'^.''^m^^" W'^^^'j' v^^^'<^ < 4 o ,^^,. ....... ..^^^/ .^.^ .,^^,. hi «. \ : %-J ^ ■^ By KOBEKT J. BUEDETTE. CMmes from a Jester's Bells. A delightful volume coataining nineteen humorous stories illus- trated with twenty-one full page pictures. Price, $1.25 postpaid. Bt Bill Nye. A Guest at the Ludlow. Twenty-eight of this famous humorist's best and most finished stories, with many illustrations. Price, $1.25 postpaid. SMI I PS PICTURES BY YOKED WITH ^'^^ ^^^ * ^^ SIGHS S SJ BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE SS^ PUBLISHERS ^i^,' H«i> O£>r>oo*^^^^«o^^o IWO 1 of. Lllnmry of Congress Two Copiis Received './4l900 sEco/^D copy. DeKv»r«d t» ORDLBmVISiON, JUL 19 1900 TWO COPIES RECEIVED, Library of Coiijret% Office of tli9 APR 16 1900 Register of Copyrlghfi^ T^ 0^ 65299 COPYRIGHT 1900 BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE IV TO MY WIFE CLARA HER VOICE LIVES IIS" AIY \VOKI>!S HER HAjVI> moves I:X MY' WORK HER HEART THROBS I>r MV THOUOHT CONTENTS After the Battle 102 All Things to All Men 93 Aquarius 75 Archaeological Congress, An i Babj Mine 3^ Brakeman's Sweetheart, The 83 Bravest of the Brave 156 Cataracket, A 116 Comet, The 8 Consequences i7 Countermarch, The • 62 Cricket, The 107 Day We Do Not Celebrate, The 96 Dogmatic Philosophy m vii Contents Don't Fret Evening Festina Lente Finis Funny Old Clown, The Getting Even Glorj'in the Northwest Hod -Fellow, The In Medio Tutissimus Ibis Inside Track, The In Time of Peace James Whitcomb Rilev Lines to a Mule Main Hatch, The March Margins Master Sleeps, The May Day Mendicant, The Morning My First Cigar Odd I See, The Old Wine in New Bottles On the Coast of Man Orphan Born Pierian Spring, The Plaint of Jonah, The Postmaster, The Private's Glorv, The 171 85 67 178 6 77 II 53 98 33 130 173 119 109 126 40 23 ^33 65 56 30 159 147 166 113 123 15 100 169 Contents Pulmonic Passion Putting His Armor On Putty Man, The Realization Rime of the Ancient Miller Running the Weeklj' School Ma'am, The School "Takes Up" Seedsman, The Sic Transit Sisyphus Soldier, Rest! Songs Without Words Spell of Rhyme, A Tramp, The Trolley La La! Two Rag Men Utopia What Lack We Yet? 44 162 27 135 18 42 59 128 154 150 25 38 80 48 n 70 13 91 IX An Archaeological Congress \\ 'J i ^^ ^'^HERE'S none can tell about my birth m as old as the big round earth ; Ye young Immortals clear the track, ^ I'm the bearded Joke on the Carpet tack." Thus spoke \ ^' \^0^ A Joke With boastful croak; And as he said, Upon his head // He stood, and waited for the tread '///'/ An Archaeological Congress Of thoughtless wight, Who, in the night, Gets up, arrayed in garments white, And indiscreet, With unshod feet, Prowls round for something good to eat. But other Jokes His speech provokes; And old, and bald, and lame, and gray. With loftiest scorn they say him Nay; And bid him hold his unweaned tongue, For they were blind ere he was young. So hot They grew, This complot Crew, They laid a plan To catch a Man; That all the clan Might then trepan His skull with Jokes; they thus began: 2 An Archaeological Congress First Mule, his heel its skill to try, Amid his ribs like lightning laid — And back recoiled — he well knew why ; ''Insurance Man," he faintly sayed. Next Stove Pipe rushed, as hot as fire, 'Tut up!" he cried, in accents bold; J,\With Elbow joint he struck the lyre. And knocked the Weather Prophet cold But thou, Ice Cream, with hair so gray, Three thousand years before the Flood, Cold, bitter cold, will be the day Thou dost not warm the Jester's blood, "Spoons for the spooney," was her ancient song. That with slow measure dragged its deathless length along. And longer had she sung, but with a frown, Old Pie, impatient, rose And roared, " Behold, I am the Funny Clown ! And without me there is no Joke that goes. 3 An Archaeological Congress To every Jester in the land, I lend my omnipresent hand ; I've filled in Jokes of every grade Since ever Jokes and Pies were made ; Sewed, pegged and pasted, glued or cast If not the first of Jokes, I'll be the last." With heart unripe and mottled hide, Pale summer watermeloncholly sighed, And — but the Muse would find it vain To give a list of all the train ; The hairless, purblind, toothless crew, That burst on Man's astonished view — The Bull dog and the Garden gate ; The Girl's Papa in wrathful state; Ma'ma in law; the Leathern Clam ; The Woodshed Cat; the Rampant Ram The Fly, the Goat, the Skating Rink, The Paste-brush plunging in the Ink ; The Baby wailing in the Dark ; The Songs they sang upon the Ark; An Archaeological Congress Things that were old when Earth was new, And as they lived still old and older grew, And as these Jokes about him cried, And all their Ancient Arts upon him tried, Their hapless victim, Man, lay down and died, r'iy p: // The Funny Old Clown DEAR Century Plant, I love thy bismuthed face, Thy peaked hat, thy grotesque painted smiles. Thy hoary jokes that with an antique grace Make plaintive music for thy antic wiles ; I love thy squalling songs, roared out of tune, Thy bearded, old conundrums bald and blind — The mellow beauty of the afternoon That years untold through all thy wit hath shined. 6 The Funny Old Clown Friend of my childhood, thou art never old; No heart hath he who says thy wit is stale ; Warm is the soul that loves the jest thrice told, And dear the friend who loves the twice-told tale. What though the title page tells all the rest? Must all our mirth be shiny with veneer? Are not the oldest songs of all the best? The oldest friends of all dear friends most dear? What then? The little ones are pleased with thee. And in their childish plaudits, sweet and clear, The old, dead laughter of my boyish glee, ' Once more called back to life, again I hear. I laugh, with echoes of old laughter blent, To think how new and bright thy jokes were then, So, every year, I seek the circus tent And shout to hear thy ''Here we are again ! ^ The Comet ERCY love us ! Far above us See the comet sloshin' round. Fifty million Billion trillion Thousand miles above the ground With a tail Like a whale, "' ^^^ See it scoot and whiz and rare ! With its flipper In the '^Dipper," How it riles the Major "Bear" ! 8 The Comet Now it's try in' For O'Ryan, Irish chap that killed the bull And the moon Pretty soon Gives the comet's tail a pull. Here and there, Everywhere, Restless sprite of sky idees. Awful pert, See it flirt With the seven Pleiades. Unbeliever, Famine, fever, Pestilence and plague and war, Fret and worry , Trouble, hurry — That is what a comet's for ! The Comet Lots of debt, Too much wet, Rain and hail and sleet and flood ; Burning drouth, Torrid south, Sun baked fields and seas of mud ! Blood and bones, Tears and groans. Gnashing teeth and horrid cries Howls and yowls. Frowns and scowls, That's about the comet's size. It will bring Everything That is bad beneath the sun. How it hums ! Here it comes ! Goodness gracious, let us run! lo Glory in the Northwest FROM Shediac the Canadian Marched out to look for the half-breed man ; And ere the month of May was gone He roped him up in Saskatchewan. From Shubenacodie and Memrancook His weary way the volunteer took ; From Passakeag and Bartibogue, He marched away to corral the rogue. II Glory in the Northwest From MagLiadavie and Stewiacke, Assametaquaghan and Peticodiac ; From Rusiagonish and Ste. Flavie - Nauigewauk and Apohagui. From several places that I can't spell, And some that I can't pronounce as well, They chased the half-breed over the plains And knocked him out with their easiest names. 