George Washington Flowers 
 Memorial Collection 
 
 DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 ESTABLISHED BY THE 
 FAMILY OF 
 COLONEL FLOWERS 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archivd 
 in 2015 
 
 https://archive.org/details/auntcharitysligiOOjone 
 
Aunt Charity's 
 'Ligious 'Speriences 
 
 Other Poems 
 
GopyrigM^ 1896, by 
 Gertrude Blanly Jones. 
 
THE now^ coui("Tin^ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Aunt Charity Gets Religion . 5 
 — As a Christian ... 9 
 — Backslides . . . . 13 
 — Helps Fresco the Meetin'-House 17 
 — Hears the New Years' Sermon 20 
 
 — On the College Boy 
 
 . 24 
 
 — On the Suffer- Aunts Convention 27 
 
 — On the Banguet 
 
 . 31 
 
 M^arfiTHif s Lullatjy 
 
 34 
 
 Mammy Gets tJie Boy to Sleep 
 
 36 
 
 3IaJ)el Helps the Cook Get Suxjper 
 
 38 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 
 A fti: JJj 1 tij 1 1 tx^K^ 1 a kjlUl // . • 
 
 
 A Woiaan^s Fidelity 
 
 48 
 
 The Old Church Melodeon 
 
 . 55 
 
 A Trarap^s Christmas . 
 
 59 
 
 Bessie s Christmas Eve Lark . 
 
 . 65 
 
 A Thanksgiving Pie 
 
 73 
 
 Practicing for the Piano Recital 
 
 . 80 
 
 Her Two Sons . . . . 
 
 83 
 
 Tlie Savior and the Outcast 
 
 . 88 
 
 When Allie Plays 
 
 91 
 
 In the Studio 
 
 . 93 
 
 A Fuss in the China Kiln 
 
 96 
 
 Wine and Love 
 
 . 98 
 
 A Song in the Night . 
 
 100 
 
 432554 
 
 
THE A J SHOWALTER CO' 
 PRINTERS AND STATIONERS, 
 DALTON, GA 
 
Aunt Charity's m ® I 
 @ 'Ligious 'Speriences. j 
 
 Aunt Charity Gets Religion. 
 
 jes' wanted ter be 'ligious 
 In along wid all de rest, 
 An' jine de clmrcli, an' be baptized, 
 
 An' ferevermore be blest. 
 But I'll declar ter goodness 
 
 I wus flustercated so 
 Dat I got mixed up an' pestered, 
 
 An' I didn't know whar ter go. 
 Fust, de Prisbyterians tells me 
 
 Not ter kick up any row, 
 Ef de Lawd is gv/ine ter save me 
 
 He will do it any how, 
 No use ter make er racket, 
 
 Er ter holler, er ter cry, 
 Dat when de ship of Zion 
 
 Comes er sailin' gran'ly by, 
 
Ef I's ben predesternated, 
 
 An' am one of de eleck, 
 De captain he will grab me 
 
 An' den h'ist me on de deck. 
 An' when I gits good started, 
 
 I's ter keep straight on de way, 
 Fer I'll never cross de ocean 
 
 Ef I starts new every day. 
 Den de Baptist next, dey gits me, 
 
 An' dey takes me to de pool, 
 An' dey say ter me, "Now Charity 
 
 Don't you go an' be er fool. 
 You satisfy yore conscience 
 
 An' be shore you do whut's right. 
 You go into dat water, chile. 
 
 Glean under, out of sight ! 
 Den, come erlong an' 'mune wid us 
 
 An' peace an' comfort find. " 
 But I thought I'd see de Mefodis' 
 
 'Fore I made up all my mind. 
 Den de Mefodis' dey takes me 
 
 To de big bush-arbor tent, 
 An' dey puts me wid de mourners 
 
 Fer ter weep, an' ter repent; 
 An' dey tells me when I'm happy 
 
 Jes' ter let it pop right out. 
 Not ter be afeard of no one. 
 
 But turn right loose an' shout. 
 
Den part of 'em dey tells me, 
 
 When I does climb into grace, 
 I mus' cling dar lak er turtle, 
 
 Er I'll fall down frum my place. 
 Den some say, dat dey wouldn't sin. 
 
 Not even ef dey could; 
 An' er right smart of 'em couldn't, 
 
 Not even ef dey would ; 
 But I does de fam'ly washin' 
 
 Fer er man dat's sanctified, 
 An' his wife makes all de fires, 
 
 An' splits all de wood beside. 
 So I goes home ter my cabin, 
 
 An' I falls down on my knees. 
 An' I raise my hands ter Heab'en, 
 
 An' I ax de Marster please 
 Ter fergive me for de many 
 
 An' de wicked things I's done, 
 An' overlook my meanness 
 
 Fer de sake of His dear Son. 
 An' I tells de Heabenly Marster 
 
 Dat I don't know nothin' 'bout 
 Dese 'lections an' dese 'mersions 
 
 An' dese fallins in an' out; 
 Den, it seemed all in er mxinute 
 
 Dat my load wuz took away. 
 An' I felt all good an' easy. 
 
 An' I heered er soft voice say: 
 
"Charity, pore ole creetur', 
 
 Don't you bother yore pore head 
 WicI dere creeds, beliefs an' doctrines, 
 
 But jes' look ter me, instead; 
 An' though yore sins be scarlet. 
 
 An' yore skin black ez er coal, 
 Your Savior, who redeemed you, 
 
 Will shorely save yore soul. 
 You trust in God, an' pay yore debts, 
 
 Do all de good you can. 
 An' you'll have de sweetest ligion 
 
 Dat wuz ever given man. ' ' 
 An" I understood dat preachin', 
 
 An' I's learned wid all de rest, 
 Dat though yore 'ligious talkin's good, 
 
 Yore 'ligious livings best. 
 
 8 
 
Aunt Charity as a Christian. 
 
 Y^s\ow I's been an' perfessecl ligion 
 I ==t I jes* wants ter do whnt's right, 
 J-^ V ^ H'ist de bushel of de candle 'n 
 
 Let my light show clar an' bright: 
 But de preacher he done tole me 
 
 Hit's er gwine ter be er tussle, 
 Er fight wid tongue an' temper, 
 
 An' er holdin' in of mussle; 
 But my sin has been my saddle, 
 
 An' ole Satan's been my hoss 
 Long ernough, an' now I's walkin', 
 
 Wid de Savior fer my boss. 
 While de gospel meetin's lasted 
 
 An' hit's songs rung in my ears, 
 Wid my heart plum full o' glory. 
 
 An' my eyes all full o' tears, 
 Hit wuz easy ter keep stiddy; 
 
 But when Monday mornin' come 
 An' de meetin' wuz done busted. 
 
 Den, de tug o' war begun. 
 When de clo'es wuz washed an' ironed,. 
 
 An' took home ter Mrs. Ray, 
 I foun' her cross an' fussy, 
 9 
 
An' de fust thing dat she say 
 Wuz, "Two hankerchers er missin'! 
 
 Very strange whar dey all go ! 
 Unless I is mistaken much 
 
 Aunt Charity, you know. ' ' 
 •'You'r a li — " an' den I halted 
 
 Lak my tongue wuz floored an' tied, 
 While de devil wuz er churnin' 
 
 Me ter fury, all inside; 
 Fer a hand seized on de dasher 
 
 Dat wuz gentle, an' yit bold, 
 An' er voice cried: "Halt dar Satan, 
 
 She is mine now, loose yore hold ! ' ' 
 Den de devil went er sneaking' 
 
 Y/id er droopin' tail an' head, 
 An' de churn dasher got stiddy, 
 
 An' I cotch my bref, an' said: 
 "As I wuz er gwine ter remark 
 
 You'r li — able ter mistake, 
 Bf dem hankerchers is missin' 
 
 Dere value good, I'll make." 
 An' den dat 'oman stare at me. 
 
 An' she stare widout er wink; 
 An' I heered her mutter easy: 
 
 "Did you ever ! Jes' ter think !" 
 De next day I heered er racket 
 
 In de alley out my way, 
 An' dar stood er shinin' carriage 
 10 
 
An' cle smilin" i\Irs. Rav. 
 ''I jes' stopped ter tell you Chariiy. 
 
 Dat de hanker clier's all right; 
 Found 'em both safe in my buro. 
 
 La^yin' dar in plainest sight. 
 Here's er bundle I have bru.ng you: 
 
 Jes' er suit fer little Joe. 
 An" er package o' fresh coffee, 
 
 Gaze I know you love it so. 
 An' Charity. I am sorry 
 
 I mis j edged you yisterday. 
 When I seed you hold yore temper. 
 
 When I riled you, den I say. 
 'Dat pore creetur" in her pov'rty, 
 
 Wid her trials, an' hard lot. 
 Is richer far dan I is. 
 
 Gaze she's got whut I have not. ' 
 Den I run up in my chamber 
 
 An' I fell down on my knees, 
 So ashamed, an' oh so 'umble; 
 
 An" I axed my Savior please 
 Ter fergive mj ugly temper 
 
 An' my heart so proud an' bad. 
 An' ter give me jes' de 'ligion 
 
 An' de grace old Gharity had. 
 An' he give me jes' dat minute 
 
 Er heart all clean an' new, 
 An' Charitv. I's so happv, 
 11 
 
Gaze I's got religion too !" 
 Den frum out dat carriage flutter 
 
 Lak er dove, er hand so white, 
 An' ercross de wheels I grasp it 
 
 In my black 'un's close an' tight; 
 Den de driver tech his hosses, 
 
 An' away dat carriage flew, 
 Her face lak mawnin' glories 
 
 'Fore de sun dries oi¥ de dew. 
 Dar I stood bewildered, gazin' 
 
 Whar dem bosses' hoofs had trod. 
 Me, ole Charity, er darky, 
 
 Leadin ' home er soul ter God ! 
 Me, er pore ole ignerunt creetur' 
 
 What ken hardly read er spell, 
 Bein' used by de great Marster 
 
 Fer ter do His holy will ! 
 Bless de Lawd ! I'll keep er try in' 
 
 Sich er Marster 's love ter win; 
 One sich day o' 'ligious livin's 
 
 Wuth er hund'rd days o' sin. 
 
