City Ballads Part 13

Yes, it grieved my good father and mother to see me so sadly astray, They deeply regretted my downfall--in a strictly respectable way; They gave me some more admonition, and sent me off full of advice, And wondered to see such a villain from parents so good and precise.

Indeed I have often conjectured, when full of neglect and its smarts, I must have been left on the door-step of their uncongenial hearts!

My home in the prison is waiting--it opens up clear to my sight; Hard work and no pay-day a-coming, a close cell to sleep in at night.

And there I must lie sad and lonesome, with more tribulation than rest, And wake in the morning with sorrow sharp sticking like steel in my breast; But maybe the strain and the trouble won't quite so much o'er me prevail, As 'twould be to some one who wasn't brought up in a kind of a jail!

_You've_ got a good home, Mr. Sheriff, with everything cosy and nice, And 'tisn't for a wrist-shackled convict to offer _you_ words of advice; But this I _must_ say, of all places your children may visit or call, Make HOME the most pleasant and happy--the sweetest and best of them all; For the Devil won't offer a dollar to have his world-chances improved, When Home is turned into a side-show, with half the attractions removed!

_Don't_ think I'm too bitter, good sheriff--I like you: you've been very good; I'm ever and ever so grateful--would pay it all back if I could.

I didn't mean to slander my parents--I've nothing against their good name, And as for my unrighteous actions, it's mostly myself that's to blame; Still, _if I'd had a home_--But the prison is only one station ahead-- I'm done, Mr. Sheriff; forget me, but _don't_ forget what I have said!

SEPTEMBER 15, 18--.

Vice, vice, vice, vice!--and 'tisn't all clear and free, Where any one can take a look and see, And then decide, immediate, on the spot, Whether he'll buy his soul-farm there or not; It's scattered round about so 'mongst the good, Folks can't entirely shun it when they would.

Much better to escape it we'd be able, If 'twas obliged to carry 'round a label (It always does, some time before it ages, But not enough so in its early stages).

My mind was led around about this way, By a well-dressed young man I met to-day, Who strove to twist some money out of me, But had, instead, a first-cla.s.s lecture free.

My cousin, Abdiel Stebbins, large and good, Inclined to do even better than he should, And with a heart that gets him into sc.r.a.pes Of a most strange variety of shapes, But who, before they've run a fatal course, Always gets out of them by sheer main force, Wrote me two letters, several years ago, Which I have kept, with no intent to show, But simply to read over now and then As part of my text-book ent.i.tled "Men."

I think I'll get my cousin's wail by letter, And paste it here where I can find it better.

[FARMER STEBBINS ON THE BOWERY.]

DEAR COUSIN JOHN:

We got here safe--my worthy wife an' me, An' then I looked the village through to see what I could see: I rode upon the cur'us track with stations all up-stairs; I walked through Wall Street all its length, an' saw no bulls or bears; I patronized a red-nosed chap with manners very queer, Who hadn't had a thing to eat for somethin' like a year;

I saw the road commissioners to work upon a bridge A million times as large as that we built at Tompkins' Ridge-- (I'm told that they are makin' it, though maybe that's all fun, To use the coming century, an' hope to get it done)-- When who should up an' grasp my hand, with face of genuine joy, But Cousin Jeroboam Jones, my cousin's oldest boy!

I had not seen him years an' years--no wonder he looked strange; His face an' form in some respects had undergone a change; But then there wasn't a chance of doubt that that was him, because, If not, how should he ever know that I was who I was?

We brushed our old acquaintance up, an' soon was at our ease, A wanderin' all about the place, as cozy as you please.

It's nicer far, in foreign towns, than 'tis to be alone, To walk with one whose blood proceeds from sources near your own; A sim'lar temp'rature of heart, a sort of family ease, Enables you to work your tongue as lib'ral as you please; And so I found myself quite soon uncommonly at home, Describin' all my business through to Cousin Jerobo'm.

He listened very docile like, an' hadn't much to say, But what he did was vent'red in a satisfact'ry way; He'd severed somewhat from his kin, an' sort o' lost the run, But he recalled the Stebbinses, when mentioned, one by one; An' takin' him inside an' out, our family scarcely owns A relative more relis.h.i.+n' than Jeroboam Jones.

He's teacher in a Sunday-school, he told me, by the way, Which has a room, above a store, that's open every day.

"For if," he says, "we come across a child that needs our care, We cannot wait till Sunday comes--we join 'em then an' there.

An' if you want to see the way our worthy cause is run, Come in an' take a little look--our 'social's' just begun."

