Contents

Book-length works.

Short Stories
and Articles.


Poems.
––
William Hussey Macy
An Appreciation (1914).
Obituary (1891).
––

The Plough Boy Journals

The Journals and Associated Documents

The Plough Boy Anthology

19th Century American Whaling

Bonin Islands

Pitcairn's Island

Dictionaries & Glossaries

Ashley's Glossary of
Whaling Terms

Dana's Dictionary of
Sea Terms

THE COLLECTED WORKS
OF

WILLIAM HUSSEY MACY

Compiled by Thomas G. Tyler,
from Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Flag of Our Union, the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket)
and other sources.

Denver
2016

This document and all linked documents © by Thomas G. Tyler, Denver, CO, 2016.

BOOK-LENGTH WORKS.
1868-1877


Beyond Desolation
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 24. Published weekly, in 16 parts, July 24, 1869 through November 6, 1869.
  	 1	Vol. 24, No. 30	Jul 24, 1869, p.478
	 2	Vol. 24, No. 31 Jul 31, 1869, p.494
	 3	Vol. 24, No. 32 Aug  7, 1869, p.510
	 4	Vol. 24, No. 33 Aug 14, 1869, p.526
	 5	Vol. 24, No. 34	Aug 21, 1869, p.542
	 6	Vol. 24, No. 35	Aug 28, 1869, p.558
	 7	Vol. 24, No. 36	Sep  4, 1869, p.574
	 8	Vol. 24, No. 37	Sep 11, 1869, p.590
	 9	Vol. 24, No. 38	Sep 18, 1869, p.606
	10	Vol. 24, No. 39	Sep 25, 1869, p.622
	11	Vol. 24, No. 40 Oct  2, 1869, p.638
	12	Vol. 24, No. 41	Oct  9, 1869, p.654
	13	Vol. 24, No. 42	Oct 16, 1869, p.670
	14	Vol. 24, No. 43	Oct 23, 1869, p.686
	15	Vol. 24, No. 44	Oct 30, 1869, p.702
	16	Vol. 24, No. 45	Nov  6, 1869, p.718

      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Published monthly, in 12 parts, January 1887 through December 1869.
  	 1	Vol. 65, No. 1	Jan 1887, p.61
	 2	Vol. 65, No. 2  Feb 1887, p.145
	 3	Vol. 65, No. 3  Mar 1887, p.233
	 4	Vol. 65, No. 4  Apr 1887, p.312
	 5	Vol. 65, No. 5  May 1887, p.402
	 6	Vol. 65, No. 6  Jun 1887, p.486
	 1	Vol. 66, No. 1	Jul 1887, p.46
	 2	Vol. 66, No. 2  Aug 1887, p.142
	 3	Vol. 66, No. 3  Sep 1887, p.231
	 4	Vol. 66, No. 4  Oct 1887, p.300
	 5	Vol. 66, No. 5  Nov 1887, p.395
	 6	Vol. 66, No. 6  Dec 1887, p.477

Leaves from the Arethusa's Log
      Published weekly in Flag of Our Union, in 24 parts,
            June 20, 1868 through November 28, 1868.

  	 1	Vol. 23, No. 25 Jun 20, 1868, p.398
	 2	Vol. 23, No. 26 Jun 27, 1868, p.414
	 3	Vol. 23, No. 27 Jul  4, 1868, p.430
	 4	Vol. 23, No. 28 Jul 11, 1868, p.446
	 5	Vol. 23, No. 29 Jul 18, 1868, p.462
	 6	Vol. 23, No. 30 Jul 25, 1868, p.478
	 7	Vol. 23, No. 31 Aug  1, 1868, p.494
	 8	Vol. 23, No. 32 Aug  8, 1868, p.510
	 9	Vol. 23, No. 33 Aug 15, 1868, p.526
	10	Vol. 23, No. 34 Aug 22, 1868, p.542
	11	Vol. 23, No. 35 Aug 29, 1868, p.558
	12	Vol. 23, No. 36 Sep  5, 1868, p.574
	13	Vol. 23, No. 37 Sep 12, 1868, p.590
	14	Vol. 23, No. 38 Sep 19, 1868, p.606
	15	Vol. 23, No. 39 Sep 26, 1868, p.622
	16	Vol. 23, No. 40 Oct  3, 1868, p.638
	17	Vol. 23, No. 41 Oct 10, 1868, p.654
	18	Vol. 23, No. 42 Oct 17, 1868, p.670
	19	Vol. 23, No. 43 Oct 24, 1868, p.686
	20	Vol. 23, No. 44 Oct 31, 1868, p.702
	21	Vol. 23, No. 45 Nov  7, 1868, p.718
	22	Vol. 23, No. 46 Nov 14, 1868, p.734
	23	Vol. 23, No. 47 Nov 21, 1868, p.750
	24	Vol. 23, No. 48 Nov 28, 1868, p.766

      Published weekly in Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), in 24 parts,
            June 20, 1868 through November 28, 1868.

  	 1	Vol. 48, No. 51 Jun 20, 1868, p.1
	 2	Vol. 48, No. 52 Jun 27, 1868, p.1
	 3	Vol. 49, No.  1 Jul  4, 1868, p.1
	 4	Vol. 49, No.  2 Jul 11, 1868, p.1
	 5	Vol. 49, No.  3 Jul 18, 1868, p.1
	 6	Vol. 49, No.  4 Jul 25, 1868, p.1
	 7	Vol. 49, No.  5 Aug  1, 1868, p.1
	 8	Vol. 49, No.  6 Aug  8, 1868, p.1
	 9	Vol. 49, No.  7 Aug 15, 1868, p.1
	10	Vol. 49, No.  8 Aug 22, 1868, p.1
	11	Vol. 49, No.  9 Aug 29, 1868, p.1
	12	Vol. 49, No. 10 Sep  5, 1868, p.1
	13	Vol. 49, No. 11 Sep 12, 1868, p.1
	14	Vol. 49, No. 12 Sep 19, 1868, p.1
	15	Vol. 49, No. 13 Sep 26, 1868, p.1
	16	Vol. 49, No. 14 Oct  3, 1868, p.1
	17	Vol. 49, No. 15 Oct 10, 1868, p.1
	18	Vol. 49, No. 16 Oct 17, 1868, p.1
	19	Vol. 49, No. 17 Oct 24, 1868, p.1
	20	Vol. 49, No. 18 Oct 31, 1868, p.1
	21	Vol. 49, No. 19 Nov  7, 1868, p.1
	22	Vol. 49, No. 20 Nov 14, 1868, p.1
	23	Vol. 49, No. 21 Nov 21, 1868, p.1
	24	Vol. 49, No. 22 Nov 28, 1868, p.1

There She Blows! or, the Log of the Arethusa.
      Boston: Lee & Shepard, & New York: Charles T. Dillingham
        1877

Up North in the Gorgon
      Flag of Our Union
            Published weekly in 12 parts,
                  January 2, 1869 through March 20, 1869.
  	 1	Vol. 24, No. 1	Jan  2, 1869, p. 14
	 2	Vol. 24, No. 2	Jan  9, 1869, p. 30
	 3	Vol. 24, No. 3	Jan 16, 1869, p. 46
	 4	Vol. 24, No. 4	Jan 23, 1869, p. 62
	 5	Vol. 24, No. 5	Jan 30, 1869, p. 78
	 6	Vol. 24, No. 6	Feb  6, 1869, p. 94
	 7	Vol. 24, No. 7	Feb 13, 1869, p.110
	 8	Vol. 24, No. 8	Feb 20, 1869, p.126
	 9	Vol. 24, No. 9	Feb 27, 1869, p.142
	10	Vol. 24, No.10	Mar  6, 1869, p.156
	11	Vol. 24, No.11	Mar 13, 1869, p.172
	12	Vol. 24, No.12	Mar 20, 1869, p.183

      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket)
            Published weekly in 12 parts,
                  March 18, 1876 through June 3, 1876.
  	 1	Vol. 56, No.38	Mar 18, 1876, p.1
	 2	Vol. 56, No.39	Mar 25, 1876, p.1
	 3	Vol. 56, No.40	Apr  1, 1876, p.1
	 4	Vol. 56, No.41	Apr  8, 1876, p.1
	 5	Vol. 56, No.42	Apr 15, 1876, p.1
	 6	Vol. 56, No.43	Apr 22, 1876, p.1
	 7	Vol. 56, No.44	Apr 29, 1876, p.1
	 8	Vol. 56, No.45	May  6, 1876, p.1
	 9	Vol. 56, No.46	May 13, 1876, p.1
	10	Vol. 56, No.47	May 20, 1876, p.1
	11	Vol. 56, No.48	May 27, 1876, p.1
	12	Vol. 56, No.49	Jun  3, 1876, p.1

      Ballou's Monthly Magazine
            Published monthly in Ballou's Monthly Magazine, in 12 parts,
                  January 1886 through December 1886.
  	 1	Vol. 63, No. 1	Jan 1886, p. 44
	 2	Vol. 63, No. 2  Feb 1886, p.154
	 3	Vol. 63, No. 3  Mar 1886, p.223
	 4	Vol. 63, No. 4  Apr 1886, p.323
	 5	Vol. 63, No. 5  May 1886, p.404
	 6	Vol. 63, No. 6  Jun 1886, p.503
	 1	Vol. 64, No. 1	Jul 1886, p. 52
	 2	Vol. 64, No. 2  Aug 1886, p.145
	 3	Vol. 64, No. 3  Sep 1886, p.229
	 4	Vol. 64, No. 4  Oct 1886, p.308
	 5	Vol. 64, No. 5  Nov 1886, p.408
	 6	Vol. 64, No. 6  Dec 1886, p.495

SHORT STORIES.
1868-1893

Chronological List & Index



[1868]

Boarding Through the Stern Windows.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 27, No. 6 (Jun 1868) p.539

My First and Last Desertion.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 28, No. 1 (Jul 1868) p.31

How Tom Randolph Found His Wife.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 28, No. 2 (Aug 1868) p.150

Collision – "One Man Missing."
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 28, No. 3 (Sep 1868) p.232

Gagnon's Peak.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 28, No. 4 (Oct 1868) p.347

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 56, No. 2 (Jul 10, 1875) p. 1

Our Adventure In Titania Bay.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 28, No. 5 (Nov 1868) p. 453

Also published in:
      Reynolds's Miscellany of Romance, General Literature, Science,
and Art
, Vol. 41, No. 1064 (Oct 31, 1868) pp.308-309.

Wee-Tahwa – His Mark.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 28, No. 6 (Dec 1868) p.535

[1869]
The Bully Of The Forecastle.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 29, No. 2 (Feb 1869) p.160

Also published in:
      Reynolds's Miscellany of romance, general literature, science, and art, Vol. 42, No. 108 (Feb 20, 1869) p. 148-150.

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 69, No. 6 (Jun 1889) p. 497.

Letter - Re: "The Old Bell.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 49, No. 38 (March 20, 1869) p. 2.

Saved By An Infant.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 29, No. 5 (May 1869) p.430

Lessons In Navigation.
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 24, No. 21 (May 22, 1869) p.332

The Rivals: A Romance Of The Chain Islands.
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 24, No. 22 (May 29, 1869) p.348

King Pat, The Crusoe Of The Gallapagos.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 29, No. 6 (Jun 1869) p.528

False Colors.: An Incident Of The War Of '12.
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 24, No. 25 (Jun 19, 1869) p.396

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 49, No. 52 (Jun 26, 1869) p. 1

      Michigan Farmer, Vol. 13, No. 30 (Jul 25, 1882) p. 6.

      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 74, No. 3 (Sep 1891) p. 179
Also published as:
      "False Colours", by An American Tourist
      Every week : a journal of entertaining literature (London),
      Vol. 1, No. 6 (Aug 11, 1869) pp. 89-91.

Saved by a Whale Slick.
      Onward (Jun 1869) p.509

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 49, No. 49 (Jun 5, 1869) p. 1

My Grandfather's Cruise In "The Year One."
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 30, No. 1 (Jul 1869) p.37

A Bottle – And Its Victims.
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 24, No. 27 (Jul 3, 1869) p.420

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 50, No. 32 (Feb 5, 1870) p. 1

      Every week : a journal of entertaining literature (London),
      Vol. 1, No. 7 (Aug 18, 1869) pp. 109-111.

Shorty's Story Of The Mutiny.
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 24, No. 29 (Jul 17, 1869) p.462

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 51, No. 32 (Feb 4, 1871) p. 1

Taboo: A Beach-Comber's Story.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 30, No. 2 (Aug 1869) p.143

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 54, No. 28 (Jan 10, 1874) p. 1

Bonfire Beach
      Onward, (Aug 1869) p.97

Why I Didn't Run Away from the Rodney.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 30, No. 3 (Sep 1869) p.247

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 52, No. 45 (May 4, 1872) p. 1

A Day in the Polar Basin.
      Onward, (Sep 1869) p.231

My First "Liberty Day" In Valparaiso.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 30, No. 4 (Oct 1869) p.354

Almost an Amputation
      Onward (Oct 1869) p.321

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 50, No. 27 (Jan 1, 1870) p. 1

Lost Overboard. [1869]
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 50, No. 15 (Oct 9, 1869) p.1

First published in:
      Western World, 1869.

Also published in:
      The Youth's Companion (Boston), Vol. 44, No. 5 (Feb 2, 1871) p. 35

A Square-rigged sailor.
      Western World, (1869)

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 50, No. 21 (Nov 20, 1869) p.1

Note: Text of the Inquirer and Mirror used for this transcription.

Almost On A Coral Reef.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 30, No. 5 (Nov 1869) p.445

Also published in:
      Salem Register, Vol. LXX, No. 89 (Nov 8, 1889) p. 1

A Night in Siberia.
      Onward, (Nov 1869) p.387

Lassoing A Madman.
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 24, No. 46 (Nov 13, 1869) p.734

The "Beach-Combers'" Duel.
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 24, No. 47 (Nov 20, 1869) p.750

Amos Coffin's Fall.
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 24, No. 48 (Nov 27, 1869) p.756

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 70, No. 6 (Dec 1889) p. 441

A Timely Shot.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 30, No. 6 (Dec 1869) p.568

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 53, No. 37 (Mar 15, 1873) p. 1
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 67, No. 3 (Mar 1888) p. 222

How The Norway Was Haunted.
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 24, No. 49 (Dec 4, 1869) p.782

Unwelcome Visitors.
      Bow bells, Vol. 11, No. 281 (Dec 15, 1869) p.486-486.

A Bloodless Murder.
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 24.52 (Dec 25, 1869) p.819

Also published in:
      Every week, Vol. 2, No. 3 (Jan 26, 1870) p. 52-53
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 55, No. 12 (Sep 19, 1874) p. 1

King vs Doyle: Assault and Battery.
      Frank Leslies Illustrated Newspaper, Vol. 24.52 (Dec 25, 1869) pp. 246-247.

[1870]
Under Suspicion.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 31, No. 1 (Jan 1870) p.53

Also published as:
      "Under Suspicion", by A. Sailor.
      Every week : a journal of entertaining literature
      (London), Vol. 2, No. 36 (Mar 9, 1870), pp. 158-159.

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 52, No. 35 (Feb 24, 1872) p. 1

Too Smart a Sailsman.
      Onward,(Jan 1870) p.31

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 51, No. 13 (Sep 24, 1870) p. 1

A Knight Of The (Black) Bath.
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 25, No. 3 (Jan 15, 1870) p.46

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 57, No. 31 (Jan 27, 1877) p. 1

Catching A Deserter.
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 25, No. 5 (Jan 29, 1870) p.78
Also published in:
      Bow bells: a magazine of general literature and art for family reading
      (London), Vol. 12, No. 293 (Mar 9, 1870) pp. 149-150

The Fate Of The Redgauntlet.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 31, No. 2 (Feb 1870) p.158

Also published as:
      "The Fate of the Redgauntlet", by A. Sailor.
      Every week : a journal of entertaining literature
      (London), Vol. 2, No. 34 (Feb 23, 1870), pp. 124-126.

      "The Fate of the Redgauntlet", by Roshow Bezone Jr..
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine
      Vol. 69, No. 3 (Mar 1889), pp. 231-236.

Isla Bendita.: A Legend Of The Times Of The Buccaneers.
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 25, No. 6 (Feb 5, 1870) p.94

Also published in:
      Every week: a journal of entertaining literature (London),
      Vol. 2, No. 35 (Mar 2, 1870) pp. 135-136.

      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 53, No. 32 (Feb 8, 1873) p. 1

How We Recaptured The Newcastle.
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. (Feb 26, 1870) p.142

Our French Interpreter.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 50, No. 35 (Feb 26, 1870) p. 1

Captain Darrell's Ward.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 31, No. 3 (Mar 1870) p. 240

Also published as:
      "Captain Darrell's Ward", by Our Story-Teller.
      Maine Farmer, Vol. 38, No. 43 (Oct 1, 1870), p. 4.

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 67, No. 1 (Jan 1888) p. 59

My Soldier-Ship Mate, Lawrence.
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 25, No. 11 (Mar 12, 1870) p. 174

John Merrill's Secret.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 31, No. 4 (Apr 1870) p.352

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 50, No. 39 (Mar 26, 1870) p. 1

A Story From "Life."
      Flag of Our Union, Vol. 25, No. 14 (Apr 2, 1870) p.222

Savages – White And Tawny.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 31, No. 5 (May 1870) p.447

Also published as:
      "Savages – White and Tawny", by Roshow Bezone Jr.,
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine
      Vol. 70, No. 5 (Nov 1889), pp. 423-426.

Trading for Cocoanut Oil.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket) (May 21, 1870) p.1

Also published in:
      The Youth's Companion, Vol. 42, No. 41 (Oct 14, 1869) p. 323.

Frank Osborn's Brother.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 32, No. 1 (Jul 1870) p.50

Also published as:
      "Frank Osborn's Brother.", by A. Sailor,
      Bow bells : a magazine of general literature
      and art for family reading

      (London), Vol. 13, No. 317 (Aug 24, 1870), pp. 101-102.

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 50, No. 51 (Jun 18, 1870) p. 1

      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 67, No. 4 (Apr 1888) p. 309

An Innocent Fratricide.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 32, No. 2 (Aug 1870) p.163

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 70, No. 4 (Oct 1889) p. 328

A Cloudy Night at the Cape Verdes.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 51, No. 17 (Aug 20, 1870) p. 1

Who Burnt The Vulcan?: Old Captain Hathaway's Story.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 32, No. 3 (Sep 1870) p.260

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 69, No. 4 (Apr 1889) p. 308

My Kanaka Shipmate: An Adventure at the Chinchas.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 51, No. 17 (Oct 22, 1870) p. 1

Thespis Before The Mast.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 32, No. 6 (Dec 1870) p.564

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 51, No. 25 (Dec 17, 1870) p. 1

[1871]
A Night's Adventure In Chili.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 33, No. 3 (Mar 1871) p.235

Also published as:
      "A Night's Adventure in Chili", by A. Sailor,
      Every week : a journal of entertaining literature
      (London), Vol. 4, No. 89 (Mar 15, 1871), pp. 166-167.

Undermining an Enemy.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 51, No. 38 (Mar 18, 1871) p. 1

Raising A Sunken Whale.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 33, No. 5 (May 1871) p.460

Also published as:
      "Raising a Sunken Whale", by A. Sailor,
      Every week : a journal of entertaining literature
      (London), Vol. 4, No. 99 (Mar 24, 1871), pp. 325-326.

For Love Of Martha Quintal.
      Western World, 1871

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 51, No. 51 (Jun 17, 1871) p. 1
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 38, No. 5 (Nov 1873) p. 442

Note: The Ballou's Monthly Magazine was used for this transcription.

Adrift.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 34, No. 3 (Sep 1871) p.228

Gideon Bunker's Exile.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 34, No. 6 (Dec 1871) p.560

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 51, No. 25 (Dec 17, 1870) p. 1
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 69, No. 1 (Jan 1889) p. 57

[1872]
In A Bamboo Prison.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 35, No. 3 (Mar 1872) p.246

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 76, No. 4 (Oct 1892) p. 331

A Clairvoyant Revelation.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 35, No. 5 (May 1872) p.455

Also published in:
      Bow bells : a magazine of general literature and art for
      family reading
, Vol. 16, No. 407 (May 15, 1872) pp. 390-391.

      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 70, No. 2 (Aug 1889) p. 157

Off the Horn: A Real Incident.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket) (Aug 10, 1872) p.1

Is There a Sea Serpent?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 53, No. 4 (Jul 27, 1872) p. 1

[1873]
The Sea-Fight off "Maddequecam" in 1814.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 53, No. 27 (Jan 4, 1873) p. 1

A True Story Of Peril.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 37, No. 2 (Feb 1873) p.121

Also published in:
      The Albion, A Journal of News, Politics
      and Literature
(New York), Vol. 54, No. 2 (Jan 8, 1876) p. 4

Also published as:
      "A True Story of Peril", by Roshow Bezone Jr.,
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine
      Vol. 71, No. 5 (May 1890), pp. 423-426.

How We Refused Duty.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 37, No. 4 (Apr 1873) p.329

The Panreatic King.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 53, No. 51 (Jun 21, 1873) p. 1

The Cormorant's Luck.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 38, No. 2 (Aug 1873) p.131

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 55, No. 29 (Jan 16, 1875) p. 1
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 68, No. 4 (Oct 1888) p. 304

[1874]
A Tragic Incident Of "Nor-West" Whaling.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 39, No. 4 (Apr 1874) p.333

[1875]
Our War-Meeting at Lumberton.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 55, No. 48 (May 29, 1875) p.1

Originally published in:
      American Union, 1875?.

Jerked Over a Wall.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 55, No. 41 (April 10, 1875) p.1

Also published in:
      Bow Bells (London), Vol. 13, No. 315 (Aug 10, 1870) pp. 54-55. The author is given as "A Sailor".

A "Beach-Comber's" Yarn
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 42, No. 1 (Jul 1875) p.25

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 75, No. 2 (Feb 1892) p. 99

The Fate Of The Lady Roswell.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 42, No. 2 (Aug 1875) p.132

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 75, No. 5 (May 1892) p. 361

Cobbing The Cook.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 42, No. 4 (Oct 1875) p.331

Forty-Five Puncheons Of Rum.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 42, No. 5 (Nov 1875) p.441

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 77, No. 3 (Mar 1893) p. 189

Lost In The Fog: An Old Whaler's Reminiscence.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 42, No. 6 (Dec 1875) p.540

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 56, No. 32 (Feb 5, 1876) p. 1

[1876]
Monteith Brothers.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 43, No. 1 (Jan 1876) p.37

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 77, No. 1 (Jan 1893) p. 53

Potatoes "In Bulk."
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 43, No. 5 (May 1876) p.478

The Twin Ships.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 43, No. 6 (Jun 1876) p.563

Trapping For Whales.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 44, No. 2 (Aug 1876) p.172

Whaling Off Cape Horn.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 44, No. 3 (Sep 1876) p.268

Foul Line! – A Real Incident.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 44, No. 4 (Oct 1876) p.369

Also published as:
      "'Foul Line!': A Real Incident" by Roshow Bezone Jr.,
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine
      Vol. 73, No. 5 (May 1891), pp. 325-326.

Our Harpoon-Gun.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 44, No. 5 (Nov 1876) p.474

Watering At Panapa.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 44, No. 6 (Dec 1876) p.571

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 57, No. 22 (Nov 25, 1876) p. 1

[1877]
Jack Bonner's Ghost.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 45, No. 1 (Jan 1877) p.61

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 69, No. 2 (Feb 1889) p. 142

The Mutiny On The Jupiter
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 45, No. 3 (Mar 1877) p.262

White Hog Island.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 45, No. 4 (Apr 1877) p.364

Getting Even With Him.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 45, No. 5 (May 1877) p.470

Her First And Third Husbands.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 45, No. 6 (Jun 1877) p.574

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 72, No. 1 (Jul 1890) p. 1

Taken At His Word.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 46, No. 2 (Aug 1877) p.158

A Pair of Brogans.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 46, No. 4 (Oct 1877) p.360

Phantom Island.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 46, No. 5 (Nov 1877) p.446

How We Captured The "Schoolmaster."
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 46, No. 6 (Dec 1877) p.529

[1878]
Running A-Muck.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 47, No. 1 (Jan 1878) p.42

Run Away With.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 47, No. 3 (Mar 1878) p.269

All's Fair In War.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 47, No. 4 (Apr 1878) p.360

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 68, No. 2 (Aug 1888) p. 132

In A Tight Place.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 47, No. 5 (May 1878) p.452

The Voyage Of The Shakers.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 48, No. 1 (Jul 1878) p.56

Sea And Savages.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 48, No. 2 (Aug 1878) p.152

[1879]
Love Among The Ice-Fields.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 49, No. 1 (Jan 1879) p.54

      "Love Among the Ice-Fields", by Roshow Bezone Jr.,
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine
      Vol. 71, No. 2 (Feb 1890), pp. 95-102.

The Tiger Of The Antarctic.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 49, No. 2 (Feb 1879) p.169

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 71, No. 4 (Apr 1890) p. 265

A Marquesan Adventure.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 59, No. 32 (Feb 8, 1879) p. 1

Our Stupid Boat-Steerer.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 49, No. 4 (Apr 1879) p. 350

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 72, No. 4 (Oct 1890) p. 272

Manslaughter.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 50, No. 3 (Sep 1879) p.266

Also published as:
      "Manslaughter", by Roshow Bezone Jr.,
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine
      Vol. 72, No. 6 (Dec 1890), pp. 500-505.

Taming of a Tyrant.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 60, No. 21 (Nov 22, 1879) p.1

[1880]
Scurvy.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 51, No. 1 (Jan 1880) p.46

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 71, No. 1 (Jan 1890) p. 64

A Runaway Adventure.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 51, No. 5 (May 1880) p.465

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 74, No. 1 (Jul 1891) p. 52

Lost Overboard.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 30, No. 4 (Aug 1880) p.131-133

Also published as:
      "Lost Overboard", by Roshow Bezone Jr.,
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine
      Vol. 72, No. 1 (Jul 1890), pp. 325-326.

See earlier version published in 1869:
      Lost Overboard. [1869]

The Western Esquimaux At Home.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 52, No. 3 (Sep 1880) p.248

An Ugly Customer.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 52, No. 4 (Oct 1880) p.362

Murder Will Out.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 52, No. 5 (Nov 1880) p.464

[1881]
The Mystery Of Shubael Wyer.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 53, No. 1 (Jan 1881) p.30

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 76, No. 1 (Jul 1892) p. 1

An Insult To Royalty.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 53, No. 2 (Feb 1881) p.170

Also published in:
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 62, No. 19 (Nov 5, 1881) p. 1

A Conflict Of Authority.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 53, No. 5 (May 1881) p.451

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 73, No. 6 (Jun 1891) p. 485

Short-Handed.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 54, No. 2 (Aug 1881) p.165

Water-Logged.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 54, No. 3 (Sep 1881) p.246

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 74, No. 4 (Oct 1891) p. 321

My Portuguese Shipmates.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 54, No. 4 (Oct 1881) p.363

A Haunted Island.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 54, No. 6 (Dec 1881) p.553

Also published in:
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 73, No. 1 (Jan 1891) p. 67

[1882]
The Charm of Blueskin.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 55, No. 1 (Jan 1882) p.50

[1888]
A Narrow Escape.
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 67, No. 6 (Jun 1888) p.478

Published earlier as: Almost On A Coral Reef
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. XXX, No. 5 (Nov 1869) pp. 445-448.

An Adventure in Behring Sea.
      By Roshow Bezone Jr. (pseud.), Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 68, No. 6 (Dec 1888) pp. 488-493.

[1891]

A Yarn About Pirates.
      By Roshow Bezone Jr. (pseud.), Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 74, No. 2 (Aug 1891) pp. 155-160.

The Haunted Ship.
      By Roshow Bezone Jr. (pseud.), Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 74, No. 5 (Nov 1891) pp. 399-402.

[1892]

Captain Spinnets Adventure.
      By Roshow Bezone Jr. (pseud.), Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 75, No. 6 (Jun 1892) p. 457-460.

[1893]

Darkness and Fog.
      By Roshow Bezone Jr. (pseud.), Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. 77, No. 2 (Feb 1893) pp. 140-147

Also published as:
      "Darkness and Fog", by J H. Woodbury,
      Ballou's Monthly Magazine
      Vol. 43, No. 3 Mar 1876) pp. 270-277.

POEMS.
1873-1890

Chronological List & Index




[1869]

The "School-House on the Hill."
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 21, 1869, Vol. 50, No. 8, p.3.

Also published in:
      Poems of Nantucket. (Nantucket: Henry S. Wyer, 1888), pp. 55-58.

[1873]

The Last Nantucket Whaler.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 29, 1873, Vol. 53, No. 39, p.2.

[1874]

Gas-triloquy.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 14, 1874, Vol. 54, No. 37, p.2.

[1875]

Verbena.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 23, 1875, Vol. 55, No. 30, p.2.

Annual Meet'n.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 27, 1875, Vol. 55, No. 35, p.2.

Jerushy Jenkins has spoken her piece.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 6, 1875, Vol. 55, No. 36, p.2.

Tawtemeo – A Fragment.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 20, 1875, Vol. 55, No. 38, p.2.

The Blind Father's Christmas.
      From the ancestry.com website.

[1876]

We've All Heard the Song so Cleverly Sung.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 26, 1876, Vol. 56, No. 35, p.2.

Forty Years Ago.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 15, 1876, Vol. 56, No. 42, p.1.

Our Birthdays are as Milestones.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 9, 1876, Vol. 57, No. 24, p.2.

[1877]

Derondamania.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 3, 1877, Vol. 57, No. 32, p.2.

Our Temperance Jubilee.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 1, 1877, Vol. 58, No. 9, p.2.

Our First Anniversary.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 1, 1877, Vol. 58, No. 9, p.2.

Too Sharp for Him.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 8, 1877, Vol. 58, No. 23, p.1.

[1878]

Our Lyceum.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 4, 1878, Vol. 58, No. 44, p.1.

Gossip.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 4, 1878, Vol. 58, No. 44, p.1.

Brave sentiments we are accustomed to hear.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 6, 1878, Vol. 59, No. 1, p.2.

[1879]

Our Lyceum.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 15, 1879, Vol. 59, No. 33, pp.1-2

Then and Now: A Ballad of Nantucket.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 15, 1879, Vol. 59, No. 33, pp.1-2

To a Young Friend on her Birthday.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 1, 1879, Vol. 59, No. 35, p.2.

[1880]

"Quarter Mile."
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 7, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 32, p.2.

Retrospective.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 24, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 43, p.1.

Vacation Lines.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 15, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 46, p.2.

The 'Goose Pond'.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 15, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 46, p.2.

We Saw from our Window a Minstrel with Harp.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 22, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 47, p.2.

U. S. Census – 1880.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 22, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 48, p.2.

Soon will Araminta.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 29, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 48, p.2.

This Item's for you, Careless Reader.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 5, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 49, p.3.

Stranger, Have you Seen Nantucket?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 12, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 50, p.2.

Now Raise Your Shouts and Hoist the Flag.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 19, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 51, p.2.

Say, Girls, What Do you Think?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 26, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 52, p.2.

At Our Great Celebration.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 3, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 1, p.2.

The Yachtmen Came on a Saturday Night.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 24, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 4, p.2.

An Ab-original Row-mance.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 31, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 5, p.2.

As Clark, While Yet the Sun was Low.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 7, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 5, p.2.

And Now Comes the Great Dr. Tanner.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 14, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 6, p.2.

My Song, Now I am Going to Begin it.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 21, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 8, p.3.

Says Grace to Jane.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 28, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 9, p.2.

Soon Comes October.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 4, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 10, p.2.

The Strangers Now are Leaving Quick.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 11, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 11, p.2.

Joy's Pipes from Wannacomet!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 18, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 12, p.2.

Mrs. Addlepate Thinks that if Woman's to Vote.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 25, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 13, p.2.

Great Jetty! 'Tis of Thee.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 2, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 14, p.2.

Farewell to the Dear Sherburne News!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 9, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 15, p.2.

And Now the Merry Husking Days are Here.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 16, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 16, p.2.

Skeezix Says.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 23, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 17, p.2.

The Strife that for a Space did Fail.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 30, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 18, p.2.

The Baby Congress.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 6, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 19, p.2.

Hail to the Chief who is Going to the White House!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 13, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 20, p.2.

We May with Good Reason.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 20, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 21, p.2.

To Write, – or Not to Write, – That is the Question.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 27, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 22, p.2.

All Hail to December!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 4, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 23, p.2.

There was a Boy in our Town.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 11, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 24, p.2.

O, The Snow! The Beautiful Snow!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 18, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 25, p.2.

New York is Famed for Swindlers Bold.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 25, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 26, p.2.

[1881]

"Shap New Year!" the Urchin Cried.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 1, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 27, p.2.

The Boy Stood on the Bend-y Ice.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 8, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 28, p.1.

The Song of the Town-Clock.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 15, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 29, p.2.

Sophronia Swain.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 22, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 30, p.2.

The Liquor Question.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 22, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 30, p.2.

Widow Addlepate Marveled a Few Years Ago.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 29, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 31, p.2.

Dear Friends and Fellow-townsmen.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 19, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 34, p.3.

Twas the Custom, e'er Since the Memory of Man.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 26, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 35, p.2.

The Stormy March Has Come at Last.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 5, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 36, p.3.

With Pomp and Show and Great Outlay of Money.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 12, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 37, p.2.

Good People All with One Accord.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 19, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 38, p.2.

We've Heard a Rumor Through the Town.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 26, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 39, p.2.

Old Time Has Flown Along So Fast.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 2, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 40, p.2.

The Jetty Men Have Driven a Stake.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 9, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 41, p.2.

Cisterns or Washing Pond?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 16, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 42, p.2.

The Coffins are coming!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 23, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 43, p.2.

Our Joe is a Rapid Type-stickist.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 21, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 47, p.2.

De Summer's Almost Here.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 28, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 48, p.2.

Hickory, Dickery, Dock.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 4, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 49, p.2.

We Have Heard the Pibrock Sounding for the Muster of the Clan.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 11, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 50, p.2.

How Doth the Busy Jetty Men.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 18, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 51, p.2.

Have You Tested the Famous Clan Coffin Cigars?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 25, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 52, p.2.

And Now Comes the Weather-Man, Vennor.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 2, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 1, p.3.

Aunt Jerusha's Getting Old and Stout.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 9, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 2, p.3.

Here's a Matter that Calls for Immediate Attention.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 16, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 3, p.3.

Now the Coffin Clan are Coming.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 6, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 6, p.2.

How Dear to my Heart are the Scenes of my Childhood.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 13, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 7, p.2.

August is Slipping on Apace.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 27, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 9, p.2.

The Girl Stood on the Roller Skates.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 3, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 10, p.2.

As Stormy Weather Ushered In.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 10, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 11, p.2.

Come, Ride on the Railroad.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 17, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 12, p.2.

Dire is the Rule of the Rum Fiend.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 1, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 14, p.2.

A Lady Clear-headed and Cautious.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 15, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 16, p.2.

Old 'Sconset law.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 5, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 19, p.2.

Guiteau and Mason.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 12, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 20, p.2.

Is Madness the Cause of All Human Rascality?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 19, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 21, p.2.

Our Jolly Thanksgiving.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 26, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 22, p.2.

Are we going to have any lectures?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 3, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 23, p.2.

Ode to Winter.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 10, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 24, p.2.

Mrs. Addlepate Got so Indignant Last Week.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 17, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 25, p.2.

Here's a Jolly Good St. Nicholas.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 24, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 26, p.3.

Said Eighteen Hundred and Eighty-one.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 31, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 27, p.3.

[1882]

My Love, Do You Remember.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 7, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 28, p.2.

The Moral Monster, Charles Guiteau.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 14, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 29, p.2.

O, The Snow! The Beautiful Snow!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 21, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 30, p.2.

Annual Town Meeting.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 28, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 31, p.2.

Our Poet Says it Doesn't Pay.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 4, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 32, p.2.

Valentine's Day is Drawing Near.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 11, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 34, p.2.

To Vote for Yes or No, That is the Question.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 18, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 35, p.2.

If Washington Had Lived Till Date.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 25, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 36, p.3.

The Lyceum now is to close for the season.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 25, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 40, p.2.

French Claims.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 25, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 40, p.2.

Personal Rights.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 1, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 41, p.2.

Spring! Spring, Beautiful Spring! [1]
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 8, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 42, p.2.

Summer Travellers, Listen and Mark!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 15, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 43, p.2.

A Plucky Young Sailor from Norway.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 22, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 44, p.2.

Now Your Pump is Out o' Kilter.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 29, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 45, p.2.

Against Seining for Fish They are Going to Complain.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 6, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 46, p.2.

The Town Having Voted Rum-License to Stop.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 13, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 47, p.2.

All Honor to the Worthy Patriarch.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 20, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 48, p.2.

Clan Coffin, Arouse!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 20, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 48, p.2.

Now, Girls, You Know 'tis June.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 27, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 49, p.2.

Now Come on, Ye Summer Tourists.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 24, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 52, p.2.

Church Devotees, with Pious Hope.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 1, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 1, p.2.

A Pure Heathen Chinee.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 8, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 2, p.2.

Nantucket! 'Tis of Thee.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 15, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 3, p.2.

'Twas a British Naval Fleet.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 22, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 4, p.2.

The Crier Blew Fiercely on His Horn.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 29, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 5, p.2.

Organ-ism.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 5, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 6, p.2.

Did you Witness the Dancing of Bruin?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 12, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 7, p.2.

A Certain Good Lady Named Rogers.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 19, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 8, p.2.

Summer is Past.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 16, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 12, p.2.

In Summer Time.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 23, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 13, p.2.

We've All Heard of the Cock-Lane Ghost.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 30, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 14, p.2.

William had a Tooting Horn.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 7, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 15, p.2.

Each Faction Names its Candidate.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 14, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 16, p.2.

November 7th will be the date.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 28, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 18, p.2.

This is the Paper Fresh and Bright.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 4, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 19, p.2.

Mrs. Langtry in New York is Now Quite the Rage.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 11, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 20, p.2.

We Envy Continental Friends.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 9, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 24, p.2.

How Dear to my Heart are the Old Days of Whaling.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 16, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 25, p.2.

Ben Butler! 'tis of Thee.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 23, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 26, p.2.

A Happy New Year!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 30, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 27, p.2.

[1883]

Uncle Phineas Opened His Post-Office Box.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 6, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 28, p.2.

The School Room was Large, but the Pupils were Few.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 13, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 29, p.2.

Well, Johnny, my boy, and How's your mother?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 10, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 33, p.2.

Syphax had a Valentine.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 17, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 34, p.2.

Among Our New Governor's Collection.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 17, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 34, p.2.

A History Lesson.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 24, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 34, p.3.

Sisters, Let Us Rouse the Nation – A Suffrage Song.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 24, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 34, p.2.

Our Atheneum.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 3, 1883, Vol. 63, no. 35, p.2.

The Spook that of Last Year was Seen.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 10, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 36, p.2.

Cease, rude Boreas.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 17, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 37, p.2.

We've Heard so Much of False Pretence.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 24, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 38, p.2.

Say, neighbor, have you got this cold?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 31, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 39, p.2.

That "Image Case," Now Lately Tried.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 28, 1883, Vol. 68, No. 43, p.2.

The Old State Government Machine.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 5, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 44, p.2.

The Great Star Route Case.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 12, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 45, p.2.

Mrs. Addlepate, Flushed with House-cleaning.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 19, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 45, p.2.

Mr. Jones, his money chinking.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 26, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 46, p.2.

Then in This Age of Civilization.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 2, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 47, p.2.

It Has Often Been Foretold.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 9, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 48, p.2.

It Appears That Our Great and Good General Court.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 16, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 50, p.2.

As Cupid is Blind.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 14, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 2, p.2.

'Stead of Braving the Cold.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 21, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 3, p.2.

To One Who is Gifted with Sensitive Ears.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 28, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 4, p.2.

Hark! Hark! Listen to Clark.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 4, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 5, p.2.

Mrs. Tenderheart Shows Tender Mercy to Cats.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 11, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 6, p.3.

A Friend of Ours, Having Some Cash to Invest.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 18, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 7, p.3.

Women are Coming to the Front.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 25, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 8, p.3.

To Surf-side or the Skating Rink?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 1, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 9, p.2.

Come to Surf-side and Look at the Breakers.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 8, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 10, p.3.

The Republicans, Anxious Ben Butler to Beat.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 29, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 13, p.2.

Only a Fancy House-lot.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 6, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 14, p.2.

Old Dobbs Your Faith was Founded on a Rock.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 13, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 15, p.2.

The New York Times – O dire offence!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 20, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 16, p.2.

Our Governor is, We All Agree.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 27, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 17, p.2.

Once When we Old Folks were Youthful.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 3, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 18, p.2.

Among Our Old Seafaring Folk.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 10, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 19, p.2.

Though Ben Butler Has Lost the Election.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 24, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 21, p.2.

After Four Days of Hope Deferred.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 24, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 21, p.2.

The Holidays are Drawing Near.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 22, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 25, p.2.

1883 and 1884.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 29, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 26, p.2.

[1884]

How Dear to my Heart are the Storms of my Childhood.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 5, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 26, p.2.

Bilkins, Just Home from his Sunday Walk.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 12, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 28, p.2.

Our Imp Would Sing About the Weather.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 19, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 29, p.2.

Tom Rogers, Who Disdains to Pay.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 26, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 30, p.2.

A Sheriff Trudging Many a Weary Acre.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 2, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 30, p.2.

St. Valentine is Drawing Near.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 9, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 31, p.2.

Auld Lang Syne. (a song)
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 16, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 32, p.2.

There's a Good Time Coming Girls. (a song)
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 16, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 32, p.2.

We saw a Sharp Old Codger Look.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 16, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 32, p.2.

What Taste and Skill the Savage Claims.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 8, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 35, p.2.

That Grand Hotel at Surf-side.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 15, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 36, p.2.

If We Make Our General Court Biennial.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 22, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 37, p.2.

Once Every Year, So we are Told.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 29, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 38, p.2.

"O dear!" Cries Mrs. Addlepate.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 5, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 39, p.2.

Those Evening Drums!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 12, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 40, p.2.

There Will be Something New Under the Sun.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 19, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 41, p.2.

Spring! Spring! Beautiful Spring! [2]
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 26, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 42, p.2.

O, Great White Beast!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 3, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 43, p.2.

A Baby Show.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 10, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 44, p.2.

Good People All May Well Forgive.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 7, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 48, p.2.

Old Dobbs, We've Often Heard you Say.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 14, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 49, p.2.

We Learn That One Blaine.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 21, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 51, p.2.

When Tompkins Seemed So Near His End.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 28, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 52, p.2.

Let's go to Nantucket.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 5, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 1, p.2.

Business With us is Driving.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 12, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 2, p.2.

Did You go to the Grand Celebration?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 19, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 3, p.2.

The Democrats Are All Ecstatic.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 26, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 4, p.2.

How Doth the Ever-busy Clark.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 23, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 8, p.2.

A Friend Whom We've Supposed to be a Shrewd Old Politician.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 30, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 9, p.2.

Michael McCarty is Me Name.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 6, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 10, p.2.

And Who're ye Goin' to Vote For Jim?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 13, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 11, p.2.

From the Belle to the Boarding-house Bummer.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 20, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 12, p.2.

Will Shakespeare was a Dramatist of Credit and Renown.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 27, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 13, p.2.

New York's Best Society is Terribly Shocked.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 4, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 14, p.2.

A Strange, Being has Lately Appeared on this Sphere.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 11, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 15, p.2.

When Belva Lockwood Mounts the Stump.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 18, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 16, p.2.

Telegraphic.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 15, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 20, p.2.

Who's President?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 22, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 21, p.2.

Now We've Done with the Election.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 29, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 22, p.2.

O, William D., We Miss Thee.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 6, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 23, p.2.

When in Our Old School-books we Read.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 13, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 24, p.2.

Our Poetical Editor Makes his Complaint.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 20, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 25, p.2.

"Be Honest All," is Good Advice.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 27, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 26, p.2.

[1885]

The Boy Stood on the Front Door Stoop.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 10, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 28, p.2.

In Our Local Business Transactions.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 17, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 29, p.29.

O, Have You Heard the Tidings New?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 24, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 30, p.2.

In the Chronicles Old.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 7, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 32, p.2.

A Belle of the Period.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 7, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 36, p.2.

Lessons of Spring.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 11, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 41, p.2.

It Must Have Touched a Tender Chord.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 18, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 42, p.2.

Competition is Bringing Low Prices For Us.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 25, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 43, p.2.

Englishmen Did Their Work So Well.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 2, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 44, p.2.

Candor.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 9, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 45, p.2.

Classical.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 23, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 47, p.2.

Canine Freedom.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 30, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 48, p.2.

Memorial Day.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 6, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 49, p.2.

When Fourth of July was All O'er.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 11, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 2, p.2.

My Shipmate from the Great West.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 18, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 3, p.2.

Now Popkins Has for Many a Year.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 25, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 4, p.2.

In Former Years Nantucket Maids.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 1, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 5, p.2.

The Flies!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 8, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 6, p.2.

Sheep Commons [1].
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 15, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 7, p.3.

Have You Seen the Charming Mrs. Cozzens.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 5, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 10, p.2.

'Tis But an Old Story Repeated.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 3, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 14, p.2.

The Papers Have News at all Times of the Year.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 10, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 15, p.2.

A Red-haired Boy Came Down our Street.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 17, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 16, p.2.

Come to the Polls and Win the Prize!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 24, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 17, p.2.

When Woman's Love Sets.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 31, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 18, p.2.

To Vote or Not to Vote, – That is the Question.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 7, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 19, p.2.

How Old is William D. Clark?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 14, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 20, p.2.

The Happy Day is Drawing Near.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 19, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 26, p.2.

Mary Had a Christmas Cake.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 26, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 26, p.2.

[1886]

Our Octagon.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 2, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 27, p.2.

Come, Haste to the Fountain of Waters so Sweet.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 9, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 28, p.2.

A Wide-awake Drummer While Making His Rounds.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 16, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 29, p.2.

Last Winter we Had a Hard Season.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 23, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 30, p.2.

We Scarcely Know Whether to Growl or to Laugh.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 30, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 31, p.2.

Hide and Seek.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 6, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 32, p.2.

The Woman Question.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 13, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 33, p.2.

We Have Brought to our Work True Devotion.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 20, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 34, p.3.

Won't That be a Great and a Glorious Day.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 20, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 38, p.2.

Mary Had a Little Dog, He Wore a Ribbon Collar.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 27, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 39, p.2.

Now April is Here
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 3, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 40, p.2.

Fast Day is Growing so Old and Gray!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 10, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 41, p.2.

Our Devil Scratched his Tangled Hair.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 17, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 42, p.2.

You Feel Spring's Enervating Power?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 24, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 43, p.2.

Now Labor Strikes are Quite the Rage
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 1, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 44, p.2.

Spring Turkeys.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 8, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 45, p.2.

Our Grandsires of Old.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 15, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 46, p.2.

Our Imp is Again at His Rhyming.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 22, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 47, p.2.

Boys' Rights.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 12, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 50, p.2.

The Summer Solstice Now Sets In.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 19, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 51, p.2.

A Correspondent Wants to Know.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 26, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 52, p.2.

John Judkins was a Citizen of Credit and Renown.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 3, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 1, p.2.

In Days of Old.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 10, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 2, p.2.

Our Old Steamers.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 17, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 3, p.2.

A Soft Gushing Poet Writes Us.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 24, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 4, p.2.

Say, Father Dear.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 31, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 5, p.2.

Our Neighbors Over in Abington are Crazy Now We're Told.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 7, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 6, p.2.

Now Summer's Drawing Near its End
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 28, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 9, p.2.

A Boston Man has Done It.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 4, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 10, p.2.

The Great Sea Serpent is Round Again.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 11, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 11, p.3.

The Equinoctial's Near at Hand.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 18, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 12, p.2.

What Heavenly Blessings on us Shower.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 25, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 13, p.2.

Watch and Prey.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 2, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 14, p.2.

No More the Locomotive Whistle is Heard.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 9, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 15, p.2.

Some Scamps Have Lately This Way Brought.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 6, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 19, p.2.

Philosophers Have Tried in Vain.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 13, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 20, p.2.

'Tis Well in All Cases, That we Should Avoid.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 27, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 22, p.2.

December Brings us Winter's Frost.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 4, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 23, p.2.

Columbus Taught a Moral
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 11, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 24, p.2.

Now the Mind-reader's Wondrous Art.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 18, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 25, p.2.

[1887]

We've Had So Much Good-natured Chaff.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 1, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 27, p.2.

January.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 8, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 28, p.2.

Do You Like the Snow, Tommy?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 15, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 29, p.2.

So Long as our Harbor of Ice is all Clear.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 22, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 30, p.2.

'Tis a Proud Day for Helen; She Graduates Now.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 29, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 31, p.2.

How Many Jacks are in the Pack?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 5, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 32, p.2.

O, Don't you Remember Sweet Alice.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 12, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 33, p.2.

Georgie Washington Had a Small Hatchet.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 19, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 34, p.2.

Muskeget and Gravelly Islands Annexed.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 12, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 37, p.2.

Beecher is Gone.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 19, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 38, p.2.

The Bottle, – and its Victim.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 26, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 39, p.2.

Mark Twain Says he Wants to Establish a Home.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 2, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 40, p.2.

Rain, Rain, Go Away.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 9, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 41, p.2.

Slocum, Who Kept a Tavern Down in Maine.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 16, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 42, p.2.

Our Sires Went Out to Kill Right Whales.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 23, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 43, p.2.

Why Should Woman with State Cares Her Pretty Head Vex?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 30, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 44, p.2.

We've Reason Now, to Thank the Fates.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 21, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 47, p.2.

O'Boozy Goes Down to his Favorite Haunt.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 28, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 48, p.2.

Sunday Morning.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 4, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 49, p.3.

We Have Such Faith in the Balloon.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 11, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 50, p.2.

Waterloo, June 18, 1815.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 18, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 51, p.2.

Tempus Fugit – So Quick.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 25, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 52, p.2.

Cui Bono?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 2, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 1, p.2.

We Read a Floating Item Which has Made an Odd Impression.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 9, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 2, p.2.

That Piratical Tale is a Hoax.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 6, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 6, p.2.

The Sea Serpent's Prowling Round.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 13, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 7, p.2.

Gi'n Body Goin' Down to See the Steamer Off.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 20, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 8, p.2.

Guzzle Reeled Home the Other Day.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 27, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 9, p.2.

Write Plainly! You Who Use the Mails.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 3, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 10, p.2.

Bilkins has Made Himself Believe.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 10, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 11, p.3.

Arithmetical Problem.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 17, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 12, p.2.

A School for Manners.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 24, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 13, p.2.

Those 'ateful Haspirates.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 15, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 16, p.3.

Election is Near!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 22, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 17, p.2.

We Scarce Expected, in These Days.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 29, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 18, p.2.

Only a State Election!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 5, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 19, p.2.

Emmensite.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 12, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 20, p.2.

Next Week Comes Thanksgiving.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 19, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 21, p.2.

The Inquirer and Mirror Wants to Know.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 26, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 22, p.2.

The Modern Dime-novel Much Censure Invites.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 26, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 22, p.2.

Porquoi.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 3, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 23, p.2.

There was an Indian Maiden Brave.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 10, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 24, p.2.

1888.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 31, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 27, p.3.

[1888]

Cold Comfort.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 14, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 29, p.2.

Queries.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 21, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 30, p.2.

Ice-olation.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 28, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 31, p.2.

That Historic Violin.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 4, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 31, p.3.

A Dozen Young Girl-graduates.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 11, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 32, p.2.

Our Annual Pow-wow and Council of Braves.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 18, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 33, p.2.

The Good Old Times.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 3, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 35, p.2.

Our Friends on the Continent Think our Fate Hard
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 24, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 38, p.3.

April Day.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 31, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 39, p.3.

Says our Zip, "I Never Shall Write a Book
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 7, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 40, p.2.

A Poor Spell.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 14, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 41, p.2.

Spring, Spring, Beautiful Spring! [3]
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 21, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 42, p.3.

In These Days Presidential
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 5, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 44, p.3.

The Subject is Not at all Humorous.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 12, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 45, p.2.

The Lost Heir.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 19, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 46, p.2.

Whom Shall we Have for President?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 9, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 49, p.2.

The Prison Committee.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 16, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 50, p.2.

In Our Last Issue we Announced.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 23, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 51, p.2.

For Freedom our Ancestors Fought.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 30, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 52, p.2.

When I was a Boy of Fourteen, I to Campaign-meetings Went.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 7, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 1, p.2.

Have you Read the Diurnal?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 14, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 2, p.2.

King Henry the Eighth had a Half-dozen Wives.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 21, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 3, p.2.

Not a Sound was Heard.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 28, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 4, p.2.

The Time's Drawing Near for Election.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 4, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 5, p.2.

Strangers to Right of Us.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 25, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 8, p.2.

Don't you Wish?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 1, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 9, p.2.

Hang out Your Banner on the Outward Wall!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 8, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 9, p.2.

The Shortening Days Tell us That Autumn Comes
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 15, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 10, p.2.

A Worthy Old Seaman, Now Nearly Fourscore.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 22, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 11, p.2.

In the Young Days of our Old Sherburne Town.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 29, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 12, p.2.

A Cry From The South.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 6, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 13, p.2.

One Session.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 3, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 17, p.2.

The Old, Old Story.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 10, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 18, p.2.

Hurrah, Now, the Campaign is Over!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 17, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 19, p.3.

Thanksgiving is a Great Institution!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 24, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 20, p.2.

Some Say we're to Have a Cold Winter.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 1, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 21, p.2.

Speed the Good Work and Bring us Back the Cable!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 8, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 23, p.2.

We Heard an Ancient Mariner Talk of Naval Architecture.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 15, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 24, p.2.

[1889]

Woman's Rights.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 5, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 27, p.2.

Let's Rejoice that our Cable Connection's Restored.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 12, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 28, p.2.

A Friend, who Owned Some House-lots at Surfside.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 19, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 29, p.2.

The Five Master.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 26, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 30, p.2.

A Fig for the Clerk of the Weather!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 2, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 31, p.3.

Saint Valentine will Come Next Week.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 9, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 32, p.2.

Conundrum.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 16, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 33, p.2.

Town Meeting Comes Along Next Week.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 23, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 34, p.3.

The Stormy March has Come at Last.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 2, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 35, p.2.

Again 'tis All Over, – the Annual Pow-wow.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 9, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 36, p.2.

The Vernal Equinox Draws on Apace.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 16, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 37, p.2.

The Dog Question.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 23, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 38, p.3.

Conundrum [2].
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 30, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 39, p.2.

Tempora Mutantur.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 6, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 40, p.2.

Queries.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 13, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 41, p.2.

"Sheep Commons. [2]"
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 20, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 42, p.3.

A Hundred Years Have Passed Away.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 27, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 43, p.3.

Base Ball.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 27, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 43, p.2.

Sheep Commons [3].
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 4, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 44, p.3.

Rain-Bound.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 11, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 45, p.2.

Sheep Commons [4].
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 18, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 46, p.2.

Young America.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 25, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 47, p.2.

The Ghost Will Run.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 29, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 52, p.2.

William D. Clark.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 6, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 1, p.3.

"Sheep Commons [5]."
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 13, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 2, p.2.

The Light of Other Days.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 20, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 3, p.2.

But One Step from the Heroic to the Absurd!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 27, 1889, Vol. 70, No.4, p.2.

Hohenlinden.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 3, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 5, p.2.

Dog-Days.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 10, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 6, p.2.

Spinsters.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 17, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 7, p.2.

Old Mother Hubbard.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 24, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 8, p.2.

Exodus.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 31, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 9, p.2.

Sheep Commons. [6]
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 7, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 10, p.3.

Those who Supposed they Owned Land on Brant Point.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 14, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 11, p.2.

Fly Paper.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 21, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 12, p.2.

Said Jones, "You see That Hen; Now Tell Me, Can Ye.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 28, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 13, p.2.

Let There be Light.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 5, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 14, p.2.

Autumnal.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 12, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 15, p.3.

Sheep-Commons. [7]
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 19, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 16, p.2.

Before the Battle.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 2, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 18, p.2.

Epithalamial.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 9, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 19, p.3.

Miss Strongmind on the Grabber Question.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 16, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 20, p.2.

The New Ballot.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 30, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 22, p.2.

Thanksgiving!
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 23, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 23, p.2.

The Matrimonial Boom.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 7, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 23, p.2.

Uncle Peleg On Electricity.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 14, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 24, p.2.

Xmas.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 21, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 25, p.2.

1890.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 28, 1889, Vol. 70, No. 26, p.2.

[1890]

Our Traveling Facilities Must be Enlarged.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 4, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 27, p.2.

La Grippe.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 18, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 29, p.3.

That Yellow Dog.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 25, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 30, p.2.

February.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 1, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 31, p.2.

The Logic Of Facts.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 8, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 32, p.2.

Taxes. [1]
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 15, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 33, p.2.

Town Meeting.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 22, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 34, p.2.

Dinner.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 1, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 35, p.2.

Phonographic.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 8, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 36, p.2.

My Lost Tom.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 15, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 37, p.2.

The New Gunboat, "Concord."
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 22, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 38, p.2.

March.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 29, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 39, p.2.

Let There be Light.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 5, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 40, p.2.

A Lesson in Geography.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 12, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 41, p.2.

That New Baby.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 19, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 42, p.2.

The Ice Famine.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 26, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 43, p.2.

House-cleaning.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 3, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 44, p.2.

Taxes. [2]
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 10, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 45, p.2.

K 9.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 17, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 46, p.2.

Are You Prospecting Now for a Summer Resort?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 24, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 47, p.2.

Do you want to buy land?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 31, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 48, p.2.

The Red, White and Blue.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 7, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 49, p.2.

The Soft, Warm Air Foreshadows Summer Days.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 14, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 50, p.2.

Aunt Nabby Faced the Census Man.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 21, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 51, p.2.

Our Little Steamer, Known so Well.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 28, 1890, Vol. 70, No. 52, p.2.

Already 'tis July.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 5, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 1, p.4.

Say, Reader, Don't you Like String-Beans?
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 12, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 2, p.1.

That Grind-Organ.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 19, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 3, p.4.

Rip Van Winkle.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 26, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 4, p.4.

The New Pension Act.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 2, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 5, p.4.

Dog-Days.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 9, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 6, p.4.

Mosquitoes.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 16, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 7, p.4.

E Pluribus Unum.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 23, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 8, p.4.

Now All Should Remember.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 6, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 10, p.1.

The Sewers.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 13, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 11, p.1.

Some Prices Fall, While Others Rise.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 20, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 12, p.1.

Our Old Ship Globe of Tragic Fame.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 27, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 13, p.1.

Briggs' Pork.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 4, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 14, p.1.

The Land-boom is Progressing Well.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 11, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 15, p.1.

Whom Are You Going to Support.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 18, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 16, p.1.

If a Maxim From Franklin You Borrow.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 25, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 17, p.1.

The New Ballot.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 1, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 18, p.1.

Nota Bene.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 8, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 19, p.1.

Now by the Figures 'Twill Appear.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 15, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 20, p.1.

A Thanksgiving Sermon.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 22, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 21, p.1.

Parties.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 29, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 22, p.4.

Our Courts.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 6, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 23, p.1.

Sheep Commons. [8]
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 13, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 24, p.1.

Love's Young Dream.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 20, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 25, p.1.

1891.
      Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 27, 1890, Vol. 71, No. 26, p.1.

The Poems.

1869 POEMS. 1869

The "School-House on the Hill."*

ByWm. Hussey Macy.

Peal loud the bell, and call the school together!
      We are but "children of a larger growth,"
Though now, matured, we range with longer tether,
      Restraints and duties appertain to both
Childhood and manhood – parts of life’s progression –
Peal loud the bell! the school’s again in session!

