THE SUNDAY OREGONULX, PORTLAXD, . JTTLT 1, 1917.
MORE FAVORITE POEMS ANSWER NUMEROUS REQUESTS
'8
THE responses to the request re
cently published tor Whlttlers
poem. "In School Days," has
brought an overwhelming list of re
sponses. Following: are contributors whose
copies of this poem we wish to ac
knowledge: Mrs. S. E. "Woodman, F.
Wilkinson, of Portland; Miss A. M.
BDOoner. of Dayton: Alice Lanpher, Mrs.
A. Bonde, Elizabeth Cadwell Cady, Jane
De Lin. of Portland: Dr. Pelham, of
Union; Mrs. Edith Gardner, of Gresnam;
Inez Fanshier, of Tenino; Miss Ger
trude Coine. of Kalama; Mrs. Mabel
Hart, of Vale; Mrs. Harry Hooper, of
Antclnne: Mrs. E. J. Simpson, or tsux
ton. and others who did not give their
names: v
The poem Is reprinted herewith.
THE SCHOOLHOUSE.
fitlll sits the schoolhouse by the road,
A ragsed beggar sunning-;
Around It still the sumachs grow.
And blackberry vines are running.
Within, the master's desk is seen.
Deep scarred by raps official;
The warping floor, the battered seats.
The Jackknife's carved Initial.
The charcoal frescos on Its wall:
Its door's worn sill, betraying
The feet that, creeping slow to school,
Went storming out to playing!
long years ago a Winter sun
Shone over at its setting:
Lit up Its western window-panes.
And low eaves' Icy fretting.
It touched the tangled golden curls,
And brown eyes full of grieving.
Of one who still her steps delayed
When all the school were leaving.
For near her stood the little boy
Her childish favor singled:
Els cap pulled low upon a face
Where pride and shame were
mingled.
Pushing with restless feet the snow
To right and left, he lingered;
As restlessly her tiny hands
The blue-checked apron fingered.
He saw her lift her eyes, he felt
The soft hand's light caressing.
And heard tbe tremble of her voice.
As If a fault confessing.
Tm sorry that I spelt the word
I hate to so above you.
Because." the brown eyes lower fell
"Because, you see, I love you!
Still memory to a gray-haired man
That sweet child-face is showing.
Dear girl! the grasses on her Bravo
Have forty years been growing!
He lives to learn. In life's hard school.
How few who pass above him
Lament their triumph and his loss.
Like her because they love him.
THE TEMPERANCE ALPHABET.
A is for adder, that lies in the cup:
A The drunkard doesn't see It and so
drinks It up. .. ,v.,.
B is tor bottle, marked "poison thereon
Touch not. taste not, handle not. or
you'll be undone.
C is for conscience, which bids us be-
Of learning to drink, to lie and to
D is fordrunkard. Just look at his
How" red' are his eyes and how dirty
his clothes.
E Is for evening, when he goes out to
drink
What he knows does him harm If he
only would think.
F is for fountain so merry and clear:
Who only drinks water has nothing
to fear.
G Is for gin, that makes people lazy;
Then cross to their wives and then
finally crazy.
H is for heaven, which no drunkard
can know
While drink holds him in bondage to
sin and to woe.
I Is for Inn. like a rat trap, no doubt;
When once you get In It Is hard to
get out.
J Is for Jail, where the drunkard Is
kept
Till the fumes of liquor away he has
slept.
K is for knowledge, of which little re
mains When he puts In his mouth what
runs off with his brains.
L Is for liquor, whatever the name.
The taste, or the color, they all are
the same.
M is for monkey, who Is wiser than
men;
If you once get him drunk, you can't
do it again.
JT Is for Noah, who planted the vine.
And (how sad Is the warning) got
drunk on the wine.
O Is the orphan, of whom thousands
are made
Every month in the year by the rum
seller's trade.
P is for pledge all good children should
take.
If you can't sign your name, your
mark you should make.
Q is for quarrel, look sharp and you'll
find
In nearly all quarrels there's liquor
behind.
It is for rum and for rumaeller, too;
With one or the other have nothing
to do.
S is for snow, where the poor drunkard
lies.
Overcome by liquor and freezes and
dies.
T Is for tippler, who grows worse and
worse.
Till he finds, to his sorrow, not a
coin in his purse.
V is for union; in union there is
strength.
