LIBRAR OF CONGRESS. — .. ©qnjrijfyt If $♦ UNITED STATES OE AMERICA. h OR, Tliorns and Blossoms; POEMS CACTUS OK, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS A COLLECTION SATIRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS, EMBRACING RELIGIOUS, TEMPERANCE, AND MEMORIAL POEMS, BY '7arf.tr rirnA Mbs. ELIZABETH OF DANNELLY. /o J/J /C New York: Atlantic Publishing & Engraving Co. 1871). r f^v Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, By Elizabeth O. Dannellt, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. DEDICATION. TO THE NOBLE WOMEN BALTIMORE, WHO HAVE ENDEARED THEMSELVES TO THEIR SOUTHERN SISTERS BY THEIR GENEROUS DEEDS OF LOVE AND MERCY, THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. PREFACE. I— RELIEVING that a discerning, and honest Public will discover, and justly award to it, whatever of merit it may possess, I have ventured to give this Volume to the world. Without deeming it necessary to state the reasons which Have led to its publication, I would simply say that it goes out not as the finished and elaborated work of a lite- rary recluse; the poems which it contains are like the fly- ing sparks from the anvil of the blacksmith, which hrigliten his gloomy surroundings whilst he wields, amid the din and dust, his hammer, in unceasing toil. In the midst of household cares, surrounded by six romping boys, have I often snatched up my pen to note a golden nugget of thought wedged, as it were, by some passing Muse into a brain already crowded. Into a noisy, bustling, world it goes from the busy active scenes of home life, as a timid pilot upon the fitful waves of a literary sea, to be followed, if not engulfed in the vortex of criticism, by something of more studied finish when time has borne my noisy boys into the quiet dignity of manhood, and converted my home into a retreat of silence. When it no longer becomes ne- cessary to dismount my Pegasian .steed to bridle a hobby- horse for an incorrigible three years old equestrian, or to descend from a visionary, star-bound flight to arbitrate a complicated dispute over a ball, or top, it may be in my power to make amends, and conciliate those who may feel that they have been imposed upon by a "so called" poem. vii Vlll PREFACE. It is, perhaps, only by my Southern friends, so well ac- quainted with the life of a Southern women before and since the War, and the marvellous changes of that life, that I can expect allowances to be made for defects which, un- der more favorable circumstances,mighthave been avoided : Having, in 1866, consented to write for a weekly paper, a series of satirical poems, I selected for my nom de 'plume "Cactus", the name of a plant bearing thorns, flowers, and fruit, as a signature suggestive of much liberty, under which might appear the variegated flowers of poesy, the mature fruits of sober thought, or the formidable thorns of satire. The same considerations have led to its selection as the title of my Poem; and whether it shall live and bloom, or, af- ter a brief existence, wither and decay under the chilling blasts of unfriendly criticism, time alone can prove. Most of the poems contained in this volume have ap- pearedin the various periodicals and magazines of the day, and hence have already stood the test of editorial criticism. Those containing political allusions will readily suggest the time, and circumstances under which they were written. They are republished more for their historical, than poetic worth, and with no intention, or desire of arousing buried animosity, now that time is so kindly healing the wounds inflicted by the late civil war. But the past has its history, a compound of stern, and unpalatable facts, to be receiv- ed as a whole, and not as a whimsical child, selecting, and picking out the raisins, would partake of a plum-pud- ding. Suflice it to say, it is with the best of motives that my first Volume is now offered to the public. Elizabeth O. Dannelly. Baltimore, Md. INTRODUCTION. HE amiable and gifted authoress of this volume of poems has been long known to the writer. She is a native Georgian, born in the town of Monticello, June 13th, 1838, graduated in the Female College in Madison, Ga., July 26th, 1855, and was married in the same place, September 4th, 1862, her husband being, at that time, a surgeon in the Confederate army. In early girlhood, her poetic taste was manifested; and the composition which, under the authorities of the institution, she was required to prepare, as her last public exercise, to be read at com- mencement, and before diplomas were conferred, was il- lustrative of her talent for poetry and satire. It was a brief, sarcastic Poem upon the question supposed to be prominent with many young men in quest of a fair part- ner for life, viz.: "Has she any tin?" A distinguished gentleman who was present at the occasion when it was delivered, afterwards wrote in relation to it: — "I doubt whether another head in the vast assemblage could have perpetrated the like." This, with some others of her poems, have, I think, been favorably noticed in "Hart's American Literature" and in "The Living Writers of the South," by Davidson. The foregoing article, although an early production, is included in this collection. Since that period, she has continued to indulge her governing proclivity, and has often invoked the aid of the myrtle-crowned Erato. INTRODUCTION. For the last many years she has resided in the city of Baltimore, Md., and made frequent contributions to ma- gazines and other periodicals, and has now embodied her various articles, written for the press, in the present chaste and beautiful volume. She is highly meritorious and deserving in all the re- lations of life. In her modest and retiring manners, her intelligence, refinement and piety, the public have a suf- ficient guarantee that they will not find one indelicate nor impure line or sentiment, to sully, in the slightest degree, any effusion from her pen. The writer, therefore, feels warranted to commend Mrs. Dannelly's (whose maiden name was Marshall) vir- gin volume to the attention of an appreciating public, with the hope that it may receive a liberal patronage. A. MEANS. Emory College, Oxford, Ga., June 10th, 1879. CONTENTS. SATIRICAL POEMS. PAGE Has She any Tin? 21 The Old Man on the " Stuck-ups." 31 "Whence They Came." 33 Rich Relations versus Poor 35 The Pain of Ugliness 38 A Curious Fact 42 Inconsistent Husbands . 44 Inconsistent Wives 49 Inconsistent Lovers 53 The Nation 56 Hints to Young Ladies 63 A Character The Political Situation 07 A Rainy Sunday 70 The Precious Jewel 73 The Poetess in the Kitchen 80 The Burning of Columbia 82 RELIGIOUS POEMS. A Delusion 99 4 "God Forbid that I Should Glory.". . . 101 Lost in Sight of Home 103 \i CONTENTS. PAGE "Thy Will Be Done." 105 Work On 106 Save the Pennies 108 Glittering Crowns Ill "He Leadeth Me." 112 The World 114 An Appeal for the Women of Japan 116 The Unchanged Cross 119 I'm Thinking of Thee 121 The Redeemer's Name 122 Repinings 124 Redemption 126 Two Sides— Christ and Self. 128 Pause and Ponder , 129 Homeless 131 How Tommy got his Thanksgiving Dinner 133 Waiting 135 My Saviour , 137 "Oh, Tell it to me Right, Mamma." 139 To the World 141 TEMPERANCE POEMS. Oh! Form not the Habit 145 No Christmas for Poor Little Willie 147 Future Drunkards 149 "Only a Gentleman Drinker." 150 "No Wine Hereafter at the White-House." 152 The Depth of Woe 155 "No Whiskey in Heaven." 157 CONTEXTS. MEMORIAL POEMS. PAGE His Words. — In memory of Bishop E. M. Marvin ... 161 "My Time is Come." — In memory of Rev. A. T. Bledsoe 163 "Let thy Widows Trust in Me." — In memory of Mr. James Withington loo "A Passing Angel Fanned her to Sleep." — In memory of Mrs. Mary Fisher 166 Her "Story." — In memory of F. W*** 167 "Nothing Wrong." — In memory of John G. Patter- son, Esq 1 ( >9 A Tribute to the memory of Rial North, Esq 170 Lines in memory of Mrs. William F. Wade 172 "Friends have been scattered like Roses in Bloom." — In memory of Mrs. Mary B. C. Osborn 1 U In memory of Little Annie Cline IT 5 Safely Anchored. — In memory of Capt. F. J. Chase. 177 Lines in memory of Mr. Azariah Graves ITS The Only One. — In memory of Mattie Webb The Fading Picture. — In memory of Mrs. Isaac L. Cary 182 In memory of Mrs. Ann Eliza Moody 183 In memory of Rev. James A. Duncan He Left us with a Smile. — In memory of Dr. A. Dyer Marshall = 187 Looking for the Deaths. — In memory of Mrs. Ella Tucker Stubbs 189 "Like the Rainbow of Summer." — In memory of Mrs. Gallic L. Smith 1 92 Little Ilattie 193 XIV CONTENTS. PAGE Elegy on Prof. Nathan R. Smith of Baltimore, Md. 195 Little "Toddie" 196 In memory of a Noble Boy, Henry F. Good. ...... 199 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The Enchanted Forest. — An Indian Romance 203 Oh! Tell me not that Literature can Fill a Woman's Heart 232 Woman's Devotion » 234 "Nobody wants me with Baby." 236 To my Sister on her Twenty-Ninth Birthday 238 On the Death of a Favorite Dog .240 "In Prison." 242 Lay aside the little Garments 244 The Housekeeper's Lament 245 Making a Hole for Santa Clans 24(5 "Out of Danger." 248. Oh! is it Strange? 250 " Old Lady Broomsticks." 251 Blossoms 253 The Miser's Dying Thoughts 254 " A Princely Mansion." 256 The Wheel of Fortune 257 Growing Old Together 259 The Confederate Dead 261 St. Michael's Bells 203 The Missing Bells 200 A Welcome to St. Michael's Bells 207 To President Davis in Prison 268 CONTENTS. XV They Tell me that She's "Better off." 271 The Ruins of my Alma-Mater 273 The Rose of Columbia 271) A Child's Query 281 On Strewing the Soldiers' Graves with Flowers .... 283 Never Despair 287 My Little Blue Eyed Boy 289 Sympathy 293 Once I Loved the "Conquered Banner." 294 Woman's Apology 296 Heart Echoes 298 Strewn o'er the Graves of the "Blue" and the "Gray" 300 Governor Wade Hampton, the Pride of thy People! 302 "Broken Links." 304 The Poets are Growing Old 306 Cutting Teeth 308 Crape on the Door 309 Music 311 The Empty Cradle 312 Parting for the Summer 313 A Centennial Birthday 316 Unveiling the Monument 318 Ode to the South 320 A Tribute to Martin F. Tupper 322 The Sunny Day 325 Truant Husbands 326 To a Confederate Pocket-Book 329 Still Shining 331 The Family Record 333 South Carolina 335 Cutting Out the Pictures 337 XVI CONTENTS. PAGE Gray versus Blue 339 Reunion 340 "Despise not the Day of Small Things." 341 Modern Poets 343 The Modern Poet's Consolation 345 She Lost them at the Ball 346 Retrospection 347 A Floral Offering 349 Love to Pity Turned 362 No Letter Yet! 364 Faded Flowers 365 Lines in an Album 366 An Apostrophe to Love 367 I Ought Not to Love Her! 367 Lines to my Sister Ophelia 368 Pleasing Recollections of the "Little Pine Cup- board." 369 "A Yale of Tears." 370 "Too Old." 371 A Heart History 372 A Country Drive 374 To my Six Boys 375 "Not in the dark, cold Grave." In memory of VYm. T. Smithson, Esq 377 "All are architects of fate, Working in these walls of time, Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme." Longfellow. >vn OK, PICTURES OF VICE COLORING. " Yet soft his nature though severe his lay ; His anger moral, and his wisdom gay : Blest satirist! -who touch'd the mean so true As show'd vice had his hate and pity too." POPK. " Poets alone found the delightful way Mysterious morals gently to convey Iu charming numbers ; so that as men grew Pleased with their poems, they grew wiser too. Satire has always shone among the rest, And is the boldest way, if not the best, To tell men freely of their foulest faults, To laugh at their vain deeds and vainer thoughts." Dryd: n. HAS SHE ANY TIN? 21 HAS SHE ANY TIN ?* A Graduating poem read on Commencement day, at the Madison Female College, July 26th, 1855, in Madison, Ga. The time and cir- cumstances under which the following poem was written are plainly indicated by the allusions therein contained; and the words and phrases, peculiar to the South, are readily recognized by those fami- liar with Southern customs and society. As it was written at the age of sixteen and a half years, the facts concerning the ways of the world were of course obtained from mere "hear say 1 ' ; though sub sequent experience has proved their truthfulness. AWAY with accomplishments, charms, all away ! Tell me not of proud beauty's resistless array: It's nonsense, all witchcraft, a bundle of trash, Things heeded alone by the foolish and rash. Give me the rich lady, with purses of charms, Who wins by her "darkies," plantations, and farms; Not beauty, or graces, naught's wanted but dimes, They alone can console in these hard, hard times. Your slender-built beauties, your delicate flowers The sunshine can stand, not adversity's showers ; Like the glittering-ray fish, they're beautiful things, But you'd better not touch, and beware of their stings. Then accomplishments, extras— what won't come up next ? I scarcely can think of the things, but I'm vexed ; French, Music and Latin — the whole endless list — Could all be dispensed with, and yet never missed. Your opera music, your fashionable singing, A sheep can surpass, when his neck-bell is ringing; 22 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. Your daubing with paint, and. your working with floss, This knitting and braiding, this patchwork of moss, All heaped in a pile, make a beautiful mess For a young lady's fortune, I truly confess. But there's one humbug more, not the least of the train — That vapor which springs from the novelist's brain — The bubble called Love which its origin claims Alone in the fancy of novel-spoilt dames. I presume, it is true as we've all heard it said, It inhabits not seldom the college-boy's head, Imparting a softness, and manners that win, Unequalled by naught but the softness within. Ah! pitiful creatures, how can they esteem So highly the visions of which they but dream? But let them alone, they are sure to repent Ere in life's busy battle they've many years spent. When Poverty enters the threshold, she makes it A point to give Love through the window his exit, And your lovely young wife, though the town all extol her, Can't compare with the charms of the almighty dollar. For this is a love which is ever enjoyed — Not a dream, something real, and cant be destroyed. For the longer you worship the silver you hold, The stronger you'll cling to your treasures and gold. As to ladies' accomplishments — tell me, I pray, Are these not the thoughts of this audience to-day ? Perhaps not of all, but of many, I guess, Who, if questioned, would quickly (or sloichj) confess They have always committed that commonest sin Of serving their favorite divinity, Tin. HAS SHE ANY TlXf 23 Now, do not repel the assault with a blush, And declare you have never regarded the "plush;" It sticks out too plainly, when anxious to hear, You inquire so intently, her income a year; Or, with head half inclined, the sweet sound to draw in — "Just between you and me, has she got any tin?" And then can't your motives be plainly discerned, When about some old Colonel you're mightily concerned, Inquiring of weather, the prospect of rains, How comes on the cotton, the corn-crop and grains; But finding she's rich, don't know enough yet, To be certain, must ask if her "daddy's" in debt. If every thing suits, and the investment is sure, Then a quick introduction you'll plan to procure. But just let *he answer be this: "She is poor," Then your curious questions are whispered no more, And turning away, like a sorrowful churl — "She looks like she might be a very nice girl." Miss "So-and-so's" face is as rough as a fence; She is destitute quite of all solid good sense; Her eyes are nigh lit to jump out of the head, Which last is well warmed with a covering of red; Her nose forms a mountain prodigiously high, Protruding the upper lip, scaring the eye ; While chin, quite afraid of the horrible mouth Takes a pointed direction away to the south. In short, you may say she's as "ugly as sin"; But that's a mere straw, for she's plenty of tin. Though the dark cloud of ugliness over her hovei She's greeted by Hocks of admirers and lovers. After all your objections — her big Roman nose, Her woodpecker head ami her parrot-like toes — 24 CACTUS; OR THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. She is not to be scorned nor be deemed an enormity, Her money will cloak every trilling deformity. There's Ma'moiselle Louise, the rich city belle, Can talk as she pleases, can whoop and can yell; To Webster new words she can anytime add, In Murray make changes exceedingly bad, And Chesterfield's rules so completely misplace, That but for her wealth it would prove her disgrace. But just let Miss Polly, Miss Dilsey, Miss Dolly, Who dress in their homespun, and think it no folly; Who scour, wash and iron, can spin and can knit, Some trivial venial error commit — Then, horrid! O horrid! ridiculous balk! The people will snigger, they'll laugh ancPthey'll talk — "How awkward, ill-manner'd, and so impolite, But that class of people can never do right." You surely forget, while condemning their follies, Vour "mammy", when younger, was one of the Pollies. Yes, now at the shuttle you'll turn up your nose, Forgetting when "mammy" wove all of your clothes, That you used to card out the cotton for thread; While "mammy" was baking the hoe-cake of bread. You sleep late, but once when your "daddy" would how His barley, he'd rise ere the chickens could crow; With harrow and hoe to the fields he'd away, To work like a "Turk" till the close of the day. Very strange that you now can't remember such things, But act as descended from nobles and kings; Eat breakfast at ten, and take dinner at live, This dining so early you could'nt survive. Vour pastry, desserts, your French dishes and wines, HAS SHE ANY TIN? 25 May have made you forget the old muscadine vines, And the briers you've trudged through with thorns in your feet, That Sunday might find you with pie for a treat; And how for a ride you would pitch and would fight, When "daddy" came home with the ox-cart at night. Now, pray don't forget, when Miss Polly, you scorn, The double log-cabin in which you were