Crackerlings and Caramels

ℭ. ℋ. 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔷𝔩𝔢𝓎

Laugh at the pathos and cry at the jokes,

Do as it pleaseth, for folks are folks,

And laughter is better than sorrow and

tears--

There are sorrows enough as we number

the years.

Patient Reader

___

WHY we print this book we don't know. Per-

haps the moving cause is the remark, or the

reason thereof, of our best friend when the

fact of the incurring of the cost was mentioned

"A fool and his money soon parts."

⁋ We can but hope the reader will be more charit-

able in viewing his own case after he has paid the price

for this volume. Life is serious at best. We don't

mean to be overly so herein. Simply what we see

with a homespun dress is our aim.

⁋ The rhymes are but the lights and shadows that

have filled the heart of a GEORGIA CRACKER,

sights he has seen, heard or dreamed, thoughts he

has thought or others have told him, partly the product

of trials of a country newspaper, and if the pencil

draw not the rainbow colors of his dreams, or catch

the true note of the bees in the cotton blossoms, he

has only to regret that his pen has proven too halting

to instill the nectar of the cane into his creations, or

coin the mellow notes of the possum hunter's horn

into the music. They are but the Crackerlings and Cara-

mels that have jingled out of our many hours, and

caused perhaps many dollars for better employment,

to fail to jingle into our empty pockets.

Truly,

ℭ. ℋ. 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔷𝔩𝔢𝓎

Memories and Musings

🙒

Dum Vivimus Vivamus

Let us cease to hunt for trouble,

Life at best is full of care

Dusty paths are lined with daises

If we only saw them there.

Let us stroll along the hedges

Where the black-eyed Susans spring,

If the bees are never angered

We may never feel the sting.

Many simple joys we smother,

Slighted cares are soonest gone,

If we never crush the roses

We may never feel the thorn.

Wintry winds and bleak December

Prove as bright as dewy June,

Dreary earth is set to music

If we only catch the tune.

For song will smother sorrow,

And a smile will stifle sighs,

Often when the clouds are darkest,

There's a rainbow in the skies.

Even when the rain is failing,

Even when our trials grow,

Many cares are cast and shattered

If we only see the bow.

And I'll never sigh for fleeting

Days that dance away and hold

Petty trials, if the sunseet

Swim in seas of ruby gold.

And if music, fun and frolic

Steal away a dozen years,

Better far a day of pleasure

Than a century of tears.

If the wine of life be drunken
If the chalice soon I drain,

If I pluck the fleeting roses

That can never bloom again--

If my span of life be darkened
E'er the turning of the noon,

If my neighbor's days be many

He at last must follow soon.

He may hoard his days as jewels
I may scatter mine as chaff,

He may guard the golden vintage

I the beaker quickly quaff.

Still the scenes are quickly shifted,

And the happiest of men

Plucks more roses in a season

Than the miser plucks in ten.

__________

SPEED ON.

Speed on, thou steed of staunchest steel

Bring friend to friend, join hearts again.

The plowman standing in his field

But looks--and--says, the morning train!

Far more art thou--a living thing--

(I pause and gaze) a human brain--

I see speed by--the flying wing

Is slow, art thou the morning train?

What art thou but the hands, the brain,

The brains of men, the busy hands,

The sheaves of thought--the golden grain--

Of mind that forged thy bolts and bands.

The genius of a thousand years

Hath tried--and failed--and tried again

And failed--and tried--and lo! appears

What plowmen call the morning train.

Bring friend to friend, tear hearts in twain.

The plowman stands within his field

And dreams thou art the morning train.

Speed madly on thou minds of men--

To-day where winter locks in snow

The frozen earth--speed on--and then--

The next--where summer roses glow.

Through hill and dale, through fertile plain

Speed on thou flying morning train.

_________

THE PLEADING OF THE BELL.

When my fancy wanders backward--

Through the vista of the years,

There are many happy moments,

There are roses mid the tears

'Mid the old red hills and valleys,

Where Ogeechees's waters start--

Where my childhood days were summer

And a song was in my heart.

How I long once more to wander,

Where my boyish feet have gone

With the cows toward the pasture,

'Mid the dews of early morn.

Just to gather woodland blossoms

Just to climb the swaying trees--

Just to set the kite to soaring

See it dancing on the breeze.

Just to taste the icy waters

Of the spring beneath the hill--

Where the mossy rocks are lying,

Just to build the flutter mill.

Just to wade along the shallows

Just to truant be at school,

Just to make the hick-ry whistle

Just to swim the deepest pool.

How I long to watch the arrow

As it whistles from the bow,

How I long to chase the rabbits

When the fields are deep in snow.

Just to be as fully happy

As the barefoot boy again,

Just to watch the apples ripen

Mid the sun and summer rain.

Just to turn the dial backward--

Just again to be a child,

Just to see the happy faces

Just to gather berries wild

Just to play with schoolboy comrades

Just to carry book and slate,

For a blue-eyed little maiden

Just to linger at the gate.

They are gone the years have vanished,

But the bell rings out the same--

Calling books to tardy children

From the noisy marble game.

