IRomance of tbe Soul anb other poems 3obn TH. Marbtne Class _Bl^4:Lbil Book , h S- k>R % ■ CopyrightN"_llii COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. IRomance ot tbe Soul anb other Ipioeme % IH. IHatbinG «ew 3Be&for&, mass. I r tl|? boor, Nrar l^amlrt wlftrt ant lone rtjunrl? h\b esHag, I ©o gtbp olb time-Hrttlera peare of minli; I A aanrtimoniona prfartjrr tangtit life foaff, r Wm poangeltat foaa auotl|er kinli, j ^t kntva mattkinh anb roulh plag utell l)ta part, | Aa a bnffoon to pleaae tl|e rongljpat trtm, J Wr mitir pureat tart rearl| a Iiar&pneb Ijeart, (0ft from tta frozen fountain teara l|e breto, ^t Ijati fantaatir riga to auit rarlj play. ^et no anrplite in Ifia large park l|e bore, Aa a reformer t|e i^uh I?ia ofon hiag, ®o aootlf a grief or make tlje bobg aore. IHerr von ITeufel The snow was falling fast o'er hill and dale, December's sun had long since led the day Beyond the western slope, and let the veil Of misty darkness fall along the way. On such Si night a weary traveller strayed. With staff and load he stems the rising gale, He seems a ghost in snowy white arrayed. And slowly jjlods along the turnpike trail. A man of winsome manners, stalwart, brave. Whose three decades of years had left a trace Of life's full measure, yet, his features gave Above it all, a manly, noble face. He'd bivouacked with Boers on Africa's soil, Adventure seemed to be his guiding star. He'd sought the varied scenes of life's turmoil, A titled wanderer with mind bizarre; His scheming brain and pugilistic fist. Were now engaged in an uplifting role. An itinerant, free evangelist. With love or fear his circuit to control, 'Mong hills and dales beyond the middle west, Where nature's richness called ambitious man, To till the soil or for mineral quest. Some peaceful folk, some a boisterous clan. He seeks the haunts of converts to his will, Down in a gulch, near the old red barn store. That liquor sells, from an illicit still, Wliere sign of "Groceries," swings o'er the door. Near hamlet where one lone church did essay. To give the old-time settlers peace of mind; A sanctimonious preacher taught the way. Our evangelist was another kind. He knew mankind and could play well his part. As a buffoon to please the roughest crew. 66 HERE VON TEUFEL Or with purest tact reach a hardened heart, Oft from its frozen fountain tears he drew, He had fantastic rigs to suit each play. Yet no surplice in his large pack he bore, As a reformer he had his own way. To soothe a grief or make the body sore. We find him here bewildered by the storm, He seeks his converts who him now await, To give their testimony of reform. And deeds of valor to their chief relate. No sign of life or welcome beacon light. Shone through the darkness to his searching eye ; He longed for shelter where to pass the night, For o'er his path the snow was drifting high. The time-worn road had almost disappeared. He climbed the roadside and by sheltered stone Gazed down the fields where all the trees were cleared. And dimly through the mist a light there shone. Now o 'er the fields his willing feet fast strode. Guided by the dim light's enticing ray. Until he foimd a house embanked on road, Wherefrom above he found an entrance way. His snowclad mantle to the wind he shook, With stealthy tread he passed through half closed door. And saw beyond a dimly lighted nook. From rays of light shot up through cracks in floor. Now from beneath there came no voice nor sound. In the cold shed he did not care to stay. An entrance from the road must now be found. Adown the steep bank along the turnpike way. He slowly made his way down to the road. And on the portal gave a hearty knock; The casing o'er the doorway dropped its load Of snow; soon the key turned within the lock. ** Come in, come in, don't tarry, you are late!" This was his welcome, plainly understood, He quickly entered puzzled at his fate. As he before a dame of thirty stood. HERR VON TEUFEL 67 His wits seemed gone, he stared like one struck mute, Her smiling face had quickly changed to scorn. In vigorous tones she cried, "Get out, you brute! Begone! Begone! You sneaking tramp, begone ! " He found his tongue and thus he spoke at last, "The bitter storm mthout has forced me here, And now within I've struck a stronger blast. Nought cuts so deeply as a woman's sneer; I'm on a mission, but not for my health, This luggage I would leave here if I may; Place it in yon cupboard, 'tis all my wealth. And if I perish, give it all away. I'll leave the key here hanging on this nail, Your husband's wife must be an honest dame. When he returns you may not tell the tale. How to his door, this night, a wanderer came." Bowing, he withdrew, not a word she said. And clambered up the hill from whence he came Into the loft, directly overhead Where he could view the room and angry dame. Softly he crept to get a look below, To see the true cause of her recent ire, And stretch his weary limbs above the glow Of the hearthstone"'s fitful, smouldering fire. His conscience smote him, yet he did apply To an ample crevice betwixt the beams. Sometimes a listening ear, sometimes an eye. And visions saw that were not empty dreams. His range of view included nearly all. The candle light shone from the window sill, The matron in deep thought leaned 'gainst the wall, Save the raging storm without, all was still. The weary watcher's eyes were prone to close, When to his open ear there came a rap, In time to cease the clamor from his nose And break the chord that tied him to his nap. A man had entered, he was tall and slim. The greeting at the door could not be seen, 68 HERE VON TEUFEL His face was long and meek, Ms dress was trim, And o'er the hearthstone fire his form did lean. While now the watcher did this scene survey, With rapid thought he planned to clear the coast, For to his reason it was plain as day. Without a doubt, this man was not the host. His storm-wet coat was placed by fire to dry, Then from a package, carefully he bore. He took a well cooked fowl, some goods marked ''Rye," And on the table spread a tempting store. All radiant then with broad smiles of cheer. He chucked the comely matron 'neath the chin, And softly speaking, said to her, "My dear. To love your neighbor, surely is no sin." Now seated ready for their evening meal. His fluent speech and smiles seemed born to charm. When suddenly their faces did reveal A look of terror and of dire alarm. "He comes!" she cried, "I hear him at the shed! Let's quickly hide these many things you've brought; He's at the door, he'd stay a week he said. Hide in the closet or you will be caught." Now longed the watcher for more eyes and ears, As through the door a snowclad form appeared, He waits the climax for the host appears — A simple farmer who was slightly beered. He shook and placed his coat across a chair. Then by the hearth he filled his pipe to smoke, And from his forehead brushed his dark brown hair, Seated at ease before the fire, he spoke. " Say, Betsy Jane, I went to stay a week, I hardly 'spected to get back today, M}^ rig broke down while crossin' Dogwood Creek, Right in the stream the devil was to pay. I saw Billy Smith at the Red Barn store. He is agoin' to bring you up some flour. An' all the things you ordered, and some more. He said he'd be here at an early hour. HERE VON TEUFEL 69 ■ Say, Bet, I am no Christian, that you know, '; But nights like these my door is open wide ; To shelter homeless folks from such fierce snow, ■ Beneath John Bentwood's roof they can abide." j Now from above the silent listener heard \ This invitation from the room below; j Quickly to accept, he his limbs bestirred, j Well knowing he would find both friend and foe. Down to the road the watcher made his way. With one eye bound to make up a disguise, j For fear he might his former self betray J When he appeared before Dame Bentwood's eyes. ; His welcome from the host was now assured, ■ With the fair hostess he must be discreet. For woman's plans are always quite obscured, Until the time when they fruition meet. ' It matters not how he was ushered in, ' How the fair dame looked worry and despair, i How Farmer Bentwood's face was all a-grin. When he said, "Stranger, take a Bentwood chair. S'pose you've been knockin' roun' to find some place. An' 'gainst a stonewall you have bumped your mug; It must be some time since you washed your face, ■ You have a look like Billy Smith, the thug." The caller in well chosen words now said, j "Appearances judge not, my noble host; ] For by such this vain world is often led ' The value that's beneath we prize the most. For here tonight I can a tale unfold; i Realities to your wondering eyes, j And grant you favors when your wish is told, " Now as a wizard I can you surprise. I am Herr Von Teufel, a discarded son, i From Goth and Vandal I my lineage trace, j If as your humble guest I seem undone, j Yet Billy Smith can name his time and place." j "Mr. Herman Teufel, I am all broke up, ■ That tough, Billy Smith's in another line. 70 HERR VON TEUFEL Say, Teufel, don't you think it's time to sup? You must make my hard cider do for wine." "Most noble Bentwood, I would fain appease Your seeming appetite and mine as well; Your lovely consort can assist with ease, Shall I to her or you my orders tell?" ''Now, how in thunder do you know my name? I never saw you in my life before, There's somethin' queer about you all the same. Perhaps I've met you at the Red Barn store. If you call her consort who's scowlin' there. It is hard to tell just what she will do; S'pose Teufel, you call up a bill of fare. Then I'll frankly say I've some faith in you." "Your wife, if she desires, can now retire. Yet stay, dear madam, I must first confess My wish to gratify one great desire. To present you with an imported dress. Go, Bentwood, to that cupboard, on the shelf. And bring the travelling pack which there you see, Now unlock it, and satisfy yourself. In your coat pocket you will find the key. There is a dress on top with silken band. My noble host, you see the fruit it bears ; And here's a ring for your fair madam's hand. The madam does not want them she declares." Now from her seat the woman slowly rose. With puzzled look she gazed from man to man, Like a caged tiger in seeming repose. While o'er the room her watchful eyes did scan Each nook and corner from the wall to floor, As if her mind was scheming on some plot, To make her exit through some hole or door. Till soon her senses these few words begot: ' ' This eve a traveller came and left with me That knapsack, saying, he would call again; And on that nail he hung that very key. It was in your pocket; can you explain? HERR VON TEUFEL 71 | ;j John Bentwood, why should you house every tramp ' Whose silly speech seems pleasing to your ear? Mark well my words, in him you'll find a scamp, Unless he leaves, you'll find, 'twill cost you dear. ] If you care one whit for me, turn him out, i Or I shall leave the house this very night ; 1 He is a crazy man, without a doubt, i Born with a gift to kill us all with fright." I ''Crazy? The devil! Take the things, you fool! He can read the stars, penetrate the air. Say, Teufel, she is stubborn as a mule, j She likes chicken, call up the bill of fare." j ■'Dear Bentwood, who can fathom woman's mind, I They seem like angels, when in love, some say; j Wrapped in a cloth behind that chest you'll find 1 A nice baked cliicken, and an empty tray; i Some cake, and wine, and nuts, some goods marked j 'Rye.' , The more you try some women's taste to please, i The more they'll kick, the more they'll scowl and sigh, , The madam, Bentwood, seems quite ill at ease, I have a method, a peculiar knack i For taming horses and such wilful wives, \ 'Tis a strong will that leads them o'er the track, - And, like a horse they know the hand that drives. ; Your wife declines, she will not eat a thing, j The rye, dear Bentwood, must remain uncorked. Your nice, sweet cider will not mock nor sting, ; From your large orchards you must be well stocked ? " ,^ 'That's right, Bentwood, there are but plates for two, ; If Betsy Jane will eat I'll call for more, i Perhaps she likes her chicken in a stew, : I'll call one up before the night is o'er. j You see, my power is equal to my boast, i Its potency by you must be confessed; \ 1 can at will show devil or a ghost, j First ask your wife if she will stand the test ; i Or I can furnish you with winter suits. Just fitted for a stormy night like this ; 72 HERR VON TEUFEL From heavy overcoat to rubber boots, Or make your scowling wife give you a kiss." ' ' Say, Teuf el, are you from the devil 's clan ? The last you named would be the greatest yet; Now, make her come and kiss me, if you can. Please will her to forgive and to forget." * ' Bentwood, this is one favor that you ask, It is the hardest of the lot to do ; I have tackled many a strenuous task, I'd rather tame a horse than tame a shrew. E'er I can give the pleasure you desire, I must remove the cause of the distress; Go to the barn for wood, awliile retire. When you return she will her love confess." ''Dare you Betsy, remain with him alone? Yes, you assent, well that is very queer, The chicken's