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 SunnyhopesHadn'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.
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 SunnyhopesHadn'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 wading
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 alovelywave!"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 tokickthis "lovely wave," and let right go the line.
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 alovelywave!"
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 tokickthis "lovely wave," and let right go the line.
"TWO INLAND NOODLES, FOR OUR FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE SEA.""TWO INLAND NOODLES, FOR OUR FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE SEA."
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 howsurenessnever 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!
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 howsurenessnever 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!
Sister Sunnyhopes floating on her back.
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 eyeswouldrove 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!
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 eyeswouldrove 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!
flopped us in a heap
my wife across of me
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!
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.""WE VOTED THAT WE'D HAD ENOUGH."
We voted that we'd had enough, and got right out the wayBefore 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 pretendYou 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 concludedwewas 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!"
We voted that we'd had enough, and got right out the wayBefore 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 pretendYou 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 concludedwewas 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!"
September10, 18—.
Ah me! it makes a sinner wondrous blue,To see so many other sinners too!When I rake over all my faults, and thenNotice 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! Thecountry'smean enough,And has some villains that are pretty rough;But in this town, where art and nature bothAre 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!Vice, vice, vice, vice! I never had been ledTo think that Evil had so long a head!I've seen more ingenuity displayedIn one crime, than 'twould take to learn a trade.Such cute inventions Sin will take in charge:Old Satan's patent-office must be large!And yet, for all their craft, in time how briefHow many of these rascals come to grief!For though within them cunning may abound,The plain-clothed Truth is always standing round,Or following rogues through every land and clime,And gets them, if you'll only give him time.I don't believe—as some good people say—The Devil leads men on from day to day,And takes them to a rock, and, first they know,Pitches them off into some gulf below;Or baits them into different traps, and thenDoesn't try at all to get them out again:I think he'd like to keep them, safe and sound,Doing his nasty work the whole year round;And when a rogue fails up and comes to grief,It hurts his brimstone-clothed but helpless chief!These thoughts limped past my saddened mind to-day,As through State's prison I pursued my way,Led round by one who didn't seem to be knowingWhat melancholy pictures he was showing!Those walls and guards, that all escape opposed;Those thick, iron doors—it thundered when they closed;The cells—each one a closet full of gloom:I'd just as soon sleep in a metal tomb![6]The hard-faced men who worked away (no doubt,For fear of hard-faced men that stood about),Wearing that garb of stripes a free man loathes,As if Law whipped them—even with their clothes;The way they glance up at you from withinTheir drooping eyelids, hard with grief or sin,Wondering, as they gaze upon you so,If you are not some one they used to know;The ghosts you feel, that creep 'round, all the time,Among these men who've shaken hands with crime;The mournful hope that some are toiling hereWhose innocence in heaven is proved out clear:All these things to my inmost spirit talked,As through those regions dark I slowly walked;And when the front door closed behind me—free—The fresh air seemed like heaven itself to me!I recollect once getting sick with pain,When sitting near a sheriff, on the train,Who had a young man with him—not of age—Whom he was taking to this stone-bound cage.The poor boy talked to him with drooping head,And these are something like the words he said:
Ah me! it makes a sinner wondrous blue,To see so many other sinners too!When I rake over all my faults, and thenNotice 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! Thecountry'smean enough,And has some villains that are pretty rough;But in this town, where art and nature bothAre 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!
Vice, vice, vice, vice! I never had been ledTo think that Evil had so long a head!I've seen more ingenuity displayedIn one crime, than 'twould take to learn a trade.Such cute inventions Sin will take in charge:Old Satan's patent-office must be large!
And yet, for all their craft, in time how briefHow many of these rascals come to grief!For though within them cunning may abound,The plain-clothed Truth is always standing round,Or following rogues through every land and clime,And gets them, if you'll only give him time.
I don't believe—as some good people say—The Devil leads men on from day to day,And takes them to a rock, and, first they know,Pitches them off into some gulf below;Or baits them into different traps, and thenDoesn't try at all to get them out again:I think he'd like to keep them, safe and sound,Doing his nasty work the whole year round;And when a rogue fails up and comes to grief,It hurts his brimstone-clothed but helpless chief!
These thoughts limped past my saddened mind to-day,As through State's prison I pursued my way,Led round by one who didn't seem to be knowingWhat melancholy pictures he was showing!Those walls and guards, that all escape opposed;Those thick, iron doors—it thundered when they closed;The cells—each one a closet full of gloom:I'd just as soon sleep in a metal tomb![6]The hard-faced men who worked away (no doubt,For fear of hard-faced men that stood about),Wearing that garb of stripes a free man loathes,As if Law whipped them—even with their clothes;The way they glance up at you from withinTheir drooping eyelids, hard with grief or sin,Wondering, as they gaze upon you so,If you are not some one they used to know;The ghosts you feel, that creep 'round, all the time,Among these men who've shaken hands with crime;The mournful hope that some are toiling hereWhose innocence in heaven is proved out clear:All these things to my inmost spirit talked,As through those regions dark I slowly walked;And when the front door closed behind me—free—The fresh air seemed like heaven itself to me!
