DREAMS

"Do I sleep, do I dream, Do I wonder and doubt-- Are things what they seem Or is visions about?"

There has always been an inclination, or desire, rather, on my part to believe in the mystic--even as far back as stretches the gum-elastic remembrance of my first "taffy-pullin'" given in honor of my fifth birthday; and the ghost-stories, served by way of ghastly dessert, by our hired girl. In fancy I again live over all the scenes of that eventful night:--

The dingy kitchen, with its haunting odors of a thousand feasts and wash-days; the old bench-legged stove, with its happy family of skillets, stewpans and round-bellied kettles crooning and blubbering about it. And how we children cl.u.s.tered round the genial hearth, with the warm smiles dying from our faces just as the embers dimmed and died out in the open grate, as with bated breath we listened to how some one's grandmother had said that her first man went through a graveyard once, one stormy night, "jest to show the neighbors that he wasn't afeard o' nothin'," and how when he was just pa.s.sing the grave of his first wife "something kind o' big and white-like, with great big eyes like fire, raised up from behind the headboard, and kind o'

re'ched out for him"; and how he turned and fled, "with that air white thing after him as tight as it could jump, and a hollerin'

'wough-yough-yough!' till you could hear it furder'n you could a bullgine," and how, at last, just as the brave and daring intruder was clearing two graves and the fence at one despairing leap, the "white thing," had made a grab at him with its iron claws, and had nicked him so close his second wife was occasioned the onerous duty of affixing another patch in his pantaloons. And in conclusion, our hired girl went on to state that this blood-curdling incident had so wrought upon the feelings of "the man that wasn't afeard o' nothin'," and had given him such a distaste for that particular graveyard, that he never visited it again, and even entered a clause in his will to the effect that he would ever remain an unhappy corpse should his remains be interred in said graveyard.

I forgot my pop-corn that night; I forgot my taffy; I forgot all earthly things; and I tossed about so feverishly in my little bed, and withal so restlessly, that more than once my father's admonition above the footboard of the big bed, of "Drat you! go to sleep, there!"

foreshadowed my impending doom. And once he leaned over and made a vicious s.n.a.t.c.h at me, and holding me out at arm's length by one leg, demanded in thunder-tones, "what in the name o' flames and flashes I meant, anyhow!"

I was afraid to stir a muscle from that on, in consequence of which I at length straggled off in fitful dreams--and heavens! what dreams!--A very long and lank, and slim and slender old woman in white knocked at the door of my vision, and I let her in. She patted me on the head--and oh! how cold her hands were! And they were very hard hands, too, and very heavy--and, horror of horrors!--they were not hands--they were claws!--they were iron!--they were like the things I had seen the hardware man yank nails out of a keg with. I quailed and shivered till the long and slim and slender old woman jerked my head up and snarled spitefully, "What's the matter with you, bub," and I said, "Nawthin'!" and she said, "Don't you dare to lie to me!" I moaned.

"Don't you like me?" she asked.

I hesitated.

"And lie if you dare!" she said--"Don't you like me?"

"Oomh-oomh!" said I.

"Why?" said she.

"Cos, you're too long--and slim--an'"--

"Go on!" said she.

"--And tall!" said I.

"Ah, ha!" said she,--"and that's it, hey?"

And then she began to grow shorter and thicker, and fatter and squattier.

"And how do I suit you now?" she wheezed at length, when she had wilted down to about the size of a large loaf of bread.

I shook more violently than ever at the fearful spectacle.

"How do you like me now?" she yelped again,--"And don't you lie to me neither, or I'll swaller you whole!"

I writhed and hid my face.

"Do you like me?"

"No-o-oh!" I moaned.

She made another s.n.a.t.c.h at my hair. I felt her jagged claws sink into my very brain. I struggled and she laughed hideously.

"You don't, hey?"

"Yes, yes, I do. I love you!" said I.

"You lie! You lie!" She shrieked derisively. "You know you lie!" and as I felt the iron talons sinking and gritting in my very brain, with one wild, despairing effort, I awoke.

I saw the fire gleaming in the grate, and by the light it made I dimly saw the outline of the old mantelpiece that straddled it, holding the old clock high upon its shoulders. I was awake then, and the little squatty woman with her iron talons was a dream! I felt an oily gladness stealing over me, and yet I shuddered to be all alone.

If only some one were awake, I thought, whose blessed company would drown all recollections of that fearful dream; but I dared not stir or make a noise. I could only hear the ticking of the clock, and my father's sullen snore. I tried to compose my thoughts to pleasant themes, but that telescopic old woman in white would rise up and mock my vain appeals, until in fancy I again saw her alt.i.tudinous proportions dwindling into that repulsive and revengeful figure with the iron claws, and I grew restless and attempted to sit up. Heavens!

something yet held me by the hair. The chill sweat that betokens speedy dissolution gathered on my brow. I made another effort and arose, that deadly clutch yet fastened in my hair. Could it be possible! The short, white woman still held me in her vengeful grasp!

I could see her white dress showing from behind either of my ears. She still clung to me, and with one wild, unearthly cry of "Pap!" I started round the room.

I remember nothing further, until as the glowing morn sifted through the maple at the window, powdering with gold the drear old room, and baptizing with its radiance the anxious group of old home-faces leaning over my bed, I heard my father's voice once more rasping on my senses--"Now get the b.o.o.by up, and wash that infernal wax out of his hair!"

BECAUSE

Why did we meet long years of yore?

And why did we strike hands and say: "We will be friends, and nothing more"; Why are we musing thus to-day?

Because because was just because, And no one knew just why it was.

Why did I say good-by to you?

Why did I sail across the main?

Why did I love not heaven's own blue Until I touched these sh.o.r.es again?

Because because was just because, And you nor I knew why it was.

Why are my arms about you now, And happy tears upon your cheek?

And why my kisses on your brow?

Look up in thankfulness and speak!

Because because was just because, And only G.o.d knew why it was.

TO THE CRICKET

The chiming seas may clang; and Tubal Cain May clink his tinkling metals as he may; Or Pan may sit and pipe his breath away; Or Orpheus wake his most entrancing strain Till not a note of melody remain!-- But thou, O cricket, with thy roundelay, Shalt laugh them all to scorn! So wilt thou, pray, Trill me thy glad song o'er and o'er again: I shall not weary; there is purest worth In thy sweet prattle, since it sings the lone Heart home again. Thy warbling hath no dearth Of childish memories--no harsher tone Than we might listen to in gentlest mirth, Thou poor plebeian minstrel of the hearth.

THE OLD-FASHIONED BIBLE

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood That now but in mem'ry I sadly review; The old meeting-house at the edge of the wildwood, The rail fence and horses all tethered thereto; The low, sloping roof, and the bell in the steeple, The doves that came fluttering out overhead As it solemnly gathered the G.o.d-fearing people To hear the old Bible my grandfather read.