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Susquehanna Stories 
 
Susquehanna Stories 
 
 With Illustrations, Traditions and Prodigies 
 
 By Lu B. Cake 
 
 Author of Merry -go-roand 'Itfiih Critics, Trial of 
 
 Jesns, De'^nVs Teatable, Hope for Judas 
 
 Popular Songs. Etc, 
 
 Every Susquehanner, all related to a Susgue- 
 
 hanner, want this Memorial fot their own 
 
 sakes. All others want ii because 
 
 worth many times the price — only 
 
 2^c. Send f*-iends this souvenir 
 
 Address L, B, Cake, Room 72, 
 
 90 West Broadway. Ne<w York City 
 or 7he Enterprise Press, Afton, N. Y, 
 
 Copyright igi2 by L. B. Cake 
 
flZ7 
 
 £CI.A319691 
 
Some Susquehanlets 
 
 Ny-ah-ta-tc/^/^-ta, the poetical name of that 
 part of the * 'sequestered Susquehanna'* be- 
 tween Binghamton and Coopersto-wn, is not 
 misapplied. It is especially true of the val- 
 ley including Afton and the islands below the 
 mill dam, the Poneemah Isles, emeralds on the 
 glinting chain of the silver river; the ancient 
 camping lure of the Red Men and now of his 
 supplanter, the Paleface. 
 
 On the east of Afton are the Zah-gah-sar- 
 £a/i-quah. (Sun breaking through clouds) hills, 
 undulating against the blue sky, the phan- 
 tom shore of the Unknowm Beyond. 
 
 On the west the Ke-wajz-din (Home Wind) 
 range, looking away toward the Indian Par- 
 adise in the setting sun; ancient prophecy of 
 the exile of the tribes, ever seeking new homes 
 in the West as they -were driven out from 
 their God-given heritage. 
 
 North of the village glitters the pretty lake 
 that has no outlet. It is fed by pure springs. 
 The musical, legendary name, is Tum-ba-stel- 
 
la (The Grave of a Star) as given in the poem 
 in this book. Nightly the stars look there, 
 mirroring in the crystal waters, seeking the 
 -lost one. 
 
 Southward is the serpentine sweep of the 
 Susquehanna, and away, overlooking the 
 Poneemah Isles (Isles of the Hereafter, ) cares- 
 sed by the Sho-won-^<:2-see, (The South-Wind) 
 stands the faithful old sentinel hill, Ta-ren- 
 ya-w^/^-go (Holder of the Heavens); for 
 there the earth and sky seem to meet and 
 it is an Indian fancy to call it so. The Child 
 of Nature has more happy thoughts and less 
 nickels than the Paleface. 
 
 Before the day of mill dams the river ran 
 swiftly and was muddy; for the first Indian 
 name was Sis-kee-/^^7^-nee (Muddy Water). 
 This was changed to Saos-que-/^^;2-nuk (long 
 crooked river.) Now the glassy waters 
 curve and fiow and bend again, as if linger- 
 ing in haunts so beautiful. 
 
 Just below Afton is Wa-wo-;2^2>-sa Island, 
 the small one severed from the large one by 
 the river dividing, deflecting, delaying its de- 
 parture. Wa-wo-nais-sa (Whipporwill), so 
 
the baby island is named from the Indian leg- 
 end given in this book. 
 
 O-nok-sa. (Bass) Island is the name of the 
 larger, for around it the bass abound. South- 
 ward the waters flow, those to the right of 
 Wa-wo-nais-sa, among the trees, being Min- 
 ne-w^/^-wa (the sound of the wind among 
 the trees;) the waters to the left are Mud-we- 
 a^ku-ka. (the sound of the waves on the 
 shore), for in the time of the great whirlpool 
 above Wa-wo-nais-sa, the waters made per- 
 ennial music there. On by Onoksa Island is 
 the flow, to be cooled in summer by the Cold 
 Spring on the Buck farm, on the east bank. 
 This wonderful spring was formed as told in 
 the legend of the giant in this book hence is 
 called Mis/i-e Weji-di-go (the great giant) 
 Spring. Here you drink ice water from a 
 natural reservoir. 
 
 On the west bank is Se-bow-2>/^-a (the rivu- 
 let) where the bullhead tishing-fest is held 
 every spring. 
 
 Southward still runs the river to where 
 Gold Bible Brook finds the Susquehanna. 
 There Joe Smith pretended to hunt for the 
 
Gold Bible his ignorance and illiteracy pre- 
 vented faking till he mysteriously connected 
 with the Spaulding manuscript and made the 
 Morman Bible, as history shows. The brook 
 was famous for its suckers, but the biggest 
 and gudgeonest were the Mormons who bit 
 on Joe's sucker bait. 
 
 Then the incantation of Sah-sah^/V-wun (the 
 rapids) that rush by Waw-beek (the rock) 
 Promontory just above the mill dam. Here 
 the waters catch a glimpse of thePo-nee-mah 
 Isles, and hurry down to wander among 
 them, voicing their joy, rippling with laugh- 
 ter, till they dimple and smile in labyrinthine 
 flow. There they linger, wind and sleep and 
 flow, and tarry long. 
 
 On the breast of the hill above the Ponee- 
 mah Isles, not far above the Chamberlin 
 homes and east of the highway, is a great 
 rock that marks a point of wonderful land- 
 scape view. This rock is Sho-wain ne-?«^-sin 
 (Oh, Pity Me!) These were the words of the 
 Indian lamentation when driven from the 
 valley. Here they paused, looking for the 
 last time on the beautiful picture placed by 
 
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 ■mi 
 
Gitchie Manitou in the happy home so long 
 their own; **the isles of the hereafter'* where 
 they hoped to rest in death; the happy hunt- 
 ing grounds of the soul, Poneemah Isles! 
 
 Afton has a lovers trysting place in Nee-ne- 
 ^£7^-sha ( Sweetheart) Glen. It is on the road 
 to the village God's Acre. In the Glen E-we- 
 yea (Lullaby) Falls, with liquid music en- 
 trances the maid to listen and the lover to 
 propose. Do-di-^y^-to (the trout stream) rans 
 thence eastward to the Susquehanna. 
 