I recollect once getting sick with pain,When sitting near a sheriff, on the train,Who had a young man with him—not of age—Whom he was taking to this stone-bound cage.The poor boy talked to him with drooping head,And these are something like the words he said:
[6] And yet 'twas quite affecting, I declare,How some had ornaments up, even there!Not crime itself, or sad misfortune's smartCan crush all sense of beauty from the heart!
[6] And yet 'twas quite affecting, I declare,How some had ornaments up, even there!Not crime itself, or sad misfortune's smartCan crush all sense of beauty from the heart!
I'd rather sit here, Mr. Sheriff—up near to the end of the car;We won't do so much advertising if we stay in the seat where we are.That sweet little dude saw the bracelets that you on my wrists have bestowed,And tells the new passengers promptly you're "taking me over the road."I've had a well-patronized trial—the neighbors all know of my fall;But when I get out among strangers I'm sensitive-like, after all.For I was a lad of good prospects, some three or four summers ago—There wasn't any boy in our township who made a more promising show!I learned all of Solomon's proverbs, and took in their goodness and worth,Till I felt like a virtue-hooped barrel, chock-full of the salt of the earth.And this precious picnic of sorrow would likely enough have been saved,If I had had less of a heart, sir, or home had contained what it craved.For the time when a boy is in danger of walking a little bit wild,Is when he's too young to be married—too old to be known as a child;A bird in the lonely grass thickets, just out of the parent tree thrown,Too large to be kept in the old nest—too small to have one of his own;When, desolate 'mid his companions, his soul is a stake to be won;'Tis then that the Devil stands ready to get a good chance to catch on!Oh, yes! I'd a good enough home, sir, so far as the house was concerned;My parents were first-class providers—I ate full as much as I earned.My clothes were all built of good timber, and fit every day to be seen;There wasn't any lock on the pantry—my bedroom was tidy and clean;And taking the home up and down, sir, I'd more than an average part,With one quite important exception—there wasn't any room for my heart.The house couldn't have been any colder, with snow-drifts in every room!The house needn't have been any darker to make a respectable tomb!I used to stop short on the door-step, and brace up a minute or more,And bid a good-bye to the sunshine, before I would open the door;I used to feed daily on icebergs—take in all the freeze I could hold—Then go out and warm in the sunshine, because my poor heart was so cold!And hadn't I a father and mother? Oh yes! just as good as they make—Toogood, I have often suspected (though maybe that last's a mistake).But they'd travelled so long and so steady the way to Perfection's abode,They hadn't any feeling for fellows who could not as yet find the road;And so, till some far advanced mile-post on goodness's pike I could win,They thought of me, not as their own child, but as one of the children of sin.And hadn't I brothers and sisters? Oh yes! till they somewhat had grown;Then, shivering, they went off and left me to stand the cold weather alone.For I had the luck to be youngest—the last on the family page,The one to prop up the old roof-tree—the staff of my parents' old age;Who well understood all the uses to which a mere staff is applied;They used me whenever convenient—then carelessly threw me aside!And hadn't I any associates? Oh yes! I had friends, more or less,But seldom I asked them to visit our house with the slightest success;Whenever the project was mentioned, they'd somehow look blue like and chill,And mention another engagement they felt it their duty to fill;For—now I am only a convict, there's no harm in telling the truth—My home was a fearful wet blanket to blood that was seasoned with youth!Not one blessèd thing that was cheerful; no festivals, frolics, or games;No novels of any description—'twas wicked to mention their names!My story-books suddenly vanished, my checker-boards never would keep,No newspaper came throughourdoorway unless it was first put to sleep!And as for love—well, that old song, sir, is very melodious and fine,With "No place like home" in the chorus—I hope there ain't many like mine!And so, soon my body got hating a place which my soul couldn't abide,And Pleasure was all the time smiling, and motioning me to her side;And when I start out on a journey, I'm likely to go it by leaps,For good or for bad, I'm no half-way—I'm one or the other for keeps.My wild oats flew thicker and faster—I reaped the same crop that I sowed,And now I am going to market—I'm taking it over the road!Yes, it grieved my good father and mother to see me so sadly astray,They deeply regretted my downfall—in a strictly respectable way;They gave me some more admonition, and sent me off full of advice,And wondered to see such a villain from parents so good and precise.Indeed I have often conjectured, when full of neglect and its smarts,I must have been left on the door-step of their uncongenial hearts!My home in the prison is waiting—it opens up clear to my sight;Hard work and no pay-day a-coming, a close cell to sleep in at night.And there I must lie sad and lonesome, with more tribulation than rest,And wake in the morning with sorrow sharp sticking like steel in my breast;But maybe the strain and the trouble won't quite so much o'er me prevail,As 'twould be to some one who wasn't brought up in a kind of a jail!You'vegot a good home, Mr. Sheriff, with everything cosy and nice,And 'tisn't for a wrist-shackled convict to offeryouwords of advice;But this Imustsay, of all places your children may visit or call,MakeHomethe most pleasant and happy—the sweetest and best of them all;For the Devil won't offer a dollar to have his world-chances improved,When Home is turned into a side-show, with half the attractions removed!Don'tthink I'm too bitter, good sheriff—I like you: you've been very good;I'm ever and ever so grateful—would pay it all back if I could.I didn't mean to slander my parents—I've nothing against their good name,And as for my unrighteous actions, it's mostly myself that's to blame;Still,if I'd had a home—But the prison is only one station ahead—I'm done, Mr. Sheriff; forget me, butdon'tforget what I have said!
