THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GIFT OF Carle ton Shay CITY LEGENDS BY WILL CARLETON AUTHOR OF "FARM BALLADS" "FARM LEGENDS" "FARM FESTIVALS" ETC. ILLUSTRATED NEW EDITION FROM NEW PLATES NEW YORK AND LONDON HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1889, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All rights reserved. Copyright, 1898, by HARPER & BROTHERS. ps Dedicated TO THE MEMORY OF "JUDDIE" 813764 PREFACE IT will be noticed that these Legends are di vided into seven different Chains. Whether the links of dialogue and interlude with which they are connected be gold, silver, or base metal, the author will not say he really does not pretend to know. Whether the pendants of poems that hang from them be diamonds, pearls, rubies, or worthless paste, how can he guarantee ? Liter ary jewelry (if poetry may be so called) depends largely for its value upon the eyes that gaze upon it and the hearts that wear it. The real preface to this book is formed by those which have preceded it from the same author ; a like purpose actuates them all. But he takes another opportunity to thank his large family of readers for their continued faithfulness and loy alty, and to assure them that he is still laboring to deserve their respect and affection. C. CONTENTS FIRST CHAIN Including, PAGE DIALOGUES 3 LEGEND SONG 4 THE SANDAL-MAKER OF BABYLON 9 FARMER STEBBINS TOBOGGANS 14 DIOGENES' DAUGHTER 20 FARMER STEBBINS AT THE BAT 26 DIONYSIUS' MIRROR 32 UNCLE NATE'S FUNERAL 37 SECOND CHAIN Including, DIALOGUES 43 THE HERO OF THE TOWER 49 A WOMAN'S DEVOTION ; OR, TRUE TO BROTHER SPEAR . 58 TWELVE O'CLOCK : A LEGEND OF BROOKLYN .... 62 THIRD CHAIN Including, DIALOGUES 73 HYMN OF THANKSGIVING 78 THE VOICE OF A STAR ; OR, THE FIRST CHRISTMAS EVE 80 THE OLD HYMN-BOOK 84 THE PASTOR'S FAREWELL 87 THE CONVICT'S CHRISTMAS EVE 90 Viii CONTENTS FOURTH CHAIN Including, PAGE PRELUDES 99 THE CAPTAIN is ASLEEP 101 THE VESTAL 104 SONG OF THE UNBUILT SHIP 106 THE SERPENT OF THE STILL 108 FIFTH CHAIN Including, DIALOGUES 113 THE NEGRO FUNERAL 115 THE FOUR TRAVELLERS 119 THE EARTHQUAKE PRAYER 123 SIXTH CHAIN Historical Drama. SCENE I. BENEDICT ARNOLD AT QUEBEC 131 SCENE II. AT PHILADELPHIA 134 SCENE III. NEAR LONDON 138 SEVENTH CHAIN Including, DIALOGUES 147 KIDNAPPED IN MERCY 153 LADY BOUNTIFUL'S TRIUMPH. . . , .160 ILLUSTRATIONS "INTO THE BAY THE GREAT, WIDE, WEALTH- FRINGED BAY " Frontispiece "THE KING WITH A HUMOROUS SENSE". . . . Facing p. IO " WITH SOBER FACE, BUT EYES UPON THE BROAD EST KIND OF GRIN" " 18 "SIR, I AM YOUR DAUGHTER, IF YOU PLEASE" . " 22 "PRODUCED AN UNFORESEEN RESULT .... " 30 "AND THEY HAVE SCAMPERED FAR AND NEAR". " 38 "TRUE TO BROTHER SPEAR 1 ' " 58 "... A FORM OR WAS HE DREAMING?" ... " 68 "AND O'ER THEIR SHOULDERS HIS ARMS HE THREW" " 88 "AN OPEN CHURCH DOOR SOME LOOK OF WEL COME WORE" " 94 "TENDER WORDS OF HIM ARE SAID" " IO2 "HE TWINES ABOUT HER TREMBLING LIFE" . . " IIO "AN' HE SAID, 'NOW DON' BE WEEPIN' FOR DIS PRETTY BIT O' CLAY'" ......... " Il6 "... WILL YOU REAP THIS FIELD OF GLORY?". " 132 "I HAVE NO FRIEND IN EARTH, OR HEAVEN, OR HELL" " 142 "THERE'S MANY A GREEN LITTLE GRASS-MOUND" " 152 CITY LEGENDS FIRST CHAIN CITY LEGENDS ffirst Chain SCENE, a Farm-house Parlor. Various delegates from six fami lies are present. Storm concert out in the darkness, and waves of snow drifting against the east windows. Large fireplace, full of forest-logs, gradually turning to flame-col ored gold. EDITH (a blue-eyed girl}. Tis Legend-night ; and all our club are here, Except the new school-master : who will come A little later. ISABEL (a black-eyed girt). For he told you so? EDITH (primly). He told us all so. While we wait for him, He said we should not merely wait, but work, And sing the Legend Song in our best style. HARRY (a tall young man). The one he taught you ? 4 CITY LEGENDS EDITH (tartly). One he taught us all. He shows no partiality in school. [Quiet, incredulous laughter. DAVID (a short, fat young man). Allow me, Edith, since he is not here, To lead you to the organ fearlessly. [Ripples of restrained laughter. All sing. LEGEND SONG Dreamy legends of the past, Sombre-hued or pleasant, Though by sun or cloud o'ercast, You display the present ! And the future you can see, For what was, again shall be ; Shadows far ahead you cast, Dreamy legends of the past ! ii Stirring legends of to-day, Draped in modern dresses, How you light the darksome way Of the past recesses ! Showing, as the age goes on, What men were in days agone ; FIRST CHAIN 5 For, with inconsistence strange, Times may change, but never change. A knock at the outer door. Enter SCHOOL-MASTER, well covered with snow. All spring to meet him except EDITH, who remains at the organ, studying the music. SCHOOL - MASTER (to the others, after glancing at EDITH). Well, here I come ; still in the human form, Half-victim of a nineteenth-century blizzard ; Yet wholly pleased ; because you have agreed That one night in the week you will devote To legends of the present and the past, Dropping those games, whose names I now forget DAVID (the fat young man, eagerly). Snap up and catch 'em, Charley can't catch me, Green grow the rushes, Oats peas beans and barley, Threading the needle, Jack-straws, blind-man's-buff, Going to Rome All the girls. Enough ! enough ! the Legends ! Enter some OLDER PEOPLE, timidly, and are given chairs by MABEL, a brown-eyed girl, and others. One of the OLDER PEOPLE. Are we admitted to the company ? SCHOOL-MASTER. This is a game that every age can play. Now first let us go back to ancient times : 6 CITY LEGENDS To some of those old cities of the past ; Those killed and buried cities of the past, And yet which live, as truly now as then. Squire STOUT (a florid, middle-aged man). I've seen the pictures of them ruined towns, But noticed nothin' much, excep', perhaps, Some stone-piles, ditches, heaps of earth, an' things That looked like broken steeples out o' churches. SCHOOL-MASTER. And yet they live those cities of the past: They were not burned nor were they beaten down By the iron shoes of conquest ; lightning broke From its black floating jail of clouds, and dealt Hot, glistening blows upon them ; earthquakes came, And shook them by the throat ; tornadoes rushed In loud, swift journeys, through the staggering streets, And crowded them with coffins ; rot and sloth, Corruption, Hate, Greed, War, and blear-eyed Lust Have been disastrous citizens; until The cities seemed to sink, corpse-like, in earth. And yet they live, old cities of the past. Squire STOUT. I s'pose perhaps that's true ; it sounds like print ; But I don't seem to catch the meaning on't. SCHOOL-MASTER. Those walls and domes their people blindly built, Were naught except thin shells, round city-souls ; The mounds where we for treasures grope and search, Are cemeteries, holding their crushed bones. Two forms have all things; that which cannot live, And that which cannot die. FIRST CHAIN 7 Squire STOUT. Too deep for me. SCHOOL-MASTER. They live in many worlds. On History's plains, Their towers still camp beneath the bright - eyed sun. The student's lamp illumes their sombre streets, The architect is measuring up their walls, The merchant knows the tonnage of their ships, The history-general fights their battles o'er, The theologian trims their temple-fires, And delves among their creeds, both false and true ; Squire STOUT (aside). We did not hire the teacher, I'll be bound, To go round nights, and spout such stuff as this. SCHOOL-MASTER (continuing). They live among the hills of poesy. The artist throws their ancient colors on The hungry regions of his canvas page ; The weird romancer, with sharp-pointed pen That pricks the veins of human nature dry, Has brought them, in Imagination's ships, Real men and women, gathered from all lands And times and mingled by his wizard touch. The poet says that fancy, love, and hate, With kiss of velvet or with tread of iron, Once walked the pavement of those minds and hearts. Squire STOUT (aside). Oh, poetry be hanged : it never ploughed A field, or mowed an acre of marsh-grass. 8 SCHOOL-MASTER (continuing). Perhaps they are in Future-land ; where those Who lived in them a while, now live for aye. Perchance, among their memory-household wares, They bore away mind-pictures of the towns The old half-loved, half-hated towns of earth. Do they not often build, in that long dream- So vivid that it makes this fleet-paced life But half-rememberedseem itself a dream The cherished walls and towers of ancient times? Exiles from home, they drag home after them ; And in their memory the old cities live. Squire STOUT (aside, yawning). I'd drag myself home, if it wasn't so cold. SCHOOL-MASTER (continuing), Now tell us tales, old cities of the past ! Give us some stories of your short earth-life! Tell us some ancient legends, that may be Both like and unlike to the present days. Furnish some useful lesson, that The Past That famed professor of all sciences May teach us, from his century-woven chair ! Forth from the heaped -up mounds that mark the throne Where that great city-king called Babylon Reigned for a thousand years a spectre walks, Telling us many legends of old times ; And one of them breathes nineteenth-century air, Aided by one of us, who'll voice his story. HARRY (the tall young man) reads : FIRST CHAIN 9 THE SANDAL-MAKER OF BABYLON He was rather a picturesque old man, upon a pettily complex plan, With grim ability, never hid, to superintend what others did, And state an effort's race being run how things that were done should have been done. Naught e'er was made but he could tell how he could have made it twice as well ; Naught e'er destroyed but he would bet that he could have smashed it finer yet. And this erratum of mankind sat, all day, a moral and mental cat, And threw the claws of his intellect at every merit and defect, And into the palace and the cot, and into what men were and were not, And into the deeds they struggled through, and into the things they failed to do, Using the most uncalled - for cares with other people and their affairs, And viewed, with a supercilious smile, the work of the world ; and made, meanwhile, The poorest sandals under the sun the sandal-maker of Babylon. No one was ever, since earth began, religious enough to please this man; No one to the gods e'er bowed a knee, that could have done it so low as he ; IO CITY LEGENDS The tower of Belus itself, he thought, if men had builded it as they ought, Had been much pleasanter to the eye, and several hundred times as high. He knew just how it came to pass that Nebuchad nezzar was fed with grass; Could he have only had his way, the monarch's feed should have been of hay. In fact, no person, high or low, had fault to conceal or merit to show, But he could figure it to a notch, and hold it up for the world to watch. And yet, withal, his moral gait was that of a deep old reprobate, Full of fool-actions shrewdly done the sandal-maker of Babylon. No man was better able to tell how dead men might be living and well. He knew the parts of the human frame, and every organ he called by name ; A theory of his own had he that man wasn't made as he ought to be ; Could have creation by him been done, the job would have been a better one : No ill to mankind ever came but he had remedies for the same, But never a word about them said until the suffering man was dead. And yet, in spite of his mental wealth, he never had any kind of health ; FIRST CHAIN II The sickliest creature under the sun was the sandal- maker of Babylon. You'd think, to hear him talk, that he invented money itself. He'd see The gone - by chances of every trade how every bar gain should have been made ; He'd tell the rich why they were so ; the poor, why they were not ; could show How even the king's great national purse might have been managed better or worse ; Yet had he one financial lack : he might be kicked to Susa and back, And not a coin of any shape from his habiliments would escape : Wealth always had contrived to shun the sandal-maker of Babylon. But he began, unlucky elf, at criticising the king himself ; And so his head, as one might say, endangered even itself one day; For soon the king, with a humorous sense, requested of him an audience ; And said, " I have heard you cannot live beneath such government as I give : There's no necessity for the same, and no one but our selves to blame. So, sage of the lapstone, do not grieve : I will give you every chance to leave ; This gallows you shall be hanged upon, O sandal- maker of Babylon." 12 CITY LEGENDS The engine of death the old man scanned, and mur mured, in accents soft and bland, " Well, hang, if it does you any good ; but I want it expressly understood That were this gallows made by me, a deadlier weapon it would be. I go to the other world ; no doubt things over there need straightening out." The monarch laughed and lightly said, "You'd be a nuisance, alive or dead. Go back to your stall and pound away, and think your thinkings and say your say." "A foolish plan you have hit upon," said the sandal- maker of Babylon. And never again the old man stayed one happy day at his double trade ; " I do not like to retain my head by anybody's per mit," he said. " If king were I and I the king, I couldn't have spared him for anything." And slow and surely, day by day, he lost his vigor and pined away ; They found him lying dead alone sad sandal - maker of Babylon. And even now throughout this earth (I tell the story for what 'tis worth) They say his restless spirit runs, and makes its home with various ones. FIRST CHAIN 13 Few families are so happy they have not a visit from him some day; Few towns so blessed with fortune's smile that he doesn't live there for a while; He will find fault till earth is done crank sandal- maker of Babylon. Grandfather BELL (a tall, straight, well -aged gentle man). Just like the old school-master, George X. Jones, Down at the Corners. Elder STARR (a large man of middle age). Just like Old Deacon Growlett, in our church. Miss PRYDE (a tall, bright-eyed spinster). Just like old Miss Bakerre, the milliner. SCHOOL-MASTER (aside}. Just like my school director. \_Aloud] We come now (Since contrasts often light each other up) To present times, and one who lives to-day ; Whose nature is as clear as summer skies, And simple as a baby's ; but whose nerves So tremble with ambition, that he jumps From one scrape to another. We will have Read by Miss Mabel's clear and flute-like voice, EDITH (aside). Miss Mabel's clear and flute-like voice, indeed. SCHOOL-MASTER (continuing). A letter from our good and cumbrous friend, Old Farmer Stebbins; telling his mishaps In dealing with that modern city craze. The swift toboggan slide. 14 CITY LEGENDS MABEL reads : FARMER STEBBINS TOBOGGANS ROCHESTER, February 28 DEAR COUSIN JOHN: I got here safe, uncommonly alone, An' walked the streets in head-up style quite willin' to be known ; With all the triumph in my eyes of one who works an' waits, An' in my overcoat a pair of first-class roller skates; An', anxious out of glory's well a bucketful to drink, I never stopped until I reached that same old skating rink. For ever since the fearful night* I wrote about be fore I've swathed up safe an' practised sly upon my granary floor; I tumbled till it sagged the joists, but persevered an' beat, An' skated like a critter born with casters on its feet ; An' now I says, " These swells will learn what my best neighbors know That, when he all unwinds himself, Old Stebbins ain't so slow." * Referring to his troubles in the skating rink, detailed in "City Ballads," where may also be found others of Farmer Stebbins' adventures. FIRST CHAIN 15 But when I reached that festive place, 'twas locked up, I declare, An' everything was desolate-like, an' not a soul was there ! While on the door a brand-new sign said : " Stand up for the Right! Salvation Army holds this fort ! Prayer-meeting every night !" I asked where all the skaters was ; a passin' boy re plied, "Rink's bu'st; they're all a-takin' in the new toboggan- slide !" " Ah me !" I said ; " the same old game ! It's ' one go all go sheep !' " Then started off to find the place as fast as I could creep ; For, though I criticise my race, I can't help but be long; An' soon I found myself within the same old giddy throng. But now they played at down an' up, instead of roun' an' roun', An' skated somewhat like I did the night that I fell down. An* some was dressed in usual style the same as any one An' some had nightcaps, red an' blue, an' small bed- blankets on ; l6 CITY LEGENDS An' some rode head-first on their chins, an' some sat stiff an' still, An' 'twasn't unlike the good old times we used to ride down-hill. (But all through life I've noticed, 'mongst girls, women, boys, an' men This climbin' up to some large height, to be pushed down again !) As I thus mused, who should come up the easy, stair cased slopes, But my old young true treacherous friend, Miss Is'bel Sunnyhopes ! Who's got me into more small scrapes than any girl on earth, An' always helped me out again, with tender-seasoned mirth ; But everything looked safe-like as she fluttered to my side, And said, " My dear friend ! is it you ? do come and have a slide !" She borrowed from a smart young man a fellow that she knew A han'-sled with the runners gone just big enough for two ; They'd rode in partnership, it seems ; an' he gave up his place, With something that wasn't quite content upon his lengthenin' face; FIRST CHAIN 17 An' off we flew, with speed that shocked an' made me almost blind, Fast as that first tobogganer the foeman of man kind. We went straight down, an' clim' back safe; an' no mishap had known, If I had heard cold Reason say, " Let well enough alone." But Isabel's young fellow looked as sour as sour could be, An' just as if he'd like to make a mince -pie out of me ; An' so I says, "I'll lengthen still this young man's underlip," And turned to Isabel an' said, " Let's take another trip." The second ride I gave a glance at two small boards that lay On edge to keep us sliders in the straight an' narrow way ; My eyes was sort of misted like, I lost or lent my head, An' grabbed these boards, supposin' them a portion of the sled ; I stopped off ; an" the sleigh went on, an" left me, in a trice, A-hangin' there with nothin' much betwixt me an' the ice. l8 CITY LEGENDS "Hold on!" "Let go!" "Climb up!" "Slide down!" I heard the people roar: I didn't know which one not to do, an' so I tried all four. I kicked an' grabbed an' clim an' clawed, an' felt from foot to scalp As if I was in Switzerland a-hangin' to an Alp ; My skates hopped out an' skittered off like boys let clear of school (First time they'd ever run without an old bald-headed fool) ! My hat an' specs skipped clean away, as if they'd caught the craze, An' been a-longin' for this chance for several nights and days ; Three apples an' five doughnuts, an' a purchased bakery bun, All tried the new toboggan-slide, an' went down, one by one ; An' as for me as some girls say, in that " brook " song they sing, I " slipped an' slid an' gloomed an* glanced," an' grabbed at everything. An' finally I twisted round, head-foremost on my back, An' went down like a lightnin' train that's just run off the track, An' reached the bottom of the hill within a little while, Then rolled an' scooted somethin' like a quarter of a mile; WITH SOBER FACE, BUT EYES UPON THE BROADEST KIND OF GRIN " FIRST CHAIN 19 An' when I gathered up, unhurt, but awful unattired, I felt some like the waddin' of a shot-gun lately fired. Then Isabel came softly up, with Pity's soothin' charms, An' all of my lost property scooped in her han'some arms, An' re'lly hoped I wasn't hurt and handed me a pin With sober face, but eyes upon the broadest kind of grin; And then her fellow came, and made a show of help- in' me; But that 'ere underlip of his was short as short could be. An' then I turned, an' said " Good-bye " to all the peo ple round ; " My friends, I'm out of place again ; on more than slippery ground ! This goin' back upon their age is what no one should do; It's hard to play the fine young man an' be an old one too. Farewell to rinks an' slides while days aroun' me slip an' roll ! I'll spend the spare time after this on my immortal soul." DAVID (the short, fat young man). I'd like to know that Is'bel Sunnyhopes : I'll bet she's "up to snuff." 