Mingled joy and sorrow trooping

While the speeding moments call

To a half-remembered lesson,

From the half-completed ball.

But a sadness comes around me

Over all--a dreamy spell--

Now--its ringing--sadly--s-l-o-w-l-y

There are sorrows in the bell.

And it seems to clamor loudly

To the scattered ones--from home,

To the weary broken toiler

Turn away from care and come.

Rolling on along the valleys

'Mid the hills the pleadings sweep,

Sobbing--Sighing--mid the flowers

Where the dead are lost in sleep.

And I wonder if my comrades

Feel the sadness just as well,

If a thousand mem'ries cluster

Round the swinging of the bell.

How it pleads and begs and urges,

Come within the narrow way--

Be a man--a man of honor--

As I pause, I hear it say---

Still--we fall, so frail and human--

But perhaps the angels tell

How a soul was brought to heaven

Through the pleading of the bell.

_____________

THE BOARDING HOUSE STAIRS.
There's a dozen blushing widows
And a score of pretty girls,
There are cheeks to shame the roses
There are heaps of pretty curls,
There are hammocks, seats and sofas
And the house is full of chairs.
But they do a lot of courting.
On
the
hash
house
stairs.

They are forty steady boarders
Who are boarding by the year,
These are twenty dandy drummers
Spending ev'ry Sunday here.
Though the eggs are nearly voters
And the butter growing hairs,
Yet this boarding house is splendid
With

its
well
filled
stairs.

At the top a pretty maiden

Sits beside a coffee man,
On the next a pretty window
Blushes red behind a fan,
As the drummer from Chicago
Softly whispers and declares,
She's the bell of all the beauties

On
the
hash
house
stairs.

And a dimpled little beauty
Just a little lower down,
Sits a planning for the future
With a kid from over town
How to live on twenty dollars
They are free from future cares,
And the world seems bright and rosy
On
these
hash
house
stairs.

There they are when supper's over,
And the boarder at the door
Slyly sits and reads his paper
Peeping now his glasses o'er.
For a pretty little maiden
Just the cutest slipper wears,
Neath the cutest little ankle

And
he
sits
and
stares.

_____________________

PUT YOURSELF IN MY PLACE.
It is true that the courts should be honored,
And the law take its course, as they say,
But the law, it was made for a human,
And the brute must be hunted to bay.

Do we weep when the tiger is slaughtered;
Do we grieve when the serpent is dead?
Spare the tear for the fiend as he dangles,
What is lost when the bullet has sped?

There are times when the law should be honored,
There are passions that mock at the law,
Could you bind the black fiend by a precept?
Can you bridle the tempest with a straw?

How I think of the home in the clearing,
In the shade of the clambering vines,
Where the bees in the cotton were droning,
And the winds half asleep in the pines.

Where the mockingbird sang to the starlight
Through the night when my labors where o'er,
And the moonlight feel fretted with shadows
Through the roses that shadowed the door;

And the wife that had brightened the cabin,
While I sang as I plowed in the farm,
How I kissed her in leaving one morning
Never thinking or dreaming of harm.

And the baby at play on the pallet
In the yard' neath the shade of the trees
Pleaded, "Papa," bing tandy to baby--
An' a dolly, and marbles'es, pese."

Then I hitched up the mule to the wagon,
Started off through the field to the town,
While a measure of corn she was feeding
To the chickens that fluttered around.

There are tigers that wait in the jungle;
There are brutes seeking honor and life;
Hiddened deep in the growth of the sorghum
Lay a demon in wait for my wife.

But, I whistled and sang, as I travelled,
Till a horse that was covered with foam
Clattered up, and the neighbor that rode him,
Shouted, "Bill, you are needed at home."

Turn about and put speed in the going
Says the law, it's a life for a life;
But the law may delay in the doing,
Seek the brute that has murdered your wife.

But a shriek, and I do not remember
Any more or the way that went
Till the baby cried, "Papa, where tandy?"
Then I wakened and over her bent.

On her throat were the prints of his fingers,
There was blood on the ground at her side.
There were rents in her dress from the struggle--
"To the rope with the demon, " I cried.

By the noon there were hounds on the trackage,
And the neighbors were ready to ride.
"Seek the brute, While he lives there is danger,
You've a hundred true men at your side."

Then they searched all the woods and the thickets
Through the whole of the night and the day,
In a swamp at the break of the morning
Stood the hounds with the quarry at bay.

It is true that the courts should be honored,
But the home comes ahead of the law;
At the best, sir, the courts they are tardy
And the lawyers may fashion a flaw;

But the limb and the halter are certain,
And the rifle is sure with its ball;
Your daughter is safe from his clutches,
My wife, sir, is murdered, that's all.

You may talk of the law and its doings,
Blighted homes all the can can efface,
Only pause for a moment in judging,
Only think you were filling my place.

___________
THE SORROWS ARE THERE.
I am roaming again where the moments were squandered
And the book thrown aside for the marbles and ball,
By the brook where the feet of the truant have wandered
For the years only deeper have lettered them all.

