•^;'^#^^.* .^N" ^V ^. ''b .\ %%'^' .^^'"^r. '^. '0, , .>'' ,0' ■tir" -^1 4^< - * SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY GdgarLeeMasters ICdisirated :^ \ | OLIVER HERFORD THE MACMILLAN COMPANY J9J6 ^U rig^is r&serye<{ 1 m C^5 il /'. Copyright, 1914 and 1915, By WILLIAM MARION REEDY. Copyright, 1915 and 1916, By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. Published April, 1915. Reprinted May, July, August, twice, September, October, twice ; December, three times, 1915; February, March, twice, April, May, June, September, 1916. New Illustrated Edition, with New Poems, October, 1916. Reprinted November, 1916. ■Bequest Albert Adsit Clemona Aug. 24, 1038 (Not available for exchange) J. S. Gushing Co. —Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY •The THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW VORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., Limited LONDON • BOMBAY ■ CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO 2-7^ MY WIFE For permission to reprint the " Spoon River Anthology" in book form, I wish to thank William Marion Reedy, the editor of " Reedy's Mirror," where it appeared from week to week, beginning with May 29, 1914; and to express my gratitude to him for the sympathetic interest which he showed in the work from the beginning. Vll \ I CONTENTS A PAGE Altman, Herman . . . . . . . . 232 Armstrong, Hannah 229 Arnett, Harold 47 Arnett, Justice 53 Atheist, The Village ....... 250 Atherton, Lucius 56 B Ballard, John . Barker, Amanda Barrett, Pauline Bartlett, Ezra . Bateson, Marie Beatty, Tom Beethoven, Isaiah . Bennett, Hon. Henry Bindle, Nicholas Bliss, Mrs. Charles Blood, A. D. . Bloyd, Wendell P. Bone, Richard . Branson, Caroline . Brown, Jim ix 251 9 90. 121 236 155 266 66 45 91 69 81 179 218 112 PAGE Brown, Sarah . . . . . . . . .34 Browning, Elijah . = = ..... 268 Burke, Robert Southey 70 Burleson, John Horace 77 Butler, Roy 156 C Cabanis, Flossie . . 36 .Cabanis, John . . 125 Calhoun, Granville 187 Calhoun, Henry C. 188 Campbell, Calvin 205 Carlisle, Jeremy 261 Carman, Eugene 134 Cheney, Columbus 234 Chicken, Ida i 110 Childers, Elizabeth 198 Church, John M 85 Churchill, Alfonso 253 Clapp, Homer 57 Clark, Nellie 62 Clute, Aner 55 CoMPTON, Seth 176 CoNANT, Edith 200 CULBERTSON, E. C 183 D Davidson, Robert . . » 113 Dement, Silas 180 X PAGB DiPPOLD THE Optician . . . . . . . 191 Dixon, Joseph 262 DoBYNS, Batterton 152 Drummer, Frank 29 Drummer, Hare .30 DuNLAP, Enoch 174 Dye, Shack 184 E EhRENHARDT, I MANUEL . . . . . . . 240 Epilogue 287 F Fallas, State's Attorney .80 Fawcett, Clarence 135 Ferguson, Wallace 235 FiNDLAY, Anthony 124 Fluke, Willard 54 Foote, Searcy 157 Ford, Webster 270 Eraser, Benjamin » 21 Fraser, Daisy 20 French, Charlie 39 Frickey, Ida 175 G Garber, James 255 Gardner, Samuel 241 xi '^ ■ PAGE Garrick, Amelia 122 GoDBEY, Jacob 153 Goldman, Le Roy 257 GooDE, William 244 Goodhue, Harry Carey 12 Goodpasture, Jacob 46 Graham, Magrady 193 Gray, George 65 Green, Ami . , . - 204 Greene, Hamilton 115 Griffy the Cooper 67 Gustine, Dorcas « 44 H Hainsfeather, Barney 88 Hamblin, Carl 130 Hately, Constance . . . . . . . .10 Hatfield, Aaron . 265 Hawkins, Elliott 170 Hawley, Jeduthan 166 Henry, Chase 11 Herndon, William H 224 Heston, Roger 117 Higbie, Archibald 194 Hill, Doc 32 Hill, The 1 Hoheimer, Knowlt 27 HoLDEN, Barry 79 Hookey, Sam 59 xii PAGE Houghton, Jonathan 182 Howard, Jefferson 96 HUEFFER, CaSSIUS 7 Hummel, Oscar 141 Humphrey, Lydia 256 Hurley, Scholfield 247 HuTCHiNS, Lambert 149 Hyde, Ernest 116 I Iseman, Dr. Siegrfied 50 J Jack, Blind 76 James, Godwin 215 Joe, Plymouth Rock 238 Johnson, Voltaire 172 Jones, Fiddler 61 Jones, Franklin 84 Jones, Indignation 23 Jones, Minerva 22 Jones, William 243 Judge, The Circuit 75 K Karr, Elmer 197 Keene, Jonas 99 Kessler, Bert 148 xiii PAGE Kessler, Mrs 145 KiLLioN, Capta. N Orlando 260 KiNCAiD, Russell 264 King, Lyman 217 Keene, Kinsey 14 Knapp, Nancy 78 konovaloff, ippolit 208 Kritt, Dow 242 L Layton, Henry 206 Lively, Judge Selah 97 M M'CuMBER, Daniel 106 McDowell, Rutherford . 228 McFarlane, Widow . . . . . . . 129 McGee, Fletcher 5 McGee, Ollie 4 M'Grew, Jennie 233 M'Grew, Mickey 139 McGuiRE, Jack 43 McNeely, Mary 105 McNeely, Paul 104 McNeely, Washington . . . . . . . 102 Malloy, Father 203 Marsh, Zilpha 254 Marshal, The Town . . . . . ■ .42 Marshall, Herbert 64 xiv PAGE Mason, Serepta 8 Matheny, Faith 246 Matlock, Davis 231 A Matlock, Lucinda 230 Melveny, Abel 167 Merritt, Mrs 196 Merritt, Tom 195 Metcalf, Willie 248 Meyers, Doctor 24 Meyers, Mrs 25 Micure, Hamlet 221 Miles, J. Milton 245 Miller, Julia 37 Miner, Georgine Sand 107 Moir, Alfred 189 N Newcomer, Professor 137 Night- Watch, Andy The 33 Nutter, Isa 87 o Osborne, Mabel 223 Otis, John Hancock 123 P t Pantier, Benjamin 15 Pantier, Mrs. Benjamin . . , . . . .16 XV PAGE Pantier, Reuben 17 Peet, Rev. Abner . 95 Pennington, Willie 249 Penniwit, the Artist Ill i..-PETiT, The Poet 89 Phipps, Henry 209 PoAGUE, Peleg 165 Pollard, Edmund 159 Potter, Cooney 60 PUCKETT, LYDIA 28 Purkapile, Mrs. 143 purkapile, roscoe 142 Putt, Hod 3 R Reece, Mrs. George 92 Rhodes, Ralph 138 Rhodes, Thomas 109 Richter, Gustav 258 Robbins, Hortense 151 Roberts, Rosie 140 Ross, Thomas, Jr 94 Russian Sonia 86 Rutledge, Anne 220 s Sayre, Johnnie 38 Scates, Hiram 163 Schirding, Albert 98 xvi PAGE Schmidt, Felix 177 SCHRCEDER ThE FISHERMAN 178 Scott, Julian . 252 Sersmith the Dentist 68 Sewall, Harlan 207 Sharp, Percival 161 Shaw, "Ace" 51 Shelley, Percy Bysshe 35 Shope, Tennessee Claflin 237 Vir Sibley, Amos 118 Sibley, Mrs 119 SiEVER, Conrad 31 Simmons, Walter . . 154 Sissman, Dillard 181 Slack, Margaret Fuller 48 Smith, Louise 63 Soldiers, Many 214 SoMERS, Jonathan Swift 128 SoMERS, Judge 13 Sparks, Emily 18 Spears, Lois 52 Spooniad, The 273 Standard, W. Lloyd Garrison 136 Stewart, Lillian 150 Stoddard, Judson 263 T Tanner, Robert Fulton 6 Taylor, Deacon 58 xvii PAGB Theodore the Poet .41 Thornton, English 173 Throckmorton, Alexander 127 Todd, Eugenia 100 Tompkins, Josiah 144 Trainor, the Druggist 19 Trevelyan, Thomas 160 Trimble, George 49 Tripp, Henry 186 Tubes, Hildrup 185 Turner, Francis 83 TuTT, Oaks 168 U Unknown, The 126 W Wasson, John 213 Wasson, Rebecca 226 Webster, Charles 202 Weirauch, Adam . . 120 Weldy, Butch . ,26 Wertman, Elsa 114 Whedon, Editor . . . . . . . . 132 Whitney, Harmon 146 Wiley, Rev. Lemuel 93 Will, Arlo 259 William and Emily .,,.... 74 Williams, Dora .. = . = ... 71 xviii FAGB Williams, Mrs. 72 WiLMANs, Harry 211 Witt, Zenas 40 y Yee Bow 101 Z ZoLL, Perry . . . 190 XIX LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 'Tis vain, O youth, to fly the call of Apollo Frontispiece FACING PAGE My offense was this : I said God lied to Adam . . 40 In my room I shot him, at Madam Lou's . . 80 And then, in a second I spied the rattler . . .120 And I, the solemnest man in town, stepped off with Daisy Fraser 166 And suddenly the chair by you shall hold a guest . 218 XXI SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY Where are Elmer, Herman, Bert, Tom and Charley, The weak of will, the strong of arm, the clown, the boozer, the fighter? All, all, are sleeping on the hill. One passed in a fever. One was burned in a mine. One was killed in a brawl. One died in a jail. One fell from a bridge toiling for children and wife — All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill. Where are Ella, Kate, Mag, Lizzie and Edith, The tender heart, the simple soul, the loud, the proud, the happy one ? — All, all, are sleeping on the hill. One died in shameful child-birth. One of a thwarted love. One at the hands of a brute in a brothel^ One of a broken pride, in the search for heart's desire, One after life in far-away London and Paris Was brought to her little space by Ella and Kate and Mag — All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill. Where are Uncle Isaac and Aunt Emily, And old Tozvny Kincaid and Sevigne Houghton, And Major Walker who had talked With venerable men of the revolution ? — All, all, are sleeping on the hill. They brought them dead sons from the war. And daughters whom life had crushed. And their children fatherless, crying — All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill. Where is Old Fiddler Jones Who played with life all his ninety years. Braving the sleet with bared breast, Drinking, rioting, thinking neither of wife nor kin. Nor gold, nor love, nor heaven ? Lo ! he babbles of the fish-frys of long ago. Of the horse-races of long ago at Clary's Grove, Of what Abe Lincoln said One time at Springfield. J^OD |DuCt Here I He close to the grave OfOldBIllPiersol, Who grew rich trading with the Indians, and who Afterwards took the bankrupt law And emerged from it richer than ever. Myself grown tired of toil and poverty And beholding how Old Bill and others grew in wealth, Robbed a traveler one night near Proctor's Grove, Killing him unwittingly while doing so. For the which I was tried and hanged. That was my way of going into bankruptcy. Now we who took the bankrupt law in our respective ways Sleep peacefully side by side. Have you seen walking through the village A man with downcast eyes and haggard face ? That is my husband who, by