THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 1898 
 Eroqums County STinua JBrtnt, 
 
 VVATSEKA ILL.
 
 COPYRIGHT. 
 Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1898. 
 
 By EDWIN BEARD, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. ( 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 
 
 Illustrations by Geo. H. Benedict & Co. 
 
 CHICAGO.
 
 TS 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 :N placing this volume before the public the 
 author is not in quest of fame. Had such 
 been the motive, better judgment might 
 have suggested the traveling of some other 
 road to find it. Our chief desire has been 
 to collate and preserve such of the stanzas 
 written during a brief but busy career that 
 would best illustrate the nobler impulses 
 and thoughts of life. Some of the con 
 tents of the succeeding pages, friends have 
 seen proper to denominate as "Poems." 
 They may be mistaken. If conscientious 
 in their judgment they will not be held 
 accountable for damages. The Author. 
 
 759433
 
 T 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 HIS volume is dedicated to a Devoted Wife, 
 whose loving presence has prompted the 
 impulse and inspiration of many of its 
 stanzas, and whose jjentle importunities 
 have been an impelling power in the search 
 for plans that have made its publication 
 possible under adverse circumstances and 
 conditions which, otherwise, mi^ht not 
 have been overcome. K. B.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 POITRAITOF AUTHOR, Frontispiece 
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 DEDICATION, 
 
 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS, (Illustrated) 
 
 SEVEN YEARS. 
 
 A MOTHER'S LOVE, 16-17 
 
 Now, - 18 
 
 THE CHILD, 19-20-21 
 
 THE SHIP OF LIFE, ------ 
 
 FORGETFULNESS OF FATE, 
 
 KEEP THE MAIN-TRAVELED ROAD, - - 25 
 
 THE SUN-FLOWER, (Illustrated) - - - - 26 
 
 A THANKSGIVING PLEA FOR THE POOR, - - 27 
 LIFE'S SEASONS 
 
 SPRING, (Illustrated) 
 
 SUMMER, (Illustrated) - 
 
 AUTUMN, (Illustrated) - 30 
 
 WINTER. (Illustrated) 
 BROTHERS AS BUILDERS. ... 
 Two VAGRANTS, - 
 WHEN WINTER SETS IN. 
 SUMMER DAYS IN WINTER TIME, - - - 35 
 
 NOT DONE RAVIN' YET, 36-37 
 
 THAT AIR NEW WOMIN. - - 38-39 
 
 SHARPS AND FLATS, - 40 
 
 THAT FATAL DAY, 41 
 
 EVOLUTION OF A NAME, (Illustrated) - - 42-43 
 
 ONE, 44-45 
 
 SONG OF A STORM. 46^47 
 
 To THE SUNNY SOUTH, (Illustrated) 48-49 
 
 TROUBLES THE YEAR AROUND, - 50-51 
 
 MY THANKSGIVING, - - 52 
 
 'Tis CHRISTMAS JUST THE SAME, 53 
 
 THE BLUE-JAY AND THE BERRY, (Illustrated) - 54 
 INTEMPERANCE. - ... 55 
 
 HERE'S TO CHICAGO. - 56 
 
 ODE TO AUTUMN, 57 
 
 SALUTES OF DAWN, - - 58
 
 BELLS, (Illustrated) 59-60-61 
 
 LIPK 'o JIM JONES, 62-63 
 
 LEAF YE\R VALENTINES, 64 
 
 A COLLOQUY, - 65 
 
 A RlVGES, 66 
 
 Two DAYS, 67 
 
 THE STAR OP EMPIRE, - 68 
 
 A MESSAGE OF HOPE, 69 
 
 LIFE'S HALF-WAY. 70-71 
 
 KAT 'EM AS You PICK 'EM, (Illustrated) 72 
 
 "BOY WANTED," - 73 
 
 THAT BABY BOY OF MINE. 74 
 
 PUBLISHED BY PEN, 75 
 
 A POINTER TO POETS, - 76 
 THE CRIME OF SNOW BALLIN', (Illustrated) 77 78-79 
 
 LOVELY MAY, - - - 80 
 
 SPARE SPELLS, ... 81 
 
 OH VHERE ISH DOT PUP? 82 
 
 SONG OF THE INSTITUTE. 8'{ 
 THE AUCTIONEER'S LAMENT. (Illustrated) 84-S5-86-87 
 
 CALENDAR, 1898, 88 
 
 THE "OLD ORIENTAL," 89 
 
 AN ECLIPSE ECLIPSED, 90 
 
 THEY SAW IT, 90 
 
 A SON OF THE SHADE, 91 
 
 A GUESS, - - 92-93 
 
 LINES TO A LEGAL LIGHT. 94 
 
 Two CITIES, 95 
 
 EFFORT, 96 
 
 UNEARNED, 96 
 
 MEMORIES OF BOYHOOD, 97 
 
 ILLUSTRATION, (City of Lafayette) 98 
 
 LAFAYETTE, 99 100-101 
 
 ILLUSTRATION, (Home of my childhood) 100 
 
 TALE OF A BRASS KETTLE, (Illustrated) 102-3-4-5 
 
 TEN YEARS AGO, 106 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 107 
 
 THE DYING TIME OF YEAR. - - - 108-109 
 
 10
 
 A SUMMONS. 110 
 
 DOWN THE VALLEY. 110 
 
 LINES TO HIS MEMORY, (Illustrated) 111 
 
 GONE WITH THE OLD YEAR. 112-113 
 
 IN HEAVEN ONE YEAR, 114 
 
 A SHINING MARK, (Illustrated) 115 
 
 CROWNED BY ANGEL HANDS, llti-117 
 
 ILLUSTRATION, (American Flag;) 118 
 
 POEMS OP PATRIOTISM. 119 
 
 AN INQUIRY, - 120 
 
 A "WAH" PROPHECY, 121 
 
 WEYLER WITH HER YET, 121 
 
 WILD NOTES OF WAR. -. - 122 
 
 GOING. - ... 123 
 
 APPROPRIATE EVERYWHERE. (Illustrated) 124 
 
 POSSIBILITIES, - 124 
 
 To HEROES OF THE SEA. 125 
 
 ODE TO CUBA'S FREEDOM, (Illustrated) 120-127 
 
 ILLUSTRATION. (The Bird of Freedom) 128 
 
 To A BRIDE. 129 
 
 TEN LINES TO TEN YEARS. (Illustrated) 130 
 
 A MEMORY. - 131 
 
 A BIRTHDAY WISH, 131 
 
 THREE MONTHS OF CHILDHOOD. 131 
 
 CLUBS, - - 132 
 
 To A GRADUATING CLASS, 132 
 
 Go GATHER THE GEMS. 132 
 
 POETIC "FEET" DISPLACED, 133 
 
 A SEVERE STROKE, - 133 
 
 SUSPICIOUS OF THE BRITISH, 133 
 
 DREAM OF THE TEACHER MAN, - 134 
 
 WAYS OF THE WORLD, 134 
 
 THE WRITER AND THE FIGHTER. 135 
 
 Rl'GULATED BY THE MOON. 135 
 
 EDITORS TAKE IT Too, 135 
 
 TRIUMPH. - - - 136 
 
 LIFE LINES. ------- - 136 
 
 11
 
 Closing the sense within the measured time. 
 'Tis hard to lit the reason to the rhyme. 
 
 Uryilon: Art of Ittttry. II 
 
 12
 
 > i / ; 
 
 / v 
 
 No wreath of orange buds 
 
 and blossoms fair 
 Adorns thy costume or 
 
 entwines thy hair 
 To-day, as did a few 
 
 brief years ago, 
 But in thy beaming smile 
 
 love's radiant glow 
 Shines full as bright 
 
 as when the bride 
 Pledged love for love 
 
 whate'er betide; 
 And tho' some cares of life 
 
 rest on thy brow, 
 Two buds of beauty 
 
 and promise now 
 Unfold their blossoms 
 
 'mid happy bowers, 
 To brighten and sweeten 
 
 this home of ours.
 
 SEVEN YEARS. 
 A; 
 
 [December 27, 1894.] 
 
 How many years have passed away? 
 
 How many seasons have come and gone? 
 How many returns of that bright day? 
 How many cycles of time have flown? 
 How many, dear one. 
 How many have gone? 
 
 How many years since then have fled? 
 
 How many days that make those years, 
 Of time gone by since we were wed, 
 
 Have brought their joys, have brought their tears, 
 Their cares and fears 
 How many years? 
 
 The mystic number seven surrounds 
 
 My thoughts of time that's passed and gone, 
 And ties of home where love abounds 
 
 Have grown in strength as years went on. 
 And loved ones come 
 To brighten home. 
 
 And many trials perchance we'll meet, 
 
 Along the busy way of life, 
 But time's too short and life too sweet 
 To count a care, permit a strife 
 To enter life 
 Of man and wife. 
 
 As we recount those passing years, 
 
 That bring return of Christmas-tide. 
 Forget the cares, forget the tears, 
 And number joys which were supplied 
 Since man and bride 
 Stood side by side. 
 
 15
 
 A MOTHER'S LOVE. 
 A; 
 
 From the distant home of the twinkling star, 
 From glittering realm* where angels are. 
 From Pearly Gates where God's own stay. 
 An angel winded its peaceful way. 
 
 God sent the angel from Heaven above. 
 To find the fairest of His earthly love: 
 That angel came in lovely May 
 When skies were bright and world was gay. 
 
 During its mission 'mong earthly bowers 
 That angel entered a garden of flowers 
 Filled with the fragrance of blossoms fair. 
 Ani plucked the rarest and sweetest there. 
 
 As the angel from the garden passed 
 
 Its vision o'er a home was cast, 
 
 Where a babe's sweet smile and a mother's love 
 
 Were deemed as gems for Heaven above. 
 
 And the Angel gathered that Love serene. 
 The Flower it plucked, the Smile it had seen. 
 Caressed and cherished them all, and then 
 Spread its white wings for Heaven again. 
 
 1(5
 
 As it arose to the Heavenly dome. 
 With fragrance and treasure of earthly home. 
 Of the Flower and Love and Smile it brought. 
 The Flower was fairest, the Angel thought. 
 
 But ere it reached that golden strand. 
 The Flower that had grown on earth so grand. 
 Had withered and fallen 'neath the Angel's feet. 
 And faded and gone was the Smile so sweet. 
 
 A 7 anished and lost were the Smile and Flower: 
 The Angel poised on Heaven's tower 
 With a Mother's Love, the theme and song 
 Of an angel host, of an angel throng. 
 
 The sweetest of earth or Heaven above 
 Is the precious theme of a Mother's Love: 
 It withereth not nor fadeth away 
 Like the smile of a child or flowers of Mav. 
 
 17 
 
 V
 
 NOW. 
 
 Why brood and ponder 
 
 O'er things back yonder 
 Beneath the veil and misty cast 
 
 Of fallen tears 
 
 In by-gone years. 
 Along the trail of the dead past. 
 
 When ''Now" doth need 
 
 Thy careful heed? 
 
 Why shouldst thou borrow 
 
 Aught from tomorrow y 
 Then break asunder that tearful tie 
 
 For sorrows fled 
 
 And hopes long dead 
 And buried under the years gone by: 
 
 Cease thy repine 
 
 When "Now" is thine. 
 
 The hour to fret 
 
 Has not come yet. 
 And time that's fled knows thee no more: 
 
 The fancied path 
 
 The future hath 
 ShouW not be tread so long before: 
 
 Then make thy vow 
 
 With naught but "Now." 
 
 18
 
 THE CHILD. 
 X 
 
 Sun is hot, 
 
 Heat of day. 
 Little tot 
 
 Hies away: 
 Tireless feet. 
 
 Playful hands, 
 On the street. 
 
 In the sands: 
 Watchful care 
 
 Of parents foiled. 
 Tangled hair. 
 
 Dresses soiled: 
 Pouting lips, 
 
 Streaming'eyes. 
 Mamma whips 
 
 And baby cries. 
 
 Perfumes rise 
 
 In garden plots. 
 Baby spies 
 
 Forget-me-nots: 
 There it lingers 
 
 'Mong the bowers, 
 Dainty fingers 
 
 Feeding flowers 
 To the bees 
 
 The garden near, 
 'Neath the trees. 
 
 Devoid of fear: 
 The bees the why's 
 
 Of baby's weep. 
 The sobs and sighs, 
 
 Then soothed to sleep. 
 
 19
 
 Tresses flying 
 
 In the breeze. 
 Then esp3 r ing 
 
 Yonder trees. 
 Baby wanders 
 
 To the woods. 
 Where it ponders 
 
 Nature's moods: 
 Myriad throats 
 
 In summer ringing. 
 The music notes 
 
 From wildwood springing. 
 (ilad and sweet 
 
 The sony-birds singing, 
 Joy complete 
 
 To childhood bringing. 
 
 Leaves a-mingling 
 
 With the snow. 
 Fingers tingling. 
 
 Cold winds blow: 
 Dreamy nights. 
 
 Days of noise. 
 Wild delights. 
 
 Christmas toys: 
 Wintry days, 
 
 Cosy nooks, 
 In-door plays 
 
 And picture books: 
 Ever humming. 
 
 Parlors ring 
 Till the coming 
 
 Of the spring. 
 
 20 
 J
 
 In realms above 
 
 The angel smiles, 
 With radiant love, 
 
 That love the child's: 
 The household bud, 
 
 The blooming flower, 
 The sweet and good 
 
 Of every hour; 
 The innocence, 
 
 The hope, the smile, 
 The recompense 
 
 Of care and trial: 
 The earthly gem, 
 
 The joy of home, 
 The diadem, 
 
 And Heaven's own. 
 
 21
 
 THE SHIP OF LIFE. 
 
 Serene and calm in the harbor of youth 
 
 A Ship of Life at anchor lay. 
 
 Freighting its hold with knowledge and truth. 
 
 Gathering the ballast for a stormy way. 
 
 And on that Ship in the harbor calm 
 Two happy mariners were you and me. 
 As from its decks we looked beyond 
 And visions beheld but a stirless sea. 
 