gone, here take the lucky bone. And wish for love, that love I hold so dear." ' ' Bentwood, in corner of the entry find The rubber boots, the same I promised you ; And overcoat, the tit you need not mind, Hang them in their old place when you are through." "Your husband's gone; I willed you to remain That I might tind of love one lingering ray. One spark — though small — to fan to life again Into a flame to light your homeward way. Woman, you see what I hold near my breast, Now pointed to that closet over there, At present he is my own humble guest, This may contain his powdered bill of fare. A sense of reason I thus mix with fear. Go quickly now, and lock the outside door; Bring me the key, and sit beside me here. Then I will show the one you must abhor. To remove this bandage and wash my face. Will you allow me, please, at yonder sink; HERR VON TEUFEL 73 It may enhance my beauty and my grace, ' I don't expect you'll tell me what you think. i Now, madam, for a task I wish was through, \ Open closet door and let the prisoner out, \ It is the wisest thing that you can do, ■ Lo, here he comes, a shamefaced, graceless lout. j Sit here, Pluto, you heard all I have said, ] The time is short, but you shall hear the rest ; \ First of all, I must decorate your head i With horns and hair, just like a devil dressed, i And then await the coming of our host. ] I'll guarantee at last you'll go scot free, j I must produce a devil or a ghost, i And that devil you are engaged to be. You son of Saturn, you can thank your stars, ] That Bentwood knows not of your sorry plight. For he might have been my star actor Mars, ^ To show his science with marital might." ] " Madam, in cupboard you will find a suit, j The owner of it travelled as a clown, j He must have lost his bearings on some route, j And had to skip the circus and the town. ' ' \ " I 'm ready, Pluto, now to fit your wig, A sardonic smile, please try to invoke, , This goatee and moustache completes the rig. When I have hung around your form a cloak. | You can to your retreat again retire, j When needed, I will loudly say, Appear, \ Then answers to my questions I'll require, J In gutteral tones with a devilish leer. i Go, you can take a bottle of the wine, i It will inspire, and of the cake a slice ; j No, not that rye, such spirits might incline j You to drown your woe in Hell's paradise. " * ' Woman, I now can see within your eyes. The look of scorn you bear for yonder man ; \ The spell is broken and you him despise, ,; You know John Bentwood 's built on no such plan. ' I read men as I read an open book, | 74 HERR VON TEUFEL Your Jolm would die e 'er he 'd submit like this, Now on your face I see love 's honest look, When Bentwood comes, embrace him with a kiss. In bygone days you wandered hand in hand. When love, first born, spoke naught but words of truth; Your guileless hearts with pleasure did expand, Let joy return with all its dreams of youth. Think of the pleasant hours not long ago. When boyish face and love won Betsy's heart, And now again this honest love you know, I leave it all with you to do your part." '' Count, tramp, or devil; God, he only knows How now my heart is smitten to the core ; My whole soul with love for John Bentwood flows With a new light it never felt before. With joy, I'll do your bidding; all you ask; Though the sense of pleasure is mixed with shame ; Banish the past and help me with my task. To make my love still worthy of his name. ' ' ' ' Your husband comes, I will unlock the door. He must have brought a heavy load of wood, I '11 help him lay it here upon the floor. Then I will greet him as a brother should." ' ' May a guest his host hearty welcome give, (To get the needed wood you tarried well,) May the house of Bentwood prosperous live. The devil I have fought and broke the spell. The rupture 's healed, the devil 's bound in chains. And there the queen of love awaits her king; Thy home, a throne, where constant love now reigns. Advance, my host, receive the offering." The storm without had ceased its raging blast, 'Twixt parted curtains, through the window pane The moon from clearing sky had softly cast A beam of light, which rested on the twain. Their hands entwined, her head upon his breast, From her lips came a low impassioned sigh. While on his face, faith dwelt in peaceful rest, HERR VON TEUFEL 75 And nature seemed inspired to sanctify. Deep silence reigned, the candle light burned low, With sputtering sparks its ebbing life expired. The hearthstone's blaze with its fresh food did glow. And peace came home again when strife retired. Now joy was born and Bentwood came to life, He swore he had awoke as from a dream. Of peaceful love which had been lost in strife. And Betsy whispered, "John, it so does seem." Bentwood with wonder looked upon his guest. While Betsy Jane his willing hand still clasped; On her shoulder his bearded cMn did rest. And with amazement he then gazed and gasped. "Are you the one who all this joy has brought? I hardly know you since your barber came ; You are the same old Teufel, are you not? I almost doubt that Bentwood is my name." "Yes, you are Bentwood; I'm the same Herr von, I've washed my face, perhaps I look less mean. There are many virtues 'neatli things we scorn, As there is vice 'neatli what seems washed and clean." "The hours move on, I must your pardon crave. It seems like sacrilege to now awake You from your dreams and show the craven knave, The cause of all our woe, man 's first mistake ; That tainted all of earth's primeval ])liss, That we should wander through life 's glorious hell 'Mid en\'y, greed and hate, and all of this We must endure, because two mortals fell." " Go gaze through window out into the night. And watch the wonders of the heavens above ; The earth fast bound in its soft shroud of white, A shroud as cool as hate, as pure as love. In silence gaze while I my charm repeat, I'll stir the fire into a glowing blaze. He'll drop in softly from his dark retreat. Then you can turn and on the devil gaze." 76 HERR VON TEUFEL "Appear, my Pluto, make no dire alarm, You have waited well for my call tonight ; Obey my mandates, have no fear of harm, I am the judge, your sentence will be light." ' ' Dear host, here stands the emblem of the curse, Gaze on the tempter, hear what he will tell, I have tamed many, this one is the worse Looking devil that ever cast a spell. To lead some weakling mortal's mind astray From the narrow path where our virtues lie ; Just note the leer and the peculiar sway, Bentwood, fetch the bottle, uncork the rye." ' ' Pluto, you come in such fantastic shape. It is hard to tell what acts you perform ; From what menagerie did you escape ? I will try and make your reception warm. I have little honor for such small game, But will decide your case as it is meet ; From now, remember, Peter is your name. Sometimes for short I'll simply call you Pete." ' ' Here, Peter, drink, it is for you to choose. You know it has more strength than beer or wine ; Weak-minded men but seek it to abuse. Poor mortal swillers guzzle it like swine. It is a product drawn from field and plain, Where in glory it gently nods its head To every breeze, a sea of waving grain. At last to men and hogs most freely fed. Down by Tartarus flows a magic stream. To drink of which it is to doubly die ; Forgetting all, not even power to dream, This sample here is labelled, 'Good Old Rye.' * ' Pete, I 've been in hell ; what I say, I know ; I have heard the old dog Cerberus bark. Have swam the stream where lethal waters flow, ji And joined in many a Plutonic lark. ll I awoke from my thorny, restless bed. To fight the tyrant demon to a rub ; HERR VON TEUFEL 77 ! i I broke Ms ribs, and crushed his horny head, ^ 'Twas then I vowed to start a Devil Club. \ To seek the worst, to lead a fighting crew, i But only those converted to our cause ; I We have a place for simpletons like you, \ You must comply and sign to live our laws. l Say, Peter, were you ever down below '. In Hades'? How long did you there remain? j Were you a saint before those horns did grow? j What promised pleasure did you there obtain?" , *'Herr Teufel, I am a man slow of speech, Please don't forget that we are sinners all. When temptation lies near within our reach. The best of mortals are then prone to fall." a I was in Hades five long hours before I felt the pleasure of some good, old wine. The only pain was longing for some more. What constitutes a saint you can define. In that dark nook that measures two by six. Which seemed like a purgatorial cell. Near one fair saint who got me in this fix, There and then I felt all the pangs of hell." Temptation led my human feet astray. And you my tongue have loosed with wine and rye. Which now makes me feel quite jocose and gay. With your permission, I am getting dry. As you know all things you can read my life, Like Adam, through woman, I 'm in distress ; You know the cause of all this mortal strife, More, Herr Confessor, I cannot confess." Zounds! That's the meanest I have ever heard, On a fair woman you would cast the blame, I here renounce my promise, every word, On my compassion you have now no claim. You lose your wits whene'er you loose your tongue, I thought, perhaps, the rye would make you brave, A wretch like you should never go unhung. It is pure flattery to call you knave." 78 HERR VON TEUFEL "Now, Pete, have you a patron saint? then pray, All my success depends upon your prayer, If it is answered then you go your way. If not, you'll get a redhot bill of fare. Not on your knees ! Stand up and show your sand ! No whining ! by it you will nothing gain. Keep seated, Bentwood, it is my command, You are the jury, stand up, Betsy Jane! You have heard this fallen angel's dire complaint. And seen him grovelling in the pangs of woe. Were you the tempter? Now without restraint Simply answer with one word. Yes or No." "Herr von Teufel, one word will hardly do, I will the truth with perfect candor treat. Instead of one I'll simply use the two. Yes and No, I have been quite indiscreet. You were the angel rapping at my door. That broke the spell that did my heart allure, And made me truly that foul wretch abhor. Leaving John Bentwood 's wife as ever pure." ' ' The favored daughter of the village squire, I married John against my father's will, Pity with love did then my heart inspire ; Disowned, I now this humble station fill. It is vanity in a woman's heart That flutters low when soft flattery fawns, Kindling unholy fire by devilish art. 'Twere well, if every devil wore his horns And not that meek, deceiving, fair disguise, Softness of speech that disarms all our fears, Truth mixed so deftly with foulest of lies. Within an honest heart a demon rears. One word from me, and yonder imp of hell. Would feel all the power of John Bentwood 's hand; I can control him now, and it is well, Or loose him on the cur at your conunand." ' * Madam, you answer well ; I comprehend The very depth of all you would disclose ; Yet for awhile his sentence I suspend, HERR VON TEUFEL 79 | I Let your husband speak, then I will impose l A penalty that with the crime accords. \ His testimony for himself seems weak, • For now against the culprit are the odds, j And, what have you to offer, Bentwood, speak." ^ ''Herman Teufel, I hardly can keep back j From f ellin ' your old devil with a blow ; | From pleasure you have dropped me on the rack, ? In spite of horns and hair his voice, I know. . I've heard it singin' praises to the Lord, j An' tremblin' in the solemn tones of prayer, ; On Ms account, poor Betsy, I have jawed; Perhaps I am mistaken, but I swear, ■■ If he would sing that same, old hjTxin again, j The words, 'When I can read my title clear,' 1 I would know him then, it would all be plain, \ Though like a devil he does now appear. . i I leave it all with you : I am subdued ; | It is too much for mortal man to bear, 1 I s'pose to you, 'tis clearly understood. | Betsy, Herman Teufel will do what's square, ,; An' though the heavens fall I'll stick to you, ; An' while I live I'll never budge no more, j For here, tonight, begin we life anew. I I will not loaf around the Red Barn store, i An' leave you unprotected, all alone: ■ That Billie Smith's a better man than me, j To all of us it is a fact well known. j He always told me, let the bug juice be. j Your devil, if he will not sing the hymn, . \ Perhaps with rye to song he may be led, j Fill him up with budge, fill him to the brim, j For wine with whiskey gives a sorry head." j "Cheer up, my host, for I now prophesy j That joy will come, your path will brighter grow, j As shadows shorten when the sun is high, | And after tempest comes the tinted bow." j "Take this manual of our laws and creed, \ The thistle and the thorn our emblems are. 80 HEKR VON TEUPEL Like ripened sin one casts abroad its seed, The other grows mid flowers everywhere. We have our rulers and they number five, Our followers we hold by love and fear, To all our senses we are each alive. To see, to feel, to taste, to smell, and hear." ''My host, the morning light will soon appear. Then will my mission with you be complete ; Your path of duty now is plain and clear. Be faithful, for