[ LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 f SAN DIEGO i 
 
 1 
 
 presented to the 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO 
 by 
 
 FRIENDS OF TI IF. LIBRARY 
 
 MR. JOHN C. ROSE 
 
 donor
 
 7 -7
 
 BY EDMUND VANCE COOKE 
 
 Rimes to be Read. Verses of Character, 
 Humor and Philosophy. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 Chronicles of the Little Tot. Poems of 
 Childhood. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 Told to the Little Tot. Stories for 
 Children. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 Dodge Publishing Company 
 40-42 East 19th Street, New York
 
 Rimes to Be 
 Read 
 
 By 
 
 Edmund Vance Cooke 
 Author of "Chronicles of the Little Tot. 
 
 New York 
 
 Dodge Publishing Company 
 40 East igth Street
 
 Copyright, 1897, by 
 J. Edmund V. Cooke. 
 
 Copyright, 1905, by 
 Dodge Publishing Company. 
 
 (Rimes to be Read) 
 
 Revised and Enlarged Edition, September, 1905
 
 NOTE. 
 
 THE author takes pleasure in expressing his 
 obligations to the "New York Sun," "Cleve 
 land Press," "Chicago Record-Herald," "St. 
 Nicholas," "Youth s Companion," "Journal of Edu 
 cation," "Saturday Evening Post," "What-to-Eat," 
 "New York Herald," "Truth," "Metropolitan Maga 
 zine," "Puck," "New York Clipper," "The Delinea 
 tor," "Lippincott s," "Smart Set," "Munsey s" and 
 the papers of the Newspaper Enterprise Associa 
 tion, which various publications first presented most 
 of these verses in print. 
 
 In the present volume, an even half of the titles 
 appeared in the former editions of the book, four 
 of them are from "A Patch of Pansies," and twenty- 
 six of them have never before been between covers. 
 
 E. V. C.
 
 =20: 
 
 THESE 
 "RIMES TO BE READ," 
 
 are inscribed to their readers, 
 public or private.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Tales, Grave and Gay 13 
 
 Quaint Characters 65 
 
 Home-Made Philosophy 113 
 
 Various Verses 137
 
 "I M GLAD TO SEE YOU." 
 pOLKS are often glad to meet other folks, you 
 
 know, 
 But they sometimes falter when it comes to saying 
 
 so; 
 
 Or they say, "I m glad t see y ," O, so curt and low 
 That you wonder just how far their gladsome feel 
 ings go. 
 
 Say "I m glad to see you," when you mean it. Speak 
 
 it out; 
 Don t bite off a piece of it and leave the rest in 
 
 doubt. 
 Let your lips know what your soul is thinking most 
 
 about. 
 
 It doesn t take an orator to say the sentence right; 
 It doesn t need much rhetoric to make you feel its 
 
 might; 
 It has a hundred hundred tongues which tell its 
 
 meaning quite. 
 
 You feel it when you re going home and catch the 
 
 window light, 
 You see it in a sweetheart s smile, flashing warm 
 
 and bright, 
 
 (n)
 
 "Tis in a mother s morning kiss and in the last at 
 
 night, 
 And baby s little reaching arms express the same 
 
 delight. 
 
 "Glad to see you!" O, you friends of dead yesterday, 
 Could we only hear it from your dear lips far away; 
 Could we tell it into ears which mingle now with 
 
 clay, 
 We might gain that fuller meaning which the simple 
 
 words convey. 
 
 Say, "I m glad to see you," then, to those who still 
 
 are here. 
 
 Say it with that meaning which is music to the ear. 
 More than simply say it; words are cheap, but deeds 
 
 are dear; 
 And men will say it back to you and make their 
 
 meaning clear. 
 
 (12)
 
 ~ 
 
 , 
 
 > -^ 
 
 Tales, Grave and Gay.
 
 THE STORY OF OLD GLORY. 
 
 T TELL a tale which is not new, 
 
 * But, O, as long as truth is true, 
 
 As long as Freedom sets the pace 
 
 Of progress for the human race, 
 
 As long as it is our intent 
 
 That All shall be the Government, 
 
 As long as Rights of Man shall be 
 
 The heritage of you and me 
 
 As long as unslaved thought is dear, 
 
 So long will all men pause to hear, 
 
 The story of Old Glory. 
 
 In seventeen seventy-six its red 
 
 First from the rising sun is shed; 
 
 In seventeen seventy-six its white 
 
 First blends along the gladdened light; 
 
 Its thirteen starry gems of heaven 
 
 Flash forth in loyal seventy-seven. 
 
 O, not of warp and woof and dye 
 
 Is born that banner of the sky! 
 
 It forms from out the heart and brain 
 
 Of Patrick Henry, Franklin, Paine! 
 
 It floats out proud and high and free 
 
 In souls of Otis, Adams, Lee! 
 
 Of Quincy, Sherman, Jefferson! 
 
 Of Hancock, Warren, Washington! 
 
 And so in valor is begun 
 
 The story of Old Glory.
 
 =00: 
 
 Then Gage, Howe, Clinton and Burgoyne 
 
 And Hessians hired by British coin; 
 
 Cornwallis, with his lordly crest, 
 
 Rhal, Tarleton, Parker and the rest, 
 
 Strive hard to blot that flag from sight. 
 
 But, armored in their sense of right, 
 
 Come Putnam, Prescott, Allen, Stark, 
 
 Men of a strong and sturdy mark; 
 
 Come Ward, Montgomery, Schuyler, Greene, 
 
 And all the list which lies between, 
 
 From Marion to LaFayette. 
 
 Right gallantly the foe is met! 
 
 They make the flag acknowledged free, 
 
 For kingcraft s rule is not to be 
 
 The story of Old Glory. 
 
 In times of war or times of peace, 
 Its marches onward never cease. 
 Tis borne by Clark and Lewis on 
 To far-off shores of Oregon. 
 It floats on Fulton s boat, which steam 
 First forces up against the stream 
 And see! how on the air it rides 
 In triumph o er Old Ironsides. 
 Tis borne by Perry on the Lakes 
 And proud defiance bravely shakes 
 From Tripoli to Mexico! 
 Not always right, too well we know, 
 
 (16)
 
 JOG 
 
 RIMES TO BE READ. 
 
 But all the more, then, must we care 
 That no oppression more shall share 
 
 The story of Old Glory. 
 
 Then comes the time its own stern sons 
 Turn on it their revolted guns. 
 But though Lee musters gallant horde, 
 With Jackson s swift and sudden sword, 
 With Johnston s cool and cunning skill, 
 With Bragg and Longstreet s strenuous will; 
 Though Morgan makes audacious dash, 
 Though Stuart seems the lightning flash, 
 Though Hood s impetuous men are hurled 
 And Pickett s charge astounds the world, 
 Yet Grant and Appomattox come, 
 And stifled is the warlike drum. 
 Even in the hour when loyal Grief 
 Moans by the body of The Chief, 
 The monster, Civil Hate, is slain; 
 State clasps the hand of State again, 
 And, from the rock-bound coasts of Maine 
 To every sunlit Texan plain, 
 There echoes back but one refrain; 
 The story of Old Glory. 
 
 Still floats the flag! Its stars increase 
 Through the triumphant times of peace. 
 Still floats the flag in seventy-six, 
 When all the nations intermix 
 
 d7)
 
 In honor of our liberty. 
 
 Still floats the flag in ninety-three, 
 
 When mankind comes from earth and sea 
 
 To that Dream City of the West, 
 
 Where Art and Marvel greet the guest. 
 
 Still floats the flag in ninety-eight 
 
 To free the serfs of Spanish hate, 
 
 And, gladdened by the smiling May, 
 
 From Cuba floats the flag away! 
 
 More honored with its proud folds furled, 
 
 And faith redeemed before the world, 
 
 Than tho it floated wide and far 
 
 In hideous, tho successful, war. 
 
 And is our honor less of worth 
 
 In other islands of the earth? 
 
 Nay! this our motto! We are strong, 
 
 And strength s best use is righting wrong. 
 
 So be it told in speech and song! 
 
 The story of Old Glory. 
 
 I Know that we are told its red 
 Is of the blood its heroes shed, 
 Its white the smoke of battle air, 
 Its blue the garb its soldiers wear; 
 But O, believe not that its stars 
 Are only bursting shells of wars! 
 Believe not that its red and white 
 But symbolize the stripes which smite! 
 Nay, rather think those stars are eyes, 
 Eternal, godlike, of the skies; 
 (18)
 
 RIMES TO BE R 
 
 Its red the flame of loyalty, 
 Its white the badge of purity, 
 Its blue the blue of Freedom s sky 
 And then we know shall never die 
 
 The story of Old Glory. 
 
 (19)
 
 RIMES TO BE 
 
 THE ANARCHIST. 
 
 T7"ES, Wallace Wright was an anarchist. Nay, 
 
 sir, hold back your blame; 
 And pause, O woman of high degree, before you cry 
 
 his shame; 
 And you, fair maid with the spotless soul, shrink not 
 
 before his name. 
 
 But why for Anarchy? Would he turn the world 
 from its ways of work? 
 
 Would he make the scholar a millman, or the un 
 taught ditcher clerk? 
 
 Did he covet the honest spoil of toil, himself con 
 tent to shirk? 
 
 Listen and know. I think not so, and yet it well 
 
 might be, 
 With a boyhood spent at a working bench instead 
 
 of a mother s knee; 
 With ten hours toiling daily, for a pittance, year by 
 
 year, 
 For children are many and cheap, my friends, and 
 
 dollars scarce and dear. 
 
 Yet he did not coarsen in mind or heart, that kin or 
 
 comrades saw, 
 But he worked, he thrived, matured and wived, and 
 
 still he believed in law. 
 
 (20)
 
 Her softest wish was a law to him, and sweet was 
 
 the hard-won bread, 
 And the steadiest man in all the shops was Wallace 
 
 Wright, they said. 
 
 But the times grew hard and the wage was cut, and 
 
 amid the ensuing strife 
 The first black shadow of Anarchy came into our 
 
 workman s life, 
 For his bench-mate there, in the shop, was one from 
 
 the far-off Volga s side, 
 Who had seen his sister dragged to shame and his 
 
 father scourged till he died, 
 Who had seen his mother go raving mad, had seen 
 
 it all dry-eyed, 
 And then he had sworn such an oath of oaths that 
 
 the depths of hell replied. 
 
 And Wallace was stirred by the Russian and hon 
 estly shared his grief, 
 
 But would not hear of the Red Reform, with its 
 promise of swift relief 
 
 Relief from the grinding greed of man, from the 
 wrongs of class and state, 
 
 Relief from a hundred things he saw, with the fer 
 vor of honest hate. 
 
 Yes, he knew his own and his fellows wrongs, and 
 his very soul grew sore, 
 
 But what of that? It was all forgot when he entered 
 his cottage door. 
 
 (21) 
 
 =00=:
 
 Then the times waxed worse and they let men go, 
 
 and Wallace among the rest. 
 Discharged for his long, hard service! for it made 
 
 his wage the best, 
 And the high must go to retain the low, when price 
 
 is the crucial test. 
 No work! tis a thought to rebuke the heart for its 
 
 dance within the breast. 
 No, not for you who read this word and think of a 
 
 thousand friends, 
 Nor you with a dozen talents, all pat on your 
 
 fingers ends, 
 But for him who knows but to do one thing, and 
 
 who earns no more than he spends, 
 Work, constant work, is the needful thing on which 
 
 his life depends. 
 
 Then the Russian came. 
 
 "Are you ready now to mingle with Free 
 dom s set?" 
 But Wallace had only gravely smiled and had shaken 
 
 his head: "Not yet." 
 
 Then day by day he sought for work. Do you un 
 derstand? He sought, 
 
 As no man ever sought gold or fame, for toil and 
 he found it not. 
 
 (22)
 
 The quick, curt word, the rough rebuff, the careless 
 
 sign of the head, 
 Were his till his face was sharp with care and his 
 
 heavy heart like lead. 
 
 And every night when he sought his home, with an 
 aching, haunting dread, 
 
 His wife looked up. She spoke no word, but mourn 
 fully drooped her head 
 
 To hide the fear of her mother-heart, the fear that 
 would not be gone; 
 
 The fear for the babe unborn, whom want already 
 laid clutches on. 
 
 Then there came a day when they had to face the 
 
 terrible word, "Vacate!" 
 The owner was "Sorry of course, but then, that 
 
 didn t keep the estate." 
 
 And the Russian came. 
 
 "Are you ready, Wright?" "Not yet!" he 
 
 gasped, "not yet! 
 
 I have still my wife and hope and life! and there 
 must be work to get." 
 
 A wretched hovel received them. They struggled 
 
 from bad to worse, 
 Till death seemed only happiness and life was the 
 
 greater curse. 
 
 (23)
 
 =20= 
 
 RIMES TO BE REA 
 
 And then she sickened; her life ebbed, ebbed, and 
 
 nevermore turned its tide, 
 And Wallace had only wildly prayed that he might 
 
 be laid at her side, 
 For he knew she had died from cruel want, in a 
 
 fruitful, generous earth; 
 And the quiet babe at her side, he knew, was 
 
 starved before its birth. 
 
 And the Russian came. 
 
 "Well, Wallace Wright, are you still content 
 with life? 
 
 You talked to me of Society s claim, and Society 
 killed your wife. 
 
 Society grinds and kills us all, and you will not 
 make it rue it. 
 
 You talked to me of your God, and He He let So 
 ciety do it." 
 
 Can you blame the man, who, in wild despair, 
 pressed lips to the lips of his dead 
 
 And arose and looked at the Russian? "Lead on! 
 I will go," he said. 
 
 A month had passed and the Red Reform to which 
 
 he had joined his fate 
 Had issued its edict against a man who had earned 
 
 its cruel hate 
 
 (24)
 
 =^p 
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 Who had earned its hate, for his wealth was used to 
 
 oppress and not to raise; 
 And the sterner the bargain in flesh and blood, the 
 
 more was his own self-praise. 
 
 And hence the decree of the Red Reform, with fifty 
 
 men in the plot, 
 Where forty and nine had voted "Kill!" and one 
 
 had voted not. 
 That one you know, yet his name was first to be 
 
 drawn in the fateful lot, 
 And his Russian friend was the second, so the Red 
 
 Reform decreed 
 "That the monster yield his life to man, and that 
 
 these two do the deed." 
 ******** 
 
 Twas the fated day a holiday and the noisy 
 
 throng poured out, 
 Full-fed with the chaff of cheers and jeers, of the 
 
 sounding laugh and shout, 
 In that strange way that a world is gay, all heedless 
 
 of what about. 
 
 Then down the street came the day s event, the glit 
 tering grand parade, 
 
 And Wallace knew that the man they sought was 
 one of the cavalcade. 
 
 That man was the man for whom his brow had 
 sweat with the wet of years, 
 
 Who had drained his life of hope and joy and left 
 there want and tears, 
 (25)
 
 Who had taken work from his hand when work was 
 
 another name for life, 
 Who had taken his home from his head from hers 
 
 who had killed, yes, kitted his wife. 
 Half dazed, half crazed, stood Wallace Wright, with 
 
 the single thought in his head 
 That the life of this man of plenty would pay for 
 
 his stricken dead. 
 
 Then the Russian said: "When the carriage comes 
 
 to the crossing just below, 
 You spring and seize the horses heads and I will 
 
 deal the blow; 
 Then shout: This much for the Red Reform! but 
 
 if I should chance to miss, 
 As soon as I m clear of the carriage you finish the 
 
 work with this." 
 
 And The Deed came near and nearer, when, close 
 
 at his side, a child 
 Cried out her baby greeting, and the doomed man 
 
 looked and smiled 
 And flung from his glove a kiss, as of love unselfish 
 
 and undefiled. 
 
 Lo! the purpose of Wallace vanished, like the dark 
 
 before the sun, 
 At the love in the wee child s laughter and the 
 
 thought if The Deed were done 
 
 (26)
 
 S TO BE READ 
 
 ^ 
 
 How she would be robbed as he had been and the 
 
 sweet face marred with grief, 
 How a hate would fill the little soul for him, who 
 
 had been the thief. 
 
 Yet there was his friend, the Russian, no cause 
 
 should make betray; 
 And there was the man who had wronged him, who 
 
 blighted the summer day. 
 A moment of wavering anguish, a moment of doubt 
 
 and dread, 
 Then, disregarding the passing steeds, he sprang for 
 
 his friend instead. 
 But the terrible knife was naked; it glittered, it 
 
 rose, it sank, 
 But it did not find its target; twas Wallace s blood 
 
 it drank, 
 While the crowd closed in on the Russian, who 
 
 fought them front and flank. 
 With curses and cries and blows they closed; 
 
 Wright madly strove to save him; 
 Was seized, was bound, and on him they found the 
 
 bomb that the Russian gave him. 
 
 The rest is simply, quickly told. They scented the 
 deeper plot 
 
 And offered Wallace a pardon s bribe, but he an 
 swered them, "For what? 
 
 (27)
 
 Do you think I would bring another here to ease or 
 
 share my lot? 
 Betray a friend for a pardon? For a thousand I 
 
 would not, 
 Though you keep me here in prison walls till they 
 
 or I shall rot!" 
 So they juried and judged him guilty and gave him 
 
 the law s extent, 
 And all of his wrongs re-woke in him and his inmost 
 
 soul was rent, 
 Yet he smiled to the Russian a sad "Good-by," as 
 
 into his cell he went. 
 