 12 
 
Aunt Charity Backslides. 
 
 hen I lieered de great Culpepper 
 Wuz er gwine ter preach dat 
 night 
 
 I set my head to heer 'im 
 
 Ef my way I had to fight; 
 So I falls in wid de people 
 
 An' jes foUer whar dey went. 
 Until I finds er scrongin' place 
 
 Outside de big white tent. 
 I thought I'd see er preacher 
 
 'Bout eight or ten feet high, 
 Wid er brestplate on his bosom 
 
 An' er head-light fer an eye; 
 But instid of dat Goliar 
 
 What I 'spected fer ter see, 
 Dar walked upon de platform 
 
 Little David— ^ 'to a T." 
 He look so brave an' sassy 
 
 Lak he knows he's in de right, 
 An' can easy whup the devil 
 
 In er even handed fight. 
 Den when he got his sling -shot out 
 13 
 
He set de rocks er flyin', 
 An' kept de Philistins right an' left, 
 
 Er laughin' an' den cryin'. 
 When he iam de stingy people, 
 
 I looks over at Miss A 
 
 What gives me jes er quarter 
 
 When I's washed fer her all day, 
 An* I seed she looked oneasy 
 
 — Fer dis nigger aint er dunce — 
 An' I laughed to think she's heerin' 
 
 De whole Gospel truf , fer once ; 
 An' when he blip de tattler, 
 
 I looks over at Miss Mack, 
 — What purrs an' flatters ter yore face, 
 
 An' claws you in de back;^ — 
 When she begin ter figit 
 
 Lak de bench aint right, somehow, 
 I sa^ys: "Dat's business David, 
 
 Let her have it all right now ! ' ' 
 Den de preacher's voice growed quiet. 
 
 An' de sacred trufs he tole 
 Seemed ter burn dere way lak lire 
 
 Right into de people's soul. 
 An' de silence wuz so solemn 
 
 'Neath dat big ole canvas ark. 
 You could heer de water drippin' 
 
 At de fountain in de park; 
 An' de katydids quit singin' 
 14 
 
'Way up in de trees erbove 
 An* listened, while de preacher 
 
 Tole of Jesus an' his loA^e. 
 Ben his restless eyes er ilashin' 
 
 Swept clean down de outside aisle 
 Until dey seemed er restin' 
 
 On dis pore ole trimblin' chile. 
 ''You fraud out dar, er coverin' 
 
 Some meanness dat you's done! 
 You 'spects ter fool yore conscience. 
 
 An' de Lawd, an' His dear Son?'" 
 Den my teeth begun ter rattle 
 
 An' hit look lak I must holler, 
 Caze I see he's lookin' stiddy 
 
 At my new turn-over coUer; 
 Dat coller whut I borrowed 
 
 Oif er neighbor's ironin' rack, 
 An' den clean f ergot I had it, 
 
 An' never took it back. 
 Of de balance of dat sermon, 
 
 Not er blessed word I heered; 
 I felt so mean an' restless, 
 
 An' I wuz so hacked an" skeered, 
 Dat I fell down side de benches 
 
 Wid trimblin', sobbin' breath, 
 (While dat blame ole turn-down coller 
 
 Chocked me mighty nigh ter death,) 
 An' I axed de Lawd's fergiveness 
 
Fer my sins, an' got it too. 
 But I'll never git done wonderin' 
 
 How dat John Culpepper Tcneio 
 Dat he cunjers wid de spirits 
 
 I believe is shorely so: 
 Else, how comes dat man er knowin' 
 
 Whut de common folks don 't know 
 Ef you's planin' any mischief, 
 
 Better watch what yore erbout, 
 Fer dat John Culpepper preacher 
 
 Will be shore ter find you out. 
 
 16 
 
Aunt Charity Helps Fresco the 
 Meetin*=House. 
 
 ese yer Prisbyterians, 
 
 Dey's gittin' mighty proiid; 
 Dey tote derselves so gran' an' 
 stiff. 
 
 Wid dere noses in de cloud; 
 Wid dere paintin' an' dere cleanin. ' 
 
 Dey makes er pow'rful fuss, 
 An' dey aint got time ter notice 
 
 Pore ole cullud folks lak us. 
 Hit wuz only jes' dis mawnin' 
 
 Dat I went ter Mrs. Jones 
 An' I tole her how de rumatiz 
 
 Wuz achin' of my bones, 
 An' I axed her fer to give me 
 
 Fifty-five er sixty cents, 
 Fer ter git er little bottle 
 
 Of dat Mustang Liniment; 
 But she say: ''I'm sorry fer you 
 
 But you reelly ought ter know 
 Dat I'm savin' all my money 
 
 Fer ter go in de fresco. ' ' 
 Den I went ter Mrs. Jenkins 
 17 
 
Wliut is always kind an' good, 
 Fer I knowed she'd sliorely help me, 
 
 Ei 'twuz possible she could. 
 But she smiled at me so gentle, 
 
 An' said I have ter wait 
 Tell de meetin' of de Dorcas, 
 
 When my case she'd proper state. 
 She'd be glad herself ter help me. 
 
 But dat every dime an' cent 
 She could rake a^n' scrape tergether, 
 
 Fer de fresco all wuz spent. 
 So I thought while I wuz passin' 
 
 By de church I'd stop er spell 
 An' see de wond'rous doin's 
 
 Of which I'd heered sich tell. 
 But bless de gracious, honey ! 
 
 Vf hen I got me clean inside, 
 My lower jaAv kept drappin' 
 
 Tell my mouth hung open wide. 
 De roof was streaked an' stripped 
 
 Wid buff an' gray, an' green 
 Lak de clown's dress in de circus 
 
 De purtiest ever seen. 
 Dar wuz sweet potato custards 
 
 Wid de crust all brown an' thin 
 — Big as water buckets — 
 
 Wid notchin' roun' de rim; 
 An' de chair board, an' de X3ull-pit 
 
Wiiz 'lasses candy red. 
 An' er little patch o" heaven 
 
 Hung o'er de preacher's head; 
 An' I gaze an' I wonder 
 
 Tell I's feeling mighty good; 
 Den I walks np in er corner 
 
 Whar er good ole Deacon stood, 
 An' I reech down in my pocket 
 
 Fer my quarter new an' bright. 
 Whut I 'lowed ter spend fer 'backer 
 
 Ter cheer me of er night. 
 An' I said: "Here, Mr. Deacon, 
 
 Hit's all I've got ter give. 
 But de blessed Lawd who knows it, 
 
 Will shore de mite f ergive. 
 An' I wants ter have er sharin' 
 
 In de blessing whiit will fall 
 On de folks Avhut sets de Marster 
 
 An' his temple up "fore a.11; 
 But de evenin' am er slii3pin' 
 
 An' dis darky now must go, 
 Mighty proud ter be er helpin' 
 
 In de Meetin'-house fresco. '' 
 
 19 
 
Aunt Charity Hears the New Year's 
 Sermon. 
 
 set back dar in de meetin', 
 
 — In de cullud folkses pew 
 Fer ter hear de 'New Year Sermon, 
 All' de choir sing-in' too; 
 I wnz quiet lak, an' easy, 
 
 An' er feeling pnrty good, 
 TMnkin' how I'd been er livin', 
 
 'Bout as 'ligious as I could. 
 "'Course Lawd, " I wuz er sayin', 
 
 "Ef I could pitch my voice an' sing 
 Lak dat lady dressed in velvet 
 Wid de pigeon fedder wing; 
 Br blow er chune — so easy — 
 
 On de hornet lak dat lad; 
 Er, pay in shinin' dollars, 
 
 Lav/d, I do it, oh so glad ! 
 But I gives my dimes and nickles 
 To de church wid willing heart, 
 An' in pra'r, an' praise, an' shoutin', 
 
 I has always done my part; 
 Bless de Lawd, dat pore old Aunt 
 Charity 's 
 
 20 
 
Done de very best she kiiowed?" 
 Den I felt myself er swellin' 
 
 Sorter lak er singin' toad; 
 Den de preacher 'gun ter tell iis 
 
 How dat God looked straight within ; 
 Dat no 'mount of 'ligious kiver 
 
 Could from his eye hide er sin; 
 Dat de heart must be lak water 
 
 Springin' from er mountain height, 
 An' dat only Jesus' pardon 
 
 Makes de fountain clar an' bright; 
 Dat yore good works aint wuth nuthin' 
 
 Widout love your actions fill; 
 Dat dey's jes' er sugar coatin' 
 
 On de same ole bitter pill; 
 Dat de biggest shuck may kiver 
 
 Jes' de sorriest kind o' corn; 
 Dat er showy vine, de pores t 
 
 Kind o' 'tater, may erdorn. 
 As he preached, de happy SY\rellin' 
 
 Kinder oozed out o' my hide; 
 "Oh, good Master, pore ole Charity's 
 
 Done de best she could!" I cried. 
 "No she aint, you humbug sinner!" 
 
 Said er voice right at my ear, 
 (Though no one wuz settin' nigh me,) 
 
 An' I shook de bench in fear, 
 "Did you bake dat loaf o' light bread 
 
 3c 21 
 
Fer de sick gal down yore way? 
 Did you keep her mother's baby 
 
 While she rested? Did you? Say 
 When ole simple Jimmie brung you 
 
 His pore jacket torn an' old 
 Did you leave yore tubs an' mend it 
 
 So 'twould keep out win' an' cold? 
 Did you shar' yore bread an' coffee 
 
 Wid de sick boy tramp, dat day, 
 Let 'im warm good by yore fire? 
 
 Did you do it, Charity? Say?^^ 
 Oh de pain, an' shame, an' sorrow, 
 
 Hurt me worser 'en er blow. 
 Per I had ter answer honest 
 
 To dat Spirit: 'No Lawd, no!' 
 "Aint you shouted many 'n evenin' 
 
 When you'd better been er prayin' 
 Aint you left undone de small things 
 
 Arter bigger things er strayin'? 
 'Fore yore purty vine o' good works 
 
 Is er spreadin' furder 'round, 
 Hadn't you better find de bigness 
 
 Of dat 'tater in de ground?" 
 What could I do, pore darky, 
 
 But ter weep an' jes' confess 
 • — Wid my mouth an' heart in ashes— 
 
 To dat Sperit: 'Yes Lawd, Yes!' 
 Well! dat hour o' New Year 'spreachin 
 
 22 
 
Wuz er hard 'un to endure, 
 But fer chronic 'ligious dropsy 
 
 'Twuz er shore an' sudden cure. 
 Dis mawnin', fit fer fly in' 
 
 Wid de wings o' grace all spread; 
 Now, er crawlin' lak er grub- worm 
 
 Wid de pinions singed, an' dead. 
 No Marster, ole Aunt Charity 
 
 Aint done her best I feer, 
 But she'll turn er new leaf over, 
 
 An' do better Lawd, dis year. 
 
