LIBRARY 
 Diversity of 
 
 California 
 livine 
 
 //**: 
 
 ^ (/ 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 IRVINE 
 
 GIFT OF 
 John and Mary Prescott
 
 Pipes O t Pat? at Zekesbury
 
 Barnes OB0ifcomB QRifeg 
 
 NEGHBORLY POEMS 
 SKETCHES IN PROSE WITH 
 
 INTERLUD1NG VERSES 
 AFTER WHILES 
 PIPES O PAN AT ZEKES- 
 
 BURY. (Prose and Verse) 
 RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD 
 THE FLYING ISLANDS OF 
 
 THE NIGHT 
 GREEN FIELDS AND RUN 
 
 NING BROOKS 
 ARMAZINDY 
 A CHILD-WORLD 
 HOME-FOLKS 
 HIS PA S ROMANCE (Portrait 
 
 by Clay) _ 
 
 GREENFIELD EDITION 
 
 Sold only in sets. Eleven volumes 
 uniformly bound in sage-green 
 cloth, gilt top .............. {13.50 
 
 The same in half-calf ...... 27.50 
 
 OLD-FASHIONED ROSES 
 
 (English Edition) 
 THE GOLDEN YEAR 
 
 (English Edition) 
 POEMS HERE AT HOME 
 RUBAlYAT OF DOC SIFERS 
 THE BOOK OF JOYOUS 
 
 CHILDREN 
 RILEY CHILD-RHYMES 
 
 (Pictures by Vawter) 
 RILEY LOVE-LYRICS 
 
 (Pictures by Dyer) 
 RILEY FARM-RHYMES 
 
 (Pictures by Vawter) 
 AN OLD SWEETHEART OF 
 
 MINE (Pictures by Christy) 
 OUT TO OLD AUNT MARY S 
 
 (Pictures by Christy) 
 A DEFECTIVE SANTA CLAUS 
 
 (Forty Pictures by Relyea and 
 
 Vawter)
 
 PIPES O PAN 
 
 AT ZEKESBURY 
 
 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 
 it 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS 
 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT 1888 
 
 BT 
 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 BRAONWORTH & CO. 
 
 BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 
 
 BROOKLYN, N. Y.
 
 TO 
 
 MY BROTHER 
 JOHN A. RILEY 
 
 WITH MANY MEMORIES 
 
 OF THE OLD 
 
 HOME
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 AT ZEKESBURY 13 
 
 DOWH j^OUND JPHE FlVEF$ BOEMS 
 
 DOWN AROUND THE RIVER 37 
 
 KNEELING WITH HERRICK 39 
 
 ROMANCIN 40 
 
 HAS SHE FORGOTTEN 43 
 
 A OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG 45 
 
 THE LOST PATH 47 
 
 THE LITTLE TINY KICKSHAW 48 
 
 His MOTHER 49 
 
 KISSING THE ROD 50 
 
 How IT HAPPENED 51 
 
 BABYHOOD 53 
 
 THE DAYS GONE BY 54 
 
 MRS. MILLER 57 
 
 CHYMES OP F^AINY DAYS 
 
 THE TKEE-TOAD 79 
 
 A WORN-OUT PENCIL 80 
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 82 
 
 THE RAIN 83 
 
 THE LEGEND GLORIFIED 84 
 
 WHUR MOTHER Is 85 
 
 OLD MAN S NURSERY RHYME 86 
 
 THREE DEAD FRIENDS 88 
 
 IN BOHEMIA 91 
 
 IN THE DARK 93 
 
 WET-WEATHER TALK 94 
 
 WaERE SHALL WK LAND 9$ 
 
 (vii)
 
 Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 THE CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER OF AMEKIKT 101 
 
 SY/BB1i-I(NO11 AKD CALAMUS 
 
 AN OLD SWEETHEART 117 
 
 MARTHY ELLEN 119 
 
 MOON-DROWNED 121 
 
 LONG AFORE HE KNOWED 122 
 
 DEAR HANDS 124 
 
 THIS MAN JONES 125 
 
 To MY GOOD MASTER 127 
 
 WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK 128 
 
 AT BROAD RIPPLE 120 
 
 WHEN OLD JACK DIED - 130 
 
 Doc SIFERS i:!2 
 
 AT NOON AND MIDNIGHT 135 
 
 A WILD IRISHMAN 139 
 
 I^AGV;HED AND RSHKEIJ 
 
 WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE 163 
 
 A DOS T o BLUES 1G4 
 
 THE BAT 166 
 
 THE WAY IT Wuz 167 
 
 THE DRUM 170 
 
 TOM JOHNSON S QUIT 172 
 
 LULLABY . . 171 
 
 IN THE SOUTH 175 
 
 THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL 177 
 
 A LEAVE-TAKING 179 
 
 WAIT FOR THE MORNING ISO 
 
 WHEN JUNE is HERE 181 
 
 THE GILDED ROLL . . 185
 
 Pa*? at Zekesbury
 
 THE 
 
 HE PIPES OF PAN! Not idler now are they 
 Than when their cunning fashioner first blew 
 The pith of music from them: Yet for you 
 And me their notes are blown in many a way 
 Lost in our murmurings for that old day 
 That fared so well without us. Waken to 
 The pipings here at hand: The clear halloo 
 Of truant-voices, and the roundelay 
 The waters warble in the solitude 
 Of blooming thickets, where the robin s breast 
 Sends up such ecstacy o er dale and dell, 
 Each tree top answers, till in all the wood 
 There lingers not one squirrel in his nest 
 Whetting his hunger on an empty shell.
 
 AT ZEKESBURY. 
 
 THE little town, as I recall it, was of just 
 enough dignity and dearth of the same to 
 be an ordinary county seat in Indiana " The 
 Grand Old Hoosier State," as it was used to 
 being howlingly referred to by the forensic 
 stump orator from the old stand in the court 
 house yard a political campaign being the 
 wildest delight that Zekesbury might ever 
 hope to call its own. 
 
 Through years the fitful happenings of the 
 town and its vicinity went on the same the 
 same ! Annually about one circus ventured 
 in, and vanished, and was gone, even as a 
 passing trumpet-blast ; the usual rainy-season 
 swelled the " Crick, the driftage choking at 
 " the covered bridge," and backing water till 
 the old road looked amphibious ; and crowds 
 of curious townsfolk straggled down to look 
 upon the watery wonder, arid lean awe-struck 
 above it, and spit in it, and turn mutely home 
 again. 
 
 The usual formula of incidents peculiar to an 
 uneventful town and its vicinity : The coun 
 tryman from "Jessup s Crossing," with the 
 (13)
 
 14 AT ZEKESBURV. 
 
 cornstalk coffin-measure, loped into town, his 
 steaming little gray-and-red-flecked "road 
 ster " gurgitating, as it were, with that myste 
 rious utterance that ever has commanded and 
 ever must evoke the wonder and bewilderment 
 of every boy. The small-pox rumor became 
 prevalent betimes, and the subtle aroma of the 
 assafoetida-bag permeated the graded schools 
 * from turret to foundation-stone ;" the still 
 recurring expose of the poor-house manage 
 ment ; the farm-hand, with the scythe across 
 his shoulder, struck dead by lightning ; the 
 long-drawn quarrel between the rival editors 
 culminating in one of them assaulting the other 
 with a " sidestick," and the other kicking the 
 one down stairs and thenceward ad libitum; 
 the tramp, suppositiously stealing a ride, found 
 dead on the railroad ; the grand jury returning 
 a sensational indictment against a bar-tender 
 non est; the Temperance outbreak ; the " Re 
 vival ; " the Church Festival ; and the " Free 
 Lectures on Phrenology, and Marvels of Mes 
 merism," at the town hall. It was during the 
 time of the last-mentioned sensation, and di 
 rectly through this scientific investigation, that 
 I came upon two of the town s most remarka 
 ble characters. And however meager my 
 outline of them may prove, my material for 
 the sketch is most accurate in every detail,
 
 AT ZEKESBURY. 15 
 
 and no deviation from the cold facts of the 
 case shall influence any line of my report. 
 
 For some years prior to this odd experience 
 I had been connected with a daily paper at 
 the state capitol ; and latterly a prolonged 
 session of the legislature, where I specially 
 reported, having told threateningly upon my 
 health, I took both the advantage of a brief 
 vacation, and the invitation of a young bach 
 elor Senator, to get out of the city for awhile, 
 and bask my respiratory organs in the reviv 
 ifying rural air of Zekesbury the home of 
 my new friend. 
 
 "It ll pay you to get out here," he said, 
 cordially, meeting me at the little station, 
 " and I m glad you ve come, for you 11 find 
 no end of odd characters to amuse you." And 
 under the very pleasant sponsorship of my sen 
 atorial friend, I was placed at once on genial 
 terms with half the citizens of the little town 
 from the shirt-sleeved nabob of the county 
 office to the droll wag of the favorite loafing- 
 place the rules and by-laws of which resort, 
 by the way, being rudely charcoaled on the 
 wall above the cutter s bench, and somewhat 
 artistically culminating in an original dialectic 
 legend which ran thus : 
 
 F rinstance, now whar some folks gits 
 To reljin on their wits,
 
 16 At ZEKESBURY. 
 
 Ten to one they git too smart, 
 
 And spile it all right at the start! 
 
 Feller wants to jest go slow 
 
 And do his thinkm" 1 first, you know: 
 
 Ef I can t think up somcpin 1 good, 
 
 I set still and C/HZTV my cood ! 
 
 And it was at this inviting rendezvous, two 
 or three evenings following my arrival, that 
 the general crowd, acting upon the random 
 proposition of one of the boys, rose as a man 
 and wended its hilarious way to the town 
 hall. 
 
 "Phrenology," said the little, old, bald- 
 headed lecturer and mesmerist, thumbing the 
 egg-shaped head of a young man I remem 
 bered to have met that afternoon in some law 
 office ; "Phrenology, "repeated the professor 
 "or rather the term phrenology is derived 
 from two Greek words signifying mind and dis 
 course; hence we find embodied in phrenology- 
 proper, the science of intellectual measure 
 ment, together with the capacity of intelligent 
 communication of the varying mental forces 
 and their flexibilities, etc., &c. The study, 
 then, of phrenology is, to wholly simplify it is, 
 I say, the general contemplation of the work 
 ings of the mind as made manifest through 
 the certain corresponding depressions and 
 protuberances of the human skull, when, of 
 course, in a healthy state of action and devel-
 
 AT ZEKESBURY. 1 7 
 
 opment, as we here find the conditions exem 
 plified in the subject before us." 
 
 Here the " subject " vaguely smiled. 
 
 "You recognize that mug, don t you?" 
 whispered my friend. " It s that coruscating 
 young ass, you know, Hedrick in Cummings 
 office trying to study law and literature at the 
 same time, and tampering with The Monster 
 that Annually, don t you know? where we 
 found the two young students scuffling round 
 the office, and smelling of peppermint? Hed 
 rick, you know, and Sweeney. Sweeney, the 
 slim chap, with the pallid face, and frog-eyes, 
 and clammy hands ! You remember I told you 
 there was a pair of em? Well, they re up 
 to something here to-night. Hedrick, there on 
 the stage in front ; and Sweeney don t you 
 see? with the gang on the rear seats." 
 
 "Phrenology again," continued the lect 
 urer, "is, we may say, a species of mental 
 geography, as it were ; which by a study of 
 the skull leads also to a study of the brain 
 within, even as geology naturally follows the 
 initial contemplation of the earth s surface. 
 The brain, thurfur, or intellectual retort, as we 
 may say, natively exerts a molding influence 
 on the skull contour ; thurfur is the expert in 
 phrenology most readily enabled to accurately 
 locate the multitudinous intellectual forces, and 
 
 2
 
 l8 AT ZEKESBURY. 
 
 most exactingly estimate, as well, the sequent 
 character of each subject submitted to his 
 scrutiny. As, in the example before us a 
 young man, doubtless well known in your 
 midst, though, I may say, an entire stranger 
 to myself I venture to disclose some charac 
 teristic trends and tendencies, as indicated 
 by this phrenological depression and develop 
 ment of the skull-proper, as later we will 
 show, through the mesmeric condition, the 
 accuracy of our mental diagnosis." 
 
 Throughout the latter part of this speech my 
 friend nudged me spasmodically, whispering 
 something which was jostled out of intelligent 
 utterance by some inward spasm of laughter. 
 
 " In this head," said the Professor, strad 
 dling his malleable fingers across the young 
 man s bumpy brow "In this head we find 
 Ideality large abnormally large, in fact; 
 thurby indicating taken in conjunction with 
 a like development of the perceptive quali 
 ties language following, as well, in the prom 
 inent eye thurby indicating, 1 say, our subject 
 as especially endowed with a love for the 
 beautiful the sublime the elevating the re 
 fined and delicate the lofty and superb in 
 nature, and in all the sublimated attributes of 
 the human heart and beatific soul. In fact, 
 we find this young man possessed of such
 
 AT ZEKESBURY. If) 
 
 natural gifts as would befit him for the exalted 
 career of the sculptor, the actor, the artist, or 
 the poet any ideal calling ; in fact, any call 
 ing but a practical, matter-of-fact vocation ; 
 though in poetry he would seem to best suc 
 ceed." 
 
 " Well," said my friend, seriously, "he s 
 feeling for the boy ! " Then laughingly : 
 " Heurick has written some rhymes for the 
 county papers, and Sweeney once introduced 
 him, at an Old Settlers Meeting, as The 
 Best Poet in Center Township, and never 
 cracked a smile ! Always after each other 
 that way, but the best friends in the world. 
 Sweeney s strong suit is elocution. He has a 
 native ability that way by no means ordinary, 
 but even that gift he abuses and distorts 
 simply to produce grotesque, and oftentimes 
 ridiculous effects. For instance, nothing more 
 delights him than to lothfully consent to 
 answer a request, at The Mite Society, some 
 evening, for an appropriate selection, and 
 then, with an elaborate introduction of the 
 same, and an exalted tribute to the refined 
 genius of the author, proceed with a most 
 gruesome rendition of Alonzo The Brave and 
 The Fair Imogene, in a way to coagulate the 
 blood and curl the hair of his fair listeners 
 with abject terror. Pale as a corpse, you
 
 2O AT ZEKESBURY. 
 
 know, and with that cadaverous face, lit with 
 those malignant-looking eyes, his slender fig 
 ure, and his long, thin legs and arms and 
 hands, and his whole diabolical talent and 
 adroitness brought into play why, I want to 
 say to you, it s enough to scare em to death ! 
 Never a smile from him, though, till he and 
 Hedrick are safe out into the night again 
 then, of course, they hug each other and howl 
 over it like Modocs ! But pardon ; I m inter 
 rupting the lecture. Listen." 
 
 "A lack of continuity, however," continued 
 the Professor, " and an undue love of appro 
 bation, would, measurably, at least, tend to 
 retard the young man s progress toward the 
 consummation of any loftier ambition, I fear ; 
 yet as we have intimated, if the subject were 
 appropriately educated to the need s demand, 
 he could doubtless produce a high order of 
 both prose and poetry especially the latter 
 though he could very illy bear being laughed 
 at for his pains." 
 
 " He s dead wrong there," said my friend ; 
 " Hedrick enjoys being laughed at ; he s used 
 to it gets fat on it ! " 
 
 " Is fond of his friends," continued the Pro 
 fessor " and the heartier they are the better; 
 might even be convivially inclined if so 
 tempted but prudent in a degree," loiter-
 
 AT ZEKESBURY. 21 
 
 ingly concluded the speaker, as though un 
 able to find the exact bump with which to 
 bolster up the last named attribute. 
 
 The subject blushed vividly my friend s 
 right eyelid dropped, and there was a notice 
 able, though elusive sensation throughout the 
 audience. 
 
 "But!" said the Professor, explosively, 
 " selecting a directly opposite subject, in con 
 junction with the study of the one before us 
 [turning to the group at the rear of the stage 
 and beckoning], we may find a newer interest 
 in the practical comparison of these subjects 
 side by side." And the Professor pushed a 
 very pale young man into position. 
 
 " Sweeney ! " whispered my friend, delight 
 edly ; " now look out ! " 
 
 " In this subject," said the Professor, " we 
 find the practical business head. Square 
 though small a trifle light at the base, in fact ; 
 but well balanced at the important points at 
 least ; thoughtful eyes wide-awake crafty 
 quick restless a policy eye? though not de 
 noting language unless, perhaps, mere busi 
 ness forms and direct statements." 
 
 "Fooled again!" whispered my friend; 
 " and I m afraid the old man will fail to nest 
 out the fact also that Sweeney is the cold- 
 bloodedest guyer on the face of the earth, and
 
 22 AT ZEKESBURY. 
 
 with more diabolical resources than a prose 
 cuting attorney ; the Professor ought to know 
 this, too, by this time for these same two 
 chaps have been visiting the old man in his 
 room at the hotel ; that s what I was trying 
 to tell you awhile ago. The old sharp thinks 
 he ; s playing the boys, is my idea ; but it s 
 the other way, or I lose my guess." 
 
 "Now, under the mesmeric influence if 
 the two subjects will consent to its administra 
 tion," said the Professor, after some further 
 tedious preamble, " we may at once determine 
 the fact of my assertions, as will be proved by 
 their action while in this peci liar state." Here 
 some apparent remonstrance was met with 
 from both subjects, though amicably overcome 
 by the Professor first manipulating the stolid 
 brow and pallid front of the imperturbable 
 Sweeney after which the same mysterious 
 ordeal was lothfully submitted to by Hedrick 
 though a noticeably longer time was consumed 
 in securing his final loss of self-control. At 
 last, however, this curious phenomenon was 
 presented, and there before us stood the two 
 swaying figures, the heads dropped back, the 
 lifted hands, with thumb and finger-tips pressed 
 lightly together, the eyelids languid and half 
 closed, and the features, in appearance, wan 
 and humid.
 
 AT ZEKESBURY. 23 
 
 "Now, sir!" said the Professor, leading 
 the limp Sweeney forward, and addressing 
 him in a quick, sharp tone of voice. " Now, 
 sir, you are a great contractor own large 
 factories, and with untold business interests. 
 Just look out there ! [pointing out across the 
 expectant audience] look there, and see the 
 countless minions toiling servilely at vour 
 dread mandates. And yet ha ! ha ! See ! 
 see ! They recognize the avaricious greed 
 that would thus grind them in the very dust ; 
 they see, alas ! they see themselves half- 
 clothed half-fed, that you may glut your cof 
 fers. Half-starved, they listen to the wail of 
 wife and babe, and, with eyes upraised in 
 prayer, they see you rolling by in gilded coach, 
 and swathed in silk attire. But ha ! again ! 
 Look look ! they are rising in revolt against 
 you ! Speak to them before too late ! Appeal 
 to them quell them with the promise of the 
 just advance of wages they demand ! " 
 
 The limp figure of Sweeney took on some 
 thing of a stately and majestic air. With a 
 graceful and commanding gesture of the hand, 
 he advanced a step or two ; then, after a pause 
 of some seconds duration, in which the lifted 
 face grew paler, as it seemed, and the eyes a 
 denser black, he said :
 
 24 AT ZEKESBURY. 
 
 "But yesterday 
 I looked away 
 
 O er happy lands, where sunshine lay 
 In golden blots, 
 Inlaid with spots 
 Of shade and wild forget-me-nots." 
 
 The voice was low, but clear, and ever 
 musical. The Professor started at the strange 
 utterance, looked extremely confused, and, as 
 the boisterous crowd cried " Hear, hear ! " he 
 motioned the subject to continue, with some 
 gasping comment interjected, which, if aud 
 ible, would have run thus : " My God I It s 
 an inspirational poem ! " 
 
 " My head was fair 
 With flaxen hair " 
 
 resumed the subject. 
 
 " Yoop-ee ! " yelled an irreverent auditor. 
 
 " Silence! silence!" commanded the ex 
 cited Professor in a hoarse whisper ; then, 
 turning enthusiastically to the subject "Go 
 on, young man! Go on! Thy head ivas 
 fair ivith flaxen hair 
 
 " My head was fair 
 With flaxen hair, 
 
 And fragrant breezes, faint and rare, 
 And warm with drouth 
 From out the south, 
 Blew all my curls across my mouth.**
 
 AT ZEKESBURY. 2$ 
 
 The speaker s voice, exquisitely modulated, 
 yet resonant as the twang of a harp, now 
 seemed of itself to draw and hold each list 
 ener ; while a certain extravagance of gestic 
 ulation a fantastic movement of both form 
 and feature seemed very near akin to fas 
 cination. And so flowed on the curious 
 utterance : 
 
 " And, cool and sweet, 
 My naked feet 
 
 Found dewy pathways through the wheat; 
 And out again 
 Where, down the lane, 
 The dust was dimpled with the rain." 
 
 In the pause following there was a breath- 
 lessness almost painful. The poem went on: 
 
 " But yesterday 
 I heard the lay 
 
 Of summer birds, when I, as they 
 With breast and wing, 
 All quivering 
 With life and love, could only sing. 
 
 " My head was leant, 
 Where, with it, blent 
 A maiden s, o er her instrument; 
 While all the night, 
 From vale to height, 
 Was filled with echoes of delight. 
 
 " And all our dreams 
 Were lit with gleams
 
 26 AT ZEKESBURY. 
 
 Of that lost land of reedy streams, 
 
 Along whose brim 
 
 Forever swim 
 
 Pan s lilies, laughing up at him." 
 
 And still the inspired singer held rapt sway. 
 
 "It is wonderful!" I whispered, under 
 breath. 
 
 "Of course it is!" answered my friend. 
 " But listen ; there is more : " 
 
 "But yesterday! .... 
 O blooms of May, 
 And summer roses Where-away? 
 O stars above; 
 And lips of love, 
 And all the honeyed sweets thereof! 
 
 * O lad and lass, 
 And orchard-pass, 
 And briared lane, and daisied grass! 
 O gleam and gloom, 
 And woodland bloom, 
 And breezy breaths of all perfume! 
 
 " No more for me 
 Or mine shall be 
 
 Thy raptures save in memory, 
 No more no more 
 Till through the Door 
 Of Glory gleam the days of yore." 
 
 This was the evident conclusion of the re 
 markable utterance, and the Professor was 
 impetuously fluttering his hands about th(j
 
 AT ZEKESBURY. 27 
 
 subject s upward-staring eyes, stroking his 
 temples, and snapping his fingers in his face. 
 
 "Well," said Sweeney, as he stood sud 
 denly awakened, and grinning in an idiotic 
 way, " how did the old thing work? " And it 
 was in the consequent hilarity and loud and 
 long applause, perhaps, that the Professor was 
 relieved from the explanation of this rather 
 astounding phenomenon of the idealistic work 
 ings of a purely practical brain or, as my 
 impious friend scoffed the incongruity later, 
 in a particularly withering allusion, as the 
 "blank-blanked fallacy, don t you know, of 
 staying the hunger of a howling mob by feed 
 ing em on Spring poetry ! " 
 
 The tumult of the audience did not cease 
 even with the retirement of Sweeney, and 
 cries of " Hedrick ! Hedrick ! " only subsided 
 with the Professor s high-keyed announce 
 ment that the subject was even then endeav 
 oring to make himself heard, but could not 
 until utter quiet was restored, adding the fur 
 ther appeal that the young man had already 
 been a long time under the mesmeric spell, and 
 ought not be so detained for an unnecessary 
 period. " See," he concluded, with an as 
 suring wave of the hand toward the subject, 
 "see; he is about to address you. Now, 
 quiet ! utter quiet, if you please ! "
 
 28 AT ZEKESBURY. 
 
 " Great heavens ! " exclaimed my friend, 
 stiflingly ; "Just look at the boy! Get onto 
 that position for a poet ! Even Sweeney has 
 fled from the sight of him ! " 
 
 And truly, too, it was a grotesque pose the 
 young man had assumed ; not wholly ridicu 
 lous either, since the dwarfed position he had 
 settled into seemed more a genuine physical 
 condition than an affected one. The head, 
 back-tilted, and sunk between the shoulders, 
 looked abnormally large, while the features 
 of the face appeared peculiarly child-like 
 especially the eyes wakeful and wide apart, 
 and very bright, yet very mild and very art 
 less ; and the drawn and cramped outline of 
 the legs and feet, and of the arms and hands, 
 even to the shrunken, slender-looking fingers, 
 all combined to most strikingly convey to the 
 pained senses the fragile frame and pixey 
 figure of some pitiably afflicted child, uncon 
 scious altogether of the pathos of its own de 
 formity. 
 
 "Now, mark the kuss, Horatio!" gasped 
 my friend. 
 
