^he Echo and A Bit O* Verse EGMONT W. RUSCHKE Book j2k-kS.!^_& ^ Goppglitii? COPYRIGHT DEPOSm THE ECHO and ABIT 0' VERSE THE ECHO and A BIT O' VERSE Egmont W. Ruschke BOSTON THE STRATFORD CO., PUBLISHERS 1918 Copyright 191» The STRATFORD CO., Publishers Boston, Mass. The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A. MAY I6l9i8 ">! r, I TBtbitation There shines a light across the sea, A beacon light to ships like me, It casts its golden rays on waves, And from the wind and rocks it saves The plunging craft, the soul that sails To do, to serve, to live! through gales. Mp Motf)tv Contents The Echo 1 Death Speaks 41 The Intangible 53 A Bit 0' Verse Vivo 69 Tomorrow ....... 76 Lost Dreams 77 Fallen Idols 77 To the Sons of France . . . .78 In Memoriam of Dr. Charles D. Larklns . 78 Sing to Me 78 Birthday Greetings . . . . ,79 For Us 79 The Palisades 80 The Awakening 81 Cap' Bud . . . . . . .81 A Vision 83 Battle 83 Apart 84 Guess Not 84 You .85 White Roses and Red . . . .85 Farewell Old Playmate . . . .86 My Star 87 To Edna . • 88 My Sepulchre . . . . . .89 vii THE ECHO A COMEDY My eyes have been closed for these long weary years, Yet echoes of life thrill my soul with their cheers. And you, who can see, live in echoes of yore. Preface I The Echo is intended to be a suggestive play. By suggestive I do not mean spicy dialogue and bedroom settings. It is intended to be suggestive of serious social considerations. The remark in the dialogue by Mrs. Douglas about the servant, George Washington Jones, that he can only ''change his cage," since social and economic forces are more potent than political, is one of the most obvious but unrecognized truths that the world needs to con- sider. The ideal, represented by law, and the sen- timental, represented by so-called political consid- erations, do not exercise as great an influence as the economic and social. II A critical analysis of society reveals its individ- uals as made up of the impulses of heredity and environment, with economic, sociological, religious, and temperamental idiosyncrasies of character, not to mention conflicting class, family, racial, and na- tional interests. Life is a fabric curiously woven of many strands which inter-lap and overlap, which wear and tear. In dealing with all social questions, with labor, poverty, crime and divorce, this Aristotelian con- sideration of the many factors of life must not be forgotten. A complete, or satisfactory solution must settle all considerations. xi PREFACE III This is true in international affairs. The various causes of war must all be adjusted or eradicated be- fore peace will be possible. IV Should a blind girl marry? The question is aca- demic, but it is interesting as being representative of the question of marriage of individuals who are physical inefficients of society. Doubtlessly we will answer the question in the negative, unless we our- selves are afflicted, when the chances are that we will consider our own case peculiar and exceptional. The Civil War marked the end of chattel slavery. It marked the birth of a nation where before there had been a confederation. Consequently, as an American, I am interested in it and am proud of the result. But I confess a somewhat malicious de- light in shattering, if I have done so, the legend of a perfect president commanding a host of angels. I do not question the sincerity or wisdom of the people of the North or of Lincoln, in 1863, any more than I question the wisdom of Wilson and the people of the United States in 1918, but I refuse to prostrate myself to the conception that the North was perfection itself. The people of the North and South of that time were much like ourselves. They were neither saints nor devils. Lincoln was not a paragon of virtue and wisdom, nor was Lee a vile traitor. They were xii PREFACE both noble human characters, devoted to the cause which they conceived to be right. They were cor- ner-stones of strength to the North and South. They both made mistakes. Lincoln was reluctantly forced into about every measure which has won the applause of history; his chief virtue was his deter- mined conservatism. Lee frankly admitted that the loss of Gettysburg rested on his shoulders. When we recognize that 1863 was as I have pre- sented it, we will not despair of the present, which happens to be 1918 at the time of writing, and which will be equally true in 2018. Possibly the reader will be persuaded to study the Civil War in this critical spirit, and form a new estimate of present conditions and contemporary leaders. Unless the reader has what Shaw calls the faculty of being * imaginative, without illusions, and creative with- out religion, loyalty, patriotism or any of the com- mon ideals," the Echo will be not the beginning of thought but the end, as institutions should not be the ends in themselves, but the means of achiev- ing richer, nobler and better life. Xlll DRAMATIS PERSONAE Mrs. James Douglas. Miss Phyllis Douglas. George Washington Jones. Mrs. Amelie Peck. Mr. Archibald Peck. Daisy. Jane. Col. James Douglas. Charles. Dr. Mapes. (In the order of speech.) Scene The home of a rather well-to-do family in a small town of New York State. Time February, eighteen sixty three. Nine o'clock in the morning:. The Echo A church bell is tolling nine as the curtain rises, revealing an old fashioned dining room in which a log fire burns brightly. Old family portraits hang on the walls; morning sunlight streams gaily into the room. Its brightness is intensified by the snow, seen through the window, covering the ground on this Feb- ruary morning in the year 1863. Breakfasting at the table are Mrs. James Douglas, a middle-aged lady, with hair slightly tinged with grey, and with features that bespeak strong character. Opposite her is her daughter Phyllis, who is an intelligent and pretty young woman about twenty years of age. They are both dressed in the fashion of the time, — hoop-skirts and parted hair. The log fire is smouldering. W^e notice that Mrs. Douglas looks intently at a draped picture, a?id wipes away a tear. Standing at the side-board is an old darky, George Washington Jones, who almost immediately after the curtain rises pours coffee into cups and serves it. The furniture is of the period immediately preceding this. Phyllis feels her way towards the sugar. Mrs. Douglas Sugar, dear? FhYUjIS Yes, please. [1] THE ECHO G. W. Jones Sho' yo' don' want muffins, M'am? Mrs. Douglas No George — Oh, did a newspaper come today? G. W. Jones 'Sense me, mam, but I'se kept it till af'er break- fast, f ' yo ' don ' eat when dat 's once in yo ' hands. All three smile. Mrs. Douglas Wicked tyrant! Phyllis Simply because you are the only man here you should not be too hard on us. G. W. Jones Wa' someone's got ter take massa's place, else — Mrs. Douglas Massa! George you came to us ten years ago by the underground system, and yet you say master. Why don't you take the freedom offered? G. W. Jones Yo' don' understand. He'll all'ys be ma' massa. Phyllis It's strange that people allow sentiment to inter- fere with freedom. [2] THE ECHO Mrs. Douglas Yes, but it's not all sentiment. What could he do with his freedom? If he left us he would simply change his cage. Social and economic forces are even stronger than political. Phyllis^ smilingly addressing G. W. Jones. And anyway, it's no use to argue with a man. They argue simply to exercise their tongue. G. W. Jones I dunno! Ladies je's smile or cry. Phyllis,, laughing. And that ends the argument? G. W. Jones 'Ceptin' when a lady fights a lady. Den dey scratch, bite. .. . I'll get yo' papa'. (Exit at left.) Mrs. Douglas Our poor, misunderstood sex. Well, a tigress is a tigress. Phyllis But isn't George thoughtful. He is really quite intelligent. Mrs. Douglas Intelligent? He is intelligent enough to remember some of Harold's expressions. {Phyllis suddenly is serious. ) [3] THE ECHO Phyllis I had never thought of that. It's true. . . . Mrs. Douglas This coffee is delicious. {George Washington Jones ''enters with paper on a silver tray and places it before Mrs. Douglas.) Phyllis I have never tasted better. ... I feel like running. If I could see I would run until I dropped from ex- haustion. (Mrs. Douglas is reading the paper. Phyllis almost immediately asks.) Phyllis What does it say, mother? Mrs. Douglas Kindly allow me to read it first. Phyllis Pardon me. ... of course. . . . George. . . . today, it is beautiful, is it not? G. W. Jones Yes, Miss. Phyllis I feel it. ... I feel as if the world were purring. Mrs. Douglas shakes her head and frowns. [4] THE ECHO Phyllis Was there no letter? G. W. Jones No, Miss, dere were none, Mrs. Douglas I do declare! Phyllis What, mother? Mrs. Douglas I must read this carefully this afternoon. Phyllis Is there anything new about