Chapter IV: Part 4

So saying, he sank upon his couch,
And slept in dreams so rich and gay
That loud his servant called and called,
Because 'twas late--far in the day.

That day he had a trip to make
Unto a neighboring town,
And visited a hospital
Kept by a Doctor Brown.

In passing from one of the wards,
While in the open door,
He chanced to turn, and looking back
Saw, kneeling on the floor,

With outstretched arms and pleading eyes,
The girl for years he had not seen;
She'd grown into full womanhood,
She was a perfect fairy Queen.

"What! what!" he cried, "am I deceived?
If I'm my father's son
That girl I see back yonder
Is _Sadie Waddington_!"

He hastened back to where she knelt,
And bade her to arise,
And clasped her to his manly breast,
While tears rose in his eyes.

Then 'tween her sobs and moans and groans
She slowly did relate
How she was driven from her home
Back in the Empire State.

She told of awful suffering,
Of wandering far and near;
Of the death of father and mother,
To her _all_ that was dear.

She told him how she had returned
Unto her mountain dome,
And as she was told that all had been sold,
She was left without a home.

The Doctor stood transfixed with awe;
Listened to her relate
The story of the sale of all,
Back in the Empire State.

The Doctor said: "My dear Sadie,
It matters not a bit to me
Whether you have lands, or goods, or gold,
I have vast fortunes yet untold.

"What's mine is yours; 'tis always so,
My father told me long ago,
Before I left the Empire State
And came over here to study late.

"I offer you my heart and hand,
And pledge to seal it with the band
Of holy wedlock, faithfully.
Now set your heart forever free

"From labor and the toils of life,--
Come, say you'll be my darling wife!
I feel a pang about my heart
That pierces like a flashing dart."

"Oh, True. St. Lawrence! Oh, can it be
That you do really care for me?
I, who have lived by a false name
To hide a step-mother's wicked shame?

"For five long years my name has been
(As you directly would have seen),
Not Sadie W., as you have known,
But the Sadie changed to plain Salome.

"The Waddington I changed, also,
For the common name of Van Harlow;
Then among strangers I did seek
For work to do, although 'twas meek.

"I came across the ocean wide,
As servant to a new-made bride;
She was taken sick and died out here
Before she'd been a bride a year.

"Since then I've cared for poor and sick,
And cannot leave them now, so quick.
I patients have who _must_ have care
Before _I_ leave for better fare.

"Now True, my dear, I'll be your own;
I'll make you an ever happy home;
I feel Pa's oft' spoke words are true,
Trueman's your name, _True Man_ are you."

He pressed her closely to his breast:
To dry her tears he did his best;
Then gently kissed her burning cheeks
And bade her wait but a few weeks.

The happiest man in all the land
Was True. St. Lawrence, with trembling hand,
Who then returned to his rooms rich,
A restless night to roll and pitch

Upon a bed of faultless down,
But pains of heart it could not drown.
He lay and mused throughout the night,
'Cause his future now looked bright.

_Sarah_ Waddington and her mother
Prepared a party for another.
A gent they wished to entertain,
'Cause Sarah wished to bear his name.

"It is to be a swell affair,
So she could safely set her snare
To catch the unsuspecting True,
Because he loves and loves but you."

So spake the mother to her child,
Who seemed delighted--almost wild--
To think that she could play her part
Without remorse or pain at heart.

The time rolled on, and days were spent
In fixing up for the event;
The rich were called from every side
To see Sarah--the would-be bride.

She sent a most bewitching note
For Dr. 'Lawrence to cast the vote,
Who'd be the Belle of honor, bright,
To bear the graces of the night.

The Doctor smiled, as he sat down
To answer it, without a frown;
And faithfully he did outline,
In characters most cute and fine:

"My choice is one, and only one;
And now I've written and 'tis done!
As sure as I'm my father's son,
'Tis one--fair _Sadie_ Waddington!

"And now, before it is too late,
There's one request I have to make:
That I be granted then, or sooner,
To be escort to the maid of honor."

"Your request is at once granted,
And hope we'll become enchanted;
And with your presence'll be elated,
Because, it seems, we are related".

Fair Sarah, then, did make it known
(Real quietly about her home)
That she and 'Lawrence, raised side by side,
Would soon become both groom and bride.

Silks and diamonds bought with gold,
Gotten from the kine she'd sold
'Way back in the Empire State,
Where poor Sadie met her fate.

Just one week before the eve'
When he Sarah would deceive,
Trueman went to see his love,
Who was pretty as a dove.

"Sadie," said he, "sweet is revenge!
Let us now your labor change.
The ones who drove you to your fate,
Away back in the Empire State,

"Are here in Paris this long time,
And live in luxury sublime.
The gold they got from off your kine,
It goes for suppers and for wine.

"In holy wedlock let us wed,
I'll lead you to a bridal bed;
And then in luxury and state
We'll 'tend the ball ere 'tis too late".

I'll humble them in dust and shame!
Ah, Sadie, you were not to blame!
_We'll_ make them wish they'd never sold
Your goods and kine for glittering gold!

"Come, darling, now we'll off today,
The bridal knot to firmly tie.
Then I your graceful swanlike neck
With pearls and rubys will bedeck.

"I'll trim your lovely graceful form
With richest satin to be worn:
I'll place upon your tapered hand
A solitaire, set in gold band.

"Your dainty feet encased in kid
Of dainty styles, they're only made
For those who're called the name of Queens,
And bought by those who have vast means.

"Then to the ball we'll proudly go,
(And who we'll meet I do not know,)
I'll there present to every one
My bride, _true_ Sadie Waddington.

"The shock, so sudden, will be great;
They'll quail beneath their hearts own hate
Of being there exposed to all;
Oh, won't it be an awful fall?

"Come, Sadie dear, revenge is sweet!
Now is our chance to get your mete
Which they have held from you so long,
And did you such a cruel wrong."

Then Sadie spoke: "Trueman, my dear,
There's naught I know for me to fear.
Revenge _is_ sweet, although 'tis queer,
Revenge I get in Paris here."

