HOMENAJE	Á	COLÓN	21
	Colón	tuvo	iniciativa,	que	nadie	volverá	á	tener	dentro	de	los	límites	de	este
	planeta.	Esto	basta	para	que	su	nombre	sea	glorificado	por	toda	la	humanidad,
	perpetuándose,	á	través	de	los	siglos,	en	la	memoria	de	las	generaciones	veni-
	deras.
	Daniel	Balaciart.
	Creo	que	si	no	hubiera	existido	el	Nuevo	Mundo,	lo	habría	creado	Dios	para
	premiar	la	fe	y	la	constancia	de	Colón.
	Federico	Balart.
	A	COLÓN
	Fuiste	un	genio.	Al	mar	un	día
	Te	lanza	tu	fe	vehemente,
	Y	el	mundo	que	te	forjaste
	Descubres	y	á	España	ofreces.
	Y	hoy,	rindiéndote	justicia,
	¡Anda	empeñada	la	gente
	Por	Cátedras	y	Ateneos
	En	rebajarte	laureles!
	F.	Barber	y	Bas.
	Mientras	pregone	con	amor	la	Historia
	los	altos	hechos	que	realiza	el	hombre,
	dirá	en	letras	de	luz	tu	ejecutoria:
	«Si	hay	un	nombre	inmortal,	ese	es	su	nombre.
	Si	hay	gloria	perdurable,	esa	es	su	gloria.»
	Pedro	María	Barrera.
	Estamos	presenciando	un	hecho	que	guarda	mucha	relación,	por	su	grandeza,
	con	los	que	acompañaron	á	los	primeros	descubrimientos	de	los	españoles	y	por-
	tugueses	en	América.
	A	las	puertas	de	España	tenemos	el	dilatado	Continente	africano,	desconocido
	en	su	mayor	parte,	hasta	hace	pocos	años,	para	el	resto	del	Mundo.	Varias	nacio-
	nes	europeas	envían	exploradores	á	aquellas	extensas	regiones,	ya	con	propósitos
	científicos,	ya	comerciales,	valiéndose	de	los	recursos	de	la	paz	ó	de	los	de	la	gue-


2O
	That	Kings	when	they	defcend	to	Tyranny,
	Dijfclve	the	Bond,	and	leave	the	Subjeft	free.
	True-born	Eng.Man,	P.	47.
	o
	The	Aft	for	the	further	Limitation	of	the
	Crown	part	in	the	laft	Parliament,	and	the
	Right	of	the	?eople	therein	Declar	d	and	Re-
	cogniz	d,	I	wou	d	ask	my	Opponent	whole
	A	&lt;3	and	Deed	it	was	?	Will	they	lay	it	was
	a	Whiggilh	Aft,	made	by	a	Phanatical	Houfe
	of	Commons?	I	dare	fay	there	wot	not	Ten	Dif-
	/enters	in	the	Houfe	;	let	them	defcend	with	us
	into	Particulars,	let	them	draw	out	a	Black
	Lift	of	Members,	who	in	that	Loyal	Honeft
	Enghih	Parliament	gave	their	Hands	to	the
	laft	Settlement	and	Declaration	of	Right,	and
	let	us	tell	Nojes,	and	put	a	Brand	upon	the
	Phanaticks	among	them.
	Will	they	tell	-us	it	was	a	Phanatical	Parlia
	ment	that	let	the	Crown	upon	the	Queen	s
	Head	?	I	hope	they	will	own	Her	Ma/efty
	and	their	LordOiips	the	BiOiops	are	part	of
	the	Church	of	England;	for	if	the	Head	and
	the	principal	Members	are	not,	we	know	not
	who	are.
	Will	they	tell	us	that	Sir	E.	S.	Sir	B..S.
	Sir	J-.	B,	MY.H	-y,	SirC	+	M-ue,	and
	a	Hundred	more	of	that	Side,	were	Whigs
	and	Commonwealth-men	?
	How


SORROW.
	JEAR1LY	sigheth	Sorrow	s	wind
	Over	meadow	and	moor,
	Wearily	sigheth	Sorrow	s	wind
	Over	the	rich	and	poor,
	Till	it	cometh	to	a	cottage	door,
	Where	it	hath	never	been	before.
	Sadly	it	moaneth	at	the	door,
	But	they	will	not	let	it	in	;
	Outside	Sorrow	and	Sin	may	roar,
	Sweet	Sunshine	reigns	within	;
	Sin	cannot	conquer,	nor	Sorrow	slay,
	Where	a	smiling	spirit	dwells	alway.
	Then	Death	spreads	out	his	great	black	wings,
	And	covers	up	their	day	;
	But	the	angel	fair	that	guards	the	house,
	Wipes	all	their	tears	away	;
	It	whispers	softly,	"	God	knows	best,"
	And	to	His	grace	they	leave	the	rest.


TRANSFIGURED.	59
	Robed	in	purple,	glides	the	day
	Still	away,
	At	her	feet	red	roses	tremble
	In	the	grey.


A	BROOK	LIFE.	6	1
	Yet	with	a	dash	of	its	wide,	wild	freedom,
	Yet	with	a	freshness	all	its	own,
	Under	its	mellow,	musical	murmur
	Ringing	out	in	a	clearer	tone	;
	Flowing	on	thro	the	fair,	bright	morning,
	Flowing	still	thro	the	noonday	heat,
	Cooling	the	parched	lips,	gently	laving
	Aching	forehead	and	fevered	cheek	;
	Bringing	a	draught	of	pure,	sweet	water
	Down	to	the	dry	and	dusty	plain	;
	Bringing	a	breath	of	life	and	freshness,
	Cheering	anew	the	languid	brain	:
	Slowly	growing	a	mighty	river,
	Broad,	and	gracious,	and	deep,	and	grand,
	Gladdening	every	thirsty	valley,
	Watering	all	the	barren	land	;
	Gathering	in	to	its	rolling	volume
	Baby	streamlets	from	hill	and	dale,
	Bearing	up	on	its	swelling	bosom
	Bounding	bark	and	shifting	sail	:
	Yet	with	its	great	force	pressing	onward
	Over	the	country,	far	and	wide,
	Freighted	with	human	lives	and	fortunes,
	Reaching	at	last	the	ocean	side	;


NEAREST	HE	A	VEN.	\	3	1
	And	a	tender	awe	is	blended
	With	our	love	s	protecting	balm,
	As	we	kiss	the	baby	features,
	Nearest	Heaven	s	immortal	calm.


FAIRYLAND.	I	5
	Tho	rich	with	promise	bloom	its	flowers,
	Its	witching	fruits	are	never	ours	:
	Farewell,	O	sweet,	delusive	bowers
	Of	happy	Fairy	Land	!


240	BIRTHDAY	SONG	TO	IL	S.	G.
	"	Full	many	a	rustling	tree	I	ve	bent,
	And	opened	many	a	flower	;
	And	each	and	all	a	greeting	sent
	On	this	most	happy	hour.
	The	cold	grey	rocks,	so	hard	and	stern,
	A	birthday	greeting	send,
	For	even	a	senseless	stone	will	turn
	To	thank	a	loving	friend."
	All	dappled	with	clouds	is	the	warm	blue	sky,
	And	steeped	in	sunlight	the	green	earth	lies,
	The	south	wind	murmurs	drowsily	by
	In	fainting	whispers	and	dreamy	sighs	;
	How	gladly	and	joyously	ripple	the	rills
	On	this	brightest	and	best	of	the	New	Year	s
	days,
	How	dimly	outlined	the	distant	hills
	In	their	fold	of	purple	haze.


244	MAIDEN	S	HAIR.
	Tho	their	grace	more	formal	be
	Than	when	by	the	brook	they	fluttered,
	Touched	by	winds	that	lazily
	In	among	the	tree-tops	muttered,
	Still	the	same	quaint	charm	they	bear
	Of	the	earliest	maiden	s	hair.


208	REMINISCENCES	OF	AN	ARMY	NURSE
	Tho	stretched	upon	the	ground.
	Ah,	Taps,	thy	mournful	signal	call
	Floats	o	er	a	new-made	grave,
	Thy	soft	notes	fall	where	one	from	all
	Life	s	weary	march	forever	rests
	Asleep.	Where	wild	birds	build	their	nests,
	Unmindful	of	the	brave.
	John	P.	Force.
	There	were	yet	many	patients,	so	that	our	work
	at	the	hospital	went	on	as	before,	while	waiting	for
	further	orders;	while	all	soon	became	conscious	of
	a	general	relaxation	of	the	imperative	discipline
	that	had	made	our	hospital	a	model	of	general
	courtesy,	neatness,	and	order.


THE	PLAYHOUSE	29
	And	here	for	countless	days	to	come,
	Shall	harmless	Pleasure	make	her	home.
	Here	shall	you	mark	the	season	s	flight
	With	memories	of	pure	delight,
	While	Wisdom	in	each	quaint	disguise
	Your	deeper	thought	shall	recognise.
	Your	plaudits	shall	the	Right	uphold,
	Your	censure	shame	the	villain	bold,
	Your	love	enthrone	life	s	greatest	good,
	The	glory	of	true	humanhood.


MARGARET	FULLER	67
	A	regal	jewel	stol	n	from	sight
	To	grace	a	pomp	divine.
	So	He	who	laid	our	Pearl
	Deep	in	the	sapphire	sea
	Keeps	her	rare	essence	in	the	cup
	Of	immortality.
	1909.


WHITTIER	75
	Methought	that	from	the	Poet	s	grave
	A	whisper	thrilled	the	ear,	that	said:
	"	Surrender	not	his	music	brave,
	For	while	it	lives,	he	is	not	dead.
	"And	when,	with	other	sounds	of	earth
	Shall	pass	the	beauty	of	his	rhyme,
	Eternity	shall	keep	the	worth
	Lost	from	the	treasury	of	Time."


A	SCRAP	i
	METHINKS	my	friends	grow	beauteous	in	my	sight,
	As	the	years	make	their	havoc	of	sweet	things;
	Like	the	intenser	glory	of	the	light
	When	the	sad	bird	of	Autumn	sits	and	sings.
	Ah!	woe	is	me!	ah!	Memory,
	Be	cheerful,	thanking	God	for	things	that	be.
	1	I	think	this	dates	as	far	back	as	1857.	I	copy	it	in	1882.


IN	THE	STREET
	Along	the	way	bright	chariots	rolled,
	With	pleasure-	seekers,	gay	and	bold.
	The	throng	passed	by	and	knew	me	not,
	The	service	of	my	life	forgot.
	The	flush	of	youth,	the	pride	of	wealth,
	Broadly	displayed,	though	gained	by	stealth,
	All,	all	their	eager	game	pursued.
	Neglected	in	the	street	I	stood.
	In	a	poor	attic,	overhead,
	Were	certain	maids	who	sewed	for	bread,
	Cheering	their	work	with	songs	of	mine.
	Musing,	I	cried,	"Rich	gifts	may	please,
	But	where	are	givers	like	to	these
	Who,	without	knowledge	or	design,
	Here	crown	me	with	a	joy	divine?"


THE	BREAKFAST-TABLE.	13
	by	natural	sedatives.	But	the	iron	hand	is
	not	less	irresistible	because	it	wears	the
	velvet	glove.	The	button-wood	throws	off
	its	bark	in	large	flakes,	which	one	may	find
	lying	at	its	foot,	pushed	out,	and	at	last
	pushed	off,	by	that	tranquil	movement	from
	beneath,	which	is	too	slow	to	be	seen,	but
	too	powerful	to	be	arrested.	One	finds
	them	always,	but	one	rarely	sees	them	fall.
	So	it	is	our	youth	drops	from	us,	scales	off,
	sapless	and	lifeless,	and	lays	bare	the	tender
	and	immature	fresh	growth	of	old	age.
	Looked	at	collectively,	the	changes	of	old
	age	appear	as	a	series	of	personal	insults
	and	indignities,	terminating	at	last	in	death,
	which	Sir	Thomas	Browne	has	called	'	'	the
	very	disgrace	and	ignominy	of	our	natures."
	My	lady's	cheek	can	boast	no	more
	The	cranberry	white	and	pink	it	wore	;
	And	where	her	shining	locks	divide,
	The	parting	line	is	all	too	wide
	No,	no,	this	will	never	do.	Talk	about
	men,	if	you	will,	but	spare	the	poor	women.
	We	have	a	brief	description	of	seven
	stages	of	life	by	a	remarkably	good	observer.
	It	is	very	presumptuous	to	attempt	to	add
	to	it,	yet	I	have	been	struck	with	the	fact
	that	life	admits	of	a	natural	analysis	into	no


32	CHAP-BOOK	ESSAYS
	Verlaine:	A	Feminine	Appreciation
	Then	the	next	stanza	:
	"	Et	toujours,	maternelle	endormeuse	des	rales,
	Meme	quand	elle	ment	."
	Here	is	the	creature	who	could	be	both	nurse	and
	courtesan	concise	and	convincing	classification.
	Then	he	continues	relating	how,	as	man	as	well
	as	poet,	he	has	vibrated	to	the	clear	soprano	of
	Cette	&lt;voix	!	Matinal
	Appel,	ou	chant	blen	doux	a	&lt;vepres,	ou	frais	signal,
	Ou	beau	sanglot	qui	&lt;va	mourir	au	pli	des	chales	!	.	.	."
	How	he	has	dreamed	over	the	tender	sentiment	of
	her	twilight	song,	and	been	melted	and	conquered
	by	the	still	greater,	more	beautiful	appeal	of	the
	emotional	soul	for	love	and	understanding,	"	beau
	sanglot	indeed	!
	Then	comes	the	wonderful	third	stanza,	and	its
	denunciation	of	man	s	brutality	and	selfishness.
	"	Hommes	durs	!	Vie	atroce	et	laide	d	ici-bas	!
	Ah	!	que	du	mains,	loins	des	baisers	et	des	combats,
	Quelque	chose	demeure	un	peu	sur	la	montagneS
	Here	is	the	appeal	for	sentiment,	for	the	love	of
	the	spirit,	choked	in	the	throats	of	dumb	and	suffer
	ing	women.


CHAP-BOOK	ESSAYS	187
	By	Louise	Chandler	Moulton
	dagger	home	into	her	heart,	and	fell	on	sleep.	She
	woke	in	Hell.	The	devil	was	quite	ready	to	wel
	come	her	;	but	she	answered	him	only
	"	&lt;	I	am	young	Malespina	s	bride	;
	Has	he	come	hither	yet	?	"
	But	Malespina	had	turned	coward,	when	the
	supreme	test	came,	and	he	was	to	marry	his	cousin
	on	the	morrow.	For	long,	and	long,	she	would	not
	believe	;	but	when	long	waiting	brought	certainty,
	at	last,	she	cried
	"	*	I	was	betrayed.	I	will	not	stay.*	"
	And	straight	across	the	gulf	between	Hell	and
	Heaven	she	walked	:
	"	To	her	it	seemed	a	meadow	fair	5
	And	flowers	sprang	up	about	her	feet	}
	She	entered	Heaven	;	she	climbed	the	stair,
	And	knelt	down	at	the	mercy-seat."
	Next	to	these	three	Ballads	I	should	rank	"	Thirty
	Bob	A	Week."	It	is	of	the	solid	earth,	and	has
	none	of	the	Dantesque	weirdness	of	the	Ballads	of
	Hell	and	Heaven	;	but	it	is	stronger	than	either	of


254
	SARDANAPALUS.
	SARDANAPALUS	was	Nineveh's	king;
	And,	if	all	be	quite	true	that	the	chroniclers	sing,
	Loved	his	song	and	his	glass,
	And	was	given,	alas	!
	Not	only	to	bigamy,
	Nor	even	to	trigamy,
	But	(I	shudder	to	think	on't)	to	rankest	polygamy	:
	For	his	sweethearts	and	wives	were	so	vast	in	amount,
	They	'd	take	you	a	week	or	two	only	to	count	!
	One	morning	his	Majesty	jump'd	out	of	bed,
	And	hitting	his	valet	a	rap	on	the	head,
	By	way	of	a	joke,	"	Salamenes,"	he	said,
	"	Go,	proclaim	to	the	court,
	"	'Tis	our	will	to	resort,
	"	By	way	of	a	lark,
	"	To	our	palace	and	park
	'	On	the	banks	of	Euphrates,	and	there,	with	our	wives,
	*	Sing,	dance,	and	get	fuddled,	for	once	in	our	lives	;
	'	So,	bid	our	state-rulers	and	nobles,	d	'ye	see,
	{	Hie	all	to	our	banquet	not	later	than	three,
	'	And	prepare	for	a	long	night	of	jollity."
	'	Very	good,"	said	the	valet	;	then	eager	and	hot
	On	his	errand,	ducked	thrice,	and	was	off	like	a	shot.
	When	the	court	heard	these	orders,	with	rapture	elate,
	They	adjourn'd	all	the	business	of	church	and	of	state,
	And	hurried	off,	drest
	Each	man	in	his	best	;
	While	the.	women,	sweet	souls,
	Went	with	them	by	shoals,
	Some	in	gigs,	some	in	cabs,	some	on	horseback	so	gay,
	And	some	in	an	omnibus	hired	for	the	day.
	(If	busses	in	those	days	were	not	to	be	seen,
	All	I	can	say	is,	they	ought	to	have	been.)
	Like	a	torrent,	the	throng
	Roll'd	briskly	along,
	Cheering	the	way	with	jest,	laughter,	and	song,
	To	the	Banquetting	Hall,	where	the	last	of	the	group
	Arrived,	by	good	luck,	just	in	time	for	the	soup.
	The	guests	set	to	work	in	superlative	style,
	And	his	Majesty,	equally	busy	the	while,
	Encouraged	their	efforts	with	many	a	smile.
	The	High	Priest	was	the	first,
	Who	seemed	ready	to	burst	;
	(For	the	ladies	so	shy,
	They	swigged	on	the	sly	!)
	But,	proud	of	his	prowess,	he	scorn'd	to	give	o'er,
	'Till	at	length	with	a	hiccup	he	fell	on	the	floor,
	Shouting	out,	'mid	his	qualms,
	That	verse	in	the	Psalms,
	Which	saith	(but	it	surely	can't	mean	a	whole	can	!)
	That	"	Wine	maketh	merry	the	heart	of	a	man."


