u ^ u u 
 
 BARD 0, 
 
GIFT OF 
 
 Author 
 

Xeaves 
 
 from 
 
 Album 
 
 fctorua frum lltr flurtiral VBorh* 
 of HIP Sarii of tiar Jlat anil 
 tminr nt Autl|dr< 
 
 Soutl| of 
 
 uEattltra Cibrarg" (Hallntion 
 
 eranfirriptum 
 
 bS 
 . 9. . 
 

 
 TAR FLAT 
 
 Twas a freeman born that "Rounded the Horn," 
 
 In the crisp days of "Forty-nine:" 
 "Twas muscle and nerve, and never a swerve 
 
 From the course of the law Divine; 
 There were bright days, and drear, and happ n- 
 ings queer, 
 
 But soon came the pivotal time; 
 The future was told in millions in gold, 
 
 And customs from every clime! 
 
 In the days of old; in the days of gold, 
 
 When old San Francisco was young, 
 The north-end of town had men of renown 
 
 And seekers of fortune among! 
 But soon came a day when commerce hold sway. 
 
 When builders of Empire should meet 
 Near the forge fire s glow, and the shipwright * 
 blow 
 
 On the south-side of Market Street! 
 
 The workers there dwelt, and frequently knr-lt 
 
 At the shrine of the mirthful or saint 
 And never a lad, nor lassie so bad 
 
 Who d voice e er a scandalous pla r nt! 
 Such masters as Drew and polished Lunt, too, 
 
 In Terpsichore Art well skilled, 
 Neath the gas jets glow kipped th- supple toe, 
 
 Till Youth was delightfully drilled! 
 
 A polyglot bunch, with prayer or punch, 
 
 Yet, loyal e er lassie and swain 
 As ever a knight of royalty, quite, 
 
 Or a prince in the priestly train! 
 Vernacular odd ("aw Cholly by gawd 
 
 Who s the guy with the skirt over there? 
 Naw, shucks yer ain t on; he s daft shure s yer 
 bawn; 
 
 He s givin er pufTs uv hot air!") 
 
 With a flow of gocd will, on Rincon Hill 
 
 The Money Kings lavished their fare, 
 A nd never a f rown on that end of town 
 
 That brought in the shekels to spare! 
 Exclusive South Park, arsoiher lone spark 
 
 To illume the Money Kirgs joy, 
 Stretched forth the "glad hand" to the workers 
 band; 
 
 And der.r Mrs. Kelly s own boy! 
 
. 
 
 Oh, ye saints look down on this now made town, 
 
 And tell me, pray, which way to go; 
 The shore-line s deranged, and every thing s 
 changed, 
 
 And, never a corner I know! 
 Yet, while in the fray it cheers me to say, 
 
 "All hail to the prince or the brat, 
 Who claimed as his own, this water-front zone, 
 
 And gave it its title Tar Flat!" 
 
 The title is good: Tis well understood 
 
 That clipper ships staunch, in their day, 
 Hove to, and so, let the big anchors go 
 
 In the south-end turn of the bay! 
 And twas there Jack Tar off voyage from afar, 
 
 Found a relished haven of rest, 
 And the dance hall girl to mix in the whirl 
 
 Dolled up for a sweetheart quest! 
 
 On the Tar Flat land rose a castle grand, 
 
 Whose fare to the Jack Tar was free, 
 Till health should prevail and prompt him to sail 
 
 To the port of a foreign sea. 
 And ornate not marred were many things 
 tarred, 
 
 The products in iron and steel, 
 And the shrouds ar.d stays, and marline relays, 
 
 And the seams from bulwark to keel! 
 
 Twas a busy zone; the very back-bone 
 
 Of commerce and mercantile trend, 
 And that tarry spot, with brains and brawn 
 wrought 
 
 Our proud ship of state in the end! 
 And the foundry knew Peter Donahue, 
 
 And Hinckley, and Spires, and Hayes, 
 Coffey, Risdon, Scott and Prescott who wrought 
 
 With a master-hand in those days. 
 
 But the ships with sails, that weathered the gales, 
 
 By the nerve of the Jolly Tar, 
 Are things of the past, and steamers at last 
 
 Are ploughing their way o er the bar! 
 Now, eveiything s new, and the land-marks fevr, 
 
 Where princes or artisans sat; 
 But never a frown nor blush shall I own 
 
 For mem ries of dear old Tar Flat! 
 
 (Bard of Tar Flat.) 
 
Xeaves 
 
 from 
 
 Album 
 
 sshurt Atnrira frum tire |Inrtual 
 of tijr larii of Car 3Uat awft otfjr r 
 Eminent Author* 
 
 Salra 
 
 Srminiirrnre 
 SJattlera Ctbrary" (Collrrtion 
 
 H. i. * 
 
THE OLD DAYS AND THE NEW WAYS 
 
 I do not care to go to church 
 
 In all the grand new-fangled ways; 
 But mem ry s record oft I search 
 
 For grandpa s good o!d-fashion d days, 
 When parsons plough d and reap d the grain, 
 
 As well as preach d the word of God, 
 And trudged through snow or drenching rain 
 
 To lay some sinner neath the sod. 
 I well remember that sweet wife 
 
 Of our dear parson, don t you know, 
 Who brought the sunshine to a life 
 
 Of some poor cuss engulf d, in woe! 
 From early morn till late at night 
 
 She spun the yarn and mix d the doughs, 
 And by the candles yellow light 
 
 Darn d socks and made the home-spun clothes. 
 The fiddle, flute, and clarinet, 
 
 The cello and the slide trombone, 
 With voices blent made you forget 
 
 You had an earthly cause to moan; 
 Ay, when the congregation rose 
 
 And with the instruments pitch d in, 
 In pious manner to dispose 
 
 Of some old continental hymn, 
 Of all the good stored in your soul 
 
 There warn t a whit left slumb rin there; 
 But o er your features mildly stole 
 
 A look bereft of worldly care. 
 The horses champ d their oats at rest, 
 
 Till hitchin -up-time well began, 
 Then, togg d out in your Sunday best 
 
 You rode home with your Mary Ann. 
 But times are changed since then, old boy, 
 
 And somehow I jest sort o feel 
 "Ye old-time hymn" lacks pious joy 
 
 With quartette choir and organ zeal. 
 Perch d on a bench you ll see a dude, 
 
 Who, with his feet some pedals plays, 
 Then with a flourish call d prelude, 
 
 His fingers trips the keyboards ways! 
 
The invocation scarcely o er, 
 
 That organist spiels off a ral.; 
 The fair soprano then doth soar, 
 
 And forth she squeaks a "come down Sal": 
 Some more gymnastics with the keys 
 
 Respite ad-lib twixt dude and gal 
 The plump contralto, if you please, 
 
 Chips in right here with "come down Sal"; 
 And then the tenor chose to rant 
 
 In foggy, wobbly, nasal tones, 
 Some sort of gibberish or cant 
 
 That fairly chill d your marrow-bones; 
 But twas the tenor s right to roam 
 
 In music s broad entrancing kraal, 
 And so he sends the echo home 
 
 That twice repeated "come down Sal". 
 The basso, wriggling in his seat, 
 
 With jealously was boilin o er, 
 For his one chance to rise and beat 
 
 The three that s madly howl d before! 
 The organist the ivories paws, 
 
 And then the basso mumbles wal, 
 Twus simply that long drawn out clause, 
 
 That thrice repeated "come down Sal". 
 H.)w sad to think their cause was lost 
 
 The lusty voice, the organ s hum 
 Ard Sal could not be coax d nor boss d, 
 
 So, silenty, refused to come. 
 At la^t your patience sorely tried, 
 
 You hoped for some-one at the bat 
 To rush the game straight home, beside, 
 
 To learn what they were drivin at. 
 You felt the climax must be nigh, 
 
 As sure as sunshine after showers; 
 When lo, the blessed four doth try, 
 
 With force that sways the pulpit flowers, 
 To modernize "ye old-tyme hymn," 
 
 And show how in these latter days 
 Ye ancient tunes" they cut and trim, 
 
 And polish off ye old-tyme lays. 
 In one grand effort then they cry, 
 
 With most prodigious vocal powers, 
 "Come down Salvation from on high" 
 
 And save these wretched souls of ours! 
 
 Bard of Tar Flat. 
 
HER SOFT BLUE EYES 
 
 I ve watched the roses bud and blow 
 
 Beneath the Summer skies, 
 Yet, fairer far to me I know 
 
 A pair of soft blue eyes, 
 Of luring cast, with magic fraught: 
 
 Ah, me, alack-a-day 
 Her witchy eyes a spell had wrought 
 
 To steal my heart away! 
 
 Oft when the shades of evening fall 
 
 O er plain, or mossy dell, 
 From memory s page I e er recall 
 
 The most alluring spell, 
 When youth and beauty, blithe and free, 
 
 Withal so fond and true, 
 A glance entrancing sent to me 
 
 From eyes of sweetest blue! 
 
 O er all the earth, in any climo 
 
 Where er I d chance to dwell. 
 The fairest flower in ripest pr ! me 
 
 Ne er wove enchanted spell, 
 Which could my fancy turn, nor wrr.n 
 
 From me the blissful hour, 
 Nor rtsychic forces mystic sheen 
 
 Retrieve me from their power. 
 
 Oft have I studied Fate to quell 
 
 The fast consumirg flame; 
 Oi t have I prayed the Muse to tell 
 
 FrcTi whence the passion came. 
 No princess fair from foreign shore, 
 
 Nor precious gems I prize: 
 0"- fond beouest. Love s droam is o er 
 
 This pair of soft blue eyes! 
 
 Willo\:y f.^rro arid grace may blend 
 
 With Venus how divine : 
 Enchanting lore a voice will send, 
 
 And others may repine; 
 And wr.vy hair like plumes of gold; 
 
 And cheeks well dimpled, too. 
 Mv story scarce begun is told 
 
 And all for eyes of blue 
 
 (Bard of Tar Flat,) 
 
FORSAKEN 
 
 A stately mansion rising grand 
 
 Against the azure seemed to say, 
 There s naught but cheer in all the land; 
 
 No discontent e en for a day. 
 Tho bright and cheerful blaze within, 
 
 The hum of merry childhood s voice 
 O er games and frolics to begin, 
 
 Where all the household may rejoice. 
 
 For self alone from day to day; 
 
 From month to month and year to year, 
 They trip along their listless way 
 
 And ne er the voice of hunger hear! 
 No thought of all the outer world, 
 
 The misrr, waif, or vagabond 
 At whom the shaft of scorn is hurled 
 
 To sink them deeper in despond! 
 
 Dark was the night and weirdly drear, 
 
 And thunder rent the midnight air, 
 And lightning flashed his demon fear 
 O er ev ry nook and thoroughfare. 
 
 hrough the window-pane; 
 roplt age, and youth so fair, 
 Drenched and chill d by hail and rain: 
 Banished, all hope of mortal care; 
 
 Two shadows on the window-screen; 
 
 And such a night: so cold and drear! 
 V ; n, health, wealth and joy was seen; 
 
 Without, grim death was hov ring near. 
 Plodding along the broad highway, 
 
 A withered object of despair 
 Leading a mite as fair as May, 
 
 With pleading eyes and golden hair: 
 
 Withered age, youth frail and fair, 
 
 Alone with nought but soul to save 
 Too soon may find that wifely care; 
 
 That mother s love, beyond the grave! 
 Whence came the twain, or whither bound, 
 
 The bustling throng may never know; 
 Two lifeless forms the morning found 
 
 The storm-king s wrath had laid them low! 
 (Bard of Tar Flat.) 
 
BROWN EYES 
 
 I know a maid in this old town, 
 With raven hair and eyes of brown, 
 Who has the sweetest, sunniest smile, 
 And witchy manners to beguile 
 
 The boys for blocks around. 
 Of untold charms is she possess d, 
 And, to her lure am I confess d; 
 But later you will understand 
 How I must bow to her command 
 
 So like a Spartan bound! 
 
