John Henton Carter.

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How to 'strack de juse out ob de sugar
cane.

An' I 'low when he die,
An' wake up dar on high,
Ef dey don't make sugar dat he'll go
insane.

♦68f



DEWEY'S VICTORY.



DEWEg'S VICTORg.



Heard you the sound that roused the

slumbering sea,
And smote the star crowned peaks of

Darien?
The bolt was fired by hands that dare be

free,
And aimed at the old enemy again,
The crowu that glows above the wrecks

of men.

Not in fair field sought you to win your

way,
Nor open court where justice blindfold

sat,
But rather strove to climb by treachery
And Machievellian forms begat
To make of honor a common door mat.
♦69^



OUT HERE IN OL' MISSOURY.

You set the bull fight up beside the cross,
And pandered to all sorts of butchery.
Where'ere you planted foot man felt the

loss,
And wore the galling chains of slavery
And sank to lowest depths of misery.

But justice planted in the heart of m.an,
Is nourished by the blood of martyrs

shed;
And he who seeks to thwart the Master's

plan
Shall bow at last unto the dust his head.
Ah, Spain! Behold, thy bloody reign

is dead!

♦70^



WHAT HE FIT FUR.



WHAT HE FIT FGR.

He shouldered his gun an' waltz'd off for

the war,
He wuz boozy the day 'at he shipjoed,
An' said to the Sargent next day, ^'I'll

be gor,"
When he found out the way he'd been

nipped.
Wuz right up agin everything he could

fin',
Au' wuz lookin' fur truble an' sech,
Wuzn't a-keerin' acus fur what wuz be-

hin',
But wuz jes out for what he cud ketch.

Wuz fust in the fort 'at we tuk, an' wuz

fust
In 'bout everything in the long run;
Ust ter 'low 'at he'd git his work in er

bust,
An' he never know'd when he wuz dun.
Fur a change he'd slip out 'o camp on a

tar'.
An' load up both his boots with the

booze,

♦7U



OUT HERE, IN OL' MISSOURY.

An' then thar'd be music *'pervailin"

the air,
An' the boys wouldn't hev any blues.

So Cap. he jessez ter ol' Boozy wun day,
('At wuz what we all call'd him fnr fun) ,
'* You'll hev ter quit kerryin' on thata-

way,
Er permotion you'll never git nun.' '
But Boozy jes set with his chin in his

han',
An' he never made eny reply;
Jes acted ez ef he could not unnerstan',
An' I reckon 'at he didn't try.

Then the Cap. sez agin, "wat you fight

fur, ol' man,
Ef it isn't permotion an' pay,
Fur you're handy when you've a gun in

yer han' ,
Lem'mehearw'atyou now got ter say?"
Then he riz up his head, an' he tho't

an' he tho't.
Till it 'peared 'at ol' Boozy wuz trick'd.
But purty soon sez he, '^ Jes fight ^cos 1

ought,
An' 'cos 'at 1 don't ivant ter git UcJcedf
♦72*



THE MAN OF MANILLA BAY.



THE MAN OF MA/VILLA BAq,



Lo, a man onee sailed from Chira away

On the other side, for Manilla Bay;
It was w^ar that he sought and war that
he found,
And the praise of his deeds went ring-
ing around
The world, and the man soon became
reno\vned.

Old Neptune aroused, reared his hoary
head —
*'Has Nelson come back to the seasr"
he said;
' 'Can it be the echoes of Trafalgar?"
Then lifting his eyes, he beheld afar
The stars and stripes through the clouds
of war.

♦'^S*. Sig-. 10.



OUT HERE IN OL' MISSOURY.

And he felt in his veins the thrill of
youth —
And hope— Ah, well, indeed he mi^ht,
forsooth —

For the tyrant's power was soon tumbled
down
By the man who sailed from a China
town,

And the welkin rang with his great re-
nown.

Homeward he came, as a patriot should
Whose uppermost thought is his coun-
try's good;

And it was a glorious holiday
They gave to the hero who sailed away

From China to fight in Manilla Bay.

But woman is fair, and the warrior brave,
Though he conquer the world, is still
her slave,
And Fihe loves to hold in her arms so fair
The heart that is strong and will not
despair —
And the hero finds a sweet welcome there.
♦74*-



THE MAN OF MANILLA BAY.