12 Utopia A \ THAT will we do when the good days come^ ^ ' When the croaking prophet's lips are dumb? When the man who reads us his "little things " Has lost his voice with the dole it brings ; When stilled is the breath of the whistling man, And the yells of the campaign marching clan ; When the neighbors' children have lost their drums — Oh, what will we do when the good time comes? Utopia Oh, what will we do in that good, blithe time When the tramp will work — oh, thought sub- lime ! When the scornful dame with the wear}^ feet Will "thank you, sir," for the proffered seat; When the man you hire to work by the day Will let }'ou do his work }^our way ; When the office boy will call you "Sir," Instead of "Soy," and "Governer; " When the funny man is humorsome — Oh, how can we stand the Millenium? The Plaint of Jonah WHY should I live, when every day The wicked prospers in his way, ? And daily adds unto his hoard. While cut worms smite the good man's gourd? When I would rest beneath its shade Comes the shrill-voiced book-selling maid. And smites me with her tireless breath — Then am I angry unto death. ^f;;^^, The Plaint of Jonah When I would slumber in my booth, Who comes with accents loud and smooth And talks from dawn to midnight late ? The honest labor candidate. Who pounds mine ear with noisy talk, Whose brazen gall no ire can balk And wearies me of life's short span? The accident insurance man ^V And when, all other torments fiown, I think to call one hour mine own, Who takes my leisure by the throat? The villain taking up a vote. i6 Consequences A ^ /^HEN James came up one Sunday night ' ^ Aglow with love's soft flames, He sought the sofa where she sat, "So fa, so good," said James. A year thrice told has come and gone With joys and hopes and bother; There stands a crib where the sofa did, — Says James, "A little father," 17 ''4 9 w ^v^<( <--."/< .-v/^, Running the Weekly TX the twilight in his sanctum sat the editor ■■■ alone. And his might}' brain was throbbing in a \-er\' loft}' tone ; But he checked a deathless poem, that was fraught with fancies dim, And he thought of Quill, his "e. c," and con- trived a pit for him. i8 B'L'-S ■Bills PAID. Running the Weekly Then he stopped right in a leader on the Euro- pean war, While he wrote a puff for Barleycorn's new, family grocery store ; And just as he got started on the "Outlook of Today," The foreman came to say the "comps." had struck for higher pay. Then he started on a funny sketch, a fancy bright ft^i and glad, ^t/^^'T^ When Slabs, the undertaker, came to order out WM his ''ad."; ^■'' He smiled and wrote the title, "The Reflections of a Sage," When the panting "devil" broke in with — "They've pied the second page! " v He sighed, and took his scissors when the ever funny bore Said, "Ah, writing editoria — " then he weltered in his gore. 19 '^^m^^r K;tv ^ Running the Weekly And as the scribe was feehng happ}', writing up f% the fra}'. His landlord came to know if he "could pay his rent today." In deep abstraction then he plunged the paste brush in the ink, And stammered, "Thank you, since }'0u will — insist on it, I think — " When from the business ofhce came the cashier, "Here's a mess ! Composish & Roller's put a big attachment on the press." Then broke the editorial heart; he sobbed, and and said "Good-bye! " And forth he went, to some far land, from all his woes to fl}'. But ere the second mile was flown he sank in wild despair — The Wabash line took up his pass and made him pa\' his fare. 20 Pulmonic Passion )RESS me closer, all mine own — Warms my heart for thee alone; Each caress my longing fills, Every sense responsive thrills ; 'Neath thy touch I live, thy slave. Rest the only boon I crave ; Thou dost reign upon my breast, With thine own fierce ardor blest ; Closer still, for thou art mine; Burns my heart, for I am thine ! 21 P t^ ^ f^€ Pulmonic Passion Thou the message, I the wire, Thou the furnace, I the fire! I the servant, thou the master- Roaring, Red Hot. Mustard Plaster ! 22 The 'Master Sleeps THE breath of June with faint perfume Comes steahng through the open door And restless shadows in the room Play with the sunbeams on the floor. The buzzing voices croon and drone Or laugh aloud in willful way — The old schoolmaster on his throne Sleeps soundly on this sweet June day. 23 The Master Sleeps Away from noisy schools his dreams Have borne him back through paths of light By dimpling mead and rippling streams _ To childhood's home and morning bright. Softly he sleeps, schoolmaster wise, With one mild eye just on the crack, So young Rob Mclntyre he spies And gars the dust fl)' from his back. \^ ^4t ^l.-U^ Soldier, Rest ! A RUSSIAN sailed over the blue Black Sea, ^*^ Just when the war was growing hot, And he shouted, "I'm Tjalikavakeree- Karindabrolikanavandorot- Schipkadirova- Ivandiszstova- Sanilik- Danilik- Varagobhot ! 25 ai V Soldier, Rest ! A Turk was standing upon the shore Right where the terrible Russian crossed ; And he cried, "Bismillah!" I'm Abd el Kor Bazaroukilgonautoskobrosk- Getzinpravadi- Kilgekosladji- Grivido- Blivido- Jenikodosk !" So they stood like brave men, long and well, And they called each other their proper names, Till the lock-jaw seized them, and where they fell They buried them both b}' the Irdosholames- Kalatalustchuk- Mischaribustchup- Bulgari- Dulgari- Sagharimainz. Realization 'N" EATH summer's sun and winter's blast While the long years swept slowly past, I waited, looking out to sea, For sure my ship would come to me. At last ! For with this morning sun My glad heart heard her signal gun ! And safe into the sheltering bay I saw my ship come in to-day. 27 Realization ^ And then I learned that she had been Eleven weeks in quarantine, While yellow fever sank the crew Deep in its complementary blue. ^^ r^ ^ ^ And long before, while tempest tossed, ^^^ j2S Her masts and rigging had been lost, And then the crew, a frightened horde. Had flung the cargo overboard. And then a steamer of the line Laid hold upon this ship of mine ^ And towed her through the waters wild, ^''^' And fearful claims for salvage filed. 5^"^ Then next I learned the companee Which had insured my ship for me Had gone up, higher than a kite — Over the stars — clear out of sight ! 28 Realization So once again I sit all day Down where the restless breakers play, And wish — though all the good it does- My ship had stayed out where it was. And when the evening, gray and dim, Falls on the ocean's misty brim. With throbbing heart and quivering Hp, I wish I'd never had no ship. My First Cigar ^'T^WAS just behind the woodshed ^ One glorious sumiper day, Far o'er the hills the sinking sun Pursued his westward way; And in my safe seclusion Removed from all the jar And din of earth's confusion I smoked my first cigar. 30 My First Cigar It was my first cigar ! It was the worst cigar ! Raw, green and dank, hide-bound and rank It was my first cigar ! Ah, bright the boyish fancies Wrapped in the smoke-wreaths blue ; My eyes grew dim, my head was light, The woodshed round me flew ! Dark night closed in around me — Black night, without a star — Grim death methought had found me And spoiled my first cigar. It was my first cigar ! A six-for-five cigar ! No viler torch the air could scorch — It was my first cigar ! All pallid was my beaded brow, The reeling night was late, My startled mother cried in fear, "My child, what have you ate?" 31 My First Cigar I heard my father's smothered laugh, It seemed so strange and far, I knew he knew I knew he knew I'd smoked my first cigar ! It was my first cigar ! A give-away cigar ! I could not die — I knew not why — It was my first cigar ! Since then I've stood in reckless ways, I've dared what men can dare, I've mocked at danger, walked with deatli, I've laughed at pain and care. I do not dread what may befall 'Neath my malignant star, No frowning fate again can make Me smoke my first cigar. I've smoked my first cigar! My first and worst cigar ! Fate has no terrors for the man Who's smoked his first cigar! The Inside Track IT E came to the bower of her I love -■■ ■■■ Twanging his light guitar; He called her in song his snow white dove, His lily, his fair, bright star, While I sat by the side of the brown-eyed maid And helped her enjoy her serenade. 