1 i|)Etotttiii ! 1 iiliil Class Book... CoipglitN^, CrOEURIGHT DEPOSm ^uhUt^ BY ARTHUR WENTWORTH HEWITT Author of ''Harp of the North'* The Tuttle Company, Publishers Rutland, Vermont 1920 ^''i% Copynght, 1920 By Arthur Wentworth Hewitt g)CU605433 m IS 1921 L TO The Reverend Leon Morse Pastor of St. JohrCs Methodist Episcopal Church Dover, New Hampshire POEMS Inferno 9 Paradise and the Financial Agent 44 Homer's Spilliad .... 49 An Automobubblesome Troublesome Song ...... 56 Unholy Scriptures .... 59 Blink of the Moon .... 65 Lines Omitted from Buchan's Ancient Ballads ..... 69 Bridget O'Brien .... 73 Duncan Bliss .... 76 Longing 77 The Failure 78 Polly Foss 79 Song of Pumpkin Blossom HiUi 80 In Husking Time .... 82 Witchery of the Weird . 84 Old Tate 86 Maiden Voyage to the Isles of Shoals ..... 87 Rhyming the Booming Brine . 88 Glis 91 The Inquest 94 Episcopal Apostrophe 95 Frae Ane to T'ither 98 Epistle to J. Howard Flower . 101 Epistle to Mrs. Nellie E. Morse . 106 Cursory Remarks of an Amateur Theologian .... 112 Epistle to Leon .... 121 INFERNO. In the midway of this my mortal life I lost myself (Don't mention to my wife) At evening in a solemn vistaed wood. Majestic in the somber solitude Rose, crowned with laurel, stern and sad and bitter, An ancient poet. Whooping at the critter, I asked his name. ''My name,'' he said, ''is Dante. Six hundred years ago^ in every shanty Of Hell, I made some pastoral calls with Virgil, My old presiding elder. Though to urge ill Becomes it me, you have a chance to learn, oh Lots and lots and lots about Inferno, The big nice parish where the ninnies burn so." "Now that," I chuckled, "beats the moving pictures! 151166100 I'm much obliged! I'll get my hat! Your strictures Upon those hoboes, fierce old Ghibelline, Are great! Let hunger make my rib a lean Dry bone ere I this circus miss! So sweet it Will seem to see it all. Now Dante, beat it!" Forthwith the eminent comedian Began the hike. He knew how greedy an Explorer he conducted; sooth to tell No visit ever I had made to Hell Though often I, with seeming earnestness, Had been advised to go. Sohcitous Acquaintances will sometimes hiss at us A hint to drop in at that f urnaced nest, And so I did, with Dante chaperon. (Who paid for such a whippersnapper on The road his fare? I answer, 'tis a vile age And copiously had I provided mileage.) And yet 'twas not a mile. Imagination (As often) was the road to Hell's dominions Whereof this epic is a true narration 10 And not a matter of a man's opinions. I jot in journals what I see arise — Not theologically theorize. I should appear a lop-eared ass if I These reprobates should try to classify. We shot across the glooms of the abyss, I bumped against the moon. ''What world is this? Did devils play the planet a dirty caper Or did it find a German 'scrap of paper?' It is so ragged, dead, and black and bleak." I sat upon a jagged crater's peak To rest; but Dante yelled, "O Moonstruck man! Get up and go to Hell fast as you can! Or we cannot get in! A wealthy clan (Myopic, though it wreck the hope of nations) , The Senate asks /or all the reservations^^ (November nineteen-hundred-and-nineteen The journal reads — this tells you what I mean.) 11 15u6ble0 So, hasting, lest a prior hold on Hell Exclude us, whizzing streakily pell mell Like zigzag lightning past the universe, We shot so fast a bullet is a hearse. And found an inky door where doth appear : *'A11 soap abandon, ye who enter here!" While Dante chose the key that would unlock it, I pulled my Baedeker out of my pocket To study this malodorous first victim And why Old Nick with such bad taste had picked him. But he was not recorded. "Here the tourist,'^ Said Dante, "sees a nincompoop the poorest" (He wiped his megaphone) "of all our list-ins. When Harp of the North was new he made his jaw go (The kind which Samson used to kill Phil- istines) As critic in a city called Chicago." At first I thought, "Oh what a mess I'm in!" Then bent to see the sorry specimen. 12 TBufi&leg I thumped his pate, it sounded dull and thuddy; The former it has ever been; the latter (Occasioned by the skull being thick with muddy Matter of the kind that doesn't matter) Was matter still of mystery and study. "Oh why," I shouted, "Mr. Dante, can't he Sound hollow as he is? It is surprising, Still, here are brains, however stiff!" But Dante, The history of the thick head analyzing. Said, ''Brains were never there. Upon a hummock The Devil ate a critic at a picnic. The imps all yelled, 'Alas! You will be sick, Nick!' With nasty nausea knocking at his stomach, Vok BldbV the Devil said. 'I cannot wait, an Immediately necessary pot Go get me — ' Quick they skip to wait on Satan — 'The emptiest receptacle you've got!' 13 15u66le0 Then over Hell the harum-scarums scurry- But nothing was so empty or so hollow In Hell as was the head (which in a hurry They brought) of him whose history we follow. 'Tis just the thing!' said Nick, 'Alack, you waited Almost too long!' then he evacuated His vitals of his vomit in the skull, And sent it to Chicago when 'twas full To criticise imaginative meter." Just here the Devil heaved him in a heater To bake the other half. "Are you amused?" Said Dante. I, a little bit confused. Replied, "My answer must be quite symbolic. In perfect evening dress a youth will, maybe, While waiting for his girl, pick up the baby, But when the little brat becomes hydraulic He wishes that he hadn't. Not to kick, This sight is so insipid I am sick. Unbeautiful and bad is this bucolic, I can't speak highly of Exhibit A," Then Dante wheeled and striding led the way. 14 15u661e0 Achilles' ghost across the asphodel Ran on low gear compared with him. "In Hell," He said, ''if one would know what hellish art meant We show the senatorial department. 