 No cloud obscured the vaulted blue 
 As that good Ship turned out to sea. 
 That Ship so strong, and brave and true. 
 And all on board was joy and glee. 
 
 Our pilot guided that Ship away 
 With snow-white sail and stately mast. 
 And rocks and reefs that hidden lay 
 Were left in trackless paths of its past. 
 
 For many days this Ship of Life, 
 With prow turned toward a distant strand. 
 Sailed on in peace: nor angry strife 
 Disturbed the calm of a voyage grand.
 
 But the captain saw a cloud arise 
 
 On the horizon of the blue, 
 
 And o'er the sea and o'er the skies 
 
 A fierce storm spread and mad winds blew. 
 
 Then angry waves did wildly play, 
 
 Our Ship was swept and swayed and tossed 
 
 Its snowy sails were torn away, 
 
 And some of its stately masts were lost. 
 
 But a pilot true and captain brave, 
 
 And an ever faithful, valiant crew 
 
 Battled the adverse wind and wave, 
 
 And guided that Ship the tempest through. 
 
 The Ship that sailed life's ocean wide, 
 And braved the fury of the blast, 
 Drifting with Eternity's gentle tide, 
 Has entered the Harbor of Peace at last. 
 
 23
 
 FORGETFULNESS OF FATE. 
 X 
 
 When life unfolds like bloom of flowers. 
 And happiness doth crown his hours. 
 And rapturous scenes around him lie. 
 Man feels he was not born to die. 
 
 When brighter hopes with each day dawn 
 And new ambitions lead him on. 
 W T hen fortune's star is shining hifjh.- 
 Man feels he was not born to die. 
 
 When man enjoys the zenith of his power. 
 He knoweth least the frailties of the hour, 
 And in his vain, exalted pride 
 Forgets that all before him died. 
 
 24
 
 KEEP THE MAIN'TRAVELED ROAD. 
 
 How many there be who have drifted and swayt. 
 From beaten paths, when they should have stayed. 
 
 In the traveled road with their burdensome load! 
 How many have wandered and lost their way 
 When lured to the wilds and led astray 
 
 'Along dangers so rife on the road of life. 
 
 And out of the paths by their fathers trod 
 Have lost their hope and lost their God! 
 
 Turn not, O traveler, to paths that are new 
 And fraught with tangles awaiting you: 
 
 Turn not to the by-way, but keep on the high-way, 
 Let the main-traveled road e'er be your guide, 
 For near the path on either side, 
 
 Are countless cares and innumerable snares: 
 
 Shun them. O traveler, those thorns and the strife 
 That lurk in the shadows by the road of life. 
 
 While you're sustaining life's care-crowned load 
 Your safety lies in the main-traveled road: 
 
 While on life's rambles keep out of the brambles, 
 Turn not to the left nor turn to the right, 
 But press straight on with manhood might 
 
 'Long the highway grand that leads to the land 
 Where all is a gleam of childhood fair 
 No poisonous shades nor wildwood there! 
 
 25
 
 THE SUN /FLOWER. 
 
 F stalwart strength 
 And gallant length, 
 And like a tree, 
 It rises high 
 The great Sun-flower 
 Whose blossoms tower 
 Toward the sky 
 
 The flower of flowers for me. 
 
 While morning sun 
 ? Neath horizon 
 Its light doth hide, 
 This golden flower 
 Turns its fair face 
 With comely grace 
 And waits the hour 
 To meet and greet its guide. 
 
 And as the brilliant orb of da}*, 
 That lights the world and all its way, 
 Pursues its path across the sky, 
 This stately flower that rises high 
 Above the sphere of other flowers. 
 (And like a dial to note the hours) 
 Unmindful of the blazing light 
 Nor dazed by splendor of the sight. 
 Careens its bloom with gentle grace 
 And views the sun fair in the face. 
 
 What other flower from morn till night 
 Kndures the power of sun so bright, 
 And when the day comes to its close. 
 And all the world seeks sweet repose. 
 With stalwart form stands firm and tri' 
 To gather the drops of falling dew, 
 Or freshen its leaves in gentle rain 
 To greet the sun at morn again? 
 Xo flower of valley or mountain side 
 Is like the one the sun doth guide.
 
 A THANKSGIVING PLEA FOR THE POOR. 
 
 The rich man may revei in a mansion grand. 
 And proffer the poor no helping hand. 
 But an unseen One will watch his way 
 And charge his account for Judgment Day : 
 But he who seeks to aid the poor, 
 To add a mite to their scanty store, 
 To answer the calls where poverty pleads, 
 Will receive reward for golden deeds. 
 
 Full many a hovel its own tale tells, 
 Where destitution and sadness dwells, 
 With the biting blasts of winter near 
 And the only warmth a scalding tear 
 That flows from a mother's saddened eyes 
 As she prays to Him beyond the skies 
 To help the dear ones left to her care, 
 And lighten her load of dark despair. 
 
 If you have aught for yourself, and more, 
 Go search the city from door to door 
 Till you find a home of the worthy poor 
 Where thoughts of kindness will long endure ; 
 Let charity's strength be broug'ht to bear 
 To break the pinions of poverty there, 
 And you'll be blessed in God's own way 
 For the good deeds done Thanksgiving Day.
 
 LIFE'S SEASONS. 
 
 "Thou Art the Play-time for thr World:' 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 Bright morn of life. () Spring, with skies so fair. 
 The childhood of the year, exempt from care: 
 Replete with joy and happiness. O Spring. 
 ICndeared art thou for pleasures that you brinjjf. 
 
 Thy early song's of birds and hum of bees. 
 Thy Mowers of field or plain and buddinjj trees, 
 Combine their loveliness with hope and cheer 
 To make thee. Spring, the youth-time of the year. 
 
 Thy joys are bountiful indeed, and free. 
 Thou art the play-time for the world, and me. 
 Thy tears that flow are few. and '.hey but seem 
 To tall to freshen flowr or quicken stream.
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 Successor thou of bright and vernal May, 
 The high and heated plane of life's mid-way, 
 Where all the wars of man are fiercely fought, 
 And all his victories are dearly bought. 
 
 Oh, season thou of toil-time and its strife. 
 Thy days are struggles ? mid the storms of life, 
 When man among a myriad of fears 
 Looks back upon his happy spring-time years: 
 
 And then in wonderment the future scans 
 
 For recompense of toil, reward of plans: 
 
 And brightening hopes at times flash thro' his teats 
 
 To paint a beauty scene on Autumn's years. 
 
 "Oh, .Season Thnu of Toil-time."
 
 .Van Reward doth bring.' 1 
 
 AUTUMN*. 
 
 Oh, golden harvest time that lies between 
 The sultry storms of life and wintry scene: 
 The time when tinted foliage of trees 
 Is drifting down and onward with the bree/e. 
 
 And if 'tis asked the fate of sons of men. 
 And what shall be the harvest gathered then: 
 "For sonic the weeds of woe, and blight and care 
 Is all the fruitage that is garnered there.'" 
 
 Thou season that to man reward doth bring 
 For thoughts and deeds in Summer and in Spring: 
 A golden time for all supplies to reap 
 To watch and wait for that Kternal Sleep.
 
 "WINTER. 
 
 Oh Wintry time! thy frosts have killed the flowers; 
 The birds have flown from thee to sunny bowers, 
 Thy biting blast, and bleak and freezing- breath 
 Hath come at last, and unto all is death. 
 
 That sparkling stream of life in childhood's days, 
 Congealed and silent now its winding ways 
 Are drifted deep, and desolation rife 
 Hath spread o'er all, to mark the end of life. 
 
 The battles fought have made man brave for thee, 
 Oh, death! his spirit vision strong, to see 
 Beyond the beating, blinding storms you bring, 
 And view the splendor of Eternal Spring. 
 
 Hints hace Flown from Thee:
 
 BROTHERS AS BUILDERS. 
 X 
 
 If I should tell a brother to build, 
 
 How and when and where, 'twould be, 
 
 Not as most of the world is willed, 
 A temple on land or a ship on sea. 
 
 It would not be to build in massive piles, 
 
 That tower toward the azure arch of sky, 
 
 With length and width a measure of miles, 
 
 With steeple and dome full mountain hiyh : 
 
 Nor with statel\- columns and marbled halls 
 Lined with silver or adorned with <jold. 
 
 Or beauteous frescoes to deck its walls, 
 
 Like some rich palace of the kins of old : 
 
 But build ye brothers, as brothers should build 
 A vast store-house of brotherly love. 
 
 And see that the same is abundantly filled 
 
 From its uttermost depths to the skies above.
 
 TWO VAGRANTS, 
 
 The Spendthrift flung- his dollars far and wide. 
 The Miser clung to his. gold was his guide: 
 The Spendthrift at the end of life had naught. 
 The Miser but the gold that greed had bought. 
 
 And both were much despised by all good men: 
 
 The Spendthrift pondered 
 
 O'er fortune squandered 
 And sadly sighed to live life o'er again: 
 
 The Miser fingered 
 
 His cash and lingered 
 A while at Heaven's gate, then in despair 
 
 He turned aside. 
 
 (Admission denied) 
 For wealth could not gain him an entrance there. 
 
 No thought they'd given to life's most solemn side: 
 One lived in greed for gain in want he died. 
 All disinherited by death at last 
 And therefore both as vagrants should be classed. 
 
 33
 
 WHEN WINTER SETS IN. 
 A; 
 
 .Some one'll he fooled 'lony 'bout spring 
 When winter sets in. they will, by jin! 
 Needn't be expectin' this kind o' weather 
 To jes' linger 'lonjf and hold out f rever. 
 
 When winter sets in now purty soon. 
 And hazy lookin' rinjjs wrap 'round the moon. 
 You can jes' look out. there'll be fallin' weather 
 One o' these days, 'taint far off ne'ther. 
 
 When winter sets in and winds be'in to blow. 
 When it {jets stinj^in' cold and you're shovelin' snow, 
 You'll wish you was down on the S'wanee river. 
 There or thereabouts, to. stay f rever. 
 
 When you see people {join' 'lonr the street 
 Shiverin' like a leaf and stampin' their feet. 
 And the north wind howls all the nifjht through. 
 Whistlin' in the window half way into you 
 
 When winter sets in 'lon< 'bout spring. 
 And blizzards strike every livin' thinif. 
 You'll wish somethin' else 'sides winter'd set in. 
 You'll wish nice davs would come 'round ar'in. 

 
 SUMMER DAYS IN WINTER TIME. 
 X 
 
 When such warm days as some of these 
 
 But afterglow of other season's time 
 ( 'ome saunteriii' 'long with balmy breeze, 
 
 A flirtin' like with winter time, 
 An' claim in' kin to fall an' spring 
 
 An' changin' all of winter's ways, 
 It puzzles one to tell such things 
 
 From bland-like. meek-eyed summer days. 
 
 This wearin' tints of Autumn's hours 
 
 Instead of winter's robe of snow. 
 These out of season April showers 
 
 Why does the weather keep actin' so? 
 The storm king soon will come perhap 
 
 All angered at this summer maid 
 A-lingerin' round on winter's lap. 
 
 An' she'll be sorrv that she staved.
 
 NOT DONE RAVIN' YET. 
 
 Dunraven came across the sea: 
 
 He came, we yuess. 
 After the cup which you and me 
 
 As countrymen possess. 
 
 He brought with him an English yacht. 
 
 An English tender. 
 And all the English fads he brought. 
 
 To race Defender. 
 
 Those two fleet boats sailed out to sea 
 
 For fifteen miles or more: 
 Valkyrie lost two out of three 
 
 Uncorked his vials and swore 
 
 Dunraven did: his boat was beat 
 
 Both out and back. 
 Defender's pace was most too fleet 
 
 For British tack.
 
 With frenzy wild, despair and wrath 
 
 And froth and foam 
 Were scattered 'long the watery path 
 
 He traveled home. 
 
 A,nd now old "Dun" in wild commotion 
 
 Still keeps his ravin' up. 
 While on this side of the old ocean. 
 
 We simply keep that cup. 
 
 We fear not war nor battle's horde. 
 
 Compared with he 
 When will that Englishman oh Lord! 
 
 Done ravin' be? 
 
 Send word to that old English fop 
 Whose talk has been so rough. 
 
 To just "haul in" his sails and stop 
 His boat's not swift enough.
 
 THAT AIR NEW WOMIN. 
 
 Oh. lands a-bloomin'! an sakes er-live! 
 How that air New Womin ever'll contrive 
 To take the place o* her ole man 
 An' reckon, an' fiyirer. an' plot, an' plan 
 The way o' life all clean, plum through 
 Is more'n-any wife I know kin do! 
 
 That air New Womin! oh. iiddlesticks! 
 Ye can't learn old do<rs many new tricks * 
 I never 'low'd 'twas born in them 
 To be chan<jin' jobs with thare ole men. 
 Fer wimin's place is 'lon^f with man 
 -list helpin' like, not leadin' the van. 
 
 I'm in habit o' speakin' out plain an' bold. 
 When a-talkin' to others o' the new an' old: 
 I'd let men manage the ships on the seas 
 An" fijrht men's battles 'bout as they please: 
 An' let 'em be 'tendin' to climbin' o' trees. 
 An' wimin the mendin' an' the quiltin' bees. 
 
 Some things thar be that 'peer miyhty strange. 
 Seems {join' purty fur to make sich a change: 
 I've heerd it preached an' saw it writ with pen. 
 An' listened to 'em tell 'bout bein' born aj'in: 
 Wonder'f that's the way one's got to pursue 
 When they sjit to be a real worn in new?
 
 The ole man an' me's been travelin' together 
 
 Not worryin' much 'bout wind or weather. 
 
 But jist sort a-keepin' in the main-traveled road. 
 
 Each helpin' to bear the other'n's load. 
 
 An' now we're comin' close down by the shore. 
 
 An' one of us two must soon go before. 
 
 We haven't time now fer things new-fangled. 
 Fer the .lines of life might git all tangled. 
 If the drivin' was done by some now womin. 
 An' we'd miss the road that's buddin' an' bloomin' 
 With sweet smellin" flowers on most every hand. 
 An' leadin' straight on to Parydize land. 
 
 We've plodded 'long life's journey nigh through. 
 
