O
RARE VERSES ARE AMONG CONTRIBUTED OLD FAVORITES
Many Memorized Rhymes Sent In and Scrapbooks Continue to Give Up Poems by Many Almost Forgotten.
TIIE SUNDAY OREGOXIAX. FORTLAXD. NOVEMBER 2G. 1916.
IMITATIONS of time and space
make it npcessary in handling
the contributions to the page of
Olll
poetry to give precedence to the
copies that are sent in to us in the
bent condition to be turned over to the
printer. For this reason it is hardly
possible to consider contributions that
come in written on both sides of the
paper, or "run in" without regard tc
the stanza form.
Some of our contributors who have
ient in poems will perhaps find in this
an explanation of why their contribu
tions have not been handled as prompt
ly as others, or have failed to appear.
As to the requests for publication
of old favorites, they are received in
such quantity that it is a well-nigh
hopeless task to attempt to keep up
with them at times, and as a result
a request sen in may not be published
for some time after its receipt, and
the poem asked for may not appear
for some time thereafter. Effort is
made, however, to handle all the re
quests that are spnt in. but readers
must grant their Indulgence if the par
ticular poem for which they have asked
does not appear in tha next issuej fol
lowing their request.
"Shells of Ocean," which was re
quested several weeks ago. and which
appears on this page, has been sent
in by Mrs. Grace Lee Tichenor, Miss
Duff and other contributors who did
not give their names.
We have also received copies of the
"Wreck of the Julie Plante." which
was asked for last week, from Ruth
Luce, Kdward W. Reynolds and others.
Among the requests received is one
from Mrs. Tichenor for "K Pluribus
Crura" and for the poem which runs:
High In the belfry the old sexton
stands.
Grasping the rope with his thin bony
hands.
And the refrain:
King the bell, watchman! Ring, ring,
ring!
Tes, yes: the good news is now on the
wing:
Tes, yes; we come with tidings- to
tell
Glorious, blessed tidings Ring, ring.
bell! I
Mrs. S. J. Galloway asks for "The
Vengeance of McClain" and for "The
First Christmas Tree in New England."
The former poem contains the lines:
McClain. you've scourged me like a
hound :
Ton should have struck me to the
ground;
Toil should have played a. chieftain's
part,
Tou should have, stabbed me to the
heart;
And for this wrong which you have
done
I'll wreak my vengeance on your son.
"Roses Underneath the Snow" and
"Christine Le Roy" are requested by
another reader.
Mrs. A. L. Neville, of Milwaukee,
wishes all of the poem:
Sweet prospects, sweet birds and sweet
flowers.
Have all lost their beauty to me:
The midsummer sun shines but dim;
The flowers strive in vain to look
gay
Another poem, entitled "Old Iron
sides," is wanted by Mis. Stewart, of
Astoria. It begins:
Old Ironsides at anchor lay in the har
bor of Mahone:
A dead calm rested on the bay; the
waves to sleep had gone.
The following from Appleton's
reader is wanted in Its entirety:
Out of the way in the corner of our
dear old attic room
An oaken chest Is standing with hasp
and padlock and key.
As strong as the hands that made it
on the other side of the sea.
A rather entertaining bit in the
weekly pile - of contributions to the
page is a clipping of "The Lost Sheep"
or "De Shepfol Bin," sent by one of
our readers, which we have identified
as having come originally from the
old poetry page published some six
months ago.
The "Wreck of the Julie Plante,"
which was requested last week, is
herewith reprinted:
THE WKEtK OK TUB "Jl'LIK
PI.ANTK."
By William H. Drummond.
Oh, wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre,
De win' she blow! blow! blow! ,
An' de crew of de wood scow "Julie
Plante"
Got scart an' run below.
For de win' she blow lak hurricane
Bimeby she blow some more.
An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre
Wan arpent from de shore.
De Captaine walk on de fron' deck.
An' walk de hin' deck, too:
He call de crew up from de hole.
He call de cook also.
!De cook, she name was Rosie.
She come from Montreal;
"Was chambre maid on lumber barge
On la grande Leclime Canal.
De win' she blow from nor', eas', wes';
De pout' win' she blow too.
Wen Rosie cry, "Mon cher Captaine,
"Mon cher, wat shall I do?"
Den Captaine trow he big ankerre
But still de scow she dreef;
De crew he can't pass on de shore,
Becos' he lose hee's skeef.
De night was dark lak wan black cat.
De wave run h irrh an' fas'.
"Wen de Captaine tak de Rosie girl
An' tie her to de mas'.
