ACROSTIC TRIBUTE TOCAPT. J. S. ACHESON.BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.Just consider, for one moment, all the good this man has done.On full many a field of battle he the victory hath won;Swept he with victorious Sherman from Atlanta to the sea,Ever acting as a soldier, from all fear and malice free;Proving true in every station, like a soldier tried and true,He has earned and won the friendship of the boys who wore the blue!Since his advent in this prison he has, with impartial mind,Made it plain that every duty can be done and still be kind.In his bosom rests no malice towards a single human soul;'Tis his study, night and morning, all his passions to control.He is willing every prisoner should become his honestfriend,And the prisoner's reformation he regards aslaw's best trend:Crime, he deems is but the fruitage of conditions time can change.He would lift his fallen brother and no rule of right derange!Ever ready with the welcome of a smile and word of cheer,Some may only be respected, but such men are ever dear.O'er the path of life may Heaven scatter roses at his feet;None will doubt that every christian shallhisface in heaven meet.
BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.
Just consider, for one moment, all the good this man has done.
On full many a field of battle he the victory hath won;
Swept he with victorious Sherman from Atlanta to the sea,
Ever acting as a soldier, from all fear and malice free;
Proving true in every station, like a soldier tried and true,
He has earned and won the friendship of the boys who wore the blue!
Since his advent in this prison he has, with impartial mind,
Made it plain that every duty can be done and still be kind.
In his bosom rests no malice towards a single human soul;
'Tis his study, night and morning, all his passions to control.
He is willing every prisoner should become his honestfriend,
And the prisoner's reformation he regards aslaw's best trend:
Crime, he deems is but the fruitage of conditions time can change.
He would lift his fallen brother and no rule of right derange!
Ever ready with the welcome of a smile and word of cheer,
Some may only be respected, but such men are ever dear.
O'er the path of life may Heaven scatter roses at his feet;
None will doubt that every christian shallhisface in heaven meet.
My Mother.CARR.One bright Sunday morn, as I sat in my cell,My thoughts to the outside did roam;The sweet songs of birds, as their notes rose and fell,Turned my mind to my childhood's dear home.Long years they have passed since I saw that dear spot,But its sweet memories time can ne'er smother;I can never forget that dear little cotAnd the sweet loving smile of my mother.In sickness or pain 'twas dear mother that broughtHer sweet self and her charms to allay it;She learned me a prayer and she lovingly taughtMe to kneel at her knees and to say it.God's word she would read, and impress on my mindThe love that's conveyed by that storyOf the Savior, who died that millions might findEternal rest in His realms of glory.For years she's been dead, and her low, grassy moundReminds me that 'neath it lies sleepingThe dear friend of my youth, whose magic, I found,Could bring smiles to my face e'en when weeping.'Tis thus the dear birds, as they joyfully singAnd chirp happy calls to each other,Remind me that perhaps they were sent for to bringA message to me from my mother.But, alas! as I think, upon my mind there quickly fallsThe thoughts of my sad degredation;The strong iron bars, and the grey, sombre walls,Recall me to my sad situation.But no more will I sin; I'll live upright for sure;My passions and temptations I'll smother;And when God calls me home to that bright shining shoreWe'll be happy together, dear mother.
CARR.
One bright Sunday morn, as I sat in my cell,My thoughts to the outside did roam;
The sweet songs of birds, as their notes rose and fell,Turned my mind to my childhood's dear home.
Long years they have passed since I saw that dear spot,But its sweet memories time can ne'er smother;
I can never forget that dear little cotAnd the sweet loving smile of my mother.
In sickness or pain 'twas dear mother that broughtHer sweet self and her charms to allay it;
She learned me a prayer and she lovingly taughtMe to kneel at her knees and to say it.
God's word she would read, and impress on my mindThe love that's conveyed by that story
Of the Savior, who died that millions might findEternal rest in His realms of glory.
For years she's been dead, and her low, grassy moundReminds me that 'neath it lies sleeping
The dear friend of my youth, whose magic, I found,Could bring smiles to my face e'en when weeping.
'Tis thus the dear birds, as they joyfully singAnd chirp happy calls to each other,
Remind me that perhaps they were sent for to bringA message to me from my mother.
But, alas! as I think, upon my mind there quickly fallsThe thoughts of my sad degredation;
The strong iron bars, and the grey, sombre walls,Recall me to my sad situation.
But no more will I sin; I'll live upright for sure;My passions and temptations I'll smother;
And when God calls me home to that bright shining shoreWe'll be happy together, dear mother.
A Memorial Ode.BY G. W. VAN WEIGHS.Again the sacred day has comeWhen tears and flowers shall fallOn the graves of our sleeping heroesWho died at Liberty's call.And the tears we shed above them,As our hearts with tenderness bled,Is the crown of their matchless gloryAnd earth's divinest mead.Their deeds on the field of battleWere such as a god might do,And the listening angels applaudedThe work of the boys in blue.The flag they died defendingStill floats above their grave,And is loved by millions of freemen,But never looked on by a slave.The country they loved and bled for,Still true to her sacred trust,Will cover their names with gloryAnd revere their hallowed dust.The comrades who still survive them,Like gold in the furnace tried,Speak, with tear-dimmed lashes,Of the gallant boys that died.These flowers will fade and perish,Tho' hallowed by each grave;But they will live foreverIn the hearts of the true and the brave.Then let this custom continueTill tears and flowers shall cease,And we shall greet the gallant boysOn the shores of endless peace.
BY G. W. VAN WEIGHS.
Again the sacred day has comeWhen tears and flowers shall fall
On the graves of our sleeping heroesWho died at Liberty's call.
And the tears we shed above them,As our hearts with tenderness bled,
Is the crown of their matchless gloryAnd earth's divinest mead.
Their deeds on the field of battleWere such as a god might do,
And the listening angels applaudedThe work of the boys in blue.
The flag they died defendingStill floats above their grave,
And is loved by millions of freemen,But never looked on by a slave.
The country they loved and bled for,Still true to her sacred trust,
Will cover their names with gloryAnd revere their hallowed dust.
The comrades who still survive them,Like gold in the furnace tried,
Speak, with tear-dimmed lashes,Of the gallant boys that died.
These flowers will fade and perish,Tho' hallowed by each grave;
But they will live foreverIn the hearts of the true and the brave.
Then let this custom continueTill tears and flowers shall cease,
And we shall greet the gallant boysOn the shores of endless peace.
Lines To My Cell.Oh, silent and mysterious cell,Could I command thy walls to tellThe secrets they have kept so long,'T would be, indeed, a cheerless song.A tale of crime, and tears, and pain,The fruit, perhaps, of frenzied brain,As none to crime yet ever sankThat had not first become a crank."The law of God and man defy,A wretch you'll live, a felon die!"These words seem to haunt my brain,Perhaps it is the sad refrainOf a song well known to thee;Yet where its author now can be,Save thee, perhaps no one can tell,Thou grim, mysterious, silent cell.Thy rocky floor has felt the treadOf many a hapless one now dead;Thy walls have echoed many a sigh,Wrung from guilt's expiring eye.While musing 'mid thy walls tonightI seem to hear, with some affright,The wail of many a blighted life,The prayer of a despairing wife;A mother, weeping for her child;A father, grief has driven wild.And then—I pray thee silence keep;'Twere best to let thy secrets sleep.
Oh, silent and mysterious cell,Could I command thy walls to tell
The secrets they have kept so long,'T would be, indeed, a cheerless song.
