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 Copyrighted 1897 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In view of the kind reception my previous book 
 "Vibration of my Soul" has met with, I take the 
 liberty to place this new volume before the public, 
 begging pardon at the same time for the republica- 
 tion of a few pieces of the old volume which appear 
 revised in this edition. 
 
 They are musings and observations by the wayside 
 of my life, and when my fellow travellers find them 
 refreshments and recreations on their journey, I shall 
 feel gratified that they have done this service. 
 
 The Author. 
 
 Malconi, N. Y., November, 1897. 
 
Debication. 
 
 Co my bear bepartcb ^^atl^er, 
 IV^o now mores in l^earenly spt^erc ; 
 Co my eoer precious ntotl]er, 
 IPl]o yet w'ltli us lingers t^ere ; 
 Co tl^e family of mankinb, 
 Co my fellom-trapelers t]ere : 
 3 l?ere bebicate tt^is colume,— 
 ITlay it ebify anb client. 
 
 Ct]e author. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Mid-day Dreams in the Mississippi Valley 
 
 Oleander, 
 
 Neglected Virtne Dying, 
 
 A Dewdrop on a Thirsty Ground 
 
 The Ruined Church, 
 
 An Echo, 
 
 Sabbath Bells, 
 
 Moonlight Reverie, 
 
 Man, God and Nature, . 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs. Sleyster, 
 
 After the Wedding, 
 
 Little Mary, 
 
 Damsel Forest, 
 
 Herwijnen's Tragedy, 
 
 Autumnal .Solitude 
 
 It's Christmas Da3% 
 
 A Crossbeam and the Pole. 
 
 How Old Are You ? 
 
 The Soldier's Rest. 
 
 In an Album, 
 
 March and Friendship, 
 
 On a Doorstep of Virginia, 
 
 Thoughts in a Menagerie, 
 
 vSelf-Esteem, 
 
 The Mouldering Trunk, 
 
 The Waterwheel, 
 
 The Last Pilgrimage. 
 
 True Cultivation. 
 
 Respice Finem, . 
 
 The Weathercock. 
 
 Prayer, 
 
 To My Classmates, 
 
 I Have Crossed the Mississippi 
 
 Amanda, 
 
 My Flower, 
 
 Christmas Dreams. 
 
 How a Bandit Set Things in Order, 
 
 After the vStorm, 
 
 Floral Offerings, 
 
 A December Storm, 
 
 To the Memory of Dominie Sharpley 
 
8 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Coming and Going, 
 
 Rosa, .... 
 
 An Hour on the Shores of the Great 
 
 The Little Patriot, 
 
 The Snowbirds, 
 
 Where Are They ? 
 
 Our Children, . 
 
 Where? .... 
 
 The Cottage of Yore, . 
 
 To the Wounded Hearts, 
 
 IvOngings, 
 
 On the Anniversary of My Father 
 
 Unwelcome Guests, . 
 
 Evening Song, . 
 
 Batavia alias Transvalia, . , 
 
 A Meditation in Autumn, 
 
 A Husband's and Father's I^ament 
 
 In the Forest, 
 
 The Patriot's Favorite Haunts, 
 
 Reqviiescat in Pace, 
 
 Time and Eternity, 
 
 Crooked Pathways : 
 
 Two in One House, . 
 
 Private Opinion, 
 The Preacher, 
 What Time is It? . 
 Rather Complicated, 
 
 The Tables Turned. . 
 
 Surprise, 
 
 The New Pastor, 
 
 Self-Esteem, 
 
 The Critic, 
 
 The Merry-go-around, 
 
 Entertaining Company, , 
 
 Make Both Ends Meet, 
 
 The Doctor and His Patient. 
 
 The Right Man, 
 
 Prudence, 
 
 The Pot and the Kettle, 
 
 Notes. .... 
 
 99 
 
 lOO 
 
 105 
 107 
 
 ic8 
 109 
 no 
 III 
 
 112 
 114 
 
 "5 
 117 
 118 
 119 
 120 
 122 
 125 
 126 
 127 
 129 
 134 
 
 143 
 144 
 
 144 
 
 144 
 145 
 145 
 
 146 
 
 146 
 147 
 147 
 148 
 148 
 149 
 150 
 156 
 156 
 157 
 158 
 
MID-DAY DREAMS IN THE MISSISSIPPI VALLEY. 
 
 On a certain morning in spring I took a ramble 
 through that lovely section of Wisconsin which lies 
 between the little village of New Amsterdam and Gales- 
 ville Ferry northwest of the City of lya Crosse. It was a 
 lovely morning, the air w^as serene, fleec}^ clouds drifted 
 •over my head and purple distances of forest and hill 
 greeted me on ever^- side. 
 
 My way led first along the bottom lands of the Black 
 River, presenting a loveh- woodland-scene that stretched 
 away for miles to the west, set off by purple ridges of Min- 
 nesota and displaying the loveliness of the tender green 
 of spring, interspersed with the white blossoms of the 
 wild cherry whose fragrance filled the air. To the right 
 towered the bluffs of Wisconsin , conspicuous among them 
 King Bluff with an isolated rock by its side, resembling 
 some mediccval castle tower. 
 
 In front of me w^as Dacorah peak, a cone-shaped rock 
 flat on the top, in whose immediate vicinity Chief 
 Dacorah is said to have given battle to his hereditary 
 enemies, the Sioux. 
 
 Further on to the west Templean Hill loomed up mark- 
 ing the course of the Father of Waters and reminding me 
 of the daring French adventurers w^ho probably during 
 the latter part of the seventeenth century held for a time 
 their abode in its vicinit3\ 
 
 As I pursued my solitary way, I was pleasantly enter- 
 tained by sweet woodland notes, such as the ceaseless 
 tappings of the woodpecker in the forest, the lowing of 
 the cattle in the valley, the monotonous songs of the 
 blackbirds in the trees and the drumming of the wood- 
 cock in the forest recesses. 
 
 Descending at last into the valley I found myself on 
 the edge of a beautiful lakelet, smooth as a mirror, except 
 
lO MID-DAY DREAMS. 
 
 where it was ruffled by an exploring muskrat or splash- 
 ing aquatic bird. 
 
 For a short time I tarried in this lovely spot, admiring 
 the modest beauty of the water lily and listening to the 
 songs in the thicket that mingled with the ceaseless 
 croaking of the frogs. Then turning to the right I 
 wended my way to King Bluff (one of the highest eleva- 
 tions of Wisconsin) from which I expected to obtain an 
 interesting view of the Mississippi Valley. 
 
 A short walk took me to my destination and after an 
 exhausted scramble I stood on the tow^ering rock, abun- 
 dantly rewarded for my trouble, for a glorious panorama 
 greeted my vision. 
 
 To the south, closely hugged to the bosom of the 
 Father of Waters, I discovered the spires of busy La 
 Crosse. 
 
 To the west, marking the course of the Mississippi 
 were the undulating ridges of Minnesota against which 
 appeared in bold relief the villages of Dresbach and 
 Dakotah. 
 
 In the northwest Templean Hill was once more visible, 
 with the town of that name on its base, while further on, 
 diml}' visible on the foot of Minnesota's hills, I detected 
 the City of Winona. And there directly below me I spied 
 the restful homesteads nestled among the groves, while 
 here and there a plowman could be seen patiently pur- 
 suing his solitary course. 
 
 In the hazy distances, lazily floating over the lands- 
 cape I noticed white puffs of smoke left by a passing 
 steamer and a vapory streak drawn along the purple 
 Mississippi Bluffs told me where the iron steed had pur- 
 sued his steady course. 
 
 I/Ovely be3'ond description was the panorama unfolded 
 before me, with hills and streams, cities and farm houses, 
 forests and cops and as mine eyes leisurely swerved over 
 the scene, my thoughts were involuntarily transported to 
 the past. 
 
 How different, thought I, this valley would have 
 
MID-DAY DREAMS. II 
 
 appeared to me, if I had occupied this position some 
 hundred and fifty years ago. 
 
 Instead of these cities and hamlets I might have seen 
 clusters of Indian wigwams (shifting villages of the 
 plain). Where the peaceful cattle now grazed, there 
 might have appeared to me some swift-footed antelope 
 or browsing deer. 
 
 Yonder smoke that now revealed the passing steamer, 
 I might have taken for the war signal of the Red Man, 
 directing the movement of the strife. 
 
 Where now the farmer patiently plodded behind the 
 plow, the dashing Indian hunter might have been seen, 
 recklessly pursuing his game. 
 
 And instead of those reverberations, now" caused by the 
 white man's vehicle, which came winding up the hill, to 
 haul the winter-supply for the hearth, I might have 
 heard the weird lamentations of some Indian warriors, 
 who came in a disorderly procession to lay a noted chief 
 to rest among these vernal hills. But hardly anything of 
 that wild, and in many respects enchanting life, had 
 remained and the Red Man, once the ruling power of that 
 world had disappeared too, driven from the sepulchers of 
 his fathers by the ruthless intruders, to roam a vagabond 
 in his own country, reading his approaching doom in the 
 setting sun. 
 
 I felt the pathos of the circumstance and said to my- 
 self, " Down trodden Indian, I can realize thy condition. 
 I can feel the rancor that consumes thy breast, but ma}" 
 the God of Justice redress th}- wrongs and prevent the 
 extinction of thy noble race !" 
 
 It was high noon now, and feeling the uncomfortable 
 effects of the sun, I sought shelter beneath a tree, 
 where overcome by a drowsy feeling I fell asleep and had 
 an extraordinary dream. 
 
 I dreamed that I sat on the summit of King Bluff look- 
 ing down its southern slope, when suddenly, a few rods 
 from me, there emerged from the forest an Indian war- 
 rior of the old type, graceful in bearing and gigantic in 
 
12 MID-DAY DREAMS. 
 
 stature. He was in war costume, face painted and head 
 feathered, with a bow in his right hand and a bundle of 
 arrows dangUng by his side. 
 
 I was , terror stricken when I saw him and ready to 
 make my escape, when in a stentorian voice he ordered 
 me to stand still. Fearing that he might slay me I obeyed 
 and soon stood face to face with the formidable intruder. 
 With ferocious looks he stared at me and so completely 
 was I overcome with terror, seeing his distorted features, 
 that I could not utter a word. He seemed to observe it, 
 for changing his combative attitude he addressed me 
 with the following friendly words : "White man, don't 
 fear Yellow Thunder for he will not hurt thee. He spoke 
 first in a grutf way to prevent thee from running away, 
 for he has to communicate to thee something of impor- 
 tance and which greatly will interest thee. 
 
 "There was a time when I would have been to thee a 
 terror, when I was yet the powerful chief of the Winne- 
 bagoes, but that is all passed now, for what you see of 
 him here is his spirit and there (pointing to a little 
 mound near by) lies his body. My w^arfare is over and 
 I am now a man of peace. The Great Spirit knows that 
 Yellow Thunder speaks the truth ; let his tongue be par- 
 alyzed if he utters a single falsehood ! 
 
 "But," he contintied, "thou fearest me still? Well, 
 here ( and he presented his calumet ) ,let this pipe pass from 
 my lips to thine and the smoke of it ascend to the Great 
 Spirit as a witness to the truth of ni)^ statements." Then 
 he smoked a while and handing the pipe to me I fol- 
 lowed his example, because I knew that over this sacred 
 emblem of the red man his word was never broken. 
 
 " You are at ease now? " he asked. I nodded. "Lis- 
 ten then," he continued, " to the sad story of Yellow 
 thunder. ' ' 
 
 " But," said he, " let me explain to you before I begin, 
 why I have such a desire to speak to you. 
 
 ' ' When you sat there uttering the wish that the Great 
 Spirit might preserve the red race and adjust its wrongs, 
 
MID-DAY DREAMS. I3 
 
 I stood behind you listening. Your hearty expression 
 did me good and I said to myself, here then I have found 
 at last a white man who is m}- brother. I will talk to 
 him to relieve my heart and give him the story of 
 my misfortunes (for although I am now in the happy 
 hunting grounds of our departed, the miseries of my 
 declining race on earth often grieve my spirit, and so 
 leaves my present life still in an incomplete condition)." 
 I became now interested. "Go on," said I, "for with 
 great pleasure will I listen to the stor}^ of my brother. ' ' 
 
 He heaved a deep sigh, and then commenced his inter- 
 esting narrative. " Do you see that hill there," he asked, 
 " far away on the horizon ? " I nodded. " Well," said 
 he (with a wild look in his eyes that revealed his inward 
 emotions), "there one day appeared the little cloud 
 which spread all over our western world, and from which 
 broke forth a tempest that brought death and desolation 
 over our people. 
 
 • " Ah ! why were we not wiser ! Why did the red man, 
 who knows the signs of Heaven and whose very steps 
 are caution, allow the beautiful snake to take shelter in 
 his bosom where it so successfully gave him the deadly 
 bite? 
 
 "One day, as I with a company of chiefs, had gath- 
 ered for a peaceful chat on the banks of the Miche-Sepe 
 there came floating down stream strange objects which 
 proved to be canoes but of such a w^onderful shape and so 
 much larger than ours that we became somewhat alarmed. 
 
 "As they came nearer we saw that they contained 
 human beings, but so strange in appearance that we sur- 
 mised them to be inhabitants of the spirit world. Their 
 form was like ours, but their faces were white, the lower 
 part of which was covered with a thick growth of hair, 
 while their garments, which covered their bodies from 
 head to foot, appeared also different in shape and of other 
 color than ours. 
 
 ' ' But what astonished us the most was the deadly effect 
 of their weapons, for as one of them pointed a kind of 
 
14 MID-DAY DREAMS. 
 
 straight rod toward a bird that flew over them, we saw a 
 puff of smoke followed b}' a loud report that sent the 
 animal dead to the ground. 
 
 "The wonderful news was soon known in the village 
 and all came flocking out to the riverside, squaws, chil- 
 dred, and old people, but the strange sight so frightened 
 them that they hurried back screaming at the top of 
 their voices that the Great Spirit had come to destroy 
 them. x\nd, let me freely say, that we, the chiefs, who 
 never had showed the heart of a squaw, not even in the 
 greatest dangers, also felt strangely affected, although 
 we did not show it, for we consider it a disgrace to a red 
 man to manifest fear in the presence of death, though he 
 be sent by the Great Spirit to destroy us. 
 
 " But our hearts grew somewhat lighter when we 
 noticed that the strangers instead of landing upon our 
 shores crossed over to the opposite side of the river, 
 stepped out and erected their wigwams. 
 
 "We returned now to our village, taking, however, 
 the precaution to place a guard on the river side, and then 
 talked about nothing else but the spirit men. 
 
 ' ' The question was now what was to be done under the 
 circumstances, for to live unconcerned in close prox- 
 imit}' of such formidable strangers would be the great- 
 est imprudence. So we concluded to call a council 
 together, which soon afterward met, and an extraordinary 
 meeting it was, in which the principal chiefs of the neigh- 
 boring tribes took a lively part. 
 
 " Our discussions lasted two daj^s and there appeared 
 first to be a diversity of opinion about the actions to be 
 taken, a few stout-hearted ones favoring expvilsion or 
 wholesale slaughter. But the greater number advocated 
 peace, for they argued, if these people are the embassa- 
 dors of the Great Spirit, they may, if we treat them 
 kindly, reward us richly, but if we maltreat them bring 
 death and desolation over our people. 
 
 "All seemed to feel the strength of this argument and 
 so it was resolved to send over an embassv of Chiefs 
 
MID-DAY DREAMS. I5 
 
 with our friendl}- greetings and to find out b}^ a diligent 
 inquiry the real state of afifairs. 
 
 "The next day three of the chiefs (I one of their num- 
 ber) started out on this important mission, for we feared 
 that delay might hasten on our destruction. 
 
 "Not a word was spoken as we paddled our canoes across 
 the Father of Waters, having all the while our eyes fixed 
 ^on the camp of our mysterious visitors, who detecting us, 
 gathered upon the banks of the river armed with their 
 fire-rods. 
 
 ' ' This first alarmed us and we stopped for a moment, but 
 as they gave us a sign to come on, we proceeded again 
 and soon stood face to face for the first time, with the white 
 men ( for such they proved afterwards to be, and no Spirits, 
 as we first surmised). They leceived us very kindly, 
 and soon by signs ( for they could not speak our language) 
 we carried on an interesting conversation. 
 
 " They conducted us to their wigwams and showed us 
 their many beautiful articles made of strange material 
 and wonderfully fashioned, such as their long and 
 beautiful scalping knives and their dreadful fire-rods, 
 whose wonderful operations they revealed to us. Then 
 they exhibited also to us a small round box containing 
 a little trembling rod, which, no matter how it was 
 turned went back to its original position, pointing toward 
 the Great River, and by which they said to have been 
 directed over the Great Water and through untrodden 
 wildernesses to us, a wonderful article, which proved 
 that the white man, who could fabricate such things, 
 stood in a secret communication with the Great Spirit. 
 And that this was so, we soon afterward found out, for 
 when we had examined these and other strange things, 
 they conducted us in the presence of their great medicine 
 man, a person whose peculiar garment and kind expres- 
 sion had attracted our attention from the beginning, and 
 who showed us another wonderful object, called the 
 great Spirit book, through which he communicated 
 
l6 MID-DAY DREAMS. 
 
 with the Great Spirit and so derived his wisdom as a 
 teacher to the white and red people. 
 
 "Great good man, how well I rememberthe wonderful 
 impression he made upon me, with his white locks and 
 beard that encircled his good natured, ruddy countenance, 
 a view as charming as the wintry Miche-Sepe in the 
 evening glow with his snow clad hills all around him. 
 
 ' ' Until late in the evening we remained with our friends 
 and then returned to our people, greath' rejoicing that 
 we had found men whose hearts beat for us with the 
 warmest affections, and no spirits, as we first surmised. 
 Our people were already anxiously waiting for us upon 
 the shore, and great was their joy when they saw us back 
 again and could listen to our wonderful tales about the 
 white man. 
 
 ' ' In the course of time the strangers put up their abode 
 among us, although they took the precaution to surround 
 their wigwams in the manner of some of our tribes, with 
 a wooden enclosure, called stockade, to serve as a pro- 
 tection against the red man in case he should attack them. 
 
 " This however proved to have been not necessary for 
 we did not suspect them at all of evil intentions, and so 
 in the future we lived in harmony and peace. 
 
 "They became on very intimate terms with us; ac- 
 companied us on our hunting expeditions, gave us 
 valuable instructions and wise counsel, and often during 
 the summer evenings would gather with us around our 
 fires relating wonderful stories about their people across 
 the Great Water, or thrilling adventures, so dear to the 
 red man's heart (for it must be remembered that in a 
 comparatively short time they learned to express them- 
 selves in our tongue). 
 
 "They had, however, no intention to remain long among 
 us and so after a delightful stay of two summers, bade 
 us a kind farewell and returned to their people, taking 
 with them a quantity of our wares and giving us in 
 exchange for it many of their useful articles, among 
 them a few valuable fire rods and some ammunition. 
 
MID-DAY DREAMS. I7 
 
 "Two of them, however, remained with us, — the 
 White Medicine Man and his adopted son, a child, whom 
 he had bought on his way to us from one of our tribes 
 who had taken him captive in an encounter with the 
 whites and whom we called afterwards Antelope, on 
 account of his swift footed capacity. 
 
 ' 'The reason why this man resolved to stay with us was 
 the following : He said he that was the son of a great Chief 
 across the Great Water, that he lived there with his 
 parents in great luxury, when one day the Great Spirit 
 ordered him to leave his home, his friends and posses- 
 sions and to go to the red man, giving him that infor- 
 mation about his kind disposition toward mankind, 
 which in former days he had communicated by other men 
 to the whites, and which had made them so much wiser 
 and greater than their red brethren. 
 
 "He had at once obeyed his orders and with a number 
 of companions entered upon the dangerous journey, 
 crossing the Great Water and travelling through wilder- 
 nesses, both attended with the greatest hardships and 
 privations, until at last he reached the red children of 
 the setting sun. 
 
 "And now let me tell you what he had to say about the 
 Great Spirit: 
 
 " The Great Spirit said he had made all things, the 
 sun, moon, stars and this world with rivers, lakes, hills, 
 valleys and all kinds of animals, but that man was his 
 greatest work, whose race was represented first by one 
 man and woman, whose children we all were, the whites 
 and the reds. That he loved them more than all his 
 other creatures, because they resembled him more closely 
 and obeyed his will and for which he had rewarded 
 them richly, having endowed them, among other things 
 with perfect happiness and eternal life. But that one 
 da}^ the Evil Spirit came and in a treacherous way caused 
 him to disobey the Great Spirit, who became so indig- 
 nant about it, that he drove them away from his presence 
 and punished them with sorrow and death. That, how- 
 
l8 MID-DAY DREAMS. 
 
 €ver, the Great Spirit later on, had mercy on them and 
 coming down in the form of a man showed them the 
 way to immortal life hereafter. But that the Evil Spirit 
 did not like this and therefore declared war to the Great 
 Good Spirit and displayed such an ability, that he suc- 
 ceeded in conquering and capturing the latter, whom he 
 cruelly tortured to death. That three days afterwards 
 the Great Spirit revived again, who summoning now to 
 his aid all his forces in heaven and upon earth, attacked 
 the Evil One, whom he completely routed and for ever 
 disabled, after which he gave man free and undisputed 
 access to the land of eternal glory and peace. 
 
 " We first did not pay much attention to his stor>', but 
 when we saw how devoted he M^as to us, which revealed 
 the greatness and sincerity of his heart, proving that the 
 Great Spirit dwelt in him, we accepted his teachings 
 and from that moment on became happier and more 
 prosperous than ever before. Great, good man, no 
 wonder tliat his people called him Father, for a true 
 Father he was, not only to them but also to us. 
 
 " What did he not do to benefit us ? Swimming turbu- 
 lent streams, crossing treacherous swamps, plodding 
 through deep snows in the bitter cold of the winter and 
 travelling through forests infested with ferocious beasts ! 
 And then what a help he was to the sick and the dying ! 
 What valuable medicine he would administer, which dis- 
 lodged the evil spirits that tormented our loved ones and 
 oh ! how the broken vision of the dying lit up with ani- 
 mation, when he assured them, that they were on their 
 wa}^ to the happy lands of peace where disease and death 
 were unknown ! 
 
 " And on what intimate terms he was with Yellow 
 
 Thunder, his squaw, Rising Star, and his little girl Roe ! 
 
 *' How many a pleasant hour he spent with us, accom- 
 panied by Antelope ! 
 
 " How time sped by, when he related to us his travels 
 and adventures and particularly when he spoke of his 
 old home and land ! And sometimes during the tranquil 
 
MID-DAY DREAMS. I9 
 
 summer evenings, when the Great Spirit started his fires 
 on the blue plains above, how eagerly we would listen, 
 when he told us, that those tiny sparks were worlds and 
 suns, which never grew old, floated forever on the air 
 without support and as plainly could be seen by his 
 people across the Great Water as we saw them here ! 
 But, how much more it interested us when he revealed 
 the fact, that the Great Spirit, who made and kept all 
 that was our Father's, whose protecting arms were for- 
 ever around us, significanth^ pointing then to the cross 
 which he wore on his breast ! 
 
 " Happy days, why could they not last forever ! Why 
 had the night of death forever to darken this beautiful 
 heaven of life and love ! 
 
 " But thus it happened, for the Father began gradually 
 to feel the effects of declining age, which, combined with 
 those infirmities that follow as a rule a life spent in hard- 
 ships and exposures, broke dowm his strong constitution 
 and ended his useful life. 
 
 ' ' L/Ct me tell you what hastened on the end ! 
 
 "One day he started out on a journey to a distant tribe. 
 It was late in the fall and wet weather followed, rains 
 every day, accompanied with chilling blasts. There was 
 no shelter on his path, except where he found perchance 
 an overhanging rock or cave, and which afforded a poor 
 protection against the inclemency of the weather. Under 
 these unfavorable circiunstance he pursued his course, 
 often in a drenched condition, until finally, totally ex- 
 hausted, and suffering from pain he reached his desti- 
 nation. 
 
 " But his stay there was short, for as he felt his end ap- 
 proaching, and earnestly desired to die among us, he 
 started on his return journey as soon as the weather be- 
 came milder, and late in spring managed to reach us. 
 We greatly rejoiced to see him back, but alas ! no- 
 ticed at once the great change that had come over him ; 
 his hollow cough, his emaciated features, his sunken 
 eyes, and his unsteady gait. The good Father was dying 
 
20 MID-DAY DREAMS. 
 
 and he himself was aware of it, but he was resigned to his 
 lot, yea spoke even with joy about his approaching de- 
 parture. However it affected us sadly, for how lonely 
 and desolate would be our existence without him. 
 ' Father,' we used to say therefore, 'ah ! do not leave us, 
 pray the Good Spirit to prolong thy days. ' But then with 
 a smile on his lips he would answer : ' My children, be 
 resigned, the Great Spirit has willed it thus and his ways 
 are always good and wise. But judge for yourself, 
 would it not be better for me to go to my rest after so 
 much anxiety and toil ? Would you envy my repose ? 
 And do you suppose .that the Great Spirit would allow 
 the work go to ruin, for which he in his wisdom called 
 me away from my kindred and friends? No," no, my 
 children, learn to say, like your Saviour in Gethsemane, 
 ' thy will be done.' ' 
 
 " That settled it; we said no more and with resignation 
 to the will of the Great Spirit, watched the gradual de- 
 cline of the dear flame of life. 
 
 "The w^ork of destruction proceeded now rapidly; he 
 grew daily weaker and soon was compelled to stay at 
 home, musing his last days away in his little summer 
 house, a wooden frame-work, overgrown with ivy, built 
 by his own hand on a cliff overhanging the river, faith- 
 fully attended by his loving Antelope. 
 
 " And it was to this place, when he felt his end ap- 
 proaching, that he one day hastily summoned us, in order 
 that he might give us his blessing. We hurried at once 
 to his home, myself, Rising Star and Roe. He was, as 
 usual, in his summer house, but on entering w^e found 
 him sleeping in a sitting position, leaning backward 
 against the wall, his head bent forward and with the Spirit 
 Book upon his knees, on which rested his folded hands. 
 
 "Fearing to disturb him, we retraced our steps, 
 but he awoke and with a smile on his lips beckoned 
 us to his presence. We drew near. ' My children,' said 
 he, 'you have just come in time, for besides giving you 
 my blessing, I can report to you interesting news. In 
 
MID-DAY DREAMS. 21 
 
 111}' short slumber here I had a peculiar dream and the 
 Great Spirit has informed my spirit that it is a prophetic 
 vision, revealing the blessed future of your and my race. 
 
 *' ' Let me relate it to you, and may the Great Spirit give 
 me strength to finish it to the end. 
 
