Part 5

APRIL 25, 18--.

RAIN--rain--rain--for three good solid fluid weeks-- Till the air swims, and all creation leaks! And street-cars furnish still less room to spare, And hackmen several times have earned their fare. The omnibuses lumber through the din, And carry clay outside as well as in; The elevated trains, with jerky care, Haul half-way comfort through the dripping air; The gutters gallop past the liquid scene, As brisk as meadow brooks, though not so clean; What trees the city keeps for comfort's sake, Are shedding tears as if their hearts would break; And water tries to get, by storming steady, That fourth of all the world it hasn't already.

And men are not so sweet as men could wish, In air that wouldn't offend a moderate fish; Few places can be found, outside or in, Where this dark-featured weather has not been; For man has always striven, and in vain, To roof his _disposition_ from the rain. I've strolled about, this morning, several miles, 'Mongst men who get their living by their smiles; I've set my old umbrella up to drip In places where I claimed relationship (Or, rather, where my heart did; and that's more Than blood connection is, sixteen times o'er); I've journeyed up and down through half Broadway, And did not see a first-class smile to-day.

And so, in spite of all that I can do, These gold-bowed spectacles are growing blue; And my old heart must bear along the road A fanciful but rather heavy load; A painful pressure from a hand unseen: Most any one knows nearly what I mean.

I think I'll powder up this dark-skinned day, By going, to-night, to hear the actors play! They'll make me laugh, and tone me up a bit, And get me out of this unnatural fit.

* * * * *

_11 o'clock P.M._

Got back alive; and that's worth thinking on, From where there's been such lots of killing done; Mercy! it was a somewhat skittish sight-- So many people butchered in one night! 'Twas just a lot of people playing crime-- A sort of murder-picnic all the time.

We found the theatre with handbills spread, Near where the notice in the paper said (The weather had slacked up an hour or so, And Wife thought she would condescend to go), And after stumbling over several chaps, Who thought they'd met us somewhere else, perhaps, And cheerfully addressed us o'er and o'er, As if they'd known us several years or more, Persisting in affording us a chance To buy our tickets at a slight advance (The theatres employ these men, I've heard, To greet their patrons with a friendly word, And light their way in with kind word and smile, And make a dollar out of them meanwhile); We brushed past these remarkable "dead-beats," Some tickets bought, and scrambled to our seats.

After a piece of music by the band, The curtain rose before a castle grand, And soldiers talking, with a half-scared mien, About a spook that one of them had seen. When lo! this ghost appears, plump to their view, And will not talk, although they beg him to. (I whispered to my wife that I'd a freak That a newspaper man could make him speak; But suddenly my comments had to cease, For Wife encouraged me to hold my peace.)

When lo! this ghost, who, thus far, might have come Out of a sky-asylum for the dumb, Speaks with a queer but rather human sound, When once his son, the Prince, gets on the ground; And taking him aside, ten feet almost, Tells the poor boy that he's his father's ghost, Whose own false brother softly to him crept, And poured him full of poison while he slept.

Then the young man got mad, though to my mind 'Twas lunacy of quite a knowing kind; And went to work with an apparent view Of killing off 'most every one he knew.

I haven't the time his actions all to state; I'll only say he managed it first-rate, And some way killed all relatives he saw, From uncle to prospective father-in-law; And when he got through, those he hadn't snuffed out Were hardly worth while bothering about. (I mustn't forget to say that this poor elf Became, at last, a good square corpse himself.)

I looked around, and, the whole building through, Women were shedding tears as if 'twas true; And Wife was 'most too much concerned to speak, And even my old eyes had sprung a leak. 'Twas a moist time; and I remarked, "'Tis plain We've come out of the rain into the rain."

I got so full of funeral, sitting there, Then, when we once more sniffed the clean, live air, It seemed a piece of good-luck all around, To get away once more, alive and sound.

That's what they call a "tragedy;" where Death Flies 'round till he himself gets out of breath; And, with sword-slashes and cold poison filled, All who amount to anything, get killed. It's part of life; some time again I'll view it, But take a good square rest before I do it!

[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]

Here on this sea-beach I wander; Why of the storms am I fonder Than of the sunlight above them? And the clouds: why do I love them-- Waves of the sky, onward sweeping, Or to the ocean-waves leaping? Why do I court this fierce day, Dashing my face full of spray? Why, when the waves strike the shore With their strong, leonine roar, Does my soul fiercely entreat them-- Rush out with rapture to meet them? Why do I love to descry War in the fields of the sky? Why does the chain-lightning's glare, Ploughing blue meadows of air, Look to my vision alway Sweet as a star in the day?