born; But keep it in mind, and imagine no more, If you are wealthy now, that you never were poor. Wealth gives to the meanest, most ignorant man Free license to do all the mischief he can. What freedom your rich man, your General uses. The good taste of others how oft he abuses; Can eat with his fingers, can lick out his platter It's nothing, of course, but a very small matter. If, by way of mistake, he knocks over his cup, Or, intent on his soup, takes a very loud sup, Frightens waiter to death, with a terrible bleat, Shoves off on the cloth the loose scraps from his plate; You are sure to apologize kindly, and smile — "How eccentric his ways!" — but your anger and bile Would burst like Vesuvius, oVrwhelm the offender, If he be some mechanic, boot-maker or mender. Ves, poor eccentricity bears all the blame, So long as for riches he keeps up his fame; While General can talk of his negroes and lands, Ilis chance for a "speck," of his newly laid plans ; Expatiate largely on Russia's intentions, On Liquor Law bills and Know-Nothing Conventions, Puff away at his ease Rio Hondo cigars; 20 CACTUS, OJi, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. Can strut in kid gloves, hold his head to the stars, Pull out his gold watch with its dangling gold chain, Walk up and down street with a gold-headed cane; Though his high head is empty, he'll hold the first rank 80 long as it's known he has money in bank. The young dandy, charmed, like a bird by a snake, Commits a quite common, but fatal mistake ; For his eyes while bedazzled with gold's blinding light, Are certain of virtue and worth to lose sight. Seeking only distinction, to which he would rise, lie worships and marries a millionaire prize. When safely ensnared, without chance to escape, To his sorrow he finds he's in Midas's scrape, Who prayed that his touch should change all things to gold, But, famished with hunger, and shivering with cold, Very soon begged of Bacchus a different treat — To turn his gold back into blankets and meat. No friend to calm softly the billows that roll, While adversity's storms are convulsing the soul; No gentle companion, with magical art, To light with her smiles, and bid darkness depart. O no; but, instead, he has married a pet, Who can murmur and grumble, can quarrel and fret, Bawling week after week, scolding day after day, At all living creatures that come in her way. Yes, one whose ill-temper no kindness appeases; Who'll have her own way, and do just as she pleases; Who ne'er in her life to a mortal could bow, And would'nt by any be ruled over now: Must everything have that she thinks she admires, Or burst out in fury, like volcanic tires. HAS SHE ANY TIN? 27 _ _ And then if it happens the crop's rather slim, And he can't spare the money to meet every whim, No pity she'll have, but in spite she must dress, If it plunges him into the deepest distress; The bonnets, the silks, and the satins must come, Let it make him grow gray, yes, or blind, deaf and dumb; This thing of refusing he never could dare; He'd sooner encounter a lion or hear. Not the sign of a murmur must ever arise, Or he'll certainly forfeit his head or his eyes; Must be as submissive and meek as a iamb; Must bear, must endure, and be perfectly calm; Must never the slightest objection disclose, No matter what notions she's wont to propose. Then, if for her folly, he happens to get Involved head and ears in a vortex of debt, One thing's pretty certain, he'll stay in the mire — There he'll struggle alone, there he'll even expire. If he waited for help, he'd be looking in vain, She'd never assist him to get out again : Wasn't used to hard-working, and wouldn't be vexed, Be worried, tormented, and ever perplexed ; Wasn't married to be a contemptible slave And wouldn't be one the whole Union to save. To darn wouldn't stoop, wouldn't look at a patch, Her delicate fingers no needle should scratch ; It was never a part of the life she had led To hammer at biscuit or make up a bed. O, no, she'd been used to the parlor and dance, Perusing new novels, absorbed in romance, A little French, poetry, music, and song, Then dozing away the whole afternoon long. 28 CACTUS; OB THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. Poor fellow, I guess ere in sorrow lie dies, He'll wish he'd not heard of that millionaire prize. Alas! who would sacrifice comfort for tin? How few, notwithstanding, are free from the sin! These fish that will bite at a bait of the dimes, Are commonly caught, and caught badly sometimes. I've heard of a story, where charmed by the tin, Another poor fellow was quite taken in. Well, there once was a lady remarkably fair, Whose beauties were numerous, charming and rare; She attracted this "sprout, 1 ' with his head full of sap, A victim just fit to be caught in a trap; When captured, and after all help was too late, He found he had married an old bald pate, Decked off in some ringlets, all glossy and fine. As little her ringlets as yours or mine; The eye that he thought was so sparkling and bright, Was a smooth ball of glass without muscle or sight; The cheeks that so glowed with the tint of the morn, No sooner were washed than all color was gone ; The white pearly teeth, all so smooth and so sound, Had belonged to some Indian long since in the ground ; But naught had the victim so terribly nettled, As to find that on her all the money was settled. The ladies too fall into errors absurd : How oft of some charming young Miss have I heard, Who, to some old grand-daddy, her liberty sold; Because he has promised a plenty of gold! Poor thing, and when purchased with carriages fine, With furniture, dresses, ere long she will pine; HAS SHE AXY TTXf 29 Iii sackcloth and ashes her folly repent, Ere a fortnight in bondage she's mournfully spent. The crabbed old thing is forever complaining; He's grunting and groaning, be it shining or raining; He'll sneeze and he'll quarrel, he'll cough and he'll creep, The weary day long he will doze and he'll sleep; Then smoke up the house with tobacco and pipe, His dirty black feet on the ottoman wipe ; In short, such an obstinate, hard-headed man, She never can please him — do all that she can. 'Tis not the young only who worship the gold, The same mighty charmer allures the old. The shrivelled old mother now soon to expire — With tremulous voice, "la he rich?" must inquire. If he's iw)t, then his visits she'll quickly cut short, Can never consent to a match of that sort. But he's hundreds of thousands, and just let her hear it, Instanter, he seems a young man of great merit. O yes, he must now be invited to dine; The parlor, the house, and the table must shine; The children must have on their best Sunday clothes, Keep quiet their ignorance not to expose ; The servants must practice until they are able, Without seeming awkward to wait on the table; Young mistress must primp, and do all that she can, To catch such a wealthy and charming young man. And now since the heiress alone's in demand, There's a curious practice I can't understand ; So the question to ladies I'd like to propose, Perhaps you'll be able the trick to disclost'. 30 CKJTUS; OR THOU XS AX J) BLOSSOMS. What's the use of this greasing and painting your faces, This dressing in satins, rich ribbons and laces, This curling, and scorching, and crimping your hair, Your bleaching and scrubbing, to make yon look fair, Your drawing, and squeezing, and pinching your feet, This enduring of death, as yon glide through the stroot? No matter how pretty, no heart will you win, So it's no use to try if you're minus the tin. But then, if you have it, why suffer the pain? Distinction and honor you'll certainly gain. Think no more of your flounces, your bonnets, too, now Pull up from your shoulders and cover your brow; Think no more of the mind, for the fashions all mock it, IJui centre your energies all on the pocket ; Deem all your accomplishments not worth a straw, Bui to keep you from under stern poverty's paw-; Pay court to tin; rich, get, or seem rich yourself; Give beauty the back-ground, and scruples the sli"!l ; Think no more of fine eyes, pretty mouth, dimpled chin — Like a cork von will float on a life-boat of Tin. * Some have spoken of a similarity between the above poem and 1 'Nothing to Wear," by William Allen Butler; if any ex i fete, it is the result of accident, and not imitation, "Has she any Tin?" having been published some time previous. TEE OLD MAX ON TEE " STUCK- UPS.' :il THE OLD MAN ON THE a STUCK-UPS." \A/ Ml A j, wife, this is ; fi funny world; some folks are mighty strange ; It seems to me since I was young there's been a wondrous change; I met with Peter Jones to-day, right bluff up on the street; I might have seen my image in the hoots upon his feet, But you think that Peter knew me? Why bless "you, Honey, no! He acted like he never had heard tell of me before. He kept on busy talking to a fellow at his side, And looked so consequential, the embodiment of pride; I looked, and kept a looking, I could scarce believe my eyes : It's mighty strange, these modern times; how quick sonic people rise; It seems just like the other day that Peter drove a cart, And worked at any sort of job to get a little atari ; Well now he's rich, and gone to live up in the "Western End"; But who'd have thought that Peter Jones would slight so old a friend ; And there's that hoy of Peter Jones, they say he's "stuck up" too, 32 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. And half the girls in Baltimore are making much ado About his very handsome face, and very winning ways; Of course they never knew the chap before his prosperous days! I always thought that our Bob had twice as much his sense, And yet he's gone way yonder up, and left Bob " on the fence". It seems to me we all work hard, and nothing lack in pluck; But somehow it is mighty strange we've never had their luck. I saw Pete's wife the other day riding in her carriage ; I used to go with Nancy Ann long, long before her mar- riage, But you ought' o seen her toss her head, and look up to the sky, She didn't seem to even know that I was passing by. Well, well, I'm getting quite outdone a watching people's ways, And all the pride and foolishness that's common in these days; I sometimes think I'll be right glad when time with me is up, And all the bitter and the sweet are swallowed from the cup." WHENCE THEY CAME." 33 "WHENCE THEY CAME, T3 ECORD them all, the rich, the great, -*- From Avenues and Places, Who live in mansions large and grand, Who dress in gems and laces; " Society's Directory" Shall be our roll of fame ; (), let us know aristocrats! But tell not "whence they came !" That we may pay them each and all Due deference when we meet, Pray give us with precision true, Their number and their street; We'd know "boil tons 1 ', and "who is who", Their residence and name, But spare , O, spare their pedigree ! O, tell not "whence they came!" We'll ask no questions of the past, Of what they -came or how, We'll only know them by the style In which they're living now, We'll recognize, the " F. F. Bs", We'll not dispute their claim, Antiquity shall hold her tongue, Nor tell us "whence they came." 34 V ACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. Alas! ye "Bloods," your day is o'er, Now streets shall fix your station, The standard of gentility Is of a late creation ; 'Twere vain to tell your ancestry, Their wealth, or ancient fame ; What care our modern "fashionables" For you, or "whence you came?" But after all, it matters not Who's known by street or birth, For all that's false must pass away, Must vanish with the earth ; For God, the great, the rich, the poor, Shall welcome all the same, Nor in His Kingdom, on His Throne, Shall ask them "whence they came". RICE RELATIONS VERSUS POOR. RICH RELATIONS VERSUS POOR. ~Y^ 7~E'VE met with some people remarkably prone ^ ^ To talking relationships o'er, But never found one, even willing to own A kinsman exceedingly poor. They'll dwell upon records for centuries kept, From their origin down to the present, And boast about those, who for ages have slept 'Neath the feet of the prince and the peasant. They'll mention the name of some General great, And his virtues recall by the score, Or talk of the worth of his scattered estate, But never admit he was poor. xhen cousins, almost from the time of the "flood," They'll trace with a great deal of pains, And tell e'en what portion of "quality" blood Is flowing in all of their veins! They've kinsfolk "quite famous;" some "likely to rise/ And some, who "to Congress, have risen," But we'll venture to say, in all candor and truth, They've none in a poor-house or prison. O no! the Avhole tribe, from beginning to end, Is free from a "dark-colored" sheep, Or if there is one, you may surely depend, That secret they'll certainly keep. They'll speak of this uncle— a "Governor" of State — That cousin an "heiress" or "belle," "Old aunty" who'll leave them a property great When summoned in heaven to dwell — 38 CACTUS; OR THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. But of Paddy, who ditches with shovel and spade, From beginning to end of the year, Or "Peggie," who's learning the milliner's trade, "Tis certain you never will hear. Of "Nancy," who brings in her chickens for sale On election or "mustering" day, And measures, for "coppers," her tumblers of ale, They'll surely have nothing to say: Of uncle, in "wool-hat" and osnaburg suit, Who travels on donkey or mule, They generally manage to keep rather mute, While to shun him they make it a rule. Such kindred they think it degrading to claim, Because they're minus the "tin" And always declare with a feeling of shame, They are "slightly 9 if any way " kin!" With "Big-Bugs," however, they'll fish for connection; But "small-fry" are ready to mock; They never can bear the unpleasant reflection Of springing from "plebian" stock. These "would be great ones" we're frequently told, While passing through city or town, Will seek for relations abounding in gold Or living in earthly renown ; But of those who are getting a laborer's hire And of those who are begging for bread, They never take trouble, not e'en to inquire Whether they are living or dead ! They'll welcome their kindred, of "eminent fame," To visit them summer and fall, And news of their coming will gladly proclaim, Till tidings are wafted to all: RICH RELATIONS VERSUS POOR. 37 The house will be painted and scoured with care, The silver and crockery shine; The table be covered with "niceties" rare, And neighbors invited to dine. Then with fine shining coach and sleek prancing bays, And coachman and footman so neat They'll invite them to drive, on mild sunny days, Of course, through the principal street: And then all bedecked in fair Fashion's array, Quite often they'll visit and call, And when the "dear creatures" no longer can stay, They'll give them a "party" or "ball". But when their poor kindred upon them intrude They are sure not to make any "splurge," And if they don't treat them exceedingly rude, Their visits they never will urge. — Hick kindred are always the "pinks of perfection," Intelligent, handsome, polite, Not even Dame Nature could make a correction, In short, they're perfectly right! Poor relations may be quite as pure in heart, In intellect, equally bright, Yet never seem beautiful, lovely or smart, They are viewed in a different light. In looking the face of the hemisphere o'er, One thing we have thoroughly learned, That those, who are wanting in glittering lore, 13y kindred are apt to be spurned. So, if any are blest with a number of kin, And wish their affections to hold, They cannot expect their approval to win, Until they have gathered the gold. 38 CACTUS; OR THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. THE PAIN OF UGLINESS, HIS is the most rebellious pain That's common to our race, It makes attacks on every part, But mostly on the face ; This ailment 's hard to diagnose, Yet most the symptoms know, For those who have the malady Some evidences show; The physic used is various, And scattered o'er the nations, But all the remedies consist In outward applications; On each young lady's bureau You'll witness any number About the time the invalid Prepares herself to slumber. There are lotions and washes, Paints, powders, and dyes, With "cushions" and "bandoes" In endless supplies; Then curls, without number, And tresses of hair Twisted up in a "coil" With the utmost of care ; And another "contraption" Much queerer than all, THE PAIN OF UGLINESS. ;.^> A sort of appendage They style "water-fall." Then, pins used for Every sign in its place, Gives proof, without doubt, That this pain's in the face. And, if searching on farther, You come across "stays," The victim is suffering In two different ways ; It is always the sign Of a desperate case, When the portion affected, 'Tis needful to "lace." Now, this bothersome pain Is confined to no sex, But is sent upon all To annoy, and perplex; The bachelor feels it, As Avell as the maid, And resorts to as many Deceptions for aid. Smoked bottles and hair-dye, 'Tis hard to make mention Of all of their "primpers" Of recent invention. 40 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. Suffice it to say, With the pain they're afflicted, And to much that is foolish Are sadly addicted. There are thousands of doctors, And hundreds of quacks, Who say they can furnish What every one lacks; The milliners, barbers, Hair dressers, en masse, With numberless others, Come under this class ; They do all they can To make easy the smart, And we give them due credit For acting their part; But the fact, though a sad one, Is very well known That ugliness always Extends to the "bone." This malady seizes The good, and the brave, And numberless victims Consigns to the grave. The maiden, to reduce her waist, Will girt it up in stays, And for some merciless disease A certain basis lays ; THE rALV OF UGLINESS. 