W\ THUSETTES -»■ m y ■& EUDORUS C. KENNEY. THUSETTES BY . F.UDORUS C. KENNEY, TRUXTON, N. Y., 1899. No doubt it is a foolish thing To sit and tease the muse ; But, if persisteut, she may briug A tiny little thuse. CORTLAND, N. Y.: Prfss of the Cortland Democrat. . . . 1899 . . . 41809 {Copyright 1899, by the Author.} .... OM mi )) ^/y-\^o CVA^yV^^^ 5 CONTENTS. PAGE. Alexander Beats Them All :__ 86 All Great Men Have Their Apers _ 81 America Forever! 1 ..- 113 Artist in Color, An 76 Averted 94 Banquet, The 36 Behold the Change ! _ 88 Bessie Explains It 62 Birthday Party, The 57 Black-berrying 130 Black Burial Philosophy 32 Bock _ 51 Burning of The Blacksmith Shop, The 71 Camera Obscura 95 Catalogical Sidewalk, The : 68 Cat, The 108 Celebrating 94 Celestial Fare .__ 82 Children Can Read You, The 13 Children, The 28 Christian Temperance 66 Church vStough, A -__ ;_•__ 82 Circus, The 115 Clergyman's Reverie, The 55 Coach, The ... 7 2 Confirmation Car, The 64 Cosset Lamb, The 54 Cuba 133 Cupid Still Hits the Bull's-eye^ • _n8 Deo Gratias . 87 Different Ways of Saying It 64 Disappointing -_ "9~3 Diver, The •__• -1 in Dot Glass of Beer ; 21 Double Tragedy, A „___ 92 Durham's Lament, The . .. _ 88 Egg-nog Plot, The __ __ 29 Epitaph 85 Epitaph, All ..___ 84 Evidence of Progress 75 Ex-Pres. Harrison, Married April 6th, 1896 83 Fireside Musings 123 Fraud 59 Gobble 25 God of Nature 107 God's Law 27 Gold 75 Good-bye 127 He Always Had a Carriage. . . 86 Hearts •_ 121 Hen Party, The ... 40 Hero of the Moment, The 86 Her Protector 97 He Told Her__ 85 Hills, The. _ 1 His First Official Eifort 24 "Hit Her Along" for Old Cornell 124 Hocus-pocus ....... 48 If You'd Make a Mortal Love You, Squeeze His Hand 98 I Love to Go Out Barefoot . no In Memory of Trim 129 It Doth Her Temper Raisle 86 It's All Over Then 87 Jack 65 Jonah 118 Josephine and the Snow 47 June-bugs 71 Just Becoming Evident 89 Laughing Blackeyed Maiden, The 93 Leap-year 82 Lenten Belle. The 49 Love at Sight 88 Love Game, A : 63 Luscious Fruit 63 March 99 March Seventeenth — - 15 Masticatory Bliss 55 McGregory's Ride 103 Melon-colic Times __ 9 2 Memories of Youth 121 Mirandy Recounts the Story of Elder Bogus 22 Mirandy Talks About Individual Cups in Com- munion 12 Modern Marguerite, The 118 Monroe Doctrine, The __ 86 Mowing Machines 38 My Little Autoharp 101 My Piccolo 37 Nation's Hope, The 84 New Photography, The 88 "News! Last Edition ! " 104 Next 86 Normal Praver, A 39 October " _. . 120 Ohio to the Front! 66 Old Bachelor, The 9° Old Church Bell, The .. 41 Old Fifer, The 126 Old Piano, The 95 Only One Young Man, Who Danced 9 Orthodox Method, An _- H5 Our Boy H3 Pride of the County Seat, The 18 Proof Positive 103 Question of the Hour, The ___ 77 Quilt, The .. 107 Ramblings 5° Rector Powell's Experience 83 Reflections .__ _ 122 Rift in the Cloud, A 4 1 Rolling _■__ 102 vSabbath, The 53 Sancho 13 Senator Peffer on Congressional Funerals 80 Senator Morrill Reports the Free Coinage Amend- ment 87 She Knew 84 Shocking! 67 Silver Fiend, The 73 Sinner's Donation, The 33 vSleigh-ride, The 105 Soapman, The 100 Somewhat Otherwise 90 Song of the Demerit Squad 68 Sounds from the Normal 79 vSt. Valentine's Day 50 Sugaring Time 16 Sweet Girl Graduate's better to Her Friend, The__ 19 Swinging 131 Thanksgiving in Europe, 1895 74 That Reserve 87 They Are Able Because They Seem to Be Able 56 Tioughnioga 6 To Annie, Accepting a Leap Year Proposal 67 To a Young I v ady Rapidly Gaining in Avoirdupois 85 To My Father 132" Tony and the Voice .__ 4 Torch Angels 70 Tra-la-la 78 Tramp's Choice, The 85 Turn About 107 Two Davids, The 74 Two Songs 31 Two Weeks After 83 Unsuccessful Coup D'etat, An 88 Vacation 23 Valentines, 1896 1 59 Vesuvian Cruelty 97 Wars and Rumors of Wars 10 Watching 127 Way We Nominate, The 77 Why She Wore Them 66 William Goes a Fishing ■- — 44 Wine 103 THE HILLS. Oh, for a tramp on those grand old hills, That rise o'er the vale of my birth, Where the low gurgling rills And the birds' merry trills Fill the heart with an ocean of mirth ? They lift up their brows to be kissed by a cloud ; They stand in their might majestic and proud ; You climb to the top, your very soul thrills, With the view from the hills, the hills ! Ah, I have stood on the column Vendome And gazed o'er the Paris of art ; I have seen from above How the wonderful love Of the beautiful in man's heart Will force itself out in statues and founts, Improving, progressing, as upward he mounts, But, oh, it was naught to that view at home From the top of the hills, the hills ! Bright rose the sun on a clear Sabbath morn, When I wandered forth, pensive, alone ; The people passed by And seemed to ask why To the hills my footsteps were prone. 'Twixt narrow church walls their voices they raise In prayer and thanksgiving, in glad hymns of praise But for me, give me worship, which ever is born On the crest of the hills, the hills ! Wild is the gorge and winding the way, That leads from the vale to the west. In the rock's shady side Cold water-springs hide. Trickling out for the villagers' quest. And some have been caught and their pure currents flow Adown the brook's side to the village below ; " May God bless the draught," the good people say, " That comes from the hills, the hills ! " Alone and unnoticed, but peaceful and free, Lives a lover of birds in this dell. Through his long quiet life, Free from envy and strife, He has studied and loved them so well, Not a note 'scaped his ear, piped by day or by night. Not a wing has been struck 'gainst the ether in flight, That his keen searching eye did not see, As it flew o'er the woods to the hills. Carefully touching them, case after case, He showed me his treasures so rare ; Pretty warblers, whose throats Warble now no more notes To trill through the sweet woodland air, The long legged heron, the robin, the wren, Swallows, phoebes and hawks, old owls, and then The cute little humming birds, each in its place, And more from the woods and the hills. I bade him good morning and upward I clomb Till I merged 'neath the firmament clear, On the round, rolling crest Where one can feel best The pulse-beat of freedom most dear, And there at a farm-house I rested awhile, And cheered by the house-wife's welcoming smile Let my eyes o'er the wide-spreading landscapes roam, O'er the views from the hills, the hills ! Northward I gazed 'long the Labrador fair, Far up to the lake so wild, Where the tangle of plants Gave our Karl such a chance, And his moments so hap'ly beguiled. Full oft in a rotten old scow have I rowed, And cast forth my spoon o'er the pick'rel's abode ; Oh, the joy, when like lightning he darts from his lair, With a splash takes it deep in his gills ! Tioughnioga winds down from the east, Her w r aves glistening bright in the sun ; Every riffle and bend, Ever)- eddy and trend, In my heart its own corner has won. Along her curved bank glides a swift railroad train, Bound south with its cargo of butter and grain, And the whistle and snort of the great iron beast Wakes a tardy response from the hills. Yonder, behold, toward the south, in full view, The vale ofCheningo leads out ! Its pure crystal brook Floats many a hook, Most skillfully cast for its trout. Many times have I tramped 'long its sinuous shore, Still hoping for treasures, just one or two more, Till the sun, low descending in rich scarlet hue, Disappeared 'neath the brow of the hills. To the right, in his majesty touching the sky, Mount Roderick looms up sublime ; On his fatherly side Sturdy god-sons abide — Sons of Solon in this modern time. And on toward the west old Virgil is seen, His metaphors ever in mem'ry kept green, And Homer still further appears to the eye, Both honored in these noble hills And there, nestling cosily, peaceful and calm, The village lies under my feet ; Now and then I can see A boy or girl free Run joyously forth on the street. Behind those elm trees my fond loving gaze Lingers long on my home, while I think of the days, Bright days of my youth, sweet memory's balm, Happy days 'midst the vales and the hills! Sorrow, trouble and pain, dread sickness and death, Glad pleasure and happiness, too, The travails of birth, The shoutings of mirth. All, all are involved in the view. There anxious hearts worry o'er sins unforgiven, Search faithfully after the highway to heaven ; But the soul that is sick and struggling for breath Should come out on the hills, the hills. Ah ! why should we stifle the spirit below, When the clear air of heaven above Invites us to rise, To seek the fair skies Of manhood, of freedom, of love? Come up on the hill-tops of life, my friend ! Tear off the shackles, your sinews unbend ! Climb up where your whole noble nature will grow ! Come up on the hills, the hills ! TONY AND THE VOICE. Listen, while I tell of Tony, How he heard the voice of God, And fell dowm in prayer devoutly By his trowel and his hod. All alone upon the housetop, Face and fingers cold and numb, Builded he a noble chimney, Handsome, true, exactly plumb. Every corner turned precisely, Every brick laid squarely on, Every seam filled in securely, Thus the chimney grew anon. But the chilly winds of winter Whistled through his scanty hair ; And poor Tony longed for evening, When he would descend from there. And he took a mite of brandy, Just to brace his spirits up ; Not a very big drink took he, Only just a little sup. Then his spirit grew impatient, As the pesky mortar froze ; Stronger grew his Irish-English, Redder grew his Irish nose. And he swore vile execrations. Damned that unpropitious date When he learned to be a mason, Cursed his most unhappy fate. Now it happened that the chimney Led down to the parson's room, Where he sat inditing sermons In his loneliness and gloom. Cutting short his dissertation On the power of Aaron's rod, Straight he shouted up the chimney : ' ' Stop that blasphemy of God ! " Down went Tony on his elbows : "Lord, forgive !" he humbly prayed, While he thought of Saul of Tarsus And the ass which Hebrew brayed. "O, my God !" he pleaded wildly, " If this once you'll let me off Never more will I be grumbling" — Then he heard the parson cough. " Faith !" says he, "has God consumption ? By me soul, I am a fool ! It was only that blamed preacher — Wall — be gor — 'tis somewhat cool !" TIOUGHNIOGA. Have you heard of the legend of Tioughnioga, Altahalah. Conduca and noble Kenotah ? Did'st know that the river which gracefully winds A-down through our wheat-fields, our corn and our clover, Where the ripe yellow sheaf, the farmer boy binds, And feels thankful to God, when the hot day is over, Is wrapped round with story of brave deeds well done, In the days of the red-man, when a bow was the gun ? Old Conduca, scarred and worn, Could no longer lead the braves 'Gainst the threat' ning Mingoe storm, Gath'ring northward by the waves. So he called Kenotah to him ; Through and through the old chief knew him For he loved his younger daughter, Altahalah pure as water : "When the crimson moon went down, Colored with Lenape gore Borne from off the battle ground I was, weary, wounded, sore. A few moons more, this branchless tree Will have fallen to the earth ; You must keep our people free, Be true, Kenotah, to your birth." The dark eyes of Kenotah flashed, And his tall and manly form Stood erect, as through him dashed Streams of Indian blood and warm. Then he gathered ail the warriors And he stirred them with his fervor And they made him leader o'er them To protect their long loved valley. The sun has reached its zenith near, The trees with dark green foliage wave, O'er the hill the antlered deer Is bounding, while he eyes the brave Three painted Mingoes from the north At Conduca's wigwam stand ; Their faces rough and scarred and swarth Lenape cabins they demand. Altahalah like a fawn Bounds away to her Kenotah, Ere the warriors know she's gone, Both appear before the Mingoes. "Talk not to me of blood," he said, " it's my delight I was never born, but from a stump, Shivered by a thunderbolt, Came I forth." They quail, and with low murmers slink away. That night a fearful storm was brewing, And midst the thunder's roll Altahalah heard the warwhoop Of the northmen coming southward ; How her timid being trembled ! How she shuddered at the danger ! How she watched the brave Lenapes, As they struggled with the Mingoes ! How she thanked the Great Good Spirit, When she saw Kenotah drive them ! Oh ! What anguish when her father, Old Conduca, scarred and honored, Bit the dust pierced by an arrow ! 1 I'll protect thee," said Kenotah ; 'Calm thyself; thy father's hunting Where the Mingoe does not threaten, Where the warwhoop never worries." Slyly stealing like a wild-cat Crept a dark athletic savage, Altahalah seized, and running. 