She is so gay, so very gay,And not by fits and starts,But ever, through each livelong dayShe's sunshine to all hearts.A tonic is her merry laugh!So wondrous is her powerThat listening grief would stop and chaffWith her from hour to hour.Disease before that cheery smileGrows dim, begins to fade.A Christian scientist, meanwhile,Is this delightful maid.And who would not throw off dull careAnd be like unto her,When happiness brings, as her share,One hundred dollars per ——?
She is so gay, so very gay,And not by fits and starts,But ever, through each livelong dayShe's sunshine to all hearts.
A tonic is her merry laugh!So wondrous is her powerThat listening grief would stop and chaffWith her from hour to hour.
Disease before that cheery smileGrows dim, begins to fade.A Christian scientist, meanwhile,Is this delightful maid.
And who would not throw off dull careAnd be like unto her,When happiness brings, as her share,One hundred dollars per ——?
Fair insect! that, with thread-like legs spread out,And blood-extracting bill, and filmy wing,Dost murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about,In pitiless ears, fall many a plaintive thing,And tell how little our large veins should bleedWould we but yield them to thy bitter need.Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse,Full angrily, men listen to thy plaint;Thou gettest many a brush and many a curse,For saying thou art gaunt, and starved, and faint.Even the old beggar, while he asks for food,Would kill thee, hapless stranger, if he could.I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween,Has not the honor of so proud a birth:Thou com'st from Jersey meadows, fresh and green,The offspring of the gods, though born on earth;For Titan was thy sire, and fair was she,The ocean-nymph that nursed thy infancy.Beneath the rushes was they cradle swung,And when at length thy gauzy wings grew strong,Abroad to gentle airs their folds were flung,Rose in the sky and bore thee soft along;The south wind breathed to waft thee on thy way,And danced and shone beneath the billowy bay.Calm rose afar the city spires, and thenceCame the deep murmur of its throng of men,And as its grateful odors met thy sense,They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen.Fair lay its crowded streets, and at the sightThy tiny song grew shriller with delight.At length thy pinion fluttered in Broadway,—Ah, there were fairy steps, and white necks kissedBy wanton airs, and eyes whose killing rayShone through the snowy veils like stars through mist;And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin,Bloomed the bright blood through the transparent skin.Sure these were sights to tempt an anchorite!What! do I hear thy slender voice complain?Thou wailest when I talk of beauty's light,As if it brought the memory of pain.Thou art a wayward being—well, come near,And pour thy tale of sorrow in mine ear.What say'st thou, slanderer! rouge makes thee sick?And China Bloom at best is sorry food?And Rowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick,Poisons the thirsty wretch that bores for blood?Go! 'twas a just reward that met thy crime;But shun the sacrilege another time.That bloom was made to look at,—not to touch;To worship, not approach, that radiant white;And well might sudden vengeance light on suchAs dared, like thee, most impiously to bite.Thou shouldst have gazed at distance, and admired,—Murmured thy admiration and retired.Thou'rt welcome to the town; but why come hereTo bleed a brother poet, gaunt like thee?Alas! the little blood I have is dear,And thin will be the banquet drawn from me.Look round: the pale-eyed sisters in my cell,Thy old acquaintance, Song and Famine, dwell.Try some plump alderman, and suck the bloodEnriched by generous wine and costly meat;On well-filled skins, sleek as thy native mud,Fix thy light pump, and press thy freckled feet.Go to the men for whom, in ocean's halls,The oyster breeds and the green turtle sprawls.There corks are drawn, and the red vintage flows,To fill the swelling veins for thee, and nowThe ruddy cheek and now the ruddier noseShall tempt thee, as thou flittest round the brow;And when the hour of sleep its quiet brings,No angry hand shall rise to brush thy wings.
Fair insect! that, with thread-like legs spread out,And blood-extracting bill, and filmy wing,Dost murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about,In pitiless ears, fall many a plaintive thing,And tell how little our large veins should bleedWould we but yield them to thy bitter need.
Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse,Full angrily, men listen to thy plaint;Thou gettest many a brush and many a curse,For saying thou art gaunt, and starved, and faint.Even the old beggar, while he asks for food,
Would kill thee, hapless stranger, if he could.I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween,Has not the honor of so proud a birth:Thou com'st from Jersey meadows, fresh and green,The offspring of the gods, though born on earth;For Titan was thy sire, and fair was she,The ocean-nymph that nursed thy infancy.
Beneath the rushes was they cradle swung,And when at length thy gauzy wings grew strong,Abroad to gentle airs their folds were flung,Rose in the sky and bore thee soft along;The south wind breathed to waft thee on thy way,And danced and shone beneath the billowy bay.
Calm rose afar the city spires, and thenceCame the deep murmur of its throng of men,And as its grateful odors met thy sense,They seemed the perfumes of thy native fen.Fair lay its crowded streets, and at the sightThy tiny song grew shriller with delight.
At length thy pinion fluttered in Broadway,—Ah, there were fairy steps, and white necks kissedBy wanton airs, and eyes whose killing rayShone through the snowy veils like stars through mist;And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin,Bloomed the bright blood through the transparent skin.
Sure these were sights to tempt an anchorite!What! do I hear thy slender voice complain?Thou wailest when I talk of beauty's light,As if it brought the memory of pain.Thou art a wayward being—well, come near,And pour thy tale of sorrow in mine ear.
What say'st thou, slanderer! rouge makes thee sick?And China Bloom at best is sorry food?And Rowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick,Poisons the thirsty wretch that bores for blood?Go! 'twas a just reward that met thy crime;But shun the sacrilege another time.
That bloom was made to look at,—not to touch;To worship, not approach, that radiant white;And well might sudden vengeance light on suchAs dared, like thee, most impiously to bite.Thou shouldst have gazed at distance, and admired,—Murmured thy admiration and retired.
Thou'rt welcome to the town; but why come hereTo bleed a brother poet, gaunt like thee?Alas! the little blood I have is dear,And thin will be the banquet drawn from me.Look round: the pale-eyed sisters in my cell,Thy old acquaintance, Song and Famine, dwell.
Try some plump alderman, and suck the bloodEnriched by generous wine and costly meat;On well-filled skins, sleek as thy native mud,Fix thy light pump, and press thy freckled feet.Go to the men for whom, in ocean's halls,The oyster breeds and the green turtle sprawls.
There corks are drawn, and the red vintage flows,To fill the swelling veins for thee, and nowThe ruddy cheek and now the ruddier noseShall tempt thee, as thou flittest round the brow;And when the hour of sleep its quiet brings,No angry hand shall rise to brush thy wings.
When our town band gets on the squareOn concert night you'll find me there.I'm right beside Elijah Plumb,Who plays th' cymbals an' bass drum;An' next to him is Henry Dunn,Who taps the little tenor one.I like to hear our town band play,But, best it does, I want to say,Is when they tell a tune's to comeWith"Tiddle-iddle-iddle-iddle-Bum-Bum!"O' course, there's some that likes the tunesLikeLily Dalean'Ragtime Coons;Some likes a solo or duetBy Charley Green—B-flat cornet—An' Ernest Brown—th' trombone man.(An' they can play, er no one can);But it's the best when Henry DunnLets them there sticks just cut an' run,An' 'Lijah says to let her humWith"Tiddle-iddle-iddle-iddle-Bum-Bum!"I don't know why, ner what's the useO' havin' that to interduceA tune—but I know, as fer meI'd ten times over ruther seeElijah Plumb chaw with his chin,A-gettin' ready to begin,While Henry plays that roll o' hisAn' makes them drumsticks fairly sizz,Announcin' music, on th' drum,With"Tiddle-iddle-iddle-iddle-Bum-Bum!"
When our town band gets on the squareOn concert night you'll find me there.I'm right beside Elijah Plumb,Who plays th' cymbals an' bass drum;An' next to him is Henry Dunn,Who taps the little tenor one.I like to hear our town band play,But, best it does, I want to say,Is when they tell a tune's to comeWith"Tiddle-iddle-iddle-iddle-Bum-Bum!"