this dreadful war? Mrs. Douglas President Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation is said to be a mistake. Mr. Seward has a letter, pub- lished here, stating it was bad policy. Phyllis But how was it bad? Mrs. Douglas The Border States, and many lukewarm, people and property interests in the north feel it is a blow at the security of private property. Phyllis But has not northern enthusiasm increased? Now slavery, as well as the Union, hangs in the balance. [5] THE ECHO Mrs. Douglas Enlistments have fallen off and the government is finding it even more difficult to get money. Why was an ignorant backwoodsman elected president? Phyllis I think he has been tactful, even to the point of weakness. He has driven us into a war, but he didn't want to. It's the system, the stupid system, which prevents nations from quietly attending and adjust- ing their difficulties. {Removes Coffee.) Mrs. Douglas I don't know where and how you became a pacifist, Phyllis. Don't you see the glory of war? Phyllis Its glory is not comparable with its horror. Mrs. Douglas Confess that you feel a thrill when you hear martial music. Phyllis Yes! I like its briskness, the tramp of feet, the courage, organization and activity. But it's all de- structive. There is a hollow sound. It is activity, yet fruitless activity; it is intense, but barren. Mrs. Douglas It is not barren. You admit it compels courage. [6] THE ECHO Phyllis If I could see, as I remember the world, it is a delicate blend; it is quiet. Like the birds that sing in the trees, a harmony and a melody exist, I think, — except when men spend their resources, time and gen- ius in preparing for war, and are too lazy, stupid or indifferent to provide means for avoiding war. Mrs. Douglas Peoples do not fight as if they were lazy. And nature is not all beautiful and creative; it is also destructive. The stronger kill the weak; the fittest survive. Phyllis But man, though weaker than many animals, main- tains himself because he can think. This faculty enabling him to exist, should enable him to exist sens- ibly and constructively. God is a struggling God; if I could see, I, too, would go into the world and fight ; let man struggle, but struggle intelligently, ordering his life without the lowest attributes of the beast. I may be a pacifist because I cannot fight. . . . Now that we are in the war we must see it through. The Union must be preserved, and slavery abolished. . . . But, Oh, the horror, the waste and the sorrow of it all. Mrs. Douglas Horror, waste and sorrow. But what is the alter- native ? [7] THE ECHO Phyllis The alternative is a new vision of humanity. Hum- anity? Why it's a new word to the world. Teach the world that the nation is as subordinate to human- ity as is the family to the nation. Patriotism must be broadened and extended. Not by the refusal to fight, but by the refusal to allow the real or imaginary causes of war to exist and develop will peace come. Only when nations regard treaties as self-imposed restrictions to be obsen^ed, Avill peace be possible, for on the respect of a nation's word, on the honor alike of individual and nation, rests all morality and, in the last analysis, all law. Mrs. Douglas I agree with you that nations must value their hon- or as highlv as do individuals. But how are you going to teach the world the truth that there is an mter- nationalism transcending nationalism? Phyllis How was patriotism born? Men recognized its wis- dom. Men must learn that there are two kinds of nationalism. War is caused by the narrow land, which must be broadened. When the narrow selfish- ness of nations is removed and altruism implanted; when all the peoples of the world make their govern- ments free from the control of groups bent on advanc- ing their own interests, and free from the scramble for colonies; when democracy is regnant in all the nations as a bulwark of national sovereignty and non- intervention, war will cease. Health is not an ideal [8] THE ECHO but a state attendant on freedom from disease. Peace is not an ideal, but a condition incident to achieve- ment of the ideal. Remove the disease, and you have health. Secure liberty, freedom and justice, and the causes of war will have been removed, and peace will be inevitable. Only by unifying the world and broad- ening the perception and sympathies of the world to recognize such unification will men beat their swords into plowshares and the golden chord of peace dom- inate the symphony of life. Loud knocking at door. Evidently a metal knocker. G. W. Jones Sho' somebody's dere. Mrs. Douglas Please see who it is, George. G. W. Jones Yes ma'm. {Exit center door.) Loud knocking repeated. Phyllis I wonder who it is. I believe it is. . . .sh. . . . Woman^s voice heard outsidk. Phyllis Yes, it is, as usual, she. . . . Mrs. Peck rushes through the center door and pauses. [9] THE ECHO Mrs. Peck Oh, still breakfasting. Rushes over and kisses Mrs. D., who has begun to rise, and pushes her into her seat. She speaks effusively in gasps. She is a short woman, with dark, attractive eyes, and manners which we generally call kittenish. Mrs. Peck How are you? {Kisses Phyllis.) And you, dear? I'm so excited. Mrs. Douglas Excited? Mrs. Peck Some of the troops are coming home today. She sits down. Mrs. Douglas Troops? Today? Mrs. Peck Yes, is it not splendid. Some of our own boys, marching up the street — well and happy. Mrs. Douglas Do you know what companies are returning? Is [10] THE ECHO Mrs. Peck No, dear, I don't think so. Only Bert Henderson's and Jeffrey's regiments are. . . . Phyllis Is not Charles' regiment returning? It went with Bert's. Mrs. Peck I don't think it is coming. . . . No, it isn't. Mrs. Douglas I haven 't heard for two months and I hoped. . . . Mrs. Peck Poor dear. Don 't worry. It will be over soon, now. G. W. Jones^ Enters center door. Mr. Peck's waitin', Missus. Mrs. Peck Oh, I forgot Archibald. I was afraid you would not be dressed — rushed up — forgot about him. Mrs. Douglas, to G. TT. Jones. Tell Mr. Peck to come up, George. G. W. Jones Yes, missus. {Exit G. W. Jones.) Mrs. Douglas I, too, forgot something. Won 't you have some cof- fee with us? Pardon me for not asking you immed- iately. [11] THE ECHO Mr. Peck He is a tall, slim man about fifty years of age, twelve years older than his wife, with gr^ey hair and side whiskers. His clothes are cut in the fashion of the time; he wears a top-hat, light grey trousers, a dark coat. Mr. Peck Good morning, ladies. Mrs. Douglas and Phyllis Good-morning. Mrs. Douglas Won't you be seated, Mr. Peck. Mr. Peck Thank you. Mrs. Douglas I was just asking your wife to have some breakfast with us. Will 3'ou not have a bite? Mrs. Peck No, thank you, dear. We have just breakfasted. Archibald makes such sumptuous muffins. {Looks with ecstacy to the sky.) Mr. Peck, addressing Phyllis. And how is the little lady? Phyllis Not very different from yesterday, Mr. Big man. How is Mr. Big Man? [ 12 ] THE ECHO Mr. Peck Quite well ! Only a woman is privileged to change her mind and her malady each day. My gout re- mains incurable and troublesome, but I manage to get along. Mrs. Douglas I am sorry we kept you waiting, Mr. Peck. Mr. Peck Don't mention it. This is no hour to call, but my wife insisted. Mrs. Douglas We were so engrossed in. . . . Mr. Peck It makes no difference. {Turns to his icife.) .... Out of sight, out of mind. No wonder our wives are so anxious for us to be out of sight. They laugh slightly. Mrs. Douglas I have had my picture framed and have hung it in the other room. You remember it"? Mr. Peck Yes, indeed. Did you take the narrow frame? Mrs. Douglas Yes. [13] THE ECHO Mrs. Peck Let us see it, please. {Bounces up.) Mrs. Douglas,, rising. If 3'ou care to, and you, Mr. Peck? Mr. Peck I should like to very much. (They go out.) Mrs. Douglas Excuse us just for a moment, Phj^llis. PhYItLIS Certainly. Enter G. W. Jones with two little girls in each hand. G. W. Jones Two ladies fo' yo'. Miss Phyllis. Phyllis, rising. Who is it? Daisy Daisy is a little girl, four years old, who has golden curls doivn her hack. Her hlue eyes are her most distirictive feature; her voice is very babyish. Jane Jane is a dark haired girl, with black eyes and eyebrows with long black eyelashes. Her voide is somewhat more mature. She is five years old. [14] THE ECHO Us! Daisy AND Jane_, speak in unison. Us? Phyllis It's me and Jane. Daisy Daisy? Phyllis Jane Yes. They take her hands. Daisy Miss Phyllis, woldiers come home. . . . {Exit G. W. Jones.) Phyllis You don't remember when they left, do you! Jane I do, my brudder went. Daisy We have a picture of him. Phyllis You have? How nice. Jane Tell us a story, Miss Phyllis, about a big, big. . . . [15] THE ECHO Daisy And a little, li'lle, li'Ue. . . . Phyllis Shall I tell