I'd rather sit here, Mr. Sheriff—up near to the end of the car;We won't do so much advertising if we stay in the seat where we are.That sweet little dude saw the bracelets that you on my wrists have bestowed,And tells the new passengers promptly you're "taking me over the road."I've had a well-patronized trial—the neighbors all know of my fall;But when I get out among strangers I'm sensitive-like, after all.
For I was a lad of good prospects, some three or four summers ago—There wasn't any boy in our township who made a more promising show!I learned all of Solomon's proverbs, and took in their goodness and worth,Till I felt like a virtue-hooped barrel, chock-full of the salt of the earth.And this precious picnic of sorrow would likely enough have been saved,If I had had less of a heart, sir, or home had contained what it craved.
For the time when a boy is in danger of walking a little bit wild,Is when he's too young to be married—too old to be known as a child;A bird in the lonely grass thickets, just out of the parent tree thrown,Too large to be kept in the old nest—too small to have one of his own;When, desolate 'mid his companions, his soul is a stake to be won;'Tis then that the Devil stands ready to get a good chance to catch on!
Oh, yes! I'd a good enough home, sir, so far as the house was concerned;My parents were first-class providers—I ate full as much as I earned.My clothes were all built of good timber, and fit every day to be seen;There wasn't any lock on the pantry—my bedroom was tidy and clean;And taking the home up and down, sir, I'd more than an average part,With one quite important exception—there wasn't any room for my heart.
The house couldn't have been any colder, with snow-drifts in every room!The house needn't have been any darker to make a respectable tomb!I used to stop short on the door-step, and brace up a minute or more,And bid a good-bye to the sunshine, before I would open the door;I used to feed daily on icebergs—take in all the freeze I could hold—Then go out and warm in the sunshine, because my poor heart was so cold!
And hadn't I a father and mother? Oh yes! just as good as they make—Toogood, I have often suspected (though maybe that last's a mistake).But they'd travelled so long and so steady the way to Perfection's abode,They hadn't any feeling for fellows who could not as yet find the road;And so, till some far advanced mile-post on goodness's pike I could win,They thought of me, not as their own child, but as one of the children of sin.
And hadn't I brothers and sisters? Oh yes! till they somewhat had grown;Then, shivering, they went off and left me to stand the cold weather alone.For I had the luck to be youngest—the last on the family page,The one to prop up the old roof-tree—the staff of my parents' old age;Who well understood all the uses to which a mere staff is applied;They used me whenever convenient—then carelessly threw me aside!
And hadn't I any associates? Oh yes! I had friends, more or less,But seldom I asked them to visit our house with the slightest success;Whenever the project was mentioned, they'd somehow look blue like and chill,And mention another engagement they felt it their duty to fill;For—now I am only a convict, there's no harm in telling the truth—My home was a fearful wet blanket to blood that was seasoned with youth!
Not one blessèd thing that was cheerful; no festivals, frolics, or games;No novels of any description—'twas wicked to mention their names!My story-books suddenly vanished, my checker-boards never would keep,No newspaper came throughourdoorway unless it was first put to sleep!And as for love—well, that old song, sir, is very melodious and fine,With "No place like home" in the chorus—I hope there ain't many like mine!
And so, soon my body got hating a place which my soul couldn't abide,And Pleasure was all the time smiling, and motioning me to her side;And when I start out on a journey, I'm likely to go it by leaps,For good or for bad, I'm no half-way—I'm one or the other for keeps.My wild oats flew thicker and faster—I reaped the same crop that I sowed,And now I am going to market—I'm taking it over the road!
Yes, it grieved my good father and mother to see me so sadly astray,They deeply regretted my downfall—in a strictly respectable way;They gave me some more admonition, and sent me off full of advice,And wondered to see such a villain from parents so good and precise.Indeed I have often conjectured, when full of neglect and its smarts,I must have been left on the door-step of their uncongenial hearts!
My home in the prison is waiting—it opens up clear to my sight;Hard work and no pay-day a-coming, a close cell to sleep in at night.And there I must lie sad and lonesome, with more tribulation than rest,And wake in the morning with sorrow sharp sticking like steel in my breast;But maybe the strain and the trouble won't quite so much o'er me prevail,As 'twould be to some one who wasn't brought up in a kind of a jail!
You'vegot a good home, Mr. Sheriff, with everything cosy and nice,And 'tisn't for a wrist-shackled convict to offeryouwords of advice;But this Imustsay, of all places your children may visit or call,MakeHomethe most pleasant and happy—the sweetest and best of them all;For the Devil won't offer a dollar to have his world-chances improved,When Home is turned into a side-show, with half the attractions removed!
