame. LEARNING TO FIGHT. 'Twas not the field that we had won So much as that we there begun To know somewhat of war's alarms And eccentricity of arms, The shouts, the roar, and frantic j^ells, The zeal, the spirit that impels To deed of daring and success That heightened our aggressiveness. We thought we knew how fields were won, And that our warfare had begun ; Henceforth no foe would dare to stand Before our prowess — thus we planned. THE PURSUIT. We followed a retreating foe. There was no chance to strike a blow 24 BUGLES AND BELLS. Before he reached his mountain home, And winter's snows and rains had come. A year of quiet and unrest By Gauley's stream or Sewell's crest, Was spent, and in our daily round A chance for doing good was found. The homesick boy might oft be cheered. And kept from being conscience-seared. And taught betimes life's better ways Amid those uneventful days. THE SCHOOL. Some learned to read and some to spell. Some learned writing, learned it well ; Wrote letters to the girls, who wrote To them again, and so, remote From home, they seemed to bring home near. And share its comforts and its cheer. We got acquainted very well With each other, and we could tell About how much we could depend On every comrade; in the end Our winter had no discontent Save what was for our favor sent. THE UNFOLDING. We read the news, and Bast and West And North and South were brought abreast In our review, and now who find Themselves in any way inclined To retrospect, well gratified Will be to see the rapid stride THE STORY OF THE NINETY- FIRST. 25 We made in learning how the world Was governed, and the ways unfurled That Providence by wise design Had kept obscure ; but now the sign Of larger blessings filled the earth, For better things should soon have birth. DEATH'S INVASION. And so another year was spent, Scarce knowing what by war was meant ; But Death with breathings cold and damp Came often to invade our camp, And none his blighting hand could stay. Among the spirits lured away Were those of Blessing, true and brave. And Niday, blithe and young. The grave Conceals them wholly from our sight. But we remember them to-night. D^ath nobler spirits never led In all the armies of the dead. RUMORS OF WAR. On every wind, on every blast, On every zephyr floating past. On every fragrant matin breath, Came whisperings of blight and death. While War's fierce notes but louder grew, They bade Truth's champions be true, — To shrink not from the battle's chance, But with firm confidence advance ; However sweet our lives might be, However dear our friends, still we 26 BUGLES AND BELLS. Must keep in mind a wary foe Is ours to meet where'er we go. ADVANCE. lyet us recall the first of May, • When marshaled in a grand array, Were all the armies of the North ; Remember how we sallied forth, And how the columns reached away O'er many miles, and how the day Was filled with hope, and almost cheer That sign of action should appear, Though sure our march could only bring Us to the foe, still wondering If on our banners there might be The seal of woe or victory. FOLLOWING CROOK. Where Crook should lead, there we might go. Nor recked we where or who the foe ; Besides our Tiirley knew full well The spirit of his boj^s. I tell The story now with worthy pride ; For were there not with us beside A host of heroes, and each name Will wear sometime its wreath of fame : Hayes and Powell, Goff, Duval, — But time forbids my naming all. Look well and scan the Future's page And read their names and lineage. THE STORY OF THE NINETY- FIRST. 27 THE BIVOUAC. The bivouac with its gibe and jCvSt, The preparation for our rest, Our sleep, our dreams, the waking morn, On recollection's tablets borne, Will surely not be soon erased. Though time shall see them much effaced. We follow a retiring foe, Who only seeks our way to know. So confident at length to .spread Disaster in our path and dread. Nine days we marched in weariness Through mountains, vales, and wilderness. CLOYD MOUNTAIN. "And now," bethought our wily foe, "Thus far, no farther, shall you go, Cloyd Mountain-'s fastnesses defy Your further progress. Come and die!" But Crook sent forth a bugle blast That waked the mountain echoes ; passed The defiles, trained his guns below On fields where thousands would bestow Fierce battle, thirsting for our blood. Prepared to whelm us like a flood. And lure us on to such defeat As meant our capture or retreat. Brave Jenkins led the foe that day, Who, with an oath, was heard to say, 28 BUGLES AND BELLS. While he arra3^ed. his mighty host, That should the battle there be lost, Himself should render up the ghost ; Prophetic were his oath and boast ; For ere that day's last beams were shed, That field was strewn with foemen dead. The boastful chief himself went down, And mangled lay with mortal wound ; Much as the wind drives chaff away His marshaled hosts fled in dismay. It may be said that until then We little knew our bravest men ; For not till 'mid that battle's roar, From all that had been known before, Could we discern the brave and true, — Who laggards were, j^et such were few ; And while the bugle's martial breath Still called for deeds that might mean death, And while the musket's deadl}^ crash Was heightened by the cannon's flash, We hurled us on the foeman's line Where bristling sabers most did shine. 'Twas then that dying groans replied To saber stroke, and heroes died, Yet like an ocean's wave we pressed - Upon the vanquished and distressed. The foe reluctantly must yield, And we are victors of the field. Then brave men wept, for there could be One sadder scene than victory, THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 29 And only one, and that, defeat. But now our triumph was complete ; Our eyes beheld the fleeing foe In great disorder southward go. AFTER THE BATTLE. But who may think on comrades gone Beyond that bourne whence none return, And not feel swelling in his breast The throes that will not be repressed? Yet when defeat's deep mists are spread Between the living and the dead, What anguish shall we set apart More painful to the soldier's heart? Such sorrow came to us and dread, While we disposed our cherished dead. And laid their forms beneath the clod, Their souls commending to their God. 'Twas then Clark fell, and he was true And wise in counsel, strong to do ; His spirit would not leave its clay Until the conflict passed away. When gazing on the setting sun. Well knowing that his race was run, His life-blood moistening the sod. His soul returning to its God, His lips still moving with the prayer That o'er his loved ones still that care Would be that marks the sparrow's fall, And watches lovingly o'er all, 30 BUGLES AND BELLS. He asked, " How has the battle gone?" "The day is ours," was said by one. Then o'er his face there came a smile That faintly lingered there awhile. "Thank God," he said, "now I may die." His light went out, but shines on high ! And o'er that sun-browned soldier face An angel presence whispered peace. "Death loves a shining mark," 'tis said: To such an one his arrow sped When Captain Clark stood in its way On duty when he died that day. NEWBERN BRIDGE. Now when another day had passed. The end we sought was gained at last ; The Newbern bridge long guarded well, In burning fagots, reeled and fell ; And while the missiles thick and fast Played on our ranks or hurtled past, 'T was Crossland's match that. lit the flame That burned the mighty bridge in twain. Then did the smok}- columns rise Our sign of triumph to the vSkies; Then did the flames to heaven aspire, As 't were the foeman's funeral pyre. While on New River's placid stream Float burning brands, and wreathing steam, Our shouts, how did they rend the sky, The rallying song, " The Battle Cry !" THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 31 We could not if we would forget, We often seem to hear them yet. And when the snows of age have spread The whitening flakes upon our heads, Our minds will wander to that scene, And we shall live it o'er again. That task assigned us had been done, — The conflict had been fought and won. WHAT NEXT? Thus far our part we had done well; Where next, what next, no one could tell; Toward other fields our course must be. With banners flushed with victory. Then came the rain, and day by day, Through mire and slush w^e made our way, Impeded here and there by men* Unworthy of our note or ken ; Not fit were they to be enrolled With honest men. They were controlled By love of mercenary gain, I^ike pirates on the sea's domain. O'er mountains and through vales we passed. And that our strength held out to last Through this dread march seems to us now So strange ! We dare not think of how. With little cheer upon the way, We struggled on day after day. * Bushwhackers. 32 BUGLES AND BELLS. The shots that came from hidden foe Annoyed us much, since to bestow An answering shot were only vain, For foes were out of sight again. I have no language to portray The obstacles that hedged our way. On Peter's Mountain stood at bay A sturdy band our march to stay; But when the guns began to roar, It vanished and was seen no more. When reached was Greenbrier's flood at last We safely o'er its torrent passed. Then camped we on the other side ; Awaiting what might next betide, We lingered near its sunn}^ banks And rested while our thinned-out ranks Gave evidence of war's distress And its attending balefulness. GREETINGS FROM GRANT. The news was cheering. "All goes well," Wired Grant, and there was much to tell. The battles in the Wilderness Resulting in a grand success, Were followed up, and everywhere Was victory. The very air Was full of triumph, and we thought The splendid work that we had wrought, Was part and parcel of the whole Which cheered a many a weary soul. THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 33 And Sherman, where, O where was he? In triumph striding toward the sea ! THE MARCH RENEWED. Again was heard the drum's long roll, And anxious bodings filled each soul ; Once more the Alleghany's crest Loomed up to view, was scaled and past, With every inch contested still By hardy foes with stubborn will. Let Jackson's river testif}^ And Panther Gap could well defy Our passage; how we swept aside Its snares and gained the other side, Is surely not for me to say, — The wonder is we live to-day. So step by step, and day by day. O'er weary miles we won our way; Through mountain gaps and vales beside. Through seething streams both deep and wide We kept our course till Staunton's spires Came into view. 'T was there the fires Of hostile camps were smoldering still Which we enkindled, and until The troops that Hunter led were brought Abreast our line, we only sought For rest that needed strength might be For struggles that we soon should see. 3 34 BUGLES AND BELLS. THE BOY CADETS. Toward I^exington we took our wa}^; McCauslin blocked our path each day; Right valiantly did he contend That our invasion soon might end. Refusing so to acquiesce In any kind of readiness In his desire, we plodded on Till we had come to lycxington. 'T was then that youthful pluck and blood Awhile our farther march withstood; The boys* while learning arts of war Had learned to hurl the bolts of Thor. THE TORCH. Now Hunter's way of making war, Seemed strange to us, and we thought far From methods we esteemed humane. The torch is not the means to gain Affection from a driven foe. But signal of revenge and woe. Of course it must be understood That war is war, and that no good Must be expected when are met The foemen ; and that never yet Have men forgot to strike such blows As bring most evil to their foes. Our sojourn here was not the kind Best suited to console the mind The militarj' students. THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST 35 That contemplated peace at last, When battles should be overpast; And few there were to give assent To Hunter's modes of punishment. The torch destroys, but not subdues ; Smacks of despair, can not diffuse A confidence that when the blow That ends the war shall fall, the woe Or weal, whichever it may be, Will find the land in unity. Here Jackson's grave is covered deep With flowers, and his quiet sleep Is not disturbed though foemen stand About his dust on every hand. The banner under which he died, At our approach came down to hide Away, protected by some friend Till our invasion there should end. There Washington in iron stood, A statue representing good. Behold the contrast, if you will, — The last did well, the former ill. OUR CAUSE WAS JUST. The charity that covers deep Our evil deeds when conies Death's sleep, May be invoked abroad to spread It mantle o'er our foemen dead; But we must swear eternal hate For treason dead or animate; 36 BUGLES AND BELLS. And never once give our consent That wrong is right through sentiment; But still declare and cry aloud That neither stole nor winding shroud Shall yet subdue our sense of wrong, Nor shield it from a scathing tongue. "PRAYING TO THE SELF-SAME GOD." It seems so strange that men who hate Each other, still ma}' formulate Their prayers for triumph to the same Great Being in the same great Name, As though he heard and answered prayer, Not as he keeps a watchful care Above the sparrows that none fall Without his notice, if at all; But just as though a fervent tongue Might start the chords of harps unstrung. And wake them into life at will, Guided by superior skill. FORWARD. Then toward the south our march again We took — all was conjecture then — Across the James, near Otter peaks. And where the river passage seeks The Blue Ridge Mountains through, 'Mid scenes of grandeur, weird and new, Till looking eastward we could see The quiet homes of I^iberty, THE STORY OF THE NINETY- FIRST. 37 Whose Streets the shading trees o'erspread To form a canopy o'erhead, Where 't was befitting Peace might reign, If Peace should ever come again. But all around our camp the sound Of shots was heard; and bugles wound Their signals to advance, retreat, To saddles, and the foe to meet ; Yet sleep came sweetly to dispel Our anxious thought. Dreams might foretell The dangers of the coming day, If dreams such warning may convey. And who shall say that in our sleep Some guardian angel may not keep His watch and ward, and warning speak Of things that we may shun or seek? LYNCHBURG. Now every step of our advance Was full of danger, and the chance Of conflict changed to certainty, — Conjecture to reality. The skirmish line sent forth a roar. Of musketry, and we had more Than just a taste of battle, for The fight was on, and this was war. And so it was through all the day We onward pressed and kept our way Till Night her sable roof o'erspread. To give us rest and count our dead. 38 BUGLES AND BELLS. Then came a daj' that grieves us j'et When we remember how beset We were by legions many more Than we had thought there were before ; Yet surging forward through the rain Of shot and shell, we sought to gain The fortress that a prudent foe Had made, but had to undergo The pain of failure, for support Had been withheld. We dared not court Uneven chances ; the sun went down To leave the battle partly won. Our dead were many, and there lay Upon the field that fateful day So many wounded, and the scene Was pitiful ; the stars the only sheen That dared to shed a feeble glow Upon the field, because the foe Kept warfare on each little light That dared to glimmer through the night. Our Turley fell with wound so sore That grieved was every heart. Before Another day had dawned, the grave concealed Our dead upon the battlefield. The morn's first beams a line disclosed On either side a force disposed For deadly work ; and soon the roar Of cannon louder than before, Grew louder. Then 't would cease As if declared an armistice; THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 39 And then a shot or here or there Was heard as though it might declare The battle ready to begin, By chance or mischance ushered in, And shot and shell at random ranged, At intervals were oft exchanged. THE RETREAT. All day in intermittent waves The battle raged, and there were graves To dig for men to occupy; For in such battles men must die. When night had come, our forces crept Out on the highway; all night kept Their course toward the constant star That sends its beams to us so far. No need to tell us that retreat Had come to our reluctant feet. Discovering that we were gone, The enemy came swiftly on. And so it came to pass that we Were fleeing from the enemy. Remorseless hunger gave more pain Than armed men, and more were slain By its encroachments and by sun At broiling heat we could not shun. Than by the blows our foeman gave. And not a day but that a grave Was made to hide some comrade deep. And leave him to his lasting sleep. 40 BUGLES AND BELLS. Then girding up our loins once more, We bore our burdens as before. 'T is hard to make the pen portray The sad events that day by day Befell us as we felt the chill That each night brought, and all the ill That weariness and thirst and heat Engendered through the day, replete With pangs that entered mind and soul, No earthly power could control. At Liberty we held at bay Through sleepless night the foemen's way, And when the morning dawned, renewed Our course, relentlessly pursued. CHAGRIN. I 've told in other lines the joj^s That sometimes bide with soldier boys ; But days there were of deep distress, Anxiety and earnestness. The burning heat of summer's sun, The thirst and hunger just begun, That mountain fastnesses defied To be assuaged or satisfied ; The days that into weeks must run Ere rescue may be fully won. With foe in front and foe in rear And cause enough for dread and fear. 'Twas then that greatness near at hand Profound respect did not command THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 4 1 Among the boys who always wTought Great things from every battle fought, If they had had their way ; and oft Our banner has been borne aloft By that grand spirit so imbued That victory has thus ensued. Across the mountains towards the west We kept our way, and all distressed, Till dear Kanawha's crystal flood Was reached and our abundant food. SUCH IS WAR! There was not time to count the cost, How much was gained and how much lost. Adown the Shenandoah's side, Our foeman stalked with haughty pride; And we must meet him ere he lay Our Northern homes in dread dismay. Because our troops such havoc wrought, Reprisal all the more was sought. But such is war, no other name Conveys a meaning quite the same ; And how shall I put into words That meaning that the theme affords? THE SCENE SHIFTED. At Martinsburg, delay and rest And rally. There remained a test Severer than was ours before. Yet grandly all of it we bore. 42 ' BUGLES AND BELLS. Each day the booming guns were heard, But who the victor was, no word Came to our ears that gave us cheer. On every hill did foes appear; The bugles of the eneni}^ Kept up their calls throughout the day, And still through all the weary night, As challenge to the coming fight. "Insatiate Demon War, O, when Wilt thou release thy hold on men ? When shall be stayed this crimson flood? This stream of brothers' mingled blood? Dost not relent when thou dost see The hearts made desolate by thee? Dost thou not see on ever}^ hand The sable woof that palls the land? Still Duty, let thy bidding be The beacon star that guideth me;" Each in his inmost soul thus said, Yet followed on as Duty led. CARTER FARM. We met the foe at Carter Farm Where Crossley left his good right arm. And Wilson, Rockhold, Willard, Steece, Received a piece of lead apiece. You must remember how we stood Before our foemen in the wood. Our single line in open field Confronted columns well concealed, THE STORY OF THE NINETY- FIRST. With rocks and trees their citadel, Their work of blood projected well ; Then how a living wall we stood, Kach moment costing precious blood. Then " Forward " was our battle cry. Resolved to conquer or to die ; We rushed upon their well-closed ranks. And doubled in their lengthened flanks. From blows well planted left and right, They quickly sought escape in flight. Had we but known how many they Who stood before us on that day, We might have had less courage then And other ending might have been. Twelve hundred were we, and no more ; Five thousand were they! Mark the score. LANGUAGE FAILS. Did words obey the heart's behest To weave the measure it loves best. To every man that fell that day Would I a fitting tribute pay. But history will keep a page Illumined on from age to age. That truly shall, though briefly, tell The story of your valor well. I need but touch, and lo ! the rest Comes trooping upward in each breast. And still we ponder o'er again And tremble at what might have been. 43 44 BUGLES AND BELLS. WINCHESTER. Though chafed in many a battle'vS heat, We never yet had known defeat ; Though pressed we never had to yield, But victors were on every field; And so 'twere painful to rehearse How came at length our first reverse. Winchester Sabbath bells rang out A jo3'ful sound, and the devout Assembled to revere the I^ord And ponder o'er his precious Word. And brighter smiles were never worn By this green earth than on that morn. The foemen's notes were not suppressed; The bugles' blast at eavSt and west And north and south gave forth a sound That soon interpretation found ; For cannon soon began to roar, Kach moment louder than before. And yet the muskets' deadly crash Gave answer to the cannons' flash ; And there was running to and fro, While foemen did not lack a foe, And desperation reigned supreme ; As tossed on a resistless stream, Came Early's hosts along the plain As curbless as the surging main; Outnumbered were we while we lost Our discipline at fearful cost. THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 45 Reluctantly were we to ^deld The vantage of the mooted field. Before the day had ceased we knew Humiliation through and through. And what it was to be pursued And overwhelmed, and be imbued With consternation deep and sore Of which we might learn something more. PERSONAL. If with a word I may intrude, 'Tis to express my gratitude. When left upon the battle-field With not a ray of hope revealed, Save that sweet hope which fondly clings To other than terrestrial things. My life's blood flowing sure and fast, Bach moment seeming as the last ; When sleep came stealing through my frame, From which I might not wake again, — It seemed before another sun Should gild the earth, my race were run. 'Twas then that Heaven gave me friends; Blest source on which all good depends; As if allied by flesh and blood. These faithful friends who o'er me stood, With watchfulness were not content Till every hopeful means was spent, And from death's downward, beaten track They lured my fainting spirit back. 46 BUGLES AND BELLS. Their deeds of love must ever be As dear to others as to me. Their deeds of love may Heaven bless And shield them ever from distress. CAST DOWN, BUT NOT DESTROYED. Our laurels still were green and bright As though we had not lost the fight; Though torn in many rifts and shreds, Our banner still waved o'er our heads. And nerved each comrade to endure The sting that only time could cure. And when the brightness of the noon Gave w^ay to somber dusky gloom, The hurrying clouds came bounding forth To give their moisture to the earth; The winds pealed forth their wildest strain And brought their chilling breath again. FALLING BACK. Through all the night, in field and wood, There groped pursuing and pursued. Our army all in fragments torn, But not destroyed, howe'er cast down ; And never did a band of men Seem longing more for light again, Which when it came brought little more Than scenes of terror as before. All day in hotly pressed retreat And weariness we dragged our feet; Hope lingered, and abiding trust That God would bless a cause so just. THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 47 HAIL, SHERIDAN! Now on Potomac's northern side We lingered and the foe defied ; And noting each design or chance Prepared to make 07ie more advance. With rest a new commander came, — What foe but trembles at his name? Brave Sheridan shall lead the van, In vain our foes may scheme and plan ; A catapult his very name, His presence more, and to reclaim The ground we lost both sure and soon Is our expected, longed-for boon. I^et Jubal Early now beware, For he shall have the tender care Of one whose love and tenderness I can not very well express. Reverse the words, reverse them well, Their meaning then may better tell What is in store and what awaits For Early and his fighting mates. Our prowess and our burnished steel 'T will be for them right soon to feel ; Humiliation they shall taste As we have tasted, and in haste. HALLTOWN— BERRY VILLE. This resolution never slept ; I scarce need tell you how 't was kept. 48 BUGLES AND BELLS. Let Halltown's pages first be read, — They tell of forty maimed and dead! If further proof is needed still, Make answer, slain of Berry ville! Remember how the foe took flight And resting not by day nor night. Till Cedar Creek was placed between Them and our lines to intervene To keep our Sheridan at bay If only for a single day. OPEQUAN. Again along Opequan's stream The same contending hosts are seen ; Each formed in battle's stern array, Awaits the signal for the fray; While ever in the foremost van Is seen the form of Sheridan; And on his face that anxious smile That speaks an earnest will the while ; While here and there in vale and grot, Is heard anon the sullen shot, — The harbinger of that chill breath That follows in the wake of death. To calm Duval, the dauntless brave, 'T is said but one command he gave, — *'To charge them" — well, 'twas short and terse. To say how far I '11 not rehearse. One bugle blast woke into life The dormant energies of strife, THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 49 And all the incidents of War Came trooping fast behind his car. The cannon's boom, the musket's roar Apart were then discerned no more. Death seldom dealt his blows so fast. Or after life so eager grasped. And long in doubt it seemed that day Which side should hold the victor's sway. A sudden change came o'er the scene, — Duval had crossed Opequan's stream Made crimson by devoted blood So freely spilled upon its flood. That charge that followed fraught with woe Rolled back that terror-stricken foe. He fled amain, and his distress Was signaled by his eagerness To place himself quite far away From scene of conflict and dismay. VICTORY. Ten miles of savage, running fight, And hours as many brought to sight Winchester's hills where first defeat Turned back our lines in sad retreat, When night spread out her shadows deep To let the rage of armies sleep, While all along the loyal line The camp-fires had begun to shine. Then did our chief this line indite : " Down the valley we push to-night!" 4 50 BUGLES AND BELLS. This message bore upon its wings Assurance of still better things. COUNTING THE COST. A moment take to count the cost; While much was gained, how much was lost Hall, Findley, Atkhisoii were found, And Stroup, with ghastly bleeding wound ; One hundred more or bore a scar Or slept in peaceful rest from war. A score of miles ere broke the morn Had Early dragged his legions lorn. On Fisher's Hill his hosts should rest. And Safety guard him on its crest ; Defiantly his heart did say, *'I hold the strait and narrow way. FISHER'S HILL. My vengeance here will I dispense From this my stronghold and defense;" And while his heart with pride was fraught, Crook had the coils around him wrought. For he had scaled the mountain's side That human footsteps had defied, And broke the foeman's deep repose That dreamed not of impending blows. The foe in consternation fled And left with us their maimed and dead, The annals of the war can tell Scarce other feat performed so well. THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 5 1 Not safe on laurels won to rest, "Who laughs the last oft laughs the best;" The Autumn days their softness shed On camps of armies panoplied For War's most earnest conflict, strained To highest pitch to be arraigned Where arm might measure arm and be Involved, contending for the mastery. Such were the days that sped away Between the last decisive fray And that which soon should give the name Of Sheridan to lasting fame. CEDAR CREEK. October's sun had turned to gold And crimson hue on every wold The leaves that erst their verdant shade Our roofless temples canopied ; And Night her ray less, sable pall With kind intent spread out o'er all; While thickest vapors did enshroud The slumb'ring camps as with a cloud. 'Twas then with muffled step the foe Disposed his lines to strike the blow That but recoiled to hurl him back Along his own well-beaten track. When morning came, the streaks of red Shot up the sky; with vengeance sped The messengers of Death, so fast Among our sleeping soldiers passed, 52 BUGLES AND BELLS. That many passed from sleep to rest With scarce an interval to test The dread realities of death, Or bid adieu the parting breath. What wonder then that sore dismay Among our ranks held potent sway ! The victory seemed with our foes, And deadly were their quickened blows. SHERIDAN RIDES. Though twenty miles away or more, Our chief has heard the battle's roar, And bounding on his ready steed He takes his way with rapid speed. While on his brow fierce anger burned; "The cowards knew my back was turned, But even 3-et they '11 rue the day And hour of their temerity!" Along the lines there wildly ran lyong, loud huzzas for Sheridan; His presence more unto us then Than were a thousand armed men. He formed anew the broken lines, A cheering word he spoke betimes : "Make this resolve," he said, "as I, That we regain our camp or die. Where last 3'ou slept, to-night we' 11 sleep, Or Death his vigils o'er us keep." 'Twas not an oath, as some have said, But high resolve that saw the dread 777^ STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 53 And danger, and like arrows sped The tidings that were heralded From man to man that Sheridan Had brought the foe his blow and ban. RETRIEVED. You firmly stood, though sorely tried, And soon was stayed the coming tide. And turned to such inglorious flight As seldom greets a mortal's sight; And victory was doubly sweet From being snatched from such defeat. And now our conflicts all were passed; As fitting seemed, this was our last; Our living ranks had thinner growai. But Glory marched whence I^ife had flown. The banner which above us waved Assured us of a Country saved. THE END HAS COME. The incidents of war, how few Can I recount, and here review; E'en now your thoughts may run a race To keep with them an even pace. It seems that I should pause to tell How Coles at post of duty fell. So young, so full of lively hope When dashed was life's scarce tasted cup ! And how without a comrade near To lend a loving, listening ear. To catch a sigh or whispered tone To bear it to his loved ones' home, 54 BUGLES AND BELLS. Caldwell, in many a battle tried, Still near the front in anguish died ; His faithful servant lingered yet, And closed his eyelids moist and wet With that bedewing, humid breath That hovers o'er the couch of death, — Disposed his arms across his breast And left him to his final rest. I wish that I could wield a pen That might do justice to the men Who fought with us, but now they sleep Where God's own angels watch and weep ! How frail and feeble is my verse Your deeds triumphant to rehearse! In common with a million more You share the honors placed in store, — Our Country snatched from thralldom's night Swathed in Freedom's holy light That still with clearer rays shall shine Reflected from a Source Divine. In spite of all that man has willed, God's purposes shall be fulfilled. That we have done our humble part May cheer each patriotic heart. CONSOLING PEACE. The Brook of Cedars softly creeps By pebbly banks and rocky steeps. While here and there along the way Rest side by side the blue and gray. THE STORY OF THE NINETY-FIRST. 