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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of City Ballads, by Will Carleton
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: City Ballads
+
+Author: Will Carleton
+
+Release Date: August 3, 2011 [EBook #36954]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CITY BALLADS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Dianne Nolan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  [Illustration: "THESE ARE THE SPIRES THAT WERE GLEAMING."]
+
+
+
+    CITY BALLADS
+
+
+    BY
+    WILL CARLETON
+    AUTHOR OF "FARM BALLADS" "FARM LEGENDS" "FARM FESTIVALS"
+    "YOUNG FOLKS' CENTENNIAL RHYMES" ETC.
+
+
+    _ILLUSTRATED_
+
+
+    NEW YORK
+    HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE
+
+
+
+
+    Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1885, by
+
+    HARPER & BROTHERS,
+
+    In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
+
+
+  _All rights reserved._
+
+
+
+
+    TO
+
+    ADÓRA
+
+    FRIEND, COMRADE, LOVER, WIFE
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+When city people go among forests and hills, they drink in the fresh
+air and weird scenery of rural surroundings, with much more relish,
+enjoyment, and appreciation, than do the life-long residents they
+find there.
+
+For the same reason, the great drama of metropolitan existence falls
+most forcibly upon those just from the clear streams and green
+meadows of the country. Their impressions then are deeper, and their
+feelings more intense than if they were city born and bred.
+
+With the latter fact in view, this book is an effort to reproduce
+some of the effects of city scenes and character upon the intellect
+and imagination of two people from the country:
+
+First, a young student, who has travelled the well-beaten roads of a
+college course, but is just entering real life, and now for the
+first time walks the paved and palace-bordered streets of which he
+has heard and read so much.
+
+Second, an old farmer, with very little "book-learning," but a clear
+brain, a warm heart, and independent judgment, and a habit of
+philosophizing upon everything he sees, which habit he brings to the
+city, and applies to the strange facts he witnesses.
+
+These, with certain incidental thoughts and characters encountered
+and discussed, constitute the present work. It will be found, as
+intended, sketchy and suggestive rather than elaborate and complete.
+Note-books and diaries are designed, not so much for the history of
+a career or an event, as a light to the memory, a stimulus to the
+imagination, and a help to the heart.
+
+It is the hope of the author that his book may perform those offices
+for you, his readers, and that it will rouse your pity of pain, your
+enjoyment of honest mirth, your hatred of sham and wrong, and your
+love and adoration of the Resolute and the Good, and their winsome
+child, the Beautiful.
+
+In which case he shakes hands with his large and loved constituency,
+and continues happy.
+
+                                                             W. C.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                             PAGE
+
+    WEALTH                                                     15
+      _Including_
+        THE LOVELY YOUNG MAN                                   28
+        IF I'D A MILLION MILLIONS                              35
+        FARMER STEBBINS ON ROLLERS                             40
+
+    WANT                                                       46
+      _Including_
+        THAT SWAMP OF DEATH                                    53
+        A SEWING-GIRL'S DIARY                                  64
+
+    FIRE                                                       75
+      _Including_
+        WHEN PROMETHEUS STOLE THE FLAME                        77
+        FLASH: THE FIREMAN'S STORY                             79
+        HOW WE FOUGHT THE FIRE                                 84
+        "YOU WILL TELL ME WHERE IS CONRAD?"                    90
+
+    WATER                                                      93
+      _Including_
+        THE DEAD STOWAWAY                                      97
+        THE WEDDING OF THE TOWNS                              102
+        FARMER STEBBINS AT OCEAN GROVE                        107
+
+    VICE                                                      113
+      _Including_
+        THE BOY-CONVICT'S STORY                               115
+        FARMER STEBBINS ON THE BOWERY                         119
+        FARMER STEBBINS AHEAD                                 124
+        THE SLUGGING-MATCH                                    130
+
+    VIRTUE                                                    132
+      _Including_
+        MORE WAYS THAN ONE                                    136
+        THE MARCH OF THE CHILDREN                             141
+
+    TRAVEL                                                    143
+      _Including_
+        HER TOUR                                              144
+        AT THE SUMMIT OF THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT              148
+        THE SILENT WHEEL                                      155
+        FARMER AND WHEEL; OR, THE NEW LOCHINVAR               157
+        ONLY A BOX                                            166
+
+    HOME                                                      170
+      _Including_
+        LET THE CLOTH BE WHITE                                172
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS.
+
+
+                                                             Page
+
+  "_These are the spires that were gleaming_"       _Frontispiece._
+
+  "_I saw tall derricks by the hundred rise_"                  21
+
+  "_I reached my hand down for it and it stopped_"             29
+
+  "_When all to once the wheels departed suddenly
+   above, an' took along my heels_"                            43
+
+   _Farmer Stebbins on Rollers_                                45
+
+  "_Yes, it's straight and true, good preacher,
+  every word that you have said_"                              51
+
+  "_Choked and strangled by the foul breath of the
+  chimneys over there_"                                        54
+
+  "_Oh, the air is pure and wholesome where some babies
+  coo and rest, and they trim them out with ribbons,
+  and they feed them with the best_"                           55
+
+  "_Weary old man with the snow-drifted hair, not by
+  your fault are you suffering there_"                         59
+
+  "_Is't the same girl that stood, one night, there in
+  the wide hall's thrilling light?_"                           65
+
+  "_And hateful hunger has come in_"                           69
+
+  "_He begged that horse's pardon upon his bended knees_"      80
+
+  "_Away he rushed like a cyclone for the head
+  o'_ '_Number Three_'"                                        82
+
+  "_Laid down in his harness_"                                 83
+
+  _How we Fought the Fire_                                     87
+
+  "_Battered and bruised, forever abused, he lay by
+  the moaning sea_"                                            99
+
+  "_Miss Sunnyhopes she waded out_"                           108
+
+  "_Two inland noodles, for our first acquaintance
+  with the sea_"                                              109
+
+  "_A-floating on her dainty back_"                           110
+
+  "_I tried to kick this_ '_lovely wave_'"                    110
+
+  "_Heels over head--all in a bunch!_"                        111
+
+  "_We voted that we'd had enough_"                           111
+
+  "_To make four hundred dollars clear, an' help the
+  children too_"                                              121
+
+  "_We come 'thin part of one of it_"                         123
+
+  "_They_ '_put their heads together_' _in a new an'
+  painful way_"                                               127
+
+  "_He makes himself a bigger fool than all the fools
+  he makes_"                                                  129
+
+  _The Salvation Army_                                        140
+
+  _The March of the Children_                            141, 142
+
+  _From the Monument_                                         149
+
+  "_And he stood there, like a colonel, with her
+  trembling on his arm_"                                      159
+
+  _Chasing the Bicycle_                                       163
+
+  "_Only a box, secure and strong, rough and wooden,
+  and six feet long_"                                         167
+
+  "_And carry back, from out our plenteous store,
+  enough to keep himself a fortnight more_"                   172
+
+  "_The hungry city children are coming here to-night_"       173
+
+  "_He heard its soft tones through the cottages creep,
+  from fond mothers singing their babies to sleep_"           177
+
+
+
+
+CITY BALLADS.
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+WEALTH.
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+
+            Here in The City I ponder,
+            Through its long pathways I wander.
+            These are the spires that were gleaming
+            All through my juvenile dreaming.
+    This is The Something I heard, far away,
+    When, at the close of a tired Summer day,
+    Resting from work on the lap of a lawn,
+    Gazing to whither The Sun-god had gone,
+    Leaving behind him his mantles of gold--
+    This is The Something by which I was told;
+            "Bend your head, dreamer, and listen--
+            Come to my splendors that glisten!
+            Either to triumph they call you,
+            Or to what worst could befall you!"
+    This is The Something that thrilled my desires,
+    When the weird Morning had kindled his fires,
+    And the gray city of clouds in the east
+    Lighted its streets as for pageant or feast,
+            Whisp'ring--my spirit elating--
+            "Come to me, boy, I am waiting!
+    Bring me your muscle and spirit and brain--
+    Here to my glory-strewn, ruin-strewn plain!"
+            Treading the trough of the furrow,
+          Digging where life-rootlets burrow,
+          Blade of the food-harvest swinging,
+          In the barns toiling and singing,
+          Breath of a hay-meadow smelling,
+          Forest-trees loving and felling--
+          Where'er my spirit was turning,
+          Lived that mysterious yearning!
+    When in the old country school-house I conned
+    Legends of life in the broad world beyond--
+    When in the trim hamlet-college I cast
+    Wondering glances at days that were past--
+    Ever I longed for the walls and the streets,
+    And the rich conflict that energy meets!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    So I have come: but The City is great
+    Bearing me down like a brute with its weight.
+    So I have come: but The City is cold,
+    And I am lonelier now than of old.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Yet, 'tis the same restless story:
+    Even to fail here were glory!
+    Grand, to be part of this ocean
+    Of matter and mind and emotion!
+    Here flow the streams of endeavor,
+    Cityward trending forever.--
+    Wheat-stalks that tassel the field,
+    Harvests of opulent yield,
+    Grass-blades that fence with each other,
+    Flower-blossoms--sister and brother--
+    Roots that are sturdy and tender,
+    Stalks in your thrift and your splendor,
+    Mind that is fertile and daring,
+    Face that true beauty is wearing--
+          All that is strongest and fleetest,
+          All that are dainty and sweetest.
+    Look to the domes and the glittering spires,
+    Waiting for you with majestic desires!
+    List to The City's gaunt, thunderous roar,
+    Calling and calling for you evermore!
+    Long in the fields you may labor and wait--
+    You and your tribe may come early or late;
+    Beauty and excellence dwell and will dwell
+    Oft amid garden and moorland and fell;
+          Long generations may hold them,
+          Centuries oft can enfold them;
+    But the rich City's they some time shall be,
+    Sure as the spring is the food of the sea.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+SEPTEMBER 20, 18--.
+
+    Wind in the south-west; weather wondrous fine;
+    Thermometer 'twixt seventy-eight and nine.
+    Ground rather dry; sun flails us over-warm;
+    It's most time for the equinoctial storm.
+    Family healthy as could be desired;
+    Except we're somewhat mind and body tired
+    At moving over such a lengthy road,
+    And settling down here in our town abode,
+    And wrestling with the pains that filter through one
+    When he gives up an old home for a new one.
+
+    Old Calendar, you've always stood me true;
+    Now I'll change works, and do the same by you!
+    You're just as good as when, with aching arm,
+    I cleared and worked that eighty-acre farm!
+    And every night, in those hard, dear old days,
+    'Twas one of my most unconditional ways,
+    When to my labors I had said Good-night,
+    And recompensed my home-made appetite,
+    And talked with Wife, and traded family views,
+    And gathered all the latest township news,
+    And dealt my sons a sly fraternal hit,
+    And flirted with my daughters just a bit,
+    And through the papers tried my way to see,
+    So the world shouldn't slip out from under me,
+    As I was saying--in those sweet old days,
+    'Twas one of my most unconditional ways,
+    To go to you, old book, before I'd sleep,
+    And hand you over all the day to keep.
+
+    I gave you up what weather I could find,
+    Likewise the different phases of my mind;
+    What my hard hands from morn to night had done,
+    And what my mind had been subsisting on;
+    What accidents had touched my brain with doubt,
+    And what successes it had whittled out;
+    How well I had been able to control
+    The weather fluctuations of my soul;
+    What progress or what failures I had made
+    In spying round and stealing Nature's trade;
+    The seeds of actions planted long ago,
+    And whether they had blossomed out or no;
+    And oft, from what you of the past could tell,
+    I've learned to steer my future pretty well.
+
+    And now I'M RICH (who ever thought 'twould be!)
+    I'll stand by you, as you have stood by me;
+    And now I'm "City people"--having moved
+    (My circumstances suddenly improved)
+    Into this town, with some quick-gotten pelf,
+    To educate my children and myself,
+    And give my wife, who has a pedigree,
+    A chance to flutter round her family tree,
+    And show her natural city airs and graces
+    (Which didn't "take" quite so well in country places)
+    Now we are here, old fellow, while we stay
+    I'll give you all the news from day to day.
+    I'll find the good that in this city lurks,
+    By regular, systematic, hard days' works;
+    I'll rummage fearless round amongst the harm,
+    As when I hoed up thistles on my farm;
+    Shake hands with Virtue, help Sin while I spurn it,
+    And if there's anything to learn, I'll learn it.
+
+    How little I suspected, by the way--
+    Scrambling for pennies in that patch of clay,
+    The bare expenses of our lives to meet--
+    That waves of wealth were washing at my feet!
+    And when my hard and rather lazy soil
+    Sprung a leak upward with petroleum-oil--
+    When, through the wonder in my glad old eyes,
+    I saw tall derricks by the hundred rise,
+    Flinging wealth at me with unceasing hand,
+    And turning to a mine my hard old land,
+    Until it seemed as if the spell would hold
+    Till every blade of grass was turned to gold--
+    I felt, as never yet had come to me,
+    How little round the curves of life we see;
+    Or, in our rushings on, suspect or view
+    What sort of stations we are coming to!
+    It brought a similar twinge--though not so bad--
+    As once, when losing every cent I had.
+
+    But still it could not shift my general views;
+    My mind didn't faint at one good piece of news.
+    I think I'd too much ballast 'neath my sail
+    To be capsized by one good prosperous gale
+    (Same as I didn't lie down and give up all
+    That other time, when tipped up by a squall).
+    I didn't go spreeing for my money's sake,
+    Or with my business matters lie awake;
+    'Twould never do, as I informed my wife,
+    To let a little money spoil our life!
+
+    And now I'm rich (who ever thought 'twould be!)
+    I'll look about, and see what I can see;
+    Appoint myself a visiting committee,
+    With power to act in all parts of the city;
+    Growl when I must, commend whene'er I can,
+    And lose no chance to help my fellow-man.
+    For he who joy on others' paths has thrown,
+    Will find there's some left over for his own;
+    And he who leads his brother toward the sky,
+    Will in the journey bring himself more nigh.
+
+    And what I see and think, in my own way,
+    I'll tell to you, Old Calendar, each day;
+    And if I choose to do the same in rhyme,
+    What jury would convict me of a crime?
+    For every one, from palaces to attics,
+    Has caught, some time or other, _The Rhythmatics_.
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+          Still through The City I ponder,
+          Still do I wonder and wander.
+          City--unconscious descendant
+          Of olden-time cities resplendent!
+          Child of rich forefathers hoary,
+          Clad in their gloom and their glory!--
+    Dream I of you in the rich, mellow past,
+    Throbbing with life, and with Death overcast.
+
+    Thebes--not to you, crushed and ghastly and dumb,
+    Even the wreck-loving Ivy will come!
+    Where stood your hundred broad, world-famous gates,
+    Now a black Arab for charity waits.
+    Not like this City--metropolis bold--
+    Where the whole world brings its goods and its gold!
+
+    Babylon--here the queen's gardens climbed high,
+    Painting their flowers on the blue of the sky:
+
+  [Illustration: "I SAW TALL DERRICKS BY THE HUNDRED RISE."]
+
+    This is where sinners, one asinine hour,
+    Thought they could travel to Heaven by tower.
+    (How like some sinners to-day, whose desires
+    Mount by the way of their greed-builded spires!)
+
+    Troy--of rare riches and valor possessed,
+    Ruined fore'er by one beautiful guest--
+    (Here many Helens, though less of renown,
+    Do for some men what she did for a town!)
+
+    Wondrous Palmyra, whose island of green,
+    'Mid the bleak sand, reared the beautiful queen
+          (Sweet-faced Zenobia, peerless
+          Proud in her virtue, and fearless)
+    In this metropolis, virtuously grand,
+    Many a queen is a joy to the land!
+
+    Tyre--the huge pillars that groaned under thee,
+    Rest in the depths of a desolate sea;
+    Long may it be ere the spray's salted showers
+    Foam o'er the walls of this city of ours!
+
+    Mound-men's vast cities, whose graves we accost,
+    Even your names are in ruins--and lost.
+    What if, some time when this nation is nought,
+    Vainly our names in our graves should be sought!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Cities that yet are to flourish,
+    That the rich Future must nourish!
+    Where will you take up your stations--
+    Where set your massive foundations?
+    Where are the slumbering meadows,
+    Dreaming of clouds through their shadows,
+    That by rough wheels rudely shaken,
+    Into new life shall awaken?
+    Harbors that placidly float
+    Nought but the fisherman's boat,
+    Think you of fleets that shall lie
+    Under the blue of your sky;
+    When shall be built on your land
+    Palaces wealthily grand;
+    When in your face from tall spires
+    Gleam the electrical fires?
+    Cities that yet are to be,
+    You are not phantoms to me!
+    You are as certain and sure
+    As that Old Time shall endure.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Stars in the distant, mysterious sky,
+    Flashing and flaming and dancing on high,
+          Each is an earth to its millions,
+          Each has its domes and pavilions.
+    Cities, I see you--by reasoning led--
+    On the great map with blue leaves overhead.
+    Seaport and lakeport and rich inland town,
+    Capital city, and village of brown;
+          Thanking the prairie-food-givers,
+          Strung on the winding star-rivers.
+    Earths that can signal to earths, every one,
+    With the bright torches you stole from the sun,
+          Each on its surface has strown
+          Cities and towns of its own,
+          Fraught with their crimes and their graces,
+          Full of mysterious places.
+          They are no myths unto me--
+          Clearly their outlines I see;
+          Millions of towns I descry
+          Hanging o'er me from the sky.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Still through the paths of the town,
+    Dreaming, I walk up and down.
+    Is it so much of a wonder--
+    Part of this whole, yet asunder,
+    I in this throng, and I only--
+    That I am wretched and lonely?
+    Loneliness--loneliness ever--
+    Leaving me utterly, never!
+    Yes, I am part of this ocean
+    Of matter and mind and emotion;
+    Yet how entirely apart,
+    Severed in mind and in heart!
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+SEPTEMBER 25, 18--.
+
+    Wealth--wealth--wealth--wealth! I never had been led,
+    From all I'd thought and dreamed and heard and read,
+    To think so much wealth, in whatever while,
+    Could be raked up into one shining pile!
+    Not long ago, a hundred dollars clear,
+    Big as a hay-stack would to me appear.
+    When first a thousand dollars made me smile,
+    I sympathized with Croesus quite a while;
+    But looking round here makes me feel the same
+    As if I hadn't a nickel to my name!
+
+    Wealth--wealth! why, every acre I behold
+    Has cost a mine of Californi' gold!
+    The very ground one building here might fill
+    Would almost buy the town of Tompkins Hill!
+
+    There isn't a house my scrutiny has crossed
+    But catches several figures in its cost;
+    And when your eyes into the parlor go
+    ('Mongst things they leave the curtains up to show),
+    And see the carpets, rugs, and draperies rich,
+    That twine ten dollars into every stitch,
+    And view great pictures that such prices hold
+    As if the painter's brush were dipped in gold;
+
+    And when along the roads great buggies glide,
+    With covers on, and rich-dressed folks inside,
+    And up on top a man to drive the team--
+    As fat as any cat brought up on cream
+    (Man and team both), the driver dressed as gay
+    As if he meant to marry that same day,
+    Or wed his boss's daughter that same night
+    (Which some consider as the coachman's right,
+    And think it's understood, when he engages,
+    A daughter should be thrown in with his wages),
+    When even the horses, as so many do,
+    Wear jewelry that cost a farm or two,
+    You wonder in what tree-top grew the cash
+    To buy so much reality and trash!
+
+    Wealth--wealth--wealth--wealth! the very corner stores
+    Are gold-mines from the ceilings to the floors!
+    The shop we thought would ruin Cousin Phil,
+    Because 'twas over-large for Tompkins Hill,
+    Would, in the small vest-pocket, lose its way,
+    Of one man's place I wandered through to-day!
+
+    And then the banks--a hundred on one street--
+    As full of money as an egg of meat
+    (Although one never knows beyond a doubt
+    What colored chickens they'll be hatching out);
+
+    And then the churches--elegant to view--
+    An independent fortune in each pew.
+    One window-pane in one big church that's here
+    Cost more than our old preacher made per year!
+    (A city pastor's salary, I declare,
+    Would keep _him_ all his life, with cash to spare,
+    A-preaching in that little house of wood,
+    Holding his hearers' eyes in all he could,
+    With rolling meadows and green trees in view,
+    And fresh-complexioned streamlets wandering through);
+
+    And then the rich school-houses in this town,
+    Where children can be taught up-stairs and down,
+    Swifter (if not so thorough), I suppose,
+    Than in the small log school-house, where I rose
+    From Numeration to the Rule of Three,
+    And had Irregular Verbs whipped into me;
+
+    And then the railroad stations, where, each day,
+    Fortunes on wheels rush in and drive away;
+    And then the steamboats paddling up and down--
+    _Towns_ swimming on their way from town to town;
+
+    And then the ladies, in both street and store,
+    Done up in silks and satins, spangled o'er
+    As if it had rained diamonds for an hour,
+    And they had gone and stood out in the shower;
+
+    And then the rich and idle-houred young men--
+    The rising generation's "Upper 10"
+    (With the "1" left off), who each day, no doubt,
+    Spend twice as much as all my "setting out,"
+    When Father said, "The family craft is full;
+    Launch your own craft and show us how to pull."
+
+    I often think, when past a dandy glides,
+    Throwing his (father's) money on all sides,
+    And peeking under each young lady's veil,
+    As if he'd bought her at a mortgage sale,
+    How shrewd it was of him, right on the start,
+    To have a father who was rich and smart!
+    (Folks often pride themselves much, by-the-way,
+    Because their parents greater were than they.)
+
+    Walking to-day along Fifth Avenue,
+    A slip of paper on the sidewalk flew
+    Before my eyes--some one the same had dropped;
+    I reached my hand down for it and it stopped.
+    I picked it up--the reading on't was queer;
+    I think, perhaps, I'll paste it right in here.
+
+
+THE LOVELY YOUNG MAN.
+
+    Oh the elements varied--the exquisite plan--
+    That are used in constructing the lovely young man!
+    His face he has easily made to possess
+    The expression of nothing within to express;
+    His hair is oiled glossily back of his ears,
+    Atop of his head an equator appears;
+    His scanty mustache has symmetrical bends,
+    Is groomed with precision, and waxed at both ends;
+    His darling complexion, bewitching to see,
+    Is powdered the same as a lady's might be.
+    And this is the dear whom the newspapers rude
+    Have scornfully treated, and christened the ----.
+
+    The mental equipment I'll tell, if I can,
+    That Nature has given the lovely young man:
+    A set of emotions consistently weak,
+    To go with a creature so gentle and meek;
+    A will no opposing can break or surmount
+    (Concerning all matters of no great account);
+    A reasoning wheel, quite correctly revolved
+    (When used on small questions already resolved);
+    A taste for each gaudy and glistening thing
+    That grows on the vision and dies on the wing.
+    Elaborate methods and principles crude
+    Encompass the mental estate of the ----.
+
+  [Illustration: "I REACHED MY HAND DOWN FOR IT AND IT STOPPED."]
+
+    The outer habiliments hastily scan,
+    Employed in adorning the lovely young man!
+    His feet two triangular cases have sought,
+    By which his five toes to a focus are brought;
+    The sheathes that enfold his propellers within
+    Are on the most intimate terms with his skin;
+    His starch-tortured collar on tip-toe appears,
+    Desirous of learning the length of his ears;
+    And fifteen-sixteenths of his brain, very nigh,
+    Has run all to blossom and stopped in his tie.
+    Such some of the splendors mad Fashion has strewed
+    All over the surface comprising the ----.
+
+    Oh measure the brief philological span
+    Of the high-pressure words of the lovely young man!--
+    "B' Jauve! you daun't sayh saw! youah playing it low!
+    Aw, auyn't she a daisy! I knaw her, y' knaw.
+    She's thweet on me, somehow, though why I dawn't say,
+    It cawn't be my beauty, it must be my _way_!
+    Did you notith, laust night, Chawley Johnson's neck-tie?
+    It paralyzed me, and I thought I should d-i-e!
+    He's quite a sound fellaw to talk to awhile;
+    It's weally a pity he isn't our style!"
+    And thus talks forever, with slight interlude,
+    The creature that lately was christened a ----.
+
+    Oh boys! there are several hundreds of ways
+    To make yourselves small to the average gaze;
+    Of which some will cost you considerably less,
+    Accomplishing nearly an equal success.
+    Go purchase a gilded hand-organ some day,
+    And stand on the corner and solemnly play;
+    Envelop yourselves in the skin of an ape,
+    Assuming his methods as well, as his shape;
+    Submit to refined zoological charms,
+    And carry a lap-dog about in your arms;
+    But _don't_ let Destruction upon you intrude.
+    So far as to make you down into a ----.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    I think I saw, a minute's half or less,
+    The young girl who composed this spiteful mess;
+    She watched me pick it up, made a half rush
+    Toward me, and then retreated with a blush.
+    I called, before she vanished from my vision,
+    "My dear, I think you've lost your composition!"
+    But she dodged off, as if she seemed to doubt it,
+    And, I suppose, went on to school without it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Pacing the question over, far and near,
+    I think the little maid was too severe.
+    Sweet Charity can roof much sin, they tell,
+    Why shouldn't it shelter foolishness as well?
+    When we draw rein and look about a minute,
+    We see no field but God is somewhere in it;
+    He made the eagle and the lion, I've heard;
+    Why not the monkey and the chipping-bird?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+          Pavement and window and wall
+          What is the cost of you all?
+          Parlor and boudoir and stair,
+          Crowded with furniture rare;
+          Gems from the mountains and seas,
+          Spires that out-measure the trees;
+          Chamber and palace and hall--
+          What is the price of you all?
+
+    [_Voices._]
+          What did we cost? Bend ear;
+          What did we cost? Now hear.
+
+          Several millions men,
+          There in the field and fen.
+          Look! they are stripped and grim,
+          Sturdy of voice and limb.
+          Painfully, now, they toil
+          Into the sullen soil;
+          Stabbing the hills and meads,
+          Planting the silent seeds.
+          Into each streaming face
+          Glides the hot sun apace.
+          You in the thoughtful guise,
+          You with the dreamy eyes--
+          "Why do you labor so?
+          Where do your earnings go?--
+    "_A goodly part to the rulers that form the powers that be;
+    A modest part, if lucky, for my family and for me;
+    And all the rest for the splendors that fringe the river and sea._"
+
+    [_Voices._]
+          What did we cost? Bend ear;
+          What did we cost? Now hear.
+
+          Listen! the factory wall
+          Sends out its morning call.
+          Hear the machinery's din;
+          Look at the folks within.
+          Child with a poor, pale face;
+          Woman with hurried grace;
+          Man with the look half wise;
+          Girl with the handsome eyes.
+          How the long spindles whirl!
+          How the rich webs unfurl!
+          Maid with the orbs that quiver
+          With light from "Over the River,"[1]
+          Why are you toiling so?
+          Where do your wages go?--
+    "_A goodly part to the owners, whoever they may be;
+    A little part to the living of those I love and me;
+    And all the rest to the cities that gem the river and sea._"
+
+    [1] As is well known, the weird, inimitable poem, "Over the
+        River," was written by a factory girl.
+
+    [_Voices._]
+          What do we cost? Now hear;
+          Hearken, with eye and ear.
+
+          Several thousand men,
+          There in the hill and glen;
+          Forward, march! Take aim!
+          Fire! now a storm of flame!
+          Shriek and curse and shout;
+          Death-beds lying about.
+          Man with the kingly face,
+          There in that gory place
+          Bleeding and writhing so
+          (Well a moment ago),
+          Tell me, in mangled tones--
+          Tell us, amid your groans,
+          What do they buy with war?
+          What were you fighting for?--
+    "_For country and for glory, and for the powers that be;
+    To deck with pride and honor the family dear to me;
+    And to defend our cities that gem the river and sea._"
+
+    [_Voices._]
+          What do we cost? Bend ear:
+          No; you will never hear.
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+NOVEMBER 1, 18--.
+
+    Wind north-east; weather getting cross and cool;
+    Wife and the children gone to Sunday-school.
+    And I--not very well--am home again,
+    Holding a conversation with my pen.
+    And all that I can make it say to me
+    Is Wealth, wealth, wealth! how much I hear and see!
+    Strange, how, on human brains, sixteen times o'er,
+    Is stamped and carved the magic word of More!
+    Some several thousands to my credit lie
+    In a small bank on Wall Street, handy by;
+    But I can't help contriving what I'd do
+    If I possessed the whole Sub-Treasury too;
+    Or if I had (to take a modest tone)
+    A million million dollars, all my own!
+
+    The subject took so strong a growth in me,
+    I overtalked the same, last night, at tea;[2]
+    And so my oldest daughter (who can rhyme,
+    And strikes some notes that with her father's chime)
+    Became with that same foolishness possessed,
+    So much so that it would not let her rest,
+    But hung about her bedside all the night
+    And brought its capabilities in sight.
+    So much so that she threw it into verse
+    As bad as that her father writes--or worse.
+    And then, with some unconscious girlish grace,
+    And blushes chasing all about her face,
+    She, in a way I've learned to understand
+    Quite accident'ly, slipped it in my hand.
+    It was not made in public to appear,
+    But, privately, I'll paste it right in here:
+
+    [2]  Our dinner is at noon; our supper, six,
+         We have not yet learned all the city tricks.
+
+
+IF I'D A MILLION MILLIONS.
+
+          If I'd a million millions--
+          Just think! a million millions!--
+    What wouldn't I do--what couldn't I do--
+          If I'd a million millions?
+    From every forest's finest tree
+    My many-gabled house should be;
+    With silver threads from golden looms
+    Should be attired my palace-rooms;
+    My blossomed table have the best
+    Of all the East and all the West;
+    My bed should be a daintier thing
+    Than ever sheltered queen or king;
+          What wouldn't I do,
+          What couldn't I do,
+          If I'd a million millions?
+
+          If I'd a million millions--
+          A good, square million millions--
+    With gratefulness my friends should bless
+          Me and my million millions!
+    None that had e'er befriended me
+    But he a millionaire should be;
+    Who kindly words of me had told,
+    Should find their silver turned to gold;
+    And he who did but just advance
+    The sunbeam of a friendly glance
+    In my affliction's cloudy day
+    Should have rich, unexpected pay.
+          What wouldn't I do,
+          What couldn't I do,
+          If I'd a million millions?
+
+          If I'd a million millions--
+          Just think! a million millions!--
+    How many coals on hostile souls
+          I'd heap with all my millions!
+    No enemy that earned my hate
+    Should for a fiery guerdon wait;
+    With roses sweet I'd twine him o'er
+    Until the thorns should prick him sore
+    (How much of credit may be claimed
+    For _sweetly_ making foes ashamed
+    I do not know; it may depend
+    On how much true love we extend);
+          But love outpoured
+          I could afford,
+          If I'd a million millions!
+
+          An honest million millions--
+          Just think! a million millions!
+    The poor should bless the strange success
+          That gave me all those millions!
+    I'd slaughter every hungry wight
+    Within the circle of my sight,
+    And resurrect him with such food
+    As should go far to make him good;
+    No poor-house but must bow its head
+    And gaze at cottage walls instead;
+    And hungry paupers soon should see
+    A year of genuine jubilee.
+          Nought should alloy
+          Their perfect joy,
+          That could be saved by millions!
+
+          Just think! a million millions!--
+          The care of all those millions!
+    And after all, what would befall
+          A life with all those millions?
+    Would not the lucre clog my brain,
+    And make me hard and cold and vain?
+    Might not my treasure win my heart,
+    And make me loath with it to part?
+    How could I tell, by mortal sign,
+    Betwixt my money's friends and mine?
+    And then, the greed, and strife, and curse,
+    The world brings round a princely purse:
+          Perhaps my soul,
+          Upon the whole,
+          Is best, without the millions!
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    Now comes the Christmas-tide:
+    Love wakes on every side;
+    Mirth smiles from every eye;
+    Wreaths greet the passer-by.
+
+    Who, full of haughty pride,
+    Loves not the Christmas-tide?
+    He who, with av'rice low,
+    Cares not to joy bestow.
+
+    God save the wretch denied
+    Love for the Christmas-tide!
+    God tell his hardened heart
+    Pure joy must joy impart!
+
+    Who, close to grief allied,
+    Grieves 'mid the Christmas-tide?
+    She who, at Sorrow's call,
+    Now mourns the loss of all.
+
+    God save the dear bereft--
+    Teach her the mercies left!
+    Show her that clouds may yet
+    Lift, ere her sun be set!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Who lonely must abide
+    All through the Christmas-tide?
+    He who has never known
+    Love-passion of his own.
+
+    So follows he his fate,
+    Friendly but desolate;
+    So--sad--his heart must hide
+    All through the Christmas-tide!
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+DECEMBER 25, 18--.
+
+    Wind in the north-east; snow in wagon-loads;
+    Good sleighing everywhere on all the roads.
+    Family healthy, sensible, and pleasant,
+    And each one got the proper Christmas-present.
+
+    (At least it seems so, for they all act suited,
+    And Santa Claus's taste hasn't been disputed.)
+    Our family room is filled with tasty mixings
+    Of evergreens and other woman-fixings;
+    The open grate makes things look rich and mellow,
+    With good hard coals the fire has painted yellow;[3]
+    Pictures peep from the walls, with _thought_ all through them,
+    That set me studying every time I view them;
+    There's certain books upon the centre-table
+    That say what I'd have said if I'd been able;
+    And, measuring up this room with honest style,
+    'Tisn't a bad place to be in for a while.
+
+    And so I sit here, thinking, musing, dreaming,
+    About the world and all its curious scheming,
+    And, full of certainty-begotten doubt,
+    Wondering what this life is all about
+    (From all that I can learn I'm not to blame,
+    For wiser men have often done the same).
+
+    We went a mile or two, last night, to see
+    The decorations on a Christmas-tree;
+    I spied, hung on that sapling's gilded arms,
+    Things that would buy a couple good sized farms;
+    And just upon our way home, I should guess
+    We met some fifty people, more or less,
+    Who needed, to make passable their days,
+    A decent share of what those farms would raise.
+
+    But here's the question: should those ill-to-do
+    Deprive rich people of their comforts too?
+    Because there are some people lack for bread,
+    Must others' minds and fancies go unfed?
+    It's quite a puzzle, which I don't know whether
+    My clumsy mind knows how to put together;
+
+    But one thing's sure: wants satisfied wants breed--
+    The more folks get, the more they seem to need.
+    Then, one man lives on what would starve another,
+    And what is joy for you might kill your brother.
+
+    [3]  Although _to me_ it doesn't contain the charm
+         Of our old, wide log fire-place on the farm.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+JANUARY 5, 18--.
+
+    Went to a skating-rink a little while,
+    To see them slide in the new-fangled style;
+    And, strange enough, this eve a letter came
+    From a friend--Abdiel Stebbins is his name--
+    A cousin of my aunt, Sophia Dean;
+    A wise old man, but clumsy like, and green.
+    He's on a visit in a neighboring city,
+    And he has been a-skating--more's the pity!
+    He tells it in a manner quite sincere;
+    I think perhaps I'll paste it right in here:
+
+
+
+[FARMER STEBBINS ON ROLLERS.]
+
+ROCHESTER, _January 4._
+
+DEAR COUSIN JOHN:
+
+  We got here safe--my worthy wife an' me--
+  An' put up at James Sunnyhopes'--a pleasant place to be;
+  An' Isabel, his oldest girl, is home from school just now,
+  An' pets me with her manners all her young man will allow;
+  An' his good wife has monstrous sweet an' culinary ways:
+  It is a summery place to pass a few cold winter days.
+
+  Besides, I've various cast-iron friends in different parts o' town,
+  That's always glad to have me call whenever I come down;
+  But t'other day, when 'mongst the same I undertook to roam,
+  I could not find a single one that seemed to be to home!
+  An' when I asked their whereabouts, the answer was, "I think,
+  If you're a-goin' down that way, you'll find 'em at the Rink."
+
+  I asked what night the Lyceum folks would hold their next debate--
+  (I've sometimes gone an' helped 'em wield the cares of Church an' State),
+  An' if protracted meetin's now was holdin' anywhere
+  (I like to get my soul fed up with fresh celestial fare);
+  Or when the next church social was; they'd give a knowin' wink,
+  An' say, "I b'lieve there's nothin' now transpirin' but the Rink."
+
+  "What is this 'Rink?'" I innocent inquired, that night at tea.
+  "Oh, you must go," said Isabel, "this very night with me!
+  And Mrs. Stebbins she must go, an' skate there with us, too!"
+  My wife replied, "My dear, just please inform me when I do.
+  But you two go." An' so we went, an' saw a circus there,
+  With which few sights I've ever struck will anyways compare.
+
+  It seems a good-sized meetin'-house had given up its pews
+  (The church an' pastor had resigned, from spiritual blues),
+  An' several acres of the floor was made a skatin' ground,
+  Where folks of every shape an' size went skippin' round an' round;
+  An' in the midst a big brass band was helpin' on the fun,
+  An' everything was gay as sixteen weddin's joined in one.
+
+  I've seen small insects crazy-like go circlin' through the air,
+  An' wondered if they thought some time they'd maybe get somewhere;
+  I've seen a million river-bugs go scootin' round an' round,
+  An' wondered what 'twas all about, or what they'd lost or found;
+  But men an' women, boys an' girls, upon a hard-wood floor,
+  All whirlin' round like folks possessed, I never saw before.
+
+  An' then it straight came back to me, the things I'd read an' heard
+  About the rinks, an' how their ways was wicked an' absurd;
+  I'd learned somewhere that skatin' wasn't a healthy thing to do--
+  But there was Doctor Saddlebags--his fam'ly with him, too!
+  I'd heard that 'twasn't a proper place for Christian folks to seek--
+  Old Deacon Perseverance Jinks flew past me like a streak!
+
+  Then Sister Is'bel Sunnyhopes put on a pair o' skates,
+  An' started off as if she'd run through several different States.
+  My goodness! how that gal showed up! I never did opine
+  That she could twist herself to look so charmin' an' so fine;
+  And then a fellow that she knew took hold o' hands with her,
+  A sort o' double crossways like, an' helped her, as it were.
+
+  _I_ used to skate; an' 'twas a sport of which I once was fond.
+  Why, I could write my autograph on Tompkins' saw-mill pond.
+  Of course to slip on runners, that is one thing, one may say,
+  An' movin' round on casters is a somewhat different way;
+  But when the fun that fellow had came flashin' to my eye,
+  I says, "I'm young again; by George, I'll skate once more or die!"
+
+  A little boy a pair o' skates to fit my boots soon found--
+  He had to put 'em on for me (I weigh three hundred pound);
+  An' then I straightened up an' says, "Look here, you younger chaps,
+  You think you're runnin' some'at past us older heads, perhaps.
+  If this young lady here to me will trust awhile her fate,
+  I'll go around a dozen times an' show you how to skate."
+
+  She was a niceish, plump young gal, I'd noticed quite a while,
+  An' she reached out her hands with 'most too daughterly a smile;
+  But off we pushed with might an' main; when all to once the wheels
+  Departed suddenly above, an' took along my heels;
+  My head assailed the floor as if 'twas tryin' to get through,
+  An' all the stars I ever saw arrived at once in view.
+
+  'Twas sing'lar (as not quite unlike a saw-log there I lay)
+  How many of the other folks was goin' that same way;
+  They stumbled over me in one large animated heap,
+  An' formed a pile o' legs an' arms not far from ten foot deep;
+  But after they had all climbed off, in rather fierce surprise,
+  I lay there like a saw-log still--considerin' how to rise.
+
+  Then, dignified I rose, with hands upon my ample waist,
+  An' then sat down again with large and very painful haste;
+  An' rose again, and started off to find a place to rest,
+  Then on my gentle stomach stood, an' tore my meetin' vest;
+  When Sister Sunnyhopes slid up as trim as trim could be,
+  An' she an' her young fellow took compassionate charge o' me.
+
+  Then after I'd got off the skates an' flung 'em out o' reach,
+  I rose, while all grew hushed an' still, an' made the followin' speech:
+  "My friends, I've struck a small idea (an' struck it pretty square),
+  Which physic'ly an' morally will some attention bear:
+  Those who their balance can preserve are safe here any day,
+  An' those who can't, I rather think, had better keep away."
+
+  [Illustration: "... WHEN ALL TO ONCE THE WHEELS
+  DEPARTED SUDDENLY ABOVE, AN' TOOK ALONG MY HEELS."]
+
+  Then I limped out with very strong unprecedented pains,
+  An' hired a horse at liberal rates to draw home my remains;
+  An' lay abed three days, while wife laughed at an' nursed me well,
+  An' used up all the arnica two drug-stores had to sell;
+  An' when Miss Is'bel Sunnyhopes said, "Won't you skate some more?"
+  I answered, "Not while I remain on this terrestrial shore."
+
+  [Illustration: FARMER STEBBINS ON ROLLERS.]
+
+
+
+
+WANT.
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+FEBRUARY 5, 18--.
+
+    Want--want--want--want! O God! forgive the crime,
+    If I, asleep, awake, at any time,
+    Upon my bended knees, my back, my feet,
+    In church, on bed, on treasure-lighted street,
+    Have ever _hinted_, or, much less, have pleaded
+    That I hadn't ten times over all I needed!
+    Lord save my soul! I never knew the way
+    That people starve along from day to day;
+    May gracious Heaven forgive me, o'er and o'er,
+    That I have never found these folks before!
+
+    Of course some news of it has come my way,
+    Like a faint echo on a drowsy day;
+    At home I "gave," whene'er by suffering grieved,
+    And called it "Charity," and felt relieved;
+    And thought that I was never undertasked,
+    If I bestowed when with due deference asked.
+    But no one finds the _poorest poor_, I doubt,
+    Unless he goes himself and hunts them out;
+    And when you get _real suffering_ among,
+    Be thankful if your heart-strings are not wrung!
+
+    These thoughts sobbed through me this cold, snowy day,
+    As carefully I picked a dubious way
+    'Mongst nakedness and want on every side,
+    And a rough, masculine angel for my guide,
+    Who goes about among affliction's heirs,
+    And gives his life to piece out some of theirs.
+    Up--up--up--up! and yet, I am afraid,
+    Farther from Heaven at every step we made!
+    Gaunt, hungry creatures stood on every side
+    With cheeks drawn close and sad eyes opened wide,
+    Filled to the brim with greedy, starving prayers,
+    As we went past them up the creaking stairs.
+
+    And I peeped into rooms 'twas death to see
+    (Or, rather, they peeped darkly out at me)--
+    Such as I wouldn't have had the cheek to 've shown
+    To any swine I've ever chanced to own.
+    'Twas sad to see, in this great misery-cup,
+    How guilt and innocence were all mixed up:
+    Here lay a fellow, stupid, dull, and dumb,
+    Whose breath was like a broken keg of rum;
+    And there a baby, looking scared and odd,
+    Who had not been a week away from God.
+    Here a clean woman, toiling for her bread;
+    And there a wretch whose dirty heart was dead.
+    Here a sound rascal, lazy, loud, and bold;
+    And there the helpless, weak and sick and old.
+
+    Want--want! O Lord! forgive me, o'er and o'er,
+    That I haven't found these suffering folks before!
+    We had a decent poor-house in our town,
+    And I would often drive my spare horse down,
+    And take a little stroll among them there,
+    And try to cheer their every-day despair,
+    And with their little wants and worries join,
+    And chink round 'mongst them with small bits of coin
+    (Done up in good advice, somewhat severe),
+    And send them Christmas turkeys every year;
+    Then, in my cosy home, think, with a grin,
+    What a fine, liberal angel I had been.
+    But here, O heavens! I find them, high and low,
+    Hundreds of pauper-houses in a row!
+    And suffering--suffering--in a shape, I vow,
+    That makes my poor old tears run even now!
+
+    For city trouble, any one will find,
+    Is more ingenious than the country kind,
+    And has a thousand cute-invented ways
+    To torture men and shorten off their days.
+    And while we wonder that God made it so,
+    He doesn't seem very anxious we should know;
+    But He is willing we should search His plan,
+    And pry around and find out all we can;
+    And I suspect, when pains and troubles fall,
+    That every one is useful, after all.
+
+    At any rate, the miseries that I see
+    Are useful in their good effects on me;
+    And though that isn't a great thing, on the whole
+    (Though Heaven _does_ put a premium on each soul),
+    Yet there are several people, I suspect,
+    Who need a little of that same effect;
+    And if they do not get it, old and young,
+    'Twill be because I've lost my poor old tongue.
+
+    One more small portion of God's plan I see
+    Concerning its effect on "even me:"
+    And that's its leading me, by methods queer,
+    To be some help to these poor people here.
+    For now I promise, from this very night,
+    And hereby put it down in black and white,
+    That out of every day that's given me yet,
+    And out of every dollar I can get,
+    And out of every talent, small or large,
+    That God sees fit to put into my charge,
+    A part shall be devoted--square and sure--
+    To God's own suffering, struggling, dying poor!
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    Poverty, why wast thou born
+    In the world's earliest morn?
+    Why hast thou lived all the years,
+    Sowing thy pains and thy tears?
+    Roaming about thou art seen,
+    Crooked, decrepit, and lean;
+    Travelling all the world through--
+    Suffering's "wandering Jew."
+    Thin and unkempt is thy hair,
+    Fleshless as parchment thy cheek,
+    Sad and ungainly thine air,
+    Hollow the words thou dost speak,
+    Bony and grasping thy hand,
+    Dreary thy days in the land.
+    Poverty, why wast thou born
+    Under the world's quiet scorn?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Poverty, thou hast been seen
+    Clad in a comelier mien.
+    Oft, to the clear-seeing eyes,
+    Thou art a saint in disguise.
+    Discipline rich thou hast brought,
+    Lessons of labor and thought.
+    Oft, in thy dreariest night,
+    Virtue gleams sturdy and bright;
+    Oft, from thy scantiest hour,
+    Grow the beginnings of power;
+    Oft, 'mongst thy squalors and needs
+    Live such magnificent deeds
+    As the proud angels will crown
+    There in their gold-streeted town;
+    Oft, from thy high garrets, throng
+    Notes of magnificent song,
+    That, from sad day unto day,
+    Float through the ages away.
+    Poverty--brave or forlorn--
+    God knoweth why thou wast born.
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+FEBRUARY 12, 18--.
+
+    Wind in the South; a fresh, sweet, winter day;
+    'Twould have been sad to see it go away,
+    If 'twere not that the sunset's signal-lights
+    Glimmered awhile across the Jersey heights,
+    Then, lightly dancing o'er the river, came
+    And set some New York windows all aflame.
+    (From a clear sunset I can always borrow
+    God's sweet half promise of a fair to-morrow.)
+
+    But, while I gazed upon that splendid sight,
+    My mind _would_ take a heavy, care-winged flight
+    Up to a small back garret, far away,
+    Where I had stood at two o'clock to-day.
+
+    Want--want--want--want! it hung 'round everywhere;
+    It threw its odors on the sickly air!
+    The room was somewhat smaller, to begin,
+    Than I would put a span of horses in;
+    The floor was rough and damp as floor could be;
+    No picture on the walls but Poverty;
+    The bed was ragged, scanty, hard, and drear;
+    A rough-made, empty crib was standing near;
+    The "window" 'd never felt the sun's warm stare,
+    Or breathed a breath of good old-fashioned air;
+
+  [Illustration: "YES, IT'S STRAIGHT AND TRUE, GOOD PREACHER, EVERY
+  WORD THAT YOU HAVE SAID."]
+
+    A little, worn-out doll some child had had,
+    Looking, like its surroundings, rough and sad,
+    And dressed in rags and pinched and famine-faced,
+    But bearing still some marks of girlish taste;
+    A gaunt, gray kitten, showing every sign
+    That it was on the last life of its nine,
+    Though trying hard to feel quite sleek and fat,
+    And not a very care-worn, desolate cat;
+    A man, so grieved my heart can see him now,
+    With frightful sorrow printed on his brow;
+
+    A rough, wood coffin stood there near the bed,
+    Looking uneasy even for the dead;
+    A little, pallid face I saw therein--
+    A niceish-looking child she must have been,
+    As sweet as ever need to feed a glance,
+    If she had only had one-half a chance.
+    But still, she woke a thought I could not smother--
+    "That child was murdered in some way or other."[4]
+
+    And my opinion didn't seem much amiss
+    When the man spoke up, something like to this:
+
+    [4]  All this, above the shoulder, I could see,
+         Of an old preacher who had come with me--
+         A man who, 'mongst those garrets, earns, they say,
+         A house and lot in heaven every day.
+
+
+[THAT SWAMP OF DEATH.]
+
+  Yes, it's straight and true, good Preacher, every word that you have
+      said;
+  Do not think these tears unmanly--they're the first ones I have shed!
+  But they kind o' beat and pounded 'gainst my aching heart and brain,
+  And they would not be let go of, and they gave me extra pain.
+
+  I am just a laboring man, sir--work for food and rags and sleep,
+  And I hardly know the meaning of the life I slave to keep;
+  But I know when times are cheery, or my heart is made of lead;
+  I know sorrow when I see it, and--I know my girl is dead!
+
+  No, she isn't much to look at--just a plainish bit of clay,
+  Of the sort of perished children that die 'round here every day;
+  And how _she_ could break a heart up you'd be slow to understand,
+  But she held _mine_, Mr. Preacher, in that little withered hand!
+
+  There are lots of prettier children, with a face and form more fine--
+  Let their parents love and pet them--but _this_ little one was _mine_!
+  There was no one else to cling to when we two were torn apart,
+  And it's death--this amputation of the strong arms of the heart!
+
+  I am just an ignorant man, sir, of the kind that digs and delves,
+  But I've learned that human beings cannot stay in by themselves;
+  They will reach out after something, be it good or be it bad,
+  And my heart on hers had settled, and--the girl was all I had!
+
+  [Illustration: "CHOKED AND STRANGLED BY THE FOUL BREATH OF THE
+  CHIMNEYS OVER THERE."]
+
+  Yes, it's solid, Mr. Preacher, every word
+      that you have said--
+  God loves children while they're living,
+      and adopts them when they're dead;
+
+  But I cannot help contriving, do the very best I can,
+  That it wasn't God's mercy took her, but the selfishness of man!
+
+  Why, she lay here, faint and gasping, moaning for a bit of air,
+  Choked and strangled by the foul breath of the chimneys over there;
+  It climbed through every window, and crept under every door,
+  And I tried to bar against it, and she only choked the more.
+
+  [Illustration:
+  "OH, THE AIR IS PURE AND WHOLESOME WHERE SOME BABIES COO AND REST,
+  AND THEY TRIM THEM OUT WITH RIBBONS, AND THEY FEED THEM WITH THE BEST."]
+
+  She would lie there, with the old look that poor children somehow get;
+  She had learned to use her patience, and she did not cry or fret,
+  But would lift her little face up, so piteous and so fair,
+  And would whisper, "_I am dying for a little breath of air!_"
+
+  If she'd gone off through the sunlight, 'twouldn't have seemed so hard
+      to me,
+  Or among the fresh cool breezes that come sweeping from the sea;
+  But it's nothing less than murder when my darling's every breath
+  Chokes and strangles with the poison from that chimney swamp of death!
+
+  Oh, it's not enough those people own the very ground we tread,
+  And the shelter that we crouch in, and the tools that earn our bread;
+  They must place their blotted mortgage on the air and on the sky,
+  And shut out our little heaven, till our children pine and die!
+
+  Oh, the air is pure and wholesome where _some_ babies coo and rest,
+  And they trim them out with ribbons, and they feed them with the best;
+  But the love they bear is mockery to the gracious God on high,
+  If to give those children luxuries some one else's child must die!
+
+  Oh, we wear the cheapest clothing, and our meals are scant and brief,
+  And perhaps those fellows fancy there's a cheaper grade of grief;
+  But the people all around here, losing children, friends, and mates,
+  Can inform them that _Affliction hasn't any under-rates_.
+
+  I'm no grumbler at the rulers of "this free and happy land,"
+  And I don't go 'round explaining things I do not understand;
+  But I know there's something treacherous in the working of the law,
+  _When we get a dose of poison out of every breath we draw_.
+
+  I have talked too much, good Preacher, and I hope you won't be vexed,
+  But _I'm_ going to make a sermon with that white face for a text;
+  And I'll preach it, and I'll preach it, till I set the people wild
+  O'er the heartless, reckless grasping of the men who killed my child!
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    Still do I write--day-time and night--
+    That which I see in my leisurely flight.
+    What is this sign that is claiming the sight?--
+    "Lodgings within here, at five cents per night!"
+
+
+    Let me examine this cheap-entered nest,
+    Pay my five cents, and go in with the rest;
+    Let me jot down with sly pen, but sincere,
+    What, in this garret, I see, smell, and hear.
+    Great, gloomy den! where, on close-clustered shelves,
+    Shelterless wretches can shelter themselves;
+    Pestilence-drugged is the murderous air,
+    Full of the breathings of want and despair!
+      Horrible place!--where The Crushed Race
+    Winces 'neath Poverty's dolefullest blight--
+      Bivouac of suffering, sin, and disgrace:
+    What can you look for, at five cents per night?
+
+    Hustle them in, jostle them in,
+    Many of nation, and divers of kin;
+    Sallow, and yellow, and tawny of skin--
+    Hustle them, bustle them, jostle them in!
+    Handfuls of withered but suffering clay,
+    Swept from the East by oppression away;
+    Baffled adventurers, conquered and pressed
+    Back from the gates of the glittering West;
+    Men who with indolence, folly, and guile
+    Carelessly slighted Prosperity's smile;
+    Men who have struggled 'gainst Destiny's frown,
+    Inch after inch, till she hunted them down.
+      Scores in a tier--pile them up here--
+    Many of peoples and divers of kin;
+      Drift of the nations, from far and from near,
+    Hustle them, bustle them, jostle them in!
+
+    Islands of green, mistily seen,
+    Hover in visions these sleepers between;
+    Beautiful memories, cozy and clean,
+    Restfully precious, and sweetly serene.
+    Womanly kisses have softened the brow
+    Lying in drunken bewilderment now;
+    Infantile faces have cuddled for rest
+    Here on this savage and rag-covered breast.
+    Lucky the wretch who, in Poverty's ways,
+    Bears not the burden of "happier days:"
+    Many a midnight is gloomier yet
+    By the remembrance of stars that have set!
+      Echoes of pain, drearily plain,
+    Come of old melodies sweet and serene;
+      Images sad to the heart and the brain
+    Rise out of memories cozy and green.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Hustle them in, bustle them in,
+    Fetid with squalor, and reeking with gin,
+    Loaded with misery, folly, and sin--
+    Hustle them, bustle them, jostle them in!
+    Few are the sorrows so hopelessly drear
+    But they have sad representatives here;
+    Never a crime so complete and confessed
+    But has come hither for one night of rest.
+    Seeds that the thorns of diseases may bear
+    Float on the putrid and smoke-laden air;
+    Ghosts of destruction are haunting each breath--
+    Soft-stepping agents, commissioned by Death.
+      Crowd them in rows, comrades or foes,
+    Deadened with liquor and deafened with din,
+      Fugitives out of the frosts and the snows,
+    Hustle them, bustle them, jostle them in!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+  [Illustration: "WEARY OLD MAN WITH THE SNOW-DRIFTED HAIR,
+  NOT BY YOUR FAULT ARE YOU SUFFERING THERE."]
+
+    Guilt has not pressed unto its breast
+    All who are taking this dingy unrest:
+    Innocence often is Misery's guest;
+    Sorrow may strike at the brightest and best.
+    You from whom hope, but not feeling, has fled,
+    This is your refuge from pauperhood's bed;
+    Timorous lad with a sensitive face,
+    You have no record of crime and disgrace;
+    Weary old man with the snow-drifted hair,
+    Not by your fault are you suffering there,
+    Never a child of your cherishing nigh--
+    'Tis not for sin you so drearily die.
+      Pain, in all lands, smites with two hands--
+    Guilty and good may encounter the test;
+      Misery's cord is of different strands;
+    Sorrow may strike at the brightest and best.
+
+    Sympathy's tear, warm and sincere,
+    Cannot but glisten while lingering near.
+    Edge not away, sir, in horror of fear,
+    These are your brothers--this family here!
+    What if Misfortune had made _you_ forlorn
+    With her stiletto as well as her scorn?
+    What if some fiend had been making _you_ sure
+    With more temptation than flesh could endure?
+    What if you deep in the slums had been born,
+    Cradled in villany, christened in scorn?
+    What if your toys had been tainted with crime?
+    What if your baby hands dabbled in slime?
+      Judge them with ruth. Maybe, in truth,
+    It is not they, but their luck, that is here.
+      Fancy _your_ growth from a sin-nurtured youth;
+    Pity their weakness, and give them a tear.
+
+    Help them get out; help them keep out!
+    Labor to teach them what life is about;
+    Give them a hand unencumbered with doubt;
+    Feed them and clothe them, but pilot them out!
+    Mortals depraved, whatsoe'er they have been,
+    Soonest can mend from assistance _within_.
+    Warm them and feed them--they're beasts, even then;
+    Teach them and love them--they grow into men.
+    You who 'mid luxuries costly and grand
+    Decorate homes with munificent hand,
+    Use, in some measure, your exquisite arts
+    For the improvement of minds and of hearts.
+      Lilies must grow up from below,
+    Where the strong rootlets are twining about;
+      Goodness and honesty ever must flow
+    From the heart-centres--to blossom without.
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+FEBRUARY 28, 18--.
+
+    Wind in the west; no symptoms of a thaw;
+    The coldest, bleakest day I ever saw.
+    And I'm housed up, with nothing much to do
+    Except to read the papers through and through.
+
+    "Died of starvation!"--what does this all mean?
+    Stores of provisions everywhere are seen.
+    "Died of starvation!"--here's the place and name
+    Right in the paper; let us blush for shame!
+
+    This city _wastes_ what any one would call
+    Nine hundred times enough to feed us all;
+    And yet folks die in garret, hut, and street,
+    Simply because there isn't enough to eat!
+
+    Oh, heavens! there runs a great big Norway rat,
+    Sleek as a banker, and almost as fat;
+    He daily breakfasts, dines, and sups, and thrives
+    On what would save a pair of human lives;
+    He rears a family with his own fat features,
+    On food we lock up from our fellow-creatures;
+    And human beings fall down by the way,
+    And die for want of food, this very day!
+
+    "Frozen to death!"--the worse than useless moth
+    May feed, this year, on bales and bales of cloth;
+    Untouched, ten million tons of coal can lie,
+    While God's own human beings freeze and die!
+
+    "Died of starvation!"--waves of golden wheat
+    All summer dashed and glistened at our feet;
+    Dull, senseless grain is stored in buildings high,
+    And God's own human beings starve and die!
+
+    I would not rob from rich men what they earn,
+    But I would have them sweet compassion learn;
+    Oh, do not Pity's gentle voice defy,
+    While God's own human beings starve and die!
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+MARCH 5, 18--.
+
+    Died of starvation!--yes, it has been done;
+    To-day I've seen a hunger-murdered one,
+    Who had a perfect right, it seemed to me,
+    The mistress of a happy home to be;
+    And yet we found her on a ragged bed,
+    One white arm underneath a shapely head;
+    Her long, bright hair was lying, fold on fold,
+    Like finest threads spun from a bar of gold;
+    Her face was chiselled after beauty's style,
+    And want had not hewn out its witching smile;
+    'Twas like white marble half endowed with breath--
+    The face of this sweet maiden--starved to death!
+
+    Not far from where she lay, so sadly lone,
+    Her calendar, or "diary," was thrown;
+    They let me have it when the law had read
+    This plaintive, girlish message from the dead.
+    It doesn't look well among these notes to stay,
+    Of one who feeds on blessings every day;
+    But I will put it in here, for my heart
+    To look at when I feel too proud and smart!
+
+
+A SEWING-GIRL'S DIARY.
+
+FEBRUARY 1, 18--.
+
+    Here--am I here?
+    Or is it fancy, born of fear?
+    Yes--O God, save me!--this is I,
+    And not some wretch of whom I've read,
+    In that bright girlhood, when the sky
+    Each night strewed star-dust o'er my head;
+    When each morn meant a gala-day,
+    And all my little world was gay.
+    I had not felt the touch of Care;
+    I'd heard of something called Despair,
+    But knew it only by its name.
+    (How far it seemed!--how soon it came!)
+    Yes, all the bright years hurried by;
+    Sorrow was near, and--this is I!
+
+    Is't the same girl that stood, one night,
+    There in the wide hall's thrilling light,
+    With all the costly robes astir
+    That love and pride had bought for her?
+    How the great crowd, 'mid their kind din,
+    Gazed with gaunt eyes and drank me in!
+    And then they hushed at each low word,
+    So Death himself might have been heard,
+    To hear me mournfully rehearse
+    The tender Hood's pathetic verse
+    About the woman who, half dead,
+    Stitched her frail life in every thread.
+    How little then I knew the need!
+    Yet for my own sex I did plead,
+    And my heart crept on each word's track
+    Till soft sobs from the crowd came back.
+
+  [Illustration: "IS'T THE SAME GIRL THAT STOOD, ONE NIGHT,
+  THERE IN THE WIDE HALL'S THRILLING LIGHT?"]
+
+    I saw my sister, streaming-eyed,
+    Yet bearing still a face of pride:
+    Oh, sister! when you looked at me
+    With that quick yearning glance of love,
+    Did you peer on, to what might be--
+    _What is?_--and is it known above?
+    When that great throng a shout did raise,
+    And gave me words of heart-felt praise,
+    And loving eyes their incense burned
+    Till my young girlish head was turned--
+    Did your clear eye see farther then
+    A moment past all mortal ken,
+    And in the dreary scene I drew
+    Did my own form appear to you?
+    It might have been; grief was o'er-nigh,
+    And--God, have pity!--this is I,
+    Treading a steep and dang'rous way,
+    And--earning twenty cents a day!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FEBRUARY 5, 18--.
+
+    Father, this is the time we hailed
+    As your bright birthday. We ne'er failed
+    To throng about with love's fond arts,
+    And bring you presents from our hearts;
+    Your pleasure filled our day with bliss;
+    Oh what a different one from this!
+    My love, my father! how you stood
+    'Twixt me and all that was not good!
+    How, each o'er-hurried breath I drew,
+    My girl-heart turned and clung to you!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    How near comes back that dismal day
+    You sat, sad-faced, with naught to say,
+    From morn till night! I did not dare
+    Even to ask to soothe your care;
+    I knew it was too sadly grand
+    To feel the light touch of my hand.
+    Ah! friends you loved had gone astray,
+    And swept our competence away;
+    And oh, I strove so hard to save
+    Your honored gray hairs from the grave!
+    Too late! your sun went down o'er-soon,
+    Clouded, in life's mid-afternoon.
+    You guarded me with patience rare
+    From e'en the shadow of a care;
+    You called me "Princess;" and my room
+    Was dressed as palaces might be;
+    And--here I am amid this gloom
+    That mocks, insults, and murders me,
+    Striving a garret's rent to pay,
+    And--earning twenty cents a day!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FEBRUARY 20, 18--.
+
+    I cannot well afford to write--
+    My fingers are in call elsewhere;
+    But I must voice my black despair,
+    Or I should die before 'twas night.
+    I have no mother now to call,
+    And seek her heart, and tell her all.
+    O, Mother! well I know you rest
+    In yonder heaven, serene and blest:
+    How sadly, strangely sweet 'twould be
+    To know you knew and pitied me!
+    And yet I would not have you dream
+    E'en of the dagger's faintest gleam
+    That's pointing at my maiden breast.
+    Rest on, sweet mother, sweetly rest!
+    And still I feel your loving art,
+    Sometimes upon my aching heart.
+    That night I stood upon the pier,
+    And the gray river swept so near,
+    And glanced up at me in a way
+    Some one with friendly voice might say,
+    "Come to my arms and rest, poor girl."
+    And I leaned down with head awhirl,
+    And heart so heavy it might sink
+    Me underneath the river's brink,
+    A hand I could not feel or see
+    Drew me away and fondled me;
+    A voice I felt, unheard, though near,
+    Said, "Wait! you must not enter here,
+    And press against me with one stain.
+    Poor girl, not long you need remain!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  [Illustration: "AND HATEFUL HUNGER HAS COME IN."]
+
+    But, O sweet mother! I must write
+    The words that would be said to-night,
+    If you could hold my tired head here!
+    I cannot see one gleam of cheer;
+    This is a garret room, so bleak
+    The cold air stings my fading cheek;
+    Fireless my room, my garb is thin,
+    And hateful Hunger has come in,
+    And says, "Toil on, you foolish one!
+    You shall be mine when all is done."
+    Two days and nights of pain and dread
+    I've gnawed upon a crust of bread
+    (For what scant nourishment 'twould give)
+    So hard, I could not eat and live!
+    O mother! I to God shall pray
+    This tale in heaven may ne'er be told;
+    For you are where whole streets are gold,
+    And I--earn twenty cents a day!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FEBRUARY 22, 18--.
+
+    He never loved me. For no one
+    Could love and do as he has done.
+    How my heart clung and clung to him,
+    E'en when respect and faith grew dim;
+    His lightest touch could thrill me so!
+    Weak girl, 'twas hard to bid him go.
+    Though wayward was his heart I knew,
+    I would have sworn that he was true!
+
+    Oh, how I loved him! or maybe
+    Loved some one that I thought was he.
+    They brought me--what? his mangled corse?
+    Would God they had! They brought me worse.
+
+    I saw one who should bear his name,
+    One whose pale face was fiercely grieved,
+    One whom he wantonly deceived,
+    And sentenced to a life of shame.
+    That was the end. I could not wed
+    A man whose nobler self was dead.
+
+    O, man!--a brave and god-like race,
+    But you can be so vile and base!
+    And when there is no urgent need,
+    You can protect us well indeed;
+    But when adversity is near,
+    When the wave breaks upon our head,
+    When we are crushed with want and dread,
+    Then we have most from you to fear.
+    Why do men strangely look me o'er
+    When I their mercy need the more?
+    Do they not know a girl may taste
+    The dregs of want and yet be chaste?
+    Should woman sell her soul away
+    To save its manacles of clay?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FEBRUARY 23, 1885.
+
+    All honest means of life have failed.
+    The small accomplishments I've tried
+    That pleased friends in my days of pride,
+    Are naught; but vice has not prevailed,
+    And, thank Heaven, should not, though my heart
+    Were torn a thousand times apart.
+    But God shield helpless girls alway
+    Who live on twenty cents a day!
+
+FEBRUARY 24, 1885.
+
+    Weak, weak, still weaker do I grow:
+    My mournful fate I can but know;
+    God, keep me not long here, I pray,
+    To toil--on twenty cents a day!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FEBRUARY 26, 1885.
+
+    Oh, horrors! is it--is it true
+    What I have read?--if I but knew!
+    O, God, tell me where can I fly,
+    Not to be found when I shall die!
+    They say dead waifs are oft by night
+    Robbed of a decent burial's right;
+    That fiends the friendless bodies bear
+    To crowds of waiting students, where
+    Men tear them up for men to see.
+    O, God, sweet God, do pity me!
+    And I will humbly pray to men:
+    If this should come within the ken
+    Of one who lives a true-loved life,
+    Of one who sister has, or wife;
+    One who loves women for the best
+    That is in them, whose lips have pressed
+    Pure, genuine lips, whom women trust,
+    Whose heart is free from loathsome lust;
+    One whom I would have loved if he
+    Brother or husband were to me--
+    I ask you--nay, I do command
+    With that imperiousness you so
+    Like from a white and shapely hand--
+    I _order_ you--but no, no, no;
+    I am past that--I humbly pray
+    That you will see that I unmarred
+    Have Christian burial. Guard, oh guard,
+    You men with manly hearts and souls,
+    My poor dead body from the ghouls!
+    I strove alway to keep it pure
+    As the soul in me; it has been
+    Type of the thoughts that lived within,
+    The white slave of what shall endure,
+    My spirit's loved though humble mate;
+    Let none its white limbs desecrate!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Weaker--yet weaker--'tis to die
+    This sharp pain bids me. Ah! good-bye,
+    World that I was too weak for--
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MARCH 10, 18--.
+
+    Back from a journey; mournful, it is true,
+    But mingled with a deep-down sweetness, too.
+    After the law with that poor girl was done,
+    I found permission with the proper one,
+    And, though such things by law could not occur,
+    In my heart-family I adopted her.
+    (Help much too late to benefit her, living--
+    It's that way with a good share of our giving!)
+    But, with a father's love, "Poor girl!" I said,
+    "You shall have all that I can give you, dead!"
+    I found, by lightning inquiries I made,
+    The graveyard where her own loved ones were laid;
+    I had her body tenderly removed,
+    And placed among the dear ones that she loved,
+    With all the honor that the poor, sweet child
+    Would have if Fortune still upon her smiled.
+    And when once more the flowers of summer blow,
+    My wife and daughters and myself will go
+    And make the sad but grateful duty ours
+    To see her last earth-dwelling roofed with flowers.
+
+
+
+
+FIRE.
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+
+MARCH 15, 18--.
+
+  Fire!--fire!--fire!--fire!--it sets me in a craze
+  To see a first-class building all ablaze;
+  A burning house resembles, when I'm nigh,
+  Some old acquaintance just about to die;
+  For structures that a person often sees
+  Look some like human beings--same as trees.