And as we meet to-day, on classic ground,
      To enjoy and celebrate our great Reunion,
To let the story, song, and jest go round,
      To call up bygones, and, in glad communion.
To interchange experiences of life,
Of wanderings and trials, toil and strife,

Let us awhile, with retrospective view,
      Go back to eighteen hundred thirty-eight,
When what is now theold school was thenew.
      Not having yet sent forth a graduate.
Impressed on mem’ry’s page, we see it still,
The venerable "School-house on the Hill."

We see again each sturdy little "form,"
      Painted inridicule of bird’s-eye maple,
The clumsy stoves, which failed to keep us warm,
      The drinking-closet door, with hook and staple,
The little room, enclosing various matters,
Labelled conspicuously, "Apparatus."

The staring figures, blazoned on the seats,
      The pegs for hats, numbered to correspond,
The bell-rope, leading down between its cleats,
      The windows, looking on the "Lily Pond,"
The maps, the black-boards fixed against the wall,
All rise before us now, at mem’ry’s call.

Then Father Pierce reigned over us, who seemed,
      To us, a cyclopaedia of knowledge;
Not less for humble piety esteemed
      Than for his stores of learning, gained at college;
We think of him as teacher, guide, and pastor –
A faithful servant of the greater Master.

And after him, our veteran teacher, Morse,
      Who, more than others. made the school his own
By long and arduous service in its cause,
      Giving to it his spirit and his tone,
And grafting his own character upon us, –
He lives to-day to wear his well-earned honors.

The pupils of theold school on the hill
      Are scattered broadcast – some have passed away;
But others, spared to do it honor still,
      May, with their children, gather here to-day;
Two generations, vying with each other
In love and tribute to theirone Fair Mother.

A fine new school-house has usurped the old;
      Yet "on the Hill" it stands, a beacon light,
Shedding its rays, more precious far than gold,
      And younger pupils now may claim the right.
To pen its later hist’ry, and to tell
How other teachers labored, and how well.

Let then the new-made High School graduate
      Take up the Book of Chronicles anew,
As we about theold school love to prate,
      So let the young Alumni sing thenew.
One theme may both inspire: it stands there still.
Ever the same – the "School-house on the Hill."

Long may it stand! its "shadow ne’er grow less"!
      Our children, and our children’s children may,
In years to come, rejoice in its success,
      And sing its praises; let us ever pray
For blessings on it, and, with hearty will,
Cherish for aye the "School-house on the Hill."


      * Published originally in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 21, 1869, Vol. 50, No. 8, p.2. It also was published in the book Poems of Nantucket. (Nantucket: Henry S. Wyer, 1888), pp. 55-58.

1873 POEMS. 1873

The Last Nantucket Whaler.*

      In Memoriam – Old Naughty-cus has been musing on the recent sale of the R. L. Barstow, and has strung out his musings into verse. He thinks the song contains both rhyme and reason; and though it may not be as good a "lay" as the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," or as truly poetical as the "Iles of Grease," we agree with him that it is more oleaginous than either.

When, in duck pants and shirt of check,
Elate, I paced the lighter's deck,
      A new-fledged, proud young sailor,
– How little I, so salt and bold,
Dreamed that my eyes would e'er behold
      The last Nantucket whaler!

Had one, with gift of second sight,
Made prophecy (as some one might,)
      That whaling soon would fail, or
Foretold that, within thirty years,
(The truth, as plainly now appears,)
      One lonely little whaler,

One solitary bark, would bear
The name "Nantucket" here and there
      In quest of giant whale, or
Drop anchor in some foreign port,
There to be sold, and thus report
      Herself as our last whaler,

I should, while headed "rounded Cape Horn,"
Have ridiculed and laughed to scorn
      The Idle, croaking railor!
He ne'er could have persuaded me
That I should over live to see
      The last Nantucket whaler.

Yet "gone's our occupation," now;
No longer do our proud ships plough
      The ocean under sail, or
Bronzed-faced young seamen walk our streets,
Or sit and tell tales of their feats
      Performed while in a whaler.

No more we hear of "on Japan,"
"Off Patagonia" or "Tristan,"
      Where blows th' Antarctic gale, or
"Adown the Line," or "Archer Ground;"
These have an unfamiliar sound,
      Since not a single whaler

Remains, of all the long, proud roll,
That once, almost from polo to pole,
      Defied the howling gale, or
Threw canvas to the gentle breeze,
And gathered wealth from tropic seas –
      – We've sold our last, last whaler!

No more we boast our wooden walls;
The boy, no longer duty calls
      To train himself a sailor,
Our hundred ships, all lost or sold,
(Like Thebes's hundred gates of old,)
Exist but in old story told
      By some grey-bearded whaler.

But cheerfully we face the truth;
We retrospect upon our youth,
      But don't complain, or wail, or
Blubber about what once we had;
– It can't be helped, – but give one sad
      "Farewell!" to our last whaler.


      * Attributed to William H. Macy. Published in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 29, 1873, Vol. 53, No. 39, p.2.

1874 POEMS. 1874

Gas-triloquy.*

Pater-familias (solus).
”Cheap gas" – or Kerosene – that is the question;
Whether 'tis better to stick to the old lamps,
And run the risk of being burned alive,
Or blown into the middle of next week,
– Or to employ the plumber's art, forthwith,
And put in fixtures, – if we have them not, –
Discard the vile petroleum, and have
A cheap, convenient, and safer light,
At half the old rate – 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To read; – to sleep; –
To nod; perchance t' o'erturn the lamp; enough;
For in that dread explosion which attends
An accident like this, one might contrive
To shuffle off this mortal coil, perhaps, –
Put out the lamp of life, (O wick-ed fate!)
For who would bear the use of dirty rags,
Odors of kerosene, cracked chimneys, fingers burned,
And all the plagues petroleum entails,
When he might do away with all at once,
And make life joyous, burning gas at cost?
But that the dread of something afterward,
– The bill-collector's call, – puzzles the purse,
And makes us rather bear the ills we have
Than fly to blessings that we can't afford?
Thus poverty makes cowards of us all;
And thus the impulse to turn on the gas
Is checked and hampered by the sordid thought,
That bids us hesitate and count the coat.

      *      *      *      *      *      *     

Away, this doubt! this base irresolution!
I'll have the gas, it I give up tobacco!
Away, these Lamps! Send me the plumber, straight,
And usher in the piping times of peace!
I'll set the pipes, e'en as my thoughts, to meter,
Nor longer waste the time in gas-conade!

(Exit.)

      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 14, 1874, Vol. 54, No. 37, p.2.

      While there is no attribution for this poem, the style suggests that William H. Macy might have been its author.

1875 POEMS. 1875

For the Inquirer and Mirror.

Verbena.*

The shades of night were fading fast,
When by Nantucket isle there passed,
A steamer, scorning all the ice --
A flow'r in Winter's nosegay nice, --
                  Verbena!

She brought the males, but not as yet,
The mails of English alphabet!
At Quidnet, near the morning's dawn,
She lay, fond hope to hearts forlorn,
                  Verbena!

The passengers will bless the hour
That freed them from the Ice King's Power;
And sweetest of earth's floral bloom,
Will be, through every winter's gloom,
                  Verbena!


      * This poem, appearing in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 23, 1875, Vol. 55, No. 30, p.2, is not clearly attributed to Macy as the author, but the subject and style would suggest he was the author.

1875 POEMS. 1875

Annual Meet'n.*

      Jerusha Jenkins went to the Annual Meeting last week, as is evident from the "pome" she sends us. She must have been well disguised, or the lords of creation would have been horrified. She says her piece may be sung to the tune of "The King of the Cannibal Islands," whatever that may be:

It was so cold the other day.
I couldn't work. I couldn't play,
So I resolved to spend the day,
        Attendin' Annual Meet'n.
So down to 'Tlantic Hall I went,
Where an attentive ear I lent,
To learn how money should be spent
        As shown at the Annual Meet'n.

Then all the orators uprose,
I swan, I thought they'd come to blows,
Just as they stood, in dress-up clothes,
        Right there in the Annual Meet'n.
So many subjects were discussed.
Some of the talk was calm and just,
And some so silly, I thought I'd bust
        With laughter at Annual Meet'n.

I learned that guardians of the schools
Are necessarily knaves or fools,
Accordin' to all human rules,
        – This I learned at the Annual Meet'n.
I thought, if every town or city
Must thus abuse its School Committee,
Once every year, the more's the pity
        We had any Annual Meet'n.

They voted to put wimmen on,
I wondered that, in years bygone,
They hadn't sent 'em round Cape Horn
        By vote at the Annual Meet'n.
Now into office they must go.
It seems so strange that this is so.
But 'tis the fact, as I well know,
        – I was there at Annual Meet'n.

And when another year rolls round,
The ladies must all right be found,
Or they will be to powder ground
        In the mill of the Annual Meet'n.
O glorious days of Woman's Rights!
When for the offices she fights,
And anxious days, and sleepless nights
        Are hers during Annual Meet'n.

"O woman, in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy and hard to please,"
Only to think, that in times like these,
        Her name is in Annual Meet'n!
That they who've heretofore been slaves,
May be made "Cullers of Coopers' Staves,"
And, next year, stigmatized as knaves
        By vote of the Annual Meet'n!

I went to see what I could learn,
And heard the speakers, turn and turn,
Until they voted to adjourn,
        And break up the Annual Meet'n.
I listened to bad rhetoric,
Till of it I was tired and sick,
It touched my feelin's to the quick,
        What I saw at the Annual Meet'n.

I'm thankful now that all is o'er,
And never want to hear no more
Such stuff as I heard talked before
        The people at Annual Meet'n.
Hokee, Pokee, Sassyfras,
Foolish talk and noisy gas,
Pollytiks may go to grass,
        If that's an Annual Meet'n.

Jerushy Jenkins.

      * Published in the "Miscellaneous Items" column of the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 27, 1875, Vol. 55, No. 35, p.2. The title has been added.

      Macy often published his poems in the Inquirer and Mirror with attribution to different fictional persons.

      A fragment of the poem was reproduced in Wyer's Sea Girt Nantucket: A Handbook of Historical and Contemporaneous Information for Visitors (2d ed., Nantucket, 1906) where it was described as "a clever satirical poem" and attributed to Macy.

1875 POEMS. 1875

Jerushy Jenkins has spoken her piece.*

      Jerushy Jenkins is believed to be a traitor in the camp; and she will not be surprised to hear from one of her indignant sisters. Surely Mehitabel has a good right to be heard, though she boils over at the start, and then simmers down at the close. But let her poetic indignation speak for itself:

Jerusha Jenkins has spoken her piece
      Concerning the Annual Meeting,
There is no more sense to it than cackling of geese,
      Or a stray sheep, wofully bleating;
And first of all, I don't believe she was there,
      My husband says he never knew it;
And he was there, I know, and talked his full share,
      I don't think she'd venture to do it.

She don't seem to like it, that women should be
      Elected to serve in high places:
Good Lord! what do we care for such folks an she?
      When we women get "into the traces."
She'll see better works done on roads and in schools,
      And more will be done for less money,
The land! does she think all her own sex are fools,
      That against us she tries to be funny?

It's admitted by people of sense the world through,
      That women are good educators
Of children, and isn't it equally true,
      That in finance, we're good calculators?
Let us all have a chance, for we think it is hard
      If we don't prove the best politicians,
When we all go and vote, without further regard
      To sex, color, or previous conditions.

There are so many places that ladies can fill
      Better far than the "lords of creation,"
They must have a vote, and what's morn, they soon will,
      And control the affairs of the nation.
Now, as for being chosen as "Cullers of Staves,"
      Why not, if they know how to do it?
And if next year, they're sent to political graves,
      Don't fear, they'll contrive to live through it.

Jerushy, your ears ought to tingle with shame
      To write thus concerning your sisters,
I wonder you dared to append your full name,
      Why don't you come up and assist us?
If you really have talent – I own you have some.
      Employ it in lifting up Woman:
When she is enfranchised, the good time will come,
      And we'll be beholden to no man.

Now as for the gas that you hear at Town Hall,
      I quite agree with you about it,
'Tis our mission to put an end to it all,
      And do the work better without it.
Come into our ranks, an a welcome recruit,
      The war into Afric we'll carry,
We'll train the Town Meet'n – ay, down to the root,
      Or my name's not

Mehitabel Sperry.

      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 6, 1875, Vol. 55, No. 36, p.2.

      Title has been added from the first line.

1875 POEMS. 1875

Tawtemeo – A Fragment.*

The shades of night were falling fast,
As round Brant point a good sloop passed,
And to the pier her hawsers cast –

Tawtemeo!

Then music raised its stirring tone,
Great guns were fired and fog-horns blown,
That her arrival might be known –

Tawtemeo!

Once more, in his own native place,;
The Captain, with his Ray-diant face,
Can tell his stories with a grace –

Tawtemeo!

How for two months he has been gone,
Long enough to have reached Cape Horn –
In Woods Hole, ice-bound and forlorn –

Tawtemeo!

Long may the honest captain tell
Of all the mishaps that befell,
During that long, cold, bitter spell –

Tawtemeo!

Through ice-fields did the good sloop drive
In eighteen hundred seventy-five
She came forth safe and all alive –

Tawtemeo!

Propitious gales the old craft bless
Through many years of good success.
And "may her shadow ne'er grow less!"

Tawtemeo!

      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 20, 1875, Vol. 55, No. 38, p.2.

      This poem was also published in the following book: The Story of the Island Steamers by Harry Baker Turner, Inquirer and Mirror Press, 1910, pp.57-58.

      "There are doubtless many persons still living who recall the old sloop "Tawtemeo," which succeeded the "Portugal," and ran as a packet for many years between Nantucket and New Bedford under command of Capt. John Ray. The "Tawtemeo" was first owned by the Nantucket Steamboat Company, and in 1855 was sold for $2,300 to Captain Ray. This old sloop was frequently used for transporting the mails at times when the island steamers were not in service, and, in a way, her history is entwined with that of the old steamboats. She continued in service as a "packet" until May, 1881, when she was sold and left Nantucket, the death of her venerable skipper having occurred a few months prior to her departure. The old sloop ended her days as a barge on the Connecticut coast. Few are there of Nantucket lineage who, in speaking of the old "Tawtemeo," do not recall at least a portion of the following little "jingle" penned by the late William H. Macy:"

1875 POEMS. 1875

The Blind Father's Christmas.*


'Twas Christmas Eve, and the father sat by his home fireside,
While the wintry storm in fury, howled around the house outside;
He had kissed his youngest darlings, ere they hied away to bed,
With a "Good Night" and a blessing on each weary little head.

And still he sat there, thinking of each Christmas in the past,
From the earliest, dim in distance, to one year ago, the last;
For each had its tender memories, some so joyous! some so sad
That the merry greeting had no power to make the heart feel glad.

For his past life had been chequered by Fortune's smiles and frowns,
Full of wanderings and adventures. changes, and ups and downs;
Hope and courage had not failed him, where'er his lot was cast,
For earth had one bright haven, where he hoped to moor at last.

He had sailed the treacherous ocean, for many years, indeed,
He had battled for his country in her hour of direst need;
But ever looking forward to the time he hoped would come,
When his wanderings should be ended in the dear delights of home.

Brief was the term of happiness, which had been so enjoyed;
In the very prime of manhood, life was made almost a void;
A strange blindness closed upon him, till the day became as night,
And the faces of his loved ones slowly faded out of sight!

Yet he sees them all in memory, those faces loved so well,
Carrie, Joe, and little Jennie, stout Willie and bright-eyed Belle;
And two sweet infants sleeping now beside their mother dear,
At thought of this most crushing blow starts the unbidden tear.

For she, so true and tender, who had journeyed at his side
Through all changes of his life, was stricken down and died,
When his eyes had grown too dim to see the dear, wan, wasted face,
But his mental vision sees her, as in days of youth and grace.

She had left to him a legacy, – the children, dear to both,
And he felt the obligation, sacred more than any oath;
Yet how much, – rather how little, – could a helpless blind man do,
Except by moral influence to keep them good and true?

He hears the eldest daughter, filling now the mother's place,
Arrange the children's treasures with ready tact and grace,
For Santa Claus, the Bountiful, had planned a glad surprise
For all those slumbering innocents, to greet their waking eyes.

"A Merry Christmas, Father! I've arranged the things all right,"
(She anticipates a little, for it is not yet midnight,)
Soon the last good-night is spoken, all the house is hushed in sleep,
Save the father, left alone, his sad and sightless watch to keep.

All the presents lie on the table, O! for the boon of sight!
To see them, and to share in full the little ones' delight!
"It can never be," says Science, "'tis useless more to try,"
Can we wonder that the father still asks the question, Why?

'Tis Christmas morn! and early the darlings are awake,
O! happiest day of all the year, for the dear children's sake!
There are treasures spread before them, – pretty things so nice and rare,
That in their view the wealth of Ophir no comparison will bear.

He hears their merry shouts, as they discuss and praise them all,
The scarf, the knife, the picture-book, the doll, the rubber ball;
"Isn't it pretty, Father?" cries the youngest, wild with glee,
Then lowers her voice so sadly, "I forget that you can't see!"

Let him pray for strength of purpose, and for counsel from above,
To bear his cross more bravely, to deserve his children's love;
With the thought of his lost happiness e'er present to his mind,
His is not a merry Christmas;'tis enough to be resigned.

Though calm may seem the outward life, its bright spots are but few,
And when his thoughts at Christmas-tide call up the past anew,
Spite of resignation, spite of faith in Justice by and by,
Is it wonder that the father finds himself still asking, Why?

W. H. M.

      * This poem was noted by "A.E.J." in a letter to the editors of the Inquirer and Mirror, March 4, 1876, under the title "A Beautiful Poem". The copy for the above transcription was found on the ancestry.com website.

      Phebe Ann [Winslow] Macy, William's wife, had died in the preceding year on March 30, 1875. The line of the poem "Carrie, Joe, and little Jennie, stout Willie and bright-eyed Belle" refers to his five living children, Caroline L., Joseph H., Mary Jennie, William F., and Isabel W. Their ages at Christmas 1875 would have been 17, 14, 4, 7, and 9 respectively.

      The line in the poem "And two sweet infants sleeping now beside their mother dear," is reference to Susan Rebecca who died in 1860 and Gertrude who died in 1874 at 6 months.

1876 POEMS. 1876

.  .  .  . 

      Another thing that should have been added to the evening's programme failed to appear. Some modest poet, who did not care to be known, wrote the following verses, probably after the singing of the song, "Our Grandfathers' Days," taking an opposite view. The were found by a lady after the exercises had closed, enclosed in an envelope, lying on the vestibule floor, directed: "Please read to the audience." We have complied with the author's request in the last stanza, and committed the manuscript to the flames:

We've All Heard the Song so Cleverly Sung.*

We've all heard the song so cleverly snug,
      Got up by our friend, a new subject to raise;
But I don't believe, just because we are young,
      That all things were right in our grandfathers' days.

We all have heard tell how in the year '96,
      Some fellow, who wished the hard money to raise,
Broke into the vaults of the Nantucket Bank
      And ran off with the funds in our grandfathers' days.

And in these latter days, when the rights of our women,
      Are held up by some as a subject of praise,
We look back to the time of our "Miriam Coffin,"
      That strong-minded Tory of our grandfathers' days.

How, near our Straight Wharf, in her then famous dwelling,
      Her parlors were bright by the fire's cheerful blaze;
And she, for the sake of her full coffers swelling,
      Would feed the proud foe in our grandfathers' days.

Then again at our shearings, by Washing Pond's borders,
      When the sheep packed in pens met the drivers' keen gaze,
On many an ear where a "fork" had been marked,
      Appeared a "half-take" in our grandfathers' days.

I know not the author of friend Tobey's verses song,
      Which were sung in a manner to merit our praise;
But I shrewdly suspect that the poet's grandfather
      Was Miriam's guest in our grandfather's days.

Will the reader, when these few lines he has finished,
      Just give them at once to the fire's cheerful blaze;
At the author don't wish for those who succeed us
      To hear of the "sad dogs" of our grandfathers' days.


      "The writer of the above was undoubtedly mistaken in regard to the authorship of "Our Grandfathers' Days." – [Eds.


      * Appeared in the article "The Unitarians' Centennial Tea Company"Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket) Feb 26, 1876, Vol. 56, No. 35, p.2.

1876 POEMS. 1876

      Our machine poet declares there are two sides to everything, and so he grinds out some encore verses to the popular poem of

Forty Years Ago.*

How wondrous are the changes, Jim,
      Since forty years ago,
When girls wore light, thin slippers, Jim,
      Even in rain and snow;
And corset boards and whalebone stays,
      That hurt and cramped them so,
They are better dressed to-day, Jim,
      Than forty years ago.

'Tis true our girls wove cloth, Jim,
      In those old slow-coach days,
But aren't they now as well employed
      A hundred different ways?
A girl would be a ninny, Jim,
      To waste her leisure so,
For times are greatly altered, Jim,
      Since forty years ago.

And as for needle-work, Jim,
      Wouldn't a girl be green,
To work all day by hand, if she
      Could get a nice machine?
Women used to be fools, Jim,
      But now it is not so:
I guess they've learned a thing or two,
      Since forty years ago.

They tell of "good old times," Jim,
      But who'd want to go back
To those old, stupid, clumsy ways,
      Unless his wits were slack?
They worked a good deal by main strength,
      But they've no right to blow –
'Twas cause they knew no better, Jim,
      Some forty years ago.

Before we bought that stove, Jim,
      (Which never did explode )
It makes me shiver now to think
      Of wood by the cart-load,
Piled up against the chimney back
      Andiron to lift it higher,
And what a dreadful job we had
      Trying to make a fire.

With back-log, fore-stick. go-betweens,
      And cat-sticks all in pile,
We puffed with bellows at the flame
      And froze our backs the while;
With flint and steel and tinder-box,
      Brimstone that wouldn't go –
We gave our fingers awful knocks,
      Some forty years ago.

The light of other days, Jim,
      Was brought home in our ships,
Petticoat lamps, and candle-sticks,
      Whale-oil and tallow-dips
Such lights were dirty, dull and mean,
      As you and I well know –
We'd neither gas nor kerosene,
      Some forty years ago.

And so we might keep talking, Jim,
      Of those old stupid times,
'Till all gut hearers would be tired
      Of nonsense strung in rhymes.
We hadn't many comforts then,
      We hadn't Jim, that's so,
Although we rubbed along, somehow,
      Some forty years ago.

'Tis said that folks were honest then,
      It seems so at first glance,
If they weren't so bad as now, Jim,
      They hadn't the same chance.
We may growl and grumble at the times,
      But one thing we both know,
We don't want to go back, Jim,
      To forty years ago.


      * This poem was probably written by William H. Macy. It was published in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 15, 1876, Vol. 56, No. 42, p.1.

1876 POEMS. 1876

Our Birthdays are as Milestones.*

Our birthdays are as milestones
      Set in our life's highway,
To mark to us the flight of years,
      Filled slowly, day by day;
We heed not the swift lapse of time,
      Until the rounded year
Adds still another to our count,
      And brings the end more near.

If retrospection may look back
      Upon a life well-spent,
Age surely has no terrors then,
      The heart must rest content;
From the ripe harvest in the sheaf
      We've laid up future store,
We reach the "sere and yellow leaf,"
      Ask but for rest – no more.

So let each birthday, as it comes,
      Be met with joyous calm!
Let social pleasures bless the hour
      And music lend its charm;
Old age steals on insensibly,
      And life's declining sun
Slants his last rays across the past,
      Shining on work well done.


      * This poem appeared in an article entitled "Birthday Party" in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 9, 1876, Vol. 57, No. 24, p.2. The article described the celebration of the forty-fourth birthday of Mrs. Benjamin Sharp at the residence of Rev. N. A. Haskell, on Pleasant street.

      The title has been added from the poem's first line.

      The poem was preceded with the following note: "Miss Stella Chase followed Mr. Rich, presenting to the company the verses below, from the pen of William H. Macy, Esq., written for the occasion:"

1877 POEMS. 1877

For the Inquirer and Mirror.

Derondamania.*


BY W. H. M.

      Jerusha Jenkins thus ventilates her thoughts upon the new book, of which she has heard so much. She thinks she may be allowed the privilege of doing so, for she can't believe that all of those who talk and write about it, have ever read it through.

I'm no great of a reader, you know,
      (At least, I thought all of ye knew so,)
Though I used to like Daniel Defoe,
      (I mean him that writ Robbison Crusoe,)
And John Bunyan's "Progress.: I say,
      Was to me a delight and a wonder,
But I'm made almost crazy to-day,
      By this talk about – Daniel Deronda.

I wondered much who he could be,
      I'd heard about Daniel O'Connell,
The great patriot over the sea,
      (Mike Flinn used to call him O'Donnell.)
Our great Webster, too, was called Dan,
      He also was called "Great Expounder,"
(I don't mean the spellin'-book man,)
      But who on airth's – Daniei Deronda?

I know about Daniel of old,
      Cast into the den full of lions,
Daniel Dancer, the miser, so cold,
      Daniel Lambert, that fattest of giants.
These were all famous men in their way,
      But my memory had to knock under,
All those men are forgotten to-day,
And, instead, I hear "Daniel Deronda!"

If I only go out on the street,
      I'm subject to just the same bother.
Wherever two young people meet,
      I'm sure to hear something or other
Concerning this pesky hard name,
      Which to me was a puzzle and wonder,
The question was always the same,
      "How do you like Daniel Deronda!"

I heard one young lady declare
      That the least said of him, soonest mended,
While her, friend, with a toss of her hair,
      Said she thought that' Daniel was "splendid!"
So "elegant," "noble," and "nice,"
      With other pet words; even fonder,
I was tempted to ask; once or twice,
      Why, who is this Daniel Deronda?

I picked up the last magazine,,
      'Twas lying on Mrs. Brown's sofa,
She smiled, for she knows that I'm green,
      I ran the leaves hastily over.
I confess I was struck all aghast,
      Though I wouldn't express any wonder,
For almost from first page to last,
      'Twas "Re-views of Daniel Deronda."

My husband's much exercised too,
      For even his old daily Journal
Has a column or two of "Review,"
      About what be calls "that infernal
Dry stuff that would give him the blues."
      And sometimes he asks, "Why in thunder
Don't the editors give us some news,
      Instead of this Daniel Deronda?"

"Why that's news," said I, "I suppose,
      At least the young people so tell us."
"It is?" says he. "Well, the Lord knows
      I don't read about such queer fellers.
When I used to go round Cape Horn,
      We cruised for whales off Rock Redonda,
But never yet since I was born
      Did I hear such a name as De-ronda,"

Just then comes in Malviny Jane,
      With her book from the old Atheneum,
She gets books that are silly and vain,
      And don't always want me to see 'em.
But now, full of pleasure and pride,
      She danced about, hither and yonder,
"O mother! I've got it!" she cried,
      "Yes, Ma! I've got Daniel Deronda!".

"Set right down Malviny!" says I,
      "For now I can't stand it no longer,
If I don't find out soon, I shall die,
      My cur'osity can't grow no stronger.
I won't ask nobody outside,
For fear I might make some great blunder,
      But what means year pleasure and pride?
And, for land's sake, who's Daniel Deronda?"

"Why, lor, Ma!" says she, "Don't you know?
      He's just the young ladles' ideal,
He's pictured and colored up so,
      You'd almost believe he was real."
"Real! Why, what do you mean?
      Is he a stuffed figger, I wonder?
Don't laugh at your Ma, 'cause she's green!
      But tell me who's Daniel Deronda?"

Then Malviny gave such a look,
      My husband's face went down to zero, –
"Why, George Elliott's made a new book
      And put Daniel in for a hero."
"George Elliott?" I cried, "and who's he?
      Our minister's grandson, I wonder?"
"His grandson!" she laughed, "It's a she!
      It's a woman wrote Daniel Deronda!"

"Malviny! Don't tell me no more!
      I hain't got the patience to listen!
How can you tell, if you don't know her,
      Whether'ts a her'n,or a his'n?"
I put on my dignity then
      And Malviny knookled right under,
But my husband has no patience when
      He hears or sees "Daniel Deronda."

"A woman that wears a man's name,
      Ain't much," says he, "my way o' thinkins,
Jerusha, I'd say just the same
      If you signed your name as George Jenkins.
True wimmin are wimmin, d'ye see,
      And don't let their ambition wander,
What business has women to be
      George Elliot or Dan'l Deronda?"

But I can't drive cur'osity out,
      And so I determined to feed it,
Took the book when Malviny was out,
      And neglecting work, set down to read it.
And so, as I read more and more,
      I was filled with delight and with wonder,
That woman, I'm crazy to know her.
      That writ about Daniel Deronda.

I read till my back and eyes ached,
      (I was never before such a sinner,)
My bread's In the oven half baked,
      And my spouse had to whistle for dinner.
He came in and caught me by surprise,
      Looked over my shoulder; "By thunder!
Jerusha, can I trust my eyes?
      She's readin' that Daniel Deronda!"


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 3, 1877, Vol. 57, No. 32, p.2.

1877 POEMS. 1877

Our Temperance Jubilee.*

One year has passed since that first meeting
      Where our movement was begun,
Welcome to-night with joyous greeting
      To review the work we've done.
We've saved some scores of friends from falling
      In the gulf of despair,
And still the warning voice is calling
      Unto young and old, "Beware."
Chorus
            Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
                  Be sober and be free!
            Come join us in our celebration'.
                  Of our Temperance Jubilee!

Our hearts are strong, our numbers growing.
      We have won true men's applause,
Our ranks will fill to overflowing
      For we serve a righteous cause.
Not man alone, but woman's moving,
      She is with us, hand and heart,
In all that's good she's clearly proving
      She can nobly bear her part.
Chorus
            Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
                  The star of hope we see!
            It shines upon This celebration
                  Of our Temperance Jubilee!

Come swell the chorus we are singing,
      And we'll raise it clear and strong,
The walls of old Town Hall are ringing
      With the music of our song.
We're bound to save our wandering brothers,
      Who are struggling in the storm,
With the blessings of their wives and mothers
      On the temperance reform.
Chorus
            Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
                  Come join us and be free!
            Come Join us in the celebration
                  Of our Temperance Jubilee.


      * Published in the article "Temperance Anniversary: Ice Cream Party – Decorations, Speeches, Music, Toasts, Songs, Etc." in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 1, 1877, Vol. 58, No. 9, p.2.

      "Prof. Whipple then called for the Temperance Jubilee song, written for the occasion by W. H. Macy, Esq., and sung by. Geo. B. Randall, assisted by Mr. W. B. Stevens upon the organ, and Messrs. James Luce and Samuel Thurston with chorus. It was received with applause and encore. We are permitted to print the song."

1877 POEMS. 1877

Our First Anniversary.*

One year has dropped into the past,
      Since first the call was sounded,
No clang of boll or trumpet blast
      Through our old town resounded
Nor beat of drum, nor ringing peal;
      The sisterly, kind greeting
Of one lone woman, filled with zeal,
      Called the first temperance meeting.

Nor courage well deserved the name
      Of Spartan or of Roman,
Though scarce a dozen people came
      At call of this brave woman.
The seed was sown, It struck deep root,
      Its growth has been surprising;
To-day we are harvesting the fruit
      Of the first year's uprising.

We welcome those who've been reclaimed
      From rum and all its terrors,
Who now declare themselves ashamed
      Of former faults and errors.
They've joined the ranks of sober men
      Who're proud to call them brothers;
Of late their noble task has been
      The work of saving others.

The meetings, started by so few,
      Have grown and swelled in numbers,
Our pledge-roll counts its hundreds, too,
      The interest never slumbers.
So many, holding adverse views,
      Take part in the discussions,
Not less adsorbing than the news
      From the fierce Turks and Russians.

For some go for a license law,
      Others for prohibition;
While some would make no law at all,
      But sell without condition.
Some trust our own unaided strength
      Sufficient for resistance;
Others for God's grace pray at length,
      Asking Divine assistance.

Is drink a crime, or a disease?
      The law, or the physician?
Argue the subject as we please,
      Each side holds its position.
Are rum shops to be closed by prayer,
      Or forcible invasion?
Shall we employ mob violence there,
      Or gentle moral suasion?

Let minor differences aside,
      And join in this great movement,
And let it be our boast and pride
      To work for man's improvement.
And let us work with all the vim
      That God and nature gave us,
For thousands in disease and sin,
      Are crying. "Come and save us!"

Encouraged by the year's success
      We now renew our labors,
And victory will our efforts bless,
      Lifting our fallen neighbors.
Reform's the rallying cry for all,
      Raise its bright standard o'er us;
Onward, responsive to the call!
      On to the work before us!


      * Published in the article "Temperance Anniversary: Ice Cream Party – Decorations, Speeches, Music, Toasts, Songs, Etc." in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 1, 1877, Vol. 58, No. 9, p.2.

      "Miss Louise S. Baker next read with fine effect the following poem, written by William H. Macy, Esq."

1877 POEMS. 1877

Poetry.
For the Inquirer and Mirror.

Too Sharp for Him.*

Our neighbor Dobson's wits are pretty cute,
      Though he is but a butcher by profession,
He puzzles all his friends with cubic root,
      And sums in arithmetical progression,
And in his syntax he's so absolute,
      The best of us are fain to make confession,
That he, like Hamlet's sexton, puts it to us
So that "equivocation will undo us."


While standing at his door the other day,
      Waiting for customers, he saw Joe Russell.
Joe's noted for his strength; 'tis but child's play,
      To lift a round five hundred, on his muscle;
No ordinary man, we dare to say,
      Would want to grapple with him for a tussle,
But Dobson lightly on the shoulder hit him,
Determined with a smart joke to outwit him.

"Joe," said the butcher, "I have no belief
      In your great strength, but here's a chance to test it,
Throw off your coat, shoulder that side of beef,
      (Four hundred pounds, – I've weighed it since I dressed it,)
Go round the square – the distance is but brief,
      And never lay it down (thus he expressed it,)
And there's a chance for you to earn five dollars,
Pocket it, and go off with flying colors."

"The beef is heavy and my purse is light,
      What if I fail?" said Joe. "You'll lose no money,
In any case, I don't think 'twould be right
      To make an even bet, so don't fear, sonny,
Whether you fail or not, you'll be all right.
      I pay five dollars, if you win; it's funny
If you whose strength is boasted through the town,
Can't carry that meat and never lay it down."

The young man pondered, then with knowing wink,
      Glanced at a stout hook in the beam beside him.
"Old Dobson, I can do the job, I think."
      (The butcher thought how he should soon deride him)
Went to the water-pail and took a drink,
      And while the bystanders all sharply eyed him,
Shouldered the beef, balancing it with care,
And started on his journey round the square.

The great feat was accomplished with much ease,
      While a large crowd to witness it assembled.
Joe showed no signs of weakness at the knees,
      Nor stopped, nor wavered once, nor even trembled.
Said Dobson, "Here on this bench, if you please."
      Joe hesitated and for once dissembled;
He made a move, as if to drop his load,
Then turned, and straight across the market strode.

He lifted up his burden to the hook,
      Forcing it through the meat, – and left it pendent, –
Turned toward the butcher with that knowing look,
      "I reckon I've done the job, and there's the and on't."
Then from the stake-holder the money took,
      And with an air quite "saucy independent,"
Five dollars richer, started for the door,
      While all the crowd saluted with a roar.

"Say, Dobson, don't got mad at this," he said,
      "The Lord you know loveth a cheerful giver,
I know you have smart crotchets in your head,
      And in the use of words you're mighty clever,
But when you offered me this job, you laid
      A little too much emphasis on never.
I never laid it down, and never will, –
I hung it up! and there 'tis hanging still!"

W. H. M.           

      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 8, 1877, Vol. 58, No. 23, p.1.

1878 POEMS. 1878

Our Lyceum.*

Written by W. H. Macy, Esq.
Read by Miss Stella Chase.


Out in the Atlantic so far from the coast,
      Our island almost like a prison is,
In winter, when we're ice-olated, the most,
      There's dearth of amusement and business,
And something we must do to keep us employed,
      And give the long evening's variety,
So among our resources to fill up this void,
      We have formed a Debating Society.

The Sherburne Lyceum 'tis called, and at first,
      The project seemed rather chimerical,
We could hardly expect any eloquent burst,
      Either forensic, legal or clerical;
But we've started the ball, and it's still rolling on,
      Our success has been full, to satiety,
And new members are coming in weekly to join,
      Our Sherburne Debating Society.

Here many grave questions are freely discussed,
      Historical, moral, political,
And much sport enjoyed, but the auditors must
      Not be too exacting or critical.
Two champions lead off, and then others express
      Opinions in great contrariety,
And discussion takes much latitude, we confess,
      In our Sherburne Debating Society.

The subject for talk the first regular night
      Was the question of right and expediency.
And the next in the course – if my memory's right,
      Was that of man's free moral agency.
At nine, P. M., sharp, the discussion must close,
      Later hours shock our sense of propriety,
There are so many elderly folks among those
      Who make up our Debating Society.

No visitors to the debates are allowed,
      This rule tantalizes the curious,
Our third question greatly delighted the crowd,
      "Is the reading of novels injurious?"
Luck or pluck? Circumstances or personal strength?
      Was argued with zeal and sobriety,
And, indeed, the debate was extended in length
      By special vote of the Society.

Woman Suffrage made up the next scene in the play,
      (Poor woman: poor down-trodden prisoners!)
But a stormy night kept many members away,
      So the champions had but few listeners.
Shall women turn out at elections? It shocks
      The old-fashioned sense of propriety.
O yes! she may go to the great ballot-box –
      So votes our Debating Society.

Is man to be swayed by the hope of reward?
      Or does his great moral obliquity
Demand that we bring in the strong arm of law,
      To punish him for his iniquity?
Is talent or wealth of more value to man,
      To attain a high place in society?
Why talent, of course, controvert it who can,
      In the teeth of our all-wise Society.

Must he who is honest forever be poor?
      Can man only get rich by rascality?
Have I named all the questions? Why no, I am sure
      We argued the soul's immortality,
A subject that furnished some rare food for thought,
      And a good chance to show off our piety,
And much talent to the discussion was brought
      Before our Debating Society.

But instead of the old interrogative form,
      Our questions are mostly declarative,
'Tween Nature and Art, the dispute will wax warm,
      Concerning their merits comparative.
For this will come off two weeks hence, and meanwhile
      To give to our sessions variety,
We have some miscellaneous matters on file,
      To be read up before the Society.

Though sharp and incisive our arguments be,
      The feeling is over harmonious;
"Give and take" is our motto, discussion is free,
      And thus we may say with Polonius,
Discussion is good, it elicits the truth,
      To the mind it gives scope and variety,
So come into our ranks, sober age and bright youth,
      Come and join our Debating Society.


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 4, 1878, Vol. 58, No. 44, p.1

      Article title: Sherburne Lyceum Papers: Original Poems and Essays read at the last regular meeting, Monday evening, April 29, 1878.

1878 POEMS. 1878

Gossip.*

Written By W. H. Macy.
Read by Miss Mary M. Brown.


The poet and the satirist have sung
How venomous may be the gossip's tongue,
How it may stab and wound, nay even kill
Its victim not intending any ill
'Tis even true, yet so much may depend
Upon the victim's self, we apprehend,
The tell tales may themselves be most surprised
That all the venom may be neutralized
We all love gossip, all must guilty plead,
For 'tis the spice of which we stand in need,
In every year a trumpery mouth is found
Though some like trumpery the whole year round,
And in their conversation plainly wish
That spice should make up nearly the whole dish.
After discussing our own cares and labors,
'Tis natural to talk about our neighbors,
A little crooked poet in his verse,
Gave us this line, for better or for worse, –
We wrote it in our copy book, it ran,
"The proper study of mankind is man"
Thus man must surely talk about his brother,
And all the race make gossip of each other,
None can escape, 'tis useless then to scold,
For people will repeat what they hear told,
You can't escape what scandal puts afloat,
But then – you can apply the antidote.
The wisest course is not to scold or frown,
Not hunt the story up, but live it down.

Our neighbor Brown, – we've known him thirty years, –
This morning with a troubled face appears,
Because he bas been seen, so is told,
Entering a place where rum and gin are sold,
Now Brown knows very well, – and so do I,
His errand there was such as might defy
The breath of scandal, were the whole truth known,
Even seat him higher on his moral throne.
For there were good sufficient causes why
He didn't tell the whole; – neither will I,
Though by the virtuous gossips he's been caught,
His long, fair record must not go for naught,
Conscious of rectitude, as you are Brown,
Don't hunt the story up, but live it down.

The little maiden who perchance may feel
Her heart inspired with philanthropic zeal,
To act a part deserving of all praise,
Leading the erring back to better ways,
Must she too be a victim for the sting
Of idle scandal, ever on the wing?
Its vigilance untiring, never sleeps,
We judge her by the company she keeps
The gossips say, "Why not? Of course we must."
But is this maxim always right and just?
'Tis partly true, but carried out in full,
'Twould all our noblest efforts backward pull,
'Twould check the heart's impulses, pure and warm,
Set brakes upon the car wheels of reform
'Twould strike at all the bravest and the best,
Jesus himself would fall under this test,
Publicans and sinners, now as of old,
Furnish a field for efforts strong and bold,
Go on then, maiden, nobly bear your part
Cased in the armor of your own pure heart,
Should idle words assail your fair renown,
Don't hunt the stories up, but live it down.

No man or woman can expect to be
Safe at all times, from scandals archery
Let each so live that acting as a charm,
His life the hurtless arrow may disarm,
Let each live justly, strong in good intent,
Mens conscia recti on true purpose bent,
So shall we bear our cross and earn our crown,
Don't hunt up gossip, then, but live it down.



      * Inquirer and Mirror, May 4, 1878, Vol. 58, No. 44, p.1.

      Article title: Sherburne Lyceum Papers: Original Poems and Essays read at the last regular meeting, Monday evening, April 29, 1878.

1878 POEMS. 1878

      Another Original poem, written for the occasion by William H. Macy. Esq., was read by Miss Minnie Smith, with fine rhetorical effect, and received with applause. We give the poem as read:

Brave sentiments we are accustomed to hear.*

Brave sentiments we are accustomed to hear,
On this of all glorious days in the year,
Well expressed in oration, toast, poem and song;
Such alone to the day justly seem to belong.
'Tis hard to sound any new notes from the chimes,
Where the changes are sung over, hundreds of times.
Original poems! Indeed it would seem
That the author has only one text and one theme.
He must write of his country, the day of her birth,
And tell how great she is 'mong the nations of earth.
He may treat his theme grandly, in heroic strain,
Or he may choose to take up the humorous vein.
He may sing Yankee Doodle or Keller's Grand Hymn,
But there's nothing new under the sun loft for him.
He may rend rock and meadow, shake forest and glade,
With spread eagleism and rhodomontade.
He may write what he will, and on reading it o'er
Feel that this has been written by others before.
The same old aroma will hang round it still,
Patriotic, one must be; sublime, if he will.
But original, say you! 'Tis useless to try
When you burst into rhyme the Fourth of July.

Anniversary numbers one hundred and two!
Very well, and what then? Is there anything new?
Can we say or do anything under the sun
That some one else has not before said and done?
No, of course we cannot, so we'll e'en be content
With spending the day as of yore it was spent.
Don our holiday clothes, and go out pleasure-hunting,
While high aloft over us floats the proud bunting.
We list to the words of the grand "Declaration',"
(Political gospel for all this great nation)
Tom Jefferson gave them the true ring of Freedom
And ever since it is the fashion to read 'em,
On public occasions our souls to lift higher,
And with love of country our youth to inspire.
We meet all our friends with a holiday greeting,
Join in singing and dancing, in drinking and eating,
Endure with due patience the "able oration"
To give us keen appetites for the collation;
Submit to each rhymster's infliction in verse,
(Throw them into the hopper, for better or worse.)
Three cheers for the flag, and a blast of gunpowder,
Rammed home that the sound may be clearer and louder,
Affording a world of delight to the boys
Who rival each ether in making loud noise.
Each feels his heart thrill at the deafening sound,
And wishes 'Twas Forth of July – the year round,
But we greet the old story, so many times told,
Like the story of love, ever new though 'tis old.
There is something in barbecues, balls and picnics
Helps to keep up the spirit of "seventy-six;"
There is something in cheering and firing of guns
That stirs the young blood in the veins of our sons;
There is something in flaunting the rod, white and blue;
There is something in fish borns and fire crackers, too;
Young America's feelings find vent in this way,
For the Fourth of July is a jubilee day!

We would strive to retain all the spirit of old
Except ardent spirits; the man must be bold
Who in olden times dared to protest against drinking.
Each swallowed his brandy or wine without winking.
"A health to our country!" required deep libations,
As had been the practice in all older nations.
Post-prandial speeches 'twas thought would be better
If the speaker took something his tongue to unfetter.
The old-fashioned gentleman made it his boast
That with a full bumper he honored each toast,
And no one, not even the learned divine,
Saw any bad spirit in spirits of wine.
But a change of opinion has risen since then,
A new influence reaches all grave thinking men.
The Temperance Society sends invitation
With them to unite in the day's celebration.
With a Temperance banner to-day floating o'er us,
And the cold water song as a part of our chorus,
We may prove that America's great jubilee
Can be honored without going out on a "spree."
That we need sober heads for our country's defence,
That Freedom when used in its best, truest sense,
Means freedom from all that can hurt or oppress,
Submission to all that will lift up and bless,
Independence of shame, degradation and sin,
And safety from foes, both without and within;
In the family lies the true strength of our nation,
Let each family, then, have its own "Declaration."
Keep the protest of old and the new temperance oath,
And the Fourth of July may be sacred to both.


      * From the article: "Fourth of July: Temperance Celebration and Clambake" in theInquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Vol. 59, No. 1 (July 6, 1878), p.2.

      The title has been added from the first line of the poem.

1879 POEMS. 1879

Our Lyceum.*


The review of our doings was so well received
      When written and read here last season.
That, spoiled by your plaudits, the writer believed
      That this fact would afford a good reason
For trying again to make sketches in rhyme,
      And not let his nearest friends ace 'em,
But to have them on hand at the advertised time,
      To be read at the Sherburne Lyceum.

Our second year rather improved on the first,
      If we judge from the interest taken,
Though the weather on Mondays has been of the worst,
      We have ne'er had our confidence shaken.
In our sung cozy room we can seat a small crowd,
      They're not lost in a great coliseum;
And our speakers need not vociferate loud
      In debate at the Sherburne Lyceum.

We've had many a good intellectual feast
      And conflict of wits to remember;
To over a hundred our ranks have increased
      At the close of the year in December.
And now, if much larger our numbers shall grow,
      We must meet in the old Atheneum;
For one after another is tempted to go
      And join with the Sherburne Lyceum.

The first subject that we this season discussed
      Was the co-education of Boxes;
'T was thought such a thing would be proper and just,
      And then, one of our social defects is
That woman's no right, though she work e'er so late
      And burn the midnight petroleum,
To enter a college sustained by the State, –
      Yet can enter the Sherburne Lyceum.

Cremate 'em or burn 'em? Which shall we do?
      A grave subject to some of our members,
Though it treats of the dead, 'tis a live question, too;
      And, whether dust, ashes, or embers,
One may just as well be condensed into an urn
      As spread out in a big mausoleum;
And it is equally proper to bury or burn,
      So voted the Sherburne Lyceum.

On the spelling reform then our champions took ground,
      And some for phonetics contended,
That is, to spell all English words by their sound,
      While some the old language defended.
If we have the new system, its advocates say,
      You'll pronounce words as quick as you see 'em.
We've decided to keep jogging on the old way,
      By desire of the Sherburne Lyceum.

Are we thoroughly selfish in heart and in mind?
      Can we overcome that which we're born to?
Do we make sacrifices for love of our kind?
      Do we always do just as we want to?
This and similar questions of man's moral strength,
      Nice distinctions of tuum and meum
Were considered, debated, and argued at length
      A whole evening before the Lyceum.

Next, the question of war – can it be justified?
      Must nation rise up against nation?
Why cannot their quarrels be peaceably tried,
      And for war substitute arbitration?
No; go on and fight, when you have a just cause,
      Then for victory chant your Te Deum.
All this is in keeping with natural laws,
      For so votes the Sherburne Lyceum.

Free trade or high tariff? the question's not new,
      As you'll see by a glance retrospective.
Some favor a tariff to raise revenue;
      Some only a tariff protective;
While others would open our ports to all wares,
      From custom-house duties would free 'em,
No inspectors to trouble our private affairs,
      And thus votes the Sherburne Lyceum.

"The press or the pulpit?" 'Tis well understood
      That each is a great reform organ;
But which of the two is most potent for good,
      And how about Talmage and Morgan?
"Have pictures of sin any great saving power?"
      Can we heal moral sores and not see 'em?
Many questions like these we debate by the hour
      At the meetings of Sherburne Lyceum.

Both the press and the pulpit bravo champions found;
      Each fought for his chosen side stoutly;
And the clergy so valiantly stood their own ground
      And for victory prayed so devoutly,
That the press-gang wore into a tight corner driven,
      Whence valor and skill could not free 'em.
And the vote for the pulpit stood eighteen to 'leven,
      As the voice of the Sherburne Lyceum.


Our programme we trust will be pleasing to all;
      'Twas thought such a change would be pleasant;
So to-night for the first time we take Wendell's Hall,
      And invite a few friends to be present.
Should our numbers still grow and more space be required,
      We must meet in the old Atheneum.
Now let us wish – since of this jingle you're tired –
      Success to the Sherburne Lyceum.


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 15, 1879, Vol. 59, No. 33, pp.1-2.

      Article title: "Literary Levee."

      Special "literary and musical" meeting of the Sherburne Lyceum at Wendell's Hall on Monday, Feb. 10, 1879. William H. Macy's poem, "Our Lyceum" was read by Allen Coffin. Miss Stella L. Chase read Macy's "Then and Now: A Ballad of Nantucket" which "was excellent, eliciting deserved applause".

1879 POEMS. 1879

Then and Now:
A Ballad of Nantucket.*


Then.

Uncle Peleg stood on the sea-beach, at going down of sun,
Eighty years had bleached his scanty locks, his race is almost run;
But his fine old eye yet kindles, as he dons o'er memory's page,
And his words were even eloquent, though tremulous from age.

One scarce would think that in his prime he stood full six feet four,
That form so bent with weight of years, yet so erect of yore.
The point of his old wooden cane sank deep into the sand,
As he leaned upon it, stretching forth his gaunt and wrinkled hand.

"So a watering place, they call it! O that I should live to see
Such a paradise for idlers! Old Nantucket! can it be
That thy sons who were of old so famed for pluck and enterprise,
Are given o'er to laziness, like sloths and butterflies.

Actively idle for three months, torpid the other nine,
Inviting summer visitors to help us kill the time,
Idleness, which in my young days received the scorn of men,
Is now the business of life, even as work was then.

Young people have no idea now of how things used to be,
When, with a hundred ships afloat our keels ploughed every sea,
There was work for all who sought it, industry was in the air,
And the clang and hum of business resounded everywhere.

Then no grass grew in our highways; our busy wharves and piers
Were loaded down on either side with casks rolled up in tiers,
For every ocean, far and near, was made to yield its spoil,
To reward the skill and daring of our sturdy sons of toil.

T'was three-and-sixty years ago, when peace was at its dawn,
Just after the old British war, I first went round Cape Horn,
I'd made eleven voyages before I reached my prime,
But that was nothing wonderful – t'was common at that time.

Nine thousand was our census once, and emigrants were few,
As soon as boys were strong enough, we'd work for them to do,
But now to seek employment they must go to foreign lands,
For a boy is but an elephant upon his parents' hands.

And now with girls 'tis much the same, for if our daughters fair
Get married, they must go abroad to make new homes elsewhere,
While many pine in maidenhood, still waiting for the wooer,
For there's no young men to marry them, – 'tis not their fault I'm sure.

The pleasant hum of business has ceased to greet my ears,
The sounds of axe and hammer have been silent now for years,
Our wharves! there's little left of them but slimy, rotting piles,
Showing their heads at times from out the mud, – like crocodiles.

And as to shipping – now there's nothin left but pleasure yachts,
And little dories one may lift and carry across lots;
And a double-barrelled racer comes to show what she can do,
Rigged and modeled very nearly like a Fiji war canoe.

There's one old wharf built up anew, and cost its weight in gold,
Owned by a railroad company (at least so I've been told)
And there's talk of running steam-cars to a place they call Surf-side.
Which is nothing but the old South Shore – only a two-mile ride.

We used to think 'twas exercise, good for both limb and lung,
To walk there before breakfast in the days when I was young;
But the present generation have learned laziness by heart;
They've reduced it to a system, and made it a fine art.

There's a ferry to Wauwinet, – I never heard the name
Until within a year or two, – "Up harbor's" all the same;
There's hotels there, and crowds go up to the Haulover shore.
What would Abram Quady say to see 'em pass his wigwam door?

There's a city, too, at Madaket, if it ever gets a start;
You'd think 'twas big as London to see it on the chart.
But the city's all a humbug, for the charts don't tell the truth.
And there aren't so many houses there as when I was a youth.

There's Sherburne Bluffs and Sunset Heights – find names to catch the ear,
With a few new houses, shut and locked up ten months in the year;
While stout old homesteads in the town have fallen to decay,
And some, for want of occupants, been sold and carried away.

We've gas for burning, but the stock will never pay a cent:
And hotels going begging now for landlords at low rents;
Great churches, where ministers must preach at empty pews,
Two weekly journals, filled with local gossip that's called "news."

We've a costly soldier's monument, to remind us of the wars,
And now we hear of water-works, and pipes, and reservoirs,
And because of sounding Indian names, the strangers are so fond.
We must call it Wannacomet, 'stead of western Washing pond.

And still our population keeps on dwindling day by day,
For we old folks must die, of course; time young must move away,
Till scarcely fifteen hundred the next census will disclose.
And how these few will find employment Heaven only knows!

0, tempora! O, mores! That's talk for the marines;
And I'm no Latin scholar, but I found out what it means;
My high School grandson taught me this and other classic lines,
Such as Tempora mutantur et mutamus cum – the times.

But I'm too old for change. I think the old times were the best;
And in due course, this worn-out frame must soon be laid to rest."
Uncle Peleg trudged away; his step was wavering and slow,
And his eyes were dimmed with tear-drops; the old man didn't know

That I had been a listener! but here I may confess,
As ubiquitous reporter for the local, weekly press,
All's fish that comes into my net, so all may take the hint,
"A chiel's amang ye takin' notes," and he'll put them into print.


Now.

When the old man had spoken and was gone,
I still sat musing", feeling quite forlorn.
"Indeed," said I, "here's sad work for my pen;
Old Peleg is the very ghost of then.

His words are true. But who comes here? I vow,
Two living representatives of Now!
I'll sit aside. behind the sand-hill here,
And catch what's not intended for my ear."

The twain approached. I knew young Mr. Dash,
With faultless toilet and well-trained moustache.
A fragrant weed he's smoking, – more's the pity;
He holds a genteel clerkship in the city,

And spends his little money, and less wit,
Not for his own or other's benefit.
Strange! that a man who might find happiness
With a true, loving wife his home to bless,

Should be so silly as to look with pride
On her who's promenading at his side.
That's Mrs. Fast, wife of a millionaire.
At least, he's called so; but she does not care

For him for his own sake; his money pays
Her bills, and seems to gild her crooked ways,
Such as might cast a shade on her fair fame
If her best wealth lay in her own good name.

So bright and sparkling is young Mrs. Fast,
The foolish youth on whom her looks are cast,
Becoming spooney through her fascination,
Soon finds himself quite deep in a flirtation,

And is quite sure, before he ends the game,
To singe his wings a little in the flame.
Each thinks he is the favored one, O, dunce!
She's playing on a dozen strings at once;

Each goose is cast aside when she has picked him: –
So with young Henry Dash, her latest victim.
"Now, really, do you think dear Mrs. Fast,
This season is as lively as the last?"

"They're not to be compared at all," said she;
"Indeed, I'm almost dead with ennui."
She looked so beautiful while thus she spoke,
Her words must either be a fib or joke.

"Last summer, both at Newport and Long Branch,"
Said Dash, "I met a perfect avalanche
Or stylish people; but so few this season
That I'm quite bothered to assign a reason."

"The reason's plain enough," she said with grace;
"The very nature of this awful place
Makes it unsuitable fur summer sport,
"It never can be a first-class resort."

"And why?" said Dash. "Don't ask me why," she, cried.
To come here is a kind of suicide;
The island lies quite too far out at sea,
Instead of being where it ought to be.

Then the facilities are all so slow, –
"Ah, the facilities!" said Dash. "Just so.
For three hours of' sea sickness, more or less,
Does sorely try one's patience, I confess."

"Of course it does," the lady quick replied.
And then the dingy steamboat! and the tide
Falling away to leave her hard ashore,
And thus detaining us full two hours more.

It's all so stupid!" Then with long-drawn breath,
"I do declare! I'm almost bored to death!"
(If this were true, surely no words could tell
How beautiful she'd look if she were well.)

"I trust I do not bore you Mrs. Fast?"
She giggled, and a sly glance at him cast
That riveted his chains. "I think," said she,
"That sea air's nice; but here is too much sea.

The rough, salt wind makes one's complexion florid;
The days are dull, and the cold nights are horrid!"
"Ah! so they are." echoed the love-sick youth.
"The nights are chilly, and, to tell the truth,

I packed my trunk to leave a week ago,
But, as you see, lingered and did not go."
"But why?" she asked. "The cause is soon explained.
Meanwhile I met with you, and so remained."

The lady smiled; her lovely head was bent
As if acknowledging the compliment.
"I'm tired of boating, Had one hateful drive,
From which I'm thankful to escape alive.

Talk about riding here! The roads are awful."
(Such uses of this word should be unlawful.)
"'Sconset they call the place to which we went.
Without a rival or a precedent.

That village ought to be. It's heathenish!
A dozen shanties, and a scent of fish;
A few amphibious natives there we found, –
Half sailor and half farmer, – staring 'round;

A new hotel, an old one run to seed,
Were all I saw there. Picturesque indeed!"
"'Tis as you say." returned her cavalier;
"Those 'Sconset fishermen are rather queer.

One of them told me stories of his youth
Too marvellous for belief, as if 't were truth.
He read it off as though 't were all in type,
And all the time smoking his beastly pipe."

The sneer upon his moustache lingered yet,
While lighting a fresh, dainty cigarette.
"But did you not drive around to view the wreck?"
"Oh, yes; of course. We climbed up to her deck

And walked upon our ankles for a change.
A wreck, of course, is something wild and strange,
And seems sent for our especial benefit.
Some mariners were drowned, two, out of it,

Which gives it romance. Still it is a bore.
I've seen it once, and don't care for it more.
I like to view the boats far eut at sea –
I mean the pleasure-yachts – which seem to me,

Like sea birds' wings; but I can't bear to hear
This dreadful talk of these rude natives here,
About the days before the great decrease
When this was numbered 'mong the isles of grease,

When dirty oil ships anchored off the Bar,
And every other young man was a tar."
"Dis-gusting!" cried the echo, quite aghast
At what so shocked the charming Mrs. Fast,

Who thus continued in satiric vein:
"The fact is, everything's so rude and plain;
Some call it quaintness, some think it is nice.
It's quite insipid; everything wants spice.

It's such a tedious born to hear these people
Prate of the foreign bell in that old steeple,
And tell of Quaker merchants and old salts,
To young folks who're just dying for a waltz.

No brilliant hops, such as one finds elsewhere,
No dashing turn-outs, each with spanking pair
Of proud, two-forty racers, gray or sorrel,
But all so innocent, so staid and moral;

No illuminations like those at the Bluffs,
No pickpockets, no advertising puffs,
With women just like Eve before the fall, –
Why even young ladies have no style at all!"