55 And peaceful nature has effaced The crimson track that war had traced, Thrice spanned the wood with leafy roof, Thrice spread abroad her verdant woof. No more shall foemen's tread be heard Nor stirred from nest the frightened bird. From war there is a sweet surcease, And everything betokens peace. FAREWELL. The mounds a fathom's length where fell The Comrade's tear in sad farewell. The grassy sward has overspread In seeming kindness for the dead. And if the dead might hover near Our thoughts to read or words to hear. Within our inmost souls they'd find Their names and worthy fame enshrined. Who doubts that they a greeting keep For us when Death's abiding sleep Shall close our eyes, and we abide With them upon the other side? 1868. TO MY ESTEEMED COMRADE AND FRIEND, REV. L. A. ATKINSON, ON the; OCCASION OF A SURPRISE) PARTY GIVE;n IN HIS HONOR. A DOWN the vista of the years '**■ That number now a score, We look through smiles as well as tears Upon the scenes of yore. The song of " Twenty Years Ago " Were you and I to sing, Would have its plaintive strains of woe, Its melodies of Spring. Then I was young, you were not old — Perhaps just past your prime ; Your dreams were as a story told, And mine, the dreaming time. Awhile our paths were side by side ; A common cause and foe Engaged our zeal and us defied, And dealt us blow for blow. And had there been but you and I Who dared defy that host, There had not been the victory, And Freedom's cause were lost. 56 TO REV, L. A. ATKINSON. 57 Your trophy was a shattered arm, Pierced through and through was I; But others quickly filled the breach, And Freedom did not die. And this is why, my old-time friend, I greet you thus to-night, Because as Comrades we may blend The tale of wrongs set right. And now a scene comes back to me Of eighteen years ago, 'Twas on the eve of victory Whose partial cost you know. Across the Shenandoah's vale Contending armies stood; The scent of war did each inhale, And each did thirst for blood. The Captain of our armies came And looked along the line, And simply said to Sheridan " When is your chosen time?" " Why, I can move to-morrow morn," Bold Sheridan replied ; His answer on the air was borne Unto an army tried. The scene that lingers sweetly yet In many a comrade's heart. Is one he fain would not forget — And yours the sweetest part. 58 BUGLES AND BELLS. A Sabbath day — of days the best — Our camp-fires marked the place, And many eyes despoiled of rest, Looked gladly in j^our face. With folded hands you stood and prayed And hearing, brave men wept ; You prayed for each the Spirit's aid, That all be by it kept. " For by the morrow's dawn," you said, " May come the fatal strife. And some will be among the dead, And some be maimed for life." For all you prayed, as each man thought He for himself would pray, And every word of yours was caught And hid in hearts away. The morning came ; the early morn Quick ushered in the fight, The bugle's blast was early borne Hard on the voice of night. Just as the vision to you came The day before in prayer, Your comrades to this day proclaim Was all enacted there. And on that day were thousands slain, And comrades not a few, And numbered with the bleeding maimed, Friend Atkinson, were you. TO REV. L. A. ATKINSON. 59 Thanks, thanks to Him whose watchful care Observes the sparrow's fall, We 're spared to meet and greet you here And all these scenes recall. When first we met, your eagle eye Sought no exterior aid, But age brings on infirmity, And spectacles were made With convex lens, perhaps concave, To help the waning sight; But what a blessing 't is to have "A bright and shining light!" 'Tis now my pleasure to bestow* The means for such a lightf And long continue it to glow As glows each heart to-night. And by and by when Time shall cease, And conflicts are no more, When souls have had a sweet release. And night of Death is o'er, May we who mingle here to-night To greet a comrade friend, Be gathered all to that Blest lyight Whose beams shall never end ! '■'Student lamp presented. "GIVE THE BOYS SOME MESSAGE FROM ME." EXTRACT FROM A LETTER FROM J. G. D. FIND^EY, RE- UNION 91ST O. V. I., IRONTON, O., iSqo. r^EAR Findle}^ a handful is here ^-^ Assembled enjoying the cheer We gladl}^ with 3'ou would divide ; O no, not divide, for we are sure Your presence would greatly inure To cheer and to please us beside. Our old Sergeant-Major must know That the boys were ne'er read}^ to go Till he had adjusted the line. And we are not read}^ to-day To enter full on to the wa}^ Till Findley has given the sign. We would that j^our voice might be heard Imbuing with life the kind word Your hand has seen fit to indite. We 'd cheer till your cheek would be red ; You 'd blush at the words that we said. And yet every word would be right. 'We think of you just as 3'ou came And stood in our ranks, and 3^our name To all of us soon became known. 60 SOME MESSAGE FROM ME. 6 1 In stature you seemed to be small; But manhood in stature 's not all, As time after time has been shown. Now well we remember your face As smooth as a girl's, and a grace Shone out like a light from the sky, And over it played when you spoke, And soon in our hearts it awoke A love not permitted to die. The weeks and the months flew apace, And the down came out on your face. Your voice became mellow and strong. Though black as a vision of night, Your eye ever steady and bright Gave proof of a soul full of song. The Chevron was honored by you As worn on your garments of blue; And lo ! when your shoulder-straps came And nestled right down on your coat, Every man was ready to vote That Findley remained just the same. When time came for action his nerve Seemed firm as a rock, and to swerve Was not in his nature and mien ; Where duty required him to go, He hastened, and face to the foe Our hero could always be seen. 62 BUGLES AND BELLS. There 's not any doubt, let me say, That his share in winning the day Was often a pretty large part ; But whoever heard him lay claim To merit or personal fame? Such things never entered his heart ! He followed the flag to the end. Determined to die or defend Its folds from its bitterest foe ! For treason to him had no name, Save what is entangled in shame And joined to unbearable woe. Our love and our homage are due In very large measure to you, Dear Findley, and hear w^hat we say ; We thought we should meet you and take Your hand in an old-fashioned shake, And hear your kind greetings to-day. They say that you preach. Well we knew That that was the calling for you. It seemed that you preached to us then. You taught not in long-measured phrase, You walked not in devious ways, Unblemished you stood before men. You ask but the boon of a word That in your behalf may be heard : That word shall be said with a shout ! SOME MESSAGE FROM ME. 63 Though gone from us twenty-five years, For you here are three rousing cheers ! Now, boys, let your voices ring out ! (Cheers given.) There 's a rendezvous up in the sky Where we hope to meet by and by, And there may the Ninety-first be ! May those who are here and those gone Assemble again and march on. From battles eternally free ! THE TORN FLAG. WhKN General Hancock died, the flag was placed at half mast on the Soldiers' Monument at Worcester, Mass. There came a rain which saturated Old Glory. This was followed by a hard ireeze, which in turn was followed by a fierce gale which whipped the frozen flag into a thou- sand pieces. One of these pieces containing a single star was sent to Bailey Post as a souvenir. The following was sent as an acknowledgment : ? T^ IS but a shred, and yet a star *^ Reveals what it has been, But mutilated not in war, Nor humbled in its din. No tarnish gathered in the smoke. And yet no grime nor dust, Nor dared an enemy invoke Suspicion or distrust. Aloft the winds caressed its folds Above a hallowed spot, Where storied urn the dust still holds Of heroes not forgot. Why throw it to the fickle breeze ? Why place it at half mast? Who has fallen? Tell us, please, What soul from earth has passed? 'Twas Hancock's spirit that had quit Its tenement of clay, , And so the flag would herald it, The sad, sad news that day. 64 THE TORN FLAG, 65 The sun awhile withheld his face, And clouds o'erspread the sky, And sleet and storm each ran apace, — In fury did they vie. They tore the flag in many shreds And scattered it away, But loving hands caught up the shreds Where'er they fell that day, And one has gathered up a star To send to Bailey Post, With kindly words and fervent prayer Unto the God of hosts. That we may cherish still the flag That we have helped to save; That love for it may never lag This side each comrade's grave. A stripe, a star, a field of blue. Are all that yet remain. But still enough that may imbue Our hearts with strength again. Its folds are sacred, and each star Remains a beacon light, And whether peace, or whether war. Will gladden every night ; The winds may rend its folds at will, And spread them to the blast. And skies be angry if they will. And long be overcast. 5 66 BUGLES AND BELLS. Ma;j's anger shall not long remain, Nor dare to touch one star, Nor dare he j^et one fold to stain, — A single stripe to mar. Unnumbered curses be his doom. Unnumbered pains devour. Unnumbered flames his soul consume. And very brief his hour! Then thanks to her who sent this shred. And may her tribe increase, And sunshine rest above her head, — Halo of lasting peace ! DEATH OF SHERIDAN. T^HH lips of him whose burning zeal ■■^ Made armies leap and foemen reel Are silent now beneath Death's seal No more to rally! Brave Sheridan has just gone by, And passed within the shades that lie Before us, and no mortal eye Sees down the valley! 1888. 67 AFTER MANY DAYS. READ AT THE REUNION OF THE ARMY OF WEST VIRGINIA, AT IRONTON, OHIO, vSEPTEMBER 20, 1S83. 'T^HE 3'ears have sped upon their way, ^ And left their tracings day by day ; As pencil points that limners make Upon the canvas, so we take Our bearings on the map of time. And shape our course as we our rhyme To suit the shadow}^ path pursued With steady aim or changing mood. Since we long gone were mustered out, To know what each has been about Would be a sight to know, and more Than need be added to our lore. Has fortune on you kindly smiled, Or have you been her slighted child, One thing at least can well be told. We 've every one been growing old. In country some, and some in town Have lived, and, may be, handed down Your names and traits to future years; If not, what cause for bitter tears ! But scanning well the retrospect, We find few cases of neglect. Some consolation then exists — What never was, can not be missed. 68 AFTER MANY DAYS. 69 Not every man who drew his pay Oil muster roll on muster day, Was always found at Duty's post, When Valor's presence counted most. 'Mid War's alarms, if thus remiss, Why reprimand 'mid scenes like this? The conscious recreant may hide His blushing face, we will not chide. The girlish picture that you wore Against the place where oft before The girl herself had laid her head — Or you, no doubt, had wished she had — Now duplicates itself in smiles, In face and form and girlish wiles; The girl that was, a little gray, "But just the same" we fondly say. 'Tis well that feeling grows not old, — Our joys would else be sooner told. Our sorrows —" What of them?" you say. We '11 try to pass them by to-day ; As hounds that enter on the chase They give their prey no resting place ; We close our eyes and .stop our ears At sound of woe, and sight of tears. Fame tells to-day the paths you tread. We know what sun shines o'er your head, We know what shadows round 3^ou fall, For Fame has told the story all. 70 BUGLES AND BELLS. And yet we can and must allow There 's much untold. So be it now. As fond discourse holds friend with friend, So is my present aim and end. And should my purpose well be gained, My greeting would be unrestrained, And not be held in the confines Of these my circumstantial lines. For I can touch but here and there, And you may ramble everj^where, And Fanc3" will be put to test To bring the viands you love best. The coffee, sugar, pork and beans. And poultry, should we have the means, In sweet remembrance often rise, And make us wipe our lips — not e3'es. And when these things could not be got, "We mourned because we found them not." And if we found them, have no fear, We always read our title clear. Have I not heard you sing the praise Of homely fare of other days? And while you named the savory food You smacked your lips and called it good. So let me hope that I may bring A draught or two from that old spring That bubbled up our lips to greet When we as comrades chanced to meet. AFTER MANY DAYS. 7 1 We never know, however near, What moves the sigh or starts the tear. A comrade's spirit is his own And His who gave — to these alone The fountains that these waters yield Are known, nor will they be revealed, Though comrade look to comrade's eye In kindly blending constancy. To- day we turn aside and wait With pleasure at a wayside gate; We gladly linger at the stile To chat for an enchanted while. The stories and the legends tell That years ago were told so well. While campfires burned but faint and low, Not wanting was the social glow. Thus full many a weary night Was spent, while Danger's cunning sprite In many forms came stalking past, With arrows poised he fain would cast. And thus we 've waited for the morn. Surprised as well at its return, And listened to the ready jest That seemed to fit the moment best. O think, my comrades, what were missed Had we but faltered to enlist! 'T is true we missed our feather bed, And lay upon the ground instead! 72 BUGLES AND BELLS. Great comfort in the fact is found That 'twavS upon, not under ground. Our rations might be scant, 'tis true, But there was noble work to do. Though every day brought its regret That brother strove with brother, 3'et With earnest will and cheerful mood The path of duty was pursued. Who would forget the lively song We sang as we went marching on : The joke, the gibe, the jolly jest That turned our weariness to rest? The mem'ries of that olden time Come faster far than comes my rhyme; And though they struggle to be told And richer grow in growing old, In silence must they slumber still Till wakened once again to thrill The souls that erstwhile gave them birth, In hours of sadness or of mirth. Should we not give a passing thought To those who by us marched and fought? Who strove as bravely and as well, Who, loving life, untimely fell? Hope's taper burned for them as bright As ever shone for us its light; Life had for them a spell as strong As ever bound us with its thong. AFTER MANY DAYS. 73 We heard the cruel thud of lead, We saw the crimson gash that bled, We heard the last despairmg cry, We saw our comrades fall and die! We noted well each dying word, And kept it sacred, safely stored For mourning friends whose hearts should burn, That they should never more return. We turned the sod where they should sleep, And dug the trench both wide and deep. And laid our comrades side by side As was their wont before they died. Their well-worn blankets served instead Of shroud or pall or coffin lid. Then soil and sod we o'er them spread, And hid from view our comrades dead. Our ranks, now thinner than before, Marched on to toils and dangers more ; Our hopes and prayer took refuge still Within our great Protector's will. The merry song rang out again, Forgot were dangers past and pain; The future held a painful dread, The past we buried with our dead. You '11 not forget the nightly call That served a warning unto all: "Who stole the crackers from our mess?" The answer came, and was no guess, 74 BUGLES AND BELLS. From far-off tent adown the line, And named the sinner with his crime ; And every misdemeanor found Its author's name thus bandied round. The justice of the soldier's court Was surely pf the sterner sort; Its verdict was designed to tell, And ever served its purpose well. Still mirth was mingled with it all ; Right jolly was the midnight call, But when the truant trembled most Was when in blanket wildly tossed. It may as well be here confessed That little sins were not suppressed To that desirable extent That causes sinners to repent. Now in the earl}^ days of war, 'Twas thought that shoulder-straps were for An emblem true of worth and skill. Does this delusion linger still? A host, though only privates then, Now stand apart as honored men ; Yet not apart in that rude sense. That renders kindliness offense; While some who wore the gilded crest That then proclaimed them greatest, best, In private life have not maintained The prowess that their valor gained. AFTER MANY DAYS. 75 For this we drop a silent tear, And there shall be no chiding here. Not from our lips shall leap to-day One bitter word to bear away The honey of the greeting word Now in your hearts so sweetly stored. Bear it with you evermore, And add to its mellifluent store. It is refreshing to reflect Upon the grand old retrospect; And as it gathers in the j^ears. More grand our heritage appears. The world has not been standing still Through all the.se years, and never will ; And who would win must move apace, Or fall behind in life's short race. That some of j^ou have run quite well, 'T is not essential that I tell ; And even if I surely knew And could I prove that it were true. That when the enemy was near. You quickly changed from front to rear, Performed the movement ill or well. Please rest assured, I'd never tell. Now in a comprehensive sense I speak of running; no oflense Intended here to-day, L,est I should suffer in the fray; 76 BUGLES AND BELLS. But when I speak of running, all May know I mean as did St. Paul, When he proclaimed, "Ye did run well," And more than this I need not tell. Dear comrades, let me not offend By setting forth the aim and end For which you 've lived and strived and wTOUght In measure much as once you fought. So glad we are to meet you here In comradeship that we revere, We only ask to see your face, And feel your hand-clasp's sweet embrace; And hear the tones remembered well, And feel again the old-time spell That ever made the heart strings thrill. And while we live it alwa3\s will. It needs no prophet to forecast That when another year has passed, Our roster, now so ill defaced, Will show still other names erased. We 're older now by twenty years. Recount not now the smiles and tears That gather in these moving mists! A nobler purpose now exists. But there I see I speak not well ; What would there then be left to tell? Leave out the smiles and all the tears. Then vain recount these twenty years. AFTER MANY DAYS. yy I 'm sure I 'd not repress a smile, A ringing laugh might well beguile A falling tear, and then a tear Might not amiss be, even here. The years when side by side we stood Sealed evermore our brotherhood, And comrades' smiles and comrades' tears Must mingle on through future years. But there will come a time at last, When comrade's hand will fail to cast Within the grave where each shall lie. The sign of immortality. 'T will be when death has claimed the last. And comradeship from earth has passed. To be resumed when we shall tramp The golden streets of Heaven's Camp. There is a river wide and deep We say we cross when we but sleep. We call it Death, and from it shrink Till we have stepped into its brink. Assembled on the other side Are comrades many, and the tide Keeps bearing one by one away, And thinner grow the ranks that stay. Till comrades reunite no more This side the "bright and shining shore;" And then beyond the river wide, We '11 still keep marching side by side. 78 BUGLES AND BELLS. We '11 keep the step and sing the song, As erst we did, and march along; No foe to seek, no clash of arms, No hardship there, no war's alarms. So let us live that when we cross It shall be gain, and not be loss. Soon, soon will sound the last tattoo. Soon, soon we '11 speak our last adieu. And when reveille sounds again, May we assemble on the plain Where sorrow has divine surcease, And all is radiant with peace! HONOR THE DEAD AND CHERISH THE LIVING. READ AT THE DECORATION OF SOI.DIERS' GRAVES, AT IRONTON, MAY 30, 1888. T^HIS is the spring-time of the year; ■*■ Its bloom and balmy breath are here, And birds with joyful songs appear And bring their greeting; The living call to mind the dead, And pause above their graves to shed The tears that tell how hallowed The hope of meeting. I need not tell the story o'er That you have heard so oft before, For there is surely something more That may be spoken; Bereavement brings to us a grief From which we vainly seek relief — Ivife's tenure at the best is brief. And soon is broken ! Whatever satisfies the heart, And leads it from its griefs apart, Or dulls the point of Sorrow's dart, Is worth pursuing. 79 8o BUGLES AND BELLS, If honor may be done the dead B}^ any words that may be said, While garlands on their, graves we spread, Spare not the doing. The silent lips of those who sleep, No word of gratitude can speak ; If they are conscious that we weep, 'T is past our knowing ; But if in spirit they are near, A quicker eye and keener ear Discern if we are all sincere In honor showing. This sacred day is set apart That all that 's noble in the heart May into better being start To bless the living. And then we love to ponder o'er The deeds of comrades gone before Who wait upon the other shore, Their friends receiving. When War his clouds of smoke rolled back While fields were scarred and bare and black, And new-made graves were in the track Of devastation. Peace spread her wings, and gently said, " What honor shall we pay the dead Whose cherished hopes untimely fled 'Mid desolation?" HONOR THE DEAD. 8 1 The Fields replied: "We drank their blood With which we're moist and crimson-hued ; And with its sacredness imbued We '11 bring forth flowers ; Give us the sunshine and the rain, And we may recompense their pain, Give beauty for their lives again And manly powers. For there shall grow above their heads, The rarest bloom that fragrance sheds, And there shall rest upon their beds The sky's reflection, That he shall know who passes by, That 'neath these holy emblems lie The bones of those who dared to die For his protection." Said Peace : *'A11 this will not restore The strength and life and hopes of yore. They can not be as erst before ; Is there no guerdon?" The Fields with blushes now replied; "Within our bosoms, side by side. These dead and sleeping now abide. Blest be our burden!" Said Peace: "We can do nothing more; Their lives to them we can't restore. Nor bring them joys they knew before, No more possessing. 6 82 BUGLES AND BELLS. Then let the garden and the field, Bring forth the best that they can 34eld; Their love for us with death they sealed, Be theirs our blessing !" • Then came the merry month of May, And brought the sunshine all the way Across the months that frozen lay Through Winter's weather; Said she: " I '11 paint the landscape o'er With flowers brighter than before, And they shall have a meaning more Than they have ever." And alwa3^s since she 's kept her word, For every spring her voice is heard In accents that have ever stirred To love's confession. New forms have kindly hands devised, New songs are sung, the old ones prized, And beauties not before surmised Have found expression. But other voices have been heard To sanction with approving word, And lo ! a multitude is stirred To kindly duty! Rare garlands they have brought to-da)^, Which on ten thousand mounds they lay, And by this sacred rite they say, " Be crowned with beauty !" HONOR THE DEAD. 83 One Spoke as almost never man Before had spoken, and the plan Of mercy through his discourse ran Almost to gladness! "Henceforth 'tis ours," said he, "to bind Up all the Nation's wounds we find, And casting malice all behind, Relieve all sadness!" Upon his brow there sat a care That burdened him beyond his share, But never did he seek to spare His soul from anguish; But all his thoughts to mercy lent, Rejoiced if his own life be spent In soothing ills to others sent That made them languish. On lyincoln's grave there falls the dew That heaven sends upon the true, The tears of millions that imbue The dust above him ! The millions who were bound in chains, Of which no vestige now remains In all these wide and free domains — How they must love him ! IvCt him who loves his country well Ne'er weary while he tries to tell The story of the men who fell, His home defending. 84 BUGLES AND BELLS. lyCt him who stands by any grave Of him who fought his land to save, Ne'er think that homage to the brave Should have an ending. Let fervid speech and minstrel note Be eloquent to tell by rote The praise of those who dared devote Upon the altar Their all, including hope and life, And entering upon the strife Where danger unto death was rife, Did never falter. The years of weeping end not yet ! How many pillows still are wet With tears of those who can't forget Their days of sorrow ! The days not measured by the sun, In darkness and distress begun ; Because there fell a loving one, Gloom tinged the morrow. And so the days have come and gone, And all that 's left to feed upon For such poor hearts, is further on. The hope of meeting Beyond the gloom that settles here O'er each remaining, sorrowing year, . With nothing that can fully cheer I^ike old-time greeting. HONOR THE DEAD. 85 What can we bring but tears and flowers, That honors more these friends of ours? We compass not with all our powers The debt we owe them. The debt can never all be paid, For there is more upon us laid Than by our strength can be convej^ed In all we show them. How many thousands such now lie Beneath the stars that silently lyook sweetly down as night goes b}^ Till comes the morning, When sunshine summons forth the flowers And verdure springs beneath the showers — Yea, heaven concentrates her powers Their graves adorning. Adorned by nature and by art, While every prompting of the heart Still sacredly shall set apart This day in showing That valor must not be forgot, That every noble act is fraught With memories that perish not — Forever glowing. The winds delight to kiss the spot Where grows the sweet for-get-me-not, And dearer place was never sought Than where reposes 86 BUGLES AND BELLS. The dust of those whose breasts were bare When deadly missiles filled the air, Who now are sleeping calmly where We strew bright roses. For them the flowers fitly bloom And shed abroad a rare perfume While nestling o'er each soldier's tomb — In beauty blending ! These beauties give new zest to life, But Death must glean wherever strife Holds carnival, which must be rife With woe unending. What should we see had these not died, Whose lives went down beneath the tide That rolled against the rock-ribbed side They help to fashion, When men would cringe and bend the knee Before a wrong they could but see, And be the dupes of slavery And fiendish passion! Thank God for sturdy, upright souls, Whom neither Fear nor Hate controls. Whose single eye discerns life shoals Wherever drifting; They know what pirates sail the sea, They know what streams resistlessly Bear unwatched ships where there can be But wreck and rifting. HONOR THE DEAD. 87 These graves are wrecks of Manhood's prime These turned to dust before their time ; They have a record so subHme, We pause and wonder ! They are as anchors to the truth, Which neither strategy nor ruth Can snatch away, nor lift forsooth, Nor break asunder ! Of aspirations that were lost, Of hopes they cherished best and most, Was ever reckoned up the cost To those now sleeping? Let those reply who yet remain, Who know somewhat life's loss and gain, The pleasing heights they may attain. And vales of weeping. In loving them we do revere The comradeship that lingers here. And who has not at least a tear For the departed ? The living we shall cherish, too, Bach day for them our love renew. For 't is a friendship strong and true, And not half-hearted. 'T is true they earned a sweet renown ; But what if they had gained a crown Since with their life they laid it down, When Death removed them ? 88 BUGLES AND BELLS. We can not place upon their brow These laurels that we scatter now, But o'er their dust we meekly bow Because we loved them. ' They may be conscious that we stand Beside their graves, and that a hand Has written on the moving sand Their simple story That none remember, save to know That once their hearts were all aglow With love of country, which to show Was ample glory. What happiness may be in store For us upon the other shore We but conjecture, nothing more ! The Fields Elysian Bring forth upon their beauteous plains An antidote for earthly pains, And for each faithful soul remains The unveiled vision. If songs and garlands are for those Who hitherto have reached life's close, And sleep in honored, sweet repose, Enshrined in beauty, Shall we not w^eave a chaplet, too, For those yet living and still true To God, to country, and to you? Is this not duty ? HONOR THE DEAD, 89 The hands that now are dead and cold, No earthly spoils within them hold ; Though tendered treasures manifold, There is no heeding; But there are living hands to fill That have the need of our good will And offices, yet silent still They do no pleading. Shall we not turn to such and say : "Although we crown the dead to-day, True worth shall not be turned away Nor ever slighted!" An empty hand shall not extend To him who suffered to defend His country as his dearest friend With honor plighted. The snows of many winters now Are on our heads. Time's shovel plow Has run his furrows on our brow — Our cheeks invaded; The summer suns have blanched the face Till nearest friends can scarcely trace The roses that had once a place, But now are faded. The limbs that once were lithe and strong To bear us on the march alono- That took new strength from jest and song, Are felt to tremble; go BUGLES AND BELLS. But then our hearts we know are true, And proudl}^ we bequeath to you A spirit loyal through and through, And not dissemble. And so another passing year Has brought us all together here, Unbidden comes the silent tear From eyelids leaping; We stand above the graves once more Of comrades who have gone before, Whose love was ours in days of yore : Blest be their sleeping! And when the stream shall onward roll That overflows the waiting soul, May gracious Wisdom have control. And leave us never ; For though the boat may strike the shore, And wreckage be for evermore. The rower, onward as before, Proceeds forever. Except our heroes gone before Were honored in our country's lore. How poor and meager were our store Of martial story ! To such gratitude is due, Let love for them our hearts imbue, For they were steadfast, brave, and true, And merit glory. HONOR THE DEAD. 9 1 Their deeds must challenge all our praise, Engrafted into song, the lays Should echo through all coming days. Forgotten never ! Their names should live, and their renown, Together both be handed down, That those who earned a martj^'s crown Be crowned forever ! Then let our lives be on the plan Of doing all the good we can, With " Peace on earth, good- will to man," The watchword given ! Not very distant is the day When pomp and pride shall pass away, And death, we trust, will clear the way That leads to heaven ! How blest 'twould be on heaven's plain To meet our comrades all again. Our garments cleansed from everj^ stain Of earth's pollution ! How sweet will be the song of peace, And ours shall be a sweet release, When strifes and tumults all shall cease, And war's confusion ! Our faith beholds the camping-ground, That comrades gone before have found. Where angels are encamped around, With lines unbroken. 92 BUGLES AND BELLS. Fraternity that comes to dwell, And Charity that knows so well To exercise her healing spell, — Each brings a token. Our lo3^alty with blood is sealed; For has it never been revealed That every crimson battle-field Gives proof unshaken, That life was not too good to lose, That there are graves from which the dews Do not their crystal tears refuse Death's thirst to slacken? Let lyoyalty her vigils keep, Through us who live, o'er those who sleep; That brave men died o'er whom we weep, Is cause for sadness. That there are millions who would die, Defending right and liberty. Is proof that their fidelity Abounds in gladness. REUNION OF THE NINETY-FIRST REG- IMENT, OHIO VOLUNTEER INFANTRY. HE;I.D at GAI.I.IPOUS, OHIO, 1893. TTOW few are left to tell the story ^ Anent the valor and the glory Ascribed to you in years gone by ; The grave is opening and closing, And in it, silently reposing, The hero and his story lie. I know your hearts are sore protesting. And you 'd rather think me jesting When I speak of days of yore Having lost their taste and savor. Regarded somewhat with disfavor, Unworthy to be thought of more. For memory has almost faded. While deeds of daring have been shaded By tradition's doubtful lore ; Some believe, but say the age is So progressive that the page is Not worth reading any more. And less you care about the glory That attaches to your story, If the world were always kind, 93 94 BUGLES AND BELLS. Would only cease to call you robbers, Cormorants and scheming jobbers, And epithets no less refined. Some ears can not endure the mention Of anything like pay or pension ; It may be well to understand That while you fought, the bonds they hoarded Have yet abundantly afforded Sufficient means for their command. You gave your bodies which might perish That the land you love and cherish Might to Freedom be redeemed ; You never stopped to count the anguish You might suffer should you languish Where prison vapors thickly teemed. The blood that from your wounds came streaming Almost forgot, 't is much like dreaming, The leg, the arm, the eye you lost — You love to feel 'twas freely given, And eagerly your souls have striven To reconcile the heavy cost. The strength that heaven had provided For you ; the hope so many-sided That perished in your early years — In place of them you have your crutches, While want extends his greedy clutches ; Your hopes are chased away by fears. REUNION OF NINETY-FIRST REGIMENT. 