IRLF B M ID? flDS -I SOME LATER VERSES SOME LATER VERSES BY BEET HARTE M LONDON CHATTO & WINDUS 1898 Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON &* Co. At the Ballantyne Press CONTENTS P5 1631 Sb 1 318 BY PINES AND TULES : ?AGE ARTEMIS IN SIERRA 9 JACK OF THE TULES l8 THE OLD CAMP FIRE 24 "CROTALUS" 32 THE STATION-MASTER OF LONE PRAIRIE . . 37 THE MISSION BELLS OF MONTEREY ... 43 HER LAST LETTER 45 LINES TO A PORTRAIT 53 OLD TIME AND NEW 57 REPORTED BY TRUTHFUL JAMES : THE SPELLING BEE AT ANGEL S . . . .63 A QUESTION OF PRIVILEGE 74 THE THOUGHT-READER OF ANGEL S ... 79 FREE SILVER AT ANGEL S 86 LITTLE POSTERITY : THE BIRDS OF CIRENCESTER .... 99 WHAT MISS EDITH SAW FROM HER WINDOW . loS "HASTA MANANA" 115 BY PINES AND TULES ARTEMIS IN SIERRA DRAMATIS PERSONS POET. PHILOSOPHER. JONES OF MARIPOSA. POET HALT ! Here we are. Now wheel your mare a trifle Just where you stand ; then doff your hat and swear Never yet was. scene you might cover with your rifle Half as complete, or as marvellously fair. io ARTEMIS IN SIERRA PHILOSOPHER Dropped from Olympus or lifted out of Tempe, Swung like a censer betwixt the earth and sky! He, who in Greece sang of flocks and flax and hemp, he Here might recall them six thousand feet on high ! POET Well you may say so ! The clamour of the river, Hum of base toil, and man s ignoble strife, Halt far below, where the stifling sunbeams quiver, But never climb to this purer, higher life ! ARTEMIS IN SIERRA 11 Not to this glade, where Jones of Mariposa, Simple and meek as his flocks we re looking at, Tends his soft charge ; nor where his daughter Rosa ... (A shot.} Hallo ! What s that ? PHILOSOPHER A something thro my hat Bullet, I think. You were speaking of his daughter ? POET Yes ; but your hat you were moving through the leaves ; Likely he thought it some eagle bent on slaughter. Lightly he shoots. (A second shot.} 12 ARTEMIS IN SIERRA PHILOSOPHER As one readily perceives. Still, he improves ! This time your hat has got it, Quite near the band ! Eh ? Oh, just as you please, Stop, or go on. POET Perhaps we d better trot it Down through the hollow, and up among the trees. BOTH Trot, trot, trot, where the bullets cannot follow ; Trot down and up again among the laurel trees. ARTEMIS IN SIERRA 13 PHILOSOPHER Thanks, that is better ; now of this shot- dispensing Jones and his girl you were saying ? POET Well, you see I hang it all ! Oh ! what s the use of fencing Sir, I confess it! those shots were meant for me. PHILOSOPHER You ! are you mad ? POET God knows, I shouldn t wonder ! I love this coy nymph, who, coldly as yon peak Shines on the river it feeds, yet keeps asunder Long have I worshipped, but never dared to speak. 14 ARTEMIS IN SIERRA Till she, no doubt, her Love no longer hiding, Waked, by some chance word, her father s jealousy ; Slips her disdain as an avalanche down gliding Sweeps flocks and kin away to clear a path for me. Hence his attack. PHILOSOPHER I see. What I admire Chiefly, I think, in your idyl, so to speak, Is the cool modesty that checks your youthful fire- Absence of self - love and abstinence of cheek ! ARTEMIS IN SIERRA 15 Still, I might mention, I ve met the gentle Rosa Danced with her thrice, to her father s jealous dread ; And, it is possible, she s happened to disclose a Ahem ! You can fancy why he shoots at me instead. POET You? PHILOSOPHER Me. But kindly take your hand from your revolver ; I am not choleric but accidents may chance. And here s the father, who alone can be the solver Of this twin riddle of the hat and the romance. (Enter Jones of Mariposa?) POET Speak, shepherd mine ! 16 ARTEMIS IN SIERRA PHILOSOPHER Hail ! Time-and-cartridge-waster ! Aimless exploder of theories and skill ! Whom do you shoot ? JONES OF MARIPOSA Well, shootin ain t my taste, or Ef / shoot anything I only shoot to kill. That ain t what s up. I only kem to tell ye " Sportin or courtin trot homeward for your life! Gals will be gals, and p raps it s just ez well ye Larned there was one had no wish to be a wife. POET What? ARTEMIS IN SIERRA 17 PHILOSOPHER Is this true ? JONES OF MARIPOSA I reckon it looks like it. She saw ye comin . My gun was standin by ; She made a grab, and fore I up could strike it, Blazed at ye both ! The critter is so shy ! POET Who? JONES OF MARIPOSA My darter ! PHILOSOPHER Rosa? JONES OF MARIPOSA Same ! Good-bye ! B JACK OF THE TULES SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA SHREWDLY you question, Sefior, and I fancy You are no novice. Confess that to little Of my poor gossip of Mission and Pueblo You are a stranger ! Am I not right ? Ah, believe me, that ever Since we joined company at fazposada, I ve watched you closely, and pardon an ok priest I ve caught you smiling ! 18 JACK OF THE TULES 19 Smiling to hear an old fellow like me talk Gossip of pillage and robbers, and even Air his opinion of law and alcaldes Like any other ! Now ! by that twist of the wrist on the bridle, By that straight line from the heel to the shoulder, By that curt speech nay! nay ! no offence, son, You are a soldier ? No ? Then a man of affairs ? San Sebastian ; Twould serve me right if I prattled thus wildly To say a sheriff ? No ? just caballero ? Well, more s the pity. 20 JACK OF THE TULES Ah ! what we want here s a man of your presence ; Sano, Secrete, yes, all the four S s, Joined with a boldness and dash, when the time comes, And may I say it ? One not too hard on the poor country people Peons and silly vaqueros who, dazzled By reckless skill and, perchance, reckless largesse, Wink at some queer things. No ? you would crush them as well as the robbers ; Root them out scatter them ? Ah, you are bitter And yet quien sabe, perhaps that s the one way To catch their leader. JACK OF THE TULES 21 As to myself, now, I d share your displeasure For I admit in this Jack of the Tules Certain good points. He still comes to confes sion You d " like to catch him" ? Ah, if you did at such times, you might lead him Home by a thread. Good ! again you are smiling : You have no faith in such shrift and but little In priest or penitent. Bueno ! We take no offence, sir ; whatever It please you to say ; it becomes us, for Church sake, To bear in peace. Yet, if you were kinder And less suspicious; 22 JACK OF THE TULES I might still prove to you, Jack of the Tules