FARM LEGENDS.

"THEY STOOD IN THE SHADE OF THE WESTERN DOOR." Page 32.

FARM LEGENDS

By WILL CARLETON
AUTHOR OF "FARM BALLADS"

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS
FRANKLIN SQUARE

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

Copyright, 1887, by HARPER & BROTHERS.

TO
THE MEMORY OF A NOBLEMAN,
MY
FARMER FATHER.

[PREFACE.]

The "Farm Ballads" have met with so kind and general a reception as to encourage the publishing of a companion volume.

In this book, also, the author has aimed to give expression to the truth, that with every person, even if humble or debased, there may be some good, worth lifting up and saving; that in each human being, though revered and seemingly immaculate, are some faults which deserve pointing out and correcting; and that all circumstances of life, however trivial they appear, may possess those alternations of the comic and pathetic, the good and bad, the joyful and sorrowful, upon which walk the days and nights, the summers and winters, the lives and deaths, of this strange world.

He would take this occasion to give a word of thanks to those who have staid with him through evil and good report; who have overlooked his literary faults for the sake of the truths he was struggling to tell; and who have believed—what he knows—that he is honest.

With these few words of introduction, the author launches this second bark upon the sea of popular opinion; grinds his axe, and enters once more the great forest of Human Nature, for timber to go on with his boat-building.

W.C.

CONTENTS.

ILLUSTRATIONS.

Farm Legends.

FARM LEGENDS.

[THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S GUESTS.]

I.

The district school-master was sitting behind his great book-laden desk,

Close-watching the motions of scholars, pathetic and gay and grotesque.

As whisper the half-leafless branches, when Autumn's brisk breezes have come,

His little scrub-thicket of pupils sent upward a half-smothered hum;

Like the frequent sharp bang of a wagon, when treading a forest path o'er,

Resounded the feet of his pupils, whenever their heels struck the floor.

There was little Tom Timms on the front seat, whose face was withstanding a drouth;

And jolly Jack Gibbs just behind him, with a rainy new moon for a mouth;

There were both of the Smith boys, as studious as if they bore names that could bloom:

And Jim Jones, a heaven-built mechanic, the slyest young knave in the room:

With a countenance grave as a horse's, and his honest eyes fixed on a pin,

Queer-bent on a deeply laid project to tunnel Joe Hawkins's skin.

There were anxious young novices, drilling their spelling-books into the brain,

Loud-puffing each half-whispered letter, like an engine just starting a train.

There was one fiercely muscular fellow, who scowled at the sums on his slate,

And leered at the innocent figures a look of unspeakable hate,

And set his white teeth close together, and gave his thin lips a short twist,

As to say, "I could whip you, confound you! if sums could be done with my fist!"

There were two pretty girls in the corner, each one with some cunning possessed,

In a whisper discussing a problem: which one the young master liked best!

A class in the front, with their readers, were telling, with difficult pains,

How perished brave Marco Bozzaris while bleeding at all of his veins;

And a boy on the floor to be punished, a statue of idleness stood,

Making faces at all of the others, and enjoying the task all he could.

II.

Around were the walls, gray and dingy, which every old school-sanctum hath,

With many a break on their surface, where grinned a wood-grating of lath;

A patch of thick plaster, just over the school-master's rickety chair,

Seemed threat'ningly o'er him suspended, like Damocles' sword, by a hair;

There were tracks on the desks where the knife-blades had wandered in search of their prey;

Their tops were as duskily spattered as if they drank ink every day;

"A CLASS IN THE FRONT, WITH THEIR READERS,
WERE TELLING, WITH DIFFICULT PAINS,
HOW PERISHED BRAVE MARCO BOZZARIS
WHILE BLEEDING AT ALL OF HIS VEINS."

The square stove it puffed and it thundered, and broke out in red-flaming sores,

Till the great iron quadruped trembled like a dog fierce to rush out-o'-doors;

White snow-flakes looked in at the windows; the gale pressed its lips to the cracks;

And the children's hot faces were streaming, the while they were freezing their backs.

III.

