HILE Brownies moved around one night
A seaside race-track came in sight.
"'T is here," said one, "the finest breed
Of horses often show their speed;
Here, neck and neck, and nose and nose,
Beneath the jockeys' urging blows,
They sweep around the level mile
The people shouting all the while;
And climbing up or crowding through
To gain a better point of view,
So they can see beyond a doubt
How favorites are holding out."
Another said: "I know the place
Where horses wait to-morrow's race;
We'll strap the saddles on their back,
And lead them out upon the track.
Then some will act the jockey's part,
And some, as judges, watch the start,
And drop the crimson flag to show
The start is fair and all must go."
Ere long, the Brownies turned to haul
Each wondering race-horse from his stall.
They bridled them without delay,
And saddles strapped in proper way.
Some restless horses rearing there
Would toss their holders high in air,
And test the courage and the art
Of those who took an active part.
Said one: "I've lurked in yonder wood,
And watched the races when I could.
I know how all is done with care
When thus for racing they prepare;
How every buckle must be tight,
And every strap and stirrup right,
Or jockeys would be on the ground
Before they circled half way round."
When all was ready for the show
Each Brownie rogue was nowise slow
At climbing up to take a place
And be a jockey in the race.
Full half a dozen Brownies tried
Upon one saddle now to ride;
But some were into service pressed
As judges to control the rest—
To see that rules were kept complete,
And then decide who won the heat.
A dozen times they tried to start;
Some shot ahead like jockeys smart,
And were prepared to take the lead
Around the track at flying speed.
But others were so far behind,
On horses of unruly mind,
The judges from the stand declare
The start was anything but fair.
So back they'd jog at his command,
In better shape to pass the stand.
Indeed it was no simple trick
To ride those horses, shy and quick,
And only for the mystic art
That is the Brownies' special part,
A dozen backs, at least, had found
A resting-place upon the ground.
The rules of racing were not quite
Observed in full upon that night.
Around and round the track they flew,
In spite of all the judge could do.
The race, he tried to let them know,
Had been decided long ago.
But still the horses kept the track,
With Brownies clinging to each back.
Some racers of the jumping kind
At times disturbed the riders' mind
When from the track they sudden wheeled,
And over fences took the field,
As if they hoped in some such mode
To rid themselves of half their load.
But horses, howsoever smart,
Are not a match for Brownie art,
For still the riders stuck through all,
In spite of fence, or ditch, or wall.
Some clung to saddle, some to mane,
While others tugged at bridle rein.
THE BROWNIES' BIRTHDAY DINNER.
HEN people through the county planned
To give their public dinners grand,
The Brownies met at day's decline
To have a birthday banquet fine.
"The proper things," a speaker cried,
"Await us here on every side;
We simply have to reach and take
And choose a place to boil and bake.
With meal and flour at our feet,
And wells of water pure and sweet,
That Brownie must be dull indeed
Who lacks the gumption to proceed.
We'll peel the pumpkins, ripened well,
And scoop them hollow, like a shell,
Then slice them up the proper size
To make at length those famous pies,
For which the people, small and great,
Are ever quick to reach a plate."
This pleased them all; so none were slow
In finding work at which to go.
A stove that chance threw in their way
Was put in shape without delay.
Though doors were cracked, and legs were rare,
The spacious oven still was there,
Where pies and cakes and puddings wide
Might bake together side by side.
The level top, though incomplete,
Gave pots and pans a welcome seat,
Where stews could steam and dumplings found
A fitting place to roll around.
Some lengths of pipe were raised on high
That made the soot and cinders fly,
And caused a draught throughout the wreck
That door or damper failed to check.
The rogues who undertook the part,
That tries the cook's delightful art,
Had smarting hands and faces red
Before the table-cloth was spread;
But what cared they at such an hour
For singeing flame or scalding shower?
Such ills are always reckoned slight
When great successes are in sight.
There cakes and tarts and cookies fine,
Of both the "leaf" and "notched" design,
Were ranged in rows around the pan
That into heated ovens ran;
Where, in what seemed a minute's space,
Another batch would take their place;
While birds, that had secured repose
Above the reach of Reynard's nose,
Without the aid of wings came down
To be at midnight roasted brown.
They found some boards and benches laid
Aside by workmen at their trade,
And these upon the green were placed
By willing hands with proper haste.
Said one, who board and bench combined:
"All art is not to cooks confined,
And some expertness we can show
As well as those who mix the dough."