 No maid was e er more blithe and sweet; 
 And, clad in raiment proper neat, 
 She tripp d along the great highway 
 Like sunshine thru a Summer s day 
 
 To set the boys a blinking! 
 So young; so fair; Of love and mirth 
 
 You d say for her there was no dearth; 
 And, so, of this dear maid I ll say, 
 I ll dream forever and for aye: 
 
 Of her I m ever thinking. 
 
 For me it was but to propose, 
 
 To learn how she d perchance dispose: 
 
 So, then, I cast the fatal die, 
 
 To see my hopes all shatter d lie, 
 
 And Love dispell d forever! 
 Withal, her charm of grace and ease, 
 Though in her thrall she d ne er displease; 
 When she in silvery accents said, 
 "Pray know ye, sir, I soon shall wed", 
 
 Her act was deftly clever! 
 
 There s naught for me but to atone 
 For my presumption, and to moan 
 Thru days of listlessness and grief, 
 And sleepless nights, and no relief 
 
 From bright ambition s vaunting. 
 I foster ne er a spite nor wrath 
 For thee fair maid: I pray thy path 
 May so the grace of God disposes 
 Be strewn with health, and wealth, and roses! 
 
 And nothing e er found wanting! 
 
 (Bard of Tar Flat) 
 
THE REPORTER S DESK 
 
 I really don t know what to write; 
 
 So, then, old pencil ramble 
 Regardless of a love or spite 
 
 For them that pray or gamble! 
 Tis coffee, doughnuts, mush and milk 
 
 To start the morning battle 
 Scant nourishment tis for pur ilk 
 
 Who blend church stuff with tattle! 
 
 It s mighty hard to spiel the truth 
 
 To all the daily papers; 
 They want the breezy stuff forsooth 
 
 The night-life and its capers! 
 Unless we serve the caper sauce 
 
 With chickens and the dressings, 
 We re ordered to the mighty boss 
 
 For editorial blessings! 
 
 Upon the carpet we must kneel 
 
 And listen to his raking, 
 And if there s heard a moan or squeal 
 
 Our job we ll be forsaking! 
 No saintly stories can v.-e bring, 
 
 Nor classics from the scholars: 
 They w?nt us promptly at the ring 
 
 To write about the maulers; 
 
 And how the winner fell in love 
 
 With some rich banker s daughter 
 Forsook his rural honey-dove 
 
 To lead the rich to slaughter! 
 And how an old man sporty dress d 
 
 Was furiously talking 
 AN>ut the contour of the chest; 
 
 The fullness of the stocking: 
 
 Also the graceful, swanlike neck; 
 
 The brilliant eyes disporting, 
 And on the dimpled cheeks a fleck 
 
 Of rouge to fire the courting! 
 If long you d linger with the craft, 
 
 Just be a chic disporter, 
 And trim your bow to shoot the shaft 
 
 Like any blaze reporter! 
 
 (Bard of Tar Flat.) 
 
Xeaves from 
 
 Hlltuut 
 
 from 
 
 tiif poetical &IlorUs 
 
 of tijc Jt^aro of Car 
 
 Jflat anb 
 
 Cminent 
 
 t 
 
 fetorp jfeelectrb from 
 "Cfje Cattlrr* Hibrarp" CoUrctton 
 
 ^ 
 
2?iiw fHr&lmtifl Bon Sift Bet. 
 
 Three men I feature in this tale, 
 With joy or grief to leaven, 
 
 To Hades, one, perchance, may sail. 
 The other two to Heaven. 
 
 McGinnia was an honored man; 
 
 O Connor was a grame; 
 Whilst Murphy mingled with a clan 
 
 Unknown to wealth or fame. 
 
 McGinnis was hot over rich, 
 
 Yet he d sufficient gold 
 To place him far above the ditch 
 
 And dare the winter s cold. 
 
 A man mongst men I m prone to say; 
 
 Of democratic views: 
 He lived the clean straightforward way 
 That men ofttimes abuse. 
 
 O Connor came into the world 
 
 O er bigoted and vain: 
 His stock of venom oft he hurled, 
 
 And trailed the crafty train! 
 
 You see he always had a whine 
 
 Both in and out of season 
 He seemed to have a peevish spine 
 
 That paralyzed his reason. 
 
 If things were good they d sure be bad; 
 
 If bad they d go to thunder; 
 Scarce lived a man who wa n t a cad 
 
 Woman a seventh wonder. 
 
 Altho he lived the rich man s role, 
 
 Of all his wealth twas said, 
 "From poor folks half of it he rlole 
 
 The balance from the dead". 
 
Now, Murphy, angular and lean 
 
 From genteel folks apart 
 Through all his careless ways was seen 
 
 An honest pulsing heart. 
 
 He surely was no blatherskite, 
 
 And even in his gills 
 He never flunked when in a fight. 
 
 But feasted on its thrills. 
 
 No trouble breeder e er was Tim, 
 
 Yet, mixed up in a muss, 
 You d have to pass it up to him 
 
 For bull-dog nerve and cuss. 
 
 His creed was simple Truth and Might: 
 
 And so it doth appear 
 He kept his word of honor bright 
 
 And scorned the weakling s fear. 
 
 Though in his acts were many flaws, 
 You d brand his soul as square. 
 
 He measured scant in social cause 
 In Truth he measured rare. 
 
 Where Circumstance with grim Despair 
 Warps some poor wretch s heart, 
 
 You ll always find Tim Murphy there 
 To play the Kindling s part. 
 
 In manners, rather crude and quaint; 
 
 And sometimes swore like sin; 
 Altho he never posed as saint 
 
 St. Peter 11 pass him in. 
 
 For years Tim s belly and his pate 
 
 Was soaked in alcohol. 
 At last he s wed to cruel Fate 
 
 Elixir mixed with gall. 
 
McGinnis banked on Murphy s word; 
 
 He said, in forceful vein, 
 He never knew the care-free bird 
 To flunk in hope of gain. 
 
 No matter where or what the brawl 
 
 McGinnis figured thus: 
 Tim Murphy s trend was but a call 
 
 To moralize the fuss. 
 
 He blent Tim s sorrows with the sins 
 And mused, "I must confess, 
 ^ hate er the gamble Murphy wins 
 Through downright cussedness! 
 
 And Murhpy never did forget 
 The faith McGinn s staked; 
 Nay, never, when his star was set, 
 And when his hulk was baked. 
 
 One day Tim spieled a spooky tale 
 
 Unto a doubting group, 
 And said "whenever I set sail 
 
 And loop the skyward loop, 
 
 I want my pals of this old zone 
 And sure my runnin mate 
 
 As soon as my poor soul hath flown 
 My carcass to cremate". 
 
 Tim never spieled a doleful tale, 
 
 He lived the brighter side; 
 Quoth he, "Let others mope and quail 
 
 Whilst I in joy abide. 
 
 O Connor heard Tim Murphy s spiel, 
 
 And to McGinnis said, 
 "Tisten to one the cuss will squeal 
 
 Before his soul hath fl( d". 
 
He ll pray in accents trembling low, 
 
 He never wished it thus, 
 To plant him pood and deep below 
 
 Like any other cuss. 
 
 O Connor, I your traits despise: 
 
 I ll challenge you a bet; 
 Tis, when Tim Murphy s spirit flies 
 His spiel he won t forget!" 
 
 "It s here I ll chuck a thousand bucks, 
 
 McGinnis wrathful said. 
 A thousand s-> O Connor chucks, 
 
 And thus the bet was made. 
 
 They banked the checks safe in escrow 
 
 McGinnis knew, his bird; 
 He knew O Connor- head to toe , 
 He d gauged him sou! and word. 
 
 Well, Murphy skipped the rural pale, 
 
 But in a tropic zone, 
 On jackass-brandy and worse ale- 
 
 He shrank to skin andbons. 
 
 Once more his simple kit he strapped, 
 
 Andcheerful sallied forth 
 To where the polar bear is trapped 
 To roam the frozen north; 
 
 And here he met a nondescript 
 
 A Hermit of the hills 
 Who, like himself had northward skipped, 
 Far from the rippling rills; 
 
 Far from the fields of waving grain; 
 
 Where meadow larks may sing, 
 Where most alluring charms obtain 
 
 While Youth is on the wing. 
 
And ao they made a solemn pact, 
 
 And swore by all things dear, 
 That, till the Lord their souls had sacked 
 
 Upon thig hemisphere, 
 
 They d pull together, like, as twins, 
 
 Immune to mortals train 
 Made up, perhaps, of baser sins; 
 
 IVrhaps of Virtue s plane. 
 
 Content is bred in solitude; 
 
 It fosters no desire 
 To fraternixe the apish dude 
 
 To snuggle near its fire. 
 
 Yet, Sol it uli 1 may sometimes wane 
 
 With vtlgaboncu arree: 
 So. here we him- :i Denial twain 
 
 In direful ecstasy! 
 
 Though different as the fn\- and clam 
 
 lartz and dirt they hurled 
 They vowed they di In t care a damn 
 For all the outer world. 
 
 At last they struck the gold galore, 
 
 And sta -ked it in their den. 
 <.,) .oth Jake, "when Winter s blasts are o er 
 
 And Spring drops in again, 
 
 We ll pack our dud* some cheerful morn, 
 
 Forget the rare and vex, 
 1 ntil old C.abriel blows his horn 
 
 And vcll.<. "pass i;i your checks." 
 
 Hut Murphy knew his doom was told. 
 
 And so he made his will: 
 Twas, for Mrilinnis all hi< gold - 
 
 For his dof rimers nil. 
 
Melancholy with twilight blent: 
 
 Tim murmured as he sighed, 
 "Dear Jake ere dawn I ll pitch my tent 
 
 Beyond the Great Divide. 
 
 I ll trust my soul to mystic Fate: 
 
 O promise me, sighed Tim, 
 That my poor carcass you ll cremate 
 
 And ne er a prayer nor hymn! 
 
 And when the oven s good and hot, 
 
 And into it I slide, 
 Though dead, I ll dream no earthly spot 
 
 Shall mark where I abide. 
 
 In life we prize the favors most 
 
 And music by the band 
 Not after we yield up the ghost 
 
 To roam "That Happy Land." 
 
 Twas when the sun had crept below 
 
 The rugged Northland hills 
 That Murphy s head-light ceased to glow, 
 
 And canned his mortal ills. 
 
 Twas in the partner s faithful soul, 
 
 To carry out Tim s plan, 
 But there was not sufficient coal, 
 
 Nor yet a toastin pan; 
 
 But while his frame was limp and bask 
 
 Jake folded it up close, 
 And packed it in a whiskey cask, 
 
 Trusting he d there repose, 
 
 Until he reached the old home town, 
 
 Whereat in other days 
 They jibed him as an apish clown 
 
 Withal his shiftless ways. 
 
The candle s weird and yellow flare 
 
 Made this a grewsome sight; 
 But with the tools and tender care 
 
 He wedged the head in tight; 
 
 And then he sledged the cask adown 
 
 The snow-bound icy trail. 
 Atlast he reached the weazen town 
 
 Where ships infrequent sail. 
 
 Dame Fortune smiled on Jake again, 
 
 For here he saw a ship 
 All trimmed to plough the raging main 
 
 AIM! on the home-bound trip. 
 
 Ho marked the cask, "perishable freight; 
 
 And, this side up with care; 
 KC.-II pool and do not agitato 
 
 While in tho tropic air." 
 
 They put him in the ice-box where 
 
 He d keep in warmer zones; 
 And thei" no wand ring rat would dare 
 
 Disturb his restful bones. 
 
 At last he reached the journey s end. 
 
 They rolled him to the shack 
 Where oft lie and a swagger friend 
 
 Were soused in hootch or sack. 
 
 They pulled him from his packing case 
 And straightened out his limits, 
 
 To sort o give him somewhat grace 
 For flowers and prayers and hymns. 
 
 A score of candles then they lit 
 
 Around his feet and head, 
 But ne er a mourner there to sit 
 
 And commune with the dead. 
 