 At first the speaker s voice came very low, 
 and somewhat piping, too, and broken an 
 eerie sort of voice it was, of brittle and erratic 
 timbre and undulant inflection. Yet it was 
 beautiful. It had the ring of childhood in it,
 
 AT ZEKESBURY. 2p 
 
 though the ring was not pure golden, and at 
 times fell echoless. The spirit of its utter 
 ance was always clear and pure and crisp 
 and cheery as the twitter of a bird, and yet 
 forever ran an undercadence through it like a 
 low-pleading prayer. Half garrulously, and 
 like a shallow brook might brawl across a 
 shelvy bottom, the rhythmic little changeling 
 thus began : 
 
 " I m thist a little crippled boy, an never goin to grow 
 An git a great big man at all! cause Aunty told me so. 
 When I was thist a baby onc t I failed out of the bed 
 An got The Curv turc of the Spine at s what the 
 
 Doctor said. 
 
 I never had no Mother nen fer my Pa runned away 
 An dass n t come back here no more cause he was 
 
 drunk one day 
 An stobbed a man in thish-ere town, an could n t pay 
 
 his fine! 
 An ncn my Ma she died an I got Curv ture of the 
 
 Spine! " 
 
 A few titterings from the younger people 
 in the audience marked the opening stanza, 
 while a certain restlessness, and a changing 
 to more attentive positions seemed the general 
 tendency. The old Professor, in the mean 
 time, had sunk into one of the empty chairs. 
 The speaker went on with more gaiety : 
 
 "I m nine years old! An you can t guess how much I 
 weigh, I betl
 
 3O AT ZEKESBURY. 
 
 Last birthday I weighed thirty-three! An* I weigh 
 
 thirty yet! 
 
 I m awful little fer my size I m purt nigh littler an 
 Some babies is! an neighbors all calls me The Little 
 
 Man! 
 An Doc one time he laughed an said: I spect, first 
 
 thing you know, 
 You 11 have a little spike-tail coat an travel with a 
 
 show! 
 An nen I laughed till I looked round an Aunty was 
 
 a-cryin 
 Sometimes she acts like that, cause I got Curv ture of 
 
 the Spine! " 
 
 Just in front of me a great broad-shouldered 
 countryman, with a rainy smell in his cum 
 brous overcoat, cleared his throat vehemently, 
 looked startled at the sound, and again set 
 tled forward, his weedy chin resting on the 
 knuckles of his hands as they tightly clutched 
 the seat before him. And it was like being 
 taken into a childish confidence as the quaint 
 speech continued : 
 
 "I set while Aunty s washin on my little long-leg 
 
 stool, 
 An watch the little boys an girls a-skippin by to 
 
 school; 
 
 An I peck on the winder, an holler out an say: 
 Who wants to fight The Little Man at dares you all 
 
 to-day/" 
 An nen the boys climbs on the fence, an little girls 
 
 peeks through, 
 An they all says: Cause you re so big, you think 
 
 we re feared o you I 1
 
 AT ZEKESBURY. 3! 
 
 An nen they yell, an shake their fist at me, like I shake 
 
 mine 
 They re thist in fun, you know, cause I got Curv ture 
 
 of the Spine! " 
 
 "Well," whispered my friend, with rather 
 odd irrelevance, I thought, "of course you 
 see through the scheme of the fellows by this 
 time, do n t you?" 
 
 " I see nothing," said I, most earnestly, 
 "but a poor little wisp of a child that makes 
 me love him so I dare not think of his dying 
 soon, as he surely must! There; listen!" 
 And the plaintive gaiety of the homely poem 
 ran on : 
 
 " At evening, when the ironin s done, an Aunty s fixed 
 
 the fire, 
 An filled an lit the lamp, an trimmed the wick an 
 
 turned it higher, 
 An fetched the wood all in fer night, an locked the 
 
 kitchen door, 
 An stuffed the ole crack where the wind blows in up 
 
 through the floor 
 She sets the kittle on the coals, an biles an makes the 
 
 tea, 
 
 An fries the liver an the mush, an cooks a egg fer me; 
 An sometimes when I cough so hard her elderberry 
 
 wine 
 Don t go so bad fer little boys with Curv ture of the 
 
 Spine! " 
 
 "Look!" whispered my friend, touching 
 \ne with his elbow. Look at the Professor J "
 
 32 AT ZEKESBURY. 
 
 "Look at everybody!" said I. And the 
 artless little voice went on again half quaver- 
 ingly : 
 
 " But Aunty s all so childish-like on my account, you see, 
 I m most afeared she 11 be took down an at s what 
 
 bothers me! 
 
 Cause ef my good ole Aunty ever would git sick an die, 
 I don t know what she d do in Heaven till / come, by 
 
 an by: 
 Fer she s so ust to all my ways, an ever thing, you 
 
 know, 
 
 An no one there like me, to nurse, an worry over so! 
 Cause all the little childerns there s so straight an strong 
 
 an fine, 
 They s nary angel bout the place with Curv ture of 
 
 the Spine! " 
 
 The old Professor s face was in his hand 
 kerchief; so was my friend s in his; and so 
 was mine in mine, as even now my pen drops 
 and I reach for it again. 
 
 I half regret joining the mad party that had 
 gathered an hour later in the old law-office 
 where these two graceless characters held 
 almost nightly revel, the instigators and con 
 niving hosts of a reputed banquet whose 
 menu s range confined itself to herrings, or 
 "blind robins," dried beef, and cheese, with 
 crackers, gingerbread, and sometimes pie ; 
 the whole washed down with anything but
 
 AT ZEKESBURY. 33 
 
 "Wines that heaven knows when 
 Had sucked the fire of some forgotten sun, 
 And kept it through a hundred years of gloom 
 Still glowing in a heart of ruby." 
 
 But the affair was memorable. The old 
 Professor was himself lured into it, and loud 
 est in his praise of Hedrick s realistic art ; and 
 I yet recall him at the orgie s height, excit 
 edly repulsing the continued slurs and insinu 
 ations of the clammy-handed Sweeney, who, 
 still contending against the old man s fulsome 
 praise of his more fortunate rival, at last openly 
 declared that Hedrick was not a poet, not a 
 genius, and in no way worthy to be classed 
 in the same breath with himse tf " the gifted 
 but unfortunate Sweeney, sir the unacknowl 
 edged author, sir y gad, sir! of the two 
 poems that held you spell-bound to-night I " 
 3
 
 P 
 
 ver
 
 DOWN AROUND THE RIVER. 
 
 IVjO O N - T I M E and June-time, down around the 
 <^r ^ river! 
 
 Have to furse with Lizey Ann but lawzy! I fergive her! 
 Drives me off the place, and sajs at all at she s a-wishin , 
 Land o gracious! time 11 come I 11 git enough o fishinM 
 Little Dave, a-choppin wood, never pears to notice; 
 Don t know where she s hid his hat, er keerin where his 
 
 coat is, 
 
 Spccalatin , more n like, he haint a-goin to mind me, 
 And guessin where, say twelve o clock, a feller d likely 
 
 find me. 
 
 Noon-time and June-time, down around the river! 
 Clean out o sight o home, and skulkin under kivver 
 Of the sycamores, jack-oaks, and swamp-ash and ellum 
 Idies all so jumbled up, you kin hardly tell em! 
 Tired, you know, but lovin 1 it, and smilin jest to think at 
 Any sweeter tiredness you d fairly want to drink it. 
 Tired o fishin tired o fun line out slack and slacker 
 All you want in all the world s a little more tobacker! 
 
 Hungry, but a-hidiri 1 it, er jes a-not a-keerin : 
 Kingfisher gittin up and skootin out o hearin ; 
 Snipes on the t other side, where the County Ditch is, 
 Wadin up and down the aidge like they d rolled their 
 
 britches! 
 
 Old turkle on the root kindo-sorto drappin 
 Intoo th worter like he do n t know how it happen! 
 Worter, shade and all so mixed, do n t know which you d 
 
 orter 
 
 Say, th worter in the shadder shadder in the vjorterl 
 (37)
 
 38 DOWN AROUND THE RIVER. 
 
 Somebody hollerin way around the bend in 
 Upper Fork where yer eye kin jes ketch the endin 
 Of the shiney wedge o wake some muss-rat s a-makin 
 With that pesky nose o his! Then a sniff o bacon, 
 Corn-bread and dock-greens and little Dave a-shinnin" 
 Crost the rocks and mussel-shells, a-limpin and a-grinnin , 
 With yer dinner fer ye, and a blessin from the giver. 
 Noon-time and June-time down around the riverl
 
 KNEELING WITH HERRICK. 
 
 EAR LORD, to Thee my knee is bent- 
 Give me content 
 Full-pleasured with what comes to me, 
 
 What e er it be: 
 An humble roof - a frugal board, 
 
 And simple hoard; 
 The wintry fagot piled beside 
 
 The chimney wide, 
 While the enwreathing flames up-sprout 
 
 And twine about 
 The brazen dogs that guard my hearth 
 
 And household worth: 
 Tinge with the ember s ruddy glow 
 
 The rafters low; 
 And let the sparks snap with delight, 
 
 As fingers might 
 That mark deft measures of some tune 
 
 The children croon: 
 Then, with good friends, the rarest few 
 
 Thou boldest true, 
 Ranged round about the blaze, to share 
 
 My comfort there, 
 Give me to claim the service meet 
 
 That makes each seat 
 A place of honor, and each guet 
 
 Loved as the rest. 
 (39)
 
 ROMANCIN . 
 
 I B EN a-kindo musin , as the feller says, and I m 
 About o the conclusion that they ain t no better time*. 
 When you come to cipher on it, than the times we used te. 
 
 know 
 
 When we swore our first " dog-gone-it " sorto solem -liK* 
 and low! 
 
 You git my idy, do you? - Little tads, you understand 
 Jes a wishin thue and thue you that you on y was a man. 
 Yit here I am, this minute, even forty, to a day, 
 And fergittin all that s in it, wishin jes the other way! 
 
 I hain t no hand to lectur on the times, er dimonstrate 
 Whur the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate, 
 But when I git so flurried, and so pestered -like and blue, 
 And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do! 
 
 I jes gee-haw the hosses, and unhook the swingle-tree, 
 Whur the hazel-bushes tosses down their shadders ove* 
 
 me, 
 
 And I draw my plug o navy, and I climb the fence, and set 
 Jes a-thinkin here, y gravy! till my eyes is wringin -wet! 
 
 Tho I still kin see the trouble o the present, I kin see 
 Kindo like my sight was double all the things that used 
 
 to be; 
 
 And the flutter o the robin, and the teeter o the wren 
 Sets the wilier branches bobbin "howdy-do" thum Now 
 
 to Then! 
 
 The deadnin and the thicket s jes a bilin full of June, 
 Thum the rattle o the cricket, to the yallar-hammer s tune; 
 
 (40)
 
 ROMANCIN*. 41 
 
 A.nd the catbird in the bottom, and the sap-suck on the 
 
 snag, 
 Seems ef they cain t od-rot em! jes do nothin else but 
 
 brag! 
 
 They s music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay, 
 And that sassy little critter jes a-peckin all the day; 
 They s music in the " flicker," and they s music in the 
 
 thrush, 
 And they s music in the snicker o the chipmunk in the 
 
 brush! 
 
 They s music all around me! And I go back, in a dream 
 Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep and in the 
 
 stream 
 
 That used to split the medder whur the dandylions growed, 
 I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the 
 
 road. 
 
 Then s when I b en a-fishin ! and they s other fellers, 
 
 too, 
 With their hickry poles a-swishin out behind em; and a 
 
 few 
 Little " shiners" on our stringers, with their tails tiptoein 
 
 bloom, 
 As we dance em in our fingers all the happy journey home. 
 
 I kin see us, true to Natur , thum the time we started out 
 With a biscuit and a tater in our little "roundabout!" 
 I kin see our lines a-tanglin , and our elbows in a jam, 
 And our naked legs a-danglin thum the apern of the dam. 
 
 I kin see the honeysuckle climbin up around the mill; 
 And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growlin* 
 
 still; 
 
 And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe, 
 And jes git in and row it like the miller used to do.
 
 42 ROMANCIN . 
 
 Wy, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortal plain 
 I kin even smell the locus -blossoms bloomin in the lane; 
 And I hear the cow-bells clinkin sweeter tunes n "money 
 
 musk " 
 Fer the lightnin -bugs a-blinkin and a-dancin in the dusk. 
 
 And so I keep on musin as the feller says, till I m 
 Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain t no better 
 
 time, 
 When you come to cipher on it, than the old times, and, 
 
 I swear, 
 I kin wake and say " dog -gone-it 1 " jes as soft as any 
 
 prayer!
 
 HAS SHE FORGOTTEN. 
 
 i. 
 
 AS SHE forgotten? On this very May 
 
 We were to meet here, with the birds and bees, 
 As on that Sabbath, underneath the trees 
 We strayed among the tombs, and stripped away 
 The vines from these old granites, cold and gray 
 And yet, indeed, not grim enough were they 
 To stay our kisses, smiles and ecstacies, 
 Or closer voice-lost vows and rhapsodies. 
 Has she forgotten that the May has won 
 Its promise? that the bird-songs from the tree 
 Are sprayed above the grasses as the sun 
 Might jar the dazzling dew down showeringly? 
 Has she forgotten life love everyone 
 Has she forgotten me forgotten me? 
 
 II. 
 
 Low, low down in the violets I press 
 My lips and whisper to her. Does she hear, 
 And yet hold silence, though I call her dear, 
 Just as of old, save for the tearfulness 
 Of the clenched eyes, and the soul s vast distress? 
 Has she forgotten thus the old caress 
 That made our breath a quickened atmosphere 
 That failed nigh unto swooning with the sheer 
 Delight? Mine arms clutch now this earthen heap 
 Sodden with tears that flow on ceaselessly 
 As autumn rains the long, long, long nights weep 
 In memory of days that used to be, 
 Has she forgotten these? And, in her sleep, 
 Has she forgotten me forgotten me? 
 (43)
 
 HAS SHE FORGOTTLtf. 
 
 III. 
 
 To-night, against my pillow, with shut eyes, 
 I mean to weld our faces through the dense 
 Incalculable darkness make pretense 
 That she has risen from her reveries 
 To mate her dreams with mine in marriages 
 Of mellow palms, smooth faces, and tense ease 
 Of every longing nerve of indolence, 
 Lift from the grave her quiet lips, and stun 
 My senses with her kisses drawl the glee 
 Of her glad mouth, full blithe and tenderly, 
 Across mine own, forgetful if is done 
 The old love s awful dawn-time when said we, 
 To-day is ours !" .... Ah, Heaven ! can it be 
 She has forgotten me forgotten me !
 
 A OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG. 
 
 IT S THE curiousest thing in creation, 
 Whenever I hear that old song, 
 "Do They Miss Me at Home?" I m so bothered, 
 
 My life seems as short as it s long! 
 Fer ever thing pears like adzackly 
 
 It peared, in the years past and gone, 
 When I started out sparkin , at twenty, 
 And had my first neckercher on! 
 
 Though I m wrinkelder, older and grayer 
 
 Right now than my parents was then, 
 You strike up that song, "Do They Miss Me?" 
 
 And I m jest a youngster again ! 
 I m a-standin back there in the furries 
 
 A-wishin fer evening to come, 
 And a-whisperin over and over 
 
 Them words, "Do They Miss Me at Home?" 
 
 You see, Marthy Ellen she sung it 
 
 The first time I heerd it; and so, 
 As she was my very first sweetheart, 
 
 It reminds of her, do n t you know, 
 How her face ust to look, in the twilight, 
 
 As I tuck her to spellin ; and she 
 Kep a-hummin that song tel I ast her, 
 
 Pine-blank, ef she ever missed me! 
 
 I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it, 
 And hear her low answerin words, 
 
 And then the glad chirp of the crickets 
 As clear as the twitter of birds; 
 (45)
 
 46 A* OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG. 
 
 And the dust in the road is like velvet, 
 And the ragweed, and fennel, and grass 
 
 Is as sweet as the scent of the lilies 
 Of Eden of old, as we pass. 
 
 "Do They Miss Me at Home?" Sing it lower 
 
 And softer and sweet as the breeze 
 That powdered our path with the snowy 
 
 White bloom of the old locus -trees! 
 Let the whippoorwills he p you to sing it, 
 
 And the echoes way over the hill, 
 Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorus 
 
 Of stars, and our voices is still. 
 
 But, oh! " They s a chord in the music 
 
 That s missed when her voice is away ! " 
 Though I listen from midnight tel morning, 
 
 And dawn, tel the dusk of the day; 
 And I grope through the dark, lookin up ards 
 
 And on through the heavenly dome, 
 With my longin soul singin and sobbin 
 
 The words, " Do They Miss Me at Home? "
 
 THE LOST PATH. 
 
 ^ LONE they walked their fingers knit together, 
 -* V _ And swaying listlessly as might a swing 
 Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather 
 Of some sun-flooded afternoon of Spring. 
 
 Within the clover-fields the tickled cricket 
 
 Laughed lightly as they loitered down the lane, 
 
 And from the covert of the hazel-thicket 
 The squirrel peeped and laughed at them again. 
 
 The bumble-bee that tipped the iiiy-vasefc 
 
 Along the road-side in the shadows dim, 
 Went following the blossoms of their faces 
 
 As though their sweets must needs be shared with him. 
 
 Between the pasture bars the wondering cattle 
 Stared wistfully, and from their mellow bells 
 
 Shook out a welcoming whose dreamy rattle 
 Fell swooningly away in faint farewells. 
 
 And though at last the gloom of night fell o er them, 
 And folded all the landscape from their eyes, 
 
 They only know the dusky path before them 
 Was leading safely on to Paradise.
 
 THE LITTLE TINY KICKSHAW 
 " And any little tiny kickshaws" Shakespeare. 
 
 OTHE LITTLE tiny kickshaw that Mither sent 
 tae me, 
 
 Tis sweeter than the sugar-plum that reepens on the tree, 
 Wi denty flavorin s o spice an musky rosemarie, 
 The little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. 
 
 Tis luscious AVI the stalen tang o fruits frae ower the sea, 
 An e en its fragrance gars we laugh wi langin lip an ee, 
 Till a its frazen sheen o white maun melten hinnie be 
 Sae weel I luve the kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. 
 
 O I luve the tiny kickshaw, an I smack my lips wi glee, 
 Aye mickle do I luve the taste o sic a luxourie, 
 But maist I luve the luvein han s that could the giftie gie 
 O the little tiny kickshaw that Mither sent tae me.
 
 HIS MOTHER. 
 
 LAD! my wayward boy my otvn 
 Not the Law s! but mine the good 
 God s free gift to me alone, 
 Sanctified by motherhood. 
 
 "Bad," you say: Well, who is not? 
 " Brutal " " with a heart of stone " 
 
 And "red-handed." Ah! the hot 
 
 Blood upon your own! 
 
 I come not, with downward eyes, 
 To plead for him shamedly, 
 God did not apologize 
 When He gave the boy to me. 
 
 Simply, I make ready now 
 For // * verdict. Ton prepare 
 You have killed us both and how 
 Will you face us Therel
 
 o 
 
 KISSING THE ROD. 
 
 HEART of mine, we should n t 
 
 Worry so! 
 What we ve missed of calm we could r* 
 
 Have, you know! 
 What we ve met of stormy pain, 
 And of sorrow s driving rain, 
 We can better meet again, 
 
 If it blow! 
 
 We have erred in that dark hour 
 
 We have known, 
 When our tears fell with the shower, 
 
 All alone! 
 
 Were not shine and shadow blent 
 As the gracious Master meant? 
 Let us temper our content 
 
 With His own. 
 
 For, we know, not every morrow 
 
 Can be sad; 
 So, forgetting all the sorrow 
 
 We have had, 
 Let us fold away our fears, 
 And put by our foolish tears, 
 And through all the coming year* 
 
 Just be glad.
 
 HOW IT HAPPENED. 
 
 I GOT to thinkin of her both her parents dead and 
 gone 
 
 And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John 
 A-livin all alone there in that lonesome sort o way, 
 And him a blame old bachelor, confirmder ev ry day! 
 I d knowed em all from childern, and their daddy from 
 
 the time 
 
 He settled in the neighborhood, and had n t ary a dime 
 Er dollar, when he married, fer to start housekeepin on! 
 So I got to thinkin of her both her parents dead and 
 
 gone! 
 
 I got to thinkin of her; and a-wundern what she done 
 That all her sisters kep a gittin married, one by one, 
 And her without no chances and the best girl of the 
 
 pack 
 An old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind 
 
 her back! 
 
 And Mother, too, afore she died, she ust to jes take on, 
 When none of em was left, you know, but Evaline and 
 
 John, 
 And jes declare to goodness at the young men must be 
 
 bline 
 To not see what a wife they d git if they got Evaline! 
 
 I got to thinkin of her; in my great affliction she 
 
 Was sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neighberly, 
 
 She d come, and leave her housework, fer to he p out 
 
 little Jane, 
 
 And talk of her oivn mother at she d never see again 
 Maybe sometimes cry together though, fer the most part 
 
 she
 
 52 HOW IT. HAPPENED. 
 
 Would have the child so riconciled and happy-like at we 
 Felt lonesomer n ever when she d put her bonnet on 
 And say she d railly haf to be a-gittin back to John! 
 
 I got to thinkin of her, as I say, and more and more 
 1 d think of her dependence, and the burdens at she bore, 
 Her parents both a-bein dead, and all her sisters gone 
 And married off, and her a-livin there alone with John 
 You might say jes a-toilin and a-slavin out her life 
 Fer a man at hadn t pride enough to git hisse f a wife 
 Less some one married Evaline, and packed her off some 
 
 day! 
 So I got to thinkin of her and it happened thataway.
 
 BABYHOOD. 
 
 EIGII-HO! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger: 
 Let s toddle home again, for we have gone astray; 
 Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger 
 Back to the Lotus lands of the far-away. 
 
 Turn back the leaves of life; do n t read the story, 
 Let s find the pictures, and fancy all the rest: 
 
 We can fill the written pages with a brighter glory 
 Than Old Time, the story-teller, at his very best! 
 
 Turn to the brook, where the honeysuckle, tipping 
 O er its vase of perfume spills it on the breeze, 
 
 And the bee and humming-bird in ecstacy are sipping 
 From the fairy flagons of the blooming locust trees. 
 
 Turn to the lane, where we used to " teeter-totter," 
 Printing little foot-palms in the mellow mold, 
 
 Laughing at the lazy cattle wading in the water 
 
 Where the ripples dimple round the buttercups of gold: 
 
 Where the dusky turtle lies basking on the gravel 
 
 Of the sunny sandbar in the middle-tide, 
 And the ghostly dragonfly pauses in his travel 
 
 To rest like a blossom where the water-lily died. 
 
 Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger: 
 Let s toddle home again, for we have gone astray; 
 
 Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger 
 Back to the Lotus lands of the far-away.
 
 THE DAYS GONE BY. 
 
 OTHE DAYS gone by! O the days gone by! 
 The apples in the orchard, and the pathway through 
 
 the rye; 
 
 The chirrup of the robin, and the whistle of the quail 
 As he piped across the meadows sweet as any nightingale; 
 When the bloom was on the clover, and the blue was in 
 
 the sky, 
 And my happy heart brimmed over in the days gone by. 
 
 In the days gone by, when my naked feet were tripped 
 By the honey-suckle s tangles where the water-lilie? 
 
 dipped, 
 
 And the ripples of the river lipped the moss along the brink 
 Where the placid-eyed and lazy-footed cattle came to 
 
 drink, 
 
 And the tilting snipe stood fearless of the truant s way 
 ward cry 
 And the splashing of the swimmer, in the days gone by. 
 
 O the days gone by ! O the days gone by ! 
 The music of the laughing lip, the luster of the eye; 
 The childish faith in fairies, and Aladdin s magic ring 
 The simple, soul-reposing, glad belief in everything, 
 When life was like a story, holding neither sob nor sigh, 
 In the golden olden glory of the days gone by. 
 
 (54)
 
 JVtrs. JVIiHer
 
 MRS. MILLER. 
 
