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LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 
 
 018 394 256 6 
 
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 HoUinger Corp. 
 pH 8.5 
 
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 HINKING 
 
 By OAKLEY SELLECK 
 
 Copyrighted by 
 Oakley Selleck, 1914 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Ana Some of 
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 Mr. READER 
 
 A moment's chat with you. Not 
 for apology, but explanation. First 
 Jet me say — I do not write poetry; I 
 could not if I would. I attempt to 
 put my thoughts in the form of rhyme 
 because of their power of condensa- 
 tion. 'Brevity Is the soul of wit;" 
 also the spirit of to-day. Say as 
 much as possible in as few words as 
 possible. We haven't time to read a 
 one-hundredth part of the excellent 
 matter published to-day. The value 
 of an author's thought as placed be- 
 fore you in cold type is decided by 
 the readers, and the only standard 
 the author can Judge by is the demand 
 for it. There will soon follow this 
 booklet another largely but not en- 
 tirely in prose, because the subjects 
 discusssd do not admit of rhyming. 
 It will deal with things that affect us 
 every day and about which we are 
 unconscious hypocrites, most of us. 
 Its titie will be "Mr. Hypocrisy." If 
 you read it I will predict that you 
 will sit up and take notice, for it has 
 the "punch." For those who desire 
 to know the price of this and other 
 booklets to follow, will say 10 cents; 
 but if sent by mail, 15 cents. The 
 extra 5 cents to pay postage, envelope 
 and handling. 
 
 Everybody grown above childhood 
 has been stung by gossip — by what 
 "They say." I have now ready for 
 mailing "They Say," handsomely 
 printed in two colors and on heavy 
 cardboard, 11 x 14 inches in size. 
 Merely sixteen lines, and they have 
 the "punch," too. "They Say" should 
 be in every home; in fact, everywhere 
 where people meet and discuss their 
 friends and neighbors, giving as their 
 informant Mr. or Mrs. "They Say." 
 
 OAKLEY SELLEGK 
 
 100 West 32d Street, New York City 
 
thinking 
 
 By Oakley Skli.eck 
 
 am thinking, mei-ely thinking. 
 
 Of the scenes of long ago, 
 Childhood once again is widi nie. 
 Merry thoughts flit to and fro. 
 Boyhood, too, there stands recorded 
 Stirring scenes o'er land and sea ; 
 Early manhood, I remember, 
 
 And sweet faces come to ine. 
 As I'm thinking, merely thinking. 
 
 Tl am thinking, merely thinking, 
 As my moving-picture lens, 
 Scene by scene the iilms fly past me; 
 
 Happy? Well, it all depends 
 What the pictures are I've gathered ; 
 
 Merely thinking brings them back. 
 Some are dark and come to haunt me. 
 
 And my soul is on the rack. 
 While I'm thinking, merely thinking. 
 
 jj[ am thinking, merely thinking, 
 
 Covering years as time has fled ; 
 Alany chums, dear friends and sweethearts 
 
 Gone, are sleeping with the dead; 
 But they all come back to greet me, 
 Smiles or frowns, as memory tells 
 Of the scenes in which we acted; 
 Hark! I hear the wedding bells, 
 As I'm thinking, merely thinking. 
 
 ■71 am thinking, merely thinking. 
 
 All the thoughts of ages past; 
 Storehouse of the minds of millions, 
 
 All are mine while tiine shall last; 
 Wondrous past, more wondrous future, 
 
 Flashing through my thought machine. 
 Love of others, soul companions ; 
 
 Glorious thought world, lift the screen. 
 Just by thinking, merely thinking. 
 
 "^i am thinking, merely thinking. 
 
 And loved faces meet my gaze. 
 Back among my life's great memories. 
 
 And my soul is all ablaze. 
 Thanks to God who gave us memory. 
 
 Not a friend can ever die; 
 We can have them always with us 
 
 Now, and in the by and by. 
 Just by thinking, merely thinking. 
 MAR -R IQM 
 
J Mil iltl M# «ji]i# ^ 
 
 **Cii00&-mnruntg" 
 
 By Oakley Selleck 
 
 "Good-morning," did I hear you say? 
 *'Good-niorning," and right cheerfully, 
 Like sunrise and fresh dews of morn, 
 The world awakes, and it is shorn 
 Of drowsiness, once more alive; 
 And we, like bees about the hive, 
 Should feel the world's inspiring thrill. 
 "Good-morning," all, and with good will. 
 