 23 
 
Aunt Chanty on the College Boy. 
 
 ur Tommie's home from Colleg 
 now, 
 
 Er clashin' graduate, 
 Wid er paper certify in' 
 
 Dat he's larnt all, up ter date; 
 He's de same at heart, I reckon, 
 
 Wid de same ole laugh an' walk, 
 But his head is shorely muddled, 
 
 Jedgin' by his looks an' talk. 
 He used ter kneel at bed time 
 
 Fer ter say an' evenin' pra'r. 
 An' wuz larnt plum from de cradle 
 
 Dat ' 'God is every whar. ' ' 
 But nov/, he aint quite sartain 
 
 Ef dey's any sich er bein'; 
 An' dat Jesus Christ's er fable 
 
 Most great minds am now agreein 
 An' 'fore de fuzz is started 
 
 On his upper lip ter sprout, 
 Dat boy is done groAved smarter 
 
 Dan de biggest man erbout. 
 His pa's er 'umble Christian 
 An' er wise jedge. all in one. 
 
But Lawci! He don't know nothin' 
 
 Side his edicated son ! 
 He 'lows he's evoluted 
 
 From er common branch tad -pole. 
 Er polly wog-, er wiggietail 
 
 In some ole fishin' hole; 
 Dat when he got real tired 
 
 O' cuttin' sich er iigger. 
 He took er runnin' sommerset 
 
 An' turned to somethin' bigger. 
 Arter t'ousand years o' swappin', 
 
 In er monkey's hide, he ran. 
 Den. er risin' on his haunches 
 
 Flopped, his self inter a man. 
 But as shore as yore er livin' 
 
 Dis time he's missed his heft, 
 Caze I's watched 'im an' diskivered 
 
 Er right smart o' monkey left. 
 He says dat he's Agnostick, 
 
 An' er big Theosofice, 
 An' er heap o' other varmints 
 
 Wid names dat don't sound nice. 
 I thought of ticks, an' fices. 
 
 Most every sort I'd seed; 
 But I 'spects dis recent creetur's 
 
 Of de evolutin* breed. 
 An' I don't know whut he's meanin' 
 
 'Less he's traveled de whole road 
 
An' now is going backerds 
 
 Towerd de fishin' hole an' toad. 
 He said ter me dis mawnin', 
 
 ''Gran, dar's nothin' dat yon know. 
 You think dat God's in heaven, 
 
 You think de world's below. 
 Dar's nothin' dat's quite sartain, 
 
 Measured by my verdict. ' ' - 
 ' 'I knows one thing, ' ' I answered, 
 
 "You's er ragin' lunatic. " 
 My boy so peart an, k no win' 
 
 Dat de world would suffer loss 
 'Less'n he comes ter de rescue, 
 
 Fer ter help his Maker boss ! 
 Great Marster, guide my Tommie, 
 
 An' be patient wid de lad; 
 Hit's his head dat's mixed an' pes- 
 tered, 
 
 Not his heart dat's wrong er bad; 
 When dat latherin' an' shavin' 
 
 Has done fotched er mustache 
 through , 
 
 I b'leeve dat Tommie 's senses 
 
 Is er gwine ter come back too; 
 So watch, an' guide an' keep 'im 
 
 Tell er little time, he gains, 
 An' be easy on 'im Marster, 
 
 Tell he gits his beard an' brains. 
 
 26 
 
Aunt Charity on the Suffer=Aunts 
 Convention. 
 
 Iwuz gwine by de opera house, so I 
 thought I'd stop er spell, 
 An' see de wond'rous goin's on of 
 which I'd heered sich tell; 
 I slipped into er back seat, an' I look 
 
 frum left ter right; 
 Jes' solid packed wid wimmen — only 
 
 two pore men in sight. 
 De rostrum, hit wuz sprinkled 'bout 
 
 wid wimmen, less, er more 
 Ter cheer de speakin' sister, an' ter 
 
 help hold down de lioor, 
 Susan Anthony, dey tole me, wuz de 
 
 head one fer ter rule. 
 An' I 'membered how Mars Tommie 
 when er boy, an' gwine ter school. 
 Made speeches 'bout Mark iVnthony. 
 
 an' 'bout de Roman law. 
 Den I knowed all in er minute dat dis 
 
 here wuz Markus' ma. 
 Miss Catt she wuz de chairman, but I 
 bet my Sunday hat 
 27 
 
She'ud climbed upon de table at de 
 
 mention of er rat, 
 An' I couldn't help but wonder, while 
 
 she's roun' de country sittin' 
 Who's at her house a-nussin' an' er 
 
 carin' fer de kitten. 
 Den dey interduced Miss Ketchum, an' 
 
 she caught 'um all astir, 
 Den Miss Duniv/ay talked smilin' tell 
 
 dey done erway wid her. 
 Dar sat one lonely Colt-in Lines, but 
 
 de lines looked ilecked wid foam, 
 I 'lowed he's chafin' 'gin de bit, an' 
 
 de female curry comb. 
 •'Please Miss, whut do dese wimmen 
 
 want?" I asked of er lady nigh. 
 "De right ter vote; dey wants de 
 
 pole, " she said wid flashin' eye. 
 Den I felt — jes' zactly honey — lak 
 
 she's slapped me in de face, 
 Whut fer dese wimmin cravin' of dat 
 
 cussin' w^rangiin' place? 
 No brave men whur dey come frum, 
 
 willin' all dere w^ars ter fight, 
 Ter see dey aint m.olested, dat dey gits 
 
 dere every right? 
 We's sorry fer dese wimmen, wid no 
 
 husband's manly mouth 
 
Ter do dere public scrappin', but — 
 how come 'em in de south? 
 
 Hit's er waste o' breath an' mussle ter 
 come preachin' sich stuff here, 
 
 Whur de gallant southern hero holds 
 his wimmen folks so dear 
 
 Dat he'd spill his heart's warm life- 
 blood ter defend dere every right, 
 
 Ter keep 'em pure an' modest, an' his 
 home sacred an' bright. 
 
 Dat's whut de men is fer, child, ter 
 tread on de rostrum boards, 
 
 Ter speecherfy an' fight an' bite an' 
 monkey wid de swords, 
 
 An' leave de gentle wimmen folks ter 
 fill de home wid beauty, 
 
 Ter lead de little feet aright in paths 
 of truth an' duty; 
 
 Ter turn out boys so pure an' true, 
 wid sich sound jedgment totin' 
 
 Der be no need fer ma and sis er hunt- 
 in ' poles fer votin. ' 
 
 Suppose dey has de right ter vote; 
 dey's got er right dat's surer, 
 
 Ter live fer God, soothe pain an' woe, 
 an' make de ole world purer. 
 
 Dis movement's wrong; dem suffer- 
 aunts is hurtin' of de nation; 
 4c 29 
 
Hit's better mothers dat we need; not 
 
 votes, but consecration. 
 But let 'em swarm, er let 'em hive, er 
 
 let 'em keep er flyin', 
 Our wimmen will be womanly, er else 
 
 dey'll die er tryin'. 
 
 30 
 
Aunt Charity on the Banquet. 
 
 ich er stirrin', dat ole kitchen 
 Never seed de lak before, 
 Niggers comin' an' er goin' 
 Wid dere waiters, through de door, 
 Sich er clinkin' of de glasses; 
 Sich er poppin' of de ale, 
 An' er breakin' of de ice up, 
 Fer ter cool de new "cocktail;" 
 An' I thought dem toastin' demmer- 
 crats 
 
 Is er gitten' mighty gay; 
 Fust thing dey know de temp 'ranee 
 crowd 
 
 Will spile dat pretty play. 
 
 When I had er chance fer restin' 
 I peeped through the open door, 
 An' honey — bless yore soul — de sight 
 Mos' knocked me to de floor. 
 Who you think it was er clinkin', 
 An' er drinkin' there, so gay? 
 Who you think it was er toastin' 
 An' er boastin' in dat way? 
 'Twas de elders an' de deacons 
 31 
 
An' cle stewaji'ds of cle town, 
 De cliurch men, an' de mayor — 
 All de biggest men er roun'. 
 
 See dat smilin' steward yonder ! 
 Watch dP4;t claret glass up raise; 
 He's de man whut draws de "amens" 
 An' de "glory," when he prays. 
 An' dat elder yonder, drinkin' 
 Of his toast in sparklin' wine, 
 He's de one whose temp 'ranee 
 
 speeches 
 Is drawed out so strong an' fine. 
 An' there, honey — O' de pity — 
 By his side there sits er man 
 Who is try in' to quit drinkin' 
 Jes de hardest dat he can; 
 An' I know his gentle daughter 
 Is at home with tear dimmed sight 
 Er prayin' "Oh God keep him — 
 Keep my papa safe, tonight ! ' ' 
 
 Charity, Charity, Charity, 
 Somethin's wrong ole nigger, shore! 
 Yoic cant have yore dram at home, chile, 
 Per yore rheumatiz, no more; 
 Yore influence aint worth nothin', 
 An' yore skin's as black as night. 
 Yet conscience said; an' they said 
 32 
 
That yore drinkin' wasn't right. 
 How come de sauce fer gander 
 Aint good sauce er nough fer goose? 
 What mek' em slight dere sweethearts 
 An' dere wives, widout excuse? 
 Caze dey know of de good women 
 Came ter see dere banquet show 
 Dat ''Hattan cock" would drap his tail 
 An' never dare to crow. 
 I'd quit dat crowd o' demmercrats 
 Er givin' big wine dinners 
 Fer de' publicans, whut smites de 
 breast 
 
 An' OWNS dat dey is sinners. 
 
 33 
 
riainiiiy's Lullaby. 
 
 •0 ter sleep now, dat's er honey: 
 Mammy '11 tell er tale so funny 
 'Bout er purty yaller hen 
 Hatchin' baby chicks, an' den 
 y/ouldn't tend 'em lak she oughter; 
 Trapsin' 'round in grass an' water 
 Place er keepin' in de dry. 
 
 An' de chickens dey would f oiler 
 Best dey could, an' peep an' holler: 
 "Mammy, mammy, we'r mos' froze, 
 We caint hardly lif ' our toes; 
 Set down mammy, hover, hover. 
 Let us creep in 'neaf de cover, 
 'Pears lak we is 'bleeged ter die. 
 
 But de mammy never heedin' 
 Went off in de rye patch feedin'; 
 Den er pullet standin' nigh 
 — Jes' 'bout big ernuf ter fry — 
 Said: "Come yere chickies, all to- 
 gether, 
 
 I aint got no sight o' feather. 
 But I'll warm you bes' I kin. " 
 
 34 
 
Den she hover 'em so funny, 
 An' de missus — bless you honey ! — 
 Seed de sight wid her own eyes, 
 An' she said ter ole Aunt Lize: 
 "Kill an' cook dat lazy mother, 
 Give her chickens ter de other 
 Cunnin' little pullet hen." 
 