secret cruelty Never to be told, robbed me of my youth and my beauty; Till at last, wrinkled and with yellow teeth. And with broken pride and shameful humility, I sank into the grave. But what think you gnaws at my husband's heart ? The face of what I was, the face of what he made me I These are driving him to the place where I lie. In death, therefore, I am avenged. She took my strength by minutes. She took my life by hours, She drained me like a fevered moon That saps the spinning world. The days went by like shadows, The minutes wheeled like stars. She took the pity from my heart, And made it into smiles. She was a hunk of sculptor's clay, My secret thoughts were fingers : They flew behind her pensive brow And lined it deep with pain. They set the lips, and sagged the cheeks. And drooped the eyes with sorrow. My soul had entered in the clay. Fighting like seven devils. It was not mine, it was not hers ; She held it, but its struggles Modeled a face she hated. And a face I feared to see. I beat the windows, shook the bolts. I hid me in a corner — And then she died and haunted me. And hunted me for life. Robert ifulton tE^anner If a man could bite the giant hand That catches and destroys him, As I was bitten by a rat While demonstrating my patent trap, In my hardware store that day. But a man can never avenge himself On the monstrous ogre Life. You enter the room — that's being born ; And then you must live — work out your soul. Aha ! the bait that you crave is in view : A woman with money you want to marry. Prestige, place, or power in the world. But there's work to do and things to conquer — Oh, yes ! the wires that screen the bait. At last you get in — but you hear a step : The ogre, Life, comes into the room, (He was waiting and heard the clang of the spring) To watch you nibble the wondrous cheese. And stare with his burning eyes at you, And scowl and laugh, and mock and curse you, Running up and down in the trap, Until your misery bores him. 6 They have chiseled on my stone the words : "His life was gentle, and the elements so mixed in him That nature might stand up and say to all the world. This was a man." Those who knew me smile As they read this empty rhetoric. My epitaph should have been : "Life was not gentle to him. And the elements so mixed in him That he made warfare on life, In the which he was slain." While I lived I could not cope with slanderous tongues, Now that I am dead I must submit to an epitaph Graven by a fool ! My life's blossom might have bloomed on all sides Save for a bitter wind which stunted my petals On the side of me which you in the village could see. From the dust I lift a voice of protest : My flowering side you never saw ! Ye living ones, ye are fools indeed Who do not know the ways of the wind And the unseen forces That govern the processes of life. ^manua Barfeer Henry got me with child. Knowing that I could not bring forth life Without losing my own. In my youth therefore I entered the portals of dust. Traveler, it is believed in the village where I lived That Henry loved me with a husband's love, But I proclaim from the dust That he slew me to gratify his hatred. You praise my self-sacrifice, Spoon River, In rearing Irene and Mary, Orphans of my older sister ! And you censure Irene and Mary For their contempt for me ! But praise not my self-sacrifice. And censure not their contempt ; I reared them, I cared for them, true enough! But I poisoned my benefactions With constant reminders of their dependence. lo In life I was the town drunkard ; When I died the priest denied me burial In holy ground. The which redounded to my good fortune. For the Protestants bought this lot. And buried my body here, Close to the grave of the banker Nicholas, And of his wife Priscilla. Take note, ye prudent and pious souls, Of the cross-currents in life Which bring honor to the dead, who lived in shame. II You never marveled, dullards of Spoon River, When Chase Henry voted against the saloons To revenge himself for being shut off. But none of you was keen enough To follow my steps, or trace me home As Chase's spiritual brother. Do you remember when I fought The bank and the courthouse ring, For pocketing the interest on public funds ? And when I fought our leading citizens For making the poor the pack-horses of the taxes ? And when I fought the water works For stealing streets and raising rates ? And when I fought the business men Who fought me in these fights ? Then do you remember : That staggering up from the wreck of defeat. And the wreck of a ruined career, I slipped from my cloak my last ideal. Hidden from all eyes until then, Like the cherished jawbone of an ass. And smote the bank and the water works. And the business men with prohibition. And made Spoon River pay the cost Of the fights that I had lost. 12 31ttt)ge Vomers How does it happen, tell me, That I who was most erudite of lawyers. Who knew Blackstone and Coke Almost by heart, who made the greatest speech The court-house ever heard, and wrote A brief that won the praise of Justice Breese — How does it happen, tell me, That I lie here unmarked, forgotten. While Chase Henry, the town drunkard. Has a marble block, topped by an urn, Wherein Nature, in a mood ironical. Has sown a flowering weed ? 13 Your attention, Thomas Rhodes, president of the bank; Coolbaugh Whedon, editor of the Argus ; Rev. Peet, pastor of the leading church ; A. D. Blood, several times Mayor of Spoon River; And finally all of you, members of the Social Purity Club — Your attention to Cambronne's dying words, Standing with the heroic remnant Of Napoleon's guard on Mount Saint Jean At the battle field of Waterloo, When Maitland, the Englishman, called to them : "Surrender, brave Frenchmen !" — There at close of day with the battle hopelessly lost, And hordes of men no longer the army Of the great Napoleon Streamed from the field like ragged strips Of thunder clouds in the storm. Well, what Cambronne said to Maitland Ere the English fire made smooth the brow of the hill Against the sinking light of day Say I to you, and all of you. And to you, O world. And I charge you to carve it Upon my stone. 14 lIBenfantin ^pantter Together in this grave lie Benjamin Pantier, attorney at law, And Nig, his dog, constant companion, solace and friend. Down the gray road, friends, children, men and women. Passing one by one out of life, left me till I was alone With Nig for partner, bed-fellow, comrade in drink. In the morning of life I knew aspiration and saw glory. Then she, who survives me, snared my soul 'With a snare which bled me to death. Till I, once strong of will, lay broken, indifferent. Living with Nig in a room back of a dingy office. Under my jaw-bone is snuggled the bony nose of Nig- Our story is lost in silence. Go by, mad world ! IS £prsf» HBenfamin ^[IDantier I KNOW that he told that I snared his soul With a snare which bled him to death. And all the men loved him. And most of the women pitied him. But suppose you are really a lady, and have delicate tastes. And loathe the smell of whiskey and onions. And the rhythm of Wordsworth's "Ode" runs in your ears. While he goes about from morning till night Repeating bits of that common thing ; "Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ?" And then, suppose : You are a woman well endowed. And the only man with whom the law and morality Permit you to have the marital relation Is the very man that fills you with disgust Every time you think of it — while you think of it Every time you see him ? That's why I drove him away from home To live with his dog in a dingy room Back of his office. i6 l^euben ^pantier Well, Emily Sparks, your prayers were not wasted, Your love was not all in vain. I owe whatever I was in life To your hope that would not give me up, To your love that saw me still as good. Dear Emily Sparks, let me tell you the story, I pass the effect of my father and mother ; The milliner's daughter made me trouble And out I went in the world, Where I passed through every peril known Of wine and women and joy of life. One night, in a room in the Rue de Rivoli, I was drinking wine with a black-eyed cocotte, And the tears swam into my eyes. She thought they were amorous tears and smiled For thought of her conquest over me. But my soul was three thousand miles away. In the days when you taught me in Spoon River. And just because you no more could love me. Nor pray for me, nor write me letters. The eternal silence of you spoke instead. And the black-eyed cocotte took the tears for hers. As well as the deceiving kisses I gave her. Somehow, from that hour, I had a new vision — Dear Emily Sparks ! 17 Where is my boy, my boy — In what far part of the world ? The boy I loved best of all in the school ? — I, the teacher, the old maid, the virgin heart, Who made them all my children. Did I know my boy aright. Thinking of him as spirit aflame, Active, ever aspiring ? Oh, boy, boy, for whom I prayed and prayed In many a watchful hour at night. Do you remember the letter I wrote you Of the beautiful love of Christ ? And whether you ever took it or not, My boy, wherever you are, Work for your soul's sake. That all the clay of you, all of the dross of you. May yield to the fire of you. Till the fire is nothing but light ! i . . Nothing but light ! i8 tTTrainor, tfte SDruggtsft Only the chemist can tell, and not always the chemist, What will result from compounding Fluids or solids. And who can tell How men and women will interact On each other, or what children will result ? There were Benjamin Pantier and his wife, Good in themselves, but evil toward each other : He oxygen, she hydrogen, Their son, a devastating fire. I Trainor, the druggist, a mixer of chemicals, Killed while making an experiment. Lived unwedded. 