STORM   BOUND

 

 

 

 

By Alfred L. Hutchinson

(Weyauwega Newspaper Editor)

Author of “The Limit of Wealth,”

“The Optimist,” Ect.

 

 

 

A Series of Character Sketches and

Scenes from Life (Waupaca/Weyauwega)

 

 

 

O wad some power he giftie gie us,

To see oursels as ithers see us;

It would from many a blunder free us,

And foolish notion;

-         Burns.

 

 

 

COCHRANE PUBLISHING COMPANY

TRIBUNE BUILDING, NEW YORK

1909

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHARACTER SKETCHES

 

STORM BOUND

 

We were snow bound for many days,

No trains or mails for just eleven;

And so we passed in divers ways

The time; our party numbered seven.

There was Uncle John and his good wife,

And cousins Frank and Sue,

And Miss O’Neil of city life,

Myself and Billy Blue.

 

My uncle was a jolly man,

My aunt a lady rare,

Andy anything that we would plan

To do, they’d do their share.

But telling stories was my uncle’s forte,

Nor needed he much teasing,

And every evening when we tired of sport

His stories were most pleasing.

 

His father was a pioneer, and so

My uncle’s early training

Gave him experiences which told to us

Were very entertaining.

Some facts of history which no books contain,

And interesting features

He knew of men you’d think insane,

Though just peculiar creatures.

 

Of anecdotes and jokes galore,

And scenes of early times,

He always kept a stock in store,

And told them all in rhymes.

And so to you I’ll tell the tales;

To you they’ll all be new

And interesting as those tales

Were to me and Billy Blue.

 

************

 

THE WAR OF WORDS.

 

The Combatants.

 

When the country was new

The temples of knowledge

Were built out of logs,

And many a college

Recruited its ranks

And pictured its halls

With the brightest pupils

Right from those log walls.

 

With rude wooden benches

Those temples were seated,

And a great long box stove

In the center them heated.

And into those temples

All ages and sizes

Of bright boys and girls

Worked hard for life’s prizes.

 

Some forty or fifty,

All crowded together,

Would fill the old schoolhouse,

Whatever the weather;

And the teacher, perhaps

A young maiden fair,

Much younger sometimes

Than those under her care.

Would teach all the pupils

From the A B C Class

To those who were trying

Herself to surpass.

But once every week

The teacher’d assign

Two leaders who’d soon

Have the whole school in line.

 

Then as soldiers at war

Those two leaders fought;

Their weapons were words

With destruction much fraught;

And prisoners were captured

Just as in real war;

And the wounded were many,

But the wounds left no scar.

 

But for every wound

Either leader received,

He was by the other

Of a soldier relieved;

Nor was it the wounded

The leader lost first,

But his very best fighters,

Which he would miss worst.

 

And it sometimes occurred

That a leader would lose

To his rival, until

There were none left to choose;

And the fighting alone

That leader would stand

Against the whole school;

The picture was grand.

 

Thus did those log temples

Of learning prepare

The pupils for fighting,

And at length would declare

The time was at hand

To enter the fray,

And a rival would get

A challenge straight way.

 

The challenge would fix

The time and the place,

And the temple thus challenged

Must accept with good grace;

And then the battle

The fighters they’d choose

And give special training,

Lest the battle they’d lose.

 

 

Mobilization.

 

Save for a clearing here and there

The forests covered everywhere;

And every one at something wrought,

Save farming; that was second thought.

 

No railroads then had found their way

Through forest dense, and in that day

An old stage coach from town to town

Made daily trips the whole year round.

 

And news received was oft so old,

That in these days ‘twould scarce be told.

The snow came early in the fall,

And deep till spring would cover all;

 

It did not drift, and roads were good,

As they wound through the winter wood,

Made by the loggers; and at night,

A sleigh ride when the moon shone bright.

 

With prancing horses filled with fire

Was all one’s heart could most desire;

And though with cold one’s face would tingle,

More sweetly would the sleigh-bells jingle.

 

Gay times were those for young and old,

Who heeded not the winter’s cold;

And parties, dances, clubs, and bees,

All helped to keep the mind at ease.

 

But an event which capped the whole

Was a contested spelling-school,

And when the date was fixed for one,

They all prepared to see the fun.

 

The night before, a maid would spare

No time or pains to crimp her hair;

And with it bound in papers tight,

She’d go to bed, a perfect fright;

 

But in the morn, with rosy cheek,

And wavy hair, you ne’er would seek

And hope to find a city lass

Whose beauty could that maid’s surpass.

 

Her lover, too, with grease of bear

Would add a luster to his hair,

And load himself with strong perfume,

Enough to scent a good-sized room.

 

The day arrived, before ’twas o’er

A sleigh would go from door to door,

A sleigh with box both long and wide,

In which a score could nicely ride,

 

Drawn by four horses, sleek and trim,

And held in check by driver Jim.

And when the load was all complete,

Away they’d go.  Then life was sweet.

 

The old log schoolhouse lighted bright,

As tallow dips could make it quite,

Would soon contain a motley crowd,

Of young and old; of meek and proud;

 

And for an hour before the fray

Commenced, the crowd was loud and gay.

The older round the fire sat,

And talked of this, and talked of that;

 

The younger joked, while some would sing

And make the old log temple ring;

And when the fray came all too soon,

A deathlike silence filled the room.

 

 

The Battle.

 

A flag of truce waved o’er the teacher’s desk;

The teacher read the challenge and the rules

By which the fray that evening would be fought,

And how decide which winner of the schools.

 

Each school with twenty pupils to begin;

A teacher from a third school to pronounce;

 

Each pupil might try twice upon a word;

If twice he missed, his place he must renounce.

 

A word misspelled was like a bullet spent,

And when twice missed the teacher passed it by;

A new word then the other side she’d give,

To spell which also might have twice to try.

 

The pupil who could longest stand in line,

Without a word once having twice misspelled,

Should be declared the winner, and his school

The champion; the prize to be withheld

 

Until the end of winter, when the school

Which had three vic’trys to its final score

Should then be judged the champion for the year,

And take the prize and keep it evermore.

 

The pupils of the warring schools then took their proper places

As many boys as girls there were, and brightly gleamed their faces,

Arranged on either side the room the warring factions stood,

The neutral teacher stood between and war commenced for good.

 

The leader on the side which sent the challenge to the other

Was Jennie Dean, a winsome lass; and next to her her brother;

The leader on the challenged side was Charles Augustus Blair,

And beside him stood a maiden with most lovely golden hair.

 

The neutral teacher was a dame whose age was most uncertain;

Her name was Flossie Pettibone – but here I’ll draw a curtain.

The ball which first was fired struck Miss Jennie in the head,

And when she misspelled mullein, her face turned very red.

 

But she was calm, as calm could be, and on the second trial

Did not forget the silent e, which made her brother smile.

 

Then next at Charles Augustus Blair Dame Flossie aimed a ball,

And Charles Augustus took two ways to spell invincible.

 

Then Jennie’s brother got a shot, and I regret to tell it,

But he tried twice and then sat down because he could not spell it.

Then Jennie almost shed a tear to be the first to lose,

But next Miss Golden Hair went down without the least excuse.

 

Thus down the line Dame Pettibone her bullets swiftly fired,

And one by one each side went down as if they were born tired.

Ten times around the wavering lines her bullets swift were thrown,

And of the forty at the first, just two stood, each alone.

 

And one was Charles Augustus Blair, the other was Miss Jennie,

Who fought for half an hour till Charles died of miscellany.

Thus was the battle finished, and ‘tis plainly to be seen

That the school which sent the challenge pinned its faith on Jennie Dean.

 

 

The Spoils.

 

When the winter had ended which ended the war,

There was only one soldier without any scar;

For strange to relate, and perhaps you will doubt it,

Four times Charles Augustus by Jennie was routed.

 

All the battles were over, her school won the prize,

Which to Mr. Augustus was a great surprise.

But over spilt milk there was no use in crying,

And soon for Miss Jennie Augustus was sighing.

 

And when Charles Augustus for his school lost the prize,

He gained for himself one, to the public’s surprise;

For if you’ll believe, when he lost miscellany,

He won for himself the heart of Miss Jennie.

 

And when school-days were over and life’s work began,

Miss Jennie the woman wed Augustus the man.

And throughout a long life neither one did regret

That old War of Words, where in fighting they met.

 

************

 

My uncle then rose, and a twinkle was seen

In his eyes as he said “My wife was Miss Dean;

And standing beside of this old easy chair

Behold the remains of Charles Augustus Blair.”

 

 

WILLIE O’GRADY.

(In pencil:  Virke murder)

 

I.

Alone with his wife lived an old German farmer,

Not rich, but well fixed, as the old saying goes;

His savings, though small, he kept in his dwelling;

And always appeared in an old suit of clothes.

 

In banks and the like all confidence lacking,

He trusted in God to keep him from harm.

And there in contentment lived Heinrich and Gretchen,

And did all the work on their own little farm.

 

II.

A boy of the town was Willie O’Grady,

Although his own name I will not disclose,

Who sometimes did chores for Heinrich and Gretchen,

A boy of good promise, as all did suppose.

 

Of reading quite fond was Willie O’Grady,

And he was called a jolly good boy;

But alas for his reading – the journals were yellow,

And were destined his character soon to destroy.

 

III.

One day in the winter old Heinrich was missing;

He had gone in the eve to the barn from the house.

And after some hours old Gretchen got anxious,

And started away in pursuit of her spouse.

 

The night was quite dark, she carried a lantern,

But some way or other she did not discern

That near the door of the stable lay dying

Old Heinrich, and lonely did Gretchen return.

 

IV.

Next morning she gave the alarm to her neighbors,

Who went to the barn and the cattle there fed,

And when they had done this they quickly discovered

That close by the stable lay Heinrich, quite dead.

 

They picked up the body, and to the house carried

All that was left of the man who was dead;

And they soon saw the cause of old Heinrich’s dying;

He was killed by a blow of an axe on the head.

 

V.

The day was not ended e’er Willie O’Grady

Was suspected of doing the dastardly act;

And he was arrested and jailed in a hurry,

For he from the barn to his home had been tracked.

 

Next day at the jail the district attorney

Got Willie O’Grady, his crime to confess,

Though just why he did it, poor Willie O’Grady

Knew not, save ‘twas caused by the books he possessed.

 

 

VI.

And then into court went Willie O’Grady,

And told how he struck the old man on the head,

And then he got scared and ran home in a hurry,

Not waiting to see if old Heinrich was dead.

 

And then was the life of Willie O’Grady

Blasted forever, for the court soon decreed

And committed for life to prison O’Grady

For having committed the horrible deed.

 

VII.

So here is a lesson for every young fellow;

Be careful of what kind of stories you read,

Though many are good, there are many so evil

You never can tell when they’re sowing their seed.

 

Remember O’Grady and what he must suffer,

Throughout a long life in State’s prison confined,

And if you possess any books that are yellow,

The best care for them is the stove, you will find.

 

 

************

 

FATHER FORCELLINI.

 

Father Felix Forcellini was an ardent priest of Rome,

When he left his sunny Italy to make a western home;

He came to North America, and kept on moving west,

Till he crossed the Mississippi, where he planned to take a rest.

 

Now Father Forcellini was in many other ways

More ardent than in priestcraft in his early priesthood days,

And when he met Dame Folsom he succumbed to Cupid’s dart,

Gave up his robes of priesthood while Dame Folsom gained his heart

 

The father wed the widow and the church looked on with awe

To see a priest from Italy transgress the Roman law;

But not a fig cared Father F. and not a cent cared she,

For were they not now married and as happy as could be?

 

Then Felix and his partner crossed the river into Wis.,

Where for nearly half a century they lived in perfect bliss.

They reared five sons and daughters who were Felix’s delight;

The children were not pretty, but they were extremely bright,

 

And strange to say the youngest, when he came to choose for life,

Chose to study for the priesthood rather than to have a wife.

And as years rolled by old Felix thought it best that he repent,

And he left his wife and children and to sunny Italy went,

 

Where he did five years of penance for his sins of early life,

When he gave away his priesthood for the privilege of a wife.

But whether he repented because of a desire

That his soul should rest in heaven and not in eternal fire,

 

Or whether his repentance was to put some one to rout,

And gain himself a large estate, I’ve ever been in doubt;

But this I know, that when he died, there was in old Messini,

A fortune for the heirs of Father Felix Forcellini.

 

 

USURY.

 

When e’er I look back to the days of my boyhood

There comes into view a charming young miss,

Who asked what I’d take to assist in her lesson;

“I’ll take,” I replied, “a hug and a kiss.”

 

“’Tis a bargain,” she said, and she threw up her arms

and twined them around my neck just like this:

Then she puckered her mouth, and before I was ready

Delivered to me a sweet little kiss.

