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THROUGH THE TWILIGHT; 
 
 POEMS AND ESSAYS. 
 
 BV 
 
 JAMES ALEXANDKR MacGOWAN. 
 
 Author of Maplt Undtfwood," etc. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 TORONTO: 
 
 kowsELL & Hutchison, Printkrs. 
 
 1893. 
 

 71091 
 
 <^ 
 
 
 'J 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 y^^N this, my second appearance before the public, 
 Vir I still do not pose as any great man — which I 
 am not — but simply as one of yourselves. 
 
 A Canadian — a citizen of no mean country. Yea, 
 proud of our young country — a goodly land — and 
 holding in it, we believe, material for greater great- 
 ness than the world has ever known. (This we hope 
 to see proved some day, but do not in the meantime 
 expect you can believe it.) 
 
 '\ writer, he or she may be ; a worker, he or she 
 must be. And we question if either hemisphere, in 
 its mainlands or the isles of the sea, can, even now, 
 produce workers, of an average, paramount to our 
 own. 
 
 Though I had nothing to do with it, I was born 
 just when and where I wanted to be — though I did 
 not think of it at the time. 
 
 For in all the world's history, there is no other age, 
 epoch, in which I should have rather lived, and no 
 other country in which I should rather have been 
 born to play my part. 
 
4 PREFACE. 
 
 Canada has but few literary men of note. Yet 
 among us are many who are doing creditable work on 
 the old lines. I am, I suppose, " one of the least of 
 these my brethren." 
 
 Outside of my own circle of personal acquaintance 
 or such like, I am not, probably, (that is by my writ- 
 ing), known to ten men in the Province, and none 
 outside thereof. 
 
 It was in '84 that I published my first volume of 
 verse — Maple Underwood, — but nothing since. * Sold 
 for the most part in our own county, Huron. How- 
 ever, this was all that 1 expected from it. But 1 
 expect the present volume, with its complement of 
 prose, to widen my circle and ascribe me a place 
 among those, at least, of our people, who are of 
 kindred sympathies and spirit with my own. 
 
 Without writing much about Canada, still I write alt 
 for and to Canadians in the meantime, assured that 
 this only goes to make me more highly loyal, with 
 the chance of becoming a world's man. 
 
 Blyth, Ont, Dec, 1893. 
 
 J. A. M. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Titles Here Printed in Italics are Selections from 
 "Maple Underwood." 
 
 No. 
 I 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV.- 
 XV.- 
 XVI.- 
 XVII.- 
 XVIII.- 
 XIX.- 
 XX.- 
 XXI.- 
 XXII- 
 XXIII.- 
 
 By thk Way 
 
 —The Hoksk 
 
 —Flying Cloi'ds .. 
 —A Song Prayer 
 —Winter Doves . . 
 —Don't Beg to Diiier 
 — -^ tiger 
 
 —Enmity 
 
 -The Hen 
 
 — Lov K- - Mot n k r Lo v r 
 
 —How Made 
 
 —The Sound of the Waters 
 —Shakitig of Hands 
 
 — Time-Life 
 
 -Under the Voke, Free 
 -Hidden Frups 
 
 -The House-Fly 
 
 -We Know Not the Day.. 
 -How I Got a Rest . . 
 -What Means It ? . . 
 
 - Unassuming Influence . . 
 -Biding and Obeying 
 -The Commonplace 
 
 Pack. 
 
 . 7 
 II 
 
 • 14 
 14 
 
 • 15 
 16 
 
 • 17 
 18 
 19 
 22 
 
 23 
 24 
 
 25 
 26 
 29 
 
 30 
 31 
 34 
 35 
 38 
 38 
 39 
 40 
 
(O.NTFA'TS. 
 
 WIV.- 
 
 X.W.- 
 
 XXVI.- 
 
 XXMI.- 
 
 XXVIII.- 
 
 XXIX.- 
 
 XXX.- 
 
 XXXI.- 
 
 XXXII.- 
 
 XXXIII.- 
 
 XXXIV.- 
 
 XXXV.- 
 
 XXXVI.- 
 
 XXXVII.- 
 
 In IM'Rsi II oi Tiu, Idkai, 
 -Onk With Ai.i 
 
 -TlIK COMRASr 
 
 -Ji NK VKRsrs Mav 
 
 nKATII \ KKSl'S Lll K 
 
 springs Cotn/mst 
 
 ■Before Quelm 
 
 J''''S 
 
 ■ To a Nann'fess Stinun 
 The Sahhath 
 The A\VAKiN(i \V(»oi»s 
 Apoi.o<;v ior Li IK 
 
 »'A..».. 
 
 . 4.1 
 
 • ^y 
 4'> 
 
 • 5f> 
 51 
 
 • 5' 
 52 
 
 ■ 52 
 
 :i 
 
 54 
 5<i 
 57 
 5Ji 
 59 
 
»'A..».. 
 
 . 45 
 
 4<> 
 
 5f> 
 
 5' 
 
 5' 
 
 52 
 
 52 
 
 :i 
 
 54 
 S^ 
 57 
 5S 
 59 
 
 15V THK WAV. 
 
 T. 
 
 Until the fact upon us break, 
 That we know nothing and arc sucl). 
 
 We search not truth for its own sake. 
 Nor ever fee' its kindly touch. 
 
 Where Darkness sits upon our throne. 
 And Custom is his jealous Queen, 
 
 Our better nature takes their tone, 
 
 Cantankerous doth all change dcnican. 
 
 II. 
 
 [n thought, and word, and pray'r, aiid dccd^ 
 
 Our motives are the all in all : 
 Without love's license sow no seed, 
 
 For judged by such we stand or fall. 
 
 III. 
 
 The deeper we in luxury, 
 
 Do drown our senses, jjathe our fears. 
 The harder for the Deity 
 
 To lift us to the hope which cheers. 
 
 Yet what a subtle subject this, — 
 I'^or is't not clear we largely owe, 
 
 Much super-savage happiness 
 To luxury — but not vain show. 
 
 We say, — and mainly for the sake 
 Of those who study queenly art — 
 
 That dress should add no charm, nor take : 
 F"or the true woman's in the heart. 
 
8 
 
 THROUGH THE TWILIGHT. 
 
 With widening good, comes added ills, 
 
 To whoso lives in blinding show ; 
 Use or abuse the law fulfils, 
 
 Of making to us weal or woe. 
 
 In greatest good lurks saddest ills, 
 
 Where self, ev'n though unknowing, guides ; 
 Man's life is solely as he wills ; 
 
 His choice of Faith, or Sight, decides. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The miser is a dim-eyed fool, 
 
 Who digs but does not reach for gold ; 
 
 Who views askance the golden rule, 
 And hoardeth what he can not hold. 
 
 The miser, dying, leaves his hoard ; 
 
 And in his hoard he leaves his heart. 
 What joy to him could Heav'n afford } 
 
 What, Hell, but burning pain impart } 
 
 Only by giving can we keep, 
 
 Yet wc may give and doubly lose, 
 
 Ay, we must " weep with those who weep," 
 And give through love apart from ruse. 
 
 V. 
 
 Whenever love is left aside, 
 
 The best of objects dissipate, — 
 Party corruption, strife, and pride. 
 
 Thus sap the vitals of a State. 
 
 Opposed, we're led to plan and scheme ; 
 
 And thwarted, we are led to hate ; 
 When weighed in Church, we " kick the beam," 
 
 Vice versa, when we're weighed in State. 
 
 Let whoso will go sweetly on, 
 
 Doing the right for the right's sake ; 
 
 For into evil we are drawn, 
 
 When sides in any strife we take. 
 
 
rifROl'dH THK TWILIGHT. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The \va5^s of man seem strange indeed, 
 But in the Hand of God are still, 
 
 In punishment, or else in need, 
 A curse or blessing to fulfil. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Eating, seek nature's laws and rules ; 
 
 But know the " feast and famine " plan 
 Is follow'd only here by fools 
 
 Who hold the place of barb'rous man. 
 
 Better than o'erload sweetly lack ; 
 
 Learn to say " No," to self and man : 
 " The last straw breaks the camel's back ; " 
 
 Withhold the evil while you can. 
 
 The stomach is the mint which makes 
 
 Much cheerfulness ; and e'en " that peace ' 
 
 The crippled world nor gives, nor takes, 
 Mourns if its current coin decrease. 
 
 We, kindly blest, feast thrice a day, — 
 ^ Feast and fast not, from year to year ; 
 F'amine we know but by hearsay, — 
 
 Who lacks, but lacks through pride or fear. 
 
 Our major part do eat too much, — 
 
 A trifle only, it is true ; — 
 We're amateurs, and overtouch. 
 
 Which leaves us sometimes rather d/ue. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Who pleasure seeks for its own sake, 
 Doth more and more her thirst increase, 
 
 With less and less of power to slake, 
 Still fleeting like the pilgrim's peace. 
 
 o 
 
lO 
 
 thkou(;h tiik iavilkiht. 
 
 IX. 
 
 We have a custom let us touch 
 
 Rut lightly, and in passive play ; 
 Altho' there's little harm in such, 
 
 It weakens in its own weak way. 
 
 It dififers little, fools or wise, 
 
 Too much the same when friends we meet : 
 On Empty Commonplace we rise, 
 
 To Empty Commonplace retreat. 
 
 Why should full-sensed men greet fuU-sens'd. 
 
 With, " wet day," " cold day," or such speech ; 
 Why not as well say, "that field's fenc'd," 
 
 Or aught as clearly clear to each. 
 
 X. 
 
 We wonder not that hung'ring man, 
 Should some delusions vain pursue ; 
 
 But greatly marvel, how he can. 
 The false and fleeting, hold as true. 
 
 Who pleasure seeks for its own sake. 
 
 Its counterfeit can only find. 
 Which will not pass and can but make, 
 
 A baser, not a richer mind. 
 
 Man craves for pleasure, but we know 
 'Tis not our highest nature's call, — 
 
 It craves for peace, — then bowing low, 
 Mounts higher than before The Fall. 
 
 Who in the creature seeks to find. 
 What first and last in God is found, 
 
 Shows clearly that his hi«^hest mind. 
 Is not Christ-cultivated ground. 
 
 O, glorious hope ! to be like Him ! 
 
 More than mere pleasure, — this is jo}' ; 
 Our love of ease oft makes it dim. 
 
 And selfish pleasure, base alloy. 
 
THROUGH THE TWII.Kill l. 
 
 True pleasure emanates from work ; 
 
 And happiness from after rest ; 
 Perfect where nothing low doth hirk, 
 
 And where no vital law's digress'd. 
 
 Grope not in darkness, Itt in Light 
 Thy central-self to re-create ! 
 