 Keep yore eyes shet tight, my honey; 
 Mammy '11 tell you tales so funny. 
 You's er chick yo'self, sweet thing! 
 Mammy's shoulder is er wing, 
 Under her black feather's creep, 
 While she hovers, don't you peep — 
 Dar! De chile is fast er sleep. 
 
 35 
 
Mammy Gets the Boy to Sleep. 
 
 T^ome er long, you blessed baby; 
 I Mammy '11 tell you story, maybe; 
 
 ^ Pat's right; clam up in my lap 
 Lak er man, and tek er nap. 
 y/uk so hard he almos' dead; 
 Mammy's arm will res' his head. 
 Pore chile oughter bin in bed 
 An hour ago. 
 
 Tell you 'bout de possum, honey? 
 De mammy possum got er funny 
 Leetle pouch, erbag o' skin 
 Lak you totes yore marbles in — 
 All along her underside, 
 WhSbT de baby possums hide 
 When deys skeered, er wants ter ride — ■ 
 Quit wigglin' so! 
 
 Some time dat mammy — pore ole crit- 
 ter — 
 
 Has sixteen babies at one litter; 
 Wide-mouf, long-nose, squirmin' 
 things, 
 
 Wid tails dat twist lak fiddle strings. 
 36 
 
Sixteen lak you ter mek er fuss. 
 Ter tote, an' feed, an' rock, an' nuss — 
 Keep still! Hit's no 'sprise ter us 
 Possum's hair's gray! 
 
 Honey, when de houn' dawgs ketch 
 'im 
 
 Dere nose an' paw ain't more'n tech 
 'im 
 
 Tell drop, dat possum he done dead; 
 No sign er life from foot ter head; 
 Wid eyes shet tight, he lay and smile, 
 An' fool dem houn' dawgs all de while, 
 Play lak you's er possum, chile — 
 Yes, dat's de way. 
 
 Possum in de oven roastin'. 
 Slice sweet taters roun' 'im toastin', 
 Taste so good when he git done! 
 Mammy '11 give her baby some. 
 Eyes — shet — tight — yes, dat's de 
 way— 
 
 Houn' dawgs goin', goin', er way — 
 Bless de boy, no possum play 
 In dat sleep ! 
 
 5c 
 
 37 
 
ilabel Helps the Cook Get Supper. 
 
 on't cum here now wid yore 
 
 messin', 
 Henderin' me while I'se er 
 dressin ' 
 
 Dese yere spring chickens fer tea; 
 Fryin' chickens ain't so funny 
 When it comes ter Conf 'runce, honey; 
 
 Spect de Bishop he'll eat three. 
 Look now at dat mess er flour! 
 You ain't wore dat dress er hour, 
 
 Now it's all stuck up an' spiled; 
 Me v/id rumatiz er achin', 
 Washin' twell my back is breakin' 
 
 Finery fer er keerless child. 
 Ise er mind ter slap you, Mabel, 
 Spillin' milk on my clean table! 
 
 Thar now, honey, don't you pout; 
 Mammy didn't reely mean it; 
 Here's my thimble; when I clean it 
 
 You kin cut yore biscuits out. 
 Put 'em on dis pan an' shove 'em 
 In the corner of de oven, 
 
 An' I'll see dey takes no hurt; 
 Yore pappy '11 brag on 'em an' eat 'em, 
 38 
 
Swearin' dat no one kin beat 'em. 
 Dough dey's fairly black wid dirt. 
 
 Look yonder at dat chicken fallin' 
 
 In de slop bucket; he's callin' — 
 Don't you hear 'im, child — fer you; 
 
 Goodness! I mus' keep things hum- 
 min', 
 
 Time now dat dem preacher's cum- 
 min'; 
 
 Git out! PER DE Lawd's sake do. 
 
 39 
 
The Engineer's Story. 
 
 hake hands, please, Mr. Preach- 
 er, 
 
 Soniethin' good, and mighty 
 queer 
 
 Happened to me late last evenin'. 
 
 And I thought you'd like to hear. 
 I had brought my trusty engine 
 
 Even schedule time to beat. 
 And was makin' from the depot. 
 
 For a drink, and bite to eat; 
 I was passin' yonder chapel 
 
 Where you folks were holdin' prayer, 
 And I laughed and wondered grimly 
 
 What you found to i)lease you there ; 
 When a suddin' sound of singin' 
 
 Floated through the open door. 
 And I stopped; Where had I heard it — 
 
 Heard that old time tune before? — 
 "How sweet the name of Jesus 
 
 Sounds in a believer's ear." 
 My heart most stopped its beatin' 
 
 As if seized with deadly fear. 
 Would you believe it. Preacher, 
 
 I was struck as with a chill, 
 
 4.3 
 
And my knees began to tremble, 
 
 And I seemed to lose my will, 
 For I sank down weak and helpless 
 
 'Neath that big old maple tree, 
 With my hands pressed on my temples, 
 
 And my head against my knee. 
 "Oh that song!" I cried "Oh stop it. 
 
 How it cuts me— like a knife! — 
 Will they sing up every specter 
 
 Of my wicked, wretched life?" 
 I could see a little cottage 
 
 Sittin' back among the trees; 
 I could smell the sweet nasturtiums, 
 
 And could hear the hum of bees; 
 I could see the cheery kitchen, 
 
 — Every nook about the place — 
 And the dear old busy mother 
 
 With her calm, untroubled face; 
 I could see the home-spun cover 
 
 Tucked about my cosy bed; 
 I could feel my mother's kisses 
 
 After evenin' prayers were said; 
 I remember how — awakenin' — 
 
 I had often found her there, 
 Kneelin' meekly by my bed side 
 
 With a softly murmured prayer; 
 Then, I saw that home dismantled, 
 
 Mother gone, and rooms so chill; 
 
And I heard the dead leaves rattle 
 
 O'er the dreary home door-sill; 
 That was when the devil got me, 
 
 And I served him long and well, 
 Drainin' every cup he offered 
 
 Till my soul was 'most in hell. 
 "How sv/eet the name of Jesus, " 
 
 — That's the song she used to 
 sing;— 
 I revile him every hour. 
 
 My old mother's Lord and King! 
 Those old mem'ries kept a crowdin', 
 
 Till the anguish — at the worst — 
 Seemed too great for me to bear it 
 
 And I thought my heart w^ould 
 burst; 
 
 I've been bruised in v/recks quite of- 
 ten, 
 
 (From my scars that fact you'll see,) 
 But I never had a smashup 
 
 Like the one down by that tree. 
 I just lay there, long, athinkin', 
 
 Then I dropped down on my knees. 
 And the words I fell to sayin' 
 
 Sounded something near like these: 
 "Oh God, if my old mother 
 
 Could stand by me, stanch and true, 
 Forgivin' all my meanness 
 
 6c 45 
 
And my sins, O' Lord, won't you? 
 I can't say for the sake of Jesus 
 
 When my lips that name profane, 
 But O' for the sake of mother, 
 
 Make me God, thy child again! 
 I'm sick of a life of sinin'. 
 
 Of the devil and all his clan, 
 AndO' God if you'll help me 
 
 I will be a better man. ' ' 
 Midst the dark clouds of my anguish 
 
 A bright little ray peeped through. 
 Then all at once I was laughin' 
 
 And sayin': 'For Jesus sake too!' 
 Then I got up, Mr. Preacher, 
 
 And walked through these streets 
 all night; 
 
 Though the town was wrapped in 
 darkness 
 
 It seemed to me filled with light. 
 This mornin' — I don't deny it — 
 
 I'm sorter o' cravin' my dram; 
 I've caught myself twice a smotherin' 
 
 A thoughtless and hasty damn; 
 But I'm a goin' to keep tryin' 
 
 Never to fall, or to swerve; 
 And I guess I'll manage, with Jesus 
 
 To hold down the break on a curve. 
 Well, good-bye. dear Mr. Preacher, 
 
 46 
 
Long life, and good luck to J^ou: 
 Yon see tiiat the name of Jesns 
 Is sweet now to my ear, too. 
 
 47 
 
A Woman's Fidelity. 
 
 sad woman paced the old rickety 
 floor, 
 
 _ The cold wind swept under 
 the rattling door; 
 As the lire burned low, she hugged to 
 
 her breast 
 The sick little one she was coaxing to 
 rest. 
 
 "I tant do to s'eep, 'tause I's firsty, 
 an' I 
 
 Tant fordet 'bout dat orange you 
 
 promised to buy." 
 "Mamma's poor baby! Try to sleep 
 
 now, and we 
 Will get the sweet orange to-morrow 
 
 — maybe." 
 As the mother thus answered, she 
 
 looked in despair, 
 Across at the bed in a dark corner, 
 
 where 
 
 Her husband lay piled in a stupor so 
 deep, 
 
 That it seemed rather death, than a 
 mere drunken sleep. 
 
 48 
 
And the poor woman thought of the 
 old home so dear, 
 
 Of which she had once been the light 
 and the cheer; 
 
 Of the old sunny garden; the music 
 and books; 
 
 Of father's indulgence, his kind words 
 and looks. 
 
 Of the day when that father she rash- 
 ly defied 
 
 And ran off, to become handsome ^Yil- 
 lie Brown's bride. 
 
 How- — though from the old home dis- 
 carded, exiled — 
 
 She had been very happy with hus- 
 band and child. 
 
 Till a slumbering appetite burst into 
 flame, 
 
 And brought her to poverty, hunger 
 
 and shame. 
 She placed her sick child in the wee 
 
 cradle nigh 
 And sank to her knees with a pitiful 
 
 cry: 
 
 ''Oh God! I can bear to be hungry and 
 cold; 
 
 I don't mind my garments so tattered 
 and old, 
 
But oh. for Thine own sake, in mercy 
 God give, 
 
 Both clothing and fire, that my baby 
 may live. 
 
 Some food, and — an orange, oh God, 
 I implore! 
 
 Just enough for my baby ; I ask noth- 
 ing more." 
 
 The old door is tapped; then it swings 
 open wide 
 
 And an old man^ — fur coated — stepped 
 softly inside. 
 
 •'Kittie!" "My father!" with quick 
 bated breath. 
 
 Each stares at the other as pallid as 
 death. 
 