 

Then said the sweet damsel, “Now you’ve got your pay, sir,

I trust you will keep the bargain you’ve made;”

“I’ll do everything that I can, I assure you,

Or give back the goods that I’ve taken in trade.”

 

The lesson was one in Division of Fractions,

But she knew as much of the lesson as I,

And when we together could not get the answers,

That dear little lass could not help but cry.

 

But I said to her kindly, “I’ve not earned the pay

Which you were so good as to give in advance,

And if you’ll permit me, I’ll give it back freely;”

“You may, sir,” she said, as she gave a sly glance.

 

And then I returned to the fair little maiden

The goods which I said she only had lent;

And if you’ll believe me, she took from me interest,

Which I paid at the rate of 1,000 per cent.

 

 

THE FIRST CLIENT.

 

A young attorney by the name of Bryant,

For many weeks had waited for a client,

And while he waited, passed the time away

In preparation for some coming fray,

Thought what that fray might be he had less notion

Than Chris Columbus had of the wide ocean.

 

One morning while he sat intently reading

The way to start a criminal proceeding,

A man came in who said his name was Treat;

“I’m pleased to meet you; will you have a seat?”

For to the mind of young attorney Bryant,

The man appeared to be a wealthy client.

 

The man sat down and started his confession

By saying, “I belong to the profession,

And if you can a client’s secret keep,

Into the case I bring I’ll enter deep.”

“I surely can,” replied Attorney Bryant,

who knew his obligations to a client.

 

“And you can tell me without hesitation

The smallest details that have a relation

Unto the subject you have brought to me;

I’ll so advise you that you will agree

To trust your case unto Attorney Bryant,

Who now accepts you as his goodly client.”

 

And o’er his mind there flashed a pleasing vision

Of a retainer for his prompt decision.

“Not quite so fast,” exclaimed Attorney Treat,

As through the open door he watched the street,

“It is not I who gives you a retainer,

But my good wife, and why I’ll now make plainer;

 

“My wife Maria seeks a separation,

and to dissolve our every wed relation,

upon the ground that I have proved untrue,

and will not fight if she will bring an action

That can be settled to our satisfaction;

 

“And she, a shy and timid lady,

Prefers to have the matter kept quite shady,

So I have come to you as her good friend

To have you represent her to the end,

 

And as her lawyer take a small retainer,

And when we’re through you’ll be a wealthy gainer;

 

“All papers in the case that may be needed

I will attend to, and have now proceeded

To draft a summons and her sworn complaint,

Which you can serve on me without restraint;

Then when the time for answer has expired,

Make you such affidavit as required,

 

“And send to me, and I, with her permission

Will draft the papers for a court commission,

And have the witnesses to testify

To prove her charges, which I don’t deny;

Then into court when next it has a session

Take you the papers and my own confession,

 

“And have the order signed which ends the action,

And gives my wife her longed-for satisfaction;

Send all to me and I will pay the bill

For work I do while you are sitting still;”

And then into the hands of Lawyer Bryant

He thrust five dollars for the timid client.

 

Now Bryant knew the man by reputation,

So took the fee with little hesitation,

And from the first to last did as was told

By Treat to do to earn his fee of gold;

For all the papers were without exception

So drawn and sworn to that no vile deception

 

Was e’en suggested to Attorney Bryant,

Who, as attorney for his unseen client,

Went into court and, on the showing made

Secured the order which the plaintiff prayed;

 

The judge, who then upon the bench presided,

Said, “I’m surprised that Treat is so two-sided.”

 

A week passed by and then it was related

That Treat with her who’d won his love was mated;

And then was learned how Treat had played his game,

And to the papers forged his good wife’s name,

Who never knew, and never once suspected

The plot which Treat, her husband, had directed.

 

She should have had the villain Treat arrested,

And with the stripes of prison garb invested,

But as he gave two-thirds of all he had,

And children, too, she acted rather glad

That she unwittingly was the first client

Of one she never saw, Attorney Bryant.

 

 

THE HORSE TRADE

 

Joe Davis had an old black mare,

Jim Bailey had another;

And all day long the two men tried

To swap and beat each other.

 

Now Joe and Jim were two old hands

At trading, and each knew it;

And when Joe tried to name the boot,

Jim Bailey quick would jew it.

 

And when Jim said his mare was best,

And worth more by ten dollars;

And thus they bantered back and forth,

And sweat beneath their collars.

 

 

Next at the bar they’d take a drink,

Then play a game of poker,

To see which paid the other boot,

Or which one was the joker.

 

But still to terms they could not come,

And as the night was passing,

They stood and drank and of their mares

Each man was loudly gassing;

 

Next to the stables they would go,

Though still not yet agreeing,

But hoping that to terms they’d come,

When after once more seeing

 

The two mares standing side by side;

But all was unavailing,

For Joe would not give in to Jim,

Nor were Jim’s words prevailing.

 

And so they bantered for a week,

And when the week was ended,

Each took the mare he had at first,

And with her homeward wended.

 

************

 

TWO LESSONS

 

Two sisters were twins, and whatever the weather,

Were always out riding or walking together.

For two brother merchants, so it is written,

Those two sisters maidens were woefully smitten.

 

Now it happened those sisters were neither half-witted,

Though they held their heads high as a horse that is bitted;

And as after those merchants they daily would run,

The friends of the merchants rejoiced in the fun.

 

And those brothers themselves took a hand in the flirting,

Not heeding their actions those maidens were hurting;

For when they were wed to the ones of their choice,

Those maidens were not the brides to rejoice.

 

But those maidens had feelings, and soon hate had quelled

All their love for those merchants so long they had held;

And they sought out a lawyer, who, lacking a brief,

Advised those two maidens the mode of relief.

 

And so from that hour their hate grew intense,

While the lawyer prepared two suits to commence;

And then into court those merchants were carried

To tell why the plaintiffs were not to them married

 

Instead of the ones they had taken to wife,

And promised to love and cherish for life;

And the end of it was that for words lightly spoken,

Those brothers were held for the hearts they had broken,

 

And to each maiden who had little sense,

The sum of five thousand was paid by those gents;

And then they returned to their dear little wives,

And vowed to be good for the rest of their lives.

 

By this little tale two lessons are taught;

And the first is, “Don’t flirt, for you’ll surely get caught;”

And the second, though old, has on a new dress;

“Persistence will bring you financial success.”

 

 

 

 

FEAR OF DEATH

 

Some men die many times,

And ever live in fear,

That old Death with his sickle keen

Is ever standing near.

 

Of all the men who ever feared

To go from earth to glory,

Or other place, that man was said

To be old Peter Story.

 

He was not one of those who thought

That life on earth was all;

But always feared the future,

And to him what might befall.

 

One day he said, “When I am dead,

For fear what all will happen,

Of hemlock make my final bed,

So I’ll go through hell a-snappin’.”

 

************

 

KIDNAPPED.

(Casper Partridge)

 

Another stormy night, and we

Were gathered round my uncle’s knee,

And pressed him hard a tale to tell,

Which we all knew he knew so well.

And as the fire brightly glowed,

It mattered not how hard it snowed,

Nor how the wind howled fierce and wild,

While he retold “The Kidnapped Child.”

 

 

 

The Kidnapped Child.

 

One winter day, as Willie Gray

And sister Jane were on their way

To school, a horse, a cutter, and two men

Drove by the two, and quickly then,

One man got out and Willie caught,

And to the cutter quickly brought.

They gagged his mouth, he could not scream,

And soon they disappeared from Jane.

 

Far, far away rode Willie Gray,

Nor did they let him see the way

By which they took him, as they drove

Through fields and villages and grove.

And sister, Jane, scared most to death,

Came running home quite out of breath,

And told her father and her mother

How the two men had stole her brother.

 

The father soon secured aid,

And swift pursuit of Willie made,

But all too late, for not a trace

Could they discover of the place

Where they had taken Willie Gray,

Nor why they stole the boy away;

And it was by fate’s stern decree,

The boy ne’er more his home would see.

 

Years passed.  Still searching wide

For Willie Gray, they found a tribe

Of Indians, who had in their camp

A child, whose features bore the stamp

Of Willie Gray, as on the day

Those men took him from Jane away,

Save round the mouth there was a scar

Which Willie’s features did not mar.

 

The boy had white blood in his veins,

Though dark his skin from smoky stains;

The father claimed the boy as his;

The Indians did this claim resist,

And said the boy was never white,

Although his skin seemed rather light;

An Indian maiden was the mother;

But this did not suit Willie’s father.

 

So into court the case was brought,

The boy when told how he was caught,

And gagged, and bound, and taken where

A horseshoe burned the dreadful scar

Around the mouth.  And many more

Things told the boy, of how they treated him before

They gave him liberty to play,

And then they watched him day by day.

 

His early name he had forgot;

He could not tell how he was brought;

He had a sister, but her name

He could not tell.  It was the same

With other questions they did ask,

And they at last gave up the task

Of proving, in this kind of way,

The boy’s true name was Willie Gray.

 

Then Mr. Gray was sworn, and said

The boy was his – The very head

And eyes, and ears resembled him,

And like himself was tall and slim.

Then came a squaw, who said with joy,

That she in pain brought forth the boy,

That unto him she’d given life,

Although she ne’er was Indian’s wife.

 

And thus they battled for the lad,

The father almost raving mad,

The Indian mother, too, in tears,

The boy himself, despite his years

That to him now were all a blank,

Believed that he, and said so frank,

Was long ago called Willie Gray,

And from his sister stole away.

 

Then to the court they case was left,

Which said, as memory had bereft

The boy, who could not truly swear

What was his name, and how, or where

He came, the court decreed and so would say

The boy must with his mother stay,

And broken-hearted Mr. Gray

Went home and quickly pined away.

 

But every one believed the boy

To be the one, who was the joy

Of Mr. Gray that winter day

When those two men stole him away.

But what their purpose when they stole

That boy away, upon my soul,

I cannot tell.  We’ll never know

Though years may come and years may go.

 

************

 

The tale was done and we so sad

To learn the fate of that small lad,

We scarcely realized the time,

Or that the clock struck half past nine.

Loud howled the night, the storm still raged,

And scarcely we out thoughts assuaged.

We gave him thanks – the tale was old,

But just as true as ‘tcould be told.

 

************

 

THE BELL WETHER.

 

A flock of sheep, an open fence,

You can’t drive through, I’ll bet ten cents;

But let one old bell wether pass,

The rest will follow in a mass;

 

Though all your coaxing will not do,

And though you try to lead them, too,

‘Tis only when he leads they’ll go;

That men are just like sheep, I’ll show.

 

One campaign when the issues were

Protection or Free Trade, Attor-

Ney Blank was called to make a speech,

And for Protection votes beseech.

 

The District round was for Free Trade,

And virgin soil where votes were made,

If for Protection they could see

‘Twere best to vote; then so it be.

 

The place of meeting was a hall

With one long seat around the wall;

A corner table was in place,

Where stood the speaker, face to face

 

With all the men who filled the seat

Around the hall; and ‘twas a treat

To see them follow, all in file,

One husky leader with a smile.

A lantern on his arm he carried;

A moment with the speaker tarried;

Then, taking seats, the speaker bowed,

And for his side harangued the crowd.

 

It sat in silence, with respect;

A better crowd none could expect;

The speaker thought his words were plain,

Till he was called on to explain

 

One point upon the Tariff, which

Made poor men poor and rich men rich;

And when thereon he gave more light,

The leader rose and said, “Good night;

 

“That is enough, boys, we will go

And drink our health to Free Trade now;”

And with his lantern walked away

To a saloon across the way,

 

And every man on that long seat

The leader followed for a treat;

The speaker stood beside his chair

And faced four walls extremely bare.

 

“Who was the speaker?”  I’ll not say,

Perhaps he is alive to-day;

But that same crowd of men he tried

To win away from Free Trade’s side

 

Went all to pieces in a day,

When that old leader moved away;

And now Protection gets its dues,

Where only Free Trade could enthuse.

 

************

AN ENTERPRISING TRAMP.

 

A druggist – I will call him Camp –

Was one day called on by a tramp,

Who begged a dime to get a drink,

But Camp refused, and said, “I think

A great, big, lazy man like you

Could find some better thing to do

Than asking folks to give you chink,

Which straightway you would spend for drink.”

 

The tramp replied:  “You are quite right,

The bother is, no work in sight,

And capital I lack to make

A polish, which is not a fake,

Which I invented.  I could sell

It by the gallon very well,

If you will trust me for the drugs,

I’ll make enough to fill two jugs.

 

“One you shall keep, and I the other,

The drugs cost only half a dollar;

And for your drugs I’ll pay you well.”