95 There was a time that you remember When fires burned low, and scarce an ember Could be said to give a glow, When the country was in danger. And every palace, every manger Feared an unrelenting foe. The call to arms was not unheeded, All other thoughts were superseded By one single, great desire. The hydra-headed monster, Treason, Being deaf to words of reason Must be slain by shafts of fire. But they who fight must always reckon That to themselves such blows they beckon As they would hurl upon a foe ; That those we fought were quite as skillful And in courage quite as willful, Requires no argument to show. Then he who thought a tour of pleasure Spread before him without measure, Did not have to travel far Before he found that on a level With himself was man or devil Who could teach him tricks in war. We know the Johnnies were untiring In their desultory firing. And you know they little cared 96 BUGLES AND BELLS. Where their bullets lit or bounded, Who were killed or who were wounded, Nor how we Yankee fellows fared. And we as reckless as our foemen, A band of free-born, sturdy 3^eomen — For so we called ourselves, you know — Would carefully devise our journey, And often wish that by attorney Such journeys we could sometimes go. Let grateful hearts in kind endeavor Perpetuate your fame forever In statues made of during stone; Let epitaphs proclaim the story That takes its rise in well-earned glory, That you have garnered as your own. Responds the soldier's heart in measure In contemplation of the treasure Of gratitude so grandly shown ; The grave may o'er him soon be closing, Begun his resting and reposing That follow after duty done. We cast aside the imputation That gratitude by our great nation Is delusion to the sight; On every side the strong are standing. The wrong forever reprimanding, Commending ever what is right. REUNION OF NINETY-FIRST REGIMENT. 97 Not many times shall we assemble In such reunions, and we tremble As we see our ranks grow thin ; The boys are falling out; the mention Of the old command, "Attention !" Does not arouse them to "fall in." Our bodies, too, are somewhat jaded, Our memories have slightly faded, And there 's little of the drill That we regard as worth recalling; You know it used to be appalling, And I think it would be still. Nor was it pleasant in the morning To hustle out with little warning To hear the calling of the roll ! So many times it was repeated That in memory it grew seated And took possession of the soul. You scarcely recognized the beauty That came of doing duty By despotic orderly imposed; And you choked less on your rations Than on your inward contemplations You scarcely liked to have disclosed. You need not tell me that on picket. On the road or in the thicket, The sweets of Paradise were found, 7 98 BUGLES AND BELLS. That the skirmish-line was jolly, And that dread of it was folly, Or that bullets made a lovel}^ sound. Was there enjoyment in the rattle Of musketry in angry battle, And the cannon's sullen roar ? Or did it bring more consternation, Some thought akin to desperation, And peradventure something more? To Lewisburg and back to Gauley, Thence to Fayette and to Raleigh Through the sunshine, rain, or snow ; Restless as the waves of ocean Was our itinerarj^ motion That we remember long ago. Why speak we of these common places That we remember like the faces Of our comrades long ago ? There 's nothing else to say 's the reason. And nothing else would be in season, And nothing else to-night would "go." To-night our thoughts are swiftly tramping, Or quietly they may be camping On memories of long ago ; Forgotten not the homesick feeling That came so often o'er us stealing lyike shadows fraught with hopeless woe. REUNION OF NINETY-FIRST REGIMENT. 99 Now we pass o'er Sewell Mountains, By healing springs and seething fountains, Disciples of the warlike Mars ; Then through Death's Valley went we creeping, While over us, their vigils keeping, Saw we but the silent stars. And yet withal, we had our pleasures That cling in mind as hoarded treasures, Our friendships leal and true ; These even yet we love to cherish, While all that 's false is left to perish — Vanish as the transient dew. But here are we, so small a number. It fills our hearts with solemn wonder That all the boys are not now here ; But think how many of your knowing Have been going, going, going, Where all of us must soon appear. There has gone our genial Cadot, Niday's form is in the shadow, Hamilton might call the roll ; Blazer knows the boys are coming, And Williams may be gently humming Strains that thrill the happy soul. Old Gallia, how I love the sounding Of thy name ! 'T is all abounding With deeds of valor great in store ; lOO BUGLES AND BELLS. Thou hast thy heroes, and the burden Of thy story is thy guerdon, O GalHa, named for classic shore. We often ask how each is faring, With sympathy each other sharing, Remembering the long ago ; And often comes an eager longing That could not be unless belonging To love enkindled here below — A love that still shall keep expanding, Even when we may be standing On plains of heavenly bliss ; 'Tis well a foretaste here is given Of all we hope and dream of heaven. To wean us from such scenes as this. These thirty years have had their measure Filled with joj^s and ills ; we treasure x\ll these days and weeks and years That God has given us. Whatever He may have in store for us, ever Know there 's more of joy than tears. The past has proven this; our reason, Reinforced by faith, through every season Has taught us that a Providence Has cared for us, and has been leading Kindly, and every moment pleading That we still the voice of sense. REUNION OF NINETY- FIRST REGIMENT. lOI There is a word that must be spoken, A peaceful, but a mournful token, On which we would but briefly dwell; It brings a pang into our gladness, But satisfies our pent-up sadness — It is the parting word, farewell ! AT PEACE. ANNUAI^ POEM RKAD AT THK RKUNION OF THE ARMY OF WHST VIRGINIA, SEPTEMBER 2, 1SS4. A NOTHER year has past ! We call ^^ The roll again, nor hear we all The same response as last 5'ear rung Upon the ear from fervent tongue. We form and look along the line, And where a smile was, there 's a tear, And we discern, by this one sign, We 're not all here, we 're not all here. The sentinel has left his beat : No more shall he his round repeat ; To him has come the last relief! The hour of duty, O how brief! A silence broods upon us now. As we remember our estate ; We meekl}' at the fiat bow. That brings together small and great. But we rejoice that 3'et a few Are here to pass in grand review, And that inspection finds us still Resigned unto the Master's will. For us the daj's of wars are past : Henceforth be ours eternal peace ! And may His peace our da3's outlast, His benedictions never cease ! 102 AT PEACE. 103 The oil of gladness would we bring, The songs of gladness would we sing, And ever this our glory be : Our boast is not in victory So much as that we harbor not, Within our swelling hearts to-day, The remnant of a bitter thought ; And Peace bears universal sway. We meet to talk our battles o'er. As oft we 've met and done before ; We meet each other's hands to clasp In friendly greeting's loving grasp ; And once again our pledge renew, That never has been broken yet. That heart to heart shall still be true, As in the days we can't forget. Forget? Too full they were b}^ far Of all that enters into war ! Too full of bitterness and death ! Too full of pestilential breath ! But that which binds us closer still, And strong as any earthly tie, Will stronger grow, nor cease until The 3'ears allotted us go by. Peace reigns supreme, and we to-day Rejoice to bow beneath her sway ; Her scepter we do gladly kiss, That we enjoy such scenes as this ; I04 BUGLES AND BELLS. For we who mingle here to greet Each other, and to tell once more The vStories that we oft repeat, Meet not as in the days of j^ore. For then we met 'mid clash of arms ; The air was rife with War's alarms ! The shrieks of dying men rang out Above the roar of guns ! The shout That rose and fell along the line The story of the battle told! For those who triumphed, there was wine; For vanquished, bitterness untold! Full oft the stor)^ you have heard, And know it well, and not a word Is new; nor can I hope to-day To add a fact to the array That passes in yowx mind's review. My aim, my thought, is in this told : I w^ould those memories renew That you more prize by far than gold. We look upon these mountains as they rise In mighty grandeur, and our ej-es Behold them clad in living green, And capped with Heaven's smiling sheen ! So, twenty years ago, we saw Them in their glory, richly clad; But every leaf concealed a foe, Aud every path a terror had ! AT PEACE. 105 To-day each leaf, a friendl}^ eye, Looks down on us as we pass by ; And whether sun or moon or star, There 's not a gleam, or near or far, That does not fall upon a smile ; Or if it shine upon a tear, The rainbow" hovers there awhile. And happy musings linger near. Heaven be praised that past is past, And that the sky is overcast No more with clouds of battle's smoke. That told of Death's relentless stroke ; And that the rainbow spans the sky, Blest promise of eternal peace; And that the stormcloud has passed by. And mad contention has surcease ! The story that I have to tell Is often told ; you know it well. You learned it as to me it came, And all its teachings are the same. But may I not with you recall Some scenes on which you love to dwell, And some you do not love at all, And some which pain us yet to tell? We '11 not go back to find the cause, And make discourse about the laws — Who did break them, and who ought To be chastised and fiercely fought. Io6 BUGLES AND BELLS. Let others dwell upon that phase Who find their pleasure in it yet, And we '11 commemorate the daj^s And scenes we can not well forget. I 'm sure you do n't forget the day When 5^ou from loved ones went away, And when you did not wonder why A tear stole gently to your ej-e; And more of just the self-same kind As those that burned your sun-browned face, Were shed by those you left behind, And on your heart they left their trace. And every night, and ever)^ morn, Your names were up to heaven borne Upon the consecrated prayer That heaven gladly welcomes there. A mother's prayer bears on its wings A weight the angels help to bear. And gathers in its lingerings The sweets that angels love to share. Some felt the mother's kiss renew The bliss which they in childhood knew ; Some left behind a wife's caress ; And some, parental happiness. The childish prattle rang no more Upon that father's well-pleased ear ; For soon he passed unto the shore Where he may wait, but may not hear. AT PEACE. 107 One turned and took the hand once more That had been pledged to him before, And from the lips received anew Assurance of devotion true ; Then turned his steps toward the foe, With hope triumphant o'er his fear; Though hearts should break, yet must he go. Despite affection's pleading tear. He came not back. He bravely fell Amid the battle's roar and swell. The bullet sped upon its way. And pierced a maiden's heart that day. They made his grave near where he fell. And then his comrades marked the spot. And wept that one they loved so well They 'd see no more ; for he was not. We look to heaven, and we weep For those who entered into sleep; Most earnestly His mercy plead For those who most His mercy need : The mother, whose declining years She hoped her son might live to stay ; The wife bereft, whose blinding tears 'Twere vain to try to wipe away; The child, who needed much the care Of father's guardianship and prayer; The maiden, who in silence bore Her poignant grief, and meekly wore Io8 BUGLES AND BELLS. Her sables in a mourning heart, On which the world might never gaze, Who henceforth strove to live apart From life's tumultuous throng and maze. With us 'twas morning, and the sun His course had only just begun — If such a metaphor might be A fitting type or simile. The morning halo had not passed, And hope had placed a roseate hue Upon our sky we thought might last — Nor shadows pale, nor clouds subdue. There came a shadow o'er the land That seemed no larger than a hand; It spread athwart a peaceful sky — Nor would the stormcloud hasten by. Its fury would not stop nor sta}^, Nor cease its all-ingulfing flood ; Nor would its lightnings cease to play Till blood ran thick wath brothers' blood; Till every house, where'er it sped. Contained within its walls one dead! And there were Rachels everywhere Who mourned; nor would the stormcloud spare The high, the low, the rich, the poor. In all its fierce, destructive sweep — Though blood be sprinkled on the door, And every household made to weep. AT PEACE. And still within the cloud were pent More furies than Pandora sent. All that pestilence could bring, Came borne upon the war-cloud's wing: The cries and groans of dying men, In hospital and bloody field, And famishing in prison pen, Whose pangs have never been revealed. But let us seek a brighter page ; For we have such a heritage As comes to few on earth beside — And long with us may it abide ! Our comradeship is not the least Great blessing that survives the storm ; As speed the years is strength increased, And its attachments wax more warm. But there were those who did return To former joys, and some to learn Of joys ne'er tasted of before — A blissful and a well-earned lore. And you and I have often sought To con those lessons o'er and o'er. And thus be teacher and be taught As we have taught and learned before. Why should there pass in sad review The somber things we too well knew, And not a streak of sunshine glide Along the mountain's rugged side? 109 no BUGLES AND BELLS. The sunshine rests upon the mount, The valle}' blooms beneath its Hght, And in the past may we recount A day for every somber night. Some scenes before us often rise That cheer anew, and in our eyes There come a twinkle and a tear — Companionship not strange, though dear. The day the mail was due was one That furnished sundry odds and ends For boj^s to poke their little fun ; For which, in kind, each made amends. You '11 thank me if I do n't portray Things as they were on drilling day, Nor say that any ever swore Because much drill became a bore. Much learning had not made you mad; So much for drilling I can't say. But I have seen you very sad — Much sadder than you seem to-day ! I 've seen you at the camp-fire sit. And silently look into it. Your look was not a vacant stare; For pictures you were painting there. You saw reflected in that light A scene you only hoped to see ; For what assurance that that night Might not to you the last one be? AT PEACE. Ill I 've seen you when 't would scarcely be, For any game, good policy To violate the rules of war — A thing we always did abhor; And poultry found out to their cost Our either flank they could not turn; And what concerned us then the most Was, that the kettle should not burn ! I 've seen you when your iron will Held firmly a potato hill ! I 've seen you when you pulled the ears The cornstalk bore ! Farewell to fears When such brave men, with such renown, Propose to rise and take the field; For then must every field and town Their milk and honey freely yield ! I 've seen you in the silent tent, With pen in hand, and almost bent Double, and you scratched 3^our head, And wondered how could best be said The words you wanted most to say To her, the idol of your heart, Who seemed so very far away, — The very thought a stinging smart. I think I 'd better tell no more : Some things are sacred, and before A gazing world we will not bring These scenes that still are lingering. 112 BUGLES AND BELLS. Like benedictions, o'er the past. They make us better, and we trust Their memory may far outlast The trifling things that are as dust ! And we, who then were young and strong, Have older grown, and borne along The burdens that we had to bear — A freightage oft of weary care; While some, as favorites of Fate — . If Fate is able to decree — Had scarce to labor or to wait To wear life's choicest heraldry. We all have passed the halcyon days We once enjoyed. Our youthful wa3^s, Repeated in our sons, we see. And wonder how these things can be. But age steals on us unawares. And youth's vagaries may not stay; And from the wheat of life, the tares, We trust, have all been burned away. And you, whose counsel shaped the way To victory, we hail to-day ! Your names and fame we all revere. And we rejoice to see you here. Upon your heads we can but see The frosts are fastening their rime; And flourishes the almond-tree. The harbinger of passing time. AT PEACE. 113 We 're passing to the unknown shore. Not many times shall we meet more, This side the cold and cheerless wave O'er which we pass; but through the grave, Our song be one of triumph then. And peace dwell long on every strain ; And love and good-will unto men Its burden be and its refrain ! 8 AS 'TWAS TOLD TO ME. THE STORY OF THE FIFTY-SIXTH REGIMENT O. V. I. AS RECITED BY MISS EDITH G. JONES, DAUGHTER OF THE I.ATE COLONEL HENRY E. JONES, AT THE REUNION OF THE REGIMENT, HELD AT PORTSMOUTH, OHIO, SEPTEMBER iS, 1S90. 00 many years have passed away ^ Since you came hither; and to-day You 've come again. What brought you here? What memories do you hold dear? You're fewer now than you were then; You used to have a thousand men, And all were young and gay and trim, Of ruddy face and strong of limb. You stoop somewhat, and on your face 1 see that Time has tried to trace Some lines across in sorrow's ink, Whose cup you may have had to drink. Where ar-c the bo3'S? I mean the rest Who went with 3'ou the storm to breast? I see you can not tell. I '11 not insist; A weary tale 'twould be, and mist Would gather in your eye, and be No comfort in this compan3^ I think I heard you call the roll. And names were spoken that the scroll 114 AS 'T WAS TOLD TO ME. II5 Of memory will long time bear And safely keep and proudly wear, — Names encircled with the light That honor's halo renders bright; We looked along the printed page, We saw your names and lineage, "Enlisted," "wounded," "mustered out," "Resigned," "promoted." There's no doubt But that you had your ups and downs And days of evil, smiles and frowns, lyike those who never went to wars Nor trained beneath the flags of Mars. Now as your memory goes back, It takes you o'.er a tortuous track; You gathered here in sixty-one, And here your soldier Ufe begun. A few .short weeks in training camp. And tents where chill, and cold and damp Had access as through open door, And ills unknown to you before, You spent in wonder what should be Your fate and final destiny. To you the banner of your land Was given by a fair young hand. My mother bade you bear it forth. The symbol of the loyal North; My father stood within your ranks And looked his love and warmest thanks. And so did you. O, what a pride Was his! She was his promised bride; Il6 BUGLES AND BELLS. He hoped to win the victor's crown, And yet his life he might lay down. Yours was the same devotedness, Yours was a venture nothing less. To each and all was life as sweet As to ourselves, and as complete; The plans of life, henceforth to be Contingent on the war's decree. I need not tell of hopes and fears, They 've faded with the vanished years. Some hopes have been fulfilled, we trust, Though some have crumbled into dust; Some fears, though lions in the way. Were as the mist of early day. Soon came the time that brought the test Of what was in you, worst or best. Rushed to the front in breathless haste. You soon of battle had a taste. Paducah first, then Donelson, So bravely and so grandly won, , Then on to Shiloh where the strife Was red with blood, with slaughter rife. Corinth next came within your way ; You thought the foe was there to stay. But his discretion did not lack, Your joy was in his falling back. Back to Memphis next you went To pitch again your moving tent. O'er many miles through thirst and heat You dragged your sore and weary feet. AS 'r WAS TOLD TO ME. II7 'Twas then, you know, that Company B Went daily out by rail to see That bridges burned be put intact ; A necessary thing, in fact. Returning to the town one day. The rebels did not like the way That things were done by Companj^ B, So slightly interfered, you see. They took your Colonel in their net But most of 3'ou they failed to get. Helena next came in your way. Where you made up your minds to stay. You built Fort Custis, and cut down The timber all about the town. The fall and winter there you spent In peace and comfort and content. You wrote to all the girls you knew, And some you even didn't, too. But when the spring of sixty-three Was ushered in, you all agree No pleasure came to banish pain, And you were on the march again. To Vicksburg! "Onward, boys, fall in!" Was now the cry, and "Who shall win?" The question asked b}^ tongue and eye. While doubt the answer would deny; But Grant had said the word, "Come on," Which rendered food to think upon. But not till blood was shed like rain. Did you that stubborn city gain ; Il8 BUGLES AND BELLS. Your struggle there you can't forget, Its scenes, perhaps, may haunt you yet. Twice your number fought 3'OU well, And, O, how many of you fell ! You captured guns, you captured men, A. hundred and a score, and then Some more, in fact, but what you lost Impressed you with the fearful cost. Champion Hills! The mention brings The saddest thoughts of saddest things, Your killed and wounded, missing, more Than 3^ou had ever had before. So many of your comrades slain Whom 3^ou shall never meet again, Till gathered on the farther shore Where wars bring terror nevermore. 'T was here that Wilhelm played the trick Upon his guard that yow call slick; A wounded prisoner was he. But much preferring liberty, He asked the guard to take his cup Down to the stream and fill it up. The guard in pity dropped his gun. On Mercy's errand thus to run; The captive seized the gun and said, "We'll change relations, or j^our head Will slightly topple. Please to tramp The nearest way to our camp." I have no doubt you often think How once some faltered on the brink AS 'r ^AS TOLD TO ME. 1 19 Of Baker's Creek; but you rushed in And victory was yours again. And so at length when Vicksburg fell, As every one remembers well, You entered in the city's gates, Despite of all the adverse fates. Thence to Jackson, and then on To Bayou Cotto, bounced upon And captured, back when Burbridge failed To hold it; but 3^ou still prevailed. Sabine Cross Roads! You rue the day That took your hapless feet that way. How bitter was that day's defeat That ended in a sad retreat! Your forty killed and wounded men, How poorly could you spare them then! But when the fight at Mansfield came, A victory was yours to claim ; You partly paid the rebels back. And hurled them on the backward track. Do you remember Grand Ecore, A town down on Red River's shore? You know your luck was far from good In that immediate neighborhood; And so upon your own account You went to work with some amount Of vigor, skill, and will, to make Your camp more difficult to take. I20 BUGLES AND BELLS. One day a certain Brigadier Rode out to mildly interfere, And to the man who used the spade A kind of protestation made. ., Said he, "There is no use to dig And throw up works so strong and big, For on this advantageous ground Not all the rebels that are 'round Could whip us, and far more than that. We'd thrash them while you tip 5'our hat." "Ah, General," the man replied, "Be not that privilege denied; Since we have suffered some of late, Far more than we need calculate. We thought it might be just the thing Ourselves to do some generaling." Some things refuse that the}^ be told In measured lines. It takes the cold And hardest words of solemn prose Their mien and meaning to disclose. How can I tell about the way In which glad tidings came one daj^ That for a season you might be With home and friends you longed to see? The very hell through which you passed In memory shall ever last. And now, my friends, I' 11 say no more. Though incidents come tripping o'er My fanc}^ like the sprites of air; But time forbids, and 'tis not fair AS 'r n^AS TOLD TO ME. 121 That I should say so much; but this I say, and think it not amiss, You would not yield your well-earned fame For such reward as wealth could name. Among the first my father went, Among the last he struck his tent; The flag you took from mother's hand You bore across the foeman's land. You never trailed it in the dust, You never faltered in your trust. But into very shreds 'twas torn By missiles of your foemen's scorn. Then, comrades of my father, bear My blessing with you. A full share Of peace within your hearts abide Until you reach the other side. HONOR THE DEAD AND CHERISH THE LIVING. READ AT THE DEDICATION OF MEMORIAE. HALL, IRONTON, OHIO. \/0U 'VB summoned those who wore the blue, ^ And called again the roll anew ; A grizzled few have heard the call; But most have passed beyond the bound That hedges life from death, and found The final camp that waits us all. Whatever in that camp may be Of joy or peace or revelry, There 's something on this side we love — Companionship as oft renewed As it may be, and still imbued With all ascribed to it above. The soul of man unsatisfied Without a kindred soul beside, Still reaches out to grasp the chain Whose links are made of during steel That enters in the woe or weal Of common danger, toil, or pain. Such are the links that firmly bind Old comrades each to each, they find Them growing stronger with the years,: ' 122 HONOR THE DEAD, 123 The rust may come, but there is strength That does not fail until at length Death comes, and they dissolve in tears. God bless the gratitude that finds Expression in the noble minds That have conceived this temple grand, And by the means their hands have earned, And beauties that their souls discerned, This house and its adornings stand ; Stand ever as a witness true Of all our heroes sought to do ; Stand witness of the men who died, Whose eyes see not because they sleep, Whose children may be here to weep, Whose spirits may be here beside ; Stand witness of the men who live, Who offered all they had to give ; Their eyes the evidence behold That love for freedom has a price That pauses not to ponder twice Its value as compared with gold. 1892. ONLY A STORY. /^NLY a story; but 'tis true. It is my own ^^ storj^ and I tell it because I have been bid- den to do so. It is not a story of adventure, only of incident ; not of heroism, only of duty and standing in my place. It is a story of suffering, of human kindness, of God's care in answer, if you please, to a mother's earnest prayers. It is a story of the war. Can such a story be told in an imper- sonal way ? I can not tell it unless I say /. If of- fensive, read no farther. From the College Commencement at the Ohio University in 1862, I at once repaired to the enlist- ing camp, and enrolled my name as a private. I passed through all the stages incident to the vol- unteer soldier's life. In due time I received recog- nition, whether merited or not ; and stripes came upon my arms, followed later on with straps on my shoulders, which were not worn without a sense of responsibility. It does not become me to say whether I did my duties ill or well, and none will pause to inquire. I passed through many battles. I stood picket in many a dangerous place. I had many adventures in which I would not voluntarily participate again unless duty bade me. I saw many fall upon my right and upon m}^ left. All these things are the common experience of every soldier. What new things have I to tell? None. 124 ONLY A STORY. 125 It is an old story now. Two years of campaign- ing in West Virginia were spent most profitably by our regiment in preparing us, with no great loss of life, for the earnest struggle that awaited us in 1864. Not very far from home, our friends visited us sometimes, and often sent us such deHcacies as we needed and craved, while our dealings with the enemy were more of the form of dalliance than downright hostility. It seems necessary to speak of these things to properly introduce the story I am to tell. More than one-half of my life lies on this side of the events of which I now write. It was twenty-seven years ago. No wonder if some mists hang over my memory and obscure some of the de- tails ; but some things abide, and often come before me in a kind of picture that, when partially pre- sented to my friends, they ask for a still farther un- folding, which I now try to do as well as my poor words will admit. It is one of the myriads of pic- tures produced by the kaleidoscope of soldier life. The scene is in the Valley of Shining Waters— Shenandoah; the place, Winchester; the time, summer of 1864; the events daily passing, the most momentous of the war's history ; the fighting, the most desperate; the hopes of the Confederacy, the highest; the gloom that hovered over the hearts of the Northern people, the deepest, and with good reason. General Crook had brought a weary army into the valley. From the ist of May it had been constantly on the march, and daily con- fronting the enemy with more or less success, hav- 126 BUGLES AND BELLS. ing in the meantime fought many battles that have taken rank among the severest of the war. Hav- ing made a quick transit from the James River, at L3^nchburg, by way of the mountain passes of Vir- ginia, the Kanawha Valley, Ohio River, and Balti- more and Ohio Railroad, the troops were set down at Martinsburg and Harper's Ferry, to confront the same enemy they fought at lyynchburg, Liberty, and Lexington, who were flushed with success and exultant over our defeat, and vigorous with the strength that came of plentiful food, while w^e were weakened by an enforced fast, and footsore from long marches, and discouraged that all these dep- rivations and sufferings were without recompense to the cause for which we fought. The battles of Snicker's Gap and Stephenson's Depot followed in quick succession — the first, a dearly bought victory ; the second, no less so, only that the disparity of numbers served to elate our little army, and render desperate the Confederates, who resolved to be avenged at whatever cost. General Early was their commander ; and summon- •ing all the troops that Lee could spare, he once more swooped down the valley. Stubborn resist- ance scarcely stopped him in his course. He be- came an electrical storm, and our armj^, for the first time, felt itself being borne along before an ir- resistible fury. On Sunday, July 24th, Early's cyclone struck our army at Winchester. Being greatl}^ outnumbered, it was in vain that we re- sisted. Perhaps we had 25,000 men of all arms. ONLY A STORY. 