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 ' The 
 
 Bamstorme/s 
 Companion,.** 
 
 ^ 
 
 By 
 M. F. CAREY 
 
The Barnstormer's 
 Companion 
 
 Being a Little Book of Ballads Designed 
 for Recitation 
 
 By M. F. Carey 
 
 THE KNICKERBOCKER MUSIC CO. 
 ALBANY, N, Y. 
 
Gfn;.-o ef the 
 JReglsttir ui C 
 
 ■^ O H^ O O 
 
 Copyrighted 1899, by M. F. Carby 
 
 SECOWD COPY, 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 BRANDOV/ PRINTING CO. 
 
 ALBANY, N. Y. 
 
 22742 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Sweeney, the Tragedian, 5 
 
 Hurley, the Hypnotizer, 10 
 
 The Reubens, . 15 
 
 Haley, the XLV-Player, 18 
 
 "Those Old Irish Airs," 22 
 
 Maguire, the Speculator, 26 
 
 "The Dewey Boy," 35 
 
 Everybody, but Casey, 43 
 
 The Great Security, 46 
 
 Willful Willie, 49 
 
 Murphy and the Minuet, 55 
 
 The Pageville Band, 58 
 
 Typo McSetters, 60 
 
 To a Tin Can, 61 
 
 Valedictory 62 
 
SWEENEY, THE TRAGEDIAN 
 
 I shall tell of what happened to Sweeney, 
 Of a scene that was witnessed by me; 
 
 I shall tell you the story of Sweeney, 
 
 A disciple of Booth and Salvini, 
 A tragedian striving to be. 
 
 With regret, I shall tell 
 
 Of the wreck that befell 
 
 His bark on the Thespian Sea. 
 
 For it ever was Sweeney's ambition 
 
 To shine on the tragedy stage : 
 He was firmly convinced of his mission 
 To act, and to please, in addition; 
 And he sighed o'er the drama's position, 
 
 And the barbarous mood of the age. 
 Which excluded the grave to perdition. 
 
 While the gay might its leisure engage. 
 For the popular taste 
 Will to comedy haste, 
 
 Though the prophets of tragedy rage. 
 
6 The Barnstormer s Companion 
 
 'Twas for Sweeney to lead, not to follow, 
 To stand like a man, not to stoop; 
 
 I encouraged him (friendship is hollow!) 
 
 To insist that the public must swallow 
 His brew of Shakesperian soup. 
 
 I acknowledge with shame 
 
 I was somewhat to blame 
 
 For his troubles — which came in a group. 
 
 Shall I ever forget the occasion! 
 
 'Twas a local variety show; 
 To impart to it marked variation, 
 Its promoters, by honeyed persuasion. 
 
 Got Sweeney — well — not to say no. 
 'Twas for charity's sake, 
 And a part he must take, 
 
 Though his dignity suffer a blow. 
 And so Sweeney was billed 
 With the music-hall guild — 
 
 With the cheap, the uncultured, the low. 
 
 He had chosen a scene from Othello, 
 For his favorite part was the Moor, 
 lago was played by a fellow 
 
Sweeney, the Tragedian 
 
 Whose acting, in color, was yellow, — 
 
 One conceiving " to speak" as " to bellow" — 
 
 There are others, of course, — to be sure. 
 Yes, lago was bad; 
 And the star? Well, 'twas sad 
 
 His support should be so insecure. 
 The tragedians made their appearance 
 
 In a welcoming burst of applause; 
 For both had their friends and adherents 
 Who were ready to give them a clearance, 
 
 While others considered the cause. 
 But the gallery god 
 Did not deign to applaud. 
 
 Which I noticed — 'twas one of the straws. 
 
 And I saw when the dialogue started, 
 
 That the cherubs who sat up aloft 
 Gave a hearing, at best, but half-hearted; 
 Then, grew restless and bored; then, imparted 
 
 Their desire for a change. How they scoffed! 
 It was, " Sweeney, you're bum! " 
 And "Choke off!" and "Come, come!" 
 
 While the milder ones shuffled and coughed. 
 
8 The Barnstormer's Companion 
 
 Though the pit glared aloft indignation, 
 The unfeeling ones could not be checked: 
 
 With Othello's farewell, the oration 
 
 Indicating the scene's termination, 
 
 I thought Sweeney would never connect; 
 
 But he did (on my word!) 
 
 And then something occurred 
 
 Which I certainly did not expect. 
 
 For (as I may be sworn) when Othello 
 
 To promiscuous things said good-b)'^e, 
 A tomato (not one hard and yellow, 
 But a red one, large, fruity and mellow) 
 Was thrown by some villianous fellow, 
 
 And it broke over Sweeney's right eye! 
 I would fain draw a screen 
 O'er the rest of the scene, — 
 
 I am tempted to sit down and cry 
 When I think of the same, 
 With the pit yelling shame, 
 
 And the jeers of the vultures on high. 
 
 'Twas in vain then that Sweeney contended 
 He could lick any man in the place, 
 
Sweeney^ the Tragedian 
 
 For the merciful curtain descended 
 Between him and us, and thus ended 
 
 This chapter of human disgrace. 
 I shall never forget — 
 I can see Sweeney yet, 
 
 The tomato, like blood, on his face! 
 And I feel, when I think 
 To what depths men will sink, 
 
 That the brutes are a worthier race. 
 
 ^ 
 
The Barnstormer' s Companion 
 HURLEY, THE HYPNOTIZER 
 
 When Charley Hurley whipped McGraw, the 
 champion of Troy. 
 
 There swept across "the Bay" an overwhelming 
 wave of joy. 
 
 Those who had doubted his success were then 
 heard to declare 
 
 That Charley had improved and was a fighter now 
 " for fair; " 
 
 While those who always backed him were so lav- 
 ish in their praise 
 
 As to say that he could beat the world, and would 
 "one of these days." 
 
