Title Imprint. Ift— *7372-8 a^o 'T *B«>MHHHMIMHMIB«atM«N Dreams Idle Hour By Heiuy D&yis Middlelon DREAMS -OF AN IDLE HOUR -*g«i>^^— BY HENRY DAVIS MIDDLETON CHICAGO LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two Copies Received FEB 13 1909 Copynijiii i^f'try _ 4 5^ ^ ^ COPYRIGHT 1908 By HENRY DAVIS MIDDLETON Advocate Publishing Co. Distributors 287 E. Thirty-Firat St. CHICAGO To my Sister Edythe this Volume is Affectionately Dedicated TABLE OF CONTENTS ^/•" '%/*■ •>*■ .^•K ^m^^ ^PS PART I BITS OF VERSE The Door 7 The Flowery Meadows of May 8 I know a Paradise Apart 8 Ballade of a Belle 9 Self -Reliance 10 Ballad of an Evening Carol 11 Knowledge 12 Cupid's Defiance 12 Billy's Weddin' 13 A Kingdom of Delight . . 15 The Shepherd's Find , .... 15 Sonnet of a Summer's Eve 16 The Song of the Shadows 16 Mirandy at Church 17 You Fain Would Know 19 The Noblest Conquerors 19 A Maiden's Smile 20 Ballad of a Summer Bower 20 The Universal Wealth 21 W. E. Burghardt Du Bois 22 The Press 22 Ise Jes Bongry Fo' a Meal ... 23 Rondeau- To the Absent One 26 Progressive Sambo Brown 27 Frederick Douglass 29 Ballade— Tantalizin' Brown 30 Sonnet— The Wayfarer 31 Dat De-Paht Mental Sto' 31 Ballade of the Simple Life 35 Ballade of the City Boarder 36 Ballade of Hats and Heads 37 Ballade of Human Bliss ■ 38 A Ballade of Dreamland 39 Mai'ag-e An' Divo'ce 40 When Mable Sings 43 Ten Queer Tales of a Tale-Teller 44 Ballade of Tainted Coin 46 Ballade of Woman's Rights , 47 Sonnet— Tidings of Immortality 48 Rondeau 48 Retrospection 49 -^ ^^ ^y*-. PART II BITS OF FICTION The Flight of the Fearless 52 The Sacrifice of Richard Blair 54 "Daddy" Green's Blasphemy 58 The Ebonville Woman's Club 63 H) THE DOOR. ^ ^ ^i* ESPAIR and darkness veil the rug-g-ed way That winds o'er crag- and barren plain and moor, Where plods the fearless freedman, day by day, Up to the open door. Through the wide portals beacons break the gloom Now shadows flee, the night is almost o'er; And in the gloaming dusky freedmen loom With iaith, simple and pure. O, cruel fate that beckons and betrays, That shatters hope and fair forebodings dim. All, all seems lost, labor of nights and days, The door is barred to him. Exile or alien from far distant shores, Find a warm welcome wait their wiles or wares. While noble natives languish at the doors. Denied their honest shares. Relent, arrogant censors, heed his call. Nor mock his pains nor mimic his sad plight. Your fate is tempted by his rise or fall Rather than by your might. Then let the portals open full and free. The lustrous light its obscure threshold bare. Merit alone should be the master key. Let all the worthy share. 7 THE FLOWERY MEADOWS OF MAY. >i» >? ii» i[N spring time when robins call over the lea, Forsaking- their pictures and toys, Gay frolicksome children, from winter bonds free, Repair to the meadowy joys; Then life is relieved of its burden and pain As I list to their prattle and play. And I sue for the sparkle of childhood again In the flowery meadows of May, In spring time when hill side and hedge are abloom And fond lovers aimlessly stroll Through pastures that breathe the sweet violet's perfume, O'er clover-leafed green sward and knoll; Then I dream of the happiest days that I know When life is young and gay, And I long for the maiden with heart all aglow In the flowery meadows of May. The beautiful city now loses its charm; Its gardens and palaces fair I fain would exchange for a cottage and farm And a breath of the pure country air. I weary of turmoil and bustle and strife; 'Tis now I would hie me away And rest from the arduous duties of life, In the flowery meadows of May. I KNOW A PARADISE APART. li* ii» ^ ip^RINCES of fortune, fads and chance, " Beau Brummels of the present day; Sir Knights who don the sword and lance And bravely join the martial fray, Ye swear by all your gods, they say, Your castles have no counterpart. Hark ye to this refrain, I pray — I know a paradise apart. Ye cads who prate with nonchalance And ribald raptures oft displa}^ Dashing devotees of the dance In which you madly whirl and sway, Your pleasures are of yesterday, Mere relics of a waning art; For pleasures that defy dismay — I know a paradise apart. Daughters whom beauty doth enhance, Nimrods seeking their nimble prey, Heroines of some sad romance. The poor, the rich in grand array, Each wanders in his wonted way. In blind pursuit of pleasure's mart To Eden's doomed unto decay — I know a paradise apart. l' envoi. Prince, where the brooklet winds its way. Where nature's balm revives the heart. In Woodland green, in woodland grey — I know a paradise apart. BALLADE OF A BELLE. >? i<» ^ *n AINT no tantalizin' brown, Ise jest es black es I kin be, But yet de boys all hangs aroun' Somehow dey likes tew visit me. Sometimes es high es two an' three. Besides ma bestes feller Bill Calls roun' at once bekase, yo' see, I is de Belle ob Ebonville. X I caintplay notes lak Mandy Brown, Ef I should tech an orgin key I wouldn't know what note hit soun' I doan keer 'bout no harmony; Yet all de boys 'bout heah agree Dat Ise de only gal kin fill De demands ob sassiety; I is de Belle ob Ebonville. Nig-ht time I kin alius be foun' A-fixin' fo' ma company; All dressed up in ma gingham gown I settles down tew pour de tea; Ob nice hot chicken frigazee Dey all sets down an' eats tew kill, An' den we has a jubilee; I is de Belle ob Ebonville. L ' ENVOI, Gals, you might hab mo' pedigree Dan I has ebber seed, but still Sence you jes kin not cook lak me I is de Belle ob Ebonville. SELF-RELIANCE. ^ i<» w IKE ornate trailing vines of vernal spring. Whose tendrils grasp the infirm tree and cling,- As 'round its frail support it winds its way Till firmly tethered to its weakened stay, — So pliant man is oftimes found entwined Around the trite ideals the world designed — Weak tenets that appear to casual eyes To be the strongest bulwark of the wise. How easy 'tis for man to stoop or bend; To grasp the world's opinion and ascend, Or, easier still, it is in solitude 10 This quaint unstable propping- to elude And wind about a trellis weaker still — The frail creation of a biased will. But he alone achieves the noblest ends Who from these false supports warily trends, And with inborn discretion trails away Prom proffered stays, susceptive to decay. Nor deigns to rest incumbent on the base That underlies the world's prescribed place. BALLAD OF AN EVENING CAROL. ^ *? >^ 'fJ^OMEWARD, a weary toiler, I depart From the day's duties happy to refrain And have a respite from the busy mart. With its pert problems that benumb the brain, Until the morrow beckons me again. Methinks sometimes that 'tis an angel bright, Whose cadence falls from far-off heaven's height— I know not who or where the singer be, But in a voice full soft and sweet and light From out the calm a carol comes to me. Since books of love, of logic and of art Doth serve to soothe, instruct and entertain, To these I turn with all my mind and heart Till fact and fiction deft doth me enchain Among their meshes so discreetly lain; But while for labor these would fain requite. With fearless tread there comes a proselyte. And like a rippling wavelet of the sea. That thrills the heart and stirs the soul's delight, From out the calm a carol comes to me. Bantering breezes curtained portals part, Bearing the breath of meadow and of plain, As to allure where Cupid with his dart 11 Awaits the advent of some guileless swain On grassy plot with maid demure and vain; But while the breezes linger to invite, The blithesome echoes stir the lonely night, And now I know I'm happy and I'm free For, like the notes of song-birds when in flight, From out the calm a carol comes to me. l' envoi. Prince, let the weary hie to country site. Leave me to bear the brunt of summer's blight; Content am I, away from mount and sea. Since every eve, soft as the moon beam's light, From out the calm a carol comes to me. KNOWLEDGE. >j9 t2« ij9 ' TTIS like some massive mount that lifts with pride Its jagged snow-capped dome above the plain. Where lowly hills aspire to obtain To its far heights where fleet-winged falcon hide. Puerile men ascend its rugged side, Scale its steep cliffs with all their might and main To cull in triumph from the heights they gain A trivial trophy the wan peaks provide. The prudent pause a moment at its base, Survey in wonder its great altitude, Adroitly delve beneath the soil and sedge Where richest veins of lore and truth they trace; Abiding wealth its fluent depths seclude Seek and secure, 'tis each one's privilege. CUPID'S DEFIANCE. *«» ^ »<» •TrHE fleeting sun southward long since has sped. And from the West the sunset's ruddy glow Gleams with resplendence on the spotless snow That hill and housetop, mantle like, o'erspread. 