"Indeed, they have not much," said Dash. "'Tis true,
I thought some of them had – till I saw you."
Who says, to govern, women need to vote?
"I leave Nantucket by next Monday's boat,"

She said. And the young spooney, Henry Dash,
By this time in a helpless state of smash,
Answered, "Wherever you the summer spend
I needs must follow, if to the world's end."

"Dear sir, you flatter me; I scarcely know
When I shall leave this place, which way to go
To get the temper of my mind restored.
The more I change about, the more I'm bored.

Oak Bluffs is stylish, but the air is torrid:
Nantucket is too cold, – and both are horrid!"


They passed on out of hearing. I arose
With new food for reflection, for who knows
What's to become of our dear, native town,
If thus between two stools she must go down?

Old Uncle Peleg chants his Iliam fuit,
Tells us how he and others used to do it;
How brave men sought for wealth on distant seas,
And brave wives waited like Penelopes.

While Mrs. Fast, who ought to be a judge.
Turns up her pretty nose, and cries, "O, Fudge!"
Considers every one a bore who thinks,
And with the past wants no connecting links;

And says, with scorn depicted in her face,
"This is a failure – as a watering, place."
Two characters, quite opposite I've sketched,
Neither, I think, unnatural or far-fetched;

And trust I have no angry feeling stirred
By thus repeating what I've overheard.
The subject thus suggested may be food for
Reflective minds. What is Nantucket good for?

Proud of our "Then" we are: doubtful of "Now."
'Ere the New Zealander, with tattooed brow,
Shall stand – as grim Macaulay has foretold –
Where the red Indian sachem stood of old,

Gazing on relics of a by-gone age,
What will have filled our last historic page?


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 15, 1879, Vol. 59, No. 33, pp.1-2

      Article title: "Literary Levee."

      Read at a special "literary and musical" meeting of the Sherburne Lyceum at Wendell's Hall on Monday, Feb. 10, 1879. William H. Macy's poem, "Our Lyceum" was read by Allen Coffin. Miss Stella L. Chase read Macy's "Then and Now: A Ballad of Nantucket" which "was excellent, eliciting deserved applause".

1879 POEMS. 1879

To a Young Friend on her Birthday.*


The world's before you, fair and bright,
Young life is full of keen delight,
To-day the record says that you
Have reached the age of twenty-two.

With youth, strong health, and hopes so high,
The future's like a radiant sky,
Where scarce a cloud o'ercasts the view
Of happiness at twenty-two.

But ere that number may be doubled,
Your sky with storms will oft be troubled;
All will not be serenely blue
When you have reached twice twenty-two.

If through the storms you safely ride,
Soon, then, you'll feel life's ebbing tide;
Do calmly what remains to do,
When you are three times twenty-two;

When power and nerve are gone at last,
And life exists but in the past,
'Twill be but little worth to you
Whose years are four times twenty-two.

Though life thus flickers toward its close,
As old the mortal body grows,
Yet with a conscience clear and true,
The heart may still be twenty-two.

So live that when the angel rings
The call to leave all earthly things,
Your spirit pure may live anew,
Even as now at twenty-two.

W. H. M.

      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 1, 1879, Vol. 59, No. 35, p.2.

1880 POEMS. 1880

"Quarter Mile."*

Our Syphax, Brown and noisy Zip
      Resorted to famed "Quarter Mile,"
And on Brown's pointed double rip.
      Coasted-in true Indian file.

'Twas a change from copy and type,
And their faces with pleasure gleamed;
But mischief caused the impish snipe
      To drop his heel – the sled careened,
            And through the air
            With cuss and swear
Three comps went send over send.

'Twas ever thus since childhood's hour,
      When quiet pleasures 'round us glide,
Some heedless imp seems bound to pour
      His spite on us, and spoil our slide.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 7, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 32, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first stanza.

1880 POEMS. 1880

Retrospective.*

By W. M. Macy.

Let's look back on the work that we've done the past season,
      Exchanging our congratulations anew,
For all must agree to be proud there's good reason,
      When hero we present our third annual review.

In the year we have prospered and grown so in numbers
      That we've had to move down street and take Wendell's Hall;
Those at first apathetic now shake off their slumbers,
      And contribute their share for the pleasure of all.

Some can talk by the half-hour, and some can write essays:
      Some have musical talent, to play or to sing;
Thus our public displays may be made great successes,
      If such his or her contributions will bring.

We've the great sea of knowledge and culture to swim in,
      The way of improvement is open to all;
Once 'twas thought all these things wore not proper for women,
      Now they don't care a fig for the words of St. Paul.

We've discussed many questions on themes multifarious, –
      Such as history, politics, morals and law,
Theology and other subjects so various,
      Getting many good thoughts, and a great deal of jaw.

The questions present a variety so checkered, –
      Some as old as the hills, and yet others quite new, –
'Twill be quite amusing to look o'er the record
      And comment on each as they pass in review.

"Is it well to use anodynes and anaesthetics?"
      We decided by a rather large vote that 'tis right;
We don't punish ourselves like the old-time ascetics;
      In such contests 'tis better to run than to fight,

Nevertheless, by some speakers 'twas stoutly debated
      That that subtle drug which we get from the Turk,
Might as well on the whole have been never created, –
      We should make Nature's vital force do its own work.

The next case considered was more metaphysical:
      "Is there any standard of absolute truth?"
Some speakers were heavy, and some gay and. quizzical,
      But the wisdom of age and the vigor of youth

Were alike quite unequal to solving this question,
      And if through two evenings, it had been spun out,
(As to do so we think someone made a suggestion,)
      We should scarce have known what we were talking about.

"Is capital punishment wrong and pernicious?"
      Of course it is, this we decided by vote;
No criminal howe'er so wicked and vicious
      Should be swung in the air with a rope 'round 'his throat.

'Twas gravely discussed one night, whether Mahomet,
      Who built up a new faith among millions of men,
And o'er ran the East like the flash of a comet,
      Was or was not a humbug! Sure not one in ten

Could doubt that he was, yet so stoutly defended
      Was the negative side, that we came very near
Stultifying ourselves, though we might have amended
      The record next week when our heads were clear.

'Twould have been rather strange had the Sherburne Lyceum
      Submitted to kiss the great conqueror's rod;
To put Allah! il Allah! in place of Te Deum,
      And write down Mahomet the prophet of God.

With the usury laws many members got muddled,
      Sat still and kept mum, their confusion to hide,
And the few who dared shew hands at all were so fuddled
      That most of them voted upon the wrong side.

Does the cause of improvement and free education
      Find a foe and a check in the great church of Rome?
Shall the church be appraised and assessed for taxation,
      And pay its full share like the farm and the home?

These last two great questions were freely debated
      By those who had something to write or to say,
And the whole subject having been well ventilated,
      On both the majority's verdict was yea.

Then we talked pro and con on Chinese immigration,
      And discussed its effects, both for good and for ill,
Two evenings we spent, and with deliberation
      Decided to let them come freely at will.

Competitive trials found sturdy opposers.
      Likewise the whole system of marking in schools,
But as long experience no better plan shows us,
      We must still make the best of old systems and rules.

We declared it the duty of all legislators
      To obey the constituents they represent;
Judge not for themselves the political status,
      But just do the service for which they are sent.

Punishment it was said should be merely protective,
      While some argued that it should be something more,
But as no one maintained that it should be vindictive,
      Instead of two strong sides we had three or four.

'Twas asked "Is this wicked world morally better
      Today, than it was a full century ago,
When the law gave the right to imprison the debtor,
      And all nations held slaves in bondage, you know?"

Though 'twould seem at first glance that the world is improving,
      We'd a vote nearly equal from the two sides,
We are constrained to admit that our morals are moving.
      But slowly and painfully, not with great strides.

As se few women helped to elect School Committee,
      The question was asked, "What does this fact denote?"
Some argued that they were afraid, more's the pity!
      While some thought it proof that they don't want to vote.

The ladles themselves did not say much about it,
      As to whether they wanted the ballot or not,
And if most of them feel that they are well off without.it,
      They cannot be made to bewail their sad lot.

Between Music and Poetry – which is the greater?
      Two ladies fought each for her favorite art,
Each claiming that hers was the great elevator,
      To enlighten mankind and ennoble the heart.

And Music won, having more votes than her neighbor,
      Although as twin sisters they seem to belong;
But still harder it was to divorce Thought and Labor,
For the bond that unites them is subtle and strong.

Indeed the whole matter appeared so one-sided,
      Although the defence was conducted with skill,
The house in opinion could not be divided,
      And its members stood firm in support of the bill.

Is the theatre's influence vile and pernicious,
      Do its evil surroundings outweigh all the good?
Does it tend to make man dissipated and vicious?
      To battle this, two lady champions stood.

We talked of Miss Cushman and dear Fanny Kemble,
      David Garrick; and other great stars of the stage.
Who could make every listener laugh, weep, or tremble, –
      We waked up the history of every past age,

We talked about dramas, the true and the spurious,
      From Shakespeare's great tragedies down to "Black Crook," –
And declared that the theatre is not injurious,
      For thus is recorded the vote that we took.

Our meetings thus far have been ever harmonious.
      While opinions are freely and boldly expressed,
Their expression, though earnest, is not acrimonious,
      And all meet again with good feeling and zest.

The keen retorts often provoke us to laughter,
      When smart mental friction brings out the bright thought;
And proud of the past we'll do better hereafter,
      For new speakers of late the infection have caught.

Sometimes we've thought best for the sake of variety,
      To have a mixed programme to break the routine,
For we've singers and players, too, in our society, –
      That we've talent enough, is quite plain to be seen.

As for three winters past we're been pleased and delighted,
      There are yet possibilities for us in store,
Lapse of time has but made us more strong and united,
      And resolved that next winter we'll do even more.


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 24, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 43, p.1.

      Article title: Sherburne Lyceum: Musical and Literary Entertainment.

      ... poem by William H. Macy, Esq., entitled "Retrospective," was read with good effect by Miss Stella Chase."

1880 POEMS. 1880

Vacation Lines.*

Dost know some pastoral vale,
Some fragrant, flowery dale,
Some quiet, lovely spot,
O'er which the vines do creep,
Where they'll board a fellow cheap?

Can any one describe to me
Some cool, green island in the sea
Where I can revel on the deep,
And eat, and drink, and smoke and sleep,
And while the summer months away
And have no monstrous bill to pay?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 15, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 46, p.2.

1880 POEMS. 1880

The 'Goose Pond'.*

"Fill up, fill up!" the diggers said;
      "The 'Goose Pond' needs attention!"
When lo, an accident occurred
      We certainly must mention.

A looker-on, demure, we ween,
      With witty words was clucking;
Slipped, went down, like a "sub-marine"
      In our Goose Pond, a-ducking.

He walks our streets like any man,
      Thrice-honored as survivor;
The hero of the "Goose Pond" raid, –
      An amateur diver!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 15, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 46, p.2. The title has been added by the transcriber.

1880 POEMS. 1880

We Saw from our Window a Minstrel with Harp.*

We saw from our window a minstrel with harp,
      And fiddles were played by two others;
Then spoke up our imp who's so preciously sharp,
      "See the great firm of Harper and Brothers!"

We listened to learn what the music might be,
      Our attention wound up to the sharpest,
But we found 'twas two-thirds of it fiddle-de-dee,
      And could scarce catch the sound of the harpist.

Slowly and sadly we turned to our work
      And went on "setting up" a ghost story,
Soon the harp and the fiddles wound off with a jerk
      And left us, – alone in our glory.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 22, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 47, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

U. S. Census – 1880.*


Air – "Yankee Doodle."

From Uncle Sam you'll have a call,
      The matter's grave and weighty,
He's counting up our noses all,
      In eighteen hundred-eighty.

Chorus – Yankee Doodle's a famous man,
                  The census man's a greater,
                He's bound to plague you all he can,
                  The great Enumerator.

He walks into our home and scares
      The modest wife and daughter;
Notes down our business affairs,
      Like saucy news reporters.

Chorus – Yankee Doodle's a famous man, &c.

The minister who saves our souls,
      The soldier who defends us,
Must all be counted on his rolls –
      The man that takes the census.

Chorus – Yankee Doodle's a famous man, &c.

"How many children yet alive?
      And what are all their ages?
How does your husband's business thrive?"
      Or, "What's his rate of wages?"

Chorus – Yankee Doodle's a famous man, &c.

"How many cows upon your farm?
      How many sheep in pasture?"
You'd answer if you dared to, ma'am,
      "None o' your business, blast you!"

Chorus – Yankee Doodle's a famous man, &c.

The questions really are too bad,
      They raise our Ebenezor;
But what's the use of getting mad?
      He's cool as Julius Caesar.

Chorus – Yankee Doodle's a famous man, &c.

He goes so calmly on his round,
      A smiling face presents us,
His equal nowhere can be found,
      This man that lakes the census.

Chorus – Yankee Doodle's a famous man, &c.


      * While this poem is not attributed to Macy, it is written in his style. It was published adjacent to his "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 22, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 48, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

Soon will Araminta.*

Soon will Araminta
      Down at the sea-side chat,
The white cerulean ribbons
      Blow on her airy hat;
And as the frosty breakers
      Grow musically louder,
She say, "O George, let's hie away
      And have some bivalve chowder."

– Wild Oats.

      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 29, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 48, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

This Item's for you, Careless Reader.*

This item's for you, careless reader,
Who won't bother your head with our leader,
But will rend all that's said
Of the great railroad bed
O'er the Goose Pond, away to Weeweeder.

An old salt who has spent his life whaling,
And works both at pumping and bailing,
Says the toughest part now
Is 'cross Nobadeer Slough,
And the rest will be pretty plain sailing.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 5, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 49, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

Stranger, Have you Seen Nantucket?*

Stranger, have you seen Nantucket?
That historic little island,
Ocean rolling all around it;
Just the place for summer tourists;
Cooling breezes from the ocean;
Ocean gives us cooling breezes,
Cooling breezes, cooling breezes;
Come, enjoy the cooling breezes,
Let our muse go as she pleases, –
Bring her back now to the subject.

Town in olden time was Sherburne;
Name was changed and called Nantucket;
Once it had nine thousand people,
Scarcely now a third as many,
Save when pleasure-hunting tourists
Come to swell the population
For a few weeks in the summer.
Once we'd ships in ovary ocean,
Skimmed the waves for oily treasure;
Now of late years we've learned better,
Stay at home and mind our business.
Entertaining curious strangers.

Come and stay all night among us;
If you can't stay any longer,
Take the steamer off next morning, –
Island Home or Martha's Vineyard;
Write a letter to the papers;
Write a history of our island,
Never mind queer dates and blunders;
Make up all your own statistics;
Some one else will write another,
Read 'em both and split, the difference;
Come and see our great improvements –
Railroad, Water works and Jetty;
Call us enterprising people;
Don't kill whales now as we used to,
Getting into better business.
Won't write any more at present;
Could fill five columns If we wished to,
Verses just as good as these are,
Run on like a very Touchstone,
"Rhyme you so eight years together,
Dinner and sleeping hours excepted."
Here's enough for one occasion;
Give you more as good as this is,
When our muse is in the humor.
Stranger, come and see Nantucket!
Come and make a flying visit!
Stay all summer, if you wish to;
Stay all winter – if you dare to;
Stay forever, – folks don't die hero!
Advertise us! Advertise us!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 12, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 50, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

Now Raise Your Shouts and Hoist the Flag.*

Now raise your shouts and hoist the flag, we'll have a celebration,
The President has signed the bill for that appropriation;
The Waterworks and Railroad, too, are matters small and petty, –
We've something better now to do, we're going to have a – jetty!
                  Jetty! Jetty!
                  We're going to have a jetty!

They talked of this in days lang syne, and called it a "Breakwater,"
But now to us 'tis plain, they didn't call It what they oughter;
They dragged their big ships o'er the bar to hunt for spermaceti,
But now that business is all gone, we're going to have a – jetty!
                  Jetty! Jetty!
                  We're going to have a jetty!

For many years the job has been a standing butt for jokers,
But now, since Hayes has signed the bill, we'll have it spite of croakers;
A few there are to grumble yet, with tempers soured and fretty,
And still to say, "I don't believe we'll ever have a jetty!
                  Jetty! Jelly!
                  We'll never have a jetty!

Time and money wasted on the bar in vain attempts to dig it,
But the jetty'll cut a channel deep enough to float a frigate.
Two ladies Just went past our door, they both were young and pretty,
We heard one to the other say, "We're going to have a jetty,
                  Jetty! Jetty!
                  We're going to have a jetty!

There are workmen waiting now to earn that fifty thousand dollars,
Clark grows enthusiastic as through the street he hollers;
Girls, too, are interested, and Susy calls to Betty,
"There's a fancy ball this evening – we're going to have a jetty!
                  Jetty! Jetty!
                  We're going to have a jetty!

Come all you summer travellers, seeking rest and recreation,
Run down to old Nantucket and enjoy a long vacation;
Leave the cities where the atmosphere is close, and hot, and sweaty,
Come take part in our rejoicing, for we're going to have a – jetty!
                  Jetty! Jetty!
                  We're going to have a jetty!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 19, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 51, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

Say, Girls, What Do you Think?*

      Angelina has been away hibernating in the city, and knows a thing or two, and observing what is going on at Atlantic Hall, she thus gushes:

Say, girls, what do you think?
They're going to fit up a Skating Rink!
O'er a hard pine floor as smooth as zinc,
We'll roll on wheels in the Skating Rink!
O, for a thousand feet to clink
Across the floor of the Skating Rink!
O, for a thousand souls to drink
In all the joys of the Skating Rink!
O, for paper and pen and ink
To write the song of the Skating Rink!
Say, girl's, I've never slept a wink
Since first I heard of the Skating Rink!
All night I just lie awake and think
What fun we'll have in the Skating Rink!
Augustus now must haul out his chink
And pay for a treat at the Skating Rink!
I'll be good to him now, and I'll wink and blink
'Till he takes me into the Skating Rink!
He doesn't dance, nor smoke, nor drink,
But he'll have to go to the Skating Rink!
From that expense he must not shrink,
For I'm dying for sport in the Skating Rink!
I'll be cross and blue, and my heart will sink,
If I don't get into the Skating Rink!
But Augustus can't resist, I think,
And he'd go with me to the Skating Rink!
Say, girls, I believe we are on the brink
Of some great results from the Skating Rink!
For there'll be another connecting link
'Tween us and the beaux in the Skating Rink!
To exercise till your cheeks are pink,
The nicest place is the Skating Rink!
O, to skate till your spine is all in a kink,
And then retire from the Skating Rink!
Bobolink! Bobolink!
Old Nantucket will never sink,
If we can support a Skating Rink!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 26, 1880, Vol. 60, No. 52, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

At Our Great Celebration.*

Says Zip, "At our great celebration
We'll have an immense immigration,
      For two boats will run,
      Spreading news of the fun.
Folks will come from all over creation!

"Now look here," says Syphax. "By thunder!
Your estimate, Zip, is a blunder,
      For why should they care
      When there's fun, too, elsewhere.
Why should they come down here, I wonder?"

"Do you think you'll prevail upon strangers
To rush through sickness and dangers,
      Down to this heap of sand
      Just to see a brass band
And some Antiques and Horrible Rangers

"But Nantucket," says Zip, "is a nation,
And it once was a great whaling station,
      And I don't care a dot
      Whether folks come or not,
For we'll just have our own celebration.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 3, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 1, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

The Yachtmen Came on a Saturday Night.*

The yachtmen came on a Saturday night,
      And they spread themselves, up and down,
And silly young heads were turned with delight,
As they flaunted their uniforms, gay and bright,
      In the streets of our lively town.

A mariner's daughter tripped down Main street;
      A cute, merry damsel was she,
And a yachtman bold the maiden did greet,
And vowed he would cast his heart at her feet,
      If she'd follow his fortunes at sea.

Quoth the maiden, "I've been on the seas before,
      And the life hath no charms for me,
I've heard the winds blow and the great waves roar,
And I think the great ocean's a terrible bore,
      O son of the salt, green sea!"

The yachtman was stricken with great surprise,
      At this speech of the lady fair,
"These sea-nymphs," he said, "are so wondrous wise,
There's no chance here of taking a prize
      As a bride for a bold corsair."

Now when in mid-watch he boarded his craft,
      The yarn to his mates he told,
How Cupid, the archer, had sent home his shaft,
How the maiden's glances had raked fore-and-aft
      The heart of this yachtman bold!

But the mariner e'er muet be true to his ship,
      Other loves are all idle and vain,
His mates wrung his hand in their tarry grip,
As their yacht with her anchor once more atrip
      Danced buoyantly over the main.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 24, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 4, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

An Ab-original Row-mance.*

"Where are you going, my pretty maid?"
"I'm going a-rowing, sir," she said,
"Sir," she said, and "Sir," she said,
"I'm going a-rowing, sir," she said.

"How far are you going, my pretty maid?"
"O'er the deep, kind sir," she said;
"To oar the deep, to oar the deep,
To oar the deep, kind sir," she said.

"Let me go with you, my pretty maid?"
"No, I don't want you, sir," she said,
"Sir," she said, and "Sir,' she said;
"No, I don't want you, sir," she said.

"I won't go with you, my pretty maid;"
"Nobody asked you to, sir," she said;
"Sir," she said, and "Sir,' she said,
"Nobody asked you to, sir," she said.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 31, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 5, p.2.

1880 POEMS. 1880

As Clark, While Yet the Sun was Low.*

Written for the Inquirer and Mirror.

As Clark, while yet the sun was low,
From lofty tower his blast did blow,
The startled sleeper cried, "Hullo!"
      And raised his tired head languidly.

Then on the street was heard the shout,
And grumbling sleepers all turned out,
To learn what is was all about,
      And solve the dreadful mystery.

The cry that did their slumbers mar,
Resounding now from near and far,
"The railroad sleepers at the bar,
      Approaching Brant Point rapidly!"

Says Mr. Simpkins, with a yawn,
(You should have seen that look of scorn)
"Confound the crier's infernal horn:
      Is this a race of savages?"

Some back to downy beds did creep,
With mutterings not loud but deep,
That Clark should thus have murdered sleep,
      Breaking sweet dreams so stupidly.

They saw it in another light,
When the horn blew again at night,
Telling the steamer was in sight,
      With mails from the metropolis.

Now well-dressed people on the street,
Each other's smiling faces greet,
And comment, with expression sweet,
      On "institutions primitive."

And as the blast rings loud and strong,
As William does the note prolong,
This is the burden of their song, –
      "What a delightful novelty!"

Thy cause is just; On, William, on!
Give us the news both night and morn
Inflate thy checks, and fill thy horn,
      And blow with all thy energy!

Through winter's frost and summer's heat,
Thou dost thy duty on the street;
Each cobble-stone beneath thy feet,
      Should rise up in thy eulogy!

W. H. M.


      * Published in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 7, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 5, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

And Now Comes the Great Dr. Tanner.*

And now comes the great Dr. Tanner,
And flings out the starvation banner;
The test he has stood, –
Forty days without food, –
And he argues his case in this manner:

Man eats a deal more than he oughter;
He can live 'bout as well on water;
Keep his mind well employed,
Though his stomach be void,
His life will scarce be any shorter.

If a man walks or rides, reads or whittles,
With a light game of billiards or skittles,
And has water to drink,
Doctor Tanner don't think
He has need to consume any victuals.

It has always been thought since creation,
That man needs a certain grub ration;
Are bread and beefsteak
An expensive mistake?
And can one get used to starvation?

Now don't emulate Dr. Tanner,
And starve forty days in that manner;
'Tisn't worth while to try,
For fear you might die,
For ten chances to one you won't stan' her.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 14, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 6, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

My Song, Now I am Going to Begin it.*

My song, now I am going to begin it:
There's a place of resort called Wauwinet,
      Where the clams are so sweet,
      You are tempted to eat,
Till there's something ridiculous in it.

My song, now I have got to the middle,
Is fol de rol high diddle diddle;
      No more clams we can eat,
      But will jump to our feet,
And dance to the squeak of the fiddle.

My song, now I'm going to end it,
And then to the printer I'll send it;
      If it troubles his conscience,
      To publish such nonsense,
And he don't like this verse – he may mend it.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 21, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 8, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

Says Grace to Jane.*

Says Grace to Jane,
"'Tis all in vain
We go to balls and dances,
For though 'tis clear
This is leap year,
We girls can't make advances."

"I went to the Rink,
And what d'ye think?
I met a youth from Brockton;
He drooped his head,
And sweetly said,
He loved the floor I walked on."

Just then Kate Rand
Caught hold his hand,
And off the track she switched him.
Says Jane to Grace,
"Your lovely face
Had for the time bewitched him."

"But that was true
That he told you
About the floor you walked on,
For he loved to skate
At a fearful rate,
This gay young man from Brockton."

"Not you, but the floor
Does he adore
Dear Grace, excuse my laughter,
What he told you
He told me, too,
Not fifteen minutes after!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 28, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 9, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

Soon Comes October.*

Soon comes October, now,
Hie home, each rover, now,
Season's all over, now,
      Over and past.
Autumn has come again,
Strangers go home again,
Next summer roam again,
      Just like the last.

Summer sports ended now,
Health much amended, now,
Wasn't it splendid, now,
      Coming down here?
Old folks grow young again,
Sick are made strong again,
Time won't be long again –
      Early next year.

Come down in May or June,
'Twon't be a day too soon,
Boat comes each day at noon,
      Don't lose the chance.
Don't make a fuss and stew,
Come on by dozens, too,
Bring down your cousins, too,
      Sisters and aunts!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 4, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 10, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

The Strangers Now are Leaving Quick.*

The strangers now are leaving quick,
And scarcely stop for valedic-
            tory words;
This week would quiet be and dull,
If 'twasn't for the Agricul-
            tural Fair.

But our September skies are blue,
We still enjoy a mild salu-
            brious climate;
Though well we know what soon must come,
Rude, boisterous winds and cold Autum-
            nal showers.

Now see what we have gone and done.
We thought we'd say some things in fun-
            ny couplets;
But change or turn it as we will,
Some lines will have to many syl-
            lables in them.

If we could write rhymes pretty well,
We'd write some for the Coffin cel-
            ebration;
But as 'tis plain we never shall,
They're good enough for comic Val-
            entine doggerels.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 11, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 11, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

Joy's Pipes from Wannacomet!*

      Syphax, who is haunted with the sweet old notes of "Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch," makes an attempt at parody with the following result:

Joy's pipes from Wannacomet!
Joy's pipes from Wannacomet!
Naught to do but turn a screw,
And draw the gushing water from it!

      O! water is a jolly drink!
            It's better far than gin or brandy;
      And then on washing days you'll think
            It's nice to have the water handy.

Joy's pipes from Wannacomet!
Joy's pipes from Wannacomet!
Just turn the tap, and right off slap
You'll see the water rushing from it.

      Moses struck water with his wand,
            (The ancient chronicles endorse it;)
      Our Moses tapped the Washing Pond
            And sent it streaming through the faucet!

Joy's pipes from Wannacomet!
Joy's pipes from Wannacomet!
The water's cool, but yet, you fool,
It's not so cold you'll want to warm it!

      Water at hand in full supply
            Makes easy work for Jane and Hannah!
      Here's drink for every one that's dry!
            Both drink and food for Doctor Tanner!

Joy's pipes from Wannacomet!
Joy's pipes –

      "Hold your clack, and give us a rest!" shouted the foreman. Syphax collapsed, but is still whistling under his breath, and thinks he could grind out about eighteen or nineteen verses if the boss would let him alone.


      * Published without attribution to Macy in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 18, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 12, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

Mrs. Addlepate Thinks that if Woman's to Vote.*

Mrs. Addlepate thinks that if woman's to vote,
      She would be in a troublesome fix,
Unless names of parties and men she can quote,
      So her sisters must know Polly Tix.

Polly Tix was the mother of free suffrage laws,
      A woman, it seems, led the van;
And with Polly still ready to blow for our cause,
      We'll defy the dictation of man.

For Hancock we'll vote if we feel so inclined,
      But an English man we can't enduro,
We claim woman's privilege of changing her mind,
      And thus keeping Polly Tix pure.

James Chesterfield on the Republican side,
      Is appointed to carry the flag;
And about Arthur Garter we can't yet decide,
      But we'll shake his name up in the bag.

We'll see whether Winfield or Hanfield comes first,
      And if Chesterfield don't come at all
We'll rally on Garcock; the nation won't burst
      If we women should vote for them all.

Come, sisters, and stand by the good ship of state
      Don't let the men burn her or scuttle her;
Poor Polly Tix! think of her terrible fate
      If caught in the grip of Ben Buttle-er!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 25, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 13, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

Great Jetty! 'Tis of Thee.*

Great Jetty! 'tis of thee,
Great structure in the sea!
      Of thee we sing,
The summer's past and gone,
Rough winter's coming on,
No labor can be done
      Till opening spring.

Our grandsires talked of thee,
Great stone wall in the sea,
      In days of yore.
Wise men have said their say,
Ages have passed away,
And still we talk today,
      But can't do more.

When Uncle Sam comes down,
Let Clark uprouse the town
      In thundering tones.
Put down some granite blocks,
To stand the billows' shocks,
Fill in with broken rooks
      And cobblestones.

And as the great heap swells,
Ring forth the joyful bells –
      Ding dong! Dong ding!
Proclaim it wide and far:
Deep water on the bar!
All hail the Jetty star!
      God save the thing!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 2, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 14, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

Farewell to the Dear Sherburne News!*

Farewell to the dear Sherburne News!
We're sorry its visits to lose;
      For we used once a week.
      In its columns to seek,
Finding something to please or amuse.

We were glad in our list to embrace it,
And among our exchanges to place it;
      But its life was so brief,
      We are soon brought to grief.
And now we must write its Hic jacet.

Mrs. Addlepate said as we met her,
"I wish its support had been better.
      New the paper's defunct,
      Though the boys never flunked,

But filled out their programmes to the letter!"
But the good lady's conscience misgave her,
For the truth was not in her favor;
      When the facts all appeared,
      It was just as we feared,
She had borrowed the News of her neighbor!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 9, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 15, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

And Now the Merry Husking Days are Here.*

And now the merry husking days are here,
The golden harvest period of the year,
The Harvest Moon greets our delighted gaze.
And pumpkin-lantern adds its genial rays,
Old Boreas begins his piping blast –
Foretelling winter colder than the last.
Horse-chestnuts 'mong the juveniles abound,
And fallen leaves profusely strew the ground.
Between the cranberry pickers and Jack Frost
The race is close, for fear the crop be lost;
And stacks of wood and coal are now laid in,
Before the Arctic weather shall begin.
The feature of this week that pleases all
Is the steamboat arrangement for the fail;
For now the trumpet-blast, blown from the tower,
Is heard at a more seasonable hour;
Mails are distributed before 'tis dark,
And night's no more made hideous by Clark!


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 16, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 16, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

Skeezix Says.*

Skeezix says at the election he thinks there'll be some sport,
Getting a Representative to go to General Court;
For though no noisy candidate has yet begun to blow,
He thinks he knows of several who would be glad to go.
Though Brown pretends that he has work enough to do without it,
And tries to seem quite careless and indifferent about it,
Yet Skeezix knows there are some loafing-places in the town,
Where many have been button-holed, and asked to vote for Brown.
Smith never talks of politics, and makes no public show,
Yet our imp is sure that Smith could be prevailed upon to go;
And though the name of Tompkins has never yet been hinted,
Yet Skeezix knows that Tompkins is having tickets printed.
Of course we're glad to do such jobs for any man that pays,
And what we know now, other folks will know lu a few days,
But candidates, remember! only one can be "annointed,"
And thus if there are ten of you, nine must be disappointed!


      * This poem was printed in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 23, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 17, p.2.

      Title is based on the poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

The Strife that for a Space did Fail.*

The strife that for a space did fail,
Now louder roaring swells the gale,
            And "Rally!" is the cry.
Each candidate his ballots spreads,
            And tries your vote to buy,
As all day long with vengeful tread,
Fresh cohorts to the polls are led,
            Eager to do or die.
With tickets fluttering round his head,
With lungs of brass, with visage red,
            He shouts his rallying cry:
"Charge, Hancock! Charge! On, Garfield! On!"
The war-whoops for next Tuesday morn.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 30, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 18, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

The Baby Congress.*

O we'll sing to you a ditty, baby mine! baby mine!
We will go to Boston city, baby mine! baby mine!
      For they're got a baby-show,
      And we'll fix you up and go,
For there's none that's half so pretty, baby mine! baby mine!
      Sure your mother ought to know,
                                                            Baby mine!

You must be in good condition, baby mine! baby mine!
On the day of exhibition, baby mine! baby mine!
      So we'll have you sleek and fat,
      For we know just what we're at,
We'll astonish that physician, baby mine! baby mine!
      Let your ma alone for that,
                                                            Baby mine!.

O yes, Mamma knows just what'll, baby mine! baby mine!
Clear her darling's little throttle, baby mine! baby mine!
      Here's the goose-grease to explain,
      And if baby screams with pain,
Here's the paregoric bottle, baby mine! baby mine!
Which is never used in vain,
                                                            Baby mine.

The committee criticises, baby mine! baby mine!
There'll be babies of all sizes, baby mine! baby mine!
      Lean and fat, and short and tall,
      Light and dark, and large and small,
All contending for the prizes, baby mine! baby mine!
      But my own can beat them all,
                                                            Baby mine!

When a prize rewards our labors, baby mine! baby mine!
We'll crow over all our neighbors, baby mine! baby mine!
      I'll be lordly as a queen,
      To Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Green,
And the Jenkinses and Tabers, baby mine! baby mine!
      O, they'll nearly die of spleen,
                                                            Baby mine.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 6, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 19, p.2.

1880 POEMS. 1880

Hail to the Chief who is Going to the White House!*

Hail to the Chief who is going to the White House!
      Bonfires and guns for the President elect!
Come now and get a fat office or a lighthouse!
      It's all just as natural as cause and effect.
He who has worked hard in saving the nation,
      Expects something more than mere empty renown;
We'll bring in our claims 'gainst the administration,
      Our motto's "Get up, Jack, and let John sit down."
            Bring forth the fifes and drums!
            Hail the new Chief that comes!
Terrible his war paint, and frightful his whoop,
      Start Hayes and all his crew,
      That's what we mean to do;
Save all the roosting-sticke, but clean out the coup!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 13, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 20, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

We May with Good Reason.*

            We may with good reason.
            Recall at this season,
The sweet Christmas stories of Dickens,
            For now comes Thanksgiving,
            The time for good living;
The death-knell of turkeys and chickens.

            All the family invited.
            Old folks re-united,
Rejoice with full hearts at the meeting:
            But our girls and our boys
            Look for tangible joys.
To be found in the pleasures of eating!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 20, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 21, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

To Write, – or Not to Write, – That is the Question.*

To write, – or not to write, – that is the question;
Whether 'tis better to take up the pen,
'Mid multiplicity of other cares,
To string out nonsense for the "Hero and There's"
While weightier matters press upon the brain,
Requiring all one's time. Ay, there's the rub;
And grind, and grind, and grind, with small success,
Or to search back among old musty files,
And steal for use the better thoughts of others.
To write, – to steal, – we'll not decide this time, –
We've said enough to answer for this once, –
And shuffle off decision to next week.
We take due credit for our laziness,
Preserving thus our honor undefiled.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 27, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 22, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

All Hail to December!*

            All hail to December!
            We kindly remember
The twelfth and last mouth in the year;
            Look for days growing shorter,
            For ice 'stead of water,
And Christmas with all its good cheer.
            Nights colder and colder,
            Jack Frost growing bolder,
Now attacks your ears, fingers and nose;
            But fight bravely through it,
            You'll get hardened to it,
And hail the New Year at the close.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 4, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 23, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

There was a Boy in our Town.*

There was a boy in our town,
      And he was wondrous wise,
He went up to the Hummock Pond,
      With others of his size.
He ventured out upon the ice
      Much further than he oughter,
But found the skating was not nice,
      Up to his waist in water.
His clothes were dried by fire and smoke,
      He ventured off again,
But found himself once more in soak,
      This time up to his chin!
He finds he must for winter wait,
      Not try to force the autumn,

MORAL.

'Tis better on the ice to skate,
      Than on a muddy bottom.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 11, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 24, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

O, The Snow! The Beautiful Snow!*

O, the snow! the beautiful snow!
Stormy weather provokes me so;
Want to go somewhere and cannot go;
Sit in the house and hear it blow;
Too dull to read, or write, or sew;
Try to read, but that's no go;
Try to write, but my thoughts won't flow;
No company coming to-night, I know;
I neither expect a girl or a beau;
When I wish very much to go
Anywhere, it does seem as though
"Twas always meant to be just so;
O, the snow; the beautiful snow!

O, the snow! the beautiful snow;
Here come the boys with cheeks aglow!
Harry and Sam, and Tom and Joe,
Making up snow balls as they go,
Run a little, then stop and throw;
O, that "young ladles" might do just so.
Come, boys, the steps are full of snow;
Clean it off with shovel and hoe;
Dig a footpath, don't be slow;
Get your sled and give me a tow;
Come, Henry, I know you won't say no,
You see how much I want to go.
O, the snow! the beautiful snow!

O, the snow! the beautiful snow!
Melting and running with steady flow;
Flooding the streets wherever you go;
Rubber boot had a hole in the toe,
Wet my feet and took cold, you know,
And here I am, not fit to show,
And even ashamed to meet my beau;
My pulse is high and my spirite low;
These are not half the rhymes, I know,
But you'll all be glad to let me go.
O, the snow! the beautiful snow.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 18, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 25, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1880 POEMS. 1880

New York is Famed for Swindlers Bold.*

New York is famed for swindlers bold,
      And Barnegat for wreckers.
But an artful chap's been here, we're told,
      And played a game of checkers.

His offer was so generous, yet
      Seemed plausible and fair.
And though he cheats, we must admit,
      He does it on the square.

We think we've got a checker-board,
      But disappointment follows,
When we are quietly ignored,
      And swindled of half dollars.

'Tis no great matter of surprise,
      That, in course of events,
One now and then – though e'er so wise,
      Gets stuck for fifty cents.

Our way's not always strewn with flowers,
      So keep your temper, Cap'en,
For in this checkered world of ours,
      Small accidents will happen.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 25, 1880, Vol. 61, No. 26, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

"Shap New Year!" the Urchin Cried.*

"Shap New Year!" the urchin cried,
      Just thrusting in his head.
"Come in!" a kindly voice replied,
      "I'll get some gingerbread."

Counting her dish of cookies o'er,
      She found but seven in all;
She took two from her little store,
      Then came back to the hall.

Well might the generous lady stare,
      And drop the gingerbread;
Nine dirty boys were crowded there,
      All waiting to be fed!

"Shap New Tear!" the chorus wild
      From sturdy lungs uprose;
"Go out!" she spoke in accents mild;
      A boy with upturned nose,

With squinting eye, hat on one side,
      And cheeks begrimed and dingy,
Muttered, "Two cookies to divide!
      Say, fellers, ain't that stingy?"

There is an added straw, 'tis said,
      That breaks the camel's back;
She swung the broom high o'er her head,
      And rushed to the attack.

She felled that boy with upturned nose,
      And on him piled three more,
She cleared the hall with sweeping blows
      Then shut and locked the door.

The hall is grimed with slush and mud,
      The floor-cloth soaked with snow,
Stern indignation fires her blood,
      To have things mixed up so.

And when with scrubbing rag and mop,
      She's made all neat and dry,
She's ready in her chair to drop,
      And have, ––– "a real good cry."

Now boys that door bell you may ring,
      Until your arms are sore,
The cry of "Shap New Year!" won't bring
      That matron to the door,


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 1, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 27, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

The Boy Stood on the Bend-y Ice.*

The boy stood on the bend-y ice,
      Whence all but him had fled;
"Say, fellers, ain't the sliding nice?
      Come on! Come on!" he said.

"The ice ain't safe," his mates replied,
      And ran ashore in haste;
"What if you do break in?" he cried,
      "'T aint more'n up to yer waist?"

His face was bright, his words were gay,
      As farther off he strayed;
"Say, fellers! I will lead the way;
      Come on, then! Who's afraid!"

There came a burst of crackling sound,
      And the boy! O, where was he?
Both feet stuck in the muddy ground,
      And struggling to got free.

Once more erect upon his pegs,
      One shoe left in the mud,
The icy water round his legs
      Chilling his very blood,

With blushing face he scrambled out,
      And reached the solid ground;
His comrades, with derisive shouts,
      Were quickly gathered round.

These were the farewell words he spoke:
      "Say, fellers! ain't it co-o-o-o-ld?"
Then girded up his loins, and broke
      For the parental fold.

O'er frozen ground and cobble-stones
      He raced with all his might;
His playmates roared lu boisterous tones,
      With laughter at the sight.

That boy, thanks to his mother's care,
      Grew up to be a man,
And the noblest thing that perished there
      Was a half-worn pegged brogan.


      * Appeared in Macy's column "Here and There, Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 8, 1881, p.2.

1881 POEMS. 1881

The Song of the Town-Clock.*

Good citizens all, I have stood to my work,
      Full fifty long years and more,
And I never was known my duty to shirk,
      Until tried by infirmities sore.
My system's all worn out and racked in each joint,
      Though 'tis said I look fair in the face,
Yet my palsied old hands are unable to point,
      Or my wheels to keep up in the race.

I did you good service while youthful and strong,
      But life has its limit and turn,
Clock-doctors have tinkered and patched me along,
Since I have grown old and infirm.
Doctors' fees are now fruitless expense to the Town,
      Since their efforts are powerless to save,
If I've really "gone up," I must be taken down,
      And carried away to my grave.

'Tis not likely you'll feel that you owe me a debt,
      Or water my grave with your tears,
But lower me down tenderly, do not forget
      The reverence due to my years.
As old junk and kindling-wood, I'll reappear,
      For nothing in this world is lost;
You'll rejoice when you boost my successor up here,
      But say, – what is it going to cost?


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 15, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 29, p.2.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Sophronia Swain.*

The Ranger lay anchored outside the Bar,
      With her cable short up and down,
She was trim and taunt both in hull and spar,
And ably commanded by Solomon Carr,
      A whaler of high renown.

Her boat, with warp still fast to the shorn,
      Tossed lightly against the wharf;
The crew could delay but a minute more,
And friends and relations, perhaps a score,
      Had gathered to see them off.

A stalwart youth was the second mate,
      And he bore a Worth-y name;
His record was known to each day and date,
He had been a boy in the Sally and Kate,
      And had steered a boat in the Fame.

A self-satisfied fellow was Hezekiah Worth,
      And rather inclined to be vain;
He was proud of himself and his second-mate's berth,
And of her who to him was the salt of the earth, –
      The coquette, Sophronia Swain.

Sophronia went down just to see the boat off,
      Though she cared not for young Hezekiah;
But he called her aside with a nod and a cough,
And together they strayed a few yards up the wharf,
      Away from her friend Peggy Wyer.

He pressed his suit warmly, and offered a ring,
      But Sophronia laughed at such talk.
At the idea that he marriage-offers should bring,
When she had not been thinking of any such thing,
      But had only come down for a walk.

"But I've heard the same. Let me see! how many men
      Have laid their fond hearts at my feet?
There's Zimri, and Peleg, and Obed, and Ben,
All expecting to make one more voyage, and then
      Look to me their great bliss to complete."

"You sailors are always too hasty and bold
      When you talk about sweethearts and wives;
But the Ranger will sail well-appointed, I'm told,
And perhaps you'll come back with your purse full of gold, –
      We'll see when that good time arrives."

"But I may mate with one of those other young men,
      Either one would be proud as a king,
Either Peleg, or Zimri, or Obed, or Ben, –
Good Bye!" and she tripped back to Peggy again,
      While her laugh had a cold, heartless ring.

But the Ranger's fore-topsail was loosed, as she spoke,
      And the flag fluttered out at the fore,
And the sound of her gun on the morning air broke, –
"Man the boat!" and "Out oars!" and with long, steady stroke,
      She shot swiftly away from the shore.

Fair Sophronia giggled as homeward she turned,
      And her pretty head tossed in the air;
But with anger and shame her companion's cheek burned,
For Peggy no honest man's heart would have spurned,
      Even though she might not for him care.

The Ranger made sail, and was soon lost to sight,
      But our young hero, Hezekiah Worth,
Had a pang at his heart, though his prospects were bright,
And his thoughts as he walked on his watch that clear night,
      Went back to the isle of his birth.

"I ought to forget her, but that I can't do,
      She don't care much for me that is plain;
I might find a woman more noble and true,
But no one with eyes of such heavenly blue;
      Heigh-ho! for Sophronia Swain!

"She knows she can have either one she may choose
      Out of twenty stout sons of the sea;
And there may come a time when she will not refuse,
But unless Time shall work a great change in her views,
      She can feel no affection for me.

"She hinted that money might make such a change,
      (As if she cared naught for the man);
Can she really be heartless? It seems very strange;
But now the stout Ranger the ocean may range
      Till we fill her with oil, – if we can."

And the brave Hezekiah did his duty full well,
      Though his heart was sad and forlorn;
And rare good luck the Ranger befell,
As she rode the waves like a nautilus shell,
      And doubled the dread Cape Horn.

She cruised on Peru and the Off-Shore Ground,
      Many whales she had cut and tryed;
When a thousand barrels the year's work crowned,
Hezekiah's sad heart had grown more sound,
      And his words were modified.

"There's a chance," he said, "that Sophronia Swain
      As she thinks of her lovers at sea,
As she grows older, may be less silly and vain;
There's a possible chance that she may retain
      A warm spot in her heart for me.

"My sister calls her a heartless flirt,
      (Women say they can read one another);
Says she's cold, and cruel, and shallow, and pert,
And fears that Sophronla may wound and hurt
      The heart of her only brother.

"Yet when I remember the charming face
      Of little Sophronla at school,
I could never believe she'd be heartless and base;
Heigh-ho! when I think of her beauty and grace,
      I acknowledge myself a fool!"

And time sped on through another year,
      While the Ranger cruised on Japan;
There'd been news from home and from old friends dear,
And the second mate felt glad to hear
      That Sophronia had wed no man.

He had met Ben and Peleg on voyages new,
      And both had their stories told,
How they'd wasted their time, and their money, too,
And been laughed at by those eyes of blue,
      For she cared for nothing but gold.

Two thousand barrels the Ranger had,
      Other whalemen were surprised
At her good luck, while their's was bad;
Our hero's thoughts were no longer sad
      As he thus soliloquized:

"I'm beginning now to feel my Worth;
      If good luck continues to reign,
I am sure of getting a chief-mate's berth,
And I won't be made the sport and mirth
      Of the charming Sophronla Swain.

"She'll have me now, there's scarcely a doubt,
      For my pockets will be well lined;
But even if she don't, my heart's getting stout,
And I really don't think she's worth fretting about, –
      Other fish in the sea I will find.

"She thought that we sailors were always too bold
      To talk about sweethearts and wives,
Yet hinted that my tale of love might be told
When the Ranger's full cargo was landed and sold –
      We shall see, – when that good time arrives."

The voyage still prospered, and down on the Line
      He met many a love-sick youth
Who was ready in his favor now to resign,
Convinced that Sophronia was nothing divine,
      But quite wanting in honor and truth.

With three thousand barrels secured and stowed down,
      The helm was put up, homeward bound,
And the ship's course was laid toward Nantucket town;
'Twas a voyage to bring them both gold and renown
      When the anchor again should take ground.

Said our hero, uplifted by good Fortune's pranks,
      Now growing conceited and vain:
"She may carry her beauty elsewhere, and no thanks;
Sophronla may want me, but shiver my planks
      If I'll have Sophronia Swain!

"She's bewitched and humbugged since I have been gone
      A dozen brave sons of the sea,
Just getting them spooney, and leading them on,
Till dismissed with a laugh, and a light word of scorn, –
      But she shan't play her nonsense on me.

"Every dog has his day. When I first came on board
      I hung my head like a whipped cur,
On my knees then to her I so fondly adored;
But I reckon my whole strength of mind is restored, –
      If she'll have me, why I won't have her."

So with heart disenchanted, elated with pride,
      And resolved that old scores should be paid,
Hezekiah walked the deck with a conqueror's stride,
And swore that Sophronia should ne'er be his bride,
      If she went to her grave an old maid.

The infatuation was never revived,
      For the sensitive, proud Hezekiah,
Within a month after the Ranger arrived,
After scarce a week's wooing, was "published" and wived
      With little, demure Peggy Wyer.

And Sophronia! Well, she took a husband in time,
      And settled to more quiet ways;
And when I first knew her she'd long past her prime,
I can't get her picture to go with my rhyme, –
      'Twas before the daguerreotype days.

The descendants of both are perhaps here to-night:
      There are young Worths still plowing the main,
And thinking while walking their watch at night
Of maidens, too, just as bewitching and bright
      As their grandame – Sophronia Swain.


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 22, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 30, p.2.

      Article title: Sherburne Lyceum Olio.

      From the article: "The entertainment given in the Atheneum Hall, Tuesday evening, under the auspices of the Sherburne Lyceum, was one which the five hundred persons assembled enjoyed to the fullest extent. ... "Sophronia Swain," a local sketch from the pen of William H. Macy, Esq., was finely read by Miss Stella L. Chase. The programme concluded with a shadow pantomime, representing scenes from the Sherburne Lyceum, the subject being "The Liquor Question," written for the occasion by William H. Macy, Esq. It was well presented, and afforded considerable merriment. The text of the piece will be found below:

1881 POEMS. 1881

The Liquor Question.*

T. Total.

I rise now, Mr. President, to speak for Prohibition;
I count this as my hobby; I consider it my mission;
I'll have no more mint juleps, cocktails nor brandy smashes;
I'd make war upon the rum shops and burn them all to ashes;
I'd annihilate all alcohol from this terrestrial earth;
Each child born with the appetite I'd strangle at its birth.
The mottoes on my banner shall be, "Drink not, Give not, Sell not,
Touch not, Taste not, Handle not, and See not, Feel not, Smell not;
For I'm a knotty customer, and I have sworn perdition
To all forms of toleration, and hurrah for Prohibition!

C. License, Esq.

I rise up, Mr. President, Ladies and Gentlemen,
To meet this loud defiance, and to hurl it back again;
I'm a Temperance man, I say you can't advance the Temperance cause
By all this talk and nonsense 'bout Prohibitory Laws!
Intemperance is a nuisance, but if we would abate it,
We musn't try to kill out rum but try to regulate it.
In spite of law, rum will be sold, and don't you folks forget it.
While the decent man that wants a gill for medicine can't get it.
I don't mean to storm and bully here, but with all due submission,
I say "Hurrah for License! and down with Prohibition!"

Easy Drinker.

I like a snifter when I'm thirsty, Mr. President;
Make what laws you've a mind to, I don't care a tarnal cent;
So I laugh at Prohibition, and think the law is funny,
For I can always get it if I only have the money!

Mrs. Good-Intent.

Just one word, Mr. President and Gentlemen and Ladies;
We all know what a mighty power the Anti-Rum Crusade is;
As rumsellers don't care for law, we'll get up an invasion,
And give them plenty of woman's tears with prayer and moral suasion!

Mrs. Comfort.

My husband's a good, sober man, industrious and steady,
When he comes home at twelve o'clock he wants his dinner ready;
I can't go gadding all my time, to pray with liquor sellers,
Nor expose myself to insult from low and drunken fellers.

Rumseller.

To be brow-beaten by woman is against all laws and usances,
If you come to pray in my shop I'll indict you all as nuisances;
So if you want to be locked up, and see just what a prison is,
Just let me catch you round there, interfering with my business.

Doctor Leech.

The remedy is not in law nor morals nor theology,
But man must be enlightened in the truths of physiology
They must comprehend the symptom and by process diagnostic,
Learn that every drop of alcohol is worse than lunar caustic;
All the danger's is the ignorance of men about their stomachs,
They must be taught anatomy! all other means will flummux!

Widow Wilkins.

My dear friends all; I stand before you overwhelmed with sadness;
From learned men I hoped that I might gather words of gladness.
But why talk of physiology? or moral suasion, either?
These would not reach my husband, he could be saved by neither;
And now my only son is hastening towards a drunkard's grave. –
Say, wise men all, what can be done? Is there no way to save?

Rev. Orthodox Smith.

Mr. President and friends, all this is idle talk and vanity,
There's naught can save the drunkard but the power of Christianity;
Surround him with texts of Scripture, preach him sermons every Sunday,
And send him with a bunch of tracts to his daily work on Monday!

Capt. Tom Traveller.

The church is one great moral force, but all its paraphernalia
Won't save the drunkard, as a rule; history proves its failure.
If the Christian is in this respect behind his Moslem brother,
Why should he boast that his creed has more power than the other?
Christianity won't reach it. We can all see how it works;
If we want the soberer nation we must look among the Turks.

Miss Strong Mind.

Gentlemen and ladies. and you, Mr. President:
I have waited all the evening, now my feelings must find vent!
Don't you know, you stupid babblers, don't you know that nothing human
Can solve this temperance problem, but just the vote of woman!
You have talked of law and gospel, coercion and invasion,
Of medicine, theology, crusades, and moral suasion;
But I tell you that Intemperance won't receive its fatal shocks,
Till women in their majesty march to the ballot-box!
The gin and whiskey problem will find its great solution
When woman is man's equal, under our constitution!
The monster will be conquered when, entering the lists,
Women march in solid phalanx, and with ballots in their fists!
King Alcohol now trembles as he sees the coming hour,
When Woman shall be vested with politic-al power!!!
Women will crush the serpent and set the drunkard free,
Then for the first time we may boast a land of Libertee!
Ah! well may the rum-seller work himself into a tough rage,
As he hears e'er moving onward, the boom of Woman Suffrage!
For his deadly trade will languish, his vile business will die,
When we've elevated Woman, up to full equaliti!
Then Onward! Sisters! Onward! There is no such word as fail,
Till everywhere from suffrage laws, we wipe out the word "male;
Then wine and whiskey, rum and gin, shall from the earth be driven,
And woman stand in full possession of her rights, God-given!!!


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 22, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 30, p.2.

      Article title: Sherburne Lyceum Olio.

      From the article: "The entertainment given in the Atheneum Hall, Tuesday evening, under the auspices of the Sherburne Lyceum, was one which the five hundred persons assembled enjoyed to the fullest extent. ... "Sophronia Swain," a local sketch from the pen of William H. Macy, Esq., was finely read by Miss Stella L. Chase. The programme concluded with a shadow pantomime, representing scenes from the Sherburne Lyceum, the subject being "The Liquor Question," written for the occasion by William H. Macy, Esq. It was well presented, and afforded considerable merriment. The text of the piece will be found below:

1881 POEMS. 1881

Widow Addlepate Marveled a Few Years Ago.*

Widow Addlepate marveled a few years ago
      To learn what the great Grecian bend meant;
Now again the good lady's puzzled to know,
      "What's a Pro-hibi tory Amendment."

"My good man used to talk in the old Shearing days
      Of amendment shares 'round Squam and Poc-omo,
And about them sheep's-commons he bought of the Ray's,
      And whether he'd plant 'em or stock 'em O.

There was Black Pompey, – he used to gulp in his throat,
      And act's if he wanted to bite folks;
'The amendment,' he said, 'allowed niggers to vote,
      And set 'em up higher than white folks!'

"I've heered 'bout another amendment since that,
      They said 'twas to 'mancipate wimmen;
Guess that means to allow 'em to wear a man's hat,
      And go, like men, skatin' and swimm'n.

"I've seen some young wimmen that ought to be hung;
      Think of going to row in a dory!
Such actions we didn't have when I was young,
      But what is this Pro-hibi-tory?

"I'm told it means somethin' 'bout not drinkin' rum, –
      And to make all the world go without it;
When I was young every man used to drink some, –
      Lor! we never made no time about it!

"They brought cider home in a canniken tub,
      And the family all wet their throttles,
In them days there warn't no Saint Bottle-off Club,
      To sell it for sham pain in bottles!

"I'd just like to know what all this fuss is about,
      I don't quite understand what my friend meant,
But I'll go to the meet'n to-night and find out
      What's a Pro-hibi-tory Amendment."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 29, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 31, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Dear Friends and Fellow-townsmen.*

Dear friends and fellow-townsmen, and you, Mr. Moderator,
I'm unused to public speaking and unknown as a debater,
But I put my speech in verse, and you'll see what a jolly rhyme 'tis,
I say we ought to have a new town-clock to tell what time 'tis!
I say, "Hurrah for Garfield!" and I say, "Life let us cherish!"
And I say "Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish,
I give my heart and hand to the vote," for this improvement,
For the old town clock's all played out and lost the power of movement.
I say, "Tis nateral for man to indulge in Hope's illusion,"
But how can hope sustain us when the hours are all confusion;
I say, "I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided,"
And now that lamp is busted up, my course is all one-sided,
My wife can't get the time, and she is scolding like a Jizibel,
So I say, "Liberty and Union, One and Indivisible!"
I say, "Life on the Ocean Wave," and "Yankee Doodle Notion,"
We're all tired of "Grandfather's Clock," who'll second the motion?
We'll vote a new one right away, the time is, now or never,
For I say, "Independence now and independence forever!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 19, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 34, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Twas the Custom, e'er Since the Memory of Man.*

'Twas the custom, e'er since the memory of man,
      To grumble at large school expenses;
Extravagance throughout the common school plan
      Was foremost among its offenses.
Year alter year, 'twas ever the same,
      Now well may it strike us as comical,
To find a committee subjected to blame,
      For having been too economical.

Ye old Committee-men, years ago famed
      For your labors in education,
Ye who sat in the stocks, every year to be blamed,
      For exceeding your ap-propriation,
Through all the past annals of town affairs,
      Did you e'er hear of censure se funny,
As that which our old School Department now bears,
      For not having spent all its money?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 26, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 35, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

The Stormy March Has Come at Last.*

      The stormy March has come at last,
With winds and clouds and changing skies;
      And February's in the past, –
Season of trumpery and lies!

      Ah! passing few are they who speak,
O, trumpery month, in praise of thee!
      But Annual Meet'n lasts a week,
And that's the jolly time for me!

      Old March, with winds so bleak and cold,
Yet vanguard of approaching spring;
      Blustering and rough, if truth be told, –
I won't attempt thy praise to sing!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 5, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 36, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

With Pomp and Show and Great Outlay of Money.*

      With pomp and show and great outlay of money,
Garfield's inaugurated in due form;
      And office-seekers scenting Federal honey,
Are buzzing in a great quadrennial swarm.

      An army on the Capital is moving,
Each man with buoyant step and eager face,
      For each bears documents, completely proving
That he's the only fit man for the place.

      There is no doubt that Garfield, the anointed,
Will try to please and do the best he can,
      But ah, how many must be disappointed!
They'll march up hill, and then – march down again!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 12, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 37, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Good People All with One Accord.*

Good people all with one accord,
      Speak well of Madam Hayes,
Who never wanted a good word
      In presidential days.

Liquors and wines were sent away
      From White House dinner table;
No mistress there, before her day,
      To do this had been able.

Hang up her portrait on the wall,
      Admit that she was wise.
And hope that her successors ail,
      May go and do likewise.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 19, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 38, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

We've Heard a Rumor Through the Town.*

      We've heard a rumor through the town,
That railroad men are coming down,
      In rag and tag and velvet gown,
To work again on the Railroad.
      We know not what the rumor means,
But Skeezix thinks that he "knows beans;"
      Says it's a yarn for the Horse Marines,
For he don't believe in the Railroad.
      It stormed so hard the other day,
The surges rolled in fierce array,
      Washed many tons of dirt away,
And played the deuce with the Railroad.
      But London bridge, an we are told,
Was broken down in days of old,
      Built up again with silver and gold,
So mote it be with the Railroad.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 26, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 39, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Old Time Has Flown Along So Fast.*

      Old Time has flown along so fast,
That "April Fool" has gone and past;
      So busy were we with our labors,
We quite forgot to fool our neighbors.
      So much the clearer is our conscience. –
We like not such time-honored nonsense.
      There's no occasion, we must say,
To set apart an "All Fool's Day,"
      For there are always to be found
Plenty of fools, – the whole year round.