THE	MEMORY	OF	THE	POETS.	371
	voice	was	heard	chanting	as	if	in	contempt	of	the	general	up-
	roar	the	following	strain	:
	With	pipe	and	punch	upon	the	board,
	And	smiling	nymphs	around	us	j
	No	tavern	could	more	mirth	afford
	Than	old	Saint	Giles's	roundhouse	!
	The	roundhouse	I	the.	roundhouse	!
	The	jolly	jolly	roundhouse	!
	"	The	jolly,	jolly	roundhouse	!"	chorussed	Sheppard,	as	the
	last	bar	yielded	to	his	efforts.	"	Hurrah	!	come	along,	Thames	;
	we	're	free."
	"	Not	so	fasht	not	so	fasht	!"	cried	Abraham,	struggling	with
	Thames,	and	detaining	him	;	"	if	you	go,	you	musht	take	me
	along	vid	you."
	"	Save	yourself,	Jack	!"	shouted	Thames,	sinking	beneath	the
	superior	weight	and	strength	of	his	opponent	;	"	leave	me	to	my
	fate	!"
	"	Never,"	replied	Jack,	hurrying	towards	him.	And,	snatch-
	ing	the	spike	from	Thames,	he	struck	the	janizary	a	severe	blow-
	on	the	head.	"	I	'11	make	sure	work	this	time,"	he	added,	about
	to	repeat	the	blow.
	"	Hold	!"	interposed	Thames,	"	he	can	do	no	more	mischief.
	Let	us	be	gone."
	"	As	you	please,"	returned	Jack,	leaping	up	;	"	but	I	feel
	devilishly	inclined	to	finish	him.	However,	it	would	only	be
	robbing	the	hangman	of	his	dues."
	With	this,	he	was	preparing	to	follow	his	friend,	when	their
	egress	was	prevented	by	the	sudden	appearance	of	Jonathan
	Wild	arid	Blueskin.
	THE	MEMORY	OF	THE	POETS.
	THE	fame	of	those	sweet	bards,	whose	fancies	lie,
	Like	glorious	clouds	on	summer's	holiest	even
	Fringing	the	west,	upon	the	skirts	of	heaven,
	And	sprinkled	o'er	with	hues	of	rainbow	dye,
	Is	not	of	trumpet	sound,	nor	strives	to	vie
	With	martial	notes	sublime.	From	ages	gone,
	In	most	angelic	strain	it	lengthens	on,
	Earth's	greenest	bowers	with	fresh	delight	to	fill,
	Heard,	breathing	from	the	silence	of	the	sky,
	Or	trembling	in	the	joy	of	gushing	rill,
	Or	whispering	o'er	the	lake's	unrippled	breast,
	Till	its	last	earthly	melodies	are	still	;
	Hush'd,	'mid	the	joys	of	immortality,
	In	the	calm	bosom	of	eternal	rest.
	1838.	T.	N.TALFOURD.


BESSIE	MELVILLE.	63
	CHAPTER	IV.
	"Do\vn,	slothful	heart!	How	darest	thou	say
	Call	not	so	oft	to	pray?
	******
	Untired	is	He	in	mercy's	.task	;
	Then	tire	not	thou	to	ask.
	He	says	not,	'Yesterday	I	gave;
	Wilt	thou	for	ever	crave?'
	He	every	moment	waits	to	give;
	Watch	thou,	unwearied	to	receive."
	KEBLE.
	IN	all	tilings	pertaining	to	Bessie's	educa
	tion,	Mr.	Kennedy	endeavored	to	carry	gut	her
	mother's	designs,	and	yet,	in	some	instances,	he
	found	himself	compelled	to	disregard	her	known
	wishes.	He	knew	very	well	her	great	objection
	to	sending	Bessie	to	a	boarding-school,	and	yet,
	after	carefully	weighing	every	consideration,	he
	felt	obliged	to	place	her	in	one	of	these	insti
	tutions.	At	first	he	had	determined	that	she
	should	pursue	her	studies	with	him	;	but	a	few
	days'	effort	had	convinced	him	of	the	imprac-


BESSIE	MELVILLE.
	CHAPTER	XII.
	Hush!	'tis	a	holy	tide;
	The	Lenten	Fast,	the	Church's	weeping-time,
	When	with	a	sad	and	heavy	heart	she	leads
	Her	children	to	a	dying	Saviour's	cross,
	And	bids	them	look,	and	whispers	in	their	ear:
	"This,	all	of	this	for	youT
	THE	weeks	rolled	by,	and	Ash-Wednesday,
	which	ushers	in	the	great	fast	of	the	Church,
	had	dawned.	Quietly	and	reverently	Mr.	Les
	ter	and	all	his	scholars	had,	on	the	Purification
	day,	removed	from	their	little	chapel	its	Christ
	mas	dress,	and	now	in	the	calm	of	evening	twi
	light,	when	they	were	assembled	there	for	pray
	ers,	he	had	told	them,	in	few	and	solemn	words,
	the	design	and	uses	of	this	Lenten	season."
	Emma	had	followed	her	friend's	advice,	and
	had	gone	regularly	to	Mr.	Lester's	Confirma
	tion	class,	and	felt	that	she	had	been	benefited
	by	his	counsels	and	instructions.	He	read	by
	her	countenance	that	she	was	deeply	interest-


THE	BLACKBIRD,
	"	I	could	not	think	so	plain	a	bird
	Could	sing	so	fine	a	song."
	One	on	another	against	the	wall
	Pile	up	the	books	I	am	done	with	them	all	:
	I	shall	be	wise,	if	I	ever	am	wise,
	Out	of	my	own	ears,	and	of	my	own	eyes.
	One	day	of	the	woods	and	their	balmy	light
	One	hour	on	the	top	of	a	breezy	hill,
	There	in	the	sassafras	all	out	of	sight
	The	Blackbird	is	splitting	his	slender	bill
	For	the	ease	of	his	heart	:
	Do	you	think	if	he	said
	"I	will	sing	like	this	bird	with	the	mud	colored	back
	And	the	two	little	spots	of	gold	over	his	eyes,
	Or	like	to	this	shy	little	creature	that	flies
	So	low	to	the	ground,	with	the	amethyst	rings
	About	her	small	throat	all	alive	when	she	sings
	With	a	glitter	of	shivering	green	for	the	rest,
	Gray	shading	to	gray,	with	the	sheen	of	her	breast
	Half	rose	and	half	fawn
	Or	like	this	one	so	proud,
	That	flutters	so	restless,	and	cries	out	so	loud,
	With	stiff	horny	beak	and	a	top-knotted	head,
	And	a	lining	of	scarlet	laid	under	his	wings	"
	Do	you	think,	if	he	said,	"I'm	ashamed	to	be	black!	"
	That	he	could	have	shaken	the	sassafras-tree
	As	he	does	with	the	song	he	was	born	to	?	not	he	!
	AUCE	GARY.
	"Do	you	ne'er	think	what	wondrous	beings	these?
	Do	you	ne'er	think	who	made	them	who	taught
	The	dialect	they	speak,	where	melodies
	Alone	are	the	interpreters	of	thought?
	Whose	household	words	are	songs	in	many	keys,
	Sweeter	than	instrument	of	man	ere	caught	!
	Whose	habitation	in	the	tree-tops	even
	Are	half-way	houses	on	the	road	to	heaven	!
	**##***
	'	'	You	call	them	thieves	or	pillagers	;	but	know,
	They	are	the	winged	wardens	of	your	farms,
	Who	from	the	cornfields	drive	the	insidious	foe,
	And	from	your	harvest	keep	a	hundred	harms	;
	Even	the	blackest	of	them	all,	the	crow,
	Renders	good	service	as	your	man-at-arms,
	Crushing	the	beetle	in	his	coat	of	mail,
	And	crying	havoc	on	the	slug	and	snail."
	FROM	"THE	BIRDS	OF	KH.I.INGWORTH.	"
	64


WILL	TRAVEL	CUKE	LOVE	?	179
	Now	ef	you	all	am	mind	to	'gree
	To	pay	for	de	glorious	spree,
	I'll	go	to	Isabelle	and	tell	her
	It	kin	come	off	at	Anty	Clawson's	seller.
	Old	Jake	will	make	de	fiddle	ring,
	And	Sam	will	touch	de	banjo	string	;
	We'll	dance	de	reel	and	crackerwain,
	'Till	Halumlujah	come	again.
	Derefore	my	lads	and	lasses,
	Fill	up	de	sasser	as	it	passes,
	Brudder	Somendike	I	trust
	Will	hand	it	to	de	ladies	fust.
	LECTURE	LIV.
	WILL	TRAVEL	CURE	LOVE	?
	CORRUPTED	MORTALS
	I	PINT,	on	dis	'portant	casion,	brudder	Erastus	J.
	Arlington	Jefferson	Butts	to	read	my	'pistol	to	you	;	I
	can't	do	it	myseff,	bekase	at	de	same	time	he	am	readin	dis
	to	you,	I,	your	shcppard,	am	ober	two	hundred	miles	away
	from	his	flock	ob	black	sheep	derefore,	listen	to	him	wid
	dat	same	'tention	dat	you	always	pay	to	me.	I	am	now
	rustifying	in	de	old	rebolutionary	town	ob	Bosson,	Massa
	chusetts,	from	which	pint	ob	de	cumpasus	I	wolegize	to	you
	dis	ebenin.
	De	kommittee	dat	was	pinted	to	vestigate	de	slander	dat
	de	sisterhood	scandelized	me	wid	truout	de	naborhood,	met
	on	de	ebenin	pinted,	and	'cussed	de	matter	wid	all	dere
	harts,	and	brot	in	de	common	wardick	ob	de	day	dat	no
	body	was	to	blame.	Nobody	dident	do	notin	to	nobody,


APPENDIX	1	1	1
	Melpomene	then	describes	the	home	and	origin	of	the	dead	Earl	in	majestic
	measure,	and	I	think	we	may	see	in	these	lines	that	spirit	of	affection	for
	particular	spots	of	earth	associated	with	ancestral	memories	which	William
	Blackhall	seems	to	have	possessed	in	an	eminent	degree.	The	Muse	perhaps
	rather	spoils	a	fine	passage	by	entering	into	geographical	details,	but	this	is
	interesting	also	as	showing	that	the	lines	were	probably	penned	in	Aberdeen
	itself:
	Est	domus	antiquae	sedes	amphssima	gentis,
	Non	procul	hinc	austrum	versus,	cui	mcenia	Pontus
	Verberat	incassum	:	nam	Tethyos	ilia	minaces
	Despicit	Insultus	scopulis	elata	superbis	:
	Hanc	magni	tenuere	viri,	queis	alma	vetustas,
	Seminis	aetherii,	certissima,	pectoris	atque
	Signa,	MARESCHALLI	meritos	cocessit	honores,
	Hos	inter	paucis	retro	volventibus	annis,
	Maximus	enituit,	dignus	majoribus	heros.
	After	some	further	praise	of	their	Maecenas,	whom	they	had	hoped	to	retain
	for	long	in	their	midst,	the	Muses	come	to	particulars	of	his	removal	at	an
	earlier	age	than	his	well-remembered	father,	and	the	passage	contains	some
	happily	turned	phrases,	which	show	the	writer's	imaginative	and	descriptive
	powers	to	advantage	:
	Cum	tres	atque	decem,	nondum,	post	fata	parentis
	Finierit	cursus	oblique	tramite	Phoebus	:
	Filius	ecce	patri	comes	it,	sed	dispare	casu	:
	Languidior	nondum,	defectaque	viribus	setas
	Institerat,	nondum	quae	rebus	nata	gerendis
	Tempora	canities	ambibat	robore	corpus
	Praestabat,	formaeque	decus	cum	robore	junctum	;
	Dignior	aspectu	nemo,	nee	promptior	armis
	Ludere	seu	ferro	libuit,	non	certius	illo
	Innocuum	quisquam	sine	sanguine	vulnus	agebat	;
	And	the	following	short	description	of	the	horsemanship	of	this	accomplished
	cavalier,	"	all	of	the	olden	time,"	is	excellent	:
	Seu	sublimis	equo	sinuoso	limite	gyros
	Reddere	gaudebat,	recto	seu	tendere	cursu
	Quadrupedantis	equi	:	nemo	non	segnior	ibat.
	Here	it	is	permissible	to	imagine,	without	any	disrespect	to	the	memory	of
	the	lamented	rider,	that	the	sporting	blood	of	the	Foresters,	thus	expressed	its


112	BLACKBALLS	OF	THAT	ILK	AND	BARRA
	love	of	the	horse,	and	that	the	scholarly	writer	raised	his	eyes	for	the	moment
	from	dingy	parchment	to	the	clear	air,	and	saw	it	cut	by	the	noble	falcon	(p.	9),
	tossed	from	the	hand	unhooded,	in	full	pursuit	of	its	prey.	The	Earl	seems	to
	have	died	suddenly,	wrenched	from	earth,	like	a	monarch	of	the	forest,	prone	in
	the	track	of	the	storm	a	silvan	metaphor	which	would	readily	occur	to	a
	Blackball	so	mindful	of	the	traditions	of	his	race	as	was	the	writer	:
	Concidit	ille	tamen,	medio	labefactus	in	sevo	:
	Haud	secus	ac	altis	haerens	radicibus	ingens
	Sylva	cadit	tumidis	quam	surgens	^olus	antris
	Flatibus	exercet	crebris,	convellit	ab	imis,
	Prosternitque	solo	:	subito	sic	corruit	ille.
	The	writer	now	turns	to	the	unknown	future	of	the	family	bereft	of	its	head,
	and	builds	high	hopes	on	the	coming	distinction	of	the	heir,	then	a	youth.	In
	the	event,	the	latter	became	what	the	worthy	Regent	probably	considered	a
	virulent	Covenanter,	but	when	he	wrote,	that	detail	also	was	hid	in	the	bosom	of
	time:
	Ex	gnato	nondum	sunt	tempora	visa	nepotum.
	He	then	resumes	the	delineation	of	the	character	of	his	paragon	:
	Non	is	fortunae	tumidus	successibus	altae
	(Quod	solet	esse	frequens	sublimi	sede	locatis)
	Spernebat	tenues,	vultu	nee	tetricus	ullos
	Arcebat	tristes	;	sed	verbis	alloquioque
	In	cunctos	facilis,	parcus	licet	usque	loquendi	:
	Nee	minimum	laudis	tacitam	concludere	linguam
	Compressis	labiis,	multos	cum	multa	loquutos
	Poeniteat	:	verax,	cuncti	simulaminis	expers
	Promissseque	tenax	fidei,	nee	veste	superbus,
	In	victu	modicus,	nil	hepar	fellis	habebat,
	Semper	amicitias	constanti	fcedere	prudens,
	Cum	cunctis	coluit,	sese	non	extulit	ullis
	Prae	paribus	fastu	nimio,	jactator	inanis
	Haud	erat	:
	The	dignified	reserve	of	the	Marshall	could	not	fail	to	be	appreciated	by	one
	who,	after	his	deposition	from	the	Professorship,	according	to	Spalding,	"	lievit
	simply	in	sober	maner	in	the	toune"	(p.	48),	"until	he	betook	himself	to	his
	voluntary	exile.
	The	poem	ends	with	a	fine	invocation.	Detaching	himself	from	the	smaller
	things	of	earth,	the	writer,	who,	a	few	years	later,	so	"	pertlie	"	maintained	his


