Part 3
One day she laid it on a chair-- Got up, and left it lying there-- And went to work sweeping the floor Just as a peddler reached the door. And to the man it did occur That he might sell some goods to her.
“Good morning Marm, fine day,” quoth he-- “I thought I’d just call, and see”-- “Just come from sea! is that what ye say? Well, and who are ye any way?” “Oh, pray excuse me marm! I said-- I simply called to sell some thread”--
“Swell on the head? well there I vow-- What you been up to any how?” “Beg pardon marm!”--at her he stared, “But is your hearing not impared?” “My herrings pared? Yes, scraped off the scales And then cut off the heads and tails!”
The peddler’s voice grew loud and louder:-- “Say marm! don’t you want to buy some powder? Here is one dozen shell hair pins”-- “What! want to sell a pair of twins? Why man, you make a body laugh, I’d rather buy a Jersey calf--
Me! buy them twins!”--“Madam, your wrong! Have been mistaken all along!”-- “Didn’t take ’em along? it’s just as well, For twins ain’t very good to sell.” “Excuse me marm--but my belief Is that you must be a little deaf!”
“A little beef?--for dinner--hey? Beef and herrings did you say?” “I didn’t say so!” he loudly roar’d-- But his voice took wing and upward soar’d. “Don’t worry--you won’t have to wait, I’ll get your dinner before ’tis late.”
“Don’t want no dinner!” he yelled in her ear,-- “Gal darn ye! can’t I make ye hear?” “_Hain’t got no beer_ for you,” said she, “You needn’t get mad and swear at me!” “Beg pardon!” he yelled with voice immense, “But I certainly mean’t you no offence”--
“Fence? you’ll find out if there’s a fence or not If you don’t get out--now! on the spot! All you know is to make comments-- Great pile you know about _our_ fence!” “To sell you something was my plan-- Here Madam! don’t you want a fan?”
“Me want a man! how could you guess? Of course my answer must be yes. Me! want a man! what’s that I hear?” And she put the trumpet to her ear. “Don’t shoot! don’t shoot!” the peddler said, And instantly turned on his heel and fled.
_SONG OF A SUFFRAGETTE_
With apologies to A. P. S.
This world would be happy, and lovely indeed, If the men were banished, of them there’s no need; Now the ambitious women must fight for their due-- With the pesky men-folks we’ll have no more to do! CHORUS
They don’t like to work, Oh no! (Men and work don’t agree you know.)
With mouth full of Tobacco, at ease near the grate. They’ll sit and vehemently expectorate; And the women are lucky if they can keep out Of the streaks of tobacco-juice flying about!
CHORUS
And tobacco-smoke fragrant will flow In beautiful wreaths, you know!
The women, poor things, must wash, mend and bake, And should there occur the slightest mistake The men-folks will growl, and help things along And emphasize things with language strong!
CHORUS
Their masculine nature they show-- (Rather _growl_ than _work_, you know!)
’Tis predicted the time is not far away When the men-folks, cast down, let the women hold sway; The men will be piled in one gigantic heap, Then _Perfection’s_ sweet presence the women will keep!
CHORUS
For the women will work, and so They’ll manage things nicely, you know!
_RURAL DELIGHT_
The farmer in the early spring Plants fields of yellow corn-- How cheerily we hear him sing While out in the dews of morn! All thro’ the long, bright Summer He works among the grain; And sees the tender corn blades grow Strengthen’d by sun and rain.
He sees with pride the yellow silk Around the corn-cob curled,-- Oh, the jolly, jolly farmer Is the happiest chap in the world. How the cows do love, at supper time To eat the sweet corn meal! How eager are they for their share As the farmers dip and deal.
The dairy maid with honest pride Beams, as with joy she sees The shelves that she with skill has piled With butter and with cheese. When Autumn comes and big tall stalks With golden ears are laden; In order comes the “husking bee,” For merry Youth and Maiden.