They carried out their little plot,
And never skipped a single jot.
The eve was fine, the folk were gay,
And not a thing stood in their way.

It was quite late when they arrived
At the mansion of the would-be bride.
As soon as Doctor stepped in sight,
Escorting Sadie--his delight--

Sarah saw the graceful form
And, with one scream, she left the room,
And fell fainting to the floor.
They gently laid her on the couch

Before the open door.
Her mother came in haste to see
What all the trouble there could be,
And did not see the Doctor's bride

Until she was close by her side.
And when she saw it was too late,
She gasped: "Oh, Sarah's met her fate,"
Then fell into a deathly state.

The mother swooned and swooned away
The entire night and most the day;
And then the Doctor came to say,
"Her life is run, she cannot stay!"

Sadie, with trained and skillful hand,
Nursed Sarah back to conscious-land;
Did faithfully the watchword keep
While often o'er them she did weep.

And, just before the mother died,
She Sadie called to her bedside
And begged her to full pardon give
For cruel wrong she did receive.

Sadie, always so good and true,
Said she always thought she knew
That the grand day would surely come
When that great wrong would be undone.

She granted full, complete pardon
For all the wrongs the dame had done,
And then she spoke kind words of cheer
Into the madam's dying ear.

With firm-set eyes and drooping chin
The madame grasped and tried to cling
Unto the hand she once did scorn,
And drove from home at break of morn.

She then was wrapt in eternal death,
And from her soul came not a breath.
In casket pure as driven snow
Unto the churchyard she did go,

And there was laid beneath the clay
To await Jehovah's Judgment Day.
All lands and goods and gold and kine
She left behind for endless time!

Poor Sarah! doomed to awful fate,
Her mind was left in ruined state;
In raving madness and in strife
She tried to take our Sadie's life.

The best physicians in the land
Were summoned forth on every hand
To try and bring her from the strife
Back to the land of happy life.

Off to an asylum she must go,
'Cause 'twas not safe to leave her so;
And with good care she might regain
And be relieved from mental pain.

Salome, our faithful lass and bride,
Resolved to stay by Sarah's side
And help her regain her lost mind,
And comfort for her she would find.

Nine weeks were spent in mad-house fare,
Salome bestowing tender care
Upon the one who once did face
Salome in all her dire disgrace.

When Doctor St. Lawrence saw his wife
Was bent on battling for the life
Of one who was once her mad foe,
He said: "All right, it shall be so."

Salome, she clung unto her charge,
As if she were her dearest friend;
She incurred expenses somewhat large
To treat her patient to the end.

The Doctor soon began to learn
His bride and wife would never spurn
The one who once her home did take,
And drove her off for mere pride's sake.

He asked Salome what she would do
In case that Sarah did pull through,
And once again her mind regain
Before they crossed the raging main.

Salome did quickly make reply,
While glistening tears stood in her eye:
"I'll take her to old Empire State,
Right to the door where I met fate!

"I'll make her happy, if I can,
And now I'll form my little plan:
We must, dear True, just do our best,
And fix her up in a cosy nest.

"We will give her a little home
On the beautiful mountain side;
We will find her a handsome lover
Who'll be proud to call her his bride.

"We will give them all attention
That the best of friends could do;
We will _return good for evil_,
'Cause my mother taught me so.

"Let us show that true religion
Is the life we ought to live,
And the ways that Christ rejoiced in
Are the ways to which we cleave.

"Oh, my husband, dearest Trueman,
I believe in Sarah reigns
The true principle of goodness--
Let us fan that spark to flames.

"Can I now secure her safely,
Teach her shun her evil ways
And discard that haughty spirit
That she learned in younger days,

"I will be the happiest mortal
Ever lived on mother earth,
And will reach that heavenly portal
Only reached by second birth."

After coaxing, begging, teasing,
Sarah consented for to go
Back across the ocean, raging,
Where her childhood seeds did sow.

When they reached the harbor safely,
Bag and baggage on the truck,
They cast lots to see what steamer
They would choose for their good luck.

Doctor got the choice of vessels,
And he quickly did decide
That the City of St. Paris
Should take their _protege_ and his bride.

Safely in the vessel's cabin,
Housed in cosy stateroom there,
All were ready for the voyage,
And did look for cheerful fare.

Out upon the briny billows,
Just three days and nights, 'twas said,
When the night was dark and dreary,
Trueman rose from sleepless bed.

There was something weighed upon him,
Something whispered to beware;
He dressed and went upon the deck
To breathe the crisp sea air.

He paced and paced the vessel's deck
With long and manly stride;
He went from starboard o'er to port
And back to starboard side.

He'd been upon the deck some time,
And peered into the gloom
As if them something overawed
And threatened them with doom.

At last, to port, he spied a fleck,
A dancing on the waves,
And there he plainly saw a deck
Bedecked with pirate knaves.

The vessel, with a dark-hued hull,
Bore straightway on its course,
When, "_Hard to port! To port! to port!_"
Rang out a voice real coarse.

The strange boat glided swiftly on,
Like a ghost on phantom wings,
While the crisp sea breeze went dancing past
And through her rigging sings.

The strange boat slipped along, across
The briny billows white,
And their steamer ploughed and labored hard
Along its renewed flight.

It was a close and dangerous call,
Because the night was dark;
Had they collided there, on the ocean bare,
They'd went down with their bark.

The voyage, then, to Gotham
Was stormy and quite rough,
And all agreed, when landed,
That they had quite enough.

They then all took the railroad train
North, through the Empire State,
And soon were on the mountain side
Where Sadie met her fate.

The first place Sadie wished to see
Was graves of father and mother,
And tripping lightly from the yard,
She passed out with another.

That bitter morn, with memories fresh,
When from her home she'd fled,
She was scorned by one _now_ too glad
To lead her on ahead.

When she approached her mother's grave
The tears rolled thick and fast,
And by her side poor Sarah stood,
With memories of the past

A fitting through her guilty mind:
And then she spoke at last:
"Oh, Sadie, Sadie, what a blot
Upon my mother's past;

It stings within my guilty heart,
And would to God I now could part
With half the pain I feel--
The balm of Christ could scarcely heal."