You who in fair summer weather Seek this sea-city together (Built for tumultuous rest, With the famed ocean chief guest), Not half the pleasure you've known That I, here wand'ring alone, On these wet sand-fields have found, Hearing the ocean's own sound, Viewing fierce waves from afar Strive with the winter in war. Storms that tumultuously roll Far through my innermost soul-- Here you encounter, at last, Harmonies wondrous and vast!

* * * * *

What did I find on the shore? Must I rehearse it once more?

[THE DEAD STOWAWAY.]

He lay on the beach, just out of the reach Of waves that had cast him by: With fingers grim they reached for him As often as they came nigh. The shore-face brown had a surly frown, And glanced at the dancing sea, As if to say, "Take back the clay You tossed this morning at me." Great fragments rude, by the shipwreck strewed, Had found by this wreck a place; He had grasped them tight, and hope-strewn fright Sat still on the bloated face. Battered and bruised, forever abused, He lay by the heartless sea, As if Heaven's aid had never been made For a villain such as he. The fetter's mark lay heavy and dark Around the pulseless wrists; The hardened scar of many a war Clung yet to the drooping fists. The soul's disgrace across that face Had built an iron track; The half-healed gash of the jailman's lash Helped cover the brawny back. The blood that flowed in a crimson road From a deep wound in his head Had felt fierce pangs from the poison-fangs Of those who his young life fed: Cursed from the very beginning With deeds that others had done, "More sinned against than sinning"-- And so is every one!

He had never learned save what had turned The steps of his life amiss; He never knew a hand-grasp true, Or the thrill of a virtuous kiss. 'Twas poured like a flood through his young blood, And poisoned every vein, That wrong is right, that law is spite, And theft but honest gain. The seeds were grown that had long been sown By the heart of a murderous sire: Disease and shame, and blood aflame With thirst for the founts of fire. Battered and bruised, forever abused, He lay by the moaning sea, As if Heaven's aid were even afraid Of a villain such as he.

As he lay alone, like a sparrow prone, An angel wandered nigh: A look she cast over that dark past, And tears came to her eye.

She bent by the dead, and tenderly said: "Poor child, you went astray; Your heart and mind were both born blind-- No wonder they lost their way! Angels, I know, had fallen as low With such a dismal chance. Your heart was ironed, your soul environed, You were barred of all advance! Cursed from the very beginning With deeds that others have done, 'More sinned against than sinning'-- And so is every one!"

[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]

MAY 24, 18--.

The Lord gave Water quite a good-sized start-- Three-fourths of this world's homestead for its part; But lawyers are not needed to convince That Water has been losing ever since. The reason is not hard to understand: For God's most knowing creatures live on land, And, naturally, every chance they get, Find some new means to keep them from the wet. The farms their dykes have from the ocean won; The ground men make to build their cities on; The bridge that from the river shelters me; The ships--great travelling bridges of the sea-- All are an effort of ambitious man To make this world as solid as he can.

These thoughts, to-day, all through my mind would run, While looking at a bridge they've just got done, Which takes a man, dry shod, from shore to shore-- A matter of a good long mile or more. I can't describe it; but I'll let the papers (Who tell _some_ truth, 'mid all their fancy capers) To my old scrap-book give of it a taste (What I can't do with ink I'll do with paste).

[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]

[THE WEDDING OF THE TOWNS.][5]

Let all of the bells ring clear, And all of the flags be seen; The King of the Western Hemisphere Has married the Island Queen! For years he watched and waited Along the river side, And vowed that she was fated To be his own fair bride; Full many a night he wooed her Upon her lofty throne, And he hath long pursued her, To make the prize his own; Nor thankless his endeavor, Nor coy the royal maid, But, like true-love's course ever, The banns were long delayed!

* * * * *

And boys to men had grown, And men their graves had sought; The gulf was yet between them thrown, And the wooing came to nought. Though couriers oft were dashing 'Twixt him and his adored, Still was the river flashing Between them like a sword. In heart they well were mated; And patiently and long They for each other waited-- These lovers true and strong.

Let never a flag be hidden! Let never a bell be dumb! The guests have all been bidden-- The wedding-day has come!

For many a golden year Shall gleam this silvery tie: The wondering world will gather here And gaze with gleaming eye. Philosophers will ponder How, blessed by the hand of Heaven, The world has another wonder To add to its famous seven; Philanthropists will linger To view the giant span, And point with grateful finger Where man has toiled for man; And all will bless the year When, in the May-month green, The King of the Western Hemisphere Was wed to the Island Queen!

[5] Written on the occasion of the opening of the New York and Brooklyn Bridge.

[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]

JULY 2, 18--.