Don'tthink I'm too bitter, good sheriff—I like you: you've been very good;I'm ever and ever so grateful—would pay it all back if I could.I didn't mean to slander my parents—I've nothing against their good name,And as for my unrighteous actions, it's mostly myself that's to blame;Still,if I'd had a home—But the prison is only one station ahead—I'm done, Mr. Sheriff; forget me, butdon'tforget what I have said!
September 15, 18—.
Vice, vice, vice, vice!—and 'tisn't all clear and free,Where any one can take a look and see,And then decide, immediate, on the spot,Whether he'll buy his soul-farm there or not;It's scattered round about so 'mongst the good,Folks can't entirely shun it when they would.Much better to escape it we'd be able,If 'twas obliged to carry 'round a label(It always does, some time before it ages,But not enough so in its early stages).My mind was led around about this way,By a well-dressed young man I met to-day,Who strove to twist some money out of me,But had, instead, a first-class lecture free.My cousin, Abdiel Stebbins, large and good,Inclined to do even better than he should,And with a heart that gets him into scrapesOf a most strange variety of shapes,But who, before they've run a fatal course,Always gets out of them by sheer main force,Wrote me two letters, several years ago,Which I have kept, with no intent to show,But simply to read over now and thenAs part of my text-book entitled "Men."I think I'll get my cousin's wail by letter,And paste it here where I can find it better.
Vice, vice, vice, vice!—and 'tisn't all clear and free,Where any one can take a look and see,And then decide, immediate, on the spot,Whether he'll buy his soul-farm there or not;It's scattered round about so 'mongst the good,Folks can't entirely shun it when they would.Much better to escape it we'd be able,If 'twas obliged to carry 'round a label(It always does, some time before it ages,But not enough so in its early stages).
My mind was led around about this way,By a well-dressed young man I met to-day,Who strove to twist some money out of me,But had, instead, a first-class lecture free.
My cousin, Abdiel Stebbins, large and good,Inclined to do even better than he should,And with a heart that gets him into scrapesOf a most strange variety of shapes,But who, before they've run a fatal course,Always gets out of them by sheer main force,Wrote me two letters, several years ago,Which I have kept, with no intent to show,But simply to read over now and thenAs part of my text-book entitled "Men."
I think I'll get my cousin's wail by letter,And paste it here where I can find it better.
Dear Cousin John:
We got here safe—my worthy wife an' me,An' then I looked the village through to see what I could see:I rode upon the cur'us track with stations all up-stairs;I walked through Wall Street all its length, an' saw no bulls or bears;I patronized a red-nosed chap with manners very queer,Who hadn't had a thing to eat for somethin' like a year;I saw the road commissioners to work upon a bridgeA million times as large as that we built at Tompkins' Ridge—(I'm told that they are makin' it, though maybe that's all fun,To use the coming century, an' hope to get it done)—When who should up an' grasp my hand, with face of genuine joy,But Cousin Jeroboam Jones, my cousin's oldest boy!I had not seen him years an' years—no wonder he looked strange;His face an' form in some respects had undergone a change;But then there wasn't a chance of doubt that that was him, because,If not, how should he ever know that I was who I was?We brushed our old acquaintance up, an' soon was at our ease,A wanderin' all about the place, as cozy as you please.It's nicer far, in foreign towns, than 'tis to be alone,To walk with one whose blood proceeds from sources near your own;A sim'lar temp'rature of heart, a sort of family ease,Enables you to work your tongue as lib'ral as you please;And so I found myself quite soon uncommonly at home,Describin' all my business through to Cousin Jerobo'm.He listened very docile like, an' hadn't much to say,But what he did was vent'red in a satisfact'ry way;He'd severed somewhat from his kin, an' sort o' lost the run,But he recalled the Stebbinses, when mentioned, one by one;An' takin' him inside an' out, our family scarcely ownsA relative more relishin' than Jeroboam Jones.He's teacher in a Sunday-school, he told me, by the way,Which has a room, above a store, that's open every day."For if," he says, "we come across a child that needs our care,We cannot wait till Sunday comes—we join 'em then an' there.An' if you want to see the way our worthy cause is run,Come in an' take a little look—our 'social's' just begun."The scholars hadn't come, as yet; the Superintendent, though,Was sittin' at a table, like, an' bowed extremely low;An' heard the praise on poor old me my cousin had to tell,An' said he joyed to meet a friend of one he loved so well;An' I talked back; an' for a time our converse did not cease—A regular three-cornered gush of friendship, love, an' peace.An' then he showed me how they run their "grab-bags" an' all such(We have the same at home, you know, although not near so much);An' then he had some val'ables on numbers that you saw,With figures correspondin'ly, in envelopes, to draw;I gin him fifty cents to help a cause I dearly hold,An' drew a velvet hymn-book, with a clasp resemblin' gold!My cousin pressed my hand with some congratulatin' jokes,And said, "Ah me! the Stebbinses was always lucky folks!But after all, theirshrewdnessis the thing that lets them win."(Which made me proud, though I didn't see just where the shrewd came in.But buyin' a five-dollar book at that unheard-of price,An' helpin' of the cause meanwhile, was unsuspected nice.)"TO MAKE FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS CLEAR, AN' HELP THE CHILDREN TOO.""TO MAKE FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS CLEAR, AN' HELP THE CHILDREN TOO."Whereat the Superintendent said, "You're lucky, I allow;I'll have to charge five dollars for a chance to draw here now."Whereat my cousin Jeroboam remarked, "If 'tisn't wrong,I'll buy a draw for Cousin Steb, to help the cause along."I shook my head, but hewoulddo't; an' sure as I'm alive,I drawed a good ten-dollar bill for Cousin Jones's five!Whereat the Superintendent said, "You're lucky men, I vow;A hundred dollars I must charge for every drawing now;"An' fingerin' the envelopes, one opened—just a grain—And I discerned the number 11, uncommon black and plain;An' on theothernumber 11 by glancin' I could seeFive good crisp hundr'd-dollar bills a-waitin' there for me!
