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Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent Atre filmte d des taux de reduction diff^rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seul clichA, 11 est filmi A partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ntcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m6thode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 ^™i^"p /4//> \ \ droaiis mi (Srins OF ONE WHO SURVIVED. BY BRUCE MUNRO. TORONTO: F-UBLISHECD BY WARWICK A SONS. 1889. 1758 hh ^ no S\/} Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in the yoar one thousand eight hundred and eighty-nino, by Bruce W. Monro, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture. y THIS VOLUME IS NOT RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO ANY POTENTATE, DOMESTIC OR FOREIGN, NOR TO ANY COLD, CYNICAL, AND UNSYMPATHETIC AUTHOR, DICTATOR, OR REVIEWER, NOR YET TO THE SHADE OF ANY IMMORTAL. BRIEFLY, IT IS NOT DEDICATED AT ALL. 1 t t t h n t] P PRBFACK. MIGHT begin with a hackneyed phrase, or with a highly original one. I shall do neither, but shall simply try to Se*1t)rief and pointed. Preface -writing is a fine art, anyway, in which one naturally wishes to show off his talenl/S to the best advantage and startle the reader into the belief that hb has picked up the work of a genius ; while the aim of the 4esultory sketches, etc., of this volume is rather to catch the reader en deahahille, figuratively speaking, when he is in a humor to lay aside the stereotyped con- ventionalities of the pains-taking author, and enjoy a frolic with some whimsical characters who often break the rules of etiquette and throw grammar to the bow-wows. Not that these sketches were all written at odd times, in an easy, indifferent, off-hand way, when laid up with the quinsy or thawing out frozen anatomy on a cold day, and not minded to lose any golden minutes. By no means ; they were written deliberately and soberly, when I should often have been reading the newspapers ; and as the printer will bear witness (if he isn't already a victim to softening of the brain), the MS. is scarred with frequent and annoying erasures. A little more regard for future reputation and a little less queasy compunction about destroying the wishy-washy effusions of boy- hood would no doubt have prompted the cutting out of the bulk of the book — including this so-called preface. But while the great majority of us lay claim to having common sense, few of us can judiciously exercise it ; and it is a question, after all, whether any one but a weather-prophet could determine just how much of the book was originally written before my wisdom teeth were cut. and how much after the dentist pried them out as superfluous. I shall be quite satisfied if the results be these : First, if the verdict of the geneml reader be that the stories are amusing in spots, and that the writer must certainly have his lucid intervals. Second, if any boy, on the perusal of this compilation (it is worthy of no better name), be led into the way of writing alleged funny things, and thus developing the latent humor there is in every masculine personality. (" — Trr. VI. PREFACR. ' But it is 80 easy to ask impossibilities. For instance, it would be pleasant to have this volume judged by some of its cat Hnd dog stories ; wherea) the unkind reader will bu just peevish enough to prejudge it by the twaddle on the fifteenth page. An inquisitive young lady of sixty well-preserved years (I gener- ally respect age, and do so, even in this case, because it is hypo- thetical) asked what had been survived, or whether the title of the book wore a misnomer. I gravely suggested ship-wreck, the Inquisi- tion, and worse evils, but seeing her incredulous smile, truthfully said that I had once entertained the idea of calling it '' A Maiden's Inheritance ; or, A Hero to the Rescue ; or. The Witch's Curse ; or, Buried 'Neath the Blasted Pine." This would have been a good all- round title, that would admirably till the bill and serve in lieu of a frontispiece ; but consideration ioT the reader caused me to forbear. Besides, it would not be fair to delude any guileless youth into the belief that he had got hold of an interesting dime novel. The question, however, is so easily answered that it is not expedient to argue it further ; and the truth is, it has not been survived ; it is liable at any time to checkmate me. While in a former volume I was continually prodding the reader under the fifth rib with an alpenstock to keep him from falling asleep, in this the reader is left severely alone, or but guardedly taken into my confidence. It is regretable, though, that some of the best things buried in these Groans and (tIrins are apparently meaningless passages and obscure allusions to individuals and inci- dents. These, of course, I do not condescend to clear up ; in fact, the ethics of novel-writing would forbid it, even were I so disposed. It may be added that this preface is really an impromptu effort, written without premeditation or malice aforethought. Let it go at that. The chances are that the indifferent reader will never look at it, anyway. I have written prefaces before, and ought to know what I am talking about, BRUCB MUNRO, CONTENTS. PAOK. Proem 1 My First Proposal 3 Groans of the First Frenzy Period 15 To Margarita 16 The Month of May - " ' W Some Village Characteis 19 Our Visit to the Country 26 How I Loved and Lost My Nelly 81 How I Loved and Lost My Janet - - - - • 87 Hart Gilbert Palmer 48 To My Old Dog, Nero 58 An Meine Verlorene Liebste 50 The Scarce and Bitter Fruit of the Summer of 1884 - - 60 The Canadian Climate 61 Lottie 64 Hard Luck - - -87 The Railwayman's Trials - - 9r An Experienced Traveler - 98 The Folder Fiend - 102 A Severe Test - 109 The Long-Suifering Tramp 112 Rejected 115 The Hardships of a Brave Man s Life .... 117 How the Hatchet Came to be Buried 131 Verse for the Twenty-ninth of May .... 143 What Augustus Wrote in Lucy's Album - - - ^ - - 143 Sing Me a Song of the Old Days 144 Give Back to Me My Diamond Rings 146 Her Majesty's Customs 146 \. Disillusioned Innocent 162 The Little Lone House 156 Such is Life - . - - - 168 vm. CONTKNTS. r How a Coolness arose between Bill and Ner« ... 169 A Quiet Evening at Home 178 Discouraging a Journalist : I. As a Mute, Inglorious Milton • • . . . 