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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
The Author in his wheel chair. 
 
Small Potatoes 
 
 B Y 
 
 FLOYD ISBELL 
 
 ^ ^ ^ 
 
 GIES & COMPANY 
 
 Buffalo, N. Y. 
 
THE LIBRARY OF 
 CONGRESS, 
 
 Two CoHbi Received 
 
 SEP. 24 1901 
 
 Copyright entry 
 
 GLASS ^=^ XXc. N». 
 
 COPY 8, 
 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1901, 
 
 By FLOYD I S B E L L , 
 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 TT Jhatever may be the achievements of the Twentieth 
 Century — and all indications show that they will be 
 wonderful — there will always be those who, by their enter- 
 prise and genius along chosen lines, start wide ripples of -fame 
 in all directions upon the sea of life, and also those whose best 
 efforts in the same lines are only rewarded by a slight tremor 
 on the surface, or not at all. When a man discovers, after 
 exhausting every effort, that he can not occupy a high place 
 among his fellowmen; that the hopes and ambitions of his youth 
 are not to be realized ; in short, that the ideal towards which 
 he has striven is beyond his power of attainment, he should not 
 consider this fact to be humiliating. For as there have always 
 been the high and the low, the rich and the poor, among 
 mankind, so there has always been the man' who can perform 
 great deeds and the one who is only capable of small things. 
 So, in publishing this little book of commonplace poems, 
 I know that it is not liable to attract the attention of the 
 pubHc in general ; but if it finds its way into the homes of 
 some of my friends, whose many kindnesses I have known 
 and appreciated hitherto, where it may serve as a remem- 
 brance of me in years to come, I shall be perfectly satisfied. 
 
Introduction. 
 
 In casting about for a title, I have endeavored to find 
 one that would convey, in the most original language possible, 
 what I think to be the relative importance of this little book, 
 and have been able to hit upon nothing that seems to be 
 more appropriate than "Small Potatoes." 
 
 We know that in the spring the farmer chooses the spot 
 on his farm which, in his judgment, is his very best " potato 
 land," and mellows the soil to the best of his ability with 
 plow and harrow ; then he plants the kind of seed which, 
 he thinks, will raise the best crop of potatoes. After spend- 
 ing a large amount of toil and care upon them while they 
 are growing, it often happens that when harvest time comes 
 he has nothing to show for his trouble but small potatoes. 
 
 So with these few poems. No matter how carefully 
 the subjects may have been chosen or what hopes and aspir- 
 ations may have attended that choice ; no matter how much 
 thought may have been expended upon their preparation, 
 they have turned out after all to be nothing but ** Small 
 Potatoes." 
 
 Not having been written with the intention of ever ap- 
 pearing in book form, these poems follow no connected line 
 of thought, as may be seen. Nearly all of them have appear- 
 ed from time to time during the past few years m the Buffalo 
 E-c'cning Ahm^s, and having been encouraged by a ready ac- 
 ceptance and prompt insertion in the columns of that well 
 known and popular paper, I have been led to suppose that 
 the\' possessed some little merit, at least. 
 
We often hear people say that at some time of their Hves — 
 in getting an education, for instance — they were thrown upon 
 their own resources ; but while those resources consist of 
 health and strength they should not consider their stock in the 
 blessings of hfe to be limited, by any means. It is only the 
 one who is thrown upon his own resources, and, besides, has 
 not these blessings to rely upon, who can truthfully say that 
 he is at the last extremity ; for there are very few opportun- 
 ities open to one in this condition. 
 
 I have been an invalid for a number of years, but, fort- 
 unately, do not belong to the class of people who are con- 
 stantly bewailing their lot in life and who find time for nothing 
 else. Instead, I have tried in a great many ways to discover 
 the means to occupy my mind and help pass the long hours. 
 The poems contained herein are partly the result of that 
 endeavor. 
 
 In conclusion, I trust that all those who know the pur- 
 pose for which this book has been published and understand 
 the circumstances surrounding the life of the author will take 
 an interest in "Small Potatoes." 
 
 Oft these lines may lack that jingle 
 Which should prove the poet true ; 
 
 Kindly overlook this failing, 
 In my lite 'tis wanting, too. 
 
 Cattaraugus, July, 1901. F. I. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Our Bennie with the Rest, - - - lo 
 
 An Old-Fashioned Sleigh Ride, - -15 
 
 The Old Songs Are the Best, - - - 19 
 
 The Paper from Home, - - - 21 
 
 Between the Lines, - - - - 24 
 
 Expansion, - - - ' - 27 
 
 The True Alliance, - - - - 29 
 
 Driving Home the Cows, - - - 31 
 
 Planning for the Fourth, - - -33 
 
 The Old Chunk Stove, - - - 37 
 
 Cattaraugus — 1901, - - - - 40 
 
 The Winters We Used to Have, - - 44 
 
 The Boy at the Grindstone, - - - 46 
 
 The Boy in the Philippines, - - 50 
 
 The Husking Bee, - - - - 53 
 
Contents. 
 
 Thanksgivin' Day Till New Year's, - 56 
 
 The Farmer's View of Spring, - - - 60 
 
 The Deserted Schoolhouse, - - 63 
 
 The Pumpkin that Grows with the Corn, - 66 
 
 The County Fair, - - - - 69 
 
 The Sugar-Snow, - - - - 73 
 
 A Lesson in Contentment, - - 76 
 
 A Letter to a Friend, - - - - 83 
 
 Trials of Sugar Time, . . _ 90 
 
 On Life's Border We Stand, - - - 95 
 
 Sparks from the Embers, - - - 102 
 
Our Bennie with the Rest, 
 
 5 npwAS just a few short years ago, one sunny April day 
 We all assembled on the green to speed upon 
 
 their way 
 A comi)any of soldier boys, who at their country's call, 
 Had volunteered to go and help to cause the tyrant's 
 
 fall. 
 Our nation had decided to respond to Cuba's })lea, 
 And on that day we sent our share to set the island free. 
 My wife and I stood in the crowd and watched them as 
 
 they passed. 
 And many were the fond good-byes that after them were 
 
 cast, 
 And we, too, shared the sadness which that spring day 
 
 filled each breast, 
 For in the ranks went Bennie — our Bennie — with the 
 • rest. 
 
Our Rennie with the Rest. 
 
 And in those files of soldier boys was not a likelier lad 
 Than Bennie was that April day — at least so thought his 
 
 dad. 
 His eyes were bold and bright with hope, to him the 
 
 world was new ; 
 His figure was erect and tall, his heart was always true. 
 Our hopes were placed on Bennie, it was hard to let 
 
 him go ; 
 He was the staff we leaned upon, our steps. were get- 
 ting slow. 
 But the call had come for noble men and Bennie could 
 
 not stay, 
 He thought his country's claims were first, we would 
 
 not say him nay. 
 And sadly then we watched them go (in blue they all 
 
 were dressed"). 
 And in our sadness mingled i)ride — for Bennie with the 
 
 rest. 
 
Our Bennie with the Rest. 
 
 They went by train to Southern parts, and in a few 
 
 days more 
 Had sailed across the water and were left on Cuba's 
 
 shore ; 
 And many of those noble boys who landed there that 
 
 day 
 Had left behind, as Bennie had, their parents, old and 
 
 gray, 
 To mourn and watch, as we had done, for tidings of our 
 
 boy. 
 We heard from him occasionally, but naught to cause 
 
 us joy : 
 He said a dreadful pestilence was raging through that 
 
 land, 
 That many of his brave comrades had felt its deadly 
 
 hand. 
 And when we prayed at morn and night, we offered the 
 
 request 
 That God would guard those soldier boys — our Bennie 
 
 with the rest. 
 
Our Bennie with the Rest. 
 
 And then we waited anxiously for further news of him, 
 We scanned each paper eagerly until our eyes grew dim. 
 At last we read one day about a bloody battle fought, 
 'Twas victory for the boys in blue, but with lives it had 
 
 been bought. 
 And as we searched the paper for the news that had 
 
 been sent, 
 We learned that in the van that day was Bennie' s 
 
 regiment. 
 
 It told how they had faced the storm of bullets meant 
 
 to kill, 
 And many served their purpose at the charge of San 
 
 Juan Hill, 
 And of our village boys we read, with doubt and fear 
 
 oppressed, 
 That many had been killed that day— our Bennie with 
 
 the rest. 
 
Our I'ennie witli llie Rest. 
 
 Our Bennie dead? Our greatest fear had now been 
 
 realized, 
 And life seemed scarce worth striving for without the 
 
 the boy we prized ; 
 But while we mourned him bitterly, our grief was part 
 
 consoled 
 To know he did his duty, for that's what the papers 
 
 told. 
 And we had thought to spend our days in comfort with 
 
 our boy, 
 But now this fatal news had come to all our hopes de- 
 stroy. 
 Of the boys that left with Bennie, some returned with 
 
 muffled drum. 
 Half- hope fully we watched the lines, but Bennie didn't 
 
 come. 
 1 think that up in heaven there are standing with the 
 
 blest 
 Those boys who fell at San Juan — our Bennie with the 
 
 rest. 
 