 Immediately w^est of the village towers the 
 lofty summit of the Ke-way-din hills over 
 the Nyahtawanta (the Smile of the Great 
 Spirit); for this is the name of that part ot 
 the valley I have been describing. This over- 
 look of the Kewaydin is Wa-ha-?i^-win (The 
 Cry of Sorrow). Here the Indian exiles, driv- 
 en from their ancient possessions, turned to 
 take fare well, leave of the lovely Nyahtawan- 
 ta; to behold for the last time "the smile of 
 the Great Spirit;" to take the tearful, linger- 
 ing love-look of their lost home. Wahano- 
 win rose in a cry of sorrow from their quiv- 
 ering lips, voicing the grief no words can telL 
 
With this wail of the breaking heart they left 
 their homes and happy hunting gronnds, 
 never to see them more. Standing thereto- 
 day the Paleface remembers and pities the 
 wandering exiles, may hear in the wail of the 
 wind or hear in the sigh of therephyr, the 
 dying cadence of the heart-rung— "Wa-ha-no- 
 win!" 
 
 The Nyahtawanta Valley is the scene of 
 the marvellous adventures of Wa-^^-no Jee- 
 bi, the mighty hunter. I have written these 
 miraculous exploits, giving to literary crea- 
 tion *'a local habitation and a name," that 
 this may rival other localities in thrilling ad- 
 ventures and legendary interest. The whirl- 
 pool that once raged above Wawonaissa 
 Island, where the eddy loiters now, is immor- 
 talized in a blood-curdling contest between 
 Indian rivals; it has no counterpart in liter- 
 ature. 
 
 The Giant Story that gives the origin of 
 the Cold Spring on the east bank of the river 
 that shores the Buck farm, is a thrilling bat- 
 tle to the death between the primitive inhab- 
 itants, giant and Puk-w;;^^-ies. When Sus- 
 
 * 
 
quehaxiners learn these prehistoric wonders 
 of their old home they will have even greater 
 interest and pride in their cradle land where 
 memory hears the lullabies of long ago. 
 
 From the battle between the giant and the 
 Pukwudjies comes the Giant*s Grave; his 
 head rests on the land of Ty Makley, and his 
 feet on the Graham lot back of the Barton 
 house. And the place where the Puk-wudj- 
 ies lived, on the LeSuer-Bresee lands — these 
 are all explained: "But the half has never 
 been told.'* 
 
 Afton has points of more than legendary 
 interest! On the Fair Grounds is the house 
 where Joe Smith, the Mormon Pretender, 
 married Emma Hale, his first wife. By Gold 
 Bible Brook on the Buck farm is a cave where 
 Joe dug for his Gold Bible. On the hills are 
 holes where he and his dupes hunted for hid- 
 den treasures. Down the river is Mormon 
 Ducking Stool; where Joe pretended to walk 
 on the water and was ducked. On the hill 
 is where Nate Applington wallowed the pre- 
 tender to prove him a fraud; for Joe said no 
 one dare lay hands on his sacred person. 
 
Between Afton and Nineveh is Mormon Mak- 
 er where early converts were baptized. In 
 Afton the Pretender was tried for * 'false pre- 
 tense" in pretending to cast out devils. Joe's 
 Mormon witnesses swore that they saw the 
 devil cast out run away, *'about the size 
 of ayaller dog." (See Afton history taken 
 from J. P. Court Record.) A genuine sample 
 of their theology, right from the original 
 records. 
 
 Afton Altitude is high enough, or will be 
 jack-screwed up to suit by our Ananias Club. 
 
 Good drainage, shad}^ streets, good side- 
 walks, neat homes owned by kind-hearted 
 people. It is emphatically healthy, having 
 living springs; also a m.odern system of water 
 works, bringing a never varying abundance 
 of pure, sweet water from a mammoth spring 
 five miles away. The water flows from the 
 bosom of the hill to your goblet without 
 chance for contamination. 
 
 Afton has good churches, good pastors, 
 good hotels, good liveries, good stores in 
 daily touch with markets, good doctors and 
 good drug stores; fruit and dairy farms near 
 
the village insure fresh delicacies and health- 
 ful food. ^ Here are good boarding places in 
 nice homes, in village or on farms. Here are 
 good roads for carriage, automobile or bicy- 
 cle; a splendid half-mile track across the river 
 to speed your horses; baseball, tennis and 
 croquet. Here are good fishing and bathing; 
 scenery for amateur photography and sketch- 
 ing. A *'bike'* spurt takes you to a sulphur 
 spring above or below the village, equal to 
 the celebrated Clifton springs, half the price. 
 
 There are no local ** Terrors,'* no street 
 brawls, no Monte Carlos, no *'dives,'* no 
 **skin games,'* no snakes— nothing to disturb 
 or make you afraid. 
 
 The Delaware & Hudson Railroad station 
 is right in town, one block from hotels; three 
 minutes to good boarding houses; a few min- 
 utes walk to Nenemoosha Glen, or to the 
 grave of Mishe Wendigo, the great giant. 
 
 Here you have all the health and comfort 
 of the country, yet remain close railroad, tel- 
 egraph and telephone touch with the cities, 
 a bank, and post ofiice with six mails a day. 
 
 There is no place where you can get so 
 
much for so little money. The people are 
 not built on the lemon squeezer plan; all rates 
 are low and reasonable, so are the folks. 
 
 *'Come with us and we will do you good; 
 for the Lord hath spoken good concerning 
 Israel* *— and that this is of his Israel is proven 
 bj Nyahtawanta, "The Smile of the Great 
 Spirit." 
 
Pukwudjie is the Indian name for the little 
 mound-tain showing its baby bald head to the 
 left of the highway as you cross the corpora- 
 tion line, entering Afton from the south. It 
 is on the domain of L. S. LeSuer, and that of 
 Chester Bresee. It commands a beautiful view 
 of the Nyahtawanta Valley. As Gitche Mani- 
 tou made the Zag-gah-sar-gah-quah hills east of 
 Afton for the greater gods, so he made Pukwud- 
 jie for the Pukwudjies; "The little men or 
 fairies." Long ago, when the trees waved on 
 Pukwudjie as grandly as stately feathers on the 
 head of a war chief, it was the throne of the 
 fairies. There the Indian mothers brought the 
 papoose for the fairies to charm and woo to 
 slumber. There the children loved to play, 
 guarded by the invisible Pukwudjies. In the 
 silver moonlight when the whippoorwill sounded 
 his plaintive notes on Wawonaissa Island to the 
 fairy throne, the Indian maiden would go to 
 invoke the aid of the Pukwudjies in secrets of 
 
love. The Indian brave also came there in 
 affairs of the heart. To be successful the 
 maiden must approach from the east, the brave 
 from the west. The consequences was that the 
 lovers sometimes met by chance (?) on the 
 crown of Pukwudjie, and then and there the 
 doubts were removed, the secrets revealed, the 
 mission of love fulfilled; but the Pukwudjies 
 received all the praise, ruled undisputed over 
 leal hearts with trusting faith in the good 
 fairies. 
 