And the scenes rise again as the present is fading
Of the spring in the valley, the streamlet and pool,
Where a barefooted boy mid the willows is wading
Coming late to the lesson, forgetting the school.

Once again in the forests the chestnuts are falling
From the spine-guarded doors of the half-opened burr,
And the dove to her mate from the shadows is calling
From the scant builded nest they had fashioned for her.

Down the long dusty road where the summer heat quivered
Through the path in the forest, where centuries threw,
Dreamy shadows across, as they rustled and shivered
To the breeze--on the ridge where the chinquapins grew.

Once again at the dam where the water is speed
Past the mill--past the wheel that is mossy and high,
At the pool in the shadows where comrades are pleading
For a swim as the streamlet is murmuring by.

In the hick'ry nut trees once again I am swinging
As the nuts patter down to the leaf littered mould,
While the heart is a-Maying, the mockingbird singing
In the woods that the autumn has painted with gold

I am dreaming again, they are fading and shifting,
And the shadows of sorrow are coming apace
On the stream of the years are my memories drifting
And the dreamer is dreaming, a dream of a face.

In her cheeks all the roses of passion were sleeping,
To her face all the lilies of purity came;
Over all are the grasses and violets creeping;
In the moss-covered marble is lettered a name.

I am drifting in dreams as the precent has faded,
And the scenes of my boyhood are glowing and fair,
But the roses are mingled with cypress and shaded
With the shadows of death--for the sorrows are here.

____________
GEORGIA.

They may talk of the Rhine and the Danube,

Of the land where the sun shimmers through--

Through the gold and the green of the orange

And the violets bend to the dew.

There are songs for the sunset of Venice,

But its golden, the sunset at home;

And I'd rather go begging in Georgia

Than to wield the proud sceptre at Rome.

They may write of the beautiful country--

Sunny Spain with its music and dance,

Of the queen of the seas, Merrie England

Of the vine-covered acres of France,

Of the snow-mantled acres of Russia,

Gleaming cold as the pitiless stars,

But I'd rather be happy in Georgia

Than to quake 'neath the crown of the Czars

Spread the fame of the isles of the ocean,

Of the lands where the nightingales sing,

Where the breeze sweeping on is enamored

Of the spices and roses of spring.

Of the land of the tea and the dragon,

'Neath the shade of the ponderous wall

You may roam, but the hills and the valleys

Of our Georgia are better than all.

__________

WHEN GRANDPA SANG HIS HIMES.

There are times when recollection

Snatches vision from the past,

When its pictures take the colors

That are much too bright to last,

When the voices of the present

Mingle with the olden times;

When my grandma knit the stockings

While my grandpa sang his "himes."

There are scenes where mem'ry gathers

From the past its stolen sweets,

When I'd rob my grandma's closet

With its jam and jelly treats;

When I'd linger in the garden

Where the grapes in clusters hung

And from many bending branches

Red and ruddy apples swung,

While the berries, fruits and flowers

Lent a color to the scene

As I roamed my grandpa's garden

Mid the red old hills of Greene.

When the woods were gilt by Autumn,

When the chestnuts ripe and brown

From their thorny burrs were waiting

Mid the leaves to patter down;

Then I thought their pitty patter

Sweeter than the silver chimes,

And my heart was light at evening

When my grandpa sang his himes.

They are changed, the dear old places;

There are tears to dim my eyes

For the roses red are blooming

Where my grandma sleeping lies.

But it seems her soul in heaven

Beckons on to sunny climes

Where he'll join the angel voices

As they sing his good old himes.

__________

BUT THE ROSES WERE RED.

There are visions that rise in my moments of leisure,

When the tree of my dreams with its fruiting is ripe,

When the mind flies away on its pinions of pleasure

In the ringlets that rise from my smoke-mottled pipe.

When the cares of the evening have faded and vanished,

And the sparks struggle upward from cinder and coal,

When the sighs, and the tears, and the doubtings are ban-

ished

And the gardens of dreams in the pictures enroll.

There are roses of pleasure in phantasy spreading
To the kiss of the breeze from their crimson domain
While the blue from the skies on the violet shedding
In its heart is enfolded and treasured again.
There are hopes that with passing of childhood declining,
Faded out as a dream of the night that was gone,
Glowing real as the ghost of a star that is shining
Though the star it was quenched at eternity's dawn.
There are foes that were friends as the thorns of the roses
Deeper strike to the heart than the thorn from the thorn;
There are friends that were foes and the picture discloses
All the love I have lost, all the love I have won;
And the sting of the thorn, and the glow of the blossom
Are the chaff and the grain of a life, but a soul--
Dimly seen in a dream, as the roses embosom--
Mimic stars in the dew--as the smoke from the bowl.
Of my pipe curling up brings the Houris to measure
Dancing days that are done, to the strain of a star
Flying on, ever on--through the mazes of pleasure,
With the shade in the dewdrop, the substance afar,
When the Peri hath gathered the grain 'mid the roses,
Scanty dole of the years, when the summer hath fled--
Shall I cry as the gate of my paradise closes,
"I have planted the thorns, but the roses were red
Still the bee from the blossom hath hastened to cherish