She stooped, and silently did press
Her fresh and rosy lips
Upon the little mound of grass
"Beneath--dear mother sleeps."

Then Sarah, with most tender words,
Pressed Sadie to her breast
And with a fervent, heartfelt plea,
Prayed both them to be blest.

When they returned unto their home,
Their friendship sealed with silent love,
They could not bear to be alone;
They felt a power from up above.

Old friends and neighbors, with delight,
Called on the Doctor and his bride,
And there convened, on the first night,
A host of friends who're on their side.

There's one among them old and gray,
Who'd lived right there for all his life;
'Tis the elder man and sage, St. Lawrence,
And he smiles upon the Doctor's wife.

Heir to the Waddington estate,
Sadie reigns the queen of all;
Her friendship for Sarah was great,
And sister her did often call.

The Doctor chose to spend his life
Upon the handsome mountain side
With Sadie, his true loving wife,
And Father St. Lawrence until he died.

Time rolled around and months flew by;
Sadie and Sarah, hand in hand,
Sealed by the firmest friendship tie,
Two of the truest in the land.

There chanced to stroll from distant clime
A bright young man of Sadie's kin;
Came to visit in Summer time,
And Sarah was introduced to him.

Sadie tried her best to make a match,
And championed well her cause;
Sarah viewed it as a catch
That one very seldom draws.

Though 'twas but a short acquaintance,
Still the wedding time was fixed;
The intended groom had patience,
'Cause he felt he was not rich.

Sadie, sweet as dewy honey,
Wishing that her friends should wed,
Proffered home and lands and money
If the word would just be said.

"I am heir to all this fortune,
Known as Waddington's estate;
Come, now, Sarah; come, now, Hawthorne,
Join your hearts ere 'tis too late.

"I will give to you a large farm
Yonder on the mountain side;
I will give you kine and money,
If you'll be my cousin's bride."

Sarah spake, with dewy eyelids,
To the one she loved so dear:
"Sadie, I am anything but worthy
Of this princely gift, to cheer

"My poor broken, wicked heart,
After I have been so bad;
You should never take _my_ part,
Since _I_ took that which _you_ had."

Yet Sadie, true to her own passion,
Promised deed in fee for all,
If Sarah would wed her own cousin,
Ere the Summer ran to Fall.

So the wedding day was fixed
When the two should be made one,
And their home, as she predicted,
Would be deeded as their own.

When at last the nuptial greeting
Was received on every hand,
The sage, St. Lawrence, came to their meeting,
The last one left of their quartet band.

The wedding knot was duly tied,
And the folk were feeling gay;
They were now made happy groom and bride,
Starting out in life's pathway.

When the ceremony was over,
And the gifts they were bestowing--
Bridal gifts as sweet as clover--
Sadie, with her rich hair flowing,

Called the old 'Squire of the city
That to witness of her signing
The transfer of title fair,
To the land that lay up there;

When, to her surprise and chagrin,
Father St. Lawrence, with gentle voice,
Told her that she could not bargain,
For she had not even choice.

"Now, my daughter, not one farthing
Of this vast and rich estate
Has been left unto True's darling,
Now, I tell you, 'tis not too late.

"All this land you tho't was yours
By inheritance of your blood,
Was bequeathed by your dear father
To one you never thought he would".

Now, I've brought the Judge of Probate
As an honored guest of _mine_,
That he might reveal the truth,
That it might be writ in rhyme.

Then, to soothe the disappointment,
The old judge with silvery hair
Drew from 'neath his outer garment,
Two old papers kept with care.

One was read by him to Sadie,
Where her father had endowed
All his lands, and kine and money
On the one who made her proud.

When this document was ended,
And was handed to Trueman,
The old sage, St. Lawrence, pretended
That he enjoyed youth again.

"Read, Judge! read your other paper!
Tell my daughter here the truth;
Tell her what their anxious fathers
Did for them while in their youth."

When the document was ended,
With tears showering down her face,
Sadie, kisses, sweetly blended,
While she held him in embrace.

Long their fortunes had been blended
By the signatures alone
Of their fathers in their child days,
As they played around their home.

"True, my dear; O will you come here?
Sign this deed! Come quick, O do;
Carry out my simple wishes;
Sarah is my friend, so true."

"Yes, my darling, this with pleasure
I will do, to please you all;
It is my most pleasant leisure
To do bidding at your call."

So, the deed of gift was given,
And in happiness they'd start;
From that home they'd ne'er be driven,
Life anew to never part.

There in happiness and comfort
Did they live upon the place
Where the evil of proud passion
Smothered one in dire disgrace.

Happy was Salome and Trueman
When they saw their _protege_ safe
In the hands of Cousin Hawthorne,
On the Waddington old place.

Safe within the coils of homelife,
Safe within the cottage walls,
Safely with a trusting husband,
Safe within their friendly calls.

Thus the vengeance of our Hero
Was full spent to meet her theme;
Yet so different from a Nero,
Because she knew she could redeem.

Salome's revenge was to her sweet,
'Cause she'd conquered, not cut down;
Now she feared no one to meet,
Nor would any wear a frown.

Though some years had been so bitter,
And had fraught such cruel pain;
Now the coldest of the winter
Seemed like flowery beds of green.

Now, away up on the mountains,
In the well known Empire State,
Sadie Waddington is living
In sweet REVENGE, where she met fate.

_A TRIBUTE TO CAPT. GEORGE W. HESS._

BY G. W. VAN WEIGHS.

Almost a decade thou hast battled with a patriot's band,
Whose first duty is devotion to their native land;
And no comrade but is willing, with a ready mind,
To declare thee brave and loyal to all mankind.

In thy country's hour of peril, on the battle field,
Thou wert ever more than willing all her rights to shield,
And, with true and loyal purpose, battled for the right,
Till secession's traitorous banner sunk in endless night!