we soon again will meet. The missionaries for our cause you'll find In many places that you'd least expect, They are about in every form and kind For our members only can them detect. On your small finger wear this ring of steel, Try to yourself and others to be just; In your own way uplift our cause with zeal. Don't let this emblem or your senses rust." "Now, Pete, unloose your sleeve and bare your arm, I need just blood enough for you to sign. This pledge to all our laws ; and fear no harm, My knife is sharp, the point is very fine. Here is a drink of rye to help your nerve, I only need a drop to tip the quill. Later comes the penalty you deserve, I'm only waiting for that tough, named Bill. I shall tell him the story of your crime. And think that he will know just what to do, He is a lusty giant in his prime. And he'll be glad to take full charge of you." ' ' Say, Mr. Teuf el, let me shake your hand. They say to spoil a child just spare the rod. While your arguments I can't understand, I know that I am drunker than a lord. My name is Ezekiel Uriah Brown, You've knocked the brown all out till I am black, I hardly think I'll preach again in town. But join your royal club's symposiac. I have signed my name, now give me a ring, HERR VON TEUFEL 81 \ And just one more drink of that good old rye, ;• Then to the wind all my cares will I fling, t Hurrah, Betsy Bentwood! Hurrah, Good Bye!" i Then Peter yawned and shook his weary head, I And fell into a heap upon the floor, 1 John Bentwood," Betsy cried, "the devil's dead!" '< Just then the devil gave a vigorous snore. I Von Teufel now from his deep pocket drew | His well worn flute, and seated high in chair, ■[ Slowly and softly the sweet notes he blew '< Of an old time song, a familiar air. t While music soft in wavering tones arose, -j And melted into strains that seemed to sigh, | Then to sweet dreams of love their eyelids close, i While Peter breathes his nasal lullaby. j Up in the starry blue the moon hangs low, j And night, fast spent now mingles with the day, • ' The distant hills enshrined in mellow glow. While feathered heralds voice their roundelay. Through wind-row drifts of snow blown by the gale, In crestlike waves that roll upon the shore. Curled in winding sheets over field and trail j A traveller labored 'neath the load he bore, j Till at last the long looked for goal he sees, i Beneath a hill, adown the winding way. Amid the snow clad boughs of hemlock trees, A timeworn house and barn he does survey. Then soon beneath a shed his way he found, 1 And placed his load upon a pile of straw ; •The windows of the house with frost were bound, i But through the farther one a light he saw. He cleared his way ahead and found the door. And loudly rapped, yet no one did appear ; . Then to his ear there came a startling snore, ; "Bentwood has gone to town, that's very queer." j He tried the door, the latch he softly raised, j It opened into a small entry way ; He stepped beyond and in amazement gazed 82 HERE VON TEUFEL Over the strange scene that around him lay ; Before Mm in their chairs three forms reclined, And slumber's restful peace their features wore; Two like lovers slept with their hands entwined, Another sprawled full length upon the floor. There was Bentwood and his wife, well he knew. He saw they had again renewed troth-plight ; Still at a loss to know the other two, 'Twas evident that love had won the fight. There were remnants of a bibulous fare — On stand a pistol, flute and folded gown; The greatest mystery of all was there. The strange clad figure of a devil clown. The hearthstone fire gave but the slightest glow. He sought to start the blaze, the room was chill. When to his ear there came a whisper low, "We waited long for you tonight, dear Bill." Then starting to his feet he gazed around, From whence the whisper came he could not trace ; The voice it had an old familiar sound. Quietly then he scanned each form and face, And like his own on each were emblems worn. The emblems of the mission Devil Band. The clown, he wore the thistle and the thorn. The ring of steel he saw upon each hand. At last von Teufel's sleepy face he knew. Approaching whispered softly in his ear, ' ' Here noble leader of our wandering crew, I see a sample of your love and fear." Yon Tcufel now sat upright in his chair. And on his open hand reclined his head, While Billie Smith assumed a thoughtful air. To listen to the words von Teufel said. "Your experience in our club has shown The ways and means by which we men uplift ; By mixing with the vilest sinners known. We weave a net through which foul sin we sift. This is no miracle that you behold. An accident was but the simple cause. HERR VON TEUFEL 83 This fallen man is now within our fold, And Bentwood and his wife embrace our laws." Yes, Mister Teufel, all you say is true, I thought that I was once the only tough, And tried to knock you out before our crew. Guess I don't forget how I cried. Enough. I s 'posed you would be back some days ago, I've got a dozen for the third degree, I gave first and second without a blow. Perhaps they'll join the church with number three. Please me my orders give, what I shall do, I'll bring the flour and stuff from out of doors. Then let me make a good, old fashioned stew, Clear up the room and do all Bentwood 's chores." ' Yes, Billie, let's set the room all to rights. If you have time prepare the morning meal, Please do not mention more about your fights, With this poor devil soon we'll have to deal. Place all my traps within my pack again, (That gown I used in old Fritz Byspiel's show,) Let them the manuals and rings retain. When ready, we will take our things and go." The steaming stew in pot hung on the crane. Sent forth rich fumes of a savory meal ; The rising sun shone through the window pane. The prostrate sleeper now required their zeal. They lift him gently, seat him on a chair. The devil's garb they quickly from him take, Then wash his face and comb his tangled hair And soon Ezekiel Brown is wide awake. He gazed around with a bewildered look. First on Billie Smith, then upon Herr von. While his whole frame with a strong tremor shook. His aspect was degraded and forlorn. Voiceless he sat as if he did await. Some promised vengeance held for him in store. As if no effort now could change his fate. Not one word for mercy did he implore. 84 HERE VON TEUFEL A plate of stew he ate at their command, He seemed refreshed, and rose up in his seat, Then reaching out, the pistol grabbed from stand, And with a bound he stood upon his feet. With weapon pointed, he backed to the door. In measured tones these words he hoarsely said, ' ' Stir but one foot, I '11 nail you to the floor. If death you seek, the crime be on your head. I'll take my coat, and boots, the hat I wear. You see, I hold the power, and will retire. As this contains a powdered bill of fare. Don't let me warm it by the pistol's fire." "One word to you. Von Teufel, I would say, Your philosophy, it is quite profound. Although I must thus tear myself away, I give my sincere pledge, to you, I'm bound. While I have the power you can plainly see, That I am not a man to be despised. Make me your honored aide in some degree. Through you, all other hopes I've sacrified." Von Teufel now his chin did slowly stroke, Billie Smith stood gazing with mouth agape. Then in mild accents Herr von Teufel spoke, (The Bentwoods still enjoyed their morning nap.) ' ' Your forceful argument I can 't deny. On two conditions you my aide can be. First, in your daily bread consume your rye. The second is to prove your faith in me." "Ezekiel Uriah Courageous Brown, This is to put your bravery to a test ; Then, unmolested you may go to town. First fire, and hit this thistle on my breast. Faith is loyalty to your leader's cause. To be my aide, you'll fire at my command, Yon have Von Teufel's word, you'll break no laws. For I will catch the bullet in my hand. This mark upon my breast you see it plain. Your pistol has six charges, you must strive HERR VON TEUFEL 85 To hit it ; if you fail, then try again, Please fire at my command when I count five." "One, Ezekiel, and now I've counted two; Three, Uriah, and I have counted four; Aim straight at me, the target's clear in view, Five, fire ! — there lies the thistle on the floor. Flee, when I need you again Smith will call. Quick, do not let the Bentwoods find you here. And take your clothing, hat, coat, boots and all, Have faith in what you preach and be sincere." From their long sleep the Bentwoods now awoke. And springing to their feet they stood aghast To see sitting beneath a cloud of smoke. Smith and Herr von Teufel at their repast. "Bentwood, this is the climax of the plot. Now join us in this meal around your cloth, Come quickly, for the stew is prime and hot, Billie and I have long since pledged our troth. This smoke the incense is of warlike strife. Raised by our convert Peter, who has flown To other fields, to start again in life. And a rich harvest reap from seed thus sown." * ' Come, Bill, we must away, the sun is high. The old Red Barn store w^e must reach by noon ; Farewell my friends until in evening sky. Hangs o'er your fruitful fields the harvest moon." "Now, Betsy Jane, you are John Bentwood's rose. And ally to the thistle and the thorn. For where this fairest emblem blooms and grows, The rugged thorns protect while flowers adorn." II flftieccllaneoue /Iftiscellaneous THE NEW CHURCH PEWS. Said Sarah Jones to Betsy Dow, Don't s'pose you've heard the news, They say they had a reg'lar row Over our new church pews. You know they 'pointed a committee To get the colors right. And sent five sisters to the city; They all got home last night. Jane Parley and that young Miss James, Wanted the cushions red; But Prudence Smith and Aunty Ames, Chose gray, so Pauline said. Now, my Pauline had formed a scheme, (My darter paints, you know,) She'd*^ set her heart on a kind of cream. Something with warmth and glow. They took the first train out of here. They were dressed up to kill; And each one took her lunch, for fear They might run up a bill. They tramped around from store to store, And filled their sample bags, What Pauline got, with a few more, I'll use for carpet rags. They called for what they did not see, The clarks were very kind; They soon commenced to disagree Arid each one spoke her mind. The reds they took the first train back, They were provoked way through; The grays kept Pauline on the rack. Just think what they did do! 90 MISCELLANEOUS Tried one of those politic games, And one you'd little dream, The offer came from Aunty Ames To settle on ice cream. My Pauline is way through a Jones, She said, "I'm not for sale." And 'twas in no unsartain tones; It kinder raised a gale. The committee meet next week some day. Each party trims a pew, In cream, and red, and Ames' gray, And we will vote one through. Our pastor's a dogmatic man. So my Pauline has said. He favors her artistic plan. He don't like gray nor red. The church walls are a russet brown, The ceiling greenish blue. With frescoed border all around, A number on each pew. I'll tell you all next time we meet, Excuse Pauline and me. We're making trimmings for that seat, Next time, please stay to tea. Say, mother, there comes Betsy Dow, She's coming up the walk; I think it's time to milk the cow. Now you can have a talk. Why, Betsy! Betsy! Bless my heart! I thought you'd gone for good; You must have made an airly start, Let me untie your hood. Now lay your things in on the bed, And take the easy chair, And rest yourself. I'll mix the bread, Then I'll have time to spare. Eeuben has gone to see Squire Dwight, He walked, Bob's lost a shoe. MISCELLANEOUS 91 | Now you must stay with us all night, ' Pauline will play for you. | It's just six weeks ago today < Sence we were talking here, ' The clouds have now all passed away, The sky is bright and clear. j All the news I'll tell, Betsy, dear, ■ And 'bout sweet Sister Bly, ■ How "I can read my title clear To mansions in the sky." ^ A fiery trial 'twas indeed. ^ We all were sorely tried, -j Sweet charity is now our creed, j And self must be denied. - Now firmly on a rock I stand, i Amid life's surging sea, : Through faith I see the promised land, \ Old sin can't conquer me. j Why, Sarah Jones! You ought to preach, ' Now, when you are all through, i Don't let me interrupt your speech, \ What did the sisters do ? " The sisters? Betsy, I declare You're on the anxious seat, ] I'll tell you all that happened there, 1 The story's short and sweet. 