Dewy dow'ries of nectar the roses have paid,
While the nightingale sighed that the roses must perish
Pleading sweet that the stars bosoms be stayed.
When the cheeks of the roses are faded and dying,
When the toil-broken hive of their nectar is fed,
Will the bird chide he breezes, the breezes replying,
To its sighs answer softly, "THE ROSES WERE RED."
When the snow wraps the bloom and the petals are flying
In the arms of the tempest; for summer is fleet,
Shall the bee chide the breezes? The breezes replying,
Answer softly, "Ye chose, and the nectar was sweet."
But the wraiths fade apace, for the light it is dying,
And the pipe is a type of a life it is plain,
But a model to shatter, it's useless the sighing
For the strength or tobacco to start it again,
But a choice and away for the years they are fleet,
THOUGH THE ROSES BE RED AND THE NECTAR BE SWEET.

________
THE VALE OF TO-BE.
How the vale of to-be in our phantasy gleams
From the crest of the hill of to-day,
There is balm for our sorrows and gold for our dreams
And the roses bend over the way.

There are songs that are sweeter than those that are sung
And the waters sing on to the sea;
There are harps that are sweeter than hands ever strung
In the phantasy land of To Be.

There is freedom from tears,
There is rest as the years
As a May-time of happiness flee.
Press along as we may
Still the hill of to-day
Is our task e'er the vale of To Be.

There are hearts that are sad, but are still pressing on
For the light that is ever before;
There are thorns we must tread, there are griefs to be
borne,

There are feet that are weary and sore.
Though we sink by the way
Let us dream of the day
When the heart of its burden is free;
Of its doubt and its gloom
And the roses in bloom
In the deeps of the land To Be.

_____________

IF GROUCHY COMES.

The red charge speeds--A world awaits--

The cast of war, the turn of chance

To break or bind the chains of States.

He swept the field with anxious glance

And strained his ear if winds might tell

Of tread of troops and roll of drums.

If Grouchy cames, then all is well;

The fight is won if Grouchy comes.

The charge flies on amid the rain

Of iron hail that sweeps the field.

They charge, recoil--they form again--

The guard that dies, but scorns to yield.

Those guns that dared a world, they away,

The long lines bend with steel to steel--

A world hangs poised--To horse away.

Speed Grouchy, speed--They give--They reel.

If but thy flags were here unfuried

To turn the scale--if Grouchy's drums

But tip the beam--then round the world

Those drums shall sound. If Grouchy comes

A hand would save. Alas, the crown

Shall fall and France must bend the knee,

Shall wear their chains, shall feel the frown

Of tyrant kinds, because of thee.

__________
THE WAR WOLF.
Grim war lord with thy scourge in hand,
Aye strike, and kill, and blast and blight.
Strew tears abroad. 'Neath iron hand,
And tyrant rule, chain truth and right,
Till lands and seas and worlds shall come
To bow, to tremble, Rome, fierce Rome.
Till time grows ripe, and ages call,
He comes, he comes, the Gaul, the Gaul.
Aye; fierce war breeds, suck snarl and den,
For time; and times to rend and tear
Till cries of pain and shrieks of men,
And dying groans shall fill the air.
Yet time shall turn, shall drive thee home,
Shall say thou wert, Oh Rome, fierce Rome,
With sword and spear thou shalt be hurled
In vengeance down, by angered tome
Shall say thou wert, Oh Rome, fierce Rome.

__________

WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE.

A feeble band-- a swarming foe--

Faint-hearted men and food denied,

With bleeding feet amid the snow,

With bleeding heart he stood and sighed,

Then 'round him rose the cry for food,

For clothes to shield from winter's blast,

Yet firm amid the storm he stood,

Who dares to dare, may win at last.

Around there lay ten thousand foes,

Within the serpent sought to slay,

Red mutiny itself arose

And sickness in the camp held sway.

Brave sir, to yield were better far,

Ere yet the hope of life is past--

He spake--we perish as we are,

Who dares to dare may win at last.

He dared to dare, he dared and won,

He dared when hope from all had flown.

He dared, he saw his labor done--

The land into a giant grown.

He dared an ocean's bound the land;

He dared his flag the seas hath passed;

He dared and millions crown the man;

He dared to dare, he won at last.

__________
A LESSON LEARNED.
When I see the children going
To the school, there comes to me
Just a shade of solemn longing
For the times that used to be.
For of all the happy moments
There are none that ever will
Bring the pleasures of the frolics
At the school upon the hill.

There were houses that were finer,
And the tasks were hard and long;
Where we missed the Latin lesson,
Where we worked the problem wrong.
Where we learned the conjugation
Of the Latin verb Amo,
And when growing still more learned,
Where we wrote it ϕίλέω͵

Where the little notes were passing
'Twixt a little maid and me
While the teacher 'round was gazing,
When we thought he didn't see.
But perhaps he was familiar
With the note and paper ball,
And had seen the missives passing
And his picture on the wall.