'The windmill of the damned' the demons call it, The hall of howling Lodge and Bob La Follette.'' The former rose to speak. "0 hold your nose! You're To witness mentally indecent exposure!" Too late and needless was the warning uttered, The speech was fine as pop-corn doubly buttered. Amazed, I cried, "0 please explain to me This copious bray become a symphony." "Ridiculous when blatted in the senate A speech of his may win blue ribbons when it Is spoken in the place where it belongs." I took the answer in my mental tongs. Nor could believe that even here such brows 15 Were laureled. ''Show/' I said, "the lower House/' "There is no lower house than this! You know it!" Explosively explaining, cried my poet. And pulled his knitting needles out to knit His brows; but draining off his spleen a bit. He added, "If you mean the other branch Of Congress, come along. I know the ranch, We dead are all good neighbors." No digression We made, but entered while they were in session. The wild disorder told us they to order Had called. The number present nine-and- twenty; Eleven groups, conversing round the border, Were murmuring loud with laughter good and plenty. Behind their newspapers the rest were sprawling. Save what were snoring, and the member bawling 16 His speech for the Congressional Recorder Upon the Brimstone Tariff. No one heard him Except himself and I perhaps have slurred him To say that he did, since he let it go Right on like rivers, time, and death and woe, Save when some member came awake and butted Right in and rolled away again to sleep. I bent above a cuspidor to weep Until my cheeks with great ravines were rutted, It was so like my own, my native land, While wandering on a foreign brimstone strand. But Dante called a jitney for to go. *'0 bawl no more ! In Guinea or Gehenna The pigeonholes that ought to hold these men are. Be cheerful. Next, what program shall I show?" I said, ' 'Please show me your infernal women, My social sensibilities I swim in." 17 We dug our toes into a mighty hill And climbed like demons treading in a mill. (Above Nisqually Canon, I've ascended The castled crags of Eagle Peak; I've bended From Glacier Point in lone Yosemite, Sublime and swooning gulfs below to see; And I have crossed the looming, jagged Rockies; Mount Shasta I have seen, and Mount Rainier, But never such a mountain as was here.) We clambered up like adolescent gawkies That climb a sandbank. Flying into passion, I yelled, ''Why climb? My bellows it distresses!" But Dante said, ''This is the Height of Fashion. It holds those girls who cut so low their dresses They show to any peeping silly cuss The suburbs of a bare umbilicus." (One dictionary calls it nmhi-like-us, But this with approbation cannot strike us.) 18 Now this encouraged me a modicum, And swiftly up the slanting road I come And, scrambling o'er the top with many a chuckle, I snicker to watch Dante strain and knuckle To keep in sight. He had been dead too long His privileges to appreciate. A glutton going from the grease he ate Of pork, with brandy irrigation strong. For mush and milk is hardly going to hanker. It may be so with death. The coffins anchor To earth our frail pathetic carcasses; To any passion then to hark us is Against the rule perhaps, but whether so Or not, I am not hurried for to know. Eschatologically curious Ecclesiastics would be furious If ere we finish this Apocalypse Dim, bony, spectral Death should lock our lips. But suddenly we come upon the ladies. The deeds of one world in the next run deeper, 19 T5uf}b\t$ Therefore the flesh from every piteous shade is So torn away that naught is left to keep her Canal of apparatus called digestive (Nine yards or more) from rolling out un- covered — Her dress no longer merely is suggestive. Behind the skirts of Dante close I hovered And, bashful, asked if punishment so grim Had cured them of their pride. This tickled him, Who, snickering, answered with urbanity, ''No! Fashion's women have a vanity That beats all Hell's arrangements. Look and see How each before a mirror thinks that she Surpasses all her mates and looks the best in Her own peculiar tying of intestine In curls around her neck or coils on head." I felt so sick that I could go to bed; As one who bites a corpulent old worm, in The rosy apple which it chose to squirm in. Is sick, if he's at all averse to vermin; 20 15u6&Ies (Particularly if a worm's obese, he Will taste so apoplectic, rank and greasy.) So I was sick at seeing sights so grim in The parlors of these poor infernal women. "This party personally is conducted," Said Dante. ''Not to have your fun obstructed I feel responsible. Put on your glasses And you will see perhaps some other lasses." "I doubt if it would be considered proper," I said, "If one should come this way, go stop her. Show me a deacon or a minister And take me to the Thursday evening meeting. These girlies are so bad, it's sinister And naughty for me to receive their greeting." Fat podded little dapper devils dotted A dingle down the mountain. One had knotted His tail around his horns to save its sagging. (He'd newly had it polished, and the dragging Takes off the shine.) He trotted to the place, 21 T3ubblt$ With jack-o-lantern jolly grinning face. He pointed straight at me and said to Dante, "This boob would like to see our graveyard. Can't he? I'll show him all the dead ones for a quarter — I used to be on earth. I was a porter." I said, "Each other surely we have seen July in nineteen hundred and fifteen, At Yellowstone — Colonial — in twihght — " He swore and spat his cud up through the skylight. I saw I had unjustly him offended, My person in apology I bended, And patted him upon the back and belly, And said in words as nice as apple jelly: "Your pardon — all the porters there were vicious. You have a humor that is quite delicious — But what about that graveyard? When to God, Or Hell, the soul is shelled out of one's pod Like peas and beans, the earth retains the bodies. 15u6lJle0 Say you that where the pea is there the pod is?" The comicalest wriggle on his face is, He says, "The circumstances alter cases." A booming noise I heard. An impish bumpkin Was dinging with a paddle on a pumpkin. There are no chu'rch bells, as you know, in Tophet, They have to use a pumpkin, though it's no fit. "What's that?" I said. He said it was the curfew. "It tolls the knell of parting day. The ploughman Will plod — more likely he has plodded now, man. We worked him overtime, once, and the fur flew. But come, you Old MortaHty, and look On tombs — the landscape-garden scheme we took From this," he grinned — ''Spoon River'' was the book. 23 T3u6file0 I might have read among the tombs for ages, He snickered — his proboscis in the pages. I, questioning what bodies in this gulf are, Read, peering through an afterglow of sulphur: "A skinner of skunk, In the odor of sanctity Died in his hunk; The Almighty was thanked that He Hauled into Heaven Or hurled into Hell of him All {it was little) That one couldnH smell of him.'' Of course the monuments were of asbestos. Not ancient slate or granite. When we rest us We buy the latter, and it costs big money — The former was much better, it was funny; And no memorial of any marble Is cheering as the quaint old rhymes they warble. But here I saw a grave — this rich old boss Refused me once a dime for the Red Cross. 