Shames not our teaching nay, even might show you, Hard by this spot, his old comrade, who, wounded, Lives on his bounty. If ah, you listen ! I see I can trust you ; Then, on your word as a gentleman follow. Under that sycamore stands the old cabin ; There sits his comrade. Eh ! are you mad ? You would try to arrest him? You, with a warrant ? Oh, well, take the rest of them : Pedro, Bill, Murray, Pat Doolan. Hey ! all of you, Tumble out, d mn it ! JACK OF THE TULES 23 There ! that ll do, boys ! Stand back ! Ease his elbows ; Take the gag from his mouth. Good ! Now scatter like devils After his posse four straggling, four drunken At the posada. You, help me off with these togs, and then vamos! Now, ole Jeff Dobbs ! Sheriff, Scout, and Detec tive ! You re so derned cute ! Kinder sick, ain t ye, bluffing Jack of the Tules ! THE OLD CAMP FIRE Now shift the blanket pad before your saddle back you fling, And draw your^sinch up tighter till the sweat drops from the ring : We ve a dozen miles to cover ere we reach the next divide. Our limbs are stiffer now than when we first set out to ride, And worse, the horses know it, and feel the leg- grip tire, Since in the days when long ago, we sought the old camp fire. 24 THE OLD CAMP FIRE 25 Yes, twenty years ! Lord ! how we d scent its incense down the trail, Through balm of bay and spice of spruce, when eye and ear would fail, And worn and faint from useless quest we crept, like this, to rest, Or, flushed with luck and youthful hope, we rode, like this, abreast. Aye ! Straighten up, old friend, and let the mustang think he s nigher, Through looser rein and stirrupj strain, the wel come old camp fire. You know the shout that would ring^out before us down the glade, And start! the blue jays like a flight of arrows through the shade, 26 THE OLD CAMP FIRE And sift the thin pine needles down like slanting, shining rain, And send the squirrels scampering back to their holes again, Until we saw, blue-veiled and dim, or leaping like desire, That flame of twenty years ago which lit the old camp fire. And then that rest on Nature s breast, when talk had dropped, and slow The night-wind went from tree to tree with challenge soft and low ! We lay on lazy elbows propped, or stood to stir the flame, Till up the soaring redwood s shaft our shadows danced and came, THE OLD CAMP FIRE 27 As if to draw us with the sparks, high o er its unseen spire To the five stars that kept their ward above the old camp fire Those picket stars whose tranquil watch half soothed, half shamed our sleep, What recked we then what beasts or men around might lurk or creep ! We lay and heard with listless ears the far-off panther s cry, The near coyote s snarling snap, the grizzly s . deep-drawn sigh, The brown bear s blundering human tread, the grey wolves yelping choir Beyond the magic circle drawn around the old camp fire. 28 THE OLD CAMP FIRE And then that morn ! was ever morn so filled with all things new ? The light that fell through long brown aisles from out the kindling blue, The creak and yawn of stretching boughs, the jay bird s early call, The rat-tat-tat of woodpecker that waked the woodland hall, The fainter stir of lower life in fern and brake and brier, Till flashing leaped the torch of Day from last night s old camp fire ! Well, well ! we ll see it once again we should be near it now ; It s scarce a mile to where the trail strikes off to skirt the slough, THE OLD CAMP FIRE 29 And then the dip to Indian Spring, the wooded rise and strange ! Yet here should stand the blasted pine that marked our farther range ; And here what s this ? A ragged swale of ruts and stumps and mire ! Sure this is not the sacred grove that hid the old camp fire ! Yet here s the " blaze " I cut myself, and there s the stumbling ledge, With quartz " outcrop " that lay atop, now levelled to its edge, And mounds of moss-grown stumps beside the woodman s rotting chips, And gashes in the hill-side, that gape with dumb red lips. 30 THE OLD CAMP FIRE And yet above the shattered wreck and ruin, curling higher Ah yes ! still lifts the smoke that marked the welcome old camp-fire ! Perhaps some friend of twenty years still lingers there to raise To weary hearts and tired eyes that beacon of old days. Perhaps but stay ; tis gone ! and yet once more it lifts as though To meet our tardy blundering steps, and seems to move, and lo ! Whirls by us in a rush of sound the vanished funeral pyre Of hopes and fears that twenty years burned in the old camp fire ! THE OLD CAMP FIRE 31 For see, beyond, the prospect spreads, with chim ney, spire, and roof, Two iron bands across the trail clank to our mustang s hoof ; Above them leap two blackened threads from limb-lopped tree to tree, To where the whitewashed station speeds its message to the sea. Rein in ! Rein in ! The quest is o er. The goal of our desire Is but the train whose track has lain across the old camp fire ! "CROTALUS; RATTLESNAKE BAR, SIERRAS No life in earth, or air, pr sky ; The sunbeams, broken silently, On the bared rocks around me lie Cold rocks, with half-warmed lichens scarred, And scales of moss ; and scarce a yard Away, one long strip, yellow-barred. Lost in a cleft ! Tis but a stride To reach it, thrust its roots aside, And lift it on thy stick astride ! 32 "CROTALUS" 33 Yet stay ! That moment is thy grace ! For round thee, thrilling air and space, A chattering terror fills the place ! A sound as of dry bones that stir In the Dead Valley ! By yon fir The locust stops its noonday whirr ! The wild bird hears. Smote with the sound, As if by bullet brought to ground, On broken wing, dips, wheeling round ! The hare, transfixed, with trembling lip, Halts, breathless, on pulsating hip, And palsied tread, and heels that slip. 34 "CROTALUS" Enough, old friend ! tis thou. Forget My heedless foot, nor longer fret The peace with thy grim castanet ! I know thee ! Yes ! Thou may st forego That lifted crest ; the measured blow Beyond which thy pride scorns to go, Or yet retract ! For me no spell Lights those slit orbs, where, some think, dwell Machicolated fires of hell ! I only know thee humble bold Haughty with miseries untold, And the old curse that left thee cold, "CROTALUS" 35 And drove thee ever to the sun, On blistering rocks ; nor made thee shun Our cabin s hearth, when day was