 No wonder Charley's cranium began to broaden 
 out; 
 
 No wonder, when his backers then arranged a pri- 
 vate bout 
 
 With a nigger from Schenectady, his confidence 
 was such 
 
 That when I met him on the street, and he my 
 hand did clutch, 
 
Hurley, the Hypnotizer ii 
 
 And we went in to lubricate in Hennessey's saloon, 
 He whispered, ' ' Cul, come down an' see me polish 
 ofFde coon!" 
 
 I was present at the bouts where he had taken his 
 
 degrees; 
 I felt that he could whip his dark antagonist with 
 
 ease; 
 But I didn't like the notion of his fighting with a 
 
 black — 
 I said it was undignified, but Hurley answered 
 
 back : 
 " Dere's a hundred plunkers in it, an' it's just like 
 
 findin' ! — See? 
 De boys has got der dough up, an' of course dey 
 
 look to me! 
 I never knew before, for sure, dat money was so 
 
 cheap! — 
 It's a pipe! — Come down an' watch me while I put 
 
 de coon to sleep!'' 
 
 I saw that Hurley's thoughts on certain victory 
 were fixed; 
 
12 The Barnstormer's Companion 
 
 His confidence grew greater with each basin of 
 
 the mixed, 
 For a heavyweight in training, as he was thought 
 
 to be, 
 I couldn't see much harm in his imbibing two or 
 
 three; 
 But when I saw him empty six, at once I cried a 
 
 halt, 
 Declaring, if his friends were thrown, that he would 
 
 be at fault. 
 He stopped — "Excuse me, boys," said he; "I 
 
 might wade in too deep! 
 S'long! — Come down and see me when I rock de 
 
 coon to sleep!" 
 
 And we all did go to see him — we were present on 
 the night 
 
 When Hurley fought in Brady's barn that memor- 
 able fight; 
 
 And, though we had our dollars up at odds of one 
 to three — 
 
 Didn't Hurley tell us all, " it was like findin' 
 money — see?" 
 
Hurley, the Hypnotizer 13 
 
 Ah! Clearly do I recollect when both stepped in 
 the ring, 
 
 How Hurley, in an undertone, a lullaby did sing! 
 
 How he winked at us and smiled a smile of satis- 
 faction deep, 
 
 And whispered, " In de second round, I'll push 
 ' his corks' to sleep! " 
 
 But alas! — how can I tell it? — when the second 
 
 round was o'er, 
 The nigger's soles were still quite horizontal with 
 
 the floor; 
 And when the third, and fourth, and fifth, and 
 
 sixth were fought away, 
 His soles still touched — quite far from perpen- 
 dicular were they! 
 And when the awful seventh came, and he got in 
 
 that blow 
 That blew our money high, sky high, and laid our 
 
 Hurley low — 
 Good heavens! when I think of it, it almost makes 
 
 me weep! 
 The nigger standing up — awake! and Hurley — 
 
 down — asleep! ! ! 
 
14 The Barnstormer' s Companion 
 
 And shall I e'er forget the scene when Hurley's 
 
 wits came back? 
 When his seconds told him he was whipped? — I 
 
 thought his heart would crack! 
 He blubbered like an infant — tears came rolling 
 
 down his cheek. 
 'Twas quite a while 'ere he could summon up the 
 
 voice to speak — 
 "Say, fellers, am I licked?" said he; "did the 
 
 coon put me to sleep?" 
 Indeed, he did that, Hurley, and 'tis well for you 
 
 to weep. 
 For **the Bay" is now in mourning, with its chat- 
 tels all in pawn; 
 While the hypnotizing influence of Hurley's dukes 
 
 is gone! 
 
The Reubens 15 
 
 THE REUBENS 
 
 Set the laugh in circulation, 
 
 For the Reubens are in town. 
 On the pan of conversation, 
 
 Let us roast them good and brown. 
 To the wrinkles in their clothes 
 Where the seeds of hay repose, 
 Let us first direct attention: this convicts them for 
 
 it shows 
 An addiction to suburban, — agricultural pursuits. 
 And, of course, they wear their trousers tucked 
 
 within their muddy boots. 
 And, their hats — for generations, 
 
 They were surely handed down! 
 Let us make our observations, 
 
 For the Reubens are in town. 
 
 If their clothes do not betray them, 
 
 Or their faces rough and brown; 
 There are other ways to weigh them, 
 
 When the Reubens come to town: 
 
1 6 The Barnstormer's Companion 
 
 Just you listen to them talk, 
 
 And observe them gape and gawk 
 
 As they stare the lofty buildings; then just notice 
 
 how they walk : — 
 You can always tell the Reubens by the way they 
 
 sling their feet; 
 Over these important members their control is not 
 
 complete. 
 Watch the way they lift their gaiters, 
 And the way they slam them down, 
 As if stepping o'er **pertaters" — 
 When the Reubens come to town. 
 
 What a harvest we may gather, 
 When the Reuben comes to town! 
 
 Is he easy? Well, now — rather! 
 Just a push will throw him down. 
 
 Yes, the Reuben's wits are thick, 
 
 While we city chaps are slick: 
 
 With a satchel full of sawdust, or a golden-var- 
 nished brick, 
 
 We can start negotiations and induce him to 
 invest. 
 
The Reubens 17 
 
 It is thus we do the Reuben, and — the Reuben 
 
 does the rest. 
 Though on these and like offenses, 
 
 The stern moralist may frown, 
 Yet; we've got to pay expenses 
 
 When the Reubens come to town. 
 
 'Tis the city chap's conception 
 
 Of the Rube that I set down; 
 There are Rubes of this description, 
 
 And they sometimes come to town. 
 But — it's funny — when you read 
 Of the fellows who succeed, 
 You will find they all were brought up on a farm 
 
 — they were, indeed! — 
 That is, the great majority. Just look it up your- 
 self; 
 Compare the town, and country born in influence 
 
 or pelf. 
 That the Reubens are ambitious 
 
 Is a fact that will not down; 
 And we ought to be suspicious 
 
 When the Reubens come to town. 
 