33 The Inside Track He sang that his love was beyond compare — (His voice was sweet as his song) ; He said she was pure, and gentle, and fair, And I told her he wasn't far wrong. I don't know whether he heard me or not. For his E string snapped like a pistol shot. He told how he loved her, o'er and o'er, With passion in every word, In songs that I never knew before — And sweeter ones ne'er were heard. But the night dews loosened his tenor strings And they buzzed out of tune like crazy things. He sang and he played till the moon was high, (Oh, sweet was the love-born strain!) While the night caught, up each tremulous sigh And echoed the sweet refrain. But I laughed when a beetle flew down his throat And choked in a sneeze his highest note. 34 The Inside Track She liked it; and I did — just so-so; I was glad to hear his lay ; I sometimes echoed him, soft and low, When he sang what I wanted to say ; Till at last I leaned from the window and then I thanked him, and asked him to call again. And then he went away. Baby Mine THERE is no joy in the world like you, Xo music sweet as your "goo-ah-goo," No skies so soft as your eyes of blue — Baby, oh my baby ! But when you ground on the hidden pin, And open your valve and howl like sin, No gong can equal }'Our little din, Baby, oh my baby! 36 Baby Mine My heart is glad when your face I see, My joy is full when you come to me, I laugh with you in romping glee, Baby, oh my baby ! But oftentimes my midnight snore Is broken short by your startling roar, And till morning dawns we walk the floor- Baby, oh my baby ! I i 37 Songs Without Words T CAN not sing the old songs, ■■• Though well I know the tune, Familiar as a cradle song With sleep-compelling croon ; Yet though I'm filled with music As choirs of summer birds, " I can not sing the old songs" — I do not know the words. ^v Songs Without Words I start on "Hail Columbia," And get to "heav'n-born band," And there I strike an up-grade With neither steam nor sand ; ' ' Star Spangled Banner' ' downs me Right in my wildest screaming, I start all right, but dumbly come To voiceless wreck at "streaming.' So, when I sing the old songs, Don't murmur or complain If "Ti, diddy ah da, tum dum," Should fill the sweetest strain. I love "Tolly um dum di do," And the "trilla-la yeep da"-birds, But "I can not sing the old songs "- I do not know the words. ^^ ^^^^i^^^ 39 Margins ]\ /I Y dreams so fair that used to be, ^ ' ^ The promises of youth's bright dime. So changed, alas; come back to me Sweet memories of that hopeful time Before I learned, with doubt oppressed, There are no birds in next year's nest. 40 Mar; gins The seed I sowed in fragrant spring The summer's sun to vivify With his warm kisses, ripening To golden harvest by and by, Got caught by drought, Hke all the rest — There are no birds in next year's nest. The stock I bought at eighty-nine. Broke down next day to twenty-eight Some squatters jumped my silver mine, My own convention smashed my slate No more in ''futures" I'll invest — There are no birds in next year's nest. The School Ma'am SEE where she comes adown the lane With gladness in her laughing eye, But in her hand the rattan cane To stifle laughter by and by. Young love lurks in her merry tone, And nestles in her roguish looks, But long, hard, crooked questions moan And sob and gibber in her books. 42 The School Ma'am Her dimpled hand, that seeks the curl Coquetting with her graceful head, Can make a boy's ears ring and whirl And make him wish that he were dead. How much she kens, this learned rose, Of human will and human won't; One wonder is, how much she knows. The other is, how much I don't. Sweet pedagogue, much could I tell The merry boys who greet thy call— Thy mother cuffed my ears, right well. When she was young and I was sma III' m Putting His Armor On ^^TF you're waking call me early, call me *^ early, mother dear," For I've a heap to resolute about, this glad New Year ; There's lots of things I'm going to say I'm go- ing to try to do, And I hope perhaps in a thousand things I'll manage to keep a few. 44 V Putting His Armor On I will not look upon the wine when it is rosy red — So may my evening hat sit loosely on my morn- ing head, ^\(r\ |^W^g9 I will not whistle in the cars the airs I do not ' fizypQ^M know V X^ Nor hold high revel in my rooms while others ^ fyl^ ^\ \-^x\ B k T ■' sl^^P below. . y ^ . /M I will not stand with sinners at the corner of the^/ - >> \ /^. street; ^^ y / i} ' , ;^^ ^^ ' I. will not talk about myself, to every one I ■ / ^ ^ / ^ meet; \W ' ^ I'll be the good boy of the school, and study /""l"^^ hard all day, ^ Nor prod my seat-mate with a pin, to see him laugh and play. |, i ''^ , When Wisdom crieth in the streets, I'll know ' that she means me. ^ ^v-^'^v C And when she putteth forth her voice, I'll an- VS)^'1(^ swer, "Here I be ! 45 Putting His Armor On When bigger men affront me, I will give the ! answer soft, But the little man who tries it on, may venture .^-^-^ r t once too oft. '^'^^"vl \ I' I will not lie about my age, my salary or weight; To help in deed the friend in need, I will not hesitate ; !i ' I will not o;rind — for nothing — the faces of the |, >\ o o 'MI poor, • •( And fractured to}-s and broken hearts I'll tr\' to mend and cure. I will not wear a dress coat when the sun is in the sky; I will not wear a collar more than seven inches high; I'll be so good and sensible that people in the street Will lift their hats to me and make obeisance when we meet. 46 Putting His Armor On Good-night, dear mother, sweet good-night; nay, do not weep for me; Though I'm so good to-night, you fear the morn I ne'er may see; But if I do live through it, when to-morrow dis- appears — You'll likely think your precious boy will live a hundred years. "^^ The Tramp OLOW paced, with listless step he moved ^ along To where the woodbine mantled all the door, And strewed its restless shadows on the floor ; His sinewy breath, escaping in a song. Bore scent of Old Tom Juniper, full strong ; Upon both feet he limped, as travel sore. For alms he asked; ate them, and asked for more ; And lingered yet, the banquet to prolong, Whiles I felt envv of his bone and brawn The Tramp And his glad Hfe, so free from toil or care ; And did not know, till after he was gone That he had taken with him, my best pair Of Summer clothes, and other things, to pawn, And drifted idly off — we knew not where. Ah, would that I, like him. might come and go, As birds, and winds, and shadows go and come, Careless of all things sad or burdensome ; Living as lightly as fair lilies grow Beside the dreamy river's slumbrous flow; At morn, awakened by the hollow drum Of partridge in the thicket ; by the hum Of ever busy bees at noon tide's glow Lulled to my mid-day slumber in the wood ; Drone like, to eat the sweets by others stored, To live with birds and winds in brotherhood ; My fashion plate — the clothes-line; and my board — The farmer's care — but there! I am no good; I have no art ; I would get caught and scored ! 49 City Lyrics What's in all this grand life an' high situation, And nary pink nor hollyhawk bloomin' at the door ? Riley. 51 \. M. 1 f i\ The Hod-Fellow /^H, bird of the avenue, strong is thy wing ^^ As thou piercest the clouds with thy loud caroling; I follow thy flight with my hand-shaded eye — "Oh, where art thou going, so high and so high?" 53 The Hod-Fellow Thy plumage is blue as the skies in the faU, \ And tawny the top-knot that shines over-all ; Straight into the eye of the clear gleaming day, Right upward and onward thou soarest away. Say, where dost thou fly with thy head burden- bowed ? Oh, say, dost thou build thy lone nest in the cloud? With an arm full of bricks in thy three=sided hat. Thou wingest thy way to a ninth-story flat. The flights thou hast made, were they straightly aligned, Would pierce the blue ether and stick out be- hind ; Why not keep right on when the ladder you've trod, And puU it up after you, man with the hod? 54 The Hod-Fellow The sun-staring eagle has broad-sweeping wings To fan the light zephyr as upward he swings ; But he'd lower his crest in the gloom of defeat Should he ever, like you, try to fly with his feet. Oh, bird of the ladder-flight ! Lightly my muse Will sing the slow lift of thy high-soaring shoes ; Thou teachest ambition, the sure way to climb — Is to plod up the ladder one round at a time. Morning w HAT charms are thine, oh incense- breathing morn ! How blessed with dewy freshness is the hour ! Before the dawn I hear the milkman's horn Wind at m\- gate with ever-swelling power. The rosy-fingered hours far in the east Kindle the skies with flames of gold and red, Food for the e}^es — though for my morning feast "^^^^^ I much prefer a little roll in bed. 56 i: ¥4 \ Morning -' The English sparrows wrangling at my gate Salute the day with many a rasping squack ; The cartman, with slow wheels that creak and grate, Inspires his laggard steed with shout and whack. And now the baker's bell with dire alarm Ding-dongs and clangs ; in tones that fairly freeze The list'ner's blood; a huckster from the farm Yells 'neath the window — "Nice fresh rad- ishees ! ' ' With shrieks and cries of varying vehemence Rush down the street loud swarms of whist- ^ /C^:^ \ ling boys, While every man in all the city dense j^^ ^, ^ ,y Starts up to greet the day with some new y^^ Y noise. 