Chapter XII (1)

When old and dull as any post
Gladly give thou up the ghost.
Then to heaven thou’lt surely go
Having worked and suffered so.

LOVE AND THE PHILOSOPHER

Once upon a time there was a happy Philosopher. He was not young nor yet was he old. The callowness of youth had passed and he was in his prime; in fact, he could not have been a philosopher without being in his prime. He had gained the sobriquet of Philosopher for the reason that he was known to possess an uncommon habit of taking facts, those stubborn things, and turning them over in his mind, examining them and coming to logical conclusions about them, but it was not the dignity of his name or his happy peculiarity that made him happy. Philosophy is a very satisfactory kind of thing, but its pursuit does not bring happiness, rather is it a drag upon happiness; any fool can be happy, but a Philosopher has to have reason therefor. Philosophy is a useful kind of break, preventing happiness from getting too hot and misery from getting too cold. The Philosopher was happy because he had been smitten, not smote with a club, but by a girl; he loved a girl and believed he was loved because the girl told him he was, which is a good reason for any fellow, but should not be for a Philosopher.

The Philosopher had never before enjoyed the luxury of love, so of course he knew nothing about it; it is one of those things the less you know about it the more enjoyable it is.

The Philosopher could hardly be expected to have the blind unreasoning love that attacks college freshmen. His love was as strong and ruling an emotion as a man can suffer; but it was tempered with reason. He saw the girl as she was; he saw her shining qualities, her sweetness, generosity, and truthfulness, dimmed perhaps a little by a will of her own. Truly the girl sometimes spoke without thought and her mind furniture did not exactly match the furniture of the Philosopher’s mind; but he flattered himself that he could alter such small matters and even looked forward to the time when he could commence moulding her character to his exact liking. He loved her no less that he appreciated her faults; a girl would not be perfect without faults; she is not like a race-horse. One idle afternoon the Philosopher sat in his study enjoying himself with fancy mental pictures of the girl while he patiently waited till the clock indicated that he might go to the girl’s house where, in his imagination, he saw her waiting as anxious as he. The clock’s hands moved deliberately forward and finally came to the hour the Philosopher impatiently waited for, just the same as they would have done in any case. Time is the only thing that can laugh at love.

Time having liberated the Philosopher, he sped towards the locus of the girl. As he approached it he became agitated. He smiled to himself, sighed sighs; his pulse and heart increased their rates; he blew his nose, examined his cuffs and gloves, fingered his cravat, and looked about to see if anyone was observing him. While he was thus pluming himself he received a severe shock. He could hardly believe his eyes, but being a Philosopher, of course he did believe them, and what they revealed to him was--the girl and another lady coming out of her home and taking a direction opposite to his. Here was a fact and the Philosopher immediately began to turn it over in his mind and examine it, at the same time quickening his gait in pursuit of the girl. The examination of the bare fact without cross-examination of the girl was eminently unsatisfactory. The girl knew he was coming at a certain hour, yet at that hour she went elsewhere. She might have been unavoidably called away, he told himself; but allowing that she had been, he argued: “What can excuse her for failing to look in the direction she knew I must come, to discover if I was near?” It seemed a small thing to notice against a girl, yet it seemed to demonstrate that at the time the girl was not thinking of the Philosopher and the disappointment he was going to receive by her act. This argued thoughtlessness for other people’s feelings and a large development of egoism and vanity--“Yes,” said the girl side of the Philosopher’s mind, “at first blush it would seem so, but perhaps she is not going out for a long time, and perhaps she has left word for you or expected to return in time to meet you.” Thereupon the Philosopher suspended judgment, but he had received a bad impression. He hurried up and overtook the girl.

“You might have waited for me,” said the Philosopher, as he lifted his hat.

“Oh,” said the girl, “where did you spring from? Did you call at the house? I left word for you that I had to go out for an hour. What makes you look so cross? Wouldn’t you wait for me an hour?”

The Philosopher answered this array of questions as best he could. “I am not cross. I was just thinking. Certainly I would wait for you an hour, if it was necessary.”

“Well, don’t think, if you have to look cross,” said the girl. “I’m so glad you caught us. Miss Gip here called for me to go with her to meet Mr. Rip on the Golf Links. He has his camera with him and is going to take us, and besides I want you to meet Mr. Rip; he is such a nice fellow.”

“Why did you not look to see if I was coming?” the Philosopher blurted out. He wanted to come to a decision on the facts.

“Now, you’re thinking again, I see by your face,” said the girl. “I want you to be gay and not always looking for something to grumble about. I don’t remember whether I looked or not.”

The Philosopher came to a decision.

When the Golf Links were reached Mr. Rip was soon discovered--a young man with rush of words to the mouth,--who grated on the nerves of the Philosopher, who knew in a minute that he and Rip could not both be “such a nice fellow,” which was rather vain of the Philosopher.

On the way home the Philosopher concluded that to marry the girl was no fair match; he was a heavy-weight and she was a feather-weight, no doubt; but no amount of training could train her up to his weight, or him down to her’s.

So the girl married Rip and made him happy, instead of marrying the Philosopher and making him unhappy. You must either be blind to a girl’s failings, or, knowing them, love them as part of the girl.

