 | City legends |  |
15
First Chain.
Scene, a Farm-house Parlor. Various delegates from six families are present. Storm-concert out in the darkness, and waves of snow drifting against the east windows. Large fireplace, full of forest-logs, gradually turning to flame-colored gold.Edith
(a blue-eyed girl).
'Tis Legend-night; and all our club are here,
Except the new school-master: who will come
A little later.
Isabel
(a black-eyed girl).
For he told you so?
Edith
(primly).
He told us all so. While we wait for him,
He said we should not merely wait, but work,
And sing the Legend Song in our best style.
Harry
(a tall young man).
The one he taught you?
Edith
(tartly).
One he taught us all.
He shows no partiality in school.
[Quiet, incredulous laughter.
David
(a short, fat young man).
Allow me, Edith, since he is not here,
To lead you to the organ fearlessly.
[Ripples of restrained laughter. All sing.
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LEGEND SONG.
I.
Dreamy legends of the past,Sombre-hued or pleasant,
Though by sun or cloud o'ercast,
Plain you show the present!
And the future you can see,
For what was again shall be;
Shadows far ahead you cast,
Dreamy legends of the past!
II.
Stirring legends of to-day,Draped in modern dresses,
How you light the darksome way
Of the past recesses!
Showing, as the age goes on,
What men were in days agone;
For, with inconsistence strange,
Times may change, but never change.
A knock at the outer door. Enter School-master, well covered with snow. All spring to meet him except Edith, who remains at the organ, studying the music.
School-master
(to the others, after glancing at Edith).
Well, here I come; still in the human form,
Half-victim of a nineteenth century blizzard;
Yet wholly pleased; because you have agreed
That one night in the week you will devote
To legends of the present and the past,
Dropping those games, whose names I now forget—
David
(the fat young man, eagerly).
Snap up and catch 'em, Charley can't catch me,
Green grow the rushes, Oats peas beans and barley,
Threading the needle, Jack-straws, Blind-Man's-Buff,
Going to Rome—
All the Girls.
Enough! enough! the Legends!
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One of the Older People.
Are we admitted to the company?
School-master.
This is a game that every age can play.
Now first let us go back to ancient times:
To some of those old cities of the past;
Those killed and buried cities of the past,
And yet which live, as truly now as then.
Squire Stout
(a florid, middle-aged man).
I've seen the pictures of them ruined towns,
But noticed nothin' much, excep', perhaps,
Some stone-piles, ditches, heaps of earth, an' things
That looked like broken steeples out o' churches.
School-master.
And yet they live—those cities of the past:
They were not burned—nor were they beaten down
By the iron shoes of conquest; lightning broke
From its black floating jail of clouds, and dealt
Hot, glistening blows upon them; earthquakes came,
And shook them by the throat; tornadoes rushed
In loud, swift journeys through the staggering streets,
And crowded them with coffins; rot and sloth,
Corruption, Hate, Greed, War, and blear-eyed Lust
Have been disastrous citizens; until
The cities seemed to sink, corpse-like, in earth.
And yet they live, old cities of the past.
Squire Stout.
I s'pose perhaps that's true; it sounds like print;
But I don't seem to catch the meaning on't.
School-master.
Those walls and domes their people blindly built,
Were naught except thin shells, round city-souls;
The mounds where we for treasures grope and search,
Are cemeteries, holding their crushed bones.
Two forms have all things; that which can not live,
And that which can not die.
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Too deep for me.
School-master.
They live in many worlds. On History's plains,
Their towers still camp beneath the bright-eyed sun.
The student's lamp illumes their sombre streets,
The architect is measuring up their walls,
The merchant knows the tonnage of their ships,
The history-general fights their battles o'er,
The theologian trims their temple-fires,
And delves among their creeds, both false and true;
Squire Stout
(aside).
We did not hire the teacher, I'll be bound,
To go round nights, and spout such stuff as this.
School-master
(continuing).
They live among the hills of poesy.
The artist throws their ancient colors on
The hungry regions of his canvas page;
The weird romancer, with sharp-pointed pen
That pricks the veins of human nature dry,
Has brought them, in Imagination's ships,
Real men and women, gathered from all lands
And times—and mingled by his wizard touch.
The poet says that fancy, love, and hate,
With kiss of velvet or with tread of iron,
Once walked the pavement of those minds and hearts.
Squire Stout
(aside).
Oh, poetry be hanged! it never ploughed
A field, or mowed an acre of marsh-grass.
School-master
(continuing).
Perhaps they are in Future-land; where those
Who lived in them a while, now live for aye.
Perchance, among their memory-household wares,
They bore away mind-pictures of the towns—
The old half-loved, half-hated towns of earth.
Do they not often build, in that long dream—
So vivid that it makes this fleet-paced life
But half remembered—seem itself a dream—
The cherished walls and towers of ancient times?
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And in their memory, the old cities live.
Squire Stout
(aside, yawning).
I'd drag myself home, if it wasn't so cold.
School-master
(continuing).
Now tell us tales, old cities of the past!
Give us some stories of your short earth-life!
Tell us some ancient legends, that may be
Both like and unlike to the present days.
Furnish some useful lesson, that The Past—
That famed professor of all sciences—
May teach us, from his century-woven chair!
Forth from the heaped-up mounds that mark the throne
Where that great city-king called Babylon
Reigned for a thousand years—a spectre walks,
Telling us many legends of old times;
And one of them breathes nineteenth-century air,
Aided by one of us, who'll voice his story.
Harry
(the tall young man) reads:
THE SANDAL-MAKER OF BABYLON.
He was rather a picturesque old man, upon a pettily complex plan,With grim ability, never hid, to superintend what others did,
And state—an effort's race being run—how things that were done should have been done.
Naught e'er was made but he could tell how he could have made it twice as well;
Naught e'er destroyed but he would bet that he could have smashed it finer yet.
And this erratum of mankind sat, all day, a moral and mental cat,
And threw the claws of his intellect at every merit and defect,
And into the palace and the cot, and into what men were and were not,
And into the deeds they struggled through, and into the things they failed to do,
Using the most uncalled-for cares with other people and their affairs,
And viewed, with a supercilious smile, the work of the world; and made, meanwhile,
The poorest sandals under the sun—the sandal-maker of Babylon.
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No one to the gods e'er bowed a knee, that could have done it as low as he;
The tower of Belus itself, he thought, if men had builded it as they ought,
Had been much pleasanter to the eye, and several hundred times as high.
He knew just how it came to pass that Nebuchadnezzar was fed with grass;
Could he have only had his way, the monarch's feed should have been of hay.
In fact, no person, high or low, had fault to conceal or merit to show,
But he could figure it to a notch, and hold it up for the world to watch.