O' course, there's some that likes the tunesLikeLily Dalean'Ragtime Coons;Some likes a solo or duetBy Charley Green—B-flat cornet—An' Ernest Brown—th' trombone man.(An' they can play, er no one can);But it's the best when Henry DunnLets them there sticks just cut an' run,An' 'Lijah says to let her humWith"Tiddle-iddle-iddle-iddle-Bum-Bum!"
I don't know why, ner what's the useO' havin' that to interduceA tune—but I know, as fer meI'd ten times over ruther seeElijah Plumb chaw with his chin,A-gettin' ready to begin,While Henry plays that roll o' hisAn' makes them drumsticks fairly sizz,Announcin' music, on th' drum,With"Tiddle-iddle-iddle-iddle-Bum-Bum!"
'Twas just behind the woodshed,One glorious summer day,Far o'er the hills the sinking sunPursued his westward way;And in my safe seclusionRemoved from all the jarAnd din of earth's confusionI smoked my first cigar.It was my first cigar!It was the worst cigar!Raw, green and dank, hide-bound and rankIt was my first cigar!Ah, bright the boyish fanciesWrapped in the smoke-wreaths blue;My eyes grew dim, my head was light,The woodshed round me flew!Dark night closed in around me—Black night, without a star—Grim death methought had found meAnd spoiled my first cigar.It was my first cigar!A six-for-five cigar!No viler torch the air could scorch—It was my first cigar!All pallid was my beaded brow,The reeling night was late,My startled mother cried in fear,"My child, what have you ate?"I heard my father's smothered laugh,It seemed so strange and far,I knew he knew I knew he knewI'd smoked my first cigar!It was my first cigar!A give-away cigar!I could not die—I knew not why—It was my first cigar!Since then I've stood in reckless ways,I've dared what men can dare,I've mocked at danger, walked with death,I've laughed at pain and care.I do not dread what may befall'Neath my malignant star,No frowning fate again can makeMe smoke my first cigar.I've smoked my first cigar!My first and worst cigar!Fate has no terrors for the manWho's smoked his first cigar!
'Twas just behind the woodshed,One glorious summer day,Far o'er the hills the sinking sunPursued his westward way;And in my safe seclusionRemoved from all the jarAnd din of earth's confusionI smoked my first cigar.
It was my first cigar!It was the worst cigar!Raw, green and dank, hide-bound and rankIt was my first cigar!
Ah, bright the boyish fanciesWrapped in the smoke-wreaths blue;My eyes grew dim, my head was light,The woodshed round me flew!Dark night closed in around me—Black night, without a star—Grim death methought had found meAnd spoiled my first cigar.
It was my first cigar!A six-for-five cigar!No viler torch the air could scorch—It was my first cigar!
All pallid was my beaded brow,The reeling night was late,My startled mother cried in fear,"My child, what have you ate?"I heard my father's smothered laugh,It seemed so strange and far,I knew he knew I knew he knewI'd smoked my first cigar!
It was my first cigar!A give-away cigar!I could not die—I knew not why—It was my first cigar!
Since then I've stood in reckless ways,I've dared what men can dare,I've mocked at danger, walked with death,I've laughed at pain and care.I do not dread what may befall'Neath my malignant star,No frowning fate again can makeMe smoke my first cigar.
I've smoked my first cigar!My first and worst cigar!Fate has no terrors for the manWho's smoked his first cigar!
Does any one remember theCaravan? She was what would now be considered a slow boat—then(1827) she was regularly advertised as the "fast running," etc. Her regular trips from New Orleans to Natchez were usually made in from six to eight days; a trip made by her in five days was considered remarkable. A voyage from New Orleans to Vicksburg and back, including stoppages, generally entitled the officers and crew to a month's wages. Whether theCaravanever achieved the feat of a voyage to the Falls (Louisville) I have never learned; if she did, she must have "had atimeof it!"