'Scaped the eye of brave Kenotah. Many moons he followed watching For a sight of his own promised, Through the tangle neath the branches. Looking, straining, longing ever ; Who can think that painted savage Is all wild and rough and barb'rous? * * * -:;- * Deserted is Tioughnioga ; All the red men have gone southward ; Yet Kenotah wanders lonely ; Altahalah still he seeks for. See yon dusky maid reclining On the bank of her own river ; Long dark braids of hair are hanging Over her uncovered shoulders ; Eyes as black as raven's plumage, Form developed true to nature, Still she chants her fav'rite love-song, Longing, hoping for Kenotah. Now she hears the dip of paddle, Sees the splashing, dripping water, Sees that old familiar white plume ; It is, it is her dear Kenotah ! Quicker now the boatman's motion, Bends his lithe and graceful figure, Swell and shrink his rounded muscles ; How the light boat skims the water ! Ere he reaches near the maiden, They exchange those well known signals, Waving hands and shouting voices ; While the heart-beat flutters, quickens. Now at last their eyes are drinking Draughts of love from out each other, Then she leaps upon his bosom There infolded dreams of Heaven. ***** Strange these legends, how they mingle Fact and fancy all together On the border-land of spirit, Overlapping soul and matter ! In some hidden mystic manner These two lovers there embracing Are the branches of the river ; He the East Branch, she the West Branch, Joined in wedlock near Port Watson. Flowing on united ever, Down the winding beauteous valley Midst the waters of Chenango, They together seek the ocean. * Now we hook the artful pick'rel, Build our bridges made of iron, Watch the thund'ring locomotive Move its long and heavy coal-train And we never stop to think of All the changes moving onward, Of the wondrous evolution. ONLY ONE YOUNG HAN WHO DANCED. There were sixteen gay young maidens Went a coaching one fine day — Went a coaching to Glen Haven, Went for pleasure, as they say. But, alas, for these fair maidens ! By a cruel fate it chanced, That with all those sixteen lassies Went but one young man who danced. Only one, girls ! Think of that, girls ! . Only one young man who danced ! It was hot ; he perspired freely ; His was not a nature false ; Midst those anxious, waiting maidens, Aching for one little waltz, He distributed his favors, And their pleasure much enhanced. But, just think ! 'mongst sixteen maidens, Only one young man who danced ! Only one, girls ! Think of that, girls! Only one young man who danced ! Worst of all, we'd hardly settled In our cottage on the slope, When he blasted all our prospects, Darkened ever}- ray of hope, By announcing most politely, As the evening shades advanced, He must go home next morning, That dear young man who danced. Must go home, girls ! Think of that, girls! That dear young man who danced ! WARS AND RUilORS OF WARS. January, 1896. Hark, from Cuba's tropic strand Come the groans of men in chains. Struggling 'gainst Hispania's hand, Hand besmeared with bloody stains ! Hand that held the Lowlands down, Sent the Duke of Alva there, Till the sea o'er Leyden town Rushed in answer to its prayer. Revolution's desp'rate throes Rack the isle of Cuba now ; Forth to die the hero goes, Patriot sweat upon his brow. See in Spain the soldier boys Leaving home for Indies' shore ; Masses, altars, martial joys, Decorations, cannons' roar, Sobs and weeping midst the cheers, Mothers weeping for their sons ; Wasting fever more she fears, Than the dreaded rebel guns. In the east the Moslem sword Dips its edge in Christian gore ; Islam's prophet, still adored, Stands defiant there once more. Poor Armenia crushed between Russia's growth and England's greed, Awful forces, deep, unseen ! Wrings her hands in direst need. Jameson and his reckless band O'er Transvaal their foray drive ; Firm the Boers for freedom stand ; Not a man goes back alive. Europe waits, armed capapie, Ear alert for war's dread blast ; E'en Columbia loved and free Nails her banner to the mast. Why should men forever fight ? Make the world one dreadful bier ? Always struggling for the right, Both sides equally sincere ? 'Tis the awful law of life ; From these devastating storms, From this endless bloody strife, See emerge the higher forms ! Man must rise by killing those Who are weaker than the rest ; Thus our brothers are our foes ; Thus are left the fittest, best. Hard, unsympathetic law ! Hopeless, dumb, unwilling, tossed In thy tooth-bespeckled maw All humanity is lost ! Such is war. Oh, haste the day, When mankind shall make advance Past the law that holds its sw T ay Over animals and plants ! When sweet Peace o'er all the earth, Blessed angel from above, Shall pour down her flood of mirth, Ushering in the reign of love MIRANDY TALKS ABOUT INDIVIDUAL CUPS IN connuNiON. Say, Tohn, I've jest been a readin' How the folks in the city is a thinkin' 'Bout ketchin' consumption an' sich like When out a one cup they're a drinkin'. But the day is away, and mighty far off, And the sun haint never yet ris'n. When I aint a coverin' with my mouth The spot where my John's put his'n. They're talkin' 'bout millions of microbes Bein' passed from puss'n to puss'n ; I never seen any ; hev' you, John ? 'Pears to me it's nothin' but fuss'n. They say that the men an" the wimmens, When their souls they go about savin', Have a cup with their name writ upon it, Jest the same as they do when they're shavin'. I've heard that they've got up a ciphon What you put in the wine and duck it ; There's a valve, which keeps it from spillin' When ye take it in your mouth an' suck it. Why, them fine old solid silver goblers, What we bought with our sociable money, Not to see Deacon Webster pass um to us, Well, 'twould make me feel awful funny ! No; I'm dead agin' such alterashuns, I don't want no fiddler a tunin', Nor none er yer barbershop fixin's When me and my John goes communin' THE CHILDREN CAN READ YOU. Oh, happy the man whom little girls love ! The man with such a transparent soul, That children unconsciously feel themselves move To his side, as if drawn by a magnetic pole. How they scamper and shout and jump on his knee ! Throw their arms round his neck and hug him so tight ! Muss up his hair in jolly high glee, And make him appear like a '* horrid old fright ! " The heart of a child is a delicate test Of feelings and thoughts that deepest do lie ; Responding at once to the purest and best, And chilled by the false ; the)- cannot tell why. Like a damp chilling blast from an iceberg's side, Is the glance of a hypocrite on a child's soul ; Like a sunbeam, which angels to mortals would guide, The smile of an honest man reaches its goal. Then cease masquerading ! be open and free ! Speak out what you think and act what you preach ! Though modest, indeed, your pretensions may be, The throne of the soul you surely will reach. SANCHO. Allow me, please, to introduce our Sancho. He is our dog, a cocker spaniel, Of aristocratic family. Stand up, sir ! Shake hands, sir ! Very well, sir ! You see, he has the instincts of a nabob. His name is after that of Sancho Panza — You've heard of him — Cervantes' hero, The squire of Don Quixote. Come here, sir ! Speak up sir ! Correct, sir ! You see, he is quite fond of conversation. Just gaze into his face, be sure to notice That keen, bright eye and look of kindness, Intelligent and pleasant. Now laugh, sir ! Ah. ha, sir ! That's good, sir ! You see, he seems in ev'rything so human. Now feast your eyes upon his coat a moment. Oh, how it shines ! So black and glossy ! It's my delight to comb it. Lie down sir ! Turn 'round, sir ! Hold still, sir ! You see, he takes great pride in his own toilet. Next let me show you how he jumps superbly. Right through my arms, held in a circle ! I hold them high before him. Come through, sir ! Now back, sir ! Once more, sir ! You see, he seems to enjoy th' exhilaration. Well, yes; he sometimes condescends to Be a murderer. Bring out the rat-trap, Wherein are half a dozen. Hold on, sir! Just wait, sir! Now then, sir ! You see, he shakes them into stringy fragments. But sometimes he goes after bigger victims ; He steals away and trees a woodchuck ; He's very fond of burrowing. There, there, sir ! Come out, sir ! He's safe, sir ! You see, he'll dig all day in search of ground-hogs. Oh, he's a dandy chap when he goes courting, With tail erect and in vibration ! Oh my ! he's so excited ! Come home, sir ! Calm down, sir ! Don't sulk, sir ! You see, it irritates his nervous system. Yes, yes ; w T e think a great deal of our Sancho ; He is so bright and interesting ! We could not live without him ! Good boy, sir ! That's all, sir ! Lie down, sir ! You see, how T quickly then he caught the meaning. MARCH SEVENTEENTH. Saint Patrick was the man, Who formed the worthy plan, Which grateful ev'ry Irish bosom makes ; No less a work was his, Than to bring eternal bliss To Ireland, by expelling all her snakes. Since Eve in Eden's bower Did dally with the power Of a reptile wriggling slyly through the grass, Whene'er a woman looks At vines or other crooks, A serpent seems before her eyes to pass. '5 A snake inside the house Is worse than e'en a mouse ; How the women scream and hop upon a chair ! Now doubtless this will cease, And there'll come a reign of peace, When they all the gay and festive bloomers wear. But worse than in the grass, Or in the house, alas ! Is the snake that coils its fiery body red Around man's inmost soul, When at the flowing bowl He sits, until "he's got um in the head." Where is the noble saint, Who'll listen to our plaint, And banish these forever from the land ? Renowned shall be his name ! In everlasting fame Beside Saint Patrick's shall it honored stand ! SUGARING TiriE. The crows are cawing in the woods, And milder blows the April breeze ; The farmer views the passing clouds, And says : " 'Tis time to tap the trees." "Bring out the buckets now, my lads, And pile them on the o]d bob-sleigh ; We'll scatter them this morning, boys, And tap the bush another day." The horses wade through snow and mud, As patiently a road they break, Amidst majestic maples tall, While 'long their sides the briars rake. To-morrow early see the youth With spouts and nails and bit in hand, And rubber boots, drawn to the knee, Before each towering monarch stand. 16 He eyes the root, and then above The sturdy branches reaching out, And forms a judgment, where 'tis best To drive the little iron spout. Then round and round his hand doth whirl, And bends his body toward the tree, While curling chips fall gently down, And forth the life-blood oozes free. He pounds the hollow spigots in, And hangs a bucket bright below, Then listening to the dripping tune, Wades slowly on through deep, wet snow. Next morn the pails are brimming full ; "It's time to gather, lads, aho ! Haul out the sled ! chain on the tub ! We'll off among the maples go !" Canst hear the deep, resounding tone, As o'er projecting roots it churns? On th' outward trip it sinks away, But swells again, as it returns. Now foamy white the current glides Along its winding liquid way Into the old plank sugar-house ; The horses paw the ground and neigh. Stir up the fire ! pile on the wood ! Fill all the air with fragrant steam ! Swing gracefully the shining axe ! Throw blankets o'er the sweating team ! Bring out the luncheon ! oh, how fast The ham and eggs now disappear ! Full well the farmer's daughter knows The art to cook, the art to cheer ! At last the syrup in the pan Grows scanty, and with anxious turn We stir, and quickly quench the fire, Lest here and there our treasure burn. The lusty housewife now assumes Control; and at the kitchen fire She "sugars off" the "batch," and moulds It into cakes, which all admire. Run out, my boy, bring pans of snow Heaped high with rounded, dome-like backs ; On this we'll pour the syrup thick In snakelets of delicious wax. You girls may stir with iron spoons The sugar warm ; be quick ! make haste ! When white and granular it turns, 'Tis most delightful to the taste ! Oh, joyous, happy April days ! How tempting to the poet's rhyme ! There is no season of the year More jolly than our sugaring time ! The 6ap runs fast, fills all the tubs, When nights are cold and days are bright ; And then the boys and girls will go Into the woods and boil all night. What fun, when by the crackling fire The well-worn cards are dealt around, And bubbling cider cheers the soul, While whines outside the storm-fiend's hound And many the hearts, that feel the sway Of love grow strong toward the dawn of day; And many a pair, so people say, Agree to wed in the coming May. THE PRIDE OF THE COUNTY SEAT. Hobblety cobblety, rumpyty rump, Over the stones you go bumpyty bump ; This is the pride of the county seat, The cobblestone pavement on its Main street. Down the autumn hued valley you ride, Watching the gracefully winding stream, Buoyant your heart swells high with pride Over the speed of your fine blood team. Then hobblety cobblety, rumpyty rump, Over the stones you go bumbyty bump ; iS You've reached the pride of the county seat, The cobblestone pavement on its Main Street. Noiselessly gliding, a spirit on wheels, The bicyclist spins along over the way, Swiftly beneath him the smooth surface reels, Happy his soul ; all nature is gay. Then hobblety cobblety, rumpyty rump Over the stones he goes bumpyty bump ; He's struck the pride of the county seat, The cobblestone pavement on its Main street. The good honest farmer comes trustingly down, His hayrack piled high with timothy sweet ; His journey is smooth till he gets into town, And then he tips over on its Main street. Hobblety cobblety, rumpyty rump, Over the stones he goes bumpyty bump ; He's found the pride of the county seat, The cobblestone pavement on its Main street. THE SWEET GIRL GRADUATE'S LETTER TO HER FRIEND. My dear Grace : At last I'm an S. G. G., Commencement is over, and school life for me ; Yet a few last words, a few parting shakes And then the boys leave ; ah, my little heart breaks ! As I promised you, now I will sit down and write All about graduation ; my head is turned quite By flattering remarks, billetsdoux and bright flowers Sent in from rich uncles and evergreen bowers. First the dress ; I send sample, 'tis of lily-white stuff, Transparent (you know why), just a little bit rough ; Oh, it looks soft and downy, 'twould tempt a gay lad To put his arm round — 'tis too bad, too bad, That my mind should thus wander from studies and books To thoughts about fellows, flirtations and crooks 19 Of the brachial limb about my slim waist ! But now, to resume, to subjects more chaste Let my fluttering brain come back. Oh — the dress ! On the left side a panel joins a fanlike tress Of the goods, trimmed with braid a delicate cream, The holes filled with spider webs ; thus it did seem That an ugly arachnidau, wandering down, Had spun his silk filament over my gown. There was science in that ; I wanted to show What Natural Hist'ry I might chance to know. Long, graceful drapery hangs cross the front, Coming up 'neath the sash as if it would hunt For the place where his hand, softly stealing around- Hold on ! I'm digressing, to wander I'm bound ! Quite plain hangs the back ; a cream surah sash More than six yards long (that took the cash), With nice knotted fringe, and two feet wide, Goes down the back ; 'twas fit for a bride ! The waist is plain too with a fish-tail back ; It is square in the neck and does not lack An outline of braid — the sleeves, indeed, By an ornament neat are from stiffness freed ; The neck is filled in with fine silk tulle ; Long, cream kid-gloves according to rule ; A fan, hand-painted in butter-cups, sweet Daisies, butterfly and bee. It was just complete. Ere my paper gives out I must hasten to tell Of the oceans of flowers which were piled pell-mell All over the carriage as we drove back home, Implere sufficit quantum Washingto7i Dome ! There were roses la France and roses le Jack, Water-lilies, verbenas, and cut flowers a stack, Heliotrope, mignonette, and, what do you think, Carnations and mermets, a design in pink — Just too lovely ! Oh dear ! 