And yet, withal, his moral gait was that of a deep old reprobate,
Full of fool-actions shrewdly done—the sandal-maker of Babylon.
No man was better able to tell how dead men might be living and well.
He knew the parts of the human frame, and every organ he called by name;
A theory of his own had he that man wasn't made as he ought to be;
Could have creation by him been done, the job would have been a better one:
No ill to mankind ever came but he had remedies for the same,
But never a word about them said until the suffering man was dead,
And yet, in spite of his mental wealth, he never had any kind of health;
The sickliest creature under the sun was the sandal-maker of Babylon.
He knew the parts of the human frame, and every organ he called by name;
A theory of his own had he that man wasn't made as he ought to be;
Could have creation by him been done, the job would have been a better one:
No ill to mankind ever came but he had remedies for the same,
But never a word about them said until the suffering man was dead,
And yet, in spite of his mental wealth, he never had any kind of health;
The sickliest creature under the sun was the sandal-maker of Babylon.
You'd think, to hear him talk, that he invented money itself. He'd see
The gone-by chances of every trade—how every bargain should have been made;
He'd tell the rich why they were so; the poor, why they were not; could show
How even the king's great national purse might have been managed better or worse;
Yet had he one financial lack: he might be kicked to Susa and back,
And not a coin of any shape from his habiliments would escape:
Wealth always had contrived to shun the sandal-maker of Babylon.
The gone-by chances of every trade—how every bargain should have been made;
He'd tell the rich why they were so; the poor, why they were not; could show
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Yet had he one financial lack: he might be kicked to Susa and back,
And not a coin of any shape from his habiliments would escape:
Wealth always had contrived to shun the sandal-maker of Babylon.
But he began, unlucky elf, at criticising the king himself;
And so his head, as one might say, endangered even itself one day;
For soon the king, with a humorous sense, requested of him an audience;
And said, “I have heard you can not live beneath such government as I give:
There's no necessity for the same, and no one but ourselves to blame.
So, sage of the lapstone, do not grieve: I will give you every chance to leave;
This gallows you shall be hanged upon, O sandal-maker of Babylon.”
And so his head, as one might say, endangered even itself one day;
For soon the king, with a humorous sense, requested of him an audience;
And said, “I have heard you can not live beneath such government as I give:
There's no necessity for the same, and no one but ourselves to blame.
So, sage of the lapstone, do not grieve: I will give you every chance to leave;
This gallows you shall be hanged upon, O sandal-maker of Babylon.”
The engine of death the old man scanned, and murmured, in accents soft and bland,
“Well, hang, if it does you any good; but I want it expressly understood
That were this gallows made by me, a deadlier weapon it would be.
I go to the other world; no doubt things over there need straightening out.”
“Well, hang, if it does you any good; but I want it expressly understood
That were this gallows made by me, a deadlier weapon it would be.
I go to the other world; no doubt things over there need straightening out.”
The monarch laughed, and lightly said, “You'd be a nuisance, alive or dead.
Go back to your stall and pound away, and think your thinkings and say your say.”
“A foolish plan you have hit upon,” said the sandal-maker of Babylon.
Go back to your stall and pound away, and think your thinkings and say your say.”
“A foolish plan you have hit upon,” said the sandal-maker of Babylon.
And never again the old man stayed one happy day at his double trade;
“I do not like to retain my head by anybody's permit,” he said.
“If king were I and I the king, I couldn't have spared him for anything.”
And slow and surely, day by day, he lost his vigor and pined away;
They found him lying dead alone—sad sandal-maker of Babylon.
And even now throughout this earth (I tell the story for what 'tis worth)
They say his restless spirit runs, and makes its home with various ones.
Few families are so happy they have not a visit from him some day;
Few towns so blessed with fortune's smile that he doesn't live there for a while;
He will find fault till earth is done—crank sandal-maker of Babylon.
“I do not like to retain my head by anybody's permit,” he said.
“If king were I and I the king, I couldn't have spared him for anything.”
And slow and surely, day by day, he lost his vigor and pined away;
They found him lying dead alone—sad sandal-maker of Babylon.
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They say his restless spirit runs, and makes its home with various ones.
Few families are so happy they have not a visit from him some day;
Few towns so blessed with fortune's smile that he doesn't live there for a while;
He will find fault till earth is done—crank sandal-maker of Babylon.
Grandfather Bell
(a tall, straight, well-aged gentleman).
Just like the old school-master George X. Jones
Down at the Corners.
Elder Starr
(a large man of middle age).
Just like Old Deacon Growlett, in our church.
Miss Pryde
(a tall, bright-eyed spinster).
Just like old Miss Bakérre, the milliner.
School-master
(aside).
Just like my school director.
[Aloud]
We come now
(Since contrasts often light each other up)
To present times, and one who lives to-day;
Whose nature is as clear as summer skies,
And simple as a baby's; but whose nerves
So tremble with ambition, that he jumps
From one scrape to another.—We will have
Read by Miss Mabel's clear and flute-like voice,
Edith
(aside).
Miss Mabel's clear and flute-like voice, indeed.
School-master
(continuing).
A letter from our good and cumbrous friend,
Old Farmer Stebbins; telling his mishaps
In dealing with that modern city craze,
The swift toboggan slide.
Mabel
reads:
FARMER STEBBINS TOBOGGANS.
Rochester, February 28.
Dear Cousin John:
I got here safe, uncommonly alone,An' walked the streets in head-up style quite willin' to be known;
With all the triumph in my eyes of one who works an' waits,
An' in my overcoat a pair of first-class roller skates;
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I never stopped until I reached that same old skating rink.
For ever since the fearful night
I wrote about before,
I've swathed up safe an' practised sly upon my granary floor;
I tumbled till it sagged the joists, but persevered an' beat,
An' skated like a critter born with casters on its feet;
An' now I says, “These swells will learn—what my best neighbors know—
That, when he all unwinds himself, Old Stebbins ain't so slow.”
I've swathed up safe an' practised sly upon my granary floor;
I tumbled till it sagged the joists, but persevered an' beat,
An' skated like a critter born with casters on its feet;
An' now I says, “These swells will learn—what my best neighbors know—
That, when he all unwinds himself, Old Stebbins ain't so slow.”
But when I reached that festive place, 'twas locked up, I declare,
An' everything was desolate like, an' not a soul was there!
While on the door a brand-new sign said: “Stand up for the Right!
Salvation Army holds this fort! Prayer-meeting every night!”
I asked where all the skaters was; a passin' boy replied,
“Rink's bu'st; they're all a-takin' in the new toboggan slide!”
An' everything was desolate like, an' not a soul was there!