24 ^'His rarity Charity f Body {with soul On a parity) Rolled to this hole For to wear it he Growing too stingy Escaped from the dingy Old body so brittle And left it behind him. His soul is so little The Devil can't find him J' It seems that Hell foreclosed and took his carcass For soul he never had, and they were sharkers. A tomb with finger pointing toward Arcturus Disclosed this epitaph, the next to lure us : "His soul gone to God, he Could preach like a river, But here is his body. Old Nick had his liver." I saw the name of one who was (though bilious) 25 Sermonis factor atque Dei filius. I looked at Jock. "Sometimes," with cheerful nod, he Replied, ''We lose the soul and get the body. Good soul he had, and still in glory hath. This next one, but he wouldn't take a bath." ''In hliss went Ms soul up To swim But Hell filled this hole up With him.'' ''Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree^s" shadow The turf had got the heaves — it puffed like mad. O Aghast I stood to see the puffs of smoke That smelly from the gravetop often broke! "Smoked like a ham Nearly hlack, How pickled I am In tobacco!'' So ran the lines and so I ran along, But met another stink that stank so strong 26 iBuUtiles; I turned out for it, but it came across till It filled and fumigated every nostril. I wept some tears while Jock was weeping ichor Then saw a brewer buried in his liquor; Near him a drunkard wearing no apparel (I peeked into the bunghole) but a barrel. The latter had a stone — but Jock grew warmer And said that Hell would fain forget the former. ''Pickled in hooze is My body. It snoozes. My soul without stopping Is howling and hopping J' Jock wiped his ichor with a snicker. ''Mark! This corpse," he said, "o'erheard, when stiff and stark, The undertaker talking of his bier — Misunderstood; sat up, and answered, 'Here!' '' "0 Jock," I cried, "what awful fibs you fib us!" Jock answered, "He was always full or gibbous." 27 Then rose a monument amazing, half A mile in height which bore this epitaph : ''Death cannot halk Mr. Lucifer. The Lord had her talk And the Devil the use of her. Neither was pleased Till this monument squeezed Out the juice of her.^' I said to Jock, ''I think I'd better go Back to my chaperon. This shocks me so! It is a grave affair and it may squash My taste for poetry/' Jock answered, ''Bosh!" Untied his peaked tail and scratched his back, Then turned and trotted backward on his track. ''I would not leave a brother in the lurch in A graveyard," said the grinning little urchin. We found old Dante sitting on a griddle. Cracking the devil's mother-in-law a riddle. Until, to pay the poet soine diversion, 28 T3ubblt$ She caught and played an old sonorous fiddle And sang as if her voice would split her middle A song she called, 'The Sabbath Day Ex- cursion." "The Devil came dapper up out of his Hell, La whoop! The Devil! La whoop! The Devil he dallied at not a hotel, To church went tripping his troop. "The Devil came fiddling into the fold, La whoop! The Devil! . La whoop! But he found the funny old flock so cold The Devil half died of the croup. "But he found the feel of the sermon so dry, La whoop! for the croup in his group! It cured him quick as a wink of the eye. La whoop! The Devil! La whoop!" Insulted, all my kindly manners froze up. I elevated, what I could, my nose up. ''You've waited, Dante. Sorry!" I said with unction. He said, "Though waiting isn't quite my function 29 I much prefer this place to Essex Junction." I asked him for a quarter, paid up Jock, And said, "We'll now inspect another block." Great guide was Dante! He would not get lost on The crookedest old corkscrew street in Boston; He marched along — to tell the scenery Would strain my epical machinery And, since I have no other medium, I'm torn with terror at the tedium 'Twould take to tell you how these creatures carnal Bump down to Tophet from enclosures charnel, Like water dropping through a colander, Or a Kaiser turned to a count and Hollander. I have been hunting — 'twas monotony, For beast or bird I never shot any, And cheerfully I've cracked my Christmas walnut To find it half was worm instead of all nut, But would not have you call my epic dull 30 When you have cracked it on your bony skull. I've ploughed my mind — at least what's arable In hopes you'd chew this crop of parable. But I must hasten — being Dante's Boswell Is work that exercises both my jaws well. We came past lakes of sinners, where they burn 'em With ceaseless conflagration in aeternum, And Dante often cast a line to fish up A dessicated deacon or a bishop. I said, 'If saints like these are in the lurch, Where are those pesky pillars of the church Who praise a minister before his features, Then carp behind his back? They are the creatures Who praise a girl for teaching little kiddies. Then poison neighborhoods against her." "Hid is To Hellish wisdom panging pain sufficient To heckle hard enough such soul-deficient And facially-reduplicated folk." 31 My guide here paused to gag. Again he spoke, ''Hell's science will not always be infirm on The point, for we are using lots of German Advice since Hindenburg encountered trouble. But temporarily Beelzebub'll Refuse to take the folks with faces double Until the imps have split them into parts As many as their faces, each which smarts As if the total Tophet it had gotten — They split quite easily, they are so rotten.' ' "Contentedly he cuddled in the ooze," Wrote Mrs. Stratton-Porter of a frog, But like a hundred hiccoughing with booze. Or half a hundred bullfrogs on a log, I heard an orchestra of gulping sound. And looked where ninety imps were scattered round, Each doubled with his sternum on his stomach, Each crowned the crater of a brimstone hummock. Oh how the wretches retched in wretched woe. All gagging to the tune of Old Black Joe! 32 Just then the Kaiser cannoned through the roof, (Of late, you know, it has been rather leaky, And yet his passing didn't make a squeak, he So little was of soul.) No badge of hoof Or horn was needed for this person's proof. I knew not how he fell, so feathery His head was, but his heart was leathery. "Keep Watch upon his Rind,'' said Satan, turning Unto the imps, '^and keep the home fires burning r' But I had lost, as who of us has not? All interest in this boss of Herr von Gott. Across our road was an impediment Which stopped my making all the head I meant To make. It was a big asbestos coffin The imps were sending some poor fellow off in. They nailed him in (they used their tails for hammers) *'Why do you send him back?" the poet stammers. 33 TBubUm *'He was a politician," said the devil. 