Duty's path to thee is glory, glory easy won;
For a task so oft repeated is quite easy done;
Yet no one can ever chide, for thy generous heart
Ne'er will crush the poor and helpless with oppression's dart.

Every prisoner knows and likes thee, for thy friendly ways
Must attract their close attention and excite their praise;
And the few who know thee better, as a man of heart,
Would desire no nobler mission than to take thy part.

May you live in peace and plenty, happy with your own,
Till Jehovah's love shall gather 'round His august throne
All who, like you, honest comrade, follows heaven's plan
And respects the rules of virtue and the rights of man.

_MY LAWYER._

When grappled in the law's embrace,
Who first betrayed an anxious face
And fain would shield me from disgrace?
My Lawyer.

Who told me I should not confess,
That he would all my wrongs redress
And set me free from all distress?
My Lawyer.

When, sick in jail, I senseless lay,
Who took my watch and case away,
Lest prowling thieves on me should prey?
My Lawyer.

Who to my wealth tenacious clung,
And for me wagged his oily tongue,
And at my foes hot embers flung?
My Lawyer.

Who told me he was dreadful smart
And knew the law-books all by heart,
And always took his client's part?
My Lawyer.

Who, in the court, with peerless pride,
My rights affirmed, my guilt denied,
And swore the State's attorney lied?
My Lawyer.

And when twelve men, in one compound,
For me a guilty verdict found,
Who came to stanch the bleeding wound?
My Lawyer.

Who said my time within the wall
Would be exceeding brief and small,
The minimum, or none at all?
My Lawyer.

And when the judge my doom proclaimed,
And three long years of exile named,
Who looked indignant and ashamed?
My Lawyer.

When, at the sheriff's stern command,
I for the train was told to stand,
Who longest shook and squeezed my hand?
My Lawyer.

Who, when he had me safe confined,
No more concerned his crafty mind,
Nor was, for me, to grief inclined?
My Lawyer.

Who closed the mortgage on my lot,
And drove my family from my cot,
And left them homeless on the spot?
My Lawyer.

Who, when of prison clothes I'm stripped,
And from these walls am homeward shipped,
Will get himself immensely whipped?
My Lawyer.

[Written by Mr. George Gilbert, who died on the 9th of June, A. D. 1890.]

_A SAD WARNING._

BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.

In prison cell, at early twilight,
Smoking Foesters "Best Cigar,"
Sat a convict, little dreaming
Aught his perfect bliss could mar.

Round the cell-block, slowly ambling,
Came a "Screw," on mischief bent,
And his wide, expanded nostrils
Quickly inhaled the welcome scent.

Wave on wave, thro' latticed iron,
Smoky clouds rose thick and high,
And the happy convict murmured:
"Go, ye cloudlets, greet the sky!"

But the cloudlets, incense laden,
Lingered near the oaken floor,
Till the "Screw," with cat-like motion,
Stood before the smoker's door.

In the spittoon, charred and sputtering,
Lay the smoker's joy and pride;
And the "Screw," exultant, murmured:
"Stackhouse will _this case_ decide."

Morning dawned. The "cellar agent"
Bore the trembling wretch away
To a cellar, cold and gloomy,
Where the tools of torture lay.

Blows and shrieks alternate sounded,
And a voice from near the floor
Murmured: "Stackhouse! MERCY! MERCY!!
P-l-e-a-s-e, sir; _I will smoke no more_!"

From the cellar, shorn and shaven,
Skulked the cowering "con." away;
And he smokes--but, Oh! how watchful
Is that victim, who can say?

All ye inmates, take the warning,
Gushing from a brother's heart:
He who smokes within these portals
For the dire offense _may_ smart!

_ACROSTIC TO J. C. LANGENBERGER, CAPTAIN OF THE O. P. NIGHT WATCH._

BY G. W. VAN WEIGHS.

Just to all men, to all men kind and true;

Conspicuous as a giant yet comely to the view;

Loved by all who know him, trusted everywhere;
Always more than willing to ease his fellow's care;
Never harsh or cruel, never false or base;
Going in and coming out among those in disgrace,
Earning from each prisoner's heart the meed of honest praise;
None condemn his actions, none despise his ways;
By his children reverenced, by his wife adored;
Every friend is welcome at his ample board;
Rich in all that makes a _man_, poor alone in hate;
God of Mercy bless the man who nightly guards our fate;
Ever may he fill the post that wisdom has assigned,
Ruling all, as now he does, by strength of heart and mind.

_SHE LOVES ME YET._

BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.

Amid the cares and griefs of life,
One precious thought I'll ne'er forget,
I have a fond and faithful wife,
For darling Lulu loves me yet.

The bitterest pang that earth can give
Can never make my soul regret
The fact that I on earth can live,
While Lulu says she loves me yet.

The sweetest joy my heart could know
Would prove a diamond yet unset,
Whose radiant light could never glow,
Like this sweet thought, "She loves me yet."

Should grief deluge my troubled soul
Till every hour some care beset,
I could defy its stern control
While murmuring, "Lulu loves me yet."

Should every friend I have on earth
Each vow of loyalty forget,
I could survive the cruel blow,
Since darling Lulu loves me yet.

Should earth with one accord combine,
Sweet Lulu's influence to beset,
It would not change my constant mind,
If I but felt "She loves me yet."

I care no sweeter boon in life,
Nor will my heart its choice regret;
I only long to meet that wife
Who truly says she loves me yet.

_ACROSTIC TRIBUTE TO HARRY SMITH._

BY G. W. VAN WEIGHS.

He is like the god, Appollo, when in days of old
All the hearts of Greece could conquer, yet despised their gold.
Rich in manhood, health and youth, he is ever free
Ready to assist his brother whatsoever his need may be.
You can trust him freely, fully, with your love or gold,

Since his love of truth and honor never can grow cold.
May he ever do his duty and to all be kind,
It is but the noble hearted who can rule the mind,
Trusting, still, his love of country and his love for man,
He may rest assured Heaven will endorse his plan.

_THE PHANTOM BOAT._

BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.

