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JOHNSON BROS PTG- CO 
 
 STATIONERS. PRINTERS AND Bl 
 
 SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS. 
 
Jerry Newton 
 
76 3 6-*'/ 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF 
 CONGRESS, 
 
 T.j/o Coptes REOtivEO 
 
 iUL. 15 1902 
 
 COPVSIOHT ENTRY 
 
 CLASS O-XXc. No. 
 COPY e. 
 
 s H u *^ 
 
 
 
 
 Entered according to the Act of Congress 
 in the year 1902, hj Jerry Neivton, in-^the 
 oMce of the Librarian of Congress at 
 Washington. 
 
 
 (A. 11 rig-hts reserved.) 
 
To the Telegraph Fraternity I affectionately 
 dedicate this little book. 
 
 J. N. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 I presume a preface to this little volume is not absolutely essential ; 
 still I think I had better have one, as a kind of a starter. Now, it is a 
 matter of taste (in my estimation) whether or not the author of a book 
 tells when and where he was born, or whether he makes any claims to 
 being born at all; but as a preliminary shift, and to fill in, I will say 
 that about the year ??? A. D., on the 12th day of Februarj', in the 
 afternoon (this was handed down to me) I was ushered into this conflict, 
 which occurrence took place in the sunk lands of Missouri, if you know 
 that location. That was in 1812. (This refers to the year in which 
 the seismatic disturbance took place, and not to the year of my birth. 
 I was partially reared among the amphibious and odoriferous species 
 of which that section was then prolific. It was in the midst of such 
 surroundings that I began feeling a little poetic (queer wasn't it?). 
 Now, my friends, I shall feel pleased if you may find some- 
 thing in this book that will entertain you (don't all speak at once). 
 You may find expressions herein that will appeal to, and reach 
 a tender chord, I hope so, for we all enjoy a touch of pathos at times. 
 And as, in my fancy flights, I have dropped from the sublime to the 
 ridiculous (I trust not too suddenly). I hope you will find something 
 that will tend to enlist your interest and arouse j'our mirth. If I suc- 
 ceed in reaching the pathetic side of your make-up or cause you to 
 enjoy one real, hearty laugh, I shall feel abundantly rewarded. 
 
 I have piloted this office (have been Manager) for twenty years, and 
 have written these poems between acts, as it were; that is, I have appro- 
 priated a few moments' time, now and then, from the service of the 
 great Western Union Telegraph Company, whose confidence I have 
 enjoyed for thirty-five years, I will ask, however, that you treat the 
 above remark as sub-rosa, I would not wish the friends of iny life to 
 know that I ever purloined anj^thing from them. If, in perusing this 
 book, 3'ou find anything seasoned too highly, or on the other hand that 
 lacks zest, for the same I offer an apology. You know 'tis manly to 
 acknowledge one's faults, as well as human to err, and Divine to for- 
 give. (This is not original — with me). 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 To readers of this book, 
 Whether humble or swell, 
 
 I will take you to haunts, 
 Of your childhood to dwell. 
 
 And I trust that an hour, 
 You may sweetly beg-uile, 
 
 Should it cause you a tear. 
 May it cause you a smile. 
 
RETROSPECTION. 
 
 ^ :!iz ^ :^ 
 
 (Written December 28, 1895 ) 
 
 As I sit here to-nig-ht, with the past all 
 ag-leam, 
 
 To my sad weary soul, it seems only a 
 dream. 
 
 By fond memory's touch, I look back over 
 the year, 
 
 And find link'd tog-ether, joys and sor- 
 rows both dear. 
 
 As each ember is dying-, that lengthening- 
 chain, 
 
 Reaches back to old haunts, and my loved 
 ones ag-ain, 
 
 Where beams from their luster, chased 
 away all the gloom. 
 
 Before I long'd for a voice to come from 
 the tomb. 
 
 Through the mysteries beyond, those dear 
 
 to me roam, 
 But the Angels I'm sure, have welcomed 
 
 them home 
 To realms enchanted, where the portals 
 
 ajar. 
 Awaited their entrance to that region afar. 
 
 When moonbeams at eve, over their silent 
 
 tombs creep. 
 Where they lie under the sod, in cold 
 
 dreamless sleep. 
 With my tear-drops I nourish the verdure 
 
 and vine, 
 While their spirits in sympathy mingle 
 
 with mine. 
 
As rays shoot from heaven, tranquil, brig-ht, 
 soothing- g-leams 
 
 O'er the clouds oft I'm roaming-, in sweet- 
 est of dreams ; 
 
 'Mid little stars twinkling, many faces I see, 
 
 And as they draw nearer, comes some 
 solace to me. 
 
 On the verge now I totter of a home 'neath 
 
 the clay, 
 With my head bowed with years, I must 
 
 thitherward stray. 
 And while looking back, bidding- the Old 
 
 Year adieu, 
 I'm wondering what is stored for me in the 
 
 New. 
 
TO RUSSELL SAGE. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Now, three score years and ten, and more, 
 
 Have been allotted you 
 With hoary locks, intrepid yet, 
 
 Your spirit won't subdue. 
 
 Bewrit with time's enlig-htening- touch 
 
 And vig-orous with your age, 
 Courag-eous, brave, undaunted too, 
 Sag-acious, prudent Sage. 
 
 A land-mark left almost alone 
 
 To mark ye olden way, 
 Renowned for master intellect 
 
 Still multitudes you sway. 
 
 Resourceful, with discernment quick, 
 
 Discreet in every deed : 
 With hig-h esteem, we venerate; 
 
 May Heaven be your meed. 
 
 Grand, g-ood old man with years fatigued. 
 
 But zealous, staunch and true, 
 God's will be done; may many more 
 
 Bring- happiness to you. 
 
SIEGE OF THE ALAMO. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Hope for relief so long- deferred — 
 Their melancholy fate was sealed; 
 
 The promised succor did not come, 
 Stern realities were revealed. 
 
 Thoug-h solemn and unwelcomed facts 
 The g-loomy crisis seemed at hand, 
 
 And ere another sun had paled 
 
 Death might claim their heroic band. 
 
 When disappointment bow'd his head 
 The chieftain with emotions stood 
 
 Before his band of patriots 
 
 And told the facts as best he could. 
 
 And then he traced upon the g-round 
 A line for those who would remain 
 
 To cross, and show their willing-ness 
 That all together should be slain. 
 
 Save only one, e'en sick and sore, 
 Undaunted courage then displayed. 
 
 And Santa Ana's blood-red flag 
 
 Their g-reat devotion never swayed. 
 
 Grand Alamo, formidable 
 
 Appeared to those without its walls, 
 But Santa Ana g-oads his hords, 
 
 And tyrant he, brave men appalls. 
 
 No mercy lurked within his breast. 
 But Travis, while his flag still soared, 
 
 Rejected every offer made 
 
 While shot flew hot and canon roared. 
 
Day after day they were besieged 
 And stormed within their citadel, 
 
 The "DEQUELO" sounds, walls are scaled, 
 Brave Travis with his comrades fell. 
 
 A Mother found with nursing- babe 
 
 In the bitterest of despair, 
 A touch of mercy rescued them 
 
 From harm, the din, and carnage there. 
 
 Then Santa Ana held brief sway. 
 His acts inhuman were complete. 
 
 In vict'ry most detestable, 
 Inherent, also in defeat. 
 
 Brave Houston and his valiant band 
 With daring made the viper yield, 
 
 When Texas earned the benison 
 On San Jacinto's glorious field. 
 
AM I DREAMING? 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Written December 31, 1897. 
 
 Just watch the sun-beams kissing- out 
 With warm caress, but fading- hue 
 
 The dying- year, but in the morn 
 
 They'll shed effulg-cnce o'er the new. 
 
 Comes a whisper as the echo 
 
 Is flashing- back o'er hill and dale, 
 
 And I list with eag-er waiting 
 
 While peering- through time's mist}- veil. 
 
 Is it phantom, or what is it? 
 
 Some fond enchantment from the past? 
 Can it be that I am dreaming 
 
 Of sacred thing-s that could not last? 
 
 Visions born of retrospection. 
 Now flit before my fancy's gaze; 
 
 Be they spirits of my loved ones, 
 
 Come back to charm these New Year 
 days? 
 
 Sweetest incense o'er the landscape 
 Is wafted fresh on every breeze. 
 
 This may be a g-limpse of Heaven, 
 That my anxious vision sees. 
 
 'Round the fireside is Mother, 
 She's sitting- in her old arm-chair, 
 
 And there's Father with the Bible, 
 He's ready for the evening- prayer. 
 
 In her little nig-ht-gown fluffy, 
 
 Throug-h tears that come so full and free, 
 I can see my sister kneeling- 
 
 For good-nig-ht prayer at Mother's knee. 
 
Hear the little darling- lisping-: 
 " Now I lay me down to sleep;" 
 
 In her trundle she reposes, 
 
 While Ang-els 'round her vigils keep. 
 
 As my dream g-rows realistic, 
 
 Home of my childhood comes so bright 
 Thro' the rifts in clouds that's broken, 
 
 Rays are coming- soft and light. 
 
A SKELETON IN THE CLOSET; 
 
 OR WE ALL HAVE THEM. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Into a house one day it stroll'd, 
 
 A skeleton sere-g^hastly, 
 And told the folks 'thad come to stay 
 
 To their sorrow vastly. 
 
 It peered into each little nook, 
 Its gaze was fierce and grim, 
 
 And when he spied the closet door 
 Said that would do for him. 
 
 He ope'd the door and entered in 
 Though through a flood of tears. 
 
 And has remained a stigma there, 
 For lo ! these many years. 
 
 This shall be my abiding place. 
 
 Through the future ages. 
 Family hist'ry will hand me down, 
 
 Not on printed pages. 
 
 The episode will be kept fresh 
 
 Among your descendants. 
 For Mother gossip never dies, 
 
 She quotes with amendments. 
 
 Be not dismayed but keep good cheer 
 
 For our name is legion, 
 In every household one you'll find. 
 
 In this and ev'ry region. 
 
 It may seem strange to some I'm sure, 
 
 Nevertheless 'tis true, 
 That every household in the land 
 
 Has one and sometimes two. 
 
 13 
 
The following- telegram was received 
 from Mrs. Baker, wife of our deceased and 
 lamented Superintendent : 
 
 St. Louis, Mo., October 29, 1901, 
 To J. L. Newton, 
 
 San Antonio, Texas. 
 Will you please send me some seeds from that 
 castor-bean tree that is at the back door of your 
 office. All well, send love. 
 
 (Signed.) Mrs. L. C. Baker. 
 
 MY REPLY. 
 
 That castor-bean tree is now a thing of the 
 
 past, 
 It bad to yield to old ag-e, and death's 
 
 chilly blast, 
 
 I'll hunt up some beans from a tree full of 
 vig-or, 
 
 That will stand the fury of a St. Louis 
 rigfor. 
 
GLEAMS OF THE PAST. 
 
 ?}; :tc ^ ;i< 
 
 I swing" open the blinds 
 
 Between now and the past, 
 And the bright golden gleams 
 
 They are flashing so fast, 
 To and fro down the aisle 
 
 Through the years that are gone, 
 Save only to memory 
 
 Wich is still living on. 
 
 As from under the tomb 
 
 Over expanse so bltak, 
 Sweetest whispers I hear 
 
 "Oh, speak to me, speak," 
 Do not turn away now 
 
 When all the joys are gone, 
 Be brave, it is darkest 
 
 Just before a bright dawn. 
 