Camp took an interest in the man,

And said he like the fellow’s plan;

And soon the tramp had filled two jugs

With water and a few cheap drugs.

 

Then going on the street, the tramp

Inquired for the house of Camp,

And being there directed, he

With Mrs. Camp was presently

Explaining how a simple cloth

Soaked in his polish would keep off

The flies, and a fine luster add

“To everything it touched,” he said.

 

And all he said seemed very true

To Mrs. Camp, who thought she knew

A good thing when she saw it, so

She bought it all and let him go,

And down the street he walked with glee,

With five bright dollars as his fee.

He went to Camp; paid for the drugs,

Nor did he yet forget the jugs.

 

That day at dinner Mr. Camp

Told how he’d found one honest tramp;

How he had trusted him for drugs,

Which, when contained in two large jugs,

Were altogether with at most

A half a dollar plus the cost,

And sooner than the tramp agreed,

Had paid the bill, he had indeed!

 

The dinner over, Mrs. Camp

Called to the parlor Mr. Camp,

And said, “See what a lovely shine

I’ve put on all the woodwork fine,

A pleasant man was here today,

And ere I’d let him go away,

I bought from his this polish rare,

“Twill last a year with time to spare.”

 

“What did I pay?” repeated she,

As Camp looked blue, as blue could be;

“I got it cheap, so said some callers,

Who saw me pay the man five dollars.”

And then Camp fell all in a heap,

And said, “I s’pose you call it cheap,

But if you’ll come down to the store,

A quarter’ll buy two gallons more.”

 

************

“THE HAND OF HEAVEN.”

 

When William Bliss and his fair bride

Came to the wild West to reside

Within the woods they built a home,

Where oft his bride was left alone.

 

A faithful watch-dog was her guard,

Which kept intruders from the yard

Until his mistress, satisfied,

Decreed that they might come inside.

 

One day a man on horseback came,

While Mr. Bliss was hunting game;

He was a stranger, and the bride

Disliked his looks and so denied

 

Admission to him, while the dog

At him kept barking long and loud.

The man got mad and cursed and swore

He’d ne’er been treated so before.

 

And all that day the frightened wife

Remained in fear of her sweet life,

Because the man proposed to wait

Her husband coming, though ‘twere late.

 

And all that day her faithful guard

Barked long and loud within the yard,

While close without the stranger stood,

He presence boding nothing good.

 

Then just before the close of day

Two neighbors chanced to pass that way,

Whom Mrs. Bliss hailed with delight,

And told to them her fearful fright.

 

The stranger proved to be a spy,

And in the government employ,

Who had with him a writ to serve

On all who lacked the proper nerve

 

To stay at home and face the draft;

Such, said the stranger, was his craft.

But Bliss came home ere day had flown,

And proved himself from draft immune.

 

Then as the stranger rode away,

The frightened wife collapsed, they say;

But of the fearful havoc wrought

That fatal day no mortal thought.

 

************

 

A score of years went swiftly by,

When once again that selfsame spy

To William Bliss was duly sent,

And on a secret mission bent.

 

But, ah, what changes time had wrought!

Not one thing stood to mark the spot

Where twenty years before that day

The faithful dog held him at bay.

 

The forest trees had disappeared;

Broad fields of stumps and stones were cleared;

A stately farm-house near the road,

And barns and sheds great labor showed.

 

The spy approached the farm-house door;

No watch-dog stopped him as before,

He only saw a girl – but, hark!

Could he believe his ears?  A bark

Came from the crouching creature’s lips,

Which then half rose upon her hips.

Around her neck an iron chain

Bound to a post did her restrain;

 

Next standing on her hands and toes,

She gnashed her pearly teeth, and rose

And quickly sprang to bite his throat,

But only caught and tore his coat.

 

Then with a fearful snarl and scowl

She gave one long and dismal howl;

And standing there by her alone,

A cold chill pierced him to the bone.

 

No other person came in sight;

The spy withdrew half dead from fright;

And though for riches he did yearn,

Not for the earth would he return;

 

For to the man had been revealed

What fate so long from him concealed;

And from that hour the neighbors say

The barking girl’s life ebbed away.

 

 

“THE PRIMROSE WAY.”

(Marked in pencil:  Mrs. Kieser)

 

Gottlieb and Katrina never had a child to bless,

And alone they lived together, and were never in distress

‘Till Gottlieb and Katrina sold their little farm and went

Into a quiet village where their older years were spent.

 

Then Gottlieb soon fell ill, and Katrina by his side,

All alone took care of Gottlieb until poor Gottlieb died,

And when they placed the body in the cold and silent tomb,

Katrina oft would wander there upon his grave to moan.

 

One night they missed Katrina from her small and lonely home;

She was seen that morning early, ‘twas her practice oft to roam;

And when they sought Katrina, on Gottlieb’s gave they found

The body of Katrina, dead, but in no place a wound.

 

And people said who knew her, that when Gottlieb from her parted,

That alone Katrina ne’er could live, she was too broken hearted;

And that now death claimed Katrina and her soul had gone above

To be with God’s own angels and protected by His love.

 

But near the grave a bottle that once poison did contain,

Convinced the one who found it that Katrina was insane;

That when her husband left her, no children round her cried,

And she had ta’en the “primrose way” to be at Gottlieb’s side.

 

************

 

THE DEACON AND THE HORNET.

 

One Sunday eve in summer time,

When thoughts should be the most sublime,

Old Deacon Homer, bless his ilk,

With songs of praise went forth to milk.

 

The lowing kine all day had fed,

And now were waiting ‘neath the shed;

And languidly each switched her tail

While waiting for the milking pail.

 

The deacon sang as deacon’s should;

The cows stood still as good cows would;

And soon the pail, that summer night,

Was brimming full of milk, snow white.

 

The deacon rose to get another,

Nor heeded what he did; oh, bother!

A hornet’s nest, that closely clung

To rafter near, just o’er him hung.

 

And as he rose, one hornet fell

And stung the man, who said, “Oh, hell!”

Then was aroused the deacon’s ire,

And soon the hornet’s nest took fire.

 

The nest was soon a roaring blaze;

The deacon stood as in a maze;

The flames leaped high, and even higher,

And soon the barns were all on fire.

 

The hornets’ nest was blotted out,

And every building round about,

And all because the songs of praise

So soon gave way to anger’s ways.

 

From this sad tale take heed and draw

A lesson from the mortal law;

When hornets sting, don’t start a fire,

But let your songs of praise soar higher.

 

************

 

A SAD MISTAKE.

 

The Reverend Luce, when in the prime of life,

Decided that ’twere time to take a wife;

And while away his wedding to attend,

To fill his pulpit he called a friend;

 

And ‘twas arranged the friend should occupy

The Reverend Luce’s rooms, which were close by

The church, and so the Reverend left his key

In such a place that passers could not see,

 

But which he wrote his friend just where to find

It hanging on his bedroom window blind;

For Reverend Luce left home by early light,

Before his friend, who was to come next night.

 

The Reverend’s friend, we’ll call him Doctor Nash,

A single man and spruce, cut quite a dash

Among the city people where the Lord

Had called the Doctor to take up His sword;

 

And all were anxious when they could attend

To hear a sermon by the Reverend’s friend;

And now the day was drawing closely near

When Doctor Nash the Reverend’s friends might hear.

 

‘Twas late at night when Doctor Nash’s train

Arrived amidst a fearful driving rain,

And no one met the Doctor when he came,

Except the driver of the ‘bus, whose name

 

“Twould not be right for me now to disclose!

But when the Doctor came this question rose:

“Can you to Luce’s place take me, my man?

I’ll pay an extra dollar if you can,

 

“For I m loath to stop at a hotel,

When at a private house can stay as well.”

The driver, cross-eyed, gave a knowing nod,

“I sure can do so, and I will by G-d.”

 

And Doctor Nash was greatly horrified

To be thus greeted when he first arrived.

But through the town the driver quickly hied

To earn that dollar from the man inside.

 

At length the bus stopped at a little gate;

The street was dark, the hour very late,

And Doctor Nash with thanks for rapid pace,

That he so soon was brought to Luce’s place,

 

The extra dollar paid, and down the street

The driver went to buy himself a treat,

And tell his friends who were assembled there,

Of the new dude in town with cash to spare.

 

In meantime Doctor Nash tried hard to find

The Reverend’s key upon his window blind;

Then presently a female voice cried out,

“Who is it, pray, and what are you about?

 

“That round my window you make such a noise,

when outward hangs my latch for all good boys?”

“I’m Reverend Nash and seek good Luce’s place;”

“Then by the door you should come in, your grace.”

 

The door then opened and though dim the light,

The doctor entered and, oh, sinful sight!

Before him stood a female almost nude,

Who sized the Doctor as a city dude.

 

“There must be some mistake,” the Doctor said,

“I sought good Luce’s place, but now instead,

I find that I have come to the wrong place.”

“Nay, nay,” she said, “for this is ‘Lucy’s place,’

 

“And I am Lucy; will you take a seat?”

But Doctor Nash soon beat a fast retreat,

And down the street and through the driving rain

He walked, and ran, to catch the south-bound tain;

And that is why next Sunday morning bright,

The pulpit of “Good Luce” was empty quite;

And why the multitude who came to hear

The city preacher did not find him there.

 

************

 

OLD JOSHUA

 

Of all the men I ever saw,

Who, like old Mrs. Malaprop,

Would use big words where small would do,

That man was called Old Joshua.

 

A deacon in the village church,

Each Sunday found him in his pew,

And when you saw him there, you knew

Your congregation loved him much.

 

A kindly man he was and brave,

And every Sunday rang the bell,

Which warned degenerates of hell;

On other days he dug their grave.

 

One winter day, as in a chasm

He worked, and chopped, and pecked all day,

So deep the cold had froze the clay,

He told a friend “so much sarcasm

 

Was in the single grave reposed,”

That though he worked with all his might

To finish it before the night,

‘Twas not half dug when day was closed.

 

He was an expert, in his prime,

And every fall when days got cold,

The farmers sought this expert old

To help them in hog-killing time.

 

Let me describe him:  short and thin,

With head erect, he walked about;

A little proud, without a doubt,

And not a beard to grace his chin.

 

Oft when a lad, I was amused

To see the old man “stick” a pig;

It was the act which made him big,

And if you laughed he felt abused.

 

The hog, deployed from his sty

To meet his fate, would stare at him,

And Joshua, with humor grim

Would take a run, his strength to try;

 

And on the hog would throw his bust,

And as the hog fell on its side,

Then came the deacon’s greatest pride,

As into piggy’s throat he thrust

 

A dirk-like knife he always used;

And soon the blood flowed thick and fast;

And then poor piggy breathed his last;

But ‘twas not his that most amused;

 

For often when the hog was stout,

The deacon with an extra tack

Would land upon the porker’s back,

And often when I’ve stood about

 

I’ve laughed to see the porker run

About the yard with all its might,

The deacon holding on with fright,

And mad because I thought it fun.

Or sometimes he would miss the hog,

And falling like a chunk of lead

Beyond the hog, heels over head,

He would go rolling like a log.

 

But long ago Old Joshua’s eye

Was by death closed.  I wish him well,

And hope he went where tolled his bell;

And so Old Joshua, good-bye.

 

************

 

DISBARRED.

(Written in pencil, it looks like:  little river)

 

As great big oaks from little acorns grow,

As drifts are formed from little flakes of snow,

So I will tell how one short wire fence

Brought to a public man a life of woe.

 

A little brook was dammed long years ago,

Which all the nearby land did overflow,

And people owning land on either bank

Owned to the water when the pond was low.

 

In course of time, the dam ceased to exist,

Which gave the right to owners to insist

That, since the stream had fallen to its bed,

A claim to the new land they would resist.

 

On the old line a farmer built a fence,

Which caused a nearby tenant much offense,

And when the farmer had got out of sight,

The woman cut it down with wrath intense.

 

 

And to the brook the woman rolled the wire,

Nor heeded not results that might be dire,

And when the farmer to his home returned,

His new-built fence was lying in the mire.

 

The woman was arrested, and in court

She was convicted of her wanton sport;

From fine, and costs, and jail, she did appeal,

And as to her this cut the matter short.

 

But when in higher court the case was brought,

The State’s attorney should the case have fought

Without a cent of cost to the old man,

Who had proceeded as his lawyer taught.

 

The State’s attorney happened at this time

To be a city lawyer in his prime,

With aspirations for a Congressman;

A man of talents rare and airs sublime.

 

But a great failing did possess the man,

As many others since the world began,

And how to gain himself an extra dollar

He did in divers ways and daily plan.

 

So when the woman’s case was booked for trial,

The State’s attorney made a straight denial

That if the old man did not pay a fee

He could not act; all this without a smile.