They made a fire in Murphy s stove, 
 
 Then left and closed the door, 
 And all was peaceful as a dove 
 
 For full an hour or more. 
 
 The heat soon vaporized the booze, 
 
 And met the candles flare; 
 But Tim, in his eternal snooze, 
 
 Knew not what happened there. 
 
 There came a hissin . cracklin sound; 
 
 The shack was full aflame, 
 And soon twas but a smould ring mound, 
 
 And Murphy s ashen frame. 
 
 At last Tim met his cherished fate; 
 
 There lay the toasted frame 
 That Providence did sure cremate 
 To beat O Connor s game. 
 
 Twas Barlevcorn that cast the dart 
 
 In dread Consumptive s mold, 
 That stilled the throbs of Murphy s heart 
 
 And laid him stark and cold. 
 
 The Devil lost the game, and yet 
 
 The Lord the wise ones say 
 Is with the righteous, so the bet 
 
 O Connor had to pay. 
 
 Mediums mused, "the Lord, I guess 
 
 Took Murphy and the gin, 
 And pleased, the Devil to possess 
 
 O Connor and his sin. 
 
 As Murphy lived, so, Murphy died; 
 
 Square/ Through eternal day 
 The Lord will amble by his side 
 
 Along the Heavenly Way. 
 
 BARD OF TAR FLAT 
 
Xeax>es 
 
 from 
 
 Album 
 
 &f)ort Storied from the JJortical 
 of ttj? l?ar& of aar 3Flal aui 
 tmtnrttt Aurora 
 
 Nun-SCnaor 
 
 (Battlera library" ffiolirrtuin 
 
PRIEST NUN KNAVE 
 
 They gazed afar o er the boundless sea, 
 
 So restful in the mellow dawn; 
 A Priest, a Nun, a Knave the three 
 
 Were strangers till the day wore on; 
 Till Phoebus climb d the eastern hills 
 
 To usher in the rosy morn, 
 And kiss the sparkling, rippling rills, 
 
 And flutter o er the fields of corn. 
 
 In mute communion posed they there, 
 
 With nought to break the magic train; 
 And scarce a tremor of the air 
 
 To waft the secrets of the brain I 
 In Wonder-land they seem d to dwell, 
 
 Their souls imprison d deep within 
 Their breast a mask a mystic cell 
 
 To shield a virtue or a sin: 
 
 Rut when the day had well begun, 
 
 And smiled on ev ry shrub and flower. 
 The three the Priest, the Knave, the Nun- 
 
 Seem d to invite each other s power! 
 Twas first the Priest who bow d in prayer, 
 
 Imploring wisdom from above. 
 To guide him through Life s thoroughfare 
 
 In righteous ways and holy love! 
 
 Me pray d for wisdom from on high 
 
 To teach the frail and wayward youth 
 To shun the pitfalls, ever nigh; 
 
 To grave their names in fearless truth! 
 In sacred eloquence he prayed, 
 
 And wrought a picture most sublime, 
 Of penitence too long delayed; 
 
 The toll the sinner pays for crime! 
 
 And what a picture! how divine; 
 
 The scenes were painted bold and rare; 
 They show d the tempter s cup of wine, 
 
 And, too, the siren s crafty snare, 
 And Fashion s sinuous dances lure; 
 
 Withal, the princely banquet fare, 
 Where Beauty spurn d the mien demure. 
 
 And well-bred sons abandon d care! 
 
His exhortation ended when 
 
 He bless d the glorious Summer day, 
 And sweetly murmur d his Amen, 
 
 Arose and went his chosen way I 
 The Nun next bent in wistful mood. 
 
 And pray d for strength to stem the tide 
 Of evil, and to reap the good, 
 
 And evermore in peace abide! 
 
 "Unto Thy grace, oh God," she said, 
 
 "Do I commend my troubled soul; 
 Show me, a wand ring, humble maid, 
 
 Redemption s pathway and its goal! 
 Must I, in scorn at ev ry turn, 
 
 Yield to the chill, relentless glare, 
 Of them who never can discern 
 
 A mortal drowning in Despair? 
 
 "Oh, Lord, my shadow follows me 
 
 Through day and night; and ev ry hour 
 I vision, whereso-e er I flee, 
 
 A ghost of Satan s ghoulish power! 
 The error of my youth You know, 
 
 As well, the torment of my soul; 
 Twould seem an all sufficient blow 
 
 To satisfy the Reaper s toll!" 
 
 Twas then a smile of sweet content 
 
 O erspread her face so wond rous fair; 
 And, so she felt the Lord had lent 
 
 A list ning ear unto her prayer. 
 Twas thus her soulful prayer did end, 
 
 And, in the sunshine of the day 
 She murmur d, too, her sweet Amen, 
 
 Arose and went her chosen way! 
 
 Next, then, the Knave, in sneering mood, 
 
 Defiant in his self-conceit, 
 Assumed a pompous attitude 
 
 And framed his story to repeat. 
 He d listen d to the Priest and Nun, 
 
 And, musing o er their pious trend, 
 Acclaim d that whilst Life s skein he spun 
 
 The lord of sports should be his friend! 
 
In modish garb he loiter* d in 
 
 The halls where tainted wealth was born; 
 Where Innocence doth there begin 
 
 The night-life with its dark ning morn! 
 There "neath the dazzling chandelier 
 
 He spun the wheel of Rouge-et-Noir: 
 The Master-hand made it appear 
 
 That he had won a thousand more! 
 
 Now, crazed with drink and vain success. 
 
 The Master-hand had him in thrall. 
 Determined in his helplessness 
 
 To trap him, stakes, and fortune all! 
 The game was o er; the lights were low; 
 
 The night without was dark and damp, 
 But Destiny had will d it so; 
 
 Henceforth he goes a vagrant tramp! 
 
 When Reason came to teach the code, 
 
 Known to the gamblers reckless clan, 
 H- read his future dread abode 
 
 More fit for fowl, or beast, than man! 
 Thus read his story; thus the end; 
 
 And through the chill and rainy day, 
 Bereft of e en a worldly friend 
 
 He shambled o er his chosen way! 
 
 But, Fate has trail d the wand rers train 
 
 Through all the by-ways of the past, 
 And brings them face to face again 
 
 The Priest, the Nun, and Knave at last! 
 The Knave, an addict to cocaine, 
 
 At eventide, when all was still, 
 L ay on his cot, a wretch inane, 
 
 Within the Poor-house o er the hill! 
 
 The Priest, and, too, the Nun so fair, 
 
 As bride and groom a happy twain 
 Were guests or rather, callers there 
 
 To chant a Christian s sweet refrain! 
 This picture shows to foe or friend, 
 
 Two avenues o er Life s highway: 
 It shows the zone where each may end! 
 
 Consider well thy chosen way! 
 
 Bard of Tar Flat. 
 
LIFE S MISSION 
 
 Yield not to blaze illusions 
 
 Of untold wealth and fame: 
 Fear never a man of the gamblers clan: 
 
 Play straight if you re in the game! 
 
 At times it may seem gloomy, 
 
 A wreath of thorns thy crown, 
 Yet ere the end you may find a friend 
 
 In the man who turned you down! 
 
 In the stress of Life s endeavor, 
 
 In the turn of Fortune s wheel, 
 Be never afraid, and choose thy blade 
 
 From the truest tempered steel! 
 
 Let Patience be thy motto; 
 
 Let Honor be thy goal; 
 It is not always might that wins the fight; 
 
 Ofttimes it s science and soul! 
 
 Be sure of thyself when summon d; 
 
 When Duty calls attend! 
 Faint heart ne er throve on a conquest of love, 
 
 Nor scarce could gain a friend! 
 
 Decline the grace of others 
 
 The favors that you d deny 
 Tis villain or sneak, or the pitied weak 
 
 Who gives to the world the lie! 
 
 Let modesty commend you 
 
 Where er you wend your way: 
 Don t burden your mind with care; you ll find 
 
 There ll come another day! 
 
 Ne er doubt the trend of Friendship; 
 
 Mistrust not the life-long Friend: 
 Events rnay occur where Parsons may err; 
 
 Abide in faith to the end! 
 
 Your mission in Life now ended; 
 
 You ve fail d in your cherish d plan; 
 Although you don t hold a million in gold, 
 
 You re nevertheless a man! 
 
 A smile for the humble worthy; 
 
 Don t lose your soul in success: 
 Perhaps ere you die your fortune may fly, 
 
 And you ll bend low in distress! 
 
 Bard of Tar Flat. 
 
leaves 
 
 from 
 
 fltomorg s Album 
 
 &>turtffl from ihr Jlnrttrnl 
 
 of the Hard of ear If lat and ntfter 
 
 tutinrnt Authors 
 
 in a 
 
 Olo ttrlyn 
 
 Eattlera Ktbraru" (Collrriion 
 alransrrtpltnn 
 
 iH. 9. 
 
A LEGEND OF A MAID 
 
 Ah, many, many years unroll 
 
 A thousand years or more- 
 Ere we may scan upon a scroll 
 
 Well writ in ancient lore, 
 Where dwelt a maid of notes and trills; 
 
 A maid bewitching fair, 
 Among the charming Piedmont hills 
 
 Whore orchids bloom so rare! 
 
 Whereof this lithesome hazel blonde 
 
 The scrit doth firm appeal; 
 Sets forth her word as bankers bond; 
 
 Her heart as truest st( cl : 
 Of physique firm; of subtle brain; 
 
 Withal a classic mien, 
 To h ghest art did well attain 
 
 O er all her realm was seen! 
 
 No gentlewoman be it said 
 
 Of royal blood \vas she; 
 A marchioness of Piedmont-glade; 
 
 A princess soon to be: 
 Yet, wherewithal in art a prize, 
 
 Possess d of talents rare; 
 And, too, so practically wise 
 
 Although uncommon fair! 
 
 Ne er served she at the kitchen trade, 
 
 Nor toil d she o er the range, 
 Yet, from the baker s stock she made 
 
 E er marvelous and strange 
 Full ev ry compound with a dash: 
 
 Her products were a dream, 
 From old-time vegetable hash 
 
 To puffs of choc late-cream. 
 
 She shamed the saddler at his will; 
 
 The painter at his brush. 
 In midnight toil she train d her skill 
 
 When all the world was hush! 
 Upon the scroll twas writ the maid 
 
 Did paint exceeding rare; 
 On precious pottery, twas said 
 
 Put ne er her cheecks so fair! 
 
In music s realm did she excel 
 
 Twas so the classic wrote 
 Upon the soulful lyre, as well 
 
 Forth from her charming throat, 
 Came melodies in rapture bound 
 
 To thrill most grieving hearts; 
 Thus, on the scroll, twas writ around 
 
 This maid of classic arts! 
 
 In times of tournament her skill 
 
 Ne er archer dare decry. 
 The trusty arrow, at her will, 
 
 Pierced sure the faint bull s-eye. 
 The scimitar she well did know, 
 
 To guard, to feint, to thrust; 
 And many a plumed, audacious foe, 
 
 Before her bit the dust! 
 
 She d hunt the wild beast in its lair; 
 
 And through the mountain wild, 
 She d deftly point her chestnut mare 
 
 Though tut a seeming child! 
 In conquests, sports, and all, tv. T as said 
 
 She held in bitter scorn 
 Opponents granting her as maid 
 
 The thrills, of danger shorn! 
 
 Twas writ, that, on a Winter s day 
 
 She dived into the sea, 
 And challenged boldest knight the way 
 
 To follow but a wee : 
 Ah, none there were dared venture e en 
 
 To swim the mad waves o er; 
 Yet, this fair maid of dauntless mien 
 
 Swam safe to distant shore! 
 
 Our leisure whi:ct these scenes among, 
 
 To con this legend old. 
 We d glean the trend of hearts so young; 
 
 Ay, too, the knights how bold : 
 We fain would know if maid so fair 
 
 May challenge boldest knight. 
 And note, to follow none may dare 
 
 From morn through darkest night! 
 