'twas a sweet basket tied With a pink satin bow ; I actually cried With delight, when a neat little note I espied In his big round hand, trying in there to hide. Yes, I did read an essay ; I almost forgot To mention that trifle ; 'tis the one sad blot On the whole operation of turning a girl From the quiet of school into life's busy whirl. But I could not forget, if I would, that rush Which at the reception my new rig did crush Till my poor soul ached as by lover bereft ; It's a wonder to me I had any dress left. To-night as alumna I'll cast my first vote, And then at the banquet my stomach I'll coat With a lining of coffee and cake ; but I own That mamma goes with me as my chaperone, 'Cause he couldn't stay to all these affairs Which make a girl wise ; and so business cares Seem already to call him away from my side Before I've quite got him ; I really can't hide My sorrow at this, but perhaps I'll find The cold, heartless world a little unkind, Though I hope it's not common to much underrate The worth (or the cost) of a sweet graduate. P. S. Since I wrote the above, I've been ill ; The nervous excitement, I thought it would kill Poor me ; I was out of my head, and then I was glad I shall never go through it again. DOT GLASS OF BEER. Ach, Gretchen, vat you dink's so goot As dot fine glass ov peer ? It "makes me glad vom head to foot, Come, pring der pretzel here ! Mein Gott, yust see der loafly foam ! Away mit care und frown ! Gesundheit, frau, und kind, und home ! Ach, Gretchen, drink her down ! Der cares und troubles make me sad, Wir work hart all der year ; Es wolte sein Almighty bad Of we could get no peer ! Wir haben wenig gelt to spend, Our house is awful klein ; We've kids genug und some to lend, Der kleide ain't so fine, But sie sind strong und lusty, though ; Ach, how I loaf to see Dem eat black brot, und, gracious, oh ! Trink peer like you und me ! Der say dot peeples over here, In dees gross landt und free, Der want to take away your peer, Und make us all drink tea. Great Gott, mine Gretchen, dink of dot How you und me vould look A settin' round ein old tea-pot Und readin mit ein book ! Ach, Gott in Himmel, must der day In dees landt nicht appear, Ven I soil to mein Gretchen say : "Wir can nicht drink no peer !" MIRANDY RECOUNTS THE STORY OF ELDER BOGUS. Say John, last night, as you was snorin', And the wind round the chimbly was a roarin' I couldn't sleep a wink, not a minit ! My head, there was somethin' buzzin' in it ! I lay on my back and kep' a thinkin', 'Bout when Elder Bogus was a drinkin', And all the while jes the same a teachin' And right agin it awful strong a preachin'. Why, he was 'bout the smartest man a livin'! It seemed like the Lord to him was givin' A tongue full of lightnin' and of thunder ; 'Twas theeloquentest ever I sot under ! He jes made us wimmens all to love 'im ; God's grace seemed to shine bright above 'im, He got all the sinners in to meetin' And we thought we the devil was a beatin'. Then, jest as the Christians was in clover, He had to go and kick it all over With that keg of beer, he was hidin' In his wagin neath the seat there a ridin'. The express-man to Cortland was a sayin', How the Elder him a bill was a payin' On beer to his house he was takin', And fools of us all was a makin'. Elder Bogus he resigned in a twinkle, And round his shinin' eye a laffin' wrinkle Grew plainer than before I ever see it ; The reason I don't know, whatever be it. In his farewell sermon he explained it ; How the miserable keg, which contained it, Was sent 'im by a friend, to be drunken By his wife, who with asthma low was sunken. Now she was a curus sort a creatur ; It alius made me sick-like to meet'er. She was Irish, and she alius tried to kiss ye ; Her mouth was awful big and couldn't miss ye We wimmins mighty bad was a feelin', And before the good Lord was a kneelin'; But the sinners to the Elder was a quaffin'. And in wickedness at us was a laffin'. As for me, I can't understand it, Why the good of God's cause does demand it, That sich men should go round a preachin', And arter our affections be a reachin'. VACATION. In the soft sweet month of June, When the year of toil is o'er ; All the world seems in attune As I hie me home once more. Oh, the joy that fills my heart, As I gaze on hill and dell ! Of my soul they seem a part ; Joy, oh joy ! words cannot tell ! When I grasp that loving hand, Gaze into those eyes of blue, In my home once more I stand, Ah, 'tis hard to think it true ! Down the winding river side Wend I with my fishing rod, While my thoughts away do glide, Rising up to nature's God. Lightly in their thoughtless course Speed the happy summer days, Guided by relentless force On toward autumn's smoky haze Then, when frost and sun do paint All the land in gorgeous hues, Back with homesick soul and faint, Back to bricks and narrow views ! Thus through life the fates employ Alternating mirth and pain Make our hearts leap high with joy, Then plunge us in the depths again. Till at last the strife is o'er, When in peace we hope, at best, On some|distant mythic shore To enjoy eternal rest. HIS FIRST OFFICIAL EFFORT. Poet Austin, ^laureate, By Victoria paid, Did a few bad lines create On Doctor Jameson's raid. The world, in wonder, why on him Laureateship was placed, Read his ode on "Doctor Jim," Read in anxious haste. 24 Austin was a name unknown 'Mongst the birds that sing, Till Victoria on the throne " Took him 'neath her wing. Whether the poetic muse Nestles 'neath his locks, Matters little 'gainst the news That he's orthodox. Shade of Alfred, canst thou hear In thy silent grave ? Pack the gravel in thine ear ! Save thy nerves, oh, save ! Try again, sweet laureate ! Choose a better theme ; Sing Britannia's world estate — Sing Victoria's dream ! Sing of Grover's little twist At the lion's tail ; In thy poem give the gist Of Armenia's wail. Sing of Russia, hovering o'er China's troubled court. Pushing also toward the door Guarded by the Porte. But remember, when you sing, You're no rhymester now ; Give us something that shall bring, Garlands to thy brow. GOBBLE. A Thanksgiving Idyl. As I stood gazing o'er the fence, That doth inclose our poultry yard, A turkey fat, with tail immense, Said, "Gobble, gobble, gobble!" 25 "I will," says I, "my noble turk ; Next Thursday is the day proclaimed, When all good Christians cease their work And gobble, gobble, gobble !" "I'll just step out, when you're asleep, And dreaming of your pretty wives, And you, engrossed in slumbers deep, I'll gobble, gobble, gobble." This is the day when preachers bold L,et loose their long-collected spleen ; Of politics they rant and scold ; They gobble, gobble, gobble. The women gather round the door Before the speech, and after, too, Into each other's ears they pour Their gobble, gobble, gobble. The pharisees sit in the pew And thank the Lord in studied phrase, That they are blessed each year anew ; They gobble, gobble, gobble. They raise a hollow, heartless prayer For fellow man, whom they crowd down, But, ah ! his scanty pittance bare They gobble, gobble, gobble. Filled from a rich abundant store, Their tables groan with cake and wine, And roasted birds that nevermore Will gobble, gobble, gobble. The boys, with aching stomachs grim, Scarce wait until their plates are filled ; And then, great heavens ! with what vim They gobble, gobble, gobble. 26 All, friend, this world is all a game, Where ev'ry man dives reckless in ; Or Jew or Christian be his name, It's gobble, gobble, gobble. The bank cashier looks calmly on The stream of gold that daily flows Beneath his fingers, and anon He'll gobble, gobble, gobble. The mayors and assemblymen, Perchance selected from the church. Show they are simply sinners, when They gobble, gobble, gobble. And then, at Washington, alas ! The grave and reverend senators, When tariff bills before them pass, They gobble, gobble, gobble. All round the earth with eager glance The nations watch each port or isle, And every time there is a chance They gobble, gobble, gobble. But never mind ; Old Time's around, With scythe of truest tempered steel, Upon the wheel of ages ground ; He'll gobble, gobble, gobble Us all at last, including those, Who gobblers in this world have been He'll bring all gobbling to a close ; He'll gobble, gobble, gobble. GOD'S LAW. What is the Law of God ? It is the Law of Nature ; The inevitable sequence Of cause and effect ; This is the Law of God. 27 What is the Law of God ? The conservation of energy ; In all its entirety It always was ; This is the Law of God. What is the Law of God ? Thine acts shall bring their penalty : Whate'er ye sow, That shall ye reap ; This is the Law of God. What is the Law of God ? Wouldst thou escape its sentence ? Would st pile thy sins On a spotless soul? 'Tis not the Law of God. Almighty the Law of God ! Strive not to elude its action. Oh, infinite justice ! Most welcome thy stroke ! All hail the Law of God ! THE CHILDREN. Oh, we'll sing a song about the children ! Little children — bright-eyed children ! How they fill our hearts with joy forever ! How they laugh and dance and skip about in glee When the world seems all dark and dreary ! And no sunshine pierces through the cloud, When with sorrow our hearts are weary, And bent low our spirits proud, Then we'll sing a song about the children ! Little children — bright-eyed children ! How they fill our hearts with joy forever ! How they laugh and dance and skip about in glee 28 Oh a home, where there are no children, Is a dry and sandy desert drear, To the lone heart comes naught but sadness, When their voices are not near — Oh, we'll sing a song about the children ! Little children — bright-eyed children ! How they fill our hearts with joy forever ! How they laugh and dance and skip about in glee ! I am sure, that way up in heaven, Dancing, long that shining golden street, Will be seen crowds of sweetest children, Laughing out their joy complete ! Oh, we'll sing a song about the children ! Little children — bright-eyed children ! How they fill our hearts with joy forever ! How they laugh and dance and skip about in glee ! THE EGG=NOG PLOT. Jack's little mother is a strong prohibitionist, True to the cause ; and bolds that her mission is To convert all the world to her view. But her obstinate old man And her mulish foster son Do everything they can, Torment and poke their fun, And counteract whatever she may do. Hot was the weather and dry his oesophagus, Dull was his spirit, as if a sarcophagus Was behind everything that he saw. So he mentioned then to Jane That a glass of good egg-nog Would ease him of his pain, And would make the evening jog; She thought his judgment sound, without a flaw. 29 But it was harder to plan how to manage it, 'Scape all danger, suspicion, to banish it. Than to drink every drop when 'twas made. Now, they had two dozen eggs, And a good strong barrel full Of apple juice — no dregs — In the cellar, very cool, Which his father for rheumatics there had laid. Down went his mother for lemons. She would take of them Some half a dozen, and quickly she would make of them Lemonade; "'Twould not intoxicate." Just then he shouted out, "Let me make it, mother dear," And she quickly turned about And left the channel clear For a fiendish concoction incarnate. Then energetically well did he shake it up. And when 'twas finished straight did he take it up ; Three of cider and two of lemonade. His father, self, and Jane Took the triplet, and the pair Went, as the plan was lain, To the mammas, and their share Was pronounced deliciously well made. Now, in appearance there was no real difference ; But for the wicked there is no deliverance ; For the mother asked her daughter for a taste, And said " 'tis wintergreen." Then Jack's mother made a rush, Tasted too — the plot was seen, And the mourning did not hush Till more than half the nisjht had run to waste. 