A little reason would prevent a lot of people from voting marriage a failure.

SONG OF THE SERVICE

I sing of the Service fast going to pot,
And it seems no one cares a tittle or jot,
Now, any jackass, when not eating grass,
Can bray regulations and have them to pass.
It looks much as if we were surely between
A reformatory school and a place not so cool;
And we look like fat little boys of fifteen
Who had played in the dirt
And when whipt had been pert,
And so had to go without our dessert.

We must sign every time we _come out_ or _go in_,
And all our small faults are writ down as a sin.
In a manner to gall him, each is put in a column
Arranged to exhibit him naked and solemn.
Some day soon we expect to all carry passes,
And each Monday morn, at sound of a horn,
We’ll line up for a dose of sulphuretted molasses,
And get a badge of red tape
To show any old ape
Our insides are in shape!

THE LAY OF THE CIVIL SERVANT

I am the very model of a modern Civil Servant,--
My ambition for the strenuous life’s _particularly_ fervent.
I know a host of pleasant facts and many a pleasing fiction,
Among which last I may include, a member’s “firm conviction.”
I know the day and month of every statutory feast,--
But why these days are “Holy Days,” it matters not the least.
I know the Civil Service List and everybody’s pay
And why they came, why they’re here, and their likely length of
stay;
I can see a hole in a ladder and know a Pull when I feel it,
And the modus operandi of getting a thing without having to steal
it.
I know the Civil Service Act and how it’s circumvented
Who is who in Parliament, what’s real and what pretended.
I know about Elipse of Stress and why a bridge breaks down
And all about the vested rights and the powers of the Crown.
I know when to work moderato and when fortissimo,
What’s the diff. between in and out, in fact I’m in the know;
I know about contractors and their peculiar ways,
How honestly they always act, especially when it pays.
I’m very well acquainted, too, with social etiquette,
Have shook Gov.-General’s hands and Ministers have met.
And yet with all my knowing it grieves me much to say
That as yet I’ve not discovered how to get a raise in pay.
I have a ready flow of words, which passes for profundity,
But really a few scattered wits, are all that fills, my head’s
rotundity.

The dead level is the devil.

* * * * *

You need great ballast in your mind to spread a vast canvas of vanity to the wind.

* * * * *

A brave man may run from danger, a coward fight, a fool do wisdom, and a wise man folly; so consider a reputation, but count it not too high.

DE ROMANCE OF POMPIER NOMBRE TREE

Long tam ago, when I’m de young feller, I’m work on de Fire Stashun. I’m pompier on Depôt Nombre Tree on de Faubourg Quebec. I’m strong lak a beef dose tam, and doant afraid of notting.

Well, perhaps I have fear for wan ting; yes, fer sure, I have much afraid of de ole notaire Leblanc, not fer de raison dat he is more strong as me,--no ba gosh, I’m ver sure I’m give it wan ponch she’s die right away,--but I’m fear fer de raison dat she is de fadder of ma belle petite Antoinette.

Ver well, I recollec wat Antoinette lok lak on dat tam. Bagosh I nevare see de beauty wan lak it. Fer sure she is de bess wan I doan’t care; juce lak wot you call hangel.

Dats twenty year ago. Now she is big as two hunner pound and he have de gray hairs on its head; but she’s de good wan fer me an I can recommember ver well when she is de little ting, belle comme une ange an can mek de dance lak fairy girl.

I’m ver fond of dat little Antoinette fer sure, but de ole man Leblanc she’s not lak me ver much. I’m only Pompier on Nombre Tree: an when one tam she’s see me kiss it several tam de little Antoinette on de passage she’s get so mad lak a bull, an trow me off on de house an tell me go pass on de street an doan’t come back some more. An Antoinette she’s cry lak baby.

Fer sure dats de bad affaire fer me.

I’m ver mad fer de ole man Leblanc, an I’m go on lovin dat little Antoinette juce lak crazy mans. I can’t eat, I can’t slip, I can’t do notting fer tink about dat little Antoinette.

After dat of course I see some tam de little Antoinette, on de sly, an de more I’m see de more I’m crazy; an I tink she’s lak me purty well too.

One time I speak fer mek de ronne away marriage, but she doan’t lek fer do dat; she have only seventeen year an me I have twenty year.

But by me by I have de gran eeday fer finish up de hole affaire. I’m work on de hook an ladder dat tam. I mek de bargaine wit de little Antoinette fer little fire on its house so I can save its life juce fer fun. Ba gosh I’m de most foolishness young feller on the whole Faubourg Quebec, but de poor little Antoinette she doan’t fine dat foolish. She tink dat’s de grande eeday an ver romantique.

Well, I fix hup de hole affaire an de night an de hour arrive fer de fire on de house of de old Notaire Leblanc. Fer sure I’m ver excite dat night. De hour come. Ten o’clocks.

I’m walkin up an down an walkin up an down an look de gong, and expec effery minute she’s goin fer ring, gong! gong!! No ba gosh she doan’t ring anny.

Five minute, ten minute, fifteen minute ronne away on de clock an den I get ver quiet, ver tranquil, fer I tink someting have arreeve so she can’t mek de fire.