+  (There used to be some trees on my old place
+  That I'd know anywhere--just by their face.)
+  And when, last night, some bells began to cry,
+  And big fire-engines rushed and rattled by,
+  In just three minutes down the stairs I strode,
+  And hurried--somewhat dressed--into the road
+  (Partly to help a bit, if so might be,
+  And partly, I suppose, to hear and see).
+  It was a dark and thunder-stormy night;
+  There wasn't one inch of honest sky in sight;
+  Great black-finned clouds were swimming through the air,
+  And now and then their lightning-eyes would glare,
+  And, like a lot of cannon far away,
+  Some peals of thunder came from o'er the bay.
+  'Twas one of those strange nights I can't explain,
+  That make you think they're just a-going to rain,
+  But never do--save now and then a trace
+  Of a small drop comes dashing on your face;
+  One of those nights that try to keep you vexed
+  And wondering as to what will happen next.
+  I like such times: they kind of draw me nearer
+  To things unseen, and make all mystery clearer.
+
+  I ran like sin, and reached the fire at last:
+  A good-sized church was going, pretty fast.
+  (I'd noticed it a hundred times or more,
+  And several times had stepped inside the door.)
+  The burglar flames within had prowled around
+  A long time previous to their being found,
+  Till they had gained such foothold and such might
+  They'd turned to robbers--stealing plain in sight.
+  The dome and spires had on them flags of red;
+  They soon came thundering down from overhead.
+  It looked as if infernal spirits came,
+  To take this church away, in smoke and flame!
+
+  I wondered, in that wild, expensive glare,
+  How many of the home-robbed flock were there
+  To see the shelter where their souls had fed
+  Swept from existence by that broom of red.
+  Here was the family pew, so long time prized;
+  There was the font where they had been baptized;
+  Here was the altar, where one day they stood,
+  Started for Heaven, and promised to be good;
+  Or where they'd wept around some cherished love
+  Who'd "taken a letter" to The Church above.
+  And still I thought, as my eyes soulward turned,
+  How many things there are that can't be burned;
+  But still we cling, and cling, and hate to part
+  With the place where we found them on the start.
+
+  A sneerish sort of fellow stood by me,
+  And said, "To such extent as I can see,
+  When churches get afire, by night or day,
+  The Lord stands still and lets 'em burn away.
+  If this is His abode beyond a doubt,
+  Why doesn't He raise his hand and put it out?"
+  Said I, "Young man, please do not try to aid
+  With your advice the mighty Power that made
+  What little there is of you. There are still
+  Schemes you don't comprehend, and never will.
+  You're talented, I think; but no one cares
+  To have you help the Lord in His affairs.
+  Why, probably, right where that church has stood,
+  There'll soon be built another, twice as good;
+  And some mean, tight insurance company will
+  Perhaps be made to pay more'n half the bill.
+  The Lord knows, in these fool-confounding scenes,
+  When to rebuild, and where to get the means."
+
+  He turned away his head exceeding far,
+  And lit a little bit of white cigar;
+  But gave, "to such extent as I could see,"
+  No more of his theology to me.
+  I'm none too good; but when men jeer and flout,
+  I like to have them know what they're about.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+WHEN PROMETHEUS STOLE THE FLAME.
+
+    When Prometheus stole the flame,
+    Did he know what with it came?
+    Did he look afar and see
+    All the blessings that would be?
+    Could he view the gentle gloam
+    Of the fireside of a home?
+    Or the centre-table's blaze,
+    Turning evenings into days,
+    Where, encamped with quiet zest,
+    Happy children toil and rest?
+    Did he view the parlor's gleam,
+    Or the 'wildering palace dream?
+    See the torch's floating glare
+    Burn its way through walls of air;
+    Or, through under-regions trace
+    Earth's remotest hiding-place?
+    Did he see the flags of steam
+    O'er the cities flash and gleam?
+    To his vision, like a star,
+    Did the light-house gleam afar,
+    Which another eye should be
+    To the traveller of the sea?
+    If Prometheus, tortured--bound--
+    Knew the blessings man had found,
+    Then his sufferings must have been
+    Soothed by blessings from within.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    When Prometheus stole the flame,
+    Did he know what with it came?
+    Did he see the fire up-steal,
+    Rise, and take its midnight meal?
+    Did he view the palace wall
+    Stumble 'mid the smoke and fall?
+    Did he see some cherished home
+    Feed a fiery ocean's foam?
+    Did he hear the war-alarms
+    Of a nation called to arms,
+    And behold men, in their ire,
+    Murdering men with bolts of fire?
+    Did some miscreant cross his sight,
+    Bent on booty or on spite,
+    Stealing steps into the dark,
+    With the incendiary spark?
+    Did there, faint and haggard, rise
+    Ghosts before his startled eyes,
+    Godly men of scathless name,
+    Felled for fuel to the flame;
+    In a short-lived earthly hell
+    Thrown, for voicing heaven too well?
+    If he knew that glittering thing
+    Would to Earth such curses bring,
+    Then his sufferings may have been
+    Edged with poison from within.
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+MARCH 20, 18--.
+
+  Somehow, the fire I saw not long ago
+  Has subsequently chased me, high and low;
+  Runs back and forth betwixt my head and heart,
+  And shows no disposition to depart.
+
+  And so I've wandered 'round (too much, perhaps),
+  And got acquainted with the fireman chaps,
+  And planted good cigars where they would seem
+  Inclined to grow up helpful to my scheme.
+  (I never smoke; but, travelling near and far,
+  There's few things help one like a good cigar;
+  When safe between a neighbor's teeth 'tis hung,
+  It oils his ways and loosens up his tongue.
+  I get more from cigars, before it's through,
+  Than all the fellows that I give them to.
+  Perhaps they should not smoke; but, if they will,
+  My method helps their families foot the bill.)
+
+  Not long ago a sturdy fireman lad,
+  Who smoked up every last cigar I had,
+  Unrolled the following story to my view,
+  Which I believe (conditionally) true:
+
+
+"FLASH:" THE FIREMAN'S STORY.
+
+  "Flash" was a white-foot sorrel, an' run on Number Three:
+  Not much stable manners--an average horse to see;
+  Notional in his methods--strong in loves an' hates;
+  Not very much respected, or popular 'mongst his mates;
+  Dull an' moody an' sleepy, an' "off" on quiet days;
+  Full o' turbulent, sour looks, an' small, sarcastic ways;
+  Scowled an' bit at his partner, an' banged the stable floor--
+  With other means intended to designate life a bore.
+
+  [Illustration: "HE BEGGED THAT HORSE'S PARDON UPON HIS BENDED
+  KNEES."]
+
+  But when, be't day or night time, he heard the alarm-bell ring,
+  He'd rush for his place in the harness with a regular tiger spring;
+  An' watch, with nervous shivers, the clasp of buckle an' band,
+  Until 'twas plainly evident he'd like to lend a hand.
+
+  An' when the word was given, away he would rush an' tear,
+  As if a thousand witches was rumplin' up his hair,
+  An' craze the other horses with his magnetic charm,
+  Till every hoof-beat sounded a regular fire-alarm!
+
+  Never a horse a jockey would notice an' admire
+  Like Flash in front of his engine a-runnin' to a fire;
+  Never a horse so lazy, so dawdlin', an' so slack,
+  As Flash upon his return trip, a-drawin' the engine back.
+
+  Now, when the different horses gets tender-footed an' old,
+  They're no use in our business; so Flash was finally sold
+  To quite a respectable milkman, who found it not so fine
+  A-bossin' one o' God's creatures outside it's natural line.
+
+  Seems as if I could see Flash a-mopin' along here now,
+  Feelin' that he was simply assistant to a cow;
+  But sometimes he'd imagine he heard the alarm-bell's din,
+  An' jump an' rear for a season before they could hold him in;
+
+  An' once, in spite o' his master, he strolled in 'mongst us chaps,
+  To talk with the other horses, of former fires, perhaps;
+  Whereat the milkman kicked him; whereat, us boys to please,
+  He begged that horse's pardon upon his bended knees.
+
+  But one day, for a big fire as we was makin' a dash,
+  Both o' the horses we had on somewhat resemblin' Flash,
+  Yellin' an' ringin' an' rushin', with excellent voice an' heart,
+  We passed the poor old fellow, a-tuggin' away at his cart.
+
+  If ever I see an old hoss grow upward into a new--
+  If ever I see a milkman whose traps behind him flew,
+  'Twas that old hoss, a-rearin' an' racin' down the track,
+  An' that respectable milkman a-tryin' to hold him back.
+
+  Away he rushed like a cyclone for the head o' "Number Three,"
+  Gained the lead, an' kept it, an' steered his journey free;
+  Dodgin' wagons an' horses, an' still on the keenest "silk,"
+  An' furnishin' all that neighborhood with good, respectable milk.
+
+  Crowd a-yellin' an' runnin', an' vainly hollerin' "Whoa!"
+  Milkman bracin' an' sawin', with never a bit o' show;
+  Firemen laughin' an' chucklin', an' shoutin' "Good! go in!"
+  Hoss a-gettin' down to it, an' sweepin' along like sin.
+
+  [Illustration: "AWAY HE RUSHED LIKE A CYCLONE FOR THE HEAD O'
+  'NUMBER THREE.'"]
+
+  Finally came where the fire was--halted with a "thud;"
+  Sent the respectable milkman heels over head in mud;
+  Watched till he see the engines properly workin' there,
+  After which he relinquished all interest in the affair.
+
+  Moped an' wilted an' dawdled, "faded away" once more,
+  Took up his old occupation--considerin' life a bore;
+  Laid down in his harness, an'--sorry I am to say--
+  The milkman he had drawn there took his dead body away.
+
+  That's the whole o' my story: I've seen, more'n once or twice,
+  That poor dead animals' actions is full o' human advice;
+  An' if you ask what Flash taught, I'll simply answer, then,
+  That poor old horse was a symbol of some intelligent men.
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  An' if, as some consider, there's animals in the sky,
+  I think the poor old fellow is gettin' another try;
+  But if he should sniff the big fire that plagues the abode o' sin,
+  It'll take the strongest angel to hold the old fellow in.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MARCH 20, 18--.
+
+    Speaking of fires, my powers of language fail;
+    They run them here upon so large a scale.
+    My son, Charles Sumner (who is, by-the-way,
+    In Europe--terms ten dollars by the day,
+    Paid strictly in advance), can rhyme somewhat,
+    And often seems to me to touch the spot,
+    And light the truth up with a healthier glare,
+    And make it _truthfuller_ for his being there.
+    (But in such furrows human nature runs,
+    That old men aren't good critics for their sons.)
+    He used to rush (as youngsters often will)
+    To every fire we had at Tompkins Hill,
+    And seemed to plan less how to put them out
+    Than to get something new to write about.
+    He struck a rhyme I think isn't over bad,
+    About a "fire" our little village had
+    (Or city; for that town took city airs
+    Before its village short-clothes reached repairs).
+    I found a copy of it t'other day
+    Where he had laid it carefully away,
+    To keep me from not finding it (he meant
+    To get it back in the next check I sent).
+    'Twill cost me several dollars yet, I fear;--
+    I'll paste the fellow's nonsense right in here:
+
+
+
+HOW WE FOUGHT THE FIRE.
+
+I.
+
+    'Twas a drowsy night on Tompkins Hill:
+    The very leaves of the trees lay still;
+    The world was slumbering, ocean deep;
+    And even the stars seemed half asleep,
+    And winked and blinked at the roofs below,
+    As yearning for morn, that they might go.
+    The streets as stolid and still did lie
+    As they would have done if streets could die;
+    The sidewalks stretched as quietly prone
+    As if a foot they had never known;
+    And not a cottage within the town,
+    But looked as if it would fain lie down.
+    Away in the west a stacken-cloud,
+    With white arms drooping and bare head bowed,
+    Was leaning against--with drowsy eye--
+    The dark blue velveting of the sky.
+          And that was the plight
+          Things were in that night,
+    Before we were roused the foe to fight--
+    The foe so greedy and grand and bright--
+          That plagued old Deacon Tompkins.
+
+II.
+
+    The Deacon lay on his first wife's bed,
+    His second wife's pillow beneath his head,
+    His third wife's coverlet o'er him wide,
+    His fourth wife slumbering by his side.
+    The parson visioned his Sunday's text,
+    And what he should hurl at Satan next;
+    The doctor a drowsy half-vigil kept,
+    Still studying, as he partly slept,
+    How men might glutton, and tope, and fly
+    In the face of Death, and still not die;
+    The lawyer dreamed that his clients meant
+    To club together, and then present,
+    As proof that their faith had not grown dim,
+    A small bright silver hatchet to him;
+    The laborer such sound slumber knew,
+    He hadn't a dream the whole night through;
+    The ladies dreamed--but I can't say well
+    What 'tis they dream, for they never tell!
+    In short, such a general drowsy time
+    Had ne'er been known in that sleepy clime,
+          As on the night
+          Of clamor and fright,
+    We were roused the treacherous foe to fight--
+    The foe so greedy and grand and bright,
+    And carrying such an appetite--
+          That plagued old Deacon Tompkins.
+
+III.
+
+    When all at once the old court-house bell
+    (Which had a voice like a maniac's yell)
+    Cried out, as if in its dim old sight
+    The judgment-day had come in the night.
+    "Bang whang whang bang clang dang bang whang,"
+    The poor old parcel of metal sang;
+    Whereat, from mansion, cottage, and shed,
+    Rose men and women as from the dead,
+    In different stages of attire,
+    And shouted, "The town is all afire!"
+    (Which came as near to being true
+    As some more leisurely stories do.)
+    They saw on the Deacon's house a glare,
+    And everybody hurried there;
+    And such a lot of visitors he
+    Had never before the luck to see.
+    The Deacon received these guests of night
+    In a costume very simple and white;
+    And after a drowsy, scared "Ahem!"
+    He asked them what he could do for them.
+    "Fire! fire!" they shouted; "your house's afire!"
+    And then, with energy sudden and dire,
+    They rushed through the mansion's solitudes,
+    And helped the Deacon to move his goods.
+          And that was the sight
+          We had that night,
+    When roused by the people who saw the light
+    Atop of the cottage, cozy and white,
+          Where lived old Deacon Tompkins.
+
+  [Illustration: HOW WE FOUGHT THE FIRE.]
+
+IV.
+
+    Ah me! the way that they rummaged round!
+    Ah me! the startling things they found!
+    No one with a fair idea of space
+    Would ever have thought that in one place
+    Were half the things that, with a shout,
+    These neighborly burglars hustled out.
+    Came articles that the Deacon's wives
+    Had all been gathering half their lives;
+    Came furniture such as one might see
+    Didn't grow in the trunk of every tree;
+    A tall clock, centuries old, 'twas said,
+    Leaped out of a window, heels o'er head;
+    A veteran chair, in which, when new,
+    George Washington sat for a minute or two;
+    A bedstead strong, as if in its lap
+    Old Time might take his terminal nap;
+    Dishes, that in meals long agone
+    The Deacon's fathers had eaten on;
+    Clothes, made of every cut and hue,
+    That couldn't remember when they were new;
+    A mirror, scathless many a day
+    ('Twas promptly smashed in the regular way);
+    Old shoes enough, if properly thrown,
+    To bring good luck to all creatures known;
+    And children thirteen, more or less,
+    In varying plenitude of dress.
+          And that was the sight
+          We had that night,
+    When roused, the terrible foe to fight,
+    Which blazed aloft to a moderate height,
+    And turned the cheeks of the timid white,
+          Including Deacon Tompkins.
+
+V.
+
+    Lo! where the engines, reeking hot,
+    Dashed up to the interesting spot:
+    Came Number Two, "The City's Hope,"
+    Propelled by a line of men and rope;
+    And after them, on a spiteful run,
+    "The Ocean Billows," or Number One.
+    And soon the two, induced to "play"
+    By a hundred hands, were working away,
+    Until, to the Deacon's flustered sight,
+    As he danced about in his robe of white,
+    It seemed as if, by the hand of Fate,
+    House-cleaning day were some two years late,
+    And with complete though late success,
+    Had just arrived by the night express.
+    The "Ocean Billows" were at high tide,
+    And flung their spray upon every side;
+    The "City's Hope" were in perfect trim,
+    Preventing aught like an interim;
+    And a "Hook-and-Ladder Company" came,
+    With hooks and ropes and a long hard name,
+    And with an iconoclastic frown
+    Were about to pull the whole thing down,
+    When some one raised the assuring shout,
+    "It's only the chimney a-burnin' out!"
+    Whereat, with a sense of injured trust,
+    The crowd went home in complete disgust.
+    Scarce one of those who, with joyous shout,
+    Assisted the Deacon in moving out,
+    Refrained from the homeward-flowing din,
+    To help the Deacon at moving in.
+          And that was the plight
+          In which, that night,
+    They left the Deacon, clad in white,
+    Who felt he was hardly treated right,
+    And used some words, in the flickering light,
+    Not orthodox in their purport quite--
+          Poor, put-out Deacon Tompkins!
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    Let me a moment indite
+    Scenes that I witnessed one night:
+
+
+["YOU WILL TELL ME WHERE IS CONRAD?"]
+
+  "You will tell me where is Conrad?" said an old man, bent and gray,
+  While the flames were wildly dancing, and the walls were giving way.
+
+  "I haf heard some ones was buried--underneath the ruins fell;
+  He was in de topmost story--ach, mein Gott! I luf him well!
+
+  "I will tell you how you knew him: he had full and laughing eye,
+  And his face was smooth and smiling--and he was too young to die.
+
+  "Hair he had like clouds at sunset when anodher day is done,
+  And I luf him--how I luf him! and he is mein only son.
+
+  "Say, Policeman, tell me truly that this young man you did see,
+  And I all the money gif you, such as I could bring with me.
+
+  "Tell me that he anxious acted--that he hunted far and long,
+  Like as children would be calling for their fadher in a throng;
+
+  "Or he wounded was, pray tell me--in the hospital to lie?--
+  I will just now hasten to him, and I not will let him die!
+
+  "Tell me--oh, you must not told me--dead you haf my Conrad see?
+  Yet if so is I can stand that--I did long a soldier be.
+
+  "Only--Death, we do not fear him when we hear the bullets sing,
+  But to haf my boy killed this way is a rather different thing.
+
+  "Only--that his poor old mudher, she waits home all full of fear,
+  And I cannot there be going, till I take good news from here!
+
+  "Young he was when we did bring him from the Rhine land o'er the sea;
+  I did lif for her and Conrad--she did lif for him and me.
+
+  "Other ones we bring not with us: Gott he says, 'These more be mine;'
+  And we left them all a-sleeping 'mong the vineyards of the Rhine.
+
+  "He haf not a cross word gif us--he haf luf us every day,
+  And if he to-night comes home not, 'tis the first that he's away.
+
+  "Let me to that fire, Policeman! I care what for walls or brand?
+  Maybe he in there be living--reaching for his fadher's hand!
+
+  "Let me past, I say, Policeman! I haf work there to be done!
+  Let go me or I will strike you!--is it that you haf no son?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Still the flames were like a furnace, and the walls were crashing loud,
+  And the old man, held in safety, fainted 'mid the trembling crowd.
+
+  And the mother watched and wondered, with her great eyes scarcely wet;
+  But, half dazed amid her sorrow, waits for Conrad even yet.
+
+
+
+
+WATER.
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+
+APRIL 25, 18--.
+
+    RAIN--rain--rain--for three good solid fluid weeks--
+    Till the air swims, and all creation leaks!
+    And street-cars furnish still less room to spare,
+    And hackmen several times have earned their fare.
+    The omnibuses lumber through the din,
+    And carry clay outside as well as in;
+    The elevated trains, with jerky care,
+    Haul half-way comfort through the dripping air;
+    The gutters gallop past the liquid scene,
+    As brisk as meadow brooks, though not so clean;
+    What trees the city keeps for comfort's sake,
+    Are shedding tears as if their hearts would break;
+    And water tries to get, by storming steady,
+    That fourth of all the world it hasn't already.
+
+    And men are not so sweet as men could wish,
+    In air that wouldn't offend a moderate fish;
+    Few places can be found, outside or in,
+    Where this dark-featured weather has not been;
+    For man has always striven, and in vain,
+    To roof his _disposition_ from the rain.
+    I've strolled about, this morning, several miles,
+    'Mongst men who get their living by their smiles;
+    I've set my old umbrella up to drip
+    In places where I claimed relationship
+    (Or, rather, where my heart did; and that's more
+    Than blood connection is, sixteen times o'er);
+    I've journeyed up and down through half Broadway,
+    And did not see a first-class smile to-day.
+
+    And so, in spite of all that I can do,
+    These gold-bowed spectacles are growing blue;
+    And my old heart must bear along the road
+    A fanciful but rather heavy load;
+    A painful pressure from a hand unseen:
+    Most any one knows nearly what I mean.
+
+    I think I'll powder up this dark-skinned day,
+    By going, to-night, to hear the actors play!
+    They'll make me laugh, and tone me up a bit,
+    And get me out of this unnatural fit.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_11 o'clock P.M._
+
+    Got back alive; and that's worth thinking on,
+    From where there's been such lots of killing done;
+    Mercy! it was a somewhat skittish sight--
+    So many people butchered in one night!
+    'Twas just a lot of people playing crime--
+    A sort of murder-picnic all the time.
+
+    We found the theatre with handbills spread,
+    Near where the notice in the paper said
+    (The weather had slacked up an hour or so,
+    And Wife thought she would condescend to go),
+    And after stumbling over several chaps,
+    Who thought they'd met us somewhere else, perhaps,
+    And cheerfully addressed us o'er and o'er,
+    As if they'd known us several years or more,
+    Persisting in affording us a chance
+    To buy our tickets at a slight advance
+    (The theatres employ these men, I've heard,
+    To greet their patrons with a friendly word,
+    And light their way in with kind word and smile,
+    And make a dollar out of them meanwhile);
+    We brushed past these remarkable "dead-beats,"
+    Some tickets bought, and scrambled to our seats.
+
+    After a piece of music by the band,
+    The curtain rose before a castle grand,
+    And soldiers talking, with a half-scared mien,
+    About a spook that one of them had seen.
+    When lo! this ghost appears, plump to their view,
+    And will not talk, although they beg him to.
+    (I whispered to my wife that I'd a freak
+    That a newspaper man could make him speak;
+    But suddenly my comments had to cease,
+    For Wife encouraged me to hold my peace.)
+
+    When lo! this ghost, who, thus far, might have come
+    Out of a sky-asylum for the dumb,
+    Speaks with a queer but rather human sound,
+    When once his son, the Prince, gets on the ground;
+    And taking him aside, ten feet almost,
+    Tells the poor boy that he's his father's ghost,
+    Whose own false brother softly to him crept,
+    And poured him full of poison while he slept.
+
+    Then the young man got mad, though to my mind
+    'Twas lunacy of quite a knowing kind;
+    And went to work with an apparent view
+    Of killing off 'most every one he knew.
+
+    I haven't the time his actions all to state;
+    I'll only say he managed it first-rate,
+    And some way killed all relatives he saw,
+    From uncle to prospective father-in-law;
+    And when he got through, those he hadn't snuffed out
+    Were hardly worth while bothering about.
+    (I mustn't forget to say that this poor elf
+    Became, at last, a good square corpse himself.)
+
+    I looked around, and, the whole building through,
+    Women were shedding tears as if 'twas true;
+    And Wife was 'most too much concerned to speak,
+    And even my old eyes had sprung a leak.
+    'Twas a moist time; and I remarked, "'Tis plain
+    We've come out of the rain into the rain."
+
+    I got so full of funeral, sitting there,
+    Then, when we once more sniffed the clean, live air,
+    It seemed a piece of good-luck all around,
+    To get away once more, alive and sound.
+
+    That's what they call a "tragedy;" where Death
+    Flies 'round till he himself gets out of breath;
+    And, with sword-slashes and cold poison filled,
+    All who amount to anything, get killed.
+    It's part of life; some time again I'll view it,
+    But take a good square rest before I do it!
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    Here on this sea-beach I wander;
+    Why of the storms am I fonder
+    Than of the sunlight above them?
+    And the clouds: why do I love them--
+    Waves of the sky, onward sweeping,
+    Or to the ocean-waves leaping?
+    Why do I court this fierce day,
+    Dashing my face full of spray?
+    Why, when the waves strike the shore
+    With their strong, leonine roar,
+    Does my soul fiercely entreat them--
+    Rush out with rapture to meet them?
+    Why do I love to descry
+    War in the fields of the sky?
+    Why does the chain-lightning's glare,
+    Ploughing blue meadows of air,
+    Look to my vision alway
+    Sweet as a star in the day?
+
+      You who in fair summer weather
+    Seek this sea-city together
+    (Built for tumultuous rest,
+    With the famed ocean chief guest),
+    Not half the pleasure you've known
+    That I, here wand'ring alone,
+    On these wet sand-fields have found,
+    Hearing the ocean's own sound,
+    Viewing fierce waves from afar
+    Strive with the winter in war.
+    Storms that tumultuously roll
+    Far through my innermost soul--
+    Here you encounter, at last,
+    Harmonies wondrous and vast!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    What did I find on the shore?
+    Must I rehearse it once more?
+
+
+[THE DEAD STOWAWAY.]
+
+  He lay on the beach, just out of the reach
+    Of waves that had cast him by:
+  With fingers grim they reached for him
+    As often as they came nigh.
+  The shore-face brown had a surly frown,
+    And glanced at the dancing sea,
+  As if to say, "Take back the clay
+    You tossed this morning at me."
+  Great fragments rude, by the shipwreck strewed,
+    Had found by this wreck a place;
+  He had grasped them tight, and hope-strewn fright
+    Sat still on the bloated face.
+  Battered and bruised, forever abused,
+    He lay by the heartless sea,
+  As if Heaven's aid had never been made
+    For a villain such as he.
+  The fetter's mark lay heavy and dark
+    Around the pulseless wrists;
+  The hardened scar of many a war
+    Clung yet to the drooping fists.
+  The soul's disgrace across that face
+    Had built an iron track;
+  The half-healed gash of the jailman's lash
+    Helped cover the brawny back.
+  The blood that flowed in a crimson road
+    From a deep wound in his head
+  Had felt fierce pangs from the poison-fangs
+    Of those who his young life fed:
+  Cursed from the very beginning
+    With deeds that others had done,
+  "More sinned against than sinning"--
+    And so is every one!
+
+  He had never learned save what had turned
+    The steps of his life amiss;
+  He never knew a hand-grasp true,
+    Or the thrill of a virtuous kiss.
+  'Twas poured like a flood through his young blood,
+    And poisoned every vein,
+  That wrong is right, that law is spite,
+    And theft but honest gain.
+  The seeds were grown that had long been sown
+    By the heart of a murderous sire:
+  Disease and shame, and blood aflame
+    With thirst for the founts of fire.
+  Battered and bruised, forever abused,
+    He lay by the moaning sea,
+  As if Heaven's aid were even afraid
+    Of a villain such as he.
+
+  As he lay alone, like a sparrow prone,
+    An angel wandered nigh:
+  A look she cast over that dark past,
+    And tears came to her eye.
+
+  [Illustration: "BATTERED AND BRUISED, FOREVER ABUSED,
+  HE LAY BY THE MOANING SEA."]
+
+  She bent by the dead, and tenderly said:
+    "Poor child, you went astray;
+  Your heart and mind were both born blind--
+    No wonder they lost their way!
+  Angels, I know, had fallen as low
+    With such a dismal chance.
+  Your heart was ironed, your soul environed,
+    You were barred of all advance!
+  Cursed from the very beginning
+    With deeds that others have done,
+  'More sinned against than sinning'--
+    And so is every one!"
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+MAY 24, 18--.
+
+    The Lord gave Water quite a good-sized start--
+    Three-fourths of this world's homestead for its part;
+    But lawyers are not needed to convince
+    That Water has been losing ever since.
+    The reason is not hard to understand:
+    For God's most knowing creatures live on land,
+    And, naturally, every chance they get,
+    Find some new means to keep them from the wet.
+    The farms their dykes have from the ocean won;
+    The ground men make to build their cities on;
+    The bridge that from the river shelters me;
+    The ships--great travelling bridges of the sea--
+    All are an effort of ambitious man
+    To make this world as solid as he can.
+
+    These thoughts, to-day, all through my mind would run,
+    While looking at a bridge they've just got done,
+    Which takes a man, dry shod, from shore to shore--
+    A matter of a good long mile or more.
+    I can't describe it; but I'll let the papers
+    (Who tell _some_ truth, 'mid all their fancy capers)
+    To my old scrap-book give of it a taste
+    (What I can't do with ink I'll do with paste).
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+[THE WEDDING OF THE TOWNS.][5]
+
+    Let all of the bells ring clear,
+      And all of the flags be seen;
+    The King of the Western Hemisphere
+      Has married the Island Queen!
+    For years he watched and waited
+      Along the river side,
+    And vowed that she was fated
+      To be his own fair bride;
+    Full many a night he wooed her
+      Upon her lofty throne,
+    And he hath long pursued her,
+      To make the prize his own;
+    Nor thankless his endeavor,
+      Nor coy the royal maid,
+    But, like true-love's course ever,
+      The banns were long delayed!
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    And boys to men had grown,
+      And men their graves had sought;
+    The gulf was yet between them thrown,
+      And the wooing came to nought.
+    Though couriers oft were dashing
+      'Twixt him and his adored,
+    Still was the river flashing
+      Between them like a sword.
+    In heart they well were mated;
+      And patiently and long
+    They for each other waited--
+      These lovers true and strong.
+
+    Let never a flag be hidden!
+      Let never a bell be dumb!
+    The guests have all been bidden--
+      The wedding-day has come!
+
+    For many a golden year
+      Shall gleam this silvery tie:
+    The wondering world will gather here
+      And gaze with gleaming eye.
+    Philosophers will ponder
+      How, blessed by the hand of Heaven,
+    The world has another wonder
+      To add to its famous seven;
+    Philanthropists will linger
+      To view the giant span,
+    And point with grateful finger
+      Where man has toiled for man;
+    And all will bless the year
+      When, in the May-month green,
+    The King of the Western Hemisphere
+      Was wed to the Island Queen!
+
+    [5] Written on the occasion of the opening of the New York
+        and Brooklyn Bridge.
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+JULY 2, 18--.
+
+    Wealth, wealth, wealth, wealth! with iron bars to defend it,
+    And seventeen hundred thousand ways to spend it!
+    How men will work, in home and foreign lands,
+    To get a lot of money in their hands;
+    How they will bar and bolt, by night and day,
+    To keep some one from stealing it away;
+    Then, when a fresh bait strikes their fancy's eye,
+    How easy 'tis to make them let it fly!
+    Lock up your cash in places howe'er strong,
+    You lose it when the right thief comes along.
+    There are some families that I could name,
+    Who, spring and fall and winter, toil the same
+    As boys with sleds for half an hour will climb,
+    To ride back in about five minutes' time.
+    These fam'lies pinched and starved nine months will be,
+    To make a first-class show the other three;
+    And some whose fortunes sprung up like a flame,
+    Can puff it out even quicker than it came.
+
+    These thoughts grew like June corn the other day,
+    As I through Coney Island picked my way,
+    And found there, pert and prosperous as could be,
+    A land-and-water city by the sea;
+    And people holding, in free easy style,
+    A Fourth-of-July picnic all the while.
+    Thousands were eating there amid the din,
+    As though they'd hardly time to do it in;
+    Thousands were loitering in the breezy air,
+    As if they had a year or two to spare;
+    And every trap that ever caught a dime,
+    Was ready set and baited all the time!
+
+    The ocean, to my unaccustomed view,
+    Seemed having quite a lively picnic too;
+    The waves came slamming at us with a roar,
+    And chased each other pell-mell to the shore.
+    And in these waves, and adding to the noise,
+    A lot of men and women, girls and boys,
+    Dressed in a style that made my good wife frown,
+    Like big-sized corks went bobbing up and down.
+    Some glided out and in, like jumping-jacks,
+    Some rode the waves--a-lying on their backs;
+    And some--as decent folks as one could see--
+    Made capers that were very queer to see.
+    I noticed Miss Doozéll, much versed in books,
+    And quite particular about her looks,
+    And dignified as any one I know,
+    Roll over maybe thirteen times or so;
+    While Jeremiah Jipson, LL.D.,
+    Who seldom makes a move above the knee,
+    And who, all former signs would seem to say,
+    Never indulges in unseemly play--
+    When an irreverent wave he chanced to meet,
+    Stood on his head, and raised aloft his feet.
+    The Ocean has no awe for any one,
+    And always seems to get more'n half the fun.
+
+    But how the pretty children carry sail!
+    Each with his tiny shovel and his pail,
+    Each working his own little piece of land,
+    And making small plantations in the sand!
+    These little incidents show on their face
+    That farming's natural to the human race!
+
+    When God's poor pretty ones, 'mid summer's blaze,
+    Have lived 'mongst brick and mortar all their days,
+    Trying their best to blossom and not spoil,
+    Like house-plants kidnapped from their native soil,
+    It must be heaven to sit here in the sand,
+    And take old Mother Earth right by the hand!
+    To lie here, by no brick blocks overlooked,
+    And take a breath of air that hasn't been cooked!
+    God bless you, children! May't a long time be,
+    Before the sand shall cover you and me!
+
+    Yes, every trap that ever caught a dime
+    Is ready set and baited, all the time!
+    Here nigh the shore a strange machine I found,
+    To see how hard, with beetles, men could pound;
+    And several fellows tried it, o'er and o'er,
+    Who never handled labor so before,
+    And would have shown capacity to shirk,
+    If they had known how much it looked like work.
+    Here round and round I saw a big wheel go,
+    Like an old-fashioned horse-power--larger, though,
+    And worked by steam; and on the sweeps one finds
+    Big wooden animals of different kinds:
+    Elephants, horses, birds of various hues,
+    Lions and leopards, roosters, kangaroos--
+    All staring with great, stupid, wondering eyes,
+    And all about the very self-same size!
+    And on these beasts, sixteen times round or more,
+    Rode children of from fifty down to four,
+    While some big-sized hand-organ filled the air
+    With crack-voiced music, plenty and to spare.
+    Here a big premium cow--quite dead, alas!
+    Gave milkman's milk-and-water by the glass;
+    Here were some great "museums," which consisted
+    Of wondrous things that never have existed;
+    There omnibuses hover on your track,
+    Ready to draw you somewhere else--and back;
+    Here "marine railroads," as you onward plod,
+    Will take you riding at five cents a rod;
+    This "elevator" lifts you pretty high,
+    And shows you men must look small from the sky;
+    Yon gambling den will send you from its door,
+    Poorer and not much wiser than before;
+    That fellow there will, in an ocean view,
+    Your picture take, and swear that it is you.
+    Yes, every trap that ever caught a dime,
+    Is ready set and baited, all the time!
+
+    And sometimes everything seems blurred, indeed,
+    With man's surprising wickedness and greed,
+    Till you most feel there's nothing genuine there,
+    Excepting ocean waves and open air!
+
+    But still they can't put all God's plans to death
+    To let the people have an honest breath;
+    And so, while thinking it all up, to-day,
+    I finally felt called upon to say,
+    Thank the good Lord, from whom all blessings fall,
+    For making Coney Island, after all!
+
+    My cousin, Abdiel Stebbins, large and slow,
+    Arrived at Ocean Grove some days ago;
+    He stopped off in this city on the way,
+    And stayed here with us two weeks and one day
+    (For we keep up our airy home in town
+    Whether the mercury goes up or down--
+    Not liking to exchange it very well
+    For a small sweat-box in a large hotel).
+    He promised that the first hour he could spare
+    He'd write us how he liked it over there;
+    The letter, like himself, is rather queer;
+    Perhaps I'd better paste it right in here:
+
+
+
+[FARMER STEBBINS AT OCEAN GROVE.]
+
+OCEAN GROVE, _June_ 30, 18--.
+
+DEAR COUSIN JOHN:
+
+  We got here safe--my worthy wife and me--
+  And took a tent here in the woods contigious to the sea;
+  We've harvested such means of grace as growed within our reach--
+  We've been to several meetings here, and heard the Bishop preach;
+  And everything went easy like until we took a whim--
+  My wife and I--one breezy day, to take an ocean swim.
+
+  We shouldn't have ventured on't, I think, if Sister Sunnyhopes
+  Hadn't urged us over and again, and said she knew "the ropes,"
+  And told how soothing it would be "in ocean rills to lave,"
+  And "sport within the bounding surf," and "ride the crested wave;"
+  And so we went along with her--my timid wife and me--
+  Two inland noodles, for our first acquaintance with the sea.
+
+  They put me in a work-day rig, as usually is done--
+  A wampus and short overalls all sewed up into one.
+  I had to pull and tug and shrink to make the thing go 'round
+  (You are aware my peaceful weight will crowd three hundred pound).
+  They took my wig and laid it up--to keep it dry, they said--
+  And strapped a straw-stack of a hat on my devoted head.
+
+  They put my wife into a frock too short by full a third:
+  'Twas somewhat in the Bloomer style--I told her 'twas absurd!
+  You know she's rather long and slim--somewhat my opposite--
+  And clothes that was not made for her is likely not to fit;
+  But as we was we vent'red in--my timid wife and me--
+  And formed our first acquaintance with the inconsistent sea.
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  Miss Sunnyhopes she waded out a-looking nice and sweet
+  (She'd had her dress made to the store, and trimmed from head to feet);
+  And I went next, and grabbed their rope just as she told me to,
+  And Wife came third, a-looking scared, scarce knowing what to do.
+  Then Sister Sunnyhopes a smile of virgin sweetness gave,
+  And said, "Now watch your chance, and jump--here comes a _lovely_ wave!"
+
+  I must have jumped, I rather think, the wrong time of the moon;
+  At any rate the "lovely wave" occurred to me too soon!
+  It took me sudden, with a rude and unexpected shock;
+  I'd rather meet the stoutest pair of horns in all my flock!
+  And then to top the circus out, and make the scene more fine,
+  I tried to _kick_ this "lovely wave," and let right go the line.
+
+  [Illustration: "TWO INLAND NOODLES, FOR OUR FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH
+  THE SEA."]
+
+  On county fairs and 'lection days, in walking through a crowd,
+  I'm rather firm to jostle 'gainst--perhaps it makes me proud;
+  But if it does, that wave just preached how _sureness_ never pays,
+  And seemed to say, "How small is man, no odds how much he weighs!"
+  It kicked and cuffed me all about, in spite of right or law,
+  With all the qualities they give an average mother-in-law!
+
+  And then it set me on the bank, quite thankful for my life,
+  And looking 'round I give a gaze to find my faithful wife;
+  But she had kind o' cut this wave with all the edge she had,
+  And stood a-looking 'round for me, uncommon moist and sad;
+  While Sister Sunnyhopes with smiles was looking sweet and gay,
+  A-floating on her dainty back some several rods away!
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+
+  She looked so newish pretty there--(she knowed it, too, the elf!)--
+  The crowd was all admiring her, and so was I myself;
+  And while I once more grasped the line, beside my wife of truth,
+  My eyes _would_ rove to Sister S.--her beauty and her youth;
+  When all at once a brindle wave, uncommon broad and deep,
+  Came thrashing down on Wife and me, and flopped us in a heap!
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  Heels over head--all in a bunch--my wife across of me,
+  And I on some misguided folks who happened there to be,
+  My hat untied and floated off, and left my bald head bare--
+  When I got out, if I'd have spoke, 'twould warmed up all the air!
+  We drank 'bout two-thirds of the sea--my gasping wife and I--
+  While Sister S. still floated soft, a-gazing at the sky!
+
+  [Illustration: "WE VOTED THAT WE'D HAD ENOUGH."]
+
+  We voted that we'd had enough, and got right out the way
+  Before another wave arrived, and bid the sea good-day.
+  We looked as like two drownded rats as ever such was called,
+  With one of them a dumbed old fool and most completely bald.
+  But, like a woman true she says--my shivering wife to me--
+  "We will not mind; there's others here looks just as bad as we."
+
+  Now, Sister Sunnyhopes, by'm-by, came back into our tent,
+  As sleek or sleeker than before, and asked us "When we went?"
+  Said I, "My dear good Sister S., please do not now pretend
+  You did not see our voyage through, and mark its doleful end.
+  If you would play the mermaid fair, why such I'd have you be;
+  But we're too old to take that part--my faithful wife and me;
+
+  "Some folks may be who ocean waves are fitted to command,
+  But we've concluded _we_ was built expressly for the land.
+  And when I want amusement for an uncompleted day,
+  I guess I'll go and take it in some good old-fashioned way;
+  And will not stand upon my head 'fore all the folks that's there,
+  And wildly wave my dumbed old feet in all the neighboring air!"
+
+
+
+
+VICE.
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+SEPTEMBER 10, 18--.
+
+    Ah me! it makes a sinner wondrous blue,
+    To see so many other sinners too!
+    When I rake over all my faults, and then
+    Notice the same, or worse, in other men,
+    It makes me very much surprised and sad,
+    That Heaven should see Earth turning out so bad!
+
+    Vice, vice, vice, vice! The _country's_ mean enough,
+    And has some villains that are pretty rough;
+    But in this town, where art and nature both
+    Are shoved into their very greatest growth,
+    And where the utmost of all things is found,
+    The Devil has his best men on the ground,
+    And gives them weapons meeting his own views,
+    And all the ammunition they can use!
+
+    Vice, vice, vice, vice! I never had been led
+    To think that Evil had so long a head!
+    I've seen more ingenuity displayed
+    In one crime, than 'twould take to learn a trade.
+    Such cute inventions Sin will take in charge:
+    Old Satan's patent-office must be large!
+
+    And yet, for all their craft, in time how brief
+    How many of these rascals come to grief!
+    For though within them cunning may abound,
+    The plain-clothed Truth is always standing round,
+    Or following rogues through every land and clime,
+    And gets them, if you'll only give him time.
+    I don't believe--as some good people say--
+    The Devil leads men on from day to day,
+    And takes them to a rock, and, first they know,
+    Pitches them off into some gulf below;
+    Or baits them into different traps, and then
+    Doesn't try at all to get them out again:
+    I think he'd like to keep them, safe and sound,
+    Doing his nasty work the whole year round;
+    And when a rogue fails up and comes to grief,
+    It hurts his brimstone-clothed but helpless chief!
+
+    These thoughts limped past my saddened mind to-day,
+    As through State's prison I pursued my way,
+    Led round by one who didn't seem to be knowing
+    What melancholy pictures he was showing!
+    Those walls and guards, that all escape opposed;
+    Those thick, iron doors--it thundered when they closed;
+    The cells--each one a closet full of gloom:
+    I'd just as soon sleep in a metal tomb![6]
+    The hard-faced men who worked away (no doubt,
+    For fear of hard-faced men that stood about),
+    Wearing that garb of stripes a free man loathes,
+    As if Law whipped them--even with their clothes;
+    The way they glance up at you from within
+    Their drooping eyelids, hard with grief or sin,
+    Wondering, as they gaze upon you so,
+    If you are not some one they used to know;
+    The ghosts you feel, that creep 'round, all the time,
+    Among these men who've shaken hands with crime;
+    The mournful hope that some are toiling here
+    Whose innocence in heaven is proved out clear:
+    All these things to my inmost spirit talked,
+    As through those regions dark I slowly walked;
+    And when the front door closed behind me--free--
+    The fresh air seemed like heaven itself to me!
+
+    I recollect once getting sick with pain,
+    When sitting near a sheriff, on the train,
+    Who had a young man with him--not of age--
+    Whom he was taking to this stone-bound cage.
+    The poor boy talked to him with drooping head,
+    And these are something like the words he said:
+
+    [6]  And yet 'twas quite affecting, I declare,
+         How some had ornaments up, even there!
+         Not crime itself, or sad misfortune's smart
+         Can crush all sense of beauty from the heart!
+
+
+[THE BOY CONVICT'S STORY.]
+
+  I'd rather sit here, Mr. Sheriff--up near to the end of the car;
+  We won't do so much advertising if we stay in the seat where we are.
+  That sweet little dude saw the bracelets that you on my wrists have
+      bestowed,
+  And tells the new passengers promptly you're "taking me over
+      the road."
+  I've had a well-patronized trial--the neighbors all know of my fall;
+  But when I get out among strangers I'm sensitive-like, after all.
+
+  For I was a lad of good prospects, some three or four summers ago--
+  There wasn't any boy in our township who made a more promising
+      show!
+  I learned all of Solomon's proverbs, and took in their goodness and
+      worth,
+  Till I felt like a virtue-hooped barrel, chock-full of the salt of the
+      earth.
+  And this precious picnic of sorrow would likely enough have been saved,
+  If I had had less of a heart, sir, or home had contained what it craved.
+
+  For the time when a boy is in danger of walking a little bit wild,
+  Is when he's too young to be married--too old to be known as a child;
+  A bird in the lonely grass thickets, just out of the parent tree thrown,
+  Too large to be kept in the old nest--too small to have one of his own;
+  When, desolate 'mid his companions, his soul is a stake to be won;
+  'Tis then that the Devil stands ready to get a good chance to catch on!
+
+  Oh, yes! I'd a good enough home, sir, so far as the house was concerned;
+  My parents were first-class providers--I ate full as much as I earned.
+  My clothes were all built of good timber, and fit every day to be seen;
+  There wasn't any lock on the pantry--my bedroom was tidy and clean;
+  And taking the home up and down, sir, I'd more than an average part,
+  With one quite important exception--_there wasn't any room for my
+      heart_.
+
+  The house couldn't have been any colder, with snow-drifts in every
+      room!
+  The house needn't have been any darker to make a respectable tomb!
+  I used to stop short on the door-step, and brace up a minute or more,
+  And bid a good-bye to the sunshine, before I would open the door;
+  I used to feed daily on icebergs--take in all the freeze I could hold--
+  Then go out and warm in the sunshine, because my poor heart was so
+      cold!
+
+  And hadn't I a father and mother? Oh yes! just as good as they
+      make--
+  _Too_ good, I have often suspected (though maybe that last's a mistake).
+  But they'd travelled so long and so steady the way to Perfection's abode,
+  They hadn't any feeling for fellows who could not as yet find the road;
+  And so, till some far advanced mile-post on goodness's pike I could win,
+  They thought of me, not as their own child, but as one of the children
+      of sin.
+
+  And hadn't I brothers and sisters? Oh yes! till they somewhat had
+      grown;
+  Then, shivering, they went off and left me to stand the cold weather
+      alone.
+  For I had the luck to be youngest--the last on the family page,
+  The one to prop up the old roof-tree--the staff of my parents' old age;
+  Who well understood all the uses to which a mere staff is applied;
+  They used me whenever convenient--then carelessly threw me aside!
+
+  And hadn't I any associates? Oh yes! I had friends, more or less,
+  But seldom I asked them to visit our house with the slightest success;
+  Whenever the project was mentioned, they'd somehow look blue like
+      and chill,
+  And mention another engagement they felt it their duty to fill;
+  For--now I am only a convict, there's no harm in telling the truth--
+  My home was a fearful wet blanket to blood that was seasoned with
+      youth!
+
+  Not one blessčd thing that was cheerful; no festivals, frolics, or games;
+  No novels of any description--'twas wicked to mention their names!
+  My story-books suddenly vanished, my checker-boards never would keep,
+  No newspaper came through _our_ doorway unless it was first put to
+      sleep!
+  And as for love--well, that old song, sir, is very melodious and fine,
+  With "No place like home" in the chorus--I hope there ain't many
+      like mine!
+
+  And so, soon my body got hating a place which my soul couldn't
+      abide,
+  And Pleasure was all the time smiling, and motioning me to her side;
+  And when I start out on a journey, I'm likely to go it by leaps,
+  For good or for bad, I'm no half-way--I'm one or the other for keeps.
+  My wild oats flew thicker and faster--I reaped the same crop that I
+      sowed,
+  And now I am going to market--I'm taking it over the road!
+
+  Yes, it grieved my good father and mother to see me so sadly astray,
+  They deeply regretted my downfall--in a strictly respectable way;
+  They gave me some more admonition, and sent me off full of advice,
+  And wondered to see such a villain from parents so good and precise.
+  Indeed I have often conjectured, when full of neglect and its smarts,
+  I must have been left on the door-step of their uncongenial hearts!
+
+  My home in the prison is waiting--it opens up clear to my sight;
+  Hard work and no pay-day a-coming, a close cell to sleep in at night.
+  And there I must lie sad and lonesome, with more tribulation than rest,
+  And wake in the morning with sorrow sharp sticking like steel in my
+      breast;
+  But maybe the strain and the trouble won't quite so much o'er me
+      prevail,
+  As 'twould be to some one who wasn't brought up in a kind of a jail!
+
+  _You've_ got a good home, Mr. Sheriff, with everything cosy and nice,
+  And 'tisn't for a wrist-shackled convict to offer _you_ words of advice;
+  But this I _must_ say, of all places your children may visit or call,
+  Make HOME the most pleasant and happy--the sweetest and best of
+      them all;
+  For the Devil won't offer a dollar to have his world-chances improved,
+  When Home is turned into a side-show, with half the attractions
+      removed!
+
+  _Don't_ think I'm too bitter, good sheriff--I like you: you've been very
+      good;
+  I'm ever and ever so grateful--would pay it all back if I could.
+  I didn't mean to slander my parents--I've nothing against their good
+      name,
+  And as for my unrighteous actions, it's mostly myself that's to blame;
+  Still, _if I'd had a home_--But the prison is only one station ahead--
+  I'm done, Mr. Sheriff; forget me, but _don't_ forget what I have said!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SEPTEMBER 15, 18--.
+
+    Vice, vice, vice, vice!--and 'tisn't all clear and free,
+    Where any one can take a look and see,
+    And then decide, immediate, on the spot,
+    Whether he'll buy his soul-farm there or not;
+    It's scattered round about so 'mongst the good,
+    Folks can't entirely shun it when they would.
+    Much better to escape it we'd be able,
+    If 'twas obliged to carry 'round a label
+    (It always does, some time before it ages,
+    But not enough so in its early stages).
+
+    My mind was led around about this way,
+    By a well-dressed young man I met to-day,
+    Who strove to twist some money out of me,
+    But had, instead, a first-class lecture free.
+
+    My cousin, Abdiel Stebbins, large and good,
+    Inclined to do even better than he should,
+    And with a heart that gets him into scrapes
+    Of a most strange variety of shapes,
+    But who, before they've run a fatal course,
+    Always gets out of them by sheer main force,
+    Wrote me two letters, several years ago,
+    Which I have kept, with no intent to show,
+    But simply to read over now and then
+    As part of my text-book entitled "Men."
+
+    I think I'll get my cousin's wail by letter,
+    And paste it here where I can find it better.
+
+
+
+[FARMER STEBBINS ON THE BOWERY.]
+
+DEAR COUSIN JOHN:
+
+  We got here safe--my worthy wife an' me,
+  An' then I looked the village through to see what I could see:
+  I rode upon the cur'us track with stations all up-stairs;
+  I walked through Wall Street all its length, an' saw no bulls or bears;
+  I patronized a red-nosed chap with manners very queer,
+  Who hadn't had a thing to eat for somethin' like a year;
+
+  I saw the road commissioners to work upon a bridge
+  A million times as large as that we built at Tompkins' Ridge--
+  (I'm told that they are makin' it, though maybe that's all fun,
+  To use the coming century, an' hope to get it done)--
+  When who should up an' grasp my hand, with face of genuine joy,
+  But Cousin Jeroboam Jones, my cousin's oldest boy!
+
+  I had not seen him years an' years--no wonder he looked strange;
+  His face an' form in some respects had undergone a change;
+  But then there wasn't a chance of doubt that that was him, because,
+  If not, how should he ever know that I was who I was?
+  We brushed our old acquaintance up, an' soon was at our ease,
+  A wanderin' all about the place, as cozy as you please.
+
+  It's nicer far, in foreign towns, than 'tis to be alone,
+  To walk with one whose blood proceeds from sources near your own;
+  A sim'lar temp'rature of heart, a sort of family ease,
+  Enables you to work your tongue as lib'ral as you please;
+  And so I found myself quite soon uncommonly at home,
+  Describin' all my business through to Cousin Jerobo'm.
+
+  He listened very docile like, an' hadn't much to say,
+  But what he did was vent'red in a satisfact'ry way;
+  He'd severed somewhat from his kin, an' sort o' lost the run,
+  But he recalled the Stebbinses, when mentioned, one by one;
+  An' takin' him inside an' out, our family scarcely owns
+  A relative more relishin' than Jeroboam Jones.
+
+  He's teacher in a Sunday-school, he told me, by the way,
+  Which has a room, above a store, that's open every day.
+  "For if," he says, "we come across a child that needs our care,
+  We cannot wait till Sunday comes--we join 'em then an' there.
+  An' if you want to see the way our worthy cause is run,
+  Come in an' take a little look--our 'social's' just begun."
+
+  The scholars hadn't come, as yet; the Superintendent, though,
+  Was sittin' at a table, like, an' bowed extremely low;
+  An' heard the praise on poor old me my cousin had to tell,
+  An' said he joyed to meet a friend of one he loved so well;
+  An' I talked back; an' for a time our converse did not cease--
+  A regular three-cornered gush of friendship, love, an' peace.
+
+  An' then he showed me how they run their "grab-bags" an' all such
+  (We have the same at home, you know, although not near so much);
+  An' then he had some val'ables on numbers that you saw,
+  With figures correspondin'ly, in envelopes, to draw;
+  I gin him fifty cents to help a cause I dearly hold,
+  An' drew a velvet hymn-book, with a clasp resemblin' gold!
+
+  My cousin pressed my hand with some congratulatin' jokes,
+  And said, "Ah me! the Stebbinses was always lucky folks!
+  But after all, their _shrewdness_ is the thing that lets them win."
+  (Which made me proud, though I didn't see just where the shrewd
+      came in.
+  But buyin' a five-dollar book at that unheard-of price,
+  An' helpin' of the cause meanwhile, was unsuspected nice.)
+
+  [Illustration: "TO MAKE FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS CLEAR, AN' HELP THE
+  CHILDREN TOO."]
+
+  Whereat the Superintendent said, "You're lucky, I allow;
+  I'll have to charge five dollars for a chance to draw here now."
+  Whereat my cousin Jeroboam remarked, "If 'tisn't wrong,
+  I'll buy a draw for Cousin Steb, to help the cause along."
+  I shook my head, but he _would_ do't; an' sure as I'm alive,
+  I drawed a good ten-dollar bill for Cousin Jones's five!
+
+  Whereat the Superintendent said, "You're lucky men, I vow;
+  A hundred dollars I must charge for every drawing now;"
+  An' fingerin' the envelopes, one opened--just a grain--
+  And I discerned the number 11, uncommon black and plain;
+  An' on the _other_ number 11 by glancin' I could see
+  Five good crisp hundr'd-dollar bills a-waitin' there for me!
+
+  [Illustration: "WE COME 'THIN PART OF ONE OF IT."]
+
+  To make four hundred dollars clear, an' help the children too,
+  Was somethin' that would surely seem desirable to do;
+  With an unfailin' eagle eye, a heart that swelled with hope,
+  I watched, an' saw the very place he put that envelope;
+  I winked at Cousin Jeroboam, I counted out the cash,
+  An' drawed, an' had that card revealed almost as quick as flash!
+
+  Oh, sakes!--the second figure I had what I hadn't seen,
+  A _tail_ that made a 7 of it! 'twas Number 17!
+  An' on them figures on the board there nothin' was, in fact,
+  Except a little pamphlet like--an anti-gamblin' tract;
+  Which hadn't any money wuth, an' won't be good for much,
+  Except to keep my older boys from playin' cards an' such.
+
+  Now Cousin Jeroboam Jones was buried in surprise,
+  An' walked a half a mile with me, an' helped philosophize;
+  An' says, "You come some other day--we'll try that thing agin:
+  We come 'thin _part of one of it_--the next time we shall win."
+  Then, nearin' to a corner, he took kindly leave o' me,
+  Because of some new scholars there that he must go an' see.
+
+  I give you this experience, John, but please don't tell it now;
+  Let Tompkins take the chestnut horse, an' sell the brindle cow;
+  An' gather up what cash besides I have a-lyin' loose,
+  An' send the whole of it to me for my immediate use.
+  Do everything concerned in this, in soft, secretive tones;
+  Direct it to New York, in care of Jeroboam Jones.
+
+                                                          A. S.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  A few days, and the following one arrived,
+  Which shows Sin's triumph sometimes is short-lived:
+
+
+
+[FARMER STEBBINS AHEAD.]
+
+DEAR COUSIN JOHN:
+
+  I'm very glad you sent that money through,
+  By Cousin Seth, an' not by mail, as I requested you!
+  The fam'ly's just so much ahead: 'twere best it never came.
+  If Jeroboam Jones had twined his fingers 'round the same.
+  For that young man has principles fit only to abhor,
+  And isn't the kind of relative that I was lookin' for!
+
+  My sakes! Millennium's nowhere near, when men so false can be
+  As to equivocate themselves into my family tree;
+  An' on its honest branches graft the shoots of their design,
+  An' make me think they're good because they're relatives of mine;
+  While under those fraternal smiles a robber's frown is hid;
+  But that's the inappropriate thing that Jeroboam did!
+
+  When Cousin Seth the tavern reached whose clerk o'ershadows me,
+  He cried, "Where is my long-lost son I've come so far to see?"
+  An' so, to fill that father's heart with resurrected joy,
+  I twisted 'round with him a bit, to try an' find the boy;
+  An' comin' where I had the luck that hymn-book for to win,
+  I opened quietly the door, an' both of us went in.
+
+  The Superintendent still was there; he gave a little start,
+  But welcomed us, apparently, with overflowin' heart;
+  An' told us all about the work, an' how 'twas gettin' on,
+  An' how much money those who gave unto the cause had won;
+  But Cousin Seth, though much impressed with what he heard an' saw,
+  Said he didn't fix the envelopes, an' b'lieved he wouldn't draw.
+
+  Just then the door was opened quick, an' with a solemn grin,
+  Young Jeroboam Jones appeared, an' sidled softly in;
+  An' with him was an older man, who looked enough like me
+  To've been a reg'lar Stebbins too, so far as one could see;
+  But slappin' Seth upon the back, I said, "My duty's done,
+  For this is Jeroboam Jones, your long-lost oldest son!"
+
+  "My 'long-lost oldest son?'" said he: "he's 'bout as much my son
+  As you are the belovčd babe of Gen'ral Washington!
+  It strikes me that my married life was very much amiss,
+  If I'm responsible for such a sneakin' face as this!
+  He's blinded you by his supposed relationship to me:
+  He's no one I have ever seen, or ever want to see!"
+
+  As when a fog above a field the sudden breezes tore,
+  You spied a thousand things you did not even miss before,
+  So all the facts of this affair, as clear as summer skies,
+  Straightway arranged themselves before my reconstructed eyes:
+  That these were not veracious men; an' this no Sunday-school;
+  An' naught was what it seemed, except one old bald-headed fool!
+
+  I held those two deceivers out, with unassisted strength,
+  An' by the collar shook each one to my arm's farthest length;
+  They gasped an' danced an' skipped around, without a word to say--
+  They "put their heads together" in a new an' painful way.
+  "Due ninety dollars fifty cents, an' not a penny less!"
+  I shouted; "an' I'll send you back your hymn-book by express!"
+
+  When finally in my discourse a breathin' pause occurred,
+  The Superintendent counted out the cash, without a word;
+  Which, with a manner dignified, I coldly repossessed,
+  An', still retainin' Jeroboam, that scamp I thus addressed:
+  "An' so you are the bogus friend and relative, so free
+  To spend his time a-makin' fools of poor old men like me.
+
+  "I'm Supervisor of the town where I have lived so long:
+  There ain't a man in all that part will say I've done him wrong;
+  There ain't a man will claim but what I'm ordinary keen;
+  But when I plant myself in town, I grow exceedin' green.
+  An' any kind-expressioned man, who acts a civil part,
+  Can always find my soul to home, an' house-room in my heart.
+
+  "It's sad for such a smile as yours to find so mean a fate;
+  An' there's _some_ good in you--at least enough to use for bait;
+  Without _some_ kindness in your heart, you couldn't have landed me;
+  An' as to how you've used your gifts, just pause a bit an' see.
+  I've gambled, by you're callin' it a charitable name,
+  And my self-valuation sunk with unaccustomed shame.
+
+  "I've done what I'd have whipped my boys for even lookin' at;
+  An' don't suppose but what I own part of the blame for that;
+  I thought I saw a chance to make five dollars out o' one,
+  Which, with strict justice all around, is very seldom done.
+  But up to that outrageous point, remember, I was led
+  By your assumed relationship, an' several things you said.
+
+  "Do you reflect, young man, upon the fruit you're growin' to?
+  There's prison gates a-waitin' now to stand in front of you.
+  There's grief of unexpected kinds, an' every sort of shame,
+  To send you some time from this world much poorer than you came.
+  Your guilty head you hang before us sinners standin' by:
+  What angle do you s'pose 'twould take 'mongst angels in the sky?
+
+  [Illustration: "THEY 'PUT THEIR HEADS TOGETHER' IN A NEW AN' PAINFUL
+  WAY."]
+
+  "There's hope e'en on the death-bed for a square, straightforward
+      thief,
+  But _Judases_ have always come to most peculiar grief;
+  The Lord has pity, I suppose, for errin' men an' weak,
+  But no good satisfact'ry place in which to put a sneak.
+  An' when a man wins men's esteem, then thrives by their mistakes,
+  He makes himself a bigger fool than all the fools he makes."
+
+  [Illustration: "HE MAKES HIMSELF A BIGGER FOOL THAN ALL THE FOOLS HE
+  MAKES."]
+
+    Then my adopted relative I seated in a chair,
+  With amply necessary help, an' sev'ral pounds to spare.
+  Then Seth an' I with dignity bade both the scamps good-day,
+  Advisin' them to gain their bread in some dissimilar way;
+  An' as we thundered down the stairs, with heavy rural tread,
+  I felt that I'd at last come out some several rods ahead.
+
+                                                         A. S.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+[THE "SLUGGING"-MATCH.]
+
+    "A first-class professional fight!"
+      I'm really doing the town!
+    There were thousands on thousands to-night
+      To see a man knock a man down.
+    Two dollars I willingly (?) paid
+      To view all this muscle and brawn;
+    'Twas rather too much, I'm afraid,
+      Or seemed so, the minute 'twas gone.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    And yet 'tis a study to see
+      The rage gladiatorial of Rome
+    And grim Spanish bull-baiting glee
+      Adopt an American home!
+    That blood-thirsty, murderous spite
+      Men loudly condemn--and possess!
+    Besieged New York City last night,
+      With first-class financial success!
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Hands gloved--to comply with the law;
+      Gloves hard--to comply with the crowd;
+    Fists savage as murder could draw;
+      Cheers heavy and fervent and loud.
+    Stern hisses, and shoutings of "Woman!"
+      When either too tender they found;
+    Tremendous applause when a foeman
+      Dropped, more than half dead, on the ground.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    'Twas the soul's blackest hell-woven fibre,
+      All thrilling intensely and fast;
+    The curse of the Tagus and Tiber
+      Arrived in New York Bay at last!
+    And victor and vanquished, I learn,
+      Came off with more glittering spoil
+    Than teacher or preacher could earn
+      In years of the hardest of toil.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    A spectacle pleasing and bright,
+      Full many good people delighting--
+    So many good men love a fight,
+      When somebody else does the fighting!
+    And "'tis shameful!" we mildly agree,
+      And shout our complainings afar;
+    But the facts are no worse than are we:
+      They show to us just what we are!
+
+
+
+
+VIRTUE.
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+OCTOBER 1, 18--.
+
+    Wind in the south-west; weather fit to stay;
+    A sweet, old-fashioned, Indian-summer day--
+    When Heaven and Earth both seem to look at you
+    Through hair of gold and misty eyes of blue.
+    My wife said, as we talked of it together,
+    It seemed as if some of our old farm weather
+    Had got tired of the sober hills of brown,
+    Hitched up a cloud, and driven into town!
+
+    We went to church, and heard a sermon preached,
+    Which all the way from Earth to Heaven reached,
+    And lifted us up toward the town divine,
+    Till we could almost see the steeples shine,
+    And hear the mighty chariots as they rolled
+    Along the massive turnpikes made of gold.
+    We had some music, so sweet-lipped and true
+    It made me think of every flower I knew;
+    And when, with benediction, the old pastor
+    Said "Good-bye" for himself, but not his master,
+    It put my resolution to the rack,
+    To head my poor old tears, and drive them back!
+
+    We tried to come straight out, as Christians should,
+    And bring away all of it that we could;
+    But there were certain persons there to-day,
+    Who, after church was over, clogged the way,
+    And, standing 'round, with worldly nods and smiles,
+    Held a week-day reception in the aisles.
+    Now, when one's mind falls in celestial frame,
+    He wants to get home safely with the same;
+    And hates through jostling gossipers to walk,
+    And stumble 'gainst the smallest kinds of talk,
+    Intended, by some power, his mind to bring
+    Down out of Heaven to every worldly thing--
+    From office, and good methods to ensure it,
+    To rheumatism, and proper means to cure it.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    These are the spires that were gleaming
+    All through my juvenile dreaming;
+    Here the high belfries are singing:
+    Gold invitations they're winging,
+    Asking man through the charmed portal,
+    Where he is once more immortal;
+    Where he may hide from his cares,
+    Under a shelter of prayers.
+    Why do these halls, high and broad,
+    Under the same constant God,
+    Vary in structure and style--
+    Differ, from chancel to aisle?
+    Why forms and creeds so diverse?
+    Why is my blessing your curse?
+    Pondering here on the street,
+    This is one reason I meet:
+
+    Man's brain is devious and strange--
+    Differs, in form and in range;
+    So that God's fervid love-sun,
+    Falling the same on each one,
+    Differs in form and in hue,
+    (Not the less precious or true)!
+    Body and brain and heart--
+    Temple of infinite art--
+    You had no power to control
+    Hues of your windows of soul!
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+OCTOBER 5, 18--.
+
+    Sweet virtue, virtue, virtue!--what a start
+    You've got here in this city's feverish heart!
+    There isn't a thing to do that's square and right,
+    But some one's here to teach it, day and night;
+    No soothing balm soul may from soul demand,
+    But some one has it ready to his hand!
+
+    And then the churches--thick and rich of yield,
+    As corn-shocks in a new-made prairie field,
+    Where any one the golden fruit can find
+    All ready cooked to suit his heart and mind;
+    Great brick-and-mortar prayers! that never cease,
+    And costing fifty good-sized farms apiece
+    (Much too expensive, it might well be said,
+    If _bodies only_ need be clothed and fed).
+
+    And then the missions--regular district schools,
+    Where transient men are taught eternal rules;
+    Then the Salvation Army girls and boys,
+    Who season their religion up with noise,
+    And, when they get to Heaven, won't have the power
+    To help keep silent even half an hour;
+    But who take ragged wretches every day,
+    Haul them into the straight and narrow way,
+    Strip them of vain conceit soon as they show it,
+    And get them saved--almost before they know it!
+    It's something good to make these people good,
+    Who never go to church, and never would!
+
+    God bless each woman, man, and child, I say,
+    That leads His creatures in the heavenly way,
+    Whether they work by still, old-fashioned means,
+    Or march with drums and flags and tambourines!
+
+    Then there's those men who've crept and crawled as low
+    As even Satan cared to have them go;
+    Have marched through strong iron doors in striped ranks,
+    Have toiled where convict labor whirls and clanks,
+    Have made hard beds in cramped and lonely cells,
+    Have sinned their way through several different hells;
+    Whose lives have been so terribly amiss
+    To ever find worse worlds than they've made this;
+    Then groped out into Virtue's bath and sun,
+    And been washed up as clean as any one,
+    And warmed up with sweet sunlight from above;
+    Till they themselves start off on deeds of love,
+    And say to men with scarred and crime-flushed brow,
+    "I've been as bad, or worse, than you are now."
+    Whereat the wretch says, with dull, shadowy bliss,
+    "What! can there be some square way out of this?"
+    And maybe brings to pass, through Virtue's schemes,
+    Some of his poor old mother's fondest dreams!
+
+    Oh you who shout or sing or chant or read--
+    Whatever be your name or style or creed--
+    If any one on earth a plan has got
+    (Whether it's half as good as yours or not)
+    To find a gate into the narrow way,
+    And let in others that have gone astray--
+    If there's a single chance to mortals given
+    By which to slip poor mortals into Heaven,
+    For Heaven's sake do not frown in righteous wrath,
+    Or throw a scornful word into their path!
+    But _interfere with help_ in their affairs,
+    And push them with your money and your prayers!
+    For Pain is Pain, and God to see it loath,
+    In this strange world and in the next one, both;
+    And he who saves his fellow-men from pain,
+    Is God's hired man, and does not toil in vain?
+    But I'm reminded, by the bell for dinner,
+    That I'm no preacher, but a poor old sinner,
+    Unable even to follow my own view,
+    Much less to counsel others how to do.
+    I can't even eat--when I come right down to it,
+    Without a bell to tell me when to do it.
+    So I will cork my sermon, snub my muse,
+    And go down-stairs with Wife, and learn the news.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+[MORE WAYS THAN ONE.]