 Then if you'd rise from /let^/a to height, 
 Dead sameness no more imitate. 
 
 II 
 
 h; 
 
 II. 
 
 THK HORSE. 
 
 Looking to find a field in prose, and thinking the 
 other night, after retiring, what there was, anywa}-, 
 that I coukl write about ; i remembered our old 
 teacher's advice, *' Not to make too high a flight at 
 first, but to take hold of whatever we thought we could 
 best handle." So, I thought I couli handle a horse, 
 maybe, as well as anything else. Kut I could not sec 
 just how 1 was going to make much of a " handle" of 
 one on paper. So I kept saying over and ever to 
 myself, a horse, a horse. Then my mind began " to 
 body forth the forms of things unseen." When I 
 thought of horse, I could in a dim uncertain way and 
 place with my mind's eye see a horse. I then tried it 
 with other things, and different forms at the mention 
 of their name arose before me. But not to get away 
 from the subject. I began again to experiment on 
 the visionary horse-business. My first horse was just 
 a dim outline. Then I thought of a bay horse ; fancy 
 pictured the same to me ; black, white, dappled, etc., 
 each in turn distinctly. Then I tried a blue horse, but 
 that was too much, — blue I could see, but no horse. 
 Next I called for a saw-horse, and straightway it 
 
12 
 
 THROUGH THE TWILIGHT. 
 
 stood forth cross-legged before my view. Runaway 
 horses, kicking horses, rolling liorses, etc., all pas.^ed 
 in order before me as plain as day to the eye of my 
 mind. (Try it.) So with the eye of the mind we can 
 see in the dark of night if we will, and with the higher 
 mind we can penetrate still blacker darkness, and see 
 beyond the stars. 
 
 Here I am at a standstill.... All right, " Gee up, Gee." 
 It's only a turn in the road. Here are a couple of 
 <jUotations from a boy's composition on the Horse : 
 
 " The horse is the most useful animal in the world, 
 so is the cow." " A horse weighs a thousand pounds." 
 
 Some people expect too much from a boy, in fact 
 they expect too much from every other person except- 
 ing, perhaps, themselves. 
 
 I guess I got a little off the road. 
 
 (A horse is like a boy, you have to keep your eye 
 kind of on him all the time, neither of them are to be 
 allowed their " full swing," so to speak, especially both. 
 For if a fast boy gets " a-hold " of a fast horse, it is 
 very apt to make the boy a little " too fast," or rather 
 we should have said ««make him a little faster.) 
 
 To go on again with our subject : A man riding 
 along the road in his carriage, or working " with team 
 a-field," is something we see every day, and therefore 
 we think little or nothing of it. But more than once 
 has it occurred to me, that this is one of the readiest 
 examples of man as creation's lord. " Behold we put 
 bits in the horses' mouths, that they may obey us, and 
 we turn about their whole body." Thus these swift 
 and powerful creatures are made obedient, submissive, 
 even to a child. Wonderful ! 
 
 And none the less wonderful that we see it every 
 day, and ourselves do it. 
 
 If you could not make ahorse think, consider, under- 
 stand, it would be of no practical, working use. The 
 same with man in relation to his rightful Lord. 
 
 I 
 
THROUGH THE TWILIGHT. 
 
 13 
 
 see 
 
 » 
 
 If you could not teach your horse to understand 
 and obey your commands, it would be a continual 
 torment. When you wanted it to go ahead, it might 
 back up ; and lie down when you wished it to stand 
 still, etc. If you do not think that it is the horse's 
 brains, which makes it serviceable to man, just hitch 
 up a team of pigs, and you will probably thereafter 
 value more highly the intelligence of Nell or Jack, or 
 your horse by what name soever called. 
 
 Farm horses are greatly in favor of steam-threshers 
 (traction engine), and the keeping of a yoke of oxen 
 about the place ; preferring, however, the old grain- 
 cradle and scythe to binders and mowers. 
 
 Horses,like humans,are not without their bad habits. 
 Even the best of horses sometimes forget themselves 
 and do things that are not right, that are in fact 
 decidedly wrong. If our best of men think they are 
 any better, th^y may speak for themselves. 
 
 Baulking in horses can generally be accounted for 
 by some unwise treatment in their early working days. 
 When it becomes chronic, it is always difficult, and 
 often impossible to entirely eradicate this inveterate 
 cantankerousness. (Never use a big word where a 
 little will do.) 
 
 With a horse that shies I can scarcely find fault. 
 It simply, and naturally, wishes to turn away .from 
 that of which it has reason to be afraid. I will say 
 that I think the horse worthy to be copied here. Take 
 a wide circle past that which has a doubtful appear- 
 ance. "Best to err on the safe side." In just now 
 thinking about it, I don't see as there is, s*;rictly speak- 
 ing, such a thing as a safe side to err on. It is like 
 what Josh Billings said about the mule : " That the 
 safest place about a mule never existed." 
 
 This is not getting far away from my subject, — as a 
 mule is half " hoss." 
 
 But I must for your sakes, get altogether away from 
 it. 
 
I't 
 
 14 
 
 TlIROUiiH Tllh: TWILKJIIT. 
 
 I meant to write at some length on hobby-horses, 
 saw-horses, etc., and some other things about horses 
 in general. Their nobility of spirit ; and how some 
 abuse, and some worship the animal, and both err. 
 But this you may write or better ri^/ii for yourselves, 
 ye who have to do with " horse-flesh," — for I must 
 drive on, as I have to be at G. by ag/i/. 
 
 m. 
 
 FLYING CLOUDS. 
 
 (3ne Summer day between three and four, 
 I watched the sky while it clouded o'er. 
 
 They were flying clouds, and in quick pursuit, 
 O'er the broad expanse, they did swiftly shoot. 
 
 I'hough fast they flew — the sun between, 
 As I upward looked could be freely seen. 
 
 Sweetly, I marked, how the clouds each one, 
 Grew pure and bright as they neared the sun. 
 
 Yes, all their blackness had vanished away, 
 Like the dark recedes from the light of day ! 
 
 And, bless'd is the man, whose clouds of doubt, 
 Turn Sun-ward, and have the dark put out. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A SONG PRAYER. 
 
 O Life ! How sweet thou art ! 
 
 O Love ! Transforming ours ! 
 O Light ! Thou art to us, 
 
 Like sunshine to the flow'rs ! 
 
orses, 
 lorses 
 some 
 1 err. 
 elves, 
 must 
 
 ot. 
 
 THKOUtill THE TWTLKJJIT. 
 
 We feel our need of all ; 
 
 Thine to supply that need : 
 Our ev'ry want Thou can'st supply, 
 
 This our Eternal Creed. 
 
 We lift ourselves to Thee, 
 And feel Thy drawing nigh, 
 
 And here with holy boldness plead, 
 For life which can not die. 
 
 Hearing our inmost cry, 
 
 Thou biddest us be still, 
 And learn that our sweet confidence, 
 
 Assists Thy answering will. 
 
 And peace and rest are ours. 
 Right onward from that hour, — 
 
 The sweet transforming Love, and Life, 
 And Light, — our instant Pow'r. 
 
 «5 
 
 V. 
 WINTER DOVES. 
 
 Behold the expanse of our vig'rous clime, 
 Now deftly deck'd with the silken rime ; 
 Which forms in our zone an encircling ring. 
 As the beak of winter the snow-flakes fling ! 
 
 For her destined brood she re-lines her nest, 
 
 With this flaky down from her rounded breast ; 
 
 Here she hides two eggs of wondrous size, 
 
 Whose life, when sprung, glads our waiting eyes : 
 
 Save winter, no season such brood doth rear, 
 
 As " Merry Christmas " and " Happy New Year." 
 
 First, Christmas, wheeling his merry flight, 
 Infuses through all a fond delight : 
 Books, and what not, and dolls, and toys ; 
 Giving and getting make double joys. 
 
 I 
 
ir> 
 
 THROUGH THK TWH.KIHT. 
 
 Hear'ng too in his bill, store after store 
 Which like manna he drops at the needy's door, 
 Re-waking that chant of the Saviour's birth : 
 " Good will to men, and peace on earth." 
 
 As the end of December draweth near, 
 There, chipping the egg, is the bright New Year : 
 And when thirty-one to the winds has flown, 
 With unsoiled glory she mounts the Throne : 
 And her speechy re-voiced, greeteth every ear, — 
 The same to all, — " A Happy New Year. " 
 
 List the fainting words of the dying year. 
 
 Resound thro' the sombre atmosphere ; 
 
 " The New shall fly as the Past have flown ; 
 
 Ye know her time, but know not your own." 
 
 " Press on thro' the sunlight, Gospel-shod, 
 
 To meet your ' times ' from the Hand of God ! " 
 
 VI. 
 DON'T "BEG TO DIFFER." 
 
 Is the man who "begs to difl*er" not a beggar ? 
 Beggars usually differ. They make their business a 
 success as much by differing as by begging. " Cir- 
 cumstances alter cases," and " hard cases " alter circum- 
 stances. Now, both the man who differs to beg and 
 the man who *' begs to differ'' generally alter circum- 
 stances to suit their cases. They play to win by 
 " hook or crook " respectively. 
 
 We do not ask you not to differ from a man if in 
 all good conscience you know him to be wrong. 
 Differ, but do not " beg to differ." If he, however, 
 begs to differ from you, fully convince yourself that he 
 is wrong, but don't try to convince the other man 
 against his will. You can't drive the iron wedge into 
 
 
THkOlKlH THK IWII-KMir. 17 
 
 a rail-cut with a tack-hammcr. So though your argu- 
 ment may be as strong as iron and shaped to the best 
 advantage, simple tongue power is too light a maul to 
 drive it into rock-elm obstinacy, cleaving the knots. 
 
 If you attempt to rouse an obstinate man's reason 
 against himself, you will, instead, rouse his temper 
 cjuicker than a bee-sting against jvv//'j<'//^ 
 
 The temper is the " bone and sinew " of a knife, but 
 in the contentious man it is a knife itself Rouse it. 
 and he will cut you io the quick. 
 
 Job's friends, " begged to differ." "Job sinned not 
 until he got into an argument with his friends." With 
 .sealed lips front the cold philosopher, like Job's friends, 
 they are all plusicians of no value. It is conceit 
 largel)- that makes us contentious. I'lxait yourself 
 not, argue not ; but act humbly, and when you must 
 speak, speak humbly, and with becoming pleasanti) . 
 smile honestl}', appeal to man's better nature, antl 
 he can not choose, but surrender unconditional!}', hire 
 word for word, and it will be a drawn battle, with 
 neither man a hero. Use ro\'al tactics, m\- friend, and 
 \ou shall gain the victory, — yea, two victories, — one 
 over self, and one over the other man ; b\' life, not 
 death. Wisdom is better thati weapons of icar. 
 