 The Palefaces have laid low the regal glory 
 of Pukwudjie, as they have the waving plumes 
 of the war chiefs ; but when the hills are green 
 and the grass covers this monument of the 
 Pukwudjies, the flitting of the fairies sometimv'S 
 return and are seen flashing on the emerald 
 dome of their once happy home. 
 
 To be sure, c^'nics say these are only the 
 fireflies; but who is compelled to let the miser- 
 able cynic destroy his pleasing fancies? The 
 business of the cynic is to rob the hallowed 
 graves of tradition, and wreck our " castles in 
 the air." It is our business to ignore him. 
 
 If lovers had the same simple trusting faith 
 
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now and should meet bv chance on Pukwudjie 
 no doubt the fairies would do for them all that 
 they did for the heart-laden lovers of long ago. 
 
 Anyway, Pukwudjie was an ancient shrine of 
 the Fairies, Fays, Will 0' Wisps, Elfs, Sprites 
 and Sybils of prehistoric times. If " history 
 repeats itself " as the wiseacres say, why not 
 again, and now, the mystics and oracles of 
 Pukwudjie? 
 
 It may be that the Pukwudjies resent the 
 sacrilege of unhallowed hands slashing into the 
 side of their shrine, and refuse to appear for a 
 season. But in the winter it is a white temple 
 dome where mysterious ceremonials go on un- 
 heard, unseen. In summer it is emerald green, 
 like the Sun Bow in a vision ; and when the night 
 is propitious, the Pukwudjies flash in the dark- 
 ness to tell us they are there, and the fault is 
 not theirs, but more ours when the good spirits 
 are unwilling to commune with us. Let Puk- 
 ■Roidjie be a monument to that eternal truth and 
 remind us as often as we see or think of the 
 fairy shrine, and the mission of the Pukwudjies 
 will go on forever. 
 
^he Giant and the Pukwudjies 
 
 Long ago, so long ago the date is lost in ob- 
 livion, the Great Giant came into the Xyahta- 
 wanta valley to exterminate the Pukwudjies. 
 In his far off home the Giant had learned of the 
 wonderful things done by the Pukwudjies, and 
 having overcome all his rivals by killing and 
 subjugating them, the monster determined to 
 annihilate the little gods that were world re- 
 nowned for powers rivalling his own. Indeed,, 
 the Pukwudjies were in a fair way to eclipse 
 this envious colossus of the earth. 
 
 The Pukwudjies heard the Great Giant was 
 coming, so they called a council of all the mid- 
 gets to meet on ]Mt. Pukwudjie, and map out 
 a plan of campaign. The meeting was at 
 night, and the Pukwudjies convened just like 
 congress, except that there were no partisan 
 contests, and no disreputable lobby. For lights 
 they hung Jack O' Lanterns in the trees, and 
 a foxfire, or a firefly light by each desk. The 
 Pukwudjies were wide-a-wake, seated on chest- 
 
nut burrs. The chestnut burr seat was a wise 
 arrangement of the Pukwudjies to prevent long 
 sittings, or terms ; a happ}' thought I commend 
 to our own Congress. How well it worked is 
 sho^^ii by the fact that the midget congress 
 never had a contestant with three wives trying 
 to sit in one seat ; and the}' planned a campaign, 
 prepared for war, and adjourned sine die before 
 morning. Oh, that our congressmen were 
 seated like the Pukwudjies! No Lowermore 
 bribed his way to be a squatpat on a chestnut 
 burr nor fooled three sessions of Chestnut Bur- 
 rows into holding pals down. 
 
 The little fellovrs went to the vrest shore of 
 the Susquehanna, just below the south end of 
 Onoksa Island, to meet their all-conquering 
 enemy. The Great Giant, Mishe Wendigo, 
 came striding over the Zah-gah-sar-ga-qua hills, 
 the ground trembling under his feet as he 
 walked, and his voice roaring like thunder. 
 The Pukwudjies saw his massive head and 
 flaming eyes, for he towered alcove the tallest 
 hill pines. His hair appeared like a huge black 
 cloud from which flashed the lightning of his 
 terrible eyes. In one hand he brandished a gi- 
 
gantic spear made of a tree unkno'W'n in this 
 part of the world. 
 
 The Pukwudjies gazed at his monster pro- 
 portions with curiosity and amazement; but 
 the brave little fellows never thought of retreat- 
 ing. The Giant did not see the pigmies along 
 the west shore of the river, for he had been told 
 that they had a mountain home ; so he was look- 
 ing for them on the Kewaydin hills, west of 
 Afton. Finally he reached the level ground on 
 the east bank of the river, and stood on the 
 spot where the Cold Spring is now. Looking 
 down to behold the beauty of the Susquehanna, 
 his glance fell upon the Pukwudjies, in martial 
 array, on the opposite bank of the river. His 
 astonishment was unbounded. In the giant 
 land he had never seen, nor had he a conception 
 of creatures so small as the Puk\vTidjies. 
 
 " What are ye ? " he roared. 
 
 "The Pukwudjies!" piped the midgets. 
 
 "What! The boasted rivals I have jour- 
 neyed long to overcome? Why, you contemp- 
 tible atoms, I'll blow my breath and sweep 3'ou 
 into the ocean ! I'll spat on you and drown 
 you ! I'll take my beard and sweep you off 
 
the earth ! I'll take one of my eye winkers and 
 spank you under your trundle beds ! Out of 
 my sight, or I'll let my shadow fall on your 
 measly arm of goose pimples and smash you 
 into the earth ! " 
 
 In his paroxysm of rage and disappointment, 
 the great monster lifted his massive spear and 
 drove it into the ground so deep that only the 
 top of the shaft M^as visible. The ice waters 
 known as the " Cold Spring " came forth. (The 
 ancient, right name of this spring is Mishe 
 Wendigo, meaning the Great Giant). Lifting 
 his immense foot, Mishe Wendigo stepped 
 across the river, intending to crush the Puk- 
 wudjics as his foot came down; but when his 
 foot came down the Pukwoidjies were not there. 
 Quick as a flash the agile midgets alighted on 
 the Giant's big legs, and drove their tiny spears 
 into him; spears of the stinging nettle. Mishe 
 Wendigo laughed in derision at their insignifi- 
 cant weapons, but when hundreds of little stings 
 began to smart and burn, he roared in anger 
 and slapped his hands on himself to mash the 
 Pukwudjies — but the Wudjies were never there. 
 The midget warriors continued to spear him all 
 
over, and the Giant beat himself black and blue 
 trying to kill them. 
 