While on the door a brand-new sign said: “Stand up for the Right!
Salvation Army holds this fort! Prayer-meeting every night!”
I asked where all the skaters was; a passin' boy replied,
“Rink's bu'st; they're all a-takin' in the new toboggan slide!”
“Ah me!” I said; “the same old game! It's ‘one go all go sheep!’”
Then started off to find the place as fast as I could creep;
For, though I criticise my race, I can't help but belong;
An' soon I found myself within the same old giddy throng.
But now they played at down an' up, instead of roun' an' roun',
An' skated somewhat like I did the night that I fell down.
Then started off to find the place as fast as I could creep;
For, though I criticise my race, I can't help but belong;
An' soon I found myself within the same old giddy throng.
But now they played at down an' up, instead of roun' an' roun',
An' skated somewhat like I did the night that I fell down.
An' some was dressed in usual style—the same as any one—
An' some had nightcaps, red an' blue, an' small bed-blankets on;
An' some rode head-first on their chins, an' some sat stiff an' still,
An' 'twasn't unlike the good old times we used to ride down-hill.
(But all through life I've noticed, 'mongst girls, women, boys, an' men—
This climbin' up to some large height, to be pushed down again!)
An' some had nightcaps, red an' blue, an' small bed-blankets on;
An' some rode head-first on their chins, an' some sat stiff an' still,
An' 'twasn't unlike the good old times we used to ride down-hill.
(But all through life I've noticed, 'mongst girls, women, boys, an' men—
This climbin' up to some large height, to be pushed down again!)
As I thus mused, who should come up the easy, stair-cased slopes,
But my old young true treacherous friend Miss Is'bel Sunnyhopes!
Who's got me into more small scrapes than any girl on earth,
An' always helped me out again, with tender-seasoned mirth;
But everything looked safe like as she fluttered to my side,
And said, “My dear friend!—is it you?—do come and have a slide!”
But my old young true treacherous friend Miss Is'bel Sunnyhopes!
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An' always helped me out again, with tender-seasoned mirth;
But everything looked safe like as she fluttered to my side,
And said, “My dear friend!—is it you?—do come and have a slide!”
She borrowed from a smart young man—a fellow that she knew—
A han'-sled with the runners gone—just big enough for two;
They'd rode in partnership, it seems; an' he gave up his place,
With something that wasn't quite content upon his lengthenin' face;
An' off we flew, with speed that shocked an' made me almost blind,
Fast as that first tobogganer—the foeman of mankind.
A han'-sled with the runners gone—just big enough for two;
They'd rode in partnership, it seems; an' he gave up his place,
With something that wasn't quite content upon his lengthenin' face;
An' off we flew, with speed that shocked an' made me almost blind,
Fast as that first tobogganer—the foeman of mankind.
We went straight down, an' clim back safe; an' no mishap had known,
If I had heard cold Reason say, “Let well enough alone.”
But Isabel's young fellow looked as sour as sour could be,
An' just as if he'd like to make a mince-pie out of me;
An' so I says, “I'll lengthen still this young man's underlip,”
And turned to Isabel an' said, “Let's take another trip.”
If I had heard cold Reason say, “Let well enough alone.”
But Isabel's young fellow looked as sour as sour could be,
An' just as if he'd like to make a mince-pie out of me;
An' so I says, “I'll lengthen still this young man's underlip,”
And turned to Isabel an' said, “Let's take another trip.”
The second ride I gave a glance at two small boards that lay
On edge, to keep us sliders in the straight an' narrow way;
My eyes was sort of misted like, I lost or lent my head,
An' grabbed these boards, supposin' them a portion of the sled;
I stopped off; an' the sleigh went on; an' left me, in a trice,
A-hangin' there with nothin' much betwixt me an' the ice.
On edge, to keep us sliders in the straight an' narrow way;
My eyes was sort of misted like, I lost or lent my head,
An' grabbed these boards, supposin' them a portion of the sled;
I stopped off; an' the sleigh went on; an' left me, in a trice,
A-hangin' there with nothin' much betwixt me an' the ice.
“Hold on!” “Let go!” “Climb up!” “Slide down!” I heard the people roar:
I didn't know which one not to do, an' so I tried all four.
I kicked an' grabbed an' clim an' clawed, an' felt from foot to scalp
As if I was in Switzerland a-hangin' to an Alp;
My skates hopped out an' skittered off like boys let clear of school
(First time they'd ever run without an old bald-headed fool)!
I didn't know which one not to do, an' so I tried all four.
I kicked an' grabbed an' clim an' clawed, an' felt from foot to scalp
As if I was in Switzerland a-hangin' to an Alp;
My skates hopped out an' skittered off like boys let clear of school
(First time they'd ever run without an old bald-headed fool)!
My hat an' specs skipped clean away, as if they'd caught the craze,
An' been a-longin' for this chance for several nights and days;
Three apples an' five doughnuts, an' a purchased bakery bun,
All tried the new toboggan slide, an' went down, one by one;
An' as for me—as some girls say, in that “brook” song they sing,
I “slipped an' slid an' gloomed an' glanced,” an' grabbed at everything.
An' been a-longin' for this chance for several nights and days;
Three apples an' five doughnuts, an' a purchased bakery bun,
All tried the new toboggan slide, an' went down, one by one;
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I “slipped an' slid an' gloomed an' glanced,” an' grabbed at everything.
An' finally I twisted round, head-foremost, on my back,
An' went down like a lightnin' train that's just run off the track,
An' reached the bottom of the hill within a little while,
Then rolled an' scooted somethin' like a quarter of a mile;
An' when I gathered up, unhurt, but awful unattired,
I felt some like the waddin' of a shot-gun lately fired.
An' went down like a lightnin' train that's just run off the track,
An' reached the bottom of the hill within a little while,
Then rolled an' scooted somethin' like a quarter of a mile;
An' when I gathered up, unhurt, but awful unattired,
I felt some like the waddin' of a shot-gun lately fired.
Then Isabel came softly up, with Pity's soothin' charms,
An' all of my lost property scooped in her han'some arms,
An' re'lly hoped I wasn't hurt—and handed me a pin—
With sober face, but eyes upon the broadest kind of grin;
And then her fellow came, and made a show of helpin' me;
But that 'ere underlip of his was short as short could be.
An' all of my lost property scooped in her han'some arms,
An' re'lly hoped I wasn't hurt—and handed me a pin—
With sober face, but eyes upon the broadest kind of grin;
And then her fellow came, and made a show of helpin' me;
But that 'ere underlip of his was short as short could be.
An' then I turned, an' said “Good-by” to all the people round;
“My friends, I'm out of place again; on more than slippery ground!
