2364- 
 
 1888 
 
 ITTLE BROTHR 
 OF THE RICH
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 A LITTLE 
 BROTHER OF THE RICH
 
 A LITTLE 
 BROTHER OF THE RICH 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY E. S. MARTIN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 MITCHELL & MILLER 
 
 23 WEST 231) STRKKT
 
 FLEMING- BREWJ-TER- & ALLEY 
 ^&PP R, I IS T E R ,5* "^&^>-0 
 31-33 West 23r-d /tr e et, 
 YO RKj
 
 PS 
 
 3 
 
 3 
 ISS8 
 
 flnscribefc 
 
 TO 
 
 THE EDITOR OF "THE SUN " 
 
 WITH THE 
 
 SOMEWHAT DISQUIETING CONSCIOUSNESS 
 
 THAT HE KNOWS POETRY 
 
 WHEN HE SEES IT 
 
 ROCHESTER, DEC., 1887 
 
 612781
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A LITTLE BROTHER OF THE RICH u 
 
 A MORTIFYING SUBJECT 36 
 
 A PHILADELPHIA CLAVERHOUSE 35 
 
 A PRACTICAL QUESTION 15 
 
 AGAIN 44 
 
 ALL OR NOTHING 39 
 
 AND WAS HE RIGHT? 24 
 
 ASHORE 17 
 
 AUTUMN 25 
 
 BALLADE OF THE GENERAL TERM 13 
 
 BARTER 19 
 
 BEGGARS' HORSES 20 
 
 CIVIL SERVICE 33 
 
 CRUMBS AND COMFORT 16 
 
 EPITHALAMIUM 41 
 
 ET Tu BERGHE ! 29 
 
 FOLGER 53 
 
 GRANT 54 
 
 HONI SOIT Oui MAL v PENSE 31 
 
 IN THE ELVSIAN FIELDS 28 
 
 INFIRM 15 
 
 INSOMNIA 14
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 LOCHINVAR EX-COLORADO 50 
 
 MEA CULPA 45 
 
 MIXED 38 
 
 OF MISTRESS MARTHA: HER EYES 22 
 
 PROCUL NEGOTIIS 40 
 
 REMORSE 30 
 
 THE BEST GIFT OF ALL 23 
 
 TO-DAY 21 
 
 To MABEL 48 
 
 TOUCHING BOTTOM 26 
 
 WHAT HE WANTS IN His 38
 
 A LITTLE BROTHER OF THE RICH. 
 
 TO put new shingles on old roofs ; 
 To give old women wadded skirts ; 
 To treat premonitory coughs 
 
 With seasonable flannel shirts ; 
 To soothe the stings of poverty 
 
 And keep the jackal from the door 
 These are the works that occupy 
 The Little Sister of the Poor. 
 
 She carries, everywhere she goes, 
 
 Kind words and chickens, jams and coals ; 
 Poultices for corporeal woes, 
 
 And sympathy for downcast souls ; 
 Her current jelly her quinine, 
 
 The lips of fever move to bless. 
 She makes the humble sick-room shine 
 
 With unaccustomed tidiness. 
 
 A heart of hers the instant twin 
 
 And vivid counterpart is mine ; 
 I also serve my fellow-men, 
 
 Though in a somewhat different line. 
 The Poor, and their concerns, she has 
 
 Monopolized, because of which 
 It falls to me to labor as 
 
 A Little Brother of the Rich.
 
 For their sake at no sacrifice 
 
 Does my devoted spirit quail ; 
 I give their horses exercise ; 
 
 As ballast on their yachts I sail. 
 Upon their Tally Ho's I ride 
 
 And brave the chances of a storm ; 
 I even use my own inside 
 
 To keep their wines and victuals warm. 
 
 Those whom we strive to benefit 
 
 Dear to our hearts soon grow to be ; 
 I love my Rich, and I admit 
 
 That they are very good to me. 
 Succor the Poor, my sisters, I, 
 
 While heaven shall still vouchsafe me health, 
 Will strive to share and mollify 
 
 The trials of abounding wealth. 
 
 12
 
 BALLADE OF THE GENERAL TERM. 
 
 EACH in his high official chair ; 
 One who presides ; two plain J. J. 
 Decent of mien and white of hair 
 They sit there judging all the day. 
 The gravity of what they say 
 Bent brows and sober tones confirm ; 
 Brown, Jones and Robinson are they, 
 Justices of the General Term. 
 
 I see the learned counsel there 
 Rise up and argue, move and pray ; 
 Attorneys with respectful air 
 Their legal acumen display. 
 Serenely joyous if they may 
 Of justice keep alive the germ ; 
 Motion and argument they weigh 
 Those justices of General Term.
 
 That court I haunt, not that I care 
 
 For Justice in a general way ; 
 
 Nor yet because I hope to share 
 
 With anyone a client's pay. 
 
 The reason why I there delay 
 
 And on the court's hard benches squirm 
 
 Is that of Love I am the prey 
 
 Her father is the General Term. 
 
 ENVOY. 
 
 I look at him with dire dismay 
 Scorched by his eye I seem a worm. 
 " Dismissed with costs," is what he'll say- 
 That Justice of the General Term. 
 
 INSOMNIA. 
 
 ~^ OME, vagrant sleep, and close the lid 
 -^ Upon the casket of my thought : 
 Come, truant, come when thou art bid, 
 And let thyself be caught. 
 