 The old father sees the young husband 
 arise, 
 
 And gaze at him dully, in stupid sur- 
 prise; 
 
 He sees the wan face of the sick, 
 
 sleeping child; 
 His Kittie's brown eyes, so pathetic 
 
 and wild; 
 
 He opens his arms, and his girl's head 
 is pressed 
 
 in passionate sorrow to her old fath- 
 er's breast. 
 
'•Poor Kittie! Forgive me. my sweet 
 bonnie Kate! 
 
 I never dreamed, love, of j^our sorrow- 
 ful fate. 
 
 Come home with your baby, dear, 
 never again 
 
 Shall you or he know aught of pover- 
 ty's pain." 
 
 Then he turned in his wrath on the 
 wretched young man: 
 
 "You miserable sneak, look at me if 
 you can! 
 
 You stole my sweet girl like a thief in 
 the night. 
 
 Then sacrificed her to your cursed ap- 
 petite. 
 
 Not a hound on my place, but is far 
 
 better fed. 
 I give to the beggar, a more decent 
 
 bed. 
 
 Are you listening, you scoundrel? I 
 heard her in prayer 
 
 Asking God for an orange, for your 
 sick child there" — 
 
 "Hush father!" the woman with flash- 
 ing eyes cried 
 
 As she sprang from his arms, to her 
 young husband's side 
 51 
 
"Nay, Kittie, my darling, he is speak- 
 ing the truth; 
 
 I have ruined your life ; I have spoiled 
 your bright youth. 
 
 You must go to your father, and try — ■ 
 my poor wife — 
 
 To forget all the pain I have brought 
 to your life. 
 
 He won't believe, Kittie, but maybe 
 you will, 
 
 Though I've starved you and baby, I 
 
 love you both still: 
 And say to me, Kittie. before our 
 
 good-bye 
 
 That you think 'twas the liquor that 
 
 starved you, not I." 
 The girl stole again to her old father's 
 
 side, 
 
 "I love you! I thank you, dear papa,'" 
 
 she cried; 
 "Take baby; his young life with every 
 
 good fill; 
 
 But father, I'm going to stay here 
 
 with Wl. 
 I'm used to privation; it's drink that's 
 
 his curse. 
 
 My going away would but make mat- 
 ters worse. 
 
 52 
 
'For better or worse/ father, that was 
 my vow. 
 
 My love is the only thing left to him 
 now." 
 
 The old man's dim eyes and the 
 younger one's met, 
 
 •'Such love should." he whispered, 
 "make a man of you yet." 
 
 "Won't you kneel.'' plead the woman, 
 ••and help me to pray 
 
 That the cloud o'er our home may be 
 taken away? 
 
 That God will lay hold on this fierce 
 appetite?" 
 
 And the three humbly kneel in the 
 gioom. of the night. 
 
 The father and daughter are standing 
 once more, 
 
 But the husband still bows, motion- 
 less, on the floor. 
 
 •'Good-night, little daughter, to-mor^ 
 row shall bring 
 
 The food and the fuel you need — every- 
 thing. 
 
 And keep a brave heart; for the fu- 
 ture depend 
 
 That whatever may happen, your fath- 
 er's your friend." 
 
Then he goes. The wife kneels by 
 her young husband's chair, 
 
 And caressingly strokes his dishev- 
 eled brown hair. 
 
 Through the night thus they kneel, 
 mute and still as the dead, 
 
 Till the daAvn through the casement 
 her pale light has shed. 
 
 Then the man kissed his wife with the 
 old courtly grace, 
 
 And went off to work with a calm, 
 happy face. 
 
 -X- * 74- ^5- -K- 
 
 Since that day, years have flown; and 
 
 now Willie Brown 
 Is a prosperous, trustworthy man in 
 
 his town 
 
 He is trusting for help in a power 
 above. 
 
 He is saved by God's grace and a true 
 woman's love. 
 
 54 
 
The Old Church ilelodeon. 
 
 f can't tell you how I felt, dear, 
 Standin' there a-watchin' while 
 They carried the old Melodeon 
 Slowly down the old church aisle; 
 My hands were tightly clenched, an' 
 though 
 
 No words my lips had spoken, 
 My heart kept cryin' out, "Good-bye! 
 Another link is broken!" 
 
 It seemed like a dear human soul, 
 
 It had stood by us so long; 
 In times of war, an' in times of peace, 
 
 It had led each gosj)el song. 
 "The Ark of the Covenant" it seemed 
 
 To the remnant war had left, — 
 That little handful, crushed an' sad. 
 
 Of all hut faith bereft. 
 
 But 'round the old Melodeon 
 We had rallied once again, 
 
 Forgetting in God's service much 
 Of our bitterness and pain. 
 
 Across the old Melodeon 
 In prosperity — as in strife — 
 
 55 
 
The same old pastor preached to us , 
 The words of eternal life. 
 
 In front of the old Melodeon 
 
 Our little ones were led, 
 God's blessing and baptism resting 
 
 *Upon each precious head; 
 We've looked o'er its low, plain casing 
 
 At the crowded altar where 
 Our "Children of the Covenant" 
 
 Bent in penitential prayer. 
 
 In front of the old Melodeon 
 
 We have placed our sainted dead. 
 While the funeral dirge was chanted, 
 
 An' the last sad words vv^ere said; 
 Then again, the old Melodeon 
 
 On occasions gay an' bright. 
 Has borne great banks of lilies, 
 
 And of bridal roses white. 
 
 But the young folks said 'twas wheezy. 
 
 And unsuited every way. 
 So they bought a brand new organ, 
 
 In the old one's place to stay, 
 An' the pastor, so beloved. 
 
 He has faltered by the way, 
 An' an earnest, j^ounger preacher 
 
 In the pulpit stands to-day. 
 56 
 
An' the organist's hair is whitenin'. 
 AYith the storm's of life's rough 
 weather. 
 Like that banished old Melodeon, 
 We're all getting old together. 
 If we could only have kept it, 
 As long as WE should last; 
 But you young ones couldn't knov/. 
 dear, 
 
 How it bound us to the past. 
 
 An' your new organ's a beaut}^. 
 
 With a stop for every key. 
 An' with swinging lamps an' brackets. 
 
 An' a side swell for each knee, 
 An' it makes a pov/er o' racket, 
 
 Soundin' kind o' sweet the while. 
 Though I never fancied music 
 
 You could hear a good straight mile. 
 
 But there! I'm not a fussin', 
 
 Keep your organ, 'tis your due. 
 You young ones soon must play it, 
 
 An' must run the new church, too: 
 What difference does it make dear? 
 
 For the time will soon be nigh 
 When the old folks an' their pastor 
 
 Will be in the Church on high. 
 57 
 
But 'twould make me kind o' happy, 
 
 Could I feel right sure to-day, 
 That the old Melodeon never knew 
 
 That it had been cast away; 
 For deary, there is nothin' makes 
 
 A withered heart so sore, 
 As to know its day of usefulness 
 
 An' helpfulness is o'er. 
 
 58 
 
A Tramp's Christmas. 
 
 fu the twilight he stood, midst the 
 gay city's din, 
 Shivering 'neath garments ragged 
 and thin, 
 
 Watching the hurrying, chattering 
 throng 
 
 On their Christmas eve errands speed- 
 ing along. 
 
 Hungry and shoeless, half crazed by 
 drink. 
 
 He rubbed his poor brow in an effort 
 to think. 
 
 Only three years ago — Ah, heaven! 
 could it be 
 
 That he then walked these streets in- 
 dependent and free? 
 
 Free from that curse that now held 
 him in thrall. 
 
 The curse that had cost him his honor, 
 his all. 
 
 Then respected of men, his old moth- 
 ers pride; 
 
 Now at twenty, a drunkard — aye, beg- 
 gar beside. 
 
 59 
 
His precious old mother! 'Twas the 
 thought of her face 
 
 Tha^t brought him once more to his old 
 native place. 
 
 Just to pass once again by that dear 
 mother's door: 
 
 Perchance, just a glimpse of her sweet 
 face once more, 
 
 Then, back to the miserable, sin-bur- 
 dened life. 
 
 Till a merciful death should end the 
 sad strife. 
 
 As he mused thus, a great dog sprang 
 over the street 
 
 And knocked the poor tramp from his 
 trembling feet. 
 
 With loud barks, the dog — in his fren- 
 zy of joy- 
 Licked the eyes, face and hands of the 
 vagabond boy. 
 
 And the boy, so long friendless, un- 
 loved and alone, 
 
 Kissed the great shaggy head so close 
 to his own, 
 
 In the soft silky hair he buried his 
 face. 
 
 Forgetful of poverty, dirt and dis- 
 grace. 
 
''Oh, Shepherd, you knew me! You 
 didn't forget 
 
 Your poor, wayward master; you 
 LOVE me, old pet? 
 
 How's mother, old fellow? No! Shep- 
 herd don't g'o — 
 
 Don't leave me to die all alone in my 
 woe!" 
 
 And he tightened his arms and held 
 
 the dog fast, 
 As his mind traveled back o'er the 
 
 brief wretched past. 
 He could feel the strong throb of the 
 
 great, faithful heart, 
 And his conscience, long dead, was 
 
 beginning to smart. 
 "If in a dog's breast an attachment so 
 
 true 
 
 Could live on for years, wouldn't 
 
 mother's love too? 
 If in creatures created, such true love 
 
 could live, 
 Might not the Creator himself, e'en 
 
 forgive ? 
 
 Come, Shepherd," he faltered, "I'm 
 
 tired and sick; 
 Maybe mother will have me; take me 
 home to her quick!" 
 8c 61 
 
The trembling feet, all shoeless and 
 sore, 
 
 Were guided by "Shep" to the old 
 
 cottage door; 
 Then the tramp tumbled down in a 
 
 dark ragged heap, 
 Forgetting his troubles in stupor -like 
 
 sleep. 
 
 He opened his eyes in his own snowy 
 bed, 
 
 Soft, scented pillows were under his 
 head. 
 
 The mantle clock moved with the 
 same stately tick, 
 
 In his bright gilded prison still chir- 
 ruped old Dick; 
 
 So sweet was it all! but O, it was best 
 
 When the poor tramp was drawn to 
 his dear mother's breast. 
 