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 2, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 40, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

The Jetty Men Have Driven a Stake.*

The Jetty men have driven a stake
      To mark the point of starting,
But little noise they seemed to make,
      Arriving and departing.
They say that 'tis a settled job,
      And that they'll soon begin it,
So also writes our townsman, Cobb,
      Who has a finger in it.
Now let us sing, Long live the King!
      Uncle Samuel, Long live he!
And when he builds the pesky thing
      May we be there to see.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 9, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 41, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Cisterns or Washing Pond?*

Cisterns or Washing Pond? that is the question;
Whether 'tis better, wiser, for the Town
To muckle fires out in the good old way,
Depending on time-honored reservoirs,
Pump-wells and suction hose, bucket brigades,
Elderly firemen's stock of wind and muscle,
Quickly exhausted by the straining work
At brakes and bars, though rallied now and then
With shouts of 'Bump her up!' and 'Bump her down!
Or to take arms against this 'sea of troubles'
By placing hydrants in the several districts
With hose in readiness to make connection;
And thus at once possess the power to throw
Steady, continuous and solid streams,
Thus drowning out incipient conflagration.
But stay! let's count the cost! what will it be?
To pay a thousand marks. Ay, there's the rub;
For in that payment we increase the tax
Of every citizen, or else disband
Our corps of veteran firemen, sore at heart,
And grieved to find their occupation gone;
By all that's orthodox, it can't be done!
The time's not rife for such an innovation,
A motion for indefinite postponement --
But stay! let's compromise! we'll dodge it now,
And turn it over to next Annual Meet'n!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 16, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 42, p.2.

      Poem's title is taken from the first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

The Coffins are coming!*

      The Coffins are coming! O ho! O ho!
      The Coffins are coming! O ho! O ho!
            The Coffins are coming,
            From all quarters running,
      The Coffins are coming! O ho! O ho!
The Coffins are coming from all o'er the nation.
      Of Patriarch Tristram we're all very proud,
And the old bard has given us this reputation:
      The Coffins are noisy and fractious and loud!

      The Coffins are coming! O ho! O ho!
      The Coffins are coming! O ho! O ho!
            The Coffins are coming,
            With fifing and druming,
      The Coffins are coming! O ho! O ho!
Then rally, Clan Coffin, come forth in your glory,
      From city and hamlet, from workshops and farms;
For the clan has a name that is famous in story,
      And several genuine old Coats-of-arms!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 23, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 43, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Our Joe is a Rapid Type-stickist.*

Our Joe is a rapid type-stickist,
And Tom is a great foot-ball-kickist;
Each stood at his case, and they worked on a race,
To see which could set type the quickest.

Says Tom, "Joe, I see I can't beat ye,
I shall get beat, and then have to treat ye,
But put down your stick, and come out doors quick,
In a match game of foot-ball I'll meet ye."

Says Joe, "Tom, I know you're the tallest,
And besides you're a noted foot-ballist,
And if I'm not so strong, nor my legs near so long,
My chances to win are the smallest."

But our contest was one of type-sticking;
It had nothing to do with ball-kicking;
If you don't do what's right, then you and I'll fight,
Until one of us gets a sound licking.

"'Twould be you, then," said Tom with a snicker,
"But whether type-setter or kicker,
I acknowledge the truth, you're a bold-hearted youth,
So come on, Little Bantam! Let's liquor!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 21, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 47, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

De Summer's Almost Here.*

De summer's almost here, and de crowd is comin' down,
      And dere's preparation goin' on accord'n,
And soon you'll see de strangers swarmin' froo' de town,
      Dey's comin' from de oder side o' Jord'n.

Take off yer obercoat, and roll up yer sleebe,
      Jordan am a pleasant road to trabel,
Take off yer obercoat and roll up yer sleebe,
      For Jordan am a warm road to trabel, we believe.

We used to was a good deal bigger town den we is now,
      And we've got a history dat's worf record'n,
But we neber libed on whale-scraps, nor fed them to de cow –
      Some believes it on de odor side o' Jord'n.

We's two newspapers here, and our chillen goes to schools,
      And we's churches, too, for worshipin' de Lord in,
And strangers needn't tink we is all a pack of fools,
      'Cause we don't lib on de oder side o' Jord'n.

We expects de Coffin family to hab a jubilee,
      A great clan like de McGregor or McGordon,
Wid what dey calls a coat of arms from 'way across de sea,
      Brought ober from de oder side o' Jord'n.

Dey'll hab orators and poetors, and dinner in a tent,
      While we folks outside am look'n and applaud'n;
All to celebrate de time when Fader Tristram went
      To his faders on de oder side o' Jord'n.

Some folks says dey's afraid dat our hotels are too small;
      Dere'll be trouble about lodgin'-rooms and board'n;
But we'll stretch the 'comodations to make room for 'am all,
      When dey comes here from de odor side o' Jord'n.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 28, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 48, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Hickory, Dickery, Dock.*

Hickory, dickery, dock,
We've got a new Town Clock,
      The clock struck one,
      Now my story's begun,
Hickery, dickery, dock.

Hickery, dickery, dock.
Hurrah for the new Town Clock!
      Can't get the old one mended,
      And now my story's ended,
Hickery, dickery, dock.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 4, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 49, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

We Have Heard the Pibrock Sounding for the Muster of the Clan.*

We have heard the pibrock sounding for the muster of the clan,
And it strikes a chord responsive in the heart of every man;
We are coming in such numbers as were never seen before,
We are coming, Father Trist-raham, three hundred thousand more!
From North and South, from East and West, from mountain, dell and plain,
From o'er the great Pacific slope, from Texas and from Maine,
We are coming with a rally and a rumble and a roar,
We are coming, Father Trist-raham, three hundred thousand more!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 11, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 50, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

How Doth the Busy Jetty Men.*

How doth the busy jetty men
      Improve each shining hour,
Gathering rocks to drop again,
      Into the mermaids' bower,
They hope by stopping all the holes
      In that long heap of stones,
To clear a channel o'er the shoals.
      Where ships oft laid their bones.
Thus when hard pressed by winter gales
      The seaman, tempest-tossed,
May run in here. But if it fails?
      Uncle Sam pays the cost!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 18, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 51, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Have You Tested the Famous Clan Coffin Cigars?*

Have you tested the famous Clan Coffin cigars,
      To know what their flavor and tone is?
They're the same that were smoked by our Pa's and our Ma's,
      By Tristram of old and Dionis.

Some will take it for granted that all this is so,
      But others, as cute as old foxes,
Will wag their wise heads and ask, How do you know?
      Why – we know by the brand on the boxes!


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 25, 1881, Vol. 61, No. 52, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

And Now Comes the Weather-Man, Vennor.*

And now comes the weather-man, Vennor,
Predicting all things to till men-ah;
      Come what weather it might,
      He'll be sure to hit right,
With two forecastes of different tenor.

But this guess-work and tergiversatlon,
Isn't worthy of consideration;
      We're so often deceived,
      That he can't be believed;
For such prophets we're no Vennor-ation.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 2, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 1, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Aunt Jerusha's Getting Old and Stout.*

Aunt Jerusha's getting old and stout,
And is not in the way of much going out,
So she hardly knows what the world is about,
      And has never believed to the Railroad.

For on the fourth day of July,
When scarce a cloud was in the sky,
She saw the people hurrying by,
      And heard them talk of the Railroad.

Then she put on her Sunday clothes,
And down street with the crowd she goes,
Determined as you may suppose,
      To have a good view of the Railroad.

She got there just before the start,
And 'twas a sight that thrilled her heart,
To see the train of cars depart –
      The first train run on the Railroad.

The engineer then cracked his whip,
Somebody sang out "Let her rip!"
And away they went on their trial trip,
      Dashing along on the Railroad.

She heard the locomotive shriek,
As on it rushed across Goose creek,
Then turned away, to full to speak,
      For she'd really seen a live Railroad!

And right here, too, in old Nantucket!
She made a strong cup of tea, and drunk it,
To steady her nerves, for who'd ever have thunk it? –
      To ride to South Shore on a Railroad!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 9, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 2, p.3.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Here's a Matter that Calls for Immediate Attention.*

Here's a matter that calls for immediate attention, –
'Tis plain that we need a Post-0ffice extension;
For every one knows it is not at all pleasing
To take part in this crushing and jamming and squeezing.
But there's no other way, if you must get your letter,
One man's just as good as another, – and better;
As selfish each one as the dog in the manger,
And crowded so hard that our lives are in danger.
Strong men may endure, but the ladies – God bless them!
'Tis a shameful thing thus to delay and distress them;
They are glad to escape with their lives, though in tatters,
And wait till next morning to get their mail matters;
They daren't send a child there, for fear they might lose it,
For the crowd might o'errun it and trample and bruise it.
Let writers and talkers keep up agitation,
Nor suffer this subject to die of stagnation.
There's no better use for persuasive abilities,
Than to get an increase of our postal facilities.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 16, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 3, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Now the Coffin Clan are Coming.*

Now the Coffin clan are coming,
Mustering by scores and hundreds,
Rallying from every quarter,
Coming down to old Nantucket.
Coming down to see their cousins,
Coming to the grand reunion
Of the scattered sons and daughters
Of stout Tristram and Dionis;
For their seed are now as numerous
As the sands upon our sea-shores.
Verily their name Is Legion.
'Tis an interesting problem
Where we shall find room to put 'em,
But we'll do our best to solve it.
All will find a hearty welcome –
And we'll make the great occasion,
One that will be long remembered.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 6, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 6, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

How Dear to my Heart are the Scenes of my Childhood.*

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood,
      When fond recollections present them to view;
I look back upon them and feel as a child would,
      Though old things are changed to give place to the new.

Before me in memory's glass they're appearing,
      The shadows are clear as they pass on and off;
The sheep on our streets and the annual Shearing,
      The old oaken whalers that lay at the wharf;
The rusty old whalers, the storm-battered whalers,
      The old oaken whalers that lay at tho wharf.

Those sturdy old ships cruised the ocean for treasure,
      And as they returned after long years at sea,
They thrilled many hearts with an exquisite pleasure,
      As all who remember those days will agree.
Now we glide on the cars for a day's recreation,
      But the tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to our past generation,
      And calls up old stories our children to tell,
Of old oaken whalers and stout-hearted sailors,
      And thrilling adventures by sea that befell.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 13, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 7, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

August is Slipping on Apace.*

August is slipping on apace,
September comes to take her place,
The crowd will soon be moving off,
Bearing mementoes of the Cof-
                  fin Reunion.

But those who can stay should remember,
The loveliest month here is September,
We're sure they will not find it dull
To stay here through the Agricul-
                  tural Fair.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 27, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 9, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

The Girl Stood on the Roller Skates.*

The girl stood on the roller skates,
      Flattery had turned her head,
No form more graceful was than Kate's
      As round the rink she sped.

"Come! Come! her young companions cried,
      "'Tis time now to begone!"
"Not yet!" the laughing miss replied;
      And still the skates rolled on.

Then came a clashing, rattling sound,
      And the girl, O, where was she!
She's down, but rises with a bound,
      "She must be hurt!" not she.

Ribbons and bangs and Montagues,
      Served no good purpose there,
But the pretty head received no bruise,
      'Twas saved by -- the back hair.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 3, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 10, p.2.

      Poem's title is taken from the first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

As Stormy Weather Ushered In.*

As stormy weather ushered in
      The Coffin celebration,
So in due time it came again
      To spoil the 'Lumination.

The rain came down that morn in sheets;
      For running stream and puddle,
Scarce navigable were the streets.
      And all things in a muddle.

On Monday morn the schools began,
      The programme's all disjointed;
For thus the best laid plans of man
      Must oft be disappointed.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 10, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 11, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Come, Ride on the Railroad.*

Come, ride on the Railroad, dear reader,
With the engine "Dionis" – God speed her!
      Only costs thirty cents,
      And the fun is immense
As you glide away down to Weeweeder.

But, consulting the latest time-table,
We find the railroad but a fable;
      At least for the present
      The whistle's quiescent,
And Dionis shut in her stable.

Your ride's lost by irresolution,
And your loss is but just retribution;
      But be ready next season,
      And you'll say with good reason,
Our railroad's a great institution.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 17, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 12, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Dire is the Rule of the Rum Fiend.*

Dire is the rule of the rum fiend. We read – O what a pity! –
How the son of Brigham Young, drunk in the streets of Salt Lake City,
Was passed by with derisive sneer by Priest, Levite and others,
Then by policemen was picked up and carried to his mothers;
For he has a plural mother, – —a mother stout and slender,
Blonde and brunette, tall and petite, of stony heart and tender.
The subject is a sad one, but still there's something humorous,
In lugging home a Young man whoso mother Is so numerous.
The policeman was a Gentile, and had steeled his heart ere knocking,
Lest a mother's grief so multiplied should prove a scene too shocking;
But instead of lamentations and tender sobs maternal,
A rasping voice came forth as if from lungs of witch infernal,
Twas mother number twelve: "'Tis plain Young man that you a brute are!"
She was no mother in Israel, only a mother in – Utah!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 1, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 14, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

A Lady Clear-headed and Cautious.*

A lady clear-headed and cautious,
Who boasted a judgment like Portia's,
      Asks, "How could Miss Sadie
      Expect to see Quady?"
And thinks such a story is nauseous,

She says, "The conceit's not a new one,
And the story itself not a true one;
      No woman who read it,
      Could give to it credit,
If there are such fools, I never knew one

But Sadie says some who preceded
Did things just as foolish as she did;
      Some time we'll reveal 'em,
      Our exchanges will steal 'em,
And get sold as cheaply as we did.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 15, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 16, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Old 'Sconset law.*

Old 'Sconset law, so we've been told,
      In days of Eben Kelf,
Was "All that you can get you hold,
      And each one help himself."

Each settler on some land would squat,
      An easy way to do it,
And so in course of time he got
      A sort of title to it.

But trespassers now give offence,
      Still 'tis an ugly prank,
To lift one's out-house or ones fence,
      And tumble it down Bank.

Experience shows it doesn't pay
      For any man or woman
To try to stop a passage-way,
      That's long been used in common.

But neighbors should not be estranged
      By feuds or litigation,
Let all such matters be arranged
      By quiet arbitration.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 5, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 19, p.2.

      Poem's title is taken from the first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Guiteau and Mason.*

A soldier, some three months ago,
Made an attempt to shoot Guiteau,
And had his bullet reached its mark,
There would have been great news for Clark.

No doubt the unwise soldier meant
To avenge our martyred President,
And felt quite overwhelmed with shame
At having bungled in his aim.

But bad he shot with more success,
Court-martial law could scarce do less
Than make him expiate his sin
With an official bullet-in.

Yet counsel now expect to show
That Sergeant Mason and Guiteau,
The actors in these sad affairs,
Are both as mad as two March hares.

Unless acquitted for that cause,
Both must be punished by the laws,
If cleared on any other ground.
Our jurisprudence is unsound.

We should not ask Charles Jules Guiteau,
If he himself's insane or no,
Nor waste a month with legal fiction,
On questions of more jurisdiction.

But if the proof be clear and plain,
To show the wretched man insane,
Then clear him with united voice,
And let the nation's heart rejoice.


      * This poem appeared in Macy's "Here and Here" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 12, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 20, p.2.

      The title has been provided by the transcriber.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Is Madness the Cause of All Human Rascality?*

Now, is madness the cause of all human rascality?
      Perhaps it has never been stated in rhyme,
But the world has advanced to that pitch of morality
      Where no sane man can commit any crime.

Is it murder most foul? Why the murderer was mad,
      He's responsible neither to God nor the laws,
For no man in his senses can e'er be so bad
      As to take human life without adequate cause.

Is it theft, or embezzlement, or defalcation?
      In a case of this kind, it is perfectly plain;
So plain that it ought to need no demonstration,
      To prove that the culprit was merely insane.

Does the victim get drunk? He is sick, we're told,
      For 'tis easy to show in a case of this kind
That such a disease never can be controlled,
      Since it grows out of some aberration of mind.

Thus, let the offences be greater or meaner,
      From President killing to robbing of banks,
And so all the way down to a small misdemeanor,
      We shall find they are all perpetrated by "cranks."

'Tis a reason for mutual congratulation,
      An encouraging sign of the growth of true grace,
That all crime now admits of this one explanation:
      One can never do wrong, till he gets "off his base."


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 3, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 23, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Our Jolly Thanksgiving.*

      Our jolly Thanksgiving,
      The day for good living,
Has slipped away into the past;
      Now let us remember
      It's almost December,
And winter is setting in fast.

      The cold blasts are humming,
      For Christmas is coming,
And soon there'll be snow on the ground;
      But whatever the season,
      Let's try and find reason
For thanksgiving all the year round.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 26, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 22, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Are we going to have any lectures?*

Are we going to have any lectures?
      Many folks are inclined to poke fun,
To sneer, and to throw out conjectures
      That such a thing cannot be done.

About three hundred names, at one dollar,
      Will make up the sum that's required;
You can't make the figures much smaller,
      If good speakers are to be hired.

Then help on the Sherburne Lyceum,
      To get those three hundred all sold.
And fill up our dear Atheneum.
      With an audience large as of old.


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 19, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 21, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Ode to Winter.*

      We asked our Syphax to write an ode to Winter as appropriate for this column, just at this time, and he thus responds:

O season when the mad wind blows!
O weather that so bites my nose!
O season hardest to endure!
O season cruel to the poor!
O ice that makes me tumble flat!
O wind that whirls away my hat!
O season when the harbor freezes!
O time for colds and coughs and wheezes!
O season when no verdure grows!
O season when we wear most clothes!
O chilling blasts right from tho Pole!
O season when we burn up coal!
O time when gossips have no conscience!
O season when we all talk nonsense!
O season –––

      "O hold up!" we shouted, for he would have O-ed in this style for a couple of hours. Our stenographer had taken it all down, but we felt that we owed our poet nothing for this contribution.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 10, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 24, p.2.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Mrs. Addlepate Got so Indignant Last Week.*

Mrs. Addlepate got so indignant last week,
      While perusing the great Guiteau trial,
That she feared to say naughty words if she should speak,
      And let out the wrath from her vial.

"That wretch talk about inspiration; indeed!
      I've no patience te read any farther;"
So she turned the newspaper intending to read
      The message of President Arthur.

It so feelingly touched the late President's death,
      That the good lady's eyes couldn't stand it,
So she wiped off her glasses and draw a long breath,
      As she mused, "I don't quite understand it.

"My Ben used to say that this man was a base,
      Low-minded, pot-house politician,
And if he should be called on to fill Garfield's place,
      Things would be in a dreadful condition.

"But I don't see but what the man talks well enough,
      And the message seems like a good full one,
But Lor! I shouldn't understand half of this stuff,
      And I never could read through a whole one.

"There's foreign relations and Government lands,
      And the need of more war-ships and soldiers,
And his ideas about the new financial plans,
      Agreeing with Charlie J. Folger's.

"I don't care for old countries that have klngs and queens
      And trace back to the Gauls or the Normans,
But here's 'Munroe-doctrine' – I know what that means,
      And I liked that sound slap at the Mormons.

"He mayn't be as wise as Abe Lincoln, – not quite,
      Nor as pious as good old John Bunyan,
But he seems on the whole, to see things about right,
      And I guess Arthur'll do – with an onion!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 17, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 25, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Here's a Jolly Good St. Nicholas.*

            Here's a jolly good St. Nicholas,
            With pretty things to tickle us,
And little heads are wondering how he gets into the house;
            Some theories are quite plausible,
            But most of them impossible,
Unless the Saint so bountiful were smaller than a mouse,

            Oh, jolly old Saint Nicholas!
            The idea's too ridiculous,
That you come up the water drain or down the chimney flue!
            Sweep away the children's mystery,
            And tell them the true history,
That a Santa Claus abides in every heart that's kind and true.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 24, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 26, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1881 POEMS. 1881

Said Eighteen Hundred and Eighty-one.*

Said eighteen hundred and eighty-one
      To eighteen hundred and eighty-two,
"I'm growing old, my work is done,
      And I must die, to give place to you."

Said 1882
      To 1881,
"I won't be such an old crope as you,
      I'll enjoy my life and have lots of fun."

Said MDCCCLXXXI
      To MDCCCLXXXII,
"You'll find that life is not always fun,
      And the sky is not always serenely blue."

Said 1800 & 8E2
      To 1800 & 8E1,
"You can't instruct me, what to do,
      So, skip, old fellow, your task is done."

Said 18 hundred and 81,
As he looked his last at the setting sun,
      "Wisdom will come when it's all too late,
And your life will seem to have hardly begun,
      When you'll learn that you, too, must vacate,
By order of eighteen-hundred and eight-
            y3.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 31, 1881, Vol. 62, No. 27, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

My Love, Do You Remember.*

"My love, do you remember
Such another mild December?
Why it's almost like September!
      Did you ever see the like?"
Then spoke up his truthful Mary,
Sweet and graceful as a fairy,
And she answered, "Not a nary!
      Not a nary one, dear Ike!"

Yet she did not blush nor stammer,
Why with school books try to cram her?
For in spite of blundering grammar,
      Who so fair and fond as she?
And he said, "My little fairy,
My true heart shall never vary,
For I'm proud of you, dear Mary!"
      Soft she whispered, "Guess ye be!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 7, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 28, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

The Moral Monster, Charles Guiteau.*

The moral monster, Charles Guiteau,
Is now, as all our readers know
Much talked about throughout the nation,
In terms of bitter execration.
But having a peculiar name,
All don't pronounce it just the same.
Just stop and listen to this crowd,
Where many men are talking loud.
This noisy speaker calls it Guit-to,
And that one yonder calls it Ditto,
But here's another close to you,
Who's very sure the name's Gut-tew,
Another says he hopes the law
Will stretch the neck of their Gui-tau.
Another tells what he would do,
If he were Judge, with that Gui-too;
Yet on one point they all agree,
That law's a farce if he goes free.


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 14, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 29, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

O, The Snow! The Beautiful Snow!*

O, the snow! the beautiful snow!
It brings its share of discomfort and wo;
We stay in the house and got the blues,
Can't go out to get any news,
And none to be got, for the boat can't go,
O, the snow! the beautiful snow!

O, the snow! the beautiful snow!
Blowing and smothering and beating in so,
Whirling in eddies and drifting about,
Nor doors nor sashes can keep it all out;
Dig it away with shovel and hoe,
O, the snow! the troublesome snow!

O, the snow! the envious snow!
Angelina can't hear from her beau;
Tom's delighted and acts like a fool;
Little Maud must stay out of school;
Storms so hard we can't have her to go,
O, the snow! the troublesome snow!

O, the snow! the terrible snow!
Can't hear a word from that wretch Guiteau;
We hope the law will be put in force,
And he be duly hanged, of course;
But he might be released for aught we know,
O, the snow! the terrible snow!


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 21, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 30, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Annual Town Meeting.*

And now the time approaches for the Annual Town Meeting,
And to the doughty Constables the Selectmen send greeting;
And thus the Fathers of the Town blow the official horn;
"You are hereby directed to notify and warn
The inhabitants, who're qualified to vote in town affairs,
On February 20th to leave all other cares.
And promptly to assemble, responsive to the call,
At the usual place of meeting, in the spacious old Town Hall.
At nine o'clock in the forenoon the hour of meeting is,
And then and there you'll meet for the following purposes, viz.;
First, for the said meeting you will choose a Moderator, –
Th' election of Town Clerk will come a little later;
Firewards, School Committee, and Surveyor of Highways,
A Collector of the Taxes, to see that each one pays;
A Town and County Treasurer to hand the money round,
With Selectmen and Overseers and Keeper of the Pound;
And before the orators begin their everlasting jaw,
You may choose such other officers as are required by law,
Then will come the good old music – the same, with variations,
On the same old subjects calling for such large appropriations.
There is money for the Public Schools (this always makes hard talk),
Money to mend the highways, lest those who ride or walk
Should be victims of a smash-up, or trip and tumble down,
Then put their case into the courts and prosecute the Town.
"The poor ye've always with you" – let them be supported well;
And don't forget the town clock and the ringing of the bell.
We want to light the streets with gas, after the modern plan.
And money to pay the firemen, six dollars to each man;
Money for the engines, cisterns and apparatus,
For interest on the town debt and various other matters.
And who ever saw a warrant without that mysterious section
About the prisoners in the Jails and Houses of Correction?
Then hurrah for Annual Meeting! and may its seed increase!
For every man there has a chance to speak his little piece.
Yet we're so very modest that we have not even hinted
That 'tis time for rival candidates to have their tickets printed.


      * This poem appeared in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 28, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 31, p.2.

      The title has been offered by the transcriber.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Our Poet Says it Doesn't Pay.*

Our poet says it doesn't pay
      To put his thoughts in verse;
It serves to while the time away,
      But doesn't fill his purse.
And well he may complain 'tis tough,
      For he may thank his stars
If he can even earn enough
      To keep him in cigars.
Yet during "trumpery month" our bard
      Finds market for his lines;
Just now his mill is grinding hard,
      On comic Valentines!


      1 This poem appeared in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 4, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 32, p.2.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Valentine's Day is Drawing Near.*

Valentine's day is drawing near,
      When hearts are won and lost;
Why does that amorous saint appear
      In company with Jack Frost?
Sly Cupid shoots his flaming darts,
      While yet cold winter lingers,
And Valentine warms lover's hearts,
      While Jack Frost bites their fingers.
If you love me as I love you
      Are words so sweet and pleasing,
What maiden but would read them through
      E'en while her toes are freezing.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" Column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 11, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 34, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

To Vote for Yes or No, That is the Question.*

To vote for Yes or No, that is the question:
Whether it is better for us still to suffer
The slings and cocktails of time-honored custom,
To keep the sale of whiskey legalized,
And thus secure an income to the town
Amounting to but a few hundred dollars,
Or to take arms against the liquor nuisance.
And cut that income off? But stay; let's see.
We'd gain all that upon the Poor Department,
And even more, for well we know that money
Which should be used for bread, is spent for rum,
And thus the inocents are made to suffer.
How stay this evil? "Twere a consummation
Devoutly to be wished; yet past experience
Under an iron-clad law of prohibition
Was not encouraging; the law's delay,
The shufiling of unwilling witnesses,
The specious arguments of learned counsel,
The verdicts of unsympathetic juries,
And more than all, the great public's indifference,
Made it a failure. Bring on the women now;
They say they'd like to grapple with this question;
May they soon have the chance, and show more zeal
Than they have thus far shown upon school suffrage.
Reforms move slow. I'll vote a No, because
My mother would if she were here today.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 18, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 35, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

If Washington Had Lived Till Date.*

If Washington had lived till date,
      To view his country's glory,
And seen our gallant Ship of State
      Grown from a little dory,
Remembering when dark clouds hung low.
      And perils grave had tried him,
He might well say to Rochambeau,
      (Could he, too, stand beside him)
"When we at Yorktown gained the day,
      We founded a big nation;
'Twill keep on growing just this way,
      And take in all creation!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 25, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 36, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

The Lyceum Now is to Close for the Season.*

The Lyceum now is to close for the season,
      For so the last meeting decided by vote.
"Why so early?" is asked. Would you know the true reason?
      Because it is hard work to keep it afloat.

Much work has been done by these most interested,
      To keep up the interest they nobly have tried,
But the various plans which their wisdom suggested,
      Have served their brief hour, and then languished and died.

At the outset, when novelty's charm hung about it,
      It was even proposed we should meet once a week;
Once a fortnight was better – sure no one can doubt it,
      Though it seemed then that every one wanted to speak.

But if so, their courage, like that of Bob Acres,
      Oozed out at their finger ends ere they arose,
For it soon appeared there were not many speech-makers,
      But so few that the audience must get tired of those.

For the first year the volunteer system succeeded;
      But 'twas ever the case since the days of the ark,
That after a while stringent measures were needed,
      To make the delinquents come up to the mark.

To this end we acted upon a suggestion,
      That the two to lead off should be named by the Chair,
The two persons thus named to make choice of a question, –
      Such a plan it was thought would be quite just and fair.

And in this way we drew out some excellent speeches,
      And the working force gathered some brilliant recruits,
For so rigid a rule all the talent soon reaches, –
      All must speak for themselves or produce substitutes.

Thus the ladies were brought to take leading positions,
      To help on the work both with voice and with pen,
And in spite or St. Paul and his old superstitions,
      Some have acted their part quite as well as the men.

Very well, on the whole, this arrangement succeeded,
      But we found it quite hard all the members to please,
And it's even alleged that some few have seceded,
      Or failing in courage become absentees.

But many good things, some prepared, some spontaneous,
      Have flashed into words from the brain and the heart,
And all have enjoyed the programmes miscellaneous,
      Where each kind of talent could choose its own part.

For though all could not stand up as champions or leaders,
      Some could do other things quite as pleasing to hear,
And among us were singers, musicians and readers,
      Who could stir heart and soul while delighting the ear.

For four year's our gatherings have been wall attended,
      And the Lyceum's influence is always for good;
We believe now the interest in only suspended,
      And that next winter it will again be renewed.

Though we separate now that the season is over,
      Our members will still keep each other in sight;
And perhaps we may rally again in October. –
      Until then we must part with a kindly Good Night!


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 25, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 40, p.2

      Poem title is taken from the first line.

      From the article entitled "Sherburne Lyceum" - "Original Poem, written by William H. Macy, Esq., and read by Miss Stella L. Chase, which we herewith publish entire:"

1882 POEMS. 1882

French Claims.*

Come, all ye patient waiters,
      And send along your names,
Sons of old navigators,
      Go for the old French claims!

Three generations in the past.
      The claims were justly due,
Meanwhile, you've been increasing fast,
      To thousands from a few.

Long age France has paid the claims,
      Which made the matter worse;
For still today the gold remains
      In Uncle Sam's long purse.

Our fathers, and grandfathers, too.
      Endured this grievous wrong,
And still we raise the cry anew,
      "How long, O Sam! How long?"

With gold and credit everywhere,
      And plenty of assets,
Old Sam, why don't you do things square,
      And pay your honest debts?

Come, ye long-suffering creditors.
      And raise the howl anew!
Take up the pen, ye editors,
      And put the matter through!


      * This poem appeared in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 25, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 40, p.2.

      The transcriber has provided the title.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Personal Rights.*

We learn that the subject of snoring in church,
Has been made a matter of legal research,
And a Canada judge, of acute mental vision,
Has set it at rest by a recent decision.

An elderly member, a constant church-goer,
Siting in his own pew, was accustomed to snore
So loud as to startle the whole congregation,
Exciting a general and just indignation.

Remonstrances failing to keep him awake,
His brethren resolved legal measures to take;
To grind the case down through the judicial hopper,
And learn whether such nasal music was proper.

For 'twas proved that defendant had slept in his pew,
(Quito an unseemly thing for a good christian to do)
While his fleshly trombone made such din and commotion,
As to interfere greatly on Sunday devotion.

Tho court on reviewing the facts and the law,
Proceeded at once the conclusions to draw,
And delivered a charge that was worthy of Daniel,
The arguments running somewhat in this channel:

That "an Englishman's house is his castle," is true,
And on the same principle so's his church-pew;
Thus, according to precedent, custom and usance,
The church-sleeper can't be indicted for nuisance.

A men hires his pew in a church, it is plain,
As he might hire a sleeping-car on a night-train;
He shuts himself into it, sits there and muses,
Or worships, or slumbers, whichever be chooses.

This right, then, to sleep when within the pew-door,
Carries with it the right, too, to gasp, yawn and snore;
And no medical man can dispute this position, –
That snoring is never an act of volition.

For the system is then in an abnormal state,
While the air rushes inward tho lungs to inflate;
Of the faculties there is a general suspension,
Certain muscles relax from their usual tension,

And the consequence is, that mellifluous roar,
Which in common parlance is known as the snore,
A result incidental to certain conditions,
Which cannot be ranked among human volitions,

Thus the action involving no malice prepense,
The ruling of court must be for the defense;
It directs that the prisoner be promptly acquitted,
And the rights of church slumberers freely admitted.

Now remember the words of that sapient judge,
If your neighbor is sleeping don't give him a nudge;
As one sleeper's rights outweigh the comfort of numbers,
He may prosecute you, for disturbing his slumbers.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 1, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 41, p.2.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Spring! Spring, Beautiful Spring! [1]*

Spring! Spring, beautiful Spring!
The poets now rally thy praises to sing!
Spring! Spring, beautiful Spring!
We've got twenty verse-makers now on a string!
There are verses silly, and verses smart.
To make the editor sick at heart;
There are verses long and verses short,
Verses feeble and good for naught.
The scribbler tells us he wooes the muse,
And the editor pities the muse he wooes.
Spring! Spring, beautiful Spring!
A waste-basketful of bad rhymes you will bring!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 8, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 42, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Summer Travellers, Listen and Mark!*

Summer travellers, listen and mark!
      If your wanderings take this direction,
Get a portrait of William D. Clark,
      And put it among your collection.

Little treasures of art you will meet,
      In every new place that you go to,
But your gallery'll be Incomplete,
      Unless you include William's photo.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 15, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 43, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

A Plucky Young Sailor from Norway.*

A plucky young sailor from Norway,
Appeared in the Sun office doorway,
      He'd nerve, bone and muscle,
      To meet any tussle,
But his finances were in a poor way.

He boasted himself a Norwegian,
From a cold hyperborean region,
      And reared in rough schools,
      He adds one to the fools.
Whose name, as we all know, is legion.

For this youth is inspired with a notion
To row a boat over the ocean,
      Alone in a dory,
      Win money and glory,
Or perish in grand self-devotion.

What this fool-hardy sailor proposes,
No sane man has dreamed of since Moses,
      We expect he'll be drowned,
      And no trace of him found,
For the ocean no secret discloses,

Though he may live to tell his own story,
And enjoy all his money and glory,
      Such courage and pluck,
      Are deserving of luck,
So we wish him success in his dory.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 22, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 44, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Now Your Pump is Out o' Kilter.*

            Now your pump is out o' kilter,
            And the cistern needs a filter,
And your troubles way be ended at a very small expense;
            Take the Wannacomet water,
            And they'll bring the bill each quarter, –
'Tis as cheap as you can look for, at one dollar fifty cents.

            Now don't wait another summer,
            But at once send for the plumber,
And get your pipes all ready in those "piping times of peace,"
            Just to please your wife and daughter,
            Now don't you think you'd oughter
Take the Wannacomet water, and let all their troubles cease?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 29, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 45, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Against Seining for Fish They are Going to Complain.*

Against seining for fish they are going to complain,
      For a statute was made to forbid it,
And now we find gentlemen hauling the seine,
      Who were perfectly sane when they did it.

In defiance of law though their action may be,
      They don't seem to be frightened about it,
And they'll never put in the "insanity plea,"
      For they think they've a good case without it,

Now "Lay on Macduff!" with the arm of the law,
      And let counsel so brilliant and clever,
Exhaust all the weapons of logic and jaw,
      Till they get the thing settled forever.

Meanwhile 'twould be well for both sides to keep cool,
      And not be too severe or censorious,
For the louder one blusters, the greater the fool, –
      If the other side comes out victorious.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 6, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 46, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

The Town Having Voted Rum-License to Stop.*

The town having voted rum-license to stop,
      And to break up the traffic satanical,
The consequence is that one can't get a drop
      For medicinal use nor mechanical.

We have said a man mayn't be permitted to kill
      Both the body and soul of his brother,
And it seems we have jumped, by expressing our will,
      From one extreme straight to the other.

Not only does this make the rum-drinkers quake,
      But a cause to make sober men squirm it is,
Since they can't buy a sip for their poor "stomach's sake,"
      Nor yet for their "often infirmities."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 13, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 47, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

All Honor to the Worthy Patriarch.*

All honor to the worthy Patriarch,
      Whose years are rounded up to ninety-eight.
'Tis fitting that a bright May day should mark
      Such an occasion as we celebrate.
'Tis well that we should gather round the hearth.
      Where he has made his home for many a year,
To greet the anniversary of his birth,
      With social pleasures, song and hearty cheer.

His memory clear, still revels in the past,
      And 'mid the scenes of distant childhood plays,
Connects the present century with the last,
      Almost to revolutionary days.
Though all the loved ones of his youth are gone,
      Yet potent Memory calls them back at will,
While Time has raised up others, later-born,
      Who make life bright in the old homestead still.

Four generations love and duty owe, –
      Let love and duty tune each voice and tongue;
With age each mortal frame may feeble grow,
      But thanks to Love the heart may still be young.
Viewing his honest record, all agree
      That just reward for him must be in store,
While wishing that his earthly life may be
      Prolonged to fill the century – and more.


      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 20, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 48, p.2.

      The poem appeared in an article entitled "Our 'Oldest Inhabitant.'" The subject of the article was James Franklin Chase who had celebrated his 98th birthday on Tuesday, May 16. From the article: "The following was sent for the occasion by W. H. Macy, Esq., and read by Miss Stella L. Chase, a grand-daughter of the venerable host:"

1882 POEMS. 1882

Clan Coffin, Arouse!*

Now isn't it time that some stir we should make
      'Bout the Tristram and Dionis statue?
Clan Coffin, arouse! for your credit's at stake,
      And the rest of the world looking at you.

Then pass round the hat among Tristram's increase,
      And bid them all wake from their slumbers,
For they need to chip in only ten cents apiece,
      So powerful are they in numbers.


      * This poem appeared in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 20, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 48, p.2.

      Title has been added by the transcriber.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Now, Girls, You Know 'tis June.*

Now, girls, you know 'tis June,
And summer is coming soon,
And with the hot weather,
Young fellows will gather,
All eager to flirt and spoon.
And girls of course will plan
To catch them if they can,
For if they would marry
It's first necessary
To captivate some young man.

            Get a stout and brave young man,
            An honest and true young man,
            Just a bit rough and ready,
            But sober and steady,
            And likely to rise young man.

There's another class of beaux,
Who dress in faultless clothes,
But with brain like a bubble,
And not worth your trouble,
Don't waste any time on those.
Avoid him if you can,
And laugh behind your fan;
The strongest flirtations
Have weak terminations,
When made with a weak young man.

            A shallow and soft young man,
            A conceited and vain young man,
            A weak-minded, pliable,
            False, unreliable,
            Watering-place young man.

At the hops and skating rinks,
Sly glances, smiles, and winks,
Indulged within reason,
Are always in season,
But shun the young man who drinks.
For since the world began,
From Beersheba to Dan,
Be he noble or peasant,
There's nought so unpleasant,
As a thoroughly drunk young man.

            A fuddled and tight young man,
            A whiskey-and-gin young man,
            A roystering, swaggering, reeling and staggering,
            Down in the gutter young man.

Now maidens all beware,
Examine men with care,
And don't get entangled,
Your heart torn and mangled,
And driven to dark despair.
You'll find it the wisest plan,
Each record to keenly scan,
Though none should disparage
The beauty of marriage,
When made with the right young man.

            A live-and-let-live young man,
            A love-and-be-loved young man,
            And though not illustrious, steady, industrious,
            Honest and true young man.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 27, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 49, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Now Come on, Ye Summer Tourists.*

Now come on, ye summer tourists,
Here's the place for recreation,
We suppose that's what you're seeking,
Come and make a summer of it,
And you'll find upon our inland,
Countless sources of enjoyment.
Make a long sojourn among us.
Don't dispose of us as some do,
Come here in the evening steamer,
Tired and hungry, bolt their supper,
Get a team and go to 'Sconset,
Don't stop there to get acquainted,
At what they see turn up their noses.
One night's enough to "do" this island,
Sec Wauwinet in the distance,
Saw the Cliff before they lauded,
Interview some old romancer,
Pack the carpet bag next morning,
Shako the dust from off their heel-taps,
Go away and write a letter,
Get it published in some journal,
Give a history of our island,
Make about a score of blunders,
Mixing up our old forefathers,
Thomas Folgcr, Peter Macy,
Nickanoose and Tristram Coffin,
All akin to Doctor Franklin,
Learned the facts from their descendants,
Tough old salts brought up in whalers,
Tell their readers all about it,
How we live in queer old houses,
With a poop-deck round the chimney,
Morse grown green upon the shingles,
And windows all of different sizes,
Not at all like Cottage City.
(Who in thunder said it was, then?)
Describe the house of Charles O'Conor,
(Never went within a mile on't)
Give one hotel an advertisement,
Sneer a little at the others,
On the whole there's no great harm done,
As this serves to advertise us;
Others come and stay here longer,
Getting further information,
Writing letters well worth rending,
Vastly more so than this jingle,
Which all day we might continue,
If our space and time permitted,
But the "devil" waits for "copy."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 24, 1882, Vol. 62, No. 52, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Church Devotees, with Pious Hope.*

Church devotees, with pious hope,
To kiss the toe of Holy Pope,
      To Rome were wont to go;
Why not, then, in an age like this,
Lovers of Freedom dream it bliss,
Could they but be allowed to kiss
      Dear Harriet Beecher's toe.

Bright eyes of ladies fair and young,
By bards of every age were sung
      In verse of tuneful flow;
White hands, too, have inspired the lay,
But the great poets of today,
Their highest, richest tributes pay
      To Harriet Beecher's toe.

Honor her three-score years and ten!
She battled for the rights of men
      In dark hours long ago.
Her pen, with keen incisive prick,
Touched callous conscience to the quick,
And Slavery shrank back from the kick
      Of Harriet Beecher's toe.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 1, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 1, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

A Pure Heathen Chinee.*

Now to think they should bring,
      A pure heathen Chinee,
Just the real live thing
      From the empire of tea,
And then carry him out to Wauwinet,
      It's really surprising to see.

Loose clothes he will wear,
      Both in sunshine and rain,
And a long tail of hair,
      Of which he's quite vain,
And he does many things that's peculiar,
      Which the same we've not space to explain.

As we don't know his name,
      We shall call him Sam Lee,
Good enough is the same,
      For such low chaps as he,
Who bring cheap Mongolian labor
      To ruin the land of the free.

But Sam with his smile,
      That is childlike and bland,
Hopes to make his snug pile
      In this model free land,
And he says he can "make washee washee,"
      But the rest "no can make understand."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" Column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 8, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 2, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's second line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Nantucket! 'Tis of Thee.*

Nantucket! 'tis of thee,
Fair island in the sea,
          Of thee we sing;
Our souls in song we pour
Out on thy Surf-Side shore,
Where ocean surges roar,
          – And children swing.

Our fathers, we are told,
Cruised distant seas for gold,
          In ancient times;
Like argonauts of Greece,
They sought the golden fleece,
And brought home stores of grease,
          – And pickled limes.

Their occupation's gone,
We don't go round Cape Horn
          In modern days;
No more the seas we roam,
But hold levees at home,
Coax strangers too, to come,
          – And think it pays.

Inspired with thoughts like these,
My soul, by slow degrees,
          With rapture swells.
Lets break old custom's chains!
Let's rush on railroad trains
Across our moors and plains,
          – And build hotels.


      * Appeared in Macy's column "Here and There, Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 15, 1882, p.2.

1882 POEMS. 1882

'Twas a British Naval Fleet.*

'Twas a British naval fleet,
Clad In armor all complete,
      Manned by seamen who at fighting-work so handy are;
And feeling sure to win,
Sent their ultimatum in
      To the Arabs fortifying Alex-and-ri-a.

Doughty Admiral Seymour,
Sent this threatening word on shore:
      "You old What's-his-name Pasha, who such a grandee are,
Now just stop that warlike fun,
For if you mount another gun,
      I'll open fire, and batter Alex-and-ri-a.

But still the spunky Turk
Kept straight on about his work,
      Assisted by his Arabs who so handy are;
He lost little time replying,
But went right on fortifying,
      And dared them do their worst to Alex-and-ri-a.

Then says Seymour to his lads,
Who manned the iron-clads,
      "I know that British seamen fond of brandy are;
And we'll all have double share,
(For Her Majesty won't care)
      When we've battered down the forts of Alex-and-ri-a,"

They went at it with a will,
And of drink enjoyed their fill,
      For the airs from Egypt's coast so dry and sandy are;
And obeyed their orders well,
– But the tale is sad to tell,
      How the British fleet bombarded Alex-and-ri-a.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 22, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 4, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

The Crier Blew Fiercely on His Horn.*

The crier blew fiercely on his horn,
      And his blast was long and loud,
"A Grand Excursion on Thursday morn,
And all New Bedford's coming on,
      And there'll be a tremendous crowd!"

The excursion boat came safely o'er,
      And the rush to the wharf was great.
And forth her human tide did pour.
All eager to land upon our shore, –
      And lo! there were twenty-eight!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 29, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 5, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Organ-ism.*

With face like the ace of spades,
      Begrimed with dust and sweat,
He set no price on his serenades,
      But worked for what he could get.
Pervading streets and lanes,
      And even our very back yards,
Still there he stood like a statue in wood,
      Grinding the "Mulligan Guards."
            Grind! grind! grind!
                  On his wheezy old machine,
            And you hope that soon he'll change the tune,
                  Yes, – "Wearing of the Green."

And now it's "St. Patrick's Day,"
      And children collect at the sound,
Shut the windows you may, still there he will stay,
      Like a post driven into the ground.
With shoulders weary and lame,
      With hat slouched over his eyes,
Has he always been standing there, ever the same?
      Will he grind right on till he dies?
            Grind! grind! grind!
                  Through days, – and weeks, – and moons,
            But you feel surprise that a count in disguise,
                  Should be grinding out Irish tunes.

But listen! he's changed the strain,
      That would suit for a Highland fling,
He plays it half through, then he changes again –
      And he's grinding "God Save the King."
He's settled once more to his work,
      And you think he will never be gone,
And you throw up the window again with a jerk, –
      "Here's ten cents if you'll only move on!"
            Grind! grind! grind!
                  Now the sound is some blocks away,
            But that doleful cadence is haunting your mind,
                  And rings in your ears all day.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 5, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 6, p.2.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Did you Witness the Dancing of Bruin?*

Did you witness the dancing of Bruin?
And the other cute tricks he was doin'?
            It's a matter of doubt,
            How they lifted him out
Of the gross ignorance that he grew in.

He knew nought but to gorge and to guzzle;
How one taught him so much is a puzzle;
            For a teacher so good,
            Should he feel gratitude?
But look, then, at that cruel muzzle.

There's been much that is cruel about it;
He's been beaten, and starved, – we don't doubt it,
            Till the beast understood,
            How he might earn his food,
After suffering a whole week without it.

Climb trees can he? Yes, 'ere they caught him,
And unto the haunts of men brought him;
            He acknowledged no master,
            But climbed a tree faster
Than he did after all this was taught him.

The Society with title so wordy,
That looks after the life of each birdie,
            Should not let the bear dance,
            And caper and prance
To the squeak of the vile hurdy-gurdy.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 12, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 7, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

A Certain Good Lady Named Rogers.*

A certain good lady named Rogers,
Fitted up all her rooms to take lodgers,
            But some ran away,
            Without stopping to pay,
Thus proving themselves artful dodgers.

But after a few such mischances,
When she overhauled her finances,
            "This won't do," she said,
            "If the man that hasn't paid
Can slip away just when he fancies."

So she made it a rule that all sleepers,
Before they could shut their tired peepers,
            Should pay in advance,
            As the only safe chance
For justice to lodging-house keepers.

"And is that how you're going to work us?"
Blustered one of the last-season shirkers.
            "Yes, I've seen you before,
            And you'll pay at the door,
Before you come into this circus!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 19, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 8, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Summer is Past.*

Summer is past, and day by day
      We're gliding into autumn,
The steamer's carrying folks away,
      E'en faster than she brought 'em.

They've spent their brief vacation here,
      Enjoying rest and freedom;
Some of them think it costs them dear,
      Complaining that we bleed 'em.

'Tis true that if one's purse is small,
      September'll find the bottom;
He asks "Where are my dollars all?
      Extortioners have got 'em."

If some are guilty of that sin,
      Charity must excuse 'em;
A stranger comes, they take him in.
      That's Christian way to use 'em.

And such has ever been the case,
      Since the sad fall of Adam;
Temptations are not hard to face,
      For those who never had 'em.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 16, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 12, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

In Summer Time.*

In summer time, as down the street,
      Viewing the crowd you saunter,
'Bout every other girl you meet
      Has on a Tam O'Shanter.

Our Mary must be like the crowd,
      That privilege we must grant her,
Some girls look pretty 'tis allowed,
      Topped with a Tam O'Shanter.

But when the sun was fierce enough
      To scorch a Southern planter,
Our girl's experience was rough, '
      Thanks to her Tam O'Shanter.

A shady hat now takes its place,
      She's tired of jest and banter,
Because she's burned her pretty face
      Wearing a Tam O'Shanter.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 23, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 13, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

We've All Heard of the Cock-Lane Ghost.*

We've all heard of the Cock-Lane Ghost,
      And of the witch of Endor,
But now our 'Sconset road can boast
      A spook out on a bender.

All summer it has roamed at will,
      And travellers were so frightened,
It seemed their very hearts stood still
      And every nerve was tightened.

It was a fearful sight indeed,
      To my eyes or to yours;
That ghost in white, on milk-white steed,
      Dashing across the moors!

When threatened with a pistol ball,
      Lo! 'twas of earth and human;
And now, the strangest part of all,
      Confessed itself – a woman!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 30, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 14, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

William had a Tooting Horn.*

William had a tooting horn,
      Its note was loud and strong,
And everywhere that William went,
      The horn too went along.

He blew it in the streets each day,
      Such was his general rule.
This made the strangers stare and say,
      In tones of ridicule,

"What makes that strange, unearthly sound?
      Its coming this way – Hark!
Who is that blower rushing round?"
      An urchin answered, "Clark."

"What makes you value William so?"
      The strangers all did cry.
"Why, William blows the horn, you know,"
      The urchin did reply.

In time the strangers all cleared out,
      But William lingers near,
And trudging patiently about,
      The horn each day we hear.


      This poem appeared in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 7, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 15, p.2.

      The title has been taken from the poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Each Faction Names its Candidate.*

Each faction names its candidate
For the first office in the state;
Each gamester with the other vies
In playing for the highest prize.
And now in looking o'er the game,
Well may we ask "What's in a name?"
Surely no man of liberal views
Can use his influence to choose
A Bishop for chief magistrate,
Uniting thus the church and state.
A Butler on the other hand,
The temperance men could never stand;
He should be one well skilled, methinks,
In mixing and compounding drinks.
We'd wreck the ship of state and scuttle her,
If we entrust her to a Butler.
While each man's friends his claims are vaunting,
We weigh both names and find them wanting.
If we the Commonwealth would save,
Long may our starry banner wave;
Let's have no priestly robe and mitre,
Still less, the benzoline and nitre.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 14, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 16, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

November 7th will be the date.*

November 7th will be the date
      For holding the election,
And busy men throughout the state,
      Are catching the infection.

Now the stump-speaker frets and struts.
      Tells us "Be up and doin',
For there must be no ifs nor buts,
      Or all will go to ruin!"

On our side Virtue is at home,
      On their side all the vice is.
The fate of Cato and of Rome
      Was nothing to this crisis!

"Up for Retrenchment and Reform!
      Fling to the breeze our banner!"
Thus orators will rave and storm,
      In most vehement manner.

But when the cauldron's simmered down,
      One scarcely can remember,
Whether 'twas Bishop, Long or Brown,
      Elected last November.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" Column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 28, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 18, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

This is the Paper Fresh and Bright.*

This is the paper fresh and bright,
That's issued every Friday night,
Whose doggerel lines from comic bard,
Beguiled the parent stern and hard,
That thrashed the boy with sleepy eyes,
That stared all day in mute surprise
At the pile-driver, tall and slim,
That did its work with so much vim,
That dropped its weight with heavy thud,
That drove great logs into the mud,
That gave no answering echo back,
That will support the bridge and track,
That holds the car on which to ride,
That will connect us with Surf-slde,
That place where all good christians go,
Likewise that sleepy boy you know,
That gave three cheers for the Railroad!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 4, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 19, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Mrs. Langtry in New York is Now Quite the Rage.*

Mrs. Langtry in New York is now quite the rage,
She has thousands to gaze at her while on the stage,
      For that's in the straight line of duty;
But this rage is not all for her acting alone,
For the lily of Jersey, – the fact is well known, –
      Is likewise a professional beauty.

While at home she's besieged with impertinent calls,
Crowds of visitors all day are thronging the halls,
      Who demand interviews willy-nilly;
And the autograph hunters are there in full force,
Each expecting to get, as a matter of course,
      The signature of the fair Lily.

And the dear lady says in her kindness of heart.
She would gladly supply them and let them depart,
      But she cannot find time to indite 'em;
And being too honest, we truly believe,
She cannot employ, with intent to deceive,
      A woman-nensis to write 'em.

But all this work might have been done up before
Her pretty feet touched our American shore;
      For her agents and friends could have shown her
That these names would be wanted, as well they might know,
And why didn't she write off a million or so,
      When at sea on the stout Arizona?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 11, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 20, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

We Envy Continental Friends.*

We envy continental friends,
On whom tho early snow descends,
And distance her enchantment lends
To all the joys of sleighing.

At night we've snow upon the ground,
Next morning, none is to be found;
Thus disappointment rules the hour,
And makes us cry "the grapes are sour."

Your milk of kindness turned to gall,
You say you wouldn't go at all –
Sit in a cold draft in the hall,
And think you're out a sleighing,

Put on your wraps, and carol songs,
Jingle the shovel and the tongs,
And taste the pleasure that belongs,
To going out a sleighing.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 9, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 24, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

How Dear to my Heart are the Old Days of Whaling.*

      An old fogy who cannot bring himself up with the times, thus bursts into song:

How dear to my heart are the old days of whaling,
When fond recollections present them to view!
The sturdy old vessels arriving and sailing,
With everything lively, then idlers were few.
Each ship that came home from the far away ocean,
Brought riches for some and employment for more;
An abundance of grease kept the wheels all in motion,
There was work for our young men at sea and on shore
In the good time of whaling, the old days of whaling,
The days that we old folks remember so well.

Our young women, too, stood a chance to get married,
For bravo men were ready to take them as wives,
But their daughter's with hearts just as loving have tarried,
Till the freshness of youth has passed out of their lives.
At the news of a ship at the Bar deeply laden,
No queen in her palace more happy could be,
Than the proud tender mother or wife or bright maiden,
Whose son, husband or lover had come back from sea,
In the high noon of whaling, the old days of whaling,
The days that we old folks remember so well.

But our ocean Nimrods their last harpoon have darted,
And their lances once bright are to rust laid away,
All the glory of chivalry now has departed,
And but few ancient knights linger here old and gray.
Those few bear a halo of romance about them,
As we list their wild tales of adventure to hear,
And sad 't[s to feel we shall soon be without them,
For their numbers are thinning out fast every year.
Farewell then to whaling, the old tales of whaling,
So full of traditions and memories dear.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 16, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 25, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

Ben Butler! 'tis of Thee.*

Ben Butler! 'tis of thee,
Our ruler soon to be,
            Of thee we sing.
Let us thy praises speak,
How thou didst office seek,
And by persistent cheek
            Became our King.

Thy speeches so admired,
With noble thoughts inspired
            Each voter's breast.
Whoa thou didst mount the stump
Each patriot's heart did jump,
He felt it swell and thump,
            Within his vest

The war-cry of Reform,
To take all hearts by storm
            Is just the thing.
When thou the flame didst fan,
Prepared to lead the van,
Men cried "Behold the man!
            Let's make him king!"

Let music swell the breeze,
When thou shalt take the keys,
            And claim thy own!
Shout with united voice!
Let all the land rejoice!
The sovereign of our choice
            Ascends the throne!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 23, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 26, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1882 POEMS. 1882

A Happy New Year!*

"A Happy New Year!" Yes, the greeting in short,
      As exchanged with each passer-by.
Yet how much, when we give them a serious thought
      Do those few little words imply!
Home comforts, the world's esteem, true love,
      Success in his business, wealth,
All these are included, and more, yet above
      And over them all, sound health.
For without this last, all the others can be
      Only partially prized or enjoyed;
If from bodily pain one cannot be free,
      There is ever an aching void.
We have wished, for our neighbor, a full year of bliss,
      Yet reflecting, we scarcely may dare
To expect so much in a world like this,
      Where full happiness is so rare.
Yet, reflecting again, 'tis the average lot,
      To battle pain, sorrow and care,
And we wish that our friend, yes, why may we not?
      His portion may cheerfully bear.
To so great a degree on his own will depends
      The control of one's happiness here,
This to the phrase new significance lends,
      As we wish him "A Happy New Year."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 30, 1882, Vol. 63, No. 27, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Uncle Phineas Opened His Post-Office Box.*

Uncle Phineas opened his post-office box,
      Stooped and squinted to got a peep in,
And while his stiff hat got some quite severe knocks,
      Spied a slip of white paper within.

He was flustered, scarce knowing what he was about,
      And his stiff fingers served him so ill,
That he fumbled some time ere he pulled the slip out,
      "O, it must be my quarterly bill."

Then he fumbled again in his pockets, and found
      That his spectacles wern't in their place,
So he beckoned a boy who was hanging around
      With a quizzical grin on his face.

"Here youngster, your eyes must be better than mine;"
      "I reckon they be," he replied;
"Here, read me this slip." "Why there ain't but one line,
      It says 'Call–for–a–package–inside.'"

"A package, eh, who'd send a package to me?"
      He asked in a low, muttering strain;
"I wasn't lookin' for none. But I guess it must be
      For Jerushy or Melviny Jane."

Then he struggled and panted and fought for his place
      In the line, till his turn at last came,
And he viewed the postmaster's benevolent face,
      Like a picture in too small a frame.

"Say, Mister, you got any package for me?
      Any basket or bundle or roll?"
"Yes. You'll have to go knock on the side door," said he.
      "It's too big to go out through this hole."

When at last the old man with short breath and sore toes
      Reached the door, it flew open a crack,
And something pushed edgewise struck full on his nose –
      Ho recoiled at this sudden attack.

"Catch it quick!" said a voice as the door was slammed to.
      He clutched it, recovered his feet,
And held it on high as he jammed his way through,
      Till he stood at last safe in the street.

"O, Pa! that's for me!" was the daughter's glad shout,
      With her rosy mouth on the broad grin,
For Malviny impatiently waited about,
      ('Twasn't proper for her to squeeze in.)

"What is it, Malviny?" he asked, breathing hard,
      "A book or shawl from your beau?"
"What should it be, Pa, but a sweet Christmas card?
      And it's perfectly lovely, I know!"

"A card! The girls used to have cards in my days
      To comb wool and to make cotton batt;
Them was flat, wide and square, and shaped something that way,
      But they wern't so big over as that!"


      * This poem was published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 6, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 28, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883 1

The School Room was Large, but the Pupils were Few.*

The school room was large, but the pupils were few
      And the the teacher appeaared in the dumps,
"We can't make much showing" she said, "it is true,
      For so many are sick with the mumps."

"A girl and two boys in this class, only three,
      And their throats appear to have lumps;
And when this class was full there were thirteen," said she,
      "All the rest are down sick with the mumps."

A boy stood up to read, but 'twas easy to see,
      That this card was not one of her trumps,
"He's not half as smart as his sister," said she,
      "But his sister's at home with the mumps."

Then a smaller boy rose; a young hero he was,
      And stood firm on his little short stumps,
But it hurt him to read and no wonder, – because
      He himself had a touch of the mumps.

Then uprose the girl with her face all aglow,
      "0h dear," she cried, "how my heart thumps!
And my mother don't like me to set close to Joe,
      She's afraid I'll be kitchin' the mumps."

"Why, Maggie, you had the mumps two weeks ago,
      This I learned by a note from your mother,"
"Yes, m'am, – but I had only one mump, you know –
      She's afraid o' me kitchin' the other!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 13, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 29, p.2.

      Title taken from the poems first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Well, Johnny, my boy, and How's your mother?*

"Well, Johnny, my boy, and how's your mother?
      And the baby so bright and bonnie?"
      For I hear that you have a dear little brother."
"Yes, two of 'em, ma'am," said Johnny.