We got here safe—my worthy wife an' me,An' then I looked the village through to see what I could see:I rode upon the cur'us track with stations all up-stairs;I walked through Wall Street all its length, an' saw no bulls or bears;I patronized a red-nosed chap with manners very queer,Who hadn't had a thing to eat for somethin' like a year;
I saw the road commissioners to work upon a bridgeA million times as large as that we built at Tompkins' Ridge—(I'm told that they are makin' it, though maybe that's all fun,To use the coming century, an' hope to get it done)—When who should up an' grasp my hand, with face of genuine joy,But Cousin Jeroboam Jones, my cousin's oldest boy!
I had not seen him years an' years—no wonder he looked strange;His face an' form in some respects had undergone a change;But then there wasn't a chance of doubt that that was him, because,If not, how should he ever know that I was who I was?We brushed our old acquaintance up, an' soon was at our ease,A wanderin' all about the place, as cozy as you please.
It's nicer far, in foreign towns, than 'tis to be alone,To walk with one whose blood proceeds from sources near your own;A sim'lar temp'rature of heart, a sort of family ease,Enables you to work your tongue as lib'ral as you please;And so I found myself quite soon uncommonly at home,Describin' all my business through to Cousin Jerobo'm.
He listened very docile like, an' hadn't much to say,But what he did was vent'red in a satisfact'ry way;He'd severed somewhat from his kin, an' sort o' lost the run,But he recalled the Stebbinses, when mentioned, one by one;An' takin' him inside an' out, our family scarcely ownsA relative more relishin' than Jeroboam Jones.
He's teacher in a Sunday-school, he told me, by the way,Which has a room, above a store, that's open every day."For if," he says, "we come across a child that needs our care,We cannot wait till Sunday comes—we join 'em then an' there.An' if you want to see the way our worthy cause is run,Come in an' take a little look—our 'social's' just begun."
The scholars hadn't come, as yet; the Superintendent, though,Was sittin' at a table, like, an' bowed extremely low;An' heard the praise on poor old me my cousin had to tell,An' said he joyed to meet a friend of one he loved so well;An' I talked back; an' for a time our converse did not cease—A regular three-cornered gush of friendship, love, an' peace.
An' then he showed me how they run their "grab-bags" an' all such(We have the same at home, you know, although not near so much);An' then he had some val'ables on numbers that you saw,With figures correspondin'ly, in envelopes, to draw;I gin him fifty cents to help a cause I dearly hold,An' drew a velvet hymn-book, with a clasp resemblin' gold!
My cousin pressed my hand with some congratulatin' jokes,And said, "Ah me! the Stebbinses was always lucky folks!But after all, theirshrewdnessis the thing that lets them win."(Which made me proud, though I didn't see just where the shrewd came in.But buyin' a five-dollar book at that unheard-of price,An' helpin' of the cause meanwhile, was unsuspected nice.)
"TO MAKE FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS CLEAR, AN' HELP THE CHILDREN TOO.""TO MAKE FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS CLEAR, AN' HELP THE CHILDREN TOO."
"TO MAKE FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS CLEAR, AN' HELP THE CHILDREN TOO."
Whereat the Superintendent said, "You're lucky, I allow;I'll have to charge five dollars for a chance to draw here now."Whereat my cousin Jeroboam remarked, "If 'tisn't wrong,I'll buy a draw for Cousin Steb, to help the cause along."I shook my head, but hewoulddo't; an' sure as I'm alive,I drawed a good ten-dollar bill for Cousin Jones's five!
Whereat the Superintendent said, "You're lucky men, I vow;A hundred dollars I must charge for every drawing now;"An' fingerin' the envelopes, one opened—just a grain—And I discerned the number 11, uncommon black and plain;An' on theothernumber 11 by glancin' I could seeFive good crisp hundr'd-dollar bills a-waitin' there for me!
"WE COME 'THIN PART OF ONE OF IT.""WE COME 'THIN PART OF ONE OF IT."
"WE COME 'THIN PART OF ONE OF IT."
