Chapter I: Part 1

_The_ TWENTIETH
CENTURY
EPIC

By R. B. Garnett

THE ROXBURGH PUBLISHING CO., INC.
Boston

Copyrighted 1914

By REUBEN BRODIE GARNETT

All Rights Reserved

Dedication

To the human race this little book is dedicated, with the hope that it may bring some cheer, and also teach you a few things that may lessen your burdens. The subjects that I have put into rhyme are presented as they come to me from my life of experience.

My criticisms may appear too severe, but remember that only your truest friends are allowed to tell you of your faults.

REUBEN BRODIE GARNETT.

_The_ TWENTIETH
CENTURY EPIC

Preface

By the Author.

This poem that I have dignified with the term epic, was written by inspiration, and is dedicated to the human race. I have used the term epic with no intention of assuming a dignity not due my production; but, in the sense that the precepts and warnings contained therein, have a lofty purpose; and are graphically set forth in the plainest words in the English language.

I have not indulged in similes or hyperboles; nor does my epic abound with those picturesque figures of comparison found in Homer or Virgil, nor those cadences and swells found in The Paradise Lost, describing the headlong falls and gigantic flights of those god-like personages peopling the heavens and earth in the poetic mind; nor does my inspiration come from muse or divine breath; nor did it descend upon me from above; on the contrary, it sprang up out of the deep feeling I have for my kind, especially those in the strained walks of life.

Our twentieth century shows society in the process of centralizing itself; and, gradually forcing us into legal socialism. This is plainly shown in the poem. The process of centralization, for years, worked slowly in this country. As long as the influence of the founders of our Republic was potent, liberty was dominant.

The first step in this process was the inauguration of a general system of free public schools. The direct result of this free education was to overcrowd the book and head portion of our population at the expense of the producing classes, making it harder for the clerk to make a bare living. The idea of every parent now seems to be that his or her offspring is especially adapted to the learned professions and to society.

This was also the first step towards the diversion of public funds to private enterprise. The appropriation of public moneys to the extensive and widening fields of private affairs has progressed rapidly in the last decade. This, with its evils, is vividly set forth in my poem. Unless this is checked by united, immediate action, socialism will increase more rapidly in the future than in the past, is my prophecy. This results from the fact that the tax-eaters are the ones who manipulate our bond elections.

The result is plain, and can be predicted with certainty; the end of socialism will be the extreme opposite and, that you all know is anarchy. When everything is so striking that nothing strikes, or in other words, when there are more laws than we can possibly tolerate, we’ll naturally rebel and kick them all over; all, as shown in this epic. The last transition will likely be accomplished by bloodshed and strife.

The laws for the management of society in a state of complete legal socialism will be so numerous and complicated; and the bureaus so haughty and domineering that freemen will not try to learn them, much less obey them. In fact, no one can now keep pace with the rapid production of laws under our incipient socialism. The fight I make is to break off now and go back to fundamentals, as shown in my poem.

As against socialism or anarchy I deliberately prefer the latter; but, as against both of them I prefer a government of limited powers, based exclusively on natural laws that I have so forcibly defined in this work; with a complete abandonment of the barbarous idea of punishment for crimes by criminal courts; the man who commits a crime is to be pitied and helped to a more sane mode of existence, and not be driven into perpetual criminality. As to how he shall be handled can be better settled when we clear ourselves of our false notions on the subject.

Our legal servants, we call officers, are now deteriorating with great rapidity, as set forth in this poem under “Names.” My remedy for that is to cut down the salaries of all officers from President down, so low that no one will seek office for money. Then have the laws such that men will be selected and compelled to serve, by public sentiment, for short terms and take out part of their pay in patriotism and good will.

My observation, over a number of years, shows that the higher the salary, the more inefficient the officer. High salaries also give birth to gangs of politicians who fatten off the public funds and salaries of their appointees, making graft semi-respectable.

Honesty in public and private life seems to me to be very desirable; and, it could be so easily attained, as set forth in my epic. Of course, under our prevailing system, honesty is out of the question; and if any of you think that I have not convicted you of dishonesty, as defined under that topic, please send me your photograph to be used herein.

In writing this poem I have no malice in my heart for a single human being on earth; and, if in any way I have touched upon any of your pet notions or sacred ideas, and thereby wounded your feelings, I sincerely ask your forgiveness; with me all truth is sacred. I have no ill-will against preachers, lawyers, or doctors; I wrote you up to make you think, and also to let you know you were not fooling me.

In conclusion, I say to you one and all, as brothers and fellow citizens, let’s work together to save the greatest country and the greatest civilization on earth.

Let truth together bind us,
And supporting it find us.

REUBEN BRODIE GARNETT.

June 29, 1913.