1 8 The Barnstormer s Companion 
 
 HALEY, THE XLV-PLAYER 
 
 Owen Haley was a man who loved to play a social 
 
 game; 
 He could beat old Hoyle himself at "forty-fives," 
 
 and while the same 
 Might imply that he was tricky or inclined to 
 
 stack the cards, 
 A squarer fellow never lifted lumber in the yards. 
 Haley stood a trifle over six, and weighed two 
 
 hundred pounds. 
 And no one picked a fight with him on insufficient 
 
 grounds. 
 He would sooner play his favorite game of " forty- 
 fives " than eat — 
 Such a hearty player! — Riley said he always played 
 
 to beat. 
 But Riley's saying had another bearing, be it 
 
 said, 
 For Haley beat the table more than those with 
 
 whom he played. 
 
Haley, the XL V-Player 19 
 
 And it really was a fact, for every point that Haley 
 
 scored, 
 He would bring his knuckles down with such a 
 
 noise upon the board 
 That the neighbors would be startled, until some 
 
 one passed the word: — 
 "Sure it's only Haley playin' forty-fives." 
 
 It was Haley's habit every night to lighten up the 
 gloom 
 
 With a friendly game or two in Jerry Donohue's 
 back room. 
 
 'Twas the custom of the boarders, and, I think, it 
 still survives, 
 
 To fight away their troubles in the game of "forty- 
 fives." 
 
 And when Haley was among them, all the bottles 
 in the place 
 
 Would dance upon the shelves, if he should hold 
 the jack or ace. 
 
 It was wonderful, the strength he had — it hap- 
 pened, many a night. 
 
20 The Barnstormer's Companion 
 
 That Murphy, the patrolman, would look in, sus- 
 pecting fight, 
 
 While Donohue would stop him with the explana- 
 tion trite — 
 
 "Sure it's only Haley playin' forty-fives." 
 
 One day — 'twas in the summer — business hap- 
 pened to be slack, 
 Haley called his good friend Foley, and produced 
 
 a greasy pack; 
 And, finding a convenient spot upon a lumber 
 
 pile, 
 The two sat down to play a game to pass away 
 
 the while. 
 Such a time they had! — the cracking of their 
 
 knuckles on the pine 
 Was echoed back and forth for several yards 
 
 along the line, — 
 Until matters reached a crisis, it was Haley caused 
 
 it all, 
 For he gave a blow that shook the pile — that made 
 
 it shift and fall. 
 
Haley, the XLV- Player 21 
 
 They felt it going, tried to save themselves — but 
 'twas too late — 
 
 It caught them, and they narrowly escaped a fear- 
 ful fate. 
 
 As it was, their plight was bad enough, for when 
 the two were found, 
 
 They were lying stiff and senseless as the boards 
 upon the ground. 
 
 Strange to say, their fellow workmen heard the 
 crash but never moved; 
 
 Though one expressed concern, the rest with this 
 remark reproved: — 
 
 'Sure it's only Haley playin' forty-fives." 
 
22 The Barnstormer's Companion 
 
 '♦THOSE OLD IRISH AIRS 
 
 Come, Katie, alanna, tune up your piano 
 
 And play off the songs that your father likes best. 
 
 You've been practising there till you have me 
 
 uneasy; 
 Let's hear from Tom Moore — ^just byway of a rest. 
 No doubt but your teacher has told you they're 
 
 trashy 
 And nothing but simple, old-fashioned affairs. 
 That's all very well — but your father knows better; 
 So just play a few of those old Irish airs. 
 
 Ah ! Moore was the one that could measure his 
 
 verses — 
 A skilful mechanic — 'twas he knew his art; 
 A thief of the world, with a wonderful latch-key, 
 To open the door of an Irishman's heart. 
 He never would knock and apply for admittance, 
 But in he would creep and make off with your 
 
 cares; 
 
" Those Old Tnsh Airs'' 23 
 
 And well may his countrymen hold him in honor 
 For putting such words to those old Irish airs. 
 
 If it's hungry you are for a song sentimental, 
 Just take up the list and look over the food; 
 "The Last Rose of Summer," "The Vale of 
 
 Avoca," 
 " Believe Me" and others will answer your mood. 
 If revengeful you feel at the wrongs of the Saxon, 
 " Let Erin Remember" will soothe unawares, 
 While the song of" The Minstrel" will speak your 
 
 resentment 
 And ring for all ages those old Irish airs. 
 
 If to mirth you're inclined, or in need of diversion. 
 Look over the feast and prepare for a laugh; — 
 " Miss McLeod" has the floor and our dear "|Nora 
 
 Creina" 
 With "Tatter Jack Welsh" and gay "Larry 
 
 O'Gaflf." 
 Don't tell me there's naught to admire in such 
 
 music — 
 
24 The Barnstormer' s Companion 
 
 *Twas made for all times — you can see how it 
 
 wears. 
 Why, the blood rushes up to my cheek with the 
 
 notes, 
 And my heart beats the time to those old Irish 
 
 In the war with the South, with my Irish com- 
 panions, 
 
 I've heard those airs played when the battle was 
 nigh; 
 
 And I've marked the wild look in their eyes as 
 they listened, 
 
 As if they were ready to fight then, and die. 
 
 And when I lay wounded, and death hovered o'er 
 me. 
 
 The music would haunt me and mix in my prayers, 
 
 And I wondered at times if the angels in heaven 
 
 Had songs that could equal those old Irish airs. 
 
 Don't tell me that music is simple or trashy, 
 Which fills men with motives unselfish and high. 
 
" Those Old Irish Airs " 25 
 
 There is not a bar in your fine compositions 
 
 To make a man fight for a cause — though he die. 
 
 And though that same cause may seem lost for the 
 
 present, 
 The loss only adds to the charm that it wears; 
 For the hope smold'ring deep in an Irishman's 
 
 bosom 
 Will never die out while he hears those old airs. 
 
 Then, Katie, alanna, play off the dear music, 
 And please your old father, — if but for to-night, — 
 For though it may not be at all to your liking. 
 It's all in the taste — and we both may be right. 
 Play off the dear measures that breathe of the 
 
 shamrock. 
 The moors and the mountains, the factions and 
 
 fairs; — 
 Though a tyrant has strangled a cause and a 
 
 people, 
 He never could smother those old Irish airs. 
 