 I take down my casket 
 
 Holding jewels for years, 
 I 've culled from my joys, 
 
 From my sorrows, my tears. 
 And dear, there is nothing 
 
 Which the casket now holds, 
 That is sweeter to mem'ry 
 
 Than our story unfolds. 
 
 Each cloud has its lining. 
 
 Each heart, too, its pain. 
 There'll creep into each life 
 
 Clouds again and again. 
 But love's sweetest halo 
 
 Will force its way through, 
 To lighten the burden 
 
 Of this sorrow for you. 
 
 15 
 
With an object not tickle, 
 
 But still constant and true, 
 No vows yet are broken 
 
 That were plig-hted to you, 
 And, dear, I'll be loyal, 
 
 Yes, true to the last, 
 For waiting is sweetened 
 
 With gleams of the past. 
 
THE GOSSIPER. 
 
 ^ ^ jf; ^ 
 
 (Now, do not be offended, this does not apply to you./ 
 
 From early morn on the street's she is 
 
 seen, 
 Till evening- sun hides its beautiful sheen, 
 With venemous tong-ue like a poisonous 
 
 dart, 
 She defiles the g-ood and the pure in heart. 
 
 Her manner is mild, deceptive, serene, 
 And her heart is as false as 'tis unclean. 
 Her soul will be filled with sad dismay, 
 When from the golden gate she's turned 
 away. 
 
 No serpent a tongue has equal to her's, 
 Mock sympathy profuse, crockodile tears. 
 From morning till evening her voice is 
 
 strong, 
 And laden with gossip all the day long. 
 
 But there's a day to come not off afar 
 There'll be a reck'ning at the judgment 
 
 bar, 
 With gnashing of teeth and a mournful 
 
 wail, 
 She will be turned away, this creature frail. 
 
 At the Shrine of God she prays with a vim, 
 Belabors the wicked and regions dim, 
 But St. Peter guarding the g-olden stair, 
 Will see that she never passes in there. 
 
 She may sing and chant at the Golden Gate 
 
 Of her life on earth so immaculate. 
 
 She may pra\' good prayers, and pray them 
 
 long. 
 But good St. Peter won't list to her song. 
 
 17 
 
On the Golden Shore only pure in mind 
 Are permitted around the Mystic Shrine, 
 And if by her wits she should arable in 
 They'd spear St. Peter with a javelin. 
 
 And the Lord on his Throne would look 
 serene, 
 
 Then His Ang-el band he would soon con- 
 vene, 
 
 And Peter with his staff, Gabriel to blow, 
 
 They'd escort her down to the regions low. 
 
 Her doom bein^ sealed she'll have to g-o 
 
 below. 
 Where the firey furnaces are ag-low; 
 She's served satan long-, her hair is hoary. 
 He may crown her when in purg-atory. 
 
 Well, that is the way all g-ossipers go. 
 It's a wonder that sheol don't overflow, 
 But the monarch mig-ht rent some hotter 
 
 place 
 To accommodate such a populace. 
 
SAMPLES OF NEW YEAR'S 
 GREETINGS, 
 
 ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 WRITTEN FOR MY MESSENGER BOYS. 
 
 A Merry Christmas and a happy New Year, from the West- 
 era Union Telegraph Messenger boys. 
 1891. 1892. 
 
 Who runs all day, ne'er stops to play, 
 
 For business takes the bun? 
 Lightning- boys don't monkey with toys 
 
 Nor join in sports or fun. 
 
 Now curb-stone chats with other brats 
 
 He wouldn't enter into, 
 'Twould cause delays in many ways, 
 
 Then, 'twould be a sin to. 
 
 Sparks and flashes, dots and dashes, 
 
 Chang-ed to messag-es plain, 
 He handles with care that is rare. 
 
 Through sunshine, storm or rain. 
 
 Warm hearted gents a few odd cents, 
 
 Give the messenger boy. 
 Fill him with cheer, just once a year 
 
 And joy without alloy. 
 
Another. 
 
 1804. 
 
 Greeting and a hearty good will, 
 
 To all mankind much real joy, from 
 
 The Western Union's main support, 
 The Telegraph Messenger boy. 
 
 He's the most important factor 
 Of the great Western Union Co., 
 
 His machinery is ELECTRIC, 
 Because his business makes it so. 
 
 His movements are all in DASHES, 
 And he steps the longest SPACES, 
 
 Yes, the earth with him is DOTTED 
 As he speeds to different places. 
 
 He's a RELAY and REPEATER, 
 He's SOUNDER than the very best ; 
 
 Just KEY him up with sheckles now, 
 And see him strive to do the rest. 
 
 20 
 
TAKE BACK THE RING YOU GAVE 
 ME. 
 
 Take back the ring- you gfave me, 
 
 The charm is broken now, 
 'Twas once a band of plighted love 
 
 And many a sacred vow. 
 
 I fain would love to treasure it 
 
 As in the days of yore, 
 But, thoug-h with sorrow, I confess 
 
 'Tis my talisman no more. 
 
 With fervent kiss you placed it on 
 
 My fing-er long- agfo. 
 And vows of sweetest love v/ere made 
 
 From hearts that were aglow. 
 
 I've often bathed these jewels rare 
 
 In floods of scalding- tears. 
 And prayed that I might you reclaim 
 
 Throug-h all these weary years. 
 
 I would not mar one joy of thine, 
 
 I only ask for rest. 
 And surcease from keen sorrow pangs 
 
 That lurk within my breast. 
 
 Yes, take it back let memory fade, 
 Let clouds flo^t quite between 
 
 The happy days of long- ag-o 
 That you and I have seen. 
 
 The fickle fates have lured you on. 
 
 Temptation laid its snare. 
 Forgetting all you promised me. 
 
 Discarded now you are. 
 
 Go place it on some other hand. 
 Whose wearer ne'er will know, 
 
 The bitterness it brought to me. 
 And years of weary woe. 
 
 21 
 
SAMPLES OF CONGRATULATORY 
 
 TELEGRAMS GOTTEN UP FOR 
 
 DIFFERENT FRIENDS 
 
 AMONG MY 
 JEWISHACQUAINTANCES. 
 
 * ;}; >K 5j< 
 
 Farewell, dear Sam, from all the bachellors 
 and boys, 
 
 You will soon be surrounded by plaything's 
 
 and toys. 
 May chips from the old blocks fall all 
 
 around, 
 
 And grow into big- blocks — just as sturdy 
 and sound. 
 
 Another. 
 
 (The gentleman's name is Gardiner, his wife's name Emma.) 
 
 You've found a garden with a thornless 
 
 rose. 
 The place as yet, it seems, no buds disclose. 
 You are a GARDINER — in no dilemma. 
 You may find some buds, by the aid of 
 
 Emma. 
 
 Another. 
 
 Here's a hearty g-ood wish for years of joy. 
 May you first be bless'd with a charming- 
 boy. 
 And as you move on throug-h the social 
 swirl, 
 
 May your efforts reveal a sweet little g-irl, 
 
 22 
 
Another. 
 
 Thou art gone, Martin dear, from blessed- 
 ness sing-le. 
 
 Though with sweeter sweets now existence 
 will mingle, 
 
 May fruits of this union fill your cup full 
 of joys, 
 
 Your purse full of bank-notes, your home 
 girls and boys. 
 
 Another. 
 
 (My friend, Alex. Joske,oneof ourmostprominentinerchants, 
 was blessed with a lovely girl the night before he sent the follow- 
 ing- to a friend, who married on the next morning', in Dallas, 
 Texas.) 
 
 I'm merry this morn, we're bless'd with a 
 
 pair, 
 A girl came last night, a specimen rare, 
 We're thinking of you in sympathy pure, 
 We know, to compete, you've much to 
 
 endure. 
 
 We congratulate you and wish much joy, 
 May your first, like ours, be a charming boy. 
 If time wuth his wand will give the right 
 
 twirl, 
 There may be assigned a gem of a girl. 
 
 23 
 
I STILL CHERISH THY NAME. 
 
 ^ >}; >ic :;i< 
 
 As time in its swift flig-ht 
 
 Made you withered and gray, 
 Robb'd your cheek of the tint, 
 
 Swept the bloom all away; 
 Suppressed were your smiles 
 
 Which all time cannot hide, 
 But still faithful my buoy 
 
 Ever close by my side. 
 
 As I turn back to thee 
 
 Through the much tang-led past, 
 Love's whispering- thy name, 
 
 Could the reverie but last, 
 The footprints are dimmed. 
 
 Almost obscured they seem, 
 But your name as my star, 
 
 I can g-o by its beam. 
 
 The grim reaper came in, 
 
 Snatched away my delight, 
 Left me only your name 
 
 When your soul took its flight. 
 We cannot undo, but 
 
 God's work must remain, 
 And the heart must bear on 
 
 The sharp sting of the pain 
 
 Still how dear to my heart 
 
 When I feel you are nigh, 
 Reminiscence is sweet. 
 
 But there oft comes a sigh. 
 While smiles and tears mingle 
 
 And the fates I deplore, 
 I still cherish thy name. 
 
 Though I see thee no more. 
 
 24 
 
MY OLD RECORD BOOK. 
 
 -I* -j' -T» -1^ 
 
 We're speeding- on, years fall behind 
 
 The curtain one by one, 
 The future veiled, we hope and fear 
 
 As we have ever done. 
 
 Back to the days of other scenes 
 
 We drift away in dreams, 
 And fancy's throug-h the rifts in mists 
 
 Now flint along- with gleams. 
 
 I scan each line from page to page 
 
 And transfer to the new. 
 The names of all my force that's here, 
 
 And pass it out from view. 
 
 T'is like some tried and true old friend 
 Whose usefulness has waned, 
 
 And sacred memories linger there 
 'Twixt pages unprofaned. 
 
 Its bindings now are old and sere, 
 
 Its leaves are faded too. 
 Within its stained and timeworn folds 
 
 Are records of the true. 
 
 I now consign it to the files, 
 
 Abandoned there to lay, 
 With deeds and names of those still here, 
 
 And some who've pass'd away. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 25 
 
THE DUDE. 
 
 * * * ;lc 
 Written February 9, 1897. 
 
 The spider-leg-g-ed dude, 
 
 He thinks he's perfection; 
 If I am in error 
 
 I stand for correction. 
 Take him just as you please 
 
 Either dress'd up or nude, 
 He is g-one on his shape, 
 
 The spider-legfg-ed dude. 
 
 He promenades the street 
 
 With eye-glasses and cane. 
 And a silk umbrella 
 
 With such haug-hty disdain. 
 When he meets young ladies 
 
 He is frequently rude, 
 For they sometimes remark: 
 
 "Let us hide, there's a dude. 
 
 Dudes are very brassy 
 
 And have wonderful gall, 
 They will run their faces 
 
 For large bills or small. 
 Their creditors with g-race 
 
 They will try to elude - 
 The masher, the wasp-like, 
 
 Egotistical dude. 
 
 Soliloquising he : 
 
 'T'is my night for the rink. 
 You'll perceive in my garb 
 
 I'm as neat as a pink. 
 My style can't be surpass'd. 
 
 For I'm not at all crude, 
 I know they will all say — 
 
 What a dear little dude." 
 
 26 
 
" I'll step round the corner 
 
 And imbibe a few straig-ht 
 To steady my nerves, when 
 
 I cut the figure eig-ht. 
 By the crowd g-reat or small 
 
 I know I'll be viewed. 
 Why not? I'm perfection 
 
 In the way of a dude." 
 
 A dude sometimes at church 
 
 Tries to sing in the choir, 
 Endeavors to look grave 
 
 And confidence inspire. 
 We are not here to judge. 
 
