Class Y^VW A- Book._ * Q&3 COPYRIGHT DEPOSm RILEY SONGS OF FRIENDSHIP RILEY SONGS OF FRIENDSHIP JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY ILLUSTRATED BY WILL VAWTER ta INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS Copyright 1885, 1887, 1888, 1890, 1892, 1893, 1894, 1900, 1903, 1908, 1913, 1915 James Whitcomb Kiley Copyright 1921 The Bobbs-Merrill Company All rights reserved ^ Su* \<\ *\ Printed in the United States of America DEC -2 1921 PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOK MANUFACTURERS BROOKLYN, N. Y. J ©CLA627963 -V- To Young E. Allison — Bookman T*HE BOOKMAN he's a humming-bird- His feasts are honey-fine, — (With hi! hilloo! And clover-dew And roses lush and rare!) His roses are the phrase and word Of olden tomes divine; (With hi! and ho! And pinks ablow And posies everywhere!) The Bookman he's a humming-bird, — He steals from song to song — He scents the ripest-blooming rhyme, And takes his heart along And sacks all sweets of bursting verse And ballads, throng on throng. (With ho! and hey! And brook and brae, And brinks of shade and shine!) A humming-bird the Bookman is — Though cumbrous, gray and grim, — (With hi! hilloo! And honey-dew And odors musty-rare!) He bends him o'er that page of his As o'er the rose's rim. (With hi! and ho! And pinks aglow And roses everywhere!) Ay, he's the featest humming-bird, On airiest of wings He poises pendent o'er the poem That blossoms as it sings — God friend him as he dips his beak In such delicious things! (With ho! and hey! And world away And only dreams for him!) O friends of mine, whose kindly words come to me Voiced only in lost lisps of ink and pen, If I had power to tell the good you do me, And how the blood you warm goes laughing through me, My tongue would babble baby-talk again. And I would toddle round the world to meet you — Fall at your feet, and clamber to your knees And with glad, happy hands would reach and greet you, And twine my arms about you, and entreat you For leave to weave a thousand rhymes like these — A thousand rhymes enwrought of nought but presses Of cherry-lip and apple-cheek and chin, And pats of honeyed palms, and rare caresses, And all the sweets of which as Fancy guesses She folds away her wings and swoons therein. CONTENTS PAGE Abe Martin 132 America's Thanksgiving 177 Ancient Printerman, The 92 Art and Poetry 68 Back from Town 17 Be Our Fortunes as They May 28 Because 142 Christmas Greeting 176 Dan O'Sullivan 124 Dead Joke and the Funny Man, The 174 Down to the Capital . 70 Friend of a Wayward Hour 40 good-by er howdy-do 52 Her Valentine 119 Herr Weiser 143 Hobo Voluntary, A 19 I Smoke My Pipe 30 In the Afternoon 138 In the Heart of June Ill James B. Maynard 91 Letter to a Friend, A 46 "Little Man in the Tinshop, The'- 55 Little Old Poem that Nobody Reads, The . . . 136 Mother-Song, A 148 My Bachelor Chum 64 CONTENTS— Continued PAGE My Friend 117 My Henry . ....... ■'■ ...... . 42 My Jolly Friend's Secret 105 My Old Friend 126 Old Band, The 112 Old Chums . . . . 80 Old-Fashioned Bible, The 48 Old John Henry 128 Old Indiany 180 Old Man, The 83 Old Man and Jim, The 96 Old School-Chum, The 103 Our Old Friend Neverfail 62 Poet's Love for the Children, The ...... 36 Reach Your Hand to Me 170 Scotty •.. 81 Song by Uncle Sidney, A 35 Song of Long Ago, A ■ . 164 Stepmother, The 152 That Night 158 To Almon Keefer 160 To the Quiet Observer 168 Tommy Smith 60 Traveling Man, The 120 Uncle Sidney to Marcellus 34 What "Old Santa" Overheard 150 When Old Jack Died 153 When We Three Meet 54 RILEY SONGS OF FRIENDSHIP BACK FROM TOWN OLD friends alius is the best, Halest-like and heartiest: Knowed us first, and don't allow We're so blame much better now ! They was standin' at the bars When we grabbed "the kivvered kyars' And lit out fer town, to make Money — and that old mistake! 17 BACK FROM TOWN We thought then the world we went Into beat "The Settlement," And the friends 'at we'd make there Would beat any anywhere ! — And they do — f er that's their biz : They beat all the friends they is — 'Cept the raal old friends like you 'At staid at home, like I'd ort to ! W'y, of all the good things yit I ain't shet of, is to quit Business, and git back to sheer These old comforts waitin' here — These old friends ; and these old hands 'At a feller understands ; These old winter nights, and old Young-folks chased in out the cold ! Sing "Hard Times'll come ag'in No More!" and neighbers all jine in! Here's a feller come from town Wants that-air old fiddle down From the chimbly! — Git the floor Cleared fer one cowtillion more! — It's poke the kitchen fire, says he, And shake a friendly leg with me ! 18 A HOBO VOLUNTARY OH, the hobo's life is a roving life; It robs pretty maids of their heart's delight- It causes them to weep and it causes them to mourn For the life of a hobo, never to return. The hobo's heart it is light and free, Though it's Sweethearts all, farewell, to thee ! — Farewell to thee, for it's far away The homeless hobo's footsteps stray. In the morning bright, or the dusk so dim, It's any path is the one for him ! He'll take his chances, long or short, For to meet his fate with a valiant heart. 