19 Did you ever hear of Editor Whedon Giving to the public treasury any of the money he received For supporting candidates for office ? Or for writing up the canning factory To get people to invest ? Or for suppressing the facts about the bank. When it was rotten and ready to break ? Did you ever hear of the Circuit Judge Helping anyone except the "Q" railroad. Or the bankers ? Or did Rev. Peet or Rev. Sibley Give any part of their salary, earned by keeping still. Or speaking out as the leaders wished them to do. To the building of the water works ? But I — Daisy Fraser who always passed Along the streets through rows of nods and smiles, And coughs and words such as "there she goes," Never was taken before Justice Arnett Without contributing ten dollars and costs To the school fund of Spoon River ! 20 )15enfamm ifrasfer Their spirits beat upon mine Like the wings of a thousand butterflies. I closed my eyes and felt their spirits vibrating. I closed my eyes, yet I knew when their lashes Fringed their cheeks from downcast eyes, And when they turned their heads ; And when their garments clung to them. Or fell from them, in exquisite draperies. Their spirits watched my ecstasy With wide looks of starry unconcern. Their spirits looked upon my torture ; They drank it as it were the water of life ; With reddened cheeks, brightened eyes The rising flame of my soul made their spirits gilt. Like the wings of a butterfly drifting suddenly into sunlight. And they cried to me for life, life, life. But in taking life for myself. In seizing and crushing their souls. As a child crushes grapes and drinks From its palms the purple juice, I came to this wingless void. Where neither red, nor gold, nor wine, Nor the rhythm of life is known. 21 ^pinerfaa Cloned I AM Minerva, the village poetess, Hooted at, jeered at by the Yahoos of the street For my heavy body, cock-eye, and rolHng walk. And all the more when "Butch" Weldy Captured me after a brutal hunt. He left me to my fate with Doctor Meyers ; And I sank into death, growing numb from the feet up. Like one stepping deeper and deeper into a stream of ice. Will some one go to the village newspaper. And gather into a book the verses I wrote ? — I thirsted so for love ! I hungered so for life ! 22 « 31ntiignatton ** Clones; You would not believe, would you, That I came from good Welsh stock ? That I was purer blooded than the white trash here ? And of more direct lineage than the New Englanders And Virginians of Spoon River ? You would not believe that I had been to school And read some books. You saw me only as a run-down man. With matted hair and beard And ragged clothes. Sometimes a man's life turns into a cancer From being bruised and continually bruised. And swells into a purplish mass. Like growths on stalks of corn. Here was I, a carpenter, mired in a bog of life Into which I walked, thinking it was a meadow. With a slattern for a wife, and poor Minerva, my daughter, Whom you tormented and drove to death. So I crept, crept, like a snail through the days Of my life. No more you hear my footsteps in the morning, Resounding on the hollow sidewalk, Going to the grocery store for a little corn meal And a nickel's worth of bacon. 23 SDoctor ^pe^ers! No other man, unless it v/as Doc Hill, Did more for people in this town than I. And all the weak, the halt, the improvident And those who could not pay flocked to me. I was good-hearted, easy Doctor Meyers. I was healthy, happy, in comfortable fortune. Blessed with a congenial mate, my children raised, All wedded, doing well in the world. And then one night, Minerva, the poetess. Came to me in her trouble, crying. I tried to help her out — she died — They indicted me, the newspapers disgraced me. My wife perished of a broken heart. And pneumonia finished me. 24 He protested all his life long The newspapers lied about him villainously ; That he was not at fault for Minerva's fall, But only tried to help her. Poor soul so sunk in sin he could not see That even trying to help her, as he called it. He had broken the law human and divine. Passers by, an ancient admonition to you : If your ways would be ways of pleasantness, And all your pathways peace, Love God and keep his commandments. 25 After I got religion and steadied down They gave me a job in the canning works. And every morning I had to fill The tank in the yard with gasoline. That fed the blow-fires in the sheds To heat the soldering irons. And I mounted a rickety ladder to do it, Carrying buckets full of the stuff. One morning, as I stood there pouring. The air grew still and seemed to heave, And I shot up as the tank exploded. And down I came with both legs broken. And my eyes burned crisp as a couple of eggs. For someone left a blow-fire going, And something sucked the flame in the tank. The Circuit Judge said whoever did it Was a fellow-servant of mine, and so Old Rhodes' son didn't have to pay me. And I sat on the witness stand as blind As Jack the Fiddler, saying over and over, "I didn't know him at all." 26 I WAS the first fruits of tke battle of Missionary Ridge. When I felt the bullet enter my heart I wished I had staid at home and gone to jail For stealing the hogs of Curl Trenary, Instead of running away and joining the army. Rather a thousand times the county jail Than to lie under this marble figure with wings, And this granite pedestal Bearing the words, "Pro Patria.'* What do they mean, anyway ? 27 Knowlt Hoheimer ran away to the war The day before Curl Trenary Swore out a warrant through Justice Arnett For steaUng hogs. But that's not the reason he turned a soldier. He caught me running with Lucius Atherton. We quarreled and I told him never again To cross my path. Then he stole the hogs and went to the war - Back of every soldier is a woman. 28 jTranlt JBrummer Out of a cell Into this darkened space — The end at twenty-five ! My tongue could not speak what stirred within me, And the village thought me a fool. Yet at the start there was a clear vision, A high and urgent purpose in my soul Which drove me on trying to memorize The Encyclopaedia Britannica ! 29 J^are SDmmmci* Do the boys and girls still go to Siever's For cider, after school, in late September ? Or gather hazel nuts among the thickets On Aaron Hatfield's farm when the frosts begin ? For many times with the laughing girls and boys Played I along the road and over the hills When the sun was low and the air was cool, Stopping to club the walnut tree Standing leafless against a flaming west. Now, the smell of the autumn smoke. And the dropping acorns, And the echoes about the vales Bring dreams of life. They hover over me. They question me : Where are those laughing comrades ? How many are with me, how many In the old orchards along the way to Siever's, And in the woods that overlook The quiet water ? 30 ConraD dieter Not in that wasted garden Where bodies are drawn into grass That feeds no flocks, and into evergreens That bear no fruit — There where along the shaded walks Vain sighs are heard. And vainer dreams are dreamed Of close communion with departed souls — But here under the apple tree I loved and watched and pruned With gnarled hands In the long, long years ; Here under the roots of this northern-spy To move in the chemic change and circle of life, Into the soil and into the flesh of the tree, And into the living epitaphs Of redder apples ! 31 2E>ot ^ii\ I WENT up and down the streets Here and there by day and night. Through all hours of the night caring for the poor who were sick. Do you know why ? My wife hated me, my son went to the dogs. And I turned to the people and poured out my love to them. Sweet it was to see the crowds about the lawns on the day of my funeral, And hear them murmur their love and sorrow. But oh, dear God, my soul trembled — scarcely able To hold to the railing of the new life When I saw Em Stanton behind the oak tree At the grave, Hiding herself, and her grief ! 32 In my Spanish cloak. And old slouch hat. And overshoes of felt. And Tyke, my faithful dog. And my knotted hickory cane, I slipped about with a bull's-eye lantern From door to door on the square. As the midnight stars wheeled round. And the bell in the steeple murmured From the blowing of the wind ; And the weary steps of old Doc Hill Sounded like one who walks in sleep. And a far-off rooster crew. And now another is watching Spoon River As others watched before me. And here we lie, Doc Hill and I Where none breaks through and steals. And no eye needs to guard. 