30 TWO SONGS. In a nice cosy home lived a sweet little girl ; She was happy and light of heart ; Never daughter of duke, of courtier or earl With all her jewels and art, Could look half so pretty as that little maid, While she danced and sung all day ; Her cheeks now so rosy surely never could fade, And her step was as light as a fay. Each morning she cared for her own dainty bird Whose voice more rapturous would soar With triplets and trills than ever was heard From the best prima-donna to pour. Now Bessie kept wond'ring why birds would sing More gaily than usual each spring ; For hours without ceasing those clear notes would rinj While it fluttered and poised in its swing. But one day came another bright song from the trees, Yes, richer, far sweeter than this ; And ah ! as the music was borne on the breeze, Her bird seemed delirious in bliss. She turned her sleek head now this way, now that, And sang out so loud and clear, That the stranger came closer and closer and sat On a branch of a tree quite near. Next morn Bessie found that her birdie had flown, And she searched all day midst the leaves, Wand' ring out in the forest in sadness alone ; How sincerely a little child grieves ! Oft she stood still and listened to hear one note ; "Oh, why did it go ?" she said, And a big round lump came up in her throat, As she thought, "perhaps it is dead " Summer days passed by and November came With its frosts and winds and snow ; She opened her window one morning the same As she had done months ago ; 3i And there by the cage, all stiff and cold, Her birdie lay nearly dead ; Its beauty was gone, it could hardly hold Up its weak little helpless head. Bessie opened the cage, put it back in its home, And fed it with care as before ; Though it never was tempted the wild-wood to roam, It sang not so blithe as of yore The years rolled on and Bessie grew up, A beautiful, lovely girl ; With joy and mirth brim full was her cup, And as pure as the purest pearl. O e day, however, she too heard a song From without, most strangely sweet ; It seemed to her then not a cadence was wrong ; Oh, it was most divinely complete ! She followed it, charmed, till he way she had lost, And back to her home could not fly; And then came the blight, betrayal's sharp frost ! Oh, how bitter its sting, by and by ! Mid sad hours of sorrow, that eternal sigh Of the bitter repenting day, How often she pondered. "I think I know why My birdie from me flew away !" BLACK BURIAL PHILOSOPHY. Mrs Ryan came to our house, Bringing berries, big blackberries, Oh, so ripe and sweet and juicy, Better far than classic cherries. Grace was lying on the sofa When the old fat woman brought them. In her mouth I dropped the big ones ; On her tongue she deftly caught them. One by one they tumbled in there, Past the "cupid bow" of lip curve, Just above her dimpled chin there ; Oh, what skill and grace and calm nerve ! 32 Then the Irish woman spoke up : "Sure, an' is that your foin lady, From her mornin' dreams just woke up, Dreams of rambles cool and shady ? Howly Mary, she's a noice one ! Oft I've wished that I war pretty ! My ould man will be roight happy When I'm safe in Zion's city." Thus it is in life's strange phases, Very tender every feeling While the tint of beauty lingers, All the charm of youth revealing, But when wrinkled, old and ugly, We do taste the fate of mortals, Happy friends will see us snugly Tucked away in Heaven's portals. THE SINNERS* DONATION. 'Twas long ago, but ne'ertheless The scenes did make such deep impress, That even now I seem to see Those forms of old surrounding me. Good Elder Grimes, of English birth, Found in this world but little mirth ; His spirit was with sorrow racked, And intellect a trifle cracked. For thirteen children had been born His humble table to adorn ; But cruel fate had made him see Them pass away, all, all, but three ! When in the sacred desk he stood To serve his flock with creamy food, The sportive "h" he would misplace, 'Twas hard, indeed, to keep one's face. He'd weep and moan and wring his hands, And twixt his sentences the "ands" 33 Stood forth so strong and prominent, They e'en eclipsed the main intent. At last the saintly brothers wise Gazed sadly in each other's eyes, And with a palsied shake of head The final heartless sentence said : "He must resign, it will not do To give the laugh to Satan's crew ; Though oft we yield to his vile rule, We cannot bear their ridicule. " So Brother Grimes was soon cast out Into the cold, to look about For other pastures rich and green, Where lambs for him might still be seen But times were hard ; he could not find A people pure of simple mind. Whose thought no higher plane could reach Than he was able then to preach. So in the parsonage he staid, Till all his salary was paid For bread to eat and clothes to wear. The sinners now began to swear : "It is a shame ! a dam-ned shame ! An insult to the Savior's name ! That people, who compose His church Should leave their pastor in the lurch ! "We'll take the case ourselves in hand We'll show this small contracted band Of souls, the difference between A generous act and being mean." Then straightway they did print a card, Which on the hearts of Christians jarred For none but sinners' names were there, Who never bowed the head in prayer. Be sure it was a goodly list ; Upon this point I do insist ; Among those men were many who Have lived a noble life and true. 34 Upon the card were certain wags— ^ And here I fear my mem'ry lags ; Perhaps, if clearer, it might light Upon a name not quite so bright. This choice committee did invite All sinners on a certain night To gather at the old hotel And let their cash the story tell. To none the invitation went, Whose soul to piety was bent ; Not e'en the man with pious wife, Though he himself were sinner rife. Now list the merry sound of bells ! From off the hills, down through the dells The boys and girls are coming. Oh, What joy, a sleighing o'er the snow ! And now upon the ball-room floor They kiss each other o'er and o'er, And play those games, "The Needle's Eye, And "Snap and Ketchum," my, oh my ! Then doth each laddie take his lass And down the stairs in couples pass Where groaning tables tempt the eye And rings the merry laughter high. And once again they haste above To feed their fast increasing love Upon that mystic nectarine Which circulates young lips between. Oh, blissful moments, how ye speed ! 'Tis time e'en now to bring the steed ; Wrap up my girls wrap up my boys, Or frozen ears will mar your joys ! How frosty cold the homeward ride ! Each lad with sweetheart by his side ; Cans't blame them if together snug They warm each other with a hug? The wee small hours of morning see These happy youthful hearts and free 35 A creeping, after all's been said, Each one into his little bed. One hundred thirty dollars, friend, To Pastor Grimes the sinners send, And pat their backs in wicked glee, The sad plight of the church to see. But hold ! the sequel I must tell ! He who laughs last, 'tis said, laughs well. Hot tears ran down the elder's cheek As he the cash accepted, meek. But afterward, as time passed by, The sinners did a secret spy, A truth unwelcome, reeking, rank ; He had two thousand in the bank ! THE BANQUET. There's sound of revels in the hall ; Bright, tinkling glasses, red with wine, And loaded table, both combine To fill with joy the hearts of all Those weary, careworn men of wealth. The first good spike is driven down And now they're gathered gladly here To compliment the prosperous town, To raise a song of joyous cheer, And drink a glass to Bundy's health. But, lo ! amidst the merry feast There comes a a sick'ning, damp'ning chill, Which seems to move with welcome ill Among the guests, a ghostly beast ; Just see ! some glasses are turned down ! Who can explain such conduct rude ? Are enemies within the camp? No ; 'tis the tantrum of a prude, 36 Which now pops up their joy to damp ; It should be clad in woman's gown. But oh ! the depth of Satan's wiles ! How easily he fools the saints ! Far brighter than the artist paints Now all their faces glow with smiles ; The devil has thrown in his hook ; For each poor man with tender heart, Who dare not pledge in ruddy wine, With dastardly, consummate art, A glass is brought of texture fine Filled to the brim from out Gee Brook. HY PICCOLO. Oh, ho, my darling piccolo, The comfort of my life ! A healing balm for every woe, A calm for ev'ry strife ! Most fellows, when away they go, Take with them near the heart A picture of a girl they know, Who's pierced by Cupid's dart. I take along my piccolo, Hid right inside my coat ; It is so small, you'd never know ; It does not peep a note. The neighbors shut their windows down, When Pic and I do play ; The notes go sailing over town, And then you'll hear folks say : "He's at that darned old piccolo ; Just hear its screeching note ! I'd like to take that piccolo And ram it down his throat !" 37 MOWING riACHINES. E'en from the dawn of history dim We have pictured Old Time as a skeleton grim, With a long crooked scythe hanging over his back ; He sweeps us all in, leaving death in his track. But the progress of man in constructive art Has now put to shame such a slow moving cart ; The husbandman chuckles with merriment keen While he hitches his steeds to the mowing machine'. "Old Tempus, you are lagging behind our fast age, You are far too old fogy, too much of a sage ; Come, throw your old grass-hook away and take A patent hay-tedder or a new Tiger Rake !" In the still summer morn, ere a leaf has been stirred By a day-breeze, the rattle and click may be heard Of the mowers which roll through our meadows all brown With clover and timothy, clipping it down. As straight as a die the farmer strikes out Across his broad field and marks out a route Which he patiently follows, cutting round and round, Till the whole quadrangle lies flat on the ground. How varied the crop this reaper makes fall ! No matter what species, he levels them all ; Daisies, buttercups, lillies, bull-thistles and stones Which dull up his knives and worry his bones. I wonder if Time, as he swings his old blade In the field of mankind a mis-stroke ever made, And its keen whetted edge with its death-dealing shock Ever went its whole length on a good gritty rock. Now and then as the farmer moves on round the field, Thinking how many tons to the acre 'twill yield And longing for dinner and noon's little rest. He will mow right into a bumble-bee's nest. I wish Old Tempus just once would slash in To a rotten community so full of sin That 'twould swarm up around him ; I'd like to be there And witness that skeleton swell up and swear. 38 But he has one advantage, the ugly old seer, His machine is so simple, never gets out of gear ; Constant use our invention most seriously wears And frequently we must put in for repairs. With conservative stroke he keeps working away, While we fidget and sweat and our doctor-bills pay, And at last he gets in a most treacherous clip, And down with the millions of comrades we dip. A NORHAL PRAYER. How confusing it must be To a patient Deity, The problem of men's weak conflicting prayers ! The wind, which doth suit best A ship that's sailing west, In the face of east-bound barks most rudely bears. The farmer prays for rain, The village maids complain, For they have planned an outing on that day. The favor one man seeks On the next disaster wreaks ; Better take things as they come, and cease to pray. Of rich and juicy things Your rhymster ever sings, But his bonnet he will now politely doff To the smooth religious tongue Which most pliantly was hung In the mouth of a devoutly praying "prof." His petition was so sleek. Trimmed with graceful rhetoric, Full of figurative sentences so fine, That our Father on His throne Could but list to him alone, But to imitate we're forced to change the line : '"Oh, thou who sittest upon the borders of the heavens. And lookest with sweet compassion upon sinful mortals ! 39 Entwine about these wayward lambs the tendrils of thy love ; Let them feel the melting rays of thy kindness in their hearts ; Draw them gently to thy bosom by thy magnetic grace ; Look with tender compassion upon their wandering souls ; Be a beacon to them set on high, leading heavenward ; Throughout the brief span of life, be a shepherd and a guide ; And bring them at last into thy fold, to play upon harps, And sing divine strains, ecstatic music, in joyous praise And adoration of thy infinite and blessed name. Forever and forever, world without end ! A-a-men." In meter this doth look Like the verses in that book Which Whitman calls quite aptly "Leaves of Grass ;" But such poetic ruse Jehovah must amuse, As revolving spheres and systems fore him pass. THE HEN PARTY, There were four married women, who longed for a chance To visit together alone, Where no one could bother who ever wore pants ; They would one another condone. But they asked a fair maiden to come along too, And as one of the four was her ma, She could not refuse, though it hurt her clear through, To leave her companion, Ah, hah ! They were spending the summer, this confiding pair, In a little old town 'neath the hills, Where the tonic of pleasure and breathing fresh air, Was very much better than pills. 40 But alas, she must go ; with a sigh of regret She took her place there on the seat ; And away drove the coop, four hens at a set, One more they expected to meet At the house on the farm where the party took place. Not a word did the little chick peep, But all day most resigned, with considerate face, She laid herself down to sleep. A RIFT IN THE CLOUD. The staid and crusty tutor lay a. dozing in his chamber, Dreaming of dissections, and "survival of the fittest." There came a blue-eyed cherub, little Katie, from the prairie, Bringing wild-flowers she had gathered in her wand'ring all the morning. Do you think the Prof, was angry, when she woke him from his slumber? Well, I guess not; 'twas a sunbeam breaking through the dreary nimbus. THE OLD CHURCH BELL. He wandered forth at eventide And climbing up the steep hill-side, Sat down beneath a generous tree To rest him on the velvet lea, And as he scanned the peaceful scene, The river, dale, and meadows green, Uprolled from out the silent dell The mellow tones of th' old church bell. He listened mute, half dreaming, and The rich vibrations o'er him fanned By wanton sprite or dancing fay, Combined in words and seemed to say : 41 "With earnest, anxious voice I plead, Come — come, come ! Though few the invitation heed, Come — come, come ! Fewer, fewer, year by year, Lend to me the listening ear, And in the courts of God appear, Come — come, come!" "My belfry creaks, whene'er I swing, Come — come, come ! Not always shall my warning ring, Come — come, come!" The storms of winter o'er me lower, With slow, but most resistless power, They rot the timbers of my tower, Come — come, come!" "In years gone by— oh, list my wail ! Come — come, come ! Whene'er my voice rolled down the vale, Come — come, come ! The people flocked in crowds to hear The gospel news of hope aud cheer ; The world turns backward now, I fear, Come — come, come !" "Oh, how the songs rose from the choir ! Come— come, come ! It did one's very soul inspire ! Come — come, come ! The old pipe-organ's tones so deep Have long since sunk in quiet sleep — We'll both lie shortly in one heap ! Come— come, come!" "Some say my voice grows harsh with age, Come — come, come ! That now I seem to snarl in rage, Come— come, come ! 