Twenty minute pass, twenty-fy minute pass, haff pass ten an den, Oh mon Dieu wot’s dat? De gong!! she’s sound bang! Dong! Dong, Dong, Dong, Dong. Dat’s de nombre. Sapristi! I tink my hart’s goin fur burss wide open.

I’m excite, I’m excite. Hurrah! hurrah!! de hors come out, de door fly opeen, so slow, so slow. I nevare see de like before. I yell lak tiger on de driver, “Lick de hors Alphonse, lick de horse.” I’m hole on de side de hook an ladder an yell, an yell, an yell like hell. I tink we nevare get dere, an, Saint Esprit! when we do get dere I wish we have never get dere. Wot do I see? Mon Dieu! de hole house of de ole Notaire Leblanc en feu, de flame high on de sky, de smoke so much you can see notting; de crowd tick like fly, an yell, an yell.

Wot has arreeve dat night I can’t tell; only wan ting, wan ting, juce de wan ting dats mek me mad, mek me crazy, mek me tiger, mek me devil.

Wot I’m care fer de house Leblanc? All I can hear is dat de poor little Antoinette he is in de house. I rosh on de house, I doan’t hear some ting, I doan’t see some ting, I doan’t feel some ting. Wot I’m do I nevare can tell. I know only dat I fine de little Antoinette, my Antoinette, perhaps ded an hang out de window on de top storee an no way fer pass back de way I come. But de boys on de hook an ladder, dey doan’t wait long; de ladder she’s dere so close I can touch wid one han.

I’m strong lak a beef dose tam, but when I tek de little Antoinette on one harm an reach fer de ladder, hot lak a furnace, an swing masef an de little Antoinette out de window I know den I’m strong, strong lak twenty plow hors.

An den I know notting fer tree day, an when I’m ope de eye I’m in de osspital an cover all over wit bandage; an de firs ting I see is de little Antoinette sit dere on side ma bed an look me wid wet on his eye--

Oh, bagosh!! I tell you dis little histoire, but you bet my life de ole man Leblanc when he’s die she doan’t know yet why his house took on fire. De fire fer joke is fer sure no joke, an de old man Leblanc she doan’t like joke annyway.

Buy not futures, whether of this world or the next.

* * * * *

Being a square plug, if thou findest thyself in a round hole, alter the hole.

THE CIVIL SERVICE BERNARDO

The Civil Servant bowed his head
And keeping down his ire,
He begged and prayed the minister
To make his salary higher.
“The winter’s coming on,” he said,
“And everything’s so dear
I can’t afford to eat,” he said;
“And keep warm, too, that’s clear.”

“Rise! Rise! Even now a bill is drawn
Which will take care of you;
Even while we speak of it
It may have been passed through.”
Then lightly rose that trustful clerk,
His face no longer sad,
And hied him to the House to see,
The bill to make him glad.

When lo! the bill being duly read
And well conned o’er and o’er,
The Civil Servant couldn’t see
Where he got any more.
He pondered o’er it line by line
And scanned it clause by clause,
But he’d be blowed if he could see
For gladness any cause.

Then straightway to the minister
The Civil Servant went;
He knocked upon the green baise door
And in his card he sent.
And, when he saw the minister,
He nailed him with a look,
And put the bill before his face
And talked just like a book.

“What farce of bill is this?” he cried,
“All framed with base intent;
You know full well, as well as I,
It don’t give me a cent.”
“Why, really,” said the minister,
“It does appear quite so;
“But we can make another bill
“Quite easily, you know.”

And so another bill was made
Just in the same old way--
That is, with plenty words,
The clerk got very little pay.
But still he had the honour left
Of working for the King,
Which although it doesn’t pay,
Is a genteel kind of thing.

The minister was not to blame,
He did not give it thought--
Fact is, he didn’t know as much
About the matter as he ought.
Whatever he set out to do
Was sure to do by guess,
Because of C. S. he knew little,
And cared a little less.

The minister was not alone
In his ignorance dark as night;
All the members of the House
Were just in the same plight.
You know, dear reader, that the House
Has many things to Do;
And it cannot think of them
And the Civil Service, too.

Trust not the man who is honest because he fears hell.

* * * * *

Be ready and willing to modify thy ideas as years are added to thee.

* * * * *

The Game is not the acquirement of wealth, honour, power, position, or glory, for in no one of these things is happiness inherent. A little of each goeth a long way.

* * * * *

Pleasure is a mere word and meaneth one thing to one and another to another, he that dissecteth a worm or pinneth a bug on a cork hath pleasure therein, but who shall say which hath the more pleasure, the bug hunter or he that chaseth after ambition.

PARABLE OF THREE HAS-BEENS

Two old widows and an old maid, who had existed much longer than was necessary for the comfort and well being of the community wherein they dwelt, sat beside a comfortable grate fire furnished by Life Insurance, drinking tea, eating muffins and discussing Man.

A young married woman was also present but she did not count.

“I met that odious Mr. Blank down town to-day,” said Mrs. Gabb, the widow who was providing the good cheer, “and do you know he stares every woman he sees out of countenance.”

“My dear,” said Blabb, the other widow, “Blank is just like all the men; everyone knows him, but his poor wife.”