26 The Barjistormers Companion 
 
 MAGUIRE, THE SPECULATOR 
 
 I remember well the day I got acquainted with 
 
 Maguire: — 
 'Twas at Kennedy's the broker — stocks were 
 
 dropping, and the wire 
 Sang a song of swift disaster in the Stock Ex- 
 change below — 
 A song which ran the gamut to the lowest notes of 
 
 woe. 
 As I stood and watched, with others there, the 
 
 changes on the board. 
 Comparing stocks and figuring the losses they had 
 
 scored, 
 I made a chance remark about "Confabulated 
 
 Gas," 
 (Some expression of my faith in it was what my 
 
 lips let pass), 
 Which remark was caught up eagerly by someone 
 
 standing near, 
 A gentleman whose face was drawn and white 
 
 with nervous fear, 
 
Maguire, the Speculator' 27 
 
 Who, foolishly, requested me to tell him all I 
 
 knew 
 About the stock in question. From his anxious- 
 
 ness I drew 
 The obvious conclusion (which was true enough, 
 
 alas!) 
 That my friend must be a holder of "Confabu- 
 lated Gas:" 
 So I reassured him, going far beyond the facts I 
 
 knew, — 
 I declared the stock would rally back within a 
 
 week or two. 
 And it did. Although at best I was an optimistic 
 
 liar, 
 My prediction won for me the admiration of 
 
 Maguire, 
 
 After that I saw him often, and wherever we 
 
 might meet. 
 Before the board at Kennedy's, or out upon the 
 
 street, 
 He would greet me somewhat stealthily, and never 
 
 let me pass 
 
28 The Barnstorvier's Companion 
 
 Without asking my opinion of "Confabulated 
 Gas;"— 
 
 Of its merits, and its prospects: Did I look for 
 any rise? — 
 
 Or, did I think it high enough? — or, what would I 
 advise? 
 
 It was plain to me that he was but a novice at the 
 game, 
 
 But novices are lucky — they arrive there just the 
 same. 
 
 I was curious to know why he elected to invest 
 
 In a property so whimsical: Maguire to me con- 
 fessed 
 
 Thjt a friend of his, a man of wealth, "a man who 
 ought to know," 
 
 Had told him to secure some "Gas," and not to 
 let it go. — 
 
 That, while it might sell lower, it would pay him 
 in the end. 
 
 Maguire had every reason to believe his learned 
 friend, 
 
 So he got together all the little wealth at his com- 
 mand 
 
Maguire, the Speculator 2g 
 
 And bought a hundred shares of "Gas." He cer- 
 tainly had sand. 
 The price he paid was eighty, but it slumped 
 
 away so quick 
 Down to sixty and a trifle that it really made him 
 
 sick. 
 He began to have his doubts about the judj^ment 
 
 of his friend, 
 So, whenever prices showed a disposition to 
 
 descend, 
 Maguire wrould fear a panic, — he could scent it in 
 
 the air. 
 When the bears w^ere in the saddle (how Maguire 
 
 did hate a bear!) 
 Scenes of riot, wreck and ruin would before his 
 
 vision pass, 
 With a general explosion of "Confabulated Gas." 
 
 For Maguire could never understand the attitude 
 
 of bears; 
 He couldn't grasp their function in the balance of 
 
 affairs. 
 
30 The Barnstormer's Companion 
 
 To him they were as highwaymen; — he thought it 
 
 very strange 
 That the governors permitted them to enter the 
 
 Exchange. 
 His views, you see, were personal, not broad nor 
 
 over-deep, 
 For his mind had not that general or philosophic 
 
 sweep. 
 "When Kennedy would tell him bears were useful 
 
 in their way, — 
 That, like the tail upon a kite, they had a part to 
 
 play,— 
 That, were it not for them, the stocks would sail 
 
 up out of sight, 
 Maguire would simply grunt and utter forth the 
 
 hope they might. 
 He didn't think it fair that "Gas" should get so 
 
 many knocks; 
 He thought that for a change the bears should raid 
 
 the other stocks. 
 Now this complaint betrayed in him another 
 
 mental twist. 
 For he never made comparisons with others on 
 
 the list. 
 
Maguire, the Speculator 31 
 
 He never kept account of them, — they were as 
 lesser lights: 
 
 The "Gas" (what else?) was Jupiter, the rest were 
 satellites. 
 
 Any weakness in the " Grangers" or the "Coal- 
 ers" was as naught; 
 
 To the Sugar and Tobacco stocks he never gave 
 a thought. 
 
 He could'nt view the market as a whole, or in the 
 mass; 
 
 When in search of information it was always, 
 " How is Gas?" 
 
 It used to weary me at times, it got to be a bore; 
 
 I remember once when with a friend and passing 
 by his store, 
 
 He saw me and ran out, his little query to pre- 
 sent: — 
 
 "How is it?" "How is what?" said I, well know- 
 ing what he meant. 
 
 I admit that I was nettled, but he made me smile, 
 alas! 
 
 As with solemn face he sprung that same old 
 question, "How is Gas?" 
 
32 The Barnstormer^ s Companion 
 
 When a man becomes possessor of a hundred 
 shares of stock, 
 
 It is saddening to witness how his finer feelings 
 rock, — 
 
 How the springs of human sympathy are dried 
 within his breast, — 
 
 How every noble impulse is combated and re- 
 pressed. 
 
 I regret to say Maguire was no exception to the 
 rule, — 
 
 That his reason was enslaved, and of his selfish- 
 ness the tool, 
 
 Or he never would have argued (as he often did 
 alas!) 
 
 That nothing could be justified that interfered, 
 with "Gas." 
 
 Thus, when the Venezuela message staggered 
 Johnny Bull, 
 
 And reacted on the market, giving it a downward 
 pull; 
 
 Maguire, although an Irishman with all the term 
 implies. 
 