 For lonely is the night, and still ; 
 
 And save my own no breath I hear, 
 No other mind, no other will, 
 
 Nor heart nor hand is near. 
 
 Thy waywardness what prayer can move ! 
 
 Canst thou by any lure be brought ? 
 Or art thou then like woman's love 
 
 That only comes unsought ?
 
 INFIRM. 
 
 T WILL not go," he said, " for well 
 1 I know her eyes' insidious spell, 
 And how unspeakably he feels 
 Who takes no pleasure in his meals. 
 I know a one-idead man 
 Should undergo the social ban, 
 And if she once my purpose melts 
 I know I'll think of nothing else. 
 
 I care not though her teeth are pearls 
 The town is full of nicer girls ! 
 I care not though her lips are red 
 It does not do to lose one's head ! 
 I'll give her leisure to discover, 
 For once, how little I think of her ; 
 And then, how will she feel?" cried he- 
 And took his hat and went to see. 
 
 A PRACTICAL QUESTION. 
 
 DARKLY the humorist 
 Muses on fate; 
 Ghastly experiment 
 
 Life seems to him, 
 Subject for merriment 
 
 Sombre and grim ; 
 
 Is it his doom or is't 
 
 Something he ate ?
 
 CRUMBS AND COMFORT. 
 
 LET no man, irked by tedious fate, 
 The worth of victuals underrate ; 
 But thankful be if so he may 
 Environ three square meals a day ; 
 
 For, barring drink, there's naught so good, 
 Up to its limit's edge, as food. 
 
 Up to its limit ? Yes, but will 
 
 Food satisfy as well as fill ? 
 
 Hear humankind responsive groan 
 
 " Man cannot live by bread alone ! " 
 Oh, tell me, Sibyl, tell me whether 
 A man might live on bread together ! 
 
 16
 
 ASHORE. 
 
 Man's happiness depends upon the views 
 He takes of circumstances that he's in. 
 
 To some it is a greater joy to lose 
 Than it, to others, ever is to win. 
 
 SINCE our poor hopes, like vessels tempest tossed, 
 Are duly wrecked, and all illusion ceases ; 
 Now that the game is up, let's count the cost, 
 And estimate the value of the pieces. 
 
 And first, our heart : It was a flimsy thing 
 Already when we dared this last adventure ; 
 
 And if it's flimsy still Why, that should bring 
 No added liability to censure. 
 
 A serviceable organ is it still, 
 
 That does our turn in absence of a better ; 
 And very shortly, we believe, it will 
 
 As calmly thump as though we'd never met her. 
 
 If tissues are so delicately spun 
 
 As not to stand a reasonable racket, 
 Their anxious owner has as little fun 
 
 As Master Thomas in his Sunday jacket. 
 
 Give tender hearts to those who like that kind, 
 And gain in strength with every pang they suffer ; 
 
 We praise that sort, but with relief we find 
 
 That ours is tough and yearly growing tougher.
 
 Our head remains the same indifferent pate, 
 Guiltless alike of learning and of laurels. 
 
 We notice, though, with thankfulness, of late 
 A measure of improvement in our morals. 
 
 Our purse was always lean, so it amounts 
 To little that it yet remains depleted ; 
 
 Though florists' and confectioners' accounts 
 Are in, and payment of the same entreated. 
 
 We've lost a heap of time, but being rid 
 Of time, one always gets along without it. 
 
 Could we have spent it better than we did ? 
 Another might ; but, for ourself, we doubt it. 
 
 And we have learned nothing. We knew before 
 The folly and the vanity of wooing ; 
 
 And if we chose to try it still once more, 
 'Twas not to win, but simply to be doing. 
 
 It was not that we hoped to gain a heart ; 
 
 That that were vain required no further proving. 
 It only meant that souls that live apart 
 
 Yield sometimes to the human need of loving. 
 
 Is this the last ? While yet his garments drip 
 The stranded mariner forgets his pain, 
 
 And rescuing the remnants of his ship, 
 Already plans to make them float again. 
 
 18
 
 BARTER. 
 
 YES, there's a hole ; you needn't be 
 At pains to point it out to me : 
 
 I know it. 
 
 I do not claim the piece is whole, 
 Or that its yard of width is full : 
 I merely show it. 
 
 Fast color ? Do I really think 
 That being soaked it will not shrink 
 
 When dried ? 
 
 Now that I've got it off the shelf, 
 You'd better test the dyes yourself, 
 
 And so decide. 
 
 Cotton ? I dare surmise it's full 
 
 Of threads that one might wish were wool, 
 
 If wishing did it. 
 
 Look sharp ; but if through being blind 
 Some flaw or fault you fail to find, 
 
 Don't say I hid it. 
 
 The price is high. You think it so ? 
 Well, this is not, I'd have you know, 
 
 A bankrupt sale. 
 
 These wares of mine if you despise, 
 Some other dealer's merchandise 
 May find more favor in your eyes ; 
 To hold mine over for a rise 
 
 I shall not fail. 
 
 1 9
 
 BEGGARS' HORSES. 
 
 1WISH that altitude of tone, 
 The waistband's due expansion, 
 The faculty to hold one's own 
 In this and t'other mansion ; 
 And shirts and shoes and moral force, 
 
 Topcoats and overgaiters, 
 Were things that always came of course 
 To philosophic waiters. 
 