All-Fools'	Day	;	or,	the	Rival	Robbers.	[April,
	ATE.
	Cut	it	short	!	I	know	the	rest-
	Listen	to	me	:	you	had	best.
	Though	I	cannot	give	you	aid,
	Be	not	doubtful	or	afraid.
	This	old	heart	of	mine	it	cheers,
	When	I	see	my	pretty	dears
	Tearing	at	each	others'	ears	!
	Seek	thou	some	renowned	magician
	Seek	the	powerful	demon,	SHODDY	!
	HANS.
	Horror	!	that	way	lies	perdition	!
	Shall	I	peril	soul	and	body	?
	ATE.
	That's	a	point	for	you	to	settle.
	But	my	snakes	are	round	me	coiling	;
	And	I	fear,	within,	my	kettle
	With	Whig-broth	is	overboiling.
	Hark	!	I	hear	the	embers	hissing
	Farewell,	Hans,	and	take	my	blessing	!	{Exit	ATE.
	HANS.
	A	vaunt,	foul	witch	!	that	I	had	been	born
	To	gain	my	livelihood	by	honest	toil,
	To	wield	the	spade,	to	guide	the	stilted	plough,
	Within	the	entrails	of	the	earth	to	creep,
	In	search	of	riches	from	the	fertile	mines	;
	Or	in	my	country's	cause	to	beat	the	drum,
	Or	force	shrill	music	from	Bellona's	fife,
	Since	strength	and	stature	fail	me	for	the	spear	!
	Cursed	ambition,	thou	hast	been	my	bane	!
	Now	must	I	onward	onward	to	revenge,
	Yea,	though	I	league	with	fiends,	and	write	my	name
	Within	the	scrolls	of	blazing	Tartarus
	I	will	have	vengeance	!	Shoddy	I	am	thine	!	[Exit	HANS.
	SCENE	II.
	Hall	in	Pammersteirfs	Castle.	The	ROBBERS	caroming.
	Ha,	ha,	ha	!	very	good,	Ribaldo	!	Excellent	!	bravo	!	capital	!	first-rate	!
	PAMMERSTEIN.
	And	whom	saw	you	else	at	Nuremberg,	Kibaldo	?	Wet	your	whistle,	my
	lad,	and	tell	us	all	about	it.
	RIBALDO.
	Why,	there	was	another	fellow	there,	a	burgomaster,	who	strutted	about
	like	a	cock	and	yet	not	like	a	cock	either,	but	like	one	of	your	turkey-
	cocks,	with	a	red	comb	and	wattles.	My	eye	!	how	he	did	gobble	!	Old
	chap,	thinks	I,	if	I	got	hold	of	you	at	Christmas	time,	wouldn't	I	have	your
	feathers	off,	your	fat	legs	skewered,	your	carcass	stuffed	with	truffles,	and	a
	chain	of	sausages	doubled	round	your	neck,	for	all	the	world	like	an	alder-
	man's	collar	!
	OMNES.
	Ha,	ha,	ha	!
	PAMMERSTEIN.
	Funny	rogue	funny	rogue	!	Any	one	else	worth	queering	?
	RIBALDO.
	Ay,	there	was	a	French	Count	a	real	swell,	quite	a	spick	and	span	man,
	with	the	true	Jerusalem	toggery.	I	was	doing	a	bit	of	business	in	turquoises
	at	a	jeweller's	half	buying,	half	prigging	when	I	sees	my	hairy	top-sawyer


*	The	time	has	come,"	the	Walrus	said,
	"	To	talk	of	many	things;
	Of	shoes	and	ships	and	sealing-wax,
	And	cabbages	and	kings."
	THE	WALHUS	AND	THE	CAHPENTEB


CARLOTTA'S	INDECISION.
	I	WOULD	lika	mooch	to	know
	Why	Carlotta	treat	me	so.
	Evra	time	I	ask	eef	she
	Ees	gon'	marry	weetha	me,
	First	she	smila,	den	she	frown,
	Den	she	look	me	up	an'	down,
	Den	she	shak'	her	head	an'	say:
	'I	gon'	tal	you	Chrees'mas	Day."
	Once	w'en	we	are	out	for	walk
	An'	I	am	begin	to	talk,
	She	say:	"Don'ta	speak	no	more.
	O!	com',	see	dees	jew'ler	store.
	My!	jus'	look	dat	di'mon'	reeng!
	Eet	ees	justa	sweetes'	theeng!
	Only	seexa-feefty,	see?"
	17


FATHER	DAN	O'MALLEY.
	WHIN	Father	Dan	O'Malley	came	as	curate	to	St.	Ann's,
	There	was	work	in	Dublin	Alley	layin'	ready	to	his	han's.
	Aye!	'twas	work	o'	sich	a	nature	that	no	common	man
	could	do,
	Fur,	indade,	the	only	t'acher	that	the	Alley	gossoons
	knew
	Was	the	Divil	that	was	lurkin'	in	the	badness	of	their
	hearts,
	And	it's	never	aisy	wurkin'	fur	to	strive	agin	his	arts.
	But	although	he's	cute,	fur,	shure,	it	is	the	Divil's	trade
	to	schame,
	Ye	can	trust	an	Irish	curate	fur	to	bate	him	at	his	game.
	There	was	little	dilly-dally	in	the	layin'	out	of	plans
	Whin	Father	Dan	O'Malley	came	as	curate	to	St.	Ann's.
	Now,	the	trouble	jisht	was	layin'	in	the	fact	that	as	a	rule
	The	gossoons	thought	more	of	playin'	than	of	goin'	to
	Sunda'	school.
	Ev'ry	plisant	Sunda'	mornin',	faith,	ye'd	find	thim	at	their
	game,
	61


KITTY'S	GRADUATION.
	75
	All	the	women	jisht	were	itchin'	for	to	see	her	gettin'
	dressed,
	Some	were	crowded	in	the	kitchen	an'	the	stairway,	while
	the	rest,
	The	most	favored	ones,\vint	rushin'	to	the	livin'	room	above,
	Where	stood	Mrs.	Casey	blushin'	wid	a	mother's	pride	an'
	love.
	"O!"	sez	she,	"	'twould	be	a	pity	if	I	couldn't	schame	an'	plan
	So	that	Kitty'd	look	as	pritty	as	Mag	Ryan's	Mary	Ann."
	"Tut!	ye	needn't	be	onaisy,"	sez	a	neighbor.	"Goodness
	knows,
	There'll	be	none	like	Kitty	Casey	in	her	graduation	clo'es.''
	An'	there's	really	no	denyin',	whin	they	marched	into	the	hall
	Kitty	Casey	pushed	the	Ryan	girl	complately	to	the	wall.
	Whin	she	made	her	prize	oration	an'	they	gave	her	her
	degree,
	There	was	sich	a	dimonstration	as	ye'll	niver	live	to	see,
	For	the	men	from	Dublin	Alley	voiced	their	feelin's	in	a
	cheer
	Like	they	utther	whin	they	rally	in	a	Dimmycratic	year,
	An'	of	Casey's	proudest	days	he	counts	that	best	of	all	he
	knows
	Which	beheld	his	Kitty	Casey	in	her	graduation	clo'es.


LEETLA	GIORGIO	WASHEENTON.
	You	know	w'at	for	ees	school	keep	out
	Dees	holiday,	my	son?
	Wai,	den,	I	gona	tal	you	'bout
	Dees	Giorgio	Washeenton.
	Wai,	Giorgio	was	leetla	keed
	Ees	leeve	long	time	ago,
	An'	he	gon'	school	for	learn	to	read
	An*	write	hees	nam',	you	know.
	He	moocha	like	for	gona	school
	An'	learn	hard	all	day,
	Baycause	he	no	gat	time	for	fool
	Weeth	bada	keeds	an*	play.
	Wai,	wan	cold	day	w'en	Giorgio
	Ees	steell	so	vera	small,
	98


106	THE	IRISH	BACHELOR.
	Whisht!	now,	an*	listen.	I'll	tell	ye	the	throuble	wid
	Jerry	McGlone.
	He	preferred	single	life	rather	than	double	wid
	Molly	Malone.
	Think	of	it!	Think	of	an	Irishman	tarryin*
	While	there's	a	purty	girl	wishful	fur	marryin'!
	Arrah!	no	wonder	the	divils	are	harryin'
	Jerry	McGlone.
	Ah!	but	there's	few	o*	the	race	but	would	scorn	to	be
	Jerry	McGlone.
	Shure,	we	all	know	that	a	Celt	is	not	born	to	be
	Livin'	alone.
	O!	but	we're	grateful	(I	spake	for	the	laity)
	Grateful	fur	women	the	bountiful	Deity
	Dowers	wid	beauty	an*	virtue	an'	gaiety,
	All	for	our	own!


CAREY,	THE	KILL-	JOY.	129
	"Shure	an'	have	ye	furgot,	Misther	Cleary,
	That	this	is	a	fasht-day	th'-day?"
	An'	wid	that	the	ould	joy-killin'	sinner
	Jisht	turned	on	his	heel	an'	wint	out,
	An'	he	left	me	me	illigant	dinner
	Like	ashes,	stone-cowld,	in	me	mout'.
	'Twas	a	sin	o'	me,	bein'	forgetful;
	I	should	have	remimbered	the	day,
	But	I	couldn't	help	feelin'	regretful
	To	see	me	feast	fadin'	away;
	For	'twas	not	for	me	soul's	sake	that	Carey
	Shpoke	up,	but	'twas	jisht	to	annoy.
	'Tis	his	nature	that's	mane	an'	conthrary
	His	thrade	is	the	killin'	o'	joy.


AT	HOME.
	AT	home	to-night,	alone	with	Dot,
	I	loaf	my	soul	and	care	not	what
	In	worlds	beyond	may	come	or	go.
	Four	walls,	a	roof,	to	brave	the	snow,
	Suffice	to	bound	this	Eden	spot.
	Dot	has	her	sewing	things;	I've	got
	My	pipe,	a	glass	of	something	hot
	And	Dot	herself.	The	world's	aglow,
	At	home	to-night.
	As	lovers	in	some	golden	plot
	The	poet	weaves	of	Camelot,
	We	feel	apart	from	earth.	We	know
	The	servant	in	the	hall	below
	Will	say	to	all	who	call	we're	not
	At	home	to-night.
	167


142	THE	LAST	OF	THE	LOWRIES
	She	died	not	broken	hearted,
	No	sickness	her	befell,
	But	in	one	moment	parted
	From	all	she	loved	so	well.
	Down	on	her	knees	before	him,
	She	begged	im	for	her	life,
	But	deep	into	her	bosom
	He	plunged	the	fatal	knife.
	(Before	the	last	verse	ends,	owl	hoots	are	heard
	outside.	HENRY	BERRY	stops,	listening.	The
	banjo	slips	through	his	hands	to	the	floor.	All
	three	look	at	him	questioningly.)
	CUMBA
	What	is	it,	boy	?	Don	t	look	that-a-way.
	(Again	the	hooting	of	an	owl	is	heard.	HENRY
	BERRY	rises	to	his	feet,	takes	his	rifle	from	the
	chimney	corner	and	stands	an	instant	tensely
	silent.	Slowly	his	defensive	attitude	changes
	to	one	of	despair.	They	watch	him	anxiously
	as	he	comes	back	to	his	former	place	in	the	room,
	looks	down	at	his	banjo,	makes	a	move	as	if	to
	pick	it	up,	then	turns	to	CUMBA.)
	HENRY	BERRY
	Well,	I	m	goin	.	I	ve	sorto	tried	to	be	a	fatten	boy
	to	you,	but	I	reckon	I	made	poor	outs	at	it.
	(He	bends	and	kisses	her.	She	rises	and	clings
	to	him.)


DESCRIPTION	OF	PLATES	125
	of	His	late	Majesty	George	V	;	when	millions	of
	his	subjects	paid	their	last	tribute	of	homage	to
	the	monarch	they	had	loved.
	PLATE	79.	WESTMINSTER	BRIDGE.
	Until	Westminster	Bridge	was	opened	in
	1750,	London	Bridge	was	the	only	one
	crossing	the	Thames	in	the	metropolitan	area.
	This	deficiency	was	made	good	by	hosts	of	water-
	men;	indeed,	according	to	Strype,	there	were
	in	1720	no	fewer	than	forty	thousand	watermen
	enrolled	in	the	books	of	their	Guild.
	It	was	on	this	earlier	of	the	Bridges	that
	Wordsworth,	on	September	3rd,	1803,	wrote	that
	famous	Sonnet	:
	"	Earth	has	not	anything	to	show	more	fair	:
	Dull	would	he	be	of	soul	who	could	pass	by
	A	sight	so	touching	in	its	majesty	:
	The	city	now	doth	like	a	garment	wear
	The	beauty	of	the	morning	;	silent,	bare.
	Ships,	towers,	domes,	theatres	and	temples	lie
	Open	unto	the	fields	and	to	the	sky,
	All	bright	and	glittering	in	the	smokeless	air.
	Never	did	sun	more	beautifully	steep
	In	his	first	splendour	valley,	rock	or	hill,
	Ne'er	saw	I,	never	felt,	a	calm	so	deep	!
	The	river	glideth	at	his	own	sweet	will	;
	Dear	God	!	the	very	houses	seem	asleep,
	And	all	that	mighty	heart	is	lying	still."


244	Rolling	Stones
	The	city	is	pleasant	and	lively,	Ned,
	But	what	to	us	is	its	charm?
	To-night	all	my	thoughts	are	fixed,	instead,
	On	our	childhood	s	old	home	farm.
	I	know	you	are	thinking	the	same,	dear	Ned,
	With	your	head	bowed	on	your	arm,
	For	to-morrow	at	four	we	ll	be	jerked	out	of	bed
	To	plow	on	that	darned	old	farm.


The	Literati
	Up,	up	forever	up,	up	forever,
	Resting	never,
	Boiling	up	forever,
	Steam-clouds	shot	up	with	thunder-bursts	appalling.
	It	is	difficult	to	conceive	anything	more	ludicrously
	out	of	keeping	than	the	thoughts	of	these	stanzas	and
	the	petti'mattfe,	fidgety,	hop-skip-and-jump	air	of	the
	words	and	the	Liliputian	parts	of	the	versification.
	A	somewhat	similar	metre	is	adopted	by	Mr.	C.	in
	his	Lines	on	Hearing	Triumphant	Music	t	but	as	the
	subject	is	essentially	different,	so	the	effect	is	by	no
	means	so	displeasing.	I	copy	one	of	the	stanzas	as	the
	noblest	individual	passage	which	I	can	find	among	all
	the	poems	of	its	author.
	That	glorious	strain!
	Oh,	from	my	brain
	I	see	the	shadows	flitting	like	scared	ghosts	!
	A	light	a	light
	Shines	in	to-night
	Round	the	good	angels	trooping	to	their	posts.
	And	the	black	cloud	is	rent	in	twain
	Before	the	ascending	strain.
	Mr.	Cranch	is	well	educated,	and	quite	accomplished.
	Like	Mr.	Osborn	he	is	musician,	painter,	and	poet,
	being	in	each	capacity	very	respectably	successful.
	He	is	about	thirty-three	or	four	years	of	age;	in
	height,	perhaps	five	feet	eleven;	athletic;	front	face
	not	unhandsome,	the	forehead	evincing	intellect,	and
	5


Marginalia
	And	their	wild	and	mellow	voices
	Still	to	hear	along	the	deep,
	Every	brooding	star	rejoices,
	While	the	billow,	on	its	pillow,
	Lulled	to	silence	seems	to	sleep.
	And	also	this:
	'T	is	the	wail	for	life	they	waken
	By	Samana's	yielding	shore
	With	the	tempest	it	is	shaken;
	The	wild	ocean	is	in	motion,
	And	the	song	is	heard	no	more.
	CLXXIII
	"	Here	is	a	man	who	is	a	scholar	and	an	artist,	who
	knows	precisely	how	every	effect	has	been	produced
	by	every	great	writer,	and	who	is	resolved	to	reproduce
	them.	But	the	heart	passes	by	his	pitfalls	and	traps
	and	carefully	planned	springes,	to	be	taken	captive	by
	some	simple	fellow	who	expected	the	event	as	little	as
	did	his	prisoner."	x
	Perhaps	I	err	in	quoting	these	words	as	the	author's
	own	they	are	in	the	mouth	of	one	of	his	interlocu
	tors	;	but	whoever	claims	them,	they	are	poetical	and
	no	more.	The	error	is	exactly	that	common	one	of
	separating	practice	from	the	theory	which	includes	it.
	In	all	cases,	if	the	practice	fail,	it	is	because	the	theory
	is	imperfect.	If	Mr.	Lowell's	heart	be	not	caught	in
	the	pitfall	or	trap,	then	the	pitfall	is	ill-concealed	and
	1	Lowell's	Conversations.
	309


A	POEM	TO	JAKE	S	MEMORY.	167
	Jake	must	find	another	home	;
	Jake	must	find	another	heart;
	Wheresoever	he	may	roam,
	Now	from	her	he	must	depart	!
	Go	it,	Jake	!	the	fates	have	smiled
	Mewildl
	Leave	a	mistress	find	a	friend
	Find	affection	for	thy	worth,
	Lasting,	till	thy	life	shall	end	!
	And,	beside	his	glowing	hearth,
	Growl	defiance	to	despair
	And	the	fair.
	Up	the	hill	and	down	the	glen,
	By	the	river,	o	er	the	lea,
	Follow	him	my	truthful	pen	!
	What	a	happy	dog	was	he	!
	Ever	at	his	MASTER	S	side
	TiU	he	died.
	Now	no	guardian	at	the	gate,
	No	swift	herald	at	the	door	;
	Bower	and	garden	desolate,
	He	is	romping	there	no	more	;
	Silent,	avenue	and	lawn
	Jake	is	gone	!
	Lay	him	kindly	by	the	brook,
	Deep	beside	the	resting	stone.
	In	the	cool	secluded	nook
	Where	he	loved	to	muse	alone	!
	This	strange	legend	o	er	him	penned
	A	true	friend.
	But	with	all	the	excuse	that	such	charming	poetry	may
	give,	for	cumbering	the	overladen	memory	of	the	world	by


A	MONODY	ON	QUINTY.	It9
	MONODY	ON	THE	DEATH	OF	THE	"QUINTESSENCE	OF	UGLINESS,
	COMMONLY	CALLED	"	QUINTY."
	Of	the	ugliest	dog	in	the	town
	All	mourn	the	untimely	decease	;
	In	the	bloom	of	his	fame	and	renown
	He	has	fled	from	our	presence	in	peace.
	His	ugliness,	many	would	say,
	Exalted	him	far	above	all	:
	But	then	every	dog	has	his	day,
	And	Quinty	was	destined	to	fall.
	Just	under	the	roughest	of	coats
	He	carried	the	warmest	of	hearts	:
	The	longest	of	bodies	and	throats-
	Was	a	dog	of	most	excellent	parts.
	Devoted	to	master	and	friend,
	Beloved	and	gentle	and	true
	Oh	when	would	my	monody	end
	Should	I	sum	up	his	virtues	to	you
	The	moral	of	this	my	sad	lay
	Remember	and	faithfully	keep	;
	Locked	up	in	the	mind	let	it	stay
	That	beauty	at	best	is	skin	deep.