186 II. As an Unfledged Humorist 196 To Mignonne- 203 Hiram's Oath - 206 Vain Triumph - - 846 The Young Violioist 260 Mammon 261 Time, the Healer - - - - - - • 261 Things Begin to Get Interesting 862 Signs of Spring 270 Our New Girl 272 A Missing Testimonial 281 Another Valued Testimonial- • - • ^ - - - 286 An Interview with the Prophets - - - - - 289 To the First Organ-Griuder of the Season .... 292 Judith's Dilemma - - - - - - - - 294 City Life vs. Country Life 313 Could I But Know ! - - - 326 Lucy and the Fortune-Teller 327 How He Quit Smoking 337 '' C'est pour Toujours, Nelly" 341 Her Story and His Story 342 Nancy Ann's Elopement 360 A Trip to Washington ^363 • 186 196 • 203 206 ' 246 250 - 261 261 • 262 270 ' 272 281 - 286 289 - 292 294 - 313 326 - 327 337 - 341 342 - 350 363 PROEM. As in dreams the old delnsims, The oldfoAies, the fond mem'ries, Are revived, and the old heart-break, That in sleep is oft rebellious, With o'ermaatering vehemence, Bursts the mighty Past's locked portals- MY FIRST PROPOSAL. A MOST UNSATISFACTORY LOVK-STORY. FELL desperately in love with Mary Blakely. I was young, only nineteen, and she was younger, only sixteen. She was beautiful, — at least, my passion for her t jld me she was, — amiable, sprightly, and altogether bewitching. Further, she was poor, and so was L Oh, how I loved that girl ! I could set my mind on nothing, accomplish nothing, for thinking of her. I seemed to know intuitively when she was coming, and on going to the window would see her pass ; but she seemed to be near me always. I resolved that she should bo my wife ; I resolved further to become a great man. To that end, I would write a wonderful love-story, which should be the ft night following that ^^-. 16 TO MARGARITA. TO MARGARITA. Sweetheart, I love your winsome face, Your soft, dark eyes, your witching grace, Your artless ways, your heart sincere, Your many charms, which all endear. My jealous heart can have no fear, If in your love it have a place. i'i'li! 'lip B m ill i.' . ■M, \m m m You have bewitched me with your smiles, Your lau 'filing voice, th tt swift beguiles, Your pouting lips, that coy invite A bold attemi^t from frenzied wight Castilian sonnets to indite — Though 1 would draw my sword the whiles. Carissima, I love you well, I love you more than verse can tell. Wed with me ; do not say me nay ; Turn not my joy into dismay ; Wed with me on this happy day. And glad will ring our marriage -bell. Beloved, say you'll be my own. My wife, ere yet this day has flown. Your sparkling eyes shall know no tears, Your sun-lit locks will mock the years. E'en Time can bring naught but which cheers ; Your fame I'll 8i)rcad from zone to zone. Not for a span of time, soon fled, Not for this life alone we'll wed ; When this world's sunshine disappears, Together in the brighter splieres. Throughout eternal, tranquil years. Our spirit life may still be led. II THE MONTH OF MAY. Ijll^HEN May coines, the small hoy first hegins to think ilHilP seriously of tradini,^ off' his niarhles for fish-hooks, and from fish-hooks his thoughts revert to long-tailed kites. Before May is half over he yearns to build a dam and launch a raft. The small boy is not content to go fishing where it is dry and wholesome, but seeks out the dampest marsh he can find. Every night he comes home a good deal too late for supper, with his pants tucked in his long-legged boots, to hide the alluvial dep*. sits streaked on them ; his hands in Ins pockets, to hide the mud stains and the lacerations of his patent fish-hooks ; and his hat, liis new straw hat — wliat of tliat ? Alas ' the evil-smelling marsh water has played sad havoc with the small boy's new hat, and he has followed the dictates of prudence, and left it in the woodshed. He sits down to the supper table with a light heart, and clears it of evervthinj»' save the dishes and the mustard. He had cauuht an amazinjjf imml^er of fish, of course ; so many, in fact, tliat he couldn't count them all — couldn't bemn to do it. But some of them were too small to l)ring home ; some of them he lost ; some of them got aiuay ; and some of them were bull-frogs, every time. Anyway — ami he lays marked an but it is hanging close by, spread out so that all its goi'geousness may be seen to the best advantage. A pair of seven-dollar boots protects his feet ; a seven-dollar hat is carefully balanced on Ids artisticly cropped head ; a seven-dollar meerschaum is dangling between the second and tlie third tinger of his left hand ; a seven-dollar gold watch-chain, freighted with not a few seven-dollar trin- kets of ample dimensions, fetches a tortuous course across his natty vest, and disappears in his vest pocket ; a seven-dollar diamond ring causes the fourth member of his right hand to stick out and point jeeringly at a boy sliying stones at a stray feline. Who is this great man ? is asked, with bated breath. It may be the pi'oprietor of the hotel ; but no, it — it must be one of Thomas Nast's p< )1 itical corruptionists f I'om the Capital. " I never 1 >ef ore," - 1 1 I 1 1 I; ' !i 22 SOME VILLAGE CHARACTERS. says a stranger, "saw a man who looks so like the English lord of the Boiu BelUr Curiosity is great, but it is soon gratified. A man who is evidently no respecter of persons comes swinging along the street, and seeks to insult the seven-dollar phenomenon with these opprobrious words : " Hello, Jim ! I want to get my hair cut." We expect to see the noble lord start to his feet in a burst of awful anger. We expect to see, perhaps, a tragedy. We do not wish to be impanelled on a coroner's jury, but we resolve to see how this grandee will resent an insult. Perhaps he will think the clown beneath contempt, we reason, and go on peacefully pointing his finger — "All right, Tom," he says, with alacrity, and away they go, and turn into a "hair-cutting parlor" round the corner. * * * Pretty soon we encounter the postmaster's dog. It is a powerful brute, witli a deceptive smile on its mouth, a deceptive wag alxmt its tail. It will bite a shoemaker, an errand-boy, an errandless boy, a boy with ragged clothes on, a boy without any clothes on at all, an organ-grinder, a doctor, a schoolboy (or half a dozen schoolboys), a man with a cane, a man without a cane, an invalid with three or four canes, or a brass jewelry peddler. It will bite *'!ie and all of these, without remorse; but it will not 'ite man, or boy, or scarecrow, carrying a gun, or any- thing in the shape of a gun. And wherefore ? Because in puppyhood it was shot twice. But the canine is SOMB VILLAGE CHARACTERS. 