57 Morning ' ' Old bot-tuls I " " Rags I ' ' come bawling up the street ; "Ould hats I ould hats I ould hats!" just shakes the door ; ''Charco' " and "Tatoes"" in the tumult bleat, While "Morning pa-piz I " ' swells the thunder- ing roar. Oh, peaceful morn ; oh. hallowed, blessed dawn ! How sweet to kiss th\- dewy, scented breath ! How sweet to grasp a club and fall upon Yon shrilling boy, and maul him half to death ! School "Takes Up" THE boys have come back to school And me; And a conflict of riot and rule I see; The whispered joke, and the stealthy grin, The clinging wax, and the crooked pin. The smothered laugh, and the buzzing din — Ah me! 59 School ^' Takes Up" My profile chalked on the outer walls — Dear me ! And the ceiling stuccoed with paper balls I see; The shuffling feet on the gritty floor, The inky face at the school-room door, >V The vicious pinch, and the muffled roar — Vrr H I Ah me ! [ ( \ N^ U f^A K The question brisk and the answer slow — Ah me; The 'T furgit" and the 'T dun no," Ah me ; " 'N' four times seven is twenty- nine ; " N ' Rome is a town on the river Rhine ; ' ' N' George is a verb, 'n' agrees with w^ine;" ear me ! :/ < < ' AT ' 60 School ^' Takes Up" Grimace and giggle, grin and wink — Dear me ! Buzz, hum and whisper — who can think? Oh, me! Wouldn't it be a better rule To let the boy grow up a fool, Rather than send him back to school And me? DI — — ■ — .^^pv^ ^•,! ! I ^;.')(")^w;feiVH\\V\fi'^x V! hS^'-v7 if \S(^ ^ ^^^^ The Countermarch T' *RAAIP, tramp, tramp I With the morning clocks at ten She skimmed the street with footsteps fleet, And jostled the timid men. Tramp, tramp, tramp! She entered the dry goods store, And with hurrying tread the dance she led All over the crowded floor. 62 4l 3 The Countermarch She charged the throng where the bargains were, And everybody made way for her ; Wherever she saw a "special" sign She made for the spot a prompt bee Hne ; Whatever was old, or whatever was new. She had it down and she looked it through. Whatever it was that caught her eye. She'd handle, and price, and pretend to buy. But 'twas either too bad, too common, too good. So she did, and she wouldn't, and didn't and ->^ would. And round the counters and up the stairs. In attic and basement and every wheres, The salesmen fainted and cash boys dropped. But still she shopped, and shopped, and shopped, And shopped, and shopped, and shopped, and shopped ; And round, and round, and round, and round. Like a serpentine toy with a key that's wound. She weaved and wriggled and twisted about. Like a gyrating whirlwind dazed with doubt, This way in and the other way out, The Countermarch Till men grew giddy to see her go ! And by and by, when the sun was low, Homeward she dragged her weary way With a boy to carr}' the spoil of the day — A spool of silk and a hank of thread — Eight hours — ten cents — and a woman half dead X. 64 The Mendicant HEAR thy full-voiced note — thy flight of It broods beneath my casement in the night, And cooing, wakes me in the earl)- light, Whiles I would slumber on, and on, and on, And wonder if thou never wilt be gone. I hear thy warble down the echoing street Where other songs awake thine own to greet And with it blend. 65 n ir I The ^Mendicant Down the long pavement's human-cumbered waste, I hear thy plaintive chant; thou hast, thou sayst, ' 'Wash tubs to mend ! ' ' Oh, child of song I m\' heart goes out to thee I Although I would not. I must hear thee sing Alike in winter sere and budding spring ; Far from th\' madding wail though I should flee. Yet, biding ni}' return, thou still wouldst be Singing the same old tune, the same old words — "Like the repeating minstrelsy of birds;" Pray thee, suspend 'em! In vain regrets th}' voice no longer spend, If it be true you have wash tubs to mend, Why don't }^ou mend 'em? 66 "-^ \ ''Festina Lente" DLESSINGS on thee, little man. -*— ^ Hasten slowly as you can ; Loiter nimbly on your tramp With the ten-cent speedy stamp. Thou art "boss" ; the business man Postals writes for thee to scan ; And the man who writes, "With speed," Gets it — in his mind — indeed. 6; Festina Lente'' Lo, the man who penned the note Wasted ten cents when he wrote; And the maid for it will wait At the window, b\' the gate, In the doorway, down the street, Listening for thy footsteps fleet. But her cheek will flush and pale, Till it comes next da\- b\ mail. With thine own indorsement neat — "No such number on the street." Oh, if words could but destroy, Thou wouldst perish, truthful boy' Oh. for boyhood s easy way Messenger who sleeps all day, Or. from rise to set of sun. Reads "The Terror" on the run. For }'our sport, the band goes b} For your perch, the lamp post high; For \'our pleasure, on the street Dogs are fighting, drums are beat; ^^Festina Lente For your sake, the boyish fray, Organ grinder, run-away; Trucks for your con\enience are; For your ease, the bob-tail car; Every time and e\^er\' where You're not wanted. }Ou are there. Dawdling, whistling, loit'ring scamp, Seest thou this ten-cent stamp? Stay thou not for book or toy — Vamos ! Fly! Skedaddle, boy! l' £ Ih t t^)#Pj| .....it; 6y Two Rag Men pN RIFTS away the murky night ^^ Dawns the morning's smok}- light In the highway's busy hum Ere I see, I hear him come; Gutter, barrel, box he drags, While his matins rise — "Old rags!" 70 Two Rag Men Brother mine, thy waiHng cry Here I echo with a sigh; All thy brother has to wear When he fain would take the air, Button gone, and pin that jags, Ever mocks his poor "old rags." E'en the page whereon I write, Marring all its surface white. Pure and fair as drifting snow When December tempests blow — Whispers to the pen that drags — ''I am nothing but old rags." And the wealth I hope to get For this intellectual sweat. All the crisp and verdant bills, Pulped and spread in paper mills, All the poet's hard-earned swag, Once was gathered in thy bag. 71 Two Rag Men Rags, the bed on which I He; Rags, the shirt I have (to buy) ; Rags, old rags, my note of hand (So I'm given to understand) ; Curses on thee, hook and bags, Rival gatherer of rags ! (Kills him with a stone ink bottle and steals his bag of rags, which brings at the junk shop more than a seven octave poem.) Trolley La La THE car he waited for came down, And then went thund'ring by, With winged feet along the street He sped with fearsome cry ; The happy boys with joyous noise Exclaimed "Hi, hi ! Hooray!" But swift and far that trolle\' car He chased, that summer day. 73 Y ^ Trolley La La ! And other cars they came and went — Their gongs he heeded not ; His breath was gone, his strength was spent His frame and ire were hot; With panting roar he passed his door, And crooked, west and far. Into the vague Hereaftermore — He chased that troUev car. 74 \/ ^^^^^^ ' ''* Aquarius ---_ 'VBIC ^ SPRINKLE, sprinkle, water-cart, Oft I wonder where thou art: ^- ^f-^ Never can I find thee nigh When the dust is deep and dry. When the sun puts on his cloud And the rain-pour patters loud, Then you wing your little flight- Sprinkle, sprinkle left and right. 