“Oh, my gracious goodness,” exclaimed the ancient maid, whose name was Slabb, “is Mr. Blank such a dreadful man? What did HE do?” And she hoped that poor Blank had done something dreadful and wicked so that she could hear about it.

“He hasn’t done anything that I can hear about,” said Gabb, “but that does not make him any better. The way he looks is enough for me. I know him; I know him; he is a very fast man.”

“Mr. Blank seems a very nice man to me,” ventured the young married woman meekly.

“That’s it, my dear,” said Gabb; “of course he seems nice, lots of them seem nice, but you are young; wait till you are as old as we are and you will discover that a man is not to be trusted because he SEEMS nice.”

“Well, I am sure,” said the newly married woman, “I can trust my Willie. He tells me everything and is the most truthful man I ever knew.”

The Three Has Beens smiled in unison.

“I thought as you do,” said Blabb. “Mr. Blabb was a very fine man in many ways, but he certainly could put Annanias and Sapphira in the cool shade when he found it expedient; and he was an awful man. You see they always commence by getting up a reputation for veracity, so they can tell you anything.”

“Although I have never been married, thank the Lord, I must say I have seen enough of men to know that they are dreadfully untruthful,” said Slabb, and she shivered in a way to suggest that the very idea of a man gave her a cold chill, while everyone knew that her single state was no fault of hers and she would give her eyes to call anything in the shape of a man MINE.

The young married woman went home thoughtful, the poison working in her mind. She wept a little and wondered how much truth there was in that she had heard, and if Willie was really what he seemed.

Blessed are the pure in heart.

9 TO 5

Nine to five for a starter to show the new Commish,
That they are doing something and to carry out some crank’s wish.

Nine to five for the worker; nine to five for the sot;
Stay at your desk and wait for the hour, whether there’s work or
not.

Nine to five is good odds! Let us make them true,
We can, if, at election time, we all know what to do.

The drunkard holds his job, the drones stay in the hive,
And all is as rotten as ever, but the hours are nine to five!

The fool sits in high office; the bully continues to drive,
The grafter gets his “rake off”, but--the hours are nine to five.

What to us of the hulks, if the summer do arrive,
With all its promise of outings?--the hours are nine to five.

What tho’ the patient plod, the energetic strive,
Your task is never done, the hours are nine to five.

The loafer will persist to loaf, no benefit derive,
He’ll show how little he can do from nine to five.

Here’s to the brilliant one, whose brain made him arrive
And conclude that reform in the service commenced with “Nine to
Five!”

May the item he calls his soul, and the stick he calls his spine,
Ache with toil and sweat with hours from FIVE TO NINE.

There is only one person in the world that you can successfully humbug--yourself.

* * * * *

No one can show thee the way that leadeth to thy happiness, but wisdom may save thee much discomfort.

CIRCUMSTANCES

A certain merchant who had risen from zero to four or five hundred thousand, was filled with the idea that he was self-made.

The idea increased until he was not only filled with it, but he overflowed so that he lost no opportunity to put his thumb in the arm-hole of his vest, throw out his chest and tell people how much patience, perseverance, energy and will power he had exerted to make himself.

He took much pleasure in smiling superior smiles at the young, striving and unsuccessful, and in relating how, unaided he had risen from an undershirt and trousers to a dress suit at dinner.

One evening the merchant was lounging in his library, smoking his perfecto and composing peans of praise to himself, when he became aware of the presence of an entity which stood before him regarding him with an amused expression of countenance.

“Who are you?” said the merchant.

“I am Circumstances; I alter cases,” said the Entity.

“Oh, indeed,” said the merchant, “do you want to see me?”

“I am forced to take cognizance of you,” replied the Entity.

“Well, but what can I do for you? What is your business with me?” asked the merchant.

“You can do nothing for me,” replied the Entity; “but I can do much for you and have done much.”

“You must be making a mistake,” said the merchant. “You are in the wrong house. I never had any cases altered and I don’t need any altered now. Go away, please, I do not know you.”

“Yet I made you,” said the Entity.

“Pooh! pooh! nonsense,” said the merchant, “you must be a stranger hereabouts; everyone knows I am a self-made man.”

“A self-made fool,” said the Entity, “your memory is short and your vanity great. Do you remember the strike that took place when you were in the undershirt and trousers period of your life?”

“Yes,” slowly replied the merchant, a little flurried to hear a stranger go back so far into his history.

“Well I made that strike case, and only for that case you would have starved to death. You became a scab workman by taking advantage of me.”

“Really,” said the merchant.

“Now,” continued the Entity, “you remember your quick promotion; how you rose to be foreman?”

“Yes,” quickly interrupted the merchant, “but you know that I was eminently fit for the position.”

“Of course you were fit,” answered the Entity, “but ’twas I who made you fit and I made the case. What good would your fitness have been without the case?”

“Well, but my dear fellow,” commenced the merchant.

“Don’t ‘well but,’ and ‘dear fellow’ me,” interrupted the Entity, “the war that laid the foundation of your fortunes was my doing. You must admit that I made you or I am done with you.”

“I will not admit anything of the kind,” hotly replied the merchant.

Immediately the Entity became invisible. His sudden disappearance rather shook the self-confidence of the merchant, but a few hundred thousand makes a man very brave and assertive.