To make four hundred dollars clear, an' help the children too,Was somethin' that would surely seem desirable to do;With an unfailin' eagle eye, a heart that swelled with hope,I watched, an' saw the very place he put that envelope;I winked at Cousin Jeroboam, I counted out the cash,An' drawed, an' had that card revealed almost as quick as flash!Oh, sakes!—the second figure I had what I hadn't seen,Atailthat made a 7 of it! 'twas Number 17!An' on them figures on the board there nothin' was, in fact,Except a little pamphlet like—an anti-gamblin' tract;Which hadn't any money wuth, an' won't be good for much,Except to keep my older boys from playin' cards an' such.Now Cousin Jeroboam Jones was buried in surprise,An' walked a half a mile with me, an' helped philosophize;An' says, "You come some other day—we'll try that thing agin:We come 'thinpart of one of it—the next time we shall win."Then, nearin' to a corner, he took kindly leave o' me,Because of some new scholars there that he must go an' see.I give you this experience, John, but please don't tell it now;Let Tompkins take the chestnut horse, an' sell the brindle cow;An' gather up what cash besides I have a-lyin' loose,An' send the whole of it to me for my immediate use.Do everything concerned in this, in soft, secretive tones;Direct it to New York, in care of Jeroboam Jones.
To make four hundred dollars clear, an' help the children too,Was somethin' that would surely seem desirable to do;With an unfailin' eagle eye, a heart that swelled with hope,I watched, an' saw the very place he put that envelope;I winked at Cousin Jeroboam, I counted out the cash,An' drawed, an' had that card revealed almost as quick as flash!
Oh, sakes!—the second figure I had what I hadn't seen,Atailthat made a 7 of it! 'twas Number 17!An' on them figures on the board there nothin' was, in fact,Except a little pamphlet like—an anti-gamblin' tract;Which hadn't any money wuth, an' won't be good for much,Except to keep my older boys from playin' cards an' such.
Now Cousin Jeroboam Jones was buried in surprise,An' walked a half a mile with me, an' helped philosophize;An' says, "You come some other day—we'll try that thing agin:We come 'thinpart of one of it—the next time we shall win."Then, nearin' to a corner, he took kindly leave o' me,Because of some new scholars there that he must go an' see.
I give you this experience, John, but please don't tell it now;Let Tompkins take the chestnut horse, an' sell the brindle cow;An' gather up what cash besides I have a-lyin' loose,An' send the whole of it to me for my immediate use.Do everything concerned in this, in soft, secretive tones;Direct it to New York, in care of Jeroboam Jones.
A. S.
A few days, and the following one arrived,Which shows Sin's triumph sometimes is short-lived:
A few days, and the following one arrived,Which shows Sin's triumph sometimes is short-lived:
Dear Cousin John:
I'm very glad you sent that money through,By Cousin Seth, an' not by mail, as I requested you!The fam'ly's just so much ahead: 'twere best it never came.If Jeroboam Jones had twined his fingers 'round the same.For that young man has principles fit only to abhor,And isn't the kind of relative that I was lookin' for!My sakes! Millennium's nowhere near, when men so false can beAs to equivocate themselves into my family tree;An' on its honest branches graft the shoots of their design,An' make me think they're good because they're relatives of mine;While under those fraternal smiles a robber's frown is hid;But that's the inappropriate thing that Jeroboam did!When Cousin Seth the tavern reached whose clerk o'ershadows me,He cried, "Where is my long-lost son I've come so far to see?"An' so, to fill that father's heart with resurrected joy,I twisted 'round with him a bit, to try an' find the boy;An' comin' where I had the luck that hymn-book for to win,I opened quietly the door, an' both of us went in.The Superintendent still was there; he gave a little start,But welcomed us, apparently, with overflowin' heart;An' told us all about the work, an' how 'twas gettin' on,An' how much money those who gave unto the cause had won;But Cousin Seth, though much impressed with what he heard an' saw,Said he didn't fix the envelopes, an' b'lieved he wouldn't draw.Just then the door was opened quick, an' with a solemn grin,Young Jeroboam Jones appeared, an' sidled softly in;An' with him was an older man, who looked enough like meTo've been a reg'lar Stebbins too, so far as one could see;But slappin' Seth upon the back, I said, "My duty's done,For this is Jeroboam Jones, your long-lost oldest son!""My 'long-lost oldest son?'" said he: "he's 'bout as much my sonAs you are the belovèd babe of Gen'ral Washington!It strikes me that my married life was very much amiss,If I'm responsible for such a sneakin' face as this!He's blinded you by his supposed relationship to me:He's no one I have ever seen, or ever want to see!"As when a fog above a field the sudden breezes tore,You spied a thousand things you did not even miss before,So all the facts of this affair, as clear as summer skies,Straightway arranged themselves before my reconstructed eyes:That these were not veracious men; an' this no Sunday-school;An' naught was what it seemed, except one old bald-headed fool!I held those two deceivers out, with unassisted strength,An' by the collar shook each one to my arm's farthest length;They gasped an' danced an' skipped around, without a word to say—They "put their heads together" in a new an' painful way."Due ninety dollars fifty cents, an' not a penny