33 Maurice, weep not, I am not here under this pine tree. The balmy air of spring whispers through the sweet grass. The stars sparkle, the whippoorwill calls, But thou grievest, while my soul lies rapturous In the blest Nirvana of eternal light ! Go to the good heart that is my husband. Who broods upon what he calls our guilty love : — Tell him that my love for you, no less than my love for him, Wrought out my destiny — that through the flesh I won spirit, and through spirit, peace. There is no marriage in heaven, But there is love. 34 My father who owned the wagon-shop And grew rich shoeing horses Sent me to the University of Montreal. I learned nothing and returned home, Roaming the fields with Bert Kessler, Hunting quail and snipe. At Thompson's Lake the trigger of my gun Caught in the side of the boat And a great hole was shot through my heart. Over me a fond father erected this marble shaft, On which stands the figure of a woman Carved by an Italian artist. They say the ashes of my namesake Were scattered near the pyramid of Caius Cestius Somewhere near Rome. 35 iflosffite Cabaniflf From Bindle's opera house in the village To Broadway is a great step. But I tried to take it, my ambition fired When sixteen years of age, Seeing "East Lynne" played here in the village By Ralph Barrett, the coming Romantic actor, who enthralled my soul. True, I trailed back home, a broken failure. When Ralph disappeared in New York, Leaving me alone in the city — But life broke him also. In all this place of silence There are no kindred spirits. How I wish Duse could stand amid the pathos Of these quiet fields And read these words. 36 ;51uUa filler We quarreled that morning, For he was sixty-five, and I was thirty, And I was nervous and heavy with the child Whose birth I dreaded. I thought over the last letter written me By that estranged young soul Whose betrayal of me I had concealed By marrying the old man. Then I took morphine and sat down to read. Across the blackness that came over my eyes I see the flickering light of these words even now : "And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee. To-day thou shalt Be with me in paradise." 37 Father, thou canst never know i The anguish that smote my heart For my disobedience, the moment I felt The remorseless wheel of the engine Sink into the crying flesh of my leg. As they carried me to the home of widow Morris I could see the school-house in the valley To which I played truant to steal rides upon the trains. I prayed to live until I could ask your forgiveness — And then your tears, your broken words of comfort ! From the solace of that hour I have gained infinite happiness. Thou wert wise to chisel for me : "Taken from the evil to come." 38 Charlie ifrenc^ Did you ever find out Which one of the O'Brien boys it was Who snapped the toy pistol against my hand ? There when the flags were red and white In the breeze and "Bucky" Estil Was firing the cannon brought to Spoon River From Vicksburg by Captain Harris ; And the lemonade stands were running And the band was playing, To have it all spoiled By a piece of a cap shot under the skin of my hand, And the boys all crowding about me saying : "You'll die of lock-jaw, Charlie, sure." Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! What chum of mine could have done it ? 39 ^enas; Mitt I WAS sixteen, and I had the most terrible dreams. And specks before my eyes, and nervous weakness. And I couldn't remember the books I read. Like Frank Drummer who memorized page after page. And my back was weak, and I worried and worried, And I was embarrassed and stammered my lessons. And when I stood up to recite I'd forget Everything that I had studied. Well, I saw Dr. Weese's advertisement. And there I read everything in print, Just as if he had known me ; And about the dreams which I couldn't help. So I knew I was marked for an early grave. And I worried until I had a cough, And then the dreams stopped. And then I slept the sleep without dreams Here on the hill by the river. 40 &6\u omnie um Ikii As a boy, Theodore, you sat for long hours On the shore of the turbid Spoon With deep-set eye staring at the door of the craw- fish's burrow. Waiting for him to appear, pushing ahead, First his waving antennae, Hke straws of hay. And soon his body, colored like soap-stone, Gemmed with eyes of jet. And you wondered in a trance of thought What he knew, what he desired, and why he lived at all. But later your vision watched for men and women Hiding in burrows of fate amid great cities. Looking for the souls of them to come out. So that you could see How they lived, and for what. And why they kept crawling so busily Along the sandy way where water fails As the summer wanes. 41 The Prohibitionists made me Town Marshal When the saloons were voted out, Because when I was a drinking man, Before I joined the church, I killed a Swede At the saw-mill near Maple Grove. And they wanted a terrible man, Grim, righteous, strong, courageous, And a hater of saloons and drinkers. To keep law and order in the village. And they presented me with a loaded cane With which I struck Jack McGuire Before he drew the gun with which he killed me. The Prohibitionists spent their money in vain To hang him, for in a dream I appeared to one of the twelve jurymen And told him the whole secret story. Fourteen years were enough for killing me. 42 iflacfe ^c(&mtt They would have lynched me Had I not been secretly hurried away To the jail at Peoria. And yet I was going peacefully home, Carrying my jug, a little drunk, When Logan, the marshal, halted me, Called me a drunken hound and shook me, And, when I cursed him for it, struck me With that Prohibition loaded cane — All this before I shot him. They would have hanged me except for this : My lawyer, Kinsey Keene, was helping to land Old Thomas Rhodes for wrecking the bank. And the judge was a friend of Rhodes And wanted him to escape. And Kinsey offered to quit on Rhodes For fourteen years for me. And the bargain was made. I served my time And learned to read and write. 43 SDorcasf ^u0tme I WAS not beloved of the villagers. But all because I spoke my mind, And met those who transgressed against me With plain remonstrance, hiding nor nurturing Nor secret griefs nor grudges. That act of the Spartan boy is greatly praised. Who hid the wolf under his cloak, Letting it devour him, uncomplainingly. It is braver, I think, to snatch the wolf forth And fight him openly, even in the street. Amid dust and howls of pain. The tongue may be an unruly member — But silence poisons the soul. Berate me who will — I arii content. 44 jliic^olas! llBinDle Were you not ashamed, fellow citizens, When my estate was probated and everyone knew How small a fortune I left ? — You who hounded me in life. To give, give, give to the churches, to the poor. To the village ! — me who had already given much. And think you not I did not know That the pipe-organ, which I gave to the church. Played its christening songs when Deacon Rhodes, Who broke the bank and all but ruined me, Worshipped for the first time after his acquittal ? 45 iflacob ^ooDpas:ture When Fort Sumter fell and the war came I cried out in bitterness of soul : "O glorious republic now no more!" When they buried my soldier son To the call of trumpets and the sound of drums My heart broke beneath the weight Of eighty years, and I cried : "Oh, son who died in a cause unjust! In the strife of Freedom slain !" And I crept here under the grass. And now from the battlements of time, behold : Thrice thirty million souls being bound together In the love of larger truth, Rapt in the expectation of the birth Of a new Beauty, Sprung from Brotherhood and Wisdom. I with eyes of spirit see the Transfiguration Before you see it. But ye infinite brood of golden eagles nesting ever higher. Wheeling ever higher, the sun-light wooing Of lofty places of Thought, Forgive the blindness of the departed owl. 46 I LEANED against the mantel, sick, sick, Thinking of my failure, looking into the abysm, Weak from the noon-day heat. A church bell sounded mournfully far away, I heard the cry of a baby. And the coughing of John Yarnell, Bed-ridden, feverish, feverish, dying. Then the violent voice of my wife : "Watch out, the potatoes are burning!" I smelled them . . . then there was irresistible disgust. I pulled the trigger . . . blackness . . . light . . . Unspeakable regret . . . fumbling for the world again. Too late ! Thus I came here. With lungs for breathing . . . one cannot breathe here with lungs, Though one must breathe. ... Of what use is it To rid one's self of the world, When no soul may ever escape the eternal destiny of life ? 47 Margaret iFuller ^lacfe I WOULD have been as great as George Eliot But for an untoward fate. For look at the photograph of me made by Peniwit, Chin resting on hand, and deep-set eyes — Gray, too, and far-searching. But there was the old, old problem : Should it be celibacy, matrimony or unchastity ? Then John Slack, the rich druggist, wooed me, Luring me with the promise of leisure for my novel. And I married him, giving birth to eight children, And had no time to write. It was all over with me, anyway. When I ran the needle in my hand While washing the baby's things, And died from lock-jaw, an ironical death. Hear me, ambitious souls. Sex is the curse of life ! 