1 :j Our new church pews are mellow green, j With no approach to gray, j No red, no cream, can there be seen; ! It came about this way: They met, they talked, there was a squall, ' Each vote came out a tie; ; Just eight and twenty votes in all, One green, from Sister Bly. ] ] In little groups of two and three, i They tried to win more votes; Each claimed the other could not see — ' A case of beams and motes. j 92 MISCELLANEOUS Jane Parley and that young Miss James Each stood up in a pew, Showed their colors and their claims; My Pauline did so, too. The language used was too profane — For such a place, I mean; And every one seemed quite insane, 'Cept Susan and Pauline. Nine reds, nine creams, and nine for gray, With samples round each arm, March up and dow^n in this array, But Susan Bly was calm. She cast her vote and gently said, "I'd like to vote for gray. And if perchance I vote for red, The creams can't win the day." She walked from out the noisy throng. Her face was sad and pale. I kinder thought there's something wrong. She leaned up 'gainst the rail. As if ashamed, she bowed her head. She sat down by the door; When she was coaxed to vote for red. She said, "My heart is sore." Then Susan slowly made her way Up to the altar chair, And in sweet trembling tones did say, "Let's join in silent prayer." We all stood still in mute surprise. And were so ill at ease, Until we dropped with closed eyes Upon our bended knees. Deep silence then reigned supreme; Gray knelt 'long side the red. With here and there a touch of cream Beneath a drooping head. MISCELLANEOUS 93 It seemed as if a heavy load Was lifted from my breast, When from the lips of Susan flowed, A prayer for peace and rest. From here and there there came a sigh, And when I raised my head, They all had laid their samples by, You could not see a shred. I don't think that such a scene Was ever known before; It converted ni}^ dear Pauline, And half a dozen more. We noted not the time of day, Until my Pauline sang, "God moves in a mysterious way." Just then the church bell rang. The church was full to overflow, Some gossip spread the news. They came to see, and hear, and know. About the new chvn^ch pews. The pastor came, he read the notes. And then we sang a praise. But not a word about the votes. The creams, the reds, the grays. And when he preached, he took his text, 1st Peter iv, 12-8 , But not a soul of us was vexed. He hit us clean and straight. There are the words above the shelf. All worked in green and gold, Pauline she made it all herself. Betsy, my story's told. 94 MISCELLANEOUS RONDEL. All alone by the fireside dreaming, Leaning upon tlie old vacant chair, Dreaming of one whom death would not spare, Within whose eyes I sought love's beaming. The embers bright 'twixt shadows gleaming. Imaged her form again sitting there, All alone by the fireside dreaming, Leaning upon the old vacant chair. All my soul with longing was teeming, Born from a spark to vanish in air, A vision of love helpless and fair, Nothing of life only a seeming. All alone by the fireside dreaming. PALESTINE. The sun hangs low in western skies, the frosty north winds blow. Across New England hills and dales white with the drift- ing snow. December's twilight closes down upon that glorious eve, Before the dawn of Christmas morn — a night when fan- cies weave; Back through the centuries of time, back to that holy day, When the wandering star seen from afar led them on their way; Those patriarchs of faith and hope watching the starlight gleam, Through trailing mist of dawning light, from Jordan's flowing stream ; Till o'er the plain of Bethlehem, it stood at early dawn, Above the shrine of the Babe Divine, that fair Christmas morn. Across the plains of Esdraelon, over beyond Gilboa, Along the fields of Palestine, rich with their harvest store ; Still on to Nain, the village where minaret and towers MISCELLANEOUS 95 Peer through the valley-way from Nazareth's hills and bowers ; There sweetly nestled 'mid these hills of Galilee is seen The boyhood home of the Shepherd Lad, the humble Naz- arene, Whose little feet so lightly trod the verdant hills above, Watching his bleating, wandering flock, with tenderness and love. In play and toil he knew life's cares, and felt His hallowed birth. And He dreamed of a kingdom fair, beyond the woes of earth ; Not built with hands, a priceless realm, by his Father given. Through Christ, a Christmas gift so rare, eternal life in Heaven. O Bethlehem ! O Nazareth ! The world bows at thy shrine. Immortal hills! Immortal plains! Immortal Palestine! BY GRACE THROUGH FAITH. (sonnet.) Great Unseen Friend ! Through faith we clearly see, When shadows fall so darkly o'er the way, 'Mid all the gloom there comes a steady ray That lights the narrow path which leads to Thee. Which leads to Thee wherever we may be On life's broad road where man is prone to stray. Thy precious yoke preserves us day by day. It makes the burden light by grace so free. With Thee to live it is not death to die ; In Thy fellowship living is complete. Thy spirit breath seems wafted from on high, To sooth the longing soul with love so sweet, That peace and rest for all Thou 'It not deny, If sought in meekness at the mercy seat. 96 MISCELLANEOUS SANCTIFIED. Benighted souls who dream they are alone The only true disciples of the Lord; All others they rebuke with chastening rod, Sitting in judgment on their lofty throne, Without a sinfor which they should atone. They tread with vanity, not faith, earth's sod. Claiming full sanctity with its reward, Clothed in a conscious figment all their own. Supercilious purity of thought. Pure as the driven snow% so cold and dead. Hearts whose true sympathy have never crossed The line where mortal's noblest deeds are wrought. Beyond the shadow where sunlight is shed Melting man's selfishness, life's blighting frost. A CHRISTMAS PIPE DREAM. Say, Bill ! I wish dat we 's was rich, t know's just what I'd do. An' youse would do der same as me. We'd be a jolly crew. With a big wagon full of things. Drawn by a dandy horse. On Christmas Day we'd sport around. An' play we's Santa Claus. We'd give fine skates to all der boys. An' dolls to Kate an' Jane, Whole lots of things to that poor crowd, Dat lives up in our lane. We'd go an' get big piles of wood, Der shiverin' kids to warm, I tells you, Bill, we'd whoop her up. We'd take the town by storm. But, this is only s'posin' Bill, We haven't got der dough. It will not come by 'maginin', We's awful poor you know. MISCELLANEOUS 97 Those great big bugs upon der hill, They knows it is no dream, They's do not feel der Christmas cold, In houses piped with steam. Through pipe dreams we's fergit der cold. But soon as we's awake, We's thanks our stars if we's in luck, If not, it's a mistake For to be born dow^n in der hole, Not on der upper deck. Old Santa Claus might pass us by. We'd git ours in der neck. EASTER. All nature breaking forth from winter's sleep. The sere and crusted fields grow green and gay With buds and blossoms. O'er the hills away The warp and woof of grassy weavings creep. O'er marsh, thro' dale and up the hillside steep, Nature commands, and life hid in the clay Breaks from its bonds to resurrection day; And loud the anthems ling and onward sweep From Bethlehem to lands of every clime. The natal hour ushered out of winter's night Rings forth from belfry tower chime on chime And hearts ascend to old Calvary's height. Look thro' the long, dark centuries of time. There mark the dawn of life's bright Easter light. LICENSE? (ballads.) Each second there 's a mortal born. No license law can nature sway. We laugh and cry from life's first dawn. And live along just as we may. To vote a yes, to vote a nay. 98 MISCELLANEOUS For whatsoever it may be ; Who steers their bark across life's bay; Our own ideas we each obey, O K for you, N G for me. Some have for masters, barleycorn, They see no wrecks sad and forlorn. They're having lots of fun they say. Though angels weep while devils play. No wonder why we can't agree. And some with all their might inveigh When you O K what they N G. All arguments you treat with scorn. Your rights we shall not take away, Your nose with color to adorn. Or have it broken in some affray. That sign of license you display. Which tells of life's wild jubilee. To friend's and kindred's dire dismay You still O K what we N G. Prince of reason, the sense convey To those so blind they cannot see, There yet remains the good old way, O K the good, the bad, N G. SAN FRANCISCO. Wrapped in the arms of nature's peaceful rest. In soundest sleep, or dreams of joy or woe, In confidence on her old trusted breast ; Could Mother Earth arise and be a foe. Yet like a cradle rocked by giant hand. Gone mad beneath foundation soil and stone, Wrenching the ties that bind where mortals stand, Wavering, tottering, falls man's stately throne. MISCELLANEOUS 99 The solid gates of Hell all seem ajar, ; Forth pour their lurid glare o 'er Golden Gate ; \ On dome and tower are raging near and far, Like demons loosed their lust to satiate. 5 Prayers from trembling lips, — cheeks all pale with dread, | The humble and the proud one common herd, I And Faith despairing whispers. Is God dead? . Yet all the hearts of men with love are stirred. ] AD OCULUS. A philosopher stood scratching his pate, j Chewing his mental cud, ] Viewing a scene right up to date, , Political splashes of mud, ] Thrown by the boys across the street, ; And from the other side. , He ducked his head, made a retreat, ' And from a housetop cried: i "Where are the wise men of this place? ' The men of sterling brains, \ With honor, not the brazen face \ That smiles on selfish gains ? ] And wheedles with persuasive lies, j Good men to stoop and steal. To take the dollars, close their eyes. Sinking too deep to squeal?" . Philosophers are grinding still, ; Ye gods, they grind so slow ' To get a product through the mill ! That has the proper glow; i Of the right stuff that stands the test, j Percentage ninety-eight, \ In time we may achieve the rest, j Now, let us clean the slate! | 100 MISCELLANEOUS SMILES. You liave met that man who will acquiesce With everything you say, You have met him in town and on the train, The man who never says, Nay. He's always on hand with a pleasant smile. When you take your regular cheer. Such men are around most everywhere, With an air so debonair. That woman you know, with a rich old brogue, Who wears a broad, pleasant smile, AVith a "God bless you," when her fruit you buy. But 3^ou never tip your tile. She lives in her Avorld, you live in your own, Each feels the dividing line. Yet her heart is as big with joy and love • As the one you call divine. You have seen that man with a swollen head. Who carries the heavy strain Of a large, responsible load on earth Which sits so hard on his brain. That it crushes the smile into a stare — A far off studied frown. When you crave for a light for your cigar. In a smoking car to town. If 3^ou 've been in this world for many years, You've noted candor or guile. By the wa}^ your neighbor made up his face When he laughed or smiled a smile. A grin is a smile that's crippled at birth, How many cripples Ave see, When your country friend tells his latest joke Plucked from an old chestnut tree. What's the name of that smile we hold so dear. That makes the frozen heart thaw, From the woman we love but can't understand, What is it? "Je ne sais quoi!" MISCELLANEOUS 101 But smiles are not always what tliey seem, The faces we see while we roam, May be but a veil,— the test of the man Is the smile he wears at home. AUTUMN. The leaves are falling to the ground, j The trees will soon undress, \ Scattering their clothing all around. I Soon Winter will caress j Their naked limbs, once clad with green, j Now blushing, they unfold ! Denuded branches bare and clean ' To shiver in the cold, j Waiting the mantle chill as death, Where snow-birds chirp their lay, Until the springtime's balmy breath Hails resurrection day. THE PRESS. From Suns and Worlds and even Stars, i We get the daily news, i In time we'll have a monthly Mars ' With latest, wireless clues. To tell how they dig their canals. Some aid for Panama, j What are they social animals, Upright or angular? ^ Most noted names from heaven and earth. The press does magnify. On top of some new sheet at birth. To catch the public eye. j But names, alas, are only names. Something that cuts no ice. That play their own politic games, With virtue or with vice. 102 MISCELLANEOUS Yet there are names we might suggest, That would just fill the bill, For crooked people to detest. Whose nerves get a thrill. And here 's a name that might adorn, Call it the "Daily Prune." A clipper's name from scissors born, Or else the "Evening Moon." This could reflect some well known sheet. Such things are often done, And no quotation marks repeat. Reflections from the sun. We've "Standards" and our "Daily Posts," "Patriots" bold and true, We ought to have more ' ' Frequent Roasts, ' ' The "Grafters' Own Review." With "Mercurys" that mark the heat, When public pulses rise. But there's no "Venus" to compete. For journalistic prize. "Dan Cupid" or the "Hourly Dart," Might prove a grand success. For it would reach the nation's heart. The duty of the press. We've "Trav'lers," "Sentinels," and "Times," Some brilliant top line howls. With satires mixed with prose and rhyme. And scandal 's monstrous ghouls. "Transcripts," "Heralds," and many "Globes." With their slick, scouting crews. That watch and pray like patient Jobs, To scoop the latesi, news. The press it wields a mighty spell, Its power does hypnotize. With all its virtues it does tell. The most outrageous lies. MISCELLANEOUS 103 AN ARTIST'S DREAM. (sonnet.) She stood in flowing robe of pearly gray— A dainty blonde, witli form of