A tale of crime, and tears, and pain,The fruit, perhaps, of frenzied brain,
As none to crime yet ever sankThat had not first become a crank.
"The law of God and man defy,A wretch you'll live, a felon die!"
These words seem to haunt my brain,Perhaps it is the sad refrain
Of a song well known to thee;Yet where its author now can be,
Save thee, perhaps no one can tell,Thou grim, mysterious, silent cell.
Thy rocky floor has felt the treadOf many a hapless one now dead;
Thy walls have echoed many a sigh,Wrung from guilt's expiring eye.
While musing 'mid thy walls tonightI seem to hear, with some affright,
The wail of many a blighted life,The prayer of a despairing wife;
A mother, weeping for her child;A father, grief has driven wild.
And then—I pray thee silence keep;'Twere best to let thy secrets sleep.
A TRIBUTE TODr. G. A. Tharp.BY G. W. VAN WEIGHS.Arise, my Muse, and tune your harpTo ring the praises of a Tharp;His cultured mind and noble soulTruth and virtue both control.Tell the world his perfect skillCan conquer every human illThat lends to science or to art,From shattered limb to dormant heart.Each pill and potion that he makesRelieves your pain and health awakes:And should he use the surgeon's knife,He never will sacrifice a life.His skilfull fingers place a bandAs gently as a woman's hand;And not one patient needs to feelThat he the truth will not reveal.The poor regard him as their friend,And on his bounty oft depend;Well knowing that his generous heartDares to act a christian part!Long may this noble doctor live,Ease to suffering men to give;And meet the summons to departWith the skill he wooes his art.
BY G. W. VAN WEIGHS.
Arise, my Muse, and tune your harpTo ring the praises of a Tharp;His cultured mind and noble soulTruth and virtue both control.
Tell the world his perfect skillCan conquer every human illThat lends to science or to art,From shattered limb to dormant heart.
Each pill and potion that he makesRelieves your pain and health awakes:And should he use the surgeon's knife,He never will sacrifice a life.
His skilfull fingers place a bandAs gently as a woman's hand;And not one patient needs to feelThat he the truth will not reveal.
The poor regard him as their friend,And on his bounty oft depend;Well knowing that his generous heartDares to act a christian part!
Long may this noble doctor live,Ease to suffering men to give;And meet the summons to departWith the skill he wooes his art.
An Appreciated Friend.She is a pretty little lass,Half human, half divine;And for an angel she would passIn Heaven's lovely clime.Her hair is locks of flowing gold,Her ways are cute and wise;And her form is lithe and graceful,With pretty bright blue eyes.Her manners are just perfect.Her nature kind and true;She is a real philanthropistWhen charity is due.She strives to cheer those sad at heart,And well she does succeed;And stays the ever painful dartThat often fate does speed.How different from so many folkWho frown upon the oneWho, by some simple words he spoke,Caused "crime" to have been done.Although the cruel knife of fateHas made an awful wound,In her kind words, that come but late,Sweet balm for sorrow's found.Oh, that this wicked, wicked worldCould boast more such friendly souls!Less lives would be so sadly hurledInto a pit of earthly ghouls,Where nothing's saved, but all is lost;And where man's cast, at any cost,Into a dismal, prison dell—A gloomy, dreary, earthly hell!Come, of such friends arise and sing,With thanks returned to heaven's king!* * * * *
She is a pretty little lass,Half human, half divine;
And for an angel she would passIn Heaven's lovely clime.
Her hair is locks of flowing gold,Her ways are cute and wise;
And her form is lithe and graceful,With pretty bright blue eyes.
Her manners are just perfect.Her nature kind and true;
She is a real philanthropistWhen charity is due.
She strives to cheer those sad at heart,And well she does succeed;
And stays the ever painful dartThat often fate does speed.
How different from so many folkWho frown upon the one
Who, by some simple words he spoke,Caused "crime" to have been done.
Although the cruel knife of fateHas made an awful wound,
In her kind words, that come but late,Sweet balm for sorrow's found.
Oh, that this wicked, wicked worldCould boast more such friendly souls!
Less lives would be so sadly hurledInto a pit of earthly ghouls,
Where nothing's saved, but all is lost;
And where man's cast, at any cost,Into a dismal, prison dell—A gloomy, dreary, earthly hell!
Come, of such friends arise and sing,With thanks returned to heaven's king!
* * * * *
Salome's Revenge.Arise, my Muse, spread out thy wings,Prepare to soar away!Tune up thy harp for endless joy,And turn night into day.Go dream of Paradise sublimeIn the old Empire State!And when you're done return to meYour story to relate.In time gone by—in days of yore—There lived, in forests wild,Two families of ancient stock,And each one had a child.The children of both parentageWere born in this country;They amassed immensely fortunesIn this America.The Waddington's were pure Scotch blood,And raised one daughter fair;They gave her name of Sadie,She'd blue eyes and golden hair.Her cheeks were rich with crimson glow,Her lips were thin and cute,And many an anxious loverShe sternly did refute.Her dainty hands and flowing hair,And graceful curves of formWould make one's heart quite palpitate—She carried all by storm.Trueman Waddington was a manWho loved his daughter—heir,And as he rolled in endless wealthHe watched his child's welfare.Their nearest neighbor was St. Lawrence,Who lived a little wayOff on the rugged mountain side,Where children like to play.Two children he had buriedWhen they were yet quite young,And now he was a happy man'Cause he reared an only son.This son he named him Trueman,Because he liked the name,And tho't 'twould be in honorOf his neighbor of the same."As an act of kindness and of love,"Old Waddington did say,"Because you named him after meI pledge my Sade, today."The two old friends called in their wivesAnd asked them to consentTo seal the bargain for each childOn which they were both bent.The mothers thought it rather soonTo tie so firm a knot,And begged them not to seal their doomBy such a foolish plot.But Trueman Waddington was notA man to easy quit,And he argued long and labored strongIn a half way frenzied fit.He said: "I know we are both richIn lands and kine and gold,And why not join these vast fortunesBefore they are all sold?"You've named your only son from me;Trueman it is,True-Manhe'll be,And now must I sit by in shameAnd cannot seal my daughter's fame?"Then spake the elder man St. Lawrence:"Dear sir, my neighbor and my friend,You have my heart and soul and mind,And these vast fortunes I will bind"Together with true chords of love.God help our children findA part their mothers will not takeIn this, to seal their children's fate."Now let me, please, suggest a wayTo reach this matter of today;And we will friendly make the dealSo lawyers cannot break the seal."Then Waddington sprang to his feet,And warmly did his neighbors greet;Then shook him warmly by the hand,And said, "Come, let us seal the band."And then with fixed and mellow eyeHe gazed on high as he stood byHis rugged friend and neighbor, too,Then St. Lawrence bade him what to do."My dear old friend, sit down, sit down;'Tis easy for us now to drownAll obstacles that's in our wayTo carry out our plan today."Then he proceeded to relateHow easy men in Empire StateCould call in witness to their deedAnd satisfy all fortune's creed."Now, look-a-here, my friend St. Lawrence,You cannot be too quickTo tell me how we'll do all thisAnd make this bargain stick."And then the sage St. Lawrence did say:"Look here, my friend, here is our way!I'll make my will of my estate(And that, you know, is very great,)"Unto your fair and lovely child,If she refrains from being wild,And when she weds she weds my son,My noble, brave and kind Trueman."Then you, my friend, reciprocate;You make your will of this same date,And seal as I do mine;Make True, my son, your legatee,"And to him give, in simple fee,Your lands, your goods, your kine, your cash,All in one grand and mighty crash,If he your daughter weds."The witnesses were duly called;The wills were then prepared;The testators did