The lamb and I .on truly blent 
 
 Supreme the modest maid 
 And, verily, to good intent; 
 
 No man hath contra said! 
 Albeit she pursues her way 
 
 Full conscious of her p< 
 On, to that endless, cloudless day 
 
 Where are no cares; no woes! 
 
 So, on the scroll was writ this theme, 
 
 "A Legend of a Maid," 
 And, from its tenor doth it seem 
 
 A Marchioness portray d : 
 But why regret the slumb ring years 
 
 A thousand years in fine 
 A rweetest counterpart appears 
 
 At Christmas, nineteen-nine! 
 
 Bard of Tar Flat. 
 
 REFLECTION 
 
 Often when the mellow twilight 
 
 Lingers with departing day, 
 Loth to vanish in the ether 
 
 Of the boundless far-away, 
 We frail mortals, mute in dreaming 
 
 Of the pleasures fleeting fast; 
 Dreaming o er Life s sublime picture, 
 
 In the mirror of the past! 
 
 How the twilight quickly deepens; 
 
 Night has cross d the portal near, 
 With her magic mantle waiting 
 
 For the day to disappear. 
 Once her mantle drawn about us, 
 
 a ray of hope remains 
 To reshape our day of errors 
 
 Or revoice our sad refrains! 
 
Yet, I would not live Life s Drama 
 
 E er again in pious thought 
 I could make a cleaner record 
 
 By the lessons grief had taught! 
 Through a life not free from blemish, 
 
 I have known no ribald curse; 
 Though no saint, to live it over 
 
 I might make it ten-fold worse! 
 
 Let the years agone lie buried 
 
 Neath the mounds of coldest clay; 
 Resurrect no ghost of fancy 
 
 Prone to wear a life away! 
 Nay, inhale the glorius sunshine 
 
 Full to fullness while it lasts: 
 Leave to them who brood o er mishaps, 
 
 Cloudy skies and Wint ry blasts! 
 
 Let them tell their tales of sorrow; 
 
 How misfortune took them in; 
 How the friends would borrow, borrow; 
 
 Weaving e er a web of sin, 
 Then the web so deftly woven 
 
 They were caught within its snare! 
 Thus duplicity was proven. 
 
 Leaving scarce a beggar s fare! 
 
 Ofttimes stranger far than fiction 
 
 Woeful talcs like this we hear, 
 Placing all on crafty diction 
 
 Of a knave immune to fear; 
 But, I ll venture this reminder 
 
 Ere I cast aside my pen, 
 That, "our fellcwmen are kinder 
 
 Truly nine times out of ten! 
 
 Life is what we choose to make it; 
 
 Summer, Autumn. Winter drear; " 
 Overflowing now with pleasures 
 
 Sometimes seeming too severe ; 
 Yet, upon the whole no changes 
 
 Could we mortals ever plan, 
 To improve the Heav nly ransom 
 
 God bequeath d in trust to man! 
 
 Bard of Tar Flat. 
 
of 
 
 leaves 
 
 frnm 
 
 Album 
 
 frnm tlj* 
 Sari of Ear 3Flat an& atfjer 
 Emtitntt 
 
 Itbraru" (Collrriion 
 
 arausrriptuni 
 
 . D. 
 
CONSCIENCE. 
 
 Don t spurn the message that I ve writ; 
 Reserve it for the thoughtful hour, 
 
 And pass it for an honest scrit 
 Before your fatal cloud may lower! 
 
 I trust the record thus shall be- 
 After I m number d with the dead 
 
 No mortal e er appeal d to me 
 And turn d away unkempt; unfed! 
 
 A selfish act, a haughty frown, 
 
 A mien of chill urbanity, 
 May satisfy the apish clown 
 
 Who thrives upon Life s vanity! 
 To one who comes well shorn of mask, 
 
 Whose heart o erflows with charity, 
 To him, or her, I ll leave the task 
 
 To judge of my disparity! 
 
 I ve seen the blazon d banquet hall; 
 
 I ve known the shallow lure of Whist; 
 As well, the jewell d, gauzy ball, 
 
 With pure and impure as the grist; 
 The grist that s sent on to the mill 
 
 That grinds forever and for aye, 
 Where, if your harvest s check d as nil 
 
 You ll see yourself as Satan s prey! 
 
 The Heav nly judge you can t evade; 
 
 He won t condone your vicious ills; 
 Up there you cannot masquerade 
 
 And save your soul on feints and thrills! 
 Tis There Deception s mantle drops; 
 
 The budding flower of social plane 
 Is winnow d from the righteous crops, 
 
 So that no carnal tares remain! 
 
 There, no false prophet s bland request 
 
 Shall lure you from the saintly fold; 
 Tis There you ll need no treasure-chest 
 
 Fill d to the lid with yellow gold! 
 Don t think the world is upside down; 
 
 Don t think that you re the only saint 
 On whom the Lord ne er casts a frown: 
 
 Ne er such a picture shall you paint! 
 
When in a wakeful hour or dream 
 
 Don t score your neighbors thru and thru; 
 Perhaps things are not as they seem; 
 
 They may be nearer right than you: 
 And, when you think, my dear old friend 
 
 That you ve more wisdom than your boss, 
 Your time in his employ may end 
 
 May be his gain may be your loss! 
 
 Because your neighbors do not rant, 
 
 Nor flare their virtues o er and o er, 
 Nor hymns in doleful measure chant, 
 
 Don t think kind deeds they know no more! 
 In anguish many hearts are bow d, 
 
 Enmesh d in coils of gossip s snare; 
 But for a chance were they allow d 
 
 Could plead a record clean and fair! 
 
 You have a soul; you have a heart; 
 
 One as a dreamer to depict, 
 The other as a fateful part 
 
 In righteous judgment to convict! 
 Life s drama grand buys all your art; 
 
 It shields your grief whilst seeming gay: 
 They care not for the yearning heart 
 
 They ve paid your price to make the play! 
 
 And so the world is satisfied 
 
 Withal the actors subtle trend; 
 You ve never cast the mask aside 
 
 To show the poise -false or friend! 
 Behold, the flame of sham they fan, 
 
 And white-wash baneful acts in fine! 
 Shake off false pride and be a man, 
 
 And fear not but the law Divine! 
 
 Your Club Elite may have its train 
 
 To procreate a social caste; 
 In blaze conceit may hope to gain 
 
 A regime of a knightly past: 
 The emptiness of all this glare 
 
 They do not seem to comprehend; 
 And once in thrall they may not dare 
 
 To spurn the foe who posed as friend! 
 
Throughout Life s Drama thus they act, 
 
 Yet, mirror d on the Conscience screen, 
 They see their dual life attack d, 
 
 And shrink in horror at their mien! 
 Oh, why delay the blessed hour; 
 
 The glorious dawn of Virtue s role, 
 Ere unrelenting clouds may lower, 
 
 And Satan claims an erring soul! 
 
 To ev ry question oft tis said 
 
 "There are two sides" so, then I pray, 
 Ere all your faith in one is dead 
 
 Consider well the scorners s lay! 
 Engage the person e er accused; 
 
 In honor s claim, of him demand 
 The wherefor he s so much abused, 
 
 Or pass d in sneers at ev ry hand! 
 
 If his recital all serene 
 
 Brings forth a tale you d brand as true, 
 
 I ll say you re k^ave or born in spleen 
 To shun his path afl others do! 
 
 Whilst others show their silent scorn, 
 Or vent their ppite whene er hey can, 
 
 Tis sweet to feel that you were born 
 In fear of God a friend to man! 
 
 There is a debt of honor due 
 
 To ev ry mortal foe or friend 
 And ere Life s journey we are through 
 
 Tis well that we make our amend. 
 Although you re robed in saintly gown 
 
 In Life s great drama, I believe 
 That when they ring the curtain down 
 
 The Lord s critic you ll ne>er deceive! 
 
 And, when up There, they call the roll 
 
 Of actors for that endless play, 
 They ll note the sham that s in vour soul 
 
 And ban your blandishments for aye! 
 While speeding o er the course of Life, 
 
 It matters not the tim* or place, 
 Be well prepared ere erds the strife 
 
 To look your Maker in the face! 
 
Your social claim avails you nought; 
 
 Your worldly worth is but a dream: 
 Your heart must be as purely brought 
 
 As e er the mountain s crystal stream! 
 You think your conscience is obscure; 
 
 The wickedness within unknown; 
 But, ne er was legend written truer 
 
 Than, "ye shall reap as ye hath sown"! 
 
 Leaf by leaf the roses falling; 
 
 Drop by drop the springs run dry; 
 One by one beyond recalling 
 
 Souls of mortals Heav nward fly! 
 Look ahead whilst hope caressing; 
 
 Let the past deep burried lie 
 Lest the earthly ilia distressing 
 
 Greet the superstitious eye! 
 Waver not in life s endeavor; 
 
 Aim at heights where all supreme 
 Virtue s name shall live forever; 
 
 Thenfulfill d thy fondest dream! 
 Looking backward? nay, nay never; 
 
 Not to grope in error s train: 
 Look ahead and pray that ever 
 
 Wisdom, honor, ye shall gain! 
 Would ye blight ere scarcely budded, 
 
 Wither, droop, and full decay, 
 All too listless to have studied 
 
 Life s pure, wholesome, only way? 
 Round and round the wheels keep turning, 
 
 Of Life s busy, busy mill: 
 Keep the home-fires brightly burning; 
 
 Cheerful, be a worker still! 
 Wake ye, then, in earnest action, 
 
 Ere the coming of the dawn, 
 When St. Peter s benefaction 
 
 From thy fare ll be surely drawn! 
 Neve* with a laggard s shamble 
 
 Shall ye find one precious gem; 
 Never with the thrifty ramble 
 
 Naught would be thy diadem ! 
 
 Bard of Tar Flat. 
 
leaves 
 
 from 
 
 Album 
 
 dtarir* from tlje Poetical 
 of tlje 5ari of Sar JIat au& att|rr 
 Emtttf ut Autlj0rB 
 
 JHut-Anklf-Amftt 
 
 Saltlera Cihrarg" 
 
TUT-ANKH-AMEN 
 
 -EXAMINER," the newsies bark; 
 
 "EXTRA, extra; the great surprise; 
 The biggest thing since Noah s Ark; 
 
 They ve found where Tut-Ankh-Amen lies!" 
 Great men of science now can tell 
 
 Of doings when the world was new; 
 Where kings and hoboes used to dwell, 
 
 And how they pull d the big stunts throughl 
 
 They carved their acts ~bn slabs of stone. 
 
 And scribbled them on papyrus; 
 And, yet for ages nought was known 
 
 About a solitary cuss! 
 They surely fell short in discretion 
 
 As robber barons often do; 
 Had they been stars in their profession 
 
 We d still be hunting for a clew! 
 
 \\ - re told about their jewels rare, 
 
 And gold wrought into wondrous lines, 
 And dainty fabrics for their fair. 
 
 And precious vessels for their wines I 
 They tell us that the women folks 
 
 Were skill d in decorative art, 
 And that cosmetics were no jokes, 
 
 But served them as make-up parti 
 
 And. judging as the record goes 
 
 Their lips and cheeks were tinted red, 
 And, too, they powder d off their nose, 
 
 And bobb d their hair the better bredl 
 They tell us that the dancing girls 
 
 Were agile and not over shy, 
 And through the hazy light their whirls 
 
 Were most alluring to the eye! 
 
 And all their dresses, don t you know. 
 
 Were up to date twixt you and I, 
 
 They wore em very high below, 
 
 And very much too low up high! 
 Sometimes their arms and legs were bare, 
 
 Yet, some of em wore shadow-hose 
 You see they had no censor there 
 
 To fill an old man s heart with woesl 
 
Tis sad to know at this late day, 
 
 They left no movie-picture slides. 
 To teach us of the manly way 
 
 They had of sizing up their brides. 
 We wonder if they kiss d their paws, 
 
 And bow d and scraped in frigid style, 
 Or did they grab *em in their claws 
 
 And squeeze em as in modern guile? 
 