stately grace- By latticed window, where her classic face, Caught through the bars the sunlight's lambert ray. And o'er her lucent bower the sunbeams play. Her slender hand adorns a sculptured vase, While hazy tones of blue their queen embrace ; With gold and white their homage pay. From high lotussed dado and oaken floor, Where soft rich rugs in elegance abound ; From trellissed azure ceiling, each flower and stem Bring forth their charms to make her charms the more ; With all the skill of art the gem is crowned. An artist's dream— a maiden's diadem. YULETIDE APPEAL FOR THE CITY MISSION. Ring out ! ring out ! all ye bells, Ye merry, merry Christmas bells ; Old Yuletide's pleasures soon will flow. While evergreens all clad in snow, Down in the woods and in the dells, From mountain top to marshy fells. Are held so fast in winter's grasp. While we our kindred treasures clasp, Now, from the woods the ever green. Is placed amid a merry scene. Their yielding boughs with presents swing, And little hearts their prayers do sing When they lay them down to sleep, And prav the Lord their souls to keep All safe and sound for Christmas Day While other souls not far away, With longing hearts leave hopes unsaid, Not in a cosy trundle bed, 104 MISCELLANEOUS But from a fold so bleak and drear, Their silent prayer, a glistening tear; A wish for crumbs, if nothing more, From bounteous boards all brimming o'er. These little wanderers out in the cold, Now help their shepherd warm their fold Go gather in this little brood, And share with them your Christmas food ; Feed all liis flock and make them gay. Just fill them up on Christmas Day. Ring out ! ring out ! all ye bells ! Ye merry, merry Christmas bells. Call in this poor, forsaken crew. Saint or sinner, this means you. AND IS OLD NOAH SO SOON FORGOT? Why should our language masquerade. In forms that seem so strange '? The spell is on this wild crusade Would familiar spelling change. And when in church we read a salm, To follow with a him, Could we all keep our features calm, And look sedate and prim? We should not mind y, h and p. They seem all right in Physic, And yet, perhaps, we might agree. To amputate old Phthisic. Each word is but a standard sign. So we at school were taught; No reason now to spell combign. Or write that we forgaught. Oin- Noah made for us a mark. How each word to render. And placed them in his well-filled ark. With pedigree and gender. MISCELLANEOUS 105 Now we all know them by their looks, For no new tricks we sigh, Let infants cram from phonic books, With Webster let us die. A LINGUAL DIAGNOSIS. PHTHISIC In Webster it is so spelt, But now we have a remedy From Doctor Roosevelt. How shall we write, Wright, Right and Rite, If we must make them phonic ? To strengthen and to expedite, Please give the needed tonic. Upon our tongue to operate. We need a learned treatise, The useless growth to separate. Lingual appendicitis. We diagnosis by the phys- iognomy of faces ; If words look painful should we dis- Miss the Greek and Latin basis. We are afflicted with a spell 'Tis hard to swallow fizik. When doctors don't agree, please tell. How shall we handle phthisic '? DECLENSION. Said John to Sue, "My love's intense I'm in a mood potential; Keep not my heart in dire suspense, You are to me essential. 106 MISCELLANEOUS *'I love you in the third degree, With love beyond compare; The subject's old, but new to me, This is my first affair. "Now, Sue, will you the sentence parse; Will you my words decline"? I feel you will and know alas. You can my thoughts define." But Sue is an objective case; Too possessive, some might say; As teacher she would lose her place. So she sweetly parsed away. AUTOMOBILING. Terrestrial pleasures often find. Their break-neck pace pursuing The road to a celestial kind. Without a thought of wooing. O'er flashing sparks of gasoline. On rubber tires revolving. With vaunted mien man sits serene, 'Mid mundane things dissolving. Hideous mortals, goggle-eyed. Bent on automobiling, Sniffing its odors as they glide. They've got the crazy feeling. Chauffeur bending across the wheel. O'er hills and valleys bounding. Their auto drunk with gas does reel, As a sharp curve they're rounding. Tremulous symptoms now it brings. To earth their spirits clinging, The auto swings it seems on wings. Into the air 'tis sprmging. i MISCELLANEOUS 107 Glorious pastime for the soul, That seeks to find that portal; That leads from out its earthen bowl Up to a life immortal. VILLANELLE. (two suitors.) I have two suitors on my slate, I'm not quite sure what I will do, i Please guess which one will be my mate'? \ One's seventy-five with large estate, ,1 The other 's poor, at twenty-two, ' I have two suitors on my slate. j One meets me nightly at the gate, ] And there we woo beneath the blue, i Please guess which one will be my mate? The ancient beau with shining pate, , Tells fairy tales of revenue, | I have two suitors on my slate. ] dear, O dear! such tempting bait, ] Yet my poor heart it won't subdue, j Please guess which one will be my mate"? | 'Neath heaven's bright stars I've sealed my date, 1 give you just this little clue, I have two suitors on my slate. Please guess which one will be my mate? ^ EVENING. (sonnet.) Adown through the way where the sunset spread Its mantle of gold in rich splendent beam. Away, far away, o'er forest its gleam. Melting in gloiy on the day fast sped; 108 MISCELLANEOUS Into the silence of twilight it led. Nought breaks the stillness, save near rippling streams Purling a luUabye as in a dream ; Whispering spirits from low pebbled bed. The blood red sun just piercing the cloud, All nature seems drows}^ — falling to sleep; Fading, fast fading, day's last ray of light; Darkness now folding the earth in its shroud, Pale Luna comes creeping out of the deep. Moves slowly aloft, and lo, it is night. WHY SHOULD WE MORTALS GROWL AND GROAN ? (ballade.) 'Tis hard to tell the reason why That some are born to diamonds wear, While others imitations buy. And at their lot they curse and swear. Yet each one has his load to bear. From mighty king to fool and drone; They long to be just over there. Why should we mortals growl and groan ? That such is life we can't deny, At home, abroad and everywhere, We hear the humble brother sigh. Because he's not a millionaire. He has enough and some to spare. If on the throne he'd kick and moan. And long for his old fashioned fare. Why should we mortals growl and groan? The dog his comrade does espy. And on the bone he gnaws, does glare, A brutish greed is in his eye, Bred in the bone we are aware. And dog and man what brutes they are. Nor does his master stand alone, For in their greed they are a pair. Why should we mortals growl and groan? MISCELLANEOUS 109 L ENVOI. Prince, 'mid earth's beauties grand and rare, Why should we gnaw contention's bone, For man, with brute, in faults compare, Why should we mortals growl and groan? THREE SCORE YEARS AND TEN. The fountain head of all these fleeting years. Seems like a dream in time's fast fading past, Man's joys have floated on life's stream with fears. Through all these di'eamy years down to the last. The first half score on limpid, sparkling stream. Wending its way 'twixt banks all decked with flowers, 'Till deeper channels woke another dream, And bore the new born soul through passions' hours. Old sovereign Nature cuts the cable free. Unloosed, the spirit leaves its virgin shore. Buoyant with life it greets earth's first degree. Stemming the tide on through the second score. Deep in the dream when flesh is all aglow. When nothing daunts the fearless heart of man. Rising and falling on life's ebb and flow Man mounts the mortal limit of God's plan. Now down the way appears the farther shore. Where that one broad, eternal ocean lies. And earth worn creatures still long for more. Hungering for the Infinite man dies. Mortality awaits another birth, Into the mystery, unfathomed scheme. Born with the flesh, when flesh is born to earth, A silent message, — is it but a dream I 110 MISCELLANEOUS NOON. (sonnet.) The cowbells tinkle 'neath the trees, The brazen sunflower droops its head, And shadows short on grass are spread, The hum and buzz of busy bees. Mid blossoms stirred by southern breeze. That lifts the breath of flowers that shed Rich fragrance from some garden bed. The waters move from out the seas To shore with languid, surging sound. And waves wash slowly up the sand Where crisp and brown the seawood mound Lies coiled in rolls along the strand. Mid pebbles washed around and round, Like marbles tossed from childish hand. THE CORINTHIAN CAPITAL. Sons of Javan ! The ground thy feet once trod. Brought forth this regal crown thy genius made ; And on its throne of graceful columns laid. Drawn from Acanthus shrub on verdant sod, Touched by thy artfid power's divining rod. Coaxed nature's yielding form from silent glade. To sculptured leaves of granite, cold and staid. The sweetest note in music's frozen chord. The sovereign Planter did to thee convey, The highest sense of art, its magic power. And blessed the forms born in thy Attic day. That grace the modern palace, dome and tower. Though fallen in thy grandeur through time and fray. Fair Corinth's shaft still holds aloft its flower. THE BIBLIOPHILE. Odd in his manner, but perfectly sane, His fountain of joy unceasingly flows. Up in his den where the hail and the rain. Clatters o'er roof when the wind wildly blows. MISCELLANEOUS 111 He sits with his friends arranged in long rows. Friends who have lived a century or more, Some covered in garbs of most ancient clothes, This aged collector of archaic lore. He has searched for years rare tomes to obtain, Every one knows him wherever he goes, Today, he's seeking Quixote of Spain, In every old bookshop he's poking his nose. Among liis old friends he numbers Defoe's Robinson Crusoe and over his door, Poses a raven on a volume of Poe's, This aged collector of archaic lore. He dotes on the covers embossed or plain. Curious bindings of poetry and prose, From German, Frenchman, Italian and Dane, They find in his den a place of repose. Love for his hobby never falters but grows. They are his children he counts by the score. As o 'er the long rows his eyes quickly glows, This aged collector of archaic lore. Spirits departed from all earthly woes. Soon this poor mortal will turn up his toes. Guide lum in finding these relics of yore. This aged collector of archaic lore. RONDEAU— IT IS A TRUST. It is a trust — I'll put it to the test. And from thy lips, my love, 't will be confessed That trusting is our trust with hearts made glad. The future must be richly clad In love and smiles, all from this silly jest. I've thought of all things that are for the best, To have our union by your father blest. Go, ask Inm, darling, and say, "My dear dad, It is a trust." 112 MISCELLANEOUS With arms around his neck, do then suggest That I've struck an oil well out in the west; Pure linseed oil and want a partner bad (For he's a painter) and then softly add I'll raise his stock to par with interest. It is a trust. ANSWER. that's what pa said. That 's what Pa said, he said it slow ; That's his peculiar way, you know; He placed his hand upon my head, And said, "I know him, sells white lead; They say he's smart; they call him Joe." And Pa then winked his eyes just so ; And o'er his face there came a glow. He said you said old trust was dead. That's what Pa said. He said, ^'Go ask him what's the flow? If the oil is boiled down below? From what seed factory is it fed ? He named a town you painted red. He said you were "a d d fine beau," That's what Pa said. HOT WEATHER PHILOSOPHY. Waft from Greenland's ic.y mountains. Through this incandescent glow, A wave of that glacial coolness, From where frigid winds now blow. These caloric insolations. Call for governmental care. To bridle old Niagara, And pump us fresh Arctic air. MISCELLANEOUS 113 \ I only wish I could believe j While here in the flesh I moan, ] That heat is cold and cold is heat, . ] I'd make a temperate zone. ; But I'm no Christian Scientist, | I cannot change the zones, * Or crawl from out my heated flesh Wliile winds blow through my bones. \ Yet, I can dream of frost and snow, j Icicles and icebergs grand, I Cold charity from the iceman's eyes j When he shows a liberal hand. ^ The coolest thing that makes me hot. Is the coolness that I seek, l I cannot regulate its size, j Nor the iceman's frozen cheek. 