With the young and the old there is
victory at length.
y J.?.for vlctlra wo staggered around
Till he fell In the river, where, of
course he was drowned.
W is for woe. which every one feels
Who partakes of strong liquors and
through the street reels.
X Is for Xerxes, a great army had he
But Alcohol's army is larger, you see.
Y Is for youth, daring youth. O, be
ware!
Lest the love of strong drink should
thee also ensnare.
Z a for zealous, which I hope we will be
rom strong drinks dominions our
country to free.
--Contributed in response to request by
F. H. Fountain, of Everett.
Ol It HEROIC DEAD.
O sun, subdue your splendor:
O birds, forget your mirth;
O robe of mist so tender.
Enshroud a lifeless earth.
O sea. renew your mourning;
O winds, a requiem play; .
O heart, with griefs Intoning.
December wrest from May.
A nation weeps,
A vigil keeps
O'er her heroic dead.
D sun. unsheath your lances;
Fling out your rainbow arch;
O music that entrances
Sound a triumphal march.
O flag, by Heaven's portals
Unfurl your gleaming bars:
For there earth's dear Immortals
For ever placed your stars.
A nation's praise
It's tribute pays
To her heroio dead.
-Contributed by Mrs. Delia Webber.
"Little Maumee." requested a few
weeks o. has been nnt hv XT - a
C. Chiistensen, of Harrisburg; "C. G.
H," Mrs. 8. Armstrong, of Vader,
Wash., and Mrs. May Baker, of Black
Rock. The song appears under the
titles, "Little Mohee," "The Ltttle Mo
hea," "Pretty Mohee." "Little Mau
mee" and "The Cocoanut Grove."
PRETTY MAfMKE.
As I went walking one morning In
May,
To hear the birds whistle and pass
away the day.
As I sat amusing myself on the grass.
Whom should I spy passing but a
young Indian lass.
She stepped up beside me and gave me
her hand.
Saying, "You look like some stranger,
not of this land.
Will you be contented to live along
with me?
I'll teach you the language of the
pretty Maumee."
"Oh no! my pretty damsel, that never
can be.
For I have a true love In my own
country;
I could not forsake her for her pov
erty; She has a true heart as the pretty
Maumee."
The very next morning at the break
ing of day.
It well might broke a poor heart by
the words I did say.
"Now I'm going to leave you, so fare
you well, my dear."
The vessel set sail and for homeward
did steer.
The last time I haw her was down on
the sand.
The ship had passed by her; she waved
me her hand.
Saying, "When you get home again to
the girl that you love.
Remember the maiden of the cocoanut
grove."
And now I'm safe landed on my own
native shore.
Where friends and relations crowd
around me once more;
But of all that crowd around me and
all that I see
There's none to compare with the
pretty Maumee.
This poem, recently requested, is
supplied by Eula McClane, of Salem.
SHABBY GE.VTEEL. '
We have heard it asserted a dozen
times o'er
That a man may be happy in rags;
That a prince is no more in his car
riage and four
Than a pauper who tramps on the
flags.
As I chance to be neither, I cannot
describe
How a prince or a pauper may feel.
I belong to that highly respectable
tribe
Which is known as the shabby gen
teel. Chorus.
Too proud to beg, too honest to steal,
I know what It is to be wanting a meal.
My tatters and rags I try to conceal;
I'm one of the shabby genteel.
I'm a party, in fact, who has known
better days.
But their glory is faded and gone.
I have started in line in a lot of odd
ways.
And have not found a way to get on;
There are only three roads. I'm afraid.
that are left
I shall have to beg. borrow or steaX
Yet I don't quite encourage the notion
of theft.
Though I'm awfully shabby genteel.
Fm dressed in my best, tho" I cannot
pretend
That my costume Is quite comme-11-faut.
Tou'll observe that my watch haa been
left with a friend.
And my gloves are unfitted for show.
There are traces of wear on my elbows
and knees.
And my boots have run down at the
heel.
But It Is cruel to criticise matters like
these.
When a man has grown shabby
genteel.
Still, I strive to be cheerful In all my
distress.
And I bear my bad luck like a man.
If I can't have my way as to feeding
and dress,
I must still do the best that I can;
And remember, good people, that for
tune some day.
By a turn of her treacherous wheel.
May reduce one of you In the very
same way.