 " ' I dreamed that I occupied a commanding position on 
 a certain plateau that terminated precipitously near a 
 wide, beautiful stream, a grassy glade with dense forests 
 all around me, except on the river side, where it looked 
 out upon a charming scene, with the placid river below 
 me, dimly visible through a thin veil of mist and bor- 
 dered on the other side by bold precipitous mountains. 
 
 " ' As I sat there, mine eyes leisurely swerving over the 
 delightful landscape, there came suddenly bounding forth 
 from the forest two fleet-footed animals, apparently some 
 kind of Antelope and young Roe, which, dashing close 
 by me entered the wood just opposite to my place and 
 disappeared from view. I concluded that they were 
 chased, and so it was, for at once there emerged from 
 the forest a hunter, who coming up to me asked me 
 politely if I had seen the creatures referred to. I ans- 
 wered affirmatively, told him where the animals had dis- 
 appeared and he continued his chase. 
 
 ' ' ' My curiosity was now aroused and straining my ears 
 I waited for the report of the hunter's gun that would 
 seal the fate of the innocent creatures. 
 
 " 'Nothing, however, came to my ear and now the 
 thought struck me that the animals in their bewildered 
 condition might possibly have leaped over the precipice, 
 which was directly behind the woods in which they had 
 disappeared. Immediately I instituted search, and 
 arriving at the declivity, which was about two hundred 
 feet above the river, I looked down, but found my view 
 obstructed by a cluster of gnarled evergreens, growing 
 out of the crevices of the rocks. So I made a short 
 descent and taking m}^ position on a projecting limb of 
 a treCj covild look down for about fifty feet, when again a 
 few trees were in my way. And now, as I tried to 
 
22 MID-DAY DREAMS. 
 
 obtain a glimpse of the valley through an opening 
 between the branches, mine eyes fell upon an eagle's 
 nest, built upon a projecting rock. Noticing that it 
 contained something alive and expecting it to be young 
 eagles, I descended a little lower so as to obtain a better 
 view of the interesting birds. But imagine my surprise, 
 when instead of 3^oung eagles I found the ver}^ animals 
 in it for which I was in search, an antelope and young 
 deer, unhurt and apparently as tame as domestic 
 animals. 
 
 " ' I tried now to approach the nest and if possible to 
 rescue the little creatures from their perilous position. 
 But just as I made the attempt, I heard a voice above me 
 uttering these remarkable words, clear and distinct : 
 ' He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High, 
 shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. They 
 shall mount up with wings as of eagles; they shall run 
 and not be weary and they shall walk and not faint.' 
 
 " ' Struck with terror I looked up, when lo, there hover- 
 ed over me a huge eagle, who slowly descending, alighted 
 on the nest, carefully covering the animals with his 
 long, broad pinions. And now I saw a wonderful trans- 
 formation, for the quadrupeds suddenly changed into 
 young eagles, who, following the mother bird, soared 
 heavenward, higher and higher, until they disappeared 
 from view. 
 
 " ' The wonderful vision greatly alarmed me for I knew 
 that the Great Spirit had spoken to me. What could be 
 the significance ? I took courage and lifting mine eyes 
 to heaven, I prayed, ' Oh Great, Good Spirit explain to 
 th)^ servant the meaning of this wonderful vision.' 
 And immediately there came His answer, ' Wake up 
 and thou shalt know it.' I awoke, saw you, and the 
 myster}^ stood revealed before me.' 
 
 " 'M}' children,' he continued, 'listen now attentively 
 and I will tell you what the Great Spirit has to say. ' 
 Then he ordered Roe and Antelope to draw near to him 
 and when they had done so, he joined their right hands 
 
MID-DAY DREAMS. 23. 
 
 and laid his right one on Antelope's head and his left 
 one on Roe's. 'These two,' said he, "will become 
 man and wife and in their union is prefigured the union 
 of the white and red races. It will, however, take some 
 time before it is accomplished, terrible wars must 
 precede it, the whites and the reds trying to exterminate 
 each other, instigated by the Evil Spirit, but the Great, 
 Good Spirit will interfere and finally effect a lasting 
 reconciliation, resulting in the union of the two races,, 
 forming, them into one of the greatest nations the world 
 ever saw, with one common Totum, the Eagle, signifi- 
 cant of their strength, bravery, rising abilities and 
 protecting care, which they will extend to the perse- 
 cuted that come to these shores from all the lands 
 of the world.' The father ceased to speak and as he 
 lifted his eyes to heaven, I noticed that his lips 
 quivered with sublime emotions. A great weakness now 
 came over him, his last forces were spent. — He gasped 
 for breath. — His lips moved once more and with great 
 difficulty he uttered these last words in faltering accent : 
 ' My children— it is all over — with me now — I — am — 
 going — to — my — Father. He — bless — 3-ou. Farewell — 
 forever.' His head sank upon his breast, his eyes 
 closed, he slept. Alas ! it was the sleep of death. The 
 father had launched his canoe upon the wide, dark river 
 of death and we stood weeping and forsaken upon the 
 shore. The sad news spread like a wild fire among the 
 tribes and there was a great mourning. 
 
 ' ' We buried the good father with all the honors due to 
 a great chief and carefully encased his remains in a 
 birch-bark canoe, laid him to rest near his beloved 
 wigwam in the hearing of the murmuring Miche-Sepe 
 and placed upon his grave, according to his directions, 
 the sign of the Great Spirit, ' for ' said he, ' that 
 cross will remind you of the love of the Great Spirit for 
 you and of the instruction, which I have given you in 
 His name." 
 
 " My story is told," said Yellow Thunder, " but, oh ! 
 
24 MID-DAY DREAMS. 
 
 how it pains my heart that I never saw the predictions 
 of the great father fulfilled. The dreary events that fol- 
 lowed are too many to be told. Let it be sufficient when 
 I tell 3^ou that we were betrayed by the white man. 
 Our visitors, whom we had treated so kindly and who 
 meant it well for us too, unintentionally had opened the 
 way for others, people with black hearts, and teirible 
 times followed. One lawless band followed another, and 
 they pillaged and murdered among us, but we resisted 
 their aggressions with unflinching stubborness and the 
 blood flowed freely. Ours, however, was a hopeless 
 cause, for neither our superior number nor our unflinch- 
 ing braver}^ could compete with the white man's sagacity 
 and continuallj^ we lost ground. Still we fought on and 
 in the fierce struggle Rising Star, Antelope and my 
 sweet child Roe perished. I survived them all and even 
 the chiefs who were born during my old age, ni}- heart 
 deeper cut with each succeeding year, until I too fell in 
 the bloody encounter for the cause of my people. 
 
 ' ' Yes, my warfare is over now, and sometimes I leave 
 my happy hunting grounds to wander over these hills 
 watching the progress of the white man and the gradual 
 decline of my people. 
 
 " But through the dark cloud that hangs over them, I 
 have discovered a star of hope. There is after all a better 
 future for the Red Man and therefore I say, 'Go on. 
 White Man, betray and kill and be quick about it too, 
 for the death of our race on earth is the morning of our 
 freedom in the Spirit world. One by one they are arriv- 
 ing at our happy hunting grounds. ' The White Man says, 
 ' They are reading their doom in the setting sun.' I see 
 the dawn of an eternal day of glory, keep freeh' all thy 
 ill gotten gains, we desire no more thy countr}- (virtually 
 ours), but dismal with horrible recollections. Oh! 
 Great, Good Spirit, send soon all thy Red Children to 
 us, through the golden gates of the west." 
 
 My warrior ceased to speak. Suddenly I heard a rum- 
 bling noise, resembling the distant roar of thunder ; 
 
MID-DAY DREAMS. 25 
 
 nearer and nearer it came, until it sounded like a fearful 
 stampede, accompanied with unearthly yells, hideous 
 shouting and loud snorting. I looked around and there 
 appeared to me a little ways off a cloud of dust, and im- 
 mediately after it immense herds of buffalo, antelope, 
 deer and other wild animals. Countless Indian hunters 
 mounted on wild steeds struggled between and galloped 
 behind the surging mass, wild with excitement and fan- 
 tastically arrayed. 
 
 I had a view of the Red Man's happy hunting grounds. 
 Where was Yellow Thunder ? He had joined his com- 
 rades. I happened to see him yet in the distance, and 
 waving his hand to me in token of farewell, he jumped 
 upon his steed and disappeared with the rest in the cloud 
 of dust that rolled after the confused mass. A gush of 
 wind passed through the tree over my head and I was 
 awake. 
 
 I looked once more over the Mississippi Valley, spread 
 out before me in all the loveliness of the hazy spring 
 afternoon, renovated and improved, now no longer dis- 
 turbed by cruel wars that once cursed its inhabitants, but 
 blest by peaceful industries, the result of intellectual and 
 spiritual enlightenment. It was the result of the teach- 
 ings of the Nazarene, whose elevating doctrines as early 
 as the eighteenth century were proclaimed by these self- 
 sacrificing Missionary Fathers to the Red Man in the 
 Mississippi Valley, carried forward and improved by their 
 successors under different names. 
 
 True, with all these bearers of the truth came also the 
 unprincipled ones who maltreated the unsuspecting hos- 
 pitable children of nature. But like a wild mountain- 
 stream that spreads death and desolation in its early 
 overflow, but in its retreat leaves behind the rich alluvian 
 deposit, which gives a good harvest to many, thus with 
 the rush of lawless adventure came our Christian Civili- 
 zation here, now supported and protected by a govern- 
 ment that recognizes the equality of races and finally 
 must render justice to the downtrodden Indian. 
 
26 MID-DAY DREAMS. 
 
 Let us trust that he is safe now in the spacious nest of 
 the American Eagle in which so many of the oppressed 
 of the nations of the earth have found refuge and that 
 both races finally wedded to each other forever will 
 bury Tomahawk and Sword. 
 
 And so it will come to pass that the original Lord of 
 the Soil in his union with the White American once more 
 possesses the inheritance of his Fathers, a better and hap- 
 pier Lord, rescued by an all overruling Providence from 
 ignorance and bloody strife (which eventually would have 
 destroyed him), gently led onward to Excelsior by the 
 Soaring American Eagle. 
 
 His sun has set, his fascinating presence 
 
 In peace and war has vanished from our land, 
 
 His council fires are out, his brown Sepees demolished 
 
 His tomahawk lies buried in the sand. 
 
 Sleep, warrior, sleep, we will forget j-our errors 
 
 And emulate the virtues which you had 
 
 And with vour children, now our brothers and our sisters 
 
 Place reverently the flowers upon your bed. 
 
Oleander.* 
 
 Upon the seashore stood 
 A maiden young and fair. 
 The sea was wild and white, 
 Her eyes spoke of despair. 
 Yonder there was the ship, 
 Sinking into the wave, 
 Of all the gazers on 
 No one that ship could save. 
 Upon that craft was one. 
 No one but she loved more. 
 It brought Leander back 
 From distant foreign shore. 
 Once more the waves rose high, 
 Swept b}' the swelling gale. 
 She watched — stretched forth 
 
 her hands. 
 Away sunk mast and sail. 
 With a derisive roar, 
 That drowned the maiden's 
 
 screech 
 The wild and crested waves. 
 Came dancing on the beach 
 Once more the cruel sea 
 Her frolic did repeat, — 
 A lifeless, youthful form, 
 It flung before her feet. 
 There was a cry — she fell 
 Upon the dead man's breast. 
 And in young Hero's arms. 
 Her lover's form did rest. 
 
 Upon the lonely shore 
 She dug Leander' s grave. 
 Beneath a verdant shrub, 
 In hearing of .the M'ave, 
 
 * See note. 
 
 And on the grave its boughs 
 Spread out their shadows deep, 
 A shelter for the girl. 
 Who came to sigh and weep. 
 And there her drooping soul 
 Grew darker day by day. 
 Until the clouds of grief 
 Extinguished reason's ray. 
 And from the shady bower. 
 The loud and frantic cry, 
 " O ! O ! Leander," would 
 Attract the passer by. 
 
 A stranger passed that way. 
 He found the raving maid. 
 He asked her, " Who art thou?' 
 But not a word she said. 
 Another man came up. 
 He solved the mystery. 
 It touched the traveller 
 With tender sympathy. 
 
 The stranger left the place. 
 And from the blooming tree 
 That shaded the lone maid, 
 A little twig plucked he. 
 He brought it to his home. 
 And kept it carefully. 
 The plant unknown to him 
 He called Leander-tree. 
 
 Whenever you now see 
 An Oleander bloom, 
 Think of poor Hero's heart. 
 And young Leander's doom. 
 
Neglected Virtue dying. 
 
 It's done at last, the beauteous flower, 
 That bloomed uuseen on mountain crest 
 Has blossomed out and dying stands. 
 With drooping head in chilling blast. 
 Ah ! moimtain flower so sweet so fair, 
 Why mu§t thou stand beneath the sky, 
 By chilly rain and tempest lashed, 
 Unnoticed, and unloved, to die? 
 
 Be quiet, my friend, his Maker says. 
 The flower knew me, and him I knew. 
 And this was happiness to him. 
 Though lone, and on him tempests blew, 
 There is not such a thing, my friend, 
 In this grand universe of mine. 
 And certainly no work like this. 
 That goes unnoticed to decline. 
 
 Man often gives the palm to those 
 Who are not worthy of the name ; 
 
 And worthy ones who hear his praise, 
 Find talent not increased by fame. 
 
 The Maker blows upon the flower, 
 His seed lands in the promised land, 
 
 And mid the choicest flowers he blooms, 
 And round him sings an angel band. 
 
 A Dewdrop on a Thirsty Ground. 
 
 How sweet it is, escaped from worldly bustle. 
 To enter on the slumbers of the night. 
 
 When the departed sit awhile beside us 
 
 Companions of our wand'ring spirit's flight. 
 
A DEWDROP ON A THIRSTY GROUND. 29 
 
 Their countenances are like Seraph's faces, 
 Love, truth, and ever peace expressing, 
 
 They smile on us. and light beams in the darkness, 
 Which makes our pilgrimage so oft distressing. 
 
 Their voices like the JEolean harp are sounding 
 (Sweet chords of love, in heavenly breeze vibrating. 
 
 Swerving in lands, where happiness is lasting 
 Without illusions and realities creating.) 
 
 I have just now such pleasant dream experienced ; 
 
 One of my dear departed came to me. 
 Yea, 'twas her countenance, though far exceeding 
 
 Its fair impressions on my memory. 
 
 *' Welcome," I said, " I'll raise here tabernacles, 
 A habitation for th}' form and me." 
 She stared at me, yet with unearthly vision, 
 Such penetrating eyes I ne'er did see. 
 
 I cast mine down, for her sweet answer waiting. 
 But 'twas in vain, for when I raised my head, 
 
 With smiling face, her hand was upward pointing, 
 And to the far unknown her vision fled. 
 
 Alas ! the precious dead may not return. 
 
 As long as time's sure pendulum must swing, 
 
 Which to the heart, inflamed by mem'ries frictions, 
 Unceasingly a painful blow does bring. 
 
 How melancholy moans the wind about the pines, 
 Far from me rests the precious dead I love. 
 
 I long to stand beside the mould'ring clay, 
 O ! could I rise on pinions of a dove. 
 
 Vacant the place remains, where storms my flowers have 
 
 nipped. 
 The spirit which would fly, feels that the wings are 
 
 clipped. 
 Yet here is still a sphere to which the Master calls, 
 And on my post I'll stay, until life's curtain falls. 
 1877. 
 
THE Ruined Church. 
 
 Here loved devoted hearts to pray, 
 Here weary souls would congregate, 
 
 To hear the way of life proclaimed, 
 Which pointed to the heavenly gate. 
 
 These roofless, broken, mould 'ring walls. 
 
 Now gloomy and deserted, 
 Would once resound with happy praise, 
 
 Flowing from hearts converted. 
 
 Where Eden's exiles once could find 
 
 A precious consolation, 
 There wdngs the ugly bat at night, 
 
 And governs desolation. 
 
 Our hearts are often said to be 
 
 Most precious sanctuaries, 
 Where He who fills immensity 
 
 Will make a home and tarries. 
 
 The world with evil is ablaze, 
 And sparks are still descending ; 
 
 A voice says : "Man, be on thy guard, 
 Thy holy grounds defending." 
 
 One spark of evil on thy roof 
 
 May waste the sanctuary. 
 Making the spot where God would dwell, 
 
 Forever solitarv. 
 
 1879- 
 
 AN ECHO. 
 
 Wliere is He? Ask the fount of light. 
 With its bright, blinding rays. 
 
 That ever moving wheel of heaven. 
 Wrapped in m3'sterious blaze. 
 
AN ECHO. 31 
 
 Where is He? Ask the wand'ring breeze, 
 When evening shades draw near, 
 
 And the mysterious wanderers 
 On heavenl}' fields appear. 
 
 Where is He ? Ask where roaring seas 
 
 Meet on the battle-iield, 
 And mighty castles of the flood 
 
 To their fierce power must yield. 
 
 Where is He? Ask the hidden vales, 
 
 And mountains of the deep, 
 Where mariners have found a grave 
 
 Far from their homes to sleep. 
 
 Where is He ? Ask where thunders roll 
 
 In the wild, raging night ; 
 When fiery arrows cleave the clouds. 
 
 And vapory giants fight. 
 
 Where is He ? Ask the arctic shores, 
 
 With everlasting ice. 
 Where is He ? Ask Sahara's plains, 
 
 Where poisonous winds arise. 
 
 Where is He ? Ask the distant west, 
 
 Fair California's domes. 
 Between whose solid, towering walls, 
 
 The stag peacefully roams. 
 
 Where is He? Hsk the ancient realms. 
 
 Where ruined castles tower, 
 Which tell the tale of grandeur's fate, 
 
 And Time's relentless power. 
 
 Where'er our eyes or thoughts may roam, 
 
 Or terrified we flee. 
 We do observe him ever3'wliere. 
 
 Whom ne'er an eye did see. 
 
 1874. 
 
The Sabbath-Bells. 
 
 Again the solemn Sabbath-bells, 
 Awake the fragrant morning calm, 
 But naught disturbs the silent rest 
 With which my father's soul is blest. 
 
 Again the lightly ringing bell 
 Sounds direful from the hollow spire ; 
 It calls my father's flock to prayer, 
 But the good Shepherd is not there. 
 Again the bell repeats that sound. 
 Urging the tarrying ones to come. 
 But though the bell repeats that sound, 
 It cannot stir his sleep profound. 
 
 The years will come, the years will go, 
 And Sabbaths thousand times return, 
 Sometimes descend on perfumed wing, 
 And thousand times the bells will ring. 
 
 But bells may ring and Sabbaths come. 
 And thousand anthems swell the choir, 
 My father will not hear a noise. 
 Nor mingle with the Sabbath- joys. 
 
 My heart is heavy, oh, that loss ! 
 I miss him on this Sabbath-morn, 
 I'll miss him where my feet shall roam. 
 Far, far away from dear old home. 
 
 Ring, ring on, sweet Sabbath-bell, 
 Though grief and sorrow fills my heart. 
 Still joy is mingled with the clang, 
 Which does relieve the inward pang. 
 
 Ye tell me of a land of flowers 
 Kternal and of merry bells 
 Ringing through all eternit}', 
 Where father as a saint I see. 
 
THE SABBATH-BEI^LS. 33 
 
 And still I hear another voice, 
 Which sounds prophetic from that spire, 
 Telling me of that grand spring morn, 
 When dust to Heaven shall be borne. 
 
 Sweet comforts of the Hol}^ Book, 
 I -feel relieved, my heart's at rest, 
 "Reunion!" sounds from every tower, 
 *' Rising again ! " says every flower. 
 
 Farewell, good father ! ^are thee well ! 
 Enjoy thy heavenly Sabbath-rest. 
 We hope to join th}^ company, 
 When bells call for eternity. 
 
 And when we face again the storms, 
 Hushed to their ears for ever now, 
 May this sweet thought fore'er be ours. 
 When leaving thee beneath the bowers. 
 Pella, Iowa, May, 1S86. 
 
 MOONLIGHT REVERIE. 
 
 The moon looks from behind the clouds 
 Upon the wintry earth, 
 And sheds its rays o'er vale and hill. 
 While all is still. 
 
 Mine e3'es are wand'ring o'er the scene, 
 Bound for south-western clime, 
 Where the beloved at home reside. 
 This lovely night. 
 
 Could I mount up on eagle's wings, 
 To yonder free-born moon, 
 Thence their dear faces I could see. 
 And they see me. 
 
 Bright lyuna's telescopic eye. 
 Contracts the numerous miles. 
 And though she plays upon this wall. 
 Perceives us all. 
 
34 MAN, GOD, AND NATURE. 
 
 By hills and valleys kept apart, 
 Her love keeps us together, 
 By two embracing arms of light, 
 This silent night, 
 
 Alas ! she hides her friendly looks 
 Behind a veil of clouds, 
 The night grows dark, the storms appear, 
 No one is near. 
 
 Cheer up, ni}' soul, for One is near, 
 Who watches o'er us all, 
 He stays with them, and with thee here, 
 Forever near. 
 
 Sweet day, when we may hear His call : 
 "Mount up to ni}- abode. 
 Come enter now a lasting home, 
 No more to roam." 
 
 Shine once more on my face, dear moon ! 
 And on those loved ones yonder, 
 Remind us of that blessed site. 
 Without a night! 
 
 Man, God and Nature. 
 
 In the glorious heavens above us, 
 
 In the earth beneath our feet. 
 
 Aye, where'er our thoughts may wander, 
 
 God's benevolence we meet. 
 
 Man, before thee stands Creation, 
 
 Filled with Music, sweet and grand. 
 
 Let an instrument so glorious, 
 
 Not before the idle stand. 
 
 Let thy heart the yielding Keys touch, 
 
 And a music thou shall hear, 
 
 That will fill thy soul with rapture. 
 
 And draw God and Angels near. 
 
TO MR. AND MRS. SLEYSTER, OF PRESTON, 
 MINNESOTA, 
 
 ON THKIR I3TH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY. 
 
 For thirteen years the peaceful stream 
 
 Of niarriage-bliss has passed, 
 
 Beside your dwelling and to-day 
 
 You look upon the past. 
 
 And over all you see the hand 
 
 Of God, to bless your days, 
 
 And in your heart swells gratitude, 
 
 And on your lips is praise. 
 
 My friends, these are my wishes now, 
 
 That long yet you may live, 
 
 And Avhen you have to go that then, 
 
 In heaven may land your skiff. 
 
 AFTER THE WEDDING. 
 
 (On a certain occasion). 
 
 Godspeed I wish the little boat 
 
 That bears you happy pair. 
 
 And let a third one go with you 
 
 The Captain, who takes care. 
 
 And may a cloudless sky be yours, 
 
 But no,— that is not right, 
 
 For on the ocean there is storm 
 
 And often a black night. 
 
 But in the storm and in the night 
 
 Your Captain do obey. 
 
 He knows the dangers and the coast 
 
 And points out the right way. 
 
 And now, — go each one to your place. 
 
 The wife to the front end 
 
 To' watch, and on the wheel the man, 
 
 The steering to attend. 
 
LITTLE Mary.* 
 
 Her dust rests in another land, 
 
 A region far away, — 
 Where first our vacant eye received 
 
 Life's penetrating ray. 
 
 The house is altered where we dwelt, 
 Our childish plays have ceased. 
 
 Sweet rest came to thy little feet 
 While our wild storms increased. 
 
 We left our early home since years, 
 
 By circumstances driven, 
 Thou did'st prefer a better course. 
 
 Turning thy prow to Heaven. 
 
 The sad event comes back to me, 
 
 The melancholy hour 
 When death rushed in upon our home, 
 
 Its inmates to devour. 
 
 I stricken down by a dread plague, 
 
 Lay senseless on my bed. 
 A little hand was laid in mine, 
 
 The other stroked my head. 
 
 I 'woke, and heard a childish voice, 
 That spoke : ' ' Thou shalt remain 
 
 Brother (for I have prayed the Lord), 
 And we shall play again. 
 
 Mine eyes stared on the little form. 
 
 But closed again, and I 
 Was sinking fast and people said, 
 "The poor boy has to die. " 
 But the faint spark of life, which seemed 
 
 To turn fore'er to gloom, 
 Caught up the fanning breeze of heaven 
 
 And I escaped my doom. 
 See Note. 
 
I.ITTI.E MARY. 37 
 
 I looked around, but horrified 
 
 I turned mine eyes away, 
 For seizing on my sister's form, 
 
 Death took her for his prey. 
 
 No father held her parting form, 
 
 No mother closed her eyes, 
 Vox when they met their distant friends. 
 
 Their darling had to die. 
 
 I often stood beside her grave. 
 
 When but a little boy. 
 But never can the cruel time 
 
 Her memory destroy. 
 
 No more my feet shall press the dust. 
 
 That settles on her tomb. 
 Tasting the soothing solitude 
 
 With her at evening gloom. 
 
 Our tears no more fall on the mound, 
 
 Drawn up from hearts so sore. 
 The rain instead of them shall now 
 
 Upon that mansion pour. 
 
 We sigh no more beside thy grave. 
 
 Thou, sister, art alone ! 
 But the good wind shall take our place, 
 
 And often come to moan. 
 
 Our dust shall rest in other soil. 
 
 Far, far from thee away, 
 And other rains and other winds 
 
 Shall with our ashes play. 
 
 Yet hearts and hands shall join again, 
 
 Which motionless must lie. 
 When God shall raise the dead to life, 
 
 And take us to the sky. 
 
Damsel-Forest. 
 
 A HOLLAND LKGBND. 
 
 A mystic air hangs o'er the dark pine forest. 
 Unearthly, lone, its chambers do appear, 
 And not without a cautious face and vision. 
 The simple rustics to its gloom draw near. 
 
 Unhabited, weird and solitary, 
 Encircled by the wide, brown fields of heath, 
 Rooted in sand, stands firm old Damsel-forest. 
 With many a foot-path winding underneath. 
 
 Mysterious sounds by roving winds awakened, 
 Fall on one's ear, when passing through that wold. 
 The tall pines moan, while 'neath the moonbeams often, 
 The traveler strange shadows does behold. 
 
 For ages it has stood, unchanged and solitary. 
 Where generations come and disappear. 
 Talking away, in accents strange, unearthly, 
 Which sires would shun and their good children fear. 
 
 (A fit abode for those, whose links are severed 
 From earthly intercouse, its ways and life. 
 This is their Paradise, a home for restless phantoms, 
 Who here at night from many a grave arrive. ) 
 
 There on a certain night, thus runs the story. 
 Strange spirit-life appeared to human eye. 
 Leaving the dark recesses of the forest, 
 And to a band of travelers drew nigh. 
 
 Some hundred years ago, a famous preacher. 
 Known for his piety, his zeal and power, 
 Came on a visit to the neighboring village. 
 To preach the word beneath the ancient tower. 
 
DAMSEIv-FOREST. 39 
 
 The townfolk in the old church congregated, 
 And from the hills the simple peasants drew near ; 
 Age, youth, and e'en the little children, 
 Before the earnest preacher did appear. 
 
