City Ballads Part 14

Just then the door was opened quick, an' with a solemn grin, Young Jeroboam Jones appeared, an' sidled softly in; An' with him was an older man, who looked enough like me To've been a reg'lar Stebbins too, so far as one could see; But slappin' Seth upon the back, I said, "My duty's done, For this is Jeroboam Jones, your long-lost oldest son!"

"My 'long-lost oldest son?'" said he: "he's 'bout as much my son As you are the beloved babe of Gen'ral Washington!

It strikes me that my married life was very much amiss, If I'm responsible for such a sneakin' face as this!

He's blinded you by his supposed relationship to me: He's no one I have ever seen, or ever want to see!"

As when a fog above a field the sudden breezes tore, You spied a thousand things you did not even miss before, So all the facts of this affair, as clear as summer skies, Straightway arranged themselves before my reconstructed eyes: That these were not veracious men; an' this no Sunday-school; An' naught was what it seemed, except one old bald-headed fool!

I held those two deceivers out, with una.s.sisted strength, An' by the collar shook each one to my arm's farthest length; They gasped an' danced an' skipped around, without a word to say-- They "put their heads together" in a new an' painful way.

"Due ninety dollars fifty cents, an' not a penny less!"

I shouted; "an' I'll send you back your hymn-book by express!"

When finally in my discourse a breathin' pause occurred, The Superintendent counted out the cash, without a word; Which, with a manner dignified, I coldly repossessed, An', still retainin' Jeroboam, that scamp I thus addressed: "An' so you are the bogus friend and relative, so free To spend his time a-makin' fools of poor old men like me.

"I'm Supervisor of the town where I have lived so long: There ain't a man in all that part will say I've done him wrong; There ain't a man will claim but what I'm ordinary keen; But when I plant myself in town, I grow exceedin' green.

An' any kind-expressioned man, who acts a civil part, Can always find my soul to home, an' house-room in my heart.

"It's sad for such a smile as yours to find so mean a fate; An' there's _some_ good in you--at least enough to use for bait; Without _some_ kindness in your heart, you couldn't have landed me; An' as to how you've used your gifts, just pause a bit an' see.

I've gambled, by you're callin' it a charitable name, And my self-valuation sunk with unaccustomed shame.

"I've done what I'd have whipped my boys for even lookin' at; An' don't suppose but what I own part of the blame for that; I thought I saw a chance to make five dollars out o' one, Which, with strict justice all around, is very seldom done.

But up to that outrageous point, remember, I was led By your a.s.sumed relationship, an' several things you said.

"Do you reflect, young man, upon the fruit you're growin' to?

There's prison gates a-waitin' now to stand in front of you.

There's grief of unexpected kinds, an' every sort of shame, To send you some time from this world much poorer than you came.

Your guilty head you hang before us sinners standin' by: What angle do you s'pose 'twould take 'mongst angels in the sky?

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THEY 'PUT THEIR HEADS TOGETHER' IN A NEW AN' PAINFUL WAY."]

"There's hope e'en on the death-bed for a square, straightforward thief, But _Judases_ have always come to most peculiar grief; The Lord has pity, I suppose, for errin' men an' weak, But no good satisfact'ry place in which to put a sneak.

An' when a man wins men's esteem, then thrives by their mistakes, He makes himself a bigger fool than all the fools he makes."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "HE MAKES HIMSELF A BIGGER FOOL THAN ALL THE FOOLS HE MAKES."]

Then my adopted relative I seated in a chair, With amply necessary help, an' sev'ral pounds to spare.

Then Seth an' I with dignity bade both the scamps good-day, Advisin' them to gain their bread in some dissimilar way; An' as we thundered down the stairs, with heavy rural tread, I felt that I'd at last come out some several rods ahead.

A. S.

[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]

[THE "SLUGGING"-MATCH.]

"A first-cla.s.s professional fight!"

I'm really doing the town!

There were thousands on thousands to-night To see a man knock a man down.

Two dollars I willingly (?) paid To view all this muscle and brawn; 'Twas rather too much, I'm afraid, Or seemed so, the minute 'twas gone.

And yet 'tis a study to see The rage gladiatorial of Rome And grim Spanish bull-baiting glee Adopt an American home!

That blood-thirsty, murderous spite Men loudly condemn--and possess!

Besieged New York City last night, With first-cla.s.s financial success!

Hands gloved--to comply with the law; Gloves hard--to comply with the crowd; Fists savage as murder could draw; Cheers heavy and fervent and loud.

Stern hisses, and shoutings of "Woman!"

When either too tender they found; Tremendous applause when a foeman Dropped, more than half dead, on the ground.

'Twas the soul's blackest h.e.l.l-woven fibre, All thrilling intensely and fast; The curse of the Tagus and Tiber Arrived in New York Bay at last!

And victor and vanquished, I learn, Came off with more glittering spoil Than teacher or preacher could earn In years of the hardest of toil.

A spectacle pleasing and bright, Full many good people delighting-- So many good men love a fight, When somebody else does the fighting!

And "'tis shameful!" we mildly agree, And shout our complainings afar; But the facts are no worse than are we: They show to us just what we are!

VIRTUE.

[_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._]

OCTOBER 1, 18--.

Wind in the south-west; weather fit to stay; A sweet, old-fashioned, Indian-summer day-- When Heaven and Earth both seem to look at you Through hair of gold and misty eyes of blue.

My wife said, as we talked of it together, It seemed as if some of our old farm weather Had got tired of the sober hills of brown, Hitched up a cloud, and driven into town!

We went to church, and heard a sermon preached, Which all the way from Earth to Heaven reached, And lifted us up toward the town divine, Till we could almost see the steeples shine, And hear the mighty chariots as they rolled Along the ma.s.sive turnpikes made of gold.

We had some music, so sweet-lipped and true It made me think of every flower I knew; And when, with benediction, the old pastor Said "Good-bye" for himself, but not his master, It put my resolution to the rack, To head my poor old tears, and drive them back!

We tried to come straight out, as Christians should, And bring away all of it that we could; But there were certain persons there to-day, Who, after church was over, clogged the way, And, standing 'round, with worldly nods and smiles, Held a week-day reception in the aisles.

Now, when one's mind falls in celestial frame, He wants to get home safely with the same; And hates through jostling gossipers to walk, And stumble 'gainst the smallest kinds of talk, Intended, by some power, his mind to bring Down out of Heaven to every worldly thing-- From office, and good methods to ensure it, To rheumatism, and proper means to cure it.

[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]

These are the spires that were gleaming All through my juvenile dreaming; Here the high belfries are singing: Gold invitations they're winging, Asking man through the charmed portal, Where he is once more immortal; Where he may hide from his cares, Under a shelter of prayers.

Why do these halls, high and broad, Under the same constant G.o.d, Vary in structure and style-- Differ, from chancel to aisle?

Why forms and creeds so diverse?