 Declared we had no right to interfere. He shut 
 his eyes 
 
Maguire, the Speculator 33 
 
 To everything but prices. When the Cubans 
 
 sought our aid 
 Maguire, although his sympathies were with them, 
 
 was afraid 
 That a serious disturbance in the market might 
 
 ensue 
 If we give them recognition: — so, 6i course, it 
 
 wouldn't do. 
 And when the silver champions obtained the 
 
 upper hand 
 In the Democratic party, — when, with Bryan in 
 
 command, 
 It seemed as if the Democrats had half a show to 
 
 win. 
 And the market sank to depths where it before 
 
 had never been; 
 Then was it civil war was waged within Maguire's 
 
 breast, 
 And his boasted straight Democracy subjected to 
 
 a test. 
 He declared to me that Bryan was the greatest man 
 
 alive. 
 But how could he vote for Bryan, with "Gas" at 
 
 forty-five? 
 How he voted, I was curious to know, but never 
 
 learned. 
 3 
 
34 The Barnstormer's Companion 
 
 When the crisis had been weathered and the mar- 
 ket upward turned, 
 
 And Maguire was happy in his "Gas" — and 
 didn't care to sell, 
 
 I would rally him about his vote, but he would 
 never tell. 
 
 He was guarded in the matter, not the slightest 
 clue he gave, 
 
 And the secret of his choice lies buried with him 
 in the grave. 
 
 For Maguire is dead. — His soul, I hope, is now 
 
 among the blest. 
 Where the tickers cease from ticking, and the 
 
 market is at rest; — 
 Where all are long of Happiness, and short of 
 
 Pain and Care. 
 I also hope the time shall come when I may join 
 
 him there; 
 But I'm willing now to wager, if Saint Peter lets 
 
 me pass. 
 That Maguire will hail me at the gate and whisper, 
 
 "How is Gas?" 
 
" The Dewey Boy" 35 
 
 "THE DEWEY BOY" 
 
 McKinley, of Ohio, was our spokesman at the 
 
 time 
 When ihe Spaniards sank the Maine, and seemed 
 
 to glory in their crime. 
 We wanted peace till that occurred, — 'twas blood 
 
 we wanted then; 
 So McKinley passed the word along to all our 
 
 fighting men: 
 "Get ready, boys, to let the old war eagle loose 
 
 again, 
 For the foreigner our fighting bird is scorning." 
 Across the seas the message went to Dewey far 
 
 away: 
 "Get ready Dewey! Sail your ships into Manila 
 
 Bay! 
 Every vessel of the Spaniard you must capture or 
 
 destroy; 
 Let not a ship be left our western seaboard to 
 
 annoy; 
 
36 The Barnstormer's Companion 
 
 Be you the first to strike, and may the issue bring 
 us joy, 
 And speed our night of sorrow into morning." 
 
 When the message got to Dewey, in the far-off 
 
 China bay, — 
 April, brushing aside her tears, was smiling into 
 
 May. 
 'Twas the time of yeai, as Dewey knew, when 
 
 folks back in the States 
 Were wont to change their residence, and so he 
 
 hailed his mates. 
 Saying, "Boys, it's near the first of May — the 
 
 great occasion waits, 
 And besides the owner here has given 'vrarning. 
 The Navy people seem to think it's time ior us 
 
 to move, 
 (It is hoped the change will please us, and our 
 
 general health improve.) 
 They have ordered us to occupy a place across the 
 
 way. 
 Which has now a Spanish tenant — but he may not 
 
 care to stay! 
 
" The Dewey Boy'" 37 
 
 We shall call on him, however, and hear what he 
 has to say; 
 Let your anchors be uplifted in the morning." 
 
 So they lifted up their anchors on the morrow, 
 
 and they steamed 
 Across the China Sea to where the Spaniard lay 
 
 and dreamed. 
 For three full days they journeyed on, and then 
 
 the goal was nigh; 
 But the hour was not auspicious, so they quietly 
 
 lay by, 
 While the stars like mice, came creeping forth to 
 
 feast upon the sky, 
 Till the solar cat should rout them at the dawn- 
 ing. 
 Manila Bay before them lay, — they stood without 
 
 the gate, — 
 Said Dewey, when he thought it time, "Well, boys, 
 
 its growing late. 
 And there's nothing to be gained by waiting out 
 
 here any more; 
 
38 The Barnstormer' s Companion 
 
 Let us all go in and register, and — I'll go on 
 before, — 
 
 And don't disturb the slumbers of the man that's 
 tending door, — 
 We can show him our credentials in the morn- 
 ing." 
 
 In single file, with Dewey at the head they started 
 
 in, 
 With every ship prepared for fight, and eager to 
 
 begin. 
 Stealthily, they sailed across the threshold of the 
 
 Bay, 
 Tardily the guns on shore awoke and bade them 
 
 stay, 
 But they had to reach Manila at tie breaking of 
 
 the May, 
 So they hurried on, the feeble challenge scorning. 
 On through the darkness, up the Bay, went Dewey 
 
 and his men. 
 Carefully feeling their way along. A few more 
 
 miles, and then 
 The goal was reached. As silently as snow comes 
 
 in the night, 
 
'* The Dewey Boy*' 39 
 
 Surprising us at morn when we behold the land- 
 scape white, 
 
 So Dewey came upon the foe; — and woeful was 
 the sight, 
 When the Spaniard woke to view it in the 
 morning. 
 
 For the Spaniard wasn't ready: — in astonishment 
 
 and rage 
 He glared upon the Yankee — yet he hastened to 
 
 engage; 
 From fort and ship he volleyed forth an angry 
 
 fusilade 
 As the Yankee ships came steaming up as if upon 
 
 parade; 
 No answer did the latter make, they prudently 
 
 delayed 
 For a closer range, as Dewey gave the warning. 
 With silent but impatient guns, they moved upon 
 
 the foe, 
 Until Dewey thought the distance right, and said, 
 
 "Boys, let 'er go; 
 Go at them now and eat them up, — the Eagle 
 
 waits in pain, — 
 
40 The Barnstormer's Companion 
 
 Remember, every shot must tell, and don't forget 
 
 the Maine! 
 They'll be printing new geographies when we get 
 
 through with Spain — 
 We will send the world to school again this 
 
 morning." 
 