12 The snow-crowned serrate peaks, once drear and dead, Luminous lustre lend the glades below Where the green holly and the mistletoe Supplant the summer's dormant flower-bed. Commingled with the sound of sleighing bells, That mock the monotone of wintry hours. Laughter and lay of lovers loudly ring, Reverberating through the distant dells. Ah! who would pine for spring with gladsome flowers Since Cupid dare defy the icy king! 1[ BILLY'S WEDDIN'. ^ ^ 1^ WAS 'vited tew a weddin' At our chu'ch de udder night, Yo' jes orter bin en seen it Po' hit sho' was outer sight. An' ob all de puddy weddins Dat you ebber heerd dem tell, Dat dar weddin' was de finest, Lawd! I tell yo' hit was swell. Dem folks had fetched a cyarpet What dey laid frum door to street So de cummin bridal pahty Could protec' dere tender feet An' dat chu'ch was des a bloomin' Lak a gharden en de spring When de sun es shinin' brightly An' de birds des 'gin ter sing. An' de people at dat weddin' — Dey was dressed lak queens an' kings In der silk an' satin dresses An' der sparklin' di'mon rings, 13 An' der shinin' patent leathers An' tall hats so sleek and span, — I jes tell yo' dat dar weddin' Was de finest in de Ian'. Dem 'lectic lights a-shinin' Lit dat chu'ch es brig-ht es day, An' de flo'rs on de railin' Look des lak deys fix ter stay; An' de pews — dey was jes crowded; All de people ob dis town Seems tew me hed bin envited An' sum mo' fo' miles aroun'. "When at las' dat pahty drived up Wid de hosses prancin' gay Den dey staht dat orgin goin' An' sech music dey did play! Fust 'twas rollin' jes lak thunder, Den hit chuned up lak er ban'; Say, — dat was de bes'tes music Ebber happened in dis Ian'. Dar de pahsun stood a-waitin' While de pahty marched ahead; When dey had reacht de railin' Dis es what he slowly said: "Billy, will yo' hab dis 'oman Fo' tew be yo' wedded wife? Will yo' feed an' keep an' clothe her- Only her all tru dis life?" "Yes, suh! Yes, suh!" Billy answered Den he axed Cinda de same Whuther she would hab ole Billy, Den she spoke up kinder shame, "Yes I'll hab an lub an suv him — Only him all tru dis life." An' de pahsun answered, "Amen". Cinda den was Billy's wife. U A KINGDOM OF DELIGHT. ^ *? ^ (A DITTY.) CflHE is my sovereig-n queen and I her king-, Her soul's my domain and my heart's her throne; Our edicts are the love songs oft we sing, Within our little kingdom all alone: She is my sovereign queen and I her king. The scepter rests within her sparkling eyes, With which she oft absolves each threatening blight, Love's precepts wield the wooing powers I prize. Was ever there such kingdom of delight? She is my sovereign queen and I her king! THE SHEPHERD'S FIND. i<» ^ ^ CJi LOWLY the darkening shades of night descend, The azure sky with black is overcast, And silenced is the solemn clear cut blast Of herdsmen's trump that rill and ravine rend. Upon the plains prone lay they who defend Their corraled charge; they peer into the vast Black density of space: they rise aghast, A brilliant star odd omen doth portend. 'Twas this bright star that lit the shepherd's way. And led unto the lowly manger near. Where lay unheraled and and uncrowned a king. Follow the star, ye nations and obey The precepts of the angel's anthem clear, "Peace, peace on earth, good will to men," they sing. 15 SONNET OF A SUMMER'S EVE. ^ »? >? CJilLVERY moonbeams rest upon the sea, And where the storm-cloud streaked with dismal gloom The azure skies of the bright summer's noon, The star-set heavens twinkle gloriously. Each blade of grass and every twig and tree, Seemingly join in the harmonious tune, Brooklet and zephyr waft in joyous June, To distant hills lounging beyond the lea. 'Tis such a night all nature lends its charm, Cupid is wont to loiter 'mong the dells. Where, 'neath the overhanging oaken boughs, Whose canopy of half-extending arms Defy the vigil of love's sentinels, Into light hearts his arrow lightly plows. THE SONG OF THE SHADOWS. ^ ii» 1^9 CJlOFTLY the shadows of evening are falling. Mountain and moorland and meadow now fade; What mystic music there seems to be calling, Over the grass-covered hillock and glade. Fine feathered songsters have ceased with their singing. Somber, in silence that soothes and enthralls. They hear the song that the shadows are bringing, "Hie thee now home ere the eventide falls." Briskly the brooklet flows back to the ocean, As though obeying the echo that calls; Frolicking children attend with devotion, "Hie thee now home ere the eventide falls," 16 Prom yon gray chamber a spirit has vanished, Flown to a clime where the nig^ht ne'er appalls; The song- of the shadows all sorrow has banished, "Hie thee now home ere the eventide falls," MIRANDY AT CHURCH. *? >^ >? •fl WENT las' Sunday mawnin — Lawd, I jes caint stay awaj?^ — Fust time Ise bin tew preachin Sence some time way back in May, Case I'd swo' I'd nebbah go dar Sence dat highfilutin crowd Jes sot an' grin an' giggle Ef I'd shout an' holler loud. Well, I got dar kinder early Lak I'd alius done, yo' know, Thinkin' dat I'd fine hit crowded Frum de pulpet tew de doah — Lawd, yo'se mightily mistakin' Ef yo' thinks Ise talkin' wrong- When I say dere warnt 'nuff members Fo' tew raise de openin' song. Den dere warnt no amen connah Lak dey haid long time ago When Brer Jonnson was de pahsun An' ole Rastus kep de doah, Whar we'd set an' watch 'im preechin While he tole us 'bout de Ian' Whar de good lawd's gone tew fix us Wid his pure an' holy han. Den dey had a great big" orgin Sittin' high up in de back What dey played befo' de preechin' — Sum ole chune I nebbah lak; 17 I doan blieve in org-in music Dat dey uses dese yah days Lak as if de people's voices Warnt in chune dem songs tew raise. Well, dat pahsun rized up slowly An' lined out de openin' song, Hit was led wid orgin music An' de people jined along, But hit nebbah 'peared tew touch dem Lak de songs we use tew raise, Wen Brer Johnson was de pahsun In dem good ole happy days. Den at las' dey got tew preachin' An' de pahsun tuk de stan'; But he nebbah tech de Bible — Tuk a papah in his han'. Den away he went a readin' Wid a voice fus high den low Now a pintin hind de pulpet Den a pintin t'wards de doah. He aint nebbah made no menshun 'Bout de Scriptur' dat I heerd, Dough I lis'en still en silence At de fall av ebry wurd; But he talk 'bout men an' nashuns, 'Bout de mountains an' de rills 'Bout de rainbows an' de ocean An' de grander ob de hills. Well, I sot right still an' wondered Tell de pahsun said "Les' pray;" But dey nebbah kneel down 'umbly Lak we done in our day, Some jes bowed dey haids en silence, Some was lookin' 'roun er about, 18 1? While some udders rized up peartlj'' An' went slowly walkin' out. Well I'm gittin' ole an' feeble An' I aint got long- tew stay 'Mong"st dis younger ginnerashun Dats a takin' on dis way, Mougtity soon I'll jine dem udders Dats dun lef me long ago When Brer Johnsun done de preechin An' ole Rastus kep' de doah. YOU FAIN WOULD KNOW. ^ >? ^e* OU fain would know, fair one, whose love I sue? (Paper I have of every shade and hue And pens galore with which to make my plea.) Would I could write my secret, full and free The unsuspecting love I have for you. Chide not now, dearest, since I fail to woo, With these utensils; Speech I have in lieu. Yet my lips fail to phrase that love, so true, You fain would know. Some silent night of splendor when we two. Stray through the starlit grove where fond adieu. So oft we make; Then look, love, see Deep in my heart and soul the love for thee Buried and hidden; you'll find there the clew. You fain would know. THE NOBLEST CONQUERORS. ^ ^ ^ ^TILL feebler the harsh clash of arms resound, Hushed is the far-fetched din of cannonade; Unvanquished warriors, wary, unafraid In noble triumph leave the battle ground. Undimmed their glory, unalloyed the sound 19 Of copious praise both bard and sag-e essayed; Throughi endless years their triumplis are conveyed, To every clime where mortal man is found. Nobler are those, adept in martial strife, Who battle not 'gainst foe on land or sea Nor seek reward of temporal power or pelf, But ever anon on the field of life Do single handed gain the victory; Noblest are they who bravely conquer self. A MAIDEN'S SMILE. ii» i«» ^ •n\AKING my way along the crowded street, I met a maiden, merry, chaste and fair. Soft as the breeze that rufded her smooth hair. With cheeks all rosy, lips tiny and sweet, Lithe as a fairy, dainty and discreet. Bright little eyes — a veritable lair, Where who once looks must ever linger there. I wist not whence nor whither her retreat For she appeared and vanished as a dream, But this I know, unmindful of the throng, On me she smiled, and as is dawn to day So to my heart the moment was supreme; For my soul's sadness, melting into song, Soared lil^e the sun far o'er the steep's survey. BALLAD OF A SUMMER BOWER. ^ 1? ^ /^UITE often in the summer bright, ^^ When maidens fair are wont to wed And all of winter's chilly blight Sleeps 'neath the bower of roses red, Just she and I the by-paths thread. Where none so well as Cupid knows. 20 She rests upon a grassy bed — Her breast the place of my repose. She is so fairy like, so slight. Her eyes such charming beauty shed That when she smiles such cheerful light And luster the fair scene o'erspread It seems all save her charms have sped — Sweeter by far than the sweet rose About this bridal bower spread — Her breast the place of my repose. Then as the summer takes its flight, And in its wake there comes instead Autumnal days of calm delight, Still by the mystic Cupid led We oft, betimes, the old paths thread, Ere leafless bower would fain disclose Our resting place when summer's fled — Her breast the place of my repose. L ' ENVOI. TTHERE is no language live or dead Can half express how my heart glows. When she but lets me rest my head — Her breast the place of my repose. THE UNIVERSAL WEALTH. ^ »^ >^ ?a N heritage awaits the pristine breath That marks the advent of each cherub's birth; A vast inheritance of regal worth; It is a talent given until death. The Divine Patron freely ventureth, With all His joint-heirs of the somber earth A goodly share; no scarcity, nor dearth; "To every man his portion," thus he saith. 21 This is the wealth a Croesus fain would choose In exchang-e for his perishable gold, And the affluence penurious spendthrifts waste; A bounty this the prudent oft abuse. Use thou with care this blessing- manifold, The ivealth of time, nor its disbursement haste. ^ W. E. BURGHARDT DU BOIS. ^ 1^ li* IS his, the task, to train the pliant youth. And plead for those who suffer for no sin. To turn without the whiter soul within That lay beneath a surface roug^h, uncouth. Prophet and sage, aye, and far more forsooth, A Saviour come to calm the subtle din; A David he who dares the javelin With pebbles gathered by the brook of truth. May he live long to light the darkened veil. To lift and lead a people on their way. And ne'er be beckoned o'er the sable sea, Till clash and conflict will no more prevail, And all the world heedful of him will say. Justice shall be to all humanity. THE PRESS. 1? ^ ^ I HAT weal, what woe and bitter strife Are creatures of thy dual jjower, Tis thine to bring dead things to life, Or crush them within one brief hour. II Not all the babblings of the bard Nor wisest sayings of the sage Can penetrate deep as one shard Hurled from the turrets of thy page. 22 Ill Thou wert the friend of scraggy slave, The arbiter of wrongs that were; Thou can'st be bright and good and brave Or thou Truth's false interpreter. IV Do justice to both liege and lord, And all the world from East to West With glad acclaim, with one accord. Shall note the truth so long suppressed. ISE JES HONGRY FO' A MEAL. »^ )i? >jS ♦II^OW'S yo' feelin', suh, dis mawnin? 