 And we must not conclude; 
 He may be in earnest, 
 
 Silly, didapper dude. 
 
 27 
 
THE FOLLOWING PIECE IS COM- 
 POSED OF THE NAMES OF 
 SONGS, EACH LINE BEING 
 THE NAME OF A SONG. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 'Irreg'ular.) 
 
 Angel ever brig-ht and fair, 
 With eyes so blue and tender, 
 
 Only to see thy face again, 
 
 The sweet face at the window. 
 
 Sweet spirit hear mj' prayer, 
 
 Wilt thou my guardian Angel be? 
 
 With all thy faults I love the still, 
 Little darling, dream of me. 
 
 Where the sweet magnolia's grow, 
 A light in the window I see, 
 
 Down by the old mill stream, 
 
 There's someone waiting for me. 
 
 Now I lay me down to sleep. 
 
 When the quiet moon is beaming; 
 
 Dreamy eyes that haunt me still, 
 'Tis ever of thee I am dreaming. 
 
 The song that reached my heart, 
 Oh, sing again that gentle strain; 
 
 'Tis evening brings by heart to thee, 
 Some day I'll wander back again. 
 
 'Twas hard to leave the old home. 
 
 Ten years in Cherry Hill; 
 I was despised because I was poor; 
 
 Poor, but a gentleman still. 
 
Wait for the turn of the tide, 
 The dawning" of another day, 
 
 Wait till the clouds roll by, 
 
 I'll come with the flowers of May. 
 
 When the winter snows are o'er, 
 The little white cot in the lane. 
 
 Where the ivy g-rows so g-reen. 
 Shall be thy sweet home again. 
 
HELL ON EARTH. 
 
 (Written by a soldier who was stationed on the Rio Grande 
 River in southern Texas. This piece was criticised by Mr. 
 Duncan Cumming-s, "D. C," which I also give, and my reply to 
 the criticisms of D. C . ) 
 
 The devil in hell we're told was chained, 
 And a thousand years he there remained, 
 He neither complained nor did he g-roan, 
 But determined to start a hell of his own. 
 Where he could torment the souls of men. 
 Without being- chained in a prison cell. 
 So he asked the Lord if he had on hand 
 Anything- left when he made the land — 
 The Lord said yes; I had plenty on hand 
 But I left it down on the Itlo Grande; 
 The fact is, old boy, the stuff is so poor, 
 I don't think you can use it as a hell any 
 
 more. 
 But the devil went down to look at the truck. 
 And after examining it carefully and well, 
 Concluded the place was too dry for a hell. 
 So in order to get it off his hands. 
 The Lord promised the devil to water the 
 
 lands, 
 For he had some water or rather some 
 
 dregs, 
 A regular cathartic and smelled like bad 
 
 eggs. 
 Hence, the trade was closed, the deed was 
 
 given, 
 And the Lord went back to his home in 
 
 heaven. 
 
 The devil said to himself, "I've all that is 
 needed 
 
To make a good hell," and hence he suc- 
 ceeded. 
 He began to put thorns on all the trees 
 And mixed up the sand with millions of 
 
 fleas; 
 He scattered tarantulas along- the road, 
 Put thorns on the cactus and horns on the 
 
 toad; 
 He lengthened the horns on the Texas 
 
 steer 
 And put an addition on the rabbit's ear; 
 He put a little devil in the bronco steed 
 And poisoned the feet of the centipede. 
 The rattle-snake bites you, the scorpion 
 
 stings, 
 The Musketo delights you with his buzzing 
 
 wings; 
 The sand-burs prevail and so do the ants. 
 Those who sit down need half soles on their 
 
 pants. 
 The devil then said that throughout the 
 
 land 
 He'd manage to keep up the devil's own 
 
 brand, 
 And all would be "MAVERICKS" unless 
 
 they bore 
 Marks, scratches, bites and thorns by the 
 
 score. 
 The heat in the summer is a hundred and 
 
 ten, 
 Too hot for the devil and too hot for men; 
 The wild boar roams through the black 
 
 chaparral. 
 'Tis a of a place, he has for a 
 
 hell. 
 
TEXAS ON THE RIO GRANDE. 
 
 (Dedicated to the trooper who wrote the original Texas on 
 the RioGrande, by D. C) 
 
 A soldier in blue, of Yankee type, 
 
 On account of a spree was exceedingly ripe. 
 
 He had snakes in his boots and frog's on 
 
 his hands — 
 It made him think of the devil's lands. 
 The garrison liquor is very tough, 
 And this private's spree was very rough. 
 In his dreams he saw thorns on all the trees. 
 His own gray-backs he took for fleas. 
 The water by his breath was contaminated, 
 And for this reason the pole-cat emigrated. 
 The snakes in his boots began to bite, 
 The frogs on his hands began to bore; 
 In fact, he was so alfiredly tight, 
 He bethought himself toguzzel some more. 
 The devil he saw in all his dreams, — 
 Hell formed a part of all his themes. 
 He imagined himself the boss of hell. 
 And for this he was suited exceedingly well. 
 He said, "For fourteen dollars, I'll slave no 
 
 more; 
 I'll be a man and not a bore." 
 Too late, for on him the devil was stuck 
 And "Yank" he wheeled off in his butcher 
 
 truck. 
 When they reached the front door bell. 
 The devil said: "That breath will decemi- 
 
 nate hell; 
 Go up above, give that breath air, 
 And give me a chance to disinfect here." 
 
 32 
 
Now he wanders about a refuse from hades, 
 Chews vile tobacco 'neath the barrack's 
 
 shades, 
 Proclaiming- throug-hout this fair land 
 That he is a MAVERICK for us to brand. 
 On his hide we will place the iron hot 
 For slandering- our state with his rhyming- 
 rot. 
 So that where'er he stops you'll know him 
 
 well 
 As a beer guzzler and a refuse from hell. 
 
 
 
 33 
 
WRITTEN FOR THE CORNER DEDI- 
 CATED TO D. C. IN REPLY TO HIS 
 TEXAS ON THE RIO GRANDE. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Bj' Jerry Newton. 
 
 The soldier was right and D. C. is wrong-, 
 I'll try to convince you — it won't take long-. 
 Down where that soldier had to take his 
 
 stand, 
 The devil and his imps went hand in hand. 
 
 If there's a hell on earth it must be where 
 Frog-s, fleas and pole-cats your companions 
 
 are; 
 Where Billv-goats roam undisturbed at will, 
 And "MAVERICKS" breed flies with a 
 
 two-inch bill. 
 
 Where the Jack-ass brays in deep basso, 
 
 And the coyotes howl, a la profimdo 
 
 With the panther's midnight lullaby 
 
 scream! 
 No wonder the soldier made hell his theme. 
 
 Gray-back's for fleas no man would take, 
 Especially a soldier ; that's a fake. 
 And as for the pole-cat's emigration. 
 He tired of drouths and poor irrigation. 
 
 Admit him a soldier of "Yankee" type, 
 Rio Grande grub even his stomach might 
 
 gripe; 
 Suppose he did guzzle little bit more. 
 It was because his tripe was raw and sore- 
 Tarantulas and snakes crawled in his boots, 
 At the midnight hour when the big owl hoots 
 And venemous reptiles abroad 'twould seem 
 'Nough to make him think of hell in his 
 
 dream. 
 
About that liquor, that garrison staff, 
 
 It mig-ht have been smoothe it might have 
 
 been rough, 
 But where air is laden with pole-cat stink, 
 A fellow might "SMILE" before he would 
 
 think. 
 
 When he wrote that poem he might have 
 
 been tight, 
 But his salary was small, his grub was light 
 View the surroundings and his lonely lot 
 Mantle with charity his rhyming rot. 
 
 Just a few words more, you must bear in 
 
 mind. 
 The border was bare of the fair sex kind. 
 InTexas,or elsewhere, without them — well, 
 I think it would be enousfh of a hell. 
 
 ?-f\_'==:^^ 
 
 35 
 
AN OLD AND MUSTY LETTER. 
 
 (On a certain Sunday I was culling- over some old and mustj^ 
 papers, and came across a letter from my first sweetheart; it 
 dated almost back to antediluvian days. The same evening I 
 « rote the following-;) 
 
 I've an old and musty letter 
 With pag-es soiled and torn, 
 
 And the creases where it's folded, 
 Are faded, frayed and worn. 
 
 'Tis a letter from my sweetheart, 
 
 She wrote me years ag"o; 
 It is sprinkled o'er with tear-drops 
 
 That often used to flow. 
 
 Thoug-h the ink is now discolored. 
 Yes, faded brown and bare. 
 
 The contents are as fresh and sweet 
 As when she wrote them there. 
 
 In reveries of sweet solitude 
 
 I culled my casket o'er, 
 And found no trinket in that box 
 
 That sweeter memory's bore. 
 
 I found among- my sacred gems 
 Mementoes rare and dear, 
 
 But none I so much hallow, as 
 That letter brown and sere. 
 
 I traced ag-ain each faded line, 
 To me she seemed so near, 
 
 I felt the touch of long ago 
 And brushed away a tear. 
 
 A tender chord within m}" heart 
 
 Responded to her own, 
 I reached out for one fond caress — 
 
 Her spirit then had flown. 
 
 36 
 
'MIDST OF WINTER. 
 
 * * :(: * 
 
 (This poem was inspired by the adveut of a very cold 
 norther, after we had been enjoying- many days of balmy 
 weather. ) 
 
 Before the icy wave came throug-h 
 Some were so jolly, some so blue, 
 But to all it can't be pleasing, 
 Weather sunny or a freezing-. 
 
 Plumbers now are all in clover, 
 Bursted pipes the town all over, 
 It is an ill wind don't you know, 
 That luck to someone does not blow. 
 
 It was a very pleasant thing" 
 In 'midst of winter to have spring-; 
 Birds carolling- their sweetest lays, 
 V/hen we en joy 'd those balmy days. 
 
 Grass and shrubb'ry were agreening", 
 While warm days were intervening-, 
 Buds and petals opening, peeping, 
 Old Jack Frost was only sleeping. 
 
 Merchants, they were sadly wailing. 
 Winter goods were loss entailing. 
 Wood and coal men growing weaker, 
 Pray'd for northers colder, bleeker. 
 
 And the ladies, sweet, precious things. 
 Weather warm for them — too had stings. 
 Such lovely furs, so costly, some, 
 Were packed away in camphor gum. 
 
 The tourist 'mongst us loved to roam, 
 Far from his icy, snow-clad home; 
 He thought it was the queerest thing, 
 In midst of winter to have spring. 
 
 37 
 
E'en the burro, camly grazing-, 
 Thoug-ht the weather quite amazing; 
 Billy-goat with flowing tresses. 
 Woo'd the sunbeam's warm caresses. 
 
 Man with cakes, and his frozen cream, 
 Then realized his fondest dream. 
 And the ice-man^he'd begin-ter 
 Freeze his water here in winter. 
 
 38 
 
DO YOU REMEMBER YET, JACK? 
 
 * * * * 
 Ah, well do I remember yet, 
 
 The trysting- place we had, 
 When you were only sweet sixteen, 
 
 And I was just a lad. 
 
 Down by the spring--house near the mill, 
 
 Where we so often stray M, 
 To watch the moss-clad wheel go round. 
 
 Where rippling- waters played. 
 
 We gazed into the limpid stream. 
 When love-tales sweet were told, 
 
 'Twas on your finger then I placed 
 A little band of gold. 
 
 And how we waded up and down 
 
 The g-ravel-bedded brook, 
 And from the verdant banks we plucked 
 
 Wild flowers from each nook. 
 