 He did not hear the confession that the other s 
 
 tongue poured out, 
 
 As, with calm and clear conciseness which the list 
 eners could not doubt, 
 He told the story of Wallace: how the workshop 
 
 thrust him out; 
 
 Of all the bitter battle; of how it had come about 
 He had cast his lot with the Red Reform; how, 
 
 alone, he plead for life 
 For the man the clan had sworn should die; and at 
 
 last he had stopped the knife 
 With his own rag-covered bosom; how he even 
 
 then proved true 
 To him who had pierced his body, though with un- 
 
 tntent, God knew! 
 
 (28)
 
 -00 
 
 "And this is the man," said the Russian, "you have 
 dared to condemn you, you 
 
 By the Lord! no soul in all the whole of your Mam 
 mon-serving crew 
 
 Should think it other than honor to latch that hero s 
 shoe!" 
 
 And then they remembered his boyhood days, re 
 membered his manhood shown 
 
 In a hundred kindly, simple acts amongst people he 
 had known, 
 
 Remembered the Russian s story, yes, even a trifle 
 more; 
 
 Why, even the man whose life he saved, said, "He 
 wasn t bad, at the core!" 
 
 So the Governor sent a pardon and they opened his 
 grated door 
 
 And found him as dead as the pitiless stone which 
 formed his prison floor. 
 
 They said that his wound had bled within. I doubt 
 
 it not. Ah me! 
 There s many a wound which bleeds within we 
 
 haven t the trick to see. 
 But they said that his face wore a smile of grace. 
 
 Was it joy to escape from earth? 
 Or was it for wife and that little one, which had 
 
 starved before its birth? 
 
 (29)
 
 XXX, 
 
 RIMES TO BE 
 
 CONNOR MCCARTHY. 
 
 A H, gud marnin , sir, dade and I m hearty 
 " and glad that the weather is fine. 
 Sure it isn t ould Connor McCarthy that s goin to 
 
 mope and to whine 
 Because he can t make the world over. Yes, sir, 
 
 that s me bit of a place. 
 Sure I love every leaf on the clover and know 
 
 every buttercup s face. 
 
 "Dan says its a toomble-down shanty, and not fit to 
 live in, says Lou; 
 
 So they re payin me board. They have planty and 
 both of em free wid it, too. 
 
 And I m takin me sup where they bid me, but most 
 of the time I ll be found 
 
 Right here, where there s nobody wid me or no 
 body still on the ground. 
 
 "Of course it s an ould fellow s notion, and yet I m 
 
 half thinkin it s true 
 That the girl I brought over the ocean is a-doin her 
 
 waitin* here, too. 
 The childer see no cause fer sorrow and say I m 
 
 a-weakenin fast, 
 But young people live fer to-morrow, while ould 
 
 people live fer the past. 
 (30)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ. 
 
 "The girl I brought over was Mary my Mary, 
 God s peace to her soul! 
 
 And never a word went contrary and never a heart 
 ache but stole 
 
 Straight back to the land it was born in, afraid of 
 the peace in her eyes, 
 
 Eyes soft as the stars of the mornin and blue wid 
 the blue of the skies. 
 
 "And never a worriment found me, but Mary s kiss 
 
 laid it to rest. 
 And whin her two arms went around me, I held all 
 
 the world to me breast! 
 You smile, sir, because I m revealin what most of 
 
 us hide. But it s true, 
 And surely you know that same feelin , or else 
 
 well, God s mercy on you! 
 
 "I loved her. I envied her shadow because it could 
 
 lay at her feet, 
 While I, wid the stock in the m adow or down in 
 
 the corn and the wheat, 
 Was workin fer bread fer the darlin . And she was 
 
 as jealously warm 
 And vowed she was often fer quarrelin wid the coat 
 
 that was touchin me arm. 
 
 "And so we lived on here together, as happy as 
 
 childer at play, 
 Till Danny was born, sir, and whether I blessed or 
 
 regretted the day 
 
 (SO
 
 I couldn t have told at your biddin . I loved the wee 
 
 broth of a boy 
 As he lay there, all swaddled and hidden ten 
 
 pounds, sir, of genuine joy! 
 
 "And yet even joy goes contrary and has a best side 
 
 and a worst, 
 Fer soon I was second to Mary and Danny the baby 
 
 was first. 
 What! jealous, you say, of a baby? That baby me 
 
 own blood and bone? 
 You call me a fool, sir, but maybe your love never 
 
 burned like me own. 
 
 "I was jealous; I know it; I knew it. But never a 
 
 word did I say, 
 But loved wife and baby all through it, and worked 
 
 fer them day after day. 
 But O, things had changed. Why, the garden had 
 
 lost half its green to me sight. 
 I felt most like askin God s pardon fer bringin 
 
 such stuff to the light. 
 
 "The long-legged calf and the cow there; the new, 
 
 nakid lamb in the field, 
 The shaggy, ould horse in the plow there; the corn 
 
 wid its promisin yield 
 Were yesterday pictures of beauty. The commonest 
 
 rail in the fence 
 Seemed proud to be doin its duty, but now twas 
 
 all dollars and cents. 
 (32)
 
 Ah, sad is the day that must borrow its light from a 
 day of the past, 
 
 And sad when you turn from to-morrow to a yester 
 day never to last. 
 
 "Then came baby Lucy, a-makin a change I don t 
 
 yet understand, 
 But all the delight Dan had taken came back in her 
 
 wee, baby hand. 
 Ah, she was my bit of a fairy! Me soul warmed 
 
 again in me breast. 
 I was fonder of her than of Mary, and she learned 
 
 to love me the best, 
 And would turn from her mother s own shoulder 
 
 and cry to be taken by me, 
 And somehow that made Mary colder, but I never 
 
 noticed, you see, 
 
 "For I was that taken wid Lucy. The color came 
 
 back to th e sky; 
 The sun seemed to shine wid a use he had almost 
 
 forgotten to try, 
 The use, sir, of warmin a fellow, the inside as well 
 
 as the out, 
 Of spendin his glorious yellow to buy us from 
 
 worry and doubt 
 And all of that foolish complainin the happiest folks 
 
 seem possessed 
 Forever to be entertainin , like Mary and me, wid 
 
 the rest. 
 
 (33)
 
 
 S TO BE READ 
 
 "You might not have thought, had you seen us, each 
 
 one wid a child to the heart, 
 Those babies had come in between us and were 
 
 pushing us farther apart. 
 Though both of us keenly could feel it, we let it run 
 
 on to the worst; 
 The years failed to stop it or heal it, and one day 
 
 the awful storm burst. 
 
 "When married folks keep on a-livin , each holdin 
 
 some things from the light, 
 They both must do lots of forgivin before matters 
 
 settle down right. 
 And Mary was little on meekness and I I could 
 
 hardly be bent, 
 And both counted kindness a weakness; and so she 
 
 took Danny and went. 
 You ve heard that she went wid another. A lie! on 
 
 me soul, tis a lie! 
 And yet, sir, in some way or other, you ve heard 
 
 but of that by and by. 
 
 "Bit by bit, sir, I sold every acre, exceptiri this lot 
 
 that you see, 
 A-tryin to find her and make her take money 
 
 enough to be free 
 From poverty s pinch, till one marnin (it still sets 
 
 me heart beatin hard) 
 Widout the least bit of a warnin I saw a lad run up 
 
 me yard. 
 
 (34)
 
 And open the door. It was Danny! The rascal had 
 
 grown full a head! 
 Ah, but I was as soft as a granny and hugged him 
 
 and kissed him and said, 
 Your mother, Dan? Quick, don t torment me wid 
 
 waitin , and then 
 He gave me the letter she sent me. I mind every 
 
 scratch of the pen. 
 
 " Dear Connor: I send you me jewel. I ve kept him 
 
 as long as I could, 
 But now, though it s horribly cruel and hurts me, 
 
 it s all for his good. 
 I m not fit to raise him, so, Connor, you make him 
 
 the man he should be. 
 Forgive his poor mother s dishonor and kiss little 
 
 Lucy for me. 
 
 "That was all. But O, Father in Heaven! the words 
 
 seemed to burn in me brain 
 And everything else there was driven away by their 
 
 terrible pain. 
 Dishonor! No more a pure woman, nevermore wid 
 
 a right to the name. 
 The highest of everything human? I cried like a 
 
 child wid the shame. 
 And then I determined to reach her, to find her and 
 
 help her to live, 
 To give her a chance and to teach her that God, yes, 
 
 and I could forgive. 
 (35)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ. 
 
 "Then came every friend and relation, wid, Connor, 
 
 it never will do. 
 The childer, they said, Reputation, and Just at 
 
 their time of life, too. 
 And so, for the son and the daughter, I gave up the 
 
 mother and wife, 
 But O, it was hard, hard to blot her quite out of me 
 
 heart and me life. 
 
 "The childer grew up. Lucy married, position and 
 
 money and all. 
 Dan made his way easy and carried the town for 
 
 recorder last fall. 
 Last fall. Yes, last fall in September, I heard 
 
 from me Mary. She sent 
 And begged me to come, to remember the dear, 
 
 early days we had spent 
 As husband and wife and to hasten, to come widout 
 
 losin a day. 
 My! my! how me ould legs went racin to Danny 
 
 and Lucy, but they, 
 They said, Send her money, but, father, you can t 
 
 carry out all yer plan. 
 Don t let her come back, for we d rather let bygones 
 
 be dead, when we can. 
 
 " Send money. God s mercy! what s money when 
 
 souls are a-starvin to death? 
 Dan said if the campaign were done he wouldn t 
 
 have hindered a breath, 
 (36)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 (^^ 
 
 But now . Ah, but now; the same reason that al 
 ways was ready to tell 
 
 But now! Was there never a season when mercy 
 was free from its spell? 
 
 "I went to me Mary. I found her that sick that me 
 heart nearly broke. 
 
 She died, but my arms were around her. My name 
 was the last word she spoke. 
 
 She always had loved me, and better than that, she 
 had always been pure. 
 
 The terrible words of her letter were not what we 
 fancied, for sure, 
 
 Her heart was that true to her Connor, her con 
 science so tender, you see, 
 
 Her leavin her home seemed dishonor and so she 
 had called it to me. 
 
 "I hope you don t mind my relatin me story. It s 
 
 nothin , but I, 
 I lived it, you see. Now I m waitin , yes, waitin , 
 
 contented, to die. 
 I ve got no reproach for the livin . I ve nothin but 
 
 love for the dead, 
 I hope me own past is forgiven, and as for what s 
 
 comin ahead, 
 Who can tell? Maybe joy, maybe sorrow, but surely 
 
 there s some place, at last, 
 Where old people live for to-morrow, as well as 
 
 look into the past." 
 (37)
 
 RIMES TO BE R 
 
 THE YOUNG MAN WAITED. 
 
 TN the room below the young man sat, 
 
 With an anxious face and a white cravat, 
 A throbbing heart and a silken hat, 
 And various other things like that, 
 
 Which he had accumulated. 
 And the maid of his heart was up above, 
 Surrounded by hat and gown and glove, 
 And a thousand things which women love, 
 But no man knoweth the names thereof 
 And the young man sat and waited. 
 
 You will scarce believe the things I tell, 
 But the truth thereof I know full well, 
 
 Though how may not be stated; 
 But I swear to you that the maiden took 
 A sort of a half-breed, thin stove-hook 
 And heated it well in the gaslight there 
 And thrust it into her head, or hair! 
 Then she took a something off the bed, 
 And hooked it onto her hair, or head, 
 And piled it high, and piled it higher, 
 And drove it home with staples of wire! 
 
 And the young man anxiously waited. 
 
 Then she took a thing she called "a puff," 
 And some very peculiar, whitish stuff, 
 And using about a half a peck, 
 She spread it over her face and neck, 
 (38)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 (Deceit was a thing she hated!) 
 And she looked as fair as a lilied bower, 
 (Or a pound of lard, or a sack of flour) 
 
 And the young man wearily waited. 
 
 Then she took a garment of awful shape, 
 And it wasn t a waist, nor yet a cape; 
 But it looked like a piece of ancient mail, 
 Or an instrument from a Russian jail, 
 And then with a fearful groan and gasp, 
 She squeezed herself in its deathly clasp 
 
 So fair and yet so fated! 
 
 And then with a move like I don t know what 
 She tied it on with a double knot; 
 
 And the young man woefully waited. 
 
 Then she put on a dozen different things, 
 A mixture of buttons and hooks and strings, 
 Till she strongly resembled a notion store; 
 Then taking some seventeen pins, or more, 
 She thrust them between her ruby lips, 
 Then stuck them around from waist to hips, 
 And never once hesitated. 
 And the maiden didn t know perhaps, 
 That the man below had had seven naps, 
 And that now he sleepily waited. 
 
 And then she tried to put on her hat. 
 Ah me, a trying ordeal was that! 
 She tipped it high and she tried it low, 
 But every way that the thing would go 
 (39)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 1 
 
 Only made her more agitated. 
 It wouldn t go straight and it caught her hair, 
 And she wished she could hire a man to swear, 
 
 But alas! the only man lingering there 
 
 Was the man who wildly waited. 
 
 Then a little dab here and a wee pat there, 
 And a touch or two to her hindmost hair, 
 Then around the room with the utmost care 
 
 She thoughtfully circulated. 
 
 Then she seized her gloves and a chamois skin, 
 Some breath perfume and a long stick pin, 
 
 A bon-bon box and a cloak and some 
 
 Eau de cologne and chewing gum, 
 Her opera glass and a sealskin muff, 
 A fan and a heap of other stuff; 
 Then she hurried down, but ere she spoke, 
 Something about the maiden broke, 
 So she scurried back to the winding stair, 
 And the young man looked in wild despair, 
 
 And then he evaporated I 
 
 (40)
 
 =0: 
 
 TO BE READ. 
 
 THE LABORS OF HERCULES. 
 (Worked Over in Easy-Going Verse.) 
 
 T N Ancient Greece, long time ago, a man was born 
 
 " or, maybe, 
 
 I ought to say a god was born or, better yet, a 
 
 baby. 
 His father s name was Jupiter; Alcmena was his 
 
 mother, 
 Who vowed he was "the sweetest pet," and "never 
 
 such another!" 
 
 But Juno, wife of Jupiter, pretended not to know it; 
 She didn t like young Hercules, and straightway 
 
 sought to show it. 
 She sent two horrid, monstrous snakes, to eat him 
 
 in his cradle, 
 Which reptiles found him sitting eating sugar with a 
 
 ladle. 
 They smiled to see how sweet he d be, but lo! the 
 
 boy gave battle: 
 He killed them both and used their tails to make a 
 
 baby-rattle. 
 Then Juno let him thrive in peace; but, after he was 
 
 grown, 
 He found that she had kept him from a kingdom and 
 
 a throne. 
 Eurystheus obtained these plums, but night and day 
 
 was haunted 
 
 By tales of mighty Hercules the hero and un 
 daunted! 
 
 (41)
 
 So, after some deep thinking, Eurystheus planned to 
 
 send him 
 To do a dozen labors, any one of which might end 
 
 him. 
 
 LABOR I. 
 
 The Nemean lion, accustomed to ravage 
 The country around, being voted too savage, 
 Our hero was sent to remove him from earth, 
 With no arms, save the two that he had at his birth. 
 Brave Hercules blocks up one hole of the den 
 And enters the other. A silence, and then 
 Comes a growl, and a roar and a rush, and a shock 
 Like waves in the tempest they struggle and rock, 
 Till Hercules wins the renowned "strangle lock," 
 And the lion goes down like a log or a post, 
 Repents of his sins, and is only a ghost. 
 
 LABOR II. 
 
 There lived at that epoch, according to story, 
 A terrible monster, whose principal glory 
 Consisted of heads, which a strict inventory 
 Declared to be nine; and one of the same 
 Was as deathless as Jove, so authorities claim. 
 Nothing daunted, our Hercules went forth to fight 
 
 it; 
 
 He cut off one head and two others were sighted. 
 And thus the solution appeared to his view: 
 "When you take one from one, the result will be 
 
 two." 
 
 (42)
 
 Rather taken aback, but still thoroughly game, 
 
 He called his hired help, lolaus by name. 
 
 Then he shaved off the heads as a man would a 
 
 beard, 
 
 And the necks (by his servant) were carefully seared, 
 Till the deathless head soon was left grinning alone, 
 And that one he buried beneath a big stone. 
 
 LABOR III. 
 
 The Arcadian stag was a curious kind, 
 Golden-horned, orazen-hoofed, and could outrun th 
 
 wind; 
 
 Whoever pursued him was soon left behind. 
 The mandate was given to capture him living, 
 So our hero set out without any misgiving. 
 All over the kingdom he followed the brute, 
 Till a year was consumed in the useless pursuit. 
 "Confound you!" said Hercules, seizing his bow, 
 "I ve got something here which I ll wager can go 
 As fast as two stags." And it proved to be so. 
 The arrow succeeded in laying him low. 
 The wound wasn t fatal, so Hercules caught him, 
 And into the king s haughty presence he brought 
 
 him. 
 
 LABOR IV. 
 