 In chorus, then, the Yankee guns, with methods 
 
 trained and true, 
 Began to sing; and then it was, the Spanish 
 
 splinters flew. 
 Above the fleet the Eagle soared, an inspiration 
 
 dear, 
 Breasting his native element, the gun-smoked 
 
 atmosphere ; 
 While Dewey, death-directing, sped the shells on 
 
 their career — 
 Riddling, sinking, shattering, and burning. 
 And the old war eagle flapped his wings and 
 
 screamed out in delight 
 " I've seen 'em all, but damme! how that Dewey 
 
 boy can fight!" 
 And fight he did, with energy, with coolness and 
 
 with skill, 
 
*' The Dewey Boy " 41 
 
 Till not a Spanish ship was left afloat to thwart 
 
 his will, — 
 Till our flag was floated proudly o'er Manila where 
 
 it still, 
 In its glory, is the first to greet the morning. 
 
 When the present Yankee school-boy in his coun- 
 try's hist'ry reads, 
 He shall dwell, with just elation, on our many 
 
 naval deeds. 
 He shall read of Jones, who made us felt when 
 
 struggling to be free, 
 Of Decatur, Hull and Perry, that iconoclastic 
 
 three. 
 Who loved to fight and whip the self-styled ruler 
 
 of the sea. 
 Her claims to naval sovereignty scorning. 
 He shall read of fearless Farragut, who, breasting 
 
 shot and shell. 
 Dashed up the Mississippi, and, triumphant, lived 
 
 to tell; 
 And, last of all (in point of time, but not in merit, 
 
 —Nay!) 
 
42 The Barnstormer's Companion 
 
 He shall read of him who woke them up in far 
 
 Manila Bay, — 
 He shall read of Dewey rising on the sea at break 
 
 of day, 
 And sweeping all before him with the morning. 
 
Evejybody, but Casey 43 
 
 EVERYBODY, BUT CASEY 
 
 There was trouble at the boarding-house, a week 
 ago to-night, — 
 
 An argument political, which ended in a fight. 
 
 Mr. Foley is a silver man, unlimited and free; 
 
 He talked to Mr. Casey of "the Crime of Seventy- 
 three." 
 
 Though his knowledge of the subject was de- 
 cidedly diffuse, 
 
 And though Casey took exception to a number of 
 his views, 
 
 There never would have been the slightest trouble 
 in the case 
 
 Had not Foley, making gestures, thrust his hand 
 in Casey's face. 
 
 Mr, Casey thought this more than he was called 
 
 upon to stand; 
 He dropped the argument at once, but quickly 
 
 raised his hand. 
 
44 The Barnstormer's Companion 
 
 And aiming straight for Foley's nose, let go with 
 all his might, 
 
 And with that the two went at it in a rough-and- 
 tumble fight. 
 
 When the boarders got between them, and a truce 
 
 had been arranged, 
 The general plan of Foley's face was noticeably 
 
 changed. 
 He shook his fist at Casey, threatened vengance 
 
 deep and dire, 
 And called on all the powers that be to further his 
 
 desire. 
 
 Thus they parted in their anger, but they met 
 
 again that night 
 At the Dutchman's on the corner, and, to show 
 
 the world his spite, 
 Foley threw a silver dollar on the bar with savage 
 
 vim, 
 And invited everybody there to have a drink with 
 
 him — 
 Everybody, but Casey. 
 
Everybody^ but Casey 45 
 
 This proceeding had a tendency to start the 
 strife anew; 
 
 And the boarders who were present thought an- 
 other fight was due. 
 
 There were fifteen men who answered in response 
 to Foley's call 
 
 To drink; including Foley there were sixteen 
 men in all. 
 
 Said Casey as he counted heads: "It pleases me 
 to know 
 
 That Foley, when he treats, observes the proper 
 ratio, 
 
 And will buy the drinks for sixteen men to every- 
 one that's barred. 
 
 It's funny. But I hate to see him take the thing 
 
 '^rl so hard; 
 
 Sure I'm sixteen times as sorry as himself we ever 
 fought." 
 
 "Enough!" said Foley; "Let us make it seventeen 
 to nought." 
 
 So, with general approval, they their diflference 
 did sink, 
 
 And everybody stood in line before the bar to 
 drink, 
 Including Casey. 
 
46 The Barnstormer s Companion 
 
 THE GREAT SECURITY 
 
 Are you for stories? Here's one that I got 
 From an old man; which opens up its plot 
 In Ireland, in a fateful famine year. 
 The story-teller's father, 'twould appear 
 A prudent farmer, had put by a store 
 From the abundance of the year before, 
 Which he retailed among the peasantry 
 Who, lacking cash, could give security. 
 
 One day there came to him a stranger sad, 
 A widow, with her son, both poorly clad; 
 A sack of meal of him she did request, 
 If he would trust ? The farmer acquiesced, 
 Thinking the payment she could guarantee ; 
 And asked who her security would be — 
 
 "Security!" the woman echoed, awed; 
 " Sure, I have no security but God." 
 The farmer started — stammered — bowed his 
 head: 
 
The Great Security 47 
 
 " I couldn't ask a better one! " he said. 
 ** The meal is yours, good woman! Have it so; 
 And though the price of it to me you owe, 
 I'll take your word for it — I'm not afraid 
 But God in His good time will see me paid." 
 
 The woman thanked him, took the meal away; 
 The farmer never saw her from that day. 
 His wife, to whom he spoke of the affair, 
 Who of the pennies took a closer care, 
 Reproached him for his carelessness, for she 
 Had not his faith or fine simplicity. 
 
 A year rolled by, and then another one; 
 No word came from the widow or her son. 
 The wife now mado no effort to conceal 
 Her doubts concerning payment for the meal. 
 Many the hint she dropped of reckless waste. 
 Of charity and confidence misplaced, 
 To which her worthy man, with smile sedate, 
 Would simply toss his head and bid her wait. 
 
 At last — it must have been three years or more — 
 There came one day a stranger to their door; 
 
48 The Barnstormed s Companion 
 
 The farmer knew, as he his face did scan, 
 
 It was the widow's son now grown a man. 
 