To the level of the shabby genteel.
OX THE SIDEWALKS OF NEW YORK.
Down in front of Casey's old brown,
wooden stoop.
On a Summer's evening, we formed a
merrT Err mm.
Boys and girls together, wo would
sine: and waltz.
While Jenny played the organ on the
sidewalks of Keir lorn.
Chorus-
East Side. West Bide, all around the
town.
The tots sang "rlng-a-rosy," London
bridge is falling down,"
Boys and girls together, we would sing
waltz
While Jenny played the organ on the
sidewalks of .New lorn.
There was pretty Jennie Shannon,
And little Jimmy Crow,
And Billy Jones, the baker.
Who always had the dougn.
There was little Nellie Tracy.
with a dude as light as oorK,
Who first picked up the waltz step
On the sidewalks of New York.
Things have changed since those days,
'Some are up in G:
Others they are wandering.
But they all feel Just like me.
They would give all they've got
If they could once more walk
With their best girl, and have a twlrL
On the sldewaiKS 01 new lorn.
Sent by Mrs. J. N. KunkeL
KATIE'S SECRET."
Last night I was weeping, dear mother;
Last night I was weeping alone.
This world seemed so sad and dreary.
Mv heart grew as neavy as stone;
I thought of the lonely and loveless.
Though lonely and loveless was L
I scarcely can tell how it was, mother.
Although I was wishing to die.
Last night I was weeping, dear mother.
But Willie came down by the gate
And whispered: "Come out In the moon
light.
I've something to say to you. Kate."
And. mother, to him I am dearer
Than all in his wide world, beside.
He told me so, out in the moonlight.
And he called me his darling, his
bride.
So now I will gather the roses
To twine In my long braided hair.
And Willie will come in the evening
And smile when he sees me so fair.
And out in the moonlight we'll wander
Way down by the old "Hawthorne
tree."
And, mother, I wonder If lovers
We're ever as happy as we?
Contributed by Mrs. J. N. Kunkel in
response to a request.
White Wings," recently requested,
has been sent in by many contributors.
Various versions have come In. and in
reprinting it we are following th
form that the -majority of the copies
received were set in. Contributors are
Mrs. Laura White, of Colfax. Wash
Eula McClane. of Salem; M. J. Doyle,
Mrs. D. Bourgeois, N. S. Evenson, Frea
Winter, of Hoquiam; - Mrs. S. Arm-
(Oliver Wendell Holmes'
and we take pleasure in
strong, of Vader, Wash, and P. J.
Skaale, of Portland
WHITE WTSfGS.
Written and Sung by Banks Winter.
Bam home, as straight as an arrow.
My yacht shoots along on the crest
of the sea;
Ball! home, to sweet Maggie Darrow,
in ner dear little home she is wait
ing for me.
High up, where the cliffs they are
craggy.
That's where the girl of my heart
waits for me!
Heigh! ho, I long for you. Maggie,
i 11 spread out my White Wings and
sail home to thee.
To! ho, how we go! oh. how tho winds.
DIOWl
Chorus:
White Wings, they never grow weary.
They carry me cheerily over the sea;
Night comes, I long for my dearie.
x-ii spread out my White Wings and
sail home to thee.
Sail! home, to love and caresses.
When Maggie, my darling, is there
at my side;
Sail! home, blue eyes and gold tresses.
J. oe xairest of all is my own little
bride.
Sail! home, to part from thee never.
Always together life's voyage shall
be;
Sail! home, to love thee forever!
Ill spread out my White Wings and
sail home to thee.
To! ho. how we go! oh, how the winds
D10W!
A STOCKING S RHYME.
To knit a stocking, needles four.
Cast on three needles and no more:
Each needle stitches eight and twenty:
Then one for seam-stitch will be
plenty.
Two plain, two purl, alternately.
(The top must give adequately.)
Except the seam-stitch, which you do
Once plain, once purl, the whole way
through.
A finger plain you next must knit
Ere you begin to narrow it.
Though if you like the stocking long
Two fingers' length will not be wrong.
And then the narrowness to make.
Two stitches you together take
Each side the seam, then eight rounds
plain
Before you narrow it again.
Ten narrowings you'll surely find
will shape the stocking, to your mind:
Then twenty rounds knit plain must be
he.
And stitches sixty-five you'll see.
These Just in half you must divide.
With thirty-two on either side.
But on one needle there will be
Seam-stitch in middle thirty-three.
One half on needles two you place.
And leave alone a little space;
The other, with Xhe seam in middle.
To manage right, is now my riddle.
Backward and forward you must knit.
And always purl the backward bit;
The seam-stitch purl and plain, you
know.
And slip the first stitch, every row.
When thirty rows you thus have done.
Each side the seam knit two In one.
In each third row. till sure you feel
That forty rows are in your heel.
You then begin the heel to close:
For this, -choose one of the plain rows.
Knit plain to seam then two in one;
One plain stitch more must still be
done;
Then turn your work, purl as before
The seam-stitch two In one, one more;
Then turn again, knit till you see
Where first you turned a gap will be;
Across it knit together two.
And don't forget one plain to do.
Then turn again, purl as before.
And so till there s a gap no more.
The seam-stltch you no longer mind;
That, with the heel, is left behind.
When all the heel Is quite closed in.
To knit a plain row you begin.
And at the end you turn no more.
But "round and "round knit as before.
For this, on a side needle take
The loops those first slipped stitches
make.
With your heel-needle knit them
plain.
To meet the old front half again;
This on one needle knit should be.
And then you 11 have a needle free
To take up loops the other side.
And knit 'round plain, and to divide
The back parts evenly in two:
Off the heel-needle some are due.
Be careful that you count the same
On each back needle; knit 'round plain
But as the foot is much too wide.
Take two together at each side
On the back needles, where they meet
The front; to make a seam quite neat.
Each time between knit one plain
round.
Till stitches sixty-four are found.
And the front needle does not lack
As many as on both the back.
Tou next knit fifty-six rounds plain.
But do not narrow it again;
'Twill then be long enough, and so
Begin to narrow at the toe.
Tour long front row knit plainly
through.
But at its end knit stitches two.
Two first in the next row to match.
(My meaning you'll not fail to catch.)
Then on the other side knit plain
Half 'round, and do the same again.
That is. two last together catch.
Two first in the front row, to match.
At first knit four plain rounds be
tween. Then two, then one. until "tts seen
You've knit enough to close the toe.
And then decrease in every row
Until to stitches eight you've brought.
Then break the thread off not too
short
And as these stitches eight you do.
Each time your end of thread pull
through.
Then draw up all and close It tight.
And with a darning-needle bright
Your end of thread securely run.
And then hurrah! the stocking's
done.
Contibutor, Mrs. E. J. Simpson, of
I .Buxton.
poem, written in another day, comes again into peculiar timeliness,
reprinting it at this time. The copy used here was contributed by
flira. iiu j. cimpson, ox xtuitoo.)
Sister in trial! Who shall count
Thy generous friendship's claim,
Whose blood ran mingling: in the fount
That grave our land its name.
Till Yorktown saw in blended line
Our conquering arms advance,
And victor's double garlands twine
Our banners? Vive la France!
O land of heroes! in our need
One gift from heaven we crave
To stanch these wounds that vainly bleed
The wise to lead the brave!
Call back one captain of thy past
From glory's marble trance,
Whose name shall be a bugle-blast
To rouse us! Vive la France!
Pluck Conde's baton from the trench.
Wake up etout Charles Martel,
Or find eome woman's hand to clench
The sword of La Pucelle !
Give us one hour of old Turenne
One lift of Bayard's lance
Nay, call Marengo's chief again
To lead us! Vive la France!
WE ARB COMKfO.
We are coming. Father Abraham, three
hundred thousand more.
From Mississippi's winding stream and
from New England's shore;
We leave our plows and workshops,
our wives and children dear.
With hearts too full for utterance, but
with a silent tear;
We dare not look behind us, but stead
fastly before:
We are coming. Father Abraham, three
hundred thousand more!
If you look across the hilltops that
meet the northern sky.
Long moving lines of rising dust your
vision may descry;
And now the wind, an instant, tears
the cloudy veil aside.
And floats aloft our spangled flag In
glory and in pride.
And bayonets in the sunlight gleam.
and bands brave music pour:
We are coming. Father Abraham, three
hundred thousand more!
If you look all. up our valleys,-where
the growing harvests shine.
You may see tfur sturdy farmer boys
fast forming into line:
And children from their mother's knees
are pulling at the weeds.