 

And so the old man tottering near the grave,

Advanced the money that the lawyer brave

Did ask for, and then he gave assurance

The case he’d try and all expenses save.

 

 

The case was called – defendant was not there.

The State’s attorney rose with swaggering air

“There is no proof against the woman held,

Dismiss the action, is my honest prayer.”

 

Weeks passed before the old man called to see

Why the attorney did not send the fee,

Which had been borrowed on the promise that

‘Twould be returned, when once the case was free.

 

And when ‘twas known how, by the lawyer’s plan,

He had contrived to swindle the old man,

They brought the State’s attorney into court,

That on his practice there should be a ban.

 

No sooner was the old man’s charge denied,

Than claims from others came from every side,

Until against the State’s attorney stood

A score of charges, most of which were tried.

 

The case was tried before a judge profound,

And lawyer’s known throughout the country round,

And when the evidence was all disclosed,

The State’s attorney was most guilty found.

 

And so because of the attorney’s greed

In fleecing clients, it was soon decreed

That nevermore should he before the bar

Appear for clients who might stand in need.

 

And thus the man of more than common sense,

Who might have reached to heights of fame immense,

Was quickly to the earth soon shattered low,

And all because of one short wire fence.

 

************

THE VILLAGE PARSON.

 

Old Parson Grimes! – If ever God created

One strictly honest soul to preach His word,

That man was Grimes, though in no wise related

To Grimes of old, of whom you’ve often heard.

 

In college he was highly educated

The old school Presbyterian faith to preach,

But he was not in any wise inflated,

Nor any one too low for him to teach.

 

In person he was rather short and slender;

No beard or mustache ever graced his face;

His voice was ever soft, and low, and tender,

No matter what occasion, time or place.

 

His modest garb was neither cheap nor costly;

A long, black coat, and stove-pipe hat he wore;

A snow-white kerchief round his throat; but lastly

A kindly smile which lasted ever more.

 

He had a wife, a son, and three fair maidens,

Fine children all as you would wish to see;

His family life as free from care or burdens

As any one’s on earth could hope to be.

 

His congregation – it was neither large nor wealthy;

His income not as large as he deserved;

But the climate and the people were quite healthy –

Both items of importance he observed.

 

Year after year he taught his congregation,

Year after year for every one he prayed,

Year after year they gave him a donation;

I still recall some of the games they played.

 

There was “Needle’s Eye,” and “Pussy wants a corner,”

“Simon says thumbs up,” and “Roll the platter,” too,

“Spat ‘em out,” “Post office,” and “Jack Horner,”

And a half a dozen others that I knew.

 

While the old folks sat and chatted of the weather,

Or wondered when the bloody war would end,

The middle-aged would argue with each other

How the doctrines of the church they would amend.

 

For they did not all agree on the damnation

That was meted out to babies yet unborn,

By which hell must be lined through all creation,

Which doctrine they rejected with much scorn.

 

But when the eve’s festivities were over,

And the parson had all donors bade adieu,

He thanked the good Lord that a cover

Still remained for his family, so would you.

 

But the parson long since passed the shining river,

That so long he taught the people how to cross,

And if any saint or spirit is the giver

Of good things to those behind, ‘tis Grimes’ ghost.

 

************

 

THE 1001.

(Written in pencil:  M.W.A.)

 

In the early days when the lodges were few,

And some men had nothing much better to do,

They reorganized the old “Thousand and One,”

And taught its deep mysteries to Jack Robinson.

 

Now Jack was a man who had faith in mankind;

An easier mark you never could find;

So when through the mail Jack received a request

To join the new order, it must be confessed

 

That his breast swelled with pride, his spirits were gay,

For such honors came not to Jack every day;

And he sent a reply which was both short and sweet;

“To be sure I will join; have something? My treat.”

 

The news was soon carried to those in the game

That Jack was to be the first tiger to tame;

And they asked in some friends to share in the fun,

And help to initiate Jack Robinson.

 

Jack was a fellow who stood five feet and eight;

And balanced the scales at two hundred weight;

In age at that time hew as just in his prime,

And they planned to give Jack “a h—l of a time.”

 

When the hour arrived they covered his eyes,

Lest what he might see were too big a surprise;

Then to brand him they wrote upon his bare back

The day and the year and the letters of  J A C K.

 

And, oh, with what torture he felt his skin burn;

And how he did writhe and in agony turn

Every time that they burned a letter so nice

Upon his bare back with a cold chunk of ice.

 

Then next to make him a member quite mellow,

Upon a big robe they laid the poor fellow;

A dozen or more gave the robe a quick flop,

And then to the floor from the ceiling he’d drop.

 

Then came the rich feast for new members prepared;

No others to touch it; no others had cared;

The feast was a biscuit, greased, hung on a string,

So arranged that a touch would cause it to swing.

Still blinded and both his hands tied at his back,

To eat that greased bun was the duty of Jack;

Did he do it?  He tried, but hard as he tried,

His wide-open mouth couldn’t coax it inside.

 

Then next to the bottomless pit they consigned

The bruised body of Jack while still he was blind;

From a plank raised six inches Jack had to jump,

To him ‘twas six thousand; he fell in a lump.

 

All these and some more stunts Jack had to endure

Before his vile corpse for the order was pure;

The spectators watched in the greatest of glee

To see what a fool a sane mortal could be.

 

When for the first time they uncovered Jack’s eyes,

You’d have laughed till you died to see his surprise;

He’d suffered, no doubt; of that not a question,

And what had hurt most was simple suggestion.

 

************

 

THE WAKE OF O‘LARRY.

 

An Irishman bold was Jimmie O’Larry,

Whose chief fault was ‘round the grog-shop to tarry.

He had an old woman, but nary a kid,

So he thought ‘twas no matter whatever he did.

 

I can picture him now as he looked long ago,

When his form had grown bent and his hair white as snow;

His whiskers were long, from his chin to each ear;

If you met him alone you’d have thought ‘twas King Lear.

 

The time came at last when old Jimmie fell dead,

And they said ‘twas caused by the grog in his head,

But as to that, I’m unable to make

Any statement, but I will tell of his wake.

 

The home of O’Larry was a little old house,

Where he and his wife lived as snug as a mouse;

And when he was dead there came in a body

A score of his neighbors for whisky and toddy.

 

The house was so full, to let them all tarry,

In the corner they stood the corpse of O’Larry;

And whenever they drank, either whisky or toddy,

They poured a like glassful into the dead body.

 

And long before morn an appearance did make,

Not one man was sober at O’Larry’s wake,

For all of them, drunk, lay stretched on the floor,

Save the corpse of O’Larry, which still beckoned for more.

 

************

 

THE CAMPMEETING.

 

A good old M.E. campmeeting

Once filled my heart with joy;

Not that I was religious,

I was too wild a boy;

But every year in harvest time

There’d spring up in a day

A tented village of good size

Of those who came to pray

And preach how that the wrath of God

Would send all sinners straight

To hell if they did not repent,

And mercy supplicate.

 

 

For one whole week, and sometimes two,

Those meetings would be held;

And in that time a score or more

Would march up to the anxious seat

To have their souls made pure

By the praying of the preacher,

Who would their souls insure;

And when they knelt, the preacher prayed,

And shouted loud his prayer,

While “Amen” and “Glory be to God”

Were shouted everywhere.

 

Then some poor soul would rise to tell

How sinful was her past,

But now she felt that she was sure

Of reaching Heav’n at last;

Then “Glory Hallelujah” would

Some good old deacon shout,

“Then come and help us, sister, dear,

for hell is all about.”

The choir then would rise to sing

Of “fountains filled with blood,

Where sinners were made clean and white

Who bathed beneath that flood.”

 

But Sunday was the day when most

Came to the sacred place,

Though most came more in search of sport

Than any saving grace;

To most it was a holiday,

And on the ground was spread

At noon a picnic dinner, but

Not even grace was said.

And lemonade and peanut stands

All did a thriving trade,

 

Whose object was not saving souls,

But in the profits made.

 

That sometimes good was done, no doubt,

And oft some sinful soul

Would go from thence rejoicing

That his body was made whole;

But as I look back to those days,

I think as I thought then,

That those who prayed and shouted most,

Were not the best of men;

That he who sat and never rose

His sins there to confess,

Was often more religious

Than the one who did profess.

 

************

 

MY UNCLE’S STORY.

 

One night, while round a cheerful blaze

My uncle talked of other days,

Of pioneers, who blazed the trail,

He told to us this simple tale.

A storm without raged fierce and cold,

And as we heard the story told,

We thanked the Lord amidst our tears

That we were not those pioneers.

 

I.

On a bright September morning,

Suddenly there came a warning

That the Indians, who’d been killing

Many whites, had been instilling

Into friendly Indians near us

A desire to come and scalp us,

And unless we soon retreated,

We must fight and be defeated.

 

Thus the story, which a maiden

Of a neighbor had been laden,

Was to us by her related,

And to other neighbors stated,

And before we scarcely missed her,

Came to us the maiden’s sister,

And to us the tale repeated:

“You must fly or be defeated.”

 

II.

Ah, distinctly I remember

That bright morning in September,

Though I was but little more

Than a baby, being four,

But the fears that then impressed me,

As my mother quickly dressed me,

While she talked to me in tears,

Clung to me for many years.

 

And whene’er I saw the red men,

I could only think of dead men,

And I’d run with all my might

If an Indian came in sight.

That is how I now am able,

As I sit beside this table,

All the details of that date

In my story to relate.

 

III.

In the field my father, granger,

Heard the story of the danger

That for us was surely waiting;

Not a moment hesitating,

He and mother quick decreed

That they’d take what most we’d need,

All our ties – perhaps forever.

‘Twas in war time, and our neighbor

‘Cross the road was given labor,

And that morning he was working

In a federal office, clerking,

Little heeding his dear wife

Was in danger of her life,

And although he sadly missed her,

And she him, she had a sister,

 

And together that morning

Had received the sisters’ warning,

And they quickly came to father

For advice.  There was no other

Man of whom they could ask aid,

And my father quickly said,

“Come with us; we’ll find out whether

we shall live or die together.”

 

In the meantime mother speeded,

Packed a trunk, and things most needed,

She into the wagon loaded,

While the oxen father goaded

To be yoked – there were no horses

In the country, whose resources

At that time were rather small,

And the oxen did it all.

 

Then, the sisters having taken

Some things and the rest forsaken,

All together off we started,

All but father, broken-hearted,

For we never more expected

That our steps would be directed

To the houses, that the ire

Of the Indians soon would fire.

 

 

IV.

On that bright September morning,

While his daughters swift were warning

All the neighbors to depart,

Lest their scalps and heads should part,

Their own father home was working,

And he had no fear that lurking

Near at hand was bloody savage,

Who would soon the country ravage.

 

I will call this man A. Posy,

Though he surely was not rosy;

And he scarce a word could utter

Without having much to stutter.

And when past his place we hurried,

For an instant father tarried,

And he said, “Why don’t you take

The advice your daughters spake?”

 

And the old man stopped to mutter

These few words with scarce a stutter:

“’Pon my life, I d-declare

you must a-had the-the nightmare.”

Then my father said he wondered

If some person had not blundered,

And the old man then and there

Said, “I dunno, and don’t c-care.”

 

V.

Then we hurried toward the village

Where we thought there’d be no pillage,

But A. Posy’s words and acts

Made my father doubt the facts,

And he sent young Mr. Morey

On ahead to get the story,

Which had caused the maidens’ warning

On that bright September morning.

 

And while slow was our progress,

Mother changed my dirty dress,

And we all ate dinner, too;

There was nothing else to do.

Many other pioneers

On the road were seen in tears,

As their oxen stopped to rest,

Hauling all that they possessed.

 

VI.

We had half way crossed the bridge

Of the river near the ridge,

Where the village proudly lay

On that bright September day,

When, returning, we met Morey,

Who had got a truthful story,

And he said ‘twas all a hoax,

Started by some villain’s jokes;

 

That the villagers were laughing

At my father, and were chaffing

How a pow-wow would be found

When the grangers reached the town.

Said my father, “They’ll not brag on

Any jokes on me.”  The wagon

Off the bridge was quickly backing,

And for home again was tracking.

 

VII.

Home was reached, and heaven’s portals

Ne’er received more happy mortals,

But we nearly met disaster

When our neighbor’s goods were passed her,

For an axe and gun, well loaded,

Came in contact and exploded,

Just where stood the lady’s sister,

And by just a hair’s breadth missed her.

 

And my mother, soon unpacking,

Soon found many things were lacking,

For my father, quite mistaken

In the trunks, had quickly taken,

Not the full one mother packed,

But one empty, old, and cracked;

But what matter, now that we

Were at home, safe as could be?