 The boar of Erymanthus was de frop 
 Which is French for saying how 
 Bores are looked on, even now. 
 (43) 
 
 w-
 
 Our hero ran the rascal through the snow, 
 
 Snared him neatly in a net, 
 
 Picked him up, like any pet, 
 And took him to the capital to add him to the show. 
 
 LABOR V. 
 
 Augeas, King of Elis, it appears, 
 
 Had several thousand oxen in his stable, 
 
 But hadn t cleaned the place for thirty years. 
 
 The hard taskmaster heard, pricked up his ears 
 
 And cried, "Ho! ho! my Hercules, you re able 
 
 To do great things. I give you just one day 
 
 For this spring cleaning." Stranger to dismay, 
 
 Our hero sought the stables of Augeas, 
 
 Turned into them the river named Alpheus, 
 
 And re-enforced it with the swift Peneus; 
 
 These brooms soon swept the dirt away, you have 
 
 my word. 
 Perhaps they swept the stables with it. That I 
 
 haven t heard. 
 
 LABOR VI. 
 
 The Stymphalian birds were a horrible lot, 
 
 And everyone thought 
 
 That they ought 
 
 To be shot; 
 
 Yet no one had done it, till Hercules brought 
 His little snake-rattle to set them to flying 
 And then popped them over, as easy as lying. 
 
 (44)
 
 -=00. 
 
 LABOR VII. 
 
 A bull, sent by Neptune to die in his honor (?) 
 Not having been killed was made mad by the donor. 
 Eurystheus must have been running a "Zoo," 
 And having the stag and the boar, wanted, too, 
 The mad bull of Crete; so he ordered "Go get him!" 
 Though Hercules never so much as had met him. 
 
 But our hero set sail, 
 
 Grabbed the bull by the tail, 
 
 And took him to Hellas; but not for the Garden, 
 For, having arrived, he then (begging his pardon 
 Because he had given his tail such a pull) 
 Set him free and all Greece was as mad as the bull. 
 
 LABOR VIII. 
 
 Diomedes , 
 
 Used to feed his 
 
 Mares on human flesh. 
 Hercules just cut him up, 
 Found the mares inclined to sup, 
 
 And fed him to them, fresh. 
 Twas a most successful plan; 
 Though before they liked a man 
 
 More than oats or anything, 
 Strange to say, this master-diet 
 Made them docile, kind and quiet, 
 
 To be taken to the king. 
 
 (45)
 
 TO BE READ 
 
 LABOR IX. 
 
 The Amazon queen had a beautiful belt. 
 Twas given by Mars, and the queen justly felt 
 Quite proud of the trifle, but Hercules started 
 To see if the belt and queen couldn t be parted. 
 At first it appeared he had only to ask 
 To receive it, but this was too easy a task 
 To please Mrs. Juno, who stirred up a bolt 
 In the ranks of the Amazons. When the revolt 
 Was reported to Hercules, he rather thought 
 The queen was a traitress and covertly wrought 
 To undo him; so seizing the girdle he sought, 
 He slew her, and thus was it bloodily bought. 
 Which shows that a man may be brave as the best, 
 And yet ungallant, when it comes to a test. 
 
 LABOR X. 
 
 Geryones had a fine herd of red cattle, 
 With a two-headed dog and a giant to battle 
 With any who trespassed upon his domain. 
 Dog, owner and keeper were met and were slain, 
 Yet Hercules still had to fight heavy odds, 
 (A number of men and a parcel of gods) 
 But in spite of them all, he conducted the string 
 Of handsome, red beasts to his brute of a king. 
 
 (46)
 
 =20= 
 
 LABOR XL 
 
 When Juno was married, the goddess of Earth 
 Presented some apples of excellent worth, 
 
 Made all of fine gold 
 From the smooth, shiny skin to the pips in the core 
 
 (Alas! I am told 
 
 Such beautiful apples don t grow any more.) 
 But wealth is a worry; nobody need doubt it, 
 Unless, like myself, he is always without it. 
 And Juno was worried until she grew pale; 
 Her nectar was flat, her ambrosia was stale. 
 The fear of a burglar had entered her head, 
 And so every night she looked under the bed. 
 No matter what Jupiter argued or said, 
 She d wake him at midnight to vow and declare 
 There must be an apple-thief round about there. 
 At last, growing tired of the worry and wear, 
 She placed them in care 
 Of the sisters Hesperides, living just where 
 
 The sun sets at night. 
 
 Our hero met Atlas, who held up the height 
 Of the heavens in air, 
 
 And a bargain was struck that the hero should bear 
 The dome for a while, and the action should earn 
 The apples, which Atlas brought back in return. 
 Though I can t understand 
 Why a chap with a chance to steal apples at hand, 
 
 (47)
 
 Scot-free of all blame, 
 
 Should so lose his head 
 
 As to give up his claim 
 
 And let somebody else do it for him instead. 
 
 LABOR XII. 
 
 Pluto, in his world below, 
 
 Had a great three-headed beast 
 Called a dog. Perhaps twas so, 
 But I doubt his breed, at least. 
 House-dog? Hardly. Poison-drops 
 Fell from out his gaping chops, 
 And his fangs were sharp as hate, 
 And he guarded Pluto s gate. 
 
 Hercules was told to fetch 
 This repulsive, savage wretch. 
 Hercules with little fuss 
 Seized the snarling Cerberus, 
 
 Took him to the Earth from Hades, 
 Scared the king in playful sport, 
 Showed him round to all the court, 
 
 Made him bark for all the ladies. 
 Then the hero let him go, 
 
 And he sank to realms below, 
 
 One head growling, 
 
 One head yowling, 
 
 One head howling, 
 Out dog-curses, 
 
 (48)
 
 As mythology rehearses. 
 
 And the fun 
 
 Of the Labors all was done. 
 So are these doggerel verses. 
 
 (49) 
 
 -
 
 RIMES TO BE READ. 
 
 THE HERO OF THE HILL. 
 
 T^VO you ever stop to watch a horse pull a big 
 
 *-* load up a hill? 
 
 There s something fine about the way he sends his 
 
 rugged will 
 Down through those quivering shoulders, till it 
 
 seems as if he clutched 
 And hurled the hill behind his heels until the top is 
 
 touched. 
 It gives a man new courage when he comes to his 
 
 steep grade, 
 To think of that example which the plucky beast has 
 
 made. 
 
 But if the load prove stronger; if the horse, with 
 hoofs outspread, 
 
 With reddened nostrils, foaming flanks, and bowing, 
 straining head. 
 
 Surrenders to the inert mass, while the driver s only 
 helps 
 
 Are strident oaths and the savage sound of the hot, 
 whip s snaps and yelps, 
 
 Why then the chief result is, that it makes a fellow 
 feel 
 
 He d like to take that driver s head to block the slip 
 ping wheel! 
 
 (50)
 
 But I remember one time when the driver had a 
 
 heart, 
 And worked with mind and muscle to release the 
 
 stubborn cart 
 From the clay-rut, when some soldiers who were 
 
 loafing in the sun 
 Let fall their lazy jaws to laugh and let their cheap 
 
 wit run. 
 One cried, "Say, take that bag of bones and feed him 
 
 to the crows!" 
 And "Oh, he d scare the crows away," the mocking 
 
 answer rose. 
 "It ll take a small torpedo, if you ever move that 
 
 beast." 
 "Better get one of the size of that which wrecked 
 
 the Maine, at least." 
 
 So ran the jeering comments, till at last a bugler 
 
 said, 
 "Say, driver, if I blow the charge, d ye think he d 
 
 drop down dead?" 
 It was then the driver answered, "Well, he might; 
 
 but let me say 
 That this old horse has heard the charge when it 
 
 meant Charge! to obey. 
 Not on the dress-parade grounds along with chaps 
 
 like you. 
 But on the fields of Cuba where the Spanish bullets 
 
 flew; 
 
 (5 )
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 And though he s drifted back to me and don t look 
 very trim, 
 
 I tell you he s a vet, who has the right stuff yet in 
 him." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense!" laughed a sergeant, and "Non 
 sense!" sneered the rest, 
 
 And the bugler raised his bugle, crying, "This ll be 
 the test." 
 
 Then out upon the air there fell a dozen liquid 
 
 tones, 
 Like prophecies of glory mingling with the ghosts 
 
 of groans, 
 The sound the soldier hears and cheers although 
 
 its mellow breath 
 May send him where the cannon belch their black 
 
 and bitter death, 
 The sound which cries, "Destroy, destroy! and let 
 
 the list be large!" 
 The ringing of the bugle when it blows the battle 
 
 charge. 
 
 And how the old horse heard it! Up flung his heavy 
 
 head, 
 Wide grew his nostrils, straight his ears, and quick 
 
 the fever spread 
 Through every nerve and muscle, as he forward 
 
 plunged and pressed 
 Straight up the steep, despite his load, and stood 
 
 upon the crest! 
 
 (52)
 
 And were the soldiers laughing now? Not so. The 
 scoffing jeers 
 
 Gave way to shame a moment, and then burst forth 
 in cheers. 
 
 And the sergeant cried, "Attention, boys! fall in! 
 dress ranks! salute! 
 
 Salute the gallant veteran our comrade, though a 
 brute. 
 
 God send him oats and apples and the shelter of a 
 stall, 
 
 And grant we be as sturdy when we hear the battle- 
 call!" 
 
 (53)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 IN THE OLD SCHOOLHOUSE. 
 
 TXTELL, well! and can it be? 
 
 * Is this the same old schoolhouse? Is this 
 
 the same old me? 
 Why, here s the very place 
 Where Teacher stood the dunce-stool, with me on it, 
 
 in disgrace. 
 
 And here s the old blackboard 
 Where I ciphered, ciphered, ciphered, till I stopped, 
 
 completely floored, 
 While Teacher looked severe, 
 And forty thumbs and fingers taunted "We know!" 
 
 in my ear. 
 
 And here s the hollow chair 
 Which I levelled up with water, and when Teacher 
 
 sat down there 
 His gasp of wet surprise 
 Touched giggling springs within, which bubbled out 
 
 of lips and eyes. 
 And O, those awful tones 
 Which meted out my punishment, "You sit with 
 
 Julia Jones!" 
 
 The mirth forsook my face, 
 
 And every blood-corpuscle blushed to witness my 
 
 disgrace. 
 
 "O, tyrant, take thy rule 
 And rap these knuckles loudly, till I howl before the 
 
 school! 
 
 (54)
 
 O, set thy biting birch 
 
 Against these legs till not an inch of skin escapes its 
 
 search! 
 
 O, tread me in the dust, 
 
 And keep me in at recess till vacation, if thou must! 
 Make sore my very bones, 
 But cry thee mercy, Teacher, sit me not with Julia 
 
 Jones!" 
 
 Why, here s the very seat 
 
 Where I sat next to Julia, sweating blood from head 
 
 to feet, 
 
 While Julia broke a rule 
 And whispered, "Feel mean if you want to, Phil, but 
 
 don t look like a fool!" 
 And then, to show her grit, 
 She slipped her arm behind me, saying, "I don t 
 
 mind a bit." 
 I sat, with lips a-curl, 
 And marveled why a righteous God should ever 
 
 make a girl. 
 
 But well, it s very strange, 
 For in a year or two my views had undergone a 
 
 change, 
 
 And I d have swapped my bones 
 For the punishment of sitting all my life with Julia 
 
 Jones. 
 
 And now! well, can it be 
 
 I m in the same old schoolhouse with the same old 
 dreams in me? 
 
 (55)
 
 The place is mean and low, 
 
 But Athens classic Parthenon could hardly stir me 
 so. 
 
 The Teacher, where is he? 
 
 A blessing on his stern old face, wherever it may be. 
 
 And Julia, is she there 
 
 Still under the dominion of his tutelary care, 
 
 A means of righteous wrath 
 
 To punish young male cherubim who tread the way 
 ward path? 
 
 I can t believe it. No, 
 
 For I left her with the babies hardly half an hour 
 ago, 
 
 And my reason quite disowns 
 
 A theory which gives her back her maiden name of 
 Jones. 
 
 (56)
 
 =0(3= 
 
 FAME AND FATE 
 
 TTTORK for the world, but art for me! 
 *" I shall win my way with the brush," said 
 
 she. 
 
 She studied art; she studied it hard; 
 She painted canvases, yard on yard 
 (For "Art is long," as I m sure you ve heard), 
 Two strokes, or three 
 For a blasted tree 
 
 And a wiggle or two for a flying bird. 
 But "art" is sometimes purest gold, 
 And sometimes merest gilding 
 So she "wins her way with the brush," I m told, 
 By scrubbing a New York building. 
 
 "The world may dig in the dark," said he, 
 "But the beam of the footlights beckons me." 
 So he cried in grief and he cried in joy, 
 He screamed the scream 
 Of Aram s Dream, 
 
 And he groaned the groan of The Polish Boy. 
 He likewise remarked, "On the murderer s hands 
 Is the blood of his victim! there he stands!" 
 And, "Listen, proud maid! You shall be my wife 
 Even though it shall cost your husband s life." 
 But "Art is long" very long so, too, 
 Are the miles of ties on the C. B. Q... 
 So he s "on the stage" in Idaho 
 From Seven Devils to Silver Bow. 
 (57)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 "Love for the common, but mine is fame!" 
 
 She cried, "and the world shall know my name." 
 
 Corrupting English, she called it "verse," 
 
 While "poetry" graded somewhat worse. 
 
 "Now flees my love 
 
 As doth the dove 
 
 Which moults to feathery clouds above. 
 
 Its cryptic cry apace doth haste 
 
 And wounds the wind which sweeps the waste." 
 
 Ah, "Art is long" (in sad endurance) 
 
 And Fame coquettes with bald Assurance. 
 
 And now, wherever the English tongue 
 
 Is put into print her praise is sung, 
 
 For she was cured of manifold ills 
 
 By Buncombe Bitters and Pigweed Pills. 
 
 "Gold cozens the soul of men, but mine," 
 He said, "is filled with the art divine. 
 Music may lead me whither she may; 
 I toil at the ivories day by day 
 Till the world shall gather when I shall play." 
 He practiced in every conceivable key 
 Rumplety, tumplety, tunk tank, tee; 
 Ripplety, skipplety, lol-la-lee! 
 Till his brow with an honest dew was wet 
 And neighboring flats were marked "To Let." 
 Yes, "Art is long," but the wise retort 
 That the artist himself is sometimes short, 
 So the world does gather to watch him play 
 As he fingers the ivories day by day 
 In a billiard hall in Santa Fe. 
 (58)
 
 / i 
 
 r 
 
 RIMES TO BE 
 
 ALMOST UP. 
 
 "VXTHERE were you struck?" the captain cried 
 * To him who charged on Lookout s side, 
 Who charged in all his martial pride, 
 Up! over rocky ridge and rut, 
 Up! where the paths of life were shut, 
 Up ! where the death- winged bullets sped, 
 Up! over dying men and dead; 
 Nothing could stay his onward tread 
 Until that hurtling scrap of lead. 
 
 "Where were you struck?" the captain cried, 
 
 Between the waves of battle s tide, 
 
 Then, half in anguish, half in pride, 
 
 Though drinking of the bitter cup, 
 
 The soldier answered, "Almost up!" 
 
 "No, no; your wound where hit, I mean?" 
 
 But, even in that final scene, 
 
 True to his last heroic will, 
 
 " Most up! most up!" he murmured still. 
 
 Not where his shattered body bled, 
 Not where his veins poured out their red, 
 But where his last hard duty led, 
 Was all the dying soldier s thought. 
 And may we learn the lesson taught! 
 No matter where our lives are cast, 
 In sunny peace or battle s blast, 
 May it be said, when we have passed, 
 "He struggled upwards to the last!" 
 
 (59)
 
 BUT THEY DIDN T. 
 
 \ HARRY came along the lane 
 ^** And he was very late, 
 He hurried on to catch a train 
 
 And had no time to wait. 
 He must hasten! but against the pane 
 
 He caught a glimpse of Kate, 
 And he didn t, he didn t, he didn t. 
 
 O, Katie had her doughnuts cut, 
 Her sponge was light as air; 
 
 Her pies were in the oven shut 
 And needed all her care; 
 
 She must give them every moment, but 
 She spied young Harry there 
 And she didn t, she didn t, she didn t. 
 
 O, Harry stopped and spoke a word 
 
 And spoke it very low, 
 And yet I think that Katie heard 
 
 And still believed it so, 
 Tho* all the while the youth averred 
 
 That he would have to go, 
 
 But he didn t, he didn t, he didn t. 
 
 O, Katie said the fire was warm 
 
 And she was "like to drop;" 
 And Harry seemed to think his arm 
 
 Was needed as a prop; 
 (60)
 
 
 IMES TO BE READ 
 
 And Katie was in such alarm 
 She said that he must stop! 
 
 But he didn t, he didn t, he didn t. 
 
 For he said he held unto the best 
 
 When he had proved it so, 
 And she drooped her head upon his breast 
 
 And said that he must go; 
 And he said he d leave that instant 
 
 Lest he heard a cruel "No!" 
 
 "Rut 
 
 4JUI ,
 
 l/\ 
 
 i 
 
 EVOLUTION. 
 
 JVT OW when the original anthropoid 
 
 A * First found that his pimpling skin was void 
 
 Of hair, 
 
 And bare, 
 
 Some ganglial glimmer within the brute 
 Impelled him to look for a substitute. 
 
