V'.v '■'.i "V,. %. / Class PS \a 3 4 BookXiBX- CoipghtN". COPYRIGHT DEPOSm BERMUDA VERSES "LARRY" CHITTENDEN 'Poet Ranchman," Author of " Ranch Verses' K' -^ .:V ILLUSTRATED G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS NEW YORK LONDON 27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND Ube ftnfcberbocfiec press 1909 Copyright, 1909 BY WILLIAM LAWRENCE CHITTENDEN Uhc ■ftnicftcrbocljcr prcse, Hew lotft LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two CoDies Received APR 19 190d -. Copyritrtt tntry CLASS a XAc. i^o. DcDlcateft To all Lovers of BERMUDA The Ocean Paradise and Evergreen Land — A Sub-Tropical English Garden at New York's Front Door- Forty-five Hours from Broadway — Off South Carolina Coast Winter Temperature, 55° to 70° Summer *' 70° to 86° No Fogs. Flowers always " There 's no place like Bermuda, for here, bedad, we find The Isles of Maine, the Indies, and Italy combined" — Saj/s Mr. Lafferty—page 32 Photos by W. H. Potter, Bailey's Bav, Bermuda, AND Lkwis Constable Hamilton, Canada, AND OTHERS CONTENTS Bermuda Etchings, No. i — The Bermudas . Bermuda Etchings, No. 2 — Harrington Sound Bermuda's Invaders Tom Moore . . Bermuda Etchings, No. 3 — Walsingham A Bermuda Fairy Tale . A Bermuda Reverie Lines to some Bermuda Ladies who kindly Sent Punch, Cake, and Valentines to the Poet Ranchman at Church Bay ..... Bermuda Etchings, No. 4 — The South Shore Bermuda Etchings, No. 5 — Joyce's Cave The Ocean Yacht Race .... Bermuda Etchings, No. 6 — To the " Lysistrata ' Lahferty's Bermuda Letter page I 4 9 1 1 12 19 27 28 29 3> 32 To A Little Bermuda Girl who Gave me her Collie Dog 39 vi Contents PAGE Bermuda Etchings, No. 7 — St. George . . -43 "Larry's Lodge" ....... 44 Bermuda Etchings, No. 9 — Church Bay . . -47 Bermuda Etchings, No. 10 — The Bos'un Bird . . 48 Bermuda's Guardians: " The Forty-sixth Cornwall " . 49 Good-bye ........ 52 Returning to the Ranch . . . . -54 Wherb the Woodpecker Knocks on the Door . . 59 Reciprocity ........ 64 A Vision ........ 65 ILLUSTRATIONS A Lily Field — Hanington Sound — Hamilton Harbor Frontispiece " Ye Wayside Inns": "Seaward," Hanington House " Bermuda Invaders " "Invaders " in Possession of Lodge " Invaders " at the Lodge . Bermuda Palms " Walsingham " — Moore's House The Fireplace in Moore's House Map of the Bermudas The Bermuda Hunt Club . Bermuda Fairies Bermuda Fairies " The children are fairies, as everyone knows " Mullet Bay, St. George's .... 4^ 6. 6 8^ ID 12 ^ 12 >4 / i6 , i8 '' 20 '' Harrington Sound " Natives" — Caught near the " Lodge" 20 vii VIU Illustrations PAGE St. George's .... . 22/ Cathedral Rocks — Somerset , 22 Crystal Cave .... • ^4/ Joyce's Cave .... • 24 The Winning Yacht " Tamerlane " . 26/ The " Lysistrata" . 26 Bermuda Scenes . 28^ Bermuda Scenes . 30/ " Our Bailey's Bay Post-office " . . 32/ Bailey's Bay Tennis Club . 32 " Hilda" and her Friends . 34 Bermuda Hotels 36/ " Larry's Lodge" 38' Interior of Lodge 38 Scenes near Lodge 40^ Church Bay Etchings 42 ■ Church Bay Etchings 46. Yachts — Hamilton Harbor 48 V Regatta Day — in Harbor . 48 Bermuda's Gallant Guardians: the Fort y-sixt 1 Corr iwall . 50 Ir Illvistrations IX Presenting Colors ...... Group of Officers ...... Steamer " Bermudian " Outward Bound Steamer " Prince George" Entering St. George's Harbor Bermuda Scenes ...... Church Bay Church ...... Island Memories ...... "The Strenuous Life": "Come in, Teddy, the water's fine ! " ...... Ye Bard's Exit PAGE 50 50 52/- 62 y^ 62 64 BERMUDA VERSES Bermuda Verses BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. i THE BERMUDAS B -RIGHT land of lovely lilies, roses, and cedar trees, E-nchantment dwells about thee and in thy em- erald seas. R-are palms and oleanders woo tropic tints of bloom M-idst homes of purest coral and bowers of rare perfume. U-pon thy lonely headlands and on thy echoing shore D-reamed long ago a Poet;— all hail to Thomas Moore ! A- thousand charms surround thee; here there is health and rest; S-weet, radiant, rare Bermudas, the Islands of the Blest. H BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. 2 HARRINGTON SOUND -ERE where the world is quiet, and where no trouble seems, A- soul might sing forever amidst a land of dreams. R-emote from noisy rabbles and fashion's tuneless throng, R-ich echoes haunt the silence in this sweet realm of song. I-f bards could hint the music of this rare rap- turous shore, N-ew leaves might crown their laurels and fame forever more. G-reat crags and lonely islands midst purest em- erald seas, T-all palms and radiant flowers woo whispering cedar trees. 0-ld gardens filled with roses and lilies fair abound, N-ear groves, and caves of coral, along this land- locked sound. w ''^K ^ ^ -P UTirfVC .ii»^ 1 -*>M lllllll" B^ iUT 1^.^ -|g ^ >...•■._■:. " Seaward. Harrington House. Harrington Sovmd 3 S-weet incense of ambrosia wooes every fluted air; 0-n crag and cliff and headland is beauty every- where. U-nique it rests forever unvexed by crafts of steam, N-o commerce mars its slumbers and here no white sails gleam, D-efended pure and lovely — it dreams within a dream. BERMUDA'S INVADERS LORD Roberts wants a million men to keep the Germans out From England's lightly burdened lands — a glo- rious scheme — no doubt? But what about Bermuda's needs — Britannia's loveliest isles, Just now beset by alien hosts, with arms, and gold, and — ^smiles! The transports are all burdened down — the enemy appears Sharp-shooters of proud Uncle Sam, the Sweet Girl Volunteers! Yes, there is danger in the air: a dashing daunt- less band In dress parade and deftly armed beset Ber- muda's land. Invasion! yes, that is their game — they ride through every gorge, Unmindful of the livery bills, from Front Street to Saint George. 4 Bermuda's Invaders 5 They flaunt gay colors everywhere, shoot shafts from starry eyes. And make the native angels sigh in this real Paradise; They capture all the big hotels— the local beaux and all — And they will conquer too, I ween, the "Forty- Sixth Cornwall"! Ye heroes of a hundred fights, ye warriors from Soudan, To arms! Beware the Yankee girl— she "loves a soldier-man." She robs them of their swagger sticks and buttons by the score, And oh, she dotes on Englishmen and then she sighs — for more. The dangers ye have safely passed are naught to her, 1 swear; Bermuda's Gallant Guardians, brave Forty-Sixth — beware ! The houses all are filling now; the ladies great and small Are pouring tea and bombarding the Forty-Sixth Cornwall. 6 Dermxida's Invaders Gay Colonel This and Major That and Captain Never Slow Are doing yeoman service now — aye, marching to and fro. "What are the bands a-playing for?" says Fi-Lees on Parade; "The gurls is ere! we're tunin' hup!" — The color sergeant said. The enemy assails Prospect — MontpeHer has been won! Saint George, at last, is sore besieged by a fair Garrison. The Governor is in retreat, and Justice it is clear Has doffed its gown, and proudly yields to a Queen Volunteer! The Native Sons are falling fast, the Masters at the Post; Bird's Island, aye, and Cedar Hurst, fell to this charming host; And there are others sore beset — romance is in the air; Ye Island Beaux, gay gallants all, and Bache- lors — beware ! Constable, Phntn. "IxvAnKRs" IN Possession of Lodge. Constable, Photo "Invaders" at The Lodge. Bermvida's Invaders 7 The Union Jack and Stars and Stripes, a com- bination grand, Float o'er the ramparts of the heart in proud Bermuda's land; Long may they wave forever true, in every calm and breeze, The Guardians of Peace and Right o'er all the Seven Seas. Intelligence should rule the world — ^all anger, greed, and hate Should be controlled by Two-Power minds and taught to — arbitrate! May God's grand Armageddon dawn — that glo- rious peaceful day "When spears are beat to pruning hooks," and swords are laid away; May ground-doves nest, aye, everywhere — around the cannon's mouth; And Northern hearts all learn to love God's proud poetic South. May Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men, ob- tain through all the world, And war drums sob their last tattoos, and battle-flags be furled. 