Seen the picture done in crayon
Of a creature rude and wild,
Labeled tHis iS oWeR tEAchER
If he did, he only smiled,
For it may be in the ages
That had gone, he'd been to school,
And had been a boy for mischief
And perhaps he knew the rule--

That they speak--the older people--
For "A boy will be a boy."
And the girls will take the letters
As the baby grasps the toy.
If we'd always learn the lesson,
He was kind and gentle; still
There were days of retribution
In the school upon the hill.

And at times the hick'ry hanging
In its place upon the wall,
In his hand was simply taken
To the fear of one and all.
Then the heads were bent in study,
As we heard a whisper say,
Better git yer lessons ready,
Fer the teacher's mad to-day.

But when school was out and over,
There was ball, and marbles,
There were races to the forest
Where the nuts in plenty grew,
And a swim in muddy waters
In the pool below the mill,
If we'd only learned the lesson
At the school upon the hill

Or perhaps we'd missed the spelling,
And the others marching out
Filled the heart with bitter longing
As we heard the merry shout,
While the other boy--rival--
Saw her home--a bitter pill--
While heard the hick'ry singing
In the school upon the hill

Forgotten Alpha-Beta,
If forgotten, most the rest,
Yet I've learned at the least a lesson
That perhaps has served me best--
'Tis to never seek for trouble
In the things of moment small;
Be as blinded as the teacher
To the boyish paper ball.
Not to care what people scribble,
Where's the harm it all can do?
Not to see the ugly picture
People pain for me to view.
If I kicked at every spaniel
As he barked around my heel
I could never tend a duty,
Never till a fertile field;
And it's best to go serenely
If the voice of duty call;
Never see the way I'm painted
In the pictures on the wall.

__________

AS THE LONG YEARS FLOW.
  I gazed at the leaves of the years to be;
   I gazed on the book of time.
  I saw but the braid and the tinselry,
  But the bees at the bloom and the calm kissed sea,
   And the smiles of a sun kissed clime.
   Heigho! Heigho!
  How long the years flow
   As the stream when the sea is nigh,
  And slow, so slow,
  Do the long days go;
   Ah, I wold that a man were I.
  I trod in the path of the dream of years,
   I trod in the press of pain;
  I sought through the veil of the mist of tears,
  I sought for the bloom that the future wears,
   For the bloom of the book in vain.
   Alas! Alas!
  How the swift years pass
   As the stream when the falls are nigh;
  So swift, so swift,
  Mid the years I drift,
   And alas! that a man am I.

__________

THE PLOWMAN
   Here we labor night and morn,
     Mid the dews and burning sun,
     Here amid the waving corn,
      Hopes are high and bread is won,
      In the field,
     In the growing cotton too--
     In the paths our fathers trod,
     Nothing changed and nothing new,
      True to country, home and God,
   True as steel,
   Wealth of health and dearth of gold,
   Clothing worlds, for raiment old,
   Feeding thousands, hungry, cold
   Struggling still,
   Garnered grain and winter rain,
   Fighting hunger, scorning pain
   Hoping when our hopes are vain
   With iron will.
   Songs for wrongs when right had failed
   Heart that hoped when others quailed,
     Hope that drought had dimmed and paled,
      Of better times.
   Feeding all and clothing all,
   Hungry, cold his God may call
   To happy climes
   Thus the plowman sings and goes,
   To his work and dreams again,
   Once again, of warmer clothes:--
   Praying God to send the rain,
   Faithful trust.
   Then at night when fagots blaze,
   Longs for food his hand have made
   Toiling mid the summer days
   Hoping still, a heart is laid
   In the dust.
   When the plowman's work is done,
   When his soul to rest is gone
   God will smile at vic'try won
   God is just.

__________

'TIS PERHAPS AN ANGEL SINGING
   When the cotton fields are whitest
   When the dews reflect the stars
   When the moon is shinning brightest
   Mid the leaves in silver bars
   There's a banjo cabin door
   At a little cabin door
   And a mocking bird is singing
   All the notes of long ago.
   As they blend I pause and ponder
   Of the "Land Way over there"
   And the "Home way over yonder "
   That is free from toil and care
   Is it true, the hope we cherish?
   Is this of joy a dream?
   Is this dream of rest to perish
   Like a leaf upon the stream?
   Is a life a bloom, a blossom
   But a bloom to fade and go,
   Is the hope that fills the bosom
   All the truth the ages know,
   While the banjo's softly ringing
   Starts a tear adown, my cheek
   While the bird is sweetly singing
   Seems as if the angels speak.
   'Tis perhaps an angel speaking
   If we only knew the song,
   'Tis perhaps an angel seeking
   For a soul to banish wrong,
   And a saintly sermon's stealing
   From this lowly cabin door.
   From an humble darkey kneeling
   To his God when labor's o'er
   And perhaps his soul rejoices
   At an angel message heard
   At the strain of angel voices
   In the singing of the bird.