19 A HOBO VOLUNTARY Oh, it's beauty mops out the sidetracked-car, And it's beauty-beaut' at the pigs-feet bar ; But when his drinks and his eats is made Then the hobo shunts off down the grade. He camps near town, on the old crick-bank, And he cuts his name on the water-tank — He cuts his name and the hobo sign, — "Bound for the land of corn and wine!" (Oh, it's I like friends that he'ps me through, And the friends also that he'ps you, too, — Oh, I like all friends, 'most every kind But I don't like friends that don't like mine.) There's friends of mine, when they gits the hunch, Comes a swarmin' in, the blasted bunch, — "Clog-step Jonny" and "Flat-wheel Bill" And "Brockey Ike" from Circleville. With "Cooney Ward" and "Sikes the Kid" And old "Pop Lawson" — the best we had — The rankest mug and the worst for lush And the dandiest of the whole blame push. 20 A HOBO VOLUNTARY Oh, them's the times I remembers best When I took my chances with all the rest, And hogged fried chicken and roastin' ears, too, And sucked cheroots when the feed was through. Oh, the hobo's way is the railroad line, And it's little he cares for schedule time ; Whatever town he's a-striken for Will wait for him till he gets there. And whatever burg that he lands in There's beauties there just thick for him — There's beauty at "The Queen's Taste Lunch-stand/' sure, Or "The Last Chance Boardin' House" back-door. He's lonesome-like, so he gits run in, To git the hang o' the world ag'in; But the laundry circles he moves in there Makes him sigh for the country air, — So it's Good-by gals ! and he takes his chance And wads hisself through the workhouse-fence: 23 A HOBO VOLUNTARY He sheds the town and the railroad, too, And strikes mud roads for a change of view. The jay drives by on his way to town, And looks on the hobo in high scorn, And so likewise does the farmhands stare — But what the haids does the hobo care! He hits the pike, in the summer's heat Or the winter's cold, with its snow and sleet — With a boot on one foot, and one shoe — Or he goes barefoot, if he chooses to. But he likes the best, when the days is warm, With his bum Prince- Albert on his arm — He likes to size up a farmhouse where They hain't no man nor bulldog there. Oh, he gits his meals wherever he can, So natchurly he's a handy man — He's a handy man both day and night, And he's always blest with an appetite! A tin o' black coffee, and a rhubarb pie — Be they old and cold as charity — 24 ' A HOBO VOLUNTARY They're hot-stuff enough for the pore hobo, And it's "Thanks, kind lady, for to treat me so!" Then he fills his pipe with a stub cigar And swipes a coal from the kitchen fire, And the hired girl says, in a smilin' tone, — "It's good-by, John, if you call that goin' !" Oh, the hobo's life is a roving life, It robs pretty maids of their heart's delight — It causes them to weep and it causes them to mourn For the life of a hobo, never to return. BE OUR FORTUNES AS THEY MAY BE our fortunes as they may, Touched with loss or sorrow, Saddest eyes that weep to-day May be glad to-morrow. Yesterday the rain was here, And the winds were blowing- Sky and earth and atmosphere Brimmed and overflowing. 28 BE OUR FORTUNES AS THEY MAY But to-day the sun is out, And the drear November We were then so vexed about Now we scarce remember. Yesterday you lost a friend — Bless your heart and love it! — For you scarce could comprehend All the aching of it; — But I sing to you and say : Let the lost friend sorrow-^ Here's another come to-day, Others may to-morrow. I SMOKE MY PIPE I CAN'T extend to every friend In need a helping hand — No matter though I wish it so, 'Tis not as Fortune planned; But haply may I fancy they Are men of different stripe Than others think who hint and wink,- And so — I smoke my pipe! A golden coal to crown the bowl — My pipe and I alone, — I sit and muse with idler views Perchance than I should own: — It might be worse to own the purse Whose glutted bowels gripe In little qualms of stinted alms ; And so I smoke my pipe. 30 I SMOKE MY PIPE And if inclined to moor my mind And cast the anchor Hope, A puff of breath will put to death The morbid misanthrope That lurks inside — as errors hide In standing forms of type To mar at birth some line of worth ; And so I smoke my pipe. The subtle stings misfortune flings Can give me little pain When my narcotic spell has wrought This quiet in my brain : When I can waste the past in taste So luscious and so ripe That like an elf I hug myself; And so I smoke my pipe. And wrapped in shrouds of drifting clouds I watch the phantom's flight, Till alien eyes from Paradise Smile on me as I write : And I forgive the wrongs that live, As lightly as I wipe Away the tear that rises here ; And so I smoke my pipe. 33 UNCLE SIDNEY TO MARCELLUS MARCELLUS, won't you tell us— Truly tell us, if you can, — What will you be, Marcellus, When you get to be a man? You turn, with never answer But to the band that plays, — O rapt and eerie dancer, What of your future days ? 34 UNCLE SIDNEY TO MARCELLUS For in the years before us We dreamers see your fame, While song and praise in chorus Make music of your name. And though our dreams foretell us As only visions can, You must prove it, Marcellus, When you get to be a man ! A SONG BY UNCLE SIDNEY OWERE I not a clod, intent On being just an earthly thing, I'd be that rare embodiment Of Heart and Spirit, Voice and Wing, With pure, ecstatic, rapture-sent, Divinely-tender twittering That Echo swoons to re-present, — A bluebird in the Spring. 