sign their names,The children they well fared.The documents were laid awayIn vaults of solid rock;There safely for the children kept,Their heritage of stock.Years, years rolled on and Trueman grewTo be a handsome man.He said: "I'm bound to be "M. D."And do the best I can."Sadie, on the other hand,Grew to be a queen;And when to college she did goTrueman there was seen.They played at home, when they were young,Upon the mountain side,And never once did they mistrustThey'd be both groom and bride.When Trueman closed his college courseHe off to Gotham went,To become an adept in his classWhile on his mission bent.Sadie, on the other hand,When she had closed her term,Returned unto her mountain home,For which she hourly yearned.Two years had changed this happy homeTo one most sadly grieved;The mother of this lovely girlHad sadly been deceived.She, down upon her death bed lay,When in came Sadie one bright dayAnd gazed upon the shrunken formWhich now had battled life's hard storm.Poor Sadie, with a broken heart,She did the best to take her part;But long the sickness did not last,Because her mother now soon passedFrom time into eternity,Where the human soul is ever free.Trueman now, in city fashion,Had let die out his old-time passionFor rocks and rills and mountain side,Where dwelt the queen who'd be his bride.So much for selfish, erring man;He'll do the best where e'er he can.Time, time rolled on, when Sadie's sire,With renewed youth and boyhood ire,Took to himself another wife,And tried anew to live his life.The new-made mistress of the home(Who had no place she called her own)Was mother of a daughter fair,With dimpled cheeks and flowing hair.The madame's name was Maria;Herdaughter's was Sarah.She soon was boss of all the house,And Sadie driven like a mouseInto the cold and cheerless world.Sadie, with a broken heart,Prayed her father take her part;But he, with proud and dire disdain,Forever did refrain.Then Sadie, on her mother's grave,Prayed loud and long for God to saveHer soul from earthly wreck.Then, with a palpitating heart,With one fond look she did departTo battle hard with broken heart;While daughter and a second wifeShould all but ruin her young life.But father did as fathers do,When their list of wives have numberedtwo;He lent his daughter a deaf ear,For his second wife he then did fear.His life was short; he soon becameA victim to a raging pain,Which soon relieved him from this lifeAnd bore him off from life's hard strife.They laid him low beside his wife,The pride and joy of Sadie's life;But Sadie knew not of the fateHer father had so sadly met.The new-made widow, without tear,Prepared to move, within a year,To far and distant foreign land,Where neither had a single friend.The goods were sold, the stock and kine;The lands were leased for a long time;The two, with pockets filled with gold,Sailed for Paris with joys untold.Young Sarah, who was quite a belle,When in old Paris she did swellHer wardrobe with both silk and lace,And numerous paints to ply her face.She was the very counterpart—Although 'tis strange to say—Of prettySadieWaddingtonIn all her dainty ways.She spread herself around, about,In all society's halls,And never failed, when chance availed,To attend the stylish balls.She was a favorite with them all,In fact, the Queenly Belle,And many a suitor's prayer she heardWhile on bended knee he fell.One evening while on promenadeWithin society's halls,She met a handsome, tall young manShe'd seen at some of the balls.When introduced, both their eyes met,She blushing timidly;He heard the name, "Miss Waddington,"Then asked most courteously:"From what part of America's soilDo you and your friends hail?Or have you lived in Paris long?On what liner did you sail"?She said: "I'm Sadie Waddington,From the city that bears my name;It borders on the old St. Lawrence,A river of world-wide fame."Then spake the handsome gentleman:"I, too, am from that place;And if you are Sadie Waddington,I ought to know your face."Her cheeks grew flushed and flushed again,As on her he searchingly gazed;She looked up in his solemn faceAnd saw he was greatly amazed.It was Trueman St. Lawrence she saw,As she gazed on his beautiful form;She was more than bewitching in her waysTo capture him all by storm.The Doctor went to his hotelTo ponder the matter o'er:"That's not the Sadie WaddingtonI've seen in days of yore."His brain was puzzled, his face was flushed.He was in a frenzied mood;He could not fathom the mysteryTo do the best he could.If that's the girl in days of youthI played with on the mountain side,Before I leave this old cityI'll make her my darling bride.So saying, he sank upon his couch,And slept in dreams so rich and gayThat loud his servant called and called,Because 'twas late—far in the day.That day he had a trip to makeUnto a neighboring town,And visited a hospitalKept by a Doctor Brown.In passing from one of the wards,While in the open door,He chanced to turn, and looking backSaw, kneeling on the floor,With outstretched arms and pleading eyes,The girl for years he had not seen;She'd grown into full womanhood,She was a perfect fairy Queen."What! what!" he cried, "am I deceived?If I'm my father's sonThat girl I see back yonderIsSadie Waddington!"He hastened back to where she knelt,And bade her to arise,And clasped her to his manly breast,While tears rose in his eyes.Then 'tween her sobs and moans and groansShe slowly did relateHow she was driven from her homeBack in the Empire State.She told of awful suffering,Of wandering far and near;Of the death of father and mother,To herallthat was dear.She told him how she had returnedUnto her mountain dome,And as she was told that all had been sold,She was left without a home.The Doctor stood transfixed with awe;Listened to her relateThe story of the sale of all,Back in the Empire State.The Doctor said: "My dear Sadie,It matters not a bit to meWhether you have lands, or goods, or gold,I have vast fortunes yet untold."What's mine is yours; 'tis always so,My father told me long ago,Before I left the Empire StateAnd came over here to study late."I offer you my heart and hand,And pledge to seal it with the bandOf holy wedlock, faithfully.Now set your heart forever free"From labor and the toils of life,—Come, say you'll be my darling wife!I feel a pang about my heartThat pierces like a flashing dart.""Oh, True. St. Lawrence! Oh, can it beThat you do really care for me?I, who have lived by a false nameTo hide a step-mother's wicked shame?"For five long years my name has been(As you directly would have seen),Not Sadie W., as you have known,But the Sadie changed to plain Salome."The Waddington I changed, also,For the common name of Van Harlow;Then among strangers I did seekFor work to do, although 'twas meek."I came across the ocean wide,As servant to a new-made bride;She was taken sick and died out hereBefore she'd been a bride a year."Since then I've cared for poor and sick,And cannot leave them now, so quick.I patients have whomusthave careBeforeIleave for better fare."Now True, my dear, I'll be your own;I'll make you an ever happy home;I feel Pa's oft' spoke words are true,Trueman's your name,True Manare you."He pressed her closely to his breast:To dry her tears he did his best;Then gently kissed her burning cheeksAnd bade her wait but a few weeks.The happiest man in all the landWas True. St. Lawrence, with trembling hand,Who then returned to his rooms rich,A restless night to roll and pitchUpon a bed of faultless down,But pains of heart it could not drown.He lay and mused throughout the night,'Cause his future now looked bright.SarahWaddington and her motherPrepared a party for another.A gent they wished to entertain,'Cause Sarah wished to bear his name."It is to be a swell affair,So she could safely set her snareTo catch the unsuspecting True,Because he loves and loves but you."So spake the mother to her child,Who seemed delighted—almost wild—To think that she could play her partWithout remorse or pain at heart.The time rolled on, and days were spentIn fixing up for the event;The rich were called from every sideTo see Sarah—the would-be bride.She sent a most bewitching noteFor Dr. 