This goin' back upon their age is what no one should do;
It's hard to play the fine young man an' be an old one too.
Farewell to rinks an' slides while days aroun' me slip an' roll!
I'll spend the spare time after this on my immortal soul.”
“My friends, I'm out of place again; on more than slippery ground!
This goin' back upon their age is what no one should do;
It's hard to play the fine young man an' be an old one too.
Farewell to rinks an' slides while days aroun' me slip an' roll!
I'll spend the spare time after this on my immortal soul.”
David
(the short, fat young man).
I'd like to know that Is'bel Sunnyhopes:
I'll bet she's “up to snuff.”
Isabel
(the black-eyed girl), aside, sniffing, half scornfully.
Yes, just about.
Mr. Ills
(an obese, elderly gentleman).
This Mr. Stebbins, I should calculate,
Is just like old Jim Gosport, on the hill.
Mrs. Ills
(aside).
He's just like you.
School-master.
Now we again will go
Back till we reach the temple-guarded hills
Of ancient Greece: Miss Edith here has found
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Diogenes, which she will read to us.
Edith
(aside).
Though not in Mabel's clear and flute-like voice.
Reads:
DIOGENES'S DAUGHTER.
There is a legend that Diogenes,
Old pachyderm, once, basking in the sun,
Scolding the lazy, lying at his ease,
And peddling wisdom-loaflets underdone,
Saw suddenly a fair-haired maiden pass;
And, his digestion being good that day,
He took a new, strange fancy to the lass,
And even followed her a little way,
And asked her heart; which she, with mind obtuse,
Gave over to him, like a little goose.
Old pachyderm, once, basking in the sun,
Scolding the lazy, lying at his ease,
And peddling wisdom-loaflets underdone,
Saw suddenly a fair-haired maiden pass;
And, his digestion being good that day,
He took a new, strange fancy to the lass,
And even followed her a little way,
And asked her heart; which she, with mind obtuse,
Gave over to him, like a little goose.
For even his grimness had a fascination;
And, though no ladies' man, yet he could fire
The average female heart with admiration,
Being so unlike what they should admire.
And he had strong brain, and could “govern men,”
And hence win women; and she had a pride
To draw the crank old bachelor from his den,
And be known as a famous person's bride;
Besides, good women's hearts will often move
With love for men they do not half approve.
And, though no ladies' man, yet he could fire
The average female heart with admiration,
Being so unlike what they should admire.
And he had strong brain, and could “govern men,”
And hence win women; and she had a pride
To draw the crank old bachelor from his den,
And be known as a famous person's bride;
Besides, good women's hearts will often move
With love for men they do not half approve.
Whether she lived, there is no need to ask;
For he was soon a beastlier beast than ever,
And growled at her full many a tasteless task,
Beyond a woman's possible endeavor.
He wanted her to share his tub with him;
To carry lanterns for him through the street,
When, with dishonest eyes by pride made dim,
He strove the unknown Honest Man to meet;
And to agree, when that same man was found,
To look the other way or on the ground;—
For he was soon a beastlier beast than ever,
And growled at her full many a tasteless task,
Beyond a woman's possible endeavor.
He wanted her to share his tub with him;
To carry lanterns for him through the street,
When, with dishonest eyes by pride made dim,
He strove the unknown Honest Man to meet;
And to agree, when that same man was found,
To look the other way or on the ground;—
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She died, and he, in first-class cynic style,
Forgot her, with serene self-contemplation,
Frowned at the world through his sardonic smile,
And went on making rules for all creation;
Forgot the sweet girl baby that his wife
Coaxed out of heaven and left on earth for him;
And strangers had to feed her simple life,
While he went on, keeping the world in trim.
(He's not the last man who, to wail and preach,
Has left his children in the devil's reach.)
Forgot her, with serene self-contemplation,
Frowned at the world through his sardonic smile,
And went on making rules for all creation;
Forgot the sweet girl baby that his wife
Coaxed out of heaven and left on earth for him;
And strangers had to feed her simple life,
While he went on, keeping the world in trim.
(He's not the last man who, to wail and preach,
Has left his children in the devil's reach.)
But she grew, good and pure; and as a child
Felt strangely drawn unto the strange old man
Who walked the streets like to a brute half wild,
Or sat majestic while his mean tongue ran;
But when she was eighteen she learned the truth;
And walked up to him with half-awkward ease,
And with the blushing bashfulness of youth
Said, “Sir, I am your daughter, if you please.”
And, his digestion being good that day,
He let the pretty girl lead him away.
Felt strangely drawn unto the strange old man
Who walked the streets like to a brute half wild,
Or sat majestic while his mean tongue ran;
But when she was eighteen she learned the truth;
And walked up to him with half-awkward ease,
And with the blushing bashfulness of youth
Said, “Sir, I am your daughter, if you please.”
And, his digestion being good that day,
He let the pretty girl lead him away.
She took him to her home—a fairy bower—
She petted him, she groomed his crazy hair,
She ruled him with her weak and tender power,
She soothed out his belligerent despair;
She brought real feeling to his numb old heart,
She charmed him with her sweet and winsome glee,
She gently pried his mental shell apart,
And grasped the pearls that gave him agony;
While her friends said, “Just teach him common-sense,
And we'll be glad to stand the whole expense.”
She petted him, she groomed his crazy hair,
She ruled him with her weak and tender power,
She soothed out his belligerent despair;
She brought real feeling to his numb old heart,
She charmed him with her sweet and winsome glee,
She gently pried his mental shell apart,
And grasped the pearls that gave him agony;
While her friends said, “Just teach him common-sense,
And we'll be glad to stand the whole expense.”
She made him see that life was something more
Than crouching like a beast beneath the sun;
He came to praise the dainty robes she wore,
And have some care what he himself put on;
He saw that honest goods, instead of pelf,
Were symbols bright of industry and power;
That there was something else besides one's self
To fill the minutes of life's quick-spent hour;
She made the sage less picturesque and keen,
But several times as happy and as clean.
Than crouching like a beast beneath the sun;
He came to praise the dainty robes she wore,
And have some care what he himself put on;
He saw that honest goods, instead of pelf,
Were symbols bright of industry and power;
32
To fill the minutes of life's quick-spent hour;
She made the sage less picturesque and keen,
But several times as happy and as clean.
And he was coming very fast to be
A loving father—full of thrift's strong charm;
Till one sad morn, his daughter, full of glee,
Came to him with a young man arm in arm,
And cheeks that blushed like pearl-white clouds caressing
The warm, magnetic, love-charged sun above,
And said, “O father! give your god-strown blessing
On him and me! for, father, I'm in love!”
While the young man, half earnest, half ashamed,
Knelt with her for the blessing that she claimed.