 VII. 
 
 ANGKR. 
 
 Thk ethereal dome of heav'n rests unfleck'd ; 
 I gaze upon its peaceful form in love, — 
 So placid and serene doth it appear. 
 Stretched out in beauty o'er the smiling earth ; 
 How calmly doth it rest, Can it be moved 
 Again, and changed its form and loveliness, 
 And made a source of fear and dread profound t 
 Heboid the western sky ! A small white cloud, 
 
i8 
 
 TllROUdll TIN-: TWILICMT. 
 
 Cased in gigantic frame of azure blue, 
 In silence, reigneth there. Soon it exp.inds ; 
 And as it grows in size, it grows in power ; 
 To blackness it is turned, spitting forth fire, 
 While peal on peal of thunder fills the air, 
 And startles the inhabitants of earth, — 
 Oft working dire destruction on mankind. 
 
 Thus Anger on the placid face of youth 
 
 Supplanteth loveliness ; and casts a gloom 
 
 On all around, the fair pure eye, shooteth 
 
 Forth piercing darts, and from sweet charming lips. 
 
 Which made the welkin with their laughter ring. 
 
 Impassioned fiery speech with thunder sound 
 
 l^ursts forth, sev'ring too oft friendships best tics ; 
 
 And kindling enmity in kindred souls, 
 
 Which years shall often not obliterate. 
 
 Thou power for evil, speedier work seems wrought 
 
 By thee than kindness And the gracious work 
 
 Love hath long time, compar'd, been building up 
 
 Thou canst as in a twinkling, destroy. 
 
 { I 
 
 viir. 
 
 ENMITY. 
 
 CllKKISH not hate. He wrongs himself, who with 
 
 Vile enmity stirs strife against his fellow, 
 
 And strives to hurt by means within the law 
 
 Of man, his infiu'nce and prosperity. 
 
 Hate drowns the fire of conscience, and makes believe 
 
 That to avenge is right, forgetting that 
 
 " Vengeance belongeth not to man ; " rather 
 
 The opposite, " To love all men ; do good 
 
 To them that hate thee.'" This is Christ's command. 
 
 And He, our judge, shall judge us in this light — 
 
 By our own words condemn or justify. 
 
TiiKOUdii riii: TWiMc.nr. 
 
 Nozv, he who hateth duly should repent ; 
 
 Love no repentance needs, therefore 
 
 Work love. Life is too short for strife. If thou 
 
 Dost wrong thy fellow, do thy guilt confess, 
 
 And his forgiveness sue. For cherished guilt 
 
 Makes us the injured hate ; while Christian grace 
 
 Makes us love those we wrong, and chide ourselves. 
 
 »9 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE HEN. 
 
 It is true, "our field is the world " ; but we do not 
 feel safe wandering into unknown regions rashly and 
 unprepared. We feel much safer around home, and 
 from thence may take a wider flight, as our wings 
 expand. 
 
 In the meantime we must "hunt" the eggs — that is 
 in imagination and on paper. I don't think, however, 
 that it will have the same charm as hunting them in a 
 hay-loft or under it, etc. What makes the fascination 
 about hunting eggs, I hardly know. There certainly 
 is some sort of inspiriting influence in the egg business 
 for both hen and boy. The hen goes around singing 
 a gladsome lay before she sits down to lay. A man 
 can't lay while sitting, the hen beats him here ; but he 
 can /ie while sitting and too often does, here he beats 
 my lady hen — yes, and /dmse/f, too. A lie is a rotten 
 egg. The outside appearance of a good and bad egg 
 may be much the same, but just break the shell and 
 you'll know what you've got. So with a lie, it may 
 be whitewashed with truth. The s/ie// may be all 
 right, and if it carries about the right weight may pass 
 current, but the testing time comes. It ffiay pass 
 through honest hands, but no sane man will sival/ozu 
 it, when right shows it foul. Well, we haven't got 
 
20 
 
 riiKori;!! i in-: rwii.iciii' 
 
 the ejjgs hunted )'ct ; \vc sat down and were carried 
 away by the hen's opcninj^ chorus. As we were say- 
 injj. the hen sinj^s first, then takes her place, and when 
 she gets herself set to her likinj; in some secluded 
 place, settles down to active business, thoujijh it iookx 
 to be anythinjj but aciivi\ 
 
 So it is in the world's work. It is the silent work 
 that counts. It is the silent work that keeps this 
 ■ hulk of a world from sinking back into chaos and 
 black night." 
 
 (ireat thoughts, systems of thoughts, inventions, 
 operations, are all the outcome of silence — 
 
 " Out of silence comes th}' strength." 
 
 Thus the hen — true, simple child of nature — never 
 tries to lay an egg without becoming silent in herself. 
 And a man can not bring forth a well-shaped thought, 
 with tlie germs of life and power in it, without main- 
 taining silence. We must have our hours of silence, 
 as well as our hours of singing and '' scratchingl' else 
 we can not bring forth order out of confusion. 
 
 Where are we now ? Weil, )'Ou will have to admit 
 that one has to wander around as their mind leads 
 them in hunting eggs in a barn or stable. The q^^^ is 
 laid at last. I hear the hen cackling, rejoicing. \\'h\- 
 shouldn't she ? She has done her dut\', and can stand 
 forth ard laugh the world in the face. 
 
 "Ore ^^^^' Josh Billings says, " is konsidered a fair 
 da)'s work for a hen. I have heerd ov their doing 
 better. But I don't want a hen ov mine to do it. It 
 iz apt tu hurt their constitution and bye-laws." 
 
 If a hen wants to hatch and you don't (don't want 
 her to), '* then comes the tug of war." There is, how- 
 ever, something commendable in the hen's persistence, 
 shows force of character, a firm set purpose ; conscious, 
 is she not, that such is her duty, her inmost nature's 
 high behest ? Yet man's intelligent interference shows 
 
riiKorciii Tin: TwiLKiin. 
 
 81 
 
 him higher than the hen, Creation's lord — subdiiin]^ 
 without destroying. 
 
 Another thing about the hen, and not so easily 
 overcome, is their almost universal habit of taking 
 rather too long a vacation. 
 
 Unlike school teachers and hotel-keepers, their holi- 
 days arc not regulated by law. 
 
 In regard to saloon-keepers and such, I should 
 strongly favour a law giving ////•;// a vacation of at 
 least twelve months in the \'ear. They really require 
 it to preserve their health, and thc\' also spread con- 
 tagion. So, for a health resort, let them in " some 
 quiet, still retreat," resort to the hen business. And 
 the world shall rejoice. 
 
 Were I a preacher I should like, op. some bright 
 June Sabbath morning, to favour my little flock witli 
 a discourse on Dear Old Mother /fen, taking as text : 
 () Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the pro- 
 l)hets, and stonest them Lhat arc sent unto thee ; how 
 often would I have gathered thy children together, 
 even as a hen gathcreth her chickens under her wings, 
 and ye would not. And ye "a'onld not ! 
 
 Under the mother hen's wings, how cosey a place 
 for little chick.s. And how obedient tliey are, coming 
 at her call, always on the run. The chickens thus 
 trained, when full grown, do not forget it. Call them 
 morning, noon or at even, and from all over the yard 
 the}' come '* liclety-sivitchr 
 
 But \'ou can't drive a hen ; they have not been 
 brought up to it, and when you thus approach them 
 they are so impatient that, before you can get their 
 attention centered on what you want, they seem to 
 sniff danger and are off. In the animal-man you will 
 find the .same principle, or no principle, regarding 
 things to which he has never been accustomed. Per- 
 versity and stupidity are like trees thrown across a 
 roadway— they retard progress, without improving the 
 
M2 
 
 •THROU(;H THK TWILIGHT. 
 
 road. They may chance to stop a runaway team, but 
 it is neither the best nor sa/esl way to do it. We are 
 a little afraid we are running away, and will have to 
 be stopped. We zvere nearly stopped before we got 
 half this written,— stopped by what would never stop 
 a hen. Do you give it up ? The tooth-ache. 
 
 ! .. 
 
 ! i,!'!;i 
 
 X. 
 
 LOVE— MOTHER LOVE. 
 
 Life's wondrous flower ; 
 Earth's tenderest tie ; 
 The heart's one power, 
 Which can not die ; 
 Without such aid the soul's undone,- 
 As life is death where shines no sun. 
 
 God's altar yields 
 
 This heavenly fire, 
 Which woman wields 
 O'er child and sire, — 
 But first implanted it must be, 
 While fondled on thy mother's knee. 
 
 Serene and pure 
 
 Its essence falls ; 
 On rich and poor, 
 But stately halls ; 
 Less often win her fondling kiss, 
 Less often drink her heart-felt bliss. 
 
 The day — neap tide, 
 
 Spring tide — the eve ; 
 Much love must bide. 
 The dusk's reprieve, 
 Then mother love, wave after wave, 
 Breaks o'er her child, its soul to lave. 
 
1, but 
 e are 
 ve to 
 ' got 
 stop 
 
 thkou(;h the t\vilu;ht. 
 
 A holy balm 
 
 Instils the breast, 
 A sacred psalm 
 
 Now sweetly press'd, 
 Is seed which earth can never kill : 
 Though bitter frost may often chill. 
 
 The story told 
 
 Bear'ng living truth 
 Its root shall hold 
 And baffle drouth ; 
 The wakening dew a mother's kiss, — 
 A mother's smile, the sunshine is. 
 
 The lisped prayer, 
 
 That's nightly said 
 By mother's chair, 
 The way has led, 
 By slow degrees, from death to life, 
 Though darkened oft, by faltering strife. 
 
 Mothers! Instil 
 
 For Jesus' sake. 
 This love, which will 
 To Heaven's awake : 
 Love which sinks in the soul like rain. 
 And rises as a fount again ! 
 
 23 
 
 XI. 
 
 HOW MADE. 
 
 East by south-east they took their leave, 
 
 He with a basket upon his arm ; 
 Their mother stood in the door and pra)''d, 
 
 God, by His angels, to keep them from harm 
 
24 TnK()U(.II TIIK T\VILI(;iIT. 
 
 And Mis si)irit to keep them careful and kind : 
 Then turns, and goes on with her work again ; 
 
 And thinks of her own h'ttle picnic days, 
 
 And how they help to make women and mc Ji. 
 
 At dusk they safely come marching in ; 
 
 And Lucy seems more of a woman grown, 
 And Harry more of a man, as they tell, 
 
 How, '' (ley finded de road dcr and back, avone." 
 
 XII. 
 
 THK SOUND OF THE WATERS. 
 
 0'i:r the old mill-dam on the creek hard by 
 The waters fall when the stream is high. 
 