Den he also tak he life preserve
An' Jomp off on de lak;
An' say. "Good-bye. ma Rosie, dear;
I go down for your sak!"
Kex' mornin' very early,
'Bout ha'f pas' two. tree, four,
De Captaine's scow an' poor Rosie
Was corpses on de shore:
For de win' she blow lak hurricane,
Bimeby she blow some more.
An' de scow bus' up on Iac St. Pierre,
Wan arpent from de shore.
MORAL.
Now, all good wood-scow sailor man,
Tak warnin' by dat storm.
An' go marry some nice French girl.
An' leev' on wan beeg farm:
De win' can blow lak hurricane.
An spose she blow some more:
Tou can't get drowned on Lac St.
rierre
So long you stay on shore.
"Kay," of Portland, sends the follow
ing pretty lyric, by an unknown author
THK NOHTHKKN STAI1.
(A Thynemouth Ship.)
The Northern Star
Sailed over the bar.
Bound to the Baltic Sea;
In the morning gray
She stretched away;
'Twas a weary day for me.
For many an hour
In sleet and shower
By the lighthouse rock I stray.
And watch till dark
For the winged bark
Of him that is far away.
The castle's hound
I wander round,
Amidst the grassy graves:
But all I hear
Is the north wind drear,
AnU all I see the waves.
The Northern Star
Is set afar!
Set in the Baltic Sea.
And the waves have spread
The sandy bed
That holds my love from me.
Royce Waldrip, of Cosmopolis, sends
L
"The Ship That Never Returned." re
quested recently: 1
THK SHIP THAT XKVER.RKTl llMiU.
On a Summer day, as the waves were
rippling.
By the toft, gentle breeze.
Did a ship set sail with her cargo,
laden
For a port beyond the seas.
There were sweet farewells, there
were loving signals.
And her fate was yet unlearned;
Thoug.i they knew it not 'twas a sol
emn party
On the ship that never returned.
CHORUS.
Did she never return? She never re
turned. And her fate was yet unlearned.
Though for years and years there were
fond ones watching.
For the sliip that never returned.
Said a feeble lad to his anxious mother,
"I must cross the wide, wide sea;
For they say, perchance, in a foreign
clime.
There i health and strength for me."
'Twas a gleam of hope in a muse of
danger.
And her heart for Zier youngest
yearned.
Though she sent him forth with a smllo
and blessing
On the ship that never returned.
"Only one more trip." said a gallant
seaman.
As he kissed his weeping wife:
"Only one more bag of the golden
treasure,
And 'twill last us all through life.
Then we'll spend our days in our cozy
cottage.
And enjoy the sweet rest we earned";
But alas! poor man, who sailed com
mander On the ship that never returned.
"The Jackdaw of Rheims" is contrib
uted by Ruth Luce.
Til K JACKDAW OF ItHKIMS.
By li. H. Barham.
The Jackdaw sat on the cardinal's
chair.
Bishop and abbot and prior were there;
Many a monk, and many a friar, ,
Many a knight, and many a sciuire.
With a great ajnany more of lesser de
gree
In sooth, a goodly comnanv:
And they served tho Lord Primate on
bended knee.
Never, I ween.
Was a prouder scene.
Read of in books or dreamt of in
dreama
Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of
lineims!
In and out
Through the motley rout
That little Jackdaw kept hopping
about;
Here and there.
Like a dog in "a fair.
Over comfits and cakes
And dishes and plates.
Cowl and cope and rochet and -pall.
Mitre and crozier! He hopped upon all
With a saucy air
He perched on the chair
Where, in state, the great Lord Cardi
nal sat.
In the great Lord Cardinal's great red
hat;
And he peered in the face of Vis
Lordship's Grace
With a satisfied look as if he would
say:
We two are the greatest folks here
today!"
And the priests with awe.
As such freaks they. saw.
Said, "The deuce must be in that little
Jackdaw."
II.
The feast was over and "the board was
cleared; .
The flawns and the custards had all
disappeared.
And six little Binging boys, dear little
souls.
In nice cJean faces and nice white
stoles.
Came in order due.
Two by two.
Marching that great refectory
throu gh !
A nice little boy held a golden ewer.
Kmbossed and filled with water pure
As any that flows between Rheims and
Namur,
Which a nice little boy stood ready to
catch
In a fine golden hand basin made to
match.
Two nice little boys rather more grown
Carried lavender water and eau de Co
logne.
And a nice little boy had a nice cake
of soap.