41 To make her feet look extra small Will put on slippers thin, Expecting with a pretty foot, Some clever chap to win; But, disregarding common sense, And warnings from the old, While trying thus to catch a beau, She'll sooner catch a cold. She'll dress up, on a winter's eve, In airy fabries light, And with her neck and arms exposed, Go out to spend the night, Defying twilight's hurtful dews, And midnight's icy breath, She quits the ball-room's stifling heat To meet the chill of death. Thus, from a dread of ugliness, And ardent wish for beauty, Young ladies outrage common sense, And close their eyes to duty. So maidens, pray be cautious How you tamper with this pain, 'Twill often cheat you out of life. And your eternal gain. 42 CACTUS; OR THORXS AND BLOSSOMS. A CURIOUS FACT. \ A / HEN merchants bring on pretty goods, At every opening season, And ladies gratify their wants Beyond all sense or reason; When niantna-makers scarce have time To eat their daily rations, And work their lingers nearly off In deference to the fashions; When milliners display their hats- Fit emblems of the Graces — And rival nature in the art Of beautifying faces ; When gentlemen who lecture girls Upon the sin of dress, Forgetting quite their own advice, Commit the same excess. When old and young, the rich and poor In "finery 11 come out, It is a fact significant, They seem to grow devout; When all have spent their ready cash To purchase something new, YouMl scarcely find in any church A single vacant pew. A CUB 10 US FACT. 43 But when the outfit's been displayed, The bonnet's wearing old, How strange it is as ribbons fade, Devotion, too, grows cold: How very strange when pretty clothes Appear no longer new, That those who still frequent the church Find worshippers so few. 44 CACTUS, OH, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. INCONSISTENT HUSBANDS. HERE is a scene, ye husbands kind, We now would bring before your mind, It lingers in your memory yet, For 'tis a scene you'll ne'er forget; 'Tis when, in all your manly pride, You claimed your fair and blushing bride. You felt, upon that wedding night, That all might envy your delight, And, in exulting triumph, swore To prize each day your " idol" more; A microscope your eyes became, And magnified each charm the same. You told her then, in accents kind — For " love," you know, is always " blind"— That none possessed such beauties rare, Or could, in worth, with her compare; That ne'er was such perfection seen, Until discovered in your queen; And if, perchance, in coming years, Those radiant eyes should melt in tears. And with their briny touch erase Fair Nature's carmine from her face, Or from that brow relentless woes Should steal the lily and the rose, INCONSISTENT HUSBANDS. ]. r ) You told her that, as ivy stayed More closely by the oak decayed, So long you'd linger at her side, When time had changed your lovely bride, And, breathing o'er your marriage vow, You swore to love her " then, as now"; v\t morning, noon, or night, the kiss Was ne'er forgot, or thought amiss, Pet names, which came with every word, Were ne'er too sweet to seem absurd; Unconscious of all other eyes, Your ardent love knew no disguise. No matter who was standing near, Twas "honey," "sugar," "darling," "dear, 53 Save when to variegate your love, You'd spiee it up with "turtle dove,' 1 And then, to make complete your bliss, Would steal another loving kiss. You ne'er refused to walk or ride, But lingered ever at her side; Pronounced each word, and action right, To grant each wish was your delight, And promises were never broken, Or hasty words in passion spoken. To lift her up and down the stairs, To coax her when she put on "airs,' 1 Or kiss away the saucy pout When business matters called you out 3 Indeed, to act the lover well, To catch the kerchief as it fell. 4{J CACTUS, Oil, THORNS ANB BLOSSOMS. To give consent to this, or that, To feed her bird, or pet her cat, It was your highest earthly aim, Until you well nigh spoiled the dame, And with attentions turned her noddle, In trying to become a "model 1 '. — Now husbands, tell us, "honor bright, 11 Confess the wrong, as well as right, We know 1 tis cruel to convict yon, But have we overdrawn the picture ? Pray tell us, are you so devoted As when your lovely wives were courted? — For shame your guilty faces hide, We'll peep upon the other side. — The curtain falls, the dreamy act Is changed for one of sterner fact, Which proves that no "beginnings 1 ' tend To throw a light upon the "end 11 . No more the kiss is sought at noon, The lips are sadly out of tune, Except when something happens wrong, And then they 1 ll clatter loud, and long, About the petty ills of life, And "botheration" of a wife. The dinner 1 s never fit, to eat, The bread is "raw 11 , and "burnt" the meat. The shirt is never done up right, Sometimes too "stiff' 1 , too "blue 11 , or "white INCONSISTENT HUSBANDS. J 7 Your wife must bear the full amount Of blame, and give a strict account For every thing that happens wrong About the house, the whole day long; Must answer for the cook contrary, For careless Jane, or lazy Mary, And almost get upon her knees Your transient anger to appease. The "brats" are always in a pout, And wife's to blame, beyond a doubt, The little '-imps 1 ' are such a "bother," And take their meanness all from mother, Who's grown so "ugly," and so "old," And such a "cross, notorious scold". Yet still she's striving, day by day, To drive your ugly frowns away; She's mending pants, or darning socks, Or making baby's bibbs, or frocks. — She'll sometimes for a little change, The household furniture arrange. — But, "hold, enough,"! we'll gladly close, Nor seek your follies to expose Still farther in a stronger light, Lest you should deem us impolite. Excuse our venture to advise, And look at things through other eyes: 48 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. Your wife is but a human creature, In mind, and heart, in form and feature, So take this adage for your guide, While drifting on life's changing tide, YouVe doubtless heard it in your lives, " Good husbands always make good wives 11 . me INSISTENT WIVES. 49 INCONSISTENT WIVES. I — 'ECITLIAR charms by none denied Surround the very name of bride, All press with eagerness to see The captive maid, no- longer free; The orange bud is deemed more fair Because it oft bedecks her hair, And silken " blond,' 1 'tho only lace, When found in any other place, Charms even as a fairy tale When wrought into the bridal veil, Which o'er the fairest form can throw A charm it never knew before ; The orange bud, the veil so light, The satin robe, of spotless white, With youth, and nature's charms combine To make a picture so divine That few, in all creation wide, Have ever seen an ugly bride. Now, all ye staid and sober wives, Who lead such unromantic lives, Remember for your consolation Though greatly changed your avocation, There was a time when, without jesting, The world pronounced you interesting. 50 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. But let us turn away from brides, For every question lias two sides, To look at things, without disguise, Through Honesty's impartial eyes, And view, amid the cares of life, The less poetic, sober wife. We've brought up husbands for inspection, And found that none can boast perfection, But let us not forget the rule That many of us learned at school, 'Tis even true, as children say, That " turn about" is but "fair play." Now, wives, so strangely inconsistent, And in your foolishness persistent, How often by your love of dress You keep your husbands in distress, When just a simple hat, or gown, Would drive away that constant frown. How oft to make a " good appearance," You tax him quite beyond forbearance By thus indulging silly dreams, Which hazard all his moneyed schemes; And oft consume the ready "cash," Until he's broken with a "smash." Sometimes you'll give a brilliant ball, And make a show, surprising all, Nor think how long holies awake Devising plans to pay for cake, INCONSISTENT WIVES. 5J Or that from every dancing set JJe hears the warning echo — debt. You'll flirt, and waltz with other men, Till long beyond the hour of ten, And yet, would very jealous grow If on some miss he should bestow A loving glance, and like a hawk You'd watch him if he dared to talk. You strive to keep his "lordship" "straight," And scold him when he stays out late; You put your veto on the " Club," And his companions "rascals" dub, Quite sure he's up to nothing right Whenever he is out of sight. Poor fellow ! when he takes a smoke. And feels disposed to laugh and joke, You'll tell him how the "money flies," And how he's "putting out your eyes," And how he's "scenting up your rooms" With horrid old tobacco fumes. In days gone by, when first " engaged," You never once became enraged, To contradict were never heard, But now, you'll have the /,,.,/, last word; Would e'en the sign of " scissors" make If sinking in a pond, or lake. Sometimes you'll sleep till after nine. And get up then to pout and whine 52 CACTUS; OR THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. Because the household's going wrong, Or things are not where they belong, And look the picture of a frown Enveloped in a dressing-gown. The very frill that caught his eye, Now, since a wife, you've laid it by, Or quite neglect the graceful curl That set his heart into a whirl ; And songs that used to charm him so Have been forgotten long ago. Before you caught him every art Was practiced to secure his heart; The fairest flowers, culled with care, Were woven through your glossy hair ; The richest ribbons, gems and lace, Were put on with a studied grace ; The brightest smiles lit up your eye Whenever he was sitting by, And with soft music's melting strains You bound him fast in magic chains, And seemed in his fond, loving eyes, An angel pure, without disguise. Now, ladies, to retain attention From husbands, we would simply mention, Just practice, as in days of yore, The magic arts that won before, And never drop the fair disguise That made you lovely in his eyes. UTC0NS18 TEX T LO VERS. 53 INCONSISTENT LOVERS. I'VE found out something on the boys, My tranquil mind it much annoys, So now, I mean to tell the girls, Lest some should cast the precious pearls, Hid in their hearts by Hands Divine, Before the trampling feet of "swine:" There is a youth, who has black eyes, A pet mustache— he slightly dyes— With charming teeth, and jetty curls, Which "play the mischief" with the girls; He always wears a gay cravat, And very latest style of hat. A dainty little walking-cane, A handsome watch, with massive chain, A pin, and buttons, with a ring, A most expensive, heavy thing; A coat and pants of fashion late, Comprise the most of his estate. A very small supply of brains, With which he takes but little pains; A callous heart, the shade of coal, A counterfeit upon a soul ; With casual eye just slightly scan, And then you'll see the total man. 54 CACTUS; OR, THORN'S AND BLOSSOMS Now, of this fascinating youth We'll tell the girls the simple truth; There was a trunk found in his room, And that the girls may fix his doom, According to the sternest law, We'll tell them all the things Ave saw. We'll own we did commit the sin Of very slyly peeping in : There was a pile of human hair Of every shade, some dark, some fair, Some braided narrow, others wide, Some with a dainty ribbon tied ; Some hair was glossy, some was fine, While some, again, resembled twine; Some straight, some curly, some, I think, Was tangled up into a kink; But sure it was the pile was meant Some fifty heads to represent. We then, with wonderings, began, And strove to read this youngster's plan ; Perhaps he's sought these locks with care To make a fortune braiding hair For pins and rings, in patterns rare, To please the dames, and maidens fair. But lo ! I turn with more surprise, Full fifty pictures greet my eyes. Well, now I have it, 'tis a gallery He'd open to secure a salary. INCONSIS TEXT L VERS. 55 O what a lot of pretty faces, Put up in such elaborate cases ! But lo ! I spy a pile of letters, Some lying loose, some bound with fetters, Some red, some yellow, pink and blue, Some soiled with age, some fresh and new; Were I each fancy seal to break, I'm sure my heart would sorely ache. I've found him out; this modern "squirt" Is what they call a " killing flirt" Such falsity you'd scarce surmise. Oh ! that young ladies were too wise To make deposits in such hands As fail to honor their demands. The secrets in those " billet doux," Inscribed in ink of varied hues, In many a touching, tender line, " Forever yours," or, " Only thine," I'll be too clever to expose, Though many a "chum" their contents knows. Young ladies keep your pretty faces Forever in their proper places; Look out for Cupid, with his fetters; Be very sparing with " love letters." Should fops recpiest a lock of hair, Think well, fair maidens, and beware. 5C> CACTUS; OB, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. THE NATION. A bit of history, written just after the War between the Con- federate and United States. r~\ WHERE'S the glorious Nation ^— * That once struggled into life, And bade adieu to England 'Mid the din of bloody strife ! O where are now the heroes, Who once battled for the right, And gloried in the victory And justice of their fight ! O where are now the " rebels" Who regarded not the crown, And for their disobedience Won the plaudits of renown ! O where are now the "traitors" So disloyal to the throne, Who said they'd make a government, And call it all their own ! O where are now the "patriots?' Who made the bold profession That any people had a right To fight against " oppression ! " THE NATION. 57 Who called the thirteen sisters To combine their fighting skill, And agreed to live together, Bound alone by free good tuill! Who lifted up the Eagle, Bid defiance to the Fates, An set the " stripes " to floating O'er the great United States ! O come, ye sleeping heroes, Who are resting with the dead, Bring all your great companions, And George Washington, your head ! O listen, for a moment, To the story of my Muse, While she makes a revelation Of some most appalling news ! She'll tell you, father Washington, The history of the case, And how the politicians Brought the country to disgrace : Well, first of all, the quarrel Was " invented" by the "Yanks," And for the reformation They are welcome to the thanks. You remember, when you left us, That the Yankees had the slaves; Well, they sold them to the Southerners, And played the part of knaves ; 58 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS They said the " darkies" would'nt " pay, 1 ' But told us not the " sin" Until they got their burden off, And had us "taken in;" Then, soon went up the "hue and cry," Throughout the Yankee land, That slavery was a damning curse, Opposed to God's command. Such cruel and such open sin The Christians could not see; They said they'd stop the horrid thing, And set the "darkies" free. Well, now the Southrons thought this step Worse than the tax on tea, And said so gross a robbery Should never, never be; They told their conscientious friends, They'd saddle all the blame, And by withdrawing to themselves Relieve them of the shame ; l>ut of their wealth and services The Yankees had much need, And plainly told the Southern States They never should "secede." The South then told them that she'd go, Full conscious of the right, And if she could not leave in peace Would be compelled te fight. THE NATION. 59 Now, at this intimation All of Yankeedom arose In all the raging fury Of the most relentless foes. They called upon all Europe, And a million men they bought To whip us for the very thing They once themselves had fought They seized upon the revenue, Blockaded all the ports, Claimed all the ammunition, And laid hold upon the forts. They had the standing army, All the money and the might; The South had naught — her only strength, The consciousness of right. She struggled on, and shed her blood Through four long, weary years, Until a dark and crimson tide Flowed through a land of tears. They came in herds, with burning torch, And laid our cities low, And cursed our helpless women As they bade them homeless go; They stole the very jewels From the weak, imploring hand, Took bread from starving children Through our desolated land; 6() CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS Regarded neither youth nor age, Nor -spared the holy place. And fixed forever on their names The brand of deep disgrace. O'ercome, at last, by greater force, And trickery of the foe, The South withdrew her gleaming sword, And laid her colors low. The Yankees, so magnanimous, Then promised General Lee They'd let us take our places back, Just where we used to be; But when they got our guns away, And thought all danger o'er, They carried on the same old game, And fooled us as before ; They cast our helpless President Within their prison walls, And turned a deaf, relentless ear To Mercy's pleading calls; They said " the Union was preserved" They'd brought a "peace" about, But when we promised to behave, Forsooth, they kicked us out. They tell us that we shall not vote, Yet taxes Ave must pay, And help support the Government Without a word to say; THE NATION. (',[ They tell us that wo are not free, ' Because we loved our rights, Assure us that the negroes, now, Are better than the whites ; They've sent us from the ballot-box To let the "darkies" vote, And Congressmen to negro rights Their precious words devote ; They've done another generous thing, And passed a recent bill That Southern men their army's ranks Are not allowed to fill; Should foreign war upon our shores Implant its iron heel, The noble act 'twould doubtless be Their pleasure to repeal. J ?ut lo ! my Muse must seek repose, And hush her doleful song, Too feeble are her liveliest powers To utter half the wrong. Our country's writhing under The injustice of our foes, And when will cease oppression Only God, in wisdom, knows. (), " father of your country !" Such distinction you'd disclaim, (i2 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. The Republic's lost its greatness. And the honor of her name ; You'd turn away with sadness, Overshadowed by dismay, And weep upon the bloody soil Where sleeps your hallowed clay. HINTS TO YOUNG LADIES. 