Proem

I never shall appeal to any muse of old
To give inspiration to my story when it’s told,
But, in words all my own, shall my theme unfold;
And, for my love of man, I’ll tell you what I can;
Tell you what I know that you may truly scan
What to do and what to know for the good of man;
Tell you where to go, the places you should shun
On every working day, when your labor’s done.
In telling where to go I will not name the place
Where you should show your face, but let each run his race
And, for himself decide the spot to cast his lot.
I’ll point out mistakes to help put on brakes
Against the evils of our day one often makes.
From the Charlatan and all designing wise
Strip his robe of guise and expose him to your eyes.
The fawning sycophant and all his crafty kind
Will be painted so they’ll not be hard to find.
I’ll speak of laws and customs old with hoary age
Taught by rulers, priests, and many an ancient sage
That now are practically extinct with non-usage;
And regulations new that men had little to do
With bribes sometimes when they put them through
Legislative halls and Congress we’d now eschew.
I’ll speak to you about your manners
When you sometimes march with banners;
And even with hosannas sitting meekly in your pew
Revolving schemes against others you intend to do.
The roving politicians all seeking fat positions
To feed their hungry maws and all their kin-in-laws
Come in for their share when we divide the flaws.
Even the society genteel in their swift automobile
Had better beware their piccadillos to conceal.
Religions of every shade by ancients and moderns made
To subdue the gentle folk with all that they have said
This subject will meet its due before I’m through,
As I started out for things about that need review.
Theatres too, with music, painting and art,
Might all feel slighted not to have their part
In the criticism we bring as they my song may sing;
And the pictures my word recalls may be carved on walls
In the coming days as was done with other poet’s lays.
Developments in science where we place reliance
To alleviate the misdirection of our state
Should all be alluded to in the story we relate.
Wars, with all their frightful havoc spread
Where victorious and routed passed over dying and dead,
And peace too that came at last
That o’er the earth its healing blessings amassed
Should have a place when in plates my work is cast;
Also ethics, that practical theme so misunderstood,
Should here be elucidated for the general good;
And a few short digressions would not be out of place
In an Epic dedicated to and written for The Human Race.
But what is said under each head you may read,
So to my task the work shall proceed.

Admonition

Take from your statute laws and books
All legal protection for thieves and crooks;
Your complicated bills of mechanics’ liens
That offer to rogues the ample means
The owners of houses with their demesnes
To make go down humbly into their jeans
For the jingly coin doubly to pay
The working man, and padded expenses defray.
Your unjust schemes of municipal taxation
That cause home owners such great vexation.
Your tax upon mortgages, bills and notes
Upon which the poor man’s title barely floats,
Causing him to pay levies upon his lands
As if they were clear like the rich man’s;
By increasing for him his interest and dues
Which the money sharks collect as they choose.
Your laws against usury one may take
Tend solely the poor man’s back to break.
You drive away the cheap money he might get,
And leave him at the mercy of that lawless set
Who fatten upon unfortunates suddenly thrown in debt.
Nearly all your laws for the collection of dues
Into our commercial life dishonesty infuse.
Your regulations of homestead, exemption and stay
Simply postpone our troubles to another day.
By intricate trials with their writs and pleas;
And copious objections about titles and fees,
Remainders absolute, contingent and entailed,
Upon technicalities numberless justice is impaled;
Your instructions, your errors and appeals,
Until the waiting, anxious litigant feels
That the door of the temple of justice is locked;
And his chance of right is securely blocked.
Your free legal aid and your festive welfare board,
Their matrons and clerks, a mighty hungry hoard,
Impose upon the payers of taxes a weighty load;
All for the purpose of sending over the road
Some unfortunate victim of their own slimy graft
Or some poor devil whom they kick “fore and aft.”
Your Juvenile court of which the kids make sport,
Where curtailed haired women and men hold the fort.
And such institutions the wits of man can devise
Are considered by Progressives as blessings in disguise.
Your tariffs for protection passed in Congress halls
To build all around us mighty Chinese walls,
Are sapping from the people their dear blood of life,
And making for politicians no end of deadly strife.
Your proctor with his aids to fight against divorce;
Who by his pugnacity is seeking to enforce
Unfortunate couples bound in unhappy wedded lock
To parade their troubles upon the public dock;
And to bind the chains anew they seek to dissever,
Holding them fast that he may be deemed clever,
In the estimation of all the Christian Endeavor;
And that class of persons who want now and forever
To meddle in the affairs of all whomsoever
Are not able to disclaim the care they obtain;
Who crowd upon the weak the blessings they do not seek;
All to achieve for themselves a home in the sky
When from their missions on earth they fly.
The Commissioners of Vice are pulling for a slice
Of fame as it goes by investigating those
Who employ many girls simply to keep them in hose
And such other fancy articles that they suppose
Will always make them shine when they go out to dine,
As a girl dressed up haply feels fine.
And now here comes Teddy with his big stick and hat
For damages to his soiled name in legal spat,
With a small newspaper man suing for a big chunk
Because he published that T. R. had been drunk.
To tell the names of men who are shams in our times
Would overload my epic with variegated rhymes:
The one named above is more than a man;
He stands for ideas, a party and a clan
Born of disappointment and just turned loose
Sailing under the banner of the Big Bull Moose.
This clique of theirs all swelling up to burst
Decry all our institutions to be the very worst.
They’d have our laws, judges and courts recalled,
And others to suit them forthwith installed.
They’d regulate the wages men have to pay,
Neglecting to tell the laborer he might be in the way
Unless his work he did should his employers pay;
For unless his production his pay did compensate
He and others would soon be off the slate.
They told us too in tones as loud as they could prate
How all the monied men and trusts they’d regulate,
Carefully hiding the man who was running their slate,
And supplying the funds for them to navigate.
The working man too his dinner pail they’d fill
Forgetting also to tell him to send in his bill.
They’d secure to all the women free right to vote,
So they could say to hubby: “We’ve got your goat.”
And volumes of such ideas upon us did they float
All too numerous in this article to quote.
Drop your silly custom not worn off by growth
That judicial bodies must put a witness to oath,
That all he says and all that he shall quote
Will be the truth and nothing but the truth,
About the matters he relates in his witness booth.
The reasons for this habit have long passed forsooth,
It deceives none on bench or in jury box;
It may occasionally aid some old, designing fox
To some youthful, verdant judge deceive
And, of some just debt himself relieve.
On the whole, it does more harm than good
As at present the thing is generally understood:
For in a contested suit with one who knows
Against a trembly one who partially shows
Some lingering faith in “Old Scare Crows,”
The inclination to lie and deceive in the one
Would surely be by the other simply outdone:
The one might be bound by the fears of hell
While the other swears away his lies to tell.
When the witness swears he’s perjured unawares,
For by his plight he must the whole truth reveal
By the rule he must more than half conceal.
Stop your fight for prohibition and do the fair thing;
Our people to temperance themselves will shortly bring.
Take taxes off whisky, wine, liquor and beer;
And, for the cause of temperance you needn’t have a fear.
Let all your marts and markets freely sell
Every kind of liquor they ever heard tell;
Let every one the stuff make from gulf to lake;
Make the price so cheap that with one leap,
Men will forsake the common thing to keep.
At one cent a drink the bar keeper will think
His saloon will sink and soon put him on the brink
Of finding some other way all his expenses to pay;
So out soon he goes not stopping his doors to close.
There still will be drinking and that keeps you thinking,
That by compulsion you can create a revulsion
In the taste of man heap sooner than you can.
The truth is, you’ve always tried in vain
All these cultivated tastes of man to restrain.
The more you try to force men good habits to acquire,
The more you stir up and increase his raging desire,
To show his freedom against which you conspire.
He’ll go to any extent which you’ll never prevent,
To get his booze on which his mind is bent;
He’ll keep his “blind tigers” and his wooden legs,
Hollowed out and neatly made with faucet of pegs,
His whisky he’ll conceal and feel he’s in the right;
So you’ll not stop him no matter how you fight.
The drunkard will drink no matter what you think,
At any cost no matter if you consider him lost.
Make the price so cheap that for his family’s keep,
He’ll still be ahead to buy his folks their bread.