The merchant thought no more of his experience till he went to his office and discovered that his trusted manager had eloped with his daughter after having used up various negotiable securities. Then something seemed to tell the merchant that Circumstances had to be taken into consideration. And more lessons were forthcoming, for Circumstances altered so many cases that the merchant did not expect to be altered that he was finally reduced to his undershirt and trousers again. The front door of the merchant’s house banged furiously and the merchant awoke to the fact that he had been dozing on the lounge of his own comfortable library with the cat asleep on his chest.

He patted and stroked the cat kindly and thought a few thoughts that did him a great deal of good.

When the merchant’s cat had kittens, the one that was not drowned was christened Circumstance.

It is an honest church that pays taxes.

* * * * *

The poorest reason for being straight is fear of being crooked.

* * * * *

We go into Society to rid ourselves of the dull monotony of an empty head.

* * * * *

Say not in thy ignorance, “If I had wealth I would do so or thus,” for no man knoweth himself sufficiently to foretell his actions under circumstances he hath not experienced.

THE EVOLUTION OF ALEXANDER

A certain man owned the name of Mike. While very young he had been brought from Mikeland, with a lot of other little Mikelanders, by a kind lady who made a very handsome living in a genteel kind of slave trade.

Immediately upon his arrival in America, Mike was rented by the kind lady to another equally kind lady, who needed cheap help.

Notwithstanding this inauspicious start in life, Mike made his way; he ran away from the kind lady who wanted cheap help and struggled up to manhood unaided by similar philanthropists.

There were washerwomen in those days; Mike married one, putting into the partnership, as offset to the washboard skill of his wife, a horse and cart that were not new.

Although Mike could neither read nor write; although he made his living by odd carting and by delivering clothes (which Mrs. Mike had washed) to the owners, and although he was not known to be entitled to any other name than “Mike”; he was proud and ambitious. He had no ancestors to be proud of that he knew of, so he was proud of himself, and his ambition was for his son, Michael, and he declared that “an eddication he should have, so he should.” So Michael, the son of Mike, was instructed in the mysteries of “readin’, ’ritin’ and figgerin’,” which were the length, breadth and depth of “eddication” to the idea of Mike.

Michael fulfilled the ambitions of his father.

Whether Michael profited more by the practical instruction he gathered from his father relative to horses, truck driving and general carting, or by his “eddication” it is unnecessary to conclude. Suffice it to relate, that by some means or other, and by attaining a high proficiency as a liar, he made a large fortune as a horse dealer, trader, stealer and manipulator.

Michael had an eye like a hawk. That is to say, he was a keen observer of things, which is perhaps superfluous information considering that he made a fortune; but his perceptive faculties were keen in other directions than those necessary to get other people’s money and keep it; consequently he observed that in society, whereunto he had sunk by the weight of his wealth, he was at a disadvantage on account of his ignorance. The “ould man” Mike, looked up to Michael as a marvel of erudition; but Michael, although he did not know even what erudition was, knew that education was not his. He knew he was ignorant, but he held up his head and kept his mouth shut, which is one kind of wisdom, and he made a very fair show even if he was forced to be silent when people talked of things other than horses and dollars.

Privately Michael was of the opinion that Shakespeare was “outrageous,” that there was no music without a “chune” to it; that the craze for old china was “a regular fake,” that Japanese bric-a-brac were the worst he ever saw, and that most pictures that society raved about, and the “old masters” in particular, “bate the Dutch,” but he never said a word. He never bluffed, so he never was called.

Alexander transpires at this point. Unto Mr. and Mrs. Michael was born one son, and they called him Alexander, no doubt hoping that he would be great. Alexander was carefully brought up among all the luxuries that dollars can purchase; of course the aforesaid luxuries had a newness about them which might be painful to the highly cultured; this was to be expected. Dollars, although they can purchase everything that goes to make luxury, cannot supply taste.

Michael worshipped education as his father before him had done, and he decided that “Alexander should have an education that would ‘knock’ the tar out of any education that ever was bought for money.” Michael was ignorant of the fact that education is still a very uncertain quantity, and that even experts do not agree on what is necessary to constitute it.

Alexander inherited his father’s intelligence and soaked up his education very readily. The details of his education are unessential to this tale. It is enough to state that he got it, as it is generally thought a gentleman should, through school, college and travel, and at twenty-two he was, as his father expressed it, “educated up to the handle.”

Alexander’s education bore fruit. The kind of fruit an education will bear depends much upon what kind of an education is planted and the ground it falls on. Michael expected that Alexander’s education would bear fruit. What fruit he wished for or expected it is impossible to surmise, for he never expressed his wishes or hopes; not being a judge of educational fruit his ideas on the subject were probably rather vague. Alexander shone in society for a year or two, much to his father’s delight, but at the end of that time his shining was no longer a novelty and was very expensive for Michael.

Michael decided to take his son into the horse business, which was still flourishing like a palm tree, or a Cedar of Lebanon; he also decided that he should marry.

A very nice family which had very small means had a very nice daughter for sale; Michael bought her for his son. So these were wed. Big show wedding and honeymoon trip very expensive for Michael.