8 Bermuda's Invaders Men's hearts are growing kinder now— no matter what "they say," For Right and Peace, and Love must rule, and God shall reign— some day. i I TOM MOORE THOUGH the Shamrock may fade while the pale lily weeps In the Over-Sea lands where the Irish Bard sleeps. His memory blooms in these islands around And brightens the Dreamlands of Harrington Sound. While his name so immortal, resplendent, and strong, Illumines the world from the temples of song. Now never a dreamer or singer should soar Without bowing low at the shrine of Tom Moore. They should visit Bermuda's proud Isles of the sea, Then view Walsingham and Moore's calabash tree; They should hum that fond air as the glowing sun sets, "The heart that has truly loved never forgets," 9 lo Tom Moore "The Loves of the Angels," and rare "Lalla Rookh," And his soul-stirring songs they should ne'er overlook; They should read about Nea, the Poet's sweet- heart, Then love the pale singer because of his art. The world has grown sordid with grafters and knaves, Yet Fame guards her wealth and her dead Poets' graves, "And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls. Shall long keep their memory green in our souls." They sang— aye, they died— and their spirits have trod O'er life's mountains of care to the Gardens of God, Those balm-breathing gardens of peace-giving breath In that Morning-kissed land o'er the River of Death, Where never an echo or murmur of wrong Shall mar the grand notes of their Infinite Song. I " Walsingham " — ?iIii()Ki;'s House. The Fireplace in Moore's House. BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. 3 WALSINGHAM W -I THIN this ancient mansion, in storied days of yore, A- poet dreamed rare fancies — all hail to Thomas Moore ! L-ikewise here dreamed a lady, a woman known to fame, S-upposed to be Moore's sweetheart, proud "Nea" was her name. I-f from beyond that curtain through which no eye can see, N-ea and Moore could whisper, what would their story be? G-one — aye, but not forgotten! Ah, life is but a sigh! H-ow soon the singer passes — but good songs never die! A-nd though we must go Seaward to pale obliv- ion's shore, M-oore's songs shall live in memory and heart forever more. II A BERMUDA FAIRY TALE FOR THE CHILDREN OF "MULBERRY VILLA," SHELLY BAY, BERMUDA ^ M Y dear little Helen And Donald and "Rete"; Your message has come And it seems very sweet. For you sent me your love On a cute little card Displaying a house In a cute little yard. And is that your "Villa" Where mulberries grow In the beautiful land Where you never have snow? Those beautiful islands I long for to-day, > Published by special request in Bermuda Colonist. 12 I II K HfiRMlTDAS ^Ajsi,- Photo by Bradley. Map of thk Bermudas. Photo by Grantham. The Bermuda Hunt Club. j\ Dermxida Fairy Xale 13 Where the fairies are playing Around Shelly Bay — For the children are fairies, As every one knows Who lives in " the Land Of the Lily and Rose"— And where 't is the custom, Ah, yes, quite the rage For school-going children To ride on the stage, On a stage which runs round Through a beautiful gorge From Hamilton town To the town of Saint George. Now once in my travels A few months ago, I rode on that stage. As you very well know, And there like two pictures Perched up on the seat 14 -A. Bermvida Fairy Tale Were two lovely Fairies — Miss Helen and "Rete." The driver he knew them ! The horses did too, For they wagged their old tails, Seemed to say, "How de do ?" And the gay blushing flowers All nodded that day As we travelled along To fair Shelly Bay. The sunbeams were waving Gay banners of gold In that land of enchantment As onward we rolled, And the people we met In those flower-clad miles All seemed to salute us With showers of — smiles. They knew that the Fairies That day were at hand. Bermuda Fairies. A Bermvida Fairy Tale 15 As we all rode along Through a real Fairy Land, Where the roses and lilies And rare cedar trees Forever are wooed By the purest of seas; Where the "bee banquets on Through a whole year of flowers," And life is a dream Amidst glad golden hours ; Where spotless white houses Deck the coral reef sod. And rare birds abide In the gardens of God. But do you remember, My dear little sprites. That coral-gemmed Eden The fair "Isle of Wight's." Where we watched the great vessels Work in through the west 1 6 A. Bermuda Kairy Xale From far-away lands, To your dream-land of rest ? Where we all went fishing And you caught some whales. Just the same as the children In real fairy tales? And where we went swimming, And Donald did too, And Helen got frightened ? — You know this is true ! Yes, yes, she was frightened. Because, I suppose, Some wicked old mermaid Was pinching her toes; For the wonderful mermaids, The sea nymphs with curls, Who live in the water. All like little girls. So when you go swimming Mind what you 're about. zmM ---..#'t Bermuda Fairies. A. Bernivida Fairy Tale 17 For the mermaids will catch you Unless you watch out. And they will carry you off To their coral-bound caves, Far away from your mother, Down, down, 'neath the waves. Where the sea-serpent dwells With the child-eating shark. And the devil-fish swims And it 's dismal and dark; Where ghosts and bad giants Are drifting around, To catch naughty children Who sometimes are — drowned. So mind the good Sisters Who manage your school. And try to live up To the great Golden Rule, And mind your dear parents. And never do wrong. B A Bermxida Fairy Tale But bless you, my fairies. This tale is too long; Hence I think I must stop Till we four shall meet. So good-bye, dear Helen And Donald and " Rete." New York, Dec, 1906. A BERMUDA REVERIE WHEN the soft silver hair of the moon is uncurled, There are visions and dreams of that far-away world ; We can hear the low lull of the waters that roar On the Morning-kissed sands of Eternity's shore, And fainter — from farther — there echoes along The angelic sigh of an infinite song. For dear voices come, soft, sad, sweet, and low From the shadowy vales of the dim long-ago. Then the pale lilies weep, and lonely winds sigh Since life is — a tear — a smile — and good-bye! We all must soon sail for that silence profound, Far, far, from the Dreamlands of Harrington Sound. Past deep Castle Harbour our vessels shall be Adrift and alone on a harbourless sea. No light of Saint David's shall show us the way On that last lonely reach o'er ObUvion's Bay, 19 20 A. Bermxida Reverie Where spectre barks drift and haunted winds sigh Near pale coral reefs of that dim Bye-and-Bye. Yet the Master has told us, and so it must be, When the last trumpet sounds "there shall be no more sea." There 's a dawn in the East, past rainbows of Quest, When the battle is o'er, where the weary may rest. Beyond the last twilight of life, far away. The sun shall arise o'er a limitless day; Past shadows of trouble and cloudlands of care There are mansions of light in God's Over-There. So what does it matter — life's worry and grief ? The journey o'er lowland and river is brief. Let us sow a few seeds — and sing as we sow — And do the kind thing wherever we go; With lilies of love and joy's roses and smiles Let us make life an Eden — to-day — in these Isles ! I'liuto by Bradley. Mullet Bay, St. George's. Bagot, Photo. Harrington Sound "Xatives" — Caught near "The Lodge." LINES TO SOME BERMUDA LADIES WHO KINDLY SENT PUNCH. CAKE, AND VALENTINES TO THE POET RANCH- MAN AT CHURCH BAYi The Punch EXCUSE us, fair ladies, for the pleasure we take In thanking you here for the gifts and the cake. The punch is delicious, sweet liquid sunshine, A cordial for angels — pure nectar divine. Great Homer has sung of the vintage of old, But here 's to Bermuda's gay drink of pure gold ! Rare rum from the Indies illumines its smile, Which topers declare is far "smoother than — ile." The fruits of the Tropics and spices combined Are blended in thee, by all artists refined; The milk of pure kindness dwells deep in thy heart And soothes every soul with rare infinite art. > Prom the Bermuda Colonist, February 19, 1908. 