And when the ripe “red ear” is found By some pretty winsome miss The swain, “Old Customs” will observe And steal the wonted kiss. The music and the laughter soars To the rafters overhead; As they trip the “light fantastic toe” With an airy, fairy tread.
Then the Pumpkin Pie and Doughnuts come.-- At the close of the mazy dance Each swain escorts his sweetheart home (If he can get the chance!) Thus joy and love will enter in The lot with honest toil; As the farmer reaps his rich reward From tilling of the soil.
_LOOK UP_
(Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.)
’Tis dreary now, a snowy shroud Lies white upon the ground; While fierce and wild the piercing blast With chilling notes resound.
No songs of birds--No crickets chirp. No busy hum of bees Ere floats aloft.--The Wood-nymphs sleep Within the leafless trees.
All Nature’s works now dormant lie ’Neath pure, white cover lid; The violets nestle snug and warm From harm securely hid.
List! Spring has sent her harbinger-- And laden with garlands, she brings Perfumes that are sweet as the breath of the dawn On the sheen of her beautiful wings.
Soft winds will follow in her wake And put to flight the snow-- The bird-songs sweet will soon be heard In cadence soft and low.
Then do not e’er grieve for adverse Conditions that exist,-- The sun will show its sovereign power And drive away the mist!
Why reck we then tho’ storms assail And winds hold wild career? Look up! and feel within your heart That Summer _now_ is here.
Dispel the morbid sense of gloom! The bleak earth soon anew Shall bloom again, like flowerets fair Kissed by the summer dew.
_THE BURNING OF THE TURNER MILL_
Calmly dawned the Sabbath morning O’er Turner’s hills and moors; And peaceful lay the village-- By fair Nezinscot’s shores.
Rich and abundant blessings Seemed showering o’er the land Like dews of Heaven, diffusing As by some unseen Hand.
A verdant, fertile valley That spread afar was seen; With anon interspersing The river’s azure sheen.
And on the green banks, winding In gentle, graceful curve; Where rank, tenebrous foliage The feather’d nestlings serve.
Stood giant oaks primeval, Which thrust their branches wide Where dancing ripples sparkled Upon the eddying tide.
Bright spires, ever gleaming From tall majestic domes Like sentinels seemed guarding The scores of happy homes.
A picture fair and lovely The landscape lay that morn,-- As tho’ by seraph painted Upon the wings of dawn.
* * * * *
The first chimes from the steeples Rang out in accents clear; And like accordant music Fell on the listening ear.--
As yet no note of sorrow Was mingled in their tone; They seemed like benedictions Descending from the Throne.
No thought had the good people Of shadows hovering near-- No thought that ere the noon-tide Full many a bitter tear Would fall.--(Oh! all-wise Father-- By thy supernal power Revert the pending danger Ere falls the fatal hour!
Ah! why?--our hearts may question,-- Ye mortals!--none can tell! ’Tis meet, on Him relying Who doeth all things well.)--
Once more the bells’ sweet music From all the belfrys rang; Bidding the folk to gather For worship.--Praise they sang.
And as they turned their footsteps-- Each toward his wonted church; All was serene and peaceful As far as eye could search.
But hark! What meant the tumult Arising in yon street-- And why disperse those people With swiftly hurrying feet?--
And why that shrill voice shouting As if in dire alarm-- Did’st know ’twas misdemeanor To break the Sabbath calm?--
As onward sped the herald, With face the hue of death And wild-bright eyes, an instant He paused to regain breath,--
Then quick, in tones reverberant That pealed from spire to spire Rang out the cry of terror:-- “The mill! The mill’s on fire!”
(Thro’ the surrounding valley, And o’er adjacent hill; The echoes oft repeated:-- “There’s fire in the mill!”)
Amazed were all the people-- No word their lips could frame As on the breeze’s soft pinions Again the wild cries came:--
“The mill! The mill is burning!” At last, as if from sleep They wakened to the danger,-- Beheld a bright flame leap!--
Ascending and expanding, Columns of smoke arose As from volcanic crater Where molten lava flows.--
Again the cry resounded:-- “The mill is all on fire!”-- And catching up the tidings The bells ’neath every spire
Tolled franticly the warning.-- With clanging, vibrant tongue They sent abroad the message The village folk among!