"Indeed! why I'd no idea there were two!
      Why 'twill cost such a heap of money
To provide for them all, pray what'll you do?"
      "Take care of 'em both," said Johnny.

"And what do you think they'll be called? Let me see,
      Twins' names are always so funny;"
"They's both got names." "Ah, what may they be?"
      "Thunder and Lightnin'," said Johnny.

"Bless me! who gave 'em such names as those?
      Why they ought to be called Milk and Honey;"
"Pa called 'em by name, – and of course he knows, –
      As soon as he saw 'em," said Johnny.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 10, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 33, p.2.

      Title taken from the poems first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Syphax had a Valentine.*

      Syphax had a Valentine the other day, and pretends he knows who wrote it, but he doesn't,. We quote a portion of it not for the amusement, of our younger readers, but because the lines will touch a tender chord in the hearts of our older ones, recalling the period when they themselves were gushing and spooney:

All in a bower of eglantine,
I'm musing on my Valentine,
All day I sit here to repine,
And think upon my Valentine,
And down my checks great drops of brine
Are streaming for my Valentine,
For thee, my love, I'd crowns resign,
If thou woulds't be my Valentine.
No, no, her name's not Emeline,
Who sends to thee this Valentine,
Nor Caroline, nor Adeline,
So guess again my Valentine,
Nor Angeline, nor Geraldine,
Nor Madeline, nor Catharine.
Though all these names may sound so fine,
They can't compare with Valentine.
O strangely beats this heart of mine,
Thinking of thee my Valentine,
I fain would woo the wayward nine,
To sing thy praise, dear Valentine;
But scarce can write a single line,
But it will ryme with Valentine.
O may the sun of true love shine
Upon our paths, my Valentine,
And Cupid's net our hearts entwine,
Within its folds, my Valentine.
A word from thee is medicine,
To heal my wounds, dear Valentine.
I'd feel it creeping down my spine,
Like soothing balm, my Valentine.
In cottage, bowered by creeping vine,
Let's live and love, my Valentine,
As innocent as lambs, – or swine,
We'd glide through life, my Valentine.
My heart, though tru!y feminine,
Can't wait for thee my Valentine.
Love in a cottage in divine,
Is it not so, my Valentine?
We'd hear the lowing of the kine,
Far down the lane, dear Valentine,
While clothesline, vine, and wood-bine twine,
Around the porch ––

"Hold up there!" roared the foreman, observing that Syphax had still several fools cap pages to read. "If it's all the same kind, this silly feminine can take all the shine out of Touchstone and Rosalind. We can't afford the time to listen to all this rhyme, our work will be all behind, and not only that, you'll find yourself bewildered in your mind, and this everlasting grind, us with a spell will bind, and we'll all be like Mark Twain with his Punchbrothers strain keeping time with the train, and now we'll bring up with a jerk, and all hands get to work."


      * Published in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 17, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 34, p.2.

      Title taken from the poems first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Among Our New Governor's Collection.*

Among our new Governor's collection,
Of things that need change and correction,
      He would make legal holiday,
      Idle and jolly day,
At the annual November election.

But the members don't catch the infection,
And so much there was urged in objection,
      That the vote on the measure,
      Was not to his pleasure,
And the consequence was, – its rejection.

To fan patriot fires from the ember,
We the Fourth of July must remember,
      And grave decoration with flags and oration,
And Christmas, that brightens December.

We have Fast day that nobody cares for,
Or wants to put on solemn airs for,
      And also Thanksgiving,
      The time for good living,
Which each head of a family prepares for.

One counts 'em up an he repeats 'em,
And Washington's birthday completes 'em –
      Six. Enough in all conscience,
      To make more is nonsense,
Unless the great public heart greets 'em.


      * This poem was published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 17, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 34, p.2.

      The title is taken from the first line of the poem.

1883 POEMS. 1883

A History Lesson.*

"Say, ma, what is this holiday?"
      I heard a small girl ask;
The mother laid her work away,
      And braced up for the task.

"Why, Mary, darling, don't you know?
      Your memory's gone astray;
I told you all this, long ago –
      George Washington's birthday."

"And who's George Washington? What for?"
      "The Father of the Nation,
And first in peace, and first in war –
      That's why this celebration."

"And what is Peace, and what is War?
      I don't know one from t'other;
And George is Nation's pa! O Lor'!
      Say, who was Nation's mother?"

"Why, nation means all of us, child.
      All in this country, rather;
Oh dear! your questions drive me wild!
      Old England was her mother."

"And what's war?" "This nation tried to go,
      And England tried to make her
Stay" – "Yes, oh yes, ma, now I know –
      George wouldn't let her take her!"

"Nation's ma whipped her and she cried,
      And went to live with papa,
The same as if her ma had died,
      Like little Susie Harper."


      * This poem was published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 24, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 34, p.3.

      The title is taken from the first line of the poem.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Sisters, Let Us Rouse the Nation – A Suffrage Song.*

Sisters, let us rouse the nation.
      Let our words all hearts inspire,
Until tardy legislation,
      Grants us all that we desire.
Proclaim the truth by day and night;
      Deny it if you can,
That every woman has the right
      To vote, as well as man.

chorus.

Come along, come along, speak and write and sing,
Come and join the chorus, make the echoes ring;
Keep the music rising with a swell on every note,
Till Uncle Sam is kind enough to give us all a vote.

Our cause has fought its way, despite
      The shafts of ridicule,
And he who pleads for woman's right,
      No longer's called a fool.
School suffrage has been meted out
      In States both East and West,
And by persistent work, no doubt,
      We'll manage all the rest;

chorus.

Come along, come along, speak and sing and write.
Come along for suffrage, while the prospect's looking bright;
We'll have reason to be proud of all we ever said or wrote,
When Uncle Sam is wise enough to give us all a vote.

In Wyoming our sisters fair
      Can use the ballot well,
Why can't we do so everywhere?
      Can anybody tell?
If woman's influence counts for good
      In education's cause,
Why then of course we know it would
      In anti-liquor laws.

chorus.

Come along, come along, sing and write and speak,
Come and work for suffrage, let us gain the prize we seek;
And the strains of Freedom's song over all our land shall float.
When Uncle Sam is just enough to give us all a vote.

Now as woman's elevation
      Is progressing day by day,
And her modern education's
      Tending on the upward way,
To win the suffrage that we need,
      Depends on us alone. –
Men say that if we don't succeed,
      The fault will be our own.

chorus.

Come along, come along, work and write and plan,
Till woman to the polls shall go side by side with man;
Then for great moral evils we shall find the antidote,
And Uncle Sam be glad enough he gave us all a vote.


      * This poem was published in an article entitled "Annual Supper" in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 24, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 34, p.2. The occasion was the annual meeting of the Nantucket Woman's Suffrage Association.

      Proceeding the song in the article was this note: "A spirited original song, written for the occasion by W. H. Macy, of this town, was rendered with peculiar zest by Mr. S. F. Hosmer, the Glee Club joining in the chorus".

      The title is adapted from the first line of the poem.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Our Atheneum.*


With loyal hearts responsive to the call,
We meet again within this dear old hall,
And cheerfully our modest efforts lend
To serve the interests of a dear old friend,
To aid our Atheneum, so highly prized,
Braving all risk of being criticised.
With music, speech and song we meet to-night,
And surely it would seam but just and right
To call up, in this rhyming contribution,
The story of so good an institution.

Previous to eighteen hundred thirty-four,
(I cannot say how many years before,
Nor would it matter even if I could,)
Upon this site a house of worship stood.
I well remember its appearance then,
Though but a little urchin less than ten;
And as no sign-board e'er escaped by search,
On this I read, First Universalist Church;
Also a date printed in letters Roman,
This I recall because 'twas so uncommon.
But what is such vague recollection good for,
Since now I can't tell what those letters stood for;
As to the edifice, I must allow,
Its general form was much like this one now;
No lofty tower or spire towards heaven reached,
But here the Reverend George Bradburn preached.
I heard him once, once only, I believe,
Gaining for just once the parental leave.
Our Quaker birthright told us it was wrong
To worship God with music and with song;
But I confess a feeling of delight,
To find that there were those who thought it right.
The world moved on, and soon there came a day
When Universalism didn't pay;
Or else 'twas something else, it doesn't matter,
Whether it was the former or the latter.
If I digress, my story'll ne'er be told,
And so, one day, I heard the church was sold.
The United Library Association,
Doing a good work for our civilization,
Counted some noble men within its ranks,
To whom we owe to-night our grateful thanks.
Coffin and Joy are honored above all,
Their portraits, side by side, adorn the wall,
And grateful memories in our minds suggest,
Though they have passed on to their final rest.
These men with generous sums to head the list,
Found others prompt and willing to assist;
Losing no time, at their great work they went,
Building up for themselves a monument;
Leaving results to us which, when we are gone,
Will stand for generations yet unborn.
Thus a foundation being firmly laid,
A building purchased, certain changes made
To fit it for the purposes designed,
To elevate the human heart and mind,
The ball when started quickly onward rolled,
And thus we heard that the old church was sold.
New books were purchased,
Old ones freely given,
By eager hands the work was pushed and driven.
The precious volumes, starting from a few,
Quickly to hundreds, then to thousands grew,
And readers old and young being thus allured,
The library became a thing assured.
A museum, too, was sure success to win,
For contributions rare come pouring in.
All the queer things in nature and in art,
All climes, all lands and oceans bore their part.
Our men in those days dug wealth from the seas,
O'er the wide world their canvas wooed the breeze.
Old sailors from long voyages returned;
Enjoyed the rest they had so-bravely earned,
And, as might he supposed, these stout sea-kings
Had brought home many strange and curious things,
And these, when brought together for inspection,
Made up a rare and valuable collection.
The lecture room formed an important part
In the grand programme from the very start.
Courses of lectures were inaugurated,
Keeping the public interest unabated.
Home talent for the most part was employed,
Large audiences applauded and enjoyed.
Yet of those old discourses we must say,
How different from the lectures of to-day!
All the world did not travel then as now,
On railroad trains, – because they knew not how;
Progress in later days has pushed aside
The things with which our sires were satisfied.
The simple battery and Voltaic pile,
So strange in those days, now would raise a smile;
Wonderful things with which they were beguiled,
Have now become but playthings for the child ;
Lecturers now would look for small returns,
For things which every high-school urchin learns.
He knows that none would go into ecstatics
Over a long discourse on hydrostatics.
Imagine grown folks listening calm and placid,
Learning how vitriol is sulphuric acid;
How it requires six planes to bound a cube,
And what is meant by the pneumatic tube!
With the dimensions of Earth, Mars and Venus,
And what the distance is in miles between us!
Science, compared with what she now can show,
Was but an infant fifty years ago.
None knew of Darwin then nor Herbert Spencer,
But wondrous were the air-pump and condenser.
But yet the picture has another side,
Which makes us think of the old hall with pride.
What moral ideas found expression there!
How many young reforms can witness bear
Of the slow growth of right and common sense,
Helped on by good impressions sent out thence?
There friends of education held convention,
Discussing points too numerous to mention;
Discarding old and building up new rules,
Seeking to raise the standard of our schools.
There anti-slavery champions sometimes dared
To raise their protest for which few then cared,
Except to sneer; but later, all admired
The force of strong conviction that inspired
The courage shown by those few pioneers, –
So marvellous the change in twenty years!
And when the Washingtonian reform
Swept o'er the country like a driving storm,
I heard the voice of "old John Hawkins" ring,
Warning us all 'gainst the accursed thing.
That storm passed o'er; 'tis sad to think that men
Need his rude eloquence now, even as then.
"Laughing gas" made us fun in that dear hall;
Now, utilized, it yields no fun at all;
'Twas there we first saw "subjects" mesmerized,
And then concluded we'd been victimized;
There Henry Wright preached universal peace,
With faith that wars and human strife would cease;
And Graham, with his vegetable diet,
Making small gains; and still less converts by it.
But why go on? this sort of retrospection
Carries me always in the same direction.
Queer episodes in youth and boyhood all
Associate themselves with that old hail.
So, by a grateful people prized and nourished,
Through twelve bright years our Atheneum flourished;
Its library had grown to fill the shelves;
Some of the books were fortunes in themselves.
The queer things to the museum attached,
In certain specialties could scarce be matched
By any in the land. Disaster came;
Our Atheneum went up in smoke and flame!
Yet not alone, 'twas on that fatal day,
When hundreds saw their savings swept away
Before the all-devouring fiery blast,
Undoing all the labors of the past.
'Tis idle to attempt to estimate
A museum room seemed like an aching void.
Besides, things were not as they used to be;
The times had changed, and so, forsooth, had we.
Our fleet of shipping grew, we must confess,
"Small by degrees, and beautifully less;"
Our dear old business destined was to fail,
Owing to the great scarcity of whale,
And smaller prices for the few we got,
The California mania, and what not,
Until of ships and active men bereft,
No mariners, but old worn-out ones, left,
The museum picked up what it could collect,
And is to-day all that we should expect.
But jolly P. T. Barnum tells his readers
To run a museum you must have feeders.
Our Atheneum felt the stern decline,
Languished, like things in every other line;
Its finances at times ran very low,
It seemed at times to be but touch and go;
No new books added, the few paying shares
Scarcely affording income for repairs.
Rewards come sometimes to the patient waiter,
So now and then some generous testator,
By timely gift, has helped us through the year,
And brought down blessings on his memory dear.
Still holding on through all the ups and downs,
Still striving, whether fortune smiles or frowns,
A three days' fair held thirteen years ago,
Built up our funds, then running very low,
And though by no means richly we're endowed,
Yet now that every summer brings a crowd,
This helps to swell our modest income more,
And whispers of still brighter days in store.

The story of the old hall has been told,
But this one can a longer talc unfold.
For six and thirty years it now has stood,
Wielding its influence for the public good,
Our twenty-seven annual fairs have all
Been seasons of reunion at this hall;
During the years of war, these walls have rung
With patriotic words to stir the young;
And many a brave youth, registering his name,
Went forth to take his chance of death and fame;
And during great political campaigns,
That tried men's souls, and sometimes turned their brains,
These walls have echoed many a fierce oration,
Big with the fate of freedom and the nation.
Now as to lectures, musicals and shows,
Let younger generations tell of those,
Their recollections cover, like our own,
Persons and things of every shade and tone, –
From highest thoughts to which the soul aspires,
To "that Comical Brown," and Flora Myers;
From Greeley, Robert Collyer and Kate Stanton,
Down to the juggler and the magic lantern.
We've only proud and cheering words to say,
Touching the status of affairs to-day.
Heres our old institution sound and strong,
And likely to endure for e'er so long,
Able to pay off all our liabilities,
And add more to our library facilities.
Our books increased so fast that, to keep pace,
We felt the need of an increase of space;
The library requiring a whole floor,
And now more popular than e'er before,
While summer visitors at small expense,
May gratify the intellectual sense.
We've renovated and improved this hall,
And the condition of the ceiling wall
No longer need disturb us in our beds
With fear lest it might tumble on our heads;
And all the arrangements will be sure to please
The eye and taste, – except the old settees.
The wonders of the museum collection
Fail not to court each visitor's inspection,
Though to us natives rather an old story,
They tell the stranger of our former glory;
He scans the relics o'er with curious gaze,
And puts strange queries touching those old days;
Wonders what such outlandish things can be,
And why we should use camels on the sea;
Whether the camels killed the whales? And how?
And why our people don't go whaling now?
Thus putting the custodians brain to rack
To find the straw that broke the camel's back;
Then tells his friends, "that janitor in there
Has got more jaw than can he found elsewhere."
But learns there are some things in Heaven and earth
Quite new to him – and gets his money's worth.

What of the future ? "Tis for us to cherish
Our Atheneum, that it shall not perish,
But stronger grow from year to year and greater,
Regarded as a sort of Alma Mater,
Deserving filial love from each and all,
Three generations hearken to the call.
Feeling the love and reverence that we owe,
Let's teach our children in the faith to grow,
Next to our schools our Atheneum is prized;
Its founders' names are ever canonized
In grateful hearts. we build their mausoleum
In keeping up their work, our Atheneum.


      * Inquirer and Mirror, (Nantucket), March 3, 1883, Vol. 63, no. 35, p.2.

      Article title: Reopening of the Atheneum – Olio Entertainment

      From the article: "An original poem, by William H. Macy, Esq., which embodied a brief history of the old and new Atheneum buildings, with happy hits, was very happily read by Miss Stella L. Chase. ... We print below, by request, the poem of Mr. Macy:"

1883 POEMS. 1883

The Spook that of Last Year was Seen.*

The spook that of last year was seen
      Near 'Sconset road parading,
Is now in town, with ghostly sheen,
      Our West End streets pervading.

No more on horseback is she found,
      As many recollect her,
But now dismounted, skims the ground,
      A low, pedestrian spectre.

E'en he who makes the loudest boast,
      All tales of marvel spurning,
Has no desire to meet a ghost,
      When homeward late returning.

He'll be a coward if he runs,
      A murderer if he shoots her;
Brave words may do more good than guns, –
      Suppose he thus salutes her:

"Spirit of health or goblin damned,
      Or mighty witch of Endor,
Or ghost ship true, or only shammed,
      Stand still now, and surrender!"

And what if stricken with alarms,
      That female "visitation"
Should fall kerslop into his arms, –
      Oh! what a situation!


      * This poem was published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 10, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 36, p.2.

      The title is taken from the first line of the poem.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Cease, rude Boreas.*

Cease, rude Boreas, blustering railer,
      Cease, ye March winds, quiet be,
Though my father was a sailor,
      The land is good enough for me.
He used to go long cruises whaling,
      Round Good Hope and past Cape Horn,
I'm sick when just round Brant Point sailing,
      And wish I never had been born.

He tells of dangers on the ocean.
      And how he rode them safely through,
His face lights up with strong emotion
      As old scenes rise before his view.
Tells how the masts would sway and buckle,
      And the storm-canvas strain the spars,
And all the time I sit and chuckle,
      And think of – what a fool he was.

If one can find a house to live in,
      Why go live on a ship at sea?
I thought and thought but had to give in.
      'Twae all a mystery to me.
My father says that bread was needed,
      And seamen earned it in that way.
Before l'd go and do what he did,
      I'd live on cake from day to day.

My father says, "Where would you get it,
      You lazy stay-at-home marine,
It ought to choke you when you ate it."
      I answered perfectly serene,
“In those old times you were deluded,
      But we are wiser in our day,
Before I'd go and do what you did,
      I'd be a – horse, and live on hay!"

      * This poem was published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 17, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 37, p.2.

      The title is taken from the first line of the poem.

1883 POEMS. 1883

We've Heard so Much of False Pretence.*

We've heard so much of false pretence
      In weather-wise predictions,
'Tis to be hoped our common sense
      Will spare us more inflictions.

Our fishermen were all such flats
      To listen to a prophet
Who knows no more than they do, – that's
      The sum and substance of it.

We had a storm during that day
      That Wiggins' storm was booked for,
Or rough March weather, we should say,
      Such as might well be looked for.

One of those storms of common fame,
      To which March is addicted,
We should have had it just the same,
      Had Wiggins not predicted.

Now fishermen start forth anew,
      The planets are adjusted,
No profit 'twas, but loss to you.
      That you the prophet trusted.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 24, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 38, p.2.

      Title taken from the poems first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Say, Neighbor, Have You Got This Cold?*

"Say, neighbor, have you got this cold?"
      "What cold d'ye mean?" Why this one,
That's troubling all, both young and old, –
      Of course you know there is one."

"One, do you say? a million, rather
      For that's the way I view it,
You've got that cold, – I've got another,
      That's very similar to it."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 31, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 39, p.2.

      Title taken from the poems first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

That "Image Case," Now Lately Tried.*

That "Image case," now lately tried,
      Deserves a passing mention,
Much space in print it occupied,
      And won our close attention.

One cent award the jury gave,
      With verdict of conviction;
Has witchcraft risen from its grave?
      Oh, spare us the infliction!

While common sense is 'gainst the tide
      Of superstition stemming,
There come such cases to be tried,
      As Cannon versus Fleming.

Must jurors be required to solve
      Points which to them seem nonsense?
Yes, since to others they involve
      Questions of creed and conscience.

And those who yield full credit still
      To trances, dreams and visions,
Must come to the judicial will,
      For verdicts and decisions.

Spending so much to get one cent,
      Was scarcely worth the trouble,
And thus it was the jury meant
Gently to prick the bubble.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 28, 1883, Vol. 68, No. 43, p.2.

      Title taken from the poems first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

The Old State Government Machine.*

The old state government machine,
Gets out of kilter 'twill be seen:
      Things don't run in the same old rut,
      Being disturbed by Governor Butler's vetoes and investigations.

State house affairs are lively now,
With prospects of a jolly row,
      In trying to maintain the check
      'Tween legislative and exeutive branohes of the government.

Pending this ticklish state of things,
Sly politicians pull the strings,
      But every honest man and woman,
      Earnestly prays, God save the Commonwealth of old Massachusetts.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 5, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 44, p.2.

      Title taken from the poems first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

The Great Star Route Case.*

The great Star Route case
Drags along its slow pace,
      And no wonder the jurors complain,
For five months they've sat
To be bored and talked at,
      Till their patience is far in the wane.

The informer Rerdell,
Had a story to tell,
      That took his old friends by surprise,
And day after day
Has been wasted away
      In trying to show 'twas all lies.

Ten great lights of the law,
With unlimited jaw,
      Can't ho stinted to minutes or hours,
But each lawyer must speak,
From four days to a week,
      And exhaust his rhetorical powers.

Meanwhile cooped in a pen,
Those twelve martyred men,
      Must sift out the good from the evil,
And with sharp mental vision,
Makee righteous decision,
      While their own business goes to the d––l.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 12, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 45, p.2.

      Title taken from the poems first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Mrs. Addlepate, Flushed with House-cleaning.*

Mrs. Addlepate, flushed with house-cleaning
      (One would think she'd be tired half to death,)
Had paused on her mop-handle leaning, –
      Ben thought she had stopped to take breath;
For the thought of his mother had grieved him,
      Lest she might overdo with hard work;
But the old lady soon undeceived him,
      And dispelled all his fears with a jerk.

"These three hours for you I've been calling,
      And twice I've been down street myself,
You are lucky I don't knock you sprawling!
      Go look ou the back pantry shelf,
And find there the money to pay with,
      Then start your boots nimbly down street,
And mind you, don't linger to play with
      Every boy that you happen to meet.

Come, shake off your slow lazy habits!
      Go to Crosby's and buy me some soap;
Its sand soap I want, and not Babbitt's,
      You know what's the difference, I hope.
Don't answor me back you young sinner!
      But got on your hat for a rush,
Tell the painters to come after dinner.
      Get three cent's worth of varnish, and brush,

Get some Rising Sun polish that's Morse's,
      (See whether we need kerosene)
Don't stop to chase any loose horses,
      Get a package of powdered pearline;
Get some putty to fix them rough places.
      Bed-bug pizen to put In the cracks.
And stop in to George Wendell Macy's,
      For a package of galvanized tacks.

But I can't waste no more time in talkin',
      So start yourself into the street,
And don't you go loiterin' and gawkin',
      Nor let grass grow under your feet."
Then resuming her work of house-cleaning.
      She proceeded to mop up the floor,
But her eyes flashed with terrible meaning,
      As she watched Ben beyond the street-door.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 19, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 45, p.2.

      Title taken from the poems first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Mr. Jones, his money chinking.*

Mr. Jones, his money chinking,
Lingers at his breakfast thinking,
Till his coffee, spoiled for drinking,
      Grows insipidly lukewarm,
Now his thoughts together linking,
      Shape themselves in verbal form.

And his plans he thus confided;
"Mrs. J., I've quite decided,
We'll no longer be divided,
      Some to mountains, some to shore;
If you think on it as I did,
      It will strike you more and more,

That Nantucket just the place is,
That should be our summer basis,
Nay, the wonder in this case is,
      We'd not, thought of this before.
'What! you don't know where the place is?
      Why, it'a thirty miles off shore!

From the circulars I'm quoting,
Splendid fishing, bathing, boating,
Health and pleasure thus promoting,
      For myself and Theodore;
Then the women go for voting,
      Being Quakers all of yore.

And they're full of strange narrations,
And quaint old associations,
All the people are relations,
      Intermarried o'er and o'er;
Billy Clark, with variations,

      Sings the news from door to door.

For his lungs they say are leather,
And they've such delightful weather!
And they've genuine Scotch heather,
      Spread out level as a floor;
Yes, we'll all go there together,
      I will hesitate no more.

Small expense for cosy quarters,
Then think how the dash of waters,
With a roar like bombs and mortars,
      All along that surf-bound shore,
Would inspire our grown-up daughters,
      Angeline and Leonore.

With his views they're all infected,
Other p!ans are all rejected.
And the Jones's are expected,
      Soon to land upon our shore;
By their name they'll be detected,
      But they're welcome evermore.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 26, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 46, p.2.

      Title taken from the poems first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Then in This Age of Civilization.*

Then in this age of civilization,
We enjoy each new bit of sensation,
      And among the whole batch,
      We scarce find one to match,
The Great Tewksbury Investigation.

Stich storks of rascally capers,
We have greedily read in the papers,
      We must use our good sense,
      As we read the defence,
And see that no points may escape us.

O ye who like high-seasonal diet,
Don't glance at this dish, and pass by it,
      It contains better meat,
      Than you last mouth did eat,
Though in spice 'tisn't any where nigh it.

In such case there is reason for fearing,
That both sides won't get a full hearing,
      And the fact is well known,
      That much dirt can't be thrown,
Without a part of it adhering.

Tewksbury memory may not be sainted,
But when with the facts we're acquainted,
      The old saying comes true,
      If you give himt his due,
The Old Boy's not so black as he's painted.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 2, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 47, p.2.

      Title taken from the poems first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

It Has Often Been Foretold.*

It has often been foretold,
That the Nihilists so bold,
      Would kill the Czar of Russia on that grand day O;
When he first put on his crown,
They'd be sure to strike him down,
      For at dynamite and bomb-shells they're so bandy O.

But at the coronation,
All were smiles and adulation.
      And the populace bowed down before the grandee O;
And to show his faith in all,
He danced nimbly at the ball,
      And no Russian dared to say his legs were bandy O.

Then said Yankee Joel Snookes,
"Mr. Czar, I like your looks,
      And you've behaved yourself all through the day so handy O;
But your danger's very great.
For there's a crowd outside the gate,
      And they're firing up their stomachs with raw brandy O."

But he answered, "Who's afraid?
All the chances 1 have weighed,
      And I'll show the courage of a Russian grandee O;
They can't melt nor frighten me,
For I'm the man of destinee.
      And I'm neither made of straw nor sugar candy O.

"They killed my sire, 'tis true,
But what business is't to you,
      Whose countrymen at killing are so handy O;
For within my father's reign.
Two noble presidents were slain,
      Right over there in Yankee-Doodle, Dandy O.

"So go home and tell your folks,
I've no relish for their jokes,
      And I want no murderous epithets to bandy O;
But if they want to twit on facts,
They must look to their own acts,
      For they'll find at quick retorting I am handy O.

'Tell that bragging Yankee bird,
You've seen Alexander Third,
      And he's just as cute as Uncle Enoch Handy O;
For your kindly warning, thanks,
But all nations have their crank's,
      And there's some down on the Capo Cod shores so handy O."

As Joel turned away to go,
"I declare," said he, "that's so!
      And he's got our history on his tongue so handy O;
Yes, Old Abe and Garfield too,
Well, I reckon it won't do,
      To brag about our Yankee-Doodle, Dandy O."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 9, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 48, p.2.

      Title taken from the poems first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

It Appears That Our Great and Good General Court.*

It appears that our great and good General Court,
      Had appointed a sapient Committee
On prisons and jails to bring in a report,
      After visiting each town and city.

When they came to examine the Nantucket jail,
      That queer place of incarceration, –
An islander told them an "ower true ta!e,"
      Which excited their strong admiration,

'Twas of an old fellow who there was confined,
      Awaiting some judicial hearing,
And he lived there for months, quite contented in mind,
      (This was in the old days of sheep shearing).

And 'twas said that he used to go out in the night
      To take exercise that he needed,
But was always found there in the morning all right,
      For if ever man kept his faith, he did.

And one day he sent word for the grave Selectmen
      To come there and pay him a visit;
And promptly they came. Said the chairman, "Well, Ben,
      I suppose thee wants something; what is it?"

"I have sent for you, gentlemen, learned and wise,
      That the truth may have full demonstration,
And that you may be satisfied with your own eyes
      That I make no misrepresentation.

Things have reached such a pass, I'm unable to sleep,
      For there's scarcely a night but my slumbers
Are all broken up by your confounded sheep.
      Rushing in and out here, in great numbers."

Then the town fathers cast their looks gravely around,
      And took in the whole situation;
So honest and truthful Ben's statement was found,
      That it needed no more explanation.

"Now I warn ye," he said, "I am able and stout,
      And might easy take leg-ball and skin it;
If you don't fix this place so's to keep the sheep out,
      I won't stay another day in it!"

"Thou art right!" said the chairman, "I am proud of thy spunk,
      Of which thou hast given exhibition;
We can see, Friends, these boards are as rotten as punk,
      And the nails, too, in sorry condition.

"That's so," said his friend; "Nay, we can't have this Ben,
      For them sheep might trample and maim thee,
Besides, sheep's no business lodgin' with men,
      And for my part I'm sure I don't blame thee!"

So the jail was repaired. Now in due course of law,
      That wise Legislative Committee
Will report on the prisons and jails that they saw
      In each town and county and city.

And the jail in Nantucket they'll mention with pride,
      Nay, they must conscientiously do it,
For they find that we've now neither prisoners inside,
      Nor sheep from outside to break through it.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 16, 1883, Vol. 63, No. 50, p.2.

      Title taken from the poems first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

As Cupid is Blind.*

As Cupid is blind, – that is, so represented
      In fable and old allegory,
His subjects by blindness may ne'er be prevented
      From repeating the "old, old story."
Though Adam and Eve, ere the fruit they had swallowed,
      Had not eyes to see what they were doing,
Yet the natural impulse they'd already followed,
      And had lost little time in their wooing.

'Tis said that man loves darkness rather than light,
      (In a physical sense don't believe it),
And until he is gifted with spiritual sight,
      He won't search out the truth and receive it.
Thus we meet one sometimes with good eyes in his head,
      Who is yet so short-sighted or stupid,
That he stoutly repels all inducements to wed,
      And ignores the sweet teachings of Cupid.

As a general rule our experience has shown,
      (With but few cases to the contrary),
That tis not good for John to be living alone,
      And 'tis scarce any better for Mary.
In the case of our newly-made husband and wife,
      Both defective in physical vision,
May the happiness of their connubial life,
      Prove the true wisdom of their decision.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 14, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 2, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

'Stead of Braving the Cold.*

'Stead of braving the cold, as we used to of yore,
Young people go skating in-doors on the floor;
The girls are delighted, and say "it's so nice,"
For they don't have to freeze themselves out on the ice.

And there's music to skate by – another new kink,
'Stead of out on the pond we now go to the Rink;
No air-holes to dodge by the light of the moon,
But sirike up the fiddle and skate to a tune!

But dangers beset us e'en in a warm hall,
Few can skate half an hour without one ugly fall;
When you think you've acquired ihe true movement, sure pop,
Then up fly your heels and you come down, kerslop.
You pretend you're not hurt, and concealing your pain,
You pick yourself up and rush onward again;
But you're down again now like a great lump of lead,
And you let your back hair save the back of your head,

We know a young lady who skated so well,
She was boasting quite loudly that she never fell;
But while the brave words lingered still on her tongue,
She lost her true balance and went down kerchung!

We flung out the old taunting question, "What never?"
And the answer came painfully "Well, hardly ever."
But 'twas rather too much of the "poetry of motion,"
We called the next day – she was using a lotion,


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 21, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 3, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

To One Who is Gifted with Sensitive Ears.*

To one who is gifted with sensitive ears,
      The worst of linguistic offences
Are the barbarous words that one every day hears
      In the incorrect use of past tenses.
"I driv my horse hard," says a voice at your heels,
      "And het his blood." – O what a jumble!
That fisherman "skun out a barrel of eels.
      "This boy "skun his knees" – by a tumble.

With significant stress on that wicked past tense.
      You pause to inquire "how he skun it?"
"I know," says his chum, "he fell off'n a fence
      For I seen him myself 'when he done it."
With a sigh of despair you abandon the case,
      But still more your temper to sour,
You read, yes, it's staring you right in the face,
      That Captain Webb, "dove from a tower."

"Yes," you say with a sneer, "dove and survove,
      Although by great perils surreunded,
And on terra-firma he safely arrove,
      Though many folks thunk he'd be drownded."
Well, make fun if you like both of people and press,
      For most of us still are barbarians.
And use ugly phrases our thoughts to express,
      Despite all the learned grammarians.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 28, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 4, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Hark! Hark! Listen to Clark.*

            Hark! Hark!
            Listen to Clark;
Panting and hoarse from exertion,
            Shouting so loud,
            "Remember – the crowd
Coming down on the excursion!"

            Blow! Blow!
            "Remember – the show,
The wonderful Pro–fessor Miller!"
            That pretty girl cries,
            With such fun in her eyes,
"O, I do think Clark is a killer!"

            Band! Band!
            From the main land,
Come to this region benighted!
            Your plumage so proud,
            Will draw a big crowd,
And all the young folks are delighted.

            Ride! Ride!
            Down to Surf-side,
Rode the band and the gallant three hundred;
            Fearing not shot nor shell,
            They attacked the hotel,
            And were treated so well,
They were satisfied nobody'd blundered.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 4, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 5, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Mrs. Tenderheart Shows Tender Mercy to Cats.*

Mrs. Tenderheart shows tender mercy to cats,
Begs they shall not be pelted with stones and brick-bats,
And lectures her Tommy with sad, warning words
Fer robbing the nests of poor innocent birds.
She's afraid the dear boy mast be morally insane,
For how human beings can bear to give pain
To dumb animals having no evil intention,
Is a mystery that quite passes her comprehension.
But the saucy boy 'stead of abasing himself,
Points his finger triumphantly up to the shelf.
"Taint no worse to rob innocent birds of their eggs,
Than to catch them flies there and pull out their legs;
You say that brute critters are not ours, but God's,
And if that's so, why then I don't see what's the odds,
Between fire crackers scorching the tail ef n dog,
And that lingering torment stuck fast in a bog.
What's the great moral difference I really can't see,
And I guess ma you're even more wicked than me,
For you gloat o'er that devilish engine of torture,
And laugh at the pour flies and say, 'Ah, I've caught yer!'"
"But, – but, flies you know, Tom, that's a different thing."
Ah, dear Mrs. Tenderheart, conscious will sting.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 11, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 6, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

A Friend of Ours, Having Some Cash to Invest.*

A friend of ours, having some cash to invest,
      Is considering what he shall do,
He wanis to buy lands, but he asks, is it best
      To purchase at Madequet, far in the west,
Or over the bay at Coatue?

Some tell him that 'Sconset's the promising place,
      And others say "Buy at Surf-side;"
This advice he'd quite made up his mind to embrace,
      When a map of Wauwinet he met face to face,
And again it's so hard to decide!"

"There's the best place," says one, "If you want building-sites.
      O'er the Creeks by the old Cathcart farm,"
But the next new adviser his feeling excites,
      By a glowing description of dear Sunset Heights;
Still another says, "Go to Capaum!"

The old proverb says you should look 'ere you leap,
      But here's what our devil advises:
"You've got money enough and the price is so cheap,
      Invest in 'em all, for you know land will keep,
And some of 'em's sure to draw prizes."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 18, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 7, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Women are Coming to the Front.*

Women are coming to the front,
      Even in manly feats,
They swim and row, and fish and hunt,
      And put up for athletes.
The papers tell us 'tis no jest
      No hoax, no idle dream,
That soon there's coming from the West,
      A female base-ball team.

Enough young ladies have been found,
      Having the nerve and will,
To form a club and travel round,
      Exhibiting their skill.
Nine muses, so the ancients say,
      In classic arts did shine,
But they are quite eclipsed to-day,
      Beside this baseball nine.

In dresses of resplendent hue,
      They're to be uniformed,
Brunettes in red, and blondes in blue,
      At least so we're informed.
Art will set off each pretty face,
      And fairy form divine,
So full of witchery and grace, –
      Hail to the lovely Nine!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 25, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 8, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

To Surf-side or the Skating Rink?*

"To Surf-side or the Skating Rink?"
      We heard a maiden say,
"I'd like to go to both, I think,
      If somebedy would pay."
Her little heart so sorely tried
      With rage and envy swells,
For no one takes her out to ride,
      Or buys her caramels.
And peaches, too, will soon go by,
      And be quite out of season,
She feels like having a good cry.
      And not without just reason.
No beau, no candy, no ice-cream.
      No flattery, no flirtation,
Without those what is love's young dream?
      Not worth consideration.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 1, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 9, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Come to Surf-side and Look at the Breakers.*

Come to Surf-side and look at the breakers,
here's a train waiting ready to take us;
      We ride a short spell,
      Then you see the hotel,
Standing out in the plain of broad acres.

Here you'll get a fine view of old ocean,
With his waves in a dreadful commotion,
      You can sit on the turf,
      And look out at the surf,
Till you're quite overwhelmed with emotion.

Sometimes when its fury increases,
It knocks a few buildings to pieces;
      But O, what delight,
      At the beautiful sight; –
So say all our daughters and nieces,

Some think it is "awful," some "funny,"
So take Ma, and Sissy and Sonny;
      Just for each a few cents,
      It's but trifling expense,
And you'll get the full worth of your money.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 8, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 10, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

The Republicans, Anxious Ben Butler to Beat.*

The Republicans, anxious Ben Butler to beat,
      Are making great efforts to do so.
They've selected a man the great crisis to meet,
      And have pitched upon Robinson Crusoe.
But Butler is drilling his crew so,
If they win they will tell us "He knew so,"
            Bob Bishop is played,
            Harry Pierce is afraid,
      And we've beaten your Robinson Crusoe.

When Butler heard what the convention had done,
      He seized his big trumpet and blew so,
"Now we'li both take the stump, and we'll show you some fun,
      For I'll out-talk this Robinson Crusoe,
For I always was able to do so,
That's how my popularity grew so,
            I've beaten them all;
            And I'm ready this fall,
To meet Mr. Robinson Crusoe.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 29, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 13, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Only a Fancy House-lot.*

Only a fancy house-lot;
      Only a patch of sand,
Yet to me far dearer
      Than many estates more grand.

Sandy and bleak and barren,
      Still it has charms for me,
Here will I build my cottage.
      O'erlooking the shining sea.

Only a fançy house-lot.
      Only a patch of sand,
With title-deeds in my pocket,
      On my own farm I stand.

Its crop will be kelp and seaweed,
      Mussels and crabs in store,
Sea-bathing in the basement.
      What could a man want more?

Only a cosy parlor,
      Where the tide ebbs and flows,
A fig for your rural cottage,
      Bowered in woodbine and rose!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 6, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 14, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Old Dobbs Your Faith was Founded on a Rock.*

Old Dobbs your faith was founded on a rock
      ('Twas the old Democratic rock you meant),
You set your time by the great party clock,
      Your gospel was the campaign document.
You swore while you'd a leg on which to stand
      ('Twas that old paralytic leg you meant),
You'd stump down to the polls with vote in hand,
      To the great strain of muscle and integument.

You'd cast a hard-shell vote for fifty years
      (To do so yet again this fall you meant),
Unmindful of all prophecies or fears,
      Asking no favor or emol-ument.
Ben Butler now again demands your vote
      (Of his past errors to repent he meant),
For he can trim his sails, and turn his coat,
      To every shade of party sent-iment.

His sympathies are with the under dog
      (That's just exactly what he said he meant),
Come on, old Dobbs, try her another jog,
      Your lameness should be no impediment.
In one year Ben has put all things to rights
      (To stop this tanning human skin he meant),
Come on, old hero of a hundred fights!
      Bring out once more your crutch and lin-iment!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 13, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 15, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

The New York Times – O dire offence!*

The New York Times – O dire offence!
      Without a word of explanation;
Has dropped its price down to two cents,
      And thereby made a great cents ation.

For fear the mark to overshoot,
      It kept its bold intention hidden,
But others now must follow suit,
      For they must not be underbidden.

The Tribune, tampering with its price,
      At once from four to three cents lowered it,
Thus cutting off a goodly slice,
      Although it could not well afford it.

The panic spread to all the rest,
      But yet opinions are divided
As to what course will be the best,
      Some of them still are undecided.

Meanwhile the wealthy Herald man
      Is sure that he can stand it longest,
And knowing ones believe he can,
      Because his bank account's the strongest.

To sell the Herald for two cents,
      Seems like a marvellons undertaking,
Considering the great expense,
      No margin's left for moneymaking.

Many believe the movement rash,
      And think the Times has made a blunder,
While some predict a general crash,
      For soon the weakest must go under.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 20, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 16, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Our Governor is, We All Agree.*

Our Governor is, we all agree,
      A humorous and an old man,
And 'tis not very strange that he
      In down on Colonel Codman.

Through him was lost that L.L.D.,
      By him was caused much trouble,
Scarce any has done more than he
      To prick the Butler bubble.

But one by all comrades esteemed,
      From general down to sutler,
Could well afford to laugh, it seemed,
      At these attacks from Butler.

The Governor wins no honest fame
      By misrepresentation,
But rather plays a losing game
      For his own reputation.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 27, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 17, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Once When we Old Folks were Youthful.*

Once when we old folks were youthful,
      News came slow across the sea,
From a people; brave and truthful,
      Vainly struggling to be free.
And the theme of all discussion,
      Stirring sympathetic souls,
Was the tyranny of the Russlans,
      And the freedom of the Poles.

Twenty years ago, Secession
      Raised her strong, rebellious hand,
Martial spirit took possession
      Of our fair and peaceful land.
The war-meeting, the flag-raising,
      Fired anew all loyal souls,
At our starry banners gazing,
      Proudly flaunting from their poles.

Now our sympathies flow freely,
      To those explorers ln the ice,
Who, with stout Lieutenant Greeley,
      Are held fast, as in a vice.
"Death to tyrant and to traitor!"
      Scarcely more could fire the soul
Than "Freedom for the navigator
      From his thraldom at the Pole!"

Next week Tuesday in electing
      A supreme chief magistrate,
A new voyage we're expecting
      For our gallant ship of state.
Keep good working canvas on her!
      Steer her clear of roeks and shoals!
Guard the purity and honor
      Of the ballot at the polls!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 3, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 18, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Among Our Old Seafaring Folk.*

Among our old seafaring folk,
Who could appreciate the joke
      And know just what it means;
When er a monstrous tale was told,
Some listener would cry out "Hold!
      A yarn for horse marines!"

The walrus, also named the morse,
Was sometimes called the great sea-horse,
      But oft with lances keen,
Those monsters have of late been killed;
They're not at all of equine build,
      As plainly can be seen.

But now, off the Pacific coast,
(More strange than any tale of ghost!)
      A whole ship's crew have seen.
A beast rise up from ocean's bed,
Rearing aloft his equine head,
      A living horse marine.

And on its head were two great horns,
Perchance this tale some reader scorns,
      And boasts "I'm not so green;"
But by no fool the story's told,
It comes direct from whalemen bold,
      Far-famed for vision keen.

"Horned beast" of this apocalypse!
Going down to the sea in ships.
      (O, wouldn't that be mean?)
Some whaler, seeking greasy spoil,
May kill and try thee for thy oil;
Thy blood his murderous hands shall soil,
And seas incarnadine!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 10, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 19, p.2.

      Title taken from first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

Though Ben Butler Has Lost the Election.*

Though Ben Butler has lost the election,
He's not one who'll give way to dejection,
      Though he hop on one foot,
      He will not stay put,
Till he's buried beyond resurrection.

Even though he on crutches should toddle,
He'll still be of smartness a model,
      Taking men by surprise,
      Throwing dust in their eyes,
And hatching new schemes in his noddle.

His physique is still supple and plastic,
His grim humor still keen and sarcastic,
      It is safe to predict,
      That he'll never stay licked,
His whole nature is quite too elastic.

He's a man of such queer composition,
That not even the shrewd politician
      Can foresee in what quarter
      He next will break water,
Or with what party make coalition.

On the whole, it would not be surprising,
If, after a brief temporizing,
      He'll put on a new face,
      And should such be the case,
We may see Butler's star again rising.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 24, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 21, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

After Four Days of Hope Deferred.*

After four days of hope deferred.
With from the main land ne'er a word,
By Clark's glad horn our hearts are stirred,
      The steamer is in sight!
But dashed again our bright hopes are,
As if pursued by evil star,
She's grounded fast upon the bar,
      And can't get off till night!

We got the mails at eight, P.M.,
'Tis hard to wait so long for them;
Ah! Patience is a moral gem,
      A virtue to be prized!
We're told that beggars need not choose,
But long delay gives us the blues,
And some quick way to get the news
      Must shortly be devised.

So much the telegraph we need,
The old slow ways to supercede,
'Twill be a blessed day indeed,
      When such a thing shall be.
It may be so if we elect,
Let's strive this purpose to effect,
And with the continent connect
      Our island of the sea.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 24, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 21, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

The Holidays are Drawing Near.*

The holidays are drawing near,
And Christmas comes but once a year,
O season to the young folk dear!
      Old Time his flight is winging,
The days are short, the nights are cool,
Hasten to join the singing school,
Where music's taught by note and rule,
      And songs of praise are ringing.

And now as Christmas Eve draws nigher,
We'll raise the cheerful song still higher,
Hang up the stockings by the fire
      Ready for good Saint Nicholas;
For he such jolly deeds can do,
Coming right down the chimney flue,
With books and toys and trinkets new,
      And pretty things to tickle us,

And yet again on Christmas night,
Our young hearts swelling with delight,
To us the world seems all so bright,
      A merry Christmas party!
Still other holidays are near,
Keep up the reign of Christmas cheer,
And usher in the glad New Year;
      With greetings warm and hearty.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 22, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 25, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1883 POEMS. 1883

1883 and 1884.*

            Soon 1883,
Will form a page of history.
And who's this knocking at the door?
            It's 1884.

            Says 1883,
"You can't expect to equal me."
"I'll outdo all who've gene before,"
            Says 1884.

            Says 1883,
"My work is wonderful to see."
"It's my opinion you're a blower,"
            Says 1884.

            Says 1883,
"I shall be glad when I am free."
"Sour grapes – we've heard of them before,"
            Says 1884.

            Says 1884,
"You can't stay round here any more,
I must keep the world alive
            Till 1885."

            Says 1884,
"I'm Leap Year having one day more,
I'm longer-lived than any date
            Till 1888."

            "For thanks to astronomic tricks,
I've days 366,
While my near neighbors can't survive,
            Beyond 365."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 29, 1883, Vol. 64, No. 26, p.2.

      Title added by transcriber.

1884 POEMS. 1884

How Dear to my Heart are the Storms of my Childhood.*

How dear to my heart are the storms of my childhood,
      When fond recollection presents them to view!
When the floods o'er the wharves swept away all the piled wood,
      And bundles of shingles and fencing boards too!
The fierce raging storm and the damage done by it,
      At this distance of time is delightful to tell.
How my Scotch cap blew off, – I'd forgotten to tie it,
      And sailed into space, – the Lord knows where it fell!
The gales of my childhood, the storms of my childhood, –
      Those old-fashioned storms I remember so well.

That old woolen cap I had held as a treasure,
      'Twas cast off by some bold Cape-Horner returned,
Its possession to me gave an exquisite pleasure,
      For a Scotch cap, so long my affections had yearned.
How ardent I chased it, my eager face glowing,
      Still hoping to clutch it again in my hand.
But what was the use, at the rate it was going
      It may not have stopped till it reached the mainland.
The gales of my childhood – the storms of my childhood,
      Those old-fashioned storms were so jolly and grand!

What a notion I got of the perils of sailors,
      When I saw those big ships driven high on the shore!
The Rose and the Planter, two sturdy old whalers,
      And a schooner's jib-boom through the cooper's shop door.
For I'd read many tales of shipwreck and disaster,
      And had heard sailors say of the wind as it blew,
"A good servant it is, but a terrible master;"
      And here were the facts that would prove their words true,
The gales of my childhood, – the storms of my childhood,
What terrible mischief those old storms could do!

And then those hard winters, the long, steady freeze-up,
      When with fetters of ice we were compassed all round,
And waited for weeks, ere the South wind would breeze up,
      To loosen and drive the ice out through the Sound!
We all met on the harbor for skating and sleighing,
      What a picture was there in the cold winter sun!
All this time for the news from abroad we were praying,
      But we didn't let that interfere with our fun.
O those cold, biting winters, those jolly old winters, –
      We hand down the story from father to son.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 5, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 26, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Bilkins, Just Home from his Sunday Walk.*

Bilkins, just home from his Sunday walk,
Feels in a humor for pleasant talk:
"I took a stroll to Brant Point, my dear,
To see how they get on building the pier."
"Did you, indeed?" said his shrewish wife,
Who's always ready for wordy strife,
"And what do you call it? Pier, forsooth!
'Pears to me 'twould be nearer the truth,
And more according to common sense,
To talk of the thing as a water-fence."
"Mother," said Maud, with rapturous leer,
"That structure is neither a fence nor a pier;
The aesthetic name, – it is French, you see,
And quite too utterly sweet, – is levee."
Cries Tom, "Our genteel sister Maud
Is always picking up some fraud
From living languages or dead, –
The right name for it is bulk head."
Said little Nell, "I heard Jones say,
Who's working down there every day,
He guessed 'twould take 'em till next fall
To finish building that sea-wall."
"Well, well," said Bilkins, "here comes Joe,
Our eldest son should surely know
What this new thingumbob is called."
Then all ln noisy concert bawled,
And rushed at Joe, as in he came,
Each clamoring for a different name.
Quoth Joe, "What nonsense do I hear?
'Taint fence nor wall, levee nor pier;
Why don't ye call it what ye oughter?
'Taint nothing but a plank breakwater."
The younger members must not doubt it,
For Joe, of course, knows all about it.
Poor Bilkins, now o'erwhelmed with shame,
Speaks of it as that "what's-his-name;"
But Mrs. Bilkins, bound to win,
Sticks to her text and won't give in;
Laughs at her husband, sons and daughters,
Their piers and bulkheads and breakwaters,
And vents her wrath on Cousin Betty,
Who still persists 'tis called "the Jetty!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 12, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 28, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

=
1884 POEMS. 1884

Our Imp Would Sing About the Weather.*

Our imp would sing about the weather,
But cannot string his thoughts together;
He talks in prose about our climate,
But ne'er can get a word to rhyme it.
Does he not see 'tis very easy
To say, to-day is raw and breezy,
And should the weather change to-morrow,
Some other adjectives to borrow?
If we should see the harbor freezing,
Of course the prospect is not pleasing;
'Twould cut off all communication
With continental civilization,
And by sheer dint of Nature's forces,
Throw us upon our own resource's.
But soon again the rain is pelting,
The south wind blows, the ice is melting,
And news across the sound comes over,
That makes us feel we are in clover, –
That is, comparatively speaking,
For when through the newspaper seeking,
We wonder anyone can stan' her
In Illinois and Indiana,
In Michigan and Minnesota,
And other places still remoter;
It seems a man must be a hero,
To live at forty below zero.
If in the open air he lingers,
'Twill nip his ears and bite his fingers,
And teach him to be slow end wary
If venturing out upon the prairie,
Lost, conquered by a clime so frigid,
He may be picked up, stark and rigid.
Thus we find comfort in comparing
Our weather with what they are bearing
Who live in that far inland region,
Under a temperature Norwegian;
And yet at other times so torrid,
The very thought of it is horrid;
And we may well expect next summer,
To welcome many a Western comer,
Seeking for health and relaxation,
And so with self-congratulatlon,
Our burden cheerfully we shoulder,
And thank our stars it is no colder.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 19, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 29, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

=
1884 POEMS. 1884

Tom Rogers, Who Disdains to Pay.*

Tom Rogers, who disdains to pay
      Attention to his toilet,
Thought it was fine the other day,
      To comb his hair and oil it,

"Tom," said his brother Valentine,
      "If you your hair would soften,
And keep it in good shape like mine,
      You must arrange it often."

"Often?" cried Tom, "What do you mean?"
      Before I'd take your trouble,
I'd sooner shave my hair off clean
      Or leave it in short stubble."

"Comb every day? Well, that is cheek!
      The thought with terror fills me;
I don't comb mine but once a week,
      And then it almost kills me."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 26, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 30, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

A Sheriff Trudging Many a Weary Acre.*

A sheriff trudging many a weary acre,
Knocked at a door where dwelt a sharp old Quaker,
Who, having speculated rather heavy,
Had failed, and now the sheriff came to levy.
The writ required – he'd carefully observed it, –
That he should see the man before he served it.
The Quaker's wife came calmly to the door,
There stood a man she'd never seen before.
"What would'st thou, friend?" "I'd see thy husband, ma'am."
"Tis well," she answered, still polite and calm.
"Walk in, Take the arm-chair. Be seated in it,
My Hezekiah will see thee in a minute;
Meanwhile I must attend to household cares,
Thine, I presume, are business affairs."
"Certainly, madam, business, yes, you're right,
And as I must get back to town to-night,
Be pleased to tell your husband I'm waiting.
I've news for him that's worth communicating."
"I will inform him of thy wishes, friend,
And he will see thee soon, thou may'st depend."
For half an hour or more the sheriff waited,
But no one came; his patience had abated
Little by little, till 'twas all run out.
At last the door he opened with a shout,
The matron came, her face still bright and beaming,
And smiling said, "Why this impatient seeming?"
"You told me I should see your husband, madam."
"Nay, friend, the words are not just as I said 'em,
I told thee he'd see thee, and he has done so
Through the key-hole, and that's what made him run so
Across the fields, jumping o'er all the brooks;
He evidently didn't like thy looks,
And thought he could do quite as well without thee;
I don't see what there is so bad about thee;
And as thou'rt disappointed I am sorry,
Perhaps thy news will keep, I wouldn't worry."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 2, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 30, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

St. Valentine is Drawing Near.*

St. Valentine is drawing near,
His festival comes once a year,
And Leap Year once in every four,
Which gives to this month one day more.
For trumpery the month is famed,
One day for Valentine is named;
We've always heard "This is the day
When ducks and hens begin to lay."
For tender missives, too, 'tis famed,
And "pairing time" it has been named.
We will not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau
If birds observe Leap Year or no.
But certainly they have a knack
Of looking in the Almanac,
And making dates come out all right,
Nearly as well as folks, or quite.
No doubt this year the lady bird,
Waiting impatient for the word
That comes too slow, to woo and win,
The wooing may herself begin.
If birds may laugh at custom's fetters
Once in four years, why not their betters?
Let not the lonely maiden pine.
But choose to-day her Valentine.
Conscious of right, she need not fear
To use the privilege of Leap Year.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 9, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 31, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Auld Lang Syne. (a song)*

Come friends, and join us in our song,
      And help us in our cause.
As we pursue our onward march
      For just and equal laws.
To work and trust in truth and right
      Shall be our constant aim,
Till the crucial test of half a loaf
      Reverts to greater claim.

Remonstrants fresh are in the field,
      Oppressed with too much light;
From voting ask to be exempt,
      And also stay our right.
Dear sisters, all, our tower of strength
      (We think you fail to know,)
Comes from our noblest, greatest minds,
Who yet will strike the blow.

This feast of reason, flow of soul,
      With wit and mirth combined,
Will ever keep our mem'ries green
      In love for all mankind.
We'll labor for the coming day,
      When those in power will see
That woman's wrongs are quite as great
      As was the tax on tea.


      * Published under the heading "Equal Suffrage Anniversary" in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 16, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 32, p.2.

      From the article: "The two following original songs, written by Mr. William H. Macy, were, sung – the first by Mr. S. F. Hosmer, the second by, Miss Emma Cook:"

      Title is taken from the song's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

There's a Good Time Coming Girls. (a song)*

There's a good time coming, girls,
      A good time coming,
There's a good time coming, girls,
      Wait a little longer.
When woman all her rights enjoys,
We girls will be as free as boys
      In the good time coming.
We'll work with voice and tongue and pen,
      Put faith in human nature,
Till women vote as well as men
      By act of Legislature.
            There's a good time coming, girls, – &c.

There's a good time coming, girls,
      A good time coming,
There's a good time coming, girls,
      Wait a little longer.
Let's look the issue in the face,
And woman's sure to win her place
      In the good time coming,
The powers of right and justice all
      Are in our cause enlisted;
The world must listen to our call
      That cannot be resisted.
            There's a good time coming, girls, – &c.

There's a good time coming, girls,
      A good time coming,
There's a good time coming, girls,
      Wait a little longer.
Let them vote or what they will,
Woman will be woman still
      In the good time coming.
Let them be doctors, preachers, too,
      Or e'en steamboat commanders;
And what's the danger if they do?
      Geese never can be ganders.
            There's a good time coming, girls, – &c.

There's a good time coming, girls,
      A good time coming, – &c., &c.
Reforms are ever slow but sure,
      For another new year our harps we string,
Our standard on high we still bear,
For years are nothing in old Time's wing,
      And we'll never give way to despair.
Though year after year we may try and fail
      To break the old barrier down,
In the fullness of time must our cause prevail,
      For the cross is deserving the crown.


      * Published under the heading "Equal Suffrage Anniversary" in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 16, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 32, p.2.

      From the article: "The two following original songs, written by Mr. William H. Macy, were, sung – the first by Mr. S. F. Hosmer, the second by, Miss Emma Cook:"

      Title is taken from the song's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

We saw a Sharp Old Codger Look.*

We saw a sharp old codger look,
      With keen, suspicious glances,
Into that newly-published book,
      The "Statement of Finances."

In works of figurative style
      He's always interested,
And soon, with cool, sardonic smile,
      His eye on something rested.

That smile relaxed, he looked about
      With aspect grave and solemn,
Then pulled a stubby pencil out
      And slyly marked a column,

What column 'twas, we do not know,
      But judging from his manner,
To town-meeting he means to go,
      And there fling out his banner.

"Ho! for Retrenchment and Reform!"
      He's got his text selected;
His sermons sure to make things warm,
      That's what may be expected.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 16, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 32, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

What Taste and Skill the Savage Claims.*

What taste and skill the savage claims
      In putting words to things;
What wondrous fitness to the names
      Of Indian chiefs and kings.

The titles given them, we know,
      Of metaphor are full.
One warrior bold is "Little Crow,"
      Another, "Sitting Bull."

Yet longer names are to be found
      Worn by those Indian bosses,
For one fierce savage sloshing round
      Is "Man-afraid-of-his-horses."

And now, though trying to be grave,
      We can't restrain the laugh,
When reading of that sachem brave
      Who's known as "Yellow Calf!"

A cowardly name, by no means pat
      In such case to employ,
Yet Yellow Calf, despite all that,
      May be a bully boy.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 8, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 35, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

That Grand Hotel at Surf-side.*

Believe us, if that grand hotel at Surf-side,
      That we gaze on so proudly to-day.
Should be knocked all to smash by the fierce, raging tide,
      And the fragments all floated away.
In our thoughts it would still have a place set apart,
      Such a place as no other could fill;
And around the place vacant the chords of our heart
      Would entwine themselves tenderly still.

But its rival at Brant Point's now looming high,
      Overlooking both harbor and sound,
'Tis tho most striking object that catches the eye
      Of the traveller hitherward bound.
And the man who has seen them both never forgets,
      They are with him wherever he goes;
As the sunflower turns – but our chief devil bets,
      He could do this thing better in prose.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 15, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 36, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

If We Make Our General Court Biennial.*

'Tis said by some that if we make
      Our General Court biennial,
Old Massachusetts will awake
      To happiness millenial.