This is the moral— and 'tis old enough—
Though man be made of the sterner
stuff,
And he front the foe in the strife, and
slay,
He's a babe in a woman 's arms — I say,
Be kind to the man of Manilla Bay!
♦■75f



OUT HERE IN OL' MISSOURY.



ROCK ALOiVG.

Should fortune frown upon your path,

Press on with might and main,
Each victory gained, the hero hath

More strength to fight again.
So face life's daily battles with a heart
that's brave and strong.
Rock along,
Rock along,
Rock along,

If you're in love, and she you seek

To be your life-long mate
Informs you hers is not the cheek

On which you'll vegetate,
Don't soMiid your troubles to the world
a 3 if you were a gong.
Rock along,
Rock along,
Rock along.
♦76^



ROCK ALONG.



There never was a maid so fair
That could not find a match.
You've heard about the fish out there,

Also about the catch —
So don't proclaim yourself a bell and
ring out your ' 'ding-dong. "
Rock along,
Rock along,
Rock along.

And if at times your lot is hard.

Your blessings very fevv%
If others play the winning card,

While scarce a trump held you,
Don't fancy that you're fated to endure
a lasting wrong.
Rock along,
Rock along,
Rock along.
♦77*



OUT HERE IN OL' MISSOURI.



AM ODE TO SPRING.



To sing o' gentle Spring may be all right
Fur other latitudes, but don't indite
Sech nonsense 'bout the wild an' woolly

west,
Fur a more vig'rous spring suits her the

best.

0' all the seasons o' the roUin' year.
Spring is the one that's most upon it's

ear.
Out on a reg'lar tare from fust to last —
Talk 'bout its bein' gentle, lemme ast:

Is a cow gentle that you tell to * ^hist,"
An' kicks the bucket over about twic't
Afore you start to milkin' her, an' when
You say, *'so, Bossy, so," an' try again,

An' find she wont, but to your great
surprise,

♦78^



AN ODE TO SPRING,



Plants both her feet 'bout where your

supper lies,
An' goes right on a eatin' o' your hay?
But let me put it another way:

Imagin' fur a minute you hev thrown
Your lamps upon a rip roaring cyclone
That's p'inted fur your shanty an' you

jes
Crawl in the undergroun' hole with the

res',

An' wait till it hez passed an' then you

see
Your house an' barn a keepin' company
With that same gentle zephyr, that's the

spring
O' which a weste'n poet hez to sing,
♦79*.



OUT HERE IN OL' MISSOURY.



CAiNAL STREET, iNEW ORLEAiNS, IN
THE AFTERiNOON.

On Canal street in the afternoon

Thare's asi^ht the eye delights to see.
Fair as the flowers that bloom in June,
When the ripening fruit hangs on the
tree,

On Canal street in the afternoon.

All types of beauty will greet you there
That ever enraptured painter drew —

The tender eye and the midnight hair
That falls to the lot of the favored few
On Canal street in the afternoon.

The Spanish dame and the Creole belle,

The tall, lithe form of the Saxon blood,

The charming glance of mademoiselle,

The inland maidens of which we 're fond

On Canal street in the afternoon.

♦80t



C.VNAL ST., N. O. , IN THE AFTERNCGN.

The tempting shops that appeal to you
With luxuries you have never tried,

That come from the land of Parleyvoo,
Or hint, at least, of the other side,
On Canal street in the afternoon.

The cars that lead to the homes a^Yay
In the shady groves where wild birds
sing,
And the happy children romjp and play
While mamma dreams of her absent
king,

On Canal street in the afternoon.

Oh, give me a simple life like this;

I care not for honors, w^eallh or fame;

I long to taste of the primal bliss

And win in one v/oman's heart a name,

On Canal street in the afternoon.

^8U Sig. 11.



OUT HERE IN OL' MISSOURY.



THE OLD HOUSE OH THE CREEK.



I've hed a hankerin' o'late, to jes pick

up an' go
A visitin' aroun' amongst the fo'ks I ust

to know.
I've studied on it till I find I'm gittin'

real homesick
To set my eyes onct more upon the ol'

house on the crick.