'Lawrence to cast the vote,Who'd be the Belle of honor, bright,To bear the graces of the night.The Doctor smiled, as he sat downTo answer it, without a frown;And faithfully he did outline,In characters most cute and fine:"My choice is one, and only one;And now I've written and 'tis done!As sure as I'm my father's son,'Tis one—fairSadieWaddington!"And now, before it is too late,There's one request I have to make:That I be granted then, or sooner,To be escort to the maid of honor.""Your request is at once granted,And hope we'll become enchanted;And with your presence'll be elated,Because, it seems, we are related".Fair Sarah, then, did make it known(Real quietly about her home)That she and 'Lawrence, raised side by side,Would soon become both groom and bride.Silks and diamonds bought with gold,Gotten from the kine she'd sold'Way back in the Empire State,Where poor Sadie met her fate.Just one week before the eve'When he Sarah would deceive,Trueman went to see his love,Who was pretty as a dove."Sadie," said he, "sweet is revenge!Let us now your labor change.The ones who drove you to your fate,Away back in the Empire State,"Are here in Paris this long time,And live in luxury sublime.The gold they got from off your kine,It goes for suppers and for wine."In holy wedlock let us wed,I'll lead you to a bridal bed;And then in luxury and stateWe'll 'tend the ball ere 'tis too late".I'll humble them in dust and shame!Ah, Sadie, you were not to blame!We'llmake them wish they'd never soldYour goods and kine for glittering gold!"Come, darling, now we'll off today,The bridal knot to firmly tie.Then I your graceful swanlike neckWith pearls and rubys will bedeck."I'll trim your lovely graceful formWith richest satin to be worn:I'll place upon your tapered handA solitaire, set in gold band."Your dainty feet encased in kidOf dainty styles, they're only madeFor those who're called the name of Queens,And bought by those who have vast means."Then to the ball we'll proudly go,(And who we'll meet I do not know,)I'll there present to every oneMy bride,trueSadie Waddington."The shock, so sudden, will be great;They'll quail beneath their hearts own hateOf being there exposed to all;Oh, won't it be an awful fall?"Come, Sadie dear, revenge is sweet!Now is our chance to get your meteWhich they have held from you so long,And did you such a cruel wrong."Then Sadie spoke: "Trueman, my dear,There's naught I know for me to fear.Revengeissweet, although 'tis queer,Revenge I get in Paris here."They carried out their little plot,And never skipped a single jot.The eve was fine, the folk were gay,And not a thing stood in their way.It was quite late when they arrivedAt the mansion of the would-be bride.As soon as Doctor stepped in sight,Escorting Sadie—his delight—Sarah saw the graceful formAnd, with one scream, she left the room,And fell fainting to the floor.They gently laid her on the couchBefore the open door.Her mother came in haste to seeWhat all the trouble there could be,And did not see the Doctor's brideUntil she was close by her side.And when she saw it was too late,She gasped: "Oh, Sarah's met her fate,"Then fell into a deathly state.The mother swooned and swooned awayThe entire night and most the day;And then the Doctor came to say,"Her life is run, she cannot stay!"Sadie, with trained and skillful hand,Nursed Sarah back to conscious-land;Did faithfully the watchword keepWhile often o'er them she did weep.And, just before the mother died,She Sadie called to her bedsideAnd begged her to full pardon giveFor cruel wrong she did receive.Sadie, always so good and true,Said she always thought she knewThat the grand day would surely comeWhen that great wrong would be undone.She granted full, complete pardonFor all the wrongs the dame had done,And then she spoke kind words of cheerInto the madam's dying ear.With firm-set eyes and drooping chinThe madame grasped and tried to clingUnto the hand she once did scorn,And drove from home at break of morn.She then was wrapt in eternal death,And from her soul came not a breath.In casket pure as driven snowUnto the churchyard she did go,And there was laid beneath the clayTo await Jehovah's Judgment Day.All lands and goods and gold and kineShe left behind for endless time!Poor Sarah! doomed to awful fate,Her mind was left in ruined state;In raving madness and in strifeShe tried to take our Sadie's life.The best physicians in the landWere summoned forth on every handTo try and bring her from the strifeBack to the land of happy life.Off to an asylum she must go,'Cause 'twas not safe to leave her so;And with good care she might regainAnd be relieved from mental pain.Salome, our faithful lass and bride,Resolved to stay by Sarah's sideAnd help her regain her lost mind,And comfort for her she would find.Nine weeks were spent in mad-house fare,Salome bestowing tender careUpon the one who once did faceSalome in all her dire disgrace.When Doctor St. Lawrence saw his wifeWas bent on battling for the lifeOf one who was once her mad foe,He said: "All right, it shall be so."Salome, she clung unto her charge,As if she were her dearest friend;She incurred expenses somewhat largeTo treat her patient to the end.The Doctor soon began to learnHis bride and wife would never spurnThe one who once her home did take,And drove her off for mere pride's sake.He asked Salome what she would doIn case that Sarah did pull through,And once again her mind regainBefore they crossed the raging main.Salome did quickly make reply,While glistening tears stood in her eye:"I'll take her to old Empire State,Right to the door where I met fate!"I'll make her happy, if I can,And now I'll form my little plan:We must, dear True, just do our best,And fix her up in a cosy nest."We will give her a little homeOn the beautiful mountain side;We will find her a handsome loverWho'll be proud to call her his bride."We will give them all attentionThat the best of friends could do;We willreturn good for evil,'Cause my mother taught me so."Let us show that true religionIs the life we ought to live,And the ways that Christ rejoiced inAre the ways to which we cleave."Oh, my husband, dearest Trueman,I believe in Sarah reignsThe true principle of goodness—Let us fan that spark to flames."Can I now secure her safely,Teach her shun her evil waysAnd discard that haughty spiritThat she learned in younger days,"I will be the happiest mortalEver lived on mother earth,And will reach that heavenly portalOnly reached by second birth."After coaxing, begging, teasing,Sarah consented for to goBack across the ocean, raging,Where her childhood seeds did sow.When they reached the harbor safely,Bag and baggage on the truck,They cast lots to see what steamerThey would choose for their good luck.Doctor got the choice of vessels,And he quickly did decideThat the City of St. ParisShould take theirprotegeand his bride.Safely in the vessel's cabin,Housed in cosy stateroom there,All were ready for the voyage,And did look for cheerful fare.Out upon the briny billows,Just three days and nights, 'twas said,When the night was dark and dreary,Trueman rose from sleepless bed.There was something weighed upon him,Something whispered to beware;He dressed and went upon the deckTo breathe the crisp sea air.He paced and paced the vessel's deckWith long and manly stride;He went from starboard o'er to portAnd back to starboard side.He'd been upon the deck some time,And peered into the gloomAs if them something overawedAnd threatened them with doom.At last, to port, he spied a fleck,A dancing on the waves,And there he plainly saw a deckBedecked with pirate knaves.The vessel, with a dark-hued hull,Bore straightway on its course,When, "Hard to port! To port! to port!"Rang out a voice real coarse.The strange boat glided swiftly on,Like a ghost on phantom wings,While the crisp sea breeze went dancing pastAnd through her rigging sings.The strange boat slipped along, acrossThe briny billows white,And their steamer ploughed and labored hardAlong its renewed flight.It was a close and dangerous call,Because the night was dark;Had they collided there, on the ocean bare,They'd went down with their bark.The voyage, then, to GothamWas stormy and quite rough,And all agreed, when landed,That they had quite enough.They then all took the railroad trainNorth, through the Empire State,And soon were on the mountain sideWhere Sadie met her fate.The first place Sadie wished to seeWas graves of father and