first before the bar,
Takin' whisky-straight--and me
Wastin' time on "blackberry"!

{91}

Beat me in the Army, too,
And clean on the whole way through!
In more scrapes around the camp,
And more troubles, on the tramp:
Fought and fell there by my side
With more bullets in his hide,
And more glory in the cause,--
That's the kind o' man _he_ was!
Luck liked Scotty more'n me.--
_I_ got married: Scotty, he
Never even would _apply_
Fer the pension-money I
Had to beg of "Uncle Sam"--
That's the kind o' cuss _I_ am!--
Scotty allus first and best--
Me the last and ornriest!
Yit fer all that's said and done--
All the battles fought and won--
We hain't prospered, him ner me--
Both as pore as pore could be,--
Though we've allus, up tel now,
Stuck together anyhow--
Scotty allus, as I've said,
Luckiest--And now he's _dead_!

{92}

[Illustration: The old man--headpiece]

THE OLD MAN

Lo! steadfast and serene,
In patient pause between
The seen and the unseen,
What gentle zephyrs fan
Your silken silver hair,--
And what diviner air
Breathes round you like a prayer,
Old Man?

{93}

Can you, in nearer view
Of Glory, pierce the blue
Of happy Heaven through;
And, listening mutely, can
Your senses, dull to us,
Hear Angel-voices thus,
In chorus glorious--
Old Man?

In your reposeful gaze
The dusk of Autumn days
Is blent with April haze,
As when of old began
The bursting of the bud
Of rosy babyhood--
When all the world was good,
Old Man.

And yet I find a sly
Little twinkle in your eye;
And your whisperingly shy
Little laugh is simply an
Internal shout of glee
That betrays the fallacy
You'd perpetrate on me,
Old Man.

{94}

So just put up the frown
That your brows are pulling down!
Why, the fleetest boy in town,
As he bared his feet and ran,
Could read with half a glance--
And of keen rebuke, perchance--
Your secret countenance,
Old Man.

Now, honestly, confess:
Is an old man any less
Than the little child we bless
And caress when we can?
Isn't age but just a place
Where you mask the childish face
To preserve its inner grace,
Old Man?

Hasn't age a truant day,
Just as that you went astray
In the wayward, restless way,
When, brown with dust and tan,
Your roguish face essayed,
In solemn masque