75 ~ ' m^^ r Aquarius When the crossings, Sunday clean, Full of well-dressed folk are seen, Vainly then they dodge and scream Sprinkled with thy pluvial stream ! And when bright my shoes are "shined," And my hands in gloves confined, Rattling down the thirst}^ street, How you soak my hands and feet. Some day. w^hen this deed is done, I will draw my trusty gun ; Then thou'lt wonder w^here thou art, Buckshot-sprinkled w^ater-cart ! Getting Even IF I were a railway brakeman, I'd call out the stations so plain That the passenger booked for Texas Would go clear through to Maine. Td open the door of the smoker And give such a mighty roar That the people back in the sleeper Would fall out on the floor. n cV Getting- Even For 1 couldn't afford a tenor voice That would murmur, and sigh, and speak In the soft, low tones of ^olian harps For eleven dollars a week. ^x ^ If I were a baggage-master I'd rattle the trunks about; I'd stand them up in the corner, And shake their cargoes out; I would pull the handles out by the roots, I would kick the bottoms in. And strew their stuffing around the car. And make them lank and thin. For I couldn't afford to wear kid gloves, And put pads on my feet, And fondle things gently, when all my pay Just kept me in bread and meat. If I were a railway conductor. As through the train I'd go, I'd have for every question asked — This ready reply, "Don't know Getting Even I'd miss connections for lots of men, I'd run lone passengers past; I'd tell them 'twas eight, when I knew 'twas ten, And declare their watches fast. For I couldn't afford to be civil When I knew every man in the load Would look at my watch and ring, and say : "He stole them things from the road." 79 mHJi :<^-~ Y A Spell of Rhyme ARD engine "Louisa," B. C-R. & N Was shifting some empties about three p.m., When the stoker leaned out of his window to sa}', "There's a cow going down the tea arr ay see kay." Pensively halted the cow on the track, Burs in her matted tail, bran on her back; Dreaming of summer, she seemed not to see Va^, / The on-coming )'ard ee en gee eye en ee. Will ^ A Spell of Rhyme Once more spake the stoker, "Right close is she now ; ' ' "Bully," the engineer quoth, "for the cow!" Then reversing his engine he cried, "Shoo, oh shoo ! ' ' Said the stoker, "Oh, shoot the see oh double you!" Shrilly the whistle shrieked forth its alarm. And the stoker threw firewood and coal in a swarm ; But the cow never heeded, nor thought that her star Was setting at four miles an aitch oh you arr. The yard engine struck her about amidships. And her summer dreams went into total eclipse; It scattered her system, most shocking to see All over the ess tea arr double ee tea ! «^ 8i A Spell of Rhyme Sadly the engineer drew in his head, And "pulled her wide open" as onward he sped ; But the stoker laughed gaily, "Old fellow, I sa}', There's a mighty cheap cut of ess tea ee aie kay ! ' ' 82 The Brakeman's Sweetheart MY love is like a parlor car, Perfection all her graces are ; Smoothly, without a frown or jar, She runs by smiles ; Would she but couple on to me, How happy then our lives would be And east or west — ah, wouldn't we Make sunny miles ! 83 y^.^0^ The Brakeman's Sweetheart Her eyes electric lamps eclipse ; To think of running daily trips With orders from her rose-bud lips- It makes my head-light I But sand and steam I seem to lack ; When I'd suggest a double-track. Her laughing eyes they set me back Quick as a red light. I know she dearly loves to tease, For once, when on m\- bended knees, I told her, with what warmth you please. How I adored her, — With gauzy, perfumed fan outspread She lightly tapped her lover's head. And bending over, softly said, "Shops, Joe; bad order!'" 84 Evening THE sun sinks down the distant west Where'er the west may be, Until the city building's crest Shuts off its light from me. It can not hide behind a hill And so it hides behind a mill. 85 Evening The whistles blow their evening tune — How shrill their echoes from afar ! How sweet to sniff the dust of June And rush to catch the twilight car ! While in its smoke, and dust, and heat, A fat man stands on both my feet. Here in the suburb, dusty, gray, Roar the loud mouthings of a row ; I feel no fear ; it is the wa}' My neighbor urges home his cow; With clubs and yells she must be led From gardens wrecked, where she hath fed. Upon the soft, domestic air. Faint, sensuous odors drift along — Coffee, potatoes, beefsteak rare. Fried onions, eggs, tripe and oolong; And, daintier tastes to lure and please, ^,fJ^% Fried liver, ham, and castile cheese. 86 Evening Oh, blissful eve! How blest the town 1 That swelters thus through leafy June ; W How blest to watch the ice melt down, # To serve the butter with a spoon ; To list the trolley's gonging chime And know that it is evening time. 87 Politics Let none presume To wear an undeserved dignity. O, that estates, degrees and offices Were not derived corruptly ; and that clear honor Were purchased by the merit of the wearer! How many then should cover, that stand bare ! How many be commanded, that command ! Merchant of Venice. 89 What Lack We Yet? WHEN Washington was president He was a mortal icicle; He never on a railroad went, And never rode a bicycle. He read by no electric lamp, Ne'er heard about the Yellowstone; He never licked a postage stamp, And never saw a telephone. 91 AVhat Lack We Yet? His trousers ended at his knees ; B}' wire he could not snatch dispatch He fiUed his lamp with whale-oil grease, And never had a match to scratch. But in these days it's come to pass, All work is with such dashing done, We've all these things, but then, alas — We seem to have no Washington ! All Things to All Men T 'VE run all the old parties over ^ And now to a new one must go ; I think there are offices somewhere, If I'd had any kind of a show. Then give me some sort of a show — oh ho ! I'm a rather "weak sister" I know; But I'd run my legs off for an office, If I only knew which way to go. 93 ^y^A4] All Thino-s to All :Men From now till the da}- of election, I'll promise all men everything; And it's awful to think my rejection, The votes, when they're counted, may bring. Then give me some sort of a show — oh ho ! Into any new party I'll go! For the starvingest kind of an office rU be anything that I know. Please keep your eyes open and watchful And when any new party you see That is wanting a man for an office Just kindly refer them to me. For I'm alwa}'S ready to go — you know! Where an office its shadow may throw ; I'd swim through the broad Mississippi For the littlest office I know. And if, when the election is over, Up Salt River I must repair, 'My banishment wouldn't seem lonesome If an office could follow me there. 94 All Things to All Men So follow me up when I go — oh ho ! And write on my tombstone, you know- 'If you're hunting a man for an office, Just wake up the fossil below!" 95 The Day We Do Not Celebrate o NE famous day in great July John Adams said, long years gone by "This day that makes a people free Shall be the people's jubilee, ' 'With games, guns, sports, and shows displayed. With bells, pomp, bonfires, and parade, "Throughout this land, from shore to shore. From this time forth, forevermore. " The years passed on, and by and by. Men's hearts grew cold in hot July. 96 ^ ^ .-. ^"■■:|\)- \ 105 The Cricket 1SANG the budding spring away, And played while summer roses bloomed, I danced through Autumn's splendid sway, And when November's shadows gloomed: And skies and hills, and all the woodland throng Laughed at my dancing feet and merry song, 107 The Cricket I mocked the toiling ant with scorn ; I sang, but wrought not, with the bee; I wooed the joyous birds at morn, Danced at the June flies' jubilee; Nor dreamed, or knew, or ever cared to know That Summer flowers would fade and Winter blow. Now Winter comes, I have no care, I ask no ant to give me room ; I sue no bee for daint}- fare, I laugh and sing at Winter's gloom; And that the Summer time I danced away Brings no regret to me this Winter's day. ENVOI. For this is the season, as you may conjecture, That is Summer for actor, and singer and printer ; So I stick up the posters — announce a New Lecture — I I I'm one of the Crickets that sing in the Win- ■^ ft •&. AS ^^^;^, M fs i^ n The Main-Hatch 4 M A MINSTREL am I of a single lay, ^^ But I sing it the whole day long, In the lonely coop, on the crowded way, I warble my simple song. Only an egg, with its pure white shell — The sea has no pearl more fair — And over that spheroid my cackles I tell, And my feat diurnal declare. 