 Rushing madly over with headlong bound, 
 They strike below with thundering sound. 
 
 Mouldered low is the old saw-mill, 
 Yet the house near by, we occupy still. 
 
 Here guests of a night are oft kept awake, 
 
 By the ceaseless roar which those waters make : 
 
 While zc't: seldom hear it — or seem to hear 
 
 Like the clock's tick, — tick, it falls dead on our car. 
 
 So I somehow deem, that the stranger-guest. 
 Heareth also, heavenly voices, best. 
 
tiikoi'(;m tin; T\vnj(;nT. 23 
 
 XIII. 
 
 "SHAKING OF HANDS.' 
 
 TliKKE'sa shaking of hands that is distant and cold, 
 Where the palms scarcely touch and the fingers ne'er 
 
 fold; 
 Where the eyes do not meet, and the heart bears no 
 
 strain : 
 Such shaking of hands, is formal and vain. 
 
 There's a shaking of hands called the pump-handle 
 
 shake ; 
 Where they jerk, and they pull, till your arm's like to 
 
 break ; 
 The heart's exercised, but with low hidden moans : 
 Such shaking of hands, is a shaking of bones. 
 
 There's a shaking of hands, a free, friendly grasp, 
 Where the palms are close pressed, ami the fingers 
 
 enclasp ; 
 Where the eyes meekly meet, trustful smiles light the 
 
 face ; 
 Such shaking of hands shows the heart's in its place. 
 
 There's a shaking of hands, where the lips sweetly 
 
 press, 
 And the eyes speak in love, language cannot express, 
 Where each heart, responsive, its feelii^g im[)arts : 
 Such shaking of hands, means a wedding of hearts. 
 
 True shaking of hands implies more than the name ; 
 The heart's fire is freshen'd, and heightened love's flame, 
 Which in the soul's window* doth sparkle and shine ; 
 Thus in shaking of hands, heart, heart may divine. 
 
 The Kyc. 
 
2^ TnuOLcai THE TWILKIIIT. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 TIME-LIFE. 
 
 An ocean diverging, 
 
 VV^here light skiffs emerging, 
 
 Are peacefully gliding, 
 While laved is their side 
 By the low, brackish, tide, 
 
 O'er which they are riding, 
 
 The waters dividing 
 In jubilant pride. 
 
 Viewing closer again 
 
 The young billowy main, 
 
 I see a small craft, 
 
 A delicate raft, 
 
 Just pushed from the shore, 
 
 In a moment, no more. 
 
 The inflowing tide 
 
 Has covered it o'er, 
 
 And dashed it aside, 
 
 'Gainst the rough, rocky shore, 
 
 And its infantine freight 
 
 Has yielded to Fate, — 
 
 To save is too late. 
 
 Its voyage is o'er : 
 Through the waves' broken crest 
 It has sunken to rest; 
 We see it no more. 
 
 T see a green isle, 
 A bright ocean smile. 
 One league and a score 
 From this bounteous shore. 
 There those light skiffs are flying, 
 With measured beat plyin< 
 
 Each delicate oar ; 
 But the billows uprising, 
 
 ig 
 
THKOUCJH TllK TWILKIIIT. 
 
 Are ever apprising 
 
 The crafts the more frail, 
 While those which are stronger 
 Oft weather it longer ; 
 
 Vet the violent gale, 
 So rudely assailing, 
 O'er many prevailing, 
 Whose strength was in vain 
 'Gainst the potentate main : 
 And of all who set sailing, 
 But one-half * alone 
 To this fair isle hath flown ; 
 From whence they do launch 
 In vessels more staunch, 
 O'er the ocean old, 
 But yet uncontrolled, 
 Leagues still, say, three score, 
 To its futhermost shore. 
 
 At ten leagues less, 
 It is hard of access, 
 And few f are the vessels that make ingress. 
 
 But the voyage of life oft numbers more, 
 Some having of force 
 
 A goodly store, 
 Lengthen their course 
 By an outward veer, 
 And in a direction circuitous steer. 
 
 From ejitUys entrance. 
 
 The eye explores, 
 Through the dim distance 
 
 Enchanting shores ; 
 
 Oft unheard the billow that roars, 
 In stern resistance, 
 
 * Of those born into the world one-half (\\q before they reach ilicir 
 17th year ; one-fourth before their 7th. 
 
 t Only one in 100 reaches the age of 65. " 
 
^8 'lllK{)r(;Fr THK T\VILI(;|[T. 
 
 Tlic space between, — 
 Allured by the prize 
 Jkfore their eyes, 
 
 Unthinking of what doth intervene — 
 
 Till all unseen, 
 
 Doth their bark careen ; 
 I'^ngulfcd perchance 
 
 In the raging deep : 
 With look askance 
 
 As they sink to sleep.— 
 Sighing in despair 
 
 At their heedless haste, 
 And lack of care, 
 
 Which their bark laid waste. 
 
 At a few leagues more 
 Than exact three score* 
 From entity's shore 
 
 Lies a whirlpool o{ Death, 
 Hung'ring and thirsting tho' red with gore 
 
 Draw \'our breath. 
 
 And mount the tide, 
 
 If beyond its roar, 
 
 Vou in triumph ride, 
 
 Thy chance is fair 
 
 For the farther shore. 
 
 But with greatest care 
 \o\x m,ust ply the oar ; 
 Of the rocks beware 
 Tying lurking there; 
 
 For hidden rocks 
 Do now abound, 
 
 And h'ttle shocks 
 Thy bark will ground ; 
 
 * A year or two past Oo, man arrives at x^cx\\\caX turn of life which 
 
THKoidii rm-: r\vii,i(;nr. 
 
 For th>' timbers now 
 Arc growing unsound ; 
 
 And you must plow 
 The treacherous deep 
 
 With easy prow, 
 And slowly creep 
 
 Or dumbly bow 
 And sink to sleep. 
 
 Where tiie heavy surge 
 Doth each bark submerge, 
 On the tide doth rise, — 
 Hid to mortal eyes, — 
 
 A phantom skiff, 
 Which onward flies, 
 ^ 'Gainst gales though stiff, 
 To its destined goal — yon boundless sea- 
 Marked on our chart " IvrKkNii'V." 
 
 2(> 
 
 ' 
 
 Let 
 
 XV. 
 
 UNDER TMK VOKK, J-RJCK 
 
 Selk-si-;-!' freedom, fondl\- followed, 
 
 Is the wayward fancy's lure, 
 For which liberty by bondage. 
 
 Is the only sovereign cure, 
 Unfixed liberty is fatal, — 
 
 Neath the yoke of love— 7tv';r free : 
 Sweet, ah sweet ! we have the promise. 
 
 That our burden light shall be. 
 
 Unrestrained our yoke sits eas\', 
 While fresh vigor stirs our veins ; 
 
 l^ut it duly weighs us under, 
 At the onset of our pains. 
 
JO 
 
 TIIKOUdH TIIK TWILIGHT. 
 
 While the yoke the Saviour offers, 
 Bears a song for every grief ; 
 
 Draws a balm from boundless Heaven, 
 Requisite to work relief 
 
 This is not of ideal seeming ; 
 
 This is of decisive grace ; 
 Take the WISE from out all ages. 
 
 You will find this law their base. 
 Ours to hold, this saintly wisdom, — 
 
 Love is every being's right ! 
 And no matter what our burden, 
 
 Love must make that burden light. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 HIDDEN FRUITS. 
 
 We were gathering apples, and after a time, 
 We came to a tree far past its prime ; 
 
 With a spreading top, thickly clothed with leaves, 
 One of the kind which the eye deceives. 
 
 We stood on the ground and looked at the tree : 
 " I can bear them all in my pail," said he. 
 
 I thought the same, though I nothing, said : 
 We shook them off. Lo, the " ground " was red. 
 
 Thus lives we see little in, likewise, may. 
 Show a fair yield on the final day. 
 
TIikOU(iII TilK TNMLklllT. ^j 
 
 XVII. 
 
 THE HOUSK-FLY. 
 
 Fekling under constraint to write, but having no 
 given subject before my mind, and desiring not to 
 choose one in cold blood, but rather have /V select nie, 
 I set about doing what I knew /ia{il selected me, which, 
 this morning was firstly, the chores. Now, just as I 
 was throwing down a fork-full of hay, a hen shot from 
 under the descending mass, and at once there shot 
 through my mind that question of Ruskin's, "what 
 must a fly think, when a /ar^e outspread hand descends 
 .9//^^^;//|/ as it were upon it?" "Nothing wonderful," 
 you say. Well, " what would ^<;// think," he asks, " if 
 something about the size of a t.en acre field, were 
 suddenly precipitated above your head ? " You must, 
 you sec, place yourself in corresponding circumstances 
 to the littly fly, before you can rightly think. 
 
 Then, from Ruskin's '' hand and fly I' my mind fol- 
 lowing the fly, methought, " may not the fly do me 
 for a subject ?" 
 
 But the only answer was, — the brow slightly drawn 
 as if trying to look through the subject, — and then on 
 I went with my chores ; which, finished, I found my- 
 self in my room alone, reading an old magazine, from 
 which my attention was soon drawn, by the buzzing 
 of a fly on the window — no, not buzzing — it was a 
 sweeter sound. Never in all the recollection of past 
 days and years do I recall such a pleasing sensation 
 from a fly's humming. I was charmed by the sound, 
 and before it had ceased its symphony, the fly again 
 suggested itself, as a possible subject for my day. Hut 
 I went on with the article I was reading, which, finished, 
 I said to myself, " What next T 1 looked to know — 
 what now ? 
 
 Again came the carol of the fly. So to the fly, I 
 fly. At the same time it seems to me a subject that 
 
;>-» 
 
 TMUorcil TIIK IWILKIIII" 
 
 I should never liavc thought of selcctiiij^ from a list of 
 random subjects, it (the fly), bein<,^ one. I'or 1 reall\' 
 can't think that I know much about the flw I doii t ! 
 Well, to commence, there is one thing we all know, 
 that the common house-fly in our country is black or 
 for convenience called black, l^ut, can you tell me 
 why .^ Why they are black 1 \\ hy are they not white 
 or scarlet or strij)ed like the potato-bug ? Wh\' ? " \'ou 
 don't know, we have nothing to do with it, you say." 
 Well, I'll let you off with that. But wait ! Why do we 
 keep our stoves black (or tr\' to at least) and our shoes 
 the same, and wear black for mourninj^ and dress 
 preachers in black with a white tie ? Why ? These are 
 things we have to do with. " Put that in \'our pipe 
 and smoke it." And take our advice and never smoke 
 anything worse. Boys who choo.se to have a " fly- 
 titnc" as they call it, do too often take to smoking 
 something worse. .Smokeless powder may be a very 
 good thing, smokeless smoking tobacco would, we 
 think, be a better, for our race. I think we could see 
 to take better, higher aim, and not be firing into the 
 ground so much. 
 