An Old-Fashioned Sleigh Ride. 
 
 T T Then the bits of frost are dancing in tlie quiet winter 
 
 air, 
 Floating with a cold, clear lustre, sparkling, gleaming 
 
 everywhere, 
 And the moon, now slowly peeping o'er the distant 
 
 eastern hill, 
 Sheds its light on fields of whiteness lying calm and 
 
 cold and still ; 
 And the road so white and frozen, beaten smooth by 
 
 heavy feet, 
 Stretching out into the distance, seems to beckon and 
 
 to greet — 
 Then 'tis happiness complete to jump into an open sleigh, 
 x^nd with friends of youth and gladness to the country 
 
 speed away. 
 
An Old-Fashioiied Sleigh Ride. 
 
 Out, far out, to where with snowbanks on both sides 
 
 the road is lined, 
 And all thoughts of care and toil are, with the ..village, 
 
 left behind. 
 Naught we care that chilly winter has all nature in its 
 
 hold ; 
 That the very air is glistening all about us with the cold ; 
 That the horses rushing onward, seem to breathe out 
 
 clouds of steam, 
 Or that white fields in the moonlight scintillate with 
 
 diamonds' gleam ; 
 For the sleigh is full of blankets, there are robes of 
 
 warmth and size. 
 And the girls are wrapped so closely nothing shows but 
 
 laughing eyes. 
 
 Health asserts its full dominion, gladness blooms upon 
 
 each lip. 
 And the blood of youth goes tingling into every finger 
 
 tip. 
 
An Old-Fashioned Sleigh Ride. 
 
 'Tis no time for drooping spirits, painful thoughts are 
 put to flight, 
 
 And are left far in the distance on this matchless moon- 
 light night. • 
 
 We have passed the village limits and the peaceful 
 farms begin, 
 
 And the lights from farmhouse windows show the pleas- 
 ant scenes within ; 
 
 Gliding by with song and laughter, and with many a 
 merry shout, 
 
 We can see the inmates coming to the doors and peep- 
 ing out. 
 
 But the hours have passed too quickly and 'tis time to 
 
 turn around, 
 So \ve send the horses flying on the journey homeward 
 
 bound. 
 Talk of ''poetry of motion," we have found that very 
 
 thing 
 In this old sleigh gliding onward like a bird ujjon the 
 
 wing ; 
 
An Old-Fashioned Sleigh Ride. 
 
 And the houses as we pass them now are still, and all is 
 
 dark, 
 Nothing greets us from the silence save the watch dog's 
 
 savage bark. 
 Soon the village streets are entered and we reach our 
 
 homes once more, 
 Glad for such a time of pleasure, sorry that the ride is 
 
 o'er. 
 
The Old Songs Are the Best, 
 
 A LL like to hear the new songs sung, 
 
 They're filled with pleasant rhymes, 
 And make the world seem much more bright 
 
 When set to tuneful chimes ; 
 But soon they lose their power to charm 
 
 And soothe the human breast, 
 Then, after all, we seem to think 
 
 The old songs are the best. 
 
 For we may hear the new songs sung 
 
 In tones both low and sweet ; 
 But still we cannot yield to them 
 
 That high and honored seat 
 Which old songs hold within our hearts : 
 
 They cheer us when oppressed ; 
 And so we wish to say to all 
 
 We like the old songs best. 
 
The Old Songs Are the Best. 
 
 We can't forget the old songs, 
 
 The new ones come and go. 
 And cannot stand the test of time 
 
 With cahii and steady glow ; 
 But the old, old songs can never die, 
 
 They each time seem more blessed. 
 And that's one reason why we say 
 
 The old songs are the best. 
 
 The old folks like to hear again 
 
 The songs they knew when young, 
 It makes them think of other days 
 
 When they those songs have sung ; 
 And when you wish to cheer with song 
 
 Just sing at our request 
 Those songs whose lustre never fades — 
 
 The old songs are the best. 
 
The Paper from Home. 
 
 Oh, the paper from home, how we love to receive it 
 When traveling far from our life's dearest spot ; 
 
 We search through its pages and never will leave it 
 
 Till we learn all its news, with a great deal that's 
 not. 
 
 Some statements therein may bring laughter and glad- 
 ness. 
 
 Some witty remark or a joke on a friend, 
 While news of a dear one's misfortune or sadness 
 
 May cause us our sympathies quickly to send. 
 
 But one not familiar with names and with places 
 Most surely would find its page dull to peruse ; 
 
 And could not know the visions which memory traces 
 And calls to our thoughts by its most welcome news. 
 
The Paper from Home. 
 
 For who could rejoice with becoming elation, 
 
 But one whom his fancy to home scenes has led, 
 
 To read in its columns the grand information 
 
 That good "■ Deacon Jones has his barn painted 
 red" ? 
 
 Who cares w^hen its tidings have set us to dreaming 
 
 Of some friend's success, in whose honors we share; 
 That such items as this in its pages are beaming : 
 
 ''Just ste]) into Blank's for your spring under- 
 wear ' ' ? 
 Or perchance some account may attract our attention 
 
 Which brings the old place to our minds nearer 
 still ; 
 But down at the bottom this fact it may mention : 
 
 " We wish you would call in and pay up your bill. ' ' 
 
 Some papers take pride in a style rich and glowing, 
 They wield a great power for good in the land ; 
 
The Paper from Home. 
 
 But we take the first look at the one with the showing 
 More modest and plain — perhaps turned out by- 
 hand. 
 Its tidings are welcome as springtime and flowers, 
 
 They turn our thoughts homeward wherever we 
 roam ; 
 Its pages to cheer us have wonderful powers — 
 
 Glad messages bearing, the paper from home. 
 
Between the Lines. 
 
 'T^here's a phantom sort of writing 
 
 Which is much in use to-day, 
 To express a shade of meaning 
 
 Different from what we say. 
 You may think it is not easy 
 
 To accomplish such designs, 
 But the plan is very simple : 
 
 Write it in between the lines. 
 
 Not with words express this meaning, 
 
 Let the written lines suggest 
 That some thoughts from them are lacking, 
 
 And your friend may guess the rest. 
 If with you he's well acquainted, 
 
 To your inmost thought inclines, 
 He will find the magic secret 
 
 And will read between the lines. 
 
Between the Lines. 
 
 Letters full of grief and sadness 
 
 Often reach us by the way, 
 Which, if hastily read over. 
 
 All our happiness would slay. 
 If we ponder them more slowly, 
 
 We may know the sun still shines; 
 May receive some thoughts of comfort 
 
 If we read between the lines. 
 
 When a young man sends a letter 
 
 To the girl whom he adores, 
 Asking her that old, old question 
 
 And an answer soon implores, 
 He should not despair too quickly 
 
 If his offer she declines. 
 He may find a '' yes " — or nearly — 
 
 Hidden in between the lines. 
 
Between the Lines. 
 
 Through a simple form of language 
 
 Master thoughts are apt to gleam, 
 
 Proving true the well-known saying 
 
 That " things are not what they seem," 
 
 And' a lofty style of phrases, 
 
 Oft with motives base combines ; 
 
 Diverse are the secret tidings 
 
 We may find between the lines. 
 
 26 
 
Expan 
 
 sion. 
 
 C^XPANSION, some think, must be a new word, 
 
 Just coined for this special occasion. 
 And that, in our language, 'twas ne'er before heard — 
 
 At least, in our own beloved nation. 
 
 But e'er since our ancestors first paved the way, 
 
 Where other nations then landed, 
 Expansion has always been given full sway — 
 
 We have grown, or might say, expanded. 
 
 Yes, we've grown till we're second to no other nation, 
 
 And no other nation so free ; 
 Where our flag goes, there goes education, 
 
 Far away to the isles of the sea. 
 
 From a few little settlements down on the coast. 
 Till we spread now from shore to shore ; 
 
 We may call that expansion, 'tis no vain boast. 
 Now we reach o'er the sea for more. 
 
Expansion. 
 
 Our nation is growing in every line known — 
 
 In commerce, intelligence, too — 
 And now may the good seed by industry sown 
 
 Bring forth fruit the whole world through. 
 
 'Tis not for the mere sake of showing our might 
 That we place those isles in subjection ; 
 
 'Tis to grant them the strong arm of goodness and right, 
 And from tyranny give them protection. 
 
 In the van of the nations we forward shall go, 
 Let none check our onward advance ; 
 
 Our progressive spirit, which makes us to grow. 
 Will our glory and honor enhance. 
 
 Expansion's a good thing if rightly it's used, 
 
 And its enemies should not forget 
 That our Uncle Sam will not see it abused. 
 
 And he ne'er failed in anything yet. 
 
The True Alliance, 
 
 ^T 7iTH England we talk of alliance 
 As a thing diplomatically gained ; 
 
 And we think, to give more reliance, 
 It must be, on paper, maintained. 
 
 But I think the alliance most needed 
 
 Is one which already exists ; 
 In the hearts of the people 'tis seeded, 
 
 And of friendship and love it consists. 
 
 A child needs no treaty with mother, 
 
 To grant hiui the strength of her might 
 
 'Tis love that controls him — none other 
 
 Can uphold him in paths that are right. 
 