 

VIII.

Two men had the story started

As a joke, so cruel-hearted,

Which the sisters quick believing,

Though the father not deceiving,

Did their duty as they saw it,

And the neighbors thanked them for it,

Though it came so near disaster

To our neighbor and her sister.

 

Those two men had been out spreeing,

And ‘twas thus the two agreeing

That, while Indians further west

Were all in their war-paint dressed,

‘Twould be lots of fun in seeing

All their neighbors for life fleeing,

And thereby they did inspire

That damned lie, which spread like fire.

 

 

On that same night a score of men

Met near the home of one of them,

And just a word from one to lead,

And they’d have strung him up till dead.

While yet no life had been the price

Of their damned joke they’d played so nice,

If that young lady had been killed,

A prison cell they would have filled.

 

************

 

And thus my uncle’s tale was told,

While still without the storm raged cold;

The wind blew hard, bright blazed the fire

Which we around sat nigh and nigher.

And once again we all gave thanks

That in these days no devilish pranks

Like that no one could ever play

Without a heavy price to pay.

 

We thanked my uncle for the tale,

And asked him if still turned pale,

Whene’er a human form was seen

Bedecked in skins and feathers green?

He smiled, and said, “Upon my life,

I think you scandalize my wife,

And speak of her in manner light,

And so I’ll bid you all good night.”

 

************

 

CIMEX LECTULARII.

 

Said my uncle one night as we sat at the table,

(The supper was over and we were in prime)

 

“If you’d like a story, I think I am able

To tell you a true one to help pass the time.”

 

 

 

Of course we assented, for nothing more pleasing

Could be offered to us after such a good meal,

And to get a good story from him without teasing,

Made each of the party much happier feel.

 

So this is the story my uncle then told us:

He said it was true, but we doubted his word;

And because of our doubting, he mildly did scold us,

And said no more stories from him would be heard.

 

But we knew that my uncle was only a-joking,

To refrain from his stories he’d gotten too old,

And so we at him our doubts kept a-poking,

But here is the story my uncle then told:

 

“A tall man and slim, was Patrick O’Reilley,

And the crankiest crank that ever breathed air,

And so all-fired homely, clear water’d turn roily,

Or microbes therein die from fright at his stare.

 

“O’Reilley had business which took him away

To the city, where he spent the most of a year;

At a boarding house he had lived but a day

Ere he met a bedfellow both aged and sear.

 

“Next morning he paid his landlady a call;

there was wrath in his eyes, his cheeks burning red,

and he wanted to know if he must pay all

The lodger’s expenses who slept in his bed?

 

 

“And highly indignant the lady replied:

‘You’ve your room to yourself, sir, no others sleep there.’

And she doubted his story and told him he lied.

‘’Tis the truth,’ said O’Reilley, ‘I’ll prove it, I swear.’

 

“’The roomer next door to your room has been here

A year and a half,’ said the landlady bold,

‘If there’s any truth in your story don’t fear

But what a like story long ago he’d have told.’

 

“The landlady thus put a scheme in his head;

Which he quickly resolved to bring into play;

‘Would from him a like story convince you?’ he said;

‘It certainly would, sir.’  Said O’Reilley, ‘Good day.’

 

“O’Reilley then went to a foul city slum

In search of more lodgers for his lady to keep;

And soon he engaged a hundred and some,

Full grown, but too lean and hungry to sleep.

 

“And O’Reilley contrived to put those new lodgers

To bed in the bed of the roomer next door;

Then to bed went O’Reilley, who said, ‘By John Rogers,

I’m not a bit sleepy, but still I must snore.’

 

“And there lay O’Reilley, wide open his eyes,

But snoring as though he was dead to all sound,

And the roomer next door in the greatest surprise,

Was swearing blue blazes at what he had found.

 

“Next morning the lady called Mr. O’Reilley,

And said, ‘ ‘Tis a fact which I great deplore,

And I now beg your pardon and do it sincerely,

For I’ve heard a like tale from your roomer next door.’”

 

************

THE BALL GAME.

 

Two places, nigh neighbors, were rivals, and all

Because one had beaten the other at ball.

Although it happened some years in the past,

The feeling waxed stronger each year than the last.

 

Though which was to blame was never decided;

Each claimed the game, and the judge who presided

Was forced to beat a hasty retreat,

By the side he adjudged the unlucky defeat.

 

To distinguish these places I’ll call them by names

Which each called the other when speaking of games.

The side which had caused the judge’s retreat

Was called “Yahoos” from of the size of their feet.

 

The other were “Knaves,” by the “Yahoos” so called

Because they had stolen that game of baseball,

And as “Yahoos” and “Knaves” I will try to relate

How the two came together to settle their fate.

 

The “Yahoos” were first to challenge a game,

Which challenge the “Knaves,” because of their fame,

Were bound to accept, which they did in a day,

And the “Yahoos” began to prepare for the fray.

 

A carpenter lad who was working around,

Stood six feet and ten in his stockings, was found;

Two players from B. were invited to come;

A physician who weighed two hundred and some;

 

And some other outsiders were brought into line

To make up the “Yahoos” invincible nine.

And then with a day of practice, they all

Felt sure of winning that game of baseball.

 

The day came at last and the “Knaves” in their prime

“Were ready to bring the ‘Yahoos’ to time,”

As they said to the farmers along the highway,

Who saw them so gaily advance to the fray.

The battle had raged for an hour or more;

Nine goose eggs and eight was announced as the score;

Excitement ran high on that green grassy plat,

When for the last time the “Yahoos” went to bat.

 

Two men then struck out, and the last man to at

Was the weighty physician, who threw off his hat;

He was dressed in a shirt and thin pants, that was all,

And the “Knaves” loudly cheered to see him play ball.

 

Again from the pitcher a twister was sent;

He struck, and the air and his breeches were rent;

But his bat caught the ball, which went into space,

And the doctor with zeal sprang into the race;

 

The rent in his breeches soon caused them to drop,

And he ran all the faster, ‘twould not do to stop,

For the bleachers were full of ladies that day,

Who had come out to see the physician at play.

 

He touched all the bases, though flying through air,

And finally reached “home” not a second to spare.

The battle was over, the “Yahoos” had won it;

The loss of the pants of the doctor had done it.

 

(A note in pencil says Walbridge)

 

************

 

 

 

 

KE-MINK

 

The fifth night we had been storm bound,

While snow drifts mountains high around

My uncle’s house kept us within,

We longed for uncle to begin

His nightly programme, and relate

Some story of an ancient date;

Nor had our party long to wait,

But gathering closer round the grate

We heaped more wood upon the blaze,

Which caused a wealth of sparks to raise

And give the room a cheerful light,

Dispelling gloom of outer night;

Then by request of Billy Blue

He told the tale I’ll tell to you:

 

Ke-Mink.

 

Ke-Mink was a Pottawattamie squaw,

In the days when the country was new,

So large and so strong she defied all the law

Of her tribe and of other tribes, too.

 

Her age was uncertain, yet she in love fell

With a brave of her tribe who declined

The love which she gave, and soon the brave fell

By a stab of the squaw from behind.

 

By the laws of the tribes Ke-Mink should have died

To appease the Great Spirit above;

But mounting a horse she bravely defied

Them to kill her for killing her love,

 

And said if they tired to take her own life,

She would kill those who tried by the score;

And thus she supposed she had ended the strife,

For they seemed to seek vengeance no more.

 

But her wantonly act was not soon forgot

By the friends of the brave she had slain,

And in secret they laid a fine Indian plot

At the time of the harvest of grain.

 

And a feat and a dance was planned by the tribe,

And a quiet old Indian called “Pete,”

To whom ‘tis supposed they paid a big bribe,

Made the plot of the Indians complete.

 

The feasting was o’er and the dance had begun,

And Ke-Mink danced with quiet old “Pete.”

When into her heart a dagger was run,

And Ke-Mink soon fell dead at his feet.

 

To the chief of the tribe was given report,

How in dancing Ke-Mink had been killed

By the hand of old “Pete”; but his answer was short:

“ ‘Tis just as the Great Spirit willed.”

 

************

 

JOHN SMITH.

(Ruric Warren)

 

‘Tis strange what some people think can be done,

And not let all the world know it;

But no one ever committed a crime,

But in time his features would show it.

 

John Smith was a man who had a fine wife,

Four children of whom three were boys,

And wealth sufficient for him to provide

The most of life’s comforts and joys.

And yet, discontented, John Smith fell in love

With a girl who lived near his place,

Who was not quite as old as John’s oldest son,

And to that fair maiden’s disgrace,

 

Accepted his love and also his plan

To elope and live as his wife;

And one stormy day the two stole away –

And rumors of murder were rife.

 

Some had a thought that the two went together,

But neither their families who knew

The platonic attachment between them,

Could believe such stories were true.

 

And to have them return there was offered

A sum that would tempt any man,

And detectives were constantly working

To solve Smith’s mysterious plan.

 

************

 

‘Twas harvest time in a far Western state,

And help was scarce and awful hard to find;

And all were given work who asked for work,

Both young and old, and lame and halt and blind.

 

One eve there came unto a farmer’s house

A man and boy, a father and son,

Who asked for work, and they were taken in,

The farmer’s harvesting had just begun.

 

And in the fields the father and his son

Worked side by side from early morn till eve,

And when the work of harvesting was o’er,

The father and his son were loath to leave;

 

And so, as they had proved to be good help,

The farmer said that they might longer stay,

Until such time as other work was found;

For which the slender lad seemed over gay.

A few days later came a stranger there,

To hire boys and girls to work for him,

And offered wages that were very good,

But not enough to tempt the boy so slim.

 

It was a ruse and worked quite to a charm,

The stranger then exhibited his star,

And putting handcuffs on the frightened boy,

“I know quite well now who you really are.”

 

The man was then confronted with the star:

“I want a man they call John Smith by name,

Come with me now without my using force,

For if I do, ‘tis you who are to blame.”

 

The man then saw that he was neatly caught,

And quick gave up while making no protest;

The boy then bursting into tears told all;

And who she was ere this you must have guessed.

 

************

 

And so John Smith who started in the world

With everything to bless himself and wife,

And every prospect of prosperity,

Brought to himself long years of prison life;

 

And wrecked his home, and wrecked a fair girl’s life,

Who with John Smith for years to prison went,

And there they toiled and as the years flew by,

For their unholy love oft did repent.

 

************

 

DREAMS.

 

One day while out riding I happened to call on

A farmer whose buildings were new and quite fine,

And they were constructed of best grade of lumber,

With flooring of maple, and trimmings of pine.

 

“And where do you think that I got all my lumber?”

He said, as he gave me a quizzical smile,

“And what do you think that the whole buildings cost me?

You never could guess it within a whole mile.”

 

“Well, sir, you remember the old wooden schoolhouse

Which you once attended when you were a lad?

When they built the new brick they sold the old frame one,

Which I bought very cheap, and I wanted it bad;

 

“I started the price very low, at two hundred,

When some silent bidder raised my lonely bid,

But they then knocked it down to me at three hundred,

And from it I built all my buildings, I did.”

 

I stood in surprise as he told me the story,

And I said that, “Of dreams of their meaning none knows,

For I’ve dreamed that old schoolhouse was all burned to ashes,

More times than I ever had fingers and toes.”

 

************

 

TENDER-HEARTED.

 

A tender heart had Tommy South,

And always felt quite sad

Whenever his father whipped a horse,

Or pricked it with a brad.

They had a horse quite old,

But Kit would sometimes run away.

She was a pet, and Tommy thought

The world of Kit, they say.

 

One day while Tommy held the reins,

Kit suddenly took fright,

And down the road she started,

Thought Tommy held on tight.

 

But faster ran old Kit;

Tom was in a sorry plight;

While his father called to Tommy,

“Jerk the lines with all your might.”

 

Still faster ran old Kit

With little Tommy South,

And in answer to his father,

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt her mouth.”

 

************

 

A LESSON IN GRAMMAR.

 

To set, means to place,

Said a teacher in school,

When for sit, sat, and set,

She was giving a rule.

 

But a boy in the class

Seemed his teacher to doubt,

And he thought he would put

The teacher to rout.

 

“We say the sun sets,”

Said George William Grace,

“Please tell me, I pray,

What does the sun place?”

 

Then up jumped a girl:

“The teacher is right,

For the sun daily places

Itself out of sight.”

 

************

 

SURPRISED.

 

One charming moonlight night, years and years ago,

When all around lay deep the winter snow,

A fellow asked his girl to take a ride;

And she consenting, soon was by his side,

And as along the country road they flew,

His left arm round her waist he deftly drew.

