UTH AH£l fiction 
 
 
 VERSE AND PROSE 
 
 
 
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Class y^-: -n9 
 Book __^^ 
 
 Copyright }J°. 
 
 COIVRIGHT DEPOSIT 
 
(y4^ef<B^-^£e. 
 
Truth and Fiction 
 
 IN 
 
 Verse and Prose 
 
 With Illustrations 
 
 By 
 
 ALICE D. ESTES 
 
 1^ '^ 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 T HE AUTHOR 
 
 Sl'ltlNCFIKLD, Mo 
 
 1910 
 
^6 
 
 <-p^ 
 
 Copyright 1910, 
 By ALICE D. ESTES. 
 
 CCI.A268398 
 
Preface. 
 
 rpHIS work of truth and fiction is founded on 
 -L authentic facts. Though, some of the fiction 
 is mere conception of thought, while the truths are 
 all true to nature. Read, imbibe, and digest the 
 whole. The Author. 
 
Contents. 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 God, The Creator of All Things 
 
 1 
 
 Venus . . . . . 
 
 3 
 
 Nature's Witchery . . . . 
 
 3 
 
 Thou Weeping Willow . 
 
 4 
 
 The Babbling Breok 
 
 5 
 
 Spring Time .... 
 
 5 
 
 Gladsome Spring . . . . 
 
 6 
 
 Oh, Thou Grandeur 
 
 7 
 
 Ye Shells 
 
 8 
 
 Shells 
 
 8 
 
 The Deep, Throbbing Sea . 
 
 9 
 
 Splendor Arrayed 
 
 9 
 
 Give Me the Country 
 
 10 
 
 A Thrilling Picture 
 
 11 
 
 A Vivid Scene . . . . . 
 
 11 
 
 Omnipotence Portrayed 
 
 14 
 
 A Vision of Grandeur 
 
 14 
 
 Yon Drifting Clouds 
 
 15 
 
 An Enchanted Scene 
 
 16 
 
 A Bewildering Scene 
 
 16 
 
 The Song of the Pines 
 
 17 
 
 The Story of the Deep, Old Wood 
 
 17 
 
 Dame Autumn . . . . 
 
 18 
 
 The Wood Thrush's Song 
 
 19 
 
 My Heart's Loves . . . . 
 
 20 
 
 Venus ..... 
 
 21 
 
 The Old Year is Dying 
 
 21 
 
 My Visionary Abode 
 
 22 
 
 Ah, What Grandeur 
 
 23 
 
 Melody Sweet .... 
 
 23 
 
 Nature All Wild . . . . 
 
 24 
 
 The Hermit of the Wilds 
 
 25 
 
 Nature's Wilds . . . 
 
 26 
 
 Perception's Enchantments 
 
 27 
 
 A Graphic Story ... 
 
 28 
 
 A Parken Fair ... 
 
 29 
 
A Rustic Scene. The Vine and Its Fruit 
 
 Still She Rears Well Her Regal Head 
 
 Gainesville, Texas 
 
 Hot Springs Amid Her Grandeur 
 
 Salute Your Partners 
 
 The Old and New Trail 
 
 Life Would be One Fleeting Day . 
 
 In Rapture True 
 
 The Dictionary 
 
 Biography .... 
 
 A Weird and Pathetic Scene 
 
 The Battle of Lundy's Lane 
 
 The Riderless Horse 
 
 Plucky Vim, or Guided by Hope 
 
 In Poverty's Fetters 
 
 Hurrah ..... 
 
 Thou Heedest Them Not 
 
 Pictured So Brilliantly Fair 
 
 Faith as of Old 
 
 A Dramatic Story 
 
 Death ..... 
 
 An Explanatory Note of the Girl Who Dared 
 
 The Girl Who Dared 
 
 Yea, It Was Decreed . . . 
 
 An Enraptured Scene 
 
 A Daring Hunter, or Arthur Adair's Resolve 
 
 In the 60's, or Husband and Wife Reunited 
 
 The True Story of Herbert DeLee 
 
 'Twas Only a Fearful Dream 
 
 Truant Charles and His Wonderful Dream 
 
 Attention All 
 
 A True Story, One With a Moral 
 
 An Observation of Spring 
 
 A Sweet Picture 
 
 Aren't They Sweet 
 
 Meditation .... 
 
 Pig-a-Wee .... 
 
Illustrations. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 And the cataract's call sounding loudly, near by, 
 
 And squirrels abounding with bright, cunning eye. . 10 
 
 Are now sweetly fragrant, and tempting and cool, 
 
 With small, lulling streams, and a deep, rippling pool. 18 
 
 And those great, craggy bowlders, hid cheery fires low, 
 
 As the brave, stalwart Indians, to battle did go. . 32 
 
 With his head thrown so high, now on the horse trots. 
 
 Right around a plank fence, and past rolling lots. . 38 
 
 We hoed, and we labored from each early morn. 
 
 Were up with the lark, out to fields of green corn. . 57 
 
 And up there, in two great forks, I camped that night. 
 
 While the lean and frantic wolves around did howl. . 64 
 
 **My own dear, darling wife," said Dick, "I have come 
 
 back to thee. 
 Wilt thou sweet, darling one, e'er forgive a beast like me? ' ' 73 
 
 I'm now pealing the short hour of old, welcome noon, 
 
 When each one should handle, the knife, fork and spoon. 98 
 
 A fair, sweet picture, so true and so grand, 
 
 While looking far out across the great strand. . 104 
 
 The Vacant Chair 106 
 
 Illustrations designed by A lick D. Estes 
 Photographed by Harry C. Morc.an. Sprinj?field, Mo. 
 
 Pencil Sketches by Bentik Reed. Springfield. Mo. 
 Enjrraved by Sander.s Engraving Co.. St. Louis. Mo. 
 
 Music Plates made by Ander.son Bros.. Engravers. ChicaRo. 
 
 Printed by S. A. DixoN. Springfield. Mo. 
 Bound by Becktold Book Mp'g. Co., St. Louis. Mo. 
 
Page 3 ''Yea, this Sabbath Day is of sweet, holy rest. 
 
 To lay souls in thought, upon God^s loving breast/' 
 
TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 IN 
 
 VERSE AND PROSE. 
 
 God, The Creator of All Things. 
 
 Our Lord made this grand, and this radiant old world, 
 In which we now live, and so often are whirFd; 
 Mere man could never have made such, you know, 
 These all are true facts and not theory, I trow. 
 
 But man can make arks, and houses, aye, books, 
 Though not nature's lakes, nor even the nooks; 
 Nay, nothing was there then, to mold the world by. 
 And still God has shaped it with wonderful eye. 
 
 Yea, the Father is called the Creator of things. 
 For e'en to the fowl, He gave life and wings; 
 In six days. He worked and created the world, 
 And by this last day, every leaf was unfurl'd. 
 
 He said on the first, ''Let there be a light,'' 
 And this He called day, and the darkness, the night; 
 And on the next day, spoke our Father again. 
 And there was the water, and there was the rain. 
 
 And each space. He filled up with air so pure, 
 That all things could Hve, and this life endure; 
 And then on the third day, our Lord again spoke, 
 And the great, placid water from sleeping awoke. 
 
 Ah, no longer monarch was that great, vast sheet, 
 For broad acres of land. His eye did greet; 
 We walk now, upon this rough, rolling, dry land, 
 Which sweeps far away on every broad hand. 
 
2 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 The third time God spoke, and things sprang from 
 
 the earth, 
 The grass and the plants, and the trees knew their 
 
 birth; 
 And bright, swaying flowers sent their fragrance afar, 
 And then on the fourth, there appeared a bright star; 
 
 And the sun bathed the earth, in his great, flaming 
 
 Hght, 
 Then sunk down to his rest, in a star-hghted night; 
 Ere, the darkly dense shadows, the earth shaded o'er. 
 The moon bathed it all, in her soft light once more. 
 
 God willed the bright sun to arise every morn. 
 That the night of her shadows, might ever be shorn; 
 And on the flfth day, our Lord made things alive,^ 
 And the birds then did fly, and the fish then did dive. 
 
 Aye, birds flew away to the tall forest trees. 
 Through which was now wafting, a soft, fragrant 
 
 breeze; 
 And then, on the sixth day, our Lord spoke aloud, 
 And the horses and cattle, and sheep soon did crowd; 
 
 As well as all species of small creeping things. 
 Though some spun aloft, upon rich, gaudy wings. 
 And at last, God made there, a live human form, 
 To breast this old world, with her woe and her storm. 
 
 And He breathed into him, the sweet breath of life, 
 
 And gave unto him, a most true, loving wife. 
 
 Yea, He charged Adam's soul with the love for his 
 
 God, 
 And He held up to him, stern Duty's flrm rod. 
 
 Of a rib He made Eve, from d\it Adam's left side. 
 And gave them the world, so lovely and wide. 
 They hved in a garden, all cozy and fair, 
 And great, roving beasts the garden did share. 
 
 Ah, happy were they in that fair, gladsome clime, 
 Where clung the sweet flower, and where trailed the 
 
 green vine; 
 But satan, his wishes of them, quickly won. 
 Poor Adam and Eve, their full journey did run. 
 
GOD, THE CREATOR OF ALL THINGS 3 
 
 They both disobeyed our good Father's firm rule, 
 They listened to satan and soon were his tool; 
 In great, bitter anguish, the Lord then did bow. 
 And out from the garden. He drove them all now. 
 
 From the garden of Eden, were bidden to go, 
 And along this Life's path disobedience sow; 
 God, now called the seventh. His own Sabbath Day, 
 And He ceased then to toil, there upon His great way. 
 
 Aye, this is the reason the people rest now. 
 
 And before His great throne, in true worship do bow; 
 
 Yea, this Sabbath Day is of sweet, holy rest. 
 
 To lay souls in thought, upon God's loving breast. 
 
 Venus. 
 
 Ere the evening's long shadows dance in the moon's 
 
 ray. 
 At the close of a summer's fair, August day; 
 Thy soft, brilliant light is seen shining on high. 
 Yea, it gleams and it glows, in the blue-tinted sky. 
 
 Oh, thou dazzling, thou golden and radiant star, 
 I often have gazed on thy light, from afar; 
 On out o'er that fair, and that lovely expanse. 
 Thy soft, beaming light, doth forever entrance. 
 
 Nature's Witchery. 
 
 The Sun now arose in his dazzling splendor, 
 And caught in his rays the bright glories of Time; 
 A new, gladsome spirit, he soon did engender, 
 And wove into all, a true halo sublime. 
 
 Then old, drowsy Noon, took the place of fair Morn, 
 High up in the sky, rode the fierce, scorching Sun; 
 His hot breath, Fair Day, of her freshness had shorn. 
 And no (queenly laurels had the noon minutes won. 
 
4 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 And then cool, witching Eve, came upon the whole 
 
 scene. 
 And spread over all a deep, star lighted hour; 
 And sweet, soothing zephyrs trilled their songs, I 
 
 ween. 
 And played hide and seek, there in Space's great 
 
 bower. 
 
 And when the dark Night had worn on to her close. 
 And left the dense shades in their own, phantom 
 
 chme; 
 A Light in the east once again grandly 'rose. 
 And wove into splendor, his radiance sublime. 
 
 Thou Weeping Willow. 
 
 Oh, weeping willow so grand and so fair. 
 
 That is bending over that brooklet out there; 
 
 Thy branches all sway in the soft, morning breeze, 
 
 As it wafts itself on through the tall forest trees. 
 
 And as I gaze now on thy fair, drooping form. 
 Which hath stood there for years, through each fear- 
 ful storm; 
 I note with gladness thy beauty so grand, 
 Thy boughs, there above the wet, pebbly sand. 
 
 As I now ghde o'er this deep, flowing stream, 
 I seem to picture as in a bright dream; 
 A soft, balmy day, aye, winsome and fair, 
 With singing skylarks, aloft in the air. 
 
 And again I perceive the sky's radiant hue, 
 As I saw it one morn, there amid the damp dew, 
 While rambling on down to the streamlet's low edge. 
 Then chasing out after a hare, in the hedge. 
 
 Then back up the hill, I again m^de my way, 
 That gladsome and lovely and fragrant June day; 
 And on reaching the hill's great steep rolling brow, 
 My head, in rapture, I humbly did bow. 
 
THOU WEEPING WILLOW 5 
 
 For grandeur was spread there, before my broad 
 
 view, 
 And lowly I knelt in the wet, pearly dew, 
 And looking straight up to the Father above, 
 I thanked Him with awe, for His great, holy love. 
 
 Then arose I, upright, from that dew-sparkled ground, 
 And looked away out on the splendor around; 
 And as my glad eyes, on thee. Willow, did rest, 
 A new, deep joy filled my now peaceful breast. 
 
 The Babbling Brook. 
 
 There's a babbling brook that winds its way, 
 O'er sparkling rocks and o'er red clay; 
 Out through the field, it flows along. 
 And cheerful is its playful song. 
 
 Right on and on it ripples by, 
 A silvery stream there 'neath the sky; 
 Now down, and down, it wends its way. 
 To the placid gulf, or the briny bay; 
 
 Where its waters are caught in the rising tide, 
 And sent to the ocean, old and wide; 
 And there 'mid the waves that dash and leap, 
 It will eddy and foam on the briny deep. 
 
 Spring Time. 
 
 The young grass is growing both night and day, 
 
 And the lark is singing his tuneful lay; 
 
 Ha, a bed of pansies I now do greet, 
 
 Aye, these bright flowers, in bloom at my feet. 
 
 And orchards in bkx)m in tints most rare, 
 
 And purple's the lilacs, and sweet and fair; 
 
 The hawthorn bush is in bloom again, 
 
 And the zephyrs now waltz to their own, merry strain. 
 
6 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 And a babbling brook trills by on its way, 
 
 In its own little bed of moss and of clay; 
 
 Now, a buzzing sound is caught on the breeze, 
 
 'Tis the hum and the drum of the small, busy bees. 
 
 And the dew on the clover gleams with its ray. 
 And the fresh air is sweet with the odors of May; 
 Ha, a butterfly flits to a great, red rose, 
 Then out and on, and away it goes. 
 
 And sunbeams glisten and fall all about, 
 Down among the shadows, and in and out; 
 And one now gleams through the beechen tree, 
 That stands there alone, on that broad lea. 
 
 Ah, a harp of music I often hear, 
 And the thrilling lyric, I fain would cheer; ^ 
 Yea, the earth now looks so queenly and fair, 
 And a throb of Nature is everywhere. 
 
 Now a soft, lulling sound comes over the lea, 
 'Tis the dreamy pulse of the restless sea. 
 And up o'er head, the heavens so bright. 
 Makes the earth vibrate in its soft, hued light. 
 
 Gladsome Spring. 
 
 Yea, spring, gladsome spring, how I do welcome thee, 
 Thy brooklets oft murmur and ripple with glee; 
 The hawthorn that's fragrant along hfe's broad aisle, 
 The sorrow and sadness, from our paths beguile. 
 
 And the birds carol forth their glad, merry lay. 
 And the children oft frolic in sport through the day; 
 Blooming orchards away, are in pink and in white, 
 And the river is running with streamlets of light. 
 
 And the wild flowers are blooming in beauty so rare, 
 And o'er yonder meadow, are blossoms most fair; 
 And the oak's swaying branches that rise stern and 
 
 high, 
 Are veiled over now, by April's fair sky. 
 
GLADSOME SPRING 7 
 
 Dame forest is donning her own, vernal robe, 
 And a feeling of gladness pervades the whole globe; 
 The wild geese, to far northern climates do go. 
 While the sunshine is bright, that is melting the snow. 
 
 And the great, surging waters with their high, rising 
 
 tide. 
 Their many small subjects, now often do chide; 
 I wander out over the shell-covered strand, 
 Enthralled by the workings of Nature's deft hand. 
 
 Yea, I greet thee, Young Spring, with thy new glad- 
 some glory. 
 With thy skies of deep blue, and thy true, sweet story; 
 So, in rapture and mirth, we will all trip along, 
 To the wind's soft music and the brooklet's low song. 
 
 Oh, Thou Grandeur. 
 
 The rain, in torrents, will downward pour, 
 And thunder, crashing, will loudly roar; 
 And lightning flashes, will flame the sky, 
 And wanton terror, will quickly hie. 
 
 Out over the land, confusion reigns, 
 Checking the ardor of active brains; 
 A fearful storm is upon the scene, 
 And lightning frames it, vivid and sheen. 
 
 In Memory's Hall, it is straightway hung; 
 
 Now songs of the feat, are hourly sung; 
 
 A wonder most startling, and so true, 
 
 Was wrought there, 'neath dark skies, not blue. 
 
 Yea, it is the touch of the Master's hand; 
 And the great, loud roar still sways the land; 
 And the lightning flames, still streak the sky; 
 Ah, Nature's splendor out there, doth lie, 
 
 All lit by Deity, grand and wise; 
 On past Perception's field it lies; 
 And, as the sun of Time rides on 
 To fair, tintod ovo, from gilded dawn, 
 
TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 The radiant scene doth flash and glow, 
 Along each thought's broad, winding row; 
 Yea, the lightning's flash, will the beacon be, 
 Out there, across Life's throbbing sea. 
 
 Ye Shells. 
 
 Yea, each tinted shell brings a message to me, 
 Of the blue and the deep, and the great, surging sea; 
 They sing their quaint ballads, so rugged and wild. 
 Ha, each is Fair Nature's own sweet, bonnie child. 
 
 And lovely they all are of pink and of gold, 
 While many are dazzhng, aye, to behold; 
 Out o'er the broad beach, they all radiantly lie, 
 And each a rare treasure, there 'neath the blue sky. 
 
 And as they reflect in the sun's golden ray, 
 
 The sea greeteth them with its green, briny spray; 
 
 And now, their colors a glory doth show, 
 
 'Tis there, that they glimmer, and sparkle, and glow. 
 
 Shells. 
 
 In splendor bright, they're strewn along; 
 Now pick one up and hear its song; 
 It tells to each, true yarns of the sea. 
 Of yonder broad and rolling lea. 
 
 Of the sun's bright rays that on it fall, 
 Of the great, green depth's slow, surging call; 
 Of the twinkling stars, and the moon's soft ray; 
 It gleams and sparkles both night and day. 
 
 Each has its thrilling tale to tell. 
 
 Of the vast, bright spray, and of yon cool dell; 
 
 Of deep and restless sea's lapping tide. 
 
 And of each dashing wave's wild, frantic ride. 
 
SHELLS 
 
 Oh, turn it o'er there in the sun, 
 To diamond tints it's quickly spun; 
 And held there thus all glittering bright, 
 Its tints do glow with radiant light. 
 
 The Deep, Throbbing Sea. 
 
 The deep, throbbing sea lieth here at my feet, 
 To its slow, rhythmic measure I playfully beat; 
 And the gentle waves sway so lulling and wide. 
 Often back, often forth, sweeps the murmuring tide. 
 
 And now a fresh breeze coming in from the sea. 
 Sends the white, sparkling spray, far out o'er the lea; 
 And rocks, to and fro, the low, whispering tide. 
 With waves rolling out o'er the deep, far and wide. 
 
 Still onward they dash,^ sweeping out and away. 
 Yet bathing the beach in their white, foaming spray; 
 Ah, on to the shore they again quickly roll, 
 There, just at the edge, they are hiding a knoll. 
 
 The sea's deep, broad bosom swells wavelets aglow. 
 And over it softly the wind sigheth low. 
 And gently the waves all are rocked right along, 
 And their sighs mingle now, with the wind's rising 
 song. 
 
 And the bright golden sun sinking down to his rest, 
 Leaves the waves dancing there, on the ocean's broad 
 
 crest; 
 They sweep, and they dash, those waves rolling high, 
 A great mountain wall there against the dark sky. 
 
 Splendor Arrayed. 
 
 Here is a yarn which I shall tell, 
 Of beach and sea, and shaded dell. 
 This yarn I'll weave a dazzling hue, 
 I'll ply the warp with tints of blue. 
 
10 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 Its rays are from both sea and sky; 
 Now back and forth, each thread I ply; 
 As thus I weave, great waves surge on, 
 And the sun so fierce, o'er all, doth fawn. 
 
 Still, out through there, a cloud I see; 
 It hangs right o'er yon witching lea; 
 And now I ply an amber thread. 
 And weave in these few skeins of red. 
 
 And, as yon sun sinks out of sight. 
 In glides the calm and starry night; 
 And dark the waves, that wash and surge. 
 And sad and wild are e'er their dirge. 
 
 As o'er the beach they now do rush, 
 I gaze at heights, and tangled brush. 
 Then up and out at dear old Mars, 
 Aye, blazing there amid the stars. 
 
 Give Me The Country. 
 
 Oh, give me the country with its cool, witching glens, 
 With its larks, and its linnets, and warbling wrens; 
 With meadows and orchards, and pastures so rare, 
 With fleecy white clouds, and with skies tinted fair. 
 
 With zephyrs oft trilling out in the ripe corn, 
 And hunters shrill blast through a great, ivory horn; 
 And the broad, rolling hills that go stretching away. 
 With brooks swiftly eddying in rapturous play. 
 
 And the cool, deep nooks, now quiet in shade. 
 And the great, jagged rocks that Nature has made; 
 And the cataract's fall sounding loudly, near by. 
 And squirrels abounding with bright, cunning eye. 
 
 With glimpses of prairie that stretch far away. 
 And clover that's sweet, blooming over the clay; 
 And towering oaks, so solemn and grand, 
 In wonder I'd wander out over the land. 
 
Page 10 ''And the cataract's fall soHmlifig loudly, ucar by. 
 
 And s<iuirrels abounding with' bright] cunuiug eye' 
 
A VIVID SCENE 11 
 
 A Thrilling Picture. 
 