'Thofugh in his company on earth I revel, This venture was a failure. We, with unction, And bus and band met him at Judgment Junc- tion. We brought him where we thought he couldn't balk us. Crowded the room with devils to the wall. But he mistook us for an earthly caucus And never knew the difference at all. Last year the same mistake when a presiding Elder was shunted off on Pitchfork Siding. When we unloaded him, exhorterly He cried, 'Now please provide my salary!' He thought that I was Brother Mallory, And we a conference — the quarterly. Now, Dante, is there any courtesy That I can show? You'll tear your shirt I see For this poor verdant innovator's sake; You work so hard it almost makes me ache. I'll show you Vanderfeller from the larder 34 TBubhlea Or cubist artist, or a free verse bard, or Dust some Republicans stacked in the attic (This world has lately been so Democratic!) Or anything you want." Then Dante cried, ''Come down! Come down, where HelPs worst woe is tried And let us see, and let us hear him scream, Your sorest tortured soul in pain supreme !'' "With pleasm*e!'^ Satan said, and led the way Through mire, where snakes gigantic hissed at bay. Through blowing furnaces of choking coke, And seas of ink, where the Hearst papers soak. By all the horror of the Prussian trenches. Full dress receptions, ten artistic stenches. Past all which pains the ear or stumps the nasal Intake, the devil leads the way arid pays all The tips. At last he cried, "See yon abysses! 35 T3ubblt$ Eventually, why not now! O this is The place you sought, right bower, ace and joker Of all the tortures ! Dickon, fetch the poker !" I peered far down and saw a resident Resembling much our honored President. But something was amiss. The more they poked him. The more he laughed as if Mark Twain had joked him. The more they burned him with their fires infernal. The more he sang with happiness supernal. The more they grilled him with their cannon- ading. The more he danced with jubilee unfading. The devil sputtered, ''Get the bill of lading, There's something wrong!" ''Or shall I call the postman?" I ventured. "Shut your mouth or be a ghost, man!" 36 T5ub6le0 Said Satan, mad. "Were postal service chosen, He would not have arrived till this were frozen." (This with a gesture.) Up the burning bank He called an officer who bore the rank, Second Lieutenant, highest known on earth. "Immediately justify this mirth !'^ With mountain-shaking thunder roared the devil. "In harshest Hell why doth that mortal revel?" "Excuse me. Doctor Devil, he," I reckoned "Misunderstandeth your diplomacy." (It does look lame, writ in my pome, I see !) He flailed me with his peaked tail a second, Quite peeved that on his discipline I butted, His brows like rocks at Marblehead both jutted. The officer, as was his wont, saluted The devil, and thus the charges all confuted : 37 15u6file0 "This soul was sent us at three-j&fty-seven, By errcw, and should go at four-eleven. He for the New Jerusalem was freighted, But he got loaded wrong at Judgment Junction. (Trainmen are always careless of their function.) He was marked C. O. D. and nicely crated. We took him just to please him — haven't told him It isn't heaven (as he^believes) doth hold him. The place he came from was so mean and scrappy That he with this relief is very happy." I felt concerned, for no one should, or could row The navy of state like our heroic Woodrow. Just then I swooned, for flashing angels shone, And when I woke, we poets were alone. I asked of Dante, did he know New York? (A credit to the populating stork) He sobbed as sorrow of his life would rob him. 38 He wept, like bottles when you pull the cork, So much I had to take a mop and swab him. I cried, ''O bard who dost not fear a gate Of Hell, why take on so, and irrigate?" He sobbed, 'If I had known it earlier The pearly gates had opened pearlier To gulp me in. For who can write on Hell Unless he knows New York? You know it well?" I answered, with a few apologies. That I had lectured in its colleges And inter-state assemblies just a little, Also at banquets after eating victual. And in the Metropolitan Museum Have watched the pictures, for I love to see 'em. There, too, I met an oriental mummy Pickled so long that he was rather gummy. And from the summit of the Wool worth tower Gazing aghast, afar, a thrilling hour, I've seen the whole sublime, dumfounding show, 39 TSU 66100 With pismire autos crawling far below. And I have even gone at evening dewy To the celestial quarters of chop suey. But only once I found a son of Satan — In Stammer's bookstore on Fourth Avenue. (Perhaps he's gone — I hope they have a new And decent man the musty trade to wait on) He had no manners — I beg his pardon ! My conscience jabs me with a vicious jog; My fellow mortal I would not be hard on — He had — they were the manners of a hog." I, stopping to regard the somber bard on The smoke upholstered (petrified) old log Just heard, ''It's one of Tophet's biggest suburbs — It looks colossal if you've known but a scrub wr6s." We rose to go and Dante asked if I Would write to recommend him by and by, That is, if I approved him as a pilot. 'I'm glad," I said, "Such writing falls to my lot. For you and Virgil have the run of Hell, 40 TBubblts No other guides could learn it half so well, And Virgil's getting old." He bowed and stooped, Delighted that he had the business cooped. Then suddenly he cocked his eye and squinted Into my face. "What troubles you?" he hinted. "I'm doleful for each dismal dufferin Those deeps of senatorial suffering. I love so much our own good Dillingham That I could never think of grilling him. The father of a rural cleric, a Good father, best in all America Once told his booby boy in auld lang syne, There is your model dignified and fine, A noble gentleman!' And now 'tis night, And father's in his grave, and he was right. Besides, when dad was little, from a bully This statesman saved him. I respect him fully. And when I write up Hell's geography I'd think that such men from its bog are free." 41 "Well, did you see him here?" said Dante, gaunter With care, "The climate's hot for a Ver- monter." "Of Washington I've had a sniff, I can't Find necessarily significant A statesman's being absent from his pew, it Is frequent." Dante chortled then, "Why, Hewitt! When these arrived I saw them sally by, And I can swear your man an alibi." We walked where burning sulphur and blue smoke Resembled gloaming on July the Fourth, And Dante took my arm and kindly spoke Of me as poet (which is praise much worth.) I, modest, answered thus the bard sublime: "Not so, but I manipulate in rhyme A knack — a knack an academic hack (This measure cackles like a cuckoo clock, Or maybe hiccoughs) likes to kick and knock, But cannot kill. Ambition is eternal 42 And I am bound to be a bard infernal, Just like yourself! When I go back to earth, I'll write my own Inferno by my hearth!'' Then red with anger as a poppy, right On me he turned. " You steal my copyright? You dare not, plaigarist obstreperous. With imitated poems pepper us!" He, mad as Agamemnon, bitter bard. Gave me a kick jack-asinine and hard. Which hurled me out of Hell and broke the bars. Thence issuing, I again beheld some stars. November, 1919. 