The scholars hadn't come, as yet; the Superintendent, though, Was sittin' at a table, like, an' bowed extremely low; An' heard the praise on poor old me my cousin had to tell, An' said he joyed to meet a friend of one he loved so well; An' I talked back; an' for a time our converse did not cease-- A regular three-cornered gush of friends.h.i.+p, love, an' peace.

An' then he showed me how they run their "grab-bags" an' all such (We have the same at home, you know, although not near so much); An' then he had some val'ables on numbers that you saw, With figures correspondin'ly, in envelopes, to draw; I gin him fifty cents to help a cause I dearly hold, An' drew a velvet hymn-book, with a clasp resemblin' gold!

My cousin pressed my hand with some congratulatin' jokes, And said, "Ah me! the Stebbinses was always lucky folks!

But after all, their _shrewdness_ is the thing that lets them win."

(Which made me proud, though I didn't see just where the shrewd came in.

But buyin' a five-dollar book at that unheard-of price, An' helpin' of the cause meanwhile, was unsuspected nice.)

[Ill.u.s.tration: "TO MAKE FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS CLEAR, AN' HELP THE CHILDREN TOO."]

Whereat the Superintendent said, "You're lucky, I allow; I'll have to charge five dollars for a chance to draw here now."

Whereat my cousin Jeroboam remarked, "If 'tisn't wrong, I'll buy a draw for Cousin Steb, to help the cause along."

I shook my head, but he _would_ do't; an' sure as I'm alive, I drawed a good ten-dollar bill for Cousin Jones's five!

Whereat the Superintendent said, "You're lucky men, I vow; A hundred dollars I must charge for every drawing now;"

An' fingerin' the envelopes, one opened--just a grain-- And I discerned the number 11, uncommon black and plain; An' on the _other_ number 11 by glancin' I could see Five good crisp hundr'd-dollar bills a-waitin' there for me!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WE COME 'THIN PART OF ONE OF IT."]

To make four hundred dollars clear, an' help the children too, Was somethin' that would surely seem desirable to do; With an unfailin' eagle eye, a heart that swelled with hope, I watched, an' saw the very place he put that envelope; I winked at Cousin Jeroboam, I counted out the cash, An' drawed, an' had that card revealed almost as quick as flas.h.!.+

Oh, sakes!--the second figure I had what I hadn't seen, A _tail_ that made a 7 of it! 'twas Number 17!

An' on them figures on the board there nothin' was, in fact, Except a little pamphlet like--an anti-gamblin' tract; Which hadn't any money wuth, an' won't be good for much, Except to keep my older boys from playin' cards an' such.

Now Cousin Jeroboam Jones was buried in surprise, An' walked a half a mile with me, an' helped philosophize; An' says, "You come some other day--we'll try that thing agin: We come 'thin _part of one of it_--the next time we shall win."

Then, nearin' to a corner, he took kindly leave o' me, Because of some new scholars there that he must go an' see.

I give you this experience, John, but please don't tell it now; Let Tompkins take the chestnut horse, an' sell the brindle cow; An' gather up what cash besides I have a-lyin' loose, An' send the whole of it to me for my immediate use.

Do everything concerned in this, in soft, secretive tones; Direct it to New York, in care of Jeroboam Jones.

A. S.

A few days, and the following one arrived, Which shows Sin's triumph sometimes is short-lived:

[FARMER STEBBINS AHEAD.]

DEAR COUSIN JOHN:

I'm very glad you sent that money through, By Cousin Seth, an' not by mail, as I requested you!

The fam'ly's just so much ahead: 'twere best it never came.

If Jeroboam Jones had twined his fingers 'round the same.

For that young man has principles fit only to abhor, And isn't the kind of relative that I was lookin' for!

My sakes! Millennium's nowhere near, when men so false can be As to equivocate themselves into my family tree; An' on its honest branches graft the shoots of their design, An' make me think they're good because they're relatives of mine; While under those fraternal smiles a robber's frown is hid; But that's the inappropriate thing that Jeroboam did!

When Cousin Seth the tavern reached whose clerk o'ershadows me, He cried, "Where is my long-lost son I've come so far to see?"

An' so, to fill that father's heart with resurrected joy, I twisted 'round with him a bit, to try an' find the boy; An' comin' where I had the luck that hymn-book for to win, I opened quietly the door, an' both of us went in.

The Superintendent still was there; he gave a little start, But welcomed us, apparently, with overflowin' heart; An' told us all about the work, an' how 'twas gettin' on, An' how much money those who gave unto the cause had won; But Cousin Seth, though much impressed with what he heard an' saw, Said he didn't fix the envelopes, an' b'lieved he wouldn't draw.