 The young pasture was green, 
 Ah, was growing away; 
 And in the clear water. 
 There gleamed a bright ray. 
 
 It fell where the shadows. 
 Were slanting and cool; 
 There 'neath the tall pines, 
 On the breast of the pool. 
 
 And, from out yonder meadow, 
 There came a sweet song; 
 And it told of the scene, 
 Where the shadows were long. 
 
 A Vivid Scene. 
 
 The curtain arose, and then quickly it fell, 
 
 Twas the dense, foggy mist of a small witching 
 
 dell; 
 All was gloom for an hour, and then all was so 
 
 bright. 
 Aye, showing a scene of a dazzling light. 
 
 The deep, throbbing ocean lay there at my feet, 
 Its great, heaving Jbosom I now fain would greet; 
 'Rose steep, solemn bluffs to the leaward of me. 
 On the left, stretching out, was a broad, verdant 
 lea. 
 
 Gulls circled a hill, all around it, then o'er. 
 
 In the deep, briny water I dipped a long oar, 
 
 Then loud and most fierce was a gull's screaming 
 
 cry, 
 As onward above me, it went whizzing by. 
 
 Then the others all followed in its screaming wake, 
 And lit on the brink of a small, rippling lake. 
 That right there indented the rough, slopping lea. 
 And emptied itself in the great, lulling sea. 
 
12 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 Ah, sending small ripples, so far and so wide, 
 Until they were lost in the sea's outward tide; 
 And soon all the beach was exposed white and dry, 
 Beneath a most fair and bewitching, blue sky. 
 
 Tinted shells were strewed out over all that wide 
 
 beach, 
 A lesson in Nature, they silently teach; 
 So many and bright, they were strewn all around, 
 O'er the beach grayish white, on that pebbly ground. 
 
 Soon the waves of the surging and billowy sea. 
 Went dashing out over that shell-studded lea; 
 I rowed to the shore, where I gazed at a height, 
 A huge, spreading eagle, was screaming in flight. 
 
 It was then that I looked again down at my feet, 
 And a grand, startling wonder, my eyes then did 
 
 greet; 
 The great waves had now washed way up on the 
 
 land, 
 They were lapping and surging away, on each hand. 
 
 Up the steep, rugged hillock, I quickly went now, 
 A great awe had mounted my pale, startled brow; 
 The broad beach was hidden by waves rolling high. 
 And so fierce was the eagle's most wild, screaming 
 cry. 
 
 A tempest so grand, was then swept o'er the scene. 
 The white, briny wavelets dashed over the green. 
 A gull overhead, darted, screaming on by, 
 And dark and so awful, had grown the low sky. 
 
 A big, foaming billow o'er me dashing went. 
 Ah, a weird, ghastly awe to the scene, the wave lent; 
 I turned to escape, speeding up a steep hill. 
 Around which was rushing a small, whirhng rill. 
 
 Out towards the dense mountain, I still sped away. 
 From the wild, rolling sea, and its mad, foaming 
 
 spray; 
 And those frantic, huge gulls circled, screaming 
 
 around, 
 And settled out over the hills, on the ground. 
 
A VIVID SCENE 13 
 
 I stood in mute awe on that bluff's rugged side, 
 And gazed on the sea, with its high, surging tide; 
 The mad waves, Hke demons, though truly most 
 
 grand, 
 Did wash and did dash, on the coast's bluffy land. 
 
 Ah, wilder and wilder soon grew the dark sea, 
 
 It dashed foaming surf far up on the lea; 
 
 And the sea-gulls went whizzing and screaming on 
 
 by, 
 Most fearful had grown their intense, noisy cry. 
 
 There I lingered and wondered, and gazed all 
 
 around, 
 On that dark, awful sea, and the surf-covered 
 
 ground; 
 Till my brain seemed on fire, and the scene 'round 
 
 me whirl' d. 
 At the grand, solemn wonders of this ancient world. 
 
 And the eagle screamed wildly, perched on a cliff 
 
 high, 
 And most keen was the hghtning that flamed the 
 
 dark sky. 
 And loud peals of thunder now rang through the 
 
 hills. 
 And swollen had grown the two small, flowing rills. 
 
 In wonder I looked at the whole magic scene, 
 I gazed at the spray, and the dashing waves green; 
 Then up at the mountain's great, towering height, 
 To where the lone eagle had taken his flight. 
 
 Then around my gaze roved, way out and afar, 
 •And o'er in the west, spied the evening star; 
 A great calmness now had swept o'er all again, 
 And the sea's falling waves had a soothing refrain; 
 
 Ah, the low waves were rocked in a deep, (luiet rest, 
 Were almost at peace on the sea's placid breast; 
 The wild force of the tempest had spent its grand 
 
 power. 
 Only memory was left of the tragical hour. 
 
14 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 Omnipotence Portrayed. 
 
 Yonder stands a tree with its massive branches 
 outspread, and their long, slender twigs aleaf. It 
 stands there, rearing its old, rugged form; a tower of 
 strength, within whose dark, lengthy shadows, the 
 wayfarer may ''rest from the heat'' of the mid- 
 summer's sun. And there, while seated upon the 
 cool, turfed ground, he listens in rapture to the stir 
 of the twigs, moved by the wind's gentle breath, 
 wafting there-through. Ah, it is with awe, that he 
 sees the All-Omnipotent hand of God, aye, reflected 
 therein, and realizes what a treasure he has found 
 this day, coffered in the old tree, though its owner 
 lives just on the brow of yonder great, sweeping 
 hill. Still, it is given to him, the poor, lone way- 
 farer, to rest inactive beneath those alluring and 
 lulhng boughs, and dream in blissful thoughts, a 
 dream of ecstasy. 
 
 Thus wafted on, all through my brain. 
 This sweet and soft, and soothing refrain; 
 That a stately tree, and one so old, 
 A gem, by Nature, so grandly scroll'd. 
 
 Stands, aye, in strength, so steadfast there, 
 All twined in beauty, subtle, fair; 
 A feast to the sad and weary one, 
 Resting thus, from the noon-day sun. 
 
 A Vision of Grandeur. 
 
 Ah, here I am, out among the western wilds, 
 where the Rocky 's great, rugged heights just show 
 the dawn of a rosy day. And while standing here 
 quaffing the pure, mountain air, I let my gaze rest 
 upon two towering peaks, and send pleasant thoughts 
 
A VISION OF GRANDEUR 15 
 
 flitting across deep, fertile valleys, to where bloom 
 and nod the fruits of a milder clime. Now, while 
 my gaze is riveted upon that distant height's snow- 
 crowned brow, I will draw a mental picture of the 
 golden eagle and his tangled, craggy, arid home. 
 And now, that the picture is successfully executed, 
 and hung on Memory's wall, I will let my vision 
 sweep on again, aye, to the ocean's restless deep, 
 and its ever briny wash, and here I shall pause to 
 imbibe the beauty of the shell-strewn strand; and to 
 listen in wonder to the sea-gulFs shrill and startling 
 cry. 
 
 Ah, now, I bow my head in awe before the 
 sweeping, dashing, and surging tide. Now, I fain 
 would collect the shells from the spray-washed 
 beach, that lies white and glittering in the sun's daz- 
 zhng light. Yea, my thoughts have taken on a holy 
 muse, and an all-inspiring perception, engendered by 
 sweet, fair Nature. 
 
 Ah, Nature's soft fingers hath touched the grand 
 
 keys. 
 And her low, rhythmic music sweeps out on the 
 
 breeze; 
 And her fair, tinted shadows oft come and oft go. 
 Yea, crowning the whole, with a bright, rosy glow. 
 
 Yon Drifting Clouds. 
 
 Oh, silver and purple, and soft-tinted clouds, 
 That follow each other, and cluster in crowds; 
 Ye so frequently show a white, dazzling light, 
 Now ye marshal into the dark shades of the night. 
 
 Now again to the tints of a bright golden hue, 
 Which purl into pinkish and soft, drifting blue; 
 Then back all are changed to the color of gold, 
 Ha, a bright, witching scene, I do gladly behold. 
 
16 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 An Enchanted Scene. 
 
 Down in the valley I look then away, 
 At the faint, gray dawn of a glorious day; 
 And the air is laden with pleasant perfume, 
 And birds are singing a sweet, joyful tune. 
 
 A loud, thrilling sound comes borne out to me, 
 From over the valley, and 'cross the green lea; 
 It is the loud roar of the cataract's fall, 
 I hear it again, on yon mount, rings its call. 
 
 And out all along the steep height, goes again, 
 The deep, swaying woods now ring the refrain. 
 Now backward it charges against the great hill, 
 An echo so startling, and ringing, and shrill. 
 
 A Bewildering Scene. 
 
 The bright, queenly moon rideth high on her way, 
 And the nightingale's song is so sweet and so gay; 
 With the brooklet's soft murmur, its tunes sweetly 
 
 chime, 
 And a great, sweeping hill lieth out there, subhme. 
 
 A scene of calm splendor is greeting my view. 
 And here I shall linger in new-fallen dew; 
 Tall trees and gay flowers, and deep tinted sky. 
 Aye, clear is the brooklet that ripples on by. 
 
 The rose's sweet scent is borne outward afar. 
 While it swayeth beneath a radiant star; 
 The brooklet still gambols, as it murmurs by. 
 And the wind in the tall tree-tops wafteth a sigh. 
 
 The boughs often sway to the melody sweet. 
 And plants, zephyrs fondly fan here at my feet; 
 The sweet, solemn hour, which lulls the calm night. 
 Now sporteth in fancy, to my heart's delight. 
 
THE STORY OF THE DEEP, OLD WOOD 17 
 
 The Song of the Pines. 
 
 The song of the pines, is soothing and sweet, 
 And the morning zephyrs, they often do greet; 
 They chime with sweet music, so solemn and low, 
 Far out on the breezes it gently doth flow. 
 
 Yea, they sing to the birds a note of joy, 
 A stanza so true, that it never will cloy; 
 Their song is floating on the zephyrs now, 
 While long, green branches all rustle and bow. 
 
 Now, on it ripples with a glad refrain, 
 Until back it comes again and again; 
 'Tis the zephyr's key and the pine-trees' song. 
 That marshals sweet music the whole day long. 
 
 The Story of the Deep, Old Wood. 
 
 These trees are so stately, and darksome and old. 
 They stand the great heat, and they stand the fierce 
 
 cold, 
 Their shadows are quiet, and cooling and long, 
 'Tis here that the linnet trills forth its sweet song. 
 
 Here too, sing the brooklets upon their glad way, 
 And bright fleeting sunbeams peep downward and 
 
 stray; 
 Out here the gay buttercup unfolds its blow, 
 And pheasants all flock here at random, you know. 
 
 This stately old forest, a story can tell. 
 
 Of the brook's merry chiming, out in yonder dell; 
 
 Of sweet zephyrs singing so low, and so rare. 
 
 Of the old cunning fox, and the old prowling bear. 
 
 A few thrilling vei'ses it truly can say, 
 Will proclaim sparkling dews in the sun's golden ray; 
 And branches all towei'ing so bold and so haiv. 
 Of winds wildly sweeping right down on a tare. 
 
18 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 Of glistening icicles so long and so bright, 
 
 Of the screech-owl's wild hooting, way in the still 
 
 night. 
 Of a cold, dreary dawn coming slowly at last, 
 Of snows lightly falling, so silent and fast. 
 
 Of deer with their antlers so long, and so grand, 
 They roam here all peaceful, throughout this fair 
 
 land; 
 Way here in this grandeur, this deep, tangled wood, 
 They have barked the young tree trunks, just where 
 
 they have stood. 
 
 Will tell of deep snows that lay packed on the ground, 
 
 An old daring hunter who came with his hound; 
 
 Of the blast through his great horn, that rang 
 
 shrilly and loud, 
 Of game rushing wildly in thickets to crowd. 
 
 Of the sun's gleaming sparkle just over the hills, 
 The thawing and cracking of icy-bound rills; 
 Of plants putting forth out on the green height, 
 Of great, honking geese, in far homeward flight. 
 
 These two little stanzas, you also may heed. 
 
 Ah, jewels quite true, they will please you indeed; 
 
 Each sun that arose, oft swept the blue sky. 
 
 Deep snows flowed away, and the brooklets did hie. 
 
 The streams rippled onward so silvery and sheen. 
 And soon these spring-woods were all clothed in 
 
 their green; 
 Are now sweetly fragrant, and tempting and cool. 
 With small, lulling streams, and a deep, rippling 
 
 pool. 
 
 Dame Autumn. 
 
 Dame Autumn is here with sighing winds. 
 With falling leaves and chincapins; 
 Her lulling streams tell tales of woe. 
 As on through meads they rippling go. 
 
Page 18 **Are now siveetiu Jragrant, and tcnintnuj and cool. 
 
 With smallf lulling streams ^ and a deep rippling pool. ' 
 
DAME AUTUMN 19 
 
 They tell of winter on his way, 
 A cold and dull and cheerless day; 
 That loud he'll knock at each one's door, 
 That howling winds will onward pour. 
 
 That snows will fall and bank up high, 
 Still darker grow the cold, gray sky; 
 That nights will be so raw and still. 
 And silent grows yon ripphng rill. 
 
 But now the skies are pink and blue, 
 And o'er the grass glints pearly dew. 
 Though suns may gleam with warmth awhile. 
 May frolic like some winsome child. 
 
 May leap on past the sky's deep blue. 
 And play on lawns, in sparkling dew; 
 Yet, soon cold winds will sweep on by, 
 And ''Oh, how keen," will be the cry. 
 
 The ground will freeze, then thaw again, 
 And we shall hear each brook's refrain; 
 That queenly Spring hath come in sight. 
 And March hath pass'd in rapid flight. 
 
 The Wood Thrush's Song. 
 
 Aye, the thrush sang this sweet, and this low, sol- 
 emn lay. 
 The hot days are speeding, are now far away; 
 In Autumn's bright tints, all the trees are array'd, 
 Still shadows are long, and there is a good shade. 
 
 And down by the lulling and murmuring stream, 
 The poppies now nod in their happy day-dream: 
 And a hawk's swiftly darting beneath the rare skies, 
 And the regal sumac glows in her own dies. 
 
 A gay rag-time whistle, so clear and so shrill. 
 Wafts out through the woods and over that hill; 
 And a woodman's keen ax on the clear air is ringing, 
 And now that same woodman a ballad is singing. 
 
20 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 Yea, Autumn is here with her g-lorious hue, 
 With her dazzling skies of amber and blue; 
 And the zephyr so low, and the winds at their play. 
 Each shall waltz to my song, on this grand autumn 
 day. 
 
 My Heart's Loves. 
 
 I love the grand, and the fragrant, and changeful 
 forest best. 
 
 Where the long and swaying branches, now rise 
 stern, dark and high; 
 
 And where away from the summer's scorching suns, 
 I often rest. 
 
 Enraptured by the gentle wind's soft, low and mur- 
 muring sigh. 
 
 I love also that winding, and that lulling old stream, 
 On whose green, fertile banks, the wild flowers 
 
 bloom and sway; 
 And trees that are all lighted by the sun's reflected 
 
 beam, 
 Athwart its ever dark, deep and rippling bosom 
 
 play. 
 
 I love the mountain peaks so craggy, grand and 
 
 lone and wild. 
 Whose streams and valleys are witching haunts of all 
 
 the deer; 
 And where golden eagles, on peaks, their long hours 
 
 beguile. 
 Aye, feared by men, yet none, they ever seem to 
 
 fear. 
 
 I love the bright and starry vault, of dark and sol- 
 emn night. 
 
 The dews that kiss the tangled wild wood, and the 
 leaf and rose; 
 
 The crescent moon that's riding high, in her own 
 mellow light, 
 
 The smiling sun, whose dazzling splendor often 
 fiercely glows. 
 
MY heart's loves 21 
 
 I love, yea, how I love, yon glorious realms out- 
 spread, 
 
 That's stretching far away in dazzling light, o'er 
 vale and lea; 
 
 Whose white and fleecy clouds, drifting on back, 
 hang overhead, 
 
 Oft bathing earth in fleeting pink, and a ruddy 
 golden sea. 
 
 I love to think, yea, often of the calm abode of rest. 
 Spread just beyond this vale of woe, with all its 
 
 darksome gloom; 
 And of God above, the One who e'er is truest and 
 
 the best, 
 And of the deep and sweet repose of the dark and 
 
 shrouded tomb. 
 
 Venus, 
 
 Thou art a bright and queenly star. 
 Yea, naught thy beauty e'er could mar; 
 Thou gleamest thy soft rays on high, 
 Aye, lighting up the night's dark sky. 
 
 Thy rich, bright gleam, I oft adore. 
 But love I too, yon stars galore; 
 Ah, whilst thou art the queen of stars, 
 I do admire old blazing Mars. 
 
 The Old year is Dying. 
 
 The cold wind is whistling, 
 The soft snow is flying; 
 This they are proclaiming, 
 The old year is dying. 
 
 It drifts into space. 
 It is passing away, 
 On into Time's chasm, 
 Where it e'er will stay. 
 
22 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 And there, as a unit, 
 'Twill bubble and rise; 
 A dot on Life's current, 
 Ah, it swiftly dies. 
 
 My Visionary Abode. 
 
 Is where winds surge and howl, all around my lone 
 
 way, 
 Where they wail and they shriek, through a night 
 
 and a day; 
 Where the snows fallen deep, cover mountain tops 
 
 all. 
 And echoes through gorges, so thrillingly call. 
 
 Where the sun's coming up with his cold, dazzling 
 
 .light, 
 Or is hid behind clouds as dense as darksome night; 
 
 Ah, 'tis where solitude, in deep grandeur doth reign, 
 Where the Court of Solemnity dwells with her train. 
 
 'Tis where the dark canyons are hidden around, 
 Where the snow slides go rushing on down with a 
 
 bound; 
 And where tall forest trees stud the mountain's 
 
 rough side. 
 Where a deep brooding stillness doth ever reside. 
 
 Yea, my mental abode is way out among the 
 western wilds, where deep solitude in her regal 
 and her brooding splendor reigns. It is here that 
 there is an authentic, an emphasized evidence of a 
 Master's brush, of an all Omnipotent hand's re- 
 splendent touch. It is here that one is held ever in 
 thrall by the grand, aye, the picturesque scenery, 
 and by the wind's weird and most tragical vibrations. 
 
 Yea, in the wind's roaring howl, I can discern 
 the chords of Nature's gi^and theatrical air; and as 
 the throbbing, thrilhng notes ring out among the 
 
MY VISIONARY ABODE 23 
 
 snow-clad mountain's towering peaks, they trill and 
 they tremble, and then go thundering through the 
 deep wild gorges, and the deeper and wilder can- 
 yons. Aye, they charge those unexplored depths, 
 and there they echo and re-echo along the co-oper- 
 ative passage-ways. Then soon another great, 
 sweeping gush goes rushing and thundering against 
 the mountain's craggy sides, and there it charges 
 each lofty peak's dazzling height, and rings out in a 
 startling echo, that soon resounds from peak to peak. 
 It is then that this weird, though grand operatic 
 song is taken up into vaulted space, and sent waft- 
 ing out through vast, ethereal heights. 
 
 Ah, What Grandeur. 
 
 I wander out alone. 
 
 Over hills, and over dales; 
 I climb the mountain peaks. 
 
 And follow 'long the trails 
 
 And right onward, takes me up. 
 To the mountain's craggy brow; 
 
 Still on around this bend, 
 There's splendor for you, now. 
 
 Melody Sweet. 
 
 As it wafts out upon the fragrant breeze, 
 A chime it makes, there 'mid the rustling trees; 
 And, as each bright star twinkles radiant light, 
 The nymphs refrain it through the quiet night. 
 
 The lark aroused, soon takes up the soft lay, 
 At gray morn, ah, at rosy dawn of day; 
 Thus it is wafted out so far and near, 
 A soothing pulse of gladsome, joyful cIuhm'. 
 
24 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 Nature All Wild. 
 
 Oh, give unto me the swift wings of a dove, 
 And gladly F 11 fly to the land that I love; 
 And climb to the rockies great, dazzling height. 
 To watch the lone eagle ascending in flight. 
 
 And here I will pluck me a sweet, blushing rose, 
 And sniff the cool wind that gently here blows; 
 And from ledge unto ledge, Fll scramble around, 
 All over this stony and steep, rugged ground. 
 
 I will look right up at the blue tinted sky. 
 Then out at a vulture that's sailing on by; 
 And then back at two deer, with antlers so long; 
 They skip and they play to the zephyr's low song. 
 
 Now wrestle they there, on a broad circled edge, 
 Now into a nook, one the other doth hedge; 
 And as I, my rifle, raise just shoulder high. 
 Right out the elks come and rush on wildly, by. 
 
 Bang, and the bullet goes whistling away. 
 
 But not one antler do I get this day ; 
 
 Though still with resolve I trudge on around. 
 
 Over tangled and craggy and bowlder-strewn ground. 
 
 And ever alert, am I, on this morn, 
 Viewing a scene that a goddess had shorn; 
 Often climbing a ledge, often rounding a rock. 
 And now taking aim at a wild, flying flock. 
 
 And now leaning over a dark, yawning chasm, 
 A gruesome account you may picture, Sir Rasm; 
 Ah, it is with awe that I linger here-o'er. 
 While thus I hark to the water's wild roar. 
 
 Now downward I look in a valley below, 
 And level my gun at a huge old doe; 
 But so far away is that browsing deer. 
 That a shot I take at a bird quite near. 
 
THE HERMIT OF THE WILDS 25 
 
 And yet, the old gun is a nuisance this hour, 
 For now I stand deep in a wild rose bower; 
 And look far away into dazzling splendor. 
 Ah, Nature, Quaint Empress, a grand scene doth 
 render, 
 
 Of great mountain heights, so craggy and steep. 
 Of gapping chasms so grewsome and deep. 
 Of soft-tinted clouds that go drifting away, 
 And of sunshine bright, on flowers so gay. 
 