A Digression

I used to tell my friends what I was going to do,
And right away they’d say, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
I know of once or twice by taking their advice,
A good deal I lost at a distressing cost.
Take my advice; choose your own course to pursue,
And, when you get your plan, just put it through,
And then tell no other man what you’ve been up to.
Then if you succeed you will never need,
Anybody else to claim part of your deed.
Even if you fail, don’t furl up your sail
Nor put your head under the bottom rail,
But try once more just the same as before.

Dorothy

Listen to this story about a little girl,
Who came into the world a short time ago.
I remember the day, only a few months or so;
It was in the month of March over a year;
When all trembling with hope and fear,
We did for her watch--all sincere.
At night she came, and without any name,
Because we did not know what her sex would be;
But at her scream, the doctor said “she”;
And, then, we all at once knew what to do;
About naming her the course to pursue.
We left it to her mother, herself a little bride,
This weighty matter of naming all to decide.
We told her all the names we did hear or see,
But she rejected them all and called her Dorothy.
So Dorothy’s my theme her grandmother’s dream,
During all those years when those babes of hers,
Us did come to see, and, now she still avers,
That she watched through the passing years
Looking to see if one of hers a girl might be,
But they were boys, the whole blessed three.
Now Dorothy’s here to fill our home with cheer
By her little, prattling talk and her shambling walk,
By her little tricks she plays in her winning ways,
Pulling off your hat and fumbling your cravat,
Knocking over chairs, trying to go upstairs,
Picking all the flowers for grandpa to smell,
And more other things than tongue or pen can tell.
She’s a little sprite and good for our sight.
But here I must pause and sadly say,
That one evil day a swelling came on her neck,
We thought for sure had come from us to take
The little brat, and all our hearts to break.
But the good doctor came and now she’s the same
As she was before the blasted swelling came.
May I never see the day till my race on earth is run
When any evil at all shall befall this little one.
Many of you have plenty of such chaps,
That jump up and down upon your laps,
Who are just as pretty and just as sweet;
And you walk with them upon the street,
To the market and to the drug store,
Where you buy food stuffs for them galore,
Just the same as I do for mine o’er and o’er.
But still with me a great difference I see,
Between your brats and my Dorothy,
And the reason that you do not with me agree
Is simply because you are you and I am me.