Lo! Turner’s happy village-- That peaceful, pleasant scene Transformed in one brief moment To one of sorrow keen.--
The smoke grew darker, denser, Fierce flames leaped high and higher,-- “Oh for Niagarian torrent To quench the cruel fire!”
Red tongues from every window Shot forth.--As fortress gray Shoots flame from belching cannon In battle’s grim array.--
As pillar after pillar Of smoke arose, which claimed The attention of the people As high the rafters flamed--
As stood they mute, and helpless, While cinders rose and fell ’Mid the crackling and roaring No mortal power could quell
A cry to Heaven ascended-- (Thro’ bravest hearts a thrill Of horror crept:)--The _proprietor Is in the burning mill_!”
Then stood aghast the people, Astounded, stricken, dazed.-- While in that glowing furnace The timbers cracked and blazed.
And, as the smoke ascended In black, dense, billowy waves; Each heart cried out in anguish:-- “Oh Father, God who saves
Look down in thy compassion!”-- The mad flames dart and sway Like ruddy, fork-tongued dragons That swift devour their prey.--
The winds sang a requiem, And many a silent prayer Arose. As smoke and flame illumined The sky with lurid glare.--
Oh! friends and loving kindred-- Your hearts in grief must bow; The proprietor of the factory Needs not your pity now!
An Angel came and bore him To that celestial shore Where all from earthly trials Shall triumph evermore.
* * * * *
Once more the scene is pleasant O’er Turner’s hills and moors; And peaceful lies the village By fair Nezinscot’s shores.
Green meadows ever rolling The pine-clad hills between With anon interspersing The river’s azure sheen.
And on its pebbly beaches, Where winds the glistening curve, Still soft, pendulous verdure The feathered nestlings serve.
The lofty oaks primeval Still thrust their branches wide; Where silvery wavelets sparkle Upon the bounding tide.
Yet by the rushing waters That sweep adown the strand; A silent, rugged spectre The grim old ruins stand.
The bleak walls, rent and jagged,-- As mountain walls might frown That thro’ convulsive earthquake Its crest had swallowed down.
The winds, thro’ crevice wailing In sweetly plaintive air, A perpetual dirge descanteth For him, who perished there.
Thro’ all the years now vanished, Neglected and forlorn; It stands alone, and mutely Bespeaks of days agone.
No loom or wheel is busy-- Revolving band ne’er whirrs-- No “Factory bell” each morning The village folk bestirs.
No structure supersedeth Where flow these waters free;-- Tho’ none can e’er determine What may in future be.
Yet now, as rubious sunset In splendor gilds the waves; And sweet, naiadic music Is wafting from the caves--
Oft in disconsolation The zephyrs whisper still This tragic tale:--relating The burning of the mill.
_CARPE DIEM_
Pray, never search for hidden woes, Or grievous troubles borrow; Nor cloud the sun today--in fear Lest it may rain tomorrow. God makes the sunshine and the rain-- Then, if today is pleasant Why worry o’er tomorrow’s storm-- Why not enjoy the present?
It will not make the verdant hills Put on a brighter hue; Nor will the canopy above Ere be a lesser blue If all our hours are spent in tears,-- Then let us strive alway To see our many blessings, and Enjoy the _present_ day.
_A BACHELOR’S COMMENTS ON WOMEN’S RIGHTS_
’Tis said the time is close at hand Which earnest thought invites-- We’ll take up this expansive theme And speak on “Women’s Rights.” Methinks there’s many a questions, now, Which worthy seems of note; What say we, then: Will all things change When the women have power to vote?
Will they exchange places with the men-- Tread where have trod their feet-- And dig and delve all day, to get Things for the men to eat? Will the men folks stay in the house all day Dressed in their silks and laces-- Their soft white hands bedecked with rings, And powder on their faces?