 A scene all woven in grandeur most rare. 
 With the heavens so blue and witching and fair; 
 A picturesque scene of Nature all wild, 
 And staged out here by Aurora's fair child. 
 
 The Hermit of the Wilds. 
 
 The wealthy old hermit on rough mountain side. 
 Went away years ago, from his young, haughty 
 
 bride; 
 A rover he's been since that time, I say. 
 Roaming through the wild forest, over stream and 
 
 clay. 
 
 He lives in a cabin of logs, all alone, 
 
 No wonder the sigh, and that fierce, solemn groan ; 
 
 It's the eagle's sharp scream that he hears through 
 
 the day. 
 And at night, the owl's hoot, as it flits on away. 
 
 And the wolf's wailing howl often greets his lone 
 
 ear, 
 But of hungry beasts, he has never a fear; 
 And he sits there, alone, by his rude cabin door, 
 And listens in awe to the chasm's wild roar; 
 
 And when howling winds sweep around the great 
 
 peaks. 
 His rustic old shanty, oft rattles and squeaks; 
 But cheery's the fire, that gloweth on there, 
 Though the snows pile high, and the wind's all 
 
 atare. 
 
26 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 And, as thus he sits by his crackling fire, 
 
 All clothed so warm in his woolen attire; 
 
 He sends wistful thoughts far out through the night, 
 
 And yearns for the day with its changeful light. 
 
 Though snows often drift, and winds often howl, 
 Yet sitteth the hermit with never a scowl; 
 And ever, anon, heaps the burning wood high. 
 Sending up the red sparks towards the lowering sky. 
 
 And when the bright sun, so cold and sheen. 
 Through the great mountain clefts, can once more 
 
 be seen; 
 With a gun in his hand, he trudges on out, 
 A grizzly to kill, and the lank wolves to rout. 
 
 Nature's Wilds. 
 
 The mountain's steep height was so craggy and lone, 
 And screaming and harsh, was the eagle's shrill 
 
 tone; 
 And down far below, was the cataract's roar, 
 Oh, how it did leap, oh, how it did pour. 
 
 And through a great cleft, in the mountain's steep 
 
 side. 
 There flows on a river, both sparkling and wide; 
 And sighing, the leaves, of a'gnarled old tree. 
 As ripples the wind out through a green lea. 
 
 And nibbling at boughs, there were two elks so 
 
 grand, 
 Aye, kindred spirits for that distant land; 
 And the sun hung low, in its own malted gold, 
 Ah, Nature's grand picture I there did behold. 
 
perception's enchantments 27 
 
 Perception's Enchantments. 
 
 On the lake's dense margin, dark shadows fall, 
 There amid tangled rushes, so rank and tall, 
 Now a boat on this cool, silent water doth glide. 
 While my rose-tinted thoughts o'er the ripples oft 
 ride. 
 
 Ah! they paint in a cast, so vivid and fair. 
 The star-studded dome, and an ether most rare; 
 Now the moon's mellow hght has spread out far and 
 
 wide. 
 Still lurking, the shades, in the rushes hide. 
 
 Yet the lake hes sheened in the moon's full light. 
 While over it all broods the stillness of night; 
 And now out o'er the lake, my gaze wanders on, 
 And I see in the east a streak of gray dawn. 
 
 While my boat glides over the lake's smooth breast. 
 On my wooden paddles again I will rest; 
 Now the low, sweet twitter of birds I hear, 
 And shrill on the air, is a whistle clear. 
 
 The shouts from a herdsman, are heard from afar. 
 As pales in the rose-tinted morning, a star; 
 Ah, new life takes the place of the silent night, 
 And the sun, all aglow, comes up in delight. 
 
 And the larks, on the wing, are out and away, 
 Flitting over yon meadow of new-mown hay, 
 And now the lake looks like a great sheet of gold, 
 While a waving rose bush its petals unfold. 
 
 And the dew of the morn gleams on blossoms most 
 
 fair. 
 And the rose, her sweet fragrance, wafts out on the 
 
 air; 
 The cream-waxed lilies nod, swaying away, 
 In splendor they border the water's bright ray. 
 
28 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 Aye, afloat on the breeze, is a breath of young 
 
 mirth, 
 Yea, fostered thus by the day's regal birth; 
 Over there far away, is a forest most rare. 
 Where once prowled the wolf, and lurked the grum 
 
 bear. 
 
 And just out beyond, is a country so grand. 
 
 Where a gallant knight, one time, encamped his 
 
 command; 
 And farther away, may plainly be seen. 
 My state's fertile hills, all vivid and sheen. 
 
 And still, my far-seeing eye wanders right on, 
 Out across the green fields of young, tassehng corn; 
 And now back again to the lake's rushy marge, 
 And again, they're caught in fancy's free charge. 
 
 A Graphic Story. 
 
 A swarm of grasshoppers were flying around, 
 
 They knew they'd take Kansas, at one fearful 
 
 bound; 
 So seized her green wheat, then seized her green 
 
 corn. 
 And left struggling Kansas, so sad and forlorn. 
 
 Then swarming out over the land, and away, 
 These insects destroyed through the night and the 
 
 day; 
 A strip of red clover then perished so fast, 
 And all was made clean, as a whistle, at last 
 
 The settlers of Kansas, from farms grieving went, 
 Thus the dark, dreary hours of sorrow were spent; 
 At last a faint smile shown 'round their lips. 
 For, out there in Kansas, the bee the dew sips. 
 
 * 'And, if way out there that small insect can thrive. 
 Why not, they go back to their old Kansas hive; 
 And there, with their sad, grimy lives, toil anew, 
 'Mid her breezy winds, and bright sparkling dew." 
 
A GRAPHIC STORY 29 
 
 So out to fair Kansas, they all came again, 
 Then down fell moisture, and sparkled the rain, 
 A most thriving state she's grown now, at last. 
 And laurels for wheat, men she fondly holds fast. 
 
 A Parken Fair. 
 
 This lawn is so green, and so shady, too, 
 Out o'er it now sparkles the new fallen dew; 
 And 'tis here the sweet clover rears its tiny head. 
 And here, back and forth sways the wild Indian 
 bread. 
 
 The plant's a red blossom, w^hich you all may know. 
 That over fair Kansas, so daintily grow. 
 They add to this parken, a beauty most rare. 
 Though the winds often sweep over them on a tare. 
 
 And a Marechal Niel rose sways in beauty here, too. 
 And a bed of gay pansies, and violets so blue; 
 Yea, this parken's a nook of quiet repose. 
 And scented so sweetly by the pale yellow rose. 
 
 A Rustic Scene. 
 The Vine and Its Fruit. 
 
 The blackberry vine was long, and crept hence, 
 It hung way over the old, crooked fence, 
 And, in summer time its leaves grew dark green, 
 And beneath that great vine, small pansies were 
 seen. 
 
 And as the days drifted on past, one by one. 
 Still farther on out, that brier did run; 
 Until the full length of the rails it made. 
 And then its small leaves began to shade. 
 
80 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 The tiny, green berries that were growing there, 
 Way under a sky, azure tinted and fair. 
 Ah, over the old fence it hung now, quite low, 
 Where meekly a rabbit did scamper and go; 
 
 Then, after a while the large berries all grew 
 
 Into a rich red, and not a pale blue; 
 
 And when they had doubled the size of great 
 
 cherries. 
 So quickly grew black, those most tempting berries. 
 
 Still She Rears Well Her Regal Head. 
 
 Aye, Texas had a wrangle with the weather, 
 But the shower and the rain proved quite clever; 
 And right out of a cloud the loud thunder rolFd, 
 And the Brazos had more than it ever could hold. 
 
 And then a sand storm swept out o'er the way. 
 And darker soon grew, that dense, windy day; 
 And then a fierce norther from regions up there. 
 Came sweeping right down on an old raging tare. 
 
 And then a long drought, settled down over all, 
 Till at last the rain came, and in torrents did fall; 
 And still queenly Texas rears well, her old head. 
 And on down through Time she will e'er proudly 
 tread. 
 
 Gainesville, Texas. 
 
 This town's on a prairie so rolling and grand, 
 Where the cooling Gulf breezes sweep over the land; 
 And not far away, hes the cross-timber line, 
 Where the fruit and the melons, grow tempting, 
 fine. 
 
 And 'tis here the sweet rose sends her odors afar, 
 And here in the skies, shineth brightly each star, 
 Aye, the broad, lovely view 'round the town is 0. K. 
 Though best is the scene in the fair month of May. 
 
HOT SPRINGS AMID HER GRANDEUR 31 
 
 Hot Springs Amid Her Grandeur. 
 
 Sick folk, when confronted by the specters of 
 
 death, 
 Come speeding to Hot Springs to gain strength and 
 
 breath; 
 And here we all linger in joy and amaze, 
 As hot baths are the fad, and hot baths are the 
 
 craze. 
 
 And while we all linger, we'll climb the hill tops. 
 O'er which drifting smoke in great spirals now lops; 
 On rounding this fountain, with sprayings of foam, 
 We can see far away, where o'er mountains we'll 
 roam. 
 
 Up this mountain's side, to the peaks we will climb, 
 Viewing streets and their houses, and all that's 
 
 sublime; 
 Over hills, over dales, now our gaze wanders on, 
 As we ramble around in this beautiful dawn. 
 
 'Tis here that broad acres of sighing trees tall, 
 Do shelter the squirrels, and the thrushes that call: 
 And, the deep solitude is attracting us now. 
 From the top of this mountain's great steep, rugged 
 brow. 
 
 There's a snug, verdant valley, and hills to the left, 
 A river bursts through yonder mountain's deep cleft: 
 Now out through these woods, down the valley we 
 
 roam. 
 By this rill we will linger, now scanning yon dome. 
 
 By this lake beautiful, held in rapture sublime, 
 Now down we all wander, to Hot Vapor clime: 
 'Tis here that we pause disappointed and sad, 
 The springs gush not forth, though once merry and 
 glad. 
 
 By his power, Uncle Sam, every spring has walled in. 
 To thus hide their grandeur from view, is a sin; 
 We'll forgive Uncle Sam, as he's rent Nature's veil. 
 For look where we may. Nature's strokes do not fail- 
 
32 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 Here on Central Street, are bath-houses galore, 
 All neatly arranged from each roof to each floor; 
 And hotels, picturesque, stud the knolls here and 
 
 there. 
 Hot Springs, as Youth's Fountain, is witchingly f air. 
 
 Ah, brothers and sisters, we'll now wend our way. 
 Up steep, craggy heights to view sunset's soft ray; 
 By the rough mountain side, winds the Ouachita 
 
 river, 
 And 'twas here that the red men let sharp arrows 
 
 quiver. 
 
 And those great craggy bowlders, hid cheery fires 
 
 low. 
 As the brave stalwart Indians, to battle did go; 
 Now, along the bright river, sweet flowers bloom 
 
 fair. 
 And rabbits skip home to their dense tangled lair. 
 
 Sighing woods and queer rocks are attracting our 
 
 view. 
 And the white pebbly bed of the stream, running 
 
 through; 
 And glow of the sun-set is bewitching the night, 
 From the wilds, in their splendor, we now take our 
 
 flight. 
 
 Salute Your Partners. 
 
 Salute your partners one and all, ^ 
 And swing and dance on down this hall, 
 Now swing and turn and onward go, 
 Now trip ye lightly and just so. 
 
 Now swing and turn and prom'nade all. 
 Around and 'round this stately hall; 
 Now back and forth, and up and down. 
 Now out, now in, and all around. 
 
 Now right and left, and then on through. 
 You're dancing all, for Nellie Drue: 
 Around and 'round, and all about, 
 And up and down, and in, and out. 
 
SALUTE YOUR PARTNERS 33 
 
 Now swing and turn, and onward spin, 
 And laurels great, you all shall win; 
 Now promenade, again, I call, 
 Around and 'round, wee Nell and all. 
 
 Now through yon door, and up that lane, 
 Now o'er the lawn, and back again; 
 Now swing and turn, and all go 'round, 
 Now back and forth, and o'er the ground. 
 
 Exchange ye partners, one and all; 
 And up and down, again, this hall; 
 Still up and down, now right on through. 
 So sweet and fair is Nellie Drue. 
 
 Now back and forth, and 'round this hall, 
 And swing and turn, again I call; 
 Now out that door and up the lane, 
 And back to seats, you all again. 
 
 The Old and New Trail. 
 
 Yes sir, will tell all about the new trail. 
 No sir, it doesn't lead down through a vale; 
 At least its not shown, at this present day, 
 Though long years ago, the old deuce was to pay, 
 
 When Lewis and Clark, blazed the old Western route, 
 Nor heeded they not, the Indian's wild hoot; 
 But now it leads over a strong bridge, so high, 
 Whose dome is a blue, or cloud-driven sky. 
 
 Across Guild's bright lake, it winds on its way, 
 Is seen there by moon light, and all through the day; 
 Oh, yes'm, just follow the crowd right on through. 
 In your lovely apparel, of creamy and blue. 
 
 Please look at Guild's beautiful lake o'er there, 
 Now waving so silvery, sheeny and fair; 
 And curious exhibits are gathered all 'round, 
 They are freely exhibited out o'er the ground. 
 
34 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 And fruits of all kinds, are here gathered, galore, 
 And just on through yonder wide-open door; 
 Many curious things can most surely be seen. 
 Yea, some from the far tropic islands of green. 
 
 Ha, you can even follow the swift sands of Time, 
 While walking on down this new trail sublime; 
 Oh, yes sir, all things of interest are found, 
 Just come on in and look ye around. 
 
 Aha, a glad wave, a salute now to ye. 
 As you wander along in your marvelous glee; 
 'Round Old Clark's and Lewis' wonderful trail. 
 Now crossing the bridge, and now skirting the dale. 
 
 Life Would be One Fleeting Day. 
 
 Long miles away, am I from thee. 
 Although they lay twixt thou and me, 
 My thoughts on thee now often dwell, 
 And love regales her dreamy spell. 
 
 And while bright stars, o'er head do shine, 
 I'll let my love around thee twine; 
 And wish the day would hasten on. 
 When marriage bells would greet the dawn; 
 
 Then thou, with me, wouldst come and stay. 
 And life would be one fleeting day, 
 With rippling winds so soft and sweet. 
 And pearly dews, down at our feet. 
 
 In Rapture True. 
 
 Oh, hasten marriage on thy way. 
 Aye, bring my lover any day, 
 With soft and blue, and starry eyes; 
 Two hundred pounds, be no surprise. 
 
 In rapture true, would I greet him. 
 Whether so large or whether slim; 
 And go with him right on down life, 
 A happy man, a loving wife. 
 
BIOGRAPHY 35 
 
 The Dictionary. 
 
 This grand Dictionary is a handy old book, 
 It carries one on over many a crook; 
 Do take one out with you wherever you may go, 
 'Twill disclose many things that you would like to 
 know. 
 
 This book, goodly knowledge, e'en gives to the sage, 
 And's always prepared in new thoughts to engage; 
 Aye, old kingly Wisdom's high, on-rolHng tides. 
 E'er conquers with grace, and in dignity rides. 
 
 Biography. 
 
 Colonel Quint Peacher, who served on the Con- 
 federate side in the Civil War, was a man of sterl- 
 ing character. Born and partly reared in Kentucky, 
 he manifested while still quite young, a desire for 
 farming. At an early day, he moved with the rest of 
 his father's family to this fertile state. Some years 
 later, he married a Miss Fenley, and settled near 
 Columbia, Boone County. 
 
 The year the war broke out, Mr. Peacher was 
 living on his farm with his adorable wife and three 
 healthy children, happy and contented, and sur- 
 rounded by good neighbors, most of whom were, 
 like himself. Southern people. At the first outbreak 
 of war, he enlisted as a regular soldier, and soon, 
 through his daring bravery, rose from one degree to 
 another, until finally he attained the rank of Colonel. 
 
 To say, '*0h, thou Col. Peacher," was to say 
 ''Charge," and on he swept like an avalanche. He 
 gained victory after victory, and was widely extolled 
 for his gallant bravery. 
 
 At last, the direful war was at an end, and the 
 Col. returned to his home only to find the place in 
 
36 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 ruins; the comfortable house destroyed, his negroes 
 all freed and gone, the fences all down, and every- 
 where a dreary waste. His excellent wife, who was 
 as loyal to the South as the Col. himself, w^as thought 
 by some, to be a Southern spy, and had been banish- 
 ed to New Orleans, and was being held there as a 
 prisoner of war by the Union soldiers. Happily the 
 three children were held in custody with their ever 
 brave and resolute mother. Now this weird loneli- 
 ness, as the Col. gazed upon the desolate scene, was 
 to this fond husband and tender father, to our brave 
 hero, like some wild dirge, the knell of a lost cause, 
 and the bier of a once happy home. But soon our 
 martyr was again domiciled in a snug home, sur- 
 rounded once more by his loving family. But alas, 
 those pleasant neighbors, where were they? Ah, we 
 all know only too well the fate of some. 
 
 Years later, the Col. succumbed to a severe 
 attack of typhoid fever, and his saintly soul was 
 called away to that celestial home beyond the cold, 
 dark river of death. 
 
 The Scottish Rite Masons, from every part of 
 the country, came and paid their last tribute to the 
 one whom they had ever acknowledged as their 
 superior. 
 
 A Weird and Pathetic Scene. 
 
 Upon the fierce and smoky battle field. 
 The shot went ringing out, and bullets flew; 
 Aye, thundered they on past the gallant Gray, 
 And pierced the hearts of daring, charging Blue. 
 
 And in and out, again, out and in, 
 
 The long, bright swords did fiercely wave and clash; 
 
 And all about that grim and gory field, 
 
 Dead soldiers lay, and gushing blood did splash. 
 
A WEIRD AND PATHETIC SCENE 37 
 
 Then finally, a flag of truce was raised, 
 Up over all that drear and deathly scene; 
 And dying men were borne across the way. 
 Into a loyal house, with meadows green. 
 
 And when quiet once again, had settled there. 
 Upon that sad, historic battle field, 
 Down over a dead soldier's rigid form, 
 Robed Sisters knelt, their service kind to yield. 
 
 One lone and mangled, faithful soldier true, 
 Across the dreary ground, oft came and went; 
 Cold water brought to wounded here and there, 
 And all his aid most generously lent. 
 
 And then, when dark and starless, chilling night, 
 So calmly draped his curtain over all; 
 There came borne out on dewy laden breeze. 
 One trembling, sad, and lonely bugle call. 
 
 The Battle of Lundy's Lane. 
 
 Slogan cannon resounded the great hill tops o'er. 
 They charged mountain gorges and called for vim, 
 
 more; 
 They spurred daring soldiers to great, valiant deeds, 
 The men falling swiftly in briers and in weeds. 
 
 The smoke curling upward, while battle raged on, 
 And sun shining dim, on the weird scene did fawn; 
 And bayonets flashed in the sunlight and fell, 
 And clash of bright armor rang out through the dell. 
 
 Then on once again, the brave soldiers did rush. 
 
 While the enemy fell in the hollows and brush. 
 
 And the wild, surging shot on the foe's ranks did 
 
 pour; 
 Then went thundering again, the great cannon's loud 
 
 roar. 
 
 And the wind taking up the grand, echoing song. 
 Sends it out among answering hill-tops along; 
 The English now spurred by the ringing refrain, 
 Soon won the great battle of famed Lundy's Lane. 
 
38 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 The Riderless Horse. 
 
 The rider is gone, the brave rider is gone, 
 And the Colonel's bay horse goes galloping on; 
 Now in the steed reins, and now in the steed reins, 
 At Chance's great gate, with its rattling old chains. 
 
 Now back the steed runs, and now back the steed 
 
 runs. 
 On o'er, to where lay, the brave dying ones; 
 With his head thrown so high, now on the horse 
 
 trots. 
 Right around a plank fence, and past rolling lots. 
 
 And still on and on, the dark bay's speeding now. 
 He climbs to the top of that hill's rugged brow; 
 A swift and grand charger, is that dark brown bay, 
 Though no battle was won on this sad, autumn day. 
 
 Plucky Vim 
 Or Guided by Hope. 
 
 Ah, so low, and so fierce is Misfortune's wild thun- 
 der. 
 While the waves madly rush, and billows do plunder; 
 Alack! the grim peals of a dreadful despair, 
 Are borne out upon the night's ominous air. 
 
 While off in the distance, there flickers a light, 
 
 'Tis Hope's shining beam, streaming out through the 
 
 night; 
 Again that wild peal ringing out in a wail. 
 As the ship plows on madly in Death's briny trail. 
 
 Ah, the billows are ringing this sad, wailing cry. 
 Oh, poor lonely sailor, you're doomed thus to die; 
 Still Energy's beacon streams out through the night, 
 And there lie the great reefs, to left, and to right. 
 

 
 '■t'^p ^ 
 
 
 ■ ^ ^1 
 
 -^^BXHj^r^-' -' 
 
 
 1^^ 
 
 ^R^ ^ Xc 
 
 
 
 WM 
 
 'M^'"^, 
 
 
 
 T 1 
 
 ^E-- 
 
 W^ _ : 
 
 ^^^K ^ L /X /'> 
 
PLUCKY VIM, OR GUIDED BY HOPE 39 
 
 Vim^s ship is engulfed by the waves of despair, 
 And Energy's shriek rends the damp, midnight air; 
 The ship's plowing on into Death's surging main. 
 While Vim's frantic shriek fills the air once again. 
 