you about a big Prince, and bigger giants, and a little Princess*? Jane Pleath. Daisy Make it end nice. Phyllis_, the children sit at her feet. Once upon a time there was a wonderful Prince. He was strong, and brave, and handsome. Wasn't he? Daisy Yeth. Phyllis It always depends on the point of view. . . . This Prince w^as anxious to kill bad giants, so he went away from his castle and killed bad men who steal little princesses and children. He left the song of birds, the song of leaves rustling in the gentle breeze, and the waving golden grain to fight. ... to fight for good children and beautiful princesses. Daisy Why did he fight? Jane He wath brave. Wathn't he? [16] THE ECHO Phyllis Because be was brave, and because there was a Princess in a castle. Daisy Ah, he liked her. Phyllis He fell in love with her, but only in a dream. Jane He didn't fight in a dream. Phyllis No, he only loved in a dream. For her eyes were closed; she was asleep, as it were; a wicked fairy had closed her eyes a year before. He came into her dream; life was a dream — the dream of love. The Princess knew she would never awake; she knew his love was only pity; so she sent him away. She told him it was only a dream. Daisy But he came back. Phyllis No, he didn't. He fought. She dreamed. She often wanted to call him back. How she hated her sleep — how she hated the evil fairy who had closed her eyes. Jane But it must end nicely. He came back. Sav yes Miss Phyllis. [17] THE ECHO Phyllis To please you; yes, he came back. Mrs. Peck, enters door with others. Yes, yes {over her shoulder.) Ah, dear, {to Phyl- lis) we left you all alone. (EnPer G. W. Jones cen- ter door.) Phyllis But I had company. These little darlings have been entertaining me by letting me entertain them. Daisy and Jane Good-bye. Phyllis Take them to the door, George. Good-bye, child- ren. Stop in again, like good children. {Exeunt center.) I don't mind being alone. Blindness and solitude ^re much akin. Mr. Peck Verily, verily, I say, the little lady is a philosopher. Phyllis When one has nothing else to do one may as well be a philosopher. {They laugh.) Mrs. Douglas You are too hard on philosophers, Phyllis. Mr. Peck On the contrary, it seems to me that. . . . [18] THE ECHO Mrs. Peck Now don't argue. My husband, like all men, loves to argue. While they talk, we rule. Mr. Peck My dear, don't be absurd. You know that it is the man's place to rule and the woman's to obey. Mrs. Peck You will argue. Phyllis Will you excuse me; I think I shall lie down for a little while. (Rises.) Mrs. Douglas Shall I not go with you? (rising.) Phyllis No, thank you. I can find my way. Good-bye, Mr. Peck. Good-bye, Mrs. Peck. Mrs. Peck Good-morning. Simultaneously with Mr. Peck Good-morning. Mrs. Peck glares at Mr. P. He looks at carpet. Mrs. P£Ck_, after a momentary pause. Archibald, Mrs. Douglas told me the other day that old Mr. Jones is going to sell that beautiful horse he bought last spring. Won't you buy it? [19] THE ECHO Mr. Peck, indifferently. Is that so? Mrs. Douglas We have our information from George. Mr. Peck Suppose it 's these hard times ! This blasted war eats up our money, our food, our lives, everything". That's what comes of letting religious fanatics and political demagogues rule the country. Everything has been upset. Even that backwoodsman who is President has become disgusted with men who elected him. Mrs. Peck, stentorian voice. Mr. Peck! A man with a face like Lincoln's, homely as he is, must be unfortunate, and not un- wise. Besides in the South, sugar costs several dol- lars a pound; flour is forty dollars a barrel. Mr. Peck Unfortunate? Unfortunate people are unwise. The trouble with Lincoln is not so much himself as the abolitionist crew supporting him. Horace Greeley said in *'The Tribune" at the beginning of the war that we should ''let the erring sisters go in peace." This is what Lincoln should have done. Why dis- turb everything to satisfy fanatics? Instead we have been forced into this; the war has not ended in three years though we thought it would end in three months. [20] THE ECHO Mrs. Peck We were talking about the horse. G. W. Jon)es enters. Mr. Peck^ coughing slightly. However polities are so interesting and. Mrs. Peck Not at all. You don 't want to buy the horse for us. Mrs. Douglas starts to r^ad paper again. Mr. Peck I should like to, but. . . . Mrs. Peck But what? Mr. Peck I can't afford it. Mrs. Peck You talked about politics to avoid this matter. Mr. Peck I did not change the conversation. You stated. . . . Mrs. Peck^ snappily. There's no use. I know. Mr. Peck But, my dear, this is unreasonable. Mrs. Peck Don't my dear me, sir. [21] THE ECHO Mr. Peck Ydu are so unreasonable, Mi-s. Douglas. . . . Mrs. Peck I unreasonable? I unreasonable? Brute! Here I am slaving for you, and this is the way I'm treated. Because. . . . Mr. Peck Because what? Mrs. Peck Because ! Mr. Peck Woman, woman, with thy because. Mrs. Peck {^Wiping awau a>i imagiuarif tear looks at him out of the coruer of her eye. He is e.vtremeh/ stiff, iiu- coui promising, a}id troubled.) You are more interested in politics than in me. You, you. . . . {she blubbers, and sobs on her arm.) (He rises and walks about u)ieomfortably.) Mr. Peck 1*11 buy the thing. Mrs. Peek hops up and throws her arms around his )teck, kisses him: and turns to Mrs. Douglas. Mrs. Peck Isn't he a perfect angel? Mr. Peck, snortino a little. Anffel ! e>' [■22] THE ECHO Mrs. Peck I'll always do what you want dear. You shall have nice mince pie tonight. {He smiles.) Mrs. Douglas You must let me see your acquisition when you get it. Mrs. Peck We will. Let us go and look at it now, Archibald. Mr. Peck I suppose we may as well. Mrs. Douglas Don't forget your promise. Mr. Peck I shall not, rest assured, Mrs. Douglas. (Shaking hands. ) Mr. Peck Good morning, Mrs. Douglas. Mrs. Douglas Good morning. Come again. Mr. Peck Thank you. Mrs. Peck^ embracing Mrs. Douglas. Good-bye. Come over soon. Bye-bye. Exit with G. W. Jones. [23] THE ECHO Mrs. Douglas HiseSy goes to ivindow. Shouting is heard on the street, martial music is accompanied hy the tramp of feet. Mrs. Douglas runs out of center door. Phyllis enters room. . .Goes to window.) Phyllis Mother! .... Mother! G. W. Jones, enters. Missus went out, Miss Phyllis. Phyllis The troops have returned? G. W. Jones Soldiers marchin'. (Looks out of windows.) Phyllis I hope we may hear something about dad and the prince. G. W. Jones Prince! Prince! What's dat? Phyllis Except ye become as little children, ye cannot know. G. W. Jones De bible! Yo' member dat ole' rascal Peter, he used ter sing hj^mns lowder 'an anyone and steal chickens on his way home. Sho' I says at dat were wrong and he says. No sah. De bible, 'cause de [24] THE ECHO preacher said so, de bible says: Seek and ye shall receive. . . . and the hungry were fed. Phyllis But the Bible refers to spiritual things. . . . Are there many troops, George? G. W. Jones Quite some, Miss Phyllis. Phyllis Do you know any? G. W. Jones No. Phyllis Is mother outside? G. W. Jones Yes. G. W. Jones_, interestedly. Why dere's, dere's. . . . shu' nuff. . . . Phyllis, quickly. Who? Who is it? G. W. Jones Freddy Jackson. Marchin' proud as kin be. Phyllis, listlessly. Oh. She goes and sits down. [25] THE ECHO G. W. Jones Suddenly gets excited and rushes out. Phyllis, after a moment. Hasn't mother come back? She will catch cold, or did she take my cape. . . . George, I say, hasn 't mother . . . . Oh he's gone. . . . She smiles and lightly laughs. Noise on the stairs. G. W. Jode^ throws open door with a loud '*Yea!" Mr. and Mrs. Douglas enter and stand near the door. Mr. Douglas is a man about forty years of age who looks young^er however. He is in fine physical condition, rather thin hut strong and vigorous. His face is beaming; he is clad in a soiled corporal* s uniform. G. W. Jones Massa's back. . . . . Simultaneously with Your father, Phyllis. Phyllis turns to them. Father opens his arms. Mr. Douglas Phyllis? Phyllis, with a sob. Father! Mr. Douglas goes forward to take her into his arms when Charles appears. [26] THE ECHO He is a young man about tu^enty-five or six years old, wearing a faded blue uniform which is adorned by a silver medal for bravery. Charles Phyllis! Mr. Douglas turns around. Phyllis starts, hides her face in her arms, sways for a moment, and is caught by Mr. Douglas and Charles, ivho put her in a chair. Mr. Douglas George, hurry and get Dr. Mapes. . . . {Exit G. W. J.) Mother, a little cold water or spirits of ammonia. Mrs. Douglas Right away. (Exit Mrs. Douglas at left.) Charles and Mr. Douglas rub her hands. Charles Too much of a shock. Mr. Douglas Yes. Charles Hardly any need of sending for a doctor: will be over in a minute. Mr. Douglas Best to be safe. Charles Yes. [27] THE