90° in the shade, August 7th, 1906. \ 'YAKIGUMA." Lo the conquering hero comes, ; A would-be admiral. | A "Yakiguma" spreading Calamities' dire pall Over Pacific waters, • Whose waves kiss either shore, Asia to our Golden Gate, j And peaceful tidings bore. j Graceful welcome to our fleet 1 From valiant souls sincere, ^ Shall faith now be trampled, Or trust thus turn to fear. That Japs are fiends, speaks no truth, \ Scheming to cut our throats, j Hob-goblins to make us build ,1 A few more navy boats. I 114 MISCELLANEOUS Let's call the Hague to council, No duty must we shirk, War clouds are black with thunder, These devils are at work. "Yakiguma," thoughtless souls, Who wag their pliant jaw. Painting pictures fiercely red With agonies of war. Mortals without grace or faith. Let their ambitions soar. With gusto tell fairy tales, . And history ignore. Our navy is large enough ; Time will it increase. For mercy's sake, please, Hobson, Give us rest and peace. LIFE. Life is a riddle, who can guess Where each and all must go? We give it up, but yet confess, A portion goes below. At least, that part of mortal man That carries out earth's scheme. Flesh, bone and muscle of the plan. The rest goes off like steam. Poor breath blown mortals full of life. Wound up to run the race. Some handicapped by ceaseless strife. Some noble souls, some base. All mixed up on this planet here Fighting like cats and dogs. Painted and gilded for their sphere, Wild men and pedagogues. The motive power from nature's plant. That thrills man's vital wires. May give our lives another grant. As it our thought inspires. MISCELLANEOUS 115 Is intuition but a dream? ■ Charles Lamb seems very wise, He says it is a ghostly gleam, j Of infantile surmise. * From inculcated lessons taught, j To those of tender years, ;; Which in their minds a j^hantom wrought, i That never disappears. ] The savage ne'er had chalk nor slate, 1 Or phantom lambs at school, ] To figure out their future state, i Inborn was nature's rule. ,\ Sublime the plan of human thought, i The mind that moves the train, I Of countless souls whose deeds are wrought i By pressure on the brain. - Of that electric fluid, the soul Which permeates the mind, \ Life's wheels go round, they grind and roll Until we're left behind. i For lack of breath we then are switched, • Not quite a century run, \ The spirit's fled, the train is ditched, t Our record we have won, < Engraved on tablets cold as death ■ If we have cash or friends, . The date we found and lost our breath, j And thus life's journe}^ ends. . - ART THOU WILLING? ] (rondeau.) , Art thou willing, black-eyed Sue? | Hear your anxious lover woo. ^ My boat's waiting on the shore — ,< Two can better pull an oar — : When dark clouds and storms do brew. i 116 MISCELLANEOUS Life's broad ocean heaves in view, 'Tis not all to woo and coo. Tell me, loved one, I implore. Art thou willing? With a charming mate like you, I '11 be captain, bold and true. Scanning coast where breakers roar. Singing songs of sailor love To perhaps our little crew. Art thou willing? ANSWER. Yes I'm willing, dearest Jack; When the clouds look dark and black, As your mate, our craft I'll steer Neath smiling skies, o'er waters clear, I'll study well the Zodiac. Sometimes we'll get off the track. Mortals are so prone to veer. Then I'll show a woman's knack, Yes, I'm willing. In after years, looking back. Don't count virtues that I lack, But 'tend to your privateer. Seizing prizes every year. Fill our home with bric-a-brac. Yes, I'm willing. SPRINGTIME AND SUMMER. Old Earth her frozen zone now turns. Slowly toward the blazing sun; I wonder if the coal he burns Costs twenty dollars by the ton. This great free gift from realms above, Springtime and Summer's warmth and glow. Shows one great Operator's love Who does not mine His coal below. MISCELLANEOUS 117 TOM BLIZZARD, MY PARD. The painters now hustle and feel of their muscle, Eor soon will the season bring The same yearly bustle, they must tackle and tussle, And be all ready for Spring. The season for rushes with ladders and brushes, The artists all clean and bright. The house-maiden blushes at eloquent gushes From the lads all clad in white. For every painter is either a saint, or A poor, meek sinner in Spring. My old pard was no saint or even a painter. He mostly worked on the swing. He could not paint a flo-or much less a do-or. The house clown in the back-yard. He never felt sore or thought he was a blower, His name's Tom Blizzard, my pard. My Tom was no dreamer, he was a good teamer. In a show he traveled as clown ; He fired on a steamer, and once as a schemer — Poor Tom was fired out of town. Some called him a dauber, and others a robber, He's always on hand in Spring, To join the vast mob or to take his own job or To do most any darned thing. Tom has married a widder, he was a low bidder, And got a first-class job From rich Mrs. Kidder, the name of the widder. Of a millionaire nabob. Tom tends to the stable, she cooks for the table. Mrs. Kidder f No, not on your life; Tom was not able, 'twas young Widder Gable, The cook for the nabob's wife. 118 MISCELLANEOUS THE RAKE.— SUCH IS LIFE. (rondeau.) And such is life, he's in the race, Traveling at a rapid pace. His mortal frame is geared so high The crowd stands still, he rushes by. And moralists make sad grimace. He's climbed up many a rocky place. From mountain high scorched to the base, His joyous laugh turned to a sigh. And such is life. The heartless world he now must face. His props are gone, and not a trace Witlun his purse can he espy Of that almighty reason why The crowd gave him its warm embrace. And such is life. REJUVENATION. Of boyhood's days where are the old men, Old fashioned at sixty years. For we were but kids of eighteen, then, When we knew these pioneers. In their quaint attire, long beards, snow white. With their patriarchal smile. These relics have passed far out of sight. They now live in modern style. These ancient daddies do not abound, Nor the old time grandma dame, Just take a day off and look around, You will find them not the same. There's frisky Jan. who's courting May, And stylish dame December, With all her wealth she elopes away With a kindergarten member. MISCELLANEOUS 119 The kids today are as old as they, And they seem as young as we, For these dear old men have come to stay Until they are ninety-three. Old Osier has tried to raise a storm, To give at forty a pass, To another sphere with chloroform; We prefer life's laughing gas. HOWLING HUMANITY. ] O, what complaining, i All of us straining, i How to impress the rest, I What's for the greatest best. J Thoughts so fantastical i Ideas elastical, j Big editorials, i Startling memorials, | Cunning evasions, ] Deep cogitations, j Weak legislations. i Rich superfluity, : Lacking congruity, Whispered surmises Of worldly disguises, ; Wide spread confusion, ' Ghastly illusion. Some say a burning shame, ; Some give another name. j Street' car, telephone, j Each a dainty bone j Of dire contentions. | Wonderful inventions, i All for the public weal, : Yet how the public feel. Butchers with patent scales, \ Paper and wooden bales. All sold for butter, i No use to mutter, j 120 MISCELLANEOUS For chemists won't analyze, Whiskey where poison lies; But milkmen are slaughtered For milk that is watered ; Coal men have their fun Selling by the quarter ton, When it is very cold. Then they are fearless, bold. For we must charge the poor, Only just a trifle more. There are tricks to every trade. For protection they are made. Some truths impress us. Others distress us, Just as the garment fits, Or the arrow hits Our frail anatomy. But now it vexes us. Sorely perplexes us. The growing enormity Shocking deformity, Of trust colossal With hearts like a fossil. Stooping to grasp all. Holding so fast all They can get hold of. Formed in a squirming line, Graceful and serpentine, Weaving their heartless net, Strongly their snares they set. Hunch-back monstrosity. With all your verbosity. Try not to vindicate Your trust and syndicate. Rich and bombastic, Conscience elastic. From your high feathered nest, Come down and give a rest To Howling Humanity. MISCELLANEOUS 121 A FRIEZE. A butcher with artistic eye, His shop would decorate, And if the price was not too high. He 'd like to imitate A leg of mutton and the lamb. From whence the mutton came ; A bristling porker and a ham. And panels filled with game. He called Professor Paul McMan, The genius of the town. To make a price and draw a plan, To give his place renown. Paul drew a sketch upon the spot, And named the proper price; The butcher said the plan was hot. And all it lacked was ice. "Real ice I cannot make, 'tis true. But listen to my scheme, I'll paint the border polar blue — 'Twill be an Arctic dream." The witty artist, prone to please. Said, "By your frigid rule, I 'm forced to give your shop a frieze To keep your mutton cool." PRISCILLA'S UMBRELLA. I am an old miller and there's my umbrella That sixty odd years ago, I loaned to that dame who now bears my name, She'll tell you I wasn't then slow. Were the sky bright and clear or a storm brewing near, When I called for dear Priscilla, In the corner it stood, 'neath her rainy day hood. That same, but faded umbrella. 122 MISCELLANEOUS Beneath its broad shade, I first kissed the fair maid. Our heads kinder got together; Her cheeks all aglow like the red in the bow That promises fairer weather. My old mill is closed down, and we've moved into town; I'm a happy, a happy rich miller, Have got children seven; they've got about eleven, God bless my helpmate, Priscilla. 'Cilia often spreads over her grandchildren's heads That friend of our youthful bliss. And slowly she stoops, as they pass in small groups Each for a grandma's kiss. THE CHURCH TRIAL. " 'Tis sad thus to meet," Said old Deacon Sweet, Addressing the church committee, "We've charges to hear That arouse our fear, A scandal, the talk of the city. "There's dear Brother Bliss, He'll testify this (We wish to deal justly and fair) : He saw Parson Tate, The scene he'll relate. Brother B., please step to the chair!" "I did, with surprise. With these my two eyes. Gaze on a scene I'll uncover. For, true as the book, I saw our new cook. With the parson acting her lover. "On curtains drawn close. Outlining his nose. And our Bettie, I knew by her mug. MISCELLANEOUS 123 This pantomime strange Moved twice out of range With kiss, caress, and a hug." ''Enough, Brother B., We'll hear Parson T., Who seems to have fallen from grace; With tears in our eyes Let prayers now arise — We'll soon find a man for his place." "Please now let me speak, My flock, and I'll seek To show shadows cast by the way Tell coming events, With moral intents — I've wedded sweet Bettie today." MORAL. There's naught in the book Prohibits a cook From wedding a divine ; Look out for Bliss's Reports from kisses, And where your light does shine. TIBI SERIS, TIBI METIS. The world is full of sleek and sly. Sinners who so meekly Seek for their mansions in the sky. On installments weekly. Just once a week they meet and pray, Other days they're preying. On the toil of human clay. Their greedy hearts obeying. They fleece the lambs six days in seven, And leave them to their fate, The seventh drop their knees to heaven, And pennies on the plate. 124 MISCELLANEOUS Some day they'll knock, and Pete will say, "Call around next Sunday; Six days in liell you're doomed to stay, Leaving here each Monday." THE HEN AND THE OWL. 'Twas evening and the sun had set, And the feathery crew. Gather to lay their Easter eggs, When overhead there flew A fluffy owl with large fixed eyes, He lit o'er hens and nest. And settling down upon a bough. He hooted out a jest. "You barn-yard fowls, just look at me. See wisdom's ideal bird. No cackler like your common self. You're foul, that's just the word. You lay your eggs, they wring your neck. And scald and pick you clean; Your labor gets its just reward. You are an egg machine." Thus he talked, and the pale, cold moon. Came forth with ghostly glow, Till o'er the hills the daylight broke Then all the cocks did crow. The roost-cock now spake for his mate And roosters far and near. Echoed their sentiments abroad. With early morning cheer. "You are an owl, you hoot and howl. Your wisdom's all effect. Since you have loosed and wagged your tongue, I judge you quite correct. Muffled up, you play well your part, With cold and staring eyes. When stuffed by taxidermist art. You, only then, are wise. MISCELLANEOUS 12f a O, wisdom! jeering at a lien, Fie, fie, on you, for shame ! > Go interview yon eagle's nest, ''\ And tell him of your fame. When Nature set her schemes to work :\ By making bird and fowl, | She had a pile of feathers left, | And made a useless owl. ' ' i It is not always what we are, But what we seem to be; That fools the many fools on earth. Who only plumage see. The fluffy, huffy man that struts. Who studies wisdom's frown. When brought in contact with the wise, Is the biggest fool in town. Improve youi- talents as you grow. And keep a natural shape. It's best to be just what you are. Don't try to be an ape. If you would always seem a sage. The fraud won't be detected. If you can hold your noisy tongue. Look wise, and be respected. NOT A CENT IN HIS POCKET TO PAY WHAT HE OWES. (ballade.) Up in his den where the hail and the rain Clatter o'er roof when the wind wildly blows, Dashing the sleet 'gainst the high attic pane— Not a cent in his pocket to pay what he owes. Smoking his pipe while the hearth ember glows, Flitting strange shadows o'er ceiling and floor. There dreams a poor artist in sweetest repose. When the landlord raps for rent on his door. 126 MISCELLANEOUS A vision he longs to tear from his brain And place on his canvas in angelic pose, The form of his loved one, sweet Mary Jane, Not a cent in his pocket to pay what he owes ; ■ Dreams of the maiden in