 That fact, 
 
 That act, 
 
 Was civilization s primal spurt, 
 For a man isn t man without a shirt. 
 
 Then followed an aeon, more or less, 
 With never a change in the creature s dress. 
 
 Mayhap 
 
 Some chap 
 
 May have added breeches, or even a coat, 
 But the purpose was still the same, you ll note 
 
 Until 
 
 Some thrill 
 
 Of pride in appearance began to grow, 
 And he added an outer shirt for show. 
 
 Some anthropologists, you may assert, 
 Say the proud preceded the useful shirt. 
 
 Tis true 
 
 They do. 
 
 But to answer that I need only say 
 That I am writing this verse, not they. 
 (62)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 And if 
 
 You sniff 
 
 At that, I furthermore plainly state 
 My poetical license is paid to date. 
 
 Then some brave serf, in a fortunate hour, 
 Destroyed his oppressor and rose to power; 
 
 And then 
 
 When men 
 
 Would sneer at the telltale gall and fleck 
 Which showed where the chain had thralled his 
 neck, 
 
 His need 
 
 Decreed 
 
 That the neck of his shirt be fashioned taller 
 As a "badge of place." And thus the collar. 
 
 Another step in enlightened pride, 
 And around the collar a cloth was tied. 
 
 Complete 
 
 And neat 
 
 It looked, till one with a golden pin 
 Jauntily stuck the ornament in. 
 
 Pride vied 
 
 With pride, 
 
 And luxury now with luxury met, 
 And a sparkling jewel in the pin was set. 
 
 But the point of the tale is yet to come, 
 For take the jewel in your finger and thumb 
 (63)
 
 And try 
 
 The ply 
 
 Of collar and neck-dress through and through, 
 And the prideful shirt and the useful, too 
 
 And then 
 
 Again ! 
 
 And the polished pin which you have employed 
 Has scratched the original anthropoid! 
 
 (64)
 
 Quaint Characters.
 
 
 RIMES TO BE R 
 
 "FIN DE SIECLE." 
 
 HT HIS life s a hollow bubble, 
 * Don t you know? 
 Just a painted piece of twouble, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 We come to earth to cwy, 
 We gwow oldeh and we sigh, 
 Oldeh still and then we die, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 
 It is all a howwid mix, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 Business, love, and politics, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 
 Clubs and pawties, cliques and sets, 
 Fashions, follies, sins, wegwets, 
 Stwuggle, stwife, and cigawettes, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 
 And we wowwy through each day, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 In a sort of, kind of, way, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 We are hungwy, we are fed, 
 Some few things are done and said, 
 We are tihed, we go to bed, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 (67)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 Business? O, that s beastly twade, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 Something s lost or something s made, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 And you wowwy, and you mope 
 And you hang youah highest hope 
 On the pwice, pe haps, of soap! 
 
 Don t you know? 
 
 Politics? O, just a lawk, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 Just a nightmaeh in the dawk, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 You pe spiah all day and night 
 And afteh all the fight, 
 Why pe haps the w ong man s wight, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 
 Society? Is dwess, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 And a sou ce of much distwess, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 To detehmine what to weah, 
 When to go and likewise wheah 
 And how to pawt youah haih, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 
 Love? O, yes! You meet some gil, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 And you get in such a whil, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 (68)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 Then you kneel down on the floah 
 And imploah and adoah 
 And it s all a beastly boah! 
 Don t you know? 
 
 So theah s weally nothing in it, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 And we live just for the minute, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 For when you ve seen and felt, 
 Dwank and eaten, heahd and smelt, 
 Why all the cawds are dealt, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 
 You ve one consciousness, that s all, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 And one stomach, and it s small, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 You can only weah one tie, 
 One eye-glass in youah eye, 
 And one coffin when you die, 
 
 Don t you know? 
 
 (69)
 
 DE GOOFEH-JACK. 
 
 DE cunjuh-doctah, he mek de cunjuh-bag, 
 He mek de cunjuh-bag, he mek de cunjuh-bag; 
 He done mek it out-er a shirt-tail rag 
 Dat come f om a blue-gum niggah. 
 Den he put in de rabbit-foot en alligateh aigg, 
 He put in de penny dat a dumb man baig, 
 En a snake s front toof dat stuck a niggah s laig, 
 En he put in anothah 1 il jiggah. 
 
 Den he tek dat bag en he cunjuh you, 
 
 He cunjuh you, he cunjuh you; 
 
 Whateveh he say, he kin mek you do; 
 
 You got no chance en dat s a libbin fac , 
 
 Onless you got you a goofeh-jack. 
 
 De voodoo-doctah he mek de goofeh-jack, 
 He mek de goofeh-jack, he mek de goofeh-jack, 
 F om a stick dat grows in a erf-quake crack, 
 Wif a shape lek a bow-legged niggah. 
 Den he wrap dat stick wif a li l flannel rag 
 Dat once was a part-er a cunjuh bag, 
 En he say some woids lek "Doodlegumbledag!" 
 En some otheh woids a heap sight biggeh. 
 Den if some low niggah done cunjuh you, 
 Done cunjuh you, done cunjuh you, 
 Des you grab dat stick, for I tells you true, 
 You got no chance en dat s a libbin fac , 
 Onless you got you a goofeh-jack. 
 
 (70)
 
 Dey-us ol Miss Riley was a-was in away, 
 A-was in away, des was in right away, 
 Eatin bo lles er medicine ev ry single day, 
 But I wa n t gwine for to trus it; 
 So I des git a goofeh en slip it in de baid, 
 En it sho would a cu ed her, lek de voodoo say d 
 But de ve y next mawnin , suh, she wake up daid! 
 Caze she roll on de goofeh-jack en bus it. 
 So if some low niggah done cunjuh you, 
 Done cunjuh you, done cunjuh you, 
 You be right smawt caihful now, whateveh you 
 
 do; 
 
 Caze you got no chance, en dat s a libbin fac , 
 Onless you got a goofeh-jack! 
 
 (70
 
 TO BE READ. 
 
 D 
 
 THE OLD MAN KNOWS. 
 
 T"\AN, you ll never find another 
 
 ^^ Like the hand of yer old mother, 
 
 Which has worked and won yer bread. 
 
 Yes, more n that if all be said, 
 
 Fer she won and then she made it, 
 
 An such bread! You wouldn t trade it 
 
 Fer no banquet, if you knew 
 
 How you ll hunger when she s through 
 
 Doin fer you. Don t you s pose 
 
 Like enough the old man knows? 
 
 Yes, I know it ain t as milky 
 In its looks, nor yet as silky 
 In its feel as some hands be. 
 But if these old eyes can see, 
 Ev ry line s a line of beauty, 
 Er a mark fer well done duty! 
 No use talkin , Dan, it s so. 
 Guess the old man ought to know. 
 
 Nd how ev ry faded finger 
 Loves to touch you nd to linger 
 Round yer hair. You ll understand 
 Better, some day, bout that hand. 
 Nothin* else can do as much as 
 Them same tender, peaceful touches. 
 
 (7*) 
 
 \
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 How they soothe nd how old sorrow 
 Sneaks, until some sad to-morrow. 
 Dan, O Dan, the old man knows, 
 He had a mother, don t you s pose? 
 
 (73)
 
 ADAM. 
 
 A DAM, made of common earth, 
 ** Seemed to be of little worth. 
 Giving him his full desert, 
 Still he seemed as cheap as dirt. 
 
 Smacked a good deal of the soil, 
 Adam did, but shirked all toil. 
 Yet he asked no man for trust, 
 Being simply made of dust. 
 
 Sandy beard and sandy hair; 
 Also had a stony stare; 
 And before his flesh ran blood 
 I suppose his name was mud. 
 
 Poor old Adam, formed in clay, 
 Wasn t of the stuff to stay. 
 One more process was required; 
 That s the reason he was fired! 
 
 (74)
 
 NOT A COON-SONG COON. 
 
 T SE a right smaht niggeh, 
 I kin read en I kin figgeh, 
 
 En I doesn t nuvver, nuvver play no craps. 
 I doesn t give a button 
 Fo a cake-walk or a cuttin , 
 
 En dat am what de trouble is, pe haps. 
 I doesn t spen meh dollahs 
 On no shiny shoes en collahs, 
 
 En meh habits sholy ought to make a hit; 
 But de ladies seems to shake me, 
 En dey s not a one 11 take me 
 
 I ain t nuvver is had a gal yit! 
 
 Dey wuz coffee-cullud Jinny 
 En Sooky Loo en Minny 
 
 En freckled Fan en Mandy Ann en Sue; 
 Dey was Tildy, dey was Dinah 
 En Luce en little Lina; 
 
 (I nuvver wanted on y des a few!) 
 Dey was Nance dat married Peter, 
 En I se moughty glad he beat her; 
 
 En Ulussus wa n t no better, ca se dey fit; 
 But she wouldn t leave him, no, suh, 
 Wouldn t marry me; en so, suh, 
 
 I ain t nuvver is had a gal yit! 
 
 (75)
 
 00 
 
 
 RIMES TO BE READ. 
 
 I has sometimes wunde d 
 
 Ef dese niggehs has em cunjuh d; 
 
 Ef dey hasn t, it am somepin moughty queer! 
 Dey is Race-Hoss Bennie, 
 He doesn t seem so many, 
 
 But he gin ally gits married ev y year! 
 Dey was Pete have seven 
 En he gwinter come eleven 
 
 En* Ulussus have a dozen fore he quit; 
 Dey all done have so many 
 Dat dey has n t luff me any 
 
 I ain t nuvver is had a gal yit! 
 
 (76)
 
 na 
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 AN UNCONVENTIONAL RUSTIC. 
 
 pO TRY fellers says we like to drink 
 
 * Worter from the ol mill stream, 
 
 Like to git down on the brink 
 
 So s it runs right down our stummick "like a 
 
 dream," 
 
 Says them po try men. 
 Then again 
 
 They say how we love to draw it from the well 
 "Moss-bound bucket," and that sort o thin . 
 Says we much prefer a gourd, er ole sea shell, 
 Er a rusty dipper, made o tin 
 Fer to drink it in, 
 But, by Gee! 
 Yer cut glass, Sewers chiny stuff is good enough 
 
 fer me. 
 
 Po try fellers says there ain t no bed 
 Quite so good as that un in the old homestead. 
 I say durn it 
 And dad burn it! 
 
 Durn its feather bed-tick that s so lean 
 Yeh sag between 
 
 All the slats and almost touch the floor 
 If yeh weighs ten pounds or more. 
 If you re thin 
 Not a bone fits in 
 To a soft spot 
 Like it ought, 
 
 (77)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 But rubs, rubs, rubs, on some blame slat; 
 So if I know where I m at, 
 Hairy, springy, couchy city beds ll do 
 Fer me, I jus tell you! 
 
 Po try fellers says if we have stacks 
 
 Of ham fer breakfas , coffee an flap-jacks, 
 
 With a dinner of biled cabbage an corn beef, 
 
 An p serves an pie fer supper, you got lief 
 
 To have all the rest. Is at so? 
 
 Guess if they met me they d likely know 
 
 That I d take some olives, lemon ice, 
 
 Lobster salad, bullion an a slice 
 
 Of boiled tarpot, with some tutty-frutty, 
 
 An a little of that stuff, a la spaghutty, 
 
 Frummidge, ice cream an assorted pie, 
 
 Quail on puddin , sherbet, oyster fry 
 
 Anythin else yeh got, 
 
 An fetch her quick an hot. 
 
 Coffee? No, sir, take the stuff away; 
 
 Pomeroy Chartruse, extry dry, will do me any day. 
 
 Po try fellers says we love to walk, 
 Cause it s healthfuller an lots more air 
 Sizzles through yer lungs, an they talk 
 How when we do ride at we don t care 
 Fer no bridles, but jest slides 
 On a horse an gits. 
 Say it sort o fits 
 Us most to take straw-rides, 
 (78)
 
 *R else to ride the good ol -fashioned way, 
 
 In the family shay, 
 
 Which ain t got no springs, 
 
 Ner cushions, an which slings 
 
 You n yer girl together (which yeh like) 
 
 Till it steadies when yeh strike 
 
 The ol turn-pike. 
 
 Po try fellers talks that way, 
 
 But a-speakin* fer myself, I say 
 
 A autymobile-tally-ho will do me any day. 
 
 Po try fellers further says our homes 
 
 Is pomes, 
 
 Says the flicker of the fire-place is a sight 
 
 Chuck full of warm delight, 
 
 While the winter breezes kindly fans yer backs 
 
 Through the cracks; 
 
 Says the suller an the butt ry is the best 
 
 To keep things sweet in, 
 
 An the sittin* room s fer rest, 
 
 An the kitchen fer to eat in. 
 
 Says there ain t no place on earth quite like the 
 
 attic, 
 
 Speshly when the weather s rainy an rumattic, 
 An it spatters on the roof an on the pane, 
 (Not the rumytism doesn t, but the rain!) 
 Which is very slick an pretty, 
 But them houses in the city, 
 All fixed up like ole Queen Annie s used to be, 
 
 (79)
 
 n 
 
 a 
 
 =0= 
 
 Brown stone roof an mansard front by Gee! 
 Such a house is good enough fer me! 
 
 Po try fellers takes a lot o pains 
 
 To show they got no brains, 
 
 But the foolest thing they does it seems to me 
 
 Is to chalk 
 
 Down the darndest lot of words you ever see 
 
 An say that s how we talk. 
 
 Gosh all hemlock! Why they chop 
 
 Half the words to pieces an they stop 
 
 Fore they ve finished spellin of em, 
 
 An they re full of little wiggles up above em. 
 
 Why, ther spellin would disgrace the dumbest fool 
 
 In the spellin class at Districk School. 
 
 An ther grammar s the most worse you ever see! 
 
 Why, if you an me 
 
 Couldn t talk no more corrector Geemeenee! 
 
 Scuse me, but it makes me hot to see things wrote 
 
 that way. 
 Good, old Angly Saxon English talk is my ch ice 
 
 any day. 
 
 (80)
 
 BEFORE PLAYING TINKERTOWN. 
 
 (A Distinguished Citizen Advises the Advance 
 Agent.) 
 
 Q*O you re goan to give a show? 
 **^ Well, I s pose you likely know 
 Yer own bus ness, but I m glad 
 Ez fer me I never had 
 Money in the show biz here, 
 Fer our folks is mighty queer. 
 An you see when they first built 
 Our new Op ry House, they kilt 
 The hull business, cause they give 
 More shows than could run an live. 
 
 "Give two in one week, one time. 
 
 One was minstrels. They was prime! 
 
 But what kilt us was the other; 
 
 Some blame lecturer or-ruther 
 
 Talked about a Chiny wall 
 
 An a Pyramids an all 
 
 That there sort o rot. An so, 
 
 Bein as folks had paid, you know, 
 
 Fifteen cents to see a show, 
 
 Lots of em felt ruther sore 
 
 An don t go to shows no more. 
 
 (81)
 
 "Course your show is good? No doubt. 
 But you see the town s showed out; 
 Less n three weeks back we had 
 Hamlut. Had it purty bad. 
 Actors they was purty fair, 
 Speshly one with yeller hair. 
 He had talunt! He could shout 
 An jes drown the others out! 
 But the play itself was sad. 
 Sides it was a draggy, bad 
 Sort of sadness. Didn t begin 
 To come up to ol East Lynne! 
 
 "Jabez Tubbs, he sez, sez he, 
 I ll take ol East Lynne fer me, 
 Mebbe these new plays is fine, 
 But I ll take the ol fer mine. 
 Scuse me fer goan on this way, 
 But I m feared yer show won t pay. 
 
 "It s a bad week fer a show, 
 Cause most folks that gits to go 
 Is a-restin* up jest now 
 Fer the Social. An that s how 
 Things most always is round here. 
 P r aps there s nothin fer a year, 
 Then, first thing a feller knows, 
 We re just overrun with shows. 
 (82)
 
 RIMES TO BE 
 
 "P r aps a little later might 
 Find a better week an night. 
 Still, I dunno, fer ye see 
 P tracted meetin soon ll be, 
 An of course you know that s free, 
 An that nachelly kills a show 
 Where you got to pay to git to go." 
 
 (83) 

 
 A LITTLE SAUNTER. 
 
 HEN the sun s a-comin* up nd ole Earth is 
 
 wet, 
 Jest as though he d washed his face nd hedn t dried 
 
 it yet; 
 Birds fer miles nd miles around chipperin n 
 
 singin , 
 Pigs a-gruntin* music fer the feed the man s a 
 
 bringin , 
 
 Rooster crowin fit to split round the kitchen door, 
 Ans erin* "Good mornin ," to a half a dozen 
 
 more, 
 Other folks can roust around, but for me I wanter 
 
 Take a little saunter, 
 Fill up full of green nd blue in a little saunter. 
 
 When the sun s a-goin down, lazy ez you please, 
 Settin good example fer a man to take his ease; 
 Cows a-lyin , chewin , nd a-wobblin , early bat 
 Er a sparreh, half asleep, flies a-past yer hat; 
 When yev hed yer supper nd the world seems good; 
 When the air, jest lazin round, smells of piney 
 
 wood, 
 Tain t no time to roust around, nd fer me, I wanter 
 
 Take a little saunter, 
 Jest hang back n let my legs take a little saunter. 
 