48 (Seorge tE^rimble Do you remember when I stood on the steps Of the Court House and talked free-silver, And the single-tax of Henry George ? Then do you remember that, when the Peerless Leader Lost the first battle, I began to talk prohibition, And became active in the church ? That was due to my wife. Who pictured to me my destruction If I did not prove my morality to the people. Well, she ruined me : For the radicals grew suspicious of me, And the conservatives were never sure of me — And here I lie, unwept of all. 49 2Dr» ^iegrfteO 3|s(eman I SAID when they handed me my diploma, I said to myself I will be good And wise and brave and helpful to others ; I said I will carry the Christian creed Into the practice of medicine ! Somehow the world and the other doctors Know what's in your heart as soon as you make This high-souled resolution. And the way of it is they starve you out. And no one comes to you but the poor. And you find too late that being a doctor Is just a way of making a living. And when you are poor and have to carry The Christian creed and wife and children All on your back, it is too much ! That's why I made the Elixir of Youth, Which landed me in the jail at Peoria Branded a swindler and a crook By the upright Federal Judge ! 5° ♦♦ace** ^l^atD I NEVER saw any difference Between playing cards for money And selling real estate. Practicing law, banking, or anything else. For everything is chance. Nevertheless Seest thou a man diligent in business ? He shall stand before Kings 1 SI Here lies the body of Lois Spears, Born Lois Fluke, daughter of Willard Fluke, Wife of Cyrus Spears, Mother of Myrtle and Virgil Spears, Children with clear eyes and sound limbs — (I was born blind) I was the happiest of women As wife, mother and housekeeper. Caring for my loved ones. And making my home A place of order and bounteous hospitality : For I went about the rooms, And about the garden With an instinct as sure as sight. As though there were eyes in my finger tips - Glory to God in the highest. 52 It is true, fellow citizens, That my old docket lying there for years On a shelf above my head and over The seat of justice, I say it is true That docket had an iron rim Which gashed my baldness when it fell — (Somehow I think it was shaken loose By the heave of the air all over town When the gasoline tank at the canning works Blew up and burned Butch Weldy) — But let us argue points in order, And reason the whole case carefully : First I concede my head was cut, But second the frightful thing was this : The leaves of the docket shot and showered Around me like a deck of cards In the hands of a sleight of hand performer. And up to the end I saw those leaves Till I said at last, "Those are not leaves, Why, can't you see they are days and days And the days and days of seventy years ? And why do you torture me with leaves And the little entries on them ? 53 OTillarlJ i?lufee My wife lost her health, And dwindled until she weighed scarce ninety pounds. Then that woman, whom the men Styled Cleopatra, came along. And we — we married ones All broke our vows, myself among the rest. Years passed and one by one Death claimed them all in some hideous form, And I was borne along by dreams Of God's particular grace for me, And I began to write, write, write, reams on reams Of the second coming of Christ. Then Christ came to me and said, " Go into the church and stand before the congregation And confess your sin." But just as I stood up and began to speak I saw my little girl, who was sitting in the front seat — My little girl who was born blind ! After that, all is blackness ! 54 ^ner Clute Over and over they used to ask me. While buying the wine or the beer, In Peoria first, and later in Chicago, Denver, Frisco, New York, wherever I lived. How I happened to lead the life. And what was the start of it. Well, I told them a silk dress, And a promise of marriage from a rich man — (It was Lucius Atherton). But that was not really it at all. Suppose a boy steals an apple From the tray at the grocery store. And they all begin to call him a thief. The editor, minister, judge, and all the people — "A thief," "a thief," "a thief," wherever he goes. And he can't get work, and he can't get bread Without stealing it, why, the boy will steal. It's the way the people regard the theft of the apple That makes the boy what he is. 55 ilttcittsf ^tlierton When my moustache curled, And my hair was black, And I wore tight trousers And a diamond stud, I was an excellent knave of hearts and took many a trick. But when the gray hairs began to appear — Lo ! a new generation of girls Laughed at me, not fearing me. And I had no more exciting adventures Wherein I was all but shot for a heartless devil, But only drabby affairs, warmed-over affairs Of other days and other men. And time went on until I lived at Mayer's restaurant, Partaking of short-orders, a gray, untidy. Toothless, discarded, rural Don Juan. . . . There is a mighty shade here who sings Of one named Beatrice ; And I see now that the force that made him great Drove me to the dregs of life. 56 J^onter Clapp Often Aner Clute at the gate Refused me the parting kiss, Saying we should be engaged before that; And just with a distant clasp of the hand She bade me good-night, as I brought her home From the skating rink or the revival. No sooner did my departing footsteps die away Than Lucius Atherton, (So I learned when Aner went to Peoria) Stole in at her window, or took her riding Behind his spanking team of bays Into the country. The shock of it made me settle down, And I put all the money I got from my father's estate Into the canning factory, to get the job Of head accountant, and lost it all. And then I knew I was one of Life's fools, Whom only death would treat as the equal Of other men, making me feel like a man. 57 Deacon tn^a^lor I BELONGED to the church, And to the party of prohibition ; And the villagers thought I died of eating water- melon. In truth I had cirrhosis of the liver, For every noon for thirty years, I slipped behind the prescription partition In Trainor's drug store And poured a generous drink From the bottle marked " Spiritus frumenti." 58 I RAN away from home with the circus. Having fallen in love with Mademoiselle Estralada, The lion tamer. One time, having starved the lions For more than a day, I entered the cage and began to beat Brutus And Leo and Gypsy. Whereupon Brutus sprang upon me. And killed me. On entering these regions I met a shadow who cursed me, And said it served me right. . . o It was Robespierre ! 59 Coone^ potter I INHERITED forty acrcs from my Father And, by working my wife, my two sons and two daughters From dawn to dusk, I acquired A thousand acres. But not content, Wishing to own two thousand acres, I bustled through the years with axe and plow, Toiling, denying myself, my wife, my sons, my daughters. Squire Higbee wrongs me to say That I died from smoking Red Eagle cigars. Eating hot pie and gulping coffee During the scorching hours of harvest time Brought me here ere I had reached my sixtieth year. 60 ifiDDler 3loneflf The earth keeps some vibration going There in your heart, and that is you. And if the people find you can fiddle. Why, fiddle you must, for all your life. What do you see, a harvest of clover ? Or a meadow to walk through to the river } The wind's in the corn ; you rub your hands For beeves hereafter ready for market; Or else you hear the rustle of skirts Like the girls when dancing at Little Grove. To Cooney Potter a pillar of dust Or whirling leaves meant ruinous drouth ; They looked to me like Red-Head Sammy Stepping it off, to "Toor-a-Loor." How could I till my forty acres Not to speak of getting more. With a medley of horns, bassoons and piccolos Stirred in my brain by crows and robins And the creak of a wind-mill — only these ? And I never started to plow in my life That some one did not stop in the road And take me away to a dance or picnic. I ended up with forty acres ; I ended up with a broken fiddlp — And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories, And not a single regret. 6i i^ellie Clark I WAS only eight years old ; And before I grew up and knew what it meant I had no words for it, except That I was frightened and told my Mother; And that my Father got a pistol And would have killed Charlie, who was a big boy, Fifteen years old, except for his Mother. Nevertheless the story clung to me. But the man who married me, a widower of thirty- five, Was a newcomer and never heard it Till two years after we were married. Then he considered himself cheated. And the village agreed that I was not really a virgin. Well, he deserted me, and I died The following winter. 62 Jlouifie ^mttl) Herbert broke our engagement of eight years When Annabelle returned to the village From the Seminary, ah me ! If I had let my love for him alone It might have grown into a beautiful sorrow — Who knows ? — filling my life with healing fragrance. But I tortured it, I poisoned it, I blinded its eyes, and it became hatred — Deadly ivy instead of clematis. And my soul fell from its support, Its tendrils tangled in decay. Do not let the will play gardener to your soul Unless you are sure It is wiser than your soul's nature. 