 And when we often used to swing, 
 
 Upon the g-rape-vine there. 
 Before the silver threads had changed 
 
 Those ringlets in your hair. 
 
 How we beguiled the time away 
 
 For hours, in purest bliss, 
 Atid when I ventured first to ask 
 
 For one sweet loving kiss. 
 
 A rose-tint first bedecked your cheeks. 
 
 And then a crimson hue. 
 With pouting lips, you answered yes, 
 
 I will Jack, just for you. 
 
AN ACROSTIC PRAYER. 
 
 (With my wife I visited friends ou a certain evening-. A little 
 g-irl at the place, on retiring for the niirht, kissed each of us good- 
 night, and asl^ed me if I would write her a prajer I wrote for 
 her the following, whicli she memorized and delivered at a Sun- 
 day-school festival.) 
 
 NOW it is sleep that o'er my weary eyelids 
 
 creep: 
 I pray Thee Lord while I repose my soul to 
 
 keep. 
 LAY me down to dream of Heavenly thing-s, 
 
 not terrene, 
 ME — for whom Thy love is all I could ask, I 
 
 ween. 
 
 DOWN from that Elysium reflect Thy 
 
 heavenly sheen, 
 TO lig-ht me through this nig-ht whilst it 
 
 it doth intervene, 
 SLP^EP with g-lcams of that realm through 
 
 it difi'used, 
 I know, dear Lord, must be what I have 
 
 often mused. 
 
 PRAY, hear my praj-er, Thou of felicity 
 
 supreme, 
 THPv-e beauties of Th}^ firmament shall be 
 
 m_v theme. 
 LORD may I ask sentinels from Thy angel 
 
 band, 
 
 MY Father, who in all things art Divinely 
 grand. 
 
 SOUL lives to ever praise and glorify Thy 
 name, 
 
 TO Thee, at last, 'twill be returned, whence 
 
 it came. 
 KEEP the gates, oh Lord, to Elysian fields 
 
 afar, 
 IF consistent with Thy will, standing just 
 
 ajar. 
 
I will ask Thee now, dear Lord, in my 
 
 humblest prayer, 
 SHOULD Thy will be done, leave for me 
 
 a passport there; 
 DIE when I may, 'midst Etherial realms 
 
 above, 
 BEFORE Thy Mystic Shrine I pray to 
 
 dwell in love. 
 
 I may perchance, at times, the tempter's 
 
 pathway stray, 
 WAKE then my soul, dear Lord, to realize 
 
 Thy way; 
 I come to Thee to share Thy love and 
 
 watchful care, 
 PRAY help and g-uide my little footsteps 
 
 'round each snare. 
 
 THE-e winged Seraph's submissive to 
 
 Thee profound, 
 LORD, have them g-uard this stormy night 
 
 my bed around, 
 MY little brother, will you have them 
 
 g-uard him too? 
 SOUL, heaven-born, so pure, just as it 
 
 came from you. 
 
 TO Thee we'll go for eternal rest in heaven, 
 TAKE our souls and make them pure, as 
 
 they were given; 
 GOOD Lord; now will you watchful be till 
 
 daylights peep? 
 NIGHT is so dark — I pray Thee constant 
 
 vigil keep. 
 
WHAT SHALL WE NAME OUR 
 BABY? 
 
 * * * * 
 
 (A lady friend put the question to me: "What shall we 
 name our baby?" which induced the following poera.) 
 
 Our baby has brig-ht flaxen hair, 
 
 And eyes of azure blue; 
 A girl with chubby dimpled cheeks 
 
 Of a lovely ruby hue. 
 
 What shall we name the baby? is 
 
 The topic of each day. 
 Uncles, aunts and sisters-in-law 
 
 Have come to have their say. 
 
 Mother-in-law claims all the right — 
 (I believe they always do,) 
 
 For a departed sister, she 
 Would call the baby Sue. 
 
 Her grand-ma's name she so admired, 
 
 Samantha Precilla Jane, 
 She lived a life unsmirched and pure, 
 
 Without a single stain. 
 
 They called her Percy, sometimes Jane, 
 'Twould suit the baby well; 
 
 But wife and I sugg-ested that 
 We call her Florence Belle. 
 
 Masculine names our mother said, 
 And sometimes male attire 
 
 Girls wear; and also that she had 
 An Uncle Hezekiah. 
 
 I then broke out all in a sweat. 
 
 This set my brain afire — 
 She thoug-ht to modify it some, 
 
 Sug-g-ested plain Mariah. 
 
 42 
 
Now something- nearer up-to-date 
 Would suit my wife and me, 
 
 Ag"ain I ventured; made it short — 
 Just simple Rosalie. 
 
 In retrospective mood she sat, 
 (My mother-in-law I mean,) 
 
 She whispered, as the tear-drops came, 
 "Dorothy Patience Green." 
 
 "She was a maiden aunt of mine, 
 
 An ang-el now I'm sure, 
 For her let's call the bab}'- Bob, 
 
 She was so good and pure." 
 
 'Tis folly I I'd as well give up; 
 
 I must to work away, 
 I'll gratify my mother-in-law. 
 
 And let her have her say. 
 
 If it will make her old heart g^lad. 
 And mind in sweetest frame, 
 
 I'm satisfied, for wife she gave. 
 And babv she shall name. 
 
 i\^ 
 
THAT FACE I'VE SEEN BEFORE. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 There gfleams from my most sacred days, 
 Now rich bright rays of yore, 
 
 While I indulg-e in glances at 
 The face I've seen before. 
 
 Those gentle, soft, expressive eyes 
 
 Retain some lustre yet, 
 Through all the fates that lured me on, 
 
 I could not them forget. 
 
 How much t'has chang-ed since last I saw 
 
 That sad sweet face before. 
 The hand of time had not then marred 
 
 The beauty lines it bore. 
 
 The cheeks are wan, the tint is gone. 
 
 Her locks as white as snow. 
 But plays there something 'round that 
 face 
 
 That echos — lonof aa^o. 
 
THE GIRL Mc. LOVES. 
 
 >i< >i< ^ ;}c 
 
 Well, now, she's a dandy, 
 
 And she dresses in blue, 
 She has rose-tinted cheeks 
 
 Of a delicate hue. 
 She's eleg-ant — racy. 
 
 Just a specimen rare, 
 And the best of it all 
 
 She has money to spare. 
 
 Her fig-ure's not gfainly. 
 
 She's yard and half round, • 
 Measures six and half feet. 
 
 And weig-hs many a pound; 
 She is bow-leg-ged, too, 
 
 And her feet is toed in; 
 With all these afflictions 
 
 She's as neat as a pin. 
 
 Her hair's a little off, 
 
 'Twixt a blond and a red, 
 She's beautifully bald 
 
 On the top of her head. 
 Her eyes are both crossed — 
 
 Has a lovely pug- nose. 
 And she pens up her calves 
 
 In a pair of red hose. 
 
 Both her feet and her mouth 
 
 Are immensely immense; 
 Her head is lop-sided. 
 
 But she seems to have sense; 
 Her ears stand away out 
 
 Like two cellar doors; 
 Its a "jar" when she sleeps 
 
 To hear how she snores. 
 
 45 
 
Very often he takes her 
 
 To the Cafe Saloon, 
 When on one of their strolls 
 
 By the dark of the moon. 
 Oysters on the half shell, 
 
 Or a fry, bake or stew. 
 He says, tickles her palate 
 
 Most exceedingly, too. 
 
MY EXPERIENCE AS AN APPREN- 
 TICE. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 (Scene, Little Rock Office, 1868.) 
 
 When left in charg-e one day at noon 
 
 Alone, to hold the fort, 
 I felt a yearning-, uncontrolled 
 
 To tackle noon report. 
 Some occult power kept pricking- me. 
 
 Which I could not subdue. 
 With alternating joy and fear 
 
 My courage came and fiew. 
 Sun-clad fancies gleamed so bright 
 
 Of honors and of fame. 
 But my verdancy was tristful 
 
 'Fore welcome 30 came. 
 'Twas up to me; L. R. was called, 
 
 This gave my nerves a "jar," 
 A chilly rig-or seized me, when 
 
 I answer'd, I. I. L. R. 
 
 I started up my register. 
 The paper went askew, 
 I broke— with waning confidence 
 
 But started up anew. 
 The sender was an artist rare, 
 
 And forty words at least 
 Per minute, he was sending, and 
 
 It seemed his speed increas'd. 
 The moments kept on leng-thening out, 
 
 Each filled with fears galore. 
 By desperation g-oaded on, 
 
 I tore my hair and swore. 
 
 47 
 
I mopped the cold beads from ray brow, 
 
 As dots and dashes flew, 
 And like a piece of marble stood 
 
 With face of livid hue. 
 
 Six hundred yards of paper soon 
 
 Was reeled off on the floor, 
 Oh! phantoms of that fateful day 
 
 Will haunt me evermore. 
 
 Thoug-h five and thirty years have gone, 
 My locks with gra}' are strewn, 
 
 I see myself in Little Rock 
 Taking press report at noon. 
 
 48 
 
A GLIMPSE. 
 
 By fond recollection 
 
 All the past is ag-low, 
 My joys and my sorrows, 
 
 Tears and smiles come and g-o. 
 As I retrace the path 
 
 Then my soul is attune — 
 I hallow the byg-ones 
 
 And with you commune. 
 
 Brig-ht beacons of splendor 
 
 Throug-h the corridor beams, 
 While they flash to and fro 
 
 I am with you it seems; 
 In fancy I picture 
 
 Over expanse so drear, 
 A vision most perfect — 
 
 Then your spirit draws near. 
 
 A g-limpse of the haunts 
 
 Where often we strolled, 
 Throug-h the flower}' wild wood 
 
 Of nature's own mould, 
 Just sweetens the present, 
 
 And sad solitude's way 
 As eventides g"list, 
 
 Is fast fading- away. 
 
 And thoug-h time with his wand 
 
 Leaves a lasting- imprint; 
 Has silvered ni}- brown locks 
 
 Vv^'ith his mag-ical tint. 
 Still I vie with the fates 
 
 As the da3's come and flee, 
 To see what the future 
 
 Holds, for you love and me. 
 
 49 
 
A DETECTIVE'S EXPERIENCE. 
 
 I met her on a train one day, 
 
 Her fluency was g-rand; 
 Possessed near all the attributes 
 
 To make a conquest stand. 
 
 Her equipoise was balanced well, 
 
 Epitomized no where. 
 Epidermis like a baby, 
 
 An Erudite quite rare. 
 
 Her voice was so euphonious. 
 
 And ful] of eulog-isms, 
 A true extemporizer, and 
 
 Up on a.11 the isms. 
 
 Her tout-ensemble seemed to be 
 
 Of very perfect mould. 
 And her phrases, most facetious, 
 
 Were modern — never old. 
 
 Her eyes, at times, moved stealthily, 
 He sternum rose and fell. 
 
 In extemporizing" efforts — 
 This superfluent swell. 
 
 She sized me up as swainish-like. 
 
 As swartiuess implied. 
 But, "O tempora, O mores;" 
 
 When my object she descry'd. 
 
 She expostulated freely. 
 With stratag-em and wiles, 
 
 Detective— I had shadowed her 
 For many hundred miles. 
 
WHERE FROM, LITTLE STRANGER? 
 
 :)< ^ >(: * 
 
 (Complimentary to my niece, Mrs. W.F. Bracy, nee Newton, 
 on the advent of her first born. 
 
 I came from heaven, at nig-ht time, 
 
 By all but God unseen, 
 To nestle in your fond embrace, 
 
 To reign your baby Queen. 
 