'Scuse me, but I'd lak tew know Bein' as I is a stranger, Which a'way I orter go Fo' to fine ma liT nephew, Wucks fo' Mister Willum Brown, An' dey tells me dat his boss is Quite a lawyah in dis town. What, suh! says dat yo' aint 'quainted Wid ma liT nephew, Joe? Ev'y body orter know him. He's 'bout twenty year er mo — Looks des lak his mammy, Cinda, An' a rattlin' boy he is, Heap mo peart dan bofe de chilluns Ob mo udder sistah, Lizz. Well den, does yo' know de man, suh, What dey says he wucks fo' heah? Ef yo'll kindly pint dat 'rection Maybe I kin fin' him deah. Say yo' hab ten thousand lawyahs 23 Wid de same name es his boss? Lawdy! dis es sho'ly tryin', Hits ernougli tew make one cross. You say how I likes yo' city? Likes hit fine, but liits so big- An' built up so close tergether, Taint nuff room tew dance a jig". Den dese folks es alius runnin' Lak de};, got tew ketch a train — Walks right on yo' co'ns and bunions Hurrin' lak a harricane. Yestiddy I went a-ridin' On a train up in de air, Runs erpon a great big trussel, Climbed up tew it by de stair. When dat 'lectic train got stahted I helt to de seat right tight Ca'se ef hit should staht a-fallin' Dar's no tellin' whar 'twould light. Den I visited a buildin', Rid up fohty sto'ies high, Elevatah rizzed lak lightnin' Seems lak almos' tew de sky; Den hit stopped, and stahted downward, Wid a speed dat tuck ma bref, I had sich a funny feelin' I was nearly skeered to death. Say, I wondah kin yo' tell me Whar I'd fine a place tew eat, Case I've walked dis city ober Tell I'm tired in de feet, But I jes caint fine no eatin' Dat is suited tew ma tase An' de money hits done cos' me. Is jes so much gone tew was'e. 24 At de house dar whar I'se stoppin' I'se mos' nearly starved tew death, Seems lak dat dey sets de table Wid whateveh 'tis dat's lef Prum de udder meals a'victuals Sarved a day er so befo' An' I nevah leaves dat table 'Cept I feels lak eatin' mo'. Dese folks feeds me oats fo' breakfas', Bread, what's toasted, an' some tea, Wid a aig- sof boil, an' taters — Taint ernough tew fill a flea. Den fo' dinnah dey has onions. Soup an' lil' bits o' fishes, Wid some roast an' vegetables — Jest a lil' in big dishes. I likes bacon bes' fo' breakfas' But de fried po'k chops'll do, Wid sum soda rizen biskit. An' black coffee freshly drew; Den de aigs, yo' kin turn ober, An' de cakes, jes hab em brown, Wid annuder cup o' coffee Fo' tew sorter wash'em down. Den, fo' dinnah I likes chicken. Chicken raise mos' enny way — Chicken fotched up in de barn yard. Chicken nestin' in de hay. Chicken what roost in de tree top. Or domesticated fowl, (Dat's de kind what runs frum preachers, Wid de wisdom of a owl). Chicken hatched in dem 'cubators. Chicken brought up in de town. Chicken hatched out in de country— 25 So yo' fries em good an' brown Or deys stewed wid nice hot dumplin's, Baked er briled er frigazee— Enny way yo' cooks dat chicken, Hit am good ernough fo' me. Well, Ise sorry dat I kep' yo' Talkin' heah so long to-day I mus' go sarch fo' ma nephew, But, suh, I jest want tew say Dat de fun dis city 'fords me Sho'ly makes me happy feel; Dar's but one thing dat is lackin'— Ise jes' hongry fo' a meal. Yas, I likes yo' parks an' places By de ribber an' de sea, Bote de chu'ches an' theatres, An' big buildin's pleases me. Sense Ise bin aroun' yo' city, Ise done seed a whole great deal; Dar's but one thing now dat's lackin'— Ise jes hongry fo' a meal. RONDEAU— TO THE ABSENT ONE ^ ^i* ii» I W/ien Days Are Drear. I^HEN days are drear, dear heart, when days are drear, What joys were mine if thou wert only near. To ward the gloomy shadows from this place As dusky mist, swiftly diffused through space By the fair morn's first far-fetched radiant flare. I longingly observe thy vacant chair; Cheerless and cold beside the window there. Alone methinks of that last long embrace,' When days are drear! 26 Glittering g-old, piled hig-h in towering tier, Luxuriant lands of half-a-hemisphere, Would ill suface in lieu of thy rich grace: Lend the sweet smile of thy soul-stirring face If thou would'st grant me surcease from despair, When days are drear! II When Days Are Fair. TirnjHEN days are fair, my love, when days are fair, ^^Breathing the balmy, perfume-laden air, Through flower-flanked fields I find the winding way Y/here 'twas our wont, oftimes, to slowly stray, Beside the loitering brooklet laughing there. To daffodil and lily I fall heir; Blithe birdies, singing, circle pair by pair; While I, alone, lament our parting day. When days are fair. The green, green, moss and weeping willow there Depict the sadness of my soul's despair. In shadows on the granite hills of grey; Come, join me, thou most lovely Queen of May, If thou would'st turn my cheeerlessness to cheer, When days are fair. PROGRESSIVE SAMBO BROWN. v» ^ >^ *n WANTS tew tell yo' Deacon, 'bout de7progress ob ma son Yes, co'se I knows yo' members Sambo Brown, Sho' 'deed he was de smartes' chap dat eber sot erpon A chair sence dis hy'ar village was a town. He larnt so fas' de teacher had to class him by his self, He tuck fus prize mos' ebry time he tried, 27 An' evy body lacked him so, a laffin' lil' elf Dat when he lef dey jes broke down an' cried. Well, w'en he was done passin' thro' de gradins ob dis school We sold de yearlin' heifer fo' a song- An' addin' to de proceeds frum de sellin' ob a mule. We samit him off tew college whar he b'long-. But de 'fessors dar dey feared him, case dey couldn't keep his pace; And de president dey say he of'en 'lowed "Dat boy'll obershadah all de great ones in dis race Jes es sho es dar's a linin' tew de cloud." He plays de fo'most quarter on de college foot-ball team An' on de di'mon he hoi's down fust base. But in acquactic spo'ten he aint so much it seem "Case de watah, deacon, isn't tew his taste. He vault de pole, dey tells me, higher den dey ebber knowed An' run a mile 'd out catchin' ob his bref. But he captured all de honahs w'en he cotched it up and throwed De shot, a full long furlon' wid his lef. In speakin' an' debatin', huh, he's pow'ful an' gran' Dey caint no one excel him — he's de best; An' he blows de slidin' trombone ob de cross roads college ban' De same lak as a whirl win' from de west. He sings bass wid de glee club, picks de viol an' banjo too An' in book larnin' has a majic mine. His breast hits all jest kivered wid de prizes he has drew, A mo' progressin' boy yo'll nebber fine. 28 FREDERICK DOULGASS. ij» ^ ^ *ft\Ei came to us from out the cabin's gloom Unushered by the sound of harp and lyre, A swarthy slave, a soulless chattel whom The gods obscured within the slaver's mire; A Moses left upon the moat, To float. He floated through the forlorn years of youth A lone sea-farer off his native strand, 'Till the king's daughter, led by love and truth, Made bold to bring the little one to land: A brilliant star set out to light. His night. Despite the cry of commoner and King, "Suffer no slave to learning's paradise" Led by the star he followed, journeying Beyond the range of ignorance and vice; While the sage sought a link to chain, His brain. He broke his bonds, yet, his unselfish soul Knew not that joy which cometh to the free, 'Till, by his strife, he welcomed to the goal His fellowman to life's large liberty; And kindly clasped him to his breast. For rest. Through East and West, Northward and South, the thrall Of his soul's spell resounded, e'en the sea, Caught and re-echoed in deep tones to all, "Light, justice, truth and opportunity;" A Moses, aye, mighty to plead And lead. 29 He led us to the mountain peaks of pride, Unselfishness, self-sacrifice and love; Beyond the pale of passions that betide Into the purer atmosphere above, Thence vanished in the aureole. His soul. He came, he conquered; the receding tide Bore him beyond when the day's task was done; His words, his work forever will abide, Strong- as Gibraltar, brilliant as the sun, While freedmen sing through endless days. His praise. BALLADE TANTALIZIN' BROWN. >e? >e» ^ /n\ABEL is a maid most fair. Prepossessing, slender, fleet; Eyes of blue that dance and dare When your gaze they chance to meet. Lordly lovers, vain, discreet, Fain would place on her a crown, But to me she is effete — I like tantalizin' brown. Mabel is a maid most fair. Hath both shapely form and feet; With this damsel debonair In society elite Few there are who can compete. She's a star of great renown. Yet her charms I must forbear — I like tantalizin' brown. Mabel is a maid most fair. But for happiness complete Give me dusky-reddish Lear; 30 Smooth-skinned, stately, staunch and neat. I would at her shapely feet Lay my soul andbody down, Just for her alone I care— I like tantalizin' brown. L' ENVOI. /TUPID, I care not how sweet ^ Is the fairest maid in the town; Other hues are obsolete, I like tantalizin' brown. SONNET THE WAYFARER. liP i? ^ mriHEN I visited dat city ^^ I jes staid a week er so, But I seed mo' in dat spasm Dan I ebber seed befo'. I seed buggies what was hossless, 31 An' jes' lectric cyars galo', But de thing which tuk ma' fancy Was dat de-paht-mental sto'. I seed palaces an' mansions Pine enough fo' any king, Fire enjines drawed wid liosses When dat fire bell ud ring. I seed ships f'umev'y country Pullin'up beside de sho'. But de thing what tu'k ma' fancy Was dat de-paht-mental sto'. I seed fine hotels an' fac'ries, I seed buildin's tall an' gran'. Soldiers marchin' in persession Wid a mighty fine brass ban'; An' I visited de opry Whar I seed a funny sho', But it wasn't half es wondrous Ez dat depaht-mental sto'. I've seed wonders in de forest, I've seed wonders on de sea, An' sum wonderful inventions What was puzzlin' tew me; But dey warnt quite interestin' Nor es beautiful a sho' Es dat wondrous exhibition In dat de-paht-mental sto'. Hit was sebenteen times taller Dan dat court-house in ma town, An' hit reacht a block de front way, An' hit reacht a block aroun'. An' de goods dar in de windah What dey put dar fo' tew sho' 32 Was de fines' dat I ebber seed In any kind ur sto'. Dar was stacks ob coats an' vestes Stacked up nigh a mountain