20 CITY LEGENDS ISABEL (the black-eyed girl, aside, sniffing, half scorn fully). Yes, just about. Mr. ILLS (an obese, elderly gentleman}. This Mr. Stebbins, I should calculate, Is just like old Tim^Gosport, on the hill. Mrs. ILLS (aside). He's just like you. SCHOOL-MASTER. Now we again will go Back till we reach the temple-guarded hills Of ancient Greece : Miss Edith here has found A legend of that old philosopher Diogenes, which she will read to us. EDITH (aside). Though not in Mabel's clear and flute-like voice. Reads : DIOGENES' DAUGHTER There is a legend that Diogenes, Old pachyderm, once, basking in the sun, Scolding the lazy, lying at his ease, And peddling wisdom-loaflets underdone, Saw suddenly a fair-haired maiden pass; And, his digestion being good that day, He took a new, strange fancy to the lass, And even followed her a little way, And asked her heart ; which she, with mind obtuse, Gave over to him, like a little goose. FIRST CHAIN 21 For even his grimness had a fascination ; And, though no ladies' man, yet he could fire The average female heart with admiration, Being so unlike what they should admire. And he had strong brain, and could " govern men," And hence win women ; and she had a pride To draw the glum old bachelor from his den, And be known as a famous person's bride; Besides, good women's hearts will often move With love for men they do not half approve. Whether she lived, there is no need to ask ; For he was soon a beastlier beast than ever, And growled at her full many a tasteless task, Beyond a woman's possible endeavor. He wanted her to share his tub with him ; To carry lanterns for him through the street, When, with dishonest eyes by pride made dim, He strove the unknown Honest Man to meet; And to agree, when that same man was found, To look the other way or on the ground. She died, and he, in first-class cynic style, Forgot her, with serene self-contemplation, Frowned at the world through his sardonic smile, And went on making rules for all creation ; Forgot the sweet girl baby that his wife Coaxed out of heaven and left on earth for him; And strangers had to feed her simple life, While he went on, keeping the world in trim. 22 CITY LEGENDS (He's not the last man who, to wail and preach, Has left his children in the devil's reach.) But she grew good and pure; and as a child Felt strangely drawn unto the strange old man Who walked the streets like to a brute half wild, Or sat majestic while his mean tongue ran ; But when she was eighteen she learned the truth ; And walked up to him with half-awkward ease, And with the blushing bashfulness of youth Said, "Sir, I am your daughter, if you please." And, his digestion being good that day, He let the pretty girl lead him away. She took him to her home a fairy bower She petted him, she groomed his crazy hair, She ruled him with her weak and tender power, She soothed out his belligerent despair; She brought real feeling to his numb old heart, She charmed him with her sweet and winsome glee, She gently pried his mental shell apart, And grasped the pearls that gave him agony ; While her friends said, " Just teach him common-sense, And we'll be glad to stand the whole expense." She made him see that life was something more Than crouching like a beast beneath the sun; He came to praise the dainty robes she wore, And have some care what he himself put on; He saw that honest goods, instead of pelf, Were symbols bright of industry and power ; SIR, I AM YOUR DAUGHTER, IF YOU PLEASE ' FIRST CHAIN 23 That there was something else besides one's self To fill the minutes of life's quick-spent hour; She made the sage less picturesque and keen, But several times as happy and as clean. And he was coming very fast to be A loving father full of thrift's strong charm ; Till one sad morn, his daughter, full of glee, Came to him with a young man arm-in-arm, And cheeks that blushed like pearl-white clouds ca ressing The warm, magnetic, love-charged sun above, And said, " O father ! give your god-strown blessing On him and me ! for, father, I'm in love!" While the young man, half earnest, half ashamed, Knelt with her for the blessing that she claimed. Diogenes was slightly thunderstruck ; And, his digestion being bad that day, He rose and howled, " Hot curses on the luck ! This selfish world runs all the self-same way ! You said you loved me, and I did not doubt ; Instead of which you take this homely chub, Admit him to your heart, and turn me out : Oh, never mind! I'll move back to the tub! Give me my lantern ! let me go ! I vow I'll search the world for honest women, now !" She twined her soft arms round his stubborn feet, She prayed him with her hands, her eyes, her lips; 24 CITY LEGENDS Strove the dear, dreadful exigence to meet, And show him that 'twas not a love-eclipse ; She said, " O father, know that you are still All the world to me ! but I have discovered Another world : I have two hearts to fill ; But I adore you more !" and then she hovered Deftly between the young man and the old, Who formed a contrast striking to behold. " Befriend me, O my father, for I need Much more now your protection ! I am just A poor, weak girl, whose only strength, indeed, Is all with others is her love and trust. I cannot live without you; this sweet man Has won my heart, but not away from yours ; He crowds me nearer to you ; 'tis the plan The gods have made ; 'tis why the race endures. The passion-waves that through me surge and dart Sink deeper still your love into my heart. " My love has not division, but increase ; O father, listen to me ! do not move Your cherished face away ; my life must cease, In this new life of love, without your love. For my sweet mother's sake whose heart stood still In its first glow of greeting for me listen ! Your form my woman's fancy yet shall fill ; Your dear eyes in my heart's eyes e'er shall glisten; And all I ask, father whom I adore, Is only just one husband, and no more !" FIRST CHAIN 2$ And here the legend stops ; I cannot prove How it turned out ; but if I judge aright, The mean old idiot trampled on her love With the iron shoes of jealousy and spite. At least I learn that he was every bit A cynic, at near eighty, when his dim Old soul left earth, which, though he hated it, He lived in longer than it wanted him. Like some to-day, he gave this world a curse, Because he could not have the universe. Grandmother SMITH (a sweet but hard-headed old lady). A mean, old, selfish, undeserving brute. Old Mr, ADAMS (EDITH'S father). Tis very strange that any man should step With his own selfish fancy, pride, or spleen, Betwixt his daughter and her happiness. SCHOOL-MASTER (aside, glancing at Mr. ADAMS and EDITH). Curious, indeed. These legends will not hit The targets they are aimed at. Oh, the coats The neatly fitted coats, that hang upon The hall-racks of man's nature, waiting long Waiting in vain for him to put them on ! [Aloud] Now, with renewed attention, let us hear Another of old Farmer Stebbins' wails, Uttered last summer, when that modern craze, Baseball, was driving all the nation wild. HARRY (the tall young man). Baseball! the king of all our manly sports! * 26 CITY LEGENDS ISABEL (the black-eyed girl). Baseball ! another man-made tournament, Where woman views the skill and strength of man. Squire STOUT. Baseball ! a mighty killin' waste o' time. Grandmother SMITH (the sweet but hard- headed old lady). Baseball ! the bosom friend of heart-disease And enemy of whole and shapely hands. HARRY (hastily concealing a damaged knuckle). Who reads the Stebbins letter? SCHOOL-MASTER. David, here. DAVID (the short, fat young man}. FARMER STEBBINS AT THE BAT BROOKLYN, July 5 DEAR BROTHER JOHN : We got here safe, my good old wife an' me, An' then I strolled out to the Park, to see what I could see. Some fellows there was playin' ball an' with a waggish smile One chap inquired of me if / wouldn't like to play a while ; For I'd made some remarks about the way the game was run, An' maybe I'd take hold, he said, an' show 'em how 'twas done. FIRST CHAIN VJ I used to play, some years ago, when youth still lin gered near, Before three hundred pounds of meat impaired my runnin' gear ; An' so I said, "All right, I'm in ; I'll give the ball a whack, For I don't like to have old age invite me to stan' back " ; An' then I spoke up to'm an' said, with quite a limber tongue, "I'll show you how we used to play when your old dads was young." " Of course you'll stan' up to the rules ?" the waggish chap inquired ; "An" will you pitch or catch?" Says I, "I'll catch, if so desired." An' then they brought a muzzle out an' strapped it to my head, To keep my mug from gettin' scraped by some one's bat, they said. But I didn't mind ; I says, " All right ; just trim me up complete, Providin' you don't tie no wires aroun' my hands nor feet." But when I caught their pesky ball, I yelled out with a groan, " Good sakes alive ! I didn't suppose you played it with a stone!" 28 CITY LEGENDS Then they all laughed, and says, " Of course this ain't no one-old-cat !" An' laughed again when I remarked, " I'm sensible of that; But when ive used to play baseball we wouldn't have thought 'twas smart To pelt each other with a chunk of old King Pharaoh's heart !" Then they all laughed again, an' said I'd better take the field ; An' I remarked, " I'm used to that " (a fact quite un concealed) ; An' so I toddled off, an' stood, without a word to say, Until " a hot ball," as they said, came boilin' down my way ; It landed somewhere on my frame, uncommon hard an' square, An' I laid down, reached up my han's, an' wildly clasped it there. An' then they laughed an' cheered, an' said I'd "caught it on the fly." " I caught it on my stomach, if I'm any judge," says I. An* then they laughed an' cheered some more, an' said, " Our side is in, An' it is our turn at the bat, an' your turn to begin." An' then I grasped the ball - club tight, an' says unto them all, " I'll show you how to treat a hard an' unregenerate ball." FIRST CHAIN 29 The fellow that propelled the thing wouldn't throw it square an' straight ; He'd give a sort of cow -like kick, an' pitch it like a quoit ; So when I struck, with my whole firm of muscle, brain, an' heart, The fierce blow found the ball an' club some several foot apart ; An' leanin' up, an' strikin' 'gainst the atmosphere in stead, Produced an unforeseen result, an' stood me on my head. " Strike one !" the fellow that they call the " emperor " loudly cried. "It's full as much as that," I says, a-perchin' on my side. " Play ball !" he shouted. An' I says, " It ain't so much like play As some things I have seen ; but then, no matter ; fire away !" An' so he fired; whereat the ball benumbed each fin- ger's-end, Then cuffed my sufferin' ears, like some enraged ma ternal friend. " Foul !" shouted loud the emperor, then, in accents loud an' high. " You're right again ; it's foul indeed, an' painful too," says I : 30 CITY LEGENDS An' then I thought, " I'll wipe that ball half-way out of existence, Or lay right down here an' expire, with mourners at a distance." An' straightenin' back, I gave the thing a self-benumb- in' blow, An' sent it wobblin' through the air; an' then they shouted, "Go!" Now I was kind of turned around 'bout where I might belong, An' nimble as an elephant, I struck my bearin's wrong ; I stood the emperor on his head, I run the catcher down, I barked my waggish friend's left shin, before he turned me roun' ; An' then he yelled, " Pick up your heels !" an' fool- bewildered quite, I stopped an' looked, an' said, " They're here ! I've got 'em on all right !" An' then they laughed an' cheered some more, an' said, "Go! make your base!" An' off I went, with quickened breath, an' heat - illu mined face; I gave no heed unto the world ; but, thunderin' straight ahead, Produced an earthquake in that Park by my resistless tread ; FIRST CHAIN 31 An' then I stubbed my off big toe, an' hadn't time to rise, An' rolled three-quarters of the way, to my base, and surprise. "Out on a fly!" the emperor says, a-brushin' off his sleeve. " Out on a bender, I should think," I says, prepared to leave ; "This game has too much earnestness to make it play for me ; It's full of hardship for to do, however nice to see. The easiest way to play baseball, is just to sit an' tell How things you never could have done could be done twice as well." Then Sister Is'bel Sunnyhopes, to my intense surprise, Drove up an' took me in, with tears an' laughter in her eyes : " Miss Isabel," I humbly said, " it always seems to me, The bigger fool I make myself, the more you're there to see. I'll furnish you with candy all the rest your nat'ral life, If you won't pick this picnic up, an' take it to my wife." SCHOOL-MASTER. I trust henceforth our good but green old friend May stay where balls will miss him. But one tale Reminds us of another (although how, I cannot quite explain ; we do not see 32 CITY LEGENDS All of the gold or leaden links that bind Our many thoughts together). I will read A legend of old Sicily's Syracuse. Reads : DIONYSIUS' MIRROR Old King Dionysius, insanely ambitious, Who stabled his prisoners en masse, And (their sufferings to hear) built a great prison-ear Thus embalming himself as an ass ; Contentless with hearing the words which, unfearing, His sufferers treated him to, And which, unrestrained, very likely contained More truth than he cared to pull through; Called up a magician, of high-born position, And said, with a cold, cruel grin, " Now build me a mirror, much stronger and clearer Than any that ever has been. Of methods make use, that will quick reproduce Every scene that its surface may hold ; The forms and the features of all of these creatures And all they have done, shall be told." This high-born magician, with skilful ambition (The world had its arts in those days, And "magic" is science concealed in appliance), Proceeded the mirror to raise. FIRST CHAIN 33 'Twas silver well burnished ; and silently furnished The pictures that came to its eyes ; And the place in a minute, to those who were in it, Seemed wondrously doubled in size. Its woes, too, were doubled ; and they who were troubled With sickness and hunger and pain, Felt needlessly shocked, and their sufferings mocked By a levity brutal and vain. Such infamous " mercies," they thanked with their curses ; Such " luxuries " wakened their ire ; Of the gods they implored that the king might be stored In a mirror-walled prison of fire. Slow or fleetly, at last, but a year had gone past, When a general order there came, That this wonderful mirror this optical sneerer Be moved from its rock-girded frame. The tablet of malice was borne to the palace, And met by the tyrant's best sneer, Who said to his court, " We will see, for our sport, What the rascals have done for a year." Then the noted magician, with skill and precision (For science was known in those days, And arts have been lost, as we know to our cost), Uncovered the view to their gaze. 3 34 CITY LEGENDS But a sight of such woe as may few ever know, Came forth on the silvery sheen ; Such terror-strewn languor, such pain-sharpened anger, Had ne'er in a palace been seen! No look of despair but displayed itself there; No sorrow but stepped out to view ; No terrible death but here drew its last breath ; No horror was ever more true. But each pain-harrowed face bent its look to one place ; All curses one way seemed to turn ; And the guests, past surprise, raised their horrified eyes, The cause of such hate to discern. Not yet. Twas not seen. But the silvery sheen Showed pictures more terribly new ; Fierce serpents untwined from the heart and the mind Of the wretches that crowded in view ; Black demons of hate crept like creatures of fate With tongues that were forked and red ; All crept to one place ; and the guests sought to trace Where 'twas that the reptiles had fled. Not yet. 'Twas not seen. But there came, sharp and keen, From above, blinding lightnings of wrath ; They swept down below, as to see the dread woe, Then flashed on the same upward path. FIRST CHAIN 35 " May the gods turn the luck of whomever that struck !" Said the guests, nearly frenzied with fear, As they gazed, full of dread, at the mystery o'erhead, To witness the victim appear. Not yet. From beneath living blades of the sheath Of Hades, thick padded with flame Rose devils of fire, half in sport, half in ire, And scowled at some object of shame. They motioned to him, with ape-grimaces grim, And meaningly pointed below, As to say, " 'Twill not be very long, ere you see What our grim hospitalities show." " Raise the screen ! raise the screen, and display the whole scene !" Said the tyrant, with half-trembling glee: " Let us view that unknown, with such hot curses strown ; Worst prisoner of all he must be !" The magician, fear-pale, slowly drew back the veil, And there, 'mid his palace's pelf, With his ear to The Ear, and his face white with fear, Was old Dionysius himself ! " Break the sorcerous liar ! Melt it up with white fire !" Yelled the tyrant, in frenzied dismay. It was done ; but still there, on the walls of the air, Came the picture, by night and by day. 36 CITY LEGENDS And no doubt when he stood 'mid the bad and the good, His lot for the future to draw, In the record of shame that was marked with his name, That scene of the mirror he saw. Squire STOUT. By George ! that never happened in this world. Grandmother SMITH. I think it is a sort of parable. SCHOOL-MASTER. Our deeds our thoughts our feelings all are cast In mirror-pictures, that shall never fade. Oft by Fate's touch oft'ner by our own acts The veil will rise, and show us what we are What we have been what we through self must be. And oft in pictures where we think to view Others well sketched, is our own image seen ! Squire STOUT (aside). We do not pay the teacher, I'll be bound, To loaf about and spout such stuff as this. Grandmother SMITH. Forgive me if I think the legends told Thus far have been somewhat unanimous Against old men whom, as a rule, I like (Perhaps because I liked them while still young). But will you hear a legend now, of one Who lived within the suburbs of a small Old inland city that I used to know, And who, I think, will preach that some old men Are kindly, generous, true, and sensible ? FIRST CHAIN 37 Reads : UNCLE NATE'S FUNERAL 'Twas not at all like those you see of ordinary men ; 'Twas such as never could occur, excepting now and then. For Uncle Nate had studied hard upon it, night and day, And planned it all while yet alive in his peculiar way. " I've managed other men's remains," he said, in quiet tone, "And now I'll make a first-class try to regulate my own." And so, a month before his death, he wrote the details down, For friends to print, when he was dead, and mail throughout the town. The paper said : " I've figured close, and done the best I knew, To have a good large funeral, when this shortish life was through ; I've thought about it night and day, I've brooded o'er the same, Until it almost seemed a task to wait until