ECHO Enter Mrs. Douglas. Mrs. Douglas Here is some water and some spirits. {She bathes Phi/Uis^ head with a wet handkerchief.) Enter G. W. J. with Dr. Mapes. Dr. Mapes, goes immediately to Phyllis. Happened to be outside. What's the matter? George blubbered so much confused nonsense I couldn't understand. A shock? Mr. Douglas My unexpected return home. Dr. Mapes She will be all right in a minute. PhijUis starts to open her eyes: closes them: calls weakly. Phyllis Mother. t Mrs. Douglas Yes, dear. Phyllis, in a loud whisper. I am afraid. I can see. Mother, I saw. Mrs. Douglas Yes, dear. {Twrns to Dr. Mapes.) She must be delirious. [28] THE ECHO Phyllis Delirious f ... No, mother. I feel weak, but be- fore ... I saw . . . shadows . . . light . . . confusion. Dr. Mapes It may be. Close the blinds please, and leave the room — the nervous tension must be relaxed. They go out — at left. Dr. Mapes I shall call you in a minute. .. . {To Phyllis.) Do you feel better? Phyllis Yes. Dr. Mapes Can you see? Phyllis Yes, but everything is indistinct. Dr. Mapes, goes to door, after examining her eyes. The young lady's sight has been restored. You remember I said it might happen. The blindness was caused by nervousness. Enter the Col. and Mrs. Douglas. She kneels in front of Phyllis. Phyllis? Phyllis Mother. You are there? .... (Feels her.) I hardly dare touch you, I fear all will slip away. [29] THE ECHO Dr. Mapes We must take good care of our invalid. Mr. Douglas Yes. {Looks at Phyllis and comes near her.) Dr. Mapes I suggest that you get a specialist, Dr. Holt, to examine her eyes, and in the meanwhile keep your rooms in semi-darkness, and let Miss Douglas use dark glasses. Mr. Douglas I shall send George — no I '11 go myself and bring Dr. Holt with me. {Goes to Phyllis.) My darling. What a joy. Phyllis Father. I feel like crying. {Silence for a mordent.) Mrs. Douglas We should go now. I will go with you. Dr. Mapes will stay here until we return, won't you, sir? Dr. Mapes With pleasure. Mr. Douglas For a few minutes, good-bye. Mrs. Douglas Good-bye dear. Rest a little. Thank you, doctor. Exit. [30] THE ECHO Phyllis Doctor? Dr. Mapes Yes? Phyllis Is anyone in the parlor? Dr. Mapes Why yes. I think I noticed someone when I left my coat there. It may have been George. . . .hurried so. Hardly know. Phyllis I think Charles was there. Dr. Mapes, significantly. Oh. {Pause — very short.) Phyllis Won't you let me see him, just for a minute? Dr. Mapes M 'm, yes — but there must be no excitement. Phyllis I promise. Indeed I shall be so quiet you need not chaperone us. Dr. Mapes I was about to remark that I must run next door and tell my wife not to expect me for lunch. [31] THE ECHO Phyllis You are a diplomat, Doctor Mapes. Dr. Mapes That is half of a physician's work. Remember your promise. No high tragedy or emotion. Phyllis No, I promise. {Edit Dr. Mapes. Enter Charles.) Charles Phyllis! Phyllis Charles! You know? Charles Yes. ... it's true. . . . Phyllis It is! {Opens her eyes.) Charles. ... it is you. I can see you. ... I remember you. . . . four years ago. ... Charles Phyllis, Phyllis, how often I have thought of you. I have been through the Shenandoah, chasing the reb- els in their mad raids; I have tramped in bare feet through the snow and the mud, slept in the open, seen my comrades rot away on the battle field. I've starved and been wounded, but the vision of you has never faded. When I wished I were dead, when it all seemed a mad, horrible dream, the thought of you has [32] THE ECHO strengthened me. . . . When I have thought of you, I have found a new meaning in life. Phyllis You have suffered Charles? Charles More than I can tell you. I have wanted sweets; I have wanted love and gentleness. Oh there were times when I felt I was saving the world from slavery and I took pleasure in the most diabolical cruelty against which I revolted in my sober moments. I thought at times to win fame and honor by the tor- ments and destructions of Hell, but when I thought of you, my courage seemed mean and cheap; mere selfish avarice. Phyllis, smiling a little. The same eloquent Charles. Charles As always, only eloquent to you. Phyllis Still moved by pity, Charles, eh? Charles No ! Now that you can see, why should I pity you ? {Sits gloomily in chair opposite her.) I am the one to be pitied. Phyllis That is absurd. [33] THE ECHO Charles Absurd? I shall tell you something rather absurd. In camp we used to talk about your sex in a more or less joking way, and one of my comrades suggested that there are four types of woman, subjectively con- sidered, from a masculine view-point. Phyllis, Charges rises and paces floor. You have never joked before when proposing to me. It proves that your love has flow^n with your pity. Charles Just a minute. It's not entirely a joke. The four types are those to which one is indifferent, those with whom one would like to be pals, those who are physi- cally attractive, and those one feels like protecting. You are all of these except the first. (Kneels before her.) But you are the fifth type, you defy classifica- tion. Phyllis, Phyllis, Phyllis, let us end this non- sense. . . . You love me. ... I know you do. . . . let us marry. . . . Phyllis, sh^ rises. I do not know what to think. Charles Let me think for you. Martial music and shouting are heard. Phyllis looks at Charles and smiles. He embraces her. Phyllis Whereas I was blind I now see. . . All is light. . . ,God is good. . . . [341 THE ECHO Kisses her, Charles Listen. . . . music. ... it's an echo. ... of when I left. . . . but now it's glad. ... all wars are echoes of other wars. Charles. Phyllis. Phyllis Charles CURTAIN. [35] DEATH SPEAKS A FANTASY Preface The didactic, intellectual, philosophical aspect of death, and the negative, static point of view in par- ticular, are cloaked in the peculiar gnise of the dra- matic situation of a ghost rising out of a grave, in the dead of night, and speaking with a Priest about the life of the individual and of society. The sit- uation symbolizes life and death, facing one another. In the dialogue there is indicated a note of failure for life, but at the end the crowing of the rooster and the dawn of day indicate that by rebirth, by renewal, and by reconsecration, life triumphs over death. A funeral march played before the rise of the curtain will add to the force of the situation, as will complete darkness for a few moments before the curtain rises. [39] DRAMATIS PERSONAE The Priest Death Time. Three O'clock in the Morning Summer Place A Country Churchyard Death Speaks The darkness is intense. It is difficult to see the trees which stand like sentinels behind^ and on the sides of a white raised slab covering a grave. A small wooden cross stands at the foot of it. The sound of footsteps is heard, and a priest walks to- wards the grave. The storOe {which the stage carpen- ter has made of card-board) , opens like the leaf of a book. The priest stops and wipes the perspiration from his head. Out of the grav'e^ arises a skeleton* s head, and a figure, vaguely seen, is draped in vjhite. The Priest A nightmare ! Death^ speaks slowly, with deep sonorous voice. No. 'Tis death. Death? Yes. What are you? The Priest Death The Priest Death I am nothing. I am the eternal negative; the per- petual opposition. What is life? [41] DEATH SPEAKS The Priest Life is existence. Death There are two kinds of existence. I am existence. Life is existence. The one is growth; the other's decay. The Priest Are you really death? Death I am your past. The present in the future be- comes your past. I am the haunting yesterday, and the future someday. I am the ultimate. The Priest You must be old, or is the ultimate, is death, in- compatible with time? Death It is. The Priest You are the past ages? Death I am. The Priest What do you think of our modern cities as com- pared with the ancient? [42] DEATH SPEAKS Death Life is the beautiful thing. Everything living has beauty. Only the dead and dying is ugly. So your cities have the beauty of life. But the noise, the dirt, and the unsightly, inartistic conglomeration of stone, mortar and steel make your modem cities inferior in beauty to the harmonious architecture of noble Athens and Rome. The Priest The large populations of our modern cities are a great deal responsible for their construction. But you must admit that society is much further ad- vanced than it was in ancient days. Democracy is a mighty lever of progress. For example, slavery exists no more. Death Chattel slavery exists no more. Consequently the very exceptional man has a chance to elevate himself. But do not deceive yourself about the abolition of slavery. Millions of men are still in bondage, fet- tered by economic and social ties. They work for the barest necessities of life. Poverty is