Now Marco Bozzaris had fallen, and all of his suff'rings were o'er,

And the class to their seats were retreating, when footsteps were heard at the door;

And five of the good district fathers marched into the room in a row,

And stood themselves up by the hot fire, and shook off their white cloaks of snow;

And the spokesman, a grave squire of sixty, with countenance solemnly sad,

Spoke thus, while the children all listened, with all of the ears that they had:

"We've come here, school-master, intendin' to cast an inquirin' eye 'round,

Concarnin' complaints that's been entered, an' fault that has lately been found;

To pace off the width of your doin's, an' witness what you've been about;

An' see if it's payin' to keep you, or whether we'd best turn ye out.

"The first thing I'm bid for to mention is, when the class gets up to read:

You give 'em too tight of a reinin', an' touch 'em up more than they need;

You're nicer than wise in the matter of holdin' the book in one han',

An' you turn a stray g in their doin's, an' tack an odd d on theiran'.

There ain't no great good comes of speakin' the words so polite, as I see,

Providin' you know what the facts is, an' tell 'em off jest as they be.

An' then there's that readin' in corncert, is censured from first unto last;

It kicks up a heap of a racket, when folks is a-travelin' past.

Whatever is done as to readin', providin' things goes to my say,

Sha'n't hang on no new-fangled hinges, but swing in the old-fashioned way."

And the other four good district fathers gave quick the consent that was due,

And nodded obliquely, and muttered, "Them 'ere is my sentiments tew."

"Then, as to your spellin': I've heern tell, by them as has looked into this,

That you turn the u out o' your labour, an' make the word shorter than 'tis;

An' clip the k off o' yer musick, which makes my son Ephraim perplexed,

An' when he spells out as he used ter, you pass the word on to the next.

They say there's some new-grafted books here that don't take them letters

But if it is so, just depend on't, them new-grafted books is made wrong.

You might just as well say that Jackson didn't know all there was about war,

As to say that the old-fashioned teachers didn't know what them letters was for!"

And the other four good district fathers gave quick the consent that was due,

And scratched their heads slyly and softly, and said, "Them's my sentiments tew."

"Then, also, your 'rithmetic doin's, as they are reported to me,

Is that you have left Tare an' Tret out, an' also the old Rule o' Three;

An' likewise brought in a new study, some high-steppin' scholars to please,

With saw-bucks an' crosses and pot-hooks, an' w's, x, y's, and z's.

We ain't got no time for such foolin'; there ain't no great good to be reached

By tiptoein' childr'n up higher than ever their fathers was teached."

And the other four good district fathers gave quick the consent that was due,

And cocked one eye up to the ceiling, and said, "Them's my sentiments tew."

"AND NODDED OBLIQUELY, AND MUTTERED,
'THEM 'ERE IS MY SENTIMENTS TEW.'"

"Another thing, I must here mention, comes into the question to-day:

Concernin' some words in the grammar you're teachin' our gals for to say.

My gals is as steady as clock-work, an' never give cause for much fear,

But they come home from school t'other evenin' a-talkin' such stuff as this here:

'I love,' an' 'Thou lovest,' an' 'He loves,' an' 'Ye love,' an' 'You love,' an' 'They—'

An' they answered my questions, 'It's grammar'—'twas all I could get 'em to say.

Now if, 'stead of doin' your duty, you're carryin' matters on so

As to make the gals say that they love you, it's just all that I want to know;—"

IV.

Now Jim, the young heaven-built mechanic, in the dusk of the evening before,

Had well-nigh unjointed the stove-pipe, to make it come down on the floor;

And the squire bringing smartly his foot down, as a clincher to what he had said,

A joint of the pipe fell upon him, and larruped him square on the head.

The soot flew in clouds all about him, and blotted with black all the place,

And the squire and the other four fathers were peppered with black in the face.

The school, ever sharp for amusement, laid down all their cumbersome books,

And, spite of the teacher's endeavors, laughed loud at their visitors' looks;

And the squire, as he stalked to the doorway, swore oaths of a violet hue;

And the four district fathers, who followed, seemed to say, "Them's my sentiments tew."

[THREE LINKS OF A LIFE.]

I.