done ; And the spent ashes warmed thee best ; We knew thee silent, joyless guest Of our rude ingle. E en thy quest Of the rare milk-bowl seemed to be Naught but a brother s poverty, And Spartan taste that kept thee free From lust and rapine. Thou ! whose fame Searchest the grass with tongue of flame, Making all creatures seem thy game 36 "CROTALUS" When the whole woods before thee run, Asks but when all is said and done To lie untrodden in the sun ! THE STATION-MASTER OF LONE PRAIRIE AN empty bench, a sky of greyest etching, A bare, bleak shed in blackest silhouette, Twelve yards of platform, and beyond them stretching Twelve miles of prairie glimmering through the wet. North, South, East, West the same dull grey persistence, The tattered vapours of a vanished train, The narrowing rails that meet to pierce the distance, Or break the columns of the far-off rain. 37 38 THE STATION-MASTER OF LONE PRAIRIE Naught but myself nor form nor figure breaking The long hushed level and stark shining waste Nothing that moves to fill the vision aching, When the last shadow fled in sullen haste. Nothing but this. Ah, yes ! beside the station Its stiff gaunt keeper turns to me at last, Beckoning me with a wooden salutation Raised like his signal when the up-train passed. Offering the bench, beside him, with dumb gesture Born of that reticence in sky and air Then sat we both enwrapped in that one vesture Of silence, sadness, and unspoken care. THE STATION-MASTER OF LONE PRAIRIE 39 Each following his own thought around us darkening The rain- washed boundaries and stretching track Each folio wing those dim parallels, and hearkening For long-lost voices that would not come back. Until, unasked I knew not why or wherefore He yielded, bit by bit, his dreary past, Like gathered clouds that seemed to thicken there for Some dull down-dropping of their care at last. Long had he lived there. When a boy, had started From the stacked corn the Indian s painted face ; Heard the wolves howl the wearying waste that parted His father s hut from the last camping place. 40 THE STATION-MASTER OF LONE PRAIRIE Nature had mocked him ; thrice had claimed the reaping With scythe of fire the lands she once had sown ; Sent the tornado round his hearthstone heaping Rafters, dead faces that were like his own. Then came the War Time. When its shadow beckoned He had walked dumbly where the flag had led Through swamp and fen unknown, unpraised, unreckoned, To famine, fever, and a prison bed. Till the storm passed, and the slow tide returning Cast him, a wreck, beneath his native sky, Here near his home, gave him the chance of earning Scant means to live who won the right to die. THE STATION-MASTER OF LONE PRAIRIE 41 All this I heard or seemed to hear half blending With the low murmur of the coming breeze, The call of some lost bird, and the unending And tireless sobbing of those grassy seas. Until at last the spell of desolation Broke with a trembling star and far-off cry. The coming train ! I glanced around the station. All was as empty as the upper sky ! Naught but myself nor form nor figure waking The long hushed level and stark shining waste Naught but myself, that cry, and the dull shaking Of wheel and axle, stopped in breathless haste ! 42 THE STATION-MASTER OF LONE PRAIRIE " Now then look sharp ! Eh, what ? The Station-Master ? Thai s none ! We stopped here of our own accord. The man got killed in that down-train disaster This time last evening. Right there ! All aboard ! " THE MISSION BELLS OF MONTEREY O BELLS that rang, O bells that sang Above the martyrs wilderness, Till from that reddened coast-line sprang The Gospel seed to cheer and bless, What are your garnered sheaves to-day ? O Mission bells ! Eleison bells ! O Mission bells of Monterey ! O bells that crash, O bells that clash Above the chimney-crowded plain, On wall and tower your voices dash, But never with the old refrain 43 44 THE MISSION BELLS OF MONTEREY In mart and temple gone astray ! Ye dangle bells ! Ye jangle bells ! Ye wrangle bells of Monterey ! O bells that die, so far, so nigh, Come back once more across the sea, Not with the zealot s furious cry, Not with a creed s austerity, Come with His love alone to stay. O Mission bells ! Eleison bells ! O Mission bells of Monterey ! HER LAST LETTER BEING A REPLY TO "HIS ANSWER" JUNE 4th ! Do you know what that date means! ? June 4th ! By this air and these pines ? Well, only you know how I hate scenes, These might be my very last lines ! For perhaps, sir, you ll kindly remember If some other things you ve forgot That you last wrote the 4th of December, Just six months ago ! from this spot. 45 46 HER LAST LETTER From this spot, that you said was " the fairest For once being held in my thought." Now, really I call that the barest Of well, I won t say what I ought ! For here / am back from my " riches," My " triumphs," my " tours," and all that ; And you re not to be found in the ditches Or temples of Poverty Flat ! From Paris we went for the season To London, when pa wired, " Stop." Mama says " his health " was the reason. (I ve heard that some things took a " drop.") But she said if my patience I d summon I could go back with him to the Flat Perhaps I was thinking of some one Who of me well was not thinking that ! HER LAST LETTER 47 Of course you will say that I " never Replied to the letter you wrote/ That is just like a man ! But, however, I read it or how could I quote ? And as to the stories you ve heard (No, Don t tell me you haven t I know !), You ll not believe one blessed word, Joe ; But just whence they came, let them go ! And they came from Sade Lotski of Yolo, Whose father sold clothes on the Bar You called him Job-lotski, you know, Joe, And the boys said her value was par. Well, we met her in Paris just flaring With diamonds, and lost in a hat ! And she asked me " How Joseph was faring In his love-suit on Poverty Flat" ! 