35 THE POET'S LOVE FOR THE CHILDREN KINDLY and warm and tender, He nestled each childish palm So close in his own that his touch was a prayer And his speech a blessed psalm. He has turned from the marvelous pages Of many an alien tome — Haply come down from Olivet, Or out from the gates of Rome — 36 * 1 i THE POET'S LOVE FOR THE CHILDREN Set sail o'er the seas between him And each little beckoning hand That fluttered about in the meadows And groves of his native land, — Fluttered and flashed on his vision As, in the glimmering light Of the orchard-lands of childhood, The blossoms of pink and white. And there have been sobs in his bosom, As out on the shores he stept, And many a little welcomer Has wondered why he wept. — That was because, children, Ye might not always be The same that the Savior's arms were wound About, in Galilee. FRIEND OF A WAYWARD HOUR FRIEND of a wayward hour, you came Like some good ghost, and went the same ; And I within the haunted place Sit smiling on your vanished face, And talking with — your name. But thrice the pressure of your hand — First hail — congratulations — and Your last "God bless you !" as the train That brought you snatched you back again Into the unknown land. 40 FRIEND OF A WAYWARD HOUR "God bless me?" Why, your very prayer Was answered ere you asked it there, I know — for when you came to lend Me your kind hand, and call me friend, God blessed me unaware. !1 P '■■ — """" —""Wr— MY HENRY HE'S jes' a great, big, awk'ard, hulkin' Feller, — humped, and sort o' sulkin'- Like, and ruther still-appearin , — Kind-as-ef he wuzn't keerin' Whether school helt out er not- That's my Henry, to a dot! Alius kind o' liked him — whether Childern er growed-up together! Fifteen year* ago and better, 'Fore he ever knowed a letter, Run acrosst the little fool In my Primer-class at school. 42 J*^n§SH&- 4HR & K . ,- *^ ** : iaL ; /I ■T * , * *^ _: ' •';. *. J '1 L .z k- . _ _. _ , t _ ^ll MY HENRY When the Teacher wuzn't looking He'd be th'owin' wads ; er crookin' Pins; er sprinklin' pepper, more'n Likely, on the stove; er borin' Gimlet-holes up thue his desk — Nothin' that boy wouldn't resk ! But, somehow, as I was goin' On to say, he seemed so knowin', Other ways, and cute and cunnin' — Alius wuz a notion runnin' Thue my giddy, fool-head he Jes' had be'n cut out fer me! Don't go much on prophesyin', But last night whilse I wuz fryin' Supper, with that man a-pitchin' Little Marthy round the kitchen, Think-says-I, "Them baby's eyes Is my Henry's, jes' p'cise !" A LETTER TO A FRIEND THE past is like a story I have listened to in dreams That vanished in the glory ftf the Morning's early gleams; And — at my shadow glancing — I feel a loss of strength, As the Day of Life advancing Leaves it shorn of half its length. 46 A LETTER TO A FRIEND But it's all in vain to worry At the rapid race of Time — And he flies in such a flurry When I trip him with a rhyme, I'll bother him no longer Than to thank you for the thought That "my fame is growing stronger As you really think it ought." And though I fall below it, I might know as much of mirth To live and die a poet Of unacknowledged worth; For Fame is but a vagrant — Though a loyal one and brave, And his laurels ne'er so fragrant As when scattered o'er the grave. THE OLD-FASHIONED BIBLE HOW dear to my heart are the scenes of my child- hood That now but in mem'ry I sadly review ; The old meeting-house at the edge of the wildwood, The rail fence and horses all tethered thereto ; The low, sloping roof, and the bell in the steeple, The doves that came fluttering out overhead As it solemnly gathered the God-fearing people To hear the old Bible my grandfather read. The old-fashioned Bible — The dust-covered Bible — The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read. 48 i * 4 ! W M^> * V THE OLD-FASHIONED BIBLE The blessed old volume ! The face bent above it — As now I recall it — is gravely severe, Though the reverent eye that droops downward to love it Makes grander the text through the lens of a tear, And, as down his features it trickles and glistens, The cough of the deacon is stilled, and his head Like a haloed patriarch's leans as he listens To hear the old Bible my grandfather read. The old-fashioned Bible — The dust-covered Bible — The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read. Ah ! who shall look backward with scorn and derision And scoff the old book though it uselessly lies In the dust of the past, while this newer revision Lisps on of a hope and a home in the skies ? Shall the voice of the Master be stifled and riven ? Shall we hear but a tithe of the words He has said, When so long He has, listening, leaned out of Heaven To hear the old Bible my grandfather read ? The old-fashioned Bible — The dust-covered Bible — The leathern-bound Bible my grandfather read. 51 GOOD-BY ER HOWDY-DO SAY good-by er howdy-do — What's the odds betwixt the two? Comm' — -goin', ev'ry day — Best friends first to go away — Grasp of hands you'd ruther hold Than their weight in solid gold Slips their grip while greetin' you.— - Say good-by er howdy- do ! 52 GOOD-BY ER HOWDY-DO Howdy-do, and then, good-by — Mixes jes' like laugh and cry; Deaths and births, and worst and best, Tangled their contrariest ; Ev'ry jinglin' weddin'-bell Skeerin' up some funer'l knell. — Here's my song, and there's your sigh.