63 HINTS TO YOUNG LADIES. TOO many daughters of our modern age, Unmindful of the teachings of the sage, Give to the mind a secondary place, And sacrifice its powers to silk, and lace. The pretty face, we would not lightly deem, Or to the graceful form indifferent seem; All modern fashions canvass to deride, Or deprecate a moderate share of pride ; And yet, we must condemn the sad excess, The great devotion to the art of dress, Which never elevates the mind above A bow of ribbon, or the shade of glove; A blind adherence, we can but lament, To all Dame Fashion chooses to invent; Must pity those so bound with steel and loop, That fettered limbs refuse to bend or stoop ; And if, perchance, "their snowy kerchiefs" "drop," Must cast imploring glances at some fop, In hopes that Gallantry a "lift" will lend, To save them from a "blush," and dreaded bend. How many turn disdainfully from books, Unless they treat of dress, or pretty looks, 04 CACTUS; OR THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. And seek their pleasures, where all reason fails. In fashion plates, and sentimental tales. Their dreams by night, and constant thoughts by day, Are fixed upon the subject of display; Without a wish more solid things to know, . . Ambition envies naught but gaudy show; An empty purse is looked upon with dread, ]>ut few, alas ! deplore an empty head; Some, too, with ease, the fashion journals quote, Whose spelling would disgrace the briefest note. Averse to wisdom, seeking but to know The quickest way to captivate a beau, With craniums void, they take the place of wife, And, empty-headed, end the " voyage of life." .1 CHARACTER, 65 A CHARACTER. V*^0 bitter is she that even gall ^-^Turns to :i sick'ning sweet, And honies on her lips; So violent when in a rage, That hell-born Furies sent On missions of revenge In her wild presence stand abashed, And, conscious of defeat, Turn red with envy; So false, that Truth, fair goddess, pure, Affrighted, flees her presence, To shun its Upas poison; So envious, and by it blinded, She heaps imagined good On those whose lives are sad, And while she deems them blest with joys. Though of her own creation, Resorts to stratagem To rob them with a ruthless hand Of what they ne'er possessed, Or even thought to covet ; So jealous, that she hateth all Who ever had a lover, Or even love bestowed; She thinks but one was ever born To merit true devotion, And that dear one herself; 06 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. So selfish, that the very thoughts Of giving startle her, And well nigh turn her reason; So mischief-making, that her soul E'er finds its chief delight And every day employment In rupturing friendship's golden chain, And strewing thick the broken links Upon her rugged path-way; So dissembling, that at will All virtues can she feign, And so deceive the innocent As oft their love to gain By artful strategy. Though strange, such beings really live Outside of hell's domain, And pass on earth for women. THE POLITICAL SITUATION. (>7 THE POLITICAL SITUATION. Written in 1S76. After the election of Pres't. ilayes. | JUR country's «'i theatre, ^-~"^ And our Congress is the stage, Whilst the people are spectators, Of varied rank and age ; Upon its broad arena Our politicians mix, And entertain their audience With speeches and with tricks; They've turned a solemn tragedy Into a stupid farce, And whilst the actors differ much, The wiser ones are sparse ; Our sober minded people Look upon the scene with dread, And none can treat it lightly, Save the fool with empty head; For when statesmen in high places, And Supreme Judges too, So far lose sight of justice, And all that's good and true, As to shelter Fraud and Falsehood Behind the forms of law; Forbid investigations, Lest the search reveal a haw, And cherish things as sacred, fig CACTUS; OK, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. That are only base and vile; O! how can men of reason, Look on the farce and smile? — The partisan Commission, So confirmed in all their ways, Have ignored the vote for Tilden, And have summed it up for Hayes; We might have known the terminus, Before the case was tried, For Radicals, we all must own, Deep "in the wool are dyed;" A cloven-foot will reproduce Divisions in its track, And toltite can never he deduced From any thing that's black. A party, not the people, In the issue must rejoice, Since manoeuvres made the President, And not the Public Voice. — We'll try to be submissive, And we'll hope for better days, While we pray to God devoutly To direct the steps of Hayes, And implore Him,' in His justice, To make Radicals anew, And then as well as Democrats, Republicans will do. We'll beg Him search their rotten hearts, If hearts can e'er be found, And root their vile corruption out, Until the core is sound. — May honesty possess them, THE POLITICAL SITUATION. (\\) Till they all refuse to steal, And then around their altars More devoutly can we kneel. — Jehovah of Omnipotence, Exert Thy mighty power, And save us from destruction, In this dark and trying hour; Have mercy on Republicans, And turn them from their ways. And give us peace and plenty With the rulership of Hayes, 7(j CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. A RAINY SUNDAY. *^OME deem a rainy Sabbath day ^^ A great and timely blessing, While others note the rising cloud As something quite distressing. The youth who's haunted all the week By thoughts of brilliant eyes, Looks up with fixed and troubled gaze Toward the weeping skies ; And though his lips may never move, The angels hear him say, " Plague take" a rainy Sunday ! SheTl not be out to-day. The love-sick maid, with nervous air, Looks through the window-pane, And crossly bites her ruby lips To see the falling rain ; She lifts the sash with trembling hand, And with impatient eye Looks for a sunbeam, smiling bright, To cheer the frowning sky; List, and your ear wdl catch the low, Sad music of a sigh ; A RAINY SUNDAY. 71 Or, can you read her inmost thoughts By glancing at her eye ? Then softly you might hear her say He'll leave me in the lurch, I'm sure he'll not come round to-day To take me out to church. The giddy miss who's lately bought A bonnet or a dross, Looks out upon the gloomy day With feelings of distress; And as she hears the bell for church, Says, almost in a pout, "I think I'll stay at home to- day, There'll be ' nobody out.'" The handsome dress is tossed aside, With half reluctant air, The bonnet, such a " perfect love," Is laid aside with care; She sinks into an easy chair To mope the live-long day, Because she did not have a chance Her "rigging'' to display. 'Tis often thus devotion's cooled, Or smothered in a twinkling, While pride is thrown into a u bod " By just a little sprinkling. 72 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. Some like to see a rainy day, While others wish it fair, Because, to tell the painful truth, They've " nothing fit to wear.'' While others hail the melting cloud For reasons little better, Because it is a "charming time" To write a friendly letter. Some think it is so "glorious" To take a Sunday " doze," To lay aside their business cares, And weary minds compose ; Some read a hook, or love-sick talc* Regarding it a treat To have a day of solitude — No visitors to meet. But few regret the Sabbath rain, The wet and muddy sod, Because they cannot go in peace To hear the Word of God ; Or look from this beclouded sphere To one forever bright, Where darkness hides its sullen face Before eternal light. THE PSECIO US JE 1 VEL. 73 THE PRECIOUS JEWEL, HERE is a gem of value great, And far more rare than gold, And though 'tis highly prized by all, 'Tis never bought, or sold; It lies in no dark ocean cave, Deep buried out of sight, Nor from the bowels of the earth Is it conveyed to light; It needs no skillful workmanship To polish oif the dust, To cut it into graceful shape, Or penetrate the crust; 'Tis found in perfect symmetry, Nor can the hand of art Add lustre to its brilliancy, Or greater worth impart; 'Tis never hid, but always seen, None can mistake it well, Yet of this gem, that's known to all, There's something strange to tell ; Though few possess this jewel rare, The truth is ne'er confessed, 74 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. But each one calls the gem his own, And thinks none likewise blest; Yet when he most asserts his claim, Some honest neighbor kind, Is slyly "laughing in his sleeve," To see his friend so blind; While he, in turn, deceives himself In pretense e'en more bold, And quite contented, "thanks his stars' 5 He's not so badly "sold." Thus each beholds the other In a very different light, And while they each are in the Avrong ? Believe they're in the right. Indeed, this gem so curious, Just now, "'tAvixt you and me," Pray, pardon, the comparison, Is much like Paddy's " Ilea." The name of this uncommon gem Is doubtless evident; If not, we'll tell you in a word, " Consistency" is meant. Of those who lack consistency There is an endless throng, Who ever think they're in the right, While ever in the v/i'ono,' ; THE PRECIOUS JEWEL. 75 Indeed, we cannot tell one half The funny things they do, But if you'll lend a list'ning ear, Some members of the church, we fear, Are sliding back quite fast, And yon, who used to be the first, Are now among the last To join in any noble scheme That better people start, Or show by either word, or deed, You've chose the "better part." To church, to Sabbath-school, or prayers, You go so seldom out, Unless you quickly mend, your ways, You'll never be devout; You'll often slight the house of God For rain, or mud, or snow, But if a circus comes along You're very apt to go, Though winds may Moav, and thunders roar, And cold may be the day, But ever, where you have "a will," You'll always find "a way." You'll give your dollar, cheerfully, To patronize the down, But won't expend a single cent To benefit the town : 76 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. When Charity presents itself, Your money's all "played out," And when the preacher wants his pay, You're always "up the spout;" You'll run from the "Subscription lis*" And dodge "collection" days, Neglect your Christian duties In a thousand little ways; Yet never slight the milliner Who beautifies your face, Butgayly rustle into church Enveloped in her lace; Willie lie, who strives in holy zeal To beautify your heart, Kinds, to his great discouragement, lie acts no easy part. When dark misfortune grimly frowns, And sweeps your wealth away, The first economy you use Is in the preacher s pay; You'll ne'er forsake a dainty dish, Or fashion that is odd, But first contrive to "make ends meet," And save, by cheating God; You'll talk about your poverty, With all its bitter woes, THE PREt '10 f r S JE WE L . 77 And yet, you'll dress your daughters up To captivate the beaux; You grumble if your customers Are slow to pay the "cash," And talk about the "sight of dimes" It takes to make a " dash", But quite forget that, like yourself, The preacher has to eat, Nor think how many dimes it takes To buy his children meat. You'll criticise the preacher's wife, The quaintness of her dress, But if her wardrobe came from you, She'd follow fashion less. So, pray, don't make unkind remarks, Or note her lack of fashion, Unless your tightly twisted purse Is opened by compassion. You'll give a party now and then, And all the rich invite, But if a beggar seeks your door Refuse to him a mite. You'll patronize the baker's shop, To feed the baker's wife, But never give a single cent To buy the "1 read of life." 78 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. You'll criticise the minister, And call the sermon "dry," But never think how much the fault Within yourself may lie. You'll seldom even go to church — That privilege refuse- But when you do, your habit is The sermon to abuse. Yet never think, while giving vent To such unchristian views, How hard a task your pastor has To preach to empty pews; Nor how it tries his faith to talk To those who seldom pray, And, be it uttered to your shame, Who ouite as seldom " pay-" The singing next you'll criticise, And each mistake deride: Glance with a smile, significant, At some one by your side. Sometimes, perchance, you'll take a nap, And just get through your doze About the time the services Are drawing to a close. Then, all the while, returning home Declare how ffreatly vexed THE PRECIOUS JEWEL. 79 To think the "stupid" minister Would take so dull a text; And if some more attentive friend Should ask what you had heard, We rather think 'twould puzzle you To tell a single word. Now, readers kind, if in these hints We've "trod upon your toes," Just hold your peace ; say not a word The secret to disclose ; For company you'll doubtless have, And though the "cap may fit," Perhaps nobody'll find it out, So don't confess you're " hit" 80 CACTUS; Oil, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. THE POETESS IN THE KITCHEN. f\ WAY ! away ! I'll break the chains That bind me to these dark domains, Where pots and kettles, sooty black, Offend my sight, and strain my back; I'll wipe the smoke-tears from mine eyes, And, like the curling flames, I'll rise And soar to the realms of fancy. From stifling fumes of broiling meat I'll beat a sure and fast retreat; 111 dodge the spiteful spit of grease, And seek in verse a sweet surcease; Upon the misty wings of steam 111 vanish like a fading dream, And soar to the realms of fancy. I'll seek a fairer scene than this, I'll nee the kettle's serpent hiss, I'll rid my hands of sticky dough, And quit the ills that vex me so; Some friendly Muse will I invoke Beyond the range of kitchen smoke, And soar to the realms of fancy. Let Bridget, with her harsher hands, Supply the table's stern demands, Whose highest thoughts ne'er rose above THE POETESS IJST TEE KITCHEN. 81 The spongy bread within her stove ; Who craves no more ethereal sweets Than such as rise from savory meats But let me go ! I'll break the chain, So galling to my limbs and brain, And soar to the realms of fancy. Let each consent to fill the place That Nature meant for her to grace; Let Bridget glory in her pies, While on Pegasian steed I rise; A poet ne'er was made to cook; I'll seek afar some flowery nook, And soar to the realms of fancy. * While stirring a pot of hominy which was about to burn, despite unceasing vigilance, the above lines were hurriedly written on a paper bag, lying at hand, as a sort of relief to a fit of des- peration and disgust. 82 CACTUS; 0/?, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. THE BURNING OF COLUMBIA. The extreme bitterness of the following poem, the indulgence of which might be deemed by some as even unbecoming to one of the "gentler sex," suggests the propriety of a statement of the circum- stances under which it was written and first published. Standing, as it were, upon the blackened ruins of our adopted home, with that peculiar sense of desolation known only to the homeless, and con- templating the wanton destruction which had reduced to ashes the once beautiful City of Columbia, South Carolina, we naturally gave vent to unrestrained feelings. Nor can we now, after the lapse of years, retract what has been written, whilst we recognize the same unchanging, awful facts which merit the same unqualified con- demnation. The poem is republished with no desire to engender si rife, but simply as a historical fact, recording an act in violation of the rules of civilized warfare, namely, the destruction of a surrendered city, which can never be erased from the pages of h. story. In alluding to General Sherman, we would not underrate his su- perior generalship. The wonderful mastery of his troops was a fact proven, and generally noted in the remarkably short interval in which he checked the heartless ravages of his drunken soldiery. A deathlike silence reigned over the ruined city at his first word of command ; and why that power was not exerted sooner in behalf of the frenzied citizens, who implored his mercy, is a question which remains for him to answer. We are indebted for the facts contained in this poem to William Gilmore Simms, LL.D., having merely versified some of the incidents which he so graphically portrayed in prose. We would also state that the term Yankee is intended to be under- stood simply in that sense in which it was used in the South during the War, and not as applying to all of Northern birth and sentiments, among whom are some of our warmest personal friends. That we may not be misunderstood or misjudged, we would beg our readers to discriminate between the condemnation of crime in itself, and the indulgence of bitter personal hatred, having been THE BURNING OF COLUMBIA. 83 actuated solely by that spirit which can " hate the sin, and yet, the sinner love; ' claiming the inalienable right to condemn the wrong wherever and in whomsoever found. Having upon one occasion re- marked to Bishop Marvin, in connection with the following poem, that we were fearful that come might accuse us of the indulgence of unchristian feelings, he replied: "It is as much the duty of the Christian to condemn vice as to uphold virtue ; " while he called attention to the scathing satire which our Saviour, upon several occasions, used in His reproof of sin, which seems to have been transmitted from the "generation of vipers," and, in this enlight- ened, Christian age, has culminated in the burning of Columbia. 