it came. Especially as my good wife has wandered on ahead, And all the children we possessed have many years been dead ; And now I'll tell you what I want my friends and foes to do I'm sorry that I can't be here to push the matter through : 38 CITY LEGENDS ar und il I'm jjoeh, ike, and am not used to riding round Brin dimb, ld Wag n> in ' Wl " Ch ^ ChMren used < Until I've taken on a drive full twenty at a time- far and ' and ^I would ,ike to have them eome, upon my burial WUh me ' a " d talk "=. "d sing along the "I wantmy Wend the minister-the best of preacher- but sVon -. n tw ' thstand ta all his eloquence fo 1 '" presse ^ Bible ' He did his "AND THEY HAVE SCAMPERED FAR AND NEAR" FIRST CHAIN 39 " And any one I've given help to comfort or to save Just bring a flower, or sprig of green, and throw it in the grave. Please have a pleasant, social time round the sub scriber's bier, And uo one but my enemies must shed a single tear. You simply say, ' Old Uncle Nate, whatever may befall, Is having probably to-day the best time of us all ! He's shaking hands, two at a clip, with several hun dred friends, And giving us who stay behind good gilt-edged rec ommends !' " They tried to follow all the rules that Uncle Nate laid down : When he was dead they came to him from every house in town. The children did their best to sing, but could not quite be heard ; The parson had a sermon there, but did not speak a word. Of course they buried him in flowers, and kissed him as he lay, For not a soul in all that town but he had helped some way ; But when they tried to mould his mound without the tear-drop's leaven, There rose loud sobs that Uncle Nate could almost hear in heaven. [Clock strikes twelve. Company rise and disperse in silence, for they all knew Uncle Nate. SECOND CHAIN Second Cbatn SCENE, the front parlor of a city residence. It is prettily and daintily furnished. Bows of ribbon adorn almost everything, excepting a young gentleman -who has called. Conspicuous among the pictures on the walls are those of a nice old lady and gentleman, -who look as if they might be the grandfather and grandmother of some young lady. Enter a young lady, seats herself at friendly but respectful distance from the young gentleman, and gazes at him doubtingly. ETHEL (the young lady). You say you love me ; but how do I know That all of the scattered words you send Bring truth with them ? the tongue may glow With thoughts that leap from a friend to a friend, Or fly with Fancy's mottled wing ; But Love, dear friend, is a sacred thing. Love is not tinsel, silver, or gold : It is a fragment of Heaven's own gate, Broken in halves by God's hand, Fate, And given two kindred spirits bold, Who would colonize in our Earth unknown : Tis whispered them, "You may be thrown 44 CITY LEGENDS Far apart; be passion-whirled To different sides of that dizzy world ; But search for each other, far and near, With a painful hope and a joyful fear. Search, through fair or stormy weather, Until the halves of this broken gem Cling and clasp and weld together, With the power that attracted them. Then shall be bartered Love's true token ; Then shall The Heart's Password be spoken." Dearest of comrades, how can I know That yours is the soul that is seeking mine, Until the gems to each other glow Until you speak the words divine? {The portrait of the young lady s grandmother upon the wall seems to smile approvingly at this speech ; that of her grandfather has a somewhat puzzled look. FlTZ CLINTONNE (the young man, bashfully, and some what awkwardly). Yes, you are right : my tongue is dull Words step slowly, and far apart ; Fogs float my small intellect full Creeping between the head and heart. Something thrusts from me, ever yet, Things that I do not want to say ; Something makes my tongue forget Gems I remember, when away. Several times I have had The Speech Close to my blind tongue's groping reach ; SECOND CHAIN 45 Several times my foremost word Stumbled against some small event, Mean, and pitiful, and absurd, As if by a mischief-bureau sent. [ The portrait of the young lady s grandmother on the wall seems to smile approvingly, with a half- triumphant expression ; that of the grandfather appears to put on a sympathiz ing look. FITZ CLINTONNE (continuing). That time in the shady, flower-breathed grove, Your hand on my arm, we slowly walked, My tongue of a sudden fell in love Cupid himself ! how I could have talked ! But ere the oration was half begun A cow broke through the confounded fences Charged on us with a swinging run ETHEL. Scared me half-way out of my senses FITZ CLINTONNE. And so the words my soul would say Were drowned in a loud, inglorious " Whey !" My word-supply-car jumped the track, In shunting that wretched milk-train back. One time we floated the marching lake They call a river the key was mine ! The billows of speech began to break They soon would have brought The Word divine 1 But an envious fish crept round our way The only one that we caught that day 4-6 CITY LEGENDS And nabbed your hook and my oration, Ere it was half begun, was o'er. ETHEL (animatedly). One of the beauties of creation ! Weighed ten pounds and a half, or more ! FITZ CLINTONNE. The fish, I suppose you mean. One eve, Just as the twilight prepared to leave, We sat and looked at a silver paring Called the new moon near a diamond-star Which the sweet blue-eyed sky was wearing. Words rushed straight to me, from afar ; Stopped at my heart, then sought the tongue ; Never such words were said or sung ! But o'er our veranda, just in time To wed the ridiculous and sublime, Crept a small mouse bright-eyed and fleet ETHEL. And I screamed like a pantheress, and jumped six feet ! [ The face of the grandfather on the wall actu ally seems to grin ; that of the grandmother lengthens in pictorial sympathetic fright, and her arms appear to stretch suddenly towards the lower folds of her dress. FITZ CLINTONNE (aside}. If I would not be left out of sight, An answer to-day I must insist on; For Fitz Cumlippitt is coming to-night, And he has a tongue like an engine-piston. SECOND CHAIN He will say so many soft words to 'er, The Password will be amongst them, sure ; At least, she will think it is O shade Of every talker that e'er was made, Of gossips, and lawyers, and auctioneers, Of orators, poets, and talking seers, Lend me your tongues or my murderers be ; For I shall die if she doesn't wed me ! [Aloud] Ethel, I love you. Let it suffice My words are earnest, if not o'er-nice. 'Mid all this centuiy's arts and shams, My love is as firm as HUCKSTER (in the street}. Soft- shell c-1-a-m-s! FITZ CLINTONNE (recovering). Fie on the villain ! Ethel, my heart Is yours forever; we must not part. Often my soul, in some lonely spot, Reaches for yours, and finds it not ; And breaks into still, tumultuous sobs Longing longing for HUCKSTER (in the street). Crabs an' 1-o-b-s L-o-b-s-t-e-r-s ! FITZ CLINTONNE (indignantly). Fie on the sordid wretch, Collapsing my speech, with his mouth astretch ! Ethel, I need, for my heart's repose VOICE (in the street). Cash fur ol' clo's ol' clo's, ol' c-1-o-o-s 47 48 CITY LEGENDS FITZ CLINTONNE (tenderly). If you will be my life-heart-friend, You shall have always VOICE (in the street). B-o-i-l-e-r-s to mend ! FITZ CLINTONNE (resolutely). You shall have always love and rest, Soothing you through life's varied scenes; Safe in our cosey, bright home-nest, We will e'er live on Female HUCKSTER (in street, shrilly, and in a tone of interrogation}. Fresh fresh g-r-e-e-n-s ! FITZ CLINTONNE (despairingly}. Ever 'tis thus. You see I may As well talk Greek, or Zulu, or Hindoo; Chaos intrudes, whatever I say. I will close my speech. ETHEL (smiling). Or, perhaps, the window. FITZ CLINTONNE (after obeying with alacrity). Ethel, I love you. My love is pure And fresh from the soul, and must endure. Its fountains shall never cease to flow ! ETHEL (positively). Oh, but men's love is never so ! FITZ CLINTONNE (solemnly). Ethel, have you one case in view, Where man to woman has proved untrue ? ETHEL (readily). Thousands and thousands and thousands ! no man Has walked the world since the world began, SECOND CHAIN 49 As true to the woman who loved him truly As she to him. FITZ CLINTONNE. You speak unduly. But list while I tell you, second-hand, What a young man in Austria-land Stood for the girl he loved. Tis fit To say that he stood, as you'll admit. [Draws a magazine from his pocket and pre pares to read. The young lady arranges a series of furtive yawns; the faces on the wall assume a look of stoical endurance. FITZ CLINTONNE reads : THE HERO OF THE TOWER Long time ago, when Austria was young, There came a herald to Vienna's gates, Bidding the city fling them open wide Upon a certain day; for then the king Would enter, with his shining retinue. Forthwith the busy streets were pleasure -paths; And that which seemed but now a field of toil, With weeds of turbulence and tricky greed, Flashed into gardens blooming full of flowers. Beauty blushed deeper, now the rising sun Of royalty upon it was to shine ; Wealth cast its nets of tinsel and of gold 4 $0 CITY LEGENDS To catch the kingly eye ; and wisdom merged Itself into the terms of an address, Which the old mayor sat up nights to learn. No maiden fluttered through the narrow streets That pondered not what ribbons she should wear; No window on the long procession's route But had its tenants long engaged ahead. But the old sexton of St. Joseph's Church Moped dull and sulky through the smiling crowd ; A blot upon the city's pleasure-page. " What runs wrong with you, uncle ?" was the cry ; " You, who have been the very youngest boy Of all the old men that the city had ; Who loved processions more than perquisites, And rolled a gala-day beneath your tongue: What rheumatism has turned that temper lame ? Speak up, and make your inward burden ours." The old man slowly walked until he came Unto the market-place ; then feebly stopped, As if to talk ; and a crowd gathered soon, As men will, when a man has things to say. And thus he spoke : " For fifty years and more I have been sexton of St. Joseph's Church ; St. Joseph's would have fared ill but for me. And though my friend the priest may smile at this, And wink at you an unbelieving eye, My office shines in heaven as well as his. Although it was not mine to make the church Godly, I kept it clean ; and that stands next. SECOND CHAIN 51 If I have broke one circle of my sphere, Let some one with straight finger trace it out. " And no procession, in these fifty years, Has marched the streets with aught like kingly tread, But on the summit of St. Joseph's spire I stood erect and waved a welcome-flag, With scanty resting-place beneath my feet, And the wild breezes clutching at my beard. It took some nerve to stand so near to heaven And fling abroad its colors. Try it, priest. " But I am old ; most of my manhood's fire Is choked in cold, white ashes; and my nerves Tremble in every zephyr like the leaves. What can I do? the flag must not be missed From the cathedral's summit ! I've no son, Or he should bear the banner, or my curse. I have a daughter ; she shall wave the flag ! " And this is how my child shall wave the flag. Ten suitors has she; and the valiant one Who, strong of heart and will, can climb that perch And do what I so many times have done, Shall take her hand from mine at his descent. Speak up, Vienna lads ! and recollect How much of loveliness faint heart e'er won." Then there was clamor in the callow breasts Of the Vienna youth; for she was far The sweetest blossom of that city's vines. 52 CITY LEGENDS Many a youngster's eye climbed furtively Where the frail spire-tip trembled in the breeze, Then wandered to the cot wherein she dwelt ; But none spoke up, till Gabriel Petersheim, Whose ear this proclamation strange had reached, Came rushing through the crowd, and boldly said : " I am your daughter's suitor, and the one She truly loves ; but scarce can gain a smile Until I win her father's heart as well ; And you, old man, have frowned on me, and said I was too young, too frivolous, too wild, And had not manhood worthy of her hand. Mark me to-morrow as I mount yon spire, And mention, when I bring the flag to you, Whether 'twas ever waved more gloriously." And thus the old man answered: "Climb your way; And if a senseful breeze should push you off, And break that raw and somewhat worthless neck, I could not greatly mourn ; but go your way, And you shall have the girl if you succeed." High on the giddy pinnacle, next day, Waited the youth ; but not till evening's sun Marched from the western gates, that tardy king Rode past the church. And though young Gabriel's nerves Were weakened by fatigue and want of food, He pleased the people's and the monarch's eye, And flashed a deeper thrill of love through one SECOND CHAIN 53 Who turned her sweet face often up to him, And whose true heart stood with him on the tower. Now, when the kingly pageant all had passed, He folded up the flag, and with proud smiles And prouder heart prepared him to descend. But the small trap-door through which he had crept Had by some rival's hand been barred ! and he, With but a hand-breadth's space where he might cling, Was left alone, to live there, or to die. Guessing the truth, or shadow of the truth, He smiled, at first, and said : " Well, let them voice Their jealousy by such a paltry trick ! They laugh an hour ; my laugh will longer be ! Their joke will soon be dead, and I released." But an hour, and two others, slowly came, And then he murmured, " This is no boy's sport ; It is a silent signal which means ' Death ' !" He shouted, but no answer came to him ; Not even an echo, on that lofty perch. He waved his hands in mute entreaty; but The darkness crept between him and his friends. A half-hour seemed an age, and still he clung. He looked down at the myriad city lights, Twinkling like stars upon a lowlier sky, And prayed ; " O blessed city of my birth ! In which full many I love, and one o'er-well, Or I should not be feebly clinging here, 54 CITY LEGENDS Is there not 'mongst those thousands one kind heart To help me? or must I come back to you Crashing my way through grim, untimely death ?" Rich sounds of mirth came faintly but no help. Another hour went by, and still he clung. He braced himself against the rising breeze, And wrapped the flag around his shivering form, And thus he prayed unto the merry winds : " O breeze ! you bear no tales of truer love Than I can give you at this lonely height! Tell but my danger to the heart I serve, And she will never rest till I am free !" The winds pressed hard against him as he clung, And wellnigh wrenched him from that scanty hold, But made no answer to his piteous plea. Hour after hour went by, and still he held Weak, dizzy, reeling to his narrow perch. It was a clear and queenly summer night ; And every star seemed hanging from the sky, As if 'twere bending down to look at him. And thus he prayed to the far-shining stars : " O million worlds, peopled perhaps like this, Can you not see me, clinging helpless here ? Can you not flash a message to some eye, Or throw your influence on some friendly brain To rescue me ?" A million sweet-eyed stars Gave smiles to the beseecher, but no help. SECOND CHAIN 55 And so the long procession of the night Marched slowly past, and each scarce hour was hailed By the great clock beneath ; and still he clung Unto the frail preserver of his life, And held, not for his life, but for his love. Held while the spiteful breezes wrenched at him ; Held while the chills of midnight crept through him ; While Hope and Fear made him their battle-ground, And ravaged fiercely through his heart and brain. He moaned, he wept, he prayed again ; he prayed Grown desperate and half raving in his woe To everything in earth, or air, or sky : To the fair streets, now still and silent grown ; To the cold roofs, now stretched 'twixt him and aid ; To the dumb, distant hills that heedless slept; To the white clouds that slowly fluttered past ; To his lost mother in the sky above ; And then he prayed to God. About that time, The maiden, who, half anxious and half piqued That her through all the evening he'd not sought, Had sunk into a restless, thorn-strown sleep, Dreamed that she saw her lover on the tower, Clinging for life; and with a scream uprose, And rushed to the old sexton's yielding door, Granting no peace to him until he ran To find the truth, and give the boy release. An hour ere sunrise he crept feebly down, Grasping the flag, and claiming his fair prize. 56 CITY LEGENDS But what a wreck to win a blooming girl ! His cheeks were wrinkled and of yellow hue ; His eyes were sunken ; and his curling hair Gleamed white as snow upon the distant Alps. But the young maiden clasped his weary head In her white arms, and soothed him like a child ; And said, "You lived a life of woe for me Up on the spire, and now look old enough Even to please my father; but soon I Will nurse you back into your youth again." And soon the tower bells sang his wedding song. The old-young man was happy; and they both, Cheered by the well-earned bounty of the king, Lived many years within Vienna's gates. [A brief interval of silence follows. The portraits of the old people on the wall seem to have awakened; their forms have the appearance of stretching, after a nice little nap. ETHEL looks dreamily out of the window, yawns in her eyes, at a flirta tion going on across the street. FITZ CLINTONNE. Was he not faithful ? answer me ! ETHEL. Yes, I confess; 'tis only fair To admit that a man will faithful be If placed on a tower and locked up there. SECOND CHAIN 57 FITZ CLINTONNE (thoughtfully, and aside). A turn of the story I didn't foresee. [Aloud] Ethel, I love you ! I am the youth Upon that tower ; and I wave, in truth, The banner of love ; for all can see, Who have much knowledge of you and me, My unhid passion! but far from reach You are locked away by my lack of speech. The walls of my reticence gloom about Ethel, for Heaven's sake, let me out ! I WILL break through, with Love's strong arts, And give you the password of our hearts ! The words are coming ! [An empty express wagon rushes like a peal of thun der along the street, shaking the house to its very foundations, and overwhelming all other sound. FITZ CLINTONNE sinks back in hopeless silence. ETHEL laughs drearily. The portraits on the wall vibrate, and a sealed envelope drops from the grandmother s picture almost as it might be from the venerable lady's pocket. Her face looks as if she were glad to get rid of it. ETHEL picks it up. ETHEL. Another poem, I do declare ! From a cousin I will not name ; Placed (the poem) within the frame, Just to help keep the canvas there. A maiden lady of certain age Thrilled with a mild poetic rage ; 58 CITY LEGENDS She sends us copies of every rhyme ; We do not open them half the time. [Breaks the en velope^ But this I will read. And you may know By the title why I do so. Reads : A WOMAN'S DEVOTION ; OR, TRUE TO BROTHER SPEAR I can't decide why Brother Spear Was never joined to me; It wasn't because the good old dear Hadn't every chance to be ! If Poetry remarked, one time, That " Womanhood is true," It's more than probable that I'm The one it had in view; For search the city, low and high, Inquire, both far and near, There's none will say but what that I Was true to Brother Spear! I mothered all his daughters when Their mamma's life cut short, Although they didn't now or then So much as thank me for't; I laughed down my interior rage, And said I didn't care, When his young son, of tender age, Reduced my surplus hair ; SECOND CHAIN 59 I called and called and called there; why He was not in, seemed queer ; The neighbors, even, owned that I Was true to Brother Spear! I hired a sitting in the church, Near him, but corner-wise, So his emotions I could search With my devoted eyes ; And when the sermon used to play On love, divine and free, I nodded him, as if to say, " It's hitting you and me !" He went and took another pew Of " thousand tongues " in fear ; I also changed, and still was true To good old Brother Spear! Poor man! I recollect he spoke, One large prayer-meeting night, And told how little we must look, In Heaven's majestic sight; He said, Unworthy he had been, By Conscience e'er abhorred, To be a door-keeper within The temple of The Lord; And that his place forevermore, Undoubtedly and clear, Was mainly back behind the door Poor humble Brother Spear! 