63 All your sorrow, Louise, and hatred of me Sprang from your delusion that it was wantonness Of spirit and contempt 'of your soul's rights Which made me turn to Annabelle and forsake you. You really grew to hate me for love of me, Because I was your soul's happiness, Formed and tempered To solve your life for you, and would not. But you were my misery. If you had been My happiness would I not have clung to you ? This is life's sorrow : That one can be happy only where two are ; And that our hearts are drawn to stars Which want us not. 64 George ^ra^ I HAVE Studied many times The marble which was chiseled for me — A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor. In truth it pictures not my destination But my life. For love was offered me and I shrank from its dis- illusionment ; Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid ; Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances. Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life. And now I know that we must lift the sail And catch the winds of destiny Wherever they drive the boat. To put meaning in one's life may end in madness, But life without meaning is the torture Of restlessness and vague desire — It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid. 65 J^on* J^enr^ llBennett It never came into my mind Until I was ready to die That Jenny had loved me to death, with malice of heart. For I was seventy, she was thirty-five, And I wore myself to a shadow trying to husband Jenny, rosy Jenny full of the ardor of life. For all my wisdom and grace of mind Gave her no delight at all, in very truth, But ever and anon she spoke of the giant strength Of Willard Shafer, and of his wonderful feat Of lifting a traction engine out of the ditch One time at Georgie Kirby's. So Jenny inherited my fortune and married Wil- lard — That mount of brawn ! That clownish soul ! I 66 P^^^.^ 88 Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick. Tick, tick, tick, like mites in a quarrel — • Faint iambics that the full breeze wakens — But the pine tree makes a symphony thereof. Triolets, villanelles, rondels, rondeaus. Ballades by the score with the same old thought : The snows and the roses of yesterday are vanished ; And what is love but a rose that fades ? Life all around me here in the village : Tragedy, comedy, valor and truth. Courage, constancy, heroism, failure — All in the loom, and oh what patterns ! Woodlands, meadows, streams and rivers — Blind to all of it all my life long. Triolets, villanelles, rondels, rondeaus. Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick, Tick, tick, tick, what little iambics. While Homer and Whitman roared in the pines ? 89 Pauline Barrett Almost the shell of a woman after the surgeon's knife ! And almost a year to creep back Into strength. Till the dawn of our wedding decennial Found me my seeming self again. We walked the forest together, By a path of soundless moss and turf. But I could not look in your eyes, And you could not look in my eyes, For such sorrow was ours — the beginning of gray in your hair. And I but a shell of myself. And what did we talk of .? — sky and water, Anything, 'most, to hide our thoughts. And then your gift of wild roses, Set on the table to grace our dinner. Poor heart, how bravely you struggled To imagine and live a remembered rapture ! Then my spirit drooped as the night came on, And you left me alone in my room for a while, As you did when I was a bride, poor heart. And I looked in the mirror and something said : "One should be all dead when one is half-dead — Nor ever mock life, nor ever cheat love." And I did it looking there in the mirror — Dear, have you ever understood ? 90 sprsf* €\)ut\tii Mini Reverend Wiley advised me not to divorce him For the sake of the children, And Judge Somers advised him the same. So we stuck to the end of the path. But two of the children thought he was right, And two of the children thought I was right. And the two who sided with him blamed me, And the two who sided with me blamed him. And they grieved for the one they sided with. And all were torn with the guilt of judging, And tortured in soul because they could not admire Equally him and me. Now every gardener knows that plants grown in cellars Or under stones are twisted and yellow and weak. And no mother would let her baby suck Diseased milk from her breast. Yet preachers and judges advise the raising of souls Where there is no sunlight, but only twilight. No warmth, but only dampness and cold — Preachers and judges ! 91 ^v&* George l^eece To this generation I would say : Memorize some bit of verse of truth or beauty. It may serve a turn in your life. My husband had nothing to do With the fall of the bank — he was only cashier. The wreck was due to the president, Thomas Rhodes, And his vain, unscrupulous son. Yet my husband was sent to prison. And I was left with the children. To feed and clothe and school them. And I did it, and sent them forth Into the world all clean and strong. And all through the wisdom of Pope, the poet : "Act well your part, there all the honor lies." 92 3K{I)» Jlemuel Mile^ I PREACHED four thousand sermons, I conducted forty revivals. And baptized many converts. Yet no deed of mine Shines brighter in the memory of the world, And none is treasured more by me : Look how I saved the Blisses from divorce. And kept the children free from that disgrace, To grow up into moral men and women, Happy themselves, a credit to the village. 93 This I saw with my own eyes : A clifF-swallow Made her nest in a hole of the high clay-bank There near Miller's Ford. But no sooner were the young hatched Than a snake crawled up to the nest To devour the brood. Then the mother swallow with swift flutterings And shrill cries Fought at the snake. Blinding him with the beat of her wings. Until he, wriggling and rearing his head. Fell backward down the bank Into Spoon River and was drowned. Scarcely an hour passed Until a shrike Impaled the mother swallow on a thorn. As for myself I overcame my lower nature Only to be destroyed by my brother's ambition. 94 I HAD no objection at all To selling my household effects at auction On the village square. It gave my beloved flock the chance To get something which had belonged to me For a memorial. But that trunk which was struck off To Burchard, the grog-keeper ! Did you know it contained the manuscripts Of a lifetime of sermons .? And he burned them as waste paper. 95 My valiant fight ! For I call it valiant, With my father's beliefs from old Virginia : Hating slavery, but no less war. I, full of spirit, audacity, courage Thrown into life here in Spoon River, With its dominant forces drawn from New England, Republicans, Calvinists, merchants, bankers. Hating me, yet fearing my arm. With wife and children heavy to carry — Yet fruits of my very zest of life. Stealing odd pleasures that cost me prestige. And reaping evils I had not sown ; Foe of the church with its charnel dankness. Friend of the human touch of the tavern; Tangled with fates all alien to me, Deserted by hands I called my own. Then just as I felt my giant strength Short of breath, behold my children Had wound their lives in stranger gardens — And I stood alone, as I started alone ! My valiant life ! I died on my feet, Facing the silence — facing the prospect That no one would know of the fight I made. 96 luDge ^elai^ iLtijcl^ Suppose you stood just five feet two. And had worked your way as a grocery clerk. Studying law by candle light Until you became an attorney at law ? And then suppose through your diligence, And regular church attendance. You became attorney for Thomas Rhodes, Collecting notes and mortgages. And representing all the widows In the Probate Court ? And through it all They jeered at your size, and laughed at your clothes And your polished boots ? And then suppose You became the County Judge ? And Jefferson Howard and Kinsey Keene, And Harmon Whitney, and all the giants Who had sneered at you, were forced to stand Before the bar and say "Your Honor" — Well, don't you think it was natural That I made it hard for them ? 