 I came down through the little stars, 
 And by their shooting- rays, 
 
 I slipped through little rifts in clouds. 
 To love you all your days. 
 
 I came without my little wings, 
 But dimpled cheeks and chin. 
 
 And chubby little hands and feet. 
 With rosy-tinted skin. 
 
 I came to help you while away. 
 Sometimes, the tedious hours, 
 
 To woo the kiss that's born of love, 
 As sun-glints woo the flowers. 
 
 I came to share your tears and smiles. 
 
 As little Angels do, 
 To love you when the weight of years, 
 
 Has worn and withered you. 
 
 51 
 
OUR ASPHALT DRIVES, PARKS, Etc, 
 (a little boquet for our mayor.) 
 
 * * * * 
 
 To his vim we're much indebted 
 
 For this asphaltiim boon, 
 And his road to other glories 
 
 His acumen has hewn. 
 
 The moss-grown paths we used to tread 
 
 In our benighted ways, 
 Are now asphalted thoroughfares 
 
 Where beams electric rays. 
 
 Our parks in all their grandeur, due 
 
 To his esthetic tastes, 
 Once olid mires bestrewn with grim. 
 
 Deserted barren wastes. 
 
 Through his benign and thoughtful mind 
 Improvements 'round us grew, 
 
 No fleering flaunts, of flagrant deeds 
 Unbiased minds imbue. 
 
 We'll quaff the amber fluid now, 
 
 To him who has bequeath'd 
 These monuments, in gratitude; 
 
 His brow with laurels wreath'd. 
 
 52 
 
CAN I TELEGRAPH TO HEAVEN? 
 
 (Scene, Western Union Telegraph Office, San Antonio, Texas.) 
 
 "Do the wires reach to heaven?" 
 
 A little tot inquired, 
 I faltered, then answered, "no, dear — " 
 
 With pity's touch inspired. 
 
 "I'd like to send a telegram," 
 
 (With tear-dimmed eyes he sig-hed) 
 
 " To my Mamma, and my Papa, 
 I'm lonely since they died." 
 
 " I wish to let my Mamma know 
 
 How cheerless it is here, 
 And how I miss the g-ood-nig-ht kis^ 
 
 Of her and Papa dear." 
 
 " And then I'd like to tell her how 
 My frocks are soiled and torn, 
 
 About this old untidy hat 
 And how my shoes are worn." 
 
 " And all about the golden curls 
 That once adorned my hair, 
 
 They're so unkempt and tangled now 
 No one to give them care." 
 
 "And how last Christmas came and went. 
 
 And not a single toy 
 Was left by Santa Claus, for her 
 
 Poor little blue-eyed boy." 
 
 "And I would like for her to ask 
 
 If God will take me there. 
 Where I could kneel once more, for her 
 
 To hear my little prayer." 
 
 "Take me to your breast, dear Mother, 
 
 I feel that you are near, 
 Twine again your arms around me, 
 
 For I'm so lonely here." 
 
 S3 
 
WE ARE COMRADES, JOHN. 
 
 :^ ^^c 5jc ;}c 
 
 Yes! comrades, John, for thirty years. 
 
 Not in the usual way, 
 Comrades, thoug"h we have never met, 
 
 This may seem strange to say. 
 
 You've worked one end — I the other, 
 
 Of a circuit all these years. 
 We've shared our joys — the fates be- 
 stowed, 
 
 Our sympathys and tears. 
 
 We both are g^rowing- shaky, John, 
 
 Our MORSE is not so clear, 
 And not so musical as when 
 
 Our cups were full of cheer. 
 
 Our dashes are of weary leng-th. 
 
 Our spaces uncontrolled. 
 Our punctuation incomplete, 
 
 Our touch is not so bold. 
 
 You always make six dots for H, 
 
 Eight for the letter S, 
 But the alphabet is growing- old. 
 
 We too are, John — I guess. 
 
 I will not chide you further, John, 
 
 Alas! 'tis too my fix. 
 When H or P I try to make, 
 
 I always make a six. 
 
SOME LITTLE SELECTIONS. 
 
 * * * 
 
 ■often ask me to write for the^ A le ^^y^ services, with the 
 friends have ^nnsted my sympa ^^^^^ expressions to 
 
 assurance that thej- desired a le^u^^^^ .^^ ^^^^, ^.,ves. 
 
 S^rr^/suspi"-"-^^^^^^^ 
 
 To Nellie: 
 
 Take this trinket, take it darling. 
 
 Just as a talisman to wear, 
 'Tis an emblem ^earmg with it. 
 
 Love-sweets I have culled with care. 
 
 With it comes my vows repeated, 
 None have ever yet been broken. 
 
 Symbol of my soul's devotion, 
 
 Wear it dear as love's sweet token. 
 
 To Daisy: 
 
 Time is waning, almost a year 
 
 Since first we chanced to meet. 
 Fortune smiled, it was fate's decree 
 That made this life so sweet. 
 
 To Emma: 
 
 Please accept this deary, 
 
 As one bright little gleam 
 Which is flashed from my heart 
 
 With my love and esteem. 
 Mav rays of contentment 
 
 Make the shadows retreat, 
 That hang over life's way 
 
 To alloy the sweet. 
 
 To Helen: 
 
 'Tis sweet to have some one to love. 
 
 If sweet, that love's returned, 
 Thenleeds of two loves burst and grow 
 Like flowerets that are urned. 
 
 55 
 
IN A GARDEN RETREAT. 
 
 * ^: * * 
 
 Where a whippoorwill sang- 
 By a brig-ht golden moon, 
 
 And with silver-clad stars 
 The heavens were strewn. 
 
 'Neath beautiful rose-vines 
 
 In a g-arden retreat, 
 I reveled in reveries 
 
 And soliloquies sweet. 
 
 Surrounding-s embellished 
 In nature's quaint ways, 
 
 And gilded with moon-beams 
 Fairly dazzled my gaze. 
 
 Through foliage the zephyrs 
 
 Played eolian airs, 
 And sprite elfins with lutes 
 
 Swept away all my cares. 
 
 Choice redolent flowers. 
 Softly dappled in hues, 
 
 All blending together 
 
 Made more dainty my muse. 
 
 And dreams more prolific, 
 Thrilling fancies replete, 
 
 Unfettered, unbroken, 
 Unbeguiled and complete. 
 
 Now fairy-like footsteps 
 (Of a loved one in quest; 
 
 I hear tripping the sward — 
 Just imagine the rest. 
 
WHEN I THINK OF YOU. 
 
 At even-time when sun-beams wane, 
 And with their splendor all imbue, 
 
 'Tis then I wander down the aisle 
 
 Of time, to sip some sweets with you. 
 
 And when that orb with rays at morn, 
 
 Caresses all the earth anew, 
 And woos to life the tend'rest flower, 
 
 I long- and wish then love for you. 
 
 At noon-time when the busy world, 
 
 Unmindful of ties old or new. 
 Is rushing- on, my musings sweet, 
 
 In fancy flig^hts g-o back to you. 
 
 When moon-beams shed their mellow rays 
 O'er all the earth, of g-olden hue. 
 
 In retrospect I live again 
 
 The days, now sacred, passed with you. 
 
 When little stars shed silvery lig"ht, 
 And sip the crystal drops of dew, 
 
 I sit where we so oft have sat. 
 In sweetest reveries dear of you. 
 
 And when I stray sweet dream-land's way. 
 My dreams all things but one eschew, 
 
 Yes, all but one, but that's replete. 
 Because I only dream of you. 
 
OUR CITY DADS. 
 
 * * * * 
 There's our Mayor, quite complacent, (Marshall Hicks) 
 
 At the helm of our ship, 
 Though the bark is heavy ladeu, 
 
 He'll safely make the trip. 
 
 And his bland but firm Recorder (W. C. Kroeger) 
 
 Wears justice on his frown, 
 You could not find a truer man 
 
 In this city of renown. 
 
 Next comes our little saw'd off Ed. (Ed. Steves) 
 
 Who's honest phiz depicts 
 That as long as he's Collector, 
 
 He'll monkey with no cliques. 
 
 Ah! plain old Joe. He's quite Divine, (Joe Devine) 
 
 Assessor suave and true. 
 For one that doesn't render right 
 
 He wouldn't give a sou. 
 
 The man that handles all the cash, (Benno Engelke) 
 
 (Our Treasurer now I mean) 
 Turn on the calcium when you please. 
 
 You'll find his record clean. 
 
 Next comes our worthy Auditor; (Vint James) 
 
 Now, who don't know old Vint, 
 He'll keep the records up in line 
 
 By magic of his dint. 
 
 The legal limb of this combine 
 
 Will make his presence felt, 
 But justice tempers every act 
 
 Of worthy George Altgelt. 
 
I've scanned the list of Aldermen, 
 They're men of brains and grit, 
 
 And when the City needs their aid- 
 Well, they will never quit. 
 
 The Mayor in selecting help 
 Must have worked some ruse; 
 
 What an excellent haul he made 
 In landing- Captain Druse ! 
 
 (City Marshal) 
 
 59 
 
A RAP AT OUR DOOR. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 (Complimentary to mj- friends Mr. and Mrs. J. L. Little, on 
 the adrent of a bright-eyed boy.) 
 
 We heard a feeble little rap 
 
 Not long' ag"o one nig-ht, 
 We ope'd the door and let him in, 
 
 A LITTLE cherub bright. 
 
 'Twas just one week ago to-day 
 
 This bab}^ ang-el came 
 To bless our hearts and cheer our home; 
 
 He's little like his name. 
 
 Has cutest eyes of ebon hue, 
 
 And hair as black as jet; 
 With ruby lips, and cheeks and chin 
 
 As plump as babies get. 
 
 But there's contention in our home; 
 
 Some say he looks like ma. 
 But papa thinks his lineaments 
 
 Are marked just like his pa. 
 
 60 
 
MOTHER'S KISS OF LONG AGO. 
 
 :i< ^ ^ sj; 
 
 'Twas sweet to hear the music then 
 
 Of sister's careless g"lee, 
 And my brother's childish prattle 
 
 Broug-ht melody to me. 
 
 I prized the g-entle pressure of 
 Their loving-, fond caress. 
 
 But my Mother's kiss was dearest. 
 Sweeter than all the rest. 
 
 My tiny lips turned eagerly 
 
 To meet its soft salute, 
 'Twas g-iven with an earnestness 
 
 That scaled the givers mute. 
 
 I loved it quite unconsciously, 
 And from that hour to this, 
 
 I ne'er have found a sweeter thing 
 Than Mother's loving kiss. 
 
 It was e'er my richest g-uerdon 
 Some childish lesson o'er, 
 
 With wildly gushing joyousness 
 That will visit me no more. 
 
 Ah! my young- heart overflowing 
 
 With fulness of its bliss, 
 I flew to claim the promise of 
 
 Her proud and loving kiss. 
 
 And when at length I'd weary grown 
 
 Of rollicking- all day, 
 I sought repose in balmy sleep. 
 
 And surcease from my play. 
 
 61 
 
When my vesper hymn was over 
 Aud evening- prayer was said, 
 
 The curtains closely g-athered by 
 Her hands around my bed. 
 
 The fervent pressure of that kiss 
 As my eyes began to close, 
 
 Shed o'er my rest brig-ht rosy dreams, 
 For calm and sweet repose. 
 
 And even when a wanderer 
 From love enchanted home. 
 
 That kiss in memory held its place 
 No matter where I'd roam. 
 
 When the twilig-ht shadows g-ather 
 Around life's closing- scene, 
 
 And we feel that we are leaving- 
 This earth and things terrene. 
 