 And when the giddy show was o*er, 
 
 The night was dark, the hour was late, 
 Did they escort em to the door, 
 
 Or kiss em good-bye at the gate? 
 So far their records nothing show 
 
 Relating to their bill of fare; 
 We sort o feel we d like to know 
 
 Just what they ate how, when, and where! 
 
 We hope some day it will appear 
 This information that we seek 
 
 And tell us if twas five cent beer, 
 And room rent two fifty per week! 
 
 We wonder if the hie:h-brows knew 
 A code to live within their means, 
 
 And would they switch from frog-leg stew 
 To Boston brown bread, pork and beans) 
 
 But, size the bunch up as you may, 
 
 Their methods were not always bunk 
 For instance, when their mortal clay 
 
 They preserved in the form of punk! 
 Trnt act appalls our modern guys 
 
 Cramm d full cf late-day college lore 
 And brands them ancients over wise 
 
 In stunts that we can do no more! 
 
 Perhaps some day they ll get more news 
 
 Of breezy Tut and all his clan; 
 Or, yet unearth more ancient clues 
 
 To lead em to a bigger man! 
 Perhaps in digging deeper down 
 
 They may exhume a royal sire 
 Who ll make old Tut look a clown 
 
 And all his stuff will hunt a buyer! 
 
Or, they could frame a "Clearance Sale, * 
 
 And placards reading, "goods mark d down, 
 Or, auctioneer! to spiel and rail 
 
 To all the "bargain nuts" in town I 
 And when their stock was getting low, 
 
 With buyers still at fever-heat, 
 New Jersey artisans we know 
 
 Could fill rush orders most completel 
 
 Napoleon had a bedstead rare, 
 
 Where oft he d lay his frame to rest, 
 And to evade the damn d night-mare 
 
 He vision d in his murder quest! 
 This bedstead, now a priceless prize, 
 
 Stands in an antique lover s shrine 
 In ev ry nation "neath the skies 
 
 And each one pass d as genuinel 
 
 Upon our fancy, fakers play 
 
 Where doubt hangs by a single thread- 
 And so I ll say our modern jay 
 
 Is quite as slick as Tut s old dead! 
 A great man once with us was placed 
 
 A mighty Emperor Norton I (one) ; 
 Although not quite unto our taste, 
 
 He surely was some son-of-a-gun! 
 
 We mention this that you may see 
 
 A monarch once with us did dwell; 
 
 So. from Egyptian to Chinee 
 
 The spooky thrills are few to tell! 
 
 Ten thousand years or more from now 
 With ancient history s pages read 
 
 They ll know the methods, place, and how 
 We plant our Great and Royal dead! 
 
 Or, better still, there ll be the boon 
 
 Of wireless that will help em out! 
 They ll get us far beyond the moon, 
 
 To tell em just what we re about! 
 But in our tombs they ll find no gold, 
 
 Nor precious gems, nor antiques stored. 
 We ll state that fearing rust or mold, 
 
 We turn d them in, to Henry Ford! 
 
 Bard of Tar Flat. 
 
APOLOGIES TO KISSER 
 
 You re wasting time, Kisser, to ply the hot iron 
 
 To Sir Oliver Lodge or Conan Doyle s dope, 
 Whilst we ve our good prophet, our dear, wily Bryan, 
 
 To bolster us up in our shadowy hope! 
 Tis true it seems dark and uncertain as blazes, 
 
 At times as we hobble along the highway, 
 With all of the rich men a-ridin , be jazez, 
 
 And we have to hoof it from three miles away! 
 
 Relentless they grind us; they show no contrition; 
 
 They envy us, even the powder-face lass; 
 They ve wither d our maws by their damn d prohibition 
 
 They ll soon leave us nothing but water and grass! 
 But some day we ll vamoose away from this plunder, 
 
 This joyous Hypocracy whitewash d with care, 
 Away to that zone where it s hotter than thunder, 
 
 Where all of the lodgers go foodless and bare! 
 
 Where s never a tag-day, no taxes to worry, 
 
 No picture-show darlings to flatten our purse, 
 No babies to yank us out nights in a hurry, 
 
 No women on juries for better or worse! 
 
 Where laddies and lassies are never in terror 
 
 Whilst doing the Fox-trot, or Hawaiian Flop; 
 They never arrest an old jay for an error 
 
 And give him six months through the ban of a COP! 
 
 Where Tom-cats ne er roam in nocturnal incursions; 
 
 Where Poll-parrots never disturb you at dawn; 
 Where horse-races, prize-fights, and other diversions 
 
 Are but the mere shadows of days that are gone! 
 Where s never a snap for the banker or broker, 
 
 Though pratin-g their wisdom the price of their soul; 
 They ll tackle a job to hold down as a stoker 
 
 Till skill d in the science of shoveling coal! 
 
 You ll never be pester d by rich undertakers. 
 
 Nor insurance spielers their boon to declare, 
 Nor book-agents, parsons, or street-corner fakers 
 
 Though it costs not a cent for a bag of hot air! 
 Dear Kisjler, brace up, swipe the dope that I m giving; 
 
 Don t fail to butt in on this glorious chance; 
 You ll not be distress d by the high cost of living 
 
 And not a damn nickel to join in the dance! 
 
 The Devil must surely have many attractions: 
 
 His play-house has never been posted, "To Let," 
 
 So, when I am through with these earthly distractions, 
 I m off on the first train for Hades, you bet! 
 
 Bard of Tar Flat. 
 
from 
 
 Album 
 
 ftljort ft in r ir a from ihr Jhutirai 
 of the Sard of ear 3Uat and otter 
 Suttnf nt Authors 
 
 Satllfra Ctbrarg" ffiollfrliott 
 (Erannrripltnn 
 
 bH 
 
 ifl. B. i5. 
 
TAKEN FROM 
 SHAKE S PEER S LIFE OF NOAH. 
 
 I m told a book in ancient lore 
 
 Records a mariner named Noah, 
 
 Who as a hobby built a boat, 
 
 And on the Spring-tide let her float; 
 
 But, ere he hove his anchor in, 
 
 He seized of ev ry living thing 
 
 A pair, and sacks of grub and coal 
 
 And stowed them in the lower hold. 
 
 Shem, Ham, and Japheth shipp d as crew, 
 
 Then closed the shutters thru and thru. 
 
 How long he cruised both far and wide 
 
 Was never known; but twas ebb-tide 
 
 When from the Ark a gentle dove 
 
 Flew forth in search of cabbage grove, 
 
 Or coursing park that Coffroth plann d 
 
 Or symbol from the submerged land! 
 
 When lo, the bird cams to roost, 
 
 And with an olive leaf to boost 
 
 The hopes of Noah and his friend, 
 
 That they would shortly sight "Land s End". f^JUf 
 
 As o er the boundless sea stole 
 
 A glance, he saw nt the North Pole, 
 
 A sign that chuck d him full of thrills 
 
 Though somewhat blurr d it read "Ayers Pills". 
 
 "Land, ho", shriek d Noah from the bridge! 
 
 "The Golden Gate", yell d Sam Shortridge! 
 
 "What, San Francisco; holy smoke, 
 
 My new chronometer s a joke! 
 
 Then presently he heard a sound 
 
 Of many voices; looking around 
 
 He spied a Yankee and some chaps 
 
 At logger-heads a playin Craps. 
 
 Alas, alas, sighed old man Noah, 
 
 Such recklessness I much deplore! 
 
Put me ashore; I ll homeward steal 
 Except I m punctured in the heel. 
 So like Achilles, young and bold, 
 Or yet like Hector, dragg d and roll d, 
 Amid the din of fiendish joy, 
 Thrice round the walls of wretched Troy! 
 Then round his pyre the villains mix 
 To roast and throw him in the Styx! 
 And thus mused Noah till the brine 
 Fill d both his optics; and their shine 
 \V > dimm d, and astigmatic view 
 Cans, d him to see six things for two! 
 But, Ncah was not built to pine; 
 ,.d a stubborn, ( eltic spine. 
 At last an aunt, sedate and queer, 
 Yell d in his dull and starboard ear, 
 Sell the old bout, and with the cash, 
 Togg out in style and cut a dash; 
 Engage a suit- and bt- a swell 
 In Jimmy Phelan s Roof Hotel! 
 Don t mope, don t be a chronic bore; 
 Start a second-hand clothing store! 
 Not on your tin-type; woe is me, 
 I have a longing for the sea; 
 I d be a failure on the land; 
 I ll steer my boat for Jordan s strand, 
 And build a trade in figs and dates, 
 Radios, fiddles, codfish, skates, 
 And movie films, as business thrives! 
 Hail to the day, my sons and wives 
 When last I croak and skip "Across" 
 You scoop the cash and mourn the boss"! 
 For lawyers fees and other sharks 
 I ll leave a. billion German Marks! 
 
 Bard of Tar Flat 
 
Sprats of /Ifooonsbine 
 
 through tty (garrrt Window 
 
 fefjort *>torte* 
 
 Cram 
 
 vCiic Cortical Uurks 
 uo 
 
 lltbrr 
 
 ^uli ilunii 
 Uitbliflhiu 
 
 Sritratri 
 to 
 
 33. *. 
 
ODE TO THE WAITER GIRL. 
 
 You ll notice each morning I breakfast here 
 Why it so happens I ll tell you my dear. 
 I like your niush, and eggs, and ham, 
 Your apple-sass and currant jam. 
 I like your bunns, and cakes and pies- 
 Last, but not least, your sparkling eyes. 
 Your sweetheart, miss, pray do not tell, 
 For he would shout as sure as h -=-1 
 "Any old jay who writes such rot 
 Never should dwell in a white man s cot.: 
 Trial by jury, convicted, and then 
 Sentenced for life to a "Hermit s Den"; 
 And a hardwood plank whereupon to lie, 
 With nothing to eat but, Eskimo Pie; 
 And jackass-brandy to slacken his thirsts 
 Till his dome explodes or his stomach bursts: 
 Then mop the floor with the infamous bard 
 Who reels off the stuff we print on this card. 
 
 BILL SHAKE S PEER 
 
 THE WAITER-GIRL S LAMENT. 
 
 My dear old friend Jingler I m reeding your verge 
 * It might have been better it couldn t be worse! 
 Don t slaughter old Webster like mince-meat for pies, 
 
 For our boarding-house critics to analyze 
 Advising you thus you may say that I m queer; 
 
 But I think you were fashioned for handing out beer. 
 Perhaps a good eurgeon you d possibly make; 
 
 But O, my dear friena I beseech you forsake 
 The role of a scribbler and tackle a job; 
 
 Where there s never a fear of a whack on your nob! 
 Perhaps you may happen to have on a jag; 
 
 If not I will say you re a consumate wag 
 Your pretense at rhyming I truly deplore: 
 
 O, please spare my feelings; don t write any more! 
 I m sorry to note that you style yourself "BARD"; 
 
 The stuff you reel off ain t worth ten cents a yard; 
 For when you have paid for pens, paper and ink, 
 
 There ll be nothing left you for victuals and drink: 
 You wouldn t have car fare; forever ycu d walk; 
 
 You couldn t buy sweetheart a kirtle cr smock. 
 For ice cream and candy she d languish you know; 
 
 Likewise for the movies and vaudeville show! 
 Don t brood o er the chilly advice that I ve writ 
 
 Simply throw up the sponge and call it a quit! 
 
 WAITER GIRL 
 
A BACHELOR S PRAYER. 
 
 -vard, turn backward, O Time in your flight 
 ra us a maiden with skirts not so tight; 
 Give uj a tfirl whose charms, many or few, 
 
 \re not so exposed by much peek-a-boo. 
 Give us a maiden no matter what age 
 
 Who won t use the street for a vaudeville stage 
 Give us a girl not so sharply in view; 
 
 Dress her in skirts that the sun won t shine through! 
 Give me the dances of days long gone by, 
 
 With plenty of clothes, and steps not so high; 
 Oa i turkey-trot capers, and buttermilk glides, 
 
 Tha hurdy-gurd twist and the wiggle-tail slides; 
 Then let us feast our tired optics one* more 
 On "Genuine Woman" as sweet as of yore 
 Yes, Time, please turn backward and grant our request 
 i or God s richest blessing but not one undressed. 
 WYOMING MOUNTAINEER. 
 