43 13u66le0 PARADISE AND THE FINANCIAL AGENT. One morn a steward at the gate Of Heaven stood disconsolate. (Appropriated nearly whole, That rhyme from Tommy Moore I stole.) That steward stood at the key-hole And whined in quavering voice and thin, ''Oh, please! I want to come like sin, O Simon Cephas Peter, in!" And Peter, puttering about. Said, drawHng, ''That I do not doubt. What did you do while you were out?" "My life I parsed without a smirch, Financial agent of the church On Greenhorn Hills of backwoods birch!" "And penniless left you in the lurch Your pastor?" "No, he had his pay, Each dollar, ere he went away, 44 '15u66le0 On Conference's opening day. Four hundred (oft my work was praised) Per annum dollars I have raised!" Saint Peter scratched his pate and gazed, And said, "Each year of all these years Leave you the salary in arrears Till Conference by coming clears The debt away? Thyself didst hump To hoard in one almighty lump The pay o'erdue by seven moons? Then, strutting midst thy fellow loons, Didst boast that thou so well hadst done What should have ended ere the sun Rose on the morning 'twas begun? To payless parson how shall come His intervening crunched crumb? How shall a payless parson put Shirt on his back or boot on foot? There is a natural body and There is a spiritual, understand I perfectly, but I insist By much that man the mark has missed 45 T3u66Ie0 Who, deep in indecorum, goes Around arrayed in spiritual clothes From natural neck to natural toes. Elucidate as I expect. Ere turns the pearly knob. Your disappointing, plain neglect Of your appointed job.^^ "O Simon Cephas Peter, see! I catch the cash more easily Within a week of Conference. And week by week to pay the pence Would, since I am so busy, bring Delay unto my sugaring. Or harrowing, or harvesting. Now I am ready to come in." But S. C. Peter grun a grin And said, "All pass these portals free Except financial agents. They Come on collected salary Which fully in advance we pay To reimburse them for the work Which they accomplished in the kirk." 46 "I waive all claims of any size,'^ That agent said, with tearful eyes, "Just let me sit in Paradise!'' But Peter answered, "Otherwise The Lord has willed. Your ticket here Is salary for one full year, Which we collect and pay." 'Then please," he snivelled now in fear, "To do it right away." "Oh no!" said Peter. "Wait a bit. Your ways we copy; hence We will attempt to gather it Just prior to the time we sit In Annual Conference." A terror took that tearful man. "0 Lord, how long," he said, "Before in Heaven sit I can, On milk and honey fed?" "Our Conference is closing now," Said Peter. "The next will be 47 'Bubbles In just one Heavenly year, and how 'Twill figure you may see. With a day of God's a thousand years, Three hundred days and sixty-five. Ten centuries long each one — grave fears I have that with a pair of steers You could walk around the Zodiac, Gee-hawing half the distance back, Ere Heavenward you arrive. Three-sixty-five the days are quite, But it is fair I should declare That since in Heaven is no night A day is quite a long affair." Read before the Vermord Conference, Richford, April, 1913. 48 13u66Ie0 HOMER^S SPILLIAD. Sing, Heavenly Muse, the wrath of me, A puling poet doomed to be; And since I would the critical nod earn. Sing like split of something modern! Your office is so far, I am So poor, send inspiration, ma'am. By telephone and cablegram; But sing like thunder — don't refuse, it's A song I want of Massachusetts, Not Ida, Ilion, or Greece, But automobile and police. Of invocation there is no more — I introduce my hero. Homer. Flat on his back, with gnashing teeth. His busted "benzine cart" beneath — While he was black with grease and dust. The air was blue with words he'd cussed. He thought a lot of other rot, too, 49 He couldn't quite express (ought not to) Before at last he fixed his auto. He wriggled out, attacked his dirt; He shook his coat, he brushed his shirt, He excavated both his ears; He washed his face, he combed the spears Of porcupiney pointing hair. Then cranking up his car he glided To where his lady love resided. Inquiring, Might he see her there? When met by maiden at the gate, The weather he had loudly lauded. ''You want my mistress?" Homer nodded. ''Respectfully I beg to state The lady thought it long to wait — Is riding with another fellow." Then red and green he grew and yellow And black at that announcement which Made him resemble jaundice, pitch, A Turner sunset, and the Itch. He turned away, he said his prayers — 50 13U661CS The servant thought so — they were swears — He stumbled o'er the family pet Whose purpose juvenile was set Upon the auto horn to toot; But Homer, ere he made a hoot, Repudiating his intention, Had spanked his — what I shouldn't mention. Then looking down the road afar, Receding, bounding o"'er a bar. He recognized his rivaPs car. "To ride with me the girl agreed — " He swore. *'At least I'll make them speed, And she shall see that cart of his As slow as Evolution is! I'll chase him down and show him up!" As bums get boozy by the bottle. Intoxicated by his cup Of rage, he hastened to unthrottle His leaping car and let her go. Recked he of consequences? No! No dread of fine nor law is his. 51 TBubblts Nor dollars, death, nor damages. He leaped into his seat, and oh! Full speed, he let her rip and go. He let her go, full speed, high gear — Sing, Muse, like the Old Harry here! — Oh down the dizzy road which swam In underneath the speeding car. He shot like lightning, grunting ''Damn!" As over every water bar He jumped with savage bumping bout. Half jiggling his intestines out. By turned-out team and dodging man And swirling trees he shrieked and ran Like candidates in politics. By pole and post, like whirling sticks Upon a hurricane leaping past. He sped, like a rifle bullet fast, And never aside an eye he cast. A cloud of dust behind him this Like Nebular Hypothesis — He neither knows nor cares a kiss. His hand is firm to guide and goad * The shooting car along the road. 52 15u66Ie0 By houses high and homely huts He glides and bounds and honks and squeals. A yellow dog beneath his wheels A geyser makes of blood and guts.