high, Dar was dresses ob all fashions Dat yo' couldn't hep but buy; Dar was shoes an' hats an' slippers Lak I nebber seed befo', Stacked up higher dan dat ceiiin' In dat de-paht-mental sto'. Dey had hardware, saws an' hatchets, Pistils, guns an' cannon balls, Flags tew deckerate de ceiiin' An' a spouten watah-falls. Dey had groceries, hams an' bacon, An' some sugar white es snow; Dey had everything you'd call fo' In dat de-paht-mental sto'. In all ma life I nebber seed No sich a great big crowd A-pushin' an' a-shovin' folks. An' talkin' jest es loud 'Bout dis blue goods or dat red sack, A-blockin' up de aisle, An' buyin' dresses, hats and things Objes de latest style. Well, I walked dar by de entrance Ob dat de-paht-mental sto'. An' I sez unto de flo' man What was standin' by de doah, "Suh, I wants tew buy sum collahs An' a pair er socks or two, An' a sack er good terbacker, An' a plug er so tew chew. 33 "An' I also wants sum gallusses, A necktie an' a shirt, What I heerd dat yo' was sellin' Mighty nigh es cheap es dirt. An' sum dress goods fo' dem gals o' mine, A bonnet fo' mo wife, An' fo' mo lil' boy I wants, A great big sharp jack-knife," Sez he, "Suh, you'll fin' de collahs Jes six columns down dis aisle, Den tew de lef eight columns mo' You'll see dem in a pile; De shirts twelve counters tew de east Ob what de collahs be; Three columns mo' t'wards de west De cullud socks you'll see." "Terbacker, pipes and cigarettes, An' smokin' goods yo'll fin' Fo'th column, sebenth counter west Upon floor number nine." But 'fore he got through tellin' me 'Bout how tew fin' dem aisles Dat crowd jes swept me fum ma feet An' ca'ied me seben miles. Dey trampled on ma corns an' toes, Dey broke bote ob ma laigs; Dey mashed in seben ribs ob mine De same as dey was aigs; Dey busted loose ma collah bone, Dey broke ma elbo jint. An' dey des jabbed me in de back Wid deah umbrella pint. Well, Ise 'turned now fum dat city, An' Ise glad Ise home again, 34 Doug-h a visit tew dem places Is a pleasure now an' den; But ef ebber I should visit Dat dar city enny mo', I will sho'ly keep ma distance Fum dat de-paht-mental sto.' BALLADE OF THE SIMPLE LIFE, li* >? >i» We bear much of the simple life, Its intonation must sound fine To the victorious in the strife, Who own a gold or silver mine. The head of some immense combine Mig^ht leave such precepts with each heir — In order to remain in line. One must become a millionaire. The spirit everywhere is rife. It portrays no ominous sign; A pillow 'tis where each rich wife In solitude would fain recline; The social stress she would consign To some new aspirant most fair; To worship at this simple shrine One must become a millionaire. The autocrat who blows his fife Should slake his thirst with no rare wine; Nor should he eat with inlaid knife, He should not simple food decline; Imported 'kerchiefs, superfine, He should not use to mop a tear; To live up to this life's design One must become a millionaire. 35 L ' ENVOI, The poor have nothing- to assign, No luxuries have they to spare; To lead the simple life divine One must become a millionaire. BALLADE OF THE CITY BOARDER. ^ >? 1^ It is a most beautiful place, Located on a thoroughfare Where to abide is no disgrace, Even to some big millionaire; Just every luxury is there, Nothing of comfort doth it lack. But of it all I must despair — The fact is that my funds are slack. The land-lady I fear to face, Although she has a face most fair; I don't think I can keep the pace. Both board and room are far too dear; The parlor furnishings are rare, Set off with novel bric-a brae, And yet I cannot remain here— The fact is that my funds are slack. I tell my friends most any place Would suit me better, I declare, With emphasizing poise of grace, The rooms are damp and awful drear; I tell them that the walls are bare, The dismal place has gone to rack, No longer for the house I care— The fact is that my funds are slack 36 l' envoi. Prince, I regret it, but I fear To the old farm I must go back; To-morrow I will move elsewhere — The fact is that my funds are slack. BALLADE OF HATS AND HEADS. ii» ^ >^ "Don't put a five dollar hat on a five cent head. -Booker T. Washington. Mayhap you all your time apply Translating Latin, French and Greek; With all your might you would decry. One who could not some German speak; Unless you own a mountain peak, An islet or a river bed. To buy a costly hat is cheek — For yours is but a five cent head. You may have quite a pleasing eye A countenance quite mild and meek; Good manners you exemplify To the exclusive social clique; Yet, if you don't possess the streak To purchase real estate inbred. Go fish some old hat from a creek — For yours is but a five cent head. Perhaps you easily outvie Your most unmerciful critique; The great high place you occupy May fittingly your worth bespeak; But if the dimes you earn each week Purchase no land, but hats instead, You are no genius but a freak — For yours is but a five cent head. 37 L' ENVOI. Unless you own a house unique, A flat, a farm, or water-shed, Just wear a head-piece quite antique — For yours is but a five cent head. BALLADE OF HUMAN BLISS. ^ yf ^ With brush and palette to essay. Upon the canvas resting- there. To paint a picture grave or gay And execute each stroke with care, That, keen eyed critics, debonair, Finding nothing at all amiss Pronounce it art beyond compare; This is the height of human bliss. The role of Spartacus to play Before the foot-lights flaming flare; To cruise about in cove or bay The consort of some billionaire; To eat and drink the best of fare. And every dismal thought dismiss; To be released from pain or care; This is the height of human bliss. To be the hero of the day At some punctillious affair; And proudly bear the palm away With quite a supercilious air; To venture that none other dare And thereby bridge some great abyss; To brave a lion in his lair; This is the height of human bliss. l' envoi. Frail maidens, charming, chaste and fair Man hath no greater joy than this; 38 To kiss your hands, your lips, your hair; That is the heig"ht of human bliss! A BALLADE OP DREAMLAND. »j» ^i* ^ Gone are the days that were drear. Blue is the sky and the sea, Balmy and cool is the air, Green is the fresh shrubbery; Birdie, atilt in the tree, Sing" to the pansy and rose. Stir not love's old memory, Let me in dreamland repose. Gay are the loves young and fair Rollicking- over the lea, Without a pain or a care They have a great jubilee; Ah! it is now I would flee. Vanish, as j^'esterday's snows: Zephrs, re-echo my plea. Let me in dreamland repose. I know the waterfall there Ripples a welcome for me, Yet I must turn a deaf ear To its first spring symphony; Let me awhile now be free Here, where some brisk brooklet flows. Under some great spreading tree Let me in dreamland repose. l'envoi Spring, I am sickened,! fear. Not of the grandeur that glows, I have spring fever severe — Let me in dreamland repose. 38 MAI' AGE AN' DIVO'CE. 1? >i» 1? When I went tew chu'ch las Sunday I was spectin' fo' to see Dat dar pahsun preach a sermont 'Bout salvation full an' free; What yo' reckon was de subject Dat he choosed fo' his disco'se? Hit was awfully surprisin', 'Twas 'bout "ma'iage an' divo'ce." Well nigh all de population From erroun about dis town Crowded in dat evenin' service Fo' tew heah what Pahsun Brown Would delucidate consarnin' Ob dis unheered ob disco'se 'Bout dis eberlastin' question Ob de "mai'age an' divo'ce." "Fustly, brederin," said de pahsun, "An' ma deah good sistahs, too, I spec dat youse all bin readin' What de papahs sez tew yo' 'Bout dis all important question What I choosed es ma disco'se. Hit's a mos' momentious topic, Dis heah ma'iage an' divo'ce." "In dat solemn ceremony Whar a lovin' couple weds, When de preacher 'nounces blessins Es dey lowly bows dey haids, Den hit tis Ise alius thinkin' Whuther dey'll stick by dat course, Or dey'll follow up dis fashion Ob de mai'age an' divo'ce. iO "Thirdly, brederins an' sistahs Dere's a principle at stake, Case, if I remembers rightly. Hit's jes fifty cents an' cake Dat a pahsun g-its a weddin'. While de dollars, den, ob cou'se. Goes tew pay some wise ole lawyah Fo' tew git a quick divo'ce." "Now de scriptur' speaks out plainly Dat when once in wedded life He who turns frum out dat furrow, Dat means separates his wife, Loses all his chance fo' glory; Den hit follows now, ob cou'se Yo mus' all be awful keerful Ob dis ma'iage an' divo'ce. •'Look at Brudder Benny Johnson, Also sistah Annie Brown, An' a dozen udder couples I kin name right in dis town, What has stuck right close together Jes defyin' ebery fo'ce An' not payin' eny 'tenshun Tew dis ma'iage an' divo'ce." "Lastly, brederin', hit is rumored. An' I, wid dese years, has heerd What de officers is doin', An' Ise awfully a-feered Dat quite soon dey'll be expellin' Frum dis membership, ob co'se All de couples who is 'fected Wid dis ma'iage and divo'ce. "Now if yo' has lost yo're stif'kit Ob de ma'iage dat yo' had, 41 Or youse lef yo' wife er husban' Jes bekase one ob yo's mad, It all comes under dis question, An' I'll sho' de proper co'se Dat yo' all mus' sholy follow In dis ma'iag-e an' divo'ce. •' 'Fesser Pumpkin, play dat orgin, Mistah Sexton, lock dat door. Now den, yo' disj'inted couples Meet me heah erpon dis flo' An' I'll settle once fo'evah, Ef I hev tew use sum fo'ce, Dis mos' eberlastin' question Ob de ma'iage an' divo'ce." Wid dese words he closed his sermont, Shet his book an' marched him down Tew de front part ob de railin,' Whar tew ma' surprise he foun' Several couples dar a-waitin' Les' he 'ud use dat 'suasive fo'ce Dat he spoke ob in dis mattah Ob de ma'iage an' divo'ce. Den hit was I g-rowed uneasy An' I looked acrost de aisle At ma own ole 'oman, Mandy, But she nebber shed a smile. She was lookin' jes es airy Lak dere warnt no facts nor fo'ce Dat would chang-e her way ob thinkin' Sence dat jedge grant her divo'ce. But I picked up little courag-e An' I moved dar by her side; Sez I, "Mandy," jes es kindly "I wants yo' tew be ma bride, 42 Yo'se done heerd dat pahsun preachin', An' he's showed de proper co'se Dat we all shuuld be pursuin' In dis mattah ob divo'ce. All ma clo'es es