109 \f'^1 ^'^"^ % m r The Main-Hatch Oh, a frail, weak thing is my ovate gem, As it Ues in my straw-Hned nest ; But it raketh the orator, stern and stem, When it catcheth him on the crest. There is might in its weakness, for lo, when it goes Down the long afternoon of its life — It can easily lead a strong man by the nose, When it mixeth itself in the strife. I am no bravo ; the hawk that swoops Must seek for me under the thatch; Yet in open field or in private coop I always come up to the scratch. So my rondeau I cackle — too young to crow — While the Fates may permit me to speak, For although my son never sets, yet I know That my days ma}' be ended necks tweak. I lO tl Dogmatic Philosophy I' MY faithful dog, — his actions fairly talk — Gamboled about me on our morning walk, And being frivolous — for he was young, Pursued, with flying feet and clamorous tongue. The circling birds that skimmed along the ground And teased, with whistles shrill, the baying hound . Ill Dogmatic Philosophy He snapped at flies, slow buzzing in the air, And chased the chirping crickets here and there. At length, with sudden leap, in merry play, He caught a hornet, passing b\' that way, And let him go again, and moaned and sighed ; And scraped his jaws upon the earth, and cried ; And shouted ''Fire!" — as a dog might shout And ran before the wind, and put about; And shrieked ; and gnawed the trees ; and snapped and rolled ; Panted and shivered, as with heat and cold ; --^ / y- And would not frisk, nor laugh, nor bound, nor/^ ^-^' And was not merry any more that day "Alas." said I, "how many times ha\-e I ^'^ Caught at some gauzy pleasure flitting by. And thought" — but at this point we reached the spot Where all that hornet's family lived, and I for- Just what I thought, and what I sought to say, In one wild, dog-like rush to get away. 112 ..^'s?j^' -^^~^- ■ - -.?' I Orphan Born T AM a lone, unfathered chick, ■^ Of artificial hatching A pilgrim in a desert wild, By happier, mothered chicks reviled, From all relationships exiled, To do my own lone scratching. 113 Orphan Born Fair Science smiled upon my birth One raw and gusty morning; But ah, the sounds of barn-yard mirth To lonely me have little worth ; Alone am I in all the earth — An orphan without horning. Seek I my mother? I would find A heartless personator ; A thing brass-feathered, man designs W^ith steam-pipe arteries intermined. And pulseless cotton batting lined — A patent incubator. It wearies me to think, you see — Death would be better, rather — Should downy chicks be hatched of me By Fate's most pitiless decree, My p'ping pullets still would be With never a grandfather. 14 Orphan Born And when to earth I bid adieu To seek a planet greater, I will not do as others do, Who fly to join the ancestral crew For I will just be gathered to My Incubator. V ^# 4 1 r tJ }■ H. tn".A/i',;;"i» 115 A Cataracket I LOVE. thee, cat; I love thy pleasant ways; I love to see thee dozing round the house ; I love, through all these dreamy summer days, To watch thee circumvent the bashful mouse. I love to hear thy calm, contented purr, And stroke th\- coat — so near, and yet so fur. ii6 A Cataracket But I love not, when starry night is come, To hear thee, cat, with velvet-padded hoof, Rapid as taps upon a muffled drum, Or summer rain drops pattering on the roof. For, when thy claws slip from their velvet jacket, Thou art a wild Niagara-cat; a cat a racket. Grimalkin ! When the radiant moonlight falls : In silver splendor on the haunted shed, Oft must I listen to thy plaintive wauls That drive sweet sleep from my distracted bed . It wakes mine ire to hear thy long-drawn shout — "Maria! Oh, Maria! Comin' out?" Why dost thou rage, vain cat, when sable night With "dewy freshness fills the silent air"? Why dost thou climb the roof to yell and fight. And rip, and spit, and snort, and claw and swear? Dost thou not blush, oh cat, when rosy dawn Sees half thy fur clawed out, and one eye gone? 117 A Cataracket Go, gentle cat; go from my lap and prowl Upon the dizzy woodshed's beetling height On lofty dormer window sit and howl And everything that weareth cat-fur, fight; And I will love thee none the less, for that, Because I would not have thee less a cat. Yet hear I When midnight pauses in the sky, I will arise from sleepless couch of mine. And guided by thine animated cry, And by thine eyes so brilliantly that shine — I will take down my trusty culverin, And with six pounds of buckshot fill thy skin. «.^^ ii8 Lines to a Mule THE smile of spring is blessing all the hills, The robin's note sounds from the shad- owed vale ; The blue bird's matin all the morning fills, The brown leaves rustle in the greening trail ; While thy insistent song with gladsome ring Whoops o'er the fields, a live, reboant thing. 119 Lines to a ^NIulc Full well I know th>- carol ; man\- a da\- I've waked at dawn to hear thee cr\- for feed. And. startled b\' thy sudden, clamorous bra}'. Have execrated all thy patient breed : And I have wept to see thy restless hoof Lift a man through the raftered stable roof. ^ JjVet art thou kind. I never knew thee. mule. Kick man or Indian whom thou couldst not reach ; And thou hast learned in life's hard, friendless school Ahvay to practice better than }-ou preach ; For while, with drooping lids }*ou seem to sleep ^ Still do vour heels their tireless vigils keep. 1 20 a iS Bucolics "As 1 read I hear the crowing cock, I hear the note Of lark and linnet, and from every page Rise odors of ploughed field or flowery mead." Longfellow. 121 ly I r fi *9f7 < >5.^ The Pierian Spring DEAR, vernal flowers, they bloom again Like echoes of old spring days gone, And mossy hillside, shadowy glen Break out in beauty like the dawn. The plumy fern, the leaf and bud Bend 'neath the kisses of the breeze And "Spanish Mixture for the Blood" Smiles from the fences, rocks and trees. 123 The Pierian Spring Balm-breathing Spring ! what tender hope Exhales from the awakening soil. How "Bolus' Anti-Bilious Dope" And "Doctor Gastric's Blizzard Oil" Bid fainting nature wake and smile, For all her beauties fill us less With thoughts of violets than with vile "Root Cures" for "Chronic Biliousness." If to the wooded nook we stray Where every swelling germ is huge With life, each gray-browed rock will say "Use Philogaster's Vermifuge." If from these s}dvan bowers we fly, We fly, alas, to other ills; The farm-yard gates and barn-doors cry "Take Ginsengrooter's Liver Pills." Each blue-eyed violet hides a "Pill,' There's scent of "Rhubarb" in the air; 'Rheumatic Plasters" crown the hill And "Bitters" blossom everywhere; 124 (Z.,...^ yiyybnW (j/N S£N h' Comes over the meadow green. 130 ([1 fy ' In Time of Peace Oh, sweet is the field where the meadow lark flits And sings, as it soars and dives, Where the farm-hand sits and yells as he gits His fingers among the knives. No longer we hear on the hill-slopes near The scythe-stone's clinkety-clink, But the mowing machine cuts his leg off, I ween. Or ever the man can think. With fears and with tears the good wife hears The goodman say "Good-bye," To return in sooth with a horse-rake tooth A foot and a half in his eye. When the threshers come in with halloo and din, How tempered with sorrow the hour, As they linger to scan what is left of the man Mixed up with the eight-horse power. In Time of Peace Oh, listen and weep ! f'rom over the hills What voice for the doctor begs? 'Tis the plough-boy who fell, and shocking to tell. The steam-plough ran over his legs. Thus, all day long with rollicking song They laugh at these dread alarms, Though the peaceful field a war-harvest yield Of fingers, and legs, and arms. M, i/ ENVOI. Then breathe a prayer for a poor old granger Whose mangled limbs have borne him to the / fence. Who braves, with royal courage, untold danger And runs his farm with modern implements. 