60 CITY LEGENDS And then / rose and made a speech, Brimful of soul distress ; And told them how words could not reach My own unworthiness : Though orphanage I tried to soothe, And helpless widowerhood, To tell the incandescent truth, I too felt far from good ; And that a trembling heart and mind Compelled it to appear That my place also was behind The door, with Brother Spear ! Poor man ! he ne'er was heard, they say, Again to gladly speak ; He took down sick the following day, And died within a week. One prayer they often heard him give That, if his days were o'er, 7 still upon the earth might live A hundred years or more. As his betrothed I figure, now, And drop the frequent tear; And his relations all will vow I'm true to Brother Spear ! [The portraits on the wall look quite interested and considerably amused. ETHEL tears the paper into fragments. SECOND CHAIN 6l ETHEL (pouting). Senseless creature ! If I had known What 'twas she wrote, I'd have not begun it ! FITZ CLINTONNE (laughing). But she was faithful, I will own ; Love so fervent how could he shun it? ETHEL. He couldn't, except through Death's design. FITZ CLINTONNE. No more, dear Ethel, than you can mine. Perhaps, somewhere, she may woo and win This scornful man, if she works and waits : For passion is oft concealed within A cloak that its object loathes and hates. And true devotion and love, they say, (" It's dogged as does it ") will win, some day. Still, one must walk a hard road yet, To always pursue and ne'er be met ; But man is equal to that same task. Hear of another faithful one [Draws a newspaper. ETHEL (in mild consternation). Oh, it is more than I could ask ! FITZ CLINTONNE (resolutely). No, don't mention it ! ETHEL. Then don't you! FITZ CLINTONNE (resolutely). Judge if I may not, when 'tis done ; Yes, you must hear it, without fail ! A man who waited his whole life through: Hear the poor fellow's doleful tale. Reads : 62 CITY LEGENDS TWELVE O CLOCK : A LEGEND OF BROOKLYN " ' Do I love you ?' Oh, but listen !" And he saw her dark eyes glisten With a gentle joy that filled him, With a passion-wave that thrilled him: " ' Do I love you ?' Ask the ages Front of this life's blotted pages Cycles that our minds forget, But our souls remember yet If the strands they saw us twine In great moments half divine Cannot stand against the cold Voice and touch of senseless gold ? How can Wealth forbid the meeting Of two hearts that blend in beating? How can Thrift presume to fashion Heaven's eternal love and passion ? Listen ! if 'tis not o'er-soon, Come to-morrow-day at noon ; On that glad that mournful day When my girlhood creeps away On that day the understood Birthday of my womanhood Come ! and, joined in hand as heart, We will walk no more apart. Meet me do not let me wait By this iron this golden gate When, its mid-day hour to tell, Rings the silvery court-house bell. SECOND CHAIN 63 " Should I fail you, dear, to-morrow, Go away, but not in sorrow ; There be many ways may meet Fetters round a maiden's feet. There be watchers there be spies There be jealous tongues and eyes; Many hate my love for you, And would cut our life in two. Oh, they guard me all the time, As if loving were a crime ! " Should I fail the second morrow, Hope from next day you must borrow; If I fail you then endure ; Hope and trust be still the cure. Naught on earth has power has art Long to hold us two apart ; None but God were equal to it, And I know He would not do it. I will come to you, indeed ; You would wait, love, were there need ?" And he said, with brave endeavor, " I will wait for you forever. Each day I shall come to you, Till you come, and find me true. Each day hear the hopeful swell Of the mid-day court-house bell." So, next day, he stood and waited For the soul his soul had mated ; 64 CITY LEGENDS Saw the clock's black finger climb To its topmost round of time Heard the mighty metal throat Sing afar its mid-day note ; Listened, with a nervous thrill, And his warm heart standing still, Glanced about, with keen desire, And his yearning soul afire ; Searched, and searched, with jealous care- Searched but saw no loved one there. " ' Should I fail you, dear, to-morrow, Go away, but not in sorrow ;' 'Twas her word," he softly said : " Be she living, be she dead, Still my heart is scant of fear ; She will some time meet me here. My sad soul I will employ With to-morrow's destined joy; Here is happiness for me, Living o'er what is to be. She will come her love to tell With to-morrow's mid-day bell." So, next day, he watched and waited, With a heart by hope elated ; Peering searching for a face Full of love-exalted grace. But his glance crept far and wide With some fear it could not hide ; Crept across the grimy pavement, Moaning in its dull enslavement; SECOND CHAIN 65 Roamed the long streets, empty-seeming, Though with lovely faces gleaming; Shivered, as with landscape drear, 'Neath a blue sky, bright and clear; For the bell, with sorrowing strain, Called her to his side in vain. '"If I fail the second morrow, Hope from next day you must borrow :' 'Twas her word," he bravely said : " Let to-morrow stand instead." Still upon his heart there fell Shadows from the mid-day bell. Day by day he watched and waited, By cold Disappointment fated ; Bit by bit his hoping ceased ; Hour by hour his faith increased. Oft he strove to find her, then, In her guardian's palace-den; But the looks he met were bleak, And the marble would not speak, Would not show the poisoned thong Of a dark and fiendish wrong ; Would not tell the woe and rage Of a dreary mad-house cage, Where the girl was kept by stealth, Lest she claim her paltry wealth. Could not hear her frantic prayer That God's hand might reach her there; Could not see her droop away Hour by hour and day by day; 66 CITY LEGENDS Could not feel her breath grow still With the healing arts that kill ; Could not trace the greed that gave Her a half-named marble grave. Still he watched and waited well, 'Neath the weary noontide bell. Days and weeks and months and years Coursed the face of time, like tears Spring's sweet-scented mid-day air, Summer's fierce meridian glare, Autumn's mingled lead and gold, Winter's murder-thrusts of cold. Patiently he braved each one At its mid-day cloud or sun ; Silently he turned was gone Sad, desponding, and alone. Still his famished eyes crept round, Still he thrilled at every sound : '"Nought on earth has power has art- Long to hold us two apart ; None but God were equal to it, And I know He would not do it.' 'Twas her word," he grimly said : " She will come, alive or dead." Pavement travellers passed him by, Day by day, with curious eye ; Dreamers sought romance to trace In his bronzed and fading face; Questioners, though kind, were yet With cold, patient silence met; SECOND CHAIN ffj Still he watched and waited well, By the lonely court-house bell. Yet he came yet crept away; And his dark-brown hair grew gray, And his manhood's power grew spent, And his form was thin and bent. Poorly clad and rough to see ; Crushed by Sickness' stern decree ; For intense compassion fit, But still grandly scorning it. " He is crazed," they said, aside : " I am sane !" his heart replied. " ' I will come to you, indeed ; You would wait, love, were there need !' 'Twas her word," he faintly said : " Hands will meet if hearts are wed." Sometimes to him it would seem, Half in earnest, half in dream, He could view her loveliness He could feel her fond caress. But some passing sound or sight Sent the vision back to night; And a dull and mournful knell Seemed the leaden court-house bell. As, one day, his weakened form Bent before a winter storm, As he fell Death's fear before him, And a veil of darkness o'er him 68 CITY LEGENDS Soft a voice or was it seeming? Full a form or was he dreaming? Brought a rapture that repaid All the debts that Grief had made. " O my love !" the words came fast ; " Do you see me, then, at last ? Do you hear me do you feel me Can the world no more conceal me ? ' Did I meet you ?' Oh, but listen ! When released from Pain's black prison, Long through deserts and through meadows, Long through Death's black silent shadows, With my soul God's help entreating, Sought I for our place of meeting. Oh, I crushed my arms around you, When I found you when I found you Saw you sorrow's black net weaving Fondly suffering bravely grieving Saw the truth you could not see Felt your loving faith in me. How, each day, God's help entreating, Came I to our place of meeting ! How I hailed each coming morrow ! How I strove to soothe your sorrow ! Times, the thought would come to cheer me, ' He can see me ! He can hear me !' Then the mists of earth would screen us Then day's darkness stepped between us. Yet your dear soul I could see, Suffering still its way to me. ". . .A FORM OR WAS HE DREAMING?" SECOND CHAIN 69 Pain at last has cut the tether; Death will let us live together. Darling, throw your arms around me ! You have found me you have found me Nought on earth had power or art Long to hold us two apart. None but God were equal to it, And I knew He would not do it. Listen ! Hear the echoes swell Of our merry wedding-bell !" [A few moments of phenomenal silence ensue. ETHEL absently toys with a musical album on the table near her ; she touches the spring unconsciously, and there leaps forth in small, diminutive tones an affecting little love ditty, thus, as it were, furnishing to the scene an appropriate dramatic accompaniment of soft FITZ CLINTONNE (suddenly). Ethel, the bonds of speech are broken ! Now or ne'er shall the word be spoken \A terrific shock of earthquake interrupts him the first known in that city for years. Fur niture commences an impromptu dance. Por traits on the wall nearly knock their heads together. ETHEL screams, and clings reso- 70 CITY LEGENDS lutely and perseveringly to FITZ CLINTONNE for protection. Their lips accidentally meet in a long and half -delirious kiss the first they have thus far placed on record. This so absorbs the young gentleman, that, although quite scientifically inclined, he forgets to study any other of the seismic effects about him. Indeed, the earthquake almost immediately subsides. ETHEL (slowly unclinging herself). Who would have thought that thrilled with bliss The password was, after all a kiss ! {Portraits opposite them seem to assume a " Bless you, my children," look. The usual amount of serenity resumes its sway. Street traffic recommences its clamors, but is un heard within. THIRD CHAIN Cbain SCENE I. , Christmas morning in an old- fashioned country kitchen. Culinary apparatus is lying about in a semi-orderly manner. Bunches of seed-corn are braided together by the husks over the doors. A Bible and hymn-book are on the mantel. An almanac is hanging near by. The last numbers of the Dea con's own denominational journal and the local paper of a neighboring village rest upon a table in the corner a pair of steel-bowed spectacles lying across them. Two cats are camp ing cosily and contentedly before the large kitchen stove one of them purring softly in a half -slumber, the other silent in absolute sleep. Deacon KINDMAN. Trim up the parlors, good -wife, and make them extra gay, For I'm to have a party, on this cold Christmas Day: The friends that are invited will be here do not doubt ! I'll go myself and bring them, unless they'll come without. Oh yes ! you've been a-guessing, perhaps a month or two, About my Christmas party, and what I meant to do ; 74 CITY LEGENDS The first whose invitations have all been left to me : You're not quite sure concerning the guests you're going to see. Our children ? No, not this time ; they've children of their own, Whose Christmas trees are bending with presents newly grown ; They've got their life-vines planted, with love-flowers all about- Just what -we worked so hard for, when first we started out. Our cousins? Well, not this time; 'tisn't what the plan intends ; They're all quite earthly prosperous, with any amount of friends ; The world is always offering success an upward hitch ; But Christmas wasn't invented entirely for the rich. Our preacher and his family? They're working now, like sin, A-sorting out the slippers and other gifts sent in ; One turkey that I know of is on their kitchen blaze ; A cheery, popular preacher has good times, nowa days ! You don't know who you've cooked for? Well, that is 'most too bad ; Of course you've no cur'os'ty no woman ever had ! THIRD CHAIN 75 But still, your hands and heart, wife, have wellnigh gone to war ! A woman works much happier when she knows who it's for ? ... I'll tell you one: a cripple that you and I both know Is living in a small hut, half buried in the snow His body bravely struggling to coax his soul to stay; I'm going to get that cripple, and keep him here all day. And one's a poor old woman we've never called our friend, But whose sad life grows heavy while struggling to its end Without a merry Christmas for twenty winters drear ! To-day she'll have a picnic to last her all the year. And one's an old-style preacher, brimful of heavenly truth, Whose eloquence lost fashion, or ran off with his youth ; And younger men and prettier, with flowery words came nigh, And so the various churches have stood the old man by. He tried his best to please them and serve Jehovah too He toiled each separate Sunday to " get up something 76 CITY LEGENDS They wanted elocution, and curvey-gestured speech ! And now this grand old preacher can't get a place to preach. But I've a strong opinion that angels crowd up near That man-deserted leader, his godlike thoughts to hear; We'll have a Bible-chapter made over good as new When he to-day talks Gospel, and asks the blessing, too! " And who else ?" I have sent word to all in my mind's way Who can't afford a dinner that's equal to The Day; And some good prosperous friends, too, will come with smiling face, To keep those poor from feeling that they're a sepa rate race. And one of them's a neighbor, who, though sincere, no doubt, Once couldn't quite understand me and so we two fell out; And every Sunday morning we've passed each other's door, And have not known each other for fifteen years or more : I went to him last evening, and said, " Old friend, see here; We're both tip-top good fellows : now, doesn't it strike you queer, THIRD CHAIN 77 That we're assisting Satan to sow the grain of strife ? Come over, sure, to-morrow, and bring along your wife. "Just come and help us, helping some poor ones draw their loads, Who've stalled upon the side -hills of Life's uneven roads." He looked at me in wonder, then stood a moment still Then grasped my hands and whispered, " My dear old friend, I will." I think you're with me, good - wife, from what your features say And that's the kind of comp'ny we're going to have to-day ; Through which I hope a true love for all mankm< may roam A sort of Christmas party where Christ would feel at home. SCENE II , a large number assembled in the parlor. It is not exactly a homogeneous company, but seems to be quite a happy one nevertheless. Deacon KINDMAN has evidently followed his plan to the letter. Everybody that he invited ts present, and a few that he did not have happened in. The company have just risen from prayer -with the good old-style preacher, who has thoroughly appreciated and improved the now unu sual opportunity. He takes this occasion to combine two ser mons-one on Thanksgiving Day and one on Christmas - which have for many years been growing in his heart, w, ing for a chance to be preached. 78 CITY LEGENDS Deacon KINDMAN. Now in tuneful chorus our thanks we will prolong, And sing to the Father of fathers our own thanks giving song. With soul, as well as larynx, let all of us rejoice, And not perform our worship entirely with the voice. [JEREMI AH,a neighboring poor man's son, passes round papers containing a hymn which he has copied in an uncultured but very reada ble hand. All sing. HYMN OF THANKSGIVING To the air, " Portuguese Hymn." We thank Thee, O Father, for all that is bright The gleam of the day and the stars of the night ; The flowers of our youth and the fruits of our prime, And blessings e'er marching the pathway of time. We thank Thee, O Father, for all that is drear The sob of the tempest, the flow of the tear ; For never in blindness, and never in vain, Thy mercy permitted a sorrow or pain. We thank Thee, O Father, for song and for feast The harvest that glowed and the wealth that in creased ; For never a blessing encompassed thy child But Thou in Thy mercv looked downward and smiled. THIRD CHAIN 79 We thank Thee, O Father of all, for the power Of aiding each other in life's darkest hour The generous heart and the bountiful hand, And all the soul-help that sad souls understand. We thank Thee, O Father, for days yet to be, For hopes that our future will call us to Thee ; That all our Eternity form, through Thy love, One Thanksgiving Day in the mansions above. Deacon KINDMAN. And now a neighbor's daughter, who don't waste time to doubt Knows how to read a poem and turn it inside out, Who first sits down and invites it into her heart and soul, And part of herself surrenders entire to its control, And part of her mind keeps clear, like, when ready, as she ought To be to give to the author the aid of her own clear thought (For face and form and gesture be 't good or be it bad- Add much to an author's meaning, or rob him of what he had); Whose mental frills and tuckers are laid upon the shelf, And who, in her well-conned subject, can partly forget herself ; 8o CITY LEGENDS This daughter of my good neighbor, who sits, himself, near by, And needn't be blamed for looking at her with a par tial eye, Will read a poem to us, presenting, I believe, A legend of what happened on the first Christmas Eve. ALICE (the neighbor's daughter, reads, plainly, thought fully, spiritedly, and without affectation) : THE VOICE OF A STAR; OR, THE FIRST CHRISTMAS EVE Dark Night once more her tent unfurled On Power's first-century home Upon the marble heart of the world The great, grand city of Rome ; And hushed at last were the chariot-tires, And still the sandalled feet, And dimmed the palace-window-fires On many a noble street ; And to a roof a maiden came, With eyes as angels' love, And looked up at the spheres of flame That softly gleamed above. She gazed at them with a misty eye, And spoke, in accents sad : " O tell me, gold-birds of the sky (If ever a voice you had), THIRD CHAIN 8l Is justice dull from a palsy stroke, And deaf, as well as blind ? Else why must e'er the heaviest yoke Be placed on womankind ? Why should the solace of man's heart Be oft his meanest slave? Why is her life e'er torn apart By those she has toiled to save ? " Why should the mould of the human race Be crushed and thrown away, Whenever it lacks the outward grace That woos the stronger clay ? Why must the mothers of men be bought And sold, like beasts that die ? Why are they scourged, for little or nought, And barred of all reply? Why are we women of Rome e'er told That we should happy be, Because not kept like flocks in fold, Like those across the sea? " Have we no heart ? Have we no mind ? Must not our conscience speak ? Say ! must our souls be dumb or blind Because our hands are weak? Must we be ever the laughing-stock Of man's fond, fickle heart ? Were we but born for Fate to mock- To play a menial part ? 