 JOHN B. McKINNEY, Attorney and 
 Counselor at Law, as his sign read, was, 
 for many reasons, a fortunate man. For many 
 other reasons he was not. He was chiefly for 
 tunate in being, as certain opponents often 
 strove to witheringly designate him, "the son 
 of his father," since that sound old gentleman 
 was the wealthiest farmer in that section, with 
 but one son and heir to, in tLne, supplant 
 him in the role of " county god," and haply 
 perpetuate the prouder title of "the biggest 
 tax-payer on the assessment list." And this 
 fact, too, fortunate as it would seem, was 
 doubtless the indirect occasion of a liberal 
 percentage of all John s misfortunes. From 
 his earliest school-days in the little town, up 
 to his tardy graduation from a distant college, 
 the influence of his father s wealth invited his 
 procrastination, humored its results, encour 
 aged the laxity of his ambition, " and even 
 now," as John used, in bitter irony, to put it, 
 "it is aiding and abetting me in the ostensible 
 practice of my chosen profession, a listless, 
 aimless undetermined man of forty, and a con- 
 (57)
 
 5 MRS. MILLER. 
 
 firmed bachelor at that ! " At the utterance 
 of this self-depreciating statement, John gen 
 erally jerked his legs down from the top of his 
 desk ; and, rising and kicking his chair back 
 to the wall, he would stump around his littered 
 office till the manilla carpet steamed with dust. 
 Then he would wildly break away, seeking 
 refuge either in the open street, or in his room 
 at the old-time tavern, The Eagle House, 
 "where," he would say, "I have lodged and 
 boarded, I do solemnly asseverate, for a long, 
 unbroken, middle-aged eternity of ten years, 
 and can yet assert, in the \vords of the more 
 fortunately-dying Webster, that I still live ! 
 Extravagantly satirical as he was at times, 
 John had always an indefinable drollery about 
 him that made him agreeable company to his 
 friends, at least ; and such an admiring friend 
 he had constantly at hand in the person of 
 Bert Haines. Both were Bohemians in nat 
 ural tendency, and, though John was far in 
 Bert s advance in point of age, he found the 
 young man "just the kind of a fellow to have 
 around ;" while Bert, in turn, held his senior 
 in profound esteem looked up to him, in fact, 
 and in even his eccentricities strove to pattern 
 after him. And so it was, when summer days 
 were dull and tedious, these tw r o could muse and 
 doze the hours away together ; and when the
 
 MRS. MILLER. 59 
 
 nights were long, and dark, and deep, and 
 beautiful, they could drift out in the noon- 
 light of the stars, and with "the soft com 
 plaining flute" and "warbling lute," "lay 
 the pipes," as John would say, for their en 
 during popularity with the girls ! And it was 
 immediately subsequent to one of these ro 
 mantic excursions, when the belated pair, at 
 two o clock in the morning, had skulked up 
 a side stairway of the old hotel, and gained 
 John s room, with nothing more serious hap 
 pening than Bert falling over a trunk and 
 smashing his guitar, just after such a night 
 of romance and adventure it was that, in the 
 seclusion of John s room, Bert had something 
 of especial import to communicate. 
 
 "Mack," he said, as that worthy anathe 
 matized a spiteful match, and then sucked his 
 finger. 
 
 f Blast the all-fired old torch ! " said John, 
 wrestling with the lamp-flue, and turning on 
 a welcome flame at last. "Well, you said 
 Mack ! Why do n t you go on? And do n t 
 bawl at the top of your lungs, either. You ve 
 already succeeded in waking every boarder 
 in the house with that guitar, and you want 
 to make amends now by letting them go to 
 sleep again ! " 
 
 "But my dear fellow," said Bert, with
 
 60 MRS. MILLER. 
 
 forced calmness, "you re the fellow that s 
 making all the noise and " 
 
 " Why, you howling dervish ! " interrupted 
 John, with a feigned air of pleased surprise 
 and admiration. " But let s drop controversy. 
 Throw the fragments of your guitar in the 
 wood-box there, and proceed with the open 
 ing proposition." 
 
 " What I was going to say was this," said 
 Bert, with a half-desperate enunciation ; "I m 
 getting tired of this way of living clean, dead- 
 tired, and fagged out, and sick of the whole 
 artificial business ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " exclaimed John, with a tower 
 ing disdain, " you need n t go any further ! I 
 know just what malady is throttling you. It s 
 reform reform ! You re going to turn over 
 a new leaf, and all that, and sign the pledge, 
 and quit cigars, and go to work, and pay your 
 debts, and gravitate back into Sunday-School, 
 where you can make love to the preacher s 
 daughter under the guise of religion, and des 
 ecrate the sanctity of the innermost pale of 
 the church by confessions at Class of your 
 4 thorough conversion ! Oh, you re going 
 to " 
 
 "No, but I m going to do nothing of the 
 sort," interrupted Bert, resentfully. "What I
 
 MRS. MILLED. 6i 
 
 mean if you 11 let me finish is, I m getting 
 too old to be eternally undignifying myself with 
 this singing of midnight strains under Bon- 
 nybell s window panes, and too old to be 
 keeping myself in constant humiliation and 
 expense by the borrowing and stringing up 
 of old guitars, together with the breakage of 
 the same, and the general wear-and-tear on a 
 constitution that is slowly being sapped to its 
 foundations by exposure in the night-air and 
 the dew." "And while you receive no further 
 compensation in return," said John, " than, 
 perhaps, the coy turning up of a lamp at 
 an upper casement where the jasmine climbs ; 
 or an exasperating patter of invisible palms ; 
 or a huge dank wedge of fruit-cake shoved at 
 you by the old man, through a crack in the 
 door." 
 
 " Yes, and I m going to have my just re 
 ward, is what I mean," said Bert, " and 
 exchange the lover s life for the benedict s. 
 Going to hunt out a good, sensible girl and 
 marry her." And as the young man con 
 cluded this desperate avowal he jerked the 
 bow of his cravat into a hard knot, kicked his 
 hat under the bed, and threw himself on the 
 sofa like an old suit. 
 
 John stared at him with absolute compas-
 
 62 MRS. MILLER. 
 
 sion. " Poor devil," he said, half musingly, 
 " I know just how he feels 
 
 Ring in the wind his wedding chimes, 
 
 Smile, villagers, at every door; 
 Old church-yards stuffed with buried crimes, 
 Be clad in sunshine o er and o er. " 
 
 " Oh, here ! " exclaimed the wretched Bert, 
 jumping to his feet; " let up on that dismal 
 recitative. It would make a dog howl to hear 
 that!" 
 
 " Then you Met up on that suicidal talk of 
 marrying," replied John, "and all that ha 
 rangue of incoherency about your growing 
 old. Why, my dear fellow, you re at least a 
 dozen years my junior, and look at me ! " 
 and John glanced at himself in the glass with 
 a feeble pride, noting the gray sparseness of 
 his side-hair, and its plaintive dearth on top. 
 " Of course I ve got to admit," he continued, 
 "that my hair is gradually evaporating; but 
 for all that, I m still in the ring, do n t you 
 know ; as young in society, for the matter of 
 that, as yourself! And this is just the reason 
 why I do n t want you to blight every pros 
 pect in your life by marrying at your age 
 especially a woman I mean the kind of 
 woman you d be sure to fancy at your age." 
 
 " Did n t I say a good, sensible girl was 
 the kind I had selected?" Bert remonstrated,
 
 MRS. MILLER. 6$ 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed John, " you ve selected 
 her, then? and without one word to me ! " he 
 ended, rebukingly. 
 
 " Well, hang it all ! " said Bert, impatiently ; 
 " I knew how you were, and just how you d 
 talk me out of it ; and I made up my mind 
 that for once, at least, I d follow the dicta 
 tions of a heart that however capricious in 
 youthful frivolties should beat, in manhood, 
 loyal to itself and loyal to its own affinity." 
 
 " Go it ! Fire away ! Farewell, vain world !" 
 exclaimed the excited John. "Trade your 
 soul off for a pair of ear-bobs and a button 
 hook a hank of jute hair and a box of lily- 
 white ! I ve buried not less than ten old 
 chums this way, and here s another nomi 
 nated for the tomb." 
 
 "But you ve got no reason about you," 
 began Bert, " I want to" 
 
 " And so do / want to, " broke in John, 
 finally, "I w r ant to get some sleep. So 
 register and come to bed. And lie up on 
 edge, too, when you do come cause this old 
 catafalque-of-a-bed is just about as narrow 
 as your views of single blessedness ! Peace ! 
 Not another word ! Pile in ! Pile in ! I m 
 three-parts sick, anyhow, and I want rest!" 
 And very truly he spoke.
 
 64 MRS. MILLER. 
 
 It was a bright morning when the slothful 
 John was aroused by a long, vociferous pound 
 ing on the door. He started up in bed to find 
 himself alone the victim of his wrathful irony 
 having evidently risen and fled away while 
 his pitiless tormentor slept " Doubtless to at 
 once accomplish that nefarious intent as set 
 forth by his unblushing confession of last 
 night," mused the miserable John. And he 
 ground his fingers in the corners of his swollen 
 eyes, and leered grimly in the glass at the 
 feverish orbs, blood-shotten, blurred and 
 aching. 
 
 The pounding on the door continued. John 
 looked at his watch ; it was only 8 o clock. 
 
 " Hi, there ! " he called viciously. "What 
 do you mean, anyhow? " he went on, elevating 
 his voice again ; " shaking a man out of bed 
 when he s just dropping into his first sleep?" 
 
 "I mean that you re going to get up ; that s 
 what ! " replied a firm female voice. " It s 8 
 o clock, and I want to put your room in order ; 
 and I m not going to wait all day about it, 
 either ! Get up and go down to your breakfast, 
 and let me have the room ! " And the clamor 
 at the door was industriously renewed. 
 
 " Say ! " called John, querulously, hurrying 
 on his clothes, " Say ! you ! " 
 
 "There s no say about it I" responded
 
 MRS. MILLER. 65 
 
 the determined voice : " I ve heard about you 
 and your ways around this house, and I m 
 not going to put up with it ! You 11 not lie in 
 bed till high noon when I ve got to keep your 
 room in proper order ! " 
 
 "Oh ho!" bawled John, intelligently: 
 "reckon you re the new invasion here ? Doubt 
 less you re the girl that s been hanging up 
 the new window-blinds that won t roll, and 
 disguising the pillows with clean slips, and 
 hennin round among my books and papers on 
 the table here, and ageing me generally till I 
 do n t know my own handwriting by the time I 
 find it ! Oh, yes ! you re going to revolutionize 
 things here ; you re going to introduce prompt 
 ness, and system, and order. See you ve 
 even filled the wash-pitcher and tucked two 
 starched towels through the handle. Have n t 
 got any tin towels, have you? I rather like this 
 new soap, too ! So solid and durable, you 
 know ; warranted not to raise a lather. Might 
 as well wash one s hands with a door-knob ! " 
 And as John s voice grumbled away into the 
 sullen silence again, the determined voice 
 without responded : "Oh, you can growl away 
 to your heart s content, Mr. McKinney, but I 
 want you to distinctly understand that I m not 
 going to humor you in any of your old bach 
 elor, sluggardly, slovenly ways, and whims 
 5
 
 66 MRS. MILLER. 
 
 and notions. And I want you to understand, 
 too, that I m not hired help in this house, nor 
 a chambermaid, nor anything of the kind. 
 I m the landlady here ; and I 11 give you just 
 ten minutes more to get down to your break 
 fast, or you 11 not get any that s all ! " And 
 as the reversed cuff John was in the act of 
 buttoning slid from his wrist and rolled under 
 the dresser, he heard a stiff rustling of starched 
 muslin flouncing past the door, and the quick 
 italicized patter of determined gaiters down 
 the hall. 
 
 " Look here," said John to the bright-faced 
 boy in the hotel office, a half hour later. " It 
 seems the house here s been changing hands 
 again." 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the boy, closing the cigar 
 case, and handing him a lighted match. 
 " Well, the new landlord, whoever he is," 
 continued John, patronizingly, " is a good 
 one. Leastwise, he knows what s good to 
 eat, and how to serve it." 
 
 The boy laughed timidly, "It aint a land 
 lord, though it s a landlady; it s my 
 mother." 
 
 " Ah," said John, dallying with the change 
 the boy had pushed toward him. "Your 
 mother, eh? " And where s your father? " 
 
 " He s dead," said the boy.
 
 MRS. MILLER. 67 
 
 "And what s this for?" abruptly asked 
 John, examining his change. 
 
 "That syour change," said the boy : "You 
 got three for a quarter, and gave me a half." 
 
 "Well, you just keep it, " said John, sliding 
 back the change. " It s for good luck, you 
 know, my boy. Same as drinking your long 
 life and prosperity. And, Oh yes, by the way, 
 you may tell your mother I 11 have a friend to 
 dinner with me to-day." 
 
 "Yes, sir, and thank you, sir," said the 
 beaming boy. 
 
 "Handsome boy !" mused John, as he walked 
 down street. "Takes that from his father, 
 though, I 11 wager my existence ! " 
 
 Upon his office desk John found a hastily 
 written note. It was addressed in the well- 
 known hand of his old chum. He eyed the 
 missive apprehensively, and there was a pos 
 itive pathos in his voice as he said aloud, 
 "It s our divorce. I feel it!" The note, 
 headed, "At the Office, 4 in Morning," ran 
 like this : 
 
 "Dear Mack I left you slumbering so 
 soundly that, by noon, when you waken, I 
 hope, in your refreshed state, you will look 
 more tolerantly on my intentions as partially 
 confided to you this night. I will not see you 
 here again to say good-bye. I wanted to, but
 
 68 MRS. MILLER. 
 
 was afraid to rouse the sleeping lion. I will 
 not close my eyes to-night fact is, I have n t 
 time. Our serenade at Josie s was a pre-ar 
 ranged signal by which she is to be ready and 
 at the station for the 5 morning train. You 
 may remember the lighting of three consecu 
 tive matches at her window before the igniting 
 of her lamp. That meant, Thrice dearest one, 
 I 11 meet thee at the depot at 4 : 30 sharp. 
 So, my dear Mack, this is to inform you that, 
 even as you read, Josie and I have eloped. It 
 is all the old man s fault, yet I forgive him. 
 Hope he 11 return the favor. Josie predicts he 
 will, inside of a week or two weeks, anyhow. 
 Good-bye, Mack, old boy ; and let a fellow 
 down as easy as you can. Affectionately, 
 
 "BERT." 
 
 " Heavens ! " exclaimed John, stifling the 
 note in his hand and stalking tragically around 
 the room. "Can it be possible that I have 
 nursed a frozen viper? An ingrate? A wolf in 
 sheep s clothing? An orang-outang in gent s 
 furnishings?" 
 
 " Was you callin me, sir?" asked a voice 
 at the door. It was the janitor. 
 
 " No ! " thundered John ; " Quit my sight ! 
 get out of my way ! No, no, Thompson, I don t 
 mean that," he called after him. "Here s a 
 half dollar for you, and I want you to lock up
 
 MRS. MILLER. 69 
 
 the office, and tell anybody that wants to see 
 me that I ve been set upon, and sacked and 
 assassinated in cold blood ; and I ve fled to 
 my father s in the country, and am lying there 
 in the convulsions of dissolution, babbling of 
 green fields and running brooks, and thirsting 
 for the life of every woman that comes in gun 
 shot ! " And then, more like a confirmed in 
 valid than a man in the strength and pride of 
 his prime, he crept down into the street again, 
 and thence back to his hotel. 
 
 Dejectedly and painfully climbing to his 
 room, he encountered, on the landing above, 
 a little woman in a jaunty dusting-cap and a 
 trim habit of crisp muslin. He tried to evade 
 her, but in vain. She looked him squarely in 
 the face occasioning him the dubious impres 
 sion of either needing shaving very badly, or 
 having egg-stains on his chin. 
 
 "You re the gentleman in No. n, I be 
 lieve?" she said. 
 
 He nodded confusedly. 
 
 "Mr. McKinney is your name, I think?" 
 she queried, with a pretty elevation of the eye 
 brows. 
 
 "Yes, ma am," said John, rather abjectly- 
 "You see, ma am But I beg pardon," he 
 went on stammeringly, and with a very awk-
 
 7O MRS. MILLER. 
 
 ward bow " I beg pardon, but I am address 
 ing ah the ah the 
 
 "You are addressing the new landlady," 
 she interpolated, pleasantly. " Mrs. Miller 
 is my name. I think we should be friends, 
 Mr. McKinney, since I hear that you are one 
 of the oldest patrons of the house." 
 
 "Thank you thank you ! " said John, com 
 pletely embarrassed. "Yes, indeed ! ha, ha. 
 Oh, yes yes really, we must be quite old 
 friends, I assure you, Mrs. Mrs. " 
 
 " Mrs. Miller," smilingly prompted the little 
 woman. 
 
 " Yes, ah, yes, Mrs. Miller. Lovely morn 
 ing, Mrs. Miller," said John, edging past her 
 and backing toward his room. 
 
 But as Mrs. Miller was laughing outright, for 
 some mysterious reason, and gave no affirma 
 tion in response to his proposition as to the 
 quality of the weather, John, utterly abashed 
 and nonplussed, darted into his room and 
 closed the door. " Deucedly extraordinary 
 woman !" he thought; "wonder what s her 
 idea!" 
 
 He remained locked in his room till the 
 dinner-hour ; and, when he promptly emerged 
 for that occasion, there was a very noticeable 
 improvement in his personal appearance, in 
 point of dress, at least, though there still
 
 MRS. MILLER. ^1 
 
 lingered about his smoothly-shaven features 
 a certain haggard, care-worn, anxious look 
 that would not out. 
 
 Next his own place at the table he found a 
 chair tilted forward, as though in reservation 
 for some honored guest. What did it mean? 
 Oh, he remembered now. Told the boy to 
 tell his mother he would have a friend to dine 
 with him. Bert and, blast the fellow! he 
 was, doubtless, dining then with a far prefer 
 able companion his wife in a palace-car on 
 the P., C. & St. L., a hundred miles away. 
 The thought was maddening. Of course, 
 now, the landlady would have material for a 
 new assault. And how could he avert it? A 
 despairing film blurred his sight for the mo 
 ment then the eyes flashed daringly. " I 
 will meet it like a man ! " he said, mentally 
 "yea, like a State s Attorney, I will invite 
 it ! Let her do her worst ! " 
 
 He called a servant, directing some mes 
 sage in an undertone. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the agreeable servant, "I 11 
 go right away, sir," and left the room. 
 
 Five minutes elapsed, and then a voice at 
 his shoulder startled him : 
 
 " Did you send for me, Mr. McKinney? 
 What is it I can do?" 
 
 " You are very kind, Mrs. Mrs. -"
 
 72 MRS. MILLER. 
 
 " Mrs. Miller," said the lady, with a smile 
 that he remembered. 
 
 "Now, please spare me even the mildest 
 of rebukes. I deserve your censure, but I 
 can t stand it I can t positively ! " and there 
 was a pleading look in John s lifted eyes that 
 changed the little woman s smile to an expres 
 sion of real solicitude. "I have sent for you," 
 continued John, "to ask of you three great 
 favors. Please be seated while I enumerate 
 them. First I want you to forgive and for 
 get that ill-natured, uncalled-for grumbling 
 of mine this morning when you wakened me." 
 
 "Why, certainly," said the landlady, again 
 smiling, though quite seriously. 
 
 "I thank you," said John, with dignity. 
 "And, second," he continued " I want your 
 assurance that my extreme confusion and 
 awkwardness on the occasion of our meeting 
 later were rightly interpreted." 
 
 "Certainly certainly," said the landlady, 
 with the kindliest sympathy. 
 
 "I am grateful utterly," said John, with 
 newer dignity. " And then," he went on, 
 " after informing you that it is impossible for 
 the best friend I have in the world to be with 
 me at this hour, as intended, I want you to do 
 me the very great honor of dining with me. 
 Will you?"
 
 MRS. MILLER. 73 
 
 "Why, certainly," said the charming little 
 landlady "and a thousand thanks beside! 
 But tell me something of your friend," she con 
 tinued, as they were being served. "What 
 is he like and what is his name and where 
 is he?" 
 
 " Well," said John, warily, " he s like all 
 young fellows of his age. He s quite young, 
 you know not over thirty, I should say a 
 mere boy, in fact, but clever talented ver 
 satile." 
 
 " Unmarried, of course," said the chatty 
 little woman. 
 
 "Oh, yes!" said John, in a matter-of- 
 course tone but he caught himself abruptly 
 then stared intently at his napkin glanced 
 evasively at the side-face of his questioner, 
 and said, "Oh yes! Yes, indeed! He s 
 unmarried. Old bachelor like myself, you 
 know. Ha! Ha!" 
 
 " So he s not like the young man here that 
 distinguished himself last night?" said the 
 little woman, archly. 
 
 The fork in John s hand, half-lifted to his 
 lips, faltered and fell back toward his plate. 
 
 "Why, what s that?" said John, in a 
 strange voice; "I hadn t heard anything 
 about it I mean I have n t heard anything 
 about any young man. What was it? "
 
 74 MRS. MILLER. 
 
 " Have n t heard anything about the elope 
 ment?" exclaimed the little woman, in as 
 tonishment. "Why, it s been the talk of 
 the town all morning. Elopement in high 
 life son of a grain-dealer, name of Hines, 
 or Himes, or something, and a preacher s 
 daughter Josie somebody did n t catch her 
 last name. Wonder if you do n t know the 
 parties Why, Mr. McKinney, are you ill?" 
 
 " Oh, no not at all ! " said John : " Do n t 
 mention it. Ha ha ! Just eating too rapidly, 
 that s all. Go on with you were saying that 
 Bert and Josie had really eloped." 
 
 "What Bert ?" asked the little woman 
 quickly. 
 
 "Why, did I say Bert?" said John, with a 
 guilty look. " I meant Haines, of course, you 
 know Haines and Josie. And did they really 
 elope?" 
 
 "That s the report," answered the little 
 woman, as though deliberating some impor 
 tant evidence; "and they say, too, that the 
 plot of the runaway was quite ingenious. It 
 seems the young lovers were assisted in their 
 flight by some old fellow friend of the young 
 
 man s Why, Mr. McKinney, you are ill, 
 
 surely?" 
 
 John s face was ashen. 
 
 * No no!" he gasped, painfully: "Go
 
 MRS. MILLER. 75 
 
 on go on ! Tell me more about the the 
 the old fellow the old reprobate ! And is he 
 still at large?" 
 
 "Yes," said the little womon, anxiously 
 regarding the strange demeanor of her com 
 panion. "They say, though, that the law can 
 do nothing with him, and that this fact only 
 intensifies the agony of the broken-hearted 
 parents for it seems they have, till now, re 
 garded him both as a gentleman and family 
 friend in whom " 
 
 " I really am ill," moaned John, waveringly 
 rising to his feet; "but I beg you not to be 
 alarmed. Tell your little boy to come to my 
 room, where I will retire at once, if you ll 
 excuse me, and send for my physician. It is 
 simply a nervous attack. I am often troubled 
 so ; and only perfect quiet and seclusion re 
 stores me. You have done me a great honor, 
 Mrs." ("Mrs. Miller," sighed the sympa 
 thetic little woman) " Mrs. Miller, and 1 
 thank you more than I have words to express." 
 He bowed limply, turned through a side door 
 opening on a stair, and tottered to his room. 
 
 During the three weeks illness through 
 which he passed, John had every attention 
 much more, indeed, than he had conscious 
 ness to appreciate. For the most part his
 
 ^6 MRS. MILLER. 
 
 mind wandered, and he talked of curious 
 things, and laughed hysterically, and sere 
 naded mermaids that dwelt in grassy seas of 
 dew, and were bald-headed like himself. He 
 played upon a fourteen-jointed flute of solid 
 gold, with diamond holes, and keys carved 
 out of thawless ice. His old father came at 
 first to take him home ; but he could not be 
 moved, the doctor said. 
 
 Two weeks of John s illness had worn away, 
 when a very serio is looking young man, in a 
 traveling duster, and a high hat, came up the 
 stairs to see him. A handsome young lady 
 was clinging to his arm. It was Bert and 
 Josie. She had guessed the very date of their 
 forgiveness. John wakened even clearer in 
 mind than usual that afternoon. He recog 
 nized his old chum at a glance, and Josie 
 now Bert s wife. Yes, he comprehended that. 
 He was holding a hand of each when another 
 figure entered. His thin, white fingers loos 
 ened their clasp, and he held a hand toward 
 the newcomer. "Here," he said, " is my best 
 friend in the world Bert, you and Josie will 
 love her, I know ; for this is Mrs. Mrs." 
 "Mrs. Miller," said the radiant little woman. 
 "Yes. Mrs. Miller," said John, very proudly.
 
 of ^ai*?y Days
 
 THE TREE-TOAD. 
 
 " ^CURIOUS-LIKE," said the tree-toad, 
 <^>^**^ " I Ve twittered fer rain all day; 
 
 And I got up soon, 
 
 And I hollered till noon 
 But the sun, hit blazed away, 
 
 Till I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole, 
 
 Weary at heart, and sick at soul! 
 
 " Dozed away fer an hour, 
 
 And I tackled the thing agin; 
 
 And I sung, and sung, 
 
 Till I knowed my lung 
 Was jest about give in; 
 
 And then, thinks I, ef hit do n t rain now, 
 
 There re nothin in singin , anyhow! 
 
 "Once in awhile some 
 
 Would come a drivin past; 
 And he d hear my cry, 
 And stop and sigh 
 Till I jest laid back, at last, 
 
 And I hollered rain till I thought my th oat 
 Would bust right open at ever note! 
 
 "But If etched her\ O I fetched her! 
 Cause a little while ago, 
 
 As I kindo set, 
 
 With one eye shet, 
 And a-singin soft and low, 
 
 A voice drapped down on my fevered brain, 
 
 Sayin , Ef you ll jest hush I 11 rain! "
 
 A WORN-OUT PENCIL. 
 
 V\/ELLADAY! 
 
 ^ Here I lay 
 
 You at rest all worn away, 
 O my pencil, to the tip 
 Of our old companionship! 
 