I	give	you	the	end	of	a	golden	string,
	Only	wind	it	into	a	ball,
	It	will	lead	you	in	at	Heaven	s	gate,
	Built	in	Jerusalem	s	wall.
	William	Blake.


CHAPTER	VI.
	DE	SCYLLA	EN	CHARYBDIS.
	Repine	not,	O	my	son,	that	Heaven	hath	chastened	thee.
	Behold	this	vine,
	I	found	it	as	a	wild	tree,	whose	wanton	strength
	Hast	swoln	into	irregular	twigs,
	And	spent	itself	in	leaves	and	little	rings,
	So,	in	the	flourish	of	its	outwardness,
	Wasting	the	sap	and	strength
	That	should	have	given	forth	fruit.
	But	when	I	pruned	the	tree,
	Then	it	grew	temperate,	in	its	vain	expense
	Of	useless	leaves,	and	knotted,	as	thou	seest,
	Into	these	full,	clear	clusters,	to	repay
	The	hand	that	wisely	wounded	it.
	Repine	not,	O	my	son	!
	In	wisdom	and	in	mercy	Heaven	inflicts,
	Like	a	wise	leech,	its	painful	remedies.
	SOUTHEY.
	MEANTIME,	less	heroic	matters	were	occupying
	Coleridge	s	attention.	The	visitor	who	had	generously
	suggested	little	improvements	in	his	student	s	quarters
	was	dunning	him	unmercifully.	Coleridge	found	to	his
	surprise	and	sorrow	that	those	same	chairs	and	tables
	were	not	part	of	the	college	outfit.	His	family	resented
	any	demands	for	"	extravagant	luxuries."	"	Have	I	not
	helped	send	you	to	the	University,	at	the	cost	of	con
	siderable	pinching,	and	must	I	be	rewarded	by	bills
	for	debaucheries	and	luxuries,	whilst	I	and.	my	family


CHAPTER	XVIII.
	"HEADS	OR	TAILS?"
	O	meek	retiring	spirit	!	We	will	climb,
	Cheering	and	cheered,	this	lovely	hill	sublime;
	And	from	the	stirring	world	uplifted	high
	(Whose	noises	faintly	wafted	in	the	wind
	To	quiet	musings	shall	attune	the	mind)	....
	We	ll	smile	at	wealth	and	learn	to	smile	at	fame,
	Our	hopes,	our	knowledge,	and	our	joys	the	same."
	COLERIDGE.
	MEANTIME	Coleridge	had	reached	England	in	July
	and	hastened	to	Stowey,	where	Sarah	was	once	more
	happy	in	having	her	husband	with	her.	How	foreign
	he	seemed	with	his	German	pipe,	and	the	broad	laugh,
	instead	of	the	gentle	smile	of	old	!	It	was	so	sweet	to
	have	him	again	after	all	those	weary	months,	that	she
	started	in	terror	when	he	spoke	of	London	and	work,
	and	the	lines	gathered	around	the	tired	mouth	at	the
	thought	that	his	return	was	but	temporary.	She	tried
	all	the	little	wifely	tricks	and	endearments	that	bind
	a	man	s	heart	to	home.	Little	Hartley	was	an	endless
	delight	to	him,	and	was	so	proud	of	"	the	great	papa."
	Coleridge	felt	a	new	tenderness	for	the	mother	who
	was	shorn	of	her	little	nursling,	the	baby	Berkeley.
	But	he	must	find	immediate	work,	and	the	wanderer
	felt	the	restless	cravings	for	change	creeping	upon	him.
	His	wife	s	sadness,	when	he	showed	signs	of	restless-


SAMUEL	SA	WBONES,	M.	D.	45
	We	hold	the	fort,	the	old	Fort	Yukon!
	No!	I	see	the	old	fort	holds	us!
	I	fear	we	shall	die	in	Fort	Yukon
	If	we	hold	the	fort	or	it	holds	us!


222	A	DIARY	OF	TWO	PARLIAMENTS.	[W7.
	No.	2.
	That	till	somebody's	hanged	it	don't	matter	much	who
	With	the	Turks	we'll	have	nothing	whatever	to	do.
	No.	3.
	Autonomy	is,	after	all,	the	real	thing,
	Without	any	foreign	dictator	or	king.
	No.	4.
	The	Protocols	signed	about	Greece,	long	ago,
	Are	the	very	best	things	of	the	kind	that	I	know	;
	Let	the	Powers	united	now	take	the	same	course.
	If	the	Turks	should	refuse,	why,	then	take	it	by	force	;
	And	let	us	in	our	might	the	Wise	Men	of	the	West
	Exact	from	the	Moslem	just	what	we	think	best.
	Thus,	somehow	we'll	manage,	e'er	flags	shall	be	furled,
	To	have	done	a	great	stroke	for	'	'	the	peace	of	the	world	!	"
	No.	5.
	When	all	this	has	been	passed,	'twill	be	well,	I	should	guess,
	On	a	post-card	to	write	out	a	"	humble	address	:	"
	Which	will	seem,	when	it	reaches	the	hands	of	the	Queen,
	The	most	wonderful	thing	which	she	ever	has	seen	!
	May	i.	A	fight	The	question	of	the	appointment	of	the	Cattle
	over	Mr	Big-	Plague	Committee	has	come	up	to-night,	the
	gar	s	body.	&	.	.
	bone	(and	meat)	of	contention	being	whether
	Big-gar	shall	or	shall	not	be	appointed	a	member	of	the	Com-
	mittee.	The	Home	Rulers,	meeting	in	secret	conclave,	have
	not	without	suspicion	that	they	desire	wilfully	to	offend	the
	House	nominated	Biggar	as	their	representative	on	this	Com-
	mittee.	Their	cry	is	"	Biggar,	or	no	Committee,"	the	House
	answering	with	the	defiance,	"	No	Committee	rather	than	Big-
	gar/'	Thus	the	hosts	are	ranged,	and	the	fight	commences.
	It	began	about	nine	o'clock,	after	an	evening	throughout
	which	peace	and	amity	had	reigned	in	unmeasured	bounds.
	Everybody	had	got	everything	they	wanted	except	Alderman
	McArthur,	whose	mighty	mind,	ranging	as	far	as	Ceylon,	had
	claimed	justice	for	Buddhists,	Hindoos,	and	Mahommedans	as
	against	their	Anglican	and	Presbyterian	brethren	in	the	island.
	Lowther,	who	was	led	to	regard	the	grievances	in	a	mercenary
	light,	rapidly	did	a	sum,	in	which	he	showed	that	the	Buddhists,
	Hindoos,	and	Mahommedans	did	not	contribute	towards	the


PERSEPHONE
	Never,	never	comes	the	spring	;
	Leafless	still	the	willows	stand
	Looking	down	the	level	land
	Shadowless	and	slumbering.
	Here	the	happy	things	are	dreams	:
	Only	in	a	dream	we	live;
	Glad	for	what	a	dream	may	give,
	Phantom	suns	in	phantom	streams.
	Glad	for	sights	and	sounds	of	home,
	Dream-remembered,	unforgot	;
	Idle	words	we	heeded	not,
	Flight	of	sea-gulls	through	the	foam.
	Happy	dreams	that	cannot	last	!
	Life	itself	must	come	and	go,
	As	the	summer	shadows	flow
	Down	the	valleys	of	the	past.


And	Knossos	fair	demesne	?
	When	the	beacons	blazed	on	the	highlands
	And	the	ships	of	war	were	seen,
	I	stayed	my	hand	from	the	reaping,
	I	took	my	shield	and	spear
	Dust	of	the	earth	is	heaping
	Where	we,	who	laughed	at	fear,
	Left	Crete	in	the	sea	wind	s	keeping
	And	sailed	with	her	golden	gear
	To	the	sound	of	the	women	s	weeping,
	Till	the	wind	began	to	veer
	And	the	roll	of	the	ocean	thunder
	Smote	on	the	seamen	s	ear	:
	And	we	lost	our	ships	and	our	plunder
	But	faced	our	captives	here.
	THE	NEWCOMER
	For	fifty	years	I	tilled	an	upland	farm,
	My	sons	had	left	me;	then	the	famine	came.
	6	S


ENSENOEE.	75
	And,	pointing	to	the	blackened	sea,
	"	Kathreen,	I	live	or	die	with	thee.
	One	hope	remains	;	'tis	slight,	'tis	frail	;
	Speedy	our	fate,	if	that	should	fail	;
	Look,	by	the	lightning's	lengthened	blaze,
	Where,	on	the	crested	billows,	plays
	My	little	bark	:	say,	durst	thou	brave
	With	me	the	tempest	and	the	wave	?	"
	"	I	dare	!	"	her	murmuring	voice	replied,
	And	onward,	in	the	swelling	tide,
	They	rush	unpausing,	undismayed,
	And	in	fast-deepening	waters	wade.
	But	when	compelled	at	last	to	swim
	The	instructed	maid	encircles	him
	With	one	light	arm,	while	his	are	free
	To	buffet	with	the	billowy	sea.
	X.
	Well	serves	him	now	each	feat	of	skill,
	To	pause	and	float,	or	turn	at	will,
	For	pastime	learned	in	earlier	day,
	When	with	the	mountain	waves	at	play	;
	But	better	serves	his	vigorous	arm,
	His	daring	and	his	dauntless	mind,
	Which	not	the	shouts	of	wild	alarm
	That	still	came	floating	on	the	wind


JUAN	BELLAIRE.	137
	None,	heedless	more	of	human	wrath,
	Trod	Truth's	illuminated	path.
	Himself	a	priest,	the	regent	knew
	ANSELMO'S	worth,	and	prized	it	too	:
	Once	brethren	they	of	ST.	JEROME,
	Ere	duty	called	the	one	to	roam,
	And	one,	severer	trial	still,
	The	lofty	heights	of	power	to	fill.
	XLIX.
	Rumor,	who	shouts	with	trumpet	tone
	To	make	plebeian	follies	known,
	Speaks	but	in	broken	whispers	when
	She	tells	the	crimes	of	mighty	men.
	Such	whispers	of	GALINDA'S	wrong
	I	lad	filled	the	parent	country	long,
	And	now	in	growing	volume	came,
	Backed	by	ANSELMO'S	spotless	name.
	Once	more	was	formed	tribunal	high
	Empowered	the	island	cause	to	try,
	And	strictest	justice	to	award
	Where'er	might	fall	her	venging	sword.
	Nought	could	the	vice-king's	rank	avail,
	Or	gold,	to	turn	the	unswerving	scale	;
	With	scarce	a	pitying	voice	to	wail,
	12*


310	JUDGMENT
	Here	are	we	;	and	His	contrast	judges	us.	His
	Love	judges	us.	Ah	!	the	shame	:
	I	plead	Thyself	with	Thee,	I	plead
	Thee	in	our	utter	need	;
	Lord	God	of	mercy	and	of	men
	Show	mercy	on	us	then.
	Meantime,	claim	simply	His	forgiveness	for	it	is
	given	and	with	Him	leave	the	past.	Then,
	under	the	Great	Task-	Master	s	eye,	stand	up	and
	live	as	men	who	have	to	die,	and,	what	is	more,
	have	to	live	for	ever.


36	COWLEY'S	ESSAYS.
	actors	that	fill	the	stage	with	show	and	noise,	nay,	even
	than	Augustus	himself,	who	asked	with	his	last	breath,
	whether	he	had	not	played	his	farce	very	well.
	SENECA,	EX	THTESTE,	ACT.	II.	CHOB.
	"	Slet,	quicumque	volet	potens
	AulsB	culmine	lubrico	:
	Me	dulcis	saturet	quies.
	Obscuro	positus	loco,
	Leni	perfruar	otio.
	Nullis	nota	Quiritibus
	JEtas	per	taciturn	fluat.
	Sic	cum	transierint	mei
	Nullo	cum	strepitu	dies,
	Plebeius	moriar	senex.
	Illi	mors	gravis	incubat,
	Qui,	notus	nimis	omnibus,
	Ignotus	moritur	sibi."
	Upon	the	slippery	tops	of	human	state,
	The	gilded	pinnacles	of	fate,
	Let	others	proudly	stand,	and,	for	a	while
	The	giddy	danger	to	beguile,
	With	joy,	and	with	disdain,	look	down	on	all,
	Till	their	heads	turn,	and	down	they	fall.
	Me,	O	ye	gods,	on	earth,	or	else	so	near
	That	I	no	fall	to	earth	may	fear,
	And,	O	ye	gods,	at	a	good	distance	seat
	From	the	long	ruins	of	the	great.	7
	Here	wrapt	in	th'	arms	of	quiet	let	me	lye	;
	Quiet,	companion	of	obscurity.
	7	A	wonderfully	fine	line,	of	which	there	is	no	trace	in	the
	original.	II


OF	OLIVER	CROMWELL.
	175
	p|	HEN,	lo,	ere	the	last	words	were	fully	spoke,
	From	a	fair	cloud,	which	rather	op'd	than	broke,
	A	flash	of	light,	rather	than	lightening,	came,
	So	swift,	and	yet	so	gentle,	was	the	flame.
	Upon	it	rode,	(and,	in	his	full	career,
	Seem'd	to	my	eyes	no	sooner	there,	than	here,)
	The	comeliest	youth	of	all	th'angelic	race	;
	Lovely	his	shape,	ineffable	his	face.
	The	frowns,	with	which	he	strook	the	trembling	fiend,
	All	smiles	of	human	beauty	did	transcend	;
	His	beams	of	locks	fell	part	dishevel'd	down,
	Part	upwards	curl'd,	and	form'd	a	nat'ral	crown,
	Such	as	the	British	monarchs	us'd	to	wear	;
	If	gold	might	be	compar'd	with	angel's	hair.
	His	coat	and	flowing	mantle	were	so	bright,
	They	seem'd	both	made	of	woven	silver	light	:
	Across	his	breast	an	azure	riband	went,	21
	At	which	a	medal	hung,	that	did	present
	In	wondrous	living	figures	to	the	sight,
	The	mystic	champion's,	and	old	dragon's	fight	;
	And	from	his	mantle's	side	there	shone	afar,
	A	fix'd,	and,	I	believe,	a	real	star.
	In	his	fair	hand	(what	need	was	there	of	more	?)
	No	arms,	but	th'English	bloody	cross,	he	bore,
	Which	when	he	tow'rds	th'affrighted	tyrant	bent,
	And	some	few	words	pronounc'd	(but	what	they	meant,
	21	We	must	reflect	that	the	tutelar	genius	of	England	is	here
	introduced,	not	merely	to	unravel	the	intricacy	of	the	scene,	but
	to	form	a	striking	contrast	to	the	foul	Jiend	who	had	usurped
	his	place	;	and	still	further	to	disgrace	the	usurper	by	a	portrait
	of	the	rightful	heir	to	the	British	crown,	presented	to	us	under
	an	angelic	form,	and	in	all	the	force	and	beauty	of	poetic
	colouring.