Two lovers once sat dreaming
Of scenes o'ergrown by years;
Sweet Daisy's eyes were eloquent
With girlhood's pleading tears;
Her little hand was lying
Confidingly in mine,
While her silvery voice pleaded:
"Dear one, awake the Nine!"

"Yes, darling, I will rhyme for you;
What legend shall I drew!
Shall I now fold you in my arms
And, drifting down life's stream,
'Mid singing birds and nodding flowers,
Pour forth my soul in love--
In accents soft and tender--
As the cooing of a dove"?

Or shall I tell you, dearest one,
Why yonder's rippling stream
First gained the name "Tululah"
In an age that's now a dream?
Well, now, pillow your head upon my breast,
The legend is weird and wild;
I fear me much its harrowing scenes
Will shock, thee, gentle child.

Will you listen, while we're watching
For the far-famed Phantom Boat?
Perhaps the tale will lead us
To catch the first faint note
Of Tululah's wondrous music
As she floats down this stream,
For, I assure you, darling,
This legend is no dream.

Where now we sit, in days gone by,
The stealthy panther crept,
And bears and wolves in horrid hordes
Their tireless vigils kept;
Turkey, deer and beaver
Were scattered far and wide,
And here the lordly savage stalked
_In all his pristine pride_;

The Creeks then ruled this forest,
From Suwanee to the sea;--
A haughty, bold and cruel race,
Cunning, treacherous, wild and free!
To hunt and fish, and boast and fight
Were the duties of a brave,
While woman--alas! sweet woman
Was but a cowering slave!

No grant had she to breathe her wrongs
Before the "Council Fire,"
Nor dared she utter a single word
To gain her heart's desire,
Until her savage master
First gave her leave to speak;
Nor dared she then to brave his will
Lest he his vengeance wreak!

Yet ever and anon there rose
A woman, whose proud soul
Ignored those self-created gods
And spurned their base control.
Such was the brave Tululah,
Whose spirit haunts this stream;
In a phantom barge it glides along,
Like a wraith in a troubled dream.

'Tis said she haunts this river,
Alone on a misty night,
And that each one who sees her
Is 'palled with strange affright!
And why she haunts this river
Is the burden of my tale,
And none who have a tender heart
But will her fate bewail.

Tululah was Ocala's child,
To whom the Creeks ascribe
The name of the boldest leader
That ever led their tribe!
A savage of herculean build,
With fierce and restless eye,
His haughty lip deigned not to smile,
And scorned to breathe a sigh!

Tululah was his pride and joy,
The only thing he loved on earth,
Since she became an orphan
At the fatal hour of birth!
The superstitious savage
Deemed her mother's spirit nigh,
And thought, who harmed an orphan,
By a spirit hand should die!

She was born, too, "In a Castle,"
Gifted with a "second sight;"
Friends of earth, and sea, and air,
At _her_ command would fight.
Her raven locks and soulful eyes,
Her faultless form and peerless face,
And voice of wondrous melody
Awed and charmed her race.

She reigned an undisputed Queen,
_All_ her mandate must obey;
And even the fierce Ocala
Was obedient to her sway.
Yet even she was powerless
To stay the raging flood
Of tireless, deathless savage hate
That sought the white man's blood.

Ocala's hatred of the whites
Was known both far and near;
Brave hunters spake his name with awe,
And women in trembling fear!
At last he grew so treacherous
No white man dared come nigh,
Till a trio of gallant hunters
Determined _he should die_!

They knew 'twas a dangerous mission
On which their steps was bent,
Yet the prayers of honest settlers
Their true hearts courage lent.
As they neared the sleeping village,
Where Ocala awaited his doom,
They flitted like weird spectres
In the silent midnight gloom!

There, spread before their vision,
Five hundred wigwams lay;
A savage guerdon of defense
For him they sought to slay.
To the silent village center
Our gallant hunters crept,
To the door of the largest wigwam,
Where proud Ocala slept.

Stepping across the prostrate form
Of the sentinel at the door,
They breathed a prayer for absent ones,
Whom they might see no more.
Three knives flashed in midnight air,
Then fell with a sickening thud,
Ocala, Napoleon of his tribe,
Lay withering in his blood!

But hark! what means that fierce warhoop,
Resounding loud and clear?
'Tis the bugle blast that calls each brave
When the paleface foe is near!
Gathering fast in the midnight gloom,
They form "The Circle of Death"
Around the dauntless hunters,
Who stand with bated breath

Awaiting the savage onslaught,
Determined to sell their lives
To the service of their country
And the freedom of men's wives;
While pitying Heaven aids them
By the darkness of the night,
Since not a star will lend its aid
To guide their foes aright!

Now facing North, and East, and West,
They meet the savage foes,
Recruiting Charon's army
By every lusty blow;
But still they come in hideous swarms,
Like hounds let loose from hell,
Till, overborne by numbers,
Our bleeding heroes fell!

All honor to the gallant three,
Twelve braves in silence lay,
With gaping wounds and stony eyes,
To greet returning day!
While yet a score were nursing
Wounds which these heroes gave,
That signed their right to enter
Into an unwept grave!

Ocala ne'er again would scourge
Their country, far and near,
Nor wring from helpless innocence
An unavailing tear!
His death alone destroyed the boast
And stilled the raging flood
Of senseless pride and passion
That bathed his hands in blood!

But, alas, for human prowess,
These deeds but roused the ire
Of savage wretches, who now tried
To vent their spleen _with fire_!
Three stakes were now erected
And fagots heaped around,
While painted fiends in human shape
Exultant, sat aground.

They led the helpless captives forth,
With many a shout and hoot,
And drug them to their awful doom,
Less feeling than a brute!
And first they bound Hugh Cannon,
Whose descendants, love, you know,
I pointed out to you, last Fall,
When we were at the show.

They bound him to the cruel stake
Before his comrades' eyes,
Then scornfully they bade them mark
"How a paleface coward dies!"
Thank God his captors were deceived,
He smiled amid the flame!
And, with his fast expiring breath,
These words bequeathed to fame:

"To suffer in a noble cause
Is sweet beyond compare!
These greedy flames that lick my blood
But light a vision fair,
Where heroism and heroes sweep
The still resounding lyre,
Heaven's harmonies have quenched
The tortures of this fire!