* He gains upon his rival — see! One spurt more, neck and neck they'll be! *^Way, or I take a wheel!" he cried. His rival sped, and way denied. Like lightning still he chases him. It's Now (neither cares) the city limits. The houses and the folks grow thick Together and the latter sick With fear of death, as dodging quick The traffic scatters far and wide. Policemen pussy puff and stride And shout at Homer hot with hate, "M-A-S-S Six Thousand Eight! Stop or I shoot as sure as fate!" He scarce can turn to thumb his nose Ere on, full speed, high gear, he goes! * I don't know what this word means, but it must be some- thing pretty nice, for it was loudly applauded when General Edwards used it to describe our boys in France. 53 15ubbU$ A pistol crack, a tire is burst, But not till Homer crashes first Into his rivaPs car — both cursed. Like rockets flew a lamp and wheel And forty splinters — Hark! a squeal! Then from the wreck rose bitter moans Where, catapulted on the stones. The girl was hurled with cruel vim Which broke her leg — beg pardon — limbl — While Homer's car with sudden flop Capsized, but ere its final stop. He somersaulted to the top, Then tumbled down and struck a cop Full in the shins. At once pell mell he Went sprawling. The policeman's belly Upon him plumped to make him jelly. While Homer squirmed and kicked and wiggled The gleeful urchins gaped and giggled. When from the incumbent cop he wriggled, Upon his face the city gutter Had spread its dirt as thick as butter. 54 TBu6bIe0 He had to hawk and spit and sputter And blubber, ludicrous to utter. Ere thrice he stamped, ere twice he spat, The cop arose, picked up his hat And donned it — pot without a bail — And hustled Homer off to jail. Thanks, for assistance as desired. The epic's done. The Muse is fired. '25u66le0 AN AUTOMOBUBBLESOME TROUBLE- SOME SONG. Though Job he had troubles, And friends who deserved them all, Automobubbles Had never unnerved them all. Double His trouble An automobubble Will make for the patientest man. Who will crawl the car under, Profaner than thunder. To tinker it right if he can. O Solomon married A lot he ought not to. But what if he'd carried Them all in his auto? Double The trouble An automobubble 56 151166100 Would have made for that much married man. When he rides let him snub all His feminine club all He possibly peaceably can ! Naaman noble Who washed in the Jordan Washed no automobile, And couldn't afford one. For double His trouble An automobubble Will make for the man with the rag! Oh rub-a-dub-dub'll He rub all and scrub all The grime from the crank to the tag! Thy driving though, Jehu, We read it was furious. Cops never see you To speed law injurious. Double 57 15u66le0 Thy trouble An automobubble Would bring to a scorcher like thee, When called on the docket To empty the pocket For busting the city's decree! Even Jonah who sank In a whale that had swallowed him Broke not a bank And no bill ever followed him. Double His trouble If an automobubble Instead of a whale he had got, Which swallowed the prophet But came back to cough it Ashore, which the bubble doth not. 58 T5ubblt$ UNHOLY SCRIPTURES. Read from the Speaker* s chair before the Ver- mont Legislature at various intervals in the Mock Sessions of 1913 and 1915. On Certain Ultimate Rites: {Enter the Chaplain in full clerical raiment, with open hook. After him the Sergeant-at- Arms, with a huge coffin being carted out by the janitor and the fireman. These come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.) Chorus of Spectators, Feet first down the corridor Cart that corpse, 'tis horrider Than any other you can find from Canada To Florida. Chorus of Members, Our reputation's dead ! The member from Peru 59 13u66le0 Has knocked it in the head, Has talked it very dead, Boo! Hoo! Hoo! Chorus of Spectators. To the weird lamentation We listen, we hark us. Their own reputation. Oh that is the carcass. And what could kill such? Oh listen then, hark! 'Twas taking too much Peruvian Bark! On Divers Celebrities: The doorkeeper said with a grin To a child with a chattering chin, "This wisdom and virtue, I think it won't hurt you; Come in, little kiddie, come in!" Said the member from Londonderry *'l much prefer to have nary 60 A law upon game. Please abolish that same, It is very contemptible, very!" The committee commanded by Proctor Made a sawdust bill which shocked a Member (McClellan) , Who came at her yellin' And skeeder-e-deedle he knocked her. When the Overpass matter we dinned on, The eminent member from Lyndon To eternity blew 'The whole how-de-do" By turning a lot of his wind on. On the Bull Moose Orator: Hark! 'Tis Jose, the gent from Johnson, Singing his refrain. Talking all the time he wants on Eminent Domain ! 61 T5i!66le0 On Hapgood and His Two Mortal Foes: O Happygood out of Peru, If any say aught against you He will soon have a tilt on With Coburn of Milton And Ryder of Rockingham too! On Introducing Dr. Coburn of Milton: A divinity doctor am I And a doctor of medicine he; So you see our diversities lie Not in kind but in only degree. Where the lines of our studying fall There we follow them, differing still; For I read the Epistles of Paul, And he the apostles of Pill. We agree disagreeably now, But, doctor, we may not forget Though no Saint of the Pillar art thou, Thou art a piller of saints — better yet! 62 If I lie at the door of the death Your doctoring helpeth me through. If you lie, little more than a breath Bringeth down all my doctrine on you. Then, medice, mortal, and worm, I'll endeavor your devils to ban If merry in terra so firm You will keep me as long as you can. On the Last Day of School: Now as sure as death and taxes Legislature's over. Earth flops round upon its axis, Just the same old rover; But the onset on the "offset" And all things like that are Done. Here's pay. The state which coughs it Up is glad you scatter. Though we kicked and cuffed, all quarter Asking, giving, never. Don't you kind of think we ''ort ter" Be firm friends for ever? 63 15u66Ies On Balaam's Livery Stable: Balaam, to and fro to pass, Bought, long ago, one little ass; Balaam now, grown better able. Builds a granite livery stable; And that stable is the great house Common people call the state house. Balaam's beast ate oats