32	EXTRACTS	FROM	DIARY	[Vol.
	Little	damage	was	done,	however,	except	to	mud	houses,
	which	are	easily	rebuilt,	and	to	crops	other	than	rice.
	We	passed	through	Tientsin	about	two	o	'clock,	and	puffed
	through	the	wall	of	Peking	at	six,	forty-five.	Inside	this
	outer	Chinese	wall,	which	Genghis	Khan	started	and	Kub-
	lai	Khan	completed	around	the	then	capital	of	their	em-
	pire	described	by	Marco	Polo	in	such	magnificent	terms,	I
	was	surprised	to	find	not	a	great	busy	city,	but	the	same
	smiling	thickly	populated	countryside	which	we	had	been
	passing	through	outside	it.	Even	in	their	days,	the
	Khans	never	expected	the	city	would	grow	up	to	the	walls.
	It	was	more	in	the	nature	of	a	fortified	section	of	the
	country	to	which	a	large	part	of	the	population	could	fly
	for	refuge,	than	the	capital	of	an	empire.
	Thrice	thirty	miles	of	fertile	ground
	With	walls	and	towers	were	girdled	round,
	And	there	were	gardens	bright	with	sinuous	rills
	Where	blossomed	many	an	incense	bearing	tree,
	And	there	were	fountains,	ancient	as	the	hills
	Enfolding	sunny	spots	of	greenery.
	The	Hotel	Wagon	Lits,	close	to	the	Water	Gate	through
	which	the	Japanese	forced	their	entrance	in	1900,	is	sur-
	prisingly	good	and	clean,	though	expensive	and	not	yet
	completed.	Gil	is	neither	here,	nor	is	there	any	word
	from	him.
	PEKING,	SEPTEMBER	14.	Called	on	Mr.	Bockhill-a
	great	friend	of	Aunt	Clara	-at	our	embassy,	and	he	was
	most	cordial.	He	said	that	he	had	already	gotten	a	boy
	for	me,	but	didn't	think	much	of	the	chances	for	big	game
	in	north	or	central	China	or	Mongolia.	Manchuria,	he
	says,	is	the	best	place	for	that	around	here.	He	spoke
	of	several	other	trips,	told	me	some	of	the	best	things	to
	see	in	Peking,	put	a	horse	at	my	disposal,	and	invited	me
	to	lunch	on	Sunday.	I	went	to	the	bank,	where	I	found
	no	word	from	Gil,	did	a	little	necessary	shopping,	and
	had	another	abscess	attended	to	at	the	Methodist	Mission


98	FAIRY	GOLD
	Glimmering	boat	that	leans	and	tarries	with
	the	weight	of	dreams	she	carries
	To	the	cots	of	happy	children.	Gentle
	sailor,	steer	her	well	!
	Now	we	pass	through	dusky	portals	to	the
	drowsy	land	of	mortals;
	Snow-enfolded,	silent	cities	stretch	about
	us	dim	and	far.
	Oh!	how	sound	the	world	is	sleeping,	mid
	night	watch	no	shepherd	keeping,
	Though	an	angel-face	shines	gladly	down
	from	every	golden	star.
	Here	s	a	roof.	I	ll	hold	the	reindeer.	I	sup
	pose	this	weather-vane,	Dear,
	Some	one	set	here	just	on	purpose	for	our
	team	to	fasten	to.
	There	s	its	gilded	cock,	the	gaby	!	wants	to
	crow	and	tell	the	baby


POEMS	OF	VACATION	129
	"	O	dear	!	O	dear	!	"	sighed	the	Summer	Day,
	"What	lazy	small	boys	I	see!
	I	wish	I	wish	they	would	wake	and	play
	With	a	bright	little	Day	like	me.	"
	THE	SUN	OUT	OF	TEMPER
	(The	Other	Side	of	the	Question)
	"On!	I	say	and	declare	that	it	s	really	not
	fair
	For	the	Day-Star	to	call	me	so	soon	!	"
	Cried	the	Sun,	very	red,	as	he	jumped	out	of
	bed
	And	made	up	a	face	at	the	Moon.
	So	he	climbed	the	blue	skies	with	his	thumbs
	in	his	eyes
	And	his	hair	tumbled	over	his	head,
	And	he	gave	a	great	yawn	in	the	face	of	the
	Dawn,
	Which	was	very	bad	manners,	she	said.


POEMS	OF	LITTLE	PEOPLE	189
	Laughing	Rebecca	who	waved	the	fife,
	And	Abigail	with	the	drum.
	LITTLE	TOM	A	BECKET
	OUR	Christian	world	was	less	twelve	centuries
	old
	When	little	Tom	a	Becket	proudly	sat	in
	His	mother	s	lap	and,	worth	his	weight	in
	gold,
	Prattled	to	her	in	Norman-French	and
	Latin.
	His	weight	in	gold?	"Nay,	dearer	yet,"	she
	said,
	Kissing	the	rosy	face,	"my	precious	sonny
	Is	worth	his	weight	in	good	white	wheaten
	bread,
	Pasties	and	cheese	and	saffron	cakes	and
	honey.	"


226	FAIRY	GOLD
	Of	our	Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-
	Great	-	Great	-	Great	-	Great	-	Great	-
	Grand-mama.
	Here	s	Willie	asks	if	mermaids	were	ever
	caught	and	canned,
	And	Dorothy	s	geography	is	searched	for
	fairyland,
	And,	faith!	the	lass	Elizabeth	can	talk	of
	myths	as	glib
	As	if	bad	manners	to	her!	she	mistrusted
	of	a	fib
	Her	Great-Great-Great	-Great-Great-Great
	Great	-	Great	-	Great	-	Great	-	Grand	-
	mama.
	Now	whist	!	and	let	me	tell	you	how	long	and
	long	ago,
	In	the	blessed	isle	of	Erin,	where	songs	and
	stories	blow


Throned	on	a	grassy	knoll,	I	watch
	The	elrin	host	come	trooping	by,
	And	hear	the	whir	of	fairy	wings,
	The	goblin	voices,	shrill	and	high.
	Behind	them	glides	a	magic	train
	Of	Kings	and	Princes,	armor-clad,
	And	serving	as	their	squires	bold
	Boots,	Ashiepattle,	Cinderlad.
	With	silken	rustle,	flash	of	gem,
	Queen	and	Czaritsa	sweep	along,
	While	red-capped	Troll	and	rainbow	Sprite
	Peep	out	amid	the	enchanted	throng.
	Ting-ling,	ting-ling,	boiu	sweet	the	ring,
	Like	golden	bellS)	of	fairy	laughter^
	Rap-tap^	rap-tap^	boiv	sharp	the	clap
	Of	fairy	footfalls	following	after!
	Where	witch	-grass	grows	and	fern-seed	lies,
	A	Fairy	Ring	is	dimly	seen	;
	And	there	a	glitt	ring	host	is	met
	To	dance	upon	the	moonlit	green.
	Riquet,	the	Tufted,	lightly	turns
	The	Fair	One	with	the	Golden	Hair	j
	And	Prince	Desire	and	Mignonette
	Form	yet	another	graceful	pair.
	Tall	as	a	tower	stands	Galifron;
	The	Desert	Fay,	with	snakes	bedight,
	First	pirouettes	with	him	and	then
	With	wee	Tom	Thumb,	King	Arthur	s	Knight.
	Ting-ling^	ting-ling)	bo	t	w	siveet	the	ring)
	Like	golden	bells)	of	fairy	laughter;
	Ra[)-tap)	rap-tap)	bo&lt;w	sharp	the	clap
	Of	fairy	footfalls	following	after!
	Sweet,	unseen	harpers	harp	and	sing,
	Faint	elfin	horns	the	air	repeat	;
	Rapunzel	shakes	her	shining	braids,
	The	White	Cat	trips	with	velvet	feet.
	Rose-red,	Snow-white,	the	faithful	Bear,
	Cross	hands	with	gallant	Percinetj
	While	Tattercoats,	in	turn,	salutes
	Yvon,	the	Fearless,	and	Finette.
	But	hark	!	the	cock	begins	to	crow	;
	The	darkness	turns	to	day,	and,	look!
	The	fairy	dancers	whirl	within
	The	crimson	covers	of	this	book!
	NOKA	ARCHIBALD	SMITH
	[xi]


Jacky,	come,	give	Me	thy	Fiddle.
	\
	ACKY,	come,	give	me	thy	fiddle,
	If	ever	thou	mean	to	thrive;
	Nay;	I'll	not	give	my	fiddle
	To	any	man	alive.
	If	I	should	give	my	fiddle,
	They	'11	think	that	I	'm	gone	mad	;
	For	many	a	joyful	day
	My	fiddle	and	I	have	had
	Old	Man.
	A	LITTLE	old	man	of	Derby;
	How	do	you	think	he	served	me?
	He	took	away	my	bread	and	cheese,
	And	that	is	how	he	served	me
	The	Sow	came	in	with	the	Saddle.
	THE	Sow	came	in	with	the-	saddle,
	The	little	Pig	rocked	the	cradle,
	The	Dish	jumped	on	the	table,
	To	see	the	Pot	swallow	the	Ladle.
	The	Spit	that	stood	behind	the	door
	Threw	the	Pudding-stick	on	the	floor.
	"Odsplut"!	said	the	Gridiron,	"can't	you	agree?
	I'm	the	head	constable,	>	bring	them	to	me."


Sing,	Sing!	WKaf	Shall:	/	Sing?
	SING,	sing!	what	shall	I	sing?
	The	cat	has	eat	the	pudding-string!
	Do,	do!	what	shall	I	do?
	The	cat	has	bit	it	quite	in	two,
	Ptas+RuMng	Hot.
	PEASE-PUDDING	hot,
	Pease-pudding	cold,
	Pease-pudding	in	the	po^
	Nine	days	old.
	Some	like	it	hot,
	Some	like	it	cold,
	Some	like	it	in	the	pot*
	Nine	days	old.
	Peter,	Peter,	Pumpkin-eater.
	PETER,	Peter,	pumpkin-eater,
	Had	a	wife,	and	could	n't	keep	her;
	He	put	her	in	a	pumpkin-shell,
	And	there	he	kept	her	very	well.
	Peter,	Peter,	pumpkin-eater,
	Had	another	and	didn't	love	herj
	Peter	learned	to	read	and	spell,
	And	then	he	loved	her	very	well


AND	HIS	SECRET	SOCIETY.	255
	days.	Let	them	think	that	even	with	regard	to	the	Shake
	speare	plays	only	these	little-read	scientific	works	of	Bacon	are
	invaluable,	explaining	or	elucidating,	as	they	so	often	do,	the
	meaning	or	original	idea	of	obscure	passages,	and	often	enabling
	the	commentator	to	trace	the	thought	to	some	author	of
	antiquity,	or	to	some	observation	drawn	from	"	nature's	infinite
	book	of	secresy,	"	in	which,	says	the	poet,	"	a	little	I	can
	read."
	The	last	scene	in	The	Tempest	shows	us	the	philosopher
	returning	from	the	u	recreative	"	writing,	which	relieved	the
	overflowing	of	a	full	brain,	to	the	graver	labours	and	con
	templations	which	drew	Bacon	to	the	retirement	of	his	"	full
	poor	cell."	Play-time	was	over,	and	"these	things	are	but
	toys.	"
	"	Our	revels	now	are	ended.	These	our	actors,
	As	I	foretold	you,	were	all	spirits	and	'
	Are	melted	into	air,	into	thin	air:
	And,	like	the	baseless	fabric	of	this	vision,
	The	cloud-capp'd	towers,	the	gorgeous	palaces,
	The	solemn	temples,	the	great	globe	itself,
	Yea,	all	which	it	inherit,	shall	dissolve
	And,	like	this	insubstantial	pageant	faded,
	Leave	not	a	rack	behind.	We	are	such	stuff
	As	dreams	are	made	on,	and	our	little	life
	Is	rounded	with	a	sleep.	Sir,	I	am	vex'd;
	Bear	with	my	weakness	;	my	old	brain	is	troubled;
	Be	not	disturb'd	with	my	infirmity:
	If	you	be	pleased,	retire	into	my	cell
	And	there	repose:	a	turn	or	two	I'll	wait,
	To	still	my	beating	mind,"


PANAMA
	MAP	pictured,	South	America	floats	idly	in	the	ocean
	Humped	not	unlike	a	camel	or	old	Santa	Claus	s
	pack,
	Hair	hung	upon	the	Isthmus	with	an	eastward	swaying
	motion,
	The	snow-tipped	Corderillas	crawling	all	along	its	back.
	A	giant	cornucopia	rich	as	all	the	earth	can	show,
	Pierced	by	the	fierce	Equator	and	the	milder	Capricorn,
	Filled	with	rivers,	lakes	and	forests,	condors,	jaguars,	ice
	and	snow,
	Mountains,	monkeys	and	republics	from	Darien	to	the
	Horn.
	Languid	in	the	tropic	sunshine,	drenched	by	Equatorial
	showers,
	Prey	too	oft	of	venal	rulers	vexing	the	unhappy	land,
	Or	if	peace	in	Freedom	s	guise	reign	where	the	drowsy
	jaguar	cowers,
	Tis	the	opiate	of	the	sword	in	the	tyrant	s	mailed	hand.
	Not	thus	her	Northern	sister	clingeth	weakly	to	another.
	Frost	anchored	in	the	Arctic,	she	struggles	for	the	pole,
	Her	one	maimed	arm	extended	to	her	giant	Asian	brother,
	Within	her	snowy	bosom	guards	stout	Hudson	s	valiant
	soul.
	4


Oh,	Germany	!
	Hark	to	the	sighs	of	children,	maids	and	mothers.
	Think	of	the	ravaged	fields	and	hearts	and	homes.
	Then	say	"	Where	am	I	right	or	wrong,	my
	brothers	?	"
	Hark	to	the	cry	Peace	!	Peace	!	At	last	it	comes.


HOOK	MOUNTAIN
	HILDREN	we	are	of	the	great	God	Pan
	Who	marvel	much	by	the	river
	How	ruthless	man	can	mar	the	plan
	Of	the	wise	and	bounteous	giver.
	We	hear	afar	the	sound	of	war
	As	the	rocks	they	rend	and	shiver.
	They	blast	and	mine	and	rudely	scar
	The	pleasant	banks	of	the	river.
	i
	What	if	your	city	storms	the	sky
	Your	streets	creep	on	and	multiply?
	Can	puny	might	rear	cliffs	on	high?
	Can	you	give	us	back	our	river?
	Hook	Mountain	is	the	most	striking	example	of	the	destruction	of
	the	Hudson	s	banks,	which	still	goes	on.
	It	is	most	insidious	and	as	stupid	as	it	is	wasteful	of	one	of	the
	great	assets	of	the	State.	The	rock	and	clay	are	soon	exhausted.	The
	damage	can	not	be	repaired	in	thousands	of	years.
	30


LOWELL,	POET,	ESSAYIST	AND	CRITIC
	Here	was	a	type	of	the	true	elder	race,
	And	one	of	Plutarch	s	men	talked	with	us	face	to	face.
	*	*	*
	Great	captains,	with	their	guns	and	drums,
	Disturb	our	judgment	for	the	hour,
	But	at	last	silence	comes;
	These	all	are	gone,	and,	standing	like	a	tower,
	Our	children	shall	behold	his	fame,
	The	kindly-earnest,	brave,	forseeing	man,
	Sagacious,	patient,	dreading	praise,	not	blame,
	New	birth	of	our	new	soil,	the	first	American.
	And	here	is	the	climax	of	his	splendid
	apostrophe	to	his	country:
	O	Beautiful!	My	Country!	Ours	once	more,
	Smoothing	thy	gold	of	war-disheveled	hair
	O	er	such	sweet	brows	as	never	other	wore,
	And	letting	thy	set	lips,
	Freed	from	wrath	s	pale	eclipse,
	The	rosy	edges	of	their	smile	lay	bare.
	*	*	*
	What	were	our	lives	without	thee?
	What	all	our	lives	to	save	thee?
	We	reck	not	what	we	gave	thee;
	We	will	not	dare	to	doubt	thee,
	But	ask	whatever	else,	and	we	will	dare!
	Other	fine	poems	are	The	Vision	of	Sir
	Launfal	y	with	its	impressive	lesson	in
	genuine	Christianity;	The	Washers	of	the
	Shroud^	one	of	the	best	of	the	poems	pro
	duced	by	the	sweat	and	agony	of	the	Civil
	War,	and	the	pathetic	little	poems	on	the
	death	of	his	daughter	and	of	his	wife.
	After	the	Burial	is	one	of	the	finest	bits	of
	verse	in	the	language.	Of	course,	*The
	Biglow	Papers	are	full	of	good	things,	as
	[75]


THANKSGIVING	EVE.
	They	round	the	ingle	form	a	circle	wide."	ROBERT	BURNS.
	THANKSGIVING	!	hail	thy	festive	cheer,
	Thou	day	to	all	New-England	dear	!
	When	Labor	by	his	mattock	throws,
	And	gives	his	toil-strained	nerves	repose	;
	And	Care,	for	want	with	whom	to	stay,
	Goes	off	to	have	a	holiday.
	When	scores	of	craking	fowls	must	die,
	To	make	the	needful	chicken-pie	;
	And	turkies,	twirling	at	the	fire,
	Roast,	as	the	de	il	will	roast	a	liar	;
	And	busy	dames	and	lasses	fair,
	The	Pilgrim	s	yearly	feast	prepare.
	When	Plenty	gives	from	out	her	store
	A	dainty	bit,	to	glad	the	poor,
	And	Want,	with	e	en	his	stingy	grip,
	Is	lavish	of	his	only	fip.
	When	forge	and	smithy,	shop	and	mill,
	In	Sabbath	quietude	are	still,
	And	artisans	of	every	grade
	Are	in	their	very	best	arrayed	;


22	THE	HARP	AND	PLOW.
	So	now	around	our	humbler	board,
	Altho	uo	knight,	or	lofty	lord,
	Or	laurel	d	bard	are	seen	;
	Yet	there	are	hearts	as	brave	and	true
	As	e	er	from	titled	scions	grew,
	By	nature	nobler,	e	en.
	And	one	who	learned	his	harp	to	string
	In	the	green	fields,	in	time	of	spring,
	When	music	from	the	tuneful	bough
	Beguiled	his	labors	at	the	plough	;
	Who	learned	to	strike	a	rural	key,
	When	sweetly	o	er	the	faded	lea
	The	Autumn	wind	breathed	slow	and	clear
	Its	requiem	for	the	dying	year,
	Essays	a	song	;	attention	give
	And	hear	the	story	of	the	eve	:
	LEGEND	OF	THE	ISLE/
	Is	there	a	man	who	loves	a	marvelous	tale
	Some	dreamy	legend	of	enchanted	lands,
	As	loves	old	Tantivy	October	ale,
	Or	I	our	river	and	its	silvery	sands	?
	Lend	such	attention	as	that	tale	demands.
	The	efforts	of	the	muse	less	notice	claim	;
	The	faltering	chords	bespeak	her	awkward	hands.
	Wrapped	in	her	homely	robe,	with	progress	lame,
	She	slowly	takes	the	path	which	others	run	to	fame.
	*See	Note	A.