Ihe rrue Alli.uuo. 
 
 So with KnL;laiui. there's 110 arlntration 
 l\in cause her to be our true tVieiui ; 
 
 Rut. when nienaeed by some other nation, 
 l^n her we can always dejUMub 
 
 Her friendship at times may seem ehilbng. 
 For reasons that to her seem right ; 
 
 Hut when danger surrounds us she's willing 
 To back u\^ our strength with her might. 
 
 Treaties may sometimes be broken. 
 
 But that tViendship which' we cannot spurn 
 Has need of no kind of token — 
 
 That love we should trv to return. 
 
Driving Home the Cows, 
 
 Wou may talk about the springtime, 
 
 And the birds that sing so sweet, 
 And the waking voice of nature — 
 
 That, of course, is hard to beat ; 
 But the sound to cheer a troubled soul. 
 
 And his feelings to arouse. 
 Is to hear the farm boy's cheerful voice 
 
 \V'hen he's driving home the cows. 
 
 If, perhai)s, you have not slept well. 
 
 And your spirits sinking low. 
 Till there's naught you think can raise them, 
 
 That's the time you're glad to know 
 That there's someone who is happy, 
 
 In whose life no care allows — 
 From the fields his voice comes floating 
 
 As the boy drives home the cows. 
 
Driving Home the Cows. 
 
 In the evening, as you wonder 
 
 What that boy can be about, 
 And you call him, loud and louder 
 
 Then, in answer, comes a shout 
 From the distant hill-top yonder. 
 
 Where the peaceful cattle browse ; 
 Soon his clear young voice is ringing, 
 
 As he's driving home the cows. 
 
 When you're hunting 'round for blossoms, 
 
 And for sights and sounds of spring, 
 With a critic's view of nature. 
 
 Judging roughly everything. 
 Call not any sound the sweetest. 
 
 And on nothing stake your vows, 
 Till you hear those happy, joyous notes. 
 
 As the boy drives home the cows. 
 
Planning tor the Fourth 
 
 npHEv'RE goin' to celebrate tlie Fourth again this year 
 in town, 
 
 And I've about decided that I'll hitch up and go down; 
 
 For all the cro{)S are doin' fine, although they're needin' 
 rain, 
 
 lUit things are sure to turn out right — that's why we 
 can't complain. 
 
 And so 1 think to spend a day on which to celebrate 
 
 'Vhe founding of a nation that has grown so rich and 
 great 
 
 Will teach a man to do his best and fill his heart with 
 cheer, 
 
 Which makes his toil seem lighter and will last through- 
 out the year. 
 
 And so I'll drop the cares of life and simply run away 
 
 And reach town bright and early, 'fore the band begins 
 to play. 
 
Planning for the Fourth. 
 
 The hired man's been workin' for a week 'most every 
 
 night 
 To wash and clean the buggy and to rub the harness 
 
 bright ; 
 He's goin' to take his girl, I guess, to help him cele- 
 brate, 
 And I shan't blame him any if he gets home rather late. 
 For I have been right there myself, and recall each 
 
 moonlight trip 
 I've taken with my sweetheart with the lines around the 
 
 whip. 
 So I'll take the three-spring wagon, and my team that's 
 
 good and true, 
 And decorate the harness with the old Red, White and 
 
 Blue, 
 And we all shall be most happy when we start upon our 
 
 way 
 And arrive in time to cheer 'em when the band begins 
 
 to play. 
 
Planning for the Fourth. 
 
 And when we pass along the streets, all decked with 
 
 colors fair, 
 We'll catch the spirit of the day that's floatin' in the 
 
 air ; 
 I spent the Fourth there when a boy, and shot fire- 
 crackers then. 
 My wife '11 have to watch me or I'll do the same again. 
 We'll meet with friends and relatives we have not seen 
 
 for years, 
 And talk about the crops and things, our hopes and 
 
 doubts and fears, 
 And now and then we'll take the children 'round to 
 
 where they sell 
 The lemonade and peanuts which they all enjoy so well. 
 And this is all enjoyment in a quiet sort of way, 
 But we can't control our feelings when the band begins 
 
 to play. 
 
 35 
 
Planning for the Fourth. 
 
 For then the crowd will all break loose and those 
 
 resounding cheers 
 Will prove that tunes we loved when young have not 
 
 grown old with years. 
 AVe'll watch the races and parade, and hear the speakers, 
 
 too, 
 And cheer them as they tell about the country grand 
 
 and true. 
 There'll be fireworks in the evening, which, of course, 
 
 we cannot miss. 
 And weariness will vanish when we hear the rockets hiss. 
 And after that is over we will bid our friends good-bye. 
 With hopes to meet them all again the Fourth of next 
 
 July. 
 Each tired face will be happy as we homeward wend our 
 
 way, 
 When everything is quiet and the band has ceased 
 
 to play. 
 
 36 
 
The Old Chunk Stove, 
 
 'T^HERE is one thing I miss in these days of advance- 
 ment, 
 And their number grows smaller with each passing 
 year, 
 For the touches of time seem to change most completely 
 Those things which we hold in our memories most 
 dear. 
 
 I speak of the stoves that were used by our fathers, 
 
 When the forests were handy and country was new; 
 
 That stove glowing red-hot with winter winds howling 
 Is a picture from childhood that comes to my view. 
 
 It was made of sheet-iron, and not meant for beauty. 
 Or to serve as a dazzling creation of art ; 
 
 But it answered the purpose for which 'twas intended. 
 And was ever a source of good cheer to the heart. 
 
The Old Chunk Stove. 
 
 For the comfort and joy from that stove radiating, 
 As we sat in its genial rays, cheerful and warm. 
 
 Defied gloomy thoughts and all sorrow and trouble 
 As it roared in defiance of winter and storm. 
 
 It was dented and marred by its long years of service. 
 And was minus one leg (though supplied by a brick), 
 
 But merely for heat, from all stoves of creation. 
 That dingy old sheet-iron stove I would pick. 
 
 And a pleasure not known in these days of invention, 
 And new ways of heating, except by a few, 
 
 Is to come home from work, chilled through by the 
 weather, 
 And to hear that stove roar as if welcoming you. 
 
 The stove that I speak of is long since disabled, 
 Has ceased its activities, gone from our sight ; 
 
 But the fond recollections which cling round about it. 
 Shall dwell in our memories and always be bright. 
 
 38 
 
The <Md Chunk Stove. 
 
 And its crackle and sputter on long winter evenings 
 All chill and discomfort from the house quickly 
 drove ; 
 
 So I say there has naught been discovered for heating 
 Could equal that dingy old sheet-iron stove. 
 
Cattaraugus — i 90 1 
 
 /^UR village is a-growin' fast — 
 
 Whenever I go down 
 It seems, by jinks ! that I have struck 
 
 A mighty lively town. 
 The hitchin' posts are always full, 
 
 And from the busy streets 
 The dry -goods boxes all are gone 
 
 We used to use fer seats. 
 
 And when I leave my horses stand 
 
 To go into a store. 
 They hain't no cause to wander off 
 
 And leave me any more, 
 Fer now the tender, temptin' grass 
 
 That used to wave so green 
 Along cur streets in summer time 
 
 Is nowhere to be seen. 
 
Cattaraugus— 7901. 
 
 The weekly paper of to-day 
 
 Was tellin' where and how 
 Our "city" needs improvements — 
 
 They call it "city" now. 
 I guess they had to stretch the facts 
 
 In statin' it so plain ; 
 But then it shows our longin's, 
 
 Though we may long in vain. 
 
 Electric lights? we've got them, 
 
 And they make the finest show 
 From the hills to watch them gleamin' 
 
 In the village down below; 
 And the moon looks kinder sickly, 
 
 Like he didn't have no rights 
 Where he used to be most welcome, 
 
 Since we got electric lights. 
 
 As I came down the other night 
 I stopped and, from the hill, 
 
Cattaraugus — 1901 . 
 
 Looked o'er the village at my feet 
 
 So quiet-like and still, 
 When strains of sweetest music 
 
 From the valley seemed to 'rise, 
 That echoed from the hills around 
 
 Up toward the starry skies. 
 
 First came some lively pieces 
 
 Of the kind to thrill one through, 
 And then " Star Spangled Banner " — 
 
 The tune that's always new. 
 I ain't so much fer sentiment, 
 
 But that was somethin' grand ; 
 There's nothin' 'round to equal it. 
 
 Our military band. 
 
 And I might mention with the rest 
 How they propose to go 
 
 And build a great electric line 
 From here to Buffalo. 
 
Cattaraugus — 1901. 
 
 I guess such things ain't dangerouB, 
 There's nothin' there to burst; 
 
 But someone else may have my chance 
 To ride the blamed thing first. 
 
 There's many things about this place 
 
 That I won't try to tell ; 
 There's somethin' new 'most every day 
 
 Which helps the list to swell. 
 In absent hearts a chord is touched 
 
 That strong with rapture thrills 
 Upon receipt of news from home, 
 
 The village in the hills. 
 