7\A ETIIINKS there'll be emblazoned on the dismal ±yi - walls of Hell A record base, whose fiery words of fiendish deeds will tell, Through ages of eternal woe, to demons black with crime, How once, on earth, degraded meno'erleaped the bounds of time, And though they dwelt in human flesh, incarnate devils turned, When maddened by infernal hate they plundered, killed and burned; Methinks the "Prince of darkness," with a wild, sar- donic grin, Will point exultant to a crime that won the prize from Sin, And glory in a monument that tells his direful sway O'er Northmen who, with burning torch, swept happy homes away. They came, a motley multitude, a God forsaken band, With vengeance rankling in each heart, and blooJ upon each hand, 84 CACTUS; 0R y THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. And as they stood with glittering steel on Carolina's banks, " Vae victis !" was the fiendish shout that sounded through their ranks; They looked across Savannah's stream with fury-glaring eyes, And trembled in their eagerness to pounce upon their prize ; In muttered curses, mingled with the "bowlings of de- light, 1 ' They longed to strike, with bloody hand, the stunning blow of might; And as they neared, with dashing speed, Columbia so fair, The heavy tramp and cannon's roar that thundered on the air Gave warning to her people that a conflict had begun, Whose deadly stroke would do its work before another sun. A carriage then was seen to leave which bore a nag of Avhite, And men within whose bosoms burned the consciousness of right The army reached, in proper form, a noble-hearted Mayor Surrendered all, and begged the foe their lovely city spare. The sacred promise sought, was given, but soon a shout arose Which told, alas ! of pledges broke, and treachery of foes. Behind them desolation told the fury of their wrath; THE BURNING OF COLUMBIA. The light of burning Homesteads threw a glimmer o'er their path; The smiling fields, all trampled, lay beneath the horse- man's tread, And cattle o'er a thousand hills lay mangled, bleeding, dead. Half-naked people cowered under bushes from the blast, And shivered as the midnight wind with icy breathings passed ; Fair maidens whose luxurious lives had known before no blight, With faces pale as marble, stood beneath the pall of night, While "crimson horrors" lighted up the wintery mid- night sky, As on the ebon wings of smoke their burning homesteads fly. Till village after village by ascending flames were traced, And rising on the mourning clouds with fiery arms em- braced. The treasured stores of art and taste defiled and ruined lay ; Hare paintings which had long withstood the touch of Time's decay; Rich tapestry of velvet soft besmeared with ink and oil, Where dainty feet once lightly trod, are now among the spoil ; Rare furniture, superbly carved, pianos grand in tone, Beneath the ruffian's crushing stroke sent up an echoing moan; The gardens, types of Paradise, in tropic verdure dressed, All trampled by the vandal's steed, lay ruined with the rest ; 86 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. The cries of starving children rose upon the smoky air, And wild ascended piteous screams of women in despair; As far as human eye could reach a blackened desert lay, And o'er a stricken people hung the shadows of dismay. On, on they dashed with niad'ning speed, " tuoe to the conquered,''' cried, " We'll crush rebellion's spirit now, and Carolina's pride; We'll burn her cherished capital, we'll rob her of her gain, And woman's prayers or piteous cries shall reach our ears in vain !" No summons for surrender came, but thick, and rapid fell Into Columbia's very heart, the treacherous, bursting shell, The Hying fragments bearing death to innocence and mirth, To children sporting, free from care, around the social hearth, To helpless women, feeble age, and victims of disease, Who fell, with terror stricken down, upon their bended knees. An aged sire, with wrinkled brow, and silken locks of white, Was wounded by a missile sent, which took away his sight. The wild excitement on the street, the universal haste, The people Hying to and fro, the rush, the wreck, the waste, The "wilderness of baggage" sent on wagons to the train, The hundreds striving to get off, but striving all in vain, THE BURNING OF COLUMBIA. 87 The children, and the helpless babes of every age and size, Who added terror to the scene with sharp and fearful cries, The women trembling, pale with fright, who knew, alas! too well, The weaker sex no mercy claimed from men in league with hell, — Will be a sight remembered long, and long on history's page The record will be handed down to tell of Yankee rage. A loud explosion ushered in that long remembered day, The Depot at the dawn of light in smoldering ruins lay, A prelude to the tragic act, the dark, infernal plot Which left upon the Northern name a black, eternal blot. The clock upon the Market-hall had struck the hour of ten On Friday, that eventful morn, when entered Sherman's men. High o'er a captured city now the "stars and stripes" they place To witness scenes of violence, of burning, and disgrace; A banner that once proudly waved — the standard of the free — Now floats above the tyrant's ranks the type of infamy, To take upon its sullied folds a deeper, darker stain Than blood of brothers in the cause of holy freedom slain, To wave above infernal scenes — fit prototypes of I Tell— And with its colors dyed in crime, a mute approval tell; A Hag that once o'er Washington a hallowed shadow threw, 88 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS When in the cause of liberty his gleaming sword he drew ; A flag upon whose azure bine the brightest stars that gleamed Arose from where the Southern blood in crimson rivers streamed, Whose glory fled when 'neath its folds no longer could we stand, When first it ceased to wave above a free and happy land. The thieving wretches, one and all, their pillage now began, Assisted Inj ihe officers exalted in command, Woe to the honest passer-by who carried watch and chain, His arguments of prior right were uttered all in vain, For Yankees ignore all but gold, and no compunctions feel, >r Tis but the "nature of the beast 1 ' to swindle, lie, and steal ; New boots and shoes, or coats and hats, the same abstrac- tion shared, And, all alike, the white and black, with gross injustice fared. The jeweled hands of maidens fair, were sought, a brilliant prize, And sparkling gems Avere taken off despite of tearful eyes; Engagement rings of massive gold, their diamonds and their pearls, Now glitter on the brawny hands of saucy Yankee girls, THE BURNING OF COLUMBIA. go. And Yankee boards are shining now arrayed in silver plate Engraven with the honored names of South Carolina's great. The relies of ancestral pride, by noble sires left, Are lost, polluted, sacrificed, to grovelling Yankee theft; And Yankee cooks and chambermaids, now since the heartless raid, Flaunt out in Southern women's laee and elegant brocade; Disgracing lovely womanhood, ignoring moral law, They wear, without a blush of shame, their "trophies of the War." But 'twere a task impossible to write the endless list, The articles of precious goods that Southerners have missed ; We "fell among" inhuman "thieves," suffice it then to say, That scarce a vestige of our wealth remains with us to-day. Not e'en the house of God was spared, the sacramental cup Was filled with liquor's burning draught for cursed lips to sup ; The sacred vessels of the church were wrested from his hand, As, homeward bound, his steps were turned, the vener- able Shand. They plundered on, insatiate fiends, till near the set of sun, While Sherman looked serenely on, and whispered, " boys, well done." With vengeance written on his brow, and falsehood in his breast, 90 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. He bade our noble, trusting Mayor retire to his rest, Assured him that a " finger s breadth" his men should never harm, And told him how unwise his fears, how needless his alarm. As well might we with childish faith believe the " Prince of lies," For scarce upon the tainted air his false assertion dies, When, lo ! the rockets darting high illume the brow of night, The signal bids the restless foe his blazing torches light; The savage sign thus being given, now bursting to the skies The crimson flame of burning homes in rolling volumes rise. The doom, the awful, awful doom, we heard the soldiers tell, With savage chuckle through their ranks, "to-night we'll give you hell ! " With soaking balls of turpentine, and brands of flick'ring light, They ushered in, with eager hand, the horrors of that night. A range of burning mountains " raised their flame-capped heads on high," And spouts of melted lava sent their torrents to the sky; The crumbling walls upon the air with thundering crashes broke, As o'er them rose successive clouds of black, terrific smoke, The embers floated on the breeze like stars of glowing light, THE BURNING OF COLUMBIA. 91 And glittered high above the Humes upon the vault of night; The elements of nature seemed at war with air and sky, And in convulsive fury swept like avalanches by. The grandeur of that awful scene no painter can portray, But graven on the frenzied mind forever will it stay. Now rocking, with a death-like shock, the ancient State- House falls, And buries deep the lore of time beneath her crumbling walls. How many reminiscences of other days arise, Here, once assembled beauty, wealth, the honored and the wise. 'Twas here the voice of Preston rang with eloquent appeals, And battled for that principle that never, never yields; The mighty Ilayne here nobly plead in freedom's holy cause, And labored for his country's fame, its happiness and laws ; McDuffie stirred the people with his blistering words of fire, They quailed beneath his strong appeals, the maiden and the sire; And here spoke Carolina's son, her noblest, proudest boon, Who rocked the Western hemisphere — the eloquent Calhoun. Long is the bright, untarnished list of Carolina's great, But ruined lies her Capitol, the glory of the State. 92 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. In deep despair the women rush with madness to and fro, Receiving naught but taunting words and insult from the foe; They strive to rescue from the flames, a relic, but in vain, A demon grasps the captured prize, and hurls it back Within a silent chamber now, where burns the lamp-light pale, And prayers from anxious watchers rise upon the mid- night gale, There rests upon a downy couch, a fragile form so white, And lying closely by her side, just opening to the light, Peeps out a tender, little bud, a tiny infant face, And love, in silence, reigns supreme within that hallowed place. The demons rush with curses wild into the darkened room, And carry to its inmate fair a sad and fearful doom, They grasp her thin and trembling hand to seize the shining rings, And terror o'er her livid face its ghastly pallor flings, They seize the watch beneath her head, and with it steal her breath, For, lo ! her eyelids gently close into the sleep of death. Another suff'rer, pale and wan, is writhing in her pain, She begs for mercy of the fiends, but pleads, alas ! in vain ; With cries of murder on their lips and glaring torch they came, And wrapt the drapery of her room in sheets of crimson flame. THE BURNING OF COLUMBIA. 93 Upon a mattress, rudely borne into the chilling air, While icy winds are sweeping by, she meekly suffers there, And bears, in patient agony, while cursing lips condemn, What woman, by the " stern decree, 11 had suffered once for them. A widow, with her " little all, 1 ' a bag of meal and Hour, Had sadly watched her earthly store through many a weary hour, When, with a brow unknown to shame, a ruffian bore away The earnings scant, and pitiful, of many a toilsome day ; He brandished in her mournful face a shining bowie- knife, And threatened, as she plead and prayed, to take away her life. Nor did the hardened wretches spare the children in their play ; When closed the night, and dawned in gloom, another mournful day, A group of merry little ones caressed a sprightly pet, A greyhound, with its glossy hair, and sparkling eyes of jet, When, passing by, a bandit threw a missile at its head, And howling, bleeding, at their feet the little dog fell dead. — A slow procession on that night, with faces deadly pale, Around whose fragile figures hung the long black sweep- ing veil, The nuns, in silent sorrow, left the holy shrine of prayer, 94 CACTUS; OB, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. While o'er their faces, pale as death, was spread a lurid glare. With trembling steps they sadly sought the "city of the dead," As from the hot, and crumbling walls, they terror stricken fled, And there, 'mid hallowed, sacred dust, 'mid tombstones cold, and white, They passed in bitterness of heart that long remembered night. — In Sidney Park where once the gay, and happy city thronged, There huddled, in promiscuous crowds, the old, the young, the wronged; The sick lay fainting on the ground, and to the mothers clung, In almost idiotic fright, their babes, and helpless young; They fancied here a safe retreat from crumbling walls to find, But, lo! redoubled horrors break upon the frenzied mind, When hot, into their ghastly midst with darting speed there falls, Hurled wildly from the heights around, the Hashing, fiery balls.— But there are crimes, far blacker still, too base alas! to tell, Too vile to e'en escape the lips, too near allied to hell, To contemplate would cause a blush on woman's cheek to burn, The thoughts of such infernal deeds her purity would spurn. — THE BURNING OF COLUMBIA. But night removed her sombre veil, and morning came at last; Like maniacs the people stood, and thought upon the past, It seemed a wild, excited dream, a vapor of the brain, Too awful for reality, too fraught with mad'ning pain; But weary limbs, and aching feet, as shelterless they roam, Remind the wanderers, pale and faint, they have, alls! no home. — Ah! who can paint the shocking scene, the desolation wild, The black despair that reigned supreme where happiness once smiled.— The sun revealed a languid ray of sympathetic light, As though his soul had sickened o'er the horrors of the night, He would not cast a radiant smile into the face of gloom, Or mock the dismal soul that mourned its sudden, awful doom; His brightest smiles were far too bright in golden light to fall Upon the frowning ruins there, the black and tottering wall.— But o'er such scenes of blood and wreck my weary Muse grows faint, No longer would she human crimes, and human sorrows paint; Nor would she peer beyond the stage o'er which the cur- tain falls, The act behind congeals the blood, the tragedy appals. A glance upon the outer screen is all she dare bestow, 9!) CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. Where only types of monstrous crimes in fainter outlines glow. — So sad and awful are the scenes, whose traces cannot die, The ruling spirit of the wreck would fain his work deny; When devils that possessed his soul upon that awful night, By softer feelings of the heart are put again to flight, With human eye he views the deed, in terror stands aghast, And on the name of Hampton brave, the fearful blame would cast. — Thorns fester in the Southern heart, and do you ask me why ? Time cannot teach forgetfulness; the past can never die» EUGI0U8 POEMS* OR, VISIONS OF The "Unseen World." "Then woke Stirrings of deep, deep Divinity within, And, like the Bickerings of a smouldering flame Yearning* of a hereafter. Thou it was, When the world's din, and passion's voice was still, Calling the wanderer Home." Williams, " O Paradise, O Paradise ! Who doth not crave for rest ? Who would not seek that happy land Where they that loved arc blest? Where royal hearts and true Stand ever in the light, All rapture through and through, In God's most holy sight." Fap.kk A DELUSION. ()() A DELUSION. ( )II ! tell me not, the Gospel ^-^ Is a fallacy, a dream, Ye friends of infidelity, Though earnest ye may seem ; Oh! give me something better For this longing heart of mine, If Jesus, and His promises, Are not of truth divine. I love the sweet "delusion," If delusion it may he, No other dream has ever brought Such happiness to me ; No other hope hath ever hushed That haunting dread of death, Then tell me not, its potency Must vanish with my breath. I love the sweet " delusion, " I have clung to it for years; It brings me consolation In the midst of grief and tears. Oh! let me die "deluded" then, Take not mine only stay; 100 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. Without that " Ignis- Fatuus," There's darkness all the Avay. Oh! tell me not, ye infidels, I'm dreaming, I am "mad," If mine hath naught of happiness, Your doom is far more sad ; Dispel it not, the glorious dream, But let me eliug the more, As buoyed o'er the rolling waves, I near the other shore. Oil! awake me not, ye sceptics^ Ere I cross the narrow stream, For, if it is a vision, Then forever shall I dream. GOD FORBID THAT 1 SHOULD a LORY." {{)[ GOD FORBID THAT I SHOULD GLORY. I -r-OD forbid that I should glory In the fleeting tilings of earth; In its joys, or in its riches, In its fame, or noble birth; May I never prize, or count them Aught but vanity, and dross ; God forbid that I should glory, Save in Thee, and in the " Cross!" When my life seems bright and hopeful 'Neath the light of Fortune's smile, Let not transient glare and glitter E'er my trusting heart beguile; May I deem my gold and treasure Naught but vanity, and dross; God forbid that I should glory, Save in Thee, and in the " Gross!" If around me friends should gather, And their homage should be mine, Let me not forget a moment That the glory all is Thine; Let me not lose sight of Heaven, Lest my soul should suffer loss; God forbid that I should glory, Save in Thee, and in the " Crass. 