It was my fate to take passage in this boat. The Captain was a good-natured, easy-going man, careful of the comfort of his passengers, and exceedingly fond of thegame of brag. We had been out a little more than five days, and we were in hopes of seeing the bluffs of Natchez on the next day. Our wood was getting low, and night coming on. The pilot on dutyabove(the other pilot held three aces at the time, and was just calling out the Captain, who "went it strong" on three kings) sent down word that the mate had reported the stock of wood reduced to half a cord. The worthy Captain excused himself to the pilot whose watch wasbelowand the two passengers who made up the party, and hurried to the deck, where he soon discovered by the landmarks that we were about half a mile from a woodyard, which he said was situated "right round yonder point." "But," muttered the Captain, "I don't much like to take wood of the yellow-faced old scoundrel who owns it—he always charges a quarter of a dollar more than any one else; however, there's no other chance." The boat was pushed to her utmost, and in a little less than an hour, when our fuel was about giving out, we made the point, and our cables were out and fastened to trees alongside of a good-sized wood pile.
"Hallo, Colonel! How d'ye sell your woodthistime?"
A yellow-faced old gentleman, with a two-weeks' beard, strings over his shoulders holding up to his armpits a pair of copperas-colored linsey-woolsey pants, the legs of which reached a very little below the knee; shoes without stockings; a faded, broad-brimmed hat, which had once been black, and a pipe in his mouth—casting a glance at the empty guards of our boat and uttering a grunt as he rose from fastening our "spring line," answered:
"Why, Capting, we must charge youthree and a quarterthistime."
"The d—l!" replied the Captain—(captains did swear a little in those days); "what's the oddquarterfor, I should like to know? You only charged methreeas I went down."
"Why, Captaing," drawled out the wood merchant, with a sort of leer on his yellow countenance, which clearly indicated that his woodwas as good as sold, "wood's riz since you went down two weeks ago; besides, you are awar that you very seldom stop goingdown—when you're goingupyou're sometimes obleeged to give me a call, becaze the current's aginst you, and there's no other woodyard for nine miles ahead; and if you happen to be nearly out of fooel, why—"
"Well, well," interrupted the Captain, "we'll take a few cords, under the circumstances," and he returned to his game of brag.
In about half an hour we felt theCaravancommence paddling again. Supper was over, and I retired to my upper berth, situated alongside and overlooking the brag-table, where the Captain was deeply engaged, having now theotherpilot as his principal opponent. We jogged on quietly—and seemed to be going at a good rate.
"How does that wood burn?" inquired the Captain of the mate, who was looking on at the game.
"'Tisn't of much account, I reckon," answered the mate; "it's cottonwood, and most of it green at that."
"Well Thompson—(Three aces again, stranger—I'll take that X and the small change, if you please. It's your deal)—Thompson, I say, we'd better take three or four cords at the next woodyard—it can't be more than six miles from here—(Two aces and a bragger, with the age! Hand over those V's)."
The game went on, and the paddles kept moving. At eleven o'clock it was reported to the Captain that we were nearing the woodyard, the light being distinctly seen by the pilot on duty.
"Head her in shore, then, and take in six cordsif it's good—see to it, Thompson; I can't very well leave the game now—it's getting right warm! This pilot's beating us all to smash."
The wooding completed, we paddled on again. The Captain seemed somewhat vexed when the mate informed him that the price was the same as at the last woodyard—three and a quarter; but soon again became interested in the game.
From my upper berth (there were no state-roomsthen) I could observe the movements of the players. All the contention appeared to be between the Captain and the pilots (the latter personages took it turn and turn about, steering and playing brag),oneof them almost invariably winning, while the two passengers merely went through the ceremony of dealing, cutting, and paying up their "anties." They were anxious tolearn the game—and theydidlearn it! Once in a while, indeed, seeing they had two aces and a bragger, they would venture a bet of five or ten dollars, but they were always compelled to back out before the tremendous bragging of the Captain or pilot—or if they did venture to "call out" on "two bullits and a bragger," they had the mortification to find one of the officers had the same kind of a hand, and weremore venerable! Still, with all these disadvantages, they continued playing—they wanted to learn the game.