 (84)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ. 
 
 When you almost feel the moon a-shinin on yer 
 
 back, 
 
 (See her in the warter nd she seems to make a track 
 Leadin off to Heaven, jest a easy distance walkin ;) 
 When it s all so still, a sound seems like silence 
 
 talkin ; 
 
 Starry eyes a-gawpin like the childern s to a story; 
 Room fer nothin nowhere ceptin night nd God nd 
 
 glory, 
 I jest dassent roust around, nd I never wanter 
 
 Do no more than saunter, 
 Fill up full of shiny peace in a little saunter! 
 
 (85)
 
 REVENGE. 
 
 T7"EN ich und Gretchen married got, 
 
 * Mein olt frient Dunkelschwarzenrath, 
 He don d coom vere my veddin ees, 
 Becos I nefer gone by hees! 
 
 Aber, I get me efen yet. 
 Dot Dunkelschwarzenrath is deat. 
 I don d go by hees fooneral nein! 
 Becos he nefer gone by mine! 
 
 (86)
 
 UNVERSTAENDLICH. 
 
 TTV HE contrariest t ing on dhe Erd is men, 
 "^ Aber vimmens arr twice so contrary again, 
 Andt I am yoost so contrary as you, 
 Andt you arr as worse as dhe worst one, too; 
 
 Now, ain d dhat zo? 
 
 You like to haf hoonger by dinner, you say, 
 Aber vhy do you eadt, so dhat hoonger go Vay? 
 You like to be tired, so you schleep like a top, 
 Andt you like to go schleep, so dhat tired feeling 
 shtop; 
 
 Now, ain d dhat zo? 
 
 You like to have sugar on sauer t ings you eadt 
 Andt you like to haf sauer mit dhe t ings vhat arr 
 
 sweet. 
 
 You like to be cold vhen dhe vetter is hot. 
 Andt vhen it is cold, ach, how varm you vould got! 
 
 Now, ain d dhat zo? 
 
 How you shdare at dhe man vhat can valk up dhe 
 
 street 
 On his handts, yet you valk twice so goodt on your 
 
 feet. 
 
 Vhat a long mind you haf, if I am in your debt, 
 Budt if you arr in mine, O, how quick you forget! 
 
 Now, ain d dhat zo? 
 
 (87)
 
 Are you single? You like to be married, of course. 
 Are you married? Most likely you like a divorce! 
 Andt if you vas get you unmarried, why dhen 
 You go righd avay and got married again. 
 
 Now, ain d dhat zo? 
 
 You vant yoost a liddle more money? Dhat s true; 
 Andt dhere s Mistare Vanderbilt; he vants dhat too. 
 You remember dhat time dhat you wish you arr 
 
 deadt? 
 
 Budt if I trry to kill you, you boost in my headt; 
 
 Now, ain d dhat zo? 
 
 Zo, I t ink I pelief only haf vhat I know 
 Andt dhe half I pelief is dhe part vhat ain d zo. 
 Aber, I don d complain, for dhat makes me no use, 
 For if I am a Esel, vhy you arr a goose; 
 
 Now, ain d dhat zo? 
 
 It is bedter to laugh; it is foolish to fight 
 
 Yoost because I am wrong and because you ain d 
 
 right. 
 
 It is bedter to laugh mit dhe vorld, up andt down 
 From dhe sole of our headt to dhe foot of our 
 
 crown; Now, ain d dhat zo? 
 
 Zo, dhen you laugh at me andt dhen I laugh at you, 
 Andt dhe more dhat you laugh vhy dhe more I 
 
 laugh, too, 
 
 Andt ve laugh till ve cry! Vhen ve cry, aber dhen, 
 Ve will bot feel zo goot ve go laughing again! 
 
 Now, ain d dhat zo? 
 (88)
 
 
 KATIE AN ME. 
 
 ATIE an me a n t ingaged anny moor. 
 
 Och, but the heart of me s breakin , fer sure! 
 The moon has turned grane and the sun has turned 
 
 yallow, 
 
 And Oi am turned both and a different fallow. 
 The poipe of me loiftoime is losin its taste; 
 Some illigant whuskey is goin* to waste; 
 Me heart is that impty and also me arrum; 
 Pertaties an bacon have lost all their charrum, 
 And Oi feel like a tombstone, wid crape on the dure 
 Since Katie and me a n t ingaged anny moor. 
 
 Yit most of the world is a-movin alang 
 
 As if there was nawthin at all goin wrang. 
 
 Oi notice the little pigs lie in the mud, 
 
 An the fool of a cow is still chewin her cud; 
 
 The shky is still blue and the grass is still bright; 
 
 The stars shine in hivin in paceful delight; 
 
 The little waves dance on the brist of the lake; 
 
 Tim Donnelly s dead an they re havin* a wake, 
 
 An* the world s rich in joy! and it s only me s poor, 
 
 Since Katie and me a n t ingaged anny moor. 
 
 She was always that modest and swate. Oi declare 
 She wud blush full as rid as her illigant hair 
 At the t ought of another man stalin the taste 
 Of her lips, or another man s arrum round her waist. 
 
 (89)
 
 =0(3= 
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 
 An now och, McCarney, luk out, or Oi ll break 
 Yer carcass in fragmints an dance at yer wake, 
 As you re dancin at Donnelly s! What shud Oi fear? 
 Purgatory? Not mooch, fer the same is right here. 
 Wid me heart on the briler, an niver a cure, 
 Since Katie and me a n t ingaged anny moor. 
 
 (90)
 
 DAT GAWGY WATAHMILLON. 
 
 /~\ , DAT Gawgy watahmillon, an dat gal ob 
 
 ^^ Gawgy wif m! 
 
 She foun m an she poun m an he ripe enough to 
 
 lif m. 
 
 I tote m to de well an den we cool m in de watah, 
 An we bress de Lawd foh libin , like a Gawgy nig- 
 
 gah ought to. 
 She pat him an she punk him, like ol mammy wif 
 
 de chillun, 
 An* ma haht it done keep punkin* ev y time she punk 
 
 de millon! 
 
 I look into huh yalla eyes an feel dat I can trus m, 
 An den I take de millon an I drop m down an bus 
 
 m. 
 O, dat Gawgy watahmillon wif de sweet an coolin* 
 
 flowin ! 
 Poke youah face deep down, ma honey, an jes keep 
 
 youah mouf a-goin . 
 Dar ain t no use ob talkin , but I clar to Gord I se 
 
 willin* 
 Foh to nebeh hab no heab n cept dat Gawgy gal an 
 
 millon! 
 
 Foh dey filled de haht an stomach ob dis happy 
 
 Gawgy niggah, 
 An he couldn be no fullah, less de Lohd done make 
 
 him biggah. 
 
 (90
 
 Lohdy, Lohdf I se done been dreamin an my haht 
 
 is mos* a-breakin , 
 An ma lips dey is a-burnin an ma stomach is a 
 
 achin*. 
 I been dreamin ob de summah an* ma mouf is jes 
 
 a-fillin 
 Foh dat honey gal ob Gawgy an dat Gawgy watah- 
 
 millon!
 
 RIMES TO BE READ. 
 
 NATHAN S FLAT. 
 
 TVT ATHAN wrote that he n* his wife was livin in 
 
 *-* a flat. 
 
 "Gracious me!" says mother, "why, what sort o 
 
 place is that?" 
 "Well," I says, "it s one o them there places, don t 
 
 you know, 
 
 At folks live in, likely," an mother says, "Jesso!" 
 But bout a half hour later, she broke out, "I d give 
 
 a cent 
 If I could sort o puzzle out what Nathan really 
 
 meant." 
 
 Now, ain t that like a woman? You can tell em 
 
 what is what; 
 You can show em plain as preachin , but it s just as 
 
 like as not 
 When ye ve argied an convinced em an* yeh think 
 
 ye ve surely fetched em, 
 They ll bust out just where they started, same as 
 
 though yeh hadn t teched em. 
 "Well," I says, "we ll go to see em, then, an that ll 
 
 stop yer clatter," 
 For I own that I was cur ous like, myself, about the 
 
 matter! 
 So we went an Nathan met us. Wa n t we glad to 
 
 see his face! 
 An* he rid us on a cable till we reached a stoppin 
 
 place, 
 
 (93)
 
 RIMES TO BE REA 
 
 ? 
 
 An says, "Here we are!" an first I knowed I was 
 
 a-standin there 
 
 A-gawpin at a buildin that was higher in the air 
 Than the Presbyterian steeple. An I says, "My 
 
 conscience, Nat, 
 It can t be sech a stuck-up thing is what yeh call a 
 
 flat?" 
 But he only smiled an nodded an he took us in the 
 
 hall, 
 An mother says, "Why, Nathan, dew yeh occipy it 
 
 all?" 
 
 Then we got into a little coop, an Nathan he says 
 "Seven!" 
 
 An in another second we was shootin up to 
 heaven. 
 
 Mother shet her teeth an belt her breath an trem 
 bled roun the eyes, 
 
 An my heart fell in my stomach, it was sech a sud 
 den rise. 
 
 Then, in another jiffy, we was into Nathan s flat 
 
 Six rooms, about the size o three, an darn small 
 three at that. 
 
 But some things was pretty handy. They was places 
 in the wall 
 
 Where ye d go an talk to people at yeh couldn t 
 see at all. 
 
 There was one place where ye d turn a wheel to 
 squirt a little heat, 
 
 An* the cellar was a little box containin things to 
 eat. (94)
 
 =00= 
 
 Then there was one extravygance at mother 
 
 thought a sin; 
 They had spiled a good-sized clo se-press fer to put 
 
 a bath-tub in. 
 Gee! it made me think o tombstones, it was all so 
 
 white and shiny, 
 But mother she peeked into it an says "I vum; it s 
 
 chiny !" 
 Nathan s wife was kind o laughin , so I fixed my 
 
 eyes on her, 
 An says, solemn, "Read yer Bible of the whited 
 
 sepulchre ! 
 
 "Bath-tubs! Why, if I d a mind to, I could tell yeh 
 
 pretty quick 
 Of the time when Nathan s bath-tub was the hull o 
 
 Simpson s creek! 
 An the sunshine was his only towel, or if by any 
 
 chance, 
 He couldn t wait fer dryin , why he used his coat an 
 
 pants. 
 An on Sat dy nights in winter, mother d fetch the 
 
 washin -tub, 
 An she d heat enough of water fer all han s to take 
 
 a scrub, 
 An she d pester Nat, Git ready! till at last he d 
 
 sort o squeak, 
 Ma, I honest don t believe I hardly need a bath this 
 
 week! 
 
 (95)
 
 S TO BE READ 
 
 But she d shet him in the kitchen, an he d grunt an 
 
 puff an spatter, 
 Till you d thought a steamboat bust-up was the least 
 
 could be the matter." 
 
 "Yes, an then I d mop," says mother, "an blow out 
 
 the kitchen light, 
 An I d foller Nat upstairs to kiss my little boy 
 
 Good night! 
 An it kind o* seemed that me an God was watchin 
 
 there by Nat, 
 But I don t believe I d ever have sech feelin s in a 
 
 flat!" 
 
 (96)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ. 
 
 "OUR CLUB." THE IRISH MEMBER S 
 TOAST. 
 
 TPHE sharp edge of hunger was turned and the 
 1 Chair 
 
 Arose to inform us we all might prepare 
 For a story, a toast, or any good bit 
 Which entered the head of an owner of wit, 
 And for fear Brother Milliken s tongue should grow 
 
 balky, 
 
 By mixing Kentucky with part of Milwaukee, 
 We d hear from him first, and his toast was "Our 
 
 Club." 
 
 As soon as his fellows had laughed at the rub 
 Which the chairman had given the Irishman rose, 
 Upholding his liquid, and said, "I suppose 
 Ivry mother s gossoon of ye s achin to drink 
 The toast to our club, so let yer bowls clink! 
 Yez can drink it in potcheen or drink it in watter, 
 An , barrin the taste, I would say, drink the latter; 
 Fer if yez do not, I will give ye fair warnin , 
 Ye ll find that it s watter ye want in the marnin . 
 But drink watter now an ye ll feel extry foine 
 An won t be a-wantin a hat noomber noine, 
 Fer I ll tell ye the trut to the shame of the divil 
 It don t do to treat the potcheen over civil. 
 
 (97)
 
 ==00= 
 
 ES TO BE READ 
 
 Just as sure as ye open yer door to the cratur, 
 He hints that his brother is finer or nater, 
 An then they both say that their coosin is swater, 
 An then that the family should be more complater, 
 An they have a gay toime an ye find, to yer sorra, 
 Though ye ll swear they were lodged in yer 
 
 stomach, begorra, 
 Yet all of e m s oop in yer head, by tomorra! 
 
 "But drink to our club in what liquid ye wish; 
 Drink deep as a camel and free as a fish. 
 Though we call it a club, let that club be a staff! 
 Let it always be used in a brother s behalf 
 A support for his need and a rest for his hand! 
 Though we call it a club, let that club be a wand! 
 The same as thim wands that the fairies used much. 
 Let no heart be so hard but to melt at its touch! 
 As we call it a club, when we see anny wrang, 
 Let us take up our club an go after it strang; 
 Let it swing for the right, brothers, nightly and 
 
 daily, 
 Though we call it a club, let it be a shillaly!" 
 
 (98)
 
 "OUR LADIES." THE POET S TOAST. 
 
 A TOAST from the poet, I think, would be pleas 
 ant," 
 
 Cried he at the banquet s head. 
 
 "A toast from the poet!" cried every one present, 
 And the poet arose and said: 
 
 "Mr. Chairman, I greet you and all of your host; 
 My comrades, your friendship is ever my boast; 
 And lastly, fair ladies, tis you whom I toast. 
 Though I mention you last, it is not my intent 
 To reckon you least. First in worth is not meant 
 When we place the soft mollusk or thin consomme 
 At the top of the menu, and no one will say 
 The piece de resistance is less of a dish 
 Just because further down on the list than the fish. 
 
 "Mother Eve, you remember, was last in formation, 
 Which proves she was apex of all the creation, 
 For first appeared grasses and herbs and the fruits, 
 And then came the fishes, the fowls and the brutes, 
 Then Adam; and mark you how each form grew 
 
 higher. 
 
 But still there was left something more to desire, 
 For though all life was there, flora, fauna and hu 
 man, 
 
 Paradise could not be until also was woman. 
 (99)
 
 And so she was made from a small, bony part 
 
 Which is nearest (please note well the symbol) 
 man s heart. 
 
 And hence, since that time, tis man s chiefest en 
 deavor 
 
 To get back that rib, and twill be so forever. 
 
 "How broad is the theme of my toasting Our 
 
 Ladies! 
 Proud daughters of Guelph and the Misses 
 
 O Gradys, 
 
 The Fraulein of Berlin, the Donas of Cadiz, 
 The Annas, the Fannies, the Adas, the Sadies, 
 All, all, in some masculine hearts are Our Ladies. 
 
 "Our Ladies? Our mothers, queen-angels of Earth. 
 Our wives, or our sweethearts tongue fails at your 
 
 worth ! 
 
 O, is there a grief which o ershadows the day 
 Which by woman s soft breath is not wafted away? 
 O, is there a heart, adamantine, austere, 
 Which melts not beneath a pure, womanly tear? 
 And what soured ascetic who does not rejoice 
 In the grace of her glance, of her smile, of her 
 
 voice? 
 
 "O, have you an armor, so tempered, so true, 
 That a woman s sharp tongue cannot pierce through 
 and through? 
 
 (100)
 
 And tell me of arguments, reasons or laws, 
 Which bear half of the weight of a woman s Be 
 cause. 
 
 "Our Ladies, enduring, considerate, meek; 
 
 Our Ladies, contrary, irrational, weak; 
 
 Kind hearted, yet cruel; obliging, perverse, 
 
 Which is why they are taken for better or worse. 
 
 "Do you think the description is rather complex? 
 So it is, but just so is the feminine sex; 
 Yet without the sex, Heaven itself were a Hades, 
 For Heaven is anywhere where are Our Ladies." 
 
 p 
 
 4
 
 TO BE READ 
 
 AFTER-DINNER APOLOGY OF LE 
 COMTE CRAPAUD. 
 
 T VOULD you make ze little speak avec plaisir, 
 A Boat et ess not moach long zat I been here, 
 Ant I am timid zat I speak soam wrong, 
 Becos I know zis langvids not moach long. 
 
 "Zis Englees langvids I not understand me moach. 
 
 Eet ees not logical, eef I can jodge, 
 
 For eet ees not long since I am invite 
 
 Au Chi-ca-go to see ze many sight. 
 
 Ant zere I fint I alvays spoke ze vay 
 
 I do not spoke to spoke ze vhat I say. 
 
 Zey to me show ze building high, high, high! 
 
 Zey call him, voila! scraper-of-ze-sky. 
 
 I look oapon ze mud down at ze street 
 
 Ant wish zey had ze scraper-of-ze-street. 
 
 "Zey take me to ze yard vhere ees ze stock 
 
 Ze peeg ten tousan tousan peeg vat you call 
 
 hock! 
 