__________

THE TOWN
     A rush, a roar,
     As thousands pour
     Mid hoof beat clang, and furnace glow,
     Foul glided den, and wizened face,
     Fierce hunt for god, wild maddened chase
     For fleeting fortune's smile and lo!
     Fresh thousands come when thousands go
     Struck down struck down,
     The Prince, the clown;
     They came, they wrought, they went, a town.

     For Moloch's gold
     Thy shrines are cold,
     Thou town that men have built, behold
     The childish face, the shrunken frame
     The bud of youth that bloomed for shame,
     They stately temple bells proclaim
     A God that lives alone in name,
     Struck down, struck down,
     One God to crown,
     One God of gold, of greed, a town.

     Rise great and strong,
     Sink weak from wrong,
     Thrive vice these crowded dens among;
     Thrive thieves, with virtue, love with hate
     Gold wars with God beside they gate
     A glass between,--a feast is spread,
     Outside a beggar dies for bread.
     A rush, a roar,
     They dungeon door.
   On other souls hath clanged before
     Thy gold God fled them, worn they trod
     They ways and sought, alone thy God,
     They gold, gold, gold
     Young lives were sold
     And youth was lost for gold, gold, gold,
     Like autumn leaves they flutter down
     At Molech's feet, in death,--a town.

__________

WHO IS THE SLAVE?
( Written on back of photograph of Sans Souci Palace )
   Sans Souci----Should a care be found
   Within thy walls? 'Tis said
   That coronets with care care crowned,
   And restless lies the head,
   That men call hing to laud or hate,
   To load with kingly cares.
   If high thy fame they climb is great
   Thy back more burden bears.
   Thou tinselled fool--men call thee king,
   Their slave--though men may bow,
   That smith who makes his anvil ring,
   That churi who guide his plow
   Is freer far than thou canst be--
   Thou king, men call thee great
   To rule, to sway, command,--but he--
   Is all that props they state.
   Aye welds thy swords, yea brings thee bread
   Thou slave,--his cares are on they head.

__________

LIVES
     A bursting bud, a blowing rose
      A shattered bloom that fades away,
     A dream of spring that comes and goes
      A shade of night, a fading day,
      A life we cry.

     A sky of clouds, a day of rain,
      A wave of storm, a hopeless wreck,
     A blight of doubt, a groan of pain,
      A weed, a leaf, a blot, a speak,
      A groan, a sigh,

     A hope, a fear, a hate, a love,
      A flame that flares and fades away--
     A soul unchained mid leafy grove--
      That roams from toll where breezes stray,
      A spendthrift soul.

     A toil for gain, a strife for greed,
      A heart for none, a breast of stone,
     Who cares not how his victims bleed
      (His pound of flesh) nor heed their groan,
      A miser old.

     A bursting bud, a blooming rose,
      A gleam of sun, a beam of light,
     A summer morn, a stream that goes,
      And sings of spring--a ripple bright,
      A baby sleeps.

     A shattered bloom, a sky of storm,
      A dream of spring, a shade of night,
     A hope, a fear, despair, a form
      She love to fall.--So pale and white,
      A maiden weeps.

__________

PRIDE
   My lady's dress is silk and lace
   And jewels blaze within its fold
   A wealth of gems her fingers grace,
   And sunbeams gleam on burnished gold.

   She lightly wears the lives of men
   Not gems, but lives bedeck her hair;
   For want must work, must sink--but then
   My lady is so wonderous fair.
   She lightly wears the lives of men;
   They toil, they die, to feed her pride.
   They cry for bread, she spruns, but then
   One God will judge them side by side,
   And toil-crushed hearts may wear His crown,
   While gems may drag my lady down.

__________

THE LORD OF THE FIELDS.
   What care have I for gold or fame,
   For wealth or high estate,
   With greater name is greater blame
   For deeds when men are great.
   The king must bear the galling yoke--
   A tool, a toy of fate --
   The king may fear the dagger stroke
   Of those beside his gate.

   The ware lord lies within his tent,
   And dreams his laurels gone,
   His army flies, his columns rent,
   He sees his hopes undone.
   The rich man hoards the gold and gem,
   And quakes lest thieves might steal--
   The king hath mourned the diadem
   Where shattered columns reel.

   Who hath the most may lose the most,
   And great fear hath he,
   The merchant mourns his ships as lost
   When storms spread o'er the sea;
   But I--I sleep. While tempests sweep
   Across the stormy seething deep
   The serf still sings, though vanquished kings
   Shorn of their crowns may bow and weep

   But give oh Lord the hands the health,
   But health and hands to toil,
   I ask not titles great, or wealth.
   I'll win them from the soil.
   When sumbeams pour, when breezes blow,
   When fields are white as drifted snow,
   When sun and rain have gilt the grain
   What need the want of gold to know.

   An uncrowned king I guide my plow,
   For want of this e'e'n kings must bow,
   No laurel wreath shall crown my brow,
   No sculptured shaft tell thousands how
   The curl, the plowman at his plow
   Hath fed this land that kings may reign.
   I need no crown to tell them now
   I rule my fields of waving grain,
   I cloth them all, I give them food.
   A plowman I a pauper rude.