82 CITY LEGENDS Must all our triumphs be a lie Our joys in fetters clad ? Oh, tell me, gold-birds of the sky (If ever a voice you had) !" Then from the east a new, bright star Flashed to her flashing eye, And seemed to speak to her from afar, With courteous, kind reply : "Why weep, fair maid, upon the eve Of Victory's coming morn? It is o'er-strange for one to grieve Whose champion's to be born ! To-morrow a new, old king appears, With dimpled, mighty hand ; And He shall reign a million years, O'er many a princely land. " His mother a queen the world shall see, Whose reign doth e'er endure ; All women shall His sisters be Whose ways are just and pure ; A woman's fault shall not be her death, By men or angels seen ; Repentance, and His God-strewn breath, May always step between. A woman's fame, by merit won, Shall add to her queenly grace ; And higher, as the years march on, Shall be her destined place. THIRD CHAIN 83 " And four great words the world shall see Enwoven with man's life : Mother and sister two shall be, And two be daughter and wife. It shall be felt that she whose care The lamp of thrift makes burn, Can take with him an equal share Of all their lives may earn ; That she whose soft and healing hand Can soothe, with blessing bright, Is no less great and true and grand Than he who leads the fight." Like one who through a wood may grope Till light comes to his eyes, The maiden thrilled with new-born hope, And seized the glad surprise. The voice of the star she understood, Its glorious meaning knew, And all her dreams of woman's good Seemed likely to come true. And when once more the twilight gray Was brightened by the morn, Within a manger far away The infant Christ was born. [All the ladies present applaud vigorously. The men nod, in mild approbation. The old cler gyman states that he has a series of thirteen sermons upon the subject of womanhood's Christian ennoblement, which he should be 84 CITY LEGENDS glad to give in the district school-house, or in any church "where the people would like to assemble for the purpose of hearing him. Deacon KINDMAN arranges with him to preach the first of the series in his parlor, upon the following Sunday evening. All present declare they will come. The company then sing "Nearer, my God, to Thee." Deacon KINDMAN (holding the hymn-book in his hand). Not alone in the country, where God's first work was done, Is found the true religion that came from His mighty Son; Hear what an author's fancy heard a city brother say When just about to be " moving," upon the First of May. [A small orphaned boy, whose residence just now is the neighboring poor-house, and who, even in that environment, has developed won derful taste and talent, recites : THE OLD HYMN-BOOK Yes, wife, we're going to move once more ; The last time, I declare, Until the everlasting shore Sends word it wants us there ! Some things this time with us we'll take, Some leave here in disgust, And some we'll lose, and some we'll break, As movers always must. THIRD CHAIN 85 The family Bible we will find Devoutly carried through ; But also, wife, don't fail to mind And save the hymn-book, too ! Though finger-marked and cupboard-worn, And shabby in its looks, I prize that volume, soiled and torn, Next to the Book of books ; When David trimmed his golden lyre With song forget-me-nots, He left a flame of sacred fire For Wesley and for Watts. And many other singers, wife, Have made God's glory known In hymns and tunes that drew their life From echoes round the throne ! I've sung them when, on lofty track, My heart soared through the sky, And every word and tone brought back A telegraph reply; I've hummed them when my soul with grief Feared all its prayers were vain, Till they have braced up my belief And soothed my doubting pain ; I've told them to the woods, and stirred The trees up to rejoice ; I've joined in meetings where God heard Ten thousand in one voice ! 86 I've paused those sacred words to hear When life was gay and bright, And every sound that charmed the ear Brought glory to the sight ; I've heard them when the sexton's spade Had cut my life in two, And my sad heart, by their sweet aid, Has walked the valley through. Ah, wife ! when heaven's great music-burst Awakes my senses dim, I humbly hope they'll give me first A good old-fashioned hymn ! I trust, when our last moving-day Has shown us God's good love, And we have settled down to stay In colonies above, We'll find a hundred earthly things Our hearts had twined about, And which so tight the memory clings Heaven wouldn't be heaven without; And somewhere, in that blessed place, God grant I may behold, Near by the precious word of grace, My hymn-book, bound in gold ! [A great deal of appreciation is expressed of the reading of this poem. No one seems much struck by the subject-matter, except the old clergyman, who remarks that he has a series of fourteen sermons upon the influence THIRD CHAIN 87 of hymns on the human race, which he will be happy to give at the school-house, or any other place where an audience will assemble to hear them. Deacon KINDMAN makes ar rangements to have the first of the series de livered in his parlor upon the ensuing Thurs day evening, and all the company promise to be present, if possible. Deacon KINDMAN. And now our good old pastor, whose heart is ever alive To other good old pastors, and how they toil and strive, Will read how a city preacher, with fame in his well- filled hand, Became as little children, when near to the heavenly land. The old CLERGYMAN reads : THE PASTOR'S FAREWELL* The sermon was o'er the prayer the song And dimmed was the mellow light ; With summer at heart, the homeward throng Went out in the winter night. * An incident that occurred during Henry Ward Beecher's last Sunday evening in the church where he had preached so many years. 88 CITY LEGENDS But the pastor stayed, at his tired heart's choice, To list to the chanted word ; For the organ-loft and the human voice Still sang to the pastor's Lord. The sweet tones brought to his wearied heart Their mingled smiles and tears ; And he felt that night full loath to part From the shrine of forty years. The scene of a thousand wondrous hours He saw, as he glanced around ; The vase of affection's faithful flowers, The blood of a battle-ground. 'Twas here he had preached, with tones of love Or the clarion call of strife, Of God within, as well as above, And sweetened the bread of life. And here, with gesture of brave command And tenderly beaming face, He reached to the world a thrilling hand, And fought for the human race. 'Twas here, with a strength by anguish bought And a love that never slept, He rocked the cradle of new-born thought, While the century smiled and wept. He saw the thousands that o'er this track Had walked to the country of day; AND O'ER THEIR SHOULDERS HIS ARMS HE THREW THIRD CHAIN 89 And now they seemed to be reaching back, And beckoning him away. But ere long time his soul had been By olden memories stirred, Two children softly wandered in, To list to the chanted word. Two young, fresh hearts, with a goodly sum Of Innocence' saving leaven, Like such, it is said, ours must become Before we can enter heaven. They heard in silence, with face upturned, And tremulous, deep surprise, And all the fire of the music burned Within their youthful eyes. There crept to the old man's eyes a mist; And down the pulpit stair He gently came, and tenderly kissed The children lingering there ; And o'er their shoulders his arms he threw, This king with the crown of gray ; And finally, like three comrades true, Together they walked away. And two went out in the winter night, Their earth-toil just begun ; The other, forth to eternal light His work for the planet done. 90 CITY LEGENDS SCENE III., the same ; it has been growing dark, and it is near ly time to go home. The remainder of the afternoon has passed in recitations, songs, and speeches, and all seem, upon the whole, to have had a good time. Deacon KINDMAN. And now let's be reminded that though Misfortune's hand Has reached us all for reasons that God can under stand, While we, short-sighted creatures, shrink murmuring from its touch, Yet there are those who suffer a thousand times as much. [Enter an elocutionist, dressed as a tramp. His face has a lonely, haggard look ; his eyes are cast downward, with occasional furtive glances at those before him ; his look of grim distress is assumed so naturally that some of the company think at first that he is a real tramp. He recites : THE CONVICT S CHRISTMAS EVE The term was done ; my penalty was past ; I saw the outside of the walls at last. When I left that stone punishment of sin, 'Twas 'most as hard as when I first went in. It seemed at once as though the sweet-voiced air Told slanderous tales about me everywhere ; THIRD CHAIN 9! As if the ground itself was shrinking back For fear 'twould get the Cain's mark of my track. Women would edge away, with shrewd she-guesses, As if my very glance would spoil their dresses ; Men looked me over with close, careless gaze, And understood my downcast, jail-bird ways ; My hands were so grime-hardened and defiled, I wouldn't have had the cheek to pet a child ; If I had spoken to a dog that day, He would have tipped his nose and walked away. And so I wandered in a jail of doubt, Whence neither heaven nor earth would let me out; The world itself seemed to me every bit As hard a prison as the one I'd quit. If you are made of anything but dirt, If you've a soul that other souls can hurt, Turn to the right henceforth, whoever passes : It's death to drop among the lawless classes ! Men lose who lose the friendship of the law, , A blessing from each breath of air they draw ; They know th' advantage of a good clean face, When theirs has been disfigured by disgrace! So I trudged round, appropriately slow For one with no particular place to go; The houses scowled and stared as if to say, " You jail-bird, we are honest ; walk away !" The factories seemed to scream, when I came near, " Stand back ! unsentenced men are working here !" 9 2 CITY LEGENDS And virtue had th' appearance, all the time, Of trying hard to push me back to crime. It struck me strange, that stormy, snow-bleached day, To watch the different people on the way, All carrying parcels, of all sorts of sizes, As carefully as gold and silver prizes. Well-dressed or poor I could not understand Why each one hugged a bundle in his hand. I asked an old policeman what it meant : He looked me over, with eyes shrewdly bent, While muttering, in a voice that fairly froze, "It's 'cause to-morrow's Christmas, I suppose." And then the fact came crashing over me, How horribly alone a man can be ! I don't pretend what tortures yet may wait For souls that have not run their reckonings straight ; It isn't for mortal ignorance to say What kind of night may follow any day ; There may be pain for sin some time found out, That sin on earth knows nothing yet about ; But I don't think there's any harbor known Worse for a wrecked soul than to be alone. Alone ! there, maybe, never has occurred A word whose gloom is gloomier than that word ! You who can brighten up your Christmas joys With all affection's small but mighty toys, Who fancy that your gifts of love be rash, And presents are not worth their price in cash, THIRD CHAIN 93 Thank God, with love and thrift no more at war, That you've some one to spend your money for ! A dollar plays a very dingy part Till magnetized by some one's grateful heart. So evening saw me straggling up and down Within the gayly lighted, desolate town, A hungry, sad-heart hermit all the while, My rough face begging for a friendly smile. Folks talked with folks, in new-made warmth and glee, But no one had a word or look for me ; Love flowed like water, but it could not make The world forgive me for my one mistake ! An open church some look of welcome wore ; I crept in soft, and sat down near the door. I'd never seen, 'mongst my unhappy race, So many happy children in one place ; I never knew how much a hymn could bring From heaven, until I heard those children sing; I never saw such sweet-breathed gales of glee, As swept around that fruitful Christmas tree ! You who have tripped through childhood's merry days With passionate love protecting all your ways, Who did not see a Christmas-time go by Without some present for your sparkling eye, Thank God, whose goodness gave such joy its birth, And scattered heaven-seeds in the dust of earth ! In stone-paved ground my thorny field was set : I never had a Christmas present yet. 94 CITY LEGENDS And so I sat and saw them, and confess Felt the unhappier for their happiness; And when a man gets into such a state, He's very proud or very desolate. Just then a cry of " Fire !" amongst us came ; The pretty Christmas tree was all aflame ! And one sweet child there in our startled gaze Was screaming, with her white clothes all ablaze ! The crowd seemed crazy-like, both old and young, And very slow of deed, though swift of tongue. But one knew what to do, and not to say, And he a convict, just let loose that day. I fought like one who deals in deadly strife : I wrapped my life around that child's sweet life ; I choked the flames that choked her, with rich cloaks Stol'n from some good but very frightened folks ; I gave the dear girl to her parents' sight, Unharmed by anything excepting fright ; I tore the blazing branches from the tree, Till all was safe, and no one hurt but me. That night, of which I asked for sleep in vain That night, that tossed me round on prongs of pain, That stabbed me with fierce tortures through and through Was still the happiest that I ever knew. I felt that I at last had earned a place Among my race, by suffering for my race ; "AN OPEN CHURCH UOOR SOME LOOK OF WELCOME WORE*' THIRD CHAIN 95 I felt the glorious facts wouldn't let me miss A mother's thanks perhaps a child's sweet kiss; That man's warm gratitude would find a plan To lift me up and help me be a man. Next day they brought a letter to my bed ; I opened it with tingling nerves, and read : "You have upon my kindness certain claims, For rescuing my young child from the flames; Such deeds deserve a hand unstained by crime ; I trust you will reform while yet there's time. The blackest sinner may find mercy still. (Enclosed please find a thousand-dollar bill.) Our paths of course on different roads must lie; Don't follow me for any more. Good-bye." I scorched the dirty rag till it was black, Enclosed it in a rag, and sent it back. That very night I cracked a tradesman's door, Stole with my blistered hands ten thousand more, Which I next day took special pains to send To my good, distant, wealthy, high-toned friend ; And wrote upon it in a steady hand, In words I hoped he wouldn't misunderstand, " Money is cheap, as I have shown you here, But gratitude and sympathy are dear. These rags are stolen have been may often be : I trust the one wasn't that you sent to me. Hoping your pride and you are reconciled From the black, sinful rescuer of your child." 96 CITY LEGENDS I crept to court a crushed, triumphant worm- Confessed the theft, and took another term. My life closed, and began ; and I went back Among the rogues that walk the broad-gauged track. I prowl 'mid every sort of sin that's known ; I walk rough roads but do not walk alone. [Company take leave of their host, and disperse, cheerfully but thoughtfully, with the con sciousness of having had a splendid time, but with pity in their hearts for those who are more miserable than Poverty or Wealth could possibly make them. FOURTH CHAIN ffourtb Gbatn IN the last quarter of this century This grand, electric-lighted century This steam-propelled, far-speaking century That called the idle vapors to their work, Made giants of them, gave them arms of steel, And made them toil ere to their sport returned That caught the fire-fly lightnings on the wing, And caged them into lamps that kill the dark Century that confirms the "Arabian Nights" Century with the blossom and the fruit Of eons that have grown through tears and blood- Century to be quoted as that one Wherein Man first declared by deed that he Was emperor of all the elements ; This quick-nerved, high-strung nineteenth century, That found new hideous ways for War to use In killing, and thus made Peace fashionable; This century that soon, with toll of bell, And trumpet-peal, and boom of brazen gun, And shouts of men, half joyful and half sad, Shall close its clanging gate for evermore 100 CITY LEGENDS It is not strange that we should wonder oft What legends maybe will be told of us In the long, silent century next to come. In the new, waiting years so soon to come When boys that now sport laughing in the streets Shall be grave grandsires, wondering at the glee Of frivolous boys, and sharing dividends With their grim, silent partner Rheumatism ; When tiny girls, now perching on our knees, Become old ladies, dignified and prim ; When " Eighteen hundred " shall a memory be, And "Nineteen hundred "sound like old friends' names Perchance the children may some legends hear Of this last quarter of this century. Tell them of Grant's too-soon pathetic death. How the old chief so silently encamped In the King-city two long, mournful days And the weird, mournful nights that flitted round ; How past his solemn bed sad thousands marched To see him, ere the coverlid was drawn O'er his pale face forever ; how at last His great black hearse crept up the broad highway 'Twixt marble palaces thick cloaked in crape, And crowded close with hushed and bowing forms ; How clans that late had sought each other's blood Now arm in arm marched with the conqueror; And how the requiem guns that greeted him At his half-made but some day gorgeous tent Shook not the city more than did its grief. FOURTH CHAIN IOI Tell this to them although may be forgotten Amid the century's whirl this funeral song: THE CAPTAIN IS ASLEEP Let the muffled drums mourn Heavy and deep, And flags with crape be borne : The Captain is asleep. On a hushed and solemn bed, Alone he lies. Tender words of him are said, There are waiting for his hands Love bouquets from many lands; But he will not rise. Never in his childhood days Such slumber came ; Nor ere war's electric blaze Streamed o'er his name, When, through eyes with watching dim, His young mother bent o'er him, Wreathing hopes upon his brow, Did he sleep so well as now. Let the silver horns trail Anthems that weep; Let them voice the early tale Of the Captain asleep; 102 CITY LEGENDS Tell the struggles that he knew Ere his life-work stood in view, And the clouds that vexed his eyes Ere his star flashed through the skies. Men, you must his mourners be, For he was brave ; Harvester of courage, he Knew when to save; Cruel as the tiger's fang Until war was done, He would soothe the smallest pang When the strife was won. Only death could conquer him, And his fight with that was grim. As in his best days of pride, Hero to the last he died. Women, holy in his eyes Was the pureness that you prize ; Palaces round him had smiled, Kingly shows his days beguiled ; But he loved and sought release, Turned from lofty spire and dome, Came for comfort and for peace To the fireside of his home. Fame, you have done your best For the Warrior of the West, Who, with grand, heroic rush, Reached your regions at a leap. 