and hay. His temper was a mild one; But his posterity to-day Live on their f our-per-diem pay, And take no oats but wild ones. Balaam's beast (see Bible) got Excited and right in did butt. It took a miracle to ope The mouth which now we dare not hope That any miracle could shut; For when to Balaam's barn you come, You hear, on any day. From morning's dawn to gloaming's gloam, Resounding far away. From cellar door to golden dome, One universal bray. 64 I?u661e0 BLINK OF THE MOON. When Bill came home at Halloween, The drunkest mortal ever seen By the blinking moon at middle night, He staggered left, he staggered right, For past the middle of October, It^s difficult to keep quite sober. He chuckled, "That was bully cider! By gosh, I wish this road were wider And went the same way all the time. Vd give that meeting-house a dime. If when the highway crooks, the dunce Would not crook 'round both ways at once." (It's understood his words came thick up. But when we write we skip the hiccough.) Then heavenward he cocked his eye. Threw back his head and slapped his thigh, While chuckling laughter shook his throat. Amused to see four moons afloat 65 TSubbUs In skies that used to have but one. All nature joined in Billy's fun And paid him deep respect tonight. Who ever saw a church polite Enough to poor wayfaring people To bow ''Good eve" with nodding steeple? Bill staggered, backed, and made a lurch. Then stopped, and to the nodding church Took off his hat, and with a bow Gulped, ''Glad to meet you anyhow!" There was a puddle in the road Wherein the moon reflected showed. "My head feels big as Camel's Hump, I guess I'll set down on this stump And rest awhile," Bill said. The same He did, and didn't miss his aim. The splash put Billy in a muddle. "By gosh it is a cider puddle And not a stump!" He bent and drank Then spat, with face an utter blank. And said, "There's just one thing to say, And that is. Brethren, Let us pray!" 66 He sat awhile in thought, looked silly, Then staggered up, for it was chilly, And mumbled, "Guess I ought to, maybe. Tell mother she must mind the baby!" Then blazed his anger out to see By yonder moonlit cemetery Somebody, staggering around And reeling over yards of gnound. Look straight at him in mockery As if he thought him drunk to be. Bill rushed, and o'er the culprit's head He raised his fist. "Take that!" he said; And striking, cracked his knuckle bone On Granny Glidden's tall gravestone. Oh far asquint his vision went Who took for man a monument ! Alas! O Bill, the deed is done! Twere better to burn thy bosom bone r In Hell, to make thy ribs a roast. Thy heart a hash, to spit thy liver. For deed like thine hath no f orgiver ! (57 13ulJ&le0 Oh then upstarted Granny's ghost! Bill gazed aghast, stiff as a post. ''Oh who is he? Oh who is he?'' With eldritch screaming uttered she, ''Who dares so wicked for to he As knock my gravestone over meV The words, so fearfully she shot 'em, Bill lost his balance as he caught 'em. And, open mouthed, sat on his bottom. That beldam, dead a hundred years. Yanked off his head clean to his ears. And down her coffin's empty shell She dumped it bounding down to Hell. With lank and corpsey clammy hand She snatched a pumpkin from the land, A hollow pumpkin, green and great. And clapped it on him for a pate. So Bill went home in sorry fix And straightway entered politics. One glance upon his head men give. Then vote him representative. 68 15u66Ie0 LINES Omitted by Mistake From BUCHAN'S ANCIENT BALLADS OF THE NORTH. Hynde William was a Poet bauld Wha raise at half past three Whan inspiration came till him, Says *'Wull ye write or dee?" Nimbly, nimbly raise he up, And nimbly pat he on. And nimbly sat he doun at desk Until his task was done. Then he's awa to editor^s yetts And tirled at the pin. **0 sleep ye, wake ye, editor, Ye'll rise and lat me in." He turned him right and round about, That editor, did he; *'0 where will I find a little wee boy, Will open the yetts for me?" 69 "0 here am I, a little wee boy, Will open the yetts for thee. Now Heaven thee save, thou brave editor, Now Heaven thee save and see'/' The first an pull he gave the door He saw him, cheek and chin; The next an pull he gave the door Hynde William walked right in. Then out an spake that poet bauld "Now Heaven thee save and see. For I hae written a braid poem Which thou shalt print for me." He had not scanned a line at a' Nor read a line but ane, Before that editor lusty was To break his collar bane. "O wae mat worth ye, Hynde William, Ye'se get a berry-brown steed And gang awa to gude squeel-house And ken to write and read." 70 "0 rede me, rede me, brother dear, My rede shall rise at thee. Win up, win up, Sir Editor, Ye'se hear these lines o' me." He had not heard a line, a line, A line, but barely four, He pat his thumb until his nose And pointed till the door; He turned him right and round about, Wi' mony waefu' swears; "O busk ye, busk, my merry men all And kick him doun the stairs! "And gin he be a single man His bodie I'll give to thee. But gin he be a married man High hangit shall he be." O forty yards off editor's yetts 'Tis twenty stairs below Where lies the guid hynde William kicked By prowess of his foe. 71 T5ubfile» Sair, sair is William^s head, And sair at heart is he; He hath for his braid poem got No gowd nor white monie. And he's awa to gude green-wood As fast as he could gang, And wi' a crack his heart did break, And sae this ends the sang. July 26, 1910. 72 15u6Me0 BRIDGET O'BRIEN. Bridget O'Brien And I For Ireland sigh on The sly For the Emerald Island Of Ireland, my land, 1 dream and I smile and I cry. But Paddy O'Brien I fought Till the fool had to lie on His cot. He was drunken and blinking; So never once shrinking I told him the thinking I thought. "O Paddy O'Brien, why, T5u66le0 When the prices are high on Good rye, Why not stick to the water The way that you ought ter? You're a lot straighter trotter When dry!'* But Paddy O'Brien Would not . Quit keeping his eye on The pot Of liquor — its lover He lived in the clover And wobbled all over The lot. But Bridget O'Brien Would cry, The tear would not dry on Her eye. ''0 Paddy, my laddie, O is he so bad, he To Satan will gad?" He Will try. 74 T5u66le0 So Paddy O'Brien, The sot, One day had to die on The spot. In the graveyard a gash is, The priest with wet lashes Says, "Ashes to ashes WeVe got." So Bridget O'Brien And I For Ireland sigh on The sly. For the Emerald Island Of Ireland, my land, We'll sail in a while — and Good'hye! 75 T5ubblt$ DUNCAN BLISS. Grips a grief the heart like this, Not to have a dearie, Sweetheart or wife, to kiss When the world gets weary? No, decided Duncan Bliss, Calling on his dearie. That was why he stole a kiss, By the ingle cheery. Wicked work it was, I wis, But he didn't fear he Would be cuffed for kissing this Saucy little dearie. "Don't you want to marry. Miss? I will help you, dearie." "Duncan, you donkey, yes! Waiting makes me weary!" 