gettin ragged, I kin nuther eat nor sleep, Let me come back home, now honey, I will ebery promise keep. Understan', hit taint ma purpose Fo' tew add tew dat disco'se. Case yo' know dat hits yo' duty Fo' tew burn up dat divo'ce. "Ise got rheumatiz mos' badly Sence we 'greed tew live apart, But de worse pains dat Ise havin' Es right 'roun erbout ma heart. Yo'se de only pussonlivin' Dat posses de pow'r an' fojce Fo' tew cure dis awful ailin — Jes' burn up dat ol' divo'ce. " "Mose," sez Mandy, "Ise bin thinkin' What de pahsun sez es right." So we moved t'wards de railin' An' re-ma'ied thar dat night; Had a scrumtious weddin' dinnah, Chicken sarved wid ebery co'se. An' de bestes part about it, Mandy burnt up dat divo'ce. WHEN MABEL SINGS ^ i<» ii» When Mabel sings, ye gods, when Mabel sings! The people thereabouts desire wings. Such rythmic measures fill the troubled air, They fain would fly far from the notes they hear; 43 They would give up their diamonds, pearls and ring's, Fine raiment, gold and many other things, Just for the respite golden silence brings. When Mabel sings! Her harsh voice rasps like some old wagon's springs. Or rusty hinges of a gate that swings; Frantic flat-dwellers romp and pull their hair. And with some batting fill each tingling ear. Ye gods! what joy the final measure brings When Mabel sings! TEN QUEER TALES OF A TALE-TELLER. li* >? ^e* I TTHE busy bard need use no square, Tho' he's a story-builder; No prints of plans hang in his lair, To bother and bewilder. II Quite oft, for thoughts, he is at sea. And yet he is no sailor. His trouser legs bag at the knee, Tho' he is quite a tale-or. Ill 'Tis strange that while he lives apart From painters and their mixtures. That he should paint with perfect art Most beautiful word-pictures. IV He runs not like the fleet track men, A mile a minute doing; Yet he does sprinting in his den— The story's end pursuing. 44 V He has no base of bricks or pegs From which his building- tapers; His base, a table with four legs, On which he lays his papers. VI He needs no architect to plot, He draws his own formations While resting on a cosy cot, In deepest meditations. VII Each day a new story he builds, This little old tale-teller; And yet but little space he fills — He is but a flat-dweller. VIII A builder's story is opaque. So he builds windows to it; A story builder none doth make — Yet we can all see through it. IX The locomotive he doth fear, He dares not touch a lever; Yet he will bravely engineer A short story quite clever. X The tenth tale of these ten tales told Can climax have no higher, Than stories editors unfold To start the office fire. 45 3 BALLADE OF TAINTED COIN. ^ ^ ^ OHN ROCKEFELLER and the rest Of liberal minded millionaires, Whose money priests have deemed a pest, Infected with impure atfairs, Mig-ht well divide it into shares For those outside the favored few Who have no mite to purchase wares — Just any kind of coin will do. The young man who would fain attest His love for some maid who endears Her sweet self to him by bequest Of sweets no other idol shares, But who, with all his heart declares He does not own a single sou. To such they should not turn deaf ears- Just any kind of coin will do. The luckless who after a quest Of fleeting fortune many years Find out that though they did their best That they are still far in arrears; The divorced husband who oft swears Because the alimony's due; These would the lucre might be theirs- Just any kind of coin will do. L ' ENVOI. My lords, seek solace not in tears, Nor go and burn the residue; Tis easy to find lots of heirs- Just any kind of coin will do. 46 BALLADE OF WOMAN'S RIGHTS. ^ ^ ^ ROM the far time of Eve's first age To the Elizabethan sway, Prom charming- Cleopatra's rage Down to the present modern day, Whether respecting fine array Or any other thing it might. To laugh, to weep, to sing, to play- It is a woman's sacred right. If she should choose an equipage. Or a fine yacht to sail away. She need not try at all to gauge The price by her poor husband's pay. For if he tried at all to stay. The purchase of the pure delight This mandate she would soon convey — It is a woman's sacred right. To dance about upon the stage In quite a gentle, modest (?) way, To very thoughtlessly engage Herself to one young man a day; To write and read a long essay, Or a new novel every night; To balk at the stern word "obey"— It is a woman's sacred right, L ' ENVOI. Prince, let the cause be what it may. However trivial or trite; Tradition has but this to say- It is a woman's sacred right. 47 SONNET— TIDINGS OF IMMORTALITY. ^ 1^ ^ 21 STOOD beside the bier of the dead, Shedding- sad tears of sorrow and regret That mortals should have ever been beset By such a severance of life's slender thread. But while I stooped to kiss the cold forehead And the wan lips, now in death's rig-or set. Pausing- the while to vainly fume and fret, These tidings in the peaceful face I read: "Stand not, my love, and sullenly shed tears. Since life eternal crowns the soul set free When resurrection rends the sombre sod; But rather down upon thy knees make prayers, Say from thy soul of immortality. For this good gift I fain would thank thee, God! " RONDEAU. ^ y? ^ gHE said "Hello," I deemed it quite Inapt, ill-mannered, impolite A salutation to suggest; But then, you know, at most, at best— I thought her greeting rather trite. But still, persistently, despite My mental anguish and unrest In seeming raptures of delight She said "Hello!" I thought me now, with much foresight, To set her salutation right I'd call; but then to my request For Central 1-8-9-6- West, In accents musical and light- She said, "Hello!" 48 m RETROSPECTION. ^ i<» ii» HEN thou did'st search thy mind's mausoleum, Alone, save for the fire's fantastic light, And the wan phantom-sounds of sombre night. Bleak wintry winds wedded to woe and gloom, I know what spectres issued from the tomb, What sprites appeared thy vision to aft'right. What deeds undone, what wrongs thou failed to right, Returned to rail thee ere eternal doom; Then, too, I know what grief convulsed thy breast. What sorrow-pains pierced through thy throbbing heart, And left thine eyes weary of weeping, red: The ghost of a once dear departed guest From whom thou fain would nevermore depart — Of love that lives but yet to thee is dead. 49 PART II BITS OF FICTION THE FLIGHT OF THE FEARLESS. ^ >i» ^ jOB BROWN, commonly known among- the inhabitants of Ebonville as "Uncle Bob," was considered fear- less. No one was skeptical regarding- his fearlessness, nor dared harbor the least suspicion as to his being su- perstitious. If, like most of his dusky brethren, he "ruther not" begin a job on a Friday, the invariable cause was physical incapacity rather than superstitious fear. If, perchance, during his nocturnal peramulations myriad phantoms darted about his pathway as he neared the village cemetery, he would approach the hideous spectre and discovering it to be only an illusion, he would pass unperturbed on his homeward way, always attributing sundry bruises and scars visible upon va- rious parts of his anatomy at the time of these esca- pades, to his bad sight and his haste to reach home. It is not surprising, then, that when the new hospi- tal desired a strong orderly for night duty he alone vol- teered to accept the position, while the timidity of his fellows permitted them only to pass the frowning insti- stitution at a safe distance and with much trepidation. When the first month ended '-Uncle Bob'' was pretty well initiated into the mysteries of the hospital. For days he had astonished his dusky auditors with wild and weird stories of his triumphs in the wards, operating room and morgue of the institution, never failing to im- press them with the fact that it would be impossible to run the institution without his services. He was, indeed, the most fearless man in Ebonville, and was regarded by his peers with "superstitious reverence." It was midnight. The stillness of the hour was bro- ken only by the tread of the nurses on their periodical 52 rounds of the wards. Uncle Bob, seated upon a bench upon the lawn, just outside the door of the basement ward occupied by the male patients, smoked away on his old corn-cob pipe and hoped for the approach of the morning' when he should be off duty. He fell asleep. He dreamed. He saw visions. Yes, there .they were — all the patients, both white and black, who had died since his incumbency. They were after him. He fled. They pursued him; he soug^ht refug"e under the front steps of his home. They followed menacing-ly — there was no escape. Oh! there was Jim, wicked Jim, now a black demon. He had died muttering curses and impre- cations. He was leading the other demons. His blood- shot eyes glared just as they had in his dying moments, the bandage was about his head, the white gown thrown loosely about his emaciated form. They sought to kill the orderly. Fire issued from their mouths, and smoke from their nostrils. He shouted for help. He awoke with a start. He chuckled over his fears. After all it was only a dream. He shook off his lethargy and relit his pipe, when his attention was attracted by a peculiar noise. He looked across the lawn into the pitch dark- ness of the night whence the strange sounds came. My! There were the same grotesque figures he had seen in his dream. He was not afraid, but as it was getting a little chilly he decided to withdraw, which he did unceremo- niously, falling over the bench in his haste. He closed and bolted the hall door and went into the basement ward. We glanced up and down the double row of white cots, scarcely visible in the darkened place. His eyes rested upon the cot upon which wicked Jim had died. Yes, there was Jim lying upon the cot. No, impossible, for it had not been occupied since his death. He ap- proached it cautiously; not a sound was emitted. He turned on the nearest light — yes, it was wicked Jim's ghost. The fearless orderly stood for a^ moment trem- 53 blingf; it sprang* from the couch and fell prostrate at the feet of the bewildered orderly. A broken sash and a wrecked panel of the picket fence left in his wake gave practical evidence of the brave orderly's