23 (loomed ; sooner or later it will die by violence. So say the schoolmaster, the consumptive wood-sawyer, the butcher's boy, and all the hoodlutus of* the village. So, it is doomed. But perhaps " sooner or later." like to- morrow, will never come. It is not the dog, but the dog's master, that is respected and feared. Perhaps the votes cast at the last election may influence the destiny of this canine autocrat. A little farther on we come up with a meek-eyed urcliin, of the negativest of negative temperaments, who tremblingly gasps out "yes, ma'am", "no, ma'am," to every- body, of whatsoever sex or dignity. No matter what you ask him, he doesn't know, or he doesn't remember, or he isn't sure, or he forgets. Once he clean forgot him- self, and said he didn't think he was sick. The people of our village are so cultured that nothing could induce them to say anything they think vulgar. On the hottest day in July, when the mercury is boiling and respiration almost suspended, they meet one another and say, gaspingly, " Isn't it awfully warm ? " The more genteel among them — that is, those who have plodded through the first sixty-seven pages of some one's grammar, and hammered the idea into their 1 head that the suffix " ful " is an adjective, but that "fully" is an adverb, and that adverbs and warm (what- ever that may be in grammar) are in some mysterious manner connected — say " awfully warm ; " but those whose education has been neglected, shock the refined lears of the genteely educated ones by saying " awful Iwarm.' Marry, after hearing this " isn't it awful (or awfully) [warm ? " asked by perspiring mortals on every side for 24 SOMR VILLAGE CHARAnTERS. ^ 1 1: n\ U (lays t()g(3thGi', liow refresliing it is to hear the gamins sing out to one another, " It's hot, ain't it. Bill ! " According to our villagers, though, " hot " is a word fit only for cooks, vagabonds, and scientists, " cold " is orthodox, and expressive merely of chilliness. About the middle of September, when the e(|uinoctial is brew- ing, and small boys begin leluctantly to leave off "swim- ming " in the creek, the genteel ones say, " It's cold to- day, isn't it ? " If the villagers would drop their scandalous gossiping leave off reading their idle village weekly newspapers, and devote a little of their wearisome leisure to the acquisition of just a modicum of Bostonian — or even Leadvillian — culture, it would be well for them and for their posterity. As to awful and awfully, why, existence would be a luirden if the use of these two words were forbidden them. Why, they would not be able to mani- fest their ideas at all. "The good die young," and the kindly-disposed inhabi- tants of this hypothetical village are so unobtrusive that the stranger is not likely to notice them — although they largely outnumber the others. The moral of this fragmentary sketch seems to be that while some inoffensive people are so thin-skinned that they are sensitive to the least prick from any spluttering little old Gillott pen, that may have long since spluttered out all its venom, others again are so much likeapachyderm in their nature that they will bob up sulkily smiling, even when sandbagged by a crack from a muleteer's rude bludgeon. OUR VISIT TO THE COUNTRY. |NE joyous day in May I decided that it would be very pleasant to go down to the old home in the country and pass the summer there. What could be so (leli<^htt'ul as a picket hen-house, a vagabond sheep-dog, an honest cordwood stove, and a roomy frame house, built by an architect who had never studied architecture or trigonometry ? Three miles from the post-office, five miles from the Erie railway, and one hundred and fifty miles from the nearest )arge city — what more could a mortal ask who simply wished to forget, for a few months, that the world moves, and that Ireland longs to join in the procession. Such were the arguments I used to persuade my wife, Fanny, much against her will, to pack up and go down into the country. I had my way, and we went. The old house had been vacant nearly a year, and iconsequently needed airing. The doors would all open jasily enough, but, as Fanny said, they wouldn't shut [again without putting forth great effort. I tried hard to )ersuade her that by leaving tlunn all wide open, such a ^tate of affairs would result in a net gain to us of seven Hull golden hours in the course of every five years. A spavined horse and a mild-mannered cow were )rocured and installed in the cowstable, and a most sub- stantial buggy was borrowed from a man who had owed »iy father ten dollars. I felt that nothing more could be lesired to make home happy, but my wife insisted on laving a cat. Scarcely a day passed but an adult cat, 26 OUR VISIT TO THE COUNTRY. M ! 11! I I Ifiii ;l ! ill: I! m touring the country incognito, would wander into our premisos, partake of li([uid refresluiicnt from tlu; milk pans, aTid then good-huinoredly resunt' its Knight- errantry. I tried to persuade Fanny to take up with some one of these Bohemian cats, but the adventurous spirit was too strongly developed in them, and besides, she preferred a feline of domestic, and not of cosmopolitan tastes. At tlie end of two brief weeks our oow, infused with the spirit of the age, l)oycotted us, refused absolutely to give any more milk ; and I engaged a warty-fingered boy (not necessarily because he was afflicted with warty fingers, but because it was difficult to find a well-developed boy not so afflicted) to bring us milk daily. He always came before we were up, and generally hung about till dinner-time — not because he sympathised with us in our loneliness, but because such was his idea of eti(|uette. From him Fanny got a kitten, and our household was now complete, • We were three miles from the post-office, as was mentioned above, and the mail-carrier, on his route past our place once a day to an inlying village, left our letters, etc. It was odd how eagerly I would watch for him, considering that I had come to this place to get away from the world. The carrier had an easy, graceful way, acquired from dexterous practice, of tossing mail matter into the ditch, and of cracking our sheep-dog's ears With his whip. But as he drew a salary of TWO hundred DOLLARS A YEAR from the Government for carrying Uncle Sam's mails, he was the autocrat of the road and everyone meekly yielded to his imperious ways. 1 1 OUli VISIT TO THE COUNTRY. 