42 Ah, me ! I've seen disgusting sights, Backbiting, scandals, petty fights Of brethren over fancied rights ! Come — come, come!" "In days of clocks there is no need — Come — come, come ! Of bells ; the people would be freed — Come — come, come ! From listening to my mournful tones, That tell of sinners' dying groans, Of future torments, tortures, moans, Come — come, come !" "When death brings sorrow to the soul, Come — come, come ! Amidst the tears I sadly toll, Come — come, come ! Below processions slowly wend Their way along the fatal trend Unto the grave, the dreaded end, Come — come, come!" "And when with hot, insatiate tongue — Come — come, come ! The fire-fiend rouses old and young — Come — come, come ! From sleep oblivious of all harm, Then, swung by rude excited arm, I bellow forth the wild alarm ! Come — come, come !" "But I would ring at weddings, too, Come — come, come ! Or, when glad Faster doth renew — Come — come, come ! The earth in sunshine and in showers ; I'd tell of spring's returning flowers, Of meadows fair and woodland bowers. Come — come, come !" 43 "Are there no hearts that love me yet? Come — come, come ! Who would my silence oft regret ? Come — come, come ! Though they no longer tread the way, To which I've called them day by day ; Are there no memories in my lay ? Come — come, come !" "Ah, yes; methinks the old church bell- Come — come, come ! Exerts a strange and magic spell ! Come — come, come ! And many a soul is deeply thrilled And with fond recollections filled, Who would not have my old voice stilled. Come — come, come !" It ceased, but slowly died away, And mid the echoes seemed to stay, To tell its patient tale of ills Unto the sympathizing hills. WILLIAM GOES A FISHING. When the frogs begin to sing In the quiet sultry night, William's heart with joy doth spring, For the bull-heads now will bite. Go into the garden, Will, Spade the ground for angle worms ; If that long tin box you'd fill, You must grab each one that squirms. Soon within, a writhing mass, William views his wealth of bait ; Through his brain bright visions pass, Where the bull-heads seem to wait. 44 Now he ties a new-bought line On a pole, his darling pride, While his eyes expectant shine, As they 'neath dark lashes hide. Heavy sinker, made of lead, Cork to float upon the top, Hook, the hardware man has said, "Never lets a bull-head drop," Such his tackle — not so nice — Strong and practical, you see ; He could give you sound advice As to what the tools should be. Off he trudges, pondering where He at first his luck will try, Wisely, with mysterious air, Steals down where he knows they lie. Then the biggest worm of all . Out he pulls, and on the hook Heartlessly he makes it crawl ; No soft pity in his look. Spitting on it, just for luck, In it goes a massive bunch, With a loud resounding chuck ; What a tempting bull-head's lunch ! On a crotch he sets the pole, Runs the butt deep in the mud, Waits and waits, while in his soul Flowers of expectation bud. Now at last the cork doth show Indications of a bite ; Waves concentric outward go 'Fore his rapt-enchanted sight. Down he bends and grips the rod ; 'Gainst the crisis, when it comes, Stamps a footing in the sod ; Through his head the hot blood hums. Oh, how long the moments seem, 'Till the cork goes dancing fair ! 45 Then with energy supreme Flies the bull-head through the air ! Slap, it falls upon the ground, Far into the meadow thrown ; Flippyty flop, it flounders round ; To William's eye how small it's grown ! Then the cruel task unkind, To extricate it from the hook, Occupies our hero's mind, Difficulties hard to brook. Oft within the stomach deep The barbed iron rambles round ; Bull-heads take their food to keep, Tough the tissue is and sound. Then, too, on the head and back Ugly spines stan Oblivion of it all, The babe has siomarh-ache. And so old bach, by day. And in his dreams by night, Keeps wondering, if 'twould pay And hardly thinks it might : And so he sails risjht on In his lone skiff and trim, Until one day anon The girls go back on him. A DOUBLE TRAGEDY. A boy sat on his cycle seat And whizzed down by our place ; High on his coasters w r ere his feet ; A smile emvrapt his face. When forth there flew along the ground A hen with terror thrilled, And, midst revolving spokelets wound, Both fowl and b<>v were killed ! riELON=COLIC TIHES. The melon-colic days are come, The . c addest of the year, The apple and the festive plum Now throw you out of gear. The cucumber gets in itsw 7 ork ; Green corn is not behind ; Sharp pains about your inwards lurk Of every grade and kind. The doctor rubs his hands in glee, As he comes in your room ; The undertaker smiles to see His business prospect^ boom. Beware, beware these days of woe ! Go light on early fruit ! It's just as wrong to suffer so, As to go on a "toot." 92 THE LAUGHING, BLACK=EYED MAIDEN. In a cozy little cottage, so happy and free, Among the honeysuckles and the roses red, Lives a laughing, black-eyed maiden, and all the world to me Seems to hover around her curly head ! All day long, amidst my toil, her voice I seem to hear, Spurring me to struggle 'gainst a hard, hard fate ; 'Tis the laughing, black-eyed maiden, that doth my spirit cheer ; She is waiting to greet me at the gate ! Her arms are soft as velvet; she folds them round my neck ; Her heart beats high with hope when near my own it lies ; Oh, all the pearls and diamonds that could her bosom deck, Would be nothing beside her sparkling eyes ! When she sees me coming, graceful as a bounding deer Adown the road she runs, and says, ''You are so late!" 'Tis the laughing, black eyed maiden, that doth my spirit cheer ; She is waiting to greet me at the gate ! When at night my work is over, you'll find me always there ; We're planning how to get along when we are wed ; Oh, the world would be so dreary with trouble and care, Were it not for that little curly head ! "Never mind," she says to me when e'er I'm filled with fear ; "Everything will come in time, and love can wait !" 93 'Tis the laughing, black eyed maiden, that doth my spirit cheer ; She is waiting to greet me at the gate ! Oh if death should take this treasure away from earth and me I'd drift to wreck and ruin, like a helmless bark ; For, what's the use of pulling against a heavy sea, When no beacon is shining in the dark ? Times are hard, and when I think upon the prospect drear, Rising in my heart there comes a dismal hate ; But the laughing, black-eyed maiden, she doth my spirit cheer ; She is waiting to greet me at the gate ! AVERTED. The coaching party neared the track ; The train came rushing on ; Dark clouds of smoke rolled from the stack Each face was ghastly wan And as the cars dashed round the curve. Brave Perry there on hi^h With stead)* and unruffled nerve Just let the train go by ! CELEBRATING A Roman candle in his hand The boy held proudly high ; In graceful curves the air he fanned ; The fire-balls pierced the sky. And as the sparks fell in a shower Upon his new necktie, He upward gazed with ardent power, And caught one in his eye. 94 DISAPPOINTING. When from her lip He fain would sip Love's sweet angelic dews, How sad it is To spoil her bliss ; The horrid fellow chews ! CAMERA OBSCURA. She said: "Oh won't you show me how To get a focus?" I drew her head beneath the cloth so close My cheek did brush her left eye-brow, A tender locus ; And 'twixt us there a fervid love arose, Which never has cooled down, and now The people joke us. THE OLD PIANO. A youth, who dwelt within our vale, Fell heir to a piano. With softened bass and mezzo scale, But rather harsh soprano. It was an ancient, staid machine, Which long had done its duty In grinding out old airs serene With greater force than beauty Long years had stretched its tensile strings, And thus, for lack of tuning, Its voice no more in sweetness rings, But in discord is crooning. So in a garret dark 'twas placed, Where rust and moths infest it; And long-tailed rats each other raced Within it and abreast it. 95 At dead of night 'twas heard to groan, As mice tripped o'er its levers, Its lonely sorrow thus to moan, As patients do in fevers. At last some ladies who for aid Unto the church were banded, Upon the youth a sally made, And his heir-loom demanded: 'Within their session-room 'twould stand, And there amidst their singing, Its keys touched by a gentle hand, Once more it would be ringing." Six men of muscle sweat and swear, As they bring down the treasure, And lug it to the house of prayer, ''Where 'twould be tuned at leisure." But when the tuner skirmished round Among its wires and action, He said, ''to make it true and sound Would cost ten and a fraction!" The sisters at each other gazed; Dismay filled every bosom; Though they the coins had lately raised, They could not bear to lose 'em. For long long weeks in silence there Amidst each hymn pathetic The old piano had to bear Its heart-throbs sympathetic. For, though its strings were not in tune, They fain w r ould keep vibrating, As birds sing back and forth in June, When ihey in pairs are mating. But in due time a brother's eye Upon its fine old casing Looked with such admiration high, His conscience needed bracing. With ruthless saw and cruel blade, As well as he was able, 96 He of the old piano made A rustic dining table. And not reflecting whence it came, He sent an invitation Unto the youth, the very same, To attend its dedication. And, seated at the new-made board, He prayed for erring sinners. And then from out his goodly hoard Gave two or three their dinners. Rut midst the meal the guileless youth Kept up a quiet thinking. And one impressive pungent truth Deep in his soul was sinking : When for some object you donate A portion of your treasure. Be sure the boodle goeth straight . To expedite the measure ; For there are curious ways, in which The agents deftly dock it, And by some secret unseen switch Turn it into their pocket. HER PROTECTOR. "Art not afraid, My little maid, To walk the streets at night?' Says she : "Look there!" And straight laid bare A hat-pin 'fore his sight. VESUVIAN CRUELTY. The Spaniard lays him down to sleep ; The wicked Yankee — drat him ! Steals slyly up to get a peep, And hurl an earthquake at him, 13 97 IF YOU'D MAKE A MORTAL LOVE YOU, SQUEEZE HIS HAND. If by chance you meet a stranger, who has traveled far away — Far from home and friends and cherished father- land. And you long to give him comfort, brighten up his dreary day, If you'd make the stranger love you, squeeze his hand. Grasp it firmly ; press it warmly ; it is friendship's closest band ; If you'd make the stranger love you, squeeze his hand. If a little girl naively glances coyly in your eyes, And beside you for a moment dares to stand ; It is sympathy she's seeking, and sweet friendship will arise, If you'll draw her gently near and squeeze her hand. Take it kindly ; press it softly; it is friendship's closest band ; If you'd make the cherub love you, squeeze her hand. If you'r running for an office, and would like to get the votes, There are things, which men will certainly de- mand ; You must sprinkle out your money ; feed the lambs and treat the goats ; Take each one into your heart and squeeze his hand. Grasp it firmly; shake it warmly ; let him feel just where you stand ; If you'd make a voter love you, squeeze his hand. 98 And, my friend, if you're a preacher, watching o'er your little flock, Gath'ring souls to swell the crowd on Heaven's strand, When your long discourse is over, don't forget the magic lock ; If you'd make a sister love you. squeeze her hand. Grasp it firmly ; press it warmly ; let her feel just where you stand ; If you'd make a sister love you, squeeze her hand. If upon a yielding sofa your best girl sits by your side — Oh, of course such things are never, never planned ! You must edge up closer, "closer, though she seems to blush and chide, Steal your arm around her waist and squeeze her hand. Take it gently ; press it warmly ; do not fear ; she'll understand ; If you'd make a maiden love you, squeeze her hand. Oh, insinuating pressure, palm to palm against its mate ! Warm as meads by equatorial breezes fanned ! Thus it is the heart is signalled by the messages of fate; If you'd make a mortal love you, squeeze his hand. Grasp it firmly ; press it warmly ; it is friendship's closest band ; If you'd make a mortal love you squeeze his hand. MARCH There's a time between winter and spring, When scarcely a bird dares to sing, And nary a flower will bud ; And the days, as they pass along, bring, Seems to me. about only one thing, And that's a profusion of mud. 99 THE SOAPHAN. Well, well, good people, here I am ! I'm in your little town ! Just list for a minute And I'll prove that I'm in it ; If I don't you may call me down — If I don't you may call me down. Cures for headache, toothache, bellyache ; Such are the wares I hope You will buy for a dime Without wasting any time, And I'll throw in a cake of my soap- — Yes, I'll throw in a cake of my soap ! Oh my, such soap ! See me lather now This young kid's head — just see ! Hold still, my lad ; Don't look so sad! The lather will hang on a tree ! Yes, the lather will hang on a tree ! Come up here, boy, let me scour that tooth With my own patent polish, so ; I rub up and down On the dirty old