mother,And tripping lightly from the yard,She passed out with another.That bitter morn, with memories fresh,When from her home she'd fled,She was scorned by onenowtoo gladTo lead her on ahead.When she approached her mother's graveThe tears rolled thick and fast,And by her side poor Sarah stood,With memories of the pastA fitting through her guilty mind:And then she spoke at last:"Oh, Sadie, Sadie, what a blotUpon my mother's past;It stings within my guilty heart,And would to God I now could partWith half the pain I feel—The balm of Christ could scarcely heal."She stooped, and silently did pressHer fresh and rosy lipsUpon the little mound of grass"Beneath—dear mother sleeps."Then Sarah, with most tender words,Pressed Sadie to her breastAnd with a fervent, heartfelt plea,Prayed both them to be blest.When they returned unto their home,Their friendship sealed with silent love,They could not bear to be alone;They felt a power from up above.Old friends and neighbors, with delight,Called on the Doctor and his bride,And there convened, on the first night,A host of friends who're on their side.There's one among them old and gray,Who'd lived right there for all his life;'Tis the elder man and sage, St. Lawrence,And he smiles upon the Doctor's wife.Heir to the Waddington estate,Sadie reigns the queen of all;Her friendship for Sarah was great,And sister her did often call.The Doctor chose to spend his lifeUpon the handsome mountain sideWith Sadie, his true loving wife,And Father St. Lawrence until he died.Time rolled around and months flew by;Sadie and Sarah, hand in hand,Sealed by the firmest friendship tie,Two of the truest in the land.There chanced to stroll from distant climeA bright young man of Sadie's kin;Came to visit in Summer time,And Sarah was introduced to him.Sadie tried her best to make a match,And championed well her cause;Sarah viewed it as a catchThat one very seldom draws.Though 'twas but a short acquaintance,Still the wedding time was fixed;The intended groom had patience,'Cause he felt he was not rich.Sadie, sweet as dewy honey,Wishing that her friends should wed,Proffered home and lands and moneyIf the word would just be said."I am heir to all this fortune,Known as Waddington's estate;Come, now, Sarah; come, now, Hawthorne,Join your hearts ere 'tis too late."I will give to you a large farmYonder on the mountain side;I will give you kine and money,If you'll be my cousin's bride."Sarah spake, with dewy eyelids,To the one she loved so dear:"Sadie, I am anything but worthyOf this princely gift, to cheer"My poor broken, wicked heart,After I have been so bad;You should never takemypart,SinceItook that whichyouhad."Yet Sadie, true to her own passion,Promised deed in fee for all,If Sarah would wed her own cousin,Ere the Summer ran to Fall.So the wedding day was fixedWhen the two should be made one,And their home, as she predicted,Would be deeded as their own.When at last the nuptial greetingWas received on every hand,The sage, St. Lawrence, came to their meeting,The last one left of their quartet band.The wedding knot was duly tied,And the folk were feeling gay;They were now made happy groom and bride,Starting out in life's pathway.When the ceremony was over,And the gifts they were bestowing—Bridal gifts as sweet as clover—Sadie, with her rich hair flowing,Called the old 'Squire of the cityThat to witness of her signingThe transfer of title fair,To the land that lay up there;When, to her surprise and chagrin,Father St. Lawrence, with gentle voice,Told her that she could not bargain,For she had not even choice."Now, my daughter, not one farthingOf this vast and rich estateHas been left unto True's darling,Now, I tell you, 'tis not too late."All this land you tho't was yoursBy inheritance of your blood,Was bequeathed by your dear fatherTo one you never thought he would".Now, I've brought the Judge of ProbateAs an honored guest ofmine,That he might reveal the truth,That it might be writ in rhyme.Then, to soothe the disappointment,The old judge with silvery hairDrew from 'neath his outer garment,Two old papers kept with care.One was read by him to Sadie,Where her father had endowedAll his lands, and kine and moneyOn the one who made her proud.When this document was ended,And was handed to Trueman,The old sage, St. Lawrence, pretendedThat he enjoyed youth again."Read, Judge! read your other paper!Tell my daughter here the truth;Tell her what their anxious fathersDid for them while in their youth."When the document was ended,With tears showering down her face,Sadie, kisses, sweetly blended,While she held him in embrace.Long their fortunes had been blendedBy the signatures aloneOf their fathers in their child days,As they played around their home."True, my dear; O will you come here?Sign this deed! Come quick, O do;Carry out my simple wishes;Sarah is my friend, so true.""Yes, my darling, this with pleasureI will do, to please you all;It is my most pleasant leisureTo do bidding at your call."So, the deed of gift was given,And in happiness they'd start;From that home they'd ne'er be driven,Life anew to never part.There in happiness and comfortDid they live upon the placeWhere the evil of proud passionSmothered one in dire disgrace.Happy was Salome and TruemanWhen they saw theirprotegesafeIn the hands of Cousin Hawthorne,On the Waddington old place.Safe within the coils of homelife,Safe within the cottage walls,Safely with a trusting husband,Safe within their friendly calls.Thus the vengeance of our HeroWas full spent to meet her theme;Yet so different from a Nero,Because she knew she could redeem.Salome's revenge was to her sweet,'Cause she'd conquered, not cut down;Now she feared no one to meet,Nor would any wear a frown.Though some years had been so bitter,And had fraught such cruel pain;Now the coldest of the winterSeemed like flowery beds of green.Now, away up on the mountains,In the well known Empire State,Sadie Waddington is livingIn sweet REVENGE, where she met fate.
Arise, my Muse, spread out thy wings,Prepare to soar away!
Tune up thy harp for endless joy,And turn night into day.
Go dream of Paradise sublimeIn the old Empire State!
And when you're done return to meYour story to relate.
In time gone by—in days of yore—There lived, in forests wild,
Two families of ancient stock,And each one had a child.
The children of both parentageWere born in this country;
They amassed immensely fortunesIn this America.
The Waddington's were pure Scotch blood,And raised one daughter fair;
They gave her name of Sadie,She'd blue eyes and golden hair.
Her cheeks were rich with crimson glow,Her lips were thin and cute,
And many an anxious loverShe sternly did refute.
Her dainty hands and flowing hair,And graceful curves of form
Would make one's heart quite palpitate—She carried all by storm.
Trueman Waddington was a manWho loved his daughter—heir,
And as he rolled in endless wealthHe watched his child's welfare.
Their nearest neighbor was St. Lawrence,Who lived a little way
Off on the rugged mountain side,Where children like to play.
Two children he had buriedWhen they were yet quite young,
And now he was a happy man'Cause he reared an only son.
This son he named him Trueman,Because he liked the name,
And tho't 'twould be in honorOf his neighbor of the same.
"As an act of kindness and of love,"Old Waddington did say,
"Because you named him after meI pledge my Sade, today."
The two old friends called in their wivesAnd asked them to consent
To seal the bargain for each childOn which they were both bent.
The mothers thought it rather soonTo tie so firm a knot,
And begged them not to seal their doomBy such a foolish plot.
But Trueman Waddington was notA man to easy quit,
And he argued long and labored strongIn a half way frenzied fit.
He said: "I know we are both richIn lands and kine and gold,
And why not join these vast fortunesBefore they are all sold?
"You've named your only son from me;Trueman it is,True-Manhe'll be,
And now must I sit by in shameAnd cannot seal my daughter's fame?"
Then spake the elder man St. Lawrence:"Dear sir, my neighbor and my friend,
You have my heart and soul and mind,And these vast fortunes I will bind
"Together with true chords of love.God help our children find
A part their mothers will not takeIn this, to seal their children's fate.