The 'roma o' that cellar is a clingin' to

meyit,
An' to think o' that b'iled cider makes

me too dry to spit.
Why T saem to taste the ginger, an' hear

the poker siz,
An' share with Uncle Dan agin, that

temp'rence drink o' his.
♦82*



THE OLD HOUSE ON THE CREEK.

I want to see who's livin' an' who's mar-
ried an' who's dead,

Ef all the young fo'ks kep' their word,
an' done jas what they said.

What boys hev writ their names upon the
scroll o' fame, an' who

Accomplished all in after life that they
set out to do.

What become o' Hiram Mueller, thathed

the freckled face.
An' could never learn his lessons; is he

on the ol' place?
In the footsteps o' his father, an' ez close

fisted too?
I reckon ef he is that he is purty well to

do.

I'd like to see the spring agin, at which

we ust to drink,
An' set down by it on the grass an' hev

a good long think
About the youthful faces it onct mirrored

like a glass,
An' how the worl's been treatin' 'em

sence all this come to pass.
♦83^



OUT HERE IN OL' MI3S0URY.

Who married Becky Wilkinson, they ust

to call the belle,
An' how she's passed the time away? I

want to hear her tell,
liez her *'path been strewn with roses

an' her skies been alus bright, "
Ez I writ in her album, in the best hand

I could write?

Maybe the birds air singin' now the songs

they ust to sing,
When apple blossoms were abroad, an'

all the sweets o' spring
Were rompin' in the medders an' the

woods an' garden where
We ust to stroll together in the quiet

evenin' air.

I'd like to visit mother's grave, neglected

all these years.
An' ef nobody wuz aroun' maybe to shed

some tears;
Leashvise ef they should start, I, 'low,

I've only this to say,
I wouldn't try to stop 'em, but letnatur'

hev her way.

♦84^



THE OLD HOUSE ON THE CREEK.

I wonder ef the terrapin, on which I cut

my name,
Is browsin' in the clover yit, an' lookin'

jes the same,
Er ef his gait's a gittin' slow, his eyes a

little dim,
An' age that 'gins to pester me, hez also

com.e to him?

Ef Brother Sudley's preachin' still down

at the '-Horner Mill,"
An' every other week or so comes up to

Jenner's Hill
To tell 'em all about the broad, an o'

the narrer way,
An' hov7 to read their titles clear, an'

sheep that went astray?

An' after chu'ch is out ef he goes home
with Uncle Dan

To eat a dinner that's got up on the ol'
country plan?

Ef this is so I hope that they'll remem-
ber when I'm there,

To not forget the circumstance, an' set
me up a chair.

♦85^



OUT HERE IN OL' MISSOURY.

I'll 'gree to set all afternoon an' hear

'em argify,
About the scriptur's an' the crowns,

awaitm' em on high.
Jes to set eyes onct more upon a hunk o'

punkin bread,
An' other luxuries on which in early

youth I fed.

So I guess I'll wait no longer, but jes

pick up an' go
A visitin' aroun' amongst the fo'ks lust

to know.
I've studied on it till I find I'm gittin'

real homesick
To set my eyes onct more upon the ol'

house on the crick.
♦86f



THE OLD HOUSE ON THE CREEK.



THE WRECK.



Mortal, whatever your fortune may be,
Gold,, like the sands on the measureless

shore,
Poverty — pinched by fierce hunger till

she
Sits as a guest at your lone hovel door.
Fame be your portion, and honor as well,
Sorrow leads on and you follow her beck.
Tread you the measure where airy notes

swell,
Your pilgrimage leads at last to a wreck.
'Twill end in a wreck,
'Twill end in a wreck.

Rear you your palace away from the poor
Blazon you your gates with your **no

thoroughfare,"
See that no beggar e'er enters your door,

♦87^



OUT HERE IN OL' MIS30URY.

And say to them, sympathy seek else-
where.
Charity rests with the Charity Board —
Our duty is done, we've given our

check;"
Are the annointed those only that hoard?
Madam, your logic will end in a vrreck.
'Twill end in a wreck,
'Twill end in a wreck .

Flow'rs have their season to bud and to

bloom,
The petals then fall, we know them no

more;
And sighing, we turn from visions of

gloom
Clad in their glory a moment before.
Time, w^hy thus leave us to sorrow and

pain?
What can restrain thee, thy ravages

check?
Say, shall we meet our dear loved ones

again,
Awaiting us there, just over the wreck.
Just over the wreck,
Just over the wreck.