 "Oh, Jimmie, my boy! At last, my 
 poor lad, 
 
 You've come home to make your old 
 
 mother's heart glad. 
 For weeks — day and night — I have 
 
 knelt here to pray 
 That my boy might come back, on this 
 
 glad Christmas day; 
 And I looked for you, Jimmie, for God 
 
 62 
 
don't deceive 
 His tried, faithful servants, Avhen they 
 
 ask and believe. 
 I knew you would come; though the 
 
 heavens may fall, 
 God hears, and will answer, a true 
 
 mother's call. " 
 "Oh, mother," he whispered, "I have 
 
 fallen so low; 
 I 'm not fit for your touch, let me die ; 
 
 let me go. " 
 But she held him the closer. ""Be 
 
 quiet, dear; nay, 
 I'll not let you go; does God treat me 
 
 that way 
 
 When I creep to his arms for forgive- 
 ness and light? 
 
 He holds me. as I hold you, loving and 
 tight; 
 
 And 3^ou'll not die, my boy; you need 
 
 good care and food; 
 Mother '11 nurse you to health and 
 
 your old happy mood. ' ' 
 Aye, she did more than that, for the 
 
 sorrowing youth 
 Learned again from his mother sweet 
 
 lessons of truth. 
 The sunlight that cheerily crept o'er 
 63 
 
his bed; 
 
 The soft, gentle pressure of old Shep- 
 herd's head; 
 
 The flower- decked wmdow, the song- 
 ster above. 
 
 Filled the house all day with the mu- 
 sic of LOVE. 
 
 From this love, he saw — in a measure 
 yet dim — 
 
 What Christ's love — redeeming love, 
 might mean to him. 
 
 The boy tramp became a true man 
 from that hour, 
 
 And came back to health, with a won- 
 drous power; 
 
 A power over self, and through heav- 
 enly grace, 
 
 A power to bless and to lift up his 
 race. 
 
 64 
 
Bessie's Christmas Eve Lark. 
 
 weet Bessie Bronner, an heiress 
 
 and pet, 
 The pride of her home, and the 
 queen of her set, 
 Has a frown on her face, and is rest- 
 less, and vexed, 
 At the hold on her mind, of one trou- 
 blesome text, 
 And impatient, she peers through the 
 
 big window pane 
 In the deepening dusk, as she mur- 
 murs again: 
 'Inasmuch as ye did it not' — pshaw, 
 what have I 
 To do with 'these little ones,' of the 
 Most High! 
 
 "Perhaps," still she muses, "some 
 
 poor little one 
 Dreams to-night of a Santa, who never 
 
 will come; 
 What a lark it would be — if I only did 
 
 dare" — 
 
 Here her eyes flash as bright as the 
 gems in her hair, 
 
 65 
 
As with quick resolution she rings for 
 old Jim, 
 
 The tried, faithful footman, the slave 
 
 of her whim. 
 ' 'Order the carriage, Jim, please, right 
 
 away; 
 
 Not one word of this, to any one say; 
 
 "G-et ready to follow me; for you, 
 alone, 
 
 Shall be for one evening, my sole 
 
 chaperon. " 
 Then upstairs she runs, for her purse 
 
 and her toque. 
 Over her evening dress, draws a warm 
 
 cloak. 
 
 And then to the "swell," who later 
 
 should call 
 To accompany her to a holiday ball, 
 A very short note does she hastily 
 
 pen; 
 
 • 'Shall be ready to fill my engagement 
 at ten. ' ' 
 
 Then down to the city, through gay, 
 
 brilliant streets. 
 Where her carriage is crammed with 
 
 toys and sweets. 
 
 66 
 
"Now, to Rag Muffin Quarter," and 
 
 old Jim, aghast, 
 Protesting in vain, gives the order at 
 
 last. 
 
 Our Bessie alights from her coach in 
 the dark, 
 
 Her heart beating fast, at her venture- 
 some lark, 
 
 And, followed by Jim with his arms 
 full of toys. 
 
 She climbs an old stair, guided up by 
 the noise. 
 
 Tossing her cloak and cap on the floor. 
 She timidly knocks at the half -opened 
 door, 
 
 Then enters the room ill-lighted and 
 bare. 
 
 Appalled at the squalor, and poverty 
 there; 
 
 A half dozen children in silent sur- 
 prise. 
 
 Stare at the lady, with wondering 
 eyes. 
 
 Who was this creature in shimmering 
 silk, 
 
 With glittering jewels, and skin white 
 as milk? 
 
Their rapt admiration brings smiles to 
 her face, 
 
 And she says — with a courtesy of old- 
 fashioned grace — 
 
 '^I am Santa Claus' wife, and it's now 
 Christmas time; 
 
 Please accept these few toys with his 
 love, and mine." 
 
 Like the flash of a meteor, brilliant 
 and queer. 
 
 To dazzle a moment, and then disap- 
 pear. 
 
 From one room to another speeds 
 light-hearted Bess 
 
 With her quaint little bow and start- 
 ling address. 
 
 Quick follow^ed by laughter and 
 
 shrieks of delight 
 As the dolls, guns and wagons are 
 
 dragged into sight. 
 The last door is opened, and wond'ring 
 
 Bess stands, 
 With her gay greeting checked, and 
 
 with close clasping hands 
 On a cot in the corner, a wretched boy 
 
 lies, 
 
 With fever-flushed face, and with wild 
 
restless eyes. 
 Beside him, a little girl, haggard and 
 old, 
 
 In the dim candle light; and the room 
 was so cold. 
 
 Then a voice broke the silence with 
 
 pitiful ring: 
 ' 'Oh, you are an angel, and so you can 
 
 sing! 
 
 For two days and nights, Bennie's 
 
 raved, and he's cried 
 For the song that our mother sung 
 
 'way 'fore she died. 
 'Jesus lover' — he mutters, all day and 
 
 all night, 
 
 And he begs me to sing; and I've tried 
 
 with my might, 
 But I can't sing, for hunger, and pain 
 
 in my head; 
 And he won't go to sleep; Oh, I wish 
 
 we were dead!" 
 
 With a heart that was aching, and 
 
 eyes that were dim. 
 Our Bess began singing the old gospel 
 
 hymn: 
 
 "Jesus lover" — in beauty, the youth- 
 ful voice rang, 
 Pc 69 
 
And the lad watched, intently, her 
 
 face while she sang. 
 Rough women and children out of the 
 
 rooms pour, 
 And gather in silence, about Bennie's 
 
 door; 
 
 And hard-looking men from below 
 
 leave their beer. 
 And stand around, wondering, such 
 
 music to hear. 
 
 Perchance, some sin-burdened bosom 
 is wrung. 
 
 As once more they hear it, "the song 
 
 mother sung." 
 The old hymn is ended in silence most 
 
 deep. 
 
 For poor restless Bennie has fallen 
 asleep. 
 
 To the child, Bessie whispered, 
 '^Here's money, my dear. 
 
 For food and for fire, and holiday 
 cheer; 
 
 My doctor — please God — shall save 
 
 Bennie's life; 
 Good-bye; don't forget me — old Santa 
 
 Claus' wife. " — 
 And the girl, all unconscious of dan- 
 
ger or harm, 
 
 With a fortune in gems on her white 
 neck and arm, 
 
 Smiled up at her audience sweetly, 
 and bowed, 
 
 As she passed safely out through the 
 grim, silent crowd. 
 
 Bessie Bronner then went to her holi- 
 day ball, 
 
 And found there the lights, flowers, 
 music and all; 
 
 She was danced, wined, and flattered, 
 and into her ear. 
 
 Was whispered soft nonsense she 
 never did hear. 
 
 For the whole thing seemed vapid, in- 
 siped and mean, 
 
 And her mind wandered off to a differ- 
 ent scene. 
 
 * -X- -X- -X- •«• 
 
 In the tenement house to this day are 
 still rife. 
 
 Strange stories of Santa Glaus' beau- 
 tiful wife: 
 
 And the gay swells of fashion are 
 puzzling yet. 
 
 What lost them the queen of their rol- 
 licking set: 
 
 71 
 
For one taste of unselfishness spoiled 
 
 the gay girl, 
 For Fashion's caprices and Revelry's 
 
 whirl, 
 
 On that bright Christmas eve in a 
 
 Santa Clans role, 
 The butterfly girl found a woman's 
 
 sweet soul. 
 
 72 
 
A Thanksgiving Pie. 
 
 cold wind was blowing, the 
 morning was drear; 
 But within the old kitchen, 
 there was naught but cheer. 
 At the window, a yellow rose held 
 
 queenly sway, 
 As it blossomed and climbed in its 
 
 own regal way; 
 And Bess — mother's sunbeam — with 
 
 hair golden bright 
 As the big yellow rose, was at work 
 
 with her might. 
 She was baking a wonderful Thanks- 
 giving pie 
 For dear Mr. Grumpy, their neighbor, 
 close by. 
 
 At first the poor widow had said ' 'no 
 
 my dear. " 
 But Bess had lolead, with smile, kiss 
 
 and tear 
 
 And conquered; for her mother had 
 
 made a shrewd guess 
 That Grumpy— himself— couldn't snarl 
 
 at her Bess. 
 
 73 
 
After much care and labor, at last it 
 
 was done — 
 The cutest dried apple pie under the 
 
 sun! 
 
 The crust, short and flaky, was notched 
 
 on the rim, 
 In a manner to ravish an epicure — 
 
 grim. 
 
 And Bess laughed aloud at the thought 
 
 of his pleasure 
 As she crossed o'er the street with her 
 
 hot, juicy treasure. 
 In his big lonely palace, by the tiled 
 
 fireplace 
 
 Sat Grumpy — alone — with a frown on 
 his face. 
 
 There were rheumatic twinges in 
 
 every limb; 
 His liver was torpid, his sight getting 
 
 dim. 
 
 The "Morning News" so full of 
 
 Thanksgiving lore. 
 He crumpled and threw with a scowl 
 
 to the floor. 
 "Thanksgiving! Pra^^, what's that to 
 
 me;" growled he, 
 "I care for no one, and no one cares 
 
 for me." 
 
A light tap is heard, then the door 
 
 opens wide 
 And Bess flushed and smiling stands 
 
 at the man's side. 
 "I's brought you a fanksgiving pie.'" 
 
 she said. 
 
 With a confident nod of her bright 
 
 yellow head. 
 "It's dot lots o' sugar, continued the 
 
 elf, 
 
 •'An' its awful nice pie, 'tause I made 
 
 it myself. ' ' 
 How^ tired of waiting the little hands 
 
 got, 
 
 For the pink palms were tender and 
 
 the plate was hot. 
 The man at last motioned the child to 
 
 a chair. 
 
 And stared at the dazzle of eyes, cheek 
 and hair. 
 
 What, sit on that lonesome, big arm 
 
 chair? Not she, 
 Bess put her pie down and climbed up 
 
 on his knee. 
 *'Now lets play you's Drampa. " she 
 
 coaxingly said. 
 As close on his shoulder she pillowed 
 
 her head. 
 