 "Good-morning," and mean every word. 
 Please wear a smile; get it transferred 
 To "grouchy" faces we may meet. 
 'Twill change their frowns, for when we 
 
 greet 
 A grumbler who will kick his dog 
 And act at home much like a hog. 
 He can't resist a smiling face ; 
 All sweet good-mornings leave their trace. 
 
 There's many a man, and women, too. 
 Who think they're good, while they will do 
 At home the murderous act of "grouch," 
 Will nag and snarl, their language couch 
 In terms that stab right to the heart; 
 Insulting, brutal, then depart 
 And talk of Heaven. I wonder where 
 They think it is — and they'll get there. 
 
 "Good-morning, sir, the morning's fair;' 
 "Good-morning, lady; well, I'll swear 
 I never saw you look so fine ; 
 Your eyes are clear; you look divine." 
 Now this is just the kind of talk 
 We all should use as on we w^alk; 
 We're loved, not hated, and we'll dwell 
 In Heaven sure — a grouch is hell. 
 
\Vny aA' omen Snould Possess tne 
 Power to V ote Co-equal with Man 
 
 OAKLEY SELLECK 
 
 The one conclusive reat-'on why women should have 
 the power to vote is — they have an absolute right to do so. 
 Sex does not change natural rights. So long as 1 hold 
 a woman to a strict obe.\'ance of our laws on an exact 
 equality with me, no immunity of sex granted her, she 
 must, on an exact equality with me, have the power to 
 say what the laws shall be. I use the word power, not 
 rights. I\Tan cannot giant or endow a woman with 
 fundamental rights. I^ife does that. Man merely ceases 
 to usurp her rights when she has the franchise. It is an 
 individual right, and is not affected, for or against, by 
 the indifference of another. It sums up in this: .So long 
 as man holds woman co-equal with himself before the 
 law, he must permit her to exercise, co-eciual with him- 
 self, the full and free power to say what the laws shall 
 be. For man to do differently is to be a despot and a 
 fraud. 
 
 Well, self-protection is the "why" 
 She can't trust men ; while they deny 
 That she has rights they must respect. 
 Men pass such laws as will protect 
 The men alone ; our sex laws show^ 
 To just what lengths men voters go. 
 That's why. 
 
 Why women should have power to vote, 
 If inorals be the point we'd note. 
 All men demand she shall be best; 
 Few men will claim to stand the test. 
 In all sex morals men go free, 
 With not much show of decency. 
 Are men the best? 
 
 Let's take a woman dissolute, 
 Made what she is by a male brute. 
 He votes all laws concerning her ; 
 She cannot say what shall occur. 
 Men make the laws, you'll please take note. 
 Then use and blackmail her — and vote. 
 Are men as good as she? 
 
 The police they are oft accused. 
 With truth no doubt, and not abused. 
 They graft on women, by men's laws 
 They stamp as crime — effect, not cause. 
 She can't escape, so pays her coin 
 And sinks into the Tenderloin. 
 Are they as good as she? 
 
Our judges, who men do elect, 
 In silken robes demand respect; 
 Sit on the bench and take from girls. 
 As fines, vile money pimps and churls 
 Would touch ; he votes, then takes away 
 Her coin to give to charity. 
 Most reverend judge. 
 
 Men voters smile and say: "Trust me; 
 We love you and you surely see 
 To vote would spoil your every grace. 
 For home, sweet home, is woman's place." 
 Most men who voice this hot-air talk 
 Will ride at ease while women walk. 
 Such hypocrite will talk. 
 
 Men live on women every day ; 
 They'd inake her sell her soul for pay; 
 They make the laws — she goes to jail. 
 They're big and strong, she slight and frail ; 
 She can't trust men to play life fair, 
 But when she votes they'll never dare. 
 Her vote is there — beware! 
 
 The game is won when women vote ; 
 It's up to her, for men will dote 
 On her, admire her just the same. 
 "Dan Cupid" still will play the game 
 Of love, respect and loyalty. 
 Entwined with true equality. 
 
A Soliloquy by Oakley Selleck 
 
 The remedy for vice and crime 
 
 Is kindness and a love sublime, 
 
 Combined with firmness resolute ; 
 
 No weakness e'er reformed a brute. 
 
 Association's guiding power 
 
 Will touch most hearts and grow a flower 
 
 Where once grew weeds of rankest hate. 
 
 The past forget; will radiate 
 
 And soon we'll see its power reform. 
 
 As sunshine follows every storm 
 
 So into lives come hope again, 
 
 No matter what their past has been. 
 
 Dirt is not dirty, but misplaced 
 
 Out in the garden, clean and chaste, 
 
 So things called evil may perchance 
 
 Be just a foolish act or glance. 
 