+
+    I was present, one day
+      Where both layman and priest
+    Worshipped God in a way
+      That was startling, at least:
+    Over thirty in place
+      On the stage, in a row,
+    As is often the case
+      At a minstrelsy show;
+    In a uniform clad
+      Was each one of them seen,
+    And a banjo they had,
+      And a loud tambourine.
+    And they sung and they shouted
+      Their spasmodic joys,
+    Just as if they ne'er doubted
+      That God loved a noise.
+
+    And their phrases, though all
+      Not deficient in points,
+    A grammarian would call
+      Rather weak in the joints;
+    And the aspirate sound
+      Was adroitly misused,
+    And The Language all round,
+      Was assaulted and bruised;
+    While the tunes that they sung
+      In bewildering throngs,
+    Had been married, when young,
+      To hilarious songs;
+    And the folks in that place,
+      Who this loud racket made,
+    Were not bounded by race
+      Or condition or shade.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Now I love my own meeting,
+      My own cosy pew,
+    While mentally greeting
+      Friends quietly true;
+    And the Gospel dispensed
+      With a dignified grace,
+    Born of reason clear-sensed
+      And a faith firm of place.
+    I love the trained voices
+      That float down the aisles,
+    Till the whole church rejoices
+      With God's sweetest smiles.
+    Have no sneer understood
+      For the rest, when I say
+    I had rather get good
+      In a civilized way.
+
+    So this meeting had grated
+      Somewhat on my heart,
+    And ere long I had waited,
+      I thought to depart.
+    But a young man arose,
+      Looking sin-drenched and grim,
+    As if rain-storms of woes
+      Had descended on him;
+    No such face you'd discern
+      In a leisurely search,
+    If you took a chance turn
+      Through a civilized church;
+    But his words, though not choice,
+      To my feelings came nigh;
+    There was growth in his voice,
+      There was hope in his eye.
+
+    And he said, "I'm a lad
+      With a life full of blame;
+    Every step has been bad,
+      Every hour was a shame.
+    And for drink I would pawn
+      All within my control,
+    From the clothes I had on,
+      To my heart and my soul.
+    I have drank the foul stuff
+      In my parents' hot tears;
+    I have done crime enough
+      For a hundred black years;
+    But I came to this place
+      For the help that I craved;
+    I have seen Jesus's face,
+      And I know I am saved."
+
+    Then a man rose to view,
+      When this youngster was done,
+    And he said, "This is true;
+      That young man is my son.
+    He was drunk every day,
+      And such terror would make,
+    That I spurned him away
+      From my house, like a snake.
+    We have suffered the worst
+      That can come from heart-fears;
+    He is sober the first
+      I have seen him for years.
+    I am full of such joy
+      As I never yet knew;
+    And now, Robert, my boy,
+      Home is open to you!
+
+    "You may go home with me--
+      Or may run on before;
+    You've a glittering key
+      That will open the door!
+    Your mother is there,
+      Praying for you e'en now;
+    There is snow in her hair,
+      There is pain on her brow.
+    And when you have kissed her
+      The old-fashioned way,
+    There's a brother and sister
+      Who've longed for this day;
+    And whatever can befriend you
+      On earth, shall be done;
+    May God's blessing attend you,
+      My son--oh, my son!"
+
+    Then the banjo struck in,
+      And the tambourine jingled;
+    There rose such a din
+      That my blood fairly tingled.
+    The vocalists screamed
+      Till quite red in the face;
+    But somehow it all seemed
+      Not at all out of place!
+    Now denouements immense
+      Do riot somehow take hold,
+    Or dramatic events
+      Reach my heart, as of old;
+    But my smiles could not hide
+      The fast-gathering tears,
+    And I cheered, laughed, and cried,
+      As I had not for years!
+    And I thought, "Not amiss
+      Are this tumult and shout:
+    Folks who save men like this
+      Know what they are about.
+    You who fight with God's sword
+      For the good of your kind--
+    You can never afford
+      To leave these men behind.
+    If these women I've seen,
+      Should be pelted or cursed,
+    I would step in between--
+      I would take the blow first.
+    They who draw souls above
+      From the depths lowest down,
+    Will not fail of God's love
+      Or to shine in His crown."
+
+  [Illustration: THE SALVATION ARMY.]
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+[THE MARCH OF THE CHILDREN.]
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+    List to the sound of the drumming!
+    Gaily the children are coming;
+    Sweet as the smile of a fairy,
+    Fresh as the blossoms they carry.
+    Pride of the parents who love them,
+    Pure as the azure above them,
+    Free as the winds that caress them,
+    Bright as the sunbeams that bless them.
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+    List to the voice-echoes ringing!
+    Sweeter than birds they are singing;
+    Thoughts that to virtue invite them,
+    Wed unto airs that delight them.
+    Truths that their future will cherish,
+    Soul-planted, never to perish!
+    Only to senses completer,
+    Heaven's choicest music were sweeter!
+
+    Virtue, unconscious and pretty,
+    Walks through the streets of the city;
+    See the gay bannerets flying,
+    Mottoes and titles undying;
+    Truths dearly hallowed and olden,
+    Braided in strands that are golden;
+    Words for the spirit's desiring,
+    Sentences sweetly inspiring!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    When, in a voice of caressing,
+    Christ gave the children His blessing,
+    'Twas not for one generation--
+    But for each epoch and nation.
+    So through the present it lingers,
+    Shed from His bountiful fingers;
+    So unto these it is given--
+    Types of the angels in Heaven.
+
+
+
+
+TRAVEL.
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+NOVEMBER 1, 18--.
+
+  It's quite the thing to "travel" nowadays
+  (Although I do not think it _always_ pays),
+  And see if distant ground in general looks
+  As mentioned in the papers and in books.
+  I find, in sifting what few facts I know,
+  Three ways of realizing things are so:
+  First, when you're told them in such trusty shape
+  That square belief isn't easy to escape.
+  (There's lots of people--this town wouldn't hold them--
+  Who don't know much excepting what is told them.)
+  Second, what you've put on some mental shelf,
+  By having seen and understood yourself.
+  (How well we know things witnessed, largely lies
+  On how much brain there is behind our eyes.)
+  The third way is the surest and the best
+  (Though sometimes painful, it must be confessed):
+  It's where a truth has whipped the earth with you,
+  Until you _feel_, from head to foot, 'tis true.
+  I think, sometimes, when all is said and done,
+  Feeling is all the senses joined in one.
+
+  _We're_ going to travel!--not so very far
+  As our new friends, the Fitzcumnoodles, are,
+  Who cannot read their social title's clear
+  Unless they ride twelve thousand miles a year,
+  (I told them, with a philosophic smile,
+  That travelling shouldn't be measured by the mile.)
+  But we shall take a little trip, to-morrow,
+  With some spare time that wife's contrived to borrow,
+  To where George Washington laid out a town
+  That several centuries won't see tumbled down!
+  A city which, with all the sneaking sinners
+  That come down there to steal their daily dinners,
+  And all the human insects hovering nigh,
+  Such as swarm thick wherever good things lie,
+  And spite of all the bad weeds growing round,
+  Has always _some_ good folks upon the ground,
+  And will be head-piece of the greatest nation
+  That ever helped spruce up the Lord's plantation.
+
+  The Fitzcumnoodles, through their daughter Maud,
+  Inform us that we ought to go abroad;
+  The Clancdenancies, we have lately learned,
+  From an extended trip have just returned;
+  And so my eldest daughter, Isabel,
+  Who knows Miss Clanc, etc., very well,
+  Called on her in the progress of a walk,
+  And had a pleasant little travel-talk;
+  And after coming home misspent her time
+  In putting what she heard there into rhyme
+  And--lost it--not by accident, I fear;
+  I'll paste the "conversation" right in here:
+
+
+HER TOUR.
+
+    Yes, we've been travelling, my dear,
+      Three months, or such a matter,
+    And it's a blessing to get clear
+      Of all the clash and clatter!
+    Ah! when I look the guide-book through,
+      And see each queer place in there,
+    'Tis hard to make it seem quite true
+      That I myself have been there!
+
+    Our voyage? Oh, of course 'twas gay--
+      Delightful! splendid! glorious!
+    We spurned the shore--we sped away--
+      We rode the waves victorious.
+    The first mate's mustache was so grand!
+      The ocean sweet, though stormy
+    (I was so sick I could not stand,
+      But papa saw it for me).
+
+    At Queenstown we saw land once more--
+      Ground never looked so pretty!
+    We took a steam-car near the shore
+      For some light-sounding city.
+    A very ordinary stone
+      We had to kiss at Blarney;
+    The beggars wouldn't let us alone
+      That half-day at Killarney!
+
+    The Giants' Causeway? 'Tis arranged
+      With no regard to science;
+    It must somehow of late have changed--
+      At least we saw no giants.
+    Some little funny scrubs of folks
+      Sold pictures, and were merry;
+    The men were full of yarns and jokes,
+      The women barefoot--very.
+
+    Old Scotland? Yes, all in our power
+      We did there to be thorough;
+    We stopped in Glasgow one whole hour,
+      Then straight to "Edin_borough_."
+    At Abbotsford we made a stay
+      Of half an hour precisely.
+    (The ruins all along the way
+      Were ruined very nicely.)
+
+    We "did" a mountain in the rain,
+      And left the others undone,
+    Then took the "Flying Scotchman" train.
+      And came by night to London.
+    Long tunnels somewhere on the line
+      Made sound and darkness deeper;
+    No; English scenery is not fine,
+      Viewed from a Pullman sleeper.
+
+    Oh, Paris! Paris! Paris! 'tis
+      No wonder, dear, that you go
+    So far into the ecstasies
+      About that Victor Hugo!
+    He paints the city, high and low,
+      With faithful pen and ready
+    (I think, my dear, I ought to know--
+      We drove there two hours steady).
+
+    Through Switzerland by train. Yes, I
+      Enjoyed it, in a measure;
+    But still the mountains are too high
+      To see with any pleasure.
+    Their tops--they made my neck quite stiff,
+      Just stretching up to view them;
+    And folks are very foolish if
+      They clamber clear up to them!
+
+    Rome, Venice, Naples, and the Rhine?
+      We did them--do not doubt it;
+    This guide-book here is very fine--
+      'Twill tell you all about it.
+    We've saved up Asia till next year,
+      If business gets unravelled;
+    What! going? Come again; and, dear,
+      I will not seem so travelled.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+WASHINGTON, _November 3, 18--._
+
+  _We're_ travelling, and we're here! and what a town!
+  I own, it picks me up and sets me down!
+  I thought I had some idea of the place,
+  And what its corporation lines embrace;
+  I'd read the county papers every week,
+  Which seldom failed "From Washington" to speak;
+  I'd travelled through these streets by photograph,
+  And, with Imagination for a staff,
+  Had wandered round, in little trips disjointed,
+  Even where the artist's brass gun has not pointed;
+  And so I said, "Though I wouldn't like to miss it,
+  'Twill be a good deal like a second visit."
+
+  But 'tisn't an easy perpetrated scheme
+  To prophesy how anything will seem.
+  This city's new to me--I do not doubt it--
+  As if I'd never heard a word about it!
+  There's something in these white-clothed buildings' glare,
+  And something even in the very air,
+  And in the great variety of faces,
+  Bearing the ear-marks of a thousand places,
+  And in that monument that reaches high--
+  The farthest stone has climbed into the sky,
+  And in that dome, whose kingly size and height
+  Contrive, where'er you are, to keep in sight--
+  From these, and several hundred other things
+  This nation's lead-horse city at you flings,
+  You feel as if you'd stepped, through many a mile,
+  Into another planet for a while!
+
+  But men too weary to hold up their heads
+  Are apt to bless the man[7] who first made beds;
+  Then, having found one, and reclined within it,
+  Forget about him in just half a minute.
+  So I'll let Morpheus (who is at me winking)
+  Do the remainder of this evening's thinking.
+
+    [7]  Or woman--let due praise to her be paid;
+         A bed is never made until 'tis _made_.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+AT THE SUMMIT OF THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT.
+
+    Look North! A white-clad city fills
+    This valley to its sloping hills;
+    Here gleams the modest house of white,
+    The statesman's longed-for, dizzy height.
+    Beyond, a pledge of love to one
+    Who in two lands was Freedom's son--
+    The holder of an endless debt--
+    Our nation's brother, Lafayette.
+    But yonder lines of costly homes
+    And bristling spires and swelling domes,
+    And far away the spreading farms
+    Where thrift displays substantial charms,
+    And hamlets creeping out of sight,
+    And cities full of wealth and might,
+    Must own the fatherhood of him
+    Whose glory Time can never dim.
+    All who can reckon Freedom's worth
+    Would write across this whole broad earth,
+    With pen dipped in the golden sun,
+    The magic name of Washington!
+    If we can keep the rules he gave
+    This land he more than fought to save,
+    Our future fame will glisten forth
+    Grand as the winter-lighted North!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  [Illustration: FROM THE MONUMENT.]
+
+    Look South!--where, in its coat of gray,
+    The broad Potomac creeps away,
+    And seeks the blue of distant skies;
+    But pauses where the great chief lies
+    Within his humble, hallowed tomb,
+    Amid Mount Vernon's deathless bloom.
+    As glides this stream, great corse, past thee,
+    First to the bay, and then the sea,
+    So flowed thy life to rural rest,
+    Ere thou wast Heaven's eternal guest.
+    Oh strong, high man! whose patriot heart
+    Climbed from all common greeds apart;
+    To whom men's selfish ways were small,
+    As from this tower, serenely tall
+    (Built that all years thy fame may know),
+    Men look while creeping there below!
+    How weak was power to thy clear gaze,
+    Builder of nations joined in one,
+    Kindler of splendors still to blaze,
+    Finder of glories just begun!
+    Live on, great sleeper! as this stone,
+    Highest from earth that man has known,
+    So shall be ranked thy solid worth,
+    Highest of heroes on the earth!
+    Happy, secure, and cherished name,
+    Love is the pillar of thy fame;
+    Thy praise comes from each patriot's mouth,
+    Warm as the sunbeams of the South!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Look East! The Nation's castle walls
+    Spread out in massive beauty now;
+    Their lofty dome and pictured halls
+    In homage to this summit bow.
+    Oh, well that from these palaced lands
+    The marble spire obeisance win;
+    But for the one for whom it stands,
+    This chieftain-town had never been!
+    Yon plot, so full of brain and will,
+    Had staid a bleak and lonely hill!
+    If at five thousand dizzy feet
+    This shaft the whirling clouds could meet,
+    Until our gaze for miles, might be,
+    To the uncrowned but royal sea,
+    'Twere not too much of honor then,
+    To grant our crownless king of men.
+    You who the Nation's laws indite,
+    Look to this summit's honest white,
+    Where, throned on walls that must endure,
+    Pure fame entreats you to be pure;
+    Until our glory be increased,
+    Like sunbeams from the dazzling East!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Look West! There lie the hilly fields
+    Where brothers fought through days of dread,
+    Where mothers brooded o'er their dead,
+    And soil the thrift of carnage yields;
+    Where cannon roared and bullets sung,
+    Till every hillock had a tongue.
+    O Nation being and to be,
+    That silent blood speaks loud to thee!
+    God grant, if e'er our guns again
+    Must tear the quivering flesh of men,
+    The leaden hail-storm may be pressed
+    Against some foul invader's breast--
+    Against some alien tribe and zone--
+    And not, as then, to kill our own!
+    May all the fruitful strifes of peace
+    The thrilling bonds of love increase;
+    May yonder orb, in his quick change
+    From mountain range to mountain range,
+    From valley to rich valley o'er,
+    From river shore to river shore,
+    From wave to wave--may yonder sun
+    One Nation count, and only one;
+    Until he dips his fiery crest
+    Into the ocean of the West!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Look up! The phantom clouds of gray--
+    Grim ghosts of storm--have passed away;
+    The veiling of the sky is done,
+    And downward shines the welcome sun.
+    He kindles grand and peaceful fires
+    Upon the city's domes and spires;
+    He sends his strong magnetic glow
+    Through yonder moving throngs below.
+    Thou art, O sky serene and clear,
+    A symbol of our country here!
+    What land in all this world of pain,
+    This earth, where millions toil in vain,
+    Where famine, pestilence, and strife
+    Play careless games with human life,
+    Where Superstition clouds the soul,
+    And heartless brains sad hearts control--
+    What country, framed in frost or flowers,
+    Can see so clear a sky as ours?
+    Peace throws her mantle, broad and free,
+    O'er all who peaceable will be;
+    Plenty her sheltering flag doth wave
+    O'er those who will but toil and save;
+    Enlightenment each day shall rise
+    For all who do not cloud their eyes;
+    While Liberty from every race
+    Has made this land a refuge-place.
+    Let our deep thanks forever fly
+    Far as the reaches of the sky!
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Note-book._]
+
+NOVEMBER 5, 18--.
+
+  Went to Mount Vernon; and I wouldn't have lost
+  That trip, for fifteen hundred times its cost!
+  Those farm-lands sleeping in the autumn sun;
+  The house HE slept in when his work was done;
+  The trees he planted with his own brave hand,
+  That set out Freedom's trees all o'er the land:
+  The humble tomb he lies in, which--like me--
+  Pilgrims from all the world have come to see:
+  These look up in one's eyes and sadly smile,
+  And preach a funeral sermon all the while!
+  Even the river-boats upon their way
+  Toll bells, as if he'd died that very day!
+  And through it all this precept may be traced:
+  The noblest men are simplest in their taste.
+
+  I've read how grand, Napoleon's tomb is made,
+  And all the surface-honors to him paid;
+  But I don't think the people that come there
+  Bring any heartfelt sympathy to spare;
+  While every true-brained patriot, night and morn,
+  Thanks God for letting Washington be born!
+
+  While I was standing, hat off, at the tomb,
+  A youth approached, three-quarters made of bloom;
+  And with his hat perched on his close-sheared head,
+  And smoking a small white cigar, he said:
+  "Sirrh, would you kindly just enlighten me
+  As to where Gawge cut down the cherry-tree?"
+  Said I, "Young man, just please at once disgorge
+  The fool-idea of calling that man 'George;'
+  His body, mind, and soul were firmly set
+  Higher, no doubt, than you will ever get.
+  He isn't the man, though lying dead, 'tis true,
+  When friends are near, to be half-named by you.
+  Take off your hat, and bow; if you rebel,
+  I'll get a cherry switch and trounce you well."
+
+  He looked at me a moment in surprise,
+  And mutiny stood foremost in his eyes;
+  But I was quite indignant, and could feel
+  The blood of Bunker Hill all through me steal.
+  I said, "One minute more will be allowed;"
+  The fine young man took off his hat, and bowed.
+
+  Irreverence is the fashion, nowadays,
+  And shows itself in good and evil ways;
+  Its mission is legitimate and clear
+  In cases where there's nothing to revere;
+    But they who use it must be judgment-fixed,
+    And not get reverend and unreverend _mixed_.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    Through these broad streets do I fly--
+    Furlongs and miles I defy,
+    Till the "magnificent distance"
+    Vanishes out of existence.
+    Let me with pencil prolong
+    Strains of the Bicycler's Song:
+
+
+[THE SILENT WHEEL.]
+
+  Good-morning, good Pedestrian--I'm glad to see you out;
+  The day is full of healthfulness, the birds are all about;
+  There is a quiet breeziness in all the pleasant air--
+  I hope this happy exercise will drive away your care.
+                  For I am a pedestrian--
+                  A very good pedestrian--
+  And all the glowing benefit of walking I can share;
+  Although I tread the atmosphere, and do not touch the ground,
+  I greet you as a brother, sir, wherever you are bound.
+  But my impatient lady-love in yonder town doth wait;
+  I wish you better company, and strike a swifter gait.
+
+  Good-morning, good Equestrian--a noble steed you ride;
+  I do not seem to frighten him, so here is by your side.
+  It is a feast of happiness to smoothly bound along,
+  With sturdy muscles under you, and footing swift and strong.
+                  For I am an equestrian--
+                  A very fair equestrian--
+  With bugle blast of melody and unassuming song;
+  And all the thrilling ecstacy of horsemanship I feel,
+  Although the nag I ride upon was bred of burnished steel.
+  But his impatience urges me to swifter gait than you,
+        And so I wish you pleasure, sir, and bid a kind adieu.
+
+  Good-morning, Mr. Racer, you've a trotter that is fine;
+  I never would disparage him, or say too much of mine;
+  Your horse is full of mettle, sir, and bravely draws his load;
+  It must be pure deliciousness to speed him on the road.
+              But I am quite a racing man--
+              A modest, humble racing man--
+  Though small is my solicitude upon the turf bestowed;
+  And if you have anxiety to try a little race,
+  I'll undertake, with courtesy, to give you second place;
+  But if the first you take from me, and it be fairly earned,
+  I'll hope that on some future day the tables may be turned.
+
+  Good-morning, Mr. Carriageer, you have an easy ride;
+  Those cushions are luxurious, and pleasantly you glide!
+  'Tis very good and fortunate, if one be tired or ill,
+  To calmly call his carriage out, and travel as he will.
+              But I, sir, keep my carriage, too--
+              A very pleasant carriage, too--
+  Though it is not the easy one that _your_ desire would fill;
+  It carries me in comfort over many a pleasant mile,
+  And all my best acquaintances are suited with its style.
+  'Tis with a blithe economy establishments are run,
+  With driver, footman, passenger, and horses--all in one!
+
+  Good-morning, fellow Wheelmen; here's a warm, fraternal hand,
+  As with a rush of victory we sweep across the land!
+  If some may be dissatisfied to view the way we ride,
+  We only wish their majesties could wander by our side!
+              For we are good philanthropists--
+              Unqualified philanthropists--
+  And would not have _our_ happiness to any one denied.
+  We claim a great utility that daily must increase;
+  We claim for inactivity a bright and grand release;
+  A constant mental, physical, and moral help we feel,
+  Which makes us turn enthusiasts, and bless the silent wheel!
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+NOVEMBER 20, 18--.
+
+    It's quite a show, and strikes me a good deal--
+    How many ride around here on a wheel;
+    The streets are graded very smooth and nice,
+    And make this town the wheelman's paradise.
+    A brother-farmer--neighbor, once, to me--
+    Who's down here, like myself, to hear and see,
+    Told me, last night, before we "doused the glim,"
+    How a young wheel-chap got the start of him.
+    'Twould skip my memory, maybe, if I'd let it;
+    I'll put it down here so I sha'n't forget it.
+
+
+
+[FARMER AND WHEEL; OR, THE NEW LOCHINVAR.]
+
+I.
+
+  I was hoein' in my corn-field, on a spring day, just at noon,
+  An' a hearkin' in my stomach for the dinner-trumpet's tune,
+  An' reflectin', when my daughter should be married, 'twould be best
+  She should take Josiah Baker's son, who jines me on the west,
+  An' consolidate our acres into one immense abode,
+  When my hired man says, "By ginger, look a-yender down the road!"
+
+  "Well," I says, "my goodness gracious! things _is_ rather overgrown,
+  When a buggy-wheel gets loosened, an' goes runnin' 'round alone."
+  But my man he says, "By mustard!" (as the critter nearer came)
+  "Don't you see that there's a feller on a-straddle of the same?"
+  An' it _was_ as nice a shaver as you'd see 'most any day,
+  Who was travellin' through the country in that unexpected way.
+
+  He was rather young an' han'some, an' as smilin' as you please,
+  An' his pants they signed a contract with his stockin's at the knees;
+  An' he had a pair o' treadles some'at underneath his seat,
+  So's to run the queer contraption, by a-workin' of his feet;
+  An' the sun descended on it, in a manner warm an' bright;
+  'Twas as sing'lar as a circus, an' an interestin' sight.
+
+  When, as fate was bound to have it, on that quite partic'lar morn,
+  There was somethin' was the matter with my folks's dinner-horn;
+  Ah! the hired girl, when she tried to, couldn't blow it very well,
+  For to call us in to dinner--so she sent my daughter Belle:
+  Who came up just at that minute--nice a girl as could be found:
+  An' this fellow looked her over, an' came smashin' to the ground.
+
+  Smash to bang he came a-floppin'--wheel an' stockin's, pants an' all;
+  An' I run to him, remarking "You have caught a dreadful fall."
+  An' my daughter hovered round him, tremblin' with her she alarms,
+  Lookin' just as if she would like to some'at take him in her arms;
+  But he glanced up, faintly smilin', an' he gaspin'ly replied,
+  "I am only hurt intern'lly" (which I s'pose he meant inside).
+
+  An' we packed him on the stone-boat, an' then drove him to the house
+  An' he lay there on the sofa, still an' quiet as a mouse;
+  An' he would not have a doctor; but he called my daughter Belle,
+  An' then laughed an' chatted with her, like a person gettin' well;
+  An' along late in the evenin', I suppose, he went away;
+  For he wasn't there next mornin', an' Belle hadn't a word to say.
+
+  An' he left two silver dollars in an easy-noticed spot,
+  For to pay us for his passage on the stone-boat, like as not;
+  An' 'twas quite enough equivalent for his transitory stay;
+  But whate'er he might have left us, still he carried more away;
+  For my daughter Belle grew absent, glanced at every sound she heard,
+  And Josiah Baker junior couldn't get a civil word.
+
+II.
+
+  I was workin' in my meadow, on a blazin' summer's day,
+  When my son-in-law by contract came a-runnin' 'cross the way,
+  An' remarked, "It's been the bargain--for how long I needn't tell--
+  That these two farms should be married--as should also me an' Belle;
+  An' how much the indications indicate that that'll be,
+  If you'll come down here a minute, you will have a chance to see."
+
+  [Illustration: "AND HE STOOD THERE, LIKE A COLONEL, WITH HER
+  TREMBLING ON HIS ARM."]
+
+  An' he led me 'cross the fallow, underneath some picnic trees,
+  Where my gal an' that wheel fellow sat as cosy as you please;
+  An' she'd put some flowers an' ribbons on the wheel, to make a show,
+  An' they'd been a-shakin' hands there, an' forgotten to let go;
+  An' she sort o' made a chair-back of the fellow's other arm,
+  With no 'parent recollection of Josiah Baker's farm.
+
+  Then we walked around front of 'em, an' I says, "Your very fine;
+  But this gal that you are courtin' is Josiah's gal an' mine;
+  You're a mighty breechy critter, an' are trespassin' all round;
+  Why, this very grove you sit in is Josiah's father's ground."
+  Then he rose up, stiff an' civil, an' helped Belle across the stile,
+  Also put the masheen over, with a queer but quiet smile;
+
+  An' he stood there, like a colonel, with her tremblin' on his arm,
+  An' remarked, "I beg your pardon, if I've done you any harm.
+  But so far as 'trespass' matters, I've relieved you of that load,
+  Since the place I now am standing is, I think, the public road.
+  And this very sweet young lady, you in one sense yours may call,
+  But she's mine, sir, in another--and Josiah's not at all.
+
+  "I'll escort this lady home, sir, leave my wheel here in your care,
+  And come back in fifteen minutes to arrange the whole affair.
+  And please do not touch the 'cycle'--'tis as yet without a flaw,
+  And I do not want a quarrel with my future father-in-law;
+  If this Mr. Baker junior follows up his glances, though,
+  With his fingers, I will thrash him till he thinks his cake is dough."
+
+  Then he left us both suspectin' that he'd rather got the start,
+  An' the acres of the daddies seemed increasin'ly apart;
+  An' we didn't wait to see him; but, with one impatient jerk,
+  We shook our heads in concert, an' went back unto our work;
+  An' I couldn't help reflectin'--"He is steady like, an' cool,
+  An' that wheel may be a folly, but it didn't bring a fool."
+
+III.
+
+  I was on my stoop a-restin', on a hazy autumn day,
+  Rather drowsy from a dinner that had just been stowed away,
+  And regrettin'--when old Baker's an' my homestead jined in one.
+  That he wasn't to furnish daughter, an' I wasn't to furnish son,
+  So's to have my name continued, 'stead of letting it go down,
+  When Josiah Baker junior came a drivin' home from town.
+
+  An' a little ways behind him came that wheel scamp, ridin' hard,
+  An' they both to once alighted, an' come walkin' through the yard;
+  When, as fate was bound to have it, also came my daughter Belle,
+  From a visit in some neighbor's, lookin' very sweet an' well;
+  An' they stood there all together--that 'ere strange, dissimilar three,
+  An' remained in one position--lookin' steady down at me.
+
+  Then Josiah spoke up loudly, in a kind o' sudden pet,
+  "If this gal an' I's to marry, it is time the day was set;
+  For that one-wheel feller's always 'round here courtin', on the fly,
+  An' they say she rides out with him, in the night-time, on the sly.
+  Father'll give us board an' victuals, you can give her land an' dower,
+  Wherefore, if she wants to have me, please to set the day an' hour."
+
+  Then the wheel scamp spoke up quiet, but as if the words he meant,
+  "_I_ would like to wed your daughter, an' have come for your consent.
+  She is very dear to me, sir, when we walk or when we ride,
+  And, I think, is not unwilling to become my cherished bride.
+  I can give her love and honor, and I ask of you no dower;
+  Wherefore, please bestow your blessing; _we_ have set the day and hour."
+
+  Then I might have told my daughter that _she_ now could have the floor,
+  An' remarked that on this question there should be just one speech more;
+  But I rendered my decision in a flame of righteous rage,
+  An' I shouted, "You'd no business for to court or to engage!
+  This 'ere gal has long been spoke for; an' you'll please to clamber on
+  Your old hind-wheel of a buggy, an' forevermore be gone!"
+
+  Then he picked up Belle quite sudden, an' made swiftly for the gate,
+  An' I formed a move to stop 'em, but was most perplexin' late;
+  He had fixed a small side-saddle on his everlastin' wheel,
+  So that she could ride behind him (clingin' 'round him a good deal);
+  An' straight down the Beebe turnpike, like a pair o' birds they flew
+  Towards a preacher's who had married almost every one he knew.
+
+  [Illustration: CHASING THE BICYCLE.]
+
+  "Stop 'em! head 'em! chase 'em! catch 'em!" I commanded, very vexed;
+  "They'll be hustlin' off our daughters on a streak o' lightnin', next!"
+  An' we took Josiah's wagon, an' his old gray spavined mare,
+  An' proceeded for to chase 'em, with no extra time to spare;
+  An' Josiah whipped an' shouted, it was such a dismal pinch,
+  An' kept just so far behind 'em, but we couldn't gain an inch!
+
+  Down the turnpike road we rattled; an' some fellows loudly cried,
+  "Go it, Baker, or you'll lose her! ten to one upon the bride!"
+  An' I fumed an' yelled an' whistled, an' commanded them to halt,
+  An' the fact we couldn't catch 'em wasn't Josiah Baker's fault;
+  But he murmured, "I am makin' father's mare into a wreck,
+  Just to see my gal a-huggin' round another feller's neck!"
+
+  An' they rushed into that preacher's, maybe twenty rods ahead,
+  An' before I reached the altar all their marriage-vows was said;
+  An' I smashed in wildly, just as they was lettin' go o' han's,
+  An' remarked, in tones of sternness, "I hereby forbid the banns!"
+  While Josiah Baker junior close behind me meekly came,
+  Sayin', "Were my father present, he would doubtless do the same!"
+
+  But they turned to me a-smilin', an' she hangin' on his arm,
+  An' he said, "I beg your pardon; let Josiah have the farm.
+  We've accomplished the sweet object for which we so long have striven,
+  And, as usual in such cases, are prepared to be forgiven."
+  An' the whole thing seemed so funny, when I thought of it a while,
+  That I looked 'em both all over, an' then blessed 'em with a smile.
+
+  Then Josiah Baker junior took his spavined mare for home,
+  An' 'twas difficult decidin' which indulged the most in foam;
+  An' he said, "I'll drive alone, sir, if the same you do not mind;
+  An' your son an' daughter Wheeler maybe'll take you up behind."
+  An' he yelled, while disappearing with a large smile on his mouth.
+  "I kin git a gal whose father jines my father on the south!"
+
+IV.
+
+  I was workin' in my wood-house on a snowy winter day,
+  An' reflectin' on a letter that had lately come our way,
+  How that Belle had every blessin' that a married gal could need,
+  An' had bought her two twin daughters a small-sized velocipede,
+  When the thought came stealin' through me, "Well, so far as I can see,
+  In the line of love an' lovin', what's to be is apt to be."
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+NOVEMBER 21, 18--.
+
+    Went into Congress for a little spell,
+    Where everything seemed going pretty well;
+    But all through boyhood's easy-moulding day
+    I'd heard so much of Webster and of Clay,
+    That, though they had been dead for many a year,
+    I thought at least by proxy they'd appear.
+    It was a disappointment, I declare:
+    Daniel or Henry--neither one was there!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+NEW YORK, _January_ 1, 18--.
+
+    Got back from several cities; and it looks
+    As if the things we've seen would fill ten books!
+    Some time I'll write our wanderings to and fro;
+    It's a large job: I'll have to take it slow.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+[ONLY A BOX.]
+
+
+    Only a box, secure and strong,
+    Rough, and wooden, and six feet long,
+    Lying here in the drizzling rain,
+    Waiting to take the up-bound train.
+
+  [Illustration: "ONLY A BOX, SECURE AND STRONG,
+  ROUGH AND WOODEN, AND SIX FEET LONG."]
+
+    Only its owner, just inside,
+    Cold, and livid, and glassy-eyed;
+    Little to him if the train be late!
+    Nothing has he to do but wait.
+
+    Only an open grave, somewhere,
+    Heady to close when he gets there;
+    Turfs and grasses and flowerets sweet,
+    Ready to press him 'neath their feet.
+
+    Only a band of friends at home,
+    Waiting to see the traveller come;
+    Naught he will tell of distant lands;
+    He cannot even press their hands.
+
+    He has no stories weird and bright,
+    He has no gifts for a child's delight;
+    He did not come with anything;
+    He had not even himself to bring.
+
+    Yet they will softly him await,
+    And he will move about in state;
+    They will give him, when he appears,
+    Love, and pity, and tender tears.
+
+    Only a box, secure and strong,
+    Rough and wooden, and six feet long;
+    Angels guide that soulless breast
+    Into a long and peaceful rest!
+
+
+
+
+HOME.
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+
+JULY 1, 18--.
+
+    Back to the old, old homestead!--isn't it queer!
+    But stranger things than that have happened here:
+    The old farm, after giving oil by stream,
+    (Until the world itself would almost seem
+    About to lose its progress smooth and true,
+    And creak upon its axis, first we knew),
+    Closed business in the twinkling of an eye,
+    And every blessed well we had went dry!
+    Then all the oil-springs that my neighbors had
+    The example followed--be it good or bad;
+    And the whole region round here, high and low,
+    So full of wealth a few short months ago--
+    And men, to get their circumstances oiled--
+    Is now poor farm-land, pretty nearly spoiled!
+    The little town a mile away from here,
+    Where we sold eggs and butter many a year,
+    (And feared the neighbors' hens might over-lay,
+    And glut the market some sad Saturday),
+    From a few grown-up folks, a small child-crop,
+    A church, post-office, store, and blacksmith shop,
+    This village grew to be, within a year,
+    A town of fifteen thousand people clear.
+    It had its banks, its street-cars, and its gas,
+    And other wonders cities bring to pass;
+
+    Its house-yards sold for twice as much, I know,
+    As my old farm was worth three years ago.
+    But the town did not grow on brain or soil,
+    But floated on a hidden sea of oil,
+    Which ebbed away, one evening, on the sly,
+    And left "the city" stranded high and dry.
+    And now the place is crumbling to the gaze--
+    A modern ruin in these modern days:
+    No banks, no street-cars, no hotels in town--
+    The mansions have been burned or taken down.
+    It shows how soon all greatness is unmade
+    When once it gets upon the down-hill grade!
+
+    So we've come back to take our former farm,
+    Fix it up somehow, coax back its old charm,
+    And live here--by the city noise unstirred--
+    To cogitate on what we've seen and heard
+    While living in a bustle and a brawl
+    That sometimes hardly let us think at all.
+    The old house was kept whole in every part
+    (I had that put in writing on the start),
+    And though the farm seems very much as though
+    An earthquake had lived here a year or so,
+    We mean to try and make it seem, some week,
+    More as it did before it sprung a leak.
+
+    First thing I said, when home began to fit,
+    And thus afford us time to breathe a bit:
+    "We've been out to the city, now, my dear,
+    Let's bring a small part of the city here.
+    I'm going, on this very day, to send
+    For several children such as need a friend,
+    And have them come out here and get some air,
+    With room to turn around, and some to spare."
+
+    I wrote some men and women in the city,
+    Who give poor children help, as well as pity,
+    "Send out as many as you can afford!
+    And every one shall have a month's clean board,
+    And carry back, from out our plenteous store,
+    Enough to keep himself a fortnight more."
+
+    The first night that we sat expecting them,
+    I did what some whole families would condemn--
+    I moulded up my feelings into rhyme,
+    In something less than fifteen minutes' time,
+    Then voiced it to whoever would come near;
+    I'll put the imposition right in here:
+
+  [Illustration: "AND CARRY BACK, FROM OUT OUR PLENTEOUS STORE, ENOUGH
+  TO KEEP HIMSELF A FORTNIGHT MORE."]
+
+
+
+[LET THE CLOTH BE WHITE.]
+
+
+  Go set the table, Mary, an' let the cloth be white!
+  The hungry city children are comin' here to-night;
+  The children from the city, with features pinched an' spare,
+  Are comin' here to get a breath of God's untainted air.
+
+  They come from out the dungeons where they with want were chained;
+  From places dark an' dismal, by tears of sorrow stained;
+  From where a thousand shadows are murdering all the light:
+  Set well the table, Mary dear, an' let the cloth be white!
+
+  [Illustration: "THE HUNGRY CITY CHILDREN ARE COMING HERE
+  TO-NIGHT."]
+
+  They ha' not seen the daisies made for the heart's behoof;
+  They never heard the rain-drops upon a cottage roof;
+  They do not know the kisses of zephyr an' of breeze;
+  They never rambled wild an' free beneath the forest trees.
+
+  The food that they ha' eaten was spoiled by others' greeds;
+  The very air their lungs breathed was full o' poison seeds;
+  The very air their souls breathed was full o' wrong an' spite:
+  Go set the table, Mary dear, an' let the cloth be white!
+
+  The fragrant water-lilies ha' never smiled at them;
+  They never picked a wild-flower from off its dewy stem;
+  They never saw a greensward that they could safely pass
+  Unless they heeded well the sign that says "Keep off the grass."
+
+  God bless the men and women of noble brain an' heart,
+  Who go down in the folk-swamps an' take the children's part--
+  Those hungry, cheery children that keep us in their debt,
+  An' never fail to give us more of pleasure than they get!
+
+  Set well the table, Mary; let naught be scant or small;
+  The little ones are coming; have plenty for 'em all.
+  There's nothing we should furnish except the very best
+  To those that Jesus looked upon an' called to him an' blessed.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    Oh, Home--restful home! theme of praise and of song!
+    Where the heart has its refuge, unfailing and strong;
+    Where the cares of the world sign a partial release,
+    And the soul can lie down to a sweet sleep of peace!
+    The mine whence we dig out affection's pure gold,
+    The fire where we warm our poor hearts when they're cold!
+    The grand, tender chorus, by love's fingers stirred,
+    Where all the sweet tones of the soul-life are heard!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    But he who in thy praises was sweetest and best--
+    Who wrote that great song full of soothing and rest--
+    "Through pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
+    Be it never so humble, there's no place like home"--
+    He who, in a moment unfettered by art,
+    Let that heavenly song fly from the nest of his heart,
+    He wandered the earth, all forgot and alone,
+    And ne'er till he died had a home of his own!
+    He wandered the earth at his own dreary will,
+    And carried his great heavy heart with him still;
+    He carried his great heavy heart o'er the road,
+    With no one to give him a lift with his load;
+    And wherever he went, with his lone, dreary tread,
+    He found that his sweet song had flown on ahead!
+    He heard its grand melodies' chimes o'er and o'er,
+    From great bands that played at the palace's door;
+    He heard its soft tones through the cottages creep,
+    From fond mothers singing their babies to sleep;
+    But he wandered the earth, all forgot and alone,
+    And ne'er till in Heaven had a home of his own!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Of course--be it said to the poor fellow's shame--
+    There was no one on earth but himself he could blame.
+    God meant, when he made this world cheerful and bright,
+    Then looked it all over and said 'twas all right,
+    Then stole Adam's rib while he lay fast asleep,
+    And when he awoke gave it to him to keep--
+    He meant that this world, as he gazed on it there,
+    Should blossom with homes, rich and radiant and fair;
+    That his chain of love-gold, flung from Heaven's glittering dome,
+    Should be forged into links, and each link be a home!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  [Illustration: "HE HEARD ITS SOFT TONES THROUGH THE COTTAGES CREEP,
+  FROM FOND MOTHERS SINGING THEIR BABIES TO SLEEP."]
+
+    This Adam and Eve more advantages carried,
+    Than any _young_ couple that ever was married.
+    They'd a nice, cozy home, unencumbered and free,
+    Save a slight reservation on one little tree;
+    They toiled not and sweat not in tilling their lands:
+    Their orchards were trimmed by invisible hands;
+    They were bothered by no tailors' bills over-due;
+    Their dress-makers' bills were quite moderate, too;
+    No tax-ghost each year their scared domicile haunted,
+    To find out how much more they owned than they wanted;
+    In sooth this young pair more advantages carried
+    Than any _young_ couple that ever was married!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    And if, when Eve spied that large serpent one day,
+    She had acted the usual feminine way,
+    And piercingly screamed, and run, reckless and blind,
+    As if Satan were only two minutes behind,
+    Then Adam, man-like, had soothed sweetly her fright,
+    Saying, "What do you fear? 'tisn't poison; 'twon't bite;"
+    Then, catching a club, he had towered up above it,
+    And promptly had pounded the devil out of it,
+    'Twould have saved some hot tears, some hard toil, some disgrace,
+    And been a great thing for the whole human race.
+    But they treated him kindly, and gave him his say,
+    And 'twas not very long ere himself was to pay.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Since then this same Satan, whatever befalls,
+    Is noted for making his family calls;
+    Some families--shame on the impudent wretch!--
+    He stays with at times for a week at a stretch;
+    And some it would seem as if, pleased with the fare,
+    He had taken his permanent residence there!
+    But when to his dear friends these visits he makes,
+    He doesn't always come in the persons of snakes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    So the Science of Home is the chiefest of all:
+    To ward off these dangers that ever befall;
+    To beat back these devils of discord and sin,
+    That always are striving to steal their way in;
+    To use all the means God hath placed in our sight,
+    To keep our homes innocent, happy, and bright;
+    For a home that rejoices in love's saving leaven,
+    Comes deliciously nigh to the splendors of Heaven!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Still through the city I wander;
+    Still do I study and ponder;
+    But with no loneliness round me;
+    Severed--the black cords that bound me!
+    No more my spirit is weary;
+    I have a home, bright and cheery;
+    Full of love's sweet, saving leaven:
+    Home is the daughter of Heaven.
+
+
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+SELECTED HOME READING.
+
+
+  WILL CARLETON'S POETICAL WORKS.
+     Illustrated. Square 8vo, Ornamental Cloth, $2 00; Gilt Edges,
+     $2 50; Full Seal, $4 00.
+       CITY FESTIVALS.    CITY LEGENDS.    CITY BALLADS.
+       FARM FESTIVALS.    FARM LEGENDS.    FARM BALLADS.
+
+
+  CYCLOPĆDIA OF POETRY.
+     Harper's Cyclopćdia of British and American Poetry. Edited by
+     EPES SARGENT. Large 8vo, Illuminated Cloth, Colored Edges,
+     $4 50.
+
+
+  POETS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
+     Poets of the Nineteenth Century. Selected and Edited by the
+     Rev. ROBERT ARIS WILLMOTT. With English and American Additions.
+     Superbly illustrated. Small 4to, printed on Superfine Tinted
+     Paper, Extra Cloth, Bevelled Gilt Edges, $5 00; Half Calf, $5
+     50; Full Turkey Morocco, $9 00.
+
+
+  THE POETS OF SCOTLAND.
+     The Poets and Poetry of Scotland. From the Earliest to the
+     Present Time. Comprising Characteristic Selections from the
+     Works of the more Noteworthy Scottish Poets, with Biographical
+     and Critical Notices. By JAMES GRANT WILSON. With Portraits on
+     Steel. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $10 00; Cloth, Gilt Edges, $11 00;
+     Half Calf, $14 50; Full Morocco, $18 00.
+
+
+  WALLACE'S BEN-HUR.
+     Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ. By LEW. WALLACE. _Garfield
+     Edition_. 2 volumes. Twenty Full-page Photogravures. Over One
+     Thousand Illustrations as Marginal Drawings by WILLIAM MARTIN
+     JOHNSON. Crown 8vo, Silk and Gold, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops,
+     $7 00. (_In a Box._)
+
+
+  TENNYSON'S SONGS, WITH MUSIC.
+     Songs from the Published Writings of Alfred Tennyson. Set to
+     Music by various Composers. Edited by W. G. CUSINS. With
+     Portrait and Original Illustrations by Winslow Homer, C. S.
+     Reinhart, A. Fredericks, and Jessie Curtis. Royal 4to, Cloth,
+     Gilt Edges, $5 00.
+
+
+  TENNYSON'S WORKS.
+     Complete Works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Poet-Laureate. With an
+     Introductory Sketch by ANNE THACKERAY RITCHIE. With Portraits
+     and Illustrations. Pages 430. 8vo, Cloth, $2 00; Gilt Edges, $2
+     50.
+
+
+  FOLK-LORE OF SHAKESPEARE.
+     Folk-Lore of Shakespeare. By the Rev. T. F. THISELTON DYER,
+     M.A., Oxon. 8vo, Cloth, $2 50.
+
+
+  DOWDEN'S SHAKSPERE.
+     Shakspere: A Critical Study of his Mind and Art. By EDWARD
+     DOWDEN, LL.D., Vice-President of "The New Shakspere Society."
+     12mo, Cloth, $1 75.
+
+
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+     The Works of Oliver Goldsmith. Edited by PETER CUNNINGHAM,
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+     Edited, with Notes, by W. J. ROLFE, A.M. Illustrated. Small
+     4to, Flexible Cloth, 56 cents per volume; Paper, 40 cents per
+     volume.
+
+     SELECT POEMS OF GOLDSMITH.--SELECT POEMS OF THOMAS
+     GRAY.--SELECT POEMS OF ROBERT BROWNING.--BROWNING'S
+     DRAMAS.--MILTON'S MINOR POEMS.--MACAULAY'S LAYS OF ANCIENT
+     ROME.--WORDSWORTH'S SELECT POEMS.
+
+     SHAKESPEARE'S THE TEMPEST.--MERCHANT OF VENICE.--KING HENRY THE
+     EIGHTH.--JULIUS CĆSAR.--RICHARD THE
+     SECOND.--MACBETH.--MID-SUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.--KING HENRY THE
+     FIFTH.--KING JOHN.--AS YOU LIKE IT.--KING HENRY IV. Part
+     I.--KING HENRY IV. Part II.--HAMLET.--MUCH ADO ABOUT
+     NOTHING.--ROMEO AND JULIET.--OTHELLO.--TWELFTH NIGHT.--THE
+     WINTER'S TALE.--RICHARD THE THIRD.--KING LEAR.--ALL'S WELL THAT
+     ENDS WELL.--CORIOLANUS.--TAMING OF THE SHREW.--CYMBELINE.--THE
+     COMEDY OF ERRORS.--ANTHONY AND CLEOPATRA.--MEASURE FOR
+     MEASURE.--MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.--LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.--TIMON
+     OF ATHENS.--TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.--TROILUS AND
+     CRESSIDA.--HENRY VI. Part I.--HENRY VI. Part II.--HENRY VI.
+     Part III.--PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.--THE TWO NOBLE
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+
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+     Friendly Edition of Shakespeare's Works. Edited by W. J. ROLFE.
+     In 20 volumes. Illustrated, 16mo, Cloth, $25 00; Half Leather,
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+
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+  SWINTON'S ENGLISH LITERATURE.
+     Studies in English Literature: being Typical Selections of
+     British and American Authorship, from Shakespeare to the
+     Present Time; together with Definitions, Notes, Analyses, and
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+     With Portraits. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $1 20.
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+     Cloth, $2 00.
+
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+  THE BOOK OF GOLD, AND OTHER POEMS.
+     The Book of Gold, and Other Poems. By J. T. TROWBRIDGE.
+     Illustrated. 8vo, Ornamental Covers, Gilt Edges, $2 50.
+
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+  CHRISTMAS IN SONG, SKETCH, AND STORY.
+     Nearly Three Hundred Christmas Songs, Hymns, and Carols. With
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+     DICKENS. Illustrations by RAPHAEL, MURILLO, BOUGUEREAU,
+     HOFMANN, DEFREGGER, STORY, SHEPHERD, DARLEY, MEADE, NAST, and
+     others. Selected by J. P. MCCASKEY, Compiler of the "Franklin
+     Square Song Collection." Royal 8vo, Cloth, $2 50.
+
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+     By R. H. Hutton.--SHELLEY. By John Addington Symonds.--HUME. By
+     Professor Huxley.--GOLDSMITH. By William Black.--DEFOE. By
+     William Minto.--BURNS. By Principal Shairp.--SPENSER. By Dean
+     Church.--THACKERAY. By Anthony Trollope.--BURKE. By John
+     Morley.--MILTON. By Mark Pattison.--SOUTHEY. By Edward
+     Dowden.--CHAUCER. By Adolphus William Ward.--BUNYAN. By James
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+     Stephen.--BYRON. By John Nichol.--LOCKE. By Thomas
+     Fowler.--WORDSWORTH. By F. W. H. Myers.--DRYDEN. By G.
+     Saintsbury.--HAWTHORNE. By Henry James, Jr.--LANDOR. By Sidney
+     Colvin.--DE QUINCEY. By David Masson.--LAMB. By Alfred
+     Ainger.--BENTLEY. By R. C. Jebb.--DICKENS. By A. W.
+     Ward.--GRAY. By E. W. Gosse.--SWIFT. By Leslie
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+     Morison.--FIELDING. By Austin Dobson.--SHERIDAN. By Mrs.
+     Oliphant.--ADDISON. By W. J. Courthope.--BACON. By R. W.
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+     Traill.--SIDNEY. By J. A. Symonds.--KEATS. By Sidney Colvin.
+     (_Other volumes in preparation._)
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+     Illustrated by the Author. 4to, Cloth, Gilt Edges, $7 50. (_In
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+     Illustrated by the Author. 4to, Cloth, Gilt Edges, $7 50. (_In
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+
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+     L.L.D. Illustrated. Square 8vo, Ornamental Cloth, $2 00.
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+     AMERICAN BALLADS. By THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH, M.D., LL.D. 32mo,
+     Paper, 25 cents; Cloth, 40 cents.
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+     English Literature in the Eighteenth Century. By THOMAS
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+     whole adorned with numerous drawings by EDWIN A. ABBEY and
+     ALFRED PARSONS. 4to, Ornamental Leather, $7 50. (_In a Box._)
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of City Ballads, by Will Carleton.
+    </title>
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of City Ballads, by Will Carleton
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: City Ballads
+
+Author: Will Carleton
+
+Release Date: August 3, 2011 [EBook #36954]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CITY BALLADS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Dianne Nolan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="559" alt="Cover" title="Cover" />
+</div>
+<p><br /><br /></p>
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/illus01.jpg" width="365" height="600" alt="&quot;THESE ARE THE SPIRES THAT WERE GLEAMING.&quot;" title="These are the spires that were gleaming." />
+<p class="caption">&quot;THESE ARE THE SPIRES THAT WERE GLEAMING.&quot;<a name="Frontispiece" id="Frontispiece"></a></p>
+</div>
+<p><br /><br /></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h1>CITY BALLADS</h1>
+
+
+<h3>BY</h3>
+<h2>WILL CARLETON</h2>
+<div class="center">AUTHOR OF "FARM BALLADS" "FARM LEGENDS" "FARM FESTIVALS"<br />
+"YOUNG FOLKS' CENTENNIAL RHYMES" ETC.</div>
+
+
+<div class="center"><i>ILLUSTRATED</i></div>
+
+
+<div class="center">NEW YORK<br />
+HARPER &amp; BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<div class="center">Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1885, by</div>
+
+<div class="center">HARPER &amp; BROTHERS,</div>
+
+<div class="center">In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.</div>
+<hr style="width: 10%;" />
+
+<div class="center"><i>All rights reserved.</i></div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<div class="center">TO</div>
+
+<div class="center">ADÓRA</div>
+
+<div class="center">FRIEND, COMRADE, LOVER, WIFE</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
+<img src="images/illus-004.jpg" width="300" height="122" alt="floral decoration" title="floral decoration" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>PREFACE.</h2>
+
+
+<p>When city people go among forests and hills, they drink in the fresh
+air and weird scenery of rural surroundings, with much more relish,
+enjoyment, and appreciation, than do the life-long residents they
+find there.</p>
+
+<p>For the same reason, the great drama of metropolitan existence falls
+most forcibly upon those just from the clear streams and green
+meadows of the country. Their impressions then are deeper, and their
+feelings more intense than if they were city born and bred.</p>
+
+<p>With the latter fact in view, this book is an effort to reproduce
+some of the effects of city scenes and character upon the intellect
+and imagination of two people from the country:</p>
+
+<p>First, a young student, who has travelled the well-beaten roads of a
+college course, but is just entering real life, and now for the
+first time walks the paved and palace-bordered streets of which he
+has heard and read so much.</p>
+
+<p>Second, an old farmer, with very little "book-learning," but a clear
+brain, a warm heart, and independent judgment, and a habit of
+philosophizing upon everything he sees, which habit he brings to the
+city, and applies to the strange facts he witnesses.</p>
+
+<p>These, with certain incidental thoughts and characters encountered
+and discussed, constitute the present work. It will be found, as
+intended, sketchy and suggestive rather than elaborate and complete.