 The heart then wanders backward, and 
 
 'Tis sorrowful to miss 
 The accents of that sweet g-ood-night, 
 
 And Mother's loving- kiss. 
 
 
 62 
 
BALANCING A QUAD, AND THE 
 TERMS USED. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 (To the uninitiaird they see ai odd. A beg-iiiner's experience.) 
 
 The distant office called me up, 
 
 Requested me to ground; 
 I dallied with the strang-e device 
 
 With feelings quite profound. 
 
 "Come in," his next request seemed g"ruff, 
 I thoug-ht it smacked of scoff; 
 
 However, I complied, then heard: 
 "Your tap seems to be off." 
 
 "A leak," he said, "there is somewhere;" 
 
 But I did not retort, 
 Then he abrubtly ventured, "that 
 
 My long end might be short." 
 
 This ruffled me, but I kept mum 
 
 And hummed a little song; 
 To my chagrin he told me "that 
 
 My short end might be long." 
 
 Suggested that my margin, was 
 
 Entirely too weak, 
 And said: "Re-plug 3rour rheostat, 
 
 Perhaps you'll find a leak." 
 
 "Your P. C. breaks up common side; 
 
 In language now more terse: 
 "I only get you from one pole ; 
 
 It don't seem to reverse." 
 
 To my relief the chief came in — 
 
 I really felt subdued — 
 His gen'rous and consoling air 
 
 Made things more rosy-hued. 
 
 63 
 
THEY ARE WAITING MOTHER. 
 
 * * :•: * 
 
 (This poem was inspired by a death-bed scene.) 
 
 Hark! the ang-els now are calling- 
 From their elysian home above, 
 
 They will soon transport me Mother, 
 Oh! g-ive me now your sweetest love. 
 
 Do you see the little angels 
 
 Far away and yet so near? 
 They are waiting- to receive me 
 
 In that brighter, happier sphere. 
 
 See the doors are standing open 
 To that celestial home up there. 
 
 Cherub ang-els, waiting-, watching; 
 For my soul they're offering- prayer. 
 
 Bring dear Father to my bed-side, 
 I would kiss his furrow'd brow; 
 
 Let me brush away his tear-drops, 
 I cannot stay much longer now. 
 
 Kiss me Mother, kiss your darling, 
 Ang-els bright are drawing- near. 
 
 I must leave you, they are waiting-. 
 Please do not weep, oh! Mother dear. 
 
 They're coming nearer, hov'ring o'er me. 
 As darkness now more denser grows; 
 
 Pray, as none can but a Mother, 
 As I'm passing to sweet repose. 
 
 This darkness must be death I'm sure, 
 So clouded seems my every view; 
 
 Come up nearer, sit close by me. 
 And let my last look be at you. 
 
 Now, I'm g-oing-! farewell Mother! 
 
 Just tell them all good-bye once more, 
 One more kiss, then soon in heaven 
 
 Where my sufferings will be o'er. 
 
HISTORY OF THE TELEGRAPH. 
 
 >(; ^ ^c ^ 
 
 On board the old Steamship "SULLY," 
 
 In eighteen thirty-two, 
 From Havre to New York City, 
 
 Many were coming- through. 
 
 Samuel Fmley Breeze, was 
 
 Most noted on the vessel, 
 Then v/ith electric telegraph 
 
 He began to wrestle. 
 
 His appeals for aid were in vain 
 
 Till eighteen forty-three. 
 When the congress of our country 
 
 Listened to his plea. 
 
 They voted him a paltry sum; 
 
 Thirty thousand dollars. 
 To prosecute experiments — 
 
 See what quickly follows. 
 
 In early days, it was the year 
 
 Of eighteen forty-four; 
 From the City of Washington 
 
 To that of Baltimore 
 
 The first electric wire upon 
 Substantial poles was strung. 
 
 Then praises to his glorious name 
 Were often fitly sung. 
 
 An alphabet Vail then arranged, 
 
 Spaces, dots and dashes. 
 Which Morse wafted over the wire 
 
 By electric flashes. 
 
 65 
 
upon Miss Annie Ellsworth, he 
 
 Bestowed the living- fame 
 Of enditing- the first messag-e 
 
 That ever went or came. 
 
 She selected "What hath God Wrought;" 
 
 Words so sweetly fitted, 
 And this was the first messag-e, that 
 
 Ever was transmitted 
 
 By an electric current, then 
 His g-rand success was sealed 
 
 And for toilers by the thousand. 
 He opened up a field. 
 
IN MEMORY OF JERRY OBERFELL. 
 
 * ;^ =1: ^ 
 
 A friend of mine was looking forward to the time when he 
 would have parental oblierations thrust upon him, he said it 
 mattered not whether the charg'e he male or female, he would 
 name it Jerry. The advent brought to life one of the sweetest, 
 dearest little girls it has ever been m}' pleasure to gaze upon. 
 The little soul was too heavenly for this life. 
 
 'Tis dreamless sleep now you slumber, 
 Heavens banners o'er you furled, 
 
 Little eyes of brig-htest luster 
 Are closed forever to this world. 
 
 Little good-night prayer for mother, 
 "Now I lay me down to sleep" 
 
 At my knees I hear you lisping-, 
 Fills my soul with anguish deep. 
 
 And when tossing in my slumbers 
 
 Your little face I often see, 
 Round my pillow flits an angel. 
 
 Darling baby, it must be thee. 
 
 Of the kiss that ouce was g-iven. 
 Memory, sweets will ever yield, 
 
 Little lips so pure and dainty, 
 Evermore in death are sealed. 
 
 Little darling- rest in heaven, 
 
 Now free from all this earthly pain. 
 
 Little spirit, oh, so weary! 
 
 It could not long-er here remain. 
 
 Tiny little soul exhausted. 
 
 Death came in and gave it rest. 
 
 Tiny hands so sweetly folded 
 Across your tired little breast. 
 
 Sleep on Jerry, little namesake. 
 
 Though your spirit will always live, 
 
 Mem'ry reaching- back to bygones. 
 Sad, sweet reveries e'er will g-ive. 
 
TELEPHONE PERPLEXITIES, 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Hello, Central! one hundred please. 
 
 They're occupied just now. 
 Really, this is perplexing-; 
 
 Who's talking-, anyhow? 
 
 Our rules are non-elastic, and 
 I could not tell from choice. 
 
 But I will venture (Please don't tell) 
 It is a lady's voice. 
 
 Heavens ! I wonder who it is 
 That's talking- to my Frank ! 
 
 I will wager my existence 
 It's that old Jennie Swank. 
 
 Hello, forty ! Here's one hundred 
 Hello! Who's at the phone? 
 
 'Tis the office boy. Madam — 
 In fitting, blandest tone. 
 
 Kindly call your Mr. Jones. 
 
 Hello! Is that you Frank? 
 Yes, Madam; who is it talking. 
 
 Your voice is almost blank. 
 
 Be good enough to shake your phone; 
 
 You seem way under ground ; 
 Can it be a spirit talking. 
 
 Or someone here around? 
 
 Why, Frank, you are a naughty boy ! 
 
 Your voice comes full and clear. 
 Was that Miss Swank who was talking 
 
 To you, just now, my dear? 
 
 68 
 
Well, I'm sorry I can't get you; 
 
 Listen, I'm sixteen to-day, 
 Do come around at eig"ht P. M. 
 
 And hear what I've to say. 
 
 In my fitful slumbers last nig-ht — 
 
 I had a pleasing- dream. 
 That you would come this evening-, Frank? 
 
 And take me out to cream. 
 
TO MY WIFE. 
 
 * * * ;•: 
 
 Now, twenty years have flitted by 
 Since we stood at the altar rail, 
 
 But well do I remember you. 
 
 In travelling- suit and wedding* veil. 
 
 The flowerets at your bodice then 
 
 Sweetest reveries now beget, 
 Thoug-h they have faded long- ag-o, 
 
 They are fresh in memory yet. 
 
 We've had some festive times, 'tis true. 
 And, too, we've had some poig-nant tears. 
 
 Some shadows have crept o'er our way, 
 Throug-h all these weary — happy years* 
 
 We've passed the line upon the hill, 
 Our locks now fast are g-rowing- g"ray. 
 
 And down the incline hand in hand. 
 We are journeying- on our way. 
 
 'Tis pleasing, thoug-h — this retrospect, 
 (For in our hearts love's long- been 
 shrin'd). 
 
 As rays shoot back o'er sacred days 
 Where lives around each other twined. 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 * * * :f: 
 
 (In reading this poem please observe the language of certain 
 flowers that follows.) 
 
 Silent impressive lang-uag-e of flowers, 
 Good food for thought to while away hours, 
 When one receives a chilly billetdoux 
 That fills all life with a doubtful hue. 
 
 In lang-uag-e of flowers I often muse 
 When such cold epistles I peruse. 
 My feelings here below I beg" to quote. 
 Of the language of flowers please make 
 note. 
 
 In long weary hours I have worried much, 
 Endeavoring her heart of stone to touch, 
 And from pangs of anguish to be free, to 
 Pave my way to an "Everlasting Pea." 
 
 Live in "Flowering Almond" as it were; 
 She's not "Ambrosia" if ev'r very rare; 
 She's "Austutium" in its every phase, 
 And so grand a beauty on which to gaze. 
 
 She is the object of my "Amethyst," 
 But her sympathy seems I can't enlist; 
 If she would only say I'll have "Allspice," 
 Ohl love, thou art indeed a strange device. 
 
 I often ask her not to "Belvedere," 
 And not to cause another bitter tear, 
 She then quickly bids me "Belladonna;" 
 This request, though painful, I must honor, 
 
 I'm her "Peach Blossom" now, and all the 
 
 time, 
 In any country, or in any clime; 
 She's a "Sultan White, "by no means yellow. 
 And enough to craze most any fellow. 
 
 71 
 
Truly she's an "Indian Pink Double," 
 But ceases not to increase my trouble; 
 She fills my aching- heart, quite full of 
 
 "Yew," 
 And keeps me ever in a constant stew. 
 
 She's a "Musk Cluster Rose" in fullest 
 
 sense, 
 Her bewitching- smiles are quite immense; 
 When I offer her a "Red Double Pink," 
 Her reply is a saucy little wink. 
 
 "Verbena Pink" I long- to make with her; 
 That "Wood Sorrel" will not be mine I 
 
 fear — 
 Her often repeated "Pigeon Berry," 
 Keeps me in a frenzy and a query. 
 
 Key to the Laxguage of Flowers Referred to Above: 
 
 Everlasting- Pea Lasting- Pleasure. 
 
 Flowering Almond Hope. 
 
 Ambrosia Love Returned. 
 
 Austutium Splendor. 
 
 Amethyst Admiration. 
 
 Allspice Compassion. 
 
 Belvedere I Declare Against You. 
 
 Belladonna Silence. 
 
 Peacli Blossom I'm Your Captive. 
 
 Sultan White Sweetness. 
 
 Indian Pink Double Alwaj's Lovely. 
 
 Yew Sorrow. 
 
 Musk Cluster Rose Charming. 
 
 Red Double Pink Pure and Ardent Love. 
 
 Verbena Pink Family Union. 
 
 Wood Sorrel Joy. 
 
 Pigeon Berry Indifference. 
 
TO MY SISTER, BELLE : 
 
 * * * * 
 
 (This poem was written thirty years after I kissed mj' only 
 sister g'ood-bye, in 1866). 
 
 Now thirty years, since last we met, 
 Have gone behind the screen; 
 
 Loved one's sisters too have passed 
 From off this sphere terrene. 
 