 And, the sinking ship flounders there, deep in the 
 
 sea, 
 And outspreading near, is a dull, dreary lea; 
 A dark shrouded angel is flitting on, by. 
 All dull is the dense, and the cloud-laden sky; 
 
 And from Death's ocean couch, there is wailing 
 
 aloud, 
 An oarsman is passing, in long sombre shroud; 
 Now the dip and the splash of a paddle, is heard, 
 And the shrill, screaming cry of a black, phantom 
 
 bird. 
 
 Ah, that wild call of anguish in bitter woe, now. 
 And ashy the hue, settling over Vim's brow; 
 Across the broad breast, the now pulseless hands lay, 
 And all is sad gloom, aye, morose is the day. 
 
 But hark, a new sound, waving light there ahead. 
 Ha, pealing a ring, Plucky Vim is not dead; 
 There's the great flaming beacon of faithful, old 
 
 Hope, 
 Ah, She, with the world, can successfully cope. 
 
 In Poverty's Fetters. 
 
 Now on and on, ah, she seeks her clan, 
 And knows them all, to every man; 
 Their ghastly pallor, tells the tale, 
 That they are housed in Struggle's jail, 
 
 And held to work, on her own grim plane. 
 Yet, from this toil, they would refrain; 
 All held, some moan, while others cry, 
 And some forsake the way and die. 
 
40 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 Aye, there, all toiling, each plows his way, 
 From early morn to the close of day; 
 With sullen brow, and a stooping form, 
 They struggle on against the storm 
 
 With palsied hand, and a tear-dimmed eye, 
 The debts galore, they would defy. 
 But stands their Jailor there, so firm, 
 For them she has a long, long term. 
 
 Their sky's all woven a darksome hue. 
 
 All warped with gray, and has no blue; 
 
 Thus making them fierce, and desperate and wild. 
 
 Ah, holding them ever as Poverty's child. 
 
 Oh, Woe, grim Woe, fiit ye, swiftly on by. 
 Leave ye poor victims free, with a clear azure sky; 
 Oh, make your way silently out from their vale. 
 And then will be hushed, all their long, dismal wail. 
 
 Oh, get you behind them, forever away. 
 And leave them to toil with a much brighter day, ^ 
 Oh, let them retain their good health and their vim, 
 And then in the end, they surely will win. 
 
 Hurrah. 
 
 My debts are paid, and shout I will. 
 My debts are paid, to every bill; 
 My debts are paid, Hurrah, I say, 
 I'm held no more by grim Dismay. 
 
 And 'tis Hurrah, and this I'll shout. 
 Old Woe, so fearful, now I'll rout; 
 Hurrah, again, is loudly heard. 
 Old Hardship's specter looks absurd. 
 
 All trailing in the dust, is she. 
 As she winds across Life's rolling lea; 
 Ah, out of sight, she on doth go, 
 To Oblivion's regions far below. 
 
HURRAH 41 
 
 Hurrah again, and just thrice more, 
 
 Comes loud and clear, through Vim's wide door; 
 
 Ha, its Hurrah, and shouts resound 
 
 To old Hardship, like some fierce hound. 
 
 Aye, 'tis Hurrah, that I shout again. 
 For Vim is brave, and debt's own bane; 
 Yea, with Hurrah I shout aloud. 
 Of Effort's worth I'm justly proud. 
 
 Thou Heedest Them Not, 
 
 On out in the darkness of grim, chilling woe. 
 Now lies a soft mantle of white, drifting snow; 
 Over all, in the darkness, it's silently spread, 
 Poor men's fearful woe, and poor men's hourly 
 dread. 
 
 It sifts softly down, to this old rugged earth. 
 And gives to grum sorrow, a new, tragic birth; 
 It pinches the thinly clad, aye, weary worn. 
 Who, in their anguish, now often do mourn; 
 
 For fires are all crumbling to dull embers, now. 
 And care's plainly written on man's palid brow; 
 The cold, freezing night, is o'erhanging them all, 
 Thus mantling the homeless in her ghastly pall. 
 
 Aye, bearing them downward to their bitter doom, 
 Whirling them onward through Life's one, tragic 
 
 loom; 
 Without e'en a glimpse of one flickering ray. 
 Ah, crushing them under in one hopeless day. 
 
 Driving them frantic, to deeper despair, 
 
 While wildly their garments they heedlessly tear; 
 
 No quiet, nor happiness, ever for such. 
 
 Oh, wealthy, why wilt thou the poor, try to crush? 
 
 While onward they all plow the wet, slippery street, 
 Not one happy ray, doth ever them greet; 
 Their lone, rugged pathway is freezing hard, now, 
 And pale is their shrunken and care-furrowed brow. 
 
42 ' TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 Oh, cold, giddy world, always hastening by, 
 Why heedest thou never, their most pleading cry; 
 To gilded, wild splendor, thou hasteneth on, 
 And revel there ever, 'till near the cold dawn. 
 
 No thought of these weary e'er enters thy brain, 
 Whilst thou gaily revel to mirth's glad refrain; 
 Ah, cheerily on, thou so happy doth go. 
 No thought of the sad ones, nor even of woe. 
 
 Their wild, pleading cry, thou art heeding it not, 
 Thy thoughtless heart knows not, one soft, tender 
 
 spot; 
 To joys rushing onward, all glittering new. 
 Aye, on past that most wretched and miserable crew. 
 
 To halls of gayety, goeth thou on, 
 To revel there joyfully until the late dawn. 
 Cold world, why hasteneth thou ever on by, 
 Why heedeth thou never that wild, frantic cry? 
 
 The day may soon come, when thou too, wilt be out 
 Among Poverty's crew, and all fettered about; 
 Then Fate's rigid storms, madly thou wilt deplore. 
 Yea, be pleading for kindness at some heartless 
 door. 
 
 Ah, now is the time to extend a kind hand. 
 For now, thou hast plenty at thy own command; 
 Oh, cast woeful Sorrow from out of Life's way. 
 And make for the others, one grand, happy day. 
 
 Oh, set thy mark, and thy seal upon high. 
 The poor and the strugghng, oh, pass them not by; 
 The sun will then sparkle in glad, golden glow. 
 Out over Life's pathway, where e'er thou shalt go. 
 
 Pictured So Brilliantly Fair, 
 
 In my own mental vision, all lying out there. 
 Is a scene so grand, and so witching and fair; 
 It tells a rare story, so solemn and true, 
 Of what the hard sleet, and the deep snow can do. 
 
PICTURED SO BRILLIANTLY FAIR 43 
 
 It shows a lone church, with its steeple so tall, 
 From which great icicles cling fast, and then fall; 
 And there is a neat, cozy Parsonage, too. 
 All covered with ice, and all sparkling like dew. 
 
 Aye, the great, hanging spangles along the broad 
 
 eaves. 
 Are gleaming and sparkling and brilliant in sheaves; 
 They fall from the eaves, crashing down from above. 
 But still keep their gUtter, which poets all love. 
 
 And now there they lie, in a sparkling mound; 
 Around the snug cottage, on that snowy ground; 
 The scene I recall, still more vividly, now. 
 And will, until death settles over my brow. 
 
 Yea, I will remember the bare trees, aglow. 
 
 Where the wind sweeping through them, so shrilly 
 
 did blow; 
 Shall think of icicles, all hanging so bright. 
 All dazzling, aglow, in the sun's winter light 
 
 And, as the scene rises again to my view, 
 
 I think of Aurora, and her friendly few; 
 
 Whom I met there before that great sleet and deep 
 
 snow. 
 In those trying years, of the long time ago. 
 
 Aye, of trees with their branches all glittering so 
 
 bright. 
 In the winter sun's cold, though oft radiant light, 
 And I wonder if any in Aurora, there, 
 Can remember that picture, so brilliantly fair. 
 
 Faith as of Old. 
 
 That train's clanging bell, hath a weird, solemn ring; 
 A mantle of sadness it o'er me doth fling; 
 Hark, the wind goes ashrieking and wailing on by, 
 And sorrow afar, I now dimly descry. 
 
44 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 I have drunk to the dregs of a most bitter cup, 
 
 Yet before the Lord's throne, I can stand and look 
 
 up; 
 And while I gaze out upon the dark, pulsed night, 
 My thoughts go awhirling and twisting in flight. 
 
 Still I trust in my God, with a faith as of old, 
 Knowing well that He'll shelter me within His fold; 
 That He'll guide my wearisome steps all aright. 
 Whether fair be the day, or so darksome the night. 
 
 And as thus I go out, far across Life's rough field, 
 I ne'er shall to her sordid influence yield; 
 But always shall look to the Father above. 
 And extend to this whole world, my undying love. 
 
 A Dramatic Story. 
 
 And, 
 All Inlaid With Facts. 
 
 It was Halloween eve, and there seemed to be a 
 commotion everywhere. 
 
 In the hall of a great mansion where a cheery 
 flre burned, and threw its ruddy glow upon the 
 marble hearth, sat a real gypsy; at least her outward 
 mien, which strongly savored of the Orient, bore the 
 impression that such was the fact. Yet, there was 
 one who recognized her to be otherwise, and this 
 woman trembled with fear. 
 
 The girls and boys had gathered around the Sym- 
 bolic, each eager to learn his or her fate. Half an 
 hour passed, drifted out into space; and then an 
 hour, and still the reading went on. At last, it came 
 Alva Hallgate's turn to either accept or reject the 
 mystic, and she hesitated. 
 
 The old gypsy had read for each, such a graphic 
 and true description of their past and present lives, 
 
A DRAMATIC STORY 45 
 
 especially the past of the elder ones there; the future 
 was yet to be proven — that she was quite startled, 
 aye, aroused as if from some sensitive dream. Sup- 
 pose the woman should tell her in the presence of 
 this gay throng, looking around over the assembly in 
 perplexity, the secret connected with her life; the 
 secret which she had sought for years to unravel. 
 Ah, yes, there was a mystery, she knew; a well- 
 founded source of uneasiness, which, at times, de- 
 pressed her. And, to strengthen this morbid belief, 
 she had overheard, one day, her father and mother 
 and her grandfather's secretary discussing a will, 
 and her name had been mentioned in connection with 
 another's, one Helen Dryden. This happened in the 
 'Uong, long time ago;'' but the words and the cau- 
 tious tone in which they were uttered, still lingered, 
 and at times, smote her. 
 
 So, if this gypsy, and again Alva mused deeply, 
 could give to each of the others, a true reading of 
 their past and present lives, she could and would, no 
 doubt, disclose before this pleasant, though thought- 
 less set of girls and boys, that which a proud, aristo- 
 cratic mother would rather let remain as one of the 
 bygones. 
 
 "Alva, Alva, Why standeth thou there? The 
 gypsy is waiting and so are we!" chimed a score of 
 eager voices. 
 
 Mechanically, the little lady reaches out her 
 small, dimpled hand. Ah, that gypsy's actions. 
 She first frowns, and then looks triumphantly around 
 the room upon that laughing assembly, until she 
 slowly, and with an authentic mien, lifts her dark, 
 dreamy eyes, and lets them rest on the face of Mrs. 
 Hallgate; on the face that had grown so rigid and so 
 pale. The whole audience, except Mrs. Hallgate, 
 
46 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 had, by this time, become thoroughly convinced of 
 the occult' s powers. This lady, who had evidently 
 acquired the attitude of Bellona (the Roman Goddess 
 of War) , sat there, a little apart from the rest, with 
 an antagonistic scowl. She had taken no part what- 
 ever, in the evening's proceedings, after the strange 
 woman's arrival, ''intrusion" as the significant 
 expression of her curling, scornful lips had, at first, 
 stoutly proclaimed. But, as the readings went on, 
 her expression changed to one of fear; and her 
 drawn, haggard face took on an ashy hue. Some 
 peculiar gesture of the occult' s had arrested her 
 black, piercing eyes. Now, as she sits there, bolt 
 upright, apart from that happy, chatting, enthus- 
 iastic crowd of girls and boys, and of women and 
 men too, with her shapely, white hands folded 
 nervously upon her velvet-robed lap, she listens to 
 Alva's reading with a sharp pain at her heart. And, 
 as the reading proceeds, that pain increases unmerci- 
 fully. 
 
 The gypsy tells this young lady, in the presence of 
 that, now, gaping throng, that she is not Mrs. Hall- 
 gate's daughter. That her own mother had, at the 
 age of sixteen, run away with and married her 
 father's coachman; and that the stern parent, on 
 learning of his daughter's marriage with one whom 
 he considered to be so inferior in every way, had 
 disowned her at once. ' 'The few short years of your 
 mother's married life," continued the gypsy, ''flew 
 on wings of happiness, but alas, grim Death, with 
 his sable mantle, lurks ever near; and one cold and 
 dark night, in bleak December, her husband, your 
 father, Reginald Merriman Dryden, succumbed to a 
 severe attack of pneumonia. 
 
 After her husband had been laid to rest, beneath 
 
A DRAMATIC STORY 47 
 
 the cold, icy sod, and she had been driven back to her 
 desolate home, a rented flat, on a narrow street, she 
 gave way to the grief that swayed her. And you, 
 little Alva, with your babyish prattle, tried to com- 
 fort that grief-stricken mother and widow. Alas, 
 alas, such sorrow! Such utter abandonment was 
 made more intense by the thought that her darling, 
 her baby was now fatherless. Grewsome despond- 
 ency swayed and engulfed her. For weeks she 
 hovered on the brink of despair; then Grief's darkest 
 clouds seemed to drift slowly away, and she arose, 
 and, from out of her darkened chamber went forth, 
 trusting, aye, always trusting in God. 
 
 On paying her husband's doctor bill, and the 
 funeral expenses, poor Helen found that the meagre 
 income would not be sufficient for herself and child, 
 the prattling Alva, then a tot of four. She remem- 
 bered, however, of her embroidery teacher's asser- 
 tions — *'Why, Helen" said she, **you are the greatest 
 little artist in the world. Your needle, so deftly 
 pHed, could bring you in a snug fortune." 
 
 So it came about that she did fancy embroidery 
 for the elect of that city. And they, finding her to 
 be so adapted to artistic designing, patronized her, 
 with their hearts aglow, and with their purse-strings 
 loosened. Then, one day, a thrilling thought occur- 
 red to the now much fatigued artist, for she had 
 toiled on, for months, unceasingly, with her needle. 
 *'Yes," she mused, on that glorious morning, 'There 
 is nothing to prevent me now from returning to my 
 once happy, childhood home; the home among the 
 picturesque hills of old Virginia, and to my dear 
 father, Robert L. Adair." 
 
 The next few days she spent in preparing for 
 her long journey. And, as the train rushed out of 
 
48 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 the city, puffing and dashing along, she and the 
 little Alva sat there gazing out of that car window, 
 upon the beautiful country, with its low undulating 
 hills, and their intervening dales. And the feeling 
 that swept over her was akin to ecstasy. 
 
 At last, the train steamed into her home-town, 
 the httle hamlet which she had left so hastily, six 
 years before; aye, had run away from, with the man 
 of her choice. Now, as she stood there on that 
 rough platform, heavily veiled, she cast a beseeching 
 glance about her, in the vain hope of seeing her 
 father. Then, after one loving, backward glance at 
 the sleeping, nestling town, for it was only five in 
 the morning; she and her darling child bent their 
 steps towards her father's farm. This farm was 
 known for miles around as the Adair Plantation; and 
 was reputed to be one of the finest in that section of 
 the country. Its broad and rolling acres lay some 
 three or four miles out from the village, and upon 
 both sides of a shady, graveled road. As Mrs. Dry- 
 den and her little daughter tripped along this road, 
 that exhilarating morning, the birds seemed to sing 
 anew their melodious songs; and the hawthorn odor 
 was most invitingly sweet. 
 
 Yea, it was a bright morning in glorious spring- 
 time, when all the earth was aglow with beautiful 
 May's invigorating sunshine, and with her ever fra- 
 grant and captivating odors, that our Helen and the 
 winsome Alva, tripped so gayly up the garden's bor- 
 dered path; then through a wicket gate they went, 
 and on across the great lawn they sallied, right up to 
 the cool, inviting veranda. 
 
 Now, the stern father's heart had, some months, 
 after his daughter's mad flight, relented. But on 
 beholding her, the truant one, looking so well in her 
 
A DRAMATIC STORY 49 
 
 becoming widow's-v/eeds, his heart arain hardened, 
 and he bade her be-gon*-^. 
 
 She left at once, going direct to her half-sister's, 
 
 who lived in the city of B . This sister, who 
 
 was the brilliant and petted daughter of Mrs. Dry- 
 den's step-mother, then deceased, had become the 
 wife of a wealthy m.erchant, some years previous to 
 her own very hasty, though happy marriage. 
 
 Helen felt so relieved, and so impressed with the 
 surroundings as the carriage drew up in front of her 
 half-sister's imposing mansion; but alas, Mrs. Hall- 
 gate's reception to her unwelcomxd and uninvited 
 guest, was almost abnormal; and the frequent hints 
 at a speedy departure which she hourly received, 
 scon became, to the homeless and sorrowing daugh- 
 ter, a palatable injunction. 
 
 Though, through her artfulness, this proud, and 
 grasping society lady, finally persuaded Mrs. Dryden 
 to let her little daughter remain there beneath her 
 roof as one of the family. *'Yes," asserted the 
 blandishing woman, ''let the little dear remain until 
 you get snugly settled, and then, we will see that 
 she reaches you in safety." 
 
 The sad m.other, doubly bereaved now, journey- 
 ed to a distant city, and entered a Medical Academy 
 of note, where she took up a course of studios and 
 diligently applied herself to those laborious duties; 
 for she had resolved to become a trained nurse. 
 News soon reached her through a letter which had 
 been delayed, that her little daughter was no more. 
 The writer went on to state, it seemed to that almost 
 frantic mother, in an exultant strain, that the sweet 
 Alva was stricken down without one moment's warn- 
 ing, with thai most dreaded and contagious disease, 
 scarlet fever. **And/' concluded she, "wo did 
 
50 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 everything within mortal means or power for the 
 httle sufferer, but nothing proved of avail. I will 
 now state emphatically," concluded the heartless 
 writer, ' 'that an eminent physician positively affirm- 
 ed that nothing could have saved the child/' 
 
 The sorely bereaved, aye, almost distracted moth- 
 er, went on with her toilsome, though fascinating 
 studies. Finally, she graduated, and then secured a 
 good position in a large hospital, in a neighboring city. 
 The wearisome years rolled by, and one day, there 
 came to her, a telegram; it stated that her father 
 was dying and to come at once. That father's 
 shrouded remains had lain in state for days, when 
 the daughter, almost exhausted by the toilsome jour- 
 ney, and for the want of needful sleep, reached, late 
 one morn, that darkened chamber. 
 
 She learned later, that her half-sister delayed 
 the message until her father was cold in death. 
 
 Aye, another sad and mournful bier, though its 
 sombreness had been partially relieved by the ap- 
 propriate floral offerings. And, as the long train of 
 carriages filed down the broad avenue, and out up- 
 on the shady high-way, the solemn tones of a near- 
 by church bell tolled the sad tidings. And an old 
 darky, in a neighbor's field, was seen to bow his 
 hoary head in homage, as the procession slowly 
 passed along. ' ' 
 
 And here, the gypsy bowed her own head while 
 the hot tears twinkled down her fiushed cheeks. At 
 last, with a mighty effort, she brushed aside those 
 briny tears and continued her pathetic story. 
 
 ' 'The next morning was bright, with a f rostiness 
 in the air, and in the library of the Adair villa, 
 crackled and glowed a cheery fire. Presently there 
 was a stir, and several persons filed into the room, 
 
A DRAMATIC STORY 51 
 
 where Judge Neville, a trusted friend and adviser of 
 the late Robert L. Adair, was sitting. 
 
 After all had been seated, the old lawyer slowly 
 adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, and began to read, 
 in a firm, though subdued voice, the last will of his 
 late cHent and Hfe-long friend; and Mrs. Dryden, 
 sitting there near that old judge, with her 
 sad, tear-stained eyes riveted upon his face, 
 soon learned that her father's ruthlessness had con- 
 tinued to the bitter end, that she had been disowned, 
 left without one dollar. Her half-sister had fallen 
 heir to the whole t)f that boundless estate, with the 
 exception of a few thousand dollars, which he had 
 requested to be divided equally among a few of the 
 older servants. 
 