 The words of comfort and of hopes eternal. 
 Fell with, effect upon the listener's ears. 
 The pious felt themselves nearer to heaven. 
 The sinner left, a penitent in tears. 
 
 Thus as a messenger of peace and comfort. 
 The venerable preacher left the fold, 
 And with his friends nearer to God and heaven. 
 On clumsy vehicle they homeward rode. 
 
 Meanwhile the sun had dived into the ocean, 
 Leaving the silver moon with peaceful ray. 
 And in the calm, silent autumnal ev'ning, 
 The good, conversing party went their wa5^ 
 
 They talked of heaven, of everlasting blessings, 
 Of hopes restored, of Paradise regained. 
 Of meetings with the dear, departed spirits, 
 Of home, where every one fore'er remained. 
 
 Nature was calm, its stillness only broken. 
 By many echoes of the rattling wheels. 
 By humming voices of the little party, 
 And measured poundings of the horse's heels. 
 
 As they advanced, the midnight hour came nearer, 
 The homesteads near the roadsides disappeared. 
 And when the road grew wild and solitary, 
 Their vehicle the gloomy forest neared. 
 
 The shadows of the tall pines fell already. 
 Upon the travelers, and soon they found 
 Themselves 'mid darkness of the lonel}^ forest. 
 Where, save the night-wind, silence reigned profound. 
 
40 DAMSEL-FOREvST, 
 
 The rolling wheels, a rattling noise producing, 
 
 Called forth reverberations strange and weird, 
 
 The silver moonbeams, trembling through the branches, 
 
 Like playing phantoms on the sand appeared. 
 
 The pious travelers meanwhile convers^'ng, 
 Went slowing onward through the moonlit wood. 
 They felt the presence of Divine protection, 
 And heavenly hope kept them in peaceful mood. 
 
 But suddenly a- blue faint light came gleaming, 
 Through the dark wood, and slowly it came near. 
 Onward it went, its strange blue light diffusing, 
 Until each object clearly did appear. 
 
 Then in the wood the sweetest voices sounded. 
 And heavenly anthems floated on the breeze. 
 Filling each nook witn softh' trembling echoes, 
 Conveying accents, breathing joy and peace. 
 
 The men were filled with awe and adoration. 
 
 For beings of the Spirit-land were near ; 
 
 They drew the reins and when iheir carriage halted, 
 
 A band of shining Damsels did appear. 
 
 Their countenances wore a sweet expression. 
 Their eyes were bright, wearing a star-like glow. 
 Fine were their voices, and their movements graceful, 
 As in the air they fluttered to and fro. 
 
 The travelers looked on with dumb amazement. 
 Watching the movements of the airy band. 
 But when they gazed upon the ghostly beings. 
 The Damsels fair went back to spirit land. 
 
 Slowly the light decreased as they retreated, 
 To the lone gloomy forest, whence they came. 
 At last, the faint light vanished in the distance. 
 And the bright moonbeams did appear the same. 
 
DAMSEI.-FAIR. 41 
 
 Whence did those beings come, those shining Damsels? 
 Were they God's angels, messengers of truth and peace 
 Or spirits of the good and dear departed, 
 Who were enjoying heavenl}- rest and ease ? 
 
 Thus did the pastor and his good friends ponder. 
 When the black torest did appear again, 
 ,Tliey could not tell, but surely no bad spirits. 
 Would hover near a band of Christian men. 
 
 The pious pastor and his good companions 
 Reached finally their city, late at night. 
 They told a strange occurrence to their neighbors, 
 Of singing Damsels, clad in robes of light. 
 
 And since that da}- the story stands conspicuous. 
 Among the rustic, legendary lore, 
 And the old forest, without fame and title, 
 Henceforth the name of Damsel-forest wore. 
 
 And to this day, when moonbeams gently tremble 
 Among the boughs, in many a silent night, 
 A sweet faint music through the woods is sounding. 
 And o'er the pine trees hovers a blue light. 
 
 HERWIJNEN'S TRAGEDY. 
 
 WRITTEN DURING A THUNDER STORM JULY 5TH, 1897. 
 
 See there, my son, Herwijnen's spire ! 
 
 I like to see it there, 
 Nestled among the foliage, 
 
 'Mid Gueldre's ridges fair. 
 There has thy father preached the Word, 
 
 For many a year, my son. 
 But lately he has heard a voice, 
 
 That says thy work is done," 
 
42 herwijnkn's tragedy. 
 
 Thus spoke the pastor to his bo}'-, 
 That stood there by his side, 
 
 His small companion on his walks, 
 His love, his hope, his pride. 
 
 The boy said nothing but he pressed 
 
 IMore firmW father's hand, 
 And for a while, thoughtfully both 
 
 Looked o'er the fairy land. 
 
 Next Sabbath dawned ; a glorious day 
 
 Smiled over vale and hill, 
 The scent of flower and blooming tree 
 
 The atmosphere did fill. 
 The turtle on the branches coed, 
 
 The nightingale yet sung, 
 And on the grass-blades drops of dew 
 
 Ivike sparkling diamonds hung. 
 Over the hills the world to greet, 
 
 With smiles, the blushing sun 
 Rose stately and the holy day 
 
 Soon had its work begun. 
 From tower and turret all around, 
 
 That marked a sacred place, 
 The Sabbath bells with merry peals, 
 
 Announced the hour of grace. 
 And soon, heeding the sacred call. 
 
 Came forth from simple cot 
 And castle-gate an anxious throng, 
 
 Bound for the same sweet spot, 
 Herwijnen's church. God's sacred courts 
 
 Many desired to reach. 
 Where once more God's ambassador, 
 
 The Word of Life would preach. 
 And oh ! he preached the Word that day, 
 
 Better than e'er before, 
 And in the afternoon there were 
 
 To worship many more. 
 
HKRWIJNEN'S TRAGEDY. 43 
 
 Meanwhile the fierce rays of the sun 
 
 Had filled the world with heat ; 
 The air was sultry, hotter still, 
 
 The earth beneath one's feet. 
 No breeze did stir, a smok}- haze 
 
 O'er hill and valley hung, 
 The plants stood drooping everywhere. 
 
 No birds on branches sung. 
 But totally unmindful of 
 
 The sultry atmosphere. 
 The minister spoke in his place. 
 
 And people him did. hear. 
 Hi's word was God's, it came from heart, 
 
 And to the heart it w^ent, 
 The people felt — the Lord is near, 
 
 And this man he has sent. 
 
 Clouds now did gather in the sky, 
 
 And dark the day did grow, 
 And in the distance could be heard. 
 
 The thunder muttering low. 
 Still darker grew the clouded sk}--, 
 
 And deeper grew the gloom 
 That fell about the worshippers. 
 
 In the old audience room. 
 The wind now rose — the lightning flashed, 
 
 The maddened thunder roared. 
 The hail shattered the window panes. 
 
 And rain in torrents poured. 
 Louder the tempest roared and shrieked, 
 
 Darker yet grew the day. 
 And louder too the preacher's voice, 
 
 Who had still more to say. 
 The trumpet of old Sinai 
 
 Was here, he felt its power. 
 But sweeter now the music grew. 
 
 Of Gospel 'mid the shower, 
 God's rectitude and love he saw. 
 
44 herwijnen's tragedy. 
 
 Heaven and the place of doom, 
 And to the light and love of God 
 
 Sinners he called from gloom. 
 His eye of faith saw visions fair, 
 
 Of heaven, like John of old, 
 Oh, could the Shepherd with his flock. 
 
 Now enter yonder fold. 
 
 There cane a sudden flash — a crash, 
 • ' The solid structure trembled, 
 Affecting eye and ear of all 
 
 There in the church assembled. 
 No word was said — awe struck were all, 
 
 The pastor too ceased speaking — 
 
 A flash — the shattered sounding-board, 
 
 The ruined pulpit — shrieking — 
 "Where is he? Oh! Oh!" said the crowd- 
 
 The pastor la}- prostrated, 
 The lightning flash had done the work: 
 
 God's servant was translated. 
 
 Years afterward, the boy a man. 
 
 The hill once more ascended. 
 He saw from there Herwijnen's spire. 
 
 Where father's life had ended. 
 Tears gathered in his eyes, but no, 
 
 From there to heaven he started. 
 With chariots and steeds of fire, 
 
 He gloriously departed. 
 
 Blessed be the man, to duty true, 
 'Mid tranquil scenes and thunder. 
 
 Who goes when God calls him from here 
 To better worlds up yonder. 
 
AUTUMNAL Solitude. 
 
 The autumn paints in red and gold 
 The hill tops and the arborous vales. 
 How solemn is this woodland scene, 
 Where stillness everywhere prevails ! 
 
 I sit beneath the golden boughs 
 And listen to the murmuring stream, 
 To nuts that in the distant fall, 
 To jays that in the branches scream. 
 
 Look here, the leaves are whirling by, 
 The playthings of the sportive breeze. 
 Hark there, the black-birds loud converse, 
 Who congregate in yonder trees. 
 
 The far off woodcock beats his drum, 
 Woodpeckers climb their prey to seek 
 And here the duck the water cleaves, 
 Skimming the surface with his beak. 
 
 And here by me, in modest mien, 
 The aster stands and golden rod. 
 In nature's name they say, farewell, 
 When in the passing breeze they nod. 
 
 How sweet it is to rove alone 
 
 Now through the woods dressed gorgeously 
 
 And in the still and hazy day 
 
 To think, to breath, to hear and see. 
 
 Welcome those pensive solitudes, 
 
 Those hills, those vales, those woods and streams 
 
 Where nature on a golden couch 
 
 Is wrapped in sweet and peaceful dreams. 
 
 May thus my life end beautiful, 
 
 To wing away to- Spring above 
 
 Ivcaving the cold, dead scene behind 
 
 lyike yonder immigrating dove. 
 
IT'S Christmas Day. 
 
 It's Christmas day, it's Christmas day ! 
 
 M}' little ones cry out, 
 
 And on the early morning air 
 
 Rings out their happy shout. 
 
 I heard good Santa Clans, says one, 
 
 I too, the others add. 
 
 And with a loud and boisterous laugh 
 
 They tumble out of bed. 
 
 Come on, they sa}^ come let us see 
 
 What Santa Clans has done ! 
 
 And in a corner of the house 
 
 The}' have their search begun. 
 
 Yes, yes, they say, he has been here, 
 
 Ivook there— for pit3^'s sake — 
 
 The stockings stuffed with everything. 
 
 With nuts, candy and cake. 
 
 They take the treasure and proceed 
 
 To search each room and nook. 
 
 I hear a shout again : "Oh more — 
 
 Two dolls, a sled, a book ! " 
 
 And now, the happy day's set in — 
 
 They smile, their eyes are bright. 
 
 They sing, they talk the live long day 
 
 Until late in the night. 
 
 Sweet childhood's happy time I say, 
 
 How dear you are to me ! 
 
 In all your innocence and joys, 
 
 My former self I see. 
 
 I too, had once my Christmas day ; 
 
 St. Nicholas came to me, 
 
 And in my little soul there was 
 
 lyike in yours song and glee. 
 
 But ah ! all this has passed away. 
 
 The morning songs are hushed. 
 
IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY. 47 
 
 And vanished has the lovely light 
 Which then my life's cloud flushed. 
 My Santa Claus, my lovely friend, 
 Alas died long ago ! 
 And oh ! I do remember well 
 How heavy was the blow. 
 One day, before sweet Christmas time, 
 Our teacher said : ''My bo3-s, 
 Be men, there is no Santa Claus." 
 Ah, how it spoiled my joys ! 
 And since that time I have found out 
 That on life's current borne, 
 Bach lovely scene recedes, recedes, 
 Leaving us lone, forlorn. 
 Ah ! what was man if not be3^ond 
 A real day did gleam, 
 With scenes, more wonderful and sweet, 
 Then those of childhood's dream? 
 Britton, Mich., Jan. 4, "94. 
 
 A Cross-beam and the Pole. 
 
 A heavy stroke, another one, 
 
 Which stirs the morning air, 
 
 Another Cross-beam to the Pole 
 
 The talking wires to bear. 
 
 I like to see that Cross-beam there 
 
 Yes much it signifies : 
 
 More progress, unity and peace 
 
 Blessings, beneath the skies. 
 
 A pole, a cross-beam and few wires 
 
 The world to move and mold. 
 
 Poor dupes ; my ancestor would say, 
 
 Would smile, when this was told. 
 
48 A CROSS-BEAM AND THE POI^E. 
 
 A pole a cross-beam and a few wires, 
 Draw near, living and dead. 
 And see progress and happiness 
 By pole and cross-beam spread. 
 
 A heavy stroke and a few more 
 Which stirs the noon-tide air, 
 A cross-beam to the pole is nailed 
 The Nazarene to bear. 
 
 He hangs — his hands nailed to the beam 
 And to the pole his feet, 
 The would-be King of Israel 
 A certain doom to meet. 
 ■' Come down now, Saviour, free thyself. 
 Thou mighty, powerful King. 
 Aha! a dead King on the Cross." 
 Thus Jewish sarcasms ring. 
 He bows his head, the cord is snapped, 
 The}' shout, "A cold dead King, 
 Upon a Solitary Cross, 
 A disconnected thing!" 
 
 A heavy stroke, a multitude 
 
 Stir everywhere the air. 
 
 They nail the cross-beams to the pole 
 
 The talking wires to bear. 
 
 No more a Solitary Cross, 
 
 A disconnected thing. 
 
 The broken wire restored proclaims 
 
 'Jesus the living King." 
 
 O'er Calvary's beam they stretch the wires 
 That have in God their start. 
 Promoting peace and happiness 
 Uniting heart with heart. 
 
HOW Old are you? 
 
 When a man counts fifteen summers 
 He begins to feel to be, 
 ' When he's twenty-five he glories, 
 For the vigorous man is he. 
 
 When he's thirty-five he pauses. 
 "Youth has fled," he will complain; 
 But at forty-five he rises 
 
 And assumes his 3'outh again. 
 
 When his sixty years are numbered, 
 He feels years are out of joint. 
 
 And when others speak of ages 
 He is silent on the point. 
 
 When the three-score lie behind him 
 
 With ten added to his years, 
 He will say, the topic changing, 
 "Yes, I'm well along in years." 
 
 Better was it if we always. 
 
 Would own up yes, we are old ; 
 
 We would use the flying moments 
 As we used the precious gold. 
 Britton, Mich. 
 
 THE Soldier's Rest. 
 
 The battle cry, the bugle note, the roar 
 Of cannon and of musketry are o'er ; 
 The victory shout ; the moaning of the dead 
 Are hushed forever o'er the soldier's bed. 
 
 Let him have rest. Let breezes tiptoe go, 
 When o'er his grave they wander to and fro. 
 Let birds alight at eve on noiseless wing. 
 The lullaby, in tunes subdued, to sing. 
 
D MARCH AND FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Let dews remain to shed a silent tear 
 
 When friends long dead, no more to him draw near. 
 
 And let the stars, immortal in the sky, 
 
 Watch o'er his dust with never closing eye. 
 
 So let him rest, sleep sweet beneath the sod, 
 Until his dust also has gone to God, 
 Until he hears the bugle note once more, 
 That calls for grand review on othe shore. 
 
 IN AN. ALBUM. 
 
 Three graces lead the way, 
 Hope, Faith and Charity. 
 
 Keep this sweet company. 
 And thou shalt Heaven see. 
 
 March and Friendship. 
 
 Behold, the wild, gray clouds of March 
 
 Again rush madly o'er my head. 
 And the cold blast, with hail and snow, 
 
 Keeps back the sunny days we had. 
 An invalid went out too soon 
 
 Bound to inhale the air of spring 
 But the south wind went back again. 
 
 And northern gales did poison bring. 
 I trust too oft in words and smiles 
 
 Of untried friendship, in my life, 
 And from this foolish confidence, 
 
 I many a stormy hour derive. 
 
*See note. 
 
 On a Doorstep in Virginia.- 
 
 On the broad and nianh' shoulders, 
 Of the savior of the land 
 
 Hangs the mantle 
 Of Authority and vStrength, 
 Placed there by a nation's hand, 
 I will guide thee, says the warrior, 
 Guide thee now in peace my land. 
 
 But forgive me, 
 That first to a greater duty 
 This my heart has to attend. 
 
 Go ! say fathers, mothers, children. 
 Go ! good heart, our hearts are thine. 
 Go and kiss her ! 
 Kiss her to thy heart's content. 
 
 On a doorstep in Virginia, 
 Stand the mother and the son. 
 
 Thoughtful, silent. 
 He, his greatest work commencing, 
 She, her life's task nearly done ; 
 'Tis a sad and solemn moment, — 
 Ah ! the two have now to part. 
 
 And for aye, 
 Oh ! to leave her, oh ! to leave him. 
 What a pain to each one's heart ! 
 
 ' Mother," says he, " let me go now, 
 Soon I will return to thee, 
 A few months yet — 
 And my duties are fulfilled, 
 Then again I'll be with thee." 
 
 " Thou no more shall see me," says she. 
 " Age and sickness tells me so, 
 But I'm ready. 
 Better things await me yonder. 
 
52 ON A DOORSTEP IN VIRGINIA. 
 
 Heaven may bless thee, dear son go !" 
 And upon the head of Georgie 
 Rests the aged, withered hand ; 
 
 He is weeping. 
 Yea, the great man's frame is trembHng 
 Which an army could withstand. 
 "Farewell," says he, "farewell," sa3's she, 
 One fond kiss— one long embrace — 
 One hand pressure — 
 ' And the son the mother leaves 
 Here no more to see her face. 
 In her hand a present left her 
 And she holds it to her heart. 
 
 And she mutters, 
 " Lord oh bless him ! Lord oh keep him, 
 Let Thy hand-maid now depart!" 
 In the same year, 'twas in August, 
 A kind friend knocked at her door. 
 
 And He led her 
 As she wished it, from her prison 
 To a home on better shore ; 
 And he called a few years later, 
 On a bleak December day 
 
 On her son, 
 And He led him to his mother. 
 Not to leave now, but to sta}-. 
 On the page of Fame recorded. 
 Stands the name of Washington, 
 
 Peerless, grand, 
 As a warrior, man and statesman, 
 What he did was nobly done. 
 But on that Virginian doorstep. 
 As a mother's loving son. 
 
 Humble, true. 
 Weeping in her last embrace, 
 There his noblest work was done. 
 Britton, Mich., Oct. 23, '93. 
 
THOUGHTS IN A MENAGERIE. 
 
 THB" CAPTIVE LION. 
 
 " Know th3-self." — Temple of Delphi. 
 
 Noble monarch of the Forest, pardon me that I look at 
 thee— that I stare at thine impressive brow — thy daunt- 
 less visage. 
 
 There thou standest, captured, incarcerated, checked 
 forever in thy career. 
 
 Because thou art a Lion, an imposing, majestic creature, 
 man has ensnared thee — because thou art a Lion, all look 
 at thee with amazement. 
 
 Yes, King of the Forest, thou wertonce, there far away 
 in Africa's jungles (the soul beautiful of that interest- 
 ing country) where sweet nature revels in luxuries 
 endowed with Eternal Youth. 
 
 But ah ! how has thy glory vanished, now outraged by 
 the vulgar stare of little man ! 
 
 Thou art in the clutches of the enemies now and hope- 
 lessl}^ so, for who shall break these iron bars for thee, or 
 crush these solid walls ! 
 
 A captive Lion, what is he? The crowd makes sport of 
 thee and even a little child dares to take hold of the 
 plume of thy tail, hanging down thy cage. 
 
 But thou risest to thy feet and stretching out thy limbs, 
 thy majestic figure stands complete before me. 
 
 Humiliated Monarch, let me compliment thee. Thou 
 art a Lion still, thine eyes yet flashing fire, thy firmly set 
 lips yet bespeaking calm resolution and fearlessness, thy 
 countenance and bearing yet revealing thy self confi- 
 dence and courage. No wonder. God made thee a dis- 
 tinct work of his hands and no one can change that. 
 
 Captive Lion let me not forget thee, thou hast revealed 
 a great truth. Let me' take mine inspiration from thee ! 
 Thou sayest : 
 
 " Man be original, have individuality, feel thy worth !" 
 
54 SEI.F-ESTEEM. 
 
 Bvery man is a Ivion, has a spark of Divinity in him, 
 noble, beautiful and grand. 
 
 Cultivate it and show it in thine independence, dignity 
 and courage. 
 
 It willmake-thee invincible, overawing thine enemies, 
 though they may have succeeded in heaping insults upon 
 thy head and leave to thyself, in thy seclusion, a sweet 
 Valclusa Fountain, from which to draw continually the 
 delicious Nectar of Life." 
 
 SELF-ESTEEM. 
 
 On solitary mountain slopes, 
 
 The blooming Cactus grows. 
 
 Though on the isolated plant. 
 
 No man his care bestows. 
 
 You place it in a park, 
 
 Or on the level plains, 
 
 It grows and blooms unchanged, 
 
 Its features it retains. 
 
 Where Providence may please to plant us, 
 
 In life obscure, or fame may crown us. 
 
 May virtue everywhere attend us. 
 
 And vain pretension ne'er confovmd us. 
 
 And when a cruel hand might venture. 
 
 To crush our virtue or our name. 
 
 Let such a villiany not prosper, 
 
 But the assailant's rude hands maim. 
 
 Let such bad hearts at once feel keenly, 
 
 That we, though with some flowers adorned. 
 
 Also possess the leaves beside them, 
 
 Which not in vain are sharply thorned. 
 
THE MOULDERING TRUNK. 
 
 ELEGY IN A RUINED MICHIGAN FOREST. 
 
 "The trees of the L,ord are full- of sap ; the cedars of Lebanon 
 which he hath planted." Ps. civ. 16. 
 
 Say, stroller, halt and do not pass me by, 
 
 When mould'ring here in my lone grave I lie. 
 
 Give me a thought, when all the creatures sing 
 
 Of life, and love in this awakening spring. 
 
 A mould'ring heap, a shapeless mass am I, 
 
 Abandoned and repulsive to the eye ; 
 
 But pray draw near, for traces here you see, 
 
 Showing that once I was a glorious tree. 
 
 A glorious tree, for such a thing was I, 
 
 Lifting my head with pride to the blue sky, 
 
 Growing in strength, as ages passed along. 
 
 My youth renewed each spring 'mid flowers and song. 
 
 How grand I felt, how happy in my sphere. 
 
 When with my countless fellows I stood here. 
 
 Our arms entwined and leaning on my breast. 
 
 The tender vine to bless me in her rest. 
 
 What lovely sounds and sights each day we brought. 
 
 What splendor each succeeding season wrought, 
 
 How smiled the heavens, the flow'ry earth below. 
 
 The rising sun, the distant evening glow. 
 
 How proud stood I in spring's new garment dressed, 
 
 By perfumed breezes from the south caressed, 
 
 When from the earth the sweetest incense rose 
 
 And warbling birds with me their dwelling chose. 
 
 When summer clouds by wind and lightning led, 
 
 Poured down their blessings on my stately head, 
 
 How danced the streams, how leaped the beasts with glee, 
 
 What splendid lustre to my cloak gave thee ! 
 
 How sung the winds when in my stately hall, 
 
 In golden dress I entertained the fall, 
 
 And birds of passage seated on my limb, 
 
56 THE MOUI.DERING TRUNK. 
 
 Chanted to me their tender parting hymn ! 
 
 When winter came, my royal guest to be, 
 
 What favors did that Lord bestow on me, 
 
 Upon my head he placed his diamonds rare. 
 
 And gave his ermine for my form to wear. 
 
 How stately walked the stag beneath my shade, 
 
 How pla3^ed the wild cats in the nearby glade, 
 
 How loved the bear with cubs to roam around 
 
 My massive trunk, scratching the humid ground ! 
 
 How laughed the squirrel in his own simple way, 
 
 When he had led his enemy astraj-, 
 
 Climbing me from behind, hid from his sight, 
 
 Eying his foiled pursuer from my height ! 
 
 At midnight when the fierce wolves prowled around 
 
 How did my halls with their loud cries resound ; 
 
 Cries loud and wierd, but music to mine ear, 
 
 Assuring me that foes were not yet near. 
 
 And when sometimes in the wierd, black midnight 
 
 The tempest came the beauteous world to blight, 
 
 How firm stood I, trees leaning on my breast 
 
 To stay his progress, saving all the rest ! 
 
 The red man of the forest too, loved me 
 
 And in my shade he reared his brown tepee, 
 
 Upon my branch his dark papoose he hung. 
 
 And in the wdnd the little child I sw^ung. 
 
 Their council fires I saw at evening tide 
 
 And heard their tales of war, their manly pride, 
 
 Sometimes I heard their songs 'mid festive dance. 
 
 Or from afar their w^ar-cries wild cadence. 
 
 Thus stood I there, grand, independent, free. 
 
 An honored, famed and much frequented tree. 
 
 Time hurried on, lives came and passed away, 
 
 My fellows fell and mouldered in decay, 
 
 Old streams dried up and new ones sprung to life. 
 
 The Peace-pipe ruled, the woods resounded strife, 
 
 But I remained, the woodland to adorn 
 
 Forever strong and laughed Old Time to scorn. 
 
 But ah ! at last upon the scene appeared, 
 
THR MOUI.DRRING TRUNK. 5/ 
 
 A dreadful foe whom all the woodland feared, 
 
 Relentless like the lightning from the sky, 
 
 The White Man came, his weapons to apply. 
 
 How wailed the woods, how did the branches sigh, 
 
 How drooped the flowers, how wept the dreary sky. 
 
 How roared the beasts, with terror in their breasts. 
 
 How squeaked the birds dived deeper in their nests. 
 
 How leaped the stags, their eyes betokening fright. 
 
 How groaned the owls, all through the dreary night ! 
 
 How startled was the Red Man everywhere, 
 
 How quick was he for conflict to prepare, 
 
 How fierce he fought, what valor he displayed. 
 
 How skillfully his tomahawk he swayed. 
 
 Rut ah I what power the White Man's power could stay, 
 
 What frenzied rage his lion heart dismay I 
 
 Not e'en Tecumseh with his noble band. 
 
 Could drive the bold intruder from our land. 
 
 The Red Men fled in terror from his home, 
 
 A beggar in a distant land to roam. 
 
 And soon the woods resounded with the blow 
 
 Of the keen ax, laying the Monarchs low. 
 
 How dismal was the crash that told their fall, 
 
 That did announce the same .sad fate to all, 
 
 How roared the flames in the dark midnight hour, 
 
 Spreading around, the slain ones to devour. 
 
 At last a man my glorious form did see. 
 Mine hour had come, the deadly ax struck me. 
 Struck me again, struck me the hundred blow, 
 I stagger#i and my noble form fell low. 
 