 APOLOGIES TO THE BAREFOOT BOY. 
 
 blessings on thee, little girl, 
 Bare-kneed miss with brain awhirl, 
 With thy rolled-down shadow hose 
 Where the deuce are all thy clothes? 
 And thy red mouth such a sight 
 "reared with lip stick day and night! 
 With thy pj-vder and thy paint, 
 Cobweb blouse that almost ain t! 
 .e heart dear you give pains: 
 Has. it mother any brains? 
 
 Rl-s3 .nr :; j.n thee, mimic man, 
 Vv itn tny cheek so shy of tan; 
 
 thy nair all smeared with oil; 
 Fists that never have known toil 
 With a "fag" between thy tteth, 
 A :id a A->a c chin underneath; 
 Vith thy hands all manicured, 
 And a brain that s immatured, 
 We poDr women you make sick, 
 .j-^n i father any kick? 
 
 (Transc.) 
 
from 
 
 Album 
 
 ied fruui tlje J 
 
 uf tlir Sari of Sar Slat aub ollirr 
 Eminrnl Autljcre 
 
 nf 
 
 Dehtfinin 
 ulattlera Cibrartr" (Eollrrttmi 
 
 lit 9. *. 
 
SONG OF THE KODAK GIRL 
 
 Twas a lovely Sunday morning, 
 
 With the Sun the hills adorning; 
 
 And the fields were clad in all their freshest 
 green, 
 
 When a maid with lots of fixtures 
 
 Such as used in taking pictures- 
 Came gaily tripping through the sunshine 
 gleam; 
 
 And she said, "if not distressing 
 
 With your pardon for addressing 
 
 You ll oblige me if you ll quietly abide 
 
 In your happy disposition, 
 
 And your present suave position, 
 
 While I snap you for a movie-picture slide." 
 
 Twas in Summer; and beginnin* 
 With a jaunty suit of linnin , 
 
 I will tell you how my head went all a-whirl; 
 An* a faintest hope of winnin , 
 But you see twas not my innin , 
 
 With the dearest, swellest, little kodak girl. 
 I was strollin by the river, 
 When my heart went all a-quiver, 
 
 And my hat within my hand went all a-whirl; 
 Did I tropically shiver? 
 Ask me not but I ll forgive her 
 
 If she nevermore her Cupid darts will hurl! 
 
With her fingers slim and taper, 
 And her poise the proper caper. 
 
 While her camera she pointed, naively said. 
 "Glad you .re frohly from your draper; 
 Glad to snap you for our paper; 
 
 You will please me, sir, to slightly r-Jiue youc 
 
 head!" 
 
 Neath her hat a merry widder 
 From the Sun it nicely hid her; 
 
 Teeth of pearl and dimpled cheeks so like the 
 
 rose; 
 
 So I tried to pass and rid her 
 Of obtrusion which I did her 
 
 Or annoyance where I rashly might propose! 
 
 Now a makin* eyes I caught her 
 And I felt 1 hadn t ought-er 
 
 She was blushin* like the sweetest roses red; 
 Ah, to me this fairest daughter 
 Smiled and said, across the water" 
 
 But it breaks my heart to tell you what she 
 
 said! 
 
 Oh, my heart in ore oppression 
 As 1 ask her for possession 
 
 Of her heart and hand; again she naively said, 
 "For your modesty s transgression 
 I will render my confession: 
 
 Sir, to one across the water I am wed!" 
 
 REFRAIN 
 
 When Vesper-bells chime, enchanting, sublime. 
 
 Pray tell whatso er will you do, 
 In glad Summer-time, midst myrtle and thyme. 
 
 When girls train a kodak on you> 
 
 Bard of Tar Flat. 
 

Stva\> Heaves 
 
 from 
 
 f$em0r\> fi Album 
 
 $6>i)ort Storied from the yorticul ailnrks 
 of tijr tBarfo of aar JFlat au& atl|rr 
 Emmrnt 
 
 elir SriJ fflhilp a nb Slur 
 
 A u>al? of 
 
 from 
 Saltlers Hibrary" (Collrrttott 
 
THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE 
 
 Twas a stanch new ship; twas her maiden trip, 
 
 And her crew were seasoned tars, 
 Whilst her skipper and mates wore sun-browned pates 
 
 And swore by the "Stripes and Stars"! 
 Twas the month of May when she sailed away 
 
 On a voyage to the tropic seas, 
 And her starboard tack left a foamy track 
 
 As she sped with a whole-sail breeze! 
 With a harvest moon and a dog-watch rune 
 
 Whilst the old tars prophesy 
 
 The good ship and true, "The Red, White and Blue," 
 
 Hove-to neath a tropic sky. 
 At the mouth of the straits for a pilot she waits 
 
 To take her safe over the shoal, 
 And into the bay where the merchantmen lay, 
 
 Till swung to their berths at the mole. 
 From out of her hold the cargo was sold: 
 
 She chartered again as before, 
 To plough the high seas, to the Florida Keys 
 
 And from thence on- to Singapore. 
 She was ninety days out or thereabout 
 
 And the mid-day sun looked glum, 
 Whilst the sea-dog-mate wore an anxious pate 
 
 And swallowed his gill of rum ! 
 "All hands on deck," piped the boatswain; a fleck 
 
 Appeared in the cloudless sky: 
 The nautical head of the skipper was led 
 
 To forecast a typhoon hard-by; 
 His forecast was true; the telltale spot grew, 
 
 To a breeze and to a gale! 
 The skipper and mates of the sun-browned pates 
 
 Gave orders to shorten sail. 
 From his whistle so true the boatswain blew 
 
 The call of the sea-dog-mate! 
 The thunder s fierce roll bespoke the grim toll 
 
 At Neptune s treacherous gate! 
 Then rang out eight bells the starboard-watch knells 
 
 And the bold mate yelled, "Tack ship," 
 Then again, "Hard-a-lee," as the maddened sea 
 
 Ploughed in for a fatal dip! 
 So the seas surged on, as of tempest born. 
 
 And bred in relentless hate, 
 Whilst skipper and crew of "The Red, White and Blue* 
 
 Were held in the coils of Fate. 
 
O er thf mad seas toss d, and her main deck washed. 
 
 The struggle for life went on; 
 Under close-reef sail she met the fierce gale 
 
 And tore a hole through the storm! 
 Her oaken ribs groaned, and the mad-caps moaned 
 
 And shrieked in their drunken glee, 
 
 iting the doom of the ship through the gloom 
 
 To heighten the deviltry! 
 On and onward she sped, and hope had nigh fled 
 
 As she scud before the gale; 
 Then a Satanic freak she had sprung a leak, 
 
 And she ducked her leeward rail! 
 How she shivers and jumps as they man the pumps, 
 
 And the top-masts go by the board. 
 Lo, the seasoned tars knew it was die or do, 
 
 Whilst the storm king louder roared! 
 With the storm-stny-sail sheet sent home to the cleat, 
 
 And the main sheet haui d chock-a-block, 
 She writhed in her plight like a demon of night, 
 
 The phantom of death to mock I 
 With a sickening wail, washed over the rail, 
 
 The steward was sent to his doom, 
 Where myriads sleep in the fathomless deep 
 
 In a crypt of ocean s tomb. 
 
 Onward and on the stanch ship sped, 
 
 And thrice she missed that watery grave, 
 
 That fathomless tomb of countless dead 
 
 Beyond all mortal power to save! 
 
 The herald of Fate bade the tempest abate: 
 
 At last through the fearful gloom 
 Came a gladdening sight twas the beacon-light 
 
 And the signal cannon s boom! 
 Throughout the long night, that angel of light 
 
 Gleamed forth as a safe decoy 
 To guide the stanch ship, through the devilish rip- 
 
 The dread of the sailor boy! 
 So the good ship wore on till coming of dawn, 
 
 Till the storm-king s strength was spent. 
 With the glorious sun of the morning she d won, 
 
 And safe into port she went! 
 
 Bard of Tar Flat. 
 
%eaves 
 
 frnm 
 
 fltomorg s Album 
 
 feturira frnm % Jliiettrai 3SHurkfl 
 of tl|e Barli nf Ear Slat and otfjer 
 Eutinrnt AutljnrB 
 
 Dating 
 Sattlrrs ttbrartj" (Collrrlion 
 
 JUrattiirrijiium 
 H. 9. S. 
 
THE OLD, OLD STORY 
 
 The old, old story, ofttimes told; 
 
 A lad on whom Dame Fortune smiled, 
 Stray d from the honest, homely fold 
 
 To play the game that lures the wild! 
 And, so he fell as others fall; 
 
 Twas theft, and forgery as well, 
 Which end in draughts of bitter gall 
 
 Within the dismal prison cell! 
 
 The straight and narrow path he knew; 
 
 The crooked path he knew as well; 
 The one was paved with honor true, 
 
 The other with the slag of Hell! 
 The narrow path seem d rather tame 
 
 In modern times and business swirls: 
 Fine clothes and gold made up the game 
 
 Of revelry and jewel d girls! 
 
 He chose the pathway often trod 
 
 By them who squander d wealth and soul, 
 Y/here, by the wayside neath the sod 
 
 The erring youth hed paid the toll; 
 At last the night-life s dazzled train, 
 
 With liquor, drug, and cigarette, 
 Distorted his elastic brain 
 
 And lured him on and to forget; 
 
 Ay, to forget the span of life 
 
 Is short whichever route wo take, 
 A^d, from our weals and woes and strife 
 
 Old Father Time his toll will make! 
 So, in his gloomy prison cell 
 
 He saw the lingering day depart; 
 And as the shades of evening fell 
 
 He communed with his callous d heart! 
 
 He sought to parry with the Lord 
 
 And thus evade impending doom; 
 But, false his heart and false his word 
 
 Yet, worse by far, the ghoulish gloom! 
 Within the coils of legal might, 
 
 With thoughts of good alloy d with wrath, 
 He vision d through the sombre night, 
 
 The peaceful ways; the tortuous path! 
 
Ay, Satan gloated o er his find 
 
 His latest victim thus fefrn* to see, 
 Who d cast a fortune to the wind 
 
 To swell the clans of Deviltry! 
 At last he slept; yet weird and blare 
 
 Were dreams to torment his tired brain; 
 It seems the Devil wouldn t spare 
 
 The wretch he d fashion d for his gain! 
 
 He heard the plaintive song a mite 
 
 Rock d in his cradle ere he slept, 
 And knew his mother through the night 
 
 Was --..ar, and anxious vifgils kept! 
 Ho saw a ghost in smock and cowl 
 
 Unfurl the scroll of glittering lure, 
 With visage grim as e er an owl 
 
 Enmcoh d the bat in clutches sure! 
 
 He saw a girl with golden hair 
 
 As shy and lithe as e er gazelle 
 And rosy cheeks uncommon fair, 
 
 And sparkling eyes that wove a spell 
 Of fascination, saintly pure; 
 
 A priceless treasure, ay, and yet, 
 He spurn d this flower, divine, demure, 
 
 To mingle with the ribald set! 
 
 The race was swift, and short the track; 
 
 The lights were bright, the games were on ; 
 And once the start, twas turn not back 
 
 Until Destruction s hand had won! 
 Though priest and sinner sure must die, 
 
 The world keeps turning in its flight; 
 The same old stars, the same blue sky, 
 
 The same bright day, the same dark night! 
 
 Behold, Life s tide still ebbs and flows, 
 
 As Nature plann d it eons before 
 Ye mortals knew the joys or woes 
 
 The Lord or Satan had in store! 
 Take warning now and trim your sail; 
 
 A calm forecasts a coming storm : 
 Your barque shall founder in the gale 
 
 Unless she s trimm d in sailor form! 
 
 rard of Tar Pint. 
 