A loving father—full of thrift's strong charm;
Till one sad morn, his daughter, full of glee,
Came to him with a young man arm in arm,
And cheeks that blushed like pearl-white clouds caressing
The warm, magnetic, love-charged sun above,
And said, “O father! give your god-strown blessing
On him and me! for, father, I'm in love!”
While the young man, half earnest, half ashamed,
Knelt with her for the blessing that she claimed.
Diogenes was slightly thunderstruck;
And, his digestion being bad that day,
He rose and howled, “Hot curses on the luck!
This selfish world runs all the self-same way!
You said you loved me, and I did not doubt;
Instead of which you take this homely chub,
Admit him to your heart, and turn me out:
Oh, never mind! I'll move back to the tub!
Give me my lantern! let me go! I vow
I'll search the world for honest women, now!”
And, his digestion being bad that day,
He rose and howled, “Hot curses on the luck!
This selfish world runs all the self-same way!
You said you loved me, and I did not doubt;
Instead of which you take this homely chub,
Admit him to your heart, and turn me out:
Oh, never mind! I'll move back to the tub!
Give me my lantern! let me go! I vow
I'll search the world for honest women, now!”
She twined her soft arms round his stubborn feet,
She prayed him with her hands, her eyes, her lips;
Strove the dear, dreadful exigence to meet,
And show him that 'twas not a love-eclipse;
She said, “O father, know that you are still
All the world to me! but I have discovered
Another world: I have two hearts to fill;
But I adore you more!” and then she hovered
Deftly between the young man and the old,
Who formed a contrast striking to behold.
She prayed him with her hands, her eyes, her lips;
Strove the dear, dreadful exigence to meet,
And show him that 'twas not a love-eclipse;
She said, “O father, know that you are still
All the world to me! but I have discovered
Another world: I have two hearts to fill;
But I adore you more!” and then she hovered
Deftly between the young man and the old,
Who formed a contrast striking to behold.
“Befriend me, O my father, for I need
Much more now your protection! I am just
A poor, weak girl, whose only strength, indeed,
Is all with others—is her love and trust.
I can not live without you; this sweet man
Has won my heart, but not away from yours;
He crowds me nearer to you; 'tis the plan
The gods have made; 'tis why the race endures.
The passion-waves that through me surge and dart,
Sink deeper still your love into my heart.
Much more now your protection! I am just
35
Is all with others—is her love and trust.
I can not live without you; this sweet man
Has won my heart, but not away from yours;
He crowds me nearer to you; 'tis the plan
The gods have made; 'tis why the race endures.
The passion-waves that through me surge and dart,
Sink deeper still your love into my heart.
“My love has not division, but increase;
O father, listen to me! do not move
Your cherished face away; my life must cease,
In this new life of love, without your love.
For my sweet mother's sake—whose heart stood still
In its first glow of greeting for me—listen!
Your form my woman's fancy yet shall fill;
Your dear eyes in my heart's eyes e'er shall glisten;
And all I ask, father whom I adore,
Is only just one husband, and no more!”
O father, listen to me! do not move
Your cherished face away; my life must cease,
In this new life of love, without your love.
For my sweet mother's sake—whose heart stood still
In its first glow of greeting for me—listen!
Your form my woman's fancy yet shall fill;
Your dear eyes in my heart's eyes e'er shall glisten;
And all I ask, father whom I adore,
Is only just one husband, and no more!”
And here the legend stops; I can not prove
How it turned out; but if I judge aright,
The mean old idiot trampled on her love
With the iron shoes of jealousy and spite.
At least I learn that he was every bit
A cynic, at near eighty, when his dim
Old soul left earth, which, though he hated it,
He lived in longer than it wanted him.
Like some to-day, he gave this world a curse,
Because he could not have the universe.
How it turned out; but if I judge aright,
The mean old idiot trampled on her love
With the iron shoes of jealousy and spite.
At least I learn that he was every bit
A cynic, at near eighty, when his dim
Old soul left earth, which, though he hated it,
He lived in longer than it wanted him.
Like some to-day, he gave this world a curse,
Because he could not have the universe.
Grandmother Smith
(a sweet, but hard-headed old lady).
A mean old selfish, undeserving brute.
Old Mr. Reading
(Edith's father).
'Tis very strange that any man should step
With his own selfish fancy, pride, or spleen,
Betwixt his daughter and her happiness.
School-master
(aside), glancing at Mr. Reading and Edith.
Curious, indeed. These legends will not hit
36
The neatly fitted coats, that hang upon
The hall-racks of man's nature, waiting long—
Waiting in vain—for him to put them on!
[Aloud]
Now, with renewed attention, let us hear
Another of old Farmer Stebbins' wails,
Uttered last summer, when that modern craze,
Base-ball, was driving all the nation wild.
Harry
(the tall young man).
Base-ball!—the king of all our manly sports!
Isabel
(the black-eyed girl).
Base-ball! another man-made tournament,
Where woman views the skill and strength of man.
Squire Stout.
Base-ball!—a mighty killin' waste o' time.
Grandmother Smith
(the sweet, but hard-headed old lady).
Base-ball! the bosom-friend of heart-disease
And enemy of whole and shapely hands.
Harry
(hastily concealing a damaged knuckle).
Who reads the Stebbins letter?
School-master.
David, here.
David
(the short, fat young man).
FARMER STEBBINS AT THE BAT.
Brooklyn, July 5.
Dear Brother John:
We got here safe, my good old wife an' me,An' then I strolled out to the Park, to see what I could see.
Some fellows there was playin' ball—an' with a waggish smile
One chap inquired of me if I wouldn't like to play a while;
For I'd made some remarks about the way the game was run,
An' maybe I'd take hold, he said, an' show 'em how 'twas done.
I used to play, some years ago, when youth still lingered near,
Before three hundred pounds of flesh impaired my runnin' gear;
An' so I said, “All right, I'm in; I'll give the ball a whack,
For I don't like to have old age invite me to stan' back;”
An' so I spoke up to'm an' said, with quite a limber tongue,
“I'll show you how we used to play when your old dads was young.”
Before three hundred pounds of flesh impaired my runnin' gear;
An' so I said, “All right, I'm in; I'll give the ball a whack,
For I don't like to have old age invite me to stan' back;”
37
“I'll show you how we used to play when your old dads was young.”
“Of course you'll stan' up to the rules?” the waggish chap inquired;
“An' will you pitch or catch?” Says I, “I'll catch, if so desired.”
An' then they brought a muzzle out an' strapped it to my head,
To keep my mug from gettin' scraped by some one's bat, they said.
But I didn't mind; I says, “All right; just trim me up complete,
Providin' you don't tie no wires aroun' my hands nor feet.”