the blackest social cancer in your modern life. It makes your Progress a hollow paradox. The Priest You forget the blessings of democracy, with its rule by the majority. Death The majority rule? Where. . . . Your political [43] DEATH SPEAKS leaders, your sons wlio inherit influence, your econo- mic and social leaders dominate and control your poli- tics. Your vaunted democracy is an aristocracy, split into two factions, each controlling its part of the people. The actual majority is the majority of the aristocracy. Not until you have an equality of wealth, of genius, and of intelligence through-out the body- politic will you have democracy. Mind, I do not say that your aristocracy is not the best form of govern- ment for the present, but do not call it the rule of ,the majority. Do not call it popular rule through an aristocracy. Call it a democracy by the manipula- tion of the people. The Priest You are indeed the eternal negative. You will ad- mit, I suppose, that our aristocracy is more directly in control than it used to be, and that it is wider in its actual sphere and its susceptibility to popular in- fluence. Death I admit this. I admit it is the best government, politically considered, under the circumstances. The Priest Perhaps you will also concede that life is happier for individuals nowadays. Death I do not. Happiness depends primarily on the disposition of the individual. One could be as happy in Rome as in New York. Insofar as society deter- [44] DEATH SPEAKS mines happiness, I have already intimated that your modern society sucks out the vitality of your modem laborer, just as the cities of antiquity were built on the wasted bodies of the slave. You have poverty; you have starvation; your children are driven to work; you compel your women to sell their bodies and their souls. You let your slaves live in filth, cold and privation. You enslave foreigners under the names of colonization, expansion, and progress. You fill your prisons with human derelicts, many of whom you create. You prohibit murder, and practice capi- tal punishment. You allow the corners of your streets to be used for saloons, and prohibit drunked- ness; you allow dens of gambling to exist and prohi- bit gambling; you sometimes punish solicitors and do not close houses of prostitution. You provide expert legal prosecution, but leave the defense of accused persons who are poor in the hands of incompetent attorneys. The Priest Unfortunately there is a black side of society. Why not look at the bright side ? In fact this is a duty, for man errs by his own volition perhaps more often than he is driven to it. Look at the large middle-class and the upper classes. Death Here the scene is just as bad. Grovelling middle- class mediocrity stumbles along under the same bur- dens and falls into the same pitfalls as the lower class. As for the higher class it is simply immoral. [45] DEATH SPEAKS It uses morals to suit its own purposes; its scruples are expediency, and its principles are a mere cloak of its purposes. The upper class is the knowing, and the middle-class the unwitting slave driver. The med- iocre middle-class generally only seeks a comfortable livelihood. Ambition for fame, power, or fortune may move the upper class. Neither class is anxious to serve the world. They do not want to better the lot of man. They move selfishly in the narrow rut of their daily routine. The meaning of love is spelled in decorous marriage. The meaning of thought is spelled in the conventional platitudes and dogma. The exalted spirituality of love, and the critically in- telligent survey of the world are missing. The Priest Do you blame mef Do you blame my church, or any church? Death I blame no one. I assert. The cause of the evils of the world is the weak will and the blundering stup- idity of this middle-headed world. The churches, schools, the lawyers, physicians, and the political leaders, the magnets of finance and the leaders of industry, the statesmen, diplomats, the judges, the labor-leaders, the philosophers and editors are all blamed. It is not by negative, but by positive in- fluences that the world advances. The positive is the only real program of real progress. The positive is the outgrowth of strong will and clear intelligence. I am opposed to the dynamic. I am opposed to intelli- [46] DEATH SPEAKS gence. I am opposed to will, and to the positive, for I — I am Death. The Priest You are the static. Death I am the static. The Priest_, with an agonised cry. Vanity, vanity, all is vanity. I may as well kill myself. {Grabs his throat.) The stage is dark for a morrbent. The ghost disap- pears; the grave is covered. Afar is heard the crow- ing of a rooster; the sky gets lighter, with a pink tinge in it. The Priest is sitting on the grav^e. The Priest^ stretching his arms to the sky. Die? No. I will not. ... It is morning. ... a new day — the resurrection. . . . the dynamic morning sun- light re-vitalizes life. . . . Death skulks away. CURTAIN [47] THE INTANGIBLE A ONE ACT DRAMA Preface For the original suggestion of this short drama, the author is indebted to the description by his cousin, Mr. Ove Gotzsche, of a snake in Cuba which kills itself by violently smashing its body against a tree or the earth. Such a theme is papably a fine analogy of some human lives. After considering many lives to which it might be applicable, the life of crass materialism, which amounts to degeneracy, seemed the most unusual and the most striking sub- ject. Moreover an extreme case ending in death indicates the general tendency of society. Every- thing is bartered. Human souls are thrown on the counters of the mart. Values are often topsy- turvey. The friendly insistence by Brander Matthews that *^ there must be a strong conflict of will for intense interest by the audience" has had great influence in moulding the character of the leading figure, through which the conflict has been developed. With the words of this authoritative critic in his ears, the author rewrote the dialogue of ''The In- tangible. ' ' [51] DRAMATIS PERSONAE Mr. John Curren William Barlow Jane Miss Helen Johnson Time The Present Scene In New York City The Intangible In a comfortable library chair sits a gentleman of sixty-five years of age. His most prominent charac- teristics are a slight fringe of grey hair, deeply-lined features, and pale blue ei/es. After further scrutiny we see that his square jaiv seems to be infirm; his face has a pale, ashen look, reflecting recent sickness. He is dressed in a tuxedo, and a smoking jacket is flung ov'er his shoulders, which are slightly stooped. He is lost in thought; a book is half open on the floor beside his chair. On the table at the other side of the room is a library table which is covered with p)apers and periodicals. Neither the yellow-shaded floor-lamp near the sofa, nor the green-stained parlor lamp are lit. Only the glowing logs in the fire-place cast their fitful light on his face. The pale moonlight coming through the window at the other side of the room, enables us dimly to discern the table, a few chairs, heavy carpets on the floor, a number of book- cases, a couple of oil-paintings, mahogany paneled walls, and heavy rafters in tUe. ceiling. The old gentleman lights a cigarette. Mr. John Curren^ calling with a dominant, strong, voice. Er — er — Say ! Say ! He gets up and walks across the room with a some- what uncertain step leaning rather heavily on a cane. [53] THE INTANGIBLE Mr. John Curren Hello! Barlow! Barlow! William Barlow He appears at the door to our left of the room. The bright light which falls on him reveals a slightly built young man, about twenty-five or twenty-eight years of age. He enters with a pad in his hand, William Barlow Yes, sir. Mr. John Curren Oh the devil! Are you there? William Barlow Not the devil. It's Barlow. Mr. John Curren Impudence — you kid. William Barlow Self-defense, sir. Mr. John Curren Go home to your mother. William Barlow If you will excuse my saying it, sir, the doctor said that under — Mr. John Curren Enough — enough. [54] THE INTANGIBLE William Barlow The doctor said you must not smoke. Mr. John Curren Damn the doctor! William Barlow And kill yourself. Mr. John Curren More impudence. I can't stand you kids. Take your hat and coat. William Barlow You don 't mean. ... Mr. John Curren Go. Get out! William Barlow Yes, sir. William Barlow goes to the door, — pauses a mo~ ment, — turns around, — Mr. John Curren does not look at him, hut gazes at the ceiling, with a harsh, cynical smile on his fac'&j — Barlow goes out, closing the door behind him. After a moment there is heard the sound of another door slamming. Curren walks to the window, then goes to tHe other door, to the door near the window, and calls: Mr. John Curren Jane. Come here. Hurry. [55] THE