+Note-books and diaries are designed, not so much for the history of
+a career or an event, as a light to the memory, a stimulus to the
+imagination, and a help to the heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It is the hope of the author that his book may perform those offices
+for you, his readers, and that it will rouse your pity of pain, your
+enjoyment of honest mirth, your hatred of sham and wrong, and your
+love and adoration of the Resolute and the Good, and their winsome
+child, the Beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>In which case he shakes hands with his large and loved constituency,
+and continues happy.</p>
+
+<p style="text-align:right">
+W. C.<br /></p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
+
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="">
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Page</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">WEALTH</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>Including</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Lovely Young Man</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">If I'd a Million Millions</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Farmer Stebbins on Rollers</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">WANT</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>Including</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">That Swamp of Death</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">A Sewing-Girl's Diary</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">FIRE</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>Including</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">When Prometheus Stole the Flame</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Flash: The Fireman's Story</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">How we Fought the Fire</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"<span class="smcap">You will Tell me Where is Conrad?</span>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">WATER</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>Including</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Dead Stowaway</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Wedding of the Towns</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Farmer Stebbins at Ocean Grove</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">VICE</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>Including</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Boy-convict's Story</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Farmer Stebbins on the Bowery</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Farmer Stebbins Ahead</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Slugging-match</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">VIRTUE</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>Including</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">More Ways than One</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The March of the Children</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">TRAVEL</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>Including</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Her Tour</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">At the Summit of the Washington Monument</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">The Silent Wheel</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Farmer and Wheel; or, The New Lochinvar</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Only a Box</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">HOME</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>Including</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class="smcap">Let the Cloth be White</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2>
+
+
+
+<div class="center">
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="">
+<tr><td align="left">&nbsp; </td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Page</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>These are the spires that were gleaming</i>"</td><td align="left"><a href="#Frontispiece"><i>Frontispiece.</i></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>I saw tall derricks by the hundred rise</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>I reached my hand down for it and it stopped</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>When all to once the wheels departed suddenly above, an' took along my heels</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><i>Farmer Stebbins on Rollers</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>Yes, it's straight and true, good preacher, every word that you have said</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>Choked and strangled by the foul breath of the chimneys over there</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>Oh, the air is pure and wholesome where some babies coo and rest, and they trim</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><i>them out with ribbons, and they feed them with the best</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>Weary old man with the snow-drifted hair, not by your fault are you suffering there</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>Is't the same girl that stood, one night, there in the wide hall's thrilling light?</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>And hateful hunger has come in</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>He begged that horse's pardon upon his bended knees</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>Away he rushed like a cyclone for the head o'</i> '<i>Number Three</i>'"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>Laid down in his harness</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><i>How we Fought the Fire</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>Battered and bruised, forever abused, he lay by the moaning sea</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>Miss Sunnyhopes she waded out</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>Two inland noodles, for our first acquaintance with the sea</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>A-floating on her dainty back</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>I tried to kick this</i> '<i>lovely wave</i>'"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>Heels over head&mdash;all in a bunch!</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>We voted that we'd had enough</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>To make four hundred dollars clear, an' help the children too</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>We come 'thin part of one of it</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>They 'put their heads together' in a new an' painful way</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>He makes himself a bigger fool than all the fools he makes</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><i>The Salvation Army</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><i>The March of the Children</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><i>From the Monument</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>And he stood there, like a colonel, with her trembling on his arm</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><i>Chasing the Bicycle</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>Only a box, secure and strong, rough and wooden, and six feet long</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>And carry back, from out our plenteous store, enough to keep himself a fortnight</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><i>more</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>The hungry city children are coming here to-night</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left">"<i>He heard its soft tones through the cottages creep, from fond mothers singing their</i></td></tr>
+<tr><td align="left"><i>babies to sleep</i>"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CITY BALLADS.</h2>
+
+
+<h2>WEALTH.</h2>
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Here in The City I ponder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Through its long pathways I wander.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">These are the spires that were gleaming<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">All through my juvenile dreaming.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is The Something I heard, far away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When, at the close of a tired Summer day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Resting from work on the lap of a lawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gazing to whither The Sun-god had gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leaving behind him his mantles of gold&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is The Something by which I was told;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">"Bend your head, dreamer, and listen&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Come to my splendors that glisten!<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Either to triumph they call you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Or to what worst could befall you!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is The Something that thrilled my desires,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the weird Morning had kindled his fires,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the gray city of clouds in the east<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lighted its streets as for pageant or feast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Whisp'ring&mdash;my spirit elating&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">"Come to me, boy, I am waiting!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bring me your muscle and spirit and brain&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here to my glory-strewn, ruin-strewn plain!"<br /></span></div>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">Treading the trough of the furrow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Digging where life-rootlets burrow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Blade of the food-harvest swinging,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the barns toiling and singing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Breath of a hay-meadow smelling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Forest-trees loving and felling&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where'er my spirit was turning,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lived that mysterious yearning!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When in the old country school-house I conned<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Legends of life in the broad world beyond&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When in the trim hamlet-college I cast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wondering glances at days that were past&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ever I longed for the walls and the streets,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the rich conflict that energy meets!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So I have come: but The City is great<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bearing me down like a brute with its weight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I have come: but The City is cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I am lonelier now than of old.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Yet, 'tis the same restless story:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Even to fail here were glory!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Grand, to be part of this ocean<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of matter and mind and emotion!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Here flow the streams of endeavor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Cityward trending forever.&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wheat-stalks that tassel the field,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Harvests of opulent yield,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Grass-blades that fence with each other,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Flower-blossoms&mdash;sister and brother&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Roots that are sturdy and tender,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Stalks in your thrift and your splendor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mind that is fertile and daring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Face that true beauty is wearing&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">All that is strongest and fleetest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All that are dainty and sweetest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look to the domes and the glittering spires,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Waiting for you with majestic desires!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">List to The City's gaunt, thunderous roar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Calling and calling for you evermore!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long in the fields you may labor and wait&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You and your tribe may come early or late;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beauty and excellence dwell and will dwell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oft amid garden and moorland and fell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Long generations may hold them,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Centuries oft can enfold them;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the rich City's they some time shall be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sure as the spring is the food of the sea.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">September 20, 18&mdash;.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wind in the south-west; weather wondrous fine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thermometer 'twixt seventy-eight and nine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ground rather dry; sun flails us over-warm;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's most time for the equinoctial storm.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Family healthy as could be desired;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Except we're somewhat mind and body tired<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At moving over such a lengthy road,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And settling down here in our town abode,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wrestling with the pains that filter through one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When he gives up an old home for a new one.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Old Calendar, you've always stood me true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now I'll change works, and do the same by you!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You're just as good as when, with aching arm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cleared and worked that eighty-acre farm!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every night, in those hard, dear old days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas one of my most unconditional ways,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When to my labors I had said Good-night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And recompensed my home-made appetite,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And talked with Wife, and traded family views,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gathered all the latest township news,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dealt my sons a sly fraternal hit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And flirted with my daughters just a bit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And through the papers tried my way to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So the world shouldn't slip out from under me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As I was saying&mdash;in those sweet old days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas one of my most unconditional ways,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To go to you, old book, before I'd sleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hand you over all the day to keep.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I gave you up what weather I could find,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Likewise the different phases of my mind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What my hard hands from morn to night had done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what my mind had been subsisting on;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What accidents had touched my brain with doubt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what successes it had whittled out;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How well I had been able to control<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The weather fluctuations of my soul;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What progress or what failures I had made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In spying round and stealing Nature's trade;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The seeds of actions planted long ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And whether they had blossomed out or no;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And oft, from what you of the past could tell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've learned to steer my future pretty well.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And now <span class="smcap">I'm rich</span> (who ever thought 'twould be!)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll stand by you, as you have stood by me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now I'm "City people"&mdash;having moved<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(My circumstances suddenly improved)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into this town, with some quick-gotten pelf,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To educate my children and myself,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And give my wife, who has a pedigree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A chance to flutter round her family tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And show her natural city airs and graces<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Which didn't "take" quite so well in country places)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now we are here, old fellow, while we stay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll give you all the news from day to day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I'll find the good that in this city lurks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By regular, systematic, hard days' works;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll rummage fearless round amongst the harm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As when I hoed up thistles on my farm;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shake hands with Virtue, help Sin while I spurn it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if there's anything to learn, I'll learn it.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How little I suspected, by the way&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scrambling for pennies in that patch of clay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bare expenses of our lives to meet&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That waves of wealth were washing at my feet!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when my hard and rather lazy soil<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sprung a leak upward with petroleum-oil&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When, through the wonder in my glad old eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I saw tall derricks by the hundred rise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flinging wealth at me with unceasing hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And turning to a mine my hard old land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until it seemed as if the spell would hold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till every blade of grass was turned to gold&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I felt, as never yet had come to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How little round the curves of life we see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or, in our rushings on, suspect or view<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What sort of stations we are coming to!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It brought a similar twinge&mdash;though not so bad&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As once, when losing every cent I had.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But still it could not shift my general views;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My mind didn't faint at one good piece of news.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I think I'd too much ballast 'neath my sail<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be capsized by one good prosperous gale<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Same as I didn't lie down and give up all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That other time, when tipped up by a squall).<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I didn't go spreeing for my money's sake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or with my business matters lie awake;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twould never do, as I informed my wife,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To let a little money spoil our life!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And now I'm rich (who ever thought 'twould be!)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll look about, and see what I can see;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span><span class="i0">Appoint myself a visiting committee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With power to act in all parts of the city;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Growl when I must, commend whene'er I can,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lose no chance to help my fellow-man.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For he who joy on others' paths has thrown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will find there's some left over for his own;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he who leads his brother toward the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will in the journey bring himself more nigh.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And what I see and think, in my own way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll tell to you, Old Calendar, each day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if I choose to do the same in rhyme,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What jury would convict me of a crime?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For every one, from palaces to attics,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has caught, some time or other, <i>The Rhythmatics</i>.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Still through The City I ponder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Still do I wonder and wander.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">City&mdash;unconscious descendant<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of olden-time cities resplendent!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Child of rich forefathers hoary,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Clad in their gloom and their glory!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dream I of you in the rich, mellow past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Throbbing with life, and with Death overcast.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thebes&mdash;not to you, crushed and ghastly and dumb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even the wreck-loving Ivy will come!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where stood your hundred broad, world-famous gates,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now a black Arab for charity waits.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not like this City&mdash;metropolis bold&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the whole world brings its goods and its gold!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Babylon&mdash;here the queen's gardens climbed high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Painting their flowers on the blue of the sky:<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 396px;">
+<img src="images/illus02.jpg" width="396" height="600" alt="&quot;I SAW TALL DERRICKS BY THE HUNDRED RISE.&quot;" title="I saw tall derricks by the hundred rise." />
+<p class="caption">&quot;I SAW TALL DERRICKS BY THE HUNDRED RISE.&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This is where sinners, one asinine hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thought they could travel to Heaven by tower.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(How like some sinners to-day, whose desires<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mount by the way of their greed-builded spires!)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Troy&mdash;of rare riches and valor possessed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ruined fore'er by one beautiful guest&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Here many Helens, though less of renown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do for some men what she did for a town!)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wondrous Palmyra, whose island of green,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Mid the bleak sand, reared the beautiful queen<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">(Sweet-faced Zenobia, peerless<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Proud in her virtue, and fearless)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In this metropolis, virtuously grand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Many a queen is a joy to the land!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tyre&mdash;the huge pillars that groaned under thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rest in the depths of a desolate sea;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long may it be ere the spray's salted showers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Foam o'er the walls of this city of ours!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Mound-men's vast cities, whose graves we accost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even your names are in ruins&mdash;and lost.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What if, some time when this nation is nought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vainly our names in our graves should be sought!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Cities that yet are to flourish,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That the rich Future must nourish!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where will you take up your stations&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where set your massive foundations?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where are the slumbering meadows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dreaming of clouds through their shadows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That by rough wheels rudely shaken,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Into new life shall awaken?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Harbors that placidly float<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nought but the fisherman's boat,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Think you of fleets that shall lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Under the blue of your sky;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When shall be built on your land<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Palaces wealthily grand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When in your face from tall spires<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gleam the electrical fires?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Cities that yet are to be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You are not phantoms to me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">You are as certain and sure<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As that Old Time shall endure.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Stars in the distant, mysterious sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flashing and flaming and dancing on high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Each is an earth to its millions,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Each has its domes and pavilions.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cities, I see you&mdash;by reasoning led&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On the great map with blue leaves overhead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seaport and lakeport and rich inland town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Capital city, and village of brown;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thanking the prairie-food-givers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Strung on the winding star-rivers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Earths that can signal to earths, every one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the bright torches you stole from the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Each on its surface has strown<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Cities and towns of its own,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fraught with their crimes and their graces,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Full of mysterious places.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They are no myths unto me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Clearly their outlines I see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Millions of towns I descry<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hanging o'er me from the sky.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Still through the paths of the town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dreaming, I walk up and down.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span><span class="i0">Is it so much of a wonder&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Part of this whole, yet asunder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I in this throng, and I only&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I am wretched and lonely?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Loneliness&mdash;loneliness ever&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leaving me utterly, never!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yes, I am part of this ocean<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of matter and mind and emotion;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet how entirely apart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Severed in mind and in heart!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">September 25, 18&mdash;.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wealth&mdash;wealth&mdash;wealth&mdash;wealth! I never had been led,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From all I'd thought and dreamed and heard and read,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To think so much wealth, in whatever while,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could be raked up into one shining pile!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not long ago, a hundred dollars clear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Big as a hay-stack would to me appear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When first a thousand dollars made me smile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I sympathized with Cr&oelig;sus quite a while;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But looking round here makes me feel the same<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if I hadn't a nickel to my name!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wealth&mdash;wealth! why, every acre I behold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has cost a mine of Californi' gold!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The very ground one building here might fill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would almost buy the town of Tompkins Hill!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There isn't a house my scrutiny has crossed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But catches several figures in its cost;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when your eyes into the parlor go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">('Mongst things they leave the curtains up to show),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And see the carpets, rugs, and draperies rich,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That twine ten dollars into every stitch,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And view great pictures that such prices hold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if the painter's brush were dipped in gold;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when along the roads great buggies glide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With covers on, and rich-dressed folks inside,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And up on top a man to drive the team&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As fat as any cat brought up on cream<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Man and team both), the driver dressed as gay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if he meant to marry that same day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or wed his boss's daughter that same night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Which some consider as the coachman's right,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And think it's understood, when he engages,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A daughter should be thrown in with his wages),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When even the horses, as so many do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wear jewelry that cost a farm or two,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You wonder in what tree-top grew the cash<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To buy so much reality and trash!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wealth&mdash;wealth&mdash;wealth&mdash;wealth! the very corner stores<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are gold-mines from the ceilings to the floors!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shop we thought would ruin Cousin Phil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because 'twas over-large for Tompkins Hill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would, in the small vest-pocket, lose its way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of one man's place I wandered through to-day!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And then the banks&mdash;a hundred on one street&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As full of money as an egg of meat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Although one never knows beyond a doubt<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What colored chickens they'll be hatching out);<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And then the churches&mdash;elegant to view&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An independent fortune in each pew.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One window-pane in one big church that's here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cost more than our old preacher made per year!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(A city pastor's salary, I declare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would keep <i>him</i> all his life, with cash to spare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A-preaching in that little house of wood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Holding his hearers' eyes in all he could,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With rolling meadows and green trees in view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fresh-complexioned streamlets wandering through);<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And then the rich school-houses in this town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where children can be taught up-stairs and down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swifter (if not so thorough), I suppose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than in the small log school-house, where I rose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From Numeration to the Rule of Three,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And had Irregular Verbs whipped into me;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And then the railroad stations, where, each day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fortunes on wheels rush in and drive away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then the steamboats paddling up and down&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Towns</i> swimming on their way from town to town;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And then the ladies, in both street and store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Done up in silks and satins, spangled o'er<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if it had rained diamonds for an hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And they had gone and stood out in the shower;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And then the rich and idle-houred young men&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rising generation's "Upper 10"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(With the "1" left off), who each day, no doubt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spend twice as much as all my "setting out,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Father said, "The family craft is full;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Launch your own craft and show us how to pull."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I often think, when past a dandy glides,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Throwing his (father's) money on all sides,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And peeking under each young lady's veil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if he'd bought her at a mortgage sale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How shrewd it was of him, right on the start,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To have a father who was rich and smart!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Folks often pride themselves much, by-the-way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because their parents greater were than they.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Walking to-day along Fifth Avenue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A slip of paper on the sidewalk flew<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Before my eyes&mdash;some one the same had dropped;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I reached my hand down for it and it stopped.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I picked it up&mdash;the reading on't was queer;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I think, perhaps, I'll paste it right in here.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>THE LOVELY YOUNG MAN.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh the elements varied&mdash;the exquisite plan&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That are used in constructing the lovely young man!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His face he has easily made to possess<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The expression of nothing within to express;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His hair is oiled glossily back of his ears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Atop of his head an equator appears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His scanty mustache has symmetrical bends,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is groomed with precision, and waxed at both ends;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His darling complexion, bewitching to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is powdered the same as a lady's might be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this is the dear whom the newspapers rude<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have scornfully treated, and christened the&mdash;&mdash;.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The mental equipment I'll tell, if I can,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Nature has given the lovely young man:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A set of emotions consistently weak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To go with a creature so gentle and meek;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A will no opposing can break or surmount<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Concerning all matters of no great account);<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A reasoning wheel, quite correctly revolved<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(When used on small questions already resolved);<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A taste for each gaudy and glistening thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That grows on the vision and dies on the wing.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Elaborate methods and principles crude<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Encompass the mental estate of the&mdash;&mdash;.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The outer habiliments hastily scan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Employed in adorning the lovely young man!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His feet two triangular cases have sought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By which his five toes to a focus are brought;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/illus03.jpg" width="450" height="583" alt="&quot;I REACHED MY HAND DOWN FOR IT AND IT STOPPED.&quot;" title="I reached my hand down for it and it stopped." />
+<p class="caption">&quot;I REACHED MY HAND DOWN FOR IT AND IT STOPPED.&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a><br /></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The sheathes that enfold his propellers within<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are on the most intimate terms with his skin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His starch-tortured collar on tip-toe appears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Desirous of learning the length of his ears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fifteen-sixteenths of his brain, very nigh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has run all to blossom and stopped in his tie.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such some of the splendors mad Fashion has strewed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All over the surface comprising the&mdash;&mdash;.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh measure the brief philological span<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the high-pressure words of the lovely young man!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"B' Jauve! you daun't sayh saw! youah playing it low!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Aw, auyn't she a daisy! I knaw her, y' knaw.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She's thweet on me, somehow, though why I dawn't say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It cawn't be my beauty, it must be my <i>way</i>!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did you notith, laust night, Chawley Johnson's neck-tie?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It paralyzed me, and I thought I should d-i-e!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He's quite a sound fellaw to talk to awhile;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's weally a pity he isn't our style!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus talks forever, with slight interlude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The creature that lately was christened a&mdash;&mdash;.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh boys! there are several hundreds of ways<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make yourselves small to the average gaze;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of which some will cost you considerably less,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Accomplishing nearly an equal success.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go purchase a gilded hand-organ some day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stand on the corner and solemnly play;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Envelop yourselves in the skin of an ape,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Assuming his methods as well, as his shape;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Submit to refined zoological charms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And carry a lap-dog about in your arms;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But <i>don't</i> let Destruction upon you intrude.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So far as to make you down into a&mdash;&mdash;.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I think I saw, a minute's half or less,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The young girl who composed this spiteful mess;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She watched me pick it up, made a half rush<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Toward me, and then retreated with a blush.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I called, before she vanished from my vision,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"My dear, I think you've lost your composition!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she dodged off, as if she seemed to doubt it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, I suppose, went on to school without it.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Pacing the question over, far and near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I think the little maid was too severe.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet Charity can roof much sin, they tell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why shouldn't it shelter foolishness as well?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When we draw rein and look about a minute,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We see no field but God is somewhere in it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He made the eagle and the lion, I've heard;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why not the monkey and the chipping-bird?<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Pavement and window and wall<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What is the cost of you all?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Parlor and boudoir and stair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Crowded with furniture rare;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gems from the mountains and seas,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Spires that out-measure the trees;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Chamber and palace and hall&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What is the price of you all?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">[<i>Voices.</i>]<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">What did we cost? Bend ear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">What did we cost? Now hear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Several millions men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">There in the field and fen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Look! they are stripped and grim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Sturdy of voice and limb.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span><span class="i6">Painfully, now, they toil<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Into the sullen soil;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Stabbing the hills and meads,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Planting the silent seeds.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Into each streaming face<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Glides the hot sun apace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">You in the thoughtful guise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">You with the dreamy eyes&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">"Why do you labor so?<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Where do your earnings go?&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"<i>A goodly part to the rulers that form the powers that be;</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>A modest part, if lucky, for my family and for me;</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>And all the rest for the splendors that fringe the river and sea.</i>"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">[<i>Voices.</i>]<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">What did we cost? Bend ear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">What did we cost? Now hear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Listen! the factory wall<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Sends out its morning call.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Hear the machinery's din;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Look at the folks within.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Child with a poor, pale face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Woman with hurried grace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Man with the look half wise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Girl with the handsome eyes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">How the long spindles whirl!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">How the rich webs unfurl!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Maid with the orbs that quiver<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">With light from "Over the River,"[1]<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Why are you toiling so?<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Where do your wages go?&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"<i>A goodly part to the owners, whoever they may be;</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>A little part to the living of those I love and me;</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>And all the rest to the cities that gem the river and sea.</i>"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">[1] As is well known, the weird, inimitable poem, "Over the River,"</span>
+was written by a factory girl.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">[<i>Voices.</i>]<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">What do we cost? Now hear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Hearken, with eye and ear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">Several thousand men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">There in the hill and glen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Forward, march! Take aim!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Fire! now a storm of flame!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Shriek and curse and shout;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Death-beds lying about.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Man with the kingly face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">There in that gory place<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Bleeding and writhing so<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">(Well a moment ago),<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Tell me, in mangled tones&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Tell us, amid your groans,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">What do they buy with war?<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">What were you fighting for?&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"<i>For country and for glory, and for the powers that be;</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>To deck with pride and honor the family dear to me;</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>And to defend our cities that gem the river and sea.</i>"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">[<i>Voices.</i>]<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">What do we cost? Bend ear:<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">No; you will never hear.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">November 1, 18&mdash;.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wind north-east; weather getting cross and cool;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wife and the children gone to Sunday-school.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I&mdash;not very well&mdash;am home again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Holding a conversation with my pen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all that I can make it say to me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is Wealth, wealth, wealth! how much I hear and see!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Strange, how, on human brains, sixteen times o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is stamped and carved the magic word of More!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some several thousands to my credit lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a small bank on Wall Street, handy by;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I can't help contriving what I'd do<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I possessed the whole Sub-Treasury too;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or if I had (to take a modest tone)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A million million dollars, all my own!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The subject took so strong a growth in me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I overtalked the same, last night, at tea;[2]<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so my oldest daughter (who can rhyme,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And strikes some notes that with her father's chime)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Became with that same foolishness possessed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So much so that it would not let her rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But hung about her bedside all the night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And brought its capabilities in sight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So much so that she threw it into verse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As bad as that her father writes&mdash;or worse.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then, with some unconscious girlish grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And blushes chasing all about her face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She, in a way I've learned to understand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quite accident'ly, slipped it in my hand.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was not made in public to appear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, privately, I'll paste it right in here:<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">[2]  Our dinner is at noon; our supper, six,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">We have not yet learned all the city tricks.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h3>IF I'D A MILLION MILLIONS.</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">If I'd a million millions&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Just think! a million millions!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What wouldn't I do&mdash;what couldn't I do&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If I'd a million millions?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From every forest's finest tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My many-gabled house should be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With silver threads from golden looms<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should be attired my palace-rooms;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My blossomed table have the best<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all the East and all the West;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My bed should be a daintier thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than ever sheltered queen or king;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What wouldn't I do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What couldn't I do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If I'd a million millions?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">If I'd a million millions&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A good, square million millions&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With gratefulness my friends should bless<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Me and my million millions!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None that had e'er befriended me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he a millionaire should be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who kindly words of me had told,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should find their silver turned to gold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he who did but just advance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sunbeam of a friendly glance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In my affliction's cloudy day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should have rich, unexpected pay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What wouldn't I do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What couldn't I do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If I'd a million millions?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">If I'd a million millions&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Just think! a million millions!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How many coals on hostile souls<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I'd heap with all my millions!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No enemy that earned my hate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should for a fiery guerdon wait;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With roses sweet I'd twine him o'er<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until the thorns should prick him sore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(How much of credit may be claimed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For <i>sweetly</i> making foes ashamed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I do not know; it may depend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On how much true love we extend);<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But love outpoured<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I could afford,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If I'd a million millions!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">An honest million millions&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Just think! a million millions!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The poor should bless the strange success<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That gave me all those millions!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd slaughter every hungry wight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within the circle of my sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And resurrect him with such food<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As should go far to make him good;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No poor-house but must bow its head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gaze at cottage walls instead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hungry paupers soon should see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A year of genuine jubilee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nought should alloy<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their perfect joy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That could be saved by millions!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Just think! a million millions!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The care of all those millions!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And after all, what would befall<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A life with all those millions?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would not the lucre clog my brain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make me hard and cold and vain?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Might not my treasure win my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make me loath with it to part?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How could I tell, by mortal sign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Betwixt my money's friends and mine?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then, the greed, and strife, and curse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The world brings round a princely purse:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Perhaps my soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon the whole,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is best, without the millions!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now comes the Christmas-tide:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love wakes on every side;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mirth smiles from every eye;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wreaths greet the passer-by.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who, full of haughty pride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Loves not the Christmas-tide?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He who, with av'rice low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cares not to joy bestow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">God save the wretch denied<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love for the Christmas-tide!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God tell his hardened heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pure joy must joy impart!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who, close to grief allied,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grieves 'mid the Christmas-tide?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She who, at Sorrow's call,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now mourns the loss of all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">God save the dear bereft&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Teach her the mercies left!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Show her that clouds may yet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lift, ere her sun be set!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who lonely must abide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All through the Christmas-tide?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He who has never known<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love-passion of his own.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So follows he his fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Friendly but desolate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So&mdash;sad&mdash;his heart must hide<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All through the Christmas-tide!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">December 25, 18&mdash;.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wind in the north-east; snow in wagon-loads;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Good sleighing everywhere on all the roads.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Family healthy, sensible, and pleasant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And each one got the proper Christmas-present.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">(At least it seems so, for they all act suited,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Santa Claus's taste hasn't been disputed.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our family room is filled with tasty mixings<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of evergreens and other woman-fixings;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The open grate makes things look rich and mellow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With good hard coals the fire has painted yellow;[3]<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pictures peep from the walls, with <i>thought</i> all through them,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That set me studying every time I view them;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's certain books upon the centre-table<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That say what I'd have said if I'd been able;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, measuring up this room with honest style,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tisn't a bad place to be in for a while.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And so I sit here, thinking, musing, dreaming,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About the world and all its curious scheming,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, full of certainty-begotten doubt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wondering what this life is all about<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(From all that I can learn I'm not to blame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For wiser men have often done the same).<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We went a mile or two, last night, to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The decorations on a Christmas-tree;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I spied, hung on that sapling's gilded arms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Things that would buy a couple good sized farms;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And just upon our way home, I should guess<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We met some fifty people, more or less,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who needed, to make passable their days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A decent share of what those farms would raise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But here's the question: should those ill-to-do<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deprive rich people of their comforts too?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because there are some people lack for bread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must others' minds and fancies go unfed?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's quite a puzzle, which I don't know whether<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My clumsy mind knows how to put together;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But one thing's sure: wants satisfied wants breed&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The more folks get, the more they seem to need.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, one man lives on what would starve another,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what is joy for you might kill your brother.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">[3]  Although <i>to me</i> it doesn't contain the charm<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Of our old, wide log fire-place on the farm.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">January 5, 18&mdash;.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Went to a skating-rink a little while,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see them slide in the new-fangled style;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, strange enough, this eve a letter came<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From a friend&mdash;Abdiel Stebbins is his name&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A cousin of my aunt, Sophia Dean;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A wise old man, but clumsy like, and green.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He's on a visit in a neighboring city,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he has been a-skating&mdash;more's the pity!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He tells it in a manner quite sincere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I think perhaps I'll paste it right in here:<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h3>[FARMER STEBBINS ON ROLLERS.]</h3>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Rochester</span>, <i>January 4.</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Dear Cousin John:</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We got here safe&mdash;my worthy wife an' me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' put up at James Sunnyhopes'&mdash;a pleasant place to be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' Isabel, his oldest girl, is home from school just now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' pets me with her manners all her young man will allow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' his good wife has monstrous sweet an' culinary ways:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a summery place to pass a few cold winter days.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Besides, I've various cast-iron friends in different parts o' town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That's always glad to have me call whenever I come down;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But t'other day, when 'mongst the same I undertook to roam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I could not find a single one that seemed to be to home!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' when I asked their whereabouts, the answer was, "I think,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you're a-goin' down that way, you'll find 'em at the Rink."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I asked what night the Lyceum folks would hold their next debate&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(I've sometimes gone an' helped 'em wield the cares of Church an' State),<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' if protracted meetin's now was holdin' anywhere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(I like to get my soul fed up with fresh celestial fare);<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or when the next church social was; they'd give a knowin' wink,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' say, "I b'lieve there's nothin' now transpirin' but the Rink."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"What is this 'Rink?'" I innocent inquired, that night at tea.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Oh, you must go," said Isabel, "this very night with me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Mrs. Stebbins she must go, an' skate there with us, too!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My wife replied, "My dear, just please inform me when I do.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But you two go." An' so we went, an' saw a circus there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With which few sights I've ever struck will anyways compare.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It seems a good-sized meetin'-house had given up its pews<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(The church an' pastor had resigned, from spiritual blues),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' several acres of the floor was made a skatin' ground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where folks of every shape an' size went skippin' round an' round;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' in the midst a big brass band was helpin' on the fun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' everything was gay as sixteen weddin's joined in one.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I've seen small insects crazy-like go circlin' through the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' wondered if they thought some time they'd maybe get somewhere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've seen a million river-bugs go scootin' round an' round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' wondered what 'twas all about, or what they'd lost or found;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But men an' women, boys an' girls, upon a hard-wood floor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All whirlin' round like folks possessed, I never saw before.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' then it straight came back to me, the things I'd read an' heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About the rinks, an' how their ways was wicked an' absurd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd learned somewhere that skatin' wasn't a healthy thing to do&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But there was Doctor Saddlebags&mdash;his fam'ly with him, too!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd heard that 'twasn't a proper place for Christian folks to seek&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Old Deacon Perseverance Jinks flew past me like a streak!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then Sister Is'bel Sunnyhopes put on a pair o' skates,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' started off as if she'd run through several different States.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My goodness! how that gal showed up! I never did opine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That she could twist herself to look so charmin' an' so fine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then a fellow that she knew took hold o' hands with her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sort o' double crossways like, an' helped her, as it were.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><i>I</i> used to skate; an' 'twas a sport of which I once was fond.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why, I could write my autograph on Tompkins' saw-mill pond.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of course to slip on runners, that is one thing, one may say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' movin' round on casters is a somewhat different way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when the fun that fellow had came flashin' to my eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I says, "I'm young again; by George, I'll skate once more or die!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A little boy a pair o' skates to fit my boots soon found&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He had to put 'em on for me (I weigh three hundred pound);<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' then I straightened up an' says, "Look here, you younger chaps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You think you're runnin' some'at past us older heads, perhaps.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If this young lady here to me will trust awhile her fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll go around a dozen times an' show you how to skate."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She was a niceish, plump young gal, I'd noticed quite a while,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' she reached out her hands with 'most too daughterly a smile;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But off we pushed with might an' main; when all to once the wheels<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Departed suddenly above, an' took along my heels;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My head assailed the floor as if 'twas tryin' to get through,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' all the stars I ever saw arrived at once in view.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Twas sing'lar (as not quite unlike a saw-log there I lay)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How many of the other folks was goin' that same way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They stumbled over me in one large animated heap,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' formed a pile o' legs an' arms not far from ten foot deep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But after they had all climbed off, in rather fierce surprise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I lay there like a saw-log still&mdash;considerin' how to rise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then, dignified I rose, with hands upon my ample waist,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' then sat down again with large and very painful haste;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' rose again, and started off to find a place to rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then on my gentle stomach stood, an' tore my meetin' vest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Sister Sunnyhopes slid up as trim as trim could be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' she an' her young fellow took compassionate charge o' me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then after I'd got off the skates an' flung 'em out o' reach,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I rose, while all grew hushed an' still, an' made the followin' speech:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"My friends, I've struck a small idea (an' struck it pretty square),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which physic'ly an' morally will some attention bear:<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/illus04.jpg" width="450" height="609" alt="&quot;...WHEN ALL TO ONCE THE WHEELS
+DEPARTED SUDDENLY ABOVE, AN&#39; TOOK ALONG MY HEELS.&quot;" title="When all to once the wheels departed" />
+<p class="caption">&quot;...WHEN ALL TO ONCE THE WHEELS
+DEPARTED SUDDENLY ABOVE, AN&#39; TOOK ALONG MY HEELS.&quot;</p>
+</div><p><br />
+</p>
+<p><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a><br /></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Those who their balance can preserve are safe here any day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' those who can't, I rather think, had better keep away."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then I limped out with very strong unprecedented pains,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' hired a horse at liberal rates to draw home my remains;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' lay abed three days, while wife laughed at an' nursed me well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' used up all the arnica two drug-stores had to sell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' when Miss Is'bel Sunnyhopes said, "Won't you skate some more?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I answered, "Not while I remain on this terrestrial shore."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 329px;">
+<img src="images/illus05.jpg" width="329" height="250" alt="FARMER STEBBINS ON ROLLERS." title="Farmer Stebbins on rollers." />
+<p class="caption">FARMER STEBBINS ON ROLLERS.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>WANT.</h2>
+
+
+<h3>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h3>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">February 5, 18&mdash;.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Want&mdash;want&mdash;want&mdash;want! O God! forgive the crime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I, asleep, awake, at any time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon my bended knees, my back, my feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In church, on bed, on treasure-lighted street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have ever <i>hinted</i>, or, much less, have pleaded<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I hadn't ten times over all I needed!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lord save my soul! I never knew the way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That people starve along from day to day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May gracious Heaven forgive me, o'er and o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I have never found these folks before!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of course some news of it has come my way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a faint echo on a drowsy day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At home I "gave," whene'er by suffering grieved,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And called it "Charity," and felt relieved;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thought that I was never undertasked,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I bestowed when with due deference asked.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But no one finds the <i>poorest poor</i>, I doubt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unless he goes himself and hunts them out;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when you get <i>real suffering</i> among,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be thankful if your heart-strings are not wrung!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">These thoughts sobbed through me this cold, snowy day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As carefully I picked a dubious way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Mongst nakedness and want on every side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a rough, masculine angel for my guide,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who goes about among affliction's heirs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gives his life to piece out some of theirs.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up&mdash;up&mdash;up&mdash;up! and yet, I am afraid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Farther from Heaven at every step we made!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gaunt, hungry creatures stood on every side<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With cheeks drawn close and sad eyes opened wide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Filled to the brim with greedy, starving prayers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As we went past them up the creaking stairs.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And I peeped into rooms 'twas death to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Or, rather, they peeped darkly out at me)&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such as I wouldn't have had the cheek to 've shown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To any swine I've ever chanced to own.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas sad to see, in this great misery-cup,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How guilt and innocence were all mixed up:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here lay a fellow, stupid, dull, and dumb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose breath was like a broken keg of rum;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there a baby, looking scared and odd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who had not been a week away from God.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here a clean woman, toiling for her bread;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there a wretch whose dirty heart was dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here a sound rascal, lazy, loud, and bold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there the helpless, weak and sick and old.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Want&mdash;want! O Lord! forgive me, o'er and o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I haven't found these suffering folks before!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We had a decent poor-house in our town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I would often drive my spare horse down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And take a little stroll among them there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And try to cheer their every-day despair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with their little wants and worries join,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And chink round 'mongst them with small bits of coin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Done up in good advice, somewhat severe),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And send them Christmas turkeys every year;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, in my cosy home, think, with a grin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What a fine, liberal angel I had been.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But here, O heavens! I find them, high and low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hundreds of pauper-houses in a row!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And suffering&mdash;suffering&mdash;in a shape, I vow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That makes my poor old tears run even now!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For city trouble, any one will find,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is more ingenious than the country kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And has a thousand cute-invented ways<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To torture men and shorten off their days.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And while we wonder that God made it so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He doesn't seem very anxious we should know;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But He is willing we should search His plan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And pry around and find out all we can;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I suspect, when pains and troubles fall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That every one is useful, after all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At any rate, the miseries that I see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are useful in their good effects on me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though that isn't a great thing, on the whole<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Though Heaven <i>does</i> put a premium on each soul),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet there are several people, I suspect,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who need a little of that same effect;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if they do not get it, old and young,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twill be because I've lost my poor old tongue.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">One more small portion of God's plan I see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Concerning its effect on "even me:"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that's its leading me, by methods queer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be some help to these poor people here.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For now I promise, from this very night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hereby put it down in black and white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That out of every day that's given me yet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And out of every dollar I can get,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And out of every talent, small or large,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That God sees fit to put into my charge,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A part shall be devoted&mdash;square and sure&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To God's own suffering, struggling, dying poor!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Poverty, why wast thou born<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the world's earliest morn?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why hast thou lived all the years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sowing thy pains and thy tears?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Roaming about thou art seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Crooked, decrepit, and lean;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Travelling all the world through&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suffering's "wandering Jew."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thin and unkempt is thy hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fleshless as parchment thy cheek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sad and ungainly thine air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hollow the words thou dost speak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bony and grasping thy hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dreary thy days in the land.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poverty, why wast thou born<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under the world's quiet scorn?<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Poverty, thou hast been seen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clad in a comelier mien.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oft, to the clear-seeing eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art a saint in disguise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Discipline rich thou hast brought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lessons of labor and thought.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oft, in thy dreariest night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Virtue gleams sturdy and bright;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oft, from thy scantiest hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grow the beginnings of power;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oft, 'mongst thy squalors and needs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Live such magnificent deeds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As the proud angels will crown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There in their gold-streeted town;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oft, from thy high garrets, throng<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Notes of magnificent song,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, from sad day unto day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Float through the ages away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poverty&mdash;brave or forlorn&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God knoweth why thou wast born.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">February 12, 18&mdash;.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wind in the South; a fresh, sweet, winter day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twould have been sad to see it go away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If 'twere not that the sunset's signal-lights<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Glimmered awhile across the Jersey heights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, lightly dancing o'er the river, came<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And set some New York windows all aflame.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(From a clear sunset I can always borrow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God's sweet half promise of a fair to-morrow.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But, while I gazed upon that splendid sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My mind <i>would</i> take a heavy, care-winged flight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up to a small back garret, far away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where I had stood at two o'clock to-day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Want&mdash;want&mdash;want&mdash;want! it hung 'round everywhere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It threw its odors on the sickly air!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The room was somewhat smaller, to begin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than I would put a span of horses in;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The floor was rough and damp as floor could be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No picture on the walls but Poverty;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bed was ragged, scanty, hard, and drear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A rough-made, empty crib was standing near;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The "window" 'd never felt the sun's warm stare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or breathed a breath of good old-fashioned air;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 405px;">
+<img src="images/illus06.jpg" width="405" height="600" alt="&quot;YES, IT&#39;S STRAIGHT AND TRUE, GOOD PREACHER, EVERY WORD THAT YOU HAVE SAID.&quot;" title="Yes, it&#39;s straight and true, Good Preacher, every word that you have said." />
+<span class="caption">&quot;YES, IT&#39;S STRAIGHT AND TRUE, GOOD PREACHER, EVERY WORD THAT YOU HAVE SAID.&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A little, worn-out doll some child had had,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looking, like its surroundings, rough and sad,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And dressed in rags and pinched and famine-faced,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But bearing still some marks of girlish taste;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A gaunt, gray kitten, showing every sign<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That it was on the last life of its nine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though trying hard to feel quite sleek and fat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not a very care-worn, desolate cat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A man, so grieved my heart can see him now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With frightful sorrow printed on his brow;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A rough, wood coffin stood there near the bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looking uneasy even for the dead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A little, pallid face I saw therein&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A niceish-looking child she must have been,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As sweet as ever need to feed a glance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If she had only had one-half a chance.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But still, she woke a thought I could not smother&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"That child was murdered in some way or other."[4]<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And my opinion didn't seem much amiss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the man spoke up, something like to this:<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">[4]  All this, above the shoulder, I could see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Of an old preacher who had come with me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">A man who, 'mongst those garrets, earns, they say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">A house and lot in heaven every day.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>[THAT SWAMP OF DEATH.]</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yes, it's straight and true, good Preacher, every word that you have said;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do not think these tears unmanly&mdash;they're the first ones I have shed!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But they kind o' beat and pounded 'gainst my aching heart and brain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And they would not be let go of, and they gave me extra pain.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I am just a laboring man, sir&mdash;work for food and rags and sleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I hardly know the meaning of the life I slave to keep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I know when times are cheery, or my heart is made of lead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know sorrow when I see it, and&mdash;I know my girl is dead!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No, she isn't much to look at&mdash;just a plainish bit of clay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the sort of perished children that die 'round here every day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And how <i>she</i> could break a heart up you'd be slow to understand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she held <i>mine</i>, Mr. Preacher, in that little withered hand!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There are lots of prettier children, with a face and form more fine&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let their parents love and pet them&mdash;but <i>this</i> little one was <i>mine</i>!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was no one else to cling to when we two were torn apart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And it's death&mdash;this amputation of the strong arms of the heart!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I am just an ignorant man, sir, of the kind that digs and delves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I've learned that human beings cannot stay in by themselves;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They will reach out after something, be it good or be it bad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my heart on hers had settled, and&mdash;the girl was all I had!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="floatl">
+<img src="images/illus07.jpg" alt="&quot;Choked and strangled by the foul breath of the chimneys over there.&quot;"
+   title="&quot;Choked and strangled by the foul breath of the chimneys over there.&quot;" />
+<p class="caption">&quot;CHOKED AND STRANGLED BY THE FOUL BREATH OF THE CHIMNEYS OVER THERE.&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yes, it's solid, Mr. Preacher, every word<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">that you have said&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God loves children while they're living,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">and adopts them when they're dead;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But I cannot help contriving, do the very best I can,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That it wasn't God's mercy took her, but the selfishness of man!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why, she lay here, faint and gasping, moaning for a bit of air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Choked and strangled by the foul breath of the chimneys over there;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It climbed through every window, and crept under every door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I tried to bar against it, and she only choked the more.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/illus08.jpg" width="292" height="300"
+  alt="&quot;OH, THE AIR IS PURE AND WHOLESOME WHERE SOME BABIES COO AND REST,
+    AND THEY TRIM THEM OUT WITH RIBBONS, AND THEY FEED THEM WITH THE BEST.&quot;"
+  title="Oh, the air is pure and wholesome where some babies
+coo and rest" />
+<p class="caption">&quot;OH, THE AIR IS PURE AND WHOLESOME WHERE SOME BABIES COO AND REST,
+AND THEY TRIM THEM OUT WITH RIBBONS, AND THEY FEED THEM WITH THE BEST.&quot;</p>
+</div><p><br />
+</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She would lie there, with the old look that poor children somehow get;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She had learned to use her patience, and she did not cry or fret,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But would lift her little face up, so piteous and so fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And would whisper, "<i>I am dying for a little breath of air!</i>"<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If she'd gone off through the sunlight, 'twouldn't have seemed so hard to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or among the fresh cool breezes that come sweeping from the sea;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But it's nothing less than murder when my darling's every breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chokes and strangles with the poison from that chimney swamp of death!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, it's not enough those people own the very ground we tread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the shelter that we crouch in, and the tools that earn our bread;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They must place their blotted mortgage on the air and on the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shut out our little heaven, till our children pine and die!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, the air is pure and wholesome where <i>some</i> babies coo and rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And they trim them out with ribbons, and they feed them with the best;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the love they bear is mockery to the gracious God on high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If to give those children luxuries some one else's child must die!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, we wear the cheapest clothing, and our meals are scant and brief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And perhaps those fellows fancy there's a cheaper grade of grief;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the people all around here, losing children, friends, and mates,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can inform them that <i>Affliction hasn't any under-rates</i>.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I'm no grumbler at the rulers of "this free and happy land,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I don't go 'round explaining things I do not understand;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I know there's something treacherous in the working of the law,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>When we get a dose of poison out of every breath we draw</i>.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I have talked too much, good Preacher, and I hope you won't be vexed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But <i>I'm</i> going to make a sermon with that white face for a text;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I'll preach it, and I'll preach it, till I set the people wild<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'er the heartless, reckless grasping of the men who killed my child!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Still do I write&mdash;day-time and night&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That which I see in my leisurely flight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What is this sign that is claiming the sight?&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Lodgings within here, at five cents per night!"<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let me examine this cheap-entered nest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pay my five cents, and go in with the rest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let me jot down with sly pen, but sincere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What, in this garret, I see, smell, and hear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great, gloomy den! where, on close-clustered shelves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shelterless wretches can shelter themselves;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pestilence-drugged is the murderous air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full of the breathings of want and despair!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Horrible place!&mdash;where The Crushed Race<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Winces 'neath Poverty's dolefullest blight&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bivouac of suffering, sin, and disgrace:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What can you look for, at five cents per night?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hustle them in, jostle them in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Many of nation, and divers of kin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sallow, and yellow, and tawny of skin&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hustle them, bustle them, jostle them in!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Handfuls of withered but suffering clay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swept from the East by oppression away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Baffled adventurers, conquered and pressed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Back from the gates of the glittering West;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men who with indolence, folly, and guile<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Carelessly slighted Prosperity's smile;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men who have struggled 'gainst Destiny's frown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Inch after inch, till she hunted them down.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Scores in a tier&mdash;pile them up here&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Many of peoples and divers of kin;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Drift of the nations, from far and from near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hustle them, bustle them, jostle them in!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Islands of green, mistily seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hover in visions these sleepers between;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beautiful memories, cozy and clean,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Restfully precious, and sweetly serene.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Womanly kisses have softened the brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lying in drunken bewilderment now;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Infantile faces have cuddled for rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here on this savage and rag-covered breast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lucky the wretch who, in Poverty's ways,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bears not the burden of "happier days:"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Many a midnight is gloomier yet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the remembrance of stars that have set!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Echoes of pain, drearily plain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come of old melodies sweet and serene;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Images sad to the heart and the brain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rise out of memories cozy and green.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hustle them in, bustle them in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fetid with squalor, and reeking with gin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Loaded with misery, folly, and sin&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hustle them, bustle them, jostle them in!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Few are the sorrows so hopelessly drear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But they have sad representatives here;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never a crime so complete and confessed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But has come hither for one night of rest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seeds that the thorns of diseases may bear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Float on the putrid and smoke-laden air;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ghosts of destruction are haunting each breath&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soft-stepping agents, commissioned by Death.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Crowd them in rows, comrades or foes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deadened with liquor and deafened with din,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fugitives out of the frosts and the snows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hustle them, bustle them, jostle them in!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 472px;">
+<img src="images/illus09.jpg" width="472" height="600" alt="&quot;WEARY OLD MAN WITH THE SNOW-DRIFTED HAIR,
+NOT BY YOUR FAULT ARE YOU SUFFERING THERE.&quot;" title="Weary old man with the snow-drifted hair" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;WEARY OLD MAN WITH THE SNOW-DRIFTED HAIR,
+NOT BY YOUR FAULT ARE YOU SUFFERING THERE.&quot;</span>
+</div><p><br />
+</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Guilt has not pressed unto its breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All who are taking this dingy unrest:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Innocence often is Misery's guest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sorrow may strike at the brightest and best.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You from whom hope, but not feeling, has fled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is your refuge from pauperhood's bed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Timorous lad with a sensitive face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You have no record of crime and disgrace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Weary old man with the snow-drifted hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not by your fault are you suffering there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never a child of your cherishing nigh&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis not for sin you so drearily die.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pain, in all lands, smites with two hands&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Guilty and good may encounter the test;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Misery's cord is of different strands;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sorrow may strike at the brightest and best.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sympathy's tear, warm and sincere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cannot but glisten while lingering near.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Edge not away, sir, in horror of fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These are your brothers&mdash;this family here!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What if Misfortune had made <i>you</i> forlorn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With her stiletto as well as her scorn?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What if some fiend had been making <i>you</i> sure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With more temptation than flesh could endure?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What if you deep in the slums had been born,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cradled in villany, christened in scorn?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What if your toys had been tainted with crime?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What if your baby hands dabbled in slime?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Judge them with ruth. Maybe, in truth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is not they, but their luck, that is here.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fancy <i>your</i> growth from a sin-nurtured youth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pity their weakness, and give them a tear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Help them get out; help them keep out!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Labor to teach them what life is about;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Give them a hand unencumbered with doubt;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feed them and clothe them, but pilot them out!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mortals depraved, whatsoe'er they have been,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soonest can mend from assistance <i>within</i>.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Warm them and feed them&mdash;they're beasts, even then;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Teach them and love them&mdash;they grow into men.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You who 'mid luxuries costly and grand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Decorate homes with munificent hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Use, in some measure, your exquisite arts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the improvement of minds and of hearts.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lilies must grow up from below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the strong rootlets are twining about;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Goodness and honesty ever must flow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the heart-centres&mdash;to blossom without.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">February</span> 28, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wind in the west; no symptoms of a thaw;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The coldest, bleakest day I ever saw.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I'm housed up, with nothing much to do<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Except to read the papers through and through.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Died of starvation!"&mdash;what does this all mean?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stores of provisions everywhere are seen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Died of starvation!"&mdash;here's the place and name<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Right in the paper; let us blush for shame!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This city <i>wastes</i> what any one would call<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nine hundred times enough to feed us all;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet folks die in garret, hut, and street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Simply because there isn't enough to eat!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, heavens! there runs a great big Norway rat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sleek as a banker, and almost as fat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He daily breakfasts, dines, and sups, and thrives<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On what would save a pair of human lives;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He rears a family with his own fat features,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On food we lock up from our fellow-creatures;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And human beings fall down by the way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And die for want of food, this very day!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Frozen to death!"&mdash;the worse than useless moth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May feed, this year, on bales and bales of cloth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Untouched, ten million tons of coal can lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While God's own human beings freeze and die!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Died of starvation!"&mdash;waves of golden wheat<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All summer dashed and glistened at our feet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dull, senseless grain is stored in buildings high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And God's own human beings starve and die!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I would not rob from rich men what they earn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I would have them sweet compassion learn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, do not Pity's gentle voice defy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While God's own human beings starve and die!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div>
+<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">March</span> 5, 18&mdash;.<br /></span>
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Died of starvation!&mdash;yes, it has been done;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To-day I've seen a hunger-murdered one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who had a perfect right, it seemed to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mistress of a happy home to be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet we found her on a ragged bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One white arm underneath a shapely head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her long, bright hair was lying, fold on fold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like finest threads spun from a bar of gold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her face was chiselled after beauty's style,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And want had not hewn out its witching smile;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas like white marble half endowed with breath&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The face of this sweet maiden&mdash;starved to death!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not far from where she lay, so sadly lone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her calendar, or "diary," was thrown;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They let me have it when the law had read<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This plaintive, girlish message from the dead.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">It doesn't look well among these notes to stay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of one who feeds on blessings every day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I will put it in here, for my heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To look at when I feel too proud and smart!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>A SEWING-GIRL'S DIARY.</h3>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">February</span> 1, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Here&mdash;am I here?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or is it fancy, born of fear?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yes&mdash;O God, save me!&mdash;this is I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not some wretch of whom I've read,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In that bright girlhood, when the sky<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each night strewed star-dust o'er my head;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When each morn meant a gala-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all my little world was gay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I had not felt the touch of Care;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd heard of something called Despair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But knew it only by its name.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(How far it seemed!&mdash;how soon it came!)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yes, all the bright years hurried by;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sorrow was near, and&mdash;this is I!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Is't the same girl that stood, one night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There in the wide hall's thrilling light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With all the costly robes astir<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That love and pride had bought for her?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How the great crowd, 'mid their kind din,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gazed with gaunt eyes and drank me in!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then they hushed at each low word,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So Death himself might have been heard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To hear me mournfully rehearse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tender Hood's pathetic verse<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About the woman who, half dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stitched her frail life in every thread.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How little then I knew the need!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet for my own sex I did plead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my heart crept on each word's track<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till soft sobs from the crowd came back.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 425px;">
+<img src="images/illus10.jpg" width="375" height="600" alt="&quot;IS&#39;T THE SAME GIRL THAT STOOD, ONE NIGHT,
+THERE IN THE WIDE HALL&#39;S THRILLING LIGHT?&quot;" title="Is&#39;t the same girl that stood, one night" />
+<p class="caption">&quot;IS&#39;T THE SAME GIRL THAT STOOD, ONE NIGHT,
+THERE IN THE WIDE HALL&#39;S THRILLING LIGHT?&quot;</p>
+</div><p><br />
+</p>
+
+<p><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a><br /></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I saw my sister, streaming-eyed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet bearing still a face of pride:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, sister! when you looked at me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With that quick yearning glance of love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did you peer on, to what might be&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>What is?</i>&mdash;and is it known above?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When that great throng a shout did raise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gave me words of heart-felt praise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And loving eyes their incense burned<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till my young girlish head was turned&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did your clear eye see farther then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A moment past all mortal ken,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the dreary scene I drew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did my own form appear to you?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It might have been; grief was o'er-nigh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;God, have pity!&mdash;this is I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Treading a steep and dang'rous way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;earning twenty cents a day!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">February</span> 5, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Father, this is the time we hailed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As your bright birthday. We ne'er failed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To throng about with love's fond arts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bring you presents from our hearts;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your pleasure filled our day with bliss;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh what a different one from this!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My love, my father! how you stood<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twixt me and all that was not good!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How, each o'er-hurried breath I drew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My girl-heart turned and clung to you!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How near comes back that dismal day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You sat, sad-faced, with naught to say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From morn till night! I did not dare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even to ask to soothe your care;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I knew it was too sadly grand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To feel the light touch of my hand.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah! friends you loved had gone astray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And swept our competence away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And oh, I strove so hard to save<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your honored gray hairs from the grave!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Too late! your sun went down o'er-soon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clouded, in life's mid-afternoon.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You guarded me with patience rare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From e'en the shadow of a care;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You called me "Princess;" and my room<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was dressed as palaces might be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;here I am amid this gloom<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That mocks, insults, and murders me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Striving a garret's rent to pay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;earning twenty cents a day!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">February</span> 20, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I cannot well afford to write&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My fingers are in call elsewhere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I must voice my black despair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or I should die before 'twas night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have no mother now to call,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seek her heart, and tell her all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, Mother! well I know you rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In yonder heaven, serene and blest:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How sadly, strangely sweet 'twould be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To know you knew and pitied me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet I would not have you dream<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">E'en of the dagger's faintest gleam<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That's pointing at my maiden breast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rest on, sweet mother, sweetly rest!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And still I feel your loving art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sometimes upon my aching heart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That night I stood upon the pier,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the gray river swept so near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And glanced up at me in a way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some one with friendly voice might say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Come to my arms and rest, poor girl."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I leaned down with head awhirl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And heart so heavy it might sink<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Me underneath the river's brink,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A hand I could not feel or see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Drew me away and fondled me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A voice I felt, unheard, though near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said, "Wait! you must not enter here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And press against me with one stain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poor girl, not long you need remain!"<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/illus11.jpg" width="600" height="386" alt="&quot;AND HATEFUL HUNGER HAS COME IN.&quot;" title="And hateful hunger has come in." />
+<span class="caption">&quot;AND HATEFUL HUNGER HAS COME IN.&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But, O sweet mother! I must write<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The words that would be said to-night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you could hold my tired head here!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot see one gleam of cheer;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is a garret room, so bleak<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cold air stings my fading cheek;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fireless my room, my garb is thin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hateful Hunger has come in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And says, "Toil on, you foolish one!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You shall be mine when all is done."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two days and nights of pain and dread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've gnawed upon a crust of bread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(For what scant nourishment 'twould give)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So hard, I could not eat and live!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O mother! I to God shall pray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This tale in heaven may ne'er be told;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For you are where whole streets are gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I&mdash;earn twenty cents a day!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">February</span> 22, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He never loved me. For no one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could love and do as he has done.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How my heart clung and clung to him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">E'en when respect and faith grew dim;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His lightest touch could thrill me so!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Weak girl, 'twas hard to bid him go.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though wayward was his heart I knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would have sworn that he was true!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, how I loved him! or maybe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Loved some one that I thought was he.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They brought me&mdash;what? his mangled corse?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would God they had! They brought me worse.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I saw one who should bear his name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One whose pale face was fiercely grieved,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One whom he wantonly deceived,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And sentenced to a life of shame.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That was the end. I could not wed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A man whose nobler self was dead.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O, man!&mdash;a brave and god-like race,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But you can be so vile and base!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when there is no urgent need,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You can protect us well indeed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when adversity is near,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the wave breaks upon our head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When we are crushed with want and dread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then we have most from you to fear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why do men strangely look me o'er<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I their mercy need the more?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do they not know a girl may taste<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dregs of want and yet be chaste?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should woman sell her soul away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To save its manacles of clay?<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">February</span> 23, 1885.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All honest means of life have failed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The small accomplishments I've tried<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That pleased friends in my days of pride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are naught; but vice has not prevailed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, thank Heaven, should not, though my heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were torn a thousand times apart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But God shield helpless girls alway<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who live on twenty cents a day!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">February</span> 24, 1885.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Weak, weak, still weaker do I grow:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My mournful fate I can but know;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God, keep me not long here, I pray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To toil&mdash;on twenty cents a day!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">February</span> 26, 1885.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, horrors! is it&mdash;is it true<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What I have read?&mdash;if I but knew!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, God, tell me where can I fly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not to be found when I shall die!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They say dead waifs are oft by night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Robbed of a decent burial's right;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That fiends the friendless bodies bear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To crowds of waiting students, where<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men tear them up for men to see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, God, sweet God, do pity me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I will humbly pray to men:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If this should come within the ken<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of one who lives a true-loved life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of one who sister has, or wife;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One who loves women for the best<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That is in them, whose lips have pressed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pure, genuine lips, whom women trust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose heart is free from loathsome lust;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One whom I would have loved if he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brother or husband were to me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I ask you&mdash;nay, I do command<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With that imperiousness you so<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like from a white and shapely hand&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I <i>order</i> you&mdash;but no, no, no;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am past that&mdash;I humbly pray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That you will see that I unmarred<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have Christian burial. Guard, oh guard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You men with manly hearts and souls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My poor dead body from the ghouls!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I strove alway to keep it pure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As the soul in me; it has been<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Type of the thoughts that lived within,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The white slave of what shall endure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My spirit's loved though humble mate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let none its white limbs desecrate!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Weaker&mdash;yet weaker&mdash;'tis to die<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This sharp pain bids me. Ah! good-bye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">World that I was too weak for&mdash;<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">March</span> 10, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Back from a journey; mournful, it is true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But mingled with a deep-down sweetness, too.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After the law with that poor girl was done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I found permission with the proper one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, though such things by law could not occur,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In my heart-family I adopted her.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Help much too late to benefit her, living&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's that way with a good share of our giving!)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, with a father's love, "Poor girl!" I said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"You shall have all that I can give you, dead!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I found, by lightning inquiries I made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The graveyard where her own loved ones were laid;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I had her body tenderly removed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And placed among the dear ones that she loved,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With all the honor that the poor, sweet child<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would have if Fortune still upon her smiled.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when once more the flowers of summer blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My wife and daughters and myself will go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make the sad but grateful duty ours<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see her last earth-dwelling roofed with flowers.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="FIRE" id="FIRE"></a>FIRE.</h2>
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">March</span> 15, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fire!&mdash;fire!&mdash;fire!&mdash;fire!&mdash;it sets me in a craze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see a first-class building all ablaze;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A burning house resembles, when I'm nigh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some old acquaintance just about to die;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For structures that a person often sees<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look some like human beings&mdash;same as trees.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(There used to be some trees on my old place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I'd know anywhere&mdash;just by their face.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when, last night, some bells began to cry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And big fire-engines rushed and rattled by,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In just three minutes down the stairs I strode,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hurried&mdash;somewhat dressed&mdash;into the road<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Partly to help a bit, if so might be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And partly, I suppose, to hear and see).<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was a dark and thunder-stormy night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There wasn't one inch of honest sky in sight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great black-finned clouds were swimming through the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now and then their lightning-eyes would glare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, like a lot of cannon far away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some peals of thunder came from o'er the bay.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas one of those strange nights I can't explain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That make you think they're just a-going to rain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But never do&mdash;save now and then a trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a small drop comes dashing on your face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One of those nights that try to keep you vexed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wondering as to what will happen next.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I like such times: they kind of draw me nearer<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To things unseen, and make all mystery clearer.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I ran like sin, and reached the fire at last:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A good-sized church was going, pretty fast.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(I'd noticed it a hundred times or more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And several times had stepped inside the door.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The burglar flames within had prowled around<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A long time previous to their being found,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till they had gained such foothold and such might<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They'd turned to robbers&mdash;stealing plain in sight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dome and spires had on them flags of red;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They soon came thundering down from overhead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It looked as if infernal spirits came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To take this church away, in smoke and flame!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I wondered, in that wild, expensive glare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How many of the home-robbed flock were there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see the shelter where their souls had fed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swept from existence by that broom of red.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here was the family pew, so long time prized;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was the font where they had been baptized;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here was the altar, where one day they stood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Started for Heaven, and promised to be good;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or where they'd wept around some cherished love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who'd "taken a letter" to The Church above.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And still I thought, as my eyes soulward turned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How many things there are that can't be burned;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But still we cling, and cling, and hate to part<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the place where we found them on the start.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A sneerish sort of fellow stood by me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And said, "To such extent as I can see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When churches get afire, by night or day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Lord stands still and lets 'em burn away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If this is His abode beyond a doubt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why doesn't He raise his hand and put it out?"<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Said I, "Young man, please do not try to aid<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With your advice the mighty Power that made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What little there is of you. There are still<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Schemes you don't comprehend, and never will.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You're talented, I think; but no one cares<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To have you help the Lord in His affairs.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why, probably, right where that church has stood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There'll soon be built another, twice as good;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some mean, tight insurance company will<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perhaps be made to pay more'n half the bill.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Lord knows, in these fool-confounding scenes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When to rebuild, and where to get the means."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He turned away his head exceeding far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lit a little bit of white cigar;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But gave, "to such extent as I could see,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No more of his theology to me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm none too good; but when men jeer and flout,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I like to have them know what they're about.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<h3>WHEN PROMETHEUS STOLE THE FLAME.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When Prometheus stole the flame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did he know what with it came?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did he look afar and see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the blessings that would be?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could he view the gentle gloam<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the fireside of a home?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or the centre-table's blaze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turning evenings into days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where, encamped with quiet zest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Happy children toil and rest?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did he view the parlor's gleam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or the 'wildering palace dream?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See the torch's floating glare<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Burn its way through walls of air;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or, through under-regions trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Earth's remotest hiding-place?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did he see the flags of steam<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'er the cities flash and gleam?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To his vision, like a star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did the light-house gleam afar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which another eye should be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the traveller of the sea?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If Prometheus, tortured&mdash;bound&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Knew the blessings man had found,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then his sufferings must have been<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soothed by blessings from within.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When Prometheus stole the flame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did he know what with it came?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did he see the fire up-steal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rise, and take its midnight meal?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did he view the palace wall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stumble 'mid the smoke and fall?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did he see some cherished home<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feed a fiery ocean's foam?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did he hear the war-alarms<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a nation called to arms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And behold men, in their ire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Murdering men with bolts of fire?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did some miscreant cross his sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bent on booty or on spite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stealing steps into the dark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the incendiary spark?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did there, faint and haggard, rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ghosts before his startled eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Godly men of scathless name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Felled for fuel to the flame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a short-lived earthly hell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thrown, for voicing heaven too well?<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If he knew that glittering thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would to Earth such curses bring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then his sufferings may have been<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Edged with poison from within.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">March</span> 20, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Somehow, the fire I saw not long ago<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has subsequently chased me, high and low;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Runs back and forth betwixt my head and heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shows no disposition to depart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And so I've wandered 'round (too much, perhaps),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And got acquainted with the fireman chaps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And planted good cigars where they would seem<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Inclined to grow up helpful to my scheme.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(I never smoke; but, travelling near and far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's few things help one like a good cigar;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When safe between a neighbor's teeth 'tis hung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It oils his ways and loosens up his tongue.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I get more from cigars, before it's through,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than all the fellows that I give them to.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perhaps they should not smoke; but, if they will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My method helps their families foot the bill.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not long ago a sturdy fireman lad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who smoked up every last cigar I had,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unrolled the following story to my view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which I believe (conditionally) true:<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>"FLASH:" THE FIREMAN'S STORY.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Flash" was a white-foot sorrel, an' run on Number Three:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not much stable manners&mdash;an average horse to see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Notional in his methods&mdash;strong in loves an' hates;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not very much respected, or popular 'mongst his mates;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></div></div>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dull an' moody an' sleepy, an' "off" on quiet days;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full o' turbulent, sour looks, an' small, sarcastic ways;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scowled an' bit at his partner, an' banged the stable floor&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With other means intended to designate life a bore.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 304px;">
+<img src="images/illus12.jpg" width="304" height="300" alt="&quot;HE BEGGED THAT HORSE&#39;S PARDON UPON HIS BENDED KNEES.&quot;" title="He begged that horse&#39;s pardon upon his bended knees." />
+<span class="caption">&quot;HE BEGGED THAT HORSE&#39;S PARDON UPON HIS BENDED KNEES.&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But when, be't day or night time, he heard the alarm-bell ring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He'd rush for his place in the harness with a regular tiger spring;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' watch, with nervous shivers, the clasp of buckle an' band,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until 'twas plainly evident he'd like to lend a hand.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' when the word was given, away he would rush an' tear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if a thousand witches was rumplin' up his hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' craze the other horses with his magnetic charm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till every hoof-beat sounded a regular fire-alarm!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Never a horse a jockey would notice an' admire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like Flash in front of his engine a-runnin' to a fire;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never a horse so lazy, so dawdlin', an' so slack,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As Flash upon his return trip, a-drawin' the engine back.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now, when the different horses gets tender-footed an' old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They're no use in our business; so Flash was finally sold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To quite a respectable milkman, who found it not so fine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A-bossin' one o' God's creatures outside it's natural line.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Seems as if I could see Flash a-mopin' along here now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feelin' that he was simply assistant to a cow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But sometimes he'd imagine he heard the alarm-bell's din,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' jump an' rear for a season before they could hold him in;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' once, in spite o' his master, he strolled in 'mongst us chaps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To talk with the other horses, of former fires, perhaps;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereat the milkman kicked him; whereat, us boys to please,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He begged that horse's pardon upon his bended knees.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But one day, for a big fire as we was makin' a dash,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Both o' the horses we had on somewhat resemblin' Flash,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yellin' an' ringin' an' rushin', with excellent voice an' heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We passed the poor old fellow, a-tuggin' away at his cart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If ever I see an old hoss grow upward into a new&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If ever I see a milkman whose traps behind him flew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas that old hoss, a-rearin' an' racin' down the track,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' that respectable milkman a-tryin' to hold him back.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Away he rushed like a cyclone for the head o' "Number Three,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gained the lead, an' kept it, an' steered his journey free;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dodgin' wagons an' horses, an' still on the keenest "silk,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' furnishin' all that neighborhood with good, respectable milk.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Crowd a-yellin' an' runnin', an' vainly hollerin' "Whoa!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Milkman bracin' an' sawin', with never a bit o' show;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Firemen laughin' an' chucklin', an' shoutin' "Good! go in!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hoss a-gettin' down to it, an' sweepin' along like sin.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 396px;">
+<img src="images/illus13.jpg" width="396" height="400" alt="&quot;AWAY HE RUSHED LIKE A CYCLONE FOR THE HEAD O&#39; &#39;NUMBER THREE.&#39;&quot;" title="Away he rushed like a cyclone " />
+<span class="caption">&quot;AWAY HE RUSHED LIKE A CYCLONE FOR THE HEAD O&#39; &#39;NUMBER THREE.&#39;&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Finally came where the fire was&mdash;halted with a "thud;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sent the respectable milkman heels over head in mud;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Watched till he see the engines properly workin' there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">After which he relinquished all interest in the affair.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Moped an' wilted an' dawdled, "faded away" once more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Took up his old occupation&mdash;considerin' life a bore;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Laid down in his harness, an'&mdash;sorry I am to say&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The milkman he had drawn there took his dead body away.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That's the whole o' my story: I've seen, more'n once or twice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That poor dead animals' actions is full o' human advice;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' if you ask what Flash taught, I'll simply answer, then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That poor old horse was a symbol of some intelligent men.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 271px;">
+<img src="images/illus14.jpg" width="271" height="250" alt="Laid down in his harness" title="Laid down in his harness" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' if, as some consider, there's animals in the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I think the poor old fellow is gettin' another try;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if he should sniff the big fire that plagues the abode o' sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It'll take the strongest angel to hold the old fellow in.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">March</span> 20, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Speaking of fires, my powers of language fail;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They run them here upon so large a scale.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My son, Charles Sumner (who is, by-the-way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In Europe&mdash;terms ten dollars by the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Paid strictly in advance), can rhyme somewhat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And often seems to me to touch the spot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And light the truth up with a healthier glare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make it <i>truthfuller</i> for his being there.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(But in such furrows human nature runs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That old men aren't good critics for their sons.)<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">He used to rush (as youngsters often will)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To every fire we had at Tompkins Hill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seemed to plan less how to put them out<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than to get something new to write about.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He struck a rhyme I think isn't over bad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About a "fire" our little village had<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Or city; for that town took city airs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before its village short-clothes reached repairs).<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I found a copy of it t'other day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where he had laid it carefully away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To keep me from not finding it (he meant<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To get it back in the next check I sent).<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twill cost me several dollars yet, I fear;&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll paste the fellow's nonsense right in here:<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h3>HOW WE FOUGHT THE FIRE.</h3>
+
+<p>I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Twas a drowsy night on Tompkins Hill:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The very leaves of the trees lay still;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The world was slumbering, ocean deep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And even the stars seemed half asleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And winked and blinked at the roofs below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As yearning for morn, that they might go.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The streets as stolid and still did lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As they would have done if streets could die;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sidewalks stretched as quietly prone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if a foot they had never known;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not a cottage within the town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But looked as if it would fain lie down.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Away in the west a stacken-cloud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With white arms drooping and bare head bowed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was leaning against&mdash;with drowsy eye&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dark blue velveting of the sky.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And that was the plight<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Things were in that night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before we were roused the foe to fight&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The foe so greedy and grand and bright&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That plagued old Deacon Tompkins.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p>II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Deacon lay on his first wife's bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His second wife's pillow beneath his head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His third wife's coverlet o'er him wide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His fourth wife slumbering by his side.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The parson visioned his Sunday's text,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what he should hurl at Satan next;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The doctor a drowsy half-vigil kept,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still studying, as he partly slept,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How men might glutton, and tope, and fly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the face of Death, and still not die;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lawyer dreamed that his clients meant<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To club together, and then present,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As proof that their faith had not grown dim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A small bright silver hatchet to him;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The laborer such sound slumber knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He hadn't a dream the whole night through;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ladies dreamed&mdash;but I can't say well<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What 'tis they dream, for they never tell!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In short, such a general drowsy time<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had ne'er been known in that sleepy clime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">As on the night<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Of clamor and fright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We were roused the treacherous foe to fight&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The foe so greedy and grand and bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And carrying such an appetite&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That plagued old Deacon Tompkins.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p>III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When all at once the old court-house bell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Which had a voice like a maniac's yell)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cried out, as if in its dim old sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The judgment-day had come in the night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Bang whang whang bang clang dang bang whang,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The poor old parcel of metal sang;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereat, from mansion, cottage, and shed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rose men and women as from the dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In different stages of attire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shouted, "The town is all afire!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Which came as near to being true<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As some more leisurely stories do.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They saw on the Deacon's house a glare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And everybody hurried there;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And such a lot of visitors he<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had never before the luck to see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Deacon received these guests of night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a costume very simple and white;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And after a drowsy, scared "Ahem!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He asked them what he could do for them.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Fire! fire!" they shouted; "your house's afire!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then, with energy sudden and dire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They rushed through the mansion's solitudes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And helped the Deacon to move his goods.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And that was the sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">We had that night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When roused by the people who saw the light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Atop of the cottage, cozy and white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Where lived old Deacon Tompkins.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 469px;">
+<img src="images/illus15.jpg" width="469" height="600" alt="HOW WE FOUGHT THE FIRE." title="How we fought the fire" />
+<span class="caption">HOW WE FOUGHT THE FIRE.</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah me! the way that they rummaged round!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah me! the startling things they found!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No one with a fair idea of space<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would ever have thought that in one place<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were half the things that, with a shout,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These neighborly burglars hustled out.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Came articles that the Deacon's wives<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had all been gathering half their lives;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Came furniture such as one might see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Didn't grow in the trunk of every tree;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A tall clock, centuries old, 'twas said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leaped out of a window, heels o'er head;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A veteran chair, in which, when new,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">George Washington sat for a minute or two;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bedstead strong, as if in its lap<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Old Time might take his terminal nap;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dishes, that in meals long agone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Deacon's fathers had eaten on;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clothes, made of every cut and hue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That couldn't remember when they were new;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A mirror, scathless many a day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">('Twas promptly smashed in the regular way);<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Old shoes enough, if properly thrown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To bring good luck to all creatures known;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And children thirteen, more or less,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In varying plenitude of dress.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And that was the sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">We had that night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When roused, the terrible foe to fight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which blazed aloft to a moderate height,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And turned the cheeks of the timid white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Including Deacon Tompkins.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p>V.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lo! where the engines, reeking hot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dashed up to the interesting spot:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Came Number Two, "The City's Hope,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Propelled by a line of men and rope;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And after them, on a spiteful run,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"The Ocean Billows," or Number One.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And soon the two, induced to "play"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By a hundred hands, were working away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until, to the Deacon's flustered sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As he danced about in his robe of white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It seemed as if, by the hand of Fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">House-cleaning day were some two years late,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with complete though late success,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had just arrived by the night express.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The "Ocean Billows" were at high tide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And flung their spray upon every side;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">The "City's Hope" were in perfect trim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Preventing aught like an interim;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a "Hook-and-Ladder Company" came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With hooks and ropes and a long hard name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with an iconoclastic frown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were about to pull the whole thing down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When some one raised the assuring shout,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"It's only the chimney a-burnin' out!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereat, with a sense of injured trust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The crowd went home in complete disgust.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scarce one of those who, with joyous shout,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Assisted the Deacon in moving out,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Refrained from the homeward-flowing din,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To help the Deacon at moving in.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And that was the plight<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In which, that night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They left the Deacon, clad in white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who felt he was hardly treated right,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And used some words, in the flickering light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not orthodox in their purport quite&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Poor, put-out Deacon Tompkins!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Let me a moment indite<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Scenes that I witnessed one night:<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>["YOU WILL TELL ME WHERE IS CONRAD?"]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"You will tell me where is Conrad?" said an old man, bent and gray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While the flames were wildly dancing, and the walls were giving way.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I haf heard some ones was buried&mdash;underneath the ruins fell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He was in de topmost story&mdash;ach, mein Gott! I luf him well!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I will tell you how you knew him: he had full and laughing eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And his face was smooth and smiling&mdash;and he was too young to die.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Hair he had like clouds at sunset when anodher day is done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I luf him&mdash;how I luf him! and he is mein only son.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Say, Policeman, tell me truly that this young man you did see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I all the money gif you, such as I could bring with me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Tell me that he anxious acted&mdash;that he hunted far and long,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like as children would be calling for their fadher in a throng;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Or he wounded was, pray tell me&mdash;in the hospital to lie?&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will just now hasten to him, and I not will let him die!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Tell me&mdash;oh, you must not told me&mdash;dead you haf my Conrad see?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet if so is I can stand that&mdash;I did long a soldier be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Only&mdash;Death, we do not fear him when we hear the bullets sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But to haf my boy killed this way is a rather different thing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Only&mdash;that his poor old mudher, she waits home all full of fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I cannot there be going, till I take good news from here!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Young he was when we did bring him from the Rhine land o'er the sea;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I did lif for her and Conrad&mdash;she did lif for him and me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Other ones we bring not with us: Gott he says, 'These more be mine;'<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we left them all a-sleeping 'mong the vineyards of the Rhine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"He haf not a cross word gif us&mdash;he haf luf us every day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if he to-night comes home not, 'tis the first that he's away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Let me to that fire, Policeman! I care what for walls or brand?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Maybe he in there be living&mdash;reaching for his fadher's hand!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Let me past, I say, Policeman! I haf work there to be done!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let go me or I will strike you!&mdash;is it that you haf no son?"<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Still the flames were like a furnace, and the walls were crashing loud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the old man, held in safety, fainted 'mid the trembling crowd.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And the mother watched and wondered, with her great eyes scarcely wet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, half dazed amid her sorrow, waits for Conrad even yet.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="WATER" id="WATER"></a>WATER.</h2>
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar</i>.]</h4>