And learning how to reap and sow
against their country's needs;
And a farewell group stands weeping
at every cottage door:
We are coming. Father Abraham, three
hundred thousand morel
Tou have called us, and we're coming,
by Richmond's bloody tide.
To lay us down, for freedom's sake,
our brothers" bones beside.
Or from foul treason's savage grasp to
wrench the murderous blade.
And in the face of foreign foes Its
fragments to narade.
Six hundred thousand loyal men and
true have gone before:
We are coming. Father Abraham, three
hundred thousand more!
James Sloan Gibbons. Written at
the time Abraham Lincoln called for
300.000 more troops, in 1862. F. S. Mc
Cullough, contributor.
THE KIXG'S PICTURE. .
The King from his council chamber
He called for Illlff. the painter, '
-"-it a spates to mm thus apart:
"I am sickened of faces ignoble.
I shall shrink to their shrunken meas
ure,
Chief slave In a realm of slaves!
Paint me a true1 man's picture.
Gracious and wise and good:
Dowered with the strength of heroes,
And the hnHUtV rf TammartUnr.
It shall hang In my inmost chamber.
SUGGESTIONS TO CONTRIBU
TORS TO THE POETRY PAGE.
Owing to the great number of
requests for poems that have
accumulated, we will be obliged
to stop handling on this page
new requests that are sent in
until we have been able to give
those on hand an opportunity.
We are not able to reprint
poems requested which belong to
works that are protected by
copyright, such as Service, Kip
ling, Riley and others.
. Except In cases where there is
exceptional timeliness. It is not
possible to reprint poems which
have appeared on this page al
ready within a period of a few
months.
Copies that are sent in illegi
bly written, written on both sides
of the pages or written without
regard to the correct poetio
form, or poems which are ob
viously incorrect cannot be han
dled on this page.
Neither can we continue to re
print songs that have been popu
lar in recent years, owing to the
vast number of genuinely old
poems that must be handled. Up
to the time of the Spanish War
is about as far into the modern
as we will be able to come.
Unless request for the return
of clippings or manuscripts, with
an inclosure of postage or
stamped and addressed envelopes,
is made, contributions will not
be returned after they are used.
Contributions are handled as
rapidly asossible, but owing to
the volume of manuscripts re
ceived it is frequently several
weeks before a poem sent in can
be reprinted. Effort is made to
acknowledge all contributions.
Precedence In reprinting is
given to copies of poems sent in
in response to requests printed
on this page.
In sending in manuscripts, write
on one side only of the paper,
leave a fair space at the begin
ning of the.first page and the
end of the last and indicate at the
end the name of the contributor
to whom it is to be credited.
We reserve the right to reject
without comment . contributions
which are Inappropriate or of
little value either from a sen
timental, historical or poetical
standpoint.
Note on the outside of the en
velope "Old Poem Department."
A
11. I. I.
It may fill my soul with grandeur.
So the artist painted the picture.
And It hung In the palace hall;
Never a thing so goodly
Had garnished the stately wall.
The King, with head uncovered.
Gazed on it with rapt delight.
Till it suddenly wove strange meaning.
And baffled his questioning sight.
For the form was his supplest oour--tler's.
Perfect In every limb;
But the bearing was that of a hench
man. Who filled the flagons for him:
The brow was a priest's, who pondered
His parchments early and late;
The eye was a wondering minstrel's.
Who sang at the palace gate.
The Hps, half sad and half mirthful.
With a flitting, tremulous grace.
Were the very lips of a woman
He had kissed In the market place;
But the smile which her curves trans
figured. As a rose with Its shimmer of dew.
Was the smile of the wife who loved
him.
Queen Ethelyn, good and true.
Then, "Learn. O King." said the artist.
"This truth that the picture tells
How In every form of the human.
Some hint of the highest dwells;
How, scanning each living temple
For the place where the veil Is thin.
We may gather, by beautiful glimpses,
The form of the God within."
Copied from the Unity Maaazlne. as
selected by S. Louise Foulkes and
contributed by D. A. Dreyer, City.
Mrs. Deborah Young, of Portland;
Mrs. Bruce L. Bogart, of Eugene, and
Mrs. A. M. Spooner. of Dayton, send
copies of "The Drummer Boy of Water
loo." THE DRUMMER BOY OF WATERLOO.
When battle roused each warlike band.