 I wish that not by twos and threes, 
 
 In squads and plural numbers, 
 Young women would destroy one's ease 
 
 Of mind and rout one's slumbers ; 
 But that if by a poor heart's squirms 
 
 Their pleasures know accession, 
 They'd hold it for successive terms 
 
 In several possession. 
 
 I wish I had been changed at birth, 
 
 And in my place maturing 
 Some infant of surpassing worth, 
 
 Industrious past curing, 
 Had grown up subject to my share 
 
 In Father Adam's blunder, 
 And left me free to pile up care 
 
 For him to stagger under.
 
 I wish that some things could be had 
 
 Without foregoing others ; 
 That all the joys that are not bad 
 
 Were not weighed down with bothers. 
 We can but wonder as we test 
 
 The scheme of compensations, 
 Is happiness with drawbacks best, 
 
 Or grief with consolations. 
 
 TO-DAY. 
 
 SEE that what burdens Heaven may lay 
 Upon your shrinking neck to day, 
 
 To-day you bear ; 
 
 Nor seek to shun their weary weight, 
 Nor, bowed with dread, anticipate 
 To-morrow's care. 
 
 Not with too great a load shall Fate, 
 That knows the end, your shoulders freight 
 
 Or heart oppress ; 
 If but to-day's appointed work 
 You grapple with, nor wish to shirk 
 
 Its due distress. 
 
 The coward heart that turns away 
 From present tasks, with justice may 
 
 Forebodings fill. 
 
 Fools try to quaff to-morrow's wine ; 
 As though to-morrow's sun could shine 
 
 Unrisen still.
 
 OF MISTRESS MARTHA: HER EYES. 
 
 TRANSFIXED and spitted in my heart 
 By Mistress Martha's eyes, their dart, 
 Which has within me raised a great 
 Commotion and uneasy state. 
 
 Or are they black or are they blue 
 I know not any more than you, 
 Nor could I for a wager say 
 If they be hazel, brown or gray. 
 
 But when it comes to diagnosis 
 Of what the outcome of their use is, 
 Full, comprehensive and exact 
 Is my conception of the fact. 
 
 When first their witchery has begun 
 You might be saved if you would run ; 
 But who would look for cause for fear 
 In depths so limpid, calm and clear. 
 Too soon, poor fool, you find you've stayed 
 Till it's too late to be afraid. 
 
 Alas for him who thus misreckons 
 For friendly lights mistaking beacons. 
 Better it were if he had found 
 Clarence, his fate, in Malmsey drowned, 
 Than Mistress, in thine eyes to sink, 
 Nor make a tear o'erflow its brink.
 
 THE BEST GIFT OF ALL. 
 
 ONE-AND-TWENTY, one-and-twenty, 
 Youth and beauty, lovers plenty ; 
 Health and riches, ease and leisure, 
 Work to give a zest to pleasure ; 
 What can a maid so lucky lack? 
 What can I wish that Fate holds back ? 
 
 Youth will fade and beauty wanes ; 
 Lovers, flouted, break their chains. 
 Health may fail and wealth may fly you, 
 Pleasures cease to satisfy you ; 
 Almost everything that brings 
 Happiness is born with wings. 
 
 This I wish you this is best : 
 Love that can endure the test ; 
 Love surviving youth and beauty, 
 Love that blends with homely duty, 
 Love that's gentle, love that's true, 
 Love that's constant wish I you. 
 
 Still unsatisfied she lives 
 
 Who for gold mere silver gives. 
 
 One more joy I wish you yet, 
 
 To give as much love as you get. 
 
 Grant you, heaven, this to do, 
 
 To love him best who best loves you. 
 
 2 3
 
 AND WAS HE RIGHT? 
 
 I'M going to marry not you," she said, 
 1 " But a better fellow in your stead. 
 You're not so bad not bad at all ; 
 I'd like to keep you within my call, 
 But not to take you for good and all. 
 I'm going to live on yonder street ; 
 Do you live near me," she said ; " so sweet 
 As I'll be to you whenever we meet ! 
 And in my house there'll be a seat 
 Where you can sit and warm your feet, 
 And your contentment shall be complete 
 Come ! Isn't it a divine conceit? " 
 
 She said. 
 
 Softly his breast a sigh set free : 
 He said, " Dear Heart, it may not be 
 Not for the perfume of the rose 
 Would I live near to where it grows. 
 If not for me the bud has blown, 
 I'd rather leave the flower alone ; 
 Who by the bush sits down forlorn 
 Is only fit to feel the thorn." 
 
 He said.
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 1HAVE sundry queer sensations 
 When the year gets round to Autumn. 
 What they are, and how I caught 'em 
 
 Is obscure, but they are there 
 Certain gay exhilarations 
 
 Half-and-half, as Bass with Guinness, 
 With a sad what-might-have-been-ness 
 In the brisk September air. 
 
 Back come hopes and young ambitions 
 With the golden-rod and sumach, 
 But impregnated with true Mach 
 iavellian despair. 
 
 Taking note of changed conditions ; 
 Weighing powers with limitations ! 
 Facts with futile aspirations 
 Born of bracing autumn air. 
 