The Winters We Used to Have, 
 
 Tust a few days ago my mind wandered back 
 
 To my earlier days, which, a well beaten track, 
 Extends through my memory ; and what occurred then, 
 I'm sorry to think will ne'er happen again. 
 I thought how the winters were colder back there. 
 (I know better now, this to you I'll declare.) 
 I remember the snow fell so deep in those days, 
 That we oft had to break out the road with our sleighs. 
 
 But my wife says to me, '' Don't you fear, Hezekiar, 
 You just get lots of wood for to keep a good fire. 
 For I know that the truth of the saying will hold. 
 If there's not so much snow it will make up with cold : 
 For the goddess of nature, with scrupulous care, 
 Always sends what is best for our highest welfare." 
 
The Winters We Used to Have. 
 
 And INIandy was right, as you Inter will see, 
 
 But I didn't think then that it ever would be 
 
 As cold as it was in those days long gone by, 
 
 When the mercury lowered and the snow was piled high. 
 
 But since that sharp day I will boast nevermore 
 
 Of the winters we had in the days now passed o'er. 
 
 Next morning the mercury registered ten 
 
 Below zero point, and it hadn't stopped then. 
 
 While the mercury dropped my old notions were ban- 
 ished, 
 
 In the cold wave that day from the Northwest they 
 vanished. 
 
 And now 1 am sorry I boasted so free 
 
 That the winters are milder than thev used to be. • 
 
 45 
 
The Bov at the Grindstone. 
 
 TTow oft we recall things that happened in childhood, 
 And treasure their memories through vanishing 
 years ; 
 
 Some thoughts of our youth may bring smiles to our 
 faces 
 While others are laden with sorrow and tears. 
 It is one of the latter I now wish to speak of, 
 
 Most painfully vivid the thought comes to me 
 Of the hours that I spent, when a boy, at the grind- 
 stone — 
 The old creaking grindstone that stood 'neath the 
 tree. 
 
 46 
 
The Boy at the Grindstone. 
 
 I remember that grindstone, its framework was wooden : 
 
 Its handle was iron, as I recollect well. 
 
 For it blistered my hands, made them worse with each 
 turning — 
 
 If that grindstone could speak, tales of anguish 
 'twould tell. 
 
 And it seemed that each day there were things wanted 
 grinding. 
 
 And I longed for the moment when I should be 
 free ; 
 All the boys had gone fishing, but I had to keep turning 
 
 That old creaking grindstone that stood 'neath the 
 tree. 
 
 To the scenes of my boyhood my mind often wanders. 
 And at leaving the farm I was filled with regret ; 
 
 But no tears did I shed upon leaving that grindstone. 
 For the suffering it caused me I could not forget. 
 
The Boy at the Orindstone. 
 
 When I wished to go swimming or play ball or marbles, 
 
 '' Come, boy," was the cry that most surely would 
 
 be, 
 
 I knew what that meant, and would march like a major 
 
 To turn the old grindstone that stood 'neath the 
 
 tree 
 
 There would stand the hired man, with a big can of 
 water, 
 And with knives in his hand from the mowing 
 machine, 
 And while 1 turned the handle he poured on some 
 water, 
 Then with all of his might on that grindstone 
 would lean. 
 I love that old farm ; recollections are pleasing 
 
 As backward through years in my fancy I flee ; 
 But I heave not a sigh for that shaky old grindstone, 
 The creaking old grindstone that stood 'neath the 
 tree. 
 
 48 
 
The Boy at the Grindstone. 
 
 The poets have sung of the farmers so thrifty, 
 
 They're worthy of praises, as ev^eryone knows, 
 But the boys whom the grindstones deprive of their 
 pleasures 
 
 Get no share of the credit which mankind bestows. 
 But all of those men who, as boys, knew the hardships 
 
 Endured at the grindstone will now join with me 
 In sending forth praise for the boy who is turning 
 
 The creaking old grindstone that stands 'neath the 
 tree. 
 
The Boy in the Philippines. 
 
 A s the dear friends and relatives gather once more, in 
 
 the old-fashioned, time-honored way. 
 In the homes of their childhood, to memory dear, on 
 
 the coming Thanksgiving Day, 
 A feeling of sadness will fill many breasts which was 
 
 not known one short year ago. 
 And the brightness and joy which on all faces gleam 
 
 will but cover the sorrow they know. 
 And each father and mother, with hair grown so white, 
 
 will stand there to greet every guest ; 
 While their fond, yearning eyes will scan vainly each 
 
 face, as the sighs which cannot be suppressed 
 Will arise for the boy who was with them last year, now 
 
 so far from these dear, home-like scenes, 
 Who is fighting to-day for his dearly-loved land, away 
 
 in the far Philippines. 
 
The Boy in the Philippines. 
 
 For the tropical sun of the far Orient shines on many a 
 
 brave volunteer 
 Who on Thanksgiving Day will be sad when he thinks, 
 
 with the horrors of war so near, 
 That he cannot rejoice with the loved ones at home as 
 
 they peacefully gather around 
 
 To partake of the cheer of the bounteous year in the 
 
 place where life's comforts abound. 
 And in fancy he'll see, as he so often does, them all by 
 
 the fireside so bright. 
 And will hear as they speak of the boy who is gone as 
 
 far as the day from the night ; 
 His thoughts will commingle with theirs on that day, 
 
 though a deep, boundless sea intervenes, 
 And he knows that their prayers are ascending for him — 
 
 the boy in the Philippines. 
 
The Boy in the Philippines. 
 
 And his father and mother will thank the good Lord 
 
 for the blessings of life they enjoy ; 
 But prosperity's joys would seem greater by far, if 
 
 shared with their dear absent boy. 
 They will speak of the day when they last saw their boy 
 
 as he marched from their hearing and sight, 
 For the cause of the flag, which he'd always been taught 
 
 was the emblem of justice and right. 
 Then they all will surround that old table again, as they 
 
 do in each bountiful year. 
 But in many a home they will miss one bright face — 
 
 one gay, boyish laugh they'll not hear. 
 And the old gray-haired father will offer his thanks for 
 
 the blessings recalled by these scenes, 
 And will pray that the Lord may return to them soon 
 
 the boy in the far Philippines. 
 
The Husking Bee. 
 
 TT Then the sun's rays grow more slanting, 
 
 And the frost comes in the air, 
 And the dying breath of summer 
 
 Sheds a fragrance everywhere, 
 Then my soul is filled with longing 
 
 For the merriment and glee 
 Which awaits the end of harvest 
 
 And is called the husking bee. 
 
 For when the crops are gathered 
 
 In the barn in shining heaps. 
 And we know that 'neath each greenish coat, 
 
 In golden rows, there sleeps 
 The corn for which we labored. 
 
 Then we all can plainly see 
 That the time is fast approaching 
 
 To have our husking bee. 
 
 53 
 
The Husking Bee. 
 
 We invite the young men all to come 
 
 And bring their best girls, too, 
 For while the men are husking corn 
 
 There's work enough to do 
 To set the tables in the house, 
 
 Where all good things are free ; 
 Then all the men come from the barn 
 
 To eat — at the husking bee. 
 
 Then witli dancing, songs and stories 
 
 They will pass the time away, 
 Till the old clock has to warn them 
 
 That ere long will come the day. 
 Then with sweetheart home you slowly stroll, 
 
 Nor care how far it be ; 
 She tells you, as you say good night, 
 
 She enjoyed the husking bee. 
 
The Husking Bee, 
 
 You may talk of high-toned parties, 
 
 But I say they can't compare 
 With the joys we knew upon the farm 
 
 Where all were free from care ; 
 And those whose minds call back those times 
 
 I think will say with me, 
 That life can scarce be full without 
 
 A good old husking bee. 
 
Thanksgivin' Day Till 
 New Year's. 
 
 nphanksgivin' Day till New Year's, it's a jolly time 
 
 fer me, 
 Fer then all boys is happy, er I think they ought to be ; 
 O' course all holidays is nice ; we all enjoy 'em some, 
 But then we have to wait so long fer 'nother one to 
 
 come. 
 But when Thanksgivin' Day comes 'round an' pa an' 
 
 Uncle Bill 
 Are looking kinder sollum-like an' tell me to be still, 
 An' say I must be thankful fer the good things I enjoy ; 
 But ma says, "What can you expect o' jest a healthy 
 
 boy?" 
 Then I'm glad it ain't all over in one day 'at goes so 
 
 fast, 
 I like to think o' joys to come as well as 'em 'at's past. 
 
 56 
 
Thanksgivin' Day Till New Year's 
 
 Fer Christmas Day is coniin' soon, when somethin' in 
 
 the air 
 Won't let folks mind your mischief an' no one seems to 
 
 care 
 Jest how much noise an' racket you may make, fer 
 
 don't you see, 
 They all are feelin' jolly, as well as boys like me. 
 O' course, us boys can't tell our thoughts in any kind 
 
 o' style 
 Like older folks ; but then I guess I'm thankful all the 
 
 while, 
 Because through all Thanksgivin' Day I never can forget 
 That other days is comin' soon fer boys 'at's better yet. 
 There ain't no time in all the year such holidays can send, 
 Thanksgivin' kinder leads the bunch with New Year's 
 
 at the end. 
 