'TENDER WORDS OF HIM ARE SAID" FOURTH CHAIN 103 Sound his praise again ! but hush ! The Captain is asleep. Slumbering early; but 'tis best That the weary man should rest. He has had the care and strife, Ten times over, of a life. Grief, you came when Rest Should have thrown her spell You were of rare barbs possessed Oh, you pierced him well ! It is brave to fall and die With an arrow in the heart ; It is noble, great, and high To live and bear its smart. Sound so grand was never heard As is pain without a word. Let the drums cease to mourn, Let the clouds break, Let the badge of grief be torn, The Captain is awake ! Warriors brave in yonder land, Who once lingered here, Grasp our Chieftain by the hand, Give him friendly cheer! ii Or tell them of the fair ambassadress That France hot-veined republic of the East 104 CITY LEGENDS Sent to her sister of the Western waves Bearing the magic torch of liberty : France she who with her aid long years ago Gave us the eagle type of Victory : THE VESTAL Into the bay the great, wide, wealth-fringed bay, Whose every tide sweeps hamlets to our shores Where king-slaves have their fetters struck away Whence can be read, on the new nation's doors, " Leave hopelessness behind, who enters here !" Harbor of hope ! invaded, without fear, By ships of labor, sailed from rotting ports, And toil whose plumage had been stol'n by courts Into that bay, a virgin-guest comes nigh, And holds her lamp unto the star-gemmed sky. They sent her from that empire of the East Whose " king " hath dynasty the same as ours ; From the rich harvest and the vineyard- feast, From glistening domes and ivy-mantled towers. Peasants have toiled, throughout the sultry day, The tributes of her ocean-march to pay ; The artisan has wrought, that she might rise And smile into his Western brother's eyes ; The thought-smith he with busy heart and brain Helped feed her torch that gleams across the main.* * Nearly all classes of the French people contributed towards the cost of sending us Bartholdi's Statue of Liberty. FOURTH CHAIN IO$ She brings to us a century that is past, The legend of a gift of long agone, A favor that like diamonds shall last, And gleam but brighter as the years gloom on. They gave us gold when recompense was doubt Perish the greed that blots that memory out ! They gave us hope, when our own star had set May the brain soften that would shun the debt ! They gave us heroes, with a fame as bright As mountain watch-fires on a winter's night. Stand, Vestal, with thy virgin flame e'er clear, And guard our future pilgrims to their rest In the great city, where, year after year, Their march shall feed our never-failing West. Tell those who hated greed, and hurried thence, That honest toil hath here a recompense ; Say to the lawless whosoe'er they be That men must live obedient to live free ; And sing for us, o'er the blue waves' expanse, " With all our faults and thine, we love thee, France !" in Or tell them of the years when our long coast Lay prosperous, but defenceless ; all that while That other nations blotted the free sky With the black plumage of their war-ships' smoke ; And our Unbuilt Ship sang a gloomy song And strove to rouse the nation's fear and pride:* * Happily, this error on the part of the United States has of 106 CITY LEGENDS SONG OF THE UNBUILT SHIP They were making me a king of the sea, The oceans' pride and fear; But ere I was done the world moved on, And left me stranded here To the world's sharp eyes an enterprise That ere it was tested failed ; A ruin low that was always so, A wreck that has ne'er been sailed. I sit and cower 'neath many an hour That drearily drifts to me ; But visions have they from far away, And these are the sights I see : Grim men who toil at blades that spoil, In populous far-off lands ; And murderer-guns that Art's rough sons Mould hot in their giant hands; Steel diggers of graves, that walk the waves, And rule with their rude alarms, Or cripple and kill with close-eyed skill, And long, invisible arms. Oh, a wondrous shower of godlike power This grand decade can boast : But what if it frown on shipping and town Of a long, defenceless coast ? late been partly remedied, although there is still much to do in the matter of a thorough defence of our coasts. FOURTH CHAIN 107 For the great star-ships now suffer eclipse That were from the forest born, And boats that have birth in the mines of earth Are laughing us all to scorn. The nation that gave to the watchful wave It's swift and strongest guest, With triumph is done, and her ocean-sun Stands low in the blushing west. world just made, your grandeur is weighed, Your treasuries all men know; But why should you seek a wealth too weak To guard you against a foe ? You may gild your domes and adorn your homes, Proud men of the Rich New Land ; But what are they worth when half the earth Be fired by a war's red brand ? The watchmen sleep of the banks that keep A continent's wealth in store : Say, where are your locks when an enemy knocks With clinched hand at the door? Your daughters and wives, whose winsome lives Make every land more fair What have you, then, O thoughtless men, To guard them from despair? 1 see bright gold into tablets rolled; I see iron leagues of ore : Rouse up with a zeal for the nation's weal, And carry them to the shore! 108 CITY LEGENDS The power to defend holds many a friend ; Force oft shows clear the right ; The surest lease of comfort and peace Is a sturdy strength to fight. Let walls of iron your treasurers environ, As well as of heart and brain ; Shun heedless guilt ; and the ship unbuilt May not have sung in vain. IV Or tell them of the hideous, creeping beast, That trailed its slime along our grandest walks, That named a million kings Laocoon, That twined around the fairest and the best, And crushed them in its anaconda-coils; That crept into our homes, and not content With driving mortals from their Paradise, Would make even that a hell. THE SERPENT OF THE STILL The tempter, as God's legends tell Allowed on earth to roam Crushed that which Woman loves so well, Her sweet and sacred home. From Eden, lost through his black art, She wandered out forlorn ; She cursed him in her gentle heart With meek but deadly scorn. FOURTH CHAIN 109 And since, in varied guise of sin, He works his hateful will, And reappears to-day within The serpent of the still. He comes not now in subtle mood With smiles, as long ago Enticing her by honeyed food, And mysteries she may know; He makes insulting, swift advance Into her bright home-nest, Admitted and embraced, perchance, By those she loves the best. He brings the world where he must dwell, Her days and nights to fill, Transmuting Paradise to Hell This serpent of the still! He twines about her trembling life, And soils it with his slime ; He fills the hours with foolish strife, He sows the seeds of crime. And Poverty and fierce Disease, And Hunger and Disgrace, And Death by death-empanged degrees, Are in his cold embrac To grieve, to hurt, to rend, to smite, To ruin and to kill, Are leaden links of his delight The serpent of the still ! HO CITY LEGENDS Rouse, woman, in your quiet power, Your heart's man-withering frown, Your hand that rules the festal hour, And crush the monster down ! You shape the human form and soul, You mark the infant's way, Youth's fancy you can oft control, Man's action you can sway : Bend every blessing of your life To fight its deadliest ill ! Strike daughter, maiden, widow, wife This serpent of the still! HE TWINES ABOUT HER TREMBLING LIFE FIFTH CHAIN Jffftb Cbain SCENE, a club-room. Enter two decayed poets, with several man uscripts which have been submitted to them for consideration. They seat themselves solemnly at a table, and proceed to open court. SMYTHERRES (one of the decayed poets). My colleague in poetic emperorhood, I deem it best that we discourse in rhyme; In the set sonnet of the olden time ; Miltonic sonnet ; for 'tis well and good, That we, who might surpass him if we would (Our predecessors o'er him used to climb), Should let our strains his modest voice o'er-chime ; Though we ourselves are still misunderstood, Excepting by ourselves and by each other, And people will not read the things we write, Unless we ask them to a precious bother! Yet we in criticism can vent some spite, And rivals' praises with our venom smother. So ope these efforts to our suffering sight. JOHNNES (the other decayed poet). That we discourse in sonnets, I consent ; Though from myself, dear brother, please to ask Shakespearian rhyme. So I have precedent, My style is proper. Let us to the task. 8 113 114 CITY LEGENDS Of manuscripts this package doth consist, Which we must now examine, and decide Whether they have our license to exist, Or whether they in failure must abide. Ah me ! a great responsibility It is, to say what shall and shall not live In literature and art especially, When some survive, for all the pains we give. Draw forth the first presumer that doth wait, And let us seal the verdict of his fate. SMYTHERRES {opening a package). I know not whether it were best to give These lines within our time and thought a place ; They discourse of a non-poetic race ; Who, though of course we must permit to live, Are mostly ignorant and primitive ; Therefore the title shows, upon its face, An utter lack of true poetic grace. But let us shake it in our critic-sieve ; For some opinion must be rendered On all the manuscripts we are receiving, And we have been accused oft-times, 'tis said, Of thoughtless, half-malicious judgment giving; Therefore these lines shall every word be read (Besides, too, that's the way we make our living). Reads : FIFTH CHAIN 115 THE NEGRO FUNERAL I was walking in Savannah, past a church decayed and dim, When there slowly through the window came a plain tive funeral hymn ; And a sympathy awakened, and a wonder quickly grew, Till I found myself environed in a little negro pew. Out at front a colored couple sat in sorrow nearly wild ; On the altar was a coffin, in the coffin was a child. I could picture him when living curly hair, protrud ing lip And had seen perhaps a thousand in my hurried Southern trip. But no baby ever rested in the soothing arms of Death That had fanned more flames of sorrow with his little fluttering breath ; And no funeral ever glistened with more sympathy profound Than was in the chain of tear-drops that enclasped those mourners round. Rose a sad old colored preacher at the little wooden desk With a manner grandly awkward, with a countenance grotesque ; With simplicity and shrewdness on his Ethiopian face ; With the ignorance and wisdom of a crushed, undying race. Il6 CITY LEGENDS And he said : " Now don' be weepin' for dis pretty bit o' clay For de little boy who lived dere, he done gone an' run away ! He was doin' very fine here, an* he 'predate your love; But his sure 'nuff Father want him in de large house up above. " Now he didn' give you dat baby, by a hundred thou- san' mile ! He just think you need some sunshine, an' He lend it for a while ! An' He let you keep an' love it, till your hearts was bigger grown ; An' dese silver tears you're sheddin's jest de interest on de loan. "Here yer oder pretty chilrun ! don't be makin' it appear Dat your love got sort o' 'nop'lized by dis little fel low here; Don' pile up too much your sorrow on deir little men tal shelves, So's to kind o' set 'em wonderin' if dey're no account demselves ! " Just you think, you poor deah mounahs, creepin' long o'er Sorrow's way, What a blessed little picnic dis yere baby's got to day! AN' HE SAID, ' NOW DON* BE WEEPIN* FOR DIS PRETTY BIT o' CLAY'" FIFTH CHAIN 117 His gran'faders an' gran'moders crowd de little fellow round In de angel -tended garden of de Big Plantation Ground. "An' dey ask him, 'Was your feet sore?' an' take off his little shoes, An' dey wash him, an' dey kiss him, an' dey say, ' Now what's de news?' An' de Lawd done cut his tongue loose ; den de little fellow say, ' All our folks down in de valley tries to keep de heb- benly way.' " An' his eyes dey brightly sparkle at de pretty things he view ; Den a tear come, an' he whisper, ' But I wan't my paryents, too !' But de Angel Chief Musician teach dat boy a little song: Says, ' If only dey be fait'ful dey will soon be comin' 'long.' "An' he'll get an education dat will proberbly be worth Seberal times as much as any you could buy for him on earth ; He'll be in de Lawd's big school-house, widout no con tempt or fear; While dere's no end to de bad t'ings might have hap pened to him here. Il8 CITY LEGENDS " So, my pooah dejected mounahs, let your hearts wid Jesus rest, An' don' go to critercisin' dat ar One w'at knows de best! He have sent us many comforts has a right to take away To de Lawd be praise an' glory now and ever! Let us pray." JOHNNES. What horrid taste ! what disregard of rules ! To pick up such a story as this one, And voice it ! where are our poetic schools, When such absurd things can be safely done ? The proper subjects for poetic flights, Are clouds, stars, skies, courts, tournaments, and kings, And sickly love-tales. We must set to rights A state of things which tolerates such things. Let's give that author such a verbal basting That he will never dare again to show His head in printed letters, after tasting The cup of our acidulated woe. To think that pen and type should be defiled Upon the funeral of a negro child ! SMYTHERRES. And dialect foe to poetic speech Appears here, in this undeserving verse, And if 'twere possible, would make it worse. Its growing prevalence mankind should teach, That when an author downward thus doth reach, FIFTH CHAIN lig He should incur the critic's hottest curse His Pegasus being harnessed to his hearse; And though the lines of some good writers preach That th' exact language men and women use Is proper, when their ideas you're expressing, Yet 'tis what we prefer to have our views, That dialect is an improper dressing. Shakespeare, Burns, Dante, Homer, if you choose Had lapses of the same but 'twas distressing ! [Sighs deeply, opens another manuscript, and reads : THE FOUR TRAVELLERS They were telling their experience just a small band of that race Whose religion oft illumines e'en the darkness of the face; Whose true fancy passes limits that cold reason can not reach ; Whose expressions are more accurate for the rude ness of their speech. And they drew their illustrations not from ancient lore profound But from nineteenth - century wonders, that are scat tered all around. And one said : " I'm goin' to hebben in de rowboat ob God's grace ; An' I'm pullin' mighty lively, for to win de hebbenly race." I2O CITY LEGENDS But the leader said : " Be keerful ; for de arm ob flesh may fail, An* de oars may break or danger may come ridin' on de gale ; An' be sure you make dat boat large ; for no Christian ken affo'd To say ' No ' to any helpah who desires to step abo'd." And one said : "I'm goin' to hebben in de sailboat ob de word ; An' my faith it stitched de canvas, an' my breeze is from de Lord ; An' my craft it foam de watahs, as I speed upon my way, Till it seems like I was makin' 'bout a hundr'd miles a day." But the leader said : " Be watchful ; work an* struggle more an' more ; Look for lots o' calms a-comin' look for breakers on de shore!" And one rose and said : " I'm trabellin' in de steamboat of God's power, An' it seems like I was makin' 'bout a hundred knots an hour! An' my berth is all done paid for an' my d'rection all is known, Till our gospel steamer whistles for her landin' neaf de throne!" FIFTH CHAIN 121 And the leader said : " Be earnest ; you jus' watch, an* toil, an' pray, Les' yer engine bu'st its boiler, an' you shipwreck on de way." Then a poor old woman rose up bent and haggard, worn and weak And she leaned upon her crutches, and her tongue was slow to speak; And she said : " I up an' started moah dan fifty yeahs ago- Started off afoot for hebben an' de journey's mighty slow! Dere was streams dat had no bridges dere was stone- hills for to climb Dere was swamps an' stubs an' briers waitin' for me all de time ; " Dere was clouds ob persecution, full ob thunder an* cold rain Dere was any 'mount ob wanderin', dere was woes I couldn't explain ; Dere was folks dat 'fore I asked 'em, my poor waverin' footsteps showed Into country dat was pleasant, but dat didn't contain de Road ; But de Lawd, he fin'lly tol' me, when I'm boun' to have de way, An' I think perhaps I'm makin' maybe half a mile a day." 122 CITY LEGENDS Then the leader said : " Dere's nothin' 'gainst de rapid transit plan- Jus' you get to hebben, my bredren, any honest way you can ! If you folks kin sail to glory, I don' know but dat's all right! But I cannot help believin' if we all should die to night When you boatmen land in Canaan, wid some narrow 'scapes to tell, You'd fin' dat ol' sister waitin', wid her feet all washed an' well !" JOHNNES. Ignorant rhymester ! delver 'mongst the clods ! Why should he choose such undeserving themes ? Why can't he take stars, angels, demons, gods, And other subjects fit for poets' dreams? Why doesn't he hint what cannot be expressed ? Why doesn't he aim at what he ne'er can see? Yearn for what wouldn't be known if 'twere possessed Aspire to what he knows can never be ? Or why not write as you do ? rake the past For fancies that in others' minds have grown See that they are in proper measure cast Then cheerfully exploit them as his own ? SMYTHERRES (angrily). You are a thief yourself! JOHNNES. A robber, you ! FIFTH CHAIN 123 SMYTHERRES. Knave ! JOHNNES. Plagiarist ! SMYTHERRES. Emasculated shrew! [They pummel each other rhythmically, with the remaining manuscripts. One of them * flies open, and reveals still another dialect poem, upon still another humble subject. This ad ditional calamity unnerves them, and they fall into each other's arms, sobbing poetically. They read together in silence, as follows : THE EARTHQUAKE-PRAYER Twas a night of dread in Charleston, and the air was thick with fear; Never yet had such a terror dropped its raven mantle here; Never yet had deathly sorrow had so strange and sud den birth, As upon the visitation of this tempest of the earth. For the startled ground was surging as the waves of stormy seas, And the belfries of the churches fell like stricken forest trees ; * The manuscripts. 