“An' will you pitch or catch?” Says I, “I'll catch, if so desired.”
An' then they brought a muzzle out an' strapped it to my head,
To keep my mug from gettin' scraped by some one's bat, they said.
But I didn't mind; I says, “All right; just trim me up complete,
Providin' you don't tie no wires aroun' my hands nor feet.”
But when I caught their pesky ball, I yelled out with a groan,
“Good sakes alive! I didn't suppose you played it with a stone!”
Then they all laughed, and says, “Of course this ain't no two old cat!”
An' laughed again, when I remarked, “I'm sensible of that;
But when we used to play base-ball we wouldn't have thought 'twas smart
To pelt each other with a chunk of old man Pharaoh's heart!”
“Good sakes alive! I didn't suppose you played it with a stone!”
Then they all laughed, and says, “Of course this ain't no two old cat!”
An' laughed again, when I remarked, “I'm sensible of that;
But when we used to play base-ball we wouldn't have thought 'twas smart
To pelt each other with a chunk of old man Pharaoh's heart!”
Then they all laughed again, an' said I'd better take the field;
An' I remarked, “I'm used to that” (a fact quite unconcealed);
An' so I toddled off, an' stood, without a word to say,
Until “a hot ball,” as they said, came purrin' down my way;
It landed somewhere on my frame, uncommon hard an' square,
An' I laid down, reached up my han's, an' wildly clasped it there.
An' I remarked, “I'm used to that” (a fact quite unconcealed);
An' so I toddled off, an' stood, without a word to say,
Until “a hot ball,” as they said, came purrin' down my way;
It landed somewhere on my frame, uncommon hard an' square,
An' I laid down, reached up my han's, an' wildly clasped it there.
An' then they laughed an' cheered, an' said I'd “caught it on the fly.”
“I caught it on my stomach, if I'm any judge,” says I.
An' then they laughed an' cheered some more, an' said, “Our side is in,
An' it is our turn at the bat, an' your turn to begin.”
An' then I grasped the ball-club tight, an' says unto them all,
“I'll show you how to treat a hard an' unregenerate ball.”
“I caught it on my stomach, if I'm any judge,” says I.
An' then they laughed an' cheered some more, an' said, “Our side is in,
An' it is our turn at the bat, an' your turn to begin.”
An' then I grasped the ball-club tight, an' says unto them all,
“I'll show you how to treat a hard an' unregenerate ball.”
The fellow that propelled the thing wouldn't throw it square an' straight;
He'd make a sort of cow-like kick, an' pitch it like a quait;
So when I struck, with my whole firm of muscle, brain, an' heart,
The fierce blow found the ball an' club some several rods apart;
An' leanin' up, an' strikin' 'gainst the atmosphere instead,
Produced an unforeseen result, an' laid me on my head.
He'd make a sort of cow-like kick, an' pitch it like a quait;
So when I struck, with my whole firm of muscle, brain, an' heart,
The fierce blow found the ball an' club some several rods apart;
An' leanin' up, an' strikin' 'gainst the atmosphere instead,
Produced an unforeseen result, an' laid me on my head.
38
“One strike!” the fellow that they call the “emperor” loudly cried.
“It's full as much as that,” I says, a-perchin' on my side.
“Play ball!” he shouted. An' I says, “It ain't so much like play
As some things I have seen; but then no matter; fire away!”
An' so he fired; whereat the ball benumbed each finger's-end,
Then cuffed my sufferin' ears, like some enraged maternal friend.
“It's full as much as that,” I says, a-perchin' on my side.
“Play ball!” he shouted. An' I says, “It ain't so much like play
As some things I have seen; but then no matter; fire away!”
An' so he fired; whereat the ball benumbed each finger's-end,
Then cuffed my sufferin' ears, like some enraged maternal friend.
“Foul!” shouted loud the emperor, then, in accents loud an' high.
“You're right again; it's foul indeed, an' painful too,” says I;
An' then I thought, “I'll wipe that ball half-way out of existence,
Or lay right down here an' expire, with mourners at a distance.”
An' straightenin' back, I gave the thing a self-benumbin' blow,
An' sent it wobblin' through the air; an' then they shouted, “Go!”
“You're right again; it's foul indeed, an' painful too,” says I;
An' then I thought, “I'll wipe that ball half-way out of existence,
Or lay right down here an' expire, with mourners at a distance.”
An' straightenin' back, I gave the thing a self-benumbin' blow,
An' sent it wobblin' through the air; an' then they shouted, “Go!”
Now I was kind of turned around 'bout where I did belong,
An' nimble as an elephant, I struck my bearin's wrong;
I stood the emperor on his head, I run the catcher down,
I barked my waggish friend's left shin, before he turned me roun';
An' then he yelled, “Pick up your heels!” an' fool-bewildered quite,
I stopped an' looked, an' said, “They're here! I've got 'em on all right!”
An' nimble as an elephant, I struck my bearin's wrong;
I stood the emperor on his head, I run the catcher down,
I barked my waggish friend's left shin, before he turned me roun';
An' then he yelled, “Pick up your heels!” an' fool-bewildered quite,
I stopped an' looked, an' said, “They're here! I've got 'em on all right!”
An' then they laughed an' cheered some more, an' said, “Go! make your base!”
An' off I went, with quickened breath, an' heat-illumined face;
I give no heed unto the world; but, thunderin' straight ahead,
Produced an earthquake in that Park by my resistless tread;
An' then I stubbed my off big toe, an' hadn't time to rise,
An' rolled three-quarters of the way, to my base, and surprise.
An' off I went, with quickened breath, an' heat-illumined face;
I give no heed unto the world; but, thunderin' straight ahead,
Produced an earthquake in that Park by my resistless tread;
An' then I stubbed my off big toe, an' hadn't time to rise,
An' rolled three-quarters of the way, to my base, and surprise.
“Out on a fly!” the emperor says, a-brushin' off his sleeve.
“Out on a bender, I should think,” I says, prepared to leave;
“This game has too much earnestness to make it play for me;
It's full of hardship for to do, however nice to see.
The easiest way to play base-ball, is to sit back an' tell
How things we never could have done could be done twice as well.”
“Out on a bender, I should think,” I says, prepared to leave;
“This game has too much earnestness to make it play for me;
It's full of hardship for to do, however nice to see.
The easiest way to play base-ball, is to sit back an' tell
How things we never could have done could be done twice as well.”
Then Sister Is'bel Sunnyhopes, to my intense surprise,
Drove up an' took me in, with tears an' laughter in her eyes:
“Miss Isabel,” I humbly said, “it always seems to me,
The bigger fool I make myself, the more you're there to see.