Worthy of washing the hands of
Pope.
One little boy more
A napkin bore.
Of the best white diaper, fringed in
pink.
And a Cardinal's hat marked in "per
manent ink."
HI
The great Lord Cardinal turns at the
sight
Of these little boys dressed all in white.
From his finger he draws
His costly turquoise.
And, not thinking at all about little
jackdaws.
Deposits it straight
By the side of his plate.
While the nice little boys .on His
Eminence wait;
Till, when nobody's dreaming of any
such thinf.
That little jackdaw hops oft with the
ring!
IV.
There's a cry and a
And a terrible rotit.
And nobody- seems
shout
to know
what
they're about.
But the monks have their pockets all
turned inside out;
The friars are kneeling
And hunting and feeling
The carpet, the floor and the walls
and- the ceiling.
The Cardinal drew
Off each pium-colored shoe
And left his red stockings exposed
to the view:
He peeps and he feels
In the toes and the heels;
They turn tip the dishes, they turn up
the plates.
They take up the poker and poke out
the grates.
They turn up the rugs.
They examine the mugs
But no! no such thing.
They can't find the ring!
The 'Cardinal., rose with a dignified
look.
He called for his candle, his bell and
his book!
In holy anger aud pious grief
He solemnly cursed that rascally thief.
Never was heard such a terrible curse;
But what gave rise
To no little surprise, 'i
Nobody seemed one pnny the worse! j
The day was gone. ,
The night came on, "
The monks and ' friars they ' searched
till dawn.
When the sacristan saw.
On crumpled claw.
Come limping a poor little lame jack
daw! No longer gay.
As on yesterday;
His feathers all seemed to be turned
the wrong way.
His pinions drooped, he could hardiy
stand.
His head was as bald as the palm of
. your hand;
His eye so dim.
So wasted each limb.
Regardless of grammar they all cried
"That's him!"
"That's the scamp that has done this
scandalous thing,
"That's the thief that has got my Lord
Cardinal's ring!"
v rsitc svr i
f- s. Hi' " "
- -
The poor little jackdaw
When the monks he saw
Feebly gave vent to a ghost of a caw.
And turned his bald head as much as to
say.
"Pray be so good as to walk this way!"
Slower and slower
lie limped on as before,
Till they came to the back of the belfry
door.
When the first thing they saw
Midst the sticks and the straw.
Was the ring in the nest of that little
jackdaw!
Then the great Lord Cardinal called
for his book.
And off that terrible curse he took;
The mute expression
Served in lieu of confession.
And being thus coupled with full res
titution. The jackdaw got plenary absolution!
When those words were heard.
The poor little bird
Was so changed in a moment, twas
really absurd.
He grew sleek and fat,
In addition to that,
A fresh crop of feathers came thick as
a mat ! ,
His tail wagged more
Even than before;.
But no longer it wagged with an im
pudent air.
No longer he perched on the Cardinal's
chair.
He hopped now about
With a gait devout.
At matins, at vespers, he never was out.
And, so far from any more pilfering
deeds.
He seemed always telling the Confes
sor's beads.
If anyone lied or if anyone swore.
Or slumbered In prayer-time and hap
pened to snore.
That good jackdaw
Would give a great "Caw!"
As much as to say, "Don't do so any
more."
While many remarked, as his manners
they saw.
They never had known such a pious
jackdaw!
He long lived the pride
Of that countryside.
And at last In the odor of sanctity died.
When, as words were too faint
His merits to paint.
The Conclave determined to make him
a Saint.
And on newly-made Saints and Popes.
as you know.
It's the custom at Rome new names
to bestow.
So the-y canonized him- by the name of
Jim Crow!
"The Debating Society" has furnished
material for elocutionists and imper
sonators for years and is, still a prime
favorite. Ruth Luce sends the fol
lowing copy. In response to the request
of one of our readers published some
weeks ago:
THK DKBATINfi SOflKTV.
BY EUGENE J. HALL.
An old wooden schoolhouse, worn, bat
tered and brown, X
Stil stands on a hill, in a New Hamp
shire town.
Its rafters are rotten, its floor is de
cayed. The chinks in the ceiling by rhildren
were made;
Its benches are broken, its threshold
worn.
The maps on the walls are discolored
end torn;
Its rickety desk. Its tall, splint-bottomed
chair
And old-fashioned stove are all out of
repair.
Forlorn anil forsaken and left to decay.
It stands on the hilltop, a ruin today.
Here met long ago, on one evening in
seven.