 Zat night at a re-cep-se-ong, zey to me say, 
 Ant how you like Chi-ca-go zees fairst day? 
 I say Oh, magnifique! I not can like it more; 
 I never meet so many hock in all my life before! 
 But zen I fint I have not spoke ze vay 
 I ought to spoke to spoke ze vhat I say. 
 (102)
 
 rJ 
 
 "Zen some one speak about ze trust ant I say out, 
 Vhat ees zees trust I hear so moach about? 
 Zey say eet ees a com-bin-a-se-ong of ze stock. 
 Stock? stock? I say. Zen ees ze trust more 
 
 "hock!" 
 
 Zey say zat I have right ant zen zey roar, 
 Ant ah! I fint I am a zhoke once more. 
 I fint zere ees a trust in zees in zat, 
 Trust in ze shoe down here, oap in ze hat, 
 A trust in vhat you eat, you drink, you wear, 
 A trust in eferyzing ant eferyvhere! 
 By gar, I meet a man zat have a vife 
 La plus jolie I ever see in all my life. 
 Zat genteel man he say, he tells me, sir, 
 He have a trust, a pairfect trust in her! 
 Trust in hees vife! ma foi! I am so shock! 
 Ant zen I ask vhat he will take for all ze stock. 
 But ah! I find he have not spoke ze vay 
 He ought to spoke to spoke ze vat he say. 
 
 "For eet ees soach a fonny langvids, oui! 
 Not long ago, one evening, coam to me 
 One ver good friend, as eet ees getting dark 
 Ant say, Coam, let us go upon ze lark, 
 I say Eh bien, I go, for I not like to tell 
 Zat I not understand him ver moach well. 
 A lark? Zat ees a bird, selon Webstaire, 
 Ze gentilman zat write ze dictionaire; 
 Boat, ah! I fint I haf not understood. 
 I fint zis lark ees not a bird rnoach good. 
 (103)
 
 RIMES TO BE 
 
 "Eet ees ver late zat I am get to bed 
 
 Ant zen I feel so strange oap in ze head. 
 
 I am so bad I not can sleep, ant so 
 
 I rise moach early ant I go below; 
 
 Ant zere I fint ze hotel-clerk who coam ant say 
 
 Monsieur, you get oap wiz ze lark to-day! 
 
 I say Non, non, madame; oh, my poor head! 
 
 Eet ees wiz zat bad bird I went to bed! 
 
 I not get oap wiz him. You are moach wrong; 
 
 I am alreaty wiz zat bird too long. 
 
 "He laugh so moach I seenk his face ees break; 
 I not know why onless I speak meestake; 
 Ant so, I will not make ze speak to-night, 
 For I am timid zat I not speak right." 
 
 (104)
 
 "THE OTHER ONE WAS BOOTH." 
 
 (Suggested by conversations with certain "retired" 
 actors.) 
 
 TVTOW, by the rood, as Hamlet says, it grieves me 
 
 " sore to say 
 
 The stage is not as once it was, when I was wont 
 
 to play; 
 Tis true Hank Irving, dear old chap, still gives a 
 
 decent show, 
 And Mansfield and Ed Willard really act the best 
 
 they know; 
 Tis true that Duse and Bernhardt, for we mustn t be 
 
 too hard, 
 Are very fair (for women) though of course they 
 
 ought to guard 
 Against some bad-art tendencies; but as for all the 
 
 rest, 
 There s hardly one, I may say none, who stands the 
 
 artist s test. 
 True artists are a rare, rare breed; there were but 
 
 two, forsooth, 
 In all me time, the stage s prime; and the other one 
 
 was Booth. 
 
 "Why, Mac I mean Macready but we always 
 
 called him Mac, 
 And old Ned Forrest used to say, or so they once 
 
 told Jack; 
 
 (105)
 
 ==00= 
 
 TO BE READ 
 
 Or, that is, Jack McCullough, that well, this is 
 what they said; 
 
 There were but two who really knew how Shake 
 speare should be read. 
 
 They didn t mean the younger Kean, or Jack; and 
 so perhaps 
 
 It caused a little jealousy among the lesser chaps. 
 
 They said that Larry Barrett was entitled to re 
 spect, 
 
 But as for Torn Salvini, well, his dago dialect 
 
 Would never do for Shakespeare; so to tell the sim 
 ple truth, 
 
 There were only two men in it; and the other one 
 was Booth. 
 
 "Don t think conceit is in me tongue; tis some 
 thing I detest; 
 But I may say that in me day I ve figured with the 
 
 best. 
 Why, Kalamazoo, and Oshkosh, too, and Kankakee 
 
 as well, 
 Went fairly wild, nor man, nor child, stirred when 
 
 the curtain fell. 
 The S. R. O. was hung each night; our show was 
 
 such a rage 
 They took the ushers off the floor and ushered 
 
 from the stage. 
 From Buzzard s Bay to San Jose, from Nawrleans 
 
 to Duluth, 
 Just two stars hit a little bit; and the other one was 
 
 Booth. (106)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 "I liked Ned Booth, for he was such a royal-hearted 
 
 fellow, 
 
 We never had a jealousy. When he put on Othello 
 His lago was much like to mine, likewise his stage 
 
 direction; 
 But what cared Ed. what critics said, since I made 
 
 no objection? 
 
 Ah, me! That day is past; the play has lost its hon 
 ored station; 
 Who reads aright rage, sorrow, fright, or tragic 
 
 desolation? 
 Aye, who can reach to Hamlet s speech, To be or 
 
 not to be? 
 Or wild Macbeth s cry, Never shake thy gory locks 
 
 at me! 
 Or Lear s appeal: O, let me not be mad, sweet 
 
 Heavens, not mad! 
 Or Shylock s rage: I ll have me bond! Ah, me; it 
 
 makes me sad 
 To think it all, and then recall the drama of me 
 
 youth, 
 When there were two who read lines true; and the 
 
 other one was Booth." 
 
 (107) 
 
 J
 
 GOING HOME TO MOTHER. 
 
 T T was fifty years ago, and one day we 
 A Had et our dinner by a big oak tree. 
 (I often wonder if that tree still stands, 
 It s green arms beckonin to tired farm-hands.) 
 It wa n t quite time to go to work again, 
 When one young chap he jumps up quick and 
 then, 
 
 "I m a-goin home to mother, boys," he said, 
 "Although she doesn t know it, an perhaps she 
 
 thinks I m dead. 
 
 I went away when I was young, y see, 
 But now I m over twenty and I got more sense," 
 
 says he. 
 
 "I swear I don t know why I went," he says. 
 "Somehow, 
 
 The very strongest reasons then seem mighty fool 
 ish now. 
 
 Some thoughtless word I said stirred up the brine; 
 
 I s pose no mother never loved a son much more n 
 mine," 
 
 He said, "and every least word hurt. What fools we 
 are 
 
 To never learn the careless cut may leave the deep 
 est scar! 
 
 (108)
 
 S T O B E R E~7T5~T 
 
 "But now I m goin home again," he said. 
 
 "I m like the prodigal and tired of husks instead of 
 
 bread. 
 I ll tell her I was wrong! and bless her! she was 
 
 human. 
 O, yes, I know; I said twas no use talkin to an 
 
 angry woman, 
 
 But Lord! a woman might be woman to another, 
 But to her boy she oughtn t to be anything but 
 
 mother. 
 
 "An so I m goin - home again," he said. 
 
 "My shoulder is just achin for the pressure of her 
 
 head. 
 
 My lips are fixed to show her what is what, 
 And these arms will soon convince her how long 
 
 and strong they ve got. 
 
 "You can laugh, boys, if you want," the youngster 
 
 said, 
 His lips a-pressin tighter and a firmness to his 
 
 head, 
 But there wasn t any laughin . When you look 
 
 deep down a heart 
 An see its noblest feelin s, tisn t laughter that ll 
 
 start. 
 
 "But here s for home and mother, boys!" he said, 
 And he went. God help him! for he found his 
 mother dead. 
 
 (109)
 
 ES ?OBE EAD. 
 
 She had died died callin for him, and her breast 
 Never knew whose stricken head sunk there to rest. 
 
 "I m a-goin home to mother," he had said, 
 
 But O, the mighty difference when the lovin lips 
 
 are dead; 
 
 A coffin is an awful thing for a fellow s last em 
 brace, 
 And your hottest tears can never warm that cold 
 
 nd quiet face. 
 Crying, ain t I? But that boy was me. That mother 
 
 was my own, 
 And though it s years and years ago, since I was 
 
 left alone, 
 Still, I think of her at midnight, and I dream of her 
 
 at noon, 
 For I m goin home to mother pretty soon, now 
 
 pretty soon. 
 
 (no)
 
 =00= 
 
 A COURTIN CALL. 
 
 HIM! 
 
 TJE dressed hisself from top t toe 
 
 ^ T beat the lates fash n. 
 He gave his boots a extry glow, 
 His dicky glistered like the snow, 
 He slicked his hair exactly so. 
 
 An all t indicate "his pash n." 
 He tried his hull three ties afore 
 He kep the one on that he wore. 
 
 HER! 
 
 All afternoon she laid abed 
 
 To make her featchurs brighter. 
 She tried on ev ry geoun she hed, 
 She rasped her nails until they bled, 
 A dozen times she frizzed her head 
 
 An put on stuff to make her whiter, 
 An fussed till she d V cried, she said 
 But that Id make her eyes so red. 
 ******** 
 
 THEM! 
 
 They sot together in the dark 
 Ithout a light, excep their spark, 
 An neither could have told er guessed 
 What way the t other un was dressed, 
 (in)
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE. 
 
 "PONDER of Schnapps and Schneider than of 
 " right, 
 
 A shiftless, thriftless, rude, unlettered log 
 Who wallowed in a slimy, drunken bog; 
 Well-meaning and ill-acting; appetite 
 As dry as was his wit; a jolly wight 
 With follies to exhaust the catalogue; 
 Weak-willed, good-tempered, sinful and contrite, 
 Without one element of manly might, 
 Save that the children loved him and his dog. 
 
 And yet he makes the laughter-laden lip 
 Turn to a tremble, while the hot tears flow; 
 Then mock its own emotion by some slip 
 To sudden mirth, because we love him so; 
 For human weakness in the rascal, Rip, 
 Becomes a humane strength in actor Joe. 
 
 (H2)
 
 
 Home-Made Philosophy. 
 
 -~ - >* ~ !"" " ^-__ *^
 
 n 
 
 rv-/ 
 
 A MULE OF ARKANSAS. 
 
 THOU patient, plodding piece of bone and flesh! 
 Thou sentient something, tangled in a mesh 
 Of fatal being! I could weep for thee, 
 But thou, thou couldst as surely weep for me. 
 
 Not knowing why nor whither I am driven, 
 To me the urging lash is likewise given; 
 Hitched to this drag of life, I may not falter, 
 Nor wander past the pull of rein or halter. 
 
 Poor thou, poor I! yet, comrade, were we free, 
 The world might lose the little we may be. 
 Along this straitened path, perhaps tis best, 
 We may not linger and we dare not rest. 
 
 ("5) 
 
 Q
 
 THE BEAST AND HIS BURDEN. 
 
 THRESH from his valet, breathing forth perfume, 
 " Swathed in the softest product of the loom, 
 Full-fed and arrogant, the beggar rode 
 And cursed the laboring beast which he bestrode. 
 A pleasant beggar he, who asked mere mites, 
 Such as Possession of the Public Rights, 
 Franchises, Rights of Way, and title deeds 
 To profit by our children s children s needs. 
 
 Another leaped upon the laboring beast 
 
 Which faltered as he felt the load increased. 
 
 The beggar burned with wrath, but found relief 
 
 To see it was his trusted friend, the thief, 
 
 A man to scale a Congress, tie the hands 
 
 And gag the tongues, while forcing his demands 
 
 For booty and for bounty. Yet so wise 
 
 A cracksman he, he puts it in the guise 
 
 Of benefit to others, so that we 
 
 Snatch off our hats to him and bow the knee. 
 
 But now the beast, by some strange impulse fired, 
 Cried out: "Get off my back, for I am tired. 
 I want to roll upon the earth. I need 
 To rest a little and I want more feed." 
 "Beast!" cried the beggar, striking with his goad, 
 "We only ride to keep you in the road. 
 Did we not ride and feed you, you would wander 
 And starve to death out in the grasses yonder." 
 (116)
 
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 "Ass!" cried the thief, "are you too blind to see, 
 "Tis not your vulgar strength which carries me, 
 But I support you by this tight-drawn rein? 
 And I am almost weary of the strain, 
 So if you hint again you want to stop, 
 I swear I ll loose the rein and let you drop." 
 The laboring beast cried out in great alarm 
 And prayed the thief to keep a steady arm. 
 And still he keeps his patient, weary stride, 
 And still the thief and beggar calmly ride. 
 
 ("7)
 
 TO BE READ 
 
 A PRICELESS PARADISE. 
 
 T F some weird gnome should seek my home, 
 * Some genie, fairy, witch, 
 To blink my eyes with every prize 
 
 Of life, and ask me "Which?" 
 I think I d choose, in half a trice, 
 This boon: to never ask the price. 
 
 I would not claim a gilded name, 
 
 Or be a financier, 
 Nor would I hold the wide world s gold; 
 
 And yet I somewhat fear 
 I d ask a just sufficient slice 
 That I might never ask the price. 
 
 A coat-of-arms has meager charms 
 
 To men of modern views, 
 Yet were it mine to make design, 
 
 I know which one I d choose: 
 An open purse, with this device, 
 "He never, never asks the price." 
 
 Is Heaven a state, a place, a fete, 
 
 A rapture, or a rest? 
 The question s old and each may hold 
 
 His own opinion best; 
 But my idea of Paradise 
 Is where one need not ask the price! 
 
 (118)
 
 -JOG 
 
 GRANDMOTHER S SONG. 
 
 f+ RANDMOTHER S voice was always mild, 
 ^* And at everyday troubles she always smiled; 
 
 For she used to say 
 
 Frowns didn t pay, 
 
 As she had learned when the merest child. 
 So whenever we cried for a fancied wrong, 
 Grandmother used to sing this song: 
 
 "To-day, to-day, 
 
 Let s all be gay; 
 
 To-morrow 
 
 We may sorrow. 
 
 My dear, don t fret 
 
 For what s not yet; 
 For you make a trouble double when you borrow." 
 
 Ah me! tis many a lonesome year 
 
 Since grandmother s song has reached my ear; 
 
 And I sigh my sigh 
 
 For the days gone by, 
 
 For you went with them, grandmother dear. 
 But I still have left your quaint old song, 
 And I shall sing it and pass along: 
 
 "To-day, to-day, 
 
 Let s all be gay; 
 
 To-morrow 
 
 We may sorrow. 
 
 My dear, don t fret 
 
 For what s not yet; 
 For you make a trouble double when you borrow."
 
 THE DEAR LITTLE FOOL. 
 
 "P ACH man is a master in a school 
 ^ Heigh ho, my deary! 
 
 Where he trains himself to be a fool 
 
 Folly is so cheery. 
 
 And he trains him well and he trains him long, 
 He trains him true and he trains him strong; 
 And this is the burden of my song 
 
 Wit and wisdom weary. 
 
 The man finds out that he s a fool 
 
 Heigh ho, my deary! 
 And puts himself on the dunce s stool 
 
 Folly grows a-weary. 
 
 And he says to himself, "You beast, you worm! 
 You re the biggest fool I ve had this term." 
 And he laughs to see the poor fool squirm 
 
 Wisdom is so cheery. 
 
 He sets down many a sapient rule 
 
 Heigh ho, my deary! 
 For the future course of the wretched fool 
 
 Folly is so weary. 
 
 And the poor little fool, he says: "Ah, me! 
 That I was a fool I plainly see, 
 But never again such a fool I ll be!" 
 
 Wisdom is so cheery. 
 (120)
 
 The man and the fool they live along 
 
 Heigh ho, my deary! 
 Till the man is weak and the fool is strong 
 
 Folly is so cheery. 
 
 And the little fool says: "Oh, master dear, 
 This never is long, and the world is drear! 
 Let me loose! let me loose, and have no fear!" 
 
 Wit and wisdom weary. 
 
 The dear little fool, he has his way 
 
 Folly is so cheery! 
 
 The good man laughs that the fool is gay- 
 Wit and wisdom weary; 
 Till he finds that the fool is really he, 
 And the stronger the fool the worse when free, 
 And again he groans, "Ah, woe is me!" 
 Heigh ho, my deary! 
 
 (121)
 
 THE MINOR ROLE. 
 
 /"\ FT have you seen a star upon the stage 
 
 ^^ Uttering his transports of despair or rage, 
 
 Until the whole house wondered at his skill 
 
 And thundered plaudits with a hearty will. 
 
 But did you note that other player there 
 
 Who watched the leading actor s mock despair, 
 
 Who had no line to speak, or work to do, 
 
 Yet who was there to make the background true, 
 
 Whose every thought must aid (as each might mar) 
 
 The bright effulgence of the flaming star? 
 
 And did you stop to think his thankless part 
 
 Of doing nothing took the greater art? 
 
 Tis so in life. We oftentimes admire 
 The man whom nothing seems to daunt or tire, 
 Whose energies are like battalions hurled 
 Against his foe (and audience!) the world. 
 You hardly note that other actor there, 
 That woman of his household and his care, 
 Who can do nothing more, nor would do less, 
 Than live the background of his life s success 
 A waiting, watching, suffering, silent soul, 
 Without the outlet of a leading role. 
 And sure am I her patient, minor part, 
 Doomed to do nothing, takes the greater heart. 
 