 " Little fly, come here and say, 
 W^hat you're doing all the dav .^ 
 
 ' Oh, I'm a gay and merr\' fl)-, 
 1 never do anything, no, not I ; 
 I go where I like, and I stay where I please. 
 In the heat of the sun, or the shade of the trees, 
 On the window pane, or the cupboard shelf; 
 And I care for nothing except myself. 
 
 I can not tell, it is very true. 
 When the Winter comes, what I mean to do ; 
 I very much fear when I'm getting old, 
 - I shall starve with hunger, or die of cold.' " 
 
■iiiK<)i(;ii TIM'; iwiLKiiir 
 
 .\.\ 
 
 VCl')' 
 
 I we 
 sec 
 the 
 
 Let us compare notes : Livin*; only in the present, 
 nmkinj^ no preparation for the certain coining change, 
 not able to tell " Ti'//rt/ they mean to do," fearing as 
 they grow old, "this their jo}- (weak jo\), is their 
 folly," sci'ining wisdom for the time : but the prospect, 
 cold and huniijer and empty death. 
 
 Now the next thing we want to know is, what are 
 flics for ;* What is their field in the economy of nature ? 
 
 Do you suppose that they are propagated simply to 
 plague nervous house-wives, to tantalize helpless 
 babes, tumble into the cream pitcher, and sing in the 
 sugar-bowl ? Or have they a work, a mission, which 
 nothing else can do, and which is beneficial to our 
 well-being. A necessar\' evil, yet a blessing in dis- 
 guise ? Now, I don't see why the fly is so much 
 spoken against. For is it not one of the most sociable, 
 free-and-easy of all summer boarders. The\- conic 
 without ail)- invitation, presuming in their simplicity 
 on our good nature, make themselves forthwith right 
 '* at home." (A ver)' agreeable thing, where y(ni arc 
 able to do it graciously.) And are not even ill-bred 
 enough to expect any extra cooking on their account. 
 And yet, how mean and selfish some people arc, in- 
 sulting them, covering things up from them, even 
 setting traps, and horrible to relate, poison, for them ; 
 while most of our well-to-do people go so far as to 
 completel)' debar them from their habitations. Vet, 
 notwithstanding all tliis, some few still continue to call 
 on them, thus showing a high nobilit}' of character, 
 above insult, sJioiviug it, t/iafs all. 
 
 Now, instead of being annoyed, " put about," should 
 we not rather be thankful that it is only for a month 
 or eight weeks out of the fifty-two that the fly is 
 really an affliction. Thankful that they do not anno\- 
 us in the night-season, and seldom find their way into 
 our cellars, etc., etc. 
 
 Let us educate ourselves daily to take a philosophic 
 
34 
 
 rnK()i;(;H iiii: rwiLK.iir 
 
 cal survey of all our vexations real or imaginary, 
 seeking out the things to be thankful for, and rejoicing 
 therein, and we will find that the other things shall 
 pass away. Tluy (the good) shall increase, while tJiese 
 (the evils) shall decrease. The shadows of evening 
 tell me that " time fliesy So away I must fly as the 
 chores .'igain await me. 1 have had two meals since 
 morn, the stable-stock but one as yet. 
 
 xvin. 
 
 WK KNOW NOT THE DAY. 
 
 TiiK things of earth they droop and fade, 
 And in the dust they low are laid 
 From whence they sprung, — 
 They run the course to them assign'd ; 
 Dying untimely, or high timed, 
 Death seals each tongue. 
 
 The leaf of June, then in its prime, 
 Defies the stately march of Time, — 
 Feels no decay, — 
 But Time, who wings his flight along 
 More rapid than the poet's song 
 Soon ends their day. 
 
 Alas, a blight has struck j^;/ leaf, 
 Making a short life still more brief, 
 By strange decree ! 
 As oft like flash-light shoots in Death 
 And cutteth short a half drawn breath, 
 'Round you and me. 
 
 n II 
 
TIIROU(jH TIIK TWILKillT. 35 
 
 XIX. 
 
 HOW I GOT A RKST. 
 
 A TALK OF OUR " SCOTT ACT" K ECU ME. 
 
 I HAVE been Sadie's husband, and Sadie has been my 
 
 wife, 
 For two of the shortest and sweetest years ol my 
 
 natural life ; 
 I have lived with Sadie, and Sadie has lived with me, 
 And though she has tried to <iuarrcl, I never have 
 
 quarrel'd with she. 
 
 She never e'en managed to raise a cloud, until the other 
 
 day, 
 When she gave me a powerful lecture in more of a 
 
 solemn way ; 
 It was all about '' yc Scott Act," I voted " anti," you see, 
 But we'd never talk'd it over, I knew we couldn't agree. 
 
 She said, " There shouldn't be secrets between a man 
 
 and wife, 
 That if I had turn'd an ' anti, ' her man had lost his 
 
 life; 
 For with the man of a year ago this thing could never 
 
 occur. 
 But now I was fonder of whiskey and not so fond of her."' 
 
 I dislike to borrow trouble till trouble borrows me, 
 But now I'm kinder worryin' about how things will be. 
 For just when she'd warm'd up nicely, I hastily bid 
 
 her adieu, 
 .Saying, " I'd promised to meet a friend, but later I'd 
 
 hear her through." 
 
 Though she is good and honest, this habit is growing 
 
 great, 
 And our sweet may turn to bitter, our love may turn 
 
 to hate, 
 
.v^ 
 
 thk()i:(;h tiik t\\ili(;ht. 
 
 .So [ mean to take no longer her side-stabs as a joke^ 
 I needs must break her ladyship from pulling against 
 the yoke. 
 
 For if she keeps on twistin' and I start twistin' too. 
 It's like enough we'll " turn the yoke," that is just 
 
 what we'll do, 
 And make our life a burden, breaking ourlovin' heart. 
 And soon agree together that we'd best agree apart. 
 
 I know its vain to arg'e — a woman will have her way, 
 Kut I " dont care a cent ' for whiske\' — can quit the 
 
 thing to-day, 
 And shall, I'm rather thinking, as it's a donlytful good. 
 And her most mis'rable bluster a thing that can't be 
 
 stood. 
 
 • It takes two to make a quarrel," but one can make 
 
 things " hot," 
 When she talks of not bcin' lovin' and calls her man a 
 
 sot ; 
 And no amount of talkin' will banish the " idee," 
 Though a man is just as lovin' as ever a man can be. 
 
 «»♦»♦#*# 
 
 When I went home to Sadie, she slung mc never a 
 
 word. 
 And you'd think by her smilin' face that nothin' had 
 
 ever occur'd ; 
 The tea was read)* and watin*, — a supper fit for a 
 
 lord, — 
 Set off with the costliest wines, IwugJit all of her own 
 
 accord. 
 
 Hut I'd have the payin' to do — the drinkin' of course, 
 
 as well. 
 For Sadie look'd on in silence, and didn't take morc'n 
 
 the smell. 
 To avert " a curtain lecure, " I slipt off early to bed, 
 And there as I lay reflectin', a thought came into my 
 
 head. 
 
THR()U(iH THE TWILKillT. 
 
 37 
 
 So I rose in the morn in' early, ere she had uegan to stir, 
 And I took from the room her corsets, and hid " those " 
 
 things on her ; 
 I placed them in the pantry along with the sparklin' 
 
 wines, 
 And on a slip of paper, I left the followin' lines : — 
 
 " Dear Sadie, — Them is your corsets, and this here is 
 
 my wine, 
 If you arc willin' to give up yours, I'm willin' to give 
 
 up mine, 
 For the " drink " and the corset questions, can't neither 
 
 bear the light. 
 For corsets, as well as whiskey, will make a body tight. " 
 
 I kindled a fire in the kitchen and put the " kittle" on, 
 I " fed the chores " in the stable and was doin' a little 
 
 sawin' ; 
 And while I was there a sawin', sure Sadie came out to 
 
 me 
 With the corsets and wine in her hands, and said, " she 
 
 couldn't agree. " 
 
 She said I was workin' hard and wasn't so very strong 
 And for me to take a little, she thought it was hardly 
 
 wrong ; 
 So to force her argument home, she handed me out a 
 
 draught, 
 I could neither accept nor decline, I just stood there 
 
 and laugh'd. 
 
 And Sadie, wheel'd like a shot, and down to the brook 
 
 near by, 
 Then back, minus corsets and wine, and said, " she 
 
 would give it a try. " 
 We may not be happy as .some, who stick to both 
 
 corsets and wine ; 
 But wc love, and we live, and we laugh, seeking still 
 
 to get more " into line. " 
 
^^ TIIROUtm THK TWILKillT. 
 
 WHAT MEANS IT? 
 
 I SAT 'neath the bridge and watched them,- 
 
 They sat on a mossy knoll : 
 He did not know I had " cotched " them, 
 
 As he pour'd out his inmost soul. 
 
 His eye is fixed upon her 
 
 With a magnetic charm ; 
 So close he now has drawn her, 
 He has to lift his arm. 
 
 Around the neck he grasps her, — 
 Will he that fair maid choke ? 
 
 Now tighter he enclasps her, — 
 Her neck will sure be broke. 
 
 Now he is trying to bite her, 
 Wh\- does she not jerk back ? 
 
 He seems not to affright her, — 
 Not even by his smack ! 
 
 And as he now unfolds her. 
 Each *' smiles a smole " serene ; 
 
 And then, again, he holds her, — 
 What doth this smacking mean? 
 
 XXI. ' 
 UNASSUMING INFLUENCE. 
 
 The little stream which gently glides 
 Before the farm-house door, 
 
 Asserts a striking influence, 
 Which marks its sinuous shore : 
 
 Without a name, unknown to fame 
 Yet priceless is its store. 
 
THROUGH THK IWILIGH I* 
 
 39 
 
 I 
 
 Unlike a watch you needs must wind, 
 
 Or 'twill refuse to go. 
 The river without human hand, 
 
 Continues in its flow : 
 A generous giver — the humble river — 
 
 But only to the low. 
 
 Let one Niagara suffice, — 
 
 Unequalled in its power, — 
 But quiet flowing rivulets, 
 
 To mau are richer dower : 
 See as they flow, wider they grow, — 
 
 Increasing hour by hour. 
 
 Thousands doth every land require 
 
 Of these soft flowing rills, 
 Which garden plot, and meadow land, 
 
 With smiling beauty fills : 
 Turning the wheel, to grind the meal, 
 
 Within the busy mills. 
 