And many vowed it should be so,
      If they could but arrange it,
But others, scarce a week ago,
      Voted they wouldn't change it.

It doesn't matter much, indeed.
      And there's one great objection,
That annual shaking-up we need
      Preceding the election.

Like water, as may he observed,
      So with the state or nation;
It's purity must be preserved
      By frequent agitation.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 22, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 37, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Once Every Year, So we are Told.*

Once every year, so we are told,
      To pray for crops and weather,
Our sturdy sires in days of old,
      Met solemnly together.

Following the usage of the past,
      Our Governor's proclamation,
Appoints for all a day for fast,
      Prayer and humiliation.

How many will observe it thus?
      Rather let's ask how few?
Reader, we know how 'tis with us,
      How will it be with you?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 29, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 38, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

"O dear!" Cries Mrs. Addlepate.*

"O dear!" cries Mrs. Addlepate,
      "Men are such evil-doers,
They've talked of nothin' else of late,
      But them old pesky sewers.

Town meetin' talk was pretty rough,
      They cut up dreadful capers,
And then to think of all the stuff
      That filled the local papers.

And when we thought 'twas all got through,
      O dear, now ain't it awful,
That all they did, – and didn't do,
      Turns out to be unlawful?

If they'd have known all that before,
      They'd never had begun it,
But then, just think! a little more,
      They'd been, and gone, and done it!

They thought they could do something sure.
      But now we're told they couldn't,
They had no right to build a sewer,
      No right to say they wouldn't.

And what with legal quip and quirk,
      See what a pitch we've got to,
Illegal 'twas to do the work,
      Quite as illegal not to.

A lawyer tells us them's the facts,
      And says; if folks objected,
They needn't pay a cent of tax,
      It couldn't be collected.

Another new fact he lays down,
      Which men have all been blind to,
That them Slackmen can sewer the town –
      As soon as they've a mind to!

They say the treasury's like a sieve,
      The country's all in ruins;
O dear! O dear! that I should live,
      To see such shiftless doin's!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 5, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 39, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Those Evening Drums!*

Those evening drums! those evening drums!
As up the street their rattling comes,
How many a tale it tells to us
Who went down South during the muss!

The soul with martial fervor thrills
At thought of dress-parades and drills,
Of picket, guard-mount, charge, recall,
Of marches, halts, manoeuvres all.

How sudden is the stir and hum,
Awakened by the sun-rise drum!
How quickly silent darkness wraps
The camp at magic sound of "taps!"

Then man, in the great war machine,
Was but a creature of routine;
Indeed, 'twas scarcely worth the while
To say "a man," but "half a file."

But war is such a glorious thing!
To die for country and for king,
And in their cause our lives to give,
Is so much sweeter than to live.

That, listening now that stirring call,
We wonder we came home at all,
You ask whence all this nonsense comes?
Those evening drums, those evening drums!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 12, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 40, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

There Will be Something New Under the Sun.*

There will be something new under the sun,
      Whate'er philosophers may say about it,
When railroad trains shall into 'Sconset run,
      The time is near, and no one seems to doubt it.
The 'Sconseters propose to have some fun,
      For such occasions should not pass without it;
And thus the coming birthday of the nation
May usher in a double celebration.

B. Franklin Folger, their old patron saint,
      What would he say to see these innovations?
Everything fresh, no longer old and quaint,
      Folks talking of "railroad communications."
The bright new houses gay with gaudy paint;
      New folks, new ways, new rules and regulations;
He'd marvel at the change, and those who've wronght it.
A railroad train to 'Sconset? Who'd ha' thought it?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 19, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 41, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Spring! Spring! Beautiful Spring! [2]*

Spring! spring! beautiful spring!
Wind, rain and fogs are the regular thing!
Boat running daily now, – that is to say,
Whenever she goes and comes on the same day!
When the summer weather comes,
It will be welcomed with horns and drums;
The sound of music through the land
Soon will be heard from our new brass band.
Sound the brass and sheep-skin loud,
Speed the days and bring the crowd!
Spring! spring! beautiful spring!
Let's get rid of our cold, and thy praises we'll sing.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 26, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 42, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

O, Great White Beast!*

      An unwonted stimulus has been given to the poetry of America by Mr. Barnum's liberal offer of $500 for the best apostrophe to his Sacred, White Elephant from Siam. The following MS. verses were picked up the other day by one of our staff, and not having the owner's address we embalm it in print, only for his benefit, of course:

O, Great White Beast! thou who hast come so far
      To show off here thy graces elephantine;
Cruelly torn away from Ma and Pa –
      Now don't get mad, and stick that trunk up slantin'
            It scares me so; now, don't! suppos'n horses
            Had them great long probosces!
The critter has a long tall on each end,
      And when he's mad he makes my legs feel shaky;
Now ain't it strange how easy that'll bend?
      Just now 'twas rigid, now it's soft and snaky;
            'Twould strike a blow just like a piece of timber,
            And then drop right down, limber.

They say this beast is sacred, 'cause he's white;
      I saw one in a picture once, a blue one;
A brindled one would be a curious sight;
      Don't b'lieve there is any, I never knew one.
            As to his being white, who knows they haint
            Given him a coat of paint!
And what's that place he came from, now? Siam?
      They say that's further off'n Madagascar;
I ain't no scholar, but our new school-ma'm,
      Maybe she'll know; when I get home, I'll ask her.
            I guess they paint 'em there, all sorts o' colors,
            To sell for Yankee dollars.

I thought I'd try myself to write a pome,
      And make five hundred dollars out o' Barnum;
Maybe I'll try again, when I get home;
      The verses that I've writ don't suit me, darn 'em.
            Say I say now, wouldn't it be a fine surprise,
            If these should take the prize?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 3, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 43, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

==
1884 POEMS. 1884

A Baby Show.*

"A baby show, oh? It's a shame," says Miss Prim,
      "Such doings should not be allowed;
"It's a shame," and her visage waxed angry and grim,
"And if I had one, I shouldn't want her or him
      Exposed to the gaze of that crowd."

But she hasn't one. And if she had one, we know,
      Of that baby she would be so proud,
We have scarcely a doubt that to Boston she'd go,
And expecting to win the first prize in the show,
      Would exhibit before all that crowd.

And really, Miss Prim, we don't see any harm
      For the crowd to indulge curiosity,
In viewing the natural beauty and charm
Of babyhood; and there's less cause for alarm
      Than in wishing to see a monstrosity.

A two-headed chill, and a crooked dwarf, too,
      Are attractions for any museum;
But let us be thankful such cases are few,
For one head on a child is more seemly than two,
      Yet people will crowd in to see 'em.

That mothers are proud of fine children, we know
      Is a harmless and natural vanity,
And why shouldn't the comely and fair have a show?
'Stead of mensters and dwarfs we'd much better go
      To see those sweet types of humanity.

Indeed, we believe it might add to the charm
      Of our next Agricultural Fair,
With the cattle and chickens, and fruits of the farm,
If old-fashioned prejudice we could disarm,
      And exhibit our babies, too, there.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 10, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 44, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Good People All May Well Forgive.*

Good people all may well forgive
      Our legislative sages,
If, finding it close work to live,
      They strike for higher wages.

Really, it does seem pretty rough,
      Considering what 'twould cost one;
This salary is scarce enough
      To pay one's board in Boston.

Most men can't stand it; he who can,
      The rule's a pretty sure one,
Must either be a wealthy man,
      Or else – a very poor one.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 7, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 48, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Old Dobbs, We've Often Heard you Say.*

Old Dobbs, we've often heard you say,
      "There's nothing new under the sun,"
But then your locks were not so gray,
      And our own life was just begun.

O'er South East Quarter and Low Beach,
      Before the middle of July,
You'll hear the locomotive's screech,
      And see the trains go rushing by.

Old Dobbs, Jump on and take a ride,
      The journey's full of new delights;
As o'er the level sands you glide,
      Till you look up at Sunset Heights.

Is this old 'Sconset? Now you hear
      The engine bell, the puff of steam;
The whole thing is so strange and queer,
      You'll ask if it is all a dream.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 14, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 49, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

=
1884 POEMS. 1884

We Learn That One Blaine.*

We learn that one Blaine,
From away down in Maine,
      Is the new candidate presidential;
And the ticket sounds nice,
With Logan as Vice,
      Though this last part is not so essential.

But the Democrats too,
Will put up something new,
      And who'll win the fight there's no knowing
Until next November;
So let all remember
      It's too soon to do any blowing.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 21, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 51, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

When Tompkins Seemed So Near His End.*

When Tompkins seemed so near his end
And called the doctor to attend,
What did the doctor recommend?

Sea-bathing.

What was it that did Tompkins good,
And helped him to digest his food,
And filled his soul with gratitude?

Sea-bathing.
What was it that cured Tompkins' wife
Of pains that pierced her like a knife,
And built her up, and saved her life?

Sea-bathing.

What did the same for Tompkins' daughter,
When here an invalid he brought her,
To try the virtues of salt water?

Sea-bathing.

What strengthened up his feeble boy,
When death had threatened to destroy,
And so filled Tompkins' heart with joy?

Sea-bathing.

All these and other cures he vaunts,
His sisters, cousins and his aunts,
And takes them all on sea-side jaunts,

Sea-bathing.

The facts related are no jokes
To all those reconstructed folks,
They have full faith in daily soaks,

Sea-bathing.

And any fine day, one may see,
The numerous Tompkins fami-lee,
Sporting and splashing in the sea –

Sea-bathing.

Let all who see them be as wise,
Do as the Tompkinses advise,
Which is "Go thou and do likewise."

Sea-bathing.

Let man, boy, widow, wife or maiden,
With any pains or ailments laden,
Patronize Burdick or Charles Hayden,

Sea-bathing.

We don't care for your criticizing,
We're only honestly advising,
And don't charge, for this advertising,

Sea-bathing.

      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 28, 1884, Vol. 64, No. 52, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Let's go to Nantucket.*

"Let's go to Nantucket," says Richard to Robin,
"Let's go to Nantucket," says Robin to Dobbin,
"Let's go to Nantucket," says Tom all alone,
"Let's go to Nantucket," says every one.

"What shall we do there?" says Richard to Robin,
"What shalt wo do there?" says Robin to Dobbin,
"What shall wo do there?" says Tom all alone,
"What shall we do there?" says every one,

"Go sailing and fishing," says Richard to Robin,
"Go sailing and fishing," says Robin to Dobbin,
"Go sailing and fishing," says Tom all alone,
"Go sailing and fishing," says every one.

"We'll go on a squantum," says Richard to Robin,
"Go bathing and swimming," says Robin to Dobbin,
"Go clamming and sharking, and have lots of fun,"
"Let's go to Nantucket!" says every one.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 5, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 1, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Business With us is Driving.*

Business with us is driving,
Summer hotels now are thriving,
Crowds of visitors arriving
      Swell our numbers more and more.
And there seems abundant reason
To predict a lively season,
To deny that would be treason,
      As they land upon our shore.

Busy men of all vocations
Find again their occupations,
And exchange congratulations
      As they used to do before;
When with energy unfailing,
They and their sires were sailing
In the palmy days of whaling,
      Those old stirring days of yore.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 12, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 2, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Did You go to the Grand Celebration?*

Did you go to the grand celebration?
      See Billy Clark drive the last spike?
Now the railroad's in full operation,
      You can make as much fun as you like;
Our good old grandsires and grandmothers,
      Of such a thing never could dream;
But some things are as easy as others
      In this age of iron and steam.

And still we find some people wishing
      Things were just as they used to be there,
When the old 'Sconset natives went fishing,
      And the rest of the world didn't care;
But the great nineteenth-century movement
      Has reached even 'Sconset at last;
Let us not stay the march of improvement,
      Nor waste sentiment over the past.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 19, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 3, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

The Democrats Are All Ecstatic.*

The Democrats are all ecstatic,
      Their great convention's over;
And with a vote and voice emphatic,
      They've nominated Grover.

Each Independent, too, we see,
      As lively as a cricket,
For those who can't support James G.,
      May vote the other ticket.

Republicans to party true,
      Now swell the party slogan,
Keeping their champions' names in view,
      "Hurrah for Blaine and Logan!"

Set forth the armies in the field!
      Let every man remember
What power he at the polls may wield
With ballot, – next November.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 26, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 4, p.2.

      Title taken from first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

How Doth the Ever-busy Clark.*

"How, doth the ever-busy Clark
      Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the – Hark!
      He's tooting from the tower!

He hails the advent of each boat,
      With noisy bell or horn,
And shouts with dry and husky throat,
      'Consid'able goin' on!"

"Auction of fancy goods to-night,
      Corn beef and hay this morn,
Th' excursion boat is now in sight,
      Consid'able goin' on!

"News from Ben Butler and Jim Blaine,
      Fresh lobsters on the Square,
Gus Folger's show's come back again,
      He hopes you'll all be there!

"The Carri Brothers play once more –
      A clam-bake at Surf-side,
The steamer's hard and fast ashore!
      She'll float again next tide!

"Big murder out in Tennessee,
      And 'Sconset's all burned down
Remember, too, there's goin' to be
      A lawsuit 'gainst the Town!

"An early boat to-morrow morn,
      At six o'clock she leaves."
Then, with a fresh blast on his horn,
      "Nice swordfish at McCleave's!

"Two hundred passengers, you bet,
      As sure as you are born;
Ladies 'n' gen'lemen, don't forget,
      There's consid'able goin' on!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 23, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 8, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

A Friend Whom We've Supposed to be a Shrewd Old Politician.*

A friend whom we've supposed to be
      A shrewd old politician,
Thinks in the future he can see
      A boom for Prohibition.

He's one of those who won't support
      The plumed knight from Maine,
And vows he'll neither "hold the fort,"
      For Cleveland or for Blaine.

"If the old issues all are dead,"
      He says, "let's make a new one,
Be sure you're right, then go ahead,
      Intemperance is the true one."

"The Slavery question's past and gone,
      Let's form a coalition,
Stand on the gospel of St. John
      And fight for Prohibition!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 30, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 9, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Michael McCarty is Me Name.*

Michael McCarty is me name,
      Ameriky is me nation;
If not born here it's all the same
      By naturalization.
I've larned about the currencee,
      And free trade and protiction,
And now I've got the right, d'ye see,
      To vote at this eliction.

Cleveland and Hendricks aren't so bad,
      But St. John is a bother;
Ben Butler is a bully lad
      And Jim Blaine's another.
My neighbors all are shoutin' loud,
      Each one for his own party;
I think I'll vote for all the crowd,
      Includin' Mike McCarty.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 6, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 10, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

And Who're ye Goin' to Vote For Jim?*

"And who're ye goin' to vote for, Jim?
      Ben Butler is the man;
Gird up yer loins and go for him,
      And 'lict him if ye can."

"Go for him, is it that ye said?
      His Tewksbury made me sick;
I'll go for him to punch his head,
      Ay, go for him with a stick!

"So long it is ye've lugged the hod,
      Wid mortar, stone and brick,
And thought Ben was a demi-god,
      Ye're quite mistaken, Mick,"

"So long ye've been cajoled and bounced,
      Yer mind is all in fog,
The word's a little mispronounced,
      You mane a dema-gogue,"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 13, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 11, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

From the Belle to the Boarding-house Bummer.*

From the belle to the boarding-house bummer,
All have grumbled about the cold summer;
      All the folks on the street
      Have prayed for more heat,
Each native, as well as new-comer.

But we all changed our tune, you remember,
When the torrid wave came in September,
      And we prayed for cool air,
      As we mopped our wet hair,
With each eye-ball as hot as an ember.

Our feelings were stirred to the bottom,
For we didn't want summer in autumn;
      Though we thought 'twas gone by,
      It won't rot in the sky,
We wanted hot days – and we got 'em.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 20, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 12, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Will Shakespeare was a Dramatist of Credit and Renown.*

Will Shakespeare was a dramatist of credit and renown,
Through admiring generations has his name been handed down;
Millions have found instruction from his keen and facile pen,
And Bob Ingersoll has rated him the greatest of all men.

He wrote and flourished in the days of good Queen Bess, we know,
And we thought he died in England near three hundred years ago;
But now he turns up suddenly, out in a Western state,
With his name before the public as a rising candidate.

O sacrilegious age, when no one cares for ancient fame!
Did the bard himself foresee this, when he asked, "What's in a name?"
Must he whose stirring words have thrilled so many human souls;
Be now mixed up in politics, and hustled at the polls?

Some commentators still contend that Shakespeare is a myth,
That the work was done by Bacon, or by some one else – say Smith;
Now if this be correct, that man in Michigan may claim
That a Yankee office-holder is the greatest of the name.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 27, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 13, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

New York's Best Society is Terribly Shocked.*

New York's best society is terribly shocked,
      By the news of the runaway marriage
Of a girl who in luxury's lap had been rocked,
      With the coachman who drove Papa's carriage.

The coachman, it seems, was a likely young man,
      And 'tis likely the maiden adored him;
In arranging her own matrimonial plan,
      Didn't ask Pa's consent, but ignored him.

The stern parent stormed, but then what's the use?
      Now she's under a husband's protection;
No storming, nor scolding, nor threats, nor abuse,
      Can sever the marriage connection.

But why should the rich man exalt himself so,
      For the world every day is progressing!
Let the curtain fall on an impressive tableau –
      Kneel, children, receive Papa's blessing!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 4, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 14, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

A Strange, Being has Lately Appeared on this Sphere.*

A strange, being has lately appeared on this sphere,
      A cross between monkey and human,
And Krao's the name of this specimen queer,
      She's half chimpanzee and half woman.

Her lineage is not from Shem, Japhet or Ham,
      We don't know where she got her odd name from;
She's a native of Laos, – that's near to Siam.
      Where the sacred white elephant came from.

Her parents were captured but both of them died,
      Not liking their change of condition;
Had the family all arrived safe on this side,
      'Twould have been a first-class exhibition.

Whether man was or was not evolved front an ape
      Is a theme for conflicting opinion
But the facts are now present in tangible shape
      To prove the great theory Darwinian.

From a tadpole to Krao the progress is slow
      In the scale of ascending gradation,
But believe, and no longer adrift we need go
      On the sea of wild vague speculation.

Any fool now can make it all clear in a wink,
      To his sisters, aunts, cousins and nieces,
For in Krao we have the long-coveted link
      That can solve the great problem of species.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 11, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 15, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

When Belva Lockwood Mounts the Stump.*

When Belva Lockwood mounts the stump,
      And tyrant man impeaches,
Each voter's heart should swell and thump
      To hear her campaign speeches.
We've looked on woman heretofore
      With feelings reverential,
But thought we must their claims ignore
      To honors presidential.

A few are coming to the front
      And seeking high position,
No laws of man their growth can stunt,
      Time is the great magician;
And in that sweet time, by and by,
      Just for a nine days' wonder,
They may the White House occupy
      And in the Senate thunder.

Most women are not yet prepared,
      They still are apathetic,
If really for the vote they cared,
      They'd make our words pathetic;
They'd rise from Beersheba to Dan,
      And woman-suffrage stock would
Go up, 'til almost every man
      Would cheer for Belva Lockwood.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 18, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 16, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Telegraphic.*

Among the disappointed crowd,
      Eager for demonstration,
We heard a man complaining loud
      About our isolation.

"No boat to-day! we cannot learn
      The name of the anointed,
But home we must again return
      Enraged and disappointed.

"Is Blaine or Cleveland president?
      O when shall we be able
To get news from the continent
      By telegraphic cable?

"Sure 'tis enough to stir one's bile
      That we can't be connected!
Before the news can reach this isle
      Which man has been elected,

"They'll know in England, France and Spain,
      And in the Scottish Highlands
Whether 'tis Grover or Jim Blaine,
      Ay, in the Sandwich Islands.

"The 'lectric wire will flash the news
      To Hindostan and China,
To Christians, Pagans, Turks and Jews,
      And Arabs at Mount Sinai.

"We ought to have the telegraph,
      O, glorious institution!
Even if we should build one-half
      By private contribution.

"My voice is cracked like Billy Clark's,
      The news is over yonder,
And all our scriptural remarks,
      Won't fetch it here, by thunder!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 15, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 20, p.2.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Who's President?*

"Who's President?" the old man said,
      "Whom do the people choose?
Pray tell me, some of you who've read
      The latest daily news."

"Who's President? Why James G. Blaine,"
      Roared a triumphant voice,
"Of course, the plumed knight from Maine,
      Let all goad men rejoice!"

"I thought as much," the old man said,
      "E'er since the fight began,
But Martha's always been afraid
      'Twould be the other man."

"Who's President?" he asked again,
      "Why, Cleveland, sir, of course,
The figures make that very plain,
      Now shout until you're hoarse!"

"I'm getting rather old to shout,
      Even if 'twas for Blaine,
But now – there seems to be some doubt,
      I think I'll ask again."

"Who's President?" he cried aloud,
      "I want the news for Martha;"
A waggish voice from out the crowd,
      Roared out, "Chester A. Arthur!"

"That's so." The old man knit his brow,
      "The question is a vexed one:
Chet Arthur's in the White House now,
      Lord knows who'll be the next one!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 22, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 21, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Now We've Done with the Election.*

Now we've done with the election,
There can't be the least objection
To a little retrospection;
      Looking back upon the past.
And its useless now denying
That both parties have been trying
To outdo each other lying,
      While the fight was raging fast.

Why those lying competitions
'Mong the wicked politicians,
So corrupt are the conditions,
      Would you ask the reason why?
To exert a force potential
In campaign presidential.
It's considered quite essential
      To misrepresent and lie.

Now that Cleveland is elected,
And the others are rejected,
Though by some 'twas unexpected,
      Yet relief to all it brings.
Though it cause some indignation,
Even such a consummation
Must be better for the nation
      Than the recent state of things.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 29, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 22, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

O, William D., We Miss Thee.*

O, William D., we miss thee when thou art gone away,
What can we do without thee? We need thee every day.
The steamboat does her duty if she daily comes and goes,
But what time she arrives here, alas! nobody knows.

We hail a passing neighbor, "Isn't the boat in sight?"
"Well, yes, I guess she must be, the weather is all right.
Yes, it's time to hear the signal, ah, what is that you say?
No wonder you don't hear it. Why, Billy Clark's away!"

O, William D. we miss thee when thou dost leave our isle,
If only for a week or so, – we miss thee all the while.
"Say, ain't the boat in yet?" "Why, yes, she's been in near an hour,
No wonder you don't know it, there's no herald in the tower."

O William when thou guest away thy value we all learn,
We watch and wait impatiently to welcome thy return.
Some may say this is all taffy, and all in a horn. We know it,
We want the horn up in the tower, and Billy Clark to blow it!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 6, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 23, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

When in Our Old School-books we Read.*

When in our old school-books we read
      About our country's glory.
Our mental appetites were fed
      With many a charming story.
Those old historians showed more tact
      Than all their wise successors,
Who pin us strictly to the fact,
      Like rigid soul-confessors.

Among those stories there was one,
      (We'll ne'er get one to match it)
Concerning Georgie Washington
      And that sharp little hatchet.
And every time this tale is told
      It thrills young hearts with pleasure,
'Tis full of true historic gold
      As well an moral treasure.

But now the bold iconoclast
      Has knocked the story higher,
Calls the historian of the past
      No better than a liar;
Tells children that whene'er they meet
      That story, they may scratch it;
That history can be complete,
      Without that little hatchet.

Thus one by one those tales of old,
      By time made warm and mellow,
Are driven out into the cold
      By some rude meddling fellow,
Who proves to us that William Tell
      Could never have existed,
That Joan D'Arc is but a sell
      Or a straight story twisted.

Old Putnam never shot the beast,
      Down in the pitch-dark cavern,
That tale on which we used to feast
      Was made in village tavern.
That Pocahontas was a myth,
      She didn't wed the right man,
And never even knew John Smith,
      Or risked her life for white man.

Mark Twain who'd read the hatchet tale,
      Once tried it on his father,
He little thought how it would fail;
      The old man said he'd rather
Mark would have told him fifty lies
      Than made that tree a victim;
Then with fierce anger in his eyes,
      He went for Mark and licked him.

O let that little hatchet live,
      Wise modern commentator!
Such small offence as it can give,
      Yours surely will be greater
If you detract, in youthful eyes,
      From our great country's glory;
You'd better tell a thousand lies
      Than spoil that dear old story!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 13, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 24, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

Our Poetical Editor Makes his Complaint.*

Our poetical editor makes his complaint,
      While the verse-machine sadly he's grinding;
Though he's jolly sometimes, he's not always a saint,
      And he feels in the mood for fault-finding.


Thanksgiving and Christmas are closely allied
      In their sacred intention and meaning,
But they're too near together, – it can't be denied, –
      With less than a month intervening.

Ask the fowls of the air, and the beasts of the field,
      Who're to fill human stomachs capacious!
By thousands and millions their lives they must yield,
      For man's appetite is so voracious!

His mouth waters now, as he sees every day
      Pigs and turkeys grow bigger and fatter;
Talk of mercy to them, he'll laugh at you and say,
      "What their feelings are doesn't matter."

If "the righteous regardeth the life of his beast,"
      Can the righteous man then be a glutton,
And devour for his Christmas and Thanksgiving feast,
      Beef, turkeys, pigs, chickens and mutton?

When our forefathers set sail from Old Plymouth dock,
      They scarce saw their way to a living,
And when landed safely at New Plymouth Rock,
      They thought they had cause for thanksgiving.

Here they might get some corn, and some wild game for meat,
      But scarcely pigs, turkeys or chickens;
They were thankful for anything decent to eat,
      And their feast was made up of slim pickin's,

But that little feast into a festival grew,
      Still kept up by us every season,
But they didn't keep Christmas and Thanksgiving, too,
      They'd have thought that was quite beyond reason.


Here the bard caught a sniff of the savory steam
      From the kitchen, His hungry mouth watered.
He scratched what he'd written, he woke from his dream,
      "Let the chickens and turkeys be slaughtered!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 20, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 25, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1884 POEMS. 1884

"Be Honest All," is Good Advice.*

"Be honest all," is good advice,
For wicked schemes of men and mice
      Will often fail.
To warn young folks against deceit,
It may be timely to repeat
      A Christmas tale.

He was an impecunious dude
Who fell enamored of, and wooed,
      The charming Maud.
A Christmas gift he wished to send,
But having little cash to spend,
      Practised a fraud.

"That statuette would be so nice!"
But fifty dollars was the price, –
      Too much expense;
A broken one, ah! happy thought!
Inquiry proved that could be bought
      For fifty cents.

'Twas broken up, – not merely cracked,
He ordered how it should be packed
      For the express,
Each fragment in its proper place,
With full directions on the case,
      To Maud's address.

Well satisfied, he swung his cane,
Then hastened off by early train
      To Maud's papa's;
To view with her his own love-token,
And grieve because it had been broken
      While on the cars!

The package by express arrived,
Maud's flush of pleasure was short-lived;
      Her shame-faced beau,
O'erwhelmed by her contempt and score,
Looked sorry that he'd e'er been born.
      O rare tableau!

We know the fact, – and so do you, –
That ignorant fellows often do
      Cut-clumsy capers.
Pat Flynn, who packed the broken thing,
Had tied each piece up with a string,
      In separate papers!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 27, 1884, Vol. 65, No. 26, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

The Boy Stood on the Front Door Stoop.*

The boy stood on the front door stoop,
      Whence all but him had fled,
Giving a wild, unearthly whoop,
      'Twould almost raise the dead.

With granny knots and in and outs,
      The street door they had tied,
And hailed with shrill, derisive shouts
      All efforts from inside.

To a safe distance 'cross the street,
      They all had fled save one,
He meant more slowly to retreat,
      But quite disdained to run.

He called out to the dastard mob:
      "Say, boys, why don't you stay
And see the fun?" "Here, Sam, here, Bob!
      You're cowards to run away."

He saw no cause to be alarmed,
      But soon the fun was o'er,
Old Jones with heavy horsewhip armed,
      Rushed out the cellar door.

Tho boy who scorned to be afraid,
      Was taken by surprise;
The movement was so quickly made
      He scarce believed his eyes.

The lash sped whizzing to its mark,
      Followed by such a yell!
Tho boy, bewildered by the dark,
      Jumped off the steps – and fell.

An angry hand, – he felt its touch
      Was reaching for his throat;
He writhed away, but felt it clutch
      The collar of his coat.

'Twas made of thin and flimsy stuff
      Again the whip did crack;
The cloth was old, the boy was tough,
      It tore clear off his back.

The whip cracked on with frightful sound,
      But the boy, – O, where was he?
The way his legs got o'er the ground,
      Was marvellous to see.

He stayed not for torn coat nor vest,
      Bare head nor ragged knees,
He sang that night in the home nest,
      The anthem of the free.

Splinters and sand were in his hair,
      But yet he'd saved his throat,
And the noblest thing that perished there,
      Was that old and threadbare coat.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 10, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 28, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

In Our Local Business Transactions.*

In our local business transactions,
      It really is something quite new,
To put up the bills of a bankrupt,
      And sell them at public vendue.

It is making each debtor a bankrupt.
      Though he never confessed it before;
He can buy his own bills for a penny,
      Unless some fool choose to bid more.

He may fight the world with its own weapons,
      And got on as cheap as he can;
Let him pay all his bills with a quarter,
      And hold up his head like a man.

If one gets in debt and won't pay it,
      It must be so convenient and nice,
To just step down street to an auction,
      And settle up at his own price.

Thus man gets ahead of his neighbor,
      And goes through the world on his cheek,
Paying five or ten cents on a dollar, –
      But poor human nature is weak.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 17, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 29, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

O, Have You Heard the Tidings New?*

O, have you heard the tidings new?
      The Spoliation Bill,
Which has so long been grinding through
      The legislative mill,
Has now been pushed along
      Into the Court of Claims.
Come, hungry claimants, join the song,
      And send along your names.

But don't get cranky o'er this news,
      Though glorious it appears;
It may be you won't got your dues
      In ten or twenty years.
But ancient Rome, as we are told,
      Was not built in a day;
And though you may not touch that gold,
      Your children's children may.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 24, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 30, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

In the Chronicles Old.*

      In the chronicles old
      One Guy Fawkes, we are told,
Meant to blow up the Parliament Houses;
      And e'en to this day,
      The story, they say,
All an Englishman's loyalty rouses.

      Fawkes' Gunpowder Plot,
      Being discovered, was not
Carried out to its dire consummation;
      But his crime has been sung
      And his effigy hung,
By many a young generation.

      Now in these modern days,
      There are easier ways,
Without using a ton of gunpowder;
      A small box or case,
      Taking up little space,
Can make an explosion much louder.

      God save the Queen!
      An infernal machine,
(The Lord only knows what is in it,)
      May be set like a trap,
      To go off with a snap,
With a fuse all arranged to a minute.

      A stranger may land,
      With valise in his hand,
And may now, without scorching a feather,
      Blow up Westminster Hall,
      And the dome of St. Paul,
And the great tower of London together.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 7, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 32, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

A Belle of the Period.*

She rows a boat, and swims and skates,
      As deftly as her brother;
She speaks in lyceums and debates,
      (So shocking to her mother).

She forms a plan and puts it through,
      Cares naught for praise or censure,
And says whatever man can do,
      That woman, too, may venture.

She's first at balls and skating-rinks,
      Outshining all her cronies;
Smokes cigarettes, and even drinks,
      She drives dog-carts and ponies.

As graceful all her movements are,
      As those of swan or starling;
She's even learned to box and spar,
      But still she is – a darling.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 7, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 36, p.2.

1885 POEMS. 1885

Lessons of Spring.*

Our paper makes its weekly call
      Throughout the long, cold winter;
This lesson it should teach to all, –
      Pay what you owe the printer.
Some will do this with right good will.
      But others are hard cases,
For when they see our little bill,
      They greet it with wry faces.

This lesson, too, should be impressed
      In village, town and city, –
Beware the coming of the pest;
      Sustain the Health Committee;
Don't meet their good advice with sneers,
      Nor facial contortions,
But gather counsel from their fears,
      And take all due precautions.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 11, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 41, p.2.

1885 POEMS. 1885

It Must Have Touched a Tender Chord.*

It must have touched a tender chord,
      When New York dames were bid to come
And see the pigmy foreign lord
      Wedded to little Widow Thumb.

Money and blood are here allied,
      This under-sized Italian Count
Has birth and title, while the bride
      Has riches to a large amount.

But such folks never need be poor,
      Great in their very littleness.
They have an income,
      Being only three feet high, – or less.

This little couple side by side,
      Present a curious freak of Nature,
Many things are to them denied
      By reason of their lowly stature.

They cannot work like other folks,
      But here's the law of compensation,
They show themselves, make food for jokes,
      And gather gold throughout the nation.

Their natural place is in a show,
      There they can earn the means of life,
The average man would stoop too low,
      To take this woman as a wife.

Perhaps 'tis none of our affair,
      But let us send congratulation,
Hail to the little bridal pair,
      And bless them in their new relation!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 18, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 42, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

Competition is Bringing Low Prices For Us.*

Competition is bringing low prices for us;
      Now each grocer is blowing his horn;
Our neighbor this morning expressed himself thus:
"Did you ever in all your life see such a fuss
      As they make about Richardson's corn?"

"All winter we paid sixteen cents by the can,
      And sometimes as high as eighteen;
But now, since this fierce competition began,
Down to fourteen, then twelve cents, the selling price ran,
      With sometimes an odd cent between.

"Eleven, ten, – eight cents is all we now pay,
      And this morning my grocery man
Says he thinks very soon we shall welcome the day
When Richardson's corn will be given away.
      With an offer to buy back the can!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 25, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 43, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

Englishmen Did Their Work So Well.*

Englishmen did their work so well,
The day when Alexandria fell,
The way they piled in shot and shell
      Beggars description.
Vowing rebellion soon to quell,
      In lands Egyptian.

But now they talk in different style,
And think 'tis hardly worth their while,
To carry war far up the Nile,
      'Tis not so cheerful.
The climate's hot, the water vile,
      The outlook's fearful.

When England her proud army lands,
With war-like pomp and martial bands,
Upon those arid, desert sands,
      She puts her foot in it.
She has hard work upon her hands,
      There's no disputin' it.

Now that the savage Muscovite,
Seems to be spoiling for a fight,
England is in a fix so tight,
      Her force divided.
It is no great wonder if she might
      Stand undecided.

But England can't eat humble-pie,
St. George will all his foes defy,
The old fire flashing in his eye,
      And temper spiteful.
Dulce pro patria mori,
      O yes – delightful!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 2, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 44, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

Candor.*

Two pedlers carrying razor-strops to sell,
(Just where this was we do not care to tell),
Got up a brisk and lively competition,
(You know the life of trade is opposition.)
But one of them was soon surprised to find
His trade in strops was falling quite behind,
And learned that his competitor sold more.
Because he'd put his prices down much lower,
So low, indeed, that, figuring how he would,
Our honest friend felt sure that no one could
Offer such wares e'en for a single day,
At such a price, and make the business pay,
So when soon afterwards he chanced to meet
His more successful rival on the street,
Said he, "I can't see how it is that you
Can live by selling at the price you do,
(Of course I know that that's your own affair)
But my price is as low as I can bear;
Indeed, I'm charging only just enough
To pay for making: I steal all the stuff
And make the strops myself, Pray, can you tell me
How 'tis you manage thus to undersell me,"
"Of course," returned the other, "Hark ye, neighbor,
You have to charge a fair price for your labor;
The reason I can beat you on a trade
Is plain enough, – I steal 'em ready made!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 9, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 45, p.2.

1885 POEMS. 1885

Classical.*

Two clothing dealers, both on the same street,
Put out their signs the passers-by to greet,
And each of them his own wares eulogizing,
Strove to outdo the other, advertising;
Mottoes and catch-words were displayed on high,
Conspicuously placed to catch the eye.
Now it was "Honest Row," or "Work and Pray,"
And "Live and Let Live" on some other day;
When Brown announced, "We keep the Latest Styles,"
Smith told his friends, "Beware the Tempter's Wiles;"
"God speed the Right," said the more pious brother;
"Yes, Right across the way," returned the other.
And thus the rivals kept alive the fun,
Each quite determined not to be outdone.
Smith's artist, being somewhat of a scholar.
Offered to paint, a sign for half a dollar,
Which would, he said, astonish neighbor Brown,
'Twas sure to puzzle him and take him down.
Smith caught the bright idea at second hand,
Although he didn't clearly understand
The meaning of the words, but hung it out.
Brown stared, spelled out the words, then stood in doubt,
But seeing the doctor from his carriage leaning,
Hailed him and asked him to explain its meaning.
The waggish doctor, following Brown's glance,
Saw food for fun, he couldn't lose the chance,
"Mens Conscia Recti" – Yes, of course, why, that
Is just to advertise a new cravat!"
He drove on rapidly, e'en while he spoke,
Laughing in keen enjoyment of the joke;
Brown shook his fist, then started in a rage,
More work from his sign painter to engage,
And copying down the inscription as he went,
Delighted that he'd found out what it meant.
The painter wore a smile child-like and bland,
Seeing the memorandum in Brown's hand;
It had a look of business. "See here, Cobb,
I want you to make haste about this job;
You know I never mean to be outdone,
I'll fight that Smith forever, gun for gun;
Here's all this Latin fuss about a necktie!
Paint me this, "Men's and Women's Conscia Recti!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 23, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 47, p.2.

1885 POEMS. 1885

Canine Freedom.*

From the street near our window came up a harsh noise,
      As of growling, and barking, and biting,
And we know by the concentric rush of small boys,
      That there must be a brace of dogs fighting.

All the idlers soon gathered from far and from near,
      Boys and men, too, of every variety,
But we saw no philanthropic agent appear
      For the P.O.C.T.A. Society.

Than we thought of the lines that we used to recite,
      Peace to each little sister and brother,
But for dogs, we were told, we must let them delight
      In barking and biting each other.

And if "God has made them so," why should vain man
      Interfere to contend against Nature,
By trying to put dog-fights under the ban,
      By act of State Legislature?

'Tis dogs' nature to fight, and 'tis man's to look on,
      For a government so democratic
As this one of ours, legislators should scorn
      To make laws so harsh and dog-matic.

We all know that any good plucky dog will
      Have a set-to when he's inclined to;
We should pass a Dog's Personal Liberty Bill,
      So let them fight when they've a mind to.

Any smart dog can fight his own way on this earth,
      And asks not for man's tender mercies;
We give this opinion for what it is worth,
      Embalmed in these dog-gerel verses.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 30, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 48, p.2.

1885 POEMS. 1885

Memorial Day.*

Lay the fresh flowers upon each patriot's grave,
      Remember him in prayer, song and oration;
Honor to those who their young life-blood gave
      As ransom for the safety of the nation.

They, with their comrades, Freedom's victory won,
      They sowed the seed, we the full fruits are reaping;
Tenderly, thoughtfully, let our work be done,
      As 't were for those who are not dead, but sleeping.

The lapse of years have served to blunt the dart
      Of anguish, and to soften the keen sorrow;
Time, the great healer of the bleeding heart,
      Rolls on, while yesterday, today, tommorrow,

All glide into the past; but still are left
      Proud memories, and lessons for the living,
Till even those of dearest friends bereft
      Can join with others in the grand Thanksgiving.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 6, 1885, Vol. 65, No. 49, p.2.

1885 POEMS. 1885

When Fourth of July was All O'er.*

We had hoped that when Fourth of July was all o'er,
      A sweet season of quiet would come;
But we're still disappointed, for round our street door
      Comes a stout urchin beating a drum.

O, Patience! Couldst thou on a monument sit,
      And listen, and smile, and be dumb?
And never once wish that the bottomless pit
      Might swallow that boy and his drum?

Many hard, wicked adjectives stick on our tongue,
      We were very near uttering some;
But then we remember that we once were young,
      And we too found delight in a drum.

But since then we've so often the summons obeyed,
      And so tiresome the sound had become,
Drumming on and off guard, and to drill and parade,
      That we hoped we'd quite done with the drum.

For although 'tis a good, useful thing in its way,
      Yet if that little Hop-o'-my-thumb
Don't let up his noise ,we hope somebody may
      Chuck his head through the head of his drum.

Beware, Young America, list and take heed,
      Ere a just retribution shall come,
Disregard of our warning may turn out, indeed,
      All the worse both for thee and thy drum.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 11, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 2, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

My Shipmate from the Great West.*

My shipmate from the Great West writes
      In words full of emotion,
Of strange adventures and odd sights
      Met with upon the ocean.
Records the aspect of the sea
      In wild and stormy weather;
Ah, well, 'tis forty years since we
      Doubled Cape Horn together.

Since then our paths were wide apart,
      Life's checkered battle fighting;
But now again heart speaks to heart,
      E'en through the crabbed writing,
My friend lives o'er his youth anew.
      Yet writes with love o'erflowing,
Of children and grand-children, too;
      O dear, how old we're growing!

Now that we both are sixty-odd,
      Life's log books we're comparing.
We feel Old Time's relentless rod,
      Our strength and vigor wearing.
'Tis sympathy that draws us near,
      Across the prairie heather;
My shipmate's words are ever dear, –
      We're growing old together.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 18, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 3, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

Now Popkins Has for Many a Year.*

Now Popkins has for many a year
      Been most devoutly wishing
That he could spend the summer here,
      In boating, bathing, fishing.
He'd like to bring his family, too,
      And pass a jolly season,
But finds he can't; he's feeling blue;
      You ask, What is the reason?

The times are dull, and don't you see
      That no man in his senses
Can start off summering when he
      Can scarce meet his expenses?
His style of living keeps him still
      A victim to his labors;
For Mrs. Popkins never will
      Be outshone by her neighbors.

But better times may come next year,
      And business be more thriving;
Then will the Popkinses appear,
      In early June arriving.
They will their envious neighbors show,
      (The Smiths and Mrs. Jewett),
That they, the Popkinses, well know,
      Just in what style to do it.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 25, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 4, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

In Former Years Nantucket Maids.*

In former years Nantucket maids
      Were wooed and wed by sailors,
Young officers of various grades,
      Who vexed the seas in whalers.

And yet we heard one say last week,
      Painful it was to hear
So scornfully that sweet voice speak,
      "A sailor! the idea!"

How she turned up her pretty nose!
      And yet, we have a notion,
The gold that bought those lovely clothes
      Was fished out of the ocean.

Whale oil has given place to gas,
      Still there's no cause to blubber;
But when she outweighed gold with brass,
      We felt inclined to snub her.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 1, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 5, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

The Flies!*

      "The flies! plague take the flies!"
      The thrifty housewife cries;
They're thicker every day and buzzing louder;
      There's a million here, and more;
      Go out and shut the door,
I'm going to sprinkle that Dalmation Powder."

      With fury in her eyes,
      She makes war upon the flies,
Determined that she won't let one escape her,
      While Jane puts on her things,
      Hies to the store and brings
A sheet of that infernal sticky paper.

      O woman fair and bright,
      How can you take delight
In putting money in the grocer's pockets,
      While you stand calmly by
      Watching the poor flies die,
And see them pull their legs out of the socket!

      The gentle female heart
      Can act a fiendish part,
When only buzzy insects are in question;
      Her nerves are made of steel,
      She quite disdains to feel
A touch of pity, even the last suggestion.

      "The flies! the dreadful flies!"
      Still the fierce housewife cries;
"Bring on the murderous paper and Dalmation!"
      With poisons, broom and brush,
      Go for them with a rush,
No mercy for them, but extermination!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 8, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 6, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

Sheep Commons [1].*

Says a bustling little woman:
"What's the worth of a sheep common?
Search the records for me, some one,
      And pray tell me what it means."
She'd found out she was an owner,
A deceased aunt was the donor,
Albeit she'd scarcely known her
      While here 'mid earthly scenes.

These might have been of value, Madam,
If you only could have had 'em
From our common father, Adam,
      All throughout the common land;
After making full revision.
We are forced to this decision,
They're in only one division,
      That's just how the matter stands.

For you see your great grandmother,
Thinking land was but a bother,
Gave these commons to her brother –
      That's your great-grand uncle Tom.
He sold out as we suggested,
(By the records its attested),
Till you're only interested
      In one worthless share in Squam.

So don't raise your expectations,
But possess your soul with patience,
For your stupid old relations
      Didn't know enough to wait.
If you only could have told 'em
'Twould be policy to hold 'em,
Maybe they would not have sold 'em, –
      But you see, 'tis now too late.

And she carries home disgusted,
That old deed, with age incrusted;
Her old man, his dreams all busted,
      Says land-owners are all sharks.
Fate may frown but still he'll scorn her;
Then like little Jacky Horner,
      He sits back into the corner,
And –– makes scriptural remarks.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 15, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 7, p.3.

1885 POEMS. 1885

Have You Seen the Charming Mrs. Cozzens.*

"Say, have you seen the charming Mrs. Cozzens,
She who is mashing young men by dozens?"
"O, yes; I met her at the Skating Rink;
She knows just when to smile and when to wink,
And does more mischief in my estimation,
With all her wicked arts of fascination,
Than any dozen wicked men could do.
You think it strange, but ne'ertheless 'tis true,
For many an unsophisticated youth
Believes in woman's purity and truth,
E'en when he knows she's acting a base part,
And what seems gushing Nature is all art;
Until at last his views of her are changed;
His thoughts from better women are estranged;
He looks upon them all as false and bad,
E'en while he is in years but a mere lad."
O, woman, gifted with rare grace and beauty,
Where is your conscience? Where your sense of duty?
Is not love in the home, with all its joys,
Worth more than plaudits from these idle boys?
Does marriage, 'stead of crowning you a saint,
Set you quite free from maidenly restraint?
When you so lately took the vows of wife,
You promised then to bless your husband's life.
Your promise seems to have just this amount,
"O, that's my husband, he's of no account!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 5, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 10, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

'Tis But an Old Story Repeated.*

'Tis but an old story repeated;
We once knew a man so conceited,
      That he really thought
      He had brains by the quart,
And all knowledge in them was secreted.

When he spoke no one ventured to doubt him,
He'd such gall and importance about him,
      And so puffed up with pride,
      He believed when he died
That the world couldn't get on without him.

In due time he slept under the daisies,
And a few faintly sounded his praises;
      But the earth, to her shame,
      Still revolved just the same,
And the moon had her aspects and phases.

Don't suppose merry sounds will be muffled
When you have this mortal coil shuffled;
      You'll have paused like a dream,
      Or a chip on the stream –
It flows on serene and unruffled,


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 3, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 14, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

The Papers Have News at all Times of the Year.*

The papers have news at all times of the year,
      Mixed up with false rumors and folly;
But the annual election is now drawing near,
      And their columns are filled up with Polly—tics.

One reader enjoys the department of sports,
      Thinking that the most racy and jolly;
Another is caught by the late Stock Reports,
      And a third goes at once for the Polly—tics.

This may be good reading for Peter and Paul,
      But Jennie and Susan and Mollie,
Complain that there's naught in the paper at all,
      For its pages are quite filled with Polly—tics.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 10, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 15, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

A Red-haired Boy Came Down our Street.*

A red-haired boy came down our street
      Swinging his new-made gun,
Seeking some smaller boy to meet,
      And frighten him for fun.

A little chap but half his size
      Popped out of a side street,
And taking Brick-top by surprise,
      Soon spoiled his self-conceit.

It was a case of "shoot at sight,"
      As Californians do;
The little one proved in this fight
      The quicker of the two.

Brick-top was taller by a head,
      And stouter-built, and bigger;
With humming sound the arrows sped
      As both of them pulled trigger.

The big boy's bleeding at the nose,
      From his opponent's arrow;
The little one for victory crows, –
      His own escape was narrow.

Both ran as fast as legs could go,
      To fight no more they dared;
For one was slightly hurt, we know,
      And both were badly scared.

Each one who's ever used a gun,
      Knows that this rule is true:
To shoot is always jolly fun
      Till some one shoots at you!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 17, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 16, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

Come to the Polls and Win the Prize!*

      Our devil has prepared an election song which he says will answer equally well for all parties, so we may let them have the benefit of it, and still preserve our neutrality.

Come to the polls and win the prize!
Don't let's be taken by surprise!
      Throw out our pickets!
Arm for the gubernatorial fight!
God be with us and speed the right!
      Stand by your –– tickets!

Vote for no candidate but ours!
Above all others high he towers.
      Guard well the caucus!
Smite our opponents hip and thigh!
Though they misrepresent and lie,
      They shall not balk us!

Pray and watch, and watch and pray!
Rally our force and win the day!
      Our rivals, furious,
Will fight us hard, but vict'ry's sure.
Ours is the only Simon Pure!
      All other's spurious!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 24, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 17, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

When Woman's Love Sets.*

      When woman's love sets
      Toward animal pets,
It is likely to grow to a passion;
      Not lap-dogs nor cats,
      But lovely white rats,
Are now said to be growing in fashion.

      Fine ladles, – 'tis so, –
      To the theatre go,
With these pet vermin climbing about them,
      And they, say, – oh, how queer!
      That these pets are so dear,
Life is scarcely worth living without them.

      If the rats be but white,
      They afford such delight,
All their sweet ways and pranks are reported;
      They may touch beauty's lips
      And the soft finger tips;
Their possessor is envied and courted.

      But if brown or gray,
      She would faint dead away,
'Twould so shock her fine organization,
      Or in horror and fright,
      Would scream at the sight,
With an instinct of self-preservation.

      Tweedledum, – Tweedledee,
      Little difference you see,
Between objects of love and of terror;
      But whatever's the style
      Will our good sense beguile,
Though it lead but to nonsense and error.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 31, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 18, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

To Vote or Not to Vote, – That is the Question.*

      Our bard is in a sarcastic vain after the election, but his soliloquy has the true Shaksporian ring to it.

To vote or not to vote, – that is the question;
Whether it is better to drift down Orange street,
Running the gauntlet of the vote distributors,
Accepting all the tickets that are offered,
And ponder over them until your head aches,
Trying to cipher out in wise decision,
Which of these great men, Johnson, Smith or Hopkins
Ought to be Treasurer and Receiver-General,
When you don't know either of 'em from Adam,
And get your ballots all mixed up at last,
And vote a ticket that you never meant to,
And hate yourself for being such a blockhead;
Or have your ticket all picked out beforehand,
And folded snugly in your waist-coat pocket,
And march with upturned nose and head erect,
Oblivious of all wheedling politicians;
And at the ballot-box draw forth your ticket,
Keeping the buttered side forever downward,
With gaze defiant at the good Town Fathers,
Which says as plain as words "None o' yer business,"
Pass on to find that you've still got that ticket,
And that you have deposited instead,
A miserable, dirty little hand-bill
For advertising a Blood-Purifier,
And made a burlesque of the freeman's right,
And left a sacred duty unperformed.
Why not ignore th' election altogether,
Staying at home to mind your own sweet business?
And if the Ship of State can't keep afloat,
Why, let her go to the –– demnition bow-wows!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 7, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 19, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

How Old is William D. Clark?*

(Air – "Dublin Bay.")

We've often heard the Paul Prys inquire,
      "How old is William D. Clark?"
Some call him thirty, some place it higher.
      Some say he came out of the Ark!

The last census says he is thirty-eight,
      And it ought to tell the truth;
Some think he's a fossil of ancient date,
      But others believe in his youth.

Some say he'll always be thirty-eight,
      If he lives till the crack of doom;
That he'll carry his years, and not feel their weight,
      But keep his perennial bloom.

Next Tuesday then is his natal day,
      And he wants it well advertised;
We've even heard his admirers say
      That Saint William should be canonized.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 14, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 20, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's second line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

The Happy Day is Drawing Near.*

The happy day is drawing near,
Christmas comes but once a year
Crowd the stockings full, my dear,
      Give credit to Saint Nicholas.
The little ones believe it true,
That he comes down the chimney flue
Bringing the presents, bright and new.
      Who says the tale's ridiculous?

Believe it? To be sure they do;
Dolls and toys of every hue,
And candy and red apples, too,
      Make little faces serious.
Will's jack-knife, rubber-ball and drum,
Some little fairy or Tom Thumb
Down through the chimney must have come.
      'Tis jolly, – yet mysterious!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 19, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 26, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1885 POEMS. 1885

Mary Had a Christmas Cake.*

Mary had a Christmas cake;
      With frosting white as snow,
And everywhere that Mary went
      That cake was sure to go.

She carried it to school next day,
      It was so sweet and nice
It made the children laugh and say
      "O, give us all a slice!"

At recess they all chased her out,
      "Like biddies after corn,
And waited patiently about
      Till all the cake was gone.

"What makes you girls love Mary so?"
      The teacher loud did cry,
"Why, Mary had – a cake you know,
      The children did reply.

"Then Mary bring that cake to me,
      It shall be confiscated."
"Why, ma'am, the cake's all gone, you see."
      That school ma'am they all hated.

They knew that had she got that cake,
      She'd put it on the shelf;
And when they all were gone, she'd take
      And eat it up herself.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 26, 1885, Vol. 66, No. 26, p.2.

      Title is taken from the poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Our Octagon.*

Our Octagon, Our Octagon!
Look up the word in the Lexicon;
From a Greek root we're told it came,
And still we ask "What's in a name?"
What mystery is it that it hides?
A figure with eight equal sides,
Eight equal angles each to each,
What hidden meaning does it teach?

Equal before the Power above,
Equal before the law of Love,
Eight little maidens fresh from school,
Carrying out the Golden Rule, –
Unto all others ye should do
As ye would they might do to you, –
Making the lone hearts glad and gay,
Equal are all on Christmas Day!

O, was it not a cheery sight?
Eight little maidens fair and bright,
With rosy faces and upturned veils,
Caring naught for the wintry gales,
High mounted on triumphal car,
Their voices ringing from afar,
Shedding gladness hither and yon;
Is this what it means – Our Octagon?

Eight little maidens young and fair,
Scattering blessings here and there,
In and out at many a door,
With Christmas gifts in goodly store,
From bags of flour to baby's toys,
And all that Merry Christmas noise,
Like a flash of light they've come and gone,
Eight bright sides of the Octagon.

Swiftly they go careering by,
Waving their little flags on high
Above their charioteer so stout;
Raising the echoes with a shout
That springs from warm and loving hearts;
Well have ye played your kindly parts;
Bright is the crown that you have won,
Little maids of Our Octagon!

W. H. M.

      * Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 2, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 27, p.2.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Come, Haste to the Fountain of Waters so Sweet.*

Come, haste to the Fountain of waters so sweet.
      Take a drink of the pure Wannacomet;
Halt pilgrim, a moment, and rest your tired feet,
      While you gather fresh energy from it.
Far and wide its advantages you will proclaim,
      And will call blessings down on the donor;
Of course if you don't know, you can't tell his name,
      But let's all take a drink in his honor.

It's no uncommon thing to fall in with a man
      Who pretends that he knows, but don't apeak it!
It's not to be told from Beersheba to Dan,
      8o let's all take a drink to the secret.
Bow carefully guarded the mystery must be,
      From workman and boss and contractor;
They're laboring "In His Name;" let's trust, then, that He
      Will reward our unknown benefactor.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 9, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 28, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

A Wide-awake Drummer While Making His Rounds.*

A wlde-awake drummer while making his rounds,
Felt hungry at one of the small one-horse towns;
He'd a minute to wait for the train at the station,
And ate some baked beans for his own delectation.
For a small plate of beans and a tumbler of water,
The restaurant-keeper demanded a quarter.
Our drummer looked at him with wondering eyes,
And muttered aloud in a tone of surprise,
"A quarter's a jolly steep round price to cost one
For a small plate of beans, – only ten cents in Boston."
But he threw down the quarter and jumped on the train,
Determined the lesson should not be in vain.
The joke was more than his good humor could bear,
And he'd find a way soon to get that account square.
Next day from the telegraph office there came
A despatch to the restauraut-keeper by name;
And he paid fifty cents to the message boy Sam,
('Twas the usual price for a brief telegram)
And he opened it too with importance and pride,
Let's peep o'er his shoulder, and see what's inside.
"For a small plate of beans, sir, I paid you a quarter;
Don't you really think now, you charged more than you oughter?"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 16, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 29, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Last Winter we Had a Hard Season.*

Last winter we had a hard season
      With ice all around far and near,
And some people thought this a reason
      Why we shouldn't have any this year.
Now for weeks we had wild and soft weather,
      And certain wiseacres foretold,
As two hard winters ne'er come together,
      That this winter would bring little cold.

They e'en talked of spring-time and Maying,
      As week after week glided by,
But we know there's another old saying
      That “winter won't rot in the sky."
And it may be as well to remember
      That the winter is only half gone;
If the cold doesn't come in December,
      It is sure to arrive, later on.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 23, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 30, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

We Scarcely Know Whether to Growl or to Laugh.*

We scarcely know whether to growl or to laugh.
At the slow moving progress of our telegraph.
What's the Government doing? We've waited so long,
We cannot help thinking that something is wrong.
We've cheerfully waited, but waited in vain,
Till now we feel sure that we've a just right to complain.
We were long enough, heaven knows, getting the cable,
But now the whole business seems laid on the table.
So long we were bothered in bringing the wires
We thought their arrival had crowned our desires.
But the ground, if they ever do bring us those poles,
May be frozen so hard we can't dig any holes.
And the earth round the poles is no subject of mirth
When 'tis frozen as hard as the poles of the earth;
We may be so delayed by bad weather and frost,
We consider this winter as already lost,
And may set it down now, as a well settled thing,
That the work won't be finished till far into Spring.
For what with delays and surveys and inspections,
Much time must be lost upon these land-connections,
And most of us can't for our lives understand,
Why some of this work wasn't done beforehand;
For in soft Christmas weather it might be done freely,
And not be like searching the North after Greely.
It may seem a rather hard statement to make,
But, seriously now, we believe it would take
No longer to pay out a cable to Burmah,
Than to hang these few miles of line on terra-firma.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 30, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 31, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Hide and Seek.*

Maud says, it is the queerest thing!
      Virgil in his Bucolics,
Never once condescends to sing
      Of biding-candy-frolics.
'Tis queer enough, indeed, but you
      Can bet your bottom dollar,
That if she says so, it is true,
      For Maud's a Latin scholar,
She thinks now those old Romans knew
      Nothing at all about 'em;
If so, how did they ever do
      To get along without 'em?
E'er since the memory of man,
      'Tis a Nantucket fashion
To carry out this hiding plan, –
      Indeed, 'tis quite a passion.
Our boys and girls take great delight
      In outwitting each other;
Maud goes to bed at early night,
      Leaving word with her mother,
"I must be called at half-past two,
      Those boys will surely watch us;
We must get to the rendezvous
      Early, or they will catch us."
A group of lively girls last week
      A lovely place selected
To play this game of hide and seek;
      They couldn't be detected.
While all the boys, as sure as pop
      They thought, were wrapped in slumber,
They met in a mechanic's shop,
      Up stairs among the lumber.
To wait all day, and make no noise
      Quito tired out all their patience;
And then, to think the wicked boys
      Had spoiled their calculations!
While they ran singly or by two,
      The boys around them hovered;
Had seen them and had followed, too,
      And their retreat discovered,
They came in there with faces bright,
      Like all girls on a bender;
But what a change, when they at night
      Were summoned to surrender.
So wearily the hours had passed
      In that protracted session,
'Twas a relief when they at last
      Surrendered at discretion,
They paid the forfeit as they ought,
      The candy was clam-chowder;
But, 'twas so good, the fellows thought
      The game well worth the powder.
We'll beat 'em yet! says Betsy Jane,
      And may good luck betide her;
Don't give up girls, but try again,
      Like Robert Bruce's spider.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 6, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 32, p.2.

1886 POEMS. 1886

The Woman Question.*

"Where are you going, crazy child?"
      "O, all the girls are waiting.',
Yes, grandma dear, I know we are wild,
      But such a night for skating!"
"Why, child, the air is awful cold!"
      "Yes, grandma dear, we know it.
But we are young, and you are old,
      And youth's the time to go it!"