21 22 TKe OaKe The knights of Barbados make "swizzles" in vain, — Milk punch stands unmatched on the old Spanish Main. The Outerbridge blend we believe is the best, — 'T is a drink for the gods in this dreamland of rest. Tom Moore would have loved it in brave days of yore — Your health, gentle ladies, and here 's to Tom Moore! The Cake The cake — ah, the cake! — 'twas delicious and good — A gift from an angel — ^yes, real angel's food! " Elijah was fed by the ravens," they say. But angels feed bards in Bermuda's Church Bay. And angels who came to our cedar grove strand, With brave buccaneers, declared the cake grand. You cannot imagine the pleasure we had In cutting that cake and — ^just eating, bedad! One gay jolly captain who rode on his wheel Charged chocolate-creamed ramparts and won a square meal. Photo hv Bradley St. (ikokuk's. Photo by Vail. Cathedral Rocks — Somerset. XKe CaKe 23 A knight named "Sir Arthur," who hails from the West, After four chocolate charges unlimbered his vest, And later we saw him alone — with a flower — Yes, Robb-ed of his heart in our cute "kissing bower." That bower's a dream! You shall see it some day — If you deign to examine the charms of Church Bay. But bold "Kissing Bugs" are now flying around The Bachelor's Lodge, on fair Harrington Sound ; E. Partridge, the marksman, who came pen in hand To shoot up our follies, avowed the cake grand; Sir "Hastings" and "Horace" were present, 't is true. With sweet Spark-ling ladies who cut the cake too. And Hilda, our coUie, of course she was there. And gravely ate cake from her seat on a chair. When meals at the Lodge are all ready to eat Miss Hilda appears and takes a front seat. Right up at the table, where her wistful eyes shine And show that our doggie is waiting to dine. 24 XKe "Valentines The Valentines To the lasses who penned us the sweet valentines, We send them our heart tied up in these lines, And though it is leap year, as you have well said. Just a word of advice if you really must wed. Don't marry a poet — a bard will not do As a husband, or slave, for such angels as you. All women court comfort, want wealth and good meals ; Most poets go hungry; they live on — ideals! They never have mansions — for cash they don't care; Their wealth is in fancy — their castles in air. "All bards are like turkeys," the Colonist said: Better known and more loved — when they are all dead. Oatmeal and fresh water and love, we are told, Was the diet of bards in the brave days of old; They had no sea gardens, or Davis at hand To furnish them food in this real fairy land ; With goings to Gosling's and Thompson's — en flight— And Burrows', we conquer our fierce appetite! Doctor Anderson's cocktails at the Princess Hotel Don't soothe a real poet,— they made him unwell; Crystal Cave. JoYCFj's Cave. XKe "Valentines 25 But the doctor's all right— little shy on the clime. Yet it "will be warmer," dear Doctor, some time. The shackles of marriage, alas, would be hard If you were yoked up to a star-gazing bard; So take our advice, it is true and it 's fine: Don't! don't! take a bard for your real valentine. Just marry some fellow with feet on the ground, Some Lord of Creation — or Harrington Sound. There are lots of good chappies more worthy than we Who would make better husbands, as you shall soon see. Most "poets are fickle" and "wicked" — they say — There 's a divil's own cherub up here at Church Bay. We are "vain and conceited" — Miss Know-it says so; She knows everything, so of course she must know. "All poets are crazy" — of course this is true, — 'T is a wild crazy fellow that 's writing to you. Bards like simple things, they are creatures of moods, Who love the wild sea and the lone solitudes, 26 TKe Valentines And sometimes at midnight midst darkness and gloom They go to a church-yard to muse by a tomb; They are cross, gloomy fellows, unworthy, 't is true. To ever aspire to angels — like you. So don't marry poets! Now it surely is clear I am losing all chance for this lovely leap year, But I 've told you the truth, dear ladies divine, Don't — don't — choose a bard for your real valentine. "Larry's Lodge," Church Bay, Bermuda, February 14, 1908, Valentine's Day. Cuurtcsy of Rudder Publishing Co. The Winning Yacht "Tamerlane. •^ \\'eisb, I'liuto. The " Lysistrata. " BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. 4 THE SOUTH SHORE S-ONG leagues of emerald splendor here woo a lovely land 0-f oleandered beauty and purest coral sand; U-pon the sun-kissed headlands the zephyrs wander free, T-elling the listening lilies the poems of the sea; H-ere Nature paints rare pictures of immortality. S-ad echoes, — mournful dirges, — surround this Southern Shore, H-aunting the cedared silence with sighs of — never more; 0-ut in the azure offmg the wondrous water gleams, R-esplendent with God's jewels and Time's eternal beams; E-nchantment wooes the vistas and lulls the soul to dreams. 27 J BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. 5 Joyce's cave -AGGED and weird are its wonders, rare, haunted, profuse and profound, 0-utdoing the art of the ancients, dreams this great Masterpiece underground; Y-ears, aye — ^yes, for ages and aeons — the slow silent chisels of Time C-arved there in a gallery of Beauty real statues and etchings sublime, E-nduring as unwooed Carrara, as spotless and pure as the snow, S-trange phantoms and visions abide there 'midst dreams of the lost long ago. C-lear lagoons of water have wedded this mar- vellous cave to the seas, A-nd underground islands of marble gleam there in a harbor of ease. V-ain, vain are mere words in describing this wonderful sight 'neath the sod — E-nchantment abounds in the chambers of this grand silent castle of God. 28 THE OCEAN YACHT RACE^ NEW YORK TO BERMUDA ALL hail the dauntless Tamerlane, Her crew, and Fleming Day! The winners of the ocean race To proud Bermuda's Bay. Through lonely leagues and weary nights That gallant craft has sped, To emerald seas and glory rare, Off old St. David's Head. And then straight on through Grassy Bay Close-hauled and snug and tight, She sought the realms of Fairy Land, Right off the Isle of Wight. Where now the fluttering sea-birds' cries Are echoing far and near, "The Tamerlane has crossed the bar. Bold Fleming Day is here." ' From the New York Herald, June 5, 1906. 30 TKe Ocean YacHt Race A yachtsman of the Seven Seas, The bard whom we recall — The author of "Ten Thousand Sail" "And swiftest of them all!" BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. 