Xeaves 
 
 from 
 
 f$lem0r\> B Album 
 
 dijort Atones from the Jlortual EZlurks 
 nf tij? Sarb nf (Tar JFlat aui nthrr 
 Eminent 
 
 (Sat Hera CibrarB" 
 
YOU AND I 
 
 Can you recall the days gone by, 
 
 When you and I were young, 
 How an old witch would prophesy 
 That old, old story sprung 
 How we would cross the ocean broad, 
 
 And sail o er many seas, 
 And how the goodness of our God 
 
 Would shape our destinies; 
 And how a maiden blithe and fair 
 And dimpled cheeks withal 
 Would kisses give with more to spare 
 
 When lovers timely call; 
 And how our efforts crowned with gold 
 
 Would surely come to pass? 
 Ah, me, whilst mingling with the old, 
 
 Or mirrored in the glass, 
 We dream o er what the Gypsy said: 
 
 The gold hath turned to dross, 
 And that bewitchin* little maid 
 
 Now masquerades in gloss! 
 Though we have sailed o er many seas 
 
 And dwelt in many climes, 
 We re far beneath a life of ease 
 
 And have to guard our dimes! 
 Now, in the Winter of our life 
 
 We hustle in our trade; 
 We have no angel of a wife, 
 
 No raiment tailor-made! 
 We buy our hats, and shirts, and shoes, 
 
 At any third-rate store: 
 The luxuries we cannot choose 
 
 At times it makes us sore! 
 We have no maid of winsome ways 
 
 To brush our Sunday clothes; 
 And, so in our declining days 
 
 Are smould ring many woes! 
 But when there comes a bent old man 
 
 With eyes that never see, 
 An arm or leg left in the van, 
 
 And deaf as deal can be, 
 
A voiceless throat; a tasteless tongue; 
 
 Joints swollen with the gout, 
 We bless our stars while seventy young 
 We re not so down and outl 
 And when a girl of tender years, 
 
 Of youth and beauty shed, 
 Adrift, to battle scorn and jeers, 
 
 No place to lay her head; 
 And where in poverty there dwells 
 
 The aged grandma dear, 
 We sort o feel there are some Hells 
 
 Upon this hemisphere I 
 But when we take that last long trip 
 
 To reach the saintly fold, 
 We ll find no flunkies there to tip; 
 
 No use for yellow gold! 
 Whilst climbing up the "Golden Stairs" 
 
 We pause to look behind 
 
 We ll see our much disgruntled heirs 
 
 A scrappin* for their find! 
 Tis when the lawyers grab their bit, 
 
 And simpletons befog, 
 There ll not remain enough of it 
 
 To feed a yaller dog! 
 So I ll advise that ere you go 
 
 See that your will s hard boiled, 
 For if you don t, up there you ll know 
 
 Your earthly hopes were foiled: 
 And yet, the Lord to us hath shown 
 Throughout the long, long years, 
 Some mercy, and, for me I ve known 
 More sunny smiles than tears! 
 
 Thus recollection gleams and wanes; 
 
 And for our tryst I ll say, 
 We have our labor for our pains 
 
 Forever and for aye! 
 
 Bard of Tar Flat. 
 
Heaves 
 
 from 
 
 ittemnr\>*B Album 
 
 (5rattarrijJit0ttB iEtt Hmi 
 
 to 
 fllil Dear Sfrirnb 
 
ECONOMY 
 
 Six dollars for a week s hard work! 
 
 Yet, this enormous wealth 
 Ne er turned her head; she wouldn t shirk- 
 
 Twas exercise for health! 
 
 She wore silk hose, and ostrich plumes, 
 
 But shivered not a peg, 
 When gossips said, "See how she grooms, 
 
 She pulls, the boss leg!" 
 
 And diamonds, too, she had galore; 
 
 And pearls and likes o* that; 
 A sealskin coat that touched the floor; 
 
 A twenty-dollar hat. 
 
 Of finest silks her dresses were; 
 
 Her gloves the choicest made; 
 Her little paws in otter fur 
 
 When out- on dress-parade. 
 
 Her wee, wee feet, you understand, 
 Would cause your heart a thrill; 
 
 Such dainty boots to beat the band 
 She wore through Winter s chill! 
 
 And yet, her VIRTUE ne er was marred; 
 
 Her slumber -was seree; 
 In dreams her conscience ne er was jarred 
 
 By what she d -heard or seen! 
 
 So on she toiled, this little maid, 
 
 And bought a house and Idt. 
 "Five dollars by the week," she said, 
 
 Whilst others said, "All rot." 
 
 Her cousin from the country came. 
 
 She managed to afford 
 To entertain him all the same 
 
 And pay his room and board! 
 
She dressed him fresh in latest style, 
 
 And kept him looking sleek, 
 Because she held her job the while 
 
 And pulled down six per week. 
 
 Though pious folks gave her the jilt, 
 
 She says, "I will not hoard 
 Big money, like a Vanderbilt, 
 
 Though by kirk folk ignored." 
 
 The even tenor of her ways 
 She fostered, so to speak, 
 
 All smiles, all hopes, all joyful days 
 And all on six per week! 
 
 Now, finally things got so slow 
 
 This maid began to feel, 
 To keep the pace well up, you know, 
 
 She d buy an automobile. 
 
 She bought a "Baby Steinway," too; 
 
 Likewise a violin, 
 And briskly without more ado 
 
 She forged ahead to win! 
 
 She vocalized in MUSIC S realm. 
 
 Five years, and there you are; 
 A Prima Donna priceless gem 
 
 An operatic star! 
 
 Now, people recognize her charms 
 
 From minister to churl 
 All rush to grab her in their arms 
 
 And kiss the dear, sweet girl. 
 
 MORAL 
 
 Dear girls, this moral is no freak. 
 
 Be pure as ANGELS, pray; 
 Save all you can on six per week 
 
 Against a rainy day! 
 
 BILL SHAKE S PEER 
 
from 
 
 Album 
 
 fcljort ftlortea from fljr fterttral 
 of lire Sarft of aar Jlat ani olfjer 
 
 Sofjemtan tail 
 
 So 
 
 fHalljrr 
 
 aatlirrs Eibrarn" (Collrrticn 
 
 . D. fi. 
 
THE BOHEMIANS LAST HOLIDAY. 
 
 You ask me what I have to say: 
 "Not much, perhaps, yet, if I may, 
 My EXIT I will talk about 
 Prelude to my last DOWN AND OUT.* 
 
 Fair Youth stretched forth a tempting hand 
 
 To lure me with a roving band; 
 
 To feast upon the joys and ills 
 
 And taste the NECTAR of its thrills. 
 
 As years passed idly, swiftly by, 
 
 I lived on this sleek VANITY; 
 
 While now I pray the Lord to leaven 
 
 My virtues needed up in Heaven. 
 
 The evils cast out ere I die, 
 
 I trust with BEELZEBUB shall lie, 
 
 In payment of the sinful fee 
 
 Due "HIS SATANIC MAJESTY." 
 
 When Father Time, so stern and sere, 
 
 Deports me from this hemisphere, 
 
 Don t call a PARSON, droll, I pray, 
 
 On this, my long, last holiday, 
 
 To rant in sermon long drawn out, 
 
 Of him he knows not much about; 
 
 Nor, yet, a choir that s off the pitch 
 
 Or sings sad songs (no matter which) : 
 
 Please ask Bill Smythe to talk awhile: 
 
 His mellow voice and sunny smile 
 
 Will teach you as the moments fly, 
 
 Tis not a gruesome act to die. 
 
 Invite Bess Clarke to sing and play 
 
 Her songs I ve heard from day to day. 
 
 I think I ve nothing left unsaid; 
 
 Then, tranquil be my pillowed head. 
 
 Sincerely plain though some may scoff 
 
 Yet, in such manner call it off 
 
 And leave me to my final rest: 
 
 This is my cheerful last request. 
 
In solemn rest, there as I lie, 
 
 I ll not regret your moistened eye: 
 
 Twill serve to blend with "Auld-lang-syne" 
 
 And your sincere farewell in fine. 
 
 Released from worldly care and moil, 
 
 To shuffle off this mortal coil, 
 
 Is but a passport from on high 
 
 To peace through all ETERNITY. 
 
 When NIGHT in somber garb draws near, 
 
 And wraps her mantle round my bier, 
 
 She ll sigh and murmer sweet and low, 
 
 "The Lord of Hosts hath willed it so." 
 
 To those in life I pleased to greet, 
 
 Remain and have a bit to eat. 
 
 Remember, boys, no mournful jar: 
 
 Illuminate a good cigar; 
 
 Then, as the puffs of smoke arise 
 
 To mingle with the clouded skies, 
 
 I ll thank you from my Heavenly heart 
 
 To meet me thus, and, so depart. 
 
 Serenely, then, let me abide 
 
 In my last sleep, close by the side 
 
 Of some dear friend, whose faithful hand 
 
 I d grasp at GABRIEL S sweet command. 
 
 Upon my mound of velvet green, 
 
 Through s orm or sunshine, moonlight sheen, 
 
 May violets bloom and daisies nod, 
 
 To decorate the dismal sod, 
 
 Until the final judgment day, 
 
 When LEGIONS rise to clear the way 
 
 For me to speak my little piece, 
 
 And from the Lord get my release 
 
 From bondage held by earthly ties 
 
 That I may skim the peaceful skies, 
 
 In sunshine s never ending time. 
 
 (Don t spurn the tenor of my rhyme.) 
 
 To give a little talk like this 
 Doth seem to me tis not amiss; 
 Now, then, no matter where I m at. 
 Revere my wish: Bard of Tar Flat. 
 
Xeaves 
 
 from 
 
 Album 
 
 situru-a frum the JIurtiral 
 of tf|e Sarb nf aar 3Flat anft otfjrr 
 minrnt 
 
 (3n memorg of Arthur iiHarton 
 Sattlera Cihrary 
 
 Sranarriplton 
 bH 
 
 in. a. i. 
 
OLD FRIENDS 
 
 I m thinking of the old friends, 
 
 Whose friendship justly tried 
 We ve never known to waver 
 
 When drifting on the tide. 
 After long years of absence, 
 
 While climbing up the hills, 
 In tatters, hungry, weary, 
 
 Would they still nurse our ills? 
 
 I long to see the old friends, 
 
 The friends of boyhood days, 
 With whom I played at marbles 
 
 And other childish lays; 
 Recalling last words spoken, 
 
 By them who now abide 
 In God s celestial mansion 
 
 Beyond the GREAT DIVIDE. 
 
 I love to meet the old friends 
 
 In all of LIFE S by-ways, 
 And hear their wholesome laughter, 
 
 And note their honest gaze; 
 To meet them at the banquet, 
 
 Or in the happy home; 
 How cheerfully they greet you 
 
 And say, "So glad you ve come." 
 
 The portraits of my old friends 
 
 I treasure with a care, 
 In memory s precious album ; 
 
 You ll find them ever there. 
 When Father Time shall call me 
 
 And say "LIFE S SPAN here ends," 
 I"ll will this cherished album 
 
 To one of these old friends. 
 
When in serene communion 
 
 With old fivinds pictures there, 
 And mine meets your attention, 
 
 Pray give it passing fare. 
 My life account please render 
 
 With figures as they stood; 
 I hope you ll find a balance 
 
 To square me to the good. 
 
 Lo! cold in death before us, 
 
 A dearest old friend lies; 
 A noble spirit vanished, 
 
 To dwell beyond the skies. 
 Why are we lowed in sorrow? 
 
 God hath but plucked a flower 
 For His celestial garden, 
 
 Where blight may never lower. 
 
 Tis meet that we pay tribute 
 
 To this old friend s true worth, 
 And prove our heart s devotion 
 
 Ere earth return to earth. 
 When TIME hath sharped his sickle 
 
 And garnered every sheaf, 
 We ll stroll in that dominion 
 
 Where none may know a grief. 
 