 The monster stooped and pulled up two 
 great pines by the roots, and, holding one in 
 each hand, he wielded them as easily as we wave 
 fly brushes. This brilliant display of military 
 tactics caused the Pukwudjies to retreat, but 
 the little fellows w^ere not disconcerted by this 
 move of the enemy. They had planned their 
 campaign, and they w^ere prepared in emergen- 
 cies. The midget army suddenly vanished. 
 While Old Monstrosity was triumphing over 
 his easy victory, they as suddenly returned all 
 armed with bees, hornets, wasps, and every 
 winged insect whose sting would irritate and 
 annoy. The Wudjies turned these loose in 
 swarms that flew upon the Giant, buzzing and 
 stinging, while he only incited them to attack 
 by fanning at them with his mammoth fly 
 brushes. 
 
 When night came, and all the stingers that 
 fly by day retired, Mishe Wendigo the colossus 
 was so overcome by rage and roaring, and 
 vainly beating himself and the air, that he 
 stretched out on the ground to rest. But the 
 
Pukwudjies were too fertile in resources to 
 sleep on their arms. The wily wee warriors 
 brought swarms of mosquitos, and all things 
 that buzz and sting, and myriads of bugs and 
 bats and everything that crawls and bites in 
 the night, and turned them loose on their pros- 
 trate foe. There was no rest for him. He 
 threshed and roared and rolled all night. 
 When morning came, braggart Mishe Wendigo 
 was too exhausted, swollen and stiff to rise. 
 Then the Pukwudjies brought the juice of a 
 poisonous plant they had brewed, and they 
 sprinkled it all over the Giant's bites, and 
 stings, and bruises. The monster began to 
 bellow and swell, and to swell and bellow, till 
 he couldn't see ; he swelled and bellowed till he 
 coudn't move : he swelled and he swelled, and he 
 swelled, till his bloated body burst like a boiler 
 and he died in awful agony. 
 
 The Pukwudjies celebrated thei rglorious vic- 
 tory with a grand barbacue and torchlight pro- 
 cession. Mitey Teddy was officer of the day. 
 INIidget Chump, Czar of rules and committees. 
 Monad Will 0' Wisp, Toast Master. Chances 
 Be-Few, Orator of The Day. Pigmy Choate, 
 
, \\ IV ■, f^i^ 
 
 \s 
 
 I 
 
 ST. ANN'S EPISCOPAL CHURCH 
 
Precenter to the Queen. Lily Pushan Cat, 
 Chanter of Woman's Rights. Wee Bit Wil- 
 son, President. 
 
 The Pukwudjies celebrated their glorious vic- 
 for miles around for the illumination, and 
 marched with foxfire torches. As reported ex- 
 clusively in The Want Ad, the jollification was 
 a coruscating, reverberating success. 
 
 The Pukwudjies covered Mishe Wendigo 
 where he lay, making a mound of earth the 
 shape of the gigantic body. Although cen- 
 turies have rolled away, the outlines of the 
 Giant's form may now be traced in the village 
 of Afton, in the Nyahtawanta valley. He lies 
 northeast of Mt. Pukwudjie, his head to the 
 south and resting on the land now owTied by 
 Mr. Makely. Then the huge breast swells out, 
 and the mommoth body is easily defined till the 
 feet rest on the Graham lot, back of the Barton 
 house. 
 
 There I discovered the tomb of the Great 
 Giant, Mishe Wendigo, and reveal it to the 
 world. There the Goliath slain by the Puk- 
 wudjies is sleeping the centuries away. 
 
 From this we learn that the little things that 
 
irritate, fret, and annoy, may overcome the 
 giants of Might, and Mind, although these 
 giants may be able to overcome all else in the 
 world. 
 
The Summer Boarder 
 
 Hotel de Summer's open, 
 
 The mountain's air, so free, 
 Is now upon the market, 
 
 So much a breathe and see ; 
 The Alpine Stock is boosting 
 
 The invalid up hill. 
 This shows the length of time he stays, 
 
 And this that of his bill. 
 
 (Unless he comes to Afton.) 
 
 The summer boarder swingeth 
 
 In hammocks 'neath the trees. 
 And shocketh the muskeeto 
 
 With his catarrhal sneeze; 
 And here's the sum of language 
 
 In which he tells his bliss; 
 ! ? 
 But when the season's over 
 
 It all is told in this : 
 
 (Unless he comes to Afton.) 
 
The Greatest Game Ever 
 
 Deposit came from Deleware, 
 
 A handsome showy clan, 
 To massacre the pretty Kids 
 
 Upon the Susquehan; 
 Their bats were trick-trained mule hind legs, 
 
 They pitched hot thunder crash. 
 Their catch was like a Leap Year Snap, 
 
 Speed limit went kersmash. 
 
 The Afton Kids, the pretty Kids, 
 
 Crooned little Baby Shay, 
 Played Frank, who is a Carpenter, 
 
 Two Carrs, the Deuce and Tray, 
 And Joe the catchy Chambermaid, 
 
 Carruth, the batt'ry horse, 
 A Partridge, Robinson — the foe 
 
 Met these with Great (re) Morse. 
 
 Upon the fair grounds, Afton Fair, 
 
 The " fair " all chewing gum, 
 Deposit swatted, howled hot air, 
 
And made the spheroid hum. 
 They banged the back-stop, broke the fence, 
 
 Put up a rattling game 
 
 The pretty Kids prevented them 
 
 From scoring, just the same. 
 
 Deposit boys are thoroughbreds, 
 
 And played like old profesh ; 
 The pretty Kids were born that way, 
 
 They're baseball in the flesh. 
 Oh, my ! they all did pound the ball, 
 
 They slid upon their nose, 
 They snatched the sphere from atmosphere, 
 
 And hoed it down with hose. 
 
 Deposit slugged the Chambermiad, 
 
 And took away his breath. 
 When Deleware got near a score, 
 
 It tickled them to death; 
 But when the pretty Kiddies scored, 
 
 Home wind just blew in gales 
 Loud roared each man of Susquehan, 
 
 The horses waved their tails ! ! 
 
 Deposit Nine, oh, handsome Nine, 
 
Each one a royal boy ! 
 Oh, Afton Kids, our pretty Kids, 
 
 You are our pride and joy! 
 They all put up as good a game, 
 
 As any crack nine gives. 
 And then they played like gentlemen, 
 
 So George the umpire lives. 
 
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cAfton l^an-her-he 
 
 ^ This animated spectacle is an Af- 
 
 ^dl ton Summer Boarder telling how he 
 
 JK ^ S^^ ^^'^^ beautiful tan the picture 
 Wj^ shows. The chemicals in the water 
 V^ of the spring-fed Susquehanna evap- 
 
 orate as the Sun fondles them, and 
 old Sol uses the chemicals in a combination as 
 mysterious as the effect is wonderful. The re- 
 sult is the loveliest tan of any resort in the 
 United States. No other tannery compares 
 with Afton. It shows in the children who are 
 tanned at home and at school. So captivating 
 is this tan no resort makes a tithe the love- 
 matches and marriages made in this tannery. 
 A girl comes here with the lifeless complexion 
 of the city, the kind the undertaker admires, 
 and in a few days she has a luring tan and a 
 retinue of suitors. She is deluged with invita- 
 tions and proposals, would be drowned in ice 
 cream and summer beverages, if she were not 
 floated by peanuts and bon bons. The climax 
 
of this tan is a diamond engagement hue that 
 makes the guest happy for life. 
 