 (122)
 
 ..-PC 
 
 RIMES TO BE 
 
 PANACEA. 
 
 TT S no great oddity 
 
 * That one commodity 
 Has such demand 
 Throughout the land. 
 You know what it is, I think. Ah yes, 
 It is nothing more and nothing less 
 Than a double X brand of happiness. 
 
 Now think what a place this world would be, 
 
 What a jolly old place for you and me, 
 
 What a wonderful place if you and I 
 
 Would only try 
 
 To meet the demand with a certain supply. 
 
 Consider, my son, 
 
 How easily done, 
 
 To make one happy, only one; 
 
 A father, mother, 
 
 Sister, brother, 
 
 Or if they be supplied, why then some other. 
 
 And, my daughter, see 
 
 How well twould be. 
 
 Why, the thing is as plain as A B C! 
 
 If each of us were engaged in keeping 
 
 One happy soul from dawn to sleeping, 
 
 (123)
 
 JOG 
 
 If each of us were busy in making 
 One soul peaceful from dusk to waking. 
 What a happy old place this world would be, 
 What a jolly old place for you and me! 
 
 And if every one else then did the same, 
 
 Why wouldn t it be the cleverest game? 
 
 But, pray, don t try 
 
 To oversupply 
 
 Somebody already floating high. 
 
 "Pis the sinking wretch we need to save, 
 
 And not the one on the topmost wave. 
 
 And remember, too, 
 
 This much that you 
 
 And I will profit by what we do. 
 
 Tis a curious fact, but past all doubt, 
 
 That the more of happiness one gives out 
 
 The more he has left and the more his powers. 
 
 As the gardener strips a bed of flowers 
 
 That more shall bloom, so strip your soul 
 
 That another s happiness be made whole. 
 
 And lo! in the quick-winged second after, 
 
 Tis filled with the blooms of love and laughter. 
 
 ("4) 
 
 P
 
 BUT O, BOYS, KNOW, BOYS. 
 
 npHERE S a certain sort of pleasure in a min- 
 * gling with the boys, 
 In keeping up your end of it and adding to the 
 
 noise 
 With 
 
 "Fill the cup 
 
 And lift it up 
 
 To every gallant soul of us. 
 Drink! drink, my men, and come again! the devil 
 
 guards the whole of us!" 
 There s a pleasing palpitation to the liquid of the 
 
 jugs, 
 As it mingles with the music of the clinking of the 
 
 mugs; 
 
 There s a pretty, pleasing popping, 
 When the bottles are unstopping, 
 And a fizzy fascination carries folly to its height. 
 But O, boys, 
 
 Know, boys 
 That folly has its flight, 
 And a greater fascination 
 Is a healthy, clean sensation 
 That your brain is still in session and your eye is 
 
 clear and bright, 
 When the time comes for waking in the morning.
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 There s a certain sort of pleasure in the gayety of 
 
 girls, 
 In the pat of pretty fingers, in the brush of beauty s 
 
 curls, 
 With 
 "Here s a glass 
 
 To any lass 
 
 Who offers tempting lips to us! 
 The night is kind, the world is blind, so who can 
 
 debit slips to us?" 
 There s a certain fascination in the giddiness of 
 
 guile, 
 
 There s a certain strange temptation in the wicked 
 ness of wile, 
 
 When the wicked wit is dashing 
 And the wicked smiles are flashing, 
 So if all the world be wicked, is our wickedness 
 
 amiss? 
 
 But O, boys, 
 
 Know, boys 
 There comes an end to this 
 And a higher fascination, 
 And a wholesomer sensation, 
 Is to realize your lips are clean and worthy of the 
 
 kiss 
 Of a sweetheart, wife, or mother in the morning. 
 
 (126)
 
 =0= 
 
 A HITCH BEHIND. 
 
 OEE them there boys a-crawlin 
 
 *^ Up that long hill and haulin 
 
 Their sleds? A-slippin , fallin , 
 
 A-puffin f laughin , bawlin ? 
 
 And see those others shootin down the slope 
 
 Slicker than greased eels in a barrel o soap? 
 
 And down upon the level there, you ll find 
 
 A batch of fellers of a different kind, 
 
 Jest nacherally waitin fer a hitch behind. 
 
 Crawlin* up hill is work. An you soon learn 
 That all you git fer work you more than earn. 
 O course sometimes one of the strongest chaps 
 May have the easiest sled to pull, perhaps. 
 An* then, again, you ll see some heavy bob 
 Behind a kid too little fer the job, 
 But still he plugs ahead, not bein the kind 
 To stand round waitin fer a hitch behind. 
 
 An* slidin* down is spendin*. Once your sled 
 Gits on the slope and finds it has its head, 
 There ain t no use a-diggin in your toes. 
 A sled was made to go an blame! She goes. 
 Same way with money, ceptin it s the kind 
 That gits its motion from a hitch behind. 
 
 (127) 
 

 
 RIMES TO BE 
 
 Fer hitch-behinders are two sorts. Some s so all- 
 fired 
 
 Lazy they won t climb. They ll be too tired 
 To chase the hitches up when hitches come, 
 Ceptin* they re ice-wagons. Then there s some 
 That let the workin -wagons go, and hitch 
 Onto the double-bob "The Public," which 
 Is drawed by two old plugs called You and Me, 
 And drove by Uncle Sammy. Some day, he 
 May git a cure fer bein deaf and blind 
 And swing his black-snake at them kids behind. 
 
 (128)
 
 Ns 
 
 RIMES TO BE 
 
 A WATCHWORD. 
 
 TTTTHEN you find a certain lack 
 ^ * In the stiffness of your bacis 
 At a threatened fierce attack, 
 Just the hour 
 
 That you need your every power, 
 Look a bit 
 
 For a thought to baffle it. 
 Just recall that every knave, 
 Every coward, can be brave 
 Till the time 
 
 That his courage should be prime 
 Then t is fled. 
 Keep your head! 
 What a folly t is to lose it 
 Just the time you want to use it! 
 
 When the ghost of some old shirk 
 Comes to plague you, and to lurk 
 In your study or your work, 
 Here s a hit 
 
 Like enough will settle it. 
 Knowledge is a worthy prize; 
 Knowledge comes to him who tries 
 Whose endeavor 
 Ceases never. 
 Everybody would be wise 
 As his neighbor, 
 
 Were it not that they who labor, 
 (129)
 
 For the trophy creep, creep, creep, 
 
 While the others lag or sleep; 
 
 And the sun comes up some day 
 
 To behold one on his way 
 
 Past the goal 
 
 Which the soul 
 
 Of another has desired, 
 
 But whose motto was, "I m tired." 
 
 When the task of keeping guard 
 
 Of your heart 
 
 Keeping weary watch and ward 
 
 Of the part 
 
 You are called upon to play 
 
 Every day 
 
 Is becoming dry and hard, 
 
 Conscience languid, virtue irksome, 
 
 Good behavior growing worksome, 
 
 Think this thought: 
 
 Doubtless everybody could, 
 
 Doubtless everybody would, 
 
 Be superlatively good, 
 
 Were it not 
 
 That it s harder keeping straight 
 
 Than it is to deviate; 
 
 And to keep the way of right, 
 
 You must have the pluck to fight. 
 
 (130)
 
 RIMES TO BE R 
 
 THE REFORMER. 
 
 T KNOW a philosopher, learned and read, 
 
 * Who, in viewing the world, seems to stand on 
 
 his head, 
 
 He pities the poor and goes in for reform, 
 Convinced he can keep the world comfy and warm, 
 If he keeps the thermometer out of the storm. 
 
 Having heard how the ostrich has cleverly planned 
 To hide by concealing his head in the sand, 
 He holds that a scheme would be valid and wise 
 To protect it forever from hunt and surprise 
 By catching the ostrich and searing its eyes. 
 
 He marvels that men should so bargain and dicker 
 To be governed at last by an imbecile ticker, 
 So he has invented one, run by a clock; 
 Set fast, it will "boost," or set slow, it will "knock, ; 
 And thus you can bull or can bear any stock. 
 
 In elections he claims that the office should go 
 Not to him with the high vote, but him with the 
 
 low. 
 
 To be voted unpopular surely is tough, 
 So the office should go to console the rebuff, 
 While the man who succeeds is rewarded enough. 
 
 He holds that a criminal ought to do time 
 Before, and not after, committing the crime. 
 (131)
 
 =00= 
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 "Plain drunk" would be given a month to be fitted; 
 Ten years and a burglary might be permitted; 
 While murderers first would be hung, then ac 
 quitted. 
 
 You laugh at this mortal? I laugh at him, too; 
 He reminds me so much of myself and of you. 
 Oh, I m sure the world s sick and it needs a phy 
 sician, 
 
 But if I be the doctor to fill the position, 
 The fee curing me cures the patient s condition!
 
 "HONOR." 
 
 A PACK of dogs were sunning and napping, 
 " Well-fed, satisfied, glad dogs; 
 Suddenly, up sprang, snarling and snapping, 
 
 Ill-bred, villified, mad dogs. 
 Some one had flung them a musty bone, 
 And the chorus cried, "It is mine; my own." 
 " "Tis mine, I claim, for I saw it first." 
 " Tis mine, say I, for I need it worst." 
 Quarreling and snarling, they leaped to fight, 
 Yowling and growling, their teeth snapped tight, 
 Till each had lost of his quivering flesh 
 More meat than the bone had held when fresh! 
 They rolled themselves in the muck and mud; 
 They lost their bone and they lost their blood. 
 But on they fought, for, be it known, 
 It is doggish honor to fight for a bone. 
 
 A goose flew into a neighbor s yard 
 
 And left an egg as a calling card. 
 
 "The egg is mine, for my goose made it." 
 
 " Tis mine, for on my land she laid it." 
 
 A look, a word, a threat, a wrangle, 
 
 A suit at law, a legal tangle, 
 
 Decision, dissent, appeal, reversal, 
 
 A re-appeal and a re-rehearsal, 
 
 The egg grew stale, the case grew rotten, 
 
 The goose was dead and long forgotten, 
 
 (i33) 
 
 t
 
 But still the antagonists litigated, 
 
 While the lawyers smiled and the judges prated, 
 
 Though all their driest lore, or juiciest, 
 
 Could not decide which goose was goosiest. 
 
 Yet still they fought, for, be it known, 
 
 Tis a point of honor to "guard one s own." 
 
 The Powers of the Earth discussing whether 
 
 They might not eternally dwell together 
 
 With peace, good humor and good digestion, 
 
 Were suddenly stirred by a grievous question. 
 
 An egg, or a bone, produced the foment, 
 
 Or, anyway, something of equal moment. 
 
 "Tut! the question is one of the merest trifles. 
 
 (We ll rush our order for newer rifles.") 
 
 "Dear cousin of ours, we are more than brothers, 
 
 (Have you noticed our navy? There are no 
 
 others.") 
 
 "Good friend, our affection is deep and holy. 
 (Do you think these guns are ornaments solely?") 
 O, dogs will be dogs when they come to a bone, 
 And men may be geese, as a goose has shown, 
 And it s national "honor" to go to war 
 Over something that isn t worth fighting for! 
 
 C 34)
 
 =0= 
 
 DEAR MOTHER EARTH. 
 
 T\EAR Mother Earth, full oft I long 
 ^^ To sing thy praises in a song; 
 I ache to lay me down to rest 
 Somewhere upon thy yielding breast, 
 To turn my pavement-wearied feet 
 Beyond the seeming endless street, 
 And seek some dimpled country place, 
 Half cool, half warm, for thy embrace; 
 Then kiss thee, prone upon my face, 
 Dear Mother Earth! 
 
 Like old Antaeus long ago, 
 Whose strength surged up from earth below, 
 I feel there is a peace in thee, 
 Which thou dost whisper unto me, 
 When thus I press thee, cheek to cheek. 
 Thou art so strong and I so weak; 
 And some time there shall come a day 
 When tender, trembling hands shall lay 
 Me deep, to mingle with thy clay, 
 Dear Mother Earth! 
 
 Thy gift to me shall come to thee, 
 And as thou art, so shall I be. 
 I owe thee all, and so must try 
 To make thee better ere I die; 
 And as we twain are one, I see 
 To better self may better thee. 
 (135)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 And so I rise from thy embrace 
 Revived, and with a hopeful grace, 
 Thus having met thee face to face, 
 Dear Mother Earth! 
 
 (136)
 
 T 
 Various Verses
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 DOMESTICATED GENIUS. 
 
 T AM not up on artist s gush; 
 * I can t "improve the rose s flush," 
 Nor yet "so paint the woodland thrush 
 
 That one may hear it sing;" 
 But let me own without a blush, 
 I swing a very pretty brush 
 
 On window screens in spring. 
 
 I own I ve no desire to meet 
 A foreign foe, in field, or fleet; 
 I m free to say I might retreat, 
 
 If I were left on guard; 
 Yet many a man might find defeat, 
 If matched against me, as I beat 
 
 The rugs in our back yard. 
 
 I seldom seek a grassy ground 
 And seize a shinny-stick to pound 
 A marble from a little mound 
 
 In token of my power; 
 Far greater glory I have found, 
 For I can push the mower round 
 
 Our lawn in just one hour. 
 
 I m not familiar with the gear 
 Of touring cars. I could not steer 
 The catapult on its career
 
 JQQ 
 
 RIMES TO BE READ, 
 
 And dodge the rut and rock; 
 But you would own I ve scarce a peer, 
 If you should see me engineer 
 
 The go-cart round the block. 
 
 I m not of those who "fought and bled;" 
 My fame has never widely spread; 
 My qualities of heart and head 
 
 Are very often doubted; 
 
 But o er my bones let this be said 
 
 That I ve fixed up an onion bed, 
 
 And, Heaven be praised! it s sprouted. 
 
 (140)
 
 THE SIGNS OF THE ZODIAC. 
 
 (A Modern Interpretation.) 
 
 QAGITTARIUS. Otherwise 
 *^ Cupid, in a thin disguise. 
 
 Virgo, the maiden. She and I 
 Trot to altar. Happy? My! 
 
 Libra. First designs of Fate; 
 Grocer fails to give full weight. 
 
 Taurus. Increased dangers lurk. 
 Beef trust now begins to work. 
 
 Aries. Fails to bring relief; 
 Mutton follows price of beef. 
 
 Pisces. Fish trust. Itching fin. 
 Finds my pocket. Thrusts it in. 
 
 Aquarius. Water turned to ice 
 Stiffens. Also does the price. 
 
 Scorpio. Hot stuff. That means coal; 
 What! up higher? Bless my soul! 
 
 Leo. Though I make a roar, 
 Things go up a little more. 
 (141)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ. 
 
 Capricornus. Try to buck 
 
 Tiger. Cleaned out. Wretched luck. 
 
 Gemini. Anxious hours on pins; 
 Nurse comes in and Heavens, twins! 
 
 Cancer the crab. What s crab? O, yes, 
 Meaning a lobster me, I guess. 
 
 (142) 
 
 c. 
 
 4
 
 RIMES TO BE READ. 
 
 THE LOVE OF COUNTRY. 
 (As It Too Often Is At Present.) 
 
 F\ EEP in the heart of every man the love of 
 
 *~* country lies; 
 
 He breathes it with his baby breath; it lingers till he 
 
 dies. 
 
 So I love the land we live in, every tittle, every jot, 
 With a preferential feeling for a Broadway corner 
 
 lot. 
 
 I love the boundless country, with its harvest, and 
 
 I sigh 
 
 To manipulate a corner of the visible supply. 
 I love the lofty mountains, and I feel my heart will 
 
 burst, 
 Knowing I might own their treasure, had I only 
 
 found it first. 
 
 And not alone our country and its greatness I 
 
 revere, 
 
 But I hold the very emblems of its privileges dear. 
 Methinks the goddess Liberty would touch a heart 
 
 of flint, 
 So beautifully stamped upon the product of the 
 
 mint! 
 
 d43)
 
 And I linger o er the Latin graven on the coin s 
 
 reverse, 
 Wishing that I had a "pluribus" of "unums" in my 
 
 purse. 
 I love the spreading eagle with the lightning in its 
 
 clutch, 
 And I love the double eagle just precisely twice as 
 
 much! 
 
 Then the patriots and the sages that long and no 
 ble line 
 
 I would that a collection of their likenesses were 
 mine! 
 
 I love the Grant and Lincoln on the crisp or crum 
 pled "one," 
 
 And on the "two" I cherish the immortal Washing 
 ton. 
 
 I love the Franklin on the "ten," the Garfield on 
 
 the "five," 
 And I love the noble red man better there than if 
 
 alive. 
 The hero on the "twenty," too, is strangely dear to 
 
 me, 
 But who he is, alas! I seldom have a chance to 
 
 see. 
 
 Yes, I honor all the heroes who are turned to com 
 mon clay, 
 
 And my soul is filled with gratitude I m not as 
 dead as they. 
 
 (i44) 
 
 P
 
 TO BE READ. 
 
 Yet while they lived they nobly launched our glori 
 ous Ship of State; 
 
 And I wish I had the contract to supply her armor- 
 plate. 
 
 "In God we trust" they placed upon our coinage, 
 which is why 
 
 In man we will not trust unless he has a good sup 
 ply. 
 