senile agility and an inkling if his sprint- ing abilities. Wicked Jim's twin brother, delirious with fever, lost to the hospital a fearless, valuable "ord'ly," whose back pay still awaits his return and who, like the hospital, is running yet in spite of his contrary predictions. THE SACRIFICE OF RICHARD BLAIR. s» ^ 1? ^^TIYfTjILL they ever come?" said one of the eager ^^^•^ watchers. "Who cares?" replied Richard, and suiting his words to action he continued to busy himself with his plants, oblivious to what he termed the "silly interests" of his fellows. For days and days eager eyes, shaded by rough, un- couth hands, looked out at irregular intervals over the Virginia shore riverward, ever alert for a glimpse of the expected ship with its cargo of precious damsels of con- nubial proclivities whom the mother country had gener- ously provided for the lonely colonists at the nominal cost of transportation and one hundred and fifty pounds of the Virginia weed, the main product of the colonial agriculturist. The granting of the "Great Charter" which awarded the colonists well earned liberties, was indeed a fitting climax to their struggles and privations; but the scheme for the importation of young women to become the wives of these liberty and fortune-seeking argonauts stimula- ted the latent energies of the most chronic laggard, dis- sipated the despair of the most pessimistic, granted fresh impetus to the most aggressive and hopeful and 51 was indeed a bounty which amply rewarded each sacri- fice. But there was one among the liandful of intrepid pioneers — Richard Blair — who displayed little concern regarding the coming maidens. Young, tall, sturdy, fearless, inured to the hardships and privations of pio- neer life, far beyond even the ken of men twice his age; dignified and reserved, yet without conceit, firm and res- olute, yet affable and courteous, he was indeed a crite- rion for his fellows. "His heart is petrified," observed another of the watchers. "He has loved and lost," suggested a lad of strong matrimonial inclinations. "He'll change when the ship comes in," ventured a third, and the laughter that followed this good natured jesting echoed and re- echoed throujj^h field and forest. "When winter comes," said Richard, as he finished his labor and moved toward his cabin, "I'll have both money and tobacco, and you — only wives." "Miser," shouted a chorus of rough voices. When a boy of ten years, Richard, with his father, had joined the first colony sent out by Sir Walter Ra- leigh, under the command of Sir Richard Greenville. When Ralph Lane succeeded in command of the colony, which had settled on Roanoke Island near the coast of North Carolina, little Richard usually accompanied the colonists on all their expeditions throughout the main- land. But when Lane, misled by the Indians, set out with most of his colonists in a fruitless effort to find the sea, supposed to be at the head of the Roanoke River, Richard was left with the guards at camp and during an attack by the Indians was captured and carried away into captivity by them. For many years he had remained with them, acquir- ing their modes of uncivilized nomadic life. During his captivity he fell in with the tribes of the border state, North Carolina, and remained among them during the 55 interval of the return of Raleigh's first colony at James- town and until the establishment of the third colony in 1612, when, upon one of his excursions he ran upon the settlement, and so glad was he to come again to civiliza- tion that he discarded the feathers, war paint and wig- wam of the Indian for the rough garb, dug-out and log cabin of the settlers. It was little wonder, then, that while the hearts of his fellows throbbed with joy at the thought of their coming helpmeets he alone treated the event with cold indifference. It had been many days since the long looked-for ves- sel had put into port. The maidens for the most part had mated and married, and Jamestown had again resumed its wonted quiet. One fine summer day, while the men were busy in the fields and the women were about their domestic du- ties, the piercing cry of the Indians was heard, and ere they were checked and driven off many of the houses were razed and three hundred men, women and children ruthlessly maimed and massacred. But by far the most distressing feature of the car- nage was the capture of Agnes Smith, a comely maiden, who chose rather to wear away her life in kindly minis- trations to the sick, unfortunate and afflicted, than share the opulence of those who not infrequently sought her hand and heart. Affectionate, kind, generous, with angelic sweetness she flitted hither and thither from dug-out to cabin ministering to the needs of those on whom fortune frowned. As the limp form of their idol, hanging across the pommel of a red man's saddle vanished in the distance, the governor called for volunteers to go in pursuit of the fugitives and to the rescue of this angel of mercy. Old men noted for their valor, but now, overawed by the terrible conflict incident to the massacre, gazed, open- 56 mouthed, into space. Giddy youths, who had long- dreamed and waited for sucli an opportunity to display their bravery, slunk away from the task. In the interim there strode forth a personag^e who, without waste of words or wave of weapon, sprang- with the ag-ility of an adept equestrian upon the back of a wild pony who had lost its savage mount at the crack of a matchlock, and in an instant was off upon his onerous mission along the meandering path which led to the haunts of Indians beyond. One week passed and there was, as yet, no word either of the valiant volunteer, Richard Blair, or the maiden to whose rescue he had so gallantly gone. Then a fortnight, and rumors and runners were at rest. An- other week — no word; and another — and they were for- gotten. It was now mid-summer. The queen of the night, with unusual prodigality, emitted its brightest rays, seemingly to aid the solitary, dim-visaged sentinel, to peer into the deepest recesses of the adjacent forest and the narrow roadway that skirted the Jamestown bound- ary. With matchlock and fuse he patrolled the almost deserted byways, pausing at this dug-out or that to kindly twit the delinquent lover who little regarded the curfew and loitered to rob the fair lass of a virgin kiss ere leave-taking; or for a chat with their elders who de- lighted to talk as well as smoke tobacco at all times. But in the midst of a tirade directed against a happy pair who resented the interference of this self-appointed guardian of dual duties, he paused as if stricken dumb. The brisk breezes bore to his ear a wierd, thrilling, though not unfamiliar sound— the war whoop of the red man. Abushed behind a tree he peered in the direction from whence the sounds emanated, and saw in the dis- tance a single equestrian charging at a mad gallop down the road which trailed by his hiding place. He took 67 aim and when the horseman had gained a point off his ambuscade, fired. The steed shied at the sound of the gun-shot, and to the surprise of the sentinel and the ter- rified lass and swain, two bodies instead of one rolled from the back of the charger. It was indeed a strange, sad sight that greeted the sparsely clad villagers who assembled in the moon-lit grove at the call of the matchlock that night, A woman in the garb of a squaw, dust covered and blood stained, dragged herself beside the other fallen form and clasp- ing it in her arms, frantically called, "Richard, my Rich- ard!" But for Agnes there was no answer. "DADDY" GREEN'S BLASPHEMY. ^ y^ y? ♦flTT was the month of October. The dusky inhabitants " of Ebonville were happy. "De craps," for the most part, had been "laid by," and the incipience of the brief respite from the arduous work of the farm, ere the har- vesting began, brought happiness to each alike, from the tattered and dirt besmeared pickanniny, who tena- ciously dogged his mammy's steps as she wielded her hoe across the fields, till lulled to sleep between the corn rows by the melodies of the dusky tillers, to the decrepit veteran of ante-bellum days, still struggling from sun to sun, to wrest from his furrowed brow a sus- taining crust "tell degood Lawd should call himhence." Theirs was a dual joy, for it was not a time to be devoted alone to social pleasures and pastimes, but it had its religious aspect as well. This was "camp meet- in' " time, when the back slider would make his annual return to the fold, when sinners would tremuously seek the mourners' bench, when the clergy supplanted the dogmatic and traditionary tenets of the church with con- glomerate articulation, weird word-pictures of the future abode beyond, and tests of enduring lung power. 