"Tumultuous raptures 'round me roll
Heaven's pearly gates ajar!
My spirit soars on fleshless wing
Beyond the faintest star!
Oh, blissful death; oh, vision fair,
What sweet celestial glories shine,
The loved and lost of earlier years
Are _now_ forever mine!"

The savage horde in silence stood
And listened as he sang,
While even their untaught eyes could see
He suffered not a pang!
No yell triumphant smote his ear,
Awe silenced every tongue,
And many a heart beat faster
As he his requiem sung.

Then lionhearted Conway,
Beneath whose eagle eye
Even savage foes once trembled
Was offered up to die!
Defiant still 'mid writhing flames,
He heaped on them his scorn,
And, with true prophetic voice
He doomed their race unborn.

"Rejoice! rejoice! ye howling fiends,
Distort your hideous face,
Soon the white man's wrath shall sweep
From earth your blood-stained race,
While shining fields and cities fair
Attest the white man's power,
You accursed Creeks shall be
Tradition's useless dower!"

Now comes your own ancestor,
The gallant, brave McCray,
Who planned this glorious campaign
And led the awful fight.
He was a perfect Hercules,
Cast in Apollo's mould,
With a heart of witching tenderness,
Yet proud and dauntless soul.

Oft had he visited this tribe,
On peaceful mission bent,
And to many a savage
His kind assistance lent.
Yet little dreamed he, at this hour,
One heart amid that throng
Still beat responsive to his own,
Attuned to love's mad song!

Yet, as they bound him to the stake
And raised the flaming brand,
The Chief that held it fell a corpse,
Killed by a woman's hand!
And Indian maiden loosed his bands
And raised her voice on high:
"Who harms my paleface lover
By Tululah's hand shall die!"

Behold, the savage concourse stand,
Transfixed by silent awe,
And gaze upon Ocala's child,
Held sacred by their law!
They feared Ocala's spirit
Might _then_ be hovering nigh;
Nor dared to harm his darling child,
Lest he who harmed her die!

The Queen, with head and form erect,
Bore McCray undismayed,
And in her _father's_ wigwam
Her wounded lover laid!
Then bending gently o'er him,
Each wound she rightly dress,
And with sweet plaintive melodies
Lured the weary one to rest.

At dawning light McCray awoke,
His Queen still lingering there;
His eyes bespoke his gratitude,
His lips were moved in prayer
For the lithe and graceful maiden
Whose love he knew to be
Pure as early morning's blush,
Yet deathless as--Eternity!

Although once failed, his savage foes
Still thirsted for his blood;
The hate within their bosoms
Was as tireless as a flood.
Not daring open violence,
They sought Oneida's craft,
And 'neath the guise of friendship
Gave the lovers a sleeping draught.

When the mighty god of slumber
Had locked them fast in sleep,
The wily savage entered,
His fearful oath to keep.
They took McCray to the river
In sight of these roaring falls,
Whose sheer descent--two hundred feet--
The stoutest heart appalls!

They bound him fast in a frail canoe,
Set adrift 'mid the current's flow,
Believing his life would be dashed out
On the jagged rocks below.
Then, gladly turning homeward,
A ready lie they make
To appease her burning anger
When Tululah shall awake!

Slowly the doomed man drifted,
Yet faster, at each breath,
The quickening current bore him
To the open gates of death!
Yet still he slept; aye, slept and dreamed
Of the proud Creek's peerless flower
Who, for deathless love of him,
Had braved her nation's power.

Spurned her murdered siris corpse
And to his murderer clung!
Aye, on the spot that drank his blood,
Love's soothing ditties sung!
Dreamed of the eyes that flashed with fire
When his foeman dared draw nigh,
Yet softened into tenderness
At her lover's faintest sigh.

Dreams of the hand that sped the dart
That pierced the chieftain's breast,
Yet with such witching tenderness
Could tremble in caress!
Dreams of the heart that proudly braved
A nation's deadly hate,
Yet, at a lover's first command,
Would brook a martyr's fate!

Dreams of the hour when Tululah,
Who so bravely saved his life,
Shall desert her baffled kinsman
To become a white man's wife!
Dreams how he would love and prize her,
Shielding her with tenderest care,
Spending time, and life, and fortune
But to grant her lightest prayer.

But his dream is rudely broken,
And his blanched lip loudly calls,
For he hears the well known rumbling
Of this river's awful falls.
Life was sweet, death was so near,
And he so young to die!
No wonder that his trembling lips
Sought mercy from on high.

He bore ten thousand tortures
With every passing breath,
As he lay bound and helpless,
Gliding swiftly on to death.
He raised his clarion voice
Above the deafening roar;
Great heavens! can a human cry
Reach that resounding shore?

"Yes! Yes!" a once familiar voice
Calls loudly from that shore,
And a well known trapper woos time
To life and hope once more!
By an effort, born of hope renewed,
McCray sprang to his feet;
The trapper saw, his lariat flew,
His outstretched hands to greet.

"_Steady!_" the practical huntsman cried:
"Your peril is almost o'er;
Steady, for in a moment
Your foot shall press the shore!"
Then, as he drew the skiff ashore,
He recognized McCray,
But gazed in silent wonder
_For late raven locks were grey_!

And never, to his dying day,
Would McCray view the place
Where, in suspended agony,
He met death face to face!
He shuddered at an Indian's name,
And soon forgot the Queen,
Who once so bravely saved him
From a nation's senseless spleen.

He wooed and won a maiden
Whose blue eyes, like your own,
Held within their liquid depths,
Love's nectarine full blown,
And as I press your luscious lips
I praise thee, brave McCray,
Whose dauntless courage gave to me
The girl I hold today!

Oh, yes; forgive me, darling,
I did almost forget;
But how can mortal silence keep
By such sweet eyes beset?
Grant me the boon of one more kiss
And gaze into my face;
Light fancy by your radiant eyes,
Tululah's fate to trace!