The rustic wjseacres "o district
eleven,"'
For social amusement and earnest de
bate On questions of freedom, of finance and
state.
Here gathered the neighbors all gaily
together.
To talk -f the times, of the crops and
the weather.
Here came the "old fogies." in coats
of dark blue.
And matrons who whispered of things
that they knew:
The .bashful young boys with their
sleek shining hair.
The bright blushing girls, who they
thought were so fair;
And many dark spinsters, forbidding
and chill,-
Who frowned at "those children that
wouldn't keep still.
'Twas Saturday night, and the weather
was clear.
The sleighbells were ringing, delight
il tri hnr'
Tht. monnlle-ht illumined the hollows
below
And glistened and gleamed on the
"beautiful snow,"
While floated away on the cold, frosty
air
The curling white smoke from the
farmhouses there.
Before the old schoolhouse. secured In
a row.
The horses were pawing and tramping
the snow.
A warm fire burned bright in the old-
fashioned stove.
The light from the candles gleamed out
through the grove.
The schoolroom was filled with "the
pride of the place."
And pleasure was seen on each mirth-
beaming face.
Squire Sallit was "chosen to sit in the
chair t
He walked to the desk with a dignified
air.
And, fixing his eyes on the ceiling o'er
head.
yC&Jlt
One Summer eve, with pensive thought,
I wandered on the sea-beat shore.
Where oft, in guileless, infant sport
I gathered shells in days of yore.
The throbbing waves like music fell.
Responsive to my fancy wild;
A dream came o'er me like a spell,
I thought I Was again a child.
I stooped upon the pebbly strand
To cull the toys that 'round me lay.
And as I took them in my hand
I threw them one by one away.
Oh, thus I said, in ev'ry stage
By toys our fancy is beguiled,
IV e gathefshells from youth to age
And then we leave them, like a child.
He
sat for a time, thinking what
should be said;
Then, placing one hand on his smooth
shaver chin.
He pushed back his chair and arose to
begin:
"Ahem!"
The room had grown still, not a whis
per was heard.
All listened to hear his first audible
word
"A-ha! a-hem!"
He quietly clasped his huge hands on
his chest.
He twirled his thick thumbs o'er his
black satin vest.
And, wagging his round, shining, com
ical head.
He drew a long breath and then sol
emnly saia: f
"A.-nt! a-hem! males ana gentlemen,
an' feller citizens: a-ha! a-hem!"
A little girl giggled, a staid spinster
frowned:
He suddenly stopped and looked grave
ly around.
And then, quite confused, without pur
pose or plan.
He grasped the desk with both hands
and began:
'"A-ha! a-hem! a has I said before,
ahem! Ladies an gentlemen an feller
citizens, a-ha! a-hem! We hev come
together this evenin' fer the pupus o',
a-ha!' a-hem! or ruther fur the osten
sible puppus o' a-hem! suppressln' the
press an' the a-ha! a-hem! a hevils o'
the press w'ich is comin' so aha. a-hem f
'presslve. A-ha! a-hem! Ladies an'
gentlemen an' feller citizens, the press,
an' the a-ha! a-hem! a hevils o' the
press is be comin' very aha, a-hem!
'presslve 'pressive to you and 'pressive
to a-ha !a-hetn! me: an' therefore, 'tis
to be ho-ped that you will take the
best means o' suppressln! the press an
the a-ha! a hevils o' the a-ha! a-hem!
press, w'ich Is becomin' so, a-ha,
a-hem! 'presslve.
"A-ha! a-hem! Ladies and gentle
men an feller citizens, a-ha! a-havln'
considered the subject, a-ha! a-havin'
giv' you my, a-ha! a-hull idees on't.
a-ha! a-havin' showed the necesssity o'
suppressin' the, a-ha! a-hem! press an'
tne a-na: a-hevils o the a-ha! a-hem!
press, w'ich is becomin' so 'presslve, J
leave the a-ha la-hem! press an" the
a-ha! a-hevils o' the a-ha! a-hem! press
to the debate of those app'inted fur the
a-ha! a-hem! puppus."
He drew his silk handkerchief forth
Irom his hat:
He wiped his moist features and down
ward he sat.
Forgetting his chair had been pushed
to me wail.
He sank to the floor with a terrible
tall.
The old schoolhouse trembled from
rafter to sill.
Above the old desk, near his over
turned seat.
Arose the great soles of his picturesque
feet.
Like haystacks that stand on the brow
of a bill.
He leaned to his feet with a scratch on
his nose
And asked in a quiet but crestfallen
way:
Hez nobody present got nothin' to
say?" .
Then modestly hushed the innln
that arose.
Soon young Teter Plumsted attemepted
His" accents were low and exceedingly'
" (ran .
He twisted his fingers, he shuffled his
i eel,
His plain, nervous features "turned
red as a beet"
He fastenedvhia eyes on a crack on the
floor.
He stood in . confusion a. ml.....
more.
With quivering lins tul ,hK...in
knees.
And faltered In fright "a few fee hie
idees.
'M-Alr. Chairman. I told
ef they'd co-come to-to this me-meet-
mg to-tonight th-that I-I would speak
to-to this me-meeting to-tonight. an"
so ou-our folks co-come to this me
meeting to-night, an ez I-I told ou-our
ioiks mat 1-1 would sneak to-to thi.
me-meetin' tonight. I-I am goln' to-to
speak to-to this me-meetin' tonight.
Ou-our folks Is here to-to this meetin'
tonignt an other fo-folks is here to-to
this meetin' tonight. Wh-what I was
goin" to say was that ou-our folks-a-what
I wa-wanted to say was that ou
our folks, a-with the-tbese -f-few re
marks I-I coincide with your views."
He might have said more had not Solo
mon Creech.
Who stuttered and stammered some
times in his speech.
Arose with a smile on his rubicund
face
And struggled to tell what he thought
of the case.
' "Mr. T-t-t-t-t Mr. T-t-t-t-t Mr T-t-t-t-t
W-w-w-why Mr. T-t-t-t."
He sank to his seat with a look of dis
may The words would not come, what he
wanted to say.
A sturdy young farmer, with coarse
tawny hair.
Arose to his feet, with a curious stare.
And, scratching the top of his ponder
ous head.
He turned to the chairman and earnest
ly said:
"I doan't b'leeve in s'pressin' on the
cider press, cox ef I did. what 'ud I do
with my appels. Hey? Ef we went to
s pressin on the cider press, what 'ud
we do fur cider? Ef we didn't hev cider,
what nd we du fur b'iled cider? Ef we
oldn t hev b'iled cider, what ud we du
fer appel sass? Life 'thout appel sass
ua te
; 'Ez like a schooner 'thout a sail.
A
fs
Ez like" a comet 'thout a tall.
Ka like a riddle 'thout a bow.
Or like a Winjer 'thout a-a-a-snow. "
Then old Deacon Barlow, who couldn't
restrain
His thoughts on the subject, arose to
explain:
"Neighbor Pettibone. we wa'nt a
talkln' on the cider press, we wuz a
talkin' on the println' press."
Then followed a pause of five minutes
or. more,
'Till Israel Hubbard walked out on the
floor.
He grasped the lapels of his ancient
gray coat.
He soherlv cleared his unmusical
throat.
And. raising his voice to a high nasal
key.
He made a great "p'lnt" that nobody
could, see:
"Mls-ter Mawderater, this er sup
pressln' the press rayminds me o" the
ten var-gins. who got an in-vite to a
big weddln'. In the scrip-tur's. Five
ware wise and five ware foolish. Five
tuck He and five tuck no He, and the
hull ten went an' sot down on a big
stun by the bridegroom's door. Bime
by they looked up an' seen the weddln'
a-comln, an' the five that tuck ile riz
jup, lit a match an' li: the'r lamps. But
rthe five that tuck no tie didn't get up.
didn't light a match and didn't light
the'r lamps; an' then the five that tuk
no Ile said to the five that tuk lie. 'give
us o' He.' but the Ave that tuk He said
to the- five that tuk no lie. 'We shall
not give thee any lie, leastwise we
won't have any ile fur ourselves.' My
friends, if we go to suppressln' the
printin' press we won't hav eny light
fer ourselves."
Being moved by the, spirit, a Quaker In
gray.
With two tones in his voice, then pro
ceeded to say:
"Tea. verily, brethren, j-ea. . verily,
sisters, yea. verily, each an" all o' you.
the spirit urgeth an' beseecheth me to
say that there is a great deal o' human
natur in mankind, especially the wlm
min." The Quaker sat down and old Ichabod
Pease
Exclaimed without rising, "Them's
solid idees!"
While, back in a corner, a greenhorn
from Goshen
Cried out to the chairman, "I second
the motion."
Squire Sollit looked puzzled, then
frowned at his wife
And rapped on the desk with his
broken Jackknlfe. -
The room was soon silent; the chair
man inquired:
"Ef nobody else who was present de
sired
To make a few feeble remarks or ex
press
Some simple idees a-ha! a-hem! upon
tne press.
A young man arose to the tips of his
toes.
ho, gracefully wiping his aquiline
nose.
Began in a mellow and womanlike
tone
To let the great question at Issue
alone
"Mistah Speakah. sah, I suppose you
ah not familyah with ouah ways in
Boston, but we ah familyah with youah
ways yah. What I have seen yah to
tonight cawys me hack to the sunny
houhs of childhood would that wah
but a hoy or girl again. Many yahs
ago I Juced to sit on jondah little seat
myself. when me little feet could
scarcely touch the floah. I was vewy
happy then. Am I happy now? Pon
me honnah. I don't know but would
that I wah but a boy or girl again
Two little boys Juced to attend these
meetings togethah. In the sw-eet long
ago; the appellation of one was John
the cognomen of the othah was Phil
andah. Now John was an exceedingly
bad little boy. but Philandah (every
body loved Utile Philandah) was
vewy good little boy. After many yahs
those two little boys gwew up to be
men. John, as a mattah of coas.
made a vewy bad man and finally got
into state's pwtson foah stelins: hams:
but Philandah, deah iitt Philandah.
is now one of the most Inflpential and
wespertable citizens of Boston. Be
hold him yah: he stands befoah you;
that good little boy was myself.'
As soon as Philander had taken his
seat.
Theoophilus Tomllnson sprang to his
feet.
Just home for vacation from old Dart
mouth College,
His mind overflowing with classical
knowledge
He poured forth a flood of grandilo
quent prose
And brought the debate to a glorious
Close.
"Mr-r-r. Pr-r-resident. sir-r, fr-r-r
rom the Immor-r-rtal time when our
gl-or-r-rious PH-gr-Csrim Father-r-rs
br-r-rought the star-r-r-spangled ban
nerrr to this rtuntr-r-ry, s4r-r-, we
have been a p-hatr-r-riotic Nation.
They pl-antc-d upon the sacr-r-red soil
of Massachusetts, slr-r-, the fir-r-rst
gr'r-reat pr-r-rlnciples of lib-er-r-rty
sir-r-r. Who can look upon our-r-r
beauteous banner-r-r without emotions
of pr-r-ride and p-hatr-r-riotism
sir-r-r? Who can stand beneath its
star-r-ry folds without a thr-r-rill 8f
rapture and delight, sir-r-r? . The
gr-r-randest sensation of my soul is
the lnwar-r-r-rd consciousness of be
ing an Amer-r-rlcan citizen, sir-r-r. In
union is str-r-rength, in str-r-rength
is might, in might is victor-r-r-ry,
sir-r-r. Let Xor-r-reisn foes who loan
to kill heboid our banner-r-r and be
till. Let them per-r-rmlt that un-compar-r-rable
bird, the American
eagle, to per-r-rcn for-r-rever. undls-tur-r-rbed.
upon the r-r-rock-r-r-rtb-bed
summits of her-r-r native hills. To
r-r-rise, to descend, and. like the fha
bled ph-hoenlx. --r-rlse again to sweep
from tor-r-rid gulf to f r-r-r-rozen sea.
to b-bathe her-r-r br-r-reast within
the b-bounriing billows of the br-r-road
Atlantic, and westwar-r-rd. like the
star-r-r of empire,, take her-r way.
until she dtps her-r-r wings within the
salt spr-r-rays of the phonder-r-rous
Pacific. to soar-r-r. sir ww-why,
g-S-gentlemen. t-t-to soar, slr-r-r, t-til
she gets so so-r-re. slr-r-r. that she's
utter-r-r-rly unable to soar-r-r any
mor-r-re. sir-r-r!"
He sank out of sight and the Squire
with a sigh
Said: "Ahem; this ere - meetin's ad
journed sin or die."
Those simple old farmers have all
passed away.
The children who laughed are now
careworn and gray.
But still on the hill in that New Hamp
shire town
The ruined old schoolhouse stands.
battered and brown.
Forlorn and forsaken and left to de
cay. The old-tashioned schoolroom is vacant
today.
"Alec Yeaton's Son." by Thomas Bai
ley Aldrich, is contributed by "Kay,"
of Portland:
Al.KC YKATOXT U,
The wind it wailed, the wind it moaned.
And the whitecaps flecked the sea;
"And I would to God." the skipper
groaned.
"I had not my boy with me!"