 Memory 
 
 Sighs to see 
 
 What you are, and used to be, 
 
 Looking backward to the time 
 
 When you wrote your earliest rhyme !- 
 
 When I sat 
 
 Filing at 
 
 Your first point, and dreaming that 
 
 Your initial song should be 
 
 Worthy of posterity. 
 
 With regret 
 
 I forget 
 
 If the song be living yet, 
 
 Yet remember, vaguely now, 
 
 It was honest, anyhow. 
 
 You have brought 
 
 Me a thought 
 
 Truer yet was never taught, 
 That the silent song is best, 
 And <^e unsung worthiest.
 
 A WORN-OUT PENCIL. 8l 
 
 So if I, 
 
 When I die, 
 
 May as uncomplainingly 
 
 Drop aside as now you do, 
 
 Write of me, as I of you: 
 
 Here lies one 
 
 Who begun 
 
 Life a-singing, heard of none; 
 And he died, satisfied, 
 With his dead songs by his side. 
 
 6
 
 THE STEPMOTHER. 
 
 IRST she come to our house, 
 
 Tommy run and hid; 
 And Emily and Bob and me 
 
 We cried jus like we did 
 When Mother died, and we all said 
 At we all wisht at we was dead! 
 
 And Nurse she could n t stop us, 
 
 And Pa he tried and tried, 
 We sobbed and shook and would n t look, 
 
 But only cried and cried; 
 And nen someone we could n t jus 
 Tell who was cryin same as us! 
 
 Our Stepmother! Yes, it was her, 
 
 Her arms around us all 
 Cause Tom slid down the bannister 
 
 And peeked in from the hall. 
 And we all love her, too, because 
 She s purt nigh good as Mother was!
 
 THE RAIN. 
 
 i. 
 HE RAIN! the rain! the rain! 
 
 It gushed from the skies and streamed 
 Like awful tears; and the sick man thought 
 
 How pitiful it seemed! 
 And he turned his face away, 
 
 And stared at the wall again, 
 His hopes nigh dead and his heart worn out. 
 
 O the rain! the rain! the rain! 
 
 ii. 
 
 The rain! the rain! the rain! 
 
 And the broad stream brimmed the shores; 
 And ever the river crept over the reeds 
 
 And the roots of the sycamores: 
 A corpse swirled by in a drift 
 
 Where the boat had snapt its chain 
 And a hoarse-voiced mother shrieked and raved. 
 
 O the rain! the rain! the rain! 
 
 in. 
 
 The rain! the rain! the rain! 
 Pouring, with never a pause, 
 
 Over the fields and the green byways 
 How beautiful it was! 
 
 And the new-made man and wife 
 Stood at the window-pane 
 
 Like two glad children kept from school* 
 O the rain! the rain! the rain!
 
 THE LEGEND GLORIFIED. 
 
 ( *T DEEM that God is not disquieted" 
 -* This in a mighty poet s rhymes I read; 
 And blazoned so forever doth abide 
 Within my soul the legend glorified. 
 
 Though awful tempests thunder overhead, 
 I deem that God is not disquieted, 
 The faith that trembles somewhat yet is sure 
 Through storm and darkness of a way secure. 
 
 Bleak winters, when the naked spirit hears 
 
 The break of hearts, through stinging sleet of tears, 
 
 I deem that God is not disquieted; 
 
 Against all stresses am I clothed and fed. 
 
 Nay, even with fixed eyes and broken breath, 
 My feet dip down into the tides of death, 
 Nor any friend be left, nor prayer be said, 
 I deem that God is not disquieted. 
 
 (8*)
 
 WANT TO BE WHUR MOTHER IS. 
 
 ANT TO BE whur mother is! Want to be whur 
 
 mother is! " 
 
 Jeemses Rivers! wo n t some one ever shet that howl o his? 
 That-air yellin drives me wild! 
 Cain t none of ye stop the child? 
 Want yer Daddy? "Naw." Gee whizz! 
 " Want to be whur mother is!" 
 
 "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" 
 Coax him, Sairy! Mary, sing somepin fer him! Lift him, 
 
 Liz 
 
 Bang the clock-bell with the key 
 Er the mcat-ax ! Gee-mun-nee! 
 Listen to them lungs o his! 
 " Want to be whur mother is!" 
 
 "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" 
 Preacher guess 11 pound all night on that old pulpit o his; 
 
 Pears to me some wimmin jest 
 
 Shows religious interest 
 
 Mostly fore their fambly s riz! 
 " Want to be whur mother is!" 
 
 #***** 
 "Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" 
 Nights like these and whipperwills allus brings that voice 
 
 of his! 
 
 Sairy, Mary; Lizabeth; 
 Do n t set there and ketch yer death 
 In the dew er rheumatiz 
 Want to be whur mother is? 
 
 (85)
 
 OLD MAN S NURSERY RHYME. 
 
 [N THE jolly winters 
 Of the long-ago, 
 It was not so cold as now 
 
 O! No! No! 
 Then, as I remember, 
 
 Snowballs, to eat, 
 Were as good as apples now, 
 And every bit as sweet! 
 
 ii. 
 In the jolly winters 
 
 Of the dead-and-gone, 
 Bub was warm as summer, 
 
 With his red mitts on, 
 Just in his little waist- 
 
 And-pants all together, 
 Who ever heard him growl 
 
 About cold weather? 
 
 in. 
 
 In the jolly winters of the long-ago 
 Was it half so cold as now? 
 
 O! No! No! 
 Who caught his death o cold, 
 
 Making prints of men 
 Flat-backed in snow that now s 
 
 Twice as cold again? 
 
 (86)
 
 OLD MAN S NURSERY RHYME. 87 
 
 IV. 
 
 In the jolly winters 
 
 Of the dead-and-gone, 
 Startin out rabbit-hunting 
 
 Early as the dawn, 
 Who ever froze his fingers, 
 
 Ears, heels, or toes, 
 Or d a cared if he had? 
 
 Nobody knows! 
 
 v. 
 
 Nights by the kitchen-stove, 
 
 Shelling white and red 
 Corn in the skillet, and 
 
 Sleepin four abed! 
 Ah! the jolly winters 
 
 Of the long-ago! 
 We were not so old as now 
 
 O! No! Not
 
 THREE DEAD FRIENDS. 
 
 "pf LWAYS suddenly they are gone 
 Ji \ The friends we trusted and held secure-* 
 
 Suddenly we are gazing on, 
 Not a smiling face, but the marble-pure 
 Dead mask of a face that nevermore 
 To a smile of ours will make reply 
 
 The lips close-locked as the eyelids are. 
 Gone swift as the flash of the molten ore 
 A meteor pours through a midnight sky, 
 Leaving it blind of a single star. 
 
 Tell us, O Death, Remorseless Might! 
 
 What is this old, unescapable ire 
 You wreak on us? from the birth of light 
 
 Till the world be charred to a core of fire! 
 We do no evil thing to you 
 
 We seek to evade you that is all 
 
 That is your will you will not be known 
 Of men. What, then, would you have us do? 
 
 Cringe, and wait till your vengeance fall, 
 
 And your graves be fed, and the trumpet blown? 
 
 f ou desire no friends; but rue O we 
 
 Need them so, as we falter here, 
 Fumbling through each new vacancy, 
 
 As each is stricken that we hold dear. 
 One you struck but a year ago; 
 
 And one not a month ago; and one 
 
 (God s vast pity!) and one lies now 
 Where the widow wails, in her nameless woe, 
 And the soldiers pace, with the sword and gun, 
 Where the comrade sleeps, with the laureled brow. 
 .(88)
 
 THREE DEAD FRIENDS. 89 
 
 And what did the first? that wayward soul, 
 
 Clothed of sorrow, yet nude of sin, 
 And with all hearts bowed in the strange control 
 
 Of the heavenly voice of his violin. 
 Why, it was music the way he stood, 
 
 So grand was the poise of the head and so 
 
 Full was the figure of majesty! 
 One heard with the eyes, as a deaf man would, 
 
 And with all sense brimmed to the overflow 
 With tears of anguish and ecstasy. 
 
 And what did the girl, with the great warm light 
 Of genius sunning her eyes of blue, 
 
 With her heart so pure, and her soul so white 
 What, O Death, did she do to you? 
 
 Through field and wood as a child she strayed, 
 As Nature, the dear sweet mother led; 
 While from her canvas, mirrored back, 
 
 Glimmered the stream through the everglade 
 
 Where the grapevine trailed from trie trees to wed 
 Its likeness of emerald, blue and black. 
 
 And what did he, who, the last of these, 
 
 Faced you, with never a fear, O Death? 
 Did you hate him that he loved the breeze, 
 
 And the morning dews, and the rose s breath? 
 Did you hate him that he answered not 
 
 Your hate again but turned, instead, 
 
 His only hate on his country s wrongs? 
 Well you possess him, dead! but what 
 
 Of the good he wrought? With laureled head 
 lie bides with us in his deeds and songs. 
 
 Laureled, first, that he bravely fought, 
 
 And forged a way to our flag s release; 
 Laureled, next for the harp he taught 
 
 To wake glad songs in the days of peace- 
 Songs of the woodland haunts he held
 
 9O THREE DEAD FRIENDS. 
 
 As close in his love as they held their bloom 
 In their inmost bosoms of leaf and vine- 
 Songs that echoed, and pulsed and welled 
 Through the town s pent streets, and the sick child s 
 
 room, 
 Pure as a shower in soft sunshine. 
 
 Claim them, Death; jet their fame endures, 
 
 What friend next will you rend from us 
 In that cold, pitiless way of yours, 
 
 And leave us a grief more dolorous? 
 Speak to us! tell us, O Dreadful Power! 
 
 Are we to have not a lone friend left? 
 
 Since, frozen, sodden, or green the sod, 
 In every second of every hour, 
 
 Some one, Death, you have left thus bereft, 
 Half inaudibly shrieks to God,
 
 IN BOHEMIA. 
 
 A! MY DEAR! I m back again 
 
 Vendor of Bohemia s wares! 
 Lordy! How it pants a man 
 Climbing up those awful stairs! 
 
 Well, I ve made the dealer say 
 Your sketch might sell, anyway! 
 And I Ve made a publisher 
 Hear my poem, Kate, my dear. 
 
 In Bohemia, Kate, my dear 
 
 Lodgers in a musty flat 
 On the top floor living here 
 
 Neighborless, and used to that, 
 Like a nest beneath the eaves, 
 So our little home receives 
 Only guests of chirping cheer 
 We 11 be happy, Kate, my dearl 
 
 Under your north-light there, you 
 
 At your easel, with a stain 
 On your nose of Prussian blue, 
 Paint your bits of shine and rain; 
 With my feet thrown up at will 
 O er my littered window-sill, 
 I write rhymes that ring as clear 
 As your laughter, Kate, my dear. 
 
 Puff my pipe, and stroke my hair 
 
 Bite my pencil-tip and gaze 
 At you, mutely mooning there 
 
 O er your " Aprils " and your " Mays! " 
 (90
 
 92 IN BOHEMIA. 
 
 Equal inspiration in 
 
 Dimples of your cheek and chin, 
 
 And the golden atmosphere 
 
 Of jour paintings, Kate, mj dear! 
 
 Trying! Yes, at times it is, 
 
 To clink happy rhymes, and fling 
 On the canvas scenes of bliss, 
 When we are half famishing! 
 
 When your "jersey" rips in spots, 
 And your hat s " forget-me-nots" 
 Have grown tousled, old and sere- 
 It is trying, Kate, my dear! 
 
 But as sure some picture sells, 
 
 And sometimes the poetry 
 Bless us! How the parrot yells 
 His acclaims at you and me! 
 
 How we revel then in scenes 
 Of high banqueting! sardines- 
 Salads olives and a sheer 
 Pint of sherry, Kate, my dear! 
 
 Even now I cross your palm, 
 
 With this great round world of gold! 
 "Talking wild?" Perhaps I am 
 Then, this little five-year-old! 
 Call it anything you will, 
 So it lifts your face until 
 I may kiss away that tear 
 Ere it drowns me, Kate, my dear.
 
 o 
 
 IN THE DARK. 
 
 IN THE depths of midnight 
 
 What fancies haunt the brain! 
 When even the sigh of the sleeper 
 Sounds like a sob of pain. 
 
 A sense of awe and of wonder 
 
 I may never well define, 
 For the thoughts that come in the shadows 
 
 Never come in the shine. 
 
 The old clock down in the parlor 
 Like a sleepless mourner grieves, 
 
 And the seconds drip in the silence 
 As the rain drips from the eaves. 
 
 And I think of the hands that signal 
 
 The hours there in the gloom, 
 And wonder what angel watchers 
 
 Wait in the darkened room. 
 
 And I think of the smiling faces 
 
 That used to watch and wait, 
 Till the click of the clock was answered 
 
 By the click of the opening gate. 
 
 They are not there now in the evening- 
 Morning or noon not there; 
 
 Yet I know that they keep their vigil, 
 And wait for me Somewhere. 
 
 <93>
 
 WET WEATHER TALK. 
 
 "T AIN T no use to grumble and complain; 
 
 It s jest as cheap and easy to rejoice: 
 When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, 
 W y, rain s my choice. 
 
 Men giner ly, to all intents 
 
 Although they re ap to grumble some 
 Puts most their trust in Providence, 
 And takes things as they come; 
 That is, the commonality 
 Of men that s lived as long as me, 
 Has watched the world enough to learn 
 They re not the boss of the concern. 
 
 With some, of course, it s different 
 
 I ve seed young- men that knowed it all, 
 And did n t like the way things went 
 On this terrestial ball! 
 
 But, all the same, the rain some way 
 Rained jest as hard on picnic-day; 
 Er when they railly wanted it, 
 It maybe would n t rain a bit! 
 
 In this existence, dry and wet 
 
 Will overtake the best of men 
 Some little skift o clouds 11 shet 
 The sun off now and then; 
 
 But maybe, while you re wondern who 
 You ve fool-like lent your umbrell to, 
 And -want it out 11 pop the sun, 
 And you 11 be glad you ain t got none! 
 (94)
 
 WET WEATHER TALK. 95 
 
 It aggervates the farmers, too 
 
 They s too much wet, er too much sun, 
 Er work, er waiting round to do 
 Before the plowin"s done; 
 
 And maybe, like as not, the wheat, 
 Jest as it s lookin hard to beat, 
 Will ketch the storm and jest about 
 The time the corn s a-jintin out! 
 
 These here cy-clones a-foolin round 
 
 And back ard crops and wind and rain, 
 And yit the corn that s wallered down 
 May elbow up again ! 
 
 They ain t no sense, as I kin see, 
 In mortals, sich as you and me, 
 A-faultin Nature s wise intents, 
 And lockin horns with Providence! 
 
 It ain t no use to grumble and complain; 
 It s jest as cheap and easy to rejoice: 
 When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, 
 W y, rain s my choice.
 
 WHIRZ SHALL " LAND 
 taH -z;<e Lsmd r&x. i~ztfi? " 
 
 , - ;ea-*-iLrd 1=. j: beat 
 
 That beareth Lore. 
 Our sails of purest i-now 
 Bend to tLe blae below 
 
 A to the bl--e a.boTe. 
 hil! we L 
 
 We drift upon a tf.ie 
 
 Of 
 
 Of i<-*Id .rjd "CTt>h 
 
 Waere ih^Il -art _in 
 
 The fairy isle* we ^ec, 
 
 Loom 23 so rr.istflj 
 
 So Ta.gne!j fair. 
 We da net care to break 
 Fresh, baiolc* in our w.ai^ 
 
 To bend C-^JT c^*-r*e for thera 
 Where *Lal! we lanid? 
 
 Tne warm, winds of the deep 
 Have hiiled our iaHi to sieep, 
 
 *\ nci %o TB ^ s^id*e 
 C : i - : 
 Or _ - - 
 
 O .* - r- -. : 
 
 Where *hali w- L
 
 WHERE SHALL WE LAND. 97 
 
 We droop our dreamy eye* 
 Where our reflection lies 
 
 Steeped in the sea, 
 And. in an endless fit 
 Of languor, smile on it 
 
 And its sweet mimicry. 
 Where shall we land? 
 
 Where shall we land?" God s grace! 
 
 I know not any place 
 
 So fair as this 
 Swuns here between the blue 
 Of s-?a and sky. with you 
 
 To ask me, with a kiss. 
 M Where shall we Uod?" 
 
 7
 
 Cfyecker-PIayer 
 of /\n?eriky
 
 THE CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER OF 
 AMERIKY. 
 
 course as fur as Checker-playin s con- 
 cerned, you can t jest adzackly claim 
 at lots makes fortunes and lots gits bu sted at it 
 but still, it s on y simple jestice to acknowl 
 edge at there re absolute p ints in the game at 
 takes scientific principles to figger out, and a 
 mighty level-headed feller to demonstrate, don t 
 you understand ! 
 
 Checkers is a old enough game, ef age is any 
 rickommendation ; and it s a evident fact, too, 
 at the tooth of time, as the feller says, which 
 fer the last six thousand years has gained some 
 reputation fer a-eatin up things in giner l, don t 
 pear to a gnawed much of a hole in Checkers 
 jedgin from the checker-board of to-day and 
 the ones at they re uccasionally shovellin out 
 at Pomp y-i, er whatever its name is. Turned 
 up a checker-board there not long ago, I wuz 
 readin bout, at still had the spots on as 
 plain and fresh as the modern white-pine board 
 o our n, squared off with pencil-marks and 
 (101)
 
 CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER. 
 
 pokeberry-juice. These is facts at history her 
 self has dug out, and of course it ain t fer me 
 ner you to turn our nose up at Checkers, whuther 
 we ever tamper with the fool-game er cot. Fur s 
 that s concerned, I don t p tend to be no check- 
 
 at could play, and sorto made a business of it ; 
 and that man, in my opinion, was a geenyus ! 
 
 Nirr.i " _: ""- .-.; I -.-.-] . r. .Vc,;-.- . ; :- 
 ::rl ;:-: - V. es. .5 us fellers round the 
 
 Shoe-Shop ust to call him ; ust to allus make 
 the Shoe-Shop his headquarters-like; and, rain 
 er shine, wet er dry, you d allus find Wes on 
 hands, ready to banter some feller fer a game, 
 er jest a-settin humped up there over the check 
 er-board all alone, a-cipher n out some new 
 move er nuther, and whistlin low and solem 
 to hisse f-like and a-payin no attention to no- 
 :v 
 
 And /"//tell you. Wes Cotterl wuz no man s 
 fool, as s3y as you keep it! He wuz a deep 
 thinker, Wes wuz; and ef he d a jest turned 
 :hi:rr.:r.d : :.:- .: -: \r. rr;a:/:in . fer instance, 
 -.r : :r. . :er: ::i-; r. : :r.e ; \\-. i ::. : y _, 
 know, Wes ud a worked p ints out o there 
 *at nolivin* expounderers ever got in gunshot of ! 
 
 But Wes he didn t pear to be cut out fer 
 nothin* much but jest Checker-play in . Oh , of
 
 CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER. 1 03 
 
 course, he could knock round his own woodpile 
 some, and garden a little, more er less; and the 
 neighbers ust to find \Ves purty handy bout 
 trimmin fruit-trees,, you understand, and work- 
 in in among the worms and cattapillers in the 
 vines and shrubbery, and the like. And hand- 
 lin bees! They wuzn t no man under the 
 heavens at knowed more bout handlin bees n 
 \Ves Cotterl ! "Settlin" " the blame* things 
 when they wuz a-swarmin* ; and a-robbin hives, 
 and all sich fool-resks. W y, I ve saw \Ves Cot 
 terl, fore now. when a swarm of bees ud settle 
 in a orchard. like they will sometimes, you 
 know, I ve saw \Ves Cotterl jest roll up his 
 shirt-sleeves and bend down a apple tree limb 
 at wuz jest kivvered with the pesky things, and 
 scrape em back into the hive with his naked 
 hands, by the quart and gallon, and never git a 
 scratch ! You couldn t hire a bee to sting \Ves 
 Cotterl ! But lazy? I think that man had 
 railly ort to a been a Injun ! He wuz the fust 
 and on y man at ever I laid eyes on at wuz too 
 lazy to drap a checker-man to p int out the 
 right road fer a feller at ast him onc t the way 
 to Burke s Mill; and \Ves, ithout ever a-liftin 
 eye er finger, jest sorto crooked out that mouth 
 o his n in the direction the feller wanted, and 
 says: " H-jQiidcr!" and went on with his whist-
 
 CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER. 
 
 lin . But all this hain t Checkers, and that s 
 what I started out to tell ye. 
 
 Wes had a way o jest natchurly a-cleanin* 
 out anybody and ever body at ud he p 
 hold up a checker-board ! Wes wuzn t what 
 you d call a lively player at all, ner a com- 
 petiter at talked much crost the board er made 
 much furse over a game whilse he wnz a-play- 
 in . He had his faults, o course, and would 
 take back moves casion ly, er inch up on you 
 ef you didn t watch him, mebby. But, as a 
 rule, Wes had the insight to grasp the idy of 
 whoever wuz a-playin ag in him, and his style 
 o game, you understand, and wuz on the look 
 out continual ; and under sich circumstances 
 con Id play as honest a game o Checkers as the 
 babe unborn. 
 
 One thing in Wes s favor allus wuz the feller s 
 temper. Nothin peared to aggervate Wes, 
 and nothin on earth could break his slow and 
 lazy way o takin his own time fer ever thing. 
 You jest con Idn t crowd Wes er git him rattled 
 anyway. Jest peared to have one fixed princi 
 ple, and that wuz to take plenty o time, and 
 never make no move ithout a-ciphern n ahead 
 on the prob ble consequences, don t you under 
 stand ! "Be shore you re right," Wes ud say, 
 a-lettin up fer a second on that low and sorry-
 
 CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER. 10^ 
 
 like little wind-through-the-keyhole whistle o 
 his, and a-nosin out a place whur he could swap 
 one man fer two. "Be shore you re right" 
 and somep n afterthis style wuzWes s way : "Be 
 shore you re right" (whistling a long, lone 
 some bar of "Barbara Allen") "and then" 
 (another long, retarded bar) "go ahead!" 
 and by the time the feller ud git through with his 
 whistlin , and a-stoppin and a-startin in ag in, 
 he d be about three men ahead to your one. 
 And then he d jest go on with his whistlin 
 scf nothin had happened, and mebby you 
 a-jest a-rearin and a-callin him all the mean, 
 outlandish, ornry names at you could lay 
 tongue to. 
 
 But VVes s good nature, I reckon, was the 
 thing at he ped him out as much as any other 
 p ints the feller had. And Wcs ud allus win, 
 in the long run! I don t keer who played 
 ag inst him! It was on y a question o time 
 with Wes o waxin it to the best of em. Lots 
 o players has tackled Wes, and right at the 
 start ud mebby give him trouble, but in the 
 long run, now mind ye in the long run, no 
 mortal man, I reckon, had any business o rub- 
 bin knees with Wes Cotterl under no airthly 
 checker-board in all this vale o tears! 
 
 I mind onc t th come along a high-toned
 
 1O6 CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER. 
 
 feller from in around In i nop lus somers. Wuz 
 a lawyer, er some / fessional kind o man. 
 Had a big yaller, luther-kivvered book under 
 his arm, and a bunch o these- ere big enzWop s 
 and a loto suppeenies stickin out o his breast 
 pocket. Mighty slick-lookin feller he vvuz; 
 wore a stove-pipe hat, sorto set way back on 
 his head so s to show off his Giner l Jackson 
 forr ed, don t you know! Well-sir, this feller 
 struck the place, on some business er other, and 
 then missed the hack at ort to a tuk him out 
 o here sooner n it did take him out! And 
 whilse he wuz a-loafin round, sorto lonesome 
 like a feller allus is in a strange place, you know 
 he kindo drapped in on our crowd at the 
 Shoe-Shop, ostenchably to git a boot-strop 
 stitched on, but / knowed, the minute he set 
 foot in the door, at that feller wanted company 
 wuss n cobblin . 
 
 Well, as good luck would have it, there set 
 Wes, as usual, with the checker-board in his 
 lap, a-playin all by hisse f, and a-whistlin so 
 low and solem -like and sad it railly made the 
 crowd seem like a religious getherun o some 
 kind er other, we wuz all so quiet and still-like; 
 as the man come in. 
 
 Well, the stranger stated his business, set 
 down, tuk off his boot, and set there nussin his
 
 CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER. I(>7 
 
 foot and talkin weather fer ten minutes, I 
 reckon, fore he ever peared to notice Wes at 
 all. We wuz all back ard, anyhow, bout 
 talkin much; besides, we knowed, long afore 
 he come in, all about how hot the weather wuz, 
 and the pore chance there wuz o rain, and all 
 that; and so the subject had purty well died out, 
 when jest then the feller s eyes struck We s and 
 the checker-board, and I ll never fergit the 
 warm, salvation smile at flashed over him at 
 the promisin discovery. "What!" says he, 
 a-grinnin like a angel and a-edgin his cheer 
 to rds Wes, "have we a checker-board and 
 checkers here?" 
 