 Now I see myself grown famous, 
 Bold of voice and free of gesture, 
 Grave, superb, of stunning vesture 
 Flood with eloquence the court. 
 Soon ascends my Gaudeamus 
 As I realize there aren't 
 Any facts that seem to warrant 
 Premonitions of that sort. 
 
 2 5
 
 Welcome each hallucination : 
 Welcome, none the less, discerning 
 Common sense in time returning 
 
 To obliterate the spell. 
 As a means of elevation 
 As a sort of moral derrick 
 This autumnal, atmospheric 
 Spirit-hoister bears the bell. 
 
 TOUCHING BOTTOM. 
 
 1 THINK that I have somewhere read 
 About a man whose foolish head, 
 By mischievous intention led, 
 
 A sprite 
 
 Had with an ass's visage decked, 
 That all who met him might detect 
 His intellectual defect 
 
 At sight 
 
 The trite remark of man and book 
 That many men are men in look, 
 But donkeys really, thus the spook 
 
 Reversed ; 
 
 The victim of the imp's design 
 Had such a head as yours or mine, 
 Although in aspect asinine 
 
 At first. 
 
 26
 
 But Love I think the story ran 
 Was proof against the fairy's plan, 
 Discerning through the mask the man, 
 
 Perhaps ; 
 
 Or, is it true that women try, 
 But very faintly, to descry 
 Long ears on heads that occupy 
 
 Their laps ! 
 
 I know a youth whose fancy gropes 
 For headgear finer than the Pope's, 
 So him his bright and treacherous hopes 
 
 Delude ; 
 
 But, in the mirror of his fears, 
 When this too sanguine person peers, 
 Alas ! behold the jackass ears 
 
 Protrude ! 
 
 Titania, mine, if I could find 
 
 You always to my follies blind, 
 
 So great content would rule my mind 
 
 Within, 
 
 That even though myself aware 
 Of pointed ears adorned with hair, 
 I do not think that I would care 
 
 A pin.
 
 w 
 
 IN THE ELYSIAN FIELDS. 
 
 HAT ? You here ! Why, old man, I never 
 
 Felt more surprise or more delight ; 
 Who would have dreamt that you would ever 
 
 Parade around in robes of white ? 
 I always thought of you as dodging 
 
 The coals and firebrands somewhere else ; 
 And here you are, with board and lodging, 
 Where not so much as butter melts. 
 
 Well, well, old man, if you can stand it 
 
 Up here, I'll never make a fuss ; 
 I had forebodings that they'd planned it 
 
 A little stiff for men like us. 
 The boys were much cut up about you, 
 
 You got away so very quick ; 
 And, as for me, to do without you 
 
 Just absolutely made me sick. 
 
 I wish you could have seen us plant you ; 
 
 Why, every man squeezed out a tear, 
 And just imagine us, now, can't you ? 
 
 The gang, and yours the only bier. 
 Fred hammered out some bully verses ; 
 
 We had them printed in the sheet, 
 With lines funereal as hearses 
 
 Around them didn't it look sweet ! 
 
 Halloo ! is that Sir Walter Raleigh? 
 I wish you'd point the people out ; 
 
 I want to look at Tom Macaulay ; 
 Is Makepeace anywhere about ? 
 
 28
 
 Where's Socrates ? Where's Sydney Carton ?- 
 
 Oh, I forgot he was a myth ; 
 If there's a thing I've set my heart on 
 
 It is to play with Sidney Smith. 
 
 What ? Glad I came ? I am for certain ; 
 
 The other's a malarious hole. 
 I always pined to draw the curtain, 
 
 And somehow knew I had a soul. 
 The flesh oh, wasn't it a fetter ! 
 
 You'd get so tired of all your schemes ; 
 But here, I think, I'll like it better. 
 
 Oh dear, how natural it seems ! 
 
 ET TU, BERGHE! 
 
 AND art thou, Bergh, so firmly set 
 Against domestic strife, 
 As to correct with stripes the man 
 Who disciplines his wife ? 
 
 Such action doth not of thy creed 
 
 Appear the normal fruit ; 
 Thou shouldst befriend a being who 
 
 Behaves so like a brute ! 
 
 29
 
 REMORSE. 
 
 v^-c^-v^^ ^ 1 l^^..^~?r--:i.-^K ' 
 
 MY spirit sits in ashes, heaping dust upon its head ; 
 I've said a silly thing, and now it cannot be unsaid. 
 What boots it that to only two the wretched truth is known, 
 If of the conscious pair who know it I myself am one ? 
 
 I have my doubts more doubts the more I think of what I said 
 If, really, half a loaf is so much better than no bread ; 
 For if a person is an ass, and duly bound to show it, 
 Cold comfort 'tis that he should have just sense enough to 
 know it. 
 
 30
 
 HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE. 
 
 IT was my happy lot to meet 
 Upon a late occasion, 
 While seeking of the summer's heat 
 
 Agreeable evasion, 
 By visiting at a resort 
 
 Of fashion where, no matter 
 A maid whom there was none to court. 
 And very few to flatter. 
 
 Her head had not the graceful poise 
 
 Of Aphrodite's statue ; 
 Her hair reminded you of boys ; 
 
 Her nose was pointed at you. 
 A Derby hat, the selfsame sort 
 
 The fashionable male owes 
 Money for, she used to sport 
 
 As angels do their haloes. 
 