97 Blbett ^c^irDing Jonas Keene thought his lot a hard one Because his children were all failures. But I know of a fate more trying than that : It is to be a failure while your children are successes. For I raised a brood of eagles Who flew away at last, leaving me A crow on the abandoned bough. Then, with the ambition to prefix Honorable to my name, And thus to win my children's admiration, I ran for County Superintendent of Schools, Spending my accumulations to win — and lost. That fall my daughter received first prize in Paris For her picture, entitled, "The Old Mill" — (It was of the water mill before Henry Wilkin put in steam.) The feeling that I was not worthy of her finished me. 98 Why did Albert Schirding kill himself Trying to be County Superintendent of Schools, Blest as he was with the means of life And wonderful children, bringing him honor Ere he was sixty ? If even one of my boys could have run a news-stand, Or one of my girls could have married a decent man, I should not have walked in the rain And jumped into bed with clothes all wet, Refusing medical aid. 99 aniel ^*Cumber When I went to the city, Mary McNeely, I meant to return for you, yes I did. But Laura, my landlady's daughter. Stole into my life somehow, and won me away. Then after some years whom should I meet But Georgine Miner from Niles — a sprout Of the free love, Fourierist gardens that flourished Before the war all over Ohio. Her dilettante lover had tired of her. And she turned to me for strength and solace. She was some kind of a crying thing One takes in one's arms, and all at once It slimes your face with its running nose. And voids its essence all over you ; Then bites your hand and springs away. And there you stand bleeding and smelling to heaven ! Why, Mary McNeely, I was not worthy To kiss the hem of your robe ! io6 A STEP-MOTHER drove me from home, embittering me. A squaw-man, a flaneur and dilettante took my vir- tue. For years I was his mistress — no one knew. I learned from him the parasite cunning With which I moved with the bluffs, like a flea on a dog. All the time I was nothing but "very private" with different men. Then Daniel, the radical, had me for years. His sister called me his mistress ; And Daniel wrote me: "Shameful word, soiling our beautiful love!" But my anger coiled, preparing its fangs. My Lesbian friend next took a hand. She hated Daniel's sister. And Daniel despised her midget husband. And she saw a chance for a poisonous thrust : I must complain to the wife of Daniel's pursuit ! But before I did that I begged him to fly to London with me. 107 "Why not stay in the city just as we have?" he asked. Then I turned submarine and revenged his repulse In the arms of my dilettante friend. Then up to the surface, Bearing the letter that Daniel wrote me, To prove my honor was all intact, showing it to his wife. My Lesbian friend and everyone. If Daniel had only shot me dead ! Instead of stripping me naked of lies, A harlot in body and soul ! lo8 Very well, you liberals. And navigators into realms intellectual. You sailors through heights imaginative. Blown about by erratic currents, tumbling into air pockets. You Margaret Fuller Slacks, Petits, And Tennessee Claflin Shopes — You found with all your boasted wisdom How hard at the last it is To keep the soul from splitting into cellular atoms. While we, seekers of earth's treasures. Getters and hoarders of gold, Are self-contained, compact, harmonized, Even to the end. X 109 3fl0a €^it^mi After I had attended lectures At our Chautauqua, and studied French For twenty years, committing the grammar Almost by heart, I thought I'd take a trip to Paris To give my culture a final polish. So I went to Peoria for a passport — (Thomas Rhodes was on the train that morning.) And there the clerk of the district Court Made me swear to support and defend The constitution — yes, even me — Who couldn't defend or support it at all ! And what do you think } That very morning The Federal Judge, in the very next room To the room where I took the oath, Decided the constitution Exempted Rhodes from paying taxes For the water works of Spoon River ! no I LOST my patronage in Spoon River From trying to put my mind in the camera To catch the soul of the person. The very best picture I ever took Was of Judge Somers, attorney at law. He sat upright and had me pause Till he got his cross-eye straight. Then when he was ready he said "all right." And I yell, "overruled" and his eye turned up. And I caught him just as he used to look When saying "I except." Ill 3(Itm llBrofcon While I was handling Dom Pedro I got at the thing that divides the race between men who are For singing "Turkey in the straw" or "There is a fountain filled with blood" — (Like Rile Potter used to sing it over at Concord) ; For cards, or for Rev. Peet's lecture on the holy land; For skipping the light fantastic, or passing the plate; For Pinafore, or a Sunday school cantata; For men, or for money ; For the people or against them. This was It : Rev. Peet and the Social Purity Club, Headed by Ben Pantier's wife. Went to the Village trustees. And asked them to make me take Dom Pedro From the barn of Wash MeNeely, there at the edge of town. To a barn outside of the corporation, On the ground that it corrupted public morals. Well, Ben Pantier and Fiddler Jones saved the day — They thought it a slam on colts. 112 KobetC SDaiJiDsfon I GREW spiritually fat living off the souls of men. If I saw a soul that was strong I wounded its pride and devoured its strength. The shelters of friendship knew my cunning. For where I could steal a friend I did so. And wherever I could enlarge my power By undermining ambition, I did so. Thus to make smooth my own. And to triumph over other souls. Just to assert and prove my superior strength, Was with me a delight, The keen exhilaration of soul gymnastics. Devouring souls, I should have lived forever. But their undigested remains bred in me a deadly nephritis. With fear, restlessness, sinking spirits. Hatred, suspicion, vision disturbed. I collapsed at last with a shriek. Remember the acorn ; It does not devour other acorns. 113 Clsa Witttmm I WAS a peasant girl from Germany, Blue-eyed, rosy, happy and strong. And the first place I worked was at Thomas Greene's. On a summer's day when she was away He stole into the kitchen and took me Right in his arms and kissed me on my throat, I turning my head. Then neither of us Seemed to know what happened. And I cried for what would become of me. And cried and cried as my secret began to show. One day Mrs. Greene said she understood, And would make no trouble for me. And, being childless, would adopt it. (He had given her a farm to be still.) So she hid in the house and sent out rumors, As if it were going to happen to her. And all went well and the child was born — They were so kind to me. Later I married Gus Wertman, and years passed. But — at political rallies when sitters-by thought I was crying At the eloquence of Hamilton Greene — That was not it. No ! I wanted to say : That's my son ! That's my son I 114 I^amilton Greene I WAS the only child of Frances Harris of Virginia And Thomas Greene of Kentucky, Of valiant and honorable blood both. To them I owe all that I became, Judge, member of Congress, leader in the State. From my mother I inherited Vivacity, fancy, language; From my father will, judgment, logic. All honor to them For what service I was to the people ! IIS €mtst J^^De My mind was a mirror : It saw what it saw, it knew what it knew. In youth my mind was just a mirror In a rapidly flying car, Which catches and loses bits of the landscape. Then in time Great scratches were made on the mirror, Letting the outside world come in, And letting my inner self look out. For this is the birth of the soul in sorrow, A birth with gains and losses. The mind sees the world as a thing apart, And the soul makes the world at one with itself. A mirror scratched reflects no image — And this is the silence of wisdom. ii6 Oh many times did Ernest Hyde and I Argue about the freedom of the will. My favorite metaphor was Prickett's cow Roped out to grass, and free you know as far As the length of the rope. One day while arguing so, watching the cow Pull at the rope to get beyond the circle Which she had eaten bare, Out came the stake, and tossing up her head, She ran for us. "What's that, free-will or what?" said Ernest, running. I fell just as she gored me to my death. 117 0mosf ^iblei^ Not character, not fortitude, not patience Were mine, the which the village thought I had In bearing with my wife, while preaching on, Doing the work God chose for me. I loathed her as a termagant, as a wanton. I knew of her adulteries, every one. But even so, if I divorced the woman I must forsake the ministry. Therefore to do God's work and have it crop, I bore with her ! So lied I to myself! So lied I to Spoon River ! Yet I tried lecturing, ran for the legislature. Canvassed for books, with just the thought in mind If I make money thus, I will divorce her. ii8 The secret of the stars, — gravitation. The secret of the earth, — layers of rock. The secret of the soil, — to receive seed. The secret of the seed, — the germ. The secret of man, — the sower. The secret of woman, — the soil. My secret : Under a mound that you shall never find. '^^=:=JR 119 0Dam Metraucl^ I WAS crushed between Altgeld and Armour. I lost many friends, much time and money- Fighting for Altgeld whom Editor Whedon Denounced as the candidate of gamblers and anarchists. Then Armour started to ship dressed meat to Spoon River, Forcing me to shut down my slaughter-house. And my butcher shop went all to pieces. The new forces of Altgeld and Armour caught me At the same time. I thought it due me, to recoup the money I lost And to make good the friends that left me, For the Governor to appoint me Canal Commis- sioner. Instead he appointed Whedon of the Spoon River Argus, So I ran for the legislature and was elected. I said to hell with principle and sold my vote On Charles T. Yerkes' street-car franchise. Of course I was one of the fellows they caught. Who was it, Armour, Altgeld or myself That ruined me ? 