light airy clothes, A Lorelei standing on rock by the shore, Where the moon glinted waves roll up in long rows : When the landlord raps for rent on his door. The light of the embers sparkle and wane. He gracefully stretches and falls in a doze ; Sleeping, he's weaving fresh links in the chain — Not a cent in his pocket to pay what he owes ; Dreams that the spra}^ o'er his maiden has froze. He hears the wind howl — 'tis only his snore; Chill air now vapors the breath from his nose, When the landlord raps for rent on his door. L 'envoi. Prince, help the lone artist whom nobody knows. Not a cent in his pocket to pay what he owes ; Lead him from dreamland to fame and galore. When the landlord raps for rent on his door. MYTHOLOGICAL MIXTURE DRESS. No Delphic Oracles can claim a part In their dictation of our modern art. Pure ancient ethics we have not outgrown. As to our dresses, we design our own. We goddesses of A. D. nineteen eight. Disdain your counsel for a fashion plate. While divided in our views on parted skirts, We claim the right to be old maids or flirts. And man, poor sinner, has a foolish whim. That we, with grace artistic, show a limb, Within a sheath gown we can closely twine Show our understanding and form divine. You, old time nymphs back in B. C, confess, Your fairy forms display no over dress. Your courtiers they were a classic crew. MISCELLANEOUS 127 And wore their classic clothing just like you. Let Themis, Astraea and Nemesis Give lectures to Apollo, 'twas their biz. But we are doing business on a plan That suits our creation to a man. We are no myths, we push the world along. Followed by an admiring, gaping throng, Our modern gods gone crazy, and we laugh To see them chasing after, what — a calf. THE PRESS. No wealth, no strength, no talent can possess The sterling power of a united press ; Propped on the truth, a lever that must lift Nations and people up to righteous thrift. This valiant host with wisdom wields a might That sermons preached from pulpits cannot slight. The press is but the secular annex. Which often saints as well as sinners vex. The devil in big headlines gets display. To show the naked truth. The church can pray For cleaner life ; the press with mighty pen Will push the cause along with an Amen, And spread before the world by text and acts, Like good ai)ostles, its inspiring tracts. i MAN VERSUS NATURE. 1 The spring's jobs now are all cleaned up, I The days are warm and long, \ And painters don their white cluck suits i To join the summer throng. i A coat of green Dame Nature wears, The fields with flowers aglow, ■] Until cold winter peels them off, j And primes with flake white snow. \ 128 MISCELLANEOUS All ready for another spring, Her colors to renew, She keeps her forces full of work. They toil the whole year through. Yet ofttimes Nature gets stirred up, Seems turbulent and cross. Just like some painters who have struck Against their mortal boss. We Ve heard her thunder growl above. Seen lightning on a strike. And cyclones rage and blow the dust. Perhaps they do not like. To work all day and work all night, For mortals, who feel sore. For toiling just eight hours a day, While they work twenty-four. ZWEI STEINE. Once on a time, the story goes. Of two men, Stein and Stone. As fresco artists they did pose. To fame they're not yet known. And each one was a first-class hand, In the decorative trade. But they could hardly understand One word the other said. ' ' Wissen Sie, ' ' once Stein did say, "Was ist die rechte Zeit?" All Stone could say was "Nix verstay." He learned some words that night : The words he learned were — "We feel o'er,' Stein understood him — sure, And Stone then learned something more. He now says: "Wie viel Uhr." MISCELLANEOUS 129 But Stone once said: ''Stein, you are deep." Stein thought he called him tlnef. i His anger he could hardly keep ; Till he found that deep meant tief . Now Stone and Stein we know are one, ^^ And when alone (allein), 3 With their artistic work all done, - They each enjoy their Stein. MIKELITE. Mike Engel swung his ten-inch brush, To kalsomine a ceiling blue ; He and his 'prentice, Jimmy Rush, Who all the boys call'd Mickey Glue. The paint, it was Mike's new idea. To spread it on he said was fun. He claimed it dried both smooth and clear. Still more, he claimed, it would not run. Through Greek and Latin, day and night Michael sought some name to fit it. At last he dreamed of Mikelite, Awoke and swore he had liit it. Now Michael he had learned his trade ; But Mickey he was fresh and young, 'Twas the first trial he had made To swing a brush and hold his tongue. He held the laps for Michael E., The very best the lad could do ; The day was warm, and so was he, And from his brush the color flew. From handle and bristle, all the same The paint it dripped from brush to shoe ; To see the boy you'd change his name And call him' Michael's Mickey Blue. Mickey's heart was full of woe, For his shoes were full of paint, 130 MISCELLANEOUS And lie feared Mike's wrath would flow, Knowing well lie was no saint. Now Michael, turning, saw the sight. And gazing on the spectre blue All dripping with his Mikelite, He called aloud to Mickey Glue: ********** ''I'm here; your sample; that don't run; I wish I could, but I might break, I am your statue, just for fun. Called Michael Engel's Mikelite." TWO KINDS OF PAINT SKINS. You can soften a paint skin in a pot. And for a purpose it suits. By grinding them after you've boiled them hot, But you can't the skins in boots; Wlio figure so low on every job. By cutting the price in two. And smoothly a trusting client they rob, And surely they're robbing you. They stick much closer to most every town, Than the skins of old white lead. It's a very hard job to turn them down, Or spoil their great figure-head. They handle a brush as a cow would a gun. They manage to size and prime; They don't even know when a job is done. But they know how to figure their time. There's Jim Do Little and Johnnie Do More; Do More, he does all the talk. The number of hands that they have are four, They depend on luck for stock; Yet jolly good fellows are Jim and Jack, That being their stock in trade, It would sink a ship the knowledge they lack, They know a brush from a spade. Xocal FISH, CLAMS AND SWINE. Tlie finny tribe down in the deep, Will soon in dire unrest. Dart forth from their long winter's sleep To be caught up and dressed. To suit our taste, boiled, baked or fried, To sizzle in the pan. For biting at the bait they died. Tempted by cruel man. Yet there are fishes in the sea. Like men upon the land. They smell the bait, then they flee For others to be panned. This year they get more healthy bait, Perhaps they'll better bite, For sewage clams are out of date, By law they're out of sight. Yet hogs we feed on garbage swill, We eat their steak and ham. On swine we dine, the law is nil. But yet it damns the clam. THE FIREMEN'S PLAYOUT. FALL RIVER, MASS., JULY 4tH, 1906. John I. stood on the engine's deck. His face all bathed with dew, The crowd was large, he stretched his neck To view his scanty crew. Four veterans hung upon each brake To win Fall River's prize, Eight valiant souls to win the stake. Then to the crowd John cries : 132 MISCELLANEOUS— LOCAL ''Ladies and gents: Dear girls, your beans Can lend a helping hand; Then watch the stream our beauty throws With the brakes at your command." The girls they did not urge in vain, The brakes were filled anon. They yelled aloud through wind and rain, ' ' We 're with you. Uncle John ! ' ' With Albert's eyes on suction hose And sturdy hands at brakes, The nozzle answered, "Here she blows!" The old tub fairly shakes. Judge Griffin watched the wavering stream, Driscoll scanned the paper. While Cram's and Gifford's eyes did gleam As the spray ahead did caper. The hosemen now were all alert, Pat at the nozzle blew The stream that popped a winning squirt. Not quite one seventy-two. In nineteen six, on July four, John shuffled up the deck. He bid on hearts and won the score. And Brooks brought home the check. To the Veteran Firemen's Association of New Bedford. NEW BEDFORD. In days of old our white winged throng Nested about our quays, A whaler's squadron, fair and strong, • Their masts, like forest trees. Along our wharves six hundred sails. If mustered for review. Six hundred sails to chase the whales, An army, for a crew. MISCELLANEOUS— LOCAL 133 From this old port they sailed away, Through every zone to roam, They sang farewell to Buzzards Bay, To sail for years from home. THE PARADE. "Say! Cap, i Is this N. B. I Old New Bedford by the sea?" i "Yes, old man, this is the town, | Of whaling fame of great renown, ; If you don't know •■ About this show ; You can find the reason why, ' Roam around and cast your eye Lengthwise, crosswise and otherwise ; O'er the place. j You'll find we are in the race j From Acushnet to the Cove, ! I think you'll say we are it, by Jove, ^ When you ponder on our size. What ! not been here since 'Fifty -five ? s Thank your stars you're now alive j To see us hustle i Old home week bustle. i Frenchmen, and Portuguese, ! Injuns, and Yankees, : And others from foreign lands. Helping with willing hands. - All in fine feather. Pulling together, ! Plucking from freedom's soil ^ Fruits, by their earnest toil, j 'Neath our ever growing stars, ; Our old flag of seven bars. ] We don't bar any, j None too many. | Well! — yes, there are a dirty few, j When they're washed perhaps they'll do. ] This is the town we've made. ! 134 MISCELLANEOUS— LOCAL Did you see the grand parade? Home trades of every kind; Noise enough to cheer the blind. Engines new and engines old, Each one their story told. Firemen in shirts of red, Old hand tub 5 not yet dead, With John, her mascot true, On her deck in full view; Bands — they interspersed the line — Playing 'Home, Sweet Home' and 'Auld Lang Syne'; And there was Tom, who got the cheer. Carving records for us here ; Bunting streaming from the floats. Immigrants in small steamboats. Veterans marching 'long the way. Brats and striplings all felt gay. Showers of fish scales, red, white and blue, Laughing maids and lovers threw. Say! old man. What's your name? Smith — God bless you. Mine's the same. With Captain Clough you say you sailed To the Arctic, where she whaled? In Tompkins' Twilight I was mate, And Mellen's Junior; you know their fate. Your name's Smith, and mine is too. Say Smith, we are a crew. And need a Cap, to steer our craft. To see N. B. from bow to aft. There's just the man right over there, A captain never known to swear. Fat and jolly Captain D ." : The Cap, he smiled a melting frown. And took Smith all over town. Saw all the sights, the textile school. They spoke of governmental rule; They had a view of every mill; 'Twas Old Home Week, the looms were still; And they were a happy crew. They knew the old, now saw the new, MISCELLANEOUS— LOCAL 135 And the Smiths they wondered both At the Cap's and the city's growth. The Cap he winked his starboard eye And shook them each with a good-bye. THE COMMISSION. Hiawatha, please forgive me, For these measures I am stealing, Stealing from the pen that made thee. For this metre makes the gas flow. That is gushing from some bodies. From their mouths and nostrils gushing, Blue flames of satanic laughter. That they have killed the Commission, The Commission that might stick them. Hold their Injuns to their duty. They are yelling like papooses, Crying that the camp is slandered. That we have a bully chieftain, That he is the full Commission, He can use it as he chooses. On the banks of the Acushnet, Westward to Apponagansett, In the state of Massachusetts, Are bright campfires still a-burning , And kept blazing by live Injuns, Who don't hide behind slick sheepskins. But are crying clear the camp ground Of its sink holes and its pitfalls. Ridicule to some seems funny, Because honest scouting parties, With their flash lights showed the Nigger Hid in ambush, well protected, You can't kill these allegators. Who unite and tie together, Facts that make you howl like thunder; Rate a man at his par value. 136 MTSCP]LLANEOUS— LOCAL Is he clean or is lie dirty? Why conspire to sting some good men, 'Cause they talk of V shaped arrows, And of wampum, the assessment. 