27 us in our Onr liouso stood almost on the road — or rather, on a crose-road, and we were liailod nii^lit and ()lony. Coniin*^ in from a swing in the hammock, Fanny over- heard t)ie latter part of our conversation, and at once took alarm — in fact, she was frij^htened almost to deatli. In vain T assured lusr that the Division Superintendent was a patriarchal-appearing man ; that his right hand hung in a sling; that he couUl see well out of only one eye ; and that the only visible weapon he carried was a heavy brass ring, worn on the index linger of his left hand. But my wife was morally certain that the Division Superintendent proposed to draw his supply of plant from our pr(anises, and she insisted that everything out of doors should be brought in and locked up. Accordingly I brouglit into the kitchen ten cro({uet hoops, tifteen yards of clothes line, a willow bird-cage, a Ijuck-basket full of oyster and peach cans, a fragment of a horse-shoe, our dog's dinner plate, and likewise some of his best beef- bones, a saw-horse, and a basswood bench. I furbished and reloaded my seven- sh(X)ter, and slept with it under my pillow ; but Fanny, witl. the sheep-dog, .sat up all night long, with the lamp on a low chair, and l)lankets hung over the windows, road^'ng the History ot Alonzo and Melissa. The next morning the Divi.sion Superin- tendent was gone, and so were a pair of pullets and the padlock of the hen-house dooi\ Fanny was right, but I would never acknowledge it. About this time we were alarmed one night by the most demoniacal — or rather supernatural — cries from the chapel near us. I pretended to be simply mystitied as to the cause of the " phenomenon," but Fanny showed more nerve than I did. The next day it was discovered tbut OUU VISIT TO THE COUNTRY. 29 lit'i' kitten had maees Hyinn' in and out of cracks [in the ontsido of the lionse, ]»ut paid no attention to it till, jtoo late, we found that the whol(( frame-work of the lionse [was literally infested witli Ihh's, wasps, and liornets. We (were aluiost hesieged by them ; theie was not a S([uare van! of "(daphoai'd " hut had its stronghold of tlie hu/zing^ |)ests. Tliey soon had sncli a fontinL"' established at the aek door tliat it was no longer safe to come in tliat way ; 50 we bolted the door on the inside, and notified such )f our neighbors as were back-door callers. I belicive it irtbrded Fanny no little eold-blooded amusement to see a b'ainp march boldly up to this door, and knock, ostensibly in([uiie the way. The first knock not being answered, ^e would pound vigorously on the door, and a detachment jf hornets, fully a hundred strong, w They were T proposed arn to the life was to she should 10 15 PO HOW I LOVED AND LOST MY NELLY. He had no breath, no beinjr, but in hers • She was his voice ; he did not speak to her. But trembled on her words. —Byron. To My Silent Love, These Rugged Lines are Religiously Dedicated. In my youth I loved a maiden, Loved a laughing, blue-eyed n)aiden. Who was very fair to look on ; Of a quiet disposition ; Even temper ; candid ; loving. As I loved her, so she loved me : And though we were both but cliildren, She but fourteen, I but sixteen, Yet our hearts were knit together In a firmer bond of union Than is oft rehearsed in story. All my thoughts were of my sweetheart ; All my plans to her confided ; All her pleasures were my pleasures. And at school I sat and watched hei , With my open books before me ; But my thoughts were of the future, Of the day when I should proudly Lead her up before the altar; And my pref'rence was so open That the master and my schoolmates Came to see it, came to know it \ M IIF •' II 1 1 '■ l!i i: h \, 32 now I LOVED AND LOST MY NELLY. Culled me bridegroom, called me husband, Jeered me, watclied me, and alarmed me 26 Lest they should estrange my Nelly. But my faithful little sweetheart Only laughed at all their sallies. Only bade them to ow' marriage. How I loved my little sweetheart 30 In those hap])y days of boyhood ! But there came a rude awak'ning When her father, Nelly's father. Heard the rumor of our courtship. He was sad, and stern, and haughty, 35 And it grieved him and incensed him That his child, his darling Nelly, At her age should choose a lover, Should receive one as a lover, Who lacked fortune, fame, and h\ v*tt 34 HOW I LOVED AND LOST MY NELLY. And the crash along the sea-shore, 100 And the vivid flash of lightning, And the moon through mountain passes, Seemed to whisper, seemed to tell me : "Days of happiness and sunshine Will come to you in the future." 105 But sometimes there came a murmur, Came a Voice from unknown darkness, Mocking ever came it to me : *' 'Tis a false hope that you cherish, 'Tis a phantom you are chasing. " 110 Oft I sought relief in travel, Oft 1 followed Nelly's footsteps, , But, alas ! not once I saw her. Still my restless, troubled spirit Urged me aimlessly to wander, 115 Urged me on, a worse than outcast. Changing scenery. Old World splendors, Could not cure my rooted sorrow, Brought my anguished heart no solace, To wipe out the old dishonor, 120 To remove her father s hatred, And secure his full approval Of a marriage with his daughter, I st)ught fame, and wealth, and honors, Worked Vifth dauntless resolution, 125 Waited, pondered, brooded, trusted, . Built air-castles, nursed my sorrows. When I next heard of my Nelly News came to me she was married, Forced unwilling by her father 130 Into marriage with a maniuis. ' As a thunderbolt all-blasting. As a whirlpool all-engulfing. So these tidings fell upon me. What to me were fame and fortune ? 135 What to me were empty honors ? What to me that light was breaking ? HOW I LOVED AND LOST MY NELLt. 