1 ' 1{)2 CACTUS; OR, THORXS AND BLOSSOMS. Still, through life, whate'er betides me Let no hope, no joy, or love, E'er divide my heart's affections, Or estrange it from above. All that's earthly let it vanish Into nothingness and dross, God forbid that I should glory, Save in Thee, and in the " Gross!" LOST IN SIGHT OF HOME. 1Q3 LOST IN SIGHT OF HOME. ONG upon the stormy ocean, Sailing in majestic pride, Had she stemmed its wild commotion, Roughly rocked from side to side. Many a friendly sail had greeted, With her pennants floating free, As she homeward-bound was gliding O'er the bosom of the sea ; But in sight of home, and loved ones, Nearing now the sunny shore, Deep she sinks beneath the waters 'Mid the ocean's ceaseless roar. — Thus, in sight of Calvary's summit, Near the Cross, its crimson stain, Reckless sinners often perish Like that vessel on the main. End the voyage of life all hopeless, Where the Gospel's beacon light On the shore is ever gleaming Through the darkness of the night. While the great eternal city Almost breaks upon their sight, 104 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. Tempest tossed, and weary sinners Sink beneath the waves of night. Lost in sight of Heav'n, and "loved ones, With the "great Salvation" nigh, Sinners oft "neglect" the Gospel, Sink beneath the waves, and die. THY WILL BE DONE." IQ5 THY WILL BE DONE. it r~r~\ IIY will be done 11 , Oh, may I ever say, Though strange to me may seem Thy chosen way; Though clouds may gather o'er mine earthly sky, Oh God! forbid that I should ask Thee why; Or, in my blindness, doubt thy love and power, Though sorrows crowd into each day and hour; Though oft my heart may sicken and grow faint, Oh God, forbid a murmur, or complaint. Let me still trust Thee in the darkest hour, And take, as from Thine hand, the thorn or flower; Oh, let me not alone, when life is bright, Yield to Thy will and feel that all is right. And, as in life, so in the dying hour, Still let me feel Thy love, Thy grace and power; When sets, to rise no more, my latest sun, Oh, may I say as now, "Thy will be done!" 106 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. WORK ON. \\T ORK on, work on, in faith work on, ^ ^ Let doubt ne'er turn thy steps aside, For though thy works may seem in vain, The Lord hath said they shall abide ; Yes, all that's wrought through faith in Him, Though weak and small the service be, Shall bear the fiery test of time, And stand through all eternity. Though, after weary labors here, No fruits, on earth, should meet thine eyes, Be not discouraged, labor on, They ripen now beyond the skies; And e'en the glintings from thy crown Would dazzle now thy longing eyes, It glitters with unnumbered stars In that bright realm beyond the skies. Oli, burdened, faint, but faithful soul, Thou who hast heard the Master's call, And rendered, with a cheerful heart, Thy service weak, thy "little all," Plow great will be thy glad surprise, When gems shall glitter on thy brow, WORK ON. A rich reward for service wrought That seems to thee so worthless now ! While those, alas ! whose wondrous deeds Have gained from man such great renown, May share our Saviour's just reproof, A small reward: a "starless crown." 10' 1()8 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. SAVE THE PENNIES. Delivered on the Eighth Anniversary of the Sabbath School Mis- sionary Society of Grace M. E. Church, Baltimore, Md. AA ETIIINKS I see an angel -*- From the realms of love and light; He gazes on this cheering scene, He lingers here to-night; lie smiles upon these "little ones," This bright and hopeful band, Who bring their sacred offerings To cheer a heathen land. His shining way, in joyous haste, Methinks he'll soon retrace, And bear beyond the glittering stars This glad'ning news from "Grace;" He hovers o'er the loving gift, He droops his "snowy wings," To count each bright and shining coin That Innocence here brings; He notes in each a sacrifice, And stamps a blessing there, Which ever, through eternity, The little coin shall bear; SAVE THE PENNIES. 109 Me sees where self hath been denied. And where each little heart Has sometimes found it hard, indeed, With treasures thus to part; Where some, constrained by sympathy, Have given up their toys, To bear the heathen, bound in chains, Bright and eternal joys. Each pitying tear he'll crystalize, He'll turn into a gem, And place it, with a kindly hand, Upon their diadem. Yes, nothing's lost, dear "little ones," That's given to the Lord, Eternity, in sacred trust, Shall keep your just reward. Then falter not; work on, work on, Let time ne'er cool your zeal, And O, what great, what grand results, The future shall reveal! Oh, lay them up, each penny save, Each silver coin, so bright, And send them from this favored land, This land of gospel light, To that far shore of dark despair Where light begins to gleam; Where burdened souls, in ignorance, Clinof to a fatal dream. IK) CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. And you, ye men and women, "Who have known a Saviour's love, Let not these boys and girls, alone, Their faith by works still prove; But aid the great, the glorious cause, Each chance for good embrace, And write in gold, on Heaven's dome The shining name of "Grace!" GLITTERING CROWNS. \]\ GLITTERING CROWNS. ( -.-LITTERING crowns will shine on the heads That are aching so heavily now; Light from their jewels, all flashing and bright, Shall darkness dispel from the brow; Golden streets shall be trod by the feet That are plodding so languidly now; Not ever, 'neath "burdens" so grievously "borne," Shall the pilgrim so wearily bow; Golden harps shall be swept by the hands That are toiling so wearily now; Music will float from their silvery strings, While zephyrs are fanning the brow; Glittering crowns, dazzling crowns, Oh! yes, all the ransomed shall wear; Robes of immaculate white shall they have, And palms in their hands shall they bear. Starless, 'tis true, will some diadems be, But crownless no head shall appear, When eometh Messiah, in glory and might, His "jewels" to gather up here. 112 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. HE LEADETH ME." T-Te leadeth me;" yes, this I know, As on, and ever on I go, Through paths so winding, and so rough, My timid heart oft cries enough, And fain would stop upon the way, So strange the road, so dark the day. "He leadeth me;" yes, this I know, And though my tears may often now, Some day, beyond these frowning skies, He'll gently wipe them from mine eyes; And so, in hope, I cease to sigh, And fondly dream of "by and by." "lie leadeth me;" yes, this I know, And ever on by faith I go, Though not a step ahead I see, And all seems dark, dark, dark to me; I know that somewhere from the sky, There beameth down his pitying eye. Oil! yes, He's near; I know there's light While thus I walk by faith, not sight; Though hidden from my blinded eyes, His glory shineth from the skies; I know, some time, in joyous praise, Must end these dark, mysterious days. 'HE LEADETJI ME 113 "He leadeth me," and on I go; But not where silvery streamlets How, Nor by the glassy "waters" "still," Whore flowers bloom, and sweetly li 1 1 With fragrance all the balmy air, Where life is beautiful and fair; But over steeps so rough I go, I scarcely dare to look below. I lie not down in "pastures 1 ' "green; 1 ' Perhaps in mercy He hath seen That grief and toil for me are best, Nor lets me on my pathway rest; And yet, He doth my soul restore, For, when my heart can bear no more, lie bids the raging tempest cease; Then, for a season, cometh peace, While on the Sheperd's arm I lean, Through dangers hid, and dangers seen It matters not how rough the road That leadeth to that blest abode; I know that some day, soon or late, My feet shall reach the golden gate; I'll enter where there's no more "night," That city of eternal light. 114 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. THE WORLD. HIS is a world of sorrow, Unknown to worlds above, For there each coming morrow Dawns on a realm of love. This is a world of anguish, Unknown to worlds above, For there no beings languish Of unrequited love. This is a world of sighing, Unknown to worlds above, For there no mortals dying Implore " redeeming love." This is a world of weeping, Unknown to worlds above, For there there's no long sleeping Of those who shared our love. This is a world of trials, Unknown to worlds above, For there no harsh denials Our wounded spirits move. Tliis is a world of changes. Ne'er wrought in worlds above, THE WORLD. \]~ y There nothing false estranges From God's eternal love. No sorrow, sighing, weeping, We'll ever know above; When ends our last, long sleeping, We'll 'wake in worlds of love. 11ft CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. AN APPEAL FOR THE WOMEN OF JAPAN. "0 women of my country! will ye not bestir yourselves to give these humiliated wives the gospel, to which you owe all your ele- vation and refinement? One-half the money spent by the women of the Southern Methodist Church for gewgaws would support a hun- dred missionaries in Japan." Bishop Marvin. ( J women of my country! With happy homes so bright; Where gilded Bibles ever shed Their amber, mellow light; Incased in costly bindings, With their clasps of massive gold, And lying oft neglected In their rich, artistic mould: Think how a single volume From thine own abundant store, Would dispel the shades of darkness Which enshroud a heathen shore, And radiate its brightness, Like the "glintings from a crown," Revealing where the "King of kings" In "pardoning love" is found! O wo meti of my country ! There are those in galling chains, Like beasts of burden, forced to toil AN APPEAL FOR TEE WOMEN OF JAPAN. ]\"i 111 Japanese domains, Who to a common sisterhood By rights divine belong, And touching] y appeal to us To Tree them of their wrong. O can you not some flashing gem, Some shining trinket spare, To send a messenger from God With gospel tidings there, To cheer the burdened hearts of those With natures so like thine; Yet on whose cheeks, less pink and fair, The olive shades recline ! O women of my country ! How the cost of misty lace Would hide the sins of human hearts In veils of heavenly grace ! O how the light of jewels, As they blaze with dazzling glare, Would drive Sintoonian darkness From the regions of despair ! And tell to heathen nations How the Christian's native pride, Lost in the love of Jesus, For His creatures will provide. — Ah ! yes, the Sintoo goddess Would reward you with a "smile," Were Bible "beauties" "mirrored" At her altars all the while. 118 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. O women of my country ! Let us heed their piteous cry, As o'er the waves on spicy breeze 'Tis ever wafted nigh. O let us not, in princely homes, Illumed with gospel light, Forget we have a sisterhood Chained in Egyptian night ! O let us not devote our lives To serve luxurious ease, Forgetful of the starving souls Beyond the distant seas; Nor longer from their blinded eyes The light of life withhold; But give, in Christian sympathy, Our tears, our prayers, our gold ! THE UNCHANGED CROSS. \\$ THE UNCHANGED CROSS. HERE'S a change on the sorrowful brow of Night, When the Moon, with her lips of silvery light, Kisses away all the .shadows of gloom, Till the night-king smiles like a joyous groom. There's a change on the brow of the beautiful maid, Where roses and lilies in rivalry laid, When Time, with caresses of withering deceit, Leaves wrinkles and frowns in her stealthy retreat. There are changes in you, there are changes in me, There are changes in all that we hear of or sec, Save in the Cross of Calvary. There are changes in Nature's oft whimsical face, She shifts in her moods with a coquettish grace, When she smiles through her sunbeams and weeps through her showers, And frowns through the storm-clouds which heavily lowers. There's a change in the face of the innocent child, As he roves through the meadows, in ecstasy wild; He weeps and he smiles in his frolicsome play, One moment so sad, and the next one so gay. There are changes in you, there are changes in me, There are changes in all that we hear of or see, Save in the Cross of Calvary. There are changes in nations, in sceptres and crowns, In laws and their makers, in cities and towns; 120 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. In our bright gilded joys, so unreal and so few, And sorrows, so many — a change in them, too; There are changes in friends, there are turnings in foes, For naught that is earthly inherits repose ; And could we the heavens' deep mysteries unfold, The very same tale by the stars would be told. Tin r j are changes in you, there are changes in me, There are changes in all that we hear of or see, Save in the Cross of Calvary. No change in the Cross; ever firm hath it stood, Since He cried, "It is finished," and stained it witli blood ; Nor time shall affect it, nor tempest, nor snows, Nor the lightning of malice, or thunder of foes ; Firm, firm on the " rock of all ages" it stands, While the light from its summit illumines all lands. Oh, ne'er will it shake 'neath the sinner's great load, But firm will it stand, as it ever hath stood ! There are changes in you, there are changes in me, There are changes in all that we hear of or see, Save in the Cross of Calvary. VM THINKING OF TREE. {^l I'M THINKING OF THEE. (Sui)g to the air of " Lorena". I 'M thinking of Thee now, my Saviour, Of all that Thou hast done for me, And what I might have been, my Saviour, Had'st thou not died on Calvary; I'm thinking too how long I trampled Upon the off'rings of Thy love ; How, in my search for earthly treasures, I scarcely turned mine eyes above. As wanderers through meadows blooming, Crush violets beneath their feet, Unmindful of thy heedless footsteps, Till greeted by their fragrance sweet, So, ever on Thy golden blessings, Which bloomed like daisies o'er my path, I danced with tread so light and careless, Nor saw the clouds of gathering wrath; Till sweetness, like the breath of violets, Borne on soft zephyrs from above, Was wafted down from Calvary's mountain, All laden with Thy melting love; My heart was touched, so long unconscious, And moved with Thine inspiring breath, So cold, and once so dead and helpless, I'm living now upon Thy death 122 CACTUS, OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. THE REDEEMER'S NAME. (Sung to the air "The Remembered Name". II Y Name, 1 ' so full of music now, Ere pardoning love was found, Though spoken often by my lips, Was but an empty sound; My heart was filled with other names, I saw no charms in Thine, Though musical to other ears, It coldly fell on mine: But now, "Thy Name," Thy precious "Name" My peaceful bosom fills, Like music floating soft and sweet From rippling crystal rills, Which ever mingles with their flow Above the gliding tide, And tells me of a "crimson stream" Once opened in Thy side. "Thy Name," "Thy Name," Thy precious " Name," Than life more dear to me, Without its soul-illuming power How dark this world would be ! How like some lone and tattered sail Upon a boundless sea, THE REDEEMERS NAME. ]o-> I'd ever drift to ruin on, If anchored not to Thee ! "Long years, long years" may pass "away, 1 ' And "altered" be my "brow," But still "Thy Name," Thy precious "Name," Will cheer my heart as now, And linger on my dying lips, Till past the bounds of time, I rise to chant it ever more, In Heavenly strains sublime. 124 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. REPININGS. IX II! what is it within my breast That banishes repose, That tells me to forget my joys, And treasure up my woes ; That bids me gather from my past, The hopes that withered lie, Like flowers pressed between the leaves Of volumes long laid by? Ah! what is it that bids mo paint So dark my futures sky, That tells me joys can never live, That sorrows never die ; That stirs the fountain of my soul, And makes me shed a tear Upon some grief I'll never know, But ever fancied near? Ah! what is it that magnifies The trifles of my life, And gives them power to keep within A never-ending strife; That often makes me weep and sigh, But seldom bids me smile, BEPWrnas. 125 That sees in life so little good, And yet so much that's vile? Go search, my heart, the sacred page, And learn the reason why, That u man was born to trouble" As the "sparks" do upward fly. 120 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMH. REDEMPTION. Composed, by request, for the Choir of Central M. E. Church, South Baltimore. Sung to the air of Juanita (pronounced Wanetu.) J ARK o'er our nature Lingering falls primeval gloom; Once, in the morning Of creation's bloom, Man was pure and holy; But he sinned, nor life esteemed, God devised atonement, Man hath been redeemed. Chorus. Redemption, redemption, Let the echo reach the skies ! Redemption, redemption, God to none denies. Oli ! dying sinner, Hast thou heard how Jesus came, Opening a fountain, Cleansing all the same; Mow it flowed so freely, How it ever since hath streamed? In its tide of crimson, Man hath been redeemed. Redemption, redemption, Let the echo reach the skies ! REDEMPTION. 127 Redemption, redemption, God to none denies. in" Shines the light of Bethlehem's star, And o'er the "mountain" Streams its rays afar; In thy blindness, sinner, Has its light unheeded gleamed, Hast thy soul forgotten Man hath been redeemed? Redemption, redemption, Let the echo reacli the skies ! Redemption, redemption, God to none denies. 