6 TO THE LYSISTRATA MR. JAMES GORDON BENNETT's YACHT, VISITING BERMUDA L-ARGE craft of grace and power, proud Prin- cess of the Sea, You are a great creation. All hail, we say, to thee! S-wift as a snowy petrel, you skim the Ocean's breast, I-n^piring all beholders, where'er you chance to rest. S-taunch as an ocean liner, or galleon rare of old, T-hou art indeed a picture, a dream of white and gold. R-are taste and art and splendor are lavishly bestowed, A-nd everything is perfect in this Press King's abode. T-he whispering air is fettered to echo thoughts from thee, A-nd so is every science, thou conqueror of the sea. 31 LAFFERTY'S BERMUDA LETTER Mr. Patrick Lafferty, an Irish gentleman now in Bermuda, writes to lis old friend Mr. Dooley, the famous Chicago philosopher. Lafferty' s words about Bermuda, the auto car, Mark Twain, " Mr. Ruse Felt," and other notables are faithfully and correctly reported by Larry Chittenden, poet ranchman, as follows: ME dear frind Mister Dooley — Oi'm sendin' yez a line To tell yez ov me travels: Bedad, Bermuda's fine ; Such lovely radiant islands — grand views on every hand — A region of enchantment — a flowery fairy-land. No other place is like it, for here, bedad, we find The Isles of Maine, the Indies, and Italy com- bined. And oh, such wondrous waters — old Erin's " emerald green, 'Mid peacock blues and sapphires — the purest ever seen. "Our Bailkv's Bay Post-Office." Potter, Photo. Bailey's Bay Tennis Club. Laifferty's Bermvida Letter 33 No man can ever paint them, nor words can ever name Bermuda's wondrous pictures — all in a coral frame; And yet the Artist Farnum, now on the Isle of Wight, May make this land immortal: his work is "out of sight." When Nature brewed her rainbows she mixed her colors grand Upon a gorgeous palette in fair Bermuda's land; Wid brushes made of palm trees she drew a canvas bold. Then framed it round wid cedar and sunset seas of gold. She studied art in caverns — God's castles under- ground — Wid miles of lovely lilies and onions all around. The air is pure and bracing, the trees are ever green. The houses are of coral — the cleanest ever seen ; Each one has some attractions — all charming Oi confess — Neat castles of contentment — real homes of happiness. 34 L-afferty's Bermxida Letter In simple kindly fashion, the people live along On tourists, flowers, and onions, and life is one sweet song. Our old frind Cecil Tucker is now Postmaster here; McCallan his assistant will help him mail good cheer. Our Baileys Bay Post Office is in a parlor fine, Where Mr. North and daughter deliver us — sunshine ! Bermuda 's a grand country — a lovely parlor land — And here we common peopull can view the great and grand: Mark Twain arrayed and hatless wid Rogers rides in state; Wid wit and oil and money, Bermuda should be great. Mark 's giving us great lectures — chuck full of human light; Faith, every one should hear him this coming Thursday night. Oi 'm told that our Big Baker just now has wondrous schemes. Shure Ed is a born magnate — ^wid rale Thomp- sonian dreams. Farnum, Photos. "Hilda" and her Friends. Lafferty's Berxnvida Letter 35 Up-Town Sinclair is writing a grand immortal fake About our Social Sinners, our Tennis Teas and Cake; And here we have a poet, a crazy chap they say. Who lives amongst the tombstones and mer- maids of Church Bay. Some citizens are making a lot of auto "noise," P'r'aps they have livery stables which every one employs. A study of this business (?) some wondrous things reveals — Some hidden combinations — the wheels within the wheels. This herding up the tourists in dear old Hamilton So livery men can bleed them is too much overdone ; Yet now the "House of Wisdom" is favoring the steeds: Autos with close restrictions are what Bermuda needs. About 4000 people have used the Spurling cars This season in Bermuda without much hurt or scars ; 36 Lafferty's Bermuda Letter One doctor got some bruises — some onions had a fall- Some skeery folks were frightened — much talk, but that was all. Because a few spoiled horses may shy or prick their ears Must Progress be forbidden and stopped, alas, for years? And must our patient people now pay 3000 pounds To buy up all the autos upon Bermuda's grounds? Arrah there, don't be talking — Oi know what Oi 'm about — Bermuda needs cheap transit to move the people out; To take them to St. George's and far-off Somerset Lest many good Bermudians their old-time friends forget. All hail the Scarlet Runner! let 's have at least five more — With careful, thoughtful drivers — ^when this great din is o'er. Then when the war is over — as it will be some day — Let 's know each other better when mists have rolled away; Lafferty's Bermuda L-etter 37 Let 's banish all bad feeling, and do the best we can To live that great religion — the Brotherhood of man. Life here should be a poem, and, though it now is Lent, The Bos'un Birds are feasting in islands of content. There 's no place like Bermuda — this Eden of the Sea Is just an earthly Heaven — where every one seems free; Here is no White Man's Burden or hatred of one race; Each lives and has his being in his appointed place. The blacks are all respectful, can read, and are polite — Here when at eve you pass them they always say "Good-night!" Shure, Dooley dear, Oi'm thinking the British folks are wise In their administrations — ^John Bull can colonize! Oi know the old West Indies — have lived in England, Doo, And been a close observer of British justice too. 38 Lafferty*s Bermtida Letter Until somehow Oi 'm thinking that British laws are just And that our Yankee freedom Just now is all a Trust; Wid crooks and politicians. Big Sticks in Printer's Ink, And Lawson and The System, U. S. is on the bhnk. There 's too much White House Thunder — when will it ever cease? Our Presidential Barnum should give his coun- try peace! But Uncle Sam will prosper, in spite of slips and screeds. Intercommunication is what Bermuda needs — The auto or the trolley, it 's all the same to me — Cheap rides for all the people — that 's what says Lafferty. Bermuda Colonist, April 4, 1908. Constable, Photo. " Larry's Lodge. Constable, Photo. Interior of Lodge. TO A LITTLE BERMUDA GIRL WHO GAVE ME HER COLLIE DOG MY dear little Joan, I send you a line To tell you of "Hilda." — Your doggie is fine ! After leaving your Papa and Mamma that day, With Gosling's dog biscuits we started away And caught the old stage which runs through the gorge From Hamilton town to the town of Saint George. Brave Hilda sat with me upon the front seat, Where she wagged her proud tail, looking saucy and neat. The passengers smiled and the gay driver said, "That is a wise dog, sah, — she has a fine head." And one lovely lady — let 's call her Miss B. — Said, "What a nice collie — please give her to me." But Hilda, she barked — she seemed to say "No! Bow wow! Miss — I thank you. Ged ap — let us go!" So off we all started, midst good-byes and smiles; Then the lean horses ate up the evergreen miles 39 40 Xo a Little Bermxida Girl Till Dorothy Lindsey, who saw us go by, Clapped her cute little hands and just shouted, "Oh, my!" The twilight was weaving rare banners of gold Through this land of enchantments as onward we rolled. And far in the distance the gates of the West Swung wide their grand portals to dreamlands of rest. Then Hilda she dreamed of two soft eyes of blue And a dear little girl: it must have been — you! At last after crossing a beautiful ridge, We came to the home of Miss A. Outerbridge, Who likes all good doggies and has a kind heart. And there we alighted to make a new start. Right there we found children — Miss Helen and Lee, With Ely — all Jelliffes — and waiting for tea. They gave us such welcomes, and Helen's brown eyes Just sparkled and danced with delight and surprise. Scenes near Lodge. To a Little Bermxida Girl 41 Then the children all promised to wander around To the new home of Hilda on Harrington Sound. It 's a marvellous realm and we want you to come And see us some day in our white coral home. Hilda owns the whole house and she sleeps on the floor. And would you believe it? — Miss Hilda can snore. Our Jesssie she likes her — and my she likes "Jess"— For Jess is the servant who feeds her — ^"I guess"! Mr. Potter, my neighbor, who lives very near, And knows about ranching, says Hilda 's a deer. She really is dear, and has eyes like a fawn, — E. P. Roe took her picture last week on the lawn. " Kernal" Ellis and ladies who happened around Said Hilda was queen of all Harrington Sound. So don't you feel sorry or sigh for your dog. But Just come and see her and sit on my log, My log 'neath the cedars which grow chocolate creams And cookies and cakes that are Thompsonesque dreams. 