Divorce

Now drop a little tear, but don’t stop here,
Come along now and let’s see if we can agree
Upon another matter while o’er the thing I scatter
Some thoughts I have, not intending myself to flatter.
Divorce is a question about which many disagree;
Some think it’s wrong; some think it’s right maybe.
Now upon it let’s begin our wordy fight and see.
For a beginning I will postulate, simply to open the debate,
That it is not an affair of the state that couples separate,
When they each other fervently hate;
Except where children, a care about whose fate,
On the conscience of the public might grate,
Are brought into court for the judge to state
In his judicial opinion of the case,
What he considers best for the human race.
Then of course if His Honor is wise, he’ll devise
Some plan to make wife and man either realize,
That if they are deaf to the cries of their offspring
The court itself will bring pressure into the thing
They’re about to do, and, before it gets through,
I think that neither me nor you will any suggestion make
Or advice give about what course the law will take.
If when all this is done and the court can’t make them one,
Then it is up to him and all my talk is done.
Some people oppose divorce on account of their views,
Acquired from that book written by ancient Jews.
Some think it a disgrace upon the entire human race,
For any sundered couples to have a place,
On the green earth where they may show their face.
This narrow view is not entertained by you or me,
Because we’ve been along far enough to see
Some of the things from whom some are set free.
Others oppose it on the score of “I told you so!
People oughtn’t marry whom they did not know.”
Some plunge deep into the matter, themselves they flatter,
That they can some great big principles scatter,
Over the very causes while they chatter.
They’d take it in time and let the big state
Issue its own red-sealed certificate,
To all spooning couples longing to mate,
And, at one single throw the entire nuisance abate.
Then these smart ones pucker their mouth,
With their heads tossed north and south,
To see if anybody should really act so shoddy,
As not an acquiescent head to at once noddy.
But the main fight does not come from home,
It thunders from the pope of Rome;
And, there are plenty of folks take his word home.
He says marriage is the sacred thing of life,
And when one takes a wife, regardless of strife,
They cannot be cut apart with a butcher’s knife.
So you may shake this subject up and down,
In country, village and town, and use every noun,
Verb, adverb and pronoun from early morn to sundown,
And the people will no better be made, for all your
Prattle and all you said.
The real causes of the thing are ingrain,
Born in the heart and born in the brain,
Maybe, by any by, before you die, but not I,
Science may teach us to create and the race propagate,
In some other way besides this vexing marriage state.

Social Evil

The next subject allied the last, on to which
I have been trying my train of thoughts to switch,
Is one to which a common word is applied,
That just as well fits many other things beside;
But the meaning of which comes easily when tried;
And seems to pop into your heads with no upheaval,
Is that natural crime called “the social evil.”
Now, I did not make people and neither did you,
But if a certain inspired book be true,
Some one made man for a start,
And then chopped out him a piece near his heart,
And constructed another of a little different sort.
If this be true the “some one” must be divinity
For, ever since, there has been a mysterious affinity,
Between the two kinds in every community.
On this subject we must not too widely roam,
Because it might bring some trouble home,
To some of you married men who every now and then
Feel like jumping out of your own pen.
Legislation and investigation and even humiliation,
Over all creation, in homes of every station,
Among peoples of every tribe and nation,
Have to this offense brought emancipation.
Women have been burned at the stake,
In attempting to make them forsake,
The lives they were leading, the men they were bleeding.
In all your statute books, in corners and nooks,
Laws have been framed against every thing that looks
Towards countenancing any form of prostitution:
Yet with all this and your contribution,
In your vain attempts to revise the constitution
Of woman and man ever since the world began,
You have not yet laid the foundation
For killing this wicked institution.
You have tried segregation into dark streets,
Where your own policemen lose their beats;
You have tried fines in the police courts,
Where they fetch up all the regular sports;
You have even gone yourself among the slums;
And feigned to be treating them as your chums,
Doing your levelest to put them under your thumbs,
And yet this evil does not seem to succumb;
Now what can we do but to stop trying,
And to our several good wives lying
About where we’ve been now and then.
You let this subject alone and stay at home
As much as you can for the good of man.
The more you talk and act wise,
The more you’ll advertise the thing to eyes
That see and ears that hear
When you think no eavesdropper is near.

Woman Suffrage

As my train of thought rumbled over the
Last topic it nearly tumbled;
And, metre, I see, was hard to gee:
But the subject next calling for my attention,
Has me so perplexed that I scarcely can mention
Even the little that I know and the facts show
About woman suffrage more than you already know.
Because I once rode with Phoebe Cousins
And have read suffrage pieces by dozens;
I’ve even heard Susan B. at the time that she
Her speeches did make our customs to break,
And yet, with all of that, little is under my hat,
To enlighten you or tell you where I’m at
Upon this subject great where women of late
Their rights to get are defying the state.
In Old Great Britt’n many of ’em are sitt’n
Starving in jails sooner than lower their sails.
But, considering it all, it looks to me,
That if you make your ballots universally free
To every living man who on top of earth walks
And to every single, solitary woman who talks
You wouldn’t help us much to get us out of the clutch
Of bad laws passed and the evil designing of such
As our liberties would take to--beat the Dutch.