 My story's told — my mouldering trunk you see. 
 I was left here, a useless thing to be, 
 Not with the fire, a victim of the worms, 
 Lashed by the rain, the hail and howling storms. 
 Ah ! woodman spare the few remaining trees, 
 Let shoots around the hoary trunks increase. 
 Pray, do not act as vandals do, unwise. 
 Making a desert from your Paradise. 
 
5^ The waterwheei.. 
 
 Give birds their nests, the prattling squirrels their home, 
 And bless the earth and let the rivulets form, 
 Revere God's trees, their beauties to display, 
 And. let our Arbor Day lead on the way. 
 
 Britton, Mich., April i, 1895. 
 
 The Waterwheel. 
 
 I viewed once the revolving wheel. 
 
 Working the bvis}^ mill. 
 
 Driven by a noisy rivulet. 
 
 Which tumbled from a hill. 
 
 And on the paddle of that wheel 
 
 That streamlet did descend, 
 
 Which made these paddles to appear, 
 
 Succession without end. 
 
 Yet it appeared but only so 
 
 My wisdom was deceived. 
 
 For when the wheel had once revolved. 
 
 The same ones I perceived. 
 
 The world is a tremendous wheel, 
 On which the stream of time descends, 
 And on the motion of that stream, 
 The constant change on earth depends. 
 That which departs seems to be ofd. 
 And coming things seem new. 
 But we are wrong, it's onl}'^ change. 
 Things in a different form and hue. 
 What might have been, or e'er will be. 
 We never find true novelty ; 
 But such a thing our eyes shall see. 
 When time yields to eternity. 
 1874. 
 
The Last Pilgrimage. 
 
 Leaning against a niould'ring trunk, 
 Which once the grand elm bore, 
 
 THe red man of the forest stands 
 (Near by a murmuring shore). 
 
 The fire of youth no more does blaze 
 
 Within that red man's eye, 
 Which in his happy, vigorous days. 
 
 The plains and woods would spy. 
 
 His head no more wears raven locks. 
 
 That pride of manly years. 
 And furrowed by his toils and cares 
 
 The aged face appears. 
 
 His stature, once majestic, grand, 
 
 Which then defied the foe. 
 Is bent, and powerless is the hand 
 
 With which he dealt the blow. 
 
 He came from his far northern home. 
 
 Where the red cedar grows, 
 And where the stream Minomonee, 
 
 Along its border flows. 
 
 He came to view the hallowed ground. 
 
 Where once his dusky sires, 
 The brown hides of their wigwams stretched, 
 
 And burnt their council fires. 
 
 He came to muse about the place 
 Where his dear childhood passed. 
 
 And where his little mother once 
 Her sweet pappoose caressed. 
 
 He came to visit the large elm. 
 
 Which once as target served, 
 To try his childish bowmanship, 
 
 Which soon his fingers nerved. 
 
6o THE LAST PIT.GRTMAGR. 
 
 He came to view the ancient oak, 
 In which the birds would sing, 
 
 On which his brother's cradle hung 
 Which in the breeze did swing. 
 
 He came to see the quiet place, 
 Where "Rising Star" he wooed, 
 
 Who, setting at an early hour, 
 No more on his heaven glowed. 
 
 He came to sit beside the stream. 
 In which his boys would splash. 
 
 Performing many a daring deed, 
 And actions somewhat rash. 
 
 He came to view the grassy spot. 
 Beside the murmuring stream. 
 
 Where warriors would tell their deeds 
 Beneath the bright moonbeam. 
 
 He came — but he has searched in vain, 
 And leaning on the trunk, 
 
 His head with melancholy looks, 
 Upon his breast has sunk. 
 
 He came on a far pilgrimage 
 But his sweet shrine is gone. 
 
 He came to view familiar scenes, 
 But his old eyes see none. 
 
 Where once the Winabago ruled 
 There governs the white man, 
 
 Who has destroyed with ruthless hand 
 The land, which his had been. 
 
 Where once his father's wigwam stood, 
 W^hite men have wigwams reared. 
 
 And w^here the council fires did gleam. 
 The grass has disappeared. 
 
THE I,AST PII^GRIMAGR. 6 1 
 
 Where once his loving mother smiled 
 
 On him, her sweet pappoose, 
 There turns the happy white sqiiaw now, 
 
 Her little pappoose loose. 
 
 The oak on which the cradle hung 
 Beneath whose shad'e he walked. 
 
 Has disappeared, wnth trunk and branch 
 By white men tomahawked. 
 
 The elm which once a target served, 
 
 Bold hands have hewn away. 
 And the old -trunk, on which he leans. 
 
 Is mould 'ring with decay. 
 
 Upon the place where " Rising Star " 
 
 Her loving beams displayed, 
 No more her little wigwam stands. 
 
 Beneath the forest shade. 
 
 The rushing stream in which his boys 
 Would splash pla}- and perform. 
 
 Works now the distant, grumbling mill, 
 With different course and form. 
 
 And when the soft, pale' moonbeams fall, 
 
 Upon the vacant ground, 
 There makes above the warriors' tom])S, 
 
 The wind a doleful sound. 
 
 The red man leans against the trunk. 
 Which once the grand elm bore, 
 
 In melancholy attitude, 
 
 And near the murm'ring shore. 
 
 His white hairs flutter in the wind, 
 His head droops on his breast, 
 
 Tears trickle down the sunken cheek, 
 His spirit feels distressed. 
 
62 TRUE CUIvTiVATTON. 
 
 "Where are you all my honest sires? 
 Where you my glorious race ? 
 Where are the chiefs whose words was law 
 Upon this conquered place?" 
 
 (Thus does the lone red man exclaim. 
 There, standing by the tree) 
 " O ! leave on your great hunting grounds 
 Great Spirit, place for me ! 
 
 ' ' There I will build for ' Rising Star ' 
 A wigwam strong and fair 
 Where white men never dare to lurk 
 Or chase the happy pair — " 
 
 The trembling voice has died away 
 
 The red man's eyelids close, 
 
 He reels — and falls upon the trunk 
 
 Forever in repose. 
 
 Some white men passing the old trunk 
 
 The old dead warrior found ; 
 They buried him beneath the tree. 
 
 He rests in hallowed ground. 
 
 TRUE CULTIVATION. 
 
 Friendship will grow In the shade of that tree 
 
 On the soil of experience. We'll feel happy and free 
 
 It prospers in sunshine. To that place we may flee, 
 
 But died without clouds. When tempests we see. 
 
 Let it appear A refuge for me, 
 
 In such atmosphere. And also for thee. 
 And I will draw near. 
 
RESPiqE FlNEM. 
 
 " Swiftly our pleasures glide away , 
 Our hearts recall the distant day 
 With many a sigh."— Longffllo7v. 
 
 There is a mighty Robber 
 We call the villain Time ; 
 
 He carries on his mischief 
 In every age and clime, 
 
 He hides his ugly features 
 
 Behind a lovely mask, 
 And as our friend we greet him 
 
 To help us in our task. 
 
 He says, "Sit down, my children, 
 I'll make you happy, great!" 
 
 And pointing out our Eden, 
 He leads us through the gate. 
 
 We fall asleep and revel 
 In dreams, delicious, sweet, 
 
 Yes, yes, we say, that's Eden 
 And we enjoy the Cheat. 
 
 And then the great deceiver 
 Opens again our eyes, 
 '* Gone are the joys, we mutter, 
 Oh ! miserable lies ! ' ' 
 Time takes away our treasures 
 
 When we are fast asleep 
 And on our ruined threshold 
 We sigh, we mourn, we weep. 
 
 Oh ! man, there speaks within thee 
 A voice 'that cannot lie, 
 ♦' Whatever time may promise, 
 Is mirage in the sky ! 
 
64 thk weather-cock. 
 
 " Despise it and be watchful 
 Work, use the present hour 
 I^ook upward, look beyond this 
 And overcome Time's power!" 
 
 The Weather-Cock— a fragment.^ 
 
 HY V. A. dk(;knkstkt. 
 • Translated from the Dutch. — Fza/ v luntas) 
 
 "An open vehicle," she cried, 
 
 "In springtime's atmosphere! 
 Mother, it will promote my health, 
 When they will drive up here." 
 And May did come and with it, lo ! 
 Some signs of better days. 
 (False sunshine in a cloudy sky, 
 Which innocents betra^^s.) 
 
 But she with confidence exclaimed, 
 "I knew God's Spring wotild save. 
 And if the sweet sun now would stay 
 I'd leave my musty cave." 
 Alas, our northern May has oft 
 Few sickly, sunny rays. 
 It's often bleak and cold and rough, 
 Like in November days. 
 
 Such was the case, and the north wind, 
 
 O'er the canal did blow. 
 
 And though near Pentecost, the spring 
 
 Her mild face did not show. 
 
 That caused her grief, smarting the breast 
 
 By lively hope revived. 
 
 She grew impatient, when that hope 
 
 Her confidence belied. 
 
THK WKATHKR-COCK. 65 
 
 For the first time despondency 
 
 vSpread o'er her soul a gloom, 
 
 And on the leafless trees she stared, 
 
 With dislike, from her room, 
 
 But every morning, day by day, 
 
 Her first work was to view 
 
 The weathercock, perched on the spire. 
 
 To see which wind did blow 
 
 With supplicating, musing eye. 
 
 Her wounded heart to show. 
 
 But by that yearning for the air 
 The answer was the same. 
 The wind is north, the wind stays north. 
 No milder weather came. 
 "Look, dear," one said, "if yonder vane 
 Shall turn around so, thus. 
 The gentle, balmy breeze will blow. 
 Invigorating us." 
 
 Thus it was said, with flattering words. 
 
 And every morn she stood 
 
 Before her window, looking out, 
 
 Not in a smiling mood. 
 
 Tears in her eyes ; shaking at last 
 
 From time to time her head. 
 
 Musing, soliloquizing, and 
 
 With vision strangly sad. 
 
 "Ah!" she would say, "the same old news, 
 The bird says, 'stay at home.' 
 Again a long, cold day I must 
 Pine in my gloomy dome. 
 How different it was last year. 
 How unconcerned my way, 
 I did not mind the north or south, 
 Happy the' live-long day. 
 
66 THE WEATHER-COCK. 
 
 No, no, I never noticed you, 
 
 I rushed through weather wild. 
 
 Say, stubborn fowl there, dost thou thus 
 
 Avenge the careless child? 
 
 And dost thou all the while pretend 
 
 My jesting not to hear, 
 
 Because God will not hear my prayer, 
 
 And death is drawing near?" 
 
 And with her overwhelming grief. 
 
 Her heart throbbing with fears, 
 
 She wrung her little, white long hands, 
 
 And shed some bitter tears. 
 
 Exposing thus her inward pain, 
 
 And saying, " 'T is so sweet 
 
 To live, dear friends, I'm not prepared 
 
 The hour of death to meet." 
 
 But soon she would brace up again, 
 
 Raising her palid face. 
 
 Thinking, "This stubborn conduct is. 
 
 For me out of the place." 
 
 And then, facing the lofty spire, 
 
 Her quiet she would regain, 
 
 Shaking her finger, with a threat, 
 
 "To-morrow not again ! " 
 
 Alas ! to-morrow in that room 
 
 The struggle was the same. 
 
 Conversing with the lofty spire. 
 
 Each gloomy day that came. 
 
 The spire would often grant a glance, 
 
 Of love and flattering word. 
 
 But ah ! the vane would northward point. 
 
 Which could no peace afford. 
 
 The other day she stood again. 
 And thought, "The days pass by. 
 They look alike, and o'er me bends. 
 No more the summer sky. 
 
THE WEATHER-COCK. 67 
 
 I look for healing to the air, 
 
 The summer atmosphere, 
 
 The weather-cock derides my hope. 
 
 It points to higher sphere. 
 
 Still I should like to see once more 
 
 Before I pass away. 
 
 That God would grant his poor, shorn lamb 
 
 One sultry summer day. 
 
 I'd like to see once more the green, 
 
 On which the sun does shine. 
 
 And then, when warmer days set in, 
 
 Joy might again be mine. 
 "Oh! Thou Omnipotent and Love, 
 Lord of the clouds and winds, 
 Who, like my Bible teaches me, 
 Seasons and tempests binds. 
 If once, oh Lord, thy hand would turn, 
 That fowl there to the south, 
 (For Thou alone can'st do the work) 
 Praise would flow from my mouth." 
 
 What was transpiring in that soul, 
 Now glancing, watching there? 
 Perhaps the Lord might give a sign, 
 In answer to her prayer. 
 She woke at once, so sadly moved 
 By sport of Fantasy, 
 
 She viewed the sky and church and said, 
 "I leave my fate to Thee." 
 
 The other day a little while, 
 She cast glances outside. 
 Partly triumphant, calm and firm. 
 Half tired of hope and fight. 
 And then — no more for many days 
 The window shades hung low, 
 The rosebud waiting all the while 
 For health and sunmier glow. 
 
68 PRAYER. 
 
 But finally on a fair day 
 
 Of June, with wealth in store, 
 
 A vehicle came driving up, 
 
 And halted near her door. 
 
 And she, the charming sufferer, 
 
 Happy and well at last. 
 
 When out for a black carriage took 
 
 Her fieldward, to her rest. 
 
 A youthful man, bent down with grief, 
 
 And few friends to her dear, 
 
 Composed the little mourning band 
 
 That walked behind the bier. 
 
 Upon the weather-cock looked one. 
 
 With melancholy smile. 
 
 It sparkled in the mild, blue sky, 
 
 Face southward all the while. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Be near us when our flight is low, 
 
 And on our way life's tempests howl ; 
 Guide us through this wild, trackless world, 
 
 Like to its clime the soaring fowl ; 
 Beneath us lies a deep, dark ocean. 
 
 Whose smooth surface no one can trust. 
 But Ivord, our wing grows often weary. 
 
 And without strength perish we must. 
 Uphold us by thy magnets yonder. 
 
 Until we reach the blooming shore, 
 Where birds of passage rest forever, 
 
 To roam through perilous ways no more. 
 
To MY CLASSMATES ON THEIR REUNION DAY 
 
 IN THK EARLY SUMMKR OF 18S7, AT NEW BRrNSWlCK. N. J. 
 
 Old Herzog Hall, my Alma . Mater, 
 Shall I forget thee, charming home, 
 And the beloved associations. 
 That cluster round thy graceful dome ? 
 No, no, though years and circumstances 
 Drive me still farther from thy shrines, 
 Before me stand thy hrbitations 
 Nestled among the stately pines. 
 Oft in my solitary' musings 
 I live again the old life o'er. 
 And in my room I sit and ponder 
 O'er histories and tongues of yore. 
 And on the door I hear a rapping. 
 ' Come in " I say and an old friend 
 Enters and takes a chair beside me, 
 In student way an hour to spend. 
 We chat a while or read a story 
 And help each other in the strife 
 Paving the way o'er which to enter 
 The Revered Calling of this life. 
 I hear and see you all Companions, 
 Your voices, habits and your ways, 
 Your sparkling jokes, your hearty laughter 
 O'er oddities borne on the place. 
 
 I sing with you the morning anthems, 
 
 The evening song in chapel choir, 
 
 Our ])rayers and hymns from hearts ascending, 
 
 Like incense from an altar fire. 
 
 I hear the sweet melodious ringing, 
 Sounding from Rutgers hollow dome, 
 Ent'ring my room through open window, 
 Calling us from our Herzog Home. 
 
70 TO MY CI^ASSMATES. 
 
 In Suydain's pillared hall assembled, 
 Bach in his own selected place, 
 We face the stately throne of learning 
 To listen what the Doctor says. 
 
 I stand with you on Sage Hall's pavement, " 
 Spending an hour with Bard and Sage, 
 Silent Companions of the Silent 
 Extracting wisdom from the page. 
 
 Once more I hear old Rvitgers Clango,* 
 Mingled with proud St. Patrick peals ; f 
 The Sabbath call to College Chapel 
 Where God the way of life reveals. 
 
 And there we sit, departed Doctors 
 Gazing at us through golden frames. 
 In classic robes, worthy examples 
 Reading their labors in their names. 
 
 And in the midst of grave Professors, 
 We listen to a fine discourse, 
 And join the song, swelled by the organ. 
 That peals its notes above the doors. 
 
 With some of you again I saunter, 
 
 Mid blossoms or autumnal hues, 
 
 Where Bound Book leans against the ridges. 
 
 And Raritan its course pursues. 
 
 Beneath the stately elms we tarry 
 And in the hearing of the brook. 
 The close air of our rooms avoiding. 
 Drawing our wisdom from a book. 
 
 Ten years have passed ; where are the students, 
 Who used to fill these classic halls, 
 Where are my friends, familiar faces, 
 Whom I once met about these walls? 
 
 *Rutger College Bell. 
 + Catholic Church. 
 
TO MY CXASvSMATES. 7 1 
 
 Old Herzog Hall stands ever youthful, 
 Her dome still pointing to the sky, 
 Old Suydam on his pillar watching, 
 Students and Doctors passing by. 
 
 I stand and watch beside the pillars, 
 Where all^ the lofty stairs ascend. 
 They talk but pass me without notice — 
 I am a stranger in the land. 
 
 Ten years have passed and now a stranger 
 By Suydani's coUonade I stand, 
 Again old Rutger's bell is swinging. 
 And sends a note across the land. 
 
 It's busy now in Suydam's chambers. 
 For graduation is at hand. 
 And once more ready for the master, 
 A friendly circle shall disband. 
 
 But what is this ? familiar voices ? 
 Who are those chatting, laughing few? 
 What do I see? Are these the features 
 Of classmates whom I once here knew ? 
 
 I watch — but am I not mistaken? — 
 Well, well, it's true, it is my class, 
 A band of pilgrims, here united 
 Their Alma Mater to caress ! 
 
 Welcome," I vSay, "welcome companions, 
 Welcome young soldiers of the cross. 
 United round one gloriovis banner, 
 We stand without a serious loss." 
 
 True, work was hard, the conflict bitter, 
 Our prospects have been often dark, 
 But still we live and through God's mercy 
 We will press onward to the mark. 
 
72 To MV CLASSMATKS. 
 
 Around old Hudson's lo\elv waters 
 That charming stream of world-wide fame, 
 Your sanctuaries dot the hillsides, 
 Where you proclaim the Master's name. 
 
 I'm stationed near the Mississippi, 
 The watery highway of the west, 
 The rocky hills around me towering. 
 In which the dusky warriors rest. 
 
 My friends we've changed and surely no more. 
 The inexperienced youths we are, 
 We've learned something by social frictions. 
 And many a blow has left a scar. 
 
 Men now we are with better judgment, 
 The vitals of the present age. 
 Duties call here and duties yonder 
 Our present labors to engage. 
 
 United here we stand companions, 
 And in our common joys we share. 
 Let us live o'er the old life, fellows, 
 Students again, free, without care. 
 
 Shake of your l^urdens, weary pilgrims, 
 Rejoice on Alma Mater's ground. 
 Expand your lungs, unharnessed coursers, 
 Let Herzog Hall your songs resound. 
 
 'Tis well, reunion call your meeting, 
 Reunion of the scattered class, 
 But no — you pause — the word reunion 
 Partly your wishes does express. 
 
 Alas ! it is a broken circle. 
 Reminding you of happier day, 
 W^hen all in Herzog Hall were cloistered, 
 And none of you was far away. 
 
TO MY CJCASSMATES. 
 
 You miss now young and sparkling Kruger 
 Already niould'ring in the tomb. 
 You miss me and a good professor 
 Who graced our recitation room. 
 
 May be more others are now missing, 
 Things are not as they used to be, 
 And in the years that come, united 
 Again a smaller class you see. 
 
 My friends, our da3^s are onward winging, 
 A few more years and we are old, 
 A few more J03^s, a few more sorrows, 
 And our short history is told. 
 
 Reunion is a word that tempers. 
 The inward pain of parted hearts, 
 Its celebration makes us younger. 
 Revives the past and grief departs. 
 
 But still realities are wanting. 
 We look with our deluded sight 
 On painted, hazy panoramas, 
 Put up in artifical light. 
 
 Not we, the souls of the departed. 
 Enjoy reunion in their spheres, 
 Whose sails have vanished from our vision 
 Beyond the horizon of the years. 
 
 My friends our earthly ways have parted, 
 Each one of us must take his course 
 One day we'll have reunion truly, 
 When landed on immortal shores. 
 
 Farewell, my friends in Christ united. 
 Our Lord will surely keep us all. 
 And by that loving Herzog guided 
 We erelong meet in Herzog Hall. 
 
I Have Crossed the Mississippi. 
 
 I have crossed the Mississippi, 
 Bound to see ni}' mother's face, 
 
 And ni}' sisters and my brother, 
 God be praised, I found the place. 
 
 Oh ! how joyous was our meeting, 
 Oh ! to see them all once more, 
 
 It made me feel so free, so happy. 
 Like a prisoner out door. 
 
 Oh ! that good face of my mother, 
 How it cheered my soul once more, 
 
 It were the features yet that quieted 
 All the grief my childhood bore. 
 
 I caressed and kissed that mother 
 Like a child, though parent now 
 
 And three little, ros}' children 
 Their fond love in me avow. 
 
 What a feast we had, united 
 
 Once more in that home of ours. 
 
 How we talked, laughed and narrated, 
 Ah ! how swift they passed, those hours. 
 
 But with all that exultation. 
 
 Something sad oppressed my mind. 
 
 One was missing, my dear father. 
 Him at home I did not find. 
 
 No more at the door appeared he. 
 First of all to meet me there. 
 
 No more in the house I found him, 
 Seated in his old arm chair. 
 
 Yes the chords of hearts vibrated 
 And we could not help to sing. 
 
 Still we felt, a string was broken. 
 And they missed the usual ring. 
 
I HAVE CROSSED THE MISSIvSSIPPI. 75 
 
 All ! there were sad alterations, 
 
 And I felt it everywhere, 
 In the house, the church, the countr}-. 
 
 For my father was not there. 
 
 E'en the dog, his old companion. 
 
 Always near his master's side. 
 He had joined his master's rank too 
 
 For the animal had died. 
 
 Ah ! I sighed, the home is broken 
 
 And this remnant too must go, 
 And the thought, all this must vanish, 
 
 Oh, it brought my spirit low. 
 
 In the late autumnal ev'ning 
 
 To ni}' Father's tomb I went, 
 Underneath there was his body 
 
 O'er his sepulcher I bent. 
 
 Leaves were falling, autumn breezes 
 
 Whispered through the boughs and grass. 
 
 Nature, like a friend in sorrow 
 Sympathized in my distress. 
 
 Here I found him, who was missing 
 
 And I called his name, but he 
 Answered not and all was silence, 
 
 Save the wind that wept with me. 
 
 Welcome, parting 't was the same now, 
 Both had passed on earth for ave 
 
 But I thought of "Many Mansions" 
 Of new Home, Reunion, Day. 
 
 Nov. 30. 1889. 
 
AMANDA. 
 
 It is November and the day is drawing to its close. 
 
 I am homeward bound after a ramble through the 
 forest and the evening is dreary. 
 
 The sk}' is overcast with clouds and the storm holds 
 high carnival in the forest. 
 
 Swarms of crows keep up their noisy combat in the 
 leafless trees and when there is a lull in the storm the 
 swollen stream pours its wild music into mine ears. 
 
 The birds are gone, the flowers are dead and the squir- 
 rels have retreated to their s^^questered haunts. 
 
 Ah, wild November evening, what memories you recall, 
 what dear associations you bring back to my mind. You 
 make me think of that November evening years ago, the 
 most memorable of my life, when I roamed for the last 
 time through a forest far away which was once the 
 Paradise of my early days. 
 
 To-night I remember m}^ sweet-faced Amanda, that 
 lovely star of my life, which rose so beautifully and full 
 of promise but went down unexpectedly 'mid darkness 
 and tempest. 
 
 Mv father was a gospel minister in the town where 
 Amanda lived and her parents belonged to his parish- 
 ioners. I accompanied him one day to their home and 
 there I became acquainted with Amanda. I loved her, 
 she loved me— I declared to her my affection, she 
 responded in loving words. 
 
 Ah, to-night how well do I remember her sweet voice, her 
 fascinating smile, her upright devotion to me, expressed 
 in tender lines addressed to me when I was at school, or 
 uttered in affectionate words, when she sat with me 
 beneath the trees in the silent moonlit, summer eve ! 
 
 What an inspiration her life was to me, with what 
 sweet poetic fancies she filled the world around me ! 
 
AMANDA, 77 
 
 What castles of life and love we used to build, ah, 
 castles of fancy, that collapsed when touched by the 
 hand of reality, leaving us weeping and forlorn upon 
 our ruins. 
 
 Shall I ever forget that little package the carrier one 
 day left in my room, sealing my doom, containing all the 
 letters I had written to her with her explanatory note, 
 stating that our love forever must cease ! 
 
 No, she could not have written that, a soul so true, so 
 gentle — her father had compelled her to do so— "love, 
 making at such a tender age was a folly and carried on 
 under cover of great misdemeanor." 
 
 That was the end of our companionship, and I wept. 
 Ah, how her tears must have flowed ! She kept my 
 photograph, I know why— she could not forget me and 
 to look at it now and then might solace her in her grief. 
 
 Our ways parted. Her parents sent her to a distant 
 boarding-school, and I moved away soon afterward to a 
 distant locality. 
 
 Weird November night, you remind me of my last pil- 
 grimage to the haunts of my former love, the stately 
 forests through which we so often had roamed the sum- 
 mer before. 
 
 I had to visit once more the scenes of my former love, 
 meditate for a while upon the grave of my dead hope 
 and tben bid a long, long farewell to the place of my 
 former delights. 
 
 Memorable eve, how can I ever forget you ; how dis- 
 tressed I felt when I wandered there a solitary roamer 
 among familiar scenes. 
 
 Yes, there were the places yet we had frequented the 
 summer before, the bridge from which we had watched 
 the swans in the lake, the boat in which we had rowed, 
 her song accompanying the beat of the oars, the ancient 
 beeches under which we had chatted, the trees in 
 which we had cut our names. But ah, what a change ! 
 The charm of the scene had fled with her. I brushed 
 away a tear and nature mourned with me, the wind 
 
78 AMANDA. 
 
 howled dismall}- among the leafless trees, the dead leaves 
 rustled woe-betokening at my feet, the distant waterfall 
 poured forth its melancholy strains, the withered flowers 
 stood in drooping attitude and under black clouds the 
 lake appeared in mourning. 
 
 I repaired to a grotto over which flowed a brook swol- 
 len by the rains and forming a cascade that moaned at 
 my feet once music to mine ears with Amanda. " It is 
 past," moaned the waterfall ; " It is past," said the dead 
 leaves swept along by the swollen flood; "It is past," 
 whispered the pine tree with a sigh. 
 
 Thus I sat there sadly musing until the shadows of the 
 evening deepened around me, but before I left, I turned 
 my face to the wall and there in solid rock I carved 
 Amanda's name and mine, drawing a circle around it — 
 undivided love in eternity. 
 
 " Farewell," said I, "woods and streams, flowers and 
 shady nooks, a long farewell to you ! ' ' and in the twi- 
 light of the evening I hastened homeward. 
 
 That very month yet I found myself in theregion far, 
 far awa}-^ from the haunts of love. 
 
 New scenes, new hopes, new prospects — yes, but I 
 never forgot Amanda and made plans to rebuild our 
 broken hopes on the ground of new possibilities, alas ! 
 to be frustrated again. 
 
 Winter passed — I was rowing one calm spring evening 
 on the beautiful Passaic, my thoughts again with 
 Amanda. So we used to drift along only a year ago. I 
 fancied her with me and enjoyed the reverie. Someone 
 happened to come along and hand me a letter. I opened 
 it hastily, anxious to know the news. Yes, interesting 
 tidings, but on the other page — let me not try to describe 
 the horror that came over me. " Amanda," it read, 
 "is dead." It stunned me and the letter fell from my 
 hands, a feeling of utter loneliness took possession of me 
 and I knew that the last golden cloud of my beautiful 
 morning had vanished forever. ^ * * 
 
 Years have passed, many years. I am a man now, 
 
AMANDA. 79 
 
 another man in another world. Sweet fancy's dreams 
 are over, sober reality is upon me. But I am satisfied. 
 After all my lines have fallen in pleasant places. 
 
 I have found rest in my own home, a dear wife sheds rays 
 of joy upon my path and happy children cheer my way. 
 
 A wise Providence rules over all. It is well. 
 
 And Amanda, asleep in Jesus, far better for thee, landed 
 early on heaven's peaceful shore, endowed with peren- 
 nial youth, breathing an atmosphere of unchanging love. 
 
 But sainted girl, pardon me that I fondly cherish thy 
 memory and remember thy charming presence as one of 
 the loveliest mirages on my journey through this desert 
 of life. 
 
 Sweet suggestion — a mirage is the reflection of some 
 beautiful distant reality. 
 
 Lord of my life, lead me onward to that blessed realm 
 above ! 
 
 Sleep, sweet dear girl, times devastating billows 
 That toss us here, can harm thy soul no more. 
 In gentle waves with musical cadences. 
 They break upon thy flowery, sunlit shore. 
 
 MY FLOWER. 
 
 BY GERTRUDE REDERUS. 
 
 Welcome, modest violet, most loved of all the flowers, 
 I've longed to see thee blooming beneath the shady 
 
 bowers. 
 Thou art a little gem, emblem of love sincere, 
 Though blooming oft unseen and little noticed here. 
 Come let me lift thee tenderly and plant thee on the sod, 
 Where, underneath, my father sleeps, ambassador of God. 
 In life thou wert his favored flower, in death adorn his 
 
 tomb, 
 Speak of a life that never dies without a shade of gloom. 
 I see my sainted father smile and thankful nod to me, 
 I hear him say, "It gives me joy your faithfulness to see." 
 
Christmas Dreams. 
 
 'Tis midnight and the weary rest. 
 Sleep will their wasted powers repair, 
 But ah, what specters hannt the ones. 
 Whose lives are eaten out with care. 
 
 Not so with you, my little ones, 
 This night, the fairest of the fair, 
 For Santa Clans the generous one, 
 Will soon be here with presents rare. 
 
 How gently heave your little breasts, 
 What smiles play round your rosy lips. 
 Of what great joy that tremor speaks, 
 That passes through your finger tips. 
 
 Where are you wandering, little ones. 
 Perhaps in some enchanting land. 
 Where sweet delights and objects fair. 
 Please ear and eye on every hand? 
 
 Or better still in some fair land. 
 Are angels singing o'er your head. 
 Rejoicing that in Bethlehem 
 Is born the Saviour in a shed. 
 
 Or has some sweet faced angel borne. 
 You to the place the Babe to greet? 
 And are you gazing on its form 
 So beautiful and heavenly sweet ? 
 
 But no, I will not interrupt 
 Your happy dreams this Christmas night, 
 I only wish to be with you, 
 And have a share in your delight. 
 Malcom, N. Y., December, 1896. 
 
How A Bandit Set Things in Order. 
 
 The Friesian highway man Japik Etniners* whose 
 audacity and craftiness had become a byword among his 
 people, had once more succeeded in eluding his pursuers 
 and passing under the fictitious name of Occe Sjoerds, the 
 Merchant, sojourned peacefully in the little sequestered 
 inn " 't Wiete Hienderf " kept by widow Kalema. 
 
 The stranger, apparently a wealthy man, was of a 
 humble and social disposition, and as he added to it the 
 gift of telling a story in a fascinating way, of which he 
 had a good supply on hand, it became not difficult for him 
 to make friends among the simple people of that 
 community. 
 
 Old Frow:{: Kalama too, soon learned to esteem him, for 
 although a gentleman of high standing, he did not think 
 it below him to lend her now and then a helping hand, 
 to keep her little garden in order and to do little jobs 
 around the house. 
 
 He was also known soon for his regular habits, for 
 although in easy reach of the tempting fluid of Bacchus, 
 he seldom touched it and never indulged in an overdose, 
 happy to rely on the abundant supply of his good humor 
 and the surplus of his vocabulary. Now and then he had 
 to absent himself from home, for it had to be understood 
 that he had to transact important business in the city of 
 Leeu warden, the truth of which was never questioned by 
 these simple people, and when he returned, Frow Kalama 
 could be certain of a present and the cronies who fre- 
 quented the inn of a newly fabricated story. 
 
 So in the course of time Japik could congratulate him- 
 
 * Japik, Friesian form of Jacob. 
 
 + Wiete Hieiider, means White House. 
 
 t Frow stands for Mrs. 
 
82 HOW A BANDIT SP:T THINGS IN ORDER. 
 
 self that he had introduced more life in the dull society 
 and especially that he had cheered the heart of the old 
 widow, for she had seen troublesome times, having lost 
 her husband and children and met with other reverses of 
 life, which had left the sad traces on her goodnatured 
 countenance, 
 
 Japik Emmers had noticed this and it did him good, for 
 although an outlaw who preyed upon another's posses- 
 sions his victims always were the rich, preferable the 
 oppressors, and he had kind feelings toward the poor and 
 afflicted. 
 
 Now it occurred one day that Frow Kalania wore an 
 extraordinary sad look and no one observed it sooner 
 than the keen eyed Emmers. Smiles were no more seen 
 about her lips and unless necessity prompted her, she 
 would carefully avoid any kind of conversation. 
 
 It was evident that some secret trouble was annoying 
 her and no one was more eager to know the cause of it 
 than Japik, for it would not surprise him that she had 
 found out his identity, in case of which it would be advis- 
 able to leave as soon as possible, and if it did not concern 
 him, then he might possibly be of some service to her. 
 But to ask her about it was for him not an easy task, for 
 as during his lawless career the adage " mind your own 
 business ' ' had become the rule of his life and formed his 
 character he did not like openly to pry into another 
 person's secrecies. 
 
 Necessity however prompted him to deviate from his 
 rule and as delay might mean disaster, he confronted her 
 with the question as soon as possible. 
 
 As Frow Kalama was of a reserved disposition, she 
 hesitated first to reveal her secret, but as Japik assured 
 her in emphatic language of his good intentions, of 
 which he had given ample proof during his stay with 
 her, and as he possibly might be of service to her, she 
 became confident and revealed to him the cause of her 
 troubles. 
 
 It was a story of sufferings and wrongs. She told him 
 
HOW A BANDIT SET THINGvS IN ORDER. 83 
 
 of the sickness and death of her husband and children 
 together with other reverses of life, which so had crip- 
 pled her resources, that she had been obliged to mort- 
 gage her little place ; that it was a heavy encumbrance, 
 about covering the value of the estate, which was held by 
 her pastor, who for pity's sake had loaned her the 
 monev, but unfortunately (as he said) had to ask a high 
 percentage to keep himself from destitution, although 
 she knew that he had valuable property and a large 
 salary besides. As long as business flourished and 
 many travelers stopped at the inn, she had managed to 
 meet her payments, but since people had commenced to 
 use the new road, which greatly had reduced the num- 
 ber of visitors, her income, had grown so small that 
 she had not been able to pay up the interest for three 
 years. 
 
 Pastor Adama had been very kind to her and so far, 
 given her time, but now he was inexorable and the 
 interest had to be paid in full at once, if not, foreclosure 
 would follow, which meant sale, and would make her 
 either a friendless wanderer or inmate of a pauper 
 institution, either case, which she dreaded more than 
 death. Just recently she had received a letter from him 
 to this effect and a week from its date, toward the 
 evening, on his return trip from the city he would stop 
 at her house. What could she do ? There was no 
 prospect to meet her obligation and so her fate was 
 inevitably sealed. 
 
 Japik Emmers had listened with close attention to her 
 woeful story and indignation and pity were by turns 
 visible on his countenance. Such a state of affairs could 
 exist no longer. Something had to be done at once. 
 That hypocritical preacher had to be brought to terms 
 and that poor honest soul released from Ker dreadful 
 anxieties. 
 
 But who would do it ? Guilty wealth commanded 
 respect and innocent poverty had no friends. 
 
 Could not he do it ? Yes, he had the money, but as he 
 
84 HOW A BANDIT SET THINGS IN ORDER. 
 
 soon expected to leave, he would need every cent and 
 as far as it concerned to brini( the oppressor to terms he 
 was powerless. 
 
 What could he say now to poor Frow Kalama ? All 
 he could do for the present, was to advise her to cultivate 
 patience, not to give up hopes before the week was 
 ended, that often just when calamity was inevitable 
 deliverance would come, he spoke from his own experi- 
 ence. He was read}- to add a bible quotation to it, but 
 that would not hardly do for him — but, who could tell 
 but the minister might have changed his mind ? 
 
 But Emmers was not the man to let matters rest there; 
 he always was an excellent schemer and a bold and 
 skillful executor of his plans. 
 
 When he was again alone he set to thinking. Prob- 
 ably this or that plan would do, but no, there was 
 always some hitch about it, w^hich hindered it from 
 working well. 
 
 At last, yes there he hit upon a plan and an admir- 
 able one it was too, for it would not only help out 
 his friend but also serve as a correction for the 
 minister. 
 
 He knew that the dominie,* late in the afternoon on 
 the given date, would call at the widow's house and 
 very likely therefore would not retvirn before some time 
 after sunset. He knew also which way he would come 
 and that there was a lonel}- spot on the road, excellently 
 adapted for a highway robbery. He saw his way clear 
 now. He would furnish the old widow with necessar}^ 
 money, not only for the payment of interest but also of 
 the mortgage, telling her that it was a present and not a 
 loan. Then a day or two afterward, feigning to go on a 
 journe}', he would secretly steal toward that solitary 
 spot on the* road and there relieve the minister again of 
 his ill-gotten gains. 
 
 ♦Ministerial title from I^atiii Dominus (Kriesiaii) means Lord. 
 
HOW A BANDIT SET THINGS IN ORDER. 85 
 
 The next morning Emniers had good news for the 
 widow. 
 
 Frow Kalania needn't worry any more, he would pay 
 the debt she owed the minister, mortgage and all, and 
 handing to her the bag containing the sum, bade her to 
 be of good cheer now. 
 
 And of good cheer she was, for falling on her knees 
 before him, she took his hands in hers, covered them 
 with tears, and showered upon him her benedictions. 
 The scene was too much for Enimers, for he was visibly 
 moved, but instantly he recovered himself and m histling 
 a tune, went out. 
 
 Two days afterward Japik left Frow Kalama's estab- 
 lishment, to return as he said within a month, but in 
 realit}' to seek safer quarters and to make his intended 
 attack that evening on the minister. 
 
 On the appointed time the minister made his appear- 
 ance at the inn, with kind greetings as usual, and 
 congratulating Frow Kalaina for her improved appear- 
 ance, for it had not escaped his notice that she had 
 looked haggard and dejected on his previous visit. 
 
 It did not take long before he brought up the question 
 about the finances, expecting that this time Frow 
 Kalama surely would fail in meeting her obligations, 
 which virtually would make him the owner of her 
 property. But imagine his surprise when the old ladv, 
 with the dignity and independence of a queen, counted 
 out to him not only all the interest due but enough 
 besides to pay up the mortgage, joyfully stating that the 
 little estate was now once more free from incumbrance. 
 The pastor could not think where she had gotten all 
 that money without mortgaging her property, but as he 
 full}^ trusted in her honesty and had a snug sum in his 
 pocket, he would not inquire but congratulate her with 
 her success and give her some valuable advice for the 
 future. 
 
 The remainder of the evening was spent agreeably, for 
 both minister and parishoner were now in an extra 
 
86 HOW A BANDIT SKT THINGS IN ORDKR. 
 
 happy mood and so it happened that when the minister 
 talked of going home, it was quite late and besides the 
 night had grown tempestuous and dark. 
 
 Frow Kalama in consequence of it grew somewhat 
 alarmed and tried to persuade the dominie to stay over 
 night, or if he would go to leave the money in her 
 custody, for it was far too dangerous to venture out with 
 such a large sum in a night, as dark as that. 
 
 But the dominie persisted in going ; he did not mind 
 a storm and as far as it concerned thieves they would not 
 dare to attack a minister but in case it should occur with 
 him, he was ready for the emergency. 
 
 As further reasoning was of no avail Frow Kalama left 
 ff her entreaties and soon afterward the pas ( or mount- 
 ing his horse, was off in the dark, followed by the 
 prayers of the widow. 
 
 IVLeanwhile Japik had secretly stationed himself on 
 that solitary spot by the road and was patientl}^ waiting 
 for the arrival of his victim. But as the evening wore 
 away and no minister had turned up yet, Kmmers 
 began to feel uneasy and the thought occurred to him 
 that owing to the darkness of the night the minister 
 might have concluded to remain at the inn till morning 
 and then he would be out of his money, which under 
 present circumstances would be quite a calamity to him. 
 
 He waited and waited, but no sign of the minister — he 
 listened with suspended breath, but all he heard was the 
 moaning of the storm — he stooped down, looked toward 
 the horizon if he could not see some one moving against 
 the sky, but heaven was as dark as the earth. But finally 
 as he was about to give up his enterprise, he thought he 
 heard some unusual noise. He listened attentively, no, 
 he could not be mistaken, it was the footfall of a horse, 
 it came nearer and he crept cautiously toward the road, 
 so as to have a distinct view of the object approaching, 
 for it was quite light now. Yes, it was a man on horse- 
 back — a few seconds yet and the figure was opposite him. 
 
HOW A BANDIT SET THINGS IN ORDER. 87 
 
 Bmmers keen eyes were fixed upon it ; to be sure it was 
 the long expected minister. 
 
 To act quick now was wise policy, and Emmers seeing 
 his way clear jumped forward, caught the horse by the 
 bridle and firmly held it there. 
 
 "Who are you?" thundered out Emmers, addressing 
 the man before him. 
 
 "Well — we-11 " — stammered out the figure on the 
 horse — " I — I — am the — min — minister of " 
 
 " Enough," interrupted Emmers. " I know you, the 
 wolf in sheepskin, eh ! But I have you and now dismount 
 at once, if you have any respect for your life." 
 
 " I will, I will," said the minister hastily, and slipping 
 down the horse, stood trembling before his assailant. 
 
 " And now," said Japik, "what do you have there slung 
 over your shoulder? The bag containing the blood 
 money of Frow Kalama, eh ! Well look here, if you as 
 a Minister dare to rob innocent poor, then I better as 
 a bandit rob a guilty minister. Now give that bag here, 
 it will do more good in my possession than in yours. " 
 
 The dominie hesitated. "No, no," said Emmers, "no 
 delay here, I am in perfect earnest, give that mone yor — " 
 making a threatening move. 
 
 "Here, here," said the minister, handing over the bag, 
 but please spare my life ! " 
 
 "Your life," said Emmens, "when an armed man 
 meets a dangerous wolf will he spare him?" 
 
 " You are quite right," said the minister, " but believe 
 me, that I am a man." 
 
 " Could I only see it," said Emmers. "But say, wolf 
 or man, if you will solemnly promise me here to-night, 
 that in the future you will no more oppress the poor and 
 innocent, I will this time let you go, with this under- 
 standing, of course, that the money remains with me and 
 I borrow your horse to-night, which I will leave to-mor- 
 row somewhere on the road." 
 
 The minister was perfectly satisfied with the proposal. 
 He would make that promise, he ought to have done 
 better too. 
 
88 AFTER THK STORM. 
 
 "Well, off then at once," shouted Eminers, and off went 
 the frightened man splashing through the mud as fast as 
 his legs could carr}' him. 
 
 "Well, well," chuckled Enimers to himself , "that pays ! 
 I have benefited now a poor, good woman; I have chas- 
 tised and corrected a minister and have the other pleas- 
 ure, to feel that it is far better to give than to receive." 
 
 Thus saying, he mounted the horse, and was off to parts 
 unknown. 
 
 AFTER THE STORM. 
 
 A TALK OF MISSIONARY LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 Like some lonely island in mid-ocean stood the little 
 parsonage cottage on the extensive snow-covered plains 
 of Minnesota. It was a small building with three little 
 rooms, two serving for sleeping apartments, the other 
 one for the combined purpose of sitting room, kitchen 
 and stud3\ It had been snowing all day and toward 
 evening a biting cold came blowing in from the north- 
 west. 
 
 As the evening shadows began to deepen, the wind 
 grew gradually stronger, until about midnight a 
 blizzard was sweeping in all its fury over the plains. 
 
 The wind moaned and shrieked dismally among the 
 pines that surrounded the little dwelling and when there 
 was a momentary lull in it, the howling of the hungry 
 wolves in the distance could distinctly be heard. 
 
 Now and then it would strike the little dwelling with 
 terrific fury, causing it to tremble on its frail foundations 
 and making its windows rattle in their casings. 
 
 The pastor, in pensive attitude, sat by the fire and 
 inwardly thanked God, that after his weary day's 
 journey among his flock, he was with his dear ones 
 
AFTER THE STORM. 89 
 
 again and had the means to keep out the deadly effect 
 of the inclement night. 
 
 He was a man of eminent abilities and a graduate of a 
 noted eastern university which might have fitted him 
 for a city charge, but he had preferred the West as 
 being more congenial to his tastes and better adapted to 
 fulfil his heart's desire, to labor among the destitute and 
 neglected. 
 
 His parishioners were widely scattered, the nearest 
 neighbor a mile away and besides his services in the little 
 church at home, in which he preached at stated times, 
 there were two other stations, twelve and sixteen miles 
 away, where he also had his regular appointments. 
 
 The people to whom he administered were ver}- much 
 attached to their pastor, but being in poor circumstances 
 could only raise a small sum for his support, which, 
 augmented by a scanty allowance of the Board, made up 
 his small salary of five hundred dollars. 
 
 In his difficult charge, however, he was abh' assisted 
 by his good wife, a woman of eminent abilities and 
 large heart, w4io having left her comfortable and cul- 
 tured surroundings, resolved to brave with the man 
 whom she loved best in life, the hardships that pre- 
 sented themselves in the promotion of a cause as dear 
 to her heart as it was to his. 
 
 During the first years of their married life she had 
 frequently accompanied him on his missionary journeys, 
 which especially in those northern climes, during the 
 v;inter season, v/as an arduous task for a woman. 
 
 Often when the snow drifts were high, with a temper- 
 ature of thirty below zero, and the bravest preferred 
 to stay inside, she and her husband had managed to 
 appear at the appointed times at the stations. 
 
 In his visitations among the sick she had neither 
 stayed behind, causing her helping hand to be felt 
 where his words consoled. Where people were in need, 
 she had often given of her own small resources and 
 through her interposition many a valuable box from 
 
90 AFTKR THE STORM. 
 
 some eastern society had found its way to the poor of 
 the parish. 
 
 Later on, when children were born to them, realizing 
 that God crowns a woman a queen when He makes her 
 a mother, she had governed her little realm of home with 
 a dignity and tact belonging to the office, rearing 
 her little ones in the fear of the Lord and causing the 
 small income as far as possible to meet the necessary 
 ends. 
 
 So that little home had stood there for many a year 
 as a paradise b}- itself and a beacon light to direct the 
 voyager of life to the haven of peace and rest. 
 
 But suddenly the sunshine of prosperity had vanished 
 and a cloud of sorrow cast its melancholy shadow over it. 
 
 On a certain tempestuous day, as the good woman had 
 been out on a visit to a distant sick friend, she had con- 
 tracted a severe cold. It had developed into pneumonia 
 and for days she had lingered between life and death. 
 Medical skill however, supported by her vigorous con- 
 stitution, had overcome the disease, and once more she 
 was the active woman of former da3's. 
 
 But it was a false recovery, for the fatal germ of con- 
 sumption had been left behind and despite all efforts to 
 stay its development, it had made fatal inroads upon her 
 health. 
 
 Of late she had felt worse and part of the time she had 
 been obliged to take to her bed. But, she was a cheerful 
 woman, who always discovered a bright side on the dark 
 cloud of life and even now, as the shadows of death were 
 already falling about her, she would hopefully speak of 
 life and the good days that were to come. 
 
 Nevertheless the good soul w^as daily failing and the 
 loving husband, notwithstanding his efforts to encourage 
 the sufferer, saw the storm approaching that was to 
 desolate his sweet garden of life. And so as he sat there 
 alone that stormy winter evening, wife and children 
 sleeping, the former perhaps dreaming of recovery and 
 happiness which never would be her's again, brooding 
 
AFTER THE STORM. 9I 
 
 over his misfortunes, there was a dreary harmony oetween 
 his sad feelings and the moaning of the storm without' 
 
 Suddenly there was a slight cough in the wife's apart- 
 ment ; he listened, there was another one, foDowed by 
 outbursts of paroxysms. But the faithful husband was 
 already by her side, and administering to her some 
 medicine soon succeeded in quieting down the 
 irritation. 
 
 "Don't be alarmed John," she said, with the usual 
 smile on her lips, " I am all right again. Sa}-, have you 
 not noticed that I don't cough as often as I used to ? 
 But what a dreadful storm that is, how I pity the poor 
 who are without the comforts of life now. But the 
 winter will soon be over. Let me see, half of February 
 and March yet and it will be different ; I know there is 
 April yet but it is a spring month and so near May too ; 
 well, I will be patient and then soon I will get there, for 
 no one can make me believe that I have consumption ; 
 I know its symptoms, the reason that I lately have 
 grown worse is due to the weather. When the gentle 
 breezes come blowing in from the balnn- south, then I 
 will be strong again and we and the children will drive 
 out once more to that sweet spot on the murmuring 
 stream, you know where we camped outlast summer, and 
 then we'll climb that wooded hill again, where we found 
 those lovely flowers and had such a fine view of the 
 surrounding country. And by that time our new house 
 will also be ready, which will so much lighten my 
 labors and give you a study-room at last, for certainly 
 the Board will not decline an application for a thing as 
 necessary as this. 
 
 " Housekeeping will then but begin, for the children 
 will then have a place where to play during a rainy day 
 and I need not pick up things as often as I do now. I 
 can make things then also look a little more tidy inside, 
 as there will be abundant place where to store the 
 household effects. And we will be better situated to 
 
«.)2 AKTllK rill': sroKM. 
 
 receive people too, which will aiKl to the iMos])erity of 
 the church. 
 
 " No, I am not tiretl of life as lonvi as there is so nnich 
 in it yet to charm me. This lower room of the Father's 
 great mansion, contains also mnch to make His children 
 happy ; there are yon ami the children, the chnrch and 
 God's beautifnl nature. o\\, how I lo\ e them all ! Be- 
 sides, there is so mnch work for me to ilo yet. No, my 
 time has not yet come and next spring I will he on my 
 post again. 
 
 " Rnt husband, 1 better stop now for I feel somewhat 
 tired, my natural enthusiasm has ilone it again, but I 
 will be on my guard next time. Well, cheer up now 
 and retire!" Ami the minister obeyed, feeling much 
 better m>w too. for such a voice could quell the inward 
 storm, such a love and lu^pe dispel the ilarkness of 
 the soul. 
 
 That night was the last bliz/.ard of the season and 
 milder weather set in. During the night there were 
 light frosts, but comparatively warm weather prevailed 
 during the day. A short season of rain followed and ere 
 long INIother Earth released from the bonils of snow and 
 ice, showed once more her friendly countenance ready 
 to shower new blessings upon man anil beast. 
 
 And the poor sutTerer in the parsonage too had 
 changed for the better, she coughed less, the hectic 
 fever left her and soon she recovered so far as to be able 
 to attend again to the lighter duties of the household. 
 She had even ventured out already and as it had done her 
 good, it was agreed upon that as soon as a mild day woukl 
 come, her husband wo\dd drive her out with the children 
 to a distant parishioner. That long looked-for day had 
 come at last and husband, wife and children, all in a 
 happy mood, were soon seen speeding over the plains, 
 the dashing horses even sharing in the fun, for a tine 
 day it was, as tine as April could have it, a May-like day, 
 with a warm sun of purple, hazy distances of hills and 
 woods. But it was a treacherous day too, for hardly had 
 
AFTKR THK STOKM. 93 
 
 noon passed when the wind suddenly shifted from the 
 south to the northwest. Gradually the sky became 
 overcast with clouds and the weather grew cold and 
 bleak. The mini.ster and his wife by this time (so 
 hospitably entertained by their friends), cast anxious 
 looks outside and with grave apprehensions watched the 
 changing .scene out doors. 
 
 They could not enjoy themselves any longer now, and 
 so it was resolved, fearing that the weather might 
 become more inclement toward niglitfall, to return early 
 in the afternoon. 
 
 And so the little party that had started out so pleas- 
 antly in the morning, returned rather sadly that after- 
 noon and hardly a word was spoken on the way, the baby 
 even appearing in a dejected mood, for as close as 
 possible she nestled to the protecting form of her mamma 
 
 The swift horses, however, conveyed them soon to 
 their longed-for de.stination and although all felt the 
 chilling effect of the weather and gathered around the 
 warm stove, the unpleasant experiences of the day were 
 soon forgotten and gloomy forebodings cast to the winds. 
 
 At last spring in all its glory and beauty had come. 
 Again the flowers bloomed in the meadows and the 
 forests stood arra\ed in the light green apparel of the 
 season . 
 
 The air was redolent with the odors of blooming 
 trees and the streams in the valleys nmrmured forth their 
 mu.sical tunes. 
 
 Early in the morning the crowing of the prairie cocks 
 filled the air with sweet echoes and at eve the notes of 
 the robin broke the forest stillness. Far away in the 
 ravines the woodpecker hammered away all day and the 
 plaintive voice of the turtle mingled with the songs of 
 the blackbirds in the trees near the marsh. 
 
 But there was a funeral at the parsonage, for the goo<l 
 minister's wife had died. 
 
94 AFTER THK STORM, 
 
 The treacherous April afternoon had done the fatal 
 work and she, who had hoped to see herself restored to 
 health and vigor in spring, had just then her flower 
 nipped by the cold hand of death. 
 
 Friends had come from far off and near by to follow 
 the good woman to her final resting place, who, as an 
 administering angel, had followed so many to lighten 
 the burdens of their lives. There were tributes of flowers 
 at the grave but more tributes of genuine tears. The 
 officiating minister spoke in eloquent terms of the 
 virtues of the deceased and most appropriately had 
 chosen for his text, "For we know that if ovir earthly 
 house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a build- 
 ing of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in 
 heaven." 
 
 At the head of the grave, in melancholy attitude, stood 
 the bereaved husband with his four motherless children 
 around him, with tearful e3'es following the coffin as it 
 was lowered into the grave. 
 
 As the first shovel of earth fell upon the lid of the box 
 containing the coffin, a wagon came slowly wheeling by, 
 loaded with lumber for the new parsonage. The minister 
 looked up and there were fresh tears in his eyes for he 
 thought of that last stormy winter night, when his wife 
 had spoken so hopefully of recovery. 
 
 Spring had come at last and the new house was to be 
 built now, but where was she ? 
 
 In that dark, narrow dwelling at his feet, forever shut 
 — but happily his thoughts took another direction, and 
 he saw his glorified wife in the roomy mansions of 
 heaven, where the storms are hushed forever and the 
 rivers of life incessantly flow. 
 
 Those are the great, the simple, the true hearted, 
 Who for to help their Fellow Creatures came, 
 
 Whether they sink to rest to be forgotten. 
 Or leave their records on the scroll of Fame. 
 
 Malconi, N. Y. 
 
FLORAL OFFERINGS. 
 
 " Tovit a fait." 
 
 Again it is commencement day, 
 
 The bell rings from the hollow dome, 
 
 Calling the graduating class. 
 
 For the last time, to school from home, 
 
 Again we see sweet childhood pass 
 
 Into a grave maturity, 
 And youths with lore and wisdom stored, 
 
 Facing a veiled futurity. 
 
 The graduate has stood the test, 
 
 And wears the expression of a sage, 
 
 And with an independent air, 
 
 Triumphantly he mounts the stage. 
 
 The scholars show their eloquence, 
 And relatives and friends applaud. 
 
 And parents see their labors crowned, 
 And inwardly they thank their God. 
 
 A maiden in deep mourning dressed. 
 Steps to the front, with modest bow. 
 
 vShe scans the audience and sighs, 
 A sad expression on her brow. 
 
 ♦ The flower fades but blooms again," 
 Her subject has her soul inspired ; 
 There is a pathos in her words, 
 The short oration is admired. 
 
 Her friends her simple words applaud, 
 
 And floral offerings abound. 
 She takes the emblems of esteem. 
 
 But mournfully she looks around. 
 
 95 
 
96 FI.ORAI. OFFERINGS. 
 
 In vain her eyes look for the one. 
 Who by his labors, love and care, 
 
 Had furnished her the means, that she 
 For life's hard struggles could prepare. 
 
 H-e is not there, the truest friend, 
 
 Who more than friends longed for this hour. 
 
 Dear father, whom the child would bless 
 Lies in the dust, 'neath yonder bower. 
 
 The maiden does appreciate 
 
 Congratulations of her friends. 
 Yet o'er their floral offerings 
 
 With melancholy face she bends. 
 
 Can she enjo}^ the honors, which 
 She feels, belongs to father dear? 
 
 Ah ! he is gone, is gone for aye, 
 
 And on the flowers there falls a tear. 
 
 Beside her father's hallowed dust, 
 In solitude the maiden stands, 
 
 With features which betoken grief, 
 Her flowery offerings in her hands. 
 
 Accept these tributes of thy child. 
 
 For all thy care and love," she sa3's. 
 
 She sheds a tear and bending low, 
 Her honors on his grave she lays. 
 
A DECEMBER STORM. 
 
 Weird winds, with an almighty sway, 
 
 Ye through this valley sweep, 
 
 And when your wings the branches touch, 
 
 The frightened forests weep ! 
 
 Loud is thy music, mighty storm ! 
 
 Wild thy triumphant strain. 
 
 The large woods quake beneath thy feet, 
 
 And trees are wild with pain. 
 
 Yet as a might}^ company, 
 
 forest trees, ye stand. 
 
 To face the progress of the storm, 
 Your stronghold to defend ! 
 
 But thou, lone, helpless willow, art 
 Exposed on every side. 
 Without a friend to lean upon, 
 Or place thy head to hide ! 
 Thy branches, shaking too and fro, 
 Squeak in the raving storm, 
 Stripped of their vernal summer-garb, 
 Deprived of grace and form. 
 
 Like thou, O solitary tree ! 
 Helpless and lone I face 
 The fierce winds of adversity. 
 That sweep down on my place. 
 Oh ! could I find a faithful heart. 
 In whom I could confide, 
 
 1 would not mind those enemies, 
 Who now my power deride. 
 
 Tossed up and down by heavy gales, 
 On this deserted sea. 
 With rudder gone, and compass lost. 
 Where is a haven for me ? 
 
 97 
 
98 TO THE MEMORY OF DOMINE SHARPI^EY. 
 
 The waves dash hij^h, and darker still, 
 The black horizon grows, 
 And fiercer than in daj^s gone by, 
 Distress upon me blows. 
 
 ■ Oh ! Mighty Hand, that once could save, 
 A small endangered crew, 
 When o'er the waves of Galilee, 
 The weird winds fiercely blew, 
 Into Th}' hands I too commit, 
 M}- spirit bending down, 
 Avert the sad catastrophe. 
 Lord, by a single frown ! 
 
 To THE MEMORY OF DOMINE SHARPLEY. 
 
 When hast'ning through this life of ours, 
 The countless travellers pass by 
 
 And we forget them as they pass 
 Like empty cloudlets on the sky. 
 
 But there are those whose passing glance 
 Whose single word, whose kindly smile 
 
 Leaves an impression on our souls 
 Which travels with us all the while. 
 
 Only a glance, a word, a smile, 
 I caught of him when passing by. 
 
 It did me good, it soothed m}- heart 
 
 God bless the dear, good man thought I. 
 
 I watched him as he travelled on, 
 
 A cloud spread shadow on his way ; 
 Back came the light, but gone was he 
 *' The Domine is dead," they say. 
 
 No, no, I say, look higher, there 
 Beyond the clouds I see him soar, 
 
 Farewell dear. Brother, fare thee well. 
 Enjoy thy rest on heavenly shore. 
 
Coming and Going, 
 
 Oh ! that to me the wings were given 
 Which bear the turtle to her nest, 
 
 Then would I cleave the vault of heaven 
 To flee away and be at rest. — Byron. 
 
 New homes we seek, 
 Old homes we leave, 
 
 Between the two 
 Our lives we weave. 
 
 Old homes we leave. 
 New homes we choose 
 
 In one of them 
 Our lives we lose. 
 
 II. 
 
 New homes are strange, 
 Old sites are homes, 
 
 Between the two 
 Each mortal roams. 
 
 To meet, to change. 
 Is mortal's way, 
 
 We love to go, 
 We love to stay. 
 
 Old home has seen 
 
 More storms than light, 
 New, stomiless home, 
 
 Is not so bright. 
 
 VII, 
 
 This home we leave, 
 Yon home we meet 
 
 And in that home, 
 Will rest our feet. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Old homes decay. 
 
 New homes are strong, 
 But for the old. 
 
 We often long. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 When we are home, 
 Where we must stay 
 
 May we not wish 
 To go away. 
 
 99 
 
Rosa (Roosje).* 
 
 A TRAXSI-ATION. 
 
 There was in Zealand once a man, 
 
 A lovely child had he, 
 Beloved by everyone as e'er 
 
 A child beloved could be. 
 
 The man, as natural would be. 
 Felt proud about such wealth, 
 
 The more so, as his wife had died, 
 Whose loss he deeply felt. 
 
 How oft he lifted Rosa up, 
 
 With sighs that heaved his breast, 
 
 Her little red cheeks glowing then, 
 By fervent kisses pressed i 
 
 Then said the good and tender man, 
 " Yoiir mother is no more." 
 " Oh yes," said then the little one, 
 "By God on 3onder shore." 
 
 " One time you told me so yourself, 
 
 But— what for did she go ? 
 She loved me not as well as you. 
 
 For she left us below." 
 The Father did not say a word. 
 
 But kissed the little one. 
 And when he did so, o'er his face 
 
 A stream of tears did run. 
 
 That little girl erelong grew up. 
 Her village pride was she. 
 
 And not a Father but he hoped 
 His son's bride her to see. 
 
 See note below. 
 
 lOO 
 
ROSA. lOI 
 
 How beautiful that sweet girl was, 
 
 Her figure, what a sight, 
 How gentle, full of life was she, 
 
 How virtuous and polite ! 
 
 As friendly as the lovely moon, 
 
 Emerging from the sea, 
 Or shining on the pallid dunes, 
 
 So amiable was she. 
 
 Her lovely eyes were hazel-brown, 
 
 Not fiery, dreamy, mild, 
 And like the friendly morning-glow, 
 
 So she looked, when she smiled. 
 
 Sometimes when she with Zealand's youth 
 
 "Went sporting on the strand. 
 Then she discovered everywhere. 
 
 Her name traced in the sand. 
 
 No young man, but he worshipped her. 
 
 And counted her to be. 
 The fairest liower of all the ones. 
 
 In Zealand he did see. 
 
 In Zealand, on the sandy beach 
 
 There lives a small round fish. 
 Which furnishes for rich and poor 
 
 The choicest Zealand's dish. 
 
 In summer, when the south wind comes 
 
 With little waves to play 
 Or cooling off the farmer's brow. 
 
 During the sultry day. 
 
 Then youth goes out with spade and plow. 
 
 To the broad, level strand. 
 And with a happy, sportive mood 
 
 They plow the yielding sand. 
 
ROSA. 
 
 Then in the open furrows grasps, 
 
 A clever hand the fish. 
 And often is the quickest hand 
 
 Too slow for such a fish. 
 
 Youth meanwhile romps and loudly sports, 
 
 And in the brine does play, 
 Which foams and reaches ear and mouth. 
 
 In showers of drops and spray. 
 
 A young man of a maid takes hold, 
 
 And bears her off to sea,* 
 She calls and struggles, but in vain 
 
 He bears her off to sea. 
 
 One time, on a fair summer day, 
 The flower of Youth went out 
 
 With spade and plow toward the strand 
 'Mid song and happy shout. 
 
 And gentle Rosa was there too, 
 
 And every swain forgot, 
 His plow and fish when for a while 
 
 By Rosa's side he trod. 
 
 A young man, whom she loved the best, 
 
 Was with her all the while. 
 He uttered words of love, and she, 
 
 Looked at him with a smile. 
 
 Now does he press her small, soft hand, 
 
 Meanwhile a kiss he steals, 
 And with her blond curls round her neck. 
 
 Then playfully he deals. 
 
 The maiden laughingly steps back, 
 
 " You naughty one," says she. 
 ' Plague now the other girls a while, 
 " You always bother me. 
 
ROSA. 103 
 
 Go to the other girls I say, 
 
 " Come, please now, let me be ! " 
 
 Say, if you do not kiss me now, 
 "I'll bear you off to sea!" 
 
 Thus speaks the young man ; she darts off, 
 
 He after her with haste, 
 Both laughing and he brings her back, 
 
 His arm around her waist. 
 
 Now all the young folks call aloud 
 
 ' ' Take Rosa to the sea ! " 
 He snatches up the maid and runs. 
 
 Bearing her to the sea. 
 
 The stalwart youth kisses his load, 
 
 Which he so lightly bears, 
 And presses fondly to his heart, 
 
 The girl for whom he cares. 
 
 Meanwhile she calls and prays in vain, 
 
 He does not hear her voice, 
 His splashing, foaming in the brine. 
 
 Drowns every other noise. 
 
 He finally had gone so far, 
 That all upon the strand 
 With terror seized, exclaimed, " Stop now 
 " And come back to the strand !" 
 
 He will obey, but— there he stands — 
 Bewildered— what a sight !— 
 "Great God, help Rosa!" he exclaims. 
 The girl shrieks, seized with fright. 
 
 ** My friends assist me, oh, I sink, 
 ' ' A whirlpool pulls me down ! ' ' 
 She throws her hands around his neck 
 And with him she sinks down. 
 
I04 ROSA. 
 
 She sinks and once more turns her head 
 
 Silent, toward the strand, 
 Then suddenly both disappear, 
 
 Beneath the treacherous sand, 
 
 -Youth as if petrified stood there. 
 
 Dumbfounded, spirits low, 
 Until at last from every eye, 
 
 A stream of tears did flow. 
 
 "Alas! is 't true, is Rosa dead, 
 * ' And is the sea her grave ! ' ' 
 Thus shrieks and moans now everyone, 
 The pallid dunes too rave. 
 
 The dreary incident was soon, 
 Proclaimed throughout the town. 
 
 The people all, the hardest e'en 
 Felt sad and stricken down. 
 
 Now from the strand, oft looking back, 
 
 Returned a silent throng, 
 With hearts, so full of feeling that 
 
 It paralyzed each tongue. 
 
 Stately the silent moon arose. 
 
 And on that awful tomb, 
 In which the young pair breathed their last 
 
 She shone 'mid dismal gloom. 
 
 A" high wind from the sea blew in, 
 The billows lashed the strand, 
 
 And soon the melancholy news, 
 Was known throughout the land. 
 
AN Hour on the Shores of the Great river. 
 
 I stand on the banks of the majestic stream of the 
 west. The mighty- river rolls on in dignified reserve, as 
 it has done for ages, now and then heaving a deep sigh, 
 as its swelling current glides triumphantly over every 
 concealed obstacle. 
 
 Old Father of the Waters, in thy deep murmurs thou 
 tellest me an interesting story, weird histories, records 
 of another race than ours. Father, if I could understand 
 every word of thy sayings, I might collect stories, which 
 would astonish the world and immortalize my name. 
 But in vain have I been trying to do so, still, now and 
 then I catch the meaning of thy phraseology and this I 
 hear thee sa}- : "I have changed and grown older but 
 not old, though thousands of years compose my age. 
 The beauties of youth stay with me and my strength is 
 not abated. Although the children of men have called 
 me Father of the Waters, I have outlived them all. Yes 
 on these shores lived once a race, ages and ages ago, 
 fierce and undaunted and they addressed me with the 
 name Father. I allowed them to ride on my back and con- 
 veyed them from place to place. Sometimes however 
 they grew aggressive, robbing me of my territory and 
 then I swept a number of them away with a single stroke 
 of my hand, but seeing their insignificance and their 
 terror, I grew ashamed of myself and returned again to 
 my rest. The Mississippi heaves a sigh, he mutters, 
 alas ! he says, these children have died long ago. Time 
 with his stronger arms then mine has swept them away. 
 But their memory is sacred to me and in my green 
 mantle I have folded their silent forms and they rest for- 
 ever in the bosom of him, whom they called father." . . . 
 
 " Yes, Father, I sympathize with thee in th}^ bereave- 
 ment, but cheer up, forget th}- sorrows, thou art not alone. 
 
 105 
 
I06 AN HOUR ON THE SHORES. 
 
 I stand by thy side, a younger child, a stronger child, a bet- 
 ter child; lo, there they come, my brothers and sisters, they 
 have adorned thy mantle with precious stones of villages 
 and cities and lay their tributes at thy feet. These chil- 
 dren shall remain with thee, care for thee in thy old age, 
 and outlive thee, erect on thy grave a glorious mauso- 
 leum, immortalizing thy name ! Father I say, cheer up, 
 we are thy children now." 
 
 There is silence ; the Mississippi answers not. I repeat 
 
 my words, no response But hark, there is a deep 
 
 sigh at last and a continued murmiir, growing louder and 
 louder. What is this? Minnehaha; laughing waters? 
 Yes the Mississippi laughs, laughs at my childish but 
 innocent stupidity and pride. Listen again, there comes 
 his well meant and fatherly rebuke. "What does thy 
 boast amount to, my son, thou and thy race art mortal like 
 all thy brothers and sisters were before thee. Dust thou 
 art and to dust thou shalt return, and erelong I fold thee 
 also in my mantle." .... There is an awful silence 
 and the river sweeps onward prouder and more powerful 
 then ever, leaving me weeping on the graves of the Red 
 Men. Emotion overcomes me and I feel my insignifi- 
 cance. I am dying ; my years roll forward on a still 
 older current, on that of time and a few days or years more 
 and the mounds of the white race shall dot this verdant 
 valley. Alas ! what for is man born ! To weep, to suffer, 
 to disappear forever, with a smothered wish and hope for 
 immortality ! . . . . And now, once more I hear the river 
 speak gently, fatherly, earnestly. What does the stream 
 sav ? " My child, think not hard of me, the words which 
 disappoint thee in one sense are intended for thy hap- 
 piness and guidance. Immortal child I say (for such 
 thou art) seek no everlasting life on a mortal shore, 
 hasten thee away from this land of sepulchres." 
 
 I am somewhat relieved but cannot leave yet and now 
 in order to lead my thoughts into another direction, I 
 take a book and I read. I read and read on and what sur- 
 prises me ? This book confirms the sayings of the flow- 
 
OF THE GREAT RIVER. I07 
 
 ing river: "Thou shalt live forever, hasten thee away ;" 
 and as I read on. joy begins to fill my heart for this book 
 tells me also where thut eternal land is situated, and oh ! 
 blessed tidings, the way thither it reveals too. 
 
 What, I exclaim in wonderment, shall man live longer 
 then this ancient stream ! . , . And I turn over a few 
 leaves of the book and this I read : " Heaven and earth 
 shall pass aw^ay ; but my words shall not pass away — I am 
 the resurrection and the life, he that believeth in Me, 
 though he were dead, yet shall he live." 
 
 Who has spoken this ? I ask, and an answer comes to me 
 from the depth of the passing Mississippi: " The Father 
 of the Father of Waters, your Father has addressed you. " 
 I look at the stream. Oh ! what a change. A few moments 
 ago it was dreary in aspect, now it reflects serenity and 
 beauty and its waves strike up a psalm of hope and life. 
 
 Bible and nature, let me often listen to you, your lan- 
 guage lifts me to the sk3^ Arise my soul, go hence ! 
 Yes, I wall go, and closing my book I say, " Roll on. Father 
 of the Waters, may my soul erelong rest in the bosom of 
 thy Father, for then I M'ill begin mine endless 3'outh when 
 thy bed must be left desolate, dried up by the fires of the 
 last day." 
 
 The Little Patriot. 
 
 See here, my little four months son. 
 Thy country's red striped flag. 
 
 He jumps, he yells, he tries to grasp 
 The torn, star spangled rag. 
 
 My little sweet faced patriot 
 
 Here, take the bright striped thing. 
 
 Stick to the emblem of thy land. 
 And be a little king. 
 
The Snowbirds. 
 
 Ye little piping snowbirds, 
 So sprightly and so gay, 
 
 Be welcome to my window^ 
 On this bright, wintry day ! 
 
 Blizzards no more are raving, 
 No cutting west winds blow, 
 
 Be welcome to my window 
 Ye lovers of the snow ! 
 
 No friendly little swallow. 
 More twitters near my door, 
 
 Be welcome to my window, 
 Ye friends from other shore ! 
 
 The land is lifeless, dreary, 
 
 No foliage I see. 
 Be welcome to my window, 
 
 And mount the naked tree ! 
 
 No visitor can reach me. 
 
 The glittering snow lies high 
 
 Be welcome to my window. 
 Friends, who traverse the skv 
 
 No creatures I discover. 
 They feel the biting cold. 
 
 Be welcome to my window. 
 Ye little snowbirds bold ! 
 
 The world is dead and silent, 
 No gay life does appear, 
 
 Be welcome to my window. 
 My study room to cheer ! 
 
 The child abstains from sleigh - 
 mg, 
 It stays by mother's hearth. 
 Be welcome to my window, 
 Play ye and show your mirth ! 
 
 The fields are white and barren. 
 
 No food, no shelter there. 
 Be welcome to my window 
 
 And take some of my share ! 
 
 The snowbirds leave my win- 
 dow, 
 , And o'er the snow the}^ fly. 
 Farewell, my guests so happy, 
 ! But never pass me by ! 
 
 io8 
 
WHERE ARE THEY? 
 
 (thb missing members of old home.) 
 
 " One by one life robs us of our treasures, 
 Nothing is our own except our Dead." 
 
 Adelaide A. Proctt'r. 
 
 The dead are scattered far away, 
 
 Beyond the hills, the seas, the streams, 
 
 There they are wrapped in peaceful dreams. 
 Until the last Aurora gleams. 
 
 One lies beside the old church wall 
 
 His grave unmarked — his story told ; 
 He died when life's flower did unfold" 
 "A little child, sweet six months old." 
 
 One lies amid a whispering grove 
 
 Her grave wiped out by rain and storm 
 
 Long, long ago left by the worm, 
 A withered and forsaken form. 
 
 One whom we all so fondly loved 
 In far away New Jersey sleeps. 
 
 No one that little grave now keeps. 
 No one beside her sweet form weeps. 
 
 In yonder Iowa lies one. 
 
 He's fast asleep beneath a tree, 
 
 Our dear beloved sire was he, 
 And not his resting place I see. 
 
 Yes, scattered are these treasures now, 
 Beyond the hills, the streams, the sea, 
 
 But the}^ are locked in memory, 
 And in my heart I keep the key. 
 
 109 
 
Our Children. 
 
 "I.et the Children come to Me."'—Jfsus. 
 
 My wife and I sit on the porch, 
 
 Twilight around us falling, 
 And in the distance we can hear. 
 
 Our merry children calling. 
 
 They tug up hill, the little group, 
 
 Tot in the rear advancing. 
 Three act as steeds, one drives the team, 
 
 How proudly are they prancing. 
 
 And now with laughter and with shouts, 
 Down hill the group comes speeding, 
 
 Forward they plunge, with reckless dash, 
 The steep incline not heeding. 
 
 But then there is a sudden crash, 
 The horses lose their footing. 
 
 The driver tumbles o'er his steeds 
 Followed by yells and hooting. 
 
 Old Major* too shares in the sport, 
 He pulls their coats and dresses. 
 
 The boys jump up and help the girls 
 Who shake their dusty tresses. 
 
 And now behind the house they are 
 
 The Echo there tormenting, 
 They call him Brownie, Santa Claus 
 He mockingly resenting. 
 
 Then in a circle they whirl 'round, 
 Their "Round a' Rosy" chanting. 
 
 With sinking voices, faces flushed 
 Weary at last and panting. 
 
 *Uog. 
 
WHERE. 
 
 And thus it goes the life-long day 
 They sing and shout and tumble, 
 
 They have their sport from morn till eve 
 And soon forget to grumble. 
 
 I thank God for such sportive band, 
 
 So loving and so cheery. 
 The world feels no more dosolate, 
 
 When such beams play around me. 
 
 Sots of the age, pull up your flowers 
 
 Sneer at me, freely whistle, 
 I rather cultivate the rose, 
 
 And leave to you the thistle. 
 
 Malconi, N. Y., Aug., 1896. 
 
 WHERE? 
 
 I wish, I wish. 
 Guess what it is? 
 
 A cabin by a mountain side. 
 
 Where ever sparkling brooklets glide 
 
 And where the singing birdies stride 
 
 And where the roving winds abide, 
 
 And where by night the bright .stars guide 
 
 Where nature talks on every side. 
 
 Where human passions never vied, 
 
 Where Judas Spirit never pr3-ed. 
 
 Where truth and peace unchanged abide. 
 
 One's right to live is not denied. 
 
 There I would live and by my side, 
 
 My children and my faithful bride. 
 
 Till on me fell life's eventide 
 
 In Nature's lap my dust to hide. 
 
The Cottage of Yore. 
 
 I loved the simple cottage, 
 With wall and gables gray, 
 My uncle's simple cottage, 
 Which marked the winding way. 
 
 I loved that quaint old cottage, 
 When I was yet a boy, 
 In that old humble cottage, 
 I found my simple joy. 
 
 I loved its large old orchard, 
 The thorn hedge near the gate, 
 The bass-tree near the window. 
 Spreading abroad cool shade. 
 
 My uncle, kind, good-hearted. 
 My aunt, who smiled on me. 
 My sprightly little cousin, 
 I often came to see. 
 
 For days I used to linger. 
 In that old cottage gray, 
 For with my little cousin, 
 I loved so well to play. 
 
 M}^ uncle had a daughter, 
 A good, sweet child was she, 
 I loved his little daughter, 
 The little girl loved me. 
 
 We wandered through the meadows. 
 We climbed the verdant knoll. 
 We gathered little daisies. 
 And down hill we would roll. 
 
THE COTTAGE OF YORE. II3 
 
 We lingered in the thicket, 
 And found a hollow tree, 
 We made a fire within it, 
 "This is our hearth," said she. 
 
 We stayed and pla3^ed the household, 
 Around that hollow tree, 
 I acted there the husband. 
 The wife she used to be. 
 
 My cousin kept a wagon, 
 I pulled it through the sand, 
 A fast steed, nobly dashing, 
 Obeying her command. 
 
 Behind my uncle's homestead. 
 The reed}' moors we found. 
 The water-fowls surprising. 
 Which left us with a sound. 
 
 We sought the frozen surface, 
 Though shivering with cold, 
 We viewed the larger children. 
 The skaters swift and bold. 
 
 When wintry blasts came raving. 
 And window panes grew white. 
 We crowded near the fire-place, 
 Watching the embers bright. 
 
 When shadows strange, fantastic, 
 Danced on the cottage wall, 
 The stories of my uncle, 
 Would our attention call. 
 
 Alas ! the happy faces. 
 Have left the cottage door, 
 And in the altered chambers, 
 Our voices sound no more. 
 
114 TO THE WOrXDKD HEARTS. 
 
 Mine uncle sold liis cottage, 
 We children left his home, 
 The little girl died early, 
 And far from there I roam. 
 
 Years, places, circumstances, 
 Shall never take me back. 
 But still my spirit often, 
 Broods fondl}^ o'er the wreck. 
 
 TO THE WOUNDED HEARTS. 
 
 ADDRESS TO MY BROTHER-IN-LAW, E. M. COLE, AND MY SISTER 
 AFTER THE DEATH OF THEIR CHILD, HATTIE. 
 
 The little bird of Paradise 
 
 That visited your family bowers, 
 
 Came singing for a little wTiile, 
 
 And left again for lands of flowers. 
 
 She left before the autumn blasts, 
 Should nip the roses of your 3'ears ; 
 
 When desolate and cheerless too. 
 The garden of one's life appears. 
 
 Her charm and beauly ye have felt. 
 But they were not to last here long. 
 
 For in man's wintry day of life 
 No more is heard the baby tongue. 
 
 The bird of passage spread its wings. 
 
 Ah ! be resigned and let it fly 
 Better to see it heavenward soar, 
 
 Than o'er its ruined charms to cry. 
 
Longings. 
 
 Addrbss to My Friend Mr. A. Sleyster, of Preston, Min- 
 nesota (near Greenleafton Springs). 
 
 Could I wander once more, 
 And fish like before 
 With you on the shore 
 Of the river that flows 
 By your village. 
 
 Or list to the roar, 
 Of the dam as before. 
 Where clear waters pour. 
 Or rest on the banks where 
 The mill is. 
 
 Or again climb the hill 
 To hear the loud rill, 
 That in his sweet will 
 Came gamboling, dashing 
 Beneath us. 
 
 Or in autumn's days, 
 When sweet nature pla3^s 
 With colors and rays 
 Give ear to her 
 Impressive pathos. 
 
 Or to stray through the wold, 
 Where birds stories told, 
 And flowers did unfold 
 Their beauties, in order 
 To please us. 
 
 Or to seek Leaf ton's glen,* 
 Where crystal streams ran, 
 And 'mid whose scenes then 
 A wonderful feeling 
 Did seize us. 
 
 *Cold vSprings, near Greenleafton, Mitm., i.^ miles from Preston. 
 
 115 
 
1 6 I.ONGINGS. 
 
 Or to stay on the spot 
 Where God cast your lot, 
 Your home with your wife 
 Aud your baby. 
 
 Where with Mrs. I. 
 I felt moments fly, 
 That fastened the tie 
 Of friendship, I hope will 
 For aye be. 
 
 Ah ! exquisite past, 
 W'hy did you not last, 
 With pleasures the best, 
 Why made cruel fate 
 The sad changes? 
 
 But no, 'twas no fate, 
 That did us create. 
 Our course regulate, 
 God's wisdom and love 
 All arranges. 
 
 And no one can part, 
 The heart linked to heart, 
 That with God did start 
 The Unselfish One, 
 The Eternal. 
 
 So if we no more 
 Shall meet like before, 
 Then on yonder shore, 
 Where pleasures forever 
 Are vernal. 
 
On the anniversary of my Father's Death, 
 May 8, 1890. 
 
 " Up, children up, 'the morn is bright, 
 Perfume is in the air, 
 The fields and woods are full of song. 
 And everything looks fair." 
 Thus at each lovely spring's return 
 My father used to speak, 
 Inviting us the sleepy ones, 
 The balni}' air to seek. 
 
 Again the spring holds out her charms. 
 
 But father calls no more, 
 
 Some one called him on a spring morn 
 
 And led him from our door. 
 
 Where is he now ? and where am I ? 
 
 He in the vSpring on high, 
 
 I in the wintry cold of earth 
 
 Beneath a cloudy sky. 
 
 My spring of life, so fair and sweet, 
 No more returns to me ; 
 Beset with cares that pain the soul, 
 This sweet spring morn I see. 
 
 But no, I hear my father's voice, 
 He's speaking yet to me, 
 "Wake up, he says, from gloom}^ dreams 
 Come out my Spring to see." 
 
 Sweet, hopeful words, yes more they say 
 Than in the days of yore ; 
 They speak of that enchanting land 
 Where loved ones part no more. 
 
 117 
 
Unwelcome Guests. 
 
 Boreas, married to the West, 
 
 Having unbarred his castle door, 
 
 Makes with his spouse the wedding trip, 
 And landed on our wasted shore. 
 
 Now playing here their honeymoon, 
 
 They sing, they laugh, and dance and roar. 
 
 How boisterous is this Arctic pair, 
 Traversing Minnesota o'er ! 
 
 Mounted upon their flying wheels, 
 They sweep the blue, extensive sky. 
 
 Or, rolling o'er our hills and vales, 
 They blind and choke the passers by. 
 
 The mighty forests bow their heads 
 In meek submission to their sway. 
 
 And where they plant their restless feet. 
 Leave desolation on their way. 
 
 The}' la}^ their hands upon the stream, 
 And lo, the murm'ring brooklets die ; 
 
 They draw a veil across the heavens, 
 And lo, the blinding snowflakes fall. 
 
 How dreary now earth's circle grows. 
 How gray, monotonous the light, 
 
 How bleak the days, so poor and short, 
 How long grows now the wailing night. 
 
 To day we thought our guests were gone, 
 But they have come again, and lo. 
 
 Their frolic has the climax reached, 
 Of thirty-five below zero. 
 
EVENING SONG. 119 
 
 Go back, go back, mischievous pair, 
 And feast behind your castle door ; 
 
 Keep to yourselves that blinding white, 
 We love the green, sweet summer wore. 
 
 Be calm my soul, for honeymoons 
 
 Have also their appointed terms, 
 And on the Northwest winds are sown 
 
 Springs fruitful, beneficial germs. 
 
 Go on, Boreas, with thy bride. 
 
 Thy honeymoon will leave a calm, 
 
 And when the jovial hour has passed. 
 Sweet spring will listen to our psalm. 
 
 EVENING SONG. 
 
 How peaceful is this valley. How glorious grows this valley. 
 
 How dreamy are yon hills. Beneath a crimson light. 
 
 How motionless the grain-fields. The day ending its mission, 
 
 How musical the rills ! Proclaims the coming night ! 
 
 How happy is this valley, O sweet, alluring valley. 
 
 Where bees and beetles hum ; Where men's contentions cease. 
 
 The bird upon the branches, Within this sanctuary, 
 
 Carouses with his chum ! My spirit feels at ease ! 
 
 How noisy grows the valle}', How tranquil grows this valley. 
 Where locusts call their friends, How sweet this rest abroad, 
 And crickets sing united, Reclined on Nature's pavement, 
 
 A song that never ends ! The bosom of our God ! 
 
Batavia alias Transvalia.* 
 
 It is not dead, the valiant race that grappled 
 Successfully with Rome's imperial power, 
 Whose Civilis compelled the wily tyrants 
 To help to build Batavia 's freedoms tower. 
 
 It is not dead, that valiant race that handled 
 So long the Spanish Python glut with blood, 
 Tore out its fangs, strangled to death the monster, 
 And flung it back upon the Southern flood. 
 
 It is not dead, the valiant race of heroes, 
 That for the British Lion did not care. 
 But forcibl}' struck at his paws so greedy, 
 And drove him back disabled to his lair. 
 
 They are not dead, the patriots that encountered. 
 By Albion and France and German States, 
 Faced boldly all, drove out the rash intruders. 
 Who came to beg for peace within their gates. 
 
 She is not dead, the Nation who in struggles. 
 For Home and God, for Liberty and Peace, 
 Built up her Empire in her foe's dominions, 
 And spread her glory over lands and seas. 
 
 It is not dead, the race that 'mid the tumult, 
 Of fierce revolt against the Church and State, 
 Taught the oppressed that Liberty is Order, 
 And guarded them against a dreadful fate. 
 
 It is not dead, the race that on the heavens, 
 
 Of its grand history points out, 
 
 A galaxy of Heroes, Artists, Rulers, 
 
 As great as ever any land turned out. 
 
 " See Note. 
 
BATAVIA AI^IAS TRANSVAI.IA. 121 
 
 It is not dead, the glorious race that kindled 
 The light of Liberty upon its shore. 
 Spreading its rays, the tribes and nations leading, 
 Onward to better day the wide world o'er. 
 
 It is not dead, the race whose Freedom's charter 
 Gave to this grand Republic 'cross the sea, 
 That constitution which lifts up the masses 
 And tries to keep all tribes and nations free. 
 
 She is not dead, heroic old Batavia, 
 'T seemed only so, she rested after strife, 
 Enjoying peace at home in church and country, 
 For which she worked in all her active life. 
 
 No, no, she lives, and once more stands heroic. 
 
 Defiant in Transvalia of the South. 
 
 To stay the progress of the British Lion, 
 
 Who thunders at her gates with foaming mouth. 
 
 He could not slay her, no, he tried it often — 
 His paws were on her twice, three times may be, 
 But she escaped, the would-be ruler mocking. 
 Across the Vaal, entrenched in liberty. 
 
 She feared him not, old Laing's Neck saw the 
 
 struggle 
 When he attempted to attack her there. 
 She grabbed his throat and flung him down the 
 
 mountain 
 And he crept back disabled to his lair. 
 
 Once more he came, now like a treacherous tiger, 
 Around the bush of new Johannestown, 
 But she was there with open eyes and muscle. 
 Seized upon him and knocked the villain down. 
 
 Stand back, old John, and let Transvalia prosper, 
 Let her be free — who made thee lord of her ? 
 Wilt thou befriend the slave and chain a natioi? 
 And bring upon thyself a dreadful slur ? 
 
22 A MEDITATION IN AUTUMN. 
 
 Brave Boers, stand firm, the blood of Old Batavia 
 Flows through your veins, revive old Holland's name, 
 The cause for which she strove and fought so manly, 
 There in the North, is in your South the same, 
 
 Unfurl your flag, Brittania knows the emblem. 
 
 It means resolve and perseverance too, 
 
 And that green stripe — that you will fight and struggle 
 
 Until the promised land encircles you. 
 
 A MEDITATION IN AUTUMN. 
 
 " For all flesh is as grass and all the glory of man as the flower 
 of grass. The grass withereth and the flower thereof fadeth awa3^ 
 But the word of the IvOrd endureth forever." — Peter. 
 
 No one could have felt so thoroughly the gloom and 
 desolation of a wild night than the Apostle John on the 
 Island of Patmos. 
 
 There I see him in my imagination standing on the 
 sand of the sea after darkness has once more settled 
 over the watery expanse. 
 
 The mighty billows are singing their weird songs as 
 the}' are rolling triumphantly over the sandy beach or in 
 angry mood are flinging themselves against the adaman- 
 tine precipices. 
 
 The heavens are dark with tempest, the roaring sea is 
 still darker, excepting where a phosphorescent gleam 
 here and there appears upon it, that adds desolation to 
 the scene. 
 
 No voice of the living reaches his ear, save the 
 screeching of the sea gull, riding the tempest, or perhaps 
 the agonizing cry of the distant mariner, wrecked on the 
 treacherous reef. 
 
 That corresponds with the feelings of his soul for dark 
 and dismal is his condition. 
 
A MEDITATION IN AUTUMN. 1 23 
 
 Here he finds himself a soUtary exile, 011 a barren 
 island, hurried away by the hand of injustice from all 
 that his noble soul holds most dear on earth, without 
 any hope ever to return to the scenes of love and life. 
 
 He looks once more over the desolate scene, anxious 
 for a ray of light, but as the night grows wilder and 
 darker, gloom deepens within his soul. 
 
 Ah ! shall he ever see heaven ? vShall the kingdoms of 
 the earth become the kingdoms of the Master ? 
 
 Abandoned as he stands here by men, ma}- the I^ord 
 not also have forsaken him ? 
 
 Is it possible that the gospel shall reach all the nation 
 of the earth, when one messenger after another is driven 
 from the field of usefulness ? 
 
 Oh ! could he have only one glimpse of the many 
 mansions promised to him by the Master, and see all the 
 nations of the earth dwelling together in love at the end 
 of time, how his heart would leap with joy, how it would 
 invigorate his waning powers ! 
 
 And now, as he stands there so lonely and forsaken, 
 his eye detects a strange light, quivering among the 
 clouds — it expands, it shoots out its rays in every 
 direction, more beautiful in effulgence, than our most 
 glorious Aurora Borealis. The Apostle looks on with 
 breathless attention, for never did he behold such a 
 grand color display. 
 
 And now gradually the raj^s are contracting — they 
 assume distinct outline and form — they appear as build- 
 ings, fortresses and gates, standing out in bold and 
 glorious relief against the tempestuous heavens. 
 
 It is a City of Light — the Apostle recognizes it — it is 
 old Jesusalem, the dwelling place of God, the home of 
 his soul— but renovated here and with a luminous celes- 
 tial atmosphere about it. 
 
 It dazzles his eyes — the buildings of the walls of it are 
 as Jasper and the city is as pure gold, like unto clear 
 glass, and the foundations of the walls of the city are 
 garnished with all manner of precious stones, with Jas- 
 
124 A MEDITATION IN AUTUMN. 
 
 per, Sapphire, Chalcedony, Emerald, Sardonyx, Topaz, 
 Chrysoprasus, Jacinth and Amethyst. 
 
 The gates, too, are of wonderful color and construction, 
 each one apparently made out of one colossal pearl. There 
 is no temple in it, but instead of it, something so beauti- 
 ful, so extraordinarily grand, that it cannot be described 
 — it is the Lord God, the Almighty and the Lamb, 
 
 And now there comes sounding from the dark heavens 
 a voice, that drowns the tumult of tempestuous conflict. 
 ' ' Behold the Tabernacle of God is with men and he will 
 dwell with them. And God shall wnpe away all tears 
 from their eyes and there shall be no more death, neither 
 sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain, 
 for the former things are passed away." And this is 
 said in addition to it, that the nations of them which are 
 saved shall walk in the light of it and that the gates of 
 it shall not be shut at all by day, because there shall be 
 no night there and there in no wise shall enter into it 
 anything that defileth, neither whatsoever worketh 
 abomination or maketh a lie. 
 
 The Apostle stands there overwhelmed with wonder- 
 ment and aw^e and once more he strains ear and eye to 
 hear and see more of the wonderful scene. 
 
 But — this is all, for the beautiful picture vanishes as 
 suddenly as it appeared and once more darkness is around 
 him and the Mediterranean continues the wild cadences 
 of his song. 
 
 But our exile is satisfied now ; his future home is 
 secured and God's Kingdom shall stand forever. The 
 everlasting arms of his Maker are about him, '* he will 
 fear no evil, though he has to walk through the valley of 
 the shadow of death." It is all light in his soul and he 
 mingles his exultant strains with the music of the tem- 
 pest. " Let the heavens rejoice and let the earth be 
 glad, let the sea roar with the fulness thereof." 
 
A HUSBAND AND FATHER S I.AMENT, 1 25 
 
 Oh blessed light of Patmos Isle, 
 Shine round about us all the while, 
 For darker, wilder grows the night, 
 As time pursues its steady flight. 
 
 The gorgeous hues of woods around 
 The crickets low, monotonous sound, 
 The withering flowers around us tell, 
 A story which we know too well. 
 
 Thus die our hopes, our loves, our powers, 
 Nothing but loss and death are ours, 
 And soon o'er our sepulchral knoll, 
 In fall unheeded strangers stroll. 
 
 Remind us, ever exiles here. 
 Of yonder home, the soul's true sphere. 
 Then we, in autumn's red display 
 Greet the sweet dawn of heavenly day. 
 
 Malcolm, N. Y., Sept. 24, '96. 
 
 A HUSBAND AND FATHER'S LAMENT. 
 
 In youth's sweet, happy morning 
 There landed on my shore. 
 An angel, fair and lovely, 
 With happiness in store. 
 She spread a heaven around me. 
 But then there came a call. 
 "It is my Master's summons," 
 She said and left us all. 
 
 "Remember me," she whispered. 
 And in my hands I hold 
 Four flowers of her affection. 
 And here my tale is told. 
 I take now these mementoes 
 And press them to my heart. 
 But thorns are on the roses 
 And they do pain impart. 
 
In the forest. 
 
 I sit beneath the shady bowers, 
 The branches closing o'er my head, 
 
 The graceful ferns beside nie standing, 
 The dewdrops on my grassy bed. 
 
 I listen to the soft breeze's whisper 
 
 And to its intermittent sigh, 
 And where it roves among the poplars, 
 
 And where it shakes the leaves near by. 
 
 I hear the blue-jays lively talking. 
 The robins chirping in the trees, 
 
 The murmuring brooklet on the hillside, 
 Which whispers words of love and peace. 
 
 I love to muse 'mid forest shadows, 
 Where days of old come back to me. 
 
 For as a child I sought the bowers, 
 With nature and with God to be. 
 
 And the sweet rays of love's fair morning 
 
 Again reflect upon my way. 
 For in the woods I first heard warblings 
 
 Which sounded strange, but merrily. 
 
 Yea, often in the wood recesses, 
 
 When the cool evening breeze would rove, 
 My hand, her tender, soft hand holding. 
 
 We wandered through the silent grove. 
 
 Alas ! our sun eclipsed at noontide 
 
 And howling storms disturbed our place ; 
 
 It left no twilight on our heaven, 
 For ever dark grew life's sweet rays. 
 
 That early peace is lost forever, 
 
 Lost on the swelling flood of time ; 
 
 But when I muse in the lone forest 
 Methinks I breathe yet in that clime. 
 
 126 
 
THE PATRIOT'S FAVORITE HAUNTS. 
 
 Say, John, I've been to Switzerland, 
 
 The land with mountains high. 
 
 With tow'ring, snow capped pinacles, 
 
 Beneath a sunny sky. 
 
 I've seen and heard the cataract. 
 
 Leaping from dizzy heights. 
 
 And from a stately precipice 
 
 Feasted on lovely sights. 
 
 I've stood on Junkfrau's pearly brow. 
 
 Kingdoms before me spread. 
 
 Watching the grand and gorgeous scene 
 
 At dawn and at sunset. 
 
 I wandered on Geneva's shores, 
 
 Rich in historic lore, 
 
 And listened 'mid the solitudes. 
 
 To old Shaffhausen's roar. 
 
 I looked upon the Boden Sea, 
 
 'Mid scenes sweet and sublime. 
 
 And plucked the modest Alpine rose, 
 
 In Mount Blanc's cloudy clime. 
 
 Upon the solitary crag 
 
 I viewed from flowery vale, 
 
 The castle in its ruined state 
 
 And heard a mournful tale. 
 
 And on my journey to and fro, 
 
 Through many a foreign land, 
 
 I witnessed scenes and heard of deeds 
 
 Both beautiful and grand. 
 
 And now, I'm back again, my friend. 
 
 Yet, after all, I say. 
 
 This is the country of my choice, 
 
 And here I think to stay ; 
 
128 THE PATRIOT'S FAVORITR HAUNTS. 
 
 Here in this place, where I was reared, 
 How lovely smiles each scene, 
 The cr3'stal lake, the towering rock, 
 The widespread valley green. 
 They all know me and I know them. 
 The}' knew ni}- parents too, 
 And here amid their kindly smiles, 
 I to ni}^ manhood grew. 
 There stands the little country school, 
 I see the teacher yet 
 Frowning upon the older boys. 
 But calling me his pet. 
 And there I see the little church, 
 Where I was taught to pray. 
 By her, who in its hallowed shade, 
 To rest was laid away. 
 Oh ! memories of school and church. 
 Oh ! mountain, hill and dale. 
 Oh ! voices of my native land. 
 Repeat, repeat the tale. 
 Yes here I'll live and act and love 
 And serve my land and God. 
 I have enough of foreign lands, 
 Of wanderings abroad, 
 And when at last I leave these scenes 
 Obeying higher will, 
 
 Bring me then to that church-yard there, 
 There it is calm and still, 
 Then stands perhaps in years to come 
 There b}^ my grave a friend 
 And says, brushing away a tear, 
 I loved him to the end. 
 Brittou, Michigan. 
 
REQUIESCAT IN PACE. 
 
 nT=-mCATED TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER, THE REV. FRANCIS 
 ""^REDERUS PASTOR OF THE THIRD REFORMED CHURCH 
 AT PELLA, IOWA. DIED MAY 8TH, lhb6. 
 
 I found him weak and weary, 
 Bent down with grief and pain, 
 
 The thought occurred to me then 
 "This cannot long remain." 
 
 I found his spirit dreary, 
 
 A few good friends were near 
 To show sincere devotion. 
 
 Wiping away a tear. 
 His sight was weak and clouded, 
 
 His hand had lost its grip ; 
 I viewed with tearful vision, 
 
 The tempest beaten ship. 
 
 I took his hand and kissed it, 
 
 His loving son once more, 
 Trying in vain to anchor 
 
 The wreck on mortal shore. 
 
 My father felt my presence, 
 His drowsy soul grew bright ; 
 
 And a short conversation 
 Lit " up that clouded sight. 
 
 His interests awak'ning 
 
 Dwelt on the present day. 
 And sometimes to the past too. 
 
 His talk would drift away. 
 I told him of my dwelling 
 
 Near Mississippi's shore, 
 Where high hills, green and hazy, 
 
 Sweet smiles of nature wore. 
 
 129 
 
[30 REQUIRSCAT IN PACE. 
 
 A dwelling near a hillside, 
 
 Where God with nature dwelt ; 
 
 The charm of that idea, 
 His weary spirit felt. 
 
 "Oh! could I there," he muttered, 
 "Recline on nature's breast. 
 And have a humble mansion. 
 Enjoying peace and rest ! 
 
 " A foot of ground and cottage. 
 Your mother by my side, 
 A faithful child to aid us 
 In whom we can confide. 
 
 " To lay aside my calling 
 Of Savior of mankind. 
 Which has worn out my body 
 'T would be peace to my mind. 
 
 " And then, to drift wath calmness 
 Adown life's silent stream, 
 Tow^ard ni}^ Father's mansion. 
 The end of this wild dream." 
 
 I took his hand and kissed it. 
 His loving son once more, 
 
 And promised him free breathing 
 Near Mississippi's shore. 
 
 Then on his clouded visage 
 
 I saw a smile of joy ; 
 Hope flashed its beams upon it, 
 
 His sorrow^s to destroy. 
 
 L/ike in some wintry ev'ning, 
 When the sun's lessening ra}' 
 
 Breaks through the clouds of heaven 
 Bright'ning the end of dav. 
 
REQUIESCAT IN PACE. I3I 
 
 I left my father's bedside, 
 
 For he desired to sleep, 
 And soon I too, exhausted, 
 
 Sunk in a slumber deep. 
 
 Then came the golden morning 
 
 With songs of winged bands, 
 That woke me from my slumbers, 
 
 (For spring was in the lands) 
 
 I left my room and hastened 
 
 To greet ni}^ father's face, 
 Expecting him now stronger, 
 
 List'ning to nature's praise. 
 
 Alas ! my ardent wishes, 
 
 My hopes had been in vain, 
 His life was ebbing lower. 
 
 Caused by returning pain. 
 
 His speech grew weaker, fainter, 
 
 His eyelids courted sleep, 
 I feared the wTeck was drifting. 
 
 To unknown, dangerous deep. 
 
 I looked — his visage altered — 
 
 I heard a distant roar, 
 A billow came — and forward, 
 
 My father's ghost it bore. 
 
 My father has a dwelling 
 
 Remote from city roar. 
 From that retreat a driver 
 
 Calls for his slave no more. 
 
 His rich, kind-hearted Master, 
 
 Who knew about his grief. 
 Prepared for him a mansion, 
 
 To grant him great relief. 
 
13 2 REQUIESCAT IN PACE. 
 
 'Mid spring's fair, scenting flowers, 
 Beneath a dark oak tree, 
 
 A little, simple dwelling. 
 
 And foot of ground gave He. 
 
 It has no spacious chambers, 
 But peace and rest are there ; 
 
 For from that small inclosure 
 Has fled for aye all care. 
 
 No power on earth can trouble 
 God's servant any more, 
 
 The inmate scorns intruders 
 For bolted is the door. 
 
 Life's storms may freely gather, 
 And rave about that house, 
 
 Their tumult is not able 
 The sleeper to arouse. 
 
 Mine ej^es are looking higher. 
 My father's bliss I see. 
 
 Where love and truth are reigning 
 Throughout eternity. 
 
 I see a glorious mansion, 
 
 Upon a river shore, 
 'Mid hills of lasting verdure. 
 
 Where Spring blooms ever more. 
 
 No jealousy can reach it. 
 No foe disturb its peace, 
 
 No accident can shake it, 
 No sorrows or disease. 
 
 I feel relieved and easy. 
 
 His sufferings are o'er. 
 His home has sweeter hillside. 
 
 Than Mississippi shore. 
 
REQUIESCAT IN PACE. I33 
 
 He might have found a mansion 
 
 Upon that loveh' shore, 
 But peace I know could never 
 
 Shade any mortal's door. 
 
 I leave the dear old cottage, 
 
 Beside the black church spire ; 
 In former da^-s my beacon 
 
 When my life's sea grew dire. 
 
 No more mine eyes shall meet him 
 Who kept that lighthouse bright. 
 
 Its rays no more can guide me 
 In other future night. 
 
 My trusty beacons vanish, 
 
 And wider grows the sea ; 
 Oh ! Lord of sea and tempest, 
 
 I nestle close to Thee ! 
 
 May be, I'll see that spire there 
 
 Again some future day, 
 Looming up in the distance 
 
 'Mid trees and flowers of May. 
 
 And when I see it pointing. 
 
 Faithfully to the sky, 
 'T will show my father's mansion 
 
 Reared on a rock on high. 
 
 And gazing o'er the city 
 
 Where roofs and church s])ires rise, 
 I hail the distant bowers 
 
 Where father's body lies. 
 
 Farewell ! ni}- father's mansion 
 
 Beneath the green oak tree. 
 Farewell ! unshackled spirit. 
 
 Father, I come to thee ! 
 
TIME AND ETERNITY. 
 
 Within a large and fine bazar, 
 I happened once to stand, 
 'Mid strange and curious articles, 
 Wrought by artistic hand. 
 
 W^ith sounds confused, in cases fair, 
 Which startled ear and eye. 
 The clocks on exhibition stood, 
 Drawing the passers b}-. 
 
 With curious eyes I gazed upon 
 The noisy company, 
 With tardy tongue and simple words. 
 They told the hour to me. 
 
 I asked about their different ways. 
 The salesman told me all, 
 How many hours and da3'S they ran, 
 The large ones and the small. 
 
 One night and day the small ones ran, 
 And many he had on hand ; 
 Some swung the pendulum a week, 
 W^hich were in great demand. 
 
 The winding up of some he had 
 Bach fortnight to renew, 
 And of such ornamental works, 
 He kept only a few. 
 
 But one he had, and only one. 
 
 With such a powerful spring, 
 
 That it for weeks would push the hands. 
 
 Causing the hours to ring. 
 
 I thanked the salesman for his words. 
 His information kind. 
 And left his fine establishment, 
 Which had enriched mv mind. 
 
 134 
 
TIME AND ETERNITY. I35 
 
 II. 
 
 Within a great and fine bazar, 
 
 Once wond'ring I did stand, 
 
 'Mid strange and curious articles, 
 
 Wrought by artistic hand. 
 
 With sounds confused, and beauteous forms. 
 
 Which interests the mind 
 
 Upon the wide floor of this world, 
 
 Again clocks I did find. 
 
 The little ones, the larger ones, 
 The common ones, the fine, 
 The noisy ones, the quiet ones. 
 Arranged in one great line. 
 
 And when I looked with curious eyes 
 
 On this strange company, 
 
 Watching their movements, strength and 
 
 power, 
 The maker came to nie. 
 
 He told me all about his works. 
 
 Their movements and their ways, 
 
 How long each one could run its course. 
 
 Of years, of weeks and days. 
 
 And there they stood, those little ones. 
 With movements of an hour, 
 And there they were artistic ones. 
 With one week's running power. 
 
