Chapter I: DO not fear an enemy

Who all his days hath hated me.

I do not bother o'er a foe
Whose name and face I do not know.

I mind me not the small attack
Of him who bites behind my back:

But Heaven help me to the end
'Gainst that one who was once my friend.

_JOKES OF THE NIGHT_

BLESSED jokes of my dreams! Your praises I'd sing.
No mirth can compare to the mirth that you bring.
I've read London _Punch_ from beginning to end,
On all comic papers much money I spend,
But naught that is in them can ever seem bright
Beside the rich jokes that I dream of at night.

How I laugh at those jests of my brain when at rest,
The gladdest and merriest, sweetest and best!
And how, when I wake in the morning and try
To call them to mind, oh how bashful, how shy
They seem, how they scatter and hide out of sight--
Those jokes of my dreamings, those jests of the night!

Take the one that came to me to-day just at dawn:
The Cable-Car turns and remarks to the Prawn,
"The Crowbar is seasick; but then what of that,
As long as the Camel won't wear a silk hat?"
I laughed--why, I laughed till my wife had a fright
For fear I'd go wild from that joke of the night.

And they're all much like that one--elusive enough,
Yet full of facetious, hilarious stuff--
Stuff past comprehension, stuff no man dares tell;
For nocturnal jests, e'en told ever so well--
'Tis odd it should be so--are not often bright,
Except to the dreamer who dreams them at night.

_AN AUTUMNAL ROMANCE_

A LEAF fell in love with the soft green lawn,
He deemed her the sweetest and best,
And then on a dreary November dawn
He withered and died on her breast.

_THE COUNTRY IN JULY_

WHERE glistening in the softness of the night
The vagrant will-o'-wisps do greet the sight;
Where fragrance baffling permeates the breeze
That gently flouts the grasses and the trees;
Where every flying thing doth seem to be
Instinct with sweetly sensuous melody;
Where hills and dales assume their warmest phase,
With here and there a scarf of opal haze
To soften their luxuriant attire;
Where one can almost hear the elfin choir
Across the meadow-land, down in the wood,
In songs of gladness--there are all things good.
Ah! ye who seek the spot where joys abide,
Awake! Awake! Seek out the country-side,
And through the blue-gray July haze see life
All free from care, from sorrow, and from strife.

_MAY 30, 1893_

IT seemed to be but chance, yet who shall say
That 'twas not part of Nature's own sweet way,

That on the field where once the cannon's breath
Lay many a hero cold and stark in death,

Some little children, in the after-years,
Had come to play among the grassy spears,

And, all unheeding, when their romp was done,
Had left a wreath of wild flowers over one

Who fought to save his country, and whose lot
It was to die unknown and rest forgot?

_THE CURSE OF WEALTH_

"WHAT shall I put my dollars in?" he asked, in wild dismay.
"I've fifty thousand of 'em, and I'd like to keep 'em too.
I'd like to put them by to serve some future rainy day,
But in these times of queer finance what can a fellow do?

"A railway bond is picturesque, and the supply is great,
But strangely like a novel that upon occasion drags,
Of which the critics of the time in hackneyed phrases state,
'The work has certain value, but the int'rest often flags!'

"The same is true of railway shares, 'tis safer to invest
In ploughshares, so it seems to me, in this unhappy time.
Some think great wealth a blessing, but it cannot stand the test;
He's happier by far than I who's but a single dime.

"He does not lie awake at night and fret and fume, to think
Of bank officials on a spree with what he's toiled to get.
He is not driven by his woe quite to the verge of drink
By wondering if his balance in the bank remains there yet.

"He does not pick the paper up in terror every night
To see if V.B.G. is up, or P.D.Q. is down;
It does not fill his anxious soul with nerve-destroying fright
To hear the Wall Street rumors that are flying 'bout the town.

"Ah, better had I ta'en that cash that I have skimped to save,
And spent it on my living and my pleasures day by day!
I would not now be goaded nigh unto my waiting grave,
By wondering how the deuce to keep those dollars mine for aye.

"I'd not be bankrupt in my nerves and prematurely old,
These golden shackles must be burst; I must again be free.
What Ho without! My ducats--to the winds with all my gold,
That I may once again enjoy the rest of poverty."

_THE RHYME OF THE ANCIENT POPULIST_

IT was an ancient populist,
His beard was long and gray,
And punctuated by his fist,
He had his little say:
"This is the age of gold," he said,
"'Tis gold for butter, gold for bread,
Gold for bonds and gold for fun;
Gold for all things 'neath the sun."
Then with a smile
He shook his head.
"Just wait awhile,"
He slyly said.
"When we get in and run the State
We'll tackle gold, we'll legislate.
We'll pass an act
And make a fact
By which these gold-bugs will be whacked
Till they're as cold
As is their gold.
We're going to make a statute law by which 'twill be decreed
That standards are abolished, for a standard favors greed.
This is the country of the free, and free this land shall be
As soon as we the 'people' have our opportunity,
And he who has to pay a bill
Can pay in whate'er suits his will.
The tailor? Let him take his coats
And pay his notes;
Or if perchance
He's long on pants,
Let trousers be
His _L. s. d._
The baker! Let his landlord take
His rent in cake,
Or anything the man can bake.
And if a plumber wants a crumb,
He may unto the baker come
And plumb.
A joker needing hats or cloaks
Can go and pay for them with jokes,
And so on: what a fellow's got
Shall pay for things that he has not.
If beggars' rags were cash, you'd see
No longer any beggary;
In short, there'd be no poverty."
"A splendid scheme," quoth I; "but stay!
What of the nation's credit, pray?"
"Ha-ha! ho-ho!" he loudly roared.
"We'll leave that problem to the Lord.
And if He fails to keep us straight
Once more we'll have to legislate,
And so create,
Confounding greed,
As much of credit as we need."

_ONE OF THE NAMELESS GREAT_