Honesty

If in all your acquaintance, you know an honest man,
Produce him and introduce him to me if you can,
That I may get the likeness of his face
To emboss in gold for a model to the human race;
In my epic I’ll give him a prominent place.
Now, don’t get miffed at me, till my meaning you see
And my definition you fully understand of honesty.
I can find plenty of people anywhere
Who will not lie like a tiger in his lair,
Ready to pounce upon you, your neck to break,
Your horse to steal and your watch to take;
Who will not break into your house at night,
And commit burglary without any light;
Or in your pocket slip his slimy hands
To snake out your money where he stands;
Or who will not murder, rob and plunder
Or steal your child your roof from under;
Or who will not commit any of your crimes
And pay all that they owe, even to dimes
And contracts keep square within the lines;
And yet none of these come up you see,
To my idea of what true honesty must be.
Now an honest man will strictly follow facts
In every thing he thinks, believes, or acts;
When he knows the truth that will guide his way.
Where there are no winding paths for him to stray.
He will not suppress the evidence in a case,
Where some gain may come to him in his race
For gold, ambition, pride, or even grace.
Without uttering a word, the biggest lie ever heard,
May fly out with wings of the fleetest bird,
And in its wake its venom shake over our heads,
Bringing distress and grief its desolation sheds.
By simple look, wink, or nod of the head,
We give assent to whatever is said;
And in that way push falsehood straight ahead.
Nothing at all may be asked, no inquiry made,
Still we should tell about the horse we trade;
If any faults he have, ring bone, spavin joint,
Pole evil, swinny or any other weak point,
We should spit it out right away
And not wait for the other fellow to say.
If a house you have to sell where one must dwell,
Tell about the plumbing and everything as well,
That makes your house unsuited to him you’d sell.
If pastor of some orthodox church you may be;
And find things in the Bible that can’t agree
With reason and sense, don’t get upon your knee
And pray grace to help you see that two equals three.
Speak the truth, lose your job and stay free.
When you go upon the street and a stranger meet
Who seems to know you, don’t be so sweet,
And claim to know his face while you greet.
When dressed up in your only Sunday suit
That some one admires, don’t begin to hoot
That it is only your old every-day suit.
When asked a simple question you cannot answer
Don’t say that you’ve just forgot and be a romancer,
Come out with the truth, say you don’t know.
When inquiry is made as to what church you go,
If you don’t go to any, just say so;
Don’t pretend that you go to different ones
“You know.”
If you’re running a bank and get short on cash
Where to extend accommodation might cause a smash,
Don’t squint your goggled eyes and look wise,
And claim that you’re moving the crop, otherwise,
You’d be too glad to take a loan of that size.
When you are specially invited to play or sing,
And are pining to hear your own piano ring
Don’t say that you’re out of practice here of late,
When you’ve done nothing but practice for that date.
If some one cordially asks you to have a drink,
Don’t tell him that you, yourself, was on the brink
Of inviting him with you in a social glass to link.
When you have old clothes lying on the floor
That you are about to hand over to the poor,
Don’t pretend that you’ve them simply outgrown,
When in the rag-bag they’ve actually been thrown.
When some dear friend implores you for a ten
Don’t pull your coin case where money had been,
As if he didn’t know where your full bill book stayed,
In your hip pocket crammed, the bills nicely laid.
When in your swift automobile you ride,
Don’t ask any one to sit by your side,
Ride by yourself and flatter your pride,
That everybody’s observing how slick you glide.
When you get on your new spring hat and green cravat,
Don’t break your back trying to be so straight,
But let modesty all your demeanor regulate.
Don’t feel so grand, and swagger as you go
Forgetting to whom for those things you owe.
You are dishonest in the way you treat your wife;
You go to clubs and revel in high life;
You smoke, chew and drink to your full,
While she stays at home the baby buggy to pull.
You go outing and have a jolly time;
And, when you start out, you flip her a dime;
When you do hand out a ten her things to buy,
You pull it out slow and heave a deep sigh,
And before you leave you almost make her cry,
Saying so very much about hard times being nigh;
If you ever spend a dollar freely in your life
Let it be the dollar you deliver to your wife.
Sling it out and say, “Money grows on trees!”
If she wants more you’ll dash it to the breeze.
You don’t always tell your wife where you’ve been,
And I don’t advise you to, for I don’t begin
To tell mine all the places where I go
And the reasons for which I’ll never show.
You are dishonest in listing for your tax,
In giving in notes and bonds hid away in cracks;
And the value of your things you put so low
That when th’ assessor’s gone you don’t know
Where you’ll get your next meal, so poor you feel.
When you take your seat on the witness stool,
And swallow that solemn oath under the court rule,
The things that help your case, your lawyer told,
In your memory seem to stay with an iron hold;
But those circumstances that against you militate
Appear entirely faded off your memory plate.
A falsehood acted, spoken, thought or believed
Seems justifiable when the one by it deceived
Had no right to elicit the truth from you,
And with the matter in dispute had nothing to do;
But was merely intermeddling, taking in the view
Of people’s affairs to glut his curious mind
And get into trouble if the same he’d find.
Of all the animals on earth we find anywhere
Man’s the only dishonest one I do declare,
Unless the fox be called dishonest when to lead
The howling pack off his track, he runs at full speed,
And turns around and comes back over the same track
And then quickly darts off somewhere to hide,
While the hounds on the old straight track relied,
And bound ahead beyond where the fox turned back,
Thinking he’s gone on and thus lose the track.
This clever deceit is accomplished so neat,
By the sly little fox who is hard to beat.
You may take the meanest horse any day,
While munching away on his bale of hay,
And he’ll kick, bite, and run all the others away,
Until he gets his belly full, when he leaves
And lets the others eat the rest of the sheaves;
And doesn’t lock them up in a safety deposit box.
When a man’s wants are supplied, he locks
Up from all others the things he cannot use,
If he lived a thousand years his stomach to abuse.
Civilization made us dishonest, nature never did;
Deceit comes from cultivation and we’ll never rid
Ourselves from its blighting evils till we undo
Many of our laws and customs made and passed by you.
Man could be made honest in a very few years,
If he could be held respectable among his peers;
But if one of us should get honest all at once,
We’d be hauled up for being a dunce;
And, an inquisition had to ascertain whether we’re mad.
Our behavior would to others seem so queer,
That they would flee from us in bodily fear.
So we will have to let reformation work slow,
Until the full meaning of my epic you know.