48 HER LAST LETTER She thought it would shame me ! I met her With a look, Joe, that made her eyes drop ; And I said that your " love-suit fared better Than any suit out of their shop ! " And I didn t blush then as I m doing To find myself here, all alone, And left, Joe, to do all the "sueing" To a lover that s certainly flown. In this brand-new hotel, called "The Lily" (I wonder who gave it that name ?), I really am feeling quite silly, To think I was once called the same ; And I stare from its windows, and fancy I m labelled to each passer-by. Ah ! gone is the old necromancy, For nothing seems right to my eye. HER LAST LETTER 49 On that hill there are stores that I knew not ; There s a street where I once lost my way ; And the copse where you once tied my shoe-knot Is shamelessly open as day ! And that bank by the spring I once drank there, And you called the place Eden, you know ; Now I m banished like Eve though the bank there Belongs now to " Adams and Co." There s the rustle of silk on the side-walk ; Just now there passed by a tall hat ; But there s gloom in this "boom" and this wild talk Of the " future " of Poverty Flat. There s a decorous chill in the air, Joe, Where once we were simple and free ; And I hear they ve been making a mayor, Joe, Of the man who shot Sandy McGee. D 50 HER LAST LETTER But there s still the " lap, lap " of the river ; There s the song of the pines, deep and low. (How my longing for them made me quiver In the park that they call Fontainebleau !) There s the snow-peak that looked on our dances, And blushed when the morning said, " Go ! " There s a lot that remains which one fancies But somehow there s never a Joe ! Perhaps, on the whole, it is better, For you might have been changed like the rest; Though it s strange that I m trusting this letter To papa, just to have it addressed. He thinks he may find you, and really Seems kinder now I m all alone. You might have been here, Joe, if merely To look what I m willing to own. HER LAST LETTER 51 Well, well ! that s all past ; so good night, Joe ; Good night to the river and Flat ; Good night to what s wrong and what s right, Joe; Good night to the past, and all that To Harrison s barn, and its dancers ; To the moon, and the white peak of snow ; And good night to the canon that answers My " Joe ! " with its echo of " No ! " p.s. I ve just got your note. You deceiver ! How dared you how could you ? Oh, Joe ! To think I ve been kept a believer In things that were six months ago ! And it s yodve built this house, and the bank, too; And the mills, and the stores, and all that ! And for everything changed I must thank you, Who have " struck it " on Poverty Flat ! 52 HER LAST LETTER How dared you get rich you great stupid ! Like papa, and some men that I know, Instead of just trusting to Cupid And to me for your money ? Ah, Joe ! Just to think you sent never a word, dear, Till you wrote to papa for consent ! Now I know why they had me transferred here, And " the health of papa " what that meant ! Now I know why they call this "The Lily " ; Why the man who shot Sandy McGee You made mayor ! Twas because oh, you silly ! He once "went down the middle" with me ! I ve been fooled to the top of my bent here, So come, and ask pardon you know That you ve still got to get my consent, dear ! And just think what that echo said Joe ! LINES TO A PORTRAIT BY A SUPERIOR PERSON WHEN I bought you for a song, Years ago Lord knows how long !- I was struck I may be wrong By your features, And a something in your air That I couldn t quite compare To my other plain or fair Fellow-creatures. 53 54 LINES TO A PORTRAIT In your simple, oval frame You were not well known to fame, But to me twas all the same Whoe er drew you ; For your face I can t forget, Though I oftentimes regret That, somehow, I never yet Saw quite through you, Yet each morning, when I rise, I go first to greet your eyes ; And, in turn, you scrutinise My presentment. And when shades of evening fall, As you hang upon my wall, You re the last thing I recall With contentment. LINES TO A PORTRAIT 55 It is weakness, yet I know That I never turned to go Anywhere, for weal or woe, But I lingered For one parting, thrilling flash From your eyes, to give that dash To the curl of my moustache, That I fingered. If to some you may seem plain, And when people glance again Where you hang, their lips refrain From confession ; Yet they turn in stealth aside, And I note, they try to hide How much they are satisfied In expression. 56 LINES TO A PORTRAIT Other faces I have seen ; Other forms have come between ; Other things I have, I ween, Done and dared for ! But our ties they cannot sever, And, though 7 should say it never, You re the only one I ever Really cared for ! And you ll still be hanging there When we re both the worse for wear, And the silver s on my hair And off your backing ; Yet my faith shall never pass In my dear old shaving-glass, Till my face and yours, alas ! Both are lacking ! OLD TIME AND NEW 1 How well we know that figure limned On every almanac s first page, The beard unshorn, the hair untrimmed, The gaunt limbs bowed and bent with age ; That well-known glass with sands run out, That scythe that he was wont to wield With shrivelled arm, which made us doubt His power in Life s harvest field ! 1 Written for the first number of the Time magazine. 57 58 OLD TIME AND NEW Ah, him we know ! But who comes here Pranked with the fashion of the town ? This springald, who in jest or jeer, Tries on old Time s well-frosted crown ! Vain is his paint ! Youth s freshest down Through pencilled wrinkles shows too soon The bright mischievous face of Clown, Beneath the mask of Pantaloon ! A doubtful jest, howe er well played To mock the show of fleeting breath With youth s light laugh, and masquerade This gaunt step-brother of grim Death ! Is this a moralist to teach The equal fate of small and large ? Peace ! Yet one moment yield him speech Before we give the scamp in charge ! OLD TIME AND NEW 59 " I crave no grace from those who dream Time only was, and from the past Still draw the wisdom that they deem Will only live and only last. Time is not old, as all who ve tried To kill or cheat him must attest ; And outward symbols cannot hide The same firm pulse that stirs your breast. The old stock properties you preach To truer symbols must pay tithe ; M Cormick s reapers better teach My truths than your old-fashioned scythe. The racing " Timer s " slender vane That marks the quarter seconds pass, Marks too, its moral quite as plain As e er was drawn in sand through glass. 