 ''Ah, my child,'' went on the now excited gypsy, 
 ''your mother is no longer a poor, struggling woman, 
 no longer a desolate widow, for not many months 
 ago, she was married to one of the leading hospital 
 
 surgeons, in the city of S . About six weeks 
 
 after their marriage, her husband, the Doctor, was 
 called up at two in the morning, to extract some bul- 
 lets from a man who had been brought there, in a 
 patrol-wagon. The scoundrel had been shot while 
 trying to rob the mansion home of the wealthy Mrs. 
 Duvall. The brawny, vilHanous looking scamp, re- 
 gained consciousness just long enough to tell of var- 
 ious crimes which he had committed. The doctor 
 was so completely worn out by the previous day's 
 trying duties, that he paid but little attention to the 
 dying man's deplorable narration, until he heard his 
 own wife's maiden name spoken, then he was all at- 
 tention. After plying numerous questions to the dy- 
 ing man, the doctor drew from him, by slow degrees, 
 the following story: 
 
52 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 1 was for years the secretary of Squire Adair, 
 an old aristocratic Virginian. I was with him at the 
 time of his daughter's elopement with the coachman. 
 Some six years later, that daughter, bereft of her 
 husband, returned and sought the friendly protection 
 of her father's beautiful home. But I, through re- 
 venge, for she had completely ignored my suit, and 
 had from the very beginning encouraged the coach- 
 man, went to the squire and made him believe that 
 it was his money, his vast estate, and not the friend- 
 ly shelter of the paternal roof, that his daughter was 
 seeking. In a towering rage he drove her, his weep- 
 ing, heart-broken child away, away on out into the 
 cruel and thoughtless world; and while in this pas- 
 sion, he made his will, willing all of his fine estate to 
 his adopted daughter. Some few months later, how- 
 ever, he changed his mind, and made another will; 
 destroying, as he thought, the old one. In this new 
 will, he left everything, unconditional, to his beloved 
 daughter, Helen Vira Dryden. Now, the wily adopt- 
 ed daughter, Mrs. Hallgate, always knew just how to 
 use her grasping faculties. So, through fear, the fear 
 of her exposing me as a knave, the vile sinner that I 
 am, and was, I yielded to her threat and persuasion, 
 and forged another will, the exact counterpart of the 
 first will, then, the only one. So it was this duphcate 
 that was destroyed by the old Squire himself, and 
 not the original will. Then immediately after the 
 Squire's death, I managed, through this same wo- 
 man, this intrigue of satan, to gain possession of the 
 new will, and, lo! another duplicate I forged, which 
 she, the vixen, destroyed; and the real will, my good 
 sir, was placed by me in a secure vault. Of this fact 
 you may rest assured, sir, for I thought that perhaps 
 the day might come when I could use it to a good 
 
A DRAMATIC STORY 53 
 
 advantage. And, let me tell you, if I had not, 
 through my own carelessness, met with this fatal en- 
 counter,' laying his trembling hand on his lacerat- 
 ed chest; 1 would have eventually returned there, 
 and, wielded the document as a sword over that cun- 
 ning and heartless woman's head/ 
 
 'Now,' continued the dying man, 'if you, good 
 doctor, will search in the inner pocket of my coat, 
 that coat hanging there on the wall, you will find a 
 very small key, a key that will unlock a small black 
 box, stored away in the vault of a bank, in the rural 
 
 town of H . In the box is the will, and I beheve, 
 
 doctor, that is all that I have to say; except this, 
 that the Squire's granddaughter, Alva Dryden, is 
 known as Miss Hallgate. " Here, the expiring man 
 threw up a trembling hand, and again lapsed into 
 unconsciousness. 
 
 ''Ah, my child, there is but little more to tell," 
 and the trembling gypsy takes sweet Alva's little 
 hand in her own; "I am that disowned daughter, 
 Helen Dryden, who, through vile treachery, lost, for 
 years, her inherited, yea, bequeathed estate. And 
 you, my child, are my own little girl, the treasure 
 that I left in the care of that woman sitting there," 
 pointing with her dimpled finger to Mrs. Hallgate. 
 At this, the whole audience turned and looked at the 
 lady designated, only a spasmodic sound from that 
 personage, greeted them. Then, some one called 
 loudly, and the servants came rushing in and bore 
 the ashy-faced woman up the broad, winding stair- 
 way, to an exquisite chamber, where medical aid 
 was speedily summoned. She soon recovered, but 
 was never the same society Mrs. Hallgate. 
 
 Alva's fond mother, Mrs. Wynman, had no 
 trouble in gaining possession of her vast estate. 
 
54 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 which included the old plantation, the home of her 
 birth, and valuable properties in other towns. 
 
 The bonnie Alva, in the course of time, was 
 wooed and won by a most gallant knight; and when 
 the fragrant June roses were all in bloom, she was 
 led to the altar, and given in marriage to her hand- 
 some lover, by her adoring step-father, the doctor. 
 
 After the beautiful and impressive ceremony had 
 been solemnized there, in the parish church, they 
 were driven to the wharf, where they took an out- 
 ward bound steamer for Liverpool. Here they ling- 
 ered for a week and a day, then hastened they on 
 in their journey, and there in that far distant clime, 
 beneath Italy's sunny skies, they roamed as blithe 
 as two mountain nymphs, and enjoyed to the very 
 fullest, their truly delightful honeymoon. 
 
 Death. 
 
 Ah, grim and weird Death, what being art thou? 
 A pale, ashy hue, and a cold, paUid brow; 
 A bier that's so solemn and ghastly and still, 
 A lonOj silent grave upon yonder broad hill. 
 
 A soul which hath swiftly, forever fled on. 
 To another life, aye, to another new dawn ; 
 To that other land out of sight, over there, 
 Where all is of gold, aye, is dazzling and fair. 
 
 To bloom in a glad, yea, a beautiful ray. 
 Up there, at the dawn of a glorious day; 
 Or, go way down there into dark, utter woe, 
 To fiery inf ernals, so awful below. 
 
 Ah, just as thou liveth thy moments on here, 
 So it will be measured to thee fully, there; 
 Yea, whether stern woe of the most bitter pain, 
 Or soft, soothing music of angelic strain. 
 
THE GIRL WHO DARED 55 
 
 An Explanatory Note of 
 The Girl Who Dared. 
 
 Two men met one frosty morning, on a public 
 highway, some fifteen miles out from a small thriv- 
 ing town. They soon began to banter each other 
 about a girl, whom they both knew, and were very 
 much interested in, in the years long since past. 
 While they were talking thus, the girl's father, 
 whom neither recognized, drew up within a few feet 
 of them, and with a monkey-wrench in hand, dis- 
 mounted from his handsome carriage, and devoted 
 several minutes to fixing something about one of its 
 rubber- tired wheels. And, Oh, horrors! This stately, 
 doting old father, heard the most of their direful 
 conversation. Finally he, in a thundering voice that 
 carried conviction, spoke words that neither of the 
 younger men soon forgot. The old gentleman, how- 
 ever, condescended to shake hands with these two 
 well remembered Society Danglers, for one was 
 Hiram Wainwright, and the other his associate, his 
 bantering college chum. This chum, the stately, old 
 gentleman scanned from tip to toe, while a con- 
 temptuous twinkle illuminated his honest, indignant 
 blue eyes. The college-bred man, and now, dashing 
 hunter, was elaborately costumed in a new hunting 
 suit, brass buttons, velvet lapels, etc. Yea, with 
 dignity, the aged father, looked, listened, and an- 
 swered, and then drove away, whistling a rollicking, 
 farewell tune to those two crest-fallen Dudishisms. 
 
56 TRUTH AND FICTION' 
 
 The Girl Who Dared 
 
 OR, 
 
 A True, Pathetic, and Thrilling Story. 
 
 Chapter L 
 
 "Let me introduce thee now, to Miss Betsy Jane, 
 Who is hving so sadly up Sorrow's broad lane; 
 Don't want the acquaintance of such a sly mink. 
 Sir Chap, thou art causing these old eyes to blink. 
 
 That sweet Betsy Jane, is a lassie so spry, 
 
 And is off the same chip, and is of the same dye, 
 
 As her old drunkard father, who's called * 'Boozy 
 
 Bill," 
 Instead of ascending, he rolled down the hill. 
 
 He rolled and he rolled, and still onward he went, 
 His money he wasted, his money he spent; 
 Then Poverty came knocking grimly and bare, 
 On finding that Riches were out on a tare. 
 
 His bold knock was noisy and ringing and long, 
 And here's the refrain of his dismal, old song; 
 "Fierce Poverty am I, and ever will be. 
 So hark one and all, unto grum solemn me." 
 
 "Yonder orchard was large, and well laden with 
 
 fruit, 
 At the fortune in store, Billy often did hoot, 
 Thus wasting the money in drinking and brawl, 
 'Till down Old High Lonesome, he surely will crawl; 
 
 And live in a cabin so dismal and bare, 
 I'll leave him v/ith Betsy now, sitting on there; 
 And will turn once again, to that fruit on the hill. 
 Summing up one by one, every crisp dollar bill. 
 
 After summing them up, and then adding them all, 
 I find this old William, quite wealthy that fall; 
 With great rolling acres, spread out far and wide. 
 And his winsome young daughter, the country's one 
 pride. 
 
Page 57 ^*We hoed, and we labored from each early morn. 
 
 Were up with the lark, out to fields of green corn.^' 
 
THE GIRL WHO DARED 57 
 
 Alas, the most poisonous drinks did it all, 
 Thus leading old Bill to a wild, drunkard's brawl; 
 And his daughter, sad-eyed, mingled freely therein, 
 'Till o'er her had fallen the shadow of sin. 
 
 When she could have gained for herself a good home, 
 And a husband who never would venture to roam; 
 The tale of a sin and deplorable woe. 
 Now hound her about, where'er she did go; 
 
 'Till into her eyes, crept an aspect so wild. 
 Which soon noised her to be a most sin-given child; 
 The story was tossed all around and around, 
 'Till from the vicinity Betsy was hound." 
 
 ''Thy version is not true of vice, nor of crime. 
 Oh, list to a story both rare and sublime; 
 Her father of drinking, the girl tried to cure. 
 And took thy stern looks, with a meekness demure. 
 
 A martyr she's proved herself ever to be. 
 By clinging so fondly to beer-loaded me; 
 She tried to rout Hardship, and also my sin, 
 And worked on in pain, and in weary chagrin. 
 
 Aye, thy frowns, and thy sneers were as light chaff 
 
 to her. 
 And the dark angry looks, and each mean, hateful 
 
 slur; 
 But the dense dreary weeks, were soon passing 
 
 away. 
 And onward crept gladness with much brighter ray. 
 
 The brown jugs came fewer, and at last were gone, 
 And then flew the calm months, so busily on; 
 We now hired three fellows, and put them to work. 
 And not for one second did those laddies shirk. 
 
 We hoed, and we laboi'ed from each early morn, 
 Were up with the lark, out to fields of green corn. 
 And thus seven years and a half passed away. 
 And now look at the ricks of sweet fragrant hay. 
 
58 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 Oh, yes, those two meadows are ours over there, 
 They're a sight, that is beautiful, sniptious and fair, 
 Aye, a thousand round dollars of taters were sold. 
 They were bartered each fall, for the money in gold. 
 
 And the eggs, in neat cases, went out every week, 
 And folks from afar, these fresh products did seek. 
 Thus through eggs and taters, and good corn and 
 
 wheat. 
 We gained a snug section, all cozy and neaf 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 '*Just how it all happened, I never could tell. 
 But we moved quite a ways, to a great, lonely dell; 
 Thus dropped out of sight to those we held dear, 
 And tilled the rich soil with a gladsome good cheer. 
 
 And at last, our hard labor rewarded us well. 
 We, wagons of wheat and of good corn did sell; 
 Fat hogs to the market, we often did send. 
 And the chink, for a section, we managed to spend. 
 
 Why yes, that's the farm, and 'tis rolhng and grand. 
 And we owe not a soul, and draw cash on demand; 
 And the dwelling up there, on that beautiful hill. 
 Has for its sweet mistress, the daughter of old Bill. 
 
 Ah, yes, she saved me from a low, drunkard's grave. 
 And now all I wish for, or ever can crave; 
 Is a suitor for her, who is loyal and true. 
 When I'm called away to the heavenly blue. 
 
 Ah ha, I can greet thee with happy, good cheer. 
 Oh, joy to my soul, thou also speedeth here; 
 In thy rich Grecian robe, and thy buckles of gold, 
 Thou art seeking her hand now, forever to hold; 
 
 And a good loving husband, thou truly wouldst be. 
 
 Aye, would pilot her safely on over Life's lea; 
 
 And the farm, thou wouldst ever look after there, 
 
 too, 
 And her good, aged 'father, would have naught to do. 
 
THE GIRL WHO DARED 59 
 
 Ah, what can I say of these suitors so bold, 
 That marriage each seekest for only the gold; 
 So now to you both, I will whistle adieu. 
 And when wives you're seeking, for cash do not 
 sue. 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 It all came about, in a very odd way, 
 While Hiram was walking up Main Street one day, 
 He had just laid his hand, on an old college chum, 
 Who classed him to all, as Miss Betsy Jane's rum. 
 
 Ah, a frown settled over his dark, wrinkled brow, 
 And he held with his own chum, a woeful old row; 
 And stamping his foot on the ground, wildly said, 
 ''My marriage with Betsy thou need'st never dread.'' 
 
 And, his back on Miss Betsy he quickly did turn. 
 The sweet maiden right there, the rude fellow did 
 
 spurn ; 
 Thus a handsome and dashing and straight-forward 
 
 knight. 
 By gossiping tongues, was soon driven to flight. 
 
 Miss Betsy had will-power of her very own, 
 And she tendered a sweet smile instead of a groan; 
 Soon revolves in her mind, what she wanted to do, 
 And at last, with a laugh, she just shouted, *'0h, 
 Pooh." 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 Now, soon in her fancy a mystery did dwell, 
 
 And her heart and her soul, with the pleasure did 
 
 swell; 
 Ah, her labor she then did, as gay as a lark, 
 She builded a home, and a farm, and a park. 
 
 There wound through the woodland, a clear, rippling 
 
 brook, 
 And cooling and rustic, were each cozy nook; 
 Aye, all showed a nature, artistic and grand. 
 Yea, Witchery was ruler out over that land. 
 
60 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 Ha, she glowed in heart, with a sweet gladness now. 
 While the blushes of love mantled both cheek and 
 
 brow; 
 Her love was a brave knight, so loyal and true, 
 Aye, of Rupert's own equal, there are but a few. 
 
 He's a good, steady shepherd with large herds galore; 
 And with him, she will never have aught to deplore; 
 Ah, over her now there is spread a fair dawn. 
 And gay are the birds, and flowers bloom on. 
 
 Miss Bet's' bridal eve was the first day of June, 
 And out on the lawn, 'neath a full, mellow moon, 
 When the sun-light had settled beneath the earth's 
 
 crest. 
 While rosy rays lingered still, there in the west, 
 
 The guests were assembled in wedding array, 
 And dainty and graceful the small fans did sway; 
 And 'tis now, that the Pastor comes on the fair 
 
 scene. 
 And all is true joy and deep gladness, I ween. 
 
 E'en the lights seem to dance with a frolicsome glee. 
 
 And now softly whispers each stately, old tree; 
 
 The arches gleam bright through great banks of 
 
 white roses. 
 At the summit of each one, a sweet Cupid poses. 
 
 Ah, they're gliding down over a green velvet aisle, 
 And the soft, tuneful music thrills low all the while; 
 And those three little children as cherubims sweet. 
 Are strewing white flowers on the ground, at their 
 feet. 
 
 Two more little cherubs hold out her long train. 
 While slowly they glide to the musical strain; 
 Now, the venerable Pastor with his hoary hair, 
 Rises slowly, steps out and then greets the glad 
 pair. 
 
AN ENRAPTURED SCENE 61 
 
 And, in solemn tone, he very slowly began, 
 
 And a flutter of joy through the eager crowd ran; 
 
 And now the young pair, are pronounced, man and 
 
 wife. 
 To glide on their way to a happier life. 
 
 A murmur of gladness, now stirs the whole crowd. 
 And they quickly surround the young couple so 
 
 proud; 
 And now one by one, wishes joy to the two. 
 And a most grand repast, ha, will promptly ensue. 
 
 Ah, the hours ghded on with rich jewels ablaze, 
 And then guests bid adieu to the glad, dreamy maze; 
 And the moon rode on calmly through her starry 
 
 way, 
 And the music ceased thus, with a sweet, thrilling 
 
 lay. 
 
 Yea, It Was Decreed. 
 
 Ruth gleaned in the ripe and the waving field. 
 She was toiling on there, when the sun rode high; 
 
 And she gleaned ever slowly and all alone. 
 But shortly she saw handsome Boaz, draw nigh. 
 
 The scythe then fell from her small, shapely hand. 
 And she stood there so close by his stately side; 
 
 And lifted right up her tender, blue eyes, 
 For was not she, his fair, decreed bride? 
 
 God, had righteously made them to mate with each 
 other. 
 
 And, had sent her there to glean in his field; 
 And when she came up to where Boaz stood, 
 
 To Sir Cupid's wiles, faithful Ruth did yield, 
 
 An Enraptured Scene. 
 
 A gentle, fragrant breeze was blowing IVoin the 
 west, and on the brooklet rushed, singing its ^lad. 
 
62 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 merry tune. And over there, a pansy nodded its 
 small, dainty head, while out across an emerald lawn, 
 a young girl lightly tripped to the music of her song. 
 She paused, turned and waved her handkerchief at 
 her fond, old father, who was reclining on a cushion- 
 ed settee out on the side gallery of his cozy, farm 
 dwelling. 
 
 On down through the fragrant orchard she went, 
 now in and now out among the trees, that were tint- 
 ed all in pink and white. Gayly she wended her way 
 across a green and woody pasture, wherein cattle, 
 horses, and swine were grazing. Speeding on through 
 a clover dotted field, she soon reached her Aunt's 
 handsome residence, which stood upon a broad knoll 
 just at the edge of C . A town noted for its pic- 
 turesque quaintness and for its numerous facilities. 
 
 It was to this imposing residence, that her music 
 teacher came twice a week, to give her lessons. It 
 was here too, that she spent many a pleasant hour, 
 entertained by her queenly cousins, her Aunt's lov- 
 able daughters. On this never-to-be-forgotten. May 
 afternoon, her Aunt was expecting another relative; 
 a nephew by marriage. Robert Wellington by name. 
 A young physician, who had just graduated from the 
 far famed Medical Academy at B . 
 
 As he entered his Aunt's pleasant home that 
 afternoon, he was held captive on its very threshold. 
 The little maiden who held him so completely en- 
 thralled, was the same winsome fairy, that had trip- 
 ped so lightly through the cool, shady pasture, and 
 the clover scented field. 
 
 A sweet smile, a bewildering glance, and, lo. Sir 
 Cupid held sway within that young physician's 
 heart. 
 
 The spring and summer months glided tran- 
 
A DARING HUNTER 63 
 
 quilly on, and, ah-ha, tinted October was ushered in. 
 A regal queen was she, with her fleecy clouds of 
 amber and purple. 
 
 Ah! What's that pleasant sound? Hark! the 
 joyous chime of wedding bells. Our winsome maiden, 
 our little fairy, is now a laughing, blushing bride. 
 
 A Daring Hunter. 
 
 OR 
 
 Arthur Adair's Resolve. 
 A Story that Ends in Love and Marriage. 
 
 One cold and cloudy day while out hunting for a 
 bear, 
 I trudged right on so lonely and forlorn; 
 And, my heavy heart went up in silent prayer. 
 For the moments of their brightness had been 
 shorn. 
 
 To be lost upon the rugged mountain side. 
 Meant a feast for some lank wolf, or grizzly bear; 
 
 Ere the close of that cold day's long evening tide. 
 And again arose my pleading, fervent prayer. 
 
 Ah, too numb was I to ever try to cope 
 With such prowlers of the deep and tangle wild; 
 
 And the little that I now had left of hope, 
 Went aspeeding far away from this lone child. 
 
 There before me rose the craggy mountain steep, 
 And I even stagger now at what I saw; 
 
 And cold shivers once more over me do creep; 
 Aye, it was a bear with great wide-open jaw. 
 
 I tried to flee, but whither could I go, 
 A ravine all slushy here blulfs over there; 
 
 Right through thick brush, and over freezing snow. 
 Would take me straight to Death's dark, hidden 
 lair. 
 
64 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 A rustle and a growl, had startled me, 
 Fear had mounted to my pale and haggard brow; 
 
 Two glaring eyes, and fierce teeth I could see, 
 The grizzly bear crept nearer to me now. 
 
 I raised my gun and killed that dreadful bear. 
 Then whirled around, and looked for grizzlies m.ore; 
 
 And I saw with horror that the sun through there. 
 Was sinking in his radiant, spangled gore. 
 
 Ah, the chilly eve had crept on unawares; 
 
 Where would I lay down my weary head that 
 night; 
 Away out of the reach of wolves and bears; 
 
 Oh, grim, dark specter, wing on in your flight! 
 
 I looked around cold, frightened, lonely me, 
 And soon espied a refuge, as you knov/; 
 
 Standing near by was a massive walnut tree, 
 So straight towards it I bounded o'er the snow. 
 
 And up there, in two great forks, I camped that 
 night. 
 
 While the lean and frantic wolves around did howl; 
 But all these, e'er and anon, I put to flight, 
 
 Though keyed down to the lone hooting of an owl. 
 
 And there 'neath the cold and brightly twinkhng 
 stars, 
 
 I gazed on wolves, and beat time to their howl; 
 And then turned to locate dear, old radiant Mars, 
 
 While upon the snow clad peaks I oft did scowl. 
 
 Aha, two shots at wolves I then did take, 
 And one old beast fell over more than dead; 
 
 Then the others all around him danced a wake, 
 And nothing soon was left but blood so red. 
 
 Two long and dreary hours to musing spent, 
 And to myself talked in this grumbling way. 
 
 Why was I by stern Fate, to this vale sent? 
 Oh, hurry on, the new and welcome day! 
 
Piiijc 6''/ ''A}nl up there, in tiro (peat Jork.^, J ca))ipcii that nitflit. 
 While the lean and frantic wolves around did hiHrl.'* 
 
% 
 
A DARING HUNTER 65 
 
 Ah, there's the dawning of a glorious morn, 
 Now from this high perch I shall scramble down; 
 
 Ha, night, the day, of thy dark hours hath shorn, 
 And, gladly now Fll set foot on the ground. 
 
 But will loiter here to take a picture there. 
 That scene, all lit, with morning's gleaming light; 
 
 Now heedless of gaunt wolf, or e'en of bear, 
 ril wander off down this pathway to my right. 
 
 Just one hour^after that rose-tinted dawn, 
 I came upon a stream, around a bend; 
 
 And here the bright sunlight on all did fawn, 
 Ah, life to me, the thrilling scene did lend. 
 
 I crossed this deep, though solid frozen river. 
 Then chmbed the brow of a great, monstrous rock; 
 
 The ice upon the stream, oft made me shiver. 
 While straightening up each long, thick woolen 
 sock. 
 
 Soon I saw up a bluff, a streaming ray. 
 