1 27 Early had 45,000. Our army lay in and about Winchester. Early so disposed his forces as to clasp ours as a nutcracker might a nut. By reason of superior numbers he readily and easily assumed that posi- tion, and nothing was left General Crook's army but flight, which, however, was deferred until the most stubborn resistance availed nothing, and ex- istence as an army depended upon successful re- treat. My regiment had been sent to our extreme right flank, with orders to remain until recalled or driven away. We were recalled just in time to be saved from the ignominy of voluntary flight. Gen- eral Ramseaur's division had almost surrounded us, and put us in a pocket, from which there was little hope of escape. The appearance of an aid beckon- ing and commanding us to move to the rear was most welcome to an already terrorized band. We had been under fire for hours, with orders not to re- turn the fire, a kind of strategy that never com- mended itself to the rank and file. I was in com- mand of a company of brave men ; but there was that in the situation that was utterly hopeless, and the desire to escape from the peril took possession of all. It was panic. The men rushed together in groups. To prevent this, I walked backward be- fore them for a few paces, warning them of their increased danger. I succeeded in getting them to deploy, and then turned to go myself, and as I turned I felt a severe stroke in my left breast, which I knew was the impact of a bullet, and smiting 128 BUGLES AND BELLS. the place with my right hand, I said: "My God, I am shot!" How often I had heard the same words from many a fallen comrade ! Unable to take another step, I fell to the ground, and believed myself mor- tally wounded. In a moment, as it seemed, my comrades had disappeared, and as I looked off toward a distant ridge, I saw them retreating more deliberately, and firing at the enemy, who were by this time passing me in great numbers. Evidently I had lost consciousness for a few moments, during which my men, supposing me killed, had gotten so far away. Being now fully conscious, I began to work out in my mind how it all happened. Heavy as a sledge-hammer, I had felt the stroke of the ball in my breast, but nowhere else. I was lying prone upon my face, and the blood was rapidl}^ flowing from the wound. What puzzled me was, how I should have been struck in the breast, when I had just turned away from the enemy. I opened my clothing, and discovered slivers of bone on them. How did they get there? But my left arm was limp. It would not move at com- mand of my will. Was it injured? I tested it with my right hand, and found no injury. Now I felt a curious sensation in my back, at the lower extremity of the scapula. I felt a blubbering sen- sation, and heard a wheezing sound. At each breath, or rather gasp, the air was making its way through the orifice. This, then, was where the ball had entered, and, finding little resistance. ONLY A STORY. 1 29 plowed its burning way through my left lung, and, striking between ribs, passed out at my left breast, carrying with it some slivers of bone, and now I understood why I only felt the ball there, as the pain so much exceeded at this point, that the place of entrance was not manifest. I now found that my breathing grew more and more difficult ; and at ev- ery attempt to breathe, the air went blubbering through m}^ wounds. I had read that if the lung substance was penetrated, there was little hope of recovery. The blood came in my mouth, and no doubt remained in my mind but that death would soon relieve me of suffering. Meanwhile the rebel troops kept passing me, some jeering, and some pausing to speak words of sympathy. I shall never forget an Alabama captain, who gave me all the water he had in his canteen, and said kindly that he wished that he could do more for me. He had scarcely gone until a burly private ac- costed me, and said that he would do me the favor to relieve me of my watch. I requested him to give it to his captain, who had just passed ; but he said that he could attend to it just as well. He said that my coat was better than his ; but it was too bloody to wear just then, and that it might be troublesome to carry. He would exchange hats with me, how- ever ; and so saying he took my new fur hat, and laid his rimless and crownless — but not tenantless — head-covering beside me, which he said was as good as I would need. He said that I might feel better if my accoutrements were taken ofif my person. 9 130 BUGLES AND BELLS. Accordingly he removed them, and carried them away. Another came along and relieved me of some pocket trinkets. I had a small amount of money on my person, which by some means I man- aged to retain. I little cared what they did or said, or what they took, only I thought that my helpless condition should shield me from their indignities. At length all had gone by, and I began to look about for a possible canteen, as I was thirsting for more water. A few paces from me lay one of my boys, Jack Robbins — poor fellow ! He said he was wounded in the leg, and was scarcely able to move ; but he managed to crawl nearer to me, and tossed me his canteen, from which I drank as though it were nectar. He was sorry for me, he said ; for he thought I could not recover ; but as for himself, he would probably live through his hurt to tell how I was wounded. Jack was a simple-hearted boy, and a good soldier. His presence was a comfort to me, and I did not regard his wound as dangerous. We tried to talk of our forlorn and almost hopeless condition. All the while I felt that my life-current was ebbing away. I thought that a few hours would end my sufferings and my life. It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when I was shot. The sun was just passing behind a cloud. I thought I should not see it again. I thought of the friends who cared for me, and knew that the tidings of my fall would give them pain. Otherwise, I felt little concern. I was one of many thousands whose fate was such as seemed to await me. ONLY A STORY. 131 Soon the air began to grow cold, and there was a mist of rain ; but I was listless. Soon I was con- scious that there were persons moving about on the field, and that they were approaching me. There were two men and two women. One of the women was of middle age, the other young. The elderly lady came to me and touched me. I aroused my- self somewhat. She asked me where I was from. I told her from Ohio. ** What part of Ohio?" '' The southern." " My home," said she, " is in Georgetown, Ohio. I am here visiting relatives, and can not get away." She called her companions to her, and related her discovery. One of the men, who proved to be politician, preacher, and good Samaritan, felt called upon to admonish me that the war could only end in the triumph of the Southern arms. "Why," said he, "do not you men of Ohio, In- diana, and Illinois put an end to this thing?" " That is just what we are doing," I said. " We expect to end it." "Yes," he retorted; "but why do you not turn in with the South and end the war at once, as it should be and would be ended?" "That will never be," said I. Seeing that I would not desert my colors, and reminding me that I had not long to live, he began to question me as to my spiritual condition. I felt unworthy enough, but I was glad that he changed the subject. 132 BUGLES AND BELLS. "Are 3^ou a member of the Church?" he asked. "Yes," I said; "an unworthy member." "Of what Church?" " Methodist." " Were you ever baptized?" "Yes." "Immersed?" "No; sprinkled." "Ah ! that is not baptism." Growing impatient, I said, with as much spirit as I could command: "This is no time to talk to me of war methods or modes of baptism. Can't 3^ou bring me some water? I am burning up." He took my canteen and filled it from a spring not far away, and then called his daughter to come with some wine, which she gave me, and a small cake, which, with the water, refreshed me. I then asked if they could not have Jack and me taken to a hospital, that we might not be left to die between the corn-rows in the open field. The appeal was not in vain. They promised to go to their homes and return with an express-wagon, with which they would take us to the town and put us in the hospital. Whether I thought they would do so or not, I do not remember. I sank into a slumber, from which I did not awake until ten o'clock that night, when I heard Jack say, "They are coming." I said, " Who are coming?" "The people who are to take us off the field," said Jack. ONLY A STORY. 1 33 I then remembered the promise that had been made, and I understood what the moving of the solitary lantern meant, and why the stone wall, that was there as a fence, was being cast down. The two men had returned with the express wagon, and by some means, which I do not now recall, I was placed in it, and Jack, writhing with pain, beside me. O the agony that I experienced as they drove off over that plowed field toward the public highway ! Poor Jack suffered too. When the turnpike was reached there was no little relief, though every movement brought refined agony. It was a half a mile to the edge of the town. The wagon was halted. One of the men called out, "O John !" " Sir," came back the quick response. '* Here are a couple of wounded Yankee sol- diers." By this time the man so addressed was standing beside the wagon, with his hand resting upon me. " Who are you, sir?" he said. I told him, wondering if the information could have any significance. He only said, " How can you be carried?" I told him how I thought I could be taken out with the least pain. "Take hold, men," and a moment later I was laid upon a lounge in a comfortable room, while they returned for Jack, who insisted upon being driven to the hospital, where more help could be obtained to take him out of the wagon. 134 BUGLES AND BELLS. Meanwhile there stood before me, in that little room, a woman about forty years of age. How gentle and how kind she was ! She asked me all about myself in few words. " Let me remove your boots?" she said. "No, they are muddy and bloody," I protested. But that made no difference. She had her own wa}^ " Now you must have some tea," she said, and left the room. How is this? thought I. A few hours ago it seemed that I would perish where I fell, in the cornfield. Here I am surrounded with comfort, and am receiving the ministration of loving hands. I expected no such kindness among these people. While these thoughts were passing through my mind, the man of the house returned. He sat down before me, and said that he was sorry that he could not induce my comrade to be taken out of the wagon and brought in with me, " For," said he, "the Federal wounded are treated here like dogs." " It must be," said I, " that I have fallen in w^th Union people." "You have, sir; and there are many of them here." My wound was of such a nature that I found a semi-reclining posture necessary, which was best secured by placing me in a large rocking-chair, and tilting it back by placing a billet of wood under the front rockers. My feet found rest on the sofa in front ©f me, and with a pillow to support my left ONLY A STORY. 135 arm, now quite limp, I was made as comfortable as it was possible to be in such plight. Having thus carefully provided for me, my good host resumed : " They said that the hospital was the place for you, but T shall see to that. Our family physician is engaged there, and through him, I shall be able to manage for you to remain here." The night passed, and with the morning came a renewal of the same kindness with which I had been received. I^ittle children of the family came in to speak to me, among whom was a bright little boy with whom I had had quite a long conversa- tion the morning before. He greeted me as if I were an old friend, and from that time on spared no pains to do me favors. The same spirit took pos- session of the other children, because I seemed to be the brother's friend. When the good Dr. White came, he said little, but was kind and sympathetic. He said that I might pull through and live possibly four or five years. This did cheer me. What transpired during the next few days, I little remember, only that a de- lirium set in, in which I imagined all kinds of war- like things, and had visions of home and old friends, all mingled in a confused mass from which there was no disentanglement. I was conscious that not a few came in to look at me, and withdrew with sad faces. A change for the better came. I found my mind clearing up, my burning fever gone, my ap- petite increasing, but my strength not returning. 136 BUGLES AND BELLS. Every da}' some luxury found its way to me from others than the famil}^ who also noted my every want. The same hands bore something to poor Jack, who was still at the hospital. Each day he inquired about me, and sent me kindly messages. He said that every day things grew more serious with him. The ball had not been extracted, and gangrene had set in. His wound seemed slight in comparison with mine, but the difference in care was being made manifest in the results. Meanwdiile our army had been driven back into Maryland. General Early sat down complacently in sight of Washington. Chambersburg was wan- tonly burned, and the fear was that Winchester was doomed, should the Union troops return, as a matter of retaliation. Thank God that this was not so ! General Sheridan had been assigned to command. General Eaily was passing back up the valley. Day and night the troops filed through the streets until all had passed, and the Union army was again in possession. In vain I sought favors from the commandant. He said that he had enough to do to look after his own men. I wrote a note addressed to any Union officer, and put it in the hands of one of the little boys, directing him to go upon the street and hand it to the first officer he met. That officer happened to be Chaplain Frank B. Morse, of the 27th Massachusetts Regi- ment. He came, found out my wants, and pro- vided for them. As yet I had little thought of what tidings ONLY A STORY. 1 37 might have gone home to my friends ; and it oc- curred to me that I should write them about my- self, which I did as circumstantially as I could in my condition, expressing the fear that they might have received serious reports about me. In due time my letters were on the way, and when they jeached their destination, the news they con- tained could scarcely be believed. Had I not been reported dead officially! But there was my sign vianual, which admitted of no dispute. One afternoon I was much surprised to see Chaplain Windsor enter my room. But he was more astonished than I. He had come to seek me among the dead. Naturally he went first to the hospital, where he found Jack Robbins, who told him where to look for me. He returned to head- quarters and reported his find, I was restored to the rolls, from which I had been dropped as killed in action. I have the original official report now in m}^ possession. It came to me less than a year ago, having been taken from a mass of old papers that were about to be consigned to the flames. I was barely able to walk across the room, but my strength was returning rapidly. A few mornings later, I was told to prepare for a journey to Harper's Ferry, thirty miles away, as there would be a change in the occupation of the town before night. I knew it was far better to go north than south, and I made up my mind with little hesitation. I had some misgivings as to my strength, but put them away promptly. I must go 138 BUGLES AND BELLS. out of Winchester, then toward home, or later to- ward some Southern prison. The start was made in the early morning. Until noon we moved with General Emery's Corps, which went into camp at Berry ville. Joining a paymaster's escort, we con- cluded to complete the journey. All went well until we reached Charlestown, when we were at- tacked by a few of Mosby's men ; but Captain Mitchell, with a dozen cavalrj^men, formed a line at our rear, and successfully held them at bay until we arrived inside the line at Halltown. That night I slept on the floor in the corner of the parlor, being bolstered by blankets and pillows. The next day I went to Baltimore by rail, and thence by easy stages to Pittsburg, where I went on board a steamer, which, in two days, landed me at Gallipolis, to be met by old friends, who held up their hands in horror that a phantom should appear before them ; for was I not dead ? I found that such was the general belief. My home was still eighteen miles distant, and I desired to continue my journey without dela}' ; but thought it prudent to send a messenger ahead to prepare ni}' mother especially for my coming. Of course the mes.senger told all my friends he met that I was coming. "Are the}^ bringing his body?" they would inquire. "Yes; a living body at that." When the news reached my home, my mother was at the village church putting it in order for a funeral that w^as not preached the following Sabbath. ONLY A STORY. 139 What of poor Jack? He died the day I was brought from Winchester. A few years ago I vis- ited the Federal Cemetery there, and the grave that was the first in the order of number was that of Jack Robbins. Had I not been so tenderly cared for, my grave would not have been far away. I have been at Winchester many times since the war. I learned to know that no family was better respected than that under whose roof I had received so much kindness. The children have made for themselves places in the community, and are widely known for their sturdy worth. They have families now; two of their children are called by my name. When Lvisit them, they cHmb upon my knee, and ride upon my back, and shout their merry peals of laughter in my ear. Very frankly one of the youngest said that she loved me when she first saw my picture. Mother Cooper, as I have always called her, has passed away, and he who answered to the name of John upon that event- ful night twenty-seven years ago, is only waiting to be borne away as the angels know how and where to carry him. Among his credentials are the words: " Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." I did not think that it would take so many words to tell this story. If I have wearied you, I shall do so no more. Portsmouth, Ohio, May, 1891. BELLS. ON THE OCCASION OF THE SEVEN TIETH BIRTHDAY OF MRS. JOHN G. PEEBLES. A ND do I rightly hear? ^^^ This your seventieth year? And have you sojourned, then, Here threescore years and ten? Then may there strength await Your steps until the gate Of Paradise shall wide Swing back on yonder side. On yonder side, where light Receives no hint of night, — Where age imprints no lines On cheeks once fair, and signs His name, not as with pen On wrinkled brows of men ; Where those who enter find A home by lyove designed. Be that your home, and own The name in that white stone Which Christ himself shall give To those who for him live. Not then shall threescore years And ten of smiles and tears Make up the life that waits For you within the gates! 143 AFTER FIFTY YEARS. A POEM, READ ON THE OCCASION OF THE GOLDEN WED- ING OF MR. AND MRS. MYRON WEIvLS, MARCH 2, 1888. nPHH friends who gather here to-night ^ Have one desire, that love's sweet light May shine within you, and delight Keep pace with living ! If growing old brings nothing more Than pleasures tasted oft before, We trust that yet a goodly store You '11 be receiving ! To-night we have a king and queen ; Their coronets may well be seen ; Behold about their brows the sheen Of honest living! A crown of silver Time has placed Upon their heads, and he has traced In curving lines that show no haste In touches giving ! For not one harsh and rugged line Is there to show a single sign That comes to mar or yet malign A look or feature ; For love has mingled ever}^ tint, Has held the light for every glint, And coined each shade from heaven's mint, Through heaven's teacher. 144 AFTER FIFTY YEARS. 145 But pardon me, I can't refrain From pausing that I may explain : The queen's own crown does but contain Some silver traces ; The tints of youth like unto gold, Still linger with a steadfast hold, And show no signs of growing old; Nor do these faces. The king has silver and to spare. Yet he would not transplant a hair If with it went a grain of care The queen to burden ; He wears the silver, she the gold; And 'tis his wish that manifold May be the blessings that unfold To be her guerdon. We know somewhat how faith and trust Have kept your feet from out the dust, And that the never-failing crust Of God's providing, Has kept you from all want, and more. Has kept to fullness still your store, When frugal foresight went before, Each care outriding. The queen has ruled in other courts. And might have crumbled other forts. Or played on many hearts her sports — A queen's ambition; 10 146 BUGLES AND BELLS. But satisfied with such domain As was the heart she cared to gain, All other suitors sued in vain, To their contrition ! It may have been, I do not know. But in that distant long ago. There might have been another beau Who held her favor ; 'T were strange if beaux did not abound lyike honej^-bees that hover round Where fragrant flowers may be found To yield their flavor. The king, what shall we say of him? So brave and manly, straight and trim, And strong in heart as well as limb. With hope abounding; A little timid, we 've no doubt, When he began to come about, But then the queen could help him out Of his deep sounding. We know they met as others meet. They greeted just as others greet. And what they said but did repeat The story olden! The king was timid, she was shy, And sweet discourse was by the eye Kept up unknown to others by. In moments golden ! AFTER FIFTY YEARS. 1 47 And then there followed times demure That they could scarcely more endure, For which in vain they sought a cure In separation ! x\nd years in that suspense were vSpent, The question grave to circumvent, But naught could thwart the sly intent In preparation. We know not how the notice read, When these good folks long since were wed, And what the busybodies said None need advise us, That Myron Wells, lyucena Reed To live together had agreed, With love and faith to be their creed, Quite satisfies us. The preacher came from far away. The words that made you one, to say. But where he is or what to-day, There come no tidings! Perhaps his bones have turned to dust. His soul abiding with the just, And justified are all his trust And his confidings. In Chester Church at eventide You stood before him side by side. And promised faithful to abide Through joy and sorrow; 148 BUGLES AND BELLS. Then going hence as man and wife To meet whatever came in life, Regarding not that peace or strife Should come to-morrow. Not where you lived is now our care, You could be happy anywhere, Could feed on plain and homely fare, All to your credit. And you could labor with a will, If in the field or at the mill, And if a word could anguish still. You always said it. We can not know, nor need we tell. The things that early you befell ; They may have pleased you ill or well. It does not matter. For fifty years may bury deep The memories that ought to sleep, And o'er their graves no need to w^eep. Their pangs to scatter. This is your golden wedding day ! Right well you 've kept you on your waj^ And burdens borne. You've swept away The web of sorrow When it across your path has hung, And to your garment tightly clung, While Hope that better things has sung Might come to-morrow. AFTER FIFTY YEARS. 149 And you have waited as God willed, While miirmurings were ever stilled, And mercies sweet your cup have filled For thus confiding; The gold you sought was that good name That comes from righteous deeds. It came, And well we know it shall remain A guest abiding. 'Tis no strange thing that you should be Still young in heart, and that you see Good reason still for constancy And true devotion ; For surely God has not designed That those united heart and mind. Contentment e'er shall fail to find In Ivove's broad ocean ! The lines of care you wear 't is true, For cares have not neglected you, But you believe that God is true, And there have rested ; You 've bided time and waited tide, And kept your courage by your side, And said to faith, "With us abide," Faith tried and tested. You '11 thank me if I do n't allude To anything that might include The hint of word or action rude For life's unfitness; 150 BUGLES AND BELLS. Your hearts have toward each other grown By kindness and forbearance shown, And so your neighbors all have known And do bear witness. If you have faults, they 're well disguised. And so can onl}' be surmised; Should they appear, we 'd be surprised Beyond believing! Your virtues have a pattern been To those who strove 'gainst any sin And sought thereby life's crown to win — A blest reprieving! No king and queen have ever met F'or whom a fairer feast was set Just fifty years ago, and yet It holds its sweetness; And to the table that was spread Have come such subjects that no dread That there will lack of love's sweet bread E'en to completeness. How pleased must be our king and queen At what their subjects all have been; At what their eyes have always seen Of loyal duty ! Their sons have grown to manhood's prime, And honored well the roj^al line ; Through them has come a crown in time Begemmed with beauty. AFTER FIFTY YEARS. 15 1 For children's children are the crown That to old men is handed down; Such coronet you proudly own And love so dearly ! God grant that long your reign may last, And that your lines be ever cast In pleasant places like the past We hope sincerely! Your sons have found in life a field That brings to each abundant yield, And each has learned right well to wield His chosen calling! If tongue or pen, if sword or plow, They turn to you with filial bow And heed your counsels even now, And keep from falling. Your daughters, they are like the queen, And bear her dignity and mien; The king's impress as well is seen Upon their faces ; They, proud to be of such a line. Are glad that life's delicious wine Still lasts to cheer you and refine, 'Mid smiles and graces. 'Tis time that we should say " good-night;" We 're glad to stand within the light This presence gives, and long this sight Shall thoughts awaken; 152 BUGLES AND BELLS, Such thoughts as must this lesson teach, That love will never once impeach The love that stands within its reach While firm, unshaken. And such has been your love for aj'e, And so shall be till ends life's daj^ ; God grant to keep 3'ou all the way Till death shall sever ! And when you cross beyond the tide You '11 still be walking side by side With an existence glorified And blest forever ! REUNION OF THE RIGGS FAMILY, JULY 23, 1888, AT the; GAYI.ORD mansion, PORTSMOUH, OHIO. /^LD friends are gathered here to-night, ^-^ Old friends each other greeting, Who many years have been apart, But now in friendship meeting. It seems so strange that through the years That have been intervening, What joy remains, though many tears Upon our hearts are raining. For some have passed beyond the realm Of earthly recognition, But with Saint Peter at the gate Await our own admission. And O, how oft our hearts are stirred, And we give vent to sorrow, When uttered is the painful word That we may speak to-morrow ! Farewell! It has a doleful sound, And who can say it lightly? It leaves a burden on the heart And oft a scar unsightly. 153 154 BUGLES AND BELLS. It oft has fallen on tlie ear, As oft a. heart has broken, And scarcely yet has passed a year That word has not been spoken. Bnt we have gathered here to-night To minister in pleasnre. And gather np an hour's delight And add it to our treasure. And this is what we are to you, Old friends, dear friends, relations, Though not in blood, but in the sense That binds too:ether nations. '&' For neighbors we have always been, And that to loan and borrow, To eat and drink and merry be, And share each other's sorrow. That some of you have moved away And got together riches, And honors gathered far away, And occupied Fame's niches, Does not estrange you from our hearts; Perhaps we love you better. For had we known you all your da3^s We might not be your debtor. We owe you much that you have come To spend a season with us, To consecrate 3- our earl}' home With tokens that you leave us. REUNION OF THE RIGGS FAMTLY. 1 55 Tokens, did I rightly say ? Yes, every smile 's a token, Ev'ry wink and ev'ry nod. And ev'ry word that 's .spoken. Here are gathered former friends Who knew you so much better Than those you met in later years, Approached, may be, by letter. We boys (and that 's the way we feel) Have grown a little older, Have known of other things than weal, But years have made us bolder. We boys, I say, once loved you girls. But hardly dared to say so; We girls could say we loved you boys, But married other way, though. Do you remember all the rigs With which we rigged each other? And how we called each other names. And answered, "You're another!" And with what rigs we used to dress; The sight it was amazing! Astounding ! and was nothing less Than stunning, even dazing! And then the rigs we used to drive. Especially on Sunday, And never dreamed but we should thrive. And ride in better, some day. 156 BUGLES AND BELLS. Alas ! the world has used us rough, We've had it rough and tumble, But some have gathered gear enough, And still are very humble. We're glad that Time has used you well, And brought 3^ou all together, And may the Riggs a breathing spell All have this sultry weather. So have your rigs^ and wear your rigs^ And drive your rigs wherever Any wish may take a Riggs In any way whatever. And when the Riggs shall have their rigs^ And wear their rigs at pleasure. And drive their rigs, let ev'ry Riggs Knjoy them without measure. We only wish that we were Riggs, And had so much distinction. We 'd don our rigs, and run our rigs, Our fun have no extinction. We used to coast where you did coast, We played old games together; We used to spark the same sweet girls. Now gone we know not whither. We used to play at " four- old-cat," While " bull-pen " was a pleasure, And " Where's the button?" and all that, While song filled up the measure. REUNION OF THE RIGGS FAMILY. 1 57 We bid you welcome to our midst, While pausing on life's byway; We dip our sails like passing ships Upon the ocean's highway. And ** Ship ahoy!" we gayly shout, And thus exchange our greeting, Then sail away, each on his way, And terminate our meeting. And are we sailing to a land Where friends no more are parting? Where farewell words are no more said. Where tears are no more starting? We trust we are, and by the chart Our fathers gave, we 're sailing, Both soul and body, hand and heart, And not a member failing. And may your barque have entrance where There flows the peaceful river. And dropping anchor safely there. Remain full rigged forever. And we who sail on other seas, On other sorts of shipping, Will hope to make the Port of Peace, Our sails to you be dipping. No more adieux, no more farewells. No more this grievous parting; For on a blissful journey we Will all be then just starting. THE GOLDEN-WEDDING OF MR. AND MRS. JACOB H. RICKER. MAY 5, iSSo. '^ SILVERED BY THE TOUCH OF TIME." "Our life is a dream ; our time as a stream Glides swiftly away." Al /"E meet to-night that we nia}^ give ^ ^ These friends a word of cheer ; And why not speak it while they live, And while we have them here? The pleasant words yon have for me, Please breathe them in my ear While I am living, and they '11 be Occasion for my cheer. If kisses, give them to me now, And so my being thrill; Do n't keep them for my cold, damp brow, Whose touch can only chill. If I have done a noble deed, Why wait till I am dead Ere commendation be decreed, Or word of praise be said? I plead not for myself alone — I speak for all mankind — That loving deeds be quickly done. Whene'er they come to mind. 158 MR. AND MRS. JACOB H. RICKER. 1 59 And SO to-night we rightly feel That there are words to sa}^, That may some hidden sorrow heal, And cheer a darkened way. Not many here have known this twain Through all the passing years; Yet some have shared their joy and pain, And shed with them their tears For those who halted by the way, And turned aside, to meet No more as friends until that day When each shall other greet. Vicissitudes unnumbered came To them, like all mankind ; But these need not receive a name, Since they are left behind. The memory of joys may well Remain, their lives to bless. Not on their sorrows may we dwell, Except to wish them less. They 've reached the happy, golden prime So few may hope to reach — Fruition that the spoils of time Can never more impeach ; And here, among their friends to-night, They mingle as of yore, And feel the same sincere delight They oft have felt before. l6o BUGLES AND BELLS. If gold should then the emblem be For those so long time wed, The reason why, we all agree. There 's nothing else instead That we can find to serve so well To bring us daily bread, And wherewithal in which to dwell, And where to lay our head. And those who reach the golden line May many stages more Accomplish ere life's fragrant wine Has ceased to be in store. And may the nectar that they sip Grow sweeter all their days ; Their cup, o'erflowing to the lip. Be ready hands to raise ! The voice of birds is just as sweet As fifty years ago; The flowers blooming at your feet The same sweet odors know; The voice of children sweeter grows As age comes on apace ; And summer's heat and winter's snows Those charms can not eflface. Our groom, beneath an Eastern sun, Began his earthly race. And ran with patience that has won For him an honored place. MR. AND MRS. JACOB H. RICHER. l6l He sought for wisdom, and the quest Was never made in vain ; She came to be a constant guest — Delighted to remain. New Hampshire's hills were first to hear His shouts in rapture ring, And sound the echoes, loud and clear. Back on the breeze's wing. The brooks that rose among those hills Gave sport and pleasure sweet, And turned the wheels within the mills That ground the corn and wheat. He gazed upon the distant heights, And saw the snowcrowned crests That glistened in whatever lights Shone on their frozen breasts. He looked as well upon the sea, And saw its billows reach The farthest limit there could be Upon the rockbound beach. At length he saw a rosy tint Upon the western sky, And henceforth every other glint Was dullness to his eye. He followed where his vision turned, Not doubting that his guide Was Heaven's purpose, well-discerned, Approved, and ratified. II 1 62 BUGLES AND BELLS. Not many moons had come and gone Before the rosy glow That he had fondly looked upon, More brilliant seemed to grow. A pair of eyes began to beam Right down into his soul, And straightway of his heart, 'twould seem, He lost entire control. Our willing groom and blushing bride. Just fifty years ago, Began life's journey side by side, If come or weal or woe; And children's children at their feet Are coming, to rejoice That these good people chanced to meet. And make so wise a choice. About their loves I 'm not aware, And that is just as well ; For if I knew, I do declare, I 'd never, never tell. For I 've been young, and well I know The joys that season brings ; I 'm not forgetful that they go On swift departing wings. But there may come to take their place A memory as blest, That time and trial can't efface — Abiding every test. MR. AND MRS. JACOB H. RICKER. 