And carnage loud her trumpets blew.
xoung towln left his native land.
A drummer boy for Waterloo.
His mother, when his lips she pressed,
And bade her noble boy adieu.
With wringing hands and aching
Dreast,
Beheld him march for Waterloo.
But he who knew no Infant fears.
His knapsack o'er his shoulder threw.
And cried, "Dear mother, dry those
tears.
Till I return from Waterloo."
He went, but ere the set of sun.
Before our arms the foe subdue.
The flash of death, that murderous
gun.
Had laid him low at Waterloo.
"O, comrades, comrades!" Edwin cried.
And proudly beamed his eyes of blue.
jo ten my mother Edwin died
A soldier's death at Waterloo."
They placed his head upon his drum.
Beneath the moon's pale, mournful
hue.
When night had stilled the battle's
hum. v
They dug his grave at Waterloo.
"Belle Brandon," requested recently.
Is sent by Mrs. A. P. Nelson, of La
Grande, and Mrs. D. A. W atters, of
Portland.
BELLE BRAVDOX.
"Neath a tree on the margin of the
woodland.
Whose spreading leafy branches
swept the ground.
With a path leading thither o'er the
prairie.
When night shed her silence garb
around.
There oft have I wandered In the
evening.
When the Summer winds are frag
rant on the lea.
There I saw the little beauty. Belle
Brandon. '
And we met 'neath the old arbor
tree
There I saw th little beauty. Bell
Branoon,
And we met 'neath th old arbor
tree.
Belle Brandon was a. blrdllng of the
mountains:
In freedom she sported on the wing.
And they say the life current of the red
man
Tinged her veins from a far-distant
spring.
She loved her humble dwelling on the
prairie.
And her pure rulleless heart clung
to me.
OI I loved the little beauty. Belle
Brandon,
And we both loved the old arbor tree.
O! I loved the little beauty. Belle
Brandon.
And we both loved the old arbor tree.
On the trunk of the aged tree I carved
Them;
Our names on the sturdy form re
mains. But I now repair in sorrow to its
shelter
And murmur to the wild wind my
pain.
Oft I sit there in solitude repining
For the happy dream that night
brought to me.
Death has wed the little beauty. Belle
Brandon,
And she sleeps "neath the old arbor
tree;
Death has wed the little beauty. Belle
Brandon.
And she sleeps "neath tho old arbor
tree.
Copies of "The Song of the Rose"
are received from contributors in Men'
lo, St. Helens, and from Mrs. M. I.
Henshaw, of Seaside.
THE SONG OF THE ROSE.
No beautiful palace have I on the hill.
No pictures to hang in my halls.
But never a painter could match with
his skill
The roses that bloom on my walls.
Chorus:
Then sing me a song of the rose.
A song that is tender and true:
She wears her red robes like the dain
tiest queen
All gleaming with jewels of dew.
When down the green valley in purple
and gold
The morning comes dewy and bright.
I look from my window to see them
unfold
Their buds at the kiss of the light.
And when at th evening my labors
are o er
And shadows grow lonr- on the lea.
The breath of the roses comes In at the
door
As If they were talking to me.
"Saving Mother." recently reauested.
Is sent in by Mrs. A. M. Spooner, of
Dayton. Mrs. Robert Graham, of Aber
deen, and Birdie Denyer. of Turner.
Savin' Mother.
A farmer sat in his easy chair.
Between the lire and the lamplights
glare;
His face was ruddy and full and fair.
His three small boys in the chimney
BOOK
Conned the lines of a picture-book.
ma wire, the pride of his home and
heart.
Baked the blsoait and made the tart.
Laid the table and steeped the tea.
uertiy, sweetly, silently:
Tired and weary and weak and faint.
She bore her trials without complaint.
Like many another household saint.
Content, all selfish bliss above.
in patient ministry of love.
At last, between the clouds of smoke
That wreathed his lips, the husband
spoke:
"There's taxes to raise, an' lnt'rest
to pay.
And ef there should come a ralnv dav.
"Twould be mighty handy, I'm bound
to say.
T have sumpthln" put by. For folks
must die.
An" there's funeral bills, an grave-
stuns to buy
Enough to swamp a man. nurty nigh.
Besides, there's Edward, and Dick and
Joe.
To be provided for when they go.
bo r I was you '11 tell you what rd do
I'd be savin' of wood's ever I could
Extra fire don't du any good:
I'd be savin' of sou an' savin' o lie.