INTANGIBLE Jane_, off-stage. Yes sir. Right away. Mr. John Curren Not right away. Now ! I say. . . . Jane Here I am. She is a neatly dressed maid, with all the charm of youth and beauty. Mr. John Curren Get Barlow. He just went out the front door. Tell him I'll have him arrested if he doesn't return im- mediately. He has stolen my cigarette case. Jane^ suddenly weeping. Oh, no sir. He wouldn't do that. He, he. . . . Mr. John Curren Ye Gods. You 're not married are you ? Jane No, but, but. ... IVIr. John Curren Get him, if you expect to marry a free man. Jane Yes, Sir. She goes out. Mr. John Curren^ calls out to her. Bring him to me. [56] THE INTANGIBLE He goes to the window. He looks out, apprehen- sively tapping his cane. Then he smiles, sits down, and reads a book, lighting the table lamp. Jane Here he is, sir. Mr. John Curren H'm. William Barlow I 'd like to know what you mean by threatening my arrest. You old rascal, if you were not a sick old man I'd throw this trashy cigarette case at you. He throws it on the easy chair. Mr. John Curren H'm. What? William Barlow Mr. John Curren You forgot my letters. William Barlow I don't care about your letters, Mr. John Curren Enough. Bring me mj^ mail. William Barlow But I tell you. ... [57] THE INTANGIBLE Mr. John Curren And I tell you I want my mail. William Barlow But Mr. John Curren Bring it. Take off your coat. William Barlow I won't. . . . Mr. John Curren Don 't waste more time. William Barlow Oh, well if you won 't . . . . Mr. John Curren Get it done, stop talking. William Barlow Very well, sir. He goes out. Jane has been nervously twitching her apron. Mr. John Curren, to Jane. You are — er interested in Barlow? Jane Yes, I — I — like Will. [58] THE INTANGIBLE Mr. John Curren H'm, so I guessed. I suppose he said he didn't steal my case. Jane Yes, sir. He was very angry. For my sake, as well as his own, he said. Mr. John Curren For your sake? How like a man! .... Well, he didn't steal it; I simply said that to bring him back. Jane I'm so glad. You do trust him, Mr. Curren. Mr. John Curren Trust ? Oh, yes. I trust him. He 's as good as any other rascal. Jane Rascal? Mr. John Curren Oh, angel — angel — that's all. Jane Thank you sir. {She goes out. He sits down in front of fire-plade^ William Barlow enters.) William Barlow Mr. Curren. Mr. John Curren H'm? [59] THE INTANGIBLE William Barlow A lady insists on seeing you. Mr. John Curren Her name. William Barlow She won't give her name. Mr. John Curren Huh? . i ;2 William Barlow I don't know. Mr. John Curren Young or old? William Barlow Young. Mr. John Curren As good looking as Jane? Or isn't Jane good- looking. William Barlow, quickly. Certainly Jane is beautiful — beautiful: Why, sir, there isn't a prettier girl in New York than Jane. Mr. John Curren H'm, but this other — William Barlow Oh, yes sir. [60] THE INTANGIBLE Mr. John Curren Put her out. William Barlow She says we will have to use brute force to put her out. Mr. John Curren Call the police. William Barlow But she looks like a lady. Mr. John Curren All the more reason. William Barlow She says it is a personal matter. Mr. John Curren Only personal matters interest women. . . . A young woman, unmistakably a lady, about twenty one years of age, dressed in a tailored black suit, stands in the door. Miss Helen Johnson Excuse me. Is this Mr. Curren? Mr. John Curren What! Miss Helen Johnson This is, I presume, Mr. Curren. [61] THE INTANGIBLE Mr. John Curren How dare you. Miss Helen Johnson Very well, I shall go. Sli^ turns to go. Mr. John Curren No! Stop! Get out, Barlow. Miss Helen Johnson I pity Mr. Barlow. Get out. {She laughs,) Mr. John Curren What do you want? Miss Helen Johnson Justice. Mr. John Curren Justice? A reformer. Miss Helen Johnson Unfortunately, not a reformer. Mr. John Curren Fortunately. Only the weak are reformers. Miss Helen Johnson Only the strong need reforming. Mr. John Curren H'm. . . . Well? [62] THE INTANGIBLE Miss Helen Johnson I come to ask you to make a decent settlement for my father's death. Mr. John Curren Speak to my lawyer. Miss Helen Johnson I ask for justice — not for law. Mr. John Curren Reform the law. Miss Helen Johnson I am not a reformer. Mr. John Curren H'm. Miss Helen Johnson Mr. Curren. In these times, when the world is straining and giving up its life, the great profits you ordinarily make are multiplied. My father went as captain of one of your ships. It went under, and the crew was lost. I think it a simple matter of jus- tice to ask you to take a part of your tremendous earnings and give to my mother, only a small part. I can support myself, but she deserves to be treated justly. Mr, Curren rises and looks at her for We first time. He starts. [63] THE INTANGIBLE Mr. John Curren^ agitatedly. Who are you? Sit down! He lights the lamps. Miss Helen Johnson Thank you. He turns and looks at her. Mr. John Curren Who are you? God but. . . . who are you. . , . j'^our mother. ... I say. . . . Miss Helen Johnson My mother is the wife of the late Captain Johnson. Mr. John Ccjrren Her home. . . . her family. . . . who was she? Miss Helen Johnson Her name was Helen Navaard ; she used to live, be- fore she was married, in Maine. Mr. John Curren_, sits in chair. Mr. John Curren Helen. . . . Helen. . . . You are the picture of her. . . . Miss Helen Johnson You know my mother? Mr. John Curren No, but I knew her. [64] THE INTANGIBLE Miss Helen Johnson You knew her? Mr. John Curren When I was a little fellow, in the town where I was born, a small hamlet down East, there was a little girl I took out in my catboat. When I got a little older, I knew I could only love her. I went to the city to make my fortune. After five years in Boston, I returned. She had gone. They told me she had married a first mate on a steamer. I went back to my work. Miss Helen Johnson You were Jim- Jams? Mr. John Curren Jim- Jams? She used to call me that. Jim- Jams. . . Jim- Jams. . . . Has she been happy? Miss Helen Johnson Very. She thought you had forgotten about her. For a couple of years she felt badly, but then she was reconciled. Why didn't you write? Mr. John Curren Why? Why. ... I hated to write I wanted to wait until I had succeeded, and. ... I didn't know how much I loved her till I heard she was gone. Here's a check. Here, here. Before I forget it Let me see you. You look so much like my Helen. [65] THE INTANGIBLE Miss Helen Johnson We did not know you were the Mr. Curren mother knew. She is not very well. Have you been. . . . been happy? Mr. John Curren^ he rises. Happy? {A wild laugh.) Do I look it? Let me tell you about my life. In Cuba there is a snake which kills itself. It hits its body, its head against a tree, the ground, or an5i;hing at hand until it is finally dead. So there is a point where money means only a vague sense of power to a man, where it does not add an iota to his comfort or his strength; where it be- comes a dead weight. But he does not east off the dead weight. He struggles on with it; an intangible desire makes him kill himself for this hollow aim. Here I am. Does not this weak and lonely old man speak before he has opened his lips? Does not this cold prison speak for itself? There are no loving hands here. ... no children 's laughter, no kind voices. There is only the vision of the grave. ... the grave. . . . He sits in chair in a relaxed position. Say good-by, for me. ... to Helen. ... my love Love is the richest pearl in the dark folds of life. . . . Keep it. . . . and God. . . . CURTAIN [66] A BIT O' VERSE A mite o'life To live, A speck o 'thought To weigh, A ghost o 'dreams To see, A bit o 'verse To read. A Bit o' Verse VIVO Muse! with sacred laurel crown my brow, The Bacchian ivy from Aonia's Mount Be wreathed by fair Eulalia's tender grace; May Orpheus touch my heart's vibrating chords To draw from them the richest notes of life As strains of music roused Inferno's King. My message shall not pine away distressed Like Echo loving blind Narcissus cold. Mine eyes are lifted to the hills to see Whence man did come, and why and whence life's course Decreed by Parca's Fates doth loom Before the favored creatures on this swirling earth- ly or Reason with her weakness is the queen Who wields a sceptre over intellect. As far as human eye can see, the stars Are moving in their courses; Janus laughs, Diana smiles; the mystic curtains shroud From sight innumerable cycling orbs of fire. Is human weakness defying man To rob the grave of terror's morbid fears, Investing life with wished import, though false. And holding o 'er man 's head a moral sword ? Or did the wondrous One Supreme, that e'er [69] A BIT 0' VERSE Doth lurk amid the stars and earthly force, Create mankind like self, exalting man. Man comprehends in part the universe, While rivers flow and mountains rise and