"Now let me, please, suggest a wayTo reach this matter of today;
And we will friendly make the dealSo lawyers cannot break the seal."
Then Waddington sprang to his feet,And warmly did his neighbors greet;
Then shook him warmly by the hand,And said, "Come, let us seal the band."
And then with fixed and mellow eyeHe gazed on high as he stood by
His rugged friend and neighbor, too,Then St. Lawrence bade him what to do.
"My dear old friend, sit down, sit down;'Tis easy for us now to drown
All obstacles that's in our wayTo carry out our plan today."
Then he proceeded to relateHow easy men in Empire State
Could call in witness to their deedAnd satisfy all fortune's creed.
"Now, look-a-here, my friend St. Lawrence,You cannot be too quick
To tell me how we'll do all thisAnd make this bargain stick."
And then the sage St. Lawrence did say:"Look here, my friend, here is our way!
I'll make my will of my estate(And that, you know, is very great,)
"Unto your fair and lovely child,If she refrains from being wild,
And when she weds she weds my son,My noble, brave and kind Trueman.
"Then you, my friend, reciprocate;You make your will of this same date,
And seal as I do mine;Make True, my son, your legatee,
"And to him give, in simple fee,Your lands, your goods, your kine, your cash,
All in one grand and mighty crash,If he your daughter weds."
The witnesses were duly called;The wills were then prepared;
The testators did sign their names,The children they well fared.
The documents were laid awayIn vaults of solid rock;
There safely for the children kept,Their heritage of stock.
Years, years rolled on and Trueman grewTo be a handsome man.
He said: "I'm bound to be "M. D."And do the best I can."
Sadie, on the other hand,Grew to be a queen;
And when to college she did goTrueman there was seen.
They played at home, when they were young,Upon the mountain side,
And never once did they mistrustThey'd be both groom and bride.
When Trueman closed his college courseHe off to Gotham went,
To become an adept in his classWhile on his mission bent.
Sadie, on the other hand,When she had closed her term,
Returned unto her mountain home,For which she hourly yearned.
Two years had changed this happy homeTo one most sadly grieved;
The mother of this lovely girlHad sadly been deceived.
She, down upon her death bed lay,When in came Sadie one bright day
And gazed upon the shrunken formWhich now had battled life's hard storm.
Poor Sadie, with a broken heart,She did the best to take her part;
But long the sickness did not last,Because her mother now soon passed
From time into eternity,Where the human soul is ever free.
Trueman now, in city fashion,Had let die out his old-time passion
For rocks and rills and mountain side,Where dwelt the queen who'd be his bride.
So much for selfish, erring man;He'll do the best where e'er he can.
Time, time rolled on, when Sadie's sire,With renewed youth and boyhood ire,
Took to himself another wife,And tried anew to live his life.
The new-made mistress of the home(Who had no place she called her own)
Was mother of a daughter fair,With dimpled cheeks and flowing hair.
The madame's name was Maria;Herdaughter's was Sarah.
She soon was boss of all the house,And Sadie driven like a mouse
Into the cold and cheerless world.Sadie, with a broken heart,
Prayed her father take her part;But he, with proud and dire disdain,Forever did refrain.
Then Sadie, on her mother's grave,Prayed loud and long for God to save
Her soul from earthly wreck.Then, with a palpitating heart,
With one fond look she did departTo battle hard with broken heart;
While daughter and a second wifeShould all but ruin her young life.
But father did as fathers do,When their list of wives have numberedtwo;
He lent his daughter a deaf ear,For his second wife he then did fear.
His life was short; he soon becameA victim to a raging pain,
Which soon relieved him from this lifeAnd bore him off from life's hard strife.
They laid him low beside his wife,The pride and joy of Sadie's life;
But Sadie knew not of the fateHer father had so sadly met.
The new-made widow, without tear,Prepared to move, within a year,
To far and distant foreign land,Where neither had a single friend.
The goods were sold, the stock and kine;The lands were leased for a long time;
The two, with pockets filled with gold,Sailed for Paris with joys untold.
Young Sarah, who was quite a belle,When in old Paris she did swell
Her wardrobe with both silk and lace,And numerous paints to ply her face.
She was the very counterpart—Although 'tis strange to say—
Of prettySadieWaddingtonIn all her dainty ways.
She spread herself around, about,In all society's halls,
And never failed, when chance availed,To attend the stylish balls.
She was a favorite with them all,In fact, the Queenly Belle,
And many a suitor's prayer she heardWhile on bended knee he fell.
One evening while on promenadeWithin society's halls,
She met a handsome, tall young manShe'd seen at some of the balls.
When introduced, both their eyes met,She blushing timidly;
He heard the name, "Miss Waddington,"Then asked most courteously:
"From what part of America's soilDo you and your friends hail?
Or have you lived in Paris long?On what liner did you sail"?
She said: "I'm Sadie Waddington,From the city that bears my name;
It borders on the old St. Lawrence,A river of world-wide fame."
Then spake the handsome gentleman:"I, too, am from that place;
And if you are Sadie Waddington,I ought to know your face."
Her cheeks grew flushed and flushed again,As on her he searchingly gazed;
She looked up in his solemn faceAnd saw he was greatly amazed.
It was Trueman St. Lawrence she saw,As she gazed on his beautiful form;
She was more than bewitching in her waysTo capture him all by storm.
The Doctor went to his hotelTo ponder the matter o'er:
"That's not the Sadie WaddingtonI've seen in days of yore."
His brain was puzzled, his face was flushed.He was in a frenzied mood;
He could not fathom the mysteryTo do the best he could.
If that's the girl in days of youthI played with on the mountain side,
Before I leave this old cityI'll make her my darling bride.
So saying, he sank upon his couch,And slept in dreams so rich and gay
That loud his servant called and called,Because 'twas late—far in the day.
That day he had a trip to makeUnto a neighboring town,
And visited a hospitalKept by a Doctor Brown.
In passing from one of the wards,While in the open door,
He chanced to turn, and looking backSaw, kneeling on the floor,
With outstretched arms and pleading eyes,The girl for years he had not seen;
She'd grown into full womanhood,She was a perfect fairy Queen.
"What! what!" he cried, "am I deceived?If I'm my father's son
That girl I see back yonderIsSadie Waddington!"
He hastened back to where she knelt,And bade her to arise,
And clasped her to his manly breast,While tears rose in his eyes.
Then 'tween her sobs and moans and groansShe slowly did relate
How she was driven from her homeBack in the Empire State.
She told of awful suffering,Of wandering far and near;
Of the death of father and mother,To herallthat was dear.
She told him how she had returnedUnto her mountain dome,
And as she was told that all had been sold,She was left without a home.
The Doctor stood transfixed with awe;Listened to her relate
The story of the sale of all,Back in the Empire State.
The Doctor said: "My dear Sadie,It matters not a bit to me
Whether you have lands, or goods, or gold,I have vast fortunes yet untold.
"What's mine is yours; 'tis always so,My father told me long ago,
Before I left the Empire StateAnd came over here to study late.
"I offer you my heart and hand,And pledge to seal it with the band
Of holy wedlock, faithfully.Now set your heart forever free
"From labor and the toils of life,—Come, say you'll be my darling wife!
I feel a pang about my heartThat pierces like a flashing dart."
"Oh, True. St. Lawrence! Oh, can it beThat you do really care for me?
I, who have lived by a false nameTo hide a step-mother's wicked shame?
"For five long years my name has been(As you directly would have seen),
Not Sadie W., as you have known,But the Sadie changed to plain Salome.