 Indeed, this tan will mask the freckles of a 
 bran patch, or the oriflamme nose of catarrh, 
 or Ten Nights in a Barroom. One enterpris- 
 ing affliction won a fortune here marrying an 
 heiress who was so delighted with her tan she 
 took on the annex to have a tannery of her 
 own. Try it. 
 
 This genial guest was snapshot 
 just as he jubilantly perorated his 
 Susquehanna fishing picnic, among 
 the Poneemah Isles, by gesturing the 
 length of a bass he caught. His 
 forefingers measure it with an ac- 
 curacy satisfactory to any fisherman, and no 
 other is an expert. 
 
 Wall Street Brokers are perfectly at home 
 with our suckers, and some of their strings with 
 a fishline in the Susquehanna, rival those they 
 get on Wall Street with a tapeline. When they 
 troll and catch a Wall-eyed pike, they do all 
 sorts of stunts of ecstasy. Bullhead the market, 
 do the Bear dance, skin the gudgeons, and are 
 carried home on stretchers. Then they use the 
 
stretchers in telling the fish story. 
 
 All preachers catch eels here as large as the 
 one in Theology; and betewen Adam and the 
 Afton dam, with the theological dam, find in- 
 spiration enough for all the year that puts a 
 jackscrew under the salary. 
 
 Blossom nosed tourists must not mistake Af- 
 ton Bass ail for the ale advertised by Brewer 
 Bass ; Afton's is an ail which rages as an epi- 
 demic after June 16th. 
 
 Ladies make great catches here, as guests 
 coming in pairs the next season conclusively 
 proves. Try our self-adjusting Baitjugs and 
 get the habit. 
 
 This moving picture shows an Afton sum- 
 mer guest trying to describe the scenery and 
 delights . He may come here as near death as 
 the constant call of a doctor brings one with 
 one foot in the grave and five feet ten shadowed 
 bv the undertaker; but a few sniffs of Afton 
 
ozone and sundry jaunts, with the Bait Jug, 
 resurrects him as suddenly as a stump puller. 
 He'll begin seated at the table where he has 
 vanished an extra meal his appetite demanded, 
 gets enthused, rises as enthusiastically as a 
 modern Presidential Campaign Candidate, and 
 claws for it with both hands. 
 
 He winds up his unwind with one hand fist- 
 ing his assertion, the other hand in his pocket 
 offering to bet ten to one that no Summer Re- 
 sort on this mundane sphere has half as much 
 to give, or gives half as much for the monej', as 
 Afton. He never finds a taker, till he invites 
 guests to put up their money and he'll pa}^ for 
 the E-lie- hue Root Beer himself. 
 
When Leaves Come Down in Afton 
 
 When leaves come down in Afton, 
 
 The ozone frosty cold, 
 You see us all a waltzin' 
 
 Upon the streets of gold; 
 We walk on gems and jewels, 
 
 Lo ! all the homes in town 
 Are diamond windowed mansions, 
 
 When autumn leaves come down. 
 
 " Jerusalem the Golden," 
 
 li: seems to be right here, 
 The king's highway and palace 
 
 So glorious appear; 
 The princesses and princes 
 
 Each has a throne and crown, 
 A settin' in the doorjard. 
 
 When autumn leaves come down. 
 
 LATEE 
 
 When leaves come down in Afton, 
 We're out with rake and broom. 
 
And also beating carpets, 
 Kerslap ! kerwhop ! kerhoom ! 
 
 Oh! Mam she pins her dresses up, 
 And Pap half masts his sleeves. 
 
 Then he kerwhollops dust out 
 And she kerwiches leaves. 
 
 He bangs holes in her carpet, 
 
 And she rakes up his coat. 
 And soon she's suffragetting 
 
 He butting like a goat. 
 Kerwhoom, 'tis not the carpet, 
 
 Kerwhack ! She's broke his crown- 
 The doctors get the rake off 
 
 When Afton leaves come down. 
 
 I 
 
Afton'a Fishing Joys 
 
 All fishing time in Aft on town, 
 
 Each kid and woman, man. 
 Is digging bait, or squatting down 
 
 Upon the Susquehan, 
 For miles they fill the river shores, 
 
 And reveal in delights, 
 They tangle lines where cuspidors 
 
 Are thick as bullhead bites. 
 
 They lose their hooks and temper, too, 
 
 When all is dark despair. 
 One lands a catch, all hallaloo 
 
 And rush to fish right there. 
 The longest thing upon the reel. 
 
 The biggest, now and aye, 
 The yarn of biggest pike or eel 
 
 That ever got away. 
 
 A nibble sends a thrill of joy, 
 
 A bite brings ecstasies, 
 A pull is bliss without alloy. 
 
Jerk causes heart disease. 
 A punkinseed catch rends the skies, 
 
 Bass adds an inch to height — 
 Oh, Afton is a Paradise 
 
 When bass and bullheads bite ! 
 
 That theologic Jonah tale. 
 
 Is easy to believe, 
 When told along with Afton's whale; 
 
 Eel same for snake and Eve. 
 So when they all are over there. 
 
 In heaven's own delight, 
 They'll sigh and tell of blisses where 
 
 The bullheads used to bite. 
 
Good Old Summer Timelets 
 
 In this Summer Paradise for Tourists every- 
 thing is done to please guests. Rooms are re- 
 papered for each to suit new occupants, parti- 
 tions changed to suit, houses or hotels moved to 
 gratify whims, sunrise and sunset scheduled to 
 agree with the habits of peripatetics. The 
 almanac is made specially for this burg with 
 rainless moonlight nights, or dark of the moon 
 and eclipses, just as the guests prefer " Straw- 
 rides," or to indulge their autosparker. The 
 scenery is shifted at the wish of transients as 
 rapidly as a Moving Picture Show, and posi- 
 tively never an explosion of a film or landlady 
 endangering summer boarders. 
 
 There is freedom in theology with one trifl- 
 ing exception, i. e., the line is drawn on bench 
 leg bull pups, and door mat spaniels, and pil- 
 lowsham poodles, as idols to be worshiped of- 
 fensively and idiotically. 
 