crown, And you see, it is white as the snow ! Yes, you see, it is white as the snow ! If you're a married man, my friend, You'll need my worm-cure soon ; One dose in the night Will fix'um all right, And you'll sleep as calm as the moon — Yes, you'll sleep as calm as the moon. Cures for headache, toothache, bellyache ; Such are the wares I hope You will buy for a dime Without wasting any time, And I'll throw in a cake of my soap — Yes, I'll throw in a cake of my soap ! riY LITTLE AUTOHARP. I love you, oh, I love you, my little Autoharp! Your voice is sympathetic; your tones are never sharp. Beneath my touch you tremble with a harmony com- plete, So gentle, so charming, so sweet! At evening, in summmer, upon the quiet air. Your music goes floating, a cadence rich and rare. When, brain tired and weary, I long for a rest, When life seems all dreary, A failure at best. You feel for my sadness, You soothe every pain, And turn into gladness Each sorrow again. When a maiden for a fellow doth set her little cap, She is wary, shy and timid for fear of some mishap; Not so with you, my darling; I take you on my lap, And often together we nap. And, dreaming of sailing away off in the air. Your music floats onward, a cadence rich and rare. When light-souled and jolly, I burst into song. And brimfull of folly The words dance along, You join in with feeling And gladlv I hear Your bright tones, revealing A pleasure sincere. When at last two lovers marry on a sunny day in June, The trouble then commences, to keep the wife in tune: Not so with you my darling, when I take my iron key. You are obedient and yielding to me. And life goes a sailing, as birds fly in the air. Your music keeps floating, a cadence rich and rare And never complaining So patient you are, When sometimes in straining I draw you too far, And snap, goes a heartstring ! Ah, sad, sad, the doom ! I lay down my darling In sorrow and gloom ! T love you oh, I love you, my little Autoharp ! Your voice is sympathetic ; your tones are never sharp Beneath my touch you tremble with a harmony complete, So gentle, so charming, so sweet ! ROLLING. I shall ne'er forget the day, when, rolling, rolling, roll- ing, We went rolling 'long the vale so soft and fair — How we kept a chattering, chattering, and a laughing, merry laughing, Laughing forth the joy so full and rare ! How our hearts were wildly beating, beating, beating, beating. As we pedaled up the grades so steep and long — And how }-our cheeks were blushing — such a radiant, healthy blushing, Blushing like the reddest rose of song ! In the glen so cool and shady how the water kept a dripping — Dripping from the rocks so old and gray — And in the sunlight gleaming, like a string of diamonds seeming, As we lingered there, forgetful of the day ! Oh, in life how bright the moments, that go rolling, rolling, rolling, Rolling down the grade of sweet delight ! And to thee may they be legion, as you glide along the valley — Gliding, ever gliding free and light ! WINE Ah, treacherous, is the power it wields, A silent influence round man's soul ! The scarlet cord, to which he yields, May lead him midst aesthetic fields, Or round him waves of ruin roll. PROOF POSITIVE. They were camping and had thrown off social fetters, And a crimson badge she pinned right o'er his heart, With a brush she painted on it golden letters, While his timid frame gave many a nervous start. For a moment there she seemed to fondly linger, And he vowed his fluttering heart did surely stop ; "Nay," she whispered, "neath my little resting finger I can feel its thumping, palpitating hop !" HcQREGORY'S RIDE. McGregory staggered forth into the street ; Afire was his brain and tangled his feet ; With many a scuffle and tumble and reel He lunged 'gainst the tree where rested his wheel. He had come into town for a jolly good time ; He had "blown through" his cash; there was left not a dime ; His head was as big as the Washington dome, And now he'd concluded to take a ride home. He made a bold leap for the illusive seat, And lit 'stride the bar ; in the air swung his feet. 103 He tried it again and with steadier nerve, But the thing veered around in a cycloidal curve, And landed him low with a dull, sick'ning thud Upon his left hip in a puddle of mud. In his pocket was hiding, against future thirst, A bottle of whiskey ; misfortune the worst ! He struck square upon it. and all down his pants. The liquor absorbing made rapid advance. Once again to the mount he bravely came back, And, catching the pedals he rolled down the track The air appeared filled with goblins and devils. All riding on wheels at various levels. Like a turbulent .sea the ground rose and fell, And dark, dismal holes seemed to lead down to hell His eyes from their sockets were readv to start, And a sickness like death came over his heart. Great beads of hot sweat oozed forth on his face, As he pedaled away in his desperate race. The house-doors flew open and people ran out To follow his struggles with laughter and shout. But to one it seemed sad, and her face was aghast. As the wild, frantic rider whirled crookedly past ; For he drew near the bridge and on the right side No railing obstructed his satanic ride. On, on, as if urged by a demon of hate, Sped the man down the road to his terrible fate ; And over the wall, with a smooth, gliding roll, To God and eternity plunged his poor soul ! The dark, gurgling waters closed quietly o'er The rider and steed, as if they would pour A depth of oblivion over the wreck, While mother and wife with babe on her neck Gazed anxiously down from the platform above To catch one last glimpse of her girlhood's rash love "NEWS! LAST EDITION!" In trying times, when nations poise Upon the line 'twixt war and peace; 104 When every unexpected noise, That rises on the evening biee/.e, Seems hut the premonition dire ( )f strife let loose in all i'.s woe, Ambition's lust, and passion's fire, That sweep to death h >th friend and foe ; How leaps i he heart with anxious beat, When oft in clarion tones and clear Amidst the murmur of the street Rings out that cry upon the car : "News! Last edition!" THE SLEIGH RIDE. Oh, bring out the horses, lads, and hitch them on the sleigh ! Tell all the boys and girls, we'll take a ride today ! The sun shines bright ; Its glistening light Makes all the country gay ; 'Tis just the morn for us to go a sleighing ! Pull on your mittens, girls, and bundle up your ears ; Jack Frost bites everything, that in the air appears! Just tie on the sleigh-bells, boys, and don't forget the whip ; No nag shall lazy be ; we'll touch her on the hip. Now girls jump in, With dimpled chin, With rosy cheek and lip, 'Tis just the morn for you to go a sleighing ! Sit snug and cozy, boys, don't let the girls get cold ! Now for a frolic, lads don't wait until you're old ! We'll stop off for dinner, boys; we'll have a glass of wine ! Nothing so cheers the soul ; oh, nectar most divine ! 14 105 Come, girls pile out With merry shout ; We're now about to dine ; 'Tis just the thing to do, when you go sleighing ! How now, my brother, vour head begins to reel ? Brace up and shortly much bt-tter you will feel ! Say take care you fellow, who manipulates the reins; Something's the matter with your usual steady brains ; Hold on, my lad, You drive like mad ; You do not take the pains ; 'Tis not the way to do when you go sleighing ! Oh my, we're over ! we're in a big snow drift ! Who cares ! We're right again ; 'twas but a merry shift ! Oh, now boys we're home again and gathered round the fire! What's like a sleigh ride, girls, your spirits to inspire ? Your cheeks aglow — Your hearts beat so — Your tongues do never tire ; 'Tis just the way it works, when you go sleigh- ing ! Stir up the embers, boys, and pile on maple logs ! Roll in the big ones, lads, we'll fill those brazen dogs! And now for a story, boys, beford we all must part ! Reel off a good one, lad, of Cupid's fatal dart ! The cherub sweet We all will greet With unprotected heart ; 'Tis just the way you feel, when you go sleigh- ing ! 106 THE QUILT. Once, when I laid me down to sleep, And drew the drapery snuglv o'er, The strangest scene did o'er me creep ! Like lapping waves upon a shore, A crowd of faces seemed to raise Themselves in lines from left to right. Each for a moment paused to gaze Then vanished quickly from my sight Old friends were there, and strangers too, Sweet children, men and maidens fair ; A wondrous panoramic view Of life in all its joy and care ! I marveled, why this long display Should pass before my slumb'ring eyes; And, when the welcome orb of day Above the morning hills did rise, Around the room in doubt I crept. To find whereof the dream was built ; I found it ; for that night I slept Beneath an autographic quilt ! TURN ABOUT. What cares a girl of fashion, That some bright bird must die To satisfy her passion And catch her lover's eye? The plumes, now gayly jaunted 'Fore men with dext'rous art, By male birds once were flaunted To win a female's heart. GOD OF NATURE. God of Nature, speaking in the thunder ! In thy truth we firmly trust ! To thy voice we calmly list in wonder, Strong in faith, that Thou art just ! 107 How we strive to probe thy myst'ry — Ponder long upon thy ways — Delve in rocks for deepest hist'ry Writ before man's days ! God of Nature ! In the mighty ocean, As it beats against the shore, We behold profoundest laws of motion, And thy power supreme adore ! Full of myst'ry to repletion, Of the wondrous deep unknown, Life rolls onward toward completion, Toward a goal its own. God of Nature ! In the evolution Of the heavens we see thy might ! May at last the unobscured solution Clearly rise before our sight ! Slow evolving into union, One grand comprehensive whole, Nature binds in sweet communion All in one great soul. THE CAT. Oh, the cat, the wonderful cat ! The cat that can walk a rail ! So poor and thin, You can look within And see why he's so pale ! He moves about, Meandering out, When William pulls his tail ; Knocks over a chair And fills all the air With fur as black as a nail. Hear him singing In the soft and quiet night, 108 Sweet voice ringing, Calling thus afar. Hark ! he's bringing Harbinger of coming fight, While he's clinging To that narrow bar. Oh, the cat, most singular cat ! The cat with a standing tail ! He carries it firm, As straight as a worm, Just like a furl-ed sail ! He's Lulu's pride And close by her side He'll weather every gale ; He'll never be killed By youths unskilled, To catch him thev will fail. Oh, the rat, the sleek little rat ! The rat with the shining eye ! His nose so cute, His tiny foot So light, so quick, so shy ! He skips out his hole, Runs over the coal With expectation high ; 'Tis his last "bum," His hour has come ; He's now about to die. See him chewing Bread and cheese and pie and hash Danger's brewing He'll soon be in its grip. Hear that mewing, You little fool you are too rash ! Up and doing ! Dust yourself and skip ! Oh, the cat takes after that rat All over the kitchen floor, 109 While Lulu screams, And Mina beams, And Fannie shuts the door. Remarkable cat, he captures that rat Amidst the great uproar ; He's not so thin, Now the rat's within, But he looks around for more. I LOVE TO GO OUT BAREFOOT! I love to go out barefoot, When the road is wet and muddy, And paddle, and paddle in a puddle so gay ! I just pull off my stockings, Throw them down in Papa's study, And paddle, and paddle all day ! When the rain comes pouring down in showers, Rushing 'long the road in streams so nice and cool, Then I sit and watch for long, long hours, See it filling up my little darling pool. Sometimes Mamma calls me to come in and leave it, And pull on my, stockings, just like a great big girl ; Its awful hard to mind her, although you won't believe it; It's such fun to paddle and make the water whirl ! In the bright and sunny August day, When the road is filled all full of nice warm dust, How I'd like to go out there and play ! But I stay inside, 'cause Mamma says I must. I get my toes so dirty, they look like the dickens, And Mamma points at them and says : "Aint you ashamed? You better go tomorrow and live with the chickens ; Oh, dear me ! I wonder when I shall get you tamed !" Some day I'll grow big, and then I s'pose, I'll be quite a lady in my fine long train ; Never speak of stockings, only hose, Never watch the puddles filling up with rain. I don't see why big girls can't frolic and caper, And take off their stockings just as they used to do ? They act as though they're made of brown sugar and paper, And dare not bend over for fear they'll break in two ! Oh, why don't they go barefoot, When the road is wet and muddy, And paddle, and paddle in a puddle so gay? And just pull off their stockings, Throw them down in Papa's study, And paddle, and paddle all day ? THE DIVER. In Baltimore News, March 4, 1898, while the divers were at work on U. S. cruiser, Maine. A dismal life of danger mine Down in the dark and murky brine, Amidst the wrecks of foundered barks, Watched by the hungry eye of sharks. I wander round a warship's keel Through netted mass of riven steel, Bent iron, shattered gratings, coal, And upturned hatches ; death's patrol, 'Mongst monster guns, whose voice no more Shall bellow forth to foes on shore, 'Midst mazy nets of wandering wires, To gaze upon extinguished fires ; And, while my eye in silence gloats, A grewsome corpse before me floats ; Oh, horror ! Should the slender thread, That joins me with sweet life o'erhead, Be but entangled 'midst it all, This diver's suit would be my pall ! Of canvas strong and rubber built, To turn the sea and slimy silt ; Socks, trousers, shirt, in one are made, And shoes with soles of iron weighed ; About my head a metal helm — A knight, indeed, of Neptune's realm ! One window round before the face Invites the light within my case. Upon my belt hang weights of lead To sink me down among the dead, A