THE WREOK.



Lord, send me your winds that blister

and sting',
I'd shiver with cold, know hunger as well,
Toil with the poor, or do any mean thing,
E'en weep with the pris'ner chained in

his cell.
And bring me the cross the Savior has

borne,
The Jeers, aye, the scars his body bedeck.
Let me, too, feel for the weak and forlorn,
And rise in the end as He from the

wreck .
As He from the wreck.
As He from the wreck.

♦89^ Siff. 12.



OUT HERE TN OL' MISSOURY.



EXPAiNSION.

Put walls round a land whose people are

free,
And deny you're restraining their lib-
erty?
Dam up their rivers and say to them lo !
It is better to thus lie stagnant than
flow.
The source will endure,
The waters keep pure,
And covet you not
What others have got —
For Republics are things that shall

have their bounds.
And freedom's distasteful when it's on

it's rounds,
And brains, bear in mind, are very poor

things,
Unless they are loyal and serve under
kings.

♦90t



EXPANSION.



Put walls round a land whose people are

free,
Go pinion the winds or silence the sea;
Restrain you the sap that leaps in the

spring.
Or say to the birds 'tis treason to sing-
Except within lines
The old code defines
For empire alone,
As all time hath shown,
Is swayed by a crown — the ironclad hand
And none shall go forward unless it com-
mand.
And who shall gainsay traditions that

stood
Ere Noah sailed out in his ark on the
flood.

Put walls round a land whose people ara

free,
To obliterate these is our destiny.
To fell the forest and span the stream,
With an eye to the point our constant
dream ,

Till the earth we span,
And down trodden man
♦9U



OUT HERE IN OL' MISSOURY.

Shall rise in his might,
And the new born light
Shall greet with a smile and a cheer, and

lo!
The earth redeemed from its nightmare

glow.
With the fruitage of seed which the Mas-
ter hath sown ,
In a soil that shall make of the harvest
his own .

♦92^



OZARK PETE.



OZARK PETE.



-0-



It's the wick'd 'z gits the cream down
here,
An' the pius 'z gits the crust,
But the ways o' Providence air queer
An' I reck'n we'll hev ter trust.

I've alus went on religion some,
An' I 'low I've done my shar'

To'ards sendin' souls ter kingum come,
But I ain't no luck in pray'r.

Why when the k'ards went agin me flat,

An' I los' my bottom red,
An' riz a stake on my boots an' hat,

What d' you think that I said?

Did I blow an' spout an' want ter fight?

Not much, for that ain't my trade.
I goes ter my room that very night

An' got down 'n my knees 'n pray'd.
♦93^



OUT HERE IN OL' MIS30URY.

I tor the Lo'd how the thing 'd gone,
An* dwelt on my arful luck,

How Luke hed my yoke o' steers 'n pawn,
An' how arf'ly I war stuck.

Besides he didn't belong ter the chu'ch,
An' war giv'n ter gain' an' sin,

Tuk pride 'n leavin' saints 'n the lu'ch
An' ropin' the members in.

Waal, I felt rel'eved an' went ter work,
Plum full o' relig'ous strength;

Ye see I never w^ar called a shirk,
An' I alus goes my length.

80 I staked my trousers on the tray.
An' waited fur Luke to tu'n,

But he raked 'em in indiff'rently,
Like it warn't o' no concern.

No! thar ain't no salvation fur me!

I hev got no show up thar,
Fm 'umble 's any one brok' kin be,

But I ain't no luck in pray'r.
♦94*



RANDOM VERSES.



RA/SDOM VERSES.

A maid indeed, forsooth, was she,
Of noble pose and queenly mien,

And eyes wherein the mystery

Sage ne'er unriddled, glows again

That captive led the Arion swain.



The home should be a sanctuary where
None enter save with uncovered head;

An holy shrine at which we offer prayer,
Not ostentatious words, but acts in-
stead.



'Tis love that makes the ideal home,
Not title, rank, nor castle grand?

Where'er it reigns, 'tis sweet to come,
No matter in what clime or land.
495^



OUT HERE IN OL' MISSOURY.