42 To a Little Bermuda Girl She will take you in bathing and show you a trick, How she jumps in the water and swims with a stick. I will give you a grotto where fairies reside In a submarine garden well tilled by the tide. There are marvellous flowers and jewels and pearls. And wonderful mermaids with beautiful curls; 'Neath the emerald water, down, down 'neath the waves There are all kinds of Joyce's and Wilkinson's caves. But if you get tired — perhaps you can have tea In a humming-bird's bower with Hilda and me! So come along soon, Miss Joan, don't dodge — We all want to see you out here at the Lodge. Photos by Roe. Church Bay Etchings. BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. 7 ST. GEORGE S-URROUNDED by etchings of nature, it dreams on the heights of the sea, A- modernized castle of comfort, a Mecca for you and for me. I-f the gallant old tars of Bermuda could come from the lost long ago, N-o doubt they would stare at the progress, for the Sea Venture now is not slow I T- is a craft where old ship mates may gather, a haunt which all tourists should know. G-ood will is the way in Saint George's, where the natives all study to please; E-ach stranger is welcomed with kindness and feted with sailings and teas. 0-h, this is a town for ye poets! ah, here we don't have to disgorge, R-ah! rah! for the rare Somers Islands! three cheers for the sons of Saint George! G-ood luck to the realms of Bermuda, the Land of the Lily and Rose, E-ach day is her loveliness dearer — each hour a dream of repose. 43 "LARRY'S LODGE" TIS a dear little place in a grove by the sea, Where the birds and the fairies are living with me. The lonely stars love it, and the proud cedar trees Are full of sad music — the sigh of the seas; The old Abbott's Cliff leans aloft to the skies In this lily-clad realm of a lost Paradise. Here the Bos'un Birds come, and the sea-gulls, they say. Have wonderful concerts at times in Church Bay. Ah, the church is a picture — a poem of old — A song with a sermon, close, close to the mold Where the lost dreamers sleep 'neath the coral- gemmed sod Since their spirits have gone to the gardens of God— The beautiful gardens beyond the dark tomb, Where the roses and lilies eternally bloom. When the soft silver hair of the moon is uncurled There are visions and dreams of that far-away world ; 44 ** Larry's Lod^e " 45 We can hear the low lull of the waters that roar On the silver-kissed sands of Eternity's shore, Where spectre barks drift through a silence profound — 'T is a harbor of dreams is fair Harrington Sound. Yet long, long ago, in the brave vanished years This Bay bore the barks of the bold Buccaneers, And to-day their wild hearts haunt the winds and the rain And spectres appear from the old Spanish Main. Hard by on Hall's Island rare treasures were hid By that Croesus of pirates — the great Captain Kidd. La Fitte the bronzed Creole oft sailed through the gorge And anchored his barks in the bays of Saint George ; To-day, near Moore's Mansion, strange verdure appears Which tells of the Tropics and sly Buccaneers, Who planted weird creepers and vines all around To hide their retreats in the caves underground. Near there it is said, a refuge was made By contraband vessels which ran the blockade. 46 "Larry's Lodge" A gunboat was built on Church Point in Church Bay And the ways of that boat are observed here to-day. Here Chapman, a colonel, of Great Britain's best, Has planted bright blooms round ye Poet's rare Rest; Where the Governor came, all forgetful of State, And dreamed in the grove past the little white gate; Where artists like Alden, and editors grim, And children and mermaids all come for a swim. Here yachtsmen, like Beihng and Stryker and Day, Have loafed with their souls and ye Bard of Church Bay. Here Potter takes Photos — artistically too — And p'r'aps, gentle reader, some day he '11 take you. If you visit the Lodge in a grove by the sea Where the birds and the muses are living with me. Where the lone Abbott's Cliff leans aloft to the skies In this lily-clad realm of a lost Paradise. Church Bay Etchings. BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. 9 CHURCH BAY C-ALM in its sylvan beauty it dreams midst emerald seas. H-ere all is rest and quiet — a real Hesperides, U-nvexed by noise or rabbles, far from the city's throng; R-are echoes haunt the silence in this pure realm of song. C-oncealed 'neath palms and lilies, lost in pale homes of sleep, H-ere dwell God's quiet dreamers, who neither work nor weep. B-eside the purest waters, beneath the softest skies, A- steadfast spire is pointing the paths to Paradise. Y-ea, this is an Elysium — a shrine where Memory sighs. 47 B BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. lo THE BOS'UN BIRD ►-RIGHT-WINGED dream of beauty, since you again appear 0-n fair Bermuda's islands, we know that spring is here. S-wift as the stormy petrel, you fly across the skies, U-ntamed and loved forever, Sea-bird of Para- dise; N-ew hopes attend your coming, new dreams with you arise. B-ermuda well might claim thee, and yet thy flight is far I-n warmer tropic countries where loyal trade- winds are. R-are is thy graceful beauty, thou " long-tail " of the sea. D-elighting all beholders, blithe bird of Purity. 48 Biishell's Handbook. Yachts. Hamilton Harbor. Regatta Day — in Harbor. BERMUDA'S GUARDIANS "the forty-sixth Cornwall" ALL hail Bermuda's guardians — her soldiers great and small, Bronzed bulwarks of the British Isles — The Forty-Sixth G)rnwall. They fought and won a score of fights — then trecked ten thousand miles, To where they win the people's hearts in all the Fairy Isles. Their bugles are a-blowing now — their flags are well displayed; The Forty-Sixth is at Prospect — her men are on parade. No "absent-minded Beggars" here — but soldiers one and all, Bermuda's gallant guardians — The Forty-Sixth Cornwall — Her officers and Tommies too — ^we offer them our hand — That valiant jolly regiment with Chapman in command. 4 49 50 Bermxida's Gviardians The genial Chap — a fighter, yes — built on a gen- erous plan, Who wielding sword and brush and pen is every inch — a man! To Captains Fargus, Kirk, and Dene, Ste- RiCKER, Taylors two, The Majors three, Lieutenants all, we dip our flag to you. The Yankee flag of Uncle Sam — and here 's our Texas cheers, For Colonel Wright and Major Young — The Royal Engineers! To Bagot, Conner, Fuller, Day — The Royal Garrison — The Chaplains — Surgeons — Service Corps — sa- lutes for every one. And here 's to General Wodehouse gone to fill a big recall, Commander now in India — the best beloved of all. Loud volleys for the Governor — a FIVE-CLASP medal man. Who ruled the Nile, controlled Khartoum, and fields South African. To Colonels Baker — S. Frew-en and Captain Nicholson fill «|Ui4Vi«ill ■fej5S%*«W^,W,^«M«<«*i»« ,"'Vi/,nipnmi\if 'M.I -t ' • k Pliotos by Weiss, Potter, and Bradley. Bermuda's Gallant Guardians: the Forty-sixth Cornwall. ^ Berin\ida*s Guardians 51 The "R. G. A's" — Militiamen, salutes for every one. Bermuda's gallant guardians — no matter who ye are — Old Uncle Sam salutes you all and says — hip! hip! hurrah! — The bugles are a-blowing now — the flags are well displayed — Some valiant sons of Albion's Isle — to-day are on parade. Hence in this flowery, lovely land — we here salute them all. Bronzed