— Howdy-do, and then, good-by ! Say good-by er howdy-do — Jes' the same to me and you ; 'Taint worth while to make no fuss, 'Cause the job's put up on us! Some One's runnin' this concern That's got nothin' else to learn : Ef He's willin', we'll pull through- Say good-by er howdy-do ! WHEN WE THREE MEET WHEN we three meet? Ah! friend of mine Whose verses well and flow as wine, — My thirsting fancy thou dost fill With draughts delicious, sweeter still Since tasted by those lips of thine. I pledge thee, through the chill sunshine Of autumn, with a warmth divine, Thrilled through as only I shall thrill When we three meet. I pledge thee, if we fast or dine, We yet shall loosen, line by line, Old ballads, and the blither trill Of our-time singers — for there will Be with us all the Muses nine When we three meet. 54 "THE LITTLE MAN IN THE TINSHOP" WHEN I was a little boy, long ago, And spoke of the theater as the "show," The first one that I went to see, Mother's brother it was took me— (My uncle, of course, though he seemed to be Only a boy — I loved him so!) And ah, how pleasant he made it all ! And the things he knew that / should know ! — The stage, the "drop," and the frescoed wall; The sudden flash of the lights; and oh, The orchestra, with its melody, And the lilt and jingle and jubilee Of "The Little Man in the Tinshop" ! 55 "THE LITTLE MAN IN THE TINSHOP" For Uncle showed me the "Leader" there, With his pale, bleak forehead and long, black hair Showed me the "Second," and " 'Cello," and "Bass/ And the "B-Flat," pouting and puffing his face At the little end of the horn he blew Silvery bubbles of music through; And he coined me names of them, each in turn, Some comical name that I laughed to learn, Clean on down to the last and best, — The lively little man, never at rest, Who hides away at the end of the string, And tinkers and plays on everything, — That's "The Little Man in the Tinshop" ! Raking a drum like a rattle of hail, Clinking a cymbal or castanet; Chirping a twitter or sending a wail Through a piccolo that thrills me yet; Reeling ripples of riotous bells, And tipsy tinkles of triangles — Wrangled and tangled in skeins of sound Till it seemed that my very soul spun round, As I leaned, in a breathless joy, toward my Radiant uncle, who snapped his eye And said, with the courtliest wave of his hand, "Why, that little master of all the band Is 'The Little Man in the Tinshop' ! 56 "THE LITTLE MAN IN THE TINSHOP" "And I've heard Verdi, the Wonderful, And Paganini, and Ole Bull, Mozart, Handel, and Mendelssohn, And fair Parepa, whose matchless tone Karl, her master, with magic bow, Blent with the angels', and held her so Tranced till the rapturous Infinite — And I've heard arias, faint and low, From many an operatic light Glimmering on my swimming sight Dimmer and dimmer, until, at last, I still sit, holding my roses fast For The Little Man in the Tinshop.' " Oho ! my Little Man, joy to you — - And yours — and theirs — your lifetime through! Though I've heard melodies, boy and man. Since first "the show" of my life began, Never yet have I listened to Sadder, madder, or gladder glees Than your unharmonied harmonies; For yours is the music that appeals To all the fervor the boy's heart feels — All his glories, his wildest cheers, His bravest hopes, and his brightest tears; And so, with his first bouquet, he kneels To "The Little Man in the Tinshop.'-' 59 TOMMY SMITH DIMPLE-cheeked and rosy-lipped, With his cap-rim backward tipped, Still in fancy I can see Little Tommy smile on me — Little Tommy Smith. Little unsung Tommy Smith — Scarce a name to rhyme it with ; Yet most tenderly to me Something sings unceasingly — Little Tommy Smith. 60 TOMMY SMITH On the verge of some far land Still forever does he stand, With his cap-rim rakishly Tilted ; so he smiles on me — Little Tommy Smith. Elder-blooms contrast the grace Of the rover's radiant face — Whistling back, in mimicry, "Old— Bob— White !" all liquidiy ~ Little Tommy Smith. my jaunty statuette Of first love, I see you yet. Though you smile so mistily It is but through tears I see, Little Tommy Smith. But, with crown tipped back behind And the glad hand of the wind Smoothing back your hair, I sec Heaven's best angel smile on me, — Little Tommy Smith. OUR OLD FRIEND NEVERFAIL IT'S good to ketch a relative 'at's richer and don't run When you holler out to hold up, and'll joke and have his fun; It's good to hear a man called bad and then find out he's not, Er strike some chap they call lukewarm 'at's really red-hot ; 62 OUR OLD FRIEND NEVERFAIL It's good to know the Devil's painted jes' a leetle black, And it's good to have most anybody pat you on the back ; — But jes' the best thing in the world's our old friend Neverfail, When he wags yer hand as honest as an old dog wags his tail ! I like to strike the man I owe the same time I can pay, And take back things I've borried, and su'prise folks thataway ; I like to find out that the man I voted fer last fall, That didn't git elected, was a scoundrel after all ; I like the man that likes the pore and he'ps 'em when he can ; I like to meet a ragged tramp 'at's still a gentleman ; But most I like — with you, my boy — our old friend Neverfail, When he wags yer hand as honest as an old dog wags his tail ! MY BACHELOR CHUM A CORPULENT man is my bachelor chum, With a neck apoplectic and thick — An abdomen on him as big as a drum, And a fist big enough for the stick ; With a walk that for grace is clear out of the case. And a wobble uncertain — as though His little bow-legs had forgotten the pace That in youth used to favor him so. He is forty, at least ; and the top of his head Is a bald and a glittering thing; And his nose and his two chubby cheeks are as red As