163 We trust that there are yet in store Untasted J03^s for you — That happy years be many more, Awaiting as your due. We do not doubt that you have learned These lessons well by heart — That happiness for which you 've yearned Has often stood apart, While sorrow came to take its place. Perhaps 'twas God's behest; While through the gloom this thought we trace : He knoweth what is best. And if the messenger should come, Right early on his way. He '11 bid you to a brighter home, And to an endless daj^ Then, after all, there 's nothing sad About this change of place, If but the soul has been made glad With plenteous stores of grace. You knew our fathers long ago ; The homes in which they dwelt ; The firesides that they kept aglow; The altars where they knelt. You knew our mothers and their cares, Which often brought them grief; You knew the burden of their prayers. In which they sought relief. 164 BUGLES AND BELLS. You 've stood beside the open graves Where they were laid to rest; You've pondered on the faith that saves- The faith that they possessed. Be yours that faith, and it will be An anchor to the soul, Enduring through eternity, As cycling ages roll. GOLDEN CHIMES. A FORM RKAD ON THE OCCASION OF THE FIFTIETH ANNI- VERSARY OF THF: marriage, of MR. AND MRS. JOHN WAI,I,ER, TUESDAY EVENING, JUI.Y 26, 1887. OUR GREETING. T HAVE sat me down and pondered, ^ I have even vaguely wondered, What is life with all its sadness, And its bursts of joy and gladness? What the past, if only seeming? What the present, if not dreaming? What the future, but presuming ? What is all, but bold assuming? I have weakened as from slumber, And about me, without number. Tokens scattered lay before me, Stars and skies bore witness o'er me, Saying: "Children of God's keeping, Whether waking, whether sleeping. Doubting comes of lazy dreaming, All is real, nothing seeming!" This, my thought, while lowdy bending. The love of God must be unending ! Friends are we all who gladly come To celebrate your feast. And kindly greet you in your home, And of your welcome taste. 165 1 66 BUGLES AND BELLS. We've known you long, and you have known Our sorrow and our care ; You 've sought to make our joys your own, Our woes you fain would share. And some have lingered longer here, And known you in your youth ; The garb of sympath}- they wear, That speaks of love and truth ! You stand upon the farther brink Of life's eventful shore, And sooner than we dare to think lyife's labors will be o'er. The boatman, with the silent oar, Has constant work to do ; And many friends may cross before The summons comes to you. How glad we are that we may look Adown the years now past, And read like pages in a book The record that should last. We know how full of sympathy Your hearts have always been ; We know how well and tenderly You felt for fellow-men ! There is no doubt but life to you Has been like all have found — A field in which was much to do In hard and stony ground. GOLDEN CHIMES. 1 67 You 've dug about the roots of Care, And watered them with tears ; And flowers blossomed sweetly there — Though after many years. You 've seen the rising sun shine on A friend's advancing tread, And seen, before the day was gone, Storms beat upon his head. How oft adversity has been The one great crucial test That opened up a richer mine Than we had hoped at best ! But why portray the passing flight Of Time's eventful sweep? The morning 's gone — soon comes the night ! Then follows peaceful sleep. Your friends would bring a word of cheer And speak their words of love ; 'T is w^ell to know each other here Before we go above. The question never need be raised About what we shall know. If kindly paths are only blazed Along the ways below. Some rarely think it worth their while To speak a friendly word, Unless 'tis done right up in style — The latest style preferred ! 1 68 BUGLES AND BELLS. An introduction must precede A recognizing smile, And mutual friends must intercede While they stand off awhile. It shows that they have friends enough — Indeed, quite all they need, Unless, for some superior stuff, They have no special greed. And that 's the way the world has been, And so 'tis like to be, Until that time is ushered in We so much long to see. When man will strive for fellow-man — Whoever he may be, To do him all the good he can In love and charity. We came with blessings in each heart. And somewhat in our hands ; We dare to hope that each the part Has done what love demands. We lavish not our gold to-night For vain and empty show. But here 's our love, much better quite, To pay the debts we owe. We do not claim to pay in full, But just a small per cent; Our friendly traffic is not dull, Our revenue 's unspent. GOLDEN CHIMES. 169 Our benediction now is yours; We 've told the best we could What brought us to your open doors — We hoped to do you good. We want you to remember, while lyife's embers kindly burn, That every gentle word and smile Still brings a large return. For fifty years you 've lived together, And never shall we ask you whether You 've witnessed every kind of weather- In figure speaking. For voyages are rarely taken But storms arise that may awaken The feelings as of one forsaken, Far from his seeking. We know the sun has much been shining. And that the clouds had silver lining, Which unto gold is now inclining lyike rays of morning. And oft, with evening's shadows coming, There may have been a weary thrumming, But not without a gentle humming — lyove's sweet adorning. And there have been the hues of sorrow — The bodings of a dark to-morrow, And sighs to lend, and tears to borrow From life's commotion. lyo BUGLES AND BELLS. But smiles have chased away the gloaming, And jo}' again resumed her roaming, No longer weariness bemoaning, Nor lost devotion. The spell of life in its completeness, Has much of gentleness and sweetness ; Perhaps we mourn amiss its fleetness — Its tinge of sorrow. " I would not live alwa}^" sang sweetly A saint who measured life completely And murmured not that soon and fleetly Came each to-morrow. We dread to speak of early parting, It moves our tears to painful starting, And we are spared none of the smarting Of separation ; But then, the hope of early meeting. The joy awaiting the glad greeting When parting has no more repeating, Nor tribulation. May He, whose e3^e is ever o'er us ; Whose hand casts up the way before us ; Whose love can nurture and restore us, Within His keeping. Preserve you ever, and his blessing Be unto you the sweet caressing That angels' soothing hands possessing. Stays all our weeping ! "MY COUNTRY, 'TIS OF THEE." O WEKT in the innocence of youth, ^ Born of the brave and free, They wove their garlands while they sang "My countr}^, 'tis of thee;" How every bosom swelled with joy, And thrilled with grateful pride, As fond the whispering cadence breathes, *' Land where my fathers died!" Fair flowers in sweet bouquets they tied, Breaths from the vales and hills, While childish voices poured the strain, "I love thy rocks and rills;" Bach face grew radiant with the thought, " lyand of the noble, free," Kach voice seemed reverent as it trilled "Sweet land of liberty." And bud and bloom and leaf they bound, And bade the living keep, Unharmed and pure, the cherished graves Where brave men calmly sleep ; And thus while infant lips begin To lisp "sweet freedom's song," Manhood's deep tones, from age to age. Shall still "the sound prolong." 171 172 BUGLES AND BELLS. I hailed the promise of the scene, Gladness was in the strain ; The glorious land is safe while love Still swells the fond refrain ; And what shall be our sure defense? Who guards our liberty? Not man — not arms alone — we look, "Our fathers' God, to thee." ^'TRUMPS." '' J\J\ USIC and Cards," the talisman,— ^ " * It seems a magic phrase, That enters into every plan Of life's meand'ring maze. The call to prayer is not complete Unless the word goes out That cards will be for those who meet To help them pray and shout. ** The preacher makes a short address," So reads the strict account, "Then cards beguile the weariness — Diminish its amount." If song is sung, a single verse Will very well suffice ; A word of prayer may one rehearse. If only in a trice. Such the spirit, such the way In which the current runs. For cards have come, are here to stay Through all succeeding suns. Bow down, bow down when "kings" attend. And worship at their shrine; If ^ood or ill they choose to send, Receive their meat and wine. 173 174 BUGLES AND BELLS. If in some future, far-oflf day Some erring lad may find Himself ensnared in devious way, Beclouded in his mind. It still may be the subtle skill He thus acquired in youth May lead him back o'er error's hill To vales of trust and truth. And when we reach St. Peter's gate, Unmindful of the past. That we may ascertain our fate Eternal, grave, and vast, We '11 ask the Saint to take a hand, And then we '11 show our skill, And locate in the better land. Cut, shuffle as he will. The border passed, when angels' wings Move gently to and fro, We '11 tussle for the " offerings " That they may chance to show. But woe to him whose only "prize" Consigns him to the rear, For there no "consolation" lies To check the falling tear. Haec fabida docet that The wagon 's on the way On which to ride or else get left Upon the great highway. A card admits you to a seat, Which you must turn with skill (The card I mean, and not the seat), Or else your name is Nil. WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY. r^ OULD he who once refused a crown, ^^ Through all these hundred years look down- Could he the sight endure? For there were joy and honest pride, And honors mountain high beside, Which ne'er should fade, whate'er betide, And lasting fame was sure. But there were breakers on the seas, And well he knew that any breeze Might swell them to a roar ; And that the infant Ship of State Had yet to stem the stream of Fate, And prestige for itself create, Or sail the seas no more. He could not see that in the soil. In which were planted seeds of toil Himself would not requite, There w^as the germ of slavery, That, like the deadly Upas-tree, Could lead to but one destiny Of withering and blight. He did not see the blood run red From all the heroes who have bled To right the wrongs of man. 175 176 BUGLES AND BELLS. He fondly hoped a higher plane His people everywhere should gain, And brighter destiny attain Than had been dreamed of then. Not little on this lovely land His eyes had gazed, his soul had planned : He saw its lakes and rills ; He saw its close-embracing seas; Its tall and waving forest-trees, That swayed to every passing breeze ; He saw its mighty hills. He little thought that rivers rolled O'er beds whose sands were bright with gold, And that the mountain's side Presented veins of precious ores. That told of never-failing stores, And that we need not pass our shores Such bounty to provide. He died ! Perhaps he died too soon ; He scarcely lived until the noon Of our first century. Perhaps his spirit used to trace The lines in lyincoln's pensive face, And may be his the first embrace When Uncoln's soul went free. When Grant had reckoned up the cost Of battles won and battles lost, And prayed, " Let us have peace," Washington's birthday. 177 A spirit hovered o'er him then — O'er him who loved his fellow-men — 'T was Washington's, that said Amen ! Rejoiced that wars should cease. I have no doubt he often wept, As oft his spirit vigil kept. And saw the deadly strife That fratricidal war should be. And that the realm of liberty Might pass into nonentity, And freedom have no life. I think I see, like as the sun, The pensive face of Washington — Yes, there are faces three ; For close to his, on either side. Two faces fittingly abide: To sadness, lyincoln's is allied; And Grant's, to victory ! 12 V. M. C. THE ROYAL THREE. A ROYAL Brotherhood has found ■*»■ A symbol brightly studded round With gems which, when together bound, To form a crown unite ; And yet these gems are only three. Which in their radiance agree, Lo! Virtue, Mercy, Charity! — A constellation bright ! Let him who wears the S3^mbol know That 't is his privilege to grow Into their likeness here below, And fitter be for heaven. And there will come for him a gain For every mitigated pain, Each loving deed must still remain Of happiness the leaven. The widow's and the orphan's cr)' Not like the idle wind goes by. For 3^ou have registered on high A pledge you love to keep ; For since the sparrows of the air Receive the Heavenly Father's care, His ear is open to j^our pra3^er For those who mourn and weep. 178 V. M. C. 179 For what is prayer but work well done, Relying on the Pitying One To send His light as does the sun Send down its healing ray, To drive away the dark'ning gloom That hovers over every tomb, And leaves for happiness no room, Till darkness hies away? Such crown was never worn by kings; Theirs is the emblem of such things As love of self and conquest brings — No thought of fellow-man ! Ours is a crown that vSignifies That there are other things to prize — That helpful deeds and sympathies Compose our Royal Plan. As many brows as crowns may wear, So many hearts the halo share, While love shall make her dwelling there And reign as on a throne. 'Tis you, O Royal Brotherhood, To whom is well assured the good That comes from doing as you would That to yourselves were done. Let those who place in you their trust Much sooner think that gold might rust. Than that you e'er deny a crust Your foresight might provide. l8o BUGLES AND BELLS. So heart to heart and hand to hand Our brotherhood delights to stand, Each symbol read}' to command That helpfulness abide. With royal name together bound, You are a brotherhood uncrowned, Save by the love that still is found To hold in one embrace A multitude at once so grand That scarce the spell of magic wand Could number sooner than the sand, Or all its features trace. Our diadem is made to teach That ro3^al duties are for each Who with a loving hand ma}' reach To place it on his head. If ever love sat on a throne Which every heart is said to own, 'Tis well that I^ove should rule alone — None other in her stead. Behold the stamp of royalty Comprised wdthin the trinity Of Virtue, Mercy, Charity, The Royal Three in one ! Where one has found a lodgment true, Close by its side the other two Must soon disclose themselves to view By worthy actions done. V. M. C. l8l As God hath joined them each to each, And placed them all within our reach To fortify, uphold, and teach In every time and age; So let us grasp the diadem, And prize it as a sacred gem, For us the Babe of Bethlehem Confirmed a heritage: — To do to others as we would That the}^ might do for us such good, Is now and ever undenstood To be that matchless thing; It carries in a noble sense The sanction of a- Providence * That recognizes where and whence All noble actions spring. Then let these three henceforth abide, Not greater one than each beside, All as God's mercy deep and wide, Yet all bestowed on man ; On man that he ma}^ not refuse To practice, cherish, and to use This diadem, whose threefold hues Throw light on all life's plan. THE JUST SHALL LIVE BY FAITH. WRITTEN FOR MISS JENNIE HICK'S ALBUM. " HTHE just shall live by faith," 'twas said ^ Two thousand years ago ; A strong dependence, and has shed A thousand hearts from woe. " The just shall live by faith," and blest Is every one who heeds ; No faith, no everlasting rest, No succor for life's needs. " The just shall live by faith," and they Shall have a trust}^ guide ; Faith never led a soul astra^^, That lingered near her side. And when life's journey has been passed, Another journey we Shall enter on, where no chill blast Shall blow or henceforth be. For we believe that storm and cloud Are only in this world ; And so will other ills that shroud Our joys be henceforth hurled. Hurled to everlasting night. And jo}^ unmingled be The constant recompense of sight Throughout eternity. 183 ON THE OCCASION OF THE SILVER WEDDING OF DR. ELBERT R. DILLE AND WIFE. A S sunshine on the waving field, ^ As dewdrops on the blades of corn, As fruitful vines with luscious yield, As zephyrs in the time of morn, Are words of kindness touched with love That fall from kindly lips and shed Their fragrance sweetly from above, As "oil of gladness on the head." A hopeful or a warning word May move the heart to action new, And all its better depths be stirred That deeds courageous it may do. Before the words of wisdom fall From burning lips on eager ears. The heavenly vision must enthrall The one who speaks to him who hears. We 've listened to you when we knew Not whether in the body pent You spake to us, or whether you Were caught beyond the firmament. We felt that you had somehow gained Admission to the unseen court. And from the holy place obtained And brought to us a good report. 183 184 BUGLES AND BELLS. Dear Doctor, do you think it sin To let your face grow bright with smiles? If so, you 'd better take within The blossoms of your cheery wiles. Sometimes, a long way off, we see The coming of your soulful wit. And sunlight gathers playfully About your face and brightens it. A thousand smiles are your reward; Are 3^ou not more than satisfied That striving thus to serve the Lord, His children have been edified? Please do not think we write you down As one who glibly sets a pace, Resorting to the tricks a clown Might practice with a painted face. The bursts of sunshine in your soul Must outward leap and egress find. And flashing forth beyond control, The}^ brighten every kindred mind. And so it pleases us to say That we would gladly recompense You for 3'Our thoughtful pleasing way You teach us truth and reverence. Perhaps by this time you can trace Our motives and quite understand That this occasion and the place Are well united, fitly planned ; And that your wife comes in to share Our compliments no less than you, DR. ELBERT R. DILLE AND WIFE, 1 85 Embraced within your loving care We hereby tender, 'tis her due. If anything has brought you joy, Another heart as much enthrilled Has cast aside whate'er alloy, That with its bliss you might be filled. We ponder on the loving deeds That you have done to make us feel That life is not in vain, if seeds Are wisely sown whose germ is weal, Not woe. We 've known you long, it seems ; You fill within our lives a niche That would be empty as our dreams, But with you there, we do enrich Our lives and thankfulness Wells up within our hearts and finds Companionship, for none the less Are elevated fellow minds. This echo in our neighbors' breast Brings comfort, and more closely ties Us to the One whose dear behest 'Tis life to keep, and paradise. We are reminded that he said That " Blessed are the pure in heart. For they shall see God." Comforted We feel, and that we have a part In that inheritance which he Bequeathed us when he said, "My peace I leave with thee, with thee! Be not troubled, nor be afraid." 1 86 BUGLES AND BELLS. And then when from your fire-touched lips The message comes that fills and thrills Our being, we feel as one who dips His hands in running, cooling rills And bears them to his lips that thirst May be appeased and life renewed, With all the spirit pleading first That inward grace ma}' be imbued. We feel the fountain to us brought, And troubled for our weary sakes, It seems that in us has been wrought A miracle that o'er us breaks In thankfulness, and praises rise From lips that are unused to pray And there abide to make them wise In better living, day b}^ day. The holy ofiice well befits Your life's most earnest, sweet employ, And that 't is blest and benefits Mankind should be your chiefest joy. And so it is. and we rejoice That when God called, you did obey. And made his ministry your choice. To teach the truth, the life, the way. This much we could not well refrain From saying; for 'tis truth That age, asserting o'er again, Is sanctioned by the voice of j^outh. Dear Doctor, we would wholly spare Your blushes ; but surely 't is your due DR. ELBERT R. DILLE AND WIFE. 1 87 To know we love you. We declare It by our presence. That 'tis true, We need not once again repeat ; You know our word is as our bond — One as the other good— replete With earnestness. That we are fond Of candor, may at once explain Our attitude to you; and thus We make our protestation plain, And claim you so allied to us. And if, by chance, you may forget. And fill the cup a little full, Our admiration still is set Upon "the good and beautiful And true." We must complete the phrase — We could not split it if we would. 'T is wrong to flatter ; but to praise Is duty, especially "the good." "The beautiful" will never need To be without a seeming friend; "The true" may suffer from men's greed. But be the victor in the end. That you combine all these, no doubt Exists. Your wife may testify : She 's had a chance to find you out ; And so we pass the question by. I think that it is understood You get along right well as y^t : If you 're as fond as when you wooed, And all expectations have been met. I BUGLES AND BELLS. If little tiffs have sometimes come — Disturbers of 3^our plighted peace — Be sure we would not give them tongue, And thus Pandora's brood release. The pew sometimes asserts its right, And rides a little rough, may be ; But it must be excused to-night — Its aim is love and loyalty. We can not think of j^ou as cross; But this is very hard to tell ; For some of us do pitch and toss, And therefore catch as well. Sometimes too near the mark we throw ; We wish the missile had but stayed ; Our arrows had been touched with woe, And so a smarting wound was made. The consecrated cross-eyed bear We 're very much inclined to shun ; And well you know we '11 take much care That none shall wTite you down as one. Good Doctor, do not think we think That any thought you ever thought Sank into any heart to sink It down by anything you wrought. We want to think 5^ou are as good As all the sermons that you preach ; That goodness forms your daily food. With plenty more just such in reach. DR. ELBERT R. DILLE AND WIFE. 1 89 We want to think that you have been, On all occasions, just and kind ; Whatever your besetting sin, We never shall set out to find. You loved your country ; thus began The reason why we all love you. While yet sixteen, 3^ou yet were one To don and wear the loyal blue. A hundred weight was not your spear; Your weight was scarcely any more ; Your gun weighed sixteen pounds, — 't is clear What ratio to your gun you bore. Sixteen to one ! Can any doubt ? The proposition is so plain That he who runs may find it out, "And seeing may take heart again." "The footprints on the sands of time" Are growing somewhat dim, 'tis true; But you have made "your life sublime," And all of us rejoice with you. Now do not think the moments long That keep us here to-night, to tell. In homely speech or joyous song, The annals that we love so well. Was it not said by one of old That fitly-spoken words compared With pictured apples made in gold. And framed in silver well prepared? IQO BUGLES AND BELLS. This smacks of silver, and I fain Would make it gold if more account; I '11 make it equal, and so gain In rounding up the grand amount. The years that speed behind that ship In which you sail, are like the path The moon's soft rays reveal, and tip With tints of life's sweet aftermath. We know that sorrow, oft a guest Unbidden, sought to mar your feast; That grief has marked 3^ou for his quest. Can not be questioned in the least. We know on whose strong arm 3'ou leaned ; We know on whom your trust was stayed ; We know the fields in which you gleaned ; We know the God to whom you prayed. We've seen you take unto 3^our arms Our children, and in tenderness Implore God's blessing, while it warms Our hearts to love's own blCvSsedness. We 've seen you join the hands of youth. Uniting them in \io\y bands ; We 've heard you bid them prove their troth By living as our God commands. We 've seen you by the new-made grave, And heard you speak, in words so well. The message that a soul might save. What sweeter story could tongue tell DR. ELBERT R. DILLE AND WIFE. 191 To hearts bowed down by deepest grief? Our loved ones gone, can no more come ; But is it not a sweet relief That we can go to their "sweet home?'* We hope to meet you where we feel That you are surely to abide, With her who shares your woe and weal, And walks in gladness by your side. May years be spared you, many more, To bless each other and your friends, And may we meet you on the shore Where friendly greeting never ends ! We '11 sing the songs we sing to-night, And echoes hear from heaven's dome, Where God himself shall be the light, And there will be our "home, sweet home." THE GOLDEN WEDDING OF MR. AND MRS. J. W. LONGBON. MAY 27, 1899. "I\A ARRIED fifty years!" Write in gold ^^ ^ The words. We think how manifold Yonr jo3'S and sorrows must have been Through all these 3'ears. Can we begin To count them ? No. Recall them now And mirth and jo}^ would touch the brow, And there might come a flood of tears Despite the jo3's of fifty years. We Ve known 5'ou as our cherished friends ; We 've known how sorrow often blends With joy. The heart can not contain The one or other and refrain From letting overflow the cup From which 't is given us to sup ; And so in sympathy Ave 're bound Wherever fellowship is found. How glad we are that 3^ou have thought Our lives with yours so closely wrought That you invite us to attend This festal scene whose aim and end 192 MR. AND MRS. J. W. LONGBON. 1 93 Are that the love and gratitude With which your hearts have been imbued Through all these years may be expressed, And God's great mercies be confessed. How well to lean on that strong arm That well has warded off the harm And hurt, and swept to your embrace The good that follows you apace. Perhaps you struggled in your youth, As almost all have done, yet truth And honesty and earnest toil Have kept your hands and hearts from soil. Ambitions you have had, and through Your dreams of better things and true. These better things have come to you, And age permits that you renew Your longings; for await you still The joys and guerdon which may fill A never-ending life that we Look forward to, and hope to see. Nurtured in your home have been The dear ones who now enter in To all the happiness enjoyed By you whose love is unalloyed. One stands on Zion's walls and cries For all men under any skies To cast away the rags of sin, And cleanse themselves from stain within. 13 194 BUGLES AIVD BELLS) The sheaves 3'ou to the garner bring Are rich with golden grain. We sing With you the harvest song to-day, The nearing home, our roundelay. We linger on the nearer shore Of Time which soon shall be no more, But on the other side shall be The joys of an Eternit}-. In youth we look ahead to see Our future state and destiny ; When middle age has girt us round, And cares and labors much abound, Like Janus, we look back as well As forward, and our visions tell That what in youth we hoped to be. We hope for in futurity. When old age touches here and there To dim our eyes or frost our hair, And his strong fingers touch the thigh To let us know that he is nigh. We cease to wrestle, for has failed Our strength — the angel has prevailed — Old age for whom in 3'outh Ave prayed Has come. And shall his hand be stayed ? "While I was musing burned the fire," My thoughts I gave to their desire ; They journeyed backward far awa}' To scenes of man}- a long past da}-. MR. AND MRS. J. W. LONG BON. T95 For you and I remember well The incidents I fain would tell, When drank we from the same cold stream, — (The canteen fiction is a dream.) We 've traveled oft the same tall steep Through tangled wood where wild vines creep, And listened to the same shrill shell That sought for us sometimes so well. We 've heard the missiles pierce the air That foemen sent; we have laid bare Our breasts, and that 's enough to tell Of what we did, or ill or well. Our sun is creeping toward its west ; Our journey reaches past the crest That overtops our lives, and we A better prospect hope to see. The lights are shining on the shore That lies beyond, and there are more To greet us there than here remain ; To be with them perhaps were gain. A dirge I did not mean to sing, For in my heart are lingering The echoes of a happy song That I have cherished there for long; And were you not so far away I 'd join my song with yours to-day ; And could we not the guests beguile. They might withdraw a little while. 196 BUGLES AND BELLS. Your lives have been an open book That all might read, and none might look Within it and not hope to find Some line and precept for the mind. Such lives we all might emulate, And living such, there would await For us as you, the words, " well done," And an eternal crown be won. REUNION OF THE FIFTY-SIXTH REGI- MENT O. V. I. T^O-DAY has been a day of greeting; ^ A day of happy, joyoUvS meeting, Meeting friends of long ago; Though years have sped and left their traces Upon the many erst loved faces, Yet these visages we know. Your forms may seem a little broken, But still we know them by the token In our hearts we love to bear. Your voices least affect the changes. Except they seek the lower ranges. And quiver just a little there. Your hair from what it was may differ. Your joints have grown a little stiflfer — Tut! tut! less nimble say; For we are boys e'en yet, though older, With natures not a whit the colder Than upon our meeting day. You know it used to be our wonder Why it happened that we under Planet Mars were ushered in To what we call our earthly being; The reason still is past our seeing. And yet to see we may begin. 197 198 BUGLES AND BELLS. We 've no intent to find the reason, Philosoph}' is out of season, And it is not to our taste. We '11 gossip, if you please, a little. Though what we sa}^ is but a tittle Of the much that goes to waste. The faces that we see before us, The voices that have joined in chorus In the songs they used to sing, Convey us back to daj^s of danger, Days that passing 3^ears make stranger In the changes that they bring. We 've seen 3^our faces 'mid the rattle Of the dread and angry battle. Blanched as white as snow; And we 'A^e seen them o'er the ashes By the camp-fires' dying flashes. O'er the embers' dying glow. Thinking of the ones to mention You had not the least intention, As 't was sacrilege you know, So quietly the coming, going Of feelings of no outward showing Yet of deep and even flow. We well remember how the feeling Came o'er us oft so sadly stealing That we 'd like a short furlough, REUNION OF THE FIFTY-SIXTH. 199 To pass beyond the lines a season, And could there be the slightest reason Why this thing should not be so? Were there not ties we wished were tighter And yet we thought they 'd ne'er be slighter, But there is naught so sweet As fond assurance oft repeated. And cherished plans at length completed And placed beyond defeat. Deem it not strange that such reflections Intrude upon our recollections To find expression here. That is the purpose of our meeting, The very warp and woof of greeting, The feeling we revere. The days were dark when we enlisted. But there was something so insisted That we could not answ^er, no. We wished the war might soon be ended, And our country once more blended Into smooth and even flow. We hoped to live. Our expectation Kept us up. We loved the nation. But other loves abide; We had our hopes so fondly cherished, Alas that even one had perished, Or rudely pushed aside ! 