 She seldom walked in silk attire, 
 
 But commonly in flannel ; 
 Nor yet in oils did she aspire 
 
 To figure on a panel ; 
 Because she could not help but see 
 
 She was not tall, nor slender ; 
 Nor did she deem her curves to be 
 
 Superlatively tender. 
 
 Some prudish dames did her abuse 
 With censure fierce and scathing ; 
 
 Because she, happening to lose 
 Her stocking while in bathing ;
 
 Deemed such a loss of little note. 
 
 And simply tied the plagued 
 Stocking around her little throat 
 
 And reappeared barelegged. 
 
 I do not think that for the pelf 
 
 Of eligible boobies, 
 Or for the chance to deck herself 
 
 With diamonds and rubies, 
 Or for her standing in the books 
 
 Of prim and proper ladies, 
 Or for their disapproving looks, 
 
 She cared a hoot from Hades. 
 
 Though competent to hold her tongue, 
 
 When circumstance demanded 
 Speech, she was, for one so young, 
 
 Astonishingly candid. 
 She sang the vulgarest of songs, 
 
 Which sung by her were funny, 
 And never brooded o'er her wrongs 
 
 Nor hoarded up her money. 
 
 'Tis true this careless damsel's fame 
 
 At last grew somewhat shady ; 
 But if the man disposed to name 
 
 Her fast, or not a lady, 
 Will in the present writer's way 
 
 Considerately toddle, 
 This writer thinks that person may 
 
 Get punched upon his noddle.
 
 CIVIL SERVICE. 
 
 ON Pennsylvania avenue 
 He stood and waited for a car ; 
 He turned to catch a parting view 
 
 Of where the Public Buildings are : 
 He looked at them with thoughtful eye ; 
 
 He took his hat from off his head ; 
 He heaved a half-regretful sigh, 
 And thus he said : 
 
 " My relative, I do the bidding 
 
 Of Fate, and say to thee good-bye. 
 I think thee fortunate at ridding 
 
 Thyself of such a clerk as I. 
 Thy sure support, though somewhat meagre, 
 
 Hath much about it to commend ; 
 Nor am I now so passing eager 
 
 To leave so provident a friend. 
 
 Light was thy yoke could I have borne it 
 
 With tranquil mind and step sedate ; 
 Why did my feeble shoulders scorn it 
 
 And seem to crave a heavier weight ? 
 Extremely blest is his condition 
 
 Whose needs thy bounteous hands supply, 
 If he but fling away ambition 
 
 And let the world go rushing by. 
 
 Indocilis pauperiem pati, 
 
 I must get out of this damp spot. 
 
 Away ! away ! Whatever fate I 
 May have in store, I fear it not. 
 
 33
 
 Away from all my soul despises, 
 
 From paltry aims, from sordid cares ; 
 
 Fame, honor, love, time's richest prizes, 
 Lie waiting for the man who dares. 
 
 The man who calls no man his master 
 
 Nor bows his head to tinsel gods ; 
 Who faces debt, disease, disaster, 
 
 And never murmurs at the odds ; 
 Although his life from its beginning 
 
 Marks only fall succeeding fall, 
 Let him fight on and trust to winning 
 
 In death the richest prize of all." 
 
 He jammed his hat down on his head, 
 He turned from where the Buildings are 
 
 Precipitately thence he fled, 
 And caught a passing car. 
 
 34
 
 A PHILADELPHIA CLAVERHOUSE. 
 
 TO the fathers in council 'twas Witherspoon spoke : 
 " Our best beloved dogmas we cannot revoke ; 
 God's infinite mercy let others record 
 And teach men to trust in their crucified Lord ; 
 The old superstitions let others dispel, 
 I feel it my duty to go in for Hell ! 
 
 Perdition is needful ; beyond any doubt 
 Hell fire is a thing that we can't do without. 
 The bottomless pit is our very best claim ; 
 To leave it unworked were a sin and a shame ; 
 We must keep it up, if we like it or not, 
 And make it eternal and make it red-hot. 
 
 To others the doctrine of love may be dear 
 
 I own I confide in the doctrine of fear ; 
 
 There's nothing, I think, so effective to make 
 
 Our weak fellow mortals their errors forsake, 
 
 As to tell them abruptly, with unchanging front, 
 
 ' You'll be damned if you do ! You'll be damned if you don't ! ' 
 
 Saltpetre and pitchforks, with brimstone and coals, 
 
 Are arguments suited to rescue men's souls. 
 
 A new generation forthwith must arise 
 
 With Beelzebub pictured before their young eyes ; 
 
 They'll be brave, they'll be true, they'll be gentle and kind, 
 
 Because they'll have Satan forever in mind." 
 
 35
 
 A MORTIFYING SUBJECT. 
 
 WHAT is to be, I do not know : 
 What is, I do esteem ^ 
 
 To be so undesirable 
 
 And worthless, that I deem 
 There must be something good in store, 
 
 Something to keep in view, 
 To compensate us living here, 
 For living as we do. 
 
 For life oh life, it seems a chore ! 
 
 Its surface is so blurred 
 By cares and passions, that it makes 
 
 One long to be interred ; 
 To occupy a tranquil spot 
 
 Some seven feet by two, 
 And just serenely lie and rot, 
 
 With nothing else to do. 
 