Hear ye, the bells, they call, they call,
Come to God's temple, one and all,

With contrite heart and bended knee,
Give thanks unto the Deity.



The world goes on, though we laugh or
we sigh,
And hearts are breaking as well,
And the snow-drift shall come, and never
ask why
The roses withered and fell.



Look you upon that and then upon this,
The palace is here, the hovel is there;
One drinks from the chalice flowing with
bliss.
The other — dregs from the cup of de-
spair.



Oh, come from the alley, the wharf and
the slum,
The bells in the steeple already have
tolled.
Calling the poor and forsaken to come,
Welcome, without either silver or gold.
♦96>



RANDOM VERSES.



Oh, good is the past for the h'ght it has
shed,
Illuming the world with its perishless
ray,
But facing the front, we are marching
ahead,
Our eyes ever fixed on the inccmirg
day.

There was mounting in l;a&le and the

fervent farewell —
There were sighs, there were tears, ?.ll

that passion may teJl.
Ah. the wild, frenzied look, and Ihe

disheveled hair
That is tossed as a cloud in the stoini of

despair.



They laid her where the grasses gicw.

While yet the rose was red,
And some had stones above their graves

On which the years had fed.
And others that were newer m.ade,

Where rose the fresh tossed clay,
Reminding them howtheir's would look.

And then they drove away.

♦97^ Sig'. 13.



OUT HERE IN OL' MISSOURY.

Maid of the solemn harp, sing a new song,
Breathe not a word of your sorrow and

wrong.
Turn to the promise of youth and be free,
All that life offers is waiting for thee .



Oh, the lover was bold, and the maiden

was coy,
Was his wooing rejected, or did it avail?
Were they wed? was their happiness free

from alloy?
He may learn who will read to the end

of the tale.

Oh, love is a dream that is seldom ful-
filled—

That charms till we wake, and the spell
is no more.

The dew on the rose that the night has
distilled,

Then vanishing leaves it forlorn as be -
fore.

♦98^



A PLEA FOR THE POET.



A PLEA FOR THE POET.



A glance at the journals we're printing

to-day,
Reveal quite a shortage, at least in one

way.
They've the news to be sure, the market

reports.
The verbiage that gives such tange to

the courts —
A record of crime, and of sporting as

well—
The pulpit's permitted its story to tell,
But the poet, oh, he
Is a back number — you see.
He's nothing to say that the world cares

to hear —

L.of ^-



OUT HERE TN OL' MISSOURY



Has sorrow departed, forgotten the tear?

Are the sentiments frozen, broken the
mould

The hearts of our fathers were cast in of
old?

[s it only success that enchains you to-
day—

V/hy nothing im mortal was e're known
to pay !



Now listen, your'e missing far more than
you gain,

For pleasure is fatal to groat, it is pain.

The spirit develops — the cross and the
crown —

And say what you will they will never
come down —

But point with the finger of sorrow and
say,

' *I am holding the old world together to-
day,

And your palaces fine,
Where you sumptuously dine,

Shall crumble and fall, and be scattered
to dust,

flOO^



A PLEA FOR THE POET.



While the 8tory of one who lives on a
crust,

To be true to himself and God shall re-
main

And willing ears hear it recounted again.

'Twas a poem that ushered you in — when
laid low^

A poet shall sing of your virtues also.



So a plea for the poets — give them a
chance —

And bid them return to the fields of ro-
mance.

The harp so long silent be smitten again

By fingers that sound the virtues of men.

And the chink of the coin that deadens
the soul —

And crushes it out of the man on the
whole,

Relinquish a part

Of its space to the art.

That lives not by choice but in spite of
the greed —

That would reap of the fruitage, forget-
ting the seed,

♦lOU



OUT HERE IN OL' MISSOURY.

For whatever you are, you owe to the

thought
Of some beggar who sat in garret and

draught.
He alone blazed the path that marks

your advance,
And honor demands you still give him a

chance.

♦102^



THE POWER THAT GREW.



THE POWER THAT GREW.

A power there was, and it grew and grew
Till around the globe rang its tatoo
And its bugle call. A valiant crew
Indeed was that, of the power that grew .