fall But they do neither see nor understand. The mind is that distinctive faculty Of man's existant; 'tis sublimity! This strange earth journey is a walk in paths That wind in canyons lined on either side By stony walls that limit human sight. A chasm starts and ends the way, it drops Away to regions writ on fancy's scroll. We wander here peculiarly without Expressed desire; beginning, being, end, Alike, are milestones on the road of life. This slight life's flame burns, flutters, dies for aye, But verity maintains its poignancy; Exalted far above the physical The truth's an ideal goal that's fixed in worth; Steadfast devotion to the ideal life. Consisting in a fabric wove complete Of those strange threads entwining life, Is to be sought, since it conduces straight To progress, joy, and wealth, for self and man. In annals where the bravest deeds are found They are the tales when right and w^rong combat Upon the moral plane, where truth unfurls A million streaming flags of victory. The true which lies within our hearts should be Opposed to bad and fleeting whims and tastes; [70] A BIT 0' VERSE The principles of right more precious are Than life 's cold shell : the soul and truth are twins. The greatest truth of life is that thou art, That through thy veins creation 's flute doth play, That thou can'st say to being's author ''No! I will not live and play my part in life," Or, better still, ''I'll do my part to make Complete the great creative work of nature. ' ' Fair Hebe sits enthroned in fields where play Gay Naids in clear stream and fount, as song And Satyrs' dances sound their carefree notes. Before her feet the hostages of Pan Are richly spread with gifts of earthdom's sprites. Queen Mab deluges youth with dreams of worlds Not built awaiting thought and work by men. Youths' visions of the morrow's promise bright Maj^ well be cherished by the world as hope. Youth! Cast not thou the richest pearl of time Before low swine, for youth is fleeting; time. The strong inexorable force, consumes in life's Odd crucible the season's brightest gem. The sky of grey is strangely lit As golden beams pour from the East Into the West, suffusing it with light — Morn kisses Nature with her gentle warmth. The tiny plant in darkness born grows up. Its petal arms extending to enfold The sunlight in embrace,, and gaze enrapt Upon the beauty of the sky and earth. From darkness of the intellect, the soul [71] A BIT 0' VERSE Aroused to seek the light of love and truth, Awakes and finds itself, o'erflooding life. The leaves e'en of a kind are not alike But Spring's impulse has common properties, For by her mystic touch the leaves unfold Revealing similar affinities; So youth, with its distinctive qualities, ,With one accord is glad to loosen all The dormant powers waiting to be used. To exercise potential faculties Stored up from ages faded into night. Rich treasures hid within the frame are found; So, rising to bear Ge's burdens, youth desires To try the strength and use the powers that are Inert and undeveloped faculties. But in the ecstasy of life and strength, There is a tendency to let the light Of temporal pleasures and present merriment Outshine the graver things that duty holds; And duty urges victory in life As strife doth rage within the heart wherein Are forces of defeat or victory; Not conquering, but striving, gives life zest. Youth does not readily yield things at hand. For future triumphs that demand trained strength. Completeness ought to cast its beacon light Across the dullness of the flat plateau Of life that stretches into future days — A mountain, lost in the highest misty clouds, But giving life a purpose and an aim. 'Tis not sufficient that the pow'rs of man [72] A BIT 0' VERSE Should be developed; they must aim so that Unswerving they shall strike achievement e'en As arrows from the bow of Procius Straight-pierced Cephalus on her jealous watch. The promised bride of ev 'ry heart is she Whose suitors court her smile in varied ways; The hand of Happiness we all desire, 'Tis strange that She should hold a paradox Of wish and task, like jewels and dirt, confused. She is not transient joy or luxury. But repose of the soul, contented, which Is gained by fullest exercise of pow'rs. The joy of self-expression is unmatched; Not e'en the student's retrospection is As pleasant as this glad activity. Sweet nectar flowing o'er life's golden cup. Thy taste appeases dryness of my heart; shades of light that color life with hues That brightly garb the drear and blank with shades; Appreciation of those things that lead In the account of man to happiness. Enfolds the nude in gorgeous draperies. Excess cannot produce content, A pile of stuff is powerless to wing The spirit chained to barren, rocky waste. There is a scale of fate which balances The Cynic life with that of happiness; Our duty and joys, like smiles and tears, are hung, As day and night weigh down the scales of life. Great burdens, gifts, and talents cannot be borne. With tranquil heart and even mind except [73] A BIT 0' VERSE By strong and noble character that is Undazzled by the sham and hypocrite. Responsibility draws forth the strength That's coiled like inert forest snakes that seem A lifeless and impotent mass of earth Until aroused, when demons vivify their sting. The call of service sounds its clarion note, To those who live in life's midday or eve'; And chance's billows beating on life's shore With mighty currents throw their challenge bold To latent faculties of youth to face The storm-clouds, tempest or the driving rain. As busy shepherds in the clover fields Of life's green pastures, let us live and work To tend our flocks with care and diligence, With full appreciation of the sun. And flowers, touched by colors light and deep. The principles that men do entertain Are those dynamic forces guiding them; Men's actions are expressions of abstract Beliefs that consciously, or not, are held; In order is discernible the truth And harmony with law, for order is The end of action guided by the truth. Beauty is lost when scars of moral fall Do indicate a disregard of law; The handsome is the perfect love and truth. For Venus sees her beauty mirrored clear In quiet pools along the dusty road. The superficial truth is loud like brooks [74] A BIT 0' VERSE That tumble noisily along their way; Eternal verities more silently And potently as to the sea they flow. The cataracts that toss us into truth Are in ourselves, where nature's conscience speaks. Whate'er the place assigned by destiny, There is a spark of light within each soul Which smoulders though the Hell of Man enfolds It in its grasp, — devoid of s;y'nipathy. The seasons come and go; day gilds the sky 'Till ev'ning's shadows wrap Aurora's form In heavy mantle of protecting dark; The lark trills a morning carol gay in notes That flutter on the muffled breezes stirred By upward flight to meet the morning sun; The cricket plays its drowsy melody Beneath the moon; youth pulsates in the mind And body; soon 'tis stagnant; then 'tis dead. Spring's spirit, which is rebirth of the soul, Lives on undaunted by the years gone by, For while the stream of love flows on. It does not fade nor lose its luster bright. Storm-clouds of death, that gather with the years; The cold and frost of winter's blasts, the gloom Of ev'ning's grim and grayly tinted shades. Are dew-drops 'neath the sun of truth and love. As duty is for youth development, Maturity should consecrate its pow'rs; Thus these do constitute the real success. Which men pursue in different ways and modes. [75] A BIT 0' VERSE Life is eternity, for when the vale Of shadows swept by ^lus from the loins Of death's Black Prince, doth loom before this life, The earthly qualities ennobling man Like goodness, hope and love, are blurred in mist, E'en though our hands do try to tear aside The veil of space which hides the pow'r called God And find man 's place amid the starry spheres. The great experience is life — not death ; Employed and exercised life's magnified. When shall a man more restful be than when His tired eyes close in that last long sleep From which we know no waking, recalling now The days of busy sowing, happy gain. So as the flow'rs bedeck his corpse at rest. The dictum that the world shall make with praise Shall crown his work with worthy epitaph: Here was a soul. TOMORROW Methinks of a day that I dreamed — A day when my heart should sing. As birds their sweet tunes haply chirp. And brooks a low melody sound. It was to be bright and aglow, Like radiance poured from the sun Suffusing all nature with light — Ah! 