58 Already dodgers announcing' the approaching event had been scattered broadcast, and the score of Metho- dist churches comprising the district were malting both spiritual and temporal preparation for the annual reli- gious feast of a fortnight. The Sunday set as the grand opening day of the Ebonville camp meeting arrived. The three preceding days had been spent in the erection of improvised tents and shacks for the housing of the expected multitudes; and members who for thirty-odd years had watched the phenomenal growth of the Ebonville campgrounds were unanimous in declaring it to be "de mos' promisin' ob enny befo'." Ere the Sabbath morning had dawned the intensely religious had gathered in the little chapel for sunrise prayer, and the volume of their weird songs and happy shout permeated the edifice and escaped to the camping grounds, rudely awakening the slumbering delinquents and giving practical evidence "dat de speeret ob de Lawd was sho present 'mongst his childrens." All morning the assembled multitude was constant- ly being swelled, and the several hundred acres compris- ing the camp grounds fairly swarmed with vari-colored folk arrayed in raiment exceeding the gamut of tints in the rainbow and completely exhausting the catalogue of styles. Every conceivable kind of conveyance had been pressed into service, from the double-yoked ox-cart of the rustic farmer to the cushion-tired phaeton of the swell and swagger urbanite. The hour of the morning service arrived; the audi- torium, a crude brush arbor of immense proportions, sus- tained by massive log pillars and covered with brush wood, was crowded to its utmost capacity. Around this arbor, which was opened on all sides, every available vehicle and stump was utilized by the surplus of anxious worshippers who exceeded the pro- 59 vided seating- capacit}' within this quaint temple of the forest. But fifteen minutes remained of the last half-hour preceding- the morning service and devoted to a grand love feast. The voices of five thousand dusky songsters, with their peculiar quivers and variations, peeled forth in song, stirred the vari-colored leaves of the brush-cov- ered roof, and held in abeyance and enchantment the fleet-winged aerial songsters. At intervals the men and women would arise, and, amid an orgie of dance and shout, and to the accompaniment of hand-clapping, would in loud and exciting tones and with much wild gesticulation, give in their testimony in reply to the leader's inquiry "es ter how dey stood wid de Lawd." At the base of the improvised dais at one end of the arbor, and within the railing that served to separate the church dignitaries from the laity, sat a man without whose presence the meeting would have been incom- plete. It was his voice which could be distinguished above the volume of the five thousand; his loud "amens" that were courted by the fearless who arose to give in their testimony. Next to the "slidin' elder," so desig- nated because of the frequency of his itinerary through the district, '-Daddy" Green, the father of the Ebonville camp ground, was the most beloved and popular. He rose and strode slowly forward until the rough railing arrested his progress, and there calmly awaited the ending of the melody. Although time had made him liberal concessions, the kinky fringe of snowy wool that skirted his bald pate, the emaciated form, the palsied hand and limping gait were but precursors of the fast approaching end. At this juncture "de slidin' elder" and other ecclesi- astical dignitaries ascended the improvised rostrum and took their respective places preparatory to the opening sermon. The last echo of the hymn reverberated and 60 died, then "Daddy" Green drew from the pocket of his capacious coat a larg-e red kerchief, mopped liis face, wiped and readjusted his steel-framed spectacles. Fe- verish expectancy pervaded the audience. For three decades "Daddy" Green had had his say, and now five thousand necks were craned, eag-er lest a word of fath- erly advice be lost; and then, too, a degree of solemnity attended the occasion, as the refrain of the hymn sug-- gfested: "I doan know, I doan know, I doan know, my Lawd, Hit mout be de las' time I doan know.'' At last he began: "Brederin' an' sistahs," said he with all the pomp and dignity of some judicial tribunal about to render some important decision, "hits blame hot to-day." That his announcement was axiomatic there was not a question. It was hot— yes very hot and had one consulted the mercury he would, no doubt, have agreed with the speaker; and yet there was not that unanimous and spontaneous concurrence on the part of the audience such a fact should have elicited. This startling ejaculation was electrical in its effect upon the gathered throng; the "slidin' elder" slid with all haste to the side of the erstwhile exhorter and sought to re- strain him from further emphatic elucidation upon the meterological conditions. A slumbering occupant of the "amen connah," oblivious of what was being said, awoke at the critical moment and sought to punctuate the ob- servation of the exhorter with cries of "Amen! Amen!! Hallileu-gha!!!" much to the merriment of the impious and the discomfiture of the ultra-religious. A deaf "sis- tah," misapprehending the commotion, and losing no chance to give vent to her pent up religious fervor, per- sisted in voicing the sentiments of the exhorter with in- termittent shouts of "Lawd! aint hit so!" 61 Some were convulsed with laughter, others amazed and chagrined; but "Daddy" Green was cool and col- lected A good old melody was "raised" and the sur- rounding woods rang with the echo, but the exorterwas not to be "sung down." He raised his feeble hands de- precatingly and, as if by magic, every voice hushed si- multaneously, and those who sought to pacify and re- strain him retreated not only to respectful but safe dis- 4- ^T\ f* P S Had the vilest "sinnah" delivered in the same dra- matic manner the same blasphemous words that fell from the lips of the good "Daddy," he would not have created greater excitement. For he it was who toiled assiduously all night till the early hours of morn at the mourners bench with the penitents, whispering encour- aging words in their ears and urging them to flee the w^'rath to come; it was he who only three years before had preached sanctification from that very stand and who was now the chief exponent of this higher religious life among his dusky brethren; and now he had disgraced himself! Many and varied were the conjectures as to the cause of it. It was conceded that not infrequentfy "Dad- dy" Green received inspiration from a spiritous as well as spiritual source in spite of his "standin' " in de chu'ch; but in this he had never exceeded his religious license. Finally the musings of the curious were suddenly ter- minated by the firm reiteration of his startling introduc- tion: "Breddern' and sistahs, hits blame hot to-day!" After pausing to collect himself a little, and looking the while the audiance full in the face, he completed the fi- ery introduction by saying, "Dese was de fust wuds dat I heerd dis mawnin break de Sunday ca'm." This explanation served to restore comparitive or- der, and the good "Daddy" developed his theme by stat- ing that, as he wended his way toward the place of wor- 62 ship that morning- he overheard as he passed the hud- dled groups of men on the way, this shocking- comment which led him to quote it as a text of an excoriating- ex- hortation upon blasphemy. His hearers were moved in turn to tears, wailing-s, and sh6uts by his fierce, impassioned condemnation of the wicked and earnest commendation of the just. It was, indeed, the greatest of days at the Ebonville camp meet- ing; and at its close scores had yielded to his strong ap- peal and had forsaken the broad for the narrow path. THE EBONVILLE WOMAN'S CLUB. »e» f ^ 'TT'HE transformation of Lee's Landing, in the lower ^^ Carolina, was as strikingly spectacular, though per- haps not as illusional, as some feat of legerdemain exe- cuted with adroit celerity. It had buried itself in the martial ashes left in Sherman's wake and had chose to remain indolent, inactive, isolated, giving no sign to the outer world of even intermittent vitality, but rather ob- serving with exactness that clause of the law of inertia which declares that a body at rest remains at rest. And so through four decades Lee's Landing slept, until the Yankee searchlight of progress roused it from its slumbers and disclosed the possibilities of its piney areas. Then Yankee ingenuity, thrift and capital, joined with Southern brawn, completed its rude but thorough awakening and rehabilitation. "Ebonville," that quarter of every American city where the Negro is wont to segregate, though obscured within the obscurity of Lee's Landing, obtruded itself obstreperously within the radius of the aforesaid survey of progress, put off the remnants of its ragged coat as did the rest of Lee's Landing its lethargy, and razed its hov- els to make place for the new railway terminals and the 63 abutting lumber mills established in their midst. Ebon- ville, as a wheel within a wheel, revolved with each ro- tation of its mate; but, as a wheel within a wheel, its compass was necessarily confined within the limitations of the narrower sphere. And so it followed that while the city developed materially, socially and intellectually, the settlement developed only industrially. "De Elder ob Ebonville" otherwise known as Rev. Silas Green, saw the situation and rejoiced. For forty odd years he had acted as legal and medical adviser and general counselor to his many parishioners and, he reasoned, if the other accessories so essential to the symmetrical development of a people were permitted he, with his traditions, would be very swiftly relegated to the rear and his usefulness brought to a premature end. It was little wonder then that, in keeping with his theory, while he found the inade- quate three months' school system good enough for the school children of his parish he sent his daughter, Man- da, a prepossessing dusky damsel, to a seminary in an adjoining state that she might have the advantage of the best moral, industrial and mental training. But while he interpreted for himself the hieroglyph- ics on the wall as to his own deficiencies, he was too obtuse to discern that in the "education ob his gal," as he was wont to put it, he was, like Haman, building a scaffold upon which he would be the first victim. During the four years of Manda's attendance at the seminary, the increase of the acreage of the elder's farm failed not to keep pace with the increase of membership "in the Baptis' chu'ch," while a new parsonage, re- splendent with white paint and green shutters was made ready for her home-coming at the end of her senior year. On the evening of her return, coyly ensconced in a comfortable rocker and surrounded by the family circle, 64 Manda, in retrospective mood, entertained with incident and anecdote of her school days until the magic spell of Morpheus entangled her auditors, one by one, within the mesmeric meshes of sleep, from which they strug- gled not to be freed. Yet seemingly undisturbed by the commingled ma- ternal and paternal sonorous snoring, to which their slumbering progeny contributed their full share in stac- catto chorus, the whole blending in an inharmonious discord, only to be equaled by the unmusical babel of an imagined Chinese cantanta; unmoved by this appar- ent unappreciation of narratives with which she brimmed and bubbled, even as an uncorcked cask of effervescent spirits, she continued in silent reverie, the retrospection which the