Wealth, wealth, wealth, wealth! with iron bars to defend it, And seventeen hundred thousand ways to spend it! How men will work, in home and foreign lands, To get a lot of money in their hands; How they will bar and bolt, by night and day, To keep some one from stealing it away; Then, when a fresh bait strikes their fancy's eye, How easy 'tis to make them let it fly! Lock up your cash in places howe'er strong, You lose it when the right thief comes along. There are some families that I could name, Who, spring and fall and winter, toil the same As boys with sleds for half an hour will climb, To ride back in about five minutes' time. These fam'lies pinched and starved nine months will be, To make a first-class show the other three; And some whose fortunes sprung up like a flame, Can puff it out even quicker than it came.

These thoughts grew like June corn the other day, As I through Coney Island picked my way, And found there, pert and prosperous as could be, A land-and-water city by the sea; And people holding, in free easy style, A Fourth-of-July picnic all the while. Thousands were eating there amid the din, As though they'd hardly time to do it in; Thousands were loitering in the breezy air, As if they had a year or two to spare; And every trap that ever caught a dime, Was ready set and baited all the time!

The ocean, to my unaccustomed view, Seemed having quite a lively picnic too; The waves came slamming at us with a roar, And chased each other pell-mell to the shore. And in these waves, and adding to the noise, A lot of men and women, girls and boys, Dressed in a style that made my good wife frown, Like big-sized corks went bobbing up and down. Some glided out and in, like jumping-jacks, Some rode the waves--a-lying on their backs; And some--as decent folks as one could see-- Made capers that were very queer to see. I noticed Miss Doozell, much versed in books, And quite particular about her looks, And dignified as any one I know, Roll over maybe thirteen times or so; While Jeremiah Jipson, LL.D., Who seldom makes a move above the knee, And who, all former signs would seem to say, Never indulges in unseemly play-- When an irreverent wave he chanced to meet, Stood on his head, and raised aloft his feet. The Ocean has no awe for any one, And always seems to get more'n half the fun.

But how the pretty children carry sail! Each with his tiny shovel and his pail, Each working his own little piece of land, And making small plantations in the sand! These little incidents show on their face That farming's natural to the human race!

When God's poor pretty ones, 'mid summer's blaze, Have lived 'mongst brick and mortar all their days, Trying their best to blossom and not spoil, Like house-plants kidnapped from their native soil, It must be heaven to sit here in the sand, And take old Mother Earth right by the hand! To lie here, by no brick blocks overlooked, And take a breath of air that hasn't been cooked! God bless you, children! May't a long time be, Before the sand shall cover you and me!

Yes, every trap that ever caught a dime Is ready set and baited, all the time! Here nigh the shore a strange machine I found, To see how hard, with beetles, men could pound; And several fellows tried it, o'er and o'er, Who never handled labor so before, And would have shown capacity to shirk, If they had known how much it looked like work. Here round and round I saw a big wheel go, Like an old-fashioned horse-power--larger, though, And worked by steam; and on the sweeps one finds Big wooden animals of different kinds: Elephants, horses, birds of various hues, Lions and leopards, roosters, kangaroos-- All staring with great, stupid, wondering eyes, And all about the very self-same size! And on these beasts, sixteen times round or more, Rode children of from fifty down to four, While some big-sized hand-organ filled the air With crack-voiced music, plenty and to spare. Here a big premium cow--quite dead, alas! Gave milkman's milk-and-water by the glass; Here were some great "museums," which consisted Of wondrous things that never have existed; There omnibuses hover on your track, Ready to draw you somewhere else--and back; Here "marine railroads," as you onward plod, Will take you riding at five cents a rod; This "elevator" lifts you pretty high, And shows you men must look small from the sky; Yon gambling den will send you from its door, Poorer and not much wiser than before; That fellow there will, in an ocean view, Your picture take, and swear that it is you. Yes, every trap that ever caught a dime, Is ready set and baited, all the time!

And sometimes everything seems blurred, indeed, With man's surprising wickedness and greed, Till you most feel there's nothing genuine there, Excepting ocean waves and open air!

But still they can't put all God's plans to death To let the people have an honest breath; And so, while thinking it all up, to-day, I finally felt called upon to say, Thank the good Lord, from whom all blessings fall, For making Coney Island, after all!

My cousin, Abdiel Stebbins, large and slow, Arrived at Ocean Grove some days ago; He stopped off in this city on the way, And stayed here with us two weeks and one day (For we keep up our airy home in town Whether the mercury goes up or down-- Not liking to exchange it very well For a small sweat-box in a large hotel). He promised that the first hour he could spare He'd write us how he liked it over there; The letter, like himself, is rather queer; Perhaps I'd better paste it right in here:

[FARMER STEBBINS AT OCEAN GROVE.]

OCEAN GROVE, _June_ 30, 18--.