three rival roses in spring ; 64 MY BACHELOR CHUM His mouth is a grin with the corners tucked in, And his laugh is so breezy and bright That it ripples his features and dimples his chin With a billowy look of delight. He is fond of declaring he "don't care a straw" — That "the ills of a bachelor's life Are blisses, compared with a mother-in-law And a boarding-school miss for a wife!" So he smokes and he drinks, and he jokes and he winks, And he dines and he wines, all alone, With a thumb ever ready to snap as he thinks Of the comforts he never has known. But up in his den — (Ah, my bachelor chum!) — I have sat with him there in the gloom, When the laugh of his lips died away to become But a phantom of mirth in the room. And to look on him there you would love him, for all His ridiculous ways, and be dumb As the little girl-face that smiles down from the wall On the tears of my bachelor chum. ART AND POETRY TO HOMEK DAVENPORT w ESS he says, and sort o' grins ; Art and Poetry is twins! "Yit, if I'd my pick, I'd shake Poetry, and no mistake! "Pictures, alius, 'peared to me, Clean laid over Poetry! 68 ART AND POETRY "Let me draw, and then, i jings, HI not keer a straw who sings " 'F I could draw as you have drew, Like to jes' swop pens with you ! "Picture-drawin' 's my pet vision Of Life-work in Lands Elysian. "Pictures is first language we Find hacked out in History. "Most delight we ever took Was in our first Picture-book. " Thout the funny picture-makers, They'd be lots more undertakers! "Still, as I say, Rhymes and Art 'Smighty hard to tell apart. "Songs and pictures go together Same as birds and summer weather." So Wess says, and sort o' grins, "Art and Poetry is twins." 69 DOWN TO THE CAPITAL I' BE'N down to the Capital at Washington, D. C, Where Congerss meets and passes on the pen- sions ort to be Allowed to old one-legged chaps, like me, 'at sence the war Don't wear their pants in pairs at all — and yit how proud we are ! 70 DOWN TO THE CAPITAL Old Flukens, from our deestrick, jes' turned in and tuck and made Me stay with him whilse I was there ; and longer 'at I stayed The more I kep' a-wantin' jes' to kind o' git away, And yit a-feelin' sociabler with Flukens ever' day. You see I'd got the idy — and I guess most folks agrees — 'At men as rich as him, you know, kin do jes' what they please ; A man worth stacks o' money, and a Congerssman and all, And livin' in a buildin' bigger'n Masonic Hall ! Now mind, I'm not a-faultin' Fluke — he made his money square: We both was Forty-niners, and both bu'sted gittin' there ; I weakened and onwindlassed, and he stuck and stayed and made His millions ; don't know what I'm worth untel my pension's paid. 71 DOWN TO THE CAPITAL But I was goin' to tell you — er a-ruther goin' to try To tell you how he's livin' now : gas burnin' mighty nigh In ever' room about the house ; and ever' night, about, Some blame reception goin' on, and money goin' out. They's people there from all the world — jes' ever' kind 'at lives, Injuns and all ! and Senaters, and Ripresentatives ; And girls, you know, jes' dressed in gauze and roses, I declare, And even old men shamblin' round a-waltzin' with 'em there! And bands a-tootin' circus-tunes, 'way in some other room Jes' chokin' full o' hothouse plants and pinies and perfume ; And fountains, squirtin' stiddy all the time; and statutes, made Out 'o puore marble, 'peared-like, sneakin' round there in the shade. 72 DOWN TO THE CAPITAL And Fluke he coaxed and begged and pled with me to take a hand And sashay in amongst 'em — crutch and all, you understand ; But when I said how tired I was, and made fer open air, He f ollered, and tel five o'clock we set a-talkin' there. "My God !" says he — Fluke says to me, "I'm tireder'n you! Don't putt up yer tobacker tel you give a man a chew. Set back a leetle f urder in the shadder — that'll do ; I'm tireder'n you, old man ; I'm tireder'n you. "You see that-air old dome," says he, "humped up ag'inst the sky? It's grand, first time you see it; but it changes, by and by, And then it stays jes' thataway — jes' anchored high and dry Betwixt the sky up yender and the achin' of yer eye. 75 DOWN TO THE CAPITAL "Night's purty ; not so purty, though, as what it ust to be When my first wife was livin'. You remember her?" says he. I nodded-like, and Fluke went on, "I wonder now ef she Knows where I am — and what I am — and what I ust to be? "That band in there! — I ust to think 'at music couldn't wear A feller out the way it does; but that ain't music there — That's jes' a' imitation, and like ever 'thing, I swear, I hear, er see, er tetch, er taste, er tackle anywhere ! "It's all jes' artificial, this-'ere high-priced life of ours; The theory, it's sweet enough, tel it saps down and sours. They's no home left, ner ties o' home about it. By the powers, The whole thing's artificialer'n artificial flowers! 76 DOWN TO THE CAPITAL "And all I want, and could lay down and sob fer, is to know The homely things of homely life ; fer instance, jes' to go And set down by the kitchen stove — Lord ! that 'u'd rest me so, — Jes' set there, like I ust to do, and laugh and joke, you know. "Jes* set there, like I ust to do," says Fluke, a-startin' in, Teared-like, to say the whole thing over to hisse'f ag'in ; Then stopped and turned, and kind o' coughed, and stooped and fumbled fer Somepin' o' 'nuther in the grass — I guess his hand- kercher. Well, sence I'm back from Washington, where I left Fluke a-still A-leggin' fer me, heart and soul, on that-air pension bill, I've half-way struck the notion, when I think o' wealth and sich, They's nothin' much patheticker'n jes' a-bein' rich ! 