Jim Saltenstall

(A Digression.)

A certain man, stout and medium tall
Dwelt near us once, named Jim Saltenstall.
The most peculiar thing about this man,
Was not his name nor distended span.
A powerful limb was he of the law,
In which he exercised his massive jaw,
In justice courts if chance he saw,
To display his wit or pick a flaw,
In some contention neighbors hate,
Where he was ready and never too late,
To get a V for his windy prate.
A farm beside, where he did reside,
Claimed his skill and special pride.
He handled stock and rode his nag,
And had many things about which to brag.
In cows and swine his money he stuck
To raise for profit and keep him up.
The clothes he wore hung on him loose,
Except when he did faultlessly spruce
Before his friends and neighbors to strut
In court, to pull his client out of a rut.
He had one pair of extra sized pants,
Made by a cousin or one of his aunts,
Known all around by every girl and boy,
In his vicinity, made of brown corduroy.
This pair loose he’d usually wear
With no chance for the brush to tear.
One sultry afternoon in the middle of June,
A couple of spinsters riding along soon
Discovered on one side of the road
This pair of pants where it was “throwed.”
As they drew up close to the spot
Their nag whirled around in a trot;
The pants were moving and jumping about
These maids their wits scaring half out.
No James was by them seen at all,
But they knew the trousers of Saltenstall,
Who had hid in weeds with none on at all.
This mystery to them riding in the lane,
He never appeared and offered to explain.
Weeks passed by before they laid eye
Upon Saltenstall for whom they did spy,
This vision and its meaning to reveal.
They imagined they heard pigs squeal,
So by ifs and whats and twisting twigs,
They guessed the pants were full of pigs.
This story is true, and the riddle plain:
James found in his pasture near the lane,
That his favorite sow the stork had blessed,
With a litter of pigs, so he was distressed,
To contrive a scheme to take pigs to barn,
And have them housed and shielded from harm.
No sack had he in which to fetch the pigs,
So these pants were used with his rigs.
When on his shoulders his pigs he did load,
In plain view he saw the maids in the road.
They were coming straight ahead in full view,
So off his shoulders the whole thing he threw,
And took to the weeds to get out of view.
These ladies came along, all as we have said,
And found matters as stated under this head.

