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diff --git a/36954.txt b/36954.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4587cb9 --- /dev/null +++ b/36954.txt @@ -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. + 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. 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