132 May Day COME, Pepita, Phyllis, Griselda, Jeannette, Evangeline, Heloise, Fifine, Susette, Rebecca, Nan, Marguerite, Clara, Babette — Or whatever your name is ; Come, get on your mackintosh, poncho, umbrell, Clogs, overshoes, pattens, "gums," mufflers as well. And hey ! for the green woods ! I may as well tell— A-Maying the game is. XC 133 May Day We'll twine our May garlands beneath the green tree, We'll make the swamp ring with our innocent glee, We'll wade round our May-pole, light-hearted and free, Where naught but delight is ! Then homeward we'll dance, when the twilight is come. With diphtheria, croup, and pneumonia dumb, With phthisis, lumbago and rheumatiz-zum And peritonitis. Rime of the Ancient Miller IT is an Ancient Miller, And he stoppeth two or three ; ' 'By thy mild blue eye and thy floury coat Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? The Christmas turkey fast doth brown, The revels soon begin ; ' ' *T have a note falls due in town And I must lift it in ; " "And I am fain to catch a train, So I must run like sin." 135 The Ancient Mil- ler meeteth three men in a great hur- ry, and stoppeth them to take a vote. ## i Rime of the Ancient Miller He shooteth off his He holds them with his meal>- hand little joke, at which . , . , 111 A grinding face hath he — "I wist thou wilt list unto my grist, When I have tolled it thee." his audience shed * 'tears, idle tears. He chuckled hoarsely at his jest, And sadly out of tram, Each halted guest, with pain suppressed An overf ailing dam. The audience keep- eth up a lively thinkin'. His glittering cock-eye held them fast, Whenas his tale he spake ; ''He's out of balance, first and last." Quoth they, "just hear him grate." But the A. M. let- teth himself go Gallagher. ''I am an Ancient Miller Man, And every hundred years My bedstone cold I leave to hold Converse with mortal ears. The smell is sweet of growing wheat, When dimpling fields I see; And the lark's song the hills along Is psalm of praise to me ; 136 Rime of the Ancient Miller The sound of the jolly thresher is never muffled. The swaying reapers bend and sing Amid the golden grain ; I hear their songs who toil in throngs Around the harvest wain ; The quail's low whistle softly calls Above the stubbled plain ; With royal nod the golden rod Approves the sumac's stain; I hear once more on puncheon floor The hard flail's muflled sound, The mirthful roar that tells once more The threshers are around ; The fl}'ing chaff and lighter laugh Go drifting down the wind ; But golden wheat and love-words sweet — Come off! The best is left behind. Down the long slope, sunlit with hope. The croaking wain draws near, And the clacking mill and the singing rill whoa, y Are the music sweet I hear. 137 He droppeth into a reminiscent strain, which is great medi- cine for a man who enjoyeth the sound of his own voice. Bully for the quail ! Rime of the Ancient Miller He getteth his sec- "Ovcr the low half-door I see ond wind, and— -n ' i U^ 1 The miller s daughter lean ; In sun and shade the sweetest maid By mortal vision seen. Describeth a truly The good, gray miller who bends to kiss good man with no flies on him. The maid as he goes b\% With honor's trace on his manly face, And honesty in his eye, "Who doth proudly wear his silver hair, ;;Yi,l'llllA crown of integritee — ^ That all may say, who pass his w^ay, A man of men is he' — -' ^10^ c Is as like to the man }'our eyes now scan As a man to himself can be." Xo encore. ^j-j(^ ^\^q miller bowcd to the silent crowd— "Did you say rats?" quoth he. The A. M. cusseth and eke he swear- erh. "Odds boddikins ! ' Y gum I Gogswouns ! Fore gad! Ah, well-a-day ! Marry come up ! I'fackins ! Zounds! Gadzooks ! Alack-a-day ! 138 Rime of the Ancient Miller "The bolted flour, like snow-cloud flake, He teiieth how his mother used to could Fell down as soft and fair ; bake bread (Ting The wheaten cake the maids did bake '"^ Was lighter than the air ; And the new-made bread, the good man said, Was soothing as a prayer. "From Boston town of great renown. And wondrous bookerie, A maid mature, of aspect dure. Went teaching cookerie. The cooking school woman breaks out. "Down dropped the pan, the sifter And all the women J , leave the reserva- <^l'OPPed ; tion, and Down fell the kneading trough; The broom down dropt, all work was stopt. And all the women off. "From house about, with laugh and shout, Take the war path, while the braves They cooked from morn to night, stay at home While men stood hungrily without. And could not get a bite. 139 CM' , « V I ' ' Rime of the Ancient Miller And chew the cud "Aloiie, alonc, all, all alone, of bitter memories ^^ , • i and prospect for To hunger gaunt consigned, grub. The men made moan and stayed at home, And ate what they could find. But hope deferred " They breakfasted upon a sigh, maketh them tired. . , . ^ ^ r r i And gnawed at crusts of bread, Seiah! ^^i^^ Whiles in the kneading trough so dry tir yi Salt-rising tears the}' shed. When from the school the women came- Oh, horrible to tell ! When the women come marching home again, they have learned to |^g ^^.j^q would cat their proffered treat Bade health and joy farewell ! Put the in-curves "The good, wliitc flour the miller made- on the French twist, -r- . r i r i i and to make Fit food for gods and men — Ambrosial bran — no human man Would ever bolt again. 140 <"r::ri''. Rime of the Ancient Miller "The biscuit which his sister cooks, Along with other things, The schoolboy packs in with his books And slings them from his slings. Hard finish biscuit, durable and usefnl, "Bride cake, besides, wrought b}' the brides. Half tanned and wire-sewed — The supervisor oft provides For mending of the road. Likewise the fa- mous waterproof", elastic, hand-made angel cake, that "Oh, friend of mine, that was a time That tried the soles of men. Their swollen throats and stomachs' coats Were tried by leather, then. Beats the Dutch, and everybody knows whom the Dutch beat. "Oh, sweeter far in those dark days, To quiet hunger's wants. It was to take my reckless ways To Chinese restaurants. In his misery he joineth himself un- to the pagan hea- then: and V 141 Can not understand what the heathen have to rage about. Rime of the Ancient Miller "Oh, sweeter far to eat a rat By some more Christian name, Than swallow lead disguised as bread, And perish just the same. He exonerateth the honest miller but excommunicateth the "wimmin." 'Tn vain the honest miller grinds The finest kind of flour, If wives and daughters have combined To bake it sad and sour. He passeth from narrative to sermon and so "He loveth best — you know the rest- Whose wife, so fond and true. Goes clear up head by baking bread As his mother used to do. Reacheth ''Final- "He Hveth best, whose wife cooks best, ly" and the moral. All things, both great and small; For the man who eateth them with zest Loves cook, and grub, and all." 142 Rime of the Ancient Miller The Miller Man, he checks a sigh, He swalloweth a moan ; He clasps his hand upon his belt, And, with a muffled groan. He fadeth quite from out their sight And they are left alone. The Ancient Miller retireth to his cold bedstone to conceal his emotion, and the audience The dinner's cold, the train hath gone, The note hath cooked his goose ; With one acclaim the guests exclaim — "That fellow's bush is loose." Being left, vote the lecturer a little off. 143 Tempered Levity "Joking decides great things Stronglier and better oft than earnest can." Horace. 