less!"I shouted; "an' I'll send you back your hymn-book by express!"When finally in my discourse a breathin' pause occurred,The Superintendent counted out the cash, without a word;Which, with a manner dignified, I coldly repossessed,An', still retainin' Jeroboam, that scamp I thus addressed:"An' so you are the bogus friend and relative, so freeTo spend his time a-makin' fools of poor old men like me."I'm Supervisor of the town where I have lived so long:There ain't a man in all that part will say I've done him wrong;There ain't a man will claim but what I'm ordinary keen;But when I plant myself in town, I grow exceedin' green.An' any kind-expressioned man, who acts a civil part,Can always find my soul to home, an' house-room in my heart."It's sad for such a smile as yours to find so mean a fate;An' there'ssomegood in you—at least enough to use for bait;Withoutsomekindness in your heart, you couldn't have landed me;An' as to how you've used your gifts, just pause a bit an' see.I've gambled, by you're callin' it a charitable name,And my self-valuation sunk with unaccustomed shame."I've done what I'd have whipped my boys for even lookin' at;An' don't suppose but what I own part of the blame for that;I thought I saw a chance to make five dollars out o' one,Which, with strict justice all around, is very seldom done.But up to that outrageous point, remember, I was ledBy your assumed relationship, an' several things you said."Do you reflect, young man, upon the fruit you're growin' to?There's prison gates a-waitin' now to stand in front of you.There's grief of unexpected kinds, an' every sort of shame,To send you some time from this world much poorer than you came.Your guilty head you hang before us sinners standin' by:What angle do you s'pose 'twould take 'mongst angels in the sky?
I'm very glad you sent that money through,By Cousin Seth, an' not by mail, as I requested you!The fam'ly's just so much ahead: 'twere best it never came.If Jeroboam Jones had twined his fingers 'round the same.For that young man has principles fit only to abhor,And isn't the kind of relative that I was lookin' for!
My sakes! Millennium's nowhere near, when men so false can beAs to equivocate themselves into my family tree;An' on its honest branches graft the shoots of their design,An' make me think they're good because they're relatives of mine;While under those fraternal smiles a robber's frown is hid;But that's the inappropriate thing that Jeroboam did!
When Cousin Seth the tavern reached whose clerk o'ershadows me,He cried, "Where is my long-lost son I've come so far to see?"An' so, to fill that father's heart with resurrected joy,I twisted 'round with him a bit, to try an' find the boy;An' comin' where I had the luck that hymn-book for to win,I opened quietly the door, an' both of us went in.
The Superintendent still was there; he gave a little start,But welcomed us, apparently, with overflowin' heart;An' told us all about the work, an' how 'twas gettin' on,An' how much money those who gave unto the cause had won;But Cousin Seth, though much impressed with what he heard an' saw,Said he didn't fix the envelopes, an' b'lieved he wouldn't draw.
Just then the door was opened quick, an' with a solemn grin,Young Jeroboam Jones appeared, an' sidled softly in;An' with him was an older man, who looked enough like meTo've been a reg'lar Stebbins too, so far as one could see;But slappin' Seth upon the back, I said, "My duty's done,For this is Jeroboam Jones, your long-lost oldest son!"
"My 'long-lost oldest son?'" said he: "he's 'bout as much my sonAs you are the belovèd babe of Gen'ral Washington!It strikes me that my married life was very much amiss,If I'm responsible for such a sneakin' face as this!He's blinded you by his supposed relationship to me:He's no one I have ever seen, or ever want to see!"
As when a fog above a field the sudden breezes tore,You spied a thousand things you did not even miss before,So all the facts of this affair, as clear as summer skies,Straightway arranged themselves before my reconstructed eyes:That these were not veracious men; an' this no Sunday-school;An' naught was what it seemed, except one old bald-headed fool!
I held those two deceivers out, with unassisted strength,An' by the collar shook each one to my arm's farthest length;They gasped an' danced an' skipped around, without a word to say—They "put their heads together" in a new an' painful way."Due ninety dollars fifty cents, an' not a penny less!"I shouted; "an' I'll send you back your hymn-book by express!"
When finally in my discourse a breathin' pause occurred,The Superintendent counted out the cash, without a word;Which, with a manner dignified, I coldly repossessed,An', still retainin' Jeroboam, that scamp I thus addressed:"An' so you are the bogus friend and relative, so freeTo spend his time a-makin' fools of poor old men like me.
"I'm Supervisor of the town where I have lived so long:There ain't a man in all that part will say I've done him wrong;There ain't a man will claim but what I'm ordinary keen;But when I plant myself in town, I grow exceedin' green.An' any kind-expressioned man, who acts a civil part,Can always find my soul to home, an' house-room in my heart.
"It's sad for such a smile as yours to find so mean a fate;An' there'ssomegood in you—at least enough to use for bait;Withoutsomekindness in your heart, you couldn't have landed me;An' as to how you've used your gifts, just pause a bit an' see.I've gambled, by you're callin' it a charitable name,And my self-valuation sunk with unaccustomed shame.