 So do the lives of simple men, 
 
 Who day by day pursue 
 Their given course, in quiet lines, 
 
 With humble aim in view, 
 Serve best their day, and make their way. 
 
 On to the " boundless blue." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 BIDING AND OBEYING. 
 
 Omnipotence decrees ; 
 
 The Times obey His will : 
 Last eve cold blew the beezc. 
 
 Through tree-tops bare and chill. 
 
 I on the house-top heard, 
 
 The patter of the rain : 
 Again was pass'd the word, — 
 
 Now whiten'd is the plain. 
 
40 
 
 THROUGH IHK TWILIGHT. 
 
 And still the snow descends, 
 And deep'ning, there doth He : 
 
 He to our needs attends, — 
 The plant-life shall not die. 
 
 ♦ ♦»*«* 
 
 The snow has gone, — 'tis May ; 
 
 The vanish'd forms arise, 
 All drcss'd in Spring array, 
 
 .All clothed in queenly guise. 
 
 l^ut the Life says, " lie still, 
 Lie still, ye precious dead ! 
 
 Patiently wait, until 
 
 ' The trumpet ' sounds o'erhead." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 THE COMMONPLACE. 
 
 CjOING over ground that I had been over several 
 times before, of course I never thought that my eyes 
 would see anything but the commonplace, — and they 
 didn't. 
 
 I give you here no romance, no story, no follow ing 
 description of scenery ; nothing but the simple re- 
 flectings of my mind on some of the things that caught 
 my eye that morning, as we sped along in our rail- 
 way-coach between C. and S. 
 
 After leaving C, I was for the time being, alone. 
 ]kit before having gone two miles, the thought came 
 to me, " to take notes." .So obeying the impulse, I 
 produced paper and pencil, and those notes with their 
 expansion forms our present paper. 
 
 First thing I noted was Jive men scythe-mowing 
 coarse beaver-meadow grass. Five, you say, isn't 
 
 
TiikoL'cn riiK twilkiiit. 
 
 4' 
 
 many. No, but if there had been fifty I might not 
 have made a note of it. But here is what I noticed ; 
 that only rwt' looked up from his work to our pa.ssini; 
 train, — only one, — and he only for a moment cast 
 a glance upward. Those were model men, worthy 
 laborers. Hired men no doubt, yet men who had an 
 interest in their task, not taking advantage of every 
 passing excuse to straighten their backs, as indifferent 
 workers should. We can't say it would have been 
 wrong for those men to look up, but indifferent men 
 might it not make more indifferent, less contented 
 with their lot. For men to look up, if they look not 
 of necessity, is dangerous. Where it does not 
 strengthen it impairs, it weakens. Those five men 
 (hearing, without pausing in their work), could and no 
 doubt did, with the mind's eye, see our passing train, 
 while their scythes — at least the four — still swung 
 with the same precision. 
 
 Thus giving to said moment of time Jive little bundles 
 of mown grass — the fifth smaller than the others — 
 of which by less workful men it had been robbed. 
 
 Is there not a special regard and reward for such 
 ''strokes'' as these by the All-noting, All-rewarding. 
 
 Is not Carlylc right when he says, "That the wages 
 of every true work, do lie either in Heaven, or else 
 nowhere." 
 
 Next Noik. — A peculiar, yet quite railroady fence, 
 — constructed from ties, whose usefulness (as ties) was 
 gone. A temporary makc-sJiift, yet answering the 
 purpose equal to the best. 
 
 A deal of good material in these ties yet, but in 
 essential points, no longer deemed equal to the task 
 imposed on them. Thus were they ousted from their 
 bed of years, and replaced by fresher material. 
 
 .So, men, fitted for important places may, when im- 
 paired, be, because of the still good in them, utilized 
 for yet other purposes, not far removed. .So long as 
 
41 
 
 THROLCill THK T\VILU;ilT. 
 
 a man has any good in him, a perfect system will 
 utih'ze that good. 
 
 Third Note — Two boys running up a road-way >. 
 circling their arms and shouting healthfully. 
 
 " Turning to mirth all things of earth, 
 As only boyhood can." 
 
 Should V c s^c V to restrain that healthy shout ? No, 
 we think that shout fits them for their sphere, so that 
 they will take hold of thei/ work with freer spirit and 
 with firmer hand. Though 7i'e may not feel like shout- 
 ing, but feel ratbri- iilrp keeping others therefrom, let 
 us know that \ve ai- wrong, and that they are right. 
 (As a rule.) Th:t w res training t\iQ soundly natural, 
 we make rnnatural, — a; ^ '"rn from God. 
 
 " Delight and i'h:-.).', , Ve <=^imple creed 
 Of childhood." 
 
 l^ut every evolution in the child's life must be guid- 
 ed and directed on right lines, if it is to be well with 
 the child and with the man of whom it is the father. 
 We must, therefore, study the laws of shouting, and 
 keep the shout healthy and true ; and without shout- 
 ing try to enjoy theirs, get life, strength, from it. The 
 heart of Wordsworth expands as he sings : 
 
 " Thou child of joy, 
 Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, 
 Thou happy boy ! " 
 
 But to the boys themselves let me say, — only when 
 you really fed like shouting (and may) should you 
 shout. Not simply when you hear others at it. 
 
 Fourth Note. — A horse totally indifferent, stand- 
 ing on a knoll — day dreaming. Head turned from us, 
 and hanging down, ears quite still. 
 
 I have not much to say on this note. But looking 
 at said steed, ' way-worn and weary, " my mind's eye 
 
THROUGH THK TWH.KIHT. 
 
 45 
 
 seemed to be looking into the inner department of its 
 thinking apparatus, seeking to ascertain what were its 
 sombre thoughts from which it could not turn. Poor 
 horse, was it thinking hard thoughts of man, as we 
 when weak, and weary, and disheartened, of our God \ 
 It indeed justly, but we unjustly so. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 IN PURSUIT OF THE IDEAL. 
 
 Our mind is wandering, we'll let it wander, 
 Throw doivn the lines, and let it go ; 
 
 Letting it take us whither it listeth, 
 Onward, diverging, fast or slow. 
 
 Our world seem'd very flat and formal, 
 When we look'd outward before to-day ; 
 
 Now the whole round earth is teeming, — 
 Our mind seems lost as it works its way. 
 
 Lost if it pauses, it must keep moving, 
 See what it can without and within ; 
 
 Hold on its way amid life's mazes, 
 
 Catch this and that from the weary din. 
 
 We travel overland through the country, 
 Past quarries, lime-kilns, crushers of stone, 
 
 Bricks and pottery, oil, salt, lumber, 
 
 And fair-sized men of good muscle and bone. 
 
 Are these men's pay in nothing but dollars ? 
 
 Do they get even enough of them ? 
 Are they themselves being builded and bettered. 
 
 Or rudely used as an unknown gem ? 
 
 Our heart is breaking, " O, God !" we utter, — 
 " Is Thine arm .shortened ? O, who shall save ? 
 
 The god of this world is dead against Thee, 
 His dollars both master and servants enslave !" 
 
44 
 
 THK()i'(;ii im: twilhiht. 
 
 Into tlie city whose sound confuses, — 
 
 This scramble for gain, how it " makes things fly.' 
 Hold ! In our mind we'll stop this brother, 
 
 Ask him, if life's but to sell and buy? 
 
 He stands confused, he has given o'er thinking, 
 Saving on lines which the world lays down ; 
 
 He judges us by them and gets no further. 
 He will not know life itself \?> the crown. 
 
 As we pa.ss on, a slow procession 
 
 Out from a villa pursues its way : 
 Poor as the poorest goes its dictator, 
 
 Gone now to mingle with common clay. 
 
 \ow off unto Patmos, and in the spirit 
 Walk we the streets of the city of God, 
 
 Which the Nazarine craftsman, the Master-builder, 
 Fashions for they who His ways have trod. 
 
 Why do not more of us catch his spirit, 
 
 Grow into life which is life indeed ; 
 Working like works, with the promise of greater,* 
 
 Seems aspiration's o'ermasterful feed. 
 
 Where is oui* man who comes up to this standard } 
 
 Then, are we believers until we do } 
 •" 'Tis not for us." O, let us not think it ! [true. 
 
 Our weak, sluggish faith, keeps the true from beinj 
 
 " Are we believers ?"' Do the signs follow ?'\' — 
 
 Are we .' If not, what is it we are ? 
 We who profess the name of the Highest, 
 
 Of Him " who was wounded " and carries the scar. 
 
 
 
 * N'crily, verily, I say unto you, lie that helieveth on nie, the works 
 that I do shall he do also ; and greater works than these shall he <1i) : 
 J)eoause I go unto my Father. — Jno's ("lOsria xiv. 12. 
 
 t Mark's (iospel xvi. 17 ami 18. , 
 
THKOltni TMK TWILKim. 
 
 45 
 
 " We who profess.* It surcl)- ^ocs further, 
 
 Godvvard and inaiiward, with fruitage to show ? 
 
 O'er all the round earth our best we are sowing, 
 But is this best ///<• best He has to bestow ? 
 
 Is our faith dominant ? Love of the strongest ? 
 
 Let us not halt till we get into line, — 
 Humble, just, active, with touch sympathetic, 
 
 Hack into harmon\' with the Divine. 
 
 This ir.eans out of harmony with the world-spirit, 
 Unheeding the honor which cometh from men ; 
 
 With the ble.st 'single eye " which made (ialilcc 
 fishers — 
 Though slowly — a marvel, as much now as then. 
 
 Away for the present with this astanding 
 
 Just as it is till another day : 
 And into the verdant wood, and meadows, 
 
 Following our mind, we elect our wa)-. 
 
 A sacred calmness here too comes o'er us. 
 
 At once, in spirit, we bow the knee : 
 \Ve see but luan in 2^. graven image. 
 
 Hut God speaks to us from stone and tree. 
 
 We travel the wood-path again for schooling ; 
 
 Live o'er in a moment those )oung school-da\s ; 
 Find the best lessons were learnt unknowing, 
 
 And question if such be not true always. 
 
 VVe doubt not the schooling of our free nation 
 Shall yet show large, — for it can't be lost, — 
 
 With an average of life unique, aspiring ; 
 
 But first must the slough we are in be cross'd. 
 
 Our mind is wandering, we'll let it wandei-, 
 
 Throw down the lines and let it go ; 
 Letting it take us whither it listeth. 
 
 Onward, diverging, fast or slow. 
 
46 
 
 THROl'C.II THK TWILKIIIT. 
 
 What is the use of still " going to the devil," 
 Sinking our talents, which ought to rise ? 
 
 Is it not time — O, fathers and brothers, — 
 Sonship of Day ! — That we open our eyes ? 
 