Snug In the tern sheets, little John
Laug.ied as the scud swept by;
But the skipper's sunburnt cheek
grew wan
As he watched the wicked sky.
"Would he were at his mother's side!"
And the skipper's eyes were dim.
"Good Lord In heaven, if ill betide.
What would become of him?
"For me. my miwrlea are as steel.
For me let liap' what may:
I might make shift upon the kneel
Until the break o' day.
"But he, he is so weak and small.
Jo young, scarce learned to stand
O pitying father of us all.
1 trust him in thy hand!
For thou, who markest from on high
A sparrow's fall, each one!
Surely, o Lord, thou'lt have an eye
On Alec Yeaton's son!". .
Then, helm hard aport. right straight
he sailed.
Toward the .leadland light!
The wind it moaned, the wind It wailed.
And black, black fell the night.
Then burst a storm to make one quail.
i nougn housed from winds and
waves
They who can tell about that gale
-Must rle from watery graves!
Sudden It came, as sudden went;
Lre .ialr the night was sped.
The winds were hushed, the wavea
were spent.
And the stars shone overhead.
Now. as the morning mist grew thin.
Tne folks on Gloucester shore
Saw a little figure floating In.
secure on a broken oar!
Up rose a cry. "A wreck! A wreck!
Pull, mates, and waste no breatti!"
They knew it. though. 't'u but a
speck
Upon the edge of death!
Long did they marvel In the town
At God. his strange decree
That let the stalwart skipper drown.
Ana tne little e;itld go free!
The following sent In by Mrs. E. L.
Scobee. of Hood River, Is a Jolly old
song f the Civil War times:
KINGDOM COMIN.
Say. darkies, hab you Been de massa.
With a mustache on his face:
Go 'long de road some time dls mornin'
Like he's gwine for to leave de place?
He seen de smoke way down de ribber
V here de Linkum gum boats lay.
He took his hat an' he left berry sud
den. An' I spec's he's run away.
Chorus.
De massa run. ha. ha,
De darkies stay, ho. ho.
It mus' be now de kingdom's comin"
In de year of Jubilo.
He's six foot one way, two foot t'other
And he weighs three hundred pounds.
His coat so big that he couldn't pay
tne tailor.
An" it won't go half way "round.
He drills so much they call him Cap'n
An- he gets so drefful tanned.
I spec's he'll try an fool dem Yankees,
for dey think he s contraband.
De oberseer he make us trubble
An" we drive him 'round a SDell.
We lock him up in de smokehouse cel
lar.
Wld de key thrown In de well.
De whip am lost, de han'cufT broken.
An' de massa 'It get his pay;
He's big enough, old enough, aught to
know hetter
Than to went an' run away.
De darkies get so lonesome livin"
In de log house all alone. "
Dey'll move dere things to massa's par
lor.
For to keep it while he's gone.
Dere's wine an' cider in de kitchen
An de darkles dey'll hab some.
I spec's dey'll all be confiscated
When de Linkum sojers come.
Miss Fay Shaw, of Coquille, sends the
rollowlng:
SHE WORK A W RK TH OF BOSKS,
She wore a wreath of roses
The first night that we met:
Her lovely face was smiling
Beneath her carls of Jet:
Her footsteps had the lightness.
Her voice the Joyous tone.
The tokens of a youthful heart
Where sorrow is unknown;
I saw her but a moment.
Yet methlnks I see her now.
With the wreath of Summer flowers
Upon her snowy brow.
I
A wreath of orange blossoms.
When next we met she wore:
Th' expression on her features
Was more thoughtful than before.
And standing by her side was one
Who strove, and not in vain.
To soothe her. leaving that dear home
- she ne er might view again.
I saw her but a moment.
Yet methinks I see her now.
With a wreath of orange blossoms
Upon her snowy brow.
And once again T see that brow.
No bridal youth is there;
The widow's somber cap conceals
Her once luxuriant hair.
She weeps In silent solitude.
And there is no one near .
To. press her hand within his own
And wipe, away the tear.
I see her broken-hearted!
Yet methinks I see her now.
In the pride of youth and beauty.
With a garland on her brow.
"Social DinUDcUona," contributed by
Mrs. Theodore Jeffries, of Newberg. Is a
recitation she memorized 40 years ago:
SOCIAL DISTINCTIONS.
In this great social world there are cer
tain fixed laws
Which for ages have been, and for
years will endure:
A line of distinction society draws
'Twixt the king and the beggar, the
rich and the poor.