"I've done what I'd have whipped my boys for even lookin' at;An' don't suppose but what I own part of the blame for that;I thought I saw a chance to make five dollars out o' one,Which, with strict justice all around, is very seldom done.But up to that outrageous point, remember, I was ledBy your assumed relationship, an' several things you said.
"Do you reflect, young man, upon the fruit you're growin' to?There's prison gates a-waitin' now to stand in front of you.There's grief of unexpected kinds, an' every sort of shame,To send you some time from this world much poorer than you came.Your guilty head you hang before us sinners standin' by:What angle do you s'pose 'twould take 'mongst angels in the sky?
"THEY 'PUT THEIR HEADS TOGETHER' IN A NEW AN' PAINFUL WAY.""THEY 'PUT THEIR HEADS TOGETHER' IN A NEW AN' PAINFUL WAY."
"There's hope e'en on the death-bed for a square, straightforward thief,ButJudaseshave always come to most peculiar grief;The Lord has pity, I suppose, for errin' men an' weak,But no good satisfact'ry place in which to put a sneak.An' when a man wins men's esteem, then thrives by their mistakes,He makes himself a bigger fool than all the fools he makes."
"There's hope e'en on the death-bed for a square, straightforward thief,ButJudaseshave always come to most peculiar grief;The Lord has pity, I suppose, for errin' men an' weak,But no good satisfact'ry place in which to put a sneak.An' when a man wins men's esteem, then thrives by their mistakes,He makes himself a bigger fool than all the fools he makes."
"HE MAKES HIMSELF A BIGGER FOOL THAN ALL THE FOOLS HE MAKES.""HE MAKES HIMSELF A BIGGER FOOL THAN ALL THE FOOLS HE MAKES."
"HE MAKES HIMSELF A BIGGER FOOL THAN ALL THE FOOLS HE MAKES."
Then my adopted relative I seated in a chair,With amply necessary help, an' sev'ral pounds to spare.Then Seth an' I with dignity bade both the scamps good-day,Advisin' them to gain their bread in some dissimilar way;An' as we thundered down the stairs, with heavy rural tread,I felt that I'd at last come out some several rods ahead.
Then my adopted relative I seated in a chair,With amply necessary help, an' sev'ral pounds to spare.Then Seth an' I with dignity bade both the scamps good-day,Advisin' them to gain their bread in some dissimilar way;An' as we thundered down the stairs, with heavy rural tread,I felt that I'd at last come out some several rods ahead.
A. S.
A. S.
"A first-class professional fight!"I'm really doing the town!There were thousands on thousands to-nightTo see a man knock a man down.Two dollars I willingly (?) paidTo view all this muscle and brawn;'Twas rather too much, I'm afraid,Or seemed so, the minute 'twas gone.And yet 'tis a study to seeThe rage gladiatorial of RomeAnd grim Spanish bull-baiting gleeAdopt an American home!That blood-thirsty, murderous spiteMen loudly condemn—and possess!Besieged New York City last night,With first-class financial success!Hands gloved—to comply with the law;Gloves hard—to comply with the crowd;Fists savage as murder could draw;Cheers heavy and fervent and loud.Stern hisses, and shoutings of "Woman!"When either too tender they found;Tremendous applause when a foemanDropped, more than half dead, on the ground.'Twas the soul's blackest hell-woven fibre,All thrilling intensely and fast;The curse of the Tagus and TiberArrived in New York Bay at last!And victor and vanquished, I learn,Came off with more glittering spoilThan teacher or preacher could earnIn years of the hardest of toil.A spectacle pleasing and bright,Full many good people delighting—So many good men love a fight,When somebody else does the fighting!And "'tis shameful!" we mildly agree,And shout our complainings afar;But the facts are no worse than are we:They show to us just what we are!
"A first-class professional fight!"I'm really doing the town!There were thousands on thousands to-nightTo see a man knock a man down.Two dollars I willingly (?) paidTo view all this muscle and brawn;'Twas rather too much, I'm afraid,Or seemed so, the minute 'twas gone.
And yet 'tis a study to seeThe rage gladiatorial of RomeAnd grim Spanish bull-baiting gleeAdopt an American home!That blood-thirsty, murderous spiteMen loudly condemn—and possess!Besieged New York City last night,With first-class financial success!
Hands gloved—to comply with the law;Gloves hard—to comply with the crowd;Fists savage as murder could draw;Cheers heavy and fervent and loud.Stern hisses, and shoutings of "Woman!"When either too tender they found;Tremendous applause when a foemanDropped, more than half dead, on the ground.
'Twas the soul's blackest hell-woven fibre,All thrilling intensely and fast;The curse of the Tagus and TiberArrived in New York Bay at last!And victor and vanquished, I learn,Came off with more glittering spoilThan teacher or preacher could earnIn years of the hardest of toil.
A spectacle pleasing and bright,Full many good people delighting—So many good men love a fight,When somebody else does the fighting!And "'tis shameful!" we mildly agree,And shout our complainings afar;But the facts are no worse than are we:They show to us just what we are!
October1, 18—.