hatchet and a two-edged knife To chop the ship and guard my life. Upon a friend I trust for air ; My life hangs on his watchful care. When all's prepared, I backward creep And slowly drop into the deep. With painful pressure now the blood Pours toward my brain, a rushing flood, I cannot think, and in my ears A buzzing roar fills me with fears. If heart should fail or artery Should burst its wall, a corpse I'd be. My'memory flags, and what I find Must on a slate be plainly lined. All, all is quiet ; not a breath Disturbs this awful home of death. And here I prowl in constant fear That something dreadful will appear. Time seems to fly, and ere I know, I'm drawn above, whale-like to blow. And o'er it all there rests the thought That full of weal my work is fraught ; For on the sights, which I behold, The fate of nations may be told. Oh ! happy he who from his home With all its joys need never roam ; Who there with daughters, sons and wife In blessed sunshine spends his life ! Ah! mothers, sisters, pray for me, The lonely diver 'neath the sea ! AMERICA FOREVER. Fling out the stars and stripes to heaven's blue sky ! And all hail in glee The flag of the free ! Go fire the cannons ; let their voices defy The foes of our land, where'er they be '• Once at Boston there was trouble Over taxes upon tea ; But our fathers burst the bubble, Pitched it over in the sea. Build high the bonfires; let the flames mount above ! With hot glaring light Illumine the night ! Let all the world behold how dearly we love Our country, our freedom and the right! Once we made a declaration From our Mother we would part ; Be ourselves a separate nation ; And it almost broke her heart ! Rejoice ye sons of toil and freedom proclaim ! With trumpet and song The chorus prolong; Sound forth the praises of that high honore 1 name Recorded against our country's wrong ! When at Yorktown Lord Cornwallis Thought a kingdom he could forge, Paid he dearly for his follies, Passed his sword right o'er to George. United now in firmest compact we stand ; In union profound Forever we're bound To fight beneath one flag for one common land And justice uphold the world around. OUR BOY Just bubbling o'er with fun, He is our only son ; 15 ii3 His life has scarce begun With all its childish art ; Our darling little boy. Pure gold without alloy. He fills our home with joy, The treasure of our heart ! At night upon his bed I lay his curly head And kiss the cherries red Beneath his chubby nose ; And on the morning skies He opes his wond'ring eyes With such naive surprise, My heart with joy o'erflows. Not long ago, forsooth, He cut his maiden tooth ; It hardly seemed the truth To my most doubtful mind ; But when the cherub cried, And I the tooth espied, It was my greatest pride, The first of all its kind. To curl his golden hair Gives me a pleasure rare ; Not one of them to spare. Those ringlets flowing down ! His father wants them cut, And like a cocoanut Would have him lo king, but I shake my head and frown. I dread the awful day, When Papa dear shall say, In his determined way, "The boy must put on pants ! : 114 So, while I have him yet In Mamma's little net I'll keep my darling pet, Erelong he'll fly, perchance. Now when he gets his boots, A horn on which he toots Or gun with which he shoots, My peace on earth is o'er ; For so it goes with boys ; They always take to toys That make the biggest noise ; The)' love the cannon's roar ! AN ORTHODOX flETHOD. On Sunday morn to preach and pray On other days to pitch on hay ; This is the most effective way To make a pastor earn his pay. THE CIRCUS. "When the circus comes into town With its donkey and laughing clown. All the people come pouring down Upon one object bent ; Buxom women with babies go, Dandy fellows with girls in tow, Everybody must see the show Beneath the monster tent. Early morning along the road Roll the wagons with pond'rous load, Poles and canvas away are stowed Each in its proper place. Rousing out of a troubled sleep, Down to labor the tent-men creep, Up like magic it seems to leap, The tent in conic grace. 115 Lord and lady and working maid. All go out to the street parade ; Every duty asire is laid, Until the show goes by. Then the children begin to tease : "Mayn't we go to the circus, please ?" Give their parents no further ease, Till they at last comply. Now projected against the sky A scarlet figure invitt-s the eye ; O'er the canvas he walks on high With nerve that knows not fear. Noisy fakirs set up their yell — Din walpurgis, a m< dern hell — What they're saying, no one can tell ; They scream it in your ear. I know people with faces long, Who'll not witness a dance or song : "All such things are entirely wrong ; They interfere with prayer." But when seated around the ring. To hear that comical fellow sing, vSurel} 7 this is a different thing ; For all these saints are there. Hark, the music begins to sound ! See the horses go round and round ! On them leaping with graceful bound, The skillful riders poise. O'er the banners with lithesome leap, While the music grows rich and deep. Feats of daring that make you creep, Amidst a crash of noise Nimbly then on a carpet spread Boys athletic go heels o'er head ; Form most graceful to skill is wed In curves of finest art. 116 High above on the wild trapeze Swing two brothers with careless ease — Take such chances your blood will freeze, As through the air they dart. Stern ring master with crack of whip Scolds the clown for his saucy lip, Who, triumphant, a worthy ship, Doth always keep afloat ; Tells his stories with droll grimace, Broadly spreading athwart his face ; But withal there's a certain grace You cannot fail to note. When at last all the scenes are o'er, Outward pressing the people pour, Tired and sleepy, but wishing more, They slowl) 7 se<. k their home. Alive and active, the tent-men now; Low submissive the great poles bow ; Down they come, you can scarce tell how, And on the wand'rers roam. Though the circus has gone away, In the hearts of the boys 'twill stay ; Tricks they'll practice for many a day, Each risky venture brave. Everyone will an expert be, When from teacher and father free, Forth he'll go and the great world see, No longer be a slave. When the circus goes out of town, With its donkey and laughing clown, All the people then settle down To their accustomed ways ; Finding fault with a neighbor's life, Telling stories about his w T ife, Taking part in each social strife Until the end of days. ii7 CUPID STILL HITS THE BULLSEYE They say that I ant out of date. That my old bow has lost its aim ; But midst the skirmishing of Fate I get my shot in just the same. THEHODERN MARGUERITE. Time was, when Mephistopheles Into the cell of Faustusstept. Within whose soul by slow degrees All passions dying calmly slept, And, flashing 'fore his wond'ring ken A magic maid surpassing fair, Awoke the fire of love again, Which long had faintly smouldered there. But now, no need of devil's spell ; The maid herself in cap and gown Invades the walls of Faustus' cell And with the Doctor sits her down. JQNAH. Oh, down to a city on the coast of the sea Went Jonah — went Jonah ! Away from the presence of the I^ord he would flee. This Jonah — false Jonah, A ship did ride at anchor there, A rocking in the bay ; And Jonah paid his little fare, And sailed away ; But lo ! a wind with awful might Did blow that day ; And down below and out of sight Went Jonah. "Ahoy !" says the captain, "go find that man, That Jonah — base Jonah ! Let him cry to his god for help, if he can ; Bring Jonah — fetch Jonah !" They found him lying wrapt in dreams Down in the old ship's sides ; The raging tempest creaked her beams, But still she rides. 'What man is this," in wrath they swear, ''Who skulks and hides?" And up the)' drag him by the hair — Poor Jonah ! "And now let the Heavens twixt us decide And Jonah — this Jonah ! Who knows but the man hath the gods defied ? This Jonah — strange Jonah?" They then drew lots in silent awe — The waves roll high — And Jonah drew the fatal straw, And so must die. They pitched him over in the sea, And then the sky Fr>m every dismal cloud was free — Strange Jonah ! And down to the bottom of the deep blue sea Went Jonah — this Jonah ! And the fishes all wondered, what he might be This Jonah — strange Jonah ? But one big fish, the king of all, Seemed full of play ; He kept an eye on Jonah's fall, And swam that way ; l'e watched his chance, as Jonah sunk Right w r here he lay ; He oped his mouth, and in, keplunk, Went Jonah ! So down in the belly of a monster fish Went Jonah — poor Jonah ! But, alas ! a most indigestible dish Was Jonab — this Jonah ; He thrashed about within his cell ; Began to pound and kick; He prayed to God from out his hell ; The fish took sick, And swam ashore in greatest fright At this base trick, And heaved and heaved with all his might Up Jonah. OCTOBER. Hear the apples dropping, In the orchard dropping, Big ones, ripe ones, red and white ! Oh, how sweet and juicy, By the fairies flavored, Fairies dancing in the light. How I love to sit and Hear them dropping, dropping, To their velvet couch upon the ground But a strange depressing Sadness comes upon me, Touching secret depths profound ! Now the leaves are falling, Autumn leaves are falling, Softly, gently, one by one ; Beauteous tints upon them By the fairies painted, Fairies dancing in the sun. But how sad to think that, When the leaves are falling, 'Tis a sign that winter draweth nigh ; Oh. the cold and dismal, Dreary, dreary winter, When bleak winds through forests sigh ! Mellow apples dropping, Leaves of autumn falling, Peaches blushing by the door, Grapes to purple turning, Pumpkins yellow growing, All are saying "summer's o'er." But amidst this rip'ning Of the fruits of autumn, Comes that painful sinking of the heart- Comes that dread suggestion Of the scenes that try us, When from loving friends we part. HEARTS. ' "Let's have a game of hearts !" she said ; "It is a jolly tilt of fale !" And as in doubt I shook my head : "Oh ! you can learn it, while you wait !" She filled my tricks with hearts galore ; I raked the table o'er and o'er ; Ace, king and queen, the wily knave, With sweetest smiles she freely gave ; But one proved to secluded be ; The heart I sought eluded me. MEMORIES OF YOUTH. Oh, the memories of youth ! How they flood upon the soul ! How we delved for hidden truth, As the miners do for coal ! And from all those dear old times Nothing to our spirit chimes Such sweet music as the fellowship of friends. Then here's to the friends of our youth ! And here's to our loved fraternity ! Like a willful, wayward child Let good cheer to-night run wild ! Sing, and banish thought of weird eternity ! 16 i2r Would you make your life a joy ? Fill your youth with cheerful thought ; While a boy. just be a boy ; Age comes soon with trouble fraught. Then midst all the care and pain You will find 'twas not in vain ; For you'll live in those sweet memories of youth. There are men, who strive for wealth ; There are those, who seek for fame ; But a rosy, blooming health Is far better than a name And, when drawing near life's goal, There is nothing to the soul Half so bright as those sweet memories of youth. Then here's to the friends of our youth ! And here's to our loved fraternity ! Like a willful, wayward child Let good cheer to night run wild ! Sing, and banish thought of weird eternity ! REFLECTIONS. (Heinrich Von Muehler, 1842. Translated from the German.) Bar-room's gittin' hot ; guess I'll jest step out. Hello! see the sidewalk fioatin' about ! Up street — hie — down street — 'left side — hie — right- Looks awful foggy ; street must be tight ! See the old moon there— face all askew ! One eye is open — t'other's shut to ! Old chap' 11 be drunk soon — bad — hie — too bad ! Ought a be shamed himself — wife'll be mad ! Look at the lamp-post ; he's on a toot ! He can't stand up straight — hie — lost one boot ! Everything's swimmin' round this way and that ; Things are all drunk, I guess, drunk as a bat. 'Seems I'm the only sober one about ; Better go back, I guess — dangerous out. Open the door there ! open the door ! I've seen 'nough this — want one drink more ! 122 FIRESIDE MUSINGS. When blustering winds of winter Howl wildly round our homes And snow piles o'er the fences In white and drifting domes ; When creaks the lonely cutter, That now and then appears, And hid in furry mufflers Each traveler rubs his ears ; 'Tis then we draw up nearer The fire's inviting blaze, And dream of distant pleasures In summer's balmy days ; Of idling by some lakelet Arched o'er by cloudless sky, Around a vine-clad cottage With loved companions nigh ; Where, basking in the sunshine, Or splashing in the spray, We cast aside all trouble And have our own sweet way ; We frolic with the children. Grow blithe and young again— Forget that we are mothers Or roughly bearded men. With song and rippling laughter The hours flit lightly by, And naught but mere existence The soul doth occupy. What gorgeous golden sunsets ! How rich the wavy sheen ! And e'en the streaked aurora Darts forth to grace the scene At evening in the moonlight The boats glide smoothly out, And back across the water Rings many a happy shout. 