When Alexander returned from his wedding trip he balked on the horse business. “His wife was of such a nice family you know,” and besides, “it is such a damnably plebian business, don’t you know.” Michael interviewed Alexander in his library, in which were displayed a large number of beautiful books, bran new, and the result of the interview was that an occupation was agreed upon for Alexander. He became a stock broker. Seat on Stock Exchange and swell office, very expensive for Michael.

Alexander among stock gamblers and jobbers was like a lamb within the shambles. The motto of stock speculators is not “Love your neighbor as yourself,” but is “Strike lest ye be struck.” Alexander was struck many times and hard. He learned the business, but unfortunately for him, just about the time that he was beginning to consider that he knew the business he was cornered and crushed. He failed for an amount which was worth mentioning, which, of course, was very expensive for Michael. After the failure Alexander consented to knuckle down to the horse business, and about this time Michael began to give notes where formerly he had given checks. Alexander was of the opinion that he was now an experienced business man, but he wasn’t, and he proved no addition to the horse business. Soon Michael began to ask for renewal on notes and things began to be said about him; no man has credit so good that he can afford to have things said about him. So Michael called a meeting of his creditors, and the estate was so bad that fine house, furniture, horses and carriages and everything that went to make the luxurious home were swept away. Everyone blamed Alexander for the ruin of his father, that is, everyone but Michael himself. Michael’s views were expressed neatly and characteristically in a speech to his creditors thusly:

“Gentlemen, me son can tell ye all why ‘telegram’ is no proper word to use because its against the rules and regulations of strict etymology; he can tell ye all a lot of other things that ye don’t know, ner me neither, but he does not understand money. I made a mistake in the education of me son, I neglected that branch of education which deals with the science of making and saving money and keepin’ it when ye get it. Me son is a fine spender, he was educated that way; I think I can offer ye twelve cents on the dollar.”

Michael is now slowly rising from his ashes as those who fit their environment must. Alexander is sinking in the outer darkness of the unfit.

As ye sow so also shall others reap.

By giving away your opinions you may discover their value.

* * * * *

He that enjoyeth many things hath many ways of happiness; he that enjoyeth but one thing may have no way.

PEACE

Once upon a time, a long while ago, when such things could be, came a young man of thirty-five years of age unto his friend, who was a politician--Big Indian, and “High Up”--and the young man spoke unto the Politician, saying: “Friend, for twenty years have I striven and strove; I have cut hay; I have hewed wood; I have laboured in the vineyard; I’ve made things with my hands, and schemed with my head; I have gone up against many games and fought for the wherewithal to keep a family and clothes upon my back. Now I am tired and would pass my remaining days in peace. Therefore, I pray thee order it so that I may have a Government Job and be happy.”

And the Politician questioned the young man and asked: “_Peace_? Did’st say that thou wouldst have Peace?”

And the young man answered and said, “I wouldst.”

And the Politician said: “You know not what you ask. Peace never accomplished anything, and is not for the active-minded. You do not understand life if you desire Peace.”

But the young man harkened not to the Politician, but pressed his request for a Government Job.

And it was so, even within a few months, the young man found himself a Civil Servant with regular employment and a small, but regular, income.

And years rolled on, as usual, until the young man became nearly elderly; yea, for twelve years he plugged and said unto himself: “Truly this is not exciting or elevating, but it is the sure thing that my heart craved, and I should be satisfied and happy.” But the wise know that the “Should Bes” and the “Ises” do not balance; and the young man woke up to the fact that at forty-seven years of age he was neither satisfied nor happy, although he was willing to admit that he should be.

And it came to pass that as the young man sat in his office, working for the King, by punching holes in documents, that they might be strung on a file; on the twelfth anniversary of his conversation with his friend, the Politician, a great light broke upon him, and he saw the wisdom of the talk of the Politician. He looked about his office, and peered backward over the past twelve years, and he saw that he had had Peace in large bunches, and by the mile--yea, by the year and day--and he found that it was not in his heart to feel glad with his peaceful experience, and he reasoned with himself and said: “In a short fifteen years I will be in the Has Been class. I will have whiskers in my ears and my back will be humped and moss-grown. I’ll be a back number, and be as a dead one; therefore, it behooveth me to get busy and do something worth while lest I get mental dry rot and be as a beast of the field. Peace I desired, and now that I have found it, it satisfieth me not, but is a burden and ashes in the mouth.” And thereupon he arose and got out and went against the world amidst those who were in the great struggle. And the world smote him and threw him down and swat him, hip and thigh, right and left; but he became patient and wary, and he husbanded his strength and sparred for an opening and kept cool; and, behold, in a little while came an opportunity unto him, and he up and grasped it and made it his, and he played the game so that others were ’ware of him, and the world bowed down to him, even to his feet, and when it came to pass that he was gathered to his fathers, all his children called his name blessed. See?

HER HAT

Oh, Kitty, she was sweet, the sweetest thing on feet,
If I could woo and win her my life would be complete:
I love her, oh, so dearly, but can never tell her that,
For I know I’d never suit a girl who’d wear such an awful hat.

When I look into her eyes I feel that she’s a prize,
But when she puts her hat on, and I gaze upon the size--
Although I love her dearly, it is forced upon me that
I’d never suit a girl who would wear such a hat.