 

“I am surprised,” she said, “that you should dare ---“

“Surprised at what?” he, interrupting, said,

“With just one hand to drive your fractious mare.”

Which answer put a new thought in his head.

 

“Then you may drive, and that will give me two hands free,”

To which proposal she did quick agree;

Then with two arms he held the maiden fair,

Who soon brought to a walk the fractious mare.

“I’d like to have you drive for me for life,”

He said, and then, “Say, won’t you be my wife?”

 

“I am surprised,” she said, “that you presume ---“

“Surprised at what?” again the fellow said:

“To want a wife who tames your mare so soon;

You might regret it long ere life is fled.”

 

Just then the shadow of a rock near by

Caused the contentious mare to quickly shy,

And overturn the cutter; in a deep

Snow drift the man and maid fell in a heap;

And as the mare was flying down the road;

“I’d like an answer now, I really would.”

 

“I am surprised,” she said, “that you should dare ---“

“Surprised at what?  That I should want you still?”

“To trust yourself with both a wife and mare;

But if you can, my answer is, ‘I will.’”

 

************

 

SUCKERY SUCCOR

 

In the pioneer days transportation was hard;

And often for months in winter was barred;

Then to those who all winter had lived on salt meat,

The coming of spring brought with it a treat.

 

For then up the river came all kinds of fish,

To catch which they used a net of fine mesh;

And the fish which came first, and the fish which was sought

By the most, and which was easiest caught,

 

Was the sucker.  It came in the largest of schools,

And catching such fish one needed no rules.

But the greatest of all who by fishing did thrive,

Was cross-eyed and known as Caleb Van Dive.

 

One winter the ice lasted long on the river;

Their only meat was bacon and liver;

And as day after day they had waited in vain

For fish which came not, they became quite insane.

 

 

A meeting was called to which all the good people

Came out to pray beneath the church steeple;

And they sang and they prayed that the good Lord would send

Quick succor to them for which they’d commend

 

Their souls unto Him when on this earth they were done;

When Caleb Van Dive shouted, “Suckers now run.”

Then the meeting broke up, and quick to the river,

Found what they prayed for; thanks to the Giver.

 

************

 

ADAM WEDO.

 

Old Adam Wedo was a queer combination

Of ignorance and filth and determination;

His voice was as tender as a soft-cooing dove,

As it coos to its mate its sweet message of love;

He’s swear like a pirate every breath that he drew,

This queer combination of old Adam Wedo.

 

When Adam got married to his wife number two,

His neighbors assisted, and ’twas all they could do

To have him dress up and put on a clean collar,

But it only stayed on till service was over.

That for every Jack there’s a Jill ‘tis too true,

And that’s how old Adam found his wife number two.

 

When the bicycle craze swept the country around,

Wedo sold his farm and bought a small home in town;

Then bought him a wheel an every day could be seen

Of all amateur riders the greeniest green.

But still he kept at it; he would ride it or die,

And the harder it threw him the harder he’d try.

 

 

One hot August forenoon with exertion worn out,

In the shade he lay sleeping; and there’s not a doubt

That the breezes which fanned poor old Adam to sleep

Were the breezes which soon caused his widow to weep.

For he caught cold and died, did old Adam Wedo,

And they found his whole body with bruises was blue.

 

************

 

THE MYSTERY SOLVED.

 

One night when the family of Young had retired,

In the stillness of night came the clanking of chains;

The family all day had been gone and were tired,

Yet soon every member was racking his brains

 

To find out what caused that mysterious noise,

Which seemed to come from the attic above.

“It must be the work of our neighbor’s smart boys,

Who think they’ve been doing a labor of love,”

 

Said the father, who searched every room in the house,

Expecting to find some drunken old codger,

But he could find nothing, not even a mouse,

And he quickly decided ‘twas a mystery deep,

And no one could tell them the best thing to do.

 

Next morning the clanking of chains was repeated;

The noise uncanny foreshadowed some evil;

They hunted again, but the mystery deep-seated,

The Mrs. decided was the work of the devil.

 

Not so the man, who said he’d discover

What caused the strange noises, which kept them awake,

And next day he took to the attic old Rover,

To see what action the old dog would take.

No soon had Rover to the attic ascended,

When from under a board leaped a yellow tom cat,

And out through the door the tom cat descended

As fast as it could with a chain and a trap.

 

************

 

AN ODD MISTAKE.

 

Men make mistakes and pass them by,

And think they’ll catch no critic’s eye;

And that is why there stands in place

A tombstone with one on its face.

 

A marble cutter was John Brown,

The very best one in the town,

But to strong drink he was inclined,

And often worked with sluggish mind.

 

And that is why he cut one day

An epitaph in this queer way:

“Our darling baby here is lain,

Great is the box that we sustain.”

 

The stone was finished; no one but

John Brown knew how the stone was cut.

And then too late to be corrected

The stone was set as he directed.

 

And there it stands this very day,

And if you chance to pass that way,

‘Tis safe for you to bet a cent

that “loss,” not “box” is what is meant.

 

************

 

AGNES BEALS.

 

The biggest lie a man can tell

Of earth, or heav’n, or even hell,

Is sure some mortal to deceive,

Who never hears but to believe.

 

And thus a lie told in a jest

Will some weak mind with truth invest;

And as a spark becomes a fire,

That lie’s results are oft most dire.

 

A thrifty man was Farmer Beals,

Whose farm was large, and splendid fields

Of corn gave promise of a crop

That his big barn would fill to top.

 

Beals had a daughter, sweet sixteen;

A fairer maiden ne’er was seen;

Plump as a partridge, dark black eyes,

And rosy cheeks, she was a prize

 

That any man would risk his life

If he could gain her for a wife;

Her charming manner, winsome ways,

Would soon attract a stranger’s gaze;

 

Yet her attractions were those which

Led to her being termed a witch;

And all because a jealous eye

Had told of her a damned big lie.

 

The story spread from state to state

That Agnes Beals was close relate

Unto the devil and his ilk;

That neighbors’ cows gave bloody mile;

 

That horses on the water walked;

That neighbors in their plans were balked;

That stones came hurling from the sky

At people who were passing by;

 

That skillets from the stove would spring;

And voice in the fire would sing;

That every one was chilled with fear

If Agnes Beals was standing near.

 

And people came from many states

And camped on Farmer Beals’ estates,

All bent on seeing for themselves

What work the devil and his elves,

 

Through Agnes Beals, his agent fair,

Was doing which made such a scare;

And still they came, but nothing saw

How Agnes Beals could break the law

 

Of Nature as those said she did,

Who wished of here that they were rid.

In Agnes Beals they saw a maid

“More like to Heaven than hell,” they said,

 

And wondered how the stories heard

Of truth contained no single word.

In times the stories died away,

But Agnes Beals no more was gay.

 

Her father’s fields were ruined quite

By those who camped there over night;

And had she lived in other days,

She’d been a victim for the blaze;

 

And all because one jealous eye

Had told of her that damned lie,

How to the devil she was sold

That she might have of power untold.

 

************

 

THE FORSAKEN PORT.

 

Close by a river stood in days of old

A village where men turned wood into gold;

Not as the Alchemits were wont to try

By mixing substances from earth and sky,

But by the use of muscles, eyes, and brain

They made the transformation very plain;

And on the bosom of the river plied

The means whereby their products scattered wide.

 

It was a thriving place the whole year round;

And all the neighborhood could hear the sound

Of whistles from the mills morn, noon, and night,

And of the steamboats in their summer flight;

The woods resounded with the axe and saw,

And forest monarchs which obeyed the law

Of gravitation and to earth soon fell;

And thus denuded was each hill and dell.

 

The village tavern was a spot unique,

And swarmed with visitors throughout the week,

Of whom some stopped there on a business trip,

While others sought their glass of ale to sip;

The landlord, genial as the day was long,

Would help to pass the time with jest and song,

Till, growing rich, from business he retired,

While others took his place, by him inspired.

 

But none could fill it, for the man was one

Among ten thousand underneath the sun,

And when he left, the tavern lost its grip,

And men went there no more their grog to sip;

And travelers, weary with the day’s long flight,

Would e’en go farther ere they’d stop all night;

Until at last the business grew so small,

Its owners closed its doors, and bar, and all.

 

Upon a hill which overlooked the town,

Where one could gaze for miles and miles around,

A church was built and high its spire reached,

Where every Sunday its good pastor preached;

But yet, as though the church were out of place,

And was not sanctioned by God’s holy grace,

Forth from the sky there flashed a lightning stroke,

Which into splinters that proud spire broke.

 

Then came a day when railroads crossed the state,

Which from the river boats took all the freight,

And then no more upon the river plied

Those boats which at the Port had daily tied;

And one road crossed the river miles below,

Which to the Port was an untimely blow;

Some miles above another crossed the stream,

And left the Port with naught to do but dream;

 

For when the harvest of the wood was o’er,

The whistles of the mills were heard no more;

And men who’d made themselves well satisfied

With worldly wealth went elsewhere to reside;

While those who’d earned a living by their toil

In woods and mills next sought to till the soil,

And scattering far and wide the Port was left

With vacant houses and of men bereft.

 

So where was once a hustling, bustling place,

To-day gives evidence of scarce a trace;

The mills are gone, wiped out by age and fire;

And other causes, with results most dire,

Long since the stores and tavern blotted out;

And vacant dwellings by the score about,

All testify the havoc wrought by age,

Which is far greater than when tempests rage.

 

And that is why we pass and drop a sigh

Whene’er the place forsaken we pass by;

For like a flower with its petals bright

It filled its mission and passed out of sight;

And thus a life, when through with its old clay

To dust will pass and crumble in a day;

Then, while there’s youth and life let pleasure sway,

For soon age comes and sweeps all things away.

 

************

 

THE TRAMP PRINTER.

 

A doctor and a lawyer leased a country village press,

And what they knew about the art would not take long to guess;

The lawyer was the editor; the doctor kept the books,

And with a hired printer hoped to straighten out the crooks.

 

At first they sought an expert who could set an ad so well

That he who read was bound to buy the goods one wished to sell;

And in the general makeup of the paper must be fine,

So that readers were not satisfied if they even missed a line.

 

And their first one was a tramp with neither home nor friends,

Who said when he was hired for his looks he’d make amends,

“And in me a bonanza you will find that you have found,

For experience I have had by working all the world around.”

And so the tramp was hired and he set about his work,

And there was nought about it that he showed he wished to shirk;

He cleaned the office and the type, and put the press in trim,

To run off the first number of The Weekly Bulletin.

 

An extra large edition they had planned to circulate,

And to have it done for mailing upon a certain date;

The type was set, the form was locked, its head had a new dress,

And everything was ready for the sheet to go to press;

 

The noon hour quickly passed away, and two or three hours more,

But the printer did not come to work and soon there was a roar,

For the doctor and the lawyer were waiting in disgust,

And feared the first edition of The Bulletin would bust.

 

They sought and found their printer in an outhouse beastly drunk,

Where he stayed till he was sober, then out of town he slunk,

And there was no other printer in that small country place

Who could help to save The Bulletin from borning in disgrace.

 

So the doctor and the lawyer set themselves about the task,

Vowing the first edition they no other aid would ask;

And so all night they labored with their Washington hand press,

And the morning showed The Bulletin had been born with great success.

 

But on the lawyer’s good right hand there was a goodly blister,

Caused by the lever of the press, which was an old time twister;

The doctor’s face was smudged with ink, for he the roller rolled

Which spread the ink upon the type to make the printing bold.

 

And when The Bulletin was read by papers in the state,

To compliment its makeup they did not hesitate;

 

But they did not know the secret of the drunken printer tramp,

Nor guessed it had a legal and a therapeutic stamp.

 

************

 

THE SCHOOL MEETING.

 

The finest thing in all the world which one can’t do without,

Is a liberal education to know what you’re about,

It is something that won’t leave you though all your wealth has fled,

And it’s something to stay by you when all your friends are dead.

 

So it sometimes seems quite strange when you see good people fight,

To save themselves a dollar tax and not do what is right

By the children who succeed them, and put them on the track

Of becoming men and women who no education lack.

 

A certain place I chance to know, I will not name it now,

In voting for a schoolhouse, developed a big row;

The question first was carried, to the public’s great surprise,

When to rescind such action some did quickly advertise;

 

And they called a special meeting and tried to put to rout

The ones who had proposed it, by their numbers counting out;

But when the great day came at last, and people came to test

Their strength upon the question great, no person dared to rest

 

Until each voter, man and wife, and son and daughter, too,

Expressed themselves and cast a vote; and then both sides looked blue

Till all the votes were counted, when the kickers got a kick,

For the woman all had voted right and helped to turn the trick.