200 BUGLES AND BELLS. We who survive had no more longing Than those who perished; for belonging To their nature was the same Eager longing for the ending That should be as joy unending If in righteousness it came. Duty done despite the malice That might simmer in the chalice, By jealous hatred stirred, Better far be true and loyal Than be clothed in vestments royal By a single cringing word. I love the man who places duty Far above the meed of beauty Which 'twere better to forego Than dip the finger-tips in lotion Drawn from out the depths of ocean Bearing pomp within its flow. The day will come when sturdy merit Will its meed of praise inherit ; "The mills of God grind slow;" But there 's a test within the grinding That is always worth the finding And a privilege to know. Comrades, we are here to greet you, It is a pleasant boon to meet you. And clasp your hands once more. REUNION OF THE FIFTY-SIXTH. 201 We felt a little pang at parting, But into being there were starting Hopes we scarcely had before. Behind us lay the path of danger, Before us might be visions stranger Than scenes of former years, Our paths have all along been lighted By the rays of Peace, yet blighted Have been hopes and stained with tears. We part, but still the hope of meeting Ivingers with our word of greeting ; 'Tis so we reason well. Or why this hope of life to be? Our guerdon, immortality! Why this longing? who can tell? CONGRATULATIONS UPON THE BIRTH OF A SON. r^EAR Frank, the 3^ears may come and go, ^-^ And each bring joy or sorrow, And ever>' day we can but know Must have its own to-morrow. The yesterdays have hid away For Time's eternal keeping Their coins of pleasure, though there may Be with them coins of weeping. Right glad I am that you have told Me of your new-found treasure, And let me wish that manifold May be the same sweet pleasure; And when old age shall come apace And find you somewhat weary, May children's children's sweet embrace Make all your ways more cheery! It seems to me I see you smile And hear j^our peals of laughter, I think you chuckle all the while You think of the hereafter. Ma}" many girls and many boys Be found in the procession. And many dear domestic joys Be yours for a possession ! 1898. 202 TO MR. O. N. GULDLIN, ON ACCOUNT OF A CONDITIONAL PROMISE TO BESTOW CERTAIN PICTURES. A LREADY I feel so much I'm your debtor, ^^ 'T would seem that presenting a mere formal letter Would serve but ill as a scant reparation For kindness bestowed in ample libation. And now you propose that a grand aggregation Of beauty and strength and bright animation, Caught by the sun by your invocation. Belongs to 3^our guests by your presentation ; Withholding the same as sort of inducement To foster the ends of kindly amusement, Demanding in place some kind of a letter As partial reward for something much better. I like your design, I like the designer, I can not well see how your scheme could be finer; And what is well planned by you as the planner, Deserves the award of a very fine banner Inscribed on its folds in more than profusion That you are a prince — dispel the illusion That you are aught less — and a host that em- braces The virtues of princes and all their fine graces. 203 204 BUGLES AND BELLS. I could say more, for plenty more rushes Imploring expression ; but sparing your blushes, I only desire that when you go outing, To go but with you will save me from doubting That the gods have returned to astonish us mortals By spreading apart just a mite their rich portals. 1898. m THE ALL-AROUND-MAN. T^HB all-around-man is built on the plan * Of capacity deep and profound ; Being ready of wit, he is conscious of it, And his words have a resonant sound. Convinced in his mind that the most of mankind Regard him with wonder and awe As a prodigy true of all that is new In religion and learning and law, He rushes in where the angels have care Not even to rustle their wings. And he cooes and he wooes and simpers and sues, — On occasion his virtues he sings. When porridge it rains his plate he maintains In position to get his full share; In the speech of the day, 't is proper to say He keeps up the right side with care. He is ever alert to show how expert In any emergency he Can be, and his touch amounts to so much Wherever he happens to be. Perhaps you may know as you to and fro Pass along the highway of life, Some man of this kind, so bland and refined, And free from suspicion and strife. 205 2o6 BUGLES AND BELLS. Now as to the way, I 've nothing to say, Such men are held in esteem ; Perhaps it is well that I should not tell, And thus not dispel a sweet dream. But then after all we can but recall That one small head can contain Some intricate schemes and entertain themes That show a proportionate brain. Then hold out a chance for those who would dance, And let the piper pipe on; His music may thrill, but never can kill, — So bid consternation begone! AN OLD MAN'S MUSINGS. TN the twilight I am musing ^ Of the scenes of long ago — The twilight of the evening Of life's eventful flow. Not the twilight that comes tripping At the heels of parting day, But the twilight that is fading At the end of life's brief way. You may ask me what my musing, And what may its burden be, And what thoughts that may be passing, And what visions that I see? In a word I can. not answer. Nor would a volume tell ; Nor could you hear with patience, Though I might speak it well. The mysteries of being, Those things that hidden be ; The sunlight on the mountain, The gleaming on the sea ; The clouds that bear their burden. And with their burdens break ; And sound of troubled water, And turmoil that they make, — 207 208 BUGLES AND BELLS. All these are striking emblems That represent one side Of life's eventful journey, When comes the eventide. But I hear a gentle sighing, lyike zephyrs in the pines; 'Tis sad, but sweetly soothing — To listlessness inclines. A heart that may be burdened With many a hidden care, The world has ne'er conjectured Had any lodgment there. But I must cease my musing — The twilight comes apace — Though numberless analogies Come tripping into place. I know that night is coming, And when the morning's light Shall usher in a dawning Of day without a night. I can not tell the rapture My soul shall then possess : Greater far than expectation — I know 'twill not be less. MY DELTA TAU DELTA BADGE. WES, this badge has bided with me ^ Many years ; witnessed silently The changes that have come apace To me in life's uneven race. 'T was placed above my heart by hands That ne'er would smite, but lyove's demands Obey with gladness. I my way Pursued, and other ways went they Who by my side assumed the vow That you assume and rev'rence now. It may have been a sentiment, And only that; yet I content To wear it still, though none should know Its meaning. More to me than show. This silent harbinger of good. And solace in my solitude ; A rosary it was to me — Unspeaking, yet sweet company. I look upon its stars, significant Of comradery, and so would chant The names of friends I 've seen no more. Nor shall I see till life is o'er For me ; for they have gone, and wait My coming at the pearly gate. 14 209 2IO BUGLES AND BELLS. I scanned its crescent, and the strength Thereby suggested came at length To supplement my weakness, though, In larger sense, 'twas mine to know The strength a threefold cord combines To hold, and be the cord that binds Our hearts in that fraternal love That finds approval from above; And till I stand by death's dark sea. My talisman this badge shall be. Stanford College, Palo Alto, Cal., 1898. HOW I EARNED A DOLLAR FOR THE MISSIONARY CAUSE. OOME money to earn in order to spend *^ The same for a good and commendable end Engaged my attention, and I am to tell The way it was done, how ill or how well. I hope that my telling will no way appall, Or frighten, or startle, or shock you at all. For be well assured the sweat of my brow Came out in great drops while milking my cow. My hair more than once came down in long strands, While rubbing my horse with both of my hands. I carried my pail along through the street Regardless of whom I might happen to meet. My purse had run low, and somewhat to save Was the problem to solve; and therefore I gave My attention to thinking. The horse and the cow Came into my thought, as being just now The wards of my care; and how could I earn A dollar more nicely than unto them turn? I gave them my service, as they had served me, And they tried to express their tranquillity. 211 212 BUGLES AND BELLS. Now "Bossie" was gentle, and kindly old "Bob" Was grateful if only I threw him a cob. And when with my hands I smoothed his soft skin He ceased from his eating, his pranks to begin. He stamped and he bit, but careful was he That a foot or a tooth should never reach me. Poor fellow! he never could once comprehend That his mistress was told by a summer-time friend That he would not trust her for one peck of grain To keep him from starving ! How sad a refrain ! For "Bob" had gone errands for folks not a few. And swift to do good, more good than he knew. I had my reward, for "Bob" was more kind, And "Bossie" showed plainly that she was re- signed ; She kicked not before, nor kicked out behind, Nor swished with her tail my "peepers" to blind. But I found myself in the deepest distress. Who was to pay me? I here must confess It never came into my mind that the pay Was to come, if at all, in an undefined way. Where was the boss that taled out the tole? Imagine my dazed and agonized soul! I had not been saving, for nothing to save Is sad as a voice might be from the grave. HOW I EARNED A DOLLAR. 213 I many times wondered that I had not thought How futile the hope in which I had wrought! And finding myself as poor as before, I decided to enter the contest once more. I sold what I had and came to the West, But never gave up the laudable quest, Yet finding myself infirm and some old, I despaired of recoup by digging for gold. I had to do something, but what it should be, I waited in wonder and patience to see. To him who has waited, all things, they say, Are apt to come straggling along in his way. I used to have notions that somehow to cook Came handy to me, and I cared not for book, But just the wee things that mother me taught, Have oft served me better than ever she thought. I made some preserves for a lady I know. She furnished the fruit and sugar, and so I made on the shares her peaches and pears Into a dainty a king for his fares Might covet ; and lo ! when it was done, Not a penny was mine; not one, not one. Nil desperandum is Latin for pluck, I never did dote very much on my luck. 214 BUGLES AND BELLS. I turned to my needle. A bonnet I made. I never had learned the milliner trade; I know a good thing in bonnet or hat, I knew in this case just what I was at. My pay was now certain. My bonnet was nice, Complaint there was none concerning the price; Some compliments came that set me right up, And sweetened somewhat my disconsolate cup — Yet the wages thus earned are scarcely enough, Of what the world sniffs at and calls it ''the stuff," To pay off the score set off by my name And so I must add some more to the same. My purse is depleted. In heart I am rich. In the eyes of the world I fill a small niche; But here 's to my friends wherever they be, A smile or a tear, which ever I see Is more to their liking, more to their need, More to their comfort or more to their greed — The greed that laj^s waiting a good act to do. Count on me ever, I '11 try to be true. The gift I send freely o'er thousands of miles, I trust it will meet with unstinted smiles; It surely deserves no sign of a frown, May it earn for some soul a mitre and crowni ! 1896. 'M TELL FORTUNES." DEAR Sj'bil, won't you tell me why You roam the fields of prophecy? What subtle skill commands your brain That o'er the future you maintain A certain kind of potent skill That opens up her stores at will? Beneath what suns, and in what climes, And by what streams, and in what times, Have spooks upon you laid their hands That you may wander through their lands, And pluck their flowers, taste their fruit, And make them yield their lore, to boot? You wake the echoes of the past That reach ahead among the vast Expanse of regions yet untrod Save by the sacred steps of God. I pause, for here is holy ground, Where feet profane must not be found. I stand upon the threshold filled With aw^e unfeigned, by you instilled. Nay, think not that I do but jest ; A wonderer I stand, confessed, All may have been in merry vein With kind intent to entertain. 215 2l6 BUGLES AND BELLS. Admit that all was said in play, You told me of the coming day, Events of which you gave discourse, Came following other, each in course. You are a very witch, I 'd say, Or something like one, anyway. Let witch be said in sweetest sense, Implying naught but innocence ; 1^ ittle mischief now and then, IviKe nonsense, greatly pleases men; Their vanity you chance to feel, And you have found Achilles' heel. Some tnings as yet must -come to pass Ere all "^as oeen fulfilled. Alas! The arrows that were on their way To pierce me, may have come to stay; A feather trailing through the air Guides piercing steel to breasts made bare. I 'd pluck them from my wounded breast ; But fiercely barbed, they still contest My strength, and I can illy bear Them festering and clinging there. I still may hope that time may bring The balm of healing on his wing. The good you promised lingers yet, And yet it is as sunshine set In peaceful scenes when silence brings No cause or fear of murmurings; / TELL FORTUNES. 217 I bid the shadows bide away, And greet the glints of brighter day. You bade me write and haply tell If you had augured ill or well. Your bidding I have done ; I 'd cross Your palm with silver, yet as dross Would you compare its sterling worth With words of kindliness and mirth. For fitly spoken words are oft Like summer breezes cool and soft, Allaying fevers, soothing pain, That lull the soul as a refrain May still a child and bring it sleep, And sunshine bring to eyes that weep. Silvern pictures framed in gold; So were they called in days of old. Time has not changed their value yet, Nor ceased their function to beget Their like. Let kindness speak and tell Their virtues and their healing spell. I have no language to convey My thanks; if I could only say The half of what I deeply feel. The other half would still appeal To be revealed. So you must guess The measure of my thankfulness. 1895- BETWEEN THE YEARS. ON THE TRAIN IN THE COAST RANGE. THE OLD YEAR. \1 /"E often speak of the dying year, ' ' I have never heard that a single tear Came trickling down on the solemn bier Where he was lying. To-night we glide on the moving train ; Without is falling the ruthless rain, And through it all, like a sad refrain. The wind is sighing. Another hour and the tale is told. The record closed of the year that 's old ; Nor ransom, though it be of gold, Can change the voicing. The hands are pointing towards the time When the midnight hour, in joyful chime, Will sounded be, by Father Time, On bells rejoicing. THE NEW YEAR. The year whose death we so lately sung In accents grave, we number among The buried years, and not a tongue Is heard lamenting. 218 BETWEEN THE YEARS. 219 The New- Year scatters away our grief, And the green obscures the withered leaf, And the forward look suggests relief To souls repenting. Our good resolves shed a genial ray Over the coming and unknown way. May it usher in a better day For our aspiring ! God grant that the years as they grow apace, May speed us on to a better place, Where faith lays hold on abounding grace. Free and untiring! San Francisco, 1896. " WE 'LL KNOW AS SOON AS WE DIE." A DEAR little boy comes oft to my side, ^*' And asks me such questions as these : "Shall we have wings when we shall have died, To bear us aloft on the breeze? Shall we, like birds upon the soft air. Go flying about in the sky? And speed to and fro, here, there, everywhere, lyike them, as soon as we die?" I gave my assent — what else could I do? I saw that his dream was a joy I should not dispel, for it all might be true, Just as it seemed to the boy. For a while he looked away to the sky, I wondered if aught he might see; ** If so," said he, *' together we '11 fly — Yes; 3^ou will go fljang with me." I said not a word, but nurtured the thought Expressed by the sweet little boy; So full of his love, and sweetly inwrought With tokens of confident joy. I waited to hear if he might not complete The picture that came to his eye; And these were his words, I do but repeat : "We'll know as soon as we die." 1897. 220 THE FLIGHT OF YEARS. T^HE stuff of which our Hves are made, Is time, so say the sages ; A personage that greed and trade Can not control, nor make afraid — Receives no hue from light or shade, But doles to men their ages. So potent is his regal sway, Men deify his title ; And make him lord of night and day. As one by one they speed away, And beauty bring or else decay To every thing that 's vital. Men put a scythe upon his back, A sand-glass in his clutches ; His bones are bare and painted black. And desolation in his track The picture shows, and there 's a lack Of any pleasing touches. Man's inhumanity to man, — They 'd have old time to share it ; But what recks he for mortal ban Man's race he measures with a span. And terminates each selfish plan ~ The schemes that men inherit. 221 222 BUGLES AND BELLS. Time gently deals with patient souls Who strive in life's endeavor, To render solace not in doles, In sable gown, or fringed stoles, But seeks that love which still controls And keeps them young forever. Time gently deals, while 3^et his plow Makes deeper still the furrows That he has marked across the brow, And we discern them even now, And 'neath his burden meekly bow. Or be they griefs or sorrows. We speak of time and lo ! we mean God's love and providence; And though our senses intervene Our souls and him who gave between, Our fondest hope is that we lean On these as we go hence. God's love is not a bruised reed, It never breaks nor pierces; It bears us up though sorest need, It solace brings, though heart-strings bleed, It heightens joy, is joy indeed, — In desolation cheers us. I 'm conscious that I stand to-night Within a circle's center Whose band is broken, and the light From realms unknown to mortal sight [blight Comes streaming down, though death's sad Forbids the light to enter. THE FLIGHT OF YEARS. 223 When years have fled we see at last The beauty of the blending; Companionship forever past, Could not the eye of faith forecast Within the future's domain vast And bright and never ending. We upward turn the weary eye To where the stars are shining, Like sentinels upon the sky, That watch us while the years go by ; But shall we falter, you and I, Whatever our inclining? In our association here We form a constellation ; We do the work within our sphere, In conscious weakness and in fear. And though it doth not yet appear, God knows our destination. No star is known to quit the sky, And here is no abiding; And as the years go flitting by, As birds of passage swiftly fly, We quit our stations, you and I, Our paths awhile dividing. The reassembling not long hence, Now dimly lies before us; Nor recognized by sign or sense. Nor whither gone, nor yet from whence, Nor where shall end, nor where commence The everlasting chorus! 224 BUGLES AND BELLS. For once, 't is said, the morning stars Sang sweetly in the azure; And if their songs were hushed by Mars' Or Jupiter's resounding cars, Or ceased when mortals went to wars, Let peace renew their measure. When man has lived aright his day, And ser\^ed his generation, What can he do but pass away. And leave to other hands the sway That once he bore in life's arra}- Of griefs and exaltation? Life's work well done, life's crown well won, The goal of our ambition; And when the sleep of death shall come, May we awake beneath the dome That overspans our heavenly home, When hope becomes fruition ! 1880. MY MOTHER'S SMILE. T 'M getting old ; my head is gray, * And threescore years along the way I 've kept my pilgrimage. To-day I pause. No, that can't be ! But I can -glance along the years Through which I 've passed, and many tears Have flecked the way ; still there appears A smile to comfort me. That smile I saw so long ago, That one would scarcely think its glow Would sweetly warm my heart, but know If was my mother's smile, — The first that ever beamed on me, 'Twas full of love as smile could be, Born of a faith that I might be To her a loving child. My dimpled hand her own would seek. And place it softly on her cheek. Ere I a word of love could speak ; Yet she could comprehend That her own love in me begot Affection that should perish not, That time should bring to it no blot, Till time itself should end. 15 225 226 BUGLES AND BELLS. Such faith of her own love was born; Alas! that ever should be torn, The fabric that a heart has worn, So warm for hoped-for bliss ! What changes have the flying years Brought in their train of hopes and fears, And smiles that struggled oft through tears, When all had gone amiss! I can not say how well was kept The promise. Oft it may have slept. And o'er its slumbers I have wept — Perhaps I wept too late. But mother's loving heart ne'er gave A sign of disappointment, save When thinking that for me the grave Might open first its gate ! I fondly hope that there will be. When I have crossed the crystal sea, My mother's smile awaiting me Hard by the Pearly Gate. Her spirit voice and spirit hand Will greet me in the better land, And I at length with her shall stand Where she has gone to wait. GROWING OLD. \1 7E ever think we are awaking ^^ From a thralldom and a quaking The while our thoughts are deftly making Very warp and woof of gold ; And into life's strange loom is. weaving Webs so cunningly deceiving That 'tis even past believing That ourselves are growing old. If every thought were but a ladder That bore us higher, though 't were sadder, Or perchance it might be gladder Than the thoughts we had before, There would be a hope implanted. Unholy fears might be supplanted. And useless longings be recanted And cast aside for evermore. We know the years are swiftly passing. And that before our eyes are massing Scenes so strange and far surpassing Anything we 've seen before ; They speed across our mental vision. They could not be from fields Elysian, Nor can we ever with precision Know the message that they bore. 227 228 BUGLES AND BELLS. There are messages of passion, Hate and love whose form and fashion Are the rocks we often clash on While sailing through the sea Whose waves uprear and then depress us, Whose undulations oft distress us, And sometimes soothe, yea, often bless us, And teach us charity. OLD ORCHARD. /~1\LD Orchard, I know not the fruit ^^ Your trees of antiquity bear ; I 've seen not a branch or a root, I 've plucked not an apple or pear. I 've sat in your deep shady grove, And the squirrels have played overhead, And the birds have caroled their love, Yet I know not a word that they said. And still 't would be strange if the strain To the seats should never descend, A sweet repetition to gain By the tongues of the children of men. This gives me no present concern, For the years are nearly a score Since I in such school sought to learn The lessons I 've conned o'er and o'er. Old Orchard, I now bid adieu To your shades I 've learned to love well, And friends I have made, thanks to you; Old Orchard, I bid you — farewell. 1881. 229 NEGLECTED. INSCRIBED TO "THE DAUGHTERS OF THE KING." I HOPE you never yet have known * The pain-evoking inward groan That one can only bear alone When he 's neglected. What need is there to specify By whom, or tell the reason why, Or pause to note the rising sigh Of one rejected ? I hope you ne'er against the wall Stood up in rows of short and tall, And could not understand at all Why all was dreary. The cup of mirth was passing round And there was not a solemn sound Or uttered syllable to w^ound Or make you weary ! And yet I think I 've seen you stand And inwardly to reprimand, And designate as contraband Each small amusement. When, had you entered with a will. Into the niche that you might fill, Into your heart there would distill A^sweet refreshment. 230 NEGLECTED. 23 1 The world is better than it seems, When viewed by eyes from which the beams Have been thrust out — from which there gleams A light approving. When motes within our neighbor's eyes Are no more made a legal prize, Occasions more will then arise For real loving ! We need not ever once suppose That there is any plant that grows. That to the vSoil so greatly owes Its sweet existence, As that esteem we so much prize, That we have favor in the eyes Of those we deem as pure and wise With no resistance. Ye troubled ones, who see no good In other lives, do as ye would That others do to you — and should There be no favor To you still more than has been shown. The fault is surely all your own ; For now, and ever, be it known. Like deeds, like savor. There 's nothing in the world that spreads Like smiles. They gather round our heads Like clouds of glory, and there sheds A sheen of gladness 232 BUGLES AND BELLS. That oft the weary passer-bj^ Greets gladly while approaching nigh Remembers, scarceh' knowing wh}', In times of sadness. *' Yet into every heart must fall Some rain." I 'm glad it need not all Be rain ; for who can not recall A heaping measure Filled up with blessings rich and rare, So many that we well could spare To other souls that burdens bear, Some of our treasure? And still enough to cheer the way. And bear the burdens of the day, Endure its heat, and still allay A neighbor's sorrow ; Who is my neighbor but the man Who in God's well-directed plan. May need my*aid, with whom I can Exchano:e and borrow? '&' The better powers of my soul, Awake! and ever hence control My life ! My fellow-men enroll As friends forever! And if one name should be erased, His be the act that has effaced The heart on which it has been traced,- By my act, never ! NEGLECTED. 233 The " Daughters of the King" should be The bearers of the King's decree, That he who says, " I follow thee, Myself denying," Shall find His yoke an easy load, And beacon-lights upon the road That leads him upward to his God, To life undying. The Gates of Pearl will come at last In sight ; all sorrow will be past. With joy the future is o'ercast From Him reflected, When He shall come to claim his own, Whose seat is near the Father's throne. Whom we shall know as we are known, — No more neglected. The end is peace, and at the gate The Angel of that blest estate. The " Daughters of the King " await To give them greeting ; " As ye have done it unto these My little ones," nor sought to please Yourselves with self-indulgent ease, Blest be this meeting! 1887. ACQUIESCENCE. AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF HON. H. S. BUNDY. T^HK day will ne'er forgotten be ^ When hastened over land and sea The saddest stor}^ ever heard, And left no soul with grief unstirred. "Lincoln killed! Assassin's shot!'.' The Nation heard, all else forgot. While brave men wept and women cried That such a man as he had died. A good man heard, and straightway went To see the preacher with intent To talk it over, and discern What lesson from such grief to learn. The preacher's eyes were filled with tears. While both expressed their greatest fears That anarchy and dire distress Would follow up such wickedness. A drunken man perchance stood by With maudlin speech and blearful eye ; To everything the preacher said He gave consent and wagged his head. So back and forth the converse ran 'Twixt preacher and his fellow-man. And all the while the man of drinks Kept up his nods and furtive winks. 234 ACQUIESCENCE. 235 The preacher ventured to remark That though the hour was sad and dark, Yet still behind the cloud might be A brighter prospect than we see, That sanctioned by God's providence Some good might be the recompense. The drunken man was sharp and quick; "That's so," he said, "a blamed mean trick." OUR ONE-YEAR-OLD MAN. /^UR one-year-old man has made up his mind ^-^ To leave certain customs and notions behind. For instance, he thinks that a crust of dry bread Is pretty good living on which to be fed. He sticks to his milk as though it were made The making of bone and of sinew to aid. He holds up his arms to be taken up, He points at the glass and then at the cup. As much as to say, "More milk, if you please; As this is my inn, I'll here take mine ease." And we are his servants: — we come at his nod; We go at his bidding; his wall as a rod Controls us so gently that gladly we run To honor his mandates, his will to be done. Our one-3^ear-old man can make an address And not say a w^ord, it may be, unless His "goo-goo" means something far more than we know, — We mortals who 've lingered so long here below. You know we've forgot how they spoke in the sky, So long has it been since we came from on high. While these little men who are just a j^ear old Know ever so much that they never have told : Alas that they, too, are doomed to forget The accents of heaven while hearing the fret 236 OUR ONE-YEAR-OLD MAN. 237 And worry of earth as years run apace And lines and deep furrows creep into the face! But so it must be; like the broken-up sod, ThCvSe furrows receive the sunshine of God; And if we are patient, the slow-nurtured vine Will give to its grapes the soul-cheering wine. Our one-year-old man comes up with a smile As sweet as the odor of flowers; and while The cherry-tree blooms sweep the window without He laughs as he looks, and he leaps with a shout To grasp the bright bloom that must soon pass away, And a memory be of our baby's birthday. He smacks his sweet lips (we think they are sweet) As though with his kisses his servants he 'd greet; We do what we can to entertain him, But often we think our resources are slim Compared with the comfort with which he repays Our efforts in divers and sundry 'cute ways. He says very little, but that's to the point, — The point of his finger will quickly unjoint The kinks in our wondering of his intent, And soon it is clear just what is thus meant. He points if 'tis music, he points if 'tis meat, If song to regale or if crackers to eat; That sweet little finger points everything out. Till the point is, this poirit we can't do without. Our one-year-old man : May twenty years more Add much to your joy and much to your lore ! 