'Twixt your armor of sarcasm. There are some weak points to reach you. There are two sides to a question, One that smells best is the choicest, Close your nose upon the other. Agitation helps us Injuns, It is medicine in doses. Shaken well before we feel it. Elevates politic bodies. Helps their functions for their duty. And supports the weak-kneed sachem. Commissions or no Commissions, There's law enough lying idle To place barbed wire 'round hell's kitchen. No, this camp is not infernal. But there are spots that lead down to Little hells that are a-smoking Shan't we try to keep them under? If good Injuns want to quench it. They will find they've got their hands full. Injuns, Injuns from all nations. Residing here in this forest. Of wigwams both big and little. With your squaws and papooses. Think for yourselves and think clearly. For your heads are made for thinking. This tale of vice, is it proven? The devil's tail is it wagging? Do you know it when you see it? Has your Chief got the backbone To twist the tail of the devil With the law that's fitted for it? MISCELLANEOUS— LOCAL 137 THE PILGRIM CLUB. At the meeting of the Pilgrim club last evening, there was a debate on this resolution: "That the A. B. C. P. M. should not have accepted the gift of one hundred thousand dollars, donated by John 1). Rockefeller." "J. D. is no saint, acknowledge the taint, For he's a great mone}^ winner; He's barrels of oil from scheming and toil. This noted billionaire sinner. "He is a big bee, distilling you see, From out of crude oil his money ; "His swarms claim the earth, others die at their birth Leaving John's hives full of honey. "His rebate on train from Kansas to Maine, Shut off the wind of his brothers J. D., you see, is a most busy bee, And yet you know there are others. "With righteous intent this money he sent. Strange places all dollars have seen, A dollar's disgrace can't discount its face. You can use it for work that's clean. "Each man lives alone in his own mental zone, And breathes in his own atmosphere ; Some dwell in a trance, their thoughtful expanse To others seems doubtful and queer. "J. D. through the eye of a needle may spy, And try to pull himself through ; By reducing his lump, his big monied hump. And scatter his wealth like the dew. "Let's help him to try to pull through the eye, And scatter his large money pile ; There are heathens enough to use up the stuff. And mosquitoes to smother with ile. 138 MISCELLANEOUS— LOCAL "In our houses of glass it seems quite a farce To note the stones we are throwing, How harshly we judge, it seems like a grudge. There 's good 'mid the tares John is sowing. "Perhaps he's a trust beyond earthly dust And liis future seems to him clear; When in pocketless shroud he drops from the crowd, And says to St. Peter, ' I 'm here. ' ' ' Through half open gate St. Peter '11 say, ' Wait, We are paving a street of gold, The heathens you saved have got it most paved And you soon can enter their fold.' "If to reach the shore of that bright evermore The devil should lend us some aid; The means and the end we should comprehend. And see the bright side, not the shade." TO THE PILGRIM CLUB. PRELUDE. In simple prose the naked truth seems cold, 'Tis better far if clothed in measured rhyme; And if perchance these verses seem too bold, Pronounce a fitting sentence for the crime. CARDS, CLUBS AND PILGRIMS. Within this sacred pile we sinners meet. To spend a creedless, merry, social hour; To see, to feel, to taste, each sense to treat Beneath the moon-faced dial in the tower; That slowly marks Time's flight through night and day, Where hourly clangs the bell's huge brazen tongue, Rings out, 'tis gone, the hour has passed away, And o'er our heads the nightly curfew's rung. We are a social crew, we need no screens. We always strive to furnish drawing cards; Alas! our pack is minus of the queens. MISCELLANEOUS— LOCAL 139 The club's a good excuse to your home pards. For clubs are trumps you tell your queen of hearts, Of course, the guileless creature she don't know; To save her all the worry, needless smarts, Show your card, the dues, vouched for by Lowe. By this, you may the madam's fears allay. But if at ten o'clock from here you go. Don't say you stayed until the break of day; For what would happen then, perhaps you know. Each man at birth is dealt a virgin hand To shuffle and to deal, as he should know^, With his five senses at his own command. To win or lose, as he plays high or low. For every sense we should a rule affix. To test our sight, if we are color blind; Perverted taste our senses often mix. Try first your spade and diamonds you may find. All earth's good things for man held in reserve, Should test the wisdom of our will's command; Subservient to our own moral nerve. Let a wise head control the easy hand. That man's a brick, we often hear it said; Environment has baked his plastic clay; With a flush hand he paints the town bright red. He's but a pilgrim that has lost his way. He'll find it by and by, when he has cast And scattered to the winds all his wild oats He'll drop the game and say that he has "passed," Experience will bring the antidotes. There's the self-righteous man, who claims no sin. Presumes his perfect soul contains no chaff; His lofty sense of purity within, Envies the prodigal fatted calf. With their muck-rakes Pharisees dredge for tares, Seek not for virtues in their brothers born; To heritage of sin they are not heirs, This is the kind that healthy sinners scorn. 140 MISCELLANEOUS— LOCAL 'Tis not to moralize on things so drear, Or blame ourselves for what is past and gone; Let's sip the sweets of life and be sincere, And heal the smarts from the adamic thorn. We have three Vices, whose virtues bring success. Our President fills well the foremost place; As for the others we must here confess. They do reflect our leader's social grace. As we again behold another spring, We find our membership completes the roll, The Pilgrim Club with ease we now can swing, Nourished to this great strength by our own Sowle, The task seems easy now to raise the dough — Nuts for the table, coffee, crackers, cheese, And we are flush and try to make a show. For we are the four hundred if you please. With lights turned down 'tis here we sit and gaze. Upon the screen and visit distant shores; To view the wonders of earth's ancient days. From England's realm down to the fair Azores. Ireland's green hills we've seen, her lakes, her shrine Where politicians kiss the Blarney stone; She sends us crops of cops from o'er the brine To don the star and club within our zone. Up through the sea bordering Africa's soil, Down by old Egjq^t, through the river Nile, We travel free from scent of smoke or toil; By steam this pilgrimage would take our pile. We note our pilgrim's progress fills the hall. We have no Bimyans but on our feet — We travel through the summer to the fall. Again around our festive board to meet. This pilgrim tale has hardly yet begun. The balance to this club I now assign. To some member's eldest great grandson. To read in April, nineteen ninety-nine. MISCELLANEOUS— LOCAL 141 Hoping each pilgrim here can now digest, This well intended, sugar-coated dose. It is high time to give your patience rest, With benediction bring it to a close. May Life our lives with purest pleasures fill. While we are clinging to this mundane hub, May we with grace swallow each bitter pill, Fraternally within this Pilgrim Club. JONTOMIKIE. AN EPIC. ! On the banks of the Acushnet, j Westward near Apponegansett, j In the state of Massachusetts, ] Dwells a tribe of busy people. | In olden times they went fishing. For the mammoth whale and porpoise. To press out oil into wampum, Built their wigwams on the hillside, ! Sloping up from the Acushnet; Built them 'neath the elm and oak tree. Eastward, westward, northward, southward, j They made trails to all their wigwams. j Founders of the old Wamsutta, Founders, too, of the Potomska, j Some are living, some departed. j Now the young bucks of the tribe came, i Held a council, chose a young buck, \ Who appeared in all his glory. \ The squaws they called him "handsome Sharla," With his braves he was the grandest; ] All his people gathered wampum, | For their chief knew how to use it. \ Planned a wigwam for papooses. j Like a palace all the plans were; | Heap big Injun, whole-souled Sharla. j He had a heart big as an ox's; j For many moons he was sachem, This noble brave Sharlaashla. 142 MISCELLANEOUS— LOCAL Now the tribe commenced to ponder, As they saw the wampmn shrinking, For they knew there was a limit; And they held another council, Called by big brave known as Toma. All his tribesmen came together. And they had a grand old powwow. Biggest seen within a wigwam. They named Toma as their chieftain. When he brought them into battle. His tomahawk led in scalping; But volleys of V shaped arrows. Shot by many foes in ambush. Gave the fight to Sharlaashla. Toma's first fight for his tribesmen. On the banks of the Acushnet, Westward near Apponegansett, In the state of Massachusetts. Winter passed and springtime opened. Yet there stood that same old limit. Like a ghost it haunted Sharla, He appealed to chief of chieftains, Sachem of all Massachusetts, And that sachem answered "Nixy; Live within your means and fix it." Sharla hied him to Wyoming, To hunt arrow heads of copper. With which to fight life's hard battle, And to study out the problem. How to get his tribe a sachem. For he felt he'd reached the limit. Autumn leaves again were falling, Filling trails before the wigwams. While the tribe was sorely kicking For ample appropriations, To clean out the village rubbish. For which the tribesmen needed wampum. I\rJSCELLANEOUS— LOCAL 143 Now returning from Wyoming, Sharla with liis tribesmen hustled, Older warriors would not listen, Somehow their souls were not in it, And they tried to sing a Bent-lay, To the tune of Sharlaashla, But at last they found a brave buck, Seated in his village store house. Bric-a-brac adorned his wigwam. Pipes of peace and pipes in pieces. Through which once the smoke went curling, Through the roof among the tree tops, On the banks of the Acushnet, And they hailed him chief Makoola. He said he longed for the war path. To shake his spear dressed in war paint. Till they cried enough he^d fight them. And his smile lit up the wigwam. Farther up into the village. On the fourth trail from the river. Stood brave Toma in his doorway. In the doorway of his wigwam. Arrow heads he cut from granite. Shaped in marble angel figures. Carved in letters when departed. And their advent to the forest. ''With a look of exultation. As of one who in a vision. Sees what is to be and is not," Stood brave Toma in his doorway. And with pleasant smile he uttered, "If my tribesmen do not Avant me. They've had time enough to know me. They can take some other fellow; They have a quartet to choose from; They have Ika with his mustangs, Who lives right across the trail there; And our herb man, sachem, noble; And our brave Yona Makoola. When the forest rings with battle, When the arrow heads are flying, 144 MISCELLANEOUS— LOCAL Then beware of the V shaped. They are poisoned headed arrows, Used by sneaks who lie in ambush." Thus spoke Toma in his stone yard, Figuring out the situation; Wlien there passed a cheeky warrior. And the warrior said to Toma, "See behind you, all those idlers. On their haunches in your wigwam; Why do they not go a fishing? Why do they not go a clamming? What supports their papooses'?" Toma spoke and looked behind him, "They're all our night watchmen, They loaf and sleep in the day time; They are welcome to my wigwam; They can sleep in my stone yard; You'll find more over to Ika's, Right across the trail you'll find them; Sharla has some in his wigwam. Decked out with more brilliant feathers. They are part of our good people ; They all earn an honest living; The world is full of funny Injuns. Go ask them if they have papooses. They may say. Go mind your business. I believe it is your business. Now, good bye, my brave warrior; Methinks you are our wood's reporter, Gathering leaves for next Sunday, Autumn leaves so dry and flashy, For to please the simple minded." On the banks of the Acushnet, Westward to Apponegansett, In the state of Massachusetts, All the tribesmen now are busy, Making arrows for their bowstrings; From the oak tree forming war clubs, Dyeing feathers for their head gear. Some sing songs to Hiawatha, 1\ITSCELLANE0US— LOCAL 145 Some have songs quite aquatic, Some still sing in praise of Sharla. The old braves, sedate and pensive. In their wigwams on the hill top, Heard the j^oung bucks whoop their war cry, And they pondered on the outlook, And they pondered over Ika, Cast their gaze upon the herb man Thoughtfully they spoke of Toma, Reached the limit in Makoola. In the northwood Peoleera, In the southwood Yonameana, Scratched their heads in confusion. Watching for December's Tuesday, Following on its first Monday. Eastward now from Padanaram, Eastward from Apponegansett, Across the hill to the salt stream. Of the flowing, old Acushnet, Watched the people for the red fire, For the ending of the battle, And to hail the brand new chieftain, Who would aid the willing people. Strive to live within their income. And allow the digger Injuns, Work sufficient to support them, And their squaws and their papooses ; To clear all the leaves and rubbish, From the trails within the village, And to use their precious wampum. To relieve them not to swamp them. This the tale of Jontomikie, And the herb man with his balsams, This the prelude to the finish, Of a fight that is four cornered, From the west side to the east side. From the north end to the south end. Let the people show their wisdom, Know which side their bread is buttered, 146 MISCELLANEOUS— LOCAL They don't want an under study, But a brand new able chieftain, Who knows the right, dares to do it, With a will like his own granite. Make Tomatee our big Injun, Peace will come within the wigwams, On the banks of the Acushnet. AUG 30 19fl One copy del. to Cat. Div.