 

But it was a long time after before peace reigned supreme,

For kickers always die hard, their lives are not a dream,

But when the new schoolhouse was done it added to their wealth,

And helped the children many ways, and gave them better health.

 

So when you ask, “Should women vote?” my answer is, “They should,”

For while their husbands sometimes kick, the women know what’s good,

And whether on school questions, or matters of great state,

You can bet your bottom coin that the women will vote straight.

 

************

 

SMILES.

 

He was tall as all creation,

And he always had a smile

That was spreading sunshine over every one,

But his smile was no relation

To the thoughts he had the while

He was basting on the back some mother’s son.

 

But the smile he always carried,

Though not always from the heart,

For when angry he was always smiling still;

And with him I’ve often tarried

When I had not done my part,

And that’s how I came to know the master well.

 

He was highly educated,

And in later life became

The professor of a university;

And I often have debated,

If his smiling was to blame

For his gaining such great notoriety.

 

For I knew another master

Who was never known to smile,

 

And though friendly, he looked grouchy all the time;

Just as if he wore a plaster

That was smarting all the while,

Or that he was awful guilty of some crime.

 

And he, too, had education,

But it never paid him well,

For he never got above a village school;

Yet no other in his station

Ever rang the old school bell

With more kindness in his heart or in his rule.

 

So I’ve often thought and wondered

If it does not pay to smile,

Even though you feel just like the very deuce;

And although you may have blundered,

Or your system’s full of bile,

Does it pay to stop your smiling?  What’s the use?

 

************

 

OUR WILLIAM.

 

Our William was a farmer, and a politician, too,

And something of a joker on the side;

He could cultivate “potaters,”

Argefy with streat debaters,

But to hold a petty office was his pride.

 

He was a highway master and a school committeeman;

He was chief supervisor of his town;

Super’ntendent of the poor;

And felt absolutely sure

He was destined for a man of great renown.

 

The State legislature had a subtle charm for him;

To get elected to it was his goal;

And to win a seat therein,

He’d commit most any sin –

He would even sell his honor or his soul.

 

By and by there came a time when he had a chance to be

All things unto all who’d help him to win:

To the public’s great surprise,

William carried off the prize;

“Now,” said he, “my great career will begin.”

 

It happened in a year when the railroads were in line

To secure the legislation for their good;

And to pacify the masses,

They distributed their passes,

Using members for their agents when they could.

 

This was what our William wanted to sooth the men he’d fooled,

And the men he’d betrayed came in masses;

Hence the work of his career,

In that legislative year,

Was confined to obtaining railroad passes.

 

************

 

THE PENURIOUS MAN.

 

“Tis not for me to pick a flaw

In every one who breaks the law,

But when a man denies his sire,

And makes the old man out a liar,

To save the cost of his support,

When he is old and cannot work,

And throws him on the town to keep,

Which sends him to a poorhouse cheap,

I scarcely can restrain my ire,

And wish that man was in hell-fire.

 

Now such a man was Henry Becht,

Of whom no person did suspect

But what in lawful wedlock he

Begotten was beyond the sea;

For when the elder Becht had come

And brought his wife and little son

To build a home in this country,

They lived for years unitedly,

And never once did they deny

The boy to be a common tie.

 

But when the mother’s soul had flown,

The elder Becht was left alone;

And one cold night when worse for booze,

He lost his way and froze his toes;

His toes came off and left him lame,

And he was never more the same;

His worldly wealth was very small,

And soon the man had spent it all;

And then too old, and sick, and lame,

To earn a living he became.

 

The younger Becht some years before

Had married and had wealth in store,

But when the town asked him to give

His father help that he might live

In comfort his declining days,

He answered, that “so many ways

Are open for my little wealth,

And that considering my own health,

And that my wife (a lady fine?)

Objects, I must sure decline.”

 

Then next the town invoked the law

From younger Becht support to draw

For his old father, sick and lame,

Lest he a pubic charge became;

And into court the case was brought,

And people said, “Now Becht is caught,

For by the law a son must give

His parents aid that they may live.”

But Becht brought proof, penurious dastard,

To show himself a low-born bastard.

 

************

 

FARMER PRATT.

 

When Farmer Pratt had laid away

All that remained of earthly clay

Of his dear wife, whose soul had flown

To Heaven, he was left alone.

 

Across the way lived neighbor Post,

Who presently gave up the ghost,

And Mrs. Post, like Farmer Pratt,

Was left alone with her old cat.

 

As months passed by this lonely pair

Agreed to hitch and each one share

The other’s lonely lot in life,

So Widow Post became Pratt’s wife.

 

Now Pratt possessed a flock of sheep

That grazed upon the hillside steep;

While Mrs. Pratt possessed a flock,

A horse, a cow, and other stock;

 

 

And ‘twas agreed that each should keep

Each by itself those flocks of sheep,

But secretly, each wished at heart

To own both flocks, but not apart.

 

Now she, the wiser of the two,

Determined soon what she would do

To win the flock from Pratt away,

E’en though she won but one a day.

 

Pratt was a man whose earthly bliss

Was treasured in a wifely kiss;

And she, thought willing as a maid,

Yet made that kiss her stock in trade.

 

And when again tried Mr. Pratt

To steal a kiss, she told him flat,

That for her kisses he must pay

By giving her one sheep a day.

 

To lose his sheep Pratt did deplore –

Their honeymoon was not e’en o’er –

But he agreed that he would pay,

And gave to her a sheep that day.

 

Thus day by day his flock grew less,

And Pratt felt blue, we must confess;

Not for the sheep so passed away,

But soon no sheep he’d have to pay.

 

The day arrived when his last sheep

Had mingled with her flock to keep;

But yet, to still keep up the ruse,

A kiss to Pratt she did refuse.

 

Now some may think her cruel-hearted,

Some men from her would then have parted;

Not so with Pratt, who then and there

Saw how she’d caught him in her snare;

 

And then and there resolved to miss

The pleasures of his wifely kiss,

Unless each time for every smack

From her a sheep he could get back.

 

Nor had he many days to wait,

Before his wife, strange to relate,

Of her rash bargain did repent,

And to her lord this message sent:

 

“Without your love I cannot live;

Come home and I a sheep will give

For every day of your sweet life

You stay at home.  Your loving wife.”

 

Then day by day, and one by one

Both flocks of sheep by Pratt were won;

And then to make bad matters worse,

Pratt got her horse; she, a divorce.

 

************

 

THE COUNTRY DOCTOR

(Written in pencil:  Eddy)

 

Old Doctor Willie; may his soul be blessed,

Long years ago went to his final rest.

In life he filled full many a position,

And for his neighbors was their sole physician.

 

In stature short, and thick-set he was made,

Smooth-shaved, red-cheeked, in ringlets his hair laid,

And while he might not have been called a beauty,

He was a man who never shirked his duty.

 

 

A man who like the praises of mankind,

To many of his faults he was stone blind,

No matter what the place, he sure could fill it,

And so he thought could any man who’d will it.

 

In education he was rather poor,

And on the earth had scarcely made a tour,

But what of that, so long as he was able

To pay his bills and fill his daily table.

 

He was a trust if one man trusts exist,

And to rake in a dollar he’d ne’er resist

The slightest chance, and that’s why the doctor

Once called in haste to see a patient, shocked her,

 

And worked a cure where drugs long, long had failed,

And lost a good big fee, for which he wailed,

For be it known, the doctor was the maker

Of caskets, and the village undertaker.

 

One day a patient who had met her doom

Was by the doctor carried to her tomb,

And there before the services were over

He had an urgent call from Mrs. Dover.

 

Then to the Dover house the doctor went,

His horses going as from Heaven sent.

It was a case that had become quite chronic,

And paid the doctor well for his own tonic.

 

But on this day the lady was much worse,

But not so bad but what she saw the hearse

Stop at her door as if to take her in it,

And strange to tell she got well in a minute.

 

************

THE HYPOCRITE.

 

“Religion, what treasures untold,

Reside in that Heavenly word,

More precious than silver or gold,

Or all that this earth can afford.”

 

But alas for the man who will try to impart

Unto others religion that’s not of the heart –

That such men exist I will show unto you,

And while it’s a pity, ‘tis a pity ‘tis true.

 

In war time O. Towne was a man most devout,

And often he helped put the devil to rout.

Deeply religious to be he professed,

And sinners, they say, oft to him confessed.

Of learning, a little he only possesst,

But his tongue was quite oily, and faith did the rest.

Of darkies he baptized some ten or eleven,

And on the straight highway he set them for Heaven.

 

Such was O. Towne religiously inclined.

 

When the war had been ended and Towne home returned,

He worked at his trade and a good living earned;

But of his religion there was left not a trace;

With a change of his duties he soon fell from grace.

One day at the table while working for Lessing,

The Mrs. requested that Towne ask a blessing.

Towne sneered as he said, “Forgive me, a sinner,

But I never thank God when I work for my dinner.”

Such was O. Towne religiously declined.

 

************

 

THE OFFICE GIRL

(Written in pencil:  Edna E--)

 

I know a little lass,

Who is short, but sweet as honey,

Who has said she’d ne’er get married

Save for family, love, and money.

 

She has a dimpled chin,

And her eyes do brightly twinkle,

And to captivate a man

She has many a new wrinkle.

 

She is what some call a flirt,

(Her foot is small and trim)

And she one day caught a kid,

When she only winked at him.

 

And now this dainty lass,

(Believe me, ‘tis no fib)

Has decided that for life,

She’ll be just plain Mrs. “Squib.”

 

I will not tell her name,

It wouldn’t be quite right,

For if you ever meet her,

You might think she is a fright.

 

************

 

AN OLD WOMAN’S ADVICE.

 

Jimmie McCabe kept a little hotel,

And ‘tis said that Jimmie served his patrons quite well;

Though Jimmie McCabe did not run a bar,

His patrons came from both near and afar.

 

But one day there came to Jimmie’s hotel

An old Irish woman with butter to sell,

And though she was old and crippled and lame,

That old Irish woman was frisky and game.

 

As soon as her butter to Jimmie she’d sold,

She ordered a whisky of Jimmie, I’m told;

And Jimmie said, as a smile lit his face,

“You’ll have to drink tea while you stay in my place.”

 

With scorn in her face that old Irish dame

Said, “Mr. McCabe, if that be your name,

To you let me give a little advice,

You can pay what ‘tis worth, I don’t set a price,

 

“But you might as well try to run a hotel

Without any bar, as the devil his hell

With no fire there to warm a poor sinner;

So now I will go elsewhere for my dinner.”

 

And with that advice she bade him good-day,

And went to a sample room over the way;

The day was not done before she was hurled

From that sample room drunk and dead to the world.

 

And Jimmie McCabe said, “Perhaps she was right,”

As he looked upon the old sinner that night;

“That sometimes ‘twere best to run a hotel

So that patrons would not forsake it for hell.”

 

************

 

THE MERCENARY MERCHANT.

 

All men are not as they appear

To be to those who, standing near,

Can only see the better part,

And fail to read the inner heart.

 

A loyal man was Mr. Bound,

And widely known the country round;

In politics, or civic life,

To have his friendship was a strife.

 

No man could better “pull a wire,”

Nor did he “pull” for meager hire;

But for a friend, or one in need,

He’d do his best, he would indeed.

 

And yet, withal his virtues rare,

He was most prone to cuss and swear,

And by some act, when none were near,

He’d leave his conscience far from clear.

 

He kept a store, did Mr. Bound,

And drew his trade for miles around.

His reputation was the best,

And people came from east and west,

 

And north and south, and far away,

To buy, or sell, and get good pay

For butter, eggs, and such produce

As country merchants daily use.

 

One wintry day a woman old

Came many miles, despite the cold,

And horrid roads, with eggs to sell.

What happened I will briefly tell.

Bound took the eggs, went down the stairs

Where eggs were kept, and, unawares,

Into a case upon the floor

He stepped and broke about four score.

 

And when he paid the woman old,

Who o’er rough roads had braved the cold,

He said, “The roads are rough, I know,

Don’t bring more eggs till we have snow;

 

“So many eggs each had a crack,

You’ll have to take twelve dozen back;

Or, I’ll allow for them half price.”

And Mr. Bound by this device

 

From that poor woman, old and gray,

Kept back enough himself to pay

For all the eggs that by his act,

And not rough roads, were badly cracked.

 

************

 

THE FRUGAL FARMER.

 

I don’t know why it is, that I

Have seen so little passing by.

That of great tings I cannot tell,

And only small things know right well;

 

But at a guess, it is because

That small things grow by nature’s laws,

And all small things at last are great;

If so, this story I’ll relate.

 

He was a deacon.  You may say,

“Did any deacons get away?”

So many deacons have I taken

To tell about. I’m not mistaken;

 

He was a deacon – every inch,

But that fact only made him pinch

And try to save in every way

A world of wealth to hoard away.