bulwarks of the Fairy Isles — The Forty- Sixth Cornwall. GOOD-BYE TO-DAY, Little Girl, your note has come, And with it the South Wind's sigh. There is much to be said, but my lips are dumb; I am not surprised, though my heart is numb — Good-bye, Little Girl, good-bye. The sad old sea sings a song to-day. The song of a lost soul's cry; The billows moan, and they seem to say, "Farewell, we must part and go our way" — Good-bye, Little Girl, good-bye. The dream I had was wondrous fair. But alas! it was all a — lie; Yet fancy clings to a dream more rare, And I shall find mine own — somewhere — Good-bye, Little Girl — ^good-bye. We never met, though we thought we did. And now it were vain to try; From each to each our souls are hid. And future meetings the fates forbid — Good-bye, Little Girl — good-bye. 52 Steamkr "Bermudiam," Outward Bound. Steamer "Prixce George," Entering St. George's Harbor. Good-Dye 53 No matter that time for me brings rue, May your life be glad and high; May all your hopes and dreams come true And all your friends be proud of you — Good-bye — good-bye — good-bye ! Belle Harbor, N. Y., July 29, '06. w RETURNING TO THE RANCH ELL, fellers, I 've got home agin, and hit seems sorty strange To mosey roun' the ole corrals on this hyar lonely range. This evenin' az the sun went down, and I cum up the trail, An' seen our little low-roofed house a squattin' in the vale. An' when I struck the brandin' pens and heered old Pinto's barks. An' listened at the cagey Jack and them ole medder larks. Then when I looked at Skinout Hills a-veiled in purple air. The twilight seemed to smile at me an' glow a welcom' there. An' when I seen the S. B. brand, an' that ole sorghum stack, Them saddles hangin' by the door, hit seemed like gittin' back; 54 Retvimin^ to tHe RancK 55 But when I viewed thet pided steer, and heered yer had no rain, I knowed thet I hed hit the ranch, hed shore got home again ! I 've seen a heep uv plezzant things, and yet hit did me good Ter spy ole Jim in his ole Jeans jest packin' in the wood ! An' thar was Buck an' Horse-shoe Sam, an' thar upon the still. All smiles an' spurs an' high-heeled boots, wuz russler Windy Bill. Oh, Bill, they say, hez got renown, an' perhaps you may recall How he performed one Christmas time an' led the "cowboys' ball." Then az I crossed the littered yard and pulled the lazy latch. An' seen them ole termater cans, I knowed 't was Hvin' batch. An' when I ate them unblessed beans and lin- gered round the pork, I thought of London's tabble dotes and dinners in New York; 56 Returning to tHe RancK But when I chose some soggy bread, and seen the fellers look, I knowed thet I wuz home agen — thet Windy Bill was cook! Well, ez we sot around the fire and heered the coyotes' cries. And listened at the owl's hoo-oo, I told some whoppin' lies. Yes; while the boys chawed navy-plug, I lied an' yarned about My travels over land an' sea until their eyes bugged out. At last the boys rared back to talk, an Hash Knife showed his hat. An' then I heered of maverick steers, an' kyort» an' sech az that. They joked about a shootin' scrape, an' John who laid in Jail, An' then they cussed the Deestrick Judge fer not acceptin' bail. At last old Horse-shoe blurted out from off his blanket bed — " I reckon that yer heered about yer yeller mare wot's — dead? Returning to tKe RancK 57 She was a right peert little hoss, chuck full uv grit and pride; But she got puny when yer left, and then she up an' died!" Ah! then somehow a silence cum, an' in the chimbly there, I sorty kep' a seein' her — ^that little yeller mare! I thought about them tricks an' ways, her hon- est, faithful eyes. Until the moanin' midnight wind wuz jest a wailin' sighs! I never hed a friend like her, so activ', sure, an' true; No matter what the bizness wuz, she 'd allers pull yer through. An' onct at night she saved my life — outran a prairie fire; An' ez fer swimmin' swollen streams, uv thet she 'd never tire. An' often on the starlit plains, where we the night would pass, I 've heered that mare a munchin' songs out in the needle grass. 58 Returning' to tKe RancH Oh! when I cross the dark divide fer pastures over there I hope I '11 find that little hoss, my dear ole yeller mare. Well, all ter onct, while studdyin' on, I heered ole Windy snore! Ah! then I knowed I 'd hit the ranch! I 'd done got home fer shore. pq WHERE THE WOODPECKER KNOCKS ON THE DOOR YES, fellers, I 'm back at the old ranch again, the place that I feel is so dear, 'Mongst the coyotes and rabbits and prairie dogs vain, and methinks it is good to be here, Where the birds are all singing around on the trees, and the owls are calling tu-whoo! Ah, there 's music to me in the soft-sighing breeze, and the northers are musical, too. You may talk of the pleasures and joys of the rich, your oprees and parties so gay. But I don't keer a fig fur them things an' all sich, fur yer see I 'm not built thet 'er way. Hit don't make much difference what any one says 'bout the pleasures of life in New York, But for simon pure pleasure an' wild nature's ways, jest give me my ranch on the Fork. For here we 're all happy, away from the throngs, far away in the lone solitudes. Where the voices of Nature are full of sweet songs, full of music that matches all moods; 59 6o "WKere tKe "WoodpecKer RlHocKs And oft in the morning, the bright Texas morn, when our dreams of the night are all o'er, We awake from our slumbers, as sure as you 're born, by the woodpecker's knock on the door. Now, the people out here who attend to the ranch and rustle the outfit and herds Don't put on much style or keer for Long Branch, but they keer for us boys and the birds. They are kind to all critters, as you may suppose. The 'possums sleep under the house. The coyotes are friendly, as each chicken knows. We have prairie dogs tame as a mouse. The martins are nesting all under the eaves. The beef steers go nosing around. The house is wide open. No danger of thieves — there 's nothing to steal that I 've found. The heelflies make love to the heifers and cows. The blackbirds just love that old steer. We 're at peace with the world, and away from all rows — oh, I tell you, we 're happy out here ! Yet oft in the summer the rattlesnakes come to sleep in the shade of the yard; But the dogs wake them up till their rattles just hum — ah, the snakegressor's way is so hard ! WHere tHe WoodpecKer RnocKs 6i Still the best thing of all and the sound that I love is that music I 've mentioned before; It is sweeter to me than the song of the dove — is that woodpecker's knock on the door. Oh, this gay speckled bird is an old friend of mine, for here is just where he was born. He drinks from the bucket— our water is fme— and he runs the whole ranch every morn. He hops to the kitchen, stands in with the cook, in his knowing old woodpecker way; But if she don't feed him, he gives her a look, and then he just hammers his lay. "A rap a tap tap, a tap tap a tap tup!" I must have my breakfast, you see. You people are lazy. It 's time to get up! "A rap a tap, tap a tap, tap— tee!" Oh, I tell you that bird is a knowing old cuss. He shows it with many a proof; And he makes a big racket and terrible fuss when he hammers away on the roof. "A rap a tap, tap a tap, tap a tap— tit"— these shingles, boys, never will do. They are full of wood insects. They '11 have to be split— "a rap a tap, tap a tap too." 62 WHere tHe ^JVoodpecKer RnocKs Yes, I tell you, he knows, that sapsucker bird, just what that old roof has in store. Ah me! we have music which you may have heard, where the woodpecker knocks on the door. We don't envy "Teddy" his strenuous strife. We hope he won't get in a fix; But we 're stuck on the free easy West Texas life, far away from machine