Still let the pressure of your hand
Chain me in rapture to the earth,
For I must offer thoughts tonight
That ne'er before had birth!
No idle dreamer dares to pierce
The mystery of this stream,
Nor would I dare the bold emprise
Save that your wish I deem

The highest law my loving heart
Can now or ever know,
And 'neath the witchery of your smile
My raptured numbers glow!
My fancy soars on eager wing,
And will, perhaps, at last,
Gladly at your high behest
Unfold the misty past!

Tululah slept till evening shades
Had deepened into night,
And woke, alas! to find herself
Bereft of her brave knight.
Her Indian wit soon taught her
Oguchu was to blame,
And hastily she found him,
Her eyes and cheeks aflame!

"Oguchu knows your mission;
Your paleface lover fled
While Tululah's starlit eyes
Were wandering 'mid the dead.
He is not worthy of your love;
Let my sister choose a mate;
Oguchu's lodge is open,
Will my sister spurn her fate?"

"My paleface lover is a brave!"
Tululah proudly cried;
"_He_ never fled from friend or foe,
Oguchu, thou hast lied!
Thy double tongue is poison-tipped,
Thy words a coward's dart,
Before I clasp thy loathsome form
Let panthers rend my heart!

"Speak, coward, speak! where is my brave?
Tululah asks you where;
Speak, lest I summon by a word
The friends of earth and air
To tear your quivering limbs apart,
You lying, treacherous chief.
Speak the truth! you Indian dog,
The night is growing brief!"

The awestruck chief is conquered,
And tells, with bated breath,
Where last he saw him drifting,
Into the jaws of death!
Tululah heard, and wild despair
Hurled reason from her throne.
Low at her feet the wretches crouched,
Their treachery to atone!

"Up! Up, you cowards! Up, you knaves!
And lead me to the place.
Tululah's hand shall save him yet
Or curse your coward race!
'Tis mine to speak; yours, to obey;--
I am your Virgin Queen:--
I _swear_ to save my lover
Or _nevermore_ be seen!"

They led her to the river,
And, pointing to the place,
They stood like criminals abashed
Before the judge's face.
She spurned their pleading counsel,
And, springing in a boat,
She cast the oars from her
And set the skiff afloat!

Then, as she gazed adown the stream,
Her eyes were all aglow
With that deep yearning passion
Such hearts alone can know.
While sitting in the boat erect,
With an Indian's willowy grace,
She sang in tuneful numbers
A song time can't efface:

"I am coming, coming, coming,
Slowly drifting down the stream,
While my heart is yearning, yearning
For the idol of love's dream.

"I have left them--left them--left them!
Farewell, treacherous Indian race;
I can hear him calling, calling,
And I go to seek his face.

"Now I'm gliding, gliding, gliding!
And I hear the awful roar
Of the waters tumbling, tumbling,
Where no boat will need an oar!

"Now I'm rushing, rushing, rushing!
And the spray obscures my sight;
The angry waters leaping, leaping,
Chill me with a strange affright.

"Oh, I see him! see him--see him,
And I welcome death's alarms!
Oh! I'm swiftly falling, falling,
And I spring into his arms!"

Not a trace of boat or maiden
Could the savage searchers find,
And they fled the spot in terror,
Daring not to look behind!
Nor would they tarry near the river,
But moved their wigwam's far away;
No savage Creek would linger
Near the spot by night and day.

And tradition says her spirit
May be seen on nights like this,
When the heavy moon, mist-laden,
Greets the river with a kiss!
Not in vain will be our vigil
If Tululah knows tonight
In your precious veins is flowing
Genuine blood of her brave knight!

Look! Look! 'mid the river's silvery sheen
Tululah's Phantom Boat is seen,
While the air vibrates like a quivering lyre,
Touched by the hands of an angel Choir!
Oh, wondrous music soft and low,
Like rippling streamlets' gentle flow!
Oh, pathos laden, heart refrain,
No mortal lips can breathe that strain!

Immortal love! not even death
Can damp thy flame or chill thy breath!
Nay, while eternal ages roll,
'Tis thine to feed the hungry soul
With manna dipped in passion's fire,
True birthright of the heart's desire;
Blest food no mortal lips can take
And fail enrapturing bliss to wake!

Heaven's corner-stone, earth's chief delight.
Tululah's captive soul tonight
Is but living o'er the dream
Thou didst create beside this stream.
Her hapless fate all must deplore,
Self-sacrificed in days of yore;
And, could Tululah live again,
At least one heart would soothe her pain!

The legend may be overdrawn,
Yet 'tis not all a dream!
Nor will you ever say again:
"This is no haunted stream!"
Other eyes beside our own
Have seen the Phantom Boat,
And other ears than ours have heard
That wild, weird? music float!

But, precious little darling,
As I strain thee to my breast,
I am conscious you are weary,
Thus deprived of needful rest.
Let us hasten to thy cottage,
Parting with a lingering kiss;
Little Daisy, then, can slumber
And awake in perfect bliss!

_AN INITIAL ACROSTIC._

Hear, O hear the melting music pouring from inspired hearts!
In the race of life they stumbled, victims of temptation's darts.
Ruin's billows them engulfing, all their hopes and joys to blight;
And the scorpion lash of conscience scourges them by day and night!
Man has doomed them to a prison where shame's torrents hourly roll

Pouring every known affliction on the crushed and bleeding soul!
Every legal right has perished, every social tie is snapped!
Crushing Force is ever present, body mind and soul entrapped!
Kindness is a total stranger, human treatment rarely shown,

Man _is_ faultless when his fellow for a fault must needs atone!
Can such beings know the rapture Heaven decrees to poet souls?

Know they where to place the cymbals of the sounding lyre
Never yet has human malice stilled the music of the spheres!
In _the loathesome prison dungeon Heaven the sweetest music hears!_
Guilt or shame, or human anger, ne'er can fold the poet's wings.
Howsoever deep his anguish, still his heart exultant sings--
Tunes his lyre, still triumphant, and to you these pages brings!

_ACROSTIC TRIBUTE TO

DR. H. R. PARKER._

BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.