An ran up some candles once in a
while:
rd be rather sparln' of coffee and tea,
for sugar Is high
And all to buy.
And elder is good enough for me.
I'd be kind o' careful about my clo'es.
And look out sharp how the money
, goes; ,
Extry trimmin"
'S the bane of women.
Td sell, off the best of the cheese and
honey
And eggs is as good, nigh about. s the
money.
And as to the carpet you wanted new.
I guess we can make the old one du.
And as for the washer an aewin' ma
chine.
Them smooth-tongued agents, so pesky
mean.
Yo.i'd better get rid of "m slick and
clean
What du they know 'bout women's
work?
Du they calkllate women was born to
shirk?"
Dick, and Edward, and little Joe.
Sat in the corner In a row;
They saw the patient mother sro
On ceaseless earrand to and fro;
They saw that her form was bent and
thin.
Her temples gray, her cheeks sunk in;
They saw the quiver of lip and chin;
And then with a warmth he could not
smother.
Outspoke the youngest, frailest brother;
"You talk of savin' wood an" He
An' tea an" sugar, all the while.
But you never talk of savin mother!"
MUSTERED OUT.
Let me lie down.
Just here in the shade of this cannon
torn tree.
Here on the trampled grass where I
can see
The surge of the combat, and where I
can hear
Tho loud cry of victory, cheer upon
cheerl
Let me lie down.
Oh. it was grand!
Like the tempest we charged, in the
triumph to share:
The tempest. Its fury and thunder were
therel
On, on o'er In trench ments, o'er living
and dead.
With the foe underfoot and the flag
overhead! .
Oh. it was grandl
Wounded and faint.
How can I rest
With this shot-shattered head and
saber-pierced breast?
Comrades, at rollcall, when I shall be
sought.
Say I fought till I fell and fell where
I fought.
Wounded and faint.
Dying at last!
O. Mother. Dear Mother, with meek,
tearful eye.
Farewell, and God bless you forever
and aye.
O, that I now lay on your pillowing
breast
To breathe my last sigh on tho bosom
first pressed.
Dying at last!
Tm no saint.
But boys, say a prayer. There's one
that begins
"Our Father," and then says, "forgive
us our sins."
Don't forget that part; say It strongly,
and then
I'll try to repeat it and you'll say
"Amen."
No, I'm no saint.
Hark! There's a shout.
We have conquered, I know.
Up, up on my feet with my face to the
foe.
Ah. there flies the flag with Its star
.spangles bright.
The emblem of glory, tha symbol of
right.
Well may they shout.
Tm mustered outl
Oh, God of our fathers, our freedom
prolong.
And tread down rebellion, oppression
and wrong.
Oh, land of earth's hope, on thy blood
reddened sod,
I die for the Nation, for Freedom and
God!
Tm mustered out!
H- H. Northup, of Portland, con
tributor. A MODEST WIT.
A supercilious nabob of the East
Haughty, being great; purse-proud,
being rich;
A governor, or general, at the least
I have forgotten which
Had in his family an humble youth.
Who went from England in his pa
tron's suite;
An unassuming boy, and In truth
A lad of decent parts and good re
pute. This youth had sense and spirit;
But yet, with all his sense.
Excessive diffidence
Obscured his merit
One day. at table, flushed with pride
and wine.
His honor, . proudly free, severely
merry.
Conceived it would be vastly fine
To crack a Joke upon his secretary.
"Young man," he said, "by what art.
LJ1II or uua
Did your good father gain a liveli
hood?" 'He was a saddler, sir." Modestus said.
"And in his time was reckoned good."
"A saddler, eh? and taught you Greek,
Instead of teaching you to sew!
Pray, why did not your father make
A saddler of your
Each parasite, then, as in duty bound.
The Joke applauded, and the laugh
went round.
At length Modestus. bending low.
Said (craving pardon, if too free he
made).
"Sir, by your leave, I fain would, know
Tour father's trade."
"My father's trade t Come. come, air I
iDtll too oaai
My father's tradel Why. blockhead, ara
you mad?
My father, sir. did never stoop so low;
He was a gentleman, rd have you
"Excuse the liberty I take,"
Modestus said, with archness on Ma
brow;
"Pray, why did not your father make
Jl gentleman of you?"