 But I like Christmas best of all, fer all the rest in one 
 Can't make a holiday like that fer happiness an' fun ; 
 
Thanksgivin' Day Till New Year's. 
 
 'Cause there is lots an' lots o' things 'sides what we 
 
 have to eat 
 'At makes that day a time fer boys 'at never can be 
 
 beat. 
 Fer my ma goes a-shoppin' downtown 'most every day 
 An' brings home lots o' bundles an' hides 'em all away 
 Where she don't think I'll find 'em, but I know jest 
 
 what she's got, 
 Fer I jest hid behind the door an' seen a stunnin' lot. 
 
 An' Christmas Day I'll act surprised at gettin' such a 
 
 sight, 
 But now I see 'em every day an' dream of 'em at night. 
 
 An' Sister Sue must think 'at I ain't got no sense er she 
 Would never try to tell that trash ' bout Santa Claus to me. 
 When I was jest a little boy I guess I b'lieved it then, 
 But stuff like that don't work no more with boys 'at's 
 almost ten. 
 
 58 
 
Thanksgivin' Day Till New Year's. 
 
 I know who gives the presents an' I've found it always 
 
 pays 
 Fer boys to act their very best before the holidays. 
 An' if I had a lot more time why then I'd like to tell 
 Some more about these happy days 'at boys all like so 
 
 well ; 
 But now I guess I've said enough so anyone can see 
 Thanksgivin' Day till New Year's is a jolly time fer me. 
 
 59 
 
The Farmer's View of Spring, 
 
 f N the spring the sturdy farmer 
 
 Does not dream of beauties rare, 
 Which the poet's idle vision 
 
 Places round him everywhere ; 
 Though, of course, he likes the glories 
 
 Which the spring throws in his way, 
 He always does the best he can 
 
 To make those beauties pay. 
 
 He does not spend his precious time 
 
 In praising springtime beauty ; 
 He has a soul alive to all, 
 
 But he does his simple duty. 
 His life is near to nature's heart, 
 
 His thoughts with nature blend ; 
 He knows that spring is but the means — 
 
 The harvest is the end. 
 
The Farmer's View of Spring. 
 
 He likes to hear his green trees praised, 
 
 And the buds that forward shoot ; 
 Because he knows those little buds 
 
 Foretell the coming fruit. 
 He likes the golden sunshine, 
 
 The rain which Heaven drops ; 
 For all that nature sends will help 
 
 Mature his well-earned crops. 
 
 He likes to watch his meadows green, 
 
 And know that grass grows well ; 
 He thinks, perhaps, that in the fall. 
 
 He'll have some hay to sell. 
 He reads about the warbling birds. 
 
 He also likes their notes ; 
 But he worries more about the place 
 
 Where he'd better sow his oats. 
 
The Farmer's View of Spring. 
 
 In short, the springtime beauties help 
 
 To cheer his honest heart ; 
 He'd find life dull without them 
 
 And the pleasures they impart ; 
 But he only seeks to use the time, 
 
 These happy days of spring, 
 So all his powers with nature joined 
 
 Shall bounteous harvest bring. 
 
The Deserted Schoolhouse, 
 
 '"pHE old country schoolhouse of childhood 
 
 Is standing deserted and still 
 In the lane where it joins with the highway, 
 
 At the foot of a long, sloping hill ; 
 And passing that way I noticed to-day 
 
 That the brook where at recess we played 
 Has quite disappeared, and the trees on its banks 
 
 Are gone, with their cool, pleasant shade. 
 
 No humming of glad youthful voices 
 
 Comes now through the wide-open door, 
 In harmony rising and falling. 
 
 While chanting the lessons o'er. 
 There are weeds growing over the door- step 
 
 Not beaten by hurrying feet. 
 And I saw through the dusty window 
 
 My old, well- remembered seat. 
 
 63 
 
The Deserted Schoolhouse. 
 
 The chair where the teacher of old used to sit 
 
 And rule us with despotic sway, 
 Like an absolute monarch of eastern lands, 
 
 Is idle and useless to-day. 
 The stove seemed more rusty than ever. 
 
 And cobwebs hung low in the room ; 
 I fancied that playmates of childhood 
 
 Were greeting me out of the gloom. 
 
 I asked why the schoolhouse was idle. 
 
 And was told by a man living near 
 That they built a fine school in the village, 
 
 And they '' took up the deestrick here." 
 A grand and imposing brick building. 
 
 Reared up in the most modern way. 
 Has taken the old country schoolhouse 
 
 From all but our memories to-day. 
 64 
 
The Deserted Schoolhouse. 
 
 I'm glad that the pathway of learning 
 
 Which the children of these days pursue 
 
 Has not many thorns with its roses — 
 
 Like the one that we had to pass through. 
 
 And I hope after years have sped onward 
 Their glimpses of childhood may be 
 
 As sweet as the ones that come racing 
 
 From out of the distance to me. 
 
The Pumpkin that Grows 
 with the Corn. 
 
 The praise of the melon has often been chanted, 
 
 Its beauty and flavor are splendid, we know ; 
 And the rich, juicy sweetness within each implanted 
 
 Makes a field of them ripened a most tempting 
 show. 
 But I speak of another with station more lowly. 
 
 Which often is used as an object of scorn, 
 And has never been granted the homage which wholly 
 
 Belongs to the pumpkin that grows with the corn. 
 
 It is not considered a fancy creation. 
 
 Or classed as a product of nature's best skill, 
 
 And its beauty has never called forth admiration 
 As it gleams in the sunshine away on the hill ; 
 
The Pumpkin that Grows with the Corn. 
 
 But made into pies with a richness and splendor, 
 In tempting array for a Thanksgiving morn, 
 
 There's nothing a bountiful harvest can render 
 
 To equal the pumpkin that grows with the corn. 
 
 Its outward appearance in no way discloses, 
 
 As it lies in the cornfield half sunk in the earth, 
 The fact that within its bright coat there reposes 
 
 A sure, future prospect of goodness and worth. 
 And a good winter's store may be counted a treasure. 
 
 Which cannot be equalled, as sure as you're born ; 
 For 'tis ever a source of most genuine pleasure. 
 
 This dusky, brown pumpkin that grows with the corn. 
 
 It ever may hold the same humble position. 
 And never aspire to a more lofty height ; 
 
 Contented in nobly fulfilling its mission, 
 
 A blessing to all, that brings joy and delight. 
 67 
 
The Pumpkin that Orows with the Corn. 
 
 And those who once taste of its goodness will never 
 Look down with a sneer on the pumpkin forlorn, 
 
 But will sound forth its praises and glory forever — 
 
 The plain, golden pumi)kin that grows with the 
 corn. 
 
The County Fair. 
 
 'HP HE County Fair is comin' soon, and all the papers 
 state 
 
 The managers declare that they will make it somethin' 
 great ; 
 
 In fact, they say 'twill be the best they ever held, this 
 year ; 
 
 To anyone that's seen the bills that point is mighty 
 
 clear. 
 They're posted up on every barn between my place and 
 
 town, 
 I stopped and looked them over as I was comin' down. 
 
 Such horses and such cattle as them people advertise 
 I never saw, but 'twas a sight to please a farmer's eyes. 
 And hogs — I thought I had some ; but, I say, they 
 
 can't compare 
 In size with them the bills say will be at the County 
 
 Fair. 
 
 69 
 
The County Fair. 
 
 The fair is held but once a year, and then they try to 
 show 
 
 The greatness of our people and the things that make 
 
 them so ; 
 And when our nation's prosperous, as we know it is just 
 
 now, 
 It makes the farmer happy ; and the good times, I allow. 
 Will make the fair successful; and, without the slightest 
 
 doubt, 
 'Twill help along the party which has brought the 
 
 change about. 
 
 And in spite of people's ravin's, in tones so deep and 
 
 strong, 
 That unless we change our actions we'll surely all go 
 
 wrong. 
 This nation cannot go to smash nor run into a snare 
 Not while there's enterprise enough to hold a County 
 
 Fair. 
 
 70 
 
The County Fair. 
 
 They'll have new-fangled farmin' tools, and make a 
 
 farmer smile 
 To see the way to do his work up in the latest style. 
 
 They've got so much machinery throughout this land of 
 
 late 
 A man might buy some every day and not be up-to-date. 
 And all that grows will be there, for its quality or size — 
 I took a pumpkin down last year and got the second 
 
 prize. 
 I heard a feller say one day, and he made it plain to all, 
 That the Pan-American next year would make our show 
 
 look small ; 
 And I don't know but what it will, but I for one don't 
 
 care, 
 I know we'll have a rousin' time down at the County 
 
 Fair. 
 
The County Fair. 
 
 There'll be amusements there, you know, to please the 
 
 people all, 
 With horse and bicycle races, and a first-rate game of 
 
 ball; 
 And there's somethin' quite excitin', which I'm liable 
 
 to ketch 
 When I see the horses strainin' every nerve along the 
 
 stretch. 
 The orators will praise the nation grand in accents loud, 
 And bands with lively music try to please the waiting 
 
 crowd. 
 And when the fair is over and all the pleasure past, 
 We'll be prouder of the country in which our lot is 
 
 cast. 
 Well, now, I must be goin', but I hope to see you 
 
 there — 
 You can't afford to miss the sights down at the County 
 
 P'air. 
 