 From bonds of foreign tyranny they bravely set us 
 
 free, 
 And bonds of Uncle Sam are good enough for you 
 
 and me. 
 
 (145)
 
 a 
 
 
 TO BE READ. 
 
 AT A RAILROAD JUNCTION. 
 
 T O! HERE am I at Junction Town, 
 
 "^ At slow and woful Junction Town, 
 Where devils laugh and angels frown 
 To see a traveler set down; 
 Where trains run only with a view 
 To help a restaurant or two; 
 Where rusty rails and barren boards 
 Are all the point of view affords. 
 But O, the barren board of all 
 Is that within that eating-stall! 
 Yes, stall, I said, and well deserved 
 The name! where beastly feed is served. 
 And so I say without compunction 
 My curses on this Railroad Junction. 
 
 What shall I do at Junction Town? 
 At drear and weary Junction Town? 
 The martyr s cross without the crown 
 Awaits the stranger here set down. 
 O, one may wait and wait and wait, 
 Or one may rail against his fate, 
 Or eyes and ears may strain and strain, 
 As later, later grows the train, 
 The while the lagging minutes mock 
 His witless watching of the clock; 
 Or one may watch the station clerk 
 Performing his relentless work. 
 
 (146)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ. 
 
 O, wretched man, of wretched function, 
 Existing at this Railroad Junction! 
 
 God s pity on this Junction Town, 
 
 This dead and dreadful Junction Town! 
 
 O, what nepenthe- well can drown 
 
 The cares of travelers here set down. 
 
 The thought may give some passing cheer 
 
 One may escape within a year, 
 
 Or else the sentence be commuted 
 
 And only death be executed! 
 
 And if t be so, I only pray 
 
 There be no Resurrection Day, 
 
 For think of Gabriel coming down 
 
 And finding one at Junction Town! 
 
 And so I say, with fervent unction, 
 
 God s pity on this Railroad Junction! 
 
 (147)
 
 THE WOMAN WITH THE POT O PAINT 
 
 NOW rises up the woman with a purpose in her 
 face 
 And "touches up" the various belongings of the 
 
 place. 
 A red is on her shoulder where she slid her sleeve 
 
 on high, 
 A yellow on her temple where she tried to wipe her 
 
 eye; 
 The baby s face is waffled where it went against the 
 
 screen, 
 And papa s Sunday trousers have a seat of vivid 
 
 green, 
 But the woman with the pot o paint, unconscious of 
 
 her blame, 
 Still "touches up" the various belongings just the 
 
 same. 
 
 Not hers the languid landscape, or monotonous ma 
 rine, 
 
 Not hers the china set bedaubed with giddy gold 
 and green, 
 
 Not hers the "chrome" and "lake" from out a tube 
 of squeezy lead, 
 
 Upon a palette daubed and with a mouse s whisker 
 spread. 
 
 Nay, nay, the can of color of an honest primal hue, 
 
 And hers, the brush as spreading as a horse s tail or 
 two; 
 
 (148)
 
 .JOO-. 
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 Then pick her out a lonesome day and let her have 
 
 full swing, 
 And the woman with the paint-pot is the terror of 
 
 the spring. 
 
 O, Raphael was rapid and his genius was intense, 
 
 But he couldn t put more paint than could the 
 woman on a fence, 
 
 And cunning was the coloring of Titian and his 
 brush, 
 
 But the colors of the woman would have put him to 
 the blush. 
 
 Michael Angelo was noted for his daring, it is said, 
 
 But did he ever dare to paint a china door-knob red? 
 
 Bonheur could paint a powerful horse or gentle 
 manly cow, 
 
 But you ought to see the painted cat that s living 
 with us now! 
 
 (i49)
 
 b 
 
 V/,1 
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 
 BLACK AND TAN. 
 
 TWTISS Barbara Black, a waxen blond, 
 
 *** Bemoans her visage, pale and wanned, 
 
 And strives by every plan 
 To compass her supreme desire, 
 Seen in her struggles to acquire 
 A coat of richest tan. 
 
 Miss Lily White, a "bright brunette," 
 Disdains her locks of curly jet 
 
 And African descent. 
 True happiness she may not reach, 
 Because her hue will never bleach, 
 
 Say ninety-five per cent. 
 
 Now, if some scientific crack 
 
 Could bleach Miss White and tan Miss Black, 
 
 His fame would surely shine. 
 But, oh! suppose the learned man 
 Should equalize their black and tan 
 
 And lose the color linel 
 
 (ISO) 

 
 THE SUPERIOR VIEW. 
 
 "\T ES, Plato s works were good, for he was clever 
 
 * in a way, 
 But they re hardly ever in the "six best sellers" of 
 
 to-day: 
 
 And Shakespeare had a certain popularity, no doubt, 
 But he hasn t published lately and I guess he s 
 
 written out; 
 And as for Homer, really, don t you think he was a 
 
 sham? 
 Why, it s doubtful if he ever even wrote a telegram. 
 
 Yes, Alexander s armies showed a certain sort of 
 
 skill, 
 
 But his knowledge of artillery was pretty nearly nil. 
 Napoleon rode roughly over half a hemisphere, 
 But he never rode an auto in all of his career; 
 And Caesar was courageous in vicissitudes of war, 
 But he never had the fortitude to jump a trolley- 
 
 car. 
 
 Yes, Paginini knew the way to swing a fiddle bow, 
 But could he swing the voters of his precinct, do 
 
 you know? 
 
 And Raphael could color with a very pretty touch, 
 But his drawings never figured in the papers very 
 
 much, 
 
 USD
 
 And Phidias could build a Parthenon in stately 
 
 style, 
 But I d rather have my money in a modern office 
 
 pile. 
 
 Yes, Moses was a clever organizer for his date, 
 
 But he never tried to organize a steamship syndi 
 cate ; 
 
 And Socrates philosophy has been esteemed sub 
 lime, 
 
 But he never asked for numbers that were "busy" 
 all the time; 
 
 And as for Father Adam, why, whatever Eve would 
 bake, 
 
 He never dared to hint of things his mother used 
 to make! 
 
 (152)
 
 =00= 
 
 TO BE READ 
 
 THE ORGAN GRINDER. 
 
 TJT E stands outside my window in the street, 
 * * A humble minstrel of a dozen lays, 
 A memory of simpler, happier days. 
 Dear "Home, Sweet Home," and faithless Mar 
 guerite," 
 
 I did not know their music was so sweet; 
 The "Washerwoman" and the "Marsellaise," 
 I know not which should have my highest praise, 
 Their very crudeness makes them so complete. 
 
 Weary of Wagner and his turgid notes, 
 
 Of florid Verdi s acrobatic throats, 
 
 I revel in this arm-delivered air, 
 
 Which whips a score of years from out my sight, 
 
 Refills me with a bubbling boy s delight, 
 
 And leaves me scant of pennies and of care. 
 
 dS3) 
 
 tJ 
 
 4
 
 OLIVER HAZARD PERRY. 
 
 met the enemy and they are ours; 
 Two ships, two brigs, one schooner 
 
 and one sloop." 
 
 His words charge down the years a warlike group, 
 Grim, gallant, glorious! All the flowers 
 Matured by summer suns and autumn showers 
 We use to deck the memory of that group, 
 Born of the times when banners rise or droop 
 In the harsh conflict of contending powers. 
 
 But look thou, Perry! gallant man and true! 
 See st thou that smoke of commerce, not of war? 
 Rejoice with us that now no battles mar, 
 And now there is no work for thee to do; 
 No lookout s eye sights carnage from afar; 
 No dismal red is mixed with Erie s blue. 
 
 d54)
 
 RIMES TO BE 
 
 THE THIRTY-THIRD DEGREE. 
 
 TVTOW every thing that Russell did, he did his best 
 
 ^ to hasten 
 
 And one day he decided that he d like to be a 
 
 Mason. 
 But nothing else would suit him and nothing less 
 
 would please, 
 But he must take and all at once the thirty-three 
 
 degrees! 
 
 Well, he rode theoh, that is, he really I can t 
 
 tell. 
 You either mustn t know at all, or else know very 
 
 well. 
 He dived into well, never mind. It only need be 
 
 said 
 That somewhere in the last degree, poor Russell 
 
 dropped down dead! 
 
 They arrested all the Masons and they stayed in 
 
 durance vile. 
 Till the jury found them "Guilty" when the judge 
 
 said with a smile, 
 "I m forced to let the prisoners go, for I can find," 
 
 said he, 
 "No penalty for murder in the thirty-third degree!" 
 
 n 
 
 1 
 
 d55)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 OTTO AND THE AUTO. 
 
 >*"p IS strange how fashion makes us change the 
 
 objects we admire; 
 We used to sing the tireless steed, but now the 
 
 steedless tire. 
 
 So Otto bought an auto, so as not to be antique, 
 But the thing was autocratic, as well as automatic. 
 And the auto wouldn t auto as it ought to, so to 
 
 speak. 
 
 He thought to hire an auto-operator for the work, 
 And first he hired a circus-man and then he hired a 
 
 Turk, 
 For he knew the circus-man drove fifty horses with 
 
 success, 
 
 And if a man be shifty enough to manage fifty, 
 Tis palpable enough he ought to manage one 
 
 horse-less! 
 
 As for the Turk, tis also plain, deny it if you can, 
 He ought to run an auto, for a Turk s an Ottoman. 
 Twas all in vain; so Otto moved to Alabama, purely 
 That he might say, "I m Otto from Mobile, and my 
 
 motto: 
 A Mobile Otto ought to run an automobile 
 
 surely! "
 
 So Otto sought to auto on the auto as he ought to, 
 But the auto sought to auto as Otto never thought 
 
 to! 
 Then Otto he got hot, oh, very hot! as he ought 
 
 not to, 
 And Otto said: "This auto ought to auto and it s 
 
 got to!" 
 
 And Otto fought the auto and the auto it fought 
 
 Otto, 
 
 Till the auto also got too hot to auto as it ought to, 
 And then, Great Scott! that auto shot to heaven 
 
 so did Otto 
 Where Otto s auto autos now as Otto s auto ought 
 
 to. 
 
 d57)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ. 
 
 her 
 
 LENTEN PENITENCE. 
 (A la Mode.) 
 
 TN sack-cloth and ashes my lady prepares 
 * To repent of her sins and to murmur 
 
 prayers. 
 
 She is fond of her prayers, so her copies are bound 
 In harmony with her, however she s gowned, 
 For she holds her Creator should never be faced 
 Except in mauve prayers with a lavender waist. 
 
 In sack-cloth and ashes she ponders afresh 
 On methods of penance to punish the flesh; 
 And what though she choose, for her piety s sake, 
 The vicarious flesh of a porterhouse steak? 
 "O Lord, be Thou merciful unto a sinner" 
 Who has fasted for hours and is faint for her din 
 ner. 
 
 In sack-cloth and ashes, but if she prefer 
 
 That her sacque should be seal, should there be a 
 
 demur? 
 Prophet John wore a skin (and our climate is 
 
 colder) 
 Which draped from the loins, as hers drapes from 
 
 the shoulder. 
 
 And as for the ashes, well, they may be met 
 Where they dusted the fur from her last cigaret! 
 
 (158)
 
 RIMES TO BE READ 
 
 COMEDY OR TRAGEDY? 
 (The Coquette, loquitur.) 
 
 SAY I do not love you. I am gay 
 And with my laughter waft your vows away 
 For you, you say you love me, smile and sigh, 
 And fire me with the fervor of your eye. 
 Ah me, the pity of our mimic play! 
 If only either of us did not lie!
 
 MY LOVER SAYS. 
 
 TJE says I should not give a glance 
 
 ^ To other men 
 
 But tis no gift, for, by some chance, 
 
 I m sure to get one back again 
 
 Or two, or ten; 
 Besides, I only look to see 
 If any of them look at me. 
 
 He says I ought to see as through 
 
 My lover s eyes; 
 But I reply that so I do, 
 For where he looks there I look too; 
 
 For I am wise, 
 
 And know that he must look to see 
 If any of them look at me! 
 
 (160)
 
 / 
 
 \ 
 
 /"V 1 
 
 i\ 
 
 NOT A BIT SUPERSTITIOUS. 
 
 "JVTO, I am not superstitious. 
 A ^ I consider it pernicious, 
 If not absolutely vicious 
 In a man 
 
 To admit himself so small that he must scan 
 Every little sign and omen 
 As the menace of a foeman. 
 Still, I m free to say that Friday 
 Never, never would be my day 
 For a venture, for I m sure twould never hit, 
 Though I am not superstitious, not a bit. 
 
 Really, I ve no toleration 
 Of that nervous hesitation 
 And that irksome perturbation 
 
 Which I ve seen, 
 
 When a dinner-party chanced to be thirteen. 
 Why, I ve seen that arrant folly 
 Make a whole crowd melancholy, 
 With their whining and their flimsy, 
 Foolish reasons for the whimsey. 
 Still, I own I hate to be the last to sit. 
 Though I am not superstitious, not a bit. 
 
 Certain things may be propitious, 
 Though they seem but adventitious, 
 And it s hardly superstitious 
 To perceive 
 
 Which is which, and so, accordingly, believe. 
 (161)
 
 Now there s nothing makes me sadder 
 
 Than to walk beneath a ladder; 
 
 But I grow a good deal bolder 
 
 When the moon is at my shoulder. 
 
 And to spill the salt! It takes away my grit, 
 
 Though I am not superstitious, not a bit. 
 
 Surely nothing can be clearer 
 Than that evil marches nearer 
 At the breaking of a mirror, 
 And it s true 
 
 That a howling dog in night-time makes me blue, 
 For his keen scent makes no errors 
 And he smells the King of Terrors. 
 Here s another thing. Take heed, sir, 
 If your nose should start to bleed, sir, 
 And should only bleed three drops and then should 
 
 quit! 
 Though I am not superstitious, not a bit. 
 
 It is odd to see what uses 
 Some folks make of vain excuses 
 Rather than admit abuses 
 
 Of the mind, 
 
 When they re rather superstitiously inclined. 
 Just to put it in plain English; 
 It would seem they can t distinguish 
 Between false and foolish cases 
 And the few which have a basis 
 In experience, which even I admit, 
 Though I am not superstitious, not a whit! 
 (162)
 
 THE ARMIES OF THE CORN. 
 
 T3 ANK upon rank they stood, and row on row; 
 
 Plumed, tasseled, uniformed in green, 
 With rations in their knapsacked husks between 
 The myriad blades they brandished at the foe. 
 
 Long held the brave brigades and would not yield 
 Till shattered by the destiny of War. 
 Then (gallant tribute from the conqueror!) 
 
 They stacked their arms and tented on the field. 
 
 (163)
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Adam 74 
 
 After-Dinner Apology of Le Comte Crapaud. loa 
 
 Almost Up 5 g 
 
 Anarchist, The 20 
 
 An Unconventional Rustic 77 
 
 Armies of the Corn, The 163 
 
 At a Railroad Junction 146 
 
 Beast and His Burden, The 1 16 
 
 Before Playing Tinkertown 81 
 
 Black and Tan 150 
 
 But O, Boys, Know, Boys 125 
 
 But They Didn t 60 
 
 Comedy or Tragedy? 159 
 
 Connor McCarthy 30 
 
 Courtin Call, A in 
 
 Dat Gawgy Watahmillon 91 
 
 Dear Little Fool, The 120 
 
 Dear Mother Earth 135 
 
 De Goofeh-Jack y o 
 
 Domesticated Genius 139 
 
 Evolution 62 
 
 Fame and Fate 57 
 
 "Fin de Siecle" 67 
 
 Going Home to Mother 108 
 
 Grandmother s Song ug 
 
 Hero of the Hill, The 50 
 
 Hitch Behind, A 127 
 
 "Honor" 133 
 
 "I m Glad to See You" n 
 
 (165) 
 
 n 
 
 t
 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 In the Old Schoolhouse 54 
 
 Katie an Me 89 
 
 Labors of Hercules, The 41 
 
 Lenten Penitence 158 
 
 Little Saunter, A 84 
 
 Love of Country, The 143 
 
 Minor Role, The 122 
 
 Mule of Arkansas, A 115 
 
 My Lover Says 160 
 
 Nathan s Flat 93 
 
 Not a Bit Superstitious 161 
 
 Not a Coon-Song Coon 75 
 
 Old Man Knows, The 72 
 
 Oliver Hazard Perry 154 
 
 Organ Grinder, The 153 
 
 "Other One Was Booth, The" 105 
 
 Otto and the Auto 156 
 
 "Our Club" The Irish Member s Toast 97 
 
 "Our Ladies"- The Poet s Toast 99 
 
 Panacea 123 
 
 Priceless Paradise, A 1 18 
 
 Reformer, The 131 
 
 Revenge 86 
 
 Rip Van Winkle 112 
 
 Signs of the Zodiac, The 141 
 
 Story of Old Glory, The 15 
 
 Superior View, The 151 
 
 Thirty-third Degree, The 155 
 
 Unverstaendlich 87 
 
 Watchword, A 129 
 
 Woman with the Pot o Paint, The 148 
 
 Young Man Waited, The 38 
 
 (166)
 
 HERE ENDS "RIMES TO BE READ" 
 BY EDMUND VANCE COOKE: 
 PRINTED BY THE DODGE PUBLISHING 
 COMPANY IN THE CITY OF NEW YORK.
 
 41437
 
 A 000 671 719 3