145 Old Wine in New Bottles PROM the Book of Judges as I read — ^ "Make me a sling," wee Robbie said, "Like those you were reading about in there, That hit the mark to the breadth of a hair. "And make another for Richard, too, And we'll sling as the Benjamites used to do; And make another that Baby can twirl — A little one, mind — she's only a girl." 147 Old Wine in New Bottles Q Q So I made them slings like unto those ^ Which Benjamin used against his foes ; ^^ "May the songs of victor}' tune your breath Like the slingers who smote Kir-haraseth I ' ' I smiled as I heard the exultant cry Of the singing sHngers marching b}' ; I smiled in time, — oh, fooHsh man! — For I smiled no more when the light began. The pebbles crashed through the window pane, They rattled down on the roof like rain ; They pelted poor Sport clear out of the play, And battered the Rector}-, over the way. > The air was thick with the flying stones, And vocal with shouts, and wails and groans; For the people who looked and the people who ran Were peppered alike by the infantr}' clan. Old Wine in New Bottles Richard and Robert, the two mighty men, Were slinging six ways for Sunday ; but then Baby was weeping — the sweet little maid — For she slung-shot herself in the shoulder-blade Then I knevv that no right-handed person can bring Old Benjamin's left-handed skill to a sling; For the left-handed aim of a right-handed man Distracts a projectile as nothing else can. And the world suffers much, in a similar way, From well-meaning men in their serious play; Naught scatters dismay through his own camp and clan Like the left-handed sling of a right-handed man. m 149 ^m Sisyphus J OY of the Spring time ! How the sun Smiled on the hills of Burlington. The breath of May! And the day was fair, The bright motes danced in the balmy air. The sunlight gleamed where the restless breeze Kissed the fragrant blooms on the apple trees. His beardless cheek with a smile was spanned As he stood with a carriage-whip in his hand. j^\ f Sisyphus ^-rr J Lightly he laughed as he doffed his coat And the echoing folds of the carpet smote. ^^ She smiled as she leaned on her busy mop, And said she would tell him when to stop. So he larruped away till the dinner bell Gave him a little breathing spell. But he sighed when the tard}' clock struck one, And she said that his carpet was most half done. Yet he lovingly put in his liveliest licks. And whipped like mad until half-past six. When she said, in a dubious kind of wa)', That she "guessed he could finish that side next day." Then all that dav, and the next day, too, xrxnx The fuzz from the dustless carpet flew. (^ / A And she'd give it a look at eventide, ^^^^ f And say, "Now whip on the other side." 151 Sisyphus So the new days came as the old da)-s went. And the landlord came for his regular rent. While the neighbors laughed at the whup-zip- boom I And his face grew shadowed with clouds of gloom. Till at last, one dreary winter day, Spurning his life-work, he fled away. Over the fence and down the street, Out into the Yon with footsteps fleet. And never again did the morning sun Smile on him beating his carpet drum. Though sometimes a neighbor would say with a yawn — "Where has the carpet martyr gone?" Years t^vice twenty had come and passed And the carpet mouldered in sun and blast It2 Sisyphus For never yet since that May grown old Had hand been laid on its edge or fold. Over the fence a gray-haired man, Cautiously dim, clum, clem, dome, clam; He found him a switch in the old woodpile And he gathered it up with a sad, grim smile. A flush passed over his face forlorn, As he gazed at the carpet, stained and torn. Then he struck it a most resounding thwack. Till the startled air gave its echoes back. Out of the window a white face leaned, While a palsied hand the dim eyes screened. At once she knew him — she gasped — she sighed — "A little more on the under side!" Right down on the ground his stick he throwed, He shivered, and muttered — "Well, I am blowed!" Then he turned him away with a heart full sore, (;-' And he never was seen, not none, no more. 153 ^> /^ t- ^^ Sic Transit ^^/^^H, listen to the water-wheel through all ^ ^ the live-long day' — Your salar\- for work will stop when }-ou begin to play ; ^-^^-^ / '^^^ fellow at the ladder's top — to him the hon- I" \ ors go, The beginner at the bottom, nobody cares to know ; 154 Sic Transit No good is any ''Has Been," in countn- or in town — Nobody cares how high you've been, if you have tumbled down. If you have been the President, and can't be any more, You may run a farm, or teach a school, or keep a country store ; No one will ask about you ; you never will be missed — The mill will only grind for you while you sup- ply the grist. ^^^^V |ilwi']|m 155 ^r '■:- ^ fii-^ J- iiiind the things he rattled off, that night, in bo}'ish glee, A Recitations he recited to an audience of me ; How I laughed ontil the landlord come an' ast us to be still — So I got to thinkin' of him, an' that night at Shelbyville. Then he'd kindo' quit his nonsense, an' we'd settle down a spell, Tell Jim 'ud turn upon me an' begin agin — "D'ev tell 'Bout the time I went to Franklin fer the Baptist college folks?" An' I'd stretch m}' mouth acrost my face all ready fer the jokes ; But he'd branch off in a story 'bout the "Merry Workers" band, Thet, onless you knowed the "Workers," you c'd hardly understand; 174 James Whitcomb Riley I c'd hear myself a swallerin', the room 'ud seem so still — So I got to thinkin' of him, an' that night at Shelby ville. .-; ll I got to thinkin' of him — like 'twas jest a year Pj'^ ago- Ifjl Fer time, that flies so fast in dreams, in alma- --^■^a4 X nacs is slow ; ^r and \/\)% He was workin' like a beaver, lectur'n here 'f/n'\^ \ lectur'n' there, 1>'((IW An' a writin' on the railroad cars, in taverns — ever 'where — Printin' poems in the papers, speakin' pieces at the fairs — An' him an' me a travelin' now an' then around in pairs ; An' he seemed to think 'at he was no account at all — but still I got to thinkin' of him, an' that night at Shel- by ville. 175 James Whitcomb Rilev W^l^;\-^^I got to thinkin' of him an' the happy "Days V ^^ Gone By," " ^ Tell the sweet "Old Fashioned Roses" seemed ^^^ to bloom agin — an' die; I hear him talk agin about "My Bride that Is to Be," When he come to "Griggsby Station" jest to have a night with me ; I can see him settin' down agin to give the "Prince" a rock, When "The Frost was on the Pumpkin and the Fodder in the Shock;" An' I hear a laughin' voice I loved, with music in its trill — So I got to thinkin' of him an' that night at Shelby ville. An* I set an' wonder, sometimes, if I know jest what it means, When I see 'em print his poetry in all the mag- azines ; 176 James Whitcomb Riley An' I see him on the platform with the James and Howells set, An' hear the people sayin' "He's the best one of 'em yet! " An' I keep a winkin' back the tears that make my fool eyes shine, Fer I couldn't feel no prouder ef he'd ben a boy of mine ; Fer he's jest the same old Riley, an' he'll be the same Jim still — 'At he was the night 'at him an' me set up at Shelbyville ! ^77 WHAT time the winter sun is low, When floods are high and trains are slow, With joy each glad committee-man The lecturer's half-gfuessed features scan. For joy sets all their hearts a-flame ; They're glad he's come; he's glad he came; It makes a w^aiting audience glum To be informed — ''He didn't come." <2_2 1/-8 Finis And when, the dreary lecture o'er, They settle down for chat once more. First from their questioning lips he'll hear — "And now, where do you go from here?" So much depends on that, you know, Whether to club or bed he'll go; Their plans depend on — so they say — How far his next place is away. The new born friendships, pleasant chat, Song, jest and story, and all that Are long or short, as may appear His answer — "Where d'ye go from here?" "Where do you go from here, good friend? When does our meeting have an end? Hail and farewell ! Your love is dear — But say, Where do you go from here?" "Say, when the next place greets you fair, Will you hear our voices calling there? Will you think of us, be it far or near, In the place you're going to from here?" 179 Finis And so. some day, when the sun is low. And the trains of Time, as the schedules go, Are slowing up to the station gate, And the clock hands point to the hour of Fate When the scents of the evening damps arise And the stars come out in the tranquil skies, When the engine bell rings soft and slow And the trainmen silentlv come and q-q ; When the jest and laughter that lived with him Are hushed in the station lights so dim, They will bend to whisper — "The end is near — I wonder, where does he go from here?' ^^A ^^im^^\ ^>'^<-^ • « o \.^* •^^- \/ y^i %/■ '^ e^^. AV '^ % .-^"^ -^J^. -n^, .fc. /^\