I'll furnish you with candy all the rest your nat'ral life
If you won't pick this picnic up, an' take it to my wife.”
Drove up an' took me in, with tears an' laughter in her eyes:
41
The bigger fool I make myself, the more you're there to see.
I'll furnish you with candy all the rest your nat'ral life
If you won't pick this picnic up, an' take it to my wife.”
School-master.
I trust henceforth our good but green old friend
May stay where balls will miss him. But one tale
Reminds us of another (although how,
I can not quite explain; we do not see
All of the gold or leaden links that bind
Our many thoughts together).
I will read
A legend of old Sicily's Syracuse.
Reads:
DIONYSIUS'S MIRROR.
Old King Dionysius, insanely ambitious,
Who stabled his prisoners en masse,
And (their sufferings to hear) built a great prison-ear,
Thus embalming himself as an ass;
Contentless with hearing the words which, unfearing,
His sufferers treated him to,
And which, unrestrained, very likely contained
More truth than he cared to pull through;
Who stabled his prisoners en masse,
And (their sufferings to hear) built a great prison-ear,
Thus embalming himself as an ass;
Contentless with hearing the words which, unfearing,
His sufferers treated him to,
And which, unrestrained, very likely contained
More truth than he cared to pull through;
Called up a magician, of high-born position,
And said, with a cold, cruel grin,
“Now make me a mirror, much stronger and clearer
Than any that ever has been.
Of methods make use, that will quick reproduce
Every scene that its surface may hold;
The forms and the features of all of these creatures
And all they have done, shall be told.”
And said, with a cold, cruel grin,
“Now make me a mirror, much stronger and clearer
Than any that ever has been.
Of methods make use, that will quick reproduce
Every scene that its surface may hold;
The forms and the features of all of these creatures
And all they have done, shall be told.”
This high-born magician, with skilful ambition
(The world was alive in those days,
And “magic” is science concealed in appliance),
Proceeded the mirror to raise.
'Twas silver well burnished; and silently furnished
The pictures that came to its eyes;
And the place in a minute, to those who were in it,
Seemed wondrously doubled in size.
(The world was alive in those days,
And “magic” is science concealed in appliance),
Proceeded the mirror to raise.
42
The pictures that came to its eyes;
And the place in a minute, to those who were in it,
Seemed wondrously doubled in size.
Its woes, too, were doubled; and they who were troubled
With sickness and hunger and pain,
Felt needlessly shocked, and their sufferings mocked
By a levity brutal and vain.
Such infamous “mercies,” they thanked with their curses;
Such “luxuries” wakened their ire;
Of the gods they implored that the king might be stored
In a mirror-walled prison of fire.
With sickness and hunger and pain,
Felt needlessly shocked, and their sufferings mocked
By a levity brutal and vain.
Such infamous “mercies,” they thanked with their curses;
Such “luxuries” wakened their ire;
Of the gods they implored that the king might be stored
In a mirror-walled prison of fire.
Slow or fleetly, at last, but a year had gone past,
When a general order there came,
That this wonderful mirror—this optical sneerer—
Be moved from its rock-girded frame.
The tablet of malice was borne to the palace,
And met by the tyrant's best sneer,
Who said to his court, “We will see, for our sport,
What the rascals have done for a year.”
When a general order there came,
That this wonderful mirror—this optical sneerer—
Be moved from its rock-girded frame.
The tablet of malice was borne to the palace,
And met by the tyrant's best sneer,
Who said to his court, “We will see, for our sport,
What the rascals have done for a year.”
Then the noted magician, with skill and precision
(For science was known in those days,
And arts have been lost, as we know to our cost),
Uncovered the view to their gaze.
But a sight of such woe as may few ever know,
Came forth on the silvery sheen;
Such terror-strewn languor, such pain-sharpened anger,
Had ne'er in a palace been seen!
(For science was known in those days,
And arts have been lost, as we know to our cost),
Uncovered the view to their gaze.
But a sight of such woe as may few ever know,
Came forth on the silvery sheen;
Such terror-strewn languor, such pain-sharpened anger,
Had ne'er in a palace been seen!
No look of despair but displayed itself there;
No sorrow but stepped out to view;
No terrible death but here drew its last breath;
No horror was ever more true.
But each pain-harrowed face bent its look to one place;
All curses one way seemed to turn;
And the guests, past surprise, raised their horrified eyes,
The cause of such hate to discern.
No sorrow but stepped out to view;
No terrible death but here drew its last breath;
No horror was ever more true.
But each pain-harrowed face bent its look to one place;
All curses one way seemed to turn;
And the guests, past surprise, raised their horrified eyes,
The cause of such hate to discern.
43
Not yet.—'Twas not seen. But the silvery sheen
Showed pictures more terribly new;
Black serpents untwined from the heart and the mind
Of the wretches that crowded in view;
Black serpents of hate crept like creatures of fate
With tongues that were forkèd and red;
All crept to one place; and the guests sought to trace
Where 'twas that the reptiles had fled.
Showed pictures more terribly new;
Black serpents untwined from the heart and the mind
Of the wretches that crowded in view;
Black serpents of hate crept like creatures of fate
With tongues that were forkèd and red;
All crept to one place; and the guests sought to trace
Where 'twas that the reptiles had fled.
Not yet.—'Twas not seen. But there came, sharp and keen,
From above, blinding lightnings of wrath;
They swept down below, as to see the dread woe,
Then flashed on the same upward path.
“May the gods turn the luck of whomever that struck!”
Said the guests, nearly frenzied with fear,
As they gazed, full of dread, at the mystery o'erhead,
To witness the victim appear.
From above, blinding lightnings of wrath;
They swept down below, as to see the dread woe,
Then flashed on the same upward path.
“May the gods turn the luck of whomever that struck!”
Said the guests, nearly frenzied with fear,
As they gazed, full of dread, at the mystery o'erhead,
To witness the victim appear.
Not yet.—From beneath—living blades of the sheath
Of Hades, thick padded with flame—
Rose devils of fire, half in sport, half in ire,
And scowled at some object of shame.
They motioned to him, with ape-grimaces grim,
And meaningly pointed below,
As to say, “'Twill not be very long, ere you see
What our grim hospitalities show.”
Of Hades, thick padded with flame—
Rose devils of fire, half in sport, half in ire,
And scowled at some object of shame.
They motioned to him, with ape-grimaces grim,
And meaningly pointed below,
As to say, “'Twill not be very long, ere you see
What our grim hospitalities show.”
“Raise the screen! raise the screen, and display the whole scene!”
Said the tyrant, with half-trembling glee:
“Let us view that unknown, with such hot curses strown;
Worst prisoner of all he must be!”