 Forget it all and don't refer; 
 
 Stop "harping" or 'twill reoccur; 
 
 Suggestion stimulates the mind. 
 
 What's good or evil in mankind 
 
 Is largely as we view the act 
 
 Of others ; we can't know the fact. 
 
 We only see the surface and 
 
 See not temptation's sure demand. 
 
 "Judge not" applies to yon and me; 
 
 We cannot know the destiny 
 
 Of human souls and life to come. 
 
 Forget, forgive. God is not dumb. 
 
 But says to all: "Who approach me 
 
 Must pass through gates of charity." 
 
Tell It to a Friend 
 
 THE SUICIDES OF CHARACTER 
 
 By Oakley Selleck 
 
 To women who "will talk" — well, here's a 
 "tip": 
 
 Tell all you know, then hurry, pack your 
 grip; 
 
 Get out of town as quickly as you may. 
 
 "She was your friend" — ha! ha! well hear 
 her say, 
 
 And circulate each incident you've told; 
 
 A richer mine to her than one of gold. 
 
 For scandal sweet you've started like a 
 flame 
 
 That burns and scars your character and 
 name. 
 
 Just talk and tell each incident of life, 
 
 Disgrace yourself; your tongue a sharp-edged 
 knife. 
 
 Sure ! Hand it to your dearest friend to 
 wield. 
 
 It's quite too good to keep — so she will yield 
 
 And innocently start a little breeze 
 
 By wink or nod or just a "friendly" squeeze. 
 
 Don't wait, but fly — your finish is in sight; 
 
 No one but you could cause your present 
 plight. 
 
 Go blaze your story, yes, quite far afield; 
 
 What was your private life will quickly 
 yield 
 
 To wrath, to condemnation and despair; 
 
 It's public now what was just your affair. 
 
 MORAL 
 
 Keep your private life to yourself if by the 
 
 telling it could possibly harm you. 
 Trust neither friend nor foe. 
 
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 Beware ! for it is treasonable, 
 Quite wicked and unreasonable, 
 To question the decision of a court. 
 Oft politics will give a judge 
 A job for life — or years — oh, fudge ! 
 A crooked man may get the job, 
 A "boozer," or perhaps a "slob" — 
 ^ ou know the kind of lawyer brand ; 
 There's millions of them in our land 
 As thick as leaves or ocean sand, 
 And then some more. 
 
 Please mark the change when he's a judge: 
 He's a "wise guy" and will not budge 
 From his prerogative; for now he is a judge. 
 He wears a robe of solemn black, 
 Supreme in dignity, he'll whack 
 At laws and statutes here below ; 
 He's now infallible, you know. 
 Just watch the cases he has tried — 
 All been reversed, higher judges spied 
 A million flaws in him. 
 
 And yet we're warned: "Revere the court!" 
 
 It is contempt to grin in sport 
 
 At "wisdom" that most any clam has got. 
 
 We vote for legislators grave, 
 
 Most of them lawyers, and to save 
 
 Our "liberties" by passing laws 
 
 Our judges they will hunt for flaws 
 
 In every act our men have done. 
 
 A joke's a joke and fun is fun. 
 
 And handed down to many a one. 
 
To question! Well, you're quickly damned 
 An anarchist of reddest brand; 
 Recall a judge? Oh, horror, can it be! 
 Mistakes we common folk do make 
 Become a judge; then you'll awake, 
 Endowed by Heaven, you'll know it all. 
 From now, 'way back to Adam's fall. 
 No one will dare to question then. 
 Infallible with wisdom's pen. 
 You'll write your just decrees. 
 Well, now and then. 
 
 There is a tragic side to it ; 
 
 Our President one term can get — 
 
 We will not trust him longer than four years. 
 
 We exercise our power — "recall." 
 
 If we don't like him that is all (he gets). 
 
 ^ et we let him appoint for life 
 
 A man as judge, with his legal knife 
 
 May stab to death the people's laws 
 
 By adding words or picking flaws 
 
 Of straws — because he is a judge. 
 
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 Hope's eternal ; providential 
 To success, it is essential; 
 Hope ! that's based on just a bluff 
 Is the weakest kind of stuff; 
 Hope! excites but cheap derision 
 If not backed by stern decision ; 
 Hope ! of value means to do. 
 Hope! not backed will not come true. 
 It unfits us for life's work. 
 Hope! is fine if 'twill not shirk; 
 But to hope, then idly sleep 
 While disaster, dire and deep, 
 Rears its head with haughty sneer. 
 Hope! more deadly than to fear; 
 Hope! is grand when well applied; 
 Hope ! with action will decide. 
 Hope alone, though marked express, 
 Goes by freight to nothingness. 
 