130	THE	HARP	AND	PLOW.
	What	business,	pray,	have	you	with	me	?
	We	surely	cannot	disagree.
	Have	n	t	I	left	my	proper	sphere
	To	spread	my	scandals	far	and	near	?
	Left	my	old	man,	I	swore	to	cherish,
	To	cold	potatoes	or	to	perish	?
	My	poor	neglected	brats	forsaken
	Till	you	ve	apprenticed	them,	and	taken	?
	Have	I	not	fired	with	zealous	rage
	To	hear	rebuke	from	some	old	sage,
	Or	read	the	apostolic	page	?
	Sought	out	each	fire-and-tow	convention
	Fierce	for	polemics	and	contention	?
	Have	I	not	ever	cast	aloof
	Instruction	and	despised	reproof,
	And	as	a	consequence,	you	see,
	Been	full	of	general	deviltry	?
	And	now	is	this	the	way	it	ends	?
	Is	this	the	way	you	back	your	friends	?
	Softly,	my	dear,	observed	old	Sootie,
	And	seized	the	bold	unblushing	beauty	;
	You	ve	done	all	this,	I	11	not	deny
	Or	rather	it	was	you	and	I.
	Some	things	you	ve	done	in	boiling	blood,
	And	thought	that	you	was	doing	good	;
	But	let	me	whisper	in	your	ear,
	Your	mind	was	very	far	from	clear.
	Ignorance	of	the	law,	we	read,
	Is	no	excuse	for	evil	deed	;


LINES	ADDRESSED	TO	OLD	KNICK.
	NOT	to	the	celebrated	devil,
	Not	NICK,	thou	big,	hope-blasting	weevil,
	Embodying	all	we	know	of	evil	;
	No	!	Goodness	bless	me	!
	Thou	It	have	to	use	me	far	more	civil,
	Ere	I	address	thee.
	But	thou	who	dwell	st	in	Gotham	city,
	The	MAN,	warm-hearted,	wise,	and	witty,
	Thou	who	first	read	my	rustic	ditty,
	First	called	me	BARD	!
	(The	holy	truth	will	sure	acquit	thee
	In	that	regard.)
	Tho	not	thy	namesake	s	kin	or	pet,
	There	s	something	iveird	about	you,	yet	;
	What	Editor	before	could	set
	So	rich	a	Table?
	Where	could	mere	human	body	get
	The	wherewith-able	?
	*	L.	GATLORD	CLARK,	Esq.,	editor	of	the	venerable	and	valuable
	Knickerbocker	Magazine	;	both	himself	and	Maga	familiarly	and
	facetiously	styled	at	times	by	their	thousand	admirers,	Knick	or
	Old	Knick.	Mr.	CLARK	first	bestowed	upon	the	author	the	nom	de
	plume	Peasant-Bard.	See	Knickerbocker	Mag.	vol.	xxxi,	page	183.


INTRODUCTORY.	T	3
	The	Susquehanna	takes	its	rise
	Here	in	this	rural	paradise,
	Where	Cooper	made	each	inch	of	ground
	Both	classical	and	world	renowned.
	Its	mouth	five	hundred	miles	away,
	Is	Chesapeake,	an	ample	bay.
	A	"	Crooked	River"	'tis	indeed,
	True	to	its	name,	we	are	agreed.
	And	one	with	reason	might	surmise,
	That,	in	its	onward	course,	it	tries
	To	spell	its	name	with	letters	delf,
	So	oft	it	doubles	on	itself.
	Here,	it	is	easy	quite	to	span
	With	rod	and	line	of	fisherman;
	There,	half	a	league	it	stretches	o'er
	Its	rocky	bed	from	shore	to	shore;
	And	lowing	herds	are	often	seen,
	Half	way	its	distant	banks	between;
	For	though	its	volume	oft	is	swelled
	From	floods	by	tributaries	held,


THE	BETTER	PART.
	Better	part.
	RIGHT	sun,	in	thy	diurnal	round,
	The	haunts	of	men	thou	seest	afar	;
	Which	with	the	arts	of	peace	resound,
	Or	direful	war.
	Fair	moon,	thy	dreamy	brightness	lures
	Fond	lovers	forth	into	the	night	;
	Thy	look	emboldens,	and	assures
	The	bashful	wight.
	Pale	stars,	ye	gaze	upon	the	deeds
	Of	those	who	bend	to	sin's	hard	yoke	;
	Whose	half	reluctant	courage	needs
	Night's	sable	cloak.
	All-seeing	eye,	alike	to	thee,
	Is	night	or	day.	teach	my	heart
	The	bad	to	shun,	and	early	see
	The	Better	Part.


82	THE	HERMIT	OP	MOSS	POND.
	For	Joe	one	thing	remained,	howe'er,
	To	make	complete	that	Christmas	cheer;
	One	gift	all	other	gifts	above,
	He	most	desired:	'Twas	Agnes'	love.
	But	could	he	hope	the	prize	to	gain	?
	Or,	would	he	plead	his	cause	in	vain	?
	A	thousand	plans	he	formed	amiss,
	At	last	he	settled	down	to	this.
	That	very	night	he	would	declare
	His	ardent	love	for	Agnes	Daire,
	Would	write	a	letter,	and	inclose
	A	diamond	ring,	and	this	propose:
	That	if	his	love	she	could	receive,
	She	wear	the	ring	on	Christmas	eve.
	Once	formed,	this	purpose	filled	his	mind.
	The	ring	was	purchased,	note	outlined
	And	copied	o'er	and	o'er	with	care,
	Nought	was	too	good	for	Agnes	Daire.


86	MISUNDERSTOOD.
	flfo
	1Ron6cau.
	ISUNDERSTOOD!	a	life	undone,
	Ere	half	th'	allotted	race	is	run.
	'Tis	ever	thus;	we	mourn,	we	cry
	O'er	fancied	wrongs,	and	oft	deny
	Sweet	Peace	approach,	till	hope	is	gone.
	Or	if,	perchance,	we	struggle	on,
	And	bear	life's	ills	as	best	we	can,
	Oft	'nealh	the	burden	must	we	sigh,	-
	Misunderstood.
	Paint	not,	dear	heart,	nor	duty	shun;
	Through	sacrifice	of	self,	God's	Son
	Redeemed	a	world;	should	not	we	try
	To	act	our	part,	and	magnify
	Our	Lord,	e'en	though	by	all	save	one,
	Misunderstood?


142	THE	HERMIT	OF	MOSS	POND.
	'Tis	reached	by	trail	which	may	be	found,.
	To	eastward	of	the	Indian	Mound	;
	Which	curiosity,	betimes,
	Was	elsewhere	mentioned	in	these	rhymes.


DUBLIN	CATHOLIC	CEMETERIES	67
	Our	friends	in	Dublin	city	gay,
	Expectant	name	our	names	;
	"	The	fog	is	out	to-night,"	they	say,
	And	stir	the	kindly	flames.
	Oh	!	chiller	than	October	s	touch
	Is	freezing	many	a	smile	!
	Terror	and	mortal	torments	clutch
	What	love	expects	the	while.
	Love	s	self,	however	true	and	warm,
	Might	fail	to	recognise
	The	dear,	the	well-remember	d	form,
	If	set	before	its	eyes	!
	Mong	twisted	metal,	splinter	d	wood,
	Half	buried	in	the	ground,
	Mong	heaps	of	limbs	crush	d	up	in	blood,
	Must	wife,	child,	friend	be	found.
	No	hostile	cannonade,	or	mine,
	Perform	cl	the	cruel	wrong	;
	Through	peaceful	fields	they	sped	to	join
	The	city	s	sprightly	throng.
	Not	a	few	of	those	so	suddenly	hurled	into	eternity	were
	coming	to	attend	the	ceremonial	with	which	Dargan	s	Great
	Exhibition	of	that	year	closed.	Others	were	solely	intent	on
	prosecuting,	as	the	great	aim	of	their	lives,	the	craft	in	which
	each	had	anxiously	embarked.	One	of	the	passengers,	Mr.
	Jelly,	put	his	head	out	of	the	window	for	a	moment	and	was
	instantly	decapitated.	Christopher	MacNally,	a	well-known
	solicitor	of	Dublin,	also	instantaneously	perished.	MacNally,
	with	other	victims,	\vas	laid	in	Glasnevin	Cemetery	on	October
	the	gth,	1853.	A	monument	has	been	erected	by	his	widow.
	The	death	of	O	Connell	s	nephew	Mr.	MacSweeney	and	his
	wife	were	specially	deplored.
	John	Keogh,	the	leader	of	the	Irish	Catholics	previous	to
	O	Connell,	had	sons	who	inherited	much	of	his	fire	and	patriot
	ism.	John	Keogh,	his	second	son,	was	buried	here	on	Sep
	tember	1	3th,	1854,	an	d	others	of	the	family	followed.
	On	October	i2th,	1854,	died	Patrick	O	Higgins,	or,	as	he	is
	described,	"	The	O	Higgins,"	an	active	leader	in	the	Chartist
	movement	and	President	of	the	Universal	Suffrage	Associa
	tion.
	"	Here	lies	an	editor"	is	said	to	have	been	rudely	graven


HUGH	RUSSELL	AT	HARROW.
	CHAPTER	I.
	FIRST	IMPRESSIONS.
	"My	boy,	th'	unwelcome	hour	is	come,
	When	thou,	transplanted	from	thy	genial	home,
	Must	find	a	colder	soil	and	bleaker	air,
	And	trust	for	safety	to	a	stranger's	care."
	COWPBB.
	NE	September	afternoon	a	fly	might	have
	been	seen	crawling	up	the	hill	from	the
	Harrow	station.	Outside	was	a	port-
	manteau,	a	hamper,	and	a	large	wooden
	box	;	inside,	a	hat-box,	a	large	bag,	an
	umbrella,	and	a	small	boy.	The	fly	drew	up	before	the
	front	door	of	one	of	the	masters'	houses.	With	some
	diffidence,	the	small	boy,	after	extricating	himself
	from	his	baggage,	proffered	the	flyman	three	shillings,
	but	was	promptly	informed	by	that	worthy	that	six
	was	always	the	fare.	What	was	the	good	of	arguing	?


51
	Cbrist
	WESLEY	11.	10.	11.	10.
	Lowell	Mason,	1830
	N	N-
	Bright	-	est	and	best	of
	N
	sons	of
	the	morn	-	ing,
	r	-
	Dawn	on	our
	1
	dark	-	ness,	and	lend
	of	the	east,	the
	N	*
	ho	-	ri	-	zon	a	-
	=PC
	igii
	i	&	*	10	p
	~9~~
	dorn	-	ing.	Guide	where	our	in	-	fant	Re	-	deem	-	er
	&
	is	laid	!
	\*L
	"S^--
	-&-
	A	-	men.
	1	"BRIGHTEST	and	best	of	the	sons	of	the	morning,
	-L	Dawn	on	our	darkness,	and	lend	us	thine	aid	!
	Star	of	the	east,	the	horizon	adorning,
	Guide	where	our	infant	Redeemer	is	laid	!
	2	Cold	on	His	cradle	the	dewdrops	are	shining;
	Low	lies	His	head	with	the	beasts	of	the	stall	;
	Angels	adore	Him	in	slumber	reclining,
	Maker	and	Monarch	and	Saviour	of	all.
	3	Say,	shall	we	yield	Him,	in	costly	devotion,
	Odors	of	Edom	and	offerings	divine,
	Gem	of	the	mountain	and	pearls	of	the	ocean,
	Myrrh	from	the	forest,	or	gold	from	the	mine?
	4	Vainly	we	offer	each	ample	oblation,
	Vainly	with	gifts	would	His	favor	secure;
	Richer	by	far	is	the	heart	s	adoration,
	Dearer	to	God	are	the	prayers	of	the	poor.
	5	Brightest	and	best	of	the	sons	of	the	morning,
	Dawn	on	our	darkness,	and	lend	us	thine	aid	!
	Star	of	the	east,	the	horizon	adorning,
	Guide	where	our	infant	Redeemer	is	laid	!
	Begrinald	Heber,	1811


TTbe
	RANQELEY	8.	6.	8.	6.	8.	6.	(Alternate	Tune	for	187}
	Henry	M.	Dunham,	1909
	O	Ho	-	ly	Cit	-	y	seen	of	John,	Where	Christ,	the	Lamb,	doth	reign,
	i	f	r"	1	w~	1
	paEpEE^*
	"1	-	4
	ft
	"
	J
	||
	J
	*
	*
	(
	Uj
	.
	^
	I	^	^
	With	-in	whose	four-square	walls	shall	come	Xo	night,	nor	need,	nor	pain,
	I
	And	where	the	tearsarewip	dfromeyesThatshall	not	weepa	-	gain!	A-	men,	A	-	men.
	HOLY	City	seen	of	John,
	Where	Christ,	the	Lamb,	doth	reign,
	Within	whose	four-square	walls	shall	come
	No	night,	nor	need,	nor	pain,
	And	where	the	tears	are	wiped	from	eyes
	That	shall	not	weep	again!
	2	Hark,	how	from	men	whose	lives	are	held
	More	cheap	than	merchandise,
	From	women	struggling	sore	for	bread,
	From	little	children	s	cries,
	There	swells	the	sobbing	human	plaint
	That	bids	thy	walls	arise!
	3	shame	to	us	who	rest	content
	While	lust	and	greed	for	gain
	In	street	and	shop	and	tenement
	Wring	gold	from	human	pain,
	And	bitter	lips	in	blind	despair
	Cry	"Christ	hath	died	in	vain!"
	4	Give	us,	God,	the	strength	to	build
	The	City	that	hath	stood
	Too	long	a	dream,	whose	laws	are	love,
	Whose	ways	are	brotherhood,
	And	where	the	sun	that	shineth	is
	God	s	grace	for	human	good.
	5	Already	in	the	mind	of	God
	That	City	riseth	fair,
	Lo,	how	its	splendor	challenges
	The	souls	that	greatly	dare,
	Yea,	bids	us	seize	the	whole	of	life
	And	build	its	glory	there!
	W.	Russell	Bowie,	1909


272
	jfaitb
	ADESTE	FIDELES	11.	11.	11.	11.
	*	-^
	J.	F.	Wade	s,	Ca&gt;itus	Diversi,	1751
	-00	-^	-*-&&gt;--	-*-g	l	~i~ljs~*^3^	l	~*	J&gt;	T	H	~*~
	How	firm	a	foun-	da-	tion,ye	saints	of	the	Lord,	Is	laid	for	your	faith	in	His
	ex-	cel-leut\vord!WhatinorecanHesaythanto	you	He	hath	said,	You	who	un-	to
	Je-	sus	for	ref-uge	have	fled?	You	who	uu-to	Je	-	sus	for	ref-uge	have	fled?	A-men.
	1	1	[TOW	firm	a	foundation,	ye	saints	of	the	Lord,
	J-J-	Is	laid	for	your	faith	in	His	excellent	word!
	What	more	can	He	say	than	to	you	He	hath	said,
	You	who	unto	Jesus	for	refuge	have	fled?
	2	"Fear	not,	I	am	with	thee,	O	be	not	dismayed;
	I,	I	am	thy	God.	and	will	still	give	thee	aid;
	I	ll	strengthen	thee,	help	thee	and	cause	thee	to	stand,
	Upheld	by	My	righteous,	omnipotent	hand.
	3	"When	through	the	deep	waters	I	call	thee	to	go,
	The	rivers	of	woe	shall	not	thee	overflow;
	For	I	will	be	with	thee	thy	troubles	to	bless,
	And	sanctify	to	thee	thy	deepest	distress.
	4	"When	through	fiery	trials	thy	pathway	shall	lie,
	My	grace,	all-sufficient,	shall	be	thy	supply,
	The	flame	shall	not	hurt	thee;	I	only	design
	Thy	dross	to	consume,	and	thy	gold	to	refine.
	5	"E	en	down	to	old	age	all	My	people	shall	prove
	My	sovereign,	eternal,	unchangeable	love;
	And	when	noary	hairs	shall	their	temples	adorn,
	Like	lambs	they	shall	still	in	My	bosom	be	borne.
	6	"The	soul	that	on	Jesus	hath	leaneji	for	repose,
	I	will	not,	I	will	not	desert	to	his	foes;
	That	soul,	though	all	hell	should	endeavor	to	shake,
	I	ll	never,	no,	never,	no,	never	forsake."
	"K"	in	Nippon	s	Selection,	1787