Ah! how well may we tell where this
boundary lies;
Where fortune's fair goddess may
smile or may frown
A line o'er which genius triumphantly
flies
From the lowest of hearths to the
highest renown?
Men are by nature determined to rise;
Their lofty ambition and infinite
pride
Know no limit or end be they foolish
or wise.
They feel that this great world is
boundless and wide;
There is room for great deeds, there
are triumphs to gain.
There are hardships to bear, there is
trouble and pain.
Yet onward they rush in their restless
career.
To ruin or glory, from cradle to bier.
All are scholars that toil in life's wear
isome school:
One is wise, one's a rogue and an
other's a tool:
Another is loved for his generous heart.
Another la flattered because he is
smart.
Another is hooted because he is mean.
And another is laughed at because he
is green.
Yet greater than genius or talent or
brain.
Is the lofty distinction which money
will gain.
Oh. thou glittering gold, thou conquer
est renown!
Thy power Is ever stupendous and
grand.
Thou buildest up empires, thou throw
est them down:
As a wave of the ocean sweeps over
the sand!
The miser may gloat o'er his Ill-gotten
gain:
They make him a mighty and abso
lute king
Though his heart be as black as the
garment he wears
If he only has wealth, for his fail
ings who cares?
There's a fair-featured
youth full of
exquisite airs.
With a mustache of
semi-invisible
hairs.
The fair ladles smile
it his splendor
and style.
While he smirks and struts on In
triumph and conceit.
He has nothing to do but to run in the
streets.
They glance at his diamonds and
beautiful clothes
With a passionate sigh. "Oh. why don't
he propose?
They turn up their noses In haughty
disdain
At a man In plain clothes and an
atom of brain.
Oh. mothers, what marvelous changes
are wrought
In a few fleeting years, for no longer
you learn
The sensible lessens your mothers were
taught.
Tou dress your fair daughters In vel
vet and satin:
Tou have them instructed in music
and Latin:
Tou teach them that labor Is always
degrading:
That ladies should ever have nothing
to do
But sit In the parlor or go promenad
ing.
Were these the life lessons your
mothers taught you?
There's a time when all earthly dis
tinction shall end.
When earth's fairest forms shall all
droop and decay;
We shall meet o'er the river as broth
ers and friends,
When earth's fading beauties have
all passed away.
All the fame and renown of this wide
world below.
All the pride of mankind must eter
nally fall.
At:d the only distinction that God will
bestow
Is he who Is best shall be greatest
of all.
Mrs. L. A. Fries, of Vancouver, sends
the following:
SWINGING IN THK I.ANK.
How oft we talk of childhood sports.
Of tricks we used to play
Upon each other while at school
To pass the time away.
The boys and girls would often go
A-flshing in the brook.
With spools of thread for fishing lines
And bended pins lor nooks.
They often wished me with them, too.
But only wished In vain
J'd rather be with Rosanelle,
A-swlnglng In the lane.
But O. a cloud of sorrow came:
A strange young man from town
Was Introduced to Rosanelle
By Ann Gemlma Brown.
She stayed away from school one day;
The truth to me was plain;
She'd gone with that young city chap
A-swlngtng In the lane.
Now all young men with tender hearts.
Pray take advice by me;
Don't be so quick to fall In love
With every girl you see.
For If you do you soon will find
Tou've only loved In vain.
For she'll go off with some other chap
A-swlnglng Jn the lane.
And O. how often have I longed
For those bright days again.
When little Rosanelle and I
Went swinging In the lane.
Jane Livingstone de
following, which was
quested:
OCTOnF.R'S BRHiHT
Lin sends the
recently re
nt. IK WK.l.
THKH.
O sun and skies and clouds of June.
And flowers of June together.
Te cannot rival for one hour
October's bright blue weather.
When loud the bumblebee makes haste.
Belated, thriftless vagrant.
And goldenrod is dying fast
And lanes with grapes are fragrant.
When gentians roll their fringes tight
To save them for the morning.
And chestnuts fall from satin burrs
Without a word of warning;
When on the ground red apples lie
In piles, like jewels shining.
And redder still on old stone walls
Are leaves of woodbine twining;
When all the lovely wayside things
Their whltewinged seeds are sowing
And in the fields, still fair and green.
Late aftermaths are growing;
When springs run low. and on the
brook.
In Idle golden freighting.
Bright leaves sink noiseless in the
hush
Of woods, for Winter waiting;
O sun and skiea and flowers of June.
Count all your boasts together.
Love loveth best of all the year
October's bright blue weather.
" ' Helen Hunt Jackson.