 Then low, sweet shouting cleaved the morning air; 
 Up the mountain side I speeded then my way; 
 
 And left behind the ravished wolf and bear. 
 
 Right on I toiled over ledges of great rock, 
 But kept in view, that streak of paling light; 
 
 And there, quite soon, I spied a maiden's frock, 
 Up steep and rugged path, and to the right. 
 
 Into a lot, and through a sliding gate, 
 
 And now around the woodshed, through the yard; 
 Then for the girl, on doorstep, I did wait. 
 
 Across the lawn, came this theme for a bard. 
 
 With joy I greeted the sweet nymph so fair. 
 And in her cottage, I found true delight; 
 
 Ah, she with dark brown eyes, and lovely hair, 
 Soon put all of my cares to a hasty flight. 
 
 In that snug home, upon the mountain high, 
 I looked right down into three witching dales; 
 
 A new deep beauty, each moi-n, I did spy, 
 
 From that old oaken house, with winding trails. 
 
66 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 The cot was built upon that mountain side, 
 By a brawny hunter, daring, bold and brave; 
 
 Who sought the lonely wilds, there, to reside, 
 Ha, fearing neither wolf, or bear or knave, 
 
 'Twas here, his queenly daughter, like a rose. 
 Had grown to maiden-hood, stately and good; 
 
 In thrilling measure, and not in dull prose, 
 ril close this tale of the deep, silent wood; 
 
 And sketch the whole with its blue, sunny skies, 
 While using natural shades so quaint and rare; 
 
 The soft love-light in Helen's dreamy eyes. 
 As she sat near me, in her cozy chair. 
 
 Ah, my thoughts that last hour, like rosy glow, 
 Had risen in awe, to an ethereal height; 
 
 I could have caught sweet Helen then, just so, 
 And borne her on Love's pinions ever bright. 
 
 For when my glad eyes on this maiden sweet. 
 From tangled gully, did first fondly rest; 
 
 I fell in love with her from head to feet, 
 And yearned to clasp her to my throbbing breast. 
 
 And, as the gladsome days sped to a week, 
 This hunter lingered still, aye, lingered there; 
 
 Yet to queen Helen, I just could not speak, 
 For she looked so impressive, and, so fair. 
 
 But one bright morning, a resolve I made. 
 It was that I would win this sweet maiden fair; 
 
 I told her father, I was not Dick Slade, 
 And wanted her to change her name to Adair. 
 
 So she could on my own fond, loving breast. 
 Oft pillow her dark, dainty, chestnut head; 
 
 And let it ever trustingly there rest. 
 While o'er Love's pathway we would lightly tread. 
 
 That doting father said ''0. K." to me, 
 We're married now, and living in a dale; 
 
 And here, sweet Peace has sole care of the lea. 
 While Love, with Cupids, has festooned the vale. 
 
IN THE 60's 67 
 
 In The 60's. 
 
 OR 
 
 Husband and Wife Reunited. 
 
 A band of Indian braves, once surprised Old Miner's 
 
 Hut, 
 Into the great, log structure, they forcefully did 
 
 butt, 
 Demanded of the men all their stock of yellow gold, 
 But a great and startling wonder to those Indians did 
 
 unfold. 
 
 Ah, the Warriors had their arrows pointed tragicly 
 
 now. 
 Straight at every silent miner's own troubled, pallid 
 
 brow; 
 The surprise was a fair portrait so dainty and so 
 
 small, 
 But those Indians quickly thought 'twas the mighty 
 
 Spirit's call. 
 
 They felt that dreaded death surely unto them would 
 
 come, 
 Should they take these miners' treasure off to barter 
 
 for good rum; 
 On entering Miner's Hut, they had all said with a 
 
 dare, 
 *Tork over all your money, or take ye what is 
 
 there." 
 
 At the miners they had rushed with their poisonous 
 
 arrows keen, 
 And there plunged into a corner an old heavy wire 
 
 screen, 
 Then one daring, handsome miner, so stately, yet so 
 
 rough, 
 Handed to a fierce old warrior, his ragged, beaver 
 
 muff. 
 
68 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 With a dark and scowling face, the great chieftain 
 
 took the thing, 
 And on the puncheon floor, the old muff he then did 
 
 fling; 
 From out the ragged fur, came a photo, sweet and 
 
 fair, 
 Of a young and lovely maiden, with her raven, curly 
 
 hair. 
 
 A tall, queenly maiden, so beautiful and sweet, 
 
 The picture lay there near, to that old chieftain's 
 
 feet; 
 The grunting brave now acted as though thoroughly 
 
 amazed, 
 Held his hand up to his forehead, as though he was 
 
 almost crazed. 
 
 Then he kissed the miner's hand and rushed out, and 
 ran away, 
 
 And hurried right on down an embankment of loose 
 clay; 
 
 The other Indians followed in the fierce, old chief- 
 tain's wake, 
 
 And not an ounce of yellow gold, did they that morn- 
 ing take. 
 
 Thus the tall and handsome miner, so stately and so 
 
 brave. 
 The eight men of their gold, did certainly there save; 
 And now he took his seat on a rustic, oaken stool. 
 And said, ''Oh, boys, I surely am a great and giddy 
 
 fool, 
 
 For coming way out here from my busy eastern 
 
 town, 
 To dig for golden treasure, and to act just like a 
 
 clown;" 
 With a sad cry, he arose, then again he took his seat, 
 ''Oh, men, why did I go away and leave my darling 
 
 sweet?" 
 
IN THE 60' s 69 
 
 Ah, the thought swept over him with such strong 
 
 and vital force, 
 That he rose right up in anguish, and soon talked 
 
 himself quite hoarse; 
 Then he fell back on the stool, with a wan and 
 
 deathly hue. 
 Ah, the glad and happy past, once again he did 
 
 review. 
 
 Ha, Richard with a bright, though a deep and 
 
 startled frown, 
 Sat up again, and acted as the monkey, as the clown; 
 And all around that lengthy room, his laughing gaze 
 
 did rove, 
 Then through an open window at a small, forest 
 
 grove. 
 
 On the men, the seven men, he let his eyes now 
 slowly rest, 
 
 A most grim and rugged crew, even at their very 
 best; 
 
 And a pleasant, happy smile mounted his pale, hag- 
 gard brow. 
 
 And a gladsome light soon kindled in his laughing 
 blue eyes, now. 
 
 To the far east by a steamer, I certainly shall hie, 
 'Tis the only happy land underneath the vaulted sky; 
 To the east, the distant east, Fll be going very soon, 
 Yes, shall journey quickly there, and before another 
 moon. 
 
 To the state where I was born, to the land where I 
 
 was raised. 
 When I left that country grand, I must have been 
 
 half crazed; 
 In New York, I have a queenly wife, so loving and 
 
 so true, 
 She dwells there, underneath fair skies of amber 
 
 and of blue. 
 
70 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 'Tis a fact, my worthy boys, that she lives there in 
 the east. 
 
 And a ghmpse of Vivian's face, would now prove a 
 royal feast; 
 
 I once ignored my darling's yearning, pleading, lov- 
 ing cry. 
 
 Which floated its bright banner, even out here in 
 the sky. 
 
 Her fond letters I have hidden in that corner, over 
 there. 
 
 Deep within that shaggy hide of a roving mountain 
 bear ; 
 
 Then Richard took a seat, murmuring while he set- 
 tled down. 
 
 And he sent his loving thoughts to his dear, old 
 eastern town. 
 
 And then he looked into the features of one thickly 
 
 bearded man, 
 A heavy, daring miner, whom they knew as Trusty 
 
 Dan ; 
 That rugged, stalwart miner was thinking hard and 
 
 fast; 
 He surveyed the other well, and then slowly and at 
 
 last 
 
 Came forward, and his mellow voice rang loudly 
 
 with a glee, 
 ''Tell the name, the maiden name of your lovely 
 
 wife," said he; 
 *'She was Vivian LaDrew, my great and dashing 
 
 pard. 
 But why gasp and stagger thus, and why struggle 
 
 you so hard? '' 
 
 An ashy hue was spreading over Richard's lofty 
 
 brow, 
 He arose and with determination faced the other, 
 
 now; 
 ' 'Ah, no it could not be the youthful Lidy, this he 
 
 knew, 
 For, long beneath the crumbling sod, had lain poor 
 
 Lyde LaDrew.'' • 
 
IN THE 60' S 71 
 
 Many years ago, he'd broken his sweet sister's trust- 
 ing heart, 
 
 By going to the gold fields, that western, busy mart; 
 
 He left one rosy morning in a glad and fragrant 
 June, 
 
 Saying to her, 'good by sister, I shall journey all 
 this moon." 
 
 Vivian waited for his letters, ah, she waited, though 
 none came. 
 
 Then at last she married me, and thus changed her 
 maiden name. 
 
 I have often thought I knew you, thought I recog- 
 nized you, Dan, 
 
 That rd met you out somewhere, in among the 
 world's clan. 
 
 But Pd never dreamed that you could be the way- 
 ward, truant Lyde, 
 
 It was thought, aye, was supposed that you, long 
 years since had died;" 
 
 With a grim and firm resolve, Richard Murdock then 
 arose. 
 
 Ah, the whole deep mystery now, this rascal must 
 disclose. 
 
 Then he'd pack his traps, and to this camp would 
 
 ever bid adieu, 
 And hasten to the east, to fair skies of dazzling blue; 
 The other there, soon proved to Dick, that he was 
 
 Lyde, the boy; 
 That the golden crowded, western fields, had been his 
 
 main decoy. 
 
 He had thought just like all others, like the boys 
 of his own age, 
 
 That the quiet country, farm-life, was a cruel, nar- 
 row cage; 
 
 To the far and rugged west, he so hopefully did 
 flee. 
 
 And he had continued there, as they all could plainly 
 see. 
 
72 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 A report of his sad death, had so shortly been sent 
 
 home, 
 And there amid her sorrow, did his sister sadly 
 
 roam; 
 'Till in marriage there to me, ten months later she 
 
 was tied. 
 Then she seemed to cease to mourn for her only 
 
 brother, Lyde. 
 
 *'So you too, are going back to your dear, old eastern 
 home. 
 
 And will dwell forever there, 'neath her starry-stud- 
 ded dome; 
 
 So to all of you good fellows, we will bid a last adieu, 
 
 Though some hours we'll doubtless spend thinking of 
 old chums so true.'' 
 
 They went from Miner's Hut, on that fair and glor- 
 ious morn. 
 
 And left the other six men looking lonely and for- 
 lorn; 
 
 They trudged on over hills, to the near-by mining 
 town, 
 
 There they hired a rig and driver, and were jostled 
 up and down 
 
 To a swiftly flowing river, with an overhanging 
 marge. 
 
 Where the two soon went aboard a flat, weather- 
 beaten barge; 
 
 Up the small, winding river, they slowly then did 
 row. 
 
 To a Fort, way up the stream, they were trying hard 
 to go; 
 
 But they had to hide themselves for a whole day and 
 
 a night. 
 Or with the savage Indians, have a most terrific 
 
 fight. 
 Then on into the fort, they soon, quickly made their 
 
 way, 
 And reached the guarded barracks there, by noon 
 
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IN THE 60's 73 
 
 To the ocean's busy wharf, they were driven in a 
 
 stage, 
 And took passage on a steamer, with the wisdom of 
 
 a sage, 
 In the city of New York, the two landed by and by, 
 And to Vivian's loving presence they both sneaking- 
 
 ly did hie. 
 
 *'My own dear, darhng wife,'' said Dick, '1 have 
 
 come back to thee. 
 Wilt thou sweet, darling one, e'er forgive a beast 
 
 like me?" 
 She failed at first to recognize her grown up, truant 
 
 brother. 
 But hastened with an outburst to the strong arms of 
 
 the other; 
 
 In his open, loving arms, her dear husband clasped 
 
 her then. 
 And in many dewy kisses, their fond lips again did 
 
 blend. 
 Then she turned 'round to the other, the young giant, 
 
 waiting there. 
 And, said she, with great surprise, *Vhy its Lidy, I 
 
 declare." 
 
 To his arms she quickly fluttered, with a deep and 
 lingering joy, 
 
 '*How glad I am that you are back, my own dear, 
 darling boy; 
 
 You have grown to be a steady man, so large and 
 tall, and handsome. 
 
 That the distant west for you will surely pay a ran- 
 som." 
 
 The fond brother, in their household, they so gladly 
 
 now receive. 
 And there's never any sorrow, that doth either of 
 
 them grieve. 
 Save the lonely, silent graves by the ivy-covered 
 
 wall; 
 Her parents long ago, had obeyed death's solemn 
 
 call. 
 
74 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 And the two tall, marble tombstones there, standing 
 
 all carved and white. 
 Now gleams so softly, out in the pale moon's gentle 
 
 light; 
 While the happy, living pair sleeps within, serenely 
 
 on. 
 From the gladsome, dewy eve 'till the rosy-tinted 
 
 dawn. 
 
 Ah, a halo of glad light, is encircling all their way. 
 Thus making for the three, an entrancing, happy 
 
 day; 
 Yea, bringing to their lives a great happiness, and 
 
 mirth, 
 As they gather thus, together, 'round one ever 
 
 cheery hearth. 
 
 / 
 
 The True Story of Herbert DeLee. 
 
 Oh, ye lads, and ye lasses, so young and so fair, 
 Some with long, waving ringlets of raven black hair; 
 And others with eyes of a deep, starry light. 
 Follow me far away, in my own mental flight. 
 
 We'll now journey out to the deep, briny sea. 
 To the place where was lost little Herbert DeLee; 
 In a great, rugged cave of a deep, sparkling ledge. 
 At the base of a low, and a huge, jagged edge, 
 
 I once found, a frantic boy, clinging on there. 
 Trying hard to escape from an old grizzly bear. 
 Ah, the great, ugly beast was just lifting his paw. 
 Full wide was his mammoth and snarling old jaw. 
 
 In wild, frantic terror, clung Herbert on there. 
 Near the long, dreadful claws of that fierce, growl- 
 ing bear; 
 Soon a small, speeding bullet went ringing most loud, 
 And that huge, grizzly monster had found his own 
 shroud. 
 
THE TRUE STORY OF HERBERT DE LEE 75 
 
 Ah, the poor darling laddie had swooned, right away. 
 And we rowed to the mouth of the small, hidden 
 
 bay; 
 And 'twas there that we found a large, curious cave, 
 Over which I soon fairly, in wonder did rave. 
 
 The rank, swaying rushes had screened from our 
 
 sight. 
 The queer, splendid cave, and its grim, ghastly 
 
 fright; 
 Aye, the poor, little fellow had swooned dead away. 
 And lay there as silent as cold, sodden clay. 
 
 Ha, a flagon of spirits, I quickly applied. 
 While kneeling right there by that boy's rigid side; 
 'Twas an old, golden eagle's wild, ah, piercing cry. 
 From a small hill-top, which had arrested our eye. 
 
 And that great, circling bird, up there, screaming so 
 
 loud. 
 Had foretold the old grizzly's most weird, icy 
 
 shroud; 
 The boy soon revived, and then each of us took, 
 A sly peep in the holes, and in every old nook. 
 
 What think you, we found in that cavern right there. 
 Near the stiffening carcass of that grizzly bear? 
 Why, a cave, which from ceiling to rough, curious 
 
 floor. 
 With long, glittering pendants was studded all o'er. 
 
 Aha, and here's wealth, and we'll all live in ease, 
 And then we three knelt in the cave, on our knees; 
 And thanking the Lord for his great blessings all. 
 Said farewell to Old Hardship's conquering thrall. 
 
 But alas, on icicles, I feebly did lay, 
 
 A brown, trembling hand, down amid that bright 
 
 ray; 
 Yea, the sweet, gladsome vision was then quickly 
 
 o'er. 
 Still I knelt, humblv there, on that damp sparkling 
 
 floor." 
 
76 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 But soon we all 'rose with a courage so true, 
 And rowed with the boy to our own waiting crew; 
 And as we drifted out o'er the blue, placid sea, 
 We heard the true story of Herbert DeLee. 
 
 Over-board he had fallen, was then washed away. 
 Aye, was hurled right on out, and around to the bay: 
 On old Captain Nyle's cruising yacht he had sailed, 
 A great Spanish vessel, the Captain had hailed; 
 
 And Herbert in waving his kerchief aloft. 
 Had fallen deep down in the sea's heaving trough; 
 And then he was tossed on a great, dashing wave. 
 Up into that dazzling and queer looking cave. 
 
 'TwAS Only a Fearful Dream. 
 
 A wild, piercing shriek is now heard loud and clear, 
 And the click of a gate is distinct on the ear: 
 Now, on down the street a man franticly rushes, 
 And in his mad flight, 'gainst a form rudely brushes. 
 
 Ha, a tall, dark shadow with brown, flashing eyes, 
 In whose burning depths, a wild gleam surely lies. 
 A long, clashing sword is shield at his side; 
 Ah, dark, cruel death has taken his bride. 
 
 Of the deed, he well knew to his own, fearful woe, 
 And over the broad street, he fleeting did go; 
 And the full, yellow moon in a silver cloud hung, 
 As he, his long arms, in mad gestures oft flung. 
 
 Still on the form flits, to the deep river's marge. 
 Where wildly he plunges, and swims to a barge; 
 And crouching out there in a hammock, so high, 
 He seems to hear again, that same piercing cry. 
 
 To feel the soft touch of the figure so fleet. 
 To hear the sharp ring, of his fast flying feet; 
 And he sees in a maze, the ghastly, dead face. 
 And then, in his thoughts, he again tries to trace 
 
'twas only a fearful dream 77 
 
 The sensitive lip, and the pale, marble, brow; 
 At whose queenly shrine, he in homage did bow; 
 With cold, haughty mien, and blue sparkling eyes, 
 She bade him begone, 'ere the sun left the skies/' 
 
 Then he, in his rage, drew his weapon so bright. 
 And grimly it flashed in the moon's crystal light; 
 And then it was plunged in her quivering heart, 
 *'0h, my love," she exclaimed, 'Vhy this deadly 
 dart?" 
 
 And leaving her there, in the moon's mellow light, 
 He fled through the weirdness of this silent night; 
 Ah, the ghost of the slain, how it hurried him on, 
 And mocked him there, 'till the break of dawn. 
 
 The morning so gloomy, found him all weak and 
 
 pale. 
 He was soon located and lodged in the jail; 
 His trial came on, and, he heard of his doom, 
 To the noose, each clamors, and now to his tomb. 
 
 All trembling with terror, he suddenly 'woke, 
 
 And heard through the window, a frog's grating 
 
 croak; 
 And dazed with the scene of a fair, tinted morn, 
 He 'rose in his bed, all weak and forlorn. 
 
 A hand, he soon passes, across his damp brow, 
 Ha, with a deep joy, he knows the truth, now, 
 A dark, fearful dream, aye, it was nothing more, 
 His bride's lying not, in her own ghastly gore. 
 
 The sun's dazzling beams, they played seek and hide, 
 In the soft, golden braids of his winsome bride, 
 As asleep, at his side, she so calmly lay; 
 The earth was a heaven, through that gladsome day. 
 
78 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 Truant Charles 
 
 AND 
 
 His Wonderful Dream. 
 
 It was a bright, lovely day. and the birds were 
 all atune; so was Chai'les, as he came whistling up 
 
 through the orchard. And his mother, sitting near 
 an open window, enjoying the cool, fragrant breeze, 
 was conscious of a happy thrill, for was not her man- 
 ly Charles the pet and pride of that household? 
 
 The whistling suddenly ceased, and the mother, 
 wondering what had caused the interruption, arose 
 and walked to the north window, the one facing the 
 orchard, but nowhere could the manly rascal be seen. 
 Charles had slipped ai'ound near the back porch, and 
 with a finger pressed to his lips, was beckoning to his 
 sister, a girl of ten, to follow him. She put down the 
 basket of peas that she was diligently shelling, and 
 the two entered the kitchen, unperceived by Bridget 
 McFai'land, who had gone out to the bam in quest of 
 eggs. To the pantry they tiptoed lightly, and helped 
 themselves to a cherry pie: but ere their exit, in 
 came Bridget, and the basket of eggs that she was 
 carrying, came very near being upset by truant 
 Charles, in his frantic rush for the door. 
 
 The cook had had several brisk skirmishes with 
 this same household pet, and now her ire knew no 
 bounds. The pie she had prepared, especially for that 
 day's dinner. Alas, the pie. cnist and all was gone, 
 and there stood the culprit. Putting the half filled 
 basket of golden eggs high up on a shelf, in one cor- 
 ner of the pantry, Bridget turned, with a sigh, and 
 deliberately took a seat near one of the wide open 
 windows. **Charles, come here,'' and her voice had 
 a pathetic ring, 'T want to have a good, long talk 
 
TRUANT CHARLES 79 
 
 with you, my boy/' Now this grand, curly-headed 
 Charles was no coward, although ever on the alert 
 for Bridget's juicy and tempting pies. So he quickly 
 obeyed her coaxing command. 
 
 The controversy, a pitched word battle, had 
 lasted for several minutes, when Charles said, with 
 firm decision, *'Well, Cook, I guess that I had better 
 follow your instructions, and the sooner I carry them 
 out, the better it will be, probably, for all.'' He then 
 turned with a smile, to his sister, Inez, who stood in 
 the door-way, scarcely knowing whether to cry or 
 laugh, and said, ''Say, Sis, you go on back to those 
 peas, and remain mum." With a sweet, merry 
 laugh, she flitted away, and our hero was left to his 
 quaint, though pleasant fate. Aye, Bridget had pre- 
 pared a panacea for pie-lifting, and Sir Charles was 
 ready to take his degree in the secret dislodgment 
 of satanicalism, as he termed his almost daily visits 
 to the pantry. Ha, his literary gleanings from a 
 boyish professor, he never forgot, and the odd 
 expressions were now used frequently in all his 
 conversations. 
 