 The youth recalled the meal that had been given, 
 
 And said his mother, who was now in Heaven, 
 
 Had made him promise by her dying cot, 
 
 At the first opportunity he got, 
 
 To pay their debt; — and he had said he would; 
 
 He now had come to make that promise good. 
 
 The farmer smiled, and raised his hands in praise, 
 Looked at his wife who blushed beneath his gaze : 
 "Ah, woman!" said he, "Now you must admit 
 That I was right, for here's the proof of it. 
 I always said that debt could not be bad, 
 For see the great security I had! '' 
 
Willful Willie 49 
 
 WILLFUL WILLIE 
 
 At a table, in a cottage, sat a family of three — 
 Father, mother, and a son — and they were doomed 
 
 to disagree. 
 'Twas Thanksgiving, and the youth declared that 
 
 he was nearly starved. 
 As with hungry eyes he gazed upon the turkey 
 
 being carved, 
 But the old man took his time, and when the job 
 
 was neatly done. 
 He reserved the breast and wing, and passed the 
 
 leg unto his son. 
 'Twas at this the son grew angry, and at once 
 
 began to bawl — 
 If he couldn't have the breast or wing, he wouldn't 
 
 eat at all. 
 
 Now the father was a man who never took the 
 
 slightest sauce — 
 (Though it goes well with a turkey) he would 
 
 show that he was boss; 
 4 
 
50 The Barnstorjner's Companion 
 
 In a manner terrorizing he held up the carving 
 knife, 
 
 Saying, "Willie, never speak like that again in 
 all your life! " 
 
 But dear Willie didn't weaken for a little: — he 
 arose. 
 
 Left the table and the room, and donned his Sun- 
 day suit of clothes; 
 
 Then walked out into the cold world, slamming 
 hard the big front door; 
 
 And the father and the mother never saw their 
 Willie more! 
 
 Oh! the watching and the waiting for their boy to 
 
 reappear! 
 Days expanded into months, and soon the months 
 
 became a year. 
 Still no tidings of the absent — not a letter, not a 
 
 word — 
 Though the father searched and questioned, not 
 
 the slightest news was heard. 
 When Thanksgiving came, they sat before the 
 
 table in despair. 
 
Willful Willie 51 
 
 And their eyes were blurred with tears, as they 
 
 beheld the vacant chair. 
 Very little did they eat, and very little did they 
 
 say, 
 For their thoughts were with the prodigal — with 
 
 Willie far away. 
 
 Soon the mother's hair grew silvered, and the 
 
 father's step grew slow, 
 Worn with restlessness they faded — sinking 
 
 'neath the cruel blow. 
 Still they never gave up hoping that their boy 
 
 might yet appear ; 
 And the fire of hope kept burning for another 
 
 anxious year. 
 When Thanksgiving time drew nigh they advei- 
 
 tised for him to come — 
 Published messages imploring him to turn his 
 
 steps to home. 
 Every paper had a personal, the hardest heart to 
 
 wring, 
 Saying, " Willie, dear, come back, and you may 
 
 have the breast and wing." 
 
52 The Barnstormer's Companion 
 
 And what became of Willie, when he left his 
 
 father's roof? 
 Ah! sad to tell, he ne'er did well — from work he 
 
 held aloof, 
 And eked a mean existence, Hying like a common 
 
 tramp — 
 To a free lunch fiend he dwindled, of the most 
 
 obnoxious stamp. 
 Drifting to the great metropolis, he shifted to 
 
 and fro 
 With the tide of poor unfortunates who do not 
 
 reap or sow. 
 There were times when he was hungry — turned 
 
 upon the streets to beg. 
 He wanted then no breast nor wing — his kingdom 
 
 for a leg ! 
 
 Yet he never thought of turning to the anxious 
 
 ones at home — 
 They should never know his struggles ; he had 
 
 left, and he would roam 
 Over all the wild creation, and he never would 
 
 return — 
 
Willful Willie 53 
 
 Be dependent on his father for the food he did not 
 
 earn. 
 Thus he fought the years in silence, till one day he 
 
 chanced to read, 
 In a paper laid as table cloth beneath a free lunch 
 
 feed, 
 Words that rocked his resolution, opened up 
 
 emotion's spring — 
 They were, " Willie, dear, come back, and you 
 
 may have the breast and wing." 
 
 In a moment he decided to put pride upon the 
 shelf, 
 
 For he knew those words were printed for none 
 other than himself. 
 
 Back he started for the homestead, like the prodi- 
 gal, but Fate 
 
 Was not half so kind to Willie, for he came — 
 alas — too late ! 
 
 Ah ! the sheet he read the message in was printed 
 long before. 
 
 And his parents worn with waiting, had crossed 
 to the golden shore. 
 
54 The Barnstormer^ s Companion 
 
 Willie sickened when he heard the news — they 
 
 buried him in spring ! 
 Let us hope he is an angel now, and doesn't lack 
 
 a wing. 
 
 t 
 
 -«.a^ 
 
Murphy and the Minuet 55 
 
 MURPHY AND THE MINUET 
 
 " Bad scran to it," said Murphy, with his collar 
 
 wringing- wet; 
 " May the divil dance with him who introduced 
 
 the minuet. 
 I can paralyze the polka, trip the waltz without a 
 
 break, 
 But the minuet it beats me — that it does — it wins 
 
 the cake. 
 Sure the muscles of me legs are cramped, and 
 
 keep contracting yet, 
 Just from standing stiff upon the floor to walk the 
 
 minuet. 
 
 Did you say you never danced it? Sure, it's not 
 
 a dance at all : 
 You move, of course, — they keep you gawking up 
 
 and down the hall. 
 The music plays a funeral march, you take the 
 
 lady's hand, 
 
56 The Barnstormer's Companion 
 
 Then up you go and down you go, then bow, and 
 
 scrape, and stand. 
 The ladies lift their skirts as though afraid they 
 
 might get wet, 
 And the men step out like ganders when they 
 
 walk the minuet. 
 