 "We hev," says I, knowin at Wes wouldn t 
 let go o that whistle long enough to answer 
 more n to mebby nod his head. 
 
 "And who is your best player?" says the 
 feller, kindo pitiful-like, with another inquirin 
 look atWes. 
 
 "Him," says I, a-pokin Wes with a peg- 
 float. But Wes on y spit kindo absent-like, 
 and went on with his whistlin . . 
 
 "Much of a player, is he?" says the feller, 
 with a sorto doubtful smile at Wes ag in. 
 
 "Plays a purty good hick ry," says I, 
 a-pokin Wes ag in. "Wes," says I, "here s 
 a gentleman at ud mebby like to take a hand
 
 1O8 CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER. 
 
 with you there, and give you a few idys," 
 says I. 
 
 "Yes," says the stranger, eager-like, a-settin 
 his plug-hat keerful up in the empty shelvin , 
 and a-rubbin his hands and smilin as confident- 
 like as old Hoyle hisse f, "Yes, indeed, I d 
 be glad to give the gentleman" (meanin Wes) 
 "a idy er two about Checkers ef he d jest as 
 lief, cause I reckon ef there re any one thing 
 at I do know more about an another, it s 
 Checkers," says he; "and there re no game at 
 delights me more pervidin , o course, I find 
 a competiter at kin make it anyways in- 
 teresfin ." 
 
 "Got much of a rickord on Checkers?" 
 says I. 
 
 "Well," says the feller, "I don t like to brag, 
 but I ve never ben beat in any Icgitimut con 
 test," says he, "and I ve played more n one o 
 them," he says, "here and there round the 
 country. Of course, your friend here," he 
 went on, smilin sociable at Wes, "he II take it 
 all in good part ef I should happen to lead him 
 a little jest as Fd do," he says, "ef it wuz 
 possible fer him to lead me." 
 
 " Wes," says I, "has warmed the wax in the 
 yeers of some mighty good checker-players," 
 says I, as he squared the board around, still a-
 
 CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER. 109 
 
 xvhistlin to hisse f-like, as the stranger tuk his 
 place, a-smilin -like and roachin back his hair. 
 
 "Move," says Wes. 
 
 "No," says the feller, with a polite flourish 
 of his hand; "the first move shall be your n." 
 And, by jucks ! fer all he wouldn t take even 
 the advantage of a starter, he flaxed it to Wes 
 the fust game in less n fifteen minutes. 
 
 "Right shore you ve give me your best 
 player?" he says, smilin round at the crowd, 
 as Wes set squarin the board fer another game 
 and whistlin as onconcerned-like as ef nothin 
 had happened more n ordinary. 
 
 " S your move," says Wes, a-squintin out 
 into the game bout forty foot from shore, and 
 a-whistlin purt nigh in a whisper. 
 
 Well-sir, it peared-like the feller railly didn t 
 try to play; and you could see, too, at Wes 
 knowed he d about met his match, and p layed 
 accordin . He didn t make no move at all at 
 he didn t give keerful thought to; whilse the 
 feller ! well, as I wuz sayin , it jest peared- 
 like Checkers wuz child s-play fer him! Putt 
 in most o the time long through the game 
 a-sayin things calkilated to kindo bore a ordi 
 nary man. But Wes helt hisse f purty level, 
 and didn t show no signs, and kep up his 
 whistlin , mighty well consiclerin .
 
 IIO CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER. 
 
 "Reckon you play the fiddle, too, as well as 
 Checkers?" says the feller, laughin , as Wes 
 come a-whistlin out of the little end of the sec 
 ond game and went on a-fixin fer the next 
 round. 
 
 " S my move!" says Wes, thout seemin to 
 notice the feller s tantalizin words whatsomever. 
 
 " L! this time," thinks I, "Mr. Smarty 
 from the w^trolopin deestricts, you re liable 
 to git waxed shore!" But the feller didn t 
 pear to think so at all, and played right ahead 
 as glib-like and keerless as ever casion ly 
 a-throwin in them sircastic remarks o his n, 
 bout bein "slow and shore" bout things in 
 gineral "Liked to see that," he|said: "Liked 
 to see fellers do things with plenty o delibera 
 tion, and even ef a feller zvuzn f much of a 
 checker-player, liked to see him die slow any 
 how! and then tend his own funeral," he 
 says, "and march in the p session to his own 
 music " says he. And jest then his remarks 
 wuz brung to a close by Wes a-jumpin two men, 
 and a-lightin square in the king-row. 
 "Crown that," says Wes, a-droppin back into 
 his old tune. And fer the rest o that game 
 Wes helt the feller purty level, but had to finally 
 knock under but by jest the clos test kind o 
 shave o winnin .
 
 CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER. Ill 
 
 "They ain t much use," says the feller, 
 "o keepin this thing up less I could manage, 
 some way er other, to git beat onc t u a while! 1 
 
 "Move," says Wes, a-drappin back into the 
 same old whistle and a.-scttlin there. 
 
 " Music has charms, as the Good Book tells 
 us," says the feller, kindo nervous-like, and 
 a-roachin his hair back as ef some sort o 
 p tracted headache wuz a-settin in. 
 
 "Never wuz skunked, wuz ye?" says Wes, 
 kindo suddent-like, with a fur-off look in them 
 big white eyes o his and then a-whistlin right 
 on, sef he hadn t said nothin . 
 
 "Not much!" says the feller, sorto s prised- 
 like, as ef such a idy as that had never struck 
 him afore. "Never was skunked myse f: but 
 I ve saw fellers in my time at wits!" says he. 
 
 But from that time on I noticed the feller 
 peared to play more keerful, and railly la nched 
 into the game with somepin like inter st. Wes 
 he seemed to be jest a-limberin -up-like; and- 
 sir, blame me! ef he didn t walk the feller s log 
 fer him that time, thout no pearent trouble at 
 all! 
 
 And, now, says Wes, all quiet-like, a-squar- 
 in the board fer another n, "we re kindo git- 
 tin at things right. Move." And away went 
 that little unconcerned whistle o his ag in, and
 
 112 CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER. 
 
 Mr. City man jest gittin white and sweaty too 
 he wuz so nervous. Ner he didn t pear to find 
 much to laugh at in the next game ner the next 
 two games nuther ! Things wuz a-gettin mighty 
 interim bout them times, and I guess the 
 feller wuz ser ous-like a-wakin up to the solem 
 fact at it tuk bout all his spare time to keep 
 up his end o the row, and even that state o 
 pore satisfaction wuz a-creepin furder and fur- 
 der away from him ever new turn he undertook. 
 Whilse Wes jest peared to git more deliber t 
 and certain ever game; and that unendin se f- 
 satisfied and comfortin little whistle o his never 
 drapped a stitch, but toed out ever game 
 alike, to rds the last, and, fer the most part, 
 disasterss to the feller at had started in with sich 
 confidence and actchul promise, don t you know. 
 Well-sir, the feller stuck the whole forenoon 
 out, and then the afternoon; and then knuckled 
 down to it way into the night yes, and plum 
 midnight! And he buckled into the thing 
 bright and airly next morning ! And-sir, fer tiuo 
 long days and nights, a-hardly a-stoppin long 
 enough to eat, the feller stuck it out, and Wes 
 a-jest a-warpin it to him hand-over-fist, and 
 leavin him furder behind, ever game! till 
 finally, to rds the last, the feller got so blame- 
 don worked up and excited-like, he jes peared
 
 CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER. 113 
 
 actchully purt nigh plum crazy and histurical 
 as a woman ! 
 
 It wuz a-gittin late into the shank of the sec 
 ond day, and the boys hed jest lit a candle fer 
 em to finish out one of the clost est games the 
 feller d played Wes fer some time. But Wes 
 wuz jest as cool and ca m as ever, and still 
 a-whistlin consolin to hisse f-like, whilse the 
 feller jest peared wore out and ready to drap 
 right in his tracks any minute. 
 
 "Durn you!" he snarled out at Wes, "hain t 
 you never goern to move ? And there set Wes, 
 a-balancin a checker-man above the board, 
 a-studyin whur to set it, and a-fillin in the 
 time with that-air whistle. 
 
 "Flames and flashes! " says the feller ag in, 
 "will you ever stop that death-seducin tune o 
 your n long enough to move?" And as Wes 
 deliber t ly set his man down whur the feller see 
 he d haf to jump it and lose two men and a king, 
 Wes wuz a-singin , low and sad-like, as ef all to 
 hisse f : 
 
 "O we II move that man, and leave him there. 
 Fer the love of B-a-r-b bry Al-len!" 
 
 Well-sir! the feller jest jumped to his feet, 
 upset the board, and tore out o the shop stark- 
 starin crazy blame ef he wuzn t! cause
 
 114 CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER. 
 
 some of us putt out after him and overtook him 
 way beyent the pike-bridge, and hollered to 
 him; and he shuk his fist at us and hollered 
 back and says, says he: "Ef you fellers over 
 here," says he, " 11 agree to muzzle that durn 
 checker-player o your n, I ll bet fifteen hunderd 
 dollars to fifteen cents at I kin beat him leven 
 games out of ever dozent ! But there re no 
 money," he says, " at kin hire me to play him 
 ag in, on this aboundin airth, on y on them 
 conditions cause that durn, eternal, infernal, 
 dad-blastted whistle o his ud beat the oldest 
 man in Ameriky !
 
 Galan?u$
 
 AN OLD SWEETHEART. 
 
 7^ S ONE who cons at evening o er an album all alone, 
 >*- V^And muses on the faces of the friends that he has 
 
 known, 
 
 So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design, 
 I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine. 
 
 The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise, 
 As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes, 
 And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke 
 Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke. 
 
 Tis a fragrant retrospection for the loving thoughts that 
 
 start 
 Into being are like perfumes from the blossom of the 
 
 heart ; 
 
 And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine 
 When my truant fancy wanders with that old sweetheart 
 
 of mine. 
 
 Though I hear.beneath my study, like a flutteringof wings, 
 The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings, 
 I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme 
 When care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream. 
 
 In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm 
 To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm 
 For I find an extra flavor in Memory s mellow wine 
 That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of 
 
 A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace, 
 Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase 
 ("7)
 
 ll8 AN OLD SWEETHEART. 
 
 And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes 
 As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies. 
 
 I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress 
 She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the 
 
 caress 
 
 With the written declaration that, " as surely as the vine 
 Grew round the stump," she loved me that old sweet 
 heart of mine. 
 
 And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand, 
 As we used to talk together of the future we had planned 
 When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do 
 But write the tender verses that she set the music to: 
 
 When we should live together in a cozy little cot 
 
 Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot, 
 
 Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever 
 
 fine, 
 And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of 
 
 mine: 
 
 When I should be her lover forever and a day, 
 
 And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was 
 
 gray; 
 And we should be so happy that when cither s lips were 
 
 dumb 
 They would not smile in Heaven till the other s kiss had 
 
 come. 
 
 ******* 
 But, ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair, 
 And the door is softly opened, and my wife is standing 
 
 there; 
 
 Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign 
 To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine.
 
 MARTHY ELLEN. 
 
 THE 
 
 *- A r. 
 
 HEY S NOTHIN in the name to strike 
 
 A feller more n common like! 
 
 Taint liable to git no praise 
 
 Ner nothin like it nowadays; 
 
 An yit that name o her n is jest 
 
 As purty as the purtiest 
 
 And more n that, I m here to say 
 
 I ll live a-thinkin thataway 
 
 And die fer Marthy Ellen! 
 
 It may be I was prejudust 
 In favor of it from the fust 
 Cause I kin ricollect jest how 
 We met, and hear her mother now 
 A-callin of her down the road 
 And, aggervatin little toad! 
 I see her now, jes sort o half- 
 Way disapp inted, turn and laugh 
 
 And mock her "Marthy Ellen!* 
 
 Our people never had no fuss, 
 
 And yit they never tuck to us; 
 
 We neighbered back and foreds some; 
 
 Until they see she liked to come 
 
 To our house and me and her 
 
 Were jest together ever whur 
 
 And all the time and when they d see 
 
 That I liked her and she liked me, 
 
 They d holler " Marthy Ellen!"
 
 12O MARTHY ELLEN. 
 
 When we growed up, and they shet down 
 
 On me and her a-runnin roun 
 
 Together, and her father said 
 
 He d never leave her nary red, 
 
 So he p him, ef she married me, 
 
 And so on and her mother she 
 
 Jest agged the gyrl, and said she lowed 
 
 She d ruther see her in her shroud, 
 
 I -writ to Mar thy Ellen 
 That is, I kindo tuck my pen 
 In hand, and stated whur and when 
 The undersigned would be that night, 
 With two good hosses saddled right 
 Fer lively travelin in case 
 Her folks ud like to jine the race. 
 She sent the same note back, and writ 
 "The rose is red!" right under it 
 
 " Your n allus, Marthy Ellen. 1 * 
 
 That s all, I reckon Nothin more 
 To tell but what you ve heerd afore 
 The same old story, sweeter though 
 Fer all the trouble, do n t you know. 
 Old-fashioned name! and yit it s jest 
 As purty as the purtiest; 
 And more n that, I m here to say 
 111 live a-thinking thataway, 
 
 And die fer Marthy Ellen!
 
 MOON-DROWNED. 
 
 TWAS THE HEIGHT of the fte when we quitted the 
 riot, 
 
 And quietly stole to the terrace alone, 
 Where, pale as the lovers that ever swear by it, 
 
 The moon it gazed down as a god from his throne. 
 We stood there enchanted. And O the delight of 
 
 The sight of the stars and the moon and the sea, 
 And the infinite skies of that opulent night of 
 
 Purple and gold and ivory ! 
 
 The lisp of the lip of the ripple just under 
 The half-awake nightingale s dream in the yews- 
 Came up from the water, and down from the wonder 
 
 Of shadowy foliage, drowsed with the dews, 
 Unsteady the firefly s taper unsteady 
 
 The poise of the stars, and their light in the tide, 
 As it struggled and writhed in caress of the eddy, 
 As love in the billowy breiujt of a bride. 
 
 The far-away lilt of the waltz rippled to us, 
 
 And through us the exquisite thrill of the air : 
 Like the scent of bruised bloom was her breath, and its 
 dew was 
 
 Not honier-sweet than her warm kisses were. 
 We stood there enchanted. And O the delight of 
 
 The sight of the stars and the moon nad the sea, 
 And the infinite skies of that opulent night of 
 
 Purple and gold and ivory ! 
 
 (121)
 
 AFORE HE KNOWED WHO SANTY- 
 CLAUS WUZ. 
 
 JES A LITTLE bit o feller I remember still, 
 Ust to almost cry fer Christmas, like a youngster 
 
 will. 
 
 Fourth o July s nothin to it ! New- Year s ai n t a smell : 
 Easter-Sunday Circus-day jes all dead in the shell ! 
 Lordy, though! at night, you know, to set around and hear 
 The old folks work the story off about the sledge and deer, 
 And " Santy " skootin round the roof, all wrapped in fur 
 
 and fuzz 
 Long afore 
 
 I knowed who 
 
 " Santy-Claus " wuz ! 
 
 Ust to wait, and set up late, a week er two ahead : 
 Could n t hardly keep awake, ner would n t go to bed : 
 Kittle stewin on the fire, and Mother settin here 
 Darnin socks, and rockin in the skreeky rockin -cheer ; 
 Pap gap , and wunder where it wuz the money went, 
 And quar l with his frosted heels, and spill his liniment: 
 And me a-dreamin sleigh-bells when the clock ud whir 
 
 and buzz, 
 Long afore 
 
 I knowed who 
 
 " Santy-Claus " wuz ! 
 
 Size the fire-place up, and figger how " Old Santy " could 
 Manage to come down the chimbly, like they said he would: 
 Wisht that I could hide and see him wundered what 
 
 he d say 
 Ef he ketched a feller layin fer him thataway ! 
 
 (122)
 
 LONG AFORE HE KNOWED. 123 
 
 But I bet on him, and liked him, same as ef he had 
 Turned to pat me on the back and say, " Look here, mj lad, 
 Here s my pack, jes he p yourse f, like all good boys 
 
 does ! " 
 Long afore 
 
 I knowed who 
 
 " Santy-Claus " wuz ! 
 
 Wisht that yarn was true about him, as it peared to be 
 Truth made out o lies like that-un s good enough fer me! 
 Wisht I still wuz so confidin I could jes go wild 
 Over hangin up my stockin s, like the little child 
 Climbin in my lap to-night, and beggin me to tell 
 Bout them reindeers, and " Old Santy " that she loves so 
 
 well 
 
 I m half sorry fer this little-girl-sweetheart of his 
 Long afore 
 
 She knows who 
 
 "Santy-Claus" is !
 
 DEAR HANDS. 
 
 HE TOUCHES of her hands are like the fall 
 
 Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down 
 The peach just brushes gainst the garden wall; 
 The flossy fondlings of the thistle-wisp 
 
 Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown 
 The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp. 
 
 Soft as the falling of the dusk at night, 
 The touches of her hands, and the delight 
 
 The touches of her hands ! 
 The touches of her hands are like the dew 
 That falls so softly down no one e er knew 
 The touch thereof save lovers like to one 
 Astray in lights where ranged Endymion. 
 
 O rarely soft, the touches of her hands, 
 As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands; 
 
 Or pulse of dying fay ; or fairy sighs ; 
 Or in between the midnight and the dawn, 
 When long unrest and tears and fears are gone 
 
 Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes. 
 
 (124)
 
 THIS 
 
 *- A f-- 
 
 THIS MAN JONES. 
 
 HIS MAN JONES was what you d call 
 A feller at had no sand at all , 
 Kind o consumpted, and undersize, 
 And sailor-complected, with big sad eyes, 
 And a kind-of-a sort-of-a hang-dog style, 
 And a sneakin sort-of-a half-way smile 
 At kind o give him away to us 
 As a preacher, maybe, er somepin wuss. 
 
 Did n t take with the gang well, no 
 
 But still we managed to use him, though, 
 
 Coddin the gilly along the rout , 
 
 And drivin the stakes at he pulled out 
 
 Fer I was one of the bosses then, 
 
 And of course stood in with the canvasmen ; 
 
 And the way we put up jobs, you know, 
 
 On this man Jones jes beat the show ! 
 
 Ust to rattle him scandalous, 
 And keep the feller a-dodgin us, 
 And a-shyin round half skeered to death, 
 And afeerd to whimper above his breath ; 
 Give him a cussin , and then a kick, 
 And then a kind-of-a back-hand lick 
 Jes fer the fun of seein him climb 
 Around with a head on most the time. 
 
 But what was the curioust thing to me, 
 Was along o the party let me see, 
 Who was our " Lion Queen " last year ? 
 Mamzelle Zanty, or De La Pierre ? 
 Well, no matter a stunnin mash, 
 With a red-ripe lip, and a long eye-lash, 
 And a figger sich as the angels owns 
 And one too many fer this man Jones.
 
 126 THIS MAN JONES. 
 
 He d allus wake in the afternoon, 
 
 As the band waltzed in on the lion-tune, 
 
 And there, from the time at she d go in 
 
 Till she d back out of the cage agin, 
 
 He d stand, shaky and limber-kneed 
 
 Specially when she come to " feed 
 
 The beasts raw meat with her naked hand " 
 
 And all that business, you understand. 
 
 And it -was resky in that den 
 Fer I think she juggled three cubs then, 
 And a big "green " lion at used to smash 
 Collar-bones fer old Frank Nash ; 
 And I reckon now she hain t fergot 
 The afternoon old " Nero " sot 
 His paws on her! but as fer me, 
 It s a sort-of-a mixed-up mystery: 
 
 Kind o remember an awful roar, 
 And see her back fer the bolted door- 
 See the cage rock heerd her call 
 God have mercy! " and that was all 
 Fer they ain t no livin man can tell 
 Wkat it s like when a thousand yell 
 In female tones, and a thousand more 
 Howl in bass till their throats is sore! 
 
 But the keeper said at dragged her out, 
 They heerd some feller laugh and shout 
 Save her ! Quick ! I ve got the cuss ! " 
 And yit she waked and smiled on tis ! 
 And we dare n t flinch, fer the doctor said, 
 Seein as this man Jones was dead, 
 Better to jes not let her know 
 Nothin o that fer a week er so.
 
 TO MY GOOD MASTER. 
 
 :N FANCY, always, at thy desk, thrown wide, 
 Thy most betreasured books ranged neighborly- 
 The rarest rhymes of every land and sea 
 And curious tongue thine old face glorified, 
 Thou haltest thy glib quill, and, laughing-eyed, 
 Givest hale welcome even unto me, 
 Profaning thus thine attic s sanctity, 
 To briefly visit, yet to still abide 
 Enthralled there of thy sorcery of wit, 
 
 And thy songs most exceeding dear conceits. 
 O lips, cleft to the ripe core of all sweets, 
 With poems, like nectar, issuing therefrom, 
 Thy gentle utterances do overcome 
 My listening heart and all the love of it! 
 
 (127)
 
 WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE 
 TREES. 
 
 fN SPRING, when the green gits back in the trees, 
 L And the sun comes out and stays, 
 And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze, 
 
 And you think of yer barefoot days; 
 When you ort to work and you want to not, 
 
 And you and yer wife agrees 
 It s time to spade up the garden lot, 
 
 When the green gits back in the trees 
 Well! work is the least o my idees 
 When the green, you know, gits back in the trees.! 
 
 When the green gits back in the trees, and bees 
 
 Is a-buzzin aroun agin, 
 In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please 
 
 Old gait they bum roun in; 
 When the groun s all bald where the hay-rick stood, 
 
 And the crick s riz, and the breeze 
 Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood, 
 
 And the green gits back in the trees, 
 I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these, 
 The time when the green gits back in the trees! 
 
 When the whole tail-feathers o wintertime 
 
 Is all pulled out and gone! 
 And the sap it thaws and begins to climb, 
 
 And the sweat it starts out on 
 A feller s forred, a-gittin down 
 
 At the old spring on his knees 
 I kind o like jes a-loaferin roun 
 
 When the green gits back in the trees 
 Jes a-potterin roun as I durn please 
 When the green, you know, gits back in the trees! 
 ( 28)
 
 AT BROAD RIPPLE. 
 
 H, LUXURY! Beyond the heat 
 
 And dust of town, with dangling feet, 
 Astride the rock below the dam, 
 In the cool shadows where the calm 
 Rests on the stream again, and all 
 Is silent save the waterfall, 
 I bait my hook and cast my line, 
 And feel the best of life is mine. 
 
 No high ambition may I claim 
 I angle not for lordly game 
 Of trout, or bass, or wary bream 
 A black perch reaches the extreme 
 Of my desires ; and "goggle-eyes" 
 Are not a thing that I despise ; 
 A sunfish, or a " chub," or " cat " 
 A " silver-side " yea, even that ! 
 
 In eloquent tranquility 
 The waters lisp and talk to me. 
 Sometimes, far out, the surface breaks, 
 As some proud bass an instant shakes 
 His glittering armor in the sun, 
 And romping ripples, one by one, 
 Come dallying across the space 
 Where undulates my smiling face. 
 
 The river s story flowing by, 
 Forever sweet to ear and eye, 
 Forever tenderly begun 
 Forever new and never done. 
 Thus lulled and sheltered in a shade 
 Where never feverish cares invade, 
 I bait my hook and cast my line, 
 And feel the best of life is mine, 
 (129)
 
 WHEN OLD JACK DIED, 
 i. 
 
 \A/ HEN old Jack died, we staid from school (they 
 
 ^ ^ said, 
 
 At home, we need n t go that day), and none 
 Of us ate any breakfast only one, 
 And that was Papa and his eyes were red 
 When he came round where we were, by the shed 
 Where Jack was lying, half way in the sun 
 And halfway in the shade. When we begun 
 To cry out loud, Pa turned and dropped his head 
 And went away; and Mamma, she went back 
 Into the kitchen. Then, for a long while, 
 All to ourselves, like, we stood there and cried. 
 We thought so many good things of Old Jack, 
 And funny things although we did n t smile 
 We could n t only cry when Old Jack died. 
 
 When Old Jack died, it seemed a human friend 
 
 Had suddenly gone from us; that some face 
 
 That we had loved to fondle and embrace 
 
 From babyhood, no more would condescend 
 
 To smile on us forever. We might bend 
 
 With tearful eyes above him, interlace 
 
 Our chubby fingers o er him, romp and race, 
 
 Plead with him, call and coax aye, we might send 
 
 The old halloo up for him, whistle, hist, 
 
 (If sobs had let us) or, as wildly vain, 
 
 Snapped thumbs, called " speak," and he had not replied; 
 
 We might have gone down on our knees and kissed 
 
 The tousled ears, and yet they must remain 
 
 Deaf, motionless, we knew when Old Jack died.
 
 WHEN OLD JACK DIED. 
 