__________

PICTURES BY CONTRAST.
   Lone in her raiment of scarlet,
   Branded by all of her name,
   Bound in her fetters of iron,
   Sold to a life of shame.

   Welcomed in all of the churches,
   Greeted by one and all,
   Opened the doors of the parlor,
   To one who has caused her fall,

   Lone in her raiment of scarlet,
   Saddened, and all alone,
   How should the guilt be divided?
   How should the shame be worn?

   One in the highest of honor,
   One in the lowness of shame,
   Where is the justice of morals
   That mark not a man for blame?

__________

WHEN MELBA SINGS.
   The distant vespers swoon and die
   The trembling aspens kiss the breeze,
   The bird notes sink into a sigh,
   The homing songs of laden bees,
   Are blent in one when Melba sings.

   The waves and tempests war and blend
   As wild and high sweeps on the song,
   The forest creak, and break and rend,
   And hope and fears are swept along
   In one wild note when Melba sings,

   But soft, now zephyrs woo the rose,
   And dew drops glitter through her words;
   The rainbow melts to song and flows
   With mingled moonbeams, mocking birds
   And hushed--Their rival Melba sings.

__________

RUE AND ROSES.
A shade of the roses, a shadow of spring,
A wreath of the cypress, the whirr of a wing,
A smile for the actor, a smile for the play,
The curtain is falling, away and away,

The tints of the morning, the glare of the day,
The glow of the evening, the blooms of the May,
The snows of the winter, the smiles of the spring,
A tear at the parting--the soul is awing.

A love for the maiden, a love for the lad,
A song for the smiling, a hope for the sad,
A hand to the fallen, a crown for the brave,
The shame or the honor are bid in the grave.

The wreath of the cypress, the shadows of night,
The snows of the winter the roses to blight,
The glow of the poppies, the fading of morn,
We go and the evening forgets we are gone.

The rounds of the seasons, the night of the years,
The songs of the singers, the sorrow and tears,
The dirge of the mourner, the shouts of the gay,
Go mingling forever--Its bow and away

__________

SHADOWS AND SUNSHINE
There is always the shade and the shadow,
Be the brightness of June in the morn;
There is always the care and the sorrow
In the hearts that the roses adorn.

And the skies that the clouds never darken
Are the skies never bright with the bow
For the land by the cloud over-shadowed
Is the land with the roses below.

There is bloom from the deeps of the summer
Mid the June in the vale and the plain,
There are hearts that are lightest and brightest
Like the rose blooming under the rain

There are songs for the toil of the reapers,
There are hopes mid the sorrows and fears
When the blooms of the spring have departed,
Come the wealth of the fruits of the years,

As the child in the man and his duties
Leaves the toys that his boyhood engage.
Still the toys of the days of his childhood
Fill the pictures of gold for the sage.

In the dreams of his boyhood the painter
On the canvas his thousands hath thrilled,
And his songs may be ringing and singing
When the heart of poet is stilled.

There is always the shade and the shadow,
Be the brightness of June in the morn,
There is always the care and the sorrow
In the hearts that the roses adorn.

And the gold is the gold in the mountains,
Mid the flames is the gold but the gold,
While the rain form the clouds is descending
Do the hearts of the roses unfold

__________

A LESSON OF REST
Mr. Banker, quit your counter,
Come and stroll around with me.
Dewy pearls are on the roses
And the music of the bee
Tells the tale of earnest effort,
Though you struggle hard to climb,
Let the be convey the lesson
That he rests in winter time.

What's the use to hoard and treasure,
Laying by as idle store;
With the coin the care is added
Ev'ry dollar calls for more.
Though the wealth of all the islands
In you lockers you may hold,
You can never buy the starlight,
Never hoard the daisy's gold.

Mr. Merchant, quit your ledger,
Cease to bend above your scale;
For the mocking bird is singing,
And the calling of the quail,
Floating out along the hedges,
Where the purple berries swing,
Tells a tale of joyous leisure,
For they find the time to sing.

________

RESURGENS.
     (Motto of Atlanta.)
A war blocked street, the war wrecked home,
By day, by night, the siege is laid,
The war shell rends the lordly dome,
The squadrons round about arrayed.

These ruin and smoke and darkest days,
Her children rise and cry for food.
Resurgens still her stout heart says,
These same fair lands still live. that blood,
That vainly flowed, and sought to shield;
And wept within from fertile field,
Must rear again more lordly walls.

Resurgens  still, the east and west
The North, the South have caught the strain;
She wept not at her fate but blessed
Stout hearts, and proudly rose again.

Resurgens all--the eagle flings
Dark clouds aside to mount and rise,
The storm to brave, with weary wings
And float at last in bluer skies.

Resurgens all--to sink beneath,
Fierce frowns of fate were weak indeed,
Each victor wears his laurel wreath,
Because of wounds he scorned to heed.

Resurgens still; to chain the mind
No fate can come, if heart and will
But strive; no fate can break or bind
That soul that cries resurgens still

_________________________________________________________

Colonel Boozer
🝬

Spoken words are shadows merely,
Surging thoughts the substance prove;
Angry words are purchased dearly
Bought by sacrifice of love.