 I'm told the dance is English, yes, it's English, 
 
 don't you know? 
 If you didn't, you'd surmise it, it's so deuced, 
 
 bloomin' slow. 
 And it's not because it's English I dislike it, if 
 
 you please, 
 It's the stiffness — sure you have no use for hinges 
 
 in your knees, 
 Yet the ladies think it beautiful, and all of them 
 
 are set 
 On dancing nothing else at all but the stately 
 
 minuet. 
 
 Still it's not the step that tires you when you start 
 to walk the chalk. 
 
Murphy and the Minuet 57 
 
 It's the consciousness, the feeling that you're 
 
 posing like a gawk. 
 And every time you raise the left and balance on 
 
 the right, 
 Your feet become obnoxious and you wish them 
 
 out of sight. 
 I will not be a Romeo to any Juliet 
 Who looks for me to lead her out to dance the 
 
 minuet." 
 
 H 
 
58 The Barnstormer' s Companion 
 
 THE PAGEVILLE BAND 
 
 When music cheering arrests my hearing, 
 
 I often think of the Pageville Band, — 
 Of their selections — their tone-confections, — 
 
 Their swift dissections of the theme in hand. 
 When Gilmore thundered with half a hundred, 
 
 I sat and wondered was it half so grand, 
 As my memory traveled 
 To the strains unraveled 
 
 By the eager efforts of the Pageville Band. 
 
 I've heard renditions of good musicians, 
 
 The coalitions of their finest notes; 
 With Cappa, Doring and Sousa pouring 
 
 Harmonious offerings from brazen throats; 
 But 'mid their pealing, there came a feeling — 
 
 A thought congealing the music grand, 
 As my mind reverted 
 To the disconcerted — 
 
 To the wild outpourings of the Pageville Band. 
 
The Pageville Band 59 
 
 With what affection my recollection 
 
 Calls them before me!— 1 see them pass!— 
 That aggregation— that combination— 
 
 That fermentation of wind and brass! 
 Like the blithe canary, their time might vary, 
 
 Yet they spoke a message all could understand, 
 And a Wagner lover 
 Would, no doubt, discover 
 
 Sympathetic methods in the Pageville Band. 
 
 There's a band in Hoosick that murders music:— 
 
 The bass-drummer smites with a red right hand, 
 
 While the trombone smothers his weaker brothers, 
 
 And stabs his neighbor at each expand. 
 'Mid such destruction and breezy ruction. 
 Fearless, unmoved, unscathed, I stand. 
 For I was hardened 
 By the sins unpardoned 
 
 That were shrieked to Heaven by the Pageville 
 Band. 
 
6o The Barnstormers Companion 
 
 TYPO McSETTERS 
 
 Typo McSetters, of the Daily Lance, 
 
 Awoke one night out of a mixed-ale trance, 
 
 And turning saw at an adjacent frame. 
 
 Shadowy, but apparent just the same, 
 
 An angel working with a golden stick. 
 
 Typo was paralyzed, but rallying quick. 
 
 He cried: "What settest thou?" The angel turned. 
 
 As if the speaker bold he would have spurned. 
 
 He coldly, proudly spake: "I set," said he, 
 
 "The names of those at Mrs. Astor's tea." 
 
 * 'And is mine one?" "No!" said the angel, vexed, 
 
 "Set 'em up again," said Mac, "and mine is 
 
 mixed." 
 The angel vanished through the doorway dim; 
 And Mac said he went out to look for him. 
 Next day The Lance had a Police Digest, 
 And lo! McSetters' name led all the rest. 
 
 ^ 
 
To a Tin Can 6 1 
 
 TO A TIN CAN 
 
 Thou still unrinsed food of William goats! 
 
 Thou fostered child of high protection chiefs! 
 Improvised growler, out of whose mouth floats 
 
 The well-mixed ale that drowns the Hobo's 
 griefs! 
 What fruits are pictured round thy torrid zone! 
 
 Where is the Jumbo peach this represents? 
 In Jersey or the dales of Delaware? 
 What purple grapes! and gracious! what a pear! 
 Colossal! — Surely these fruits must have grown 
 
 On trees we see in California prints! 
 
 Real fruit is large, but pictured fruit is huge! 
 
 There are no limits to a painter's brush 
 Debased, and partner to a subterfuge 
 
 To sell an enterprising canner's slush. 
 Great Pear, I shall preserve thee as a fake! 
 
 Soft Peach, thy downy cheek shall ever bloom! 
 Those purple grapes shall cluster 'round thy brow. 
 Discarded Tin — and Father Time shall make 
 Of thee a ferrule for his scythe — and thou 
 
 Shalt rise above the general caprid doom! 
 
62 The BarnSiOrmers Companion 
 
 VALEDICTORY 
 
 Go, little hobo of a book, 
 
 Endeavor to exist. 
 Let not thy name too soon adorn 
 
 The mortuary list. 
 
 I would not have thee live alvvay; 
 
 A season shall suffice, 
 If in that season thou shouldst make 
 
 Incision in the ice. 
 
 Live, then, a season, as a flower: 
 
 To that, I liken thee; 
 Suspecting I have not the power 
 
 To germinate a tree. 
 
 Aye, like a flower, comport thyself:- 
 Yet, do not blush unseen, 
 
 Though springing in the desert air 
 Without the Magazine; 
 
Valedictory 63 
 
 But ope thy leaves, and strive to scent 
 
 The circumfluent air. 
 Haply some wight may pluck thee 
 
 For his passing boutonierre, — 
 
 May pluck, and wear thee for a day, 
 
 As beautiful pro tem. — 
 Better be worn and cast away 
 
 Than wither on the stem. 
 
 Go, little book, and sail the seas 
 Where prouder ships have sunk,— 
 
 Where storms abide, and every tide 
 Flows fast to the Isle of Junk. 
 
 Go, little book, pursue thyself, 
 Go forth, I care not where, — 
 
 To Hades, if thou wilt, and say 
 That Richard sent thee there. 
 
64 The Barnstormer' s Companion 
 
 Go, little book, — but thou art gone. 
 
 Well — if thou shouldst return. 
 My fire poetic still shall glow, 
 
 For I'll have books to burn. 
 
 'ffi-il 
 
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