A word went over the hills and plains

Of the scarce-hewn fields that the Tiffin drains,

Through dens of swamps and jungles of trees,

As if it were borne by the buzzing bees

As something sweet for the sons of men;

Or as if the blackbird and the wren

Had lounged about each ragged clearing

To gossip it in the settlers' hearing;

Or the partridge drum-corps of the wood

Had made the word by mortals heard,

And Diana made it understood;

Or the loud-billed hawk of giant sweep

Were told it as something he must keep;

As now, in the half-built city of Lane,

Where the sons of the settlers strive for gain,

Where the Indian trail is graded well,

And the anxious ring of the engine-bell

And the Samson Steam's deep, stuttering word

And the factory's dinner-horn are heard;

Where burghers fight, in friendly guise,

With spears of bargains and shields of lies;

Where the sun-smoked farmer, early a-road,

Rides into the town his high-built load

Of wood or wool, or corn or wheat,

And stables his horses in the street;—

It seems as to each and every one

A deed were known ere it well be done,

As if, in spite of roads or weather,

All minds were whispering together;

So over the glens and rough hill-sides

Of the fruitful land where the Tiffin glides,

Went the startling whisper, clear and plain,

"There's a new-born baby over at Lane!"

"WHEN GRAVE BAW BEESE, THE INDIAN CHIEF,
HAD BEADED THE NECK OF THE PALE-FACE MISS."

Now any time, from night till morn,

Or morn till night, for a long time-flight,

Had the patient squaws their children borne;

And many a callow, coppery wight

Had oped his eyes to the tree-flecked light,

And grown to the depths of the woodland dell

And the hunt of the toilsome hills as well

As though at his soul a bow were slung,

And a war-whoop tattooed on his tongue;

But never before, in the Tiffin's sight,

Had a travail bloomed with a blossom of white.

And the fire-tanned logger no longer pressed

His yoke-bound steeds and his furnace fire;

And the gray-linked log-chain drooped to rest,

And a hard face softened with sweet desire;

And the settler-housewife, rudely wise,

With the forest's shrewdness in her eyes,

Yearned, with tenderly wondering brain,

For the new-born baby over at Lane.

And the mother lay in her languid bed,

When the flock of visitors had fled—

When the crowd of settlers all had gone,

And left the young lioness alone

With the tiny cub they had come to see

In the rude-built log menagerie;

When grave Baw Beese, the Indian chief,

As courtly as ever prince in his prime,

Or cavalier of the olden time,

Making his visit kind as brief,

Had beaded the neck of the pale-face miss,

And dimpled her cheek with a farewell kiss;

When the rough-clad room was still as sleek,

Save the deaf old nurse's needle-click,

The beat of the grave clock in its place,

With its ball-tipped tail and owl-like face,

And the iron tea-kettle's droning song

Through its Roman nose so black and long,

The mother lifted her baby's head,

And gave it a clinging kiss, and said:

Why did thou come so straight to me,

Thou queer one?

Thou might have gone where riches be,

Thou dear one!

For when 'twas talked about in heaven,

To whom the sweet soul should be given,

If thou had raised thy pretty voice,

God sure had given to thee a choice,

My dear one, my queer one!

"Babe in the wood" thou surely art,

My lone one:

But thou shalt never play the part,

My own one!

Thou ne'er shalt wander up and down,

With none to claim thee as their own;

Nor shall the Redbreast, as she grieves,

Make up for thee a bed of leaves,

My own one, my lone one!

Although thou be not Riches' flower,

Thou neat one,

Yet thou hast come from Beauty's bower,

Thou sweet one!

Thy every smile's as warm and bright

As if a diamond mocked its light;

Thy every tear's as pure a pearl

As if thy father was an earl,

Thou neat one, thou sweet one!

And thou shalt have a queenly name,

Thou grand one:

A lassie's christening's half her fame,

Thou bland one!

And may thou live so good and true,

The honor will but be thy due;

And friends shall never be ashamed,

Or when or where they hear thee named,

Thou bland one, thou grand one!

E'en like the air—our rule and sport—

Thou meek one,

Thou art my burden and support,

Thou weak one!

Like manna in the wilderness,

A joy hath come to soothe and bless:

But 'tis a sorrow unto me,

To love as I am loving thee,

Thou weak one, thou meek one!

The scarlet-coated child-thief waits,

Thou bright one,

To bear thee through the sky-blue gates,

Thou light one!

His feverish touch thy brow may pain,

And while I to my sad lips strain

The sheath of these bright-beaming eyes,

The blade may flash back to the skies,

Thou light one, thou bright one!

And if thou breast the morning storm,

Thou fair one,

And gird a woman's thrilling form,

Thou rare one: