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Slf^ Jtrst Qlljrtstmaa ^tft 
 
 POEMS AND PROSE 
 PASTELS 
 
 iCillian l^artman 3nl|nann 
 
 No distant deity shall man sue 
 
 When God in man shall measure true — 
 
 THE MYERS PRINTING COMPANY 
 
 DENVER, COLO. 
 
 1908 
 
LIBRARY otCUNGRESS 
 
 Two Come!- Received 
 DEC n 1803 
 
 OLass G^ aXc. rto, 
 
 
 Copyright, November, 1908, 
 By The Author. 
 
SpbtratP^ to 
 Ir, Salpli iSl^nrnburg 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Portrait of the Author Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The First Christmas Gift 9 
 
 "BoFE Sati'fied" II 
 
 A Tear for Bob 12 
 
 He's Swinging a Sweetheart, Too 14 
 
 A Great Day at Rico 16- 
 
 DowN IN the Mold 18 
 
 A Floral Message 19 
 
 A Spring Pome 20 
 
 Gentleman Bill and Chipper Min 21 
 
 Earth's Divinest Love 24 
 
 When Their Prophet Came 26 
 
 A Sweet Encore 28 
 
 Only Asleep 29 
 
 "O, We So Lonesome" 30 
 
 On State Street (Chicago) 32 
 
 Love's Harp Has a Broken String 33 
 
 The Kingdom of Heaven 34 
 
 An Autumn Picture 36 
 
 Eyes Speak True 37 
 
 Sunrise on San Diego Bay 38 
 
 To My Princess Eva 39 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Not a Dream 40 
 
 To Walter Brisbane 42 
 
 Faith Restored 43 
 
 The Christ of the New Century 44 
 
 L'Amour 46 
 
 My Rose of Eternity 47 
 
 The Capture of Aguinaldo 48 
 
 The Psychic 50 
 
 To My Virgin 51 
 
 With Thee 52 
 
 I'd Come to Thee 53 
 
 Sisters of Mercy 54 
 
 Grief 55 
 
 Our Mary 56 
 
 My Doggy's Dead 58 
 
 A Large Standing Army the Hope of the World . 59 
 
 Kisses That 1 Must Keep 62 
 
 Phila Bliven 63 
 
 Hail to the Cross of Life 64 
 
 Bring Me a Blossom From Paradise 68 
 
 Mutations of the TvIermaid 70 
 
 Be Natural 75 
 
 Jealousy 78 
 
 Reward and Punishment 80 
 
 What Am I? 82 
 
 Let the Soul Shine Through 84 
 
 Christmas Thorns 86 
 
iPtrat OII|rtatmaa 
 
®I|f Jtrat arijrtBtmaa (Sift 
 
 DINTEEN centuries mark the goal 
 Since God gave earth a perfect soul, 
 A soul in harmony with the spheres, 
 A heart in touch with mortal tears, 
 A Human Harp divinely strung. 
 With purest notes from the ages wrung. 
 That the lives of men might find accord 
 With the heavenly key of the Holy Word. 
 
 But alas! the note a few have found. 
 Is overwhelmed v/ith discordant sound: 
 To the Angel's herald of precious peace 
 That should bring of woe a sure surcease. 
 And turn our hearts' good will to men. 
 We cry: "To arms! On, charge again! 
 We must have place and pelf and power. 
 Before our lines the weak must cower!" 
 
 "Press on! Crush out! and thrust aside! 
 That we may sate our princely pride; 
 Aye, let our poorer brothers plod. 
 Misprised that they are sons of God, 
 That not a treach'rous murmur may 
 Interrupt our imperial sway. 
 Let us gorge our greed, and lust, and spite!" 
 And God's good gift is forgotten quite. 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 Alas! that the gift God planned so well 
 Should minors play in a seething hell. 
 Accompanied by a loathsome song 
 From the selfish throats of a demon throng. 
 Ah! the maddening strain and the wailing sharp 
 With which men mock this Heavenly Harp, 
 Would tempt the God of the universe 
 To give to man an endless curse. 
 
 But "Mercy!" we cry to the All-seeing One, 
 Who gave us His only begotten Son; 
 "Mercy! Mercy! Let Him come again, 
 Love-illumined for erring men. 
 Bidding them store no treasures of earth 
 Lest they shall lose celestial birth; 
 Again let Him plead for me and you: 
 "Forgive them; they know not what they do." 
 
 10 
 
POEMS AND PROSE PASTELS. 
 
 /y^AMA, gi' me piece o' bread, 
 ^^ An' butter it on each side; 
 An' cut it in two, p'ease. 
 
 For I want to 'vide; 
 'Ere's another kid out there. 
 An' he's hungry as 'at bear 
 In 'at story 'at you read. 
 
 Say, I give my harp f'r a ball; 
 
 It 'uz full o' sand, you know. 
 An' I was goody glad, 
 
 F'r the ol' thing wouldn' blow. 
 I cheated? Bofe was sati'fied. 
 Thanks; now I'll go an' 'vide, 
 
 F'r Jim's watin' in de hall. 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 A ©par for lob 
 
 ^^=nHEY called him "Bob" — jist plain "Bob": 
 ^^ "Greatest orator on earth," Beecher said — 
 
 "Most elykwent, livin' or dead;" 
 'N' all the fault they found with him 
 Wuz, he didn't b'leeve in God — 
 Aside from this a perfect man was Bob. 
 
 P'raps he'd been better on the side o' God, 
 
 But there's a lesson in practicin' an' not preachin'- 
 Better to be doin' and not so much o' teachin'; 
 
 I'd like to have his chance in the great to come. 
 Whose wife and childurn when he died 
 Clung to him, and cried, and cried. 
 
 Maybe the man couldn't see God 
 'Cause He was behind the wings 
 A-promptin' him to do these things; 
 
 Anyhow, it's cur'us, but it's true, 
 
 'At them 'at wished he'd talked fur God 
 Couldn't he'p droppin' a tear fur Bob. 
 
 They say he was good to the pore — 
 Give 'em all he could spare. 
 An' made others deal with 'em square. 
 
 What's bein' on the side o' God 
 If it ain't bein' good to the pore 
 And down-trod? Nothin', I'm shore. 
 
 12 
 
A TEAR FOR BOB. 
 
 Durn my ol' hat! ef I don't like ter see 
 Less pertendin', less show. 
 Less shoutin' God ! an' holler blow. 
 
 An' more actin' of Him, 
 
 Like was done by this man Bob, 
 Who 'clared he didn't b'leeve in God. 
 
 They call him "infidel," and chaff 
 
 About his "echo's wail," an' 'low 
 
 'At he heartily wishes by now 
 'At he'd a-told a diffur'nt tale. 
 
 But I'll bet my onery worth 
 
 He's content with his new berth. 
 
 He has his "silence of the dreamless dust" 
 They 'low, but I'll bet my heap 
 That Bob Ingersoll is not asleep. 
 
 "O, better!" Them's his last words; 
 
 And it's my belief he wuz viewin' of his lot. 
 Which wuz the slickest layout heaven's got. 
 
 It's a pity, they say, sich elykwence 
 To have bin on the opposin' side. 
 An' they could a-taken so much pride 
 
 If he'd a-talked o' heaven to come 
 Instead o'heaven here, sparin' the rod. 
 The pore, the weak, an' denyin' God. 
 
 But I reckon God knows best. 
 
 An' to show up well the hypocrite 
 
 He was never nary a misfit. 
 But filled the place and plan. 
 
 Did this man. Bob, 
 
 Intended by the great, good, God. 
 
 13 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 I^p a ^mtngmg a ^iuf?tl|eart, Son 
 
 l^ermoBa during 
 
 WINGING again with my sweetheart. 
 Where ages ago, in truth, 
 I gaily shared this old swing board 
 With the sweetheart of my youth. 
 
 Backward, forward, to and fro. 
 
 And now the cat must die. 
 While hurrying, scurrying past us go 
 
 Dead leaves with mournful sigh. 
 
 I drift and dream down mem'ry's stream. 
 
 And view the castles fair 
 That float about with filmy sheen. 
 
 For they were built of air. 
 
 But the voice of my sweetheart sitting near 
 Calls, "Mamma, le's swing some more,' 
 
 And back to the love-locked shores of here 
 I float from the wreck-strewn shore. 
 
 Yes, swinging again with my sweetheart 
 Where I swung in days of yore; 
 
 But that one was old enough to vote 
 And this one only four. 
 
 14 
 
HE S SWINGING A SWEETHEART, TOO- 
 
 Gaily we go, to and fro; 
 
 "O, mamma, le's not be 'frou." 
 No, no, my love, we'll swing "some more," 
 
 For he's swinging a sweetheart, too. 
 
 Ah, so like life: strong youth must soar, 
 Until wounded and weary it lies. 
 
 At last the pendulum swings no more. 
 And so the "old cat dies." 
 
 15 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 A (flr^at lag at Eiro 
 
 >^^HE story of a silken flag 
 ^"^ Recalls a less pretentious rag, 
 Not made of silk, but of bunting fine 
 As we could get at timber-line. 
 
 It was at Rico, in eighty-two. 
 
 We prepared a surprise for the boys in blue. 
 
 Who most brave and gallantly 
 
 Were captained then by General Klee. 
 
 Stars and stripes, stripes and stars. 
 Here we put Venus, there placed Mars, 
 Till all our states, like spheres, were there. 
 Shining from the azure square. 
 
 When, finished at last, our pretty banner 
 We went to present in this manner: 
 Very stealthily crept on snowshoes, all 
 Till we reached the old log armory hall. 
 
 Here we were met by a committee of three — 
 The tables were turned, and surprised were we. 
 For the Captain had learned, in some occult way 
 That we would "surprise" him on that day. 
 
 16 
 
A GREAT DAY AT RICO. 
 
 His guards were there in gorgeous dress. 
 That well set off their comeliness; 
 For, surely, in this proud young state 
 The Rico boys had not a mate 
 
 In beauty, bearing and chivalry, 
 
 (But now is matched by Co. K). ; 
 
 Lafe Pence was there and made our speech 
 
 Of presentation, and it seemed to each 
 
 Of the men he gave injunction strong. 
 To defend the right, put down the wrong; 
 I hope for silver he'll reach the flight 
 Of eloquence rare he did that night. 
 
 Now the time for a speech of acceptance. 
 Which briefly was, "Too full for utterance." 
 The captain's thoughts seemed then to cease. 
 Through a treach'rous memory, he forgot his "piece. 
 
 17 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 iouttt itt tl|p Moih 
 
 OEAR Mother, down in the mold, 
 Down in the cold: 
 I bring you a wild mountain rose. 
 Because it symbols your life: 
 The leaves, thy hope, e'er bouyant and rife. 
 The thorns, thy woes of bitter world strife; 
 
 The rare, fragrant rose. 
 
 In its wind-tos't throes. 
 Thy soul, which has flown from the mold 
 
 Down in the cold. 
 
 Dear heart, down in the cold, 
 
 Down in the mold! 
 Listen, Mother, from the realm of space: 
 My grief is heavy, though time doth go. 
 For I loved you so! I loved you so! 
 Ah, my soul is cleansed with tears that flow. 
 
 Yet I fain would trace 
 
 The love in your face, 
 Which sleepeth ever under the mold, 
 
 Down in the cold. 
 
 18 
 
POEMS AND PROSE PASTELS. 
 
 c 
 
 A Maxui ii^Bsagf 
 
 RIBUTE to friendship old! 
 
 Fragrance from celestial fold! 
 My lips greet the petals gay 
 Of your sweet bouquet. 
 
 Here's a dahlia of red, 
 A verbena of blue. 
 An astor of white. 
 And a rose of tender hue. 
 Gladiolus of pink. 
 Sweet mignonette, 
 A geranium red; 
 And, upon my soul! 
 To form a perfect whole. 
 Here's a cluster of tho'ts. 
 Read, too! 
 
 Tribute to dear, dead years! 
 
 Ye receive baptism of tears 
 
 From memory's fountain spray. 
 
 As it plays on you, sweet bouquet! 
 
 19 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 C5 
 
 A Spring l^otas 
 
 HE crows 'gins to caw. 
 
 And the skeeters 'gins to sing. 
 
 The ice 'gins to thaw. 
 
 And the frogs is on the wing. 
 
 The sagebrush 'gins to bud. 
 
 And the kildeer 'gins to scream. 
 
 The flies 'gins to buzz 
 
 And the grass is gittin' green. 
 
 There's water in the gutter. 
 And the flowers 'gins to blow; 
 
 The cows is givin' butter. 
 
 And the calves' gin' to low. 
 
 The bray 'gins to burro. 
 
 And the hens 'gins to sing. 
 
 The plow is in the furrow 
 
 And I guess it's gittin' spring. 
 
 20 
 
POEMS AND PROSE PASTELS. 
 
 OEATH in a dance hall, with her lover a bout. 
 And then she took the poison route." 
 "One more Unfortunate!" Pharisaical phrase 
 That has blackened the page since ancient days. 
 "Her nom de turf was Chipper Min, 
 Her habitation, the halls of sin," 
 And so it reads in ghoulish phrase. 
 Account of her who deserved not praise. 
 Like Gentleman Bill, who had the price. 
 And with virtue played as if with dice. 
 And turning his toes, buds of social hall 
 Poured the dews of sorrow on his pall. 
 
 Flowers were lavished on his coffin; 
 
 They blushed, and withered, and some died laughing 
 
 At the farcical form of paying respects 
 
 To as great a villain as e'er passed his checks. 
 
 There were crosses and crowns and harps of flowers, 
 
 And boquets, banks and wreathes and towers; 
 
 The funeral dirge was deep and long. 
 
 Likewise the procession that followed on 
 
 To the six-foot hole in the virgin crust 
 
 Prepared to receive his putrid dust; 
 
 And here they chanted a doleful song 
 
 That caused the devil to sound his gong. 
 
 21 
 
GENTLEMAN BILL AND CHIPPER MIN. 
 
 The papers told of his enterprise 
 In building cities, and otherwise; 
 They did not speak of his inner life, 
 Nor tell of his broken-hearted wife. 
 To whom they cabled across the sea. 
 And who replied, "Not a pin" cared she 
 Where he should rest, for weary the days 
 Since his vicious life had parted their ways. 
 They did not say he had e'er done ill; 
 Why you'd have thought this Gentleman Bill 
 Was an angel pin-feathered on this side. 
 And now, full-fledged, since he had died. 
 
 They did not say "A jolly dog. 
 Who liked a social glass of grog. 
 Likewise, fast horses and women and wine," 
 But there was a general sniffle and whine. 
 But, Min's "history, meagre," she had a child 
 In gracious care, yet undefiled. 
 Who ne'er would know the ignoble end 
 Of her who should have been her friend. 
 If this be true, for the love of God 
 And a holy fear of the chastening rod; 
 For the sake of a mother's tender love. 
 Of one you call "a soiled dove": — 
 
 Cease flaunting the shame of the fallen one 
 And give noble thoughts aji inning. 
 For likely, if the facts were known. 
 She was more sinned against than sinning. 
 Ah, dear sir, when you wrote thus wise 
 
 22 
 
GENTLEMAN BILL AND CHIPPER MIN- 
 
 You did not reck the broken ties. 
 The burning brain, the bleeding heart, 
 That in bitter pain, with hfe would part. 
 You considered not what caused the fall; 
 Perchance 'twas hunger, maybe loved too well; 
 No mother to guide o'er the Charybdis 
 Of the seething immoral social abyss. 
 
 No more say "wanton!" You do not know 
 Of each sad life its underflow. 
 With charity white fill your ink-well. 
 And temper your pen, for who can tell? 
 
 Ah, God, just God, will it always be so — 
 That man is so high and woman so low? — 
 Shall we ne'er justly measure the depths of sin 
 Of Gentleman Bill and Chipper Min? 
 
 23 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 e 
 
 O where the sun shines brightest, dear. 
 Though it take you far from me; 
 Where flowers are the fairest, dear. 
 Though your face I may not see. 
 
 Go where the skies are bluest, dear. 
 Though mine be dark as doom; 
 
 Go where birds sing sweetest, dear. 
 Though their notes cheer not my gloom. 
 
 Go where eyes are brightest, dear. 
 
 Though with light none for me glows; 
 
 Go where hearts seem truest, dear, 
 Though false ones be my foes. 
 
 Go where the voice is sweetest, dear. 
 Though silence fills my heart; 
 
 Go where all is glorious, dear. 
 
 With Knowledge, Truth and Art. 
 
 Go to the loom of life, dear. 
 Where Heaven's joys are weft. 
 
 And I shall just be sad, dear — 
 Not jealous, but bereft. 
 
 24 
 
EARTH S DIVINEST LOVE. 
 
 Go where thy soul doth lead thee, dear. 
 
 Though I be chained apart; 
 Go and seek the portals, dear. 
 
 Of God's great golden heart. 
 
 No moment would I stay thee, dear. 
 From Truth's wide plane above; 
 
 For this great love of mine, dear. 
 Is earth's divinest love. 
 
 25 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 (Sanuftttian nf tt;r National BratocratU (Slubs at 9ntiiatta)iaUa 
 (©rtobrr 3. laflO 
 
 ^^^ADIANT with the hues of hberty 
 
 -^-^ Were pillared arch and dome; 
 
 Thronging the great convention hall. 
 
 The flower of republican democracy; 
 
 As orator after orator marshalled bold truths. 
 
 Keener than the blade of tyranny. 
 
 More mighty than a military host. 
 
 Uplifted faces and bated breath 
 
 Proclaimed a burning question — 
 
 A question for the people: 
 
 Arose a dream of the Roman forum — 
 
 A sickening dread of the Roman fall; 
 
 And to the queried climax: 
 
 "These things being true, can our Republic stand?' 
 
 Ascended a mighty responsive shout: 
 
 "Bryan! Bryan! Hurrah for William J. Bryan!' 
 
 Now through the opened portals 
 
 Reached the assembly's ear 
 
 The sound of a surging human ocean. 
 
 And breathless, the people stood on tiptoe. 
 
 Expectant of their prophet. 
 
 He came, and cheers prolonged it seemed 
 
 Would penetrate the dome and rend the skies. 
 
 26 
 
POEMS AND PROSE PASTELS. 
 
 That He who sent this champion of human wrongs 
 Might know their joy in Paradise; 
 At last he rose, and in God's own image 
 Stood with upHfted hands, when silence reigned; 
 And his voice, a clarion of truth. 
 Proclaimed our country's peril. 
 But borne away on joyful refrain 
 Was each warning note of alarm: 
 
 Bryan! Bryan! Hurrah for William J. Bryan! 
 
 Defender of the people's rights, he stood a hero. 
 And a man peerless in the annals of his country. 
 Saying: "These things I fear because I am a citizen." 
 The people cheered, for it bore that earnest simplicity 
 The brand of truth: He said: 
 "When a king dies, messages of sorrow are conveyed. 
 But on the cross of human greed two republics may 
 
 expire 
 And not one tear be shed." The people wept; — 
 Believed this man divinely sent to save their country. 
 And restore their flag the symbol of its birth. 
 That freedom's banner may the message bear 
 To every nation in all lands, 
 "Peace on earth, good will to men." 
 Attuned to victory's note again. 
 Arose the pean loud and long: 
 
 Bryan! Bryan! Hurrah for William J. Bryan! 
 
 27 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 D 
 
 OT Patti, though the world adore, — 
 (Nor any of the choral corps. 
 For whom Flora yields her fairest born. 
 And rare the gems in their plenty horn; 
 Though the world approve with fondest praise; 
 Theirs tinseled nights and dreaming days), — 
 
 Would I be, or give one sigh 
 Of my baby boy, who so fondly clinging. 
 Sweetly pleads for my further singing: 
 "Bye, Mama, bye." 
 
 Not one of these, nor other more 
 
 Of those who play for the sweet encore, — 
 
 (And true, 'tis sweet, how well I know. 
 
 To please the public an hour or so; 
 
 To make it weep, to laugh, to cheer. 
 
 While holding to nature the mirror near), — 
 
 Would I be, though the world should cry: 
 "Encore! Encore!" I still unheeding. 
 Would respond to my baby's pleading: 
 
 "Bye, Mama, bye." 
 
 28 
 
POEMS AND PROSE PASTELS. 
 
 D 
 
 HREE summers today I believed Love dead 
 And put him away in a sepulchre bed 
 Far from my heart; 
 Made a casket of pride. 
 Of ambition a shroud. 
 And my soul wept aloud 
 
 The day that Love died. 
 
 Today at Love's sepulchre madly I plead, 
 Passionately prayed to my love, dead: 
 
 Live, dearest love! 
 To my heart speak! 
 
 With eyes wide apart. 
 He awoke with a start. 
 
 Love was only asleep. 
 
 29 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 "O. 
 
 "(i. Wt Ba IGonpHnm?" 
 
 WE SO lonesome 'thout sweet grandma; 
 But here's a hankschen, wipe your eyes; 
 I luf you, sweet little mamma, 
 And we' see grandma in the skies. 
 
 "Grandma'll come for her rocking chair. 
 Won't she, mama?" with wondering eyes. 
 
 And fearing to blight my bud so fair, 
 A pretty story I improvise : 
 
 "The bright new moon is her rocking chair, 
 
 A film white cloud her pillow. 
 And like a barque, by the fragrant air. 
 
 Is rocked on the fleecy billow." 
 
 "Mama, up there is it all dark?" 
 
 "Ah, no; o'er the silver bars. 
 More bright than earth's electric spark 
 
 Are God's arc lights, the stars." 
 
 His prattling, pleading lips doth call: 
 "Sweet granny, tum and play wif me. 
 
 My hobby horse and rubber ball. 
 And all my playsings, see!" 
 
 30 
 
O, WE SO LONESOME. 
 
 "O, little grandma, I do luf you. 
 
 And if you'll only turn. 
 We'll play bear and b-o-o-h! 
 
 And you tan have my drum." 
 
 " 'Way, way up to the stars, so far. 
 
 Some day we'll go. Mamma, 
 Up where the pretty angels are. 
 
 And find our dear grandma." 
 
 God grant, my child, that we go together. 
 
 With neither left to mourn. 
 And grieve the heart, one for the other. 
 
 Gone to that unknown bourne. 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 fi 
 
 m BUU #trf0t (CHIitrago) 
 
 ACES bright and faces sad! 
 
 Faces cunning and faces mad! 
 Breathing the thick and poisonous air 
 Of the thronged thoroughfare; 
 Wealthy daughter and working girl 
 Jostle each other in the mad'ning whirl. 
 While neither heart knows nor cares 
 The joy or sorrow the other bears; 
 
 Here and there, harum scarum. 
 The Golden Rule, a la David Harum: 
 "Do unto others as they would to you 
 And surely be the fust to do;" 
 No matter whether right or just. 
 Do that very thing and do it fust. 
 
 32 
 
G 
 
 POEMS AND PROSE PASTELS. 
 
 HE world seems out of tune today. 
 Because Love's harp has a broken string; 
 
 Not sweet the birdHng's roundelay. 
 Nor merrily the car wheels sing. 
 
 But all seems sadly out of tune. 
 
 Because Love's harp has a broken string. 
 
 Autumn's red, and yellow, and green. 
 That once I thought in harmony blent. 
 
 Today, all arbitrary seem. 
 
 And Nature herself a malcontent; — 
 
 A strange, unhappy, discordant thing. 
 
 Because Love's harp has a broken string. 
 
 The clouds the sunbeams madly chase 
 
 Until aweary for rest. 
 They finally vanish in Shadow's embrace. 
 
 Who onward flits in his cruel quest. 
 In mournful mood seems everything 
 
 Because Love's harp has a broken string. 
 
 'Neath Heaven's dark and furious frown 
 Yon mountain bends his regal head. 
 
 While his massive rock-gemmed crown 
 The warring elements o'erspread; — 
 
 The once proud monarch seems an humble thing 
 Because Love's harp has a broken string. 
 
 33 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 NOWEST thou, the kingdom of heaven, 
 Man, thou type of the whole. 
 
 Finds its orbit in thine ego. 
 Its central sun, thy soul? 
 
 Tis not an ideal spot in space. 
 
 Not a vain tomorrow, 
 Neither a celestial place 
 
 That man may buy or borrow. 
 
 It lies in the holy heart-throb 
 That marketh noble deeds. 
 
 Where fond hopes are born of faith 
 In the creature, not in creeds. 
 
 It thrills in a tender hand-clasp, 
 
 A voice's vibrant grace. 
 And its star of rarest glory 
 
 Gleams from a love-lit face. 
 
 In this domain of the faithful 
 Charity guardeth the gate. 
 
 Shaming 'way with a saintly smile 
 Selfishness, scorn and hate. 
 
 34 
 
THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN. 
 
 Enrobed in the ermine of truth. 
 
 Justice, mercy wielding, 
 Holdeth sway of limitless love. 
 
 Omnipotence revealing. 
 
 Its walls are as wide as thine heart. 
 Its blessing e'en heaven-deep. 
 
 And the angels dwelling therein, 
 Thoughts, profound, pure and sweet. 
 
 Paint no picture of pearly gates. 
 Nor trace an ethereal dream; 
 
 Heaven's aurora glows in the heart 
 Where good reigneth supreme. 
 
 Once arisen, the soul doth speed 
 The course of endless time. 
 
 Ascending ever and ever. 
 To meet the source divine. 
 
 35 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 An Autumn J^trturp 
 
 XT is Autumn, and the gilded 
 Leaves of the modest aspen 
 Coyly quiver at the bold 
 Caress of each passing breeze. 
 Which, in yellow noon-light. 
 Shower with gold 
 The lounger in its lacey shade; 
 Or, 'neath lunar and starry sheen. 
 The glist'ning leaves untouched 
 By frost, a silvery palace make. 
 Where the weary miner may rest 
 At night, and of treasures dream. 
 Than which Monte Cristo's were less bright. 
 
 The rock-bound peaks look yielding. 
 As if warmed by their mantle of gold. 
 And piles of snow melt to crystal 
 Streams 'neath the self-same burning glow. 
 Then down the heights like silver wind. 
 To the valleys far below. 
 
 36 
 
POEMS AND PROSE PASTELS. 
 
 HLONG forgotten queen? If so. 
 Thou art my king of long ago; 
 Then why not speak and move with mien 
 Of long forgotten king and queen? 
 
 Not more sincere and true and frank 
 Are hearts of those of lesser rank; 
 And souls speak true through eyes, I ween. 
 Of long forgotten king and queen. 
 
 37 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 C 
 
 ^uttrtsp on Bun StPgo <Ba^ 
 
 HE sun pierced morn's gray mask 
 With his golden shaft. 
 And through the rent Aurora laughed; 
 I saw from my window the rose in her cheeks 
 
 Replace the dawning gray. 
 And soon her yellow, flowing hair. 
 Like scintillating streams of gold. 
 Proclaimed: "Arrived! from Paradise, a day." 
 
 While fondly kissed by its genial guest, 
 San Diego Bay with gladness trembles; 
 
 And resting on its pulsing crest, 
 
 Lie majestic forms of anchored vessels. 
 
 As subtly pictured as an artist's dream. 
 The coast range rises 'neath a misty sheen; 
 And from the chimney of him who toils 
 The smoke ascends in soft, gray coils; 
 While far beyond is the ocean blue. 
 Where the breakers come the shore to woo, 
 Which lover-like depart, then reappear. 
 And so make a lingering last adieu. 
 
 38 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 C 
 
 HEN you're to wed, my fair young friend? — 
 
 To cast aside your gay girl life 
 
 And assume the duties of a wife. 
 Joy but begun, not at an end 
 
 Fills your new world 
 
 If both love and duty be unfurled. 
 
 Love and duty sometimes would part: 
 Look that their paths do not diverge, 
 Strongly, surely would I urge 
 
 That love and duty seal heart with heart. 
 When duty has served as Love's handmaid 
 Love from her realm hath never strayed. 
 
 Another injunction that may save you pain: 
 A smile may turn a storm to calm, 
 A silent tear prove healing balm, 
 
 And peace engirdle your world again. 
 
 Like rain in sunshine when a bow appears. 
 And Heaven's seen smiling through her tears. 
 
 And further, furnish your house with faith. 
 With charity generously drape your chairs. 
 And of peace make full your portieres; 
 
 Invoke all the harmony that heaven hath. 
 And your life will bear the perfect impress 
 Of Him whose thought you so grandly express. 
 
 39 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 Nut a Srram 
 
 ^I^HEN I was a little girl of nine, 
 ^"^^ And with mama went a shopping. 
 For all the pretty dolls I'd pine 
 
 To have in my Christmas stocking; 
 I'd "cross my heart and hope to die," 
 
 If "that one" she would buy for me, 
 "On a stack of Bibles 'way sky-high," 
 
 Never naughty, but good I'd be. 
 
 Now, "for truly true," I've a baby boy. 
 
 And I know I am not dreaming. 
 Because he's a never-ending joy 
 
 And real to all seeming. 
 He can "pat-a-cake, baker's man," my boy. 
 
 And coo, and laugh, and crow, and creep; 
 I'm sure he's more than a mocking toy. 
 
 Because, "for true," he can go to sleep. 
 
 From mountain mists came his spirit to me, 
 
 With material form itself adorning; 
 Taking the strength of a sturdy tree; 
 
 His eyes, two stars of morning; 
 A fountain's foam, his face so fair. 
 
 His mouth, a rosebud in the snow. 
 And Autumn's hue, his burnished hair. 
 
 His shell-pink ear, a sunset glow. 
 
 40 
 
NOT A DREAM. 
 
 O, I'll strive to follow the Golden Rule, 
 
 Always good for evil doing; 
 I'll humbly learn in life's long school. 
 
 Ever holiest guidance suing; 
 I'll with the joyful joy. 
 
 And with the woeful weep. 
 If only my precious, darling 'joy, 
 
 O, God, you will let me keep. 
 
 41 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 ©0 Halter Inabatt^ 
 
 yKAY your poignant pen ne'er pause 
 ^*^ In its facile, fearless flight 
 Till it lead from Oblivion's jaws 
 Our Republic into the light. 
 
 42 
 
n 
 
 POEMS AND PROSE PASTELS. 
 
 IFE was so dark to me. 
 
 By faith I could not see. 
 And God seemed afar. 
 When lo! I saw a star. 
 
 My heart was rent with grief. 
 And naught could bring relief; 
 I doubted His potent power. 
 When lo ! I saw a flower. 
 
 I prayed and plead that death 
 Might touch with his icen breath. 
 My burning brow, when lo! 
 Appeared a bright rainbow. 
 
 With eyes avert with shame. 
 Sought I pardon in His name; 
 My soul no longer slept. 
 And Heaven with me wept. 
 
 My vision thus restored. 
 With thanks I praised, adored! 
 And came the sunshine after rain. 
 With hope, and love, and faith aflame! 
 
 43 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 ^Y^ HEN burst the dawn of celestial light, 
 
 ^A/ Blind pilgrims, plodding, sought the height; 
 
 But gulfs of creed scarred the rugged steeps, 
 
 And only those who dared bold leaps. 
 
 And trode upon unhallowed ground. 
 
 Gained at last the coveted round; 
 
 This jagged mount, now scaled by man. 
 
 No longer hides God's glorious plan. 
 
 Down the centuries, with golden gleam. 
 Bright shafts of light refulgent stream. 
 Piercing the depths of infinity. 
 Revealing man's divinity. 
 Disputing the right of Mammon's sway. 
 Melting the creeds of yesterday ; 
 And encircling now in loving fold 
 The sons of God with tender hold. 
 
 The angel. Conscience, is chained no more; 
 Christ knocks not at unyielding door ; 
 The human temple He dwelleth in. 
 And makes no compromise with sin ; 
 Sanctuaries He turns to alms. 
 Wasting naught on symbols and psalms ; 
 No distant deity shall man sue. 
 When God in man shall measure true. 
 
 44 
 
THE CHRIST OF THE NEW CENTURY. 
 
 Uplifting spires and censer ed urn 
 Are empty things the heart shall spurn; 
 Shall pass away pretentious signs. 
 When man the Universal finds 
 In an endless chain of human hearts. 
 Whose every throb an impulse starts. 
 Not for self, but each for others. 
 To uplift all weaker brothers. 
 
 Not naval reserves, but deeds of peace. 
 Shall weld the world in armistice; 
 Christ at the helm and each man mate. 
 No more shall float the Ship of State 
 On moaning sea of human tears. 
 For she the shore of Justice nears; 
 And shall wireless flash to each man's soul 
 Laws divine from the central pole. 
 
 The Light of the World is born again, 
 Illumeth bright the hearts of men. 
 Where sacrificial fires now burning. 
 Augur well the cycle's turning. 
 And e'er its close, in lustrous flame, 
 Christ, the soul, will begin to reign: 
 The banner of Love shall be unfurled! 
 The Golden Rule shall bind the world! 
 
 45 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 n 
 
 H'Amour 
 
 (Ho n Irtiie 
 
 E who scientific laws eschewed. 
 And sang in Hquid measure; — 
 
 "C'est I'amour, I'amour, I'amour, 
 Qui fait la monde a la rond," 
 
 Surely solved the problem right; 
 
 So, flee to the shades, O, fears. 
 
 For the tender vows you made last night 
 
 Will add a link to the chain of love 
 
 That binds the whirling spheres. 
 
 Ah, be that link a treasure trove. 
 
 Each heart a fissure true, 
 
 And may you pluck from the garden of love 
 
 Buds bursting ever anew; 
 
 May morning's dawns with hope be fraught. 
 
 Nightfall, with victory crowned; 
 
 And ne'er forget Voltaire's sweet song: 
 
 '"Tis love, 'tis love, 'tis love 
 That makes the world go round." 
 
 46 
 
POEMS AND PROSE PASTELS. 
 
 © 
 
 M^ EoHp of Itprttttg 
 
 E not drear and doubtful, lass, 
 Nor marvel much to understand; 
 
 For Stella, last of Time, shall pass. 
 
 And all will be as God hath planned. 
 
 For long I'd sought, with tireless tread, 
 A flower I could not see; 
 
 So filled my arms with roses red; 
 But this pearl-white rose for me; — 
 Lo! my Rose of Eternity. 
 
 47 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 d^i^t CHapturf of AgumalJio 
 
 QGUINALDO a captive! 
 Shame upon the nation that doth detain 
 A soul who'd win the freedom of his race; 
 With valor unexcelled on storied page. 
 Fought as Washington in Seventy-six. 
 Upon a liberty-prating nation, lie. 
 Fie! ye with ghoulish glee who shout 
 Over his barbarous captivity; 
 Silence! See, our Goddess weeps with shame, 
 Draws the blackened folds of her loved flag 
 O'er her streaming eyes. Shame! and with her weep. 
 
 Aguinaldo captured! 
 "By a stroke of military genius!" 
 They shriek with vulgar pride. Bah! Treachery, 
 Not less, bred a scheme in the deeps of hell 
 To kill a hope as high as heaven; 
 And now they deem the war hath run its course. 
 Having snared the chief of the insurgent force; 
 Offer him the paltry reward of place. 
 Lieth within the gift of feeble man 
 Fair exchange for that he hath been bereft, — 
 The right to defend his native land? 
 
 48 
 
THE CAPTURE OF AGUINALDO. 
 
 A vanquished hero? 
 Nay, not vanquished; his soul will nurse the dream 
 Of liberty and conquer in the end; — 
 For universal freedom must prevail. 
 Or the Almighty yield creation's crown; — 
 Not while God reigns in his holy heaven. 
 While the stars shine or tides of ocean flow. 
 For souls like his laugh at captivity. 
 Are invulnerable, divine, supreme; 
 Nor time nor space nor miser man 
 Can curb his eternal uplifting force. 
 
 Greed the victor! 
 When the government that should have succored 
 Sleeps in memory's dust, and coming sages 
 Sigh sadly o'er the hydra-headed beast 
 That fell upon its own blood-dripping axe. 
 The soul of Aguinaldo shall soar on. 
 Bearing the message of human liberty; 
 Aye, when the structure of a moneyed rule 
 Shall have tumbled from its noble base 
 Into the grave of dead republics. 
 And Funston shall have joined the army 
 Of human butchers in their dream of gory hell, 
 Aguinaldo's name, as a sword of flame. 
 Shall illume the dark records of misrule 
 For nations yet unborn, and carve the way 
 To the radiant throne of Freedom's God 
 Whose ceaseless reign shall thrill the world 
 With love, liberty and everlasting peace. 
 
 49 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 
 <^^ARE atom of creation. 
 
 Who may travel from Venus to Mars, 
 Sense the secrets of worlds. 
 
 And gather the ghnt of the stars — 
 Divine illumination! 
 
 Thrilled with the innocent heart. 
 Or pained by the touch of sin. 
 
 When he enters the human temple 
 And throttles the thought therein — 
 Of the Infinite a part. 
 
 Plays not a supernatural role. 
 
 But with evolution's law 
 Applies the natural to all things. 
 
 And finds not therein a flaw: 
 All heart, mind and soul! 
 
 50 
 
POEMS AND PROSE PASTELS. 
 
 ©0 mjj Utrgut 
 
 *|^nIS but a few months, yet it seems more years 
 ^^ Since the dews of our souls 
 
 Bathed the flowers of our hearts 
 In good-bye tears, — 
 Since I last pressed the hand 
 That was first to caress me. 
 And kissed the dear lips that whispered, 
 "God bless thee." 
 
 With hand-guarded eyes I look for your face: 
 The lights are turned on 
 
 In the great darkened space; 
 The curtain rings up. 
 And through vision thus sealed. 
 The scene is complete; — 
 
 My star is revealed! 
 
 I see eyes of brown-'^gems from God's jewel-case. 
 That reflect love infinite. 
 
 Caught from His face. 
 
 While in their depths he was gazing! 
 And see a broad brow, with silver engirt. 
 And sweet tender lips that fall gently apart; — 
 A picture so finished, so fair and complete 
 That in the whole world 
 
 There's naught half so sweet 
 As this fancied face 
 Of my Virgin! My Mary: My Mother! 
 
 51 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 Mttli ®Itp0 
 
 /^^ONS ago I lost thee, dear; — 
 
 O, life divine, to find thee here! 
 
 By shining moon, 
 
 By waters' croon, 
 I'd drift with thee, O, soul of me. 
 To the far off dunes, the golden dunes 
 Of eternity. 
 
 Again with thee! with thee! dear heart; 
 Yet fraught with fear my soul doth start! 
 
 Lest dream it be. 
 
 Of thee and me. 
 Of shining moon and waters' croon, 
 And the far off dunes, the golden dunes 
 Of eternity. 
 
 God speaks to me through thee, dear heart; 
 Incarnate love and truth thou art! 
 
 If dream it be 
 
 Of thee and me. 
 Then let me dream of God-like thee. 
 And the far off dunes, the golden dunes 
 Of eternity. 
 
 52 
 
POEMS AND PROSE PASTELS. 
 
 G 
 
 3l*h (Hmm tc GIljp? 
 
 A &ong 
 
 OME to thee? Ay! and Ay! 
 
 As seeks the bird a fairer sky; 
 As bursts the rose to meet the morn; 
 As to the clover bloom the bee; — 
 
 I'd come to thee! to thee! 
 
 My dearest love, to thee! 
 
 Come to thee? Ay! and Ay! 
 E'en as a dove doth homeward fly; 
 As glideth star to greet a star ; 
 As runneth brook to meet the sea: 
 
 I'd come to thee! to thee! 
 
 My darling heart, to thee! 
 
 Come to thee! Ay! and Ay! 
 
 As laughter fleeth from a sigh; 
 
 As speeds an arrows on its way; 
 
 As vnreless thought doth span the sea, 
 
 I'd come to thee! to thee! 
 
 My only love, to thee! 
 
 53 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 O 
 
 ^tstrra of mprrg 
 
 wo sparks from God's own soul, one day. 
 
 Strolled through the universe to play. 
 Sailed they far on an opal sea. 
 Viewed the shores of immensity; 
 Saw a world in its circling flight 
 So dank and dark with dearth of light; 
 So seared with sin and black with crime, 
 Calling aloud for light divine! 
 
 A tide of tears bore them to earth. 
 And the All-Mercy gave them birth. 
 Incarnate love created He them 
 To minister to suffering men. 
 To stanch the wound, to dry the tear. 
 To lift the fallen without fear ; 
 To serve alike, greatest or least, — 
 Saints Mary Charles and Mother Baptiste. 
 
 In the drama behind the scenes 
 Played their parts, these tragedy queens; 
 Their beauty hid 'neath darkling fold; 
 To tempt display, vain clink of gold. 
 God and the angels saw and wept. 
 As they their text of sorrow kept. 
 And so divinely played the role 
 Of wandering stars from God's own soul. 
 
 54 
 
POEMS AND PROSE PASTELS 
 
 o 
 
 UT to God's acre, in drapings of woe. 
 Two mother souls mournfully go, 
 
 With arms full of blossoms. 
 
 And hearts full of tears; 
 O'erladened, they, with love and with grief. 
 Ever invoking a sign of relief; 
 Out to God's acre, in drapings of woe. 
 Two mother souls mournfully go. 
 
 Out to God's acre by little heaps brown. 
 Two mothers kneel reverently down; 
 
 On flowers they strew. 
 
 Soft tears fall like dew; — 
 Whisper the angels, caressing, unseen. 
 Dear little Willie and sweet Josephine: — 
 "Weep not. Mama, forget not that He 
 Said, 'Let little children come unto me.* " 
 
 55 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 (§ur iiaru 
 
 |^=nALL, willowy and lithe, 
 ^^ With hair of midnight hue; 
 Like deep, deep wells her eyes 
 
 Of grey — and tender, too. 
 The paternoster falls 
 
 From her lips of purest mould. 
 As to our tiresome calls 
 
 She comes as saint of old 
 From storied convent walls. 
 
 With patience and with care. 
 Ministering graciously to each 
 
 As she utters silent prayer 
 To Joseph, patron saint. 
 
 Of all maidens who yet tarry 
 In the shade of single life, 
 
 To find for her a husband 
 To take her for a wife — 
 Our Mary. 
 
 "Dona nobis, dona nobis," 
 
 She lilts in undertone. 
 Till I dream of nun and novice 
 
 Kneeling on cold floors of stone 
 Before some holy image 
 
 Of saint or god of old. 
 
 56 
 
OUR MARY. 
 
 And searching memory's archives, 
 
 I find much beneath the mold 
 That speaks of old beliefs. 
 
 And new ones yet to come. 
 Till in labyrinth of creeds 
 
 I pause as stricken dumb. 
 When I'm called from out my coma 
 
 By the Angelus' sweet knell. 
 Which chimes the death of reverie, 
 And loud rings the supper bell — 
 
 Our Madonna-faced Mary. 
 
 57 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 ♦♦*~~r^'M lonesome, mama; Curly can't see; 
 ---*-^ He won't wake up and play with me." 
 Then understanding, my darhng said: 
 "Mama — my — my — doggy's dead." 
 
 "Mr. poisoned my dog, I know he did. 
 
 Because he poisoned my cat; 
 He has a dog, too; I'll poison it. 
 
 And what will he think of that?" 
 
 "No, no, my boy; abide the time. 
 For saith the Lord, 'Revenge is mine;' 
 Watch the course of justice sure tho' slow. 
 And your cup of revenge shall overflow." 
 
 Base poisoner of childish pets! 
 Destroyer of the innocents! 
 His guise of manhood a hideous mark 
 On a wagging tail and a friendly bark. 
 
 Through blinding tears and lips apurse: 
 "Mama, shan't I get the hearse? 
 For Mr. Peterson would come." 
 So my darling's sorrows are begun. 
 
 And in his heart a poisoned dart. 
 While sauce it is to the assassin's heart. 
 Who may upward look for his reward. 
 For "Revenge is mine," saith the Lord. 
 
 58 
 
POEMS AND PROSE PASTELS. 
 
 A ICarg? ^tanittta Army t^t f ope 
 of tl|P Wovili 
 
 n 
 
 Prtttcn be ?Sfque8t of ffiurg Pagf UnBtDtt. 
 (9rgani2»r of tljt ■Natltmal Antl-Clgarettr Heagut 
 
 ark! I hear a distant drum-beat. 
 And the tramp and tramp of feet! 
 "What! War?" a fond mother cries. 
 With trembling lips and tear-wet eyes. 
 "My boy! O, I cannot see him go! 
 He must not! No! I love him so!" 
 
 Ah, hush thee, faint and fearful heart 
 And let me the story all impart: 
 The Angel, Purity, and Demon, Vice 
 Are summoning each their strong allies; 
 The battle is on and all must fight, 
 So choose ye quickly, wrong or right? 
 
 The vile cigarette must first be slain 
 For it leads all vices in its train. 
 That e'er with sleeping moral ear 
 The pleading conscience fails to hear. 
 And step by step the victim falls. 
 Till from slimy deep he vainly calls. 
 
 59 
 
A LARGE STANDING ARMY THE HOPE OF THE WORLD. 
 
 Better field of carnage for your boy 
 Than loathesome habits to destroy. 
 Vexing good and evil to endless strife 
 By tainting the source of human Hfe; 
 Aye, at clash of steel ye should not quail ; 
 Vice calls for stronger coat of mail. 
 
 With face aglow, the mother replied: 
 "Aye, marching together side by side 
 We may gather to ranks an army strong 
 And crush the rule of the tyrant Wrong; 
 By the banner of Purity I shall stand, 
 Pray tell me, who is in command?" 
 
 The leader? A wise and tender saint. 
 Who, listing, heard the world's sad plaint 
 Which stormed her heart with pitiless roll. 
 Bursting wide the gates of her mother soul; 
 Now with armor on and might to wield. 
 Bravely she stands a-centre field. 
 
 Her weapons? Not swords and Gatling guns, 
 But pledges of faith from youthful sons, 
 Who garnering up the passing years 
 May reap of joy and not of tears; 
 Good for good as they have sowti. 
 When to manhood they are grown. 
 
 60 
 
A LARGE STANDING ARMY THE HOPE OF THE WORLD. 
 
 And left at the bottom the pearl of price. 
 And lost, their country, beyond reclaim. 
 Where human liberty is but a name. 
 
 Liberty? with the mind enslaved 
 To a deadly weed that is madly craved; 
 Free? the man who would pledge his very soul 
 To press his lips to a poisonous bowl? 
 Ah, mothers and sons, come, heed the call. 
 With hearts of strength ye can conquer all. 
 
 Victory? The enthroning of thought. 
 And holy heritage the Christ hath wrought. 
 Victory? Of civilized life the preservation. 
 And at last the world's regeneration. 
 Victory? Vice to realm of oblivion hurled! 
 And at Virtue's shrine a worshiping world! 
 
 61 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 ISS thee, dear heart? Nay, nay; not now. 
 Though loving fondly, I gladly vow, 
 Alas! Alas! I fain would weep. 
 That my kisses are yours and they must keep. 
 
 Kiss thee, my love, with lips? Nay! nay! 
 Though our souls may meet in fondest way ; 
 Yet I confess, I fain would weep 
 Because of kisses that I must keep. 
 
 Some glad, sweet time, not far away, 
 I'll kiss thee, love, nor say, "Nay! nay!"; 
 Our lips shall meet in loving bliss. 
 And our souls shall blend in one long kiss. 
 
 62 
 
g 
 
 POEMS AND PROSE PASTELS. 
 
 MERICA hath glorious gods, you say. 
 That would "turn the Orient green;" 
 And before "tradition hath passed away," 
 
 You very wisely deem 
 That a book of these gruesome gods 
 To the curious world be given; — 
 I'd gently suggest that you could give odds. 
 And beat in the race, Phila Bliven. 
 
 Yours a pallette of gold, a silken brush. 
 
 And paints that sparkle and sheen; 
 With laughing stars and song of thrush 
 
 You draw a rare, sweet dream; 
 So who should write of mythical shades. 
 
 And gods of mystical heaven. 
 But you, who could give both cards and spades. 
 
 And beat the whole game, Phila Bliven. 
 
 Surely, Arion, incarnate, of Methynma, thou art 
 
 Whom the dolphins charmed with lyric tune 
 And saved his pulsing, poetical heart 
 
 To sigh 'neath Italy's moon. 
 A mystic, surely, thyself art, indeed. 
 
 And though I've earnestly striven 
 For your real name, with discouraging speed, 
 
 I have learned only "Phila Bliven." 
 
 63 
 
o 
 
 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 l^atl to ll)p OlroBS of ICtf0 
 
 NIGHT of pain, of prisoned heart and soul! 
 
 I plead to thee, unfold the hidden scroll. 
 Let me look upon the vast accounting 
 And learn wherein I have aye been wanting; 
 Flood with light my darkest page of debit 
 That my faults may virtues turn to credit. 
 Then winningly woo with the wand of sleep. 
 Lest my heart wither while it cannot weep. 
 
 A silver sickle, the moon in the sky, 
 Biddeth me haste, that the harvest is nigh. 
 And still waning night, thou givest not sleep. 
 Still through my lattice the dimpling stars peep. 
 Gleaming and glinting and glooming in gleam. 
 Of light and shadow e'er weaving, I ween, 
 A subtler web and more glorious far 
 Than wholly wrought from the gleam of a star. 
 
 I turn to my lad, who smiles in his dreams. 
 And share a fond kiss with the soft moonbeams. 
 Praying the jewel God gave in relief 
 Feel ne'er the blade of the polisher Grief. 
 "No sorrow, my daughter, never to weep?" 
 Answers a voice from the infinite deep; 
 "A clown thou wouldst have him so to enscreen. 
 "Nay, tears, then, tears, e'en as the Nazarene!" 
 
 64 
 
HAIL TO THE CROSS OF LIFE. 
 
 At last Cometh sleep in beggarly time. 
 With toilsome vision of hard hills to climb, 
 O'ercresting a foaming, steep cataract 
 Of mad swirling waters, all inken black; 
 With awesome gaze, like a statue I stood. 
 Invoking courage to span the dark flood. 
 When on the far shore a figure I spied 
 Beckoning me on to the other side. 
 
 Beating and bounding with the battling waves 
 My high pulsing heart was torn with amaze. 
 When from my foothold I felt the earth creep. 
 And brave with resolve I made the bold leap. 
 Landing 'mid scenes of shadowing showers. 
 Where love songs rang from evergreen towers; 
 I asked of the soul who beckoned me o'er 
 Of this leal land its illusory lore. 
 
 In tender, lute-like tones he replied: 
 
 "Thy sun doth lower on the nether side; 
 
 Thou shalt soon transcend the sorrowful earth 
 
 And rise resplendent in royal re-birth 
 
 In this lofty sphere of thy soul's ideal. 
 
 In this, the land of the true and real. 
 
 And with me, adored one, thy soul's twin ray — 
 
 Thy heart's loyal king, thou shalt dwell alway." 
 
 Then drawing me close in loving embrace. 
 
 Demurring, I shrank, averting my face. 
 
 When with wounded truth-glowing eyes he said: 
 
 65 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 "Earth's laws thou abide, so deeply inbred: 
 O, soul of mine, in this luminous sphere. 
 Of physical trespass there is naught here; 
 Here spirit lives in sweet efflorescence. 
 Pure with the dew of love's eff^ervescence." 
 
 "Here laws of repulsion and attraction 
 Know no repeal nor suffer infraction. 
 Here no impalement of repulsing hearts 
 By law, the marksman of mismated darts; 
 Only a commercial material clime 
 Could harbor such shameless revolting crime; 
 Earth's refractory form of legal grinding 
 Loseth native love in mock refining." 
 
 "Nuptial ceremonies are here unknown. 
 
 Of forms ecclesiastic, nay, not one; 
 
 Start not, dear heart, with reproving wonder; 
 
 What love bindeth no power can sunder: 
 
 Drawn together by the resistless force 
 
 That guides the planets in their cycHng course. 
 
 Affinities meet, love claimeth its own 
 
 And through aeons eternal dreameth on." 
 
 "Behold!" said he, "with thy spiritual eyes. 
 The rare inner circle of Paradise; 
 By way of the cross thou shaft win the goal 
 And become a spark of evolving soul." 
 Now clouds unrolled like a dividing sea. 
 Unveiling the centre elect to me. 
 
 66 
 
HAIL TO THE CROSS OF LIFE. 
 
 And deeply entranced by dream within dream. 
 Speechless, I drank in the rapturous scene. 
 
 With senses swooning, I lingered not long 
 Among the divinely appointed throng; 
 The mighty symphony of mind and soul. 
 One trilling and thrilling, enthralling whole, 
 So filled me with pain of ecstatic joy, 
 I awoke! and greeted my darling boy, 
 Shoutins', "Arise! let us enter the strife," 
 Singing, "Hail! All hail! to the cross of life.' 
 
 67 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 ISrmg Mt a blossom from ParaliiHf 
 
 WEET mother, tell me if over there 
 You find the fields so green, the flowers so fair. 
 The streams of silver, with golden strands, 
 Where stroll the bright, seraphic bands 
 'Neath shadows that shower from forests tall, 
 And perfumed airs pervading all; 
 Where Love is law, and Peace, supreme. 
 Tell me, my heart, did this your dream 
 Prove a vision real over there? 
 
 And tell me, when you landed o'er. 
 
 Were you greeted by those who had gone before. 
 
 Or passed you alone to the judgment seat. 
 
 And there an awful inquisitor meet 
 
 Who asked your creed, your caste, your ken. 
 
 And where in the universe you'd been ; 
 
 Or, of evolution had you reached the flower. 
 
 And passed the pale of material power? 
 
 Ah, the 'wildering ways to that mystic shore! 
 
 But softly speak, or touch my hand. 
 Or bring a blossom from that far land. 
 That its thornless stem and oderant breath 
 May say to me, "There is no death;" 
 That your spirit lives, and the grave doth hold 
 But your beautiful body beneath its mold; 
 O, give some sign that we meet again. 
 Soothe my broken heart and burning brain 
 With a story sweet of that leal land. 
 
 68 
 
BRING ME A BLOSSOM FROM PARADISE. 
 
 When speaking of youth's long vanished joys. 
 You rated them only as mocking toys. 
 And your tender lips from the poet's pen 
 Repeated: "He will give them all back again." 
 Tell me, dearest, have you found them all; 
 Doth music enchant you with its old-time thrall? 
 Lilt a lullaby low to my lonely heart 
 Of that new realm, till my soul depart 
 And find you, love, in the land of dreams. 
 
 69 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 a 
 
 iMutattonB of tl|? M^rmatJi 
 
 iMg Mtst atfsmpH 
 
 NDER the rosy coral boughs 
 Skims the mermaid light and free; 
 She thinks to list her lover's vows. 
 Who waits her in some wave-washed dell, 
 Far 'neath the billowy sea. 
 
 Her heart ceased beating, her bright hope fled. 
 For on the glistening sea sands she found him 
 
 Lying dead! 
 His dear lips sealed with unspoken love. 
 That long had waited her list'ning ear ; — 
 She impressed a kiss, a prayer above. 
 Then adown her cheeks stole pearly tears. 
 
 Sweet nymph of watery worlds. 
 Why dost the pearls roll down 
 
 Thy tawny cheek, through show'ring curls 
 
 Then washed to shore. 
 Adorn some queenly crown? 
 Is't because thou'll live on land 
 And grave a royal throne. 
 
 Thou bitterly weepst these gems 
 To adorn a crown thine own? 
 
 70 
 
MUTATIONS OF THE MERMAID. 
 
 She rows her Httle boat of gold 
 Through the rippHng, lucid waves, 
 Till she lands upon an emerald shore 
 Far above her coral caves. 
 
 In a sumptuous palace, 
 
 Her lover she finds, 
 
 A king of great renown; 
 And among rare royal gems of old, 
 
 She finds her pearl-set crown. 
 
 Dost thou with angel wings take flight 
 Unto a heavenly sphere. 
 Where sparkling diadems of light 
 Will replace each burning tear. 
 
 Or dost return from whence ye came, 
 
 Like snow to the salty sea. 
 
 Where the sorrows of this earth remain 
 
 Unrecompensed to thee? 
 
 71 
 
PROSE PASTELS 
 
 BE NATURAL. 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 
 REWARD AND PUNISHMENT. 
 
 WHAT AM I ? 
 
 LET THE SOUL SHINE THROUGH. 
 
 CHRISTMAS THORNS. 
 
1p Natural 
 
 00 NOT try to copy others. A lady to the manor 
 and manner born is admirable, she has a polish 
 that you envy and fain would imitate, but you must 
 remember that true culture comes from within, is a 
 growth of the soul and not confined to pretty man- 
 nerisms, not a mouthing of fair words which but too 
 often come only from the lips. True culture will ever 
 express itself gracefully and with a sincerity that im- 
 presses those who have the good fortune to come 
 within its range. 
 
 Beautiful manners may be cultivated but not 
 suddenly assumed as you would don your kimona 
 for drawing room use, in an emergency, on a hot after- 
 noon. 
 
 An assumed voice is one of the adulterations most 
 commonly heard in the social gathering, and is always 
 so displeasing as to win the stamp of spurious. A 
 musical voice may be cultivated, but not donned for 
 an occasion. The method for acquiring it is this: 
 Sp>eak in gentle tones to your parents, brothers and 
 sisters, schoolmates, and particularly, to your less for- 
 tunate brothers and sisters. 
 
 Nearly as common as the affected voice is the 
 pained expression of face, which attempts to look 
 refined or wise. As all beautiful outward expression 
 must come from within, the pleasant countenance must 
 be illumined by the charitable and sympathetic im- 
 
 75 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 pulses of a noble, generous soul. Faces beautiful in 
 coloring and feature are not rare in society, but that 
 beauty which fascinates and lingers in the memory 
 of the beholder is of the soul. 
 
 Why is this beauty seen so rarely? 
 
 Because of the attempts of the lower stratas of 
 society to emulate those above them in birth, oppor- 
 tunity or financial standing: The remedy: 
 
 When pride of character and spiritual develop- 
 ment is placed above the frivolous forms and fallacies 
 of society, then may a change for the better be hoped 
 for, then there shall be less of the counterfeit and more 
 of the genuine. 
 
 If you would be a lady, do not be ashamed of 
 your nationality, your birthplace, your father, your 
 mother, your awkward friend, your poverty, your 
 meagre educational opportunities, your avocation, nor 
 to go to the door with your apron on. 
 
 If you have ancestry, it is not astonishing — most 
 people have — reserve discussions concerning it for the 
 privacy of your family circle, if you would not have 
 ladies and gentlemen smile and reserve comment. 
 Likewise abstain from boasting of your rich relative. 
 Neither your noble ancestors nor your rich relations 
 are substantial backing with people who are in their 
 right minds. It is true, of course, that there is a 
 class of people with whom such credentials pass, but 
 the surest way is to build on your own character and 
 not on the achievements of others. 
 
 The true lady or gentleman does not deceive with 
 what is known in society as "white lies." The truth 
 
 76 
 
BE NATURAL. 
 
 properly told will ever take the place of falsehood. 
 The vicious practice of "white lying" corrupts the 
 young. A child's first lesson in falsehood is usually 
 when his mother tells the maid to say "not at home," 
 and from this he speedily becomes a social diplomat, 
 which means a skilled pretender. The practices of 
 "good society" have much to answer for in the cor- 
 rupting of youth. 
 
 Dear girls and boys, live white lives, and you will 
 not have to tell "white lies." Do not ally yourselves 
 with that class who will never do anything very great 
 nor anything very mean. A black lie is better than a 
 "white lie," and would indicate stronger character 
 than the bleached article, but a lie of any kind is the 
 defense of a coward, while truth is the weapon of the 
 righteous. 
 
 Be natural, be simple, humane, sympathetic, hon- 
 est and truthful. You will then be beautiful and cul- 
 tured. 
 
 77 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 CHAT jealousy proves affection is a particular bit 
 of monkeydom that has adhered to us with the 
 tenacity of Tyrian purple to a fabric, and through all 
 the ages souls have stifled in the filthy black fumes 
 of jealousy that pour forth from Self's Inferno. 
 
 There is no question but that the jealous are in 
 love — with themselves. They believe that love im- 
 plies ownership. They have not learned that love 
 will serve without compulsion, that when measures 
 have to be taken to compel Love to do her duty, there 
 is a room for rent in somebody's heart, and Toler- 
 ance or Repulsion will be the next tenant. 
 
 An affection cannot be coerced ; it flies from you 
 the moment you would snare it. If another could win 
 the one you love, then he is not for you. Love is 
 elusive of all who would chain it. Its fetters must be 
 so tender and invisible that the wearer knows them 
 not. 
 
 Somewhere in the universe is a portion of the 
 divine essence that belongs to you — when you have 
 earned it. You may not find it on this plane, but 
 it is God-given and no earthly power can take it 
 away. So do not try to compel Love, which is 
 wholly free and knows no sort of bondage, for it is 
 of the soul. 
 
 Do not confuse a love that harbors jealousy with 
 the holy passion that can be understood only by 
 one who has conquered jealousy, one who can bless 
 
 78 
 
JEALOUSY. 
 
 his enemies, one who knows himself a part of the 
 great plan that must end where it began, in love, pure, 
 all-powerful and eternal, not for one, but for all. 
 
 So conquer jealousy, serpent-like jealousy, that in 
 the name of white-robed, irmocent Love commits all 
 crimes; jealousy, of all passions the most cruel, the 
 most relentless, the most insane; suspicious jealousy 
 that feeds fattest upon imagination, or upon "trifles 
 light as air;" forked-tongued jealousy, that assas- 
 sinates character; green-eyed jealousy that sees no 
 excellency in its fellows; ambitious jealousy that trails 
 the banners of peace in the red rivers of war; fiendish 
 jealousy, that furnishes excuse for the world's greatest 
 tragedies; red-handed jealousy, that called the ten- 
 der, beautiful and pure Desdemona to her prayers 
 e'er she received her death stab from barbarous 
 Othello; unholy jealousy, that abides like a ravening 
 thing among religious organizations; petty jealousy 
 that throttles neighborly affection; selfish jealousy, 
 that crouches in the heart of an older child who 
 stands by the cradle of his infant brother or sister; 
 greedy jealousy, that like a craven hides in the robes 
 of mourning while the clods fall, because a greater be- 
 quest has been given to the favored or more deserving 
 one; cruel, torturing, pitiless jealousy that crucified the 
 Representative of Truth. 
 
 79 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 >^=N HAT children should be obedient and dutiful 
 ^^ without reward and receive punishment for de- 
 linquency, is a popular view among parents who are 
 laboring under the misapprehension that they own 
 children. It is perhaps unfortunate, but a child does 
 not quite grasp the monumental duty he has inherited 
 toward the pair who have brought him into the world 
 without asking his choice in the matter, and the 
 beauties of doing right or performing duty for duty's 
 sake, do not impress him greatly. But he is a 
 blessed little human entity, with more wisdom than 
 you can ever guess, and you can reach him through 
 absolute justice sooner than in any other way. So, 
 when the task seems great to the child offer him 
 compensation. The sooner he learns that he will 
 receive something tangible for his performance of 
 duty, the sooner will he become dihgent in that 
 direction, like unto his elders, who operate entirely 
 upon a system of rewards, either spiritual or material. 
 
 Teach your child that a rosy apple hangs for 
 him at the top of the tree of duty rather than that a 
 cruel switch grows there with which he shall be 
 scourged for delinquency. 
 
 Duty is only alluring to the advanced soul, who 
 comprehends the fact that through the performance 
 of duty, and right for right's sake, his highest spiritual 
 development is accomplished. To any other, Madame 
 Duty is like a weary old treadmill horse, and must 
 ever purchase here meed of affection. 
 
 80 
 
REWARD AND PUNISHMENT. 
 
 Then compensate the child, to whom the material 
 gifts of earth are attractive, for love of duty is a soul 
 growth that must come with experience. 
 
 And teach your child to be good through a 
 promise of heaven — never through a threat of hell. 
 Love, harmony and hope are the forces that guide 
 upward with compelling strength. Threats of evil 
 and punishment arouse only the lower nature — rebel- 
 lion, deception and doubt. 
 
 Reward leads to heaven; punishment to hell. 
 
 61 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 Am 31? 
 
 HORN grain fields of yellow stubble reach to 
 the end of the wood yonder, where stacks of 
 yellow grain stand like hills of gold against the green 
 fringed cedars. And o'er the widening valley spreads 
 the court train of autumn's queen, a richly woven 
 covering for summer's bier, while as pall bearers, the 
 foothills stand mutely mourning on either side; and 
 encircling all, towering white peaks hide 'neath a 
 purple veil their frozen tears. Overhead arches the 
 blue dome of nature's wonderful cathedral, blue! 
 blue! liquid blue everywhere, save the rising sun in 
 the east and the silver moon in the west, who is so 
 in love with day in this matchless land that she never 
 sleeps, but risks losing her heart's dearest by basking 
 ever in the burning light of his amber eyes. 
 
 How silent it is! How prayerful one feels! 
 How thankful for life, with all its mysteries to solve, 
 for its ills to bless, for its joys — perchance, to curse. 
 It is all so fine! so glorious! to live, to laugh, to sigh, 
 to weep, to have a broken heart and let it heal again, 
 thankful for the splendid lesson of suffering; to have 
 faith e'en as the Israelites, that the waters of grief 
 shall separate and let us pass to a land of forget- 
 ting; to tend our graves, where nothing is, and to 
 build our castles, quite as empty. 
 
 How excellent to be human — just a human be- 
 ing — flesh and blood and tears; to ask, "What am 
 I?" and to answer, "An atom of the Great I Am, 
 
 82 
 
WHAT AM I? 
 
 a spark from the central sun of light, life and love, 
 which ever was, is now and ever shall be, time 
 without end," to dream, to idealize; to own all the 
 beautiful and rare works of art and architecture that 
 come within our range, though the title be not in 
 our name, and our bank account represented by 
 four figures on the debit side; to work for sweet 
 souls God gives to our keeping, and try, though 
 vainly, to exemplify in our own lives the ideals we 
 would have them emulate; to forgive our enemies, 
 and bless those who spitefully use us; to be not self- 
 holy, for none are perfect, since it has been said that 
 "Whosoever keep the whole law, and yet offend in 
 one point, he is guility of all." In fine, to conquer 
 self, to love, and find our greatest joy in the happi- 
 ness of those we love; to know that as atoms of the 
 universal mind we are creating God, and with our 
 dreams create the place of happiness called heaven. 
 
 83 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 00 NOT shut love out of your heart because some 
 great sorrow, some great cross, has been laid 
 upon you. Sorrow should sweeten and purify and 
 not embitter, it should make you sympathetic and fra- 
 ternal. Do not exaggerate your own troubles, your 
 own grief and believe it to be greater than that of 
 your fellows. Look about you and you will see 
 that this is a mistake. If you feel weary and worn, 
 tired of your companionship and of the world, it is 
 because your soul is struggling for hght, for air; it is 
 that mean, miserable, selfish self you would elude 
 and that you cannot do until you give the soul a 
 chance. 
 
 Do not fret because your lot is a common one, be- 
 cause the work that has been assigned you is of 
 the menial kind, for honest labor is dignifying to all 
 who perform it, no matter how commonplace. One 
 part of the world's work is quite as ennobling as 
 another; if it soil the hands, it does not necessarily 
 soil the soul. 
 
 Do not forget the fact that a position cannot dig- 
 nify a man, but that man must dignify the position. 
 If the president of the United States be a buffoon, he 
 is still that interesting character after he becomes 
 president; the position can do nothing for him aside 
 from lending him a little brief power and glory, and 
 his unworthiness only makes the exalted position less 
 desirable to his successors of grander character. 
 
 84 
 
LET THE SOUL SHINE THROUGH. 
 
 No matter what your work, perform it with will- 
 ing hands, cheerful heart and sunny face. 
 
 Let your soul shine through; it is not necessary 
 to express audibly your sympathy or good will, but 
 lift the shades from the windows of your gloom- 
 stricken heart, and fraternal love will stream radiantly 
 through, and gladden many a plodder, many a 
 wrecked and hopeless soul who clings to a piece of 
 driftwood as he floats on the pitiless waves of life, 
 and whose heart cries out for just one ray of hght 
 from a sympathetic soul. 
 
 Success and happiness, temporary and eternal, 
 depend upon soul-giving. 
 
 Impaired vision the oculist keeps in the dark lest 
 the too strong rays of the sun bhnd completely. Do 
 not keep the soul shut away in a tomb of worldly 
 cares and ambitions which must at last yield to the 
 grave, lest the too strong light of heaven may dazzle 
 it, so that it shall have to be kept in the shadows away 
 from the glorious light of human sympathy and love 
 that must radiate the soul world. 
 
 85 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 (EtjrtBtmaa (UtiorttB 
 
 ON a crisp, bright afternoon nearing Christmastide, 
 the Ladies' Aid Society of Sierra Vista were 
 holding a meeting at the home of their president, for 
 the purpose of arranging for a fitting observance, at 
 their church, of the approaching hoHday. They con- 
 cluded not only to excel all former efforts, by having 
 appropriate songs and recitations in addition to the 
 conventional tree, but decided by a rousing vote that 
 not only their children, but those of the poor, should 
 be remembered with gifts. This fresh manifestation 
 of charity was doubtless prompted by the ever famil- 
 iar "It is better to give than to receive," so regularly 
 declared by their pastor, as each Sunday he bore 
 away over his head their plate of nickels, poker 
 checks, canceled meal tickets, buttons and beer checks, 
 to the closing strains of the grand offeratory. Com- 
 mittees were appointed to visit the families living in 
 the bottoms around the smelters, and about the mines, 
 to urge parents to come and bring their children to 
 participate in the festivities. It was further decided 
 that clothing should be provided for those who might 
 not come, through need of respectable gear. 
 
 Cast-off clothes were warmed over to a turn, the 
 committee proceeded to distribute them, and parents 
 were again urged to bring the children, for Santa 
 Claus would surely be there, and the illusion that he 
 is an impartial old mystery, should be preserved by 
 
 86 
 
CHRISTMAS THORNS. 
 
 the remembrance of every child with a gift from the 
 Christmas tree. 
 
 The hall used for the entertainment was one for- 
 merly occupied as a gambling hall, but this five-year- 
 old camp having grown too tame for the proprietors, 
 who had sought new fields, the building had been 
 converted to the use of religious services and social 
 entertainments; and on this Christmas Eve, as a re- 
 sult of the energy of the Ladies' Aid, it "was crowded 
 to the doors." 
 
 The tired mothers, most of whom had not cloth- 
 ing to grace the occasion, remained at home, but 
 dressed their children in the contributions from the 
 Society, and hopeful that the day might prove a 
 glittering milestone on life's steep and rocky trail, 
 sent them on their way rejoicing. Indeed the little 
 ones had never before experienced such happy expec- 
 tancy, for they had talked of nothing while waking, 
 nor of anything dreamed while sleeping, save the 
 Christmas Tree, and Santa Claus, and the "toys and 
 nice things" they were to get. Some of these mothers 
 had come from comfortable and refined homes in the 
 east, and to these visits and aids from the Society 
 were keenly humiliating, but this their wise and tender 
 mother hearts concealed from the children, whose 
 innocent childish joy must not be marred by the 
 bitterness that comes with understanding of the 
 world and its ways. 
 
 Of the large crowd of poor children at the en- 
 tertainment, a little girl who had not been reached 
 by the Society was Florian BradlEY. She was 
 the only child of a miner and his wife who lived in 
 
 87 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 a little log cabin built on a bench among the firs 
 and pines, just at the edge of timberline on Baldy 
 mountain. Jack Bradley had picked up some 
 good looking quartz here early in the spring, and with 
 visions of a bonanza, immediately brought his wife and 
 little girl up from Sierra Vista. He gave Slick Bill, 
 who Vvas a "good all around miner," a half interest 
 to help him develop ; to alternate between striking and 
 turning the drill and loading and hoisting the bucket; 
 and, too, it was desirable to have a partner "that the 
 folks" might not be alone while one or the other went 
 to Sierra Vista for supplies. 
 
 "Brad" said, as soon as news of the entertainment 
 came on the hill, that little Florian should go, for 
 they would soon be snowed in up there, and this 
 would be something for her to think and talk about 
 during their long months of isolation; and though 
 they could not put anything on the tree for her. Bill, 
 who had brought the news, said every child was 
 to get something, and it would be the greatest festival 
 night ever seen in Sierra Vista. So, with "Peace on 
 earth, good will to men" echoing in their hearts and 
 minds from childhood days, when they saw the words 
 in evergreen letters back of the altar, and from the 
 ministers heard these words proclaimed in glad tones, 
 they fixed Florian up in her best dress, which her 
 mother thought "would not look very bad at night," 
 and Brad placed her lovingly in the little box-like ap- 
 pliance he had improvised on "runners" to follow 
 the trail of his snowshoes; and with a tender adieu 
 to the mother, whose loneliness was relieved with the 
 hope that her child would receive lasting impressions 
 
 88 
 
CHRISTMAS THORNS. 
 
 of the goodness of God and men, they were soon 
 speeding down the mountain side toward the festival 
 scene. 
 
 The brilhancy of the tree, with its illumination of 
 wax candles, enhanced the beauty of the rich gifts 
 with which its limbs were bending to the floor. Florian, 
 in accordance with her teaching at the Sunday school 
 the few times she attended, had, since hearing of the 
 Christmas tree, prayed each night that she would get 
 a present, and dazzled with the scene, and feverish 
 with expectancy, did not notice that she was some- 
 what rudely crammed down among the poorer chil- 
 dren. 
 
 The first number was a recitation, "Annie and 
 Willie's Prayer," and so strongly illustrated the effi- 
 cacy of prayer, that Florian's hopes ascended higher 
 and higher. And finally, when Santa Claus appeared 
 in his furs and bells and began to read the names 
 and distribute the presents, her every muscle was tense 
 and her brain on fire, for it had been announced that 
 "the children must remain till the tree was stripped, 
 for all would receive of its bountiful fruit." 
 
 The name of Willie Prosperity was called again 
 and again, and proudly he walked up to receive his 
 packages, and as proudly his parents drank in the 
 scene, gulping it down with greater effort as each 
 succeeding time their wealth was displayed. Then 
 the name of Billy Failedwell was called out so many 
 times that even he grew impatient with his overbur- 
 dened arms and frequent trotting. Then the monot- 
 ony of sameness was broken by the calling 
 of Hattie Vainmother, who responded now and 
 
 89 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 again, her shiny new shoes squeaking with delight 
 as they took the route back and forth from her seat 
 to the beneficent Santa Claus. The rich children, 
 becoming overburdened with gifts, deposited them 
 with their parents that they might have unfettered 
 arms for further receiving. 
 
 And thus the performance proceeded until the 
 hearts of the poor children were breaking with des- 
 pair, for every time Santa Claus held up a shining 
 gift or inviting package, hope that it was THIS TIME 
 for them was shot in the heart with the name of 
 Hattie Vainmother, Billy Failedwcll or Willie Pros- 
 perity. Tears glistened in the eyes of many whose 
 names had not been called, while sensible of the 
 situation, hearts of others were growing callous, and 
 bitter and rebelHous their thoughts. Finally the tree 
 was stripped of everything save the strings of popcorn 
 festooning and the bright tarletan bags of stale candy. 
 The hopes of the poor children, Uke the exhausted 
 candles, had had their last flicker when they were 
 revived by Santa Claus calling out to them to "catch 
 now," which was followed by a promiscuous tossing 
 of the candy bags into the crowd. The expert 
 catchers by practice and inheritance were those whose 
 names Santa Claus has made so familiar to us, and 
 many of the children for whom the good ladies of 
 the Society had intended the bags of candy did not 
 even get so much ; and poor little FloriaN was one 
 of these. The nearest she came to it was a blow 
 from a bag which in its misdirected career struck her 
 on the nose. Crying with pain from the blow, added 
 to her aching heart, she met her father who was 
 
 90 
 
CHRISTMAS THORNS. 
 
 waiting for her at the door. Bradley's pain was 
 too deep to voice when he learned the cause of his 
 darling's tears, and with a tenderness tinged with 
 grief and chagrin he silently placed her in the snow- 
 shoe sleigh and started for their mountain home. 
 Bradley soon mastered his feelings, which at first 
 would have found vent in a burst of indignant rage. 
 He told Florian not to cry, that some day papa 
 would strike it rich in his mine and then she could 
 have a Christmas tree all her own, and soothed with 
 these gently spoken words of comfort she replied 
 with eagerness and delight: 
 
 "Then, papa, I'll put presents on the tree for 
 all the poor children, and everyone shall get the 
 same things so none of them will cry, and I'll be 
 Santa Claus and won't that be nice — and they all 
 w:ill go home so glad." And thus the broken-hearted 
 little girl chattered on until her voice was lost in 
 the noise of the wind and creaking of the swaying 
 dead trees of the forest. Bradly thinking Florian 
 had fallen asleep, fell to dreaming of what he could 
 do for his dear ones if favored by fortune, and did 
 not see until within a short distance of the cabin, 
 that the little sleigh was empty. His heart 
 pulseless, the warm perspiration of a moment before 
 was now a death-damp. The strong frame of Jack 
 Bradley trembled like a frail reed before the wind, 
 and the mountain seemed moving from under his al- 
 most helpless feet. As one dazed and aimless, he 
 started back over the trail, which was now com- 
 pletely hidden under the new fallen snow, and 
 traveled on and on until he faced a stupendous slide 
 
 91 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 of rock, timber and snow that had been precipitated 
 from the awful steep mountain side on the south, 
 filling the deep canon where the zig-zag trail begins 
 its serpentile winding. This canoned place was never 
 penetrated by the light of the sun or moon, and the 
 belated traveler finds it difficult to pass the narrow, 
 winding steps in the cliff, and through the trees and 
 underbrush, here, at night, even in summer; and to 
 cross this defiant obstruction, filled with broken trees, 
 piled high and criss-crossed, in the darkness and ter- 
 rific storm, would have been an impossible feat for 
 the courage and physical strength of a much stronger 
 man than Bradley. A crash, followed with a 
 sound like the distant rumbling of storm- 
 clouds is heard, and breaking trees continue 
 to bring the sound nearer — now the great 
 trachyte rock slide to the north is moving under 
 the awful force of another snowslide which will add 
 to the canyon's obstruction. The moon mellows the 
 darkness of the great hill for a moment, and a 
 fleeting cloud curtains its exit from the crest of the 
 western divide. The second slide has run over the 
 first and the air is laden with snow hurled high by 
 its forceful breath. Did God see and direct that 
 avalanche away from the spot where Bradley stood — 
 would He see and protect Florian? Now the pines 
 under their weight of snow are breaking on the 
 mountain side, and sliding toward the trail. 
 
 As a blow restores to his normal condition a 
 drunken man, this panorama of the heavens and earth 
 called back Bradley's power of speech, and falling 
 prostrate and half conscious, upon his face, in 
 
 92 
 
CHRISTMAS THORNS. 
 
 the snow, he prayed with that intensity born of 
 despair that he might find Florian — that she was 
 safe; then he arose and started up the hill to the 
 cabin, and the heavy wind raging through the forest 
 carried the mournful refrain: 
 
 "My God! how can I tell her mother." 
 
 At last he came in sight of the dim light that 
 shone through the single pane of glass that served as 
 a window. Mrs. Bradley met him at the door and 
 noting his pale and distorted features, pressed by him 
 — to behold the little empty sleigh! In breathless 
 alarm she spoke the one word: "FloriaN.'" 
 
 The broken man placed his arms about her and 
 kissed her so tenderly ; and in one great sobbing burst 
 of despair, told the awful truth — that he had lost 
 Florian off the sleigh; and like a great strong pine 
 rent by the fury of an avalanche, he told the story 
 of the Christmas tree, of FlorIAN's disappointment, 
 how he had solaced her, and finally thought her 
 asleep, the appalling discovery of her loss, and of his 
 search until he met the slides, when the mother uttered 
 with the despair of a lost soul: 
 
 "Florian — buried — under — a — slide ! " Then 
 in a voice tempered with resignation, "Well, one of 
 the last things my mother said while I held her hand 
 in death, was, that as ore had to pass through a 
 crucible to extract the gold, so must the human soul, 
 to reach a perfect state, and with faith in her wisdom 
 I can say, "Thy will be done." 
 
 The cabin was never so gloomy, the fire never 
 burned so fitfully; the rough bunks constructed of 
 aspen poles, that had seemed luxurious couches were 
 
 93 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 now hideous to the Bradley's. So deep beneath the 
 mountains of snow surrounding them their hopes were 
 buried, that the sunshine of time could not resurrect 
 or revive, them, and the weird music of the wind 
 through the dense aspen field near by, seemed a fun- 
 eral dirge by the orchestra of God. 
 
 It was Christmas Eve, and the hill was desert- 
 ed, all the boys from the mines having gone down 
 to camp to take in the places of amusement, which 
 on festival days, generally introduce special attrac- 
 tions. Bradley remembered that he had left his 
 partner at the Log Cabin saloon, engaged in a game 
 of poker, and Bill had told him he would "come on 
 the hill the following day, with the other boys;" and 
 with the hope that LITTLE Florian's body would 
 be found by them, they waited in that awful suspense 
 known only to the hearts of parents. 
 
 "Brad," shouted Bill the next morning, as he 
 entered the cabin like a whirlwind, "we saw Chip- 
 monk Pete as we were coming up the trail. He was 
 at the Camp Bird dump, on the east side of Slip- 
 pery Rock Falls, and he shouted across to us to tell 
 you that they had found Floran, and he said some- 
 thing more, but I could't hear for the splashing of 
 the falls. What does it mean?" Then glancing about 
 the cabin he missed the child who had smoothed the 
 rough places in his life ever since he had agreed to 
 share Bradley's fortunes. Bradley explained FlOR- 
 IAN's absence, and faltering and stammering. Bill ex- 
 pressed deep sorrow, then, realizing that he must be 
 the comforter, began preparations for the inevitable. 
 
 The mother insisted that if Florian were found 
 
 94 
 
CHRISTMAS THORNS. 
 
 she must have the little body near her, and it was 
 agreed between the sad trio that the father should 
 prepare the grave and Bill should go down to camp 
 and have the little box made, and bring up the dead 
 baby. 
 
 The golden luster of the morning sun would now 
 lose its cheer since it could no longer commingle with 
 the flaxen curls of Florian — the mountain lark 
 would cease to sing at the cabin door — there would be 
 no response — the little peep hole between the logs, 
 where she stood to watch the fading, fleeting rays of 
 the setting sun, must be hidden and all that was asso- 
 ciated with her plays, laughs and cries must vanish 
 into the peace of forgetfulness. 
 
 It was hard to find a spot for the grave, but it 
 was decided to dig it near the tunnel of the mine, 
 where an overhanging ledge seemed to welcome the 
 slumberer, whose memory would ever be cherished by 
 the miners of the hill. The rock was so stubborn 
 that the frequent use of powder in blasting was neces- 
 sary, and each succeeding shot rang out upon the crisp 
 air more loudly, seeming to heighten the intensity of 
 despair. Mrs. Bradley sat on a pile of ore nearby, 
 and as if in a dream or stupor, watched the digging 
 of the grave of her darling. She unconsciously picked 
 up a piece of rock that was blasted out, and though 
 looking at it vacantly, saw that it was literally chunks 
 of gold. Not startled from her grief by the dis- 
 covery, however, she simply said in subdued tones: 
 
 "Here, dear, is the gold for which you have 
 searched so long, but it is so much dross to us now that 
 our human treasure is lost. The ways of God are 
 
 95 
 
THE FIRST CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
 
 surely 'mysterious and past finding out.' Had you 
 discovered this sooner, her heart need not have been 
 broken at the Christmas tree." A sorrowful moan 
 was hushed by a joyous shout. Slick Bill hurried 
 in with Florian on his back, who cried as she 
 sprang to her father: 
 
 "Why, papa, you lost me just below where the 
 big slides came down. I was all covered up and 
 had an awful bad time getting out, and the wind was 
 making such a noise I couldn't make you hear me, 
 and I sat down in the snow. It was so dark I was 
 afraid I would get lost if I started back to town, and 
 I was afraid the bears or something would catch me, 
 but pretty soon Mr. Harlan came along and heard 
 me crying and he took me home out of the storm. 
 And I have had such a good time playing with 
 Genevieve, and she gave me one of her dolls, see, 
 and some toys, too, and lots of nice things! Bill's 
 got 'em in that sack. Let em see 'em. Bill. " 
 
 "Why, mama, don't cry, don't you see I'm here, 
 and O, ain't you glad I've got such pretty thingsV 
 
 During Florian's recital her mother was crying 
 and laughing alternately. At sight of the toys, Brad- 
 ley thought of the Christmas tree he had promised 
 Florian, and running to the unfinished grave, 
 brought a piece of the gold ore he had blasted out, 
 which he held up for Bill's inspection, crying joy- 
 ously: "This cloud has a golden lining. Florian's 
 grave will unquestionably become one of the richest 
 mines in the Rockies, and we'll call it 'Christmas 
 Thorns.' " 
 
 96 
 
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