poly-ticks. Now, speaking of "ticks" — ^you know what I mean — ^we don't have those varmints out here. Though I 've heered they was kotched down in old Abilene on a Bar Y C Circle F steer. Our cattle are healthy. We 're over the line. Jones County from fever is free. Our crops are immense. Wheat and cotton are fine, but the nesters are close herding me. Now, I am a stockman who has a big range; but "the man with the hoe" is about. The country 's all fenced. There has come a big change. The ranchman will have to git out. The farmers are smiling. There 's plenty of rain. Our new town of Stamford is grand. They say that old " Anson will shore git the train " — and the settlers is wanting more land. Constable, Photo. ClIL Kt ]1 PjAV I'Ul'KL'II. Bushell's Handbook. Island Memories. "WHere tHe WoodpecKer RnocKs 63 I suppose we will have to gear up and go west, pull our freight for the foot of the Plains, Where the prairie dog sneezes and pulls down his vest and the jackrabbit prays for the rains. But no matter what happens, wherever we go, we shall think of old S Forty-Four, That ranch on old Skin Out — which you perhaps know — ^where the woodpecker knocks on the door. Chittenden's Ranch, Anson, Tex., April, 1 90 1. From Galveston-Dallas News. RECIPROCITY PAUL and I as friends were noted Till we met the fair Miss Kate; Then, as rivals, both devoted. All our friendship turned to hate. Well, at last he won my treasure. They were married in the fall; Matrimony seemed such pleasure — How I envied happy Paul ! Years have passed — poor Paul looks weary; I am single, gay, and free; Matrimony proved so dreary — Heavens, how Paul envies me! 64 Roe, Photo "The Strenuous Life": "Come ix, Teddy, the Water s 1"i.\i: Ye Bard's Exit. A A VISION WHAT DID THE LADY DO? T midnight sad and lonely, within a haunted room. Midst Hope's lost shattered idols, and Memory's gathering gloom, While spectral phantoms whispered thoughts of the shadowy shore And ghosts of wrecked ambitions suggested — Nevermore — We had a wondrous vision, a dream which cannot die, A rare immortal picture, in mansions of the sky. Above the morn's projections, beyond the loneli- est star. Love sketched a glorious etching, we viewed it from afar. We saw a great-souled woman, with glorious ear- nest eyes, Holding the keys to heaven, at gates of Paradise. S 65 66 A Vision Pure as some chaste Madonna, proud as a queen of state, Saint Peter might have wooed her, up there at heaven's gate. And there were countless lovers — alone, unloved, apart. Who sought to pass the portals — the heavens of her heart. Some titled men approached her, and knights from everywhere; All failed to gain admission, they could not enter there. And then those weary wanderers, from whom all hope had fled, Departed sad and humbled — "She has no heart," they said. "She lives but for ambition, she dwells too far above The lowly ken of mortals — she does not care for love." At last an humble singer, a bard arrived too late. All travel-worn and weary — approached fair heaven's gate. A Vision 67 He did not try to enter, but, ah, he lingered long. And then at last at twilight, he hummed an ardent song. The song was unpretentious, but filled with earnest words, And music of the prairies, and notes of mocking- birds; 'T was plaintive, sad, and pensive, and yet at times 't was free And full of nature's music, and echoes of the Sea. It whispered of the flowers, pure kissed with summer rain, And, though it never murmured, it breathed of echoed pain. It told an old, old story — a glorious song of youth, The hopes and dreams of mortals, and, ah, it thrilled with truth! At last some angels heard it; their harps re- sounded then — "This is an earnest singer, he loves his fellow-men. His heart beats high, but kindly, his music is sincere. And since his soul is weary, he ought to enter here. 68 A. Vision We pray you, good Saint Peter, and that proud Lady there, Admit the lonely singer, and free his heart from care." But then the vision faded, and now amidst life's din We wonder if she listened and let the singer in. Since angels heard the music so sweet and sad and true And pleaded for the singer — IVhat did the Lady do? fi Selection from the Catalogue of G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS Complete Catalogues sent on application A SELECTION OF FIFTY PRESS OPINIONS OF "RANCH VERSES." " Ranch Verses" are tuneful, manly in sentiment and musi- cal in flow. They have a right cheerful tone, and are full of spirit and vivacity. The joy of existence and the sense of perfect sympathy for free and tameless nature animate Mr. Chittenden's lyrics. — London Saturday Review. The ballads and character sketches inspired by life in the Lone Star State have the genuine ring. They are worthy of a place beside those of Riley, Field, Harte, and Miller. Mr. Chittenden's versification is musical, fashioned by that true art which conceals art. A picture of the Ranch, and other illustrations, and the appropriate cover, help the appearance of the book. — Review of Reviews. " Ranch Verses " have a catching cheerfulness, and are in- teresting as the expression of feelings widespread in the great American democracy. They are all bright, fluent, and read- able. — Edinburgh (Scotland) Scotsman. Once in a while the wanderer through the desert of printed verse chances upon an oasis where everything in sight is nat- ural, human and refreshing. Such an experience may be gained by a perusal of Mr. Chittenden's book— a volume which is nowhere pretentious, although everything in it is sincere. Chittenden's spirit is both fanciful and sentimental, without ever being mawkish or coarse.— John Habberton in Godeys Magazine. " Ranch Verses " is the modest title of a book of very clever harum-scarum sort of mixed singing— curious and entertain- ing. " Neptune's Steeds " is an excellent lyric— a piece that Longfellow might have written. Mr. Chittenden's volume is sure to become a favorite. — Glasgow (Scotland) Herald. The breezy life, the dashing free spirit, the kiss of wander- ing winds, the sight of lofty mountain peaks, now the gladness of a song, now the pathos of a poem, will win from readers old and young unstinted praise and warm eulogy. The bold intellect of the author, tempered by culture and refinement, has produced a volume that must bring him l^rtit.— Public Opinion. Ranch Verses. " Ranch Verses" will meet with admirers, not so much on account of their poetic excellence as owing to the air of free- dom that permeates the entire volume, yet it cannot be denied that there are rich, sympathetic, elevating touches in Mr. Chittenden's verses. — Toronto (Canada) Globe. This volume contains much genial information about Texas ; the cowboys, round-ups, etc. One must really attach value to this book. — N. Y. Evening Post. Mr. Chittenden has done his work carefully — we can hear the cyclone rushing by, and we feel that ranch life has a good deal that is enticing in it when we read such lines as " The Cowboys' Christmas Ball." Mr. Chittenden writes very pleasing verses, and we are glad to have his book. — N. Y. Herald. One of the most interesting and readable books of poetry ever published. — N. Y. Press. "Ranch Verses" will be found to be agreeable and in- genious. — N. Y. Sun. " Ranch Verses " possess a power, a richness of humor, a force of expression, and a jingling music which are simply de- lightful. — Brooklyn Standard- Union. "Ranch Verses" are interesting. The author versifies pleasantly on all subjects, people, and scenes, from Cape Ann and Bar Harbor to Anson, Texas. — Brooklyn Eagle. The pieces are excellent. A vein of beauty, simplicity, and a careless sort of style suggest breezes from the staked Plains and the hills of the