________

KODAK'S OF COLONEL BOOZER.

My childish memories are clustered around a galaxy of
incidents, one of the accidents was Colonel Boozer's friend-
ship, because it was accidental that I let him catch me
in his plum orchard, where, instead of doing as was his
right, and beating me, he told me to help myself and come
again. From that time our friendship grew apace. I be-
came fond of his mendacious society. Bibulous and bom-
bastic to a degree, yet his heart was gold and beat for his
fellow men more than the ordinary run of men who are
counted better. Especially so, since he usually kept it beat-
ing twice as fast by spurring its jaded machinery with
what he was please to call Spiritus Vini Gallici. Colonel
practiced law on a limited scale, from out of his brace of
law books, to-wit: a code and form book, since he deemed
it beneath his dignity to drudge to put it into his head;
ran a little farm by way of gentlemanly exercise and recre-
ation, and sold fertilizers and bought cotton for a profit.
His law practice was hardly successful if opposed by
another lawyer who would stoop to treat, for Colonel would
drink any given quantity and become too mellow to try
his case in order.
However, away from the temptations of the flowing bowl,
during the times when he took the pledge, his farm was a
model of neatness. Not a tree leaned towards the north,
because even thirty years after the war the Colonel was
still a rabid secessionist, and still damned a war that could
only settle a question and not a principle, and during one
of his mellow moods had vowed, and put into execution, to
cut down every d--n tree on his farm that leaned to the
north. He managed to vote his old horse 16 times "agin"
that d--n y----e candidate for president, and lived and
died a moss back Democrat, believing that the rights of the
people could be best preserved, in a "fair square democracy
By God sir" and that Abe Lincoln committed an unpardon-
able sin in freeing the n-----s.
His mint bed was free to his neighbors and as long as it
lasted, his bottle was public property.
In short, Colonel Boozer prided himself on being a "Gen-
tlemen of the Old School by God sir," who believed in
Jeffersonian Democracy (excusing the n-----s voting) n---

--r slavery and good licker. This was part of Colonel

Boozers general make up.

________

COLONEL BOOZER AND THE AIRTHQUKE.
The ground reeled and rocked, the earth swayed and
trembled, the panes of the windows rattled, and wild-eyed
people madly questioned the cause.
Colonel Boozer was dazed. Was it a new style of seeing
snakes. No, for he was in the throes of the latest pledge,
and making a heroic effort to "Rattle the spokes in the
water wogan by God sir, and run her till she heat a spin-
dle rather than touch another drop forever."
It was the great Charleston earthquake. Around flocked
his sons and daughters, and clung to him. Between the
pulsings of fevered earth, the light broke into his brain.
"By God sir," he shouted, "It's an airthquake." Pray for us
Mollie, all I know is Lord make us thankful for what we
are about to receive, and that don't fit here--Pray Mollie--
Pray--Confound it pray.
Miss Mollie, good, sweet, pious and modest, sank upon
her knees at his command while at the centre table knelt
Colonel Boozer.
Over all the rattle and jar of the rushing something that
she knew not the meaning of, rose her clear voice with
sweet truth in Divine Providence, soaring upward without
a quiver, even when old earth quivered and trembled at
the touch of its Maker, and at every telling pause Colonel
Boozer solemnly murmured "Amen, Amen, by God sir
amen," with never a thought of the impiety of his words.
Then out from the table rose a little half snicker half
sneeze. Bob Lee's risibles were excited in spite of the
earthquake, but the Colonel was serious.
Like a flash of lightning rolled his eyes--like a lion
roaring, his voice thundered: "Bob Lee, you little devil,
if you don't stop laughing and let Mollie pray, I'll
take my stick and beat h--l out of you, pray on Mollie
pray on." The next moment a hearty "amen by God sir"
rose in true penitence to the throne--for the words are
as naught if the heart is right.

________

COLONEL BOOZER HAS HIS TEETH EXTRACTED
We are all more or less faddists--Jim Simmons had his
fad. A rare fad it is true, but Jim was a kind of rare fel-
low. His fad was to pull teeth. As a boy he filled the
door posts with plugs and pulled them out again for exer-
cise. His father's hogs often came up tuskless, and the
old mare was forced to eat gruel long before the order of
nature would have called for her to lay down the nubbin
and fodder bundle.
As manhood approached he invested some of his savings
in an ancient pair of "pullikins," and every possible chance,
was taken advantage of to convince "n-----s" that it was
better to have an aching tooth in the pocket than in the
head.
Jim became possessed of a little country store and even
here the fad pursued him. The usual whisky barrel at
the back of the counter became a source of expense rather
than profit, since it usually went to those who had their
teeth extracted and needed a treat. The by-word of the
country was "Jim pulls em fer nothing', an' throws in a
drink."
Colonel Boozer's pockets had been empty for a week with
nothing in prospect for a week more and whisky was cash
Colonel Boozer's "left molar" had been giving him a lot.
of trouble lately, though they do say that teeth without
a single speck on them hardly ever ache. But Colonel

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