124 CITY LEGENDS And the walls that long had lorded over seen and un seen foe, Covered thick with costly ruins this tornado from below ! There were some who prayed God's presence who to God had long been near ; There were some for help entreating with repentance born of fear; There were some who raved in madness through the long and murderous night ; There were corses calmly waiting for a mourner's tear ful sight. And that dark race whose religion has a superstitious trend, But whose superstition clambers towards an everlasting Friend, They were shouting in their frenzy, or in terror meekly dumb; For they thought the opening signal of the Judgment Day had come. But there sudden rose among them one of earth's un tutored kings, One of those unlooked-for leaders whom an hour of danger brings ; And he prayed as souls do often, full of sympathy and love Partly to the souls around him, partly to the God above. FIFTH CHAIN I2J And he said: "I guess it's come, Lawd dis yer day we've prayed so long For de symptoms all aroun' here dey be mos' tre mendous strong; But we ain't quite ready yet, Lawd, neber min' how well prepared, We feel safe in Thy good mercy, but we're ebberlastin' scared ! " For You see we're mos'ly human when de grave comes re'lly nigh, An' de spirit wants its freedom, but de flesh it hates to die! We've been teasin' You for hebben all de summer long, I know ; But we ain't in half de hurry dat we was a while ago. "When we come to look de facts through, in de light ob pain an' fear, Dere is holes in all our armor dat at first view didn't appear ; An' we'd like to patch 'em over, if it's all de same to You; Put it off a yeah, for certain or perhaps You'd make it two! " Then we've got some poor relations who may neber see Thy face If dey do not earn de riches ob de sin - destroyin' grace ; 126 CITY LEGENDS Lawd, protect dem wid Thy patience, jus' de same-like as before, An' keep diggin' roun' dose fig-trees for anudder year or more ! " Let 'em off a little longer ! In de light ob dis event, Dey may recognize de season as a fine one to re pent ! Dey will like Ye when dey know Ye, an' be glad to enter in, An' dere's some dat's awful good, Lawd, ef it wasn't for deir sin ! " Dis yer world has lots of fine folks, who is anxious, I'm afraid, For to pick a little longer 'fore dey have deir baskets weighed ; An' dere'd be a large major'ty who would vote, it must be owned, For to hab de world's big fun'ral eberlastin'ly pos'- poned ! " An' You know, O good deah Fathah, dat Your time is all home-made, An' a thousan' years is nothin' in Your golden steel yards weighed ; Keep de same ol' footstool yet, Lawd ; hoi' it steady, I implore ! It '11 maybe suit You better if You use it jes once more! FIFTH CHAIN 127 "But ob co'se our weak-eyed wisdom's like a rain drop in de sea, An' we ain't got any business to be mendin' plans for Thee; If it's time to leave dese quarters an' go somewhar else to board, Make de journey jes as easy as your justice can afford ! "An' we know You hab a fondness for de average human soul, So we'll hab consid'ble courage at de callin' ob de roll ; You're our sure 'nuff livin' Fathah You're our fa- thahs' God an' frien' To de Lawd be praise an' glory, now an' evermore ! Amen !" 'Twas a day of peace in Charleston, after many days of dread, And the shelterless were sheltered, and the hungry had been fed; And the death - invaded city through its misery now could grope, And look forward to a future fringed with happiness and hope. And those faithful dusky Christians will maintain for evermore, That the fervent prayers they offered drove destruc tion from their shore; 128 CITY LEGENDS And how much faith moves a mountain, or commands a rock to stay, Is unknown to earthly ignorance, and for only God to say. SIXTH CHAIN Sijtb Cbaln SCENE I. , suburbs of the city of Quebec, in the early morning of December 31, 1775. The air is full of falling snow. Wind whirls the flakes drearily, and piles them into drifts. A band of American soldiers are waiting to storm a barrier thrown across the street. They have sustained a heroic march through the forests and mountain passes of Maine and Canada to make this fight. Colonel Benedict Arnold, their leader, ad dresses them. BENEDICT ARNOLD.* Men of the Western world, you stand before The mighty throne of England; that pursues It's conquests o'er the heights of ocean hills, And through the depths of your own forest waves ; That offers peace, if you will but accept Handcuffs and shackles with it ; that perhaps May let you live within your wilderness, If you will crouch in cabins of disgrace, And feed their foreign lordships. You have come * The three legends of this chain endeavor to exhibit, in dra matic form, the probable thoughts and feelings of one of the most remarkable characters of history under three widely dif fering sets of circumstances. 132 CITY LEGENDS Through all the dangers Nature could invent, Through all the suffering cruelty could ask, And fought, meanwhile, a constant, marching war, With rocks and hills with forests and with floods; But all that you thus far have done, has been The sowing of a seed, whose harvest now Stands nodding just before you. Will you reap This field of glory ? VOICES (with a hoarse cheer). We will follow you Through death, and anything that lies beyond! ARNOLD. Riches await you if you win this fight, Honor awaits you if you win this fight, Glory awaits you if you win this fight SOLDIER (aside, shivering as he grasps his snow-covered musket). I did not leave my well-loved forest home, I did not leave my wife and mother weeping, I did not leave my blue-eyed baby sleeping, Through these vast forest solitudes to roam. For honor or for glory or for gold. In three great words my motto can be told : God, Liberty, and Right! For these I fight. ARNOLD (continuing). Now let me say a word to any one Not friendly to this contest : if one's here Whose craven heart is still as yet untuned To the wild concert-pitch of war, I say Get out ! go back ! no bridges have been burned ; "... WILL YOU REAP THIS FIELD OF GLORY?" SIXTH CHAIN 133 Safe hospitals and beds upon the way Will take your puny, worthless bodies in. I shall be at the front ! I cannot stay Behind, to spur a coward to his duty. Go back weak woman by all women scorned ! But if there be those here who do not know What life means, without glory ; those whose hearts Find mountain air, even, poisoned, when it floats Above a land disgraced, come on with me ! And if you live, the world shall crown you heroes ; And if you die, though we've no Westminster Where you can be entombed in marble, yet Your names will bivouac in the nation's heart. Hoarse VOICES. Give us the word to charge! ARNOLD. Now charge, and conquer ! {They fight their way fiercely through the first barrier ; ARNOLD is -wounded and disabled, and carried to the rear, his soldiers still fighting. ARNOLD (as he is borne bleeding past his soldiers). Fight on, my men, for glory riches fame ! SOLDIER (grasping more tightly his musket). God, Liberty, and Right direct my aim ! 134 CITY LEGENDS SCENE II., the city of Philadelphia. A room in ARNOLD'S head quarters. Time, January, 1780. He holds in his hand a written reprimand from General Washington, which a court- martial had ordered administered. He paces the jloor like a caged panther. ARNOLD. I have decided ! Let these ragged men, These poverty-accoutred colonists Playing " Republic " at a dime a day, Shirk for themselves stripped of their strongest hope ! This hacked-up sword, that I so oft have worn In a red sheath of blood blood of their foes And been abused for all my pains and pain, Shall join the cast-off cutlery of fools, {Throwing it, crashing, to the floor. And I will take the bright, gold-hiked blade, Flashing with gems, that England offers me Then hew and stab my way to wealth and power. A nation fights for self why not a man ? Man is a nation ! with rich provinces Of heart and soul and brain ; and his success Is more to him than other men's to him ! They'll say, " He is a traitor." Let them howl ! Has not Dame Nature given me the cue ? The white frost is a traitor to the vine ; The head-wind is a traitor to the sail ; The tempest is a traitor to the ship ; The conflagration traitor to the house And all were friends until good reasons changed SIXTH CHAIN 135 Their love to venom. And have I not cause To shift my blood-drenched loyalty about ? What has this puling " nation," with thirteen Unluckily numbered colonies, e'er done To pay me for myself ? What has it given ? Honor? What flags has this frail sinking craft With which to cover even a chieftain's corpse ? My epaulettes are rags ; my titles scorned By the same foe that I so oft have driven. The English call him " Mr. Washington," And me plain Arnold. Honor! a good jokef So, what have these wild upstarts given me, To pay me for myself? Is't money? Well, When brass breeds gold, and lead yields diamonds, And promises are dollars, then my pay Will be a general's meed, and not a serf's! What has this Congress given to me ? One who Had suffered fifty deaths that they might live Had climbed and swam from Boston to Quebec- Had conquered cataracts, and frosts, and cliffs, Then fallen wounded almost to the death Fighting for them ? what dulcet word of cheer Has Congress offered me to heal my wounds? " Spendthrift, come here and settle your accounts !" When I on Lake Champlain stood by my ship 'Mid smoking, crackling masts, and sails, and spars And still fought with the foe fought them from hell ! What did they do to pay me for my blood? Promoted men above me, who had yet To learn the smell of powder! When beneath 136 CITY LEGENDS My fallen steed a duel I had waged With the foe's army what magnificent gift Did Congress tender me ? Another horse ! As if to say, " If you will ride to death In our supreme behalf, we'll pay your fare." . . . The card is played! I am a British subject! A VOICE seems to speak to him : Arnold, beware ! A traitor's name Is heavy to be borne ; Drag not your life through sloughs of shame Seek not a nation's scorn ! He who betrays his land of birth, Betrays all nations of the earth. Arnold, step back ! You stand before The coming century's tread ! Men yet to live may curse you sore, Long after you are dead ! The brave man treacherous to the brave, Must suffer, even in the grave. ARNOLD (fiercely, grasping his sword from the floor). Whose voice is that ? Coward, come out and fight ! Clash not dull words with me ; but try your sword. Who are you ? [An interval of silence. No one's here. ... It was my fancy. I am alone. Yet Solitude to-day Is grievous company. I'll call my servant, And test him slyly if he'll go with me. [Rings. Enter MIKE, a servant. SIXTH CHAIN 137 ARNOLD. Mike, this is quite a long and weary war. MIKE. Yes, sirrh, but bedad it '11 be longher and strongher and higher and lower and deeper and bloodier before we ever give up ! Bedad, before we'll ever give up we'll foight 'em till we can foight no more and aftherwards, too a long time aftherwards, bedad. ARNOLD. Mike, there are those who think we best had yield. MIKE. YALDE? GIVE UP? SURRENDHER? Sure, sirrh, that will never happen until the hottest place known in sachred or profane histhory frazes over ; and then, bedad, we'll put on the skates and have at 'em ! Gineral, I have two little bize one of them a girrul ; sure this same little girrul, she is growin' up to be her mother, right over and over again, widout her infirmities of temper. Gineral, I like that little girrul pretty well ; sure she is the only crature in the wurruld that ever set me to writhin' po'try ! and I sind her poems ivery day that no one but hersilf can undherstand, and she not ould enough ; I fell in love wid her the very day she was born, and me love it has incr'ased daily since. But, Gineral, sooner than I would see our little Re public surrendher, I would take that little girrul, kiss her good-bye, and lay her away in her coffin forever. [Exit. 138 CITY LEGENDS ARNOLD. Good heavens! how drear and lonely 'tis, even now, This turning on one's Country ! but 'tis done ; The card is played ; I am a British subject ! SCENE III., a hotel room near the city of London in 1794 twelve years after the close of the Revolutionary War. An American sits alone at a table -writing. A card is handed him by a servant. AMERICAN. Ah, Talleyrand ! what can he want with me ? Send him up. Enter TALLEYRAND. Pardon, Monsieur Anderson? AMERICAN (rising). General, sir. TALLEYRAND. Pardon. Parlez vous Frangais ? AMERICAN. Not well. TALLEYRAND. Then let us in the English talk, Which I know little of, but still can use. I beg you, General, listen now to me. I have been worked much for my country. I Have toiled and suffered hard ; it gives me naught Except allow me still much more to toil. It says to me : " We do not want you now " ; England replies, " We do not want you here." SIXTH CHAIN 139 And so my heart true to my country's weal, I carry to your land of liberty, Hoping my fortune may be nurtured there, Till it and I rush to my country's aid. Meanwhile, I ask you, General, that you give Me letters to some friends in yonder land AMERICAN (rising eagerly to his feet). What, friends ? You say I've friends out there ? Speak quick. Who are they? Let me know their names! Speak quick ! You shall have letters. Speak ! TALLEYRAND (shrugging his shoulders}. Why, General, I know not who your friends may be ; I know Who mine are ; they are those I love right well Those that are true to me, and I to them ; I hope some time my country all will say, " Talleyrand was our friend." Not now, but some time ! You surely have friends in your fatherland ? Send me to even the humblest! AMERICAN. Talleyrand, If you should pace my country, east to west, And north to south, and cry out as you walked, "Where are the friends of this man? A reward I offer to whome'er to me will bring A friend of him whose name this letter bears!" Then you would cry to all that Western land In vain. Yet not through silence would you walk: Curses would leap at you from every door; 140 CITY LEGENDS Hate's maledictions pierce you through and through ; Scorn would creep round you with its withering hiss; Only because you named me as a friend. Women and men and children all would cry, " Curse him forever !" TALLEYRAND. General, why is that ? Were you not brave ? AMERICAN (laughing). BRAVE ? ask them was I not ? Ask any one that e'er crossed swords with me, Was I not brave ? Ask you of any one, Peer or subaltern, where was I i' the fight? Did I say "Go," or "Come!" Brave? try me now! I was th' Achilles of the western fields ! Had I been marshalled in the Trojan wars, Homer my praises would be singing yet! I would be still a king 'mongst western kings Had I been true TALLEYRAND. True ? AMERICAN. Talleyrand, list to me. You speak of friends : you have true friends on earth You have some good friends in th' Elysian fields: They have marched on, and camp there till you come. Hearts you have tied to; souls that reach for yours; You know not, happy man, what 'tis to be Without one friend, in all God's threefold realm ! TALLEYRAND. Without one friend ? SIXTH CHAIN 141 AMERICAN. I speak it with my heart ! I have no friend in earth or heaven, or hell ! If I were brought before the bar of God, For final judgment, and it should be said, " If there be any one in all this throng Can speak one word for him, he shall be saved," All would be still, in thorny, scornful silence, And I be pushed down, headlong, to my doom. Worse than my doom ; for Satan would appear At his white-heated iron gate, and shout, " You are too vile to come as others do Too treacherous you would give away the pass! Delve midst the sulphurous filth outside, and then Sneak upward from beneath !" TALLEYRAND (aside). Insane ! insane ! AMERICAN (overhearing). No! no! too sane! too sane! would I might rave! I would pay well for lunacy's drurii-roll To drown the clamor of my thoughts ! Too sane ! God gave to me clear brain metallic will Warm heart credentials of a prince 'mongst men; But after me that treacherous spirit came The partner of all traitor-craft; the one That helped foul Judas count his silver coins, And changed them into lead to sink his soul ; That crept up even to Satan ere he fell, And whispered, " You can rule instead of God !" TALLEYRAND. For God's sake, man, who are you ? what your crime? 142 CITY LEGENDS AMERICAN. 'Tis hell enough, to think this day by day; But when night comes the horror-breeding night- The black page where are written lurid things We will not see or hear by day there throng In the dull currents of my sleep fierce souls, Swarming from dread, cold silences of death. One word they whisper in my aching ears, Till it becomes a shout ! It walks my brain, And leaves its tracks in branded letters there; Oh, I can look within, and read it now ! Midnight court-martial they hold over me They try me o'er and o'er for the same crime ; No one is there to speak a word for me ; And the same verdict always follows " GUILTY!" And the same sentence" Do NOT LET HIM DIE !' TALLEYRAND. Tell me your crime, man, tell me ! AMERICAN. Talleyrand, You yet are young ; you have the columns still, Perchance, of swiftly marching years to form. Take this advice from an old worn-out man Worn from without worn threadbare from within ; Be never false to man ; it is a crime ; But if you are, man some time may forget it. Be never false to woman ; 'tis a crime Greater ; but woman, heaven-like, may forgive. Be never false to childhood ; 'tis a crime Worst of all three ; perhaps God may forgive. But ne'er betray your country, till you wish To pull the red-hot roof of hell upon you ! 'I HAVE NO FRIEND IN EARTH, OR HEAVEN, OR HELL SIXTH CHAIN 143 TALLEYRAND. What did you do? AMERICAN. I'll tell you; nearer! nearer! Let me not speak, but whisper the damned truth! I took my country's honor from her eyes, I took my country's favors from her hand, I took my country's strongest-guarded hope, Her fortress, heaven-walled by river and hill, Key to her hopes hope of the centuries I took all these intrusted me by her Took them in my black hands on one black night, And sold them sold them sold them sold them sold them As I would vend a paltry patch of earth, As I would huckster off a senseless beast Sold them for some few paltry chips of gold Of rotting, rotten, senseless, beastly gold ! I sold the Western Hemisphere, and then, Poor fool, could not deliver the goods ! TALLEYRAND (rising). YOUR NAME! AMERICAN. Listen ! while I repeat to you the name Of one once grandest of the grand, now base So low and vile that men would not even use it To step upon, to keep them from the mud ! BENEDICT ARNOLD, TRAITOR ! SEVENTH CHAIN Seventh Cbain SCENE, the cosey back parlor of a city residence. An old-fashioned grandmother is sitting in the most pleasant corner, with knit ting-work on her lap. A lady teacher from some neighboring boarding-school sits near by, with a book in her hand. Sub dued strains of music come from the front parlor, where K.ATH- ERINE, the good old lady's favorite granddaughter, is practising a brilliant overture. GRANDMOTHER. I'm glad that it suited you, School-ma'am, to spend a few days here with Kate : You're both of you fine -wove and crisp - like, an' take to each other first-rate. When woman - hearts tangle together, they twist round again and again, An' make up a queer sort o' love-match I never have noticed in men. And, School-ma'am, I'm thriftily anxious about this smart gran'child o' mine, An' want to talk candid about her, with present an' future design. 