 An' done the best we knowed how to do: 
 
 I want to be new when death calls me. 
 
 An' the only new womin that I keer to be 
 
 Is an angel womin. an' one o' that band 
 
 In world's a-comin' at God's right hand.
 
 SHARPS AND FLATS. 
 X 
 
 'Gene Field wrote 'em. that's what he did 
 He didn't si<fn his name hut he couldn't keep it hid 
 When he wrote of polly ticks or some "land-slide." 
 An' told of the tricks that pollytishuns tried. 
 
 The only time 'Gene ever ot badly mixed 
 
 With his "Sharps an' Flats." an' 'tween an' betwixt 
 
 The two couldn't tell just where he was at. 
 
 Was when he mistook a ''Sharp" for a "Flat." 
 
 A fellow like 'Gene needn't sij^n any name 
 To tell who he is or build up his fame. 
 All of his readers throughout the broad land 
 Could tell when they saw his masterly hand. 
 
 I used to think that this 'Gene Field. 
 With the ready wit his mind could yield. 
 Should call 'em all "Sharps." an' let "Flats" be 
 For some other fellows not as sharp as he.
 
 THAT FATAL DAY. 
 A; 
 
 There's just one day in all the year 
 
 When riches dare not show their head. 
 When naught but poverties appear, 
 When all the men of wealth are dead. 
 And all their cash's concealed away. 
 The first of May. 
 
 That day. the one of all the year 
 
 Of which assessors most inquire. 
 All men of riches do most fear. 
 And some, perhaps, are wont to hire 
 The same the year before 'twas said: 
 "Not worth a red." 
 
 However strange that it may seem 
 
 All men <jet poor the first of May: 
 At other times their riches teem 
 And wealth flows free each other day, 
 But on that one brief day of spriny 
 They do not own a thinjj. 
 
 41
 
 EVOLUTION OF A NAME. 
 
 When life began an infant then 
 
 And fads had not enthralled her 
 She was a laughing little gem 
 
 And MAGGIE'S what they called her. 
 
 When infant days had passed away, 
 This little one to girlhood grew, 
 
 And 'long about her tenth birthday 
 
 Just simple " MAG '' was all she knew. 
 
 The spring-time of her life had come 
 And she had known no troubles yet, 
 
 Except her name and thoughts of some 
 Who called her MARG for MARGARKT. 
 
 Another lapse of years I think 
 
 Passed by this maid had reached sixteen 
 Her name likewise stretched out a link 
 
 And took the form of MAGDALENE. 
 
 Sixteen sweet time right age you know 
 And in this world of fads and fears 
 
 Quite old as girls e'er wish to grow 
 
 Therefore with caution count those years. 
 
 As time wears on what she calls life 
 
 Becomes routine, each day the same, 
 
 And burdensome, 'less mid the strife 
 There's evolution in her name.
 
 This girl is now a graduate 
 
 With great, wide sleeves and smile so sweet- 
 Upon her name doth hang; her fate 
 
 She changes it to MARGUERITE. 
 
 And for a while the social whirl 
 
 Employs this dear one gay and tall- 
 
 An ever blooming summer girl. 
 
 With MARGUEKITA for her call. 
 
 If she, perchance, some day should wed, 
 Or cast a vote, or ride a bike, 
 
 With bloomers, she'd get it in her head 
 To call it RITA, or the like. 
 
 And 'mong the droves of this girl's kind 
 
 If you should ever meet a 
 "Coming Woman," perhaps you'll lind 
 
 Her name transformed to GKIT.I
 
 ONE. 
 
 One little one! 
 
 That figure next to nauht. 
 
 What wonders hath it wrought! 
 What triumphs won! 
 
 .Just one! of little thins. 
 And yet. indeed, how "Teat 
 The consequence the caste of fate 
 
 That often clings 
 
 Around a single one 
 
 In contests rife 
 
 When races 'lonjj the road of life 
 Are run, and won!. 
 
 One little word set free 
 
 I'n bound the shackles of the slaves. 
 
 One shot opened a thousand j^raves- 
 The cost of victory. 
 
 One proudly chanted chorus: 
 "My Country 'tis of Thee. 
 Sweet Land of Liberty"- 
 
 One flar waving o'er us. 
 
 44
 
 One star it guided them 
 
 By the twinkling light it gave 
 
 To One who came the world to save- 
 
 The Star of Bethlehem. 
 
 And oh! one doom! 
 That once for all awaits 
 The shrouded mystery of fates! 
 
 One death! one tomb! 
 
 One life! one love 
 
 To lead us on 
 
 To one Eternity beyond- 
 One Heaven above. 
 
 One life is done 
 
 We pass the portal 
 
 Of realms immortal 
 And there abide with One. 
 
 45
 
 SONG OF A STORM. 
 X 
 
 The sun had gone behinl the hills. 
 
 A dusky twilight veilel the world. 
 
 It held the key to portals of the night 
 
 And bade the day depart. 
 
 I stood in wonderment anJ awe 
 
 Of nature's chanceful scenes: 
 
 Above horizon 'rose a dismal pall. 
 
 At intervals a glimmering sheen 
 
 Of lightning sent its darting rays 
 
 Along the shapeless banks of .blacknens 
 
 And foretold the corning of a storm. 
 
 The air was solemn, sad and still. 
 
 And no sound broke the darkened calm 
 
 Save the cricket's chirp or locust's lonely song. 
 
 Or hurrying tread of feet 
 
 All homeward bound. 
 
 Then thunder's distant roar was heard. 
 
 And lightnings fiercer gleamed 
 
 And sent their vivid darts across the sky, 
 
 And nearer drew the storm: 
 
 Its breath fanned the forest and the field 
 
 And swept the grasses of the plain. 
 
 And to the city's inmost gates it came 
 
 And whirled among the streets and spires.
 
 Then sudden broke the Hood, 
 
 And torrents as they fell 
 
 Brought fright and fear to all: 
 
 And fierce winds blew and bent the boughs 
 
 Of sturdy oaks and elms 
 
 Until they kissed the earth, 
 
 Or bathed their verdure grand 
 
 In raging rivulets that ran. 
 
 The fierce blasts hurried on 
 
 And soon had passed; 
 
 The stately branches of the trees 
 
 That swayed, and sighed and sung 
 
 The harsh notes of the raging storm, 
 
 Had reared to lofty heights again: 
 
 The creatures of life who fled 
 
 From perils of the scene 
 
 To sheltered homes, came forth again 
 
 To view the lightning's glare that fainter grew, 
 
 And hear the distant knell 
 
 Receding echoes of the storm's farewell; 
 
 And the moon threw its silvery tints upon 
 
 The curtain folds of darkness that had drawn, 
 
 And the sentinel stars of heaven shone 
 
 And sang their purest, sweetest song. 
 
 47
 
 TO THE SUNNY SOUTH. 
 
 From out the bleak and frozen North 
 Land of snow and wind, and storm and sleet, 
 Where all the wrath of elements meet, 
 Robbing the earth of its warmth and heat 
 
 We're flying forth, 
 
 Knroute to sunny, southern lands, 
 Where perfumed petals of blooming flowers 
 Ope wide their beauty 'mid sylvan bowers. 
 To lighten the hearts, to brighten the hours, 
 
 Of happy bands. 
 
 Unlock your icy grasp, O frigid North! 
 Release your victims from snow-clad clime. 
 And bid them speed on swiftly flying time 
 From lands of prose to lands of rhyme 
 
 To the Sunny South. 
 
 4S
 
 THE SUNNY SOUTH.
 
 TROUBLES THE YEAR AROUND. 
 
 The coal man now is striving hard. 
 
 His patrons one and all to please: 
 He sends around his lit^.e card 
 
 Just after ev'ry little freeze. 
 
 His cards and coal are not the worst: 
 They fill the bins and rob no till: 
 
 But every month the very first 
 He sends around "a little bill." 
 
 As soon as winter thaws away. 
 
 The ice man hauls his waj^on forth. 
 And lonjr before the first of May 
 
 Is peddling extract of the north. 
 
 And while the ice man travels on 
 The man of milk thinks it quite nice 
 
 To come alonjr when he is ""one 
 
 And place some milk upon that ice. 
 
 You talk of men of ice and coal. 
 
 The milk-man overshadows all. 
 The year around, exacts his toll 
 
 Through winter, summer, spring and fall.
 
 When winter comes and we've passed by 
 The scorching summer's heated spell. 
 
 There is no longer need to try 
 To cool the milk down in the well. 
 
 Think not when winter nears this man 
 Of cows and cans and pumps and pails. 
 
 That aught outwits his mental plans 
 That his invention ever fails. 
 
 With old Jack Frost he makes a deal 
 To keep the cream that sticks to can 
 
 Sell only that which won't congeal 
 The pure sky blue! oh heartless man! 
 
 The milk-man's days are not in vain: 
 He's not in business for his health. 
 
 For he has water on the brain 
 His route by water leads to wealth. 
 
 And sometimes there is something w r rong 
 Supposed of him: but hush! don't tell 
 
 He makes those strings a trifle long- 
 That hang those cans down in the well.
 
 MY THANKSGIVING. 
 
 Thanksgiving day arrived again this year. 
 
 With joys of summer past and winter near: 
 
 The free/ing winds had brought a message from the north. 
 
 The driven snows had come and covered all the earth: 
 
 I thought of days gone by and what they'd brought to me 
 
 As I had drifted out on life's uncertain sea: 
 
 But how to pass that day of thanks, and joy and glee. 
 
 And make it one of pleasure is what most pu/./.led me. 
 
 My thoughts turned to my home deserted, desolate. 
 
 The morrow seemed all crowned with darkest kind of fate 
 
 As I wandered lone and dreary along the street that night. 
 
 Keenly, sadly, feeling the sorrow of my plight. 
 
 And wishing for the presence of loved ones far away. 
 
 For cheering words of wife and the prattle and the play 
 
 Of those who brighten home with childhood's loving mien- 
 
 In vain I tried to shorten the miles that intervene. 
 
 And through that sleepless night I struggled on 
 
 And plead release from such conditions till the dawn. 
 
 That marked the Hrst approach of coming morn. 
 
 Brought new conclusions and thoughts new-born. 
 
 As bright as the day that with them came along. 
 
 As happy as the birds of spring-time song: 
 
 I thought of my old home, its joys and tears. 
 
 Of a good old mother and her burden of years. 
 
 And the hours were few that I had to wait 
 
 For a train that crossed to another state. 
 
 There my Thanksgiving this year was passed: 
 
 'Twas a joyous day. and its memories last: 
 
 The scenes of boyhood were revived and reviewed. 
 
 And the old-time paths retraced and pursued, 
 
 And this is the way I battled the fate 
 
 Which shadowed the eve of Thanksgiving date. 
 
 When sad and lonely and loved ones are gone. 
 
 Just pass your Thanksgiving with mother at home.
 
 'TIS CHRISTMAS JUST THE SAME, 
 X 
 
 The weather may be rough 
 
 An' the roads in very tough 
 Kind o' shape when Christmas gets around. 
 
 An' things not all a-movin' 
 
 In ways that you're approvin' 
 An' your lower lip a hangin' lower down 
 
 Than it ever hung before. 
 
 An' business mebbe poor. 
 Just because the people couldn't come to town: 
 
 But no one ain't to blame, 
 
 'Tis ( 'hristmas just the same. 
 
 If the creek's a playin' pranks. 
 
 Overtlowin' uv its banks 
 On account o' rain a drippin' from the skies. 
 
 An' your corn's dirt cheap 
 
 An' you just hev to keep 
 Holdin' on a waitin' fer the price fer to rise 
 
 Tho' no market fer yer stuff 
 
 There's water quite enough 
 Without sheddin' more from a pair o' sad eyes: 
 
 There's no one much to blame, 
 
 'Tis Christmas just the same. 
 
 Then don't be a worryin' 
 
 As the time goes hurryin' 
 On, an' Christmas comes reg'lar once a year. 
 
 You'll live much longer 
 
 Grow better an' stronger 
 An' see more Christmases in your career 
 
 If you don't complain 
 
 Keep mud off the brain 
 An' your soul an' eyes keep bright and clear; 
 
 It don't matter much how Christmas came. 
 
 'Tis joyous Christmas just the same.
 
 THE BLUE-JAY AND THE BERRY. 
 
 There was a jay-bird- a pesky, squawky 
 That sat on a bouyh in early spring 
 Watching the bloom in the berry patch 
 Impatient and eajfer a berry to snatch. 
 
 And on the morning of each new day 
 Would come the return of this blue-jay. 
 To perch on a tree near the garden <rate. 
 To look and linger, to squawk and wait. 
 
 The housewife his habits quite well knew. 
 And rather suspicious of his presence rew: 
 She tried to rout him from the place 
 By plantin.tr a scare-crow with frightful face. 
 
 This jay-bird left that nij^ht in anxious mood. 
 Flew from the place where the scare-crow stood. 
 But before the berry to crimson rew. 
 That jay came back, and now the day through. 
 
 As if no fear he ever knew 
 Since he was hatched a bird of blue. 
 Sits on the arm of that scare-crow 
 Anxiously watching the berry k r ro\\ .
 
 INTEMPERANCE. 
 
 The greatest curse that lives today. 
 For ages past has held its sway. 
 And reigned as a despot with iron hand 
 In ev'ry clime and ev'ry land. 
 It enters circles fair and bright. 
 To sow a care, to spread a blight. 
 And seeking there to rule the hour 
 With its beguiling, conq'ring power. 
 It crowns the festal board with mirth: 
 Purports to be of dazzling worth: 
 Imbues each one who lingers there 
 With degradation and despair. 
 Its victim does not think so then 
 But tips his glass and drinks again. 
 When life's advanced he comes to grief. 
 But past all time to gain relief.
 
 HERE'S TO CHICAGO. 
 
 A: 
 
 Traverse the land from Tom Heed's state 
 
 To ( 'alifornia's San Die.yo: 
 Coast all the shores from Behrin's strait 
 
 To land-locked harbor of Pao-Pa<jo. 
 Or travel a life-time at rapid <rait. 
 
 You'll find no city like < 'hi-kay-.uo. 
 