35 I had lost my darling Nelly. This last sorrow overtook me In the days of drear November, 140 When the chilling rains of heaven Blurred the landscape, marred all Nature ; When the birds, with drooping feathers, Tripped about in groups of twenties, Eager to begin their journey 145 To the sunshine of the Southland. On that fatal day the storm-gods Seemed to rise in pain and fury ; A 11 the skies were black and angry, All the air was full of threat'nings, 160 All dumb creatures were uneasy, All things showed a coming tempest. All my passions glowed within me Like a mutiujus volcano ; And unable to control them 155 I rushed forth to meet the tempest. And the bleak and naked meadows. And the leafless trees of woodlands. And the boiling mountain torrents. Seemed attuned to my own sorrows, 160 Seemed in sympathy to greet me. I could hear the awful tempest Roaring in the distant forest Like a monster in his torment ; While the trees moaned and the brutes moaned, 165 As I hurried headlong onward. I had but one thought to guide me. That I must reach some endeared place, Reach a sacred haunt of old days. Where I first had seen my Nelly, 170 There to wait the tempest's fury. With this single thought to guide me I betook me to the streamlet Which we two had crossed together Daily as we loitered school ward. ,1 ■ ■i i4 « * ^ ■Mr-^^ I ; - 1 36 175 180 185 190 195 200 I HOW I LOVED AND LOST MY NELLY. And the alders by the streamlet, Fanned by zephyrs of the summer, Lashed by whirlwinds of November, Seemed to beckon, seemed to call mo, Cried in tones severe, yet pleading, Tones impetuous, yet plaintive, As a caged bird's mournful singing : ** 'Twas a vain chase after triumph ; 'Twas too much you sought in this world ; It w-'is Heaven on earth you asked for." vxhostly figures shape Ijefore me ; G'^ostj 'es look on me sadly ; Ghosily lingers mutely beckon ; A "-d the spirit Voice hoarse whispero : " Tjift T y I i~i but a mock'ry. Death the solo release you long for." " Oh, my God ! " I cry in anguish, "I have borne my heavy burdens, I have wrestled with my sorrow. Till my strength is all gone from me, Hear my prayer, oh, let me perish ! " And the merciful Creator, With Divine commiseration For my mis'ry and my weakness. Loosens and dissolves the tenure Of this earthly life He gave me. I am dying — all is over. HOW I LOVED AND LOST MY JANET. A Burlesque Version of how Things would have Turned Out. And why that early love was crost, Thou know'stthe best— I feel the luost : But few that tlA'ell beneath the sun Have loved so long, and loved but one. —Byron. To My Evil Genius, These Rustic Lines are Sardonically Dedicated. In my youth I loved a maiden, Loved a giggling, cross-eyed maiden, Who was homely as a wild cat ; Of a giddy disposition ; 5 Gusty temper ; gushing; spooney. As I loved her, so she loved me ; And though we Avere both but goslings, She but fourteen, I but sixteen, Yet our hearts were knit together 10 In a firmer bond of union Than a three-ply, homemade carpet. All our plums I gave my sweetheart ; All my gum with her divided ; All her melons were my melons. 15 And at school I sat and watched her, With my idle knife before me ; But my thoughts were of the future. Of the day when I should fiercely Dicker with Niagara hackmen. 20 And my spooning was so open That the master and my schoolmates Came to see it, came to know it ; ' i ;ii *ir 11^ 38 HOW I LOVED AND LOST MY JANET. ! ; lii \ t i ! lii: Called me sai)gog, called me Janet, " Charivaried " me, and alarmed me 25 Lest they should cut off my melons. But my grinning little sweetheart Only snickered at their sallies, Only bade them mind their business. How I loved my little sweetheart 30 In those oatmeal days of dad's clothes !* But there came a birchen whaling When her father, Janet's father, Heard the rumor of our mooning. He was glum, and bald, and big-eared, 36 And it rattled him and " riled " him That his child, his squint-eyed Janet, At her age should choose her own beau. Should receive one as her lover Who lacked gumption and his liking, — 40 For my father once -ii anger Had upset the old man's scarecrows ; And he harshly did enjoin her, Under pain of no more earrings, To forget that I existed ; 46 And made ev'ry preparation ' For a sponge on his relations. On the eve of their departure I received a pie-stained letter From my hungry little sweetheart. 60 " Now, old slouch, good-bye," was scribbled ; " We must wait till paw's relations Tire of keeping two such eaters. — Just one peek as we are leaving." As their train jerked off that evening 66 I was standing close beside it ; And she whom I loved so daftly Craned her head out of the carriage, *This seems somewhat obscure. The meaning is : when the hero lived I principally on oatmeal porridge, and strutted about in his father's rejected raiment. — B. w. M. HOW I LOVED AND LOST MY JANET. Made wry faces, shied a packet. Her farewell salute returning,', 60 I secured the well-aimed packet ; And the old ''accommodation" Slowly rumbled off my idol. "Just one peek," it was, too surely ! In the packet were her thimble, (;,') Her bead ring, her pet dog's collar, With her name, and date, the legend, " You can swop these for some fish-hooks." Thus I parted from my Janet, In the torrid heat of dog-days, 70 When the roads were rank with tired tramps, And all Nature with moscpiitos ; Quickest parting, crudest cimrtship, ilver teasing two green lovers. All my dreams were how to manage 75 To secure another sweetheart ; All my days passed hoeing turnips. As the days passed, so the hours passed. Torrid, leisurely, and dusty, And 1 chafed at so much hoeing. 80 But at last there came a message From my absent, squint-eyed Janet, Breathing still her breath of spruce gum, Bidding me look out for two things : She had found some one to spark her, 84^ And her pa was getting homesick. 85 "Send no answer," she concluded, " For you cannot pay the postage.'' If with me time would spin onward. If in spite of all men's efforts Headstrong Time would reel off days' lengths, 90 Why not also with my Janet ? The mementoes she had left me. The assurance she still liked me, Cheered me when my chores were hardest, Fired my heart to fight the red-skins ; 39 Itii '.Mi iv',- >l ; I :if I ; I it it 40 now I LOVEU AND LOST MY JANET. i 95 And the morry laus^h of jackdiiws, And I ho jf)you8 8(jng of ravens, And the chuckling of Vermont tramps Ah they roamed about on freight trains, And the crash of breaking soup-plates, 100 An i:i n 1 1» ill 44 HART GILBERT PALMER. I d n * hamlet — in fact, at the outset of luy career, I had taken care to apprise tliom of my triumphs ; and curiosity or envy, and above all, their weekly papers, had kept them cognizant of all my brilliant exploits. But for four long years I had had no intercourse with the Center Hillites, which, I well knew, was the l)itterest way I could take to revenge myself on them for the studied neglect they had shown me when T lived among them. (I may here remark parenthetically that the news of the goodly fortune my fatlier had unexpectedly becjueathed me shortly after the appearance of my first book, was conmion gossip every- where, and contributed, more than anything else, to raisemy estimati(m in the minds of the money-loving people at C. There were many wild rumors afloat abovit me then, and those credulous villagers believed my fortune a princely one.) " I again repeat that I visited my native village ; and the advent of a man ktiowii to fame, a reputed millionaire, and a returned native, all in one pompous individual, created a great furore. The newspapers had warned them of my coming, and a dark crowd of people (for it was at night) swarmed about the depot platform, crowding one another, and whispering, ' Yes, that's him ; that's him ; I wonder if he will know me.' " So, * him ' wasn't welcomed liy a brass band, as 'him ' had half expected to be. I didn't stop to know many of them, except a few important personages who thrust themselves directly in my way, and a few modest friends who kept in the background, but rode up to the hotel and went to bed. The next day was Saturday, which I spent indoors, writing letters and giving my apartments a ship-shape appearance. HART GILBERT PALMER. 