To chat with her’s a treat; her figure’s trim and neat;
She is the idol of my heart, I could worship at her feet;
But, oh, her hat’s a nightmare, I can’t get away from that.
Real brain, I’m sure, cannot exist, ’neath such a crazy hat.

And so I curse my lot and wish that I was not
So soft about the heart, and that Kitty had no blot;
But what’s the use of fighting fate, my reason tells me that
The real soul of a woman’s indicated by her hat.

THE MIKADO’S SONG

BROUGHT DOWN TO 1909

Mikado sings as formerly:

“My object all sublime,
“I shall achieve in time,
“To make the punishment fit the crime,
“The punishment fit the crime,
“And make each prisoner pent unwillingly represent,
“A source of innocent merriment, of innocent merriment.”

All ranting hypocritical saints,
And Lord’s Day Alliance mugs,
Baseball shall play the whole lord’s day
To an audience of thugs.

The Suffragette who wants to vote
Whether we will or not,
Will be spanked by a preacher in order to teach her,
Her proper place and lot.

The Temperance crank whom any one catches,
His fate’s extremely rough,
He’s put up to his chin in a barrel of gin,
Till he drinks up all the stuff.

All Grafters with the itching palm,
And paw out for a bribe,
Will get down on their shins and confess all their sins,
To a Holy Methodist tribe.

The Banker who takes public money,
And gambles it in stocks,
Shall wear a hair shirt in squalor and dirt,
And walk with peas in his socks.

Beware of ruts, they are easy to get into but difficult to get out of. All habits are ruts, a good one is only a little better than a bad one, therefore do not become a creature of habit.

THE PETTICOAT

My son, beware of the soft voice of the petticoat.

The petticoat is full of guile and maketh even the strong go astray, while the weak she considereth as her’s always.

It smileth and smileth when it weepeth not, and in both tears and smiles it bodeth no good to man.

It leadeth thee along the stoney path and jeereth at thee if thou remark thy bleeding feet.

It looketh toward darkness and declareth that there is the light of Hope and seeth darkness where there is only light.

It believeth in signs and omens and would hand thee bound hand and foot into the hands of the Church.

It beguileth thee into discounting the future and revileth thee when its counsels have brought thee to harm.

It inviteth thee to Vanity and the ways of the boastful; it falleth down and worshipeth at the shrine of the Golden Calf, and constraineth thee to do likewise.

It selleth what should be given and giveth what should be sold.

It beareth thee children as is its nature to do, and then boasteth thereof; it refuseth to bear and boasteth of that also.

It beareth thy successes with smiling equanimity, and tearfully upbraideth thee with thy failures.

It is short of sight and dull of apprehension and of logic and consistency knoweth naught.

It playeth merry hell with thy nerves, and beareth thee away in triumph lest thou are exceeding careful.

It liveth in the present only and is a sluggard.

It maketh of thee a LIAR in self-defence.

It is of a jealous and suspicious mind and crieth aloud “Wolf, Wolf,” when there is no wolf, and seeth nothing of the danger that is imminent.

It gaineth nothing from experience, but persisteth in the ways of folly.

It knoweth nothing of justice and bendeth the easy knee to conventionality.

It is short in the heels and its equilibrium is unstable, and when it falleth it declareth loudly that it was pushed.

It declareth evil of its own kind and giveth the glad hand and merry face to the deceiver.

It rejoiceth much in scandal and maketh thy secrets public.

It knoweth things that are not so and denieth stoutly against facts.

It fawneth upon the strong arm and enslaveth the meek.

The henpecked is a laughing stock to his fellows, and the Petticoat rejoiceth thereat.

Look not upon the Petticoat when the wind bloweth; and when it rustleth seductively, harken not.

It putteth on clothes in manner and shape which is a reproach to common sense.

Better that thou put a mill stone about thy neck and straightway leap into deep water than put thyself under the dominion of the Petticoat, for it ruleth with a rod of iron and without discretion; it putteth a yoke upon thy shoulders which galleth forever.

THE LOVE OF GOD

He who can solemnly declare he feels the love of God,
Speaks in poetic sense, or else is freak or fraud;
For every lover who has loved, knows love must see and feel,
And only stirs man’s mind for the material and real.
He cannot love who would, or cease to love at will.
To some it goes to make a life, another it will kill.
’Twere folly to declare love for the great Unknown
Who sits unscrutable upon a great white throne.
Can’st add a known quantity to a sign, the sign being undefined,
And get results to understand for a mere human mind?
Go to, God-lovers, wake from dreams; talk reason, if you can,
And if you have great store of love, go love your fellow-man.
Man must have love to live, and dies for want of it in jail and
haunt;
While priest and parson preach and pray with vain display and vaunt.

OLE MAN GOV.

Ole man Gov.--
Didn’t have no love
Fer any of his help,
How they lived or died,
When they laffed or cried,
Was naught to the ole whelp.

He sez, sez he,
“It’s nuthin ter me,
What gait the critters ride,
If they makes ther day,
They gets ther pay,
That’s me, an’ durn ther hide.”

An ye kin bet
The hands doan’t fret
About ole man Gov. or hissen;
They does ther day
And pouches ther pay
An lets all else go fizzin.