The silver moon climbs high and higher,
      How clear and cold she rises!
Grandmother brightens up the fire,
      Sits, and soliloquizes:
"Susie will perish if there is not
      A hot fire to come home to!
O, dear, 'tis dreadful to see what
      A pass this world has come to!

It seems so strange that these young girls,
      With all their bright attractions,
With rosy cheeks, and teeth like pearls,
      Should have such Tom-boy actions.
Skating, indeed, and sliding, too,
      And swimming in the summer;
And boating with, – the Lord knows who,
      Flirting with each new comer.

When we were girls, – that's long ago –
      We had to mind our mothers;
We weren't allowed to cut on so;
      Skating was for our brothers.
We had to do as we were bid,
      And rowing boats and swimming
Was no part of the individ-
      Uality of women.

Our Susie has her own sweet way;
      Nobody seems to stop her;
But such queer actions in my day,
      Wasn't considered proper.
We didn't wear boys' hats and clothes,
      Or let the strangers pet us,
But, – after all – Yes, I suppose
      We should – if folks had let us."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 13, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 33, p.2.

1886 POEMS. 1886

We Have Brought to our Work True Devotion.*

      We print at the request of a number of readers the following original songs, sung at the supper given by The Helping Hand last week, ... the last by W. H. Macy, Esq.

We have brought to our work true devotion,
      And hope we have well played our parts;
We respond to your call with emotion,
      And with voices that spring from our hearts.
We heartily join in the greeting,
      To those who have answered the call,
And we trust that this merry, merry meeting.
      Will be heartily enjoyed by you all.
We have called it the Red, White and Blue,
'Tis a name that is noble and true,
      Like the dear, honored flag of our country;
Then hail to the Red, White and Blue.

Both the old and the young generation,
      Can unite in the tribute of pride
For the Red, White and Blue combination,
      Whose fame has been spread far and wide.
There are bright, happy faces all around us,
      And the tricolor emblems above;
And success most triumphant has crowned us,
      In our labor of kindness and love.
Then hurrah for the Red, White and Blue,
'Tis the right thing for brave hearts to do;
      Work for mercy and charity forever,
And cheer for the Red, White and Blue.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 20, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 34, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Won't That be a Great and a Glorious Day.*

"Won't that be a great and a glorious day,"
      Said a hoodlum, whose words we are quoting,
"When we no longer have any poll-tax to pay
      As a qualification for voting!

We know that all men are born equal and free,
      Let us carry it out to the letter;
Hurrah for that proud day when one man shall be
      Just as good as another, – and better!

The rich shall not crowd us all down on our
      And that's the whole story about it;
For we'll never again pay a dollar of tax;
      Cause why? We'll have suffrage without it!

And if Jinx wants to hire us to vote on his side,
      We'll make a good, square, honest dicker,
And the money won't be for a poll-tax applied,
      But we'll just put it all out for liquor!

'Twill be better for us, and make no odds to Jinx,
      He says by his own calculation,
Whether he pays our taxes or treats us to drinks
      To assist him in saving the nation.

Our forefathers' manhood was crushed to the earth,
      And their self-respect meanly degraded;
And shall we, too, be slaves in the land of our birth?
      Shall we pay the tax, too, because they did?

We've a right to do just as we please with our own;
      The chains that have bound us we'll sever!
And we'll vote for free rum on our manhood alone;
      Independence! aye, now and forever.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 20, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 38, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Mary Had a Little Dog, He Wore a Ribbon Collar.*

Mary had a little dog, he wore a ribbon collar,
And everywhere that Mary went that little dog would "follow."
He went with her to school, she bade him lie down in the entry,
And saw him close his little eyes as quiet as a sentry.
But while they all were singing the old hymn of "Lord dismiss us,"
He threw in some discordant notes by barking at the missus.
The missus tried to quiet him, he only barked the louder.
And cared not for the weapons with which Nature had endowed her.
So finding all her patience spent, and all her efforts futile,
She seized a heavy broom-stick, quite resolved to treat the brute ill.
And Mary called her favorite "Good Ponto! O good Ponto!"
And wondered where his manners and docility had gone to.
The school-marm tried to drive him out, a hopeless task she found it,
Good Ponto scorned to leave the room, and raced all round and round it.
With flashing eyes and broom stick high in air the teacher follored,
Louder and fiercer barked the dog, the children screamed and hollered.
School discipline is at an end and all is due confusion,
When some one by a happy thought started a new delusion.
A cry was raised "The dog is mad!" the panic quickly spreading,
They stand not on ceremony as at funeral or wedding.
But admitting that discretion is the better part of valor,
School-ma'am and children all rushed out, their faces white with pallor.
The grand stampede once started was all over in a minute,
A little dog had cleared the room, and reigned supreme within it.
Monarch and lord of all that he surveyed like Crusoe,
He barked e'en louder than before; Ponto, how could you do so?
The school-ma'am went for Michael Flynn, who works for Deacon Tucker,
Explained the situation, and appealed to him for succor.
Mike always has an eye for fun, and laughed as if enraptured,
The lion was bearded in his den, and brought to bay and captured.
The fugitives returned with full hearts brimming o'er with gladness,
All eager to get valiant Mike's opinion of the madness.
Said he with voice oracular and redolent of whiskey,
"Mad, d'ye say? The devil a bit! Only a little frisky!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 27, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 39, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Now April is Here*

      Now April is here,
      And soon 'twill appear
That 'tis time to make ready for summer;
      Put on your best style,
      With a bow and a smile,
And a welcome for every new comer.

      Let us not be folorn
      That the old times are gone,
Nor grieve for our former employment;
      For we've won a good name
      And become known to fame
As a rare place for rest and enjoyment.

      If we all do our best
      To welcome each guest,
We'll make up for dull times in the whiter;
      And if you are wise,
      Above all, advertise!
'Twill be well both for you and the printer.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 3, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 40, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Fast Day is Growing so Old and Gray!*

Fast Day is growing so old and gray!
      How many, throughout the nation,
Or rather how few, have spent the day
      In prayer and humiliation?

Tales of old customs, obsolete,
      We now and then hear quoted;
But rather to fun and pleasures sweet
      The day is now devoted.

Old forms have run so low indeed,
      In modern estimation,
It seems like mockery to read
      A Fast Day proclamation.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 10, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 41, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Our Devil Scratched his Tangled Hair.*

Our devil scratched his tangled hair,
      We heard his muttered curses,
"Hullo! What are you doing there?"
      He answered, "Writing verses."
We asked to see what he had done,
      He handed us the copy,
An average thing, as verses run,
Pompous, and weak, and sloppy,

Yes, stanzas to the genial spring,
      The rhymster's gushing season;
A weird and dreamy sort of thing,
      Faulty in rhyme and reason,
"Minerva from the head of Jove,"
      Sweet classical quotation!
But Love ought not to rhyme with grove,
      "Tis bad pronunciation.

To hide the truth was all in vain,
      Our devil is no poet,
We told him so, right plump and plain,
      And he was glad to know it,
Said he should waste no further time,
      Should thank and bless, not hate us,
He has some little gift of rhyme,
      But no "divine afflatus,"

O bards who bud forth in the spring,
      Awake from your delusions!
We've too much of that sort of thing,
      Spare us your weak effusions,
If not soon published take the hint,
      They've sunk in our waste-basket!
Don't look to see them rise in print,
      What cheek you have to ask it!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 17, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 42, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

You Feel Spring's Enervating Power?*

You feel Spring's enervating power?
      There's medicine to cure,you;
There's no need to be sick an hour,
      'Tis nonsense, we assure you.
When the spring robin, free and wild,
      O'er field and meadow twitters,
'Tis time for you, your wife and child
      To take the "Vernal Bitters!"

So I believed. Bitters in spring,
      Bitters again in Autumn,
The Vernal Bitters seemed the thing;
      I was a fool, – and bought 'em.
I thought I'd found a sovereign balm
      For all our woes internal;
No good resulted, only harm,
      From dosing with the Vernal.

I dosed my family all round,
      With these new quack inventions;
Too late our sad mistake we found,
      Despite the best intentions.
We proved one of those wise old saws,
      "All is not gold that glitters;"
Our teeth were loosened in our jaws
      By those Infernal Bitters!

In "sassparilla and yeller dock"
      Grandmother used to revel;
Her faith was founded on a rock,
      Her dear old head was level.
To think how I've been victimized
      My shortened life en – bitters,
O that I still had patronized
      Those Grand-Maternai Bitters!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 24, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 43, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Now Labor Strikes are Quite the Rage*

Now labor strikes are quite the rage
      In every state and section;
E'en children, too, of minor age,
      Are catching the infection.
We find an instance of this sort
      An item for the papers,
Where school-boys had much mischief wrought
      Cutting rebellious capers.

Scorning to bring the case before
      A board of arbitration,
They met the teacher at the door –
      A numerous delegation.
They'd filled the key-hole full of mud,
      Thus all ingress preventing,
And threatened force, and fire, and blood,
      With no show of relenting.

They'd say when they to school should come,
      (No mutual concessions!)
Arrange their own curriculum
      And fix the length of sessions;
Have holidays just when they chose.
      Write no more compositions!
And stood prepared with deadly blows
      To fight for these conditions.

The whole thing fizzled out in smoke;
      Their terms were all rejected;
The tragedy became a joke,
      As might have been expected.
As the cock crows the chicken learns,
      Then louder grows and bolder;
Laugh as we may, the fire still burns
      When covered up to smoulder.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 1, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 44, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Spring Turkeys.*

We heard a lady in Ohio tell an anecdote.
'Twas nearly thus, though 'tis but from memory we quote:
"Yes, I once went to Nantucket, a few pleasant weeks to spend,
By special invitation of a charming new-made friend;
I arrived there in the evening boat, and just In time for tea,
My friends were there In walling, for they were expecting me;
And they made me welcome, too, in such delightful, home-like way,
It seemed that I belonged there, stead of having come that day.
In the evening, my friend's husband had to go down to his store,
And I overheard him asking if she wanted nothing more?
And heard her answer, "Well, not much of anything to-night,
But send up a dozen turkey's, and I think we'll be all right."
A dozen turkeys! with surprise my lips flew open wide,
As I asked myself the question, On what scale does he provide?
How shall we ever eat them? He had simply answered, "Well,"
But 'twas meat enough to stock a restaurant, a large hotel.
I was only an eaves-dropper, and t'was none of my concern,
So I held my peace and waited, trusting I should live and learn.
Well, I found a roast beef dinner on the table the next day.
And the usual variety was there during my stay;
But I looked in vain for all those turkeys ordered by my friend,
Till the time set for my visit had drawn nearly to an end.
My host had promised to return the visit in the fail,
And I'd grown so well acquainted, and familiar with them all,
In the weeks that we together so delightfully had spent,
That, I ventured now to ask them what those dozen turkeys meant.
Then the ringing peals of laughter, both from husband and from wife,
Made me fear I must have made the greatest blunder of my life.
"Turkey!" Explained my charming friend, as soon as she could speak,
"Why, you've eaten them for breakfast once or twice in every week!
And you told us that you liked them, even better than clam-chowder!"
I began apologizing, but they only laughed the louder.
"And the odor is delightful!" said their mischievous young Dick,
"And you buy'em by the dozen, all impaled upon a stick."
"Vineyard turkeys!" said my hostess, as her laugh rung out anew,
"And we understood each other, though of course 'twas Dutch to you.
For we used a local idiom – we've plenty of them here,
And you'll need to ask the meaning of some other things you'll hear.
They were Martha's Vineyard turkeys; there they raise the very best,
And we'll try to bring some with us, when we visit you out West!"
By this time I enjoyed the laughter quite as much as they,
And we laughed again in concert many times throughout the day;
I had found out by my blunder, -- O deal gently with the erring!
"Turkeys" was just a little bit sarcastic on -- salt herring.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 8, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 45, p.2.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Our Grandsires of Old.*

      Our grandsires of old
      Killed whales, we are told,
In the neighboring waters around here;
      But during our day
      The hunt didn't pay.
Because no whales were to be found here.

      So we sailed round Cape Horn;
      Several years we were gone
On those long cruises in the Pacific;
      And we killed, cut and tryed
      Till they'd nearly all died.
(For the whale is not very prolific).

      Now again we're in luck,
      For around Tuckernuck
Right whales were seen making "white water,"
      And men bold and stout
      Manned, a boat and put out
All armed and equipped for the slaughter.

      If the whales should come back.
      We have not lost our knack,
For, better than could be expected,
      Four whales have been killed,
      Many casks have been filled,
And a snug pile of whalebone collected.

      They've secured a rich spoil
      Of whalebone and oil;
'Twill pay them, we haven't a doubt of it;
      And they'll let Davy Jones
      Have the carcass and bones,
For he ought to get something out of it.

      To most landsmen's eyes
      A whale of large size
Is an object of terror and wonder.
      'Tis fun to catch whales,
      But keep clear of their tails,
Or you may get your boat knocked to thunder


      * The title is taken from the poem's first line. The poem appeared in William H. Macy's newspaper column "Here and There" published in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 15, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 46, p.2.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Our Imp is Again at His Rhyming.*

Our Imp is again at his rhyming;
The heights of Parnassus he's climbing;
      He breaks forth with a jerk,
      In the midst of his work,
With gestures and rude pantomiming:

"O the arch-rebel, Jefferson Davis!
He's an old man, and quite near the grave is;
      His speeches sound fine
      South of Compromise Line,
But we Northerners think he a knave is.

While he's down there in south Alabama
He puts on his secession armor;
      But when he gets back
      'Neath the old Union Jack,
He'll have less to say and be calmer.

Now Jefferson, don't got excited;
You ought to be pleased and delighted
      To have the war cease
      And all be at peace,
And to see all these great states united.

To uphold the South and applaud her,
Its encouraging strife and disorder;
      And if you'd had your way
      We'd be fighting to-day,
For your niggers would run 'cross the border.

O, Jefferson D., don't you try it,
Or we'll keep you on low pressure diet,
      For what is the use
      Of your sloshing round loose;
You had better run home and be quiet."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 22, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 47, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Boys' Rights.*

My name is Tom Hall,
      And I try to be good,
But I love to play ball,
      As a human boy should,
And policemen are always peculiar;
      I'd like to be one if I could.

I was playing a game
      In the street 'tother day,
When a large window-pane
      Got right in my way,
And the consequence was, – it got broken;
      Now how could I help it, I say?

You know how a boy feels
      When he finds he has sinned;
I just took to my heels,
      And I ran like the wind;
That policeman was rounding the corner;
      He put his grip on me and grinned!

Then he hit me a whack
      In his usual way,
And dragged me straight back,
      I had not much to say;
But the glazier's job cost half a dollar,
      And my poor father had that to pay.

And he thrashed me so hard
      That my back's smarting yet,
Shut me inside the yard,
      And I stayed there, you bet;
And why? 'Cause I knew if I didn't,
      What a confounded licking I'd get.

And the glass owners say
      That I did very wrong;
If I'd not run away,
      But had come right along
And owned up that I was the culprit,
      They'd have let me off free for a song.

When a boy's in a scrape
      It just spoils all his fun;
He's in hopes to escape,
      And it's nat'ral to run;
So that's why I took to my trotters,
      And that's just what you would ha' done.

It's it plaguey hard case,
      And a shame I do say,
That there ain't enough space
      Where a feller can play;
And I know that if I was policeman,
      Folks would keep their glass out of the way.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 12, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 50, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

The Summer Solstice Now Sets In.*

The summer solstice now sets in,
      Strangers come o'er the water;
Soon we shall find the days begin
      To grow a trifle shorter.
Those who profess to read the signs
      Predict a lively summer,
Now the obliging landlord finds
      A smile for each new comer.

What a delightful summer sea,
      For boating, fishing, swimming!
How happy will the young folks be,
      When o'er the water skimming!
Bring the whole family along,
      Give them a long vacation,
Then take them home refreshed and strong.
      By rest and recreation.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 19, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 51, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

A Correspondent Wants to Know.*

A correspondent wants to know
      How long a whale can live,
Also, to what size he may grow.
      We're sorry we can't give
The information that is sought;
      We think a whale, however,
That is, if he should not be caught,
      Might live almost forever.

We can't prove this, but it appears,
      If old tradition's true,
That men once lived nine hundred years,
      And why not whales then, too?
If length of life depends on size,
      The whale should live much longer,
Because he is – no one denies –
      Bigger than man, and stronger.

If size depends on length of days,
      And all things in proportion,
A whale might grow beyond our gaze,
      And stretch across the ocean,
Like that one in old Sinbad's tale,
      Whereon their vessel stranded;
They never dreamed it was a whale
      When on its back they landed.

We've heard it said that paroquets
      Will live it hundred years;
We've never tried that kind of pets,
      We say it here in tears.
"We never reared a young gazelle,"
      Nor trained a sweet canary,
But some confounded thing or, – well;
      Our fates have been contrary.

We learn from geologic sage.
      The whales had horns and hoofs,
Away back in that Saurian age,
      But then where are the proofs?
We're writing in the present tense,
      And say it without levity,
It doesn't stand to common sense
      To fix a whale's longevity.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 26, 1886, Vol. 66, No. 52, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

John Judkins was a Citizen of Credit and Renown.*

John Judkins was a citizen of credit and renown;
He had spent moat of his summers in the hot and dusty town;
John Judkins' spouse said to her dear, "Though wedded we have been
These many tedious years, yet we few holidays have seen.

To-morrow's Independence Day, and let us then repair
To the steamer for Nantucket, and we'll spend the summer there,
My sister and my sister's child, myself and daughters, too,
Will go ahead and get the place in readiness for you.

Nantucket of all places is the cheapest and the best,
And we hope you'll follow very soon, and take your needed rest,"
John Judkins kissed his loving wife, o'erjoyed was she to find
He'd decided he would go with them, and not be left behind.

They enjoyed the voyage greatly as they all together came,
And the summer was so pleasant that this year they'll do the same;
Mrs. Judkins and her daughters found their health so much improved,
He has all his old anxiety on their account removed,

And he's so enthusiastic that he writes us he intends
To come back here every summer and to bring down all his friends.
Long live the President and bride, and Judkins long live he!
Let his wise example influence Some other familee.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 3, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 1, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

In Days of Old.*

      In days of old
      Our young men bold
Went whaling round Cape Horn;
      How different
      The lives are spent
Of those who're later born!
      Nantucket men
      Seek not as then
To make themselves sea-rangers;
      In these bright days
      They find it pays
To entertain the strangers.

      They used to sail
      To hunt the whale,
And asked for nothing better;
      Their oil when sold
      Brought honest gold,
And made the world their debtor.
      But we, to-day,
      At home would stay
For comfort and enjoyment,
      And if we strive
      We still may thrive,
And live by home employment,


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 10, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 2, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Our Old Steamers.*

Steadily on the years have rolled,
And he must feel he's getting old,
Who in his memory still carries
The Eagle and Marco Bozzaris.

While younger folks perchance may laugh
We learn we had a Telegraph;
For now 'tis nearly fifty years,
As by the chronicles appears,
Since the old steamer by that name
Across the Sound first went and came.

The Massachusetts followed on,
But both of these are sold and gone;
This generation all have seen
The Eagle's Wing and River Queen.

The Island Home is still alive
Since eighteen hundred fifty-five,
And yet reported staunch and stout,
Showing few signs of wearing out,

A new one's ready now we hear,
And named for the old island dear;
Long may she float the name to bear,
And like her elder sister wear!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 17, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 3, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

A Soft Gushing Poet Writes Us.*

A soft gushing poet writes us
Such epistles he indites us!
Why, the very thought affrights us,
      E'en before we break the seal.
All our patience he disperses,
With his execrable verses,
And were wrought almost to curses
      To express the thoughts we feel.

Now pray, "Evergreen," do spare us,
Lest such fierce emotions tear us
That quite out of life they'll wear us;
      Patience cannot stand the strain
If so grievously you task it;
Publish them! How can you ask it?
They have gone to the waste basket –
      There we mean they shall remain.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 24, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 4, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Say, Father Dear.*

"Say, father dear, I hope to-day you've got a generous spell on,
For you must give me fifteen cents to buy a watermelon;
The man says it's a splendid one, he knows because he's bored it."
"But business is dull with me, I really can't afford it."
"But only fifteen cents apiece!" "Of course they must be specked ones."
"No, not at all, they're sound and sweet, and best of all, they're wrecked ones.
The great ship ran upon the rocks; 'tis said they couldn't save her!
But then the watermelons are so full of juice, and flavor,
And sweeter, too, because they have been rescued from the water."
"Now, really, are they better for that fact, my darling daughter?"
"Yes, father dear, you know that Desdemona loved Othello
For all the dangers he had passed, – the dear, old swarthy fellow!"
"That's true, she did., I thought just now I had a stingy spell on,
But Will Shakespeare knew everything. Here, child, go buy the melon!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 31, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 5, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Our Neighbors Over in Abington are Crazy Now We're Told.*

Our neighbors over in Abington are crazy now we're told,
Since experts tell them that their rocks contain a mine of gold;
The surface indications are that they will all be rich,
And thus they've worked their expectations up to concert pitch.
Now, friends, keep cool; don't let this get your ideas in a flurry,
Thinking you all are going to make big piles in a hurry;
'Tis well to bear in mind that there will be but "few anointed,"
While twice ten times as many more will sure be disappointed.
We hope 'twill pan out well at last; but e'er the gold will show up,
There's cords of earth to be removed, and many rocks to blow up;
And though each digger says "My chance is just as good as his'n is,"
Gold-mining on the whole is not a very paying business.
How many a man has worked a month to got one little nugget,
And tried to think its value was immense – because he dug it;
The fact is this (though we're sometimes in danger of forgetting it),
The reason gold is precious is – because it's slow work getting it.
Grain, pennyweight and ounce must be the limit of your thoughts,
You'll not find quarts of gold, although you may find gold in quartz.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 7, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 6, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Now Summer's Drawing Near its End*

Now summer's drawing near its end,
      Within a few days more
The rushing human tide will tend
      Towards the mainland shore.

Last week each to the other said,
      "How many came to day?"
But soon we all shall ask instead,
      "How many went away?"

And let us hope they all have been
      So well contented here,
They'll wish to stay here longer when
      They come another year,


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 28, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 9, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

A Boston Man has Done It.*

A Boston man has done it. What?
      That dreadful whirlpool task,
Gone through Niagara's boiling pot,
      And didn't use a cask!
And what that Boston man has done,
      Some other man may do;
Willing to risk his life for fun
      And let luck carry him through.

We thought of doing this ourself,
      But 'twould be just our luck
To dash against some rocky shelf,
      While in the whirlpool's suck,
Or get drowned in the undertow.
      Yes, let those laugh who win,
But if we're killed we scarcely know
      Just where the fun comes in.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 4, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 10, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

The Great Sea Serpent is Round Again.*

The great Sea Serpent is round again.
      Bring out the old flag, and wave it!
And he's lately appeared off the coast of Maine,
      It is proved by a strong affidavit.

That the story is true, there can be no doubt,
      It has logical shapes and fitness,
And the narrator seems to know what he's about,
      He's a very respectable witness.

The Serpent was round in our juvenile days,
      And our sea-nimrods went out a-hunting,
They brought back tales of his devious ways,
      But displayed not the victor's bunting.

They went provided with murderous gear,
      And faith was strong that they'd catch him,
But they never approached him sufficiently near,
      To put salt on his tail – or to scratch him.

Where now are those doughty knights of old?
      Long since they've gone home to glory;
But the deeds they did, and the yarns that they told,
      Must forever be famed in story,


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 11, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 11, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

The Equinoctial's Near at Hand.*

The equinoctial's near at hand,
      And weather prophets wise,
Predict great storms by sea and land,
      High winds and changing skies;
But though this equinoctial date
      Has terror in its name,
Yet other storms, early and late,
      Are pretty much the same.

With more earthquakes we're threatened, too,
      But surely there can be
Naught for us mortal men to do
      But wait awhile and see;
We cannot alter things a whit.
      On, on the earth will roll,
And we must patiently submit
      To what we can't control.

Our earth goes whirling on through space
      A thousand miles a minute,
And should it get tipped out of place
      There'd be no living in it;
And twice a year is sure to come
      That dreadful equinox,
Let's calmly turn our chewing-gum
      And wait the extra shocks.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 18, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 12, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

What Heavenly Blessings on us Shower.*

What heavenly blessings on us shower,
      When men along our shores
Are picking up great sacks of flour
      To serve for winter stores!

Some drifted in upon the beach, –
      Thus they secured a few;
Then went for those just out of reach
      With boats and dories too.

E'en thus the Israelites of old
      Welcomed the sacred manna,
And when the tale at home was told
      To Sarah Jane and Hannah,

It filled those housewifes' hearts with glee,
      And shed joy in each cottage,
For Heaven had sent them from the sea
      Wherewith to make their pottage.

"The food is here, we know not whence,"
      Argued those wives and daughters;
"It must be in the literal sense,
      Bread cast upon the waters."

'Twas what the lawyers called a case
      Of flotsam and of jetsam;
Free competition in the race,
      So come on all, and get some!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 25, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 13, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Watch and Prey.*

How doth the ever-hungry shark
      Skulk in the mermaids' bower,
And prowling round there in the dark,
      Seek whom he may devour!

Rocked in the cradle of the deep,
      He waiteth night and day,
And closeth not his eyes in sleep,
      Lest he may lose his prey.

He lieth rolled up on his side,
      Behold his evil eye!
He waiteth, unlike time and tide,
      To grab the passer-by.

Yet we of him the truth must tell,
      Abuse him as we may;
He doeth his whole duty well,
      It is, to watch and prey.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 2, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 14, p.2.

1886 POEMS. 1886

No More the Locomotive Whistle is Heard.*

No more the locomotive whistle is heard
      Startling the long-shore echoes with its shriek,
And William Clark has given out the word,
      "Two boats a day will finish up this week!"

The summer visitors have gone away
      To distant homes; the season's work is done;
There's no occasion for two boats a day,
      We've scarcely business enough for one.

Autumnal winds blow chill across the moors,
      And frowns disfigure Nature's smiling face;
Again the coal-fire with its warmth allures,
      For winter weather's coming on apace.

Of the great continent we form a part,
      Having connection now by telegraph;
Let winter come, we'll meet it with stout heart,
      Let's all rejoice and kill the fatted calf.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 9, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 15, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Some Scamps Have Lately This Way Brought.*

Some scamps have lately this way brought
      A few mischievous foxes,
Most likely on the mainland caught,
      And shipped in bags or boxes.

This business has been managed so
      That no one can determine,
Though everybody wants to know,
      Whence came the precious vermin.

Dame Rumor laid the job to men
      Of wealth and education;
But they at once with voice and pen,
      Deny the imputation.

And now at you and me by turn,
      She points Suspicion's finger,
But nothing definite she learns
      On which her touch may linger.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 6, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 19, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Philosophers Have Tried in Vain.*

Philosophers have tried in vain
      To tell what makes the tides;
No one is able to explain
      The whole thing, ends and sides.

Some say 'tis the moon, and some the sun,
      Some the earth whirling round;
But though wise men, as yet no one
      This mystery has found.

And when we take each separate case,
      These questions come to bother:
Why are there great tides in one place,
      And small ones in another?

Who can tell why it swells and slacks
      From Saturday to Monday?
Why so immense at Halifax,
      And in the Bay of Fundy?

He who in Boston Bay resides,
      May see great rise and fall;
The tropic isles have smaller tides,
      Tahiti none at all.

And after all that wise men say,
      Who can in truth explain,
Why the sea swells up twice a day,
      And then subsides again?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 13, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 20, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

'Tis Well in All Cases, That we Should Avoid.*

'Tis well in all cases, that we should avoid
      Excess in rich food and good living,
Yet we hope that both old folks and young have enjoyed
      The annual feast of Thanksgiving.

Like Christmas, it comes only once in a year,
      But there's only one short month between them,
And there's danger when folks have two feast days so near
      They may over-indulge, for we've seen them.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 27, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 22, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

December Brings us Winter's Frost.*

December brings us winter's frost,
      And bites our toes and fingers,
Brings school-boys fun at little cost.
      Brings lecturers and singers.,

Brings Christmas for the childrens' sake
      With music, too, and holly;
With lovely presents, toys and cake,
      And Santa Claus the jolly.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 4, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 23, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Columbus Taught a Moral*

Columbus taught a moral when
      He made an egg stand on its end,
Showing how ordinary men
      Upon a few strong minds depend.

When he from Spain his sails unfurled
      In fourteen hundred ninety-two,
To seek for this great Western world
      'Twas what no other dared to do.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 11, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 24, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1886 POEMS. 1886

Now the Mind-reader's Wondrous Art.*

Now the mind-reader's wondrous art
      Is making a sensation,
O, could we read our neighbor's heart,
      How strange the revelation!

Lovers believe they can do this,
      But often are mistaken;
And from their rosy dream of bliss
      To misery awaken.

Will the time ever come when man
      Shall understand his brother?
When human souls in earnest can
      Look into one another?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 18, 1886, Vol. 67, No. 25, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

We've Had So Much Good-natured Chaff.*

We've had so much good-natured chaff
About the coming telegraph,
We fondly hoped that when 'twas laid
Where'er 'twas placed it would have stayed.
Now it's too bad when we're unable
To use the telegraphic cable,
Because some vessel prowling round,
Fogged or benighted in the Sound,
Has anchored there right in the 'way,
And, struggling to get under weigh,
When she her anchor tried to lift
Has torn the cable all adrift.
Our use of it had been so brief
We're quite rejoiced at our relief,
But yet we're liable, 'tis plain,
To just such accidents again.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 1, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 27, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

January.*

            January,
            Quite contrary,
How does your weather go?
            Ice and sleet
            Out in the street,
Look, too, for drifts of snow;
            Water freezes,
            Winter breezes
Strike us cold and chill;
            Slip and slide
            On every side,
And fall down,if you will.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 8, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 28, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Do You Like the Snow, Tommy?*

"Do you like the snow, Tommy?" "Yes, you bet I do!
There's great fun in coasting, and snow-balling too;
I can build a snow-house and a man to put in it,
Race sleds with Jim Jones, half a mile to the minute,
Tumble into a snow-bank while on the tight run,
And creep out half smothered – but then it's all fun!"

"Do you like the snow, Nellie?" "Ah, yes, to be sure!
I think it's just lovely. And there's Harry Ewer
Has the handsomest sled that you ever did see;
"Tis just right for two, and he always wants me;
To be modest and prim may be all good advice,
But to coast with the boys – O, I think it's so nice!"

"Do you like the snow, Grandma?" "I can't say I do!
It gives me the shivers and rheumatiz, too;
Yes, I'm old and I'm lame, but I don't mind your jokes,
And I can't enjoy snow, like you merry young folks;
But I tell you, Miss Nellie, – now don't shake your curl!
We didn't do them things when I was a girl!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 15, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 29, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

So Long as our Harbor of Ice is all Clear.*

So long as our harbor of ice is all clear,
      We're a part of the great Yankee nation;
But should winter weather be very severe,
      Thus shutting off free navigation.

We may be compelled to submit like our sires
      To be for a-time ice-olated,
And if we're cut off from our sub-marine wires
      We really would seem to be fated.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 22, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 30, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

'Tis a Proud Day for Helen; She Graduates Now.*

'Tis a proud day for Helen; she graduates now,
She delights all tho crowd with her smile and her bow,
Wins applause with her "essay," and then, such a dress!
'Tis really more lovely than words can express.
Her French is surprising for one who's so young,
And she rolls Latin right off the end of her tongue.
She moves like a sylph on her dear little feet,
And her pretty head tosses on taking her seat;
And she's full of sweet pride from her crown to her toes,
For they all say 'tis wonderful how much she knows.

Ten years have passed by; she has learned a deal more
About some things of which she knew little before;
And one chief thing she's learned by Time's gradual touch
Is, that when at the High School she didn't know much;
She remembers that day when in glory she sat,
Thinks that "essay" now is insipid and flat,
And wonders that then, in the pride of her heart,
She had read it in public and thought 'twas so smart.
She has still a sweet face but a strong thoughtful brow,
For she's wise and sedate and quite womanly now,
And she owns up with candor, the older she grows,
That it's rather surprising how little she knows.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 29, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 31, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

How Many Jacks are in the Pack?*

"How many Jacks are in the pack?"
      Says little Dickey Miller.
"There's Bean-stalk Jack and Cuffee Jack,
      And Jack the Giant-killer;
Three-fingered Jack and his bold crew,
      And Jack Smith in the corner;
Jack Sprat and old Jack Bunsby, too,
      And little Jacky, Horner.
Now all these Jacks have passed away,
      Their history is all lost,
But one's still with us day by day,
      They call his name – Jack Frost."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 5, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 32, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

O, Don't you Remember Sweet Alice.*

O, don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt,
      Sweet Alice with hair so brown,
Who laughed with delight when she mounted the colt,
      And cried when the colt threw her down?
On the old Jones farm in the valley, Ben Bolt,
      But neither obscure nor alone,
Sweet Alice lives now with her husband, John Holt,
      And her children are getting well grown.

O, don't you remember sweet Alice, at school,
      As bright and as fair as a dove;
How you gazed and you blushed and we called you a fool,
      And were head over heels gone in love?
She's a stout woman now, do you know, Ben Bolt?
      And I guess has a temper rather tart,
For the boys toe the mark, and they say John Holt
      Has his hands full as well as his heart.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 12, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 33, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Georgie Washington Had a Small Hatchet.*

Georgie Washington had a small hatchet,
      And hacked at his father's choice tree;
Of course he expected to catch it
      When his father the mischief should see.
Do you think he denied it or hid it?
      That brave, noble, outspoken boy
Cried boldly, "Yes, father, I did it!"
      And the old man wept sweetly for joy.

Mark Twain tried it on the same fashion;
      But the game didn't work worth a cent;
For the old man flew into a passion,
      And straight for the horsewhip he went.
"You mischievous rascal!" he thundered,
      "Don't come your soft nonsense on me!
You'd better told lies by the hundred
      Than ruined my favorite tree!"

By Washington's world-renowned story,
      This lesson was taught: that a youth
Might cover himself o'er with glory
      By sinning, than telling the truth.
Zip says such a lesson's all bother,
      Not fit for a boy who has brains;
For Mark Twain was as true as the other,
      But only got thrashed for his pains.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 19, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 34, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Muskeget and Gravelly Islands Annexed.*

Muskeget and Gravelly islands annexed
      By vote of the Great Legislature,
The argument seemed to depend for its text
      On the plans and intentions of Nature.

Now let old Nantucket stretch out her wide wings,
      And take in the new territory;
'Tis not much to gain in material things,
      But a little for honor and glory.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 12, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 37, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Beecher is Gone.*

Beecher is gone. Who, now, will fill the place,
      Wielding such influence with voice and pen;
Treating all themes with native force and grace,
      Pre-eminent among his fellow-men?

New thoughts perhaps may other minds inspire,
      And quicken now that he has passed away;
So long they've been accustomed to inquire
      At each new crisis "What does Beecher say?"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 19, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 38, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

The Bottle, – and its Victim.*

A maiden dwelling near the bank of the bright Monongahela,
Desiring marriage, took this way of throwing out a feeler:
She corked a bottle firm and tight with written note inside,
Then took it to the river's bank and tossed it on the tide;
To any young man who found it, it bore this invitation,
To call upon the lady for a word of explanation.
A nice young man did pick it up, and called to see the maiden;
Romantic marriage follows; two hearts with joy are laden.
Other girls along the river at her luck expressed surprise,
And she gave to each a private hint to go and do likewise.
They took the hint so easily that now, the papers say,
The Monongahela bears a fleet of bottles everyday,
And each bottle bears a letter as it floats down with the tide
From some West Virginia maiden ready to become a bride;
More young men are falling victims, and 'tis said now to be risky
To trust Monongahela bottles, with or without the whiskey.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 26, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 39, p.2.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Mark Twain Says he Wants to Establish a Home.*

Mark Twain says he wants to establish a home
      For old jokers who've ceased to be funny,
Where he'd make them as happy as artists at Rome,
      But all this can't be done without money.

As he's met with some losses he can't start it now,
      But old humorists when all pumped out
Will think of his project as kind, any how,
      His intentions are good, there's no doubt.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 2, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 40, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Rain, Rain, Go Away.*

            "Rain, rain, go away,
            Come again, April day;
            Little Willie wants to play
            In the meadow on the hay."
                        – Nursery Ballads.

April day in the good old rhyme
Meant sunshine bright in warm spring-time,
But April Day, on his recent call,
Brought Winter's storm, the worst of all.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 9, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 41, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Slocum, Who Kept a Tavern Down in Maine.*

Slocum, who kept a tavern down in Maine,
Was recently released from earthly pain.
His final illness having been but short,
'Twas quite remarkable, his neighbors thought,
That Death so speedily his work should do,
For Slocum was, as everybody knew,
The slowest of all men that could be found
Within a hundred miles the country round.
Now James Erastus, his sole son and heir,
Still carries on the same old business there.
A drummer, who makes frequent trips that way,
Alighted at the door the other day;
He'd heard of Slocum's death while at the store,
But found all else just as it was before.
"Well, James," said he, "things look familiar here;
Your father died quite suddenly, I hear."
"Wa'al, yes, quite so;" leisurely answered Jim,
"Wa'al, yes, he did, that is, sudden for him!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 16, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 42, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Our Sires Went Out to Kill Right Whales.*

Our sires went out to kill right whales,
      Finding them near at hand;
They had no need to hoist their sails,
      But went not far from land.

In schooners soon they made short trips,
      Keeping the ball in motion;
Still later they sent out great ships
      And searched through every ocean.

The ships are all worn out or sold,
      No more we talk "Cape Horn,"
The mariners have all grown old,
      Their business is gone.

But right here to our very doors
      The right whales now come back;
Last spring they hovered round our shores,
      And dared us to attack.

And several were attacked and slain,
      We still had men who dared;
We hope this spring they'll come again,
      And mean to be prepared.

Two whaling stations now are manned,
      Now waiting for the chance
To fight the monsters hand to hand
      With murderous bomb and lance.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 23, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 43, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Why Should Woman with State Cares Her Pretty Head Vex?*

Why Should woman with state cares her pretty head vex?
      Our senators have such a high sense
Of propriety that they won't let the fair sex
      Vote at all on the question of license.

Our women owe thanks to that body august,
      Which has spared them the trouble of voting;
For if they could vote they might feel that they must,
      Less time to their home-cares devoting.

Why, of course they can't vote. They may suffer, 'tis true,
      When their husbands get drunk, storm and swagger,
But of course they can't vote. What have women to do
      With rum and gin, whiskey and lager?

They've no business to marry intemperate men,
      Who won't keep their sound, sober senses;
But if they will wed with such fellows, why then,
      They must take all the dire consequences.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 30, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 44, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

We've Reason Now, to Thank the Fates.*

We've reason now, to thank the fates,
A live queen is within our gates,
Visiting these United States,
The Queen of the Hawaiian Islands!
She brings along the Princess, too,
As 'twas quite natural to do,
That they may get an inside view
Of democratic institu-
Tions; Hoky, poky, wang a fum,
Clear the track and let her come!
Receive her with brass band and drum,
The Queen of the Hawaiian Islands.

Bring Kapiolani to the Hub,
Invite her to each high-toned club,
And feed her high on French cooked grub,
The Queen of the Hawaiian Islands.
Now if the Queen had just her wish,
Some po-ee in a wooden dish,
And with it, too, a raw, live fish
Would be to her the most delish-
Ious. Hoky, poky, wang a fum,
She thinks the Americans are "some"
On strong cigars and chewing gum,
This Queen of the Hawaiian Islands.

She goes to the Legis-la-ture
To let the sturdy Solons view her;
She'll bear inspection, to be sure,
This Queen of the Hawaiian Islands;
She comes to see and to be seen,
We hope she's every inch a queen,
And neither stupid, dull, nor green;
For if her head is shrewd and keen
She'll understand what Yankees mean,
And tell her people she has seen
A land o'erflowcd with kerosene
And fat with oleo-margarine,
And wind up with the same ingeen-
Ious, "Hoky, poky, Wang a fum,
Your Queen is neither blind nor dumb,
Nor undersized like Hop o' My Thumb,"
Great Queen of the Hawaiian Islands!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 21, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 47, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

O'Boozy Goes Down to his Favorite Haunt.*

O'Boozy goes down to his favorite haunt,
      To purchase his regular drink;
He calls for his whiskey, as had been his wont,
      And the landlord replies, with a wink:

"Why, don't you know, man, that I've no license now,
      It ran out on the first day of May;
I've a living to get, but I scarcely see how
      I am going to make this thing pay."

"Make it pay!" says O'Boozy, "well, I can see how,
      So you needn't be whining about it;
For you won't have to pay any license fee now,
      And you'll sell just as much rum without it."

Truly, such is the passion of man for strong drink
      That all legal enactments yet fail;
'Twill be purchased and sold, with a nod and a wink,
      If the law won't permit open sale.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 28, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 48, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Sunday Morning.*

The boy lay flat upon his back,
      Stretched in his little bed,
The sunbeams, slanting through a crack,
      Shone on his curly head.

All beautiful and bright he lay,
      So peaceful and so calm,
As if he meant to sleep all day,
      Impervious to alarm.

From below stairs the father cried:
      "Get up to breakfast, John!"
But ne'er a childish voice replied,
      And still the boy slept on.

He called again in louder tones:
      "Come down to breakfast, boy!"
The mother tripped upstairs alone
      To waken her heart's joy.

Into his room she softly crept,
      His fair young forehead kissed;
So calmly, peacefully he slept,
      Her heart could not resist.

He stretched his arms, he moved his head,
      With such unconscious grace,
She leaned her weight upon the bed,
      Gazing on that dear face.

Then came a crash, a thundering sound,
      But the boy – O, where was he?
Jumping up with a single bound
      He yelled "Get off o' me!"

The mother, frightened just a bit,
      Clasped her boy round the neck,
And both, now laughing fit to split,
      Lay prone among the wreck.

Now papa, startled by the crash,
      Has rushed up from below,
And, breathless, makes a sudden dash
      Into the room.   [Tableau.]


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 4, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 49, p.3.

1887 POEMS. 1887

We Have Such Faith in the Balloon.*

"We have such faith in the balloon,"
      Says an exchange, "we here declare
Our firm belief that men will soon
      Go flying upward through the air."

We think so, too, and with good ground,
      For we quite recently have seen
Some reckless fellows fooling round
      A keg of nitro-glycerine.

We offered them some sage advice;
      If they're determined to reject it,
Of folly they must pay the price,
      And go up when they least expect it.

So quickly they again will fall
      And come down in so many pieces,
They won't enjoy the trip at all.
      Their sisters, cousins, aunts and nieces

Will gather up, when all is o'er,
      Each mutilated subdivision,
(Knowing them by the clothes they wore),
      Arrange them all with nice precision;

Tenderly those remains inhume
      With words of praise that ne'er were said yet,
Chisel "Excelsior" on each tomb,
      Then say, "the fools are not all dead yet."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 11, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 50, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Waterloo, June 18, 1815.*

'Tis the anniversary morning of the fight of Waterloo,
And a day of reminiscences for stout old Jean Leroux,
Who years ago had drifted to America by chance,
But his heart and all its memories still remain with la belle France.

His years are near a hundred, but his mind yet bright and keen,
As he talks of kings and emperors and marshals he has seen;
He was drummer-boy at Austelitz and served with Soult in Spain,
And had braved the snows of Russia in that terrible campaign.

He has badges and medallions from the emperor's own hands,
To prove that Jean Leroux has served and fought in many lands;
And the old man's chief enjoyment on anniversary days
Is to talk about the emperor, his glory and his praise,
And to plan what might have happened (as any fool may do)
If Bonaparte had only gained the day at Waterloo.

"You must see," says the old veteran, "that the map would have been changed,
And the boundaries of states have been quite differently arranged;
And Germany wouldn't bully, as she's trying now to do,
If only Bonaparte had won the day at Waterloo.
And as for England, she would soon have felt the Emperor's power,
For within a month he would have raised the French flag on the Tower.
Wouldn't that have been a sight for all the allied kings to view,
If Bonaparte had only won the day at Waterloo?

And even you Americans, though here upon this side,
Would have found the Atlantic Ocean not a whit too wide,
For he w«s not to be thwarted in whate're he chose to do,
If only he had won the fight that day at Waterloo!

You might well have feared the emperor and trembled at his frown,
And the other powers of Europe would have knelt and knuckled down;
What a little matter might have turned the scale in that great fight,
When Wellington was praying hard for Blucher or for night!

And many of us still believe the emperor was betrayed,
For if Grouchy had arrived in time or Blucher been delayed,
We might have beaten old John Bull and whipped the Prussians, too;
The rest was easy, when we'd won the fight at Waterloo."
"Right," says Uncle Samuel Jonathan, "all this may be very true,
But – the trouble is – you didn't win the fight at Waterloo."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 18, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 51, p.2.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Tempus Fugit – So Quick.*

            Tempus fugit – so quick
            That the reign of Queen Vic,
As the head of the great British nation,
            Has spun out, it appears,
            To a round fifty years,
And calls forth a grand celebration.

            Since the age of eighteen
            She's been honored as queen,
And her reign has been happy and glorious;
            Strong men at the helm
            Have managed her realm
And kept it still proud and victorious.

            Let all England come
            With trumpet and drum,
To give the old lady due honor
            She has lived a good life,
            Both as mother and wife,
This alone should call blessings upon her.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 25, 1887, Vol. 67, No. 52, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Cui Bono?*

What indignation has been spent
Against our worthy President
      About the battle flags!
Why give these angry feelings vent?
'Tis but a waste of sentiment
      Upon those tattered rags.

As we've preserved the nation's life
Why keep up thoughts of blood and strife
      Through emblems such as those?
Must peace and brightness be o'ercast
By relics of the bitter past
Under one's very nose?

England has had her civil wars;
Frenchmen, from many a foolish cause,
      Their brother's blood have shed;
But their rule is, from first to last,
When strife is over, "Let the past
      Dispose of its own dead."

Wouldn't it, now, be just as well
To let veracious history tell
      For those who wish to read it,
The story of our war gone by,
But let the old grudge starve and die,
      Rather than try to feed it?

When Right and Wrong fought face to face,
It shed upon a darkened race
      The blaze of Freedom's light;
And now that our whole country bleeds,
What matter about local deeds?
      Was not Charlcs Sumner right?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 2, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 1, p.2.

1887 POEMS. 1887

We Read a Floating Item Which has Made an Odd Impression.*

We read a floating item which has made an odd impression,
Of a bridal party carrying red flags in the procession;
The idea is a funny one; strikes us as quite new;
We thought the red flag meant small-pox, or else sale at vendue.
It always seemed odd, by the way, that such should be the case,
And the sanguinary bunting made to fill this dual place,
For, between a public auction and contagious, foul disease,
The difference is quite as great as that twixt chalk and cheese;
But why to grace a bridal should the red flog be unrolled,
Unless it were to show that she was bought and he was sold?
Or with the other view of it, the ruddy flag might mean,
To put the lovers into matrimonial quarantine,
5nubbing the eager callers, and warning all away,
Until they should get settled and "at home" on such a day.
Other plausible connection of red flags with marriage bell
We're unable to discover yet. Can any body tell?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 9, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 2, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

That Piratical Tale is a Hoax.*

That piratical tale is a hoax,
But it furnishes food for rough jokes;
      They're enjoyed just the same
      If the freebooter's name
Was Baxter, or Johnson, or Stokes.

As no craft of that name, "Nancy Jo,"
From the port of Nantucket did go,
      The whole yarn is a myth
      Like that of John Smith,
And won't stand any kind of a show.

It makes the heart stop, then beat faster,
To recall the "Globe's" tragic disaster;
      And the fact is too clear
      That that arch mutineer
Was the son of our Quaker schoolmaster.

It doesn't by any means follow
That each bloody yarn we must swallow,
      The Globe's mutiny was true
      As too many men knew,
And truth may beat fiction all hollow.

The last yarn so far back is dated
Is scarcely worth being related;
      Don't rake up old lies
      To throw dust in our eyes,
And let Baxter be exonerated.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 6, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 6, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

The Sea Serpent's Prowling Round.*

The Sea Serpent's prowling round
On his favorite cruising ground,
Where he used to be of old – off Nahant,
Where, full sixty years ago,
Our fathers hunting him did go;
And we'd like to catch him now, but we can't.

But we've caught a strange rep-tile,
That is not a crocodile,
Nor neither is't a turtle, – nor a squid;
Ancient mariners are called,
Take a look, and stand appalled;
"Seen a fish like that?" Why, no, they never did.

A wise Professor takes a look,
Consults a Greek and Latin book,
And makes a diagnosis of the case;
And calls it by a name
That would make our jaw bones lame,
And give us all neuralgia of the face.

Set the electric wires at work,
To the Fish Commission Clerk,
And let 'em send a name by telegram ;
Surely no one ever dared!
To dispute Professor Baird,
For he has authority from Uncle Sam.

Now take Fortune on the wing,
Build a fence around the thing,
And charge the crowd five cents admission fee;
'Tis but right that one should pay
For the privilege to say
He has looked upon the monster of the sea.

We've seen turtles just as big
But of quite a different rig,
And still this is our motto: "Live and Learn."
This fish has a leather hide,
Stuns'l booms on either side,
And a steering-oar projecting from the stern.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 13, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 7, p.2.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Gi'n Body Goin' Down to See the Steamer Off.*

Gi'n body goin' down to
      See the steamer off;
Gi'n a body meet a body
      Comin' frac the wharf.
Gi'n a body ask a body
      In to tak' a drink,
Puttin' syrup in a body's
      Soda, wi'a wink.
Hka fellow maun got mellow
      Sae, sometimes, hae I,
Shauld a' the lassies frown at me?
      There's nae guid reason why.

Gi'n a body 'scort a body
      To the cream saloon;
Gi'n a body wi' a body
      Sit in close commune;
Gi'n a body treat a body
      To another glass,
Cauld creme may beguile like toddy,
      Swift the sma' hours pass.
One lass, though short,
      Can cat a quart,
I know her gauge full well,
      But wnat's her name,
Or where's her hame,
      I dinna care to tell.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 20, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 8, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Guzzle Reeled Home the Other Day.*

Guzzle reeled home the other day,
      His path was vague and wandering,
He clutched the lamp-post o'er the way
      And hung on as if pondering.
Our neighbor Guzzle doesn't care,
      License or Prohibition;
A dozen times we've seen him there
In much the same condition.

He gazed to South and then to North,
      Trying to look defiant,
He swayed and wavered back and forth,
      His legs seemed weak and pliant;
Apparently he was in search
      To find his own street-door;
He straightened up, then gave a lurch,
      And almost toppled o'er.

Our darling Saccharina gazed,
      With funny questions laden,
Seeming more tickled than amazed,
      The roguish little maiden!
"Say, Grandpa, is the lamp-post loose?"
      "No, dear, the post's all right;
But don't you see, you little goose,
      That – the old man is tight?"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 27, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 9, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Write Plainly! You Who Use the Mails.*

Write plainly! you who use the mails
      For summer transportation;
Don't grumble if your letter fails
      To reach its destination.
Post-office clerks, o'er-rushed with work,
      Into the wrong bag chuck it,
"Nantasket," looked at with a jerk,
      Looks so much like "Nantucket."

This similarity of name
      In these two watering-places,
Gives reason for complaint and blame
      In multitudes of cases.
The careless pen leaves room for doubt,
      Becomes a king of terrors,
And best intentions thus pan out
      A comedy of errors.

Postmasters are but human kind,
      And liable to blunder,
And if a few mistakes we find,
      'Tis no great cause for wonder.
Man's work we cannot perfect make,
      "Tis quite too much to ask it;
But write so that one can't mistake
      "Nantucket" for "Nantasket."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 3, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 10, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Bilkins has Made Himself Believe.*

Bilkins has made himself believe
      He has a call to lecture;
Why he should so himself deceive
      Is matter for conjecture.
What think you it was all about?
      His subject was, "What Tires Us."
We sat and heard the lecture out,
      As decency requires us.

He'd laid out for a long discourse,
      More than was in his noddle;
In half an hour he'd spent his force,
      The rest was only twaddle.
Blind faith in his own eloquence
      O'er his tongue held dominion;
He talked on till his audience
      Were all of one opinion.

Of all things that tire and bore mankind,
      He'd named at least a hundred,
And still was searching more to find;
      When will he stop? we wondered.
Our thoughts we need no longer task
      With guessing or conjecture;
What tires us? there's no need to ask,
      'Tis Bilkins's dull lecture.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 10, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 11, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Arithmetical Problem.*

W. H. M.

An army that's marching in flank, open files,
From its front to its rear extends twenty-five miles.
Now General A., who is leading the van,
Has a message to send by a well-mounted man
To General B., who brings up the rear-guard;
But the cavalryman must not ride very hard;
Yet no stop can he make, for his orders are stern,
And he's given just twelve hours to go and return.
Meanwhile, the whole army, is marching on straight,
One mile and a quarter each hour is the rate;
Thus at night the van will have moved steadily on
Fifteen miles beyond where it was in the morn,
And each corps has made similar change of position,
In the time that he takes to accomplish his mission.
Now this is the snarl you're desired to unravel:
At what uniform rate must that messenger travel?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 17, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 12, p.2.

1887 POEMS. 1887

A School for Manners.*


His stupid Majesty, King George the Third,
Of whom so many anecdotes we've heard,
Once went on board a war-ship at Spithead,
Dressed in plain clothes – incognito – 'tis said;
Nevertheless, it seems the Admiral knew him,
And so, of course, paid due attention to him.
But 'tis observed the man held stiff his neck,
Kept his hat donned while on the quarter deck;
And didn't e'en salute the naval chief.
To British tars this fact surpassed belief!
They gazed and wondered who the man could be,

But all upon one point could well agree,
That he must be unsound from truck to keelson
Who didn't show respect to Admiral Nelson.
Says Jack to Tom, "Who is that bloody lubber?
Bouncing, around like so much Hinjie-rubber,
And never waits to 'ear his betters speak;
Now to the Admiral he's giving cheek,
And doesn't seem to care it finger's snap
For him, no more'n the rest. "Who is the chap?"
"'Old on a bit," says Tom, "Why smash my bones!

I've seen that cove as sure as I'm Tom Jones;
D'ye see, one can't remember hevery thing;
Ay, ay, my lad, I say, Jack, that's the King!"
"More shame for 'im. Then he's a king incog,
But king or no king, an ill-mannered 'og;
Manners d'ye want, where would he get 'em, Jack?
He's never had the cat across 'is back!
Manners be blowed; who'd teach him manners, pray?
He's never been to sea a single day;
That poor hold duffer, you must understand,
Has never been hout o' sight o' land."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 24, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 13, p.2.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Those 'ateful Haspirates.*

W. H. M.

'Elen is our dear daughter's name;
      Her cousins' name is Hellen;
The two are pretty much the same,
      But differ in the spellin'.
We spell ours witti a haitch – just so;
      That's 'Ellen, then, of course;
The other drops it off, you know,
      Which gives the haspirate force.

Though the two girls have lived and grown
      In similar conditions.
There's a wide contrast, I must own,
      In their two dispositions.
'Elen is lovely as the dove,
      Because she is all 'eart;
Hellen's incapable of love
      Full of deceit and hurt.

We prize our hartless little girl
      As only parents can
And would not cast away this pearl
      To any hartful man;
      Hellen's dark, flashing hyes are quick
At shooting Cupid's dart,
      But 'tis a wicked 'eartless trick;
Indeed, she has no 'eart.

Both have been sought by dukes and hearls
      (T'is but the truth I'm telling),
For both are very pretty girls,
      Miss Hellen and our 'Ellen.
Our hartless girl is pure and true,
      In maiden freedom yet;
And where's the man that can subdue
      The 'eart of a coquette?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 15, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 16, p.3.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Election is Near!*

Who is going to represent us, that's just what we'd like to know,
Whether Smith, or Jones, or Dobson to the General Court will go;
Our enthusiastic neighbor wants to bet his best old hat
That the man who is elected will be a Democrat.
But we have so many aspirants and like them all so well,
That who will be the coming man,'tis difficult to tell.
If the same election laws ruled now as in the days of yore,
We might go unrepresented, as we have done before;
For no man could be chosen in those hard-fought times of old,
Without a clear majority of all the ballots polled.
But now the largest faction may put all the others down,
Tho' it be but a small fraction of the voters of the town.
You ask who'll be the lucky one, but no one seems to know;
'Twill be so much easier afterwards to say, "I told you so!"
There's an opening for somebody, the gates are now ajar,
So trot out all your candidates, and let's know who they are!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 22, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 17, p.2.

1887 POEMS. 1887

We Scarce Expected, in These Days.*

We scarce expected, in these days,
To be disturbed by that old craze,
      The cancelled stamp collection;
We thought 'twas long ago played out,
But stamp collectors are about
      And spreading the infection.

O girls, your labors are all in vain!
O Cynthia Ann and Sarah Jane,
      Maud, Angeline and Lillian,
You dear, bewitching little duns,
Just think how many single ones
      It takes to make a million!

Who but a crank would ever try
A million stamps to beg or buy,
      After their cancellation,
Unless dishonest work to do,
Cheating the postal revenue
With a false circulation.

And boy-collectors, too, are round,
Running the thing into the ground,
      Trespassing on our patience;
Ever in quest of something new –
Stamps of infernal Revenue
      Of all denominations.

Stamps in red, and brown and blue,
Stamps in green and yellow, too,
Stamps in bronze, and stamps in gray,
Stamps from near and far away;
Stamps from Holland, France and Spain,
From Indies and the Spanish main,
Stamps from nitro-glycerine,
From matches and from kerosene,
Stamps from deeds and stamps from wills,
From bitters and patent pills;
All things that ever paid a duty
Contribute to this bower of beauty;
Stamps of sizes large and small,
No matter what, he wants them all, –
Every stamp the boy can get;
All's fish that comes into his net;
Stamps obtained by hook or crook,
All brought together in a book, –
A motely compilation,
Like the stamp Act on history's page,
That made our grandsires stump with rage
And gave birth to a nation.

Go out of town, among the pines,
Study Dame Nature's cute designs,
      Study her, and believe her;
Give us a rest, boys; change the scenes;
Collect some buttons or some beans,
And stamp out this old fever.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 29, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 18, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Only a State Election!*

Only a State Election!
      What do we care for that?
There isn't the least objection
      To wearing your old soft hat;
Next year you may dress up louder
      When you vote for President.
It won't pay now to waste powder,
      Folks wouldn't know what you meant.

Only to send a member
      To the great and General Court!
Wait until next November
      And then we shall have more sport;
The magic word "Presidential"
      Will bring out the votes and the beer,
It isn't at all essential
      To make a noise every year.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 5, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 19, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Emmensite.*

We have found a new explosive, we have called it "emmensite,"
'Tis a fearful thing to think of, so powerful in its might;
But we're still at work some new infernal mixture to discover
To knock everything (including all the old explosives) over.
Gunpowder and its dire effects are almost out of mind;
Nitro-glycerine and dynamite – these too are left behind;
But we seek for something that will take all nations by surprise;
Thus the whole business of war to revolutionize.
For when that deadly engine shall be found, then wars will cease,
And through fear of wholesale slaughter we shall find the road to peace.
Soldiers, when they strive in courage each other to outrival,
Always calculate the reasonable chances of survival;
E'en the military chieftain would be more in sane than brave
If he and all his army were to fill one common grave.
When war-weapons are sufficient for complete extermination,
Men will not fight 'gainst certainty of sheer annihilation.
But anarchists and nihilists may hail with jubilee
The means of toppling all the solid earth into the sea,
Blotting both past and present out, and landing, – so to speak –
Everything and everybody in the middle of next week!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 12, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 20, p.2.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Next Week Comes Thanksgiving.*

      Next week comes Thanksgiving,
      The day for good living,
So fill up the larder – the holiday's near –
      With turkeys and chickens,
      And other choice pickin's,
We'll feast high on this of all days in the year.