60 OLD TIME AND NEW So if I bring in comelier dress And newer methods, things less new, I claim that honoured name still less To be consistent than be true. If mine be not the face that s cast In every almanac and rhyme, Look through them all that there will last You ll find within these leaves of TIME ! " REPORTED BY TRUTHFUL JAMES THE SPELLING BEE AT ANGEL S WALTZ in, waltz in, ye little kids, and gather round my knee, And drop them books and first pot-hooks, and hear a yarn from me. I kin not sling a fairy tale of Jinnys 1 fierce and wild, For I hold it is onchristian to deceive a simple child; But as from school yer driftin by, I thowt ye d like to hear Of a " Spelling Bee " at Angel s that we organised last year. 1 Qy. Genii. 63 64 THE SPELLING BEE AT ANGEL S It warn t made up of gentle kids, of pretty kids, like you, But gents ez bed their reg lar growth, and some enough for two. There woz Lanky Jim of Sutter s Fork and Bilson of Lagrange, And " Pistol Joe," who wore that day a knife by way of change. You start, you little kids, you think these are not pretty names, But each had a man behind it, and my name is Truthful James. There was Poker Dick from Whisky Flat, and Smith of Shooter s Bend, And Brown of Calaveras which I want no better friend ; ^^ORH\^*/ THE SPELLING BEE AT ANGEL S 65 Three-fingered Jack yes, pretty dears, three fingers -you have five. Clapp cut off two it s sing lar, too, that Clapp ain t now alive. Twas very wrong indeed, my dears, and Clapp was much to blame ; Likewise was Jack, in after-years, for shootin of that same. The nights was kinder lengthenin out, the rains had jest begun, When all the camp came up to Pete s to have their usual fun ; But we all sot kinder sad-like around the bar room stove Till Smith got up, permiskiss-like, and this remark he hove : 66 THE SPELLING BEE AT ANGEL S "Thar s a new game down in Frisco, that ez far ez I can see Beats euchre, poker, and van-toon, they calls the Spelling Bee. " Then Brown of Calaveras simply hitched his chair and spake, " Poker is good enough for me ; " and Lanky Jim sez, " Shake ! " And Joe allowed he wasn t proud, but he must say right thar That the man who tackled euchre hed his education squar. This brought up Lenny Fairchild, the school master, who said He knew the game, and he would give instruc tions on that head. THE SPELLING BEE AT ANGELS 67 " For instance, take some simple word/ sez he, " like separate : Now who can spell it ?" Dog my skin, ef thar was one in eight ! This set the boys all wild at once. The chairs was put in row, And at the head was Lanky Jim, and at the foot was Joe. And high upon the bar itself the schoolmaster was raised, And the bar-keep put his glasses down, and sat and silent gazed. The first word out was " parallel," and seven let it be, Till Joe waltzed in his "double 1" betwixt the "a"and"e"; 68 THE SPELLING BEE AT ANGEL S For since he drilled them Mexicans in San Jacinto s fight Thar warn t no prouder man got up than Pistol Joe that night Till " rhythm " came ! He tried to smile, then said " they had him there/ And Lanky Jim, with one long stride, got up and took his chair. O little kids, my pretty kids, twas touchin to survey These bearded men, with weppings on, like schoolboys at their play. They d laugh with glee, and shout to see each other lead the van, And Bob sat up as monitor with a cue for a rattan, THE SPELLING BEE AT ANGEL S 69 Till the Chair gave out " incinerate/ and Brown said he d be durned If any such blamed word as that in school was ever learned. When " phthisis " came they all sprang up, and vowed the man who rung Another blamed Greek word on them be taken out and hung. As they sat down again I saw in Bilson s eye a flash, And Brown of Calaveras was a-twistin his mus tache, And when at last Brown slipped on " gneiss," and Bilson took his chair, He dropped some casual words about some folks who dyed their hair. 70 THE SPELLING BEE AT ANGEL S And then the Chair grew very white, and the Chair said he d adjourn, But Poker Dick remarked that he would wait and get his turn ; Then with a tremblin voice and hand, and with a wanderin eye, The Chair next offered "eider-duck," and Dick began with " I," And Bilson smiled then Bilson shrieked ! Just how the fight begun I never knowed, for Bilson dropped, and Dick, he moved up one. Then certain gents arose and said " They d busi ness down in camp," And "ez the road was rather dark, and ez the night was damp, THE SPELLING BEE AT ANGEL S 71 They d" here got up Three-fingered Jack and locked the door and yelled : " No, not one mother s son goes out till that thar word is spelled ! " But while the words were on his lips, he groaned and sank in pain, And sank with Webster on his chest and Worcester on his brain. Below the bar dodged Poker Dick, and tried to look ez he Was huntin up authorities thet no one else could see; And Brown got down behind the stove, allowin he " was cold," Till it upsot and down his legs the cinders freely rolled, 72 THE SPELLING BEE AT ANGEL S And several gents called " Order ! " till in his simple way Poor Smith began with " O-r " " Or " and he was dragged away. Oh little kids, my pretty kids, down on your knees and pray ! You ve got your eddication in a peaceful sort of way; And bear in mind thar may be sharps ez slings their spellin square, But likewise slings their bowie-knives without a thought or care. You wants to know the rest, my dears ? Thet s all I In me you see The only gent that lived to tell about the Spellin Bee! THE SPELLING BEE AT ANGEL S 73 He ceased and passed, that truthful man ; the children went their way With downcast heads and downcast hearts but not to sport or play. For when at eve the lamps were lit, and supper- less to bed Each child was sent, with tasks undone and les sons all unsaid, No man might know the awful woe that thrilled their youthful frames, As they dreamed of Angel s Spelling Bee, and thought of Truthful James. A QUESTION OF PRIVILEGE IT was Andrew Jackson Sutler who, despising Mr. Cutter for remarks he heard him utter in debate upon the floor, Swung him up into the skylight, in the peace ful, pensive twilight, and then keerlessly proceeded, makin no account what we did To wipe up with his person casual dust upon the floor. 