79 OLD CHUMS IF I die first," my old chum paused to say, "Mind ! not a whimper of regret : — instead, Laugh and be glad, as I shall. — Being dead, I shall not lodge so very far away But that our mirth shall mingle. — So, the day The word comes, joy with me." "I'll try," I said, Though, even speaking, sighed and shook my head And turned, with misted eyes. His roundelay Rang gaily on the stair ; and then the door Opened and — closed. . . . Yet something of the clear, Hale hope, and force of wholesome faith he had Abided with me — strengthened more and more. — Then — then they brought his broken body here : And I laughed — whisperingly — and we were glad. 80 SCOTTY SCOTTY'S dead.— Of course he is! Jes' that same old luck of his ! — Ever sence we went cahoots He's be'n first, you bet yer boots ! When our schoolm' first begun, Got two whipping to my one : Stold and smoked the first cigar : Stood up first before the bar, Takin' whisky-straight — and me Wastin' time on "blackberry" ! 81 SCOTTY Beat me in the Army, too, And clean on the whole way through !- In more scrapes around the camp, And more troubles, on the tramp : Fought and fell there by my side With more bullets in his hide, And more glory in the cause, — That's the kind o' man he was ! Luck liked Scotty more'n me. — / got married : Scotty, he Never even would apply Fer the pension-money I Had to beg of "Uncle Sam"— That's the kind o' cuss / am ! — Scotty alius first and best — Me the last and onriest ! Yit fer all that's said and done — All the battles fought and won — We hain't prospered, him ner me — Both as pore as pore could be, — Though we've alius, up tel now, Stuck together anyhow — Scotty alius, as I've said, Luckiest — And now he's dead! 82 THE OLD MAN LO! steadfast and serene, In patient pause between The seen and the unseen, What gentle zephyrs fan Your silken silver hair, — And what diviner air Breathes round you like a prayer, Old Man? 83 THE OLD MAN Can you, in nearer view Of Glory, pierce the blue Of happy Heaven through ; And, listening mutely, can Your senses, dull to us, Hear Angel-voices thus, In chorus glorious — Old Man? In your reposeful gaze The dusk of Autumn days Is blent with April haze, As when of old began The bursting of the bud Of rosy babyhood — When all the world was good, Old Man. And yet I find a sly Little twinkle in your eye ; And your whispering shy Little laugh is simply an Internal shout of glee That betrays the fallacy You'd perpetrate on me, Old Man. 84 THE OLD MAN So just put up the frown That your brows are pulling down ! Why, the fleetest boy in town, As he bared his feet and ran, Could read with half a glance — And of keen rebuke, perchance — Your secret countenance, Old Man. Now, honestly, confess : Is an old man any less Than the little child we bless And caress when we can? Isn't age but just a place Where you mask the childish face To preserve its inner grace Old Man? Hasn't age a truant day, Just as that you went astray In the wayward, restless way, When, brown with dust and tan, Your roguish face essayed, In solemn masquerade, To hide the smile it made, Old Man? 87 THE OLD MAN Now, fair, and square, and true, Don't your old soul tremble through, As in youth it used to do When it brimmed and overran With the strange, enchanted sights, And the splendors and delights Of the old "Arabian Nights," Old Man? When, haply, you have fared Where glad Aladdin shared His lamp with you, and dared The Af rite and his clan ; And, with him, clambered through The trees where jewels grew — And filled your pockets, too, Old Man? Or, with Sinbad, at sea — And in veracity Who has sinned as bad as he, Or would, or will, or can?— = Have you listened to his lies, With open mouth and eyes, And learned his art likewise, Old Man? 88 THE OLD MAN And you need not deny That your eyes were wet as dry, Reading novels on the sly ! And review them, if you can And the same warm tears will fall — Only faster, that is all — Over Little Nell and Paul, Old Man! Oh, you were a lucky lad — Just as good as you were bad ! And the host of friends you had — Charley, Tom, and Dick, and Dan ; And the old School-Teacher, too, Though he often censured you; And the girls in pink and blue, Old Man. And — as often you have leant, In boyish sentiment, To kiss the letter sent By Nelly, Belle, or Nan — Wherein the rose's hue Was red, the violet blue — And sugar sweet — and you, Old Man — 89 THE OLD MAN So, to-day, as lives the bloom, And the sweetness, and perfume Of the blossoms, I assume, On the same mysterious plan The Master's love assures, That the selfsame boy endures In that hale old heart of yours,. Old Man. JAMES B. MAYNARD H IS daily, nightly task is o'er — He leans above his desk no more. His pencil and his pen say not One further word of gracious thought. All silent is his voice, yet clear For all a grateful world to hear; He poured abroad his human love In opulence unmeasured of — While, in return, his meek demand, — The warm clasp of a neighbor-hand In recognition of the true World's duty that he lived to do. So was he kin of yours and mine — So, even by the hallowed sign Of silence which he listens to, He hears our tears as falls the dew. 91 THE ANCIENT PRINTERMAN OPRINTERMAN of sallow face, And look of