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">April</span> 25, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">RAIN&mdash;rain&mdash;rain&mdash;for three good solid fluid weeks&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the air swims, and all creation leaks!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And street-cars furnish still less room to spare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hackmen several times have earned their fare.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The omnibuses lumber through the din,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And carry clay outside as well as in;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The elevated trains, with jerky care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Haul half-way comfort through the dripping air;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gutters gallop past the liquid scene,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As brisk as meadow brooks, though not so clean;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What trees the city keeps for comfort's sake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are shedding tears as if their hearts would break;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And water tries to get, by storming steady,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That fourth of all the world it hasn't already.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And men are not so sweet as men could wish,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In air that wouldn't offend a moderate fish;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Few places can be found, outside or in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where this dark-featured weather has not been;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For man has always striven, and in vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To roof his <i>disposition</i> from the rain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've strolled about, this morning, several miles,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Mongst men who get their living by their smiles;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've set my old umbrella up to drip<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In places where I claimed relationship<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Or, rather, where my heart did; and that's more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than blood connection is, sixteen times o'er);<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've journeyed up and down through half Broadway,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And did not see a first-class smile to-day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And so, in spite of all that I can do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These gold-bowed spectacles are growing blue;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my old heart must bear along the road<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fanciful but rather heavy load;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A painful pressure from a hand unseen:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Most any one knows nearly what I mean.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I think I'll powder up this dark-skinned day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By going, to-night, to hear the actors play!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They'll make me laugh, and tone me up a bit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And get me out of this unnatural fit.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><i>11 o'clock P.M.</i></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Got back alive; and that's worth thinking on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From where there's been such lots of killing done;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mercy! it was a somewhat skittish sight&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So many people butchered in one night!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas just a lot of people playing crime&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sort of murder-picnic all the time.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We found the theatre with handbills spread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Near where the notice in the paper said<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(The weather had slacked up an hour or so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Wife thought she would condescend to go),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And after stumbling over several chaps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who thought they'd met us somewhere else, perhaps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cheerfully addressed us o'er and o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if they'd known us several years or more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Persisting in affording us a chance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To buy our tickets at a slight advance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(The theatres employ these men, I've heard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To greet their patrons with a friendly word,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And light their way in with kind word and smile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make a dollar out of them meanwhile);<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We brushed past these remarkable "dead-beats,"<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Some tickets bought, and scrambled to our seats.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">After a piece of music by the band,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The curtain rose before a castle grand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And soldiers talking, with a half-scared mien,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About a spook that one of them had seen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When lo! this ghost appears, plump to their view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And will not talk, although they beg him to.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(I whispered to my wife that I'd a freak<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That a newspaper man could make him speak;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But suddenly my comments had to cease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Wife encouraged me to hold my peace.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When lo! this ghost, who, thus far, might have come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Out of a sky-asylum for the dumb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Speaks with a queer but rather human sound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When once his son, the Prince, gets on the ground;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And taking him aside, ten feet almost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tells the poor boy that he's his father's ghost,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose own false brother softly to him crept,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And poured him full of poison while he slept.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then the young man got mad, though to my mind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas lunacy of quite a knowing kind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And went to work with an apparent view<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of killing off 'most every one he knew.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I haven't the time his actions all to state;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll only say he managed it first-rate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some way killed all relatives he saw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From uncle to prospective father-in-law;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when he got through, those he hadn't snuffed out<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were hardly worth while bothering about.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(I mustn't forget to say that this poor elf<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Became, at last, a good square corpse himself.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I looked around, and, the whole building through,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Women were shedding tears as if 'twas true;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Wife was 'most too much concerned to speak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And even my old eyes had sprung a leak.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas a moist time; and I remarked, "'Tis plain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We've come out of the rain into the rain."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I got so full of funeral, sitting there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, when we once more sniffed the clean, live air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It seemed a piece of good-luck all around,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To get away once more, alive and sound.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That's what they call a "tragedy;" where Death<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flies 'round till he himself gets out of breath;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, with sword-slashes and cold poison filled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All who amount to anything, get killed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's part of life; some time again I'll view it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But take a good square rest before I do it!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Here on this sea-beach I wander;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why of the storms am I fonder<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than of the sunlight above them?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the clouds: why do I love them&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Waves of the sky, onward sweeping,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or to the ocean-waves leaping?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why do I court this fierce day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dashing my face full of spray?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why, when the waves strike the shore<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With their strong, leonine roar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Does my soul fiercely entreat them&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rush out with rapture to meet them?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why do I love to descry<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">War in the fields of the sky?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why does the chain-lightning's glare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ploughing blue meadows of air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look to my vision alway<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet as a star in the day?<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1">You who in fair summer weather<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seek this sea-city together<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Built for tumultuous rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With the famed ocean chief guest),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not half the pleasure you've known<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I, here wand'ring alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On these wet sand-fields have found,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hearing the ocean's own sound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Viewing fierce waves from afar<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strive with the winter in war.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Storms that tumultuously roll<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far through my innermost soul&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here you encounter, at last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Harmonies wondrous and vast!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What did I find on the shore?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must I rehearse it once more?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>[THE DEAD STOWAWAY.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He lay on the beach, just out of the reach<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of waves that had cast him by:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With fingers grim they reached for him<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As often as they came nigh.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shore-face brown had a surly frown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And glanced at the dancing sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if to say, "Take back the clay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You tossed this morning at me."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great fragments rude, by the shipwreck strewed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had found by this wreck a place;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He had grasped them tight, and hope-strewn fright<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sat still on the bloated face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Battered and bruised, forever abused,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He lay by the heartless sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if Heaven's aid had never been made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a villain such as he.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fetter's mark lay heavy and dark<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Around the pulseless wrists;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hardened scar of many a war<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clung yet to the drooping fists.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The soul's disgrace across that face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had built an iron track;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The half-healed gash of the jailman's lash<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Helped cover the brawny back.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blood that flowed in a crimson road<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From a deep wound in his head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had felt fierce pangs from the poison-fangs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of those who his young life fed:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cursed from the very beginning<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With deeds that others had done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"More sinned against than sinning"&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so is every one!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He had never learned save what had turned<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The steps of his life amiss;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He never knew a hand-grasp true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or the thrill of a virtuous kiss.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas poured like a flood through his young blood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And poisoned every vein,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That wrong is right, that law is spite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And theft but honest gain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The seeds were grown that had long been sown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the heart of a murderous sire:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Disease and shame, and blood aflame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With thirst for the founts of fire.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Battered and bruised, forever abused,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He lay by the moaning sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if Heaven's aid were even afraid<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a villain such as he.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As he lay alone, like a sparrow prone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An angel wandered nigh:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A look she cast over that dark past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tears came to her eye.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 625px;">
+<img src="images/illus16.jpg" width="600" height="404" alt="&quot;BATTERED AND BRUISED, FOREVER ABUSED,
+HE LAY BY THE MOANING SEA.&quot;" title="Battered and bruised, forever abused" />
+<p class="caption">&quot;BATTERED AND BRUISED, FOREVER ABUSED,
+HE LAY BY THE MOANING SEA.&quot;</p>
+</div><p><br />
+</p>
+
+<p><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a><br /></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She bent by the dead, and tenderly said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Poor child, you went astray;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your heart and mind were both born blind&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No wonder they lost their way!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Angels, I know, had fallen as low<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With such a dismal chance.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your heart was ironed, your soul environed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You were barred of all advance!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cursed from the very beginning<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With deeds that others have done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'More sinned against than sinning'&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so is every one!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">May</span> 24, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Lord gave Water quite a good-sized start&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Three-fourths of this world's homestead for its part;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But lawyers are not needed to convince<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Water has been losing ever since.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The reason is not hard to understand:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For God's most knowing creatures live on land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, naturally, every chance they get,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Find some new means to keep them from the wet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The farms their dykes have from the ocean won;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ground men make to build their cities on;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The bridge that from the river shelters me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ships&mdash;great travelling bridges of the sea&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All are an effort of ambitious man<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make this world as solid as he can.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">These thoughts, to-day, all through my mind would run,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While looking at a bridge they've just got done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which takes a man, dry shod, from shore to shore&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A matter of a good long mile or more.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can't describe it; but I'll let the papers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Who tell <i>some</i> truth, 'mid all their fancy capers)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To my old scrap-book give of it a taste<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">(What I can't do with ink I'll do with paste).<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<h3>[THE WEDDING OF THE TOWNS.][5]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let all of the bells ring clear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And all of the flags be seen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The King of the Western Hemisphere<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Has married the Island Queen!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For years he watched and waited<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Along the river side,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And vowed that she was fated<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To be his own fair bride;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full many a night he wooed her<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon her lofty throne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he hath long pursued her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To make the prize his own;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor thankless his endeavor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor coy the royal maid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, like true-love's course ever,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The banns were long delayed!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And boys to men had grown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And men their graves had sought;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gulf was yet between them thrown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the wooing came to nought.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though couriers oft were dashing<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Twixt him and his adored,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still was the river flashing<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Between them like a sword.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In heart they well were mated;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And patiently and long<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They for each other waited&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">These lovers true and strong.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let never a flag be hidden!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Let never a bell be dumb!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The guests have all been bidden&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The wedding-day has come!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For many a golden year<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shall gleam this silvery tie:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wondering world will gather here<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And gaze with gleaming eye.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Philosophers will ponder<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How, blessed by the hand of Heaven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The world has another wonder<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To add to its famous seven;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Philanthropists will linger<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To view the giant span,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And point with grateful finger<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where man has toiled for man;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all will bless the year<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When, in the May-month green,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The King of the Western Hemisphere<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was wed to the Island Queen!<br /><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+<p>[5]  Written on the occasion of the opening of the New York and Brooklyn Bridge.<br /><br /><br /></p>
+
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">July</span> 2, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wealth, wealth, wealth, wealth! with iron bars to defend it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seventeen hundred thousand ways to spend it!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How men will work, in home and foreign lands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To get a lot of money in their hands;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How they will bar and bolt, by night and day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To keep some one from stealing it away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, when a fresh bait strikes their fancy's eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How easy 'tis to make them let it fly!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lock up your cash in places howe'er strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You lose it when the right thief comes along.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There are some families that I could name,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, spring and fall and winter, toil the same<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As boys with sleds for half an hour will climb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To ride back in about five minutes' time.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These fam'lies pinched and starved nine months will be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make a first-class show the other three;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some whose fortunes sprung up like a flame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can puff it out even quicker than it came.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">These thoughts grew like June corn the other day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As I through Coney Island picked my way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And found there, pert and prosperous as could be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A land-and-water city by the sea;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And people holding, in free easy style,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A Fourth-of-July picnic all the while.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thousands were eating there amid the din,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As though they'd hardly time to do it in;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thousands were loitering in the breezy air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if they had a year or two to spare;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every trap that ever caught a dime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was ready set and baited all the time!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The ocean, to my unaccustomed view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seemed having quite a lively picnic too;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The waves came slamming at us with a roar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And chased each other pell-mell to the shore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in these waves, and adding to the noise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A lot of men and women, girls and boys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dressed in a style that made my good wife frown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like big-sized corks went bobbing up and down.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some glided out and in, like jumping-jacks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some rode the waves&mdash;a-lying on their backs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some&mdash;as decent folks as one could see&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Made capers that were very queer to see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I noticed Miss Doozéll, much versed in books,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And quite particular about her looks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dignified as any one I know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Roll over maybe thirteen times or so;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While Jeremiah Jipson, LL.D.,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who seldom makes a move above the knee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And who, all former signs would seem to say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never indulges in unseemly play&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When an irreverent wave he chanced to meet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stood on his head, and raised aloft his feet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Ocean has no awe for any one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And always seems to get more'n half the fun.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But how the pretty children carry sail!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each with his tiny shovel and his pail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each working his own little piece of land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And making small plantations in the sand!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These little incidents show on their face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That farming's natural to the human race!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When God's poor pretty ones, 'mid summer's blaze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have lived 'mongst brick and mortar all their days,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Trying their best to blossom and not spoil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like house-plants kidnapped from their native soil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It must be heaven to sit here in the sand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And take old Mother Earth right by the hand!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To lie here, by no brick blocks overlooked,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And take a breath of air that hasn't been cooked!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God bless you, children! May't a long time be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before the sand shall cover you and me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yes, every trap that ever caught a dime<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is ready set and baited, all the time!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here nigh the shore a strange machine I found,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see how hard, with beetles, men could pound;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And several fellows tried it, o'er and o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who never handled labor so before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And would have shown capacity to shirk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If they had known how much it looked like work.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here round and round I saw a big wheel go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like an old-fashioned horse-power&mdash;larger, though,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And worked by steam; and on the sweeps one finds<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Big wooden animals of different kinds:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Elephants, horses, birds of various hues,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lions and leopards, roosters, kangaroos&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All staring with great, stupid, wondering eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all about the very self-same size!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And on these beasts, sixteen times round or more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rode children of from fifty down to four,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While some big-sized hand-organ filled the air<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With crack-voiced music, plenty and to spare.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here a big premium cow&mdash;quite dead, alas!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gave milkman's milk-and-water by the glass;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here were some great "museums," which consisted<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of wondrous things that never have existed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There omnibuses hover on your track,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ready to draw you somewhere else&mdash;and back;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here "marine railroads," as you onward plod,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will take you riding at five cents a rod;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This "elevator" lifts you pretty high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shows you men must look small from the sky;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yon gambling den will send you from its door,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poorer and not much wiser than before;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That fellow there will, in an ocean view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your picture take, and swear that it is you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yes, every trap that ever caught a dime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is ready set and baited, all the time!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And sometimes everything seems blurred, indeed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With man's surprising wickedness and greed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till you most feel there's nothing genuine there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Excepting ocean waves and open air!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But still they can't put all God's plans to death<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To let the people have an honest breath;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so, while thinking it all up, to-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I finally felt called upon to say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thank the good Lord, from whom all blessings fall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For making Coney Island, after all!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My cousin, Abdiel Stebbins, large and slow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Arrived at Ocean Grove some days ago;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">He stopped off in this city on the way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stayed here with us two weeks and one day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(For we keep up our airy home in town<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether the mercury goes up or down&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not liking to exchange it very well<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a small sweat-box in a large hotel).<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He promised that the first hour he could spare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He'd write us how he liked it over there;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The letter, like himself, is rather queer;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perhaps I'd better paste it right in here:<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h3>[FARMER STEBBINS AT OCEAN GROVE.]</h3>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Ocean Grove</span>, <i>June</i> 30, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Dear Cousin John:</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We got here safe&mdash;my worthy wife and me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And took a tent here in the woods contigious to the sea;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We've harvested such means of grace as growed within our reach&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We've been to several meetings here, and heard the Bishop preach;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And everything went easy like until we took a whim&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My wife and I&mdash;one breezy day, to take an ocean swim.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We shouldn't have ventured on't, I think, if Sister Sunnyhopes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hadn't urged us over and again, and said she knew "the ropes,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And told how soothing it would be "in ocean rills to lave,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And "sport within the bounding surf," and "ride the crested wave;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so we went along with her&mdash;my timid wife and me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two inland noodles, for our first acquaintance with the sea.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They put me in a work-day rig, as usually is done&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A wampus and short overalls all sewed up into one.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I had to pull and tug and shrink to make the thing go 'round<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(You are aware my peaceful weight will crowd three hundred pound).<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They took my wig and laid it up&mdash;to keep it dry, they said&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And strapped a straw-stack of a hat on my devoted head.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They put my wife into a frock too short by full a third:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas somewhat in the Bloomer style&mdash;I told her 'twas absurd!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You know she's rather long and slim&mdash;somewhat my opposite&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And clothes that was not made for her is likely not to fit;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But as we was we vent'red in&mdash;my timid wife and me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And formed our first acquaintance with the inconsistent sea.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 173px;">
+<img src="images/illus17.jpg" width="173" height="250" alt="Miss Sunnyhopes wading" title="Miss Sunnyhopes wading" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Miss Sunnyhopes she waded out a-looking nice and sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(She'd had her dress made to the store, and trimmed from head to feet);<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I went next, and grabbed their rope just as she told me to,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Wife came third, a-looking scared, scarce knowing what to do.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then Sister Sunnyhopes a smile of virgin sweetness gave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And said, "Now watch your chance, and jump&mdash;here comes a <i>lovely</i> wave!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I must have jumped, I rather think, the wrong time of the moon;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At any rate the "lovely wave" occurred to me too soon!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It took me sudden, with a rude and unexpected shock;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd rather meet the stoutest pair of horns in all my flock!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then to top the circus out, and make the scene more fine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I tried to <i>kick</i> this "lovely wave," and let right go the line.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 321px;">
+<img src="images/illus18.jpg" width="321" height="300" alt="&quot;TWO INLAND NOODLES, FOR OUR FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE SEA.&quot;" title="Two inland noodles" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;TWO INLAND NOODLES, FOR OUR FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE SEA.&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On county fairs and 'lection days, in walking through a crowd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm rather firm to jostle 'gainst&mdash;perhaps it makes me proud;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if it does, that wave just preached how <i>sureness</i> never pays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seemed to say, "How small is man, no odds how much he weighs!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It kicked and cuffed me all about, in spite of right or law,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With all the qualities they give an average mother-in-law!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And then it set me on the bank, quite thankful for my life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And looking 'round I give a gaze to find my faithful wife;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she had kind o' cut this wave with all the edge she had,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stood a-looking 'round for me, uncommon moist and sad;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While Sister Sunnyhopes with smiles was looking sweet and gay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A-floating on her dainty back some several rods away!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/illus19.jpg" width="450" height="150" alt="Sister Sunnyhopes floating on her back." title="Sister Sunnyhopes floating on her back." />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">She looked so newish pretty there&mdash;(she knowed it, too, the elf!)&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The crowd was all admiring her, and so was I myself;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And while I once more grasped the line, beside my wife of truth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My eyes <i>would</i> rove to Sister S.&mdash;her beauty and her youth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When all at once a brindle wave, uncommon broad and deep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Came thrashing down on Wife and me, and flopped us in a heap!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 424px;">
+<img src="images/illus20.jpg" width="424" height="300" alt="flopped us in a heap" title="flopped us in a heap" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 464px;">
+<img src="images/illus21.jpg" width="464" height="250" alt="my wife across of me" title="my wife across of me" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Heels over head&mdash;all in a bunch&mdash;my wife across of me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I on some misguided folks who happened there to be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My hat untied and floated off, and left my bald head bare&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I got out, if I'd have spoke, 'twould warmed up all the air!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We drank 'bout two-thirds of the sea&mdash;my gasping wife and I&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While Sister S. still floated soft, a-gazing at the sky!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 360px;">
+<img src="images/illus22.jpg" width="360" height="300" alt="&quot;WE VOTED THAT WE&#39;D HAD ENOUGH.&quot;" title="We voted that we&#39;d had enough" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;WE VOTED THAT WE&#39;D HAD ENOUGH.&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We voted that we'd had enough, and got right out the way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before another wave arrived, and bid the sea good-day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We looked as like two drownded rats as ever such was called,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With one of them a dumbed old fool and most completely bald.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, like a woman true she says&mdash;my shivering wife to me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"We will not mind; there's others here looks just as bad as we."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now, Sister Sunnyhopes, by'm-by, came back into our tent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As sleek or sleeker than before, and asked us "When we went?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said I, "My dear good Sister S., please do not now pretend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You did not see our voyage through, and mark its doleful end.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you would play the mermaid fair, why such I'd have you be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But we're too old to take that part&mdash;my faithful wife and me;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Some folks may be who ocean waves are fitted to command,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But we've concluded <i>we</i> was built expressly for the land.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when I want amusement for an uncompleted day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I guess I'll go and take it in some good old-fashioned way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And will not stand upon my head 'fore all the folks that's there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wildly wave my dumbed old feet in all the neighboring air!"<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="VICE" id="VICE"></a>VICE.</h2>
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">September</span> 10, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah me! it makes a sinner wondrous blue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see so many other sinners too!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I rake over all my faults, and then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Notice the same, or worse, in other men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It makes me very much surprised and sad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Heaven should see Earth turning out so bad!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Vice, vice, vice, vice! The <i>country's</i> mean enough,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And has some villains that are pretty rough;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in this town, where art and nature both<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are shoved into their very greatest growth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And where the utmost of all things is found,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Devil has his best men on the ground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gives them weapons meeting his own views,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the ammunition they can use!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Vice, vice, vice, vice! I never had been led<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To think that Evil had so long a head!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've seen more ingenuity displayed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In one crime, than 'twould take to learn a trade.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such cute inventions Sin will take in charge:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Old Satan's patent-office must be large!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And yet, for all their craft, in time how brief<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How many of these rascals come to grief!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For though within them cunning may abound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The plain-clothed Truth is always standing round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or following rogues through every land and clime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gets them, if you'll only give him time.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I don't believe&mdash;as some good people say&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Devil leads men on from day to day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And takes them to a rock, and, first they know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pitches them off into some gulf below;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or baits them into different traps, and then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doesn't try at all to get them out again:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I think he'd like to keep them, safe and sound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doing his nasty work the whole year round;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when a rogue fails up and comes to grief,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It hurts his brimstone-clothed but helpless chief!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">These thoughts limped past my saddened mind to-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As through State's prison I pursued my way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Led round by one who didn't seem to be knowing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What melancholy pictures he was showing!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those walls and guards, that all escape opposed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those thick, iron doors&mdash;it thundered when they closed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cells&mdash;each one a closet full of gloom:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd just as soon sleep in a metal tomb![6]<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hard-faced men who worked away (no doubt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For fear of hard-faced men that stood about),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wearing that garb of stripes a free man loathes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if Law whipped them&mdash;even with their clothes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The way they glance up at you from within<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their drooping eyelids, hard with grief or sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wondering, as they gaze upon you so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you are not some one they used to know;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ghosts you feel, that creep 'round, all the time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Among these men who've shaken hands with crime;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mournful hope that some are toiling here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose innocence in heaven is proved out clear:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All these things to my inmost spirit talked,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As through those regions dark I slowly walked;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when the front door closed behind me&mdash;free&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fresh air seemed like heaven itself to me!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I recollect once getting sick with pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When sitting near a sheriff, on the train,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who had a young man with him&mdash;not of age&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom he was taking to this stone-bound cage.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The poor boy talked to him with drooping head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And these are something like the words he said:<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">[6]&nbsp;&nbsp;  And yet 'twas quite affecting, I declare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How some had ornaments up, even there!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not crime itself, or sad misfortune's smart<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Can crush all sense of beauty from the heart!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h3><br /><br />[THE BOY CONVICT'S STORY.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I'd rather sit here, Mr. Sheriff&mdash;up near to the end of the car;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We won't do so much advertising if we stay in the seat where we are.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That sweet little dude saw the bracelets that you on my wrists have bestowed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And tells the new passengers promptly you're "taking me over the road."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've had a well-patronized trial&mdash;the neighbors all know of my fall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when I get out among strangers I'm sensitive-like, after all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For I was a lad of good prospects, some three or four summers ago&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There wasn't any boy in our township who made a more promising show!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I learned all of Solomon's proverbs, and took in their goodness and worth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till I felt like a virtue-hooped barrel, chock-full of the salt of the earth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this precious picnic of sorrow would likely enough have been saved,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I had had less of a heart, sir, or home had contained what it craved.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For the time when a boy is in danger of walking a little bit wild,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is when he's too young to be married&mdash;too old to be known as a child;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A bird in the lonely grass thickets, just out of the parent tree thrown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Too large to be kept in the old nest&mdash;too small to have one of his own;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When, desolate 'mid his companions, his soul is a stake to be won;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis then that the Devil stands ready to get a good chance to catch on!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, yes! I'd a good enough home, sir, so far as the house was concerned;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My parents were first-class providers&mdash;I ate full as much as I earned.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My clothes were all built of good timber, and fit every day to be seen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There wasn't any lock on the pantry&mdash;my bedroom was tidy and clean;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And taking the home up and down, sir, I'd more than an average part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With one quite important exception&mdash;<i>there wasn't any room for my heart</i>.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The house couldn't have been any colder, with snow-drifts in every room!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The house needn't have been any darker to make a respectable tomb!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I used to stop short on the door-step, and brace up a minute or more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bid a good-bye to the sunshine, before I would open the door;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I used to feed daily on icebergs&mdash;take in all the freeze I could hold&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then go out and warm in the sunshine, because my poor heart was so cold!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And hadn't I a father and mother? Oh yes! just as good as they make&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Too</i> good, I have often suspected (though maybe that last's a mistake).<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But they'd travelled so long and so steady the way to Perfection's abode,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They hadn't any feeling for fellows who could not as yet find the road;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so, till some far advanced mile-post on goodness's pike I could win,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They thought of me, not as their own child, but as one of the children of sin.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And hadn't I brothers and sisters? Oh yes! till they somewhat had grown;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, shivering, they went off and left me to stand the cold weather alone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I had the luck to be youngest&mdash;the last on the family page,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The one to prop up the old roof-tree&mdash;the staff of my parents' old age;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who well understood all the uses to which a mere staff is applied;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They used me whenever convenient&mdash;then carelessly threw me aside!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And hadn't I any associates? Oh yes! I had friends, more or less,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But seldom I asked them to visit our house with the slightest success;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whenever the project was mentioned, they'd somehow look blue like and chill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mention another engagement they felt it their duty to fill;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For&mdash;now I am only a convict, there's no harm in telling the truth&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My home was a fearful wet blanket to blood that was seasoned with youth!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not one blessčd thing that was cheerful; no festivals, frolics, or games;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No novels of any description&mdash;'twas wicked to mention their names!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My story-books suddenly vanished, my checker-boards never would keep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No newspaper came through <i>our</i> doorway unless it was first put to sleep!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as for love&mdash;well, that old song, sir, is very melodious and fine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With "No place like home" in the chorus&mdash;I hope there ain't many like mine!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And so, soon my body got hating a place which my soul couldn't abide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Pleasure was all the time smiling, and motioning me to her side;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when I start out on a journey, I'm likely to go it by leaps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For good or for bad, I'm no half-way&mdash;I'm one or the other for keeps.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My wild oats flew thicker and faster&mdash;I reaped the same crop that I sowed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now I am going to market&mdash;I'm taking it over the road!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yes, it grieved my good father and mother to see me so sadly astray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They deeply regretted my downfall&mdash;in a strictly respectable way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They gave me some more admonition, and sent me off full of advice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wondered to see such a villain from parents so good and precise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Indeed I have often conjectured, when full of neglect and its smarts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I must have been left on the door-step of their uncongenial hearts!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My home in the prison is waiting&mdash;it opens up clear to my sight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hard work and no pay-day a-coming, a close cell to sleep in at night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And there I must lie sad and lonesome, with more tribulation than rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wake in the morning with sorrow sharp sticking like steel in my breast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But maybe the strain and the trouble won't quite so much o'er me prevail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As 'twould be to some one who wasn't brought up in a kind of a jail!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><i>You've</i> got a good home, Mr. Sheriff, with everything cosy and nice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And 'tisn't for a wrist-shackled convict to offer <i>you</i> words of advice;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But this I <i>must</i> say, of all places your children may visit or call,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make <span class="smcap">Home</span> the most pleasant and happy&mdash;the sweetest and best of them all;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the Devil won't offer a dollar to have his world-chances improved,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Home is turned into a side-show, with half the attractions removed!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><i>Don't</i> think I'm too bitter, good sheriff&mdash;I like you: you've been very good;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm ever and ever so grateful&mdash;would pay it all back if I could.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I didn't mean to slander my parents&mdash;I've nothing against their good name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as for my unrighteous actions, it's mostly myself that's to blame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still, <i>if I'd had a home</i>&mdash;But the prison is only one station ahead&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm done, Mr. Sheriff; forget me, but <i>don't</i> forget what I have said!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><br /><span class="smcap">September 15, 18&mdash;.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Vice, vice, vice, vice!&mdash;and 'tisn't all clear and free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where any one can take a look and see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then decide, immediate, on the spot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether he'll buy his soul-farm there or not;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's scattered round about so 'mongst the good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Folks can't entirely shun it when they would.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Much better to escape it we'd be able,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If 'twas obliged to carry 'round a label<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(It always does, some time before it ages,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But not enough so in its early stages).<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My mind was led around about this way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By a well-dressed young man I met to-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who strove to twist some money out of me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But had, instead, a first-class lecture free.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My cousin, Abdiel Stebbins, large and good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Inclined to do even better than he should,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with a heart that gets him into scrapes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of a most strange variety of shapes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But who, before they've run a fatal course,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Always gets out of them by sheer main force,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wrote me two letters, several years ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which I have kept, with no intent to show,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">But simply to read over now and then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As part of my text-book entitled "Men."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I think I'll get my cousin's wail by letter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And paste it here where I can find it better.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>[FARMER STEBBINS ON THE BOWERY.]</h3>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Dear Cousin John</span>:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We got here safe&mdash;my worthy wife an' me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' then I looked the village through to see what I could see:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I rode upon the cur'us track with stations all up-stairs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I walked through Wall Street all its length, an' saw no bulls or bears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I patronized a red-nosed chap with manners very queer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who hadn't had a thing to eat for somethin' like a year;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I saw the road commissioners to work upon a bridge<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A million times as large as that we built at Tompkins' Ridge&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(I'm told that they are makin' it, though maybe that's all fun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To use the coming century, an' hope to get it done)&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When who should up an' grasp my hand, with face of genuine joy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Cousin Jeroboam Jones, my cousin's oldest boy!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I had not seen him years an' years&mdash;no wonder he looked strange;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His face an' form in some respects had undergone a change;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But then there wasn't a chance of doubt that that was him, because,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If not, how should he ever know that I was who I was?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We brushed our old acquaintance up, an' soon was at our ease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A wanderin' all about the place, as cozy as you please.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It's nicer far, in foreign towns, than 'tis to be alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To walk with one whose blood proceeds from sources near your own;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sim'lar temp'rature of heart, a sort of family ease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enables you to work your tongue as lib'ral as you please;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so I found myself quite soon uncommonly at home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Describin' all my business through to Cousin Jerobo'm.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He listened very docile like, an' hadn't much to say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what he did was vent'red in a satisfact'ry way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He'd severed somewhat from his kin, an' sort o' lost the run,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he recalled the Stebbinses, when mentioned, one by one;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' takin' him inside an' out, our family scarcely owns<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A relative more relishin' than Jeroboam Jones.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He's teacher in a Sunday-school, he told me, by the way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which has a room, above a store, that's open every day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"For if," he says, "we come across a child that needs our care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We cannot wait till Sunday comes&mdash;we join 'em then an' there.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' if you want to see the way our worthy cause is run,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come in an' take a little look&mdash;our 'social's' just begun."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The scholars hadn't come, as yet; the Superintendent, though,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was sittin' at a table, like, an' bowed extremely low;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' heard the praise on poor old me my cousin had to tell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' said he joyed to meet a friend of one he loved so well;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' I talked back; an' for a time our converse did not cease&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A regular three-cornered gush of friendship, love, an' peace.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' then he showed me how they run their "grab-bags" an' all such<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(We have the same at home, you know, although not near so much);<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' then he had some val'ables on numbers that you saw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With figures correspondin'ly, in envelopes, to draw;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I gin him fifty cents to help a cause I dearly hold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' drew a velvet hymn-book, with a clasp resemblin' gold!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My cousin pressed my hand with some congratulatin' jokes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And said, "Ah me! the Stebbinses was always lucky folks!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But after all, their <i>shrewdness</i> is the thing that lets them win."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Which made me proud, though I didn't see just where the shrewd came in.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But buyin' a five-dollar book at that unheard-of price,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' helpin' of the cause meanwhile, was unsuspected nice.)<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 625px;">
+<img src="images/illus23.jpg" width="524" height="600" alt="&quot;TO MAKE FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS CLEAR, AN&#39; HELP THE CHILDREN TOO.&quot;" title="To make four hundred dollars clear" />
+<p class="caption">&quot;TO MAKE FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS CLEAR, AN&#39; HELP THE CHILDREN TOO.&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whereat the Superintendent said, "You're lucky, I allow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll have to charge five dollars for a chance to draw here now."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereat my cousin Jeroboam remarked, "If 'tisn't wrong,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll buy a draw for Cousin Steb, to help the cause along."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shook my head, but he <i>would</i> do't; an' sure as I'm alive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I drawed a good ten-dollar bill for Cousin Jones's five!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whereat the Superintendent said, "You're lucky men, I vow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A hundred dollars I must charge for every drawing now;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' fingerin' the envelopes, one opened&mdash;just a grain&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I discerned the number 11, uncommon black and plain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' on the <i>other</i> number 11 by glancin' I could see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Five good crisp hundr'd-dollar bills a-waitin' there for me!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 325px;">
+<img src="images/illus24.jpg" width="230" height="250" alt="&quot;WE COME &#39;THIN PART OF ONE OF IT.&quot;" title="We come &#39;thin part of one of it." />
+<p class="caption">&quot;WE COME &#39;THIN PART OF ONE OF IT.&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To make four hundred dollars clear, an' help the children too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was somethin' that would surely seem desirable to do;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With an unfailin' eagle eye, a heart that swelled with hope,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I watched, an' saw the very place he put that envelope;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I winked at Cousin Jeroboam, I counted out the cash,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' drawed, an' had that card revealed almost as quick as flash!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, sakes!&mdash;the second figure I had what I hadn't seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A <i>tail</i> that made a 7 of it! 'twas Number 17!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' on them figures on the board there nothin' was, in fact,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Except a little pamphlet like&mdash;an anti-gamblin' tract;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which hadn't any money wuth, an' won't be good for much,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Except to keep my older boys from playin' cards an' such.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now Cousin Jeroboam Jones was buried in surprise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' walked a half a mile with me, an' helped philosophize;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' says, "You come some other day&mdash;we'll try that thing agin:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We come 'thin <i>part of one of it</i>&mdash;the next time we shall win."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, nearin' to a corner, he took kindly leave o' me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because of some new scholars there that he must go an' see.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I give you this experience, John, but please don't tell it now;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let Tompkins take the chestnut horse, an' sell the brindle cow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' gather up what cash besides I have a-lyin' loose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' send the whole of it to me for my immediate use.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do everything concerned in this, in soft, secretive tones;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Direct it to New York, in care of Jeroboam Jones.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="citation">A. S.</p>
+
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">A few days, and the following one arrived,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which shows Sin's triumph sometimes is short-lived:<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3><br /><br />[FARMER STEBBINS AHEAD.]</h3>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Dear Cousin John:</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I'm very glad you sent that money through,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By Cousin Seth, an' not by mail, as I requested you!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fam'ly's just so much ahead: 'twere best it never came.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If Jeroboam Jones had twined his fingers 'round the same.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For that young man has principles fit only to abhor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And isn't the kind of relative that I was lookin' for!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My sakes! Millennium's nowhere near, when men so false can be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As to equivocate themselves into my family tree;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' on its honest branches graft the shoots of their design,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' make me think they're good because they're relatives of mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While under those fraternal smiles a robber's frown is hid;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But that's the inappropriate thing that Jeroboam did!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When Cousin Seth the tavern reached whose clerk o'ershadows me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He cried, "Where is my long-lost son I've come so far to see?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' so, to fill that father's heart with resurrected joy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I twisted 'round with him a bit, to try an' find the boy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' comin' where I had the luck that hymn-book for to win,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I opened quietly the door, an' both of us went in.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Superintendent still was there; he gave a little start,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But welcomed us, apparently, with overflowin' heart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' told us all about the work, an' how 'twas gettin' on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' how much money those who gave unto the cause had won;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Cousin Seth, though much impressed with what he heard an' saw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said he didn't fix the envelopes, an' b'lieved he wouldn't draw.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Just then the door was opened quick, an' with a solemn grin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Young Jeroboam Jones appeared, an' sidled softly in;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' with him was an older man, who looked enough like me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To've been a reg'lar Stebbins too, so far as one could see;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But slappin' Seth upon the back, I said, "My duty's done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For this is Jeroboam Jones, your long-lost oldest son!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"My 'long-lost oldest son?'" said he: "he's 'bout as much my son<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As you are the belovčd babe of Gen'ral Washington!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It strikes me that my married life was very much amiss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I'm responsible for such a sneakin' face as this!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He's blinded you by his supposed relationship to me:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He's no one I have ever seen, or ever want to see!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As when a fog above a field the sudden breezes tore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You spied a thousand things you did not even miss before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So all the facts of this affair, as clear as summer skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Straightway arranged themselves before my reconstructed eyes:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That these were not veracious men; an' this no Sunday-school;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' naught was what it seemed, except one old bald-headed fool!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I held those two deceivers out, with unassisted strength,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' by the collar shook each one to my arm's farthest length;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They gasped an' danced an' skipped around, without a word to say&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They "put their heads together" in a new an' painful way.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Due ninety dollars fifty cents, an' not a penny less!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shouted; "an' I'll send you back your hymn-book by express!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When finally in my discourse a breathin' pause occurred,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Superintendent counted out the cash, without a word;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which, with a manner dignified, I coldly repossessed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An', still retainin' Jeroboam, that scamp I thus addressed:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"An' so you are the bogus friend and relative, so free<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To spend his time a-makin' fools of poor old men like me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I'm Supervisor of the town where I have lived so long:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There ain't a man in all that part will say I've done him wrong;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There ain't a man will claim but what I'm ordinary keen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when I plant myself in town, I grow exceedin' green.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' any kind-expressioned man, who acts a civil part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can always find my soul to home, an' house-room in my heart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"It's sad for such a smile as yours to find so mean a fate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' there's <i>some</i> good in you&mdash;at least enough to use for bait;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without <i>some</i> kindness in your heart, you couldn't have landed me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' as to how you've used your gifts, just pause a bit an' see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've gambled, by you're callin' it a charitable name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my self-valuation sunk with unaccustomed shame.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I've done what I'd have whipped my boys for even lookin' at;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' don't suppose but what I own part of the blame for that;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thought I saw a chance to make five dollars out o' one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which, with strict justice all around, is very seldom done.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But up to that outrageous point, remember, I was led<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By your assumed relationship, an' several things you said.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Do you reflect, young man, upon the fruit you're growin' to?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's prison gates a-waitin' now to stand in front of you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's grief of unexpected kinds, an' every sort of shame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To send you some time from this world much poorer than you came.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your guilty head you hang before us sinners standin' by:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What angle do you s'pose 'twould take 'mongst angels in the sky?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/illus25.jpg" width="600" height="422" alt="&quot;THEY &#39;PUT THEIR HEADS TOGETHER&#39; IN A NEW AN&#39; PAINFUL WAY.&quot;" title="They put their heads together" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;THEY &#39;PUT THEIR HEADS TOGETHER&#39; IN A NEW AN&#39; PAINFUL WAY.&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a><br /></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"There's hope e'en on the death-bed for a square, straightforward thief,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But <i>Judases</i> have always come to most peculiar grief;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Lord has pity, I suppose, for errin' men an' weak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But no good satisfact'ry place in which to put a sneak.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' when a man wins men's esteem, then thrives by their mistakes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He makes himself a bigger fool than all the fools he makes."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 325px;">
+<img src="images/illus26.jpg" width="222" height="300" alt="&quot;HE MAKES HIMSELF A BIGGER FOOL THAN ALL THE FOOLS HE MAKES.&quot;" title="He makes himself a bigger fool" />
+<p class="caption">&quot;HE MAKES HIMSELF A BIGGER FOOL THAN ALL THE FOOLS HE MAKES.&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then my adopted relative I seated in a chair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With amply necessary help, an' sev'ral pounds to spare.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then Seth an' I with dignity bade both the scamps good-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Advisin' them to gain their bread in some dissimilar way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' as we thundered down the stairs, with heavy rural tread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I felt that I'd at last come out some several rods ahead.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<blockquote><p>A. S.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<h3>[THE "SLUGGING"-MATCH.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"A first-class professional fight!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I'm really doing the town!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There were thousands on thousands to-night<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To see a man knock a man down.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Two dollars I willingly (?) paid<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To view all this muscle and brawn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas rather too much, I'm afraid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or seemed so, the minute 'twas gone.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And yet 'tis a study to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The rage gladiatorial of Rome<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And grim Spanish bull-baiting glee<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Adopt an American home!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That blood-thirsty, murderous spite<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Men loudly condemn&mdash;and possess!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Besieged New York City last night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With first-class financial success!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hands gloved&mdash;to comply with the law;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gloves hard&mdash;to comply with the crowd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fists savage as murder could draw;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Cheers heavy and fervent and loud.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stern hisses, and shoutings of "Woman!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When either too tender they found;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tremendous applause when a foeman<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dropped, more than half dead, on the ground.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Twas the soul's blackest hell-woven fibre,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All thrilling intensely and fast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The curse of the Tagus and Tiber<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Arrived in New York Bay at last!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And victor and vanquished, I learn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Came off with more glittering spoil<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than teacher or preacher could earn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In years of the hardest of toil.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A spectacle pleasing and bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Full many good people delighting&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So many good men love a fight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When somebody else does the fighting!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And "'tis shameful!" we mildly agree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And shout our complainings afar;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the facts are no worse than are we:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They show to us just what we are!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="VIRTUE" id="VIRTUE"></a>VIRTUE.</h2>
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">October</span> 1, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wind in the south-west; weather fit to stay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A sweet, old-fashioned, Indian-summer day&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Heaven and Earth both seem to look at you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through hair of gold and misty eyes of blue.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My wife said, as we talked of it together,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It seemed as if some of our old farm weather<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had got tired of the sober hills of brown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hitched up a cloud, and driven into town!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We went to church, and heard a sermon preached,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which all the way from Earth to Heaven reached,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And lifted us up toward the town divine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till we could almost see the steeples shine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hear the mighty chariots as they rolled<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Along the massive turnpikes made of gold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We had some music, so sweet-lipped and true<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It made me think of every flower I knew;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when, with benediction, the old pastor<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said "Good-bye" for himself, but not his master,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It put my resolution to the rack,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To head my poor old tears, and drive them back!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We tried to come straight out, as Christians should,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bring away all of it that we could;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But there were certain persons there to-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, after church was over, clogged the way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, standing 'round, with worldly nods and smiles,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Held a week-day reception in the aisles.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now, when one's mind falls in celestial frame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He wants to get home safely with the same;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hates through jostling gossipers to walk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And stumble 'gainst the smallest kinds of talk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Intended, by some power, his mind to bring<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Down out of Heaven to every worldly thing&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From office, and good methods to ensure it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To rheumatism, and proper means to cure it.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">These are the spires that were gleaming<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All through my juvenile dreaming;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here the high belfries are singing:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gold invitations they're winging,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Asking man through the charmed portal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where he is once more immortal;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where he may hide from his cares,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under a shelter of prayers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why do these halls, high and broad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under the same constant God,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vary in structure and style&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Differ, from chancel to aisle?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why forms and creeds so diverse?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why is my blessing your curse?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pondering here on the street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This is one reason I meet:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Man's brain is devious and strange&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Differs, in form and in range;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So that God's fervid love-sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Falling the same on each one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Differs in form and in hue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Not the less precious or true)!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Body and brain and heart&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Temple of infinite art<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You had no power to control<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hues of your windows of soul!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">October</span> 5, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sweet virtue, virtue, virtue!&mdash;what a start<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You've got here in this city's feverish heart!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There isn't a thing to do that's square and right,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But some one's here to teach it, day and night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No soothing balm soul may from soul demand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But some one has it ready to his hand!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And then the churches&mdash;thick and rich of yield,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As corn-shocks in a new-made prairie field,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where any one the golden fruit can find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All ready cooked to suit his heart and mind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Great brick-and-mortar prayers! that never cease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And costing fifty good-sized farms apiece<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Much too expensive, it might well be said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If <i>bodies only</i> need be clothed and fed).<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And then the missions&mdash;regular district schools,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where transient men are taught eternal rules;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then the Salvation Army girls and boys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who season their religion up with noise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, when they get to Heaven, won't have the power<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To help keep silent even half an hour;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But who take ragged wretches every day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Haul them into the straight and narrow way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strip them of vain conceit soon as they show it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And get them saved&mdash;almost before they know it!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's something good to make these people good,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who never go to church, and never would!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">God bless each woman, man, and child, I say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That leads His creatures in the heavenly way,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether they work by still, old-fashioned means,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or march with drums and flags and tambourines!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then there's those men who've crept and crawled as low<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As even Satan cared to have them go;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have marched through strong iron doors in striped ranks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have toiled where convict labor whirls and clanks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have made hard beds in cramped and lonely cells,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have sinned their way through several different hells;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose lives have been so terribly amiss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To ever find worse worlds than they've made this;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then groped out into Virtue's bath and sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And been washed up as clean as any one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And warmed up with sweet sunlight from above;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till they themselves start off on deeds of love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And say to men with scarred and crime-flushed brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I've been as bad, or worse, than you are now."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereat the wretch says, with dull, shadowy bliss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"What! can there be some square way out of this?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And maybe brings to pass, through Virtue's schemes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some of his poor old mother's fondest dreams!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh you who shout or sing or chant or read&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whatever be your name or style or creed&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If any one on earth a plan has got<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Whether it's half as good as yours or not)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To find a gate into the narrow way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let in others that have gone astray&mdash;&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If there's a single chance to mortals given<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By which to slip poor mortals into Heaven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Heaven's sake do not frown in righteous wrath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or throw a scornful word into their path!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But <i>interfere with help</i> in their affairs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And push them with your money and your prayers!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Pain is Pain, and God to see it loath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In this strange world and in the next one, both;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he who saves his fellow-men from pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is God's hired man, and does not toil in vain?<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">But I'm reminded, by the bell for dinner,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I'm no preacher, but a poor old sinner,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unable even to follow my own view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Much less to counsel others how to do.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can't even eat&mdash;when I come right down to it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without a bell to tell me when to do it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I will cork my sermon, snub my muse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And go down-stairs with Wife, and learn the news.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<h3>[MORE WAYS THAN ONE.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was present, one day<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where both layman and priest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Worshipped God in a way<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That was startling, at least:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over thirty in place<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On the stage, in a row,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As is often the case<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At a minstrelsy show;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a uniform clad<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was each one of them seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a banjo they had,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And a loud tambourine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And they sung and they shouted<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their spasmodic joys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just as if they ne'er doubted<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That God loved a noise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And their phrases, though all<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not deficient in points,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A grammarian would call<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rather weak in the joints;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the aspirate sound<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was adroitly misused,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And The Language all round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Was assaulted and bruised;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While the tunes that they sung<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In bewildering throngs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had been married, when young,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To hilarious songs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the folks in that place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who this loud racket made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were not bounded by race<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or condition or shade.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now I love my own meeting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My own cosy pew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While mentally greeting<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Friends quietly true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the Gospel dispensed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With a dignified grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Born of reason clear-sensed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And a faith firm of place.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I love the trained voices<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That float down the aisles,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the whole church rejoices<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With God's sweetest smiles.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have no sneer understood<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For the rest, when I say<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I had rather get good<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In a civilized way.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So this meeting had grated<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Somewhat on my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ere long I had waited,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I thought to depart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But a young man arose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Looking sin-drenched and grim,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if rain-storms of woes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Had descended on him;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No such face you'd discern<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In a leisurely search,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you took a chance turn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Through a civilized church;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But his words, though not choice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To my feelings came nigh;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was growth in his voice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There was hope in his eye.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And he said, "I'm a lad<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With a life full of blame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Every step has been bad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Every hour was a shame.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And for drink I would pawn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All within my control,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From the clothes I had on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To my heart and my soul.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have drank the foul stuff<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In my parents' hot tears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have done crime enough<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">For a hundred black years;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I came to this place<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For the help that I craved;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have seen Jesus's face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And I know I am saved."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then a man rose to view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When this youngster was done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he said, "This is true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That young man is my son.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He was drunk every day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And such terror would make,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I spurned him away<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From my house, like a snake.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We have suffered the worst<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That can come from heart-fears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He is sober the first<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I have seen him for years.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am full of such joy<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As I never yet knew;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now, Robert, my boy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Home is open to you!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"You may go home with me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or may run on before;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You've a glittering key<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That will open the door!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your mother is there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Praying for you e'en now;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is snow in her hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">There is pain on her brow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when you have kissed her<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The old-fashioned way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's a brother and sister<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who've longed for this day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And whatever can befriend you<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On earth, shall be done;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May God's blessing attend you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My son&mdash;oh, my son!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then the banjo struck in,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And the tambourine jingled;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There rose such a din<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That my blood fairly tingled.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The vocalists screamed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till quite red in the face;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But somehow it all seemed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not at all out of place!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now denouements immense<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Do riot somehow take hold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or dramatic events<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Reach my heart, as of old;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But my smiles could not hide<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The fast-gathering tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I cheered, laughed, and cried,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As I had not for years!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I thought, "Not amiss<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Are this tumult and shout:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Folks who save men like this<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Know what they are about.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You who fight with God's sword<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For the good of your kind&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You can never afford<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To leave these men behind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If these women I've seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Should be pelted or cursed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would step in between&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I would take the blow first.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They who draw souls above<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From the depths lowest down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will not fail of God's love<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or to shine in His crown."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 409px;">
+<img src="images/illus27.jpg" width="409" height="300" alt="THE SALVATION ARMY." title="The Salvation Army" />
+<span class="caption">THE SALVATION ARMY.</span>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p>
+
+<h4><br /><br />[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<h3>[THE MARCH OF THE CHILDREN.]<br /><br /></h3>
+
+<div class="floatr">
+<img src="images/illus28.jpg" alt="The March of the Children" title="The March of the Children" />
+</div>
+
+<p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">List to the sound of the drumming!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gaily the children are coming;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet as the smile of a fairy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fresh as the blossoms they carry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pride of the parents who love them,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pure as the azure above them,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Free as the winds that caress them,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bright as the sunbeams that bless them.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><br /><br /><br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><br /><br /><br />List to the voice-echoes ringing!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweeter than birds they are singing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thoughts that to virtue invite them,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wed unto airs that delight them.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Truths that their future will cherish,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soul-planted, never to perish!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only to senses completer,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heaven's choicest music were sweeter!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="floatr">
+<img src="images/illus29.jpg" alt="children marching" title="children marching" />
+</div>
+
+<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Virtue, unconscious and pretty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Walks through the streets of the city;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See the gay bannerets flying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mottoes and titles undying;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Truths dearly hallowed and olden,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Braided in strands that are golden;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Words for the spirit's desiring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sentences sweetly inspiring!<br /><br /><br /><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><br /><br /><br /></p>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When, in a voice of caressing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Christ gave the children His blessing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas not for one generation&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But for each epoch and nation.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So through the present it<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">lingers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shed from His bountiful<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">fingers;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So unto these it is given&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Types of the angels in<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heaven.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="TRAVEL" id="TRAVEL"></a>TRAVEL.</h2>
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">November 1, 18&mdash;.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It's quite the thing to "travel" nowadays<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Although I do not think it <i>always</i> pays),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And see if distant ground in general looks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As mentioned in the papers and in books.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I find, in sifting what few facts I know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Three ways of realizing things are so:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">First, when you're told them in such trusty shape<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That square belief isn't easy to escape.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(There's lots of people&mdash;this town wouldn't hold them&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who don't know much excepting what is told them.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Second, what you've put on some mental shelf,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By having seen and understood yourself.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(How well we know things witnessed, largely lies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On how much brain there is behind our eyes.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The third way is the surest and the best<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Though sometimes painful, it must be confessed):<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's where a truth has whipped the earth with you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until you <i>feel</i>, from head to foot, 'tis true.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I think, sometimes, when all is said and done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Feeling is all the senses joined in one.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><i>We're</i> going to travel!&mdash;not so very far<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As our new friends, the Fitzcumnoodles, are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who cannot read their social title's clear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unless they ride twelve thousand miles a year,<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span><span class="i0">(I told them, with a philosophic smile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That travelling shouldn't be measured by the mile.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But we shall take a little trip, to-morrow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With some spare time that wife's contrived to borrow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To where George Washington laid out a town<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That several centuries won't see tumbled down!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A city which, with all the sneaking sinners<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That come down there to steal their daily dinners,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the human insects hovering nigh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such as swarm thick wherever good things lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And spite of all the bad weeds growing round,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has always <i>some</i> good folks upon the ground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And will be head-piece of the greatest nation<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That ever helped spruce up the Lord's plantation.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Fitzcumnoodles, through their daughter Maud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Inform us that we ought to go abroad;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Clancdenancies, we have lately learned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From an extended trip have just returned;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so my eldest daughter, Isabel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who knows Miss Clanc, etc., very well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Called on her in the progress of a walk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And had a pleasant little travel-talk;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And after coming home misspent her time<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In putting what she heard there into rhyme<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;lost it&mdash;not by accident, I fear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll paste the "conversation" right in here:<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>HER TOUR.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yes, we've been travelling, my dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Three months, or such a matter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And it's a blessing to get clear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of all the clash and clatter!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah! when I look the guide-book through,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And see each queer place in there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis hard to make it seem quite true<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That I myself have been there!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Our voyage? Oh, of course 'twas gay&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Delightful! splendid! glorious!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We spurned the shore&mdash;we sped away&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We rode the waves victorious.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The first mate's mustache was so grand!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The ocean sweet, though stormy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(I was so sick I could not stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But papa saw it for me).<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At Queenstown we saw land once more&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ground never looked so pretty!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We took a steam-car near the shore<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For some light-sounding city.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A very ordinary stone<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We had to kiss at Blarney;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The beggars wouldn't let us alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That half-day at Killarney!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Giants' Causeway? 'Tis arranged<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With no regard to science;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It must somehow of late have changed&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At least we saw no giants.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some little funny scrubs of folks<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sold pictures, and were merry;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The men were full of yarns and jokes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The women barefoot&mdash;very.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Old Scotland? Yes, all in our power<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We did there to be thorough;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We stopped in Glasgow one whole hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then straight to "Edin<i>borough</i>."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At Abbotsford we made a stay<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of half an hour precisely.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(The ruins all along the way<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Were ruined very nicely.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We "did" a mountain in the rain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And left the others undone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then took the "Flying Scotchman" train.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And came by night to London.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long tunnels somewhere on the line<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Made sound and darkness deeper;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No; English scenery is not fine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Viewed from a Pullman sleeper.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, Paris! Paris! Paris! 'tis<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No wonder, dear, that you go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So far into the ecstasies<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">About that Victor Hugo!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He paints the city, high and low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With faithful pen and ready<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(I think, my dear, I ought to know&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We drove there two hours steady).<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Through Switzerland by train. Yes, I<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Enjoyed it, in a measure;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But still the mountains are too high<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To see with any pleasure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their tops&mdash;they made my neck quite stiff,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Just stretching up to view them;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And folks are very foolish if<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">They clamber clear up to them!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Rome, Venice, Naples, and the Rhine?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">We did them&mdash;do not doubt it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This guide-book here is very fine&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Twill tell you all about it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We've saved up Asia till next year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">If business gets unravelled;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What! going? Come again; and, dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I will not seem so travelled.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Washington</span>, <i>November 3, 18&mdash;.</i></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><i>We're</i> travelling, and we're here! and what a town!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I own, it picks me up and sets me down!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thought I had some idea of the place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what its corporation lines embrace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd read the county papers every week,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which seldom failed "From Washington" to speak;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd travelled through these streets by photograph,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, with Imagination for a staff,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had wandered round, in little trips disjointed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even where the artist's brass gun has not pointed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so I said, "Though I wouldn't like to miss it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twill be a good deal like a second visit."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But 'tisn't an easy perpetrated scheme<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To prophesy how anything will seem.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This city's new to me&mdash;I do not doubt it&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if I'd never heard a word about it!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's something in these white-clothed buildings' glare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And something even in the very air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in the great variety of faces,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bearing the ear-marks of a thousand places,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in that monument that reaches high&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The farthest stone has climbed into the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And in that dome, whose kingly size and height<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Contrive, where'er you are, to keep in sight&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From these, and several hundred other things<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This nation's lead-horse city at you flings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You feel as if you'd stepped, through many a mile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into another planet for a while!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But men too weary to hold up their heads<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are apt to bless the man[7] who first made beds;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, having found one, and reclined within it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forget about him in just half a minute.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I'll let Morpheus (who is at me winking)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do the remainder of this evening's thinking.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">[7]&nbsp;&nbsp;  Or woman&mdash;let due praise to her be paid;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A bed is never made until 'tis <i>made</i>.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p>
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<h3>AT THE SUMMIT OF THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT.</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Look North! A white-clad city fills<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This valley to its sloping hills;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here gleams the modest house of white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The statesman's longed-for, dizzy height.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beyond, a pledge of love to one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who in two lands was Freedom's son&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The holder of an endless debt&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our nation's brother, Lafayette.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But yonder lines of costly homes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And bristling spires and swelling domes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And far away the spreading farms<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where thrift displays substantial charms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hamlets creeping out of sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And cities full of wealth and might,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must own the fatherhood of him<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose glory Time can never dim.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All who can reckon Freedom's worth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would write across this whole broad earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With pen dipped in the golden sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The magic name of Washington!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If we can keep the rules he gave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This land he more than fought to save,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our future fame will glisten forth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grand as the winter-lighted North!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 389px;">
+<img src="images/illus30.jpg" width="389" height="600" alt="FROM THE MONUMENT." title="Washington Monument" />
+<span class="caption">FROM THE MONUMENT.</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Look South!&mdash;where, in its coat of gray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The broad Potomac creeps away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seeks the blue of distant skies;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But pauses where the great chief lies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within his humble, hallowed tomb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amid Mount Vernon's deathless bloom.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As glides this stream, great corse, past thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">First to the bay, and then the sea,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So flowed thy life to rural rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere thou wast Heaven's eternal guest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh strong, high man! whose patriot heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Climbed from all common greeds apart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To whom men's selfish ways were small,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As from this tower, serenely tall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Built that all years thy fame may know),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Men look while creeping there below!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How weak was power to thy clear gaze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Builder of nations joined in one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kindler of splendors still to blaze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Finder of glories just begun!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Live on, great sleeper! as this stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Highest from earth that man has known,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So shall be ranked thy solid worth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Highest of heroes on the earth!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Happy, secure, and cherished name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love is the pillar of thy fame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy praise comes from each patriot's mouth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Warm as the sunbeams of the South!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Look East! The Nation's castle walls<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Spread out in massive beauty now;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their lofty dome and pictured halls<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In homage to this summit bow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, well that from these palaced lands<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The marble spire obeisance win;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But for the one for whom it stands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This chieftain-town had never been!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yon plot, so full of brain and will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had staid a bleak and lonely hill!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If at five thousand dizzy feet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This shaft the whirling clouds could meet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until our gaze for miles, might be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the uncrowned but royal sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twere not too much of honor then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To grant our crownless king of men.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You who the Nation's laws indite,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Look to this summit's honest white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where, throned on walls that must endure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pure fame entreats you to be pure;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until our glory be increased,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like sunbeams from the dazzling East!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Look West! There lie the hilly fields<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where brothers fought through days of dread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where mothers brooded o'er their dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And soil the thrift of carnage yields;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where cannon roared and bullets sung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till every hillock had a tongue.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O Nation being and to be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That silent blood speaks loud to thee!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God grant, if e'er our guns again<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must tear the quivering flesh of men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The leaden hail-storm may be pressed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against some foul invader's breast&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Against some alien tribe and zone&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not, as then, to kill our own!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May all the fruitful strifes of peace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The thrilling bonds of love increase;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May yonder orb, in his quick change<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From mountain range to mountain range,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From valley to rich valley o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From river shore to river shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From wave to wave&mdash;may yonder sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One Nation count, and only one;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until he dips his fiery crest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the ocean of the West!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Look up! The phantom clouds of gray&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grim ghosts of storm&mdash;have passed away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The veiling of the sky is done,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And downward shines the welcome sun.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He kindles grand and peaceful fires<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the city's domes and spires;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sends his strong magnetic glow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Through yonder moving throngs below.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art, O sky serene and clear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A symbol of our country here!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What land in all this world of pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This earth, where millions toil in vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where famine, pestilence, and strife<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Play careless games with human life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Superstition clouds the soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And heartless brains sad hearts control&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What country, framed in frost or flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can see so clear a sky as ours?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Peace throws her mantle, broad and free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'er all who peaceable will be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Plenty her sheltering flag doth wave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O'er those who will but toil and save;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enlightenment each day shall rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For all who do not cloud their eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While Liberty from every race<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Has made this land a refuge-place.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let our deep thanks forever fly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Far as the reaches of the sky!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">November 5, 18&mdash;.</span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Went to Mount Vernon; and I wouldn't have lost<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That trip, for fifteen hundred times its cost!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those farm-lands sleeping in the autumn sun;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The house <span class="smcap">HE</span> slept in when his work was done;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The trees he planted with his own brave hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That set out Freedom's trees all o'er the land:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The humble tomb he lies in, which&mdash;like me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pilgrims from all the world have come to see:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These look up in one's eyes and sadly smile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And preach a funeral sermon all the while!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even the river-boats upon their way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Toll bells, as if he'd died that very day!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And through it all this precept may be traced:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The noblest men are simplest in their taste.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I've read how grand, Napoleon's tomb is made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the surface-honors to him paid;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I don't think the people that come there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bring any heartfelt sympathy to spare;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While every true-brained patriot, night and morn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thanks God for letting Washington be born!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">While I was standing, hat off, at the tomb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A youth approached, three-quarters made of bloom;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with his hat perched on his close-sheared head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And smoking a small white cigar, he said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Sirrh, would you kindly just enlighten me<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As to where Gawge cut down the cherry-tree?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said I, "Young man, just please at once disgorge<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fool-idea of calling that man 'George;'<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His body, mind, and soul were firmly set<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Higher, no doubt, than you will ever get.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He isn't the man, though lying dead, 'tis true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When friends are near, to be half-named by you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take off your hat, and bow; if you rebel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll get a cherry switch and trounce you well."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He looked at me a moment in surprise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And mutiny stood foremost in his eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I was quite indignant, and could feel<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blood of Bunker Hill all through me steal.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I said, "One minute more will be allowed;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fine young man took off his hat, and bowed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Irreverence is the fashion, nowadays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shows itself in good and evil ways;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its mission is legitimate and clear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In cases where there's nothing to revere;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">But they who use it must be judgment-fixed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not get reverend and unreverend <i>mixed</i>.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Through these broad streets do I fly&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Furlongs and miles I defy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till the "magnificent distance"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vanishes out of existence.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let me with pencil prolong<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strains of the Bicycler's Song:<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>[THE SILENT WHEEL.]</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Good-morning, good Pedestrian&mdash;I'm glad to see you out;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The day is full of healthfulness, the birds are all about;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is a quiet breeziness in all the pleasant air&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hope this happy exercise will drive away your care.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">For I am a pedestrian&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">A very good pedestrian&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the glowing benefit of walking I can share;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Although I tread the atmosphere, and do not touch the ground,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I greet you as a brother, sir, wherever you are bound.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But my impatient lady-love in yonder town doth wait;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wish you better company, and strike a swifter gait.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Good-morning, good Equestrian&mdash;a noble steed you ride;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I do not seem to frighten him, so here is by your side.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a feast of happiness to smoothly bound along,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With sturdy muscles under you, and footing swift and strong.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">For I am an equestrian&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">A very fair equestrian&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With bugle blast of melody and unassuming song;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the thrilling ecstacy of horsemanship I feel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Although the nag I ride upon was bred of burnished steel.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But his impatience urges me to swifter gait than you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And so I wish you pleasure, sir, and bid a kind adieu.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Good-morning, Mr. Racer, you've a trotter that is fine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I never would disparage him, or say too much of mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your horse is full of mettle, sir, and bravely draws his load;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It must be pure deliciousness to speed him on the road.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">But I am quite a racing man&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">A modest, humble racing man&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though small is my solicitude upon the turf bestowed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if you have anxiety to try a little race,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll undertake, with courtesy, to give you second place;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if the first you take from me, and it be fairly earned,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll hope that on some future day the tables may be turned.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Good-morning, Mr. Carriageer, you have an easy ride;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those cushions are luxurious, and pleasantly you glide!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis very good and fortunate, if one be tired or ill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To calmly call his carriage out, and travel as he will.<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">But I, sir, keep my carriage, too&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">A very pleasant carriage, too&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though it is not the easy one that <i>your</i> desire would fill;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It carries me in comfort over many a pleasant mile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all my best acquaintances are suited with its style.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis with a blithe economy establishments are run,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With driver, footman, passenger, and horses&mdash;all in one!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Good-morning, fellow Wheelmen; here's a warm, fraternal hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As with a rush of victory we sweep across the land!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If some may be dissatisfied to view the way we ride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We only wish their majesties could wander by our side!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">For we are good philanthropists&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Unqualified philanthropists&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And would not have <i>our</i> happiness to any one denied.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We claim a great utility that daily must increase;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We claim for inactivity a bright and grand release;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A constant mental, physical, and moral help we feel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which makes us turn enthusiasts, and bless the silent wheel!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">November</span> 20, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It's quite a show, and strikes me a good deal&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How many ride around here on a wheel;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The streets are graded very smooth and nice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make this town the wheelman's paradise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A brother-farmer&mdash;neighbor, once, to me&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who's down here, like myself, to hear and see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Told me, last night, before we "doused the glim,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How a young wheel-chap got the start of him.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twould skip my memory, maybe, if I'd let it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll put it down here so I sha'n't forget it.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h3>[FARMER AND WHEEL; OR, THE NEW LOCHINVAR.]</h3>
+
+<p>I.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was hoein' in my corn-field, on a spring day, just at noon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' a hearkin' in my stomach for the dinner-trumpet's tune,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' reflectin', when my daughter should be married, 'twould be best<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She should take Josiah Baker's son, who jines me on the west,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' consolidate our acres into one immense abode,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When my hired man says, "By ginger, look a-yender down the road!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Well," I says, "my goodness gracious! things <i>is</i> rather overgrown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When a buggy-wheel gets loosened, an' goes runnin' 'round alone."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But my man he says, "By mustard!" (as the critter nearer came)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Don't you see that there's a feller on a-straddle of the same?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' it <i>was</i> as nice a shaver as you'd see 'most any day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who was travellin' through the country in that unexpected way.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He was rather young an' han'some, an' as smilin' as you please,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' his pants they signed a contract with his stockin's at the knees;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' he had a pair o' treadles some'at underneath his seat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So's to run the queer contraption, by a-workin' of his feet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' the sun descended on it, in a manner warm an' bright;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twas as sing'lar as a circus, an' an interestin' sight.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When, as fate was bound to have it, on that quite partic'lar morn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was somethin' was the matter with my folks's dinner-horn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah! the hired girl, when she tried to, couldn't blow it very well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For to call us in to dinner&mdash;so she sent my daughter Belle:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who came up just at that minute&mdash;nice a girl as could be found:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' this fellow looked her over, an' came smashin' to the ground.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Smash to bang he came a-floppin'&mdash;wheel an' stockin's, pants an' all;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' I run to him, remarking "You have caught a dreadful fall."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' my daughter hovered round him, tremblin' with her she alarms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lookin' just as if she would like to some'at take him in her arms;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he glanced up, faintly smilin', an' he gaspin'ly replied,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I am only hurt intern'lly" (which I s'pose he meant inside).<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' we packed him on the stone-boat, an' then drove him to the house<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' he lay there on the sofa, still an' quiet as a mouse;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' he would not have a doctor; but he called my daughter Belle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' then laughed an' chatted with her, like a person gettin' well;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' along late in the evenin', I suppose, he went away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For he wasn't there next mornin', an' Belle hadn't a word to say.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' he left two silver dollars in an easy-noticed spot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For to pay us for his passage on the stone-boat, like as not;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' 'twas quite enough equivalent for his transitory stay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But whate'er he might have left us, still he carried more away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For my daughter Belle grew absent, glanced at every sound she heard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Josiah Baker junior couldn't get a civil word.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p>II.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was workin' in my meadow, on a blazin' summer's day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When my son-in-law by contract came a-runnin' 'cross the way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' remarked, "It's been the bargain&mdash;for how long I needn't tell&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That these two farms should be married&mdash;as should also me an' Belle;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' how much the indications indicate that that'll be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you'll come down here a minute, you will have a chance to see."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 650px;">
+<img src="images/illus31.jpg" width="600" height="403" alt="&quot;AND HE STOOD THERE, LIKE A COLONEL, WITH HER TREMBLING ON HIS ARM.&quot;" title="And he stood there, like a Colonel" />
+<p class="caption">&quot;AND HE STOOD THERE, LIKE A COLONEL, WITH HER TREMBLING ON HIS ARM.&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' he led me 'cross the fallow, underneath some picnic trees,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where my gal an' that wheel fellow sat as cosy as you please;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' she'd put some flowers an' ribbons on the wheel, to make a show,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' they'd been a-shakin' hands there, an' forgotten to let go;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' she sort o' made a chair-back of the fellow's other arm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With no 'parent recollection of Josiah Baker's farm.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then we walked around front of 'em, an' I says, "Your very fine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But this gal that you are courtin' is Josiah's gal an' mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You're a mighty breechy critter, an' are trespassin' all round;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why, this very grove you sit in is Josiah's father's ground."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then he rose up, stiff an' civil, an' helped Belle across the stile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Also put the masheen over, with a queer but quiet smile;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' he stood there, like a colonel, with her tremblin' on his arm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' remarked, "I beg your pardon, if I've done you any harm.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But so far as 'trespass' matters, I've relieved you of that load,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since the place I now am standing is, I think, the public road.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this very sweet young lady, you in one sense yours may call,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she's mine, sir, in another&mdash;and Josiah's not at all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I'll escort this lady home, sir, leave my wheel here in your care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And come back in fifteen minutes to arrange the whole affair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And please do not touch the 'cycle'&mdash;'tis as yet without a flaw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I do not want a quarrel with my future father-in-law;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If this Mr. Baker junior follows up his glances, though,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With his fingers, I will thrash him till he thinks his cake is dough."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then he left us both suspectin' that he'd rather got the start,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' the acres of the daddies seemed increasin'ly apart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' we didn't wait to see him; but, with one impatient jerk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We shook our heads in concert, an' went back unto our work;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' I couldn't help reflectin'&mdash;"He is steady like, an' cool,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' that wheel may be a folly, but it didn't bring a fool."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p>III.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was on my stoop a-restin', on a hazy autumn day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rather drowsy from a dinner that had just been stowed away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And regrettin'&mdash;when old Baker's an' my homestead jined in one.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That he wasn't to furnish daughter, an' I wasn't to furnish son,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So's to have my name continued, 'stead of letting it go down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Josiah Baker junior came a drivin' home from town.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' a little ways behind him came that wheel scamp, ridin' hard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' they both to once alighted, an' come walkin' through the yard;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When, as fate was bound to have it, also came my daughter Belle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From a visit in some neighbor's, lookin' very sweet an' well;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' they stood there all together&mdash;that 'ere strange, dissimilar three,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' remained in one position&mdash;lookin' steady down at me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then Josiah spoke up loudly, in a kind o' sudden pet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"If this gal an' I's to marry, it is time the day was set;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For that one-wheel feller's always 'round here courtin', on the fly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' they say she rides out with him, in the night-time, on the sly.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Father'll give us board an' victuals, you can give her land an' dower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherefore, if she wants to have me, please to set the day an' hour."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then the wheel scamp spoke up quiet, but as if the words he meant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"<i>I</i> would like to wed your daughter, an' have come for your consent.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She is very dear to me, sir, when we walk or when we ride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, I think, is not unwilling to become my cherished bride.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can give her love and honor, and I ask of you no dower;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wherefore, please bestow your blessing; <i>we</i> have set the day and hour."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then I might have told my daughter that <i>she</i> now could have the floor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' remarked that on this question there should be just one speech more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I rendered my decision in a flame of righteous rage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' I shouted, "You'd no business for to court or to engage!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This 'ere gal has long been spoke for; an' you'll please to clamber on<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your old hind-wheel of a buggy, an' forevermore be gone!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then he picked up Belle quite sudden, an' made swiftly for the gate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' I formed a move to stop 'em, but was most perplexin' late;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He had fixed a small side-saddle on his everlastin' wheel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So that she could ride behind him (clingin' 'round him a good deal);<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' straight down the Beebe turnpike, like a pair o' birds they flew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Towards a preacher's who had married almost every one he knew.<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 381px;">
+<img src="images/illus32.jpg" width="381" height="600" alt="CHASING THE BICYCLE." title="Chasing the bicycle" />
+<span class="caption">CHASING THE BICYCLE.</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Stop 'em! head 'em! chase 'em! catch 'em!" I commanded, very vexed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"They'll be hustlin' off our daughters on a streak o' lightnin', next!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' we took Josiah's wagon, an' his old gray spavined mare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' proceeded for to chase 'em, with no extra time to spare;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' Josiah whipped an' shouted, it was such a dismal pinch,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' kept just so far behind 'em, but we couldn't gain an inch!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Down the turnpike road we rattled; an' some fellows loudly cried,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Go it, Baker, or you'll lose her! ten to one upon the bride!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' I fumed an' yelled an' whistled, an' commanded them to halt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' the fact we couldn't catch 'em wasn't Josiah Baker's fault;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he murmured, "I am makin' father's mare into a wreck,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Just to see my gal a-huggin' round another feller's neck!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An' they rushed into that preacher's, maybe twenty rods ahead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' before I reached the altar all their marriage-vows was said;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' I smashed in wildly, just as they was lettin' go o' han's,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' remarked, in tones of sternness, "I hereby forbid the banns!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While Josiah Baker junior close behind me meekly came,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sayin', "Were my father present, he would doubtless do the same!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But they turned to me a-smilin', an' she hangin' on his arm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' he said, "I beg your pardon; let Josiah have the farm.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We've accomplished the sweet object for which we so long have striven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, as usual in such cases, are prepared to be forgiven."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' the whole thing seemed so funny, when I thought of it a while,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I looked 'em both all over, an' then blessed 'em with a smile.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then Josiah Baker junior took his spavined mare for home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' 'twas difficult decidin' which indulged the most in foam;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' he said, "I'll drive alone, sir, if the same you do not mind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' your son an' daughter Wheeler maybe'll take you up behind."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' he yelled, while disappearing with a large smile on his mouth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I kin git a gal whose father jines my father on the south!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p>IV.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was workin' in my wood-house on a snowy winter day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' reflectin' on a letter that had lately come our way,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">How that Belle had every blessin' that a married gal could need,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' had bought her two twin daughters a small-sized velocipede,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the thought came stealin' through me, "Well, so far as I can see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the line of love an' lovin', what's to be is apt to be."<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">November</span> 21, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Went into Congress for a little spell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where everything seemed going pretty well;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But all through boyhood's easy-moulding day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd heard so much of Webster and of Clay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That, though they had been dead for many a year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thought at least by proxy they'd appear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was a disappointment, I declare:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Daniel or Henry&mdash;neither one was there!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class="smcap">New York</span>, <i>January</i> 1, 18&mdash;.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Got back from several cities; and it looks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if the things we've seen would fill ten books!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some time I'll write our wanderings to and fro;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's a large job: I'll have to take it slow.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book</i>.]</h4>
+
+<h3>[ONLY A BOX.]</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Only a box, secure and strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rough, and wooden, and six feet long,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lying here in the drizzling rain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Waiting to take the up-bound train.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 397px;">
+<img src="images/illus33.jpg" width="397" height="600" alt="&quot;ONLY A BOX, SECURE AND STRONG,
+ROUGH AND WOODEN, AND SIX FEET LONG.&quot;" title="Only a box" />
+<p class="caption">&quot;ONLY A BOX, SECURE AND STRONG,<br />
+ROUGH AND WOODEN, AND SIX FEET LONG.&quot;</p>
+</div><p><br />
+</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Only its owner, just inside,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cold, and livid, and glassy-eyed;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little to him if the train be late!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nothing has he to do but wait.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Only an open grave, somewhere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heady to close when he gets there;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turfs and grasses and flowerets sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ready to press him 'neath their feet.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Only a band of friends at home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Waiting to see the traveller come;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Naught he will tell of distant lands;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He cannot even press their hands.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He has no stories weird and bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He has no gifts for a child's delight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He did not come with anything;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He had not even himself to bring.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet they will softly him await,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he will move about in state;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They will give him, when he appears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love, and pity, and tender tears.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Only a box, secure and strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rough and wooden, and six feet long;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Angels guide that soulless breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into a long and peaceful rest!<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="HOME" id="HOME"></a>HOME.</h2>
+
+<h4>[<i>From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.</i>]</h4>
+
+
+<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">July</span> 1, 18&mdash;.</p></blockquote>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Back to the old, old homestead!&mdash;isn't it queer!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But stranger things than that have happened here:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The old farm, after giving oil by stream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Until the world itself would almost seem<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About to lose its progress smooth and true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And creak upon its axis, first we knew),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Closed business in the twinkling of an eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every blessed well we had went dry!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then all the oil-springs that my neighbors had<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The example followed&mdash;be it good or bad;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the whole region round here, high and low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So full of wealth a few short months ago&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And men, to get their circumstances oiled&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is now poor farm-land, pretty nearly spoiled!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The little town a mile away from here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where we sold eggs and butter many a year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(And feared the neighbors' hens might over-lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And glut the market some sad Saturday),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From a few grown-up folks, a small child-crop,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A church, post-office, store, and blacksmith shop,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This village grew to be, within a year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A town of fifteen thousand people clear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It had its banks, its street-cars, and its gas,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And other wonders cities bring to pass;<br /></span>
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></div></div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Its house-yards sold for twice as much, I know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As my old farm was worth three years ago.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the town did not grow on brain or soil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But floated on a hidden sea of oil,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which ebbed away, one evening, on the sly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And left "the city" stranded high and dry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And now the place is crumbling to the gaze&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A modern ruin in these modern days:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No banks, no street-cars, no hotels in town&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mansions have been burned or taken down.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It shows how soon all greatness is unmade<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When once it gets upon the down-hill grade!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So we've come back to take our former farm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fix it up somehow, coax back its old charm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And live here&mdash;by the city noise unstirred&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To cogitate on what we've seen and heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While living in a bustle and a brawl<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That sometimes hardly let us think at all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The old house was kept whole in every part<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(I had that put in writing on the start),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though the farm seems very much as though<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An earthquake had lived here a year or so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We mean to try and make it seem, some week,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More as it did before it sprung a leak.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">First thing I said, when home began to fit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus afford us time to breathe a bit:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"We've been out to the city, now, my dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let's bring a small part of the city here.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm going, on this very day, to send<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For several children such as need a friend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And have them come out here and get some air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With room to turn around, and some to spare."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I wrote some men and women in the city,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who give poor children help, as well as pity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Send out as many as you can afford!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every one shall have a month's clean board,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And carry back, from out our plenteous store,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enough to keep himself a fortnight more."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The first night that we sat expecting them,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I did what some whole families would condemn&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I moulded up my feelings into rhyme,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In something less than fifteen minutes' time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then voiced it to whoever would come near;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll put the imposition right in here:<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 445px;">
+<img src="images/illus34.jpg" width="332" height="200" alt="&quot;AND CARRY BACK, FROM OUT OUR PLENTEOUS STORE,
+ENOUGH TO KEEP HIMSELF A FORTNIGHT MORE.&quot;" title="And carry back from out our plenteous store" />
+<p class="caption">&quot;AND CARRY BACK, FROM OUT OUR PLENTEOUS STORE,<br />
+ENOUGH TO KEEP HIMSELF A FORTNIGHT MORE.&quot;</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h4>[LET THE CLOTH BE WHITE.]</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Go set the table, Mary, an' let the cloth be white!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The hungry city children are comin' here to-night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The children from the city, with features pinched an' spare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are comin' here to get a breath of God's untainted air.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They come from out the dungeons where they with want were chained;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From places dark an' dismal, by tears of sorrow stained;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From where a thousand shadows are murdering all the light:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Set well the table, Mary dear, an' let the cloth be white!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/illus35.jpg" width="600" height="456" alt="&quot;THE HUNGRY CITY CHILDREN ARE COMING HERE TO-NIGHT.&quot;" title="The hungry city children are coming here to-night." />
+<span class="caption">&quot;THE HUNGRY CITY CHILDREN ARE COMING HERE TO-NIGHT.&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They ha' not seen the daisies made for the heart's behoof;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They never heard the rain-drops upon a cottage roof;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They do not know the kisses of zephyr an' of breeze;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They never rambled wild an' free beneath the forest trees.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The food that they ha' eaten was spoiled by others' greeds;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The very air their lungs breathed was full o' poison seeds;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The very air their souls breathed was full o' wrong an' spite:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go set the table, Mary dear, an' let the cloth be white!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The fragrant water-lilies ha' never smiled at them;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They never picked a wild-flower from off its dewy stem;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They never saw a greensward that they could safely pass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unless they heeded well the sign that says "Keep off the grass."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">God bless the men and women of noble brain an' heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who go down in the folk-swamps an' take the children's part&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those hungry, cheery children that keep us in their debt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' never fail to give us more of pleasure than they get!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Set well the table, Mary; let naught be scant or small;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The little ones are coming; have plenty for 'em all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's nothing we should furnish except the very best<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To those that Jesus looked upon an' called to him an' blessed.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>[<i>From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book.</i>]</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, Home&mdash;restful home! theme of praise and of song!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the heart has its refuge, unfailing and strong;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the cares of the world sign a partial release,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the soul can lie down to a sweet sleep of peace!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mine whence we dig out affection's pure gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fire where we warm our poor hearts when they're cold!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The grand, tender chorus, by love's fingers stirred,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where all the sweet tones of the soul-life are heard!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But he who in thy praises was sweetest and best&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who wrote that great song full of soothing and rest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Through pleasures and palaces though we may roam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be it never so humble, there's no place like home"&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He who, in a moment unfettered by art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let that heavenly song fly from the nest of his heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He wandered the earth, all forgot and alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ne'er till he died had a home of his own!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He wandered the earth at his own dreary will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And carried his great heavy heart with him still;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He carried his great heavy heart o'er the road,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With no one to give him a lift with his load;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wherever he went, with his lone, dreary tread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He found that his sweet song had flown on ahead!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He heard its grand melodies' chimes o'er and o'er,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From great bands that played at the palace's door;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He heard its soft tones through the cottages creep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From fond mothers singing their babies to sleep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he wandered the earth, all forgot and alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ne'er till in Heaven had a home of his own!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of course&mdash;be it said to the poor fellow's shame&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was no one on earth but himself he could blame.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God meant, when he made this world cheerful and bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then looked it all over and said 'twas all right,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then stole Adam's rib while he lay fast asleep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when he awoke gave it to him to keep&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He meant that this world, as he gazed on it there,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should blossom with homes, rich and radiant and fair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That his chain of love-gold, flung from Heaven's glittering dome,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should be forged into links, and each link be a home!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/illus36.jpg" width="600" height="450" alt="&quot;HE HEARD ITS SOFT TONES THROUGH THE COTTAGES CREEP,
+FROM FOND MOTHERS SINGING THEIR BABIES TO SLEEP.&quot;" title="He heard its soft tones through the cottage creep" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;HE HEARD ITS SOFT TONES THROUGH THE COTTAGES CREEP,<br />
+FROM FOND MOTHERS SINGING THEIR BABIES TO SLEEP.&quot;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This Adam and Eve more advantages carried,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than any <i>young</i> couple that ever was married.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They'd a nice, cozy home, unencumbered and free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Save a slight reservation on one little tree;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They toiled not and sweat not in tilling their lands:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their orchards were trimmed by invisible hands;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They were bothered by no tailors' bills over-due;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their dress-makers' bills were quite moderate, too;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No tax-ghost each year their scared domicile haunted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To find out how much more they owned than they wanted;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In sooth this young pair more advantages carried<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than any <i>young</i> couple that ever was married!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And if, when Eve spied that large serpent one day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She had acted the usual feminine way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And piercingly screamed, and run, reckless and blind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if Satan were only two minutes behind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then Adam, man-like, had soothed sweetly her fright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Saying, "What do you fear? 'tisn't poison; 'twon't bite;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, catching a club, he had towered up above it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And promptly had pounded the devil out of it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twould have saved some hot tears, some hard toil, some disgrace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And been a great thing for the whole human race.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But they treated him kindly, and gave him his say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And 'twas not very long ere himself was to pay.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Since then this same Satan, whatever befalls,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is noted for making his family calls;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some families&mdash;shame on the impudent wretch!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He stays with at times for a week at a stretch;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some it would seem as if, pleased with the fare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He had taken his permanent residence there!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when to his dear friends these visits he makes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He doesn't always come in the persons of snakes.<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So the Science of Home is the chiefest of all:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To ward off these dangers that ever befall;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To beat back these devils of discord and sin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That always are striving to steal their way in;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To use all the means God hath placed in our sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To keep our homes innocent, happy, and bright;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a home that rejoices in love's saving leaven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Comes deliciously nigh to the splendors of Heaven!<br /></span>
+<hr style="width: 25%;" />
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Still through the city I wander;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still do I study and ponder;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But with no loneliness round me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Severed&mdash;the black cords that bound me!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No more my spirit is weary;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have a home, bright and cheery;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full of love's sweet, saving leaven:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Home is the daughter of Heaven.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE END.</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>SELECTED HOME READING.</h2>
+
+
+<p>WILL CARLETON'S POETICAL WORKS.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Illustrated. Square 8vo, Ornamental Cloth, $2 00; Gilt Edges, $2 50; Full
+Seal, $4 00.</p></blockquote>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap">City Festivals</span>.   <span class="smcap">City Legends</span>.   <span class="smcap">City Ballads</span>.<br />
+<span class="smcap">Farm Festivals</span>.   <span class="smcap">Farm Legends</span>.   <span class="smcap">Farm Ballads</span>.<br />
+</p>
+
+
+<p>CYCLOPĆDIA OF POETRY.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Harper's Cyclopćdia of British and American Poetry. Edited by <span class="smcap">Epes Sargent</span>.