The Sugar-Snow. 
 
 TN March, when the winter is dying and the springtime 
 
 is drawing near, 
 And its splendors unfolding in beauty are soon in our 
 
 midst to appear, 
 And the patches of snow on the hillsides grow smaller 
 
 with each passing day. 
 As if the brown soil upward peeping were striving to 
 
 drive them away ; 
 Then we eagerly look to the future, no sighs for the 
 
 winter that's past^ 
 And we dread not the winds blowing fiercely (we are 
 
 certain that they cannot last), 
 And the snow that comes nearest to springtime quickly 
 
 melts 'neath the sunshine's glow — 
 'Tis the kind that we see gently falling and is known as 
 
 the " sugar-snow." 
 
The Sugar-Snow. 
 
 It comes floating downward so slowly, with a motion 
 
 majestic and grand, 
 Like a vision of beauty from Heaven to brighten this 
 
 dreary old land. 
 And the flowers which have waited so calmly for the 
 
 long, chilly winter to pass 
 Will shrink at the sight, in despair, farther down in the 
 
 frost-bitten grass. 
 But soon they revive and grow fearless, rising upward to 
 
 greet the warm light 
 When the sun riding high in the heavens disperses the 
 
 mantle of white ; 
 Then the farmer has everything ready and is eagerly 
 
 waiting to go 
 To start up his work in the sap-bush at the sight of the 
 
 first *' sugar-snow." 
 
The Sugar-Snow 
 i 
 
 When the first birds of springtime are chirping, inspired 
 
 by the soft southern breeze, 
 And the life-giving fluid of nature is leaping aloft in the 
 
 trees. 
 The men, through the fast-falling snow flakes, go to tap 
 
 the great maples once more, 
 Which have yielded their bounty of sweetness full many 
 
 a season before. 
 And all the day the warm snow falls so thickly and 
 
 steadily down 
 One can hardly see the tree-tops as they stand so bare 
 
 and brown, 
 And the children all enjoy it, for they always seem to 
 
 know 
 That 'tis time for maple sugar, when they see the 
 
 *' sugar-snow." 
 
A Lesson in Contentment. 
 
 npHK farmer sat by his kitchen fire, his head upon his 
 
 hands, 
 And the fire-liij^ht gleamed on his once dark hair, now 
 
 streaked with silver bands. 
 His wife was sitting near him and on her face there 
 
 showed 
 A sort of discontented look; 'twas plain she had her 
 
 load 
 Of tiresome cares, as well as he, although without a word 
 She bore her lot and no complaint from out her soul 
 
 was heard. 
 
 jfC :ii ;•< 
 
 At length the farmer raised his head and said to her: 
 
 " Dear wife, 
 There's something I would like to say pertaining to our 
 
 life. 
 
A Lesson in Contentment. 
 
 It's something I have thought about for days and weeks 
 
 agone ; 
 It scarcely let me sleep at night and began again at 
 
 dawn. 
 'l"is this: we've lived upon this farm for nearly thirty 
 
 years ; 
 Life's pleasures have been scarce, you know, not so its 
 
 storms and fears. 
 Our children all have left us ; we're alone here, you 
 
 and I, 
 And I think that we should take a rest before our time 
 
 to die. 
 I'm tired of endless labor and I think that you are, too ; 
 We've got some money in the bank — enough to last us 
 
 through — 
 So let us hire the farm work done and buy a })lace in 
 
 town 
 Where we'll be happy once again, no cares to weigh 
 
 us down. 
 
A Lesson in Contentment. 
 
 What sa)^ you, wife, do you agree to all that I have 
 
 said? 
 If so, we'll leave this life of toil and enjoy ourselves 
 
 instead." 
 His wife laid down her knitting and raised her care- 
 worn face, 
 On which now shone a brighter look, and in her eye a 
 
 trace 
 Of tears of joy which told as plain as any words could 
 
 do 
 That with her husband she agreed and accorded with 
 
 his view. 
 Said she : " Dear John, I'm glad to hear you speak of 
 
 that which I 
 Have thought and prayed about so long, and wept o'er 
 
 on the sly. 
 I think that life has pleasures yet for such as you and I 
 Who always tried to do the right, and before the end 
 
 draws nigh 
 
A Lesson in Contentment. 
 
 We'll have our share of happiness. Of course, we'll 
 
 miss the farm, 
 But country life has lost for us its old-time happy charm, 
 And so with you I am agreed and think it's for the 
 
 best 
 That we should leave this life of toil and take the 
 
 needed rest." 
 
 ^ ^ ^ 
 
 And thus it was agreed, and the happy farmer went 
 To town next day and bought a house, with heart now 
 
 well content. 
 The house was small and seemed to be just suited for 
 
 those two ; 
 They seemed to think when they moved in that life 
 
 would start anew. 
 But soon they found that happiness, if they could find 
 
 it here, 
 Was bought at much too great a price — had cost all that 
 
 was dear. 
 
A Lesson in Contentment. 
 
 They learned that in a city, with its noise and busy 
 strife, 
 
 Cannot be found that peacefulness which fills a country 
 life. 
 
 With all the toil and trouble there, the comfort they had 
 known 
 
 Was great. Amid the city's hum they still were sad and 
 lone. 
 
 The farmer walked about the house, he knew not what 
 to do ; 
 
 He had.no chores to tend to now. His honest face and 
 true 
 
 Soon lacked the old-time, healthy glow ; his wife, 
 grown poor and weak. 
 
 Had lost the usual bloom of health from off her care- 
 worn cheek. 
 
 80 
 
A Lesson in Contentment. 
 
 After due deliberation, they decided back to go 
 
 To where their hearts had ever been ; and, in a day or 
 so, 
 
 They moved away from city life. It was a spring-like 
 day 
 
 When with hearts of happiness and joy they spied from 
 far away 
 
 Their absent home ; it loomed up now upon a distant 
 hill, 
 
 A sight to make their fond old hearts with new vibra- 
 tions thrill ; 
 
 And as they crossed the threshold of their early home 
 that day, 
 
 The looks of gloom and sadness from their faces sped 
 
 away. 
 
 ^ -^ -^ 
 
 That night the happy farmer sat, when all his work was 
 
 done, 
 Beside the same old kitchen fire, his face beamed like 
 
 the sun. 
 
A Lesson in Contentment. 
 
 Said he: ''Well, wife, I'm glad we're back, and dis- 
 content no more 
 
 Shall come to mar our happy lives, as it has done before. 
 
 Let those who do not care to try a peaceful farming life 
 
 Go make their fortunes in the town — they will not mind 
 its strife ; 
 
 But such as you and I, dear wife, who thirty years have 
 been 
 
 Accustomed to a quiet life, we could not stand the din. 
 
 Till death much comfort we will take, we've found 
 life's happy charm ; 
 
 We'll always be contented now, no more we'll leave the 
 farm." 
 
 82 
 
A Letter to a Friend. 
 
 T^EAR Friend : — 
 
 Your very welcome letter has reached me all 
 O. K., 
 And I think that I will answer on this very pleasant day. 
 As I have time in plenty and might be doing worse, 
 I will gather up my scattered wits and write to you in 
 
 verse. 
 And if I lack for ready words to make a proper rhyme, 
 
 Don't tell it, please, and I will make it right some other 
 
 time. 
 I was very glad to hear from you, and always am, you 
 
 know ; 
 Your letters seem to speed the hours which sometimes go 
 
 so slow. 
 
 83 
 
A Letter to a Friend. 
 
 As a whisper floats on the evening air, when all is calm 
 and still, 
 
 So a letter goes from friend to friend with tokens of 
 good will. 
 
 I am glad to know that you are still so full of animation 
 
 And speed so smoothly on your way to gain an educa- 
 tion. 
 
 Tjke a soldier in a battle, if one wins success in life, 
 He must never lose his courage, never shrink from any 
 
 strife ; 
 For this old world is a tug of war and the one who wins 
 
 the fight 
 Is the one who keeps a cheerful heart and dares to do 
 
 the right. 
 Of course, I speak of others, no allusions to myself, 
 For I am side-tracked in the race and laid upon the 
 
 shelf; 
 
 84 
 
A Letter to a Friend. 
 
 % 
 
 But those like you, with good health blest and spirits 
 
 keeping pace, 
 Should find no time for failure — be successful in the 
 
 race. 
 You ask me how I get along with Caisar ; I will say 
 That I am still progressing — some two pages every day. 
 And when I find translation hard you easily can guess 
 I lose my temper, drop the book and — do a good deal 
 
 less. 
 But I don't find much trouble now, I guess I'm past the 
 
 worst. 
 The boys all say the Second Book is easier than the 
 
 First. 
 A friend was up not long ago and quickly made quite 
 
 plain 
 
 The places I had marked and sought to translate, but in 
 
 85 
 
A Letter to a Friend. 
 