 Bridget soon went about her punishment with a 
 vengeance. She placed Charles on a low, flat box, 
 and told him to remain there, quiet, through the rest 
 of the day. She then closed the door, turned the key 
 in the lock, and went about her work. 
 
 Then Charles, left solely to himself, concluded to 
 make a minute inspection of the pantry. Into this 
 and that, he peeped; presently he took down the nut- 
 meg grater, and tried to convert it into a French 
 harp, but his longing gaze was riveted upon the ham- 
 mock away down in the yard. There it swayed 
 gently, between the two great elm trees, that sup- 
 ported it; and near by rippled a clear brook, where 
 
80 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 tiny minnows darted hither and thither in the cool 
 shallow water, 
 
 Oh, how Charles did yearn to be in that easy 
 hammock, near those happy, little fish. Finally with 
 a resigned sigh, he turned slowly away from the 
 window, and went on with his inspection. 0-ho, the 
 potato masher always did have an attraction for dar- 
 ing Charles, and now he flourishes it dexterously, In- 
 dian fashion. ''Oh, potato masher, potato masher, 
 back to your own, particular nail, and hang, aye, 
 hang right on there,'' quoth he. 
 
 Hark! Mum's the word, for his nimble fingers 
 have come in contact with something that savors of 
 the sugar camp. Aha, a lump of rich brown sugar 
 goes into his mouth; and, one, two, three, ah, a 
 whole handful into each deep pocket. ''Now for a 
 cool retreat, and here's enjoyment for at least an 
 hour," and his voice had a satisfied ring, as he slap^^ 
 ped his stuffed pockets significantly. 
 
 An hour and a half passed quickly away, and 
 Bridget, on entering the pantry, discovered our hero 
 curled up, on a rug, by the cool curtained window, 
 fast asleep. A smile was playing about his rosy lips, 
 as though pleasant were his dreams. Noiselessly, 
 Bridget conveyed a white, flaky roll of bread, a dish 
 of tempting butter and other things, to the dining- 
 room, then closed and relocked the door. 
 
 We will now follow our hero in his dream 
 wanderings, and here is what varied expression re- 
 vealed, that he was Hstening attentively, and ere 
 another moment, he had begun to talk. From my 
 position on the outside of the window, I could com- 
 mand a full view of his face, and hear all that he 
 said. Slowly, but deliberately, he raised himself 
 upon one elbow, and pointing with his index finger 
 
TRUANT CHARLES 81 
 
 at some object, said, '*0h, yes, I see you hiding 
 there, you old iron kettle, and, by the way, I might 
 as well reveal to you this one fact, that I have been 
 attracted by your ugliness for many months. Aha, 
 I see by your side another kettle, one that is quite 
 similar to yourself, only much brighter. Fie, fie, 
 that answer of yours has a sarcastic ring. Shall I 
 repeat it and hear how it sounds? Nay — yes, but I 
 shall,'' and his tone soon made an uncanny feeling 
 creep over even solemn me. ''Oh, come, come, 
 every one, and hear what we two great old kettles 
 have to say" — and here he paused. ''Ah, the kettles 
 have begun again to talk, and I might as well repeat 
 the whole conversation, for that is what they want 
 me to do,'' distinctly spoke our hero. 
 
 "Iron Kettle, where are those beans that I played 
 such an important part in, just before they were 
 served on our beloved mistress' table?" 
 
 The brass kettle there seems to leer as she hisses 
 out these words, "I've been over to the next door 
 neighbor's, the house just across the pasture, so 
 know nothing of your most delicious dish." 
 
 Irony,— You audacious Brassy, beans, you know, 
 are only eaten for their medical properties. 
 
 Brassy, — Whew! when did you begin your alle- 
 viation treatise ? 
 
 Irony, Oh, Miss Brassy, you are not as wise as 
 you, in your desperation, try to make the world be- 
 lieve. 'Tis no wonder that you, at times, turn wholly 
 green. Alleviation treatise ! You mean a- remedial 
 agent. 
 
 Brassy, If I do change color occasionally, it is 
 only when I am slighted, neglected by, let mo think, 
 why, that Bridget girl. 
 
 Irony, Though you are so pert, and haven't a 
 
82 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 reasoning faculty, still I shall undergo the severe 
 task of enlightening you on beans. 
 
 Soup beans, butter beans, and all kinds of beans, 
 make muscle, and believe me, if I had my share of 
 that wonderful strength, Fd make you— yes, Fd 
 make you hustle off to — no telling where. 
 
 Brassy, — You would, eh? Your name seems to 
 imply a Sampson. 
 
 Irony, — Because I am of the metallicel ement, that 
 doesn't imply very much, not in this case, at least, 
 for here I am forever confined to this ten by twelve 
 room, and forced to remain in close proximity to such 
 as you. Your yellowishness alone, gives me the 
 shivers. I never look at you without thinking of that 
 old plague, so common to New Orleans. 
 
 Brassy, — You mean the hustle and bustle of that 
 great city? Well, let me tell you, if that is what 
 you have reference to, you are badly mistaken, for I 
 seldom, if ever, have to hustle. I am one of the 
 articles in this pantry that is usually well cared for, 
 but you, you old black, ugly kettle, are the one, the 
 very one that has to hustle, though there isn't the 
 least semblance to a bustle in your whole make-up. 
 Ah, many and many a time have I been aroused out 
 of -a deep reverie by your being hustled off to good- 
 ness knows where. (After a very lengthy pause. ) 
 Now Mr. Strong Iron, do not sit there in High Sniff's 
 corner, with that broad smile of yours, thinking 
 that you will catch a Lady Love, for I feel quite sure 
 that you will not. Mistress Coffee Pot, over there, 
 the lady that your admiring glance is riveted upon, 
 is a married woman. There sits her handsome and 
 gallant husband, the Tea Kettle. Oh, please excuse 
 me, I thought that you were smiling, aye, bestowing 
 admiring glances, but now I see clearly my mistake. 
 
TRUANT CHARLES 83 
 
 as the broad space is due to your lid, which has slip- 
 ped woefully to one side. 
 
 Irony, — Stop your confusing clatter, and turn 
 away with that awful, yellowish hue of yours. Ah, 
 I just can not tolerate such yellowishism, for it cer- 
 tainly is allied to the New Orleans plague, that fatal 
 epidemic, known the wide world over, as Yellow 
 Fever. Ah, 'tis no wonder that I am squeaky. Aye, 
 every time that Bridget handles me I squeak. Even 
 the holes in my ears have a sharp, quick sound. 
 
 Brassy, — Well, not to change the subject, but 
 what became of the lemon pie, that was there on 
 that shelf.? 
 
 Irony, — Our curly-headed Charles skipped in 
 here while Bridget was out after stove wood and 
 took the whole pie. She had called and called to him 
 to bring in the wood, but received no answer, so con- 
 cluded that he was beyond hearing distance. 
 
 Brassy,— Did he take the cheese and crackers, 
 too? 
 
 Irony, — No, they were eaten by a mouse, a 
 small, gnawing quadruped, and not by this lump, 
 knob, here on my temple. By the way, I received 
 this lump while in a scuffle with Bridget, the day 
 that I let the stew scorch. 
 
 Brassy, — I have always heard that murder 
 would, eventually, **let the cat out of the wallet." 
 
 Irony,— What do you mean? 
 
 Brassy, That the rodent of your conscience is 
 in plain sight. 
 
 Irony, - Your hint is as broad as a barn door, and 
 as that barn yonder in the lot, is in need of a door, 
 you may adjust your hint, the length and breadth'of 
 that open space. Just the very idea of your hinting 
 that I gobbled up the cheese and crackers! Why, I 
 
84 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 sip the whole blessed time that I am simmering on 
 yonder stove. 
 
 Brassy,— I thought that it was only gobblers 
 that used that peculiar gulp. 
 
 Irony, — Whenever you change your arrogant 
 mood, I may turn again to you, you with your re- 
 pugnant, though witty talk. 
 
 Brassy, — I thank you, but why not check up the 
 rein on that temper of yours. Miss— Miss, Pot-liquor? 
 Ha! dinner pots moulded as you are, cook various 
 things — things, such as cabbage, greens, and so on. 
 And just as long as this is your ungracious occupa- 
 tion, you could be termed Pot-licker. 
 
 Irony,— Stop your audaciousness, this minute, or 
 you may think that I am a licker (lick her) sure 
 enough. 
 
 Brassy, — Kettles, with such dainty ears as yours 
 are, shouldn't be so rude. 
 
 Irony, — My ears are one mile by sixteen inches, 
 larger than yours. 
 
 Brassy, — I presume from your solemn mien that 
 the sixteen inches which you are alluding to, is the 
 space lying between us; though said space may just 
 as well be a mile, for you cannot move so much as 
 even a muscle to figure out the distance. Now, 
 after taking this side glance of you, I find that your 
 ears resemble gi-eat docks. By the way, do you 
 know what docks are, Mr. Wrought Iron? 
 
 Irony, — A sea-port's coast is lined with docks. 
 
 Brassy,— You don't say sol How large do they 
 grow ? 
 
 Irony,— Oh I they vary in size; each according to 
 the building and repairing of the ships that's done at 
 that particular point. 
 
 Brassv,— Who would ever have dreamed of docks 
 
TRUANT CHARLES 85 
 
 growing to such an enormous size. They must have 
 a very extraordinary soil there, to be able to produce 
 such docks, docks that are large enough to shelter 
 great ships. 
 
 Irony,— Oh! I know now, what you are alluding 
 to. You mean a plant, a species of plant, which has 
 a long tap-root. I sometimes think that this is one 
 way we have of getting communications from China. 
 These tap-roots penetrate right down into the earth, 
 and this plant may be, for aught we know, connect- 
 ed with a similar root there, in that far off heathen 
 land. And perhaps, the conjunction or switch-board, 
 lies half way between here and there. Anyway, 
 communications come from China in a jiffy. 
 
 Brassy,— Now please don't try to convey to this 
 audience, the false impression as to the way we have 
 of hearing so frequently from those foreign countries. 
 Dear friends, I will try to explain to you both, how 
 we learn so minutely of other countries and their 
 movements; but perhaps you two are far better post- 
 ed along these lines than your most humble servant. 
 Ah, as your silence suggests an affirmative, I will 
 drop the subject, altogether. 
 
 Say, — Irony, from what source comes the China- 
 man's style of braiding his cue, or conjunction; the 
 pig-tail which always attracts so much attention, and 
 which connects a child's questions to its parent's 
 answers? 
 
 Irony,— Do not know haven't the time to discuss 
 the Chinaman; don't like rice, so haven't anything to 
 say of its producers. 
 
 Brassy, But rice isn't altogether a product of 
 China. 
 
 Irony, — Oh, well, we won't discuss the rice 
 question either; but Brassy, you have struck an 
 
86 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 affinity chord, don't you know, dear, that you have 
 (and here an augmented energy portrays itself in 
 the old, iron kettle, for Bridget had just come in and 
 placed the vessel on a small, oil stove) gained my 
 most profound respect. I didn't know that you were 
 so wise. Where did you gain your wisdom? Your 
 line of knowledge seems to be so very different from 
 my own that I certainly will take up said line of 
 studies and pursue them to a technical point. Yea, 
 I really must affiliate with you. 
 
 Brassy, — My xanthic maturity may prove a grim 
 bearer. Sir Wiseacre, 
 
 Irony, — Love, you know, '*hides a multitude of 
 faults,'' and Oh! how I do love knowledge, profound 
 knowledge. 
 
 Brassy, — Variation, they say, is the spice of lore, 
 and my thoughts will, in spite of all that I can do, 
 revert to those great ships, so often moored in their 
 docks. 
 
 Irony, — Oh, yes, I forgot to state this starthng 
 fact, that I firmly believe that those well-manned 
 ships are related to us, to you and to me. 
 
 Brassy, — Pooh, pooh, let me see your eyes. Their 
 stare seems to be all 0. K. but I had begun to think 
 that you were losing your senses. 
 
 Irony, — You, Brassy, are a little bit related to 
 the Irish, therefore, should have wit, ah, perception 
 enough to span such a narrow chasm of mystery. A 
 ship is called a vessel, and what are we but vessels, 
 cooking vessels, it is true, but never-the-less, vessels. 
 Now, you glean some knowledge of what I mean, 
 do you not? 
 
 Brassy, — Yes, an inkling, but gleaners, I thought, 
 meant reapers in a field. 
 
 Irony,— Certainly, certainly, my dear, you are a 
 
TRUANT CHARLES 87 
 
 gleaner, gleaning in the great field of knowledge. 
 Look where you may, you can see the bundles of har- 
 vested Enlightenment. 
 
 Brassy, — But I have always been under the im- 
 pression that the gleaner tied the bundles himself. 
 
 Irony, — Quite frequently he does, but more often 
 he is forced to employ help. 
 
 Brassy, — But isn't the grain the gleaner's very 
 own, and isn't the field his, too ? 
 
 Irony, — The air is our very own, still, it belongs 
 to our neighbors, as well. Aye, there are many 
 things shared in a general way, yea, in common. 
 
 Brassy, — Your explanation does indeed, seem 
 quite clear. 
 
 Irony, — I fear, dear Brassy, that if I didn't ex- 
 plain in as simple a way as possible, that the day 
 would come when you would rack in bitter chagrin; 
 in other words, would flounder in your own mortifi- 
 cation. 
 
 Brassy,— Now who ever heard tell of such non- 
 sensical nonsense? I thought that it was only 
 whales and other animals of the sea, that flounder. 
 Flounder means to squirm in water. 
 
 Irony, — There is such a thing as one squirming 
 in their own ignorance. 
 
 Brassy, Ah, yes, I see, a capital subject from 
 which to create an argument. 
 
 Irony, -Create! 
 
 Brassy,— To bring into being a new and lengthy 
 discourse. 
 
 Irony, Oh, Bosh! there you are, back to that old 
 treatise again. 
 
 Brassy, Yes, I remember of you serving the 
 dish for breakfast and — yes, for dinner, and now. 
 bless Saint Patrick! if you are not trying to serve the 
 
88 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 month-stale substance for supper! But tell me 
 quickly how is a discourse a treatise? 
 
 Irony, — Well, they are so allied, that you cannot 
 tell one from the other. 
 
 Brassy, — If that is the case, then you and I are 
 twin sisters, though I am of brass and you of cast 
 iron. 
 
 Irony, — Only half-brother and sister, my dear, 
 though we both are extraordinary stew-kettles. And 
 that recalls to mind the fact that there are some peo- 
 ple in this wide, wide world, who have brass enough 
 to carry them anywhere. I have often thought per- 
 haps that is why you are gladly received, where I 
 would be pitched out, ''both body and soul.'' 
 
 Brassy, — Ha-ha, so you have a soul! What kind 
 of a soul, eh? 
 
 Irony, — If you had ever employed your wits in 
 any way, you would have been convinced a long time 
 ago, of the startling, though nevertheless true fact 
 that I am endowed with a soul. Look with what 
 energy I boil away, on this stove, in the interest of 
 our beloved Mistress. Her dinners would be literally 
 a failure if it were not for my deep and practical 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 Brassy, — Whew! Bridget's the lever, and should 
 she for one moment give way to your idiotic whims, 
 you would no doubt skulk off somewhere away back 
 in this pantry, and hide your old, ugly self forever 
 out of sight, instead of doing your duty, only. 
 
 Irony, — The notorious cheek that is imputed to 
 you is true, instead of fanciful, but I am convinced 
 that it is none too late to change your abnormal tem- 
 perament. A little regard for the feelings of those 
 around you would, eventually, bring about a complete 
 change. 
 
TRUANT CHARLES 89 
 
 Brassy,— So that is the prescription that you — a 
 most ''Eminent Physician/' prescribes. Ha, but as I 
 have taken a philosophical course, I shall remain mum 
 in regard to your mode of redress. 
 
 Irony, — Great Scotts! It is you who gets dressed 
 or redressed, just as you may term the daring 
 fact. You are first bright, then dark, and then 
 green, and finally an awful green, though 
 fortune favors you in many ways, for now you 
 are polished to a dazzling brightness; but ah, look at 
 me, poor me, as black as any crow. 
 
 Brassy, — You mean that you would like to have 
 the lid on to hide those burnt beans, which I can 
 plainly see deep within your yawning aperture. 
 
 Irony, —I didn't know that I was so distin- 
 guished. 
 
 Brassy,— How's that? 
 
 Irony, —I wasn't aware of having an aperture. 
 
 Brassy,— Oh, yes, you have. 
 
 Irony, —And I thought that it was only one of 
 the political parties that's been trying to get the lid 
 on, though which one of the Corruptedisms, I am 
 hardly able to say. 
 
 Brassy, —In what way are you classing yourself 
 distinguished? 
 
 Irony, —Apertures, it seems, belong solely to 
 beautiful mountain streams, and the like. Ah, who 
 can help but conjecture at the difl'erence between 
 that distinct, beautiful and mysterious land, and this 
 monotonous prairie country. 
 
 Brassy, —Pooh! Your explanation is entangle- 
 ment itself. 
 
 Irony,— I remember quite well, a conversation 
 between our lovely Mistress and her most intimate 
 friend, Miss Lucv Howard, :ni(] in spc^akinu' of the 
 
90 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 grand scenery which she, our Mistress, had made it 
 a point to visit while on her western trip. She 
 termed a deep, dark chasm, an aperture. She spoke 
 in graphic description of a bright and flowing river, 
 which wound its way around and around through 
 the mountain gorges, and which has along its uneven 
 course, many a grewsome, though picturesque 
 chasm. Yea, hidden deep within an echoing gorge, 
 somewhere along this stream's basin, she and her 
 party found a cave of huge dimension, and in speak- 
 ing of the cavern's mouth, she said: **Ah, what a 
 grand aperture that wonderful cave has!'' 
 
 Brassy,— Please excuse me, but I understood 
 you to say that it was one of those chasms which 
 had the opening. 
 
 Irony, —As well as I can remember, that cavern 
 was a chasm's next door neighbor. 
 
 Brassy,— It was, eh ? Well, I am very much in- 
 terested in your second-hand description of that 
 river and its mountainous scenery. Do call again, 
 please. I— I mean that we must continue this sub- 
 ject at some future time. 
 
 Say! It had about escaped my memory, but I am 
 to go soon upon an outing. (This, Miss Brassy says 
 with an exasperating emphasis, for Bridget had now 
 placed the brass kettle, with boiling water therein, 
 on the little oil stove. ) 
 
 Irony, —Eh, what's that? 
 
 Brassy,— I am to accompany a fishing party 
 soon. We are to go to some cool, quiet stream, 
 where fish are plentiful, and will remain out about 
 ten days. 
 
 Irony, —Ha, and what part are you to effectuate, 
 pray tell me, while out on such a wonderful 
 expedition? 
 
TRUANT CHARLES 91 
 
 Brassy, —Ahem, I shall heat the water that will 
 clean the fish. (This she says with another emphatic 
 hiss from boiling water. ) 
 
 Irony, —So you are to go soon? Well, I wish 
 you a most pleasant trip. 
 
 Brassy,— Thanks. But say, can you tell me 
 what a fish is? 
 
 Irony, — Lor's sakes, yes, no longer ago than yes- 
 terday, I heard Aunt Lucinda Jones say that Bridget 
 was fishing for Tim Brown, and that he was more of 
 a fish than she would ever be able to manage. 
 
 Brassy, — Oh, ho, I must put my studying cap on, 
 and keep it straight. Man a fish— man a fish? What 
 a problem, oh, what a problem! Ah, I clearly see 
 that I shall have to take up algebra again. 
 
 Irony, — What has that book of symbols to do 
 with fish? 
 
 Brassy, — I am not trying to leave the impression 
 that algebra bears direct on fish, but the study of 
 that wonderful work, will strengthen my intellectual 
 beams, so that I may, by and by, comprehend how 
 man is termed a fish. 
 
 Irony, — Perhaps I can explain to you why he's 
 thus termed. 
 
 Brassy, — Your tow-headed noddle explaining 
 such a great problem? Aha-ha! 
 
 Irony, — Tow is hemp or flax. Ropes, Miss, are 
 made of this flax or hemp, and are frequently used to 
 tow ships or anything else along. For instance, a beau- 
 tiful girl usually has in tow, a dozen or more beaux, — 
 (then, after a lengthy pause) this noodle can per- 
 haps explain more than you think, in regard to man 
 and his relation to fish. You remember how Adam 
 and Eve, in the garden of, let me think, Eden, fished 
 for the forbidden fruit, do you not? You don't? (this 
 
92 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 in great surprise, and with an astonished stare, for 
 Bridget had knocked the hd clean off) well I remem- 
 ber quite distinctly the whole circumstance, and they 
 got exactly what they fished for. Ever since that 
 first episode, each generation has fished for this, that, 
 and the other, and they seldom, if ever, failed in se- 
 curing what they were after. Even the Trust Com- 
 panies have secured great power over the land. 
 
 Brassy, — Still that doesn't prove that man's a 
 fish. It only goes to show this, that he is the same 
 small boy as in former years, for on a log he sits and 
 fishes with all his might. 
 
 Irony, — What are Trust Companies, but a body, 
 a great body, and what is a log, but the body, the 
 trunk, or body of a tree, a fallen tree? And by 
 hookey, the Trust Companies not only fall in line, but 
 they oftentimes make a fellow lose all that he has, 
 and then the poor chap falls into Poverty's Mire. 
 
 Brassy, — Still that doesn't fully illustrate the 
 small boy. 
 
 Irony, — Oh yes, it does; he uses a line to catch 
 the fish, and he often comes back empty-handed. 
 
 Brassy,— No Trust Company ever returned 
 empty handed, then how can you liken a small boy 
 unto a Trust Company? 
 