128 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. TWO SIDES— CHRIST AND SELF. OOK on the bright side, and there we may see, Glory, and life, and salvation, all free, Christ, with His promises blessed and true, Looming like mountains, sublime, to our view. Look on the dark side, and ever we see Self, sin, and corruption, from which we would flee, Shortcomings and failures, which crowd in each day, And nil us with doubtings, with care, and dismay. Then look, ever more, on the side that is bright, And steadily gaze on the Source of all light, For the Bible assures us we'll suffer no loss, With the eye ever fixed on the wonderful Cross, PAUSE AXD PONDER. -^ PAUSE AND PONDER. H ARTH-BOKN traveler, pause a moment, Listen to that steady tramp O'er the stones so rough and rugged; O'er the street so cold and damp. Hark ! it is a long procession, And it slowly cometli near; Child of sorrow, pause in silence, Is it not the sable bier ? Earth-born traveler, stop a moment! Ere it is too late — too late ; Let me beg you pause, and ponder On the future state. Hush thy prattle, cease thy smiling, Turn aside thy busy fed : Look, and heed this dismal warning Ever passing on the street. See it waving, softly, silent, Look upon the shining plume, Does it, in its jetty blackness, Symbolize thy darker doom? Earth-born traveler, stop a moment, Ere it is too late — too late ; Let me beg you pause and ponder On the future state. See the pall with fringe so massive, Blacker than Plutonian nisrht, 130 CACTUS: OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. As it lies in folds so heavy, OV i r the coffin plated bright: Will a veil as black and weighty, Hide thy form from human sight. Cover o'er thy tinseled nature, Shroud thy soul from God and light ? Earth-born traveler, stop a moment, Ere it is too late — too late, Let me beg yon pause, and ponder On thy future state. Stop a moment! though impatient, See the train, it nears the gate Of a "city" where the sleepers Lie so still, and wait, and wait; Where the chiselled marble statues, Cold as death, though white and fair, Keep all motionless their vigils, Chilling e'en the ambient air; Will thy slumbers be molested By his damp and freezing breath, When yon sojourn in this " city," In the icy arms of Death? Earth-born traveler, stop a moment, Ere it is too late — too late ; Let me beg you pause, and ponder On thy future state. HOMELESS. ];U HOMELESS. I — I OMELESS wanderer, lone and weary, As yon tread the streets of stone, Through the cold and rain so dreary, With no foot of land your own, Strolling through the crowded city, Where the heartless thousands tread, Yearning for a look of pity, Begging for your daily bread; Homeless wanderer, look above you, Far beyond the azure dome, Look through Faith's "all seeing" vision, And behold a princely home; See a mansion whose foundation Like the "rock of ages" stands, Perfect in its vast proportions, Not the work of human hands; Rising, in its grand dimensions, High above the dizzy gaze, Gorgeous in its build and finish, Wrapped in splendor's dazzling blaze; Feeling not the shock of ages, Which no human work defies, 132 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. Made and fixed by the " Great Builder," Finn, eternal, in the skies; Look above, Oh! homeless wanderer, And this stately mansion claim, For the title, stained with crimson, Bears the impress of thy name. Covet not the rich man's dwelling, As all shelterless you roam, Turn not from the path that leads you To your own celestial home. SOW TOMMY GOT HIS THANKSGIVING DINNER, & c . 133 HOW TOMMY GOT HIS THANKSGIVING DINNER, OK, THE SIMPLICITY OF FAITH. The following touching incident was related to me of a little nephew, onl} r eight years of age, and contains valuable suggestions for "children of larger growth." HAVE a simple story, But its mor.il is sublime, And worthy of an honored place Upon the page of time ; For Oh, what valued lessons May we learn from little things, What great and mighty rivers Have been traced to tiny springs. — Our story runs as follows : It was on Thanksgiving's eve, Mamma had told the children Some news that made them grieve; She said her health was feeble, So she'd have no great display Of turkeys, fine and puddings rich, Upon Thanksgiving's day. Poor Tommy heard the doleful news "With feelings of dismay, 134 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. And o'er the matter grave, and groat, Determined he would pray. — Next morning, with a face all bright With innocenee and glee, lie said, "I'll get my dinner sure, I want yon all to see !" Some hours passed, when mamma's voice Was heard above the noise Which rang so londly through the house, The shouts of romping boys; Who'll run an errand up the street, And take this pattern home ? Scarce had she spoken all the words When, hat in hand, came Tom. Away he went to Mrs. Gibbons' ; Lo ! what was his surprise, A table filled with dainties rare Now met his wondering eyes, And as the lady, kind and good, Invited him to eat, He felt that God had heard his p?'ayer 9 And given him the treat. WAITING. 135 WAITING. \ KJ AITING, longing, looking ever — Looking for Ave know not what, Hoping that each coming morrow May reveal a happier lot. Ever conscious of our folly, Yet as guilty as before, Still deceived, yet still pursuing Gilded phantoms all the more. Putting off each noble action To a more propitious time; Waiting for the favored future Still, to "make our lives sublime. 1 ' Scorning both the past and present, Living forthe morrow still, While the cup, ne'er running over, Day by day with sorrows fill. Thus through life will Hope beguile us; Ever the immortal soul Bids us press into the future To the bright, delusive goal. Ever will our longings haunt us, Till our morrOWS cease to dawn, 136 CACTUS; OB, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. And there breaks upon our vision Glimpses of that brighter mom, Which shall usher in, all glorious, That sublime, eternal day, When the restless, longing spirit Leaves its prison-house of clay. MY SAVIOUR. 137 MY SAVIOUR. \ KJ 1 10 (3.ime and "bought" me "with a price, 1 ' And paid on earth the sacrifice Of God's own infinite device ? My Saviour. He kindly to my rescue ran, And laid redemption's wondrous plan, Ere earth was formed or time began, My Saviour. Who found me naked, sick, and sore, And covered all my bruises o'er With his own robe of righteousness ? My Saviour. Who found me blind, and gave me sight, And chased away the shades of night, And made my gloomy life all bright? My Saviour. He says He'll ever be my stay, And guide me on life's weary way, And cheer me through each coming day. My Saviour. Who found me when forever lost. With nothing good of which to boast, 138 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. And saved me at so great a cost? My Saviour. Then who should claim my every thought, And every act of service wrought, Who thus my precious soul hath bought ? My Saviour. And who'll be mine through endless years, And from mine eyes who 1 ll " wipe all tears," And take me to celestial spheres ? My Saviour. Oil, TELL IT TO ME BIGHT MAMMAE \%Q OH, TELL IT TO ME RIGHT, MAMMA. ( III! tell it to me right, mamma, ^^ I must have said it wrong, For God, you say, will hear my prayer, It matters not how long; I told Him all my troubles o'er Upon my bended knee, And yet, He did not seem to hear; The fault must be in me. Oh! put your hand upon my head, Ami tell me what to say, I'm such a little boy, mamma, I don't know how to pray. 'Twas thus he came, as evening shades Where gathering o'er the sky, And in his sweet, but simple words, What valued lessons lie. — Oh! teach it to us right, dear Lord, We must have said it wrong, When answers to our daily prayers Are oft delayed so long; For helpless children, in Thy sight, Oh! must we ever be, 140 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. As ignorant as infant ones, Who lisp a prayer to Thee. Oh! put Thy hand upon our heads, And teach us what to say, For are we not Thy u little ones," Who know not how to pray? * Little Charlie, having frequently prayed in secret without receiv- ing an answer to his pra} r er, came to nie, before retiring, and bow- ing at my knee, in great despondency, said, "Oh, tell it to me right, mamma." TO THE WORLD. [d\ TO THE WORLD. H AREWELL, vain world of sorrow, I have worshipped thee too long; I have mingled with the gayest Of thy busy, changing throng; I have sought from thee to borrow Some bright and lasting joys, But scarcely have possessed them Ere I've found them fading toys. Thou hast ever proved unfaithful In thy promises of bliss, And when I've blindly trusted, You've " betrayed" me with a "kiss;'' Then adieu, thou base deceiver, Tho 1 so fair to human eyes, In the light of inspiration, I've discovered thy disguise. I forsake thee for another, And my heart's no longer thine; I have giv'n it to my Saviour, And have taken Him as mine. Farewell, false world, forever, With thy vanity and dross, "No longer can I love thee, I have left thee for the Cross. TKMPERAKGE P©EIfS: OR, SPARKLING DROPS FRO^r A Crystal Fountain. "Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it givctn lie colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder." Solomon. •rajfPEMAWOT FDIEMS:? OR, SPARKLING DROPS FROM A Crystal Fountain ''Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it givctn his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder." Solomon. Oil' FORM NOT THE II A BIT 145 OH! FORM NOT THE HABIT Dedicated to Gordon Council No. 250. ; United Friends of Tem- perance, Savannah, Ga. ( )ll! form not the habit, the chain is ne'er riven Except by a power thai conieth from Heaven; Though formed link by link, by drop of the wine, So easily welded by efforts of thine, Only God, in His mercy, can sunder the ties, And clear the dim mist from thy " blood-shotten " eyes. Oh ! form not the habit; the Tempter will say Sweet things to allure, to beguile thee away; She'll tell thee, the goblet is sparkling and bright, But say naught of "adders," their venomous "bite;" She'll speak of the roses of health it will bring, ]>ut nothing will say of the "serpents" that "sling." Though coiled at the bottom, all hid from thy sight, Is the viper so dark, 'neath the surface so bright, She'll beg thee to drink till his fang hath struck deep; Her vigils no longer she'll then stay to keep, For well doth she know that her victim is bound With a fiery cable, wrapt tightly around. Oh ! form not the habit, go not to the brink, That were easier far than to rise when we sink; 'Twere easier now, happy youth, to say no, Than to rise from the depths of unspeakable woe; 14() CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. 'Twere easier far to win laurels of fame, Than to wipe the dark stains from a once tarnished name. i Oh ! form not the habit; the drunkard's dark grave Oft is reached while lie cries: "I am free, not a shire ! " And the echo comes back, like the tide of the sea, "A drunkard, no never, no ne'er shall 1 he /" He cries: " I ean break,' 1 while he rivets the chain, And sinks 'neath his fetters to rise not again. Oh! "touch not" or "handle;" Oh! "taste not" the wine, Though its rubies, its beads, and its diamonds may shine; They glitter to light up the same thorny way, That hath ever led others from virtue away. — Oil ! form not the habit; the chain is ne'er riven, Except by a power that eonieth from Heaven. NO CHRISTMAS FOR POOR LITTLE WILLIE." \ [' NO CHRISTMAS FOR POOR LITTLE WILLIE." 8 IIEY tell me that Christmas is coming, Shop windows are charming to see, And the children, wherever I meet them, Are smiling, and dancing with glee; They say that "Old Santy" will bring them Such "gooddies," and beautiful toys, If they'll only wait patiently for him, And try to be good little boys ; But ah! there's no Christmas for Willie, Alas! it must ever be so, We've only starvation and tatters, For father's a drunkard, you know. They say that " Old Santy" can find them, It matters not where they may be, But, I'm sure, he's forgotten the hovel. For alas! he has never found me; I've tried to be good and obliging, In hopes that some Christmas he'd come With "lots" of his beautiful presents, To brighten our desolate home ; I've hung up my "stocking," like others, What a shame he has slighted me so; But perhaps, he belongs to the " Temperance And father's a drunkard you know, 148 CACTUS; OH, THORNS A2\ T B BL0S80J1& They say 'tis the birthday of Jesus, That Christmas lie came upon earth, And hence all the churches are opened, And ringing with music and mirth. How oft have I peeped through the windows To see the festooning of green, And dodged out of sight, in a moment, Lest my tatters and rags should be seen. There's a charm about Christmas-day churches, Cut in them I never can go, I'm always too shabby and ragged, For father's a drunkard, you know. They say that the Saviour lias risen, And lives in the beautiful skies; Oh! does He not look on my sorrows, And view me with pitying eyes — Oh! will he forget me like "Santy," Who passes n\\ rickety door, Because I'm the child of a drunkard, Because I am ragged and poor? Oil! take me, kind Saviour, to Heaven, I'm weary, and longing to go; My life is so dark and so dreary, For father's a drunkard) you know. FUTURE DHUXKAHDS. U\) FUTURE DRUNKARDS.. HE rosy, merry little boys, Who play around our knee, Musi make the poor inebriates, If drunkards there must be. Some mother's little blue-eyed babe, So full of childish glee, Must reel, in future, on the streets, If drunkards there must be. If Bacchus still must reign supreme, How sad the thought to me, That boys shall worship at his shrine, If drunkards there must be. His victims, like the autumn leaves, Or passing shadows, flee; The drunkard of the present day Shall soon no longer be ; Then who shall still prolong his reign When they have passed away, If not our smiling little babes, The boys of our day ? Oh ! let us guard our darling boys, From vicious habits free, And now, with resolution, say That drunkards shall not be. 150 CACTUS; OB, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. ONLY A GENTLEMAN DRINKER. 1 ( J NLY a gentleman drinker," So jovial, so witty, so gay, Was he who now lies in the gutter, The pitiable sot of to-day ; Once the admired and flattered, The life of the banquet and ball; Now but an outcast, forsaken, Now shunned and derided by all. Companions who formerly toasted, And often accepted his treat, Now, as they see him approaching, Cross hurriedly over the street. A "gentleman drinker" no longer, How different indeed is his lot; The friends who smiled kindly upon him, Now frown at the miserable sot. "Only a gentleman drinker," Remember, ye tipplers, I pray, That the gentleman sooner or later Must certainly forfeit his sway, For the demon, supreme, of the wine-cup Must rule, if encouraged at all, "ONLY A GENTLEMAN DRINKER." 151 And manhood, despite of resistance, Must yield to the tyrant — must fall. Then beware, Oh ye fashionable drinkers, Take warning, and stop while you may, For only a " gentleman drinker " Was the staggering sot of to-day. 152 (J ACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. NO WINE HEREAFTER AT THE WHITE HOUSE." Respectfully Dedicated to Mrs Rutherford B. Hayes, wife of the President of the United States ;and suggested by the following article from the Baltimore Sun : "Washington dispatches state, that before the state dinner to the Russian visitors on Thursday, there was a domestic cabinet meeting over the wine question, Mrs. Hayes being opposed to having spirits upon her table, but she yielded upon that occasion to the argument of Secretary Evarts, who was of the opin. ion that the foreigners were accustomed to dine with wine, and would not enjoy the dinner without it. Mrs. Hayes yielded a reluctant con- sent, with the understanding that hereafter no wine should be served at state dinners. It was noticed that no wine-glasses were placed at the plates of cither the President or Mrs. Hayes. Another dispatch states that Mrs. Hayes reluctantly consented that wine should be provided for the rest of the guests, but she positively informed Col. Casey, who is commissioner of public buildings and ground? in place of Gen. Babcock, and who will have charge of all state occasions at the White House, that hereafter, when Citizens of the United Stairs arc entertained at the White House, the arrangements must be made to exclude wine." J\/{ AJESTIC Goddess ! with poetic fire Inspire my heart, attune my golden lyre To sing of her, with mission so divine, Whose voice is raised against delusive wine! Who, in her moral grandeur rising high, Conscious of right, ignores the World's fixed eye, And wields that fearful power, O woman thine! Against the crimson bowl, the sparkling wine. NO WINE HEREAFTER AT THE WHITE HOUSE." \^\\ From Bacchus, coldly turning with a frown, No longer at his shrine she boweth down, Nor his dishonored brow with garlands twine, She spurns his gilded cup; the treacherous wine. Forever hence his presence is denied, Whilst sho, in woman's purity and pride, With queenly grace presides where statesmen dine, As honored guests, without the burning wine. A Nation's destiny shall brighter grow, While woman thus commands the deadly foe; Justice, virtue, moderation, truth shall shine, Unclouded by the fumes of dizzy wine. — O send the "fiat" on the balmy gale! Go tell through every land the glad'ning tale; () say to foreigners, who prize the vine, America henceforth discardeth wine! Henceforth, the monster evil of the day, In scarlet robes, in purple fine array, No more at festive boards, in gems shall shine; The White-House ever more hath banished wine. Let reeling Fashion in derision smile, No longer shall her siren songs beguile; Gha r heads must govern, lest our "star" decline; A nation totters 'neath the rule of wine. — Rise, honored Eagle, spread thy shining wings, Bring cooling draughts from pure and crystal springs; 154 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. A brighter era dawns, no longer pine, Fair woman's edict hath abolished wine. O woman, from this great, this favored hour, Rise in thy wonderful, magnetic power; With her, who thus hath led, thy strength combine, And from our beauteous land, O, banish wine! THE DEPTH OF WOE. 155 THE DEPTH OF WOE, \ A/ HEN Death steals on with silent tread, From mystic realms of gloom, And blights, with shadows from his face, A bud in nascent bloom, The mother gazes on her flower, All withered by his breath, And thinks the heaviest stroke in life Is dealt by cruel Death ; She sorrows o'er a faded hope, But ah ! she does not know The greatest anguish of the heart, The depth of human woe. — When manhood marks the fair young face, Deposing childhood's claims. And intellect beams from the eye Like scintillating flames, If then her Pride should sink his soul 'Neath wine's red, sparkling flow, The heart hath felt the keenest pang, The depth of human woe. — The wife may give her only stay, Her country's rights to save, 156 CACTUS, OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. And see the partner of her joys Laid in a soldier's grave, Or watch the eye as gaunt disease Upon his vitals seize, And mark the never fading signs Of death, by slow degrees ; Alas ! the grief of widowhood Her lonely heart may know, And yet she hath not measured all The depth of human woe; But when the idol of her soul, Who promised once to love, Forgets, alas ! the sacred vow That's registered above, And leaves her lone and desolate To seek the "crimson bowl," Which throws a flush upon his check, And shadows o'er her soul; When whispered warnings of disgrace, Of wounded love and pride, Wring from her lips the piteous cry, " Oh ! would to God, I'd died;" 'Tis then she sounds the dark abyss As deep as grief can go, Ami drinks the deadly poison From the depth of human woe. "NO WHISKEY IN HEAVEN." 