 Some seem to think that I could pass, if I would only 
 
 try, 
 A regents' Ccesar paper and increase my counts thereby. 
 But I'll let good enough alone ; some think I'm doing 
 
 well, 
 So I'll not disappoint them and not their hopes 
 
 dispel. 
 
 For if I tried and failed to pass, as you can plainly see. 
 They might lose their good opinion and have the laugh 
 
 on me. 
 And perhaps I'm like so many, who seem always at their 
 
 best 
 Until some trying circumstance shall put them to the 
 
 test. 
 So I'll advance — not backwards, as the Dutchman said, 
 
 you know — 
 And when I've finished Csesar why I'll then start 
 
 Cicero. 
 
 86 
 
% A Letter to a Friend. 
 
 Perhaps that will be better ; you will find out when you 
 
 try 
 That Caesar with his marches, talks and fights is pretty dry. 
 But whatever I am doing when your year of. school is 
 
 through 
 If I have not forgotten all will read it o'er with you. 
 
 The winter has seemed long to me, but soon will glide 
 away 
 
 And the warmth will seem more grateful when it con- 
 quers in the fray ; 
 
 But I long to have the spring come, and to watch the 
 flowers arise, 
 
 And to feel the sun beam warmly from the ever brighten- 
 ing skies. 
 
 Well, now, I think it's time to close this disconnected 
 
 ietter, 
 And send it out just as it is for want of something 
 
 better. 
 
A Letter to a Friend. 
 
 I often think of you, old boy, though miles may inter- 
 vene, 
 
 And hope that naught our friendship may ever come 
 between. 
 
 From afar I'll watch your progress — 'tis the best that I 
 can do — 
 
 And good will is the only gift I can freely offer you. 
 
 There's nothing new that happens in the town or 'round 
 
 about. 
 But what you hear as soon as I, without the slightest 
 
 doubt. 
 Your brother drops in now and then, and when the 
 
 weather's fair 
 
 He takes me out to see the sights and get the good, fresh 
 air. 
 
^ A Letter to a Friend. 
 
 I hope the nap that you have had while reading through 
 
 this rhyme 
 Will do you good : now write me soon as you can spare 
 
 the time. 
 And, as I said before but failed, I'll now this letter end, 
 And sign myself, with best regards, your ever sincere 
 
 friend. 
 
Trials of Sugar Time. 
 
 T spent a week irj^on a farm — 'twas maple sugar time — 
 And what occurred while I was there I'll try to tell 
 
 in rhyme. 
 The farmer, in experience, was old, though young in 
 
 years ; 
 In farming vvays was skillful, but he had some doubts 
 
 and fears 
 'Bout making maple sweetness ; he had not learned that 
 
 trade, 
 And of success, which all foretold, was a little bit afraid. 
 But his friends all pleaded with him (they calculated 
 
 well 
 To help him out on any which, perchance, he could 
 
 not sell). 
 
 90 
 
Trials of Sugar Time. 
 
 And so he went to town and bought a wagon-load or so 
 Of spouts and buckets and the like, and a tin pan long 
 
 and low, 
 To place upon an arch and boil the sap down in the 
 
 wood, 
 To save the women in the house as much work as he 
 
 could. 
 He tapped the bush (three hundred trees or more than 
 
 that, I guess), 
 And the farmer's bright and ruddy face now shone with 
 
 happiness. 
 He liked this kind of work, he said (his trials had not 
 
 begun. 
 And soon the work grew tiresome-like, which at first 
 
 seemed just like fun). 
 
 The sap ran well a day or two, 'twould soon the buckets 
 fill, 
 
 And the farmer went to gather it, with strong and reso- 
 lute will. 
 
Trials of Sugar Time. 
 
 The bush was high on a mountain side, the snow was 
 
 three feet deep, 
 And up some places on that hill a man could hardly 
 
 creep. 
 At first the farmer built a fire in the arch which he had 
 
 bought 
 (And the loss of brows and moustache to a man like 
 
 him was naught); 
 Then with two pails he started up the hill to gather sap, 
 And coming back he stepped upon some ice and fell 
 
 — ker-slap ! 
 He slipped and fell, as I have said, naught could his 
 
 progress check. 
 Three quarts of liquid sweetness floated calmly down his 
 
 neck ; 
 But he stayed and faced the music, and boiled that sap 
 
 all down. 
 And then he took it to the house, his face without a 
 
 frown. 
 
Trials of Sugar Time. 
 
 His good wife scarcely knew him, his face had got so 
 black, 
 
 And the only shirt which he possessed was stuck fast to 
 
 his back. 
 Next day it got much colder, and the syrup he had 
 
 brought 
 Was cleansed from all the cinders, soot and dirt which 
 
 it had caught. 
 On that farm, the only question that was heard from sun 
 
 till sun, 
 Was about that maple syrup, or when again the sap 
 
 would run. 
 They had eleven gallons, and the farmer figured up 
 Just what, so far, it cost him to drink that sweetened 
 
 cup. 
 He found that as he balanced up his cash book on that 
 
 day, 
 The sap-bush was his debtor still, for more than it could 
 
 pay. 
 
Trials of Sugar Time. 
 
 Of course, he'd get the money part ; but he found out to 
 his cost 
 
 That one thing it could ne'er return, that is — a mous- 
 tache lost. 
 
 But time would make that right again ; though from 
 that awful day, 
 
 The farmer's wife had noticed that his hair was turning 
 gray. 
 
 And soon he went about his work ; this decision he had 
 made 
 
 That to his farming he would 'tend and quit the sugar 
 trade. 
 
On Life's Border We Stand, 
 
 (The following poem was written at the request of the Class of 1899, 
 Cattaraugus High School, and was read by one of its members at the 
 annual Class Day Exercises of that year ) 
 
 A T this time when all things are rejoicing, 
 
 And the birds, their glad sentiments voicing, 
 Seem joyously striving to greet us ; 
 From a life with its duty and also its pleasure 
 We come, and our hearts leap with joy beyond measure 
 As our friends come with welcomes to meet us. 
 
 And now, as each one of our class sadly severs 
 His life from the scenes of his youthful endeavors, 
 
 Which were spent in conforming to rule ; 
 All the glamor and brightness of life seem departing 
 As our boat on the broad, restless current is starting, 
 
 And our school life is merged in life's school. 
 
On Life's Border We Stand. 
 
 As the leaves and the flowers in the springtime unfolding — 
 Which the goddess of nature in splendor is molding, 
 
 To gladden each struggling heart — 
 Need the sunshine and rain, and each heaven-sent blessing, 
 To make them expand, the Divine will expressing, 
 
 And their beaut)^ and fragrance impart, 
 
 So with youth as they come from an endless creation, 
 And, driven by nature to secure education, 
 
 Should be nourished and tended with care. 
 As the sunshine and rain are enlarging the flowers, 
 So our youth need assistance to strengthen their powers 
 
 For the future in which they must share. 
 
 But there comes a time, as the season progresses, 
 When a thought of the future on each mind impresses 
 
 The hope that the autumn will bring, 
 From fields that are waving in rich, golden splendor, 
 Which betoken a bountiful harvest to render, 
 
 Rich reward for the labor of spring. 
 
 96 , 
 
On Life's Border We Stand. 
 
 And thus stands our class and our future seems bright, 
 While our youth, like the springtime, has taken its flight. 
 
 What the harvest will be may be known : 
 For to farmers who toil the yield does not forsake them; 
 But our lives have to be just what we may make them, 
 
 And each one must struggle alone. 
 
 There are many to-day who are facing life's dawn. 
 With sighs just as tender for youth past and gone, 
 
 And with hopes just as bright as our own ; 
 But they seem to forget, for the future preparing, 
 That what they have learned is not worth comparing 
 
 To that which there is to be known. 
 
 For the world is a school, and its practical knowledge 
 Cannot be obtained in a school house or college. 
 
 But in contact with life's busy throng ; 
 And ofttimes the fairest youth-dreams we have cherished 
 Will fade like a flower which in using has perished, 
 
 So our hearts must be valiant and strong 
 
 97 
 
On Life's Border We Stand. 
 
 To meet all the trials of life uncomplaining, 
 For with each disappointment new strength we'll be 
 gaining, 
 
 And the truth of this maxim is found : 
 That the sorrows of life, if treated with gladness, 
 Will lose from their gloom more than half of its sadness; 
 
 And in place of pain, joy will abound. 
 
 As the dawn of a century toward us is speeding, 
 
 The chances for young folks, who true lives are leading. 
 
 Than at this time were never more bright ; 
 For the world is the field, with its boundless resource?, 
 Which is calling to-day, and it needs our best forces 
 
 For honesty, justice and right. 
 
 We may not win fortune, we may not win fame. 
 For ofttimes the world's praise is only a name 
 Which so many strive to possess ; 
 
On Life's Border We Stand. 
 
 Though our station be humble, in all that we do, 
 Our lives may be honest and noble and true, 
 And this is the highest success. 
 
 To our teachers and friends, by whose tireless devotion 
 Our class is enabled to launch on life's ocean, 
 
 The thanks of the class we would tender ; 
 And we hope that our lives may be spent with the view 
 To honor their efforts so noble and true, 
 
 And the precepts they've striven to render. 
 