+Large 8vo, Illuminated Cloth, Colored Edges, $4 50.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>POETS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Poets of the Nineteenth Century. Selected and Edited by the Rev. <span class="smcap">Robert
+Aris Willmott</span>. With English and American Additions. Superbly illustrated.
+Small 4to, printed on Superfine Tinted Paper, Extra Cloth, Bevelled
+Gilt Edges, $5 00; Half Calf, $5 50; Full Turkey Morocco, $9 00.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>THE POETS OF SCOTLAND.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>The Poets and Poetry of Scotland. From the Earliest to the Present Time.
+Comprising Characteristic Selections from the Works of the more Noteworthy
+Scottish Poets, with Biographical and Critical Notices. By <span class="smcap">James Grant
+Wilson</span>. With Portraits on Steel. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $10 00; Cloth, Gilt
+Edges, $11 00; Half Calf, $14 50; Full Morocco, $18 00.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>WALLACE'S BEN-HUR.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ. By <span class="smcap">Lew. Wallace</span>. <i>Garfield Edition</i>. 2
+volumes. Twenty Full-page Photogravures. Over One Thousand Illustrations
+as Marginal Drawings by <span class="smcap">William Martin Johnson</span>. Crown 8vo, Silk and
+Gold, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $7 00. (<i>In a Box.</i>)</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>TENNYSON'S SONGS, WITH MUSIC.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Songs from the Published Writings of Alfred Tennyson. Set to Music by
+various Composers. Edited by <span class="smcap">W. G. Cusins</span>. With Portrait and Original
+Illustrations by Winslow Homer, C. S. Reinhart, A. Fredericks, and Jessie
+Curtis. Royal 4to, Cloth, Gilt Edges, $5 00.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>TENNYSON'S WORKS.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Complete Works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Poet-Laureate. With an Introductory
+Sketch by <span class="smcap">Anne Thackeray Ritchie</span>. With Portraits and Illustrations.
+Pages 430. 8vo, Cloth, $2 00; Gilt Edges, $2 50.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>FOLK-LORE OF SHAKESPEARE.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Folk-Lore of Shakespeare. By the Rev. <span class="smcap">T. F. Thiselton Dyer</span>, M.A., Oxon.
+8vo, Cloth, $2 50.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>DOWDEN'S SHAKSPERE.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Shakspere: A Critical Study of his Mind and Art. By <span class="smcap">Edward Dowden</span>,
+LL.D., Vice-President of "The New Shakspere Society." 12mo, Cloth, $1 75.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>GOLDSMITH'S WORKS.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>The Works of Oliver Goldsmith. Edited by <span class="smcap">Peter Cunningham</span>, F.S.A.
+From New Electrotype Plates. 4 vols., 8vo, Cloth, Paper Labels, Uncut Edges
+and Gilt Tops, $8 00; Sheep, $10 00; Half Calf, $17 00.</p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p>ROLFE'S ENGLISH CLASSICS.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Edited, with Notes, by <span class="smcap">W. J. Rolfe</span>, A.M. Illustrated. Small 4to, Flexible
+Cloth, 56 cents per volume; Paper, 40 cents per volume.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Select Poems of Goldsmith.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Select Poems of Thomas Gray.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Select
+Poems of Robert Browning.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Browning's Dramas.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Milton's Minor
+Poems.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Wordsworth's Select
+Poems</span>.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Shakespeare's The Tempest.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Merchant of Venice.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">King Henry
+the Eighth.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Julius Cćsar.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Richard the Second.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Macbeth.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Mid-summer
+Night's Dream.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">King Henry the Fifth.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">King John.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">As
+You Like It.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">King Henry IV.</span> Part I.&mdash;<span class="smcap">King Henry IV.</span> Part II.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Hamlet.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Much
+Ado About Nothing.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Romeo and Juliet.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Othello.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Twelfth
+Night.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">The Winter's Tale.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Richard the Third.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">King
+Lear.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">All's Well that Ends Well.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Coriolanus.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Taming of the
+Shrew.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Cymbeline.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">The Comedy of Errors.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Anthony and Cleopatra.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Measure
+for Measure.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Merry Wives of Windsor.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Love's Labour's
+Lost.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Timon of Athens.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Two Gentlemen of Verona.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Troilus
+and Cressida.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Henry VI.</span> Part I.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Henry VI.</span> Part II.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Henry VI.</span>
+Part III.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Pericles, Prince of Tyre.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">The Two Noble Kinsmen.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Venus
+and Adonis</span>, &amp;c.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Sonnets.</span>&mdash;<span class="smcap">Titus Andronicus.</span></p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>SHAKESPEARE'S WORKS.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Friendly Edition of Shakespeare's Works. Edited by <span class="smcap">W. J. Rolfe</span>. In 20
+volumes. Illustrated, 16mo, Cloth, $25 00; Half Leather, $35 00; Half Calf,
+$50 00. (<i>In a Box.</i>)</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>SHAKESPEARE'S DRAMATIC WORKS.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>The Dramatic Works of Shakspeare, with the Corrections and Illustrations of
+Dr. <span class="smcap">Johnson, G. Steevens</span>, and others. Revised by <span class="smcap">Isaac Reed</span>. Illustrated.
+6 vols., Royal 12mo, Cloth, $9 00; Sheep, $11 40.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>SWINTON'S ENGLISH LITERATURE.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Studies in English Literature: being Typical Selections of British and American
+Authorship, from Shakespeare to the Present Time; together with Definitions,
+Notes, Analyses, and Glossary, as an aid to Systematic Literary Study.
+By Professor <span class="smcap">William Swinton</span>, A.M., Author of "Harper's Language Series."
+With Portraits. Crown 8vo, Cloth, $1 20.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>BRUCE'S POEMS.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Old Homestead Poems. By <span class="smcap">Wallace Bruce</span>. Illustrated. Square 8vo,
+Cloth, $2 00.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>THE BOOK OF GOLD, AND OTHER POEMS.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>The Book of Gold, and Other Poems. By <span class="smcap">J. T. Trowbridge</span>. Illustrated.
+8vo, Ornamental Covers, Gilt Edges, $2 50.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>CHRISTMAS IN SONG, SKETCH, AND STORY.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Nearly Three Hundred Christmas Songs, Hymns, and Carols. With Selections
+from <span class="smcap">Beecher</span>, <span class="smcap">Wallace</span>, <span class="smcap">Auerbach</span>, <span class="smcap">Abbott</span>, <span class="smcap">Warren</span>, and <span class="smcap">Dickens</span>.
+Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Raphael</span>, <span class="smcap">Murillo</span>, <span class="smcap">Bouguereau</span>, <span class="smcap">Hofmann</span>, <span class="smcap">Defregger</span>,
+<span class="smcap">Story</span>, <span class="smcap">Shepherd</span>, <span class="smcap">Darley</span>, <span class="smcap">Meade</span>, <span class="smcap">Nast</span>, and others. Selected by <span class="smcap">J. P.
+McCaskey</span>, Compiler of the "Franklin Square Song Collection." Royal 8vo,
+Cloth, $2 50.</p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p>ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>12mo, Cloth, 75 cents a volume. PEOPLE'S EDITION, 36 vols in 12, 16mo,
+Cloth, $12 00. (<i>Sold only in sets.</i>)</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Johnson</span>. By Leslie Stephen.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Gibbon</span>. By J. C. Morison.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Scott</span>. By
+R. H. Hutton.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Shelley</span>. By John Addington Symonds.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Hume</span>. By Professor
+Huxley.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Goldsmith</span>. By William Black.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Defoe</span>. By William
+Minto.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Burns</span>. By Principal Shairp.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Spenser</span>. By Dean Church.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Thackeray</span>.
+By Anthony Trollope.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Burke</span>. By John Morley.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Milton</span>.
+By Mark Pattison.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Southey</span>. By Edward Dowden.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Chaucer</span>. By
+Adolphus William Ward.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Bunyan</span>. By James Anthony Froude.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Cowper</span>.
+By Goldwin Smith.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Pope</span>. By Leslie Stephen.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Byron</span>. By John Nichol.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Locke</span>.
+By Thomas Fowler.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Wordsworth</span>. By F. W. H. Myers.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Dryden</span>.
+By G. Saintsbury.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Hawthorne</span>. By Henry James, Jr.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Landor</span>. By
+Sidney Colvin.&mdash;<span class="smcap">De Quincey</span>. By David Masson.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Lamb</span>. By Alfred Ainger.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Bentley</span>.
+By R. C. Jebb.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Dickens</span>. By A. W. Ward.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Gray</span>. By E. W.
+Gosse.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Swift</span>. By Leslie Stephen.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Sterne</span>. By H. D. Traill.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Macaulay</span>.
+By James Cotter Morison.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Fielding</span>. By Austin Dobson.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Sheridan</span>. By
+Mrs. Oliphant.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Addison</span>. By W. J. Courthope.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Bacon</span>. By R. W. Church,
+Dean of St. Paul's.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Coleridge</span>. By H. D. Traill.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Sidney</span>. By J. A.
+Symonds.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Keats</span>. By Sidney Colvin. (<i>Other volumes in preparation.</i>)</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>WORKS OF WILLIAM HAMILTON GIBSON.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>SHARP EYES. A Rambler's Calendar of Fifty-two Weeks Among Birds, Insects,
+and Flowers. Profusely Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00.</p>
+
+<p>HAPPY HUNTING-GROUNDS. A Tribute to the Woods and Fields. Illustrated
+by the Author. 4to, Cloth, Gilt Edges, $7 50. (<i>In a Box.</i>)</p>
+
+<p>HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS; Or, Saunterings in New England. Illustrated
+by the Author. 4to, Cloth, Gilt Edges, $7 50. (<i>In a Box.</i>)</p>
+
+<p>PASTORAL DAYS; Or, Memories of a New England Year. Superbly Illustrated.
+4to, Cloth, Gilt Edges, $7 50. (<i>In a Box.</i>)</p>
+
+<p>STROLLS BY STARLIGHT AND SUNSHINE. Illustrated by the Author.
+Royal 8vo, Cloth, Gilt Edges, $3 50.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>ENGLISH'S POETICAL WORKS.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>THE BOY'S BOOK OF BATTLE LYRICS. By <span class="smcap">Thomas Dunn English</span>,
+M.D., L.L.D. Illustrated. Square 8vo, Ornamental Cloth, $2 00.</p>
+
+<p>AMERICAN BALLADS. By <span class="smcap">Thomas Dunn English</span>, M.D., LL.D. 32mo,
+Paper, 25 cents; Cloth, 40 cents.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>PERRY'S ENGLISH LITERATURE.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>English Literature in the Eighteenth Century. By <span class="smcap">Thomas Sergeant Perry</span>.
+12mo, Cloth, $2 00.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>SKETCHING RAMBLES IN HOLLAND.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>By <span class="smcap">George H. Boughton</span>, A.R.A. Beautifully and Profusely Illustrated with
+Wood-engravings from Drawings by the Author and <span class="smcap">Edwin A. Abbey</span>. With
+Two Artists' Full-page Proofs, Japanese Paper, without Letters. Square 8vo,
+Cloth, Uncut Edges, and Gilt Top, $5 00.</p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p>ILLUSTRATED BY E. A. ABBEY:</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>"THE QUIET LIFE." Certain Verses by Various Hands; the Motive set
+forth in a Prologue and Epilogue by <span class="smcap">Austin Dobson</span>; the whole adorned with
+numerous drawings by <span class="smcap">Edwin A. Abbey</span> and <span class="smcap">Alfred Parsons</span>. 4to, Ornamental
+Leather, $7 50. (<i>In a Box.</i>)</p>
+
+<p>OLD SONGS. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Edwin A. Abbey</span>. With Decorative Designs by
+<span class="smcap">Alfred Parsons</span>. 4to, Ornamental Leather, $7 50. (<i>In a Box.</i>)</p>
+
+<p>SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER; <span class="smcap">OR</span>, THE MISTAKES OF A NIGHT.
+A Comedy. By Dr. <span class="smcap">Goldsmith</span>. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Edwin A. Abbey</span>. With
+Ten Full-page Photogravure Reproductions, printed on separate plates, and
+numerous Wood-engravings. Folio, Illuminated Leather, Gilt Edges, $20 00.
+(<i>In a Box.</i>)</p>
+
+<p>SELECTIONS FROM THE POEMS OF ROBERT HERRICK. With
+numerous Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Edwin A. Abbey</span>. 4to, Illuminated Cloth, Gilt
+Edges, $7 50. (<i>In a Box.</i>)</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>COLERIDGE'S ANCIENT MARINER. ILLUSTRATED BY DORÉ.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. By <span class="smcap">Samuel Taylor Coleridge</span>. Illustrated
+by <span class="smcap">Gustave Doré</span>. Folio, Cloth, $10 00.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>POE'S RAVEN. ILLUSTRATED BY DORÉ.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>The Raven. By <span class="smcap">Edgar Allan Poe</span>. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Gustave Doré</span>. With
+Comment by <span class="smcap">E. C. Stedman</span>. Folio (Uniform with Doré's <i>Ancient Mariner</i>),
+Illuminated Cloth, Gilt Edges, and in a neat Box, $10 00.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>DORÉ'S LONDON.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>London: A Pilgrimage. Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Gustave Doré</span>. Letter-press by
+<span class="smcap">Blanchard Jerrold</span>. Folio, Cloth, $5 00.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>ILLUSTRATED BY ALFRED PARSONS:</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>A SELECTION FROM THE SONNETS OF WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
+With numerous Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Alfred Parsons</span>. 4to, Full Leather, Gilt
+Edges, $5 00. (<i>In a Box.</i>)</p>
+
+<p>THE WARWICKSHIRE AVON. Notes by <span class="smcap">A. T. Quiller-Couch</span>. Illustrations
+by <span class="smcap">Alfred Parsons</span>. 8vo, Ornamental Half Leather, $2 00.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>ART AND CRITICISM.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Monographs and Studies. By <span class="smcap">Theodore Child</span>. Profusely Illustrated. Large
+8vo, Cloth, $6 00.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>AMERICAN ARCHITECTURE.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Studies. By <span class="smcap">Montgomery Schuyler</span>. With Illustrations, pp. ix., 211. 8vo,
+Full Leather, Ornamental, Uncut Edges, and Gilt Top, $2 50.</p></blockquote>
+
+
+<p>NAST'S CHRISTMAS DRAWINGS.</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>Thomas Nast's Christmas Drawings for the Human Race, pp. 130. 4to, Cloth,
+$2 00.</p></blockquote>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Published by HARPER &amp; BROTHERS, New York.</span></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Harper &amp; Brothers</span> <i>will send any of the foregoing works by mail, postage prepaid, to
+any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price</i>.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of City Ballads, by Will Carleton
+
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@@ -0,0 +1,5725 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of City Ballads, by Will Carleton
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: City Ballads
+
+Author: Will Carleton
+
+Release Date: August 3, 2011 [EBook #36954]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CITY BALLADS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Dianne Nolan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  [Illustration: "THESE ARE THE SPIRES THAT WERE GLEAMING."]
+
+
+
+    CITY BALLADS
+
+
+    BY
+    WILL CARLETON
+    AUTHOR OF "FARM BALLADS" "FARM LEGENDS" "FARM FESTIVALS"
+    "YOUNG FOLKS' CENTENNIAL RHYMES" ETC.
+
+
+    _ILLUSTRATED_
+
+
+    NEW YORK
+    HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE
+
+
+
+
+    Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1885, by
+
+    HARPER & BROTHERS,
+
+    In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
+
+
+  _All rights reserved._
+
+
+
+
+    TO
+
+    ADORA
+
+    FRIEND, COMRADE, LOVER, WIFE
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+When city people go among forests and hills, they drink in the fresh
+air and weird scenery of rural surroundings, with much more relish,
+enjoyment, and appreciation, than do the life-long residents they
+find there.
+
+For the same reason, the great drama of metropolitan existence falls
+most forcibly upon those just from the clear streams and green
+meadows of the country. Their impressions then are deeper, and their
+feelings more intense than if they were city born and bred.
+
+With the latter fact in view, this book is an effort to reproduce
+some of the effects of city scenes and character upon the intellect
+and imagination of two people from the country:
+
+First, a young student, who has travelled the well-beaten roads of a
+college course, but is just entering real life, and now for the
+first time walks the paved and palace-bordered streets of which he
+has heard and read so much.
+
+Second, an old farmer, with very little "book-learning," but a clear
+brain, a warm heart, and independent judgment, and a habit of
+philosophizing upon everything he sees, which habit he brings to the
+city, and applies to the strange facts he witnesses.
+
+These, with certain incidental thoughts and characters encountered
+and discussed, constitute the present work. It will be found, as
+intended, sketchy and suggestive rather than elaborate and complete.
+Note-books and diaries are designed, not so much for the history of
+a career or an event, as a light to the memory, a stimulus to the
+imagination, and a help to the heart.
+
+It is the hope of the author that his book may perform those offices
+for you, his readers, and that it will rouse your pity of pain, your
+enjoyment of honest mirth, your hatred of sham and wrong, and your
+love and adoration of the Resolute and the Good, and their winsome
+child, the Beautiful.
+
+In which case he shakes hands with his large and loved constituency,
+and continues happy.
+
+                                                             W. C.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                             PAGE
+
+    WEALTH                                                     15
+      _Including_
+        THE LOVELY YOUNG MAN                                   28
+        IF I'D A MILLION MILLIONS                              35
+        FARMER STEBBINS ON ROLLERS                             40
+
+    WANT                                                       46
+      _Including_
+        THAT SWAMP OF DEATH                                    53
+        A SEWING-GIRL'S DIARY                                  64
+
+    FIRE                                                       75
+      _Including_
+        WHEN PROMETHEUS STOLE THE FLAME                        77
+        FLASH: THE FIREMAN'S STORY                             79
+        HOW WE FOUGHT THE FIRE                                 84
+        "YOU WILL TELL ME WHERE IS CONRAD?"                    90
+
+    WATER                                                      93
+      _Including_
+        THE DEAD STOWAWAY                                      97
+        THE WEDDING OF THE TOWNS                              102
+        FARMER STEBBINS AT OCEAN GROVE                        107
+
+    VICE                                                      113
+      _Including_
+        THE BOY-CONVICT'S STORY                               115
+        FARMER STEBBINS ON THE BOWERY                         119
+        FARMER STEBBINS AHEAD                                 124
+        THE SLUGGING-MATCH                                    130
+
+    VIRTUE                                                    132
+      _Including_
+        MORE WAYS THAN ONE                                    136
+        THE MARCH OF THE CHILDREN                             141
+
+    TRAVEL                                                    143
+      _Including_
+        HER TOUR                                              144
+        AT THE SUMMIT OF THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT              148
+        THE SILENT WHEEL                                      155
+        FARMER AND WHEEL; OR, THE NEW LOCHINVAR               157
+        ONLY A BOX                                            166
+
+    HOME                                                      170
+      _Including_
+        LET THE CLOTH BE WHITE                                172
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS.
+
+
+                                                             Page
+
+  "_These are the spires that were gleaming_"       _Frontispiece._
+
+  "_I saw tall derricks by the hundred rise_"                  21
+
+  "_I reached my hand down for it and it stopped_"             29
+
+  "_When all to once the wheels departed suddenly
+   above, an' took along my heels_"                            43
+
+   _Farmer Stebbins on Rollers_                                45
+
+  "_Yes, it's straight and true, good preacher,
+  every word that you have said_"                              51
+
+  "_Choked and strangled by the foul breath of the
+  chimneys over there_"                                        54
+
+  "_Oh, the air is pure and wholesome where some babies
+  coo and rest, and they trim them out with ribbons,
+  and they feed them with the best_"                           55
+
+  "_Weary old man with the snow-drifted hair, not by
+  your fault are you suffering there_"                         59
+
+  "_Is't the same girl that stood, one night, there in
+  the wide hall's thrilling light?_"                           65
+
+  "_And hateful hunger has come in_"                           69
+
+  "_He begged that horse's pardon upon his bended knees_"      80
+
+  "_Away he rushed like a cyclone for the head
+  o'_ '_Number Three_'"                                        82
+
+  "_Laid down in his harness_"                                 83
+
+  _How we Fought the Fire_                                     87
+
+  "_Battered and bruised, forever abused, he lay by
+  the moaning sea_"                                            99
+
+  "_Miss Sunnyhopes she waded out_"                           108
+
+  "_Two inland noodles, for our first acquaintance
+  with the sea_"                                              109
+
+  "_A-floating on her dainty back_"                           110
+
+  "_I tried to kick this_ '_lovely wave_'"                    110
+
+  "_Heels over head--all in a bunch!_"                        111
+
+  "_We voted that we'd had enough_"                           111
+
+  "_To make four hundred dollars clear, an' help the
+  children too_"                                              121
+
+  "_We come 'thin part of one of it_"                         123
+
+  "_They_ '_put their heads together_' _in a new an'
+  painful way_"                                               127
+
+  "_He makes himself a bigger fool than all the fools
+  he makes_"                                                  129
+
+  _The Salvation Army_                                        140
+
+  _The March of the Children_                            141, 142
+
+  _From the Monument_                                         149
+
+  "_And he stood there, like a colonel, with her
+  trembling on his arm_"                                      159
+
+  _Chasing the Bicycle_                                       163
+
+  "_Only a box, secure and strong, rough and wooden,
+  and six feet long_"                                         167
+
+  "_And carry back, from out our plenteous store,
+  enough to keep himself a fortnight more_"                   172
+
+  "_The hungry city children are coming here to-night_"       173
+
+  "_He heard its soft tones through the cottages creep,
+  from fond mothers singing their babies to sleep_"           177
+
+
+
+
+CITY BALLADS.
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+WEALTH.
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+
+            Here in The City I ponder,
+            Through its long pathways I wander.
+            These are the spires that were gleaming
+            All through my juvenile dreaming.
+    This is The Something I heard, far away,
+    When, at the close of a tired Summer day,
+    Resting from work on the lap of a lawn,
+    Gazing to whither The Sun-god had gone,
+    Leaving behind him his mantles of gold--
+    This is The Something by which I was told;
+            "Bend your head, dreamer, and listen--
+            Come to my splendors that glisten!
+            Either to triumph they call you,
+            Or to what worst could befall you!"
+    This is The Something that thrilled my desires,
+    When the weird Morning had kindled his fires,
+    And the gray city of clouds in the east
+    Lighted its streets as for pageant or feast,
+            Whisp'ring--my spirit elating--
+            "Come to me, boy, I am waiting!
+    Bring me your muscle and spirit and brain--
+    Here to my glory-strewn, ruin-strewn plain!"
+            Treading the trough of the furrow,
+          Digging where life-rootlets burrow,
+          Blade of the food-harvest swinging,
+          In the barns toiling and singing,
+          Breath of a hay-meadow smelling,
+          Forest-trees loving and felling--
+          Where'er my spirit was turning,
+          Lived that mysterious yearning!
+    When in the old country school-house I conned
+    Legends of life in the broad world beyond--
+    When in the trim hamlet-college I cast
+    Wondering glances at days that were past--
+    Ever I longed for the walls and the streets,
+    And the rich conflict that energy meets!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    So I have come: but The City is great
+    Bearing me down like a brute with its weight.
+    So I have come: but The City is cold,
+    And I am lonelier now than of old.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Yet, 'tis the same restless story:
+    Even to fail here were glory!
+    Grand, to be part of this ocean
+    Of matter and mind and emotion!
+    Here flow the streams of endeavor,
+    Cityward trending forever.--
+    Wheat-stalks that tassel the field,
+    Harvests of opulent yield,
+    Grass-blades that fence with each other,
+    Flower-blossoms--sister and brother--
+    Roots that are sturdy and tender,
+    Stalks in your thrift and your splendor,
+    Mind that is fertile and daring,
+    Face that true beauty is wearing--
+          All that is strongest and fleetest,
+          All that are dainty and sweetest.
+    Look to the domes and the glittering spires,
+    Waiting for you with majestic desires!
+    List to The City's gaunt, thunderous roar,
+    Calling and calling for you evermore!
+    Long in the fields you may labor and wait--
+    You and your tribe may come early or late;
+    Beauty and excellence dwell and will dwell
+    Oft amid garden and moorland and fell;
+          Long generations may hold them,
+          Centuries oft can enfold them;
+    But the rich City's they some time shall be,
+    Sure as the spring is the food of the sea.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+SEPTEMBER 20, 18--.
+
+    Wind in the south-west; weather wondrous fine;
+    Thermometer 'twixt seventy-eight and nine.
+    Ground rather dry; sun flails us over-warm;
+    It's most time for the equinoctial storm.
+    Family healthy as could be desired;
+    Except we're somewhat mind and body tired
+    At moving over such a lengthy road,
+    And settling down here in our town abode,
+    And wrestling with the pains that filter through one
+    When he gives up an old home for a new one.
+
+    Old Calendar, you've always stood me true;
+    Now I'll change works, and do the same by you!
+    You're just as good as when, with aching arm,
+    I cleared and worked that eighty-acre farm!
+    And every night, in those hard, dear old days,
+    'Twas one of my most unconditional ways,
+    When to my labors I had said Good-night,
+    And recompensed my home-made appetite,
+    And talked with Wife, and traded family views,
+    And gathered all the latest township news,
+    And dealt my sons a sly fraternal hit,
+    And flirted with my daughters just a bit,
+    And through the papers tried my way to see,
+    So the world shouldn't slip out from under me,
+    As I was saying--in those sweet old days,
+    'Twas one of my most unconditional ways,
+    To go to you, old book, before I'd sleep,
+    And hand you over all the day to keep.
+
+    I gave you up what weather I could find,
+    Likewise the different phases of my mind;
+    What my hard hands from morn to night had done,
+    And what my mind had been subsisting on;
+    What accidents had touched my brain with doubt,
+    And what successes it had whittled out;
+    How well I had been able to control
+    The weather fluctuations of my soul;
+    What progress or what failures I had made
+    In spying round and stealing Nature's trade;
+    The seeds of actions planted long ago,
+    And whether they had blossomed out or no;
+    And oft, from what you of the past could tell,
+    I've learned to steer my future pretty well.
+
+    And now I'M RICH (who ever thought 'twould be!)
+    I'll stand by you, as you have stood by me;
+    And now I'm "City people"--having moved
+    (My circumstances suddenly improved)
+    Into this town, with some quick-gotten pelf,
+    To educate my children and myself,
+    And give my wife, who has a pedigree,
+    A chance to flutter round her family tree,
+    And show her natural city airs and graces
+    (Which didn't "take" quite so well in country places)
+    Now we are here, old fellow, while we stay
+    I'll give you all the news from day to day.
+    I'll find the good that in this city lurks,
+    By regular, systematic, hard days' works;
+    I'll rummage fearless round amongst the harm,
+    As when I hoed up thistles on my farm;
+    Shake hands with Virtue, help Sin while I spurn it,
+    And if there's anything to learn, I'll learn it.
+
+    How little I suspected, by the way--
+    Scrambling for pennies in that patch of clay,
+    The bare expenses of our lives to meet--
+    That waves of wealth were washing at my feet!
+    And when my hard and rather lazy soil
+    Sprung a leak upward with petroleum-oil--
+    When, through the wonder in my glad old eyes,
+    I saw tall derricks by the hundred rise,
+    Flinging wealth at me with unceasing hand,
+    And turning to a mine my hard old land,
+    Until it seemed as if the spell would hold
+    Till every blade of grass was turned to gold--
+    I felt, as never yet had come to me,
+    How little round the curves of life we see;
+    Or, in our rushings on, suspect or view
+    What sort of stations we are coming to!
+    It brought a similar twinge--though not so bad--
+    As once, when losing every cent I had.
+
+    But still it could not shift my general views;
+    My mind didn't faint at one good piece of news.
+    I think I'd too much ballast 'neath my sail
+    To be capsized by one good prosperous gale
+    (Same as I didn't lie down and give up all
+    That other time, when tipped up by a squall).
+    I didn't go spreeing for my money's sake,
+    Or with my business matters lie awake;
+    'Twould never do, as I informed my wife,
+    To let a little money spoil our life!
+
+    And now I'm rich (who ever thought 'twould be!)
+    I'll look about, and see what I can see;
+    Appoint myself a visiting committee,
+    With power to act in all parts of the city;
+    Growl when I must, commend whene'er I can,
+    And lose no chance to help my fellow-man.
+    For he who joy on others' paths has thrown,
+    Will find there's some left over for his own;
+    And he who leads his brother toward the sky,
+    Will in the journey bring himself more nigh.
+
+    And what I see and think, in my own way,
+    I'll tell to you, Old Calendar, each day;
+    And if I choose to do the same in rhyme,
+    What jury would convict me of a crime?
+    For every one, from palaces to attics,
+    Has caught, some time or other, _The Rhythmatics_.
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+          Still through The City I ponder,
+          Still do I wonder and wander.
+          City--unconscious descendant
+          Of olden-time cities resplendent!
+          Child of rich forefathers hoary,
+          Clad in their gloom and their glory!--
+    Dream I of you in the rich, mellow past,
+    Throbbing with life, and with Death overcast.
+
+    Thebes--not to you, crushed and ghastly and dumb,
+    Even the wreck-loving Ivy will come!
+    Where stood your hundred broad, world-famous gates,
+    Now a black Arab for charity waits.
+    Not like this City--metropolis bold--
+    Where the whole world brings its goods and its gold!
+
+    Babylon--here the queen's gardens climbed high,
+    Painting their flowers on the blue of the sky:
+
+  [Illustration: "I SAW TALL DERRICKS BY THE HUNDRED RISE."]
+
+    This is where sinners, one asinine hour,
+    Thought they could travel to Heaven by tower.
+    (How like some sinners to-day, whose desires
+    Mount by the way of their greed-builded spires!)
+
+    Troy--of rare riches and valor possessed,
+    Ruined fore'er by one beautiful guest--
+    (Here many Helens, though less of renown,
+    Do for some men what she did for a town!)
+
+    Wondrous Palmyra, whose island of green,
+    'Mid the bleak sand, reared the beautiful queen
+          (Sweet-faced Zenobia, peerless
+          Proud in her virtue, and fearless)
+    In this metropolis, virtuously grand,
+    Many a queen is a joy to the land!
+
+    Tyre--the huge pillars that groaned under thee,
+    Rest in the depths of a desolate sea;
+    Long may it be ere the spray's salted showers
+    Foam o'er the walls of this city of ours!
+
+    Mound-men's vast cities, whose graves we accost,
+    Even your names are in ruins--and lost.
+    What if, some time when this nation is nought,
+    Vainly our names in our graves should be sought!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Cities that yet are to flourish,
+    That the rich Future must nourish!
+    Where will you take up your stations--
+    Where set your massive foundations?
+    Where are the slumbering meadows,
+    Dreaming of clouds through their shadows,
+    That by rough wheels rudely shaken,
+    Into new life shall awaken?
+    Harbors that placidly float
+    Nought but the fisherman's boat,
+    Think you of fleets that shall lie
+    Under the blue of your sky;
+    When shall be built on your land
+    Palaces wealthily grand;
+    When in your face from tall spires
+    Gleam the electrical fires?
+    Cities that yet are to be,
+    You are not phantoms to me!
+    You are as certain and sure
+    As that Old Time shall endure.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Stars in the distant, mysterious sky,
+    Flashing and flaming and dancing on high,
+          Each is an earth to its millions,
+          Each has its domes and pavilions.
+    Cities, I see you--by reasoning led--
+    On the great map with blue leaves overhead.
+    Seaport and lakeport and rich inland town,
+    Capital city, and village of brown;
+          Thanking the prairie-food-givers,
+          Strung on the winding star-rivers.
+    Earths that can signal to earths, every one,
+    With the bright torches you stole from the sun,
+          Each on its surface has strown
+          Cities and towns of its own,
+          Fraught with their crimes and their graces,
+          Full of mysterious places.
+          They are no myths unto me--
+          Clearly their outlines I see;
+          Millions of towns I descry
+          Hanging o'er me from the sky.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Still through the paths of the town,
+    Dreaming, I walk up and down.
+    Is it so much of a wonder--
+    Part of this whole, yet asunder,
+    I in this throng, and I only--
+    That I am wretched and lonely?
+    Loneliness--loneliness ever--
+    Leaving me utterly, never!
+    Yes, I am part of this ocean
+    Of matter and mind and emotion;
+    Yet how entirely apart,
+    Severed in mind and in heart!
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+SEPTEMBER 25, 18--.
+
+    Wealth--wealth--wealth--wealth! I never had been led,
+    From all I'd thought and dreamed and heard and read,
+    To think so much wealth, in whatever while,
+    Could be raked up into one shining pile!
+    Not long ago, a hundred dollars clear,
+    Big as a hay-stack would to me appear.
+    When first a thousand dollars made me smile,
+    I sympathized with Croesus quite a while;
+    But looking round here makes me feel the same
+    As if I hadn't a nickel to my name!
+
+    Wealth--wealth! why, every acre I behold
+    Has cost a mine of Californi' gold!
+    The very ground one building here might fill
+    Would almost buy the town of Tompkins Hill!
+
+    There isn't a house my scrutiny has crossed
+    But catches several figures in its cost;
+    And when your eyes into the parlor go
+    ('Mongst things they leave the curtains up to show),
+    And see the carpets, rugs, and draperies rich,
+    That twine ten dollars into every stitch,
+    And view great pictures that such prices hold
+    As if the painter's brush were dipped in gold;
+
+    And when along the roads great buggies glide,
+    With covers on, and rich-dressed folks inside,
+    And up on top a man to drive the team--
+    As fat as any cat brought up on cream
+    (Man and team both), the driver dressed as gay
+    As if he meant to marry that same day,
+    Or wed his boss's daughter that same night
+    (Which some consider as the coachman's right,
+    And think it's understood, when he engages,
+    A daughter should be thrown in with his wages),
+    When even the horses, as so many do,
+    Wear jewelry that cost a farm or two,
+    You wonder in what tree-top grew the cash
+    To buy so much reality and trash!
+
+    Wealth--wealth--wealth--wealth! the very corner stores
+    Are gold-mines from the ceilings to the floors!
+    The shop we thought would ruin Cousin Phil,
+    Because 'twas over-large for Tompkins Hill,
+    Would, in the small vest-pocket, lose its way,
+    Of one man's place I wandered through to-day!
+
+    And then the banks--a hundred on one street--
+    As full of money as an egg of meat
+    (Although one never knows beyond a doubt
+    What colored chickens they'll be hatching out);
+
+    And then the churches--elegant to view--
+    An independent fortune in each pew.
+    One window-pane in one big church that's here
+    Cost more than our old preacher made per year!
+    (A city pastor's salary, I declare,
+    Would keep _him_ all his life, with cash to spare,
+    A-preaching in that little house of wood,
+    Holding his hearers' eyes in all he could,
+    With rolling meadows and green trees in view,
+    And fresh-complexioned streamlets wandering through);
+
+    And then the rich school-houses in this town,
+    Where children can be taught up-stairs and down,
+    Swifter (if not so thorough), I suppose,
+    Than in the small log school-house, where I rose
+    From Numeration to the Rule of Three,
+    And had Irregular Verbs whipped into me;
+
+    And then the railroad stations, where, each day,
+    Fortunes on wheels rush in and drive away;
+    And then the steamboats paddling up and down--
+    _Towns_ swimming on their way from town to town;
+
+    And then the ladies, in both street and store,
+    Done up in silks and satins, spangled o'er
+    As if it had rained diamonds for an hour,
+    And they had gone and stood out in the shower;
+
+    And then the rich and idle-houred young men--
+    The rising generation's "Upper 10"
+    (With the "1" left off), who each day, no doubt,
+    Spend twice as much as all my "setting out,"
+    When Father said, "The family craft is full;
+    Launch your own craft and show us how to pull."
+
+    I often think, when past a dandy glides,
+    Throwing his (father's) money on all sides,
+    And peeking under each young lady's veil,
+    As if he'd bought her at a mortgage sale,
+    How shrewd it was of him, right on the start,
+    To have a father who was rich and smart!
+    (Folks often pride themselves much, by-the-way,
+    Because their parents greater were than they.)
+
+    Walking to-day along Fifth Avenue,
+    A slip of paper on the sidewalk flew
+    Before my eyes--some one the same had dropped;
+    I reached my hand down for it and it stopped.
+    I picked it up--the reading on't was queer;
+    I think, perhaps, I'll paste it right in here.
+
+
+THE LOVELY YOUNG MAN.
+
+    Oh the elements varied--the exquisite plan--
+    That are used in constructing the lovely young man!
+    His face he has easily made to possess
+    The expression of nothing within to express;
+    His hair is oiled glossily back of his ears,
+    Atop of his head an equator appears;
+    His scanty mustache has symmetrical bends,
+    Is groomed with precision, and waxed at both ends;
+    His darling complexion, bewitching to see,
+    Is powdered the same as a lady's might be.
+    And this is the dear whom the newspapers rude
+    Have scornfully treated, and christened the ----.
+
+    The mental equipment I'll tell, if I can,
+    That Nature has given the lovely young man:
+    A set of emotions consistently weak,
+    To go with a creature so gentle and meek;
+    A will no opposing can break or surmount
+    (Concerning all matters of no great account);
+    A reasoning wheel, quite correctly revolved
+    (When used on small questions already resolved);
+    A taste for each gaudy and glistening thing
+    That grows on the vision and dies on the wing.
+    Elaborate methods and principles crude
+    Encompass the mental estate of the ----.
+
+  [Illustration: "I REACHED MY HAND DOWN FOR IT AND IT STOPPED."]
+
+    The outer habiliments hastily scan,
+    Employed in adorning the lovely young man!
+    His feet two triangular cases have sought,
+    By which his five toes to a focus are brought;
+    The sheathes that enfold his propellers within
+    Are on the most intimate terms with his skin;
+    His starch-tortured collar on tip-toe appears,
+    Desirous of learning the length of his ears;
+    And fifteen-sixteenths of his brain, very nigh,
+    Has run all to blossom and stopped in his tie.
+    Such some of the splendors mad Fashion has strewed
+    All over the surface comprising the ----.
+
+    Oh measure the brief philological span
+    Of the high-pressure words of the lovely young man!--
+    "B' Jauve! you daun't sayh saw! youah playing it low!
+    Aw, auyn't she a daisy! I knaw her, y' knaw.
+    She's thweet on me, somehow, though why I dawn't say,
+    It cawn't be my beauty, it must be my _way_!
+    Did you notith, laust night, Chawley Johnson's neck-tie?
+    It paralyzed me, and I thought I should d-i-e!
+    He's quite a sound fellaw to talk to awhile;
+    It's weally a pity he isn't our style!"
+    And thus talks forever, with slight interlude,
+    The creature that lately was christened a ----.
+
+    Oh boys! there are several hundreds of ways
+    To make yourselves small to the average gaze;
+    Of which some will cost you considerably less,
+    Accomplishing nearly an equal success.
+    Go purchase a gilded hand-organ some day,
+    And stand on the corner and solemnly play;
+    Envelop yourselves in the skin of an ape,
+    Assuming his methods as well, as his shape;
+    Submit to refined zoological charms,
+    And carry a lap-dog about in your arms;
+    But _don't_ let Destruction upon you intrude.
+    So far as to make you down into a ----.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    I think I saw, a minute's half or less,
+    The young girl who composed this spiteful mess;
+    She watched me pick it up, made a half rush
+    Toward me, and then retreated with a blush.
+    I called, before she vanished from my vision,
+    "My dear, I think you've lost your composition!"
+    But she dodged off, as if she seemed to doubt it,
+    And, I suppose, went on to school without it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Pacing the question over, far and near,
+    I think the little maid was too severe.
+    Sweet Charity can roof much sin, they tell,
+    Why shouldn't it shelter foolishness as well?
+    When we draw rein and look about a minute,
+    We see no field but God is somewhere in it;
+    He made the eagle and the lion, I've heard;
+    Why not the monkey and the chipping-bird?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+          Pavement and window and wall
+          What is the cost of you all?
+          Parlor and boudoir and stair,
+          Crowded with furniture rare;
+          Gems from the mountains and seas,
+          Spires that out-measure the trees;
+          Chamber and palace and hall--
+          What is the price of you all?
+
+    [_Voices._]
+          What did we cost? Bend ear;
+          What did we cost? Now hear.
+
+          Several millions men,
+          There in the field and fen.
+          Look! they are stripped and grim,
+          Sturdy of voice and limb.
+          Painfully, now, they toil
+          Into the sullen soil;
+          Stabbing the hills and meads,
+          Planting the silent seeds.
+          Into each streaming face
+          Glides the hot sun apace.
+          You in the thoughtful guise,
+          You with the dreamy eyes--
+          "Why do you labor so?
+          Where do your earnings go?--
+    "_A goodly part to the rulers that form the powers that be;
+    A modest part, if lucky, for my family and for me;
+    And all the rest for the splendors that fringe the river and sea._"
+
+    [_Voices._]
+          What did we cost? Bend ear;
+          What did we cost? Now hear.
+
+          Listen! the factory wall
+          Sends out its morning call.
+          Hear the machinery's din;
+          Look at the folks within.
+          Child with a poor, pale face;
+          Woman with hurried grace;
+          Man with the look half wise;
+          Girl with the handsome eyes.
+          How the long spindles whirl!
+          How the rich webs unfurl!
+          Maid with the orbs that quiver
+          With light from "Over the River,"[1]
+          Why are you toiling so?
+          Where do your wages go?--
+    "_A goodly part to the owners, whoever they may be;
+    A little part to the living of those I love and me;
+    And all the rest to the cities that gem the river and sea._"
+
+    [1] As is well known, the weird, inimitable poem, "Over the
+        River," was written by a factory girl.
+
+    [_Voices._]
+          What do we cost? Now hear;
+          Hearken, with eye and ear.
+
+          Several thousand men,
+          There in the hill and glen;
+          Forward, march! Take aim!
+          Fire! now a storm of flame!
+          Shriek and curse and shout;
+          Death-beds lying about.
+          Man with the kingly face,
+          There in that gory place
+          Bleeding and writhing so
+          (Well a moment ago),
+          Tell me, in mangled tones--
+          Tell us, amid your groans,
+          What do they buy with war?
+          What were you fighting for?--
+    "_For country and for glory, and for the powers that be;
+    To deck with pride and honor the family dear to me;
+    And to defend our cities that gem the river and sea._"
+
+    [_Voices._]
+          What do we cost? Bend ear:
+          No; you will never hear.
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+NOVEMBER 1, 18--.
+
+    Wind north-east; weather getting cross and cool;
+    Wife and the children gone to Sunday-school.
+    And I--not very well--am home again,
+    Holding a conversation with my pen.
+    And all that I can make it say to me
+    Is Wealth, wealth, wealth! how much I hear and see!
+    Strange, how, on human brains, sixteen times o'er,
+    Is stamped and carved the magic word of More!
+    Some several thousands to my credit lie
+    In a small bank on Wall Street, handy by;
+    But I can't help contriving what I'd do
+    If I possessed the whole Sub-Treasury too;
+    Or if I had (to take a modest tone)
+    A million million dollars, all my own!
+
+    The subject took so strong a growth in me,
+    I overtalked the same, last night, at tea;[2]
+    And so my oldest daughter (who can rhyme,
+    And strikes some notes that with her father's chime)
+    Became with that same foolishness possessed,
+    So much so that it would not let her rest,
+    But hung about her bedside all the night
+    And brought its capabilities in sight.
+    So much so that she threw it into verse
+    As bad as that her father writes--or worse.
+    And then, with some unconscious girlish grace,
+    And blushes chasing all about her face,
+    She, in a way I've learned to understand
+    Quite accident'ly, slipped it in my hand.
+    It was not made in public to appear,
+    But, privately, I'll paste it right in here:
+
+    [2]  Our dinner is at noon; our supper, six,
+         We have not yet learned all the city tricks.
+
+
+IF I'D A MILLION MILLIONS.
+
+          If I'd a million millions--
+          Just think! a million millions!--
+    What wouldn't I do--what couldn't I do--
+          If I'd a million millions?
+    From every forest's finest tree
+    My many-gabled house should be;
+    With silver threads from golden looms
+    Should be attired my palace-rooms;
+    My blossomed table have the best
+    Of all the East and all the West;
+    My bed should be a daintier thing
+    Than ever sheltered queen or king;
+          What wouldn't I do,
+          What couldn't I do,
+          If I'd a million millions?
+
+          If I'd a million millions--
+          A good, square million millions--
+    With gratefulness my friends should bless
+          Me and my million millions!
+    None that had e'er befriended me
+    But he a millionaire should be;
+    Who kindly words of me had told,
+    Should find their silver turned to gold;
+    And he who did but just advance
+    The sunbeam of a friendly glance
+    In my affliction's cloudy day
+    Should have rich, unexpected pay.
+          What wouldn't I do,
+          What couldn't I do,
+          If I'd a million millions?
+
+          If I'd a million millions--
+          Just think! a million millions!--
+    How many coals on hostile souls
+          I'd heap with all my millions!
+    No enemy that earned my hate
+    Should for a fiery guerdon wait;
+    With roses sweet I'd twine him o'er
+    Until the thorns should prick him sore
+    (How much of credit may be claimed
+    For _sweetly_ making foes ashamed
+    I do not know; it may depend
+    On how much true love we extend);
+          But love outpoured
+          I could afford,
+          If I'd a million millions!
+
+          An honest million millions--
+          Just think! a million millions!
+    The poor should bless the strange success
+          That gave me all those millions!
+    I'd slaughter every hungry wight
+    Within the circle of my sight,
+    And resurrect him with such food
+    As should go far to make him good;
+    No poor-house but must bow its head
+    And gaze at cottage walls instead;
+    And hungry paupers soon should see
+    A year of genuine jubilee.
+          Nought should alloy
+          Their perfect joy,
+          That could be saved by millions!
+
+          Just think! a million millions!--
+          The care of all those millions!
+    And after all, what would befall
+          A life with all those millions?
+    Would not the lucre clog my brain,
+    And make me hard and cold and vain?
+    Might not my treasure win my heart,
+    And make me loath with it to part?
+    How could I tell, by mortal sign,
+    Betwixt my money's friends and mine?
+    And then, the greed, and strife, and curse,
+    The world brings round a princely purse:
+          Perhaps my soul,
+          Upon the whole,
+          Is best, without the millions!
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    Now comes the Christmas-tide:
+    Love wakes on every side;
+    Mirth smiles from every eye;
+    Wreaths greet the passer-by.
+
+    Who, full of haughty pride,
+    Loves not the Christmas-tide?
+    He who, with av'rice low,
+    Cares not to joy bestow.
+
+    God save the wretch denied
+    Love for the Christmas-tide!
+    God tell his hardened heart
+    Pure joy must joy impart!
+
+    Who, close to grief allied,
+    Grieves 'mid the Christmas-tide?
+    She who, at Sorrow's call,
+    Now mourns the loss of all.
+
+    God save the dear bereft--
+    Teach her the mercies left!
+    Show her that clouds may yet
+    Lift, ere her sun be set!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Who lonely must abide
+    All through the Christmas-tide?
+    He who has never known
+    Love-passion of his own.
+
+    So follows he his fate,
+    Friendly but desolate;
+    So--sad--his heart must hide
+    All through the Christmas-tide!
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+DECEMBER 25, 18--.
+
+    Wind in the north-east; snow in wagon-loads;
+    Good sleighing everywhere on all the roads.
+    Family healthy, sensible, and pleasant,
+    And each one got the proper Christmas-present.
+
+    (At least it seems so, for they all act suited,
+    And Santa Claus's taste hasn't been disputed.)
+    Our family room is filled with tasty mixings
+    Of evergreens and other woman-fixings;
+    The open grate makes things look rich and mellow,
+    With good hard coals the fire has painted yellow;[3]
+    Pictures peep from the walls, with _thought_ all through them,
+    That set me studying every time I view them;
+    There's certain books upon the centre-table
+    That say what I'd have said if I'd been able;
+    And, measuring up this room with honest style,
+    'Tisn't a bad place to be in for a while.
+
+    And so I sit here, thinking, musing, dreaming,
+    About the world and all its curious scheming,
+    And, full of certainty-begotten doubt,
+    Wondering what this life is all about
+    (From all that I can learn I'm not to blame,
+    For wiser men have often done the same).
+
+    We went a mile or two, last night, to see
+    The decorations on a Christmas-tree;
+    I spied, hung on that sapling's gilded arms,
+    Things that would buy a couple good sized farms;
+    And just upon our way home, I should guess
+    We met some fifty people, more or less,
+    Who needed, to make passable their days,
+    A decent share of what those farms would raise.
+
+    But here's the question: should those ill-to-do
+    Deprive rich people of their comforts too?
+    Because there are some people lack for bread,
+    Must others' minds and fancies go unfed?
+    It's quite a puzzle, which I don't know whether
+    My clumsy mind knows how to put together;
+
+    But one thing's sure: wants satisfied wants breed--
+    The more folks get, the more they seem to need.
+    Then, one man lives on what would starve another,
+    And what is joy for you might kill your brother.
+
+    [3]  Although _to me_ it doesn't contain the charm
+         Of our old, wide log fire-place on the farm.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+JANUARY 5, 18--.
+
+    Went to a skating-rink a little while,
+    To see them slide in the new-fangled style;
+    And, strange enough, this eve a letter came
+    From a friend--Abdiel Stebbins is his name--
+    A cousin of my aunt, Sophia Dean;
+    A wise old man, but clumsy like, and green.
+    He's on a visit in a neighboring city,
+    And he has been a-skating--more's the pity!
+    He tells it in a manner quite sincere;
+    I think perhaps I'll paste it right in here:
+
+
+
+[FARMER STEBBINS ON ROLLERS.]
+
+ROCHESTER, _January 4._
+
+DEAR COUSIN JOHN:
+
+  We got here safe--my worthy wife an' me--
+  An' put up at James Sunnyhopes'--a pleasant place to be;
+  An' Isabel, his oldest girl, is home from school just now,
+  An' pets me with her manners all her young man will allow;
+  An' his good wife has monstrous sweet an' culinary ways:
+  It is a summery place to pass a few cold winter days.
+
+  Besides, I've various cast-iron friends in different parts o' town,
+  That's always glad to have me call whenever I come down;
+  But t'other day, when 'mongst the same I undertook to roam,
+  I could not find a single one that seemed to be to home!
+  An' when I asked their whereabouts, the answer was, "I think,
+  If you're a-goin' down that way, you'll find 'em at the Rink."
+
+  I asked what night the Lyceum folks would hold their next debate--
+  (I've sometimes gone an' helped 'em wield the cares of Church an' State),
+  An' if protracted meetin's now was holdin' anywhere
+  (I like to get my soul fed up with fresh celestial fare);
+  Or when the next church social was; they'd give a knowin' wink,
+  An' say, "I b'lieve there's nothin' now transpirin' but the Rink."
+
+  "What is this 'Rink?'" I innocent inquired, that night at tea.
+  "Oh, you must go," said Isabel, "this very night with me!
+  And Mrs. Stebbins she must go, an' skate there with us, too!"
+  My wife replied, "My dear, just please inform me when I do.
+  But you two go." An' so we went, an' saw a circus there,
+  With which few sights I've ever struck will anyways compare.
+
+  It seems a good-sized meetin'-house had given up its pews
+  (The church an' pastor had resigned, from spiritual blues),
+  An' several acres of the floor was made a skatin' ground,
+  Where folks of every shape an' size went skippin' round an' round;
+  An' in the midst a big brass band was helpin' on the fun,
+  An' everything was gay as sixteen weddin's joined in one.
+
+  I've seen small insects crazy-like go circlin' through the air,
+  An' wondered if they thought some time they'd maybe get somewhere;
+  I've seen a million river-bugs go scootin' round an' round,
+  An' wondered what 'twas all about, or what they'd lost or found;
+  But men an' women, boys an' girls, upon a hard-wood floor,
+  All whirlin' round like folks possessed, I never saw before.
+
+  An' then it straight came back to me, the things I'd read an' heard
+  About the rinks, an' how their ways was wicked an' absurd;
+  I'd learned somewhere that skatin' wasn't a healthy thing to do--
+  But there was Doctor Saddlebags--his fam'ly with him, too!
+  I'd heard that 'twasn't a proper place for Christian folks to seek--
+  Old Deacon Perseverance Jinks flew past me like a streak!
+
+  Then Sister Is'bel Sunnyhopes put on a pair o' skates,
+  An' started off as if she'd run through several different States.
+  My goodness! how that gal showed up! I never did opine
+  That she could twist herself to look so charmin' an' so fine;
+  And then a fellow that she knew took hold o' hands with her,
+  A sort o' double crossways like, an' helped her, as it were.
+
+  _I_ used to skate; an' 'twas a sport of which I once was fond.
+  Why, I could write my autograph on Tompkins' saw-mill pond.
+  Of course to slip on runners, that is one thing, one may say,
+  An' movin' round on casters is a somewhat different way;
+  But when the fun that fellow had came flashin' to my eye,
+  I says, "I'm young again; by George, I'll skate once more or die!"
+
+  A little boy a pair o' skates to fit my boots soon found--
+  He had to put 'em on for me (I weigh three hundred pound);
+  An' then I straightened up an' says, "Look here, you younger chaps,
+  You think you're runnin' some'at past us older heads, perhaps.
+  If this young lady here to me will trust awhile her fate,
+  I'll go around a dozen times an' show you how to skate."
+
+  She was a niceish, plump young gal, I'd noticed quite a while,
+  An' she reached out her hands with 'most too daughterly a smile;
+  But off we pushed with might an' main; when all to once the wheels
+  Departed suddenly above, an' took along my heels;
+  My head assailed the floor as if 'twas tryin' to get through,
+  An' all the stars I ever saw arrived at once in view.
+
+  'Twas sing'lar (as not quite unlike a saw-log there I lay)
+  How many of the other folks was goin' that same way;
+  They stumbled over me in one large animated heap,
+  An' formed a pile o' legs an' arms not far from ten foot deep;
+  But after they had all climbed off, in rather fierce surprise,
+  I lay there like a saw-log still--considerin' how to rise.
+
+  Then, dignified I rose, with hands upon my ample waist,
+  An' then sat down again with large and very painful haste;
+  An' rose again, and started off to find a place to rest,
+  Then on my gentle stomach stood, an' tore my meetin' vest;
+  When Sister Sunnyhopes slid up as trim as trim could be,
+  An' she an' her young fellow took compassionate charge o' me.
+
+  Then after I'd got off the skates an' flung 'em out o' reach,
+  I rose, while all grew hushed an' still, an' made the followin' speech:
+  "My friends, I've struck a small idea (an' struck it pretty square),
+  Which physic'ly an' morally will some attention bear:
+  Those who their balance can preserve are safe here any day,
+  An' those who can't, I rather think, had better keep away."
+
+  [Illustration: "... WHEN ALL TO ONCE THE WHEELS
+  DEPARTED SUDDENLY ABOVE, AN' TOOK ALONG MY HEELS."]
+
+  Then I limped out with very strong unprecedented pains,
+  An' hired a horse at liberal rates to draw home my remains;
+  An' lay abed three days, while wife laughed at an' nursed me well,
+  An' used up all the arnica two drug-stores had to sell;
+  An' when Miss Is'bel Sunnyhopes said, "Won't you skate some more?"
+  I answered, "Not while I remain on this terrestrial shore."
+
+  [Illustration: FARMER STEBBINS ON ROLLERS.]
+
+
+
+
+WANT.
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+FEBRUARY 5, 18--.
+
+    Want--want--want--want! O God! forgive the crime,
+    If I, asleep, awake, at any time,
+    Upon my bended knees, my back, my feet,
+    In church, on bed, on treasure-lighted street,
+    Have ever _hinted_, or, much less, have pleaded
+    That I hadn't ten times over all I needed!
+    Lord save my soul! I never knew the way
+    That people starve along from day to day;
+    May gracious Heaven forgive me, o'er and o'er,
+    That I have never found these folks before!
+
+    Of course some news of it has come my way,
+    Like a faint echo on a drowsy day;
+    At home I "gave," whene'er by suffering grieved,
+    And called it "Charity," and felt relieved;
+    And thought that I was never undertasked,
+    If I bestowed when with due deference asked.
+    But no one finds the _poorest poor_, I doubt,
+    Unless he goes himself and hunts them out;
+    And when you get _real suffering_ among,
+    Be thankful if your heart-strings are not wrung!
+
+    These thoughts sobbed through me this cold, snowy day,
+    As carefully I picked a dubious way
+    'Mongst nakedness and want on every side,
+    And a rough, masculine angel for my guide,
+    Who goes about among affliction's heirs,
+    And gives his life to piece out some of theirs.
+    Up--up--up--up! and yet, I am afraid,
+    Farther from Heaven at every step we made!
+    Gaunt, hungry creatures stood on every side
+    With cheeks drawn close and sad eyes opened wide,
+    Filled to the brim with greedy, starving prayers,
+    As we went past them up the creaking stairs.
+
+    And I peeped into rooms 'twas death to see
+    (Or, rather, they peeped darkly out at me)--
+    Such as I wouldn't have had the cheek to 've shown
+    To any swine I've ever chanced to own.
+    'Twas sad to see, in this great misery-cup,
+    How guilt and innocence were all mixed up:
+    Here lay a fellow, stupid, dull, and dumb,
+    Whose breath was like a broken keg of rum;
+    And there a baby, looking scared and odd,
+    Who had not been a week away from God.
+    Here a clean woman, toiling for her bread;
+    And there a wretch whose dirty heart was dead.
+    Here a sound rascal, lazy, loud, and bold;
+    And there the helpless, weak and sick and old.
+
+    Want--want! O Lord! forgive me, o'er and o'er,
+    That I haven't found these suffering folks before!
+    We had a decent poor-house in our town,
+    And I would often drive my spare horse down,
+    And take a little stroll among them there,
+    And try to cheer their every-day despair,
+    And with their little wants and worries join,
+    And chink round 'mongst them with small bits of coin
+    (Done up in good advice, somewhat severe),
+    And send them Christmas turkeys every year;
+    Then, in my cosy home, think, with a grin,
+    What a fine, liberal angel I had been.
+    But here, O heavens! I find them, high and low,
+    Hundreds of pauper-houses in a row!
+    And suffering--suffering--in a shape, I vow,
+    That makes my poor old tears run even now!
+
+    For city trouble, any one will find,
+    Is more ingenious than the country kind,
+    And has a thousand cute-invented ways
+    To torture men and shorten off their days.
+    And while we wonder that God made it so,
+    He doesn't seem very anxious we should know;
+    But He is willing we should search His plan,
+    And pry around and find out all we can;
+    And I suspect, when pains and troubles fall,
+    That every one is useful, after all.
+
+    At any rate, the miseries that I see
+    Are useful in their good effects on me;
+    And though that isn't a great thing, on the whole
+    (Though Heaven _does_ put a premium on each soul),
+    Yet there are several people, I suspect,
+    Who need a little of that same effect;
+    And if they do not get it, old and young,
+    'Twill be because I've lost my poor old tongue.
+
+    One more small portion of God's plan I see
+    Concerning its effect on "even me:"
+    And that's its leading me, by methods queer,
+    To be some help to these poor people here.
+    For now I promise, from this very night,
+    And hereby put it down in black and white,
+    That out of every day that's given me yet,
+    And out of every dollar I can get,
+    And out of every talent, small or large,
+    That God sees fit to put into my charge,
+    A part shall be devoted--square and sure--
+    To God's own suffering, struggling, dying poor!
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    Poverty, why wast thou born
+    In the world's earliest morn?
+    Why hast thou lived all the years,
+    Sowing thy pains and thy tears?
+    Roaming about thou art seen,
+    Crooked, decrepit, and lean;
+    Travelling all the world through--
+    Suffering's "wandering Jew."