 Oh ! leave to me the old friends, 
 
 Until DEATH S mantle falls 
 And shuts out all the daylight 
 
 From these old earthly walls. 
 In bright ETERNAL SUNSHINE 
 
 Ere long we ll all be blest 
 \Vhere old friends find no trouble 
 
 Where wearied souls find rest. 
 
 (Bard of Tar Flat) 
 
 With reverence: Arthur s old-time friend: 
 M. D. Hemenway. 
 
>tray IGraura frum 
 a Album 
 
 &hnrt tytnrifB frum 
 thf |Iiirtiralffliirka of 
 Ihr Barfc uf (Ear JFlal 
 an ft (Oihrr Emitirnt 
 
 A Sale uf E!BP (Errrk 
 
 5-inrrrrlu brbiralrb 
 
 to . 3. iH. bi| 
 
 fS.B.?. 
 
 (Jti tlir Cong-Ayo) 
 
of fise 
 
 A little old log cabin.-; 
 
 A sparkling mountain stream; 
 Dwelt there Swiss Joe, a miner, 
 
 Alone, to -toil and dream. 
 His mood was pure and simple; 
 
 His garb was plain andvrteat ; 
 A truer, friend, I ll wager* 
 
 On earth you d never meet! 
 
 His wood-pile was^in. order, 
 
 His kitchen spick-span clean; 
 He d sure a proper mother, 
 
 A proper home, I ween. 
 His stew-pan* pots, and spiders 
 
 Shone like a lookin -glass; 
 His fare -waa appetizin 
 
 From roasts to apple-sass. 
 
 He scored a thorough system 
 
 In all his nooks and-, ways 
 
 Philosophic exquisite 
 
 Imbibed in boyhood days. 
 The wayfarers would tell you 
 
 His loss they d much deplore,- 
 No man .was sent in hunger 
 
 Away from Swiss Joe s door 1 
 
 Had he a princely-fortune, 
 
 Or scanty fare in gold, 
 The . story; ne er was written* 
 
 At least twas nevjBTtokL 
 At even-tide how often, 
 
 In"- years of long ago,- 
 I strolled to that old cabin 
 
 To chat with honeat Joe. 
 
 A broad old-fashioned fire-place 
 
 A winter s evening dream 
 A cozy old log cabin, 
 
 Close by a mountain stream. 
 Twas fascination lured me, 
 
 As busy yeara a-oUed i>y, 
 To wander to that district 
 
 Where dwelt ...Swim.. Joe -and I! 
 
Where in the twilight hour, 
 
 When Mystery cast a pall, 
 And every bud and flower 
 
 Was bound in Magic s thrall, 
 Two turtle doves were cooing 
 
 From yonder mountain pine; 
 In doleful tones were wooing 
 
 In dreamy love divine. 
 
 An under-growth now covert 
 
 The once beloved spot, 
 And nothing but a chimney 
 
 Marks that old cabin plot I 
 The ditch is all down-trodden, 
 
 The dam is washed away, 
 The mill has long since vanished 
 
 In weather s grim decay. 
 
 And ne er an old-time neighbor, 
 
 Nor voice in accents low, 
 To tell me of the passing 
 
 Of my old friend Swiss Joe! 
 Though dead, supremely happy 
 
 1 vow I d ever be, 
 To know I d shed life s mission 
 
 As square a man as he! 
 
 This tale is not a fiction, 
 
 An author s crown to seek; 
 There was a hermit-miner 
 
 Swiss Joe near by Else Creek; 
 
 Not far from old VOLCANO 
 
 That reached her goal at last, 
 And now the merest shadow 
 
 Of all her golden past. 
 
 Ah, fondest Recollection 
 
 Your taper s still aglow. 
 Doc. Ives and dear Dave Boysen 
 
 My friends of long ago 
 
 1 think 1 hear you calling 
 
 The trio, to insure 
 A joyful day full measure 
 
 A night in Music s lure. 
 
 Bard of Tar Flat. 
 
ifoatiea 
 frnm memnnj a Album 
 
 uJranarrtptiana rn ami 
 
 ja Jiontng 
 
 A Somanrr of ffiazrl Hamau 
 
 brbinttrb 
 lo 
 azrl Cilltan-fHarrhiourriB dr fiamnn 
 
THE STENOGRAPHER S WOOING. 
 
 Hazel Ramon meets a Laymen 
 
 Going to the fair. 
 Hazel Ramon to the Laymon: 
 
 "Sir, what seek ye there"? 
 Quoth the Laymon: "Hazel Ramon, 
 
 Seeketh I a bride ; 
 Than thee no fairer lass may be; 
 
 Pray, with me abide. 
 
 Come to my wold and rule as queen, 
 
 With your happy train ; 
 Hold thy court in dainty revel; 
 
 Mirthful be thy reign. 
 Have your ark in regal richness, 
 
 On the placid lake; 
 Like a dream of Egypt s glory, 
 
 When the song birds wake. 
 
 Have your coach a gilded treasure 
 
 Fashioned to thy will; 
 Rare Arabian steeds withal, 
 
 Shall thy stables fill. 
 Have your hounds, and trail the hunters 
 
 O er the broad domain; 
 Thus in favor, teach thy clansmen 
 
 Loyalty s acclaim. 
 
 Occidental days enhancing 
 
 Health and mirth forsooth; 
 Oriental nights entrancing 
 
 Vanities of youth. 
 Halls of royal grandeur luring 
 
 Noble, sect or clan; 
 Malls, athletic sports inuring 
 
 Proscripting no ban." 
 
Saith the Laymon: "Hazel Ramon 
 
 Take my chests of gold; 
 Build thy palace in all splendor 
 
 Like the Queens of old." 
 Hazel Ramon to the Laymon: 
 
 "Hearts may ne er be sold; 
 Tis thy love, and not thy lucre, 
 
 Takes me to thy wold." 
 
 Hazel Ramon and the Laymon 
 
 Sought the parish PRIEST 
 Genial, v/ise old FATHER DAMON 
 
 Caught him at his feast. 
 Saith the Lamon: "FATHER DAMON 
 
 Haste thee, tie the knot; 
 Make the charming Hazel Ramon 
 
 Mine, as well you ought." 
 
 FATHER DAMON, Hazel Ramon 
 
 And the Laymon three 
 Then celebrate the wedding hour 
 
 All so merrily. 
 Sing I like the lovelorn minstrel 
 
 Sing my wistful lays: 
 "Hazel Ramon and thy Laymon, 
 
 Joyful be thy days." 
 
 "O er the hills, content, in gladness; 
 
 Through the Vale of Tears; 
 Sunshine tempered mild with sadness 
 
 In the long, long years; 
 Just a little shade of sorrow 
 
 All may know so well: 
 Hazel Ramon and her Laymon 
 
 Thus may ever dwell." 
 
 (Bard of Tar Flat.) 
 
Copyright 1913 
 
 by 
 M. D. Hemenway. 
 
nf 
 
 Sltrmtgh tlje (Sarret HI htdaoi 
 
 &hnrt ^InrirB from 
 Ihr {forttral lUnrkii of 
 thr %ar^ nf ear JFlat 
 
 to l|r 3. . !H. &. 
 ffl. S. . 
 
I ve a message for you: 
 
 I ll note it with care; 
 Twill reach you by wireless 
 
 On the waves of the air. 
 The whispering leaves 
 
 Neath the Moon s silver sheen; 
 The most charmed spell 
 
 Of the twilight serene; 
 The owls and the bats 
 
 That are ever at bay, 
 Shall never reveal 
 
 My message, I ll say. 
 Of your sweet dimpled cheeks, 
 
 My message shall tell: 
 Your wealth of brown hair 
 
 Where the violets dwell; 
 The farm house so quaint, 
 
 With its grandfather s clock, 
 And the tin dinner horn 
 
 That called us from work; 
 The sleigh-rides, the dance, 
 
 The corn husking bee; 
 All pastimes most dear, 
 
 In our youthful glee; 
 The old grammar school, 
 
 And the magical spell 
 Of the dear young teacher 
 
 Our sweet Isabelle. 
 The same Isabelle 
 
 As in days of yore, 
 After long years we meet 
 
 On a far distant shore. 
 My message hath told 
 
 Of the days gone by; 
 The fond dreams of childhood 
 
 Thoughts never to die. 
 We ll now seek our fortunes, 
 
 And build if we will 
 A nice, cosy cot 
 
 Near the brow of the hill; 
 
Dame Fortune now tells us 
 
 From out of the gloom 
 To woo and to wed 
 
 While health is in bloom: 
 While the hillsides are green, 
 
 In the glad days of Spring; 
 While the squirrels may chirp 
 
 And the meadow larks sing. 
 Now, to challenge I ll choose 
 
 It may not come amiss 
 Where there s nothing to lose 
 
 In exchanging a kiss, 
 Save a murmur or sigh; 
 
 Then why do we wait 
 Till dimmed is our eye 
 
 Love s message to state? 
 This age is a maze: 
 
 Tis a buz and a whirl, 
 With its fads, and its craze, 
 
 To lay siege to a girl; 
 Now why do we falter 
 
 And parley, I say, 
 Till there s nothing to love 
 
 But a wrinkled old JAY? 
 My message, don t tell, 
 
 Don t let it leak out 
 Lest your crispy old dad 
 
 Who is down with the gout 
 Might put himself wise, 
 
 (Our crooning would cease), 
 And with war in his eyes 
 
 He d speak his pert piece. 
 Well, this is my message! 
 
 At twelve, or before, 
 I ll wait for your answer, 
 
 Upon the sixth floor; 
 With my ear near the lattice 
 
 I ll listen with care; 
 And take it by wireless 
 From the waves of the air. 
 
 (Bard of Tar Flat.) 
 
ohloqup 
 
 -ff~ ~v 
 
 
 , (Caltfornta 
 
I just dropped in to grasp your hand, 
 And say good health and cheer. 
 
 I trust the joys you ve erstwhile planned 
 May thrive the present year. 
 
 Another year is hushed in sleep 
 Eternal sleep serene 
 
 Yet, this old earth hath scores of mirth, 
 For you and me, I ween. 
 
 I m glad to note vast sheaves of wheat, 
 
 From acres wisely tilled; 
 Thy coffer chest thy needs to meet 
 
 With shekels amply filled. 
 
 Though ye possess broad lands and gold, 
 
 Don t part with over fare. 
 Remember, CHARITY is cold 
 
 "OLD AGE" shall claim a share. 
 
 Don t take each stranger chance may send 
 
 In PARSON S plain attire, 
 Unto thy heart so like a friend 
 
 That meets thy fond desire. 
 
 But lo ! I would not have thee spurn 
 
 The stranger poorly clad; 
 Give him a chance thy grace to earn; 
 
 Ay, save him from the bad. 
 
Ofttimcs a heart as true as thine 
 When lured to SATAN S way; 
 
 But for one chance as thine, in fine, 
 Would be thy peer this day. 
 
 Ye shall not read the outcast heart; 
 
 Its scroll is most obscure. 
 A stubborn shield protects some part 
 
 Where grief can long endure. 
 
 Yet, once that shield is turned aside, 
 And love hath conquered there, 
 
 In SUNSHINE may ye both abide, 
 Free from suspicion i snare. 
 
 To live thus freed from care and strife, 
 
 In harmony and love; 
 The greatest boon to mortal life: 
 
 True blessings from above. 
 
 Thus may I reach my journey s end, 
 And, when life s skein is spun, 
 
 I trust my epitaph, dear friend, 
 Thou lt scribe, and say, "WELL DONE. 
 
 Then from my home beyond the sky, 
 
 I ll see that tablet where 
 The throng may scan whilst passing by, 
 
 Thy tribute graven there. 
 
 * * 
 
 P. S. 
 
 My postscript here may well attend, 
 
 Acknowledging sincere, 
 Thy greeting as an old-time friend, 
 
 FIDELITY, how dear. 
 
 (Bard of Tar Flat) 
 
Copyright, March, 1913, 
 
 by 
 M. D. Hemenway. 
 
 
YA n 
 
 U C BERKELEY LIBRARIES 
 
 592141 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNIA LIBRARY