45 taken ty or them r long illites, ,ake to sy had emark ine my ter the every- aisemy le at C en, and Drincely ge and lionaire, lividual, ed them was at ling one him ; tis ' him ' many of thrust friends le hotel which I xrtments " Sunday evening I weut to church, bright and early, to the Episcopal church, as had been my wont aforetime. The church was better tilled than of old, I noticed ; and also that a goodly number of Methodists and Presbyterians seemed to have been converted from their old-time belief. When I came to leave that church after the services were over, I found the doorway absolutely blocked with young ladies. (At least, some of them were young, and some of them had passed foi- young five years 1 efore.) 1 struggled past them and slunk off, feeling, somehow, that I had grossly insulted a great many very respectable people. What were my feelings when I reasoned out that that gooJly congregation had assembled to see wliich young lady I should pilot safe home from church ! Such is Tamo — and fortune ! It seemed to be taken for granted that as I was still a bachelor I had returned for the express purpose of marrying some one of the incomparable spinsters of Center Hill. This should have occurred to me, being a man of the world. Who would have thought me such an innocent ? " That week the campaign was opened and a reign of terror was inaugurated. I was invited here and there and everywhere ; to socials, fishing-parties (and there were no fish to be caught), garden parties, picnics (and it was early for picnics, too, in that prinutive place), and I know not what. I was hounded to death to contribute to undeserving charities ; when, in my own heart, I f-aw plainly that they shouhl appeal to the shop-keepers, the baker, and the livery-stable man; for all these did such ii business as they had ni'ver done before : in fish-hooks ; (tanned picnic meats ; bread and buns and confectionery ; livery outfits ; brand-new market-baskets ; paint and m if !, Hi Ii 1 46 HAHT GILBERT PALMER. I '!: putty and wall-paper ; and coal-oil ; and strawberries ; and aesthetic note paper and envelopes ; and bewitching sum- mer garments ; and brass ornaments far hats ; and boots and gloves and parasols and lace collars, that were all painful in there newness. "I happened to mention that 1 intended to select a few characters for a novel I contemplated writing. I always was unlucky, anyhow ; but in saying that I deliberately laid myself open to all sorts of unpleasant- nesses. After I had unwittingly given offence to one young lady, she took occasion to remark that for her part she never did see anything really good in my writings ; and that my book ' The Commaiidery Lode * was perfectly ridiculous, and not to be com})ared with a New York Weekly romance of that name. This was said * behind my back,' it is true ; but so very close behind my back that it required no mental effort, no practiced ear. to overhear it. However, I had survived other criticisms, and I bore up under that. "One week after my arrival I was at a social gathering at a house whose doors were forbidden me in my obscure and lonely youth. I went under protest, but with the grim resolve of bagging some valuable notes that might be filed away for future use. During the course of the evening a youth whom I had always liked as a boy gravely asked me if I knew what the Frinceburg Revieiv had to say about me. ' Yes,' chimed in a score of eager young voices, 'and the Center Hill Reporter, and the Princehurg Age, and the Dragonahnrg Defender. Oh, but of course you (^o know,' they added confidently. Center Hill had so improved in tive years that it now had an exponent of its own. The Princehurg papers were old ■ 'tn llAKf GILBERT PALMER. 47 sheets, of some pretentiousness and very much com- placency, that were always fighting each other like quarrel- some dogs. No, I was not aware, I said, that any of these papers had anything special to say about me. Straight- way the heir of that house darted out of the room, and soon came back with an armful of newspapers, and began lookinof for the numbers that contained those blood- curdling remarks about myself. I instantly perceived that by taking prompt and vigorous measures I could throw cold water, so to speak, on his design, and impress iiiy greatness upon ever}'^ member of that assemblage* So I begged him not to put himself to so much trouble on my account, for I never could spare either time or patience to get at the pith and marrow of what local papers have to say. The poor boy's countenance fell J but the water wasn't cold enough, it seems, for he fum- bled among those Reviews, R/ porters, Ages, and what not, more excitedly than ever. Then the young lady who never could see any good points in my books, for her part, observed, sotto voce, 'There are some things anything but complimentary in them.' But any further remarks from her were drowned by a chorus of voices saying, — well, saying what amounted to this : The papers gave an account of my early struggles ; of how I was respected and beloved by my old and true friends in all that section ; of how I always made friends right and left ; of how greatly I was regarded in mi/ youth, ivhen comparatively obscure ; of my colossal wealth to-day ; of my flowing style; and so on, ad nauseam. (I notice my present auditors smile ; [ wish they could have seen me smile then.) Now, why should I want to wade through such stuff and nonsense as that ? I had soared to such a pin- ;ii' I 1 1 ( ■! tipl tij. iJis! It ,i 48 liART GILBERT IPALMEft. 