absent guile, Is it the 'copy' on your 'case' That causes you to smile ? Or is it some old treasure scrap You call from Memory's file? '•'I fain would guess its mystery — For often I can trace A fellow dreamer's history Whene'er it haunts the face ; Your fancy's running riot In a retrospective race! 92 THE ANCIENT PRINTERMAN "Ah, Printerman, you're straying Afar from 'stick' and type — Your heart has 'gone a-maying,' And you taste old kisses, ripe Again on lips that pucker At your old asthmatic pipe ! "You are dreaming of old pleasures That have faded from your view ; And the music-burdened measures Of the laughs you listen to Are now but angel-echoes — 0, have I spoken true?" The ancient Printer hinted With a motion full of grace To where the words were printed On a card above his "case," — "I am deaf and dumb !" I left him With a smile upon his face. THE OLD MAN AND JIM OLD man never had much to say — 'Ceptin' to Jim,— And Jim was the wildest boy he had — And the old man jes' wrapped up in himi Never heerd him speak but once Er twice in my life,— and first time was When the army broke out, and Jim he went, The old man backin' him, f er three months ; And all 'at I heerd the old man say Was, jes' as we turned to start away, — "Well, good-by, Jim: Take keer of yourse'f !" 96 THE OLD MAN AND JIM Teared-like, he was more satisfied Jes' lookin' at Jim And likin' him all to hisse'f-like, see ? 'Cause he was jes' wrapped up in him ! And over and over I mind the day The old man come and stood round in the way While we was drillin', a-watchin' Jim — And down at the deepo a-heerin' him say. "Well, good-by, Jim: Take keer of yourse'f !" Never was nothin' about the farm, Disting'ished Jim; Neighbors all ust to wonder why The old man 'peared wrapped up in him. But when Cap. Biggler he writ back 'At Jim was the bravest boy we had In the whole dern rigiment, white er black, And his fightin' good as his farmin' bad — 'At he had led, with a bullet clean Bored through his thigh, and carried the flag Through the bloodiest battle you ever seen, — The old man wound up a letter to him 'At Cap. read to us, 'at read : "Tell Jim Good-by, And take keer of hisse'f." 97 THE OLD MAN AND JIM Jim come home jes' long enough To take the whim 'At he'd like to go back in the calvery — And the old man jes' wrapped up in him ! Jim 'lowed 'at he'd had sich luck afore, Guessed he'd tackle her three years more. And the old man give him a colt he'd raised, And f ollered him over to Camp Ben Wade, And laid around fer a week er so, Watchin' Jim on dress-parade — Tel finally he rid away, And last he heerd was the old man say, — "Well, good-by, Jim: Take keer of yourse'f !" ?. ■ .. 98 THE OLD MAN AND JIM Tuk the papers' the old man did, A-watchin' f er Jim — Fully believin' he'd make his mark Some way — jes' wrapped up in him! — And many a time the word 'u'd come 'At stirred him up like the tap of a drum — At Petersburg, fer instance, where Jim rid right into their cannons there, And tuk 'em, and p'inted 'em t'other way, And socked it home to the boys in gray As they scooted fer timber, and on and on — Jim a lieutenant, and one arm gone, And the old man's words in his mind all day,- "Well, good-by, Jim : Take keer of yourse'f !" 101 THE OLD MAN AND JIM Think of a private, now, perhaps, We 11 say like Jim, 'At's dumb clean up to the shoulder-straps— And the old man jes' wrapped up in him! Think of him — with the war plum' through, And the glorious old Red-White-and-Blue A-laughin' the news down over Jim, And the old man, bendin' over him — The surgeon turnm' away with tears 'At hadn't leaked fer years and years, As the hand of the dyin' boy clung to His father's, the old voice in his ears, — "Well, good-by, Jim: Take keer of yourse'f !" THE OLD SCHOOL-CHUM HE puts the poem by, to say His eyes are not themselves to-day ! A sudden glamour o'er his sight — A something vague, indefinite — An oft-recurring blur that blinds The printed meaning of the lines, And leaves the mind all dusk and dim In swimming darkness — strange to him! 103 THE OLD SCHOOL-CHUM It is not childishness, I guess, Yet something of the tenderness That used to wet his lashes when A boy seems troubling him again ; — The old emotion, sweet and wild, That drove him truant when a child, That he might hide the tears that fell Above the lesson— "Little Nell." And so it is he puts aside The poem he has vainly tried To follow ; and, as one who sighs In failure, through a poor disguise Of smiles, he dries his tears, to say His eyes are not themselves to-day e MY JOLLY FRIEND'S SECRET AH. friend of mine, how goes it Since you've taken you a mate ? — Your smile, though, plainly shows it Is a very happy state ! Dan Cupid's necromancy! You must sit you down and dine, And lubricate your fancy With a glass or two of wine. 105 MY JOLLY FRIEND'S SECRET And as you have "deserted/' As my other chums have done, While I laugh alone diverted, As you drop off one by one — And I've remained unwedded, Till — you see — look here — that I'm, In a manner, "snatched bald-headed" By the sportive hand of Time ! I'm an "old 'un!" yes, but wrinkles Are not so plenty, quite, As to cover up the twinkles Of the boy — ain't I right? Yet there are ghosts of kisses Under this mustache of mine My mem'ry only misses When I drown 'em out with wine. From acknowledgment so ample, You would hardly take me for What I am — a perfect sample Of a "jolly bachelor" ; Not a bachelor has being When he laughs at married life But his heart and soul's agreeing That he ought to have a wife ! 