 Spectacular sunsets hippodrome as follows 
 without postponement on account of the 
 
weather, or the groAvl of the iconoclast: the 
 pillow flounce clouds flutter in the east, and Old 
 Sol turns off the cover of darkness with a 
 vacation yawn. Then the white night cap 
 frills shake, he rises on his elbow, yawns some 
 more, wishes he could sleep till noon, and 
 groans to think he must start the fires in all 
 the cook stoves around the world. He throws 
 the white sheets across the footboard. He 
 rolls over and begins to shed his linen pajamas, 
 while the trees whisper the scandal and the 
 birds titter about it. He puts on his under- 
 clothes, then the air is lurid while he hunts for 
 his collar button. Suddenly a golden gleam 
 arouses the night clerk, for Old Sol must pay 
 in advance as a guest without baggage. He 
 tips the moon faced porter who goes out to 
 get full, limps up the mountain till his corns 
 quit hurting, rushes to the lowest peak, glances 
 over, and blushes to see the hired girl waiting 
 to flirt with him. Then he strides along " the 
 heaven kissing hills," the piazza of his boarding 
 house, while the barnyard band plays " Hail 
 to the Chief," and the clerk with the diamond 
 breast-plate gives Hail Columbia to the Chef. 
 
A sunset reverses the form of the foregoing 
 recipe, and many more people take it. 
 
 The moon is more popular than the sun of 
 Afton. The ^lan in the Moon hypnotizes peo- 
 ple, and he is responsible for some strange 
 tableaus. A male, and a female boarder of the 
 starchiest duck suits and staunchest character, 
 will be gazing romantically at the moon, and 
 first thing you know their noses will bump in a 
 shadow, then you will hear her shoes squeak, as 
 she tiptucs to his mustache. This is the hyp- 
 notic state, making the eighth state that you 
 can see from the summit of the Kewaydin hills 
 around Afton's good old summer time. 
 
 This reminds me that in reconnoitering the 
 hotel piazzas last night, I saw many New Idea 
 chairs. These chairs occupy the darkest, most 
 secluded spots, have arms upholstered with 
 coatsleeves ; the back looks like a clothing store 
 dummy. A tidy of blonde curls anchored with 
 hairpins hangs over the manikin back. At 
 times these chair cackle like a hennery, then 
 erstwhile they are a whispery as the boarding 
 house teakettle, then again as silent as the wit- 
 ness chair of a Trust Magnate, till a sound like 
 
a stuttering coachman lipping at his horses 
 rips the gloom of the veranda. 
 
 A Guide Book gave the elevation of Afton as 
 not more than 1,200 feet. Evidently it is not 
 featuring Afton, or there is a mistake of the 
 printer ; for I took the average on the hotel 
 piazza railing, and there were over 1,200 feet 
 elevation, and several feet of bunion size unac- 
 countable. 
 
 The air is so invigorating that when you fill 
 3^our bicycle, or auto tires with it, you break 
 the ordinance against " scorching " so hard the 
 fire bell dongs. Fill your tires with their air, 
 and you never feel the fatigue of telling fish 
 stories and summer gossip. 
 
 Next to a five dollar bill a buckboard is a 
 favorite vehicle to transport you to resorts in 
 this propinquity. To build a buck board, take 
 a plank of a political platform, because it will 
 always work to suit, and will bend more without 
 breaking than any other plank. Nail each end 
 of the axle tree of an old sulky plow, put a 
 horseblanket upholstered seat and two milk 
 cans in the middle, and you have an orthodox 
 buckboard. 
 
They put the sour cream in tlie milk cans, 
 then ye farmer's wife drives around the neigh- 
 borhood to borrow a drawin' of tea and can- 
 vass for Sparkins' Prize Soap, and when she 
 gets home the butter has come, and so has nine 
 p. m. 
 
 Alpine Stock is the only kind quoted by the 
 Bulls and Bears of resorts, and all are " long " 
 on it. A golf stick, or an automol)ile stuck, is 
 the only Alpine Stock rival. Xo other stock 
 allowed to run at large. 
 
 This invigorating air makes folks overdo 
 everything. It enlivens the vocabular}^ and 
 they use slang. It exhilarates the imagination 
 tin people prevaricate in making a common- 
 place statement like popping the question of a 
 summer engagement. Hence every landlord 
 says he has the best hotel, greatest altitude, 
 grandest mountain view. In the springing a 
 pleasant surprise on a lady friend he met in the 
 shadows last night, a man hugged her before 
 he knew it — was his wife. The air made him 
 overdo the thing. A bachelor friend got off 
 the last New York train, took a few inbibes of 
 Afton invigorator, then went to a landlady, 
 
who is a widow, to engage a room; he overdid 
 the business and engaged the widow. The fact 
 that some are used to it, is all that prevents 
 this overdoing becoming a contagious epidemic. 
 One of the city politicians wandered off yes- 
 terday in a romantic mood to sniff the new 
 mown ha}', and listen to the buzz of the bee in 
 the crown of his ambition. He found a bumble 
 bee's nest, and, out of the force of political 
 habit, he tried to graft the honey. He did not 
 have a chance to bribe the committee on investi- 
 gation into Congressional Snailery, so he was 
 punished on the spot — on a great many spots. 
 It was a lively session and he looked like an 
 aviary of bees, when he was on the ground, 
 more like an aviator when he was in the air. 
 But he had the swell time every Afton visitor is 
 sure of no matter what occurs. His descrip- 
 tion of how bees hum in the clover smashes all 
 poetical tradition, and his sprinting time as a 
 fugitive from justice broke the running record. 
 It proves that Afton resort is original in enter- 
 tainment, something alwa^^s doing to make it 
 lively for summer guests. 
 
Winning a Bride in a Whirlpool 
 
 Before the palefaces came and cut down the 
 primeval forest, the rainfall was greater, the 
 tributary streams were larger than they are 
 now. The volume of water in the Susquehanna 
 above Wawonaissa Island, formed a whirlpool 
 none escaped who were caught in its waltz of 
 death. 
 
 Nyahtawanta, the daughter of the great 
 chief, was a wood nj^mph so beautiful the 
 braves all sought her for a bride. True to her 
 sex, the Indian belle played the coquette till 
 she did not know her own heart. In vain 
 she stole away in the moonlight and invoked 
 the aid of the Pukwudjies. In vain the wooing 
 of the braves who met her on Pukwudjie's 
 sacred crown, though hopefully they went there 
 for charms to win her. 
 
 One rainy June the flood ran high, the whirl- 
 pool swung its giant arms, pulling under great 
 trees, frothing, laughing a frenzied laugh, riot- 
 ing in destruction and terrors. Nyahtawanta 
 
Avatched till the red blood dyed her dusky cheek, 
 and a purpose worthy the daughter of a war 
 chief possessed her. 
 