 I think that when there ceased to be 
 
 Sufficient tenement 
 To hold my conscience, then I would 
 
 Begin to be content. 
 And if I should be there to see 
 
 My stomach take its leave, 
 I'd gather up my mouldering shroud 
 
 And chuckle in my sleeve. 
 
 I think that when the greedy worm 
 
 Began upon my brains, 
 I'd wish him luck, and hope he'd get 
 
 His dinner for his pains.
 
 I'd warn him that they would be apt 
 
 With him to disagree, 
 For if they fed him well 'twere what 
 
 They seldom did for me. 
 
 But when I should be certain that 
 
 My scarred and battered heart 
 Was of my corporality 
 
 Not any more a part, 
 Though I'd no voice, I'd rattle in 
 
 My throat, with joyous tones ; 
 And with no feelings left, I would 
 
 Feel happy in my bones. 
 
 37
 
 WHAT HE WANTS IN HIS. 
 
 1DO not ask thee, Fate, to bake 
 For me so very large a cake ; 
 Choose thou the size but I entreat 
 That though but small, it shall be sweet. 
 Let those who like it have it, I 
 Feel no desire for sawdust pie. 
 
 I have no wail for all the years 
 
 I've lived on crusts washed down with tears. 
 
 If I must drain the bitter cup 
 
 As heretofore, why fill it up. 
 
 But when my cake, if ever, comes, 
 Vouchsafe it to me full of plums. 
 
 MIXED. 
 
 WITHIN my earthly temple there's a crowd. 
 There's one of us that's humble ; one that's proud. 
 There's one that's broken-hearted for his sins, 
 And one who, unrepentant, sits and grins. 
 There's one who loves his neighbor as himself, 
 And one who cares for naught but fame and pelf. 
 From much corroding care I would be free 
 If once I could determine which is me.
 
 ALL OR NOTHING. 
 
 HAPPY the man whose far remove 
 From business and the giddy throng 
 Fits him in the paternal groove 
 Unquestioning to glide along. 
 Apart from struggle and from strife, 
 
 Content to live by labor's fruits, 
 And wander down the vale of life 
 In gingham shirt and cowhide boots, 
 
 He too is blessed who, from within, 
 
 By strong and lasting impulse stirred, 
 Faces the turmoil and the din 
 
 Of rushing life ; whom hope deferred 
 But more incites ; who ever strives, 
 
 And wants, and works, and waits, until 
 The multitude of other lives 
 
 Pay glorious tribute to his will. 
 
 But he who, greedy of renown, 
 
 Is too tenacious of his ease, 
 Alas for him ! Nor busy town 
 
 Nor country with his mood agrees ; 
 Eager to reap, but loath to sow, 
 He longs monstrari digtto, 
 And looking on with envious eyes, 
 Lives restless and obscurely dies. 
 
 39
 
 PROCUL NEGOTIIS. 
 
 I THINK that if I had a farm, 
 I'd be a man of sense ; 
 And if the day was bright and warm 
 
 I'd sit upon the fence, 
 And calmly smoke a pensive pipe 
 
 And think about my pigs ; 
 And wonder if the corn was ripe ; 
 And counsel I'homme gut digs. 
 
 And if the day was wet and cold, 
 
 I think I should admire 
 To sit, and dawdle over old 
 
 Montaigne, before the fire ; 
 And pity boobies who could lie 
 
 And squabble just for pelf; 
 And thank my blessed stars that I 
 
 Was comfortable mvself. 
 
 40
 
 EPITHALAMIUM. 
 
 THE marriage bells have rung their peal, 
 The wedding march has told its story. 
 I've seen her at the altar kneel 
 
 In all her stainless, virgin glory ; 
 She's bound to honor, love, obey, 
 
 Come joy or sorrow, tears or laughter. 
 I watched her as she rode away 
 And flung the lucky slipper after. 
 
 She was my first, my very first, 
 
 My earliest inamorata, 
 And to the passion that I nursed 
 
 For her I well-nigh was a martyr. 
 For I was young and she was fair, 
 
 And always bright and gay and chipper, 
 And, oh, she wore such sunlit hair ! 
 
 Such silken stockings ! such a slipper ! 
 
 She did not wish to make me mourn 
 
 She was the kindest of God's creatures ; 
 But flirting was in her inborn, 
 
 Like brains and queerness in the Beechers. 
 I do not fear your heartless flirt, 
 
 Obtuse her dart and dull her probe is ; 
 But when girls do not mean to hurt, 
 
 But do -Orate tune pro nobis !
 
 A most romantic country place ; 
 
 The moon at full, the month of August ; 
 An inland lake across whose face 
 
 Played gentle zephyrs, ne'er a raw gust. 
 Books, boats and horses to enjoy, 
 
 The which was all our occupation ; 
 A damsel and a callow boy 
 
 There ! now you have the situation. 
 
 We rode together miles and miles, 
 
 My pupil she, and 1 her Chiron ; 
 At home I reveled in her smiles 
 
 And read her extracts out of Byron. 
 We roamed by moonlight, chose our stars 
 
 (I thought it most authentic billing), 
 Explored the woods, climbed over bars, 
 
 Smoked cigarettes and broke a shilling. 
 
 An infinitely blissful week 
 
 Went by in this Arcadian fashion ; 
 I hesitated long to speak, 
 
 But ultimately breathed my passion. 
 She said her heart was not her own ; 
 
 She said she'd love me like a sister ; 
 She cried a little (not alone), 
 
 I begged her not to fret, and kissed her. 
 