238 BUGLES AND BELLS. Until then you '11 be ours ; but when you are grown The law will step in and say "you're your own:" If any of us should linger here then We '11 hold on to our claim, and we hope among men That you '11 still be as pure as the beams from the sun, Or as crystals of snow, that melt and then run In streams of pure water, the pastures to bless That teem with God's mercy and loving caress. PASSING DOWN. \1 7K 'RE out upon the stream of time, Passing down. Do ye not hear the splashing oar As ye have heard it oft before? Have ye not heard the ready rhyme, Taking form in pleasing rote, Borne abroad on rippling note, Passing down? The laughter e'en of long ago, Passing down, Lingers yet in list'ning ears, And to our eyes there yet appears The smiles we witnessed come and go. And into busy being start Pleasing musings of the heart. Passing down. There were islands in the streams, Passing down; We love to think upon their shade And the pictures that they made. And the sunlight's cheerful gleam, — We used to pause and think the sun Awhile his course should cease to run, Passing down. 239 240 BUGLES AND BELLS. We used to look in lovelit eyes, Passing down, And see the source of that new light That should illuminate our night : 'Twas all a new, a glad surprise; And so we reveled in the beams That came from out the land of dreams, Passing down. And thus we often seemed to float, Passing down, Through scenes magnificent and grand, That seemed to be enchanted land. While paradise seemed not remote. O, could such moments only stay, How full of joy might be life's way, Passing down ! Sometimes the stream in eddies ran. Passing down, Our craft in circles passed around, And we have felt it touch the ground; Thank God, if we had strength to man The oars, that we might pass the shoals That waited for our shipwrecked souls. Passing down. And surely we can not forget, Passing down. That other crafts were on the stream. As deep of hold, as wide of beam, PASSING DOWN. 24 1 With sails as strong, as firmly set, As any rigging we could boast, Who yet have stranded on life's coast, Passing down. What has kept our craft afloat. Passing down ? We look across the fleeing years, And all along a light appears, A light which never is remote, The love of God, by which alone We keep our journey on and on. Passing down. The stream on which we seem to glide. Passing down, Will soon merge into the sea That men have called Eternity; Then where, O where, shall we abide, Unworthy creatures of the dust? There is an anchor we can trust, Passing down. If there 's no resurrection morn. Passing down, Then the anchor will not hold, And the way is dark and cold, The joys of life are from us shorn. While clinging to the vessel's side; Naught but miseries abide, Passing down. 16 242 BUGLES AND BELLS. It is not SO, for there is light Passing down, That shines across the darkest sea, And though the waves like mountains be, There is that drives awa}^ the night. Be this ni}' prayer and earnest plea That it shall lighten even me, Passing down ; And then shine on within the vale, Passing home, Till songs of Heaven greet the ears, A Hand shall wipe away all tears — The Hand once pierced by cruel nail — Henceforth from w^eariness to rest, A haven found among the blest. Safe at home. 1893. THE LITTLE MISCHIEF. T^HE little fellow at my knee -'■ Is full of fun as he can be. He mocks the milkman and he rings His bell, or so pretends, and sings : "Who'll buy my milk? who'll buy?" To every neighbor passing by. Again he '11 be a whole brass-band, And beat his drum and mount the stand And wave his baton in the air, And rend it wide, with noise to spare. "Hello!" he'll say, "just hear me play; And hear my drum go bum, bum, bum !' You hold your breath and stop your ears, And for the moment it appears That all the Indians had come To raise your hair by sound of drum. "Hush, my darling, come to me." The boy 's as mute as he can be. And then he lays his little cheek Against my grizzled one. I seek To kiss his lips. Awa}^ he bounds. Again reverberating sounds Are in the air, and everywhere Fill every nook. But only look ! 243 244 BUGLES AND BELLS. His song no longer loud but sweet Is measured by his moving feet. No words float out, but just a stream Of melody, a fairy dream. ■% And so it is, from day to day. My mimic seeks to find in play His labor, which to me more yields Than toil in mart or burdened fields. His "trafiic is the coin" of joy That's current only to the boy; More valued far than virgin gold In our esteem as we grow old. But he will find, and that ere long, That life means more than jo}^ and song ; To mock his fellows he '11 not care. For all the time and everywhere, He '11 find some fellow on his track To watch his every turn and tack; And so like others he must learn To keep his head at every turn. A LETTER TO T. R. PARKER. T 'VB wandered much this coast around, ^ And this I '11 say, I 've always found Wherever I have chanced to stray. Some one who seemed well pleased to say, "Do you know Parker, that dear sage Who lives at Napa, whose old age Advancing, makes him seem more young. And renders smoother pen and tongue?" "Yes, I 'know Parker; by the hour He 's held me by his subtile power To tell me stories that have pith And pertinence and point therewith." To my response they all agree With ready unanimity, And tell me something apropos, To back my estimate, you know. If out at Carson, Wiley tells How gas from sundry products smells ; And how the carbon finds egress From many a strange unsav'ry mess To which he may have had resort To feed into his gas retort, — If Parker found it out, he 'd tell The story, and he 'd tell it well. 245 246 BUGLES AND BELLS. If Walla Walla's wizard lost The holder of his gas, the cost Redounded to his credit, and His wits had power to command. A canvas bag was never made Except to help the carrier trade. But step aside from old tradition, And yield to Burrow's intuition. There never was a time when wit Could not ward off whatever it Found standing in its way, and so There comes some good from winds that blow Across our pathway as we tread, On which but meager light is shed. Still there is some consolation In thinking of the compensation. I 'm glad 3'ou have so many chances To air 3'our bright and lively fancies. You make mankind a heap sight better By soothing it b}' lip and letter. You make it have a good opinion Of its old self, which is a pinion On which it flies its virtues higher, And still to better things aspire. I 'm glad that those who make the light Have other means b}- which the night Gives way to sweet illumination Combined with love and approbation. A LETTER TO T. R. PARKER. 247 I hear your name where'er I go ; I 'm always asked if I may know One Parker, — who lives at Napa; To say I do makes me most happy. 1896. AFTFR THE BANQUET. \ 1 7hile eating with you, I' ve also been thinking, ' ^ And some will aver, perhaps, I 've been drink- ing; For call you it wisdom, or call you it folly, There 's much in it all to make us feel jolly. I've noted to-night that glasses were kissing. And toasts have gone round for the found and the missing. And speech has been genial and bright as the fires That kindle the soul to holy desires ; I 've heard many stories from time unto time Told in bright prose or in sinuous rhyme. I 've heard how the mountains were scaled to their height. The armies defeated and scattered in flight. I've heard of the heroes who never knew fame, Whose deeds were not yoked with a heralded name; For the name it was lowly, and only of kings And of princes are said such praiseworthy things; But whose is the soul that can ever deny That the record is just that is kept upon high? Recount then the deeds, by whomever won, As awaiting the plaudit, "Well done! well done!" 248 THE COMING OF THE MORNING. AS TOIyD A I,ADY BI,IND FROM CHIIvDHOOD. "T^HE coming of the morning" sing! -^ Its slow advance and lingering; The longing that they feel who wait Its advent through Aurora's gate. How often on the hostile field I 've waited for the night to yield Its scepter and its potent sway To morn and the returning day ! No matter what the day might bring, If joy or sadness on its wing Were borne, the wish would still intrude, That morn might come, howe'er imbued. And so when night has kept its way Well on to morning, and its stay Is almost ended, signs appear Upon the sky in symbols clear, As by God's finger ever traced That night's departure must make haste ; There spreads across the farthest east A sheen of gray, and just the least 249 250 BUGLES AND BELLS, Faint tinge appears of growing light That forms a contrast with the night ; The stars that shone in brightness through The darker hoars on fields of blue Now show some pallor, and they fade As night withdraws her somber shade. It is but seeming, yet they shine, But their dominion they resign. Then comes a touch of crimson hue Across the gray, and mingles through The whole area of the vSky, And sends rejoicing to the eye That watches for the coming dawn, And brightens all it falls upon. The stars have faded out of sight; Advancing day needs not their light. Before the sun begins his race, There still remains a little space, As if the world might rub its ej^es And not be taken by surprise. And then there comes a rim of light Lifting upward to the sight. And later moments will reveal What seems to be a fiery wheel, That slowly moves along the sky, So bright as vision to defy : — The morning 's come ! and so the day Resumes its scepter and its sway. THE READING CLUB. OLD-TIME FUN. A DOZEN years ago or more (it may not be so '**■ many), We used to talk each grievance o'er, if grievance there was any. If any member had not walked straightforward and discreetly, The rest of us just up and talked him up and down completely. • You may remember how that sleep o'ercame a cer- tain brother, And that it almost made us weep to watch him try to smother The drowsy goddess that would ride upon his eyes' dark lashes, With tears that almost served to hide his visage and moustaches. He would not see the girls quite home, so great was the confusion. Because of sleep so overcome, — so dulled by its intrusion. His name was William, and the same cognomen others boasted. So was contrived a little game to get the right one roasted. 253 254 BUGLES AND BELLS. This much is preface, understand, to tell of the occasion, All this was written in the sand — the author's sure evasion. The lines took shape and hid away, b}^ almost all forgotten ; Some breeze has borne them here to-da}^ by some strange freak begotten. THE ARRAIGNMENT. Four Williams sat in a single row, sweet William each was he ; And each one longed himself to know the sweet- est one to be. Not apple cast on ancient floor when Beauty sought the prize Aroused a scene expectant more than that which met our e3'es. Now W. W. knew that pink of the flock was he, And W. M. still taller grew as he thought on W. T.; With folded arms a little apart sat W. M. McG., With just a little pain at his heart, as any one might see. In a single row they all four sat, in silence sat they four ; Their anxious forms we all smiled at till smile we could no more. They heard the charge of Dr. G., and each did hear and sigh, They thought upon his pedigree, and thought he 'd like to die ; OLD-TIME FUiy. 255 Each heard the charge unsavory, and hitched him on his chair ; O where was his ungallantry? let any answer "where?" Had he not gone when nights were dark and mists came setthng down, When ghosts might chance to take their lark about the lonely town ? — Had he not gone alone, I say — yes, to his home alone, Nor lady offered to allay the fears that o'er him come ? Then why should he ungallant be esteemed, and pointed out? On which sweet William they 'd agree there lin- gered not a doubt. So not the apple Venus kissed was he to make his prize ; But Sodom's Apple's bitterness, confusion and sur- prise. Four Williams sat in a single row, sweet William each was he. One William sighed and muttered low, and smiled — the other three. These lines are written to revive some scenes per- chance that slumber Within sweet memory's archives, piled up, may be, as lumber. lyCt 's take them out, and brush them up, esteem it no harsh duty, 256 BUGLES AND BELLS. We may unearth a golden cup or something else of beaut}^ The annals of this club can tell full many a pleas- ing story ; The time has come when we do well to ponder on its glory. MEPHITIS AMERICANA. A MINNESOTA LEGEND. T HAVE'in mind just now to quote a ^ I^egend weird of Minnesota, Concerning three men on a journey, One of whom had thought to turn a Penny on a splendid section, Provided that a sure connection Between desire to sell and purchase Should be brought unto the surface. One man there was a little wear}^, While the other two were cheery ; For the journey elongated More than he had calculated. All had gotten somewhat drowsy, When lo ! a sight that would arouse a Heavy .sleeper met their vision ! Say not 't was a sight elysian ! In the path in which they guided The chariot wheels, a sight abided That did inspire but evil bodings, Spite of gun and pistol loadings ; The driver uttered something blue ; The Frenchman faltered out ''Mo7i Dieu f The third man interposed the curtain To make the weapon more uncertain. 17 257 258 BUGLES AND BELLS. Truth and fiction oft are blended ; But deem not yet my story ended; The Frenchman said: ''Mon komme, how can a Man who comes from Indiana Where air is sweet with scent of blossoms, And only raccoons and opossums Roam the wilds and give no odor, And never hover near the road or Any way become disturber, Or an abominable perturber, Be caught in such a snare ? A Little care I for the prairie." So with the large but unseen cargo Back the}^ hastened unto Fargo; And he who sells and he who buys Have only teardrops in their eyes ; For he who sought to own more lands Retained his cC argent in his hands. And so the journey came to naught Except the lesson thereby taught. That has been taught so oft before, That weak to strong does not give o'er The battle always. Nothing more. THE TEXAS DRUMMER AND THE MIS- SISSIPPI MERCHANT; OR, PROGRESSIVE HAPPINESS. "T 'M from Coffin County, TexavS," said the drum- * mer to the man Who buys up things at wholesale, and sells them as he can ; " What I have now to offer is as good as ever sold, That you may have at bargains in barter for your gold." *' I 'm glad to meet you, stranger, I have a brother John, Who lives in Coffin County, where long since he has gone ; I hope you know my brother; and surely if you do. You give me untold pleasure, far more than I can you." " O yes," said he of samples, *' I know your brother well ; I very often see him, and I am glad to tell He 's known as a substantial man, who keeps right well apace With the foremost in the county in wealth's ex- citing race." 259 26o BUGLES AND BELLS. "I'm glad I met yoii, stranger, j'ou know my brother John ! How well he must be doing, I 'm pleased to think upon. When you go back, you '11 see him, and tell him you 've seen me, And that I'm faring badly, as surely 3'ou must see. And tell him that a little help by way of ready cash, Would be not onl}- timeh', but save me from a crash." Aroused the drummer's sympath)', he said, " Let 's have a drink." A very queer suggestion, you may incline to think. But spurned not was the offer; quite ready to comply. This impecunious merchant, for he was getting dry. To brim were filled the glasses, and then the so- cial clink. In token of good fellowship, and then the luscious drink. "I'm glad I met you, stranger, you'll see my brother John, And tell him when you see him how well I 'm getting on." Once more the inclination came o'er the old man's brain To taste the nectar that, could bring prosperity again. PROGRESSIVE HAPPINESS. 26 1 The drummer saw the quiver that sat upon his lip, And ordered two more bumpers from which they long did sip. The old man's tongue was loosened, he told of what success He met with in his business, which never could grow less. " I 'm glad I met you, stranger, please do n't forget to tell My brother when you see him, I 'm doing very well." The drummer, so delighted with the progress he had made In fostering prosperity and adding to his trade, The third time called for toddies a little extra strong. That met with quick consumption, and did not tarry long. "I'm glad I met you, stranger; my brother John you '11 see, And tell him if he needs some help, just make his draft on me." WILL CARLETON. r^ID heaven send Will Carleton down to draw *-^ the screen apart That else wonld hide the fountains from which our motives start, Then holding up the motives, to look through them to scan The sort of stuff they 're made of, and in what sort of man ? He tells some curious stories which make us some- times doubt If his imagination has not conjured them all out; And all is done so cleverly you fairly know the things Are heart and soul of real life of which Will Carle- ton sings. Now if he lived among us here, instead of Brook- lyn town, There is not any kind of doubt but just the same renown Would still attach unto his name, and everything he said Would, like the rose where'er it blows, the same sweet odors shed. 262 WILL CARLETON. 263 So many things he 'd write about that do not seem so strange, For just such things are happening within our vis- ion's range ; How many are the touching scenes that never find a pen To anchor them to memory and make them live again ! But he 's a kind of Midas whose touch turns into gold Each little scrap of history that by his muse is told; And you have bits of story as thrilling as they 're true That Carleton might take up and write, and clothe in garments new. Have you not known poor cripples warmed, and hungry people fed By hands of kind and gentle touch of whom it might be said : "Inasmuch as to these little ones they held the cooling cup, They did it to the Holy One whom God hath lifted up?" The widows and the fatherless are not forgot we know, For there are good Samaritans that still go to and fro, 264 BUGLES AND BELLS. Who journey not the risky paths that lead to Jer- icho, And those who need to find them have little ways to go. The Christmas tide is not the time they squander all the care And sympathy and little change that they may have to spare, But day by day, and week b}^ week, in all the full round year They 're on the watch for worthy want to bring to it good cheer. Will Carleton's rhymes might smoothly run and so adorn a tale When others' lines in such attempts could nothing else than fail ; And that 's the reason why I say. Thank God that Carleton lives, And, through his homely forms of speech, a glimpse of heaven gives. MOSES ALLEN'S PRAYER. AN INCIDKNT IN THK OHIO PENITENTIARY: IN ANTICIPA- TION OF THANKSGIVING-DAY. nrHE convicts in the prison upon the Sabbath- * day For worship had assembled, to sing, exhort, and pray. The chaplain with much unction God's blessing did implore For soul as well as body, and many favors more. Then followed songs and praises, while many a shipwrecked soul Sought earnestly and fervently for heavenly con- trol. Thanksgiving-day approaching, afforded some a theme For beatific vision and fondly-cherished dream. At length uprose Mose Allen, a son of Afric's strand, Whose thoughts were on the future — the day so near at hand. The happiness he prayed for was not beyond the veil, But much this side the pearly gates, if but his praj^er prevail. 265 266 BUGLES AND BELLS. His face was dark as midnight, his speech smacked of the days When all his race no other knew in sentence, word, or phrase. " O Lord," he said, " the rich may have their turkey if they like, Or oysters from the ocean, or from the stream the pike; Or pheasant from the forest, or venison or bear, Terrapin or tenderloin, and everything that 's rare; While they have these luscious things, good Lord, do not forget To send this forlorn nigger some food that 's better yet. Send 'possum. Lord, the sweetest, the richest, and the best That 's found in all creation from east to farthest west; And this the way to cook him: first scald off all the hair, Then scrape him till he glistens, then clean him out with care. Then hang him out for freezing, two nights — now do n't forget. That makes his meat more tender, and sweeter too, you bet ; Then put him in the oven and bake him long and slow. And baste him very often, till very brown, you know. MOSES ALLEN'S PRAYER. 267 Then take some sweetentaters and lay them by his side, And let them cook in gravy till they, are well done fried ; Then while he 's hot and juicy, put salt and pep- per on, And bring him to this nigger to make his dinner on." And this was his conclusion, what more was there to say? Thus his invocation ended : " For only this I pray, And if my prayer be granted, no other earthly bliss Can be of any consequence compared with such as this." At first was indignation upon the chaplain's face ; Then followed much confusion engendered not of grace ; For all the prisoners wondered that such a prayer could be, And that Old Moses Allen should utter such a plea. Then ended was devotion, and to his cell of gloom Each convict slowly wended as though 't were to his tomb; In spite of spirit longings— in spite of Sabbath- day, The mirth, born of the morning, kept driving grief away. 268 BUGLES AND BELLS. Mose Allen's prayer was answered, nine times I heard them say — Nine 'possums came in answer before Thanksgiv- ing-day. They cooked them as directed, with vegetables galore, And such a scene was witnessed as rarely seen be- fore. Two guests had Moses Allen about his festal board, To taste with him the sweetness within these 'pos- sums stored; Two brothers of his color who also had a taste For food so fitly chosen, and none should go to waste. And so the}^ had their pictures, together with their feast Spread out before them, taken ; Mose Allen as their priest Essayed to ask a blessing, impatient to begin The feast that he had prayed for, yet scarcely hoped to win. And then the}^ sang a ditty, and this was the re- frain That startled sleepy memories into life again : " Carve dat 'possum, O! carve dat 'possum — And carve him to de heart!" MOSES ALLEN'S PRAYER. 269 'Tis sweet to drop the curtain upon a scene so rare, This act that was a travesty upon the power of prayer, Mose Allen not to heaven that weird petition sent, But out into a scoffing world his invocation went. The answer came from places where any uttered prayer Was held but in derision — no reverence was there. Mose Allen, you have taught us that men more ready are To heed the light and frivolous than solemn things by far. Yet few will blame the ardor with which you sought your need. For deep within your nature implanted was the seed By Him who has implanted the germs that in us all Grow into life and blossom and every thought forestall. WHY HE WENT TO THE SHOW. T^HIS incident relates to Dr. Gabriel McNeal *^ who died about forty 3"ears ago at his home in Jackson County, having lived to a ripe old age in love, peace, and honor with all who knew him. He was eminent as a physician and surgeon ; as a citizen, blameless; and as a Christian, exemplary and devout. Seventy 3^ears ago, it may have been, when the rules of the Church to which he belonged were more strictly enforced than at present, he was seriously arraigned before the Church tribunal for an infraction of the rules. The earnestness of the prosecution and the sim- plicity of his defense are set forth in the follow- ing report of the trial, in which it was not in- tended to reveal the doctor's identity; but since many have asked to whom it referred, the true name is given : Not far remote in early days. There lived a man quaint in his ways, And quite within remembered ken Of present well-known living men. Myself can very well look back Along the line of mem'ry's track. And very near the farthest end Appears the form of Doctor Friend. 270 WHY HE WENT TO THE SHOtV. 27 1 Now, Friend in name and deed was he, A doctor of no small degree; For he had friends and farms and fame, And better still a priceless name. He preached when preacher was away, And daily was his wont to pray, And everywhere the impress ran. He was a true and godly man. A local preacher then was he ; He served his place acceptably. His life was blameless, so all said ; His deeds, like pearls on golden thread, Were often praised, and safety lay In walking in the doctor's way; No censure lit upon his head To stay, was often truly said. How few there be who do not stray Some time in life from out the way That some call virtue to its lack, And haply strike some other track. Alas! the day that such as he Should victim be of such decree! He went to see a circus show — Down went his name to levels low. The fathers of the Church convened And called him to the bar. He. seemed Undaunted, unconcerned, and cool. As though arraignment were the rule. 2 72 BUGLES AND BELLS. They asked him what he had to say, That he should break the rules that way? He said, with childlike innocence, " I did not mean to give offense. I rode into the town one day. And everywhere along the way I pictures saw of painted men, Who entered in the lion's den." "All that we know," the fathers said, " But what excuses can you plead? The moral standard we must keep Uplifted high and rooted deep." "As I was saying, then," said he, "As I went into town, you see, I saw a picture of a horse Cavorting round the narrow course. And on his back a pretty maid Stood up and danced, and there she staid." "Well, well," the fathers said once more, " You told us just as much before. Now, how can you justify Your conduct, which you don't deny?" "As I was saying, as I went To town my eyes were often bent On pictures big as life that showed How women danced and gayly rode. With just one foot on horseback bare. The other whirling in the air." WHY HE WENT TO THE SHOW. 273 "Yes, yes," the fathers holding sway, "What have you of yourself to say?" "As I was saying," then said he — " Permit me to complete my plea — As I was going to the town, I saw some pictures of the clown. He seemed to smile from ear to ear. And in a hundred shapes appear." "Shame, shame, for very shame!" they cry, "Why did you go? Do tell us why." "As I was saying, there were swings, And flying men who had no wings, Who seemed to go from side to side As swiftly as a bird might glide." "All that we know, but once again. Be frank with us, your fellow-men, And tell us what you have to say. That you should break the rules that way?" "As I was saying, as I went These pictures wrought to such extent Upon my own credulity. That I resolved that I would see Just for myself if it were so. And I made up my mind to go, — The reason why I '11 now tell you, I thought these things they could not do." And so it was, I 've understood, The fathers changed their wrathful mood ; 18 274 BUGLES AND BELLS. They let him sing and preach and pray- In his accustomed, fervent way ; And many yet remain to bless His candor and his righteousness ; Nor spangled maid nor striped clown Could serve to cast the doctor down. A PHANTOM QUEST; OR, THE BACHELOR'S BANQUET. T TPON a cool December night ^ Some seven spirits stalked abroad, And peered into the darkling light For kindred spirits, and were awed By what the}^ saw. Then each began To ask his fellow what might be The end and purposes of man, His mission and his destiny. Repeatedly they asked, and still No answer came that satisfied The aching void they could not fill Within their hearts so sore and dried, By years of joy themselves denied; So from the depths their spirits cried To other depths to them allied, Imploring help, and light beside, Upon a question that seemed pent Up in their souls, and fiercely burned To find some satisfying vent, A guerdon that their zeal had earned. Their wanderings were met with grief. No solace from their vigils came; From each in vain each sought relief, To be denied. But still the same 275 276 BUGLES AND BELLS. Desire held each one in suspense Of what might be the happy quest And its result and consequence, They hoped to be supremely blest. They sought the presence of the fair, They opened up their souls' desire; They fain would lay aside their care, And yet would fan the inward fire That burned but could not yet consume The tender longings that held sway, And hope was born, and there was bloom Where hope had sent his shining ray. But still "the Corridors of Time" Were called to witness and reveal What never has been hid. Sublime Is just the word! and his appeal Fell cold before the phantom feet That still pressed forward to discern What lessons did this sage repeat That they should profit by and learn ; Resuming once again, he taught Them that their lives were lived in vain Unless they dared do as they ought, Let pleasure come, or follow pain. The time for action was at hand, And he proceeded to intrench Himself and his entire command Behind a wall of splendid French, A PHANTOM QUEST. 277 And thus did he expound the law That governs Hke for like; said he, "'Twas ever thus; Eriit go Bragh Will always seek affinity. Sic Semper Tyraniiis. Let go Traditions and be like a man, Stand for your rights, and blow for blow Your motto be. Win if you can. Similia, Siniilibus Curantur , Holds good in all you do in love. Your joys without will be but scanter; Weigh well my words and so improve. Take courage, boys, and on Life's sea Still keep your sails well set and trim. For surely you will find to be Some lovely maidens in the swim. So furl your sail and drop your net And use your choicest skill to scoop Some lovely creature from the wet, And keep yourself from out the soup." With French and Latin well equipped He made an end of his advice. The phrases ran and fairly skipped From off his tongue just in a trice. But still "the Corridors of Time" Were called to witness and reveal What never had been hid; Sublime Is just the word, and his appeal 278 BUGLES AND BELLS. Fell cold before the phantom feet That still pressed forward to discern What lessons might this sage repeat That they should profit by and learn. And then a man of legal cares Was called, that haply he might tell How with the fair a fellow fares, And what the signs that he fare well. Alas ! he said, a better lot They now enjoyed than pastures new; And for the moment he forgot His spouse was near. His sally threw Confusion into camp and field Until by word and phrase adroit He gracefully came round to yield. And showed his skill in the exploit. A clergyman arose and said That he was there the knot to tie For any who might wish to wed And enter Life's sobriety. A lawyer quickly gained his feet ; "And I am ready to procure Divorce, should any indiscreet Resort to Hymen's armature." A doctor- schooled and skilled and wise Was called upon to state the way His wisdom would mayhap advise The ghost of doubt to drive away. He said that he had not found out The peaceful paths for which they sought, He soon might enter on the route A PHANTOM QUEST. 279 So full of apprehension fraught. And then he tried, and tried in vain To make believe he did digress, And that to hina there was no bane Pent up* in single blessedness. The ladies rallied to the scene And every heart was quickly stirred, For surely there would intervene Some swift and sure and potent word. One said, "The burning question ask, Go ask it at some lady's shrine; Thou 'It be rewarded for thy task. Some answer will be surely thine." Another said, " I know, but keep The precious secret in my breast; Would any know, he first may seek, And I know how to do the rest." And so these phantoms into night All vanished, sadder than before ; They Still bewail their hopeless plight, And shrink from what might be in store. We saw them fix their weary gaze Adown the "Corridors of Time," They seemed to them to be ablaze With glory and with sights sublime; They thought they saw posterity, In multitudes, a mighty host. And everything that they could say Was this: "I am thy father's ghost!" FAREWELL TO MR. J. F. TOWELL PRIKND Towell, must you go away? ^ What put you in the notion, lyike Empire's Star, to take 3^our way Almost to Western Ocean? We fondly dreamed that you would stay, No matter what inducement, And help us keep the wolf away, — That innocent amusement. We '11 miss you, we who stay at home, Whom Poverty still lashes And still decrees we ne'er shall roam, But sit among our ashes. Had we the means to get away, We, too, might take the journey ; There 's little comfort so to stay By proxy or attorne3^ We hope your eyes will see for us Some beautiful possession ; Should you become a rusticus, We plead for the succession; But have no thought that we do dare To intercept relations; We can not hope to be your heir, No such insinuations. 280 FAREWELL TO MR. J. F. TO WELL. 28 1 I mean if we should westward stray In search of better grazing, With wealth enough to get away, — A thing somewhat amazing. We 've known you, O, it seems so long ! It seems almost forever ; But we are all so very young, And you so very clever. It seems we 've known you everywhere. And everywhere have tried you, And always found you true and square To every one beside you. We 've met you in the Board of Trade, And heard your resolutions, How money might be spent or made; Indorsed we your conclusions. We 've met you where the wise ones meet, So called the City Fathers, Whose measures always so discreet. Still gave us many bothers. We 've met you where some honest man Had into trouble fallen. You helped him consummate a plan To paj^ the utmost farthing. And then there came up from your heart A great big kind of bubble, That seemed to serve at once to start That man right out of trouble. 