+    Thin and unkempt is thy hair,
+    Fleshless as parchment thy cheek,
+    Sad and ungainly thine air,
+    Hollow the words thou dost speak,
+    Bony and grasping thy hand,
+    Dreary thy days in the land.
+    Poverty, why wast thou born
+    Under the world's quiet scorn?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Poverty, thou hast been seen
+    Clad in a comelier mien.
+    Oft, to the clear-seeing eyes,
+    Thou art a saint in disguise.
+    Discipline rich thou hast brought,
+    Lessons of labor and thought.
+    Oft, in thy dreariest night,
+    Virtue gleams sturdy and bright;
+    Oft, from thy scantiest hour,
+    Grow the beginnings of power;
+    Oft, 'mongst thy squalors and needs
+    Live such magnificent deeds
+    As the proud angels will crown
+    There in their gold-streeted town;
+    Oft, from thy high garrets, throng
+    Notes of magnificent song,
+    That, from sad day unto day,
+    Float through the ages away.
+    Poverty--brave or forlorn--
+    God knoweth why thou wast born.
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+FEBRUARY 12, 18--.
+
+    Wind in the South; a fresh, sweet, winter day;
+    'Twould have been sad to see it go away,
+    If 'twere not that the sunset's signal-lights
+    Glimmered awhile across the Jersey heights,
+    Then, lightly dancing o'er the river, came
+    And set some New York windows all aflame.
+    (From a clear sunset I can always borrow
+    God's sweet half promise of a fair to-morrow.)
+
+    But, while I gazed upon that splendid sight,
+    My mind _would_ take a heavy, care-winged flight
+    Up to a small back garret, far away,
+    Where I had stood at two o'clock to-day.
+
+    Want--want--want--want! it hung 'round everywhere;
+    It threw its odors on the sickly air!
+    The room was somewhat smaller, to begin,
+    Than I would put a span of horses in;
+    The floor was rough and damp as floor could be;
+    No picture on the walls but Poverty;
+    The bed was ragged, scanty, hard, and drear;
+    A rough-made, empty crib was standing near;
+    The "window" 'd never felt the sun's warm stare,
+    Or breathed a breath of good old-fashioned air;
+
+  [Illustration: "YES, IT'S STRAIGHT AND TRUE, GOOD PREACHER, EVERY
+  WORD THAT YOU HAVE SAID."]
+
+    A little, worn-out doll some child had had,
+    Looking, like its surroundings, rough and sad,
+    And dressed in rags and pinched and famine-faced,
+    But bearing still some marks of girlish taste;
+    A gaunt, gray kitten, showing every sign
+    That it was on the last life of its nine,
+    Though trying hard to feel quite sleek and fat,
+    And not a very care-worn, desolate cat;
+    A man, so grieved my heart can see him now,
+    With frightful sorrow printed on his brow;
+
+    A rough, wood coffin stood there near the bed,
+    Looking uneasy even for the dead;
+    A little, pallid face I saw therein--
+    A niceish-looking child she must have been,
+    As sweet as ever need to feed a glance,
+    If she had only had one-half a chance.
+    But still, she woke a thought I could not smother--
+    "That child was murdered in some way or other."[4]
+
+    And my opinion didn't seem much amiss
+    When the man spoke up, something like to this:
+
+    [4]  All this, above the shoulder, I could see,
+         Of an old preacher who had come with me--
+         A man who, 'mongst those garrets, earns, they say,
+         A house and lot in heaven every day.
+
+
+[THAT SWAMP OF DEATH.]
+
+  Yes, it's straight and true, good Preacher, every word that you have
+      said;
+  Do not think these tears unmanly--they're the first ones I have shed!
+  But they kind o' beat and pounded 'gainst my aching heart and brain,
+  And they would not be let go of, and they gave me extra pain.
+
+  I am just a laboring man, sir--work for food and rags and sleep,
+  And I hardly know the meaning of the life I slave to keep;
+  But I know when times are cheery, or my heart is made of lead;
+  I know sorrow when I see it, and--I know my girl is dead!
+
+  No, she isn't much to look at--just a plainish bit of clay,
+  Of the sort of perished children that die 'round here every day;
+  And how _she_ could break a heart up you'd be slow to understand,
+  But she held _mine_, Mr. Preacher, in that little withered hand!
+
+  There are lots of prettier children, with a face and form more fine--
+  Let their parents love and pet them--but _this_ little one was _mine_!
+  There was no one else to cling to when we two were torn apart,
+  And it's death--this amputation of the strong arms of the heart!
+
+  I am just an ignorant man, sir, of the kind that digs and delves,
+  But I've learned that human beings cannot stay in by themselves;
+  They will reach out after something, be it good or be it bad,
+  And my heart on hers had settled, and--the girl was all I had!
+
+  [Illustration: "CHOKED AND STRANGLED BY THE FOUL BREATH OF THE
+  CHIMNEYS OVER THERE."]
+
+  Yes, it's solid, Mr. Preacher, every word
+      that you have said--
+  God loves children while they're living,
+      and adopts them when they're dead;
+
+  But I cannot help contriving, do the very best I can,
+  That it wasn't God's mercy took her, but the selfishness of man!
+
+  Why, she lay here, faint and gasping, moaning for a bit of air,
+  Choked and strangled by the foul breath of the chimneys over there;
+  It climbed through every window, and crept under every door,
+  And I tried to bar against it, and she only choked the more.
+
+  [Illustration:
+  "OH, THE AIR IS PURE AND WHOLESOME WHERE SOME BABIES COO AND REST,
+  AND THEY TRIM THEM OUT WITH RIBBONS, AND THEY FEED THEM WITH THE BEST."]
+
+  She would lie there, with the old look that poor children somehow get;
+  She had learned to use her patience, and she did not cry or fret,
+  But would lift her little face up, so piteous and so fair,
+  And would whisper, "_I am dying for a little breath of air!_"
+
+  If she'd gone off through the sunlight, 'twouldn't have seemed so hard
+      to me,
+  Or among the fresh cool breezes that come sweeping from the sea;
+  But it's nothing less than murder when my darling's every breath
+  Chokes and strangles with the poison from that chimney swamp of death!
+
+  Oh, it's not enough those people own the very ground we tread,
+  And the shelter that we crouch in, and the tools that earn our bread;
+  They must place their blotted mortgage on the air and on the sky,
+  And shut out our little heaven, till our children pine and die!
+
+  Oh, the air is pure and wholesome where _some_ babies coo and rest,
+  And they trim them out with ribbons, and they feed them with the best;
+  But the love they bear is mockery to the gracious God on high,
+  If to give those children luxuries some one else's child must die!
+
+  Oh, we wear the cheapest clothing, and our meals are scant and brief,
+  And perhaps those fellows fancy there's a cheaper grade of grief;
+  But the people all around here, losing children, friends, and mates,
+  Can inform them that _Affliction hasn't any under-rates_.
+
+  I'm no grumbler at the rulers of "this free and happy land,"
+  And I don't go 'round explaining things I do not understand;
+  But I know there's something treacherous in the working of the law,
+  _When we get a dose of poison out of every breath we draw_.
+
+  I have talked too much, good Preacher, and I hope you won't be vexed,
+  But _I'm_ going to make a sermon with that white face for a text;
+  And I'll preach it, and I'll preach it, till I set the people wild
+  O'er the heartless, reckless grasping of the men who killed my child!
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    Still do I write--day-time and night--
+    That which I see in my leisurely flight.
+    What is this sign that is claiming the sight?--
+    "Lodgings within here, at five cents per night!"
+
+
+    Let me examine this cheap-entered nest,
+    Pay my five cents, and go in with the rest;
+    Let me jot down with sly pen, but sincere,
+    What, in this garret, I see, smell, and hear.
+    Great, gloomy den! where, on close-clustered shelves,
+    Shelterless wretches can shelter themselves;
+    Pestilence-drugged is the murderous air,
+    Full of the breathings of want and despair!
+      Horrible place!--where The Crushed Race
+    Winces 'neath Poverty's dolefullest blight--
+      Bivouac of suffering, sin, and disgrace:
+    What can you look for, at five cents per night?
+
+    Hustle them in, jostle them in,
+    Many of nation, and divers of kin;
+    Sallow, and yellow, and tawny of skin--
+    Hustle them, bustle them, jostle them in!
+    Handfuls of withered but suffering clay,
+    Swept from the East by oppression away;
+    Baffled adventurers, conquered and pressed
+    Back from the gates of the glittering West;
+    Men who with indolence, folly, and guile
+    Carelessly slighted Prosperity's smile;
+    Men who have struggled 'gainst Destiny's frown,
+    Inch after inch, till she hunted them down.
+      Scores in a tier--pile them up here--
+    Many of peoples and divers of kin;
+      Drift of the nations, from far and from near,
+    Hustle them, bustle them, jostle them in!
+
+    Islands of green, mistily seen,
+    Hover in visions these sleepers between;
+    Beautiful memories, cozy and clean,
+    Restfully precious, and sweetly serene.
+    Womanly kisses have softened the brow
+    Lying in drunken bewilderment now;
+    Infantile faces have cuddled for rest
+    Here on this savage and rag-covered breast.
+    Lucky the wretch who, in Poverty's ways,
+    Bears not the burden of "happier days:"
+    Many a midnight is gloomier yet
+    By the remembrance of stars that have set!
+      Echoes of pain, drearily plain,
+    Come of old melodies sweet and serene;
+      Images sad to the heart and the brain
+    Rise out of memories cozy and green.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Hustle them in, bustle them in,
+    Fetid with squalor, and reeking with gin,
+    Loaded with misery, folly, and sin--
+    Hustle them, bustle them, jostle them in!
+    Few are the sorrows so hopelessly drear
+    But they have sad representatives here;
+    Never a crime so complete and confessed
+    But has come hither for one night of rest.
+    Seeds that the thorns of diseases may bear
+    Float on the putrid and smoke-laden air;
+    Ghosts of destruction are haunting each breath--
+    Soft-stepping agents, commissioned by Death.
+      Crowd them in rows, comrades or foes,
+    Deadened with liquor and deafened with din,
+      Fugitives out of the frosts and the snows,
+    Hustle them, bustle them, jostle them in!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+  [Illustration: "WEARY OLD MAN WITH THE SNOW-DRIFTED HAIR,
+  NOT BY YOUR FAULT ARE YOU SUFFERING THERE."]
+
+    Guilt has not pressed unto its breast
+    All who are taking this dingy unrest:
+    Innocence often is Misery's guest;
+    Sorrow may strike at the brightest and best.
+    You from whom hope, but not feeling, has fled,
+    This is your refuge from pauperhood's bed;
+    Timorous lad with a sensitive face,
+    You have no record of crime and disgrace;
+    Weary old man with the snow-drifted hair,
+    Not by your fault are you suffering there,
+    Never a child of your cherishing nigh--
+    'Tis not for sin you so drearily die.
+      Pain, in all lands, smites with two hands--
+    Guilty and good may encounter the test;
+      Misery's cord is of different strands;
+    Sorrow may strike at the brightest and best.
+
+    Sympathy's tear, warm and sincere,
+    Cannot but glisten while lingering near.
+    Edge not away, sir, in horror of fear,
+    These are your brothers--this family here!
+    What if Misfortune had made _you_ forlorn
+    With her stiletto as well as her scorn?
+    What if some fiend had been making _you_ sure
+    With more temptation than flesh could endure?
+    What if you deep in the slums had been born,
+    Cradled in villany, christened in scorn?
+    What if your toys had been tainted with crime?
+    What if your baby hands dabbled in slime?
+      Judge them with ruth. Maybe, in truth,
+    It is not they, but their luck, that is here.
+      Fancy _your_ growth from a sin-nurtured youth;
+    Pity their weakness, and give them a tear.
+
+    Help them get out; help them keep out!
+    Labor to teach them what life is about;
+    Give them a hand unencumbered with doubt;
+    Feed them and clothe them, but pilot them out!
+    Mortals depraved, whatsoe'er they have been,
+    Soonest can mend from assistance _within_.
+    Warm them and feed them--they're beasts, even then;
+    Teach them and love them--they grow into men.
+    You who 'mid luxuries costly and grand
+    Decorate homes with munificent hand,
+    Use, in some measure, your exquisite arts
+    For the improvement of minds and of hearts.
+      Lilies must grow up from below,
+    Where the strong rootlets are twining about;
+      Goodness and honesty ever must flow
+    From the heart-centres--to blossom without.
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+FEBRUARY 28, 18--.
+
+    Wind in the west; no symptoms of a thaw;
+    The coldest, bleakest day I ever saw.
+    And I'm housed up, with nothing much to do
+    Except to read the papers through and through.
+
+    "Died of starvation!"--what does this all mean?
+    Stores of provisions everywhere are seen.
+    "Died of starvation!"--here's the place and name
+    Right in the paper; let us blush for shame!
+
+    This city _wastes_ what any one would call
+    Nine hundred times enough to feed us all;
+    And yet folks die in garret, hut, and street,
+    Simply because there isn't enough to eat!
+
+    Oh, heavens! there runs a great big Norway rat,
+    Sleek as a banker, and almost as fat;
+    He daily breakfasts, dines, and sups, and thrives
+    On what would save a pair of human lives;
+    He rears a family with his own fat features,
+    On food we lock up from our fellow-creatures;
+    And human beings fall down by the way,
+    And die for want of food, this very day!
+
+    "Frozen to death!"--the worse than useless moth
+    May feed, this year, on bales and bales of cloth;
+    Untouched, ten million tons of coal can lie,
+    While God's own human beings freeze and die!
+
+    "Died of starvation!"--waves of golden wheat
+    All summer dashed and glistened at our feet;
+    Dull, senseless grain is stored in buildings high,
+    And God's own human beings starve and die!
+
+    I would not rob from rich men what they earn,
+    But I would have them sweet compassion learn;
+    Oh, do not Pity's gentle voice defy,
+    While God's own human beings starve and die!
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+MARCH 5, 18--.
+
+    Died of starvation!--yes, it has been done;
+    To-day I've seen a hunger-murdered one,
+    Who had a perfect right, it seemed to me,
+    The mistress of a happy home to be;
+    And yet we found her on a ragged bed,
+    One white arm underneath a shapely head;
+    Her long, bright hair was lying, fold on fold,
+    Like finest threads spun from a bar of gold;
+    Her face was chiselled after beauty's style,
+    And want had not hewn out its witching smile;
+    'Twas like white marble half endowed with breath--
+    The face of this sweet maiden--starved to death!
+
+    Not far from where she lay, so sadly lone,
+    Her calendar, or "diary," was thrown;
+    They let me have it when the law had read
+    This plaintive, girlish message from the dead.
+    It doesn't look well among these notes to stay,
+    Of one who feeds on blessings every day;
+    But I will put it in here, for my heart
+    To look at when I feel too proud and smart!
+
+
+A SEWING-GIRL'S DIARY.
+
+FEBRUARY 1, 18--.
+
+    Here--am I here?
+    Or is it fancy, born of fear?
+    Yes--O God, save me!--this is I,
+    And not some wretch of whom I've read,
+    In that bright girlhood, when the sky
+    Each night strewed star-dust o'er my head;
+    When each morn meant a gala-day,
+    And all my little world was gay.
+    I had not felt the touch of Care;
+    I'd heard of something called Despair,
+    But knew it only by its name.
+    (How far it seemed!--how soon it came!)
+    Yes, all the bright years hurried by;
+    Sorrow was near, and--this is I!
+
+    Is't the same girl that stood, one night,
+    There in the wide hall's thrilling light,
+    With all the costly robes astir
+    That love and pride had bought for her?
+    How the great crowd, 'mid their kind din,
+    Gazed with gaunt eyes and drank me in!
+    And then they hushed at each low word,
+    So Death himself might have been heard,
+    To hear me mournfully rehearse
+    The tender Hood's pathetic verse
+    About the woman who, half dead,
+    Stitched her frail life in every thread.
+    How little then I knew the need!
+    Yet for my own sex I did plead,
+    And my heart crept on each word's track
+    Till soft sobs from the crowd came back.
+
+  [Illustration: "IS'T THE SAME GIRL THAT STOOD, ONE NIGHT,
+  THERE IN THE WIDE HALL'S THRILLING LIGHT?"]
+
+    I saw my sister, streaming-eyed,
+    Yet bearing still a face of pride:
+    Oh, sister! when you looked at me
+    With that quick yearning glance of love,
+    Did you peer on, to what might be--
+    _What is?_--and is it known above?
+    When that great throng a shout did raise,
+    And gave me words of heart-felt praise,
+    And loving eyes their incense burned
+    Till my young girlish head was turned--
+    Did your clear eye see farther then
+    A moment past all mortal ken,
+    And in the dreary scene I drew
+    Did my own form appear to you?
+    It might have been; grief was o'er-nigh,
+    And--God, have pity!--this is I,
+    Treading a steep and dang'rous way,
+    And--earning twenty cents a day!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FEBRUARY 5, 18--.
+
+    Father, this is the time we hailed
+    As your bright birthday. We ne'er failed
+    To throng about with love's fond arts,
+    And bring you presents from our hearts;
+    Your pleasure filled our day with bliss;
+    Oh what a different one from this!
+    My love, my father! how you stood
+    'Twixt me and all that was not good!
+    How, each o'er-hurried breath I drew,
+    My girl-heart turned and clung to you!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    How near comes back that dismal day
+    You sat, sad-faced, with naught to say,
+    From morn till night! I did not dare
+    Even to ask to soothe your care;
+    I knew it was too sadly grand
+    To feel the light touch of my hand.
+    Ah! friends you loved had gone astray,
+    And swept our competence away;
+    And oh, I strove so hard to save
+    Your honored gray hairs from the grave!
+    Too late! your sun went down o'er-soon,
+    Clouded, in life's mid-afternoon.
+    You guarded me with patience rare
+    From e'en the shadow of a care;
+    You called me "Princess;" and my room
+    Was dressed as palaces might be;
+    And--here I am amid this gloom
+    That mocks, insults, and murders me,
+    Striving a garret's rent to pay,
+    And--earning twenty cents a day!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FEBRUARY 20, 18--.
+
+    I cannot well afford to write--
+    My fingers are in call elsewhere;
+    But I must voice my black despair,
+    Or I should die before 'twas night.
+    I have no mother now to call,
+    And seek her heart, and tell her all.
+    O, Mother! well I know you rest
+    In yonder heaven, serene and blest:
+    How sadly, strangely sweet 'twould be
+    To know you knew and pitied me!
+    And yet I would not have you dream
+    E'en of the dagger's faintest gleam
+    That's pointing at my maiden breast.
+    Rest on, sweet mother, sweetly rest!
+    And still I feel your loving art,
+    Sometimes upon my aching heart.
+    That night I stood upon the pier,
+    And the gray river swept so near,
+    And glanced up at me in a way
+    Some one with friendly voice might say,
+    "Come to my arms and rest, poor girl."
+    And I leaned down with head awhirl,
+    And heart so heavy it might sink
+    Me underneath the river's brink,
+    A hand I could not feel or see
+    Drew me away and fondled me;
+    A voice I felt, unheard, though near,
+    Said, "Wait! you must not enter here,
+    And press against me with one stain.
+    Poor girl, not long you need remain!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  [Illustration: "AND HATEFUL HUNGER HAS COME IN."]
+
+    But, O sweet mother! I must write
+    The words that would be said to-night,
+    If you could hold my tired head here!
+    I cannot see one gleam of cheer;
+    This is a garret room, so bleak
+    The cold air stings my fading cheek;
+    Fireless my room, my garb is thin,
+    And hateful Hunger has come in,
+    And says, "Toil on, you foolish one!
+    You shall be mine when all is done."
+    Two days and nights of pain and dread
+    I've gnawed upon a crust of bread
+    (For what scant nourishment 'twould give)
+    So hard, I could not eat and live!
+    O mother! I to God shall pray
+    This tale in heaven may ne'er be told;
+    For you are where whole streets are gold,
+    And I--earn twenty cents a day!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FEBRUARY 22, 18--.
+
+    He never loved me. For no one
+    Could love and do as he has done.
+    How my heart clung and clung to him,
+    E'en when respect and faith grew dim;
+    His lightest touch could thrill me so!
+    Weak girl, 'twas hard to bid him go.
+    Though wayward was his heart I knew,
+    I would have sworn that he was true!
+
+    Oh, how I loved him! or maybe
+    Loved some one that I thought was he.
+    They brought me--what? his mangled corse?
+    Would God they had! They brought me worse.
+
+    I saw one who should bear his name,
+    One whose pale face was fiercely grieved,
+    One whom he wantonly deceived,
+    And sentenced to a life of shame.
+    That was the end. I could not wed
+    A man whose nobler self was dead.
+
+    O, man!--a brave and god-like race,
+    But you can be so vile and base!
+    And when there is no urgent need,
+    You can protect us well indeed;
+    But when adversity is near,
+    When the wave breaks upon our head,
+    When we are crushed with want and dread,
+    Then we have most from you to fear.
+    Why do men strangely look me o'er
+    When I their mercy need the more?
+    Do they not know a girl may taste
+    The dregs of want and yet be chaste?
+    Should woman sell her soul away
+    To save its manacles of clay?
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FEBRUARY 23, 1885.
+
+    All honest means of life have failed.
+    The small accomplishments I've tried
+    That pleased friends in my days of pride,
+    Are naught; but vice has not prevailed,
+    And, thank Heaven, should not, though my heart
+    Were torn a thousand times apart.
+    But God shield helpless girls alway
+    Who live on twenty cents a day!
+
+FEBRUARY 24, 1885.
+
+    Weak, weak, still weaker do I grow:
+    My mournful fate I can but know;
+    God, keep me not long here, I pray,
+    To toil--on twenty cents a day!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FEBRUARY 26, 1885.
+
+    Oh, horrors! is it--is it true
+    What I have read?--if I but knew!
+    O, God, tell me where can I fly,
+    Not to be found when I shall die!
+    They say dead waifs are oft by night
+    Robbed of a decent burial's right;
+    That fiends the friendless bodies bear
+    To crowds of waiting students, where
+    Men tear them up for men to see.
+    O, God, sweet God, do pity me!
+    And I will humbly pray to men:
+    If this should come within the ken
+    Of one who lives a true-loved life,
+    Of one who sister has, or wife;
+    One who loves women for the best
+    That is in them, whose lips have pressed
+    Pure, genuine lips, whom women trust,
+    Whose heart is free from loathsome lust;
+    One whom I would have loved if he
+    Brother or husband were to me--
+    I ask you--nay, I do command
+    With that imperiousness you so
+    Like from a white and shapely hand--
+    I _order_ you--but no, no, no;
+    I am past that--I humbly pray
+    That you will see that I unmarred
+    Have Christian burial. Guard, oh guard,
+    You men with manly hearts and souls,
+    My poor dead body from the ghouls!
+    I strove alway to keep it pure
+    As the soul in me; it has been
+    Type of the thoughts that lived within,
+    The white slave of what shall endure,
+    My spirit's loved though humble mate;
+    Let none its white limbs desecrate!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Weaker--yet weaker--'tis to die
+    This sharp pain bids me. Ah! good-bye,
+    World that I was too weak for--
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MARCH 10, 18--.
+
+    Back from a journey; mournful, it is true,
+    But mingled with a deep-down sweetness, too.
+    After the law with that poor girl was done,
+    I found permission with the proper one,
+    And, though such things by law could not occur,
+    In my heart-family I adopted her.
+    (Help much too late to benefit her, living--
+    It's that way with a good share of our giving!)
+    But, with a father's love, "Poor girl!" I said,
+    "You shall have all that I can give you, dead!"
+    I found, by lightning inquiries I made,
+    The graveyard where her own loved ones were laid;
+    I had her body tenderly removed,
+    And placed among the dear ones that she loved,
+    With all the honor that the poor, sweet child
+    Would have if Fortune still upon her smiled.
+    And when once more the flowers of summer blow,
+    My wife and daughters and myself will go
+    And make the sad but grateful duty ours
+    To see her last earth-dwelling roofed with flowers.
+
+
+
+
+FIRE.
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+
+MARCH 15, 18--.
+
+  Fire!--fire!--fire!--fire!--it sets me in a craze
+  To see a first-class building all ablaze;
+  A burning house resembles, when I'm nigh,
+  Some old acquaintance just about to die;
+  For structures that a person often sees
+  Look some like human beings--same as trees.
+  (There used to be some trees on my old place
+  That I'd know anywhere--just by their face.)
+  And when, last night, some bells began to cry,
+  And big fire-engines rushed and rattled by,
+  In just three minutes down the stairs I strode,
+  And hurried--somewhat dressed--into the road
+  (Partly to help a bit, if so might be,
+  And partly, I suppose, to hear and see).
+  It was a dark and thunder-stormy night;
+  There wasn't one inch of honest sky in sight;
+  Great black-finned clouds were swimming through the air,
+  And now and then their lightning-eyes would glare,
+  And, like a lot of cannon far away,
+  Some peals of thunder came from o'er the bay.
+  'Twas one of those strange nights I can't explain,
+  That make you think they're just a-going to rain,
+  But never do--save now and then a trace
+  Of a small drop comes dashing on your face;
+  One of those nights that try to keep you vexed
+  And wondering as to what will happen next.
+  I like such times: they kind of draw me nearer
+  To things unseen, and make all mystery clearer.
+
+  I ran like sin, and reached the fire at last:
+  A good-sized church was going, pretty fast.
+  (I'd noticed it a hundred times or more,
+  And several times had stepped inside the door.)
+  The burglar flames within had prowled around
+  A long time previous to their being found,
+  Till they had gained such foothold and such might
+  They'd turned to robbers--stealing plain in sight.
+  The dome and spires had on them flags of red;
+  They soon came thundering down from overhead.
+  It looked as if infernal spirits came,
+  To take this church away, in smoke and flame!
+
+  I wondered, in that wild, expensive glare,
+  How many of the home-robbed flock were there
+  To see the shelter where their souls had fed
+  Swept from existence by that broom of red.
+  Here was the family pew, so long time prized;
+  There was the font where they had been baptized;
+  Here was the altar, where one day they stood,
+  Started for Heaven, and promised to be good;
+  Or where they'd wept around some cherished love
+  Who'd "taken a letter" to The Church above.
+  And still I thought, as my eyes soulward turned,
+  How many things there are that can't be burned;
+  But still we cling, and cling, and hate to part
+  With the place where we found them on the start.
+
+  A sneerish sort of fellow stood by me,
+  And said, "To such extent as I can see,
+  When churches get afire, by night or day,
+  The Lord stands still and lets 'em burn away.
+  If this is His abode beyond a doubt,
+  Why doesn't He raise his hand and put it out?"
+  Said I, "Young man, please do not try to aid
+  With your advice the mighty Power that made
+  What little there is of you. There are still
+  Schemes you don't comprehend, and never will.
+  You're talented, I think; but no one cares
+  To have you help the Lord in His affairs.
+  Why, probably, right where that church has stood,
+  There'll soon be built another, twice as good;
+  And some mean, tight insurance company will
+  Perhaps be made to pay more'n half the bill.
+  The Lord knows, in these fool-confounding scenes,
+  When to rebuild, and where to get the means."
+
+  He turned away his head exceeding far,
+  And lit a little bit of white cigar;
+  But gave, "to such extent as I could see,"
+  No more of his theology to me.
+  I'm none too good; but when men jeer and flout,
+  I like to have them know what they're about.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+WHEN PROMETHEUS STOLE THE FLAME.
+
+    When Prometheus stole the flame,
+    Did he know what with it came?
+    Did he look afar and see
+    All the blessings that would be?
+    Could he view the gentle gloam
+    Of the fireside of a home?
+    Or the centre-table's blaze,
+    Turning evenings into days,
+    Where, encamped with quiet zest,
+    Happy children toil and rest?
+    Did he view the parlor's gleam,
+    Or the 'wildering palace dream?
+    See the torch's floating glare
+    Burn its way through walls of air;
+    Or, through under-regions trace
+    Earth's remotest hiding-place?
+    Did he see the flags of steam
+    O'er the cities flash and gleam?
+    To his vision, like a star,
+    Did the light-house gleam afar,
+    Which another eye should be
+    To the traveller of the sea?
+    If Prometheus, tortured--bound--
+    Knew the blessings man had found,
+    Then his sufferings must have been
+    Soothed by blessings from within.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    When Prometheus stole the flame,
+    Did he know what with it came?
+    Did he see the fire up-steal,
+    Rise, and take its midnight meal?
+    Did he view the palace wall
+    Stumble 'mid the smoke and fall?
+    Did he see some cherished home
+    Feed a fiery ocean's foam?
+    Did he hear the war-alarms
+    Of a nation called to arms,
+    And behold men, in their ire,
+    Murdering men with bolts of fire?
+    Did some miscreant cross his sight,
+    Bent on booty or on spite,
+    Stealing steps into the dark,
+    With the incendiary spark?
+    Did there, faint and haggard, rise
+    Ghosts before his startled eyes,
+    Godly men of scathless name,
+    Felled for fuel to the flame;
+    In a short-lived earthly hell
+    Thrown, for voicing heaven too well?
+    If he knew that glittering thing
+    Would to Earth such curses bring,
+    Then his sufferings may have been
+    Edged with poison from within.
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+MARCH 20, 18--.
+
+  Somehow, the fire I saw not long ago
+  Has subsequently chased me, high and low;
+  Runs back and forth betwixt my head and heart,
+  And shows no disposition to depart.
+
+  And so I've wandered 'round (too much, perhaps),
+  And got acquainted with the fireman chaps,
+  And planted good cigars where they would seem
+  Inclined to grow up helpful to my scheme.
+  (I never smoke; but, travelling near and far,
+  There's few things help one like a good cigar;
+  When safe between a neighbor's teeth 'tis hung,
+  It oils his ways and loosens up his tongue.
+  I get more from cigars, before it's through,
+  Than all the fellows that I give them to.
+  Perhaps they should not smoke; but, if they will,
+  My method helps their families foot the bill.)
+
+  Not long ago a sturdy fireman lad,
+  Who smoked up every last cigar I had,
+  Unrolled the following story to my view,
+  Which I believe (conditionally) true:
+
+
+"FLASH:" THE FIREMAN'S STORY.
+
+  "Flash" was a white-foot sorrel, an' run on Number Three:
+  Not much stable manners--an average horse to see;
+  Notional in his methods--strong in loves an' hates;
+  Not very much respected, or popular 'mongst his mates;
+  Dull an' moody an' sleepy, an' "off" on quiet days;
+  Full o' turbulent, sour looks, an' small, sarcastic ways;
+  Scowled an' bit at his partner, an' banged the stable floor--
+  With other means intended to designate life a bore.
+
+  [Illustration: "HE BEGGED THAT HORSE'S PARDON UPON HIS BENDED
+  KNEES."]
+
+  But when, be't day or night time, he heard the alarm-bell ring,
+  He'd rush for his place in the harness with a regular tiger spring;
+  An' watch, with nervous shivers, the clasp of buckle an' band,
+  Until 'twas plainly evident he'd like to lend a hand.
+
+  An' when the word was given, away he would rush an' tear,
+  As if a thousand witches was rumplin' up his hair,
+  An' craze the other horses with his magnetic charm,
+  Till every hoof-beat sounded a regular fire-alarm!
+
+  Never a horse a jockey would notice an' admire
+  Like Flash in front of his engine a-runnin' to a fire;
+  Never a horse so lazy, so dawdlin', an' so slack,
+  As Flash upon his return trip, a-drawin' the engine back.
+
+  Now, when the different horses gets tender-footed an' old,
+  They're no use in our business; so Flash was finally sold
+  To quite a respectable milkman, who found it not so fine
+  A-bossin' one o' God's creatures outside it's natural line.
+
+  Seems as if I could see Flash a-mopin' along here now,
+  Feelin' that he was simply assistant to a cow;
+  But sometimes he'd imagine he heard the alarm-bell's din,
+  An' jump an' rear for a season before they could hold him in;
+
+  An' once, in spite o' his master, he strolled in 'mongst us chaps,
+  To talk with the other horses, of former fires, perhaps;
+  Whereat the milkman kicked him; whereat, us boys to please,
+  He begged that horse's pardon upon his bended knees.
+
+  But one day, for a big fire as we was makin' a dash,
+  Both o' the horses we had on somewhat resemblin' Flash,
+  Yellin' an' ringin' an' rushin', with excellent voice an' heart,
+  We passed the poor old fellow, a-tuggin' away at his cart.
+
+  If ever I see an old hoss grow upward into a new--
+  If ever I see a milkman whose traps behind him flew,
+  'Twas that old hoss, a-rearin' an' racin' down the track,
+  An' that respectable milkman a-tryin' to hold him back.
+
+  Away he rushed like a cyclone for the head o' "Number Three,"
+  Gained the lead, an' kept it, an' steered his journey free;
+  Dodgin' wagons an' horses, an' still on the keenest "silk,"
+  An' furnishin' all that neighborhood with good, respectable milk.
+
+  Crowd a-yellin' an' runnin', an' vainly hollerin' "Whoa!"
+  Milkman bracin' an' sawin', with never a bit o' show;
+  Firemen laughin' an' chucklin', an' shoutin' "Good! go in!"
+  Hoss a-gettin' down to it, an' sweepin' along like sin.
+
+  [Illustration: "AWAY HE RUSHED LIKE A CYCLONE FOR THE HEAD O'
+  'NUMBER THREE.'"]
+
+  Finally came where the fire was--halted with a "thud;"
+  Sent the respectable milkman heels over head in mud;
+  Watched till he see the engines properly workin' there,
+  After which he relinquished all interest in the affair.
+
+  Moped an' wilted an' dawdled, "faded away" once more,
+  Took up his old occupation--considerin' life a bore;
+  Laid down in his harness, an'--sorry I am to say--
+  The milkman he had drawn there took his dead body away.
+
+  That's the whole o' my story: I've seen, more'n once or twice,
+  That poor dead animals' actions is full o' human advice;
+  An' if you ask what Flash taught, I'll simply answer, then,
+  That poor old horse was a symbol of some intelligent men.
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  An' if, as some consider, there's animals in the sky,
+  I think the poor old fellow is gettin' another try;
+  But if he should sniff the big fire that plagues the abode o' sin,
+  It'll take the strongest angel to hold the old fellow in.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+MARCH 20, 18--.
+
+    Speaking of fires, my powers of language fail;
+    They run them here upon so large a scale.
+    My son, Charles Sumner (who is, by-the-way,
+    In Europe--terms ten dollars by the day,
+    Paid strictly in advance), can rhyme somewhat,
+    And often seems to me to touch the spot,
+    And light the truth up with a healthier glare,
+    And make it _truthfuller_ for his being there.
+    (But in such furrows human nature runs,
+    That old men aren't good critics for their sons.)
+    He used to rush (as youngsters often will)
+    To every fire we had at Tompkins Hill,
+    And seemed to plan less how to put them out
+    Than to get something new to write about.
+    He struck a rhyme I think isn't over bad,
+    About a "fire" our little village had
+    (Or city; for that town took city airs
+    Before its village short-clothes reached repairs).
+    I found a copy of it t'other day
+    Where he had laid it carefully away,
+    To keep me from not finding it (he meant
+    To get it back in the next check I sent).
+    'Twill cost me several dollars yet, I fear;--
+    I'll paste the fellow's nonsense right in here:
+
+
+
+HOW WE FOUGHT THE FIRE.
+
+I.
+
+    'Twas a drowsy night on Tompkins Hill:
+    The very leaves of the trees lay still;
+    The world was slumbering, ocean deep;
+    And even the stars seemed half asleep,
+    And winked and blinked at the roofs below,
+    As yearning for morn, that they might go.
+    The streets as stolid and still did lie
+    As they would have done if streets could die;
+    The sidewalks stretched as quietly prone
+    As if a foot they had never known;
+    And not a cottage within the town,
+    But looked as if it would fain lie down.
+    Away in the west a stacken-cloud,
+    With white arms drooping and bare head bowed,
+    Was leaning against--with drowsy eye--
+    The dark blue velveting of the sky.
+          And that was the plight
+          Things were in that night,
+    Before we were roused the foe to fight--
+    The foe so greedy and grand and bright--
+          That plagued old Deacon Tompkins.
+
+II.
+
+    The Deacon lay on his first wife's bed,
+    His second wife's pillow beneath his head,
+    His third wife's coverlet o'er him wide,
+    His fourth wife slumbering by his side.
+    The parson visioned his Sunday's text,
+    And what he should hurl at Satan next;
+    The doctor a drowsy half-vigil kept,
+    Still studying, as he partly slept,
+    How men might glutton, and tope, and fly
+    In the face of Death, and still not die;
+    The lawyer dreamed that his clients meant
+    To club together, and then present,
+    As proof that their faith had not grown dim,
+    A small bright silver hatchet to him;
+    The laborer such sound slumber knew,
+    He hadn't a dream the whole night through;
+    The ladies dreamed--but I can't say well
+    What 'tis they dream, for they never tell!
+    In short, such a general drowsy time
+    Had ne'er been known in that sleepy clime,
+          As on the night
+          Of clamor and fright,
+    We were roused the treacherous foe to fight--
+    The foe so greedy and grand and bright,
+    And carrying such an appetite--
+          That plagued old Deacon Tompkins.
+
+III.
+
+    When all at once the old court-house bell
+    (Which had a voice like a maniac's yell)
+    Cried out, as if in its dim old sight
+    The judgment-day had come in the night.
+    "Bang whang whang bang clang dang bang whang,"
+    The poor old parcel of metal sang;
+    Whereat, from mansion, cottage, and shed,
+    Rose men and women as from the dead,
+    In different stages of attire,
+    And shouted, "The town is all afire!"
+    (Which came as near to being true
+    As some more leisurely stories do.)
+    They saw on the Deacon's house a glare,
+    And everybody hurried there;
+    And such a lot of visitors he
+    Had never before the luck to see.
+    The Deacon received these guests of night
+    In a costume very simple and white;
+    And after a drowsy, scared "Ahem!"
+    He asked them what he could do for them.
+    "Fire! fire!" they shouted; "your house's afire!"
+    And then, with energy sudden and dire,
+    They rushed through the mansion's solitudes,
+    And helped the Deacon to move his goods.
+          And that was the sight
+          We had that night,
+    When roused by the people who saw the light
+    Atop of the cottage, cozy and white,
+          Where lived old Deacon Tompkins.
+
+  [Illustration: HOW WE FOUGHT THE FIRE.]
+
+IV.
+
+    Ah me! the way that they rummaged round!
+    Ah me! the startling things they found!
+    No one with a fair idea of space
+    Would ever have thought that in one place
+    Were half the things that, with a shout,
+    These neighborly burglars hustled out.
+    Came articles that the Deacon's wives
+    Had all been gathering half their lives;
+    Came furniture such as one might see
+    Didn't grow in the trunk of every tree;
+    A tall clock, centuries old, 'twas said,
+    Leaped out of a window, heels o'er head;
+    A veteran chair, in which, when new,
+    George Washington sat for a minute or two;
+    A bedstead strong, as if in its lap
+    Old Time might take his terminal nap;
+    Dishes, that in meals long agone
+    The Deacon's fathers had eaten on;
+    Clothes, made of every cut and hue,
+    That couldn't remember when they were new;
+    A mirror, scathless many a day
+    ('Twas promptly smashed in the regular way);
+    Old shoes enough, if properly thrown,
+    To bring good luck to all creatures known;
+    And children thirteen, more or less,
+    In varying plenitude of dress.
+          And that was the sight
+          We had that night,
+    When roused, the terrible foe to fight,
+    Which blazed aloft to a moderate height,
+    And turned the cheeks of the timid white,
+          Including Deacon Tompkins.
+
+V.
+
+    Lo! where the engines, reeking hot,
+    Dashed up to the interesting spot:
+    Came Number Two, "The City's Hope,"
+    Propelled by a line of men and rope;
+    And after them, on a spiteful run,
+    "The Ocean Billows," or Number One.
+    And soon the two, induced to "play"
+    By a hundred hands, were working away,
+    Until, to the Deacon's flustered sight,
+    As he danced about in his robe of white,
+    It seemed as if, by the hand of Fate,
+    House-cleaning day were some two years late,
+    And with complete though late success,
+    Had just arrived by the night express.
+    The "Ocean Billows" were at high tide,
+    And flung their spray upon every side;
+    The "City's Hope" were in perfect trim,
+    Preventing aught like an interim;
+    And a "Hook-and-Ladder Company" came,
+    With hooks and ropes and a long hard name,
+    And with an iconoclastic frown
+    Were about to pull the whole thing down,
+    When some one raised the assuring shout,
+    "It's only the chimney a-burnin' out!"
+    Whereat, with a sense of injured trust,
+    The crowd went home in complete disgust.
+    Scarce one of those who, with joyous shout,
+    Assisted the Deacon in moving out,
+    Refrained from the homeward-flowing din,
+    To help the Deacon at moving in.
+          And that was the plight
+          In which, that night,
+    They left the Deacon, clad in white,
+    Who felt he was hardly treated right,
+    And used some words, in the flickering light,
+    Not orthodox in their purport quite--
+          Poor, put-out Deacon Tompkins!
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    Let me a moment indite
+    Scenes that I witnessed one night:
+
+
+["YOU WILL TELL ME WHERE IS CONRAD?"]
+
+  "You will tell me where is Conrad?" said an old man, bent and gray,
+  While the flames were wildly dancing, and the walls were giving way.
+
+  "I haf heard some ones was buried--underneath the ruins fell;
+  He was in de topmost story--ach, mein Gott! I luf him well!
+
+  "I will tell you how you knew him: he had full and laughing eye,
+  And his face was smooth and smiling--and he was too young to die.
+
+  "Hair he had like clouds at sunset when anodher day is done,
+  And I luf him--how I luf him! and he is mein only son.
+
+  "Say, Policeman, tell me truly that this young man you did see,
+  And I all the money gif you, such as I could bring with me.
+
+  "Tell me that he anxious acted--that he hunted far and long,
+  Like as children would be calling for their fadher in a throng;
+
+  "Or he wounded was, pray tell me--in the hospital to lie?--
+  I will just now hasten to him, and I not will let him die!
+
+  "Tell me--oh, you must not told me--dead you haf my Conrad see?
+  Yet if so is I can stand that--I did long a soldier be.
+
+  "Only--Death, we do not fear him when we hear the bullets sing,
+  But to haf my boy killed this way is a rather different thing.
+
+  "Only--that his poor old mudher, she waits home all full of fear,
+  And I cannot there be going, till I take good news from here!
+
+  "Young he was when we did bring him from the Rhine land o'er the sea;
+  I did lif for her and Conrad--she did lif for him and me.
+
+  "Other ones we bring not with us: Gott he says, 'These more be mine;'
+  And we left them all a-sleeping 'mong the vineyards of the Rhine.
+
+  "He haf not a cross word gif us--he haf luf us every day,
+  And if he to-night comes home not, 'tis the first that he's away.
+
+  "Let me to that fire, Policeman! I care what for walls or brand?
+  Maybe he in there be living--reaching for his fadher's hand!
+
+  "Let me past, I say, Policeman! I haf work there to be done!
+  Let go me or I will strike you!--is it that you haf no son?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Still the flames were like a furnace, and the walls were crashing loud,
+  And the old man, held in safety, fainted 'mid the trembling crowd.
+
+  And the mother watched and wondered, with her great eyes scarcely wet;
+  But, half dazed amid her sorrow, waits for Conrad even yet.
+
+
+
+
+WATER.
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+
+APRIL 25, 18--.
+
+    RAIN--rain--rain--for three good solid fluid weeks--
+    Till the air swims, and all creation leaks!
+    And street-cars furnish still less room to spare,
+    And hackmen several times have earned their fare.
+    The omnibuses lumber through the din,
+    And carry clay outside as well as in;
+    The elevated trains, with jerky care,
+    Haul half-way comfort through the dripping air;
+    The gutters gallop past the liquid scene,
+    As brisk as meadow brooks, though not so clean;
+    What trees the city keeps for comfort's sake,
+    Are shedding tears as if their hearts would break;
+    And water tries to get, by storming steady,
+    That fourth of all the world it hasn't already.
+
+    And men are not so sweet as men could wish,
+    In air that wouldn't offend a moderate fish;
+    Few places can be found, outside or in,
+    Where this dark-featured weather has not been;
+    For man has always striven, and in vain,
+    To roof his _disposition_ from the rain.
+    I've strolled about, this morning, several miles,
+    'Mongst men who get their living by their smiles;
+    I've set my old umbrella up to drip
+    In places where I claimed relationship
+    (Or, rather, where my heart did; and that's more
+    Than blood connection is, sixteen times o'er);
+    I've journeyed up and down through half Broadway,
+    And did not see a first-class smile to-day.
+
+    And so, in spite of all that I can do,
+    These gold-bowed spectacles are growing blue;
+    And my old heart must bear along the road
+    A fanciful but rather heavy load;
+    A painful pressure from a hand unseen:
+    Most any one knows nearly what I mean.
+
+    I think I'll powder up this dark-skinned day,
+    By going, to-night, to hear the actors play!
+    They'll make me laugh, and tone me up a bit,
+    And get me out of this unnatural fit.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_11 o'clock P.M._
+
+    Got back alive; and that's worth thinking on,
+    From where there's been such lots of killing done;
+    Mercy! it was a somewhat skittish sight--
+    So many people butchered in one night!
+    'Twas just a lot of people playing crime--
+    A sort of murder-picnic all the time.
+
+    We found the theatre with handbills spread,
+    Near where the notice in the paper said
+    (The weather had slacked up an hour or so,
+    And Wife thought she would condescend to go),
+    And after stumbling over several chaps,
+    Who thought they'd met us somewhere else, perhaps,
+    And cheerfully addressed us o'er and o'er,
+    As if they'd known us several years or more,
+    Persisting in affording us a chance
+    To buy our tickets at a slight advance
+    (The theatres employ these men, I've heard,
+    To greet their patrons with a friendly word,
+    And light their way in with kind word and smile,
+    And make a dollar out of them meanwhile);
+    We brushed past these remarkable "dead-beats,"
+    Some tickets bought, and scrambled to our seats.
+
+    After a piece of music by the band,
+    The curtain rose before a castle grand,
+    And soldiers talking, with a half-scared mien,
+    About a spook that one of them had seen.
+    When lo! this ghost appears, plump to their view,
+    And will not talk, although they beg him to.
+    (I whispered to my wife that I'd a freak
+    That a newspaper man could make him speak;
+    But suddenly my comments had to cease,
+    For Wife encouraged me to hold my peace.)
+
+    When lo! this ghost, who, thus far, might have come
+    Out of a sky-asylum for the dumb,
+    Speaks with a queer but rather human sound,
+    When once his son, the Prince, gets on the ground;
+    And taking him aside, ten feet almost,
+    Tells the poor boy that he's his father's ghost,
+    Whose own false brother softly to him crept,
+    And poured him full of poison while he slept.
+
+    Then the young man got mad, though to my mind
+    'Twas lunacy of quite a knowing kind;
+    And went to work with an apparent view
+    Of killing off 'most every one he knew.
+
+    I haven't the time his actions all to state;
+    I'll only say he managed it first-rate,
+    And some way killed all relatives he saw,
+    From uncle to prospective father-in-law;
+    And when he got through, those he hadn't snuffed out
+    Were hardly worth while bothering about.
+    (I mustn't forget to say that this poor elf
+    Became, at last, a good square corpse himself.)
+
+    I looked around, and, the whole building through,
+    Women were shedding tears as if 'twas true;
+    And Wife was 'most too much concerned to speak,
+    And even my old eyes had sprung a leak.
+    'Twas a moist time; and I remarked, "'Tis plain
+    We've come out of the rain into the rain."
+
+    I got so full of funeral, sitting there,
+    Then, when we once more sniffed the clean, live air,
+    It seemed a piece of good-luck all around,
+    To get away once more, alive and sound.
+
+    That's what they call a "tragedy;" where Death
+    Flies 'round till he himself gets out of breath;
+    And, with sword-slashes and cold poison filled,
+    All who amount to anything, get killed.
+    It's part of life; some time again I'll view it,
+    But take a good square rest before I do it!
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    Here on this sea-beach I wander;
+    Why of the storms am I fonder
+    Than of the sunlight above them?
+    And the clouds: why do I love them--
+    Waves of the sky, onward sweeping,
+    Or to the ocean-waves leaping?
+    Why do I court this fierce day,
+    Dashing my face full of spray?
+    Why, when the waves strike the shore
+    With their strong, leonine roar,
+    Does my soul fiercely entreat them--
+    Rush out with rapture to meet them?
+    Why do I love to descry
+    War in the fields of the sky?
+    Why does the chain-lightning's glare,
+    Ploughing blue meadows of air,
+    Look to my vision alway
+    Sweet as a star in the day?
+
+      You who in fair summer weather
+    Seek this sea-city together
+    (Built for tumultuous rest,
+    With the famed ocean chief guest),
+    Not half the pleasure you've known
+    That I, here wand'ring alone,
+    On these wet sand-fields have found,
+    Hearing the ocean's own sound,
+    Viewing fierce waves from afar
+    Strive with the winter in war.
+    Storms that tumultuously roll
+    Far through my innermost soul--
+    Here you encounter, at last,
+    Harmonies wondrous and vast!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    What did I find on the shore?
+    Must I rehearse it once more?
+
+
+[THE DEAD STOWAWAY.]
+
+  He lay on the beach, just out of the reach
+    Of waves that had cast him by:
+  With fingers grim they reached for him
+    As often as they came nigh.
+  The shore-face brown had a surly frown,
+    And glanced at the dancing sea,
+  As if to say, "Take back the clay
+    You tossed this morning at me."
+  Great fragments rude, by the shipwreck strewed,
+    Had found by this wreck a place;
+  He had grasped them tight, and hope-strewn fright
+    Sat still on the bloated face.
+  Battered and bruised, forever abused,
+    He lay by the heartless sea,
+  As if Heaven's aid had never been made
+    For a villain such as he.
+  The fetter's mark lay heavy and dark
+    Around the pulseless wrists;
+  The hardened scar of many a war
+    Clung yet to the drooping fists.
+  The soul's disgrace across that face
+    Had built an iron track;
+  The half-healed gash of the jailman's lash
+    Helped cover the brawny back.
+  The blood that flowed in a crimson road
+    From a deep wound in his head
+  Had felt fierce pangs from the poison-fangs
+    Of those who his young life fed:
+  Cursed from the very beginning
+    With deeds that others had done,
+  "More sinned against than sinning"--
+    And so is every one!
+
+  He had never learned save what had turned
+    The steps of his life amiss;
+  He never knew a hand-grasp true,
+    Or the thrill of a virtuous kiss.
+  'Twas poured like a flood through his young blood,
+    And poisoned every vein,
+  That wrong is right, that law is spite,
+    And theft but honest gain.
+  The seeds were grown that had long been sown
+    By the heart of a murderous sire:
+  Disease and shame, and blood aflame
+    With thirst for the founts of fire.
+  Battered and bruised, forever abused,
+    He lay by the moaning sea,
+  As if Heaven's aid were even afraid
+    Of a villain such as he.
+
+  As he lay alone, like a sparrow prone,
+    An angel wandered nigh:
+  A look she cast over that dark past,
+    And tears came to her eye.
+
+  [Illustration: "BATTERED AND BRUISED, FOREVER ABUSED,
+  HE LAY BY THE MOANING SEA."]
+
+  She bent by the dead, and tenderly said:
+    "Poor child, you went astray;
+  Your heart and mind were both born blind--
+    No wonder they lost their way!
+  Angels, I know, had fallen as low
+    With such a dismal chance.
+  Your heart was ironed, your soul environed,
+    You were barred of all advance!
+  Cursed from the very beginning
+    With deeds that others have done,
+  'More sinned against than sinning'--
+    And so is every one!"
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+MAY 24, 18--.
+
+    The Lord gave Water quite a good-sized start--
+    Three-fourths of this world's homestead for its part;
+    But lawyers are not needed to convince
+    That Water has been losing ever since.
+    The reason is not hard to understand:
+    For God's most knowing creatures live on land,
+    And, naturally, every chance they get,
+    Find some new means to keep them from the wet.
+    The farms their dykes have from the ocean won;
+    The ground men make to build their cities on;
+    The bridge that from the river shelters me;
+    The ships--great travelling bridges of the sea--
+    All are an effort of ambitious man
+    To make this world as solid as he can.
+
+    These thoughts, to-day, all through my mind would run,
+    While looking at a bridge they've just got done,
+    Which takes a man, dry shod, from shore to shore--
+    A matter of a good long mile or more.
+    I can't describe it; but I'll let the papers
+    (Who tell _some_ truth, 'mid all their fancy capers)
+    To my old scrap-book give of it a taste
+    (What I can't do with ink I'll do with paste).
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+[THE WEDDING OF THE TOWNS.][5]
+
+    Let all of the bells ring clear,
+      And all of the flags be seen;
+    The King of the Western Hemisphere
+      Has married the Island Queen!
+    For years he watched and waited
+      Along the river side,
+    And vowed that she was fated
+      To be his own fair bride;
+    Full many a night he wooed her
+      Upon her lofty throne,
+    And he hath long pursued her,
+      To make the prize his own;
+    Nor thankless his endeavor,
+      Nor coy the royal maid,
+    But, like true-love's course ever,
+      The banns were long delayed!
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    And boys to men had grown,
+      And men their graves had sought;
+    The gulf was yet between them thrown,
+      And the wooing came to nought.
+    Though couriers oft were dashing
+      'Twixt him and his adored,
+    Still was the river flashing
+      Between them like a sword.
+    In heart they well were mated;
+      And patiently and long
+    They for each other waited--
+      These lovers true and strong.
+
+    Let never a flag be hidden!
+      Let never a bell be dumb!
+    The guests have all been bidden--
+      The wedding-day has come!
+
+    For many a golden year
+      Shall gleam this silvery tie:
+    The wondering world will gather here
+      And gaze with gleaming eye.
+    Philosophers will ponder
+      How, blessed by the hand of Heaven,
+    The world has another wonder
+      To add to its famous seven;
+    Philanthropists will linger
+      To view the giant span,
+    And point with grateful finger
+      Where man has toiled for man;
+    And all will bless the year
+      When, in the May-month green,
+    The King of the Western Hemisphere
+      Was wed to the Island Queen!
+
+    [5] Written on the occasion of the opening of the New York
+        and Brooklyn Bridge.
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+JULY 2, 18--.
+
+    Wealth, wealth, wealth, wealth! with iron bars to defend it,
+    And seventeen hundred thousand ways to spend it!
+    How men will work, in home and foreign lands,
+    To get a lot of money in their hands;
+    How they will bar and bolt, by night and day,
+    To keep some one from stealing it away;
+    Then, when a fresh bait strikes their fancy's eye,
+    How easy 'tis to make them let it fly!
+    Lock up your cash in places howe'er strong,
+    You lose it when the right thief comes along.
+    There are some families that I could name,
+    Who, spring and fall and winter, toil the same
+    As boys with sleds for half an hour will climb,
+    To ride back in about five minutes' time.
+    These fam'lies pinched and starved nine months will be,
+    To make a first-class show the other three;
+    And some whose fortunes sprung up like a flame,
+    Can puff it out even quicker than it came.
+
+    These thoughts grew like June corn the other day,
+    As I through Coney Island picked my way,
+    And found there, pert and prosperous as could be,
+    A land-and-water city by the sea;
+    And people holding, in free easy style,
+    A Fourth-of-July picnic all the while.
+    Thousands were eating there amid the din,
+    As though they'd hardly time to do it in;
+    Thousands were loitering in the breezy air,
+    As if they had a year or two to spare;
+    And every trap that ever caught a dime,
+    Was ready set and baited all the time!
+
+    The ocean, to my unaccustomed view,
+    Seemed having quite a lively picnic too;
+    The waves came slamming at us with a roar,
+    And chased each other pell-mell to the shore.
+    And in these waves, and adding to the noise,
+    A lot of men and women, girls and boys,
+    Dressed in a style that made my good wife frown,
+    Like big-sized corks went bobbing up and down.
+    Some glided out and in, like jumping-jacks,
+    Some rode the waves--a-lying on their backs;
+    And some--as decent folks as one could see--
+    Made capers that were very queer to see.
+    I noticed Miss Doozell, much versed in books,
+    And quite particular about her looks,
+    And dignified as any one I know,
+    Roll over maybe thirteen times or so;
+    While Jeremiah Jipson, LL.D.,
+    Who seldom makes a move above the knee,
+    And who, all former signs would seem to say,
+    Never indulges in unseemly play--
+    When an irreverent wave he chanced to meet,
+    Stood on his head, and raised aloft his feet.
+    The Ocean has no awe for any one,
+    And always seems to get more'n half the fun.
+
+    But how the pretty children carry sail!
+    Each with his tiny shovel and his pail,
+    Each working his own little piece of land,
+    And making small plantations in the sand!
+    These little incidents show on their face
+    That farming's natural to the human race!
+
+    When God's poor pretty ones, 'mid summer's blaze,
+    Have lived 'mongst brick and mortar all their days,
+    Trying their best to blossom and not spoil,
+    Like house-plants kidnapped from their native soil,
+    It must be heaven to sit here in the sand,
+    And take old Mother Earth right by the hand!
+    To lie here, by no brick blocks overlooked,
+    And take a breath of air that hasn't been cooked!
+    God bless you, children! May't a long time be,
+    Before the sand shall cover you and me!
+
+    Yes, every trap that ever caught a dime
+    Is ready set and baited, all the time!
+    Here nigh the shore a strange machine I found,
+    To see how hard, with beetles, men could pound;
+    And several fellows tried it, o'er and o'er,
+    Who never handled labor so before,
+    And would have shown capacity to shirk,
+    If they had known how much it looked like work.
+    Here round and round I saw a big wheel go,
+    Like an old-fashioned horse-power--larger, though,
+    And worked by steam; and on the sweeps one finds
+    Big wooden animals of different kinds:
+    Elephants, horses, birds of various hues,
+    Lions and leopards, roosters, kangaroos--
+    All staring with great, stupid, wondering eyes,
+    And all about the very self-same size!
+    And on these beasts, sixteen times round or more,
+    Rode children of from fifty down to four,
+    While some big-sized hand-organ filled the air
+    With crack-voiced music, plenty and to spare.
+    Here a big premium cow--quite dead, alas!
+    Gave milkman's milk-and-water by the glass;
+    Here were some great "museums," which consisted
+    Of wondrous things that never have existed;
+    There omnibuses hover on your track,
+    Ready to draw you somewhere else--and back;
+    Here "marine railroads," as you onward plod,
+    Will take you riding at five cents a rod;
+    This "elevator" lifts you pretty high,
+    And shows you men must look small from the sky;
+    Yon gambling den will send you from its door,
+    Poorer and not much wiser than before;
+    That fellow there will, in an ocean view,
+    Your picture take, and swear that it is you.
+    Yes, every trap that ever caught a dime,
+    Is ready set and baited, all the time!
+
+    And sometimes everything seems blurred, indeed,
+    With man's surprising wickedness and greed,
+    Till you most feel there's nothing genuine there,
+    Excepting ocean waves and open air!
+
+    But still they can't put all God's plans to death
+    To let the people have an honest breath;
+    And so, while thinking it all up, to-day,
+    I finally felt called upon to say,
+    Thank the good Lord, from whom all blessings fall,
+    For making Coney Island, after all!
+
+    My cousin, Abdiel Stebbins, large and slow,
+    Arrived at Ocean Grove some days ago;
+    He stopped off in this city on the way,
+    And stayed here with us two weeks and one day
+    (For we keep up our airy home in town
+    Whether the mercury goes up or down--
+    Not liking to exchange it very well
+    For a small sweat-box in a large hotel).
+    He promised that the first hour he could spare
+    He'd write us how he liked it over there;
+    The letter, like himself, is rather queer;
+    Perhaps I'd better paste it right in here:
+
+
+
+[FARMER STEBBINS AT OCEAN GROVE.]
+
+OCEAN GROVE, _June_ 30, 18--.
+
+DEAR COUSIN JOHN:
+
+  We got here safe--my worthy wife and me--
+  And took a tent here in the woods contigious to the sea;
+  We've harvested such means of grace as growed within our reach--
+  We've been to several meetings here, and heard the Bishop preach;
+  And everything went easy like until we took a whim--
+  My wife and I--one breezy day, to take an ocean swim.
+
+  We shouldn't have ventured on't, I think, if Sister Sunnyhopes
+  Hadn't urged us over and again, and said she knew "the ropes,"
+  And told how soothing it would be "in ocean rills to lave,"
+  And "sport within the bounding surf," and "ride the crested wave;"
+  And so we went along with her--my timid wife and me--
+  Two inland noodles, for our first acquaintance with the sea.
+
+  They put me in a work-day rig, as usually is done--
+  A wampus and short overalls all sewed up into one.
+  I had to pull and tug and shrink to make the thing go 'round
+  (You are aware my peaceful weight will crowd three hundred pound).
+  They took my wig and laid it up--to keep it dry, they said--
+  And strapped a straw-stack of a hat on my devoted head.
+
+  They put my wife into a frock too short by full a third:
+  'Twas somewhat in the Bloomer style--I told her 'twas absurd!
+  You know she's rather long and slim--somewhat my opposite--
+  And clothes that was not made for her is likely not to fit;
+  But as we was we vent'red in--my timid wife and me--
+  And formed our first acquaintance with the inconsistent sea.
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  Miss Sunnyhopes she waded out a-looking nice and sweet
+  (She'd had her dress made to the store, and trimmed from head to feet);
+  And I went next, and grabbed their rope just as she told me to,
+  And Wife came third, a-looking scared, scarce knowing what to do.
+  Then Sister Sunnyhopes a smile of virgin sweetness gave,
+  And said, "Now watch your chance, and jump--here comes a _lovely_ wave!"
+
+  I must have jumped, I rather think, the wrong time of the moon;
+  At any rate the "lovely wave" occurred to me too soon!
+  It took me sudden, with a rude and unexpected shock;
+  I'd rather meet the stoutest pair of horns in all my flock!
+  And then to top the circus out, and make the scene more fine,
+  I tried to _kick_ this "lovely wave," and let right go the line.
+
+  [Illustration: "TWO INLAND NOODLES, FOR OUR FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH
+  THE SEA."]
+
+  On county fairs and 'lection days, in walking through a crowd,
+  I'm rather firm to jostle 'gainst--perhaps it makes me proud;
+  But if it does, that wave just preached how _sureness_ never pays,
+  And seemed to say, "How small is man, no odds how much he weighs!"
+  It kicked and cuffed me all about, in spite of right or law,
+  With all the qualities they give an average mother-in-law!
+
+  And then it set me on the bank, quite thankful for my life,
+  And looking 'round I give a gaze to find my faithful wife;
+  But she had kind o' cut this wave with all the edge she had,
+  And stood a-looking 'round for me, uncommon moist and sad;
+  While Sister Sunnyhopes with smiles was looking sweet and gay,
+  A-floating on her dainty back some several rods away!
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+
+  She looked so newish pretty there--(she knowed it, too, the elf!)--
+  The crowd was all admiring her, and so was I myself;
+  And while I once more grasped the line, beside my wife of truth,
+  My eyes _would_ rove to Sister S.--her beauty and her youth;
+  When all at once a brindle wave, uncommon broad and deep,
+  Came thrashing down on Wife and me, and flopped us in a heap!
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  Heels over head--all in a bunch--my wife across of me,
+  And I on some misguided folks who happened there to be,
+  My hat untied and floated off, and left my bald head bare--
+  When I got out, if I'd have spoke, 'twould warmed up all the air!
+  We drank 'bout two-thirds of the sea--my gasping wife and I--
+  While Sister S. still floated soft, a-gazing at the sky!
+
+  [Illustration: "WE VOTED THAT WE'D HAD ENOUGH."]
+
+  We voted that we'd had enough, and got right out the way
+  Before another wave arrived, and bid the sea good-day.
+  We looked as like two drownded rats as ever such was called,
+  With one of them a dumbed old fool and most completely bald.
+  But, like a woman true she says--my shivering wife to me--
+  "We will not mind; there's others here looks just as bad as we."
+
+  Now, Sister Sunnyhopes, by'm-by, came back into our tent,
+  As sleek or sleeker than before, and asked us "When we went?"
+  Said I, "My dear good Sister S., please do not now pretend
+  You did not see our voyage through, and mark its doleful end.
+  If you would play the mermaid fair, why such I'd have you be;
+  But we're too old to take that part--my faithful wife and me;
+
+  "Some folks may be who ocean waves are fitted to command,
+  But we've concluded _we_ was built expressly for the land.
+  And when I want amusement for an uncompleted day,
+  I guess I'll go and take it in some good old-fashioned way;
+  And will not stand upon my head 'fore all the folks that's there,
+  And wildly wave my dumbed old feet in all the neighboring air!"
+
+
+
+
+VICE.
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+SEPTEMBER 10, 18--.
+
+    Ah me! it makes a sinner wondrous blue,
+    To see so many other sinners too!
+    When I rake over all my faults, and then
+    Notice the same, or worse, in other men,
+    It makes me very much surprised and sad,
+    That Heaven should see Earth turning out so bad!
+
+    Vice, vice, vice, vice! The _country's_ mean enough,
+    And has some villains that are pretty rough;
+    But in this town, where art and nature both
+    Are shoved into their very greatest growth,
+    And where the utmost of all things is found,
+    The Devil has his best men on the ground,
+    And gives them weapons meeting his own views,
+    And all the ammunition they can use!
+
+    Vice, vice, vice, vice! I never had been led
+    To think that Evil had so long a head!
+    I've seen more ingenuity displayed
+    In one crime, than 'twould take to learn a trade.
+    Such cute inventions Sin will take in charge:
+    Old Satan's patent-office must be large!
+
+    And yet, for all their craft, in time how brief
+    How many of these rascals come to grief!
+    For though within them cunning may abound,
+    The plain-clothed Truth is always standing round,
+    Or following rogues through every land and clime,
+    And gets them, if you'll only give him time.
+    I don't believe--as some good people say--
+    The Devil leads men on from day to day,
+    And takes them to a rock, and, first they know,
+    Pitches them off into some gulf below;
+    Or baits them into different traps, and then
+    Doesn't try at all to get them out again:
+    I think he'd like to keep them, safe and sound,
+    Doing his nasty work the whole year round;
+    And when a rogue fails up and comes to grief,
+    It hurts his brimstone-clothed but helpless chief!
+
+    These thoughts limped past my saddened mind to-day,
+    As through State's prison I pursued my way,
+    Led round by one who didn't seem to be knowing
+    What melancholy pictures he was showing!
+    Those walls and guards, that all escape opposed;
+    Those thick, iron doors--it thundered when they closed;
+    The cells--each one a closet full of gloom:
+    I'd just as soon sleep in a metal tomb![6]
+    The hard-faced men who worked away (no doubt,
+    For fear of hard-faced men that stood about),
+    Wearing that garb of stripes a free man loathes,
+    As if Law whipped them--even with their clothes;
+    The way they glance up at you from within
+    Their drooping eyelids, hard with grief or sin,
+    Wondering, as they gaze upon you so,
+    If you are not some one they used to know;
+    The ghosts you feel, that creep 'round, all the time,
+    Among these men who've shaken hands with crime;
+    The mournful hope that some are toiling here
+    Whose innocence in heaven is proved out clear:
+    All these things to my inmost spirit talked,
+    As through those regions dark I slowly walked;
+    And when the front door closed behind me--free--
+    The fresh air seemed like heaven itself to me!
+
+    I recollect once getting sick with pain,
+    When sitting near a sheriff, on the train,
+    Who had a young man with him--not of age--
+    Whom he was taking to this stone-bound cage.
+    The poor boy talked to him with drooping head,
+    And these are something like the words he said:
+
+    [6]  And yet 'twas quite affecting, I declare,
+         How some had ornaments up, even there!
+         Not crime itself, or sad misfortune's smart
+         Can crush all sense of beauty from the heart!
+
+
+[THE BOY CONVICT'S STORY.]
+
+  I'd rather sit here, Mr. Sheriff--up near to the end of the car;
+  We won't do so much advertising if we stay in the seat where we are.
+  That sweet little dude saw the bracelets that you on my wrists have
+      bestowed,
+  And tells the new passengers promptly you're "taking me over
+      the road."
+  I've had a well-patronized trial--the neighbors all know of my fall;
+  But when I get out among strangers I'm sensitive-like, after all.
+
+  For I was a lad of good prospects, some three or four summers ago--
+  There wasn't any boy in our township who made a more promising
+      show!
+  I learned all of Solomon's proverbs, and took in their goodness and
+      worth,
+  Till I felt like a virtue-hooped barrel, chock-full of the salt of the
+      earth.
+  And this precious picnic of sorrow would likely enough have been saved,
+  If I had had less of a heart, sir, or home had contained what it craved.
+
+  For the time when a boy is in danger of walking a little bit wild,
+  Is when he's too young to be married--too old to be known as a child;
+  A bird in the lonely grass thickets, just out of the parent tree thrown,
+  Too large to be kept in the old nest--too small to have one of his own;
+  When, desolate 'mid his companions, his soul is a stake to be won;
+  'Tis then that the Devil stands ready to get a good chance to catch on!