'i V :r '' i iii I; '', V ,! ! nacle of glory that the inaiinclerings of country — or rather village — newspapers had neither an inspiriting nor yet a depresing effect on nie. I was perfectly well aware that little local journals have a trick of lauding well-known people, with a view to furthering their own ends. I was aware that all this cheap flattery would, if I suffered my- self to be influenced by it, lead up to a demand for an article from my pen — just a slight, hasty sketch would do ; almost anything. I was aware, also, that if I turned a deaf ear to these noisy nuisances, or that if I pleaded that I didn't bring any pen with me, their praises would give place to defamations, and that they would spill venom on me without mercy. " But I hadn't traveled fifteen hundred miles to wade through the colunnis of their local weeklies. So I said, * My dear boy, be it for good or for evil, my reputation is established — for this season, anyway. Please do not bore us to-night with any cullings from those oracular weeklies. I thank you for your well-meant kindness, I am sure. There are people who try to make my life a burden by mailing me influential newspapers with marked items about myself; but I generally burn them at once, without even preserving the valuable receipts they contain on domestic and other afikirs. I am proud to be able to say, however, that it i ^ ten years since any person had troubled me with either a penny valentine or a local weekly paper. It is not often I make a speech, but I'm afraid this is one, and I hope you will forgive me for it. " Now, that boy was well brought up ; exceedingly well. He needed no further remonstrances from me, but hied him away with his budget of weeklies. I am soi-iy he didn't appear again that evening ; very sorry. His bARt GILtiERt PALMER. 49 tcular tSS, I it'e a with :liem they to be His mainina sh.ould have vented her anger on me, and not on liini ; for I must say that I had been grossly impolite — abusive, even. I reasoned at the time that all officious attention to me would at once cease ; that I should be regarded as no better than a bear, and so left severely alone, I was wrong ; wearied as I had become of their attentions, this did not shake them oti* ''hey seemed determined, rather, to force me into reading tiieir week- lies. I found them in my room ; thrust on me wherever I went; foisted on me through the post-office. But I steadily refused to read them, and so ol istinate an inditi'er- ence to the voice of their oracles must have puzzled them. " On the 24th of June a circus was first advertized as coming to Dragonsburg and Princeburg ; and the week- lies, having another lion to tackle, in a great measure dropped me. Likewise the villagers didn't persecute me to read their papers any more, but went on with their picnics. By George ! they almost picnicked me to death ! I have been troubled with indigestion ever since. " I may here mention that the first day I went out into the street I was surprised to find that every family had either a boy, a horse, a dog, or a cat, that was afflicted with the name of Gilbert. Some of the boys, and very many of the cats and dogs, were called Hart — because it is shorter, I suppose. Palmer, I found, was a i'ax'orite name for their trotters. Not a few baby girls, it seems, were christened Gilbertina. All this rather pleased me, I must admit — till I found tliere were two foundlings baptized, or rather named, Hart Gilbert Palmer. To an honest man with a clear conscience, this was simply annoying ; but when I reflected thnt it was 5S ■ \'>\ ill IE'' i*;: I 50 HART GILBERT PALMER. the only opportunity the citizens had to bestow my name in full on one individual, and that thev had im- proved it on two occasions, I was mollified. Still, it sometimes vexed me, and even startled me, till I became accustomed to it, to hear my various harsh names harshly bandied about the street — particularly when the gamins would yell, ' Gilbert '11 wallop your dog' ; or ' Hart's got the mange ; ' or ' Palmer ain't the n.ag he used to be.' " All this time the match-making mammas were mak- ing my life a burden. I nnist confess my sympathies were entirely with those lonely spinsters who, having no one to chaperon them, entered the lists, and gamely fought single-handed against those well-equipped mammas for the possession of my coveted gold. "The Fourth of July drew near, and I determined to play a trick on the villagers that should amuse me for years to come. Tliere were to be great local 'doings' on this day, of course ; and the villagers planned to make a spectacle of me as an orator, etc. But I told them, six days beforehand, that I purposed to do my celebrating in private, away out in the country. This announcement alone whetted their curiositv. Then I visited the village tailor and out-fitter. The incessant picnics and fishing- parties had told severely on my wearing apparel ; and why should I not ' patronize home industry,' as the tailor's sign read ? I directed liiin to make me a suit, of his very best material, and to have it finished and delivered to me, without fail, by July 3rd. With great care I selected a silk hat, and, after cautioning him for the fifth or sixth time to have my suit finished by the 3rd, left his shop. Several idlers had dropped in while I was giving my instructions, and taken careful notes. I was not sur- for hmg- why ailor's very ed to ected sixth shop. g i"y sur- HART GILBERT PALMER. 51 prised at this. In fact, I had bargained on it; for a great many curious and gossipy people made it a busi- ness to dog me about, and watch my every movement. They took a special pride in supplying all the latest and raciest gossip about other people's affairs; and they knew that if they lagged behind in this particular, their reputa- tion as newsmongers would be endangered. " Next I went into various other shops, and ordered gimcrackery with a lavishness that was phenomenal : a riding-whip, a pair of lady's gauntlets, a gorgeous para- sol, a box of Malaga grapes, a few pounds of confectionery, and I know not what. All these were to be sent to me, without fail, before the 4th. I perceived that the on-lookers noted all my purchases, and that the shop- keepers marvelled ; and I chuckled. " I suffered twenty-four hours to pass before I again appeared on the street ; and as I had anticipated, a good many able-bodied people were waiting and watching for me. After taking a few steps I turned squarely about, and seeing that I was followed, I pauf^od, as if irresolute. I feigned anxiety to avoid them by turning up one by- street and down another ; and by doubling on them repeatedly I contrived to bring up at my destination, the village livery-stables, apparently unobserved. I say, apparently unobserved, for they perceived my efforts to escape observation, and considerately pretended to let me elude them ; but I knew I was watched, all the time. The village now believed that I wished to keep my plans and movements a secret, and I felicitated myself on my amazing shrewdness in hoodwinking everybody so com- pletely. I told the proprietor of the livery that I wanted a i;ood horse — in fact, the best one he had — for the 4th. I" 9 i'l ""W '*; : I } ; '!