 When Old Jack died, it seemed to us, some way, 
 
 That all the other dogs in town were pained 
 
 With our bereavement, and some that were chained, 
 
 Even, unslipped their collars on that day 
 
 To visit Jack in state, as though to pay 
 
 A last, sad tribute there, while neighbors craned 
 
 Their heads above the high board fence, and deigned 
 
 To sigh " Poor dog! " remembering how they 
 
 Had cuffed him, when alive, perchance, because, 
 
 For love of them he leaped to lick their hands 
 
 Now, that he could not, were they satisfied ? 
 
 We children thought that, as we crossed his paws, 
 
 And o er his grave, way down the bottom-lands, 
 
 Wrote " Our First Love Lies Here," when Old Jack died
 
 JOC SIFERS. 
 
 OF ALL THE DOCTORS I could cite you to in 
 this- ere town 
 
 Doc Sifers is my favorite, jes take him up and down! 
 Count in the Bethel Neighberhood, and Rollins, and Big 
 
 Bear, 
 And Sifers standin s jes as good as ary doctor s there! 
 
 There s old Doc Wick, and Glenn, and Hall, and Wurg- 
 
 ler, and McVeigh, 
 
 But I 11 buck Sifers ginst em all and down em any day! 
 Most old Wick ever knowed, I s pose, was -whisky! 
 
 Wurgler well, 
 He et morphine ef actions shcnvs, and facts reliable! 
 
 But Sifers though he ain t no sot. he s got his faults; 
 
 and yit 
 When you git Sifers onc t, you ve got a doctor, don t 
 
 fergit ! 
 
 He ain t much at his office, er his house, er anywhere 
 You d natchurly think certain fer to ketch the feller there. 
 
 But do n t blame Doc: he s got all sorts o cur ous no 
 tions as 
 
 The feller says, his odd-come-shorts, like smart men 
 mostly has. 
 
 He ll more n like be potter n round the Blacksmith Shop; 
 er in 
 
 Some back lot, spadin up the ground, er gradin it agin. 
 
 Er at the workbench, planin things: er buildin little 
 traps 
 
 To ketch birds; galvenizin rings; er graftin plums, per 
 haps. 
 
 Make anything! good as the best! a gunstock er a flute; 
 
 He whittled out a set o chesstmen onc t o laurel root.
 
 DOC SIFERS. 133 
 
 Durin the Army got his trade o surgeon there I own 
 To-day a finger-ring Doc made out of a Sesesh bone! 
 An glued a fiddle onc t fer me jes all so busted you 
 D a throwed the thing away, but he fixed her as good 
 as new! 
 
 And take Doc, now, in ager, say, er bites, cr rheumatiz, 
 And all afflictions thataway, and he s the best they is! 
 Er janders milksick I do n t keer k-yore anything he 
 
 tries 
 A abscess; getherin in yer yeer; er granilated eyes! 
 
 There \* as the Widder Daubenspeck they all give up fer 
 dead; 
 
 A blame cowbuncle on her neck, and clean out of her 
 head ! 
 
 First had this doctor, what s-his-name, from "Puddles- 
 burg," and then 
 
 This little red-head, " Burnin Shame" they call him Dr. 
 Glenn. 
 
 And they "consulted" on the case, and claimed she d haf 
 
 to die, 
 
 I jes was joggin by the place, and heerd her dorter cry, 
 And stops and calls her to the fence; and I-says-I, "Let 
 
 me 
 Send Sifers bet you fifteen cents he ll k-yore her!" 
 
 " Well," says she, 
 
 " Light out! " she says: And, lipp-tee-cut 1 1 loped in town, 
 
 and rid 
 Bout two hours more to find him, but I kussed him when 
 
 I did! 
 He was down at the Gunsmith Shop a-stufiin birds! Says 
 
 he, 
 My sulky s broke." Says I, " You hop right on and 
 
 ride with me!"
 
 T34 DOC SIFERS. 
 
 I got him there. " Well, Aunty, ten days k-yores you," 
 
 Sifers said, 
 
 * But what s yer idy livin when yer jes as good as dead ?" 
 And there s Dave Banks jes back from war without a 
 
 scratch one day 
 Got ketched up in a sickle-bar, a reaper runaway. 
 
 His shoulders, arms, and hands and legs jes sawed in 
 strips! And Jake 
 
 Dunn starts fer Sifers feller begs to shoot him fer God- 
 sake. 
 
 Doc, course, was gone, but he had penned the notice, "At 
 Big Bear 
 
 Be back to-morry; Gone to tend the Bee Convention 
 there." 
 
 But Jake, he tracked him rid and rode the whole en- 
 
 durin night ! 
 And bout the time the roosters crowed they both hove 
 
 into sight. 
 Doc had to ampitate, but greed to save Dave s arms, and 
 
 swore 
 He could a-saved his legs ef he d ben there the day before. 
 
 Like when his wife s own mother died fore Sifers could 
 
 be found, 
 
 And all the neighbers fer and wide a all jes chasin round; 
 Tel finally I had to laugh it s jes like Doc, you know, 
 Was learnin fer to telegraph, down at the old deepo. 
 
 But all they re faultin Sifers fer, there s none of em kin 
 
 say 
 
 He s biggoty, er keerless, er not posted anyway; 
 He ain t built on the common plan of doctors now-a-davs, 
 He s jes a great, big, brainy man that s where the 
 
 trouble lays!
 
 AT NOON AND MIDNIGHT. 
 
 IN THE NIGHT, and yet no rest for him! The 
 
 pillow next his own 
 The wife s sweet face in slumber pressed yet he awake 
 
 alone! alone! 
 In vain he courted sleep; one thought would ever in his 
 
 heart arise, 
 
 The harsh words that at noon had brought the teardrops 
 to her eyes. 
 
 Slowly on lifted arm he raised and listened. Ail was still 
 
 as death; 
 He touched her forehead as he gazed, and listened yet, 
 
 with bated breath: 
 Still silently, as though he prayed, his lips moved lightly 
 
 as she slept 
 For God was with him, and he laid his face with hers and 
 
 wept. 
 
 12
 
 Wild
 
 A WILD IRISHMAN. 
 
 very many years ago the writer was 
 for some months stationed at South 
 Bend, a thriving little city of northern Indi 
 ana, its main population on the one side of 
 the St. Joseph river, but quite a respectable 
 fraction thereof taking its industrial way to 
 the opposite shore, and there gaining an aud 
 ience and a hearing in the rather imposing 
 growth and hurly-burly of its big manufac 
 tories, and the consequent rapid appearance of 
 multitudinous neat cottages, tenement houses 
 and business blocks. A stranger, entering 
 South Bend proper on any ordinary day, will 
 be at some loss to account for its prosperous 
 appearance its flagged and bowldered streets 
 its handsome mercantile blocks, banks, and 
 business houses generally. Reasoning from 
 cause to effect, and seeing but a meager 
 sprinkling of people on the streets throughout 
 the day, and these seeming, for the most part, 
 merely idlers, and in no wise accessory to the 
 evident thrift and opulence of their surround 
 ings, the observant stranger will be puzzled 
 at the situation. But when evening comes, 
 and the outlying foundries, sewing-machine, 
 ( 39)
 
 146 A WILD IRISHMAN. 
 
 wagon, plow, and other "works," together 
 with the paper-mills and all the nameless in 
 dustries when the operations of all these are 
 suspended for the day, and the workmen and 
 workwomen loosed from labor then, as this 
 vast army suddenly invades and overflows 
 bridge, roadway, street and lane, the startled 
 stranger will fully comprehend the why and 
 wherefore of the city s high prosperity. And, 
 once acquainted with the people there, the 
 fortunate sojourner will find no ordinary cult 
 ure and intelligence, and, as certainly, he will 
 meet with a social spirit and a wholesouled 
 heartiness that will make the place a lasting 
 memorv. The town, too, is the home of many 
 world-known notables, and a host of local 
 celebrities, the chief of which latter class I 
 found, during my stay there, in the person of 
 Tommy Stafford, or " The Wild Irishman " as 
 everybody called him. 
 
 " Talk of odd fellows and eccentric charac. 
 ters," said Major Blowney, my emplover, one 
 afternoon, "you must see our Wild Irish 
 man here before you say you ve yet found 
 the queerest, brightest, cleverest chap in all 
 your travels. What d ye say, Stockford?" 
 And the Major paused in his work of charging 
 cartridges for his new breech-loading shotgun 
 and turned to await his partner s response.
 
 A WILD IRISHMAN. 14! 
 
 Stockford, thus addressed, paused above 
 the shield-sign he was lettering, slowly smil 
 ing as be dipped and trailed his pencil through 
 the ivory black upon a bit of broken glass and 
 said, in his deliberate, half- absent-minded 
 way, "Is it Tommy you re telling him 
 about? " and then, with a gradual broadening 
 of the smile, he went on, "Well, I should say 
 so. Tommy! What s come of the fellow, 
 anyway? I have n t seen him since his last 
 bout with the mayor, on his trial for shakin 
 up that fast-horse man." 
 
 " The fast-horse man got just exactly what 
 he needed, too," said the genial Major, laugh 
 ing, and mopping his perspiring brow. " The 
 fellow was barkin up the wrong stump when 
 he tackled Tommy ! Got beat in the trade, at 
 his own game, you know, and wound up by 
 an insult that no Irishman would take ; and 
 Tommy just naturally wore out the hall carpet 
 of the old hotel with him ! " 
 
 "And then collared and led him to the 
 mayor s office himself, they say ! " 
 
 " Oh, he did ! " said the Major, with a dash 
 of pride in the confirmation ; " that s Tommy 
 all over ! " 
 
 "Funny trial, wasn t it?" continued the 
 ruminating Stockford. 
 
 " Was n t it though? " laughed the Major.
 
 142 A WILD IRISHMAN. 
 
 "The porter s testimony: You see, he was 
 for Tommy, of course, and on examination 
 testified that the horse-man struck Tommy 
 first. And there Tommy broke in with : 
 " He s a-meanin well, yer Honor, but he s 
 lyin to ye he s lyin to ye. No livin man 
 iver struck me first nor last, nayther, for the 
 matter o that ! And I thought the court 
 would die ! " concluded the Major, in a 
 like imminent State of merriment. 
 
 " Yes, and he said if he struck him first," 
 supplemented Stockford, " he d like to know 
 why the horseman was wearin all the black 
 eyes, and the blood, and the boomps on the 
 head of um ! And it s that talk of his that 
 got him off with so light a fine ! " 
 
 "As it always does," said the Major, com 
 ing to himself abruptly and looking at his 
 watch. " Stock , you say you re not going 
 along with our duck-shooting party this time? 
 The old Kankakee is just lousy with em this 
 season ! " 
 
 " Can t go possibly," said Stockford, " not 
 on account of the work at all, but the folks at 
 home ain t just as well as I d like to see 
 them, and I 11 stay here till they re better. 
 Next time I 11 try and be ready for you. Go 
 ing to take Tommy, of course? " 
 
 Of course ! Got to have The Wild Irish-
 
 A WILD IRISHMAN. 143 
 
 man with us ! I m going around to find him 
 now." Then turning to me the Major con 
 tinued, " Suppose you get on your coat and 
 hat and come along? It s the best chance 
 you il ever have to meet Tommy. It s late 
 anyhow, and Stockford 11 get along without 
 you. Come on." 
 
 "Certainly," said Stockford; "go ahead. 
 And you can take him ducking, too, if he 
 wants to go." 
 
 "But he doesn t want to go and won t 
 go," replied the Major with a commiserative 
 glance at me. " Says he does n t know a 
 duck from a poll -parrot nor how to load a 
 shotgun and could n t hit a house if he were 
 inside of it and the door shut. Admits that 
 he nearly killed his uncle once, on the other 
 side of a tree, with a squirrel runnin down it. 
 Do n t want him along ! " 
 
 Reaching the street with the genial Major, 
 he gave me this advice: " Now, when you 
 meet Tommy, you must n t take all he says 
 for dead earnest, and you must n t believe, be 
 cause he talks loud, and in italics every other 
 word, that he wants to do all the talking and 
 wo n t be interfered with. That s the way he s 
 apt to strike folks at first but it s their mis 
 take, not his. Talk back to him controvert 
 him whenever he s aggressive in the utter-
 
 144 A. WILD IRISHMAN. 
 
 ance of his opinions, and if you re only hon 
 est in the announcement of your own ideas 
 and beliefs, he 11 like you all the better for 
 standing by them. He s quick-tempered, and 
 perhaps a trifle sensitive, so share your 
 greater patience with him, and he 11 pay you 
 back by fighting for you at the drop of the 
 hat. In short, he s as nearly typical of his 
 gallant country s brave, impetuous, fun-loving 
 individuality as such a likeness can exist." 
 
 " But is he quarrelsome? " I a.sked. 
 
 " Not at all. There s the trouble. If he d 
 only quarrel there d be no harm done. Quar 
 reling s cheap, and Tommy s extravagant. 
 A big blacksmith here, the other day, kicked 
 some boy out of his shop, and Tommy, on his 
 cart, happened to be passing at the time ; and 
 he just jumped off without a word, and went 
 in and worked on that fellow for about three 
 minutes, with such disastrous results that they 
 could n t tell his shop from a slaughter-house ; 
 paid an assault and battery fine, and gave the 
 boy a dollar beside, and the whole thing was 
 a positive luxury to him. But I guess we d 
 better drop the subject, for here s his cart, 
 and here s Tommy. Hi ! there, you l Far- 
 down Irish Mick ! " called the Major, in af 
 fected antipathy, " been out raiding the honest 
 farmers hen-roosts again, have you?"
 
 A WILD IRISHMAN. 
 
 We had halted at a corner grocery and prod 
 uce store, as I took it, and the smooth-faced, 
 shave-headed man in woolen shirt, short vest, 
 and suspenderless trousers so boisterously ad 
 dressed by the Major, was just lifting from the 
 back of his cart a coop of cackling chickens. 
 
 "Arrah ! ye blasted Kerryonian ! " replied 
 the handsome fellow, depositing the coop on 
 the curb and straightening his tall, slender 
 figure ; " I were jist thinking of yez and the 
 ducks, and here ye come quackin into the 
 prisence of r yalty, wid yer canvas-back suit 
 upon ye and the shwim-skins bechuxt yer 
 toes ! How air yez, anyhow and air we start- 
 in 1 for the Kankakee by the nixt post? 
 
 We re to start just as soon as we get the 
 boys together," said the Major, shaking hands. 
 "The crowd s to be at Andrews by 4, and it s 
 fully that now ; so come on at once. We 11 
 go round by Munson s and have Hi send a 
 boy to look after your horse. Come ; and I 
 want to introduce my friend here to you, and 
 we 11 all want to smoke and jabber a little in 
 appropriate seclusion. Come on." And the 
 impatient Major had linked arms with his hes 
 itating ally and myself, and was turning the 
 corner of the street. 
 
 "It s an hour s work I have yet wid the 
 squawkers," mildly protested Tommy, still
 
 146 A WILD IRISHMAN. 
 
 hanging back and stepping a trifle high ; "but, 
 as one Irishman would say til another, Ye re 
 wrong, but I m wid ye ! 
 
 And five minutes later the three of us had 
 joined a very jolly party in a snug back room, 
 with 
 
 "The chamber walls depicted all around 
 With portraitures of huntsman, hawk, and hound, 
 And the hurt deer," 
 
 and where, as well, drifted over the olfactory 
 intelligence a certain subtle, warm-breathed 
 aroma, that genially combatted the chill and 
 darkness of the day without, and, resurrecting 
 long-dead Christmases, brimmed the grateful 
 memory with all comfortable cheer. 
 
 A dozen hearty voices greeted the appear 
 ance of Tommy and the Major, the latter ad 
 roitly pushing the jovial Irishman to the front, 
 with a mock-heroic introduction to the general 
 company, at the conclusion of which Tommy, 
 with his hat tucked under the left elbow, stood 
 bowing with a grace of pose and presence Lord 
 Chesterfield might have applauded. 
 
 "Gintlemen," said Tommy, settling back 
 upon his heels and admiringly contemplating 
 the group; "Gintlemen, I congratu-late yez 
 wid a pride that shoves the thumbs o me into 
 the arrum-holes of me weshkit ! At the inshti-
 
 A WILD IRISHMAN. 147 
 
 gation of the bowld Blowney axin the 
 gintleman s pardon I am here wid no silver 
 tongue of illoquence to para-lyze yez, but I 
 am prisent, as has been ripresinted, to jine 
 wid yez in a stupendeous waste of gun-pow 
 der, and duck-shot, and high-wines, and 
 ham sand-witches, upon the silvonian banks 
 of the ragin Kankakee, where the di-dipper 
 tips ye good-bye wid his tail, and the \vild 
 loon skoots like a sky-rocket for his exiled 
 home in the alien dunes of the wild morass 
 or, as Tommy Moore so illegantly describes 
 the blashted birrud, 
 
 Away to the dizhmal shwamp he shpeeds 
 
 His path is rugged and sore, 
 Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, 
 And many a fen where the serpent feeds, 
 
 And birrud nivcr flcvj before 
 
 And niver -will fly any more 
 
 if iver he arrives back safe into civilization 
 again and I ve been in the poultry business 
 long enough to know the private opinion and 
 personal integrity of ivery fowl that flies the 
 air or roosts on poles. But, changin the sub 
 ject of my few small remarks here, and 
 thankin yez wid an overflowin heart but a 
 dhry tongue, I have the honor to propose, gin- 
 tlemen, long life and health to ivery mother s
 
 148 A WILD IRISHMAN. 
 
 son o yez, and success to the Duck-hunters 
 ofKankakee. " 
 
 "The duck-hunters of the Kankakee ! " 
 chorussed the elated party in such musical 
 uproar that for a full minute the voice of the 
 enthusiastic Major who was trying to sav 
 something could not be heard. Then he 
 said: 
 
 "I want to propose that theme The 
 Duck-hunters of the Kankakee , for one of 
 Tommy s improvizations. I move we have a 
 song now from Tommy on the Duck-hunters 
 of the Kankakee. " 
 
 "Hurra! Hurra! A song from Tommy," 
 cried the crowd. " Make us up a song, and 
 put us all into it ! A song from Tommy ! A 
 song ! A song ! " 
 
 There was a queer light in the eye of the 
 Irishman. I observed him narrowly expect 
 antly. Often I had read of this phenomenal 
 art of improvised ballad-singing, but had al 
 ways remained a little skeptical in regard to 
 the possibility of such a feat. Even in the 
 notable instances of this gift as displayed by 
 the very .clever Theodore Hook, I had always 
 half suspected some prior preparation some 
 adroit forecasting of the sequence that seemed 
 the instant inspiration of his witty verses.
 
 A WILD IRISHMAN. 149 
 
 Here was evidently to be a test example, and 
 I was all alert to mark its minutest detail. 
 
 The clamor had subsided, and Tommy had 
 drawn a chair near to and directly fronting the 
 Major s. His right hand was extended, 
 closely grasping the right hand of his friend 
 which he scarce perceptibly, though measur- 
 edly, lifted and let fall throughout the length 
 of all the curious performance. The voice 
 was not unmusical, nor was the quaint old 
 ballad-air adopted by the singer unlovely in 
 the least ; simply a monotony was evident 
 that accorded with the levity and chance-fin 
 ish of the improvisation and that the song 
 was improvised on the instant I am certain 
 though in no wise remarkable, for other rea 
 sons, in rhythmic worth or finish. And while 
 his smiling auditors all drew nearer, and leant, 
 with parted lips to catch every syllable, the 
 words of the strange melody trailed unhesitat 
 ingly into the lines literally as here subjoined : 
 
 " One gloomy day in the airly Fall, 
 Whin the sunshine had no chance at all 
 No chance at all for to gleam and shine 
 And lighten up this heart of mine: 
 
 " Twas in South Bend, that famous town, 
 Whilst I were a-strollin round and round, 
 I met some friends and they says to me: 
 
 It s a hunt we 11 take on the Kankakee! "
 
 I5O A WILD IRISHMAN. 
 
 " Hurra for the Kankakee ! Give it to us, 
 Tommy ! cried an enthused voice between 
 verses. " Now give it to the Major ! And 
 the song went on : 
 
 " There s Major Blowney leads the van, 
 As crack a shot as an Irishman, 
 For its the duck is a tin decoy 
 That his owld shotgun can t destroy: 
 
 And a half a dozen jubilant palms patted 
 the Major s shoulders, and his ruddy, good- 
 natured face beamed with delight. "Now 
 give it to the rest of em, Tommy ! " chuckled 
 the Major. And the song continued : 
 
 " And along wid Hank is Mick Maharr, 
 And Barney Pince, at The Shamrock bar 
 There s Barney Pinch, wid his heart so true; 
 And the Andrews Brothers they 11 go too." 
 
 " Hold on, Tommy ! " chipped in one of the 
 Andrews; "you must give the Andrews 
 Brothers a better advertisement than that ! 
 Turn us on a full verse, can t you? " 
 
 " Make em pay for it if you do ! " said the 
 Major, in an undertone. And Tommy 
 promptly amended : 
 
 " O, the Andrews Brothers, they 11 be there, 
 Wid good se-gyars and wine to shpare, 
 They 11 treat us here on fine champagne, 
 And whin we re there they 11 treat us again."
 
 A WILD IRISHMAN. 151 
 
 The applause here was vociferous, and only 
 discontinued when a box of Havanas stood 
 open on the table. During the momentary 
 lull thus occasioned, I caught the Major s 
 twinkling eyes glancing evasively toward me, 
 as he leant whispering some further instruc 
 tions to Tommy, who again took up his des 
 ultory ballad, while I turned and fled for the 
 street, catching, however, as I went, and high 
 above the laughter of the crowd, the satire of 
 this quatrain to its latest line 
 
 But R-R-Riley he 11 not go, I guess, 
 Lest he d get lost in the wil-der-ness, 
 And so in the city he will shtop 
 For to curl his hair in the barber shop." 
 
 It was after six when I reached the hotel, 
 but I had my hair trimmed before I went 
 in to supper. The style of trimming adopted 
 then I still rigidly adhere to, and call it " the 
 Tommy Stafford stubble-crop." 
 
 Ten days passed before I again saw the 
 Major. Immediately upon his return it was 
 late afternoon when I heard of it I deter 
 mined to take my evening walk out the long 
 street toward his pleasant home and call upon 
 hirA there This I did, and found him in a 
 wholesome state of fatigue, slippers and easy 
 chair, enjoying his pipe on the piazza.. Of
 
 A WILD IRISHMAN. 
 
 course, he was overflowing with happy rem 
 iniscences of the hunt the wood-and-water- 
 craft boats ambushes decoys, and tramp, 
 and camp, and so on, without end ; but I 
 wanted to hear him talk of " The Wild Irish 
 man" Tommy; and I think, too, now, that 
 the sagacious Major secretly read my desires 
 all the time. To be utterly frank with the 
 reader I will admit that I not only think the 
 Major divined my interest in Tommy, but I 
 know he did ; for at last, as though reading 
 my very thoughts, he abruptly said, after a 
 long pause, in which he knocked the ashes 
 from his pipe and refilled and lighted it : 
 " Well, all I know of The Wild Irishman I 
 can tell you in a very few \vords that is, if 
 you care at all to listen? " And the crafty old 
 Major seemed to hesitate. 
 
 " Go on go on 1 " I said, eagerly. 
 
 " About forty years ago," resumed the Ma 
 jor, placidly, "in the little, old, unheard-of 
 town Karnteel, County Tyrone, Province Ul 
 ster, Ireland, Tommy Stafford in spite of the 
 contrary opinion of his wretchedly poor par 
 ents was fortunate enough to be born. And 
 here, again, as I advised you the other dav, 
 you must be prepared for constant surprises in 
 the study of Tommy s character."
 
 A WILD IRISHMAN. 153 
 
 * Go an," I said ; " I m prepared for any 
 thing,, " 
 
 The Major smiled profoundly and contin 
 ued : 
 
 " Fifteen years ago, when he came to Amer 
 ica and the Lord only knows how he got 
 the passage-money he brought his widowed 
 mother with him here, and has supported, and 
 is still supporting her. Besides," went on the 
 still secretly smiling Major, "the fellow has 
 actually found time, through all his adversi 
 ties, to pick up quite a smattering of education, 
 here and there " 
 
 " Poor fellow !" I broke in, sympathizingly, 
 " what a pity it is that he could n t have had 
 such advantages earlier in life," and as I re 
 called the broad brogue of the fellow, together 
 with his careless dress, recognizing beneath 
 it all the native talent and brilliancy of a mind 
 of most uncommon worth, I could not restrain 
 a deep sigh of compassion and regret. 
 
 The Major was leaning forward in the gath 
 ering dusk, and evidently studying my own 
 face, the expression of which, at that moment, 
 was very grave and solemn, I am sure. He 
 suddenly threw himself backward in his chair, 
 in an uncontrollable burst of laughter. " Oh, 
 I just can t keep it up any longer," he ex 
 claimed.
 
 154 A WILD IRISHMAN. 
 
 "Keep what up?" I queried, in a perfect 
 maze of bewilderment and surprise. "Keep 
 what up?" I repeated. 
 
 "Why, all this twaddle, farce, travesty and 
 by-play regarding Tommy ! You know I 
 warned you, over and over, and you must n t 
 blame me for the deception. I never thought 
 you d take it so in earnest!" and here the 
 jovial Major again went into convulsions of 
 laughter. 
 
 " But I don t understand a word of it all," 
 I cried, half frenzied with the gnarl and tan 
 gle of the whole affair. "What twaddle, 
 farce and by-play, is it anyhow?" And in 
 my vexation, I found myself on my feet and 
 striding nervously up and dow r n the paved 
 walk that joined the street with the piazza, 
 pausing at last and confronting the Major al 
 most petulantly. "Please explain," I said, 
 controlling my vexation with an effort. 
 
 The Major arose. " Your striding up and 
 down there reminds me that a little stroll on 
 the street might do us both good," he said. 
 " Will you wait until I get a coat and hat? " 
 
 He rejoined me a moment later, and we passed 
 through the open gate; and saying, "Let s 
 go down this war," he took my arm and 
 turned into a street, where, cooling as the 
 dusk was, the thick maples lining the walk,
 
 A WILD IRISHMAN. 155 
 
 seemed to throw a special shade of tranquil- 
 ity upon us. 
 
 " What I meant was " began the Major, 
 in low, serious voice, "What I meant was 
 simply this : Our friend Tommy, though the 
 truest Irishman in the world, is a man quite 
 the opposite everyway of the character he has 
 appeared to you. All that rich brogue of his 
 is assumed. Though he s poor, as I told 
 you, when he came here, his native quickness, 
 and his marvelous resources, tact, judgment, 
 business qualities all have helped him to the 
 equivalent of a liberal education. His love of 
 the humorous and the ridiculous is unbounded ; 
 but he has serious moments, as well, and at 
 such times is as dignified and refined in speech 
 and manner as any man you d find in a thous 
 and. He is a good speaker, can stir a politi 
 cal convention to fomentation when he gets 
 fired up ; and can write an article for the 
 press that goes spang to the spot. He gets 
 into a great many personal encounters of a 
 rather undignified character ; but they are al 
 most invariably bred of his innate interest in 
 the under dog, and the fire and tow of his 
 impetuous nature." 
 
 My companion had paused here, and was 
 looking through some printed slips in his 
 pocket-book. " I wanted you to see some of
 
 156 A WILD IRISHMAN. 
 
 the fellow s articles in print, but I have noth 
 ing of importance here only some of his 
 doggerel, as he calls it, and you ve had a 
 sample of that. But here s a bit of the upper 
 spirit of the man and still another that you 
 should hear him recite. You can keep them 
 both if you care to. The boys all fell in love 
 with that last one, particularly, hearing his 
 rendition of it. So we had a lot printed, and 
 I have two or three left. Put these two in your 
 pocket and read at your leisure." 
 
 But I read them there and then, as eagerly, 
 too, as I append them here and now. The first 
 is called 
 
 SAYS HE. 
 
 " Whatever the weather may be," says he 
 
 " Whatever the weather may be, 
 It s plaze, if ye will, an I 11 say me say, 
 Supposin to-day was the winterest day, 
 Wud the weather be changing because ye cried, 
 Or the snow be grass were ye crucified? 
 The best is to make your own summer," says he, 
 " Whatever the weather may be," says he 
 Whatever the weather may be! 
 
 " Whatever the weather may be," says he 
 
 " Whatever the weather may be, 
 It s the songs ye sing, an the smiles yc wear, 
 That s a-makin the sunshine everywhere; 
 An the world of gloom is a world of glee, 
 Wid the bird in the bush, an the bud in the tree. 
 An the fruit on the stim of the bough," says ht, 
 " Whatever the weather may be,* says he 
 " Whatever the weather may be!
 
 A WILD IRISHMAN. t$>f 
 
 " Whatever the weather may be," says he 
 
 " Whatever the weather may be, 
 Ye can bring the Spring, wid its green an gold, 
 An the grass in the grove where the snow lies cold, 
 An ye 11 warm yer back, wid a smiling face, 
 As ye sit at yer heart like an owld fire-place, 
 An toast the toes o yer soul," says he, 
 " Whatever the weather may be," says he 
 " Whatever the weather may be! " 
 
 " Now," said the Major, peering eagerly 
 above my shoulder, "go on with the next. 
 To my liking, it is even better than the first. 
 A type of character you 11 recognize. The 
 same broth of a boy, only Americanized, 
 don t you know." 
 
 And I read the scrap entitled 
 
 CHAIRLEY BURKE. 
 
 It s Chairley Burke s in town, b ys! He s down til 
 
 "Jamesy s Place," 
 Wid a bran new shave upon um, an the f hwhuskers aff 
 
 his face; 
 He s quit the Section Gang last night, and yez can chalk 
 
 it down, 
 There s goin to be the divil s toime, sence Chairley 
 
 Burke s in town. 
 
 It s treatin iv ry b y he is, an poundin on the bar 
 
 Till iv ry man he s drinkin wid must shmoke a foine 
 cigar; 
 
 An Missus Murphy s little Kate, that s comin there for 
 beer, 
 
 Can t pay wan cint the bucketful, the whilst that Chair- 
 ley s here!
 
 [58 A WILD IRISHMAN. 
 
 He s joompin oor the tops o sthools, the both forninst 
 
 an back! 
 He ll lave jez pick the blessed flure,an walk the straight- 
 
 est crack! 
 He s liftin barrels wid his teeth, and singin " Garry 
 
 Owen," 
 Till all the house be strikin hands, sence Chairley Burke s 
 
 in town. 
 
 The Road-Yaird hands comes dhroppin in, an niver goin 
 
 back; 
 An there s two freights upon the switch the wan on 
 
 aither track 
 An Mr. Gearry, from The Shops, he s mad enough to 
 
 swear, 
 An durst n t spake a word but grin, the whilst that 
 
 Chairley s there! 
 
 Oh! Chairley! Chairley! Chairley Burke! ye divil, wid 
 
 yer ways 
 O dhrivin all the throubles aff, these dark an gloomy 
 
 days ! 
 
 Ohone! that it s meself, wid all the griefs I have to drown, 
 Must lave me pick to resht a bit, sence Chairley Burke s 
 
 in town! 
 
 " Before we turn back, now," said the smil 
 ing Major, as I stood lingering over the in 
 definable humor of the last refrain, " before 
 we turn back I want to show you something 
 eminently characteristic. Come this way a 
 half dozen steps." 
 
 As he spoke I looked up, to first observe 
 that we had paused before a handsome square 
 brick residence, centering a beautiful smooth
 
 A WILD IRISHMAN. *59 
 
 .awn, its emerald only littered with the light 
 gold of the earliest autumn leaves. On either 
 side of the trim walk that led up from the 
 gate to the carved stone ballusters of the broad 
 piazza, with its empty easy chairs, were grace 
 ful vases, frothing over with late blossoms, 
 and wreathed with laurel-looking vines ; and, 
 luxuriantly lacing the border of the pave that 
 turned the further corner of the house, blue, 
 white and crimson, pink and violet, went fad 
 ing in perspective as my gaze followed the 
 gesture of the Major s. 
 
 " Here, come a little further. Now do you 
 see that man there? " 
 
 Yes, I could make out a figure in the deep 
 ening dusk the figure of a man on the back 
 stoop a tired looking man, in his shirt-sleeves, 
 who sat upon a low chair no, not a chair 
 an empty box. He was leaning forward with 
 his elbows on his knees, and the hands drop 
 ped limp. He was smoking, too, I could 
 barely see his pipe, and but for the odor of 
 very strong tobacco, would not have known 
 he had a pipe. Why does the master of the 
 house permit his servants to so desecrate this 
 beautiful home? I thought. 
 
 " Well, shall we go now? " said the Major. 
 
 I turned silently and we retraced our steps.
 
 l6o A WILD IRISHMAN. 
 
 I think neither of us spoke for the distance of 
 a square. 
 
 " Guess you did n t know the man there on 
 the back porch? " said the Major. 
 
 " No ; why? " I asked dubiously. 
 
 " I hardly thought you would, and besides 
 the poor fellow s tired, and it was best not to 
 disturb him," said the Major. 
 
 " Why ; who was it some one I know? " 
 
 " It was Tommy." 
 
 " Oh," said I, inquiringly, " he s employed 
 there in some capacity?" 
 
 "Yes, as master of the house." 
 
 "You don t mean it? " 
 
 " I certainly do. He owns it, and made 
 every cent of the money that paid for it!" 
 said the Major proudly. " That s why I 
 wanted you particularly to note that eminent 
 characteristic I spoke of. Tommy could 
 just as well be sitting, with a fine cigar, on 
 the front piazza in an easy chair, as, with his 
 dhudeen, on the back porch, on an empty 
 box, where every night you 11 find him. Its 
 the unconscious dropping back into the old 
 ways of his father, and his father s father, and 
 his father s father s father. In brief, he sits 
 there the poor lorn symbol of the long oppres 
 sion of his race."
 
 Ragweed
 
 WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE. 
 
 i. 
 
 "V\/ HEN MY dreams come true when my dreams 
 
 come true 
 Shall I lean from out my casement, in the starlight and 
 
 the dew, 
 
 To listen smile and listen to the tinkle of the strings 
 Of the sweet guitar my lover s fingers fondle, as he sings? 
 And as the nude moon slowly, slowly shoulders into view, 
 Shall I vanish from his vision when my dreams come true? 
 
 When my dreams come true shall the simple gown I wear 
 Be changed to softest satin, and my maiden-braided hair 
 Be raveled into flossy mists of rarest, fairest gold, 
 To be in nted into kisses, more than any heart can hold? 
 Or "the summer of my tresses" shall my lover liken to 
 " The fervor of his passion" when my dreams come true? 
 
 When my dreams come true I shall bide among the 
 
 sheaves 
 
 Of happy harvest meadows; and the grasses and the leaves 
 Shall lift and lean between me and the splendor of the sun, 
 Till the noon swoons into twilight, and the gleaners work 
 
 is done 
 
 Save that yet an arm shall bind me, even a? the reapers do 
 The meanest sheaf of harvest when my dreams come true. 
 
 When my dreams come true! when my dreams come true! 
 True love in all simplicity is fresh and pure as dew; 
 The blossom in the blackest mold is kindlier to the eye 
 Than any lily born of pride that looms against the sky: 
 And so it is I know my heart will gladly welcome you, 
 My lowliest of lovers, when my dreams come true.
 
 A DOS T O BLUES. 
 
 : GOT NO patience with blues at all! 
 And I ust to kindo talk 
 Aginst em, and claim, tel along last Fall, 
 
 They was none in the fambly stock; 
 But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy, 
 
 That visited us last year, 
 He kindo convinct me differunt 
 While he was a-stayin here. 
 
 Frum ever -which way that blues is from, 
 
 They d tackle him ever ways; 
 They d come to him in the night, and come 
 
 On Sundays, and rainy days; 
 They d tackle him in corn-plantin time, 
 
 And in harvest, and airly Fall, 
 But a dose t of blues in the wintertime, 
 
 He lowed, was the worst of all! 
 
 Said all diseases that ever he had 
 The mumps, er the rheumatiz 
 
 Er ever -other-day-aigger s bad 
 Purt nigh as anything is! 
 
 Er a cyarbuncle, say, on the back of his neck, 
 Er a felon on his thumb, 
 
 But you keep the blues away from him, 
 And all o the rest could come! 
 
 And he d moan, "They s nary a leaf below ! 
 
 Ner a spear o grass in sight! 
 And the whole wood-pile s clean under snow! 
 
 And the days is dark as night! 
 (164)
 
 A DOS T O BLUES. 165 
 
 You can t go out ner you can t stay in- 
 Lay down stand up ner set!" 
 
 And a tetch o regular tyfoid-blues 
 Would double him jest clean shet! 
 
 I writ his parents a postal -kyard, 
 
 He could stay tel Spring-time come, 
 And Aprile first, as I rickollect, 
 
 Was the day we shipped him home! 
 Most o his relatives, sence then, 
 
 Has either give up, er quit, 
 Er jest died off; but I understand 
 
 He s the same old color yitl
 
 THE BAT. 
 
 HOU DREAD, uncanny thing, 
 With fuzzy breast and leathern "vving, 
 
 In mad, zigzagging flight, 
 Notching the dusk, and buffeting 
 
 The black cheeks of the night, 
 With grim delight! 
 
 II. 
 
 What witch s hand unhasps 
 Thy keen claw-cornered wings 
 From under the barn roof, and flings 
 
 Thee forth, with chattering gasps, 
 To scud the air, 
 
 And nip the lady-bug, and tear 
 
 Her children s hearts out unaware? 
 
 in. 
 
 The glow-worm s glimmer, and the bright, 
 Sad pulsings of the fire-fly s light, 
 
 Are banquet lights to thee. 
 O less than bird, and worse than beast, 
 Thou Devil s self, or brat, at least, 
 
 Grate not thy teeth at me! 
 
 (166)
 
 THE WAY IT WUZ. 
 
 JULY an , I persume 
 
 Bout as hot 
 As the ole Gran -Jury room 
 
 Where they sot! 
 
 Fight twixt Mike an Dock McGriff 
 Pears to me jes like as if 
 
 I d a dremp the whole blame thing 
 
 Allus ha nts me roun the gizzard 
 When they re nightmares on the wing, 
 
 An a feller s blood s jes friz! 
 Seed the row from a to izzard 
 Cause I wuz a-standin as clost to em 
 As me an you is! 
 
 Tell you the way it wuz 
 
 An I do n t want to see, 
 Like some fellers does, 
 
 When they re goern to be 
 Any kind o fuss 
 On y makes a rumpus wuss 
 
 Fer to interfere 
 
 When their dander s riz 
 But I wuz a-standin as clost to em 
 As me an you is! 
 
 I wuz kind o stray in 
 
 Past the blame saloon 
 Heerd some fiddler playin 
 
 That " ole hee-cup tune!" 
 Sort o stopped, you know, 
 Fer a minit er so, 
 
 And wuz jes about 
 (167)
 
 1 68 THE WAY IT WUZ. 
 
 SettirT down, when Jeemses -whizz f 
 Whole durn winder-sash fell out! 
 
 An there laid Doc McGriff, and Mike 
 
 A-straddlin him, all bloody-like, 
 An both a-gittin down to biz! 
 
 An I wuz a-standin as clost to em 
 As me an you is! 
 
 x wuz the on y man aroun 
 (Durn old-fogy town! 
 Feared more like, to me, 
 Sunday an Saturday!) 
 Dog come crost the road 
 An tuck a smell 
 
 An put right back; 
 Mishler driv by ith a load 
 
 O cantalo pes he could n t sell- 
 Too mad, y jack! 
 To even ast 
 
 What wuz up, as he went past! 
 Weather most outrageous hot! 
 
 Fairly hear it sizz 
 
 Roun Dock an Mike till Dock he shot, 
 An Mike he slacked that grip o his 
 An fell, all spraddled out. Dock rir 
 Bout half up, a-spittin red, 
 An shuck his head 
 An I wuz a-standin as clost to em 
 As me an you is! 
 
 An Dock he says, 
 
 A-whisperin -like, 
 "It hain t no use 
 A-tryin ! Mike 
 
 He s jes ripped my daylights Ioosl
 
 THE WAY IT WUZ. 169 
 
 Git that blame-don fiddler to 
 Let up, an come out here You 
 Got some burryin to do, 
 
 Mike makes one, an I expects 
 In ten seconds I 11 make t-wo!" 
 
 And he drapped back, where he riz, 
 Crost Mike s body, black and blue, 
 
 Like a great big letter X ! 
 An I wuz a-standin as clost to em 
 
 As me an you is!
 
 THE DRUM. 
 
 OTHE DRUM! 
 There is some 
 
 Intonation in thy grum 
 
 Monotony of utterance that strikes the spirit dumb, 
 As we hear 
 
 Through the clear 
 
 And unclouded atmosphere, 
 Thy palpitating syllables roll in upon the ear! 
 
 There s a part 
 
 Of the art 
 
 Of thy music-throbbing heart 
 
 That thrills a something in us that awakens with a start, 
 And in rhyme 
 
 With the chime 
 
 And exactitude of time, 
 Goes marching on to glory to thy melody sublime. 
 
 And the guest 
 
 Of the breast 
 
 That thy rolling robs of rest 
 Is a patriotic spirit as a Continental dressed; 
 And he looms 
 
 From the glooms 
 
 Of a century of tombs, 
 
 And the blood he spilled at Lexington in living beauty 
 blooms. 
 
 And his eyes 
 
 Wear the guise 
 
 Of a purpose pure and wise, 
 (170)
 
 THE DRUM. 171 
 
 As the love of them is lifted to a something in the skies 
 That is bright 
 
 Red and white, 
 
 With a blur of starry light, 
 As it laughs in silken ripples to the breezes day and night. 
 
 There are deep 
 
 Hushes creep 
 
 O er the pulses as they leap, 
 
 As thy tumult, fainter growing, on the silence falls asleep, 
 While the prayer 
 
 Rising there 
 
 Wills the sea and earth and air 
 As a heritage to Freedom s sons and daughters every where. 
 
 Then, with sound 
 
 As profound 
 
 As the thunderings resound, 
 Come thy wild reverberations in a throe that shakes the 
 
 ground, 
 And a cry 
 
 Flung on high, 
 
 Like the flag it flutters by, 
 Wings rapturously upward till it nestles in the sky. 
 
 O the drum! 
 
 There is some 
 
 Intonation in thy grum 
 
 Monotony of utterance that strikes the spirit dumb, 
 As we hear 
 
 Through the clear 
 
 And unclouded atmosphere, 
 Thy palpitating syllables roll in upon the ear!
 
 TOM JOHNSON S QUIT. 
 
 ^ PASSEL o the boys last night 
 -*- V ^An me amongst em kindo got 
 To talkin Temper nce left an right, 
 
 An workin up " blue-ribhon," Jiot; 
 An while we was a-countin jes 
 
 How many hed gone into hit 
 An signed the pledge, some feller says, 
 " Tom Johnson s quit ! " 
 
 We laughed, of course cause Tom, you know, 
 He s spiled more whisky, boy an man, 
 
 And seed more trouble, high an low, 
 Than any chap but Tom could stand: 
 
 And so, says I "He s too nigh dead 
 Fer Temper nce to benefit!" 
 
 The feller sighed agin, and said 
 " Tom Johnson s quit! " 
 
 We all liked Tom, an that was why 
 
 We sorto simmered down agin, 
 And ast the feller ser ously 
 
 Ef he wa n t tryin to draw us in: 
 He shuck his head tuck off his hat 
 
 Helt up his hand an opened hit, 
 An says, says he, " I 11 s-wear to that 
 Tom Johnson s quit! " 
 
 Well, we was stumpt, an tickled too, 
 Because we knowed ef Tom lied signed 
 
 Ther wa n t no man at wore the "blue" 
 At was more honester inclined: 
 (172)
 
 TOM JOHNSON s QUIT. 173 
 
 An then and there we kindo riz, 
 The hull dern gang of us at bit 
 An th owed our hats and let er whizz, 
 "Tom Johnson s quit!" 
 
 I ve heerd em holler when the balls 
 
 Was buzzin round us wus n bees, 
 An when the ole flag on the walls 
 
 Was flappin o er the enemy s, 
 I ve heerd a-many a wild "hooray" 
 
 At made my heart git up an git 
 But Lord! to hear em shout that way! 
 " Tom Johnson s quit I " 
 
 But when we saw the chap at fetched 
 
 The news wa n t jinin in the cheer, 
 But stood there solemn-like, an reched 
 
 An kindo wiped away a tear, 
 We someway sorto stilled agin, 
 
 And listened I kin hear him yit, 
 His voice a-wobblin with his chin, 
 " Tom Johnson s quit 
 
 "I hain t a-givin you no game 
 
 I wisht I was! .... An hour ago, 
 This operator what s his name 
 
 The one at works at night, you know? 
 Went out to flag that Ten Express, 
 
 And sees a man in front of hit 
 Th ow up his hands an stagger yes, 
 Tom Johnson j quit"
 
 LULLABY. 
 
 TlIE MAPLE strews the embers of its leaves 
 
 O er the laggard swallows nestled neath the eaves; 
 And the moody cricket falters in his cry Baby-bye! 
 And the lid of night is falling o er the sky Baby-bye! 
 The lid of night is falling o er the sky! 
 
 The rose is lying pallid, and the cup 
 
 Of the frosted calla-lily folded up; 
 
 And the breezes through the garden sob and sigh Baby- 
 bye! 
 
 O er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie Baby- 
 bye! 
 O er the sleeping blooms of summer where they lie! 
 
 Yet, Baby O my Baby, for your sake 
 This heart of mine is ever wide awake, 
 And my love may never droop a drowsy eye Baby-bye! 
 Till your own are wet above me when I die Baby-bye! 
 Till your own are wet above me when I die. 
 
 (174)
 
 IN THE SOUTH. 
 
 THEI 
 
 -"- A 
 
 HERE IS a princess in the South 
 About whose beauty rumors hum 
 Like honey-bees about the mouth 
 Of roses dewdrops falter from; 
 And O her hair is like the fine 
 Clear amber of a jostled wine 
 In tropic revels; and her eyes 
 Are blue as rifts of Paradise. 
 
 Such beauty as may none before 
 Kneel daringly, to kiss the tips 
 Of fingers such as knights of yore 
 Had died to lift against their lips: 
 Such eyes as might the eyes of gold 
 Of all the stars of night behold 
 With glittering envy, and so glare 
 In dazzling splendor of despair. 
 
 So, were I but a minstrel, deft 
 
 At weaving, with the trembling strings 
 Of my glad harp, the warp and weft 
 Of rondels such as rapture sings, 
 I d loop my lyre across my breast, 
 Nor stay me till my knee found rest 
 In midnight banks of bud and flower 
 Beneath my lady s lattice-bower. 
 
 And there, drenched with the teary dews, 
 I d woo her with such wondrous art 
 
 As well might stanch the songs that ooze 
 Out of the mockbird s breaking heart; 
 
 (175)
 
 176 IN THE SOUTH. 
 
 So light, so tender, and so sweet 
 Should be the words I would repeat, 
 Her casement, on my gradual sight, 
 Would blossom as a lily might.
 
 THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL. 
 
 IS "The old Home by the Mill" fer we still 
 
 call it so, 
 
 Although the old mill, roof and sill, is all gone long ago. 
 The old home, though, and old folks, and the old spring, 
 
 and a few 
 Old cat-tails, weeds and hartychokes, is left to welcome 
 
 you! 
 
 Here, Marg et, fetch the man a tin to drink out of ! Our 
 
 spring 
 
 Keeps kindo-sorto cavin in, but do n t "taste" anything! 
 She s kindo agein , Marg et is " the old process," like me, 
 All ham-stringed up with rheumatiz, and on in seventy- 
 
 three. 
 
 Jes me and Marg et lives alone here like in long ago; 
 The childern all put off and gone, and married, don t you 
 
 know? 
 One s millin way out West somewhere; two other miller- 
 
 boys 
 In Minnyopolis they air; and one s in Illinoise. 
 
 The oldest gyrl the first that went married and died 
 
 right here; 
 The next lives in Winn s Settlement for purt nigh thirty 
 
 year! 
 And youngest one was allus fer the old home here but 
 
 no! 
 Her man turns in and he packs her way off to Idyho! 
 
 I do n t miss them like Marg et does cause I got her, 
 you see;
 
 178 THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL. 
 
 And when she pines for them that s cause she s only 
 
 jes got me! 
 I laugh, and joke her bout it all. But talkin sense, I 11 
 
 say, 
 When she was tuk so bad last Fall, I laughed the t other 
 
 way! 
 
 I haint so favor ble impressed bout dyin ; but ef I 
 Found I was only second-best when us t~wo come to die, 
 I d dopt the " new process " in full, ef Marg et died, you 
 
 see, 
 I d jes crawl in my grave and pull the green grass over 
 
 me!
 
 A LEAVE-TAKING. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 HE will not smile; 
 
 She will not stir; 
 marvel while 
 I look on her. 
 
 The lips are chilly 
 
 And will not speak; 
 The ghost of a lily 
 In either cheek. 
 
 Her hair ah me! 
 
 Her hair her hair! 
 How helplessly 
 
 My hands go there! 
 But my caresses 
 Meet not hers, 
 
 golden tresses 
 
 That thread my tears! 
 
 I kiss the eyes 
 
 On either lid, 
 Where her love lies 
 
 Forever hid. 
 
 1 cease my weeping 
 
 And smile and say: 
 I will be sleeping 
 Thus, some day! 
 
 (179)
 
 WAIT FOR THE MORNING. 
 
 AIT for the morning: It will come, indeed, 
 As surely as the night hath given need. 
 The yearning eyes, at last, will strain their sight 
 No more unanswered by the morning light; 
 No longer will they vainly strive, through tears, 
 To pierce the darkness of thy doubts and fears, 
 But, bathed in balmy dews and rays of dawn, 
 Will smile with rapture o er the darkness drawn. 
 
 Wait for the morning, O thou smitten child, 
 Scorned, scourged and persecuted and reviled 
 Athirst and famishing, none pitying thee, 
 Crowned with the twisted thorns of agony 
 No faintest gleam of sunlight through the dense 
 Infinity of gloom to lead thee thence. 
 Wait for the morning: It will come, indeed, 
 As surely as the night hath given need. 
 
 0)
 
 WHEN JUNE IS HERE. 
 
 HEN JUNE is here what art have we to sing 
 The whiteness of the lilies midst the green 
 Of noon-tranced lawns? Or flash of roses seen 
 Like redbirds wings? Or earliest ripening 
 Prince- Harvest apples, where the cloyed bees cling 
 Round winey juices oozing down between 
 The packings of the robin, while we lean 
 In undcr-grasses, lost in marveling. 
 
 Or the cool term of morning, and the stir 
 Of odorous breaths from wood and meadow walks, 
 
 The bobwhite s liquid yodel, and the whir 
 Of sudden flight; and, where the milkmaid talks 
 Across the bars, on tilted barley-stalks 
 The dewdrops glint in webs of gossamer. 
 
 (181)
 
 TJ?e QiJded
 
 THE GILDED ROLL. 
 
 TVOSING around in an old box packed 
 -^ away, and lost to memory for years 
 an hour ago I found a musty package of gilt 
 paper, or rather, a roll it was, with the green- 
 tarnished gold of the old sheet for the outer 
 wrapper. I picked it up mechanically to toss 
 it into some obscure corner, when, carelessly 
 lifting it by one end, a child s tin whistle drop 
 ped therefrom and fell tinkling on the attic 
 floor. It lies before me on my writing table 
 now and so, too, does the roll entire, though 
 now a roll no longer, for my eager fingers 
 have unrolled the gilded covering, and all its 
 precious contents are spread out beneath my 
 hungry eyes. 
 
 Here is a scroll of ink-written music. I 
 do n t read music, but I know the dash and 
 swing of the pen that rained it on the page. 
 Here is a letter, with the self-same impulse and 
 abandon in every syllable ; and its melody 
 however sweet the other is far more sweet 
 to me. And here are other letters like it 
 three five and seven, at least. Bob wrote 
 them from the front, and Billy kept them for 
 (185)
 
 1 86 THE GILDED ROLL. 
 
 me when I went to join him. Dear boy ! Dear 
 boy ! 
 
 Here are some cards of bristol-board. Ah! 
 when Bob came to these there were no blotches 
 then. What faces what expressions ! The 
 droll, ridiculous, good-for-nothing genius, with 
 his "sad mouth," as he called it, "upside 
 down," laughing always at everything, at big 
 rallies, and mass-meetings and conventions, 
 county fairs, and floral halls, booths, water 
 melon-wagons, dancing -tents, the swing, 
 Daguerrean-car, the " lung-barometer," and 
 the air-gun man. Oh! what a gifted, good- 
 for-nothing boy Bob was in those old days ! 
 And here s a picture of a girlish face a very 
 faded photograph even fresh from " the gal 
 lery," five and twenty years ago it was a faded 
 thing. But the living face how bright and 
 clear that was! for "Doc," Bob s awful 
 name for her, was a pretty girl, and brilliant, 
 clever, lovable every way. No wonder Bob 
 fancied her ! And you could see some hint 
 of her jaunty loveliness in every fairy face he 
 drew, and you could find her happy ways and 
 dainty tastes unconsciously assumed in all he 
 did the books he read the poems he ad 
 mired, and those he wrote ; and, ringing clear 
 and pure and jubilant, the vibrant beauty of 
 her voice could clearly be defined and traced
 
 THE GILDED ROLL. 187 
 
 through all his music. Now, there s the 
 happy pair of them Bob and Doc. Make 
 of them just whatever your good fancy may 
 dictate, but keep in mind the stern, relentless 
 ways of destiny. 
 
 You are not at the beginning of a novel, 
 only at the threshold of one of a hundred ex 
 periences that lie buried in the past, and this 
 particular one most happily resurrected by 
 these odds and ends found in the gilded roll. 
 
 You see, dating away back, the contents of 
 this package, mainly, were hastily gath 
 ered together after a week s visit out at the 
 old Mills farm ; the gilt paper, and the 
 whistle, and the pictures, they were Billy s ; 
 the music pages, Bob s, or Doc s ; the let 
 ters and some other manuscripts were mine. 
 
 The Mills girls were great friends of 
 Doc s, and often came to visit her in town ; 
 and so Doc often visited the Mills s. This 
 is the way that Bob first got out there, and 
 won them all, and " shaped the thing " for 
 me, as he would put it ; and lastly, we had 
 lugged in Billy, such a handy boy, you 
 know, to hold the horses on pic-nic excur 
 sions, and to watch the carriage and the 
 luncheon, and all that. "Yes, and," Bob 
 would say, " such a serviceable boy in getting 
 all the fishing tackle in proper order, and dig-
 
 1 88 THE GILDED ROLL. 
 
 ging bait, and promenading in our wake up 
 and down the creek all day, with the minnow- 
 bucket hanging on his arm, do n t you know !" 
 
 But jolly as the days were, I think jollier 
 were the long evenings at the farm. After 
 the supper in the grove, where, when the 
 weather permitted, always stood the table, 
 ankle-deep in the cool green plush of the 
 sward ; and after the lounge upon the grass, 
 and the cigars, and the new fish stories, and 
 the general invoice of the old ones, it was de 
 lectable to get back to the girls again, and in 
 the old " best room " hear once more the lilt 
 of the old songs and the stacattoed laughter 
 of the piano mingling with the alto and fal 
 setto voices of the Mills girls, and the gallant 
 soprano of the dear girl Doc. 
 
 This is the scene I want you to look in 
 upon, as, in fancy, I do now and here are 
 the materials for it all, husked from the gilded 
 roll: 
 
 Bob, the master, leans at the piano now, 
 and Doc is at the keys, her glad face 
 often thrown up sidewise toward his own. 
 His face is boyish for there is yet but the 
 ghost of a mustache upon his lip. His eyes 
 are dark and clear, of over-size when looking 
 at you, but now their lids are drooped above 
 his violin, whose melody has, for the time, al-
 
 THfi GILDED ROLL. 19 
 
 most smoothed away the upward kinkings of 
 the corners of his mouth. And wonderfully 
 quiet now is every one, and the chords of the 
 piano, too, are low and faltering ; and so, 
 at last, the tune itself swoons into the uni 
 versal hush, and Bob is rasping, in its stead, 
 the ridiculous, but marvelously perfect imita 
 tion of the " priming " of a pump, while Bil 
 ly s hands forget the " chiggers " on the bare 
 backs of his feet, as, with clapping palms, he 
 dances round the room in ungovernable 
 spasms of delight. And then we all laugh ; 
 and Billy, taking advantage of the general 
 tumult, pulls Bob s head down and whispers, 
 "Git em to stay up way late to-night!" 
 A.nd Bob, perhaps remembering that we go 
 back home to-morrow, winks at the little fel 
 low and whispers, " You let me manage em ! 
 Stay up till broad daylight if we take a no 
 tion eh?" And Billy dances off again in 
 newer glee, while the inspired musician is 
 plunking a banjo imitation on his enchanted 
 instrument, which is unceremoniously drowned 
 out by a circus-tune from Doc that is ab 
 solutely inspiring to everyone but the bare 
 footed brother, who drops back listlessly to his 
 old position on the floor and sullenly renews 
 operations on his " chigger " claims. 
 
 " Thought you was goin to have pop-corn
 
 190 THE GILDED ROLL. 
 
 to-night all so fast ! " he says, doggedly, in 
 the midst of a momentary lull that has fallen 
 on a game of whist. And then the oldest Mills 
 girl, who thinks cards stupid anyhow, says : 
 " That s so, Billy ; and we re going to have 
 it, too ; and right away, for this game s just 
 ending, and I sha n t submit to being bored 
 with another. I say pop-corn with Billy ! 
 And after that," she continues, rising and 
 addressing the party in general, " we must 
 have another literary and artistic tournament, 
 and that s been in contemplation and prepar 
 ation long enough ; so you gentlemen can be 
 pulling your wits together for the exercises, 
 while us girls see to the refreshments." 
 
 "Have you done anything toward it!" 
 queries Bob, when the girls are gone, with the 
 alert Billy in their wake. 
 
 <s just an outline," I reply. "How with 
 you?" 
 
 " Clean forgot it that is, the preparation ; 
 but I ve got a little old second-hand idea, if 
 you 11 all help me out with it, that 11 amuse us 
 some, and tickle Billy I m certain." 
 
 So that s agreed upon ; and while Bob pro 
 duces his portfolio, drawing paper, pencils 
 and so on, I turn to my note-book in a dazed 
 way and begin counting my fingers in a depth 
 of profound abstraction, from which I am
 
 THE GILDED ROLL. 19! 
 
 barely aroused by the reappearance of the 
 girls and Billy. 
 
 "Goody, goody, goody! Bob s goin to 
 make pictures! " cries Billy, in additional trans 
 port to that the cake pop-corn has produced. 
 
 "Now, you girls," says Bob, gently de 
 taching the affectionate Billy from one leg and 
 moving a chair to the table, with a backward 
 glance of intelligence toward the boy, "you 
 girls are to help us all you can, and we can 
 all work ; but, as I 11 have all the illustrations 
 to do, I want you to do as many of the verses 
 as you can that 11 be easy, you know, be 
 cause the work entire is just to consist of a 
 series of fool-epigrams, such as, for instance. 
 Listen, Billy : 
 
 Here lies a young man 
 Who in childhood began 
 
 To swear, and to smoke, and to drink, 
 In his twentieth year 
 He quit swearing and beer, 
 
 And yet is still smoking, I think." 
 
 And the rest of his instructions are deliv 
 ered in lower tones, that the boy may not 
 hear; and then, all matters seemingly ar 
 ranged, he turns to the boy with "And now, 
 Billy, no lookin over shoulders, you know, 
 or swinging on my chair-back while I m at 
 work. When the pictures are all finished,
 
 tg2 THE GILDED ROLL. 
 
 then you can take a squint at em, and not 
 before. Is that all hunky, now?" 
 
 "Oh! who s a-goin to look over your 
 shoulder only Doc." And as the radiant 
 Doc hastily quits that very post, and dives 
 for the offending brother, he scrambles under 
 the piano and laughs derisively. 
 
 And then a silence falls upon the group a 
 gracious quiet, only intruded upon by the very 
 juicy and exuberant munching of an apple 
 from a remote fastness of the room, and the 
 occasional thumping of a bare heel against 
 the floor. 
 
 At last I close my note-book with a half 
 slam. 
 
 "That means," says Bob, laying down his 
 pencil, and addressing the girls, "That 
 means he s concluded his poem, and that 
 he s not pleased with it in any manner, and 
 that he intends declining to read it, for that 
 self-acknowledged reason, and that he ex 
 pects us to believe every affected word of his 
 entire speech " 
 
 " Oh, do n t ! " I exclaim. 
 
 "Then give us the wretched production, in 
 all its hideous deformity ! " 
 
 And the girls all laugh so sympathetically, 
 and Bob joins them so gently, and yet with a 
 tone, I know, that can be changed so quickly
 
 THE GILDED ROLL. 193 
 
 to my further discomfiture, that I arise at once 
 and read, without apology or excuse, this 
 primitive and very callow poem recovered 
 here to-day from the gilded roll : 
 
 A BACKWARD LOOK. 
 
 As I sat smoking, alone, yesterday, 
 
 And lazily leaning back in my chair, 
 Enjoying myself in a general way 
 Allowing my thoughts a holiday 
 
 From weariness, toil and care, 
 My fancies doubtless, for ventilation 
 
 Left ajar the gates of my mind, 
 And Memory, seeing the situation, 
 
 Slipped out in street of " Auld Lang Syne." 
 
 Wandering ever with tireless feet 
 
 Through scenes of silence, and jubilee 
 Of long-hushed voices; and faces sweet 
 Were thronging the shadowy side of the street 
 
 As far as the eye could see; 
 Dreaming again, in anticipation, 
 
 The same old dreams of our boyhood s days 
 That never come true, from the vague sensation 
 
 Of walking asleep in the world s strange ways. 
 
 Away to the house where I was born ! 
 
 And there was the selfsame clock that ticked 
 From the close of dusk to the burst of morn, 
 When life-warm hands plucked the golden corn 
 
 And helped when the apples were picked. 
 And the "chany-dog" on the mantel-shelf, 
 
 With the gilded collar and yellow eyes, 
 Looked just as at first, when I hugged myself 
 
 Sound asleep with the dear surprise.
 
 194 THE GILDED ROLL. 
 
 And down to the swing in the locust tree, 
 
 Where the grass was worn from the trampled ground, 
 And where "Eck" Skinner, " Old" Carr, and three 
 Or four such other boys used to be 
 
 Doin "sky-scrapers," or "whirlin 1 round:" 
 And again Bob climbed for the bluebird s nest, 
 
 And again "had shows" in the buggy-shed 
 Of Guymon s barn, where still, unguessed, 
 
 The old ghosts romp through the best days dead 1 
 
 And again I gazed from the old school-room 
 
 With a wistful look of a long June day, 
 When on my cheek was the hectic bloom 
 Caught of Mischief, as I presume 
 
 He had such a " partial " way, 
 It seemed, toward me. And again I thought 
 
 Of a probable likelihood to be 
 Kept in after school for a girl was caught 
 
 Catching a note from me. 
 
 And down through the woods to the swimming-hole 
 
 Where the big, white, hollow, old sycamore grows, 
 And we never cared when the water was cold, 
 And always " ducked " the boy that told 
 
 On the fellow that tied the clothes. 
 When life went so like a dreamy rhyme, 
 
 That it seems to me now that then 
 The world was having a jollier time 
 
 Than it ever will have again. 
 
 The crude production is received, I am glad 
 to note, with some expressions of favor from the 
 company, though Bob, of course, must heart 
 lessly dissipate my weak delight by saying, 
 "Well, it s certainly bad enough; though," 
 he goes on with an air of deepest critical
 
 THE GILDED ROLL. 195 
 
 sagacity and fairness, " considered, as it 
 should be, justly, as the production of a jour- 
 poet, why, it might be worse that is, a little 
 worse." 
 
 "Probably," I remember saying, "Prob 
 ably I might redeem myself by reading you 
 this little amateurish bit of verse, enclosed to 
 me in a letter by mistake, not very long ago." 
 I here fish an envelope from my pocket the 
 address of which all recognize as in Bob s 
 almost printed writing. He smiles vacantly 
 at it then vividly colors. 
 
 "What date?" he stoically asks. 
 
 "The date," I suggestively answer, "of 
 your last letter to our dear Doc, at Boarding- 
 School, two days exactly in advance of her 
 coming home this veritable visit now." 
 
 Both Bob and Doc rush at me but too late. 
 The letter and contents have wholly vanished. 
 The youngest Miss Mills quiets us urgently 
 distracting us, in fact, by calling our attention 
 to the immediate completion of our joint pro 
 duction ; " For now," she says, " with our new 
 reinforcement, we can, with becoming dili 
 gence, soon have it ready for both printer and 
 engraver, and then we 11 wake up the boy 
 (who has been fortunately slumbering for the 
 last quarter of an hour), and present to him, as 
 designed and intended, this matchless creation 
 of our united intellects." At the conclusion
 
 THE GILDED ROLL. 
 
 of this speech we all go good-humoredly to 
 work, and at the close of half an hour the 
 tedious, but most ridiculous, task is announced 
 completed. 
 
 As I arrange and place in proper form here 
 on the table the separate cards twenty-seven 
 in number I sigh to think that I am unable 
 to transcribe for you the best part of the non 
 sensical work the illustrations. All I can 
 give is the written copy of 
 
 BILLY S ALPHABETICAL ANIMAL SHOW. 
 
 WAS an elegant Ape 
 
 Who tied up his ears with red tape, 
 
 And wore a long veil 
 
 Half revealing his tail 
 Which was trimmed with jet bugles and crape. 
 
 WAS a boastful old Bear 
 
 Who used to say, " Hoomh! I declare 
 
 I can eat if you 11 get me 
 
 The children, and let me 
 Ten babies, teeth, toenails and hair!" 
 
 WAS a Codfish who sighed 
 
 When snatched from the home of his pride, 
 
 But could he, embrined, 
 
 Guess this fragrance behind, 
 How glad he would be that he died! 
 
 WAS a dandified Dog 
 
 Who said, " Though it s raining like fog 
 
 I wear no umbrellah, 
 
 Me boy, for a fellah 
 Might just as well travel incog! " 
 
 c
 
 THE GILDED ROLL. 
 
 WAS an elderly Eel 
 
 Who would say, " Well, I really feel 
 As my grandchildren wriggle 
 And shout I should giggle 
 
 A trifle run down at the heel!" 
 
 WAS a Fowl who conceded 
 
 Some hens might hatch more eggs than she did, 
 
 But she d children as plenty 
 
 As eighteen or twenty, 
 And that was quite all that she needed. 
 
 WAS a gluttonous Goat 
 
 Who, dining one day, table-d hote, 
 
 Ordered soup-bone, att /ait, 
 
 And fish, papier-mache, 
 And a filet of Spring overcoat. 
 
 H 
 
 J 
 
 WAS a high-cultured Hound 
 Who could clear forty feet at a bound, 
 And a coon once averred 
 That his howl could be heard 
 For five miles and three-quarters around. 
 
 WAS an Ibex ambitious 
 
 To dive over chasms auspicious; 
 
 He would leap down a peak 
 
 And not light for a week, 
 And swear that the jump was delicious. 
 
 WAS a Jackass who said 
 
 He had such a bad cold in his head, 
 
 If it was n t for leaving 
 
 The rest of us grieving, 
 He d really rather be dead.
 
 K 
 
 
 
 THE GILDED ROLL. 
 
 WAS a profligate Kite 
 
 Who would haunt the saloons every night; 
 
 And often he ust 
 
 To reel back to his roost 
 Too full to set up on it right. 
 
 WAS a wary old Lynx 
 
 Who would say, " Do you know wot I thinks? 
 
 I thinks ef you happen 
 
 To ketch me a-nappin 
 I m ready to set up the drinks! " 
 
 WAS a merry old Mole, 
 
 Who would snooze all the day in his hole, 
 
 Then all night, a-rootin 
 
 Around and galootin 
 He d sing "Johnny, Fill up the Bowl!" 
 
 WAS a caustical Nautilus 
 
 Who sneered, " I suppose, when they ve taught 
 all us, 
 
 Like oysters they 11 serve us, 
 
 And can us, preserve us, 
 And barrel, and pickle, and bottle us!" 
 
 WAS an autocrat Owl 
 
 Such a wise such a wonderful fowl! 
 
 Why, for all the night through 
 
 He would hoot and hoo-hoo, 
 And hoot and hoo-hooter and howl! 
 
 WAS a Pelican pet, 
 
 Who gobbled up all he could get; 
 
 He could eat on until 
 
 He was full to the bill, 
 And there he had lodgings to let!
 
 THE GILDED ROLL. 199 
 
 WAS a querulous Quail, 
 Who said: "It will little avail 
 The efforts of those 
 Of my foes who propose 
 To attempt to put salt on my tail!" 
 
 {Q\ WAS a ring-tailed Raccoon, 
 
 J [ With eyes of the tinge of the moon, 
 
 And his nose a blue-black, 
 
 And the fur on his back 
 A sad sort of sallow maroon. 
 
 Sis a Sculpin you 11 wish 
 Very much to have one on your dish, 
 Since all his bones grow 
 On the outside, and so 
 He s a very desirable fish. 
 
 WAS a Turtle, of wealth, 
 Who went round with particular stealth, 
 " Why," said he, " I in afraid 
 
 Of being waylaid 
 When I even walk out tor my health!" 
 
 WAS a Unicorn curious, 
 
 With one horn, of a growth so luxurious, 
 
 He could level and stab it 
 
 If you did n t grab it 
 Clean through you, he was so blamed furious! 
 
 WAS was a vagabond Vulture 
 
 Who said: " I do n t want to insult yer, 
 
 But when you intrude 
 Where in lone solitude 
 I m a-preyin , you re no man o culture. " 
 
 6 
 
 u 
 
 Y
 
 2OO THE GILDED ROLL. 
 
 W 
 
 X 
 
 Y 
 
 WAS a wild Woodchuck, 
 
 And you can just bet that he could " chuck "- 
 
 He d eat raw potatoes, 
 
 Green corn, and tomatoes, 
 And tree roots, and call it all " good chuck!" 
 
 WAS a kind of X-cuse 
 
 Of a some-sort-o -thing that got loose 
 
 Before we could name it, 
 
 And cage it, and tame it, 
 And bring it in general use. 
 
 IS the Yellowbird, bright 
 
 As a petrified lump of star-light, 
 Or a handful of lightning - 
 Bugs, squeezed in the tight ning 
 
 Pink fist of a boy, at night. 
 
 is the Zebra., of course! 
 
 A kind of a clown-of-a-horse, 
 
 Each other despising, 
 
 Yet neither devising 
 A way to obtain a divorce! 
 
 HERE is the famous what-is-it? 
 Walk up, Master Billy, and quiz it: 
 
 You Ve seen the rest of em 
 
 Ain t this the best of em, 
 Right at the end of your visit? 
 
 At last Billy is sent off to bed. It is the pru 
 dent mandate of the old folks : But so loth- 
 fully the poor child goes, Bob s heart goes, 
 too. Yes, Bob himself, to keep the little fel 
 low company awhile, and, up there under the 
 old rafters, in the pleasant gloom, lull him to
 
 THE GILDED ROLL. 2OI 
 
 famous dreams with fairy tales. And it is 
 during this brief absence that the youngest 
 Mills girl gives us a surprise. She will read a 
 poem, she says, written by a very dear friend 
 of hers who, fortunately for us, is not present 
 to prevent her. We guard door and window 
 as she reads. Doc says she will not listen ; 
 but she does listen, and cries, too out of pure 
 vexation, she asserts. The rest of us, how 
 ever, cry just because of the apparent honesty 
 of the poem of 
 
 BEAUTIFUL HANDS. 
 
 your hands they are strangely fair! 
 Fair for the jewels that sparkle there, 
 Fair for the witchery of the spell 
 That ivory keys alone can tell; 
 
 But when their delicate touches rest 
 Here in my own do I love them best, 
 As I clasp with eager acquisitive spans 
 My glorious treasure of beautiful hands! 
 
 Marvelous wonderful beautiful hands ! 
 They can coax roses to bloom in the strands 
 Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine, 
 Under mysterious touches of thine, 
 Into such knots as entangle the soul, 
 And fetter the heart under such a control 
 As only the strength of my love understands 
 My passionate love for your beautiful hands. 
 
 As I remember the first fair touch 
 
 Of those beautiful hands that I love so much, 
 
 1 seem to thrill as I then was thrilled, 
 Kissing the glove that I found unfilled
 
 202 THE GILDED ROLL. 
 
 When I met jour gaze, and the queenly bow, 
 As you said to me, laughingly, "Keep it now!" 
 And dazed and alone in a dream I stand 
 Kissing this ghost of your beautiful hand. 
 
 When first I loved, in the long ago, 
 And held your hand as I told you so 
 Pressed and carressed it and gave it a kiss, 
 And said "I could die fora hand like this!" 
 Little I dreamed love s fulness yet 
 Had to ripen when eyes were wet, 
 And prayers were vain in their wild demands 
 For one warm touch of your beautiful hands. 
 
 Beautiful Hands! O Beautiful Hands! 
 
 Could you reach out of the alien lands 
 
 Where you are lingering, and give me, to-night, 
 
 Only a touch were it ever so light 
 
 My heart were soothed, and my weary brain 
 
 Would lull itself into rest again; 
 
 For there is no solace the world commands 
 
 Like the caress of your beautiful hands. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Violently winking at the mist that blurs my 
 sight, I regretfully awaken to the here and now. 
 And is it possible, I sorrowfully muse, that 
 all this glory can have fled away? that more 
 than twenty long, long years are spread be 
 tween me and that happy night? And is it 
 possible that all the dear old faces O, quit 
 it ! quit it ! Gather the old scraps up and 
 wad em back into oblivion, where they be 
 long ! 
 
 Yes, but be calm be calm ! Think of
 
 THE GILDED ROLL. 2O3 
 
 cheerful things. You are not all alone. Bil 
 ly s living yet. 
 
 I know and six feet high and sag-should 
 eredand owns a tin and stove-store, and 
 can t hear thunder ! Bitty! 
 
 And the youngest Mills girl she s alive, 
 too. 
 
 S pose I do n t know that? I married her ! 
 
 And Doc. 
 
 Bob married her. Been in California for 
 more than fifteen years on some blasted cat 
 tle-ranch, or something, -and he s worth a 
 half a million ! And am I less prosperous 
 with this gilded roll?
 
 13231 DATE DUE 
 
 PRINTED IN USA.
 
 A 000 550582