+
+  Oh, yes! I'd a good enough home, sir, so far as the house was concerned;
+  My parents were first-class providers--I ate full as much as I earned.
+  My clothes were all built of good timber, and fit every day to be seen;
+  There wasn't any lock on the pantry--my bedroom was tidy and clean;
+  And taking the home up and down, sir, I'd more than an average part,
+  With one quite important exception--_there wasn't any room for my
+      heart_.
+
+  The house couldn't have been any colder, with snow-drifts in every
+      room!
+  The house needn't have been any darker to make a respectable tomb!
+  I used to stop short on the door-step, and brace up a minute or more,
+  And bid a good-bye to the sunshine, before I would open the door;
+  I used to feed daily on icebergs--take in all the freeze I could hold--
+  Then go out and warm in the sunshine, because my poor heart was so
+      cold!
+
+  And hadn't I a father and mother? Oh yes! just as good as they
+      make--
+  _Too_ good, I have often suspected (though maybe that last's a mistake).
+  But they'd travelled so long and so steady the way to Perfection's abode,
+  They hadn't any feeling for fellows who could not as yet find the road;
+  And so, till some far advanced mile-post on goodness's pike I could win,
+  They thought of me, not as their own child, but as one of the children
+      of sin.
+
+  And hadn't I brothers and sisters? Oh yes! till they somewhat had
+      grown;
+  Then, shivering, they went off and left me to stand the cold weather
+      alone.
+  For I had the luck to be youngest--the last on the family page,
+  The one to prop up the old roof-tree--the staff of my parents' old age;
+  Who well understood all the uses to which a mere staff is applied;
+  They used me whenever convenient--then carelessly threw me aside!
+
+  And hadn't I any associates? Oh yes! I had friends, more or less,
+  But seldom I asked them to visit our house with the slightest success;
+  Whenever the project was mentioned, they'd somehow look blue like
+      and chill,
+  And mention another engagement they felt it their duty to fill;
+  For--now I am only a convict, there's no harm in telling the truth--
+  My home was a fearful wet blanket to blood that was seasoned with
+      youth!
+
+  Not one blessed thing that was cheerful; no festivals, frolics, or games;
+  No novels of any description--'twas wicked to mention their names!
+  My story-books suddenly vanished, my checker-boards never would keep,
+  No newspaper came through _our_ doorway unless it was first put to
+      sleep!
+  And as for love--well, that old song, sir, is very melodious and fine,
+  With "No place like home" in the chorus--I hope there ain't many
+      like mine!
+
+  And so, soon my body got hating a place which my soul couldn't
+      abide,
+  And Pleasure was all the time smiling, and motioning me to her side;
+  And when I start out on a journey, I'm likely to go it by leaps,
+  For good or for bad, I'm no half-way--I'm one or the other for keeps.
+  My wild oats flew thicker and faster--I reaped the same crop that I
+      sowed,
+  And now I am going to market--I'm taking it over the road!
+
+  Yes, it grieved my good father and mother to see me so sadly astray,
+  They deeply regretted my downfall--in a strictly respectable way;
+  They gave me some more admonition, and sent me off full of advice,
+  And wondered to see such a villain from parents so good and precise.
+  Indeed I have often conjectured, when full of neglect and its smarts,
+  I must have been left on the door-step of their uncongenial hearts!
+
+  My home in the prison is waiting--it opens up clear to my sight;
+  Hard work and no pay-day a-coming, a close cell to sleep in at night.
+  And there I must lie sad and lonesome, with more tribulation than rest,
+  And wake in the morning with sorrow sharp sticking like steel in my
+      breast;
+  But maybe the strain and the trouble won't quite so much o'er me
+      prevail,
+  As 'twould be to some one who wasn't brought up in a kind of a jail!
+
+  _You've_ got a good home, Mr. Sheriff, with everything cosy and nice,
+  And 'tisn't for a wrist-shackled convict to offer _you_ words of advice;
+  But this I _must_ say, of all places your children may visit or call,
+  Make HOME the most pleasant and happy--the sweetest and best of
+      them all;
+  For the Devil won't offer a dollar to have his world-chances improved,
+  When Home is turned into a side-show, with half the attractions
+      removed!
+
+  _Don't_ think I'm too bitter, good sheriff--I like you: you've been very
+      good;
+  I'm ever and ever so grateful--would pay it all back if I could.
+  I didn't mean to slander my parents--I've nothing against their good
+      name,
+  And as for my unrighteous actions, it's mostly myself that's to blame;
+  Still, _if I'd had a home_--But the prison is only one station ahead--
+  I'm done, Mr. Sheriff; forget me, but _don't_ forget what I have said!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SEPTEMBER 15, 18--.
+
+    Vice, vice, vice, vice!--and 'tisn't all clear and free,
+    Where any one can take a look and see,
+    And then decide, immediate, on the spot,
+    Whether he'll buy his soul-farm there or not;
+    It's scattered round about so 'mongst the good,
+    Folks can't entirely shun it when they would.
+    Much better to escape it we'd be able,
+    If 'twas obliged to carry 'round a label
+    (It always does, some time before it ages,
+    But not enough so in its early stages).
+
+    My mind was led around about this way,
+    By a well-dressed young man I met to-day,
+    Who strove to twist some money out of me,
+    But had, instead, a first-class lecture free.
+
+    My cousin, Abdiel Stebbins, large and good,
+    Inclined to do even better than he should,
+    And with a heart that gets him into scrapes
+    Of a most strange variety of shapes,
+    But who, before they've run a fatal course,
+    Always gets out of them by sheer main force,
+    Wrote me two letters, several years ago,
+    Which I have kept, with no intent to show,
+    But simply to read over now and then
+    As part of my text-book entitled "Men."
+
+    I think I'll get my cousin's wail by letter,
+    And paste it here where I can find it better.
+
+
+
+[FARMER STEBBINS ON THE BOWERY.]
+
+DEAR COUSIN JOHN:
+
+  We got here safe--my worthy wife an' me,
+  An' then I looked the village through to see what I could see:
+  I rode upon the cur'us track with stations all up-stairs;
+  I walked through Wall Street all its length, an' saw no bulls or bears;
+  I patronized a red-nosed chap with manners very queer,
+  Who hadn't had a thing to eat for somethin' like a year;
+
+  I saw the road commissioners to work upon a bridge
+  A million times as large as that we built at Tompkins' Ridge--
+  (I'm told that they are makin' it, though maybe that's all fun,
+  To use the coming century, an' hope to get it done)--
+  When who should up an' grasp my hand, with face of genuine joy,
+  But Cousin Jeroboam Jones, my cousin's oldest boy!
+
+  I had not seen him years an' years--no wonder he looked strange;
+  His face an' form in some respects had undergone a change;
+  But then there wasn't a chance of doubt that that was him, because,
+  If not, how should he ever know that I was who I was?
+  We brushed our old acquaintance up, an' soon was at our ease,
+  A wanderin' all about the place, as cozy as you please.
+
+  It's nicer far, in foreign towns, than 'tis to be alone,
+  To walk with one whose blood proceeds from sources near your own;
+  A sim'lar temp'rature of heart, a sort of family ease,
+  Enables you to work your tongue as lib'ral as you please;
+  And so I found myself quite soon uncommonly at home,
+  Describin' all my business through to Cousin Jerobo'm.
+
+  He listened very docile like, an' hadn't much to say,
+  But what he did was vent'red in a satisfact'ry way;
+  He'd severed somewhat from his kin, an' sort o' lost the run,
+  But he recalled the Stebbinses, when mentioned, one by one;
+  An' takin' him inside an' out, our family scarcely owns
+  A relative more relishin' than Jeroboam Jones.
+
+  He's teacher in a Sunday-school, he told me, by the way,
+  Which has a room, above a store, that's open every day.
+  "For if," he says, "we come across a child that needs our care,
+  We cannot wait till Sunday comes--we join 'em then an' there.
+  An' if you want to see the way our worthy cause is run,
+  Come in an' take a little look--our 'social's' just begun."
+
+  The scholars hadn't come, as yet; the Superintendent, though,
+  Was sittin' at a table, like, an' bowed extremely low;
+  An' heard the praise on poor old me my cousin had to tell,
+  An' said he joyed to meet a friend of one he loved so well;
+  An' I talked back; an' for a time our converse did not cease--
+  A regular three-cornered gush of friendship, love, an' peace.
+
+  An' then he showed me how they run their "grab-bags" an' all such
+  (We have the same at home, you know, although not near so much);
+  An' then he had some val'ables on numbers that you saw,
+  With figures correspondin'ly, in envelopes, to draw;
+  I gin him fifty cents to help a cause I dearly hold,
+  An' drew a velvet hymn-book, with a clasp resemblin' gold!
+
+  My cousin pressed my hand with some congratulatin' jokes,
+  And said, "Ah me! the Stebbinses was always lucky folks!
+  But after all, their _shrewdness_ is the thing that lets them win."
+  (Which made me proud, though I didn't see just where the shrewd
+      came in.
+  But buyin' a five-dollar book at that unheard-of price,
+  An' helpin' of the cause meanwhile, was unsuspected nice.)
+
+  [Illustration: "TO MAKE FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS CLEAR, AN' HELP THE
+  CHILDREN TOO."]
+
+  Whereat the Superintendent said, "You're lucky, I allow;
+  I'll have to charge five dollars for a chance to draw here now."
+  Whereat my cousin Jeroboam remarked, "If 'tisn't wrong,
+  I'll buy a draw for Cousin Steb, to help the cause along."
+  I shook my head, but he _would_ do't; an' sure as I'm alive,
+  I drawed a good ten-dollar bill for Cousin Jones's five!
+
+  Whereat the Superintendent said, "You're lucky men, I vow;
+  A hundred dollars I must charge for every drawing now;"
+  An' fingerin' the envelopes, one opened--just a grain--
+  And I discerned the number 11, uncommon black and plain;
+  An' on the _other_ number 11 by glancin' I could see
+  Five good crisp hundr'd-dollar bills a-waitin' there for me!
+
+  [Illustration: "WE COME 'THIN PART OF ONE OF IT."]
+
+  To make four hundred dollars clear, an' help the children too,
+  Was somethin' that would surely seem desirable to do;
+  With an unfailin' eagle eye, a heart that swelled with hope,
+  I watched, an' saw the very place he put that envelope;
+  I winked at Cousin Jeroboam, I counted out the cash,
+  An' drawed, an' had that card revealed almost as quick as flash!
+
+  Oh, sakes!--the second figure I had what I hadn't seen,
+  A _tail_ that made a 7 of it! 'twas Number 17!
+  An' on them figures on the board there nothin' was, in fact,
+  Except a little pamphlet like--an anti-gamblin' tract;
+  Which hadn't any money wuth, an' won't be good for much,
+  Except to keep my older boys from playin' cards an' such.
+
+  Now Cousin Jeroboam Jones was buried in surprise,
+  An' walked a half a mile with me, an' helped philosophize;
+  An' says, "You come some other day--we'll try that thing agin:
+  We come 'thin _part of one of it_--the next time we shall win."
+  Then, nearin' to a corner, he took kindly leave o' me,
+  Because of some new scholars there that he must go an' see.
+
+  I give you this experience, John, but please don't tell it now;
+  Let Tompkins take the chestnut horse, an' sell the brindle cow;
+  An' gather up what cash besides I have a-lyin' loose,
+  An' send the whole of it to me for my immediate use.
+  Do everything concerned in this, in soft, secretive tones;
+  Direct it to New York, in care of Jeroboam Jones.
+
+                                                          A. S.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  A few days, and the following one arrived,
+  Which shows Sin's triumph sometimes is short-lived:
+
+
+
+[FARMER STEBBINS AHEAD.]
+
+DEAR COUSIN JOHN:
+
+  I'm very glad you sent that money through,
+  By Cousin Seth, an' not by mail, as I requested you!
+  The fam'ly's just so much ahead: 'twere best it never came.
+  If Jeroboam Jones had twined his fingers 'round the same.
+  For that young man has principles fit only to abhor,
+  And isn't the kind of relative that I was lookin' for!
+
+  My sakes! Millennium's nowhere near, when men so false can be
+  As to equivocate themselves into my family tree;
+  An' on its honest branches graft the shoots of their design,
+  An' make me think they're good because they're relatives of mine;
+  While under those fraternal smiles a robber's frown is hid;
+  But that's the inappropriate thing that Jeroboam did!
+
+  When Cousin Seth the tavern reached whose clerk o'ershadows me,
+  He cried, "Where is my long-lost son I've come so far to see?"
+  An' so, to fill that father's heart with resurrected joy,
+  I twisted 'round with him a bit, to try an' find the boy;
+  An' comin' where I had the luck that hymn-book for to win,
+  I opened quietly the door, an' both of us went in.
+
+  The Superintendent still was there; he gave a little start,
+  But welcomed us, apparently, with overflowin' heart;
+  An' told us all about the work, an' how 'twas gettin' on,
+  An' how much money those who gave unto the cause had won;
+  But Cousin Seth, though much impressed with what he heard an' saw,
+  Said he didn't fix the envelopes, an' b'lieved he wouldn't draw.
+
+  Just then the door was opened quick, an' with a solemn grin,
+  Young Jeroboam Jones appeared, an' sidled softly in;
+  An' with him was an older man, who looked enough like me
+  To've been a reg'lar Stebbins too, so far as one could see;
+  But slappin' Seth upon the back, I said, "My duty's done,
+  For this is Jeroboam Jones, your long-lost oldest son!"
+
+  "My 'long-lost oldest son?'" said he: "he's 'bout as much my son
+  As you are the beloved babe of Gen'ral Washington!
+  It strikes me that my married life was very much amiss,
+  If I'm responsible for such a sneakin' face as this!
+  He's blinded you by his supposed relationship to me:
+  He's no one I have ever seen, or ever want to see!"
+
+  As when a fog above a field the sudden breezes tore,
+  You spied a thousand things you did not even miss before,
+  So all the facts of this affair, as clear as summer skies,
+  Straightway arranged themselves before my reconstructed eyes:
+  That these were not veracious men; an' this no Sunday-school;
+  An' naught was what it seemed, except one old bald-headed fool!
+
+  I held those two deceivers out, with unassisted strength,
+  An' by the collar shook each one to my arm's farthest length;
+  They gasped an' danced an' skipped around, without a word to say--
+  They "put their heads together" in a new an' painful way.
+  "Due ninety dollars fifty cents, an' not a penny less!"
+  I shouted; "an' I'll send you back your hymn-book by express!"
+
+  When finally in my discourse a breathin' pause occurred,
+  The Superintendent counted out the cash, without a word;
+  Which, with a manner dignified, I coldly repossessed,
+  An', still retainin' Jeroboam, that scamp I thus addressed:
+  "An' so you are the bogus friend and relative, so free
+  To spend his time a-makin' fools of poor old men like me.
+
+  "I'm Supervisor of the town where I have lived so long:
+  There ain't a man in all that part will say I've done him wrong;
+  There ain't a man will claim but what I'm ordinary keen;
+  But when I plant myself in town, I grow exceedin' green.
+  An' any kind-expressioned man, who acts a civil part,
+  Can always find my soul to home, an' house-room in my heart.
+
+  "It's sad for such a smile as yours to find so mean a fate;
+  An' there's _some_ good in you--at least enough to use for bait;
+  Without _some_ kindness in your heart, you couldn't have landed me;
+  An' as to how you've used your gifts, just pause a bit an' see.
+  I've gambled, by you're callin' it a charitable name,
+  And my self-valuation sunk with unaccustomed shame.
+
+  "I've done what I'd have whipped my boys for even lookin' at;
+  An' don't suppose but what I own part of the blame for that;
+  I thought I saw a chance to make five dollars out o' one,
+  Which, with strict justice all around, is very seldom done.
+  But up to that outrageous point, remember, I was led
+  By your assumed relationship, an' several things you said.
+
+  "Do you reflect, young man, upon the fruit you're growin' to?
+  There's prison gates a-waitin' now to stand in front of you.
+  There's grief of unexpected kinds, an' every sort of shame,
+  To send you some time from this world much poorer than you came.
+  Your guilty head you hang before us sinners standin' by:
+  What angle do you s'pose 'twould take 'mongst angels in the sky?
+
+  [Illustration: "THEY 'PUT THEIR HEADS TOGETHER' IN A NEW AN' PAINFUL
+  WAY."]
+
+  "There's hope e'en on the death-bed for a square, straightforward
+      thief,
+  But _Judases_ have always come to most peculiar grief;
+  The Lord has pity, I suppose, for errin' men an' weak,
+  But no good satisfact'ry place in which to put a sneak.
+  An' when a man wins men's esteem, then thrives by their mistakes,
+  He makes himself a bigger fool than all the fools he makes."
+
+  [Illustration: "HE MAKES HIMSELF A BIGGER FOOL THAN ALL THE FOOLS HE
+  MAKES."]
+
+    Then my adopted relative I seated in a chair,
+  With amply necessary help, an' sev'ral pounds to spare.
+  Then Seth an' I with dignity bade both the scamps good-day,
+  Advisin' them to gain their bread in some dissimilar way;
+  An' as we thundered down the stairs, with heavy rural tread,
+  I felt that I'd at last come out some several rods ahead.
+
+                                                         A. S.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+[THE "SLUGGING"-MATCH.]
+
+    "A first-class professional fight!"
+      I'm really doing the town!
+    There were thousands on thousands to-night
+      To see a man knock a man down.
+    Two dollars I willingly (?) paid
+      To view all this muscle and brawn;
+    'Twas rather too much, I'm afraid,
+      Or seemed so, the minute 'twas gone.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    And yet 'tis a study to see
+      The rage gladiatorial of Rome
+    And grim Spanish bull-baiting glee
+      Adopt an American home!
+    That blood-thirsty, murderous spite
+      Men loudly condemn--and possess!
+    Besieged New York City last night,
+      With first-class financial success!
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Hands gloved--to comply with the law;
+      Gloves hard--to comply with the crowd;
+    Fists savage as murder could draw;
+      Cheers heavy and fervent and loud.
+    Stern hisses, and shoutings of "Woman!"
+      When either too tender they found;
+    Tremendous applause when a foeman
+      Dropped, more than half dead, on the ground.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    'Twas the soul's blackest hell-woven fibre,
+      All thrilling intensely and fast;
+    The curse of the Tagus and Tiber
+      Arrived in New York Bay at last!
+    And victor and vanquished, I learn,
+      Came off with more glittering spoil
+    Than teacher or preacher could earn
+      In years of the hardest of toil.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    A spectacle pleasing and bright,
+      Full many good people delighting--
+    So many good men love a fight,
+      When somebody else does the fighting!
+    And "'tis shameful!" we mildly agree,
+      And shout our complainings afar;
+    But the facts are no worse than are we:
+      They show to us just what we are!
+
+
+
+
+VIRTUE.
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+OCTOBER 1, 18--.
+
+    Wind in the south-west; weather fit to stay;
+    A sweet, old-fashioned, Indian-summer day--
+    When Heaven and Earth both seem to look at you
+    Through hair of gold and misty eyes of blue.
+    My wife said, as we talked of it together,
+    It seemed as if some of our old farm weather
+    Had got tired of the sober hills of brown,
+    Hitched up a cloud, and driven into town!
+
+    We went to church, and heard a sermon preached,
+    Which all the way from Earth to Heaven reached,
+    And lifted us up toward the town divine,
+    Till we could almost see the steeples shine,
+    And hear the mighty chariots as they rolled
+    Along the massive turnpikes made of gold.
+    We had some music, so sweet-lipped and true
+    It made me think of every flower I knew;
+    And when, with benediction, the old pastor
+    Said "Good-bye" for himself, but not his master,
+    It put my resolution to the rack,
+    To head my poor old tears, and drive them back!
+
+    We tried to come straight out, as Christians should,
+    And bring away all of it that we could;
+    But there were certain persons there to-day,
+    Who, after church was over, clogged the way,
+    And, standing 'round, with worldly nods and smiles,
+    Held a week-day reception in the aisles.
+    Now, when one's mind falls in celestial frame,
+    He wants to get home safely with the same;
+    And hates through jostling gossipers to walk,
+    And stumble 'gainst the smallest kinds of talk,
+    Intended, by some power, his mind to bring
+    Down out of Heaven to every worldly thing--
+    From office, and good methods to ensure it,
+    To rheumatism, and proper means to cure it.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    These are the spires that were gleaming
+    All through my juvenile dreaming;
+    Here the high belfries are singing:
+    Gold invitations they're winging,
+    Asking man through the charmed portal,
+    Where he is once more immortal;
+    Where he may hide from his cares,
+    Under a shelter of prayers.
+    Why do these halls, high and broad,
+    Under the same constant God,
+    Vary in structure and style--
+    Differ, from chancel to aisle?
+    Why forms and creeds so diverse?
+    Why is my blessing your curse?
+    Pondering here on the street,
+    This is one reason I meet:
+
+    Man's brain is devious and strange--
+    Differs, in form and in range;
+    So that God's fervid love-sun,
+    Falling the same on each one,
+    Differs in form and in hue,
+    (Not the less precious or true)!
+    Body and brain and heart--
+    Temple of infinite art--
+    You had no power to control
+    Hues of your windows of soul!
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+OCTOBER 5, 18--.
+
+    Sweet virtue, virtue, virtue!--what a start
+    You've got here in this city's feverish heart!
+    There isn't a thing to do that's square and right,
+    But some one's here to teach it, day and night;
+    No soothing balm soul may from soul demand,
+    But some one has it ready to his hand!
+
+    And then the churches--thick and rich of yield,
+    As corn-shocks in a new-made prairie field,
+    Where any one the golden fruit can find
+    All ready cooked to suit his heart and mind;
+    Great brick-and-mortar prayers! that never cease,
+    And costing fifty good-sized farms apiece
+    (Much too expensive, it might well be said,
+    If _bodies only_ need be clothed and fed).
+
+    And then the missions--regular district schools,
+    Where transient men are taught eternal rules;
+    Then the Salvation Army girls and boys,
+    Who season their religion up with noise,
+    And, when they get to Heaven, won't have the power
+    To help keep silent even half an hour;
+    But who take ragged wretches every day,
+    Haul them into the straight and narrow way,
+    Strip them of vain conceit soon as they show it,
+    And get them saved--almost before they know it!
+    It's something good to make these people good,
+    Who never go to church, and never would!
+
+    God bless each woman, man, and child, I say,
+    That leads His creatures in the heavenly way,
+    Whether they work by still, old-fashioned means,
+    Or march with drums and flags and tambourines!
+
+    Then there's those men who've crept and crawled as low
+    As even Satan cared to have them go;
+    Have marched through strong iron doors in striped ranks,
+    Have toiled where convict labor whirls and clanks,
+    Have made hard beds in cramped and lonely cells,
+    Have sinned their way through several different hells;
+    Whose lives have been so terribly amiss
+    To ever find worse worlds than they've made this;
+    Then groped out into Virtue's bath and sun,
+    And been washed up as clean as any one,
+    And warmed up with sweet sunlight from above;
+    Till they themselves start off on deeds of love,
+    And say to men with scarred and crime-flushed brow,
+    "I've been as bad, or worse, than you are now."
+    Whereat the wretch says, with dull, shadowy bliss,
+    "What! can there be some square way out of this?"
+    And maybe brings to pass, through Virtue's schemes,
+    Some of his poor old mother's fondest dreams!
+
+    Oh you who shout or sing or chant or read--
+    Whatever be your name or style or creed--
+    If any one on earth a plan has got
+    (Whether it's half as good as yours or not)
+    To find a gate into the narrow way,
+    And let in others that have gone astray--
+    If there's a single chance to mortals given
+    By which to slip poor mortals into Heaven,
+    For Heaven's sake do not frown in righteous wrath,
+    Or throw a scornful word into their path!
+    But _interfere with help_ in their affairs,
+    And push them with your money and your prayers!
+    For Pain is Pain, and God to see it loath,
+    In this strange world and in the next one, both;
+    And he who saves his fellow-men from pain,
+    Is God's hired man, and does not toil in vain?
+    But I'm reminded, by the bell for dinner,
+    That I'm no preacher, but a poor old sinner,
+    Unable even to follow my own view,
+    Much less to counsel others how to do.
+    I can't even eat--when I come right down to it,
+    Without a bell to tell me when to do it.
+    So I will cork my sermon, snub my muse,
+    And go down-stairs with Wife, and learn the news.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+[MORE WAYS THAN ONE.]
+
+    I was present, one day
+      Where both layman and priest
+    Worshipped God in a way
+      That was startling, at least:
+    Over thirty in place
+      On the stage, in a row,
+    As is often the case
+      At a minstrelsy show;
+    In a uniform clad
+      Was each one of them seen,
+    And a banjo they had,
+      And a loud tambourine.
+    And they sung and they shouted
+      Their spasmodic joys,
+    Just as if they ne'er doubted
+      That God loved a noise.
+
+    And their phrases, though all
+      Not deficient in points,
+    A grammarian would call
+      Rather weak in the joints;
+    And the aspirate sound
+      Was adroitly misused,
+    And The Language all round,
+      Was assaulted and bruised;
+    While the tunes that they sung
+      In bewildering throngs,
+    Had been married, when young,
+      To hilarious songs;
+    And the folks in that place,
+      Who this loud racket made,
+    Were not bounded by race
+      Or condition or shade.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Now I love my own meeting,
+      My own cosy pew,
+    While mentally greeting
+      Friends quietly true;
+    And the Gospel dispensed
+      With a dignified grace,
+    Born of reason clear-sensed
+      And a faith firm of place.
+    I love the trained voices
+      That float down the aisles,
+    Till the whole church rejoices
+      With God's sweetest smiles.
+    Have no sneer understood
+      For the rest, when I say
+    I had rather get good
+      In a civilized way.
+
+    So this meeting had grated
+      Somewhat on my heart,
+    And ere long I had waited,
+      I thought to depart.
+    But a young man arose,
+      Looking sin-drenched and grim,
+    As if rain-storms of woes
+      Had descended on him;
+    No such face you'd discern
+      In a leisurely search,
+    If you took a chance turn
+      Through a civilized church;
+    But his words, though not choice,
+      To my feelings came nigh;
+    There was growth in his voice,
+      There was hope in his eye.
+
+    And he said, "I'm a lad
+      With a life full of blame;
+    Every step has been bad,
+      Every hour was a shame.
+    And for drink I would pawn
+      All within my control,
+    From the clothes I had on,
+      To my heart and my soul.
+    I have drank the foul stuff
+      In my parents' hot tears;
+    I have done crime enough
+      For a hundred black years;
+    But I came to this place
+      For the help that I craved;
+    I have seen Jesus's face,
+      And I know I am saved."
+
+    Then a man rose to view,
+      When this youngster was done,
+    And he said, "This is true;
+      That young man is my son.
+    He was drunk every day,
+      And such terror would make,
+    That I spurned him away
+      From my house, like a snake.
+    We have suffered the worst
+      That can come from heart-fears;
+    He is sober the first
+      I have seen him for years.
+    I am full of such joy
+      As I never yet knew;
+    And now, Robert, my boy,
+      Home is open to you!
+
+    "You may go home with me--
+      Or may run on before;
+    You've a glittering key
+      That will open the door!
+    Your mother is there,
+      Praying for you e'en now;
+    There is snow in her hair,
+      There is pain on her brow.
+    And when you have kissed her
+      The old-fashioned way,
+    There's a brother and sister
+      Who've longed for this day;
+    And whatever can befriend you
+      On earth, shall be done;
+    May God's blessing attend you,
+      My son--oh, my son!"
+
+    Then the banjo struck in,
+      And the tambourine jingled;
+    There rose such a din
+      That my blood fairly tingled.
+    The vocalists screamed
+      Till quite red in the face;
+    But somehow it all seemed
+      Not at all out of place!
+    Now denouements immense
+      Do riot somehow take hold,
+    Or dramatic events
+      Reach my heart, as of old;
+    But my smiles could not hide
+      The fast-gathering tears,
+    And I cheered, laughed, and cried,
+      As I had not for years!
+    And I thought, "Not amiss
+      Are this tumult and shout:
+    Folks who save men like this
+      Know what they are about.
+    You who fight with God's sword
+      For the good of your kind--
+    You can never afford
+      To leave these men behind.
+    If these women I've seen,
+      Should be pelted or cursed,
+    I would step in between--
+      I would take the blow first.
+    They who draw souls above
+      From the depths lowest down,
+    Will not fail of God's love
+      Or to shine in His crown."
+
+  [Illustration: THE SALVATION ARMY.]
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+[THE MARCH OF THE CHILDREN.]
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+    List to the sound of the drumming!
+    Gaily the children are coming;
+    Sweet as the smile of a fairy,
+    Fresh as the blossoms they carry.
+    Pride of the parents who love them,
+    Pure as the azure above them,
+    Free as the winds that caress them,
+    Bright as the sunbeams that bless them.
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+    List to the voice-echoes ringing!
+    Sweeter than birds they are singing;
+    Thoughts that to virtue invite them,
+    Wed unto airs that delight them.
+    Truths that their future will cherish,
+    Soul-planted, never to perish!
+    Only to senses completer,
+    Heaven's choicest music were sweeter!
+
+    Virtue, unconscious and pretty,
+    Walks through the streets of the city;
+    See the gay bannerets flying,
+    Mottoes and titles undying;
+    Truths dearly hallowed and olden,
+    Braided in strands that are golden;
+    Words for the spirit's desiring,
+    Sentences sweetly inspiring!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    When, in a voice of caressing,
+    Christ gave the children His blessing,
+    'Twas not for one generation--
+    But for each epoch and nation.
+    So through the present it lingers,
+    Shed from His bountiful fingers;
+    So unto these it is given--
+    Types of the angels in Heaven.
+
+
+
+
+TRAVEL.
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+NOVEMBER 1, 18--.
+
+  It's quite the thing to "travel" nowadays
+  (Although I do not think it _always_ pays),
+  And see if distant ground in general looks
+  As mentioned in the papers and in books.
+  I find, in sifting what few facts I know,
+  Three ways of realizing things are so:
+  First, when you're told them in such trusty shape
+  That square belief isn't easy to escape.
+  (There's lots of people--this town wouldn't hold them--
+  Who don't know much excepting what is told them.)
+  Second, what you've put on some mental shelf,
+  By having seen and understood yourself.
+  (How well we know things witnessed, largely lies
+  On how much brain there is behind our eyes.)
+  The third way is the surest and the best
+  (Though sometimes painful, it must be confessed):
+  It's where a truth has whipped the earth with you,
+  Until you _feel_, from head to foot, 'tis true.
+  I think, sometimes, when all is said and done,
+  Feeling is all the senses joined in one.
+
+  _We're_ going to travel!--not so very far
+  As our new friends, the Fitzcumnoodles, are,
+  Who cannot read their social title's clear
+  Unless they ride twelve thousand miles a year,
+  (I told them, with a philosophic smile,
+  That travelling shouldn't be measured by the mile.)
+  But we shall take a little trip, to-morrow,
+  With some spare time that wife's contrived to borrow,
+  To where George Washington laid out a town
+  That several centuries won't see tumbled down!
+  A city which, with all the sneaking sinners
+  That come down there to steal their daily dinners,
+  And all the human insects hovering nigh,
+  Such as swarm thick wherever good things lie,
+  And spite of all the bad weeds growing round,
+  Has always _some_ good folks upon the ground,
+  And will be head-piece of the greatest nation
+  That ever helped spruce up the Lord's plantation.
+
+  The Fitzcumnoodles, through their daughter Maud,
+  Inform us that we ought to go abroad;
+  The Clancdenancies, we have lately learned,
+  From an extended trip have just returned;
+  And so my eldest daughter, Isabel,
+  Who knows Miss Clanc, etc., very well,
+  Called on her in the progress of a walk,
+  And had a pleasant little travel-talk;
+  And after coming home misspent her time
+  In putting what she heard there into rhyme
+  And--lost it--not by accident, I fear;
+  I'll paste the "conversation" right in here:
+
+
+HER TOUR.
+
+    Yes, we've been travelling, my dear,
+      Three months, or such a matter,
+    And it's a blessing to get clear
+      Of all the clash and clatter!
+    Ah! when I look the guide-book through,
+      And see each queer place in there,
+    'Tis hard to make it seem quite true
+      That I myself have been there!
+
+    Our voyage? Oh, of course 'twas gay--
+      Delightful! splendid! glorious!
+    We spurned the shore--we sped away--
+      We rode the waves victorious.
+    The first mate's mustache was so grand!
+      The ocean sweet, though stormy
+    (I was so sick I could not stand,
+      But papa saw it for me).
+
+    At Queenstown we saw land once more--
+      Ground never looked so pretty!
+    We took a steam-car near the shore
+      For some light-sounding city.
+    A very ordinary stone
+      We had to kiss at Blarney;
+    The beggars wouldn't let us alone
+      That half-day at Killarney!
+
+    The Giants' Causeway? 'Tis arranged
+      With no regard to science;
+    It must somehow of late have changed--
+      At least we saw no giants.
+    Some little funny scrubs of folks
+      Sold pictures, and were merry;
+    The men were full of yarns and jokes,
+      The women barefoot--very.
+
+    Old Scotland? Yes, all in our power
+      We did there to be thorough;
+    We stopped in Glasgow one whole hour,
+      Then straight to "Edin_borough_."
+    At Abbotsford we made a stay
+      Of half an hour precisely.
+    (The ruins all along the way
+      Were ruined very nicely.)
+
+    We "did" a mountain in the rain,
+      And left the others undone,
+    Then took the "Flying Scotchman" train.
+      And came by night to London.
+    Long tunnels somewhere on the line
+      Made sound and darkness deeper;
+    No; English scenery is not fine,
+      Viewed from a Pullman sleeper.
+
+    Oh, Paris! Paris! Paris! 'tis
+      No wonder, dear, that you go
+    So far into the ecstasies
+      About that Victor Hugo!
+    He paints the city, high and low,
+      With faithful pen and ready
+    (I think, my dear, I ought to know--
+      We drove there two hours steady).
+
+    Through Switzerland by train. Yes, I
+      Enjoyed it, in a measure;
+    But still the mountains are too high
+      To see with any pleasure.
+    Their tops--they made my neck quite stiff,
+      Just stretching up to view them;
+    And folks are very foolish if
+      They clamber clear up to them!
+
+    Rome, Venice, Naples, and the Rhine?
+      We did them--do not doubt it;
+    This guide-book here is very fine--
+      'Twill tell you all about it.
+    We've saved up Asia till next year,
+      If business gets unravelled;
+    What! going? Come again; and, dear,
+      I will not seem so travelled.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+WASHINGTON, _November 3, 18--._
+
+  _We're_ travelling, and we're here! and what a town!
+  I own, it picks me up and sets me down!
+  I thought I had some idea of the place,
+  And what its corporation lines embrace;
+  I'd read the county papers every week,
+  Which seldom failed "From Washington" to speak;
+  I'd travelled through these streets by photograph,
+  And, with Imagination for a staff,
+  Had wandered round, in little trips disjointed,
+  Even where the artist's brass gun has not pointed;
+  And so I said, "Though I wouldn't like to miss it,
+  'Twill be a good deal like a second visit."
+
+  But 'tisn't an easy perpetrated scheme
+  To prophesy how anything will seem.
+  This city's new to me--I do not doubt it--
+  As if I'd never heard a word about it!
+  There's something in these white-clothed buildings' glare,
+  And something even in the very air,
+  And in the great variety of faces,
+  Bearing the ear-marks of a thousand places,
+  And in that monument that reaches high--
+  The farthest stone has climbed into the sky,
+  And in that dome, whose kingly size and height
+  Contrive, where'er you are, to keep in sight--
+  From these, and several hundred other things
+  This nation's lead-horse city at you flings,
+  You feel as if you'd stepped, through many a mile,
+  Into another planet for a while!
+
+  But men too weary to hold up their heads
+  Are apt to bless the man[7] who first made beds;
+  Then, having found one, and reclined within it,
+  Forget about him in just half a minute.
+  So I'll let Morpheus (who is at me winking)
+  Do the remainder of this evening's thinking.
+
+    [7]  Or woman--let due praise to her be paid;
+         A bed is never made until 'tis _made_.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+AT THE SUMMIT OF THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT.
+
+    Look North! A white-clad city fills
+    This valley to its sloping hills;
+    Here gleams the modest house of white,
+    The statesman's longed-for, dizzy height.
+    Beyond, a pledge of love to one
+    Who in two lands was Freedom's son--
+    The holder of an endless debt--
+    Our nation's brother, Lafayette.
+    But yonder lines of costly homes
+    And bristling spires and swelling domes,
+    And far away the spreading farms
+    Where thrift displays substantial charms,
+    And hamlets creeping out of sight,
+    And cities full of wealth and might,
+    Must own the fatherhood of him
+    Whose glory Time can never dim.
+    All who can reckon Freedom's worth
+    Would write across this whole broad earth,
+    With pen dipped in the golden sun,
+    The magic name of Washington!
+    If we can keep the rules he gave
+    This land he more than fought to save,
+    Our future fame will glisten forth
+    Grand as the winter-lighted North!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  [Illustration: FROM THE MONUMENT.]
+
+    Look South!--where, in its coat of gray,
+    The broad Potomac creeps away,
+    And seeks the blue of distant skies;
+    But pauses where the great chief lies
+    Within his humble, hallowed tomb,
+    Amid Mount Vernon's deathless bloom.
+    As glides this stream, great corse, past thee,
+    First to the bay, and then the sea,
+    So flowed thy life to rural rest,
+    Ere thou wast Heaven's eternal guest.
+    Oh strong, high man! whose patriot heart
+    Climbed from all common greeds apart;
+    To whom men's selfish ways were small,
+    As from this tower, serenely tall
+    (Built that all years thy fame may know),
+    Men look while creeping there below!
+    How weak was power to thy clear gaze,
+    Builder of nations joined in one,
+    Kindler of splendors still to blaze,
+    Finder of glories just begun!
+    Live on, great sleeper! as this stone,
+    Highest from earth that man has known,
+    So shall be ranked thy solid worth,
+    Highest of heroes on the earth!
+    Happy, secure, and cherished name,
+    Love is the pillar of thy fame;
+    Thy praise comes from each patriot's mouth,
+    Warm as the sunbeams of the South!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Look East! The Nation's castle walls
+    Spread out in massive beauty now;
+    Their lofty dome and pictured halls
+    In homage to this summit bow.
+    Oh, well that from these palaced lands
+    The marble spire obeisance win;
+    But for the one for whom it stands,
+    This chieftain-town had never been!
+    Yon plot, so full of brain and will,
+    Had staid a bleak and lonely hill!
+    If at five thousand dizzy feet
+    This shaft the whirling clouds could meet,
+    Until our gaze for miles, might be,
+    To the uncrowned but royal sea,
+    'Twere not too much of honor then,
+    To grant our crownless king of men.
+    You who the Nation's laws indite,
+    Look to this summit's honest white,
+    Where, throned on walls that must endure,
+    Pure fame entreats you to be pure;
+    Until our glory be increased,
+    Like sunbeams from the dazzling East!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Look West! There lie the hilly fields
+    Where brothers fought through days of dread,
+    Where mothers brooded o'er their dead,
+    And soil the thrift of carnage yields;
+    Where cannon roared and bullets sung,
+    Till every hillock had a tongue.
+    O Nation being and to be,
+    That silent blood speaks loud to thee!
+    God grant, if e'er our guns again
+    Must tear the quivering flesh of men,
+    The leaden hail-storm may be pressed
+    Against some foul invader's breast--
+    Against some alien tribe and zone--
+    And not, as then, to kill our own!
+    May all the fruitful strifes of peace
+    The thrilling bonds of love increase;
+    May yonder orb, in his quick change
+    From mountain range to mountain range,
+    From valley to rich valley o'er,
+    From river shore to river shore,
+    From wave to wave--may yonder sun
+    One Nation count, and only one;
+    Until he dips his fiery crest
+    Into the ocean of the West!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Look up! The phantom clouds of gray--
+    Grim ghosts of storm--have passed away;
+    The veiling of the sky is done,
+    And downward shines the welcome sun.
+    He kindles grand and peaceful fires
+    Upon the city's domes and spires;
+    He sends his strong magnetic glow
+    Through yonder moving throngs below.
+    Thou art, O sky serene and clear,
+    A symbol of our country here!
+    What land in all this world of pain,
+    This earth, where millions toil in vain,
+    Where famine, pestilence, and strife
+    Play careless games with human life,
+    Where Superstition clouds the soul,
+    And heartless brains sad hearts control--
+    What country, framed in frost or flowers,
+    Can see so clear a sky as ours?
+    Peace throws her mantle, broad and free,
+    O'er all who peaceable will be;
+    Plenty her sheltering flag doth wave
+    O'er those who will but toil and save;
+    Enlightenment each day shall rise
+    For all who do not cloud their eyes;
+    While Liberty from every race
+    Has made this land a refuge-place.
+    Let our deep thanks forever fly
+    Far as the reaches of the sky!
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Note-book._]
+
+NOVEMBER 5, 18--.
+
+  Went to Mount Vernon; and I wouldn't have lost
+  That trip, for fifteen hundred times its cost!
+  Those farm-lands sleeping in the autumn sun;
+  The house HE slept in when his work was done;
+  The trees he planted with his own brave hand,
+  That set out Freedom's trees all o'er the land:
+  The humble tomb he lies in, which--like me--
+  Pilgrims from all the world have come to see:
+  These look up in one's eyes and sadly smile,
+  And preach a funeral sermon all the while!
+  Even the river-boats upon their way
+  Toll bells, as if he'd died that very day!
+  And through it all this precept may be traced:
+  The noblest men are simplest in their taste.
+
+  I've read how grand, Napoleon's tomb is made,
+  And all the surface-honors to him paid;
+  But I don't think the people that come there
+  Bring any heartfelt sympathy to spare;
+  While every true-brained patriot, night and morn,
+  Thanks God for letting Washington be born!
+
+  While I was standing, hat off, at the tomb,
+  A youth approached, three-quarters made of bloom;
+  And with his hat perched on his close-sheared head,
+  And smoking a small white cigar, he said:
+  "Sirrh, would you kindly just enlighten me
+  As to where Gawge cut down the cherry-tree?"
+  Said I, "Young man, just please at once disgorge
+  The fool-idea of calling that man 'George;'
+  His body, mind, and soul were firmly set
+  Higher, no doubt, than you will ever get.
+  He isn't the man, though lying dead, 'tis true,
+  When friends are near, to be half-named by you.
+  Take off your hat, and bow; if you rebel,
+  I'll get a cherry switch and trounce you well."
+
+  He looked at me a moment in surprise,
+  And mutiny stood foremost in his eyes;
+  But I was quite indignant, and could feel
+  The blood of Bunker Hill all through me steal.
+  I said, "One minute more will be allowed;"
+  The fine young man took off his hat, and bowed.
+
+  Irreverence is the fashion, nowadays,
+  And shows itself in good and evil ways;
+  Its mission is legitimate and clear
+  In cases where there's nothing to revere;
+    But they who use it must be judgment-fixed,
+    And not get reverend and unreverend _mixed_.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    Through these broad streets do I fly--
+    Furlongs and miles I defy,
+    Till the "magnificent distance"
+    Vanishes out of existence.
+    Let me with pencil prolong
+    Strains of the Bicycler's Song:
+
+
+[THE SILENT WHEEL.]
+
+  Good-morning, good Pedestrian--I'm glad to see you out;
+  The day is full of healthfulness, the birds are all about;
+  There is a quiet breeziness in all the pleasant air--
+  I hope this happy exercise will drive away your care.
+                  For I am a pedestrian--
+                  A very good pedestrian--
+  And all the glowing benefit of walking I can share;
+  Although I tread the atmosphere, and do not touch the ground,
+  I greet you as a brother, sir, wherever you are bound.
+  But my impatient lady-love in yonder town doth wait;
+  I wish you better company, and strike a swifter gait.
+
+  Good-morning, good Equestrian--a noble steed you ride;
+  I do not seem to frighten him, so here is by your side.
+  It is a feast of happiness to smoothly bound along,
+  With sturdy muscles under you, and footing swift and strong.
+                  For I am an equestrian--
+                  A very fair equestrian--
+  With bugle blast of melody and unassuming song;
+  And all the thrilling ecstacy of horsemanship I feel,
+  Although the nag I ride upon was bred of burnished steel.
+  But his impatience urges me to swifter gait than you,
+        And so I wish you pleasure, sir, and bid a kind adieu.
+
+  Good-morning, Mr. Racer, you've a trotter that is fine;
+  I never would disparage him, or say too much of mine;
+  Your horse is full of mettle, sir, and bravely draws his load;
+  It must be pure deliciousness to speed him on the road.
+              But I am quite a racing man--
+              A modest, humble racing man--
+  Though small is my solicitude upon the turf bestowed;
+  And if you have anxiety to try a little race,
+  I'll undertake, with courtesy, to give you second place;
+  But if the first you take from me, and it be fairly earned,
+  I'll hope that on some future day the tables may be turned.
+
+  Good-morning, Mr. Carriageer, you have an easy ride;
+  Those cushions are luxurious, and pleasantly you glide!
+  'Tis very good and fortunate, if one be tired or ill,
+  To calmly call his carriage out, and travel as he will.
+              But I, sir, keep my carriage, too--
+              A very pleasant carriage, too--
+  Though it is not the easy one that _your_ desire would fill;
+  It carries me in comfort over many a pleasant mile,
+  And all my best acquaintances are suited with its style.
+  'Tis with a blithe economy establishments are run,
+  With driver, footman, passenger, and horses--all in one!
+
+  Good-morning, fellow Wheelmen; here's a warm, fraternal hand,
+  As with a rush of victory we sweep across the land!
+  If some may be dissatisfied to view the way we ride,
+  We only wish their majesties could wander by our side!
+              For we are good philanthropists--
+              Unqualified philanthropists--
+  And would not have _our_ happiness to any one denied.
+  We claim a great utility that daily must increase;
+  We claim for inactivity a bright and grand release;
+  A constant mental, physical, and moral help we feel,
+  Which makes us turn enthusiasts, and bless the silent wheel!
+
+
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+NOVEMBER 20, 18--.
+
+    It's quite a show, and strikes me a good deal--
+    How many ride around here on a wheel;
+    The streets are graded very smooth and nice,
+    And make this town the wheelman's paradise.
+    A brother-farmer--neighbor, once, to me--
+    Who's down here, like myself, to hear and see,
+    Told me, last night, before we "doused the glim,"
+    How a young wheel-chap got the start of him.
+    'Twould skip my memory, maybe, if I'd let it;
+    I'll put it down here so I sha'n't forget it.
+
+
+
+[FARMER AND WHEEL; OR, THE NEW LOCHINVAR.]
+
+I.
+
+  I was hoein' in my corn-field, on a spring day, just at noon,
+  An' a hearkin' in my stomach for the dinner-trumpet's tune,
+  An' reflectin', when my daughter should be married, 'twould be best
+  She should take Josiah Baker's son, who jines me on the west,
+  An' consolidate our acres into one immense abode,
+  When my hired man says, "By ginger, look a-yender down the road!"
+
+  "Well," I says, "my goodness gracious! things _is_ rather overgrown,
+  When a buggy-wheel gets loosened, an' goes runnin' 'round alone."
+  But my man he says, "By mustard!" (as the critter nearer came)
+  "Don't you see that there's a feller on a-straddle of the same?"
+  An' it _was_ as nice a shaver as you'd see 'most any day,
+  Who was travellin' through the country in that unexpected way.
+
+  He was rather young an' han'some, an' as smilin' as you please,
+  An' his pants they signed a contract with his stockin's at the knees;
+  An' he had a pair o' treadles some'at underneath his seat,
+  So's to run the queer contraption, by a-workin' of his feet;
+  An' the sun descended on it, in a manner warm an' bright;
+  'Twas as sing'lar as a circus, an' an interestin' sight.
+
+  When, as fate was bound to have it, on that quite partic'lar morn,
+  There was somethin' was the matter with my folks's dinner-horn;
+  Ah! the hired girl, when she tried to, couldn't blow it very well,
+  For to call us in to dinner--so she sent my daughter Belle:
+  Who came up just at that minute--nice a girl as could be found:
+  An' this fellow looked her over, an' came smashin' to the ground.
+
+  Smash to bang he came a-floppin'--wheel an' stockin's, pants an' all;
+  An' I run to him, remarking "You have caught a dreadful fall."
+  An' my daughter hovered round him, tremblin' with her she alarms,
+  Lookin' just as if she would like to some'at take him in her arms;
+  But he glanced up, faintly smilin', an' he gaspin'ly replied,
+  "I am only hurt intern'lly" (which I s'pose he meant inside).
+
+  An' we packed him on the stone-boat, an' then drove him to the house
+  An' he lay there on the sofa, still an' quiet as a mouse;
+  An' he would not have a doctor; but he called my daughter Belle,
+  An' then laughed an' chatted with her, like a person gettin' well;
+  An' along late in the evenin', I suppose, he went away;
+  For he wasn't there next mornin', an' Belle hadn't a word to say.
+
+  An' he left two silver dollars in an easy-noticed spot,
+  For to pay us for his passage on the stone-boat, like as not;
+  An' 'twas quite enough equivalent for his transitory stay;
+  But whate'er he might have left us, still he carried more away;
+  For my daughter Belle grew absent, glanced at every sound she heard,
+  And Josiah Baker junior couldn't get a civil word.
+
+II.
+
+  I was workin' in my meadow, on a blazin' summer's day,
+  When my son-in-law by contract came a-runnin' 'cross the way,
+  An' remarked, "It's been the bargain--for how long I needn't tell--
+  That these two farms should be married--as should also me an' Belle;
+  An' how much the indications indicate that that'll be,
+  If you'll come down here a minute, you will have a chance to see."
+
+  [Illustration: "AND HE STOOD THERE, LIKE A COLONEL, WITH HER
+  TREMBLING ON HIS ARM."]
+
+  An' he led me 'cross the fallow, underneath some picnic trees,
+  Where my gal an' that wheel fellow sat as cosy as you please;
+  An' she'd put some flowers an' ribbons on the wheel, to make a show,
+  An' they'd been a-shakin' hands there, an' forgotten to let go;
+  An' she sort o' made a chair-back of the fellow's other arm,
+  With no 'parent recollection of Josiah Baker's farm.
+
+  Then we walked around front of 'em, an' I says, "Your very fine;
+  But this gal that you are courtin' is Josiah's gal an' mine;
+  You're a mighty breechy critter, an' are trespassin' all round;
+  Why, this very grove you sit in is Josiah's father's ground."
+  Then he rose up, stiff an' civil, an' helped Belle across the stile,
+  Also put the masheen over, with a queer but quiet smile;
+
+  An' he stood there, like a colonel, with her tremblin' on his arm,
+  An' remarked, "I beg your pardon, if I've done you any harm.
+  But so far as 'trespass' matters, I've relieved you of that load,
+  Since the place I now am standing is, I think, the public road.
+  And this very sweet young lady, you in one sense yours may call,
+  But she's mine, sir, in another--and Josiah's not at all.
+
+  "I'll escort this lady home, sir, leave my wheel here in your care,
+  And come back in fifteen minutes to arrange the whole affair.
+  And please do not touch the 'cycle'--'tis as yet without a flaw,
+  And I do not want a quarrel with my future father-in-law;
+  If this Mr. Baker junior follows up his glances, though,
+  With his fingers, I will thrash him till he thinks his cake is dough."
+
+  Then he left us both suspectin' that he'd rather got the start,
+  An' the acres of the daddies seemed increasin'ly apart;
+  An' we didn't wait to see him; but, with one impatient jerk,
+  We shook our heads in concert, an' went back unto our work;
+  An' I couldn't help reflectin'--"He is steady like, an' cool,
+  An' that wheel may be a folly, but it didn't bring a fool."
+
+III.
+
+  I was on my stoop a-restin', on a hazy autumn day,
+  Rather drowsy from a dinner that had just been stowed away,
+  And regrettin'--when old Baker's an' my homestead jined in one.
+  That he wasn't to furnish daughter, an' I wasn't to furnish son,
+  So's to have my name continued, 'stead of letting it go down,
+  When Josiah Baker junior came a drivin' home from town.
+
+  An' a little ways behind him came that wheel scamp, ridin' hard,
+  An' they both to once alighted, an' come walkin' through the yard;
+  When, as fate was bound to have it, also came my daughter Belle,
+  From a visit in some neighbor's, lookin' very sweet an' well;
+  An' they stood there all together--that 'ere strange, dissimilar three,
+  An' remained in one position--lookin' steady down at me.
+
+  Then Josiah spoke up loudly, in a kind o' sudden pet,
+  "If this gal an' I's to marry, it is time the day was set;
+  For that one-wheel feller's always 'round here courtin', on the fly,
+  An' they say she rides out with him, in the night-time, on the sly.
+  Father'll give us board an' victuals, you can give her land an' dower,
+  Wherefore, if she wants to have me, please to set the day an' hour."
+
+  Then the wheel scamp spoke up quiet, but as if the words he meant,
+  "_I_ would like to wed your daughter, an' have come for your consent.
+  She is very dear to me, sir, when we walk or when we ride,
+  And, I think, is not unwilling to become my cherished bride.
+  I can give her love and honor, and I ask of you no dower;
+  Wherefore, please bestow your blessing; _we_ have set the day and hour."
+
+  Then I might have told my daughter that _she_ now could have the floor,
+  An' remarked that on this question there should be just one speech more;
+  But I rendered my decision in a flame of righteous rage,
+  An' I shouted, "You'd no business for to court or to engage!
+  This 'ere gal has long been spoke for; an' you'll please to clamber on
+  Your old hind-wheel of a buggy, an' forevermore be gone!"
+
+  Then he picked up Belle quite sudden, an' made swiftly for the gate,
+  An' I formed a move to stop 'em, but was most perplexin' late;
+  He had fixed a small side-saddle on his everlastin' wheel,
+  So that she could ride behind him (clingin' 'round him a good deal);
+  An' straight down the Beebe turnpike, like a pair o' birds they flew
+  Towards a preacher's who had married almost every one he knew.
+
+  [Illustration: CHASING THE BICYCLE.]
+
+  "Stop 'em! head 'em! chase 'em! catch 'em!" I commanded, very vexed;
+  "They'll be hustlin' off our daughters on a streak o' lightnin', next!"
+  An' we took Josiah's wagon, an' his old gray spavined mare,
+  An' proceeded for to chase 'em, with no extra time to spare;
+  An' Josiah whipped an' shouted, it was such a dismal pinch,
+  An' kept just so far behind 'em, but we couldn't gain an inch!
+
+  Down the turnpike road we rattled; an' some fellows loudly cried,
+  "Go it, Baker, or you'll lose her! ten to one upon the bride!"
+  An' I fumed an' yelled an' whistled, an' commanded them to halt,
+  An' the fact we couldn't catch 'em wasn't Josiah Baker's fault;
+  But he murmured, "I am makin' father's mare into a wreck,
+  Just to see my gal a-huggin' round another feller's neck!"
+
+  An' they rushed into that preacher's, maybe twenty rods ahead,
+  An' before I reached the altar all their marriage-vows was said;
+  An' I smashed in wildly, just as they was lettin' go o' han's,
+  An' remarked, in tones of sternness, "I hereby forbid the banns!"
+  While Josiah Baker junior close behind me meekly came,
+  Sayin', "Were my father present, he would doubtless do the same!"
+
+  But they turned to me a-smilin', an' she hangin' on his arm,
+  An' he said, "I beg your pardon; let Josiah have the farm.
+  We've accomplished the sweet object for which we so long have striven,
+  And, as usual in such cases, are prepared to be forgiven."
+  An' the whole thing seemed so funny, when I thought of it a while,
+  That I looked 'em both all over, an' then blessed 'em with a smile.
+
+  Then Josiah Baker junior took his spavined mare for home,
+  An' 'twas difficult decidin' which indulged the most in foam;
+  An' he said, "I'll drive alone, sir, if the same you do not mind;
+  An' your son an' daughter Wheeler maybe'll take you up behind."
+  An' he yelled, while disappearing with a large smile on his mouth.
+  "I kin git a gal whose father jines my father on the south!"
+
+IV.
+
+  I was workin' in my wood-house on a snowy winter day,
+  An' reflectin' on a letter that had lately come our way,
+  How that Belle had every blessin' that a married gal could need,
+  An' had bought her two twin daughters a small-sized velocipede,
+  When the thought came stealin' through me, "Well, so far as I can see,
+  In the line of love an' lovin', what's to be is apt to be."
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+NOVEMBER 21, 18--.
+
+    Went into Congress for a little spell,
+    Where everything seemed going pretty well;
+    But all through boyhood's easy-moulding day
+    I'd heard so much of Webster and of Clay,
+    That, though they had been dead for many a year,
+    I thought at least by proxy they'd appear.
+    It was a disappointment, I declare:
+    Daniel or Henry--neither one was there!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+NEW YORK, _January_ 1, 18--.
+
+    Got back from several cities; and it looks
+    As if the things we've seen would fill ten books!
+    Some time I'll write our wanderings to and fro;
+    It's a large job: I'll have to take it slow.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+[ONLY A BOX.]
+
+
+    Only a box, secure and strong,
+    Rough, and wooden, and six feet long,
+    Lying here in the drizzling rain,
+    Waiting to take the up-bound train.
+
+  [Illustration: "ONLY A BOX, SECURE AND STRONG,
+  ROUGH AND WOODEN, AND SIX FEET LONG."]
+
+    Only its owner, just inside,
+    Cold, and livid, and glassy-eyed;
+    Little to him if the train be late!
+    Nothing has he to do but wait.
+
+    Only an open grave, somewhere,
+    Heady to close when he gets there;
+    Turfs and grasses and flowerets sweet,
+    Ready to press him 'neath their feet.
+
+    Only a band of friends at home,
+    Waiting to see the traveller come;
+    Naught he will tell of distant lands;
+    He cannot even press their hands.
+
+    He has no stories weird and bright,
+    He has no gifts for a child's delight;
+    He did not come with anything;
+    He had not even himself to bring.
+
+    Yet they will softly him await,
+    And he will move about in state;
+    They will give him, when he appears,
+    Love, and pity, and tender tears.
+
+    Only a box, secure and strong,
+    Rough and wooden, and six feet long;
+    Angels guide that soulless breast
+    Into a long and peaceful rest!
+
+
+
+
+HOME.
+
+[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]
+
+
+JULY 1, 18--.
+
+    Back to the old, old homestead!--isn't it queer!
+    But stranger things than that have happened here:
+    The old farm, after giving oil by stream,
+    (Until the world itself would almost seem
+    About to lose its progress smooth and true,
+    And creak upon its axis, first we knew),
+    Closed business in the twinkling of an eye,
+    And every blessed well we had went dry!
+    Then all the oil-springs that my neighbors had
+    The example followed--be it good or bad;
+    And the whole region round here, high and low,
+    So full of wealth a few short months ago--
+    And men, to get their circumstances oiled--
+    Is now poor farm-land, pretty nearly spoiled!
+    The little town a mile away from here,
+    Where we sold eggs and butter many a year,
+    (And feared the neighbors' hens might over-lay,
+    And glut the market some sad Saturday),
+    From a few grown-up folks, a small child-crop,
+    A church, post-office, store, and blacksmith shop,
+    This village grew to be, within a year,
+    A town of fifteen thousand people clear.
+    It had its banks, its street-cars, and its gas,
+    And other wonders cities bring to pass;
+
+    Its house-yards sold for twice as much, I know,
+    As my old farm was worth three years ago.
+    But the town did not grow on brain or soil,
+    But floated on a hidden sea of oil,
+    Which ebbed away, one evening, on the sly,
+    And left "the city" stranded high and dry.
+    And now the place is crumbling to the gaze--
+    A modern ruin in these modern days:
+    No banks, no street-cars, no hotels in town--
+    The mansions have been burned or taken down.
+    It shows how soon all greatness is unmade
+    When once it gets upon the down-hill grade!
+
+    So we've come back to take our former farm,
+    Fix it up somehow, coax back its old charm,
+    And live here--by the city noise unstirred--
+    To cogitate on what we've seen and heard
+    While living in a bustle and a brawl
+    That sometimes hardly let us think at all.
+    The old house was kept whole in every part
+    (I had that put in writing on the start),
+    And though the farm seems very much as though
+    An earthquake had lived here a year or so,
+    We mean to try and make it seem, some week,
+    More as it did before it sprung a leak.
+
+    First thing I said, when home began to fit,
+    And thus afford us time to breathe a bit:
+    "We've been out to the city, now, my dear,
+    Let's bring a small part of the city here.
+    I'm going, on this very day, to send
+    For several children such as need a friend,
+    And have them come out here and get some air,
+    With room to turn around, and some to spare."
+
+    I wrote some men and women in the city,
+    Who give poor children help, as well as pity,
+    "Send out as many as you can afford!
+    And every one shall have a month's clean board,
+    And carry back, from out our plenteous store,
+    Enough to keep himself a fortnight more."
+
+    The first night that we sat expecting them,
+    I did what some whole families would condemn--
+    I moulded up my feelings into rhyme,
+    In something less than fifteen minutes' time,
+    Then voiced it to whoever would come near;
+    I'll put the imposition right in here:
+
+  [Illustration: "AND CARRY BACK, FROM OUT OUR PLENTEOUS STORE, ENOUGH
+  TO KEEP HIMSELF A FORTNIGHT MORE."]
+
+
+
+[LET THE CLOTH BE WHITE.]
+
+
+  Go set the table, Mary, an' let the cloth be white!
+  The hungry city children are comin' here to-night;
+  The children from the city, with features pinched an' spare,
+  Are comin' here to get a breath of God's untainted air.
+
+  They come from out the dungeons where they with want were chained;
+  From places dark an' dismal, by tears of sorrow stained;
+  From where a thousand shadows are murdering all the light:
+  Set well the table, Mary dear, an' let the cloth be white!
+
+  [Illustration: "THE HUNGRY CITY CHILDREN ARE COMING HERE
+  TO-NIGHT."]
+
+  They ha' not seen the daisies made for the heart's behoof;
+  They never heard the rain-drops upon a cottage roof;
+  They do not know the kisses of zephyr an' of breeze;
+  They never rambled wild an' free beneath the forest trees.
+
+  The food that they ha' eaten was spoiled by others' greeds;
+  The very air their lungs breathed was full o' poison seeds;
+  The very air their souls breathed was full o' wrong an' spite:
+  Go set the table, Mary dear, an' let the cloth be white!
+
+  The fragrant water-lilies ha' never smiled at them;
+  They never picked a wild-flower from off its dewy stem;
+  They never saw a greensward that they could safely pass
+  Unless they heeded well the sign that says "Keep off the grass."
+
+  God bless the men and women of noble brain an' heart,
+  Who go down in the folk-swamps an' take the children's part--
+  Those hungry, cheery children that keep us in their debt,
+  An' never fail to give us more of pleasure than they get!
+
+  Set well the table, Mary; let naught be scant or small;
+  The little ones are coming; have plenty for 'em all.
+  There's nothing we should furnish except the very best
+  To those that Jesus looked upon an' called to him an' blessed.
+
+
+
+[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
+
+    Oh, Home--restful home! theme of praise and of song!
+    Where the heart has its refuge, unfailing and strong;
+    Where the cares of the world sign a partial release,
+    And the soul can lie down to a sweet sleep of peace!
+    The mine whence we dig out affection's pure gold,
+    The fire where we warm our poor hearts when they're cold!
+    The grand, tender chorus, by love's fingers stirred,
+    Where all the sweet tones of the soul-life are heard!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    But he who in thy praises was sweetest and best--
+    Who wrote that great song full of soothing and rest--
+    "Through pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
+    Be it never so humble, there's no place like home"--
+    He who, in a moment unfettered by art,
+    Let that heavenly song fly from the nest of his heart,
+    He wandered the earth, all forgot and alone,
+    And ne'er till he died had a home of his own!
+    He wandered the earth at his own dreary will,
+    And carried his great heavy heart with him still;
+    He carried his great heavy heart o'er the road,
+    With no one to give him a lift with his load;
+    And wherever he went, with his lone, dreary tread,
+    He found that his sweet song had flown on ahead!
+    He heard its grand melodies' chimes o'er and o'er,
+    From great bands that played at the palace's door;
+    He heard its soft tones through the cottages creep,
+    From fond mothers singing their babies to sleep;
+    But he wandered the earth, all forgot and alone,
+    And ne'er till in Heaven had a home of his own!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Of course--be it said to the poor fellow's shame--
+    There was no one on earth but himself he could blame.
+    God meant, when he made this world cheerful and bright,
+    Then looked it all over and said 'twas all right,
+    Then stole Adam's rib while he lay fast asleep,
+    And when he awoke gave it to him to keep--
+    He meant that this world, as he gazed on it there,
+    Should blossom with homes, rich and radiant and fair;
+    That his chain of love-gold, flung from Heaven's glittering dome,
+    Should be forged into links, and each link be a home!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  [Illustration: "HE HEARD ITS SOFT TONES THROUGH THE COTTAGES CREEP,
+  FROM FOND MOTHERS SINGING THEIR BABIES TO SLEEP."]
+
+    This Adam and Eve more advantages carried,
+    Than any _young_ couple that ever was married.
+    They'd a nice, cozy home, unencumbered and free,
+    Save a slight reservation on one little tree;
+    They toiled not and sweat not in tilling their lands:
+    Their orchards were trimmed by invisible hands;
+    They were bothered by no tailors' bills over-due;
+    Their dress-makers' bills were quite moderate, too;
+    No tax-ghost each year their scared domicile haunted,
+    To find out how much more they owned than they wanted;
+    In sooth this young pair more advantages carried
+    Than any _young_ couple that ever was married!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    And if, when Eve spied that large serpent one day,
+    She had acted the usual feminine way,
+    And piercingly screamed, and run, reckless and blind,
+    As if Satan were only two minutes behind,
+    Then Adam, man-like, had soothed sweetly her fright,
+    Saying, "What do you fear? 'tisn't poison; 'twon't bite;"
+    Then, catching a club, he had towered up above it,
+    And promptly had pounded the devil out of it,
+    'Twould have saved some hot tears, some hard toil, some disgrace,
+    And been a great thing for the whole human race.
+    But they treated him kindly, and gave him his say,
+    And 'twas not very long ere himself was to pay.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Since then this same Satan, whatever befalls,
+    Is noted for making his family calls;
+    Some families--shame on the impudent wretch!--
+    He stays with at times for a week at a stretch;
+    And some it would seem as if, pleased with the fare,
+    He had taken his permanent residence there!
+    But when to his dear friends these visits he makes,
+    He doesn't always come in the persons of snakes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    So the Science of Home is the chiefest of all:
+    To ward off these dangers that ever befall;
+    To beat back these devils of discord and sin,
+    That always are striving to steal their way in;
+    To use all the means God hath placed in our sight,
+    To keep our homes innocent, happy, and bright;
+    For a home that rejoices in love's saving leaven,
+    Comes deliciously nigh to the splendors of Heaven!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Still through the city I wander;
+    Still do I study and ponder;
+    But with no loneliness round me;
+    Severed--the black cords that bound me!
+    No more my spirit is weary;
+    I have a home, bright and cheery;
+    Full of love's sweet, saving leaven:
+    Home is the daughter of Heaven.
+
+
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+SELECTED HOME READING.
+
+
+  WILL CARLETON'S POETICAL WORKS.
+     Illustrated. Square 8vo, Ornamental Cloth, $2 00; Gilt Edges,
+     $2 50; Full Seal, $4 00.
+       CITY FESTIVALS.    CITY LEGENDS.    CITY BALLADS.
+       FARM FESTIVALS.    FARM LEGENDS.    FARM BALLADS.
+
+
+  CYCLOPAEDIA OF POETRY.
+     Harper's Cyclopaedia of British and American Poetry. Edited by
+     EPES SARGENT. Large 8vo, Illuminated Cloth, Colored Edges,
+     $4 50.
+
+
+  POETS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
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+     50; Full Turkey Morocco, $9 00.
+
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+  THE POETS OF SCOTLAND.
+     The Poets and Poetry of Scotland. From the Earliest to the
+     Present Time. Comprising Characteristic Selections from the
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+     and Critical Notices. By JAMES GRANT WILSON. With Portraits on
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+
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+
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+     Songs from the Published Writings of Alfred Tennyson. Set to
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+
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+     50.
+
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+  FOLK-LORE OF SHAKESPEARE.
+     Folk-Lore of Shakespeare. By the Rev. T. F. THISELTON DYER,
+     M.A., Oxon. 8vo, Cloth, $2 50.
+
+
+  DOWDEN'S SHAKSPERE.
+     Shakspere: A Critical Study of his Mind and Art. By EDWARD
+     DOWDEN, LL.D., Vice-President of "The New Shakspere Society."
+     12mo, Cloth, $1 75.
+
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+     volume.
+
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+     GRAY.--SELECT POEMS OF ROBERT BROWNING.--BROWNING'S
+     DRAMAS.--MILTON'S MINOR POEMS.--MACAULAY'S LAYS OF ANCIENT
+     ROME.--WORDSWORTH'S SELECT POEMS.
+
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+     Illustrated. 8vo, Ornamental Covers, Gilt Edges, $2 50.
+
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+     Nearly Three Hundred Christmas Songs, Hymns, and Carols. With
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