Science

We do not mean by the title above,
Christian Science, which so many love;
And, against which we have no thought to inveigh,
Because it is accomplishing some good in its day,
By teaching us to see that the power of the mind
Controls our bodies more than others find.
By science, we mean all knowledge gained
From whatever source it may be attained;
By inventions, laws, medicine, therapeutics,
Sociology, geology, astronomy, epizootics,
Geography, orthography, mentality, logics,
Government, devilment, war and fratricide;
And this list might be multiplied if we tried.
But of all those things we cannot make review.
For ages men did not know that the earth was round;
It was supposed to flat, and all the ground
Rested on the back of one man, whose picture is found
Still in old geographies, standing under his load,
With his feet upon the back of some large toad,
Or tortoise; and, that the sun was slipped clean
Back west to east, at night by us unseen,
In the chariot of the Sun-god with his team
Of steeds as swift as if they were run by steam.
These views by them held sacred were impressed
On others who even speculatively guessed,
That there might be error in the sacred book,
Or else those who read failed to look
Deep enough into lines between lines,
Where sometimes most information one finds.
Shaking off their fear, daring men began to peer,
Into the upper air with telescopes, far and near;
Until upon them dawned beyond escape,
By the picture on the moon and its shape,
That, book or no book, the world was a globe.
And, to fully prove it, they toiled and strove,
Till Columbus the Great, did daringly navigate
Far enough to see it and stop the debate.
That one hazardous stroke by this brave man
Struck the shackles from science and began
A new era, in which truth conquers belief,
And consecrated error dies to our relief.
The door now being thrown open wide, men pried,
And delved into nature with rapid stride.
By the light of astronomy as their guide,
It was discovered that those specks that shine
High up in the heavens at the night time
Are suns and worlds that in their orbits move
Around greater centers in distance so high
As not to be seen as when through glass we spy.
That all those moving worlds by one supreme law
Of gravitation yield their obedience in awe.
To the bottom of the sea men dived to find
The wrecks of ages there accumulated by time,
As old ocean waves roll over them its slime.
Into the strata of the rocks marking each age
As time passed written on them page by page,
The history of the earth before the historic age;
Men have dug up fossils for scholar and sage.
With silken thread, they drew lightning from the sky,
And harnessed it up our trade and commerce to ply.
By microscope and tools chemists use,
The varied elements have been made to fuse
Into numerous new substances by man used
In the varied arts to which existence imparts
The glories of the times from which we start.
The doctor, with his scalpel and his knife,
Discovers new means for preserving human life.
The inventor with his machines, human labor to supply,
To the plowman who plods on his weary way;
To the weaver who with his hands from day to day,
His cloth he did weave in the old-fashioned way.
The builder with his bricks of sand and clay
Once made with mud securely encased in hay
His stone, plaster, lumber, hardware and nails,
All made by machinery which little labor entails.
The merchant with his cargo laden in a ship,
Propelled by steam as over the deep they slip.
The baker with his ovens and pans,
Bakes and makes his bread without hands.
All these with telegraph and telephones supplied,
Carrying messages as over wires they slide,
With lightning speed, bringing to each his need,
Shortening time and obliterating space,
As each against the other runs his race,
For gains in the occupations they chase.
The grave lawyer sitting wise at his desk,
Dictating to stenographers things he may suggest,
About cases in court or making a report,
Of some opinion great in matters of weight
About all the business to which they relate
In the matters and things of those who wait
Their troubles to tell and business to state.
The iron horse on tracks of belted steel,
With throttle and valve, and whistle peal
Rolling over the land, propelled by steam,
Crossing mountain, valley and stream,
On tracks, rails and bridges of steel.
The flying machine shot up in mid air
Sailing over continents in feats they dare,
Rivaling the plumed eagle in his flight,
Or those swift birds that pass in a night,
From out their abodes beyond human sight.
The magic needle that points to the pole,
Guiding navigation on oceans untold;
And those brave adventurers seeking the pole,
Where the earth on its axis turns,
To find that for which their ambition burns:
Losing their crew in the cold, wintry snow,
Too weak from hunger, them to follow.
And onward, how far can the genius of man go?
With Edison, the wizard, putting on a show
Of actors, scenes and stage, singing as they go,
Talking and walking, dancing and playing airs
On every instrument that man’s skill prepares
All through a little machine, run by a wheel;
And electric apparatus he did conceal,
From watching eyes his invention might steal.
And, there’s Marconi, flashing across land and sea
His messages of glad tidings without wires on tree,
Or pole, and nothing to guide his machine,
So far as any one has yet seen.
If such men had appeared in the olden day,
Before Columbus had marked out the way,
They surely would have burned at the stake,
For witchcraft and all for conscience’ sake.
Yet with the strides men have made,
With sickle, sword, guns, knife and spade,
With piston, valve, gears, driver and wheel,
Driven by light, electricity, steam and heated steel,
Their thought flying upon the world to reveal
The acts and doings of nature and of man,
From ocean to ocean all over the broad land
And even over the wide extended seas we expand,
With telegraphic cables from land to land,
Bringing all the forces of nature at our command.
With it all, we have made a very little head
Ourselves to control, by designing leaders led.
Those simple rules, by which nature acts,
Might be applied to government its burden to relax,
And take from the shoulders of labor the fearful tax,
To support all the leaches now upon our backs.

Blew Inn

(A Digression)

A sunny Sunday morning in May,
Aimlessly to woods did I stray.
Companions none, but longing to see
One in like plight, I chanced upon three;
The Masons two, wife and man, and one,
A lad in his teens, made up
A quartet with me to fill joy’s cup.
With lusty minnows in pail to its fill,
We took up rods and pail, reels and line,
And, in our barque sailed forth to find
Some less wary of the finny kind.
In vain did we tempt the fickle fish;
But at noon instead, with a dainty dish,
Of eggs partly spilled and ham and things
Fit for appetites toil and pleasure brings,
We dined and ate to the brim.
Two shy frogs sitting dreamily on logs
Became prey to us as if native bogs.
Fast flew the flushing day away;
A trolley call, and one and all did say;
Shine on old sol another day.