 

He was a farmer, too, with knowledge,

Attested by a sheepskin, gained in college;

So lack of learning could not him excuse,

And caused him many customs to misuse.

 

There was a custom in the neighborhood

Among the farmers, all his neighbors good,

That in the summer, when they wished fresh meat

They’d kill a calf or sheep for all to eat;

 

One killing this week, and next another,

Each time the carcass dividing with each other,

And each returning to his neighbor, mind,

A piece as big and near alike in kind.

 

On one occasion, when this frugal man

Repaid in kind, he tried this artful plan:

To make a veal’s forequarters pay a hind,

He pinned a kidney to it, do you mind?

 

Thus thinking that his neighbor would not know

The fraud he played; the kidney sure would show

The quarter that it clung to was a hind,

And that alone should satisfy the blind.

 

But when the neighbor saw the deacon’s trick,

It almost made the good old neighbor sick,

To think a man one day in every seven

Should tell how he was on the road to Heaven,

And on the other six attempt to cheat

His neighbors when he sent to them their meat,

And try to show by such an artless blind,

That kidneys on forequarters made them hind.

 

************

 

THE NEIGHBORS.

 

Two neighbors in war time

Lived near to each other,

And because it was war time

They warred with each other.

 

Both farmers, both shiftless,

They barely existed.

Both families were thriftless,

All work was resisted.

 

Cross-eyed was the older,

Yet fairly well posted,

Which made him the bolder

When his neighbor he roasted.

 

His neighbor, named Howard,

One day came up missing,

He was a great coward,

Folks said ‘twas a blessing.

 

Now the cross-eyed old fellow,

Whom we will call Brit,

Would sometimes get mellow

With flashes of wit.

 

And when he found out

That his enemy, Howard,

From home had hiked out,

He laughed at the coward.

 

And he started a song,

I’ll give the first verse,

“Tis not very long,

And I’ve heard many worse.

 

“When the war began to raging,

And the guns began to crack,

Old Howard, the coward,

Hiked to the Tamarack,

 

“And there he stayed all night

In company with the frogs,

Enjoying their music,

While sitting on the logs.”

 

In the course of a week

The coward appeared;

He said he was sick,

And a fever was feared.

 

The doctor was called,

Who gave him a pill,

And the story is told

That the pill made him ill.

 

But the facts were well known

To Brit before long,

And hence it is shown

How he finished his song.

 

“They sent for the doctor

To come very quick

To see the old coward,

Who was home very sick;

“After full examination,

He understood the craft,

And the doctor said old Howard

Was frightened at the draft.”

 

************

 

THE BACHELOR BANKER.

(Written in pencil:  Mead)

 

Old Simon Smead, of good repute,

Had lived on earth three score and more,

And ne’er was know to press his suit,

Though he had lady friends galore.

 

Long, lank, and lean, with flowing beard;

With pleasant voice and laughing eye;

And kindly ways, he long had feared

A blissful, wedded state to try.

 

He was not rich, as riches go

To-day, yet kept a private bank,

A plain affair with little show,

Yet from it all life’s pleasures drank.

 

The bank was in a building small;

His bedroom at the farthest end;

In front a safe both wide and tall,

A rail did through the center bend.

 

From early morn till late at night

Behind his counter he would work,

And then retire without a fright;

He kept no gun, not e’en a dirk.

 

 

Now, had this man obtained a wife,

And kept a home like other men,

He ne’er had lost his precious life,

The way in which, I now will pen.

 

His ways and mode of life were know

To those who did not call him friend,

And one October, cheerless night

He came to an untimely end.

 

One drear, October, stormy night,

His safe ajar, and cash round about,

The hour late, his lamp burned bright,

He heeded not the storm without.

 

But at his task he toiled away

To close his books before he slept,

For business had been good that day,

And certain rules he always kept.

 

And while he worked within, without

An instrument of death did lurk,

And e’en before the man could shout,

The prowler shot him at his work.

 

His face was partly torn away,

One eye was out, the other blear,

Yet blind, he groped a bloody way

Unto his bedroom in the rear.

 

And there, to end the dastard’s deed,

While crouching near his lowly bed,

The fiend, the lowest of his breed,

Shot the old banker in the head.

 

 

And there he lay beside his bed

Till Sunday night, before a friend

Approached the bank and found him dead,

And told of his untimely end.

 

The bank was looted, but the man

Who did the foul and bloody deed

Escaped, and not by any plan

Is known who killed old Simon Smead.

 

************

 

TWELFTH NIGHT.

 

Ten days had passed, and one more night

Before the sun shone clear and bright;

Then as the hour of noon was tolled,

A train into the station rolled;

It was the first to come or go

In all those days of drifting snow,

And when it came it broke the gloom

For some; for us it came too soon;

For then we knew we soon must part,

And say farewell with aching heart;

That one night more, and only one,

And uncle’s tales of yore were done,

And so that night we made the most

Of our last chance to hear our host

Tell tales of days long since gone by,

Which tales to you to tell I’ll try;

But never more till Death shall call

Will I forget that week of thrall,

As the bright spot in my career

I wish might come to me each year;

But to the tales he told that night,

And then, “Farewell and kind good-night!”

************

 

THE AVARICIOUS ATTORNEY.

 

In times of old, as I’ve been told,

The people worshiped gods of gold;

And that is why in later ages

Some men are like those ancient sages.

 

A lawyer shrewd was Freddy Green,

At least, he thought as much, I ween;

To get rich quick, his one desire,

He’d even set the world of fire.

 

But clients did not rush in hast,

On Freddy Green their cash to waste;

So day by day our Freddy grew

From Lawyer Green to lawyer blue.

 

And while he waited for a brief,

And sought in divers way relief,

A bulky letter came to him,

Which straight he took to neighbor Jim.

 

“Here is a letter I’ve received,

It seems too good to be believed,

It offers riches for a song;

Just read it, Jim, but don’t be long.”

 

Jim took the letter.  As he read

Fred saw Jim wisely shake his head;

“You’d better pass this up,” said Jim,

“Your chances would be mighty slim;

 

“You’d send good money after bad,

And might get caught and jugged, be gad.”

 

“It won’t cost much to try the plan,”

Said Fred, “and I am just the man

 

“To find out whether ‘tis a fake,

And if it is, their game I’ll break.”

Jim, old enough to be Fred’s sire,

Said, “Boys get burned who fool with fire.”

 

Fred sent an X.  In time, I’m told,

He got ten X’s, good as gold;

“If you want more at the same price,

Come to New York; we’ll treat you nice.”

 

Then to New York hied Freddy Green,

As keen to see, as to be seen;

A week he spent, a welcome guest,

Before the subject either pressed.

 

At last it was agreed to close

A deal for such sum as Fred chose –

Ten thousand cash, in solid gold,

For one of bills both soiled and old.

 

The gold was boxed in Freddy’s sight,

Then by express, to Fred’s delight,

To his own home without a cent

Of cost to him the box was sent.

 

Fred hurried home and called in Jim

To see the goods expressed to him;

“ ‘Twill be a great surprise,” thought Fred,

“When Jim remembers what he said.”

 

Jim came; the box had just arrived;

To open it Fred had contrived

That Jim should help to turn the trick;

Jim did; the box contained a brick.

************

 

THE SAINTLY SURVEYOR.

(Written in pencil:  A.V. Balch)

 

A pioneer was Deacon Bright,

And to the young a shining light;

Conducted school one day in seven;

The other six he walked toward Heaven,

 

Or seemed to do so – those who knew

Him best, were sure he was true blue.

Nor aught from any word or deed

Could any one reject his creed.

 

His chosen work was to survey

The woods and fields which round him lay,

Or in the wilds of some near state

The saintly man worked long and late.

 

He crew, sometimes made up a home,

Included those who longed to roam.

Or those, who in his Sunday school,

Learned from his lips the golden rule.

 

Of these, two youths on pleasure bent

As well as work, were with him sent

By their good mothers, who avowed

Their faith in Deacon’s Bright aloud.

 

A tender watch the deacon kept,

And long he prayed, while round him slept

The boys committed to his care,

That long their lives the Lord would spare.

 

 

One day these youths explored a creek,

And found a hole where trout were thick,

And they resolved when Sunday’s meet

Was o’er, they’d catch some trout to eat.

 

The day arrived – ‘twas bright and clear;

All nature seemed in best of cheer.

The deacon prayed as ne’er before

That all might meet beyond life’s shore.

 

And that temptation ne’er would call

His men from rectitude to fall,

His talk and prayer soon being o’er,

A hymn was sung, and many more,

 

Before the meeting was dismissed;

Yet the two youths could scarce resist

Temptation’s call to sneak away

Before the deacon ceased to pray.

 

And when the time arrived at last,

They started off their flies to cast.

A long and narrow path they took

To reach the shady, sylvan brook,

 

For fear the deacon might suspect,

And on their act make them reflect.

For, from the camp a shorter route

Led straight away to brook and trout.

 

An hour’s walked brought them nigh

The spot where they could cast a fly,

And noiselessly they crept along,

When, hark!  They hear a sacred song.

 

 

 

And then:  “Ha, ha!  You’re mine, at last.”

And our two youths both stood aghast,

For there within their very sight,

And fishing, too, stood Deacon Bright.

 

************

 

THE WILD MAN OF BORNEO.

 

Budd Carman was a colored man,

Well known around the state;

His skin was black as Egypt’s night,

And that’s why I’ll relate

 

What happened to Budd Carman

When he went and joined a show,

And he posed, not as Budd Carman,

But “The Man from Borneo.”

 

Budd Carman had a wife, and kid,

He called his little lamb,

But Carman was born tired,

And was lazy as a clam.

 

So, when a showman offered

Him good pay, if he would go

And dress in skins and eat raw meat,

As a “man from Borneo,”

 

Budd said good-by to wife and kid,

But did not let them know

That henceforth he was not himself,

But “the man from Borneo.”

 

************

 

 

The County Fair was being held,

The midway was complete,

The day was hot, the crowd was large,

And dusty was the street.

 

Before each tent a barker

Told the merits of his show,

But no other was the equal

Of “The Man from Borneo.”

 

Now, Mrs. Carman and the kid

Were taking in the Fair,

And mingled with the midway crowd

To see what all was there.

 

They’d taken in a dozen shows,

And were about to go,

When a barker said, “Don’t fail to see

The man from Borneo.”

 

So they bought two tickets for a dime,

And scrambled for a seat,

For the barker said the wild man

Was just about to eat.

 

They took their seats and waited,

And the wild man soon appeared,

Dressed in an old black sheepskin,

With a short and scraggly beard.

 

But something was the matter,

For the wild man wouldn’t eat,

Thought the keeper handed to him

A nice, raw chunk of meat.

 

The “matter” was before him,

For, to his great surprise,

He saw his wife, and she saw him;

He saw it in her eyes.

 

Then, turning to the multitude,

His wife said, “ ‘Foh de Lawd,

Dis wild man am a niggah,

An’ ma husban’, an’ a fraud!”

 

************

 

THE HARVEST.

(Written in pencil:  Ogden)

 

A jolly, rollicking fellow was Joe,

Who made hosts of friends wherever he’d go;

He could talk, he could sing, he could dance, he could play

On any instrument thrown in his way.

 

No brothers or sisters were living to share

The pleasures of home, and a parent’s fond care;

And alone Joe grew up – his parents were mild –

And, alas for poor Joe, his ways were quite wild.

 

His morals were lax, and his love of strong drink

Oft brought him quite near to the edge of life’s brink;

And when all at once he resolved to renounce

The errors of youth, and their pleasure denounce,

 

His crop of wild oats was ready to reap,

And it nagged him by day, and it troubled his sleep;

But the worst of the crop from the seed he had sown

Was to marry a girl of the town he had known;

 

 

For of love but a little had one for the other,

Save in time that the girl of his child would be mother.

But they married and moved to a far distant place

Where ‘twas thought that no person would know their disgrace.

 

The wife kept the house, Joe worked at his trade,

And their prospects were bright for the future, ‘twas said.

But one day there came an unwelcome guest,

And Joe was quite jealous, it must be confessed;

 

Though at supper Joe seemed as gay as a top,

He soon got excused to go to his shop;

And his wife and the guest ‘twas decided should go

For a stroll about town and then call for Joe.

 

They called at the shop; all was silent and dark;

They rattled the door; no answer; then, hark!

The report of a gun broke the stillness of night,

They burst in the door, and, oh, horrible sight –

 

There weltering in blood lay Joe with his head;

And when they bent o’er him he seemed to be dead.

“Oh, Joe, don’t you know me?” his stricken wife said;

But Joe’s harvest was over; his spirit had fled.