      But time's wheel is humming,
      And Christmas is coming,
The best of all days in the dear children's lives.
      They'll be sure to remember
      It comes in December;
And 'tis only one short month ere Christmas arrives.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 19, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 21, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

The Inquirer and Mirror Wants to Know.*

If your child has a party,
" your boy drops a cute remark,
" your girl's playmates surprise her,
" your sister, aunt, or uncle is going travelling
" your cousin is coming to visit you,
" your friend is promoted in office,
" your grandmother totters and falls,
" your grandfather saws a cord of wood or his hand,
" your chum shoots an unusual number of birds, or a very large goose,
" your trawls, nets or seines scoop immense fares of fish,
" you're going to be married,
" your neighbor's house takes fire,
" your neighbor imports fancy stock,
" your farmer friends harvest unusually large crops,
" your wife has bought a house,
" your husband intends to build a house,
" your horse develops remarkable speed,
" your cow proves a superb butter animal,
" your hens lay monstrosities of eggs,
" your gun shoots a fox.

In fact, The Inquirer and Mirror wants to know all that transpires about town, and invites its friends to furnish the facts of events happening, and thus assist in keeping the paper readable, reliable and respectable. Hand in the items.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 26, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 22, p.2.

      This is not properly one of Macy's poems, but on this date his column included this "ad" for material wanted by the newspaper's editor.

1887 POEMS. 1887

The Modern Dime-novel Much Censure Invites.*

The modern dime-novel much censure invites,
      For beguiling the minds of our youth;
But when Zip first perused the Arabian Nights,
      He swallowed e'en that, as the truth.
Aladdin, 'twas said, had a wonderful lamp,
      That could bring him what'er he might wish,
And when bound on a journey he'd no need to tramp,
      But could cross the seas quicker'n a fish!

Zip went scouring up all the old lamps be could find,
      But not one would respond to his rub;
Now he's settled almost as contented in mind
      As Diogenes was in his tub.
He tells us all now, with the air of a sage,
      How with ripening years wisdom arrives,
But the difference is – some folks grow wiser with age,
      While others are fools all their lives!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 26, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 22, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

Porquoi.*

W. H. M.

A gentleman of foreign birth
The other day provoked much mirth,
(Innocently, we feel quite sure)
When he was shown a miniature
Of an old lady, still alive;
Though at the age of ninety-five.
Her face, not handsome in its prime,
Has yielded to the touch of Time;
And if her figure e'er had grace,
Long wear and tear have left no trace
Of what was once the comely form,
When the young blood was fresh and warm;
In short, she seemed a worn-out wreck,
Awaiting the Great Reaper's beck,
Ready, at first touch of his scythe,
To give up life with scarce a writhe,
And like old Dobson, turning pale,
Yield to her fate – and end the tale.

'Tis time that such a photograph
Is not fit subject for a laugh;
Nor does our chaste muse so intend;
But when shown to our foreign friend,
Each looker-on might deign to smile,
And to his conscience reconcile
The funny thought that o'er him crept,
As that dark eye the picture swept,
His slow inquiry, "Does – she – live?"
Was answered in the affirmative;
The stranger viewed with curious look
That quaint old copy of life's book, –
So worn and torn, it seemed each page
Bore marks of superhuman age;
And musing still on what he saw,
Sententiously he asked, "what-for?"
As he had ne'er been taught, when young.
The niceties of our English tongue,
Here is an opening for suggestion
As to the meaning of his question:
Were the words meant in any sense
To impugn the ways of Providence?
Or, but an Orienia way
Of telling what he fain would say
(In words of wonder and surprise)
Of hat was then before his eyes?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 3, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 23, p.2.

1887 POEMS. 1887

There was an Indian Maiden Brave.*

There was an Indian maiden brave,
      As straight and tall and gaunt as
The white man whom she rushed to save –
      They called her Pocahontas.
As most romances end the same,
      'Twas thought that they would marry,
But when she found Smith was his name,
      She reckoned she would tarry.

O, what a pity she did not
      Wed with that warrior captain,
With all her wampum and what not
      Her tribal blanket wrapped in!
Mr. Rolfe bore the bride away,
      Took all the love and glory,
And our school histories now say
      There's no truth in the story.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 10, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 24, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1887 POEMS. 1887

1888.*

"Now," says the New Year to the Old,
"Don't stand here shivering with the cold;.
Your reign is over in this realm,
A new hand's needed at the helm;
Be off at once! I've work to do,
For I mean to improve on you, –
Bring discipline among this crew'
And make them honest, brave and true.
So – not to cut my words too fine –
            Your place is mine,
            You must resign,
Obedient to the law divine."

Said '87 to '88:
"That's so. 'Tis thus decreed by fate;
But let us take leave without strife;
I'm drawing near the close of life
My blood is sluggish, yours is hot,
But in due time you'll learn what's what;
You don't know what it wicked lot
or sinners in this world you've got.
'Tisn't worth while for you to blow,
            I thought just so
            A year ago,
When I was young and green, you know.

It takes all sorts to make a world –
Some folk's hair is straight, some curled;
Some will go right without your help,
Others are always in the kelp;
How e'er things may to you appear,
You can't make much change in one year;
And if you try too hard, I fear
You'll bust her up in full career.
I've run it one year, now, reviewin' it,
            There's not much new in it,
            Even with you in it.
Good Bye. You'll have a good time doin' it."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 31, 1887, Vol. 68, No. 27, p.3.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Cold Comfort.*

They say that this Earth in its course round the Sun
      Moves a round thousand miles in a minute;
That's faster than any ball shot from a gun,
      And I don't know what truth there is in it.
I suppose I ought not to complain, for 'tis wrong,
      But to speak my mind, right from the bottom,
I shall be mighty glad when the earth whirls along
      And brings us Spring, Summer and Autumn.

O yes, winter's the time to walk briskly, 'tis true
      But button your overcoat higher!
'Tis the time for home circles and in-door fun, too,
      But – to build up the rousing coal fire.
Tom came in declaring 'twas warm out to night,
      But he looked pretty blue round the gills;
"Hurrah for long evenings!" he cries with delight,
      Yes, but – who pays the kerosene bills?

Maud has both the fire and the lamp burning bright,
      Sitting in the front-room with her feller,
I must go down to see to the cut-off to-night,
      Lest the water-pipes freeze in the cellar.
Tom was out setting snares to entrap the snowbirds.
      – O how my rheumatic leg twinges!
And I fear I made use of some scriptural words,
      When that back gate was blown off its hinges.

They may talk about winter's amusement and fun,
      And belaud it as much as they like;
But here's coal going up to ten dollars a ton.
      And the miners are out on a strike.
The hardships are many, the comforts are few,
      That come with the cold wintry weather;
For poor folks have just about all they can do
      To keep soul and body together.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 14, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 29, p.2.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Queries.*

Loud and disorderly? Rum of course;
      'Tis death to the public peace,
This reign of terror and brutal force,
      O when will it ever cease?

Sad and suffering? Rum, to be sure,
      "Tis death to the bliss of home;
How shall the might of its reign endure?
      Will the bright day never come?

Shall we fine the man who loses his head
      By the fumes of the fiery drink?
The fine is the price of his children's bread;
      And how can a madman think?

In default of the fine, shall he go to jail
      We may try that if we will;
As a means of reform it is sure to fail,
      And his family? Suffering still.

Have we gained or lost, by these modern ways
      Of mercy, whereof we boast?
Must we retrograde to the barbarous days
      Of the stocks and the whipping-post.

Shall we turn back now to the "free rum" plan
      That prevailed among our Sires?
And trust the strength of each fallible man
      For curbing his fierce desires?

Shall we backward again to license look?
      Would not even that be better
Than the negative vote on our statute-book
      That stands as a mere dead letter?

Are all your promises made of straw
      That we wink at the outlived trade?
Have we power and will to enforce the law?
      If so let them be displayed.

If not, – let the Town go down on its knees
      And humbly acknowledge the corn,
Supporting its poor with the license fees,
      And awaiting the far-off morn.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 21, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 30, p.2.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Ice-olation.*

From the high look-out of our Tower,
We gazed on sights that made us cower
Before the mighty ice-king's power,
      Awe-stricken at the view;
From North and South, from East and West,
Ice-fields about our shores had pressed,
And, stretching far beyond our quest,
      Eclipsed the ocean-blue.

So hard and stern, so cold and white,
We gazed and marvelled at the sight,
'Till a young voice, in shrill delight,
      Burst forth and broke the spell;
"O," cried our Susie, "'tis so nice,
To be surrounded by big ice,
And held fast in it like a vice!
      Let's go and see the Bell."

"Dame Nature in her aspects wild
Does not impress you deeply, child,
If you're so easily beguiled;
      Yes, go and see the Bell;
Study its history if you please,
Read those hard words, in Portuguese,
If they were Sanscrit or Chinese
      "'Twould answer just as well."

We turned from our long steadfast look
At that grand page of Nature's book,
Our thoughts a new direction took,
      "Ah! what does all this mean?
It means, no boat, no freight, no mails,
No help from either steam or sails,
And, if our little coal-heap fails,
      These wintry blasts are keen!

Such dismal thoughts suggest the fear
That we might be imprisoned here,
Provisions might grow scarce and dear, –
      O, let the South winds come!
With everything at famine price,
To eat those great cold blocks of ice,
O yes, that would indeed be nice,
      Come, Susie! let's go home!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 28, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 31, p.2.

1888 POEMS. 1888

That Historic Violin.*

Our Washington is held by us in so great veneration,
Whatever is connected with him by association
Becomes a sacred relic in our eyes. We mean no jesting,
But all that's Washingtonian to us is interesting.
That little hatchet, now a myth, was gospel to old folks,
His muse and his man-servant long ago were standing jokes,
For old Joice Heth and other antiquated humbugs – darn 'em!
Made a living for themselves and furnished capital for Barnum.
Now as all great men must recreate to keep off indigestion,
It becomes to us Americans an interesting question,
Did the Father of his Country ever play the violin
You may bet in the affirmative, and feel quite sure to win.
Here's a fiddle in good state of preservation, as you see,
Which has throbbed beneath the finger-touch of Pater Patriae;
The catgut's not the same, but we can answer for the body
As being the original, with naught of sham or shoddy.
We have documentary evidence to prove our title clear,
And we know just how the instrument has managed to get here.
It's more likely to be true than that old rhyme, Hey-diddle-diddle,
That Washington amused himself with playing on this fiddle.
She's the only Simon-Pure, and you may bet your pile upon her,
Whatever other fiddles may compete for the same honor.
And why not he as well as many another sage and hero?
Indeed, we read that even that old Roman rascal, Nero,
Caused the city to be set on fire by his imperial will,
And while the flames were raging, sat and fiddled on the hill.
If such a wretch as he could thus beguile his wicked heart,
What should be said of Washington who played the nobler part?
First in war, and first in peace, when we were safely through the strife,
He went back like Cincinnatus to the shades of private life;
And when he might have seized the crown and placed it on his brow,
Preferred his home enjoyments, with his fiddle and his plough.
Whate'er was near and dear to him, for his sake still is dear,
And we hope no more competititors in this line will appear;
One violin is quite enough for Washington, 'twould seem,
He could play no second fiddle -- in his countrymen's esteem.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 4, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 31, p.3.

1888 POEMS. 1888

A Dozen Young Girl-graduates.*

A dozen young girl-graduates
      Are starting forth from school;
What future each of them awaits?
      What destiny shall rule

Her course, as onward she is whirled?
      As maiden, widow, wife,
What future has this changing world
      To make or mar her life?

Here and there one will earn her bread
      As dress or bonnet-maker;
But our old town has raised, 'tis said,
      More schoolma'ams to the acre

Than any other in the State.
      'Twas so in years gone by,
Now be it known that, from this date,
      We have a fresh supply.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 11, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 32, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Our Annual Pow-wow and Council of Braves.*

Our annual pow-wow and council of braves
      Will be held in Town Hall the next week;
There's a chance for whoe'er notoriety craves
      To find opportunity to speak.
Let us meet in a spirit of mutual good-will,
      Let all subjects be freely discussed,
And the work turned out from the municipal mill
      Be wise, prudent, honest and just.

There'll be street-lights, and highway improvements, and schools,
      Before the grand council to come,
And we'll all have a chance, whether wise men or fools,
      To vote on the license for rum.
A vote has been passed to prohibit the sale,
      But no steps taken for its suppression;
There's still enough sold to make work for our jail;
      Here's 'Sconset, too, threatening secession!

Old man with your old hobby, stuped and stale,
      Hanging on like a dog to a root,
Don't waste too much time, for your efforts will fail,
      Though your speech no our cares to dispute.
Young man with a new hobby, fresh to the fore,
      Who the sting of defeat have ne'er tasted,
Sit down when you've finished, don't talk any more,
      Or you'll find all your rhetoric wasted!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 18, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 33, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

The Good Old Times.*

We've heard folks tell, in words of praise,
About the old substantial ways
Of doing things in by-gone days.
      With sneers at modern luxury.

But, if all's true that we've been told,
How much our sires, in days of old,
Must needs have suffered from the cold
      For want of our conveniences!

Things which are now in reach of all,
Are what they luxuries would call:
'Tis wonder how they lived at all,
      In those old days of fossilism.

They lived on bare or sanded floors,
Those staid old Sunday-meeting goers;
'Twos much like living out of doors,
      And nearly the same temperature.

The open fire-place, flanked with bricks,
The back-log and some smaller sticks,
Lamps with whale oil that clogged the wicks –
      These were among their luxuries.

And when more warmth they might require,
They piled back-log and fore-stick higher,
And, for dear life, kept up the fire
      With never-ceasing vigilance.

For, if their caution should relax,
They stood a chance to freeze their backs;
No old man could dispute these facts
      In giving his sworn evidence.

When he turned out at early morn,
And found last evening's warmth all gone,
He seized flint, steel and tinder-horn,
      Those tools for vigorous exercise.

He struck out fire with sturdy blows,
Barking his knuckles, he well knows;
Meanwhile his fingers almost froze
      Before he gained the victory.

It took that tinder long to catch,
He ne'er had seen a friction-match
To get fire with a single scratch;
      That is a modern luxury.

He knelt – to watch that slow flame shine
Among those sticks of oak and pine,
While the cold chills ran down his spine,
      And shivers crept all over him.

Then rushed outside with stamp and jump,
To find the water in the pump
All frozen in a solid lump,
      And sadly hurried in again.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 3, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 35, p.2.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Our Friends on the Continent Think our Fate Hard*

Our friends on the continent think our fate hard,
      To be cooped on this isle of the sea,
And obliged during winter 'gainst famine to guard,
      How forlorn our condition must be!
But although fenced around with great banners of ice,
      In another respect we may crow :
That all through the winter we've found it so nice
      To be almost exempted from snow.
With accounts of great snow-storms the journals abound,
      Enough the stout heart to appall,
But we've hardly had snow enough here on the ground,
      To be worthy of mention at all.
Though ice-bound sometimes, yet our courage ne'er fails,
      And we've little occasion to murmur,
For our island, fast-anchored, rides through all the gales,
      And we tread safely ou terra firma.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 24, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 38, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

April Day.*

April-Fool Day is coming on Sunday.
      Yes, that's what the almanac says;
But it's fun may be relished ou Monday,
      And kept up a few secular days;
Though in the same week we have Fast-Day –
      For that but a few people now care –
'Tis kept up as a time-honored past-day,
      Not for humiliation and prayer.

Some hold that All-Fool's Day is nonsense,
      Containing all practical jokes;
And some make it a matter of conscience,
      That it's wrong to deceive or to hoax;
But the curb should not be too much tightened
      For some hold this view to be sound:
That one's wit, now and then, must be brightened,
      Or he'll be a fool all the year round.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 31, 1888, p.2.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Says our Zip, "I Never Shall Write a Book*

Says our Zip, "I never shall write a book,
      Nor bother my head with business cares,
But I'll study up for a first-class cook,
      To tickle the palates of millionaires;
Here's one just coming over the sea,
      Who's to get ten thousand dollars a year,
What a snug little salary that would be.
      Why can't we educate cooks right here?"

We've heard good matrons say that the way
      Lies through man's stomach to reach his heart,
And we have no doubt that cookery may
      Be sifted down to a very fine art;
But Zip, you won't stand the ghost of a chance
      To compete with Monsieur Du Fricandeau,
For there's that in the soil and air of France,
      That gives him the coup de grace, you know.

You are only a stupid yankee, Zip;
      One can't be an artist by book and rule;
You might get a berth as cook of a ship,
      But it wouldn't be much of a cooking school;
Round plugs will never fill up square holes,
      And you'll be compelled to own, I'm afraid,
That soup-tureens are not three-pint bowls,
      And that cooks, like poets, are born, not made.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 7, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 40, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

A Poor Spell.*


My honored grand-uncle Barzillai
      Died an old man, when I was a boy,
He had long been a famous whale-killer
      In Friend Jacob Coffin's employ;
As mate with old Captain Paul Barrett
      He had hunted both sperm and right whales,
And his old log-book, still in our garret,
      Of their ocean exploits tell the tales.

We'll take one of them, for example,
      The penmanship looks pretty well
As an average old-fashioned sample,
      But O, what a marvellous spell!
They sailed in the good brig "Loorayny"
      Bound out on a "croos for spalm whail,"
The weather was "squawla and reigna,"
      When they "gut underwa and maid sale."

With a rough, stormy voyage before her,
      The Lurana soon "sprong-a-leek,"
But, speaking the schooner "Ororor,"
      Kept company with her a week;
And, while thus in sight of the "skunar,"
      They "korked up their leeks with much toyl,"
Then started for "Trustan De Akoona,"
      Where they soon filled her up with "whail oyle."

Such luck was a "hapy delivruns,"
      Thus argued that ocean Nimrod,
Who must not be accused of irreverence –
      Though he used a small g to spell God
When, with head-winds, deep lading and dullness,
      Their provisions began to run short,
He wrote, from his very heart's fullness,
      "god Spead the good Brigg to her Poart."

But best of all – wasn't it clever? –
      Knowing' well that e-y-e spelled eye,
He wrote out the whole word, whenever
      He expressed the first-personal, I
Don't call that romancing, we beg you,
      There are those who can vouch for its truth,
He wrote, "Eyem half dead with the eggu,"
      For "eye got a nuggly bad tooth."

That rough shell enclosed a sound kernel,
      For we knew the old man very well,
And we linger long o'er that sea-journal,
      For we seem to be bound by a spell.
Put it back in the nook in our garret,
      With its tales of that chivalrous age,
Not a child or our household shall tear it
      Nor deface it in cover or page.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 14, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 41, p.2.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Spring, Spring, Beautiful Spring! [3] *

Spring, Spring, beautiful Spring!
Soon the warm weather the strangers will bring;
Already they're writing for lodgings and board,
Seeking such prices as they can afford;
Select your cottage or hotel,
Come down this way, and we'll treat you well;

And you who would economize,
Will find 'twill pay you to advertise;
Send our circular afar!
Show what our attractions are!
Spring, Spring, beautiful Spring!
April is passing on Time's swift wing.

Clark, Clark, wide-a-wake Clark!
Now spring is coming, he's gay as a lark:
Ever so busy, and up with the dawn,
Raising the echoes with bell and horn;
Ring and blow, and make a noise,
Shout the news to the girls and boys;

And with a smile, child-like and bland,
Make the older folks understand;
Advertise yourself aloud,
Winning smiles from all the crowd!
Clark, Clark, boisterous Clark!
Hear him coming now, up street. Hark! Hark!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 21, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 42, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

In These Days Presidential*

            In these days presidential
            It isn't essential
To mind truth and courtesy in the campaign;
            Now the party newspapers
            Begin to cut capers
And stir up old scandals 'bout Cleveland and Blaine.

            Now, rally your forces,
            Trot out your "dark horses;'
Your Nokeses and Stokeses, your Blues and your Buffs,
            And when your conventions
            Announce their intentions,
Pitch in and go at it like two gangs of roughs.

            There's some little mystery
            In every man's history,
Probe it down to the quick, now, and lay it all bare;
            Publish all the particulars,
            However ridiculous,
As in love, so in politics too, "all is fair."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 5, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 44, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

The Subject is Not at all Humorous.*

The subject is not at all humorous,
But our criminals now are so numerous
That our friends, as they read,
Must surely concede
That there's ample occasion to humor us.

Our jail, – up there on Chicken Hill it is, –
A small number sufficient to fill it is;
And it does seem indeed,
That there's absolute need
Of increasing our prison facilities.

'Twas a timely and politic measure,
And gave all good people much pleasure,
When "the grabber" was shipped,
And the liberty skipped,
As a means of relieving the pressure.

If the facts are just as they are stated,
The subject may well be debated;
For if more rogues are caught,
Our space would fall short,
And they couldn't be incarcerated.

The star of our glory now risen is, –
But considering how small our prison is, –
It really appears
That we've cause for grave fears,
For this may be a serious business.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 12, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 45, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

The Lost Heir.*

Isn't truth stranger than fiction?
      Verily, that is so;
Who could have made prediction
      A short year or two ago
That a mythical Sarah Ann Ellis
      Would rise to claim her own?
For every such-tale a sell is
      Till all the facts are known.

O, Sarah Ann! Long is the journey
      Before you make good your claim,
Though you've given a power of attorney
      To prosecute in your name.
Law is a snare and delusion,
      Your case as slow may be
In reaching to any conclusion
      As Tichborne's o'er the sea.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), May 19, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 46, p.2.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Whom Shall we Have for President?*

Whom shall we have for President?
      Cleveland, Depew, or Blaine?
We might with either be content,
      And prosperous to the main;
What though some favorite man backs down,
      And asks to be excused?
Others can be prevailed upon
      To let their names be used.

Men all o'er the United States
      Are seeking for the place;
There'll be no lack of candidates
      To enter for the race.
Here's Tom Nokes says whatever he
      Went for, he always won it,
And now the Presidential bee
      Is buzzing in his bonnet.

'Tis sad to think that only one
      Can be our President,
Out of all thole who wish to run
      And feel quite competent;
Perhaps some man we have not guessed
      May be the Great Anointed;
But 'tis quite sure that all the rest
      Must go home disappointed.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 9, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 49, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

The Prison Committee.*

                  The Prison Committee
                  Regard us with pity,
As having our jail inconveniently full;
                  We know 'tis not pleasant,
                  'Tis but for the present,
We don't have a great many there, on the whole,

                  Sometimes we've not any,
                  Just now, a good many;
But this may be called an exceptional case;
                  'Tis pity we had it,
                  And not to our credit,
But rather, we find it a shame and disgrace.

                  But let us not murmur,
                  Let justice be firmer,
And this state of things surely cannot last long;
                  Enforce the laws better,
                  Right up to the letter,
And make due example of all who've done wrong.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 16, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 50, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

In Our Last Issue we Announced.*

In our last issue we announced
      The Great Electric Light;
We did not look for it so soon,
      It came that very night!
The Plant appeared to be in strong
      And vigorous condition,
Shooting forth flashes right along,
      With scarce an intermission.

Man's electricity on wires
      Must fizzle and fall flat,
"Paling its ineffectual fires"
      Before a storm like that;
No one who witnessed it could doubt
      The higher force of Nature;
She does he business, too, without
      An act of Legislature.

Hail to Ben Franklin and his kite!
      We've learned a great deal since;
But storms like that of Friday night,
      Must make the stoutest wince;
Say, lady reader, do you know,
      And can you tell, we wonder,
Whether 'twas lightning scared you so,
      Or whether 'twas the thunder?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 23, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 51, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

For Freedom our Ancestors Fought.*

For freedom our ancestors fought,
By their blood Independence was bought;
            And now, drawing nigh
            To the Fourth of July,
This gives us material for thought.

If King George had won in that fight,
All the world might have said be was right;
            That "divine right of Kings"
            Was the greatest of things
To make people swear black was white.

If our ancestors hadn't succeeded,
No Fourth of July would be needed;
            Queen Victoria now,
            With the crown on her brow,
Would boss over us just an he did.

But when children to manhood have grown,
And the parent won't let them alone,
            They are sure to rebel;
            'Tis perhaps just as well
They should set up a home of their own.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jun 30, 1888, Vol. 68, No. 52, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

When I was a Boy of Fourteen, I to Campaign-meetings Went.*

When I was a boy of fourteen, I to campaign-meetings went,
To hear the Whigs assembled singing for their President; .
They'd been defeated oft before, but now, being bound to win,
They rallied, round their candidate and fairly sang him in!

A gush of noisy melody went up on every hand,
When "Tippecanoe and Tyler too" resounded through the land;
"To put him in the capitol, we found a capital way,
O we'll sing a Harrison song by night and beat his foes by day!"

It's not so very singular that after all these years,
A grandson of "Old Tip" upon a ticket now appears;
Now let his ardent friends to all the campaign-meetings go,
And sing for Ben as they did for William Henry long ago!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 7, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 1, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Have you Read the Diurnal?*

Have you read the diurnal?
      They call it "The Pump;"
'Tis a bright little journal,
      Indeed, 'tis a trump;
Its first introduction
      Has won hosts of friends,
And a Pomp with good suction
      Should pay dividends.

So, keep the brake going,
      And keep up the supply
Of sweet waters flowing;
      Don't let her run dry;
If the stream is kept gushing,
      'Twill pay, there's no doubt,
For crowds will be rushing
      To drink from the spout.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 14, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 2, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

King Henry the Eighth had a Half-dozen Wives.*

King Henry the Eighth had a half-dozen wives
      One after another, 'tis said,
And none of them had any peace of their lives,
      Each expecting to lose her fair head.
Dame Catherine Parr, being sixth on the list,
      At his death was a widow bereaved,
And though her dear king's gentle presence she missed,
      Must have felt her mind greatly relieved.

Each queened it a little when newly installed,
      But soon pleading for mercy appeared,
Yet Fidei Defensor, this good man was called,
      And also – the English Bluebeard;
One historian only his bright side would paint,
      While another would show up the evil.
How little is needed to make one a saint!
      Not much more to make him a devil.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 21, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 3, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Not a Sound was Heard.*

Not a sound was heard, nor in earth, nor in sky,
      As the convict to liberty hurried,
Not a jailer to utter a warning cry,
      Not a sleeper was startled or flurried.

He stole away darkly, at dead of night,
      On tip-toe cautiously creeping,
While his room-mate lay till the dawn of light,
      Serenely and peacefully sleeping.

He had pals in whom he might well confide –
      How dear are true friends when we need 'em!
They had planned and arranged it all outside,
      And thus showed him the way to freedom.

Few and short were the words he said,
      There was no time for joy, nor for sorrow,
He must act, for a price would be set on his head,
      He must be far away on the morrow.

The officers tracked him from place to place,
      By sea and by land they sought him,
But were fain to abandon their bootless chase,
      And confess – that they hadn't caught him.

By electric wire they pursued him still,
      Half wishing to be well rid of him,
But now, let the criminal run where he will,
      The telegraph gets there ahead of him.

Stern justice has shattered and melted away
      All those visions of freedom and glory
That he saw while concealed in the swamp all that day,
      And at night on the sea in his dory.

He is forced to submit to his fate at last,
      And securely locked up in State Prison is,
Where he finds leisure time to think over the past,
      And to curse the whole miserable business.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jul 28, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 4, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

The Time's Drawing Near for Election.*

The time's drawing near for election,
      And soon you must make up your mind;
Do you favor Free Trade or Protection?
      Or what axes have you to grind?
Do you wave your bandanna for Grover,
      And think that's the best thing to do?
Or make your throat hoarse shouting over
      The grandson of Tippecanoe?

As we're holding a neutral position,
      We've no right to blow very loud,
But may make it a part of our mission
      To cheer and urge on the whole crowd;
We can hear the small musketry rattle,
      And soon we shall hear the big guns;
Come, rally your forces for battle!
      Columbia calls on her sons!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 4, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 5, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Strangers to Right of Us.*

Strangers to right of us,
Strangers to left of us,
Strangers in front of us
Count by the hundred;
Strangers from far and wide,
Where do they all abide?
Whence all this human tide?
Sometimes we've wondered.

Autumn is drawing near,
Ties of attachment dear
Holding the strangers here,
Soon must be sundered;
Heeding our words sincere.
Come back another year,
Surely in coming here,
You have not blundered.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Aug 25, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 8, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Don't you Wish?*

Don't you wish that you could be one of those anxious candidates
Who are seeking to be president of these United States?
To go "swinging round the circle," shaking people by the hand,
Beaming your smiles benignly everywhere throughout the land,
Posing upon a platform, as a kind of public spoil,
To be shaken half to death by "horny-handed sons of toil!"
For every voter feels that he that liberty may take
To grasp your hand and work it up and downward like a brake;
'Tis a most unequal bargain, as any one may see;
Good fun for each new shaker, but death to the shakee;
We've been studying for some plan to protect ourself in case
We should ever be prevailed upon to enter for that race;
But there seems to be no remedy; if we would bid for votes,
We must please the crowd and draw no lines between the sheep and goats;
If we hired a corps of proxies to shake the multitude,
Instead of cheering, they would hoot us as a humbug and a dude;
We must always bear our cross before we win the crown and wear it,
'Tis the penalty of greatness, we shall have to grin and bear it!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 1, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 9, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Hang out Your Banner on the Outward Wall!*

Hang out your banner on the outward wall!
Who are to be your favorites this fall?
Cleveland and Thurman, if a Democrat,
For those two names you'll shout and swing your hat;
The other way your next door neighbor runs,
Morton and Harrison are his great guns;
And lest the broth should have too many cooks,
A corporal's guard will follow Fisk and Brooks;
Hang out your bunting then! and all remember
From now until the sixth day of November,
That every man, no matter of what school,
Who doesn't think as you do, is a fool.
There's but one man can guide the Ship of State;
Now, in this crisis. He's my Candidate;
His hand alone can steer her clear of Tophet;
Allah, il Allah! Yes, and I'm his prophet!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 8, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 9, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

The Shortening Days Tell us That Autumn Comes*

The shortening days tell us that autumn comes,
      The crowds of strangers swiftly disappear,
Hieing away to many distant homes,
      Refreshed and vigorous for another year.
All who are busied with life's stern affairs
      Must cut the season short at duty's call,
Lucky the few who, free from business cares,
      May linger to enjoy the pleasant fall!

Thus, too, the summer season of our life
      Glides into autumn with the lapse of days,
And, growing tired of active toil and strife,
      Desire for rest, the love of gain of outweighs.
Feeling that our best energies are gone,
      Few can afford to seek their rest so dear,
But most of us must still go toiling on,
Till winter prematurely, ends the year.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 15, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 10, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

A Worthy Old Seaman, Now Nearly Fourscore.*

A worthy old seaman, now nearly fourscore,
Was riding along the bank near the South Shore;
He had picked huckleberries enough for a mess,
And had cause to be pleased with his day's, success;
So he trimmed the old nag on the homeward tack,
Between the bank-verge and the railroad track;
There was plenty of sea-room – and land-room too,
And they jogged on their way as accustomed to do;
But the whistle blew forth a spiteful blast,
As the 'Sconset train came wabbling past,
The old horse pricked up his ears and shied,
Edging fearfully near to the steep bank-side,
And the Captain, seeing his vessel "off free"
With a yawning precipice under his lee,
Put his helm hard down to bring her about,
And encouraged old Dobbin with word and shout;
But the poor beast's wits had gone all astray,
And the helpless craft couldn't wear nor stay,
As she plunged right on in her mad career,
The Captain scorned to give way to fear;
But struggling hard to hold her in check,
Stuck fast to his post and went down with the wreck!
Over the brink with rattle and crash,
Over and over as quick as a flash,
Horse, rider and cart, for weal or woe
All down in a heap, to the beach below!
The train was stopped, and a crowd, of course,
Rushed to the rescue with all their force,
The horse and the vehicle looked all right,
But the stout old sailor was nowhere in sight.
To their cries soon came back a responsive shout,
And safe and unhurt he came scrambling out
With a mouthful of sand but a dauntless heart
From under the roof of the capsized cart!
That all was well could be seen at a glance,
As by an almost miraculous chance;
This thrilling adventure was food for fun;
For no serious damage was found to be done;
Though the huckleberries were spilled in the sand,
More were picked that day by the same strong hand;
For Uncle Brown's voyage was ne'er known to fail
Whether bound after berries, or codfish, or whale;
But best of all he declares in truth,
The shock he got has renewed his youth;
And instead of feeling at all stiff or sore,
He can do more work that he could before;
His years by the record are seventy-eight,
And he dumps the scale at two hundred weight.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 22, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 11, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

In the Young Days of our Old Sherburne Town.*

In the young days of our old Sherburne town,
Many amusing things were written down;
That is, amusing to the reader now
Though all meant in good faith, we must allow.
Though many of our forefathers wrote well,
Yet 'twas a rare accomplishment to spell;
And clerks and scribes it those old by-gone days
Spelled the some word in several different ways.
Of the sage country Justice all have heard,
Who, when convicted of a misspelled word,
Replied "A man's no scholar, I should say,
Who always spells a word in just one way."
They say John Randolph – he of Roanoke,
Was once the father of a similar joke
Which might in Andrew Jackson's favor tell,
Who, it is said, never knew how to spell.
But to our story. Once, the fact appears
During the time of Sherburne's early years,
The town's seal by some accident was lost;
To get a new one much delay would cost.
So at the Board of "Trustes," so called then,
Just as we now would say the "Selectmen,"
The Town Clerk laid before them all the facts,
How he'd no seal for his official acts,
And thereupon the meeting passed a vote,
A part of which 'tis difficult to quote;
A pen-scroll on the margin of the book
Tells all the world the course those wise men took,
And "This shall be the Seel," the record said,
"Until the Clark, can get another maid."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Sep 29, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 12, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

A Cry From The South.*

Our cities are stricken with panic and grief,
Impatient, we watch the slow fall of the leaf;
O hasten thy coming, to bring us relief,
                  Jack-Frost!

Though, with harvests ungathered, we suffer for food,
We should hail thy arrival to-day if we could,
For we know thy keen touch is all potent for good;
                  Jack Frost!

The pestilence laughs at our poor human will;
Our hygienic knowledge and medical skill
Are powerless to save us. We wait for thee still,
                  Jack Frost!

O speed on thy coming! We long for the hour.
When the terrible plague-fiend before thee shall cower,
And dread Yellow Jack shall acknowledge thy power,
                  Jack Frost!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Oct 6, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 13, p.2.

1888 POEMS. 1888

One Session.*

"Hurrah every time for one session!
      It is such a grand thing for the school,
Whoe'er has a different impression
      Must be an old fogy – a fool!"
We're told all the children desire it;
      Of course they do; that is not strange,
But does their best interest require it?
      They want anything new for a change.

But we found that the system worked badly,
      When we had but one session a day,
And again and again we have gladly
      Got back to the old-fashioned way;
We know the results, for we've see them,
      And thought it was well understood
That the sessions, with dinner between them,
      Were far more productive of good.
With the time thus discreetly divided,
      No harm from six hours they'll derive;
If the one-session plan be decided,
      The six must be shortened to five;
Out of this must come two intermissions,
      The time being too long for one;
And 'twas found that, with all these conditions,
      Not so much nor so good work was done.
With five hours of continuous session,
      The scholars got hungry and tired,
And were, as they soon made confession,
      Quite worn out before it expired;
Each hour had its special engagements,
      "Recess" was a perfect god-send,
And, the fifth hour of that long confinement,
      All were watching the clock for the end.

Eight o'clock was the hour in the morning;
      They were roused from their slumber so deep,
And, with small preparation or warning,
      They rushed out to school, half-asleep;
Of course some were wont to be tardy,
      Thus putting school-laws out of tune,
And their systems were none the more hardy
      For starving until afternoon.

We'll not dwell on the nice home-arrangements
      Upset by the one-session plan,
Or the awkward domestic derangements
      Where the father's a work-a-day man.
We may again yield to the pressure,
      O'ewhelmed by persistent attack;
By the time we get used to't, Lord bless yer!
      The scholars will want to change back.

W. H. M.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 3, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 17, p.2.

1888 POEMS. 1888

The Old, Old Story.*

Tom Randall sailed in the Statira,
      But left his heart lingering behind,
He had plighted his vows with Almira,
      And considered the contract as signed.
He had scarce been six months on the ocean,
      When, to his amazement, he heard
From a chum who came out in the Phocion,
      That Almira had broken her word.

She had flirted with every new-comer
      Since Tom had gone out of her view,
And was going to marry a drummer;
      'Twas quite sure that all this was true.
"Well," says Tom, "if the drummer has caught her,
      We'll let all the past go for naught,
And we know there are still in the water
      As good fish as ever were caught."

When next they met, Mrs. Almira,
      (Whose marriage had not turned out well),
Took the first chance that offered to fire a
      Small shot which she reckoned would tell:
"I presume you have heard that I'm married?"
      "Yes, thank ye," said Tom, "so am I!"
Her attack thus so cleverly parried,
      She was quite at a loss for reply.

"Yes, you see I was glad to get rid of you,
      When I heard you had played the coquette,
And I thought I might just get ahead of you,
      To make it all square when we met;
Your future, I hope, is auspicious,
      And I trust we're both settled for life,
For I'm off next week for Mauritius,
      To live with my little French wife."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 10, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 18, p.2.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Hurrah, Now, the Campaign is Over!*

Hurrah, now, the campaign is over!
      And the Administration is changed.
'Twas a great disappointment for Grover,
      For of course all his plans are deranged;
Let the dominant party be jolly,
      And the conquered put on the best face,
For to kick against Fate would be folly,
      So let all submit with good grace.

Many good men must give up good places,
      This fact no observing man doubts,
For 'tis always the rule in such cases,
      That the ins must give place to the outs.
With our present political system
      No Executive surely would choose
An army of men to assist him,
      Who are not in accord with his views.

By continuous free agitation,
      The ocean preserves itself pure,
Corruption will grow from stagnation,
      And Liberty rests more secure
On these rival views of economy,
      That lead to warm partisan strife
Thus insuring a healthy autonomy,
      And saving a free nation's life.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 17, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 19, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Thanksgiving is a Great Institution!*

Thanksgiving is a great institution!
      'Tis famous for good things to eat;
Earth, sea and air send contribution
      To make the variety complete.
There is something about it quite comic
      To see the young people go in,
Performing such feat gastronomic,
      As if they'd a wager to win.

By housekeepers it well understood is
      That Thanksgiving isn't all fun,
And that, to prepare all these goodies,
      A good deal of work must be,done.
Both the mistress and Bridget McCarty
      Must stir when Thanksgiving is near,
Yet, like Christmas, its welcome is hearty,
      As it comes only once in a year.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Nov 24, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 20, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Some Say we're to Have a Cold Winter.*

Some say we're to have a cold winter,
      While some predict quite the reverse;
But their prophesies aren't worth a splinter;
      We must take it for better or worse.
Some are always forecasting the seasons
      By signs in the celestial arch,
But as signs fail, for various reasons,
      We can tell you much better next March.

Old Prob doesn't know what's before us,
      Guessing only for one day ahead,
But we still have false prophets to bore us,
      Though Robert B. Thomas is dead.
That good old man won himself credit
      By the snow-storm set down for July,
It came, just as people had read it; .
      Such a good story never can die.

We shall have north-east snow in some places,
      And then again – rain from the South,
And some will have observed, in such cases,
      A pig with a straw in its mouth.
Here's Vennor, the greet weather-wizard,
      Has signs of his own for each date,
Telling just when to look for each blizzard,
      And they fail, – seven times out of eight.

We'll get up an Almanac-column,
      And print our predictions in rhyme,
We'll make many blockheads look solemn,
      And guess right – say half the time.
When we guess right we'll take all the credit,
      And put up the broad stars and stripes;
When we're wrong, – we'll deny that we said it,
      And lay all the blame on the types.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 1, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 21, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

Speed the Good Work and Bring us Back the Cable!*

Speed the good work and bring us back the cable!
So much we miss it that we're scarcely able
To hold our patience when we write about it;
O dear, O dear, what shall we do without it?
O yes, of course we know we musn't murmur,
But then to think the very terra firma
Before our eyes should wash away and crumble,
It almost seems that we're a right to grumble
At seeing that this work of devastation
Has cut us off from free communication
With those outside barbarians, who, living
In districts where they never keep Thanksgiving,
Out from their list of festivals they've struck it:
Now, most of all, they can't hear from Nantucket.
Then again, isn't it too aggravating?
Non-resident land-owners now are waiting
To get the latest news from this far region,
And make inquiries – yes, their name is Legion –
Whether their real estate to sea has drifted,
Or has, perchance, to some new anchorage shifted?
"Stands Scotland where it did?" Yes, waiting orders;
Still right side up, though ragged round the borders.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 8, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 23, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1888 POEMS. 1888

We Heard an Ancient Mariner Talk of Naval Architecture.*

We heard an ancient mariner talk of naval architecture,
We can't give his very words, but here's the substance of his lecture:
"I've seen all sorts of vessels in my wanderings round the world,
Both under sail, and moored in port, with all their canvas furled;
I've seen luggers and feluccas, an' know just what they mean,
And I made one voyage in a craft they called a barkentine;
I've handled many others, fore-and-afters and square-riggers,
And seen some rigged by savages and Polynesian niggers,
And Chinese junks and lorchas, too, and Esquimaux kayaks;
And they all have some good idees, Whites, Mongolians and blacks.
But my pour old head can't figure by dead-reckoning nor by lunar
What kind o'looking vessel is this new five-masted schooner.
My idea of a schooner was always a two-master;
Later on they've built 'em larger and modelled to sail faster.
I've heard of some with three masts and now and then with four,
But I never dreamed that any crank would think of adding more;
Now here's one launched the other day, as sure as I'm alive,
Her length is nigh three hundred feet, they say her masts are five.
It makes the think of those old jokes, forgotten through long while,
About the Down-East lumber-men, who built ships by the mile,
And sawed them off to order, of any length required,
Thus the owner might put in as many masts as he desired.
Now perhaps some younger seaman who is used to modern names,
Might tell me what they call 'em all on board this Governor Ames.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Dec 15, 1888, Vol. 69, No. 24, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1889 POEMS. 1889

Woman's Rights.*

The subject is now being gravely discussed,
      Whether woman ought e'er to propose?
Tho' it seems a queer time to consider it, just
      As Leap Year has drawn to a close.

'Stead of waiting for man every time, shall she woo?
      And woo yet again if she loses?
There is no law against it, that ever we knew;
      She certainly may – if she chooses.

But the average maiden would ne'er be a bride,
      If the business thus must be done;
'Tis a cardinal point in her womanly pride,
      That she will not, unsought, be won.

She must manage it all in her womanly way,
      Contriving, by tact and suggestion,
To reveal by degrees what her lips may not say.
      Thus making the man – pop the question.

Now Thackeray tells us, a woman with tact,
      Who her best opportunity uses,
That is, if she's not absolutely hump-backed,
      Can wed any man that she chooses.

But of course that old satirist never could mean
      That she'd ask him the question directly,
O no, there'd be no such embarrassing scene,
      She would go for him more circumspectly.

Then there's Mrs. Grundy all ready to say,
      "Where's your maidenly modesty gone to?"
No, she never will manage these things a man's way,
      And she won't, because – well – she don't want to!

Woman always has been, as a matter of choice,
      (And this was true long before Moses,)
An active verb, – in the passive voice,
      "Man proposes" – but woman disposes.

W. H. M.

      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 5, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 27, p.2.

1889 POEMS. 1889

Let's Rejoice that our Cable Connection's Restored.*

Let's rejoice that our cable connection's restored,
      And we're talking again 'cross the Sound;
For experience tells us we cannot afford
      To be without news when ice-bound.

To be sure, we'd no cable connection of yore,
      And we got on without it; somehow,
But those things which were only wild fancies before,
      Are actual necessities now.

There are those still among us whose memories bright
      Reach back to the first days of steam,
When to sail in a calm or against the wind's might
      Seemed to them like a marvellous dream.

And our sturdy forefathers had no news at all,
      Save what sailing vessels might bring;
All Winter they talked o'er the news of the Fall,
      And waited for more in the Spring.

How strange it would seem to those whale-hunters bold,
      To see distant lands brought so near!
For their European tidings were several weeks old,
      And from "round Cape Horn," full half a year.

We honor the deeds of our hardy old sires,
      And are prone to get talking about them;
But in these days of steam and of submarine wires,
      We need them – and can't do without them.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 12, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 28, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1889 POEMS. 1889

A Friend, who Owned Some House-lots at Surfside.*

A friend, who owned some house-lots at Surfside,
Taking a rough map with him as a guide,
Went out the other day to view his lands,
Which seemed an elephant upon his hands;
He'd bought them with an eye to speculation,
But Fortune had belied his expectation.
Meanwhile 'twas said that the advancing surf
Had made sad inroads on the solid turf,
And by his memoranda it appears
He hadn't seen his purchase for some years
His land was back some distance from the beach,
So it was well up out of Ocean's' reach;
He found its true location, staked it out,
Then made his observations roundabout,
And seemed well satisfied with his survey;
For when we met again, the following day,
In answer to our questions his face brightened,
And he spoke up as though his heart were lightened;
"I'm in no hurry to sell out," he said;
"I've made some calculations in my head
As to the future value of the land;
And by the time it gets in smart demand,
The way the sea is gouging there, – in spots,
I reckon all of mine will be front lots!"


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 19, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 29, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1889 POEMS. 1889

The Five Master.*

Again that ancient seaman has been reading up the news,
And dropped into our sanctum to express to us his views;
And he talked until he bored us, both in verses and in prose,
For old folks will be garrulous, as everybody knows;
"I hear that that five-master has lost all her masts and gear,
And such a scrape must surely cost her owners very dear;
She'd scarcely got to sea before she met with that hard knock;
And had to be towed back again quite helpless to her doçk.
Of course I am very sorry of this great mishap to hear,
And the way it all was brought about, seems to me kind o' queer;
I thought at first that she had met a sudden squall or gale,
And thus had come to grief by carrying too much press of sail;
But I learn that all this happened while she at anchor rode,
And lying head up to the wind, with all her canvas stowed.
With my old-fashioned ideas, 'tis hard to understand
How all those masts went by the board, right slap, hand-over-hand;
Touch one and down go all the rest, just like a row of bricks;
What fun that used to be, in my young days of boyish tricks!
Two of the masts fell o'er the side, the others flat on the deck,
'Tis a wonder that no men were killed among that pile of wreck;
When I heard of that five-master, I thought she wore the crown,
But the sticks won't hold each other up, they knock each other down!
I hear old Captain Forbes now recommends a stay-sail rig;
'Twould help the masts; but, seems to me, the sails can't be so big;
And if they want a greater spread of canvas to get speed,
They'll have to find some way to stay the masts in time of need.
When I was in the Good Intent. -- " "O, spare us that long story!"
Though his intent was good enough, and though he head was hoary,
We snubbed that ancient mariner, to his intense disgust,
And cut his illustration short, because we felt we must;
For we couldn't spare the time just then to listen to his talk,
And already he'd begun to draw a diagram in chalk;
But when we have more time to spare, he'll finish up his tale,
And we'll tell our readers how the Good Intent rode out the gale.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Jan 26, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 30, p.2.

1889 POEMS. 1889

A Fig for the Clerk of the Weather!*

A fig for the clerk of the weather!
      We know what is has been thus far;
Putting all the predictions together,
      We find neither sun, moon, nor star
Can be a safeguard for the prophet;
      What he promises don't come along,
And so he makes bunglin work of it,
      And guesses again, right or wrong.

Our ancient friend, Robert B. Thomas,
      Will hit it just right now and then,
And his book may correctly inform us;
      Say two or three times out of ten;
But this making weather hereafter,
      Setting dates for the storms, ice and snow,
Is only a subject of laughter,
      And shows us how little we know.

We've had quite enough such inflictions,
      And facts are as stubborn as mules,
So we'll venture no weather predictions,
      Nor write ourselves down among fools.
If the mild weather lasts all the season
      We say, the ice crop will fall short;
If this month, we find all the ponds freez'n,'
      We'll, say, "yes, that's just what we thought."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 2, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 31, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1889 POEMS. 1889

Saint Valentine will Come Next Week.*

Saint Valentine will come next week;
      Now lads and lassies choose your mates;
Young man, if you're in love, now speak;
      You may be sure the maiden waits.
Don't stand there sighing at the moon,
      But speak at once, and say, "be mine;"
For if you don't mean business soon,
      She'll find another Valentine.

Don't wait to purchase diamond rings.
      A thread of gold will serve as well;
You']l need so many other things
      Before you ring the marriage bell.
Make use of thrift and common sense,
      Abstain from whiskey, ale and wine;
She'll be a fool if she consents
      To wed a tipsy Valentine.

Don't make a farce of this good day
      By sending doggrel verses 'round,
For surely this is not the way
      Fond, loving mates are to be found.
Speak the true language of the heart;
      Love is not silly, – 'tis divine;
'Tis of our souls the better part.
      Hail to our good Saint Valentine!


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 9, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 32, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1889 POEMS. 1889

Conundrum.*

"How many birthdays has Washington had,
      Counting the one next week?"
"I know," said Maud working quick with her head,
      So eager was she to speak:
"While here on this earth he had sixty-seven,
And ninety more he'll have passed in heaven,
A hundred and fifty-seven in all;
Give us a harder one, uncle Paul."

But her sly, quiet, brother caught on to the fun,
      "She has answered the question wrong,
The day he was born must be counted as one;
      Now, reckoning right along,
While here on earth he had sixty-eight,
There are ninety more to the present date
A hundred and fifty-eight in all;
Is that the right count of it, uncle Paul?"

"Yes, that is all right as the record shows,
      When the number is carefully reckoned;
But now, young puzzle-heads, let us suppose
      That instead of the twenty-second,
His birthday had been postponed a week,
(Don't be in a terrible hurry to speak)
How many birthdays, living and dead,
In this same period, would he have had?"

Little Maud rubbed up her intellect bright,
      And soon caught on to the clue;
"The year of his birth, I am sure it is right,
      Was seventeen-thirty-two;
Divide by four and 'twill soon appear
That the year he was born must have been leap year;
Of seven and twenty-two take the sum,
And the twenty-ninth the date will come.

Now, the twenty-ninth is that queery odd day,
      That breaks the calendar date;
Three years it skips and stays away,
      Then returns, to make things straight;
The birthday could come but one year in four,
(I've had a conundrum like that before)
Only forty times he'd have seen that date,
Instead of a hundred and fifty-eight."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 16, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 33, p.2.

1889 POEMS. 1889

Town Meeting Comes Along Next Week.*

Town Meeting comes along next week;
      Have you an axe to grind?
Young man, now is your chance to speak
      And ease your burdened mind;
But if you have good common sense,
      Be brief in what you say,
Or, ten to one, your eloquence
      Will all be thrown away.

Whether your theme be public schools,
      Or highways, or what more,
You needn't think old folks are fools,
      For they've been there before.
What care they for your rhetoric?
      Your rhapsodies so fine?
So, take the hint without the kick;
      You're casting pearls to swine.

You needn't for a moment think
      To have things your own way;
See those old veteran sages wink
      And nod, as if to say,
"Spread yourself while you have the floor;
      Your eagle soars too high;
We've heard this sort it thing before,
      It doesn't signify."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Feb 23, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 34, p.3.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1889 POEMS. 1889

The Stormy March has Come at Last.*

The stormy March has come at last,
      With winds and clouds and changing skies;
And winter's slipped away so fast
      That we are quite taken by surprise.

Ah! passing few are they who speak,
      William D. Clark, in praise of thee!
Men say thy voice is growing weak
      And losing its old melody.

But though hard strained through many a year,
      Thy voice may well be said to quake,
Its cracked tones to us all are dear,
      Twice dear for old acquaintance sake.

And now that Match again returns,
      Telling us of approaching spring,
Who more than Clark for summer yearns
      With all the shekels it may bring?

For March and April herald May,
      And May in turn foreshadows June,
Which, still advancing day by day,
      Leads up to the solstitial noon.

Thus March, though of rude winter born,
      Holds forth to us it promise true,
Lending new music to Clark's horn,
      And lighting the prospective view.

(Bryant)

      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 2, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 35, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1889 POEMS. 1889

Again 'tis All Over, – the Annual Pow-wow.*

Again 'tis all over, – the annual pow-wow
      Of the sachems and braves of our tribe;
It develops much fun, which our muse must allow
      That her efforts would fail to describe.
There are long-winded men and one-idea men,
      And a certain proportion of cranks;
The chairman gets near his wits' end now and then,
      And his patience deserves our best thanks.

Now, refitted anew, our municipal ship
      Is again right side up on her way.
And bids fair to ride safe through her annual trip,
      Spite of all that the croakers may say.
If her fittings are strong, and her timbers all sound,
      She will gallantly carry us through,
And when the next annual meeting rolls round,
      We shall have further changes in view.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 9, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 36, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1889 POEMS. 1889

The Vernal Equinox Draws on Apace.*

The vernal equinox draws on apace;
      The lengthening days tell of advancing spring;
Soon Nature will put on her smiling face,
      Beaming in brightness on everything.

The ice-men's anxious looks now fade away,
      For they have snugly housed their year's supply;
They care not how soon March glides into May,
      Bringing the summer visitors to buy.

The cornet sounds the knell of winter gone;
      The passers-by stop to admire and laugh;
Swift o'er the cobble stones Clark winds his horn,
      Earning the name of "Human Telegraph."

Already future visitors begin
      To make inquiries about rooms and board,
Some, to escape the city's heat and din,
      Some, invalids, seeking for health restored.

Full many a convalescent face serene
      The Autumn steamers from our isle will bear;
Full many a flour-bag, empty and unseen,
      Could testify to our health-giving air.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 16, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 37, p.2.

      Title taken from poem's first line.

1889 POEMS. 1889

The Dog Question.*

"'Twas love me, love my dog," the adage said;
But love's not incompatible with dread;
'Tis said, man ought to love and fear his God,
We love the parent, while we fear the rod;
And personally we admit 'tis true
That we love whiskey, that we fear it too.
We love the slings and punches that are made of it,
And would indulge if we were not afraid of it.
And thus, dog owner, we may love your beast
As much as it deserves, to say the least,
But, like Mark Anthony, we must confess
It is not that we love your dog the less,
But our own safety more. Self-preservation
Stands prominent in human estimation,
And has been called the great first law of Nature;
Hence these dog-laws in Town and Legislature.
We set small value on canine sagacity,
When 'ere we find it coupled with voracity.
Your dog may be sagacious, and all that,
But must bite nothing nobler than a rat;
If he aspires to any higher game,
You, the dog's owner, must be held to blame.
The victim swears that somebody he will shoot;
Of course he mayn't kill you, but may the brute;
So he fulfills the letter of his oath
And thus, vicariously, shoots you both.
Well may you nurse the memory of the brute,
Who made atonement as your substitute!
Some hold that licensed dogs will never bite;
On general principles they may be right;
But there must he exceptions to most rules, –
(We've known some docile and good-natured mules,)
And vicious dogs we now and then must find.
Just at the present time we have in mind
A certain yellow dog, who claims the right,
By virtue of his license, too, to bite,
And plants himself upon this legal quirk;
He holds a contract signed by the Town Clerk!
If with these legal fictions we get puzzled,
Let's save our legs by having all dogs muzzled.
But all these canines, yellow, black and brown,
Are now a source of income to the Town;
Of course they must amuse themselves somehow,
Threatening our shins, or harassing a cow;
Remembering this we ought to exercise
Some lenity. We mustn't dog-matize.
To err is canine; to forgive, divine;
We'll have to fight it out upon this line.
A noted English wit gave us this pun:
(The definition's full of unctious fun)
As every dog must once have been a pup,
So "dog-matism is puppy-ism grown up."
Thus the dog question has two good, strong sides,
"Let's use the utmost power the law provides,
And carry out the statute to the letter!"
Dogberry himself couldn't have argued better.
We grant that "every dog must have his day"
And we've no axe to sharpen either way;
We're willing things should go on the old jog;
We're not yet poor enough to keep a dog
Nor go to law – we rub along without it,
Content with writing doggerel rhymes about it.

W. H. M.

      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 23, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 38, p.3.

1889 POEMS. 1889

Conundrum [2].*

Among good things, the other night,
      This one brought down the house –
An old friend newly brought to light:
      "Why is grass like a mouse?"
'Tis simple, but you'll search about
      Some time 'ere you can beat it;
Have you not guessed the answer out?
      "Because the cat'll eat it."

This later one, young wits so keen
      We're called upon to grapple,
"What is the difference between
      A sweet girl and an apple?"
"One you squeeze to get cider" – "Yes
      Go on then, if you please."
"The other – well – that is – I guess,
      You get side o' to squeeze."


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Mar 30, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 39, p.2.

1889 POEMS. 1889

Tempora Mutantur.*

Now is the winter of our dull decline,
Made glorious spring-time by the summer guests,
And all the clouds that lowered about our isle
In the deep bosom of oblivion buried.

Now are our ancient occupations gone,
Our argosies all sunk or broken up,
Our great warehouses turned to new hotels,
Our race of square-rigged mariners extinct,
Save now and then an old belated one,
Whose sands of life are clogged, add won't 'run out.

And in their stead, the cat-rigged skipper spruce,
Piloting strangers o'er the fishing grounds,
Touching my lady's hand to disembark,
And humoring her little nervous screams;
The hackney-driver, chaffering for his fare;
The hotel-clerk, with knowledge ne'er at fault;
The railroad man, and all that sort of thing,
Catering for the amusement of the guests,
Who, through our streets and roads, on every hand,
Actively-idle tourists, who scarce know
A harpoon from a hay fork, and who ne'er
Have heard of lancers, save in the quardrille.
But then – they know of many other things,
And bring much profit, too, in various ways;
Many of them are versed in learned lore,
In quirks of law – and of theology,
Skilled in state-craft, and party politics, –
Commercial kings, and manufacturers, too,
All seeking rest and recreation here.

And still the crowds grow larger year by year,
While we, the sons of Quaker mariners,
Hang out our banners and await their advent;
Truly, the times are changed; and so are we.


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 6, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 40, p.2.

1889 POEMS. 1889

Queries.*

Come up to the polls! Is it not full time
      For voters to rise in their might,
And to make the sale of liquors a crime?
      Is not this a blow for the right?

Look at the families plunged in woe!
      At the homes that are broken up!
And this is due, as all of us know,
      To the vile, debasing cup.

Think of the young lives sacrificed;
      Of the gray hairs, too, brought down
By the work of a trade that is legalized
      Under license sold by the town!

Do you say that, as liquor will still be sold,
      Whatever the law may be,
Therefore the Town should share the gold
      That is paid for the license fee?

So, as there will always be more or less theft,
      Would you sell men license to steal,
Because there are some of conscience bereft,
      Who no sting of remorse can feel?

Shall we legalize wickedness by our votes?
      Shall we share the ill-gotten gains
Won by putting au enemy down our throats
      To steal away all our brains?

Of the two, which is worse, the robber who stole
      Your purse, your watch or your ring,
Or the drink that debases your body and soul,
      And robs you of everything?


      * Published in Macy's "Here and There" column in the Inquirer and Mirror (Nantucket), Apr 13, 1889, Vol. 69, No. 41, p.2.

1889 POEMS. 1889

Sheep Commons [2].*

Here's the wise and sedate Legislative Committee
In a sad state of bother deserving of pity!
For they have such a brain-racking job on their hands,
To untangle the snarl of these Nantucket lands;
They have learned the disease, and can now diagnose it,
But are puzzled to know what's the best way to dose it;
Of course they desire to do justice to all,
And to show no more favor to Peter than Paul;
But a desperate case may want treatment heroic,
And the doctor must needs have the nerves of a stoic.

The owners in fee of these "dividend" lands
Are almost as numerous now as the sands
On our shores. Think a little, 't will plainly appear
That their number is growing still larger each year.
The law of inheritance and lineal descent
Must produce this result, which we cannot prevent; –
Will make your head swim, they 're so infinitesimal.
That you own any lands may be strange news to you,
But look into the facts and you'll find that you do;
In the year sixteen hundred and seventy-five,
Y