' 'Must hear your watch tick, ' ' was the 
 
 first sharp command. 
 It was held to her ear by the man's 
 
 clumsy hand. 
 "Must wear your sjDec's now," and 
 
 without a demur 
 He bent his gray head while she made 
 
 the transfer. 
 Through the big rims she blinked with 
 
 such shy roguish eyes 
 The old fellow laughed, to his sudden 
 
 surprise. 
 
 "Drampa always kissed me," the little 
 
 one cooed. 
 Was ever a cynic more artfully 
 
 wooed? 
 
 With a grim smile at being so quickly 
 beguiled 
 
 He pressed a soft kiss on the cheek of 
 the child. 
 
 "My Drampa's in heaven," she said 
 with a sigh, 
 
 °'Is you doin' to heaven some day 
 when you die?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know, my dear," he re- 
 plied, with a frown, 
 
 But his cheek paled a little and his 
 eye gla^nced down. 
 
''Let's cut the pie, baby. Here, you 
 
 take a bite 
 And I'll take another" — what queer 
 
 sudden blight 
 Robbed speech of its power, brought 
 
 dullness to ears, 
 And carried him backward full sixty- 
 live years? 
 In the old farm-house kitchen, in the 
 
 days gone by 
 Mother baked for him often, just such 
 
 a w^ee pie, 
 Made of apples — home dried — with 
 
 brown sugar and spice — 
 — Ah nothing again ever tasted so 
 
 nice! 
 
 Would that he were once more that 
 
 child of the past, 
 With mother's arms holding him so 
 
 sure and fast. 
 What a soldier was mother! How 
 
 bravely she bore 
 All the sorrows and ills of those days 
 
 of yore 
 
 The lires that burned from her nature 
 
 the dross. 
 Had made him suspicious, and bitter. 
 
 and cross. 
 lOc 77 
 
Y/as it too late to try — though his 
 years might be few — 
 
 Was there something good — yet that 
 an old man might do? 
 
 Here Bess gave his shoulders an im- 
 patient shake, 
 
 "Say Drampa," she grumbled, "tant 
 you keep awake ?' ' 
 
 The old fellow came to himself with a 
 start 
 
 And silently stared at his pouting 
 
 sweethea^rt. 
 He noticed the hole in the little worn 
 
 shoe, 
 
 Where a red stockinged toe peeped 
 
 plain enough through; 
 He noted the jacket, so pa^tched up 
 
 and thin, 
 
 With its faded pink ribbon tied under 
 the chin. 
 
 How handsome she'd look in a warm 
 
 velvet cloak, 
 With those yellow curls capped by a 
 
 tassel decked toque; 
 What a mean man he was! What a 
 
 stingy old cad 
 To be thinking of self, and Ms baby — 
 
 half clad! 
 
He pressed the pink palms to liis eyes 
 'svet and dim — 
 
 Those dear little hands that had la- 
 bored for him 
 
 With a half sob he lifted the child to 
 the floor 
 
 And led her Avith stately grace ont to 
 the door. 
 
 '•Now rnn home my dear; say to mam- 
 ma for me 
 
 That yon and she dine 'with old Grnm- 
 py at three. 
 
 There'll be tnrkey, cranberry, cakes, 
 candies and cream. 
 
 And a drive at five back of my new 
 donble team." 
 
 The day was still mnrky: low hung 
 every cloud. 
 
 But the gloom was dispelled from a 
 spirit long bowed. 
 
 His JjcfOy! the sw^et thought kept com- 
 ing: for sooth — 
 
 He felt quite in touch with the pleas- 
 ure of youth. 
 
 Ah, she painted with rose tint his life's 
 somber sky. 
 
 When she came with her love and her 
 Thanksgiving pie. 
 
Practicing for the Piano Recital. 
 
 cene, Bassini's music study: 
 Hour, trifle after nine: 
 Pupil enters, bright and eager 
 To be promptly there on time. 
 Quietly the master seats her, 
 Places proudly on the rack, 
 Grandly, classic composition 
 Free from taint of tune, or quack. 
 For a moment, silence — deadly — 
 Rests alike on man and maid, 
 Till the master's spark of genius, 
 The pupil's kindred soul has swayed 
 Then, Bassini speaks, in accents 
 Soft at first, then growing higher. 
 Drawing breath between the pauses— 
 
 ' 'Make, Ready, Fire ! ' ' 
 
 Off she goes, this bonnie maiden. 
 For a gallant soul is she. 
 Slights no note on the piano 
 From, the highest to the lowest C. 
 "Rinforzando — understando?'' 
 Cries Bassini with his might; 
 ''Now, then, Schertzo (how it hurts-( 
 That you do not get it right;) 
 
 80 
 
This time, Dolce, (hotcliewhultzy 
 You are catching on at last,) 
 Shake her with the left hand harder; 
 Now you've got her; hold her fast! 
 Ease up slowly, gently, lassie: 
 Hit her now a final slam! 
 That's a good one! Now another; — 
 Ah, how proud of you I am!" 
 
 That night at the ''Recital." 
 One old lady, sweet of face. 
 Thinking, maybe, of her girlhood. 
 Asked with quaint, old-fashioned 
 grace, 
 
 "Deary, play us something liA^eiy, 
 Just one sweet, old-fashioned tune, 
 Money Musk, or Fisher's Hornpipe, 
 Or if you like it — Bonnie Doon." 
 As the fatal words were uttered, 
 Bassini fell down with a groan. 
 And his wife mopped his pale features 
 With Taylor's Premium Cologne. 
 Classic girls were madly shrieking, 
 Some gazed with an anguished eye. 
 But one girl, calmer than the others. 
 Made the lady this reply: 
 "Sorry, ma'am, to disappoint you. 
 But Bassini 's ruipils never 'Play;' 
 81 
 
We 'Interpret' and 'Render' — 
 Improvise some when we may; 
 If yon'U have the 'Raphsodie Hon- 
 gTois,' 
 
 Number thirteen (sharp) by Listz, 
 I'll limber up my finger joints 
 And 'Execute,' if you insist; 
 But that awful thing you asked for, 
 Was it — did you say — a 'tuns?' 
 Oh, I couldn't; the bare mention 
 Makes our dear Bassini swoon." 
 So they broke up in confusion, 
 And the girls were put to bed, 
 Yfith "Sonatas" — dipped in water — 
 Bound about each aching head. 
 And — to better still insure them 
 Quiet dreams, and slumber sweet — 
 Bags of 'Nocturnes,' hot and heavy, 
 Were tucked about their rosy feet. 
 So in peace, at last, we leave them; 
 But we beg our friends beware 
 How they ask these girls to 'Render' 
 Any piece, that has an air. 
 
 82 
 
Her Two Sons. 
 
 A Firelight Reverie. 
 
 s she gathered them close in her 
 
 all of its charms. 
 
 The butterfly woman was thrilled 
 through and through, 
 
 As a glimpse of what life meant, burst 
 on her view. 
 
 Ah, life would mean vigilance, sacri- 
 fice, care; 
 
 Precept on precept, prayer upon 
 prayer, 
 
 But the dear God would smile on the 
 
 work of her hand, 
 When her sons before him in manhood 
 
 should stand. 
 O, merrily blaze, ye firelight; 
 The home is sweet, and the world is 
 
 bright. 
 For at mother's knee, 
 In innocent glee. 
 
 The boys are happy, and well, and 
 good. 
 
 young, loving arms. 
 The old world of pleasure lost 
 
 83 
 
Oh, the flying years, what a care they 
 brought, 
 
 As the mother with anxious patience 
 wrought, 
 
 Building the character, day after day, 
 With Jesus — the Rock — as the corner 
 stay; 
 
 There were wonderful stories at twi- 
 light told 
 
 Of knights who were truthful, chival- 
 rous, bold; 
 
 For these little lads must early in 
 youth 
 
 Learn the lessons of courtesy, brav- 
 ery, and truth. 
 
 Oh, fling out your cheer, ye firelight. 
 
 The home is noisy and gay and bright; 
 
 For with game and book, 
 
 'Neath mother's fond look, 
 
 The boys are happy and well and 
 good. 
 
 And still time flies, and the years grow 
 apace; 
 
 The mother looks up to her tall lad's 
 face. 
 
 Thought now answers thought, and a 
 comradeship high, 
 
 84 
 
But makes more enduring the sweet 
 
 human tie. 
 With song and with laughter, the old 
 
 homestead rings, 
 And echoes with music of horn and of 
 
 strings ; 
 
 And the lads are so jolly, they care 
 not to roam. 
 
 For the dearest, best place in the 
 world is home. 
 
 Oh, red flames, leap in your glow to- 
 night, 
 
 For love is young, and the world is 
 
 bright; 
 And at mother's side. 
 In strong youthful pride, 
 The boys are happy and well and 
 
 good. 
 
 But, ah — what meaneth this clamorous 
 plea? 
 
 "There's so much to do, mother; so 
 
 much to be; 
 The wings of our strength we are 
 
 eager to try; 
 The college first, mother, the world 
 
 by and by. ' ' 
 With kindling pride the woman says 
 
 -go," 
 -lie 85 
 
While the mother's heart sobs a fal- 
 tering no; 
 
 But she bids them God-speed and her 
 birdlings have flown, 
 
 And she turns back again to her silent 
 hearthstone. 
 
 Oh, cheer the mother, ye firelight! 
 
 For the house is still, and the hour is 
 night; 
 
 And she'll ask you each day. 
 
 As the years wear away, 
 
 ''The boys — are they happy and well 
 
 and good?" 
 The story is old, with the same old 
 
 pain. 
 
 The first broken link in the dear home 
 chain; 
 
 The moulding time gone; opportunity 
 past; 
 
 An impress made which forever will 
 last. 
 
 And questions like these: ''Was I 
 wise? Was I true? 
 
 Have I left undone that God would 
 have me do?" 
 