1 20 (^yvm llien, in a iecond Cj/Apiedme nmer. €'^tn Bartletc A CHAPLAIN in the army, A chaplain in the prisons, An exhorter in Spoon River, Drunk with divinity. Spoon River — Yet bringing poor EHza Johnson to shame. And myself to scorn and wretchedness. But why will you never see that love of women, And even love of wine. Are the stimulants by which the soul, hungering for divinity. Reaches the ecstatic vision And sees the celestial outposts ? Only after many trials for strength. Only when all stimulants fail. Does the aspiring soul By its own sheer power Find the divine By resting upon itself. 121 Amelia (Sarrtcfe Yes, here I lie close to a stunted rose bush In a forgotten place near the fence Where the thickets from Siever's woods Have crept over, growing sparsely. And you, you are a leader in New York, The wife of a noted millionaire, A name in the society columns. Beautiful, admired, magnified perhaps By the mirage of distance. You have succeeded, I have failed In the eyes of the world. You are alive, I am dead. Yet I know that I vanquished your spirit ; And I know that lying here far from you, Unheard of among your great friends In the brilliant world where you move, I am really the unconquerable power over your life That robs it of complete triumph. 122 As to democracy, fellow citizens, Are you not prepared to admit That I, who inherited riches and was to the manner born. Was second to none in Spoon River In my devotion to the cause of Liberty ? While my contemporary, Anthony Findlay, Born in a shanty and beginning life As a water carrier to the section hands. Then becoming a section hand when he was grown, Afterwards foreman of the gang, until he rose To the superintendency of the railroad. Living in Chicago, Was a veritable slave driver, Grinding the faces of labor, And a bitter enemy of democracy. And I say to you. Spoon River, And to you, O republic. Beware of the man who rises to power From one suspender. 123 Both for the country and for the man. And for a country as well as a man, 'Tis better to be feared than loved. And If this country would rather part With the friendship of every nation Than surrender its wealth, I say of a man 'tis worse to lose Money than friends. And I rend the curtain that hides the soul Of an ancient aspiration : When the people clamor for freedom They really seek for power o'er the strong. I, Anthony Findlay, rising to greatness From a humble water carrier. Until I could say to thousands "Come," And say to thousands "Go," Affirm that a nation can never be good, Or achieve the good. Where the strong and the wise have not the rod To use on the dull and weak. 124 31o]^n Cabanisf Neither spite, fellow citizens, Nor forgetfulness of the shiftlessness, And the lawlessness and waste Under democracy's rule in Spoon River Made me desert the party of law and order And lead the liberal party. Fellow citizens ! I saw as one with second sight That every man of the millions of men Who give themselves to Freedom, And fail while Freedom fails. Enduring waste and lawlessness, And the rule of the weak and the blind. Dies in the hope of building earth. Like the coral insect, for the temple To stand on at the last. And I swear that Freedom will wage to the end The war for making every soul Wise and strong and as fit to rule As Plato's lofty guardians In a world republic girdled ! 125 Ye aspiring ones, listen to the story of the unknown Who lies here with no stone to mark the place. As a boy reckless and wanton, Wandering with gun in hand through the forest Near the mansion of Aaron Hatfield, I shot a hawk perched on the top Of a dead tree. He fell with guttural cry At my feet, his wing broken. Then I put him in a cage Where he lived many days cawing angrily at me When I offered him food. Daily I search the realms of Hades For the soul of the hawk. That I may offer him the friendship Of one whom life wounded and caged. 126 ^lejcanDer tD^lirockntorton In youth my wings were strong and tireless. But I did not know the mountains. In age I knew the mountains But my weary wings could not follow my vision Genius is wisdom and youth. 127 31onatl)an ^toift Vomers;* After you have enriched your soul To the highest point. With books, thought, suffering, the understanding of many personalities. The power to interpret glances, silences. The pauses in momentous transformations. The genius of divination and prophecy; So that you feel able at times to hold the world In the hollow of your hand ; Then, if, by the crowding of so many powers Into the compass of your soul, Your soul takes fire, And in the conflagration of your soul The evil of the world is lighted up and made clear — Be thankful if in that hour of supreme vision Life does not fiddle. * Author of THE SPOONIAD — see page 273. 128 I WAS the Widow McFarlane, Weaver of carpets for all the village. And I pity you still at the loom of life, You who are singing to the shuttle And lovingly watching the work of your hands, If you reach the day of hate, of terrible truth. For the cloth of life is woven, you know. To a pattern hidden under the loom — A pattern you never see ! And you weave high-hearted, singing, singing. You guard the threads of love and friendship For noble figures in gold and purple. And long after other eyes can see You have woven a moon-white strip of cloth. You laugh in your strength, for Hope o'erlays it With shapes of love and beauty. The loom stops short ! The pattern's out ! You're alone in the room ! You have woven a shroud ! And hate of it lays you in It ! 129 Carl J^amblm The press of the Spoon River Clarion was wrecked, And I was tarred and feathered, For publishing this on the day the Anarchists were hanged in Chicago : "I saw a beautiful woman with bandaged eyes Standing on the steps of a marble temple. Great multitudes passed in front of her. Lifting their faces to her imploringly. In her left hand she held a sword. She was brandishing the sword. Sometimes striking a child, again a laborer. Again a slinking woman, again a lunatic. In her right hand she held a scale; Into the scale pieces of gold were tossed By those who dodged the strokes of the sword. A man in a black gown read from a manuscript : 'She is no respecter of persons.' Then a youth wearing a red cap Leaped to her side and snatched away the bandage. And lo, the lashes had been eaten away From the oozy eye-lids ; 130 The eye-balls were seared with a milky mucus ; The madness of a dying soul Was written on her face — But the multitude saw why she wore the bandage.' 131 CDitor WJl\)ttion To be able to see every side of every question ; To be on every side, to be everything, to be nothing long; To pervert truth, to ride it for a purpose, To use great feelings and passions of the human family For base designs, for cunning ends. To wear a mask like the Greek actors — Your eight-page paper — behind which you huddle. Bawling through the megaphone of big type : "This is I, the giant." Thereby also living the life of a sneak-thief, Poisoned with the anonymous words Of your clandestine soul. To scratch dirt over scandal for money, And exhume it to the winds for revenge. Or to sell papers, Crushing reputations, or bodies, if need be. To win at any cost, save your own life. To glory in demoniac power, ditching civilization, 132 As a paranoiac boy puts a log on the track And derails the express train. To be an editor, as I was. Then to lie here close by the river over the place Where the sewage flows from the village. And the empty cans and garbage are dumped. And abortions are hidden. 133 Cugene Carman Rhodes' slave ! Selling shoes and gingham, Flour and bacon, overalls, clothing, all day long For fourteen hours a day for three hundred and thir- teen days For more than twenty years. Saying "Yes'm" and "Yes, sir" and "Thank you" A thousand times a day, and all for fifty dollars a month. Living in this stinking room in the rattle-trap "Com- mercial." And compelled to go to Sunday School, and to listen To the Rev. Abner Peet one hundred and four times a year For more than an hour at a time. Because Thomas Rhodes ran the church As well as the store and the bank. So while I was tying my neck-tie that morning I suddenly saw myself in the glass : My hair all gray, my face like a sodden pie. So I cursed and cursed : You damned old thing ! You cowardly dog ! You rotten pauper ! You Rhodes' slave ! Till Roger Baughman Thought I was having a fight with some one. And looked through the transom just in time To see me fall on the floor in a heap From a broken vein in my head, 134 Clawnce ifaiocctc The sudden death of Eugene Carman Put me in line to be promoted to fifty dollars a month, And I told my wife and children that night. But it didn't come, and so I thought Old Rhodes suspected me of stealing The blankets I took and sold on the side For money to pay a doctor's bill for my little girl. Then like a bolt old Rhodes accused me, And promised me mercy for my family's sake If I confessed, and so I confessed. And begged him to keep it out of the papers, And I asked the editors, too. That night at home the constable took me And every paper, except the Clarion, Wrote me up as a thief Because old Rhodes was an advertiser And wanted to make an example of me. Oh ! well, you know how the children cried. And how my wife pitied and hated me, And how I came to lie here. ^^^^ I3S WSi. Jllo^D