He towers above his fellow men, like some grand knight of old.
Endeavoring to right all wrong with spirit bold and free!
No craven fear usurps his soul, no task his spirit quails.
Religion to his soul is _love_, and love no wrong entails!
Ye who love eternal right and wish your fellows well

Refuse him not the meed of praise--'tis his our aches to quell!
Each heart within these prison walls that tests his wondrous skill
Unites to sing his praises and bless his generous will.
By kindly words he cheers the soul of those whom dread disease
Envelops in her mystic folds and gives each patient ease.
Naught caring for their praise or blame, he steers his course aright,

Proving duty, well performed, is matchless in its might.
And, tho' but a youth in years, his well instructed mind
Reveals all pathologic truth and practice well combined.
Kindly may the fates decree that he may rise to fame,
Ever free, as he is now, from error and from shame.
Refuse him naught of happiness and bless his honored name!

_LINES TO MY WIFE._

BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.

Years and years have passed away
Since last we met, my darling wife;
Oft have I felt the tooth of pain
Gnaw at the vitals of my life.

The brow thy hand has oft caressed
With such sweet, hypnotic power,
The lines of care and grief has traced
And wrinkled, like a withered flower.

The dark brown locks you loved so well,
Now interspersed with silver thread,
Shows plainly that the march of time
Has left its footprints on my head.

The deep gray eyes that once could flash
With passion's fire, or melt in love,
Have lost the wanted fires of youth,
Like some poor offcast, limpsy glove.

Yet in my breast there beats a heart
That never will nor can grow old;
Thy image keeps its pulses warm
With love that never shall grow cold.

Thy grace and beauty won that heart
Long years ago, when thou wert young:
Thy gentle, generous, faithful care
Has bred a love I cannot tongue.

Heaven can grant no sweeter bliss,
To crown the evening of my life,
Than Iulu's sweet, enraptured kiss,
When time restores me to my wife.

_OUT OF THE DEPTHS._

BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.

In a cell of rock and iron,
Where remorse and shame environ,
Sat a convict sadly dreaming--
Dreaming of the days of yore.
Dreamed he of a land of flowers
Where, amid Love's smiling bowers,
He had spent such happy hours,
To memory ne'er so sweet before.
And he softly, fondly questioned:
"Shall I know such bliss once more?"
Hope made answer, "_Yes, once more!_"
In a home which love had founded,
Now by grief and care surrounded,
Sat a wife and mother, weeping,
Weeping for her prisoned swain.
Wept she o'er fate's mad endeavor,
That such loving hearts could sever,
With a blow, that seemed to never
Lose its agonizing pain;
And her cry arose to heaven:
"Father, shall we meet again?"
Mercy answered, "Once again."
Ope those doors of latticed iron,
Lift the clouds that now environ;
Faithfulness shall be rewarded--
Love the victory hath won.
Learn that I, your God, am heeding
Prayers that rise from hearts now bleeding,
And my hand is ever leading,
Tho' the clouds obscure the sun.
Bows my heart in adoration--
Shall my lips repeat Amen?
Hope and faith repeat! "Amen."

_ELLA REE'S REVENGE._

Beside Saluda's silver stream,
Where flowers nod and poets dream,
A cabin stood, in days gone by,
Whose history should never die.

Here lived and led a blameless life,
Brave Hayward and his peerless wife,
With three sweet pledges of that love,
Cradled on earth, but born above.

Surrounding them, on every hand,
Was the Red man's native land.
No paleface, save themselves, ever dared
To live in wild these Indians shared.

Treacherous alike in peace and war,
The Seminole obeyed no law
Save one he spake with bated breath:
"Traitors shall die a coward's death!"

The haughty chief who led this tribe,
Fear could not daunt nor favor bribe;
And this lone settler, living here,
Knew white man never dared come near.

He Caucanoe's heart had won
By a kindness nobly done,
In rescuing from a watery grave
The favorite child of this fierce brave.

A frail canoe--swamped in mid stream:
A father's cry--a maiden's scream;
A hunter bearing a maid ashore,
A volume writ would tell no more.

"The land beside this murmuring stream
Thy future home, brave paleface, deem,
And on Caucanoe's word depend,
No Indian dares molest my friend!"

"Yours 'twas to save Caucanoe's pride,
Mine be it to protect your bride;
If here a future you would seek,
I listen: Let my brother speak."

"Great Chief! your words, so kind and true,
Fall on my ears like evening dew;
Ere the buds begin to swell
Your brother 'mid your tribe shall dwell."

So Hayward built, with eager haste,
As best befits a woman's taste,
A cabin palace, reared by art,
Each room as secret as your heart.

Here they lived and tilled the ground,
The happiest pair for miles around;
The Indians swarmed around their door
With useful gifts to swell their store.

Caucanoe often sought their door
And played with the children, o'er and o'er.
He brought them many a curious toy,
Their happy childhood to employ.

The winsome sprite, who sat on his knee,
Pleased him most of the guileless three;
Her limped eyes and golden hair
Caucanoe thought divinely fair.

As the happy years flew swiftly by,
Beneath Caucanoe's watchful eye,
Paralee grew, with rapid pace,
Into a maid of faultless grace.

Caucanoe loved this lovely child
With a passion fierce, and deep, and wild,
Yet hopeless, he feared, that love would be,
Since naught could bridge the raging sea

Of racial and tribal pride,
That lay between them, deep and wide;
And well he knew another's soul
Brooked naught on earth save his control.

King Ulca's daughter, the proud Ella Ree,
Graceful and lithe as a willow tree,
With eyes and hair like the raven's wing,
And voice as soft as the babbling spring,

Had sought him for her wigwam brave,
Weeping o'er his late wife's grave;
And well he knew the tears she shed,
By tribal law their bodies wed.

True love for her he could not feel,
Yet such a fact dared not reveal;
His squaw she was alone in name
And never to his wigwam came.

Another love, oh, fateful thought!
With direful misery doubly fraught,
Surged and tossed within his soul
Until it spurned his late control.