 There is no place where councilmen are nested 
 
 Securely here below. 
 So steeped in sin. so fraud-infested. 
 
 No matter where you o: 
 And should Christ come, as Stead suu Bested. 
 
 He'd surelv find it so.
 
 ODE TO AUTUMN. 
 
 A: 
 
 As the departing summer's glory fades 
 And frosts rest on the withering blades. 
 And much of the year is beyond recall. 
 There's a lesson of life in the leaves that fall. 
 In the changing scenes that meet the eye. 
 In the foliage hues and tints of the sky. 
 In the shaded lane or tree-lined street. 
 In the manner of all we see and meet. 
 
 Summer has gone with its joys untold 
 And its living green's transformed to go.'.d. 
 What power so mystic, so wondrous strange 
 Has wrought such beauty amid this change 
 That pen of poet nor hand of art 
 Can ne'er portray the beauteous part. 
 Nor paint a scene to nature true 
 With the forest tinted a golden hue! 
 
 The autumn days that now are come 
 
 A melancholy time by some. 
 
 All sad and drear are said to be. 
 
 And oft they seem that way to me: 
 
 Their changing moods sometimes appear 
 
 The saddest of the passing year. 
 
 Yet idolized is autumn's day 
 
 That turns the green to gold and grav.
 
 SALUTES OF DAWN. 
 X 
 
 I 'rose one morning at the break of dawn. 
 
 Unlike I'd ever done for lon^ before. 
 (Because 1 always sleep till night's 'way jjone) 
 
 And saw the streaks of day a-shooting o'er 
 The world, and lighting up the Eastern sky. 
 
 And chasing hack the sent'nels of the niyfht. 
 Like sentinels are often made to Hy 
 
 When cov'ring some retreating army's tli^ht. 
 
 And then a cloud I saw. a-hanirin.ir 'round 
 
 And hov'rinjr close upon the hori/.on. 
 Not differing much in shape and looks from ground. 
 
 Nor from the darkness that was hurryinjj on: 
 'Twas there to fortify the camp of niht 
 
 It seemed, tho' only for a brief, short spell. 
 Just long enough perhaps to set things ri.ijht 
 
 (Jive nijfht a little time to say farewell. 
 
 Kffulfjent rays break o'er the wakinjr world: 
 
 For me it is a grand inspiring sij^ht 
 To see those clouds of darkness backward hurled. 
 
 And smiles of morn displace the dreams of ni^ht. 
 Oh jjrand the golden scenes of sunset sky. 
 
 But more adored by me are those at dawn 
 When nifjht, awakening, hastens its good-by. 
 
 Amid salutes and echoes of the morn.
 
 BELLS. 
 
 The bells! sweet bells that chime 
 At happy Christmas time! 
 That ring on every side 
 At joyous Easter-tide. 
 
 The poet tells 
 Of ringing bells. 
 Of funeral knells: 
 Of ancient chime, 
 Attuned to time 
 Of measured rhyme. 
 
 The bell! the bell! 
 
 High sounding bell 
 
 Whose echoes swell! 
 Oh bells so gladly ringing! 
 
 And bells! bells! bells! 
 
 Those mournful bells! 
 
 Those funeral knells! 
 Oh bells so sadly swinging! 
 
 The falcon's bell heralds its flight 
 And curfews tell of passing night; 
 And midnight's chime afar and near 
 Doth mark the time of passing year: 
 And "passing-bells"' rang out of old 
 To sound sad knells of death they told. 
 
 Bells! bells! bells! bells! 
 
 The bells! the bells! 
 
 Of all the bells 
 
 Which history tells, 
 There's one that rang at Liberty's birth, 
 
 And monarchs reeled 
 
 When its echoes pealed! 
 
 And dooms were sealed! 
 Most priceless bell of all the earth!
 
 The bells! the bells! 
 
 Those jingling bells 
 
 Whose story tells 
 Of whitened fields on every side 
 
 Of wintry climes, 
 
 Of Christmas chimes 
 
 And happy times, 
 As o'er the snow we gaily glide. 
 
 There is one bell 
 In annals of ages 
 Of which we sing, 
 Which poets tell 
 On history's pages, 
 That did not ring 
 A curfew bell in Cromwell's time, 
 
 Suspended high in an ancient tower, 
 Each day wont to toll the curfew chime 
 And of t to note the end, the fatal hour 
 When life should take its final leave. 
 Within dark prison walls there lived that day 
 
 One o'erwhelmed by death's dark token. 
 And Cromwell's coming far away 
 
 Was all too late sad hearts were broken 
 At thoughts of curfew to ring that eve. 
 
 "Curfew must not ring to-night!'' 
 
 ( 'ried out a maiden bold and brave- 
 Heroine of that belfry's dizzy height 
 
 A fate to rescue, a life to save! 
 
 And heeding not what dangers bring. 
 Muffled that bell's loud-speaking tongue, 
 
 (Unknown to the deaf old sexton fc;r below) 
 And in that hour of frightful peril clung 
 
 To that bell wildly swinging to and fro 
 Her lover lived, for curfew did not ring!
 
 The bells! the bells! 
 
 The wedding- bells! 
 Which ring the joy of man and bride. 
 
 The bells! the bells! 
 
 The bright blue-bells! 
 That fadeless flower, fair Scotland's pride 
 
 The school bell tolling, 
 
 The school boy calling, 
 Prom paths of play he is prone to trod, 
 
 And those church bells, 
 
 The deep-toned bells, 
 Calling the sinner to the house of God. 
 
 The bells! the bells! 
 Jingling, 
 Tinkling, 
 Merry bells! 
 Swinging, 
 Singing, 
 Ringing, 
 
 Song-like echoes of some glad story 
 From birth-time hours to days of glory 
 
 Those auction bells, 
 
 And bovine bells 
 In all their harshness clanging: 
 
 Thoso breakfast bells, 
 
 And dinner bells, 
 And bells in belfries hanging; 
 
 Yes, all the bells 
 
 Which history tells 
 And poets have been singing, 
 
 Bring out those bells, 
 
 A thousand bells, 
 And set them all to ringing!
 
 LIFE 0' JIM JONES. 
 X 
 
 Jim .Jones lived jes' sawin' wood. 
 An' .Jim wux. jolly an' yot 'lonjj good. 
 You never seed Jim loatin' er layin' 
 Houn' s'loons. an' ferglttin the payin' 
 Uv his onnus duze. an' like I know sum 
 Allus a-waitin fer sumthin' to rum 
 His way ee/y -Jim worked hard. 
 I've seed him in meny er yard 
 Lony 'fore roosters erode fer day 
 Nee deep in wood an' sawin' away 
 Thet's how Jim lived, an' Jim lived 
 An' <jot all he had jes' sawin' wood. 
 
 Jim jined the Woodmin an' yess 'twux. thar 
 He lurnd his sawin' -I don't know whar 
 Er why. er when it could hev bin 
 Er how he happund to bey in 
 Ef it wuzn't then, but anyhow 
 Jim {jot to sawin'. and I jes 'low 
 It wuz a lucky thing" fer Jim. 
 An' thar's lots more jes' like him 
 A-wandurn' through the world today 
 Orter be nishiated jes' the same way: 
 It shakes 'em up an' does 'em fjood 
 To yit 'em a-started sawin' wood.
 
 I've often thot a feller like Jim 
 Set a good patturn. an' follurn' him 
 In his ever-day work a-sawin wood 
 Ud do a lot of fellers a hepe o' good. 
 Let 'em rise airly like Jim ust to 
 An' work till noon an' afternoon too. 
 On till nite till the cows cum home. 
 An' the ole turky gobler seeced to rome 
 An' went to roost on a high-up lim' 
 With the turky hen settin' side o' him. 
 Thayde live longer an' do more good 
 Ef thay dun like Jim an' jes' sawed wood. 
 
 Jim lived long an' grode old 
 
 A-tryin to do what duty told. 
 
 An' whenever his advice wuz sought 
 
 Jim allus sed jes' what he thot 
 
 To young er old. an' told 'em to be good 
 
 An' reckermendid sawin' wood. 
 
 Jim wuzn't rich, er prowd. but sumhow 
 
 A thousan' luv'd him an' think o' him now. 
 
 When Jim went totterin' down the years 
 
 To his finul end, a milyun tears 
 
 Wuz shed an' Jim gained that reward 
 
 Jes' sawin' wood, an' trustin' in the Lord.
 
 LEAP YEAR VALENTINES. 
 
 Soon the postman's arms will In- 
 Filled with love's sweet minstrelsy 
 
 While each waiting maid will pine 
 For her leap-year valentine. 
 
 Detroit Free Pre> 
 
 A DAY OK TWO LATEK. 
 And in some postman's arms, perhap. 
 
 The following Sunday nijjht. 
 Or on some postman's lap, 
 
 (With lamps not very bright) 
 Full many an arm-full sweet 
 
 Sub-missive there reclines. 
 Enveloped quite complete. 
 
 That leap-}'ear valentine.
 
 A COLLOQUY. 
 A; 
 
 SON "Mother, pray tell who was the man 
 Who first ordained the worldly plan 
 
 To subdivide the year. 
 
 So me and all my chums 
 Just have to wait and watch and yawn 
 Till all those tiresome months that on 
 
 The calendar appear 
 Are nearly jrone 
 
 Before our Christmas comes." 
 
 MOTHER "My son," the mother said, " 'tis nature's plan 
 Perhaps, ordained by God and not by man." 
 
 SON "Could not the days and weeks that Hy 
 Count all the time for you and I 
 From year to year 
 Without twelve months to interfere?" 
 
 Within this mother's mind there lurked a mortal fear 
 That argument once begfun would last beyond the year. 
 For boys are boys all this she knew before 
 And therefore wiselv thought it best to sav no more.
 
 A RINGER. 
 
 A; 
 
 Rinjj" out the old. riny in the new: 
 Kin, r out the false, rinir in the true: 
 Kinjr out the dark, rin, r in the lifht: 
 llin<r out the dull, riny in the bright: 
 Kin- out the slush, rin"' in the snow: 
 Rin<r in the swift. rinr out the slow: 
 Ilinjr in the 'ood. rinjr out the had: 
 Kin' in the joyful. rin- out the sad: 
 IlinjLT out the ni^ht. rin - in the dawn: 
 And rinr! and rin<^! rinf on! rin<^ on! 
 Yes rin, r ! and rin"! for merry's sake! 
 How much rin'in' does it take? 
 I think you've run, r enough this ])0]>. 
 So jilease rinj, r off! riny off! and stop!
 
 TWO DAYS. 
 
 X 
 
 Yesterday a lovely day it was. 
 Pleasant because 
 
 The world so seems 
 When the sun shines down 
 On a fettered, frozen town. 
 Softening' the snow 
 And starting the flow 
 
 Of tiny streams. 
 
 Yesterday a pretty thing 
 Harbinger of coming' spring- 
 Signal of winter disappearing". 
 Brightening the face of those 
 Awakening from long" repose. 
 Inviting- to birds with song's benign. 
 A safe, unfailing and certain sign 
 That spring ajrain is nearing. 
 
 Today companion true 
 
 Of yesterday 
 
 And yesternight: 
 Skies all blue 
 
 And fair and bright 
 
 The spring-time way.
 
 THE STAR OF EMPIRE. 
 X 
 
 "Westward the Star 
 
 Of Empire takes its way 
 And in that West-land 
 
 Its wonders will display: 
 There potent power 
 
 Will hold a sway. 
 And every hour 
 
 Of every day. 
 
 Star of Empire, ascending hig 
 Apace with bright 
 
 Progression's stride, 
 The world will liyht 
 
 And lead and niid<>. 
 
 (is
 
 A MESSAGE OF HOPE, 
 
 As prison gates swing'in for thee, 
 And there deprived of freedom of the free, 
 A prison life it falls thy lot to bear, 
 Thy countrymen bid thee not despair. 
 
 Though prison walls upon thee frown 
 And prison garb bedecks thy form, 
 Outside those walls worse men than thee 
 Have gone unpunished by powers that be. 
 
 Though anxious hours disturb thy rest. 
 No felon's heart beats in thy breast, 
 Nor scornful hate of powers that be 
 Can rob thy right to liberty. 
 
 Then bravely bear that false decree, 
 Those shackles soon will fall and free 
 Thy salient powers of speech and pen 
 Will plead humanity's cause again.
 
 LIFE'S HALF-WAY. 
 A; 
 
 At thirty-five I calmly pause today. 
 To view the place of life they call "half-way." 
 And cast a retrospect o'er by-<rone years. 
 Triumphs recount- perhaps recall the tears. 
 
 I view the lon<r decline up which I've come 
 
 Its ru<rjjed steeps, its rocks, its cras. and some 
 
 Of the weird ways through which I passed with fear? 
 
 Wond'rinjr if time has numbered half my years. 
 
 Is this meridian of man and life? 
 
 Doth it divide the share of joy and strife 
 
 Apportioned to allotted years of men 
 
 Who live to ripened a.ije- -three score and ten? 
 
 The past is memory 'tis known to me. 
 But what the future holds what is to be. 
 Lies wrapt secure in shadows dark and deep. 
 And until reached that secret time will keep. 
 
 Oh bygone years! the covering of thy ways 
 Has been uprolled to music of thy days. 
 But future time, if full of shining ""low 
 Cnknown its curtain still is haninnir low. 
 
 7
 
 Nor can \ve tell if we have reached the place 
 Which measures half of life's uneven race: 
 This numbering of the years is all divine 
 Perhaps more steeps before there comes decline. 
 
 Perhaps a plain, a "Teat, broad table land. 
 On which repose full many glories rand. 
 Awaits the actor in the play and plan 
 Of years allotted to the life of man. 
 
 And should our pause be on the slope. 
 Or at the summit of the mount of hope. 
 Where man must say adieu to scenes behind 
 Begins the downward course of all his kind. 
 
 The brilliant rays of life's ascending sun. 
 That shone for me unto that summit won. 
 As down the lon' descent of life we glide. 
 Will shine as brightly on the other side. 
 