And all was as the speaker said;
In fact, they were some points ahead;
For when the cooks their triumphs showed,
The table waited for its load.
The knives and forks and dishes white
By secret methods came to light.
Much space would be required to tell
Just how the table looked so well;
But kitchen cupboards, three or four,
Must there have yielded up their store;
For all the guests on every side
With full equipments were supplied.
When people find a carver hacked,
A saucer chipped, or platter cracked,
They should be somewhat slow to claim
That servants are the ones to blame;
For Brownies may have used the ware
And failed to show the proper care.
A few, as waiters, passed about
New dishes when the old gave out,
And saw the plates, as soon as bare,
Were heaped again with something rare.
No member, as you may believe,
Was anxious such a place to leave,
Until he had a taste at least
Of all the dishes in the feast.
The Brownies, when they break their fast,
Will eat as long as viands last,
And even birds can not depend
On crumbs or pickings at the end:
The plates were scraped, the kettles clean,
And not a morsel to be seen,
Ere Brownies from that table ran
To shun the prying eyes of man.
THE BROWNIES' HALLOW-EVE.
N Hallow-eve, that night of fun,
When elves and goblins frisk and run,
And many games and tricks are tried
At every pleasant fireside,
The Brownies halted to survey
A village that below them lay,
And wondered as they rested there
To hear the laughter fill the air
That from the happy children came
As they enjoyed some pleasant game.
Said one: "What means this merry flow
That comes so loudly from below,
Uncommon pleasures must abound
Where so much laughter can be found."
Another said: "Now, by your leave,
I'll tell you 't is All-Hallow-eve,
When people meet to have their sport
At curious games of every sort;
I know them all from first to last,
And now, before the night has passed,
For some convenient place we'll start
Without delay to play our part."
Two dozen mouths commenced to show
Their teeth in white and even row;
Two dozen voices cried with speed,
"The plan is good we're all agreed."
And in a trice four dozen feet
Went down the hill with even beat.
Without a long or wearying race
The Brownies soon secured a place
That answered well in every way
For all the games they wished to play.
There tubs of water could be found,
By which to stoop or kneel around,
And strive to bring the pennies out
That on the bottom slipped about.
Then heads were wet and shoulders, too,
Where some would still the coin pursue,
And mouth about now here and there
Without a pause or breath of air
Until in pride, with joyful cries,
They held aloft the captured prize.
More stood the tempting bait beneath,
And with a hasty snap of teeth
The whirling apple thought to claim
And shun the while the candle's flame,—
But found that with such pleasure goes
An eye-brow singed, or blistered nose.
More named the oats as people do
To try which hearts are false, which true,
And on the griddle placed the pair
To let them part or smoulder there;
And smiled to see, through woe or weal,
How often hearts were true as steel.
Still others tried to read their fate
Or fortune in a dish or plate,
Learn whether they would ever wed,
Or lead a single life instead;
Or if their mate would be a blessing,
Or prove a partner most distressing.
Then others in the open air,
Of fun and frolic had their share;
Played "hide and seek," and "blindman's buff,"
And "tag" o'er places smooth or rough,
And "snap the whip" and "trip the toe,"
And games that none but Brownies know.
As if their lives at stake were placed,
They jumped around and dodged and raced,
And tumbled headlong to the ground
When feet some hard obstruction found;
At times across the level mead,
Some proved their special claims to speed,
And as reward of merit wore
A wreath of green till sport was o'er.
The hours flew past as hours will
When joys do every moment fill;
The moon grew weak and said good-night,
And turned her pallid face from sight;
Then weakening stars began to fail,
But still the Brownies kept the vale;
Full many a time had hours retired
Much faster than the band desired,
And pleasure seemed too sweet to lay
Aside, because of coming day,
But never yet with greater pain
Did they behold the crimson stain
That morning spread along the sky,
And told them they must homeward fly
THE BROWNIES' FLAG-POLE.
HE Brownies through a village bound,
Paused in their run to look around,
And wondered why the central square
Revealed no flag-pole tall and fair.
Said one: "Without delay we'll go
To woods that stand some miles below.
The tall spruce lifts its tapering crest
So straight and high above the rest,
We soon can choose a flag-pole there
To ornament this village square.
Then every one a hand will lend
To trim it off from end to end,
To peel it smooth and paint it white,
And hoist it in the square to-night."
Then to the woods the Brownies ran
At once to carry out their plan;
While some ran here and there with speed
For implements to serve their need,
Some rambled through the forest free
To find the proper kind of tree,
Then climbed the tree while yet it stood
To learn if it was sound and good,
Without a flaw, a twist, or bend,
To mar its looks from end to end.