proverbial ears of the walls would have char- itably heard audibly. In her reverie she returned to the unostentatious seminary from which she had been but so recently ush- ered into the world to do battle, not only regaled and panoplied in the musty mail of the pedagogists' texts and theorems, but rather armed and armoured with new martial habiliments, of which excellence in domestic science was the defending sword and moral and mental perfection, the breast-plate of protection. She looked again into the wan but kind faces of the missionary teachers who had come down from the cold, cold North- land with warm hearts to train the head, heart an hand of black folk; again she gamboled and frisked o'er the green sward with her schoolmates as of yore, and fol- lowed in routine the paths and by-paths along whose meanderings she had been led through four years, to the incidents of her graduating day. But while Manda' s power of mental concentration was proof against the inharmonies that continued with automatic regularity during her reverie, like Achilles, its invulnerable spot was penetrated when the harmoni- 65 ous chorus of serenaders without struck its first chord and the bantering- breezes bore to her bewildered ears strains of the familiar song: "Knocking-, knocking, who is there?" And yet the joyous serenaders, as though practical con- tradiction of the songster's sentiment would lend jocu- larity to the occasion, knocked not, but continued to sing- Waiting, waiting, " but waiting not they entered the parsonage's open port- als and followed in the wake of their voices, down the narrow corridor and into the midst of the now bewil- dered family circle. There the little company circled again and again around the center table that fairly seemed to reel and totter beneath the rain of parcels and packages "fotched foh Miss Manda," as practical evi- dence of the esteem in which she was held by them; while the parson's pickannies, now thoroughly awake, scampered hither and thither to fetch stools, boxes, crates, pails and what-nots that the merry throng might be seated. To the nonchalant observer this gathering of be- spectacled "uncles" and "aunties", bedecked in bright bandannas and their best Sunday dress, accompanied by their youthful kith and kin with whom they joined in joke and song, would have appeared so mirthful that he would have been shaken with laughter even as a reed by the wind. But to the participants it was as sacred if, perhaps, not as solemn as the coronation of a king. And if there was a scintilla of doubt as to their sin- cerity the solemnity of "Aunt Dinah" would have been suflicient to have dispelled the least doubt lingering in the mind of the most skeptical when she strode forth to the center of the room and striking a characteristic a- kimbo said: 66 "Miss Manda, in behafs ob de ladies aid sassiety an' dese udder friens whats gathered heah dis evenin' I wel- comes yoh back tew Ebonsville. Ca'se we's all fond ob yo' gal, dat we is," continued Aunt Dinah when the laughter that followed the collapse of a frail crate whose resistance, overcome by the greater avoirdupois of Aunt Cinda had precipitated that worthy to the floor, and had been in turn reduced to convenient kindling wood. "Yas'm," resumed Aunt Dinah, "we'ssho' proud ob yoh gal, dat we is, an' we's glad dat yo's back." "Yas, chile, we sho' does 'predate yoh an' we wants yoh fer ter sho' yoh 'preciation ob us. Ca'se we aint got no book larnin' lak yoh yong folks, dat we aint, but we knows what we knows." "Dat we does," interrupted an enthusiast. "We knows," continued Aunt Dinah, "dat hit was de good Lawd dat done 'mancipate us, yas'm dat we does; an' we knows dat hit was de good Lawd what done saunt yoh off dar tew college so dat yoh kin come back and lead us de same es Moses done led de chillum in dat wilderness." "Dat's right," responded the other "sistahs" in unison. Aunt Dinah, encouraged by the words of approval assumed a new pose, and with many gesticulations, by way of emphasis, continued: "Ca'se things aint right heah in Ebonsville, chile, dat dey aint, an' we wants yoh foh tew sot um right, dat we does. We doan keer nothin' 'bout dese yah men folks," concluded Aunt Di- nah, "dat we dont, but we wants yoh ter take dese yah gals an* boys ob ourn an' teach dem lak yo'se been teached an' hep us in ebery way tew 'mancipate our- selves an' live lak folks." "Dat we does," echoed the "sistahs." The rapt and respectful attention accorded Aunt Dinah bespoke not only the superstitious reverence do- 67 tage oft times commands, but rather evidenced the ap- probation of the greater portion of the party with the marlred exception of "de Elder" and such of his flocli who had heard but too well the bugle call of the enemy to arms against their citadel. Indeed the kaleidoscopic changes that crept athwart the old prelates^s face and clouded his countenance with consternation as Aunt Di- nah proceeded to tire the first gun in the desultory at- tack, showed quite plainly the decision of this, the lead- er of the defensive, to return the enemy's fire. But this plan of action was thwarted not by the enemy, who were as strong in strategic maneuver as in bellicose aggressiveness, enthusiasm and valor, but rather by one whose interest in either side of the controversy was selfish, and who guarded his right to be heard at all times as zealously as the Spartan lad the secret of the fox concealed in his blouse. It was Abraham Lincoln Willwrite, wit, philoso- pher, poet, soldier of fortune, social lion of the Ebon- ville four hundred, and editor of the Ebonville Star, a try-iveekly. For there was no oil in his cruse — his measure of meal was low and he had long since sepa- rated himself from his last shekel. He had, therefore, taken counsel as to how he might gain the charitable inclination of the domestic queens who reigned supreme in the culinary realms of Lee's Landing's best homes, and who were present in great numbers at the "sprise pahty" to MissManda. All of his other tricks of trade having become obsolete, he decided to appeal to their vanity. And so he stood up and very agreeably sur- prised his auditors by ignoring the issues over which the factions were at war by reciting in his most comical way his latest bit of verse, entitled "A Ballade of a Belle," which ran: 68 *i| AINT no tantalizin' brown, Ise jest es black es I kin be, But yet de boys all hangs aroun' Somehow dey likes tew visit me. Sometimes es high es two an' three, Besides ma bestes feller Bill Calls roun' at once bekase, yo' see, I is de Belle ob Ebonville. I caint play notes lak Mandy Brown, Ef I should tech an orgin key I wouldn't know what note hit soun' I doan keer 'bout no harmony; Yet all de boys 'bout heah agree Dat Ise de only gal kin fill De demands ob sassiety; I is de Belle ob Ebonville. Night time I kin alius be foun' A-fixin' fo' ma company; All dressed up in ma gingham gown I settles down tew pour de tea; Ob nice hot chicken frigazee Dey all sets down an' eats tew kill. An' den we has a jubilee; I is de Belle ob Ebonville. L ' ENVOI, Gals, you might hab mo' pedigree Dan I has ebber seed, but still Sence you jes kin not cook lak me I is de Belle ob Ebonville. The wily poet, whose recitation was hilariously re- ceived, responded to encore after encore until his repor- toire was exhausted, but not until such good fellowship had been restored that even the Elder beamed with kindly pride, as his daughter rose to respond to Aunt Dinah, that it had been his good fortune to father such 69 a DUSKY DAMSEL. He even nodded approvingly as she eloquently declaimed, smiled broadly as she related amusing anecdotes and fairly yelled with delight at her jokes; but when, in an earnest peroration she suggested reforms she intended instituting, among which was a kindergarten, a day nursery, a graded school system and a woman's club, his facial features became ashen; his withered fingers drawn and palsied, and his tottering, bedraggled form shook with indignation. With every corpuscle of his blood boiling with rage he spoke his opinion, saying: t'Sisterin an' Brederin, I sho' aint in accord wid what's done been said an' done heah dis ebenin. Now den, 'bout dis kindergarden, I knows all 'bout dat, an' I 'specks yoh all does too. Hit means, hit means " "Variety," jokingly suggested Willwrite, who was considered, by the Elder, a walking encyclopedia of facts and definitions, "Dat's jes hit," repeated the Elder, confidently; "dat's jes hit" — '"riety," while Manda blushingly hid her face in her hands. "Dat means," continued the Elder, "dat when yoh plants yoh gharden doan plant all cohn, er taters, er peas, er pumpkins, but ruther hab a patch ob all de 'rieties, dat's what kindergarden means, an' we needs dat kind ob larnin — agriculchul larnin." "An' den," resumed the Elder, "I likes de idea ob dis gradin' school, case dough de mos' ob us done larnt all 'bout farmth', we doan know nuthin 'bout gradin' dese hills an' valleys; so we needs dat knowledge, case hits practical, an' hit'U be jes de thing foh dese boys ob ourn." "Jesde thing," cried the deacons. "Den dat day nussery," resumed the Elder, as his daughter, abashed at his misconception of her pet theo- ries, moved uneasily in her chair, "what my gal done 70 spoke 'bout, has long- been needed in dis town, ca'sedese g-alls jes caint nuss chilluns lak dey ole mammies, and day folks ob dis town'll be glad tew know dat dey kin git gals fum dat school wid de proper notions ob nussin', but, dat 'Omans Club," yelled the Elder in conclusion, "I doanlakhit!" "Doan lak hit!" groaned the deacons. "I doan lak hit!" thundered the Elder, as he smote the table with his fists, knocking parcels and packages to the floor, "bekase I has stood tew see de men ob dis community beat wid pots; I has seed dem beat wid pans, but as de Elder ob Ebonville, I won't stan' tew see no 'omans club organize tew club de men ob dis commu- nity." And he did not; neither a scathing castigation by Aunt Dinah, earnest solicitation of Manda nor simple elucidation of Willwrite, being sufficient to disassociate the ephonius term "Woman's Club" from the disastrous, appalling apparition of a woman with a cudgel. THE END. :^'09 r e^