I '• m (6006. 1p (giaji •• I 
 
 ^ |IZII]|["^^ IT IS THE LAW [^^|"^^ [l^ 
 
 By Oakley Selleck 
 
 Be good, be glad it is the law 
 Of recompense, for God he saw 
 That human life it must be taught 
 That without love life comes to naught. 
 
 Be good, be glad you can't go wrong, 
 For goodness sings its joyous song 
 In every heart that will obey. 
 Be good, be glad means ecstacy. 
 
 Be good, be glad you're part of God ; 
 Be good, be glad you feel His nod 
 Of warm approval in your soul, 
 For life eternal is your goal. 
 
 Be good, be glad not for to-day; 
 God's law is for eternity. 
 Each day you miss you merely cheat 
 "^ ourself alone and meet defeat. 
 
 Be good, be glad — remember this: 
 
 A dollar you may never miss. 
 
 But happy thoughts — that's sweet and good; 
 
 You cannot lose, not if you would. 
 
 ® - m n r r m 
 
 WHEN IS TO-MORROW? 
 
 BY OAKLEY SELLECK 
 
 DO IT NOW! There's no to-morrow. 
 Many think that they can borrow 
 Time. 'Twill fool you, for to-day 
 Is our time — and it won't stay. 
 
 Did you ever see to-morrow? 
 "You should worry" if no sorrow 
 Comes to you. Until that day 
 You may ever laugh and play. 
 
 When to-morrow shall arise, 
 There's another just Its size 
 Standing there — and it will be 
 Waiting there eternally. 
 
 To-morrow dies; when it arrives 
 It is to-day; alone that thrives. 
 No to-morrow comes to you, 
 For to-morrow is not due 
 Until to-morrow. 
 
,A 
 
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 d} laa tlip Atiitautanp? A 
 
 By Oakley Selleck 
 
 A thought that's new to most of us, 
 
 But absolutely true, 
 That time well spent is fortune 
 
 And gives a broader view. 
 That means more wealth invested 
 
 That will pay dividends 
 Each extra year adds to its store 
 
 And happiness extends. 
 
 Suppose at thirty you conclude 
 
 That you advantage me. 
 I'm sixty, have lived thirty more — • 
 
 That's twice as long, you see. 
 At thirty I had seen the same, 
 
 Had lived life, fast or slow; 
 So all you've lived I lived the same. 
 
 Yes, thirty years ago. 
 
 Suppose you lose your memory, 
 
 Know nothing but to-day ; 
 ^ our thirty years are blotted out, 
 
 For memory cannot pay 
 A dividend upon your past. 
 
 You have none — that you know, 
 For memory is your bank account, 
 
 And you have none to show. 
 
 I think I've proven memory 
 
 To be our wealth in store ; 
 To lose it is to lose our all, 
 
 For naught has gone before. 
 We've never lived, we've never loved. 
 
 Except what's now, to-day, 
 Which means in fact oblivion. 
 
 Youth cannot answer nay. 
 
As memory then is our real wealth 
 
 Augmented every day, 
 The man of sixty has the call ; 
 
 His extra years will pay 
 A happiness, if lived a-right. 
 
 Our youngsters cannot know. 
 Please stop and think — now think real hard, 
 
 And you will find it so. 
 
 It has been said a million times: 
 
 "How rapidly time flies." 
 "About the time man learns to live 
 
 About that time he dies." 
 This proves that age alone gives joy 
 
 The younger cannot know^; 
 \'outh is the school of discontent, 
 
 And age will prove it so. 
 
 If thirty years is better, say, 
 
 Than sixty, you'll admit 
 That fifteen years is better far, 
 
 For that's just half of it. 
 Then seven years and just six months 
 
 Is better, better still, 
 And babyhood, the best of all, 
 
 When memory is nil. 
 
CONTENTMENT 
 
 By Oaklky Selleck 
 
 "Contentment" means a lazy thing, 
 No satisfaction can it bring. 
 We're often told to be "content." 
 What sort of life, to what extent 
 Would we progress in life and action? 
 Contentment builds no satisfaction. 
 
 Contentment has no thousand springs 
 Of bubbling action and that brings 
 Emotions brave, with splendid thought; 
 No world of progress has it wrought. 
 Contentment is a dead fruit sea, 
 'Twould but retard our destiny. 
 