148 CITY LEGENDS She's hungry for other folks' knowledge, an' never too full to be fed; She's packed every book that I know of, all open- leaved, like, in her head; The 'rithmetic makes its home with her ; the grammar is proud of her tongue ; She spells words as if she had made 'em, 'way back when the language was young. She knows all the g'ography found yet ; she'd feel in a manner at home, If dropped in the streets of J'rus'lem, or woke up some mornin' in Rome. She's studied the habits of planets knows how to call names at a star She's traced their invisible railroads, an* tells what their time-tables are ; She's learnin' the language of heathens, that good- minded people abhorred A-thwartin' the old Tower of Babel undoin' the work of the Lord. Yes, Teacher, our dear, pretty Kath'rine is very sleek- minded an' smart ; But still I can't help but to worry concernin' the breadth o' her heart! TEACHER. Why ! sympathies need not to narrow, because the brain clambers above; The more that a genuine heart knows, the better it knows how to love. SEVENTH CHAIN 149 A gem was all crowded with splendor, unseen in the gloom of the mines: Tis not now the less of a diamond because it is pol ished, and shines ! The flower that was hunted by wild weeds, thinks never to blossom less fair, Because it is borne to a garden, and tended with wis dom and care. A lamp in the sky had been tarnished by cloud-birds that flew from afar ; The wind swept the mist from its brightness it gleamed, all the more of a star ! Whate'er is at fault in your grandchild, her learning makes easier withstood ; Whatever is good in your grandchild, her learning makes only more good. GRANDMOTHER. That's nice, soothin" sentiments, School-ma'am, an' helps all that works in your line; It's one o' your golden opinions I wish that it also was mine ! But, Teacher, suppose that she marries the knives of her brain bright and keen An' knows all creation, excep' how to keep her house cosey and clean ! Suppose when her husband comes home tired, the cheer o' her table to seek, She feeds him with steak that is soggy, an' tells him its meanin' in Greek? ISO CITY LEGENDS Suppose that her coffee is muddy as if it was dipped from a trench : Will that make his stomach less homesick, because she can tell it in French ? Suppose that her help is her master, along o' the things she don't know : Can algebra make up the diff'rence, or grammar-books give her a show? Oh, School-ma'am, those women keep house best (with nothin' to say ag'in you) Who've learned to keep house o' their mothers, an' worked all its alphabet through! TEACHER. Your grandchild must choose for her husband a man with an intellect wide, Who makes of the well - guarded body a place for the soul to reside ; Whose home is a God - made cathedral, with heart- blessings clear-voiced and sweet ; Who comes back at night for soul -comfort not sim ply for what he can eat. Who thinks with her, feels with her, helps her has patience for both of their sakes ; Who celebrates all her successes, and takes stock in all her mistakes. Who treasures her well-taught advantage o'er one who unstudied begins ; Who welcomes with sweet -whispered pleasure each step of the race that she wins. SEVENTH CHAIN 151 Who leads her to minds that are kindled with brands from the watch-fires of fame ; Who's glad that her lamp has been trimmed well, to catch the clear sanctified flame. GRANDMOTHER. An' if she shouldn't find this cur'os'ty? TEACHER. Then let her as single be known ; And thank God her training has taught her to work out life's problem alone! GRANDMOTHER. But, School-ma'am, admittin' your arg'ment (if one can " admit " what one don't), We'll say that she'll marry an angel (though likelier 'twill happen she won't) ; But s'posin' she does, an' her children are sent, same as others, to school : I worry 'bout whether she'll let 'em be taught by the brain-stuffin' rule. It hurts me to see 'em build over a child into some body's " pride," Through givin' him heartaches each week - day, by poundin' his head from inside ! They make 'em bite books with their teethin'; grown learnin' runs all through their play ; They're killin' the children by inches, with five or six studies a day. 1 52 CITY LEGENDS They load 'em with large definitions as big as the children are small ; Ah me ! it's a wonder the poor things twist up into old folks at all ! There's many a poor little cre'tur' with other folks' words over-filled, Not only " made mad " by " much learning," but weak ened an' sickened an' killed ! There's many a green little grass-mound, whose tenant would say, could it talk, "I died by their tryin' to run me, before I was able to walk !" TEACHER. A blessing's no less of a blessing, because by some one 'tis abused ; The air, fire, and water can murder and yet they all have to be used. The steed that we drive to the river, is tempted, not tortured, to drink ; The child should be given thought-burdens but only to teach him to think. Take comfort from now for the future ; for Katherine, with all that she knows, Is bright as a dollar just minted, and fresh as a new- blossomed rose. GRANDMOTHER. But, School- ma'am, I worry (you notice I'm built in a worryin' way, And ne'er will learn how not to worry, clean up to my uttermost day) "THERE'S MANY A GREEN LITTLE GRASS-MOUND' SEVENTH CHAIN 153 'Bout whether my granddaughter Kath'rine will nour ish her children to home, Or let them run loose, so she sweetly through chari ty's pleasures can roam? I worried my children up safely I care for my grand children too I want my great-grandchildren cared for so their chil dren also will do. Just read how three poor little creatur's, who born too luxurious and high To reach happy home and its comforts were left by their mother to die ! TEACHER reads from a scrap-book: KIDNAPPED IN MERCY Through long, bright paths of The Gold Streeted Town, Three angels walked, one day, to make a tour In the rude country districts of wide space. They sped past mansions built of costly gems Past steeples, minarets, and spires of gold ; They crossed a coral bridge on silver wires, Swinging above a clear-voiced stream ; they walked Through parks that in their laps held sweet bouquets, And in their hands waved grand, immortal trees; They passed through all heart-splendors realized Through every pure dream of their lives come true ! 154 CITY LEGENDS Now, ere they stepped out into cold, wide space, And turned the cloud-like hill that hid The Town, They trained their eyes on the magnificence Of the half-distant city, as if going For many years instead of one short day. Along the dusty turnpikes of cold space, These angels walked ; they crossed wide avenues That led to stars of various size and tint. One there was, where a gilded finger-post Said, " To the planet Venus." There was one That read, " This way to Neptune." All the stars Were listed in the guideposts that they saw. And yet they turned not, right nor left ; although Their passports, sealed in Heaven, would shelter them Where'er they willed to go : they could have known Where queenly Saturn found her diamond rings ; How the striped juggler, Jupiter, can toss Four worlds as playthings round his stalwart form; They could have seen th' attendants of the sun Feed full each hour his hot electric fires; They passed all these, and came to a small lane, Barred by a gate, sagging on one weak hinge, With slats part stained and rusted o'er with blood, But now and then a wire of pure bright gold ; Whose latch was set with bright bewildering gems, One view of which built passion's wildest fire ; But with sharp, gleaming knives concealed within, That cut the hand that lifted up the latch. SEVENTH CHAIN 155 This was a road to Earth ; and here they paused, Raised the bright, treacherous bolt, and entered through. Earth once had been their own sweet, bitter home, And still they sadly loved to visit here. Through flowers almost as sweet as Heaven could grow, Through loathsome, bad -faced weeds that bit and stung, Past silver-throated birds that made the trees, Even, seem to sing o'er serpents coiled and fierce Past wild brutes that would tear the world in two, And white, sweet lambs that loved their angel guests, And journeyed after them, and kissed their hands Down this long, crooked, sharp-contrasted lane, These angels walked : they were upon The Earth. No scenery here, but was each hour surpassed In their new home ; no architecture grand, More than a feeble parody on Heaven. What walked they here to see? They came to help. In a rough city road they met with three Small children, wandering desolate about, Searching for something that would feed their minds, And please their fancies ; searching wistfully, And weariedly, and with sad countenance, For something that would cheer their desolate hearts. One was a tiny warrior : he had fought With coarser urchins, till his chubby face Was scratched and bruised ; one was a pretty girl, I$6 CITY LEGENDS Who made herself believe that rows of stones Were mansion walls ; she had her little rooms, Each with the sky for ceiling. In one nook, She kept a homely, patched-up doll, and oft Above it crooned, and kissed it with love-looks. Another little girl, with dark, weird eyes, Was gazing at the clouds, as if she longed To fly with them. But all looked desolate ; And near to them, three loathsome shadow-fiends Laughed with each other at the children leered And whispered, " They are certain to be ours." By toil, and pain, and many a prayer to God, The angels dressed themselves in mortal shape, And kindly called the children. They all came, With tears of pleasure framed in eager eyes, And hunger in their hearts. Twas many a day Since they had had such restful, loving words. " Where is your mother, little one ?" was asked. " Oh, she is at a grand reception, ma'am." " Where was she yesterday ?" " At some great feast, With many other ladies." "Day before?" " Out at the Home for Helpless Children, ma'am." " When does she let you see her ?" " Only just Once in a while. But Nurse is good to us, And goes and visits with another nurse, And lets us run about, and play alone." " Where is your father, little ones ?" was said. " Why, Papa ? let me see we have one yet SEVENTH CHAIN 157 He lives in town, but stays at our house nights. I saw him, only just a month ago. He's very large and pretty but he scowls. He's getting rich, or something of that kind." And still the shadow-fiends together laughed, And whispered to each other, " They are ours." II Once more through paths of The Gold Streeted Town These angels walked ; and at Heaven's outer gate Another angel joined them dressed in black. Far in the country districts of wide space, Again they journeyed. When, this time, was reached The gate of Earth Night stood there, dark and cold. Through the long, winding lane they walked ; and then On silent streets, by Earth's great shadow hushed. Through thrice-locked doors, up lofty velvet stairs Of a great mansion, crept the silent four. Three children lay upon luxurious cots, Restlessly sleeping : one, with tear-stained face, Mourned the lost, threadbare doll she loved so well ; Another curved his brow and shook his fist Against some foe he had in Dreamland met; The third lay sleeping, with a pretty smile, Half hoping and half sure her dreams were true ; 158 CITY LEGENDS But all looked piteous, sad, and desolate. And over them the loathsome shadow-fiends Laughed with each other at the children leered And whispered, " They are certain to be ours." Softly the angel clothed in black bent down, And kissed the little sleepers ; a slight pang Vexed each pale face, and then three forms emerged From the frail bodies, looking like to them, But purer far, and sweeter. With a smile, They gazed up at the looks of love they saw, And trembling with the first pure heart-delight They ever yet had known, soft kissed the lips That bent to them and whispered, " Come with us." And then they walked to The Gold Streeted Town. Then Faith, one of the angels, said, " Right true We were to these sweet colonists of ours; And it has been as God said it must be." And Hope replied, " The lives we have just saved Will learn to help and pity other lives." And Charity chief of the three exclaimed, " Poor parents ! when they find their little ones Sleeping so cold, with Death's thin covering, They will remember all the sad neglect Their careless selfishness around them threw, And some time will be richer for their loss." And Death said, " Farewell ; I can only go Far as the gates; I ne'er can enter in; SEVENTH CHAIN 159 I do God's work, but never see His home ;" And wrapped his black cloak round him, and was gone. GRANDMOTHER. Now s'p'osin' that Kath'rine should turn out a mother like that one, some day, An' let my great -gran'childr'n suffer till Heaven had to take 'em away? Suppose, that in holdin' together outside homes that pull at her heart, She let's her own fam'ly run helpless, an' sees her own home fall apart? She's al'ays herself sacrificin' for others ; which, when people do, They'll sacrifice, if they ain't careful, the ones that is nearest 'em, too. TEACHER. If love and not pride is the reason our good deeds about us are strown, They help us be true to our loved ones they make us more fond of our own. If Charity feeds on Heaven's goodness, and not on Earth's senseless display, 'Twill care first for those who are nearest, and lead them the same lofty way. True Charity comes from the heart - depths, and not from pride's glittering foam ; Remember " the light that shines farthest, shines al ways the brightest at home!" l6o CITY LEGENDS GRANDMOTHER. But, Teacher, I worry 'cause Kath'rine of nothin* par- tic'l'r afraid Gets humbugged, annoyed, an' imposed on, by those she is tryin' to aid ; The folks that she lends, never pay her; the gratitude does not come roun'; I b'lieve that that girl has been humbugged by half of the beggars in town ! TEACHER. Life throngs with experiments ; most things we do are the planting of grain Perhaps we are building gold harvests perchance we may fruitless remain. On ruins of many a century the edifice stands as we gaze; A splendid success, loved of Heaven, full many a fail ure repays. [ Turns a few leaves of the scrap-book, and reads : LADY BOUNTIFUL'S TRIUMPH She was modestly winsome, and stylishly fair, And the sunbeams had spun the rich skeins of her hair, And her eyes were as bright as pure diamonds be, And her form had the grace of a zephyr-tossed tree; She was " pretty," some whispered, and " handsome," some said, And " beautiful " others described her instead ; SEVENTH CHAIN l6l And covetous glances were after her sent, And flattery followed wherever she went. And her heart was as soft as her ribbons were gay, And she loved all the world, in a general way (For the hard jailer Fashion, with all of his art, Cannot chain up a really generous heart), And her white hand was open, to prince or to boor, If he only was ragged, and wretched, and poor. And her husband coined lucre from day unto day, And she faithfully struggled to give it away ; For if he from the world to win gold had a knack, She esteemed it her part to pay some of it back ! And Charity knows very well how it thrives, When 'tis zealously managed by rich people's wives; There's many a lady, whose alms would ill fare, If it wasn't for a selfish old husband somewhere ! And he smiled on her giving (she gave, as he knew, A dollar, where he made a thousand or two) ; But his smile had the feel of a good-natured sneer; For he fought with the world, and approached it more near; And he noticed that all is not Want that complains, And that Charity often is scorned for its pains ; That the unctuous asking of alms is a gift, And that Poverty, sometimes, itself, is a thrift ; And that he who will carelessly bounties accord, Oft is lending to Satan, instead of the Lord. l62 CITY LEGENDS And the first piteous mortal she happened to meet, Was a woe-begone beggar, who crept thro' the street ; With face properly sad and form carefully bent, And a mien that strewed sorrow wherever he went. And she wondered what terrible lot could be worse, And gave him such cash as she had in her purse; And then went home at once, with a face like the sun, With her husband to share the good deed she had done. But he laughingly said, when she pictured her friend, " That poor scamp has a bank - book, and money to lend." And she wept with vexation ; and vowed not to give To a beggar again, long as Heaven let her live. And a little while after, it chanced to befall, That a sad-looking gentleman made her a call, With late news from her pastor ; which bade her ex tend To this brother afflicted, the hand of a friend. And the sad-looking man drew a picture of gloom Of a sick, wretched wife, in a comfortless room ; Of the bad luck around him accustomed to lurk, And the way he had worked, that he might obtain work; And he made her believe, that if help were not found, He would starve, ere another bright Sabbath came round. Then he offered for sale sadly resolute still A small one-dollar book for a ten-dollar bill. SEVENTH CHAIN 163 And sweet sympathy warmed up her heart, through and through, And instead of one book, she invested in two ; And she waited her husband's home-coming, to run And share with his heart the good deed she had done. But the afternoon paper contained a hot sketch Of this scamp, whom it called "an unprincipled wretch," Informing an oft-told community how He had swindled for months, and was swindling them now ; And it gave a long history, gloomy with fact, And a full-length description, absurdly exact. So her husband she met with a pain-chastened grace, And a queer look of innocent shame in her face; And instead of her setting his heart all astir, He employed the whole evening in comforting her, And she vowed, if she lived to be ninety years old, Of no agent again would she buy, and be sold. And the next case of pity her heart chanced to greet, Was a hand-organ woman who sat in the street ; Who, old and unfeminine, said not a word, And played a queer tune that could scarcely be heard. And 'twas plainly apparent, and hard not to see, There were two wooden stumps where her feet ought to be. And our sweet Lady Bountiful's heart nestled near This sister, so palpably wretched and drear ; And she gave her enough, moved by Charity's call, To buy the dame out legs, hand-organ, and all. .164 CITY LEGENDS And she went home at night with her heart all aglow With the help she had given to this daughter of woe; And this sweet-bread of deeds like a generous child She shared with her best friend, who praised her, and smiled ; For he knew all the time, and so, shortly, did she, That this pauper of streets was as rich as need be ; And had married a daughter, with splendor quite rare, And had given to her jewels a duchess could wear.* And our dear Lady Bountiful drooped with dismay, At having been tricked in this high-handed way, And vowed none again with her bounty to greet, Unless blessed with the requisite number of feet. And the next, and the next, and the next, and the next Of the times she was tricked, made her almost as vexed ; But there came, one dark evening, a gleam of surprise, From a woman whose heart had a home in her eyes ; Whose words sweetly warmed her fair friend ; for they burned With gratitude true, that had truly been earned. And she murmured, " To me you are dearer than breath ; You snatched me from sorrow, and suffering, and death ; You lifted a burden my soul could not bear; You tided me over the rocks of despair. * This was also true of a certain Parisian beggaress, who ex ploited the pedal outfit above described. SEVENTH CHAIN 165 You saved me my daughter my husband my son; God bless you and yours, for the deeds you have done !" And the lady's tired heart on this gratitude fed, For her husband had happened to hear what was said ; And the man of the world as a tear graced his eye Felt as if he had news from the world in the sky ; And he said to his wife, as her gemmed hand he pressed, " This transaction defrays the expense of the rest." GRANDMOTHER. But, Teacher, I'll tell my main trouble (though less than the ones I have said) ; I'm gettin' behind the times daily, while Kate keeps a-gettin' ahead. She'll grow a fine lady, and nothin' between us in com mon there'll be; Now don't you think, some time or other, that Kate '11 be 'shamed, like, of me ?" KATE (entering and kissing GRANDMOTHER). Ashamed of you? Never! I'd give more for one silver hair of your head, Than all of the studies I know of, and all of the authors I've read! Do you know, you absurd dear old grandma', your heart and your brain are more aid, Than all of the sciences heard of, and all of the books ever made ! 166 CITY LEGENDS No process that man has discovered, will act out affec tion's pure part ; The brain of the head is a failure, compared to the brain of the heart ! Ashamed of you ? Let your grand life-work an answer unqualified be ! Pray God that my life may be lived so you'll never be " 'shamed like " of me ! THE END UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-50m-7,'54( 5990) 444 PS Carleton - -125? City legends C$2 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A 001 374 623 5 PS 1257 C52