AUTHOR UNKNOWN.
Contributed by Mrs. E- J. Simpson. oC
Buxton.
Dedicated to Captain Charles B. Clark,
his officers and crew of the battleship
Oregon.
THE BATTLESHIP OREOO.V.
Fair Oregon, thou glowing star
Upon the banner of the free.
Our true hearts swell with pride and
love
As now we pledge a health to thee.
Home of our hearts! Thou fairest land
That God's warm sunshine rests upon.
Our pulses quicken at thy name.
All hail to thee, fair Oregon!
We named thee Oregon, proud ship.
That sacred name we gave to thee.
And sent thee out upon the deep,
A messenger of liberty.
We watched thee sweeping o'er the
main
Beneath the old red. white and blue.
And breathed to heaven a fervent
prayer
To keep thee to thy proud name true.
As swift as seablrd on the wing.
Our yearning hearts still followed
thee
On that great voyage rthy first and
best.
That proved thee mistress of the sea
Undaunted, through the battle's storm.
We saw thee leading in the fray;
We saw the foeman yield to. thee.
For thou, brave Bhip, had won the
day.
O ship, that made In that dark time
Thy master-stroke for liberty.
In triumph thou hast safely borne
The starry banner of the free.
And Freedom's stars more brightly
blaze
That thou hast flung them to the
gale.
To thee, and to thy gallant crew.
Our own brave Oregon all hall!
And now across Pacific's wave
nr. .. .u,. th 1 . vm y foam.
With banners flung to catch the breese.
In triumph thou art coming home.
Thy Stars and Stripes in glory wave;
And from thy mast a crimson strand.
Thy flaming pennon floats afar.
An emblem of our sunset land.
We welcome thee. O Oregon!
We welcome thee! and yet once more
We welcome thee, on thy return
In triumph to thy native shore!
All hail to thee, our noble ship!
We lift our hearts In one grand cheer.
And in reply another shout.
The voice of all the world, we hear.
All nature takes the muslo up
And wafts the swelling strain along.
The rivers sing aloud to thee.
And heaven echoes back the song:
The wind-harp on the wave-tossed blue
Wafts thy proud name from sea to
sea;
Deep calls to deep In mighty tones.
And names thee "Pride of Liberty."
Then let these sing thy praises, O ship.
The poet's pen may feeble be.
But these with all the strength of
earth.
Will sing: "All hall! All hall to
thee!"
And when this heart that sings today.
From these bright scenes of earth is
gone.
The ages yet to be shall ring
Thy name and fame, proud Oregon.
EDNELLE COLLINS.
(Copyright. 104. by Ednelle Collins,
Dallas. Or.)
THY CURSE SHALL BE TO THIXK.
I dare thee to forget me! Go wander
where thou wilt.
Thy hand upon the vessel's helm or on
the saber's hilt;
Awayl Thou'rt free! oe'r land and sea,
go rush to danger's brlnkl
But. oh. thou can'st not fly from
thought! Thy curse shall be to
think.
Remember me! remember all my long
enduring love.
That link'd itself to perfidy; the vul
ture and the dove!
Remember in thy utmost need I never
once did shrink.
But clung to thee confidingly: thy
curse shall be to think!
Then go! that thought would render
thee a dastard In the fight.
That thought, when thou art tempest
tost, will fill thee with affright;
In some vile dungeon may'st thou lie,
and counting each cold link
That binds thee to captivity, thy curse
hail be to think!
Go seek the merry banquet hall, where
younger maidens bloom,
Tho thought of me shall make thee
there endure a deeper gloom;
That thought shall turn the festive cup
to poison while you drink.
And while false smiles are on thy cheek
thy curse shall be to thinkl
Forget me! false one, hope It not! when
minstrels touch the string
The memory of other days will gall
tthee while they sing;
The air I used to love will make thy
coward conscience shrink
Aye, ev'ry note will have Its sting, thy
curse will be to think!
Forget me! no. that shall not bet Til
haunt thee in thy sleep.
In dreams thou'll cling to slimy rocks
that overhang the deep;
Thou'lt shriek for aid! my feeble arm
shall hurl thee from tha brink
And when thou wak'st in wild dismay.
thy curse shall be to think!
Copied from an old newspaper clip
ping. Author's name not given, and
contributed by Clara Whealy. Vader,
Wash.