328	^be	Cbllfcren	ot	tbc	ikino&om
	/
	AGAPE	9.	8.	9.	8.	Charles	J.	Dickinson,	1861
	O	Rock	of	A	-	ges,	oue	Foun	-	da	-	tion,	On	which	the	liv	-	ing
	~W~	X-3	~	X"J
	Church	doth	rest,	The	Church,	whose	walls	are	strong	sal	-	va	-	tion,
	1	f\	ROCK	of	Ages,	one	Foundation,
	"	On	which	the	living	Church	doth	rest,
	The	Church,	whose	walls	are	strong	salvation,
	Whose	gates	are	praise,	Thy	name	be	blest!
	2	Son	of	the	living	God,	O	call	us
	Once	and	again	to	follow	Thee,
	And	give	us	strength,	whate	er	befall	us,
	Thy	true	disciples	still	to	be.
	3	When	fears	appal,	and	faith	is	failing,
	Make	Thy	voice	heard	o	er	wind	and	wave,
	"Why	doubt?"--	and	in	Thy	love	prevailing
	Put	forth	Thy	hand	to	help	and	save.
	4	And	if	our	coward	hearts	deny	Thee
	In	inmost	thought,	in	deed,	in	word,
	Let	not	our	hardness	still	defy	Thee,
	But	with	a	look	subdue	us,	Lord.
	5	O	strengthen	Thou	our	weak	endeavor
	Thee	in	Thy	sheep	to	serve	and	tend,
	To	give	ourselves	to	Thee	for	ever,
	And	find	Tliee	with	us	to	the	end.
	Henry	Arthur	Martin	1871


Selection	42
	psalter
	The	righteous	shall	flourish	like
	the	palm	tree	:
	He	shall	grow	like	a	cedar	in
	Lebanon.
	They	that	are	planted	in	the	house
	of	the	LORD
	Shall	flourish	in	the	courts	of	our
	God.
	They	shall	still	bring	forth	fruit
	in	old	age;
	They	shall	be	full	of	sap	and
	green	:
	To	shew	that	the	LORD	is	upright	;
	He	is	my	rock,	and	there	is	no
	unrighteousness	in	him.
	PSALM	93
	THE	LORD	reigneth;
	He	is	apparelled	with	majesty;
	The	LORD	is	apparelled,	he	hath
	girded	himself	with	strength:
	The	world	also	is	stablished,	that
	it	cannot	be	moved.
	Thy	throne	is	established	of	old:
	Thou	art	from	everlasting.
	The	floods	have	lifted	up,	O
	LORD,	the	floods	have	lifted	up	their
	voice	;
	The	floods	lift	up	their	waves.
	Above	the	voices	of	many	wa
	ters,	the	mighty,	breakers	of	the	sea,
	The	Lord	on	high	is	mighty.
	Thy	testimonies	are	very	sure	:
	Holiness	becometh	thy	house,	O
	Lord,	for	evermore.
	SELECTION	42
	THE	TWENTY-FIRST	DAY
	EVENING	WORSHIP
	PSALM	95
	O	COME,	let	us	sing	unto	the
	LORD:
	Let	us	make	a	joyful	noise	to	the
	rock	of	our	salvation.
	Let	us	come	before	his	presence
	with	thanksgiving,
	Let	us	make	a	joyful	noise	unto
	him	with	psalms.
	For	the	LORD	is	a	great	God,
	And	a	great	King	above	all	gods.
	In	his	hand	are	the	deep	places	of
	the	earth	;
	The	heights	of	the	mountains	are
	his	also.
	The	sea	is	his,	and	he	made	it	;
	And	his	hands	formed	the	dry
	land.
	O	come,	let	us	worship	and	bow
	down	;
	Let	us	kneel	before	the	Lord	our
	Maker:
	For	he	is	our	God,
	And	we	are	the	people	of	his	pas
	ture,	and	the	sheep	of	his	hand.
	To-day,	Oh	that	ye	would	hear
	his	voice!	Harden	not	your	heart,
	as	at	Meribah,
	As	in	the	day	of	Massah	in	the
	wilderness	:
	When	your	fathers	tempted	me,
	Proved	me,	and	saw	my	work.
	Forty	years	long	was	I	grieved
	with	that	generation,


186	IDEALISM	AS	A	PRACTICAL	CREED
	goodness,	and	is	therefore	at	once	man	s	absolute
	ideal	of	conduct,	and	alone	the	object	worthy
	of	his	worship,	worthier	far	than	any	exhibition
	of	power	:
	For	the	loving	worm	within	its	clod,
	Were	diviner	than	a	loveless	God,
	Amid	his	worlds,	I	will	dare	to	say.	1
	Love	is	in	its	nature	so	pure,	so	perfect
	in	whiteness,	that	it	will	not	take	pollution.
	In	the	corruptest	hearts,	amidst	the	worst
	sensuality,	it	is	still	a	power	divine,
	c	Incompatible
	With	falsehood	purifies,	assimilates
	All	other	passions	to	itself.	2
	Ne	er	wrong	yourself	so	far	as	quote	the	world
	And	say,	love	can	go	unrequited	here	1
	You	will	have	blessed	him	to	his	whole	life	s	end
	Low	passions	hindered,	baser	cares	kept	back,
	All	goodness	cherished.	3
	To	love,	he	tells	us	once	and	again,	is	the
	supreme,	the	sole	object	of	man	s	life,	the	one
	lesson	he	is	set	to	learn	on	earth	:	and	that	once
	learnt,	in	what	way	matters	little,	it	leaves
	completion	in	the	soul.
	1	Christmas	Eve.	2	Colombo	s	Birthday.
	*	Ibid.


192	IDEALISM	AS	A	PRACTICAL	CREED
	And	I	shall	thereupon
	Take	rest,	ere	I	be	gone
	Once	more	on	my	adventure,	brave	and	new	:
	Fearless	and	unperplexed
	When	I	wage	battle	next,
	What	weapons	to	select,	what	armour	to	endue.
	A	faith	like	Browning	s	and	Wordsworth	s
	is	a	philosophy	of	life	which,	if	true,	we	would
	purchase	at	a	great	price,	But	had	they	the
	right	to	it	?


292	IDEALISM	AS	A	PRACTICAL	CREED
	crime,	and	descending	even	deeper	into	aged
	vice.	Well	!	are	there	?	Are	you	veritably	able
	to	judge,	or	had	we	not	better,	both	sides	alike,
	abide	the	issue?	For,	possibly,	the	end	is	not
	yet.	I	am	not	persuaded	that	we	are	competent
	to	pass	final	judgment	upon	our	fellows,	even	in
	this	world	;	or	have	a	right	to	say	even	of	the
	worst	that	c	the	lamp	of	his	soul	is	going	out.
	And	beyond	this	life	there	is	The	Grand	Per
	haps/	Browning,	who	had	his	own	title	to	con
	jecture	and	was	not	without	his	insight	in	these
	matters,	dreams	otherwise	of	the	chief	of	his
	array	of	sin-stained,	unrepentant	souls.	The
	Pope	is	condemning	Guido	to	death	on	the
	morrow,	and	these	are	his	musings	:
	For	the	main	criminal	I	have	no	hope
	Except	in	such	a	suddenness	of	fate.
	I	stood	in	Naples	once,	a	night	so	dark
	I	could	have	scarce	conjectured	there	was	earth
	Anywhere,	sky	or	sea	or	world	at	all	:
	But	the	night	s	black	was	burst	through	by	a	blaze-
	Thunder	struck	blow	on	blow,	earth	groaned	and	bore
	Through	her	whole	length	of	mountain	visible	:
	There	lay	the	city	thick	and	plain	with	spires,
	And,	like	a	ghost	disshrouded,	white	the	sea.
	So	may	the	truth	be	flashed	out	by	one	blow


1	68	JESUS	CHRIST	AND	CHRISTIAN	CHARACTER
	She	tore	her	books,	she	shut	her	courts,
	She	fled	her	palaces	;
	Lust	of	the	eye	and	pride	of	life
	They	left	it	all	behind,
	And	hurried,	torn	with	inward	strife,
	The	wilderness	to	find.
	Tears	wash	d	the	trouble	from	her	face	!
	She	changed	into	a	child!
	Mid	weeds	and	wrecks	she	stood	a	place
	Of	ruin	but	she	smiled	!	"	l
	No	one	can	review	this	history	of	the	soul	in	its
	struggle	against	the	body	without	a	sense	of	ad
	miration.	The	supremacy	of	the	religious	senti
	ment	was	never	more	manifest	than	in	its	power	to
	dictate	bodily	sacrifices	and	rejoice	in	bodily	suffer
	ings.	Yet	the	final	judgment	of	history	can	but
	conclude	that	Christian	asceticism,	with	all	its	hero
	ism,	was	one	of	religion	s	glorious	mistakes.	At
	the	very	time	when	the	world	most	needed	the
	Christian	character,	thousands	of	those	whose	mis
	sion	was	to	relieve	the	world	fled	from	the	world,
	and	in	the	caves	of	the	desert	and	the	cells	of	the
	monasteries	forgot	what	was	written	of	their	Mas
	ter:	"	He	saveth	others;	himself	he	cannot	save."
	Asceticism	was	not	a	solution,	but	an	evasion,	of	the
	ethics	of	the	body.	It	did	not	fight	the	battle	of
	life	;	it	fled	from	that	battle.	The	battle	had	to	go
	on,	and	the	great	working,	productive,	tempted
	multitude	had	to	fight	it	through	;	while	those	best
	equipped	to	win	the	battle	were	heroic	runaways.
	1	Matthew	Arnold,	"	Poems,"	1889.	"Obermann,	once	more,"
	P-	237-


Jttdith.	171
	readers'	hearts	and,	as	it	is	their	nature,	too,	unfolding
	higher	excellences	and	beauties	that	were	hidden,	as
	the	thoughts	of	those	who	read	them	"	are	widened	by
	the	process	of	the	suns."	There	will	still	be	culture,
	spurious	and	real,	but,	probably,	both	shall	be	as	unlike
	the	culture	of	to-day	as	modern	costume	is	unlike	the
	costume	of	our	grandfathers.	Meantime	it	is	for	us	to
	work	while	it	is	yet	day,	mindful	of	the	night	that	will
	come	so	surely,	and	mindful	also	of	our	responsibility
	to	Him	who	shapes	both	day	and	night	"	to	a	perfect
	end."
	XIII.	JUDITH.
	AH	me	!	but	Juda's	harps	are	very	sweet,
	And	passing	sweet	the	songs	that	link	my	name
	With	strains	that	shall	not	die,	but	shall	become
	A	portion	of	the	history	of	my	race.
	J	Tis	a	proud	thing	to	win	a	people's	thanks,
	To	shrine	one's	name	within	a	people's	hearts,
	And	fix	it	unforgotten	on	their	lips	;
	Proud	to	have	wrought	such	deed	as	I	have	wrought,
	That	blazed,	as	lightning	blazes	from	a	cloud,
	Athwart	the	gloom	that	drap'd	a	nation's	heart,
	And	made	the	gloom	one	mass	of	light	and	fire	;
	Proud,	to	have	snatched	a	name	a	woman's	name
	From	out	the	nameless	host	that	pass	obscure
	From	birth,	thro'	happy	motherland,	to	death,
	And	leave	no	record,	save	in	children's	hearts,


238	OLIVER	WENDELL	HOLMES.
	residence	there.	They	do	not	appear	in	any
	of	the	published	collections,	which	is	the	one
	reason,	above	all	others,	why	we	print	them
	now.	Each	of	the	poems	was	inclosed	in	an
	envelope	bearing	a	motto	;	and	the	right	to	a
	second	choice,	guided	by	these,	was	disposed
	of	in	a	raffle,	to	the	no	small	emolument	of
	the	objects	of	the	fair.	The	two	pieces	are
	evefi	"lis	day	represented	by	at	least	a
	d	of	the	quaint	ecclesiastical	her-
	h	illuminates	the	gorgeous	chancel
	window	of	the	St.	Stephen's	church	in	Pitts-
	field.	The	motto	of	the	first	envelope	ran	thus	:
	Jaith	is	the	conquering	angels'	crosvn;
	Who	hopes	for	grace	must	ask	it;
	Look	shrewdly	ere	you	lay	me	down	;
	I'm	Portia's	leaden	casket.
	The	following	verses	were	found	within	:
	Fair	lady,	whosoe'er	thou	art,
	Turn	this	poor	leaf	with	tenderest	care,
	And	hush,	oh,	hush	thy	beating	heart	;
	The	one	thou	lovest	will	be	there.
	Alas,	not	loved	by	thee	alone,
	Thine	idol	ever	prone	to	range;
	To-day	all	thine,	to-morrow	flown,
	Frail	thing,	that	every	hour	may	change.


LOVE	OF	NATURE.	239
	Yet,	when	that	truant	course	is	done,
	If	thy	lost	wanderer	reappear,
	Press	to	thy	heart	the	only	one
	That	nought	can	make	more	truly	dear.
	Within	this	paper	was	a	smaller	envelope
	containing	a	one	dollar	bill,	and	this	explana
	tion	of	the	poet's	riddle:
	Fair	lady,	lift	thine	eyes	and	tell
	If	this	is	not	a	truthful	letter	;
	This	is	the	(	i	)	thou	lovest	well,
	And	nought	(o)	can	make	thee	love	it	better	(xo).
	Though	fickle,	do	not	think	it	strange
	That	such	a	friend	is	worth	possessing;
	For	one	that	gold	can	never	change
	Is	Heaven's	own	dearest	earthly	blessing.


426	APPENDIX.
	No.	V.
	CANTICLE	OF	ST.	TERESA	AFTER	COMMUNION.
	Translated	by	the	REV.	FATHER	CASWALL.
	VIVO	SIX	VIVIR	EN	MI.
	TEXT.
	I	live,	but	from	myself	am	far	away	;
	And	hope	to	reach	a	life	so	high,
	That	I	m	forever	dying	because	I	do	not	die	!
	GLOSS.
	i.
	THIS	union	of	divinest	love,
	By	which	I	live	a	life	above,
	Setting	my	heart	at	liberty,
	My	God	to	me	enchains	;
	But	then	to	see	His	Majesty
	In	such	a	base	capitivity	!
	It	so	my	spirit	pains,
	That	evermore	I	weep	and	sigh,
	Dying	because	I	do	not	die.
	n.
	Ah!	what	a	length	does	life	appear.	1
	How	hard	to	bear	this	exile	here	!
	How	hard	from	weary	day	to	day
	To	pine	without	relief!
	The	yearning	hope	to	break	away
	From	this	my	prison-house	of	clay,
	Inspires	so	sharp	a	grief,
	That	overcome	I	weep	and	sigh,
	Dying	because	I	do	not	die.