Will they play the piano, with no thought To the morrow ever giving-- While the woman goes, and tries to find Some way to get a living? Will she be a carpenter, And build houses tall and grand; And scale with might the dizzy height With hammer and saw in hand?
Will she be a soldier true And fight in uniform-- Or will she be a sailor bold And brave the tempestuous storm? Will she like to make the mines Down underneath the ground And bring to light the precious gems In those dark and deep caves found?
Will she like to dig for ore Where the hidden metals are? Will she take her place on a railway train Or drive an electric car? How many will learn the _dentist’s_ trade? For they must learn it when The good new time comes--and the ladies Change places with the men.
Can she build the massive bridges That the rushing waters span-- Can she smoke and chew tobacco And do it like a man? Can she even be a _farmer_-- Hold plow and drive the horse? Should she change places with the men Why, then she can of course!
Then the liege lords will realize As darksome fears encroach; Why the once fair sex in timidity Shrank from a mouse’s approach Yes, the time is drawing nearer,-- Yet one question still remains Will the world be any better When the women hold the reins?
_WEALTH vs VIRTUE_
By devious ways and endeavors, afar I sought, ascertaining if Gold And _Virtue_--that fairest of gems--were at par And in the same rank were enrolled.
And, viewed with zest keen and undaunting, Often Gold has been found to out-weigh; And the measure of Virtue? Found wanting! For gold hath power mighty to sway.
For instance: Go mingle with people of style In church--you can easily note The smile and the shrug, as you pass down the aisle With frayed hat and a patch on your coat.
Tho’ your heart may be kindest of any, Time has flown since your clothing was new; You are lacking in Wealth--ah! how many Will bid you to enter their pew?
While precedes you a lady,--so haughty and grand, Gaily trips she along down the aisle; Her rosy lips wreathed in smiles sweet and bland-- She is clad in the most approved style.
You gaze on her features. Deceiver-- Is stamped plainly there on her face,-- Yet how eager are all to receive her-- How quick to share with her their place!
Go e’en on the street in your sorrow-- The wealthy and grand pass you by In comfort, No trouble they borrow, They see not the tear in your eye.
Were you dressed in fine raiment so neatly, Your friendship would surely be theirs; But now you are ignored completely, They heed not your pleadings or prayers.
Often Riches will seek only Wealth’s favored lot While Virtue _seeks_ Virtue, abroad-- Or in humble seclusion--In palace or cot, Knowing _all_ are the children of God.
Down the turbulent River of Life, ever move Misfortunes sad waifs, far from shore; Whose struggles avail not.--Then doth it behoove Us to cast the Life Line to the poor.
If, as it may, circumstances reverse, And we find ourselves level with men Who have seen, thro’ affliction, their riches disperse,-- Would we wish _them_ to turn from _us_ then?
Jesus the Saviour has taught us the way, We will err not by following thus: “Do unto others” as near as we may “As we wish them to do unto us.”
_BE MERCIFUL_
Have mercy for the poor aged horse That has served you so faithful and true; Be to him gentle, and treat him with care, He can feel just as keenly as you. Don’t try to get speed when your horse is half starved, But let the poor creature alone; He is patient, submissive, a slave to your will, And obeys you with never a moan.
So eager, and willing, yet feeble and lame, Mayhap is worn out with disease; He is toiling along, his breath nearly gone, He is dreadfully weak in the knees. The harness, replete with prominent knots E’er galls him on shoulder and breast; His bright mournful eyes ask in vain for relief, His anguish is mutely expressed.
You ignore his pleadings, you heed not his pain, Nor endeavor to lighten the load By using your own locomotion to take Yourself up the steep rocky road. Oh! would that the spirit of pitying love Into these thoughtless hearts might instill,-- There’s many a man _can dance all night-- But ’twould harm him to walk up a hill_!
_SUNSHINE ON THE HILL_
In the low-land where the shadows Gather at the close of day; When the sky in all its beauty Turns from blue to sombre grey,-- Voices of the day are ceasing, Plaintively the night-birds trill,-- In the distance, like a halo-- Lo! the sun shines on the hill!
When, like Wings of Night unfolded Sorrow casts its chilling shade; Causing all our joy to vanish And our cherished hopes to fade-- When _Oppression’s_ hand shall smite us With a wrath that bodeth ill-- Look beyond the vale’s dark shadows To the sunshine on the hill!
Like a whispered benediction From the Realm of Light, so blest; Steals those sacred words, in accents Sweet: “And I will give thee rest.”-- Would we feel that peace and comfort In our drooping hearts instill,-- Look beyond Life’s fitful shadows To the _Sunshine_ on the _Hill_.
_YOUR REAL WEALTH_
Brethren, as you down life’s pathway Pass with firm and stately tread When success shall crown your efforts And its glories round you shed-- There’s a truth that e’er existeth,-- Though of high or lowly birth-- When death’s Angel for you calleth You’ll own just “six feet of earth.”
Though you’re rich in lands and mansions,-- Though you’ve gold and jewels rare-- Though your life is bright and sunny Never knows a want or care.-- Though a brother’s life of sorrow Different is from yours of mirth; Yet _some day_ he’ll be your equal-- Both will own “six feet of earth.”
Turn your gaze to scenes Immortal-- Is your chance of Heaven more sure Than the lowly one, possessing Naught of fame, but heart most pure? Nay, your riches ne’er can save you, _Virtue_ is the Gem of Worth; You your wealth can not take with you To the last “six feet of earth.”
Jesus once was poor and lowly, And His crown held many a thorn; Yet His heavenly Father loved Him As He suffered grief and scorn.-- If your _soul_ is pure and stainless You have _Wealth_,--there’ll ne’er be dearth; When at last the clay is sleeping In your own “six feet of earth.”
_CHANGEABLE_
Beneath an apple tree she sat Amid bright leaf and flower, Telling of what she would do, Were it within her power: She’d civilize the heathen poor,-- She’d meet the wary foe, And drive them till their trackless paths Were through eternal snow.
With strong nerve she would care for those Who are stricken down in war And cheer the sick and suffering ones Without a bit of awe. She’d soothe the fevered ones to rest And bathe each aching head,-- And never would she shrink from pain, But bravely work, instead.
But ah! what caused her cheek to pale Ere she had ceased to speak-- What made her start, with fingers clenched, And give that awful shriek? Where is the maiden, once so brave? Ah! nothing now can still her,-- For lo! upon her sleeve there lay A _little caterpillar_!
_PLEASURE_
’Twas a calm, still night and the big full moon Looked down with smile serene; And his watchful eye observed all things, And he called it a curious scene. All agreed ’twas a fine night for the dance,-- We all were so light-hearted; Light-headed? No! but we wished to go And dance, so off we started.
The night was fair and the watchful moon Shone almost bright as day; So Jack, he harnessed the old white mare And hitched her to the sleigh. The old horse clipped a lively time Over the snow so cold, Like a frisky colt,--though the old horse Was twenty-five years old.
Oh, the pure delight of that moon-lit drive As we dashed the plains across,-- And chung, chung, chung, went the merry bells, The while the old white horse Kept merry time to the tuneful bells As over the snow we sped; And the soft and gentle zephyrs blew, And the moon its radiance shed.
The time flew by on rapid wings, As it does when on pleasure bent; And it was in the “wee small hours” Before we homeward went. ’Twas a beautiful, beautiful, evening, And the moon looked down so kind; The world seemed full of music And poetry combined.
_TIME BRINGS CHANGES_
She sat down by the kitchen fire, While munching bread and cheese; With now and then a pancake hot, Her hunger to appease.
“Ah me! how good this is,” she sighed As a cookie she stowed away; “I would that I a lunch could have Like this one _every day_!”--
Next day her beau on her did call To take her for a ride; ’Twas getting late--’twas nearly noon When the mother her espied.
And, anxious as all mammas are, As to how her daughter fared; Cried, “Just you wait a moment dear-- I’ve dinner all prepared.”