 I lost some sleep, some pounds in weight, 
 A deal of time and all my spirits, 
 
 And much, how much I dare not state 
 I mused upon that damsel's merits. 
 
 I tortured my unhappy soul, 
 I wished I never might recover; 
 
 42
 
 I hoped her marriage bells might toll 
 A requiem for her faithful lover. 
 
 And now she's married, now she wears 
 
 A wedding ring upon her finger ; 
 And I although it odd appears 
 
 Still in the flesh I seem to linger. 
 Lo, there my swallow-tail, and here 
 
 Lies by my side a wedding favor ; 
 Beside it stands a mug of beer, 
 
 I taste it how divine its flavor ! 
 
 I saw her in her bridal dress 
 
 Stand pure and lovely at the altar ; 
 I heard her firm response that "Yes," 
 
 Without a quiver or a falter. 
 And here I sit and drink to her 
 
 Long life and happiness, God bless her ! 
 Now fill again. No heel taps, sir ; 
 
 Here's to Success to her successor ! 
 
 43
 
 AGAIN. 
 
 1 WONDER why my brow is burning; 
 Why sleep, to close my eyes forgets ; 
 I wonder why I have a yearning 
 To smoke incessant cigarettes. 
 I wonder why my thoughts will wander, 
 
 And all restraint of mine defy, 
 And why excuse the rhyme a gander 
 Is not more of a goose than I. 
 
 I have an indistinct impression 
 
 I had these symptoms once before, 
 And dull discomfort held possession 
 
 Of this same spot that now is sore. 
 That sometime in a past that ranges 
 
 From early whiskers up to bibs, 
 My heart was ringing just such changes 
 
 As now against these selfsame ribs. 
 
 I wish some philanthropic Jenner 
 
 Might vaccinate against these ills, 
 And help us keep our noiseless tenor 
 
 Of life submissive to our wills ; 
 And ere our hearts are permeated 
 
 By sentiments too warm by half, 
 That we might be inoculated 
 
 With milder passion from a calf. 
 
 44
 
 MEA CULPA. 
 
 THERE is a thing which in my brain, 
 Though nightly I revolve it, 
 I cannot in the least explain, 
 Nor do I hope to solve it. 
 While others tread the narrow path 
 
 In manner meek and pious, 
 Why is it that my spirit hath 
 So opposite a bias ? 
 
 Brought up to fear the Lord, and dread 
 
 The bottomless abysm, 
 In Watt's hymns profoundly read 
 
 And drilled in catechism, 
 I should have been a model youth, 
 
 The pink of all that's proper. 
 I was not, but to tell the truth 
 I never cared a copper. 
 
 I had no yearnings when a boy 
 
 To sport an angel's wrapper, 
 Nor heard I with tumultuous joy 
 
 The church-frequenting clapper. 
 My actions always harmonized 
 
 With my own sweet volition. 
 I always did what I devised. 
 
 But rarely asked permission. 
 
 When o'er the holy book I'd pore 
 And read of doings pristine, 
 
 I had a fellow-feeling for 
 The put-upon Philistine. 
 
 45
 
 King David gratified my taste 
 He harped and danced boleros ; 
 
 But first the Prodigal was placed 
 Upon my list of heroes. 
 
 I went to school. To study ? No ! 
 
 I dearly loved to dally 
 And dawdle over Ivanhoe, 
 
 Tom Brown and Charles O'Malley ; 
 In recitation I was used 
 
 To halt on every sentence ; 
 Repenting, seldom I produced 
 
 Fruits proper for repentance. 
 
 At college, later, I became 
 
 Familiar with my Flaccus, 
 Brought incense to the Muses' flame, 
 
 And sacrificed to Bacchus. 
 I flourished in an air unfraught 
 
 With sanctity's aroma ; 
 Learned many things I was not taught, 
 
 And captured a diploma. 
 
 I am not well provided for, 
 
 I have no great possessions, 
 I do not like the legal or 
 
 Medicinal professions. 
 Were I of good repute, I might 
 
 Take orders as a deacon ; 
 But I'm no bright and shining light, 
 
 But just a warning beacon. 
 
 Though often urged by friends sincere 
 To woo some funded houri, 
 
 46
 
 I cannot read my title clear 
 
 To any damsel's dowry. 
 And could to wedlock I induce 
 
 An heiress, I should falter, 
 For fear that such a bridal noose 
 
 Might prove a gilded halter. 
 
 My tradesmen have suspicious grown, 
 
 My friends are tired of giving ; 
 Upon the cold, cold world I'm thrown 
 
 To hammer out my living. 
 I fear that work before me lies 
 
 Indeed, I see no option, 
 Unless, perhaps, I advertise' 
 
 " An orphan for adoption ! " 
 
 47
 
 TO MABEL. 
 
 UPON this anniversary, 
 My little godchild, aged three, 
 My compliments I make to thee, 
 
 Quite heedless. 
 
 And that you'll throw them now away, 
 But treasure them some future day, 
 Are platitudes, the which to say 
 Is needless. 
 
 You small, stout damsel, muckle mou'd, 
 With cropped tow-head and manners rude, 
 And stormy spirit unsubdued 
 
 By nurses. 
 