106 MY JOLLY FRIEND'S SECRET Ah, ha! old chum, this claret, Like Fatima, holds the key Of the old Blue-Beardish garret Of my hidden mystery! Did you say you'd like to listen ? Ah, my boy! the "Sad No More!" And the tear-drops that will glisten— Turn the catch upon the door, And sit you down beside me And put yourself at ease — I'll trouble you to slide me That wine decanter, please ; The path is kind o' mazy Where my fancies have to go, And my heart gets sort o' lazy On the journey — don't you know? Let me see — when I was twenty — It's a lordly age, my boy, When a fellow's money's plenty, And the leisure to enjoy — 109 MY JOLLY FRIEND'S SECRET And a girl — with hair as golden As — that; and lips — well — quite As red as this I'm holdin' Between you and the light? And eyes and a complexion — Ah, heavens ! — le'-me-see — Well, — just in this connection, — - Did you lock that door for me . ? Did I start in recitation My past life to recall? Well, that's an indication I am purty tight — that's all I IN THE HEART OF JUNE IN the heart of June, love, You and I together, On from dawn till noon, love, Laughing with the weather ; Blending both our souls, love, In the selfsame tune, Drinking all life holds, love, In the heart of June. In the heart of June, love, With its golden weather, Underneath the moon, love, You and I together. Ah ! how sweet to seem, love, Drugged and half aswoon With this luscious dream, love, In the heart of June. Ill THE OLD BAND I Considerin , I've be'n away twenty year and T'S mighty good to git back to the old town, shore, msidei more. Sence I moved then to Kansas, of course I see a change, A-comin' back, and notice things that's new to me and strange; Especially at evening when yer new band-fellers meet, In fancy uniforms and all, and play out on the street — . . . What's come of old Bill Lindsey and the Sax- horn fellers — say? I want to hear the old band play. 112 THE OLD BAND What's come of Eastman, and Nat Snow? And where's War Barnett at? And Nate and Bony Meek ; Bill Hart ; Tom Richa'son and that- Air brother of him played the drum as twic't as big as Jim; And old Hi Kerns, the carpenter — say, what's be- come o' him? I make no doubt yer new band now's a competenter band, And plays their music more by note than what they play by hand, And stylisher and grander tunes; but somehow — anyway, I want to hear the old band play. Sich tunes as "John Brown's Body" and "Sweet Alice," don't you know ; And "The Camels is A-comin'," and "John Anderson, my Jo"; And a dozent others of 'em — "Number Nine" and "Number 'Leven" Was fsivo-rites that fairly made a feller dream o' Heaven. 115 THE OLD BAND And when the boys 'u'd saranade, I've laid so still - in bed Fve even heerd the locus'-blossoms droppin' on the shed When "Lilly Dale," er "Hazel Dell," had sobbed and died away — ... I want to hear the old band play. Yer new band ma'by beats it, but the old band's what I said — It alius 'peared to kind o' chord with somethin' in my head ; And, whilse I'm no musicianer, when my blame' eyes is jes' Nigh drownded out, and Mem'ry squares her jaws and sort o' says She won't ner never will fergit, I want to jes' turn in And take and light right out o' here and git back West ag'in And stay there, when I git there, where I never haf to say I want to hear the old band play. • MY FRIEND 'TTE is my friend/' I said, — -H- "Be patient!" Overhead The skies were drear and dim ; And lo ! the thought of him Smiled on my heart — and then The sun shone out again ! "He is my friend !" The words Brought summer and the birds ; And all my winter-time Thawed into running rhyme And rippled into song, Warm, tender, brave, and strong. 117 MY FRIEND And so it sings to-day. — So may it sing alway! Though waving grasses grow Between, and lilies blow Their trills of perfume clear As laughter to the ear, Let each mute measure end With "Still he is my friend/ HER VALENTINE SOMEBODY'S sent a funny little valentine to me. It's a bunch of baby-roses in a vase of filigree, And hovering above them — just as cute as he can be— Is a fairy Cupid tangled in a scarf of poetry. And the prankish little fellow looks so knowing in his glee, With his golden bow and arrow, aiming most un- erringly At a pair of hearts so labeled that I may read and see That one is meant for "One Who Loves," and one is meant for me. But I know the lad who sent it! It's as plain as A-B-C!— For the roses they are blushing, and the vase stands awkwardly, And the little god above it — though as cute as he can be — Can not breathe the lightest whisper of his burning love for me. 119 THE TRAVELING MAN COULD I pour out the nectar the gods only can, I would fill up my glass to the brim And drink the success of the Traveling Man, And the house represented by him ; And could I but tincture the glorious draught With his smiles, as I drank to him then, And the jokes he has told and the laughs he has laughed, I would fill up the goblet again — And drink to the sweetheart who gave him good-by With a tenderness thrilling him this Very hour, as he thinks of the tear in her eye That salted the sweet of her kiss ; To her truest of hearts and her fairest of hands I would drink, with all serious prayers, Since the heart she must trust is a Traveling Man's, And as warm as the ulster he wears. 120 JbrMifcfi!^^:_L-teifct3BM£^^^! i ' -ifc^^ W I 1 I i ;