 Irony, — The world, the people at large, is an- 
 other body, and whoever heard of a Trust Company 
 that was fully satisfied ? 
 
 Brassy, — They do seem to be of the same spe- 
 cies, the small boy and the Trust Companies; but 
 that doesn't yet solve the problem, that man's 
 a fish. 
 
 Irony, — Say, Brassy, I will have to relinquish my 
 post at Information Station, for man was, and is, 
 and always will be, a mystery, the only mystery. 
 
TRUANT CHARLES 93 
 
 Brassy, — You are more logical than I had ever 
 supposed you to be, so ballot my 0. K. to let man 
 pass, or rather to pass man. 
 
 Irony, —Yes, we'll coast clear of man, 'tis the 
 only way to get out of this trying difficulty. Yes 
 (after a pause), we will coast clear of man, and of 
 wo-man, too. 'Tis no wonder that so many women 
 are wedded to men; they start out to woo man, and 
 wo-man, they do. 
 
 Brassy,— Pve had some acquaintance with wom- 
 an, and man too, from a culinary standpoint. Still I 
 know nothing, whatever, of their radicality. 
 
 Irony, — Well, as we have depictured both man 
 and wo-man, we'll just turn the picture towards the 
 wall, the wall of Memory, and take a rest on man. 
 
 Brassy, — Don't you think that this discourse of 
 tit-bits should draw to an end? 
 
 Irony,— Oh, no, there are other points on which 
 I wish to touch, for instance, your dress has changed 
 its hue, since becoming well heated. Ha, the color, 
 now, is a kinsman's hue of the monkey's garb, the 
 monkey that danced a jig the other day for the 
 penny. 
 
 Brassy,— Ha, ha, so you are acquainted with 
 that dear little animal? 
 
 Irony, And I must say that you, in your yellow 
 dress, strongly resemble that little intrigue of Africa. 
 
 Brassy,— Intrigue! What have monkeys to do 
 with an intrigue? 
 
 Irony, It takes a cunning brain to plot, to work 
 intrigue. 
 
 Brassy, Ah-ha, so it does, but how did you gain 
 such knowledge of an inhabitant of the Dark Conti- 
 nent? 
 
 Irony, You mean the animals, or quadrupeds. 
 
94 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 that roam through the jungles of that wild region? 
 
 Brassy, — Well, have your own way, you almost 
 always do. Quadruped — quadruped, let me think 
 hard and fast. I — I do believe that the word is found 
 somewhere in ''Webster's Handy Book of Facts," 
 but who would ever have thought of connecting 
 Webster with Africa? 
 
 Irony, — It was through Bridget that I became a 
 budget of information on the monkey. She has that 
 book called ''Darkest Africa,'' and quite often she 
 gets these children here, and the neighbor's children 
 around her on that back porch there, and devotes 
 the whole afternoon to reading aloud. 
 
 Brassy, — My! She must be an extraordinary girl. 
 
 Irony,— Yes, and Bridget's mistress is a woman 
 out of the ordinary. She is always kind and con- 
 siderate of her help. 
 
 Brassy, — Ha, an authentic fact, well emphasized. 
 
 Irony, — Let me tell you more about the monkey, 
 and his mode of handling a yarn. 
 
 Brassy, — I never in all my life, heard of monkeys 
 dealing in yam. 
 
 Irony, — Bridget read and explained to the child- 
 ren, all about those buffoons. She told of the Httle 
 monkeys, big monkeys, and all kinds of monkeys. 
 
 Brassy, — Well, out with the story. 
 
 Irony, — She told how each mimic would climb a 
 tree, and twist its tail around a limb, and jabber 
 with an effective chatter. 
 
 Brassy, — But what about yarn? How did they 
 deal in that much prized, aye, lucrative trade? 
 
 Irony, — A tale, you know, is a yarn. 
 
 Brassy,— Ha, is that a fact ? Well, as I am a 
 little bit tired, perhaps we had better close our con- 
 versation for the present. 
 
TRUANT CHARLES 95 
 
 Irony, — Oh, no, not yet, for I have something of 
 importance to disclose to you. 
 
 Brassy, — You have? Well, don't settle down 
 there, with that frown of yours, but hustle right on 
 with the whole dramatic story. 
 
 Irony, — But you, I know, are fully aware of the 
 fact, that this stove's tank needs more oil, so into a 
 simmer I am bound to settle, aye, settle until Bridget 
 bethinks herself of the oil, and its wonderful apti- 
 tude for culinary art. 
 
 Brassy, —I am Hstening with great impatience; 
 so on with your story. 
 
 Irony,— I shall touch on the solar system, that 
 deep and profound system, which all true astrono- 
 mers are so much interested in. 
 
 Brassy,— It takes wisdom, a world of wisdom, 
 when it comes to discussing such a topic as the solar 
 system. 
 
 Irony, — (With a frown, for the lid had again 
 tilted half way off), I have been very observant of 
 late. You know the Colonel's granddaughter, don't 
 you? 
 
 Brassy, —Yes, but my patience is flitting. Hast- 
 en, oh, hasten on, I say. 
 
 Irony,— Ho, Brassy, halt at this way-side sta- 
 tion, and you shall hear the whole wonderful story, 
 which I promised you, before your embodied spirit 
 took its hasty flight. 
 
 Brassy,— Mockery is not the chief order of the 
 day. The story, the story! ! 
 
 Irony, Well, listen, and I will be as brief as 
 possible. Bridget had me out in the yard one fine 
 morning, for an airing, as she called the fresh, 
 balmy air, which on that particular morning, pervad- 
 ed the newly mown lawn, and which seemed to 
 
96 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 cleanse me of the parsnip odor, that had clung about 
 me for hours. I was reclining beneath a hlac bush, 
 with all the serenity of the occasion, when who 
 should come along, but Miss Loretta and her beau, 
 that handsome, dark-eyed fellow from the city. He 
 was telling her in a wheedling voice, at least I 
 thought it was a wheedlesome tone, how much he 
 loved her. I will repeat to you, word for word, the 
 whole of that ardent proposal. ''Retta, Retta, my 
 love, my beloved,'' at this point he leant over her and 
 clasped one of her small white hands, in those great 
 paws of his. I Hstened attentively, and after lifting 
 her soft, dainty hand to his mustached lips, he con- 
 tinued, ''My precious one, I love you with my sight 
 and soul, floating up to an entrancing bliss. Aye, 
 such love as mine, is the solar system, yea, the sun 
 of eternal life." 
 
 Brassy, —Travail, travail, Oh, this place of tor- 
 ture! Where can I escape, away from the problems? 
 Oh, will I never be able to sum up the total, and 
 what will the equivalent be, I wonder? 
 
 Irony, — Your aptitude for inquisitiveness should 
 propound for you all problems. 
 
 Brassy, — You malignant Irony, ''When Gabriel 
 blows his horn'' for you, I shall not weep. 
 
 Irony — Miss Brassy (and now he seems to leer, 
 for the lid had slipped farther off) , from my stand 
 here, I can see the aperture of satan's fiery abode. 
 
 Brassy, — Can you hear, Sir Irony, what the old 
 rascal's saying? Ha, I had forgotten that you are 
 somewhat deaf. Well, here is the expansion of his 
 song, and goodness knows, it is long enough to ex- 
 pand the chasm between here and that flaming region 
 yonder, the now almost red hot cook-stove. 
 
 Irony,— What's that? 
 
TRUANT CHARLES 97 
 
 Brassy, — That satan calls to you, ''Come, oh, 
 come, wrought iron, 'tis you that I shall use as a 
 poker, as a brand-iron/' 
 
 Irony, — A brand-iron, a poker? 
 
 Brassy, — Yes, you have gained that appendage 
 by your poke-nosy ways, aye, by poking your nose 
 into young people's love affairs. 
 
 Irony, — Why should Gabriel blow for me any 
 quicker than for you, Miss Brassy, or Mistress Yel- 
 lowishism, as perhaps the world at large would term 
 you? 
 
 Brassy, — Ha, iron, this one significant word, 
 alone, tells the tale. 
 
 Irony, — Yea, yea. Miss Brassy, you will go down 
 into Perdition, even though you never get a call from 
 that awful region. 
 
 Brassy, — Why should I? Unfold your audacious 
 theory, please. 
 
 Irony, — Your spontaneous inquisitiveness will 
 lead you there, sooner or later. 
 
 Brassy,- Your wit has assumed a potent mien. 
 
 Irony, — It takes wit, aye, intrigue, to cope with 
 the feminine gender, even though the particular 
 female in question, is only a brass stew-kettle. 
 
 Charles awoke with a frown and a start, and 
 cries out, ''The curtain's down.'' 
 
 Attention All! 
 
 Sayeth I, The Clock. 
 
 Again and again, I am pealing my clang. 
 Oh, hear my loud call, ah, my most ringing bang; 
 I'm pealing forth gladly, the right hour of work. 
 Do hasten thou on, neither loiter nor shirk. 
 
98 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 Again and again, I am pealing my clang. 
 Oh, hear my loud call, ah, my most ringing bang; 
 I'm now pealing the short hour of old, welcome noon. 
 When each one should handle the knife, fork and 
 spoon. 
 
 Again and again, I am pealing my clang. 
 Oh, hear my loud call, ah, my most ringing bang; 
 Oh, hasten thou by, and go quickly on home. 
 Be happy therein, and from there never roam. 
 
 A True Story. 
 One With a Moral. 
 
 Hand in hand they roamed out one fine, rose 
 tinted morning, to pluck the sweet, wild flowers, and 
 to hear the lark's tuneful song. The two children 
 left their father's farm, and crossed, or rather 
 waded through a much larger stream than the one 
 they had just passed over, on their own premises. 
 Then on up a great, steep cliff, they bent their 
 blithesome steps. The eminence commanded a 
 grand, picturesque view of the surrounding country 
 on all sides, except the one just back of where the 
 children stood that glorious morning. Before them, 
 and on their left, stretching away in the distance, 
 were waving fields of ripening grain. In their rear 
 arose a dark back-ground of magnificent forest, 
 which dipped to the right in the shape of a ''V." 
 And a little farther down, on this same side, was a 
 most bewitching and bewildering view. Here lay a 
 broad, rolling dale, with cunning nooks; a bright 
 trailing and rippling stream, and great rocks, over 
 which fell, in a loud, though musical roar, a foaming 
 cataract of wondrous beauty. 
 
 So engrossed were they in this, their new dis- 
 
Page i)H *'/'m now pealing the short hour of )ioo}i. 
 
 When each one should handle the k'nij(% fork and s}H)on. 
 
A STORY 99 
 
 covery, that neither heard the whiz of an arrow, as 
 it sped past them, and stuck quivering into a gigantic 
 oak tree. And, as they continued to gaze down into 
 that entrancing glen, another arrow came whizzing 
 by. This time they were aroused from their enrap- 
 tured sight, and seemed to feel an ominous some- 
 thing, and that something impressed them. 
 
 Oh! my bonny lady and gallant gent, why that 
 ashy pallor? And why, pray tell me, are those little 
 forms trembling so? You aren't scared, are you? 
 Well, you needn't be; for I am the friend of child- 
 ren, ha, all children. I am Old Uncle Si, of whom 
 you have often heard. My old lady and I live in a 
 little, log house, just back of that green forest, there, 
 pointing with his index finger towards the '*V 
 shaped bend. It was she who sent you those sugar- 
 plums last Christmas. Now, this was news, aggres- 
 sive news, for the children had never received a 
 sugar plum from any one but their dear Santa Claus. 
 And, in as majestic an attitude as he possibly could 
 assume, the boy stated, while a quizzical smile played 
 about his pouting and sensitive lips, (for he was 
 quite a wise lad; the little sister had to be considered, 
 you know), that old Santa Claus had been kind 
 enough to bring them the much enjoyed sugared fruit. 
 
 *'Ah, well, perhaps so,'' asserted the old man. 
 Now, this chubby boy, had all this time stood there, 
 apart from his sister, eyeing from tip to toe» this 
 curious species of humanity. 
 
 *lf you are," and here the boy brought his two 
 fists together with an omi^hatic sound, "Uncle Si, 
 you must have changed your height and size by that 
 new process, *Thysical Culture," that papa was ex- 
 pounding the other night. Wasn't that the word 
 mamma used, sis?" 
 
100 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 *'Es, someting; Es, someting, brother.'' 
 
 ''Well, I know that's the word, for I looked it 
 up in Webster's big dictionary. Yes, Uncle Si was 
 low and spare built, and look at you, just about pa- 
 pa's size. But, Oh! sister, come, let us run." And 
 away they went, back down the hill and across the 
 stream, on and on, and then through a gap in the 
 strong, rail fence. 
 
 Aha, they were once more on their father's 
 farm, and a feeling of relief, stole over them. They 
 stood there, close by the fence, and scanned that 
 hill's great, sloping height, in search of the old man. 
 They weren't long in descrying the old rascal, though 
 he was half hidden by a fallen tree. 
 
 And there he stood, on that tree's snaggy stump, 
 with a tall stove-pipe hat of yellow and green, tilted 
 way back on his bald pate. An evitable giant, 
 was he. And, as the children gazed, with startled 
 wonder, he towered still higher, and with his right 
 hand, frantically waved a red bandana handkerchief. 
 Now, it chanced that the second pasture contained a 
 ferocious cow, and the glaring handkerchief attracted 
 her attention. With a mighty bellow, that rang 
 throughout the valley, and resounded along that 
 hill's rugged side, the great beast rushed from out 
 the woods, down wear the glen, and tore across the 
 pasture, bellowing, tossing her head with its long, 
 sharp pointed horns, and tearing up the ground as 
 she went. A tragic sight, indeed. Enough to make 
 the very stoutest hearts quail. 
 
 The cow soon reached, in her mad race, the base 
 of the steep hill, steep from that side, and there she 
 stood, tramping and pawing up the earth. Her gal- 
 vanic bellowing had increased. It roared and charged 
 on that rugged hillside, and the valley then, took up 
 
A STORY 101 
 
 the awful echo, and sent it along to where it seemed 
 to die away among the very bowels of the earth. 
 
 After one long, lingering look at the old man, 
 who still retained his position on the high stump, the 
 children turned and fled to their pleasant home, 
 which nestled amid the tall trees on a neighboring 
 hill-slope. And there, in their council chamber, the 
 wood-shed, they held a very important meeting on 
 the vital question, whether to, or not to, tell their 
 parents of their narrow escape. They knew well 
 that danger had lurked near, very near, the queer 
 old man and that ferocious beast. So they went into 
 the house and stood near their parents and told them 
 of their meeting with an old codger, and how he had 
 begun, in a cautious way, to creep upon them. 
 ''And,'' continued Ralph, '1 guessed he was, I didn't 
 know what, so I grabbed Katie by the hand, and 
 rushed at break-neck speed down the steep cliff, and 
 right on across a clear and winding stream, and on 
 we rushed, until we came to the gap in the fence, 
 through which we scrambled, and turned to see if 
 the old monster was following us. No, papa, you 
 bet he wasn't, for there he stood on a tall tree stump, 
 and, my, how he did wave his red handkerchief! 
 And, papa, and mama, what do you think that red 
 rag did? Why, sir, it just invited a monstrous cow 
 to come bellowing from out of the dark woods and 
 tear across the prettiest, shady pasture that ever was 
 seen. On she rushed with her head first high, then 
 low, then up again, and then down to the ground, 
 and pawing with all her might. And when she had 
 reached the foot of the hill, she seemed to have re- 
 ceived a re-enforcement of battalions, for her cannon- 
 ading went on louder than ever; (Ralph had been 
 delving in history, had been reading the siege of- ) 
 
102 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 and, Oh! papa,'' here he paused for the lack of 
 breath. 
 
 ' His father, Mr. Barnehart, looked sad, though 
 wise, and said, ''My dear children, that old rascal, 
 who ever he may be, must have appeared to you as a 
 warning. Don't you both remember that I cau- 
 tioned you particularly about our neighbor's two pas- 
 tures, the one that you were in, and the one adjoin- 
 ing? The one where many cattle, and some very 
 vicious ones, roamed at will. Yes," concluded the 
 father, ' 'you had a narrow escape, and a good lesson, 
 which you both should heed as long as you live. Too 
 much curiosity and freedom would eventually lead 
 the most discreet into trouble." 
 
 The truants promised of course, and with very 
 aggrieved faces, to never be so foolish as to run 
 again into danger. But in a few days, those two 
 children had forgotten all about their father's ad- 
 vice, and were off and away. This time, their mother 
 found, through instituting a diligent search, that 
 they had gone over to their grandfather's 
 wheat field, to see whether the wheat was ripe 
 enough to cut. Ralph expected to ride on the reaper 
 and have a jolly good time, during the harvesting 
 period at his father's and grandfather's. 
 
 And here, again, old Uncle Si, appeared, aye, 
 arose right up out of the tall, waving grain, and ad- 
 vanced slowly upon them. And, oh, horrors, a flam- 
 ing tongue protruded from between his long gleam- 
 ing teeth, and a great black snake (the cow-hide), 
 was coiled about his neck. 
 
 The children, in terror, fled home to safety. And 
 never again did they leave the premises without the 
 consent of one or the other of their fond parents. 
 They soon became so obedient, that their father 
 
A SWEET PICTURE 103 
 
 gave to each a fine, riding pony, and a nice bridle 
 and saddle. And, they learned, aye, they learned 
 that dutiful obedience receives ever its own reward. 
 
 An Observation of Spring. 
 
 The new April moon upon its small point hung, 
 And early spring showers, did then downward pour; 
 'Twas then that the farmer sowed acres of oats, 
 And planted his corn in the furrows galore. 
 
 And the swift, busy house-wife her choice peas did 
 
 plant. 
 And the little green onions soon grew in a row, 
 Then the deep scarlet beets peeped right up, one 
 
 by one. 
 And now the good bunch beans soon hastened to 
 
 grow. 
 
 The greens all came on with a tempting good will. 
 Though the crisp, curly lettuce was slow by ten days; 
 And orchards in full bloom, had all quickly grown, 
 Ah, fair, queenly Nature held one in amaze. 
 
 Out Hong the hedge row, ran a small, shining brook, 
 And breezes were fragrant with odor so sweet; 
 And up in the tree-tops, sang twittering birds. 
 While violets soon bordered the walk at my feet. 
 
 A Sweet Picture. 
 
 A brown haired girl the fragrant tea doth pour, 
 She sits with back against an oaken door; 
 And a sweet, little girl is sitting near her there, 
 And, so quiet, in her handsome table chair. 
 
 The dainty sugar bowl, she holds just so. 
 Hold it, my dear, and don't you let it go, 
 'Till you set it down again, where 'twill not fall. 
 Ere it will smash, and we would hear you squall. 
 
104 TRUTH AND FICTION 
 
 Ah, there's a cute doll, standing near them, too. 
 It has long, curly hair and eyes of blue; 
 And ha, a great plate's there for her, I see, 
 And she'll be served a cup of fragrant tea. 
 
 Good tea, and honey new, and snow white bread, 
 Is what the big girl to the small one fed; 
 Her face is smiling as I glance at her, 
 And over the whole scene there is no blur. 
 
 Aren't They Sweet ! 
 
 A small, cute boy with bucket and spade. 
 Was looking across at poor, ragged Wade; 
 The wee girl, great chips was piling so high. 
 Upon a broad rock, in the sun to dry. 
 
 The boy in clean frock and a neat, blue cap. 
 The small, bright spade on his bucket did rap 
 To attract the attention of the little girl. 
 With the ragged dress and the tangled curl! 
 
 A tender look, passed between the two. 
 Between the wee girl, and the boy in blue ; 
 He walked to her side, looking ever'sa^'grand, 
 'Tis there that he stands, the dear little man. 
 
 Meditation. 
 
 He stood there in the lulling, evening tide. 
 And looked far out upon the ocean wide; 
 Thus a sweet, fair picture, the small boy made. 
 With his little, green bucket, and bright, wee spade. 
 
 A fair, sweet picture, so true and so grand. 
 While looking far out across the great strand ; 
 A jaunty, dear boy, with eyes of deep blue, 
 Standing there with his spade, and his green 
 bucket, too. 
 
Page 104 **He stood there in the lulling, evening tide. 
 And looked far out upon t.he oeean iride/* 
 
PIG-A-WEE 105 
 
 Pig-a-Wee! 
 
 Pig- a- wee went out one dazzling morn, 
 In a field of green and waving corn; 
 Right through the fence, he onward went. 
 To his feet, great speed he surely lent. 
 
 Out to the corn he made his way, 
 And helped himself, I now must say ; 
 Then back he grunted to the lot, 
 A wee, jet black and wiggling dot. 
 
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LOVE AND LUXURY. i 
 
 MAKCH AND TWO STKI' 
 
 {IVritten especially for this work. Truth and Fiction.) 
 
 From "Elfland Fancies.' 
 
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 Op. 47; No. 7. 
 
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 Errata. 
 
 Page 4, verse 5, line 3, insert comma after '*steep. '' 
 Page 16, verse 1, line 1, insert comma after **look/' 
 Page 22, line 7 from bottom, "alF' should be "All/' 
 Page 23, verse 1, line 4, insert period after "trails/' 
 Page 29, verse 1, line 4, comma after "men'' and not 
 
 after "wheat." 
 Page 32, verse 3, line 2, insert comma after "brave." 
 Page 32, verse 4, line 3, should read "And the glow 
 
 of sun-set is bewitching the night." 
 Page 73, verse 3, Hne 4, should read "And, she said." 
 Page 77, verse 1, line 1, delete comma after "marble. " 
 Page 82, line 9 from top, read, "metallic element." 
 
 at.^- 
 
 
JUi 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div. 
 
 h. 
 
 JUL 19 MM 
 

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