 Then I was one and twenty years, 
 
 And you were scarcely two; 
 Ah, well do I remember, dear. 
 
 Those curls of amber hue. 
 
 Those ruby lips, that dimpled chin. 
 
 Those eyes of azure blue. 
 That baby prattle once I heard; 
 
 Mem'ry to all is true. 
 
 The fickle fates that lure us on, 
 
 Sometimes illusions play, 
 And tempt us from our loved ones too. 
 
 As oft our hopes decay. 
 
 The curtain I have drawn aside 
 
 'Twixt now and long- ago, 
 I gaze adown the aisle of time 
 
 While gleams flash to and fro. 
 
 While I am looking far aback 
 Through mists of many years. 
 
 There comes the joyous mingling then. 
 With that which tempts my tears. 
 
 But I love to muse and wander 
 Back to those hallow' d days. 
 
 When last I saw you, sister, dear. 
 In cute and cunning ways. 
 
 'Twas when your tiny lips began 
 To lisp that sweetest prayer; 
 
 " Now I lay me down to sleep," 
 A cherub Angel there. 
 
 73 
 
TO MY LADY FRIENDS. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 (Many years apo, on a certain eveninp, three lady friends 
 Tisited our home. (Jne of them ^jave nie a i)ansy blossom, one a 
 piece of fern, the other a violet.) 
 
 To the first I gave: 
 
 Yes, only a pansy blossom 
 
 Real sweet, if not so rare, 
 'Tis emblematical of thought — 
 
 Thinking- of one as it were. 
 Heartiest thanks are returned. 
 
 With them — real good will; 
 The pansy, I assure you. 
 
 Will remain — with me still. 
 
 To Ihe second: 
 
 I tender you my thanks 
 
 For the nice piece of fern. 
 In the emblem of which 
 
 I quite clearly discern 
 Sincerity, a trait 
 
 Sweet as any from God, 
 And as lovely a plant 
 
 As e'er sprang from the sod. 
 
 To the third: 
 
 Now last, but not least, 
 
 Comes the violet sweet. 
 As with the donor 
 
 It is hard to compete. 
 Faithfulness, the emblem, 
 
 In itself is divine; 
 The violet and emblem 
 
 In their beauties entwine. 
 
SOME ACROSTICS. 
 
 ;(; ^; >(c >{; 
 
 As the days are coming-, g^oing-, 
 Nothing- but love you are sowing; 
 Nourished by your sunny smile, 
 I can be happy all the while 
 Even though others should revile. 
 
 Another. 
 
 So, my dear little girl, you're sweet sixteen; 
 Onward to womanhood, too fast I ween. 
 Pause on the threshold and look out afar; 
 Home of sweet childhood keep portals ajar. 
 I bid you God speed, may he bless ev'ry 
 
 year. 
 E'en down to old age, when life has grown 
 
 sere. 
 
 Another. 
 
 Elven thoug-h your teens you've just left 
 
 behind. 
 Lost to you forever, years of that kind. 
 Enchanting- mem'ry may be so complete, 
 Culling- your teens o'er, may reveries make 
 
 sweet. 
 Take not of sorrow, make weeping- un- 
 known; 
 Alas! if you do weep, you'll weep all alone. 
 
 75 
 
IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHER 
 CHARLEY, 
 
 * * * * 
 
 WHO DIED IN FRANKFORT, KY., NOVEMBER 
 30th, 1901. 
 
 V/e fondly nursed the same sweet breast, 
 That nurtured life's most tender years. 
 
 And sipp'd the inspiration born 
 Of mother's joys and mother's tears. 
 
 The blood that trickled throug-h her veins, 
 Gave to us life and tender care. 
 
 Beside the same old chair we knelt, 
 And learned tolispthe same sweet prayer. 
 
 She taug-ht our baby lips to say, 
 
 "I pray Thee Lord my soul to keep," 
 
 The same sw'eet lullaby songs she sang-, 
 That lured us oft to balmy sleep. 
 
 And when in slumbers' sweet repose. 
 She knelt beside our couch in prayer, 
 
 And asked that Heaven's blessings shield 
 Our little souls while sleeping there. 
 
 But many years have passed away 
 Since mother's tender love we knew; 
 
 We've wept in sorrow long for her, 
 And now, alas, we weep for you. 
 
 The threads that bind us to this life 
 Will soon be severed here in twain, 
 
 And those that loved and miss you here, 
 'Will join you there in bliss again. 
 
A LITTLE GIRL'S LAMENT. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 (On a cold and stormy night a little girl beg'ged me to go 
 with her to look for her father, and if found to assist her in get- 
 ting him home. The experience was a sad one, and elicited the 
 following.) 
 
 "The nig-ht is dark and chilly, too; 
 Our fire is burning- low, 
 Each brig"ht ember slowly dying- 
 As moments come and g-o. 
 
 "I've been running- down the sidewalk 
 To meet him on the way, 
 He said that he was coming- home 
 Without the least delay. 
 
 "Oh, why those hot and pearly tears 
 That trickle down your cheek? 
 And why that look of ang-uish now? 
 Do tell me, mother, speak. 
 
 "Please come and take the old arm-chair, 
 I'll sit upon your knee; 
 Let me kiss away the tear-drops 
 That flow so full and free. 
 
 "Do come to us now, papa, dear, 
 And dry poor mother's tears; 
 Her heart is overflowing with 
 The bitterness of years. 
 
 "I'll run down to the corner quick; 
 There's rum across the way; 
 I've no doubt I will find him there, 
 I'll g-o without delay." 
 
 Thinly clad for a stormy night. 
 Her neck and arms were bare. 
 
 But her little heart — truly brave; 
 She found her papa there. 
 
 77 
 
"Why, bless my soul, there is Minnie!" 
 With outstretched arms he said: 
 
 "What is poor mother doing-, dear? 
 And has she any bread?" 
 
 "We are both so cold and hung-ry, 
 We've neither bread nor coal; 
 And poor mother's heart is breaking-, 
 Good, patient, tired soul. 
 
 "Come papa, now, we will again 
 Forgive you o'er and o'er; 
 Just be brave, and we will help you; 
 Please, papa, drink no more. 
 
 "Come, I will take your dear old hand 
 And lead you down the street 
 Where mother waits, in anguish deep, 
 With kisses you to greet." 
 
 "God bless my child! and from this night, 
 And all my future years 
 I'll cause no pangs for mother's heart, 
 Nor for my baby tears." 
 
 
THE DASH AND THE DOT, AND 
 
 SOME THINGS WE HEAR ON 
 
 THE WIRE. 
 
 :f: >}c >J< ^ 
 
 That Father Morse, 'tis the opinion of 
 many. 
 Adapted to alphabet the dash and the 
 dot; 
 
 But history makes claim, it is clearly de- 
 fined, 
 
 *That an inspiration of Vail evolved the 
 plot. 
 
 As they speed in and out, they every day 
 tell us 
 Of the world's many grave and laug-hable 
 doing-s, 
 Of marriag-es and births, of elopements 
 and deaths. 
 And don't forget lovers, their wooings 
 and cooings. 
 
 Of joys and misfortunes, and calamities 
 dire. 
 To and fro over the wire, as subtle as 
 air, 
 As messengers fleet these little characters 
 fly- 
 Time and space is no bar as their tidings 
 they bear. 
 
 They bring messages that stir tend'rest 
 emotions; 
 
 Advices of famine, people starving for 
 bread; 
 
 While the current speeds on, and the bright 
 sparks fly out. 
 The cold click of the sounder says, "Sis- 
 ter is dead." 
 
 79 
 
As theyr'e borne ou a flash, we hear "Moth- 
 er is dead;" 
 
 This touches my heart, and seems a 
 
 prayer to inspire; 
 With head bowed in sympathy, I take up 
 
 my pen 
 And copy the sad messag^e from letters 
 
 of fire. 
 
 In the stillness of night we hear, "Father is 
 dead; 
 Come; the funeral will be to-morrow at 
 five." 
 As death sealed his lips he feebly whis- 
 pered these words: 
 "Will Sister g-et here in time to see me 
 alive?" 
 
 *Vol 10, page 49, 6000 Years of Historj-. 
 
AS THE YEARS COME AND FLEE. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 (Dedicated to a friend who lost his entire family, a wife and 
 three children, in the short period of two weeks They died of 
 pneumonia.) 
 
 Years have passed and furrows deep 
 
 Mar my once smooth brow, 
 Broken links in memory's chain 
 
 Are being- welded now. 
 
 In wandering- back I can't suppress 
 The tears my eyesig-ht veils ; 
 
 My journey finds many a spot 
 That happiness assails. 
 
 Mementoes, full of preciousness, 
 
 Are strewn along- the way, 
 x\nd buried 'neath a rift of years. 
 
 Both sweets and bitters lay. 
 
 Likn'd tog-ether by fondest ties. 
 
 Each to my heart so near, 
 Are precious g-ems, my casket holds, 
 
 I've placed there year by year. 
 
 In that time-worn box are letters 
 
 Wrapped and tied so neat, 
 And pictures of my baby boy, 
 
 With chubby hands and feet. 
 
 There are trinkets of my children. 
 All of which to me are dear, 
 
 And on a twig- my wife once cut 
 A flower brown and sere. 
 
While reading- some old missive sweet, 
 
 That time has faded o'er, 
 I feel a something- creeping in 
 
 That warms my soul once more. 
 
 When sunbeams kiss the day g-ood-nig-ht, 
 
 Out to their tombs I stray. 
 Lingering- there our soul's attune, 
 
 I pass the time away. 
 
 82 
 
TIRED. 
 
 'Irregular.) 
 
 (A friend and mj'self were out on a certain evening- 
 imbibing' soda waters and lemonades. About 11:49 p. m., he said 
 he was very tired. I prevailed on him to sit down and rest while 
 I wrote a few lines. This is what I said:) 
 
 I am tired of working-, I am tired of play. 
 And weary of eating- three meals a day, 
 So tired of eating- always the same, 
 And having- it caled by some other name. 
 
 Weary of eg-g-s that long- have been dead, 
 Exhausted with puddingy made from any 
 
 old bread, 
 Such repug-nance for butter — with whiskers 
 
 laid bare. 
 And rubber-crust pies I g-et here and there. 
 
 Just think of hash — made from scraps of 
 
 stale meat, 
 And leather beefsteaks that I'm forced to 
 
 eat; 
 My dig-estive department rebels at the 
 
 thoug-ht. 
 For my teeth are all shattered I recently 
 
 boug-ht. 
 
 I am tired of absorbing- sour-mash dew, 
 Oh, give me a pass at a warm oyster stew, 
 (That is made up with milk, not water and 
 
 chalk), 
 And butter that's young and unable to walk. 
 
 Tired of the opera and brig-ht leading- stars, 
 Of smoking- cheroots instead of cig-ars; 
 Weary of breathing- the same kind of air 
 Wherever I g-o, it matters not where. 
 
 83 
 
Just wearying- along- and have been for 
 
 years, 
 Tired of laughing and the mingling of tears. 
 "Weary of deception, under policy's g-uise — 
 To use it is wrong, to not is unwise, 
 
 I think often of heaven and weary of that; 
 Mystery's so deep, conclusions fall flat ; 
 Tired of happiness — more tired of pain. 
 It must be g-one over and over again. 
 
 Tired of the turmoil— and this every day 
 
 strife. 
 The in's and the out's in keeping up life; 
 AVeary of battling — just for food and for 
 
 clothes. 
 And wearing- DARNED socks, and calling- 
 
 them hose. 
 