When one was found that suited well,
To work the active Brownies fell;
And soon with sticks beneath their load,
The band in grand procession strode;
It gave them quite enough to do
To safely put the project through,
But when they reached the square, at last,
Some ropes around the pole were passed
And from the tops of maples tall
A crowd began to pull and haul,
While others gathered at the base
Until the flag-pole stood in place.
For Brownies seldom idle stand
When there is fun or work on hand.
At night when darkness wraps us round
They come from secret haunts profound,
With brushes, pots of paint, and all,
They clamber over fence and wall;
And soon on objects here and there
That hold positions high in air,
And most attract the human eye,
The marks of Brownie fingers lie.
Sometimes with feet that never tire
They climb the tall cathedral spire;
When all the town is still below,
Save watchmen pacing to and fro,
By light of moon, and stars alone,
They dust the marble and the stone,
And with their brushes, small and great,
They paint and gild the dial-plate;
And bring the figures plain in sight
That all may note Time's rapid flight.
And accidents they often know
While through the heavy works they go,
Where slowly turning wheels at last
In bad position hold them fast.
But Brownies, notwithstanding all
The hardships that may them befall,
Still persevere in every case
Till morning drives them from the place.
And then with happy hearts they fly
To hide away from human eye.
THE BROWNIES ON THE CANAL.
NE night the Brownies stood beside
A long canal, whose silent tide
Connected seaboard cities great
With inland sections of the state.
The laden boats, so large and strong,
Were tied to trees by hawsers long;
No boatmen stood by helm or oar,
No mules were tugging on the shore;
All work on land and water too
Had been abandoned by the crew.
Said one: "We see, without a doubt,
What some dispute has brought about.
Perhaps a strike for greater pay,
For even rates, or shorter day,
Has caused the boats to loiter here
With cargoes costing some one dear.
These cabbages so large and round
Should, long ere this, the dish have found,
Upon some kitchen-stove or range
To spread an odor rich and strange;
Those squashes, too, should not be lost
By long exposure to the frost,
When they would prove so great a prize
To old and young, if baked in pies.
And then those pippins, ripe and fair,
From some fine orchard picked with care,
Should not to rot and ruin go,
Though work is hard or wages low,
When thousands would be glad to stew
The smallest apples there in view."
Another said: "We lack the might
To set the wrongs of labor right,
But by the power within us placed
We'll see that nothing goes to waste.
So every hand must be applied
That boats upon their way may glide."
Then some ran here and there with speed
To find a team to suit their need.
A pair of mules, that grazed about
The grassy banks, were fitted out
With straps and ropes without delay
To start the boats upon their way;
And next some straying goats were found,
Where in a yard they nibbled round
Destroying plants of rarest kind
That owners in the town could find.
Soon, taken from their rich repast,
They found themselves in harness fast;
Then into active service pressed
They trod the tow-path with the rest.
On deck some Brownies took their stand
To man the helm, or give command,
And oversee the work; while more
Stayed with the teams upon the shore.
At times the rope would drag along
And catch on snags or branches long,
And cause delays they ill could bear,
For little time they had to spare.
With accidents they often met,
And some were bruised and more were wet;
Some tumbled headlong down the hold;
And some from heaping cargoes rolled.
But what care Brownies for a bruise,
Or garments wet, from hat to shoes,
When enterprises bold and new
Must ere the dawn be carried through?
If half the band were drenched, no doubt
The work would still be carried out,
For extra strength would then be found
In those who still were safe and sound.
But once, when "low bridge!" was the shout
They stood and stared or ran about
Till in the water, heels o'er head,
Some members of the band were spread.
A few could swim, and held their own;
But more went downward like a stone
Until, without the plummet's aid,
They learned how deep canals are made.
In spite of all the kicks and flings
That fright at such a moment brings,
Through lack of art, or weight of fear,
It looked as if their end was near.
The order now to stop the team
Would pass along with sign and scream,
And those on land would know by this
That something startling was amiss;
And those on board could plainly see
Unless assistance there could be,
In shape of ropes and fingers strong,
There'd be some vacancies, ere long!
By chance a net was to be had,
That boatmen used for catching shad—
A gill-net of the strongest kind,
For heavy catches well designed;
Few shad against its meshes ran
But left their bones on some one's pan,
This bulky thing the active crew
Far overboard with promptness threw.