 Contentment would destroy, dethrone 
 Ambition and stagnations own; 
 Grim death would seize and kill desire, 
 That restless onward Godlike fire, 
 That's made the human race so great; 
 Contentment sleeps — does not create. 
 
 I do not know, but I can guess — 
 
 Contentment does not spell success. 
 
 To be content swift action ends. 
 
 We must forget no hope extends 
 
 A beckoning hand, with sweetest smile; 
 
 We're dead, for progress doth beguile. 
 
 So I conclude contentment lies 
 
 111 other worlds — say. Paradise. 
 
 Mj/ life's content is discontent. 
 
 To curb desire I would resent 
 
 That Heaven is just beyond our view, 
 
 A splendid thing for me and you. 
 
 AH life is complex, changing ever. 
 We cannot reach the end — no, never. 
 Progressing onward through desire. 
 We're quickened by creation's fire, 
 That seeks the best that's in our race. 
 Immortal time our footprints trace. 
 
 Through changing seasons, joy and sorrow, 
 Through love we'll make a grand to-morrow ; 
 But satisfied — contented — never. 
 May those great souls live on forever. 
 Through discontent they blazed the way 
 For the world's progress of to-day. 
 
(^xu i^mxhxeii frars frnmNnm 
 
 OAKLEY SELLECK 
 
 One hundred years from now, let's ask, 
 
 what then? 
 A century, not very long, and when 
 'Tis past the earth, sea, sky and sun 
 Still here, but you and I are gone, and every 
 
 one. 
 
 One hundred years from now. 
 
 One hundred years from now — yes, me and 
 
 you, 
 With millions more, sleep soundly 'neath the 
 
 dew; 
 Where then the stately splendor of the grand. 
 The silent tomb. Is there another land 
 One hundred years from now? 
 
 One hundred years from now all passed 
 
 away: 
 The royal hand — and beggar — to decay 
 Have gone. There's no escape — we all must 
 
 die. 
 Do spirits live in that world by and by 
 One hundred years from now? 
 
 One hundred years from now we all are 
 
 dust; 
 It is the law of Nature and of must. 
 The glorious beauty of my lady fair 
 Time writes decay, and does not even care. 
 One hundred years from now. 
 
 One hundred years from now do we still 
 
 live 
 And know our friends, and love, as heart 
 
 beats give? 
 Love what, and whom, or are we money 
 
 mad? 
 Or have we grown a soul that will be glad 
 One hundred years from now? 
 
 If true we live, don't waste a single day 
 
 To gather that we cannot take away ; 
 
 That all must leave our souls stripped cold 
 
 and bare, 
 Will be but paupers in the world just over 
 
 there. 
 
 One hundred years from now. 
 
A Song of the Under\vorlcl 
 
 OAKLEY SELLECK 
 
 I'll sing you a song of the underworld, 
 With its banners gay, which at night's 
 
 unfurled 
 In the glittering glare of the Great White 
 
 Way, 
 Where passions bold they hold full sway. 
 Where the God of Night, in his garments red, 
 Inflames the blood — with his stealthy tread; 
 And daughters sweet from their homes are 
 
 hurled. 
 Because of their sex — to the underworld. 
 
 The story is as old as recorded time ; 
 The woman — the victim — commits the crime. 
 The cause — the effect — it always is she. 
 The devil laughs loud at hypocrisy. 
 The man he escapes, with his virtue white. 
 But the girl is damned, and must end her fight 
 As best she may — no life buoy is hurled 
 To save as she sinks — to the underworld. 
 
 Of the underworld I will say my say — 
 Where the sisters of men they are sold for 
 
 pay, 
 Where the daughters of mothers, for a golden 
 
 price, 
 Are "loved" and cursed in its drunken vice. 
 And the "honorable" court exacts a fee. 
 And "charity's" hand waits expectantly, 
 For the blood-red gold from virtue's grave. 
 Of this underworld — where we damn, but 
 
 don't save. 
 
 'Tis the clink of gold, and its wild display, 
 That tempts the daughter of poverty. 
 Until her mind and soul's aflame. 
 Rebels at the law that marks it shame 
 To sell for a price to those who'll pay. 
 From grinding toil to luxury — 
 She sees the rich in their taxis whirled — 
 It's the "moth and the flame" — to the 
 underworld. 
 
 So this is the song of the underworld — 
 Where beautiful women are nightly hurled. 
 Where wine and women and also song, 
 Where the days are short and nights are long. 
 Where she loses her sweetness which Nature 
 
 gave. 
 But time and repentance will cleanse and 
 
 save — 
 She but disobeyed society's law, 
 But God will forgive, for He clearly saw. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 018 394 256 6