"The Waddington I changed, also,For the common name of Van Harlow;
Then among strangers I did seekFor work to do, although 'twas meek.
"I came across the ocean wide,As servant to a new-made bride;
She was taken sick and died out hereBefore she'd been a bride a year.
"Since then I've cared for poor and sick,And cannot leave them now, so quick.
I patients have whomusthave careBeforeIleave for better fare.
"Now True, my dear, I'll be your own;I'll make you an ever happy home;
I feel Pa's oft' spoke words are true,Trueman's your name,True Manare you."
He pressed her closely to his breast:To dry her tears he did his best;
Then gently kissed her burning cheeksAnd bade her wait but a few weeks.
The happiest man in all the landWas True. St. Lawrence, with trembling hand,
Who then returned to his rooms rich,A restless night to roll and pitch
Upon a bed of faultless down,But pains of heart it could not drown.
He lay and mused throughout the night,'Cause his future now looked bright.
SarahWaddington and her motherPrepared a party for another.
A gent they wished to entertain,'Cause Sarah wished to bear his name.
"It is to be a swell affair,So she could safely set her snare
To catch the unsuspecting True,Because he loves and loves but you."
So spake the mother to her child,Who seemed delighted—almost wild—
To think that she could play her partWithout remorse or pain at heart.
The time rolled on, and days were spentIn fixing up for the event;
The rich were called from every sideTo see Sarah—the would-be bride.
She sent a most bewitching noteFor Dr. 'Lawrence to cast the vote,
Who'd be the Belle of honor, bright,To bear the graces of the night.
The Doctor smiled, as he sat downTo answer it, without a frown;
And faithfully he did outline,In characters most cute and fine:
"My choice is one, and only one;And now I've written and 'tis done!
As sure as I'm my father's son,'Tis one—fairSadieWaddington!
"And now, before it is too late,There's one request I have to make:
That I be granted then, or sooner,To be escort to the maid of honor."
"Your request is at once granted,And hope we'll become enchanted;
And with your presence'll be elated,Because, it seems, we are related".
Fair Sarah, then, did make it known(Real quietly about her home)
That she and 'Lawrence, raised side by side,Would soon become both groom and bride.
Silks and diamonds bought with gold,Gotten from the kine she'd sold
'Way back in the Empire State,Where poor Sadie met her fate.
Just one week before the eve'When he Sarah would deceive,
Trueman went to see his love,Who was pretty as a dove.
"Sadie," said he, "sweet is revenge!Let us now your labor change.
The ones who drove you to your fate,Away back in the Empire State,
"Are here in Paris this long time,And live in luxury sublime.
The gold they got from off your kine,It goes for suppers and for wine.
"In holy wedlock let us wed,I'll lead you to a bridal bed;
And then in luxury and stateWe'll 'tend the ball ere 'tis too late".
I'll humble them in dust and shame!Ah, Sadie, you were not to blame!
We'llmake them wish they'd never soldYour goods and kine for glittering gold!
"Come, darling, now we'll off today,The bridal knot to firmly tie.
Then I your graceful swanlike neckWith pearls and rubys will bedeck.
"I'll trim your lovely graceful formWith richest satin to be worn:
I'll place upon your tapered handA solitaire, set in gold band.
"Your dainty feet encased in kidOf dainty styles, they're only made
For those who're called the name of Queens,And bought by those who have vast means.
"Then to the ball we'll proudly go,(And who we'll meet I do not know,)
I'll there present to every oneMy bride,trueSadie Waddington.
"The shock, so sudden, will be great;They'll quail beneath their hearts own hate
Of being there exposed to all;Oh, won't it be an awful fall?
"Come, Sadie dear, revenge is sweet!Now is our chance to get your mete
Which they have held from you so long,And did you such a cruel wrong."
Then Sadie spoke: "Trueman, my dear,There's naught I know for me to fear.
Revengeissweet, although 'tis queer,Revenge I get in Paris here."
They carried out their little plot,And never skipped a single jot.
The eve was fine, the folk were gay,And not a thing stood in their way.
It was quite late when they arrivedAt the mansion of the would-be bride.
As soon as Doctor stepped in sight,Escorting Sadie—his delight—
Sarah saw the graceful formAnd, with one scream, she left the room,
And fell fainting to the floor.They gently laid her on the couch
Before the open door.Her mother came in haste to see
What all the trouble there could be,And did not see the Doctor's bride
Until she was close by her side.And when she saw it was too late,
She gasped: "Oh, Sarah's met her fate,"Then fell into a deathly state.
The mother swooned and swooned awayThe entire night and most the day;
And then the Doctor came to say,"Her life is run, she cannot stay!"
Sadie, with trained and skillful hand,Nursed Sarah back to conscious-land;
Did faithfully the watchword keepWhile often o'er them she did weep.
And, just before the mother died,She Sadie called to her bedside
And begged her to full pardon giveFor cruel wrong she did receive.
Sadie, always so good and true,Said she always thought she knew
That the grand day would surely comeWhen that great wrong would be undone.
She granted full, complete pardonFor all the wrongs the dame had done,
And then she spoke kind words of cheerInto the madam's dying ear.
With firm-set eyes and drooping chinThe madame grasped and tried to cling
Unto the hand she once did scorn,And drove from home at break of morn.
She then was wrapt in eternal death,And from her soul came not a breath.
In casket pure as driven snowUnto the churchyard she did go,
And there was laid beneath the clayTo await Jehovah's Judgment Day.
All lands and goods and gold and kineShe left behind for endless time!
Poor Sarah! doomed to awful fate,Her mind was left in ruined state;
In raving madness and in strifeShe tried to take our Sadie's life.
The best physicians in the landWere summoned forth on every hand
To try and bring her from the strifeBack to the land of happy life.
Off to an asylum she must go,'Cause 'twas not safe to leave her so;
And with good care she might regainAnd be relieved from mental pain.
Salome, our faithful lass and bride,Resolved to stay by Sarah's side
And help her regain her lost mind,And comfort for her she would find.
Nine weeks were spent in mad-house fare,Salome bestowing tender care
Upon the one who once did faceSalome in all her dire disgrace.
When Doctor St. Lawrence saw his wifeWas bent on battling for the life
Of one who was once her mad foe,He said: "All right, it shall be so."
Salome, she clung unto her charge,As if she were her dearest friend;
She incurred expenses somewhat largeTo treat her patient to the end.
The Doctor soon began to learnHis bride and wife would never spurn
The one who once her home did take,And drove her off for mere pride's sake.
He asked Salome what she would doIn case that Sarah did pull through,
And once again her mind regainBefore they crossed the raging main.
Salome did quickly make reply,While glistening tears stood in her eye:
"I'll take her to old Empire State,Right to the door where I met fate!
"I'll make her happy, if I can,And now I'll form my little plan:
We must, dear True, just do our best,And fix her up in a cosy nest.
"We will give her a little homeOn the beautiful mountain side;
We will find her a handsome loverWho'll be proud to call her his bride.
"We will give them all attentionThat the best of friends could do;
We willreturn good for evil,'Cause my mother taught me so.
"Let us show that true religionIs the life we ought to live,
And the ways that Christ rejoiced inAre the ways to which we cleave.
"Oh, my husband, dearest Trueman,I believe in Sarah reigns
The true principle of goodness—Let us fan that spark to flames.
"Can I now secure her safely,Teach her shun her evil ways
And discard that haughty spiritThat she learned in younger days,
"I will be the happiest mortalEver lived on mother earth,
And will reach that heavenly portalOnly reached by second birth."