157 NO WHISKEY IN HEAVEN. This poem is respectfully dedicated to the Women's National Temperance Union, having been suggested by the following touch- ing incident related by Mrs. Ycomans, of Canada, during their Con- vention in Baltimore: A little girl, whose mother had gone before her to the "Better Land", called to her bedside her inebriate father and begging him to meet her uhere, exclaimed, "there's no whiskey in Heaven !" \^ O whiskey in Heaven, no rum in the skies, No staggering drunkard with blood -shot ten eyes, No pale, ragged children, no heart-broken wife, So burdened with sorrows, so weary of life; No gilded saloons to entice thee away; Oh, meet me in Heaven, dear father, I pray; Oh, make one more effort, die not in despair, No whiskey in Heaven ! you'll keep the pledge there. Dear mother is waiting to welcome you now, Oh, father, be strong, and remember your vow, The Saviour will strengthen, and help you to rise To that beautiful home far away in the skies. The angels are waiting to bear me away, Your dear little daughter no longer can stay; Then farewell, dear father, reform and be wise, — No whiskey ill Heaven ! no rum in the skies. MEMDIilAlL POEMS) OR, Echoes from the Voices OF THE DEAD, " The very generations of the dead Are swept away, and tomb inherits tomb, Until the memory of an age is fled, And, buried, sinks beneath its offspring's doom." Byron. " Death is the crown of life : Were Death denied, poor men would live in vain ; Were Death denied, to live would not be life; Were Death denied, even fools would wish to die." Young. hiis woiwa. i(31 HIS WORDS. Written in memory of Bishop E. M. Marvin; and inscribed to that branch of the " Visible Church" which he so faithfully and effect- ively served. "My brethren, there is but one life necessary to the Church— the life of Him ' who was dead' but who 'is alive forevermorc!' " Bisncr Makvin. JX SHINING light," how can we spare Its lustre from our skies V "Strange Providence ! ' we each exclaim, In sadness and surprise, " That snatches from the firmament, Before a nation's gaze, An orb of wondrous magnitude, In glorious noon-day blaze." But as the sun, in setting, sheds His light athwart the hills, And in departing radiance Their towering summit gilds, So, "being dead," lie "spcaketh" yet, Each word our memory fills, And lingers ever in the heart, As sunbeams o 1 er the hills. When blasted seem our earthly hopes, As human greatness dies, 102 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. His ivords, borne on the passing gale, Like music, sweetly rise ; And ever 'mid the raging storm, The universal waste, Ring, in a cadence sweet and clear, Above the howling blast. When all seems wrecked, his words are like The mast that rises high, Where sweeping waves have buried deep Their treasures from the eye. Not human, in their sentiment, So full of truth sublime, They echo from celestial hills, Beyond the shore of time. — 'Tho 1 in his manhood, good and great, He dwells with ns no more, His life is lost in Him who died, And lives forever move. MY TIME IS COME." {(;;> MY TIME IS COME." The words of Rev. Albert T. Bledsoe, L L. D., and suggestive of the following lines, dedicated to his memory. HE " time is come" for him who fought So nobly for the right, To lay his battered armor down, So stainless and so bright; To leave his fading laurels, But the gift of human fame, A diadem of greater worth, In brighter realms to claim ; The "time is come" for him who dived So deep in ancient lore, To lay his volumes on the shelf, And trim his lamp no more. Now to pursue his loved research, Where truth eternal shines, Whose shadows here arc scarce discerned By those of finite minds. The "time is come" to lay aside His ready, able pen; To trace, no longer, stirring words, That move the hearts of men. 1C>4 CACTUS: OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. For motionless now lies the hand That wielded for the right, That instrument of wondrous power, Unequalled in its might. The "time is come" for her, the Church, To weep and mourn the loss Of him, her mighty champion, Brave herald of the Cross. For kindred dear, and friends bereft, A nation to deplore The loss of one so good and great, Whose useful life is o'er. LET TUT WIDOWS TRUST TX ME." 165 LET THY WIDOWS TRUST IN ME.' Written in memory of Mr. James Withington, and dedicated to li widow. \A/ HEN the home is sad and dreary, And the light of hope hath fled; When the kind and loved companion Sleeps among- the silent dead; When the heart is crushed and broken, Once from care and sorrow free, Hear those words that God hath spoken : "Let thy widows trust in 1110." When there stealeth through the shadows Memories of the sainted one, As, through parting clouds of darkness, Come the glimpses of the sun; Whilst we grasp the mocking visions, May these words remembered be, Bearing sweeter consolation, "Let thy widows trust in me.' 1 When no human tongue can comfort, 'Mid the gathering cares of time, Speak these words of love and beauty, In a language still sublime; To the heart, Oh ! must they ever Like the "balm of Gilead" be; Blessed words, divinely spoken, "Let thv widows trust in inc. 1. \m CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. A PASSING ANGEL FANNED HER TO SLEEP.'' In Memory of Mrs. Mary Fisher, whose beautiful Christian life was admired by strangers and friends. /A KIND passing angel had fanned her to sleep, With his wing of immaculate white; And scarcely had turned from his mission of love, Ere she 'waked in the regions of light. Rough was her voyage to that "beautiful shore," But calmly the haven was pass'cl : Long was she tossed on a turbulent sea, Ere the anchor forever was cast: But ever on Christ bent her eye through the storm, As the mariner watches the shore, And fixes his gaze on the light-house ahead, Which gleams like a star evermore. And now, through the " mist ; ' from that heavenly shore, The breakers and quicksands all pass'd, Will she beckon us on, with a welcoming smile, As we buffet the wave and the blast. HER "STORY." ]('{ HER "STORY, Written in memory of little F. W***. ^sWEET was her dying story, As she called her mother near, And whispered, soft and lovingly, Its burden in her ear; It seemed to gather sweetness From the nectar of her lips, As passed her life, serenely, Into Death's sublime eclipse; She thought of Christ's compassion, How He once on earth had smiled So tender, and so lovingly. Upon a little child. — "Suffer little children," She began, in accents sweet, And said, "A 'little story' I am going to repeat;" But she finished it in Heaven, For her fleeting breath was spent, While o'er her fragile little form, To catch her words, we bent. 168 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. We think of all her winning ways, How oft, with loving care, Her father's neckties she arranged, His smiling praise to share ; And how, upon her mother's cheek, Her little hand she laid, And ever sought to place it there, E'en when her reason strayed. Her loveliness we'll ne'er forget, But in her dying story Will memory seek diviner charms, For 'tis her "theme in glory." "NOTHING WRONG." ]< ) NOTHING WRONG, The last words of Mr. John G. Patterson, and suggestive of the foilowiug lines dedicated to his memory: "N OTHING wrong," all trimmed and burning, Shone Ills lamp so clear and bright; O'er Death's dark and turbid river Softly gleamed its rays of light; "Nothing wrong;" the wedding garment, Pure and white, he fitly wore, AYhile the angels gladly opened, As he knocked, the golden door; "Nothing wrong;" the Bridegroom met him With approval in His voice. Ere he left this vale of sorrow He had made that "better choice." "Nothing wrong;" the echo lingers, Though his voice no more we hear, Like the strains of distant music 'Falling sweetly on the ear; "Nothing wrong;" all bright and glorious, Now, 'mid the celestial tl irons. 5 J Shall his voice forever mingle With the music of their som 170 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. A TRIBUTE To the memory of the late Rial North, addressed, in 1867, to the Marion St. Sabbath-School, Columbia, S. C, of which he was the beloved and honored Superintendent. ^ INCE last we met, upon this festive day, A loved and honored one has passed away; We miss amid our group his genial face, His voice is silent, and unfilled his place, No more he points the young to virtue's path, And begs the youth to "shun eternal wrath ;" But deep, engraven on each tender heart, Are left impressions which can ne'er depart; Though once connected by most hallowed ties, His soul hath sped its way beyond the skies, Yet still, on earth, his noble deeds endure, His aims were" lofty, and his life was pure. Though "gone before," each pupil holds him dear, And Memory pays the tribute of a tear; The crystal drop that glistens in each eye, Bespeaks a love too pure, too deep to die. — Though short and sudden was the warning given, His soul was ready for its night to Heaven; Long in his "Master's vineyard" had he toiled, And death's last enemy divinely foiled. A TRIBUTE. 171 Scarce lia] Then, we'll give up to Heaven Our beautiful "star," And live in the light, As it comes from afar, Till with Thee in glory We evermore reism, And claim there our only- Onr loved one asrain. 182 CACTUS; Oli, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. THE FADING PICTURE. In memory of Mrs. Isaac L. Cary. H ROM my gaze like a mist, or a vision Thine image is fading away, Like stars on the brow of the morning, When night hath been turned into day. I look on the dearly prized picture, Yet scarce any likeness can trace, To the eye that once smiled on me kindly, To thy fair and thy genial face ; But ah, there's a picture no artist With magical skill could design, No power can fade or efface it, That picture forever is mine; The hand of a sacred affection Hath graven it deep on my heart, And though upon earth we are severed, Thine image can never depart. IN MEMORY OF MRS. A XX ELIZA MOODY. \^ IN MEMORY OF MRS. ANN ELIZA MOODY, Whocc life was rendered beautiful by early and consistent piety and whose death is most lamented by those who knew her best. [" WATCH the falling snow-flakes, So beautiful and white, And think how fit an emblem Of a life so pure and bright; Whose blemishes were covered By a mantle from above, And hid by Him whose attributes Arc tenderness and love. Methinks how like the snow-flakes She softly sank to rest, And fell in spotless purity Upon her Saviour's breast. I look upon a painting, With its beauties wondrous rare, And think her life was but a scene, As lovely and as fair, Left hanging in the gallery Of Memory's works of art, To fix our loving, ling'ring gaze, And cheer each lonely heart ; A picture traced by Hands Divine, True beauty is not human, 184 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS A Saviour's master touch it took The virtues to illumine. I gaze upon the beautiful Wherever it is seen, And think how emblematic Of a life so pure, serene. The fragrance of the sweetest flowers, The music of the dell, The setting sun, the radiant star, Would typify it well; And yet her charms were not her own, But borrowed from another, The "crucified*' but "risen" One, Her "Friend" and "elder Brother." I dream about the beautiful, In grander worlds than this, And think how fit our sainted one To share their endless bliss ; For "whiter" than the drifted "snow" She "washed" her "robes" in "blood" Before she crossed the stream of Death, The dark, mysterious flood : Her life was all that's beautiful In nature or in story, Yet, "God forbid" that we should give To aught but Him the "glory." IN MEMORY OF REV. JAMES A. DUNCAN. IS,', IN MEMORY OF REV. JAMES A. DUNCAN, The Honored and Lamented President of Randolph Macon College Virginia. /A S one in silence listens To the music of a choir, Whose strains of sacred melody The multitude inspire, We've heard the solemn requiem, Whose low and mournful lays, Have blended with the mingled voice Of universal praise ; And now, we'd catch the echoes Of the dying notes, sublime, And waft the ling'ring melody Adown the aisles of time; We'd chant through coming ages Of a life to Jesus given, Until the echo dies amid The corridors of Heaven ; We'd tell to all why he was great, What made his life "sublime," And why his name shall be revered, And live through coming time ; 188 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS, We'd count them o'er, the shining stars, That glitter in his crown, And tell the world where riches true, Where royalty is found. We'd point them to his peaceful end, So joyous and so calm, And cry, as once lie cried on earth, "Behold, behold the Lamb." HE LEFT US WITH A SMILE. 187 HE LEFT US WITH A SMILE. In Memory of Dr. A. Djer Marshall. I — I E was young, and gay, and hopeful) In love with life and earth; He sought its fleeting pleasures, And he mingled in its mirth ; And he only thought of living. And forgot the "Master's 1 ' claim, When all unseen, and suddenly* The great "Destroyer*' came; But mehhiKS 'twill soothe our sorrow, And cheer us for awhile, When the hour came for parting, He left us with a smile. He cast a glance of sadness O'er a life all spent in vain, As the hope:; of youth departed, And he agonized in pain; lie thought of golden moments That were gone forevermore, And said he'd spend them better, Could he only live them o'er: But his course on earth was finished, And he lingered but awhile — Yet 'tis cheering to remember That lie left us with a smile. 188 CACTUS; OB, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. He turned his eye to Jesus, In a moment of despair, A spark of hope was kindled As he saw redemption there ; And as the light reflected From the Cross upon his way, Its radiant brightness scattered All the shadows of dismay; He beheld the Lamb all bleeding For the vilest of the vile, And his fear of death departed, And he left us with a smile. He knew that he was dying, And he begged to be alone, That his thoughts might dwell on Heaven, And the future, all unknown; Then he called his friends around him, And he bade them all adieu, As a glimpse of things celestial Seemed to open to his view; Then he begged us all to meet him, And he kissed his wife and child; lie closed his eyes serenely, And he I ft us with a smile. * My brother was thrown from his buggy, aud died a few days af- terwards from the injuries received. LOOKING FOR THE DEATHS. 189 LOOKING FOR THE DEATHS. In memory of Mrs. Ella Tucker Stubbs, wife of Col. Jobn M, Stubbs, who died March 29th, 1877. \ A / ITH joy I greet the tidings Of the old familiar sheet, Which brings its distant treasures, And unbinds them at my feet; A bouquet freshly gathered From my childhood's happy home, Though thorns and flowers mingle, How I long to see it come ! As I break the golden fetters, Which confine the garnered sheaf, How oft I find a blighted grain, A sear'd, or mildew' d leaf, Entwined and interwoven With the skill of mystic art; For, ever thus, our sorrows come All mingled to the heart. — I glanced along the column, O'er the consecrated spot, Which never comes to us unfilled. For Death relenteth not, To see if any, dear to me, Were numbered with the dead; 190 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS. To weep my tears where, evermore, Somebody's tears are shed. — Thy name, ah! yes, in sad surprise, My gaze upon it fell, I read it o'er, and o'er again, As bound beneath a spell ; For though we ever look for death, It ever seemeth strange That those who are beloved by us, Should eome within its range.— I knew thee in thy girlish days, I've seen thee not for years, But at the mention of thy death Unbidden came my tears; And fain this little tribute From a gushing heart I'd bring, A kindly poured libation From a deep, long hidden spring; A little sad memento To a friend of other days, Though many, many changing years We've gone diverging ways; And all the joys and sorrows, That we each have wandered through Are locked in hearts— mine here on earth, Thine in a world more true. We'll never here recall the past, Thy face I'll ne'er behold; LOOKING FOR THE DEATHS. \C)\ But though it may have changed with time, It comes to me of old ; So fair, and ever wreathed in light, How memory holds it dear, Thy sunny smile I'll never see, Save as an image here. But glorious hope, thy dying words, "My Saviour's to me sweet," Come like a balm unto my heart, And tell me we shall meet; They tell me how my long lost friends, Though scattered far and wide, Shall one day in rejoicings join, When Christ receives " His Bride." ]92 CACTUS; OR, THORNS AND BLOSSOMS, LIKE THE RAINBOW OF SUMMER. In Memory of Mrs. Callie L. Smith. ( -j-ONE as the rainbow fadeth, Like a mist from the roseate skies Gone like a dream, like a vision, As ever the beautiful dies; Leaving a sense of sadness In the loss of the good and the true. — We miss from the arching heavens The bow in its matchless hue. As the rainbow, in colors so varied, Adorns the cerulean dome, Ho, her virtues, tho' brighter and fadeless, Encircled her beautiful home. As the bow only borrows its beauty From the rays of the dazzling sun, So her virtues were but a reflection From the face of the " Crucified One.'' She's gone as the rainbow fadeth From the gaze of admiring eyes ; Yet hope, like that " token " of promise, Still brightens our darkening skies; For she dwells where a halo of glory, Like the bow, ever circles the throne; Where nothing is transient or fleeting: Where Jesus receive th His " own''' LITTLE HATTIE. 193 LITTLE HATTIE. ^<