123 The air is sweetly tinctured With scent of trees and flowers, And all the world seems yielding To Cupid's mystic powers. Is't strange, that midst this beauty Below, around, above, That here and there a couple Are touched i with thoughts of love ? Oh, that ih life forever The days might idle be ! One blissful long vacation ! One blest nonentity ! And so we sit there dreaming Of pictures we have seen, When birds sang in the heavens, And all the hills were green ; Then whirr ! there comes, a moaning — We wake, and #ape — a ho ! Pull on our coat and mittens, Go out, and shovel snow. HIT HER ALONG" FOR OLD CORNELL When beneath a cloudless heaven Rides our shell so light and graceful. Darting like an Indian's arrow < Through the waters blue. Then we love to hear resounding O'er the waves from old Cornellians Voices cheering on the oarsmen Sturdy, firm, and true : Row, boys, hit her along ; just make her spin ! Pull, boys, pull for 'your life ; for we must win ! Row, boys, hit her along ; make each stroke tell ! Hit her along ! Hit her along ! Hit her for old Cornell. There is something in our method, In the w r ay we hit the water, 124 In our dip and our recover, Hard to understand ; 'Tis the stroke we learned from Ostrom Passed from vict'ry on to vict'ry And perfected now by Courtney, Captures all the land. Oh, those days at Saratoga, When we met the whole "caboodle," Thirteen boats— all off together— 'Twas a glorious sight ! One by one they fell behind us In a long and sad procession, And the crew, that crossed a winner, Was the red and white ! At Poughkeepsie and New London When we rowed with Yale and Harvard, When they said, that ihey outclassed us And would race alone ; How we chuckled as we left them, Pulling hard for second honors — Way behind — we could not see them — 'Tis a style our own I And at midnight midst our slumbers, When the race is safely over, When we're dreaming of the struggle, Pulling still upon the deep ; Come once more those cheering voices, Rising, sinking, gently floating. As if wafted on the billows, Welcome even in our sleep : Row, boys, hit her along ; just make her spin ! Pull, boys, pull for your life ; for we must win ! Row, boys, hit her along ; make each stroke tell ! Hit her along! Hit her along ! Hit her for old Cornell ! 125 THE OLD FIFER. He stood before the beer saloon, His coat was worn and old ; His wrinkled face and reddened eyes A tale of sadness told. Near by were two old comrades dear, And, as men often do, They turned to mem'ries of the war — Those days of sixty-two. "You used to fife for us/' said one ; 'And I remember well How clear the tones came pealing out O'er plain and wood and dell. But that's all passed ; you can't play now ; You've lost your lip and skill ; Ah, well ! it won't be very long Before we'll all be still !" The tears crept down the old man's cheek ; But with determined air He drew from out his ragged coat A flute he carried there. 'Twas made of tin, and easy blown — Not like his ancient fife — It was the old man's last resort, The solace of his life. With trembling hand and falt'ring bre th, And cadence far from true, He struck once more those martial airs, That cheered the boys in blue. * The bus) 7 crowd went jostling by * With cold contracted brow ; He's drunk himself to death," they said ; 'He's getting childish now." 126 GOOD=BYE. Translated from The German of Fr. Silcher, 1827, Shortly I must go from here And my good-bye breathe you ; Oh you little, sweetest dear, 'Breaks my heart to leave you. Ah, I love you ever true More than can be known to you ; Must T lose my treasure ? Must I lose my treasure ? When two loving friends there are . Fit for one another, Weep ye moon and twinkling star, When they leave each other ! But far greater is the smart, When a well beloved heart Goes away forever. Goes away forever, If a little zephyr fine Kiss your cheek or finger, Think it is a sigh of mine Longing there to linger ; Thousands will I daily send, While my weary course I wend Back t<> thee they'll wander, Back to thee they'll wander. WATCHING. Oh what feelings flood upon us, When we're watching ! Irt the lonely hours of midnight, While a friend in troubled slumber Finds a brief and welcome respite From his suffering ! J- 7 7 All our thoughts are pessimistic, When we're watching ; As we hear the labored breathing, See the face with pain distorted. Watch the nervous starts and twitchings Of the patient O'er the soul come doubts and questions, When we're watching ; How can God be just and loving, When upon his helpless creatures Fall such strokes of deepest misery, None escaping ? How we long for light and morning, When we're watching ! Listening to the solemn ticking Of the clock upon the mantel, While the hands go slowly creeping Round the dial. Every sound seems so tremendous, When we're watching ! Blinds and shutters roughly rattling, Timbers creaking in the framework, Winds, that moan so strangely human, Round the building ! Welcome are those drowsy moments, When we're watching ; As the light begins to strengthen, And the suff 'rer sleeps more deeply, Sinks the watcher also partly Into dreamland. Oh how leaps the heart with gladness, When we're watching ; If the crises passes over, And the loved one wakes triumphant, Smiling with new hope and promise From the fever ! But perchance the angel summons While we're watching; Suddenly there comes a gasping, One last struggling, quivering effort To remain among the living — Then it's over. IN MEHORY OF TRIH. By His Mate. Old Trim is dead ! I'm left alone, To jog my weary way Adown the few remaining years/ Before my fatal day. We've pulled together, Trim and I, We've shared, what fate might give ; And, now that he's not by my side, I hardly care to live. He fell down in his traces, aye, Death found him at his work ; Old Trim was not a horse to shy, Or from a duty shirk. We ploughed the soil ; we reapt the grain And 'fore the wheels we drew The rumbling coach, and never winced, When whip lash o'er us flew ; 'Twas for the frisky leaders' flanks, Who pranced around too free ; Such foolish sport and punishment Were not for Trim and me. 'Twas ours to draw the heavy loads, Be steady, firm, and true ; But woe to any barking cur, That came nigh Old Trim's shoe ! When trotting 'long the winding road, If distant whistle blew, Old Trim would stop ; he knew it was The proper thing to do. 17 129 And, if his harness was amiss, He'd let our Perry know, And have it put to rights at once ; He'd never let it go. But Trim is dead ! His welcome neigh, On my expectant ear Which came of yore with morning sun, No longer I shall hear. Ah, well ! so 'tis with all the earth ! To live and die we're born ; Night follows noon, as it in turn Comes jogging after morn ! BLACK=BERRYING. Two merry people one fine morn A-berrying did go; He was a bachelor forlorn. And she was somewhat so ; They wandered into distant fields, They clambered nigh to heaven ; But from the wealth which Nature yields, Their total find was seven. Through brambles, fences, over logs, They pushed their painful way, 'Long dusty roads and treach'rous bogs They tramped the livelong day ; And, though there was a scanty find Upon the shining tin, A luscious fruit of sweeter kind Did fill their souls within. How often in this life of ours We struggle for a prize, Which seems to baffle all our powers And vanish 'fore our eyes ; 130 And while we chase this phantom car, Dazed by its magic charms, Another boon more worthy far Falls plump into our arms ! SWINGING. Swinging, swinging in her little hammock, Rocking, rolling all the blissful day, Lies a brighteyed, laughing little maiden, Careless of the parts she may display. Strolling, strolling comes a handsome fellow, Gazing idly both to left and right, Stops and, while his heart goes wildly beating, Stands enraptured with the pretty sight. When she sees him, up she sits and blushing, Tries to look so very nice and prim — Says she did not know that he was coming — Never had a single thought of him. Then he comes and sits right down beside her, And they try in vain to keep apart ; But somehow the hammock won't allow it — vSeems to have designs upon her heart. Swinging, swinging in their little hammock, Rocking, rolling all the blissful day, Sit two happy laughing little people, Careful of the parts they may display. Slipping, sliding down they come together, While the birds are singing up above ; There they talk so low and confidential, People say "It is a case of love." But once more the stroller goes a strolling — Leaves the maid to wait and watch at home- Far away across the mighty ocean Goes abroad in distant lands to roam. I3 1 Once more swinging in her little hammock, Rocking, rolling all the blissful day, Lies that bright eyed laughing little maiden, Careless of the parts she may display. TO MY FATHER. My memory now goes back to thee, When dandled on thy loving knee, You taught my weak uncertain voice 'Mongst wand'ring notes to make a choice. In all my sports your interest deep, Down to my years made willing leap. And, when from virtue's arduous track I wandered off, you drew me back. At school I felt your sympathy ; You solved with me my x, y, z ; Dared I the metric muse essay, To thee each effort found its way ; And, when with pencil I did try To master art, 'twas for thine eye. Once dread Diphtheria's throttling hand Upon my life made stern demand ; By night and day you watched each breath, And warded off the stroke of death. At last from home I sallied forth, And still could feel thy sterling worth ; In weekly letters we communed, Two hearts in close accordance tuned. How oft we've shook the parting hand, With transient grief been nigh unmanned ! But ever midst the prickling pain Did rest the hope, we'd meet again. As years passed on we came to feel Dike brothers joined in common weal ; United we have lived in thought And shared the joys which life has brought. The care a father gives a son Should be repaid ere life is done ; 132 A fugo movement rules the song ; Things are reversed ; the weak is strong. 'Tis now my one desire to be A comfort and a prop to thee. "Oh. may thy last declining years Be full of gladness, free from tears ! Life's rounded, ripe, victorious goal, Crowned with a silver aureole ! CUBA. Scene; Justicia's Court. Time: riarch, 1898. Justicia enthroned: Cuba; Hispania ; Columbia : Europa. JUSTICIA. Scarce ceased the battle's fearful groan Upon the tropic shores of Crete, When from the west its dismal tone Comes forth again my ear to greet. The Queen of Carib's lovely isles Doth seek my court with suppliant plea, And in the distance long defiles Of marching soldiery I see. Oh, why will men forever seek To bathe the earth in crimson flood ? Low beastial vengeance strive to wreak, And quench their hate in draughts of blood ? CUBA. Have pity, Goddess, on my fate ! I cry. to thee in deep distress ! Oh, listen, while I now relate, How hard the gods do me oppress ! Across the sea the^e dwells a maid, Who years ago sent from her doors Proud ships, which favoring winds obeyed, And anchored on my coral shores. She sent them o'er in search of gold, Manned by a bold and heartless crew ; My men their front could not uphold Against volcanic weapons new. 133 Our isle she seized, and there encamped, And ever since her iron heel Upon our cringing bodies stamped In daily agony we feel. Time and again we have rebelled Against this tyranny so base ; But with most cruel force she held My people down, a hopeless race. Now seems to dawn a brighter day ! Oh, Goddess, listen to my plea! Before thy throne I humbly pray, Make thou our bleeding country free ! JUSTICIA, My heart to pity is not prone ; Tis mine lo weigh and not to feel ; Still in my soul a cord doth moan In sympathy with thine appeal. hispania. Fair Goddess, I do thee beseech Thy judgment briefly to suspend, And to my plain and concise speech With willing ear in grace attend. A savage race these Cubans are Of color dark and ways uncouth ; They love to plunge their land in war And lead to death our Spanish youth. We found this isle uncultured, wild ; We made it blossom like the rose : We've nursed it as a cherished child, And held it safe against all foes We now propose to try at last Autonomy, a form most fair Of government, which in the past To offer her we did not dare. A congress they themselves elect ; We will the governor appoint ; 134 With veto power he may reject ; A law will need both powers conjoint. Now this the Cubans would accept, Had not an interineddler bland Into the matter slyly crept, With hungry eye upon the land. She sails her fleet in neighboring seas ; Within Havana's very sight She flings her banners to the breeze, And thus prolongs the wasting fight. JUSTICIA. Thy words indeed are fraught with sense 'Twere well to give thee ample time ; These social movements so immense Are slow, like heavenly powers sublime. COLUMBIA. Hear me, O Goddess, then decide ! This strife has dragged along for years ; A hundred thousand souls have died And no reform as yet appears A fruitful island desolate, The people idle, starving all, As though the cursed hand of fate Had settled o'er it like a pall. Two hundred of my sea men brave Who served upon the good ship Maine Have met their death beneath the wave To satisfy this greed of Spain. On hilt of sword now rests my hand With firm resolve that this shall cease ; Humanity is my demand, Though much I love continued peace. JUSTICIA. The even balance of my mind Swings now toward interfering war; Severity is oft more kind Than leniency, which goes too far. 135 EUROPA. 021 929 787 7 % Oh, Goddes hold — a moment pause ! I hear the conflagration's sound, That from this first igniting cause Will sweep the whole great world around ! The nations with a jealous eye Each other watch, alert and proud ; Old China seems about to die ; Upon her coasts the war-ships crowd. Break not the equilibrium fine. That swings so gently now for weal ; Pen not the war-declaring line ; Some other remedy reveal. JUSTICIA. Ah, yes ; though intricate the net Of interests in these great affairs, We'll find a just solution yet. If each herself in honor bears. CUBA. I must be free ; naught else will do ! HISPANIA. Nay, Cuba I must still retain ! EUROPA. Spain pays our bonds, and coupons too ! COLUMBIA. And satisfaction for the Maine ! JUSTICIA. Alas ! I fear the problem deep Grows far too dense for me to solve ; My judgment in reserve I'll keep; Meanwhile th' events themselves evolve, Unto a higher court appeal, Where slowly all the facts shall be Examined with exhaustive zeal, The court of Time and Destiny. 136 -&7 r ?