Guadaloupe. — N. Y. Independent. There is originality and spontaneity of inspiration in some of the pieces contained in a volume entitled " Ranch Verses," by "Larry" Chittenden, which reproduces here and there something of the fresh air and the wild life of the prairies. — London (England) Times. The Cowboys have not had long to wait for their poet. The joys and sorrows of the ranchmen, their life on the lonely plains under the open sky, find adequate expression in this volume of creditable verse. — London Publishers' Circular. One of Mr. Chittenden's best pieces is " Neptune's Steeds," not one of the best is where he endeavors to chaff Mr. Kipling. But we are never quite out of charity with Chittenden, except when he rhymes Alice to palace. — Manchester (England) Guardian. The dialect poems are worthy to stand beside those of Bret Harte and Riley. — N'ew Orleans Times-Democrat. Press Opinions. " Ranch Verses" have a swing and dash and a rare fresh- ness. — Boston Literary World. Very pretty verses, and very comprehensive. — A^. Y. World. The best metrical description of ranch life ever published. — N. V. Evening Telegram. " Ranch Verses " show freshness of themes and considerable cleverness. The gallop of a broncho seems to have got into the lines. " Majah Green" and "The Cowboys' Christmas Ball " are good examples of pure American humor. — N. Y. Recorder. Chittenden's Ranch is a home of the muses. It has de- veloped a high order of prairie poems. — N. Y, Home yournal. " Ranch Verses" is a worthy and very welcome contribu- tion to our best American poetical literature. Mr. Chittenden's verse flows with an ease, freedom, and vigor that are very attractive, and almost invariably it is marked by true poetic genius and scholarly carefulness. — Boston Home yournal. A most charming book of poetry. Mr. Chittenden is a genuine poet. His poems have touch, insight, rhythm, and merit which ought to be recognized. — Boston Traveller. There is considerable descriptive power in " Ranch Verses," and they have a swing and force which is very agreeable. The book deserves approbation. — Boston Congregationalist. "Ranch Verses" have a wild native flavor which is agreeable to the taste. The author has a cheerful spirit, he possesses considerable originality, and has the knack of turning off stanzas with accuracy and ease. — Philadelphia Ledger. Many of Mr. Chittenden's poems possess divine fire, and there is a certain sweetness, simplicity, and freshness about them which gives them an unusual charm. The opening poem, " Hidden," is worthy of Tennyson or Longfellow. It is a beautiful volume. — National Tribune. A volume of poems which will fully entertain lovers of song. It is in great variety, and capitally rendered. Mr. Chittenden is a born poet ; his songs seem to flow as naturally as that of the birds of his hills and mountains and valleys. — Chicago Inter-Ocean. Chittenden's poems have a swing about them which is very attractive. He gives us Flemish pictures of Texas life, the realism of which is never vulgar, and the habit of which is rich, rare, and racy. — Chicago Post. Ranch Verses. Mr. Chittenden has won and deservedly retains the title of "Poet Ranchman." His book will make the name of Chittenden a household word in thousands of homes long after his pilgrimage among men has ended, and it will secure for its talented author a conspicuous place among the most deserving verse writers of the country. — Chicago Sun and Drover's yournal. " Ranch Verses" are pleasant, and have the spirit of a free and breezy life. Beyond the limits of Western dialect the best poem is one entitled " The Vikings of Cape Ann," a song to the Gloucester fishermen. It is spirited and natural, with the genuine poetic instinct in it. — Chicago Times. The " Poet Ranchman" has rounded up a very choice coL lection of his verses. Variety is the soul of it all, and the spice of life pervades it. — St. Louis Republic. " Ranch Verses" are full of the true spirit of poetry. — Scr anion (Penn.) Truth. There are some charming gems of verse in this volume, well worth the rich setting they enjoy. — Cincinnati Enquirer. We cannot help feeling that East and West there will be a good many pleased readers of a volume of poems called " Ranch Verses." Chittenden is genuine, and his verses have the true flavor of the soil. — Detroit Free Press. The book contains an excellent collection of versification, and will certainly fill a place in the vast field of poetic litera- ture. — Burlington Hawkeye. A very pretty volume, and very pretty verses. Some of the poems are really fine, true of metre, lofty of conception, and felicitous of expression. — New Orleans Picayune. Chittenden's muse has a fresh, sweet note of her own, both musical and graceful. — Charleston News and Courier. In nearly everything Mr. Chittenden writes there is a breath of the prairie and sight of the open sky. Has vitalized the jolliest, the best scenes and sentiments of Western life, and placed the West on a higher plane than previous conceptions and old descriptions intimated. Infinitely better in design and quality than Bret Harte. — Galveston-Dallas News. The public is to be congratulated that Mr. Chittenden's poems have been gathered into permanent form. With the hand of a lover he has painted a thousand pictures as clear and true as ever shone on artist's canvas. Nature's vibrant chords echo through everything the " Poet Ranchman" has written. —Houston (Tex,) Post. Press Opinions. We like the volume, and are pleased to commend it for its literary merit, its subjects of interest, and strong moral teaching. — San Antonio (Tex.) Express. " Ranch Verses " are none of them long ; they are varied in style, and differ widely in choice of theme ; many are local, others purely sentimental, and some are extremely pathetic. The versatility of the " Poet Ranchman's" genius is too well known to need further comment. — Fort Worth ( Tex.) Gazette. There is a sense of freedom and a note of the untrammelled in " Ranch Verses." One may almost hear the whistling of the Northers and the dismal howling of the coyotes in " The Cowboys' Christmas Ball." — Louisville Courier- Journal. The characteristic notes struck in "Ranch Verses" are pride in manliness, love of the natural, and scorn of the arti- ficial. Through all the lines there is a practical, healthy view of life and duty. — Richmond ( Va.) Dispatch. The scope of " Ranch Verses " is from Maine to Florida, from Hell Gate to the Golden Gate. — Montclair (N. J.) Times. ' ' Ranch Verses " are sure to prove a blessing to the dlase readers of modem poems. — Montclair ( N. y.) Herald. " Ranch Verses" is a book filled with vivid pictures of the round-ups, the herds, the songs of ranchmen, and Christmases of the cowboys, done in verse, not of the Browning style of incoherent utterings. No ! Chittenden's poetry is of the practical sort. He strikes the lyre with the stout right arm of a genuine free-born American. A man who roams at will the vast prairies and sleeps at night gazing at the myriad stars of the whole heavens is not given to writing twaddle. Let Book Notes advise you to buy this clever book. — Rider's Book Notes. This book is much more than the title implies, and it is bright and entertaining from cover to cover. A volume that one may open at random and be sure to find something interesting and worth reading. — American Bookseller. The whole book teems with life of the healthiest kind. Every page is interesting, and worthy of Bret Harte and Field. We cannot do better than recommend " Ranch Verses." — N. Y. Electrical Review. Texas has a poet of whom she may well be proud. The muses were dispensing their best gifts when they threw their spell on " Larry " Chittenden. — Peck's Sun. APe29 190<