APPENDIX.	427
	III.
	Oh	!	what	a	bitter	life	is	this,
	Deprived	of	God	its	only	bliss	!
	And	what	though	love	delicious	be,
	Not	so	is	hope	deferr	d.
	Ah	!	then,	dear	Lord	!	in	charity,
	This	iron	weight	of	misery
	From	niy	poor	soul	ungird	;
	For	evermore	I	weep	and	sigh,
	Dying	because	I	do	not	die.
	This	only	gives	me	life	and	strength,
	To	know	that	die	I	must	at	length	;
	For	hope	insures	me	bliss	divine,
	Through	death,	and	death	alone.
	Death	!	for	thee,	for	thee	I	pine	!
	Sweet	Death	!	of	life	the	origin	!
	Ah,	wing	thee	hither	soon	;
	For	evermore	I	weep	and	sigh,
	Dying	because	I	do	not	die.
	v.
	And	thou,	fond	Life,	oh	!	vex	ine	not^
	By	still	prolonging	here	my	lot;
	But	know	that	love	is	urging	me	;
	Know	that	the	only	way
	To	gain	thee,	is	by	losing	thee	!
	Come	then,	Death!	come	speedily,
	And	end	thy	long	delay	;
	For	evermore	I	weep	and	sigh,
	Dying	because	I	do	not	die.
	VI.
	The	life	above,	the	life	on	high,
	Alone	is	life	in	verity	;
	Nor	can	we	life	at	all	enjoy,
	Till	this	poor	life	is	o	er;


THOMAS	LORD	LYTTELTON.	245
	time	we	were	together	you	sarcastically	repeated
	to	me	some	of	his	vaticinations	on	my	impetuous
	attachment	to	play,	and	kindly	foretold	the	com-
	pletion	of	them.	After	all,	I	believe	you	are
	either	laughing	at	me,	or	pretending	ignorance
	of	my	bard,	in	order	to	have	an	hash	of	the	same
	dish	which	you	are	pleased	to	say	delighted	you
	so	much	in	my	last	letter.
	"	Was	it	not	you,	or	do	I	dream,	who	was
	so	charmed	with	that	part	of	his	poem	where
	he	describes	my	being	so	reduced	by	gaming	as
	to	be	obliged	to	sell	Hagley,	and	supposes	the
	estate	to	be	bought	by	the	descendant	of	some
	felon	who	was	reprieved	from	death	to	transpor-
	tation	by	my	ancestor	the	judge,	whose	picture
	he	tears	down	from	the	wall,	as	a	sight	disgust-
	ing	to	him	?	I	am	not	certain	as	to	the	correct-
	ness	of	my	recollection,	but	the	lines	are,	I	believe,
	to	the	following	effect	:
	"	'	Shall	some	unfeeling	stranger	reign
	Within	that	blest	domain	?
	Some	convict's	spawn,	by	thy	forefather's	breath,
	Perchance,	reprieved	from	death	?
	Whilst	thon,	self-banished,	self-enslaved,	shalt	roam,
	Without	a	friend	or	home	!
	Still	shall	he	tremble	at	the	judge's	frown,
	And,	fraught	with	spite,	tear	down,
	From	the	repining	wall,	his	venerable	shade	!	"


THE	LINKS	ff	FORTH:
	OR,
	A	PARTING	PEEP	AT	THE	CARBI	0>	STIRLING.
	A	PLAINT.
	AH!	winding	FORTH!	smooth	wandering	tide;
	O'	STREVLIN'S*	peerless	plain	the	pride;
	How	pleas'd	alang	thy	verdant	side,
	Whar	floweries	spring,
	The	Muse	her	untaught	numbers	tried,
	And	learnt	to	sing	!
	*	The	ancient	name	of	Stirling.	B


THE	LINKS	0'	FORttt.
	38-
	Nor	ESK'S	death	heart-break,	and	disgrace	*,
	Nor	MARY'S	f	tears,	nor	beauteous	face,
	Could	stop,	fell	fae	!	thy	infuriate	pace,
	Bestain'd	wi'	crime,
	Till	Stuarfs	royal,	luckless	race	!
	Fled	Scotia	s	clime*
	-39--
	Dark	lower'd	the	morn,	wi'	aspedl	drie,
	Whan	Scotia,	sad,	wi'	tearfu'	ee,
	Saw,	frae	her	pine-wav'd	cliffs	on	hie^
	And	aiken	bowers,
	Her	KING,	and	INDEPENDENCE	flee
	Strevlinas	towers	!
	*	James	V.	was	so	affcfted	with	the	unfortunate	and	disgraceful	affair	of	Sol-
	Way	Frith,	that	he	died	a	very	few	days	afterwards,	literally	of	a	broken	heart,
	f	Mary	Queen	of	Scots.


62	THE	LION	AND	THE	MOUSE.
	told	her	that	early	rising	is	conducive	to	rosy
	cheeks.	I	read	it	in	a	poem.	It	runs	something
	like	this;	not	exactly,	but	something.
	If	you	would	have	a	rosy	cheek,
	Then	you	the	rising	sun	must	seek.
	ROBERTS.	Your	cheeks	needs	no	roses.
	BAGLEY.	It	s	one	by	the	minor	poets.
	ROBERTS.	Very	minor,	I	should	say.
	RYDER.	Then	your	plans	in	regard	to	Miss
	|Roberts	did	not	extend	further	than	an	early	morn
	ing	constitutional.
	BAGLEY.	(Goes	very	near	desk)	No	sir.
	ROBERTS.	You	never	proposed	to	run	away	with
	her
	BAGLEY.	(Horrified)	Run	away	with	her?
	ROBERTS.	And	marry	her?
	BAGLEY.	(In	horror)	And	marry	her?
	ROBERTS.	Did	you	ever	make	love	to	her?
	BAGLEY.	(Aghast)	Make	love	to	her?
	ROBERTS.	Yes,	make	love	to	her	did	you?
	BAGLEY.	This	is	almost	a	personal	question-^
	this	is	hardly	fair	Oh,	dear	what	shall	I	say
	(Enter	KATE	c.)
	KATE.	(To	RYDER)	Did	you	want	to	see	me?
	(To	SENATOR)	Father,	when	did	you	come	back?
	I	thought	you	were	in	Washington	(Sees	BAG-
	LEY.	Realises	that	something	serious	has	happened.
	Realizes	that	she	is	found	out.	Then	looks	back	at
	her	father	and	MR.	RYDER;	then	at	BAGLEY;	then
	.back	at	her	father.	This	business	ad.	lib.)
	ROBERTS.	Well
	KATE.	Well	(Looks	down	on	floor	as	if	shy)
	I	suppose	he	has	told	you	everything.
	ROBERTS.	Yes,	everything
	(BAGLEY	about	to	speak	catches	RYDER	S	eyes
	and	subsides.)


70	Hartley	Coleridge.
	And	greatness	still	revolving	;	infinite	;
	There	littleness	was	not.
	******
	In	the	after-day
	Of	boyhood,	many	an	hour	in	caves	forlorn,
	And	'mid	the	hollow	depths	of	naked	crags,
	He	sate,	and	e'en	in	their	fixed	lineaments
	Or	from	the	power	of	a	peculiar	eye,
	Or	by	creative	feeling	overborne,
	Or	by	predominance	of	thought	oppressed,
	E'en	in	their	fixed	and	steady	lineaments
	He	traced	an	ebbing	and	a	flowing	mind,
	Expression	ever	varying	!
	******
	A	sense	sublime
	Of	something	far	more	deeply	interfused,
	Whose	dwelling	is	the	light	of	setting	suns,
	And	the	round	ocean	and	the	living	air
	And	the	blue	sky,	and	in	the	mind	of	man.
	A	motion	and	a	spirit	that	impels
	All	thinking	things,	all	objects	of	all	thought,
	And	rolls	through	all	things.'
	The	defect	of	this	religion	is,	that	it	is	too	abstract	for	the
	practical,	and	too	bare	for	the	musing.	The	worship	of	sensu-
	ous	beauty	the	southern	religion	is	of	all	sentiments	the	one
	most	deficient	in	his	writings.	His	poetry	hardly	even	gives
	the	charm,	the	entire	charm,	of	the	scenery	in	which	he	lived.
	The	lighter	parts	are	little	noticed	:	the	rugged	parts	protrude.
	The	bare	waste,	the	folding	hill,	the	rough	lake,	Helvellyn	with
	a	brooding	mist,	Ulswater	in	a	grey	day	:	these	are	his	subjects.
	He	took	a	personal	interest	in	the	corners	of	the	universe.
	Tbere	is	a	print	of	Eembrandt	said	to	represent	a	piece	of	the
	Campagna,	a	mere	waste,	with	a	stump	and	a	man,	and	under
	is	written	'	Tacet	et	loquitur	;	'	and	thousands	will	pass	the	old
	print-shop	where	it	hangs,	and	yet	have	a	taste	for	paintings,
	and	colours,	and	oils	:	but	some	fanciful	students,	some	lonely
	stragglers,	some	long-haired	enthusiasts,	by	chance	will	come,
	one	by	one,	and	look,	and	look,	and	be	hardly	able	to	take	their


ROMANTICISM	AND	HUMOR
	spect,	that	he	wrote	verse	before	he	wrote	fiction.
	I	asked	him	to	show	me	some	of	his	poetry,	and
	he	demurred	somewhat	violently.	But,	after	all,
	a	poet	is	a	poet,	and	at	last	I	succeeded	in	per
	suading	him	to	produce	this	exhibit.	Here	it	is
	a	poem	by	the	author	of	'	'	Potash	and	Perlmutter	"	:
	FERRYBOATS
	There	sounds	aloft	a	warning	scream,
	The	jingling	bell	gives	tongue	below,
	She	breasts	again	the	busy	stream,
	And	cleaves	its	murky	tide	to	snow.
	Bereft	of	burnished	glittering	brass,
	Ungainly	bulging	fore	and	aft,
	Slowly	from	shore	to	shore	they	pass
	The	matrons	of	the	river	craft.
	Mr.	Glass	believes	that	humorous	writing	in
	America	has	changed	more	than	any	other	sort.
	But	he	does	not,	as	I	thought	he	would,	attribute
	this	change	to	the	increased	cosmopolitanism	of
	the	country,	to	the	influx	of	people	from	other
	lands.
	"Certainly	our	ideas	of	what	is	funny	have
	changed,"	he	said.	"Humor	is	an	ephemeral
	thing.	A	generation	ago	we	laughed	at	what
	to-day	would	merely	make	us	ill.	The	subjects
	and	the	methods	of	the	humorists	are	different.
	55


304	LONG	LIVE	THE	KING!
	Fifteen	men	on	a	dead	man	s	chest.
	Yo-ho-ho	and	a	bottle	of	rum	!
	"A	spirited	song,"	observed	old	Adelbert,	as	be
	fore.	But	his	eyes	were	on	the	grating.
	That	evening	Adelbert	called	to	see	his	friend,	the
	locksmith	in	the	University	Place.	He	possessed,
	he	said,	a	padlock	of	which	he	had	lost	the	key,	and
	which,	being	fastened	.to	a	chest,	he	was	unable	to
	bring	with	him.	A	large	and	heavy	padlock,	per
	haps	the	size	of	his	palm.
	When	he	left,	he	carried	with	him	a	bundle	of
	keys,	tied	in	a	brown	paper.
	But	he	did	not	go	back	to	his	chest.	He	went
	instead	to	the	thicket	around	the	old	gate,	which
	was	still	termed	the	"Gate	of	the	Moon,"	and	there,
	armed	with	a	lantern,	pursued	his	investigations
	during	a	portion	of	the	night.
	When	he	had	finished,	old	Adelbert,	veteran	of
	many	wars,	one-time	patriot	and	newly	turned
	traitor,	held	in	his	shaking	hands	the	fate	of	the
	kingdom.


The	Desire	of	Nations
	Nor	will	He	come	like	carnal	kings	of	old,
	With	pomp	of	pilfered	gold	;
	Nor	like	the	pharisees	with	pride	of	prayer	;
	Nor	as	the	stumbling	foolish	stewards
	dream
	In	tedious	argument	and	milkless	creed,
	But	in	the	passion	of	the	heart-warm	deed
	Will	come	the	Man	Supreme.
	Yea,	for	He	comes	to	lift	the	Public	Care
	To	build	on	Earth	the	Vision	hung	in	air.
	This	is	the	one	fulfillment	of	His	Law
	The	one	Fact	in	the	mockeries	that	seem.
	This	is	the	Vision	that	the	prophets	saw
	The	Comrade	Kingdom	builded	in	their
	dream,
	No,	not	as	in	that	elder	day
	Conies	now	the	King	upon	the	human	way.
	He	comes	with	power	:	His	white	unf	earing
	face
	Shines	through	the	Social	Passion	of	the
	race.
	He	comes	to	frame	the	freedom	of	the	Law,
	35


In	High	Sierras
	There	at	a	certain	hour	of	the	deep	night,
	A	gray	cliff	with	a	demon	face	comes	up,
	Wrinkled	and	old,	behind	the	peaks,	and	with
	An	anxious	look	peers	at	the	Zodiac.


The	Climb	of	Life
	There	s	a	feel	of	all	things	flowing,
	And	no	power	of	Earth	can	bind	them	;
	There	s	a	sense	of	all	things	growing,
	And	through	all	their	forms	a	glowing
	Of	the	shaping	souls	behind	them.
	And	the	break	of	beauty	heightens
	With	the	swiftening	of	the	motion,
	And	the	soul	behind	it	lightens,
	As	a	gleam	of	splendor	whitens
	From	a	running	wave	of	ocean.
	See	the	still	hand	of	the	Shaper,
	Moving	in	the	dusk	of	being	:
	Burns	at	first	a	misty	taper,
	Like	the	moon	in	veil	of	vapor,
	When	the	rack	of	night	is	fleeing.
	95


The	Rock-Breaker
	Pausing	he	leans	upon	his	sledge,	and
	looks
	A	labor-blasted	toiler	;
	So	have	I	seen,	on	Shasta	s	top,	a	pine
	Stand	silent	on	a	cliff,
	Stript	of	its	glory	of	green	leaves	and
	boughs,
	Its	great	trunk	split	by	fire,
	Its	gray	bark	blackened	by	the	thunder-
	smoke,
	Its	life	a	sacrifice
	To	some	blind	purpose	of	the	Destinies.
	132


(	419	)
	exclaimed,	alas	!	with	what	regret	do	I	leave	a
	country,	and	my	fellow	citizens	j	where	my
	very	enemies	are	fo	generous.
	If	what	Mr.	Sheridan	declared	in	the	houfe,
	and	which	ftands	uncontradicled	be	true,	may
	we	not	fay	with	Sir	John	Harrington.
	Ferro,	non	auro,	vitam	cernamus	vtrique,
	Vot	Hfvelit,	telme	regnare	bora	quid-veferatfors.
	Try	me	with	glittering	WORDS,	not	glittering	Gold,
	Which	of	ut	two,	the	HIGHEST	SEAT	SHALL	HOLD.
	Ee	a


106
	That	long	anticipated	Salmon	Chase,
	They	blossomed,	like	pond	lilies	from	the	mud,
	Memento	of	a	war	that	shed	no	blood,
	And	proof	how	frugal	wit	a	joke	can	seize
	And	turn	to	shrewd	account	the	sorest	tease.
	That	bank	held	my	first	pittance	in	its	tills;
	I	went	through	college	on	those	bull-frog	bills;
	And	when	my	next	ancestral	check	comes	in
	I'll	get	the	cash	from	my	old	fiscal	twin.)
	Home	of	my	sires,	on	thy	historic	clock,
	Since	Captain	Abbee	out	of	Norwich	dock
	Sailed	the	sloop	Windham,	with	its	pennon	slim,
	Its	golden-lettered	streak,	its	snowy	trim,
	Its	green	frog	figurehead	and	proudly	bore
	Thy	modest	commerce	to	Manhattan's	shore,
	Time's	creeping	hands	have	crossed	the	age	of	steam,
	To	where	the	lightnings	of	new	noonday	gleam,
	And	the	town	Windham,	with	her	helm	alee,
	Swings	into	port,	and	rigs	again	for	sea.
	Fate,	to	this	summit	hour	from	long	ago
	Twice	round	the	century	-dial	following	slow,
	Has	left	forever	shining	by	the	way
	Some	broken	sunbeams	of	each	faded	day.
	The	light	of	old	instruction	will	not	fail
	The	church	that	gave	a	president	to	Yale;
	Old	patriotism	haunts	the	place	that	bred
	One	of	the	Signers	whom	John	Hancock	led;
	Old	courage	lives	that	burned	in	heroes'	veins
	Who,	from	this	village,	fought	in	four	campaigns;
	Old	worth	and	wisdom	in	the	garden	wait
	That	raised	a	full-grown	governor	of	the	state;
	The	same	old	Word	bears	witness	unimpeached,
	Where	stalwart	Whiting	and	Devotion	preached;
	And	if	old	basement	thrift	has	climbed	up	stairs
	God	bless	our	wealth,	and	save	our	millionaires!
	Our	mother!	backward	to	thy	mornjng	star
	We	scan	the	past	that	made	us	what	we	are.
	Tell	us,	thy	debtors,	tell	us,	nurse	of	men,
	What	Windham-now	can	do	for	Windham-then.
	Her	ancient	silence	grows	a	vision	seen
	There	stands	a	cenotaph	on	yonder	Green
	Its	polished	tablets	rich	with	names	and	dates,
	Its	bust	the	ideal	form	of	Founder	Cates.
	Recumbent	round	his	shaft	their	living	sons


SOAWETS.	3
	Of	sun,	or	moon,	or	star,	throughout	the	year,
	Or	man,	or	woman.	Yet	I	argue	not
	Against	Heaven's	hand	or	will,	nor	bate	a	jot
	Of	heart	or	hope	;	but	still	bear	up	and	steer
	Right	onward.	What	supports	me,	dost	thou	ask?
	The	conscience,	friend,	to	have	lost	them	overplied
	In	liberty's	defence,	my	noble	task,
	Of	which	all	Europe	rings	from	side	to	side.
	This	thought	might	lead	me	through	the	world's	vain
	mask
	Content	though	blind,	had	I	no	better	guide.
	XVIII.	ON	HIS	DECEASED	WIFE.
	METHOUOHT	I	saw	my	late	espoused	saint
	Brought	to	me,	like	Alcestis,	from	the	grave,
	Whom	Jove's	great	son	to	her	glad	husband	gave,
	Rescued	from	death	by	force,	though	pale	and	faint.
	Mine,	as	whom	wash'd	from	spot	of	child-bed	taint
	Purification	in	the	old	law	did	save,
	And	such,	as	yet	once	more	I	trust	to	have
	Full	sight	of	her	in	heaven	without	restraint,
	Came,	vested	all	in	white,	pure	as	her	mind	:
	Her	face	was	veil'd,	yet	to	my	fancied	sight
	Love,	sweetness,	goodness,	in	her	person	shined
	So	clear,	as	in	no	face	with	more	delight.
	But	oh,	as	to	embrace	me	she	inclined,
	I	v/aked,	she	fled,	and	day	brought	back	my	night.