At two o'clock the Captain asked the mate how we were getting on.
"Oh, pretty glibly, sir," replied the mate; "we can scarcely tell what headway wearemaking, for we are obliged to keep the middle of the river, and there is the shadow of a fog rising. This wood seems rather better than that we took in at Yellow-Face's, but we're nearly out again, andmust be looking out for more. I saw a light just ahead on the right—shall we hail?"
"Yes, yes," replied the Captain; "ring the bell and ask 'em what's the price of wood up here, (I've got you again; here's double kings.)"
I heard the bell and the pilot's hail, "What's'yourprice for wood?"
A youthful voice on the shore answered, "Threeanda quarter!"
"D—nèt!" ejaculated the Captain, who had just lost the price of two cords to the pilot—the strangers sufferingsomeat the same time—"three and a quarter again! Are weneverto get to a cheaper country? (Deal, sir, if you please; better luck next time.)"
The other pilot's voice was again heard on deck:
"How muchhaveyou?"
"Only about ten cords, sir," was the reply of the youthful salesman.
The Captain here told Thompson to take six cords, which would last till daylight—and again turned his attention to the game.
The pilots here changed places.When did they sleep?
Wood taken in, theCaravanagain took her place in the middle of the stream, paddling on as usual.
Day at length dawned. The brag-party broke up and settlements were being made, during which operation the Captain's bragging propensities were exercised in cracking up the speed of his boat, which, by his reckoning, must have made at least sixty miles, andwouldhave made many more if he could have procured good wood. It appears the two passengers, in their first lesson, had incidentally lost one hundred and twenty dollars. The Captain, as he rose to see about taking in somegoodwood, which he felt sure of obtaining now that he had got above the level country, winked at his opponent, the pilot, with whom he had been on very bad terms during the progress of the game, and said, in an undertone, "Forty apiece for you and I and James (the other pilot) is not bad for one night."
I had risen and went out with the Captain, to enjoy a view of the bluffs. There was just fog enough to prevent the vision taking in more than sixty yards—so I was disappointed inmyexpectation. We were nearing the shore, for the purpose of looking for wood, the banks being invisible from the middle of the river.
"There it is!" exclaimed the Captain; "stop her!" Ding—ding—ding! went the big bell, and the Captain hailed:
"Hallo! the woodyard!"
"Hallo yourself!" answered a squeaking female voice, which came from a woman with a petticoat over her shoulders in place of a shawl.
"What's the price of wood?"
"I think you ought to know the price by this time," answered the old lady in the petticoat; "it's three and a qua-a-rter! and now you know it."
"Three and the d—l!" broke in the Captain. "What, have you raised onyourwood, too? I'll give youthree, and not a cent more."
"Well," replied the petticoat, "here comes the old man—he'lltalk to you."
And, sure enough, out crept from the cottage the veritable faded hat, copperas-colored pants, yellow countenance and two weeks' beard we had seen the night before, and the same voice we hadheard regulating the price of cottonwood squeaked out the following sentence, accompanied by the same leer of the same yellow countenance:
"Why, darn it all, Capting, there is but three or four cords left, andsince it's you, I don't care if Idolet you have it forthree—as you're a good customer!"
After a quick glance at the landmarks around, the Captain bolted, and turned in to take some rest.
The fact became apparent—the reader will probably have discovered it some time since—thatwe had been wooding all night at the same woodyard!
[1]By permission of Life Publishing Company.
[1]By permission of Life Publishing Company.
[2]Lippincott's Magazine.
[2]Lippincott's Magazine.
[3]Lippincott's Magazine.
[3]Lippincott's Magazine.
[4]From "Nautical Lays of a Landsman," by Wallace Irwin. Copyright, 1904, by Dodd, Mead & Co.
[4]From "Nautical Lays of a Landsman," by Wallace Irwin. Copyright, 1904, by Dodd, Mead & Co.
[5]Lippincott's Magazine.
[5]Lippincott's Magazine.