A hold at once some Brownies found,
While others in its folds were bound,
Until like fish in great dismay
Inside the net they struggling lay.
But willing hands were overhead,
And quickly from the muddy bed
Where shedder crabs and turtles crawled
The dripping net was upward hauled,
With all the Brownies clinging fast,
Till safe on deck they stood at last.
Sometimes a mule fell off the road
And in the stream with all its load.
Then precious time would be consumed
Before the trip could be resumed.
Thus on they went from mile to mile,
With many strange mishaps the while,
But working bravely through the night
Until the city came in sight.
Said one: "Now, thanks to bearded goats
And patient mules, the heavy boats
For hours have glided on their way,
And reached the waters of the bay.
But see, the sun's about to show
His colors to the world below,
And other birds than those of night
Begin to take their morning flight.
Our time is up; we've done our best;
The ebbing tide must do the rest;
Now drifting downward to their pier
Let barges unassisted steer,
While we make haste, with nimble feet,
To find in woods a safe retreat."
THE BROWNIES IN THE STUDIO.
THE Brownies once approached in glee
A slumbering city by the sea.
"In yonder town," the leader cried,
"I hear the artist does reside
Who pictures out, with patient hand,
The doings of the Brownie band."
"I'd freely give," another said,
"The cap that now protects my head,
To find the room, where, day by day,
He shows us at our work or play."
A third replied: "Your cap retain
To shield your poll from snow or rain.
His studio is farther down,
Within a corner-building brown.
So follow me a mile or more
And soon we'll reach the office door."
Then through the park, around the square,
And down the broadest thoroughfare,
The anxious Brownies quickly passed,
And reached the building huge at last.
They paused awhile to view the sight,
To speak about its age and height,
And read the signs, so long and wide,
That met the gaze on every side.
But little time was wasted there,
For soon their feet had found the stair.
And next the room, where oft are told
Their funny actions, free and bold,
Was honored by a friendly call
From all the Brownies, great and small.
Then what a gallery they found,
As here and there they moved around—
For now they gaze upon a scene
That showed them sporting on the green;
Then, hastening o'er the fields with speed
To help some farmer in his need.
Said one, "Upon this desk, no doubt,
Where now we cluster round about,
Our doings have been plainly told
From month to month, through heat and cold.
And there's the ink, I apprehend,
On which our very lives depend.
Be careful, moving to and fro,
Lest we upset it as we go.
For who can tell what tales untold
That darksome liquid may unfold!"
A telephone gave great delight
To those who tried it half the night,
Some asking after fresh supplies;
Or if their stocks were on the rise;
What ship was safe; what bank was firm;
Or who desired a second term.
Thus messages ran to and fro
With "Who are you?" "Hallo!" "Hallo!"
And all the repetitions known
To those who use the telephone.
"Oh, here's the pen, as I opine,"
Said one, "that's written every line;
Indebted to this pen are we
For all our fame and history."
"See here," another said, "I've found
The pointed pencil, long and round,
That pictures all our looks so wise,
Our smiles so broad and staring eyes;
'Tis well it draws us all aright,
Or we might bear it off to-night.
But glad are we to have our name
In every region known to fame,
To know that children lisp our praise,
And on our faces love to gaze."
Old pistols that brave service knew
At Bunker Hill, were brought to view
In mimic duels on the floor,
And snapped at paces three or four;
While from the foils the Brownies plied,
The sparks in showers scattered wide,
As thrust and parry, cut and guard,
In swift succession followed hard.
The British and Mongolian slash
Were tried in turn with brilliant dash,
Till foils, and skill, and temper too,
Were amply tested through and through.
They found old shields that bore the dint
Of spears and arrow-heads of flint,
And held them up in proper pose;
Then rained upon them Spartan blows.
Lay figures, draped in ancient styles,
From some drew graceful bows and smiles,
Until the laugh of comrades nigh
Led them to look with sharper eye.
A portrait now they criticize,
Which every one could recognize:
The features, garments, and the style,
Soon brought to every face a smile.
Some tried a hand at painting there,
And showed their skill was something rare;
While others talked and rummaged through
The desk to find the stories new,
That told about some late affair,
Of which the world was not aware.
But pleasure seemed to have the power
To hasten every passing hour,
And bring too soon the morning chime,
However well they note the time.
Now, from a chapel's brazen bell,
The startling hint of morning fell,
And Brownies realized the need
Of leaving for their haunts with speed.
So down the staircase to the street
They made their way with nimble feet,
And ere the sun could show his face,
The band had reached a hiding-place.