The magician, fear-pale, slowly drew back the veil,
And there, 'mid his palace's pelf,
With his ear to The Ear, and his face white with fear,
Was old Dionysius himself!
Said the tyrant, with half-trembling glee:
“Let us view that unknown, with such hot curses strown;
Worst prisoner of all he must be!”
The magician, fear-pale, slowly drew back the veil,
And there, 'mid his palace's pelf,
With his ear to The Ear, and his face white with fear,
Was old Dionysius himself!
“Break the sorcerous liar! Melt it up with white fire!”
Yelled the tyrant, in frenzied dismay:
It was done; but still there, on the walls of the air,
Came the picture, by night and by day.
And no doubt when he stood 'mid the bad and the good,
His lot for the future to draw,
In the record of shame that was marked with his name,
That scene of the mirror he saw.
Yelled the tyrant, in frenzied dismay:
It was done; but still there, on the walls of the air,
Came the picture, by night and by day.
44
His lot for the future to draw,
In the record of shame that was marked with his name,
That scene of the mirror he saw.
Squire Stout.
By George! that never happened in this world.
Grandmother Smith.
I think it is a sort of parable.
School-master.
Our deeds—our thoughts—our feelings—all are cast
In mirror-pictures, that shall never fade.
Oft by Fate's touch—oft'ner by our own acts—
The veil will rise, and show us what we are—
What we have been—what we through self must be.
And oft in pictures where we think to view
Others well sketched, is our own image seen!
Squire Stout
(aside).
We do not pay the teacher, I'll be bound,
To loaf about, and spout such stuff as this.
Grandmother Smith.
Forgive me, if I think the legends told
Thus far, have been somewhat unanimous
Against old men—whom, as a rule, I like
(Perhaps because I liked them while still young).
But will you hear a legend now, of one
Who lived within the suburbs of a small
Old inland city that I used to know,
And who, I think, will preach that some old men
Are kindly, generous, true, and sensible?
Reads:
UNCLE NATE'S FUNERAL.
'Twas not at all like those you see of ordinary men;
'Twas such as never could occur, excepting now and then.
For Uncle Nate had studied hard upon it, night and day,
And planned it all—while yet alive—in his peculiar way.
“I've managed other men's remains,” he said, in quiet tone.
“And now I'll make a first-class try to regulate my own.”
And so, a month before his death, he wrote the details down,
For friends to print, when he was dead, and mail throughout the town.
'Twas such as never could occur, excepting now and then.
For Uncle Nate had studied hard upon it, night and day,
And planned it all—while yet alive—in his peculiar way.
“I've managed other men's remains,” he said, in quiet tone.
“And now I'll make a first-class try to regulate my own.”
47
For friends to print, when he was dead, and mail throughout the town.
The paper said: “I've figured close, and done the best I knew,
To have a good large funeral, when this shortish life was through;
I've thought about it night and day, I've brooded o'er the same,
Until it almost seemed a task to wait until it came.
Especially as my good wife has wandered on ahead,
And all the children we possessed have many years been dead;
And now I'll tell you what I want my friends and foes to do—
I'm sorry that I can't be here to push the matter through:
To have a good large funeral, when this shortish life was through;
I've thought about it night and day, I've brooded o'er the same,
Until it almost seemed a task to wait until it came.
Especially as my good wife has wandered on ahead,
And all the children we possessed have many years been dead;
And now I'll tell you what I want my friends and foes to do—
I'm sorry that I can't be here to push the matter through:
“I do not want to hire a hearse, with crape around it thrown:
I'm social like, and am not used to riding round alone.
Bring my old wagon, into which the children used to climb,
Until I've taken on a drive full twenty at a time:
We've loafed along the country roads for many pleasant hours,
And they have scampered far and near, and picked the freshest flowers:
And I would like to have them come, upon my burial day,
And ride with me, and talk to me, and sing along the way.
I'm social like, and am not used to riding round alone.
Bring my old wagon, into which the children used to climb,
Until I've taken on a drive full twenty at a time:
We've loafed along the country roads for many pleasant hours,
And they have scampered far and near, and picked the freshest flowers:
And I would like to have them come, upon my burial day,
And ride with me, and talk to me, and sing along the way.
“I want my friend the minister—the best of preacher-folks,
With whom I've argued, prayed, and wept, and swapped a thousand jokes—
To talk a sermon to the friends, and make it sweet, but strong;
And recollect, I don't believe in speeches over-long.
And tell him, notwithstanding all his eloquence and worth,
'Twon't be the first time I have slept when he was holding forth.
I'd like two texts; and one shall be by Bible covers pressed,
And one from outside, that shall read, ‘He did his level best.’
With whom I've argued, prayed, and wept, and swapped a thousand jokes—
To talk a sermon to the friends, and make it sweet, but strong;
And recollect, I don't believe in speeches over-long.
And tell him, notwithstanding all his eloquence and worth,
'Twon't be the first time I have slept when he was holding forth.
I'd like two texts; and one shall be by Bible covers pressed,
And one from outside, that shall read, ‘He did his level best.’
“And any one I've given help—to comfort or to save—
Just bring a flower, or sprig of green, and throw it in the grave.
Please have a pleasant, social time round the subscriber's bier,
And no one but my enemies must shed a single tear.
You simply say, ‘Old Uncle Nate, whatever may befall,
Is having probably to-day the best time of us all!
He's shaking hands, two at a clip, with several hundred friends,
And giving us who stay behind good gilt-edged recommends!’”
Just bring a flower, or sprig of green, and throw it in the grave.
Please have a pleasant, social time round the subscriber's bier,
And no one but my enemies must shed a single tear.
You simply say, ‘Old Uncle Nate, whatever may befall,
Is having probably to-day the best time of us all!
48
And giving us who stay behind good gilt-edged recommends!’”
They tried to follow all the rules that Uncle Nate laid down:
When he was dead they came to him from every house in town.
The children did their best to sing, but could not quite be heard;
The parson had a sermon there, but did not speak a word.
Of course they buried him in flowers, and kissed him as he lay,
For not a soul in all that town but he had helped some way;
But when they tried to mould his mound without the tear-drop's leaven,
There rose loud sobs the Uncle Nate could almost hear in heaven.
When he was dead they came to him from every house in town.
The children did their best to sing, but could not quite be heard;
The parson had a sermon there, but did not speak a word.
Of course they buried him in flowers, and kissed him as he lay,
For not a soul in all that town but he had helped some way;
But when they tried to mould his mound without the tear-drop's leaven,
There rose loud sobs the Uncle Nate could almost hear in heaven.
[Clock strikes twelve. All rise, and disperse in silence, for they all knew Uncle Nate.
| City legends | |