Courts and Laws

Next our courts and laws come in for review,
Not to gain applause, but my course to pursue.
Laws are rules as is taught in schools
To guide civil conduct into the right,
To redress wrongs and make us keep our plight.
Deeds of a certain kind are called crimes;
For the perpetration of which in historic times,
Men have sought to punish their course to stay,
Every one who does them in some kind of way.
By the power of the state men may collate,
All kinds of acts which by law they state
To be offenses for one them to perpetrate.
These acts in themselves, may be for our good
When understood, yet by the statute they would
Be crimes just the same, whether bad or good.
The original idea of punishment probably grew out
Of our natural impulse just to take a bout
With any fellow who ever did us any dirt
To see if him we could not also hurt
A little more, or just as much as to us he did;
Pull his tooth for our tooth, and his eye with the lid,
For our eye he did black simply to pay him back.
In a later day to give reasons for our laws
Which by the wise were sought, we had to pause,
So then we simply said, punish to stop crime.
Now suppose that I could show that in no time,
Did punishment ever even our crimes diminish,
Much less did it ever bring them to a finish.
Your eyes will open wide when I say to you;
The stopping of crimes punishment will never do.
Men will more chances take, your neck to break,
Your goods to steal, and your girls to snake
Off and defile, even if you are wide awake
Against the whole complicated machinery of the law,
Than they would by getting immediately into your claw;
When with weapons good, you certainly would
Make all respect your rights as you them understood.
The plan indicated above could not all at once
Be put into practice, for you’d be a dunce
To turn loose so many who had never had any
Training in the matter we set up as a crime.
The way for you to do is to drop one at a time
Of your statutory crimes punishable by fine,
Mostly passed to give jobs to a certain class
Of human vegetables who stalk about in brass.
That you may cautiously follow up the scale
In all its detail, and you’ll never fail
To accomplish good in giving people their rights
And in keeping them quiet and free from fights.
By the penitentiaries you keep and your jails
Where people sleep with vermin on rails;
Waiting for trial before jury and judge.
Weeks before they are allowed to budge,
Makes them have against you such a grudge;
That when they get loose, as they frequently do
They go at their old tricks with energy anew
To see how dastardly they can act in the crimes they do.
In your hatcheries of crime, the bunch you have to feed
Seems to be increasing with a gradual, steady speed.
The time may come when the gang in the walls,
May outnumber us when at their leader’s calls,
They might break out with a united band,
Overpower us, and devastate the land.
So that whatever you do, make your crimes few;
And those you do define, stand firmly to.
The more laws you have the more it’ll take
To handle all those who their behests break.
“Laws are a necessary evil” was truly said
By a great hero, now sleeping among the dead.
So the less of this evil upon ourselves we fix
The more good we can with our liberty mix.
Those progressives of you who make such ado
About our laws, and the courts in which you sue,
Want to fill our statutes all the way through
With every law and sumptuary regulation,
On every subject in the whole creation,
That, in their wrought up imagination,
They can conceive of to make litigation;
(Telling us that they comprehend the situation)
They’d put on the books without investigation.
You’d like to snake all this through,
Thinking that nobody is watching you;
But you had better try and hold yourself back;
We are watching you, and I am now on your track.
Now the courts are made the laws to enforce;
It is their job, and you and I of course,
Cannot dictate to them what laws to enforce.
To criticise the courts as the newspapers do
Might put us in contempt, the same as you
In some cases where you had to keep out of view;
Or run a lively race to keep yourself out of jail
By hanging on to some big lawyer’s coat-tail.
About your courts I will simply suggest
That whatever might be done I deem it best
Of the things we might do, get judges true,
Learned and wise, and who do not know you
Nor me, nor any of the folks that sue
Their cases in court before them;
The opinions they write with type or pen
Will be free from the bias of men then.
They will consider the laws, sort out the flaws
In each case, and every litigated cause;
So that the judgment they shall render
Making you your supposed rights surrender
Will be honest, no matter what we tender;
Although you practically sink by their blunder
Until in amazement you begin to wonder
Whether your lawyer really did plunder
Through all the books to get you from under
The load that is imposed when your case is closed
In the court of the judge you supposed
Had sense enough not to be bulldozed.

A Fable--Two Frogs

Two little frogs their legs began to turn,
Haply leaped and jumped into a churn.
The churn was filled about half full
Of milk from which we our butter pull.
One frog to his mate did say:--
“We’re here to stay and can’t get away.
Now you may paddle and your head addle,
But I’ll bebobdaddle if I’ll saddle
On myself the task to get out of the flask,
I’m going to die, and no use to cry,
So good-bye,” and down he went dead.
The other made no reply, but paddled ahead
And paid no heed to what the first had said.
By and by a big chunk of butter came
And, upon the same froggie rode
Feeling the load off his mind throw’d.
In a short time there came a grunting swine
Walking slowly up out of his grime,
And shaking off his slime, rooted the churn over,
Letting little froggie jump in clover.

Socialism