 Then what to YOU or 1 if swift or slow 
 Is the descent of life to vales below. 
 If passing scenes sublime and peaceful be. 
 And bright the sinking sun at eve we see! 
 
 -February _'_'. 18!>(>
 
 EAT 'EM AS YOU PICK 'EM. 
 
 You may talk of luxuries, luscious and sweet. 
 
 Of the fruits and berries that all love to eat. 
 
 And manj- fancy ways of fixing them up 
 
 In pies and preserves, in dish or in cup. 
 
 But as nature supplies them, oh give them to me. 
 
 Fresh from the vine, or fresh from the tree. 
 
 What suits the birds is good enough for me. 
 
 The berry from the vine or the fruit from the tree. 
 
 The work of no cook in the can on the shelf 
 
 ('an compare with the way I "can" it myself. 
 
 I'd sooner any time to get out and go 
 
 Where the juicy grape is hanging below 
 
 The vine as nature designed it. ripe and sweet 
 
 Tempting for all to pluck and to eat. 
 
 Than to have access to the sugared things 
 
 And the fancy luxuries of queens and kings. 
 
 You may have all the sweets that rest on the shelf 
 
 If you'll just let me do my "canning" myself. 
 
 Of the apple, the plum, the cherry that's fine. 
 
 Or the grape and the berry fresh from the vine. 
 
 What suits the birds is good enough for me. 
 
 Fresh from the vine or fresh from the tree.
 
 "BOY WANTED !" 
 X 
 
 [The disappointing advent of the third girl in the Presi 
 dential household July 7. 1895.] 
 
 A sign hung on the door at Buzzard's Bay, 
 And a flag from tho.se "Gables" was flung, 
 
 And these were the words it was made to say 
 And this was the song that most had been sung: 
 "Boy wanted!" 
 
 Yes, the flags were flaunted 
 And the "Gables" were haunted 
 By the song he chanted: 
 "Boy wanted!'' 
 
 When that little tot came to Buzzard's Bay. 
 
 Announcing itself as "coming to stay," 
 To adorn and brighten those Gables Gray. 
 
 That sign from the door was taken away: 
 'Boy wanted!'' 
 
 And now he is taunted 
 For the song he chanted 
 With courage undaunted: 
 "Bov wanted!"
 
 THAT BABY BOY OF MINE. 
 X 
 
 1 cast 013' books and manuscripts aside one day 
 To listen to a prattling tongue of childhood gay. 
 To watch a pair of flying feet that sped their way. 
 And bus}' hands that strew disorder in their play. 
 While guided by no thought but childish joy. 
 
 I caught that lovely form and pressed it close to me: 
 "WHOSE DARLING ONE ARE YOU?" I asked him to repeat: 
 With accents full of childhood's ways, in childish glee 
 There came from lips all wreathed in smiles so sweet: 
 "TsE MAMMA'S BABY. PAPA'S 'ITTL.E BOY." 
 
 Of bright and happy kind 
 With face so fair, and sparkling eye 
 A wealth of worlds would fail to buy. 
 
 That baby boy of mine. 
 
 74
 
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 75
 
 A POINTER TO POETS. 
 X 
 
 Here in our town two Majors live. 
 
 Of wealth in mind and purse. 
 And these two Majors often give 
 
 Some thought to riming verse. 
 
 The one composed a poem fair. 
 
 Twas several stanzas long. 
 'Twas written with the greatest care. 
 
 And read by mighty throng. 
 
 The editor who gave it space. 
 
 In mem'ry of the author's good intents. 
 When his pay-day came on apace. 
 
 Sent forth his check for "forty cents." 
 
 The other Major at another time. 
 
 Regarding "brevity" as the "soul of wit." 
 Condensed the language of his rime 
 
 And that same editor published it. 
 
 The man who gave these poems space. 
 
 Admired the short one. and in rewarding it 
 Favored its author with kinder grace. 
 
 And sent $:J.OO for his "remit." 
 
 The moral of this tale is plain 
 
 You shouldn't be long in discerning it 
 
 When penning poems relieve the pain. 
 By using "brevity" for your wit. 
 
 Who knows but what the man who paid 
 For these two poems which he bought. 
 
 His recompense would greater made 
 Had neither poet written ought.
 
 THE CRIME OF SNOW BALLIN'. 
 
 Suggested by the expulsion of seven school boys charged with thrnwing snow halls. 
 
 Thing's am gittin' so these new fangled days 
 
 You can't hardly live 'less you mend your old ways. 
 
 We ust to never go to deestrick schools 
 
 'Less we snow-ballednow you break rules 
 
 Ef you do sich things ag'in the teacher's say, 
 
 An' git sent home sent there to staj-. 
 
 When us old boys went to 
 
 school long ago, 
 Many years back in the days 
 
 I ust to know, 
 The teacher'd often jine our 
 
 snow ball throw, 
 An' that teacher's face we'd 
 
 wash in the snow. 
 But he didn't turn us out for 
 
 nuthin' like that 
 Ef we all studied good an' 
 
 got our lessons pat. 
 
 Wonder what the Lord specks to do with the enow 
 Ef it aint made for boys to wad up an' throw. 
 We ust to all use it for sleigh in' an' throwin', 
 Now the wind jes' hez it to use when a blowin'; 
 It's that way now the world an' its ways 
 Hev changed a mighty heap since our school days. 
 
 I can well remember when a 
 
 whole pack 
 Of us school boys would all 
 
 take a whack 
 At a feller passin' the balls 
 
 'u'd jes' fly, 
 An' a dozen mebbe hit him 
 
 'fore he got by; 
 But we wusn't sent home for 
 
 things like that 
 Ef we all studied good an' got 
 
 our lessons pat.
 
 We ust to build forts an f put armies in 'era 
 An' when the other boys would run up ag'in 'em, 
 We'd take some icy balls (of course jes' in fun) 
 An' pelt 'em hard an' fast till ev'ry feller'd run; 
 Hut if we studied good and got our lessons pat 
 They'd never spell a feller for things like that. 
 
 We'd make our bullets out o' real soft ice 
 
 (An* leave 'em out nights to freeze hard an' nice) 
 
 With hunks o' coal in 'em er some sich stuff 
 
 That'd sometimes hurt ef throw'd hard 'nuff: 
 
 But they never turned us out fer nuthin" like that 
 
 Ef we all studied good an' got our lessons pat. 
 
 78
 
 Oh, what queer stages our larnin's passin' through, 
 
 An' what a purty fix we're gittin' into! 
 
 What in the world will the boys all do 
 
 Ef they can't play a bit when they spell 'em ef they do? 
 
 It's that way now for the world an' its ways 
 
 Hev changed a mighty heap since our school days.
 
 LOVELY MAY. 
 X 
 
 I met a friend as I walked the street. 
 
 One dreary, dismal April day. 
 
 Who lon<jinyly wished for Lovely May. 
 I said to that one I chanced to meet. 
 
 To lighten his heart and brighten his way. 
 "We're traveling on toward Lovely May." 
 
 What if the clouds are bleak and dark 
 And chiU the winds that bl >w today! 
 We're hastening on toward Lovely May. 
 
 Tomorrow may hear the sonjf of the 'ark. 
 Or the note of the robin and the jay: 
 We're hastening on toward Lovely May. 
 
 Then why rejrret these April showers 
 Which -overspread the skies today! 
 We're hastening on toward Lovely May 
 
 Where sonjf of birds and bloom of flowers 
 Will make world bright and jrlad and fray: 
 We're hastening on toward Lovely May. 
 
 so
 
 SPARE SPELLS. 
 A; 
 
 I've written rimes 
 
 At short, spare spells 
 1 found in life as years went on: 
 
 Ah! no one tells 
 .lust whence they came, just where they've gone- 
 
 Those idle spells, 
 
 Life's odd. spare times. 
 
 I've written lines 
 As Ililey said in a sweet rime 
 
 His pen inscribed one day 
 "To lure the length'ning miles into 
 The pleasant Afterwhiles," and through, 
 
 To joy's confines 
 To after years where smiles greet time 
 
 And sorrows fade away. 
 
 Since I begun. 
 And time has onward passed. 
 
 Some I have penned 
 
 To foe and friend, 
 And some to loved ones in my home: 
 
 To them these rimes, 
 
 Of odd, spare times, 
 
 Are joyful chimes 
 And songs of pleasure as they come, 
 
 That still will sing 
 
 And chime and ring 
 When I am gone at last 
 
 When life is done. 
 
 81
 
 OH VHERE ISH DOT PUP? 
 X 
 
 1 To commemorate the following advertisement: "l)o<i 
 LOST A small white pup. with black ears, and some white 
 on tail." | 
 
 Oh vhere, oh vhere is mein vhite pup shmall. 
 
 Vot I tried to vind him so hard und vail. 
 He vas all over vhite mit some leedle plack ears 
 
 Und some more vhite on his leedle vhite tail. 
 
 Oh vhere, oh vhere is mein leedle vhite pup 
 Vot did got lost und didn't back come. 
 
 He vas all over vhite from his hat clean up. 
 Mit some spot on his ears und tail vhite some. 
 
 Oh vhere. oh vhere do dot leedle pup sthay? 
 
 Oh vhere dis world in has doggy all gone? 
 Dot leedle vhite pup vot has vandered avay. 
 
 Und some more vhite mit his tail vas on. 
 
 Oh vhere, oh vhere is mein vhite dog lost. 
 
 Vot in der paper I did atvhertise. 
 Und paid for some money und never run crost 
 
 Mein leedle vhite doggy mit vhite in his eyes 
 Und lots more vhite on his tail for its si/.e.
 
 SONG OF THE INSTITUTE. 
 
 There is no state like Illinois. 
 There is no place like Iroquois: 
 Oh land of corn, and flowers and fruit! 
 Oh home of the farmers' institute! 
 I labor hard throughout the year. 
 And when I've plucked the golden ear. 
 I do my chores and then I scoot 
 Ri<rht into town to the institute. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Oh let me live in Illinois! 
 Oh let me stay in Iroquois! 
 And 'tend the farmers' institute 
 The institute! tu-tute! tu-tute! 
 
 When frost is on the pumpkin and corn. 
 The farmer's out at early morn. 
 A-yath'rin^ in the golden fruit 
 That takes the prize at the institute. 
 It was not many years agx> 
 When thing's moved lon<r most awfvil slow. 
 But now they're gx>in- lick-et-y scoot 
 And the candidate's at the institute. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 I don't like none of your western aloots 
 In rattle-snake hats and leather suits 
 Or the city chaps a "shootin' the chutes"- 
 I 'tend my farm and the institutes. 
 I don't like none of your whistles shrill. 
 Or toots that blow at the knittin' mill. 
 And none of those Watseka shoots 
 Who jro to ( 'rescent to fjet their toots. 
 
 CHORUS.
 
 THE AUCTIONEER'S LAMENT. 
 X 
 
 My callin's been ailin ? an' I'm chuck full o' fears 
 That this "cryin' " occupation will soon turn to tears.
 
 THE AUCTIONEER'S LAMENT. 
 X 
 
 Sales hev bin few for sev'ral years. 
 You seldom ever hear the cry uv auctioneers: 
 My callin's bin ailin'- an' I'm chuck full uv fears 
 That this "cryin' "' occupation will soon turn to tears. 
 Yes. bizness hez been ailin' 
 
 Since these hard times come on. 
 An' my occupation's f ailin'. 
 It's goin'! goin'! gone! 
 
 The people don't 'peer stingy but many aint ez free, 
 An' somehow hopes are dingy there's no joy an' glee 
 Ez I look through my tears an* fancy I can see 
 Rack not ma.ny years when 'twuz different fer me. 
 It's no longer now smooth sailin' 
 
 Since these hard times come on, 
 An' my occupation's f ailin', 
 It's goin'I goin'! gone! 
 
 I've often wondered, an' figured with a will 
 Ef some one blundered, an' managed fer to kill 
 The bizness tryin' to enlarge it. an' figured on until 
 I jes' conclude to charge it to the Dingley bill, 
 Fer bizness hez bin ailin' 
 
 Since these hard times come on. 
 An' my occupation's failin'. 
 Goin'! goin'! gone! 
 
 A few years ago. ever' day most. 
 I us't be called to sell off a host 
 Uv furniture an' fixin's, an' wagons an' teams, 
 An' a thousan' things, but since then it seems 
 My bizness hez bin ailin' 
 
 Since these hard times come on. 
 An' my occupation's failin'. 
 It's goin'! goin'! gone!
 
 I us't to sell hoys, an' calves and cows. 
 The household doys. an' the stirrin' plows. 
 An' all the traps known to human invention. 
 An' some other things "too num'r'us to mention. 
 Since then bi/ness hex bin ailin'. 
 Fer these hard times come on. 
 An' my occupation's failin' 
 It's {join'! <join'! "'one! 
 
 With sales <jittin' few fer sev'ral years 
 An' nuthin' to do fer the auctioneers. 
 An' nuthin' to sell, none able to buy. 
 Taint no use to yell, an' no use to "cry." 
 Fer bixriess he/ bin ailin' 
 
 Since these hard times come on. 
 An' my occupation's failin'. 
 (Join'! jjoin'! <jone! 
 
 When Uncle -Mm Parker moved into town 
 He quit cryin' sales an* settled down: 
 Fer many a year he hexn't bin heard. 
 Ex an auctioneer, to utter a word. 
 I wonder'f he on genera 1 suspicion 
 Expected the chanjje in bixness condition'/ 
 Wonder'f he knew there'd be hard sailin' 
 Fer the auctioneers an' bixness be failin' 
 K/ soon as hard times {jot to comin' on. 
 An' the occupation'd be ni{jh most {jone. 
 Then quit auctioneerin' a livin' to earn? 
 (ireat head uv hi/, to call sich a turn! 
 
 SI!
 
 Ef times keep gettin' worse what'll we do 
 Fer a livelihood;* Jes' "cry"' says you? 
 If you ever listened to John Bailey's tone 
 A hull day through, er heard Harve Stone. 
 Er ever stood under the fiery yell 
 Of Dave McFadden er Robert Mell. 
 Er an auctioneer that's Dunn by name. 
 Er ''Col.'" Sam Stone uv Danforth fame. 
 You'd lend an ear to my mournful tale 
 An' not appear to greet an' hail 
 The present year, with hard times on. 
 An' the auctioneer's best days all gone. 
 
 This is one uv our "way -off" years. 
 And toler'ble tough on the auctioneers, 
 An' rough on the chaps who print bills too. 
 But I guess, perhaps, we'll both pull through. 
 
 Ez the farmer to his farm is hangin' on 
 An' my occupation's goin'! goin'! gone! 
 F'z this is one uv our '"way-off" years. 
 Let's auction off the auctioneers. 
 
 And while amazed at this suggestion bold. 
 The hammer fell "Once! Twice! and Sold!"
 
 CALENDAR, 1898. 
 
 ii 
 
 ^.^..J-J-U, I 
 
 . 91 10) III 12 13 14 15! 
 1017 IS 1920,2122 
 2324252(527|2829i 
 
 Feb... '.. .. "if* s'lVSi 
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 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 
 20 2 1 22 23 24 25 2(5 1 
 
 .lulj.. 
 
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 I 2 31 4 
 < 7 S 9 10' 1 1 12 
 13 14 15 10 17 18; 19 
 20 2 1 22 23 24 25 26 
 
 1011 
 
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 2 4 25 2 27 -28 29 30 : 
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 9 HI II|I'2||3 
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 2829'303lf 
 
 April. 
 
 3 4 5, 0; 7 
 10 1 1 ! 12 13 14 
 
 15 Hi 
 
 17 la 10 20 21 2223 
 24 -r> ->f 12728 29 30 
 
 Oct. 
 
 4 5 (i 
 II 12 13 14 
 18 192021 
 25 21! 27 2S 
 
 lav.. I 1 2| 3: 4| 5 6 7! Not., 
 i 81 9110 II 12 13 14 
 15! Hi! 17' IS 192021 
 22 23 24 25 26 27 23 
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 12 13 14 151617 18 . 
 19202122232425 ! 
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 202IJ22 
 
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 13 14 15 1C 
 20 2 1 22 23 
 
 27 28 29 30 
 
 4 5 | 7 
 11 12 13 14 
 
 18192021 
 25 26 27 28 
 
 3 4 5 
 10 II 12 
 17! 18 19 
 
 24BS20 
 
 "i"2j":i 
 
 8 9 10 
 15 16 17 
 222324 
 29 30 31 
 
 FIGURES OF THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 The old. departing, unto new gives place. 
 And tho' no animation on the face 
 Of characters so silent and so dumb. 
 They tell the story of a year to come: 
 For all the types assembled in this plate. 
 Are sentinels of time, and hope, and fate.
 
 THE "OLD ORIENTAL" 
 X 
 
 You may talk all you please 
 Of the Woodmen degrees, 
 Of the wood and its sawin', 
 And the buckin' and pawin' 
 Of the old stubborn goat. 
 And his buttin' by note; 
 Of his startin' and goin', 
 Of his stoppin' and throwin', 
 And tell of the fate 
 Of the poor candidate 
 In tones sentimental, 
 But the most detrimental, 
 Ts the fun incidental 
 To the "Old Oriental." 
 
 89
 
 AN ECLIPSE ECLIPSED. 
 X 
 
 There was an eclipse the other night 
 And thousands awaited with anxious delight 
 To see old Luna's face all hid from view 
 While passing earth's dark shadow through: 
 
 It was to be total a great, grand sight. 
 And many prepared to stay out all night: 
 But 'twixt cup and lip there are many slips-- 
 The storm cloud eclipsed that great eclipse. 
 
 THEY SAW IT. 
 X 
 
 "Where were you last evening dear?" her mother said. 
 "I looked in vain for you my dear before I went to bed 
 And thought to press a good-night kiss upon those ruby lips. 
 1 quite forgot there was to be a moon's eclipse." 
 
 "Yes. mother dear, that same event escaped my mind 
 Till ( 'harlej' came and asked were I inclined 
 To go with him to view the moon's, great, grand eclipse: 
 It was delightful mother I took along my lips."
 
 A SON OF THE SHADE. 
 X 
 
 He lies in a hammock enjoying the breeze 
 With all the comfort and all the ease 
 Of a don't-care-for-nothing and go-as-you-please 
 Sort of a way in the shade of the trees. 
 
 Just seeing what he can see. 
 
 Unmindful of hours that flee. 
 
 The birds are nesting in the trees. 
 
 He hears the hum of the busy bees. 
 
 And out in the garden, with rolled up sleeves 
 
 And hoe in hand, his dad he sees. 
 
 His dad was born to work with a vim 
 
 He'd sooner 'twas dad than him. 
 
 Things he likes most are shady trees, 
 And a hammock swinging in the breeze. 
 Lazily loafing there at ease 
 With nothing to do but do as you please. 
 
 "No sun a shinin' hot and high 
 
 On me." says he. "I'd sooner 'twas dad than I.
 
 A GUESS. 
 
 MYSTERY OF THE CHICAGO RECORD'S PRIZE STORY. 
 "SOVS AMD FATHERS." 
 
 X 
 
 "As sometimes in a dead man's face. 
 
 To those that watch it more and more. 
 
 A likeness hardly seen before 
 Comes out- to some one of his race." 
 
 Tmnymtn's "In Mrini>ri>ii " 
 
 I pursued the story of ''Sons and Fathers." 
 
 And on the ''mystery" laid mighty stress. 
 But there's one little thing that bothers: 
 ''Only women and girls may guess." 
 
 'Tis a lesson of life, of hope, and love. 
 
 Of envy and hate and cumbrous care. 
 Hut jewelled with light from the heavens above. 
 
 And couched in language chaste and rare. 
 
 Out of the tangle of plot and plan 
 Comes a solution I believe that wins 
 
 I figured it out as the story ran 
 That Edward and Gerald are certainly twins. 
 
 There at the church as the storm beat wild. 
 
 Where women sought shelter that terrible night. 
 One bearing a ''coffin" 'tis said, for a child. 
 
 And a great white bird there fluttered in fright.
 
 Was a man we divine as Gaspard Levigne: 
 And Marion's pale face in the lightning's glare: 
 
 And the "coffin" she carried but a violin: 
 And Rita who rescued that creature so fair. 
 
 "Cambia." for beauty and talent in two worlds known. 
 
 Who smothered her sorrow in the music of years. 
 Who searched long and vain for records flown. 
 And honored a grave with flowers, and her tears. 
 
 Is happy again her angel face once more 
 Is shorn of sadness and a sweet-toned voice 
 
 Is singing the songs of the years of yore. 
 And a son, and mother, and father rejoice. 
 
 For Edward and Mary the clouds have rolled by: 
 His past is revealed and their visions behold 
 
 A future of promise on the storm-rent sky 
 Is a rainbow rich in the tints of gold. 
 
 There is one thread of this mystery tale 
 
 That is hopelessly lost, and amid my despair 
 
 I guess that all guesses summarily fail 
 To tell what become of rfweet Kitty Blair. 
 
 Oh, should the readers of stories like this. 
 
 With all its plot and plan and thought, 
 A million of miles the mystery miss. 
 
 The world is better for the good it taught.
 
 LINES TO A LEGAL LIGHT. 
 X 
 
 [On the occasion of the marriage of Mr. Frank J>. 
 Hooper. September 29th. 1891. | 
 
 Your "case'' is "one'' it now appears, 
 Not by demand for excessive "fees," 
 But by seven, long, consecutive years 
 Of ardent, strong, persuasive "pleas." 
 
 No "writ of replevin" was ever issued. 
 No "change of venue" ever taken 
 Faith in the "justice'" of your "court' 1 
 Throughout the "suit" remained unshaken. 
 
 Let us "brief-ly" ask in an "abstract" way 
 That no "appeal" of the "case" be made; 
 Frank-ly submit (with modest Grace) 
 To the happy "verdict" so long delayed. 
 
 If in after years, in your home "pur-suits." 
 Troubles and "trials" should ever arise, 
 Endeavor to "quash" all such disputes, 
 Or settle the same by "compromise." 
 
 That good wife of yours "seek to retain-'er' 1 
 As long as you "argue" with "legal'' breath. 
 And bestow the love you bestowed to gain her: 
 Let the only "divorce" be the one by death. 
 
 94
 
 TWO CITIES. 
 X 
 
 I Frankfort. Indiana. 1885. | 
 
 Today I rest on a shady slope. 
 Enjoying life and health and hope: 
 The trees are swaying- to and fro. 
 The grass and flowers are bending low: 
 Visitors enter with silent tread 
 To view this city of the dead. 
 
 Around this sacred spot enclosed 
 Another city lies, and much disposed 
 To wealth, activity and life, 
 Engaged in busy, worldly strife. 
 Filled with toil and noise and din. 
 Contrasting widely from this I am in. 
 
 Many a one from a pleasant home 
 Views that city's stately dome, 
 And many attentive listening ears 
 Will hear the sound, in future years, 
 Of its huge clock, like a deep-toned bell, 
 Bidding the hours and days farewell. 
 
 And many a tear which flows from thought 
 Of grief and sorrow there, is brought 
 From the living city year after year 
 To moisten the flowers that are planted here. 
 These cities are linked by time that's fled 
 One for the livinir and one for the dead. 
 
 95
 
 EFFORT. 
 
 If there looms up a task before you 
 
 Like mountains hijjh, 
 So tall it seems that it extends 
 
 From earth to sky, 
 And you'd remove it. we implore you 
 
 Not stand and sijjh. 
 Nor wait until your worldly ends 
 
 Have ^one awry, 
 Then call for aid all will ignore you 
 
 And naught reply. 
 For much of life's success depends 
 
 On how we trv. 
 
 UNEARNED. 
 A; 
 
 Some men who fish and catcheth naught. 
 Make much display of fish they've caught: 
 And all the honors some have got. 
 Are those they've stolen or they've bought.
 
 97
 
 LAFAYETTE. 
 A; 
 
 A proud city stands 
 
 On the banks of a stream, 
 Whose waters and sands 
 
 In the sunlight gleam, 
 And my memory fills 
 
 With thoughts that are fair, 
 Of the homes on the hills 
 
 And the highlands there. 
 
 O'er that broad stream 
 
 Three structures span, 
 Where train and team 
 
 And child and man, 
 In ceaseless throng, 
 
 Pass early and late 
 With commerce strong 
 
 For the "Star" of state. 
 
 To the northward lies 
 
 A field of fame, 
 Where standards rise. 
 
 Where a chieftain came 
 With a warrior band 
 
 At night-time hour, 
 And avenging hand 
 
 For vanishing power. 
 
 My thoughts are turning 
 
 To by-gone times, 
 To a seat of learning 
 
 I hear its chimes 
 Just across that river 
 
 Where nobly stands 
 That gift of a giver 
 
 With generous plans. 
 
 99
 
 The home of my childhood 
 
 Lies just bayond 
 Where field and wildwood 
 
 All blend in one: 
 Where sweet-scented blade.-, 
 
 Of meadows are found. 
 And the sylvan shades 
 
 Of forests abound. 
 
 Far into the woods 
 
 I was wont to roam 
 'Monjr nature's moods. 
 
 In nature's home. 
 And my soul oft stirred 
 
 By the tinkling bells 
 Of the wandering herd 
 
 Through vales and dells
 
 And the bird's sweet son<; 
 
 At dawn of day. 
 As I passed along" 
 
 Some woodland way. 
 Where nature rejoices 
 
 With heart light and free. 
 Would waken the voices 
 
 Of nature in me. 
 
 As the sun sank low 
 
 At the close of day, 
 'Mid the evening's glow 
 
 I'd wend my way 
 Where no sound floats 
 
 On the air above 
 Save the mournful notes 
 
 Of a cooing dove, 
 
 Or the lonesome song 
 
 Of the whip-poor-will 
 As it floats along 
 
 The lowland and hill, 
 And the clock of the town 
 
 Prom its massive tower 
 With deep-toned sound 
 
 Would note the hour. 
 
 Oh city of fame, 
 
 Thou art dear to me, 
 Revered thy name, 
 
 And scenes environ thee. 
 Of field and grove 
 
 And forest and plain, 
 And I long to rove 
 
 Their paths again. 
 
 101
 
 TALE OF A BRASS KETTLE. 
 X 
 
 O, while you're talkin' of boyhood ways, 
 Of capers an' pranks of youth's delight. 
 
 An' tellin' your tales of long-ago days. 
 
 When pants was short an' hair was white. 
 
 Just listen to me, it's a way- 
 back date 
 Concernin' which I'm goin' 
 
 to tell, 
 Twas out'n White County in 
 
 the Hoosier State 
 An' 'bout a brass ke ttle 
 that sank in a well. 
 
 It must o' been back in the 60's somewhere 
 When we lived far out on a prairie farm 
 
 With a hut for a home, and neighbors rare, 
 An' the coyotes soundin' their wild alarn.. 
 
 With a mighty slim start an' the country all new 
 Many years yonder in days of yore, 
 
 Father an' mother had all they could do 
 
 To keep the gaunt wolf away from the door. 
 
 'Twas on a warm day 'long late'n the spring. 
 An' father was plowin' in the field alone. 
 
 Can't just remember the date o' the thing 
 
 On account o' the years that's passed an' gone. 
 
 The day was bright an' the sun shone fair. 
 And father was plowin' like "sixty-three," 
 
 An' mother'd gone an' left me to care 
 For two little tots both younrer'n me. 
 
 102
 
 We played all 'round an old corn pen, 
 
 On the shady side most, for the sun was hot, 
 
 An' under some rails that stood on end 
 Down close by the old stable lot. 
 
 The day I remember and where we were at, 
 We three a baby sister an' brother, an' he 
 
 Not much older'n her, an' blind at that 
 
 They made just two an' the other'n was me. 
 
 Poverty perched on the rails o'erhead. 
 
 An' luxuries scarce 'round that old corn bin 
 'Twas just take some water an' a crust o' bread 
 
 An' then go to rompin' and play in' ag'in. 
 
 An' I done my best most all the while, 
 
 Though the sun was hot and the shade was slack 
 'Round that corn pen an' that old rail pile, 
 
 To keep 'em satisfied till mother got back. 
 
 Of the bread an' water that was our lot, 
 Whichever they wanted I tried to get 
 
 Whether they needed it much or not, 
 
 An' the little brass kettle is a memory yet. 
 
 103
 
 I took that treasure of many a year, 
 Of which my mother had often told, 
 
 An' hied awaj r to a well that was near, 
 With boyhood daring brave and bold. 
 
 I lifted the cover rude and 
 
 plain 
 That shut out the heat o' the 
 
 sun's bright glow, 
 As I'd seen done, yes time and 
 
 again, 
 
 An' swung it down to the 
 water below. 
 
 I pressed on the pole a forked limb 
 
 Which had been fixed in place of a string, 
 
 And the water rushed over its polished brim, 
 Until it filled an' sank the thing. 
 
 But when I 'rose to lift my prize 
 
 An' bear it upward with a forked limb. 
 
 Just then it was that a boy my size, 
 
 Found that a kettle had deserted him. 
 
 Lost! sunk to rise no more! I reeled 
 In fright, and uttered one loud yell 
 
 To break the news to father in the field! 
 
 "The little! brass kettle!! is in the well! ! I" 
 
 An' brother Reed an' sister "Lib" 
 
 Who'd caught the anguish of my spell, 
 
 Sat down an' sobbed by the old corn crib: 
 'E 'ittle b'ass tittle, i' fell in 'e well!!" 
 
 104
 
 THE RACE TO THE FIELD. 
 
 As if a life was hanging- by a thread 
 
 And final fate depended on my flight, 
 
 With whitened face and hatless head. 
 
 I flew to the field with my all my might. 
 
 Across the furrows with wild 
 
 acclaim 
 An' over the clods I stumbled 
 
 and fell 
 And from my lips in anguish 
 
 came, 
 
 "The little! brass kettle!! is 
 in the well!!!" 
 
 Far into the field was heard my scream 
 Inaudible, and yet my frightened spell 
 
 Borne on the breeze to parent ear did seem 
 Like news of death! of drowning in a well! 
 
 With heart in mouth and apprehension dire, 
 
 A race for life of one he loved began, 
 And o'er and through that field with soul afire 
 
 At desperate speed to reach that well he ran. 
 
 There anxious eyes gazed down to waters calm 
 No circumstance of death to start sad tears 
 
 But heart-sick from fatigue, and strength undone, 
 That race brought him a frightful weight of years. 
 
 What fearful havoc oft is wrought by storm! 
 
 What strength is lost by labor overdone! 
 What thoughtless acts in youth we all perform! 
 
 What fateful steps before life's race is run! 
 
 105
 
 TEN YEARS AGO. 
 X 
 
 [February 27. 1887.] 
 
 Dear Friend oft-times I think of long ago: 
 (Time is eventful, and changes so) 
 Ten years backward shall memory turn 
 To glance o'er youth-time and efforts to learn 
 Some lesson at school! I was there, you know. 
 Ten years ago. 
 
 The halcyon days of boyhood are past: 
 Let memory recall them, for while it doth last 
 'Twill ever recount them to sift some bright ember 
 From ashes of years I so fondly remember 
 Memory tonight is whispering low. 
 Ten years ago. 
 
 Why is it, dear one. 1 cannot refrain, 
 And why, furthermore, do you never complain 
 Of reading the products of my feeble pen 
 That tell of those years again and again? 
 And now is reviewing with rythmic glow. 
 Ten years ago. 
 
 Ten years ago! why now it seems to me 
 That more than yesterday it cannot be. 
 When I with boyish mind and heart began 
 To involve myself in love's sweet plan. 
 And write those missives now cherished so. 
 Ten years ago. 
 
 LJy affection's grasp in youthful days. 
 My heart was bound in loving wa\*s: 
 And on my pen a great encumbrance laid: 
 Nor shall it rest until thou'rt paid- 
 Sweet debt of love, I first began to owe. 
 Ten years ago. 
 
 1(1(5
 
 107
 
 "THE DYING TIME OF YEAP." 
 
 | To the Memory of Kugene Field.) 
 
 The days were bright and heavens clear. 
 But there was a sound in the forest near 
 Whose echo fell both sad and drear 
 On the listening ear: 
 
 'Twas the rustling leaves 
 
 In the autumn breeze 
 
 All nature sighing. 
 
 Crying. 
 
 "This is the dying 
 Time of year." 
 
 A home was filled with loving light. 
 The lamp of life was burning bright. 
 No thought of the spirit taking (light 
 From one so dear 
 
 But hark! without 
 
 All 'round about. 
 
 The sad winds sighing. 
 
 Crying. 
 
 "This is the dying 
 Time of year." 
 
 I OS
 
 No thought of death's angel silently creeping 
 That night where our poet was calmly sleeping. 
 No sign nor omen of loved ones weeping. 
 
 No thought of a tear 
 To bring relief, 
 To break the grief 
 Of scenes of death so trying- 
 No sighing 
 Simply the dying 
 Time of year. 
 
 Through ages progressive since worlds began, 
 No words more impressive were spoken by man, 
 Nor faithful allusion to nature's great plan. 
 No thought more dear: 
 
 The breezes passing, 
 
 Each other caressing, 
 
 And leaves down flying. 
 
 Sighing, 
 
 All tell of the dying 
 Time of year. 
 
 109
 
 A SUMMONS. 
 X 
 
 It was no crushing weight of years 
 That summoned the soul of a noble wife. 
 
 But an unkind call of the Reaper Death 
 Ere she had reached the noon of life. 
 
 DOWN THE VALLEY. 
 X 
 
 Down death's dark valley, 
 We're going "'one by one;" 
 
 With faces all turned toward the setting sun. 
 A great human throng, since the world begun. 
 
 Down, down that valley, 
 Has glided "one by one." 
 
 That road will be traveled till the race is run. 
 And life's procession ends The world is done 
 
 When all down the valley 
 Have passed "one by one.'' 
 
 110
 
 LINES TO HIS MEMORY, 
 
 [William Wallace Gilbert, died April 15, 1897. ] 
 
 His life to hope gave newer birth 
 As bright as sunshine from the sky. 
 
 And no reminder of his worth 
 Can song or elegy supply. 
 
 No ill to man e'er filled his heart 
 Nor unjust deel e'er dimmed an eye, 
 
 But sorrow played a dismal part 
 When God decreed this man should die. 
 
 The tender ones of childhood know, 
 Adore and love his kindly ways, 
 
 And faltering forms of age bestow 
 A fulsome gratitude and praise. 
 
 A hamlet mourns and hundreds more 
 Have shed a tear or breathed a sigh, 
 
 And 'mid this sadness all deplore 
 That one so good and true must die. 
 
 The sorrowed homes of grief and tears, 
 That now seem cheerless, drear and cold, 
 
 Will brighter be in coming years 
 As his life story oft is told. 
 
 Ill
 
 GONE WITH THE OLD YEAR. 
 X 
 
 1 Miss Mary Wall. Burton. Indiana, died New Year's evr. IH85. | 
 
 Hark! the requiem of the dying year. 
 
 With mournful sound to many an ear. 
 
 Is borne aloft: its plaintive cries. 
 
 Appear ascending toward the skies. 
 
 Where dwells, whence comes this mystic power 
 
 That so surrounds and desolates the hour! 
 
 O. why should we in sadness bow today. 
 
 E'en though our hopes pass unfulfilled away. 
 
 And love is changed to hatred and to scorn. 
 
 Why not enlist to greet h e N ew Year's morn 
 
 As a noble harbinger of joyful mien. 
 
 That fills each heart with boundless hopes serene:* 
 
 Alas! the death knell of the parting year 
 May toll and toll again, time sheds no tear. 
 But when the door of death swings open wide 
 And bids a dear one through his portals glide. 
 'Tis sad to contemplate such scenes of grief 
 And vain to search for measures of relief. 
 
 Time in its flight speeds boldly on and on. 
 The glimmerings of the eastern horizon 
 Dispel the dismal darkness of the nig-ht. 
 Betokens the return of day aright: 
 But light or splendor scenes that there abound, 
 Cannot dispel the gloom that lurks around.
 
 O bright New Year, why so unmindful thou, 
 
 Of woes that flood our minds and hearts just now: 
 
 Oh let your light so graciously given. 
 
 Transmit the smiles of merciful Heaven. 
 
 Tell us the one that we so sadly miss 
 
 Has reached another, better world than this. 
 
 Upon the morrow of that day so fair, 
 All cumbered with a load of deep despair, 
 And 'midst the unkind fall of chilly rain, 
 Moved forth the solemn, silent fun'ral train; 
 Yes. moved with mournful, melancholy tread. 
 And gently laid dear Mary 'mong the dead. 
 
 No more in life we'll greet her smiling face: 
 
 But time, while mem'ry dwells, cannot erase 
 
 Her noble qualities of heart away. 
 
 So strong the sorrowed impress of today. 
 
 O ''Precious Faith" that guides her safely o'er. 
 
 Direct our barque to that celestial shore. 
 
 113
 
 IN HEAVEN ONE YEAR. 
 X 
 
 One glance backward on memory's tide, 
 Tells us the day that Frankie died, 
 And speaks of his entering" that Heavenly way. 
 One full, long year ago today. 
 
 Why view that day as one of sorrow and despair, 
 And why encumber life with loads of care. 
 Or cast one sigh or shed one tear. 
 When Frankie's been in Heaven a year? 
 
 Such things as days or years of earthly clime. 
 Are unnumbered and unknown to Heavenly time: 
 And pray what worth would be a day or year. 
 When time is unending and eternal there? 
 
 Upon his grave let blossoming flowers 
 Impart a sweet fragrance to lonely hours, 
 And while earthly years to you are given. 
 Just count them all as time for him in Heaven. 
 
 114
 
 A SHINING MARK. 
 
 In memory of Edna May Skeels, died January 19, 1896, 
 igtd twenty years, six months and fifteen days. 
 
 Another star of hope 
 
 is gone, 
 Another home is dark 
 
 to-day; 
 
 Another spirit passing on 
 To Heaven's bright. 
 
 celestial way. 
 
 This star (a mem'ry loved and cherished so) 
 Upon the day all patriots love to know, 
 Its sparkling gleam began its afterglow 
 Has brightened time since twenty years ago. 
 
 A mother's love, a mother's tears, 
 A mother's care a score of years 
 Guided her steps of life aright 
 And made for home a shining light, 
 The joy of mother, of father, brother, 
 And life-time hope of yet another. 
 
 When there goes out a star like this one bright 
 Which 'round the home has shed a radiant light, 
 We wonder not that darkness spreads its pall. 
 And throws a shadow o'er the hopes of all. 
 
 The only solace left behind, 
 
 To soothe and heal those broken ties, 
 Are farewell words, so sweet, so kind; 
 
 To meet and greet beyond the skies. 
 
 115
 
 CROWNED BY ANGEL HANDS. 
 X 
 
 1 To the memory of Frances E. Willard.] 
 
 The world was her field, and human good 
 Was the broad plain on which she stood, 
 'i titling with mind, and heart, and hand, 
 "For God and Home and Every Land.' 1 
 Serenely with ties of love that bind, 
 She built the hopes of womankind. 
 
 She is gone! And her going, 
 To the cultured and knowing, 
 Is a sad forsaking, 
 And much like the breaking 
 
 Of a branch from the tree, 
 Or the out-going of some bright star 
 Set as a sentinel in skies afar 
 
 To light, and brighten the home of the free 
 
 (jone! The wide world is mourning. 
 And a nation is frowning 
 
 At the sorrow that is strewn wide and far 
 As the act of some demon 
 Who would rob us as freemen 
 
 By despoiling the Hag of a star. 
 
 (Jone! And the moan of the breeze. 
 As it sighs through the trees, 
 
 Sings the sad story 
 Of the broken-hearted, 
 For a loved one departed 
 
 From scenes of her earthly glory. 
 To glittering shores where angels throng. 
 In worlds of light, and love, and song. 
 
 116
 
 "From Greenland's icy mountains 
 
 From India's coral strand." 
 From every state and country 
 
 Of near and distant land. 
 And e'en from the islands of the seas. 
 Her praise is born on every breeze- 
 In every clime, by every Christian tongue. 
 The anthems of that praise are sung. 
 
 Of life she chose the better part. 
 
 And scorned the mockery of art: 
 
 From the home of the lowly this woman came 
 
 To be crowned with the laurels of a well-earned fame: 
 
 As g-entle and sweet as the flowers that bloom. 
 
 As rich in reverence as the tears at her tomb. 
 
 This uncrowned queen of many lands 
 
 Has received her crown from antrel hands 
 
 Gone from the homes 
 
 Of our land, and from the domes 
 
 Of the churches and temples are ringing 
 Those requiem bells 
 Whose deep tone tells 
 Of the sad deprivation 
 That's befallen the nation 
 
 But the angels are joyfully singing. 
 
 Gone! And the grief of the hours. 
 And the strewing of flowers. 
 
 And the flow of sad tears. 
 Are invoking a tribute of love. 
 And sending their message above. 
 
 To honor her labor of years. 
 
 117
 
 118
 
 119
 
 AN INQUIRY. 
 X 
 
 Dear "Old Vet" of the fast fading past - 
 
 Ye who gallantly fought from first to last 
 
 Do you suppose the time will come again. 
 
 When valiant armies of valiant men. 
 
 Will march responsive to their country's call 
 
 And fight when fight most likely means to fall: 
 
 THE ANSWER. 
 
 Ah, friend, I fear the time has not yet come. 
 When armies treading to the beat of drum 
 Shall cease to meet, and in fierce war's array. 
 Assail each other, mangle, wound and slay: 
 The time will come, however. I believe. 
 When mankind, learning wisdom, will achieve 
 Each other's happiness and highest good 
 By deeds of love and not by deeds of blood : 
 Then strife will be unknown and war will cease 
 And all mankind will dwell in love and peace. 
 
 !H. H. I'. 
 
 1-10
 
 A "WAH" PROPHECY. 
 X 
 
 Shud Uncle Sam find out 
 
 Dem Spanyerds sunk de Maine, 
 
 An' blew dem sailors in de sea. 
 A "Teat big wah wud shuah kum 'bout- 
 Like cullud men in Linkum's reign. 
 Dem Cubans wud be free. 
 
 If wah should ebber kum 
 'Twix Uncle Sam and Spain, 
 
 Dem Cubans shuah be free: 
 We'd heah de beatiir drum 
 In de Yankee's army train 
 "From Atlanter to de sea." 
 
 WEYLER WITH HER YET, 
 X 
 
 However much old Spain may now abhor 
 Her prospects with Insurgent bands 
 
 One thing she may be thankful for, 
 She still has Weyler on her hands. 
 
 121
 
 WILD NOTES OF WAR. 
 X 
 
 (During the Venezuela affair. | 
 
 Old Jonny Bull has been quite badly scored 
 13}- the pen that's mightier than the sword: 
 There's a war of words a ragin' just now 
 That may yet result in a world-wide row: 
 The old vet's blood is boilin' up ag'in. 
 There's a sight o' talk "bout musterin' in. 
 
 Unless the Old Lion his aggression relaxes. 
 The Modern Woodmen will whet up their axes 
 An' saddle the goats on next meetin' night 
 An' march as cavalry into the fight: 
 And the K. of P. with helmets Hashing 
 Will show them the art of sabre-slashing. 
 
 Uncle Bill Williams who lately came back 
 From hot pursuit of a wild bear's track. 
 Way down in the woods of Arkansaw 
 Where they pay no 'tention to huntin' law. 
 Has his patriot blood risin' up in him 
 And is organizin' in battle trim. 
 
 He expects to command the volunteers 
 And make 'em all colonels and brigadiers: 
 And being familiar with bills of fare 
 He'll treat the foragin' part with care: 
 And as a "war measure" to set things aglow. 
 He's promisin' pensions before they go. 
 
 122
 
 GOING. 
 X. 
 
 Some are going" oft' to war. 
 To sail a Cuban sea 
 And help make Cuba free 
 
 And some not going quite so far, 
 For some there be who'd "rarther'' 
 Go just so far and go no farther. 
 
 Some are going with flag and banner. 
 Some going now and some next fall. 
 And some, perhaps, not going at all. 
 
 Some are going to join Camp Tanner. 
 Then going not to leave 'er 
 "For fear of yellow fever." 
 
 Some are off to Klondyke, knowing 
 
 The perils of its cold, 
 
 A-going there for gold. 
 There's a sight o' talk of "going," 
 
 Some for glory and some for pay, 
 And those not going, are going-to stay.
 
 APPROPRIATE EVERYWHERE. 
 X 
 
 The American Flag is an "all-'round" rag 
 
 That Hoats in victory or waves in peace. 
 
 Unfurls in war and when wars cease: 
 
 Emblem of country that patriots love. 
 
 Its stars are types of those above. 
 
 Its glowing colors of red, white and blue. 
 
 Mingle together in gorgeous hue: 
 
 fts silken folds so rich and sweet 
 
 Never appear so pretty and neat. 
 
 Are never so graceful as when wars cease. 
 
 And it proudly waves as a standard of peace. 
 
 POSSIBILITIES. 
 X 
 
 It wouldn't s'prise me that now purty soon 
 They'd be singin' songs without any tune. 
 And some new rule, or some new law, 
 Beatin' anything the world ever saw. 
 Would be figured out 'fore very long, 
 To prove the earth's been revolvin' wrong. 
 
 When somethin' else's wanted, all new-fangled. 
 S'pose they'll fix up the old star-spangled 
 Banner that Hoats o'er the land of the free, 
 In some new rig that'll puzzle you and me 
 To tell it's our Hag the world and its ways 
 Hev all changed so since old-time days. 
 
 124
 
 TO HEROES OF THE SEA. 
 X 
 
 O sing' the praise of the jolly tar 
 Who braves the dangers of the sea. 
 
 Who carries the flag to ports afar. 
 O sing" it long and joyfully. 
 
 O sing of Dewey at Manila bay. 
 
 And let all join the glad refrain. 
 For daring" deeds the first of May 
 
 That sank the ships of treacherous Spain. 
 
 O sing- of sailors far away. 
 
 Among the perils of a simoon sea. 
 Of the gallant crews who fought that day 
 
 For the glorious cause of liberty. 
 
 O sing of Sampson and Sigsbee and Schley. 
 
 In sun-kissed waters of sultry seas. 
 Remember the motto that floats mast-high 
 
 Majestic in each passing breeze. 
 
 O sing of heroes in time gone by. 
 
 O sing of the heroes of today, 
 And honor the memory of those who lie 
 
 Beneath the waters of Havana bav.
 
 ODE TO CUBA'S FREEDOM. 
 A; 
 
 (). "Gem of the Antilles" set out in the sea. 
 Have faith in thy tight for sweet libertj"! 
 An army and navy will rescue thee. 
 And patriot sons will soon set free. 
 
 Thy fettered band. 
 
 On slave-cursed land! 
 
 Free from the hellish tyrant's reign! 
 
 Free from the streams of blood that stain 
 
 Thy country! Free from fetters of the despot's chain! 
 
 Free from the yoke of merciless Spain! 
 
 Free, oh Cuban land. 
 
 From the tyrant's hand! 
 
 Fight on. oh Cuban! Americans boast 
 That patriots thrive along her coast! 
 Oh fearful thy fate should freedom be lost! 
 Fight till you vanquish that Spanish host. 
 
 And the tyrants flee 
 
 O'er the trackless sea! 
 
 Fight on, oh Cuban! though plantations be curled 
 In smoke and flame, till the demon is hurled 
 To sea! On rampart and field let thy flag be unfurled 
 Till victorj- is echoed around the world! 
 
 Oh patriot, fight on 
 
 Till thy freedom is won!
 
 The country that gave to liberty birth. 
 And nurtured its life when there was a dearth 
 Of sympathy for freedom's glorious worth. 
 Will aid thee join the republics of earth 
 
 Thou struggling" band 
 
 On Spain-cursed land! 
 
 Thy battle, oh Cuba, 'tis not all in vain! 
 The friends of liberty will never disdain 
 Thy efforts to sever from Spanish domain. 
 And the priceless boon of freedom to gain! 
 
 'Tis our message to the. 
 
 Oh Isle of the sea! 
 
 Then let grand monuments upon thy battle plain. 
 Rise sacred to the memory of thy noble slain 
 Who resisted the rule of tyrannical Spain. 
 And sundered the links of the despot's chain 
 
 When thou'rt set free. 
 
 Oh Gem of the Sea! 
 
 127
 
 128
 
 TO A BRIDE. 
 X 
 
 Incomparable thou, oh happy bride, 
 
 And yet we would liken the glow of thy pride. 
 
 And the lamp of thy love that is burning so bright, 
 
 To something of earth or heavenly light: 
 
 To laughing waters which down the mountain flow, 
 
 Or the lily that blooms in the valley below: 
 
 We would liken thy life, thy hope and thy love 
 
 To the trusting innocence of a gentle dove. 
 
 To the chimes of music or rythm of words, 
 
 To the gladsome notes of mating birds 
 
 Singing their merriest and sweetest tune: 
 
 To the fairest and rarest rose of June 
 
 We would liken thee through life to come, 
 
 Thou queen of a new and happy home. 
 
 129
 
 TEN LINES TO TEN YEARS. 
 A: 
 
 | December ->7. 1897.] 
 
 Ten years in union have been passed. 
 
 The first for love, for love the last: 
 
 Ten winters of gay and joyous chime. 
 
 Ten summers of flowers and son^ and rime. 
 
 Ten cycles complete of earthly clime. 
 
 Ten shadows on the dial of time: 
 
 Ten years 'twould take of care and thought. 
 
 To tell the things which that ten brought 
 
 The toil and trials of that dear ten. 
 
 The hopes that fell and rose again.
 
 A MEMORY. 
 X 
 
 That happy day, one week ago. 
 
 That placed a peaceful crown of light 
 Upon my life, did well its part 
 
 If one was given you as bright. 
 
 A BIRTH-DAY WISH. 
 A 
 
 Dear friend, I wish for you tonight. 
 One hundred years of happy life. 
 All filled with peace and joyous light. 
 All free from danger and from strife. 
 
 If every friend should wish for thee, 
 As much before tomorrow dawned. 
 
 Unending years would be your lot, 
 
 'Twould rob you of your home beyond. 
 
 THREE MONTHS OF CHILDHOOD. 
 X 
 
 This day must picture beauty rare: 
 It brings event to you quite fair. 
 And one to us that's ever dear 
 It marks three months of thy first year. 
 
 131
 
 CLUBS. 
 X 
 
 I've heard of clubs since I was born 
 Until the thought of clubs I fairly scorn: 
 They're thick as snow-flakes or April showers, 
 Yes, clubs are trumps in this town of ours. 
 
 The boys and girls and women and their hubs 
 Spend half their time attending clubs; 
 And all you hear when on the streets 
 Is something about when the next club meets. 
 
 TO A GRADUATING CLASS. 
 X 
 
 [June 19. 1891.] 
 
 You gathered sweet flowers to deck the halls. 
 And garlands beautiful arrayed the walls: 
 Mottoes festooned with appropriate wreaths 
 And "Gang Warily" twined in evergreen leaves. 
 
 Your school days are over, before you is life, 
 With its storm and sunshine, pleasure and strife: 
 May your pathway ever be strewn with flowers 
 Which only bloom brighter because of the shower;- 
 
 GO GATHER THE GEMS. 
 X 
 
 Go gather the gems from the world's wide field, 
 The lights of life, with the darkness dispelled, 
 
 And set those stars on one bright shield, 
 The likes of whose beauty none ever beheld.
 
 POETIC "FEET" DISPLACED. 
 
 The kind o' poems I allus like 
 
 Aint simply those jes' trim an' neat. 
 Which glide along- smooth as yer bike. 
 
 With rime an' rythm all complete. 
 But words sublime, of deep intent, 
 
 Which sift the chaff out of the wheat 
 Which form the poem's sentiment 
 
 And kind-a sweep it off its "feet." 
 
 A SEVERE STROKE. 
 
 'Neath one fell blow our hopes expired. 
 Ruthlessly crushed by the girl that's hired. 
 Perusing the columns of the dear old TIMES, 
 Her optics caught onto one of our rimes 
 She read it through and with earnest face, 
 Reflecting the honesty of her race, 
 Glanced at her mistress with an inquiring look 
 Asking the question: ''Hez yer husband a book' 
 (Oh, shades of chagrin! "A book!" "A book!") 
 "From which this poem was 'riginally took'?'' 
 
 SUSPICIOUS OF THE BRITISH. 
 X 
 
 'Tis said the most apparent reason why 
 
 That this world's brightly beaming sun 
 Ne'er leaves its orbit in the sky. 
 
 Nor feels its task but just begun, 
 And never sits on England's vast domain. 
 
 Because the Lord so fears the British shark. 
 And knows so well his greed for gold and gain, 
 
 He will not trust him in the dark. 
 
 133
 
 DREAM OF THE TEACHER MAN. 
 
 One calm and still November night, 
 
 The teacher man 
 Dreamed a dream of great delight: 
 
 A prize-trip plan 
 Lay pictured out before his mind. 
 
 And many a scheme 
 Kindred to wishes of his kind. 
 
 Was solved by dream. 
 
 Just how secure the votes to win 
 
 That glorious prize 
 A thing that ever puzzled him 
 
 With opened eyes 
 All seemed clear in rapturous dreams: 
 
 And midst this spell 
 Nature's grandest view, where beauty teems. 
 
 Across his vision fell. 
 
 And then this dreamy teacher man. 
 Of whom we tell 
 
 Who thought he'd found a winning plan- 
 Awakened from his spell. 
 
 How disappointing it must have been 
 To one like him involved. 
 
 E'en though by dream in earnest hope to win. 
 To have that hope dissolved! 
 
 WAYS OF THE WORLD. 
 X 
 
 Of all the people to church who go. 
 
 This day and age, the number is few 
 
 Who seek a seat in a forward pew: 
 But let it be to an opera show. 
 
 For an evening of the world's to-do. 
 
 It may be said, alas how true! 
 They take their seat in "bald-head row. 
 
 1 14
 
 THE WRITER AND THE FIGHTER. 
 X 
 
 An author and a pugilist met one day, 
 
 The writer grave, the fighter gay, 
 
 And as the two did wander along, 
 
 So goes the story and the song, 
 
 This was what they were heard to say: 
 
 (The author grave and the fighter gay) 
 
 ''Oh what shall I write today?" 
 
 "Oh whom shall I fight today?'' 
 
 And the writer wrote and wrote and thought, 
 
 And the fighter fought and fought and fought, 
 
 One with his pen which he dips and shoves. 
 
 The other equipped with lips and gloves. 
 
 The writer's writings came to naught 
 
 And the fighter got whipped in the fight he fought. 
 
 The author no longer in the ink doth plunge 
 
 And the fighter has quit and thrown up the sponge. 
 
 REGULATED BY THE MOON. 
 X 
 
 Don't blame the boys who go to Crescent for a "smile. 
 
 Or down at Old Town to practice many a "shine," 
 When the old moon sets and example vile. 
 
 And in a single month gets "full" a second time. 
 
 EDITORS TAKE IT TOO. 
 X 
 
 That measly old monster 
 
 Surnamed "La Grippe," 
 Who is takin' in America 
 
 On a two years' trip. 
 Invaded our sanctum 
 
 By an infamous sneak 
 And caught the editor 
 
 In his "grip" this \veek. 
 
 135
 
 TRIUMPH. 
 X 
 
 Oft-times the ordeals of misfortune dire. 
 
 Survived, resisted, o'erpowered and outdone. 
 Impel us on with new fervor and zeal. 
 
 And life is more glorious for battles won. 
 
 LIFE LINES. 
 
 A "Life Line" held by friendly hands 
 May rescue one from sinking" sands, 
 Or guide them from some danger shore. 
 Where clouds are gathering more and more. 
 To hope's inland, where sun-bright rays 
 Dispel the mists of dismal ways 
 Where life's ambition is recast 
 And freed from turmoil of a past.
 
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