 And there were those running a year. 
 With labors wrought and care. 
 And others which were made to go. 
 For many years, though rare. 
 
 But in the corner of the shop, 
 A strange one did appear. 
 With slowly swinging pendulum. 
 Grinding the eightieth year. 
 
136 time; and eternity. 
 
 III. 
 
 I stood within a dreary house, 
 'Mid melanchoh' gloom, 
 Deep silence and a musty air 
 Pervaded the lone room. 
 
 No daylight, but a twilight strange, 
 Upon the place did fall, 
 Revealing a chaotic scene, 
 A desolated hall. 
 
 I saw the large extensive floors. 
 With glitt'ring fragments strewn, 
 The remnants of artistic works, 
 A melancholy ruin. 
 
 So, standing there, lone and forlorn, 
 A shudder shook m}' frame, 
 For w^hen I viewed the dreary hall, 
 A strange voice called my name. 
 
 I looked around, and lo, the man, 
 Who spoke to me before 
 About the movements of the clocks, 
 I gazed on in his store. 
 
 Again addressed me, but in words. 
 Strange to a mortal ear ; 
 ' ' I will explain to thee this view, 
 Which causes thee to fear. 
 
 "Thou standest in the self -same store, 
 Which pleased thine eye and ear, 
 In which the clock-works, small and large, 
 So noisy did appear. 
 
 " I wound up all my instruments. 
 Some hundred years ago, 
 And then, quitting the noisy scene, " 
 I let each time piece go. 
 
TIME AND ETERNITY. I37 
 
 The rare ones ran their months and years, 
 The others, weeks and days, 
 And one made for the eightieth year, 
 With slow and measvired pace. 
 
 Then silence fell upon the scene, 
 Soon followed by decay, 
 And every clock fell to the floor. 
 Time's miserable prey. 
 
 The dust of years fell on the glass. 
 Which kept the day outside. 
 And twilight gleamed upon the scene. 
 And man forgot the site. 
 
 ' Thou art my workmanship, O man, 
 A time-piece of my store, 
 And soon thy course is also rvm, 
 Like those who went before." 
 
 I wept, and when my tears did flow 
 
 I heard the nations cry, 
 
 Wailing and sobbing ever3'where 
 
 Because mankind must die. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I looked upon a glorious scene, 
 On an Elysian shore, 
 Unclouded day smiled on the world, 
 And night appeared no more. 
 
 And rapturous scenes before me stood, 
 Grand, calm, forever fresh, 
 Filling my soul with a delight 
 Which words cannot express. 
 
 Such glorious things mine eyes beheld 
 As earth could never show. 
 Strange beings clad in robes of light. 
 Were fluttering to and fro. 
 
138 TIME AND ETERNITY. 
 
 And habitated was the land, 
 With human beings, too, 
 But with such wonderful fine looks, 
 As I on earth ne'er knew. 
 
 The loveliest children I did see, 
 In joyful innocence. 
 And perfect man and womanhood. 
 With classic countenance. 
 
 And age was there, with snow-white locks. 
 But strong and dignified ; 
 For youthful blood was in their hearts 
 Which every waste supplied. 
 
 The frailties and infirmities, 
 Which cling to every age, 
 Had disappeared, and e'en a child. 
 Had wisdom like a sage. 
 
 No miseries or blasted hopes. 
 
 No malady I found. 
 
 No tears I saw, no groans I heard. 
 
 No melancholy sound. 
 
 No wrath was there, no enmity. 
 No discord and no pride. 
 There perfect harmony prevailed, 
 And sweet peace did abide. 
 
 And Death, who strikes at every heart, 
 Th' unconquerable foe, 
 Unnerved by mightier warrior, 
 Could here not deal one blow. 
 
 The mother here her children found, 
 
 The child a parent dear. 
 
 Husbands their wives, the wife her spouse, 
 
 The dead ones all were here. 
 
TIME AND ETERNITY. 139 
 
 O ! wondrous land ! I did exclaim, 
 
 country, dear to me ! 
 Let me forever here abide, 
 A citizen of thee ! 
 
 And then the maker of the clocks 
 Again appeared to me. 
 The self-same man, but altered much, 
 For dressed in light was he. 
 
 Said he, "My shop restored, you see, 
 With clocks transformed and grand, 
 Whose pendulums forever swing. 
 Moved by eternal hand." 
 
 "Place me there too," I did exclaim, 
 " My Maker, for I fear 
 
 To meet the crushing arm of death, 
 
 Which erelong must appear." 
 
 "Fear not," he said, "here is thy place, 
 Where life I will bestow, 
 If faith and charity and hope, 
 Have guided thee below." 
 
 1 asked him when my pendulum, 
 For the last time should swing, 
 That I might reach the happy land, 
 A bird with weary wing. 
 
 " There is thy time, " he said, and then 
 He pointed to a tower. 
 I saw a dial on it and 
 A hand that showed the hour. 
 
 But 't was in vain for me to read 
 The figures, which he showed to me, 
 And why should I attempt to know. 
 The Dial of Eternity ! 
 
CROOKED PATHWAYS. 
 
Two IN One House.* 
 
 He was a man sound in his faith, 
 
 Her piety one pleased ; 
 He to each point of dogma clung, 
 
 She was true in the least. 
 
 He bore indeed a good report 
 
 With people of his class ; 
 She with the nectar of her love 
 Her house and world did bless. 
 
 He was a man in Scripture versed 
 The great precept she knew ; 
 
 He was theologist profound, 
 She child of God and true. 
 
 Sermons he judged, and on his face 
 
 He his emotions wore. 
 No heresy came from his lips. 
 
 She was the silent doer. 
 
 He walked his way in gloomy mood, 
 She journeyed on 'mid light ; 
 
 He used to wear an extra look, 
 No rimple dinnned her sight. 
 
 He closed and opened Heaven at will. 
 With arguments, short and cold ; 
 
 There was a heaven within her soul 
 Which her expression told. 
 
 He did bewail the sinful heart, 
 
 (And very true and good) ; 
 But those who knew her daily walk. 
 Admired her generous mood. 
 By author of the Weathercock, translated from the Dutch. 
 
 143 
 
144 PRIVATE OPINION. 
 
 He had his meetings day by day, 
 
 For children and Chinese ; 
 Meanwhile she her own household reared, 
 
 Conveying joy and peace. 
 
 She had her life of faith, but he 
 
 By formal creed did run. 
 Could here the saying be applied, 
 
 Husband and wife are one? 
 
 PRIVATE OPINION. 
 
 THE PREACHER. 
 An educated ministry 
 What nonsense say my friends, 
 God gives the wisdom to the man 
 Whom He as preacher sends. 
 
 Our man (and who talks more than he ?) 
 Took ne'er a college course. 
 What do we care about the head, 
 The heart must be the source. 
 
 Oh ! there's the mystery, I said, 
 The sermon which I read, 
 So strange, incomprehensible, 
 Was made without a head. 
 
 ^VHAT TIME IS IT? 
 
 What time is it?" asked wicked John. 
 I pointed to the tower. 
 Where guilded hands on dial blue 
 Did indicate the hour. 
 
 He smiled. Said he, "Can anything 
 L/ike that thy soul beguile ? 
 There is no clock my dear old friend 
 Behind that hand and dial." 
 
THE TABLES TURNED. 145 
 
 *' Pretension," said I, "on God's house! 
 
 You must mistaken be." 
 "I'm not," said he, "the thing is there 
 
 To serve as seal you see." 
 
 I said no more, I saw the point 
 And prayed the day to see, 
 When in the house of God no more 
 Could dwell a Pharisee. 
 
 RATHER COMPLICATED. 
 
 "Thy kingdom come," prays Mrs. Jones, 
 "Amen," her sisters say, 
 "Come let us call the little ones. 
 Whom Christ blest in his day." 
 
 But in the home of Mrs. Jones 
 No little ones were born. 
 And her sweet, pious lad}^ friends 
 Maternity do scorn. 
 
 But still they call Him I^ord, who blest 
 The children in his day 
 Who said "they are my kingdom" and. 
 For that kingdom they pray. 
 
 THE TABLES TURNED 
 
 Our magistrates our servants are. 
 No drivers o'er a people free ; 
 They execute the laws for us, 
 And over them as lords stand we. 
 
 I look upon another scene. 
 The servant is no longer free, 
 And countless masters lash his back, 
 Here in this land of liberty. 
 
Surprise. 
 
 Not long ago I heard outside 
 
 A powerful, hollow voice, 
 I thought a cow had broken loose. 
 
 Making that stirring noise. 
 
 But when I looked upon the scene, 
 
 I could not help to laugh, 
 For that loud, penetrating voice, 
 
 Was uttered by a calf. 
 
 Did you e'er Mr. Self Praise hear, — 
 
 That personage of fame ? 
 The name, which I would give the man, 
 
 Is calf, the young cow's name. 
 
 THE NEW PASTOR. 
 
 The minister will leave his church, 
 He says, "It grows too cold," 
 
 He turns back upon the flock. 
 And leaves the fold. 
 
 The minister has a new church, 
 
 A fine and warm spot, 
 
 Some day 
 
 He may 
 
 Retrace his steps and say 
 
 The pot 
 
 Is hot. 
 
 Away, away ! 
 
 146 
 
Self-esteem. 
 
 On solitary mountain slopes, 
 The blooming Cactus grows, 
 Though on the isolated plant. 
 No man his care bestows. 
 
 You place it in a park, 
 
 Or on the level plains. 
 
 It grows and blooms unchanged. 
 
 Its features it retains. 
 
 Where Providence ma}^ please to plant us, 
 In life obscure, or fame may crown us, 
 May virtue everyw^here attend us. 
 And vain pretention ne'er confound us. 
 
 And when a cruel hand might venture. 
 To crush our virtue or our name, 
 Let such a villiany not prosper. 
 But the assailant's rude hands maim. 
 
 Let such bad hearts at once feel keenly, 
 That we though with some flowers adorned. 
 Also possess the leaves beside them, 
 Which not in vain are sharply thorned. 
 
 THE CRITIC. 
 
 The lexicon reveals it all. 
 
 The speaker made a blunder. 
 
 He mispronounced that certain word 
 
 She tares his speech asunder. 
 
 My gaudy parrot," says the man, 
 It's right, I will do better, 
 But if you give me now a speech, 
 I will not mind a letter." 
 
THE MERRY-GO-ROUND. 
 
 Break down, our age of progress says, 
 , Break down that cursed partition. 
 Give woman liberty at last, 
 Man's glorious position. 
 
 The amazon's are dealing fast, 
 
 Their blows, the walls are crumbling, 
 
 The ballot box will soon be ours. 
 They shout, and men are grumbling. 
 
 Don't grumble says our happy Franz 
 Das machs ein glorious countree. 
 
 Mine wife will drive de plow again, 
 Und ich stay mit de pantry. 
 
 ENTERTAINING COMPANY. 
 
 I do enjoy a genuine joke, 
 
 Which like a sparkling rivulet, 
 
 Comes forth bubbling with grace and ease. 
 The stroller on its banks to please. 
 
 But I detest a formal jest. 
 
 Which like a muddy stream does flow. 
 Without good sense and without heart 
 
 A counterfeited laugh to start. 
 
 A parson's joke came forth at last. 
 It had a strange and dubious sound. 
 
 Some people laughed and others wept, 
 I thought, " w' hy such a gem not kept?' 
 
 I listened to his long-eared friend, 
 
 Whose noisy joke rang out one night, 
 
 I laughed, the joke came true and free, 
 I chose the latter 's cornpan}-. 
 
 148 
 
Make Both Ends Mhet. 
 
 Look there, that barkless tree, 
 
 How pitiful looks he, 
 
 With branches broken, bare. 
 
 And few leaves here and there. 
 
 Mischievous cow, stand back. 
 
 For thou hast caused the wreck, 
 
 Thy vermin covered hide. 
 
 Has spoiled thy country's pride. 
 
 Rub off that bark no more. 
 
 It leaves thee dirty, sore, 
 
 And murders in the end 
 
 Thy good and faithful friend ; 
 
 Be wiser arid decide. 
 
 To wash thy filthy hide 
 
 And then beneath this tree. 
 
 Sweet shade will strengthen thee. 
 
 Fault finding people say, 
 Pursue another way, 
 And let your preachers rest 
 It's far for you the best, 
 Mark, they point out for ye, 
 The stream of Calvary ; 
 Which purifies the soul 
 And makes you happy, whole : 
 Tr}^ this and you shall see, 
 Your preacher as a tree. 
 Beneath whose shade is rest. 
 And ye and he be blest. 
 
THE DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT. 
 
 The famous name of Dr. Quack, 
 Though somewhat on the wane, 
 
 Came at a sudden to a rise. 
 Caused by a rustic's brain. 
 
 One da}^ fat Mr. Simpleton, 
 
 A villager profound, 
 The bright philosopher of town. 
 
 Known for his judgment sound, — 
 
 Came down to have an interview 
 
 With clever Dr. Quack, 
 Since stomach, head, and liver were 
 
 Not on the proper track. 
 
 With measured steps he neared the house, 
 
 Ascended the broad step, 
 And gentlemanly gave the door 
 
 A philosophic rap. 
 
 Step in!" exclaimed a piping voice, 
 
 The voice of Mrs. Quack, 
 And in stepped Mr. Simpleton, 
 
 With decorated neck. 
 
 My name is Mr. Simpleton, 
 
 I came from cit}' Crone, 
 I am a merchant of that place, 
 
 To many people known." 
 
 Well, Mr. Simpleton, you here ! 
 
 How, good friend, is your health ? 
 Yes health is better, is it not 
 
 Than luxury and wealth ?" 
 
THE DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT. I51 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Quack, I just came down 
 To try your husband's skill, 
 Because for man}^ days and weeks, 
 I've felt so weak and ill." 
 
 'Too bad, my friend, that I find you 
 In such unhappy state. 
 But those who seek my husband's skill 
 Have never come too late." 
 
 ' That's what I thought, dear Mrs. Quack, 
 And so don't mind the fool. 
 Who calls a man like Dr. Quack, 
 'Death's well-selected tool.'" 
 
 * That's right, my Mr. Simpleton, 
 But sir, please pardon me. 
 How long have you been suffering thus 
 And what's your malady?" 
 
 ' Oh ! Mrs. Quack, this stomach here. 
 Feels like a heavy weight. 
 And then m}- head when I arise 
 Is in a dizzy state. 
 
 ' The}^ say I take too hearty meals. 
 Though but two pounds of meat, 
 I mostly at my dinner time 
 With other victuals eat. 
 
 ' My ankles too, cause often pain, 
 They tell me, it is gout. 
 Caused by much rich, abundant food, 
 Which I deny right out." 
 
 ' O, never mind, my husband's art 
 Will end your suffering soon. 
 And though he is from home just now, 
 He will return this noon. 
 
152 THE DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT. 
 
 " He's awful busy in these days, 
 And hardly takes a rest, 
 For callers gather here each day, 
 From north, south, east and west. 
 
 " He never lost a patient yet, 
 
 Though hard the case may be, 
 And a consumptive, nearly goue, 
 Not long ago, healed he. 
 
 " And, what is yet the strangest thing, 
 Before one tells his case. 
 He sees your inward malady, 
 And tells it to your face. 
 
 " That is, you know the surest sign. 
 Of his ability. 
 And every patient finds relief — 
 If not too far, vou see." 
 
 Behind the small adjacent door, 
 
 His ear put to a crack. 
 And list'ning to the sweet converse. 
 
 Stands clever Dr. Quack. 
 
 That's right," he thinks, "I've caught the 
 bird. 
 
 That's all I want to know. 
 And now my precious hour has come, 
 
 My knowledge him to show. 
 
 I'll tell him all about his health. 
 
 His stomach, head and joint, 
 And he will never doubt a bit. 
 
 That I have struck the point. 
 
 I'll take my overcoat and hat, 
 
 My medicines and case. 
 And out I'll step and in I'll come. 
 
 With weary looks and pace." 
 
THE DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT. I53 
 
 So famous Dr. Quack appears, 
 
 A Doc' from head to feet, 
 With wisdom in his twinkling e3'e, 
 
 Good Simpleton to meet. 
 
 He walks around his house a while, 
 
 To calm his twisting nerve, 
 And enters then the kitchen door, 
 
 With dignified reserve. 
 
 Good afternoon, sir ! how's your health. 
 
 Have you been waiting long? 
 You know I had this afternoon 
 
 Some visits to prolong." 
 
 Off goes his coat, off goes his hat. 
 
 And brushing back the hair, 
 The noble form of Dr. Quack 
 
 Is ready for th' affair. 
 
 Here is my ofi&ce, friend," he says, 
 " Step in and stay awhile." 
 He feels his pulse, he views his tongue. 
 His patient to beguile. 
 
 The learned Doc' reflects a while. 
 
 And then, with face profound, 
 Tells trembling Mr. Simpleton : 
 " Your malady I've found 
 
 Your stomach, friend, so heavy feels. 
 
 After your daily meals, 
 And in the morning when you rise, 
 
 Your head so dizzy feels. 
 
 About your ankles, you feel pain, 
 
 Which often is severe. 
 And you are oft prevented from 
 
 In public to appear." 
 
154 THE DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT. 
 
 " Well, Dr. Quack, I am surprised. 
 For such is just the case. 
 And though I doubted somewhat first, 
 I say you're worth the praise." 
 
 " O, Laud, my friend, I do not need, 
 L/et facts forever speak. 
 And facts have spoken hitherto, 
 For my advice they seek. 
 
 " But listen to my counsel now, 
 When I also prepare 
 A bottle, full of medicines, 
 Your poor wreck to repair. 
 
 " Take heed now, not to use big meals, 
 And take a little beef. 
 Take half a pound, instead of two, 
 And this will bring lelief. 
 
 " E)at never when you go to bed. 
 And do abstain from grease, 
 And you will soon be well again, 
 Enjoying health and ease." 
 
 " Thank you," says Mr. Simpleton, 
 And leaves a large reward. 
 And with his bottle, full of stuff. 
 Repairs to his resort. 
 
 He takes some scantier meals, each day. 
 
 According to tli' advice. 
 Washing them down with Doc's surplus, 
 
 Faithfully each day thrice. 
 
 Fat Simpleton is well again 
 And he has raised the Doc, 
 
 And sick, from every clime, they say 
 Now to his office flock. 
 
THE DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT. 1 55 
 
 And when the sick come home again, 
 
 They all laud Dr. Quack, 
 Yes puzzled, but the doctor knows, 
 
 The old door with the crack. 
 
 Stupidity and wicked art, 
 
 Go often hand in hand. 
 Invading many an honest nook, 
 
 In our good glorious land. 
 
 They e'en come in the sacred place, 
 Where truth sets up his shrine. 
 
 Raising their empty phantoms there. 
 And earnestness declines. 
 
 Poor multitudes, with ardent zeal, 
 
 Before such idols bow, 
 E'en men, whose wisdom seemed profound, 
 
 Their faith in fools avow. 
 
 Ah, greatness often friendless dies, 
 
 And bombast often stays, 
 And genius lies often low. 
 
 While void heads get the praise. 
 
 O, truth and wisdom ! come combined, 
 
 Drive out this empty shade ! 
 Pour light upon the wretched form. 
 
 Then pseudo-fame will fade ! 
 
 Then every idol will come down. 
 And leaving them with shame, 
 
 Man will adore realit}^. 
 
 To which belongs the fame. 
 
THE Right man. 
 
 A change each year, or two they say, 
 Old things grow dull and dry, 
 
 A fresh new minister must come 
 To lead us to the sky. 
 
 The new one, polished, without fault, 
 His grand work has begun ; 
 
 Cast off somewhere but here renewed 
 Bright in the rising sun. 
 
 But fancy's day has passed again, 
 The night has come with storm. 
 
 He stands before his worshippers 
 A dark repulsive form. 
 
 The preachers come, the preachers go 
 
 Ivike actors of the day. 
 And people are amused to see 
 
 The variegating play. 
 
 They are amused, but then the heart, 
 Man's best part, empty stays. 
 
 That needs for beautifying growth 
 The "Ancient One of Days." 
 
 Prudence. 
 
 Our noble thoughts expressed in words. 
 
 Meant to unseat the wicked, 
 May often for a palace car, 
 
 The devil give free ticket. 
 
 Know how you speak, and what you sa}- 
 
 That is a precious lesson, 
 Consider time and circumstance. 
 
 There would I lay the stress on. 
 
 156 
 
The Pot and the Kettle. 
 
 A Britton to a Dutchman says, 
 Both orators in English, 
 One with the tongue of Manchester 
 The other with Dutch finish. 
 
 ' Your brogue my friend has spoiled your speech, 
 But's easy to detect it, 
 You listen to this Phonograph, 
 And then you may correct it." 
 
 'I hear it," says the Dutchman, "and 
 I am m}- fault confessing, 
 But I am not a selfish man. 
 Here let us share the blessing." 
 
Notes. 
 
 " LiTTivE Mary." — My sister Mary was an amiable 
 child of eight and died of a violent disease when our 
 parents were on a visit to people among whom my father 
 had labored as a gospel minister. I was first attacked 
 by the plague and hardly had I recovered when it took 
 hold of her with fatal result. So suddenly the calamity 
 came, that our parents could not return in time to be 
 present at her burial, which according to law had to be 
 attended to within twelve hours after death. 
 
 "On the Doorstep of Virginia." — A beautiful 
 account of this occurrence is given by Ella Basset 
 Washington in the Century Magazine, vol. 43, April, 
 1892. 
 
 "The Weather-Cock." — (Haantje von de Toreu). 
 These lines are a translation of a fragment of the popu- 
 lar Holland Poem or " Haantje von de Toren " by P. de 
 Genestet, a minister of the Remonstrant Church of the 
 city of Delft, who died some thirty years ago in the prime 
 of life. The poem is a dedication to the memory of his 
 estimable wife, who died young, a victim of consumption, 
 and whose mental conflict under the trying circumstances 
 of the disease, which ended in her sweet resignation to 
 the Divine will, are pathetically expressed in it. 
 
 "How A Bandit set Things in Order."— Jakob 
 Emmers, who lived in Friesland (oldFrisia) Netherlands 
 during the latter part of the preceding century, appears 
 to have been an extraordinar}^ character among the 
 depredator}' fraternit}-, having followed his illegal voca- 
 tion as it seems more for the fun than for the profit that 
 was in it, and the stories of his many exploits which 
 partook often of a humorous nature, are still related 
 among the peasantry of that country. Although he 
 committed many robberies which landed him once or 
 twice in the penitentiary, he was naturally of a benevo- 
 lent disposition and never committed a violent deed. 
 During the latter part of his life he reformed became a 
 Christian and good citizen and died as such, bemourned 
 by those who knew him. 
 
 "Rosa" (Roosje). — The author of this poem was 
 Jakob Bellam}', a distinguished Dutch poet, born in 
 Vissingen, Nov. 12, 1757, and died March 11, 1786. His 
 
 158 
 
NOTES. 159 
 
 parents were very poor and he was indebted for his 
 education to the patronage of a clergyman and other 
 persons who had seen and admired the patriotic effusions 
 of his Vjoyish muse and who subscribed to send him to 
 the University of Utrecht. 
 
 Here talents already marked in B, were devoted chiefly 
 to poetry, though his benefactors had hoped that he 
 would devote himself to theology. His first sentimental 
 and anacreontic poems published at Amsterdam in 1782 
 were followed by a series of earnest patriotic poems 
 (Vaderlandsche Gezangen) and in the same year, a third 
 volume, full of merit (1785). A collected edition of his 
 works appeared at Harlem ( 1826) but it does not contain 
 his most popular poem, " Roosje," here translated. 
 
 Bellamy was possessed of a glowing spirit and fancy, 
 as well as a fine taste and ease in composition. He 
 deservedly ranks as one of the chief restorers of National 
 Literature. He died, being not yet 30 years old, with 
 the brightest prospects of life before him. — Chambers'' 
 Encyclopedia. 
 
 " Batavia AI.IAS TRANSVAI.1A. " — " Clandius Civilis," 
 leader of the ancient Batavians in their revolt against the 
 Romans. 
 
 " Spanish Python," Tyranny of Spain over the Nether- 
 lands overthrown by a rebellion of its inhabitants which 
 lasted eighty years. 
 
 "Albion, France and German States." Memorable 
 struggle of the Republic of the United Provinces with 
 the combined forces of England, France and the Bishops 
 of Munster and Cologne, resulting in the victory of the 
 former. Peace concluded at Nymegen. 
 
 " Freedom's Charter." Constitution of the United 
 Provinces which the Americans consulted in the forma- 
 tion of their 's after the revolution of 1776. 
 
 " Across the Vaal." Transvaal Republic, founded by 
 descendants of the Holland Colonists. 
 
 " Laing's Neck," where the Transvalers repulsed the 
 English, 
 
 " Johannestown." Johannsburg, where the English 
 free-footer Jameson attempted to overthrow the Trans- 
 vaal Republic but failed, was captured and imprisoned. 
 
 "Midday Drkams in the Mississippi Vai.i.ey." — 
 This story is founded on the discovery of the remains of a 
 French fort found a few years ago near the town of 
 Templean on the Mississippi, which was thought to stand 
 in connection with the journeys of the old voyagers and 
 
l6o NOTES. 
 
 the missionary enterprises of the Jesuit fathers. The 
 Indian graves on the Mississippi bhiff furnished the rest 
 of the material. 
 
 " Oleander." — A young girl, called Hero, found her 
 lover's body washed ashore after a storm. She buried it 
 on the beach, beneath an Oleander bush and there spent 
 her days in weeping. 
 
 A stranger heard her cries as she repeated her lover's 
 name, O, Leander ! O, Leander ! He heard her history 
 and as he took along a shoot of the bush as a memento, 
 he called it henceforth Oleander. — Bayard Taylor. 
 
 " Herwijnen's Tragedy." — Some forty years ago, a 
 terrific thunderstorm passed on a certain Sunday over the 
 village of Herwijnen in the province of Gelderland, 
 Netherlands. The lightning struck the ancient church, 
 when the service was in progress and killed the popular 
 and eloquent preacher of the place. The minister had a 
 presentment of his near at hand death and on a certain 
 day as he walked out with his little boy to a hill near the 
 town, he said to the child, pointing toward Herwijnen's 
 church, " my dear boy, there your papa has preached the 
 Word for many a year, but it will not be long any more, 
 and so, when you come here again you will say, there 
 father used to preach and there he is buried. I have the 
 story from my mother's lips, who well remembers the 
 sad incident. Last week as a heavy thunderstorm passed 
 over our place, it reminded me of the tragedy, and as it 
 has left a profound impression on me from childhood, I 
 endeavored to put the stor}- in verse, and these lines are 
 the result. 
 
 " Sounding Board." — A kind of canopy over the old 
 fashioned octagonal pulpit, once used in the country and 
 still used in the Catholic and Episcopal churches among 
 us, but universal in Europe. 
 
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