 Tired of thinking- of the thing's that are 
 
 gone, 
 They never are off, they always are on ; 
 So tired of the struggle — to barely exist, 
 And thinking of good things that I have 
 
 miss'd. 
 
 84 
 
IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. 
 
 Thou art g-one to mystic regions, 
 Etberial home of love supreme; 
 
 Far beyond our comprehension, 
 But of which we love to dream. 
 
 Noble in each deed and action, 
 'Midst temptations here unclean; 
 
 Earned a home in that elysium 
 
 Lighted by God's brig-htest sheen. 
 
 Thoug-h we know it is illusion, 
 It seems we almost see you there; 
 
 Fancy you are in communion 
 
 With happy spirits now in prayer. 
 
 At morning-, evening-, noon and nig-ht, 
 Memory wanders back to you, 
 
 When your life so full of sunshine, 
 Gave to ours the brightest hue. 
 
 Gloom pervades each nook and corner, 
 E'en the pictures on the wall; 
 
 O'er our home, once bright and happy, 
 There hangs a murky, gloomy pall. 
 
 Compassion touched our loving hearts. 
 We tried to soothe your fevered brow; 
 
 While you suffered, we in anguish 
 Wept in sorrow then as now. 
 
 'Mongst the seraphs, are you hapi>y? 
 
 Are your sufferings now all o'er? 
 We can never cease our weeping 
 
 For our loved one gone before. 
 
 Near your tomb we love to linger 
 
 'Round your home that is built of cla}^, 
 
 And with tear-drops, born of sorrow, 
 Nourish the flowers that fade away. 
 
 85 
 
In my efforts to assist in advertising one of San Antonio's 
 International Pairs I had the following- printed on my official 
 envelopes: 
 
 Come to the 1899 
 
 San Antonio International fair, 
 
 Oct. 28 to Nov. 9. 
 
 t- ^ ^ ^ 
 
 No doubt you've been to fairs before, 
 And g-azed on beauties quite g-alore; 
 I wish to say to one and all, 
 We'll beat the best this coming- fall 
 
 'Twill be unique in ever}^ phase; 
 Quite up-to-date in grand displays 
 Of nature's handiwork and man; 
 We'll take the bak'ry leave the van. 
 
 All premiums we'll promptly pay 
 Spot cash, and with the least delay; 
 Your confidence we'll not abuse; 
 We'll work no rabbit's foot or ruse. 
 
 Our sister across the Rio Grande 
 Will join with us in heart and hand. 
 To make our fair one of the best — 
 Give us your aid, we'll do the rest. 
 
 And while you're looking- o'er the fair. 
 See our animal in his lair; 
 The Western Union takes the cake — 
 You'll find their animal wide awake 
 
'ROUND HER WINDOW THERE 
 WERE ROSES. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 'Round her window there were roses, 
 
 Sweet honey-suckle vines, 
 And the ivy ever creeping* 
 
 With little forked tines. 
 
 'Twas a spot somewhat seductive, 
 
 A charming- lovers' clime; 
 On the zephyrs floated perfume, 
 
 A place almost divine. 
 
 I sat there, wrapped in rapture, 
 
 Beneath her window sill, 
 And sipp'd the inspiration born 
 
 Of imag-ination's thrill. 
 
 In solitude's soliloquy 
 
 Fancies flew o'er my mind 
 And by something- innate g-oaded, 
 
 I dared to touch the blind. 
 
 I found the slats were easy, too. 
 
 Presto! and they chang-ed, 
 And the scene was no illusion — 
 
 My respiration g-ained. 
 
 But my normal status rallied; 
 
 What I saw was food for thoug-ht — 
 'Twas a study rare in nature 
 
 No teacher ever taught. 
 
 87 
 
A LITTLE NONSENSE. 
 
 s); :{< ;!< ^ 
 
 (In-egular.) 
 
 I once knew a widow on a suburban street, 
 Stockings were never known to adorn her 
 
 feet; 
 She owned cats with the itch, a dog- with 
 
 the mang-e, 
 And sick chickens 'round that liv^ed on the 
 
 rang-e. 
 
 She kept a little store of g-eneral merchan- 
 dise; 
 She weighed her goods, she said, precise — 
 Her scales were all right, yes, all rig-ht for 
 her. 
 
 If you got g'ood weight you felt so queer. 
 
 She was then over forty well, possibh' three, 
 But still she was giddy, away up in G; 
 On her back yard gallery she slept on a cot, 
 And dreamed of things she had forgot. 
 
 She was a fiend on auctions, went to them 
 all; 
 
 Would buy any old thing, be it large or 
 small; 
 
 She was true to her promise — said it was 
 
 a gift. 
 That is if time — did not pass too swift. 
 
 Her children are cross'd between French 
 and Dutch, 
 
 They are a gay quartette, very pious — not 
 much; 
 
 Only time they are good is when wrapp'd 
 
 in sleep 
 In their meal-sack gowns, when Angels 
 
 peep. 
 
OLD YEAR, FAREWELL. 
 
 >J; ^ :Jc :}c 
 
 Written January 30,1898.) 
 
 We pause on the threshold and backward 
 
 we g"lide, 
 For acts of our own we should no other 
 
 chide, 
 As the curtain is drawn and opens to view, 
 Fates of the future stowed away in the new. 
 
 We long- for the thing-s that with you have 
 perished, 
 
 Save only to mem'ry, yet living- and cher- 
 ished. 
 
 For enshrined in each heart are g-ems hid 
 away, 
 
 That will live on and on, be fates what they 
 may. 
 
 Your sunny-clad days, and your days filled 
 
 with tears. 
 Those of weal or of woe, of joys or fears. 
 Bound tog-ether by ties that mem'ry will 
 
 hold. 
 As we chaug-e to the new and g-ive up the old. 
 
 Sweet retrospection among- rarestof themes, 
 Thoug-h shadows will creep over brig-htest 
 
 of dreams, 
 And sullen may ling-er, but there'll come 
 
 a ray, 
 
 At least now and then to help chase them 
 away. 
 
 Days of the New Year come and rapidly 
 
 flee; 
 The mists float aside and ourfancies go free; 
 We hallow the thing-s that have pass'd out 
 
 of view, 
 And pine for the old while we take up the 
 
 new. 
 
 89 
 
WILL YOU FORGIVE ME NOW? 
 
 >i; * * * 
 
 Reverberations of the past 
 
 Oft fill my soul, alack! 
 The swing-iug- pendulum of time 
 
 Sad echoes bring- me back. 
 
 The harvest of my fickleness, 
 My path with sorrows strew'd, 
 
 And blazoned on the scroll of time 
 Are mem'ries somber hued. 
 
 Ah! this rivose and wrinkled brow, 
 My recluse life has made; 
 
 Not one refulg-ent gleam of hope 
 My penitence has stayed. 
 
 Locks g-rizzled by time's mag-ic tint; 
 
 Unloved — almost unknown; 
 Discordant with all nature 'round, 
 
 I fain would now atone. 
 
 Oh! break the bonds that fetter me 
 By one kind word from you; 
 
 Let one benign and sun-lit ray 
 Awake my soul anew. 
 
A MOTHER'S LOVE. 
 
 ^ :J; ;;; ;;: 
 
 How I love to live o'er in silent reflection, 
 And ever will cherish in fond recollection. 
 The days of my boyhood, and the old cot- 
 
 tag-e home, 
 And the love of my Mother where'er I may 
 
 roam . 
 
 'Tis a blessing- from heaven so simple and 
 
 sweet, 
 Still there's nothing- so g-rand, nor near so 
 
 complete; 
 What e'r may betide you as the years come 
 
 and g"o, 
 When all others forsake, it will be all 
 
 aglow. 
 
 As fresh dew-drops from heaven so pre- 
 cious to me, 
 
 Was a kiss from my Mother, so loving- was 
 she; 
 
 And memory flits backward with sorrow 
 and joy. 
 
 To the love of my Mother when I was a boy. 
 
 From cradle to manhood, from first recol- 
 lection, 
 
 I loved and adored her, and soug-ht her 
 protection; 
 
 Even now that time's imprint has silvered 
 my hair, 
 
 I have never found a love with her 'si to 
 compare. 
 
 91 
 
As I glance backward to the home of my 
 childhood, 
 
 Beneath elms and oaks, where our cottage 
 
 once stood, 
 Tears curtain my eyes then, which I cannot 
 
 restrain, 
 And I long for a Mother's love, just once 
 
 again. 
 
 Through this valley of tears, in memory 
 
 and dreams, 
 I cherish that love lost now% forever it 
 
 seems, 
 For her spirit has flowm to that echoless 
 
 shore, 
 Where she will commune w'ith the angels 
 
 e'er more. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Photograph Frontispiece 
 
 Poems by Jerrj' Newton Title 
 
 CopjTig'ht 2 
 
 Dedication 3 
 
 Preface 4 
 
 Introductory 5 
 
 Retrospection 6- 7 
 
 Russell Sage 8 
 
 Sieg-e of the Alamo 9-10 
 
 Am I Dreaming-? U-12 
 
 A Skeleton in the C loset 13 
 
 Mrs. L. C. Baker 14 
 
 Gleams of the Past 15-16 
 
 The Gossipper 17-18 
 
 New Year's Greeting's 19-20 
 
 Take Back the RinjT You Gave Me 21 
 
 My Jewish Friends (teleg-rams) 22-23 
 
 I Still Cherish Thy Name 24 
 
 My Old Record Book 25 
 
 The Dude 26-27 
 
 Poem — Name of Song's 28-29 
 
 Hell on Earth 30-31 
 
 Texas on the Rio Grande 32-33 
 
 Reply to Texas on the Rio Grande 34-35 
 
 An Old and Musty Letter 36 
 
 ' Midst of Winter 37-38 
 
 Do You Remember, Jack? 39 
 
 An Acrostic Prayer 40-41 
 
 What Shall We Name our Baby? 42-43 
 
 That Face I've seen Before 44 
 
 The Girl Mc. Loves 45-46 
 
 My Experience as an Apprentice 47-48 
 
 A Glimpse 49 
 
 A Detective's Experience 50 
 
 Where From Little Strang-er 51 
 
 Our Asphalt Drives, Parks, Etc. (A little Boquet for Our 
 
 Mayor) 52 
 
 Can I Teleg-raph to Heaven? 53 
 
 We Are Comrades, John 54 
 
 Some Little Selections 55 
 
 In a Garden Retreat 56 
 
 When I Think of You 57 
 
 93 
 
Our City Dads 58-59 
 
 A Rap at '.Our Door 60 
 
 Mother's Kiss of Long Ago 61-62 
 
 Balancing- a Quad — A Beginner's Experience 63 
 
 Ttiey are Waiting, Mother 64 
 
 History of the Telegraph 65-66 
 
 In Memory of My Namesake 67 
 
 Telephone Perplexities 68 69 
 
 To My Wife 70 
 
 The Language of Flowers 71-72 
 
 To My Sister Belle 73 
 
 To Three of My Lady Friends 74 
 
 Some Acrostics 75 
 
 In Memory of My Brother Charlie 76 
 
 A Little Girl's Lament 77-78 
 
 The Dash and the Dot and Some Things We Hear on the 
 
 Wires 79-80 
 
 As the Years Come and Flee 81-82 
 
 Tired 83-84 
 
 In Memory of a Friend 85 
 
 Advertising theFair 86 
 
 'Round Her Window There Were Roses 87 
 
 A Little Nonsense 88 
 
 Old Year Farewell 89 
 
 Will You Forgive Me Now? 90 
 
 A Mother's Love 91-92 
 
 Index. 93-94 
 
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