 Do Courts of Justice, and governing functions, 
 Think of themselves, the first, and throughout ? 
 
 Is not their life in sacred fulfilling ? 
 
 Best, present reward, in seeing wrong put to rout ? 
 
 And we ! Are our labors with or not with them ? 
 
 Do we, too, strike hands, uphold the world's way ? 
 Of the Children of Darkness they're true to their colors, 
 
 But we weep for our untutored Children of Day. 
 
 Weep, but have hope ; our lights are increasing, — 
 The true super-governance stays with His plan ; — 
 
 Whom the wise seek to know, and live by believin 
 And whoso comes under stands out as a man. 
 
 But we, what are we ? O, spirit triumphant ! 
 
 We, what are we, who are not what we are — 
 Not true to our colors ? Well, if the light's in us, 
 
 It yet may break through, and shine like a star. 
 
 (r 
 
 Though oft we're cast down, 'tis the spirit of evil 
 Which simulates bondage, engendereth fear ; 
 
 The spirit of life, of death never savors. 
 
 But quickeneth our hope, instilling " good cheer. ' 
 
 Conquer we must ! The Life draws us to Him ; 
 
 What He has surmounted, we, too, overcome : 
 " Love never faileth," this the bold watchword, 
 
 'Gainst which all the voices of Evil are dumb. 
 
 What is the salt of the earth which preserves it ? 
 
 Verily, not its unseeing ones, — 
 But every mind who worships the highest, 
 
 And permeates " thought'^ with the blessing it shuns. 
 
rnROUdll THE TWILKUIT 
 
 47 
 
 Naught without thinking — that's salt without savor — 
 As we •' consider," tlic blessing attends. 
 
 What of ourselves we give with our givings, 
 Saves— is the salt — nothing else makes amends. 
 
 Pure, subtle and varied, must be the thought daily, 
 Which stifles all jar, and helps on the advance 
 
 Of the home life, toward higher, above the bleak 
 worldish ; 
 Which whoso hath eyes, can see at a glance. 
 
 " The home life ! " We pause — shall we let our mind 
 enter ? 
 
 Let private be private, and life, itself tell : 
 The best have betimes their blights and misgivings, 
 
 The worst now and then rays of light in their hell. 
 
 Some worship the infant who lies in the cradle. 
 Who worship not man in his highest estate : 
 
 Little hope for the child of child-worshipping mother, 
 'Tis the heart looking up, which doth life educate. 
 
 Yet the child, may it not be the means through which 
 light 
 May dawn on that mother, and widen her view ? 
 Her earnest solicitude, waked by its welfare, 
 
 May turn her to that Love who makes our love 
 true. 
 
 Be it active or passive, a blessing is with them, — 
 Our children, — and all things which help us to grow ; 
 
 Which quicken dull functions and make them respon- 
 sive : 
 The health of a blessing is in its outflow. 
 
 Our mind is wandering, we'll let it wander, 
 
 Throw down the lines and let it go ; 
 Letting it take us whither it listeth. 
 
 Onward, diverging, fast or slow. 
 
4» 
 
 THkoi.cn THK twilicht. 
 
 There used to be Saints, and so-called, in the Church; 
 
 The)- must be extinct, for we now hear of none, — 
 I'lxcept in derision, by scoffers, whose pride 
 
 Takes offence at tiie pride in some self-righteous 
 one. 
 
 There are some certain verities made to the Saints ; 
 
 I)en)ing the title, can we claim the boon ? 
 The name seems too strong for us yet to avow : 
 
 Babes yearn to be men, — shall not we be men soon ?^ 
 
 \Vc can't take strong food, wc arc weak, we are babes* ; 
 
 Too much in our work we lake the world's way ; 
 This kee|)eth us weak. W'e must stand on our height, 
 
 And each rising desire of the world-spirit, slay ! 
 
 Our Ideal stands out in the Man-God, Love's life; 
 
 l^liminato self and 7tr stand out God-men : 
 Who low'rcth the standard, upholdeth his life 
 
 And loseth, and breaks with the high Ideal then. 
 
 " Eliminate self? " How this can we do ? 
 
 Our will is divided, — the low 'gainst the high, — 
 JU>t standing with Love our will's over-will\i \ 
 
 All other light fadeth as day draweth nigh. 
 
 This transforming Love is the " sign of our times ' ; 
 
 Who can not discern Him, he lags, tho' he lives ; 
 Who sees him in all things, with eye spirit-fill'd. 
 
 Is made like, and then more like ; and as he gets,, 
 gives. 
 
 Our wonderful Ideal ! He grows, as we grow ! 
 
 Our eyes once being open'd, we grovel no more^ 
 Imperfectly perfect ! Still foll'wing our Life, 
 
 Out-top we the mists and new realms explore. 
 
 * Kead Paul's first letter to the Coiinthians, the third chapter.- 
 
Tiiuoi'cii Tin: TwirjciiT. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 0\K WITH ALL. 
 
 TifK light is fading in the west ; 
 
 The sun once more has pass'd our mark ; 
 
 The sinking sky is growing dim, 
 
 As softly deep'ning springs the dark. 
 
 To right, the lambkins skip and run ; 
 Hehind, I hear the children play: 
 Altho' I neither laugh nor leap, 
 Am I less glad than they? 
 
 Nay, I'm more fully glad, I claim,— 
 I'm one with all, tho' here apart.— 
 And lamb, and child, and changing light, 
 Throw, each, their gladness in >ur'heart \ 
 
 40 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 THK CONTRAST. . 
 
 In mid-afternoon I look'd on the stream, 
 Undefiled and clear did its waters seem. ' 
 
 When I look'd again in the morning light, 
 Black was the water which met my sight. ' 
 
 Vcd through the night by the falling snow, 
 We should expect it 7c>/iiter to grow. 
 
 Ah, there's the solution,— the banks were white, 
 And the water, contrasted, look'd black as nicht 
 
 Loolu/ blacker, but still it should no blacker be ; 
 Na\-, purer and clearer, had we effs to sec. 
 
 The stream of our life may, too, look clear 
 To-da)', and to-morrow be dark and drear. 
 
 Nay— clearer and purer— \{ I Icav'ns tim'd white. 
 Hath fed, and skirted, our stream by night ! 
 7 
 
m 
 
 50 THROUGH THE TWILKiHT. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 JUNE VERSUS MAY. 
 
 'Tis an afternoon 
 
 Of early June, — 
 
 A month which for freshness, and beauty, stands, 
 
 The sweetest boon 
 
 Any season yields, 
 
 In these northern lands 
 
 Around us here ; 
 With their verdant fields, 
 And those gardens rare, 
 Which planted were 
 By fond Nature's hands. 
 In our forest's vast, 
 And prairie lands. 
 
 Ye old world minstrels 
 
 Do sing of May, 
 
 As the month when flower, 
 
 And shower, 
 
 Excels, 
 And the sweetest lay 
 Rings thro' the dells. 
 
 Tho' wooed by beautiful, wonderful, days ; 
 
 Yet the heart of our May 
 
 Seems wed to the cold : 
 
 And 'tis near the close. 
 
 Ere said smiles allure, 
 
 Our woodland trees 
 
 To fully unfold 
 
 Their banners to the breeze. 
 
 May beino^ a little premature, 
 We wait for a month that's more in tune, 
 And here, in Canada, 
 Sing of June. 
 
THROUGH THE TWILICillT. 
 
 xxvra. 
 
 DEATH VERSUS LIFE. 
 
 (An In Memoriam.) 
 
 Death's sword scorns mortal shield ! 
 Earth gave, but can not save 
 Dust from the cold, damp, grave : 
 Death strikes, and man must yield. 
 
 Buried, but living still ; 
 Living, though dead thou art, — 
 Living in many a heart ; 
 Death takes, but can not kill. 
 
 51 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 WLNTER LIFE. 
 
 The germs of life (now wrapt in burial shroud, 
 
 Spotless and perfect, broad in its expanse,— 
 
 Their living glory fitly to enhance) 
 
 In sumrner s verdant hue, how gaily proud ; 
 
 The sun's warm smile withdrawn, then thou wert bowed, 
 
 With withering grief, being powerless to advance : 
 
 Though changed,— not dead,— but in lethargic trance ; 
 
 Awaitmg warmer air and showerful cloud. 
 
 With feelings of remorse, the sun looks down. 
 
 The evil to revert which he has wrought ; 
 
 The shroud uplifts ; and breathes a wakening song,— 
 
 Removing every semblance of a frown ; 
 
 Compared with former glory, lacking naught. 
 
 Thus, man with smiles, may life revive, prolong. 
 
52 
 
 TIIkOUGII THi: TWII.IIJIIT. 
 
 I I 
 
 1 1 
 
 I I 
 
 XXX. 
 
 SUNSHINE. 
 
 Whence comes that bitter melancholy wail, 
 Breaking the melody that reigns around ? 
 How dissonant its sad despondent sound, 
 With the glad song from the same sunlit vale, — 
 Where each the same sweet zephyrs do inhale. 
 VVHio is this man on whom the Lord has frowned ; 
 With cruel oppression crushed unto the ground ? 
 " Some helpless outcast, whom want doth assail ? " 
 Not so, this groan is from the lips of pride, 
 Whom life has fondled with a secret care, 
 Ambition, empty, cold, has been his guide, 
 And now he's yielding unto black despair : 
 Darkness ne'er dark removes, let in the Sun, 
 Bathe in His beams and life's life is re-won ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 SPRING'S CONQUEST. 
 
 The earth is dark and dreary, drenched with rain ; 
 
 The azure sky is hid by clouds of snow. 
 
 Which burst and whiten the dark plains below, — 
 
 But 'twixt the river banks it strives in vain, — 
 
 There each alighting flake is duly slain, — 
 
 A moment white, — then mingles with its flow ; 
 
 Nor till our temp'rate nights to Frigid grow 
 
 Have they the power their mantle to enchain. 
 
 Frost, — VVinter's king, — and Snow,hissovereign queen, 
 
 Upon a double throne their sceptre wield. 
 
 The King of Spring ere long war's flag unfurls ; 
 Melts Winter's prestige, still they show their spleen : 
 Tho' Spring, luxuriant, sweet, clothes wood and field, 
 Still, from high mountain crags, Winter defiance hurls. 
 
THROUGH TIIK TWILIGHT. 
 
 53 
 
 'Is. 
 
 xxxn. 
 
 BEFORE QUEBEC (1759). 
 
 LiKK the sear leaf of Autumn that falls to its rest, 
 The sun has gone down 'neath the hills of the west ; 
 Yet the light lingers long ere it yields to its doom, 
 But soon it is wrapt in the night's silent gloom. 
 
 O'er the noble St. Lawrence, its covert lies deep, 
 
 And ere it is lifted it vigil doth keep, 
 
 Round Britain's proud braves o'er his surface that 
 
 glide,— 
 Borne noiselessly down on the crest of the tide. 
 
 They toil through the gloom, led by Wolfe up the height, 
 And on Abraham's plains stand at first dawn of light. 
 By their General, — Montcalm, — arc the French 
 
 mustered out, 
 The British they meet and are soon put to rout. 
 
 In that short space of time fast flew deadly balls. 
 And by three bullets pierced, on the rampart Wolfe 
 
 falls ; 
 Likewise his opponent of chivalrous worth, 
 With wounds, that prove mortal, has sunk to the earth. 
 
 Ere Canada's hero by death is undone, 
 
 On his dying ear soundeth the accents, "They run !" 
 
 For an instant, aroused by the soul-stirring cry, 
 
 To his question, " Who runs ?" comes the eager reply : 
 
 ** 'Tis the enemy, sir, every where they give way. 
 And thine, dying hero, the pride of the day." 
 " Then, praised be God, in peace meet 1 death !" 
 These the last spoken words by the young hero's 
 breath. 
 
 When this signal success to his land is made known. 
 By torchlight and bonfires their triumph is shown, — 
 Save one Kentish village, which silence doth keep, 
 Where our dead hero's mother, dejected, doth weep. 
 

 il' 
 
 i ll 
 
 54 
 
 THROUGH THE TWILIGHT. 
 
 Second staff of her age is now broken in twain, 
 And should they exult, it would add to her pain,- 
 For thus they would seem to rejoice in her woe,— 
 So they nobly forbear, and all triumph forego. 
 
 But the Spirit of Wolfe moved on up the stream. 
 Thro' the hands of our father's the soil to redeem ; 
 And in it we've conquer'd — are conquering still, — 
 And he's no true Briton who's weak in the will. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 PIGS. 
 
 «i 
 
 Pigs? Yes, pigs! Why not? May it not do us 
 more good, and less harm, to write about them, and in 
 this way devour, than to kill and cook and eat ? Of 
 what use are hogs while living, if not to write about — 
 to " speculate " on. 
 
 The cow practically serves'"us while living : gives us 
 milk. Also the horse, work ; the sheep, wool ; the 
 hen, eggs. But the porker while living only gives us 
 — noise. Only when dead can the hog be made of 
 direct practical use, excepting, as I say, to speculate 
 on. 
 
 Despise them as we may, yet I think we must all 
 humbly acknowledge, that the pig has helped to make 
 us what we are. 
 
 The hog is not a wary far-seeing animal, does not 
 try to see far. Can hear better than it can .see, and 
 can talk better than it can hear. 
 
 But like a great many — great many — animals, its 
 talk is all regarding self They talk best, freest, when 
 they are expecting to get something from you. Loud- 
 est, wildest when held, restrained. 
 
 The goose washes in water, and the hen in dust, and 
 each are cleansed thereby. The pig uses a combina- 
 
THRC TC.H THE TWILIGHT. 
 
 55 
 
 tion of both, and though as healthfully cleansed, is 
 forever disgraced, strange to say. Swine, it is true, 
 were among the list of "the unclean " in the Levitical 
 Law. Not, however, -we believe,-because they "wallow 
 in the mire," but because they swallow with avidity, 
 and never chew the cud. And is not that man, too, 
 unclean, who receives fitting food into his mind, but is 
 not careful to bring it up again, to ruminate, meditate, 
 reflect thereon, which he must do who will be clean ;• 
 
 I don't know what disease pigs contract after they 
 are " killed " and " cut up," but they are often cured 
 with sugar — sugar-cured. 
 
 Sugar is great medicine, and not so very hard to 
 take either, especially maple sugar, which kind I think 
 I can recommend, as a good^ desirable, safe medicine, — 
 if used judiciously, — especially for children's troubles. 
 
 Judiciously, remember! For like other powerful 
 medicines, I have known it to excite trouble where 
 there was none before. This is the usual form it takes : 
 " Ma, I want another piece of sugar. Ma, ma, can't 1 
 have another piece of maple sugar ; can't I, ma, can't 
 1. Followed in severe cases by, ' Bo, hoo, hoo.' " 
 
 A little like the pig, for it cries, too, when it don't 
 get all it wants. 
 
 Gluttony is the hog's great weakness — that is, if it 
 may be called such. Fed regularly, and freely, they 
 will only take what they require, and leave the rest, if 
 perchance you give them too much. The hog is cer- 
 tainly endowed by nature with a ravenous appetite. 
 Its desire for a goodly supply of nourishing food and 
 drink, is not of its own creating, but from legitimate 
 demand ; not an acquired desire, or even a perverted 
 one. 
 
 Still we like not the greed ish way each has of try- 
 ing to crowd the others out, and thus monopolize the 
 more for their own stomach. 
 
 This is base. This is to be despised. 
 
56 
 
 THROUGH THE TWILIGHT. 
 
 Mi 
 
 We sec the hog much given to " root out and de- 
 stroy." Yet it never seems the least concerned about 
 rooting out and destroying this heavy greed that is in 
 its own eye. 
 
 Would we could see ourselves as we see the hog ; 
 and cease to selfishly crowd others out, to get tJiat 
 rnucJi more. If we so do, we fatten ourselves, like the 
 hog, to our own destruction. 
 
 iii I 
 
 '!■ I 
 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 TO A iXAMELESS STREAM. 
 
 Whence comest thou, and whither going? 
 Or wandcrest thou along unknowing, — 
 Gathering strength as onward flowing, 
 
 Nearing the river : 
 Thy fountain head its waters throwing, 
 
 Continuous, ever ? 
 
 Erom fountain onward persevering, 
 Though loft hills ahead appearing, 
 Standing not idly, looking, fearing, 
 
 Where you can't climb ; 
 But round their base triumphant veering, — 
 
 With no lost time. 
 
 Thou hast between these banks been stra}'inf 
 And varying Nature's law obeying ; 
 And thirst of beast and plant allaying ; 
 
 Unnumbered years ; 
 But not a presage of thy staying, 
 
 As yet appears. 
 
 Although thou art thy duty doing ; 
 And thy appointed course pursuing ; 
 A cold, unfeeling, world is viewing, 
 
 Thy generous worth ; 
 Nameless thou roUest on renewing, 
 
 The life of earth. 
 
THROUGH THE TWILIGHT. 
 
 Thy lowly waters forward reaching, 
 Are unto me a lesson teaching, 
 (Impressive more than learned preaching,) 
 
 Of hif^h behest ; 
 As in thy ceaseless flow beseeching. 
 
 Duteous zest. 
 
 A pattern is thy generous giving, 
 Freely bestowing, as receiving, 
 And little of thine own retrieving, 
 
 As years do roll : 
 A greater work of love achieving, 
 
 Than many a soul. 
 
 57 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 Summer in the Country. 
 
 I HEAR the rippling of the rill ; 
 The gentle breeze is sighing still ; 
 The birds are singing in the grove ; 
 The bees are humming as they rove ; 
 The chatter of the squirrel I hear ; 
 The cock's shrill clarion strikes the ear : 
 
 The voice of Nature is not stilled, 
 But giveth forth a pleasing sound, 
 No din of labour from the ground. 
 
 With restful calm the air is filled. 
 
 I hear the sound of Sabbath bell, 
 Lifting her voice the time to tell. 
 The solemn sound wakes solemn thought, 
 With holy adorations fraught ; 
 Thousands throughout the land repair, 
 Unto the house of sacred prayer, 
 8 
 
58 THROUCiH THK TWILIGHT. 
 
 Where they, their Father's name extol ; 
 And Sabbath after Sabbath raise, 
 The voice to Him in sacred praise, — 
 
 A blessing unto every soul. 
 
 Displeased is Freedom's God, to see, 
 
 Man cripple his vitality ; 
 
 He breaks upon our world of care, 
 
 And plants His holy Sabbath there. 
 
 It is His gift to man alone, 
 
 To hold him for His very own. 
 
 Boon which makes nations trulv blest, 
 
 Casting throughout the world their li^lit.— 
 
 Tho' but tJie feiv ere reach the heiglit 
 
 Millions can to its good ^.\X(i'^\.\ 
 
 li'ii 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 THE AWAKING WOODS. 
 
 I WKN T to the wood in the opening spring, — 
 
 Sear and crackling the carpeting, — 
 
 Here and there from its lurking place. 
 
 Shot forth an Adder s-tongue, — 
 
 Where the evergreen fern lay low, 
 
 Press'd by the winters snow, — 
 
 And the Lily with open snow-white face. 
 
 Had burst from the cruel frost's embrace, 
 
 And into the sunlight sprung. 
 
 And thus as I walk'd thro' the waking wood, 
 
 Responsive to all, I pronounced \t good. 
 
 Along the sun-kiss'd side of the wood 
 The May-flowers beamed from each little mound,- 
 The sweetest gems in the whole wood found, — 
 First bloom of the season, — to me they .seem'd 
 Like the dimpled smile of infanthood, , ^ 
 
THROUGH THK TWH.KIHT. 
 
 On fond mother-nature's lap, 
 
 Fearless of all mishap. 
 
 And thus as I vvalk'd thro' the waking wood, 
 
 Responsive to all, I pronounced xtgood. 
 
 The buds were swelling on twig and tree ; 
 
 I could hear the bluebird and robin sing ; 
 
 A ground-squirrel stood and looked up at me, 
 
 And his climbing cousin up on a limb, 
 
 Was giving some noisy challenging 
 
 To me, or else was cautioning him. 
 
 But 1 harm'd them not, for I didn't dare, 
 
 To give them even a gentle scare. 
 
 " Peace ! " spake the spirit of the wood : 
 
 " Sweetly harmless is passive good." 
 
 So I blest them, and v/ont again on my way, 
 
 And instantly noticed that so did they. 
 
 And thus as I walk'd thro' the waking wood, 
 
 Responsive to all, I pronounced it good. 
 
 59 
 
 XXXVII. 
 APOLOGY FOR MFK. 
 
 Why now do I live ? To live, not to die ! 
 ^ The world with its burdens impels me on : 
 Fain would I pause, ere yet I am gone, 
 
 To breathe a full breath ere 's>?iy\x\g,' good- bye. 
 
 My " word" goeth out to the life self-engross'd,— 
 Goes out in slow hope, yet sure, Heaven-sear'd,— 
 
 For wherever I look there is light on " the field'' ' 
 But oh, so much barren, the light seemeth lost. 
 
 Still more burns within, for my heart I can't close— 
 And I pray,-for I must,-to the world's Saviour-Son, 
 
 That the seeming impossible soon may be done, 
 
 From our lives where no barren be rounded the Rose.