 Where you were raised was it in vogue 
 To lisp that Tipperary brogue? 
 Oh, you're a subject sweet, you rogue, 
 
 For verses ! 
 
 Last Sunday morning when we stayed 
 
 At home you got yourself arrayed 
 
 In Lyman's clothes and turned from maid 
 
 To urchin. 
 
 And when we all laughed at you so, 
 You eyed outside the falling snow, 
 And thought your rig quite fit to go 
 
 To church in. 
 
 48
 
 Play on, play on, dear little lass ! 
 Play on till sixteen summers pass, 
 And then I'll bring a looking-glass, 
 
 And there be- 
 Fore you on your lips I'll show 
 The curves of small Dan Cupid's bow, 
 And then the crop that now is " tow" 
 
 Shall " fair " be. 
 
 And then I'll show you, too, the charms 
 Of small firm hands and rounded arms, 
 And eyes whose flashes send alarms 
 
 Right through you ; 
 And then a half-regretful sigh 
 May break from me to think that I, 
 At forty years, can never try 
 
 To woo you. 
 
 What shall I wish you? Free from ruth, 
 To live and learn in love and truth, 
 Through childhood's day and days of youth, 
 
 And school's day. 
 For all the days that intervene 
 'Twixt Mab at three and at nineteen, 
 Are but one sombre or serene 
 
 All Fools' Dav. 
 
 49
 
 LOCHINVAR EX-COLORADO. 
 
 OH, the cow-puncher Budge has come in from the West 
 In all Colorado his ranch is the best ; 
 And, barring a toothbrush, he baggage had none, 
 For he came in some haste, and he came not for fun ; 
 Nor vigils nor gold to his quest doth he grudge 
 On an errand of love comes the cow-puncher Budge.
 
 A telegram reached him ; he called for a horse. 
 He rode ninety miles as a matter of course ; 
 The last twenty-seven he galloped, and then 
 Just caught the Atlantic Express at Cheyenne. 
 He stayed not to eat nor to drink, for he knew 
 He could pick up a meal on the C. B. & O. 
 
 He got to Chicago the second day out, 
 
 But right through Chicago he kept on his route, 
 
 Nor stayed to buy linen, not even a shirt ; 
 
 He liked flannel best and he didn't mind dirt. 
 
 With trousers tucked into his boots, said he " Fudge ! 
 
 Small odds if I get there," said bold Robert Budge. 
 
 From Worth, the Parisian of awful repute, 
 
 Had come divers gowns to Angelica Bute, 
 
 And parcels from Tiffany daily were stowed 
 
 Away in strong rooms of her father's abode ; 
 
 But she languished, nor heeded she hint, cough \>r nudge ; 
 
 She was bound to Fitz James, but she cottoned to Budge. 
 
 But hark ! 'Tis the door-bell ! a symptom of joy 
 Lights her eye " Ah ! at last ! " 'Tis a telegraph boy : 
 The maid brings a message ; she takes it, half dead 
 With mingled excitement, hope, eagerness dread : 
 "Mayor's house on Thursday, at nine; let me judge 
 What next ; only meet me there. 
 
 Faithfully, 
 
 Budge." 
 
 5 1
 
 On Thursday at nine, to the house of the Mayor, 
 
 Two persons came singly, but left it a pair. 
 
 A man and a bride in a traveling dress, 
 
 Went Westward at ten on the lightning express. 
 
 A wedding at Grace Church, which should have occurred 
 
 At twelve, was, for reasons not given, deferred. 
 
 The dowagers called it the greatest of shames. 
 
 The men said, " It's rough on that fellow Fitz James ; " 
 
 The damsels declared it was awfully nice, 
 
 And vowed they could do it and never think twice. 
 
 " It's a chore to get housemaids ; you may have to drudge 
 
 At the start ; but I love you," said cow-puncher Budge. 
 
 5 2
 
 FOLGER. 
 
 HE died in harness, like the brave 
 Old warrior he was, who dared 
 To lead a hopeless charge, nor spared 
 His strength, nor sought himself to save. 
 
 His learning freights the lawyer's shelf ; 
 Praise him who played so high a part ! 
 But honor more the loyal heart 
 That calmly sacrificed itself. 
 
 It is not ours to choose what prize 
 Our manhood's hopes shall satisfy ; 
 That we must leave to destiny, 
 And work out that which in us lies. 
 
 Content, if justly may be carved 
 Upon the slab our dust that guards, 
 Not a mere list of earth's rewards, 
 But nobler tribute, this : " He served ! " 
 
 53
 
 GRANT. 
 
 NO faultless man was he whose work is done. 
 It is not given men to be wholly wise, 
 Still shall our deeds be sometimes ill-advised, 
 While in our veins still human blood shall run. 
 But sundered States, now one again, attest 
 That what he gave his country was his best. 
 
 Spoiled of his fortune, rifled of his ease, 
 
 Above all ills his stubborn spirit rose. 
 
 Declining proffered affluence, he chose 
 
 Though wrung with pain and weakened by disease 
 That his own shoulders should support the weight 
 Of woe laid on them by ungentle fate. 
 
 The silent soldier ; not with fulsome gaud 
 
 May we oppress the chaplet that he wears. 
 
 Freed from his pain, nor hears he now, nor cares 
 
 If men his fame disparage or applaud. 
 Of his renown be this the mighty meed 
 He served his country in his country's need. 
 
 54
 
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