74 A QUESTION OF PRIVILEGE 75 Now a square fight never frets me, nor un pleasantness upsets me, but the simple thing that gets me now the job is done and gone, And we ve come home free and merry from the peaceful cemetery, leavin Cutter there with Sutter that mebbee just a stutter On the part of Mr. Cutter caused the loss we deeply mourn. Some bashful hesitation, just like spellin punc- tooation might have worked an aggrava tion onto Sutter s mournful mind, For the witnesses all vary ez to what was said, and nary a galoot will toot his horn except the way he is inclined. 76 A QUESTION OF PRIVILEGE But they all allow that Sutter had begun a kind of mutter, when uprose Mr. Cutter with a sickening kind of ease, And proceeded then to wade in to the subject then pervadin : "Is Profanity degradin ?" in words like unto these : " Onlike the previous speaker, Mr. Cutter of Yreka, he was but a humble seeker and not like him a cuss " It was here that Mr. Sutter softly reached for Mr. Cutter, when the latter with a stutter said: " ac-customed to discuss." A QUESTION OF PRIVILEGE 77 Then Sutter he rose grimly, and sorter smilin dimly, bowed onto the chairman primly (just like Cutter ez could be !) Drawled " He guessed he must fall back as Mr. Cutter owned the pack as he just had played the Jack as " (here Cutter s gun went crack ! as Mr. Sutter gasped and ended) " every man can see ! " But William Henry Pry or just in range of Sutter s fire here evinced a wild desire to do somebody harm And in the general scrimmage no one thought if Sutter s " image " was a misplaced punc- tooation like the hole in Pryor s arm. 78 A QUESTION OF PRIVILEGE For we all waltzed in together, never carin to ask whether it was Sutter or was Cutter we woz tryin to abate. But we couldn t help perceiving when we took to inkstand heavin , that the process was relievin to the sharpness of debate. So we ve come home free and merry from the peaceful cemetery, and I make no commen tary on these simple childish games ; Things is various and human and the man ain t born of woman who is free to inter meddle with his pals intents and aims. THE THOUGHT-READER OF ANGEL S WE hev tumbled ez dust Or ez worms of the yearth ; Wot we looked for hez bust ! We are objects of mirth ! They have played us old Pards of the river! they hev played us for all we was worth ! Was it euchre or draw Cut us off in our bloom ? Was it faro, whose law Is uncertain ez doom ? Or an innocent "Jack pot" that opened was to us ez the jaws of the tomb ? 79 8o THE THOUGHT-READER OF ANGEL S It was nary ! It kem With some sharps from the States, Ez folks sez, " All things kem To the fellers ez waits " ; And we d waited six months for that suthin - had me and Bill Nye in such straits ! And it kem. It was small ; It was dream-like and weak ; It wore store clothes that s all That we knew, so to speak ; But it called itself " Billson, Thought-Reader "- which ain t half a name for its cheek ! THE THOUGHT-READER OF ANGEL S 81 He could read wot you thought, And he knew wot you did ; He could find things untaught, No matter whar hid ; And he went to it, blindfold and smiling, being led by the hand like a kid ! Then I glanced at Bill Nye, And I sez, without pride, " You ll excuse us. We ve nigh Onto nothin to hide ; But if some gent will lend us a twenty, we ll hide it whar folks shall decide." F 82 THE THOUGHT-READER OF ANGEL S It was Billson s own self Who forked over the gold, With a smile. " Thar s the pelf," He remarked, " I make bold To advance it, and go twenty better that I ll find it without being told." Then I passed it to Nye, Who repassed it to me. And we bandaged each eye Of that Billson ez we Softly dropped that coin in his coat pocket, ez the hull crowd around us could see. THE THOUGHT-READER OF ANGEL S 83 That was all. He d one hand Locked in mine. Then he groped. We could not understand Why that minit Nye sloped. For we knew we d the dead thing on Billson even more than we dreamed of or hoped. For he stood thar in doubt With his hand to his head ; Then he turned, and lit out Through the door where Nye fled. Draggin me and the rest of us arter, while we larfed till we thought we was dead, 84 THE THOUGHT-READER OF ANGEL S Till he overtook Nye And went through him. Words fail For what rollers ! Kin I Paint our agonised wail Ez he drew from Nye s pocket that twenty wot we d sworn was in his own coat tail ! And it was ! But, when found, It proved bogus and brass ! And the question goes round How the thing kem to pass ? Or, if passed, woz it passed thar by William ; and I listens, and echoes " Alas ! THE THOUGHT-READER OF ANGEL S 85 " For the days when the skill Of the keerds was no blind, When no effort of will Could beat four of a kind, When the thing wot you held in your hand, Pard, was worth more than the thing in your mind. 1 "FREE SILVER AT ANGEL S" I RESIDE at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James, 1 I have told the tale of "William 1 and of "Ah Sin s" sinful games ; I have yarned of " Our Society," and certain gents I know, Yet my words were plain and simple, and I never yet was low. Thar is high-toned gents, ink-slingers ; thar is folks as will allow Ye can t reel off a story onless they ve taught ye how ; 86 "FREE SILVER AT ANGEL S" 87 Till they get the word they re wantin , they re alluscryin "Whoa!" All the while their mule is pullin (that s their " Pegasus/ you know). We ain t built that way at Angel s but why pursue this theme ? When things is whirling round us in a wild de lusive dream ; When " fads " on " bikes " go scorchin 1 down to t other place you know (For I speak in simple language and I never yet was low). It was rainin up at Angel s we war sittin round the bar, Discussin of "Free Silver" that was "going soon to par," 88 "FREE SILVER AT ANGEL S" And Ah Sin stood thar a listenin like a simple guileless child, That hears the Angel s singin so dreamy like he smiled. But we knew while he was standin" thar of all that heathen heard And saw he never understood a single blessed word ; Till Brown of Calaveras, who had waltzed up on his bike, Sez : " What is your opinion, John, that this Free Silver s like?" But Ah Sin said "No shabbee," in his childish simple way, And Brown he tipped a wink at us and then he had his say : "FREE SILVER AT ANGEL S" 89 He demonstrated then and thar how silver was as good As gold if folks warn t blasted fools, and only understood ! He showed how we "were crucified upon a cross of gold " By millionaires, and