■ b 1 fa • :■ &t! ; 1 > Ml -Ul k ;■ 52 HART (JILBBRT PALMER. i ■I I y Ho show(Ml nio such an animal, and I examintMi it criti- cally, rcinarked tliat it seemed good for a twenty-mile run, and tendered him an eagle. He protested that was too iinich ; ])ut T told liim it was my affair how much I paid, and that I would have given a handful of them but I would have secured the horse. Then he, in his turn, became curious, but he was crafty and disguised it. I remarked incidentally that I hoped the roads wouldn't be dusty ; tlien added carelessly that I supposed the old private short cut to the Ochiltree's was still open, and that it was the plcasantest and quietest road I knew. I had now sufficiently piqued the man's curiosity, and after charging him to send me the horse at eight o'clock sharp on the morning of the 4th, I went back to the hotel, noticing that I had been tracked to the livery-stable. " Let me here explain that the name of Ochiltree was an unknown name in all that county and in all that region. I had taken particular pains to consult docu- mentary evidence, and assure myself of this fact. " All this was four or five days before the Fourth. I wanted the thing generally known, and I also wanted to give the villagers plenty of time to make any changes in their prograunne for the day that they might think expedient. " On the 1st of July T formally told most of my friends that I should leave for the Pacific coast on the great and glorious Fourth, by the night train ; but that I should take my departure from a neighboring town, and that probably they would see the last of me on the 3rd inst. Several of them begged me to stay over for the circus, on which auspicious day, it would appear, they hoped to work me up to a proposal. The greatest uncertainty HART GILBKRT PALMER. 53 prevailed as to whom I shoukl propose ; but a proposal, to any person, would relieve the general anxiety. " The news of my openly announced departure on the 4th threw the village into a ferment. There was more excitement than a local election would have caused. But who was this Ochiltree ? Where did he live ? Was it his daughter that I was to elope with, or whose ? When had I made the unknown's ac([uaintance, anyway ? In my neglected youth, probably, when no one had bothered to watch me. On the 3rd I formally bade my honest friends good-bye. A few asked me pointed ques- tions about my proposed jaunt on the morrow, Imt the great majority maintained a dignified silence on that subject. " The eve of July the Fourth came punctually on time. At the eleventh hour I sent a note to the livery-stable, saying I must have the horse at half-past seven instead of eight — which was a wise move on my part. Then I packed my trunk, carefully putting away in it all the feminine finery I had bought, and which had been delivered to me promptly that day at noon. " At 7.30 a.m., July the Fourth, I sprang on my horse and rode away to the west. This highway led to no important point, as I very well knew, unless one followed it for some fifty miles. I rode out of the village at a smart pace, and at once perceived that my utmost antici- pations were to be realized. But as I noticed what was going on about me, my heart smote me at the thought of spoiling the holiday of so many guileless people. The vil- lage was rising as one man to pursue me ! I vei'ily be- believe there was not a Hart, a Gilbert, or a Palmer, in all that region, sound, or blind, or l^pavined, or foundered, « ' i .■ m I I ' if V rl i 1 1 i ' 54 HART GILBERT PALMER. that was not pressed into service. It was indeed lucky for nie that I was oft* half an hour before they expected me. * " A stern chase is a long chase," ' I said to my- self, ' hut this time it will be a woeful way longer for them than for me ! ' " On they came, amid clouds of dust. It was well that I had provided myself with a riding-whip, for I needed it sorely. I had not ridden far when I saw a horseman stationed by the road.'Side, waiting calmly. Soon another, and another. I wheeled down a dirt road and galloped on. Lo, there, also, were horsemen ! " This was beginnino- to have expected me to do justice to the extraordinary dinner they pi'epared foi- me. As I have; said several times, the picnickers ruined my appetite. "During the course of the aftoi'noon three different sijuads of seai'cluM's passed the old farm-house, and I ([uaked inwardly, fearing tluit I had been run to earth, after ail. But they all passed on. Then the entire force of village hoodlums ami gamins, who served as a rear- guard, filed past, fully one hundred strong. Their holi- day was not utterly a blank, I am glad to say, for they wei'e freely popping ort' the joyous tire-cracker as they scatteretl along. " The enemy were on the right trail, certainly ; but they did not tind me out. However, I confided in Will and his sister, and obtained their pronuse to keep the allair a secret. " About six o'clock, seeing no enemies in sight, I mounted my horse and rode into town, thinking to deepen the mystery and astonish the villagers afresh. I did not find (]uite so deserted a place as I had fondly imagined I shouhl. There were still enough able-bodied people left behind to have defended Center Hill against any e^•i1 disposed tramps that might have come in by freight tra, . But the villagers were paralyzed to see me back, at th.it hour. The time they had arbitrarily fixed, it seems, for my earliest possible return — in case I should return — was ten o'clock. " I was mean enough to tantalize them all still further. 11 ART UlLHKUT PALMEK. f)7 M I ate my suppor and left on tlu' oii^lit o'clock traiii foi* Drafjonsburg, a town twelve inil(>s to the north-west. I had my trunk checked for this point, too. I don't know whether I was followed, or not; hut I left my native town — perhaps forever— a pny to the most appallitig speculations and doubts about myself. I chan<,^e