After coaxing, begging, teasing,Sarah consented for to go
Back across the ocean, raging,Where her childhood seeds did sow.
When they reached the harbor safely,Bag and baggage on the truck,
They cast lots to see what steamerThey would choose for their good luck.
Doctor got the choice of vessels,And he quickly did decide
That the City of St. ParisShould take theirprotegeand his bride.
Safely in the vessel's cabin,Housed in cosy stateroom there,
All were ready for the voyage,And did look for cheerful fare.
Out upon the briny billows,Just three days and nights, 'twas said,
When the night was dark and dreary,Trueman rose from sleepless bed.
There was something weighed upon him,Something whispered to beware;
He dressed and went upon the deckTo breathe the crisp sea air.
He paced and paced the vessel's deckWith long and manly stride;
He went from starboard o'er to portAnd back to starboard side.
He'd been upon the deck some time,And peered into the gloom
As if them something overawedAnd threatened them with doom.
At last, to port, he spied a fleck,A dancing on the waves,
And there he plainly saw a deckBedecked with pirate knaves.
The vessel, with a dark-hued hull,Bore straightway on its course,
When, "Hard to port! To port! to port!"Rang out a voice real coarse.
The strange boat glided swiftly on,Like a ghost on phantom wings,
While the crisp sea breeze went dancing pastAnd through her rigging sings.
The strange boat slipped along, acrossThe briny billows white,
And their steamer ploughed and labored hardAlong its renewed flight.
It was a close and dangerous call,Because the night was dark;
Had they collided there, on the ocean bare,They'd went down with their bark.
The voyage, then, to GothamWas stormy and quite rough,
And all agreed, when landed,That they had quite enough.
They then all took the railroad trainNorth, through the Empire State,
And soon were on the mountain sideWhere Sadie met her fate.
The first place Sadie wished to seeWas graves of father and mother,
And tripping lightly from the yard,She passed out with another.
That bitter morn, with memories fresh,When from her home she'd fled,
She was scorned by onenowtoo gladTo lead her on ahead.
When she approached her mother's graveThe tears rolled thick and fast,
And by her side poor Sarah stood,With memories of the past
A fitting through her guilty mind:And then she spoke at last:
"Oh, Sadie, Sadie, what a blotUpon my mother's past;
It stings within my guilty heart,And would to God I now could part
With half the pain I feel—The balm of Christ could scarcely heal."
She stooped, and silently did pressHer fresh and rosy lips
Upon the little mound of grass"Beneath—dear mother sleeps."
Then Sarah, with most tender words,Pressed Sadie to her breast
And with a fervent, heartfelt plea,Prayed both them to be blest.
When they returned unto their home,Their friendship sealed with silent love,
They could not bear to be alone;They felt a power from up above.
Old friends and neighbors, with delight,Called on the Doctor and his bride,
And there convened, on the first night,A host of friends who're on their side.
There's one among them old and gray,Who'd lived right there for all his life;
'Tis the elder man and sage, St. Lawrence,And he smiles upon the Doctor's wife.
Heir to the Waddington estate,Sadie reigns the queen of all;
Her friendship for Sarah was great,And sister her did often call.
The Doctor chose to spend his lifeUpon the handsome mountain side
With Sadie, his true loving wife,And Father St. Lawrence until he died.
Time rolled around and months flew by;Sadie and Sarah, hand in hand,
Sealed by the firmest friendship tie,Two of the truest in the land.
There chanced to stroll from distant climeA bright young man of Sadie's kin;
Came to visit in Summer time,And Sarah was introduced to him.
Sadie tried her best to make a match,And championed well her cause;
Sarah viewed it as a catchThat one very seldom draws.
Though 'twas but a short acquaintance,Still the wedding time was fixed;
The intended groom had patience,'Cause he felt he was not rich.
Sadie, sweet as dewy honey,Wishing that her friends should wed,
Proffered home and lands and moneyIf the word would just be said.
"I am heir to all this fortune,Known as Waddington's estate;
Come, now, Sarah; come, now, Hawthorne,Join your hearts ere 'tis too late.
"I will give to you a large farmYonder on the mountain side;
I will give you kine and money,If you'll be my cousin's bride."
Sarah spake, with dewy eyelids,To the one she loved so dear:
"Sadie, I am anything but worthyOf this princely gift, to cheer
"My poor broken, wicked heart,After I have been so bad;
You should never takemypart,SinceItook that whichyouhad."
Yet Sadie, true to her own passion,Promised deed in fee for all,
If Sarah would wed her own cousin,Ere the Summer ran to Fall.
So the wedding day was fixedWhen the two should be made one,
And their home, as she predicted,Would be deeded as their own.
When at last the nuptial greetingWas received on every hand,
The sage, St. Lawrence, came to their meeting,The last one left of their quartet band.
The wedding knot was duly tied,And the folk were feeling gay;
They were now made happy groom and bride,Starting out in life's pathway.
When the ceremony was over,And the gifts they were bestowing—
Bridal gifts as sweet as clover—Sadie, with her rich hair flowing,
Called the old 'Squire of the cityThat to witness of her signing
The transfer of title fair,To the land that lay up there;
When, to her surprise and chagrin,Father St. Lawrence, with gentle voice,
Told her that she could not bargain,For she had not even choice.
"Now, my daughter, not one farthingOf this vast and rich estate
Has been left unto True's darling,Now, I tell you, 'tis not too late.
"All this land you tho't was yoursBy inheritance of your blood,
Was bequeathed by your dear fatherTo one you never thought he would".
Now, I've brought the Judge of ProbateAs an honored guest ofmine,
That he might reveal the truth,That it might be writ in rhyme.
Then, to soothe the disappointment,The old judge with silvery hair
Drew from 'neath his outer garment,Two old papers kept with care.
One was read by him to Sadie,Where her father had endowed
All his lands, and kine and moneyOn the one who made her proud.
When this document was ended,And was handed to Trueman,
The old sage, St. Lawrence, pretendedThat he enjoyed youth again.
"Read, Judge! read your other paper!Tell my daughter here the truth;
Tell her what their anxious fathersDid for them while in their youth."
When the document was ended,With tears showering down her face,
Sadie, kisses, sweetly blended,While she held him in embrace.
Long their fortunes had been blendedBy the signatures alone
Of their fathers in their child days,As they played around their home.
"True, my dear; O will you come here?Sign this deed! Come quick, O do;
Carry out my simple wishes;Sarah is my friend, so true."
"Yes, my darling, this with pleasureI will do, to please you all;
It is my most pleasant leisureTo do bidding at your call."
So, the deed of gift was given,And in happiness they'd start;
From that home they'd ne'er be driven,Life anew to never part.
There in happiness and comfortDid they live upon the place
Where the evil of proud passionSmothered one in dire disgrace.
Happy was Salome and TruemanWhen they saw theirprotegesafe
In the hands of Cousin Hawthorne,On the Waddington old place.
Safe within the coils of homelife,Safe within the cottage walls,
Safely with a trusting husband,Safe within their friendly calls.
Thus the vengeance of our HeroWas full spent to meet her theme;
Yet so different from a Nero,Because she knew she could redeem.
Salome's revenge was to her sweet,'Cause she'd conquered, not cut down;
Now she feared no one to meet,Nor would any wear a frown.
Though some years had been so bitter,And had fraught such cruel pain;
Now the coldest of the winterSeemed like flowery beds of green.
Now, away up on the mountains,In the well known Empire State,
Sadie Waddington is livingIn sweet REVENGE, where she met fate.