banged his fist, until our blood ran cold. He was a most convincin man was Brown in all his ways, And his skill with a revolver, folks had oft remarked with praise. He showed us how the ratio should be as "six teen to one," And he sorted out some dollars while the boys enjoyed the fun 90 "FREE SILVER AT ANGEL S" And laid them on the counter and heaped em in a pile, While Ah Sin, he drew nearer with his happy, pensive smile. " The heathen in his blindness bows down to wood and stone," Said Brown, " but this poor heathen won t bow to gold alone ; So speak, my poor Mongolian, and show us your idee Of what we call Free Silver and what is meant by < Free. " Swift was the smile that stole across that heathen s face ! I grieve That swifter was the hand that swept those dollars up his sleeve. "FREE SILVER AT ANGEL S" 91 " Me shabbee Silvel allee same as Mellican man/ says he, " Me shabbee Flee means B longs to none/ so Chinaman catch he ! " Now, childlike as his logic was, it didn t justify The way the whole crowd went for him with out a reason why ; And the language Brown made use of I shall not attempt to show, For my words are plain and simple, and I never yet was low. Then Abner Dean called " Order ! " and he said " that it would seem The gentleman from China s deductions were extreme ; 92 "FREE SILVER AT ANGEL S" I move that we should teach him, in a manner that shall strike, The bi-metallic balance on Mr. Brown s new bike!" Now Dean was scientific but was sinful too and gay, And I hold it most improper for a gent to act that way, And having muddled Ah Sin s brains with that same silver craze, To set him on a bicycle and he not know its ways. Then set him on and set him off ; it surely seemed a sin To see him waltz from left to right, and wobble out and in, "FREE SILVER AT ANGEL S" 93 Till his pigtail caught within the wheel and wound up round its rim, And that bicycle got up and reared and then crawled over him. "My poor Mongolian friend," said Dean, "it s plain that in your case Your centre point of gravity don t fall within your base. We ll tie the silver in a bag and hang it from your queue, And then by scientific law you ll keep your balance true ! " They tied that silver to his queue, and it hung down behind, But always straight, no matter which the side Ah Sin inclined 94 "FREE SILVER AT ANGEL S" For though a sinful sort of man and lightsome, too, I ween He was no slouch in Science was Mister Abner Dean ! And here I would remark how vain are all de ceitful tricks The boomerang we throw comes back to give us its last licks And that same weight on Ah Sin s queue set him up straight and plumb, And he scooted past us down the grade and left us cold and dumb ! "Comeback! Come back !" we called at last. We heard a shriek of glee, And something sounding strangely like "All litee ! Silvel s flee ! " "FREE SILVER AT ANGEL S" 95 And saw his feet tucked on the wheel the bike go all alone ! And break the biggest record Angel s Camp had ever known ! He raised the hill without a spill, and still his speed maintained, For why ? he travelled on the sheer momentum he had gained, And vanished like a meteor with his queue stretched in the gale, Or I might say a Comet takin in that silver tail ! But not again we saw his face nor Brown his "Silver Free"! And I marvel in my simple mind howe er these things can be ! 96 "FREE SILVER AT ANGEL S" But I do not reproduce the speech of Brown who saw him go, For my words are pure and simple and I never yet was low ! LITTLE POSTERITY THE BIRDS OF CIRENCESTER DID I ever tell you, my dears, the way That the birds of Cisseter "Cisseter !" eh ? Well " Ciren-cester " one ought to say, From " Castra," or " Caster," As your Latin master Will further explain to you some day ; Though even the wisest err, And Shakespeare writes " V-cester," While every visitor Who doesn t say " Cissiter " Is in " Ciren-cester " considered astray. 99 ioo THE BIRDS OF CIRENCESTER A hundred miles from London town Where the river goes curving and broadening down From tree-top to spire, and spire to mast, Till it tumbles outright in the Channel at last A hundred miles from that flat foreshore That the Danes and the Northmen haunt no more There s a little cup in the Cotswold hills Which a spring in a meadow bubbles and fills, Spanned by a heron s wing crossed by a stride Calm and untroubled by dreams of pride, Guiltless of fame or ambition s aims, That is the source of the lordly Thames ! THE BIRDS OF CIRENCESTER 101 Remark here again that custom condemns Both "Thames" and "Thamis" you must say "Terns!" But why ? no matter ! from;: them you can see Cirencester s tall spires loom up o er the lea. A.D. Five Hundred and Fifty-two, The Saxon invaders a terrible crew Had forced the lines of the Britons through ; And Cirencester half mud and thatch, Dry and crisp as a tinder match, Was fiercely beleaguered by foes, who d catch At any device that could harry and rout The folk that so boldly were holding out. 102 THE BIRDS OF CIRENCESTER For the streets of the town as you ll see to day Were twisted and curved in a curious way That kept the invaders still at bay ; And the longest bolt that a Saxon drew Was stopped ere a dozen of yards it flew, By a turn in the street, and a law so true That even these robbers of all law scorners ! Knew you couldn t shoot arrows around street corners. So they sat them down on a little knoll, And each man scratched his Saxon poll, And stared at the sky, where, clear and high, The birds of that summer went singing by, THE BIRDS OF CIRENCESTER 103 As if, in his glee, each motley jester Were mocking the foes of Cirencester, Till the jeering crow and the saucy linnet Seemed all to be saying: "Ah! you re not in it!" High o er their heads the mavis flew, And the " ouzel-cock so black of hue ;" And the " throstle," with his " note so true " (You remember what Shakespeare says he knew) ; And the soaring lark, that kept dropping through Like a bucket spilling in wells of blue ; And the merlin seen on heraldic panes With legs as vague as the Queen of Spain s ; And the dashing swift that would ricochet From the tufts of grasses before them, yet 104 THE BIRDS OF CIRENCESTER Like bold Antaeus would each time bring New life from the earth, barely touched by his wing ; And the swallow and martlet