282 BUGLES AND BELLS. We 've met you at the social board Where jests around were passing, And never could we well afford Your presence should be missing. We 've seen you — but we need not be So very circumstantial, You have your rights as well as we, And every other man shall. To go wherever he may please, So to himself 'tis pleasing. To rest or toil or irk or ease. Or be it only sneezing. We '11 miss you when the hat goes round. That strict religious duty. And something less will there be found. Of consecrated booty. We '11 miss you when we come to raise A sort of contribution, To sound abroad our city's praise. Our own pet institution. We '11 miss you when we want a man To stand forth in the battle. To strike as only true men can. Not crouch like driven cattle. We '11 miss you in our Reading Club When our good constitution Will need another turn and rub. And b3^-laws need solution. FAREWELL TO MR. J. F. TO WELL. 283 We '11 miss you when we Hamlet play, And Hamlet needs Horatio To help him keep the ghost away, Though call it up he may though. We '11 miss you when the banquet 's spread, Should ever we thus gather, As in times past, and hallowed Will be your name forever. We know not whom we '11 miss the most, The father or the daughter ; You who so oft have been our host, — To be such hostess taught her. You made us feel like well-worn shoes (Excuse a phrase so homely, For such we 're oft impelled to use To picture things so comely). Now, well-worn shoes are easy said To be, and so delightful, And so you see 'tis nothing bad We mean, the phrase is rightful. We can not tell how many ways We '11 miss your kindly faces ; But more than all in future days We '11 miss your sunny graces. As far as east is from the west Must be our separation; You bear with us our love the best That knows no alteration. 284 BUGLES AND BELLS. O'er Alpine heights and snowy peaks A subtle language ever speaks, A language, too, that kindred hearts May understand in all its parts. Its nouns and verbs and adjectives, And all the life that in it lives; And when you see the morning glow In tints of soft vermillion, know That from our hearts there shines for you From east to west such lovelit hue; And when we see the western sky. We'll think we catch your loving eye, And wonder not if still the while We think we see your well-known smile. 'T is thus 't will be in memory Till time with us shall cease to be, — Till we the unknown sea shall cross, Whose waves erelong shall o'er us toss. But we have hope, and that consoles And serves an anchor to our souls That when we reach the other side Friends with friends shall e'er abide, Not sundered by an east and west, But gathered to our common rest; A place where many mansions be, Where Christ shall say, "Come, dwell with me." THE UNACCOMPLISHED TASK. T CAN not write the chronicles, ^ About the olden times; I can not walk the paths again That lie through Auld lang syne. There be too many graves along The border of the way, And withered are so many flowers That once were bright and gay. So many faces that were young, And some were wond'rous fair, Now show the blush of youth no more, But much the lines of care. However much their hearts may yearn To live these seasons o'er, Through sorrow all have had to learn Such seasons come no more. I 've tried so much to call to mind The scenes of other days On which a genial sunlight shone With soft and loving rays. 'T is like the mist through which I peer With eager loving gaze. But at my bidding reappear- Few glimpses of those days. 285 286 BUGLES AND BELLS. We met at stated times to read Selections that with care Were chosen from a hundred books Or more, I do declare. There were not books enough in town To cater to our greed, And where the author of renown Whose books we did not read? And when the reading hour was done And business hastened through. There came a carnival of fun And games both old and new. There was not any one so staid, As you remember well. Who did not in the chorus join. And help the song to swell. Conundrums oft were passed around, And crude and homely rhymes, And merry laugh did oft abound — A little loud betimes. 'Twas then the hand of friendship gave Its answer warm and kind To greetings that were well indorsed By heart and soul and mind. The greetings full of right good-will And gladness unrepressed — These things, I still remember well — Were had for every guest. THE UNACCOMPLISHED TASK, 287 Then is it strange that this appears To be the pleasing part That struggles uppermost to tell Its annals to my heart? They tell of gentle tones that still We oft are pleased to hear, And faces that we looked on then Still young and fair appear. We listen to the tones that thrilled Our souls, and pathos lent To every thought their words expressed In breathings eloquent. I well remember how the fruit Was always passed around, When rosy apples and good cheer Did also much abound. If there was more of the repast Than just the fruit beside, The constitution, you '11 observe, Was slightly set aside. O how this instrument was strained When ices, cakes and cheese. And oysters fit to feed a king, Our palates oft did please ! But not a man was ever found To murmur or protest ; We liked that style of boarding round And living on the best ! 288 BUGLES AND BELLS. Our constitution could survive Such trifles now and then, As nonsense often is enjoyed By e'en the best of men. The conscientious ladies tried To bring about reform, But ever with each other vied To furnish viands warm. We 've not forgotten " Little Nell," As she was once portrayed. Nor yet the blind girl, as she seemed. Who dollies' costumes made; She since has entered on the path That seemed to her the way On which the angels came and went In heavenly array. Perhaps you sometimes bring to mind How "Hamlet" walked the stage, And shuddered at his father's ghost. And died amid his rage ; " Polonius " giving such advice As we do well to heed ; "Ophelia" plucking at the flowers Whose language she might read. How "Shylock" clamored for his own, And Portia's tender plea; "Antonio's" readiness to yield The fleshy penalty. THE UNACCOMPLISHED TASK. 289 How ** Jessica" could money spend, And crush the " Shylock's " heart; The readiness "Ivorenzo" had To take the daughter's part. The banquets given in great state Are often thought of yet ; The gallantry of sundry beaux The ladies don't forget; The "picnics" that the law prescribed Were jolly to be sure, But now I speak from hearsay, and My knowledge is obscure. I wish that we could only send A message out to-night, As full of love and right good-will As heaven is of light, To every soul that ever formed A link within this chain We call the "Portsmouth Reading Club," And woo it back again. But some have gone beyond the stars — No more will they return ; But we to them, on stricken hearts. Sweet incense still may burn. 'T is sweet to think that we have walked Beside them here below, And that the same companionship May yet be ours to know. 19 290 BUGLES AND BELLS. I often think if we would be Consistent when we sing, We ought to take the good advice Ourselves are offering. If we would " know each other there," A little kindness here Would help acquaintance very much In that celestial sphere. Kind hearts are coins when they are stamped With sanction of the heart ; But words won't stock Affection's Bank, Sincerity apart ; The spurious coin is set aside More quickly than we know, And how much less 'twill stand the test Up there than here below. Then do not ask me that I write In chronicled array The doings of our dear old Club That we enjoy to-day; But let me talk as old men may When children cluster round, And ask for stories old and new In which old men abound. I can not look across the years Without a tinge of grief; But notwithstanding there are tears. Smiles stand out in relief. THE UNACCOMPLISHED TASK. 29 1 I dare not speak of years to come, But I can pray and wait, And trust that opened wide shall be For us the Pearly Gate ! THE BAFFLED PROPHECY. A VOICE came floating through the air, ^*' I need not tell you whence nor where, Which bade me write and thus declare What may transpire the coming year. You w^ell may think I stood aghast: The future is a domain vast, Nor dare I venture to forecast Her fruitful stores however near. Again the voice the silence broke, And said, "The Muses please invoke, And then with kindly, gentle stroke. You may assume the task is done." I only could again protest The Muses' wings will not take rest Whatever longings fill my breast; They 're not so lightly wooed and won. The voice replied, " Do not refuse ; I only ask you to amuse, And therefore summon up the Muse, And speak of things that are to come." It is so hard to answer, "No," In presence of the kindly glow That sits upon a face we know To be of honesty the sum. 292 THE BAFFLED PROPHECY. 293 Then timidly did I reply, " To do this wondrous thing I '11 try, Though not to scan futurity, While I may add to pleasure's feast ;" For though a prophet I might be, And though I could e'en dimly see What is to come, 't were true of me Of prophets I 'm the least. And so I asked the voice to be My angel that should wait on me. And bring me wine, if wine need be. To cheer me in my ordained task. And then she bade me truly tell If all should go or ill or well Within our club, and thus the spell Was put upon me like a mask. She bade me see with other eyes. And speak of visions that might rise Before me, even though surprise O'erwhelm and daze my feeble sense. With pencil in my toil-worn hand, I looked athwart an unknown land On things I could not understand, And I ventured to commence. As once upon the mount was stayed An arm uplifted and arrayed To take a life, so I, dismayed, Cried out in grief, " I can not see! 294 BUGLES AND BELLS. The things that lie within the year Whose happy birth is almost here, May not to mortal eyes appear, And surely not to such as me." The voice implored me yet to stay ; There might be lions in the wa}^ But chained, and safely I might stray At will in her unknown domain. My horoscope she bade me turn To Pleiades, and there discern The signs that in their luster burn For men, forever to remain. The seven stars sped on their way, Nor paused a moment e'en to say A single word. I rued the day I ever dared to give consent To enter on a doubtful task, Because a friendly voice might ask Me to assume a prophet's mask However kindly to me lent. How easily I might portray The happenings that any da}^ Or any year might in its way Hold always in its varied store ! I well could say there will not lack Of sorrows many, and their track Will cross each life and then J(iow back As in the days and years before. THE BAFFLED PROPHECY. 295 I too might say, for there is room, The orange-tree next year will bloom, And bride shall be, and so bridegroom, And joy o'erflow the blissful cup ; And there will be the pristine kiss That lovers prize with all its bliss; 'Twill be bestowed, and not amiss The nectar that they gladly sup. The painful things that always be, That come to all, to you and me, Will come again and all shall see Their blasting and their fatal blight. But nameless now the brooding ills, 'T is worry that more often kills Than maladies that doctors' pills Are said to cure almost at sight. I have no doubt but there will stray From out our fold and go away Some worthy friend ; and then we may Do just as we have done before : We '11 speed and bless the parting guest. And wish him in his future quest For joy, whatever earth holds bCvSt Of honor, lucre, love, or lore. And shadows o'er our way shall fall. As shadows do o'er one and all, And there may rise a stubborn wall We think we have not strength to pass; 296 BUGLES AND BELLS. But there will be a voice to say, " Right onward, pilgrim, take thy way ! Who heeds my voice shall never stray, Nor find the heavens o'er him brass." Perplexed and stranded on the sands That seas wash up from many lands, Our barque shall beat, and weary hands Shall reef and furl the shattered sails; Our signal guns shall send afar, And there will shine from out some star The signal that though every spar Is lost, love's anchor never fails. An anchor that will surely hold Where ropes of sand are ropes of gold, It loses naught in growing old, But mellows as does long-stored wine; And may our club put to the test This quality not strained at best, This charity, the loveliest Of gems in all life's well-searched mine. Bring wine, good angel, there is need, The wine of gladness, not of greed, For peace and concord intercede; And may next year be blithe and bright With gems that in their way outshine The stones from out Golconda's mine, All gathered to our well-loved shrine ; Which we in peace surround to-night ! THE FIFTEENTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE PORTSMOUTH READING CLUB. OCTOBER 13, 1885. T SAW a little boy at play, *^ That is, I see him now, As mem'ry lightens up the way Adown the past, and how I see in all his whims and ways The earnest of his future days, The things that please, and yet annoy, I see myself that very boy ! I saw a slender lad at school; He spelled and read and played, And sometimes broke the teacher's rule, — Quite often, I'm afraid! I see him sliding down the hill, And playing pranks with hearty will. And now and then a little sad, As I think now ; I was that lad ! I saw a youth, who, growing tall, Was bashful, not with boys, But when with girls, I now recall To keep his equipoise Was more than ordinary task, And should you stop me here and ask To say in solemn, very truth, • ''Who now?" I'd say, *' I was that youth' 297 298 BUGLES AND BELLS. I saw that youth some taller grown ; He had a pensive air, Or, was it verdant? I must own It would that color bear. An anxious look, he wore, 'tis true, Sometimes indulged in being blue, But rallied oft 3^ou may be sure, And it was I who was demure. I look again, and he had learned More lessons than a few, And in life's battlefield had won Such plaudits as were due. The friends of other days became As aliens some, and some in name Were onh^ friends, while others grew But more endeared, for they were true. Again the years have sped apace. And brought, in their own time. The cares of manhood and its place, — A privilege sublime! I saw him then sit down with you To talk of what we ought to do. And form a compact that to-day Stands firm, and may it ne'er decaj^! Another stage of life is run, Another five years sped; And some with us who thus begun Have from our presence fled. PORTSMOUTH READING CLUB. 299 We think we see their genial smile, We think we hear their tones the while; We know their smiles are hid from sight, Their voice is hushed, for it is night! 'T is night, but there remains a day When smiles and tones awake. And night on wings shall fly away, And harmony shall break The silence that shall still prevail, Till we as well shall pass the veil That hides from view the loved and lost, While we are still by tempest tossed. Go with me still another space In life's uneven way; Another goal to make the race. Ten years have passed away; Ten years that bore their changes still, — Ten years that did not fail to fill Some cups with joy and some with woe; How else could ten years come and go? We met as we meet here to-night About a banquet spread ; There beamed from every face a, bright And well-pleased look. We said Such things as we shall say again. And oft repeat, as a refrain Is sung when ends a merry song To waft it further still along. 300 BUGLES AND BELLS. Withal there was a plaintive chord, An all-subduing tone, As fell the sadl}^ spoken word Of those alread}^ gone. Their names were written in their place ; We saw the name, but saw no face, And yet when spoken was the name. From out the name no answer came. What could we then but bow the head, Awhile let silence reign? The time and place were hallowed And brought the living gain. Henceforth so numbered be our days That unto wisdom's better ways They ma}^ forever be applied. To which our hearts "Amen" replied. I scarcely dare recount the years That since have intervened; I see them studded with our tears, I see them scarred and seamed. For there were those we ill could spare Whose spirits now are in the air; Who knows but that they hover near? Who knows but that they now are here ? Now fifteen years have sped their way. We bind them in a sheaf; , We put them in a shock to-day They hold our joy and grief; PORTSMOUTH READING CLUB. 3OI Within the shock is golden grain, The fruitage of the early rain And later moisture and the dew, The harvest is for me and you. As years go on, and growing old Our club is said to be, It scarcely need to us be told That growing old are we. Our inner natures still rebel, Yet every sense confirms it well, Our hearts are young, and therefore we As well as erst can hear and see. Our hearing may be better kept, But sight is less at home ; She wandered slightly while we slept And dim has she become. We still can recognize our friends. By sight accomplish many ends. But when we want to closely scan, We use our glasses, every man. The ladies, bless them, are endowed With everlasting youth; Nor growing old can be allowed, And I afiirm the truth ; Dear ladies, you are just as young As when we altogether sung The praises of some "Auld lang syne," Referring to some former time. 302 BUGLES AND BELLS. If ever you should wear a glass, 'T would be from some defect ; Its use may very often pass For brilliant intellect ; Age steals apace, but makes no sign, And boldly crosses manhood's line, But leaves the ladies still as young As when the songs of 3^outh they sung. Say not that I a fiction weave, And tell a tale untrue ; I still affirm and will believe These very things of you. Now do not think to catch me here In what to some one might appear At best a doubtful compliment. For every word I said I meant. I think you all look very young. Enjoying life's hey-day; The sweetest song you ever sung You still might sing to-day. And though I know I 'm growing old. And treading on the unknown wold The future spreads before my feet, I render you the praise that 's meet. But I believe that there awaits. When here your work is done, « Abundant entrance at the gates Where heaven is begun. PORTSMOUTH READING CLUB. 303 God grant that it begin below, And on each and all bestow The earnest of a better day, When things of earth have passed away ! Some day a banquet will be spread, And we shall gathered be To eat, I trust, the living bread, A loving company. With those already gone before Who wait upon the. farther shore, We '11 join our hands and sing our songs. And render praise where praise belongs. And by and by the Crystal Sea Shall part its waves, and we Shall pass its bounds and ever be From earthly cares set free. But while we linger on this side Its ebbing, flowing, restless tide. We '11 join our songs and look away To what shall be our " perfect day." LIFE'S PROMISE AND PROSPECT. T STAND on the threshold of life, *^ And look down the broad central aisle ; I behold its bustle and strife, But the prospect pleases the while. By the light of the grand chandelier, So well christened Hope, I can see, Though dimly it oft may appear, A fair reservation for me. 'Tis thus to each mortal, I 'm told, Is the vision in youth's early years ; But the house of the soul growing old, The luster and glare disappears. But better be happy in dreams Than never be happy at all ; If the future is not what it seems, It surely has little of gall. The bitter lies most in the past In deeds that no pleasure recall, In words that in anger were cast, And hang like weights on the soul. 304 LIFE'S PROMISE AND PROSPECT. 305 The shadows I see on the wall, Perhaps the handwriting of Fate; But I have the assurance of all That all find them true soon or late. The past I can plainly discern, Its problems are mostly made plain; But small is the light that in turn It casts on the future's domain. Youth seems like the dawn of a day When the sky 's with glory pierced through, While beneath are the flowers of May, Bedecked with bright jewels of dew. A silence then reigns in the breast, Not disturbed with the discord of care. While songs of joy, in melody dressed. Still warble their harmony there. But the blush of the morning, I 'm told. Travels not very far with the day, Nor even the flowers can hold The dew gems from stealing away. The song that at first was so clear Is lost in the buzz of the throng, Is only heard in memory's ear. And memory bears it along. 20 3o6 BUGLES AND BELLS. The morning seems scarcely begun Before it is high shining noon ; Our race is no less swiftly run, And manhood o'ertakes us too soon. And e'en while we bask in the shade Of the tree our hands nurtured best, The sun, we find, no halting has made, But has hurried on to the west. Then comes the night, when labor is done ; The fruit of the toil of the day Is gathered and garnered in one — Even so life passes away. The lesson I thus would convey, If need be, is briefly expressed : To work well while yet it is day, The reward shall be a sweet rest. DEPARTED COMRADES. C^ ONE are the days of weeping ; ^■^ So fervently we pray In the bosom of God's keeping Are those who passed away. Passed in life's bright morning, Before the gentle dew In mist to heaven returning, Had bidden earth adieu. They did not strive for glory, Or yet for earth's renown. Or mention in its story, Or dream of victor's crown. They died to save a country From devastation's blight, A people from the thralldom Of servitude's fierce might. Against the vaunted boastings That lurid made the air, Those brave and valiant heroes Their bosoms dared to bare, — Yet raised their hands for smiting, And proved their hearts of steel, And shrank not from the fighting That sought a country's weal. 307 3o8 BUGLES AND BELLS. Gone are the tens of thousands Who marshaled on the field ; To battle for their hearthstones, They swore they would not yield. They died with hopes as cherished As those within 3^our breast, And yet undaunted, perished ; Be theirs a peaceful rest ! ON RECEIVING A BOUQUET OF FLOWERS. ACKNOWLEDGMENT. A MEASURED word may much express; ^**- However much, it still is less Than what an act so kindly done Can do. 'T is thus our hearts are won. A fitly spoken word may be A silver picture, and we see Its beauties one by one unfold — And then its setting of pure gold. And 3^et the word can not excel That touch and act that speak so well, That language might be wdioUy dead If words alone were merely said. But here we have both bud and bloom, And lovely tint and sweet perfume ; You gave us flowers, while we to 3^ou Give thankful words, while more is due. 309 A WORD IN SEASON— ON THE SEA- SONS. /^LD Winter is a jealous thing, ^^ And little cares he whether Any smiles are left for Spring, So he gets in the weather. When everybody said, "How warm! Our Spring has leaped to Summer ! Jack Frost can do us no more harm Against this ardent comer;" Jack shook his sides and blew his breath And said: "Don't be so certain; Don't count too surely on my death, I 'm just behind the curtain." The people laughed and took to gauze. And cast aside their woolen Underclothes and overcoats, because There is no use in foolin'. Then, like Ixion at the wheel. Jack always has his inning; And from his whims there 's no appeal, Not now, nor from beginning. 310 A WORD IN SEASON. 311 That fellow with the frosted hair Is ready with his warning ; Spring would better have a care How she puts on adorning; For Jack will sit upon her lap Despite her protestations, And teach her not to set her cap For any more relations. For after Summer comes a Fall ; It is the law of seasons ; The same thing follows pride, and all For sundry occult reasons. That Winter, Summer, Fall, and Spring May settle to their notion, But Jack, the envious, jealous thing, Has caused all this commotion. JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. ''''The poems here at home! — who'' II write 'etn down Jes as they air — in country and in town .^" TAMES Whitcomb Riley, tell us why ^ You have the least concern About the rhymes of present times That ought to glow and burn Within the bosom leal and true To customs we enjoy, And all the fads that fashion adds To brighten or to cloy. We do not need to sing of greed That grasps at all in sight. That ugly sin has alw^ays b^en A wrong the muse would right. Love be our theme? No, 'twas the dream Begun with Eden's bliss. In every age, on every page, 'T was written as in this. The loves of old have well been told i^nd we can but repeat The dulcet strain o'er and again With measures half so sweet. Dear Riley, we 've no cause to grieve That we are called to view The passing scenes, the shadows, sheens, — The old as well as new. 312 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 313 For we may sit where Age has lit Her torch to light the past, And hear the lore long known before In form of beauty cast. No one can tell of all so well As you have thus far told, And all agree that yours shall be The coronet that gold Can not possess, and none the less The prize is your award; No fitter hands could wield the bands Than yours, most noble bard. A laurel wreath we do bequeath To place upon your brow, Because your song and name belong Together here and now. WE HOLD OUR APRONS. IN RESPONSE TO WLl,t, IvAMPTON'S ANNOUNCEMENT TO THE PORTSMOUTH READING CLUB THAT HE WOULD TAKE HIS FLIGHT TO PORTSMOUTH. r^KAR Lampton, we thank j^ou for coming this ^-^ way, And calling a halt, if but for a day; And where should we look but up in the sky To see you approaching? for you are ^o fly. We 've watched you, old fellow, and many a tip We 've had from your pen. You know how to clip The pinions of Folly, and that while she flies. No matter how low or how high in the skies. We 're holding our aprons and looking right up, And waiting to hold you our own loving cup. We 're glad that you pause, rejoiced that you think It about the right thing to stop here and drink. This is the draught that we bid you to quaff: We thank 3'ou so much for making us laugh; We 've thought you as sober as sober could be. And oft we got ready to cry, do you see? You were ever so sober, or seemed so j^ourself, When a sly bit of humor, a fun-loving elf That you had let loose from the tip of your pen. Provoked us to smiling again and again. 314 WE HOLD OUR APRONS. 315 Wherever you go and wherever you stray, We '11 welcome you always when coming this way. Time is propitious in bringing about The good that we long for and can't do without. He evens up things. O would that 't were so ! A good way to think, but better to know. He has done a good thing in bringing j^ou here After seasons have run into many a year. For some of these boys and some of these girls Remember you, Will, when you still wore the curls That your mother, good soul, used to smooth and divide And try to control with commendable pride. And right here it is we pause to inquire If you part your hair now a little bit higher Than the side of your head. That is the wa}^ The most of the young men are doing to-day. Well, that is all right, — some elderly men Are doing the same, we find now and then : We pause to inquire, that we may at sight Know you at once as soon as 3^ou 'light. We 've read of the boy when later a man, We 've laughed at his jokes ; we laugh when we can. For sad news will come on steeds that are fleet, While Joy stays behind with lead on his feet. Our ships sail out on the far-away seas, And their sails still refuse to nurse the home breeze ; 3l6 BUGLES AND BELLS. And their prows turn away, perhaps, to the pole. And their rudders evade our slightest control. Ah! me, I am writing a dirge, when I meant To sing you a song wuth jollit}^ blent. We thank you again and again and again ; We enjoy every word of your merry refrain. We feel like patting the boy on the head, But he is no boy — a stalwart instead. The trophies we bring to lay at your feet Are memories tender and lovino;- and sweet. 'J3 There is only one thing that seems to remain That our cup be as full as it can contain : We long for 3^our coming, O why will 3^ou stay? We cherish yoMX greeting and ferventl}^ P^ay That the hoy that we knew, though now a man grown. May live long and prosper, though he travel alone. He must be lonesome and ought to do better. Find a sweet girl, and woo her and get her. For some of us think that in some fair}^ clime, You will find yourself stranded by Old Father Time; On some friendly shoal, when least you suspect. Your singular views will be hopelessly wrecked, And a pair of bright e3^es will bring 3^ou to bay, And a pair of deft hands will bind 3'ou for aye ; Blest be the bondage, if such you may find. And unspeakable woes, — just leave them behind. IVE HOLD OUR APRONS. 317' You speak of Ambition, and call it a cheat, And Hope, the dear charmer whose Trilby-like feet Are fair to behold, that linger near by However the clouds may frown in the sky. The guerdon of Wealth and Glory, how few Have ever obtained it ! The guerdon for 3'ou Must be the enjoyment that comes from the sight Of faces made brighter and burdens more light. You scatter but smiles while flitting across This sorrow-strewn world, so much of it dross. Hope and iVmbition and you are still friends, Conspiring to compass most laudable ends. And so we rejoice that this trinity Abide as our guest so welcome that we Have only the words of joy on our lips, While each at the loving cup lingers and sips. "All things come to him who patiently waits," But how shall we pass so many locked gates? So many of us must peep o'er the wall For the only faint glimpse accorded at all — Of glory and honor and splendor and such Pleasing things as we long for and covet so much. Ours be the task to abide by our lot, Patient, undaunted, and murmuring not. So often we think the}^ are just in our grasp, But the gates are firm held in Destiny's clasp, From swinging on hinges that may be of gold And leave us outside, outside in the cold. 3l8 BUGLES AND BELLS. Not one of us, Will, who does not look back Through vistas where pleasures and joy did not lack, But they have emerged on deserts of sand Where streams bided not to gladden the land. But still 't is a pleasure to pause and to think That you have still managed to get a full drink Of nectar that flows clear down from the top Of Parnassus to you. You don't let it stop. But send it along to sweeten the cup From which we are drinking, and quite fill it up. We are holding our aprons to help you alight. And welcome, thrice welcome, our greeting to-night. 1895. THE DEATH OF GENERAL HAYES. WHEN DYING, GENERAI^ HAYES SAID, " I KNOW I AM GOING WHERE LUCY IS." T AM drawing near the portal, ^ And see it open wide; I am stepping in the river, And I see the other side. I look back o'er my journey, And the friends of long ago Now pass across my vision As they travel to and fro. All these have gone before me To that mysterious land That I shall soon discover, And where my feet shall stand; And I shall soon be with them, — The friends of long ago — And that a cordial greeting Awaits me there I know. But that which most delights me Is, when I reach that place, That through my new-found vision I '11 gaze on lyucy's face. 319 GREETING AND FAREWELL. T^HKRE are days when the visions before us ^ Are bright as the light of the morn ; When the rays of the stars that are o'er us Enclothe us with light all their own. There is joy in each thing that has motion, And everything seems to have 'soul, If beast or if bird, if air or if ocean, A spirit seems each to control. And then the sweet smile of that spirit That shines right down in the heart Is the boon that we all may inherit And make of our being a part. Our being? Yea more than our being, True living, God grant that it be, That life that shrinks not from his seeing Nor longs from his presence to flee ! The days when the sweet angel whispers The words of virtue and truth, Are those when she stoops down and kisses The brow of innocent youth ; When the days that are evil yet tarry And yet is withheld their dark blight, Ere the time that the burdens we carry Make us long for the coming of night. 320 GREETING AND FAREWELL. 321 I look in your sweet smiling faces, And gladness I see written there By the hand that evermore traces The lines that are graceful and fair. 'Tis the evil of earth that distorts them, And makes them a story to tell That the good angel never intended Within your life's annals should dwell. Even now your hearts are inditing The story that your life shall tell, Your heart is directing the writing — O see that it be written well ! Each pulse-beat a letter is written That time can never efface, Each word is a passport to heaven. Or else to the opposite place. And are we not each one erecting A mansion with words and with deeds, And are we not each one selecting The stones as the building proceeds? Are they pebbles brought up from the valley, And bedded in water and sand ; Or blocks from the cliffs of hard granite That the onset of time shall withstand? I would that your lives were all studded With gems full rich for a crown. That your souls may ever be flooded With light that God sendeth down. 21 322 BUGLES AND BELLS. That your path may be lined with fair flowers Whose odors your coming may greet, That blessings come down in rich showers Till time and eternity meet. This is the greeting I send you, As borne on the wings of a dove: The peace of our Father defend you, Environed about with his love. To meet you, dear friends, will be pleasure, Whenever such meeting may be ; The love I extend in full measure, — I trust such is meted to me. THE END.