 For the school and its surroundings we have naught but 
 
 words of praise, 
 'Mid the very best environments have passed our early 
 days ; 
 May our lives, firmly anchored in truth, 
 Repay your endeavors unselfishly shown. 
 And the good seed your kindness has patiently sown 
 In the glad, happy springtime of youth. 
 L.ofC. 
 
On Life's Border We Stand. 
 
 In all the marts of life are those who've gone this way 
 
 before : 
 They are sailing on life's river, we are standing on the 
 
 shore ; 
 They welcome us among them with cheers. 
 In turn we'll greet our school-mates with rejoicing deep 
 
 and strong, 
 As each class shall bring its numbers to swell the joyous 
 
 throng, 
 On and on through the flight of years. 
 
 But our meetings now are over, our class must separate ; 
 And as we face life's stormy scenes, to conquer over 
 fate, 
 Our thoughts will ever twine 
 Around the Cattaraugus School, and as classes come 
 
 and go, 
 We hope, amid life's changes, you will find time to 
 bestow 
 A thought upon the Class of '99. 
 
On Life's Border We Stand. 
 
 So, to-night on the border of life we are standing, 
 To morrow's bright sun in its beauty expanding. 
 
 As it dawns on a day just begun, 
 Will bring to our lives new hopes and ambitions, 
 And present in its fullness to our eager visions 
 
 A life to be fought — and won. 
 
Sparks from the Embers. 
 
 There floats not a cloud without sunshine behind it. 
 There's gladness in life if we only will find it. 
 
 ]y[ANY people make their troubles seem larger by looking at 
 them as through an opera glass, while they diminish the 
 blessings of life in the same way — only by viewing them through 
 the wrong end. 
 
 'T'here is a true saying, that we should never speak of another 
 unless we can say something good of him. Perhaps that is 
 the reason so many of us are not spoken of at all. 
 
 Y^T E all know that riches are liable to take unto themselves wings 
 and fly away ; yet everyone seems more than willing to 
 take the risk. 
 
 'T'he man who expects to become prominent through the fame of 
 his wife cannot always be said to " control his own destiny." 
 
 Jf we all knew as much as we think we know there would be.no 
 further need of colleges. 
 
 A YOUNG man, having acquired a good share of the knowledge 
 that is possible in this advanced age, may, on leaving college, 
 turn aside from it all, and without the least humiliation to himself, 
 bow down before an old gray-haired man who, perhaps, never 
 saw a college, and learn from the school of experience. 
 
 CciENTiSTS claim that there is great danger in kissing. But how 
 courageous we all are when face to face with such awful 
 dangers ! 
 
Sparks from the Embers. 
 
 A BASEBALL player finishing a score is like the rich man trying 
 to avoid the tax collector — he would like to make his home 
 run. 
 
 ^J'he man who thinks he knows it all unconsciously gives the 
 impression that he has not tried to store his mind with 
 knowledge to any great extent ; because one who has made the 
 least attempt to study very deeply soon discovers that he knows 
 absolutely nothing compared to the vast amount which is to be 
 known. 
 
 Jt is actually true that the office sometimes seeks the man ; but 
 nobody ever knew of it being a game of hide and seek. 
 
 ^ MAN who takes a loaf of bread when he is hungry, steals, and 
 is called a thief; but the bank cashier who makes away with 
 $500,000 belonging to the bank, only defrauds, and is called an 
 embezzler. So goes the world ! 
 
 JV/Tany people try to imagine what an immense hole will be left 
 in the world when they are called hence. And they are 
 generally the very ones who are so anxious to cut a figure in the 
 world, too I 
 
 »< Vou bring cold comfort," said the anxious parent to the man 
 who was delivering ice for the sick child. 
 
 Py[o matter what happens, always make the best of everything — 
 especially butter. 
 
 pROM the time a man holds the office of pathmaster until he 
 obtains a seat in Congress, he is a mere politician ; if he is in 
 a position to help his nation out of a difficulty, he is a diplomat ; 
 after he dies, he is a statesman. 
 
Sparks from the Embers. 
 
 Jt is not always a farmer who raises a crop of corn. I have seen 
 a hen do the same thing. 
 
 ]y[AN shudders with horror no longer at the ravages of wars, 
 pestilences, famines and such like small things, but bows 
 in abject humiliation, owning himself conquered, before his most 
 deadly enemy — the microbe. 
 
 Phrenologists tell us that there is a certain bump on a man's 
 head which, if developed, causes a spirit of combativeness. 
 On the other hand, it is very often a spirit of combativeness that 
 causes the bump. 
 
 <f ^NOTHER dash for the poll," said the man with the newspaper, 
 as he struck at a fly on his bald head. 
 
 "The man who so far disregards the laws of society as to eat 
 while in his shirt-sleeves is a queer old fogey, if he is poor; 
 but if he is rich, he is only an eccentric old gentleman. 
 
 "The man who will have nothing to do with the church because 
 there is someone in it who is a hypocrite, unconsciously 
 places himself on a level with that person, because he admits 
 that he, perhaps, would not do any better. 
 
 Jt is evident that some marriages are not contracted in Heaven ; 
 on the contrary — 
 
 "^HE silent man says nothing, of course. The man who is not 
 silent very often says the same thing. 
 
 "^HE reports say that the war in the Philippines is over. That 
 is correct, of course. We all knew it was over — in the 
 Philippines. 
 
Sparks from the Embers. 
 
 yi^CTlONS speak louder than words. The people who listen to 
 the voice of a man in church on Sunday are very few com- 
 pared to those who listen to the greater sound of his actions 
 through the week. 
 
 'VA/'e hear very often that some folks have elastic consciences. 
 Of course, those are the ones who are most liable to yield to 
 temptation. 
 
 "XA/'e often read of people who go abroad without leaving their 
 native land — by means of a dynamite explosion, for 
 instance. 
 
 As we all know, colleges are founded and run mainly for the 
 purpose of filling with knowledge the waste places on the 
 inside of the students' heads; but all that seems to be accomplished 
 in some cases is to enlarge the outside proportions of the same. 
 
 YyHEN the wine is in, the wit is out — and sometimes all of it. 
 
 Tf a man wins success in life it is by his own efforts ; if not, it is 
 the hand of fate. 
 
 ■^yE often count our blessings as we do eggs, a half dozen at a 
 time; while we seem to take pleasure in counting our 
 troubles singly. 
 
 Jt is claimed that a man's character is affected by the condition 
 of the weather. So it is, if our language at certain times is any 
 indication. 
 
 n /\^RE you a football player" ? asked the landlord of his tenant. 
 "No sir," replied the tenant. *' I thought perhaps you 
 were," said the landlord, " as you are a quarter-back— on your 
 rent." 
 
Sparks from the Embers. 
 
 A MAN who has more money than he can find use for, cannot 
 stop adding to his store any more than a farmer with more 
 land than he needs already, can resist buying that " forty acre 
 strip 'jinin'." 
 
 Jt is true that our troubles are greatly increased by constantly 
 thinking about them. Why can't we do the same with our 
 blessings ? 
 
 'pHERE is humor in everything — especially in a joke on the other 
 fellow. 
 
 "Vou cannot judge the capabilities of a man by his looks, any 
 more than you can judge the power of a locomotive by its 
 outward appearance. 
 
 J SUPPOSE the reason why so many people think they ought to 
 " take the cake " in everything must be because they have 
 the "dough." 
 
 ^'he man who is most desirous of raising the mortgage on his 
 farm is sometimes the one who is too shiftless to raise the 
 crops for the purpose. 
 
 It is better to smile than to frown. Then laugh. 
 
 "There is a vast difference between the realms of theory and 
 practice. When we hear the many fine qualities of the 
 fountain pen we live for a time in the pleasant land of theory ; but 
 when we come to test those excellent qualities for ourselves, we 
 suddenly drop right back into the cold, cruel world of practice. 
 
 "PHE clerk in a large city store may not belong to the army, but 
 he certainly knows the counter-sign. 
 
Sparks from the Embers. 
 
 'P'here is a certain quality which is of great benefit in connection 
 with knowledge, but which is not always acquired with it, 
 and which helps to make many men successful without a "great 
 amount of education, namely — plain common-sense. 
 
 Tt is thought to be necessary for the man who wishes to be suc- 
 cessful in politics to have a " pull " ; but it is certain that to be 
 successful in that, or any other line, one must also have '* push," 
 
 'pHERE is no need to spend much time in courting trouble. It is 
 not bashful. 
 
 'There is only one great difficulty with all the so-called flying 
 machines which have appeared up to the present time — they 
 don't fly. 
 
 There are many men who do not know what failure means; but 
 the man who is successful after breasting the storms of ad- 
 versity is the one who appreciates life most. 
 
 The sorrows of life are many ; therefore, by our actions we 
 should make them seem as few as possible. The pleasures 
 of life are few ; therefore, we should make the most of them. 
 
 ■y^E often go so far out of our way in search of something to 
 worry about that when happiness comes knocking for 
 admittance at our very doors we are not at home to welcome 
 him. 
 
^t 2} IPOI 
 
UBHAn' 
 
 7oi5 971 344 
 
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