 To the mother's heart steal like a twi- 
 light wraith 
 
 86 
 
To shadow the hearthstone, and cloud 
 
 o'er her faith. 
 Oh, ruddy, cheergiving firelight; 
 If mothers everywhere tonight, 
 Could only but know, 
 As they bend to your glow. 
 That their boys were happy and well 
 
 and good. 
 
 m 
 
The Savior and the Outcast. 
 
 fhe Pharisee made a banquet fine, 
 And asked the master home to 
 dine; 
 
 And on his holy mission bent, 
 Of doing' good, the Master went. 
 Anon, as they reclined at meat, 
 A woman stood at Jesus' feet. 
 A sinner was she; O, the shame 
 When v/oman falls to such a name! 
 She meekly bends, ignored, unheard, 
 To catch her Savior's every word. 
 His conversation, grave and wise. 
 His mild rebukes, and kind replies, 
 Convey the truth, like a winged dart 
 Into her sad and guilty heart. 
 Her burdened soul can bear no more; 
 She sinks in sorrow to the floor, 
 And frowning host no longer fears 
 As from her eyes the blinding tears 
 Of penitence, are poured 
 Upon the feet of her dear Lord. 
 She kisses both his ankles bare; 
 Then, with a tress of silken hair 
 88 
 
(As though her boldness were amiss), 
 She wipes away each tear and kiss. 
 But worthier gift she can bestow 
 Her love and penitence to show: 
 She breaks a box of rare perfume, 
 While sultry fragrance fills the room. 
 The Savior felt her gentle touch; 
 Ah. well he knew "She loved much." 
 Scorned of woman, wronged by man, 
 Under curse of social ban; 
 Starved of heart, by disdain stung, 
 What wonder to her Lord she clung! 
 He knew a life's pent tenderness 
 Had spent its all in that caress. 
 The Pharisee vexed, spake thus with- 
 in; 
 
 "He'd know she was a child of sin. 
 Where he a prophet, and as such 
 Would shake off her polluting touch." 
 The Master turns and looks him 
 through, 
 
 Reads the thought, rebukes it too; 
 Then, to the woman standing near 
 He speaks the word she longs to hear ; 
 "Thy faith hath saved thee; in peace 
 go." 
 
 Sweet words that healed her every 
 woe! 
 
 89 
 
With happy heart, away she speeds; 
 Neglect and scorn no longer heeds; 
 From sin she'd found a glad release, 
 For Christ himself, had spoken 
 "peace. " 
 
 90 
 
When Allie Plays. 
 
 eneath her dainty, dimpled chin 
 She tucks the rosewood violin; 
 And standing 'neath the gas- 
 jet, where 
 The soft light flecks her blue -black 
 hair, 
 
 With pretty lashes sweeping low 
 Her cheeks, where red carnations 
 glow. 
 
 She deftly draws her graceful bow: 
 Then naught on earth besides I know — 
 
 For Allie plays. 
 With roundelay, or minor dear. 
 She sways my soul 'twixt hope and 
 fear; 
 
 And sitting back in shadowed nook 
 
 I envy — with a jealous look — 
 
 The violin she treasures so. 
 
 The tendrils of my heart, she brings 
 
 To concert pitch, to match her strings; 
 
 But broken strings are trifling things 
 
 When Allie plaj^s! 
 And yet, could I but feel quite sure 
 No other man would e'er secure 
 91 
 
The pretty maid to me so dear, 
 I'd gladly stay forever here 
 Back in the shadow, dumb and lorn: 
 I'd bless the day that she was born. 
 And listen till — on Dooms day morn — 
 Old Gabriel blew his final horn 
 While Allie played! 
 
 92 
 
In the Studio. 
 
 he swept liini a seat on the easy 
 divan 
 
 'Mong cushions from Ceylon 
 and rugs from Japan. 
 Then brewed with skilled fingers two 
 
 cups of hot tea, 
 And nestled close by him for a chat 
 
 long and free. 
 On her head was a skull-cap of violet 
 shade ; 
 
 A paint brush was stuck through one 
 
 bright sunny braid. 
 Her gown was loose flowing, artistic 
 
 and — Greek. 
 Of a tint to enhance the soft bloom of 
 
 her cheek. 
 There were Rembrandts and Titians. 
 
 a bit from Millais, 
 A Venus de Milo. decrepit — aufait; 
 There were groups from still life, and 
 
 heads from the antique. 
 That invited the re -view of careful 
 
 critique. 
 12c 93 
 
The orchid decked cup with its gold 
 
 stippled rim 
 Was evolved from the latest decorative 
 
 whim, 
 
 The girl herself talked of perspective, 
 
 half tones. 
 Of north lights, and "schools" of the 
 
 different zones. 
 Stealing slyly, meanwhile, an approv- 
 ing soft peek 
 At the stern classic profile so close to 
 
 her cheek; 
 The young fellow sighed as he put his 
 
 cup down, 
 And turned to the lass with a gath'r- 
 
 ing frown. 
 "Say, Nellie," he coaxed, do come 
 
 down where I stay 
 And talk to me once in the old cozy 
 
 way; 
 
 You're accomplished and clever, and 
 
 that is all right. 
 But it's heart and not art I am craving 
 
 to-night. 
 
 My 'perspective' is gloomy enough 
 
 these days; 
 I am numb with the chill of your 
 
 *north light' rays; 
 
 94 
 
That I'm blue, little girl, is an evident 
 fact; 
 
 Yon are golden and yellow in thought 
 and in act. 
 
 Now, marry me, Nellie, and it's plain 
 to be seen 
 
 That the two shades united will make 
 our lives green, 
 
 An evergreen future, Nell— w^hat do 
 you say?" 
 
 And he stood by the girl in a calm, 
 quiet way. 
 
 That trifling must cease now, she 
 knew" in her heart. 
 
 Ah, which should be master — her lov- 
 er, or art? 
 
 The hands which she gave him with 
 timid restraint 
 
 Were pressed to his lips quite regard- 
 less of paint. 
 
 "You love me, dear— how much?" he 
 tenderly plead; 
 
 "Oh, better than — orchids, " she blush- 
 ingly said. 
 
 95 
 
& 
 
 A Fuss in the China Kiln. 
 
 ^1 wo pieces of "ironstone," back in 
 the kiln, 
 
 Were bragging and nagging — as com= 
 
 mon ware will; 
 "Phew! It's Sbll Jired hot here," the 
 
 cream pitcher said; 
 "Yes," giggled the pin-tray, "Your 
 
 neck's awful red." 
 "Don't get off your stilts, now, you 
 
 under-glazed mister; 
 Too free use of fat oil is making yoic 
 
 blister. ' ' 
 
 "In hand-painted circles such speech 
 
 you'll abolish, 
 Or be sent to your glass brush for 
 
 much needed polish." 
 "Look at me, my stippling is deeper 
 
 than yours." 
 ' 'Yes ; but matt gold like mine so much 
 
 longer endures." 
 "You'll go to no sweet Haviland when 
 
 you die." 
 
 "If I go where Carlsbad, you will 
 surely be nigh." 
 
 96 ^ 
 
While they quarreled, the cups and 
 the chocolate pot 
 
 Of tinest *'Beleek" grew quietly hot; 
 
 The fierce glow that softened the Wor- 
 cester tint, 
 
 Brought out in its beauty the stippled 
 gold glint. 
 
 From a cold kiln — at last — comes each 
 piece from its place; 
 
 The "Beleek," a marvel of finish and 
 grace. 
 
 But the poor little ironstone pieces — 
 alack ! 
 
 The pin-tray was crazed, and the 
 
 pitcher was cracked. 
 In the hot kiln of life, 'tis even so, 
 
 still; 
 
 The fine clay and common are put in 
 at will. 
 
 The heat that develops Beleek nat- 
 ures fair. 
 
 Cracks and crazes the loud talking 
 "ironstone" ware. 
 
 97 
 
Wine and Love. 
 
 old house rang with wild ap- 
 plause 
 
 As the leader of the temperance 
 cause — 
 
 A youthful preacher, smooth of face — 
 Came forth to speak, with matchless 
 grace. 
 
 Old age and youth in rapture, hung 
 Upon the magic of his tongue. 
 His chief monition w^as to shrink — 
 As deadly poison — the first drink. 
 '•Look not upon the wine!" he cries; 
 ''The danger in the first drink lies." 
 The throng beneath his glance he 
 brought, 
 
 And found — the face for which he 
 sought. 
 
 A face that caused him strange unrest, 
 And robbed him now of word and zest. 
 That face, a vine-clad, southern slope, 
 Warmed by the sun of love and hope. 
 About her temples, calm and fair. 
 Clung vine -like tendrils of fine hair; 
 
 98 
 
Rich grape blood stained her cheek 
 and lip — 
 
 A draught to tempt the gods to sip — 
 Her eyes, wine-cups, with crystal bowl 
 Through which one saw her white. 
 
 pure soul; 
 The draught was tempting; quickly 
 
 reached ; 
 
 'Twas hard to practice what he 
 
 preached ; 
 For Cupid coaxed: "While the wine 
 
 is red, 
 
 Just one small sip, then Prudence 
 said: 
 
 "Look not on wine in glass or eyes! 
 The danger in the first drink lies." 
 The preacher wavered; then he bent 
 His gaze upon the lass, intent. 
 The fire from his burning eyes 
 The wine tint from her cheek soon 
 dries, 
 
 And dizzy from a draught so sweet. 
 His soul falls prostrate at her feet. 
 His power was gone. That fatal 
 draught 
 
 Was but the first of many quaffed. 
 A toper is he now; alas — 
 He daily drinks from love's wine glass ! 
 99 
 
A Song in the Night. 
 
 he night was dark; a winter rain 
 In dreary mist was falling; 
 My heart was bowed 
 Beneath a cloud, 
 The whole world looked appalling; 
 When across the street a voice rang 
 out 
 
 (I caught my breath to hear it), 
 In song so sweet, it held entranced 
 My music-loving spirit. 
 A woman's song of love and trust 
 Through rain and darkness ringing, 
 
 With head low bent 
 
 I stood intent 
 Until she ceased her singing. 
 I'll never know from whence it came, 
 That song through night gloom steal- 
 ing. 
 
 But to my heart, with sweetest art 
 It brought its balm of healing. 
 The world was changed, its harsh look 
 fled. 
 
 My worries followed after, 
 100 
 
And with a song 
 
 I sped along 
 With frowns all turned to laughter. 
 I thought, perchance 'tis ever so; 
 If my song rings out mellow 
 When night is drear, there may be 
 near 
 
 Some other downcast fellow, 
 
 Who hears my song ; then he may sing 
 
 Out through the gloom and mire, 
 
 His comrade soon 
 
 Will catch the tune 
 And send it on and higher. 
 And thus, the little seed-songs 
 'Mid chills of night we've planted, 
 Shall grow, until at God's own throne 
 Our sheaves of praise are chanted. 
 
 13c 
 
 101 
 

 p CALL NUMBER 
 
 Vol. 
 
 
 I "6ii ^ f i 
 
 
 j 
 
 1 
 
 T ^"^^ ^ >a 
 
 Date (for periodical) 
 
 
 Copy No. 
 
 311 
 
 .49 J77A 
 
 432554