'Tis a sea girt iele, the ancients knew —
Cffisar had trod it — the Norman's blew
In upon it. Frank and Teuton too
Fell into line in the land that grew.

It took to the seas and ruled them — you
Have heard all this, for 'tis not new —
And the colonies were not a few
Planted and nursed by the po\ver that
grew .

It had its scholars — some still pursue
The flights of song and the broader view,
And it gave us Milton, Shakespear too,
And Hampton and Cromwell, as it grew,
♦103^



OUT HERS IN OL' MISSOURY.

But the seed thus sovrn took root and

grew
Till the old, less thrifty than the new,
Is getting nervous — a little blue —
The fate of all — it will come to you.

And yet, Albion, what can subdue
Thy fame writ deep in the ether blue.
'Twill last till the old, old world is

through —
The race shall drink its last health to ycu .
♦104^



MISSOURI NIGHTINGALES.



MISSOURI NIGHTI/NGALES.



When the melancholy gloaming haih

stolen to the glen,
And the poet's thoughts are coming un-
bidden to his pen,
Lo ! a strident sound ascendeth from out

the sedgy bog,
And the flecking moonlight blendelh with
the croaking of the frog —
Calling, bawling.
Rising, falling.
Oh, you noisy crew!
What in the world is amiss with you?

Wherefore these nocturnal chatters, so-
journers in the earth?

Is the way mien manage matters provoc-
ative of mirth?

Do the poet's constant labors upon his
idle rhymes

♦J05^ Sig. 14.



OUT HERE IN OL' MISSOURY.

Scir fchy risibles, O, neighbors of the bu-
colic chimes?

Croaking, poking,
Joking, shocking,
Say ! I must request
That you skedaddle and give us a rest.

Seek, oh, seek thy hole, and pull it in

after thee, oh, frog,
Er*3 exa=}p3ratei bullet pursue thee in

the bog,
Till your nightly exultations have per-
manently ceased,
And the poet's meagre rations propor-
tionately increased.

Stop it, drop it,
Skip it, hop it,
Oh, you noisy host,
Or I'll have you run in and served on

toast.

♦106^



KIPLING.



KlPLmG.

During his illness, 1899.

*'Who's Kipling, th;it all the world's tc-.lk-

ing about?'*
Said a man upon 'change; ''he's a good

one, no doubt.
Did he work up a corner in wheat, or say

how
Did he make such a great reputation ; —

come now,

Who *s Kipling?' '

The answer came quick, for the other

replied :
*'0h, Kipling, why, he is just now the

world's pride,
The fellow who can, with his nagical

pen.
Awaken the strain that has slumbered

since when
The lyre was smitten by William and Ben,
That's Kipling."
♦107^



OUT HERE IN OL' MISSOURY .



A silence ensued as if some greater

thought
Had seized for the time on the merchant

and wrought
Though he said not a word and went on

his way ,
Yet there rang through his mind, 'tis

ringing to-day —
Kip— Kipling.

Oh, genius divine, choicest gift of the

Gods,
The world is still thine, and is thine too,

by odds,
Though pedigree, title and wealth, if

you please.
Are good, when you enter all drop on

their knees —
Live Kipling



108*



PRESS NOTICES.



** The Impressoin Club," a novel, by John Hen -
ton Carter. This is a novel with a purpose, and
the purpose is certain radical reforms in modern
church methods and in social life. And first, we
would say that the novel ''business" is done in
a very clever manner. Most novel readers like
plenty of dialogue, and they will find it in thig
book, dialogue that is never dull, but is bright, ra-
cy, and often witty. — Chicago Advance.

Mr. Carter is not satisfied with the rep-
utation he has established through his po-
etry, and is now coming before the public
as a novelist and essayist. In his latest
story, the ''Impression Club," Mr. Carter
has given an excellent idea of social con-
ditions as they exist in alh large cities. —
Rosioell Field, in Chicago Post,

In "The Impression Club," the author
has presented a social study of life in large
cities that bears the evidence of much
thought and in which are advocated some
startling reforms. Mr. Carter is strong in
the art of character drawing, and the per-
sonages in his story seem very real and
distinct. — Globe- Democrat.

"The Impression Club" is worth reading


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Online LibraryJohn Henton CarterOut here in ol' Missoury → online text (page 3 of 4)