'twas to be perfectly spent. [76] A BIT 0' VERSE What odd thoughts my reveries crowd ! What pictures illumine these moods! The past and present play tag As fancy reads destiny's fate. LOST DREAMS The leaves of autumn fall and rot; The light of day fades into night, Men die; the nation falls; life ends; Dreams conjured by my hopes are lost. The perfect day betakes its way Absorbed by misty rain which falls From storm-driv'n clouds of darkest gloom; The perfect day is lost for aye. For time flits by on winged foot, Once lost it ne'er can be recalled; But memories of faded dreams Persist in lingering 'till death. FALLEN IDOLS Those idols you have learned To kneel before and kiss Should be destroyed; torn down. So let your spirit free, Klnock down- the idol; break The Mirror! See the sun. [77] A BIT 0' VERSE TO THE SONS OF FRANCE May I pay humble tribute To the Sons of France, Who saw the lightning strike But feared it not. May mankind e'er remember That the Sons of France With courage rare, and might, Struck back for right. IN MEMORIAM OF DR. CHARLES D. LARKINS Day dims ; night falls ; death comes ; Rustling leaves drop earthward; Souls that bravely fought the fight, Leave the strife and go — away. SING TO ME Sing to Me, Wind! Of oceans, and prairies, and crags, Whirl before me the leaves Of forests that stretch mile on mile; Murmur softly like brooks, And sing of the morning when birds Cheer the earth with their song; wind of the world, Sing to me. [78] A BIT 0' VERSE Sing to me, Love Of moments when life seems compressed Into smiles of your eyes; When crackling of boughs seems your tread, And sunlight recalls gracious smiles. Sing to me, my Soul, Of my duty to play a man's part, Chain and guide these hot fires That smoulder within, when the strain Calling brave men to Arms Comes shouting into my heart; Rouse me! guide to the right; lead me, my soul; Sing to me. BIRTHDAY GREETINGS Between the dawn and night A warm and golden light Kisses the flow'rs. May bounteous gifts of Jove, Of joy, of health, of love. Deluge your life. FOR US The years have passed For us ! A fiery mass, [79] A BIT 0' VERSE Of molten stuff, Was cooled to earth — For us. The grass did grow For us! Sweet violet, Soft rose of red, And tulip bloom — For us. The human form For us Has been evolved, That kindred souls Might closer be — As ours. THE PALISADES Stone, stone, impressive cliffs. Guiding the mighty Hudson; Gaunt, gaunt, centennial shores. Lording o'er stream and landscape. Blue, blue, the water flows, Taking its way to sea; Green, green, in summer days. Foliage blends its sheen. [80] A BIT 0' VERSE White, white, the floating ice, Specking the choppy blue, Night, night, with mantle black. Wraps in its gloom the scene. THE AWAKENING I looked into your eyes one night, And saw that there was something new, The childish trust, and careless laugh Had gone — I knew not where unto. We talked, and as you spoke, I knew That you were seeking truth and life; The soul; Man's heart; the self; these were The pivots 'round which meditation moved. girl ! when sixty summers add their weight The mysteries will still be thine to weigh. CAP' BUD The mists have been blown away. The sky is serene and blue. No longer hangs a cloud Across the vision of my eyes. I see in the west the sun — A bright red orb of fire; Afar I hear the growl Of cannon belching — death. [81] A BIT 0' VERSE Last night in a narrow trench Half filled with mud and mire, I stood with my friend Cap ' Bud ; He showed me a picture of Her. Ah no, you guess it not; Her face was T\Tinkled and worn, Her eyes looked gently at his And his — were filled with tears. ' ' My mother, ' ' he simply said, And as he spoke it seemed The earth caved in and night With a thousand phantoms danced Before my eyes. My head Seemed pressed by a heavy weight, My voice refused to speak; Then sleep closed my weary eyes. All this, I can recall As my eyes now look at the sky; I wonder what happened to Bud — A letter? Angel, for me? ''To mother, good by!" He's dead? When I'm up, angel nurse, (It will be soon, will it not?) I'll take this crumpled note [82] A BIT 0' VERSE To mother across the sea And tell her about a man, Unknown to fame, a prince Of men, her son. Cap ' Bud. A VISION Last night I dreamed that you and Sat in the shade of friendly trees. As the fleecy clouds drew pictures Of Cupid shooting arrows. It seemed that we two daisies asked To die for truth a martyr's death. And by the gold left petal-less Was told the old, sweet story. BATTLE Still they fight! The fields are strewn With arms bright Compressed tight At day's noon. 'Tis a sight! By the dim moon Of the. night From a height Shells deal doom. [83] A BIT 0' VERSE APART The breeze that sighs In the forest glens, Its serenade tries To sway your sense. Dew-drops come down, Bedecking the lawn, With a precious crown. Cast at your throne. Silver moonbeams Your evening flood. To wrap you it seems. In glistening hood. You tread on flow'rs, You sing above sighs. For you my gold hours Are of dull lead. An open book Do I lay my heart, But you do not look, We stand apart. GUESS NOT! Ise only a li'le feller, Nance, But 'is one thing I knows, [84] A BIT 0' VERSE On Wednesday brudder Jim goes, Wid sholdier men to France; And he ain't skeered o' nuttin'; Guess not! Jes wait 'till he's agoin'. Don't worry at de Dutchmen's ships Will persiscope New York, For brudder Jim will talk And work for us wid whips An' things to win the fight, — Guess so! An' we'll come out right. YOU Pulsing, tremulous, throbbing. Life, — strange mystic surge, — Courses through me. . . . Vague longing fills my heart. Myriad stars wake myriad thoughts! Moonlight and sunlight Caught and reflected Life have affected Filled it to overflowing With thought of You. WHITE ROSES AND RED A pure white rose I throw to thee, who dressed in white [85] A BIT 0' VERSE Art standing with the moonlight's beams Ilium 'ning thee against the night, Whose drap'ry black and sombre gleams, A fairy statue thou dost seem, A cameo of black and white; I toss to thee a pure white rose. A rich red rose I kiss and then thy lips so gay. My butterfly, in gaudy gown. Who dancest near the shim 'ring bay. With myriad hues of flowers 'round. And twinkling bells, and joyful sounds; A pastel, iridescent, gay, I kiss the rich red rose you wear. FAREWELL OLD PLAYMATE Playmate of other hours, farewell! The leaves of yesterday decay, Rebirth and death are nature's rule. Dismiss the old with parting sighs, Rejoice that morning guilds the new. And birds are singing, voices laugh. Playmate of other days, farewell ! Like vines that climb o'er trellises, Our lives in their full fruitage ripe May clamber wide apart in time. But side by side, deep in the soil. The roots that mem'ry loves are wed. [86] A BIT 0' VERSE MY STAR Afar in the heaven's dark sullen blue, Thou glearaest as white as a lover who's true, I believe in thee; As I think of thee When the golden sunlight has melted, And the evening shadows have set O'er the valley of life. The loud spirit of strife Is stilled, and the light, doleful breeze Sings plaintively through valley trees; All is forgotten, Lost in the vision. And contemplation Of my star. Above twinkling, myriad city lights. That look furtively through the vista of night, Higher than all, afar Shines my silv'ry star, Whose celestial glow flames when the floodtide Of the human traffic at last dies. And the city rests 'till dawn — 'Twixt the night and the morn. I gaze and ignore city lights, The valley, all sounds, all sights. All is forgotten. Lost in the vision. And contemplation Of my star. [87] A BIT 0' VERSE TO EDNA A Sad Tale. ** Truth crushed to earth shall rise again, The immortal years of God are hers." The Beginning: A Fool There Was. *' Please take me skating in the park," Quothe She sweetly to Him one day, ^'Indeed I will," said He to Her, And forthwith they went out to skate. The Irony of Fate. The ice was fine, the evening clear. Their hearts were young, their spirits free, They raced along quite merrily, Without forebodings of their fate. The Crisis. But sad to say, if truth be told. Her weight was too much for mere ice, A crackling sound. . . . two screams were heard. And then — but 'tis another tale. Retributive Justice. I pulled out Edna! He was left To scramble out alone; (I laugh). The moral is : Young man, don 't skate With heavy weights, if you don't swim. [88] A BIT 0' VERSE MY SEPULCHRE When nature calls me back to rest, Then take this frail old shell of mine, And with the fire that has sustained The engines man employs in life. Destroy my form, and make it dust. When ocean tides come in the bay, The dust that was I, throw on the waves, And with the change of tide I'll float From New York harbor to the sea, Into the boundless watery waste. The rolling waves will be my couch. The breakers on the shore my voice. From Southern seas to Arctic ice. From East to West will be my grave; My spirit living in men's souls. [89] LIBRARY OF CONGRESS i 018 39 1 710 9 ■Mi