that always knew The straightest way home. Here a Saxon churl drew His breath tapped his forehead an idea had got through ! So they brought them some nets, which straightway they filled With the swallows and martlets the sweet birds who build In the houses of man all that innocent guild Who sing at their labour on eaves and in thatch And they stuck on their feathers a rude lighted match THE BIRDS OF CIRENCESTER 105 Made of resin and tow. Then they let them all go To be free ! As a childlike diversion ? Ah, no ! To work Cirencester s red ruin and woe. For straight to each nest they flew, in wild quest Of their homes and their fledgelings that they loved the best ; And straighter than arrow of Saxon e er sped They shot o er the curving streets, high over head, Bringing fire and terror to roof -tree and bed, io6 THE BIRDS OF CIRENCESTER Till the town broke in flame, wherever they came, To the Briton s red ruin the Saxon s red shame ! Yet they re all gone together ! To-day you ll dig up From " mound " or from " barrow " some arrow or cup. Their fame is forgotten their story is ended Neath the feet of the race they have mixed with and blended. But the birds are unchanged the ouzel-cock sings, Still gold on his crest and still black on his wings ; THE BIRDS OF CIRENCESTER 107 And the lark chants on high, as he mounts to the sky, Still brown in his coat and still dim in his eye; While the swallow or martlet is still a free nester In the eaves and the roofs of thrice-built Cirencester. WHAT MISS EDITH SAW FROM HER WINDOW OUR window s not much though it fronts on the street, There s a fly in the pane that gets nothin to eat, But it s curious how people think it s a treat For me to look out of the window ! Why, when company comes, and they re all speaking low With their chairs drawn together, then some one says " Oh ! Edith dear ! that s a good child Now run, love, and go And amuse yourself there at the window ! " 1 08 EDITH SAW FROM HER WINDOW 109 Or Bob that s my brother comes in with his chum, And they whisper and chuckle the same words will come. And it s " Edith look here ! Oh, I say ! what a rum Lot of things you can see from that window!" And yet, as I told you, there s only that fly Buzzing round in the pane, and a bit of blue sky, And the girl in the opposite window, that I Look at when she s sent to her win dow. no WHAT EDITH SAW FROM HER WINDOW And so, I ve been thinking I d just like to see If what goes on behind her goes on behind me ! And then, goodness gracious ! what fun it would be For us both as we sit by our window ! How we d know when the parcels were hid in a drawer, Or things taken out that one never sees more, What people come in and go out of the door, That we never see from the window ! WHAT EDITH SAW FROM HER WINDOW in And that night when the stranger came home with our Jane I might see what I heard then that sounded so plain Like when my wet fingers I rub on the pane, (Which they say / shan t do on my window). And I d know why papa shut the door with a slam, And said something funny that sounded like jam, And then "Edith where are you?" I said, " Here I am." " Ah, that s right, dear ! look out of the window ! " 112 WHAT EDITH SAW FROM HER WINDOW They say when I m grown up these things will appear More plain than they do when I look at them here, But I think I see some things uncommonly clear, As I sit and look down from the window. What things ? Oh, the things that I make up, you know, Out of stories I ve read and they all pass below, Ali Baba, the Forty Thieves all in a row Go by, as I look from my window. 3ITY WHAT EDITH SAW FROM HER WINDOW 113 That s only at Church time ; other days there s no crowd. Don t laugh ! See that big man who looked up and bowed ? That s our butcher / call him the Sultan Mahoud When he nods to me here at the win dow ! And that man he s our neighbour just gone for a ride, Has three wives in the churchyard that lie side by side. So I call him "Bluebeard in search of his bride," While I m Sister Anne at the window. H H4 WHAT EDITH SAW FROM HER WINDOW And what do I call you ? Well, here s what \do: When my sister expects you she puts me here too. But I wait till you enter to see if it s you, And then I just open the window! " Dear child ! " Yes, that s me ! Oh, you ask what that s for ? Well, papa says you re " Poverty s self " and no more, So I open the window when you re "at the door" To see " Love fly out of the window ! " "HASTA MAftANA" WHEN all s in bud, and the leaf still unfold ing, When there are ruby points still on the spray, When that prim school gown your charms are withholding, Then Manuela, child, well may you say : " Hasta Mariana, Hasta Mariana. Until to-morrow amigo, alway." "5 u6 "HASTA MA&ANA" When Manuela, white, crimson, and yellow, Peep through green sepals the roses of May, And through black laces the bloom of your face is Fresh as those roses, child, still you may say: Through your mantilla coy Manuela ! " Hasta Mariana, amigo, alway." When all s in bloom, and the rose in its passion Warmed on your bosom would never say nay, "HASTA MANANA" 117 Still it is wise in your own country fashion Under your opening fan, only to say : " Hasta Mariana ! Hasta Mariana ! Until to-morrow, amigo, alway." When all is grey and the roses are scattered, Hearts may have broken that brook no delay, Yet will to-morrow, surcease of sorrow Bring unto eyes and lips that still can say : " Hasta Mafiana, Hasta Mariana ! Until to-morrow is best for to-day ! " Phrase of Castilian lands ! Speech, that in languor Softly procrastinates, for " aye " or " nay," u8 "HASTA MAfiANA" From Seville s orange groves to remote Yanguea, Best heard on rosy lips let thy words say : " Hasta Mariana, Hasta Mariana, Until to-morrow, amigo, alway ! " THE END Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON &> Co. Edinburgh & London RETURN CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT TO""^ 202 Main Library LOAN PERIOD 1 HOME USE 2 3 4 5 6 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 1 -month loans may be renewed by calling 642-3405 6-month loans may be recharged by bringing books to Circulation Desl Renewals and recharges may be made 4 days prior to due date DUE AS STAMPED BELOW FORM NO. DD 6, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY BERKELEY, CA 94720