Ye doan’t ketch they,
A-gettin gay,
Seein ole man ain’t done;
Not much, Siree,
They lets things be,
An hates that son of a gun.

So when he,
The ole screw-gee,
Raises pay up ten per cent.,
They doan’t believe,
But up his sleeve,
There’s a rod to some extent.

An tan my skin,
If it weren’t within
A few weeks, less or more,
When that ole Sardine,
Lets it be seen,
Wot’s wot, and we _wuz_ sore.

Wot does he do?
This Reuben Glue,
He stretches the day out some,
By an hour and a half,
An’ gives us the laugh--
We’re so mad, that we sets dumb.

It’s a dum long worm,
That doesn’t squirm,
When ye foots it on his tail,
An I lays bets,
That some day we gets,
So square, it makes ole man pale.

THE PARABLE OF THE KING

Once upon a time the King of Spades got it into his head that he was the Whole Thing and by his vanity made himself very objectionable to the rest of the Pack. He became thoroughly confirmed in his high opinion of himself, when one evening he, with a couple of other Kings and a pair of deuces, beat a Queen Full on Aces.

His boasting became so tiresome that everyone gave him a wide berth and he frequently found himself in the Discard. This did not cure him, however, and he continued to be boastful, bragging of the great hands he had been in and the Queens he had captured until all the cards up to the nines left the Pack, leaving him in a Euchre Deck where he was nightly captured by Knaves.

Finally, he got so low, dirty, greasy and disreputable, that he represented the dark man in the pack the cook used to tell fortunes with.

Bragging is such an objectionable form of vanity that even a King cannot afford to indulge in it.

THE REVOLT OF JOHNS

One morning Johns went down to his office, opened his diary at the proper date, and wrote therein as follows:

“This day I have decided things.”

No one reading this could possibly understand to what it referred, or what bearing it had on Johns, or his surroundings. Even if Mrs. Johns, who considered herself a very shrewd and far-seeing woman, had seen it, it would have meant nothing, unless she could have read Johns’ mind, which she did sometimes--at least she claimed she did.

Johns, after writing the above as stated, looked it over thoughtfully, and smiling a sad smile, murmured to himself, “I wonder if I can do it without too much friction.”

The facts in Johns’ life which led up to his making the mysterious entry in his diary were his marriage, and all the happenings of three years of married life with the well meaning, rather charming, but somewhat obstreperous Mrs. Johns.

Fact is, Johns had begun to realize that he was henpecked, and had decided to reform. For three years he had systematically spoiled Mrs. Johns to such an extent that she was unhappy. She wept because she had, like Alexander, no more worlds to conquer. She had developed into a very talkative autocrat, or tyrant, or something very much like that. She invaded every department of Johns’ life, regulated his smoking, drinking, eating, sleeping, clothing, and even his speech. Johns habitually dropped his “G’s” and Mrs. Johns habitually picked them up for him. Before going out to spend an evening Mrs. Johns gave Johns very explicit instructions relative to what he was to say to this one, that one and the other one, and exact details of what he was not to say; then on the return home Mrs. Johns would carefully point out the many lapses she considered Johns had made and warned him against like breaks.

Johns was pitied and despised by his former associates, and people smiled when Mrs. Johns said, “Jack, dear,” and Johns said, “Yes, my dear.” He was down and out; at least, it looked like it until he wrote: “This day I have decided things,” in his diary.

It would be wrong to conclude from the foregoing that Johns was a meek, pusilanimous, undersized, gentle and delicate man, without will or energy. Such was not the case. Meekness was not in him. He weighed 13 stone 3, stood 6 feet “in his stockings,” wore a 7 hat, a 9 shoe, and showed decision and pluck in business. But he loved peace to such an extent that he would sacrifice nearly anything to procure it, and so he had come to make the mistake of spoiling Mrs. Johns by deferring to her in absolutely everything, in the fond belief that thereby he was making home peaceful. After a three years’ experiment in this direction he became wise to the fact that peace was not his.

Johns, among men, had always been called a “good fellow,” and he was a good fellow; but not so good that he was an ass like some so-called good fellows. He was easy going and good natured; but not the type of the henpecked husband. He was a bad man to corner.

It must not be concluded either that Mrs. Johns was a vixen or a virago. No; she was simply a woman who had been made too much of; one whose path had been made so smooth that she had never been forced to think very much about anything; one who had received no training whatever in her development from a loving and gentle maiden to the equally beautiful, but somewhat sterner, married woman of three years’ standing. Possibly also she had been badly advised by sundry old women of her family who were satisfied that they were authorities on the management of a husband, and that they knew all about the animal man and his varieties. Mrs. Johns was also influenced in her method with Johns by what she had seen in her own home, where her calm and dignified, but rather shallow, mother walked on all the rights and liberties of her father, who only claimed his own soul by stealth.

The foregoing is, of course, commonplace enough. Married people are to be seen on all sides dragging out a miserable existence, just for want of a little thought about the real cause of their wretchedness. Johns did not propose to be of the many. He had given the matter thought and saw wherein he was himself to blame for the discomfort in his life. He decided to make a change, and as a preliminary wrote in his diary:

“This day I have decided things.”