 She revealed her secret wish to her chieftain 
 father : that he should command the chosen 
 braves who sought her for a bride, to meet at 
 the great whirlpool in their canoes. The 
 brave that paddled his canoe over the flood into 
 the grasp of the whirlpool, nearest the vortex 
 of death, should return and claim X3'ahta- 
 wanta, " The smile of the Great Spirit." for his 
 princess bride. The edict went forth, the day 
 was set, the swift runners of all the tribes car- 
 ried the proclamation near and far. 
 
 AYith the appointed day came crowds of thq 
 various tribes to witness a contest surpassing 
 an}^ the world has known, where courageous 
 love faced death to win a bride. For the In- 
 dians, who value bravery above all else, there 
 was fascination in the overawing danger to be 
 defied. The shores were thronged with bright 
 blankets, nodding plumes, beaded costumes, and 
 festal ornaments flashing in the sun, making a 
 picturesque scene never to be forgotten. The 
 canoes lined the water's edge, and among them 
 
was one of curious workmanship, made of ma- 
 terial that came from far. Matchless for 
 lightness, fleetness, and strength, it rode the 
 water like a swan, was wafted by the lightest 
 touch. It was a love tribute, from a wooer of 
 a distant tribe, to Xyahtawanta. In it she sat 
 enthroned, arrayed in princess costume, her 
 wild, radiant beauty entrancing the beholder, 
 winning the adoration of all. The attendants 
 held her canoe where it would command a full 
 view of the whirlpool. In the foreground, 
 wrapped in his royal robe, stood the chieftain 
 father, ready to give the signal to begin the 
 trying ordeal. 
 
 Who are the rivals.^ Wio will throw the 
 dice of death to win even a princess bride? 
 None knew; the multitude wondered if any 
 would appear to ride with Pauguk the whirlpool 
 anger of Unktahee. 
 
 A colossal pine tree, uprooted by the storms, 
 had been caught by those arranging the details, 
 and anchored above the whirlpool. The great 
 chief, the proud father, drew an arrow to the 
 head and shot it high in the air, so that when 
 it fell it dropped into the vortex of the mael- 
 
Strom. This was the signal to loose the an- 
 chored pine to the flood. Then the chief pro- 
 claimed in trumpet tones; 
 
 "The rival braves will take their canoes to 
 the fore! Watch the tree guide, and ye can 
 gauge the fury of the whirlpool, know how far 
 to go! When the tree plunges down in the 
 mouth of the whirlpool, ride your canoes so 
 far as ye dare ! We pray Gitche Manitou for 
 you ! " The throng is silent, motionless, spell- 
 bound. Are there no rivals now? Is the love 
 of the warrior wooers false when danger-tried? 
 The royal blood tinges her cheeks at the 
 thought, as Nyahtawanta rises in the momen- 
 tary pause. The vision of loveliness is an in- 
 spiration. Behold! there appears a young 
 chief of the Mohawks! Kingly moulded, mus- 
 cles of steel, with the hardy endurance of his 
 famous tribe ; many scalps has he taken, and his 
 feats of strength are known near and far. He 
 is confident of victory. 
 
 Another? Yea, the pride of the Chippenas. 
 He it was that fearlessly entered the bear's 
 den and grappled the she bear defending her 
 young, slew her with knife alone, and strangled 
 
her cubs with his mighty hands. He calls 
 Nyahtawanta his, as he calmy awaits the plunge 
 of the signal pine. 
 
 There are no more, for who will be bold 
 enough to hope, confronted by rivals like these. 
 Yea, behold! Standing in his canoe is an Iro- 
 quois, the wooer from Nyahtawanta's tribe. 
 A copper statute he seems, perfect in sym- 
 metry. He it was that saved a family of Pale- 
 faces, his enemies, caught in th^ whirlpool. 
 He carries the strongest bow and throws the 
 heaviest tomahawk of his tribe. He is not of 
 royal blood, but his brave deeds have made him 
 leader of the braves. Last night the Pukwud- 
 jies gave him a talisman: the white feather of 
 the seagull he wears in his hair. 
 
 Lo! the giant arms of the whirlpool lift the 
 huge pine, shake and rend and hurl it headlong ! 
 With crash of branches and roar of waters it 
 goes down in the mouth of the maelstrom. 
 
 A long, strong pull of his paddle, and the 
 Mohawk shoots his canoe into the circling flood. 
 
 The sinewy form of the Chippewa bends with 
 his blade, and he closely follows. 
 
 With a last love look at Nyahtawanta, The 
 
White Plume sweeps his canoe beside his rivals. 
 The flood demon whirls them poised in ex- 
 tended hands. With an envious challenge 
 glance, the warlike ]\Iohawk pulls his canoe to 
 where the foam on the waters beckons to des- 
 truction, but the canoes of his rivals are there 
 with him. Then a pause in rivalry while the 
 three swing in great circles, revolving to the 
 vortex of death. The haughty spirit of the 
 IMohawk is curbed by overawing danger. He 
 is content to lead, and wait for the others to 
 retire. Not so The White Plume ; with a 
 stroke of his canoe darts to the fore. A shout 
 of approval rises from the throng, and Ny- 
 ahtawanta waves the wand of her canoe. Sing- 
 ing their war songs, the Mohawk and Chippewa 
 bow with their blades to pass The White Plume. 
 Swung by the waters, swept by their blades, 
 around in narrowing circles of doom they fly. 
 The flood boils and foams ! The canoes dodge 
 the plunging driftwood. The white froth of 
 the whirlpool's rage flies over them ! The war 
 song of the Mohawk, of Chippewa, is hushed. 
 The twain throw all reserve power into the mad 
 race; but the snowy plume of the seagull leads, 
 
and they cannot pass. The water demon 
 laughs, shakes his yellow locks, and lures them 
 on ! The canoes quiver with the clutch of the 
 monster's fingers ! From the shore comes the 
 cry of the ^lohawks and Chippewas : 
 
 " Coriie back, ye braves ! Fair maidnes wait 
 in the wigwams of your people ! Who will be 
 chief of the ^lohawks ! Who will be chief of 
 the Chippewas 1 The young braves call you to 
 lead them ! The fathers call you to succeed 
 them ! The mothers call you to defend them ! 
 Gitche Manitou calls — obey! Return! Re- 
 turn ! " 
 
 Once more rose the war songs from the rivals 
 ^Mohawk and Chippewa. 
 
 " Oh hah yo ! Oh hah yo ! 
 Ah yah ! Ah yah ! 
 Nyahtawanta ! " 
 
 But the snowy feather the fairies gave waves 
 at the fore, the arm is unweary, the heart of 
 WHiite Plume is strong. He sings no war song, 
 answer- ; t the scowls of the Mohawk, heeds not 
 the Ch r'pewa's taunting rivalry. He faces 
 death v,i;a the majesty of the true hero; con- 
 querii).i: i", looking to GItchie ]Manitcu. Calmly 
 
his eye measures the dizzy circles, then he turns 
 with princely grace, waves a love farewell to her 
 for whom he lays life on the altar of sacrifice, 
 and tenderly calls : " Nyahtawanta, nenee- 
 moosha ! " 
 
 He prays to the god of waters, and to the 
 Indian's God ; " Unktahee, sho-wain-ne-me-sin ! 
 Gitche Manitou, Sho-wain-ne-me-sin ! " 
 
 War songs, calls to return, are heard no 
 more. Fascinated by tl ^ horrors of the spell, 
 all wait for the plunge o; death. The rivals 
 race no longer. They coui;t the circles, know 
 the end is near. They see drift timbers swal- 
 lowed, hear the swirl of the engulfing abysm. 
 None will yield. Like true Indian oraves, they 
 will die with fortitdue. 
 
 Behold ! the white wand of Nyahtawanta's 
 canoe waves them to return ! They must obey ! 
 They pull, and pull, but do they return.'^ The 
 flood demon holds them fast, shakes them, tosses 
 them, chuckles in fiendish glee. Nerved by im- 
 pelling doom they dip their blades with the 
 strength of despair. The muscles swell, the 
 paddles bend — they are no nearer the vortex, 
 but do they return? See! the magic blade of 
 
the innermost canoe flashes like light, and The 
 White Plume is slowly moving out! Him that 
 saved the Palefaces from the whirlpool, Gitche 
 Manitou will preserve. Great beads of sweat 
 drop from the faces of the Mohawk and Chip- 
 pewa, as they battle inch by inch for life. They 
 gain, but can they long endure? Minutes are 
 hours ! The White Plume is gaining the wider 
 circles ! Will his wizard arm continue those 
 master strokes ? If so, he will return. He will 
 triumph. Nyahtawanta will be his own. The 
 thought lends a power stronger than the mo- 
 ment of despair, and he lifts his canoe from the 
 foam, as he plies his magic blade. A cry of 
 horror rolls ! In the moment of sfety, in the 
 strength of exultation, a stroke of his paddle 
 strikes a submerged drift log, snaps short the 
 blade — The White Plume is helpless n the 
 whirlpool ! 
 
 Out from the shore flies Nyahtawanta's 
 white canoe! Like a bird it skims the waters, 
 even in woman's hand queen of the flood. Whom 
 will she save, Mohawk, Chippewa, or The White 
 Plume? Who is the choice of lier heart? 
 Straight, swift as an arrow, she is beside The 
 
White Plume ! He leaps into her canoe, siezes 
 the magic wand, sweeps the flood and wings 
 them on. To the shore? Nay, he that saved 
 his Paleface enemies, will not forsake his In- 
 dian brothers. Lightning strokes, an outward 
 curve of the wliite canoe, a long lariat, gift of 
 the rescued Palefaces, twirls from the skillful 
 hands of Nvahtawanta, falls across the fated 
 canoes, is caught by the ^lohawk and the Chip- 
 pewa as the white canoe sails away uncoiling 
 the line of life! Other canoes shoot out, other 
 lariats uncoil, and with a long pull and a strong 
 pull; with shouts of joy and songs of deliver- 
 ance, all return, led by The White Plume and 
 his peerless bride. 
 
 In gratitude, the ■Mohawk and Chippewa 
 dowered the bride till none equalled her in all 
 the Iroquois. 
 
 In obedience to the wish of her father, and 
 the voice of her people. The White Plume was 
 made chief of the tribe. Then, with a great 
 feast of all the tribes, the promise of the fairies 
 that gave the white plume of the seagull was 
 fulfilled. 
 
 From that day the great whirlpool subsided, 
 
fP^ '3" 
 

rapidly filled, and is now no more. The plain- 
 tive calls of the whippoorwills on Wawonaissa 
 Island, are the cries of the water demons mourn- 
 ing over their defeat, and departed glory. 
 
The Grave of a Star 
 
 Far back in days unumbered, 
 The morning Stars were young, 
 
 Around their home in heaven 
 Like children played and sung. 
 
 The moon was their sweet mother, 
 As all good mothers are, 
 
 And in her silver cradle, 
 She rocked each babv star. 
 
 There all the stellar children 
 
 Had nothing else to do, 
 But play, and play forever, 
 
 In meadow-lands of blue. 
 
 Good childen, bright and happy. 
 
 Until one little star 
 Beheld the golden sunbeams 
 
 Fall from the sun, afar. 
 
 It dropped the silver playthings, 
 
 Began to cry and scold, 
 For Mother Moon to give it 
 
 The shining rays of gold. 
 
In vain she tried to please it, 
 
 With countless silver to^^s: 
 It only grew more naughty, 
 
 Just like some little boys. 
 One Evening as these children 
 
 Put star rays in the dev^% 
 This Naughty saw the sunbeams 
 
 That lay in plainest view 
 Upon the hills of Afton; 
 
 It vowed to have them, too. 
 While Mother Moon was rocking 
 
 A baby star to sleep, 
 Sly Naughty dropped its playthings,. 
 
 And, with a sudden leap, 
 It sprang to catch the sunbeams — 
 
 Dov^n, down the dizzy height 
 It fell, all-radiant, beaming, 
 
 Athrill with strange delight. 
 
 The golden rays all vanished! 
 
 Bewildered, frightened, lost, 
 The falling star descended. 
 
 Just like a fair soul tossed, 
 Down, down the deep of darkness — 
 
 All heaven could not save; 
 
 
It plunged to Earth, self-buried 
 In that deep, open grave. 
 
 The tears of heaven's children 
 Shed for the lost one's sake, 
 
 In that grave falling nightly. 
 There formed a crystal lake. 
 
 And near the Susquehanna, 
 
 Among the Afton hills, 
 It may be seen in passing, 
 
 Unfed by creeks, or rills. 
 
 The depth cannot be fathomed; 
 
 'Tis pure, and bright, and clear, 
 Bom not of earth, but heaven, 
 
 Just like an angel's tear. 
 
 Around the mirrored margin, 
 To warn 'gainst golden dreams, 
 
 Bloom rare, gold water lilies. 
 Poor Naughty's golden beams. 
 
 And oft, upon the bosom. 
 Unmoved by wind or wave, 
 
 The moon lies like a mother 
 Upon a lost child's grave. 
 
3477-250 
 lot 29 
 
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