76 TSuhmts LONGING. When gipsies in the gloaming go The daisied banks between, And orioles are singing low Along the village green, The cares of church I would resign And all the state's annoy, And be as long, in auld lang syne, A farmer's hap^y boy. 77 13u66Ie0 THE FAILURE. His heart was so full that he couldn't help singing, So singing he dared. Some noticed with laughter, but nobody listened, And nobody cared. While softly the laureate poets went smiling Through flattering throngs. He crushed out of sight, with a heart that was breaking. His little dead songs. 78 13u66Ie0 POLLY FOSS. Polly Foss the fields across Heard the cow bell tinkle. Polly, calling "Bossy, Boss," Came with eyes atwinkle. Pastures green, the bars across, Buttercups besprinkle. And they toss at Polly Foss — '*Ho ! Here's Billy Winkle !" Farmer Foss, come get your "boss"- Tinkle—tonkle— tinkle ! Polly's on the mouiid of moss — So is Billy Winkle! 79 '23u66Ie0 SONG OF PUMPKIN BLOSSOM HILL. Sing a song of pumpkin blossoms, Yellow how they shine! Sprawling greener than a bean or Ivy crawls the vine. Polly picked a pumpkin blossom, Put it on her hat. Billy grumbled while she fumbled, ''Naughty girl was that!" "I should have a pumpkin blossom Nodding on my top, Silly bumpkin, since a pUmpkin Head you carry—'' ''Stop!" Chasing through the pumpkin blossoms Tripped a tangled toe, Two a sprawling in the crawling Vines together go. 80 Rolling in the pumpkin blossoms, Soon he picked her up, Tousled, tumbled, but unhumbled — Gurgling laughter cup ! "Pay for picking pumpkin blossoms; Take your talking back!" Polly wouldn't, so (he shouldn't) But he stole a smack ! 81 T3u66le0 IN HUSKING TIME. Hallelujah! How the clarion Of the rooster calls the morn ! Bring the basket for the husking Of the golden ears of corn. Golden is the sun, and golden Balls of pumpkins fill the floor; To the golden hills of autumn Open wide the double door. Blessed barn to face the sunrise Haloing the stacks of stooks. Rustle, rustle! We are happy Nestling in our cosey nooks, Husking corn that is as yellow As a wedding ring, or red As an apple, or the ruby, Or the lips of Brownie-head. Rustle! Rustle! Rip the husk off! Gurgle, bubble! Laughter clear! 82 15u 66100 Rattle, rattle in the basket — When I find a ruby ear Brownie-head will let me kiss her Sweetest spot that I may pick! Rustle! Rip! O ruby kernels — Go away, you reader , quick! T5u66Ie0 THE WITCHERY OF THE WEIRD. O hist ye, hist! And have ye seen The owl in the branches bare? 'Tu-whit! Tu-whoo! 'Tis Halloween!" He hoots to the haunted air. In silhouette against the moon, On the pasture hill remote, The dismal cow uplifts a croon Out of her hollow throat. Devils are dancing on the green Now black with lifeless leaves, And sail the hags of Halloween Over the cottage eaves. Their broomsticks on the windy waves Shiver and dip, till soon The ghosts come creeping out of their graves. Under the gibbous moon. 84 15u6file0 The man in the moon is grinning back At the witchery of the night, And the gibbering jack-o-lan terns crack A smile at the silly sight. 85 15u66Ie0 OLD TATE. Death took the wind for a mop stick, He took the surf for a swab, He wiped old Tate from the slate of Fate And whistled at the job. 'Tis a hundred years thereafter. But the wild old widow walks; Death dare not touch the like of such In one of her grizzled locks. And that is why by the midnight sky On the lonely Isles of Shoals A hag will yell like hollow Hell When the flood tide breaker rolls. And that is why I would rather lie Naked out in the night For snakes all black to creep on my back Than to come into her sight. March 27, 1913. T5u66le0 OUR MAIDEN VOYAGE TO THE ISLES OF SHOALS. With an undulant motion, Long, lazy and rocking. We sailed on the ocean, The mal de mer mocking. In the midst of our laughter The lasses were paling — "Look aft! and look after Them!" — bowed on the raihng. (Now shame on the lassie, Before we could stop her. To Neptune so sassy As toss him her supper !) And still on the ocean Our motor went walking, With an undulant motion. Long, lazy and rocking. Hampton Beach, July, 191 L 87 1Sii66Ie0 RHYMING THE BOOMING BRINE. In the laziness on Hampton Beach we lay And fashioned rhymes to fool the time away. A mother on her Baby Blue-eyes looked At play, and dreamily her rhy toe she booked : "Blue pail and yellow paddle, And tousled curls of yellow, And dimpled legs that straddle The sinky sands so mellow, The gladdest baby Living may be This bubbling little soul With eyes like sun-up, taking Delight aUke in making A castle or a hole.'' And then a lover with his heart awhirl, (Just ere he left us) wrote 'The Bathing Girl:" 88 15u6l)Ic0 'Ten tiny toes that trip at ease The ocean sands of afternoon, A lassie tousled by the breeze — Were ever such laughing lips as these? Her legs are naked to her knees And white as the twilight moon, And laughingly the lapsing seas Will lave them soon — O blessed waves and ocean breeze To have the boon!" The green landlubber then mislaid his wit And wrote his rhyme without the use of it: "Gosh! They've got a Loto' Water More 'n they oughter In the sea! This is not a Place for me!" "You carnal clod!" we cried, but he was gone. Just as the priest gave us his rhyme to con : 89 TBu66Ie0 "Why moans the sea for evermore? It moans that soon will be Fulfilled the doom foretold of yore, 'And there was no more sea' " "0 strolUng sailor boy in navy blue, Before you pass us by, what rhyme have you?*' "The sapphire sea is under me, The sun by the zenith hung, The sky is like an azure bell, The sun its tolling tongue. The sky is a bluebell — we go Over the sky-blue sea With sails that are whiter than the snow, Bright angels winging free!'' When suddenly a rhyme from me they sought, I only wrote the simple thing I thought: "In Heaven there is no more sea — I do not ask for more; I only wish that there may be As much as sang for you and me On Hampton's happy shore." 90 T5u66Ie0 GLIS. A glossy and airy j Young fairy is this, i A glorious fairy, j The glittering Glis. j \ Ten stars in the sky 1 1 And the moon doth he claim; He is big as a fly And to glory doth aim. He is airy and light In aerial dances ^ And fearless in fight -