DEAR COUSIN JOHN:

We got here safe--my worthy wife and me-- And took a tent here in the woods contigious to the sea; We've harvested such means of grace as growed within our reach-- We've been to several meetings here, and heard the Bishop preach; And everything went easy like until we took a whim-- My wife and I--one breezy day, to take an ocean swim.

We shouldn't have ventured on't, I think, if Sister Sunnyhopes Hadn't urged us over and again, and said she knew "the ropes," And told how soothing it would be "in ocean rills to lave," And "sport within the bounding surf," and "ride the crested wave;" And so we went along with her--my timid wife and me-- Two inland noodles, for our first acquaintance with the sea.

They put me in a work-day rig, as usually is done-- A wampus and short overalls all sewed up into one. I had to pull and tug and shrink to make the thing go 'round (You are aware my peaceful weight will crowd three hundred pound). They took my wig and laid it up--to keep it dry, they said-- And strapped a straw-stack of a hat on my devoted head.

They put my wife into a frock too short by full a third: 'Twas somewhat in the Bloomer style--I told her 'twas absurd! You know she's rather long and slim--somewhat my opposite-- And clothes that was not made for her is likely not to fit; But as we was we vent'red in--my timid wife and me-- And formed our first acquaintance with the inconsistent sea.

Miss Sunnyhopes she waded out a-looking nice and sweet (She'd had her dress made to the store, and trimmed from head to feet); And I went next, and grabbed their rope just as she told me to, And Wife came third, a-looking scared, scarce knowing what to do. Then Sister Sunnyhopes a smile of virgin sweetness gave, And said, "Now watch your chance, and jump--here comes a _lovely_ wave!"

I must have jumped, I rather think, the wrong time of the moon; At any rate the "lovely wave" occurred to me too soon! It took me sudden, with a rude and unexpected shock; I'd rather meet the stoutest pair of horns in all my flock! And then to top the circus out, and make the scene more fine, I tried to _kick_ this "lovely wave," and let right go the line.

On county fairs and 'lection days, in walking through a crowd, I'm rather firm to jostle 'gainst--perhaps it makes me proud; But if it does, that wave just preached how _sureness_ never pays, And seemed to say, "How small is man, no odds how much he weighs!" It kicked and cuffed me all about, in spite of right or law, With all the qualities they give an average mother-in-law!

And then it set me on the bank, quite thankful for my life, And looking 'round I give a gaze to find my faithful wife; But she had kind o' cut this wave with all the edge she had, And stood a-looking 'round for me, uncommon moist and sad; While Sister Sunnyhopes with smiles was looking sweet and gay, A-floating on her dainty back some several rods away!

She looked so newish pretty there--(she knowed it, too, the elf!)-- The crowd was all admiring her, and so was I myself; And while I once more grasped the line, beside my wife of truth, My eyes _would_ rove to Sister S.--her beauty and her youth; When all at once a brindle wave, uncommon broad and deep, Came thrashing down on Wife and me, and flopped us in a heap!

Heels over head--all in a bunch--my wife across of me, And I on some misguided folks who happened there to be, My hat untied and floated off, and left my bald head bare-- When I got out, if I'd have spoke, 'twould warmed up all the air! We drank 'bout two-thirds of the sea--my gasping wife and I-- While Sister S. still floated soft, a-gazing at the sky!

We voted that we'd had enough, and got right out the way Before another wave arrived, and bid the sea good-day. We looked as like two drownded rats as ever such was called, With one of them a dumbed old fool and most completely bald. But, like a woman true she says--my shivering wife to me-- "We will not mind; there's others here looks just as bad as we."

Now, Sister Sunnyhopes, by'm-by, came back into our tent, As sleek or sleeker than before, and asked us "When we went?" Said I, "My dear good Sister S., please do not now pretend You did not see our voyage through, and mark its doleful end. If you would play the mermaid fair, why such I'd have you be; But we're too old to take that part--my faithful wife and me;

"Some folks may be who ocean waves are fitted to command, But we've concluded _we_ was built expressly for the land. And when I want amusement for an uncompleted day, I guess I'll go and take it in some good old-fashioned way; And will not stand upon my head 'fore all the folks that's there, And wildly wave my dumbed old feet in all the neighboring air!"

VICE.

[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]

SEPTEMBER 10, 18--.

Ah me! it makes a sinner wondrous blue, To see so many other sinners too! When I rake over all my faults, and then Notice the same, or worse, in other men, It makes me very much surprised and sad, That Heaven should see Earth turning out so bad!

Vice, vice, vice, vice! The _country's_ mean enough, And has some villains that are pretty rough; But in this town, where art and nature both Are shoved into their very greatest growth, And where the utmost of all things is found, The Devil has his best men on the ground, And gives them weapons meeting his own views, And all the ammunition they can use!